SAV

idk i just work here.

[namelesssav]

greetings babydolls,

call me sav.

parental advisory unless you can handle it.

matthew bernard & christopher owen's property

nicolas sturniolo. madison beer. harry styles. michael jackson. role model. sabrina carpenter. chase atlantic. malcolm todd. ariana grande. bucky barnes. acotar. book boyfriends.

xoxo,

𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒚.💋

[mikeysbadgyal]

His journal ✎

pairing - college nerd! jafaar jackson x black fem!reader

rating - explicit (18+)

word count - 3.4k

summary - after finding jafaar’s journal, you have to find out for yourself if he’s really as innocent as everyone thinks.

warnings - smut, profanity, secrecy, invasion of privacy, he’s not as innocent as they said, you should’ve minded your business, obsessive thoughts, p in v, spitting, hair pulling, imagination and pet names, spanking.

A/n: my first Jafaar fic i hope you all enjoy it! 😋

photo credits: @onlyonemack ★

Jafaar’s dorm looked like it always did: textbooks everywhere, half-empty water bottles scattered around, and sketches covering half of his desk.

You’d been in his dorm for about twenty minutes while he went to look for the charger he swore he left in one of his friend’s rooms. The second the door shut behind him, your eyes drifted toward one of his dressers. One of the drawers was slightly open, just enough for you to catch sight of something black tucked inside.

You knew you probably shouldn’t look, but curiosity got the best of you. Rumors about Jafaar had always been weird. Half the girls on campus swore he was innocent to the point of being clueless, just some shy little architecture nerd who spent more time studying than doing anything else.

Before you could really think about it, you reached into the drawer and pulled the journal out.

The leather felt worn beneath your fingers, the edges softened like he’d opened it a hundred times before.

A bookmark stuck out near the middle. You hesitated for a second before flipping to that page and starting to read.

The very first line made your stomach tighten instantly.

𝐼’𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝐼 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑐ℎ ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛. 𝐼’𝑑 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑠, ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑒’𝑠 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒. 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑏𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑚 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑠ℎ𝑒’𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑡.

Heat crept up your neck as you flipped another page.

Your mouth dropped open as you read what he wrote. You quickly covered your mouth with your hand as you gasped. An ache settling between your thighs.

“𝐼 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑒. ‘𝐻𝑒’𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎 𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑑. 𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑣𝑖𝑏𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑖𝑚,’ 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑.

𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑. 𝐼𝑓 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑗𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡. 𝑀𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑒’𝑑 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑚.”

You stared at the page, rereading it slower this time. Then it hit you the conversation from the other day.

You and your friend, laughing, talking about him without thinking much of it. Your stomach dropped as the words clicked into place. He wasn’t talking about some random girl. He was talking about you.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of the journal. After a moment, you flipped to the next page anyway, too curious to see what else he had written about you.

𝐼'𝑑 𝑙𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑐𝑒 𝑏𝑦 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑐𝑒. 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑡ℎ, 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑚𝑦 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑠𝑒.

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛, 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑠, 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑢𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑒. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘 ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝐼'𝑑 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡. 𝐷𝑟𝑎𝑤 𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡. 𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑔. 𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼'𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.

There are pages and pages of more, each entry more explicit than the last. He describes you in vivid detail, the way you move, the sounds you'd make, the things he wants to do to your body every filthy scenario.

The door handle rattled, and you shoved the journal back into the drawer as quickly as you could, closing it, your heart in your ass as Jafaar stepped inside, holding the charger. You quickly tried to act normal.

“Found it,” he said, voice soft like always. But now you knew what lived behind that softness.

“Sorry it took so long. After I got the charger, I stopped to grab a drink,” he said. “The machine was out of my favorite, so I had to-” He stopped suddenly, his eyes landing on you.

Something flickered across his face. “You okay? You look… kinda flushed.”

“Ohhh, I’m fine,” you said too quickly. “It’s just a little hot in here, you know.”

He paused, studying you. His gaze flicked to the dresser drawer, now shut a little too neatly.

"You sure?" He pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger.

“Just thinking,” you said, trying to sound casual, as if you hadn’t just read about him wanting to fuck you.

His head tilted slightly. "About what?"

Your pulse hammered. The air in the room felt thicker. You were thinking about his words.

Oh … fuck it.

"About this," you said, reaching into the draw pulling the journal from its hiding spot.

His face went pale. His mouth opening and closing for a second he looked like a deer caught in headlights. "That's you shouldn't-"

"I read it." Your voice came out steadier than you expected, though your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears.

"All of it. Well, most of it.”

"That's private you know."

"Really?" You held the journal up, your thumb brushing over the worn leather. "Because it sounds like you've been thinking about me a lot. In very un-private ways."

His jaw tightened. For a long moment, he didn't say anything. Then he set the charger down as he took a step toward you.

"You think you know me," he said, his voice lower now, rougher. "You think I'm just the shy, nerdy guy who can't talk to girls. Who couldn't possibly have a single filthy thought in his head."

"I did think that," you admitted, your heart racing. "Until I found this."

He stopped in front of you, close enough that you could smell his cologne.

"So now you know." His hand reached out, and for a moment you thought he was going to take the journal. Instead, his fingers brushed against yours, trailing up your wrist.

"Now you know what I think about when I can't sleep. What I think about when you're sitting right next to me, laughing at something stupid, and all I can imagine is bending you over and fucking you until you scream."

Your breath hitched. Gosh, you wanted him to fuck you. His hand kept moving, sliding up your arm, over your shoulder, until his fingers tangled gently in the hair at the nape of your neck.

"Go ahead," he murmured, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind your ear. "Tease me. Laugh at me. Tell me I'm a pathetic pussy for writing all of that down instead of doing anything about it."

Suddenly, you felt the need to push him more.

“Everyone thinks you’re so innocent,” you said, throwing the journal down on the bed, trailing your hand down his arm and letting a hint of mockery slip into your voice.

“Sweet, shy Jafaar. You probably never even kissed a girl, right?” You paused, watching his reaction. “But here you are, writing about putting me through the mattress.”

His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

"Say that again?"

You smiled, feeling the thrill of pushing his buttons. "Sweet, shy Jafaar-"

He pulled you hard against his chest, his mouth crashing into yours. He kissed you all demanding, hungry, nothing like the shy boy who can barely hold eye contact. His hands weaved into your curls, his fingers twisting the strands pulling but not hard enough to hurt, but enough to let you know who's in control here.

“Bet,” he whispered against your lips. “I’m going to show your ass.”

“Yes, please,” you smirked, giving him all the consent he needed.

He effortlessly lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bed. Thankfully, he had a full-sized bed, unlike those tiny ass dorm beds you couldn’t stand. You were so grateful that this college allowed you to choose different-sized beds.

"You talked about me too. I didn’t forget ," he says, climbing onto the bed after you, settling between your legs. "I heard you. The other day with your little friend. You said I was probably inexperienced."

"You think I'm all talk?" he said, pulling his belt free letting it drop to the floor. "You think I don't know what to do with a woman?"

He crawled onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs.

"Let me show you exactly what I've been writing about."

He grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head in one motion. Then your bra, his fingers working the clasp with ease..

He bent down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking hard while his thumb worked the other. The sensation shooting straight to your pussy.

"Fuck," you gasped.

“That’s just the beginning,” he mumbled, pulling back.

He worked his way down your body, kissing, biting, leaving marks. When he reached your pants, he unbuttoned them and tugged them down your legs, along with your panties.

He sat back, staring at you lying bare before him.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "Even better than I imagined."

He leaned forward, his mouth hovering inches from your pussy. "You're gonna taste so good."

But instead of diving in, he sat up again, reaching for his journal on the bed. He opened it to a marked page.

"I wrote this one down a few weeks ago," he said. " m’gonna show you how it goes."

He tossed the journal to the side, sliding his palms up the insides of your thighs, spreading you further until you were completely exposed to him.

Leaning in, he dragged his tongue in one long, slow stroke from your entrance up to your clit.

You gasped. He didn’t give you time to recover. He licked again, firmer this time, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue before sucking it between his lips. One hand stayed on your thigh, holding you open. The other slid two fingers through your slick and pushed inside without warning.

“Shit…Jafaar.”

He moaned against you, the vibration making your hips jerk. His fingers curled, finding that spot inside you that made your vision blur. He pumped them steadily, tongue never stopping its attention to your clit.

“Put your hands above your head,” he said against your skin. “If you move them I’ll stop.”

You obeyed instantly, fingers twisting into the sheets above you. Jafaar rewarded you by adding a third finger, stretching you open while his tongue worked faster. The wet sounds filled the small room his mouth on you, your own desperate breathing, the slick slide of his fingers.

“You taste so fucking good,” he muttered. “Been wanting to bury my face here since the first time I saw you in those shorts. Thought about it every night. Jerked off coming all over my chest thinking about how you’d sound when I made you come on my tongue.”

Your back arched off the bed. The pressure was building so fast, coiling tight in your lower belly. Jafaar felt it. He sucked harder on your clit crooking his fingers just right.

“You gonna come already? Go ahead then. Let me feel it.”

Your thighs clamped around his head as the orgasm ripped through you, hips bucking against his mouth. He licked you through it, fingers still moving, drawing it out until you were shaking.

He slowly pulls his fingers out and brings them to his mouth, sucking on them. He makes a low, appreciative sound.

"Taste better than I imagined."

His chin was shiny with your slick. He wiped it with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving yours.

“Still with me?” he asked.

You nodded, breathless.

“Good because i wanna do more.”

He stood up and removed everything except his cardigan and shirt. He pushed his pants down, along with his boxers.

His dick sprung free, settling against his belly button, thick and already leaking at the tip. He wrapped a hand around the base and gave it a slow stroke as he hopped back on the bed.

The sight makes your mouth water. He's not small. Not by a long shot.

“See what you do to me?” he said. “Been hard since I walked in and saw you looking all guilty.”

He leaned down and spat directly onto your pussy. The warm saliva trickled down and he caught it with two fingers, pushing them back inside you.

“Look at this pretty pussy,” he murmured. “All puffy and wet, you’re so tight,” he said. “Gonna feel so good around my dick.”

He worked his fingers in and out a few more times, scissoring them to stretch you. Then he pulled them free and lined himself up.

He pushes in slowly, letting you feel every inch. He's bigger than you expected, stretching you in a way that borders on too much, but he doesn't stop until he's buried to the hilt.

Your hands fly up, gripping his shoulders.

“Fuck! Jafaar, you’re so big!” You mewl.

“I know, sweetheart, but you can take me.”

“Can’t you?” he asks, pausing for a moment.

“Yes, I can take it, pleaseeee.”

“Goddamn,” he groaned, biting his lip to stifle a whimper. “You’re squeezing me so tight. Like you don’t want to let me go.” He stills, letting you adjust.

"I've wanted this for so long," he murmurs. "Wanted you for so long. You have no idea what it was like watching you walk around.”

“Knowing I couldn’t have you, everyone thought I was too soft, too gentle to pull you.”

"But I'm not," he continues, his rhythm building. "I'm not gentle. I'm not soft. I'm the guy who's been fantasizing about fucking you into this mattress for months."

He reaches up and grabs your face, squishing your cheeks together.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, his hips thrusting into you with urgency.

“I want you” you whined.

His speed picks up, each thrust harder than the last. The bed creaks beneath you. Your hands find the sheets once more, gripping them as he takes you apart.

"Tell me I'm innocent now," he growls, driving into you.

"Tell me I'm inexperienced."

You can barely form words. "You're not ah fuck-"

"That's right." He leans over, his mouth at your ear.

a/n: (if ykyk)

"I've been dreaming about having you in this position.”

He pulls out, and before you can protest, he's turning you over, pushing you onto your stomach. He grabs your hips, pulling them up, positioning you on your side.

As he moved you into position you had one knee bent forward, the other leg stretched straight.

Jafaar stays upright behind you on his knees. His cardigan brushing your lower back every time he shifts.

He grips the base of his dick and lines up again, pressing the swollen head against your entrance until it parts you.

He pushes in slow, letting you feel every ridge and vein stretch your walls. The angle from this height drives him straight forward instead of down so the pressure against your front walls build fast.

He bottoms out and holds there, hips flush to your ass. One hand stays planted on your hip. The other lifts and comes down hard across your right cheek. The slap cracks through the room. Heat blooms under your skin and you jerk forward moaning but his grip keeps you in place.

“Fuck,” he mutters, watching the print rise. He pulls back until only the head stays inside, then drives forward again.

“I love the way your ass jiggles.” You wiggle your ass in response, and he spanks you again, this time lower, catching the curve where your ass meets your thigh.

The sting mixes with the thick slide of his dick making you clench around him.

His knees stay planted wide for leverage. The wet sound of your pussy gripping him grows louder with each pass. He reaches down, spreading your cheeks with one hand, watching the way his dick disappeared inside you.

“Keep your leg up,” he says. You hook your top knee higher and he groans when the new angle lets him sink another half inch. His big palm cracks across your ass again, harder, the sound sharp. Your skin burns and you push back into the next thrust without thinking.

He leans forward, chest hovering over your back but never dropping his weight.

He pulls your hair next. His fingers gather your hair up into a makeshift ponytail, tugging your head back until your neck arches. The pull makes your spine curve. He uses the new angle to fuck you harder, the head of his dick dragging across that spongy spot inside you every stroke.

He spanks you again, open palm, right where the skin is already tender. Your ass jiggles under the impact, and he watches it ripple.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“Full,” you answer. “Deep, so deep.”

"You like that?" He was breathing hard, his lip tucked between his teeth.

"You like being taken like this? Like being treated like the filthy little fantasy you read about?"

“Yes, oh… Fuck, yes.”

“Right there,” you whine as he hits your g-spot.

"Yeah?" He focuses his thrusts, aiming for that spot. "Right there, Mama?"

"Yes, yes, fuck, Jafaar, right there."

He starts to move long, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. You could feel the muscles in his thighs flexing against the backs of your legs.

Your mouth keeps falling open. You reach back and grab his wrist where he’s holding your hip.

He pulls almost all the way out, pauses, then slams back in until his hips smack your ass. The force rocks you forward. He does it again, slower this time, letting you feel every inch leave and return. Your walls flutter around him and he groans, low and rough.

“Gonna come if you keep squeezing me like that,” he warns.

“Then come,” you say. “I want it.”

He shakes his head once. “Not yet.” He leaves you empty for three long seconds, then pushes back in with one smooth stroke.

The sudden fullness makes you gasp. He spanks you twice quickly, left then right, the slaps landing on already heated skin.

“Fuck, listen to that creamy ass pussy you just creaming on me, baby,” he panted. “Taking every inch like you were made for it. Bet you’ve been thinking about this too, haven’t you? Wondering what it would feel like to have me buried in you.”

All that came out of your mouth were broken moans.

His glasses slide down his nose, and you reach back to push them up, settling the frames back into place.

“Thanks, baby.” He grunts out, hypnotized by the way your pussy is swallowing his dick.

He spits down, this time directly onto where you're joined, the wetness combining with where you're already slick. "That's fucking perfect," he groans.

He reaches down, grabs your ankle, and lifts your straight leg higher so your thighs open wider. The new position lets him bottom out completely.

He stops and flips you onto your back. His dick is still hard, glistening with your white slick. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, leaning down, folding you in half like a pretzel.

“Wanna see your pretty face closer,” he said.

He slid back inside with a smooth thrust. The new angle made him go so deep that you could swear you felt him in your throat. His pubic bone pressed against your clit with every stroke.

The little chain he always wore dangled in front of you, and you took that as an opportunity to suck it into your mouth while staring him dead in the eyes.

“You look so fucking sexy with my chain in your mouth. Fucking hell.”

As you held the chain in your mouth, he moaned, “Tell me how it feels.”

“So fucking good,” you managed. “Don’t stop please don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping until you come on this dick,” he promised.

The filthy promise sent another wave of heat through you. Jafaar’s rhythm grew rougher.

You both didn’t care that people could hear you two outside the dorm. Now, they’ll finally know that he’s not all sweet and innocent. The wet sound of skin on skin filled the room.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear you moan like that. To feel you clench around me. To watch your tits bounce while I fuck you senseless."

Another spank lands, this one lower, catching the side of your thigh. The sting travels straight to your pussy, and you clamp down around him. He curses under his breath and fucks you through the squeeze, his dick twitching inside you.

"Squeezing me so good, fuck," he grunted. "This is exactly what I fantasize about every night. You here in my room, taking me like a good girl."

You moaned, unable to form words. The pleasure was building, coiling tight in your belly.

"You like being fucked by the shy nerd, don't you?" he said, lightly slapping your face.

"The one everyone thinks is so damn inexperienced. Tell me how much you like it."

"I love it," you gasped. “You’re fucking me so good, shit.”

"Louder."

"I LOVE IT!"

He lowers his head, kissing you, swallowing your moans. His tongue slides against yours as he pulls back a little to bring his fingers down between your legs. More wetness spreads over your clit as he rubs it in, circles it with his thumb.

"So fucking nasty," you breathe.

"You like it."

He's right. You do. The wetness, the slick sound of his hand moving against you, the way his eyes watch his own fingers work.

He removes his fingers, placing them in his mouth, sucking his fingers clean.

“Tastes so fucking good.”

He pounds into you, faster, harder, and you can feel yourself tightening around him as he hits your sweet spot perfectly.

"I'm gonna—" you start.

"I know." He reaches down and presses on your lower stomach, right above where he's buried inside you. "I can feel it. You're squeezing me so fucking tight."

Your hands find his shoulders, digging into the fabric of his cardigan, the one he’s still wearing. The contrast is absurd: this nerdy, shy-looking boy in only a shirt and cardigan, fucking you into the mattress as if he’s been waiting for years.

"Come for me," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word, breaking the facade for just a second. "Please, I need to feel you come on my dick."

The please does it.

You come hard, your back arching, your nails digging into his shoulders through the wool. He keeps fucking you through it, drawing it out, and you can hear yourself making sounds you've never made before.

"That's it, that's it, fuck." He's close, you can tell by the way his rhythm stutters, the way his breath catches. "Where do you want it?" He was going to nut in you anyways, but he still wanted to ask you.

“I’m on the pill. In me.”

He comes with a groan that's almost a whimper, burying his face in your neck as he pumps into you.

You can feel him, hot and thick, filling you up, your walls clenching around him as he spills inside you. His whole body shaking from the force of it.

For a long moment neither of you moved. The only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant noise of campus life outside the window.

"Holy shit," he murmurs against your skin.

He eases out carefully. A trickle of his cum follows, sliding down your spent pussy. He watches it with heavy-lidded eyes before reaching down and pushing it back inside you with two fingers.

“Keep that in there,” he said quietly. “Want you to feel it for the rest of the day.”

The lens of his glasses is fogged up. He collapses beside you, one arm draped over your waist.

You turned your head to look at him. “So… everyone’s wrong about you.”

“Yeah. They are.”

“That was the best dick I’ve ever had.”

Ps- jafaar is so fioneeee omg fck M*DDIE 🫪.

@enzo6ekiiii @imsuchatyrant @nanapeachy

[inkedsturnioloss]

Lights, Camera, BroSexy!

*inspired by @hannahsturniolo 's post here*

Word Count: 3.8k (I need Jesus at this point)

Summary: In which you go to the movies with your two best friends, but little did you know they rented the theater out for more than just watching a film.

CW: 🔞Explicit Sexual Content (Smut): MFM (don’t make it weird, the boys don’t sexually interact), public sex, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, edging?, dom/sub dynamic, praise kink, hair pulling?, spanking, light choking, squirting, cum shot to the face, if I missed anything please let me know, If you are under 18, I am not responsible for the media you consume. (MDNI)

The buttery scent of popcorn lingered in the air as you made your way through the dimly lit corridor, Matt and Chris right behind you. You found it somewhat odd that those two were being overly happy and laughing; it was just a  movie night. Nothing major. You glanced at your ticket—row G, seats 8 through 10—but as you walked into the room, you stopped. Everything is confusing you more.

The theater was completely empty, not a single soul in sight. The silence felt heavy, not showing the usual excitement and sounds you would normally hear in a theater.

You blinked, scanning the rows. “Uhm, so like... this is weird, right? People should be here?” Your voice sounded uncertain.

Matt shrugged, playing dumb. “I don’t know, maybe we got lucky. Guess we should be happy we’re the only ones here, huh?” His grin was too wide, and you caught a flicker of something in his eyes.

Chris nudged your arm, his grin stretching wider with every step to the seats. “Just means more popcorn for us,” his voice containing a pitch of excitement to it. You caught a flicker of mischief in his eyes, as if he were in on some secret.

You follow quietly behind as they lead you to the center row—never the sides, always the middle, because they insist on sitting next to you. Sliding into the seat, you glance at them and notice how they both lean in, elbows intentionally brushing yours. The closeness feels intentional, and out of the corner of your eye, you catch Matt shooting Chris a private smile. Whatever is happening, you’re sure it’s about you, and curiosity gets to you.

About halfway through the movie, you feel the lightest touch on your thigh—fingertips tracing slow, teasing lines. You glance over to find Chris smirking, eyes never leaving the screen. You shoot him a sharp “quit it” look, but he only arches an eyebrow, his hand inching higher. Moments later, Matt shifts closer, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps prickle across your skin, anticipation and confusion mixing in your chest.

“Enjoying tonight?” Matt whispers, his hand sliding to your waist, fingertips tracing soft, lazy circles that feel both comforting and hot. His voice is low, and you can’t help but wonder how much of this night he planned.

You freeze as their hands start to wander—one tracing the curve of your waist, the other slipping along your thigh. Each touch is deliberate, and you can’t help but glare playfully at them both. Then the sudden realization hits. This empty theater wasn’t a coincidence. These two idiots had planned every detail, and you’re not really sure how to feel about it.

You’re not sure if you want to strangle them for being so sneaky—or just lean in and kiss them both for it.

Chris’ fingers begin to explore again, trailing up your thigh until they graze the edge of your underwear. Your breath hitches, and you glance at the screen before looking back at him. He’s watching you, lips curled into a smile, one eyebrow arching up as if silently challenging you to stop him.

Matt, quiet until now, hears your shaky breath and leans in, his lips brushing your ear before giving it a playful nip. Heat is consumed throughout your body, and he seems to know it. “You know,” he whispers, “when Chris suggested doing this in a movie theater, I thought he was insane. But then I pictured you here, between the two of us, and… well, let’s just say I changed my mind. Out here, we can do anything. No one would ever know.”

You open your mouth to reply, but Chris’s touch scrambles your thoughts. The way his fingers slip beneath the hem of your skirt, barely grazing your skin, is distracting. He watches with a knowing smirk as goosebumps bloom along your thigh, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Matt’s hand joins the action, slipping under your shirt and tracing the sensitive skin just above your waistband. “You have to tell us if you want us to stop, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck—a gentle difference to the heat building between you all.

Your breath catches, desire taking over. “Don’t—keep going,” you whisper, your voice so soft.

Everything shifts the moment you grant permission. Chris’s fingers slide higher, pressing and circling your core through your underwear, drawing a soft moan from your lips as your hips chase his touch. Matt’s hand explores under your shirt, his thumb and forefinger gently rolling your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure through your chest. He catches your gaze and grins, then leans in to find a sweet spot on your neck, nipping and sucking. No doubt, leaving a mark you’ll discover tomorrow.

Focusing on the movie is impossible now. Your world has shrunk to the soft laughter of the boys and the occasional muffled groans that slip out from them. Their movements are slow, purposeful—hands and mouths teasing, exploring, and discovering every place that makes you shiver with want.

Chris captures your mouth in a desperate, needy kiss. His tongue tangling with yours, tasting your hunger. His fingers slip your underwear aside, teasing your folds, his touch light and unbearably slow. He grins against your lips, clearly pleased by how wet you are for him. Meanwhile, Matt’s mouth is relentless on your neck, his hand exploring your breasts—grabbing, pinching, getting those sweet, shameless moans he loves to hear.

“Do you know how long we’ve been planning this?” Matt whispers. “We both wanted you for so long. Having you here, finally, it’s more than we imagined.”

Your whole body shakes as they explore you, hands and mouths worshipping every inch, making you feel desired in the privacy of the empty theater. For a moment, you give yourself completely to them, the world becoming just the three of you and the sins you are creating.

Chris’s mouth is wild on yours, alternating between sucking your bottom lip, nipping gently, and then drawing your tongue into his mouth. Every so often, he leans his forehead against yours, breath mingling with yours as his fingers draw slow, filthy circles on your clit. Matt has pushed your shirt up above your chest, his mouth worshipping your nipples—licking, sucking, and tugging them between his teeth before soothing you with his tongue.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Matt murmurs, his lips brushing soft kisses between your breasts, awe and hunger mixing in his voice.

Chris pulls away for a moment, flashing you a devilish grin. “You like this, don’t you? Both of us touching you like this,” he teases, voice thick with desire. Suddenly, his pointer and ring finger slip inside you, stretching you out, and he watches your face. You can’t help the soft moan that escapes, your hips instinctively rocking into his hand, eyes hazy with pleasure as you meet his gaze.

The movie’s soundtrack blares in the background, but your moans rise above it, shameless and raw. Matt’s mouth claims your other nipple, his tongue circling it slowly while his free hand wraps gently around your throat, holding you steady as he loses himself in you.

Chris moves his fingers slowly in and out of you, each movement paired with a slick, unmistakable sound that fills the empty theater. He groans, glancing down at his hand, his voice filled with awe. “God, look how wet you are for us.”

You whine, reaching for Matt’s hair and tugging him up to you. The theater, usually cool, now feels hot—thick with heat and anticipation. There’s no way you want this to stop.

Matt kisses his way up your neck, meeting Chris’s gaze over your shoulder. You’re sprawled sideways in the seat, not caring about comfort, only the heat of their hands on your skin. Matt exchanges a look with Chris, something unspoken passing between them before they both nod in agreement.

Matt immediately claims your mouth, kissing you so deeply it leaves you breathless. Unlike Chris’s hungry, biting kisses, Matt’s are sensual—slow, his tongue tracing gentle circles around yours. Occasionally, he shares spit with you just to see your reaction, drawing soft, desperate whines from your throat.

“Just let us spoil you the way you deserve, good girl,” Chris whispers, his breath hot against your ear as you melt into Matt’s kiss.

You nod softly, and Chris’s fingers speed up, curling expertly to hit that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. Each time your body tenses, he smiles and leans in, whispering, “Shh, you can take it, ma.”

His fingers are relentless, desperate gasps and moans come from you with every perfect stroke. Pressure builds low in your stomach, each wave making it harder to hold back.

Matt pulls back and just looks at you, his hand still around your neck, his eyes dark with hunger and something tender. “She’s close, Chris. You close, baby girl? Gonna cum all over his hand?” His grip tightens a fraction, sending a delicious shiver through your body.

Your mouth drops open, soft, desperate pants escaping you. Chris groans at the sight. “Let go for me, ma. I know you want to. Cum for me.” His voice is gentle but commanding.

One hand clings to Matt’s arm, the other gripping Chris. You cry out, the orgasm crashing over you—“C-cumming! Oh fuck—I can’t!”—as a rush of liquid spills over Chris’s hand and the seat beneath you. He moans, fingers slowing to help you ride out every last wave.

