#doing up to now - everything is still for Chris and not for himself around the Shannon of it all

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Something something about Eddie needing not to let Shannon go but learn to live with her ghost and accept that she will always be a part of his life.

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖫𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖱𝖾𝖽' ༄࿔ 𝖡.𝖢.

⤷ Size Kink | Stomach Bulge | Teratophilia (Wolf-Hybrid)

♱ word count: 1.8k

♱ warnings: fem!reader, Red Riding Hood reader x Wolf Hybrid Chan, I never specify body type but this has stomach bulge & Chris is described to be bigger than the reader so read at ur own discretion, size kink, teratophilia, knotting, kinda corruption?, bribery/coercing, lowkey kinda mean chris (everyone act surprised. Sian wrote mean dom), rough sex + big dick chris with no mentions of prep, biting, public sex? Its in a forest but nobody is around, 1 use of “good girl’

sorta proofread

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

“Tsk tsk tsk… You should know better than to be this far out in the woods, Red. You know this is my territory.”

“C-Chris! Listen… I’m really sorry but I need that plant over there. Grandma isn’t doing well and the only remedy that will help needs just a few of those flowers…” The tall man looks over his shoulder, eyeing the purple-colored flowers that you had pointed out.

“Hm… Okay, you can have a few.” The bright smile that grew on your face was almost enough to let you take it for free. Almost.

“Thank-” “On one condition.” 

“C’mon, sweet girl. You know I don’t do things for free~” His rough fingers stroked your cheek and he couldn’t help but grin as your smile dropped. The canines that peeked out from behind his plump lips were enough to bring you back to reality and remind you that he was in fact still a wolf hybrid and not so much your “friendly” neighbor.

“What exactly do you want…?” His grin seemed to get wider before he took his bottom lip between his teeth. A predatory glint took over his eyes as he slowly looked you up and down.

“I have something in mind…”

“Open the fuck up.”

His growl rumbles from deep within his chest and he thrusts his hips forward aggressively, causing you to cry out. Your thighs ache from the action, along with your swollen pussy thanks to the big dick that was currently tearing your insides up. You lost count after the first 5 inches, and now the seemingly never-ending length was quickly becoming too much for you.

He knew this all too well. But that didn’t stop him from forcing you and your little human body to take every last inch of his thick cock inside of you.

“C’mon Little Red, you can take it. You need to, remember?” He chuckles and pushes your thighs further apart. “You need those pretty little flowers, so you need to take my fucking cock.” His smile drops at the end of the sentence and he pulls out just to roughly thrust back inside. You moan out in surprise and his fingers dig further into your thighs, leaving crescent-shaped divots in your skin. 

“P-Please…” He clicks his tongue and leans forward more, shoving his face into your neck with another growl. With this, he manages to push another inch or two into your puffy hole, but your mind is so foggy that you don’t even notice it right away. The feeling of him breaching your walls so aggressively, all while he growls and huffs about how he needs to be all the way in for it to “count as payment” makes your head spin.

Even more so as a sob rips from your throat when he finally bottoms out. Your jaw drops and you squeal as his hips grind against yours, causing him to feel deeper all while he rubs against your G-Spot so perfectly. He throws his head back at the feeling of you completely wrapped around him and groans deeply when you clench subconsciously.

“There we go~ Good job, baby.” He licks a stripe up your neck before placing kisses all over it, letting you take a few seconds to breathe. He wasn’t that much of a brute- he did still care for you after all. Plus, what good is a new toy if you break it so early on!? So he takes a few seconds to himself, backing away and fixing his posture, allowing him to get a good look at you. And God do you look exquisite.

He licks his lips and looks over your body multiple times, doing everything in his power to burn this image of you into his head. He starts with your pretty lips, swollen and shiny with drool, and then your flushed cheeks that are wet from the fat tears that fall down them.

His eyes glance at your arms, smiling to himself at the army of goosebumps that have littered your skin as your body shakes deliciously with what he can’t decipher if it’s pleasure or pain. Your chest catches his eyes next; the way it heaves with each breath you take makes his chest swell with pride. But the thing that took the most of his attention, was the not-so-little bump on your tummy.

His lips were slightly parted and his breath was quickening as he lightly traced the outline of his dick. It’s at this point that he realizes just how large and wide he is compared to you. He’s always noticed- it’s quite hard not to. But when he has you like this, below him and completely at his mercy, he finally realizes just how much bigger he is. The sun only urges him further, casting a giant shadow over you that completely covers you and some of the ground you lay upon.

It makes his instincts go absolutely crazy and he can’t hold himself back from experimentally thrusting, moving at an angle that makes the bulge more prominent. The squeak you let out causes his eyes to flicker back up to your face, essentially snapping him out of the daze he was in. And when he meets your confused face looking up at him, he realizes how long he has been staring.

“Haha… Take a look at this, baby.” He wipes some of your tears and tilts your chin to help you look down. The desperate moan you let out sends his ego to the moon, causing him to twitch against your walls. He huffs out a laugh in disbelief and begins to move his hips, thrusting into you slowly yet roughly.

“I’m so deep… You feel that, baby?” His hand moves from your thigh and pushes down on your lower stomach, right on top of where the bulge popped out each time he bottomed out. “Fffuck.. ‘S my fat cock in your tummy?”

“God- Fuck, shut up Chris-” You clench tightly at his words despite your words and he ignores you in favor of picking up his pace, groaning when your walls flutter around him even more.

“You feel so fucking good. It’s almost like this pretty pussy was meant for me.” You swear you almost see his eyes roll into the back of his head, but he immediately brings your attention away by folding you in half. Pushing your knees to your chest and letting your ass hang in the air as he completely hovers over you, fucking into you with carnal need.

This new position makes you see stars and he uses it to his advantage, pounding into you and not allowing you time to think straight. He chases this brutal pace until your legs begin to ache, the pain of it overpowering the pleasure and making you hurriedly tap on his shoulder and push him back, “Fuck, wait- my legs.”

He huffs in annoyance but responds immediately, sitting up straight and allowing your legs to fall to his sides. His hips continue to thrust shallowly as you breathe deeply and try to rub the ache away, but this break doesn’t last long. You owe him payment, and he wants it now.

So he pulls out, opting to quickly flip you onto your knees and push your chest into the ground. You’re given no time to object before he’s shoving his entire length back inside with a groan. Your body shakes at the feeling of being absolutely filled to the brim. The back of your throat even itches as if his tip was poking it. And god, did it genuinely feel like that.

It’s not hard for him to find his previous pace, especially now that you’re seemingly more pliant for him. The only disobedient action from you is your cries for him to slow down, but he has no plans to. Not when you look absolutely ruined below him.

He shushes you and leans forward, holding you down with his chest against your back as he continues to fuck you as if his life depends on it.

“Shhhhh… It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re gonna be good and take it right? You're gonna let the big bad wolf fuck your brains out? Yea?” Your fingers dig into the ground and you nod as best as you can with your cheek shoved against the floor.

He’s unhappy with the silent answer and bares his teeth, sinking them into your shoulder with a growl to “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes! Please, Chris!”

“Goood girl. Just sit there and take this fucking dick. Let Wolfy use you like the good chew toy you are.” The new name makes you clench tightly around him and he groans as you cum, causing the squelching noises to become even louder. He moans and nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving small kisses before he chomps down again.

The overstimulation is starting to hit and you cry out, desperately pushing against the ground in hopes of pushing your torso up and off the floor. But that’s not what good toys do. So he growls against your neck and pushes you down, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to keep you in place as he fixes his posture.

“No. You’re gonna sit still. Good toys don’t fucking move. I can’t knot you if you’re misbehaving.” As if to prove his point, his other hand digs into your waist, holding you even more still as he rams into you.

Thanks to his thick tip incessantly knocking into your cervix, you don’t process what he says right away. At least, not until you feel an extra mass pushing against your swollen folds. “W-Wait, your knot?!?”

You hear his earrings jingle as he tilts his head and you can almost hear the shit-eating grin on his face as he mocks you. “Yes, my knot. You’re gonna take it inside of this tight. little. cunt. And you’re going to take every last drop of my cum.” You go to disagree but your body reacts on its own, clenching around him and trying to suck him in impossibly deeper.

“F-Fuck- feels like you do like that idea, baby.” He grits his teeth and starts to focus on sharp thrusts. Once his knot finally breaches your hole, you sob into your arm and bite into it to hold back a scream.

He whines and grinds into you, rubbing against your G-spot roughly as he pushes himself over the edge. You can feel his breath on your neck, heavy and heaving as he pumps you full of his seed. His body shakes with each spurt of cum he releases, and the overwhelming movements are enough to push you over the edge again; the needy grinding from him mixed with the mind-numbing feeling of being overfilled, yet forced to hold every last bit, pushing you towards another orgasm.

“Mmmm… Hold it there, yeah? Keep my pups nice and safe in their new home, and I’ll let you take as many plants as you want. Deal, Little Red?”

Taglists: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

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@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess

[sturnsrecord]

────── ⌗ DON’T TALK ABOUT IT. chris sturniolo

bsf!chris x reader ꒰ 3.6k words

after drunkenly hooking up you make an agreement to never speak of it again, but that doesn’t seem to stop either of you from thinking about it.

⌇ contains. mentions of sex under the influence, making out, eating pussy, unprotected sex

it was all a blur. from the party, to the after party at his house to then his room.

how you’d gotten down there was beyond you. did you start upstairs and move down? or had one of you lured the other into the secluded room? 

god knows.

all you know is you’d woken up in his bed, eyes barely able to open as you took in your surroundings — and the naked man beside you.

at first you were completely frozen in shock, unable to comprehend a thing. but as your conscience began to return, so did the memories of the night before.

the way you’d kissed him whilst giggling about how you ‘shouldn’t be doing this’. the fact not stopping you from undressing him as he repeated the same thing back — only to kiss you with so much fever that the words lost all meaning.

it was a mess in your head from there, you remember the feeling of the sheets under you as you rolled around — and the fact that he’d made it his mission to touch every inch of your body with his mouth.

you remember sloppily sucking his cock, probably not to the best of your ability. but he had been too far gone to care, whimpering and whining at any and all touch.

there was no clear outline of what you’d done, or in what positions. but the fact you were both butt naked was enough to know you’d probably hit all the bases.

you snap out of your thoughts, the thoughtful frown lifting from your face as you watched chris groan — rolling over slightly before propping himself up with his elbow.

he was turned away from you, rubbing his eyes as he slowly woke up. “morning.” you mutter, voice slightly croaky in your dead pan tone.

his head immediately flips to you, eyebrows raising as he realises everything. “oh fuck.” he murmurs, his voice raspy.

“mmh, yeah.” you nod, holding the duvet up to cover your chest — the both of you completely spacing out in silence.

“do you… remember, anythin’?” he mumbles, his voice still groggy as his eyes never leave the spot they’d been staring at. you shake your head in response — also staring out. “not much.” you murmur.

he nods at that, finally snapping out of it a little as he sat up and ran his hands over his face. a small groan following. one that was either about the situation, or the hangover he was already feeling.

“did we uh…” he scratches the slight stubble on his jaw, his eyes fleeting over to yours. “have sex?” you question, giving him a look. “i think it’s pretty evident—“

he nods along, closing his eyes momentarily before interrupting you. “yeah, n-no i got that.” he sighs. “was askin’ if we used a condom.” he finally says.

your eyes go wide for a second, taken back by the question. fuck, you hadn’t even thought of that.

you don’t respond, turning to swing your legs off the bed as you collect a t-shirt from his floor and put it on. he watches as you get up, catching a glimpse of your bare ass.

his breath hitches slightly. was he even allowed to look? technically he’d seen it all right? or did the fact it was all a blur not constitute that he could look at you right now, very much half naked in front of him.

you don’t seem to care, finding your underwear across the room as you step into them. then you continue to search around the somewhat messy room — on the hunt for any sign that you’d used a condom. he shifts under the covers, brushing away the thoughts in his mind as he picked up his boxers from the floor — tugging them on before standing. 

“ok, i’m assuming this is it.” you grimace, looking into the bin to find it. he walks over, looking in and nodding in confirmation.

“well, at least that’s uh… there.” he murmurs awkwardly, trying to find a small silver lining to the situation. you hum, turning on your heel to go back to the bed.

he sighs a little, scratching the back of his head as he makes his way to the bathroom — hesitating as he watches you go on your phone.

“umm-“ he clears his throat a little, your eyes fleeting up to him at the sound of his voice. “we uh, well where do we… stand?” he asks, his eyes jumping away as soon as the words come out.

“oh.” you mumble, unsure how to answer the question. “well… where do you wanna uh, stand?” you ask back, wanting to know his thoughts before revealing your own.

he swallows a little, shrugging. there was an obvious way to go about this, avoidance and lack of recognition of what you’d done.

he felt unsure about suggesting anything else, it felt too vulnerable and potentially detrimental.

“maybe we could just uh, forget about it.” he says, eyes now locked on yours to gauge your reaction.

your lips press together and you find yourself nodding, happy to abide by that and not over complicate everything. “yeah, sounds good. let’s just… not talk about it.” you sigh, eyebrows furrowing together in thought. “ever, y’know.”

his lips purse in the same way yours had, and he's nodding — ignoring the small urge he had to at least talk about what had happened.

but he pays no mind to the feeling, heading into his bathroom to shower.

like you’d agreed, neither of you spoke about it again. you hadn’t told anyone about it and you assumed he hadn’t either, considering the whole ‘forget about it’ thing you had going on.

despite how normal you were both acting about it, you couldn’t deny the small lingering thoughts in your mind — almost trying to remember the events that had occurred.

and you were beginning to think he was doing the same. 

he'd catch your eyes from across the room, and no words needed to be exchanged for you to know what he was thinking. you didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered over your body, almost trying to think about what you’d looked like naked.

neither of you fully remembered what you’d done, and the curiosity was getting the better of you — causing you to try and fill in the gaps.

it was consuming your mind more than you’d like to admit, and you weren’t sure what exactly you were feeling. did you want to do it again? or were you just agitated by the memories you were robbed of?

it was always worst when it was just the two of you alone, the tension cutting through the both of you. small, meaningless conversation filled with intense eye contact.

it was times like these where you forgot how to act normal, the hook up becoming a crushing weight on your friendship.

stood against the counter, holding a glazed donut as he came in to get a drink. you were mid conversation with nick, chris not waiting a second to join in as he sipped on the can of pepsi.

the conversation was fine, nick carrying the bulk of it as you occasionally exchanged glances with chris — sensing the daunting tension between you.

and it only got worse as nick left, immediate silence casting between you and chris. an awkward one, as he sipped his pepsi and you ate your donut.

you were completely and utterly lost on what to say, all abilities to speak to him now out of the window. and the worst part was, there was absolutely no reassurance in the fact that he was clearly feeling the same way.

the both of you stuck, neither of you daring to try to come up with something to say. but then he does, your heart practically jumping out of your chest as his voice pierces through the silence.

“could i uh-“ he clears his throat, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “have one?” he asks, motioning over to the box of glazed donuts beside you.

“oh, yeah- um… here.” your motions are slightly off as you quickly grab the box, holding it out for him — mentally slapping yourself for how incredibly awkward you were being right now.

he nods a little, taking one out before walking over to the microwave. you frown a little, watching him as you continue to eat your own.

he stands against the counter, the only sound coming from the microwave as you finish off the donut you’d been eating. you hop onto the counter in the hopes of being more normal, swallowing your mouthful before deciding to just rip the bandaid off and speak.

“why are you microwaving it?” you ask, wiping your fingers off as you speak. he turns round, slightly surprised you’d chalked up a conversation — but nonetheless happy about it.

“it’s better when it’s warm.” he says as if it’s obvious, turning back around as the ‘ping’ goes off — carefully removing it. “makes the glaze better too.” he murmurs, mouth already full as he begins devouring it almost disgustingly.

you’re smiling at the sight, reminded of how easy it was to talk to chris and how much of just a friend he was. stood there shoving a donut down his throat like his life depended on it.

it was unattractive to be completely honest, but that was refreshing after the weeks of agony you’d had. picturing him with less clothes, all hot and bothered, what he must’ve looked like thrusting his cock deep—

“you wanna try?” he asks before swallowing the food in his mouth, completely snapping you out of the thoughts you’d just been having.

“uh yeah, sure.” you trail off, watching as he comes closer to you — holding it out in front of him for you to take a bite.

it’s weirdly intimate, and you know you shouldn’t have done it. but your eyes can’t help but meet his as you take a bite of the donut, the now melted glaze becoming messy on your lips.

he tries not to think too much about it, the way you’re looking up at him through your lashes. mouth stuffed full—

of course he can’t help the way his dick twitches at the sight, bringing a plethora of dirty images of you into his brain. all of which are scenarios he'd been thinking off for weeks now.

“it’s so messy.” you mumble, trying your hardest to eat it somewhat nicely as he pulls it away — a small grin on his face at the state of you.

“you got some-“ he motions towards his own face, trying to point out where the mess was, sighing deeply when you inevitably struggle to clean it off.

he reaches forward, his thumb brushing over the sticky glazing that was on the side of your lip. you watch as he then brings his thumb to his mouth, not a single sign of hesitation from him.

“chris!” you shriek, slightly shocked by how shamelessly he'd just done that. but he’s laughing, licking it off his thumb as he takes a few steps back — shrugging it off like it was nothing.

“that was weird.” you joke, rubbing the part of your face hed just cleaned — wiping off anymore that was there.

he shrugs again, looking over at you. and you can see a small gleam in his eyes, like he’s going to say something.

“it’s not even close to the shit we’ve done.” he mumbled quietly. you don’t even know how to react to that, it’s like hes opened a can of worms into the once innocent conversation you were having.

interrupting the friendly chat you’d been craving for weeks with a stupid comment like that. “jesus christ chris.” you whisper, rubbing your temple.

he chuckles, finishing off the mess of a donut in his hands. “what? are we jus’ not gonna talk about it.” he huffs jokingly, but you can hear the seriousness in his question.

“that’s what we agreed on, isn’t it?” you question, brows frowning as he just stands there like he hadn’t just brought this up out of nowhere.

weeks of nothing but awkwardness just for him to say it like this, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“well, yeah.” he shrugs, understanding however very adamant to not go back to that. “but like… we’re both thinking about it.” he mumbled out, eyes locked on your expression.

your eyebrows raise in shock, and you want to question him — tease him for admitting that he'd been thinking about it. but another part of you, a part that craved that feeling you’d had with him that night, wanted it to happen again.

“what makes you think i’m thinking about it?” you retort, nothing but flirtation in your tone. he scoffs at your response, moving a little closer to where you were sat on the counter.

“so you’re not?” he says back, matching your flirting in a way that made you melt. in a way that made you abandon all fronts of trying to act like you weren’t.

he smirks as you don’t respond, taking the silence as his answer. you roll your eyes, realising you’d fucked up by not responding. “i’m not like… thinking about it.” you elaborate, refusing to let him sit with the narrative that you’d just been fantasising about him. because you hadn’t exactly been doing that.

he nods a little, hands coming to rest on the counter either side of you. “so what have you been thinking about?” he questions with a teasing expression, a fake frown resting on his face.

you sigh, feeling your whole body grow hot at the way he was talking to you — imagining that that’s probably how he'd been speaking to you that night.

he lets out a small breath as you practically refuse to respond, his body moving to rest between your legs that open willingly for him. “m’curious.” he murmurs quietly, leaning forward to press his lips against your neck — and the simple touch is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. bringing goosebumps to your entire body.

“wanna know.” he whispers, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his breath scatters over your hot skin. you find yourself giving in for just a second, eyes closing as you take in the sensations in your body right now.

he smirks, lips returning to your skin as he begins to kiss all down your neck — sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin desperately. you get lost in the pleasure, pathetically grinding your hips forward for your clit to rub against the seam of your pyjama shorts.

but you can’t just do this again with him, fuck and slowly ruin the friendship as you inevitably decide to also not talk about this hook up.

