pairing. fratboy!chris x shy!reader.
genre. smut, frat au.
word count. 2.6k
❝i... i've been practicing something for you.❞
content warning. explicit content, porn with plot, slight mentions of insecurities and anxiety, awkward sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampies.
authors note. i dont usually do small fics like this for my aus, but i thought this would be fun for a small bday special. this is for my fratboy!chris and shy!reader au which, if you're new, you may need to read other prompts just to understand their dynamic.
You’ve always been the type of person who always goes way overboard for someone's birthday, wanting to find the perfect gift(s) to show your love, appreciation and gratitude toward the person who is celebrating their special day.
In the past, you've splurged on expensive gifts that left your bank account in shambles. You've made personal gifts from scratch, leaving your hands and fingers littered in paper cuts that are way too small to have that much of a painful effect. You've wandered through countless stores, pacing aisles from sunrise to sunset to find the perfect gift.
But this specific gift? the one you’re planning for Chris?
Yeah… this one is different. maybe extreme, even. the kind of gift that has your face burning up just thinking about it.
It started as a passing thought. Then, you overthink it, repeating his words in your head over and over again from the last time he brought this specific thing up to you. and that's when you started doing research—way too much of it, by the way.
Video after video, article after article, you were consuming so much information that you even had to pause what you were watching just to collect yourself and have a breather, reaching for a glass of water with trembling hands as anxiety swam through your veins.
And when you brought it up to Bee and Kitty?
Big mistake.
... Okay, maybe not that much of a mistake considering they were supportive and giving you suggestions like you asking for guidance on how to ride Chris wasn't a big deal. You must've spent half of the conversation hiding your face behind your palms, too embarrassed to even look at them.
Nonetheless, you took it all in, drilled their words into your brain, and you arrived back home to practice on your pillow. Your thighs burned from strain, your hips ached and you embarrassingly came once—maybe twice—while doing so, and it made you rethink the entire birthday surprise while sitting in the bath with a deep frown on your lips.
But you can't back out now. You can't be a quitter on this—not when you've already come this far.
So, you're going through with it the best you can... hopefully.
On the big day, you take your time getting ready, needing every second to hype yourself up. you slip into your prettiest dress to help make you feel just a little more confident, even though your heart is rattling in your chest like crazy.
You drive to the rented house early with Kitty, Bee and Nate, your fingers wrapping tightly around the steering wheel to calm the shakiness from your nerves. and when you get there, you realise most of the frat brothers have arrived already.
They're tossing balloons across the floor, stringing up strobe lights, and setting up the speakers for the music while shouting over each other.
The coolers are already halfway full with ice and fresh drinks too, so you busy yourself by helping hang up banners instead, trying your best not to check the door every five seconds... you fail, by the way. you spot Matt's car rolling up the driveway just before he turns in.
You don't even get the chance to greet the trio when they walk into the house, the people immediately swarming them, popping confetti cannons and shoving shots into their hands while screaming 'happy birthday!' at the top of their lungs.
Nick beams happily. Matt pushes through everyone to get to Kitty, wrapping his arms around her tightly and kissing her like he hasn't seen her in the last twenty-four hours. and Chris? Chris is scowling, swatting Nate's hands away and threatening him as the latter tries to shove the goofy party hat on top of his head.
You wait for a moment for the chaos to settle, and you take your time in giving matt and nick their little gift bags you made before you even dare to step in Chris' direction. and when you do, you swallow thickly when you see him already—and not surprisingly—surrounded by his regulars.
Taking a deep breath, you make your way over, giving yourself an internal pep talk with each step. Once you're close enough, you reach out, fingers brushing the sleeve of his shirt before tugging lightly at his arm to get his attention.
"Chris?" you say his name, voice barely above a whisper. "can... can i talk to you for a second?"
He furrows his brows, looking at you. "What? Right now?" he gestures toward the group with a flick of his head. "M'busy here, kid."
"Just for a minute?" you press, hoping that he'll give in so you don't look like a fool. "Please? I um... I left your gift upstairs.."
"Upstairs?" he stares at you, clearly not believing a word that has just slipped past your lips. "The fuck kinda gift you've got hidin' upstairs?"
"It's... private."
Chris stares at you again, unmoving, his gaze flat and sceptical. you shift under the weight of it, your fingers nervously curling and uncurling at your sides. Finally, Chris lets out a sharp and exasperated huff, nodding his head as he agrees to follow you.
You quickly turn around and start walking ahead of him, weaving through the crowd, doing everything you can to stay calm even as your stomach churns with each ascend up the staircase. You don't look back, but you can feel him close behind you, following your steps.
Reaching the top of the stairs, you pause at the hallway, the lump heavy in your throat as you take a quick glance at him over your shoulder, pointing at one of the many guest rooms available.
"It's in here..."
Chris raises an eyebrow but says nothing, he just exhales sharply and pushes past you to open the door to the guest room. You follow close behind, shutting the door quietly, the click of the latch feeling loud in the silence that settles between you both.
He stands in the middle of the room, arms folded and unimpressed. "Well? Where's it at, kid?"
You hesitate, your pulse racing and hands fidgeting at your sides. Then, you take a few steps toward him, your hands pressing against his firm chest, grabbing the fabric of his shirt to hold it. Chris doesn't move, he doesn't pull away either, but he watches you with his eyes narrowed.