“Did—did she just…?” Matt breathes, eyes wide with awe and disbelief.

Heat floods your cheeks as you look away, suddenly shy beneath their gazes.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Chris breathes, his voice in disbelief. He slowly removes his fingers from you and, eyes locked with yours, sucks them clean.

You glance between them, your embarrassment fading just a little as you realize they’re genuinely into the fact that you squirted. “I swear I didn’t plan that—uhm, someone say something,” you stammer, searching for reassurance.

Matt is the first to break the silence, grinning. “Should we go find a towel? And, uh, how do we make that happen again? I’m with Chris—that was unreal. I want to see you do it again.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Jesus, Matt, once is enough. But I think it’s time I help you two.”

Chris and Matt nod eagerly, anticipation written all over their faces. You follow, sinking to your knees. You start with Chris, unbuttoning his jeans with slowness, enjoying the way his breath hitches. You drag his jeans down, leaving him in white boxers, his hard cock obvious, straining against the fabric.

You turn to Matt and do the same, teasing both of them by pressing slow, hungry kisses through their boxers. Matt whines, “Fuck, baby, don’t tease. Not after what we saw. We need you. Badly.”

A sly smile on your lips, you push Matt's boxers down, revealing his thick cock, veins prominent and precum already glistening at the tip. You stroke him slowly, your touch light. Glancing at Chris, you catch the desperate restraint on his face. “Chris, hold my hair back?” you whisper.

Chris nods, quickly gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail, his fingers trembling as he waits for what comes next.

You look up at Matt, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “Want me to suck your cock now?” you ask softly, letting the question hang heavy in the air.

Matt groans, his voice strained with need. “Please, [Y/N],” he whispers, his hands trembling slightly as he waits.

You drag your tongue slowly along his shaft, savoring the way he shivers under your touch. His moans are soft, needy, filling the space between you. Before taking him into your mouth, you spit on his cock, stroking him until he’s slick and throbbing.

“Oh—fuck. Shit,” Matt whimpers, barely able to keep his eyes open as your mouth closes slowly over him, drawing out every ounce of sensation.

You take Matt as deep as you can without choking, starting to bob your head in a steady rhythm. Chris’s hand is gentle yet firm in your hair, guiding you. You look up at Matt, your mouth full, and catch the way his thighs tense. Pushing yourself a little further, you feel yourself gag slightly as he hits the back of your throat, his breath catching in response.

“Oh fuck. She’s really doing it,” Chris breathes, disbelief mingling in his voice as he watches you take Matt so deep.

Matt is speechless, watching you swallow him whole. His hand replaces Chris’s in your hair, his control tightening. “I’m done being nice. Time for you to know what it’s like to have someone really fuck your mouth,” he growls, hunger in his eyes.

Matt’s hips start to move, setting a deep, steady rhythm as his cock slides in and out of your mouth. You gag occasionally as he thrusts into your throat, pushing your limits. “That’s it. Good fucking girl. Taking me so good,” he moans, the pleasure raw in his voice.

A moan vibrates through Matt as you pleasure him, the sensation making him shudder. Chris lies down beneath you, gently tapping your thigh. “Ma, ride my face,” he murmurs, eyes dark with anticipation.

Without breaking your rhythm on Matt, you shift your body over Chris. Instantly, his hands grip your hips, guiding you down to his mouth. His tongue is relentless, lapping up every drop, tasting you with greedy, quick strokes. Your hips rock instinctively, chasing the pleasure he gives you.

“Shit, you like that? Sucking me off while Chris eats you out? Such a fucking filthy girl,” Matt groans, his voice strained. He keeps thrusting into your mouth, occasionally wiping away the tears that escape your eyes.

You whimper, overwhelmed as Chris sucks hard on your clit, then slides two fingers back inside you—fast, hungry, with no hesitation. The air is thick with the chorus of moans from both boys and the slick, wet sounds of Chris’s fingers moving inside you as you suck Matt’s cock.

“Sh-shit, I’m so close. Fuck—your mouth feels incredible,” Matt whines, his rhythm faltering as he chases his release.

You nod and tap his thigh—a silent signal, giving him permission to let go.

Chris leaves love bites along your thighs, his fingers relentless as they find that perfect spot inside you again and again. He whispers against your skin, “Come on, squirt on my face, ma. I know you can. Let go for me.”

You hollow your cheeks and suck harder, drawing a deep groan from Matt. “Sh-shit. Cumming. Oh god.” He spills into your mouth, hot and salty, and you meet his eyes as you swallow, giving him a wicked, satisfied smile.

Your satisfied smile falters, replaced by a moan. “Oh fuck, Chris, I’m—” The pleasure rushes back with a vengeance.

Chris nods and dives back in, his mouth relentless on your clit, determined to push you over the edge. You grip Matt’s hand, the contact washing over you as another powerful orgasm crashes through. Your release wet and wild over Chris’s face, chest, and hands.

“Fuck’s sake. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Matt says, his voice soft with amazement. If you weren’t so spent, you’d laugh and maybe smack him for running his mouth.

Chris gently helps you off him, then stands and wipes his mouth and face with his shirt. He glances around with a lazy grin. “Yeah… I definitely like this movie theater,” he says, satisfaction in every word.

A blush creeps up your cheeks, but you recover quickly, turning to Chris with a playful look. “Think it’s time I make you cum, hmm?” you tease, your confidence and desire clear in your voice.

Chris’s eyes darken, and he nods, stripping off his boxers with a practiced motion. His cock isn’t as thick as Matt’s, but it’s long and impressive. You stare, breath catching. “Shit,” you groan, admiration and hunger in your tone.

Chris surprises you by pulling you into a soft kiss—rare tenderness from someone who usually chases heat over sweetness. “You good, ma?” he whispers as he checks in with you.

“Yeah. I’m great,” you breathe, excitement bubbling in your chest. “I think I want to ride Matt, and while I’m doing that, I want you to cum on my face. We’re all okay with that?” Your voice is soft but steady, making sure everyone’s boundaries are clear.

Matt nods quickly, excitement flickering in his eyes. “Count me in,” he says, his voice low and eager.

Chris grins, his voice dropping. “Yeah, I’ve definitely pictured my cum on your face before. So I’m in.”

A pulse of heat throbs between your legs at his words, desire quickly building again. Chris trails his fingers teasingly through your slick folds, grinning. “Guess you like that idea too, huh?” he teases, smirk full of promise.

The three of you shift into place—you're on your knees above Matt, facing away from him in Reverse Cowgirl. Chris stands before you, looking down with hungry eyes, the tension thick in the air.

Matt goes serious for a second. “Bro, if you cum on me, I swear to god I’ll murder you in your sleep. You better have good aim, man.”

You stifle a laugh, covering your mouth—honestly, the thought never even crossed your mind.

Chris rolls his eyes and snaps back, “Shut the fuck up, Matt. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Matt’s hands find your hips, his tip teasing at your entrance. “You ready, baby?” his voice low with want.

“Yeah.” You lock eyes with Chris, who’s already stroking himself, his thumb brushing slowly along your bottom lip.

You sink down onto Matt’s length, feeling every inch as he stretches you, your walls fluttering around him. A moan escapes you as you settle, full and completely connected to him.

“Suck, ma,” Chris commands, his thumb slipping past your lips. You suck on it, eyes locked with his, while his other hand pumps himself in a slow rhythm. Matt’s hands on your hips, he guides you up and down his shaft, pulling you almost all the way up before slamming you down, his breaths shaky with pleasure.

“So fucking good. Gripping my cock, just like you should. Letting me fuck you, like a good girl,” Matt groans, moving you on him with urgency. Every so often, his hand smacks your ass, leaving a sting and a red mark before he soothes the spot with a gentle rub.

Chris groans, withdrawing his thumb from your mouth—a string of spit connecting you briefly. He bends down and rubs that same thumb over your nipple, teasing you further. “Come on, ma. Let me hear those filthy sounds,” he urges, his voice dark with hunger.

“Chris, you—fuck. I love watching you touch yourself while I ride Matt. I want your cum all over me,” you moan, breathless and needy.

He hisses, pumping his cock faster, his eyes glued to you. “Such a fucking good girl,” he growls, the praise sending a fresh wave of heat through you.

Matt moans as you take over, bouncing on his cock with a relentless, unforgiving pace. Your hands grip his knees for leverage, and the room fills with the slick, filthy sounds of your bodies moving together.

“Jesus. So fucking hot,” Matt groans, spreading your ass cheeks so he can watch his cock disappear into your soaked pussy, some cum already dripping down his shaft. “God, look at you—so beautiful, creaming on my cock.”

A desperate whimper escapes you as Matt’s tip finds that sweet spot inside—right where Chris’s fingers were before. The orgasm starts to build rapidly, and you shoot Chris a pleading, wordless look.

“Close? Gonna squirt again for us?” Chris teases, already knowing exactly what that look on your face means.

You nod frantically, bouncing even faster. “So—so close. Matt, I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, barely able to control your voice.

Matt’s grip tightens on your hips as Chris’s hand moves faster along his own cock. Both boys are breathless, chasing their own release, the tension in the air nearly unbearable.

“Cum, [Y/N]. Squirt on my cock. Make me so fucking wet,” Matt groans, his thrusts growing deeper, more desperate, determined to push you over the edge.

“Shit, ma, I’m close. I need you to cum. Let go—let me see you lose control,” Chris whispers, his hand stroking himself faster, eyes fixed on you.

“Oh god! Fuck. Cumming, I—” Your words break off as pleasure crashes through you, a dizzying rush of heat. You clench around Matt, whimpers spilling from your lips as you feel yourself soaking him.

“Jesus. Fuck, baby.” Matt’s hips stutter as he watches you squirt on him, the sight pushing him over the edge. He follows with a shudder, thick ropes of cum filling you up. “Such a good girl—for me,” he groans, his voice wrecked with pleasure.

“Ah, shit. Cumming,” Chris chokes out, his cock twitching as you move closer. Hot release spills across your face and into your mouth. You meet his eyes, licking your lips as you savor the taste and the look of satisfaction on his face.

You’re the first to giggle, which quickly spreads to Matt and Chris. Chris snaps a picture of you, still laughing, face messy with cum. You shoot him a mock glare, but he just shrugs, grinning. “Hey, gotta have something for later. Don’t look at me like that.”

Matt rolls his eyes, grabbing his hoodie to gently wipe your face, then between your legs. “He’s a horny idiot. Ignore him,” Matt mutters, but his movements are gentle and caring.

You nod and shoot Chris a playful glare. “Not a word of this gets out to your friend Christopher, got it?” you warn, but there’s laughter in your voice and eyes.

Chris nods solemnly, holding his hands up. “Scout’s honor,” he murmurs, but can’t hide his smirk. He helps you dress gently while Matt pulls on his clothes as well.

Once everyone is dressed, you glance at the screen—it’s gone black. “Wait… what happened?” you ask, genuinely confused.

Matt laughs, shaking his head. “Babe, the movie ended like thirty minutes ago. We were a little... distracted.”

You blush, unable to hide your smile. Chris snorts, “That’s what happens when you’re with two sex gods.” His cocky grin makes you roll your eyes, but you can’t help laughing too.

You groan and give Chris a playful smack on the arm. “That’s it. No more. Matt, I’m all yours tonight,” you declare, shooting Matt a wink.

Matt cheers, sticking his tongue out at Chris as he grabs your hand triumphantly. Chris gapes, reaching for your other hand, the two boys already bickering over who gets you tonight. You walk between them, laughter bubbling up as their playful argument trails behind you all the way to the car.

For once, you think, you enjoyed the movies more than you ever have before.

M yaps: I really have a problem adding humor to my smut... I am so sorry ahahaaha

Requests are open! 

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As always: Have a great day, be kind -M

Tags: @mattsgirl23 , @courta13 , @privatelyowned-t , @pepsipoet , @conspiracy-ash , @whore4chris , @rainyyy-weather , @salemsturniolo , @sleeppymatt , @rollingintheglitter , @bernardslut , @amandapanda2 , @anniewithan-a , @pomematt , @sturniolo-szn2 , @beylee , @itsbeautifulvibess , @slvt4chriss , @yourfavbricked , @sturniolore , @minaismywife, @hallowenlover , @marzcircus , @99sturns , @ribbonlovergirl , @mamaagirlbehindu123 , @brosexy4life, @ivysturnss, @pepsicola-pussy , @sturnstoriesblog , @sofiathe1stsblog , @chieftaletyger,@sturn10lofan , @niwis , @macycrouch , @m0r94n , @joelmillrenthusiast , @cyb3rlee , @hannahg22 , @scrumptiousanchorpersona , @sturnsoup3 ,@gn-1543 , @pomematt , @dabiggestdonn , @pierregaslysgirl , @chrattpaper

Divider credit: @/strangergraphics

[inkedsturnioloss]

Hot Head

Word count: 3.8k

Summary: In which a simple TikTok showing Matt's new haircut makes you incredibly horny, something must be done.

CW: 🔞Explicit Sexual Content (Smut): Dom!Matt, consensual name calling, daddy kink, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), hand job, edging, light choking, light restraint, public sex (living room?), grinding without penetration, if I forgot anything please let me know! If under 18, I am not responsible for the media you consume. (MDNI)

*requested by anon. Here's the post!*

This is absolutely unfair. Honestly, who does this man even think he is? You toss your phone onto the passenger seat with a dramatic sigh, dragging your hands down your face. Matt’s TikTok is replaying on a loop in your mind—his teasing smile, the new haircut he didn’t even warn you about, the fucking white shirt and belt he knows drive you crazy. You let out a groan that’s half frustration, half pure want. Great, now you’re hot and bothered in your car like some lovesick idiot. Okay, you definitely can’t just sit here. Time to do something reckless.

You walk with purpose up the driveway to the Sturniolo house. The front door is unlocked, as always—a habit you’d scold them for if you weren’t so grateful for it in this moment. Inside, laughter echoes from the kitchen—Nick and Chris, unmistakable. But Matt isn’t with them. Instead, you find him sprawled on the couch, hair damp as if fresh from a shower, scrolling lazily through his phone.

Matt looks up and sees you, the same teasing glint from the video looking right into your eyes. Your whole inside is on fire as you stare at those blue eyes. You stand there, swallowing, not breaking eye contact with your boyfriend. Matt smiles sinfully, knowing exactly why you’re giving him that look. He’s teasing you on purpose; driving you crazy is his favorite activity these days.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to get here,” he teased, patting the empty space beside him.

You cross the room, heart thumping, the space shrinking with every step toward the man who unravels you so easily. You sit down beside him, feeling the heat from his body radiate into yours.

He eyes you up and down, pupils dilating, gaze growing darker. “You look like there’s something on your mind,” he says, his voice lower than usual. His hand lands on your knee, thumb tracing slow, lazy circles that send goosebumps racing up your thigh.

As you try to concentrate, all you can think of is that godforsaken video: how his hair looked so soft, the outfit sinful to your eyes, the way he moved, and the little fuckboy smirk he gave in the back when he wasn’t dancing. You get bold. “That video wasn’t fair. You looked way too good,” you whisper as your hand has a mind of its own and finds the bottom hem of his shirt. “Like, really good.”

Matt grins, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. “Yeah? Did my baby like how I looked? Want to see it even closer?”

You nod, the invitation making your pulse race. Scooting closer, you press a kiss to his jaw and whisper in his ear, “Maybe I want more than just a look.”

He smiles, fingers strong on your jaw, eyes searching yours for a beat before his lips claim yours. The kiss is gentle at first, then his tongue dances across your bottom lip, coaxing a needy whine from you before slipping into your mouth. Your tongues tangle, hungry and competitive.

You graze his bottom lip with your teeth, tugging it between your lips and soothing the sting with a slow suck. Matt moans, voice rough: “Fuck, baby. You drive me crazy.”

As you make out, his hands slide up your sides, fingers grazing the edge of your shirt—hesitant, waiting for your permission. You nod into the kiss, and his touch grows bolder, hands gliding under your shirt, rubbing soft circles beneath your breasts, teasing until you arch into him. “Matt. Please.”

He smirks, lips trailing from yours to your ear, where he nips gently. “Please what? Beg for it, pretty girl.”

You tug at his hair, loving the way it feels between your fingers. Matt lets out a low, desperate groan.

“Please. Touch me. Do something. Stop teasing.” You plead.

He nods and reaches behind you, unclasping your bra with ease and helping take it off. His hand replaces the fabric, thumb circling your nipple, sending sparks through you. “Such a good fucking girl,” he whispers, mouth trailing gentle kisses along your neck.

Before you can go any further, Nick’s voice rings out from the kitchen, “Hey! Chris and I are heading out for a bit.”

Matt pauses, clearing his throat. “Yeah, man. That’s fine. Have fun!”

You look at Matt. He presses a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. If they hear you, they’ll never leave, and this moment will vanish. You listen as the door opens and closes. Finally, you’re alone.

“Thank god, now I can really fuck you without any distractions. Take your shirt off, baby. Let me see you,” Matt commands, voice filled with want.

You move fast, stripping your shirt off, baring yourself to him. The second the cool air hits your chest, his mouth claims your nipple, switching between gentle sucks and teasing bites. His other hand rolls your other nipple between his fingers. You moan, threading your hand into his hair. “F-fuck. Daddy… so good.”

He hums against your skin, mouth working you over until he pulls away, a trail of spit connecting his lips to your nipple. He smirks. “Daddy, huh? That’s a new one.”

You blush, struggling to meet his eyes—half embarrassed, half afraid he won’t like it.

He tips your chin up, gaze soft. “That’s hot. Don’t overthink it, baby.”

You smile, and he bends down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. Your hands slip from his hair as he eases you back, guiding you to lie on the couch beneath him.

He hovers over you, thumb absentmindedly circling your nipple. He kisses along your neck, sucking at the spot just beneath your jaw until you whimper and arch into him. “Matt… God.”

You catch his lips in a hungry, desperate kiss. As your tongues tangle, he grabs your hands and guides them back into his hair. You smile, fingers tangling in the soft strands, impossibly turned on by something as simple as his haircut.

“You really couldn’t stay away, could you?” he whispers as you tug on his hair.

You laugh softly, hands slipping under the hem of his shirt, dragging it upward. “Can you blame me?”

Matt shakes his head, groaning as he pulls his shirt over his head. Your hands roam his chest, lips pressing soft kisses to his collarbone. He throws his head back, a needy whimper escaping him. “Shit… baby, you’re making this really fucking hard for me.”

Before you can catch your breath, he captures your lips again—messy and desperate, teeth grazing, spit slicking your mouths. Everything feels hot and frantic and so fucking good. Matt grinds down against you, and you moan at the thick, heavy pressure. “Feel how fucking hard you make me? My cock missed you. What are we going to do about this?” he mutters against your lips.

“Whatever you want, I just need to feel you.” You pant, voice shaky with want.

Matt kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of love bites in his wake. He tugs gently on each nipple with his teeth, then continues lower, his mouth exploring your stomach. A soft moan escapes you, and he grins, licking up your skin. “Love the sounds you make, baby.” When he reaches the waistband of your shorts, he peppers soft kisses along it, eyes locking with yours—dark and hungry.

“Tell me what you want, good girl. Use your words for me,” Matt says, voice thick with arousal.

You arch, breathless, looking at him and begging. “I want your mouth on me, Matt. Want you to make me cum with your tongue. Please… daddy.”

Matt lets out a low chuckle as his fingers start to unbutton your shorts. “Such a dirty girl for me. You love my mouth on you, don’t you?”

You nod as he slides your shorts down your legs, his gaze fixed on you. “You okay?” you whisper, needing the reassurance.

His eyes linger on the red lace underwear hugging your hips. He swallows, gaze roaming your body, lust obvious. You can see the outline of his cock, straining against his sweatpants. You grab his hand, grounding him. “Matt?”

He moans, fingers tracing the lace. “Holy fuck. Are these new?”

You giggle. “Yeah, got them today. Thought you’d like them.”

Matt smirks, thumb tracing down your body until he finds your clit, rubbing slow circles through the lace. Your mouth falls open, a quiet, “Oh,” slipping out.

“Feel good, baby?” he murmurs, watching your reaction.

You nod, hips chasing the friction as his thumb keeps teasing you. A wet spot forms over the lace, and you whimper, “S’good. Oh my god.”

Matt groans as he watches the wet spot grow, his thumb pressing harder. Your eyes lock, his devilish grin telling you he’s up to something.

Before you can ask, he slides your underwear down and off. He spreads you open, sliding a finger between your folds. “Drenched already, and I’ve barely touched you.” When he pulls his finger away, it’s slick—he brings it straight to your lips.

“Taste.” He presses his finger to your lips.

You open for him, letting him slide his finger into your mouth. You suck, tasting yourself, and he groans. “Such a good little slut. You’re mine. You got me?”

You nod, sucking harder in answer. He slips a second finger in, and you coat it with your tongue. Your eyes flutter closed as he presses a kiss to your ear, whispering, “I’m about to make you feel things that video could never do. Will you be a good girl and take it all?”

You gasp, his fingers slipping free. “Y-yes. I want to be good. I want it all, daddy.”

Matt presses a soft kiss to your lips, muttering, “Good girl.” He kisses down your body, your hands flying to his hair, craving that softness again.

As his mouth travels lower, his hands slide up your thighs, calloused thumbs rubbing soft circles near the top as he holds you open. His teeth graze your hipbone, then his lips suck at the sensitive skin inside your thigh. Your hips buck, desperate for more.

“No, no. Let me control this, baby. I know you want more, but be patient for me. I know you can do it,” his voice is soft against your skin. He looks up, holding your gaze as his tongue drags a slow, wet path from your inner thigh, around the top of your mound, to the other side. You let out a shaky gasp. “I’ve been thinking about tasting you for days,” he groans.

You whimper as his fingers circle your clit, arching into the touch, forgetting all about patience. Matt lets out a soft laugh. “There’s my needy girl.” He replaces his fingers with his tongue, slow, agonizing strokes that send white-hot shivers racing through you.

As his tongue laps at your clit, his fingers return, teasing your entrance, gathering slickness before finally pushing both inside you. His mouth never leaves your clit—switching from soft sucks to flickering kitten licks that make you tremble.

“F-fuck… Matt, feels so good. Oh god—” you moan, his tongue working your clit, his fingers setting a steady rhythm at the same time, sending you to the edge. You look down at him, amazed and in awe, watching him eat you out, gently playing with his hair as his eyes meet yours.

“S-so fucking good… I love your mouth,” you whisper, encouraging him. He nods and groans, sending another wave of pleasure through you.

Wet sounds, the couch slightly creaking under the weight of what is happening, and Matt’s subtle moans fill the living room. You let out tiny gasps as his fingers hit your sweet spot. He grins, mouth detaching, just his fingers moving deep inside you now, and does it again. “That’s it. Let me hear how good it feels. Fucking clenching around my fingers like a good girl for me.”

As Matt’s fingers work you, you reach for the waistband of his sweatpants. “Can I?”

He nods, breathless. “Fucking please, baby.”

You move quickly, pushing his sweats down. Matt pauses, letting you help him out of them.

His cock springs free—thick, flushed, already leaking precum. You moan at the sight, his fingers still inside you but unmoving, savoring the moment. He groans, feeling how much wetter you’ve gotten just from looking at him. You wrap your hand around his length, brushing your thumb over the head to gather precum, then begin stroking him, slow at first, careful.

You look up at him through your lashes, playing innocent. “Does that feel good?” You squeeze his cock on the word, making him whimper. His hips jerk up, cock pulsing in your palm. “Fuck. Jesus Christ, that feels so good. Keep doing that, baby,” Matt whimpers.

Matt starts moving his fingers again, this time fast and sure, no more slow build. He curls them expertly, making you cry out, your hand squeezing his cock in pleasure every time he finds that perfect spot inside of you. Every moan from you makes his cock twitch in your grip, thick and heavy and so, so perfect.

“If I knew this haircut would get me this, I’d have done it a long time ago.” He bends down, still working you with his fingers, and sucks a harsh mark onto your neck. You whimper, breathy and loud, earning a laugh from him. The room is anything but quiet now—filled with moans, wet sounds, and the heavy scent of sex, everything feels sinful.

“Matt, you’re going to make me cum. I can’t—oh god.” You moan, and he nods, fingers moving even faster. The pressure builds hard and fast, your body clenching around his fingers. You grab his neck, stroking him faster, desperate. He smiles and whispers, “Let go, baby. I got you. You know that.”

At those words, you lose yourself to the sensation, to him. Your hand slips from his cock as you come undone, clinging to his shoulders to steady yourself. “Oh god. Fuck, Matt—fuck.” Your body shakes as you ride out the orgasm, feeling wetness on your thighs and beneath you. His fingers slow, helping you through every last wave.

Matt laughs softly, pulling his fingers out and licking them clean, eyes never leaving yours. You lie there, catching your breath. “What?”

“Think that’s the hardest I’ve ever made you cum. Kinda made a mess—so fucking hot, though,” he says, glancing at the evidence all around you.

You look down, blushing at the mess—wet spot on the couch, thighs slick, his hand glistening to the wrist. “Tell anyone about this, and I’ll murder you.”

Matt laughs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Fuck no. This is all mine. No sharing.”

You sit up and push him back against the couch. He lets out a breathy laugh, smiling up at you. “Well, hello there.” You straddle his lap, his cock pressing between your folds. He moans, “So fucking wet. I love how much I turn you on.”

You nod, and slowly start to grind against him, wet sounds coming out where his cock slides against your lips and entrance. “Oh shit, this feels good,” you whisper softly, hands going behind his neck and playing with the hair there.

His hands grip your hips, squeezing as he pants. “Like feeling my cock slide against you, baby? Feel how hard and thick I am for you?”

You whimper and keep grinding, hips picking up speed, his tip catching your clit with every pass. His cock grows slick with your arousal. “Matty, feels so good—love how it feels rubbing against me,” you moan into his neck, leaving soft little love bites along his throat.

Matt moans loudly, tugging your head back to look at you. “I need to be inside you. This is driving me crazy. Will you be a good little slut and ride daddy’s cock?”

You nod quickly, gasping, “Yes. Only for you.”

His hands are gentle on your hips as he lifts you up just enough to guide you over him. You feel his swollen head press at your entrance, gripping his shoulders as you sink down, inch by inch, feeling him stretch and fill you. Matt hisses, watching your face to make sure you take your time.

Matt’s fingers dig in hard enough to leave bruises as you finally take in his full length, buried to the hilt. He looks down, where your bodies are connected, and heat passes through his eyes. You subconsciously clench around him, dragging out a sharp intake of breath from him. Matt is very still, not moving an inch, taking in the feeling of you wrapped tight around him, the wetness and warmth he can feel. Finally, he speaks quietly, “I want you to ride this cock. Show me as you do every time.”

He pulls you into a deep, messy kiss, tongue tangling with yours, his grip possessive. You moan into his mouth.

“Love riding your cock,” you whisper against his lips, lifting your hips only to sink back down. His hands squeeze your thighs in answer.

As your hips glide up and down his shaft, Matt can feel every inch of you. He loves how his cock drags along your walls, pulling out soft clenches around it. “Fuck, you’re driving me crazy.” You smile, riding him hard—pulling almost all the way off before plunging back down, giving him everything.

