asmine!

I had an anon come into my inbox yesterday and admit to me that they are thirteen years old but that they lie about their age and say they're 24 so that they can interact with adult blogs. They then proceeded to tell me that they have interacted sexually with adults on tumblr who are unaware of their actual age and that they will use it as ammunition and blackmail those people if anyone ever tries to kick them off tumblr for being a minor??

I debated whether I should even make this post or not, because I don't know who the person is, and I can't even be sure that it wasn't just someone trolling? I have no idea. But I just wanted everyone to be aware and be careful. I know a lot of us have close friends on here and people we love and care about, but you don't actually know who you're interacting with or what their intentions are.

I am deeply disturbed that anyone would ever do this. Please understand that if you are a minor on this app, it's okay to be here! You can write and read whatever you want. However, it is highly inappropriate to be lying about whether you're an adult or a minor, and the distinction is important for everybody's safety.

ⁱⁿ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ exᵎᵎmatt sends your annoying boyfriend a video of him fucking you.

whimpers and the sounds of the bed creaking fill mats room. you know what your doing is wrong, you just came to get your things back and leave. but matt knows what to say to get to you, and he takes that to his advantage. hence why your legs are currently slung over his shoulders as his slow sloppy thrusts hit your spot over and over again. "tssk look at you mama such a mess" matt coos brushing his thumb over your bottom lip where you started drooling, all you could do was let out more choked babbles, to fucked out to form a sentence. this has been going on for a while now, matt fucking into you sloppy and heavy, putting his bodyweight into each thrust, but everytime that band in your stomach was about to snap matt pulled out. "oh i know baby i know im so mean huh" his voice laced with fake sympathy, but matt didn't feel bad at all. your fucked out expression, the way you claw at his arms looking for some support, he was enjoying all of this. matt grabbed your face as more incoherent babbles left your mouth "cmon sweetheart speak up f'me" he was messing with you. each thrust more forcefull as the words left his mouth. you were begging, barley audible but matt heard it. his girl was begging to let go. "y'wanna cum baby hm?' matt smirked at how eagerly you nodded your head, before grabbing your phone and hitting the record button, he wanted your boyfriend to see how he had you, to see that he will never make you feel as good as matt does. "go ahead baby cameras all on you" he coos panning the camera down to his hips snapping into you before moving it back to your face, capturing your eyes rolling back and your body shaking, that band in your stomach finally snapping, pornographic moans left your mouth."loook at that mama" matt whispers bittersweet, showing the camera your soaked cunt before stopping the video and quickly pressing send.

@overlygoin

⋆. 𐙚 ̊. During a late-night filming a paranormal investigation with sam and colby, things take an unsettling turn. shaken by what they experienced, what happens when y/n struggles to sleep alone and ends up in Matt’s room?

trigger warnings: pure fluff ig :3

matt sturniolo x reader <3

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

“Oh fuck! My candle went out, shit shit shit-” I say as I kneel over and set it down quickly. Matt spawns next to me with a match he had been using as a toothpick, quickly lighting up my candle before the 10 seconds run out.

“I got you” Matt nods, making sure my candle is lit.

“Jesus Christ” Sam exclaims.

“Oh my god, my heart almost stopped, I have the worst reflexes ever” I blow out a laugh, my hand on my chest.

You can already guess where I am and what we’re doing. Somehow, Sam and Colby convinced me to tag along with them and my roommates and best friends Matt, Nick, and Chris to this investigation where we’re summoning a spirit called the Midnight Man.

“Thanks, Matt,” I say with a grin, nudging him as we walk side by side to the room next to the kitchen. We sit down in a circle and Sam introduces a new piece of equipment, a recorder.

Sam explains that each one of us is going to ask a question and wait 10 seconds for an answer from a spirit. We all nod along to the instructions, and as soon as he clicks the record button, each of us asks a question, leaving 10 seconds in between for answers.

And when we’re finally done, we listen to the recording again, and our hearts drop to our asses.

A scream.

A very clear scream.