“c-chris, we’re friends.” you stutter out, pulling back ever so slightly from his touch. “mmh, doesn't matter.” he groans into your neck, struggling to not continue the way he'd been devouring your skin.

“it does.” you sigh, eyes meeting his as he finally pulls back — pupils fully blown out in a way that made you want to shut up right now.

“you want me to stop?” he breathes out, begging you to say no with the way he's looking at you — so desperate for you the look makes your stomach twist.

so you slowly shake your head, watching as he takes a small breath. standing up straight as his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, tugging at them as you urges him to let you.

and you do, putting your weight on your arms as you lift your hips up — the shorts and your underwear getting pulled down, dropping on the floor beneath your feet.

the counter is cold on your ass as you sit back down, however you’re too focussed on chris dropping to his knees in front of you to even think about the feeling.

instead a rush of arousal passed through your entire body, looking down to see chris passing his tongue over your folds. it’s slow and torturous for a bit before hes sucking and licking at your clit.

the sudden stimulation making your legs shake, your hand reaching down to grip his hair. “mmh, fuck chris.” you breathe out, holding back from grinding yourself against his face.

“good?” he murmurs against your pussy, hand coming up to run over your thighs. you nod, shifting forward on the counter as he goes back to fluttering his tongue over your sensitive nerve. “fuuuck.”

every sound you make is only driving him to give you more — desperate to take in every part of you this time. your sounds, your taste, the way your body responds to him. he wants it all.

and you're giving it to him, fully surrendering yourself to the feeling of him eating you out — having thought about this for too long.

as you’re moaning and whining for more he finally comes up for air, kissing your inner thigh gently. “no… don’t stop.” you whisper, eyes still screwed shut as your hand remains in his hair — gripping the roots to pull him closer again.

he lets out a small huff at your neediness, standing up to be between your legs again — holding your lower back as he kisses your neck. “wanna fuck you so bad.” he groans into your neck, grinding his hard bulge against your core. the feeling driving you insane as you find yourself rutting against him, wanting to feel every inch of his dick through his pyjamas.

“please.” you beg, already pulling them down. he pulls away from your neck, tugging them down himself. your eyes linger on his dick in front of you, stood at full attention as he slowly runs his hand up and down the length. 

“want this so bad.” you whine, feeling yourself practically pulse at just the thought. wanting to know what his dick felt like stretching at your walls, wanting to feel and remember every vein.

“you been thinkin’ about it?” he asks, grunting slightly as he begins to rub the tip through your folds — teasing the both of you. you nod, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. 

“tell me.” he murmurs, allowing the head to slip in ever so slightly. you whine when you realise that’s all hes giving you, shaking your head in response. “c’mon… wanna fuck you right.”

you let out a small whine as he passes his tip back between your folds, refusing to give you what you want until you tell him.

despite how desperate he is to fuck you, you know he’ll hold this game up for longer than you can manage. so you find your mind fluttering back to all the things you’d thought about, everything you wished you could remember.

“want you to go deep — wanna feel your cock stretching me out.” you mumble, your body on fire from both the way he was teasing you and the embarrassment of saying it outloud — admitting to what you’d been fantasising about.

“fuck- you sound so good talkin’ like that.” he groans, already giving in as his cock pushes into you slowly — the both of you moaning at the feeling.

“g-god chris… fucking wish i remembered what- mghh.” you’re cut off by your own moans slipping away from you as he manages to bottom out — your wet slick allowing him to fill you up completely, just how you wanted.

“this what you wanted, huh?” he grunts, pulling his hips back before pushing back in again — building up the pace ever so quickly as his fingers dig into your hips.

“please- kiss me, something—“

he cuts you off, kissing you hard without a second thought. one hand coming up to thread through your hair as the other holds your lowers back — holding you still as he fucks into you.

it’s bad how much the kiss drives both of you closer to the edge so quickly, the feeling of his tongue along your bottom lip causing a stir in your stomach. 

“gonna cum.” you moan into his mouth, the intimacy of it driving him absolutely mad as he feels his balls throb with need — desperate to feel you cum around him and squeeze his cock.

“fuck, please — wanna feel it.” he moans out, his hand detanfling from your hair as he brings it down. his fingers circling your clit at a fast pace, completing driving you over the edge unexpectedly.

“ooh… fuuck chris- yes, yes.” you’re moaning loudly as he continues to fuxk you hard, getting off on how you look and sound right now. your body shaking against his as your mouth hangs open so perfectly.

“shit- i’m fuck-“ he grunts, unable to do anything about the serge of heat running through his body — heading straight for his cock. he pulls out, hand wrapped around his length desperately as the feeling takes over.

you slump on the counter catching your breath as you hear him moan out, eyes opening ever so slightly to see him cum. white spurts coming out to land on your thigh as he holds himself up with his other arm against the counter.

“fuuuck.” he groans out, working himself through his orgasm as you watch in awe — so fucked out you can hardly think. 

“fuck the friendship.” you breathe out, watching as his cum runs down to your inner thigh. “we’re doing that again.”

he huffs a little, his body practically collapsing onto yours as he struggles to keep himself up. the both of you sweating as you catch your breaths and fall into a comfortable silence — finally ridden of the tension that had been eating away at you.

𐔌 ©.STURNSRECORD

inspo. @bernardsbendystraws

[skzophreniic]

Favorite Places to Have Sex

MDNI, 18+ content.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 when they wanna venture outside your bed

notes: this ended up longer than originally planned ngl. i find myself falling deeper and deeper into the void that is kim seungmin. pray for me ✊😔

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ CHAN

you already know what it is. chris practically lives at the studio, so why not fuck where he's most comfortable?

it always starts innocent enough. he's working late, you've invited yourself to the couch in the back, just scrolling through your phone. he calls you over to show you something he's working on and there just happens to only be one chair--the one he's currently settled on.

of course, he's not just going to let you stand, he's too much of a gentleman for that! he's kind enough to lend you his lap.

except now he can't focus. he's just trying to mix a track, but the way you shift on his lap whenever you point something out on the screen...yeah.

his fingers start tracing lazy circles on your thighs, voice dropping lower as he murmurs, "You’re distracting me, baby."

before you know it, his hands are gripping your hips, and you’re bouncing on his cock in the dim glow of his monitors, his low groans mixing with the bass from his unfinished song. The door is locked, but someone could still knock at any second—maybe a member, maybe a staff member and it's such a fucking vice, because on one hand, he doesn't give a shit. he wants them to hear, to know how good he makes you feel. it's the biggest thing that feeds his ego.

on the other hand, those sounds you make, the whimpers, the mewls, the lewd squelch your cunt makes when he's already made you cum twice but still can't stop rutting into you...yeah those are only for his ears.

he's pretty open to using his own moans though. have you listened closely to the backtrack of railway?

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ LEE KNOW

minho is obsessed with eye contact, so it’s no surprise that his favorite place is in front of a mirror. he wants you to see everything—the way your body moves, the way your face twists in pleasure, the way he controls every reaction you have.

you're insecure about your body? the sounds you make? yeah, no. every fucking thing about you is his biggest turn on, and he's just not okay with you not knowing that.

he’ll start slow, teasing you with featherlight touches, whispering in your ear, "look at yourself, baby. look how pretty you are for me." his hands will guide your movements, forcing you to watch the way he ruins you. and just when you think he’s going to let you close your eyes, he grips your jaw, turning your head toward the reflection. "I said, watch."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ CHANGBIN

gym. yeah i said it, i don't care how basic it is.

he will sweetly ask you to come work out with him, super super early in the morning or super late at night, when nobody's around. he'll tell you it's because he gets too shy to take off his shirt when other people are around but gets too hot and uncomfortable with it on.

you fall for it every time. sweet thing.

binnie loves seeing you all sweaty and out of breath. there’s something about watching you work out that drives changbin crazy—maybe it’s the way your body moves, the little whimpers when you push yourself too hard, the way you stretch in all the right ways.

one second, he’s spotting for you, the next, he’s pinning you against the weight bench, gripping your thighs, telling you to let him do all the work now. "you wanna stretch a little more, baby?"

next thing you know, he’s pinning you against the mirror, your fingers leaving smudged prints on the glass as he fucks into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips bruisingly tight. he groans against your ear, voice thick with need,

"you've worked so hard today, baby," he'll grunt into your ear. "let me take care of you now."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ HYUNJIN

hyunjin’s art studio is his sanctuary, the place where he’s most creative, where he loses himself in his work for hours at a time.

it always starts innocently enough. it's your birthday, and he wants to paint a portrait of you in that cute little sun dress he gifted you. that short, skimpy little sun dress he gifted you. and he needs you on his lap. for the creative process. spefically with your dress up, panties pushed aside, and his cock nestled deeply inside of you.

also for the creative process.

"you gotta sit still for me, pretty." he murmurs, leaned back against the couch, his gaze focused on his canvas. "or else this will take longer."

it's horrendously delicious, the way he makes you warm his cock while he works, refusing to let you move. he doesn't even fucking react, a hundred precent focused on making you the best portrait.

when he's done though, and only if you've been good and didn't move, he'll set his supplies aside to dry and let you fuck yourself on him. let you use him any way you want it.

and if you haven't been good, the only thing you're getting off on is his thigh. if you're lucky. tough luck.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ HAN

jisung has no patience. if he wants you, he wants you. which is why you end up fucking in the car so often—no waiting, no hesitations, just pure, impulsive desire.

it usually happens after late-night drives. the city lights blur past as he grips the wheel, one hand occasionally straying to your thigh, drumming against your skin. it's so fucking soft against his fingers, he's already hard. and you just had to wear that little skirt that gives him easy access.

"you're driving me crazy," he mutters, trying to keep his eyes on the road, shifting in his seat. he's only just got his fucking license, he could hardly drive with the music on yet, much less with you sitting there like that.

he’s aching for you.

so when he pulls into some dark, empty parking lot, hands clenched around the steering wheel like he’s trying to keep himself in check, you decide to put him out of his misery.

you lean over, fingers already working at his belt.

he whimpers. actually fucking whimpers.

his cock is already hard, leaking, twitching against the cool air, and when you wrap your fingers around him, he bucks into your hand with a choked gasp.

"f-fuck, baby, please—"

yeah...you're not going home any time soon.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ FELIX

felix is dangerously charming, and he knows exactly how to turn an innocent moment into something sinful. it usually starts with something as simple as baking together, fingers covered in flour, soft laughter filling the space.

but then, his hands start lingering—a light touch on your lower back, a casual squeeze of your thigh, his voice dropping an octave as he murmurs, "You're making a mess, baby."

the moment he sees you licking something off your finger, tilting your head like you’re teasing him? yep, you're fucked. not quite literally yet tho.

before you know it, he’s lifting you onto the counter, lips trailing down your neck as he spreads your thighs, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat building between you both. the half-mixed batter is forgotten, the kitchen filled with breathless moans instead, his hands spreading your thighs apart, eating you out like a man starved.

which he is. he's always fucking starved for you.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ SEUNGMIN

the library is the last place you’d expect seungmin to be this filthy.

It always starts so subtly. he's supposed to be helping you study for your finals, flipping through textbooks in the quietest corner of the library. but then his hand finds your thigh under the table, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles.

"focus," he says, when he look at him sharply, voice perfectly neutral.

like he isn’t the one distracting you.

you try. poor thing, you really do. but his touch is persistent, featherlight strokes just beneath the hem of your skirt, moving higher, higher—so painfully slow that it’s infuriating.

"seungmin," you whisper, an urgent warning.

He doesn’t even glance up from his book. "what?"

you shoot him a glare, shifting in your seat to escape his touch, but his grip tightens just slightly—a silent command. Stay still.

"you should really be paying attention," he murmurs. "or do you need some extra motivation?"

oh he'll tell you that if you make it through the chapter like this that he'll reward you, give you what you really want. he'll keep you on the edge, till you're finally right there, so close--

he pulls away completely, returning to his textbook like nothing happened.

"you should finish your work first," he says, flipping a page. "i’ll think about rewarding you later."

the audacity.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ JEONGIN

his childhood bedroom.

you heard me.

the posters on the walls, the old books cluttering his desk, the twin-sized bed that barely fits both of you—it’s all so him. It should be innocent, just a short visit to his parents’ house, just a normal night.

or so you thought.

it starts with you lying next to him under the covers, whispering and giggling, trying not to wake anyone. he’s got one arm lazily draped over your waist, thumb rubbing slow circles against your hip. but then his hand slips lower—too low for something so casual—and suddenly, that mischievous smirk is on his lips.

"you’re being quiet," he teases, voice barely above a whisper. "something wrong?"

um yeah, something’s wrong. his parents are asleep down the hall. the walls are thin.

that’s the thrill—how you stiffen when he presses against you, how you grip his wrist when his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your shorts.

"aw, baby, that's just too bad" he coos, smirking against your skin. "You’re gonna have to be quiet for me."

the bed creaks when he shifts, pressing his weight against you, and he pauses—just for a second—listening for any signs of movement outside the door. when all remains quiet, he grins, his hand slipping beneath your pajama shorts, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning.

"shh," he breathes, pressing a finger to your lips. "if you wake them up, you’ll have to explain how their sweet, innocent jeongin has you like this."

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐘 — 𝐂.𝐒.

Synopsis: Chris can't fuck you in his balloon-filled room, but he needs you so bad.

Warnings: Smut, BIG DICK CHRIS, raw p n v, sucking fingers, GETTING CAUGHT, creampie, BULGE KINK.

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Loud squelches echo through the living room. Chris is between your legs, pounding into you as you lay on the couch. 

“Fuck—shut up, baby. Bein’ too damn loud,” he husks, the grip he has on your legs getting tighter. 

The position you're in is unbearably good. Every inch of his length is buried inside your dripping heat, your stomach bulging while he continues to drill himself into you. 

“-’m sorry, I—,” the words are muffled as he places a hand over your mouth. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you feel his tip graze that spot—the spot that made it impossible to do anything but scream in pleasure. 

Chris huffs, the feeling of your warm, wet walls clenching around him making it harder to contain himself. He wants to pound you even harder, he needs nothing but to see you absolutely destroyed under his touch—but he knows he can’t. 

Not when you’re in the living room—Matt and Nick only a short couple steps away from seeing such a lewd scene. 

“Shit!” Chris hisses, biting on his lip as he tries to muffle his own noises. But it’s so hard. This is absolute bliss, everything he needed and more. 

It’s not his fault his brother decided to pull some fuck ass prank, filling his room with balloons and not even offering to help clean it up. He couldn’t hold himself back when you came over in that one skirt—the skirt that drove him beyond insane. 

The second you had bent over, giving him just the smallest glimpse—there was no holding back. He needed you right then, dragging you up to the living room and distracting you from the worry of being in plain sight. 

“Chris! Chris!” 

Your screams are still muffled by his hand. You feel his fingers dip into your mouth, immediately sucking on the digits while his hips plunge deep—making everything go a hot flash of white as you feel yourself toppling closer and closer towards the edge. 

“C’mon,” he husks, sucking on your neck as some sort of method to keep himself from groaning loudly. You just feel so fucking good. “-give it to me—wanna feel you cum all over my big dick, sweetheart,” 

He lets out a pitiful noise, every muscle straining as he feels your wetness convulse around him. “Oh fuck—you’re-you’re gonna make me cum, I—”

Your chest is arched into his. The high is excruciatingly long, the feeling of his grip getting tighter as he starts to ruthlessly shovel his entire length in you over and over again. His desperation is clouding his senses, forgetting that you’re hidden in plain sight. 

He just doesn’t care. Not when you feel like heaven wrapped around him, not when you’re shaking beneath him. And definitely not when you’re begging for his cum, wanting to be filled to the absolute brim. 

“-want it, Chris. Inside…I—please,” you rasp. 

His head drops into the crook of your neck, the rhythm of his hips stutter as he lets himself finish deep inside of you, making sure to give you everything. 

“Fuckkkkkkkk, all filled up now, huh? Is that better, baby?” he purrs, removing his hand from your mouth and petting the side of your fucked-out face. And holy shit—it’s the perfect sight. You’re so… messy. And it’s all for him. It’s not his fault he’s obsessed. He just couldn’t wait when he saw you in that damn skirt. 

“What the fuck?!” 

Your eyes go wide as you see Matt in the corridor of the hall. 

Instincts take over, you panic while trying to catch your breath. 

“I’m sorry, oh my god!” you shout, sighing as you hear his bedroom door slam shut. 

As you squint your eyes shut with shame painted on your face, Chris slowly starts to pump himself inside you again. 

“Chris, what’re you—”

“Already got caught,” he mentions, his hand grazing down and tweaking your sensitive nipple. “No point in stopping now. I had to wait all damn day for you and I—”

You shriek as he moves his hips sharply, your skin pulsing as you feel his lips brush against your ear,

“-and I’m greedy—so fuckin’ greedy for you.”

[cuntyyforchris]

“you left the door unlocked.” c.s

best friend!chris x reader

it was late at night and you were showering — you needed to get your mind off of derek. your boyfriend.. kind of. he was being an asshole again — purposely posting with other girls when you specifically told him it upset you. but he didnt care at all. you told him it was over — though you know it’s not really.

you were rinsing the conditioner out your hair. your mind was too full to pay attention to the bathroom door opening.

until chris’ voice cut through the silence — “oh shit.”

his voice made you jump. you turned around and looked through the crystal door — thankfully it was blurry enough to where he couldn’t see everything clearly. your hands scrambled to cover yourself. “chris!” you squeaked out.

“i uh— i didnt know you were in there.” he said, not taking his eyes off of the door.

“what? what did you think i was doing?” you asked, still covering yourself with both hands.

“uh.. brushing your teeth? you left the door unlocked. i just— i assumed you werent showering.”

“you couldve knocked!” you squeaked out again.

“i know— i— i’m sorry!” he rushed out, shifting onto the other foot.

“you can.. get out now.” you spoke carefully.

“yeah, yeah. sorry.” and with that, he left the bathroom.

you stood still for a while before dropping your arms and going back under the water. you rinsed your hair fully before turning the water off.

you opened the door and stepped out the shower — trying to get both chris and derek out of your mind. you grabbed a towel and wrapped it around yourself.

you and chris were close. but not close enough to see each other naked. have you thought about him naked? oh. all the time. but thats a line you cant cross — for the sake of your friendship.

you dried your body off and reached for the clothes you’d left on the counter, still warm from the steam. but before you could slip your shirt on, the door creaked open again.

your head snapped over and you clutched the towel tighter around your body.

chris slipped in and stared at you, his eyes darker than before.

“chris! come on, really? im naked!” you exclaimed out, grip not loosening one bit.

he kept quiet, staring at you still. his eyes were focused on your eyes — like he was forcing himself not to look anywhere else.

“chris?” you said softly, tilting your head only slightly.

silence. he looked like he was fighting himself not to speak, afraid of saying something wrong.

“okay chris. what are you do—“ he cut you off by grabbing your face and smashing his lips onto yours. your eyes widened before reluctantly shutting.

you were shocked this was happening— but not mad. your grip on the towel loosened just a bit. the kiss got rougher, his hands moved down to your hips, squeezing tightly.

he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue between your lips. you didnt stop him, you wanted this. his hands moved to your ass, squeezing. you gasped, he smirked.

he pulled back, eyes full of hunger. “let me have you. please?” he whispered.

you nodded quickly, without thinking — you let go of the towel, allowing it to fall on the floor. his eyes followed, following each curve of your body. “fuck.” he breathed out.

he placed his hands back on yours ass, pulling your body closer to him. he leaned in, placing his lips onto your neck — kissing, biting, sucking, licking. he sucked a mark right below your jaw. your eyes fluttered shut, your bottom lip between your teeth.

he began to grind his hips into yours, his clothed cock pressing into your core. a gasp escaped your lips once again. he looked back up at you, your eyes meeting his.

he spun you around and bent you over the counter. he pushed your hair off your back and over your shoulder. you watched him in the mirror and he bent over and placed kisses on your neck.

he drug his hands across your back, slowly. he lifted them and tugged his sweatpants down, causing them to pool around his ankles. he tugged his boxers down enough to allow his cock to spring out.

and fuck. he was thick, long, veiny, and flushed. you met his eyes in the mirror, nodding for permission.