Your hands move to his chest, just resting there to help as a steadying force as you move. The friction and the movements are building something hot deep inside both of you. Matt’s head leans back, a string of curses and moans tumbling from his lips. He grabs your breasts. His mouth latches onto your nipple, licking, sucking, and nipping, his teeth tugging gently at the peak before flicking it with his tongue until you’re wild with pleasure.

You moan, “Matt, you’re so fucking deep. Cock feels too good—oh my god.” You ride him harder, grinding down in slow, needy circles, feeling his cock pulse deep inside you. The sound of skin slapping grows louder. He pulls his mouth off your chest, face flushed, hair wild from your hands. His eyes are dark with hunger and adoration. "Don’t you dare fucking stop," he growls, voice rough. "We don’t stop until we both cum. Be a good girl—make me cum deep in you."

Without warning, the couch creaks as Matt flips you beneath him, laying you out against the cushions. "I need to take control. Make you feel this cock the way I want." He crashes his mouth to yours—messy, rushed, heated—spit slick between you, tongues tangling wildly.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Matt pins your wrists to the couch with one hand, giving you a devilish smile. His other hand finds your throat, thumb stroking your pulse, pressing just enough to draw a moan from you. He hovers over you like that, eyes burning with possessiveness and awe, just soaking in the fact that you are his. He bends to your ear, breath hot.

“I think it’s time we both cum now,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your ear.

He thrusts back into you, filling you with every inch. Your back arches and you moan, “Oh—Matt, shit.” Each thrust is deep and hard, his hips slamming into yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper. He finds that sensitive spot and hits it over and over, drawing whines and gasps from you until you’re a mess beneath him. Your body tightens with every stroke.

Each time he pulls out almost completely, your body clenches at the last second, trying to hold him in. Then he drives forward, filling you. As you gasp, he kisses you, pulling your tongue into his mouth and sucking on it. This is a Matt you rarely see—purely here to claim you in every way possible.

“I need you to look at me.” He commands as he moves faster. You bring your eyes up to his and give him a soft look. His hips stutter at what he sees. "Oh, fuck. So fucking perfect.” His hips snap against yours faster now, trying to find a release.

“Come on, baby. I know you want to cum. Cum on my cock for me,” he coaxes, voice softer now. Little whimpers and moans spill from your lips.

You can feel him getting close too, his rhythm turning shaky and desperate. You drag your nails down his back, making him groan. "Sweet girl, I’m going to cum. Think we can cum together? I want that."

“Yes. Together. Please,” you moan, lost in him and the feeling.

As soon as the word 'please' leaves your mouth, he thrusts into you one more time, his cock paused deep inside you. You feel him fill you with his hot cum, the sensation tipping you over the edge. Your whole body convulses from the pleasure, clenching around him, and you cum. His motions slow down, riding your orgasm out until he knows you’re good, then he pulls out gently. He smiles as he looks down and sees it leaking out of you. Giving you a quick kiss, he gets up, grabs a towel, and wipes you clean.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move,” he says, disappearing while you lie there, catching your breath.

When he comes back, he has a pair of basketball shorts and a hoodie. He carefully helps you into them, laughing as the clothes completely swallow you. “Cute—I always did love it when you wore my clothes,” he says, pressing a kiss to your head.

Matt pulls his sweatpants back on and then curls behind you on the couch. One arm tucked behind your head as a pillow, the other wrapped around your waist. He peppers soft kisses onto your neck, nuzzling you affectionately.

You hum and scoot closer, just soaking in his warmth and presence after everything.

“Sooo, my hair really did it for you, huh?” he teases.

You roll your eyes and scoff. “I refuse to freak out like those girls on Tumblr.”

Matt lets out a loud laugh. “Yeah, sure, baby. Even though you are one of those Tumblr girls.”

You stick your tongue out playfully, “That’s beside the point, Matthew.”

He grins, “Speaking of freaking out… the whole daddy thing is new.”

You groan, covering your face in embarrassment. “Please, god, don’t remind me. It just slipped out.”

He kisses your head again, gently pulling your hands away and giving you a soft smile. “I like it. Maybe not all the time, but tonight? Perfect. Maybe we should text your dad and tell him you found a new daddy.”

“OH, MY GOD! ABSOLUTELY NOT! ARE YOU CRAZY?!” you sit up on the couch fast.

His face flushes bright red, hand covering his mouth as he tries (and fails) not to laugh. He’s completely messing with you, and you glare at him, but it only makes him laugh harder.

“I really hate you, Sturniolo.”

“No, you don’t.”

You couldn’t hate him. Not even with his terrible taste in jokes.

M yaps: Heheh hope you guys enjoy this and the humor! Call out to my tumblr girls cause it made me giggle.

Requests are open! 

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As always: Have a great day, be kind -M

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[inkedsturnioloss]

The Pool Party

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: In which a game of cup pong with Matt turns into more.

CW: 🔞Explicit Sexual Content (Smut): protected sex, dirty talk, light restraint, light choking, oral (f receiving), fingering, hand job, if I missed anything please let me know! If under 18, I am not responsible for the media you consume. (MDNI)

You weren’t sure how you had arrived at this point. One minute, you were hanging out with Gabi and her friends; the next, you were the second half of a cup pong team with Matt. There had always been something unvoiced between you and Matt: an extra second of eye contact at parties, a private joke lingering from weeks ago, a charge in the air whenever your arms brushed. Walking into the backyard tonight, some part of you almost expected to find yourself here—somehow pulled closer to him by the gravity you both tried to ignore.

The humidity was thick, heavy with chlorine and sunscreen. But as you leaned over the table for your shot, the only thing you could smell was Matt’s cologne. He stood right behind you—close, waiting his turn.

"Don't choke," he murmured, his whisper a low vibration near your ear that cut through the thumping bass of the music.

You looked back at him, catching the hint of a smirk. The sun was dipping, casting golden shadows; it caught the brightness in his eyes. He looked relaxed, with damp hair slicked back by a hat, but watched you intently.

"I don't choke, Sturniolo," you shot back,smirking teasingly, adjusting your grip on the ping-pong ball. "Just make sure you don’t cry too much when you see how good I am at this."

He chuckled quietly—a dry, raspy sound—and stepped even closer. His hand briefly brushed your bare waist—light contact, but in the heat of the game, it felt thrilling.

You took the shot. The ball arched through the air, clipped the rim of the back cup, and splashed perfectly into the one in front. Gabi, Chris, and Nick let out a roar from the sidelines, but your focus was entirely on the boy standing next to you.

"Told you," you shrug in a nonchalant way, smirking softly.

"One glass left," he spoke quietly, his eyes dropping to your lips for a split second before snapping back to yours. "What do I get if I sink the last one?"

"If you sink it?" you challenged, crossing your arms and leaning back against the edge of the damp table. "You get to pick where we go when this is over. No arguments. Don’t choke."

Matt let out a huff of a laugh, shaking his head as he stepped up. He didn't even look at the cups; he kept his eyes focused on yours as he tossed the ball. It swished effortlessly into the cup right next to yours.

The group's roar was instantaneous, but Matt didn't join in. He stepped into your space, cutting you off from the rest of the party.

"Game over," he uttered, his voice falling into that low, gravelly tone. He leaned down, his mouth hovering just inches from your ear. "I’m picking the guest room. It’s too loud out here, and I’m tired of sharing your attention."

He didn't wait for an answer. His fingers locked firmly with yours. He led you through the crowd, pushing past the laughing bodies without looking back once. He knew you were following.

The AC inside the house chilled the air, causing a shiver through you that Matt noticed immediately. He pulled you closer as you headed toward the stairs.

"Cold?" he asked, his eyes moving down to look at the bikini you were still wearing from earlier. The only actual piece of clothing you had on was your denim shorts, which served as a quick cover-up.

"A little," you admitted, your voice steadier than you felt.

"Don't worry," he said, his thumb tracing a slow, teasing circle against the small of your back as you reached the dark hallway upstairs. "I'll change that for you."

He stopped at the bedroom door and pressed it open.

The room was dark. The only light came from the rising moon shining through the sheer curtains, sending long, silvery streaks across the bed. Matt let the door click shut behind you, cutting off the last of the outside world.

"Finally," he breathed, the word caught somewhere between a sigh and a growl.

He paused in the shadows, back against the door, watching you with an intensity that made the air feel heavy. The "quiet" Matt was gone, replaced by someone focused, his gaze tracking your breath.

"You're quiet now," he noted, his voice falling into that low voice that caused a strong wave of heat through you. "Where'd all that talk from the pong table go?"

You took a step toward him, your heart beating against your ribs. "I think I said everything I needed to say out there."

Matt let out a short, dark laugh before reaching forward, his palm finding the back of your neck. His thumb caressed the line of your jaw, his skin warm from the sun, giving a jolt of heat straight to your stomach and lower. With a gentle but possessive grip, he tilted your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Good," he uttered, his mouth hovering so close you could almost taste him. "Because I'm done talking." His lips brushed yours, the barest tease, before he finally closed the gap with a hungry, wanting kiss.

He tasted like a mix of the cold soda and alcohol he’d been sipping. It was addictive.

Matt’s hand slid from your jaw to the back of your head, his fingers running through your hair and tugging just enough to tilt your head back. His tongue pressed inside your mouth, exploring you as you sank into him. He walked you backwards, step by step, until the backs of your knees hit the bed and you tumbled onto the mattress with him following, his weight hanging above you.

The room stood silent save for the rhythm of your breathing and the muffled vibration of a bass pulse from the pool deck below.

"You have no idea," he muttered, voice harsh and husky. He broke the kiss, forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, eyes dark in the moonlight. "How many times I almost took you at the pong table."

His hands followed the underside of your bikini top, your waist, your shoulders—leaving a trail of fire. Every touch felt like a wordless dialogue, finally getting to its point.

He leaned down again, his lips grazing the skin just below your ear, causing a shiver through your entire frame. "Still cold?" he asked quietly.

"Not anymore," you managed to breathe out, your hands sliding up his chest to pull him closer.

The kiss turned messy and hungry, all tongue and teeth, until you gasped into his mouth. His hand squeezed your breast through the bikini top, thumb rolling over your nipple until it peaked hard under the wet fabric. You whimpered, arching up against his palm. “Matt, quit playing.”

Matt’s response was a low sound that was half-laugh, half-groan."I'm not playing," he muttered against your skin, his teeth biting gently into your neck. "Trust me, I stopped playing the second we walked through that door."

His hand remained on your bikini top, tightening his grip to the point of near-pain, his thumb rolling your nipple with slow, practiced pressure. Each movement sent bolts of pleasure through your body, your back arching involuntarily. The sensation was sharp, hot, made more intense by the damp, cool fabric and the heat of his palm.

"Matt—" you gasped, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders.

"Sweet girl," he uttered, his mouth moving back to yours to swallow your next breath. He broke the kiss just enough to look down at you, his eyes dark and blown out, focused entirely on your mouth. "You were so loud out there by the table. Let’s see if you can keep that same energy in here."

He hooked his fingers into your shorts and peeled them down your thighs, then moved to the side ties of your swimsuit bottoms, knuckles dragging hotly along your bare skin. He paused for a second, his gaze flickering up to yours, silent but hungry, waiting for your consent.

When you nodded, his smirk returned—sharper, darker—and he tugged on the string.

The bottoms fell away, leaving you bare, your pussy wet with arousal just from his kissing and hands. Matt’s mouth parted, eyes dark as he knelt between your thighs. "Fuck, you’re already soaked for me." His hands slid up your legs, thumbs rubbing your inner thighs as he spread you open, exposing every inch. He lingered, then lowered his mouth to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your hipbone, teeth scraping the sensitive skin. His tongue licked a slow, wet path down your thigh, pausing to breathe you in. "Been dying to taste you, baby," he groaned, finally letting his fingers stroke up your slit, circling your clit with feather-light precision.

You arched involuntarily, a needy gasp escaping you as your hips bucked up toward his mouth. Matt grinned at your reaction. “There’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He trailed kisses along your inner thigh, his breath hot and teasing over your slick folds. Then, with a single, agonizingly slow motion, his tongue brushed over your clit—soft at first, then firmer, swirling lazy circles that set you on fire. His fingers joined in, stroking your folds before slipping inside you, stretching you open while his mouth never left your clit. You let out a desperate whine as Matt moaned against you, the vibration making you shudder.

“Fuck [Y/N], you’re so tight. So wet, such a sweet girl for me.” His fingers moved in a slow, even rhythm, letting you feel it all, the wet sounds filling the room along with your gasps. He curled his fingers inside you, pressing against your sweet spot until you bucked, desperate for more.

As Matt moves his fingers, you sit up slightly and start to unzip his jeans, looking at him for permission. He nodded once, a short, jerky movement, his jaw set so tight you could see the muscle jumping in his jaw. "Do it," he rasped, the command barely more than a broken whisper.

As the teeth of the zipper gave way with a low, metallic rasp, the sound seemed loud in the space between you. You slowly pull his jeans and boxers down; his fingers have stopped moving momentarily as you do this.

His cock sprang free as you tugged his boxers down, thick, flushed, and already leaking precum. You moaned at the sight, heat gathering between your legs. You wrap your hand firmly around his length, using his slick precum as lube, stroking him with slow, twisting motions. Your grasp tightened just enough to make him groan, his abs flexing under your gaze. His hips jerked up, cock pulsing in your palm, while his fingers slid back to your clit, stroking you in a desperate motion. Matt whimpered, “fuck. Jesus Christ, that feels so good.”

Matt pumped his fingers faster, curling them expertly to make you cry out, your grip squeezing around his cock in pleasure. He was heavy and twitching in your hand, every movement making him groan. “There we are. That’s the loud girl I wanted to hear.” He bit and sucked at your neck, teeth scraping the skin, his breath hot as sin. The room was filled with filthy, wet sounds—his fingers thrusting into you, your hand stroking him in sync, both of you moaning, panting, the air thick with the smell of sex.

“Fuck. Matt. I’m close, you’re gonna make me cum.” You whimper as his fingers move faster. You grab onto the back of his neck with your other hand as you stroke his cock faster with the other one, matching his pace. He groans and smiles, “Good girl. I got you. Let go.”

You were lost in the sensation—the heat of him, the friction, and the way his name felt just like a prayer on your lips. “Oh god. Fuck Matt, fuck.” Your body felt like it was on a different planet as you came. His actions slow down, he smiles softly, and he gently kisses you all over your face. “That’s my girl. But, I need more.”

You smile, sated but ready to keep going. You watch as he gets up and goes to a bag in the corner. He pulls out a condom, rips it open, and slides it onto his length. He walks back over, sits on the bed with his back against the headboard, and pulls you to him. “ I want you to ride me like you own this dick. You got me?”

You tremble with eagerness as you nod, slowly climbing onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Locking eyes with him, you brace your hands against his shoulders, the heat of his hands anchoring you as you guide his cock to your entrance. The swollen head presses at your slick folds, and you sink down inch by inch, feeling him stretch you open. Every movement is slow, deliberate, each inch more overwhelming than the last.

Matt’s breath falters, a helpless sound. His hands clutch your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, his eyes locked on where your bodies join. You pause, taking in the fullness, your walls fluttering around him as you finally come to rest with him buried all the way inside. The pressure is a burning, addictive stretch that leaves you gasping.

He groans low in his chest, head thrown back, throat straining as he fights to keep control. His sweet smile is gone, replaced by a look of raw hunger and pleasure. “God,” he chokes out. “You feel so fucking good. So perfect.” He pulls you down into a deep, messy kiss, tongue sliding against yours, his grip possessive.

You whimper into his mouth. Slowly, Matt lifts your hips, guiding you to rise and fall with a slow rhythm, his cock dragging along your walls. “Fuck, [Y/N], you’re so tight. You’re driving me crazy.” His hands help you move, but soon you take control, rolling your hips, grinding down to take him even deeper.

Your hands hold onto his chest for leverage as you set your own pace. The friction builds, hot and relentless. Matt’s head lolls back, a string of curses and moans tumbling from his lips. He’s lost in you, his hands coming up and untying your bikini top. Your breasts fall out and he immediately grabs them.

You moaned, “Matt… god, don’t stop. You’re so deep—fuck—” You rode him harder, grinding your hips in tight, needy circles, feeling every inch of his cock drag against your sensitive walls. The sound of skin against skin became louder, echoing through the room as he moaned beneath you, thrusting up to match your rhythm. His mouth latched onto your nipple, licking, sucking, and nipping until you cried out, his teeth tugging gently at the peak before flicking it with his tongue until you were wild with pleasure.

He rips his mouth from your chest, his face flushed and hair messy against the pillow. His eyes are nearly black, pupils blown with hunger and adoration. "I’m not… stopping," his voice rough. "I’ve got you. Keep going—don’t you dare stop."

He arches his hips, thrusting up into you, meeting every roll of your hips with a deep, steady pressure that leaves you trembling. The pressure in your core grows, the friction of his cock dragging in and out nearly overwhelming. Your hands dig into his shoulders, desperate to keep pace as you ride the edge of bliss.

Without warning, Matt flips you beneath him, your head sinking into the pillows. "My turn to take control, pretty girl." His smirk is feral as he crashes his mouth to yours—fast, hungry, claiming with need.

He doesn’t let you catch your breath. In a heartbeat, he pins your wrists above your head, his large hand locking them to the mattress. His other hand finds your throat, thumb stroking your pulse, holding you in place as his hips drive you into the sheets. He hovers over you, chest pounding, gaze burning with wild heat.

"You’ve been such a good girl," his voice coarse in your ear. "But it’s my turn now."

He moves with a ruthless force, thrusting into you with a rhythm that leaves you gasping. Every thrust is deep and hard, his hips slamming into yours, the bed shaking beneath you. He angles his hips to hit your most sensitive spot over and over until you're whimpering, your body wound tighter and tighter.

Each time he pulls out, your body clenches, desperate for him to fill you again. He devours your broken moans with a kiss. The careful Matt is gone—this one is all dominance and need, filthy in his praise and worship.

"Look at me," he commands, pulling back to lock eyes with you, his hair falling forward in damp, wild strands. He fucks you at a punishing pace—ungodly sounds filling the room, skin slapping against skin. His hand squeezes your throat just enough to make your voice tremble as you gasp, "Oh, fuck."

The friction is dizzying, making your toes curl in the sheets. He finally releases your wrists, and your hands fly to his forearms, clinging as he powers into you. His stare never leaves yours, hungry to watch you fall apart for him.

"You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna cum for me? I want you to cum on my cock, baby.” His voice is dark and relentless, drawing whimpers and desperate moans from your lips.

You feel him nearing the edge—his rhythm falters, thrusts turning rough and ragged. You drag your nails down his back, making him groan, "I'm gonna cum. I want you to cum with me, think you can do that sweet girl?"

“God. Yes. Please, Matt,” you moan, lost in him.

At your plea, he plunges into you one last time, groaning as he lets go, his body shuddering above you. The sensation tips you over the edge, pleasure crashing through every nerve, your whole body convulsing as you both come undone. His motions slow, drawing out your orgasm before he finally pulls out, leaving you trembling and breathless, his pleased grin the last thing you see before he rolls off of you.

“Let me throw the condom away. I’ll be back.” He runs off. Once he is back, he slides into bed next to you, pulling the covers over the two of you.

He pulls you flush against his side, his skin still humming with that post-adrenaline warmth. The duvet was heavy and cool, a perfect shield against the world outside that door.

"Better," he sighed, the word vibrating through his chest. He sounded completely wrecked in the best way possible, his voice back to that soft, boyish tone.

He tangled his fingers with yours under the blanket, his thumb tracing the back of your hand in a slow, gentle motion. For a few minutes, neither of you said anything, just listening to each other’s heartbeats settle back into a normal pace.

"My brothers are definitely going to have something to say about us disappearing for an hour," he spoke quietly, a hint of humor returning to his voice. He shifted, tilting his head to press a lingering, soft kiss to the top of your head. You smile, “best pool party ever in my books.”

M yaps: The people have spoken. I'm newish to smut so please be nice lol.

Requests are open!

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Tags: @mattsgirl23 , @harrystyleslover212 , @courta13 , @privatelyowned-t , @rithiisbetter

[inkedsturnioloss]

Brat

*This was request from anon. HERE is the post*

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: In which you are being a brat towards Chris all day, so he decides to punish you, then you apologize in a different way than words.

CW: 🔞 Explicit Sexual Content (Smut): oral (m receiving), spanking, dirty talk, possessive language, hair holding/pulling, dom!Chris, spit, if I missed anything please let me know! If under 18, I am not responsible for the media you consume. (MDNI)

Usually, you and Chris were very playful, but today you seemed to be getting on his last nerve. You weren’t just teasing him. It was seeing how far you could push him mentally until he finally had enough and put you in your place.

It was just a small disagreement, but it snowballed—he offered to order food from your favorite place, but for some reason, you were in a mood and said you felt like something different. When he made a comment about you always changing your mind, you felt heat rise inside of you.

“Maybe if you actually let me pick the damn place for once, I wouldn’t keep changing my mind,” you snap, giving him your best ‘fight me’ glare from across the counter.

Chris gave you a look. He was warning you to stop while you were ahead. But you just rolled your eyes.

“God, that look is horrible. Quit it. I can complain about something like a normal human being.” Your voice was slightly raised. You were just so irritated.

He looked at you, then sighed softly, “I wasn’t trying to say you can’t. But you just always—”

You shoot him a sharp glare and cut him off. “Always what? Please finish that thought. Always complain? Always argue? Always change my mind? Hmm, which is it?”

Chris decided that if he couldn’t reason with you, he would try to turn it into something funny to ease the tension. You were not having any of it. Every little thing he suggested, you had some kind of argument for it. What to order, how to set the table, and when he handed you the remote so you could pick the movie, because he was tired of fighting you, you threw it right back at him. “I don’t want to pick the damn movie.”

He was really trying to be patient with you. Clearly, you were dealing with something. But he couldn’t take it anymore. “You just really love pushing it tonight, don’t you?”

You cross your arms, lean back, and shoot him a wicked little smirk with a raised eyebrow. “What are you gonna do, Christopher? Ground me? Take away my phone? Or finally admit that you can’t handle all this?” Sarcasm hanging off every word.

His jaw clenched, and a heated gaze filled his eyes—the look clearly showing you that he was done playing the nice boyfriend.

You keep going, tossing jabs all through the movie. “Honestly, if I wanted to listen to a man grunt for two hours, I'd just watch you wrestle with Ikea furniture.” You laugh, ignoring the glare he is tossing your way. “I mean, come on, who thinks spandex is even a smart option?!”

Chris slammed the remote down onto the coffee table. “Enough.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a scoff. You folded your arms across your chest, heart beating fast. You couldn’t tell if it was from nerves or excitement. “Or what, Christopher?” You whispered, knowing you were really in for it the minute his full name fell from your lips.

Chris stood up, and in a second, he was looming over you. Staring down at you. “You going to fucking stop or are you going to deal with the consequences?”

You paused, shocked at the words that fell from his mouth. Your stomach is flipping at the possibilities. “You wouldn’t dare…”

A sinful, heated smile forms on his face. His eyes are now becoming heated. “Oh, we both know I would.”

Before you can really even react or protest, he grabs you. Pulls your pants down and places you across his lap. Your face is down, and you're glaring at the ground. You try to fight against it, but his grip is firm. You can feel the sarcasm dripping from your voice: “You’re being ridiculous, Chris. It’s just a movie—”

You’re cut off by a firm smack coming in contact with your ass. The sound fills the room, leaving you completely speechless. “That’s for being a fucking brat all day,” he whispers into your ear. He rubs the spot gently, silently showing you that he still cares about your well-being.

Before you can even really process what just happened, his hand comes down and spanks you again, leaving a pleasurable stinging sensation behind it. Every spank you receive is filled with equal parts heat, discipline, and softness. Your back arches with each smack. Soft whines and whimpers fall from your mouth, a small smirk forming on Chris’s face. "Fucking count for me," he commands.

You feel your face get hot, and the heat travels to your core. "One," you whisper. The next smack lands, harder this time. "Two." You let out a soft moan, his hand gently rubbing the spot. He groans, “We are going to five, and then maybe I’ll consider letting you go.”

His hand spanks you again, and you moan. “Three. Chris, please.”

He bends down and kisses your now-raw skin. “Shh. You can handle it, baby. I know you can.” He lands two more spanks, then admires his work. Your ass is practically glowing under his touch. He gives gentle rubs, soft kisses, and a smirk. “Good girl. Maybe next time you’ll remember who’s in charge, huh?”

You shiver at his tone. Your body is hot. You’re so turned on, and you can guarantee he can see the wet spot that formed on your underwear. “Y—yes… I promise.” You whisper.

He helps you up, thumb tracing lazy circles on your thigh, then your sore skin. “Still alive?” he teases, pulling you into his lap for a slow kiss that melts the brat right out of you.

The kiss is gentle, a soft reminder that he still loves you even if you were being an asshole all day. You whine softly into the kiss. “I think you know not to be a brat now.” He laughs softly, pushing hair behind your ear.

Chris looks at you, knowing what just happened was a lot to take in. Especially for someone who is new to anything sexual, he eyes you with uncertainty.

“Baby, are you okay?” he asks softly, his hands at your hips now, rubbing soft circles.

You nodded and blushed. “I think.. I think I want to try more.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Chris whispers, but you can see hope shining in his eyes.

You nod, “Yeah. I’m sure.”

He smiles. It’s gentle and heated. “Good girl.. Ok, take it at your pace.”

You slowly slide down to your knees, your hands resting gently on his knees. You can feel the submission coming out of you, wanting to show him you’re sorry for how today has gone. Wanting to make him feel good. Your hands shake as you go to the button on his jeans. You look at him, silently asking if it’s ok. Chris lets out a soft breath, his fingers gently brushing through your hair, and his hands carefully cover yours. He slowly helps you undo the button. He lifts his hips as you push his pants and boxers down.

His cock is released, and it’s bigger than you thought. You stare at it for a moment, just taking it all in with your eyes. The tip is red and swollen, wetness slowly leaking from it. Light veins along the side. You suddenly feel anxious because you want this to be good for him.

“[Y/N], we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” Chris’s voice is soft as he looks at you with a softness you haven’t seen today.  

“I want to.” You say firmly.

You gently grab him, your thumb rubbing over his tip. He lets out a quiet hiss, and you freeze, thinking you did something wrong. You look up at him, and he’s shaking his head no, so you continue. You slowly start to stroke him, bringing your hand all the way to his tip, then bringing it back down. A moan falls from his lips.

“S’good. Just like that baby, feels really fucking good.” His eyes shut in pleasure as you keep doing it.

You do that for a while, then, finally, getting bolder, you lower your mouth and press a slow, soft kiss to the  tip. You taste salt and skin, feel him twitch against your lips. His hips buck toward your mouth, his hands twisting in your hair, a needy groan falling from his mouth. A soft whine comes deep from your throat, both nervous and thrilled. “Shit, sorry, baby. But I might lose it if I don’t feel your mouth around me.” His voice is needy, and it makes goosebumps rise on your body.