And towards the end of the recording, a clear “GET OUT OF HERE” is heard, and I look towards Matt with wide eyes and a nervous smile.

The rest of the night is pure chaos. We leave Sam and Colby’s old house after finishing the ritual, and I’m still replaying the events of the night on the car ride home. It’s stupid, but it freaked me out.

Back home, we all bid each other goodnight and head to our rooms. I lay down in bed, thoughts of the night still replaying in my head.

I see a figment of my imagination in the corner of the room, a shadow, and I turn on my nightstand light quickly, heart beating fast. I sigh before throwing the covers off, opening my bedroom door, and padding downstairs to Matt’s room. I knock gently. No answer. I knock again and open the door slightly, peeking in. Matt turns in bed towards the door with squinted eyes.

“Y/N?” he says with a sleepy voice.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” I ask, still standing in the doorway.

Matt blinks a few times before answering, “Come here” he says, lifting the covers.

I shut his bedroom door and walk over to his bed, sliding beneath the lifted covers. He makes sure I’m covered before laying down on his back next to me.

“You okay?” he asks after a few beats of silence.

“Mhmm. I was just freaked out about what happened tonight” I say, turning my head to look at him.

“You haven’t come to my room at night in a while” he grins.

“Yeah, well, I stopped watching those scary videos I used to watch before bed” I laugh, adjusting myself so I’m facing him.

“I don’t know why you watch that creepy shit if you know it’ll have consequences later at night” he says.

“Okay, stop lecturing me. I don’t watch it anymore” I frown, and he laughs.

“I missed our sleepovers,” he smiles after a few beats of silence, now turning to face me.

“Yeah, me too” I say, smiling softly.

I move a little to adjust my position when my cold toes graze over Matt’s leg.

“Holy shit, Y/N!” he says as he jumps slightly.

“What!” I say, panicked, thinking he saw something behind me.

“Nothing, you idiot. Your icicles grazed my leg,” he exclaims with a small laugh.

“Matt!” I frown, hitting his chest. “You scared me, asshole,” I say.

“Ow! Why are you so cold?!” he says, holding my hand against his chest.

“It’s freezing in here!” I exclaim with a laugh.

“It’s not,” he argues.

“Yes it is.” I pull my hand from his grip, but he holds on.

“Jesus Christ, just come here” he says, tugging me closer with the hand he has a grip on, wrapping his arms around me to warm me up.

I let my forehead fall on his chest as I sigh. “You’re so warm. How are you so warm?” I say.

“It’s not me that’s warm, it’s you that’s freezing cold” he chuckles, rubbing my back to warm me up.

“It’s because your room is a literal freezer-” I start to argue.

“Shhhh, go to sleep,” he interrupts me, tangling his legs with mine to warm my cold feet up.

“But it’s literally-” I start.

“Y/N, close your eyes and count the sheep, c’mon” he cuts me off, making me burst out laughing.

“When have I ever closed my eyes and counted sheep to go to bed? You mistake me for Chris” I grin.

“He does do that, doesn’t he?” he chuckles.

“Yeah, he does” I smile, nuzzling my head into his chest.

I yawn, my eyes starting to get heavy.

“Night, scaredy cat” he murmurs into my hair.

“Goodnight, asshole” I say in a sleepy voice, and he chuckles.

I doze off to him rubbing my back, and I realize just how lucky I am to have him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

in which. . .you're matt's favorite medicine➜inspired by the we had covid :( vlog!

warnings: smut, sub!matt, brat!matt, p in v, cowgirl, sex while sick (guys this is fiction), fluff!!

wc: 1.6k

*originally posted on bratzforchris in spring 2024*

— bf! chris sturniolo x fem! reader

— warnings: none! just FUFFY FLUFF, boyfriend!Chris, featuring matt and nick!! Japan trip, chopstick lesson, soft teasing, hand-on-hand moment, culture-sharing fluff, chaotic brothers, clingy!Chris, romantic tension, mutual adoration, flustered boy, supportive!reader, travel romance

Chris is great at a lot of things—using chopsticks just isn’t one of them. But in a cozy barbecue spot in the middle of Tokyo, with the lights low and the grill sizzling, he doesn’t mind letting you teach him. Especially when you’re this close.

dividers by @huraxy

The restaurant is warm and cozy—low golden lights, wooden walls, the soft crackle of meat sizzling on the tabletop grill.