“might hurt.” he muttered. he grabbed his cock and directed it to your folds, dragging it through slowly. you whined and bit your lip.

“chris.. please.” you whimpered out, biting your lip harder.

his grip on your hip tightened. “you sure?” you nodded again, desperate. aching.

he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open until you gasped, your hands flying to the counter for support. “fuck,” he breathed, jaw clenching. “so tight, baby…”

he paused once he bottomed out, letting you adjust. one hand splayed across your back while the other found your throat in the mirror — loose, but there. grounding.

“look at me,” he murmured, voice rough and deep. “you take me so well.” you moaned, eyes fluttering open just to see the flush on his cheeks, the way his mouth parted as he began to move again — slow, steady, devastating strokes that had your legs shaking.

“yeah,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours, “just like that.”

he moved faster now, hips slapping against yours. his hands left your throat and pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail, tugging your head back.

you gasped, mouth falling open as your back arched. “f-fuck, chris—” you squeezed your eyes shut, lost in the pleasure.

“yeah? you like that?” he growled, pace brutal now. “like being fucked like this?” he whispered into your ear.

you moaned loudly, nodding your head. “yes— yes chris!”

“that’s what i thought,” he hissed, fucking into you harder—each thrust knocking the breath from your lungs. “so fuckin’ pretty like this. moaning for me, letting me ruin you.”

he sped up his pace, hips slapping yours at a relentless speed. the tip of his cock hitting the spongy part inside you with each thrust.

you clenched around him, feeling your release approaching. he groaned out, “fuck, baby.” he snaked his arm around and began to rub your clit quickly. you let out a noise — something between a moan and a yelp.

“that’s it, baby,” he panted, lips brushing your ear. “cum for me. soak my cock.”

your body trembled as the pressure snapped — your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. you cried out, eyes fluttering shut as your walls clamped down around him.

but chris kept going.

he kept thrusting, rubbing your clit even harder, chasing his own high. “fuck, i can feel you pulsing—don’t run, baby. gimme one more.”

your breath caught. “i can’t— chris— i cant!” you felt the tears daring to escape, so you snapped your eyes shut.

“yes you can,” he growled, fucking you through your climax. “and you will” he thrusted harder and faster, chasing his own orgasm.

he then quickly pulled out, hand stroking himself quickly. he let out a strangled groan before spilling all over your back.

you collapsed against the counter, trembling—breath ragged, legs barely holding you up. “fuck,” chris panted behind you, leaning forward to press a kiss to your shoulder. “you okay?”

you nodded slowly, still catching your breath. he reached for a towel, gently wiping your back before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“didn’t mean to go that hard,” he muttered into your skin. “you just… felt too good.”

you turned your head slightly, cheek brushing his. “i didn’t mind.” he smirked, cocky and soft. “yeah? good. ‘cause next time… i’m not pulling out.”

well. you definitely got your mind off derek.

a/n: sorry i havent been posting, i js got back from utah on wednesday and ive been focused with school and finals and ughhh but next week is my last week so most likely ill be posting more 😋

— typed with one hand, lola.

taglist: @chrismoans @l0s3rhaha @ellbowmacaroni @sturnvdds

© cuntyyforchris

[sturnsdoll]

NAUGHTY OR NICE ❄ -m.s, c.s

part two here

pairing: dom bf!matt x sub!reader, dom!chris x reader

summary: when your boyfriend matt decides that a vibrator at dinner with his brothers is a good punishment for your attitude, you don't expect to end up being teased by someone other than him. warnings: vibrator, semi-public, cheating!reader, fingering, dirty talk, humiliation, orgasm denial.

word count: 3,598

"pink" + reader speaking, "blue" = matt speaking, "orange" = chris speaking.

matt and you are supposed to meet his brothers for dinner in about a half an hour. swiping gloss across your lips, you watch through the mirror at matt idly pacing around behind you. he's picking up random things, checking himself in the mirror. your used to it, he's typically like this before going out anywhere. you close up your gloss, tossing it down onto your vanity with an exaggerated sigh.

with that matt looks over at you, annoyance already on his features "what now?", his tone is soft but still holds irritation. all damn day everything's been a problem for you. and when something upsets you, it somehow becomes a him problem too.

you give him a bit of a side eye in the mirror, a slight eye roll to follow "nothin', jeez." you respond passively, getting up to go grab your purse and matt continues watching you with a dissaproving look. "there a problem?" you add with a raise of your brow. matt shrugs "you gonna be like this all night?" he asks, slightly amused but also a little over the attitude you've been throwing at him today. he watches your pretty eyes when you look back at him "i'm not being like anything." you defend. directly after your defence, you bend down to pickup your purse and hear matt sigh with a "that's it". -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

the drive there, all you could do was wait. wait to see when he'd chose to torture you. the silicone of the vibrator was tightly fit between your panties and your (already embarrassingly wet) pussy, specifically nudging your clit too close for comfort. when you matt pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant you, him and his brothers were gonna be meeting at for dinner, he refused to acknowledge your anxious glances toward him any time he'd open his phone. every tap of his fingers against the screen had you anticipating the buzzing against your clit, but thus far he hasn't done it hasn't come.

entering the restaurant, you were in awe of the gorgeous christmas decor of green and red around the restauraunt. cinnamon sticks in a little bowl with bows around them on the front desk, a green tree off near the hall to the washrooms, chandelier with lights. it's gorgeous.

you were both lead to your table where nick and chris were already sat laughing and talking. there wasn't much greeting to be done, you just kind of took a seat across from them with matt next to you and hopped into conversation smoothly with your boyfriends brothers.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

the food was amazing, everyone having a great time. chris and nick are your bestfriends by natural selection of matt being your boyfriend so you've grown to be comfy around them. not this comfy though. it was still in the back of your mind that matt was more than capable of turning the toy on whenever the hell he pleased but till now, you'd done a good job just trying to enjoy dinner and forget about it.

currently you're mid conversation with chris, giggling at something stupid he said when abruptly, you go silent. the buzz that comes to your clit is low, gentle. but it's still beyond distracting. you can't help how your eyes grow wide for a moment as you swallow thickly. fucking matt.

chris catches your sudden change of expression and mood. he makes a funny confused face in response to your expression, breathily laughing "what?" in question. now chris is thinking maybe he'd said something outlandish and not realized it.

chris catching the change in your mood only makes your stomach drop further. you deadstare your boyfriend's youngest brother, zoned out in embarassment, feeling clueless on how to respond when there's a god damn vibrator on you in public. but your strange behaviour was cut short by matt's slender ring clad fingers giving a squeeze to your knee. quickly taking the hint, you smile with a soft laugh "oh i just remembered last week when that lady refused to give nick his order cause she thought he was lying about it being his" your almost proud of yourself for thinking of something so fast.

chris seems to believe it, responding with a small "hm". however despite his smile and nod, chris has this slightly intense stare, different from his usually childish and playful demeanour. you assume your paranoid because how would chris know something was up?

"omg and then she did the same thing to that poor girl!" nick's voice breaks your curiosity of chris's stare. your sure you can handle this for a little, just a light buzz. but quite abruptly the buzzing intensifies. you grab at matt's hand, nails digging against the back of his palm as you force yourself to respond to nick with a short and shaky "yeah." it only eggs matt on though, he thinks your reactions are adorably pathetic. before nick can even really notice how shaky your voice was, the waiter approached the table to ask if anyone needed anything. you leave nick and chris to speak to the waiter, taking the chance to look at your boyfriend with a look that shows your embarassment and irriation. in response you just get a sickeningly sweet smile, one that causes you to shut your legs together, frustration and arousal driving you udderly insane.

before your knee's can even touch he pinches your thigh, his smile dropping slightly in warning. "fuck you" you mouth to him stupidly. matt gives a playful pout, forcibly pulling your leg so that you spread em', preventing you from any relief outside of what he chooses to provide you through the toy. "you really gonna act like that when santa's coming to town?" he jokes quietly, almost laughing at his own dumbass joke but instead his mouth just turns up in a slight smile, then you watch him take a quick glance at his phone.

holy fuck. you nearly fold over at the leg tremling, panty wettingly intense buzz that he suddenly inflicts on your clit. your acrylics immedietly digging into his hand again, you look over and catch his amused and adoring glance to you. that evil bastard fucking loves this. it's a bit of a power trip for him to watch you squirming in your seat, all angry at him.

matt's gaze was doing nothing to help, merely mocking you. in a desperate attempt to not give anything away, your teeth caught your lip with a gasp before any other lewd noise could escape. you shift your hips uncomfortably as your eyes leave matt's to see if his brothers are paying any mind to you two.

you felt relief at nick's typical yapping, he was clearly clueless to your situation. but then your eyes meet chris's.

he's clenching his jaw slightly with an unreadable but intense look in his eyes. what's his problem? well, apparently your body doesn't care what his glare is for, because it's enough for your poor neglected cunt to start to clench around nothing besides the pooling liquid dripping into your panties.

you let out a shaky breath that's just shy of a whine. lucky for you it's loud as hell in the restaurant. you mentally curse yourself for letting something as simple as a look from your boyfriends brother get you worked up. then again, what won't get you hornier with that god forsaken buzzing that has you struggling to sit still? you're about to resort to distracting yourself with nick's yapping when the buzzing abruptly cuts short.

you almost let out a sigh of relief. finally a break.

then your jaw drops and your knee jumps up and hits under the table. you didn't even know this vibrator could be this strong.. but as matt tortorously turns it to the highest setting, you can't stop the small whine from slipping your throat.

in panic you look between the three boys. nick is somehow still oblivious, thank god. matt's too busy pretending like he isn't literally getting you off infront of his brothers as he picks at his food. chris is also presumably distracted with his meal, though he shoots you a questioning glance when your eyes pass over him.

clearing your throat, you quickly stand up, announcing that you have to go to the bathroom. you rush right off before anyone can say anything.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

before you can even close the bathroom door you hear a ding from your phone. taking a second, you take a deep breath and squeeze your thighs together with a soft whine, eyes shutting as you dig your phone from your purse.

[ imessage from: matt <3]

-if you turn it off , touch yourself or cum then you're in trouble sweetheart. pathetically so, just reading his threatening text has your knee's weak. you lean one hand forward onto the counter, your thighs clenching tighter together.

[message to: matt <3]

-please it's too much. chris and nick are gonna find out if i come back out there like this

[message from: matt <3]

-behave or i'll make you cum infront of both of them istg

the lewd image of being forced into an orgasm infront of chris at the dinner table creates both a humiliating and pleasurable ache in your stomach. trying to force the thought away hardly worked, already dripping at the thought.

you have to compose yourself. that thought must only be arousing because your so desperate right?.. right.

you look yourself in the mirror, passing off your glossy eyes as you breathe in deeply. you reach your hand beneath your dress to pull your panties down just a little so the vibrator isn't so tightly pressed against you. insantly you sigh in relief at the severly lessened stimulation. straightening yourself out, mentally you prep yourself to get back to the group, opening the bathroom door with the best poker face you can put on.

instantly you're met with two hands roughly shoving you back inside the washroom, the door being locked instantly.

"what the hell are you two up to?"

you swear you experience whiplash at the complete shock as you look up at chris with confusion. chris is staring right back down at you with an almost proud but soft little smile on his face. "hello?" he gives a gentle tap to your arm to urge you to talk. you just shake your head, feeling bewildered "nothing?" you don't even sound sure of yourself when your respond.

chris tilts his head to give you a stare of annoyance at the blatant lie. little did you know that chris had figured you two out much much earlier. his voice comes more accusatory than he intends "you think i'm stupid?" he asks.

you stare up at chris, trying to look irritated at his intrusion into the bathroom but honestly your eyes are that of a lost puppy as the buzzing in your underwear is still growing the ache in your stomach. your legs are squeezing as you struggle to not completely lose it. "and?" you try to seem unphased but there's a shake to your tone.

"and-" he begins in a mocking tone "i know matt doesn't have some fucking vibrator app for himself." he finishes with a cocky yet still adoringly soft look as he watched the panic in your eyes. chris doesn't want to scare you away so his hand starts at your shoulder, thumb gently stroking your shoulder to soothe the panic that's coming with your brain completely short circuiting.

you want to ask how he knows that but chris steps a little closer and you back against the sink counter, both slightly intimidated as well as just udderly so confused you can't really think properly. chris's voice break's into your frozen state "you guys have some freaky thing for getting off in public?" he questions you.

"what? no that's-" chris doesn't quite seem 100 percent sure of himself, almost like he's slightly scared that you'll just think he's a complete weirdo so he keeps his movements slow and his voice stays on the softer side as he speaks to you "you got yourslef in trouble or something then?" he asks tauntingly. his eyes glitter with amusement when he watches you freeze up. looking around, your mouth opens again and again like you wanna argue or deny it but instead you just scoff in disbelief, your eyes rolling at his audacity.

that was enough of an answer for him. he lets out a small hum in acknowledgement, like he's amused by you being punished by his brother. his hand slowly slides down from your arm to the bottom hem of your dress. you find yourself unable to do anything but follow his movement with your eyes, a small breathy whine leaving as the buzzing in your panties continues to make this all the more arousing.

"getting off with your boyfriends brother less than a foot away at dinner is kind fucked up not gonna lie." as chris speaks he uses his other hand to pull the fabric of your dress at the waist, tugging it up a little until you're just barely covered below the waist. his thumb slips beneath the material to rub gentle circles on your thigh "this okay? you tell me to stop and i'll leave n' pretend like this never happened, i promise." his eyes give a comfortingly concerned look, his hand freezing momentarily.

you severly hesitate, a shaky breath leaving your lips, feeling the slick spreading all across your pussy, panties and upper thigh from the nonstop vibrations on your sensitibe bud, now combined with chris's teasing. this is all too much at once. you're starting to feel lightheaded, not knowing how much longer you can hold off either crying or cumming right here on the spot. "matt would mm- hate me chris" you worry verbally to the youngest triplet. chris just shakes his head, chosing to lighten the mood with a joke as per usual "don't worry about him right now. you gonna be naughty or nice for me? cause santa doesn't have to be the only thing coming if you'll let me touch you." there's a shit eating grin on his lips now as he slips his hand just a litter further under your dress.

under other circumstances you would've laughed at his terrible joke. instead you meet his eyes, a suble smile on your face. you know you need to make a decision. guilt bubbles in your stomach, as well as the need to cum. your arousal speaking before you can, you blurt out a "please" your eyes begging chris right along with your words.

chris instantly smirks, stepping closer till there's nearly no more of your space for him to invade "so polite." he teases, his knuckles softly brushing up her thigh till he reaches her panties, where he pauses, his knuckles brushing along the fabric to feel the vicious buzzing. experimentally he uses two fingers to press it up against her clit just a little closer.

your hands both come behind you to grip at the counter top as your legs twitch, unable to hold off your physical reaction to the torture anymore. "ah-" you cry gently as one hand comes off the counter to grip at his arm, not to stop him but for some kind of support.

chris tuts at you "poor thing, bet he's been neglecting you all night" chris says, more so to himself as he shakes his head in genuine dissapointment of his brothers teasing tactics. then in a swift motion, his finger hooks around the front of your panties and tugs them down to your thighs. finally, the vibrator comes off of you. chris's eyes lock on yours for affirmation to continue and he finds your eyes pleading with him already.

you have the sudden thought.. why hasn't matt come to check on you at this point? or texted? your thoughts are quickly are ripped from your head when the buzzing returns once more, chris placing his palm over the vibrator, pressing it right onto your poor swollen clit again.

a strangled moan is forced loudly from your lips at the overstimulating feeling coming back all at once, your back arches off the counter as you look down, shaking your head. "chris no wait- fuckk, i'm gonna cum" you beg for him to stop, but not because you don't want to. for some reason your willing to sleep with matt's brother but you draw the line at cumming without his permission?? pussy.

chris watches as your hips squirm back against the counter, your face scrunched up like you can't take it. he raises an eyebrow at your panic and he subtly smiles, too sweet for the situation your both in. "so?" he urges an explanation with confusion and amusement at your struggle.

you look away from him, nails digging into his arm as embarassment eats you alive at your reason why. chris is having none of it though. he leans down to force you to meet his gaze in demand of an answer. a whine slips when you go to speak, but you manage nonetheless. "not allowed." you state, your eyes finally meeting chris's again.

he's enthralled by your obedience to matt's 'rules' and the guilty little look in your eyes. chris sighs, shaking his head as he brings his free hand to gently cup the side of your face "well i say you are, so go ahead." he says like this is completely normal.

before you can even consider responding, two of his fingers shove into your fluttering hole, his palm still pressing the toy to your clit. you cry out at the attention to your poor pussy that you've been craving all night, hips pushing off the counter to chase chris's hand. whines and choked sobs leave your lips.

chris taps the underside of your jaw "someone's gonna hear ya" he points out with a warning look, then his fingers curl up into your walls to force another response from you. and oh does it ever. you lean your head forwards into his chest with a desperate whine that makes chris's jeans grow a little tighter on him.

he gently cradles the back of your head with his large hand as he talks you through it "oh i knoww." he says with a mocking tone to his voice, a devilish smirk on his face that you can't see as he holds your face into the chest of his hoodie to muffle your cries of pleasure.

"g- gonna fucking- oh god chris" your brain is so far from working as he fucks his fingers into you, alternating between curling them at the perfect spot inside and then thrusting them quickly. the sound of you saying his name is enough to have his dick fighting against his pants. he wants nothing more than to stuff you full of him but this isn't about him, the only thing he needs right now is to watch you hold onto him pathetically whilst crying his name for more.

with the hand cradling your head, his fingers gently massage your scalp. the soothing nature is a vile contrast to the way his other hand completely ruins you. this only furthers the haze of euphoria your in, whining desperately as you clutch onto chris for life. if it weren't for him and the counter you'd be a puddle on the floor and chris knows it as he feels your walls squeezing in desperation for release. he knows that's his cue.

you experience the most horrible whiplash as within a second, chris's hand comes out from under your dress, the vibrator with it and all your left with is your cum dripping out of your fluttering hole.

instantly your head lifts off chris's chest. you watch up at him with pleading eyes "chris." you hate how you sound begging for his attention back.

the hand not holding your now turned off, soaked vibrator, is soothing your hair out. he holds the vibrator up to your mouth, tapping it onto your pouted lips. shamefully you open your mouth, allowing him to urge the toy inside for you to clean it of your own mess.

chris's eyes glimmer with satisfaction as he watches your gaze, eager to please him in favour of needing to cum. which is why you nearly wanna cry when he removes his other hand from your hair and brings it down to pull your panties back up, slipping the now completely still vibrator back into the fabric.

"i'm sorry pretty, but the only thing i want more than to watch you cum is to know you'll be left on edge all night thinking about me instead of him" chris states with a grin, giving a frustratingly casual pat to your shoulder before unlocking the door and opening it to leave. you're about to pull him back and cuss him the fuck out when suddenly you see your boyfriend leaning on the wall right outside the door, shaking his head at you as chris walks passed him with a cocky smirk. it all sets in and you feel more embarassed than you ever have in your life. they fucking planned it. matt let chris come fingerfuck you like some slut.

"you're un-fucking-believable." matt states, although not seeming as mad as he should. you have no choice in the matter as he grabs you arm and begins both of your journey to the car.

you fell right into their trap.