You smile and part your lips, letting him slide over your tongue. He was hot, heavy, and throbbing. Inch by inch, you take him deeper, feeling his cock stretch your mouth more than you thought it would, the weight pressing your tongue down. Your eyes water as you fight your gag reflex, taking as much as you can, your lips slick and wet around him. You finally pause, looking up at him with a tear down your face but eyes wide, waiting for some sort of direction.

He brushes his thumb on your cheek, smiling. His other hand gently gathers your hair into a ponytail. “Start sucking, baby. Don't stop sucking daddy's cock until I say so. Show me what a good fucking girl you are.”

You listen, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, your tongue swirling around him, tasting salt. His moan is loud, his head falling back as he grips your hair tighter and guides you up and down. His hips rock gently, searching for more friction, and you moan around him, the vibrations going through him. “That’s it. Take what you can. Try using your tongue,” he commands, his voice rough with want.

You swirl your tongue around the shaft, trying to get every side of him, tracing every vein. You whimper as his grip tightens on your hair, heat coursing through your body. With one hand, you circle his base, stroking in time with your mouth, your fingers slick with spit and precum, your jaw aching as you try to take him deeper.

He watches you with dark, hungry eyes. Chris then gently guides your head lower, testing how far he can take you. When the tip hits the back of your throat, you gag, but you don’t pull away. He brings you back up and pauses, checking if you want to stop, but you hold his gaze and push down again, letting yourself choke a little, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth and falling onto his shaft. He groans. “Fucking dirty girl. Shit, I love you.”

You find a rhythm, bobbing your head, spit and precum making everything slick. Every now and then, you push yourself deeper, the stretch and feeling making you whimper around him. His hands tangle in your hair, hips rolling to meet you, his moans getting louder. “Shit, [Y/N]. Feels so fucking good, please don’t stop.” Chris’s head falls back against the couch, his breath quickening in small, fast bursts.

You smile around him, pulling off with a pop, then run your tongue slowly up the underside, tracing every vein. You let a line of spit fall from your mouth onto his cock and spread around, stroking him with your hand, making everything wetter and messier. He whines, hips jerking up into your hand, eyes wild.

“Am I doing ok?” You ask softly, still a bit unsure, even though you know his moans mean you are doing well.

“Holy— yeah, fuck. You’re doing great, baby, Jesus.” Chris says fast before he’s moaning again.

Your hand moves slightly faster, squeezing at the top. Wet, slick sounds fill the room, mixed with his moans. He bends down as you stroke him and captures your lips in a kiss. His tongue immediately slips into your mouth and tangles with yours, causing your hand to stutter. You moan against his mouth, gently biting his bottom lip and sucking on it. His hand covers yours, which is wrapped around his cock, and he starts to guide you into a better rhythm that feels good to him, squeezing your hand so it squeezes his cock.

“There we go. Just like that. Fuck.” He pants against your mouth.

He is patient and gentle as he continues to guide you. Finally, he lets go, and you move yourself. “Baby, spit on me again. I liked feeling how wet it was.” He begs softly.

You nod, spitting onto his cock again, the warmth from it mixed with his body heat makes his hips thrust up again. “I won’t last long; it feels too fucking good.”

“Want my mouth back on you?” You ask softly.

He nods, gathers your hair again, and watches as you take him back into your mouth. Less hesitant this time, more focused on having him cum. You start to suck and lick again, alternating, taking him deep into your throat. Chris is gasping now, feeling that sensation deep in his stomach. He’s close.

“[Y/N]. I can’t. Shit. Gonna cum—” He moans, his hands going to your shoulders to hold onto something.

You moan and nod, letting him know that you want him to let go. He lets out a loud gasp. You feel his cock twitch inside your mouth, and then he’s spilling into it. He gently rocks his hips into your mouth, riding out his high. The taste is warm and salty.

Once he rides it out, you pull off of him. Your mouth is full; his thumb traces your bottom lip as he whispers, “swallow.”

You do as he says, hearing him let out a low groan as he watches you swallow his cum. He gently pulls you up from the ground and into his lap. He kisses you softly, tasting himself on you but not caring in the slightest. When he pulls away, he has the biggest smile on his face.

You blush and curl into his chest, hiding your face as if that’ll save you from teasing. He snorts, ruffling your hair. “My brat is suddenly shy? That’s new.”

“Shut up.” You grumble but smile.

“I think I might like you being a brat if it means I get my dick sucked.” He teases.

You smack his chest playfully, a small giggle falling from your lips.

“Next time, don’t be a brat. But I think you learned that lesson, huh?” Chris looks at you.

You roll your eyes and snuggle against him. "How about next time, just don’t be annoying." Chris lets out a groan, knowing he will never win.

M yaps: Well.... uh here is this. Enjoy! You filthy animals... I love y'all lol

Requests are open! Maybe some angst, fluff, or song ones?

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Tags: @mattsgirl23 , @courta13 , @privatelyowned-t , @pepsipoet , @conspiracy-ash , @whore4chris , @rainyyy-weather , @salemsturniolo , @isaxbellevs , @rollingintheglitter , @amandapanda2 , @anniewithan-a , @pomematt , @sturniolo-szn2 , @beylee , @itsbeautifulvibess , @slvt4chriss , @yourfavbricked , @sturniolore , @minaismywife , @hallowenlover , @marzcircus , @99sturns , @ribbonlovergirl , @mamaagirlbehindu123 , @brosexy4life, @ivysturnss, @pepsicola-pussy , @sturnstoriesblog , @sofiathe1stsblog , @chieftaletyger , @sturn10lofan , @niwis , @macycrouch , @mattsxbitch , @hannahsturniolo , @siennasturniolo , @wbbloversblog , @muffin-sturniolo , @johnporkblogsblog , @luvvlypixie , @rustedmagnolia, @m0r94n , @joelmillrenthusiast , @cyb3rlee , @hannahg22 , @scrumptiousanchorpersona , @sturnsoup3 , @gn-1543 , @dabiggestdonn

[aliaratawitchtrial]

a fic where dealer!chris takes care of pd!reader when she being really needy and makes her feel good

COMBINING this request with the daddy kink fic cause i'm CRAZY

౨ৎ dealer!chris taking care of preachersdaughter!reader after a hard day.

⚠︎ daddy kink, dumbification, light condescension, humiliation if you squint

you were gone. completely fucked out.

chris was on top of you, pounding you into the mattress with a pressure you were unused to, two fingers shoved inside your mouth and the other hand gripping one of your bouncing tits. you were soaked, everywhere – your arousal dripping down your thighs, tears spilling down your cheeks and drool coating chris’s fingers. the sounds that were coming out of you would’ve been humiliating, had you had the capacity to even hear them. 

it all started when you had arrived home with shaking hands and teary eyes. alarmed, chris pulled you into his lap, wiping your tears and coaxing you to open up about the awful day you had had at work. he held you tight as you rambled about a particularly rude customer and a misplaced order of books. once it was all out of your system, chris kissed your cheek gently and said, “you want me to make it all better?”

it was a selfless act, really. chris just wanted to fuck you so dumb that you’d forget everything that had been upsetting you. he knew a fuzzy brain was just what you needed right now.

now, he was pushing his fingers a little deeper into your mouth, pressing against your tongue as you whimpered. you gripped his wrist tightly and pulled his hand away from your mouth as you tried to form words.

“mmf— chris… i, i need—”

you cut yourself off with another needy moan, and chris laughed at you. “what is it, baby? can’t speak?” 

you tried again, but your brain was too foggy for words now. you simply shook your head.

“then show me, angel. what is it?”

you slowly blinked open your eyes and grabbed his hand, guiding it down between your two bodies, pushing it down between your slick thighs. chris tutted in disappointment and shook his head, pulling his hand away.

“y’want my hand? can you say please?”

you let out a shaky whine. “pl—please, chris…”

he hummed as if in deep thought, his thrusts inside you starting to slow down. “i don’t know. i just feel like you don’t mean it. y’gotta reaally beg.”

you let out a choked sob and continued to plead for him. “chris, come on… please… i am begging…”

“yeah, just a little more. then i’ll know you really want it.”

you let out a frustrated whine. “ugh, daddy…”

chris stopped all movements, gazing down at you with wide eyes. it took your brain a couple seconds to catch up with your mouth, but once you realised what you had said, what you had called him, you gasped and covered your mouth with both hands.

chris let out a tiny, quiet huff. he stayed still for what felt like hours before he spoke again. “oh, i’m daddy now?”

your eyes filled with tears again and you shook your head. you were mortified. you didn’t know where it had come from, didn’t even know where you had heard it before. it just spilled out of your mouth like instinct.

chris pulled your hands away from your face, trying not to laugh at your horrified expression. “don't be embarrassed. it was cute.”

“it was… weird.”

“s’not weird at all. makes perfect sense, actually.” he smirked and started thrusting again, this time slow and deliberate. “cause i am your daddy, if you really think about it.”

you frowned and tried to squirm away. “no… i don't like it…”

“don’t like getting fucked by daddy?” chris pouted mockingly.

you whimpered and shook your head, your cheeks burning with shame. “it’s not right…”

chris smiled and stopped again. “huh. s’funny, cause, uh – your pussy’s grippin’ me tighter than usual.”

“chris!” you whined, partly out of embarrassment and partly out of desire for chris to keep going.

“nah, i get it. y’want more, yeah?”

you nodded in relief. finally, he was getting somewhere.

“uh huh. can you ask daddy nicely?”

you let out an exasperated sigh. he clearly wasn’t gonna let up on this any time soon, and you knew you had to do something if you wanted him to keep fucking you.

“if i do, will you promise never to bring this up again?”

he smirked. “sure. whatever you want, princess. just tell me what i wanna hear.”

“daddy… please – please fuck me…” you whispered, suddenly feeling a wave of self-consciousness overcome you.

“fuuck, that’s it.” chris groaned and picked up the pace again, reaching down to rub at your aching clit, finally giving you the pressure you were craving. he would never say it to you, but the humiliated, ashamed look on your face only sent more blood rushing to his cock.

your jaw fell open as his cock hit that special spot inside you, and suddenly all feelings of embarrassment dissipated as you slipped back into that fuzzy, warm state. you could hear chris laughing softly at you, but you felt too good to care.

“that’s it, angel. takin' daddy's cock so good, fuck.”

you whined and reached for him, craving closeness now more than ever. when chris felt your arms tugging at his shoulders, he immediately complied and laid down on top of you, wrapping his arms around your body to hold you close.

you sighed softly and melted further into the mattress. all of a sudden, calling chris daddy didn't seem like an issue at all. you pressed a sweet kiss to his neck before whispering,

“can i have more please, daddy?”

chris's breath hitched and his movements faltered. he was content to never hear the word leave your mouth again. if anything, he thought you’d be mad at him for pushing you to repeat it. he certainly hasn't been expecting you to say it again all by yourself, and the surprise had him reacting in a way you had never seen from him before. 

his whole body was trembling above you, and you could hear faint whimpers spilling from his lips.

“are you okay, daddy?” you tried to sound as oblivious as you could, but you knew the effect you had on him now, and you weren't going to let him off easy.

“fuck, baby – y’gotta stop that… can't–” he whined.

“but i thought you wanted to be my daddy?” you pouted and looked up at him with wide, teary eyes. you could feel his cock twitching inside you at that, and he let out a strained gasp.

“gonna make me – mmh, embarrass myself, baby. playin’ dirty.”

“i don't understand,” you whined, starting to really enjoy playing with him like this.

chris exhaled roughly through his nostrils, starting to pick up on your teasing. he picked up the pace, his hips snapping into yours with rougher thrusts. 

“y’know exactly what you're doin', huh? can't fuckin’ believe you.”

but his frustration immediately melted away at the sound of your little whimpers and moans filling his ears. god, he really was weak for you. 

“feels so good…” you sighed softly and hugged him closer.

“yeah? gonna cum for me, baby?”

“mm…” you hesitated, hiding your face in his shoulder.

“what is it, doll?”

“can i have a kiss first?”

“oh, jesus–” chris’s hips jolted erratically. he really struggled to handle himself when you made such sweet requests. “that’s what you need, baby? a kiss from daddy to make it alll better?”

he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, the soft warmth of his mouth acting as a welcome contrast to the force with which his cock was slamming into you. your moans mingled with his as you came, your nails digging into the flesh of his back, leaving marks which would make you gasp later when you finally regained control of your thoughts.

chris let you ride out your high before pulling out and releasing across your stomach, only adding to how soaked your skin already was.

he stayed like that for a minute, kneeling above you and taking in the sight of your messy, fucked-out state. beautiful.

“so, what’s it gonna take for you to start calling me daddy full-time?” he murmured with a grin.

“shut up, chris…” you mumbled, turning your face to hide your smile in the pillow. 

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[purrrrblonde]

Just a request but I’d love some Chris smut and Matt accidentally walks in on you but stays and you know there’s eye contact etc

hello anon!!! thank you for the request! :) hope you enjoy ☺️

𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 had been off all day. distracted. every little thing got on his nerves, and by the time filming ended, he was practically shoving equipment into people’s hands so he could leave. the only thing he’d been thinking about for hours was getting home to you, his girlfriend. when he finally gets home, he lets out a deep breath at seeing you in the shared room, doing random work on your computer. not for long though, since he has something else on the agenda.

unfortunately for you both, matt gets home not long after.

at first, he doesn’t think anything of it. chris and you are always together. but after wandering around for a while, he remembers he needed something from you. a charger, a book, maybe a hoodie you borrowed and heads toward the room. he knocks once. no answer.

chris is too far gone to notice matt at first, focused solely on you. his head is buried in your neck, kissing and sucking harshly as he spreads your legs wider with his knees, pressing his hips between them. one of his hands releases your thigh to grab at your hip, yanking you closer to grind against you.

your eyes lock with matt’s, and to his surprise, you say nothing but give a small smile. chris has yet to notice, back to the door. matt knows he should leave, shutting the door a bit. but his curiousity gets the best of him, and he continues to watch through the crack, suddenly very focused on you.

matt bites into his lip, watching your legs spread wider as chris grinds against you. he knows he should look away, but he can't. your small smile makes him think you want him to watch. chris’s hand slips under your shirt, grabbing your breast roughly.

chris’s mouth finds yours, kissing you deeply and messily as he starts to unbuckle his belt with one hand. matt watches, his breath hitching as chris pulls out his hard cock, rubbing it against your clothed pussy. you moan into the kiss, arching your back slightly.

chris breaks the kiss to pull your shirt off over your head, leaving you in just a bra. he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear, pulling them down together. matt swallows hard as chris spreads your legs wide open, giving him a perfect view of what's happening.

chris lines himself up with your entrance and slams inside you without warning. you cry out, gripping his shoulders as he starts to pound into you mercilessly. matt’s hand slowly slides down to adjust himself through his pants, eyes fixed on where chris’s cock is disappearing into you over and over.

you eyes scramble around the door, looking through the sliver to meet up with matt’s again. matt’s eyes lock onto yours, his hand moving faster against his bulge through his pants. He bites his lip harder, trying to stay quiet as he watches chris fuck you. you hold matt's gaze, your mouth opening in a silent moan as chris hits a particularly deep spot. "fuck..."

chris grins, knowing he's hitting the right spot. he leans down to bite your neck, marking you as he continues his brutal pace. matt’s eyes roll back as he imagines himself in chris's place, fucking you like that.

chris suddenly grabs your legs, throwing them over his shoulders and leaning forward. this new angle hits even deeper, and you can't help but let out a loud cry. matt's hand freezes over his bulge, knowing chris might hear him if he keeps going. “oh fuck yes..."

chris smiles against your neck, loving the sounds you're making. he starts snapping his hips, hitting that spot over and over. your cries turn into moans, your hands gripping his hair tightly. matt watches, his eyes filled with pure, unfiltered jealously.

chris's movements become more erratic as he gets closer to his release. he lifts your hips higher, changing the angle again and making you scream louder. matt's hand finally moves back to his cock, unzipping his pants just enough to pull himself out and start stroking desperately. "come on baby..."

chris's fingers dig into your hips as he pounds into you faster, chasing his orgasm. your moans fill the room, driving matt wild as he jerks himself off furiously outside the door. suddenly, chris buries himself deep inside you and groans loudly against your neck as he comes.

chris collapses on top of you, breathing heavily as he stays buried inside you. he kisses your neck softly, his hands slowly moving to hold your face gently. matt watches, his hand still moving slowly over his sensitive cock, feeling a mix of jealousy and satisfaction as he sees chris tender with you post-sex.

chris pulls out of you slowly, causing you both to groan at the empty feeling. he flops down next to you, pulling you into his side possessively. matt’s view is now blocked by chris's body, but he can still hear your soft murmurs and occasional giggles.

matt sighs once he’s in his own room, shutting the door quietly. he replays your moans in his head, and he knows he shouldn’t feel this way about his brothers girlfriend, but the fact that you were locking eyes with him was way too telling. the question now is how much more could get away with?

𝐃𝐘𝐋𝐀𝐍'𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒: oh shit sorry i got carried away

[sweetnsturns]

on the phone—m.s.

✧ dom!matt, degradation, sex while he's on the phone, unprotected sex

✧ authors note: quick little something idk 😓 i wanna start a series but im having intense writers block ughh

the headboard was a steady, rhythmic knock against the wall.

each time matt bottomed out, he let out a punched-out little grunt, hot against the sweat on your neck.

you were gone. completely fucking gone. 

"fuck," he bit out, his voice ragged.

his hand was splayed across the back of your thigh, pushing your leg higher, opening you up so he could get deeper. "look at you. can't even talk, can you?"

you couldn't. your mouth was open, but only these breathy, desperate little sounds were coming out, timed perfectly with his thrusts.

he was so deep it was almost painful, a thick, unrelenting pressure. 

"that's it," he praised, his voice dropping to that low, possessive rumble that made your stomach clench. "just take it. knew you could. knew you'd look so good fucked dumb on my cock."

his phone started buzzing on the nightstand.

it was a frantic, angry buzz against the wood. you both ignored it.

his rhythm didn't break, just kept that punishing, deep grind that was making your eyes roll back in your head. but it kept buzzing. again. and again. a persistent, demanding little vibration. 

"matt," you managed to whine, your voice cracking. "don't stop."

"i'm not," he grunted, but his hips faltered for a second.

he swore under his breath, a string of curses that were lost in the sound of your own heartbeat thundering in your ears. "fuck. i have to. it's chris."

you whimpered, a pathetic, needy sound that you were too far gone to be embarrassed about. he shushed you, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip. 

"just be quiet," he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. "can you do that for me?"

you nodded, your head lolling against the pillow. you'd do anything he asked right now.

"atta girl..."

he grabbed the phone, his chest still pressed flush against yours, his cock still buried deep inside you. he swiped to answer, his voice strained.

"hey,"

the voice was a tiny, distant buzz. you couldn't make out the words

matt's eyes were on you, pupils blown out and dark.

he started to move again.

it was slow. agonizingly slow. a deep, deliberate roll of his hips that had you seeing stars.

you bit down hard on your lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to rip from your throat.

his thumb was still on your lip, and he pulled it away, only to replace it with his entire palm, pressing down hard, smothering your sounds completely.

"no, i'm fine," he said. "just... tired."

he was lying.

his hand slid down your body, his fingers finding your clit, and you jolted, a choked gasp escaping your lips.

he immediately pulled back, his eyes wide with warning, his fingers stilling.

"what was that?" chris’ voice crackled through the phone.

"nothing," matt said, his voice tight. "just... the cat."

you didn't have a cat.

chris said something else, and matt took the opportunity to start moving again, his hips picking up a little speed, his fingers starting to circle your clit again. 

"fuck," you try to say against his palm, the word muffled and pathetic.

it was too much. it was sensory overload. the feeling of him inside you, the pressure on your clit, the sound of his voice, the risk of getting caught. 

"matt," you whispered his name a desperately. 

"i gotta go," he said into the phone, his voice rough. "i'll call you back."

he hung up, tossing the phone onto the floor without a second glance.

"you just couldn't be quiet, could you?" he growled, his hips snapping forward, hard and fast, the rhythm from before returning with a vengeance.

you couldn't answer. you just cried out, your back arching off the bed, your hands fisting in the sheets. he was fucking you with a new urgency, a desperate, frantic energy. you could feel the pressure building again.

"look at you," he breathed, his hips snapping forward, hard and fast. "so fucking desperate for it you almost got us caught. what a greedy little thing."

you could only moan in response, your body writhing beneath him, your hands fisting in the sheets. 

he was everywhere, his mouth on your neck, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you, filling you up, stretching you wide.

"come on," he urged, his voice a low, desperate whisper. "come for me."

that was all it took. you could feel yourself clamping down around him, a pulsing grip that pushed him over the edge right along with you.

he groaned, long and low, his hips stuttering as he spilled into you, hot and thick.

he collapsed on top of you, his full weight crushing you, but you didn't care. 

you could feel his heart hammering against your chest, a frantic, wild rhythm that slowly, slowly began to even out.

he pressed a soft, gentle kiss to your temple, a stark contrast to the brutal way he'd just been fucking you.

"you okay?" he murmured, his voice thick and sated.

you just hummed in response, too exhausted to form words. you felt boneless, used, and completely, utterly satisfied.

"good," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "because we have to get up in like, ten minutes if we don't want chris to come looking for us."

[delilahsturniolo]

˖ ࣪ . 🍔 ࿐♡ IN-N-OUT . . . 𝐂.𝐒 <𝟑 .ᐟ

⤷ in which . . . a seemingly innocent late night run to in-n-out with you and your best friend chris escalates quickly.

⤷ warnings . . . smut, car sex, bsf!chris, unprotected sex, making out, use of pet names, praise, dirty talk, semi-public setting? finger sucking, light choking, rough sex, missionary, a teensy bit of dry humping.

⤷ written by . . . @/delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

the neon glow of the in-n-out burger sign flickers softly through the windshield, casting red and yellow light across chris’s face. you’re both sitting in his car, engine idling, the receipt crumpled in the cup holder while you wait for the ready-for-pickup-text.

it should feel normal. you’ve done this a hundred times. late-night food runs, laughing over nothing, stealing fries from each other. but tonight feels…off. quieter.

he drums his fingers against the steering wheel, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead. “you’ve been quiet,” he mutters.

you shrug, picking at a loose thread on your hoodie. “just tired.”

“you’re a bad liar,” he says instantly, smiling.

you glance at him, heart thudding a little harder than it should. “and you’re annoying.” that earns a small huff of a laugh, but it fades quickly. the silence comes back, heavier this time.

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you shifting in your seat. maybe it’s him turning just slightly toward you. but suddenly, you’re both looking at each other…really looking. and something snaps.

“what?” you whisper, barely audible.

he shakes his head once, like he’s trying to stop himself. “nothing.”

“chris—”

“don’t,” he cuts in, voice lower now. rougher. “if i start, i’m not stopping.”

your stomach flips. “start what?”

he lets out a slow breath, eyes dropping to your lips for half a second before snapping back up. that’s all it takes.

“you’ve been looking at me like that all night,” he says quietly. “you think i didn’t notice?”

heat floods your face. “i wasn’t—”

“you were.”

his voice isn’t teasing, it’s certain.

your chest rises and falls a little faster. “so what if i was?”

his hand tightens on the steering wheel. “then you’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmurs.

the air in the car feels too thick. too small.

“chris, you know we can’t.” you say, but it comes out weaker than you meant it to. you don’t even really know what you’re referring to when you say “can’t,” it just slips out.

he lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “yeah,” he says. “that’s the problem.”

your breath catches. the words hang between you, heavy, undeniable. you should say something. you should laugh it off. you should open the door and step out into the cool night air and pretend none of this is happening. instead, you lean closer, just a little.

his eyes flick down again—to your lips. and this time, he doesn’t look away. “tell me to stop,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

you don’t. you can’t. and that’s all the permission he needs. his hand comes up, hesitant for half a second before cupping your jaw, pulling you in. the kiss is messy. not soft—not careful. it’s years of tension, of stolen glances, of what ifs crashing into one moment.

you gasp against his mouth, fingers gripping his shirt without thinking, and he exhales sharply like he’s been holding it in for too long.

“shit,” he mutters against your lips, forehead pressing against yours for a second. “we shouldn’t—”

you kiss him again to shut him up, harder this time. that hesitation? gone. his hand slides from your jaw to your waist, pulling you closer across the center console, the awkward angle not stopping either of you. “mmm fuck—you’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost shaky.

“then stop me,” you whisper back. he doesn’t. instead, he leans back slightly, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize it, like he can’t believe this is actually happening.

“you sure?” he asks quietly before escalating. there’s something softer there now. careful. real.

you nod, breath unsteady. “yeah.” his hand tightens on your waist, grounding you.

“we cross this line,” he says, voice low, “we’re not going back.”

your heart pounds. “good. i don’t want to go back.”

that does it. he pulls you over the console fully this time, guiding you onto his lap, the confined space of the car suddenly feeling even smaller, more intense. you let out a shaky breath, hands bracing on his shoulders as you settle against him, both of you pausing for just a second, taking it in.

“this is crazy,” you whisper.

“yeah,” he breathes.

his forehead rests against yours. “but i’ve wanted this for way too long to pretend i don’t.”

your chest tightens. you kiss him again, slower this time, deeper, your fingers sliding into his hair as his hands steady your hips. chris lets out a slow, sensual groan as he feels you start to grind against his lap, a bulge growing through his jeans.

“fuck baby,” he mutters against your lips. “you keep doin’ that i might just cum in my pants.” he smiles against your lips, you just wrap your arms around his neck, looking down at him.

“chris—” you murmur, desperation in your tone. “i need you—please i just—” you’re cut off by his lips slamming against yours again. you can feel his hand moving off you lightly, unbuckling his seatbelt. he lifts you off his lap just a little bit as he opens his car door.

“backseat,” he whispers, lifting you up with ease. you wrap your legs around his waist as he picks you up, getting out the car and opening the backseat door. he places you inside, laying you down on the seat before getting in back with you, shutting the door behind him.

you start to undress immediately, carelessly slipping off your shirt first, then your pants, and everything underneath until you’re completely bare beneath him. chris’s shirt is off, he tosses it to the front. you sit up, palming his bulge, he looks down at you with a captivating, and aroused gaze as he lets you unbuckle his belt and tug his jeans and boxers down, he slips it off impatiently, leaving it on the floor of the car.

“mm, you want this baby? you want me inside of you, don’t you?” chris teases, you nod immediately, laying back, bringing your knees up to create space in the confined space.

“please chris—i want you…” you whimper out, it sounds pathetic, but chris smirks regardless, the sound of your desperation like music to his ears.

chris doesn’t waste any time, his cock lines up to your entrance, and before you know it—he’s sliding himself inside of you. both of you gasp at the feeling—at the intense stretch—at the steel gate of “just friends” breaking at this very moment.

“you have no idea how long i’ve thought about having you like this…” chris grunts as he starts to thrusts into your soaked cunt, your moans slipping out without you even realizing it is. you’re enjoying every second of it—beneath him, completely soaked, already ruined and he’s barely even started.

your back arches as his thrusts grow faster, messy, sloppy, just desperate. you gasp as his thumb comes up to your bottom lip, slowly parting it. he looks in your eyes the whole time as his cock moves in and out of you, he slowly dips his thumb into your mouth, your eyes roll back as you take it in your mouth, sucking lightly.