Outside the window, Tokyo glimmers. Inside, it’s chaos.

“Okay, but hear me out,” Nick says, already unwrapping his wet napkin like it’s a prize. “What if we order everything and just… rotate bites?”

“That’s called dinner, Nick,” Matt mutters, squinting at the laminated menu like it personally wronged him.

You smile, tucking your legs underneath you on the booth bench. The little grill in the middle of the table crackles gently, filling the air with the smell of sesame, soy, and grilled garlic.

Chris is sitting beside you. His knee’s bumping yours every so often, like he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t want to stop. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up, rings glinting as he picks up the chopsticks with all the confidence in the world.

And then immediately drops them.

You try to stifle your giggle.

“I got it,” he says quickly, like he knows he didn’t.

Nick leans across the table, deadpan. “You definitely don’t got it.”

Chris ignores him. “Just slipped. These ones are… slick.”

You tilt your head, biting your lip. “Slick?”

“They’re a little rounder than the ones at sushi places back home,” he says, frowning like he’s crafting an excuse. “Slicker. Different wood. Japanese friction ratios.”

Matt nearly chokes on his water and you’re full-on laughing now.

“Okay, Mr. Physics,” you say. “Need a lesson?” Chris squints. “Only if it comes with hand-holding.”

You lean closer. “It does.” That shuts him up.

You gently reach for his hand, warm and familiar. His fingers twitch when you touch him, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he moves closer—knee against yours, shoulder brushing yours, like he wants to memorize the way this moment feels.

“Alright,” you whisper, voice playful. “This stick rests here…” You position it between his thumb and index finger. “This one’s your mover. You just pivot with the top.”

He watches your hands carefully—but not as carefully as he watches you.

“You’re not even paying attention,” you murmur, eyes still on his fingers.

“I am,” he says, lips tilted up. “Just not to the chopsticks.”

You shoot him a look. He shrugs, not even sorry. “Try picking up the meat,” you say.

He attempts. The beef slips from his grip and flops back into the plate with a wet little plop.

Matt groans. “Bro.”

Chris huffs. “It’s slippery, okay?!”

“Let me help,” you say again, gently guiding his fingers. “Light pressure. Just enough to hold it. No stabbing. No chaos.”

With your hand still over his, Chris tries again. Slowly. Gently.

This time, it lifts and he gasps. “I’m amazing.”

You clap softly. “A prodigy.”

He grins, proudly holding the bite out to you.

“For you.” You blink. “What?”

“You heard me. Open up.”

So you do. You lean forward and take the bite from his chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully, trying not to smile as he watches you like you’re the only person in the room.

Nick groans from across the table. “I’m so serious, I’m going to throw myself into the grill.”

“Jealous?” Chris grins, turning to you again. “She’s proud of me. That’s all that matters.”

You laugh. “I am proud.”

“And grateful?” he asks. “For the food and the romantic gesture?”

“Very.” Chris beams.

The rest of the dinner is full of laughter—Chris gets better with the chopsticks, and you keep helping when he fumbles. Nick makes a game out of flipping the meat perfectly, and Matt tries to translate the dipping sauces without Google.

Chris leans into you the whole time, brushing shoulders, nudging your knee, stealing glances like he can’t help himself.

When dessert comes (mochi and little caramel custards), Chris cuts his in half and slides it onto your plate. You raise an eyebrow.

“I thought you said that one was yours.”

“It was,” he says. “Now it’s ours.”

You kiss his cheek before you can think twice. He blushes.

Later that night… Back at the hotel, Chris collapses face-down on the bed, limbs sprawled, hoodie riding up his back.

“I think I burned my fingers on the grill.”

You laugh softly. “You also dropped three pieces of meat and made the waitress giggle when you tried to order.”

“Yeah,” he says, muffled into a pillow. “But I got you to feed me.”

