#chris: texts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bernardsbendystraws · 3 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 — 𝐌.𝐒.

Synopsis: Matt's being a damn tease

Warnings: smut, dry humping, cocky-slut matt, making out, panty soaking, literally just ver horny shit

A/N: Matt’s story did something to me. I feel feral and god fuck I need this fuck ass man wtf? Pls don’t copy and tag me if you use this as inspo!

With love and big tits, Rose

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The second Matt strolled into your shared room, you were drooling, nearly foaming at the mouth. He looks sexy, his pants riding low enough for the hem of his briefs to peek out, his tattoos visible in the white T-shirt, and god…his hair—his messy fucking hair.

You swallow thickly, clenching your thighs as he walks around and climbs on the other side of the bed next to you. He’s beaming with pride. You’re not sure why, but all you know is you see him pull out his phone, clicking on the screen.

Before you can ask what he’s doing, you feel a certain buzz from your own device, pulling open instagram as you see his new story.

Fuck.

Your teeth clamp into your bottom lip, your core pulsing as your thighs shift together even more. Matt laughs seeing a text on his screen from Nick. He shifts the phone over to show you, getting distracted as you stare at him with those eyes—eyes hooded with pure lust.

“You good, sweetheart?” he taunts, grinning sickly as he moves his hand under the cover, placing it on your thigh. The simple touch seems to make you lose all restraint. With one swift movement, you swing yourself to straddle his lap, a sigh of contentment falling from your lips as you feel his warmth radiate beneath you.

“I want you to touch me.”

It’s a simple request, there’s no need to explain or elaborate, really. But Matt’s a cocky motherfucker, a hint of mischief in his eyes as his hands land on your waist, sliding down to your hips.

“Really? How do you want me to touch you?” he asks, licking over his teeth as he stares directly at you. The bulge beneath you is growing hard. You know he wants it too, you know he’s not clueless.

He’s being a damn tease.

A sharp huff pushes through your lips. You plant your hands on his chest, your palms sliding slightly from the soft T-shirt. The heat between your legs is flooding your entire body with warmth, you can feel his hips shifting upwards, readjusting as he squeezes your hips.

“Stop being a tease, Matt.”

The remark slips from your lips as you gently roll your hips, smirking as you watch his eyes flutter shut, his hands grasping tighter on either side of you.

Leaning down, you place your lips on his, caught off guard as one of his hands travel to the back of your neck, tilting your head as he hungrily kisses you. The sensation makes you burn, the pit of your stomach bursting with swarms of butterflies as you feel him guide your hips to grind on his hard length.

“God,” he rasps, pulling away for a quick breath as he stares up at you. The flushed expression on your face is irresistible. Matt takes the opportunity, rolling his hips upwards and watching your mouth fall open as your brows scrunch together.

“Matt.” you breathe, a gasp erupting from the back of your throat as he presses himself up into you harder, his stare becoming intimidating as he watches your reaction—and he’s not disappointed. Your face contorts with pleasure, your eyes glazing over as your lips part with heavy breaths and moans. “Oh my—oh my god.”

A lazy grin spreads on his face. Matt mocks your reaction, cooing as you let out a real moan, his pride beaming as he feels your legs quiver with the pleasure he’s giving you. “Aw, is that feelin’ good, princess?”

It’s more than good—but you don’t have any words to say that. All you’re able to do is nod your head, your hands twisting in his shirt as he continues to grind—no, hump himself against your warm heat.

“Shitttt, you’re so wet,” he purrs, his face scrunching as he feels his stomach tense, “-can—can feel you leakin’, baby. Is it all for me?” he tuts.

Of course it’s for him. He knows it’s for him.

He just wants to hear you say it—or scream it.

“Mhm, yea—yeah.” you stutter, your back arching as he glides his hard length directing against your hole, the sensation of your underwear sticking to you making you even more aware of just how soaked you are.

Matt hums, licking over his lips. “We should take care of that, huh then?” He laughs, watching as you nod dumbly. “Hmmmm, I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. I’m not gonna just tease—I’ll take real good care of you.”

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chrattho1 · 3 months ago

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chris sturniolo smut

little, lacy set

warnings: unprotected sex, established relationship, kinda rough ( just a little ), not proofread.

inspired by this thing that he said.

chris’s posture stiff but he is laid back against the couch, manspreading as he watched you laugh and giggle with nick right in front of him.

that wasn’t the issue at all though, it was the way your pyjamas slid off your waist to your hip bone with every small move your body made, giving him limited view of your dainty, pretty, lacy panties.

his eyes shamelessly drop to where the thin fabric sat on your skin, he gulps taking the sight in.

his mind immediately going places, thoughts invaded by imagination of just how perfect your pussy must look in those. he wonders if you have the whole set on or just the panties, either way he’d like to confirm. he’d like to see you in that little, lacy set.

as nick grows tired and eventually yawns his way out of the living room, leaving chris alone with you. finally- he thinks.

a smirk grows on chris’s face, his eyes darkening as watches you get up from your spot to come sit beside him.