“yeahhh, just like that…” chris whispers, head dipping down to your neck, kissing softly. “bet you’d love to suck on my dick like that, yeah? such a pretty mess for me…” he praises, murmuring against your neck.

“chris! gonna—gonna cum!” you squeal out, he nods as he straightens up slightly to give you room, thrusts more controlled, but getting deeper…and deeper…to help you reach your climax.

“don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—” you plead, eyes shutting as you feel yourself reaching your peak. chris’s hand comes up to your throat, just lightly squeezing to get your attention.

“eyes open. look at me while you cum, okay pretty girl?” he coos, hand moving to cup your cheek now. you nod and keep your eyes on him, his gaze filled with something you can’t quite place, but it’s dark…alluring…something you just can’t seem to look away from.

“oh—oh shit!” you let out a mixed gasp and moan as your orgasm hits you hard, releasing all over chris’s cock, triggering his own orgasm as his cum shoots into your cunt. the feeling is sensational, euphoric, like a breath of fresh air.

“fuck, that was hot…y’did so good for me..” chris mumbles, slowly easing himself out of you. you smile stupidly, sitting up more, leaning against the car door.

“that was…” you start, but you can’t seem to find the right words.

“intense?” chris asks, hand finding your waist to pull you closer.

“yeah, but…great.” you laugh. chris smirks, leaning in close, lips slowly finding their way back to yours. chris doesn’t even hear his phone buzz with an incoming message, he’s as oblivious as ever. because he’s dreamed of this exact moment, dreamed of watching his cock move in and out of you, dreamed of sharing such a special and intimate moment shared with you, his best friend of years.

and now? you both know there’s no going back.

©𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐇𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

💌: i had a whole different vision for this but then i lost motivation. 😞

[mbbvixen]

Sturniolo Saturday

Just wanted to share a list of my SturnFics for SturnSat ❤️‍🔥

Twin Flames (Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, Epilogue) ✅

Matt in the Middle (One-Shot) ✅

Chris in the Center (One-Shot) ✅

In His Arms (Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, Epilogue) ✅

The Guy Next Door (Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10) ✅

[mbbvixen]

Chris in the Center

Chris x f! Roommates (FFM Threesome) Mature | Explicit | MDNI | One-Shot After attending a music video shoot, you and and your roommate invite Chris—the brother of their previous hookup, Matt—back to their apartment, where they engage in an intense, uninhibited threesome. Matt in the Middle

A few weeks bled into a blur of routine. Work, takeout, the occasional text from Matt that was friendly but carefully neutral. Nothing about the thing. You and your roommate had an unspoken agreement to let the memory settle, a secret shimmering between you both like heat off summer asphalt. You figured that was it. A wild, once-in-a-lifetime detour.

Then your phone buzzed on a Tuesday afternoon.

Matt: Yo. Random question. You and your friend busy tonight?

You stared at the screen, heartbeat kicking up a notch. Three dots pulsed. Disappeared. Pulsed again.

Matt: We're filming a stupid rap video. Just for fun, for the channel. Need a packed house party scene. Desperate for bodies. You two in?

Desperate for bodies. You snorted. Charming. But the pull was immediate, a hook snagging somewhere low in your stomach.

You: What's the dress code?

Matt: Just dress up a bit. Nothing fancy. See you at 8.

---

The address led to a rented house in the hills, windows blazing with light, bass already thumping through the walls like a heartbeat. You and your roommate exchanged a glance as you stepped out of the Uber. Her hand found yours for a quick squeeze—a silent here we go again—before you both walked inside.

Chaos. Controlled chaos, but chaos nonetheless. A camera rig dominated the living room, cables snaking across the floor. People you vaguely recognized from YouTube thumbnails milled around with red cups. The air smelled like hairspray and cheap beer. Someone shouted about lighting. A boom mic swung dangerously close to a chandelier.

Your simple dress—a slip of emerald green that skimmed your thighs—suddenly felt inadequate. Beside you, your roommate adjusted the strap of her own dress, a soft lavender thing that made her look like she’d wandered out of a watercolor painting. Her hair was twisted up, exposing the delicate line of her neck.

“This is insane,” she murmured.

“Completely insane,” you agreed.

Then a hand landed on your shoulder, warm and familiar.

You turned. Matt’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners, his beard fuller than you remembered, his curtained brown hair artfully messy. The sleeve tattoo peeked out from his t-shirt sleeve, ink curling around his forearm. He looked good. Too good. The sight of him sent a trill of remembering through your nerve endings—his weight, his breath, the sound he made when he—

“You came,” he said, pulling you into a quick hug. His voice was low, meant just for you. “Both of you.”

Your roommate received her own hug, her cheeks pinking as Matt’s hands lingered on her waist for an extra beat.

“Come meet the others,” he said, steering you both through the crowd.

Nick was first. Sharp-eyed, quick with a sarcastic comment, but his smile was genuine. “So you’re the ones Matt wouldn’t shut up about,” he said, and Matt’s neck flushed crimson.

And then Chris.

He turned from a conversation with a crew member, and the introduction hit you like a hook to the sternum. Same blue eyes as Matt but brighter, hungrier, fringed with darker lashes. A sharper jaw. His brown hair was parted differently, swept back. When he smiled—and he smiled immediately, his gaze locking onto you like a targeting system—a dimple carved itself into his left cheek.

“Hey,” he said, extending his hand. Not a handshake. An invitation. His fingers curled around yours, thumb brushing your knuckle. “Chris. You must be the famous girl next door.”

“Next door?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow.

“Matt said you lived near the party he went to a few weeks back.” Chris’s smile didn’t waver. “Said he got lucky with the ride home.”

The double meaning hung in the air, thick as smoke. Matt coughed. Nick rolled his eyes and muttered something about grabbing a drink. Your roommate bit her lip, fighting a grin.

“Did he now,” you said, deadpan, pulling your hand back.

Chris’s eyes flicked down your body and back up—a lightning assessment that was somehow appreciative without being greasy. The dress clung in all the right places. He noticed. He wanted you to know he noticed.

“You look incredible, by the way,” he said. “Both of you. But mostly you.”

“Subtle,” your roommate teased.

“Subtlety’s overrated.”

The next hour was a whirlwind of direction and noise. You and your roommate were shuffled from room to room, told to mime conversations, to laugh at nothing, to dance. The music—a genuinely catchy beat with absurd lyrics—blasted on loop. Red cups were refilled with water. The heat of so many bodies packed into one space turned the house into a sauna.

You stole a moment during a reset, catching Matt’s elbow and tugging him behind a curtain serving as a makeshift backdrop. His body pressed close in the cramped space, chest nearly touching yours.

“Do they know?” you whispered.

Matt’s expression stilled. “Know what?”

“Don’t play dumb.” You searched his face. “About the three of us.”

The slow, knowing smile that spread across his face was answer enough. He shook his head, a strand of hair falling across his forehead. “Not really. I didn’t tell him. I talked about you at the party but didn't tell them anything after.”

“Why not?”

“Just cause.” He said it simply, without weight, and yet the words settled into your chest like stones dropped in water. “Wasn’t their business.”

Before you could respond, a director’s voice boomed through a speaker: “Alright, party scene! Everybody on the floor, energy up, let’s GO!”

Matt slipped away, his hand brushing your hip as he went.

You exhaled.

The music slammed on, louder than before. The room became a churning mass of moving bodies. Your roommate found you in the crush, her eyes bright with adrenaline. “This is insane,” she shouted over the bass.

You nodded, already being swept by the tide of extras toward the center of the room. Someone’s elbow jammed into your ribs. A splash of cold water hit your shoulder. You stumbled—and then a hand caught your waist, steadying you.

Chris.

He was suddenly there, materialized from the chaos, his body slotting against yours as naturally as if he’d always been there. The cameras were rolling. The music was deafening. And Chris was dancing with you, his hips moving in a rhythm that matched yours, his chest brushing your back, then your front, then your side as the crowd dictated the motion.

It was accidental friction at first. Shoulder to shoulder. Hip to hip. But then it became deliberate. His thigh slid between yours. His hand found the curve of your waist again, fingers spreading wide. You looked up and found him already looking down, those blue eyes glittering with challenge and want.

The heat that rolled through you was a physical force. It started in your stomach and bloomed outward, tightening your nipples, slicking the space between your thighs. The memory of Matt’s hands on you felt distant, eclipsed by the immediate, vibrating presence of his brother.

Chris leaned down, his mouth brushing your ear. “You’re a good dancer.”

“You’re okay,” you managed.

His laugh was a low vibration against your neck. The song built to its chorus. The crowd surged. His hand slipped lower, nearly to the curve of your ass, tightening possessively before releasing you into a spin.

The friction of the dance, the crush of bodies, the watching—because you knew Matt was somewhere watching, and Nick, and the entire room—it all compounded into a dizzying, electric tension. By the time the director called “CUT! That’s a wrap!” you were breathless, sweat-damp, and so turned on your knees were soft.

The crowd thinned fast. Crew members broke down equipment. Extras funneled toward the door, calling goodbyes. You were at the kitchen island, gulping water from a bottle, when Chris appeared at your elbow like a conjured thing.

“So,” he said, leaning against the counter, all casual angles and that infuriating dimple. “You heading out?”

“Yeah.”

“Shame.” He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and held it out to you with the screen facing up. A new contact page. “Put your number in. I want to continue our conversation.”

“We weren’t having a conversation.”

“Sure we were. It was just… non-verbal.”

You smirked, took the phone, and typed in your number. Handed it back. “Don’t abuse it.”

“No promises.”

He was already typing as he walked away.

---

Back at the apartment, the adrenaline hadn’t faded. It hummed under your skin like an electrical current. You kicked off your heels. Your roommate collapsed onto the couch, fanning herself with a magazine. “Chris is… a lot,” she said, stating the obvious.

“He’s something,” you agreed.

Your phone lit up.

Chris: That dress should be illegal.

You: It’s just green fabric.

Chris: Green fabric that’s been haunting me since you walked in. So thanks for that.

You: You’re dramatic.

Chris: You’re gorgeous. We both have problems.

The banter was effortless, a verbal tennis match that had you grinning at your screen while your roommate watched with knowing eyes. He was fast, sharp, never letting a lob go unreturned.

Chris: What are you wearing now?

You: Wow. Straight to it.

Chris: I’m an efficient man.

You: A slip dress. Nothing special.

Chris: Bullshit. Everything you wear is special.

You: Smooth.

Chris: I’m sliding off my chair. That’s how smooth I am.

You laughed out loud, and your roommate leaned over to read the screen. Her eyebrows rose. “He’s good.”

“He’s something,” you repeated.

The conversation escalated. A dare here. A teasing jab there. The heat from the party hadn’t dissipated; it had just transferred into the phone, pixelated and crackling. You typed before you could second-guess yourself.

You: Come over.

Three dots. Then: Chris: Address.

You sent it.

Chris: In the car. Ten minutes.

---

The knock came in eight.

You opened the door to find Chris on your welcome mat, one arm braced against the doorframe, a black t-shirt stretched across his chest, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The casual outfit was devastating precisely because it was casual. No pretense. Just him, his body, and the blatant heat in his stare.

“That was fast,” you said.

“I drive like a maniac.” He stepped inside, his presence immediately filling the dim living room. The only light came from a floor lamp in the corner, casting long shadows. “Nice place.”

“Thanks.”

Your roommate was curled on the couch, drowning in an oversized hoodie that swallowed her whole. Her bare legs were tucked beneath her, and as Chris’s eyes adjusted to the light, he clocked the fact that she wasn’t wearing much else. Just the hoodie. Maybe panties.

He blinked. Recalibrated. Sat down on the opposite end of the couch with a deliberate casualness that didn’t quite hide the tension in his shoulders.

You settled beside your roommate, your thin spaghetti-strap sleeping dress barely covering the tops of your thighs. The air in the room thickened.

Talking was easier than it should have been. Chris’s energy was different from Matt’s—where Matt was quiet intensity, a gravitational pull, Chris was a live wire. He talked with his hands. He made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt. He asked pointed questions and actually listened to the answers. Your roommate opened up to him like a flower turning toward light.

And all the while, the undercurrent. The way his gaze would drift to your bare shoulder and stay there a beat too long. The way your roommate’s knees slowly fell apart beneath her hoodie. The way you caught your bottom lip between your teeth and watched him watch you.

Then your roommate leaned forward, her intuitive, bold gaze pinning him to the cushion.

“Do you find her pretty?”

The question landed like a grenade. Chris’s easy smile flickered, then resettled into something sharper, more serious. His blue eyes drifted over your body—the thin straps, the shadow of cleavage, the way your nipples were visibly peaked against the fabric—before meeting yours.

“Yeah,” he said, voice lower now. “I really do.”

Your roommate’s smile was slow and satisfied. “I dare you to kiss her if you mean it.”

Chris didn’t hesitate.

He leaned across the couch cushion, one warm hand landing on your jaw. His mouth met yours with a confidence that sent a bolt of electricity straight through your core. The kiss was deep, searching, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that was somehow both filthy and reverent. His fingers tightened on your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the angle. The wet sound of your mouths moving together was the only sound in the room.

When he broke away, you were breathless. His lips were slightly swollen. His pupils were blown wide.

“Do you find my friend hot?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

Chris blinked. The confusion that crossed his face was genuine. His head turned slightly, as if trying to catch up with the sudden shift of the ground beneath him.

You offered a small, reassuring smirk. “It’s okay. It’s just a question.”

His eyes drifted to your roommate. And she chose that moment to move.

She stood up. Her fingers found the hem of her massive hoodie. In one fluid motion, she lifted it over her head, flashed him her bare breasts bounced slightly with the motion, full and impossibly perfect, the lamplight gilding her skin. Her low-cut panties were a scrap of white lace. Then she put the hoodie back on.

Chris’s hyper-talkative exterior cracked right down the middle. A flush crawled up his neck, his cheeks darkening. A smirk spread across his face—stunned, turned-on, hooked.

“Fuck yes,” he breathed, the word rough as gravel.

You leaned closer. “Now… I dare you to kiss her.”

Your roommate took control of the invitation like it was always meant to be hers. She stepped forward, bending over directly in front of him, her hands planting on his gray-sweatpants-clad knees. Her breasts hung heavy, swaying slightly. She tilted her chin up, offering her face, her lips, her everything.

Chris’s hands came up. His fingers dug into the soft skin of her jaw, pulling her down into a kiss that was somehow even fiercer than the one he’d given you. It was a claim. A seal. The sound of it was wet and desperate, breath huffed through noses, a tiny moan escaping her throat into his mouth.

The dynamic shifted, permanently, irreversibly.

She broke the kiss and climbed onto the couch, her thighs bracketing his left leg. The heat of her core pressed against his sweatpants. You mirrored her, your body moving before your brain caught up, kneeling on the other side so his right leg was trapped between your thighs. The worn fabric did nothing to hide the heat of your own arousal.

She looked at you. Her eyes were dark, pupils swallowing the iris. A question that wasn’t a question.

Simultaneously, you moved. She peeled her hoodie the rest of the way off. You pulled your slip dress over your head, the thin straps sliding down your arms, the fabric pooling at your knees. The cool air of the living room hit your bare breasts, tightening your nipples into aching peaks.

Chris stared. His mouth opened, but no sound came out for a long second. Then

“Fuck,” he whispered.

You both leaned forward, offering yourselves. His hands came up, one cupping your breast, the other cupping hers. The calluses on his palm created a delicious friction against your sensitive skin. His thumb traced your nipple, and a shudder rolled through you.

He leaned toward you first. His mouth closed over your nipple, hot and wet, tongue swirling in a tight circle. The sensation speared directly downward, a throbbing ache settling between your legs. You gasped, your fingers threading into his hair.

Then he released you and turned to your roommate. His mouth latched onto her nipple, laving at the tight bud with the same focused intensity. She moaned, long and low, her hips grinding instinctively against his thigh.

He pulled back, chest heaving. His eyes were wild now, the playful charm burned away by something rawer. “You two are going to kill me.”

“Not before you fuck me,” you said.

The words barely left your mouth before he was moving. He stood, pulling you up with him, and in the same motion, he turned you and bent you over the arm of the couch. The upholstery was cool against your stomach. Your ass was in the air, presented to him, your panties the only barrier.

He knelt behind you. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs, the damp fabric peeling away from your skin. The first touch of his tongue against your wetness made you cry out—a flat, broad stroke that dragged from your clit to your entrance and back up again.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he muttered against you, and the vibration of his voice made your thighs tremble.

Then he stood. And then the blunt, hot pressure of his cock pressing against your entrance. He teased your slit with the head first.

Then he pushed inside.

The stretch was exquisite. He was thick—thicker than Matt, though the length was similar. The girth filled you completely, demanding every inch of your attention. You gasped, your fingers clawing at the couch cushion as he sank deeper, deeper, until his hips were flush against your ass.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Chris—”

He pulled back and thrust. Hard. The impact sent a shockwave through your body, your breasts swaying with the force. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, anchoring you for the next thrust.

And the next.

And the next.

He fucked with a confidence that was utterly different from Matt’s quiet intensity. Chris took the lead without hesitation, setting a brutal, steady pace. Each drive forward was a claim. Each retreat left you empty and aching. The rhythm was relentless, the sound of it obscene—the slap of skin against skin, the wet slick of your arousal, the guttural groans tearing from his chest.

Your roommate watched from the couch, her hand between her own legs, fingers working furiously. Her eyes were glassy, fixed on the place where Chris’s body disappeared into yours.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Chris gritted out. He angled his hips, and the new position drove his cock against a spot inside you that made your vision white out. Your moan was more of a sob. “Right there? That’s the spot?”

“Yes—yes—”

He hammered into that spot mercilessly. The pleasure was blinding, a white-hot pressure building and building with no release in sight. Your legs were shaking. Your breath came in sharp, fragmented gasps. The world shrank to the stretch of his cock, the slap of his hips, the sweat dripping from his chest onto your back.

Your roommate crawled closer, her face level with yours. She kissed you—open-mouthed, messy, swallowing your moans as Chris continued to fuck you into the couch. Her tongue licked into your mouth, her hand cradling your jaw, her thumb stroking your cheek.

“He’s so good,” she whispered against your lips. “He’s fucking you so good.”

You couldn’t form words. You could only take it—the pounding rhythm, the driving pressure, the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

Chris’s hand snaked around your hip, his fingers finding your clit. He pressed down with just the right amount of pressure, circling in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation was too much. It was perfect. It was everything.

“I’m going to come,” you choked out.

“Do it,” he growled. “Come on my cock.”

The command tipped you over. Your orgasm shattered through you, a violent, full-body convulsion that arched your spine and ripped a scream from your throat. Your walls clamped around him in rhythmic, pulsing contractions, milking his length. Time blurred. Sound muffled. There was only the detonation of pleasure, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

Chris’s rhythm faltered. His thrusts became erratic, desperate. “Where—” His voice was strained. “Where can I—”

“Inside,” you gasped, still trembling through the aftershocks. “I’m on the pill—inside—”

He groaned, a sound of pure relief and surrender, and buried himself to the hilt. His cock pulsed, a hot, thick flood releasing deep within you. His body shuddered against yours, his forehead dropping to your spine, his breath harsh and ragged.

For a long moment, the only sound was breathing.

Then he pulled out, slowly, carefully, and you whimpered at the loss. Your legs gave out, and you slumped sideways onto the couch, utterly spent. Your roommate curled against you, her body a warm, soft line along your side. Chris collapsed on your other flank, his chest heaving, sweat glistening on his forehead.

He turned his head, blue eyes finding yours in the dim light. That dimple creased his cheek again, softer now, almost awed.

“So,” he said, still breathless. “Do I get to fuck her too?”

You lay limp on the couch for several moments, your body still tingling from the earlier intensity. The silence in the living room feels heavy, punctuated only by the distant sounds from the hallway. Your roommate stands up first, offering her hand to Chris. He takes it, their fingers lacing together, and she leads him toward her bedroom without a backward glance.

The door clicks shut behind them, leaving you alone in the living room. The heat still radiates through your body, making your skin feel sensitive and flushed. You push yourself up from the couch, legs slightly shaky as you head to the bathroom. After relieving yourself, you catch your reflection in the mirror—face flushed, eyes dilated, hair slightly mussed. You feel incredibly hot, almost feverish with desire.

Without second-guessing, you turn on the shower and step under the spray, being careful to keep your head tilted to avoid wetting your hair. The cool water cascades over your heated skin, providing temporary relief but simultaneously reigniting your arousal as it trails down your body. Your hands slide over your breasts and down your stomach, fingers grazing between your legs where you're still sensitive and swollen.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water and dry off with a fluffy towel. The bathroom mirror fogs around the edges as you run your fingers through your dry hair. You can hear muffled sounds from your roommate's bedroom—moans and bed springs squeaking—and feel a pull to join them.

Wrapped in just your towel, you pad down the hallway to your roommate's door. You push it open and freeze at the sight before you.

Your roommate is on her back, legs spread wide with her calves resting on Chris's shoulders. His hips move with powerful thrusts, driving deep into her as his dark head is bent to her chest, lips attached to one of her huge breasts. Her fingers are tangled in his hair, back arched as she cries out with each movement.

"Fuck, Chris!" she moans, her head thrown back against the pillows.

The sight sends a fresh wave of heat through you. Without hesitation, you climb onto the bed, kneeling beside them. Your towel loosens and falls away, leaving you completely exposed to the cool air of the room.

You reach out and gently grasp Chris's hair, pulling his face up from your roommate's breast. His eyes are dark with desire when they meet yours, lips swollen from his earlier attention to your roommate. His rhythm falters for just a moment before he resumes, never pulling out of her.

You lean down and capture his lips in a searing kiss. He responds immediately, his tongue tangling with yours as the kiss deepens. His hand slides from your roommate's hip to your body, fingers finding your already wet center.

"Still so wet for me," he murmurs against your lips, grinning as his fingers begin to stroke you with practiced expertise. "Best fucking night ever."

His thumb circles your clit as his fingers slip inside you, curving to hit that spot that makes your breath catch. The dual stimulation—watching him fuck your roommate while touching you—creates an overwhelming intensity.

Needing more, you shift your position, standing on the mattress and gently guiding Chris's head between your legs. He follows your lead immediately, his hands gripping your hips as he buries his face in your pussy.

His tongue laps at your folds, exploring every inch before focusing on your sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation is electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your fingers tighten in his hair as his tongue works magic, alternating between broad strokes and precise flicks that have you trembling.

"God, Chris," you moan, head falling back as his talented mouth brings you closer to the edge.

Your roommate is watching now, her own pleasure evident in her flushed cheeks and heavy breathing as Chris continues to thrust into her while simultaneously devouring you. The intimacy of the moment, the shared pleasure between all three of you, creates an almost surreal experience.

After several minutes of blissful torture, Chris pulls away, his face glistening with your arousal. He withdraws from your roommate, eliciting a disappointed whimper from both of you.

"Kneel up," he commands, standing beside the bed. "Both of you."

You and your roommate obey without hesitation, positioning yourselves side by side on the mattress. Chris stands before you, his impressive erection on full display. At this angle, you can fully appreciate his size—long, thick, and already dripping with precum.

Your roommate reaches out first, wrapping her hand around his base and guiding him toward her mouth. She takes him deep, cheeks hollowing as she sucks with enthusiasm. Chris groans, head falling back as he enjoys the sensation.

You don't wait to join in, leaning in to run your tongue along his shaft while your roommate focuses on the tip. Your hands explore his thighs and ass as you both work together, taking turns with his cock, sometimes kissing each other around him.

The sight of his length disappearing between your lips, mixed with the sounds of pleasure falling from all three of you, creates an incredibly erotic scene. Chris's fingers tangle in both your hair, guiding you as he watches with hooded eyes.

"Fuck, that feels amazing," he breathes, his hips beginning to thrust gently.

After several minutes of shared attention, Chris pulls away gently but firmly. "I need to be inside someone again," he says, his voice rough with desire.

He positions your roommate on her back once more, her legs wrapping around his waist as he enters her with a powerful thrust. She cries out, nails digging into his shoulders as he sets a relentless rhythm. You kneel beside them, watching as he brings her closer to her peak.

His hand finds you again, fingers sliding between your legs as he continues to thrust into your roommate. The dual stimulation is almost too much, but you don't want it to end. Your roommate's breathing becomes erratic, her moans higher in pitch as her orgasm approaches.

"Don't stop, please don't stop," she begs, her body trembling.

Chris redoubles his efforts, driving into her harder and faster until she shatters beneath him, crying out his name as her body convulses with pleasure. He continues to thrust through her orgasm, drawing out every bit of sensation before finally slowing.

Before you can process what's happening, Chris is moving behind you, his chest pressing against your back as he positions you on your hands and knees. Your roommate lies beside you, still recovering from her intense climax as Chris lines himself up with your entrance.

He enters you with one smooth thrust, filling you completely. You gasp at the sudden fullness, his hands immediately cupping your breasts, fingers teasing your nipples as he begins to move. The angle allows him to hit deep inside you, stimulating spots you didn't even know existed.

"God, you feel so good," he murmurs against your ear, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your roommate shifts to face you, reaching out to stroke your face and kiss you tenderly as Chris takes you from behind. The intimacy between all three of you intensifies the experience, creating a connection that goes beyond just physical pleasure.

"Fucking hot!", he exclaims at the sight of you and your roommate making out.

Chris's rhythm builds steadily, each thrust harder than the last. His hands grip your breasts firmly, using them for leverage as he drives into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with your increasingly loud moans.

"Please, harder," you beg, pushing back against him.

Chris obliges, his movements becoming almost punishing as he chases his own release. You can feel your orgasm building, tension coiling in your stomach as he hits that perfect spot again and again.

"I'm close," you gasp, fingers clutching at the bedsheets.

"Let go for me," he commands, one hand sliding down to rub your clit.

That added stimulation is enough to push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure radiating outward from your center as you cry out. Chris continues to thrust through your climax, prolonging the sensation until you're completely spent.

His rhythm becomes erratic as his own release approaches. With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you, groaning as he finds his release. You can feel him pulsing within you, filling you with his warmth as he collapses against your back.

All three of you collapse onto the bed in a tangled heap of limbs, breathing heavily as you come down from your shared highs. The room feels thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the air heavy with satisfaction.

After a few moments, Chris props himself up on his elbows, looking between you and your roommate with a mix of wonder and amusement. "You two are crazy," he says, a genuine grin spreading across his face. "You should meet Matt."

You and your roommate exchange glances, a secret smile passing between you.

[mbbvixen]

Twin Flames (Part 7)

Chratt X Reader (Chris&Matt x f! Reader) ft. Nate Mature | Explicit | MDNI You just got out of a relationship and wanted to try and explore new things. You joined an app and got an interesting offer. Part 6 Part 8

The silence of the beach house at three in the morning was a thick, velvety thing. You swam up from a deep, dreamless sleep, your bladder insistently pulling you to consciousness. For a disoriented second, you forgot where you were. Then the unfamiliar ceiling, the scent of salt and clean linen, and the memory of the ocean and three sets of hands on your skin came rushing back. A pleasant, deep ache lingered between your legs.