You give a soft, uncertain push at that, urging him toward the bed until the backs of his legs bump the mattress. He drops down, legs spread, leaning back on his palms as he tilts his head up to look at you.
"Y'serious?" he asks. "Dragged me away from m’business to hookup?"
You open your mouth, then close it again, face heating up with embarrassment. You're ready to bolt straight out of this room.
Chris runs his tongue across his inner cheek, his voice dipping low. "If you wanted to fuck me, bun. jus' lead with that next time."
"It's not just that, I—" you choke on your words, swallow thickly again, hands trembling as you move them down to reach for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up. "I... I've been practicing something for you."
"Practicin'?" he repeats, barely lifting his arms to help you take off his shirt, and you toss it to the side gently. "Practicing what? undressin' me or somethin'?"
"No," you pout a little at his mocking tone, your hands moving lower to his belt. you fumble with the buckle once—twice, fuck—and Chris sighs sharply, annoyed but still letting you try.
"Then what?" he pressed, tilting his head to the side and watching you. You finally manage to undo the belt, pulling the denim down his hips and he lifts them lazily to help, letting his jeans fall in a heap around his ankles.
Your voice is barely audible as you speak, the usual shyness seeping back into your tone. "To... ride you."
Chris blinks at you, silent—almost stunned—for a brief moment. Then the corners of his mouth twitch upward into a smirk, letting out a soft, disbelieving scoff as he drags his hand through his hair with a slow shake of his head.
You sort of knew he'd react like that, especially because he's made comments before: how awkward and clumsy you are moving above him, how you always get cramps and aches, how it's better if he does the work because watching you try to ride him like 'watching a baby deer try to walk on ice.'
The words still sting, even now.
But still... you want to try. to prove him wrong and show him that you can do it... and maybe even impress him a little.
Chris leans back some more on his palms, his eyes dark and unreadable. And then, finally, he gives a small shrug, tipping his chin up. "A'ight. Show me what you've been practicin', bun."
You take a deep breath as you prepare yourself, reaching for his boxers, your fingers brushing against the warm skin of his abdomen as you tug the fabric down, gazing at his cock that's already half-hard and leaking with precum.
You're surprised to see him like this already, but that still doesn't calm the butterflies in your tummy as you pull your panties down your legs, stepping out of them and neatly placing the fabric to the side before you move forward, carefully perching yourself on top of his lap.
You feel the heat of his body beneath yours, your heart pounding against your ribs as his cock brushes against your folds, twitching and hardening to full mass. You don't dare to look at him, not when he's staring right into your soul as you take him in your hand, stroking him softly like you've seen in the countless video tutorials you had consumed as you line him up with your entrance.
You sink down bit by bit, trying to stifle a whimper as you adjust to his size that stretches you out, hearing him inhale sharply, a low grunt rumbling in his chest. It’s a lot to take in already—which is the norm—but you refuse to give in to discomfort this quickly as you begin to roll your hips, experimenting with different motions as you try to find a rhythm that works for you.
The sensation of Chris’ cock searing you open is intense, bordering on painful at times with awkward angles, but there’s an underlying feeling that makes you want to keep going. Your still inexperienced attempts cause you to wobble slightly as you try to bounce, your breasts moving beneath your dress which catches Chris’ attention, gaze dipping down to follow their movements.
You struggle to maintain a steady pace, often making minor mistakes which you hope Chris isn’t noticing, beads of sweat glistening across your forehead as your arms hesitantly wrap around his shoulders for balance.
Yet, once holding him, you’re able to find a rhythm.
Your hips begin to move with slight confidence, rolling and grinding against Chris in a way that seems to secretly please him based on the low growls that vibrate in his chest, his lips parting as his breathing grows subtly heavier. His hands lift from the bed to slide around your hips, moving south to grip your ass, squeezing the plump flesh as he wets his bottom lip.
“Am I… am I doing okay?” you ask quietly, your voice breathy from exertion. You search Chris’ expression for any hint of approval or enjoyment, desperate for anything from him, wanting to know if you’re meeting his expectations as your inner walls flutter around his cock, gliding up and down steadily.
Chris doesn’t answer right away, he just stares, unreadable as always. Then, he hums—a low sound followed by the subtlest nod. It’s barely even there, but it’s something. You feel really happy, good, encouraged, and you lean back slightly to change the angle again, gasping softly at the new wave of pleasure that trickles down your spine as his cock grazes the sensitive spot inside of you.
You add twists of your hips and shallow rolls to mix things up, and the changes now seem to affect Chris outwardly as his grip tightens on you, quiet moans escaping his lips. You can feel your own arousal building, a tingling pressure coiling low in your tummy as you begin to hump him erratically, ignoring the burning sensation in your thighs as you mewl and whimper uncontrollably.
Now, Chris seems stuck frozen in bliss—mouth ajar with harsh pants and dazed eyes as he watches your greedy pussy ride him, slick glistening around your puffy folds, dripping onto his balls.
His mind reels from the sudden sensations overwhelming him, every nerve ending in his body is on fire with each glide of your pussy that slides up and down on his throbbing cock, his eyebrows pulled together like he’s confused at the feeling.
“F-fuck…” he rasps, his voice hoarse and strained. “Shiiit—what the fuck…”
Whether he means to or not, his head falls back, his eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open wider to suck in deep breaths, and feeling his body tense beneath yours, you immediately realise he’s close too.