“why’d you come here? go sit all the way there, so far away from me giggling and shit” he stops you mid way, chris’s tone remains serious but his expression gives away the playfulness of his words.

“baby we were in the same room” you justify your actions, your actions of not being in his one meter radius for a small moment.

chris rolls his eyes at you, his body turning to face you now. he stretches his hand forward, tugging one of his fingers in the waistband of your pyjamas, pulling you close in a swift motion, his face right in front of your belly.

he looks up at you with a small smile before nuzzling his face into the exposed skin your crop top gives him access to in front of him. your hands habitually tangle in his hair, as he rubs his nose in your stomach and groans loudly.

“whats the issue?” a small yet prominent frown displayed on your face when he looks up at you with hooded eyes and shakes his head before putting his face back in your tummy.

his hands grip your sides as he continues to groan and pull you closer into his face. you can feel his breath settle when he leaves his mouth open, slowly kissing and sucking on the skin right above your hipbone, right above the waistband of your panties.

you can feel his sharp teeth slowly take the fabric in his mouth, pulling it down just a little, a soft gasp leaves your lips as his mouth leaves sloppy and messy kisses beneath the small piece of cloth he just pulled down.

“you know you’ve been torturing me this whole time?” his words muffled against your soft skin. your grip tightens in his hair.

he looks up at you, his bottom lip jutted out and rested on your skin. his eyes dark with desire.

he moves his hands to the border of pyjamas, pulling them down just enough to give him the full view of your underwear, chris’s lets out a sound-something between a whine and a groan.

his head tilts and he presses his face right on your core, his nose nudging your folds through the lace. his eyes shut as he breaths you in, slowly opening his mouth and pecking your clothed centre. his tongue pokes out with each one of the kisses, he can already feel the wetness seep through the panties onto his taste buds.

your thighs quivering and a shiver runs down your spine with each one of his actions. his hand slowly makes its way up from you hip and roams around the rest of your body. in a fleet motion he swings your body onto the couch, your head flops down with no warning-making you yelp.

“stay quite” his words almost unheard between his hasty moves, one of his his hands grip your hip and the other pulls on your shirt. his kisses get sloppier by the second, your pants pooling around your knees, falling down unnoticed.

he pulls away to quickly get rid of your shirt, your face and hair disheveling in the process.

he props his head to get a good look, you are wearing the whole set.

“fuck.” chris’s mouth slightly agape taking in the sight of you in a lacy lingerie set sprawled out on the couch, he’d seen you in one before but it’ll never have less of an effect on him.

“y’knew what you were doing wearing this huh?” his voice husky, huskier than when he wakes up.

“now you gotta stay quite for me ma, okay?” you nod, your heart racing and breathing ragged.

he settles between your knees, his hands fiddling with his belt and zipper.

the rate at which he is moving shows you just how much he wants you right now, your breathing gets caught in your throat when he successfully pulls down both his pants and boxers in 0.2 seconds.

his hard cock springs free, bobbing around in air before he props himself on one elbow above you, his fingers sliding your panties off to the side, picking up some residue of your wetness in the process.

he aligns himself with your entrance, pushing in at once with a deep thrust, an involuntary whimper passes through his mouth. bottom lip caught between his teeth.

your mouth forms an “o” with the way its open, holding back screams and moans.

“get this off” chris’s eyes land on your bra.

you try your best to unbuckle it in the position you are in right now.

“just—fucking do it!” chris’s hands fly to your bra straps pulling them down as he whisper shouts in your face, his spit landing on your cheek.

once he can see your tits in front-he starts moving, thrusting slowly at first making sure they don’t make too much noise.

the couch creaks and shifts a little as chris increases his pace, your eyes roll back and his hand flies to your mouth.

“you like getting fucked like this huh? like wearing slutty lace for me?” his nose pushing into yours as he moves, thats how close his face is.

“answer me” he looks at you in the eyes, wanting you to nod.

and you do. your face scrunched up in pleasure as he increases the speed of his thrusts, plunging into you with everything in him, not caring about the sounds created by the skin contact.

“god i could fuck you all day…” his eyes drop to the way your tits bounces with every thrust, trailing back to your fucked out features and the lower half of your face that’s covered with his hand, he presses on to your mouth even more feeling his stomach curl at the way your your tight walls take him in every time he bottoms out.

you can feel the pressure building in your lower belly rapidly, he pulls his propped elbow up to wrap your legs around his waist. your eyes shut in pleasure, a deep frown on your face.

“fuck -you feel so good ma, so fucking good” he can feel you clench around him at his words, his eyes fluttering at the sensation.

“gonna cum already? cum for me ma, look at me” breathless words flow out of his mouth, his hips snapping into yours with force.

he can feel you tightly pucker your lips under his palm, holding back the loud screech he knows you let out when you cum.

your legs shake around his torso, and you cum around his dick. head thrown back, back arched and hips bucked.

“fu-fuck fuc-” his voice low as he tries to contain himself, following right behind you with his orgasm and filling you up.

he pants through the last few thrusts to get rid of both of your highs.