Right. The sleeping arrangements. After the intensity on the beach, a strange, sweet formality had descended. The three of them had decided—or more accurately, Chris had declared with a possessive grin—that you should have your own space, your own bed to recover in. There were two bedrooms. Chris had claimed one with Nate, a decision made with a raised brow and a smirk. Matt had lost a quick, brutal game of rock-paper-scissors and was relegated to the large, plush sectional in the living room. He’d shrugged, that quiet smile playing on his lips. “It’s a huge couch. I’ll be fine. More than fine.”

You slipped out from under the cool duvet, the wood floor chilly under your bare feet. Your room, while cozy, lacked an en suite. You had to venture out into the dark hallway. You padded softly past the closed door of the other bedroom, behind which you assumed Chris and Nate were asleep, and made your way to the hall bathroom.

When you finished, washing your hands in the dim glow of the nightlight, you stepped back into the hallway. A faint, blue-white glare came from the direction of the living room. Curiosity prickled. You peeked around the corner.

Matt was still on the couch, but he was sitting up, his broad back to you. The light came from his phone, illuminating the sharp line of his shoulder, the dark tattoo curling over his deltoid. He was wearing headphones, the faint tinny beat of music just barely audible. He scrolled slowly, absorbed.

A smile touched your lips. You moved silently across the rug, your steps making no sound. You reached the back of the couch and leaned over, gently tapping his shoulder.

He jumped, a full-body flinch, whipping his head around. His eyes were wide in the phone’s glow. He yanked the headphones down around his neck. “Jesus,” he breathed, a hand going to his chest. Then he recognized you, and his expression softened into warmth. “What’s up? You okay?”

“Just had to pee,” you whispered, smiling. “Room’s missing a bathroom. What are you doing up?”

He glanced at his phone, then back at you. “Just… couldn’t sleep.”

You rounded the couch and sat on the edge of the cushion beside him, tucking your feet underneath you. The fabric of his gray sweatpants was soft against your thigh. “Is it the couch? It looks cozy but maybe it’s not—”

“No, no,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Couch is great. Seriously. Just… mind won’t shut off.” He looked at you, his gaze intense even in the low light. “Too much good stuff to think about, I guess.”

The implication sent a warm shiver through you. You bit your lip. An idea, bold and simple, formed. “You could… come sleep with me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t mind. The bed’s big enough.”

He stared at you for a long moment. You saw the conflict in his eyes—the desire warring with his inherent, careful respect. “I shouldn’t,” he said finally, his voice rough. “Chris said you should have your own space. You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest better,” you insisted, leaning into him slightly. Your hand found his on the cushion, your fingers intertwining with his. “Please? I’m offering.”

That word, please, did it. The resistance in his shoulders melted. He let out a slow breath, a surrender. “Okay,” he murmured. “Okay, baby.”

He stood, offering you his hand. You took it, letting him pull you up. You led him back to your dark room, the moon casting long silver rectangles across the floor through the slats of the blinds. You both slid under the duvet. He settled on his side, and you turned your back to him, wiggling backward until your body aligned with his. His arm came around your waist, heavy and secure, pulling you snug against the solid, warm wall of his chest. His beard scratched gently at the nape of your neck. His other arm tucked under your own, his hand coming to rest on your stomach, just below your ribs.

You sighed, the tension you hadn’t even realized you were carrying seeping out of you. His body was a furnace, enveloping you. His breathing, deep and even, fanned the hairs at the back of your neck. Within minutes, you heard it—a soft, rhythmic snore, so quiet it was more a vibration against your spine than a sound. It was profoundly comforting. His breath, his warmth, his solid presence, lulled you back down into a deep, peaceful sleep almost immediately.

*

Morning came not with a jolt, but with a slow, golden seep of awareness. You woke because the room was bright, sunlight pouring through the window. You blinked, checking the time on your phone on the nightstand: 8:17 AM.

Then you felt him.

He was still wrapped around you, but in sleep, his hold had shifted, deepened. His arm was no longer just around your waist; it was draped fully over you, his hand having crept up under the thin fabric of your tank top during the night. His palm was resting, heavy and warm, directly over your breast, his fingers loosely curled. You could feel the rough pad of his thumb resting just beside your nipple.

His face was buried in the space between your neck and shoulder, his beard a delicious, prickly scratch against your sensitive skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. And pressed firmly against the curve of your ass, unmistakable even through the layers of fabric, was the hard, thick length of his morning erection.

A slow, liquid heat pooled low in your belly. You lay perfectly still for a moment, savoring the intimacy, the raw, sleepy masculinity of him. Then, almost without conscious thought, you gave a slow, subtle roll of your hips, grinding your ass back against his cock.

A low, sleepy hum vibrated through his chest and into your back. His fingers on your breast twitched, then gently squeezed. Not enough to wake you, but a reflexive, possessive response.

You did it again, a more deliberate grind.

This time, the hum became a murmur, his voice thick with sleep. “Mmm… mornin’.”

“Good morning,” you whispered back, your own voice husky.

His hand began to move. Not frantically, but with a slow, sensual purpose. His palm rubbed over your breast, the friction of your cotton tank top against your nipple making you suck in a sharp breath. His fingers found the peak and pinched gently, then rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. A bolt of pure pleasure shot straight to your core, and you pressed back against him harder.

You turned in his arms, wanting to face him, to kiss him. As you moved, your lips seeking his, he gently placed two fingers against your mouth.

He gave a soft, gruff chuckle. “Morning breath,” he rumbled, his eyes still heavy-lidded but now alight with a smoldering focus.

You both laughed, a quiet, intimate sound. The spell wasn’t broken; it was heightened. This was real, unvarnished, and deeply sexy.

Instead of kissing him, you pushed yourself up, swinging a leg over his hips. You straddled him, sitting on his lower stomach, the thin blanket and your sleep shorts the only barrier. You could feel the hard ridge of him beneath you. His hands came to rest on your thighs, his gaze traveling up your body, taking in your sleep-tousled hair, your flushed face, the way your tank top stretched over your curves.

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and began to move. You rocked your hips, grinding down against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. His eyes fluttered shut for a second, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth. His hands slid up to your waist, gripping you, helping you find a rhythm.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice raw.

He sat up a bit, propping himself on his elbows, not breaking the contact. With one hand, he shoved the waistband of his sweatpants and briefs down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out, thick and flushed, the head already glistening. The sight made your mouth water. At the same time, he ducked his head, catching the hem of your tank top with his teeth and pulling it up. He didn’t bother taking it off. He just found your breast, now bare to him, and took your nipple into his hot, wet mouth.

You cried out, the dual sensation of his mouth on you and the visual of his cock beneath you driving you wild. You scrambled off him for just a second, pulling your shorts and panties down your legs and kicking them off, then yanking your tank top over your head and tossing it aside. Now you were both naked from the waist up, you completely bare below.

You climbed back onto him, this time settling your knees on the mattress on either side of his hips. You reached between your bodies, your hand wrapping around his girth. He was so hard, so hot. You gave him a few slow, firm strokes, watching his face contort with pleasure. Then you guided him to your entrance, which was already slick and eager.

You held his gaze as you sank down.

It was a slow, breathtaking invasion. He was big, and you were still tender from the night before, but the stretch was exquisite, a filling, claiming pressure that made you see stars. You took him inch by glorious inch, until your ass met his thighs and he was buried to the hilt inside you. A guttural moan tore from both of you simultaneously.

For a moment, you just sat there, impaled, feeling him pulse inside you, feeling your inner muscles flutter around him as you adjusted. His hands flew to your hips, his grip bruisingly tight.

Then you began to ride him.

You started slow, lifting yourself almost all the way off before sinking back down, setting a deep, rolling pace. His hands moved over you—gripping your ass, squeezing handfuls of your flesh, then sliding up to span your waist, his thumbs rubbing circles on your lower stomach. He sat up further, capturing your mouth in a searing, breathless kiss, his tongue tangling with yours. This kiss tasted of sleep and him, and it was the most erotic thing you’d ever experienced.

His hands moved to your breasts, weighing them, his thumbs brushing over your nipples with each bounce of your body. The sensations multiplied, overlapped. The friction of him sliding in and out of your soaked core, the scratch of his chest hair against your nipples, the desperate, hungry sound of his kisses.

You found a faster rhythm, bouncing on his cock, using your thighs to drive yourself up and down. The bed began to creak softly in time. His groans became ragged prayers against your skin. “That’s it… fuck, just like that… you feel so goddamn good… ride me, baby, take it…”

You were close, so close, the coil in your belly tightening to a snapping point. Your movements became more frantic, less controlled. You were panting, sweat slicking your skin where your bodies met.

The bedroom door swung open.

Chris stood in the doorway, hair mussed, wearing only a pair of low-slung black boxers. He rubbed his eyes, then froze, his hand falling slowly to his side as he took in the scene: you, naked and gleaming, bouncing on his brother’s cock, Matt’s hands full of your ass.

“Looking for you,” Chris said, his voice husky with sleep but sharp with sudden awareness. His eyes were dark, locked on where your bodies joined. “You weren’t on the couch.”

Matt didn’t stop your movement, his hips meeting your downward thrusts. He grinned, a smug, possessive thing. “My sweet baby girl let me sleep in here,” he growled, his voice strained. “Couldn’t let me suffer on the couch.”

You hadn’t stopped moving, your rhythm only faltering for a second before you continued to ride Matt, driven by the need for your climax and the thrilling exposure of being watched.

Chris’s expression shifted from sleepy surprise to a theatrical pout, but his eyes blazed with pure, unadulterated heat. “Not fair,” he whined, but it was a predator’s whine. He strode into the room, his boxers already tented prominently.

You smiled at him over your shoulder, a breathless, inviting smile.

That was all the invitation he needed. He came to the side of the bed, then climbed onto it behind you, kneeling. His hands landed on your hips, his chest pressing against your sweaty back. He buried his face in your neck, biting down gently on the tendon there before soothing it with his tongue. His hands slid up your sides, over your ribs, and cupped your breasts from behind, his fingers finding your nipples and pinching, rolling, pulling.

The addition of his touch, his presence, was overwhelming. You moaned, your head falling back against his shoulder. You were still riding Matt, but Chris’s hands were everywhere, his mouth was on your skin, and his hard cock was pressed against the small of your back.

One of Chris’s hands left your breast and trailed down your stomach, through your damp curls, and found your clit. He rubbed tight, fast circles directly on the swollen bud, his fingers slick with your arousal.

It was too much. The dual stimulation—Matt pounding up into you from below, Chris working your clit from behind—shattered your control.

“I’m—Chris, I’m gonna—” you choked out.

“Come,” he commanded in your ear, his voice a rough whisper. “Come on his cock. Now.”

The orgasm exploded through you with violent, shocking intensity. Your back arched, a silent scream on your lips as your vision whited out. Your inner walls clamped down on Matt’s length in a series of frantic, milking pulses. The squeezing pressure was too much for him. With a ragged shout, he gripped your hips and lifted you off him, his cock sliding out just as he came. Hot stripes of his release painted your lower back and the back of your thighs as you trembled through the aftershocks.

Before you could even catch your breath, Chris was moving. He gently pushed you forward, towards Matt, until you were bent over, your hands braced on Matt’s chest. Your freshly fucked, dripping pussy was now exposed to Chris, presented to him.

Matt, still breathing hard, wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his come cooling on your skin. He nuzzled your hair, whispering, “So good, baby… so perfect.”

You felt Chris’s hands on your hips, positioning himself. You felt the broad, slick head of his cock nudge against your entrance—the same entrance Matt had just vacated. It felt impossibly sensitive, swollen, and used. He pushed in.

It was a different stretch. Chris was a fraction thicker, and he didn’t go slow. He sheathed himself in one long, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt in the wet, warm clutch of you that his brother had just claimed. A broken cry fell from your lips. It was overwhelming, a relentless fullness that bordered on pain before tipping back into mind-numbing pleasure.

“Fuck,” Chris groaned, his voice shuddering. “So fuckin’ tight… still so tight for me.”

He didn’t wait for you to adjust. He set a punishing pace from the first thrust, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. The force of it drove you forward into Matt’s embrace with every drive. Matt held you steady, his hands stroking your back, your hair, whispering encouragements.

Chris’s hands were possessive on your hips, then one hand came down on your ass with a sharp, stinging smack. You jolted, a gasp punching out of you. He did it again, on the other cheek, the pain blossoming into a deep, submissive heat. He spanked you in time with his thrusts, each slap making you clench around him, which drove him wild.

“My turn,” he grunted, each word punctuated by a deep, driving plunge. “You… take… him… so… pretty… but you’re… mine… right… now…”

He was fucking you harder than Matt had, harder than anyone ever had. The angle was devastating, hitting places deep inside you that made you see sparks. The spent sensitivity from your first orgasm was being ruthlessly pushed into a second, coiling peak. The slaps on your ass, the feel of Matt holding you, the animalistic sounds Chris was making—it was a sensory overload that short-circuited your brain. You were just a body being used for their pleasure, and it was the most liberating thing you’d ever known.

“Gonna come again,” you sobbed, the words muffled against Matt’s chest. “Please…”

“Do it,” Matt urged, kissing your forehead. “Come for him.”

Chris hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you back onto his cock even harder, his thrusts becoming shorter, more erratic. “Cream on my cock, baby,” he snarled. “Now!”

The second orgasm tore through you, a seismic wave that left you boneless and screaming into Matt’s shoulder. Your body convulsed around Chris’s length, and with three more ragged, deep thrusts, he pulled out of you completely.

Hot, wet splashes hit your back as he came, groaning loudly, painting your spine with his release. He collapsed forward slightly, his head resting between your shoulder blades, his chest heaving against your back.

The room was filled with the sound of ragged panting, the smell of sex and sweat and salt. You were a mess between them—Matt’s come on your back and thighs, Chris’s adding to the wet, cooling patch on your spine, your own arousal slick between your legs.

Matt was gently stroking your hair. Chris was nuzzling your back, placing soft, almost apologetic kisses on your stinging skin.

Your bleary, satiated gaze drifted toward the doorway.

Nate stood there, leaning against the frame. He was fully dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, a glass of water in one hand. His other hand was down the front of his shorts, moving slowly, deliberately. His eyes were locked on the three of you, on the tableau of spent, intertwined bodies. His expression was unreadable—a mix of intense fascination, raw hunger, and something else… something like awe. He didn’t look away. He just watched, his hand working beneath the fabric, his breath coming a little quicker than the moment should allow.

[sweetnsturns]

kiss it better—c.s.

✧ bsf chris!, friends to lovers, dom!chris, teasing, clit stimulation, unprotected sex

✧ summary: you're sexually frustrated after months without sex and during a seemingly innocent hangout with chris, tensions and casual touches escalate until he offers to "help you out," finally satisfying your needs.

✧ word count: 2.3k

✧ authors note: i need to go to horny jail bc why have i been writing nonstop. also sue me im a sucker for friends to lovers. (also also if u saw this posted earlier no u didnt that was an accident.)

it's been three months. three long months since your last hookup, and your body was making you pay for it. you felt exposed, every casual touch from a stranger felt like a jolt. it was hell.

so when chris texted you, "come over? we can chill. i'm tired," you almost cried with relief. you needed the comfort, the platonic intimacy, the distraction from the constant arousal that had become your every day.

he answers the door in gray sweatpants and a worn out band tee, looking soft and domestic and completely harmless.

you hand him the takeout you brought, and he grins, pulling you into a quick, one armed hug.

"missed you," he says, his voice warm in your ear. it's a normal thing to say, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

you settle on the couch, a decent amount of space between you. he puts on some dumb action movie you've both seen a dozen times and you dig into the food.

for a while, it's fine. it's normal. you're laughing, yelling at the screen, arguing about which character has the most ridiculous death scene.

but then he leans forward to grab the remote, and his arm brushes against your breast. it's nothing. a quick touch. but your entire body reacts. you feel your nipples stiffen instantly, a familiar heat pooling in your gut. you shift, pressing your thighs together under the blanket you'd pulled over your lap.

he flops back against the cushions, slinging his arm up along the back of the sofa behind you. "god, i'm exhausted," he sighs, letting his head fall back.

you can see the pulse ticking in his neck and the way his shirt's pulled tight across his chest. he's just laid out for you like that, all long and tall and unfairly hot.

"long week?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

"you have no idea." his eyes are closed. he looks vulnerable. "just… wanna relax."

you nod, then hesitate. "scoot down a bit."

he cracks an eye open. "why?"

"just… come here." you pat the space between your legs. "you look like you're about to fall over."

he considers it for a second, then shrugs, shifting so he's lying with his cheek against your chest, you wrap your arms around his back, pulling the blanket up over both of you.

it's better. it's worse. the solid weight of him against you is comforting, but it's also igniting every frustrated cell in your body. you can feel the warmth of his skin through his t-shirt, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

you can smell his shampoo, something clean and woodsy. your fingers start to twitch against his back, itching to tangle in his hair.

this is chris. your chris. your best friend. get a fucking grip.

you try to focus on the movie. you really do. but then he shifts, settling in deeper, and he presses right against your core. a tiny, involuntary gasp escapes your lips. you freeze, hoping he didn't hear.

he didn't seem to. but a few minutes later, he does it again, a subtle roll of his hips as he gets comfortable. it's innocent. it means nothing. but to your desperate body, it does.

you can feel yourself getting wet, a slick warmth spreading between your thighs. you press them together harder, a useless attempt to calm down the ache.

"you okay?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your chest. "you're all tense."

"fine," you squeak. "just… cold."

he hums, a low, skeptical sound.

his hand comes up to cover yours where it's resting on his side.

"your hands are freezing," he says, rubbing his thumb over your fingers.

"told you," you manage, your voice tight.

he chuckles, a soft, breathy sound that vibrates right through you. he brings your intertwined hands up to his mouth, blowing warm air onto your fingers.

it's an act of simple kindness, but his lips are so close to your skin, and all you can think about is them somewhere else.

"better?" he asks, his eyes still closed.

"mhm," you lie. you're burning up.

the movie ends, and the menu screen starts looping, the annoying theme music filling the silence.

neither of you moves to turn it off. the air in the room feels thick, heavy.

then, he shifts again. it's not subtle this time. it's a deliberate, slow roll of his hips against you. and you feel it. the hard, thick line of his cock pressing firmly against you.

your entire body goes rigid. your breath catches in your throat. he's hard. he's hard, and he's pressed against you, and he knows.

"chris?" your voice is barely a whisper.

he doesn't answer. he just does it again, a slower, more deliberate grind. a low groan rumbles in his chest, a sound you feel more than hear.

"you're squirming," he says, his voice thick and husky. "have been all night."

you can't deny it.

"i…"

"shhh," he murmurs, finally turning his head to look at you. his eyes are fucked out already, blown wide and black with it, lashes low and heavy like he's halfway to wrecked just from looking at you. "just… feel it."

his hair's all fucked up from the couch, lips parted and pink, and he looks wrecked and hungry and hard, the line of his jaw tight, and you can see his chest rising and falling like he's barely holding himself back.

he rolls his hips again, a perfect, filthy pressure against your clit. a whimper tears from your throat. it's embarrassing, how responsive you are, how little it takes.

"yeah," he breathes, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. "that's what i thought."

he lets go of your hand, bringing his up to cup your jaw. his thumb strokes your cheek, his touch gentle. "how long has it been?"

you know what he's asking. your face flames with shame. "too long."

"poor thing," he coos, and it should be condescending, but it just sounds hot. "all wound up with no one to help you."

his knee slides between your legs, pressing right up against your soaked leggings. you gasp, your hips jolting forward involuntarily.

"so eager," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "tell me what you need. let me help you out, baby..."

you shake your head, burying your face in his neck. you can't say it. admitting it out loud would make it real, would cross the boundary you've been clinging to.

he chuckles, a low, dark sound. "no? okay. i'll guess."

his hand slides down your side, over your hip, and comes to rest on your ass, squeezing the flesh through your leggings. you moan, a broken, needy sound.

"need someone to touch you?" he whispers, his other hand coming up to tangle in your hair, tugging your head towards him gently. "need someone to take care of this tight little pussy?"

you can only nod, your eyes squeezed shut.

"look at me," he commands. you force your eyes open. his gaze is intense, boring into you. "i've been right here this whole time. all you had to do was ask."

he leans in, and for a heart stopping second, you think he's going to kiss you.

but he stops, his lips hovering a breath away from yours.

"beg for it," he whispers. "tell me how much you need it."

something inside you snaps. the frustration, the desperation, the weeks of pent up need.

"please," you choke out, the word ragged. "chris, please. i need it. i need you."

that's all he was waiting for. his mouth is on yours, hungry and demanding.

it's a kiss of starvation, his tongue is in your mouth, claiming you, and you kiss him back with equal desperation, your hands gripping his hair, pulling him closer.

his hand slides from your ass around to the front, pushing between your legs. he groans into your mouth when he feels the wetness seeping through your leggings.

"fuck," he pants, breaking the kiss. "you're soaked. god, you really needed this, didn't you?"

he doesn't wait for an answer, just pushes your leggings down, his fingers finding your slick, swollen folds. you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand as he circles your clit.

"so sensitive," he murmurs, watching your face as he slides a finger inside you. "gonna come just from this? just from my fingers?"

you can't form words, just babble his name as he adds a second finger, curling them just right.

his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing in tight, circles as his fingers pump inside you.

you're grinding down on his hand, shameless in your desperation, chasing the release that's been building for months.

"look at you," he breathes, his voice thick with awe and satisfaction. "so fucking beautiful."

you can feel the orgasm building, your thighs starting to shake. "chris…i'm gonna…"

"no," he says, pulling his hand away completely.

the loss is so sudden, you cry out a wounded, frustrated sound. your eyes fly open, glaring at him. "what the fuck?"

he just smirks, a slow curve of his lips. he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked on yours as he licks them clean (which was hotter than you wanted to admit). "not yet. you don't get to come that easy."

he shifts, kneeling between your legs, taking off his shirt in one smooth motion.

mouth goes dry at the sight of his chest, the lean muscle dusted with hair that trails down into his sweatpants. he hooks his thumbs into the waistband, pausing.

"you want this?" he asks, palming his hard cock through the fabric. it looks thick, heavy, and your whimper in response.

you nod, eyes wide, transfixed by the movement of his hand.

"use your words," he commands, his voice dropping to that low and rumbly tone. "tell me what you want."

you swallow past the lump in your throat. "i want you to fuck me."

"how?" he presses, dragging his sweatpants down just enough to free himself. your breath hitches. he's bigger than you expected, thick and flushed, curving up towards his stomach. he wraps a hand around it, giving it a slow, lazy stroke. "tell me how you want me to fuck you."

"hard," you whisper, then say it louder, with more conviction. "i want you to fuck me hard."

his eyes flash with desire. "that's my girl."

he leans over you, bracing his hands on either side of your head. he doesn't enter you, just lets the head of his cock drag through your wet folds, bumping against your clit. you whimper, lifting your hips, trying to take him in, but he pulls back, teasing you.

"so impatient," he tuts, but he's smiling. "been thinking about this, haven't you? lying in your bed at night, touching yourself, wanting to be fucked like this?"

"yes," you admit, the word a breathy confession. "god, yes."

he lines himself up then, pressing just the tip inside. you gasp at the stretch. he pauses there, torturing you.

"who gets to make you feel like this?" he asks, his voice a low growl.

"you," you moan, trying to push your hips up and take more of him.

"that's right."

with one smooth, powerful thrust, he buries himself in you. you cry out, your back arching off the couch. it's a painfully good stretch, the feeling of being completely full. he stills for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

"fuck," he groans, his voice broken. "so tight. feels like you were made for me."

then he starts to move. it's exactly what you asked for. hard, deep strokes that make you gasp. the couch is creaking with every snap of his hips.

his hands are gripping your thighs, holding you open as he pounds into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

"this what you needed?" he grunts, his rhythm brutal. "to be fucked like a little slut? is that why you've been so tense?"

you can only moan in response, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. the pleasure is overwhelming.

"chris… please," you beg.

"come on," he pants, his thrusts becoming erratic. "come for me."

he shifts his angle, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes your vision go white.

"that's it, that's it," he groans, fucking you until you're a whimpering, oversensitive mess.

he pulls out suddenly, and you whine at the loss. he flips you over with surprising strength, maneuvering you onto your hands and knees. he grabs your hips, pulling your ass up in the air, and slides back into you from behind.

the new angle is devastating. he's hitting even deeper now, letting out little grunts with every thrust. one of his hands leaves your hip to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back.

"look at me," he commands, his voice rough. you twist, looking back at him over your shoulder. his face is flushed, his eyes dark. "who's fucking you this good?"

"you are," you gasp, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain down your spine. "you're fucking me so good."

"damn right i am," he grunts, his rhythm faltering. "gonna fill this little pussy up. you want that? want me to come inside you?"

"yes," you sob, pushing back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. "please, chris. come in me."

with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself deep and stills. you feel him pulse inside you, a warm flood filling you up as he groans your name, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

he collapses against your back, his weight pinning you to the couch cushions, both of you breathing heavily in the sudden silence. for a long moment, neither of you move.

finally, he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"so," he murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin. "still tense?"

[michaelsbm]

favorite employee ღ (18+)

mature!michael jackson x reader

warnings/contents: michael jackson x secretary/personal assistant!fem reader, obsession, kind of toxic, stalking, jealousy, michael making you and your boyfriend break up, age gap (reader is in her late 20s to early thirties) cocky michael, softdom!michael, pet names, smut, p in v, fingering, reader is a squirter, overstimulation, dacryphilia, breeding kink (if you squint), not proofread, ect ect

word count: 2.5k+ (i think)

w/a: this was requested by an anon a couple days ago, now i’m writing it teehee, i hope you guys enjoy with one,

working for michael was exhausting. not because of the workload or the endless phone calls, the schedules, the interviews, the rearsals, or the chaos that naturally came with being the personal secretary to the most famous man on earth. it was exhausting because michael was obsessed with you, deeply obsessed. you weren’t entirely sure he even realized how obvious he was being anymore.

“can you come upstairs for a second?” you looked up from your desk with a sigh, gripping the office phone between your shoulder and cheek. “michael, i was just up there five minutes ago.” “i know.” “then what do you need now?” nothing was said in the other line for a long time, michael choosing his choice of words carefully. “i forgot.” you blinked slowly. “michael.” “just come up here real quick.” “you are a grown man.” “and yet I still need you.” your face warmed instantly, almost forgetting he was your boss. “that was smooth,” you muttered. he chuckled, you can hear the smirk in his voice. you hung up, getting ready for michael to make up some bullshit excuse about why he called you up to his quarters.

the hallways of neverland were quiet tonight, soft golden lampost glowing against the windows as you made your way toward wherever he was upstairs. you already knew this was going to be something ridiculous, it always was. the second you walked into his room, michael looked up from the couch, instantly smiling. he looked at you like you were the best part of his day, giving you instant butterflies.“ you called me up here for what exactly?” you asked, crossing your arms. michael glanced around dramatically before pointing toward the tv remote sitting beside him. “are you serious?” “it fell.” “it’s literally next to your leg.” “i didn’t wanna get it.” you stared at him annoyingly.“you’re so unbelievable.” “but you came anyway.” his grin was devastating. at forty-something years old, michael flirted like a teenager with his first crush with constant compliments, lingering touches, excuses to keep you near him for hours longer than necessary, and sometimes he’d even ask you to sit beside him while he worked because, according to him, “the room feels weird when you’re not in it.” and the staring, dear god, the staring. you’d catch him watching you constantly. at meetings, in the studio and during dinner breaks. his dark eyes would follow you around the room so intensely it made your stomach twist. not in a creepy way exactly, just so overwhelming. like he adored you too much.