You crawl onto the bed beside him, resting your chin on his back. “And I’d do it again.”

He turns his head to look at you. His hair’s a little messy, eyes sleepy and soft.

“Hey,” he says, quiet now. “Thanks for showing me.”

“Of course.”

“No—I mean…” He reaches back for your hand. “For coming with us. For making this trip feel like more than just a trip.”

Your chest tightens in that good, full way. You squeeze his hand. “You’re my favorite view.”

He grins. “Even more than the Tokyo skyline?”

You nod. “You’re brighter.” Chris blinks like he wasn’t ready for that.

Then he rolls onto his side, pulling you close until your face is tucked against his chest and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Okay,” he murmurs, hugging you tight. “But tomorrow, I’m learning how to use those little soy sauce dishes. And I’m gonna crush it.”

You laugh into his hoodie. “I believe in you.”

And that night, wrapped in his arms with the soft glow of Tokyo outside the window, you fall asleep smiling.

Because practice doesn’t just make perfect, sometimes, it makes everything.

after watching the vlog i literally needed to write about it like its such a cute ideaa <3

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

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo x Y/n

Summary: Chris is a rising star in the MLS - talented, charming, and known for being a player, both on and off the pitch. He’s never had a girlfriend, but always had a soft spot for Y/n, the girl who knew him before the fame but never took him seriously. Once their paths cross again, will history repeat itself or start to feel like potential?

It’s Thursday evening, and my apartment smells like takeout with a hint of unserious stress. A pile of open textbooks and empty pizza boxes are scattered across my bedroom floor, all of us pretending to study while slowly drifting into talk of playoffs. That’s what happens when you live in Houston and the Dynamo’s make the final, nothing else really matters for a few days. Not even our looming exams.

We’re all future biology teachers in theory, but tonight? We're just soccer fans, buzzing like the rest of the city.

“Anyone got a spare jersey?” Liv asks, digging through a drawer like one might magically appear.

Chris had been dropping hints for weeks.

Little nudges like, “You know you don’t have to bring your bag every single time,” or, “Wouldn’t it be easier if you left your favorite hoodie here instead of packing it back and forth?” But every time, she’d wave it off with a quiet smile and a soft, “I don’t want to intrude.”

Chris hated that word. Intrude. Like she wasn’t already one of the most comforting, important, loved parts of his life. Like she wasn’t already someone who curled into his side like she belonged there—because she did.

It finally hit him one Thursday night.

She was standing at his bathroom sink, balancing her skincare bag on the edge of the counter. Face wash, serum, moisturizer—all her little products lined up for the five minutes she’d need before they’d crawl into bed.

“Why don’t you just leave it here?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the tub, shirtless and barefoot, watching her apply something with a dropper like it was a science experiment.

She blinked at him through the mirror. “What?”

“Your face wash. Your serum. Your…eye goo, whatever it is. Just leave it. Keep it here.”

She shook her head with a soft laugh. “Chris…”

“No, I mean it.” He stood up, walking behind her and resting his chin on her shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around her waist. “I hate that you keep acting like this isn’t your space too.”

“It’s your apartment,” she said gently. “You share it with your brothers. I’m already here all the time. I don’t want to overstep.”

Chris turned her to face him, hands warm on her hips. “You’re not overstepping, baby. You’re home. I want you here more. I like seeing your stuff in my bathroom. I like when your sweater’s on my desk chair or your socks are mixed in with mine. And I love when your toothbrush is next to mine.” His voice softened even more. “I wanna see more than that.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, the weight of his words settling into her chest.

“Chris…”

“Look,” he said, brushing a hand down her arm. “Leave a couple outfits here. Your face stuff. Your fuzzy pajama pants that I boughtl anyway. You already spend most nights here. Let yourself exist here without it feeling like you’re on borrowed time.”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy in that tender-overwhelm way he’d come to recognize.

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want this—us—to feel permanent. I don’t want it to feel like you’re visiting. I want it to feel like you’re just…home.”

A long silence passed. Then, slowly, her lips curled into the softest smile.