“fuck..” he exhales pulling out of you slowly, watching his cum spill over your panties and thighs, making sort of a mess on the couch he shares with his brothers but he could care less about that right now.

he finally pulls his hand off your mouth, and you let out a deep breath from your drool covered mouth, chest heaving.

“i have definitely had a dream about this before” he chuckles softly looking at you in awe.

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skzophreniic · 3 months ago

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Miss Possessive

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 when someone else eyes your man at the Fendi afterparty

featuring: Christopher Bahng x AFAB reader

warnings: suggestive

notes: kinda late but idc lol. inspired by Miss Possessive by Tate McCrae.

The Fendi afterparty was in full swing—golden lights reflecting off champagne glasses, designer-clad elites laughing too loud, music thrumming beneath the conversations of Hollywood’s most coveted faces. It was the kind of place where power hummed in the air, where influence was measured in glances and whispers.

Chris had his arm around your waist, his fingers tracing mindless patterns against the silk of your dress. He was effortlessly charming, flashing that dimpled smile at executives and fellow artists alike, his Australian lilt melting smoothly into conversation. You loved him like this—glowing, confident, in his element.

His eyes light up when he spots somebody in the distance, his grip loosening on your hip.

“Gonna go say hi to someone real quick,” Chris murmured close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Come with me?”

You glanced up at him, catching the excitement in his expression. He lived for moments like this—connecting, networking, floating effortlessly through rooms filled with people who mattered. And you loved seeing him like this, loved knowing how easily he fit into this world.

But right now? You weren’t in the mood to entertain small talk.

“You go ahead,” you said, offering a small smile. “I’ll wait here.”

Chris hesitated for a fraction of a second, his fingers grazing your side like he was debating whether to push. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave your waist one last squeeze before slipping away, weaving through the crowd with an ease that came naturally to him.

You swirled the champagne in your glass, watching from a distance as Chris greeted the man with an easy smile, his shoulders relaxed, his charm effortless. He was always like this at events—engaging, magnetic, impossible to ignore.

And neither was she.

Standing just a little too close to the man Chris was talking to, her arm looped loosely through his, yet her gaze was fixed elsewhere. Fixed on Chris.

You noticed it immediately—the way her lashes fluttered as she watched him, the way her lips curved, not in polite acknowledgment but something softer, something indulgent. She was interested. Not in the man beside her, the one she was presumably here with, but in yours.

The realization settled over you like ice water, sharp and immediate. You’d seen this before—too many times, in too many rooms just like this. Women who thought their status or their beauty somehow made them untouchable, that their interest was a gift, not an intrusion.

She wasn’t even trying to be discreet about it.

You stayed quiet, simply watching, your expression unreadable as Chris continued his conversation, seemingly oblivious. He laughed at something the man said, dimples flashing, and you didn’t miss the way her lips parted slightly, like she was already imagining what it would be like to taste that smile.

Bold.

Your fingers curled around the stem of your glass, the cool surface grounding you. You weren’t the type to make a scene, weren’t the type to claw at Chris’s arm like a warning. Your confidence ran deeper than that.

Chris, as if sensing your gaze, glanced over his shoulder then, his expression softening when he saw you. His eyes lingered, and for a moment, the entire party seemed to fade into background noise.

Then, just as quickly, he was saying his goodbyes, excusing himself from the conversation. You didn’t miss the way she watched him go, her lips pressing together like she was debating something.

Too late.

Chris was already making his way back to you, his attention exactly where it should be. Where it had always been.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low as he slipped an arm around your waist again, reclaiming the space that had never been hers to take.

You let out a quiet hum, lifting your glass to your lips, your gaze flickering past him for only a second—long enough to see her still watching, her expression carefully composed but not nearly careful enough.

Chris followed your gaze, and something in his expression shifted. Understanding dawned, slow and steady, before amusement danced in his eyes. He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head as he turned back to you.

“You know,” he murmured, leaning in so only you could hear, “you don’t have to pretend you’re not annoyed.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Who said I was annoyed?”

Chris grinned, giving your waist a squeeze. “You’ve got that look,” he teased, voice full of knowing. “The one where you’re pretending not to care, but you’re already making up ways to subtly ruin her night.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, finally turning your full attention back to him. “She was looking at you like she wanted to take a bite.”

Chris let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled back just enough to look at you properly. “You do realize that was his wife, right?”

You barely blinked, lifting your glass to your lips. “And?”

Chris grinned. “And maybe she was just being friendly.”

You arched a brow, unimpressed. “Chris. She was practically undressing you with her eyes.”

His dimples flashed as he grinned wider, but before he could say anything, you tilted your head, considering. “Or,” you mused, voice dripping with amusement, “maybe they’re into that sort of thing.”

Chris choked.

You watched with no small amount of satisfaction as a flush crept up his neck, his usual effortless confidence flickering for just a second. “What—” He cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “You think—”

You shrugged, all faux nonchalance. “Wouldn’t be the first time a couple tried to recruit you.”

Chris groaned, tipping his head back dramatically. “Jesus. Don’t remind me.”

You smirked behind your champagne glass, watching as he rubbed a hand down his face like he was trying to physically erase the memory.