“you busy tonight?” michael asked casually. “yeah,” you answered, grabbing the remote and tossing it into his lap. “i’m having dinner with my boyfriend.” the shift in his expression was immediate, his smile faltering for less than a second. “oh,” he said quietly. “you okay?” “mhm.” but he looked away too quickly. michael hated your boyfriend. his hatred pooling inside burner accounts and fake usernames at two in the morning. because michael stalked your social media, almost religiously. he hid behind a harmless looking fan account with blurry concert photos and moon emojis. you followed it back months ago because the comments were always sweet. what you didn’t know was that michael himself spent hours scrolling through your posts under that account, reading every caption, watching every story you posted, zooming into your smile in photos and saving pictures and liked. pathetic behavior for a global superstar, but he couldn’t help himself. he wanted every piece of you he could get.

then he saw him, your boyfriend. the picture nearly made michael sick. your boyfriend stood behind you in the photo, arms wrapped around your waist while you smiled brightly at the camera.

“mine 🤍”

that caption alone ruined michaels entire night. he stared at the image until jealousy twisted sharp and ugly inside his chest. and suddenly, every time you mentioned your boyfriend at work, it felt unbearable. michael wanted to rip the word boyfriend out of your vocabulary entirely. “you deserve better,” he muttered one afternoon while you organized his paperwork. you glanced up. “better than what?” “him.” you laughed softly. “you don’t even know him.” “i know enough.” “you’re being dramatic.”michael leaned back in his chair, watching you carefully. “am I?” the way he said it seemed like he knew that you already knew the answer, it made heat creep up your neck. your boyfriend was a dick a times, always missing dates, staying out late, and overall just being a bad boyfriend. michael knew he needed to get rid of him, and fast.

the breakup didn’t happen immediately, michael planned it carefully. first came the anonymous messages. fake screenshots sent to your boyfriend suggesting you were getting too close to michael. then pictures of you and michael leaving the studio together late at night and anonymous emails implying michael had feelings for you. your boyfriend grew insecure quickly. “you spend more time with him than me,” he snapped one evening over the phone. “he’s my boss,” you argued. “he wants you.” you laughed nervously. “michael flirts with everybody.” but even as you said it, you realized that wasn’t entirely true. michael treated you differently and everyone noticed it. your boyfriend had become increasingly irritated about it. especially after michael started calling you at ridiculous hours for unnecessary reasons. “can you help me pick between these jackets?” “at midnight?” “they both look nice and i need your opinion.” “michael…” “please?” you went every time.

the actual breakup happened on a rainy thursday night. you were halfway through dinner with your boyfriend when his expression suddenly hardened. “what?” you asked anxiously. he tossed his phone onto the table. your stomach dropped, itwas another anonymous message. this time worse. a blurry photo of michael holding your hand while leading you through an airport. “i’m done.” your boyfriend exclaimed. “what?!” “you’re emotionally involved with him and you don’t even realize it.” “that’s not true!” “really?” he snapped. “because everyone can vouch for me and you know it.” your chest tightened. “he’s my friend.” “he’s obsessed with you.” the words hit harder than they should’ve. “he’s manipulative,” your boyfriend continued bitterly. “and to be frank, i think you like the attention.” tears climbed into your eyes immediately. “that’s unfair.” “no,” he said quietly. “what’s unfair is feeling like I’ve been competing with michael for months.” he got up and walked out of the restaurant, leaving you there alone. and just like that it ended.

you cried the entire drive to neverland, of course you went to michael, who else would you go to? he answered the door himself wearing gray sweatpants and a loose black shirt, with his hair down and reading glasses. the second he saw your tear streaked face, his expression dropped. “oh baby…” his voice softened instantly. that was your breaking point. you burst into tears. michael pulled you into his arms immediately without hesitation, holding you tightly against his chest while you cried. “hey, hey…” he murmured gently, rubbing your back. “what happened?” “he broke up with me,” you whispered in broken gasp. michaels jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remaining soft.“come inside.” he guided you carefully to the couch, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders before disappearing briefly into the kitchen. when he returned, he handed you tea exactly the way you liked it

you stared at the cup, “how did you know?” “you mention things,” he said quietly. but really, he knew because he paid attention to everything about you. you sat there trembling while Michael stayed close beside you, his hand resting gently against your knee. “he said you were obsessed with me,” you admitted weakly. michael went very still. “and what did you say?” “that he was wrong.” a strange look crossed michaels face, something between guilt and longing. “he wasn’t completely wrong,” michael stated. your breath caught. “what?” his thumb brushed lightly over your knee. “i care about you too much,” he said quietly. “probably more than i should.” the room suddenly felt smaller. your heart pounded as you looked at him, michaels eyes were already on you.

“you’re the first person I wanna see every morning,” he confessed. “i look for excuses to keep you around because i hate when you leave.” your pulse quickened. “michael…” “i know it’s crazy.” his voice dropped softer. “but I think about you all the time.” the honesty in his expression made your chest ache. you’d never seen him look so nervous before. “you make me happy,” he whispered. “and I know this is probably the worst possible time to admit that.” you should’ve stopped him, should’ve stood up and walked away. but instead you whispered, “i think about you too.” michael inhaled sharply. his eyes flickered down to your lips instantly. the tension between you snapped tight. “tell me to stop,” he murmured. but he was already leaning closer , giving you time to pull away. you didn’t.

his hand rose gently to your cheek, warm and trembling slightly against your skin. then finally michael kissed you. the second your lips moved against his, he made the quietest sound in the back of his throat, something relieved and aching all at once. after a few seconds, the kiss deepened. years of hidden affection pouring out all at once. his hand slid into your hair carefully while the other stayed against your waist, holding you like something precious, you melted against him instantly. he’d imagined this moment a thousand times before it actually happened. when he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. his forehead rested lightly against your, glasses slightly falling foward. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that,” he whispered. “michael, i.. i need you.” you blurted out, not aware of what your actually telling michael. his eyes widened, never thinking you would be that bold. “are you sure?” he asked, making sure you know what your getting into. “yes, please michael.” he smirked, getting up from the couch and suddenly carrying you bridal style, making your pussy clench around nothing.

your panties, bottoms and top are discarded somewhere across his bedroom floor. you don’t recall exactly how you got here, just michael working you like nothing you’ve ever felt before. michael is on top of you, playing with your cunt like it’s a work of art. he slides his index and middle finger in and out, slightly curling his fingers against your sweet spot. his fingers feel exquisite, stretching you out perfectly. “fuck michael…” you moan out, back arching off the bed. “you’re so tight, i wonder how my dick will feel inside you, hmm?” he nibbles on your ear. he looks so hot under the dim lighting, making you so close to climax. “michael… im so close..” you admit, feeling the familiar warm sensation in your stomach. he pulls out his fingers, and you whine at the lost of contact. “i’m sorry baby, i want you to cum around my cock.. okay?” despite him ruining your orgasm, you nod silently. “i want you to do something for me sweet girl, come at the end of the bed and flip over,” he orders, and you follow exactly that. now you’re laying on your stomach, awaiting what he has planned.

“prop your ass up for me baby,” heeding his command, now your ass is against his crotch. he groans at the sensation of your leaking pussy against his boxers. he pulls down his underwear, his rock hard cock flinging out. “see what you do to me? i’ve been thinking about this since ive first met you. you can’t imagine how bad the pain was, me knowing that your disgusting ex boyfriend got this every night drove me crazy.” he says, now stroking his cock, biting his lip at the sight of your aching pussy. “michael, please..” “please what baby?” “please fuck me..” you beg, you can’t take this prolonged teasing anymore. “okay baby, but look up for me.” you look up, now that you are not shying away, you spot the large mirror on the wall infront of you. “you have to look at this mirror the entire time, if you don’t i just might just have to stop, do you want me to stop?” “no! no michael please i’ll look at the mirror just put it in.” he chuckles at how desperate you are for him. he pumps his cock one last time before pushing his tip in. “ouhhh fucuckkkk…” you roll your eyes back, the initial stretch is painful, tears start swelling up in your eyes again.

“i-i know baby i know, it’s gonna feel good soon okay? i promise.” he pushes inside you by a couple inches, still not all the way inside. fuck how big was he? “m-michael i don’t know if i can take it,” you cry out, it’s painful, but it also feels so good. “you can take it my love, you can do anything.” then he slides all the way in. your walls grip him like an intruder, but also welcoming him in at the same time. seeing the tears streaming from your glassy eyes makes him moan quietly, he never would’ve thought you would be crying all up on his cock like this. you stare in the mirror, you feel so dirty, this is still your boss after all. yes you and your boyfriend had sex, but it never felt like this, you probably look like a dumb fuck out virgin to michael. “you feel so good, shit…” he gropes your ass gently with one hand and holds your hips with the other. “can i move now sweetheart?” “y-yes…” you struggle to get the word out of your throat.

he starts to thrust inside you, dragging up and down your walls. the sound of skin on skin contact fills the room. you whimper and moan subconsciously, stuck in your own world. one particular thrust hits your cervix perfectly, making your climax sneak up on you out of nowhere. “OUHHHGG, michael!!” you squirt all over the bed sheets. “oh shit baby, i didn’t know you could do that, fuckk” he groans out, now plowing into you. you take a peep into the mirror again, seeing how he’s absolutely ruining you right now. how could your soft spoken, never raised his voice, kind and sweet boss make such a mess out of you? with him still pumping his cock deep inside of you after came, you start to feel overstimulated. you trip the bed sheets around you, looking for anything to draw your attention to elsewhere. michael notices this and brings both of your hands behind your back. “you want me to cum inside you? huh baby?” you ask condescendingly, “YES, yes michael, fill me up with your babies please, dear god. i think i’m gonna-” you squirt all over again, drenching the sheets even more then you did the first time. he follows suit, taking one last deep thrust before he releases inside of you. “ohhh… god..” he exhales out falling on top of you. you both are trying to catch your breath, still trying to come down from your highs. he takes a hand and cups your jaw, directing you to the mirror once again, “you see how good we make each other feel, i think we’re meant to be? tell me if i’m wrong.” “no no michael, i’m yours, fuck… i’m all yours, we’re meant to be.”

w/a: omg this was so hot thank you anon for the request, this weekend i have days off so yk what that means…

[rockinmywrld]

THROUGH THE WALL

Type: One Shot

Genre: smut

Pairing: Jafaar Jackson x Reader

Tags: #Jafaar Jackson, #cheating, #forbidden, #celebrity x reader

Summary: It’s the final wrap party of Michael. You worked hard these past couple of months and excited for the world to see your project. You were always on the outskirts but you contributed like anyone else, you always watched Jafaar from afar but never had an opportunity to speak. One plants itself when you you meet Jafaar on the balcony and hit it off. You take him back to your hotel room only for him to realize you are neighbors and his fiancé is just one wall away.

authors note: TW M*ddie mention and cheating.

first jafaar ff kinda nervous 🤭🤭

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You play with your curls one more time before giving up. It will never sit the way you want it to but you figure it’s alright. No one will be looking that hard.

You’re just an assistant of another assistant.

You go unnoticed 90% of the time.

Tonight you decide to step out of your comfort zone and where something a little more flashy.

A Carolina blue silk cocktail dress with a dangerous slit. A low neckline that you pair with a long gold necklace.

You apply your lipstick one more time, smooth your dress, and spray some perfume.

Nerves sit low in your belly but you do your best to ignore them. It’s just a casual event. Just to bring everyone together one last time before production begins editing. The hard parts are over. All that’s left is editing which is way above your pay grade.

You grab your clutch on your way out the door. One of your last perks of being on the team was that your hotel room was paid for.

You take the elevator to the 16th floor where the event is being hosted. It’s 5:45, there’s about 15 minutes before it’s actually started. But again you are not a main star so there’s no need to show up fashionably late.

You sit in the lobby just before the ballroom and fidget with your hair and makeup. You reapply gloss and crimp your curls. You check your makeup but this lighting does not do you any justice.

After while you just scroll on your phone and wait for the doors to open. After about 20 minutes the doors finally open and a man in all black stands in front.

You hear a crowd of people come and duck in between them. Even though you were the first one to arrive, you find it slightly embarrassing to be the actual first one inside the ballroom.

When you get to the door the man asked for your name, you tell him, and he scans the list searching and when he finds it he gives you a nod. For a second you were worried you didn’t make the cut.

The ballroom is littered with circle tables draped in cream silk. Assortments of flowers don every table. Off to the side there is a long table with finger foods. In the corner there’s a dance floor.

The room fills with overlapping chatter. You take a seat in the back where no name cards are present. You assume it’s for the people like you who were invited but not noticed. Either way you are grateful for the opportunity and a reason to dress up on a random Wednesday evening.

After an hour, you feel comfortable enough to get food. Majority of people who matter are here, even the star himself Jafaar Jackson. Your eyes catch on him from across the room, he looks insanely handsome.

He wears a black suit with a diamond broach to bring the look together. It’s simple but yet so elegant on him. Probably costs more than what you were paid.

You note that he also brings his fiancé. This mystery figure you weren’t even so sure existed. But there she was. Taking up space.

You notice that she doesn’t look to happy with her arms folded and borrows drawn tight.

You take note but move on and get a plate. The portions were so small. You’ll never understand why rich people insist of eating portions of a toddler, regardless you make it back to your seat and people watch.

Your eyes find Jafaar subconsciously, his laugh lights up the room. It’s hard to not be drawn to him. You’ve seen him from afar for years. Even now, he’s there and you are sitting in the back of the room.

You could go talk to him, he’s a nice enough guy who would spare you a couple of words. But your butt is glued to the chair. It’s unfortunate because you think you look pretty tonight.

After another hour or so, you excuse yourself and go to the bathroom to freshen up. On your way back to the ballroom you over hear something. It sounds like an argument.

“I told you, I didn’t want to come but you dragged me here anyways!” A women shouts.

“I know and I’m sorry. But you told me to bring you around more often and…” a man’s voice responds. It’s soft, gentle—familiar.

You realize it’s Jafaar and his fiancé. Should you retreat or stay and listen?

“Not like this. There’s no cameras or paparazzi. No important people to capture us together. This is just a dumb party.” She snaps.

Geez, she must be a joy to be around. You think.

“So what do you want to do?” Jafaar says in a tone you never heard before.

“I’m going back to the room. Call me if anything interesting happens.” She storms away before he can respond.

A heavy sigh expels from deep in his chest as if it had been sitting there all day. You wait for him to walk away before you finally peak out from your hiding spot.

You feel air fill your lungs again, you didn’t realize you had been holding your breath. Before going back to the Ballroom you catch the night bleeding into evening. It’s beautiful, you must take a picture.

For the first time in months you can actually see the stars scattered across the sky. You go to the nearest balcony with your camera out. One last momento to remember your time by. You turn to take a selfie with the sky when you catch a figure in the frame.

“Oh! I’m sorry—I didn’t see you there!” You say quickly.

“No you’re all good.” He says.

It’s Jafaar. Looks like he had the same idea as you.

“I can go,” you offer.

“No. It’s okay. Stay.”

“I wasn’t taking a photo of you—the sunset is very beautiful so,” you stumble. You feel your cheeks getting red.

He laughs. It’s soft and barely audible. But it still makes your stomach flip. Even in the evening light he’s still incredibly handsome.

“I know. Just do your thing.”

“Okay,” you say.

But now you feel self conscious. Your smile doesn’t feel genuine and it’s weird posing in front of people.

You give up and sigh.

“Would you like me to take a picture for you?” He asks.

“Oh-uh sure,” you murmur.

He walks closer, each step like a knife to your heart. Your heart pumps so fast you might just faint.

Pull yourself together! It’s just a photo! You tell yourself.

You hand him your phone and your fingers brush past each other in an electric moment.

You try to ignore it to stop your cheeks from reddening.

You lean on the railing with a slight smile, only hoping that you don’t look like a total idiot.

“1..2..3..1..2..3” he says before handing the phone back.

“Thanks.”

You don’t even bother looking at the photos because you feel like they didn’t turn out good. How could it when your mind was going a mile a minute.

“Of course,” he says. After a beat he continues, “are you here for the Michael party?”

“Yeah, you? Wait—I mean—“

He laughs, “yeah me too.”

“I didn’t mean. I already knew that.”

God girl, you are not playing it cool.

You clear your voice, “I’m sure everyone tells you this, but you did phenomenal.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a silence between you and you don’t know if you should break it or just go back to the party. You look out at the sky for any answers but find nothing.

Luckily for you, he does.

“Are you here as crew or a plus one?” He finally says.

“Crew,” you respond.

“Oh really? What’s your job.”

“Officially? I’m just an assistant but in reality I’m whatever they tell me I am that day,” You say truthfully.

“Yep, it’s pretty demanding job,” he agrees.

“Not as demanding as yours, I’m sure.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I can’t do my job if it wasn’t for you.”

“Thank you…”

“Of course.”

All of the sudden the skill of communicating with others gone down the drain because silence engulfs the two of you once again.

You’re usually not like this, but yet again you don’t usually talk to Jafaar Jackson of all people.

“I like your dress.” He breaks the silence again.

“Really?” You smooth the fabric.

“Yeah. The color is very eye catching. I noticed it in the ballroom.”

“Thank you,” you say not knowing what to do with the knowledge that Jafaar Jackson: one complimented you, and two noticed you before you ever spoke.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you return the compliment back. A smile creeps up your lips. You feel your cheeks heat and let the rosiness win. If you blush, so be it. It’s not like you will see him again after this anyways.

“Why thank you,” he says.

This time, when silence falls it’s not awkward or still. It’s electric and exists in a moment where you two lock eyes. It’s charged and uncharted. Your heart beat drowns out the ocean in the distance.

Your eyes trace the lines of his face from his curled hair to his fish like ears. Your throat drys when your eyes meet his lips.

You realize it’s not just you, and you see his eyes drop to where your leg peaks from the slit. He bites his lip before flicking his eyes to meet yours.

“I guess… it’s time to go back. I’m sure everyone is looking for you,” you breathlessly say.

“Or…everyone can assume I left with Maddie. And I follow you to your room so we can..talk more,” he offers.

His words are golden and dripped in sweet honey. You’d be a fool to pass on it.

“Okay,” you agree.

He gestures for you to lead the way. And you do, your mind spinning. Is this actually happening or? What ever this is or what ever is to happen you vow to keep it in the closet.

You call for the elevator, skin buzzing with anticipation. Every step to get to your room felt like an out of body experience, as if you were watching someone else instead of you.

You guide him down the hall.

“This is me,” you tell him.

His face hardens. Your fantasy instantly shatters. Reality must’ve hit him.

“Is..everything alright?” You pry. Your tone light.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s just, my room,” he lowers his voice, “my room is right there.” He points the one door down.

Your heart drops to your stomach.

“Oh!”

“Just means, we are going to have to be quiet,” he takes your key card and reaches over you to open the door.

He playfully pushes you into your room.

It’s slightly messy. You’d clean it up if you knew you were going to have guest. But like who could’ve guessed he was going to come in your room. Regardless you apologize for the mess anyways.

He tells you it’s fine as he takes off his suit jacket to reveal, an off white button up that strains against hard muscle.

You throat dries but your core not so much.

“Would you like something to drink?” You offer just to fill the silence.

“I’m good. Thank you.” He rejects politely. He takes a seat on one of the chairs by the door.

You just stand by, playing with one of your bangles.

What do you do with a boy in your room?

Well, you can think of many things you want to do but you aren’t too sure that’s what he’s on. Because he is engaged.

Right. He’s engaged.

The horned fog clears from your mind. You remember the argument from earlier and realize maybe he just wants a listening ear.

“I heard a bit of you and your fiancé argument earlier…is everything alright?” You keep your words light and not too pushy.

“You heard that?” He sinks in on yourself.

“Yeah..”

He sighs then rakes his hands down his face.

“Sometimes she’s impossible to please,” he admits. “She’s asking for so much and I can’t do everything she asks.”

“That seems pretty rough but I see you are trying your best,” you offer. It’s the best you can come up, you aren’t really trained in celebrity couple consoling.

“Yeah well my best isn’t enough for her these days.”

You grab his hands in support instinct fully.

“I’m sorry—“

You go to remove your hands but he catches your wrist. It’s small in his hand, and his warmth envelops you. Leaving you still. Electricity shots from where your hands meet.

He pulls you closer, his eyes look up at you and your core flutters. This close you can smell his cologne, and catch how slow his chest rises and falls.

Your hands land on his shoulders when he pulls you down to his lap. A breath escapes your lips. His name plays on your tongue. Should you stop him ? Or keep going? Your body tells you see what happens. But your mind screams his future wife is on the other side of this wall.

Your bed frame probably shares the same wall as hers.

Your faces hover dangerously close, you feel his nose graze yours. You feel this magnetic force between his lips and yours. They beg to connect. He takes a hand to slip one of your fallen curls behind your ear. It’s gentle and so domestic.

Your eyes watch his lips, they are red and look beyond soft. You inch your head closer to his, he smirks before finally pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft and barely anything. His eyes search yours for any hesitation and when he finds none, he comes back a little harder this time.

His lips parts yours in a swift moment. His hands find their way to your neck, and squeeze just enough to feel something. Your hands grab at his collar.

His thumb brushes over your skin, soft and sends tingles throughout your body.

Jafaar gets greedier and takes more from you. Pressing hard, exploring your mouth and body. You moan against his lips as you try to keep up with his pace.

Your chest burns deliciously from the lack of air. You grab his face tighter for support. He shifts you to straddle him in one swift move. It was like you were weightless.

This deepens the kiss. The air fills with the pop of lips and heavy breaths and nasty panting. Your hips begin to roll against his crotch searching for any friction. He grabs your ass in a tight squeeze that elicits a low groan from you.

His huge hands explore your body, touching and grabbing wherever they could. You reciprocate it with your own hands that undo the buttons of his shirt. Which exposes warm tough skin. He looks just like you imagine. Toned and muscular.

He smirks at your reaction to his body before his huge hand grab your face into another intoxicating kiss.

At some point the chair becomes to limiting, and he decides to take the both of you to the bed. He lifts you like you are a paper bag and gently places you on the bed.

You watch as he removes his shirt. You squeeze your legs to ease the building pressure. You need him badly.

He notices your dire situation and joins you on the bed, spreading your legs open. He trails soft kisses up your inner thigh. Each kiss setting small fires, each kiss settling on sensitive skin. Your toes curls the closer he gets to your needing core.

“Is this okay?” He asks through batted lashes.

He’s between your legs, on the teeter of your unraveling. Yes it beyond okay!

“Mhm,” you murmur.

“I need a yes or no,” he pushes, his voice gentle yet firm.

“Yes,” you breathe. Anything to make him touch you again.

“Good girl,” he says and it floods your basement.

Jafaar spreads your legs even wider, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. He pulls your panties to the side to expose your pulsing and swollen clit. The slight brush of his knuckles almost sends you over the end.

You are so sensitive and aching a simple breeze might just make you climax.

Your breathing is uneven as you watch him tease you.

He places the softest kisses around your clit, soft licks here and there. It take all your control to not grab him by the head and shove your pussy in his mouth.

“Jafaar…” you whine.

Your hips rock against his face. He finally stops teasing and tastes you fully. His warm and wet tongue swipes against your clit. Each swipe sets your neurons on fire. At first it’s slow but as your moans increase so does his tempo. He licks and sucks like a starved man.

“Jafaar!” You moan.

“Shh! Remember who’s next door,” he teases. “You don’t want us to get caught, do you?”

“N-no,” you reply, though you are not sure if it was in your head or out loud.

You can help anymore and you begin riding his face. His groans and moans vibrate in your core sensing waves of sensation. Making you arch your back.

Your hips begin to buckle in the telltale sign of an approaching orgasm. His grip on your hips becomes piercing as he holds you still, your struggles feeble. A nasty orgasm through you in repeating waves. Your arousal squirts across his face. And a guttural moan escaped your throat despite trying to contain it. It’s loud and long.

Your body vibrates and shakes as the after effects flow through you. Your clit still pulsing and sensitive.

Jafaar lips drag up your stomach to your neck, biting, sucking then leaving butterfly kisses to soothe. He attacks the most sensitive part of your neck. How he knows your body so well is beyond you but all you do know is that you don’t want it to stop.

His other hand slips between your legs, soothing your swollen clit, making you twitch each time his fingers come into connect with it. He then slips two fingers at the entrance and presses gently. You do your best to relax and make way for him. Two long thick fingers slide against your walls.

Jafaar attacks you from all over. His lips on your neck and breasts, and his hands inside your body slowly massaging your g-spot.

Your moans increase each time he hits that spot.

“Shh,” he reminds you again.

But you take it as a suggestion rather than an order.

“Be quiet,” he warns. Menace drips into his words.

But how can he ask you to be quiet while he finger fucks you into oblivion.

“I—“ you breathe, “I can’t.”

“Try harder,” he bites hard on your neck.

You moan louder as another orgasm hits you.

“This won’t do.” He says after removing his fingers from inside of you. He walks over to his discarded clump of clothes.

He picks up his tie, sits on the edge of the bed then lifts your head up. He wraps the tie around your mouth.

“Maybe this will help,” he says then kisses where your lips would be.

He strips completely nude. Your eyes catch on his long, thick, and pulsing cock. Suddenly glad for the gag over your mouth.

He aligns himself with you.

“I’ll be gentle I promise,” he kisses your cheek.

He grabs on thigh as leverage and presses slowly into you. You clutch around him on instinct which elicits a hiss from him. Do your best to welcome him in but the pressure is intense.

His hips rock slowly back and forth, slowly loosing you up for more.

“You’re doing so well,” he tells you through gritted teeth.

You moan against the restraints.

After a while, he can finally pick up the pace. The rhythm he settles for his smooth and sensual. The tip of his cock grazes your g-spot with each slow withdrawal and reentrance. You hips match his, as you ride the pleasure.

Each thrust loosens the tie around your mouth and your moans escape into the air.

“We can’t have that,” he spots. Flips you on your stomach and ties it even tighter this time.

Now he drives into you from the back, the head board bangs against the wall. He throws a pillow in the space to drown it out.

You burry your face in a pillow to drown out your own screams. The tie is not enough. How could it be when he’s drilling into with the force of a tidal wave.

Even if your moans are muffled, the sound of skin smacking and rhythmic bed squeaks fill the room. If she doesn’t comprehend what’s going on she’s a fool.

It’s so fucked up in a way that turns you on even more. You take pride in knowing that she must have an idea of what’s going on over here, just not of who.

When you lift your head, the tie slips again but you bite down on your lips to keep quiet.