“Okay,” she whispered.

The next day, she showed up with a little duffle bag. Chris didn’t make a big deal out of it—just helped her unpack like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She lined up her face products in the corner of the bathroom counter. Hung a hoodie or two in his closet. Left a drawer half-filled with sweats, jeans, and oversized tees. And when she noticed him gently folding her socks into the top drawer next to his own, her heart cracked wide open.

Later that night, they were tangled on the couch watching a movie when she whispered, “I like having my stuff here.”

Chris kissed the top of her head, arm snug around her. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I plan on organizing all of it anyway.”

She laughed, leaning closer, and it felt—finally, fully—like hers too. Like more than just a visit.

𝐚/𝐧- this is just a silly fluffy thing, im out of smut ideas, i need requests!

------------------------------------------------------------

its not uncommon for matt to be throwing punches at cameras or thin air. i dont know why he does it. is he practicing to be a future boxer? or does he just think he looks cool?

after spending the night round my boyfriends house, i walk into his bathroom to take a shower and im met with the sight of him looking into the mirror and throwing punches at.. his reflection? in nothing but his boxers by the way.

and he’s really getting into it, grunting softly as his fists stop a couple centimetres away from the mirror. he doesn’t look at all cool, with his tongue slightly poking out between his pink lips to focus, and the slight furrow of his brows. the only thing that’s remotely cool is the way his biceps flex with each jab, but he doesn’t pay any mind to that.

however, the moment he hears the door creak open he stops dead in his tracks, staring at me through the mirror.

“oh, hi” he murmurs, a flushed embarrassed expression on his face as he realises how stupid he must have looked.

“the fuck are you doing?” i tease with a chuckle and smirk at him through the mirror.

his cheeks grow a deeper shade of pink as he turns around slowly, running a hand through his messy hair. “uhm… practicing? obviously.”

“for what exactly? a street fight with your own reflection?” i laugh, stepping into the bathroom with him and tracing my fingers along his bicep.

he looks down at me with that cute look in his eyes, the one that always makes my stomach flip. “you never know,” he shrugs. “might wake up one day and my evil twin tries to steal my beautiful girlfriend.”

“and by evil twin you mean chris?” i giggle and roll my eyes.

“wha- no! just-“ he groans dramatically. “if you didn’t interrupt i would’ve knocked my reflection out.”

my fingers continue their path up and down his upperarm, feeling the muscles relax under my touch. “you’re lucky your reflection didn’t hit you back, weirdo”

his blue eyes watch my digits graze against his skin. he wraps his arms around my waist and brings a hand up to brush a strand of hair out of my face.

“admit it,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine, “you liked the bicep thing a little?”

i bite my lip and scratch my head, pretending to think. “maybe just a little,” i whisper. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

he grins, lowering his mouth down and lingering a kiss on my forehead.

“you know,” i start “if you ever do fight your reflection, i think you’d win”

“you’re damn right i would,” he chuckles “now what do you want?”

“to shower?” i frown.

“let me come, will you?” he asks pleadingly, “punching the mirror works up more of a sweat than you’d think”

i laugh but agree nonetheless, starting to strip my pjs off, “fine, but you better not throw any punches in there. i dont wanna get knocked out mid-shampoo”

he snorts. “no promises.”

------------------------------------------------------------

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 💌 everything but goodbye . . . c.s

in which . . . you can’t help but keep living in denial

warnings . . . grief, loss, hallucinations due to trauma, heavy and emotional distress & angst, death of a partner, mentions of a car crash, mental health struggles, slight panic attack, no happy ending, plot twist. please read with discretion and remember this is only fiction. i am in absolutely no way romanticizing any of these topics, this is simply for writing purposes, please scroll if you are uncomfortable.