You wish you could feel a sense of pride right now, having worked so hard to get to this point, but you’re too cock drunk to even take time in basking in your success, slumping weakly against his chest despite your hips still moving, clinging to him embarrassingly tight as you cry out in his ears.
Chris lets out a loud, guttural moan, his hips jerking up involuntarily as he buries himself to the hilt, spilling inside your pussy with thick ropes of cum, his cock twitching and pulsing with each spurt as he empties himself inside of you. Your pussy clamps down on him, your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks on his skin as you wail, cumming around him in an instant.
It takes you longer than necessary to regain yourself, and you make the first move by slowly sliding off him, wincing as your muscles protest the movement and pussy ache as he slips out. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you collapse onto your side, the room spinning slightly as you try to catch your breath, forcing yourself to glance at Chris.
Chris just sits there, chest rising and falling steadily, cock laying limp against his thigh. His brows remained furrowed—surprisingly, not in annoyance. More like confusion or contemplation.
But you don’t like how quiet it is, though. It’s almost too quiet.
You open your mouth to speak, to apologise for god knows what, but Chris cuts in. “Don’t.”
You blink. “Don’t…?”
Chris turns his head just enough to look at you. Is… does he look impressed? “Wasn’t bad.”
You’re stunned into silence as you wait for the follow up—some sarcastic dig to make you feel all embarrassed—but it never comes. You can’t help the quiet flutter in your chest as a tired smile threatens to spill across your lips, finally proud of yourself. You actually did it... you really did it.
Chris stretches out, exhaling through his nose as he reaches for the ground to grab his discarded boxers, “Guess all that practice wasn’t of waste of time, kid… good job.”
Your stomach flips with something closed to exhilaration at the praise. You can’t remember the last time he said anything even close to ‘good job’ to you—you truly don’t think he ever has.
“You can do that shit more often f’me now.”
The flutter in your stomach crashes hard, deflating all at once as your shoulders slump in defeat. Well that’s… not an exhilarated feeling.
in which: after the break up with chris who was your golden retriever, you run into him at a club, except that he wasn’t him anymore. he was completely different.
contains: alcohol and drug abuse, degradation, emotional instability, drunk/causal sex, explicit content, exes with unresolved feelings, heavy emotional smut, angst, toxic coping mechanisms, reader being a bit mean due to hurt.
Chris was the kind of boyfriend people made playlists about.
Not the depressing ones, not the rage-filled post-breakup anthems. The kind that made everything feel a little warmer, a little less heavy. Like things could actually be good.
You used to call him your golden retriever boyfriend.
Because he was.
Happy for no reason. Always leaning into you. He’d smile when you walked into a room like he forgot the rest of the world existed. Lose his train of thought just watching you do something dumb like put on lip gloss. He used to kiss you three times—forehead, cheek, lips—before he even said hi. Like it was a habit he never questioned.
And then you left.
Not because you stopped loving him. Not because something awful happened.
Just… life. Quiet, slow tension. Cracks you both ignored until they weren’t small anymore. It wasn’t dramatic. No one screamed. No one cheated.
It just ended. Quietly.
So he imploded.
It started slowly. One party. One hit. One drink.
Then two. Then five. Then ten nights a week.
Soon it became routine. Girls in his DMs. Girls at the club. Girls in his bed. Ones he couldn’t remember the names of. Ones who wore your perfume. Ones who cried after, because they wanted more than what he had to give.
Chris didn’t even flinch anymore when the door shut behind them.
He didn’t care who saw him high out of his mind, shirtless on someone’s kitchen counter, smoke curling out of his mouth like a ghost he was trying to exorcize. He didn’t care that he’d become someone else entirely—someone who spoke in sarcasm, whose laugh sounded foreign even to himself.
He was mean now.
Rough around the edges. Sharp-tongued and always a little pissed off.
You’d barely recognize him.
He didn’t want you to.
Because if you saw what he’d become, maybe you’d hate him enough to finally forget him.
He figured that was better than hoping.
One night, after another party ended in someone else’s bathroom, Chris sat slumped in the driver’s seat of his car, parked two blocks from the club. It was 2:04 a.m. The street was dark. His phone glowed in his hand.
He was drunk—his third club of the night. His teeth felt numb, and his brain was moving slower than his fingers as he scrolled through his photo album.
Every swipe was a stab.
You smiling at a beach you dragged him to.
You cooking breakfast in his hoodie.
You half-asleep on his chest, mumbling about hating Mondays.
He should’ve stopped.
But he didn’t.
He kept swiping. And deleting. One by one. Like burying pieces of his own fucking heart.
And then she opened the passenger door.
A girl from the club. He remembered her vaguely—tight red dress, pouty mouth, fake lashes so long they could fly her to hell and back. She smelled like peach vodka and desperation. She leaned in, saw the tears in his eyes and the bottle in his hand, and misread all of it.
“You okay, baby?” she purred, sliding into the seat beside him.
He didn’t answer.
She unzipped his pants anyway.
“imma make you feel so much better, baby. just relax”, she slurred on her own words.
Chris let it happen.
His head dropped back against the leather seat. Her mouth was wet and fast and impersonal.
He came in under a minute. Didn’t even touch her.
He didn’t say thank you.
Didn’t ask for her number.
Just waited until she got out and shut the door again, then stared at the ceiling of his car until his heart stopped racing.