.....someone's getting coal this christmas.

lmk if y'all want a part two??

tags: @pleasebendmeoverxxx @mattsrod @sturncakez @watercolorskyy @pettydollie @sturniol0s @6ix9inewiturmom @sonicsmacks @fratbrochrisgf @eyelovedher89 @bernardsbendystraws @riversandwinds @ilovemenwithlonghairr @chrissweatytoes @courta13

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTOO MUCH * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Matt and Nick say some hurtful things to Chris during a fight, bringing his insecurities to life and causing him to turn to his anchor, Y/N.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　insecurities, fighting, crying, anxiety attack.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The noise in the living room had escalated from playful teasing in front of the camera to sharp, biting words. Chris stood behind the kitchen table, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he glared at Matt and Nick, who were both looking at him from the other side of the table with expressions caught between frustration and exasperation.

"Do you ever think before you act, Chris?" Matt's voice was, surprisingly, raised, an edge of impatience in his tone. "We can’t get through one day without you doing something childish and making a scene, or worse, making our videos look like shit because of it!"

Chris’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately, his eyes darting between his brothers, trying to make sense of how things had gotten so out of hand.

"I wasn’t trying to do anything." He muttered finally, his voice barely above a whisper laced with hurt. "I was just... being myself."

"Yeah, exactly." Nick jumped in, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "And that’s the problem. You’re always yelling and doing the most, Chris. It’s just... exhausting, okay?"

Chris clenched his fists, jaw tight as he glared at Nick, feeling himself crumbling a bit because sure, he’s too much. Sure, he speaks too loud and had opinions about everything and wasn’t afraid to share them, even if they were about the silliest things. Sure, he feels cornered and childish and immature and annoying, and most of what they're saying is probably true, but hearing his own brothers say it out loud... it pains his heart.

"You know, that’s actually rich coming from you." He shot back, his voice carrying a frustration he couldn’t hold back, trying to disguise his pain with anger. "You’re always the first to say that people watch us because we’re different, because even though we look the same, we're still different. But all you ever do is complain that I’m not just like you or Matt!”

Nick’s expression shifted, taken aback by Chris’s words. But Nick wasn’t one to back down, his voice snapping back almost before Chris had finished speaking.

"That’s not what I’m saying at all!" He fired, eyes narrowing. "Is it so insane to want you to stop yelling and acting like a literal child in every video? We’re trying to be professional, Chris! People like us, yeah, but they won’t if you keep acting like-"

Chris dragged a hand over his face, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead, trying to shut out Nick’s words, trying to drown out the overwhelming feeling of being misunderstood.

"... and we can’t keep dealing with it, Chris. Grow the fuck up."

The youngest felt his chest tighten even more. His greatest insecurity - one that clawed at his chest every night when he couldn’t sleep, when the silence around him became deafening - was now on full display, brutally brought to life by the people he trusted most.

The internet was relentless in labeling him as "the weird one", the "annoying triplet", just because he was loud and talked too much, just because he was unapologetically himself. He’d laugh it off, of course, joke about it even because it was easier to pretend it didn’t bother him. But deep down, those words haunted him, scraping at the edges of his self-worth, making him wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t enough.

And now, hearing Matt and Nick throw those same words at him... he felt hollow. Like all the air had been knocked from his lungs. They knew. They knew how those comments got to him, how hard he tried to ignore it, to rise above the criticism.

"Fine." He said bitterly, hating how his voice trembled slightly as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "I’ll get out of your way, then."

He pushed his weight off of the table, preparing himself to get out of there, but as Chris stormed away, Nick's frustration boiled over, and he turned to Matt, his voice sharp and incredulous.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He hissed, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

But Chris kept walking, his shoulders tense as he made his way to the stairs, refusing to let himself look back. His brothers’ voices felt like static at this point, blending into the background as he forced himself to keep going.

Behind him, Matt muttered under his breath, an edge of impatience creeping in.

"Why is he being so dramatic?" He called, exasperation evident in his tone. "Chris, just come back, man! Let’s finish this video."

But Chris didn’t even slow down. Each word felt like salt in a wound he was struggling to ignore, a constant reminder that he wasn’t on the same level as them, that they were all looking at him like he was the problem.

Maybe he was.

As he went down the stairs, his mind was racing, every emotion simmering just below the surface.

His hands trembled slightly as he reached his bedroom door, a mix of anger, shame, and sadness twisting in his chest, his breath hitching as he struggled to keep it together. He wanted to scream, to push all the hurt away.

Finally, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Y/N - curled up on his bed with notebooks spread around her and laptop balanced on her knees - looked up instantly, a huge smile spreading across her face as she noticed him, her expression so genuinely happy to see him that it made his heart ache even more.

"Hi, honey! How was filming?" She greeted brightly, unaware of the turmoil written across his face.

But her smile faltered quickly as she took in his red-rimmed eyes, the way his face seemed almost haunted, his body tense and trembling as he stood frozen in the doorway. She blinked, worry flashing across her features.

"Chris? Hey, what happened?" The girl whispered, and her words were like a lifeline, breaking the dam he’d tried so hard to keep in place.

She was quick in put her work together, placing her notebooks and laptop gently onto the floor beside her, leaving it all opened for her to come back to it later, her arms instinctively opening up to him.

"Come here, baby."

Without another thought, Chris crossed the room and collapsed into her open arms, sinking onto the bed as if the weight of the world had become too much for him to bear alone.

His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his face burrowing into her shoulder as if he could somehow hide from everything that had been clawing at him. His legs slid between her thighs, his body curling into hers, every part of him drawn in close, seeking refuge in the only place that felt safe.

Y/N didn’t say anything at first. She could feel the way his shoulders shook, the silent sobs racking through him as he tried to hold back, his breath catching painfully against her neck. She held him even tighter, her hands slipping up to cradle the back of his head, her fingers threading gently through his fluff hair as she pressed soft, reassuring kisses to his forehead, his temple, anywhere she could reach.

"Shh... It’s okay, sweetheart." She murmured softly, pressing her lips to his line of hair. "I'm here. You're safe. Just breathe, Chris. Just breathe, baby."

But Chris felt anything but safe in his own skin. Shame and hurt twisted inside him, tightening like a vice around his chest. He tried to fold himself even smaller, curling tighter into her, trying to somehow look smaller for a 5'8 grown man, pressing his body as close to hers as he could.

He wanted to disappear, to melt into her embrace, and let the world live freely without his presence. The words Matt and Nick had thrown at him - the very same words he read online, the labels he was used to brushing off - felt so true, so much a part of him that he couldn’t deny them.

Childish. Annoying. Immature.

He hated himself in that moment, hated how much he cared, hated how the words dug under his skin, making him feel unworthy, unloved.

"Am I... am I really that annoying?" He whispered, his voice cracking and sounding more horse than it should. "Do you... Do you think I’m too much, too?"

Y/N’s heart twisted painfully as she heard his words, the broken way he spoke them. She frowned deeply, pulling back just enough to look down at him, her hand cupping his wet cheek as she met his gaze, her thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down his face.

"Oh, sweetheart..." She shook her head gently, her voice laced with disbelief and fierce love. "No. No, Chris, of course not. You’re not annoying. You’re not too much. You’re everything I could ever want. You’re perfect exactly the way you are."

He clenched his fists, gripping onto Y/N’s hoodie - or better, his own blue hoodie -, his knuckles white with the force of it as he tried to agree with her, but her words didn’t seem to reach him. His brow furrowed, his eyes filling with fresh tears as he choked out.

"They said... They said I’m always yelling, being loud, making a scene... like I’m always... embarrassing them." His voice caught on the last words, his breath hitching as he fought to keep from breaking down completely.

Y/N held him tighter, her hand moving to the bottom of his white shirt, traveling inside of it only to rub soothing circles along his naked back as she spoke in a soft, steady tone, hoping her words would anchor him.

"Chris, they love you. They’re just... they don’t understand how much their words hurt sometimes. But that doesn’t mean you’re a burden or that you’re too much. You bring so much joy and energy to everything. That’s part of who you are, and it’s one of the things I love most about you."

He shook his head slightly, his breathing coming faster as anxiety started to build again, overtaking him.

"I... I just don’t get it. One minute, they’re saying people watch us because we’re different... and then they tell me I should be more like them. I don’t... I don’t know how to be that. I tried so hard to be like them, you have to believe me, but I don’t know how to change who I am-"

Y/N felt the depth of his frustration in the desperate way that he begged, wanting - no, needing - her to believe him. She cupped his face gently, urging him to look at her.

"You don’t have to change, Chris. Not for anyone. You’re enough just as you are, baby. And you’re not a burden. Not to me, not to anyone who really sees you and loves you for who you are."

He nodded slowly, finally trying to take a deep breath, only to feel like his nose was closed and his throat was being chocked by invisible hands. He closed his eyes forcefully, biting his bottom lip in concentration as he tried to breathe in a gulp of air that never seemed to be enough. Chris could feel his heart tightening, his chest struggling in the quick movements of going up and down too many times in a second.

"Can't- I... Please-" He tried, tightening his hands around her hoodie, panicking with the anxiety attack that seemed to come so suddenly.

"Hey, hey, Chris. Sweetheart, you’re okay." Y/N whispered softly, her voice a calming presence against the storm inside him. She shifted slightly, one hand now resting on his chest with a firm press as she guided him through deep breaths, her own voice slow and steady. "Come on, just breathe with me, okay? In... and out... Nice and slow. I’m right here with you."

Following her lead, Chris pressed his eyes tighter in a way that made him see stars behind his eyelids, focusing on the rhythm of her voice, the rise and fall of her own breathing against his fists. With each exhale, he felt a bit of the tension release, his chest loosening as he tried to match her calming breaths.

Gradually, his racing heart began to slow, the adrenaline draining from his body, leaving him feeling heavy, exhausted.

Y/N smiled softly, brushing her fingers through his hair as she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"There you go. That’s it... Well done, my strong boy. Now, just relax. I’ve got you."

As his breathing evened out, Chris opened his eyes slowly, his blurred gaze meeting hers with a vulnerability that tore at her heart.

"You don’t have to carry all of this alone, Chris. I’m always here for you, no matter what. You’re safe with me, okay? I love you... so much." She leaned down, pressing another kiss to his forehead as she held him close, her voice soft.

The gentle reassurance, the quiet love in her words wrapped around him like a blanket, pulling him further into her warmth. His eyelids grew heavier, the tiredness finally catching up with him as he let himself surrender to the comfort of her arms, a quiet whine escaping his throat.

"I know, honey. Sleep." Y/N whispered, a tender smile on her lips as she cradled him closer, holding him like a mother would hold her kid, her hands tracing soothing patterns along his back. "You can rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up."

As she continued to whisper soft reassurances, her fingers running gently through his hair, Chris’s breathing finally evened out, his body relaxing completely in her arms. His head rested on the curve of her neck, his arms still wrapped around her waist as he drifted off, his pain and worries slipping away in the safety of her embrace.

Y/N leaned down, pressing one last, lingering kiss to his hair before laying her cheek against his head, her arms wrapped securely around his body as she watched over him.

"I love you, sweet boy."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A couple of hours had passed, the sunsetting casting a soft, warm light over Chris’s room, where he and Y/N lay wrapped together on the bed. Chris’s face was nestled against her shoulder, his breathing steady and calm now, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers.

Outside the room, Matt and Nick exchanged a glance. They’d been standing in the hallway for nearly five minutes, trying to muster the courage to knock. Their earlier argument with Chris had weighed heavily on both of them, guilt twisting in their stomachs as they replayed every hurtful word that had left their mouths.

Finally, Matt raised his fist and knocked softly on Chris’s door, the faint sound echoing in the silence. When there was no answer, he hesitated, glancing at Nick before slowly pushing the door open.

They both froze at the sight before them. Chris and Y/N were curled up together on the bed, Chris’s face still damp from tears as he lay against her, completely relaxed in her arms. Y/N had one arm around his shoulders, her fingers resting in his hair, while her other hand was hiding inside his shirt, holding his back, cradling him protectively. They looked peaceful.

Matt’s heart clenched at the sight, guilt intensifying as he took in Chris’s tear-streaked face. He glanced over at Nick, who was staring down at his feet, clearly feeling the same crushing remorse.

"Let's go. We can come back later." Matt muttered, pulling Nick towards himself before starting to back out of the room, thinking it might be best to give Chris a bit more time.

But just as they were about to close the door, Chris stirred, shifting slightly in Y/N’s arms. He nuzzled his head on her shoulder, his face just inches from the gentle slope of her neck where he could still catch the faint, familiar scent of her perfume mingling with the natural warmth of her skin.

He moved slightly, careful not to wake her, though his movement caused her to pull him in closer, her fingers instinctively brushing over his back. The feeling of her hand tracing small, soothing circles over his shoulder as if it was a muscle memory grounded him further, coaxing a soft sigh from him as he nuzzled deeper into her embrace, pressing a gentle, barely-there kiss to her neck.

When his sleepy eyes finally traveled around the room while gently stretching his legs between hers, he finally caught Matt and Nick's figures standing in the doorway.

His face fell the instant he realized they were there, his peaceful expression replaced by a guarded, distant look. Carefully, he eased himself up, making sure not to wake Y/N as he pulled himself away from her arms.

"Came for round two?" He looked at Matt and Nick, his sleepy voice laced with bitterness as he asked.

Nick swallowed, words catching in his throat as he struggled to find the right thing to say. What an irony. He opened his mouth but only managed to mumble, stumbling over his words as he tried to get them out.

Finally, Nick took a small step closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Chris, I... we came to say... We just..." His pearly teeth caged his bottom lip momentarily, taking a deep breath. "We love that you’re different."

Chris stared at him, incredulous, eyebrows raised as he scoffed softly.

"Different? That’s what you’re leading with?" His eyes narrowed, hurt simmering just beneath the surface. "So now I’m the ‘different’ one? Funny, ‘cause that didn’t seem to be a good thing a few hours ago."

Nick faltered, his face flushing as he realized his words weren’t coming out the way he intended. He tried again, tripping over his explanation.

"No, no, I... I didn’t mean it like that. I just-"

Chris took a deep, shaky breath, his gaze lowered as he avoided Nick and Matt's eyes, interrupting Nick.

"Look, I want to apologize, alright?" He started, his voice barely more than a murmur, thick with emotion. "I know it was all my fault and that I’m a lot to handle. I get it. I can be too loud, too... everything, really. And I know I’m not like you guys. I’ve tried so hard to be, but it’s just... not me." His words hung heavy in the room, his fingers twisting anxiously in his lap. "I feel like sometimes I just ruin things because I don’t know how to turn it off. You two seem to have this balance, you know when to joke and when to be serious, and I’m over here just... always pushing things too far."

He exhaled deeply, finally lifting his eyes to meet his brothers', the weight of insecurity and years of self-doubt written all over his face.

"I’m sorry if it feels like you have to put up with me. I’ve tried to be more like you, but it’s never enough. And sometimes... it just feels like who I am isn’t what anyone wants." His voice cracked at the last words, his vulnerability laid bare, and he quickly looked away, bracing himself for whatever they would say.

Nick and Matt shared a look, each seeing the guilt mirrored in the other’s eyes as Chris’s words sank in, cutting through them like a blade.

Matt felt his chest tighten, a pang of regret settling heavily in his stomach, making it hard to breathe. How could he have let Chris - his little brother, the boy who was always loving him no matter what - believe, even for a second, that he wasn’t wanted exactly as he was?

His legs moved on instinct, carrying him back into the room before he even registered it, straight to Chris, who looked so small and hurt, slumped at the edge of the bed. Kneeling down, Matt reached out, placing a steadying hand on Chris’s knee, his fingers gently pressing into his brother’s skin as if trying to ground him.

"Chris, you’re our little brother. I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re too much for us." He swallowed, his voice wavering as he continued, willing Chris to see and feel every word. "I love you, man. We love you for who you are. You don’t need to change a thing. It’s your energy, your spark that makes everything better. You have this way of bringing life into everything, and that’s something I wouldn’t change for anything." He looked into Chris’s eyes, his own gaze filled with a raw honesty. "We need you to be you, Chris. No one else."

Nick’s heart clenched as he watched, his own guilt building with every second. Gaining control over the hurt and regret flooding him, he crossed the room in long strides, dropping down beside Matt. He looked up at Chris, his throat tight with emotion, the sight of his little brother so closed-off, so wounded, cutting deep. He was supposed to protect him, not hurt him.

"Yeah... you being another person? That’s not what we want at all. We’ve never wanted you to be anyone else. You’re perfect the way you are, Chris." Nick’s voice shook, filled with a determination to make Chris understand the truth, to undo every careless word he and Matt had thrown his way earlier. "I'm so, so sorry that we said all of those things and made you think so bad about yourself."

Chris’s defenses wavered, his resolve crumbling as he glanced between his brothers. Their sincerity seeped through, but doubt still clouded his gaze. He let out a heavy sigh, loosening his grip on his hoodie just a bit.

"You promise?" His voice was barely a whisper, fragile and laced with uncertainty, his fingers twisting anxiously into the fabric of his sleeve.

Without hesitation, Nick reached forward, taking Chris’s hands in his own, intertwining their fingers and squeezing firmly.

"We promise. We love how wild you are, how you’re always the one bringing the energy. You’re louder, sure, but that’s not something bad, it's exactly what makes you, you. You’re the happiest out of the three of us, Chris, and we wouldn’t change that for anything." He gave Chris’s hand another reassuring squeeze, feeling the smallest hint of relief when he saw the younger brother begin to relax, if only slightly.

Matt nodded, adding gently.

"And hey, I don’t think we need to be professional or act in a type of way for our videos to be good. The viewers love us for who we are... the mix of chaos and calm. That’s what makes us, us. It’s why they stick around."

Chris took a shaky breath, letting their words settle over him, feeling the weight of them begin to ease some of the pain. Slowly, he nodded, his fingers curling back around Nick’s reassuring grip.

"Okay."

Matt leaned forward, placing a hand on Chris’s shoulder.

"We’ll do better, alright? We’re brothers. We’re gonna mess up, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have each other’s backs. Always."

Chris exhaled deeply, finally letting the tension melt away as he leaned into their touch, the comfort of his brothers grounding him in a way only they could. Straightening himself, he managed a small, tired smile, his heart feeling a bit lighter.

"Yeah... always."

"Well, I’m really glad you guys are okay again." Y/N’s soft voice broke the silence, bringing all three heads up in surprise.

She moved with a quiet strength as she sat up and brushed her hand tenderly through Chris’s hair, watching his face light up as he realized she’d been awake all along.

"But just so we’re clear... if either of you hurt my baby like that again, you’re going to have to answer to me." She turned her gaze to Nick and Matt, a playful but fierce glint in her eyes.

"Y/N..." Chris dragged the last letter of her name in a whining tone, feeling flustered with how she called him 'her baby' in front of his brothers - even though they were more than accustomed with it.

Nick’s eyes widened jokingly with her threat, a chuckle escaping him. He lifted his hands in mock surrender, glancing at Matt as if to say, 'Well, we better watch out'. Matt nodded, eyes a bit sheepish, scratching the back of his neck.

"Alright, alright, no more ganging up on Chris. You have our word, Y/N."

Content with their promises, Y/N turned her attention back to Chris, opening her arms and pulling him into her embrace once more. He let out a soft sigh, sinking into her warmth, his head nestled against her shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him protectively, fingers tracing soothing circles along his back as she whispered.

"I told you they didn't mean it." He closed his eyes, letting her words wash over him, the last bits of hurt melting away.

Nick and Matt watched the two of them, a fondness softening their expressions.

"You know." She murmured, pulling Chris's head away from her chest and looking at him with a mischievous grin. "You’re pretty lucky to have all of us wrapped around your finger."

Chris laughed, a real laugh this time, the sound full of relief and love.

"Yeah, I know. I just... I guess I forget sometimes."

"Well." Nick started, squeezing Chris’s shoulder with a grin. "We’re not going anywhere. So next time, just remind us if we’re being idiots, alright?"

Chris nodded, glancing gratefully at each of them, feeling more grounded and cherished than he had in a long time.