“What was it that one guy said to you? Something about how he and his girl would ‘love to explore your energy’?”

Chris visibly shuddered. “I am begging you to never repeat that sentence again.”

You laughed, letting your fingers trail along the nape of his neck. His skin was warm, the heat creeping up from his collar, and you couldn’t resist the way he reacted to you, how easy it was to pull him in when you wanted to.

You glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of her again. She was still watching—her gaze dipping once more, as if mapping out his body, as if picturing all the ways she might get closer. Bold, but ultimately useless.

Chris was already here, with you.

You decided to prove the point.

With deliberate slowness, you let your hand slide lower, fingers pressing into the small of his back as you leaned into him, your lips grazing just beneath his ear.

“You know,” you murmured, voice soft enough that only he could hear, “if I was annoyed, I’d have a much better way of handling it than ruining her night.”

Chris inhaled sharply, and you felt the way his body tensed under your touch. His grip flexed on your waist before settling firm, almost possessive. “Yeah?” he muttered, voice lower now, rougher.

You let your lips brush the edge of his jaw, just for a second, just enough. “Mmhmm.”

Chris exhaled slowly, his hand shifting—sliding down, fingers pressing into your hip in a way that felt like both a warning and a plea

His fingers dug into your hip, just enough to make his point. “Careful,” he murmured, voice rough at the edges. “You keep this up, and we’re leaving this party early.”

You smirked, entirely unbothered by the threat. “What a shame that would be,” you mused, dragging your fingers just barely under the hem of his blazer. “Missing out on all this networking.”

Chris exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip flexing again—like he was reminding himself where you were, who was watching. But his eyes darkened, and you knew he wasn’t entirely in control of himself anymore.

You had him.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his fingers slid just a little lower, his palm pressing flush against the curve of your hip. His body shifted, subtly angling you away from the rest of the room, from prying eyes, but you caught it—the way she was still watching, her expression unreadable, her lips pressed into a careful line.

You smiled. Slow. Sweet. Possessive in a way that didn’t require theatrics.

And then, just to seal it, you leaned up, brushing your lips against the shell of Chris’s ear, making damn sure she saw the way he shivered.

“Baby,” he muttered, like a warning, like a plea.

You pressed your smile against his jaw. “Mmhmm?”

Chris exhaled through his nose again, steadying himself, and when he finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes burned. His amusement was still there, but now it was tinged with something else, something hotter.

“I’m getting you another drink,” he said, his voice low, steady. But his fingers lingered on your waist, like he didn’t actually want to step away.

You tilted your head, gaze steady. “I don’t need another drink.”

Chris huffed out something that was almost a laugh, but his fingers flexed against your waist like he was hanging onto his last shred of composure. His jaw tightened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and then he shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“No,” he said, voice rough. “You definitely do.”

You arched a brow, lips twitching. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Chris ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose as he took another step away. “Because,” he said, voice rougher than before, “if I stand here for one more second, I’m gonna forget we’re at a party.”

You smirked, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way he practically forced himself to step back. He needed the space—needed to pull himself together, to break the spell you’d so effortlessly cast over him.

Chris was disciplined, always the one in control, always the level-headed leader who could charm his way through any situation. But right now? Right now, his composure was cracking at the edges, and you loved knowing you were the reason why.

He cleared his throat, dragging a hand down his face before glancing toward the bar like it was some kind of lifeline. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered, already turning.

You didn’t stop him. You didn’t need to. Because the second he put even a step of distance between you, he hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before shaking his head, like he was trying to clear you from his system.

You didn’t look away.

Not at first.

No, you let her stare, let her sit with it, let her marinate in the realization that whatever fleeting fantasy she’d entertained—whatever sliver of hope she’d foolishly clung to—had never stood a chance. Because this? This wasn’t a maybe. This wasn’t an opening.

Chris had already made his choice.

So you lifted your glass that Chris had just handed you, slow and deliberate, meeting her gaze with something just a touch too sweet, just a shade too knowing. And then—because you could—you raised it in a silent toast.

A petty, razor-sharp little acknowledgment.

I see you.

Her expression barely flickered, but you caught it—the subtle shift, the way her fingers curled slightly at her side, the way her lips pressed together in something that wasn’t quite a smile. She didn’t like being caught. Didn’t like that you knew exactly what she had been thinking.

Didn’t like that she had lost before she’d even started.

You took a slow sip of your champagne, savoring the moment, before finally, lazily, turning your attention away. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? She didn’t matter enough to keep looking at.

Chris did.

And Chris? He was watching the entire thing unfold, his gaze flicking between the two of you, amusement flickering beneath something darker.

"You’re insufferable," he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear.

You tilted your head, all innocence. "What ever do you mean?"

Chris let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, but you saw the way his fingers flexed around the glass in his hand, saw the way his jaw tightened as he leaned in, voice just for you.

"That was mean."

You shrugged, unfazed. "That was mercy."

Chris huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but the way his fingers curled around your waist said he wasn’t entirely unaffected. His grip was firm—just shy of possessive, like he needed to ground himself in your presence, like he needed to remind himself that no amount of fleeting attention from anyone else could touch what was his.