He wasn’t proud. Not even a little.
But in that moment, it felt right.
Because it hurt.
And pain, at least, still felt real.
Two weeks later, he saw you.
It was another Friday night. Same club. Different drink. Different girl on his arm. But he’d already forgotten her name by the time his eyes landed on you—lit by purple strobes, standing at the bar in black heels and sheer stockings, the kind that hugged your thighs like a second skin.
Your shorts were tiny. Your top was little more than lace and strings. Your hair was tied in a messy bun, tendrils falling around your neck like you didn’t care you were the most beautiful fucking person in the room.
Chris froze.
Mid-sentence.
Mid-sip.
Everything dropped out of him. His stomach. His lungs. His ego. The fake personality he’d built like scaffolding around the crater you left behind—gone.
You didn’t even see him at first.
But when you did… God, the look in your eyes.
It was like looking at a grave.
He stumbled over before he could stop himself. His buzz was already strong, but your presence pushed him over the edge. He could barely string a thought together. But he needed to be near you.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, voice thick with alcohol.
You turned slowly, taking him in like you weren’t sure if he was real or just a memory come back to mess with your night.
“Didn’t think they’d let people drink themselves into a coma in public,” you said, calm. Distant.
That landed harder than it should’ve.
He gave a half-smile—nothing like the one you remembered. It sagged at the edges, tired and out of place.
“You look… good,” he said. Then quieter, “You always did.”
You held his gaze. “You don’t.”
He exhaled a sharp breath, almost a laugh. “Yeah. I know.”
You ended up talking longer than either of you planned.
The music got louder. The lights harsher. Chris leaned against the bar like it was the only thing holding him up, fingers twitching through his curls every few seconds. He wasn’t subtle about how much it wrecked him to be this close to you.
“You still around here?” he asked eventually, trying to sound light, like he was just making conversation.
You paused. You should’ve lied.
But you didn’t.
“Loft’s a few blocks from here.”
He nodded once, like he was thinking too fast and not thinking at all.
“Take me with with you. Please”
Your loft hadn’t changed much.
Warm lighting. Clean kitchen. Plants by the window. It still smelled like you—vanilla and sandalwood. That same soft, comforting scent that once clung to his pillowcases for days after you left.
He walked in slowly. Like he didn’t want to scare it away. Like he was stepping back into a version of himself that might still exist here.
Chris leaned against the counter, silent for a moment, staring at the little photo strip still magneted to your fridge. One from years ago. The kind you didn’t have the heart to throw away.
“Why’d you come with me?” you asked, finally.
He didn’t look at you.
Just said, quietly, “Because I forgot what peace feels like.”
You crossed your arms. “You’ve been trying pretty hard to forget everything.”
His jaw tightened. “Yeah. Well. The forgetting part comes easy when you’re drunk off your ass and fucking a stranger in your car while deleting photos of the only person you’ve ever loved.”
The silence that followed was violent.
You didn’t flinch. You didn’t look away.
You just blinked. Once. Twice.
And then:
“You really did that?”
“Yeah.” His voice cracked. “Didn’t even feel anything. Felt numb.”
A long breath.
You moved toward him.
“You hate yourself that much?”
He laughed. It sounded like choking. “I want you to hate me too.”
“I don’t.”
He looked up, eyes glassy. “Why the fuck not?”
And then you stepped closer. Pressed your palm to his chest.
“You were my light, too, Chris.”
He shattered right there.
Your mouths slammed together—no hesitation, just the blunt taste of whiskey and stale smoke. You fisted the front of his half-buttoned shirt and steered him down the hall, both of you stumbling like you couldn’t get close fast enough.
In the bedroom he shoved trembling hands under your sheer top; the moment he felt bare skin, his breath hitched hard.
“God,” he muttered, jaw tight. “Still you.”
You pushed him onto the mattress and climbed over his hips. He traced the tops of your stockings, knuckles skimming lace. Under better light you might’ve blushed; tonight you just watched him watch you.
“I thought about this every night,” he groaned, grinding up into you. “You. Like this.”
You lifted your hips, pulled your bodysuit aside and slid his jeans down just enough. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, already leaking.
“Condom?” you whispered.
He reached for his wallet. You grabbed it. Tore it open with your teeth. Rolled it onto him.
And then you sank down.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was pain and love and guilt in the shape of sex.
You rode him like you wanted to ruin him. He let you. Gripping your waist, his head thrown back, begging under his breath.
You slapped your hand over his mouth, bouncing harder. “You don’t get to ask that.”
He nodded against your palm, eyes full of tears.
“I’ll be better,” he choked when you let go. “I swear—I’ll be—fuck—you feel so fuckin good. Please—”
Your hips slowed—
From furious rhythm to a soft, aching sway.
Chris’s head had tipped back against the pillow, jaw tight, brows pulled together like it hurt to be inside you. But not because of pleasure. Not anymore.
Because of grief.
You felt it suddenly.
That break in him.
The way his hands shook where they gripped your waist.
The way he whispered things under his breath like he couldn’t help it. He didn’t even know why was he apologising. After all, you were the one who left, but somehow, he still felt like it was all his fault.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I ruined everything.”
Your chest caved a little.
So instead of driving him into the mattress like you had been, you leaned forward. Slowly. Intentionally. Rested your forehead against his, letting your eyes fall shut for a second just to feel him again. Skin against skin. Heat against heartbreak.