© vanteguccir

[teapartyprincess4two]

On Stream- M. Sturniolo

pairing: gf!reader x bf!Matt

classification: fluff

warnings: use of y/n, short, slight cursing, some suggestive comments

summary: Matt mentions you on stream, causing the chat to go crazy.

—

Nowadays it seems that Matt and Chris have an abnormal amount of free time.

The pair have spent the past few days running errands, catching up on chores, spending quality time together, and unwinding. But two energetic young men can only do so much relaxing before it becomes unbearably boring, especially without you and Nick around.

Nick’s somewhere across the globe, relishing in the perks of having good friends. He’s experiencing the world with a sense of individuality, having been apart from his triplet brothers for over a week.

Without Nick around the house is quiet and boring enough, but Chris and Matt can usually count on you to keep them company. But it seems that they see you less and less every day.

You aren’t somewhere far away, not physically at least, you’re just very, very busy. As you enter the fall semester, you’re juggling a multitude of responsibilities including school, work, your social life, and your relationship. But as you adjust to your crazy hectic schedule, you spend less time at home with Matt and more time nose deep in a book.

So, just as the brothers grow accustomed to the eerie silence that haunts the halls of their home and the boredom that settles into their everyday lives, they decide enough is enough and take up a new hobby. Streaming.

Today, as Matt anchors himself in his rolling chair, his eyes skim through the endless chats that flood his screen. Chris sits next to him, a vibrant and excited smile adorning his features.

This is their third consecutive day going live on Twitch. At first they went live to entertain and chat with their fans, but now they’re doing it to occupy their bored minds.

Chris’s eyes skim the chat, fixating on one message in particular. He subconsciously reads it aloud, “Is Y/n on tour with Nick? We miss her.”

After reading the comment, the chat was flooded with similar messages asking for you. Matt slumps into his chair, the mention of your name reminding him that it’s been a week since he’s seen you.

“Nah, she’s just busy with school right now,” Chris replies mindlessly, skimming for another comment to read.

A lot of the viewers noticed Matt’s mood shift. They noticed the way his eyes drooped and the way the corners of his mouth turned into a frown. They especially noticed the disassociated look he wore, mind traveling to a place only you could bring him out of.

“Matt,” Chris says, waving a hand in front of his brother’s face. No response. “Matt!” He tries again, louder this time. Matt still doesn’t respond, only coming back into reality when Chris violently shakes his shoulders.

“What, dude? What?!” Matt asks, annoyance evident in his tone.

“Your phone’s ringing.” Chris replies with an eye roll and a small scoff.

Suddenly the blaring ring registers in Matt’s mind as he pats his pockets in search of his phone. When he finally finds it, your name illuminated the screen.

“Who’s calling?” Chris asks, stretching out his neck in hopes of catching a nosy glimpse at the caller ID.

“Umm be right back chat. Y/n’s calling,” Matt says, words spewing out a mile a minute. He disappears from the room faster than ever, immediately pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.” Your voice is music to Matt’s ears. It feels like forever since he’s last heard it.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “everything okay?”

You hum in response, followed by a soft yawn.

“You sound tired. When are you coming home?” Matt asks, softly leaning against the wall. You’ve been at school all day stuck in lectures and studying, so Matt knows you need some well deserved rest.

“I’m on my way now. That’s why I called, wanted to see if you guys were hungry so I could pick up something to eat.”

The excitement that courses through Matt’s veins is unreal, winding him up with enough energy to last until tomorrow. He can’t wait to see you, hold you, kiss you, and make up for all the lost time.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he replies, pausing for a second to compose himself, “I just wanna see you.”

A warm smile graces your features and if Matt could see it he’d mirror your expression.

“I’ll be home soon don’t worry. How’s the stream going?”

“Huh?” For a second Matt forgot that he and his brother were live streaming for thousands of people.

“The stream. Aren’t you live with Chris right now?”

“Ohhh. It’s going… it’s going good.” Matt replies with a soft sigh.

Your smile is momentarily replaced with a frown. “It doesn’t sound like it’s going good. What’s wrong?”

Matt’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose before gliding across his eyelids and massaging the tense nerves and muscles on his face. “It’s going fine. I just can’t focus. The chat keeps asking about you and it’s honestly making me really sad.”

A small chuckle escapes your lips. “Aww my poor baby. Can’t focus on Fortnite?”

“Not Fortnite.”

“Oops, sorry. Fall Guys?

“Y/n.” Matt warns, though he finds it slightly funny too.

“I’m joking, I’m joking. I’ll be home soon with some good food and open arms. We can cuddle and watch a movie, or do anything else you wanna do. Okay?”

Matt feels his spirit lighten up again, a cheeky smirk forming on his face. “Anything?”

“Don’t push it,” you laugh.

Just as Matt’s about to respond, he’s cut short by Chris calling his name from inside the room.

“Get back to your stream. I’ll be home soon, handsome.”

Matt’s lips form a silly pout you can’t even see as he replies, “But I wanna keep talking to you. Miss you so much.”

“MATT!” Chris calls again, this time much louder than the last.

“We’ll talk all you want when I get home. Now go! I have the stream pulled up on my computer and I think Chris is gonna start twerking,” you say, trying your best not to laugh.

“Holy fuck this kid,” Matt groans, face palming. “Alright baby, I love you. Drive safe.”

“I love you too,” you say through small giggles before hanging up.

When Matt renters the room, he’s not surprised to find Chris dancing for the camera. He pushes past him and settles back into his rolling chair wearing a huge, toothy smile.

“What did Y/n want?” Chris asks, briefly glancing at Matt as he switches from doing the griddy to shuffling across the room.

“Just asked if we were hungry,” Matt shrugs, attempting to act nonchalant, but there’s no hiding the newfound pep in his step.

“And it took you that long?”

“I was catching up with my girl. —Why the fuck are you still dancing?”

“Someone gifted,” Chris says, slightly breathless as he bops from corner to corner.

“Alright…” Matt shifts towards the computer, “What did I miss?”

He reads comments, expecting most of them to be about Chris and his absurd dancing skills, but he’s surprised to find that they’re all about you.

Some fans ask where you are, others ask what you’re doing, some speculate on the conversation you and Matt had, and others simply comment on how much happier Matt seems since talking to you.

All Matt can do is smile and patiently wait for you to arrive, ready to bombard you with kisses as soon as you step through the door.

—

MASTERLIST

a/n: hi babies! Hope you enjoy this short oneshot! I know I haven’t updated or posted much in a longggg time but I honestly had writers block :P I’m trying to get into the habit of writing again, so bear with me pls. I have a lotttt of drafts (some that just need to be edited) so be expecting that soon! Luv you all 😚

- L.A.M.B🪽💝

—

taglist: @nickgetsmewetter @sturniololovers @raysmayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03 @k-l-a-w-s @maryx2xx @biggesthat3r @herxyzblog @getosuckers @sturnioloarchive @tillies33ssss @fratbrochrisgf @rxeae @riasturns @sturnikitty @sturnrc @sturtriple16 @sillyfreakfanparty @imwetforyourmom @mattslovelygf @certifiednatelover @cartiiwannagotoplutoo @luvr4miya @somegirlfromasgard @l0vergrlll @pepsicolapussy333 @unbruisable @sugrhigh @khxna @wh0resstuff @jnkvivi @callsignwidow @sturnstvr @inkyray-deactivated20240729 @stasiesturn @poopiepantsworld @cvnt4matty @eleanore2204 @jhutchismyl0verb0y

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐 if your user is striked through, I wasn’t able to tag you :(

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . VOICEMAILS

WARNINGS : ANGST. SLIGHT CRYING. HURT NO COMFORT (?). PLOT TWIST (?).

it was a habit—the way matt would pick up his phone everyday and call you. even if you never responded to him, he was more than okay with that. he just liked having someone there to listen to him.

and really this week was no different.

START VOICEMAILS - remaining - *7*

*beep*

“hi!—sorry i can’t come to the phone right now, you know how life can get. but just leave a message and i’ll get back to ya! love you!”

*beep*

Monday - 3:12 pm

Voicemail #1 :

“hey sweetheart, i just left the grocery store and got your favorite cereal,” he pauses, laughing softly to himself. “i don’t know why you ever liked it, it didn’t even taste right, but..i don’t know why i keep buying it even though i know i’m never going to eat it. it’s a habit i guess,” he lets out a small sigh running his fingers through his hair. “maybe i just like pretending you’ll come around and steal the last bowl again..”

there’s silence on the line for a moment, matt’s breathing filtering in before he spoke again.

“call me when you get this, okay?”

Tuesday - 11:46 pm

voicemail #2 :

“i can’t sleep. the apartment’s been too quiet recently, more than normal. do you remember that creaky floorboard in our hallway? yeah? well i keep stepping on it by accident, and it freaks me out every time even though i know it’s there,” he laughs to himself, at just how silly he sounds saying that. “you used to tease me about it every time. pretty sure you even doubled over to the floor once after i screamed like a girl one night.”

suddenly he paused at the memory, he could feel his head starting to swim.

“miss hearing your voice. miss everything. call me when you can.”

Wednesday - 5:07 pm

voicemail #3 -

“work was fucking hell today. chris tried to prank me by messing with my camera settings again, and I nearly threw him out a window,” he paused, allowing himself to take a few deep breaths at the thought of his brother. he exhales before speaking, “you’d have loved it. you always said I needed to get better at standing up for myself, or really speaking my mind.”

he exhales a laugh, but it’s quiet.

“i’m sorry this isn’t as long..but, i stood up for myself today. thought you’d be proud—i love you and thank you.”

Thursday - 9:21 am

voicemail #4 -

“i saw a girl with your jacket today. the one with the patches and the paint on the sleeve—i thought it was you and almost ran after her.” he took a deep breath, sniffling. “though i stopped myself in my tracks. because really i shouldn’t be bothering with it”

there was a long pause. then, his voice came quieter than before.

“i wish i had really…just to see your face one more time, even if it wasn’t really you.”

Friday – 1:33 pm

voicemail #5 -

“It’s been… how long now?” he sighs quietly, feeling the way his face goes hot. “i stopped counting honestly..it doesn’t feel right. time doesn’t move the same when you’re not here. it’s like it got stuck on that day and never wanted to progress.”

a sniffle. silence for a few seconds, then a quick breath.

“anyway. i’m rambling again. i’ll call you tomorrow, okay? like always, i promise.”

Saturday – 6:45 PM

voicemail #6 -

“remember that little bookstore you loved? they’re closing down…I was able to though before hand and bought that poetry book you kept picking up but never brought yourself to buy. it’s sitting on your nightstand. still has the receipt in it.”

he breathes in like he’s trying not to cry—cause god—he really was trying to hold on for you.

a few small sobs and sniffles are caught on the microphone. “i’m scared I’m forgetting your voice.”

Sunday – 10:00 am

he doesn’t leave a voicemail today.

not at first anyways. he’s walking through the quiet apartment—his phone to his ear as he scans the walls of everything that was yours—before he then ends the call. and suddenly he’s standing in front of the shelf in the corner of the room when he shifts his gaze up from the floor.

the one lined with polaroids, bracelets, your favorite candle—

and

a ceramic urn with your name etched in soft gold.

and next to it—your phone still sits propped upright beside it. the screen’s dark and the battery’s long been dead. matt stares at it for a while, knowing just how many messages he’s sent to you since you’ve been gone.

slowly, matt presses the call button again, bringing his hand up to his ear as his other hand reaches out to trace the pictures of you and him—and leaves one more voicemail.

Sunday – 10:06 AM

voicemail #7 :

“hey, angel. i know you can’t answer these—I know that. i know that every time i pick up my phone and dial your name,” he sucks in a sharp breath, biting his teeth into his lower lip to stop the sobs from spilling past his lips. “i hope you’re happy up there..wherever you are. and happy 6 years my love—i can’t wait to have you in my arms again.”

another broken breath slipped from him. and a pause full of everything he never got to say to you—never got to marry you.

“but.. i’m gonna keep calling anyway. you don’t have to hear me to know i’m still here for you—it’s forever right? i promised you that.”

his voice cracks just a little—his walls about to crumble the longer he stays on the line. but he couldn’t help the cry that left him as he said the last few words he’d never get to hear from you again.

“i love you so much…and i’ll talk to you tomorrow baby.”

END VOICEMAILS - remaining -*0*

a/n : my version of the voicemails :)

[robinminustherichard]

Just Remember, I'm On Your Side

8×17 Coda/Fix It | BuckTommy | G

Someone is knocking on Tommy's door at 10:30 PM, and he knows he's in for it when he peaks out and sees a familiar truck in his driveway. He sighs, braces himself, and opens the door.

He gets one look at Evan and everything he was thinking flies out the window.

Evan is disheveled--he's got a hoodie thrown on over pajama pants and his hair looks like he's run his hands through it a hundred times. Worst, however, are his red eyes and long lashes clumped together with the remnants of tears.

"Evan--" Tommy says, knowing he sounds concerned and his face probably matches.

Evan swallows thickly and looks up at Tommy in the way that always seemed to lead Tommy to trouble.

"You," Evan starts, and takes a deep hiccuping breath, "you said once that you thought maybe my friends weren't always the nicest they could be to me--"

Tommy does remember saying that. Evan had blown it off then, excusing behavior from some of the 118 as he told stories of things they had been through.

"--I didn't want to hear it, then." Evan finishes. He runs his hand through his hair, looks around like someone is watching them. His eyes track back to Tommy's. "I think I'm ready to hear it, now."

Tommy feels shell shocked for a moment, not knowing quite what to say when your ex-boyfriend shows up following what's gotta be the worst few weeks of his life and suddenly wants to hear about how his friends frankly are kind of jerks sometimes.

Evan fidgets in the silence, nervous. He begins talking.

"And, and I know, Tommy, that I don't have the right to come here after what I said. But I think you might be the first person in a long time that has--has thought about me. Really thought about me and how I feel, and I got in this fight with Eddie and he said I make everything about myself, and then he brought Chris from El Paso and they're in my house now and I had to get out before I--"

"Evan," Tommy interrupts gently. He holds out a hand across the threshold, "Do you want to come in?"

Evan stops, blinking back new dampness in his eyes. He nods quickly before agreeing verbally.

"Th-thank you, Tommy," Evan whispers, grabbing on to Tommy's hand and letting himself be pulled inside.

He stumbles a bit and Tommy catches him; and maybe it's the exhaustion that's been dogging him since the night at the lab, but Tommy affords himself the comfort of gathering Evan up into his arms, tucking him into Tommy's body as much as one could with someone of Evan's physique.

Evan seemed to go boneless, choking back an unmistakable sob and burying his face into Tommy's shoulder.

"Eddie came at me," Buck says shakily, mumbled and nearly inaudible, "it was the first time that...I thought he might actually hit me."

"I'll kill him," Tommy says simply and without thought, knowing he meant it.

Evan snorts unattractively at that, pulling out of Tommy's shoulder and looking him in the eyes.

"I know you would." Evan says simply.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I've already committed two crimes for you, Evan Buckley. What's a little manslaughter?"

Evan laughs outright at that, wet and still a little miserable but a grin comes with it. It falls a bit though, and his eyes skitter around before speaking again.

"Can we...can we talk? Please?" Evan asks, biting at his lip.

Tommy knows how this is going to go. He knew it when he answered Evan's call three weeks ago, he knew it when he watched Evan break down on those monitors, he knew it when he saw the detached stoicism Evan maintained with a white knuckle grip at the funeral.

"How about..." Tommy says, pulling away but keeping their hands together, "I make you a sandwhich and you drink a glass of water, and then we get into bed and then, if you're still awake, we can talk?"

Evan breathes out, and hesitant smile lighting up his face.

"Yes--yes, please," he says in a rush, nodding again, "I would--I would love that, Tommy."

Tommy takes a chance then, he pulls Evan in to his side and presses his lips to Evan's birthmark. He feels something within himself settle, and he hears Evan sigh and feels his shoulders relax.

"Come on, sweetheart."

[passionfruitchris]

BRUISED AND BARE

pairing: hockey!chris x reader

warnings: dom/sub reversal, mild injury aftermath, praise kink, desperation, overstimulation, dirty talk, orgasm control, begging, rough language

summary: after a brutal game and a rough fight, chris comes home sore, bruised, and angry he can’t treat you like he usually would — so you decide to give him everything without making him move an inch. | wc: 1.8k

he didn’t knock. he never did after games like that.

the door creaked open and shut with a force that told you everything before you even turned around. the game had been rough. you’d seen the way his gloves flew off mid-ice, the fight that followed — brutal, furious, and long enough to make the announcers fall silent. and now, there he was. In the doorway. one eye darkening at the socket. his bottom lip split. shoulders hunched like every muscle in his body was burning.

he looked wrecked. and he was still looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

"baby" you breathed, already halfway across the room. "Jesus—"

"don’t," he said, voice low and hoarse, like it hurt to talk. "don’t give me that look."

you stopped in front of him close enough to feel the heat still coming off him. the adrenaline hadn’t faded yet. his hoodie clung to his back, damp with sweat, and when you reached to touch his arm, he flinched—not from you, but from the soreness beneath your fingers. you saw it then. the tension in his neck. the way he was fighting the pain. and the heat in his eyes that hadn’t cooled one bit.

"i’m not mad," you whispered. "i just—fuck, chris, you’re covered in bruises."

he didn’t answer. just dropped his bag, kicked the door shut behind him, and stared at you like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to collapse or crawl inside your skin.

you reached for his hoodie zipper, tugging it down slowly. “let me take care of you.”

but his hand caught yours and you gasped softly when you saw the way his knuckles looked. purple. swollen. split in a place that looked dangerously close to needing stitches. he didn’t let go. that hand slid up your chest, then over your breast, slow but deliberate, and the rasp in his voice when he spoke next nearly cracked your knees.

“i need you s'bad, sweetheart,” he murmured. “please.”

you stilled under his palm, fingers curling around his wrist gently. “chris… not right now. do you even realize how bad of shape you’re in?”

his jaw clenched. his eyes dropped, not in shame — in frustration. he was still so worked up, twitching with energy that had nowhere to go, and you could see it plain as day: he wasn’t asking to fuck. he was asking to feel better. the only way he knew how. the only way that ever really worked.

"it’ll help," he said, voice lower now, breaking. "let me feel you. just—please, baby. i can't—"

he didn’t finish the sentence. didn’t have to. you saw it in the way he held himself - like his whole body was about to snap. yu exhaled slowly, then brought your hands up to cup his jaw, thumbs brushing the edges of his cheekbones.

"okay," you whispered. "but you're not doing anything tonight. i’ll do the work. you just lie back."

chris opened his mouth to argue — you saw it on his face — but then he closed it. swallowed hard. nodded once.

and let you lead him to the couch.

you straddled him slowly, carefully, taking in every inch of exposed skin as you peeled his hoodie off, then his undershirt. he hissed when you touched his ribs, and you bit back the instinct to scold him again. his body was a canvas of ache — bruises on his chest, shoulder, one already darkening across his hip. he winced when he sat back against the cushions, legs spread, his hands resting helplessly at his sides.

"you good?" you asked softly, already sliding your shorts off. he watched every movement, like it hurt to look away.

"yeah," he whispered. then added, “you look so fuckin’ pretty like that.”

you climbed into his lap, bare thighs over his sweats, his bulge pressing up against you hot and solid. he inhaled through his nose when you reached between you and slid him free — his cock already heavy, flushed, desperate for touch. he was rock hard, even though his shoulders trembled with restraint.

“you’re gonna let me take care of you,” you murmured, guiding him to your entrance. “just stay still, christopher. let me.”

he gritted his teeth when you sank down — slow, deliberate, taking him inch by inch until you were fully seated in his lap, pressed so deep it felt like you couldn’t breathe. his head fell back against the couch. sis fists clenched at his sides. you leaned in, kissed his jaw.