"You’re a piece of work, you know that?" he murmured, eyes still dancing with amusement.

You smiled, slow and sweet. "And yet, here you are."

Chris exhaled sharply through his nose, his dimples flashing as he tipped his glass to his lips. "Yeah," he admitted, voice low, warm. "Here I am."

And that was it, wasn’t it?

You didn’t need to stake your claim, didn’t need to sink your claws into him in some desperate display of ownership. Because Chris wasn’t looking at anyone else. He wasn’t thinking about anyone else.

And the way his hand slid lower, fingers pressing into the small of your back like he couldn’t help himself? The way his eyes softened, darkened, like you were the only thing keeping him tethered in a room full of noise and flashing lights?

That said everything.

So you let the moment settle between you, let the warmth of the champagne hum through your veins as Chris traced absentminded circles against your hip, his fingers slow, lazy.

His hand slid lower, a warning, a promise, before he took a slow step back, eyes still locked onto yours. "We should go," he murmured, voice rough. "Before I forget how to behave."

You hummed, pretending to consider it, even as your body leaned into his touch like it already knew the answer. “That bad, huh?”

Chris let out a low chuckle, his fingers tightening against your waist, his breath fanning warm against your cheek as he dipped closer—just close enough to make your pulse stutter. “You have no idea.”

You knew exactly what was running through his head, how tightly he was holding the last threads of his composure, how close he was to losing the game he always played so well.

So you tipped your chin up, gaze steady, letting your lips just barely graze his jaw as you murmured, “Then what are we still doing here?”

Chris exhaled sharply, like he was physically restraining himself, before shaking his head with a breathy laugh. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, already slipping his hand into yours, already leading you through the crowd with a singular purpose.

You let him. You followed, matching his pace, feeling the heat of his palm against yours, feeling the weight of his gaze every time he glanced down at you like he was already thinking ten steps ahead.

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hyunjiiza · 6 months ago

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゛ノchanging your name in their phone

【babe (?)】 𖨂 when you change “ babe” to “ slut” in their phone! except you change every pet name in their phone .. .ᐟ 𝒾.𝒸 ꕀ10/10゛𝓍 fem! reader ⢄𝓅𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 ᛝ ot8 ! cw | cursing, derogatory terms, loser bfs ᝰ library

ꕀ iza’s note ❥ | this was a little silly, request more smau ideas or i’m gonna growl i get so stumped so i never post them ! ignore the mistake in chans im sleepy it’s six in the morning and i haven’t slept .. also yes i can say the f word

ᛝ tag ᢉ𐭩 | @cosmicalily @zelinkcrossing @hyunjiluvs @nxtt2-u @pixie-felix @pigeonseatmayo @0omillo0 @yaniluvs | @hyunjiiza 1-8 𐔌 ༝༚ ‎𐦯

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wolfchans · 5 months ago

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freshlovefein · 3 months ago

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`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ RAPPER!CHRIS X MODEL!READER TEXTS

part one. part two. PART THREE.

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irlsiths · 9 months ago

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TEXTS WITH FLIRTYBSF!CHRIS

(he has a crush on you)

suggestive content!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ

#eclipsiolos #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #texts #chris sturniolo texts #smut

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saintormentor · 2 days ago

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p u s s y t r a i n i n g c . s

i n w h i c h . . . chris comes home frustrated, and the only thing on his mind is fucking the anger away.

w a r n i n g s . . . smut, p in v, fem receiving oral, male receiving oral, pressuring, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, gagging, crying, creampie, aftercare, pussy spanking, rough language and handling, derogatory language (slut, whore, etc.)

it was unusual for chris to be annoyed with you, let alone be annoyed by your sounds. it was long day. it was clear in the sharp set of his jaw, the stubble decorating his cheekbones, and mostly the way his fingers twitched. oh, not to mention he nearly slammed the apartment door off its hinges. he was itching to take his anger out on something, and you sitting there all pretty drew in his attention.

it made your stomach turn—not with fear, but with a kind of electricity. because even though chris was quiet when he was angry, there was a weight to it. a pressure. like the air shifted. like your body instinctively braced, not because you thought he’d hurt you, but because you knew exactly what he needed.

he didn’t say hi when he walked in. didn’t kiss you like he usually did. just kicked his shoes off with a grunt and tossed his keys onto the counter so hard they skidded. his chest was rising fast. he paced once, twice, before his eyes cut to you on the couch like you were the one thing in the room still breathing too calmly.

you blinked up at him, lips parted, legs tucked underneath you, the blanket slipping off your shoulder.

“gonna look at m’like that?” his voice was low. rough. dangerous in a way that made heat pool in your stomach.

you swallowed. “like what?”

his jaw ticked. “like you want me to fuck y’dumb.”

your breath caught.

then—like a switch—he was walking toward you, slow but certain. a shadow of something wild in his eyes.

you didn’t move. couldn’t. didn’t want to.