Then you opened your eyes—
And so did he.
His were glassy. Red. And fucking pleading.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice cracking. He cupped your face with both hands like he was scared you’d vanish mid-thrust. “I’m so sorry I let you go. I’m so sorry for the club, and the car, and the—fuck—I didn’t even feel alive, I didn’t—”
“Shhh,” you murmured, quiet and warm against his mouth.
Your hips rolled slowly, grounding him.
“You don’t have to beg,” you said, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “I hear you.”
He let out a shaky breath. Something between a moan and a sob.
You kissed his forehead, soft and sure.
Right between his brows.
And he broke.
Chris came instantly, with a trembling gasp and a full-body shudder. His arms wrapped tight around you, face buried in your neck as you rode him through it—still slow, still grounding, still holding him like he was something real.
You stayed like that for a moment. Let him breathe. Let him exist.
After you slid off him, you moved gently. Careful hands. Warm washcloth. Soft words. You cleaned him up first, then yourself, keeping the lights dim so it didn’t feel like a hospital room, didn’t feel sterile or pitiful.
He lay on his back the whole time, eyes on the ceiling. Silent. Barely blinking.
When you finally slipped back into bed beside him, he turned his head.
And looked at you like you weren’t real.
Like you were some dream his wrecked brain had conjured after one too many pills. Like he didn’t dare speak in case you vanished again.
You tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, voice barely audible.
“Are you okay, Chris?”
He blinked.
Swallowed.
“Yeah,” he whispered, eyes never leaving yours. “I mean—I know drunk sex isn’t always…”
“Yeah,” you said gently, “it’s not always good.”
“It was good,” he breathed. “But only ‘cause it was you.”
You nodded softly. Scooted in closer. Let him wrap himself around you.
“I missed you,” he said again, barely awake now. “I missed you so fucking much. You were my only light.”
. . . this will contain consent no consent (cnc), sleep play (pre-negotiated), heavy consent emphasized through prior discussion, oral (f), power imbalance, wet dream implication, established relationship, etc.
you've talked about it before—more than once. the what-ifs and the maybes, boundaries laid out in soft-spoken honesty, trust woven through each word. chris had been shy about it at first, cheeks tinted pink as he asked if you'd ever be into that. the whole take what you want, even if i'm squirming thing.
you'd laughed—god, of course. the both of you had always been a little depraved under the skin. what made it work was the safety net: open conversations, shared safewords, and a kind of closeness that let you give him your body even when your mouth said don't.
sex with chris had always been a little filthy. slow-burn touches that built into reckless, hungry need. he was good at giving—tongue, fingers, dick, praise. but something about the way he'd whispered "pretend you don't want it" had scratched an itch you didn't know you had. now it's routine. not all the time, not every time. but often enough that your body knows how to beg even when your mouth doesn't.
tonight is one of those nights. only you don't know it yet.
it starts with sleep. limbs tangled under soft sheets, his chest pressed to your back, one arm slung across your waist. it's barely past five a.m. and the room's thick with quiet, only the hum of the fan and the occasional rustle of blankets breaking the silence. chris stirs before you do. he's always been a light sleeper, and tonight, it's the sound of your breath—shaky, uneven, threaded with faint little whines—that wakes him.
he blinks through the dark, lashes brushing his cheekbones as he props himself up slowly, elbow pressed into the mattress. his hair’s a mess, curls flattened on one side, and he rakes a hand through them absently while leaning over your sleeping form.
you're on your back now. head tilted, mouth parted just slightly, brows drawn like you're dreaming something deep. your shirt's bunched around your hips and your thighs are shifting like you're chasing friction in your sleep. his eyes drag down the length of you, gaze locking on the small damp patch blooming through your sleep shorts.
"fuck," he mutters, soft and hoarse.
his lips brush against your neck first—barely-there kisses, warm and quiet, right under your ear. when you stir, his hand finds the hem of your shorts, dragging fingertips down the curve of your hip like he's touching something sacred. then he's slipping under the blanket, quiet as a breath, mouth already watering as he settles between your legs.
he noses at the fabric first, presses a soft kiss against the wet spot, then groans into it like he's starved. the sound is low and rough, almost needy. his hands hook into the waistband of both your shorts and your panties, tugging them down in one smooth, practiced motion. you don't even flinch. your legs twitch a little, thighs shifting open slightly, and he takes it as permission.
he licks you slow the first time—flat tongue, base to tip—then again, more focused, teasing your clit until your hips buck without you even waking up. he smiles against you, fingers gripping your thighs to keep you spread. your body's so warm, soaked through and trembling, and when he sucks gently at the swollen bud, you let out the softest sound—half whimper, half sigh.
your legs start to tense, hips rolling like you're chasing something, and then it happens.
"chris—" you breathe it out like a sigh, barely awake, voice laced with sleep and slight confusion. "wha…what're you…"
he doesn't answer. doesn't even pause.
his mouth is relentless now, tongue flicking and curling, licking through your folds like he knows your body better than you do. you squirm beneath him, one hand clutching at the sheets, the other sliding into his hair without thinking.
"chris—baby, wait, shit," you stammer, voice pitching higher as your eyes flutter open. "what're you doing?"
"shh," he hums, lips brushing your clit. "go back to sleep."
your breath hitches. your thighs try to close, but his hands keep them spread wide. you push gently at his head—instinct, resistance—but it's weak. your body's already caving in on itself, heat building fast between your legs.