“you’re so deep, baby,” you whispered. “you feel so good.”

his breath stuttered one of those low, shaking exhales that came from deep in his chest — and when you started to move, he groaned, long and drawn out, hips twitching like he wanted to meet your pace.

but you caught his mouth with your finger - soft, deliberate — and pressed it to his lips.

“shhh” you said. “i’ve got it. you don’t need to do anything.”

he whimpered. whimpered. and let his hips go still.

you rocked your hips, slow and deep, palms pressed flat to his chest, feeling the way his breaths rattled beneath your touch. his eyes never left yours. even as his body started to tremble, even as he choked on the urge to take over, his gaze stayed locked on your face — like watching you fall apart above him was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

“fucking hell,” he rasped, hands tightening on the cushions. “look at you. you ride me so good. so fucking perfect, baby.”

you moaned, rolling your hips again, feeling the way he pulsed inside you. he was close already — from the fight, the adrenaline, the pain — but he was holding on with everything he had. his voice was rough, cracked in the back of his throat.

“keep going,” he begged. “don’t stop. wanna feel you come, baby, please—fuck—”

you smiled, breathless, and picked up the pace, hips grinding, rhythm steady. his chest tensed under your hands, his mouth open in a gasp he couldn’t finish. and still, all he could do was watch.

and praise.

he was shaking.

not violently. not enough to stop you. but under your hands, his body trembled — shoulders twitching, thighs locked in place, chest rising fast with each breath as you rode him slow and steady, giving him everything without asking for a thing in return. It was killing him in the best way. you could see it in his face, in the tightness around his mouth, in the way his eyes kept falling shut like he was overwhelmed but couldn’t dare miss a second.

his bruises had turned his skin into a canvas of color — purples and deep reds stretching across his ribs his stomach tight from the effort of holding still. his hands stayed clenched into the couch cushions beside his thighs, exactly where you’d told him to keep them. he didn’t try to take control. mot again. but he looked like he was dying to.

“you’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, leaning over him, your palms flat against his chest. you felt every stutter in his breath. every tremble. “you’re being so good for me. i know it’s hard.”

chris gritted his teeth. his head tilted back against the couch again, throat exposed, jaw tight. “f-fuck,” he groaned. “you’re so fucking tight. unreal”

you rolled your hips again, grinding deep, slow, angling yourself just right — and his whole body twitched like it wanted to thrust up into you. but he didn’t. you saw the effort it took in his eyes. he was holding it in for you.

he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but all that came out was a low, helpless moan. his hands flexed uselessly on the cushion.

“you wanna move, don’t you?” you asked softly.

he gave a broken laugh. “you have no fuckin’ idea.”

you leaned in closer, brushing your nose against his, your pace still unrelenting — perfect, even, cruel in how good it felt. “and what did i say?”

chris’s voice cracked. “said to let you do the work.”

“and are you gonna?”

he nodded. then, shamefully, “tryin’ so hard, baby. please, please don’t stop. don’t stop.”

you picked up the rhythm just a bit — a little faster, a little filthier — and his body shook like it was unraveling beneath you. you could feel how close he was, the way his cock twitched inside you, the desperate sounds he was trying to swallow. his head rolled against the couch, jaw clenched so tight it trembled.

“i’m close,” he gasped. “shit—shit, i’m gonna come.”

yiu slowed instantly.

he whined — an actual fucking whine that punched straight into your core — his hips bucking once before you put your hand on his chest to stop him.

“not yet,” you whispered.

his eyes snapped to yours — hazy, desperate, almost pained with how much he needed it.

“baby, please—fuck—i need to, i need to—”

you leaned in again, your voice soft but final.

“not yet.”

he went still.

not from obedience, but surrender.

his mouth opened and closed around nothing, his hands still clenched in the cushion, and his whole body was trembling like he was holding on by a thread. you moved again — not fast, but harder now, deeper — fucking him with long, drawn-out grinds that made his eyes roll back, his lips parting with each shaky breath.

“you’re being so good,” you murmured. “so fucking good for me.”

his voice came out rough, torn between groaning and crying. “you’re gonna kill me. this is gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

“you can come when i say,” you whispered. “you’ll wait for it.”

“i’ll wait,” he choked out. “i’ll fuckin’—i’ll wait, i swear, just—keep going, please, please—”

iou watched his face closely, the way it cracked open more with every movement, every clench around him. his body was beaten to hell and he was still holding himself perfectly still just to please you. that desperation, that pride — it was all in his eyes.

you leaned down, kissed the side of his mouth, and finally whispered, “come for me.”

the sound he made didn’t belong to any man who thought he had control. it was pure, broken release — his hips jolting once, his mouth falling open on a shattered gasp as he came hard, spilling into you with a choked-off moan that sounded more like a sob. his hands finally grabbed your thighs, gripping like he was drowning, his head pressing into your shoulder as he rode it out.

“fuckfuckfuck, baby-” he gasped, holding you tight, voice cracking. “thank you. thank you.”

you didn’t stop moving, not fully, just enough to let him twitch through the aftershocks, to keep him trembling and open and filled with you. he clung to your waist, mouth brushing your collarbone, every breath he took shaking like he was still coming down.

you whispered into his hair, slow and soft.

“I love you”

a/n: I live for a dom man who’s lowkey subby by circumstance, this took me forever to get right, so if you’re reading this, thank you. any comment, like, or message means so much to me. ilysm!!

tags - @zenithsturniolo @sturnsblogs @sirensdollesque @adoremattsturns @espressqe @matts-wife @adorechris @seaouidbabyx @ilovemenwithlonghairr @chlosallow @tezzzzzzzz @h3arts4nat @whore4-chrissturniolo

dividers: @cafekitsune

[immaqulate]

rated r.. for ruined | c.s

— chris sturniolo x fem! reader

— warnings: smut (18+), established relationship, public sex in theater (penetration), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it yall), hand over mouth restraint, dirty talk/praising, creampie/cum inside (implied), overstimulation, risk of being seen/heard (consensual audience implication), READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

You knew wearing the skirt was a bad idea. But when Chris pulls you into his lap during a late-night movie and whispers in your ear to stay quiet… it’s already too late.

requested by anon! | word count: 769 | dividers by @cursed-carmine

You shouldn’t have worn the skirt. You knew better.

But when Chris texted you earlier — “Late movie? Just us. Wear that little black one I like.” — you knew what you were getting into. Still, you told yourself it would just be cuddles. Maybe some kissing. Something soft and sweet, like the way he played with your fingers in public. Like the way he held your hand under the hoodie he draped over both your laps. Like the way he whispered, “You look so pretty when you’re nervous,” into your hair when you flinched at the jump scare.

But soft and sweet has never been his strong suit.

Not when he shifts in his seat halfway through the movie and pulls you into his lap. Not when his hand disappears under your skirt like it belongs there. Not when he hisses against your ear, “Shh, you gotta stay quiet for me, baby, can you do that?”

You nod, but your breath is already shaky.

Chris’s fingers trail up your thighs, slow and teasing, lips brushing your neck like he’s narrating a secret. “You’re so warm already. God, you knew I was gonna do this, didn’t you?” He laughs softly when you whimper, burying your face in his shoulder to hide your flushed cheeks. “So shy,” he murmurs, “but you came ready for it.”

You squirm as he presses two fingers against the damp cotton of your panties, and he groans low. “Fuck… you’re soaked.” The movie’s still playing, surround sound booming, but all you can hear is the pounding of your heart and the slick sound of his fingers pulling your underwear aside.

He doesn’t bother teasing anymore.

He guides himself inside you — slow, thick, deliberate — muffling your gasp with his hand over your mouth. You clench around him immediately, thighs tensing, fingernails digging into the armrest. He’s deep, the stretch dizzying, and you’re barely halfway seated on him before he’s already whispering praise.

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Always take me so fuckin’ good…”

You’re trembling. Not from fear — from need. From the way his free hand grips your waist, keeping you locked in place. From the subtle roll of his hips beneath you, making it impossible not to feel everything. From the quiet, hot way he breathes into your ear.

“You okay?” he asks, fingers brushing your cheek.

You nod fast, barely a whisper: “Mhm.”

He kisses your neck and thrusts up again — slow and deep. Your breath hitches and your back arches just a little, enough for his grip to tighten.

“Don’t. Move.” His voice is stern but soft. “If you start bouncing, someone’s gonna hear us.”

You whimper and try to behave, sitting still while he grinds into you in the filthiest way. It’s overwhelming. You can barely focus on the movie. Not when he’s inside you. Not when you’re so full you can’t even think straight. Not when he leans in and whispers—

“Feel that, baby? How deep I am? Bet the people in the front row have no idea your pretty pussy’s stuffed full of me right now…”

You squirm again. And this time, he lets you.

Your hips roll instinctively, chasing friction, and his jaw clenches hard beneath your ear. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it…”

His hand covers your mouth again just as you moan — quiet, but shaky, needy. Your eyes are wide as you fight to stay quiet, the theater still mostly empty, but not empty enough. Every creak of the chair, every whine that slips out, feels so loud.

Chris is panting now. “You close, baby?”

You nod helplessly, tears welling in your eyes because it’s too good — too much. And he knows exactly how to ruin you.

“Cum for me,” he whispers. “Right here, like a good girl. So fuckin’ tight… You gonna cum on my cock in the movie theater like a little slut?”

You cry out behind his hand, legs shaking as your orgasm crashes through you. Your whole body quakes in his lap, thighs clenching around him as he holds you through it, fucking you slow and deep the whole way.

“That’s it. That’s my girl,” he breathes against your temple, voice ragged now. “God, you’re perfect.”

You’re still trembling when he finally pulls out, tucking himself back into his jeans with a low groan. He lets you sit in his lap for a second longer, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you against him like nothing happened.

You try to calm your breathing, cheeks flushed, fingers still digging into the seat cushion.

And then he smirks.

“You wanna stay for the post-credit scene?”

broo thats so hott 😭.. god i need him

click here to be added to my taglist and here for masterlist <3

taglist 1 ✎ @chrisissobabygirl @sturnzwrld @strnilolover @sweetshuga @mattslilies @sirensdollesque @slxtarchive @heartsonlyforchris @sturns-mermaid @bluessturniolo @pasteldreams @endereies @solarsturniolo @drewswife @conspiracy-ash @courta13 @ivytthew @blushsturns @surprisecurlyfriess @mazzystarrysky @eclipsturns @riasturns @mattsgirl4ever @elisesturnz @ribbonlovergirl @chrisslut04 @pair-of-pantaloons @obxfansstuff @poppetbaby02 @bgfshai @kalel2005

[skzophreniic]

NSFW alphabet with Chan

18+ CONTENT MDNI

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 what being in a relationship with chan is like—after dark version

featuring: Christopher Bahng x reader

notes: this one ALSO got out of hand ngl lmao. um..enjoy?

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Bang Chan wants to take care of you—always. It’s instinct, something woven into him so deeply that even when he’s completely spent, he still reaches for you first.

But sometimes?

He needs a minute.

When the sex is slow and deep, when it’s about connection more than anything, he’s fully present afterward—whispering sweet praises, stroking your skin, kissing every inch of you as he takes his time helping you clean up. He loves those moments, loves the quiet intimacy of holding you, of making sure you feel cherished.

But when it’s rough—when he’s fucked every ounce of energy out of himself, when he’s panting into the crook of your neck, body boneless and sweat-damp against yours—he just physically cannot move right away.

Those are the moments where he collapses onto you, breath ragged, arms still wrapped around you but too weak to do anything but hold on.

"Fuck," he exhales, forehead resting against your shoulder, body heavy against yours. He’s trying—trying to push himself up, trying to get his brain to start functioning again—but he’s just so wrecked.

And you know him. You know he’s going to get up in a second, pull himself together, slip into his nurturing mode and make sure you’re okay. But for now, he just needs to breathe.

So you stroke his hair, rub his back, let him have that moment.

And when he finally stirs, when his strength starts coming back, he lifts his head, cups your cheek, and gives you the softest fucking look.

"Alright, baby?" he murmurs, voice still rough, still hoarse from everything.

And then—after a kiss, after a deep breath—he shifts back into the Bang Chan you know.

He cleans you up, holds you close, whispers sweet words as he runs his fingers through your hair. And when you finally settle, tucked against his chest, warm and safe?

That’s when he lets himself relax completely.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Bang Chan doesn’t think much about his own body. He’s self-critical, always nitpicking, always focusing on what he could improve rather than what he likes.

But if he had to pick a favorite?

His arms.

Not because they’re toned or strong, not because they look good in sleeveless shirts—but because of what they can do.

Because they can hold you close, wrap around you, keep you pressed against his chest when he’s buried deep inside you. Because they can pin you down when he wants to take his time wrecking you, fingers gripping tight enough to leave shadows of himself on your skin. Because they can lift you, shift you exactly how he wants, spread you open, keep you in place when he’s fucking you so good you’re on the verge of falling apart.

That’s why he loves them. Because they let him feel you—hold you—have you.

But when it comes to you?

He can’t pick. He refuses to pick.

Because he loves everything.

Your thighs—the way they tremble when he spreads them open, the way they lock around his waist when you’re pulling him deeper.

Your hips—his hands were made to hold them, to grip them tight as he guides you, as he keeps you right where he wants you.

Your neck—because he loves kissing it, loves feeling your pulse race under his lips, loves the way you tilt your head just a little, silently begging for more.

Your hands—because they always reach for him, always cling to him, always dig into his shoulders, his hair, his back, leaving tiny little reminders that you were there, that you felt everything.

But if he absolutely had to choose?

It’s your eyes.

Because nothing—nothing—undoes him faster than the way you look at him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Chris is absolutely obsessed with it—where it goes, how much there is, how messy he can get you. He’s got a filthy mouth and an even filthier mind, and nothing gets him off harder than seeing the evidence of how thoroughly he’s ruined you.

His favorite thing? Making you keep it inside. He loves stuffing you full, fucking it deeper with slow, teasing thrusts just to make sure it stays there. There’s something so primal about watching it drip out of you afterward, thick and warm, only to push it right back in with his fingers, watching you shudder at the overstimulation.

“Ah, ah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes dark with satisfaction as he watches your swollen cunt flutter around his fingers. “Did I say you could let it spill out?”

You whimper, body trembling beneath him, but he doesn’t have a shred of mercy left. He scoops up a stray drop, presses it against your entrance, and watches with fascination as you gasp when he slides it back inside.

“That’s it,” he croons, brushing a kiss against your thigh before pulling back to admire his work. “Gotta keep it all in, baby. Can’t waste a single drop, yeah?”

And then there’s the times when he gets off on watching you covered in it. Painting your stomach, your thighs, your tongue—he loves it all. Loves the way you look up at him through heavy lashes, mouth open and waiting, that sinful little tongue flicking out just enough to catch the last few drops.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, fingers gripping your jaw as his thumb smears the mess across your lips. “You look so goddamn pretty like this.”

His breathing is ragged, but he still gathers the cum on his fingers, pushing them past your lips, groaning at the way you suck them clean without hesitation.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, voice thick with arousal. His thumb drags down your chin, spreading the leftover mess over your skin. “Wanna see you like this all the time.”

And he means it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Bang Chan is filthier than he lets on.

Sure, he acts like he’s the responsible one—the measured one—the man who keeps it together when everyone else is losing their minds. But behind that composed exterior?

He’s an absolute fucking pervert.

Because his dirty secret?

He steals things from you.

Not in an obvious way—not something you’d immediately notice missing—but little things. The lacey panties you left in his laundry pile. The shirt you wore to bed that still smells like you. A pair of thigh-high socks you once teased him in, bunched up at the foot of the bed after you peeled them off.

And the filthiest part?

He uses them.

He knows he should feel guilty—knows it’s borderline depraved to be alone in his studio, pressing his face into the soft fabric of your underwear, fisting his cock like he’s some desperate, sex-starved idiot.

But he can’t help it.

Not when your scent is still on them. Not when the memory of you wearing them is still burned into his mind. Not when he can picture you so perfectly—back arched, legs spread, teasing him as you pull them off inch by inch.

He’s done it on tour, too. Brought a pair with him, tucked deep in his suitcase like some kind of depraved little token, something to keep him sane when he’s too far away to touch you.

And when he’s alone in some hotel room, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, stroking himself to the thought of being buried inside you, he’s pressing them against his face, groaning into the fabric, his cum spilling all over them—marking them, ruining them—just so when he gets home, he can finally give them back.

And the worst part?

He loves the idea that you might already know.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Bang Chan is dangerously experienced—not just in knowing what feels good, but in knowing exactly how to make you lose yourself in it. He doesn’t just fuck; he studies you, learns every twitch, every gasp, every shift in your breathing like a song he’s fine-tuning in the studio. He catches the way your thighs squeeze together when his fingers trail too lightly, the way your breath hitches when his lips hover at your throat. And he uses it against you.

"Relax, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement as he presses a teasing kiss to the crease of your thigh, just shy of where you need him. He knows you’re aching, trembling under his touch, but he won’t give in until you beg for it. His fingers skim the slick heat between your legs, slow and barely there. "So sensitive, aren’t you? That’s okay, I got you."

And he does. When he finally gives you what you want, it’s devastating—a calculated mix of deep, deliberate thrusts and slow, teasing drags that keep you on the edge but never quite over. He knows when to speed up, when to grind just right, when to slip a hand between your bodies and press his thumb against your swollen clit, growling in satisfaction when you tighten around him.

“You’re so easy to read,” he whispers against your lips, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead as he watches you unravel. “I knew you’d like it like this.”

He’s been with enough people to know what he’s doing, but that’s not what makes him dangerous. It’s the way he adapts, the way he remembers—the way every time he touches you, it’s somehow better than the last.

F = Favorite Position (this goes without saying)

Bang Chan doesn’t have just one favorite—he’s too attentive, too adaptable, too desperate to feel you in every possible way to limit himself. But if he had to choose? Anything that lets him watch you break.

He loves missionary, but not the slow, romantic kind—the messy, sweaty, unrelenting kind where he’s got your legs hooked over his shoulders, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as he grinds deep, slow, devastating. Where he can see everything—the way your eyes glaze over, the way your mouth falls open on a choked moan when he angles just right. He loves watching your fingers clutch at his arms, your nails dragging down his back when he picks up the pace.

“You feel that?” he pants against your skin, sweat rolling down his temple as he drives into you, relentless and overwhelming. “Fuck—baby, you’re squeezing me so tight—” His voice shatters on a groan, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, hips stuttering as your walls clench around him.

And then there’s riding him—not just because he loves the view, but because it lets him lose control in a way he rarely allows himself. He grips your hips so hard you’ll feel it for days, guides you into the rhythm he wants—slow, deep grinds at first, then faster, harder, until he’s bucking up to meet you, chasing the slick friction with helpless desperation. His head tips back, throat bared as he moans for you, pleasure-struck and utterly wrecked.

“Fuck, baby—just like that, just like that—” His voice is breathless, raw, fingers digging into your ass as he thrusts up to meet you, eyes dark and desperate. He needs you to fall apart first—needs to watch you tremble, needs to feel your body clench around him before he lets himself go.

Because for Bang Chan, his favorite position isn’t just about pleasure—it’s about ruining you, about watching you come undone beneath him, on top of him, all around him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Bang Chan is intense in bed—focused, deliberate, completely tuned into your body—but that doesn’t mean he’s always serious. If anything, his natural warmth seeps into everything he does, sex included. He laughs when you gasp too loud, grins when you whimper his name, and if he ever fumbles—knocks over a lamp, tugs your shirt the wrong way—he’s the first to chuckle, pressing an apologetic kiss to your lips before getting right back to ruining you.

But the real problem? He teases.

You’re under him, breathless and needy, his fingers lazily stroking between your thighs—but instead of giving you what you want, he’s just…smirking. Smug. Amused. Infuriating.

“What was that sound you just made?” he murmurs, breath hot against your cheek as he barely brushes your clit, just enough to make you shudder. “Was that a whimper? Or a squeak?”