“long fuckin’ day,” he muttered, stopping just in front of you. his hand slid into your hair, gentle for half a second before gripping tighter. “and you’re sittin’ here making those little sounds like you don’t know what that does to me.”

your thighs clenched. “i didn’t mean—”

“yeah, you did,” he snapped. but not angry with you. angry at everything else. and needing you to fix it.

he pushed the blanket off you fully, let his eyes drag over your bare legs, the tank top you wore without a bra, the softness of your skin. he exhaled like it hurt to hold back.

“you just gonna sit there,” he whispered, “or you gonna help me feel better?”

you bit your lip, heart pounding. “what do you want me to do?”

his answer was immediate. raw.

“get on y’knees.”

and you did—slowly, letting him see the way you obeyed, the way you ached to be good for him. he watched you, his hands fisting at his sides, chest heaving. his hoodie fell to the floor. the zipper hit the tile. his belt followed.

he stepped closer. tilted your chin up with two fingers. “open your mouth,” he breathed.

he paused his movements, brushing his thumb against your lips, which instinctively wrapped around it. “fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

you stayed still, let him press his thumb deeper until it brushed the back of your throat, until tears pricked in your lashes and your thighs rubbed together because the helplessness—the need—was already simmering through you.

then, finally, he undid his jeans.

you heard the clink of the buckle, the sharp hiss of fabric dragged down fast. his cock was already hard, flushed at the tip, and when he wrapped one hand around the base and stroked, just once, you could see the tension ripple down his forearm like he was barely holding it together.

“gonna let me use your mouth, baby?” he rasped, voice darker now. “i don’t even wanna think about today.”

you nodded, breath shaky, lips parting again.

he didn’t ask again. didn’t hesitate.

the first thrust was shallow—just the head, just enough to feel your lips wrap tight around him, to hear the wet click of spit when he pulled back. but the second? deeper. his hand cradled the back of your head and he fed it to you inch by inch, slow and deliberate. punishing in its control.

“that’s it,” he grunted, watching your eyes. “take it. open up for me.”

you hollowed your cheeks, let him slide deeper, let your tongue flatten underneath. he groaned, low and guttural, head tipping back for a split second before he looked down again, eyes locked on yours.

your hands gripped his thighs for balance, fingers digging into the denim around his knees. spit was already beginning to drip down your chin, and he fucking loved it—his hips rolled forward, just once, deeper than before, until you gagged around him.

“fuck, baby—just like that. let me use you.”

he didn’t stop.

he fucked your mouth like he needed it. like it was therapy. rough, rhythmic thrusts that made your eyes tear up and your core ache with every single pass of his cock over your tongue. you could hear yourself—wet, obscene sounds filling the quiet apartment along with his ragged breath and the muttered curses he kept spitting through clenched teeth.

“such a pretty little mouth. made to suck cock, huh?” he groaned.

you whimpered around him—both from the intensity and the way your thighs were soaked now, squirming for relief. and he noticed.

he pulled back suddenly, letting his cock slide free with a thick, wet sound. a string of spit stayed connected between you, and he wiped it away with his thumb, smearing it across your bottom lip like it was something holy.

you were gasping, flushed, mouth swollen. and still so fucking needy.

“get on the couch,” he said. “spread your legs. i’m not done with you.”

you scrambled back onto the couch, heart racing, legs shaking a little as you reclined against the cushions. chris’s eyes never left you—dark and glassy, like he was barely hanging on.

you pulled your tank top off first. no bra. his gaze dragged over your chest, the way your nipples were already hard from how wrecked he’d gotten you with just his voice and the weight of him in your mouth. he looked possessed.

“shorts too,” he muttered. “now.”

you shimmied them down, no underwear beneath. he groaned when he saw the slick mess between your thighs—your folds glistening, the soft little quiver in your thighs as they spread wider, like your body was begging for him.

“jesus christ,” he whispered, dragging a hand down his face before climbing between your legs on the couch. “you dripping for me already, baby? all that from sucking my cock?”

you nodded, breathless. “please—chris, i need—”

but you didn’t get to finish. because his mouth was on you.

no teasing. no warning. he dove in like he was starved, tongue dragging a thick stripe up your slit before his lips closed around your clit and sucked hard enough to make your whole body jolt. your back arched off the couch, a desperate cry ripping from your throat as your fingers shot into his hair, holding on.

he groaned into you—deep and filthy—as he licked, sucked, devoured you like he was mad about it. like tasting you was the only thing anchoring him after a shit day. and when he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, your thighs snapped around his head like instinct.

“fuck—chris, please—”

“shut up.” he didn’t stop. didn’t even slow. his fingers fucked into you fast and deep while his tongue circled your clit in tight, hungry patterns. you could hear the slick sounds between your legs, feel the obscene heat building in your gut, your whole body trembling under the force of it.

you were gonna come. and he knew it.

he pulled back just enough to speak—his mouth shiny, chin wet, voice low and raw.

“you gonna come for me, baby? on my fuckin’ face?”