"you said i could," he murmurs against your cunt, and the words shoot straight through you. "you said s'okay like this."
you moan—high and broken—and the sound makes him groan into you. he dips his tongue lower, licking into your hole while his nose brushes your clit, and your hips jerk up.
"feels like you want it," he adds, dragging his tongue back up to suck again.
"fuck—chris," you whine, voice trembling, but your fingers are tightening in his hair now. not pushing anymore. just holding on.
he sucks harder, mouth messy, face wet with you, and your legs are shaking now. your body betrays every word spilling from your lips—rolling toward him, hips grinding into his face, thighs clenching like you're desperate for more. and he gives it to you. all of it. every inch of his mouth, his tongue, his soft filthy groans vibrating against your skin.
"dreamin' 'bout me?" he murmurs, breath hot against your cunt. "woke up so fuckin' wet."
you can't even speak anymore. just moan. sob. take it.
your orgasm hits fast—like a wave crashing, rolling through your gut until you're crying out his name and twitching in his grip. chris keeps licking, keeps sucking, doesn't stop until you're pulling at his hair and begging, barely coherent.
finally, finally, he surfaces. mouth glistening, eyes dark, curls messy and face flushed.
he climbs up slowly, settling over you, and leans down to kiss your cheek.
"good morning," he whispers, lips brushing your skin. "told you i'd take care of you."
་༘࿐ note from babydoll . . . pretend i said something crazy here.
warnings : slight smut, no actual touching of anything
the house was peaceful as matt and nick had just left to get snacks for the night, leaving you and chris all alone. never a good combo; always either too dangerous in a silly duo type of way, or in a sexual way. and it looked like today it was sexual again— like it had been for the past couple of months.
you and chris had both noticed it— the tension, the glances that lasted too long, the way you both spoke to eachother in a softer almost tenderly tone. and ofcourse nick and matt noticed, how could they not? especially when instead of innocent giggles and laughs coming out of chris’s room, it was just soft mumbling 90% of the time. they weren’t stupid and neither were you or chris.
the soft hum of the tv filled the room that was otherwise silent. your back was against the arm of the couch, your legs resting on chris’s lap like it was another usual saturday, which it is if you ignore the obvious tension in the air. the same tension that had been following you and chris around for the past couple of months. the one that couldn’t be avoided.
chris’s eyes would occasionally drift over to you from the tv. his hands gently kneed and massage your calves— something that was not uncommon when your bestfriend is always deprived of touch in every single way possible. it was like he never had enough of it— even if you were completely ontop of him he still wants more. he always wants more if it’s you.
it had started off as gentle strokes— reassuring strokes. now they had intention and a heat that make your heart beat a million times faster. and chris knew it, he always knew what he was doing and yet he acts so innocent as if you don’t know it either. but you could always tell whenever he wanted more. he had this cloudy and hungry look mixed with the constant readjusting of his sweatpants. it was pure neediness and he didn’t even try to hide it— he wouldn’t want to hide it. he wants you to know, even if you won’t do anything about it.
he grabs your legs and gently pushes them down onto his lap. this time grabbing your leg closest to his stomach and putting it right ontop of his hard-on. not even sparing you a glance as he does this.
he doesn’t expect you to do anything— he never would, but he just wants you to know. to be able to feel what he feels. then he turns and looks at you with that exact needy look and pout that you wish never came off his face. “it hurts…” he mumbles as you don’t reply and just look at him with a sympathetic look. a few seconds pass before you speak up, “wan’ me to massage it for you..?”
he nods with that same look as if he were keeping his boner a secret for years. you lean over to massage his poor little dick, you’re ghosting over it as the front door opens. “ay ya’ll better not be undressed by the time we get up these stairs!” matt warns as you roll your eyes and give chris a sympathetic look as an apology. he seems to be upset as you put your legs back up on his lap and he manages to mutter in one last “but it hurts…” just before they get to the top of the stairs.
why didn’t nobody tell me how much energy it actually takes to write shit? like ya’ll make it seem so easy🙄🙄
Matts reaction to bunny being left out with her friends
oh my god :( matt would notice immediately.
she’s sitting a little apart from the group—still smiling, still nodding along, but her eyes are a bit too blank, and her fingers are fussing with her bunny’s little bow. they’re talking over her, interrupting her, not really listening. and bunny’s being soft about it, like always. trying not to make it a thing.
but matt sees everything.
he watches for a few more seconds, jaw tight, before quietly getting up and walking over. doesn’t say anything at first—just crouches beside her and tugs her sleeve. ❝hey. come with me.❞
she blinks up, startled. ❝but—❞ ❝just for a sec, bun. please.❞ and she always listens when he says please like that. he brings her somewhere quieter and gently sits her down, then crouches in front of her, looking up into her eyes.
❝you okay?❞ her voice is small. ❝i didn’t mean to be weird. i just… they weren’t really listening and i didn’t wanna—❞ ❝stop.❞ he says it so softly. thumb brushing her knee. ❝you’re not weird. they’re just not paying attention. and that’s not your fault.❞
and when she finally looks up at him—teary-eyed, trying not to let it show—he just opens his arms. ❝c’mere.❞ she climbs into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. bunny tucked between them. matt wraps himself around her like a shield, pressing his chin to her shoulder.