“Chan,” you groan, hips bucking against his hand, but he just chuckles, his touch maddeningly light.

“No, no, do it again,” he insists, mock-serious but clearly enjoying himself, trailing kisses down your throat. “It was cute.”

And then, the worst part—his mocking little moan, mimicking the breathy sound you made, laced with amusement and pure sin. It’s enough to make you burn with embarrassment, to make you want to push him off—

But before you can, he snaps his hips forward, sinks into you all at once, and suddenly, he’s not laughing anymore.

His forehead drops against yours, a deep, guttural groan spilling from his lips.

“Shit,” he breathes, grip tightening on your waist as your walls squeeze around him. “Yeah, okay. Not laughing anymore.”

Because that’s the thing—Chan might play, he might tease, he might drive you insane with his lighthearted torment—but the second he’s buried deep inside you, the second he feels how fucking tight you are around him?

The teasing stops.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Bang Chan is meticulous about grooming—not just because he likes to look good, but because he knows how much you love it. He keeps everything trimmed, neat, soft, just enough to show he’s put thought into it, but not so bare that it looks unnatural. And yes, the carpet matches the drapes—dark, soft curls, a little messy when he’s been too busy to maintain it, but never unkempt.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Bang Chan isn’t just fucking you—he’s feeling you, knowing you, worshipping you in a way that makes your chest ache and your breath catch in your throat. He’s intense, not just in the way his body moves against yours, but in the way he looks at you—like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, like he can’t believe he gets to have you like this.

His hands never stop moving—tracing your skin, cupping your jaw so you can’t look away, brushing the sweaty strands of hair from your forehead so he can see every flicker of pleasure in your eyes.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes, voice hoarse, hips rolling slow and deep as his thumb strokes along your cheekbone. His gaze flickers down to where your bodies are joined, his breath stuttering at the sight before he looks back up at you, soft, reverent. “You feel that, baby? Feel how perfect you are for me?”

And then he’s kissing you, like he can’t stand to be apart from you for even a second—deep, slow kisses, the kind that make you melt into him, that make your head spin until you don’t know where he ends and you begin. He groans against your lips when you whimper into his mouth, his arms tightening around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“Mine,” he whispers, hips snapping forward with just a little more urgency, forehead pressed against yours. “You’re mine, right?”

It’s not possessiveness, not in a toxic way—it’s need, it’s vulnerability, it’s him begging you to hold onto him as tightly as he’s holding onto you.

And when you moan his name, fingers digging into his back, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper, he shudders—because that’s all he ever wants. To be as close to you as humanly possible.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Bang Chan hates being away from you—not just because he misses your touch, but because he feels it everywhere, that constant, aching need that only gets worse when he’s alone in a hotel room, thousands of miles from you, and painfully hard with no relief in sight.

He tries to ignore it, tries to distract himself with work, with late-night gym sessions, with exhaustion, but it never helps—not when every text from you makes his cock throb, not when he closes his eyes and all he can see is you, stretched out beneath him, whining his name.

So he gives in. Every time.

Lying back in a stiff hotel bed, phone in hand, screen dimmed, he scrolls through the pictures you sent him before he left—that one where your shirt was slipping off your shoulder, that little video where you whispered his name so sweetly, breathy and teasing, telling him you missed him.

His breath catches, fingers already shoving down the waistband of his sweats, freeing his aching cock, already dripping from how long he’s been holding back.

“Shit,” he groans, head tilting back against the pillows as he wraps a hand around himself, stroking slow, teasing, just the way he would if you were here. He imagines your fingers instead—soft, warm, slick with spit as you pump him lazily, giggling when his hips buck into your grip.

He plays your voice message again, bites his lip when you sigh out his name, and suddenly, he’s fucking into his fist like he’s losing his mind, messy and desperate, breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Fuck, baby—” His voice is wrecked, hips lifting off the bed, chasing his high. He’s so close, so fucking close, and if you were here, he’d be spilling inside you instead, groaning into your neck, feeling you clench around him as he filled you up—

The thought alone makes him snap, makes his whole body shudder as thick ropes of cum spill over his abs, his thighs, his hand, his chest rising and falling in heavy pants.

And then, the worst part.

The post-orgasm crash, the loneliness that hits him like a punch to the gut. He sighs, grabbing his phone, fingers already typing.

chan🐺: baby, are you up? i miss you. so fucking bad.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Bang Chan is obsessed with the idea of putting a baby in you.

It’s not just a breeding kink—it’s a full-blown, primal, animalistic need that takes over every time he’s buried inside you. He doesn’t just want to fill you up—he wants to make it stick.

And the way he talks about it? It’s downright filthy.

“Look at you,” he groans, watching the way your body trembles, how you’re already fucked-out and wrecked beneath him. “You’re taking me so well, baby. So fucking good for me. Can feel you squeezing me—fuck—you want it, don’t you?”

He leans in, pressing his lips to your ear, voice rough and dripping with hunger.

“You wanna be swollen with my kids? Wanna let me fuck you full, keep you dripping with my cum until it takes?”

And if you whimper, if you nod, if you gasp out a breathless ‘yes’ like you’ll die if he doesn’t do it?

It’s over. You’re not getting out of bed for hours.

He loves seeing it drip out, loves the mess he makes of you, loves when his cum leaks from between your thighs. But the second he sees that? He’s pushing it back in, rubbing slow circles over your stomach, mumbling shit he shouldn’t even be thinking about.

“Bet you’d look so pretty carrying my baby, fuck. So full, all swollen, everyone knowing I did that to you—"

And then there’s his exhibitionist streak.

It’s not about getting caught—not exactly. But the risk? The danger? The idea that someone could overhear the way he’s fucking you senseless, could see the way you’re clinging to him, could walk in at the worst possible moment?

It drives him insane.

He’s taken you in the studio, late at night, when the walls aren’t nearly as soundproof as they should be. Has muffled your moans with his mouth, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip so tight you’ll be sore for days, hissing against your lips—

“Shh, baby. You don’t want them to know how desperate you are to be bred, do you?”

His teeth graze your ear, and his breath is hot when he whispers, “Or do you want them to hear? Want them to know how good I make you feel?”

The thought makes your stomach twist deliciously, and he feels it—the way you clench around him, the way your breathing stutters.

“Fuck, you do,” he chuckles, low and smug. “That’s filthy, sweetheart.” His hand snakes between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit as he grinds against you harder, the desk beneath you creaking with every movement. “But it’s okay. I like filthy.”

And when he’s on tour?

Hotel balconies. Dressing rooms. Backstage, right before he goes on stage, when he’s already wired with adrenaline and you’re sitting there looking so fucking pretty he can’t stop himself.

You know he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But then he’s sliding his hand between your thighs, murmuring against your ear—

“Let me fill you up before I go on. Let me go out there knowing my cum’s still dripping out of you.”

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bang Chan loves the bed—deep sheets, pillows to muffle your moans, the ability to take his time breaking you apart—but he’s also not patient, not when he needs you now, now, now.

So his real favorite places? Anywhere he can have you the moment the urge hits.

The studio couch is dangerous. It’s where he spends the most time, where he’s already pent-up and stressed, where you visiting him only ever leads to one thing.

“You should be working,” you murmur, breathless, your back pressed against the couch as Chan hovers over you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your thigh, spreading you wider for him.

“I’ll work after,” he mutters, hips grinding against yours, cock hard and heavy through his sweats. His eyes flick down, breath hitching at the sight—your panties pushed to the side, already soaked, already so ready for him.

And then, that grin, the one that’s both sweet and filthy, the one that tells you he’s about to ruin you.

“Studio acoustics are crazy, you know,” he murmurs, lining himself up, teasing, teasing, teasing. “Hope the walls aren’t too thin.”

Or the bathroom mirror, where he loves watching you fall apart for him.

“Look,” he pants, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other buried in your hair, forcing your head up. The mirror in front of you is fogging up from how hard you’re both breathing, from the heat of your bodies pressed together.

“You see that?” he groans, snapping his hips forward, watching your mouth drop open in a silent moan, watching the way your legs shake from how deep he’s fucking you.

His teeth graze your shoulder, breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “So fucking pretty like this, baby. My perfect girl.”

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Bang Chan is so easy to rile up—because when he wants you, it’s instant, all-consuming, impossible to ignore. Sometimes it’s something innocent—the way you laugh, the way you stretch and your shirt rides up, the way you bite your lip without even realizing it—and suddenly, he’s hard and restless and aching to have you under him.

But if you’re doing it on purpose? Oh, you’re in for it.

Like when you sit in his lap during meetings, all sweet and innocent, pretending like you don’t notice how you’re shifting just a little too much, how your hips roll every time you adjust, how your weight is pressing down right where he’s already growing hard.

His grip on your waist tightens, his jaw clenched so hard it’s a miracle his teeth don’t crack. **His voice doesn’t waver—**years of self-control in action—but his fingers dig into your skin, silently warning you, silently promising revenge.

And when the meeting ends?

The second the door clicks shut, you’re pressed against it, his hands grabbing your wrists, pinning them above your head, his thigh slipping between yours.

“You think I wouldn’t notice, baby?” he breathes, grinding his thigh up against you, watching the way your lips part, your breath hitching. “Thought you could get away with that?”

Or when you whisper filth in his ear when he’s trying to focus, when he’s on a call, when he absolutely cannot afford to be distracted.

“Bet you’d love to bend me over this desk,” you murmur one night, leaning over him in the studio, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your fingers tracing down his chest.

His breath catches. His hands clench into fists.

And the moment he hangs up?

You’re bent over the desk just like you teased—but this time, you’re not the one in control.

"That what you wanted?" he pants against your ear, hips snapping forward, his hand splayed against your back, holding you down as he fucks you mercilessly against the desk. "You wanted to be fucked right here, baby? Where anyone could walk in?"

But nothing gets him harder, nothing drives him crazier, than you being desperate for him.

When you’re pulling at his clothes, whimpering, clinging to him like you can’t get close enough. When you’re grinding against him, whining about how much you need him, your voice sweet and breathy and so, so needy.

And when you look up at him, wide-eyed, desperate, pleading—

"Chan, please," you whisper, voice breaking, "I need you so bad."

That’s it.

That’s his breaking point.

Because when you beg for him like that?

He’ll give you whatever you want.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Bang Chan has a high sex drive and a filthy mind, but there are some things he absolutely won’t do—no matter how desperate he is.

He’s not into degradation—not really. He can tease, push, challenge, but the second it turns into something that could make you feel small, unloved, or unwanted? Absolutely not.

"Call you what?" he scoffs one night when you suggest it, eyebrow raised. "No way. You're my baby. My princess. My good girl. Why would I call you anything else?"

Sharing? Not happening.

The thought of another person seeing you like this—bare, needy, begging— makes something primal twist in his gut. He’s possessive, protective, a little selfish when it comes to you.

So when someone gets a little too friendly, when someone looks at you just a little too long— his grip on your waist tightens. His smile is there, but his eyes are dark, dangerous.

And later, when you’re pressed against the nearest surface, his fingers laced with yours, his hips grinding slow and deep?

His lips ghost over your ear.

"Say it," he murmurs, voice thick with something unshakable. "Say you're mine."

And finally—denial.

He can tease, sure. Play with the build-up, drag it out, make you work for it. But actually leaving you on edge, desperate, aching with no release?

He can’t do it. Won’t do it.

Because nothing gets him off harder than watching you come undone for him.

So when you whimper, eyes glassy, body trembling, he caves every single time.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, thrusting harder, deeper, chasing your high with you. "Gimme one more—just one more, yeah?"

(He’s lying. He always wants another.)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Bang Chan lives between your thighs. Loves it. Needs it. He’ll do it for his pleasure just as much as yours, will eat you out like it’s his last meal, like he’s starving for it.

And he’s so good at it.

Because it’s not just his tongue—it’s the way he uses his whole mouth, the way he drags his lips over your skin, the way he groans against you like he’s the one getting off on it.

He starts slow, teasing, kissing up your inner thighs, sucking little marks into your skin, making you squirm. He wants you restless, wants you whining, wants your hands in his hair tugging him closer.

And when you try to push him down, try to rock your hips up against his mouth?

He grins against you before pressing you down harder, pinning you in place with strong arms hooked around your thighs.

"Be patient, baby," he murmurs, breath hot against your soaked folds. "I'll take care of you."

And then? He ruins you.

His tongue is everywhere, flicking, circling, pressing deep. He sucks your clit into his mouth, hums when you whimper, lets his fingers slip inside you at the same time, curling just right—

And when your thighs start shaking around his head, when your moans get breathy and desperate, when your fingers tighten in his hair—?

That’s when he really gets into it.

Because he wants you to fall apart. Wants you wrecked. Wants you sobbing his name because you can’t take any more—

But he knows you can.

So he holds you down and keeps going. Licking, sucking, eating you out like he’s lost in it—

Because he is.

(And if he starts grinding into the mattress, if he gets himself off just from the sounds you make alone? No he didn't.)

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Bang Chan is all about control—of you, of himself, of the way he drags you through every second of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him.

But his pace?

That depends entirely on how desperate he is.

Because when he has time? When he can savor you, take you apart piece by piece?

He’s slow. So slow.

Deep, measured strokes that leave you gasping, whining, clenching around him, his lips dragging over your skin, whispering sweet filth right into your ear.

"Feel that, baby?" he murmurs, rolling his hips in slow, delicious circles, grinding against your sweetest spot until your back arches off the bed. "Taking me so good. So fucking tight around me."

And every time you try to move faster, try to chase your high?

His hands grip your hips, hold you down, pin you to the mattress.

"Ah, ah," he tuts, grinning against your shoulder. "We go at my pace, remember?"

But when he’s desperate? When he’s stressed, overwhelmed, worked up beyond belief?

Then there’s no patience. No teasing. No control.

Then it’s fast, rough, relentless.

Like when he’s had one too many sleepless nights, when his body is aching, when the only thing that can reset his system is fucking you senseless.

Then it’s him pressing you into the nearest surface, hiking your legs around his waist, snapping his hips into yours like he’s starving for it.

Then it’s gritted teeth, deep groans, breathless curses against your lips—

"Fuck—so tight—feel so fucking good, baby—"

Then it’s his fingers digging into your hips, his pace brutal, his need overwhelming—

And when you start breaking, when you’re shaking, begging, sobbing his name?

That’s when he grins, leans in close, whispers against your lips—

"Not done with you yet."

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Bang Chan loves quickies— but only if they still leave you wrecked.

Because if he’s gonna fuck you, he’s gonna make sure you feel it for the rest of the day.

In the morning? Right before he heads to the studio?

You’re not leaving the apartment with steady legs.

One second you’re sipping coffee in his oversized shirt, looking so goddamn cute it physically hurts— and the next, he’s got you bent over the kitchen counter, pushing your panties to the side, lining himself up in one smooth motion.

"Shh, baby," he breathes, a hand sliding up your stomach, up your chest, closing around your throat as he thrusts into you.

He can’t go slow, can’t take his time. Not when he has ten minutes before he’s late.

So he fucks you fast, deep, hips snapping against your ass as his other hand slips between your thighs, rubbing quick, desperate circles—

"You gonna come for me?" he pants against your ear, grinning when you whimper, already so close. "Gotta be quick, baby. You can do that for me, yeah?"

And when you clench around him, body trembling, moaning his name?

That’s it. That’s all he needs.

But his favorite? Public quickies.

The ones where you’re not supposed to be doing this—

Like backstage at an event, when he drags you into an empty dressing room, presses you against the mirror, pushes his hand under your skirt.

"Five minutes," he mutters, undoing his belt with one hand. "Think you can be good for me in five minutes?"

And when you nod, breath hitching, pupils blown wide with need?

His lips curl into a filthy smirk.

"Let’s find out."

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Bang Chan is down for almost anything—as long as it’s with you, as long as it turns you on just as much as it does him.

He loves pushing limits, trying new things, learning exactly what makes your body tick.

"You trust me, don’t you?" he murmurs one night, hands ghosting over your bare skin, eyes dark with something dangerous, something thrilling.

And when you nod, licking your lips, whispering a soft yes?

He grins.

"Then let me show you something new."

Risky locations?

Absolutely.

The backseat of his car, a dark hallway at a party, backstage at a concert, pressed against the wall of his studio, the bass still thumping through the walls—

He loves knowing you could get caught, loves watching you struggle to stay quiet, loves the way your nails dig into his arms when he fucks you just a little too hard.

"You gotta be quiet, baby," he pants against your neck, hand clamping over your mouth, muffling your moans. "Don’t wanna get caught, do we?"

(But he doesn’t stop. Never stops. Not until you’re wrecked.)

Blindfolds? Restraints?

Oh, he’s been dying to try.

The idea of you spread out for him, unable to see, unable to touch, completely at his mercy?

It’s enough to make him groan, to make his cock twitch in his pants.

"Just trust me," he whispers, kissing you slow, deep, as he ties your wrists above your head. "I promise I’ll take care of you."

And then? He ruins you.

Slow hands, teasing kisses, feather-light touches until you’re begging, whimpering, writhing beneath him, desperate for more.

"Fuck, look at you," he breathes, watching you squirm, watching you struggle against the restraints.

"So fucking pretty when you’re desperate for me.”

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Bang Chan doesn’t stop until you physically can’t take anymore.

It’s not just about getting off— it’s about dragging it out, about stretching the night as long as possible, about making sure you feel him for days.

And when you think he’s finally done, finally satisfied, finally spent?

Oh, you’re wrong.

Because he’s insatiable.

It starts slow—his hands trailing over your skin, his lips soft against your shoulder, his voice low, coaxing, teasing.

"You okay, baby?" he murmurs, grinning when you nod, still breathless, still trembling from the last round.

"Yeah?" he hums, thumb tracing lazy circles on your thigh. "Think you can give me one more?"

And when you whimper, when you shift closer, when you look at him with that fucked-out, hazy expression?

That’s it.

That’s all he needs.

Because once is never enough. Twice isn’t either.

He’ll have you under him, on top of him, against the wall, bent over the nearest surface—

And even when his muscles are sore, when his body is exhausted, when sweat is dripping down his temples, when he’s groaning from the overstimulation?

He’ll keep going.

Because he loves watching you come undone. Loves the way your body reacts to him, loves the way your nails scratch down his back, loves the way you moan his name like he’s the only thing that exists.

And when you’re finally shaking, gasping, whining that you can’t, you’re too sensitive, you’re done—?

He just grins, presses a soft kiss to your jaw, and whispers—

"That’s okay, baby. I’ll take care of you."

(And he always does.)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

At first, Bang Chan doesn’t really see the point.

Not because he’s against them—just because he’s confident in what he can do with his own two hands, his mouth, his cock. He loves the way he can pull you apart piece by piece, slow and thorough, knowing every little thing that makes you melt under him.

So when you first bring it up—just casually, mentioning how fun it might be to try something new—he just quirks an eyebrow, arms crossed, amused.

"You don’t think I do a good enough job on my own?" he teases, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, something thoughtful.

So you push a little further, tell him it’s not about replacing him—it’s about amplifying it. About seeing just how much more you can take.

And that’s what does it. Because Bang Chan is competitive, and if there’s a way to get you to fall apart even harder, even faster? He wants to know.

So the first time he uses a toy on you, it’s with cautious curiosity.

A wand, pressed to your clit on the lowest setting, his brows furrowed, studying every little reaction.

At first, he’s intrigued—watching the way your breath catches, the way your body tenses, the way your fingers grip the sheets.

And then?

Then you start squirming, whimpering, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure crashes over you so fast you barely have time to brace for it.

That’s when he grins.

"Fuck," he breathes, pressing it down a little harder, watching your thighs tremble, your mouth fall open. "That good, huh?"

And then he’s hooked.

Because now he knows just how quickly he can break you.

Now he knows how many times he can make you come before you’re shaking, gasping, begging him to stop.