“yes,” you gasped. “yes, chris—please, i’m gonna—”

“then fuckin’ come.”

and you did. hard.

your legs locked around his head, your body convulsing with it, loud and desperate and messy as everything cracked open inside you. he didn’t stop until you were twitching, whimpering, pulling at his hair to make him stop because it was too much.

but even then—he didn’t give you a break.

he climbed up your body, still hard, still leaking. lined himself up and looked at you like he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“you want me to fuck you now?” he rasped.

you nodded, dazed, soaked, spent but aching for more. “please.”

and then he was inside you.

no condom. no pause. just a deep, brutal thrust that had your eyes rolling back as he buried himself to the hilt. you felt everything—the way he stretched you open, the way he filled you so completely you could hardly breathe.

he started to move—deep and punishing, slow at first just to watch the way your face crumpled, then faster, rougher, fucking you like he owned you.

“tight as ever,” he growled into your ear. “so fucking wet. you needed this, whore? needed me to fuck it outta you?”

“uh- uh huh.” you whimpered, a little too loud for comfort.

“too loud,” he cooed, voice laced with mock sympathy as his hips drove into you again, deeper this time. “be a little quieter.”

and sure, you tried.

and sure, you failed. miserably.

because how could you be quiet when he was fucking you like this? when your back was arched, legs hooked over his shoulders, his cock slamming into you so perfectly, so brutally, that your vision blurred? every stroke knocked another breath out of your lungs, dragged another sound from your throat—whimpers, gasps, cries that bordered on sobs.

“mm-mm,” he tutted, not slowing at all. his hand slid up your throat, not choking but holding, thumb pressing just beneath your jaw as your head lolled back. “you don’t listen. always so fuckin’ loud when i tell you to be good.”

your mouth hung open, but no words came—just a broken little moan as he shifted his angle and hit something dangerous inside you. your nails clawed at the cushions, your hips twitching against his grip.

“what’s that?” he whispered, leaning closer so his lips brushed your ear. “gonna come again?”

you nodded frantically, body trembling, throat too tight to speak.

“huh. ‘course you are.” he gave a sharp thrust that made you cry out again. “can��t even help yourself, can you? so fuckin’ needy. you like this? getting ruined on my cock while you make all those pretty little sounds?”

you sobbed out a yes, not even caring how pathetic you sounded. you were gone—fucked dumb, so deep in it your body barely felt like your own.

his grip tightened around your throat.

“come then,” he growled. “and keep your eyes on me while you do it.”

and somehow, somehow, you managed it—staring up at him with tears on your lashes and his name breaking on your lips as your whole body shattered beneath him. your muscles clamped around his cock, spasming hard, your moans spilling out no matter how hard you tried to bite them back.

and he loved it.

because a second later, he was losing it too—hips stuttering, a filthy groan dragged from his chest as he spilled into you, deep and hot, holding you open with both hands as he came with a force that left him trembling.

he stayed there for a moment, still inside you, breath hot against your cheek.

“you really don’t know how to shut up,” he murmured, smirking against your jaw. “guess i’ll just have to keep fuckin’ you ‘til you learn.”

you took in deep breaths, trying to blink the stars from your vision, your body still twitching from the aftershocks. every nerve felt like it was on fire. every breath tasted like chris.

but just when you thought you’d come down from your high—

smack.

a hard slap landed square against your already soaked, overstimulated pussy. the sound echoed off the walls, sharp and wet, and your whole body jolted with a strangled cry.

“fuck!—chris—” you gasped, hips twitching away instinctively, only for his arm to hook around your thigh and yank you right back where he wanted you.

“mm-mm, shhh,” he hummed, low and dangerous as he knelt between your legs, his voice thick with post-orgasm haze but laced with something hungrier now. “gotta train this pussy to be quiet.”

he ran two fingers through your folds—slow, almost gentle—and you whimpered at the contact. you were so sensitive you couldn’t think straight. he watched your hips jerk, your thighs tremble, and his grin deepened.

“look at this messy little cunt,” he muttered, dragging your arousal—his cum—down to your clit, circling it until your back arched off the couch again. “still so fuckin’ wet. still leaking for me.”

“chris—too much, i can’t—”

“you can,” he said calmly. “and you will.”

and then his mouth was back on you.

no mercy. no patience. just relentless, obscene suction on your clit while two fingers curled deep inside you again, stretching your swollen walls and dragging moans from your lips that you couldn’t even begin to hold back.

you thrashed, breath catching, tears slipping down your cheeks from how intense it was—your thighs trying to close, your hands scrambling for something to grip, something to ground you.

but he held you open. forced you to take it.

“you said you’d be good,” he growled against your skin. “so fucking be good.”

your body betrayed you. despite the overstimulation, despite the ache—your orgasm was already building again, terrifying in its speed, the pressure crushing.

“no—chris, i’m gonna—i can’t—please—”

“shut up. yes. yes you can,” he snapped, rubbing hard circles over your clit while his fingers fucked you fast and deep and relentlessly. “you’re gonna come for me again. right now.”

and you did.

you came harder than before—louder, wetter, your entire body locking up as a gush of release flooded his hand and the couch cushions below. you sobbed through it, shaking uncontrollably, legs twitching as he kept going just a second longer, milking it out of you, letting you writhe and cry and fall completely apart.

only then—only then—did he slow, pulling his fingers out, slick and glistening, before sucking them clean with a low, satisfied hum.

he leaned over you, gaze molten, his voice barely above a whisper.