❝they’re dumb,❞ he mumbles into her hoodie. ❝i’d never talk over you.❞ and she clings a little tighter. feels seen. and safe.
can you write a blurb where you and chris (or matt) have a nonverbal hand signal like squeezing three times — that started because of your anxiety? and one of you use it during sex as a way to check in without words. aaa so sweet
you were always hesitant with sex. not because you didn’t want it. you just found yourself getting to worked up building up to undress yourself that you couldn’t have sex. until matt.
matt quickly realized your body tensing up when his hands moved to your hips, when his lips touched your neck, or when his knee found your core and gently pressed against it.
so of course, he asked about it but you got too nervous in the moment to tell him what was stopping you from going the full distance. so he came up with the idea of nonverbal signals.
squeeze his hands three times to slow down, tap his shoulder three times to stop completely.
matt was currently between your thighs, giving you the sweetest kisses against your folds, his tongue parting your folds and gently licking across them from time to time. his hands were resting against your hips, fingers tracing circles against your skin.
you didn’t have an exact reason why, but your anxiety had gotten worse today from other days. no specific reason, just many different things overwhelming you which was causing you to get even more anxious with matt between your legs.
matt keeps his eyes on you, looking through his eyelashes, observing your every movement. your stomach sucking in for a quick second, your throat bopping with your hard swallows, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths.
he pat your hip gently, moving his lips towards your thighs to give you a break with his lips on you, not wanting to break contact from your skin but wanting your eyes on him. your eyes flicker down to his immediately and you could see the concern filling his blue orbs.
you let out a soft breath, embarrassment filling your body as you couldn’t get the words out to tell him what was wrong. your hand finds his with ease, gently interlacing fingers and squeezing his hand three times, a silent “slow down” and a silent “i love you.”
he nods gently, his lips curling up ever so slightly before his lips move up to your hips, finding your stomach and pressing gently, slow kisses on your skin, right next to your belly button.
he keeps his hand interlocked with yours, his grip gentle but tight enough to let you know that he would stop at any time you needed. his other hand moves to your side, his pointer gently tracing words onto your skin, “i love you.” before kissing up your body, his lips barely brushing against your skin.
his lips find yours and he kisses you as gently as possible, like you were a doll about to break. like you were the most fragile thing in the world.
another saturday, another sleepover. it had become a usual ritual for you and matt. there was just no one who you would rather spend your weekend with.
and right now you were curled up into his side in the quiet living room watching coraline for the hundredth time. matt always complained about it, but we both know he doesn’t actually mind at all. his hands run through your hair and you feel deep breaths coming from his chest.
you looked up at matt with a friendly smile when you felt him kiss your head but instead you were met with a dangerous look from matt. one that always ended up in you screaming his name and begging for more.
no time was wasted as matt pulled you up onto his lap and hungrily dived into your mouth. his tongue already intertwining with yours as he got right into it; typical matthew. never patient enough. a hungry moan left his mouth as you pulled back with a giggle, “someones hungry huh?” you say humorously but matt doesn’t respond and just pulls you back in. a shocked squeal left your mouth but you didn’t fight it, you never would.
his hands travel all across your body, gripping at anything he could, in hoped of hearing your sweet moans. “take this off f’me sweetheart,” matt stated while gripping at your oversized sleep shirt. it slipped off with the help of you and matt. his eyes glazed over your bare body, “no bra huh? slut.” he teased as he went right into sucking all over your chest. moans and whines left your mouth as if you’ve never been touched by anyone in your life before.
you helplessly grinded your self against his bulge as it grew underneath you. matt could feel your pussy soaking through your sleep shorts and onto his pyjama bottoms and it only encouraged him even more. “m-matt need you,” you begged him as he pulled away from your now swollen tits. “mm yeah? you need me pretty girl?” he repeated with a smirk while reaching down to cup your pussy. “aww look at her… she’s drippin’ baby. you want me to fill her up?” he asked with a grin as he looked at you desperately nodding.
“c’mon lift ya hips up for me.” he tapped your hips as you quickly followed his instructions with no hesitation. he slipped his pyjama bottoms and boxers off, “ya gonna take those shorts off for me too sweet girl?” he asked you innocently as you quickly took your shorts off and didn’t waste any time before sinking down onto his entire length. matt grinned as he watched your eyes roll back just from how he always filled you up perfectly. “c’mon sweetheart ya gotta move for me— ya killin’ me over here.” you started to bounce up and down on his cock but slowed down after about thirty seconds, as always. you could never last being on top and matt knew that. he just liked to watch you get all whiney for a couple seconds.
he sighed, “c’mon hon get on your back.” you didn’t argue as you crawled off his lap and up against the armrest off the couch. matt didn’t waste any time and got right back into it as he aligned himself with your dripping entrance. he slowly pushed himself in and gave you a minute to adjust as you let out a couple whines.
hard, rough and fast strokes is all matt knew— he drilled into you as if he’d never felt pussy before. loud moans left your mouth— with you not even trying to be discreet. matt knew that his brothers were in the house but at this moment? he couldn’t give less of a shit. all he cared about was filling up your tight little hole. “fucckkkk sweetheart— ya always so good for me baby.” he praised you as you started clenching around him, “maa—matt! ‘m close! so close!” you exclaimed as he thrusted into you even harder. “yeah pretty girl? you close? hold it for me. don’t you dare cum yet.” he warned you as whines of protest fell out of your mouth.
matt groaned out praises as his own high was slowly approaching before you heard a door slam from downstairs and both of you immediately paused. heavy and angry steps were heard coming up the stairs which led right into the living room— where you were both inside of eachother. you scrambled to hide yourself underneath a blanket as matt quickly pulled out of you and tried to find his pyjama pants.