Now he knows how sensitive he can leave you, how easy it is to keep pushing, how fucking desperate you get when you’re teetering on the edge, unable to stop the pleasure from crashing over you again and again.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmurs, watching you writhing under him, completely at his mercy.

"You sure you can handle one more?" he asks, even though you both already know the answer.

And when you whimper, when you nod, when your fingers tighten in the sheets?

He just chuckles, turns the setting up, and leans down to whisper—

"Good. Because I’m not done with you yet."

But when you bring up using toys on him?

That’s when he gets flustered.

At first, he just laughs it off, rubbing the back of his neck, shaking his head. "I dunno, baby."

But you see the way his ears flush, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the way he can’t quite look at you.

So you push.

Tease him about it. Tell him you think he’d look so pretty falling apart for you, all helpless, all wrecked.

And that’s when you see it—that flicker of interest, the way his fingers twitch, the way his lips part just slightly.

So the first time you press a cock ring into his palm, ask him to wear it while he fucks you?

He just raises an eyebrow, rolls his tongue over his teeth, and mutters

"You really wanna see me desperate for you that bad?"

But he tries it.

And he loves it.

Because now he’s the one squirming, panting, gripping your hips.

Now he’s the one chasing his high, whining when he can’t get there, cursing when you just smile up at him, running your nails down his chest.

"Shit—" he groans, jaw clenched, sweat dripping down his temples. "—take it off, baby, please, I can’t—"

And when you finally do, when he finally comes, shaking, gasping, grinding into you so hard you see stars?

That’s when he knows.

He’s absolutely fucked.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Bang Chan lives for teasing.

Not just the casual kind—the light, playful, fleeting kind. No, when he teases, he wants to make you squirm. He wants to make you beg. He wants to push you right to the edge, dangle you over it, then pull you back just to do it all over again.

It starts innocent enough.

A slow, lingering kiss that doesn’t go anywhere. His fingers tracing up your thigh under the table, but never quite touching where you need him most. A whispered ‘later, baby’ when you’re already desperate.

But when he really wants to be mean?

That’s when he takes his time.

Lips trailing over your skin, warm breath ghosting against your ear as he murmurs, "Patience, baby." Fingers brushing over your core, never applying enough pressure. Languid, lazy drags of his tongue that have you whining, gripping at his shoulders, trying to force him to give you more.

But he won’t.

Because he loves the way you get needy for him. Loves the way your voice gets higher, your thighs tremble, your hands clutch at anything just to ground yourself.

And when he finally, finally gives you what you want?

It’s never enough.

A few slow thrusts before he stills, grinning down at you while you try to move your hips, only for his hands to clamp down and keep you still.

"You wanna come that bad?" he murmurs, faux sympathy dripping from his tone.

And when you nod, whimpering, begging?

He just chuckles, shakes his head, and whispers—

"Then you better earn it."

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Bang Chan isn’t quiet.

Not even a little.

He tries to be, sometimes—when the walls are thin, when there are people around, when he knows he shouldn’t be making a mess of you the way he is. But the second he’s buried deep inside you, the second he feels how fucking tight and warm and wet you are around him?

He loses all composure.

It starts low—deep, breathy groans, his voice rough with restraint. His jaw clenches, his brows knit together, his fingers dig into your hips as he tries to keep himself together.

But then you whimper for him, roll your hips just right, moan his name in that desperate, needy little voice?

And that’s when it all falls apart.

"Fuck," he groans, head dropping to your shoulder, breath coming out in ragged pants. His moans spill against your skin, hot and desperate, full of need.

And when he gets close?

That’s when he really loses it.

His voice gets higher, rougher, edged with something so raw and wrecked it makes your whole body tighten around him.

"Shit—baby, please, please—" he whines, hips stuttering, hands gripping you so tight you’ll feel him for days.

And when he finally cums, when he finally spills inside you, groaning your name like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth?

He doesn’t stop.

Not the sounds.

Not the breathless little whimpers.

Not the needy way he moans against your skin, rocking into you slow, dragging out every last aftershock.

Because Chan isn’t just loud—

He’s completely, shamelessly vocal.

W = Wild Card (a random headcanon for the character)

Bang Chan has sampled your moans in a track.

And the worst part? You have no idea.

It started as a joke. A filthy, unhinged, late-night idea that he never actually intended to follow through with—but then you had to go and sound so pretty for him.

It had been a long night. He’d dragged you into the studio under the pretense of just wanting company, wanting to feel you close while he worked. But one thing led to another—a few teasing touches, a soft kiss turning into something filthier, his hands sliding up your thighs—and suddenly, you were spread out on the couch, moaning his name like the perfect fucking melody.

And Chan, being the shameless menace he is?

He’d hit record.

Not in a weird, creepy way—he’d never do that to you. But his mic had already been on, his DAW already running, and the second he heard that broken, breathless little sound you made when he dragged his tongue over your clit?

He knew he needed to keep it.

For artistic purposes, of course.

That’s what he told himself when he clipped the audio later, tweaking it, pitching it just slightly so it blended seamlessly into the beat. A soft, ethereal little sound, woven so subtly into the track that no one would ever know.

Except him.

And when he finally plays it for you, watches as you nod along to the melody, completely unaware that you’re listening to yourself come undone for him?

He has to bite his lip to keep from grinning.

Because if you ever find out?

He’s so fucked.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Bang Chan’s cock is thick, warm, and heavy in your hand—just the right size to stretch you open without being overwhelming. He’s not massive, but he’s long enough to press deep, thick enough to make you feel every inch.

The veins running along his shaft are prominent but not overly pronounced, just enough to add that extra bit of friction when he drags against your walls. The head is flushed a pretty shade of pink, slightly darker than the rest of him, always leaking just a little when he’s really turned on. His skin is silky-smooth, hot to the touch, twitching when you wrap your fingers around him.

And the weight of it? Perfect.

When he rests it against your stomach, you can feel just how deep he’s going to reach, how full he’s going to make you. And when he slides it between your folds, teasing, coating himself in your slick before finally pressing in?

You swear you can feel every ridge, every pulsing vein, every throbbing inch as he stretches you open.

And it drives him crazy every time.

"God, baby," he groans, watching the way his cock disappears inside you, watching the way your body takes him so perfectly. His fingers grip your waist, holding you still as he presses in deeper, slower, savoring the way you flutter around him.

Because it’s not just about filling you—it’s about making sure you feel everything.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Bang Chan’s sex drive is high—but measured.

He’s not reckless about it. He’s not the type to drop everything the second he gets hard, not the type to demand you at all hours just because he can. He’s got discipline, self-control—until he doesn’t.

Because the thing is, he knows how to wait.

But waiting doesn’t mean not wanting.

And fuck, does he want you.

It’s a constant, underlying hum, a need that sits just under his skin, always there, always waiting. He can push it aside when he needs to—focus on work, go about his day like a normal person— but the second he’s alone with you?

It’s over.

He’s on you in an instant—hands firm, voice low, pressing you up against the nearest surface like he’s been counting down the hours.

"Been thinking about you all day," he murmurs, dragging his lips down your neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin.

And he has. Not obsessively—not in a way that interferes with anything—but in the kind of way where everything reminds him of you.

The seat in his studio chair—where you’ve straddled him too many times to count.

The way his hoodie still smells faintly like your perfume.

The song he’s working on—and the way it perfectly matches the rhythm he fucked you to last week.

So yeah, he’s patient. He’s measured. He knows how to wait.

But when he finally gets you?

That control? It disappears.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Bang Chan tries to stay awake.

Always.

No matter how drained, how spent, how absolutely wrecked he is—he refuses to pass out on you right away. He needs to make sure you’re okay first, needs to hold you, needs to press slow, lingering kisses to your skin as he murmurs soft praises against your temple.

"Did so good for me, baby," he whispers, voice thick with exhaustion, but his hands still move—stroking your back, tracing lazy patterns against your thigh.

But the second he knows you’re comfortable, the second he’s sure you’re warm and tucked against his chest?

He’s gone.

Completely knocked out—breathing slow and steady, arms still wrapped around you even in sleep.

Sometimes, you can feel him nuzzle closer without even realizing it, pressing his face into your hair, sighing softly like even unconscious, he still can’t get enough of you.

And no matter how deep he sleeps, the second you move—whether it’s to shift positions, grab a blanket, or slip out of bed—

His grip tightens, just slightly.

Like even in his dreams, he’s still holding onto you.

[bernardsbendystraws]

ೃ࿔*:･ Snow .ᐟ Reader x FWB.ᐟ Matt

Matt can’t sleep without you, but Chris can’t sleep without Matt.

⚠︎ mentions of sleep paralysis and troubles sleep, use of baby, slight angst and fluff

[ See Part 1 or read this as a standalone ]

“Hmph,” Matt huffs, his light snores tickling against the side of your neck as you slowly squint your eyes open. 

It’s dark. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you remember Matt attaching himself to you like a koala—needy and desperate, trying to hold you as close as possible. 

The calm pattern of your heartbeat intensifies as you feel his eyelashes flutter against the skin beneath your ear. Your relaxed face adjusts, the corner of your lips pulling upwards as you let your fingers softly trace on his back.

“Mmmm,” you sigh, the air feeling incredibly crisp from the gentle breeze flowing from the slight crack he left in his window. He does it for you—well, for himself, really. You get overheated easily, the cold winds allow for more cuddling. And cuddling is Matt’s favorite. 

You’re both on your sides, facing towards each other, your face buried in his chest as he hugs his arms around you with his leg thrown across yours. This is even closer than Matt typically initiates, but you haven’t been complaining—not when you saw how sunken and tired his eyes were.

A subtle knock on his bedroom door makes your senses stir. You shift in Matt’s hold, letting out a huff of air as he squeezes you tighter. 

Another knock erupts. This time, Matt lets out some sort of frustrated sigh, huffing into the side of your neck as he hugs you flush against him. You grumble underneath your breath as you try to move your limbs slightly, rolling your eyes as he cradles you with his grip becoming more firm. 

“Matt?” 

It’s Chris. Although your conscious thoughts are still fuzzy, you remember Chris’ recent struggles with sleep paralysis that Matt had told you about—the reason why Matt was so exhausted in the first place—the reason why he begged for you to come cuddle him so he’d finally be able to sleep. 

Matt slowly pulls his head out of the crook of your neck, his eyes barely squinted open as he stares down at you with a dazed expression. 

Sighing, he licks over his lips. “Come in,” Matt says, his voice rough with sleep.

The door creaks open. Matt adjusts, scooting your tangled bodies further towards one side of the bed as the mattress dips with an added weight. 

“You okay?” Matt gruffs, nuzzling his nose in your hair as he tries to keep his focus on staying awake to make sure Chris is alright. 

“I…yeah, I think I am now,” Chris huffs, his voice a bit shaky. “Is she—is that—”

“Mhm,” Matt hums, sighing against you as he lets Chris be aware of your presence. “-you’re fine though, I let her know you might come in.” 

“Okay.” Chris says, relaxing as he finally feels the peace of Matt’s company.

Your eyes are barely pried open. Matt’s awake enough to let his arm that’s falling numb underneath your waist to move in order to massage your back, his other hand is cradling your head into his chest while his fingers tangle through your hair gently. 

It’s odd. You’re in bed with two men—neither of which are your boyfriend.

The miscellaneous thoughts of how weird this situation is makes you feel more awake. Matt feels you subtly shift in his hold, hugging you tighter with a slight groan of disapproval.

“Go back to sleep, baby,” he grumbles. 

Baby.

He’s not supposed to call you that, but he does. Usually you’ll call him out for it, but right now you can’t help but feel your heart clench in your chest from how tired he sounds. 

“Do you want me to go to the couch—” 

“Mmph,” he huffs, interrupting your offer, “-no, just…need sleep…please?” he asks, semi delusion from how reluctant his mind is to truly wake up and comprehend everything. 

“Okay…” you huff, letting your limbs melt in his hold as he starts to snore softly into your hair.

A/N: Baby??? BABY?!!!????

·˚ ༘ ʚ 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒈 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒔, 𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒆 𖧧

꒰ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ๑ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ๑ 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ꒱

[desturns]

──── favorite position. m.s.

part one

warnings. some grinding, tickling session, major pussy behavior

a/n. bye i decided to make a pt two to this randomly, but this might just be a little series with only three parts sooo... this is fun!!

୨ৎ

matt didn't attempt to move once. after you had fallen back to sleep and somehow melted into him even more than before, it was like he died and went to heaven about fifty times. how else would he have been so lucky to have this angel sleeping right in his lap, practically straddling him as your head rested on his shoulder? it was everything he'd dreamed of and more.

of course, his brothers weren't very angelic when it came to their teasing.

“i’m just sayin’, kid, maybe it's time to actually do something instead of sittin’ back like a bitch—”

“chris, hey! he's not a bitch… he's a pussy, there's a difference.”

“oh, wow, thanks for the help, nick,” matt sarcastically replied as he simply rolled his eyes, no longer focusing on the game as they all just talked. he noticed you wiggled slightly, but didn't think much of it.

“just the truth, bro. only pussies have their crush—” “—not my crush—” “—sleep on their laps without making a move. y’know, not while they're asleep, but y'had the opportunity to do something when she woke up.”

“she was tired and was gonna get off me, me asking her to stay was me making my move.”

“damn, matty, your moves are weak then.”

“shut up, chris.”

“i’m just sayin’, matt. when the opportunity presents itself, y'can't be a pussy and back out. get her, dude.”

again, he felt you move against him and at first, he wasn't going to question it. maybe you were just having an intense dream or you were stirring around on his lap to get more comfortable. that seemed obvious, right? but it wasn't until he felt your hips roll against his thigh that matt thought to himself, okay, a little strange, but whatever.

and then it happened again. and then once more. now being both incredibly confused and slightly curious, he pulled his head back enough to look at your face, and it was no surprise when he saw you were still soundly asleep. both your eyes were closed and for a second, you looked like the perfect essence of peacefulness.

and then it happened again, this time a bit more firmly, and your eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, followed by the smallest whine. matt was positive if he was still entertaining chris and nick, he wouldn't have even been able to hear it.

oh.

oh.

so you were having an intense dream

it all clicked right there for matt. his eyes widened a bit and his body tensed up, and he could practically feel the blood rushing to his dick. in his defense, nothing could've prepared him for this. here you were, the girl he's been secretly pining after for months, having a wet dream right on top of him, your body subconsciously grinding against him for some relief. yeah, he knew getting hard at the scene was probably extremely wrong and disrespectful in many ways, but he just couldn't help it.

he could no longer hear chris or nick teasing him about his poor flirting skills or even pay attention to the trio on the screen about to kill him because before he knew it, you were rocking your hips again. he bit his bottom lip in order to suppress a groan as his brain was currently racking up ways to get out of this situation. at least before you woke up and it got really awkward.

“matt, hello? y'there?” in that moment, he didn't really want to be.

“y-yeah, um, i’m here, uh,” he stumbled over his words for a second, his hand leaving his controller and moving to your hip, softly holding it so he could get the courage to stop you and toss you onto his bed. okay, maybe not toss, but to stop you definitely. “actually guys, um, i-i’m gonna get off, ‘kay?”

“kid, we’re in the middle of a game right now, are you serious?”

“yes, chris, ’m serious.” was all matt responded with before leaving the discord call, his hand still firmly on your hip as you occasionally rocked your hips, his other working fast to exit out of everything on his pc.

the dim light from the monitor plus the sound of your shorts rubbing against his sweats was starting to become a bit too much for him. matt wasn't dumb, any longer and his dick would be rock hard and then that'll definitely be awkward if you woke up. so, with much restraint and strength and now holding onto both of your hips, he stiffed your movements, bringing you to a stop. he couldn't just get up, he wasn't that strong. plus, matt was a bit nervous he'd drop you before he could even reach the bed despite it being a foot away.

he could feel your body trying to protest the halt, your hands around his waist tightening slightly, more little whines escaping your mouth and matt honestly wanted to die right then and there. of course, the first time he gets you like this, you're not even conscious of it, and there was no way he'd take advantage of you. not like this.

he was going to do it the right way.

suddenly, your body stopped and matt could feel you tense up.

now, to say you were horribly mortified was an understatement. when matt stopped you in real time, it was like your dream came crashing down. the mysterious faceless man in it stopped his ministrations and you were so incredibly pent up, so pent up that your body refused to find solace in sleep any longer. it didn't take an idiot to figure out what the hell happened, especially when you woke up with soaked panties sticking to your folds and matt's hands on your hips. did you…? no. surely not. right? no, there's no way.

but it was hard to deny when you could now feel matt's dick through his sweats and suddenly, you were shooting your head up from his shoulder, no longer tired. “oh my god, matt! i am so– i'm sorry!” you were speaking with a raspy voice, both from the ridiculous amount of exhaustion and humiliation you just experienced.

he quickly shook his head, trying to hide his flustered expression while also finding the strength to take his hands off you. it’ll come eventually, he was sure. “no, no, i-i mean, it happens, right? you're cool, it’s fine!”

“i can't believe i did that, matty, i am so sorry!” you shrieked again and hid your face in your hands, shaking your head at yourself. you were sure your cheeks were now tomato red and, with the way his hands were on your hips, it was getting worse.

matt stared at you as you tried to shield yourself from his gaze, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment. he thought it was downright adorable, the way you got all flushed and shy. he knew it was for good reason, and he so badly wanted to tell you that it truly was okay, that he didn't even mind. but something held him back and instead of making a move, or charm you into having him ease that ache of yours, he chose the safest route.

and maybe he just wanted to see you smile again.

he took one last moment to look at you perched on his lap, all self-conscious now and guarded up before slowly moving his hands from your hips to your sides. you were confused when you felt his hands move, but before you could even question it, his fingers were tickling the most sensitive part he knew would get to you. your hands immediately moved from your face, moving to try and grab him to stop as laughs and giggles left your lips.

your predicament of getting yourself off on his thigh was momentarily forgotten, now focused on getting him to stop making you squirm in a new way.

“s-st-stop, m-matt!” was all you could express as you flailed on top of him, your face burning itself in his shoulder.

there it was. he could see your lips stretched wide across your face, your smile making him forget about his own arousal as he continued to make you laugh. “not until you promise to stop actin’ embarrassed about it,” he chuckled, the teasing tone in his voice making your stomach flip.

“i-it-it's an emb-barassing thing!” you tried to defend yourself through the forced involuntary giggles that were escaping you. as he tickled you, you slowly but gently began to fall off his lap and onto the floor, but that didn't stop him.

“it is, but it's normal!” he rolled his eyes, his hands now moving under your arms and to the back of your neck. god, who needed grinding and sex when just the sight of you rolling around in laughter was enough to get him off then and there. “y/n, babe, i promise— i don't care. i’d just prefer that next time, you're conscious for it.”

his words made your brain freeze. ‘babe’. ‘if next time, you were conscious for it’. next time? he wanted there to be a next time? you tapped his arm twice, the silent but serious “enough” signal the two of you created and he took the hint almost immediately, his hands leaving your body in an instant as he looked down at you.

you were on your back on the floor, all flushed, chest heaving and your hair sprawled out beneath you. you looked gorgeous. and matt was glad he didn't follow any of his brothers advice. and as you looked up at him, you didn't know what to say. thankfully, matt didn't waste time before continuing, his voice now a bit unsure and hesitant as he realized what the hell he just said.

“i mean, y’know, if y’want to. i wouldn't want to make things weird between us or ruin things or make you, um–y’know what? forget i said anything, actually–do y’need some pajamas or anything, wanna go in the living room—”

“matt,” you cut him off once you caught your own breath, a small smile now on your face. “stop worrying. next time, i’ll definitely be conscious for it.”

it was if you took your fist and physically hit his stomach. he thought he was being too straight forward, but knowing that you were agreeing, that you seemed into it... it was doing things for him.

as you got up from the floor and moved to the living room, as matt's brain caught up with the intense beating of his heart and as he ignored the countless texts from chris asking “what the hell was going on up there”—there was a silent understanding.

and that was good enough for matt.