“that,” he breathed, “was for making all those sounds.”

your whole body was trembling, soaked and flushed, your chest rising in frantic little pants as you tried to ground yourself—but chris wasn’t done.

not even close.

you barely had time to blink before he grabbed you by the hips and flipped you over—face pressed into the cushions, ass up, legs spread wide.

“look at this mess,” he muttered, dragging his fingers down your slick folds again, letting your wetness drip down your thighs. “you’re fucking dripping. ruined my couch already.”

you whined into the cushion, heat blooming in your cheeks at how wrecked you were, at the way your body was betraying you—still aching, still needy.

he gave your pussy another hard slap.

smack.

“quiet. stay just like that,” he growled. “don’t fuckin’ move.”

you nodded, barely managing a broken little yes before the blunt head of his cock was back at your entrance. he didn’t ease in this time—he slammed into you, hard and deep, making you cry out into the pillow, your body jolting forward from the sheer force of it.

“fuck, yes,” he groaned, gripping your hips so tight you knew there’d be bruises tomorrow. “this pussy’s never felt so good. all wet and twitchy for me. greedy fuckin’ thing.”

you couldn’t speak. you could only moan, every sharp thrust driving you higher again, overstimulation and desire colliding until you felt like you might explode.

he leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, one hand coming up to fist in your hair and yank your head back, forcing you to arch.

“you like getting fucked like this?” he rasped against your ear. “like a little toy? used until you can’t think?”

you whimpered—yes, a thousand times yes—but all that came out was a gasping, wrecked little moan.

“that’s what i thought,” he muttered, pounding into you harder. faster. the couch creaked beneath you, the wet sounds between your bodies obscene. “you’re fucking perfect. made for this. made for me.”

he reached around, fingers finding your clit again, and you screamed—your whole body jerking, pleasure sparking up your spine like lightning.

“no, no—chris, i can’t—”

“shhh. it’s okay. you can,” he growled. “one more. give me one more.”

you were sobbing into the cushions, eyes rolling back as your body spiraled out of control. every nerve was on fire, every part of you begging for relief. he rubbed tight, relentless circles over your clit while his cock pistoned into you, deeper and harder and faster.

“come on, baby,” he grunted. “be a good fuckin’ girl. come for me.”

and you did.

your orgasm hit like a fucking bomb—your body clenching around him so hard he shouted, thick ropes of cum spilling into you as he fucked you through it, your legs trembling, your voice hoarse from screaming his name.

he collapsed over you, still buried deep, breath ragged against your neck.

your bodies were a mess of sweat, slick, and sex—his cum leaking down your thighs, your skin sticky with heat and every inch of you raw from how good it felt.

you stayed like that, both of you catching your breath.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

not because you didn’t want to—but because you couldn’t.

your body was limp, twitching with the last echoes of your orgasm, and chris’s weight on top of you was grounding in a way that made your heart ache. your breath came in short, shaky bursts, your cheek pressed into the cushion, legs splayed open, thighs sticky with slick and cum and sweat.

then, slowly, he softened inside you and let out a quiet, exhausted breath.

you felt him press a gentle kiss to your shoulder blade. another to your spine. then he whispered, “you okay?”

your throat was dry, but you nodded. “mmhmm.”

he was already moving—slipping out of you carefully, fingers brushing down your sides like he didn’t want to let go just yet. he helped you shift, cradling you gently into your back as your body trembled, and when he looked at you, the cocky edge was gone.

now, it was just him.

your chris.

the one who made sure you were breathing. who checked your pulse. who brushed the hair from your damp forehead with the back of his hand and kissed your temple like it was the only thing keeping him calm.

“too much?” he asked softly, voice thick with something real now—guilt, maybe. or just love.

you shook your head, curling into him.

he exhaled like he needed to hear that. then he stood, only for a second, disappearing into the bathroom. you heard the faucet run, the sound of a towel being soaked, rung out. he came back and knelt beside the couch, warm washcloth in hand.

“spread for me,” he said, but this time, there was no demand. no teasing.

you did, cheeks flushed, and he cleaned you gently—every swipe careful, reverent. he wiped away the mess between your thighs, his cum dripping down your skin, and kissed your knee once he was done.

“you’re so good,” he murmured. “such a sweet girl.”

you smiled, hazy and warm, and reached for him. he wrapped you up in his arms, pulling the blanket over both of you, burying his face in your neck like he wanted to disappear into your skin.

“sorry i came in all pissed n’ shit,” he said after a minute. “you didn’t deserve that.”

you carded your fingers through his messy hair. “you didn’t take it out on me. you let me take it from you.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you.

and then he kissed you—soft, slow, open-mouthed. nothing hungry now. just grateful.

“you always do,” he whispered.

“i always will,” you promised. he held you tighter.

he couldn’t even remember why he was mad earlier.

a / n . . . if this flops theres no point to live on