He flips you around again to lock lips. Your fingers tangle as his hips rock into you. He kisses you with the passion of lovers on their honeymoon.

Your tongues lock and swirl. Your teeth clash, and your lips mush together in a sloppy mess. It’s unclear where you start and he begins.

Apart of you wonders if he’s this friendly with every girl he meets on a balcony.

But who cares? He’s in your guts right now. When he could be in hers. But instead she’s on the other side of the wall, possibly hearing this sinful symphony.

It feels like hours or maybe days but the two of you just can’t get enough of each other. It’s like you were made for one another.

You get on top and finally ride you both into your bone crushing orgasm. Your vision goes electric white and thick hot ropes paint your insides. You feel your arousal dripping between your bodies. You both release moans fill the space where the aggressive pounding held.

Your final orgasm is more satisfying than the others. It’s all consuming and brutal. You don’t know who you are anymore.

You slump on top of Jafaar who cuddles you close. You breathe in his natural smell and it grounds you. You slowly come back to earth. Your breaths catches up with your heart.

Most of all the reality of your situation hits you. You on top of Jafaar Jackson. His clothes mixed with yours scattered on the floor. Again, you on top of Jafaar Jackson, who is engaged but also your coworker!

“I…” you try to say. You want to say something but there are no words that can capture what you’re feeling.

“Yeah,” he mirrors.

You two lay in eachother for another 30 minutes before he peals himself from you. He collects his clothes and heads to use your bathroom.

After another 30 minutes, he comes back, looking way more presentable than he had half an hour before. But you can still see the reminisce of you all over him. In the slight red marks on his neck, or how wrinkly his shirt is and in his swollen lips.

“I would love to see you again,” he starts, “but—“

“But this was a one time thing,” you finish for him.

“It’s just with the circumstances…You know I’m—“ He scratches his head.

“Engaged,” you finish again.

“Yeah…”

You both look at eachother because that’s all you can do. One night isn’t going to convince him to leave his fiancé and one night isn’t enough for you to considering going through that drama too.

Although it was one beautiful, wonderful, incredible night.

It seems he agrees and leaves you with one more long kiss that screams goodbye.

Maybe you’ll see him again. Maybe you won’t. Either way he leaves with a soft click, as if he was never here at all.

But your body serves as the only proof that he indeed here.

[actlikeyoudontknowthekid-deacti]

Inner Freak

A/N: this one real nasty. Can’t even imagine Michael actually doing this 😭😭

Warning: FREAKSHIT

November 12th, 1982

The afternoon sun bled through the windows of Michael’s Encino estate, casting long, lazy beams across the plush cream carpet of the master bedroom. You were lost, comfortably so, belly-down on the massive bed, chin propped on a pillow as you turned a page of the novel you were trying to finish. The house was quiet, a rare thing. The only sounds were the whisper of the central air and the distant hum of the city beyond the gates.

You heard the bedroom door click open, but didn’t look up. You knew his footfalls, that light, almost dancing step. You felt the dip in the mattress as he climbed onto the bed, felt the heat of his body as he settled beside you, silent. You could smell him—his cologne, something clean and citrusy, and beneath it, the warm, musky scent of him.

“What’cha reading?” His voice was soft, but it had a strange, thrumming quality to it, a vibration that seemed to travel through the mattress into your bones.

You held up the book’s cover without looking. “Some thriller. It’s okay.”

He didn’t respond. The silence stretched, thick and expectant. You turned another page, the sound absurdly loud. Then you felt his hand, not on your back, but on your hip, his fingers curling into the soft cotton of your shorts. His touch was electric, and it made your breath catch.

“Michael?”

“I can’t stop thinking,” he murmured, his voice now a low rasp right by your ear. His breath was hot. “All day. In the studio. In the car. It’s… it’s like a fever.”

You finally turned your head to look at him. He was propped on one elbow, his face close. His eyes, usually so bright and playful, were dark, intense, the pupils blown wide. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His famous features were drawn tight, not with anger, but with a desperate, consuming need. You’d seen him hungry for a song, for a performance, but this was different. This was primal.

“Thinking about what?” you asked, though you already knew. Your own pulse began to hammer in your throat.

His answer was a slow, deliberate grind of his hips against the side of your thigh. Through the thin silk of his pajama pants, you felt the hard, insistent length of him. It wasn’t just an erection. It was a presence, thick and urgent, demanding attention. A shiver, half fear and half sheer anticipation, raced down your spine.

“You,” he breathed. “Like this. Just like this.” His hand on your hip tightened, his thumb stroking a small, maddening circle. “I had a dream last night. I woke up… like this.” He pressed himself against you again, a slow, undeniable roll. “And all I could think was… I need to ruin you today.”

The word—ruin—hung in the air. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise, delivered with such raw, aching want that it liquefied something deep inside you. Your mind went blank, the book forgotten. All you could feel was the heat of him, the tension in his body, the stark need in his eyes.

“I need you to understand,” he whispered, leaning closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’m not gonna be gentle. I’m not gonna be… Michael. Not right now. I can’t.”

You swallowed, your mouth dry. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he repeated, his voice dropping even lower, a guttural sound. “You sure?”

You nodded, your cheek rubbing against the pillowcase. “Yes.”

That single word of consent seemed to break a dam within him. A sound, something between a groan and a sigh, escaped his lips. The playful, boyish charm was gone, stripped away, leaving behind something feral and focused.

His hands moved with a sudden, shocking certainty. One slid under your stomach, his palm flat and hot, pinning you gently to the mattress. The other went to the waistband of your shorts and your panties beneath. In one smooth, decisive motion, he yanked them both down to your mid-thighs. The cool air of the room kissed your exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the feverish heat radiating from him.

You gasped, the sensation of sudden exposure making you instinctively clench. You were fully bared to him, vulnerable, presented. He didn’t pause to look, to admire. His need was a locomotive, and it was already at full speed.

You felt him shift behind you, heard the rustle of silk as he freed himself from his pants. You didn’t need to look to know what you’d see—the proud, flushed length of him, slick already at the tip with his need. The mental image alone made you shudder.

Then his body covered yours, not fully, but he leaned over you, his chest pressing into your back. One of his hands remained splayed on your stomach, holding you down. The other…

The other hand found the cleft of your ass. His fingers, slick with something—spit, you realized with a dizzying jolt—pressed against your tight, untouched entrance. There was no preamble, no gentle probing. He was breathing hard, ragged breaths that ghosted over your shoulder.

“Gonna take you here,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Gonna make it mine. You feel how much I need it?”

He pressed the thick head of his cock against you. It was an impossible stretch, a burning pressure that made you cry out, your fingers clawing into the bedsheets. “Michael… it’s… oh, god, wait—”

“Shhh,” he soothed, but it was a command, not comfort. His hips pushed forward, an inexorable, steady invasion. “Just breathe. Take it for me. Take it.”

The burn was intense, a white-hot ring of fire as your body resisted, then yielded, millimeter by agonizing, exquisite millimeter. You buried your face in the pillow, a muffled scream caught in your throat. It wasn’t pain, not exactly. It was a brutal, overwhelming fullness, a claiming so profound it felt like he was reaching into your very core.

He seated himself fully with a final, deep thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. He was buried to the hilt, his body flush against yours, his groin pressing into your ass. He went utterly still for a moment, both of you trembling with the shock of the connection. You could feel every pulsing vein of him inside you, feel the way your own body clenched and fluttered around the foreign, wonderful intrusion.

He froze for a moment, buried to the hilt, his body trembling with the shock of the connection. You could feel every pulsing vein of him inside you, feel the way your own body clenched and fluttered around the foreign, wonderful intrusion. His breath hitched, ragged and uneven, as he pressed his forehead into the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh…” he moaned, the sound torn from deep in his chest, a raw, guttural expression of pleasure that sent shivers down your spine. “Damn… you’re so tight. So perfect. Clenching on me already.” His voice was low, almost reverent, as if he couldn’t believe the way your body was responding to him. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you firmly in place as he leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back.

“You feel that?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and uneven. “You feel how much I need this? How much I need you?” He shifted slightly, just enough to make you gasp as the movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you. “You’re taking me so well, baby. So deep. So fucking tight. I can’t—I can’t get enough of you.”

His words were like a spark, igniting something primal and desperate within you. You could feel the way your body was responding to him, the way it was tightening around him, pulling him deeper, as if it couldn’t get enough either. His groan was deep, almost pained, as he rocked his hips gently, savoring the sensation.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice trembling with desire. “So fucking perfect. I could stay like this forever. Just… fucking buried inside you. Feeling you clench around me. Feeling you take every inch of me.” His hands slid up your sides, fingers tracing the curve of your spine as he pressed another kiss to your shoulder. “You’re mine. Right now, in this moment, you’re mine. And I’m never letting you go.”

His words were a promise, a vow, and you could feel the truth of them in the way he held you, in the way his body trembled against yours. You were his, completely and utterly, and in that moment, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Then he moved.

It wasn’t a rhythm. It was a taking. He pulled back almost all the way, the drag a delicious, shocking friction, then slammed back in, hard and deep. You saw stars. A ragged cry was ripped from you.

“Yes!” he hissed. “Like that. Give me that sound.”

He set a brutal, punishing pace from the very first stroke. No gentle build-up, no searching for angle. This was pure, unadulterated need. His hips pistoned against you, each thrust a deliberate, deep conquest. The slap of skin on skin filled the quiet room, a lewd, rhythmic percussion to his ragged breaths and your helpless cries.

The initial burning stretch melted away, replaced by a deep, radiating heat that spread through your pelvis and up your spine. The feeling was unbelievable. It was too much—the depth, the friction, the sheer wrongness of it that made it feel so incredibly right. Every nerve ending felt alive, screaming with sensation.

His hand on your stomach slipped lower, his fingers sliding through your slick folds from behind. You were drenched, your own arousal a shocking counterpoint to the anal violation. He found your clit, already swollen and throbbing, and pressed the pad of his thumb against it in rough, circular strokes.

The dual assault shattered you. A scream, loud and unbidden, tore from your throat. Your body arched off the bed, back bowing, as a violent, unexpected orgasm ripped through you. It was an avalanche, starting deep where he was buried and radiating outward in crashing waves of pleasure. Your internal muscles clamped down on him in rhythmic, involuntary spasms.

“Fuck!” Michael roared, his thrusts becoming erratic, brutal. “You’re coming? On this? You dirty… oh, god…”

His voice was raw, stripped of its usual smooth melody, replaced by a guttural growl that sent shivers down your spine. His hips pistoned against you with unrelenting force, driving deeper, harder, as if he were trying to fuse himself to you. You could feel every inch of him, every pulsing vein, every throbbing ridge, and it was overwhelming in the most delicious way. His hand on your stomach tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as he leaned over you, his breath hot and ragged against your back.

“You’re such a fucking mess,” he hissed, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and lust. “Taking me like this—letting me ruin you—and still coming like a little slut. Oh, baby, you’re perfect.” The words were rough, almost angry, but they lit a fire in you, made you clench around him even tighter. He groaned, a deep, shuddering sound that seemed to come from the very depths of his chest. “Fuck, I can feel you—your body’s just milking me. You’re made for this, aren’t you? Made for me.”

His thrusts became even more erratic, losing their rhythm as he lost himself to the intensity of the moment. You could feel him trembling above you, his muscles taut with the effort to hold himself together. “I can’t—I can’t stop,” he panted, his voice breaking. “You’re dragging it out of me, baby. I’m not gonna last—I’m not gonna be able to hold back.” His hand slid down to your hip, gripping tightly as he adjusted his stance slightly to get deeper inside you. “God, I wanted to make it last, but you’re too good—too fucking perfect. You’re ruining me.”

The combination of his words and the relentless rhythm of his thrusts pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the pleasure building, growing, spreading through your body like wildfire. His thumb found your clit again, pressing hard against the sensitive nub in fast, rough circles. “That’s it, baby,” he growled, his voice low and urgent. “Let go—come for me. Come on my cock while I’m buried deep inside you. Let me feel it—let me feel how much you love it.”

And you did. The pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, sweeping you away in a flood of sensation. Your body clenched around him, muscles spasming uncontrollably as you screamed, the sound loud and raw and unrestrained. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pure satisfaction, as he felt you come apart around him. “Fuck, yes—that’s it, baby. That’s it. Take it—take all of me,” he growled, his thrusts becoming even more erratic as he chased his own release. “You’re so fucking perfect—I can’t—I’m gonna—”

His voice broke off in a ragged cry as he buried himself deep inside you one last time, his body shuddering uncontrollably as he came, pulsing hot and thick within you. You could feel every pulse, every spurt, and it sent another wave of pleasure through you, prolonging your own climax as you both rode the waves together. For a moment, the world ceased to exist—there was nothing but the two of you, lost in the intensity of the moment, completely and utterly consumed by each other.

Your climax seemed to unleash something even more animalistic in him. The careful control vanished. He reared up, pulling you back with him so you were on your knees, your back pressed to his sweaty chest. One arm banded around your ribs, holding you impossibly close. The other hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back so your neck was exposed to his biting kisses.

The change in angle was devastating. He was hitting a spot so deep, so profound, it felt like he was rearranging your insides. Each thrust now jolted through your entire body, making you see flashes of light behind your eyelids.

“Mine,” he grunted into your ear, his voice guttural, almost unrecognizable. “This is mine. Say it.”

You were sobbing with pleasure, mindless, feral. “Yours!” you choked out. “Oh, God, Michael, it’s yours!”

“Again!”

“Yours!” you screamed, as he pounded into you, the bedframe now slamming against the wall with the force of his thrusts.

He was everywhere—his scent, his sweat, his voice, his cock claiming a part of you that had never been claimed. The pleasure was a taut wire winding tighter and tighter inside you, a coil of pure sensation threatening to snap. You were babbling, begging, though you didn’t know for what—for more, for him to stop, for it to never end.

His arm around you tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh. His breathing hitched, turned into sharp, desperate gasps. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled, his hips stuttering. “Gonna mark you inside. You want that? You want me to ruin you?”

“Yes! Please!” you begged, completely lost to the madness.

With a final, shuddering roar that was part scream, part sob, he slammed into you and held there, buried to the root. You felt him pulse, once, twice, a deep, internal throb that seemed to go on forever as he spilled his release deep inside your clutching heat. The feeling of it, the hot, intimate flood, triggered a second, even more violent orgasm for you. Your body seized, convulsing around him, milking him dry as you screamed yourself hoarse, a wordless cry of absolute surrender.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your combined, ragged breathing and the frantic beating of your hearts. He collapsed forward, taking you down with him, both of you a tangled, sweaty, spent heap on the rumpled sheets. He was still inside you, still connected, both of you trembling with aftershocks.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled out. The sensation was a slow, slick emptiness that made you whimper. He rolled onto his back beside you, one arm flung over his eyes, his chest heaving.

You lay on your stomach again, feeling utterly wrecked, used, and more satisfied than you’d ever been in your life. Your entire body hummed. You could feel the evidence of his possession leaking from you, a warm, sticky reminder. The room smelled of sex and sweat and him.

After a minute, his hand found yours on the sheets, his fingers lacing through yours. His grip was strong, possessive. He turned his head on the pillow to look at you. The feral intensity was gone from his eyes, replaced by a sated, dazed warmth, and something else—a look of awed, almost reverent satisfaction.

He brought your knuckles to his lips and kissed them softly. “You okay?” he asked, his voice back to its normal, softer register, though still rough around the edges.

You could only manage a weak nod, a small smile touching your lips.

He grinned then, that famous, boyish grin, though it was tempered by the carnality of the last half hour. “Good,” he said, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

The silence in the room is a living thing, thick with the scent of spent passion and sweat. You lie there, feeling the slick, warm evidence of Michael’s claim slowly seeping from you, a physical echo of the feral intensity that just consumed you both. His fingers are still laced with yours, his grip loose now but no less possessive. You can hear his breathing, deep and even, beginning to slow.

Then, his thumb moves. A single, deliberate stroke across your knuckle.

“Up,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seems to travel from his chest, through the mattress, and into your bones.

You turn your head on the pillow, meeting his eyes. The sated warmth is still there, but beneath it, you see the embers. Glowing. Ready to be stoked back into a blaze. He’s not done. He promised he wasn’t done.

“Michael…” you start, your own voice a rough whisper.

He doesn’t let you finish. In one fluid motion, he swings his legs off the bed and stands. The afternoon light catches the sheen of sweat on his lithe, dancer’s physique, highlighting the smooth planes of his back, the tight curve of his ass. He is a study in coiled grace, even now. He turns, looking down at you where you’re still sprawled, wrecked and deliciously used. His expression is unreadable for a moment—a blend of awe, hunger, and that deep, driving need you’ve come to recognize.

He reaches down, his hand not asking, but taking. His fingers wrap around your wrist. “Come on,” he says, and it’s not a request. It’s a directive. “We’re filthy.”

You let him pull you up. Your legs are shaky, the muscles in your thighs trembling with the memory of the violent climaxes he wrung from you. You stand naked before him, feeling exposed, seen in a way that goes beyond the physical. He looks you over, his dark eyes traveling from your face, down your throat, over your breasts, lingering at the junction of your thighs, and finally back up. It’s a look that catalogues his property, appreciates the marks—both visible and invisible—that he’s left.

“Good,” he says, almost to himself. Then he tugs your wrist, leading you towards the en-suite bathroom.

The master bathroom is a cavern of marble and chrome, opulent and cool. He doesn’t turn on the overhead lights. Instead, he flicks a switch that ignites a series of soft, recessed bulbs around the enormous, sunken Jacuzzi tub. But he bypasses the tub entirely, leading you straight to the large, glass-walled shower.

He releases your wrist to turn the knobs. A hiss, then a roar as water erupts from the wide, rainfall showerhead above and several body jets on the walls. Steam begins to billow, fogging the glass. The room fills with the sound, a white noise that feels both isolating and intimate.

He steps into the spray, pulling you in after him.

The hot water is a shock, a cascade of sensation that makes you gasp. It sluices over your head, your shoulders, washing away the initial layer of sweat and stickiness. It runs in rivulets between your breasts, down your stomach, over the tender, well-used flesh between your legs. You tilt your head back, letting it pound on your closed eyelids.

Michael stands facing you, the water plastering his dark curls to his forehead, running in streams down the elegant lines of his face, over his full lips. His eyes are open, watching you through the downpour. The predatory smile is back, a subtle curve of his mouth as he sees you revel in the heat.

He steps closer. The water is now hitting both of you, a pounding, rhythmic massage. His hands come up to your shoulders, his touch firm, anchoring. He leans in, his mouth finding yours under the spray.

The kiss is not soft. It’s a reclamation. His lips are demanding, his tongue pushing past yours with a focused intensity that steals the breath the water hadn’t already taken. You can taste yourself on him, a musky, intimate flavor that sends a fresh, dizzying jolt of arousal straight to your core. Your hands come up to his slick chest, your fingers sliding over the smooth, hot skin, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours. Water runs from the tips of his nose and eyelashes onto your face. “Turn around,” he says, his voice barely audible over the shower’s roar.

A shiver that has nothing to do with the water races through you. You know what he wants. The memory of the bed—the burning stretch, the overwhelming fullness, the brutal, perfect rhythm—floods back, and your body clenches in empty, aching anticipation.

You obey.

Turning, you present your back to him. The hot water now hits your shoulder blades, streaming down your spine. You brace your hands on the cool, wet tile of the shower wall, your fingers splayed. You hear him move behind you, the subtle shift of his weight on the wet floor.

His hands land on your hips, his grip sure and strong. His thumbs dig into the dimples at the base of your spine, massaging in small, rough circles. He leans in, and you feel him, hard and insistent once more, pressing against the cleft of your ass. The promise is explicit, undeniable.

“You’re still so open for me,” he murmurs, his lips against the wet skin of your shoulder. One of his hands leaves your hip, sliding down over the curve of your ass. His fingers trace the sensitive, swollen rim he’d claimed so thoroughly just minutes before. You flinch at the touch, a bolt of pure, electric sensation shooting through you. “Still soft. Still mine.”

His fingers probe, not invading, but testing. The sensation is incredibly intimate, a focused attention that makes you push back against his hand instinctively. A low chuckle vibrates against your back. “Eager,” he notes, his voice thick with approval. “My greedy girl.”

The hand on your hip tightens, holding you steady. You feel him shift, the blunt, slick head of his cock nudging against you. There’s no spit this time, no crude lubrication. Just the hot water streaming over both of you, and the natural, aching readiness of your body.

“This time,” he says, his breath hot in your ear, “I want to feel every drop of water. I want to feel it pushing me into you.”

He presses forward.

The entry is different this time. There’s no sharp, burning resistance. Your body, still humming and loose from his previous possession, yields to him with a shocking, wet ease. The hot water seems to ease the way, creating a slick, heated channel as he sinks into you. It’s a slow, deliberate invasion, an inch-by-inch reclamation that steals the air from your lungs in a long, shuddering sigh.

Oh, god.

The fullness is immediate, profound. He’s thick, and the stretch is there—a delicious, burning ache that speaks of use and ownership—but it’s welcomed, needed. You drop your head forward, a moan torn from your throat, lost in the sound of the shower. Your fingers curl against the tile, seeking purchase.

He seats himself fully with a deep, rolling thrust of his hips that presses your stomach against the cool wall. He’s buried to the hilt, his body flush against yours, his groin tight against your ass. He goes still, both of you panting, trembling in the steam. The water cascades over your joined bodies, running in streams down the valley of your spine, over the tight clutch of your connection.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the word a reverent prayer against your skin. “It’s even better. Hotter. Tighter.” He rolls his hips, a minute, grinding motion that makes you cry out. “You’re clamping down on me like a fist. Like you don’t want to let me go.”

He begins to move.

It’s not the frantic, punishing pace from the bed. Not yet. This is something else—a slow, deep, measured claiming. He pulls back almost all the way, the drag exquisite and maddening, the water creating a unique, slippery friction. Then he pushes back in, a long, smooth stroke that fills you up completely. Each thrust is a deliberate act of possession, a reaffirmation of what he took before.

The sensations are multiplied, distorted by the water. The heat from the spray blends with the internal heat he’s stoking. The slap of wet skin is muffled, but the deep, internal impact of him is magnified. With every slow, penetrating drive, water is forced around him, into you, a bizarre and incredibly erotic sensation that makes you feel even more open, more invaded, more his.

“You feel that?” he grunts, his pace beginning to incrementally quicken. His hands are on your hips, fingers digging in, using you for leverage. “The water… it’s everywhere. It’s like I’m fucking you with the whole shower.”

You can only moan in response, your mind fracturing under the dual assault of sensation. The rhythmic pounding of the water on your back and shoulders syncs with the rhythm of his thrusts, until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. You are a vessel for him, for the water, for the pleasure.

His control starts to slip. The slow, deep strokes become harder, faster. The slap-slap-slap of his hips against your ass becomes audible even over the shower’s roar. He leans over you, his chest pressing against your slick back, his mouth finding the side of your neck. He doesn’t kiss—he bites, a sharp, possessive claim that makes you jolt and clench around him violently.

“Yes!” he hisses against your skin. “Squeeze me like that. Ruin me back.”

His hand slides around your hip, his fingers delving through your soaked curls, finding your clit. It’s throbbing, swollen, hyper-sensitive. He doesn’t stroke it. He presses the heel of his hand against it, grinding it with the force of his thrusts, creating a relentless, indirect pressure that has you seeing stars.

The coil inside you, which never fully unwound, is winding again, tighter and tighter with every deep plunge of his cock. Your cries are continuous now, a broken stream of sound lost in the steam. You’re pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts, desperate for more, for the friction, for the delicious, brutal fullness.

“Who does this belong to?” he demands, his voice guttural, ragged. He punctuates each word with a hard, driving thrust. “This. Tight. Little. Hole.”

“You!” you sob, the word ripped from you. “You, Michael, only you!”

“Damn right,” he growls. His arm bands around your waist, locking you against him. He changes the angle slightly, pulling you up so your back arches. The new position makes him go even deeper, hitting a spot that makes your knees buckle. He holds you up, his strength undeniable.

The pace becomes frantic, feral. He’s fucking you now in earnest, no pretense of measured control. It’s a raw, desperate sprint towards mutual destruction. The shower wall is slick under your palms, your body sliding against it with every powerful drive of his hips. Steam clouds the glass, enclosing you in a wet, heated world of nothing but sensation and him.

His fingers on your clit become more specific, circling the swollen nub with frantic, rough precision. The dual stimulation—the deep, pounding invasion and the frantic circles on your clit—pushes you to the edge with terrifying speed.

“I’m gonna come,” you scream, the sound strangled. “Michael, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he snarls, his own voice breaking. “Come all over my cock. Let the water wash it away and I’ll just make you come again. Do it!”

The command, the sheer possessive arrogance of it, is the final trigger. Your orgasm detonates, a silent, screaming explosion behind your eyes that seems to pull every nerve in your body taut before shattering it. Your body convulses, clamping down on his cock in a series of violent, rhythmic pulses that milk him, pull at him. A raw, guttural scream is torn from your throat, echoing off the tile.

Feeling you come apart around him shatters the last of his restraint. With a roar that sounds like it’s been ripped from his soul, he slams into you one final, devastating time and holds there, buried to the root. You feel him pulse, a deep, throbbing release that seems to go on forever, hot even against the scalding water. His release floods you, a claiming that feels even more profound here, under the cleansing spray, as if he’s marking you as his in a way no soap can ever wash away.

His body jerks against yours with each spurt, his arms trembling where they hold you. He collapses forward, his weight pressing you into the wall, his forehead resting between your shoulder blades. You both stand there, supported by the wall and each other, shuddering through the aftershocks as the hot water continues to cascade over you, washing away the physical evidence but sealing the claim deep in your bones.

For a long time, there is only the sound of the water and your ragged, synced breathing. Slowly, the world begins to filter back in. The feel of the tile under your cheek. The steam. The gradual softening of him inside you.

He finally moves, pulling out with a slow, slick sound that makes you whimper at the sudden, aching emptiness. He turns you gently in his arms, your back now against the wall. He looks down at you, his eyes soft, dazed, sated. The feral hunger is banked, for now. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, wiping away water and… you realize, tears.

He doesn’t speak. He just looks at you, his expression one of awed, exhausted satisfaction. Then he leans in and kisses you, softly this time. A kiss of gratitude, of connection, of profound, unsettling peace.

He reaches behind you and turns off the water.

The sudden silence is deafening. Dripping. Your own heartbeat loud in your ears. The steam slowly begins to clear.

He grabs a large, plush towel from a heated rack and wraps it around you, rubbing your arms briskly before securing another around his own waist. He leads you, quiet and pliant, out of the shower and back into the bedroom. The afternoon light has shifted, casting longer, golden shadows across the rumpled bed.

He guides you to the edge of the mattress and sits you down. He kneels on the floor in front of you, the towel gaping at his waist. He takes your feet, one at a time, and dries them with a tenderness that contrasts violently with the animalistic passion of moments before. He works his way up your calves, your thighs, patting the towel gently over your skin. His touch is methodical, reverent.

When his hands, still holding the towel, reach the apex of your thighs, he pauses. He looks up at you, his dark eyes gleaming in the low light.