“yo matt are you bein’ fuckin’ serious?” chris said angrily as he stared at the state of you and matt, “i get that you wanna fuck our bestfriend— but holy shit i don’t wanna have to hear everything!” matt just blinked at him as if he didn’t know what he was talking about.
“and y/n i swear to fuck— i have never heard a fuckin’ louder woman in my life, and there is no way that matt is that good. so please just shut the fuck up or go fuck him in the car!” he snapped as if this wasn’t the first time… which it definitely wasn’t. “we weren’t even that loud.” matt groans in his defence. “my whole room is literally shaking from how hard you two are going at it! literal fuckin’ rabbits man!” chris complained and grumbled all the way back down to his room.
you and matt just shared a look of disbelief with eachother before you spoke up quietly, “atleast he didn’t walk in on the time with the handcuffs.”
this is literally my first time writing smut so i hope that it’s not terrible😓😓
two weeks ago today you had met nick at one of tara yummy's parties. you weren't famous per say— just about 20k followers on instagram, but you still were definitely in the whole 'influencer' circle? i guess you could call it that.
and now you were ubering over to nick's house for the very first time. sure you were nervous but you've gotten like— hella close hella fast with nick. it's just one of those kind of friendships that you click with eachother; so going to his house shouldn't be that bad.
the uber comes to a stop. you thank the driver and get out and let out a sigh. "okay c'mon malibu you can do this." you try to convince yourself as you knock on nick’s front door.
a familiar face answers, nick. "hey mal! you made it!" he says excitedly as he pulls you in for a welcoming hug. "hey, yeah i'm glad you invited me over." you muffle into his shoulder.
"c'mon in, by the way my brothers are home so don't mind them." nick warns you as you follow him up the stairs. "you have brothers? and you live with them? i though you—" your mouth shuts in confusion as you stare at the almost carbon copies of nick just sitting on their gray couch.
one of them nods at you and goes back to scrolling on his phone, while the other doesn't take his eyes off you. "hey hon." he says nonchalantly as if he's known you for years. "uhhh hey..?" you say trying to not sound confused. "oh uh yeah i'm a triplet— that's matt and that's chris right there. and chris for the love of GOD stop perving on all my friends!" nick exclaims at chris. chris is still wearing that boyish grin on his face though. the type you only could dream about seeing. like literally some model type shit.
a pair of black baggy jeans, a simple white tee and a black backwards hat. oh yeaaahhhh your friends brother was hot. nick could already read your thoughts as he seen the flushed look on your face. "mal trust me you do not want chris— like at all. he'll literally break your little innocent heart." "hey! i'm not innoce—" you tried to argue against him but once again you got interrupted. "mal is it?" chris asked curiously. you gulped and looked at him, "uhhh no it's malibu." you say anxiously as if he would eat you alive.
"pretty name for a pretty girl." chris says with a wink but nick quickly cuts him off— god this cutting off thing need to stop. "christopher owen sturniolo i swear to god! leave my friends alone— they're off limits!" he groans annoyed again as he drags you up the stairs to his room.
you stumbled as nick dragged you away but all you could think about was how goddamn fine his brothers were— like you knew that nick was hot but he was gay so it was in a more friendly way that you seen him. but now that you've seen his straight brothers. hollyyyy they are FINE.
and like even the other one who didn't say a single word to you was fine as fuck too, those genes really hit hard huh? not that you were complaining anyways cus having that sight everytime you go to your friends house would be an absolute blessing.
and goddamn that grin too— you would be lying if you said your panties weren't a little soaked. was that dramatic? yes. but were you also a virgin who got absolutely no guys attention, like ever? yes! so seeing such a hot guy grin at you like that got you a little excited, you can't help it!
nick opened the door to his room and you stepped in, it was pretty clean honestly— not what you would expect for a twenty one year old mans room to look like at all. you couldn't help but wonder how nicks brothers’ rooms looked like too— and how you would look on their bed underneath them— okay okay enough! no more thinking!
“uhh so this is my room— it’s a little messy but i’m sure you don’t mind.” nick plopped down onto his bed as he looked at you expectantly waiting for you to get on too. “nah i don’t mind— my room’s a complete dump too,” you replied and got onto his bed too.
“so uh— what’s the deal with your brother?” you asked trying to sound like you didn’t care at all. “what? matt? ugh don’t mind him he’s just shy around new peopl—,” you cut him off quickly. “no—no— not that one, the other one— chris or whatever.” “oh chris? uhh he’s just flirty i guess, always has been. just ignore him honestly, he’s only lookin to get into ya pants.” nick warns you with a laugh but it only made you more flustered.
a fine ass guy like that wanted to get into your pants?! like yes please!
hey!! im lowk like hella bored of c.ai and i’ve all motivation for it so i’ve decided to start like a fanfic story thing. like an actual sorta book with different parts and all that so i hope you all enjoy it and it probably won’t be that good as this is my first time ever writing💞
areudirty
yousharknotpass
titsay
origamiaround
theartofmadeline
blakekathryn