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! :)

you don’t remember the first time he came back, only that one day you were alone, and the next, chris was there. he’d always been gentle with you. hands warm, voice quieter than usual. you thought it was because of how broken you were, because of the panic attacks, the way you woke up crying without knowing why, the long silences where your chest ached and your heart pounded and you couldn’t breathe.

but chris never made you feel ashamed. he’d stroke your hair, press kisses to your knuckles. whisper, “it’s okay. i’ve got you.” and you believed him, you always do. even when you couldn’t remember the last time he texted you first. even when his calls never showed up in your logs.

you told yourself, grief messes with time. trauma makes memory fuzzy. maybe you’re just healing slowly. he was here now. that’s what mattered.

every day, you woke up just after sunrise and found his hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. he always left before you opened your eyes, something about “early meetings,” but his scent lingered on your pillow. sometimes he’d show up at night, knocking softly, eyes tired, rain dripping from his hair.

you never asked questions. you were just so glad he kept coming back to you. you have a box of keepsakes you don’t open anymore. photos. love notes. polaroids of the two of you from that summer in hawaii, your legs over his lap, sand in your hair, sunburn on his nose.

you don’t open the box because it hurts. but more than that, you don’t open it because you don’t need to. because he’s still here.

the day everything unravels, you wake up with a strange feeling in your chest. like static. like something important is shifting, and your body knows before your mind catches up. it’s storming outside. thunder rolls low and heavy, and the windows rattle with wind. you wrap yourself in a blanket and pad into the kitchen, hoping chris left a note or a cup of coffee warming in the pot.

there’s nothing. your stomach sinks.

you try calling him, something you haven’t done in a while, because he always just…shows up. but the number doesn’t ring. disconnected. you frown, try again. same thing.

you check his socials. haven’t been updated in almost a year.

weird.

weird.

weird.

your fingers tremble as you open the box you swore you’d never touch again.

inside, everything’s just as you left it, except now you’re seeing it like it’s brand new. a photo, creased down the middle. chris’s handwriting on the back.

our last beach trip. best weekend of my life.

you turn it over. you’re in his arms. his lips on your cheek. but there’s a date written in the corner. almost a year ago.

almost exactly the same week the dreams started. no. you flip through the stack. ticket stubs. a dried flower from the bouquet he gave you on your birthday. a ripped envelope.

and then, at the very bottom, a folded piece of paper you don’t remember ever seeing before. it has your name on it. in his handwriting.

hey love,

i’m writing this because sometimes words spoken aren’t enough. sometimes, life feels too heavy, too unpredictable. i don’t know if i’ll get to say all of this out loud again, so here it is

you are everything. every quiet moment, every laugh we shared, they’re all pieces of my heart.

if tonight is the last time i get to come home to you, please don’t carry any blame.

this isn’t on you. it’s on fate, on chance, on something neither of us could control.

promise me you’ll keep fighting, keep living in color, for the both of us.

i’ll be watching, in every breeze, every shadow that dances with you.

and i’ll be loving you, forever.

so don’t give up on yourself. don’t give up on us.

please.

all my love,

chris.

your vision blurs. your whole body goes cold.

you drop the letter.

and then it all comes back at once.

the sirens.

the hospital call.

his car getting flipped over, all because the rain was too heavy, he went off the road. the letter…he had a feeling of what was going to happen. he knew, his gut told him to write that letter. and that’s why he gave you an extra long hug, and deeper kiss before he left. he only wrote the letter just in case he didn’t come back, little did you both know, he didn’t come back.

all because he was in a rush, picking up flowers for you because you were upset that day. the moment doctors pulled you into a sterile room with shaking hands and quiet eyes and said, “we’re so sorry…we did the best we could..”

you fell apart. and then…you forgot. you forced yourself to forget. and your mind, aching for him, started stitching together pieces of what used to be. it pulled his voice from voicemails. it built his silhouette out of shadows and old clothes. it conjured the ghost of a boy who’d never let you cry alone.

you didn’t heal. you hallucinated love.

and now, now that you remember, he’s gone. really gone. no more footsteps in the hallway. no more kisses to your shoulder. no more “i’ll be back soon.” just silence. you sit on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, as the storm crashes against the windows. and for the first time in almost a year, you truly cry for him.

not a ghost. not a dream. just the boy you loved. and lost. you sit up, frantically shaking your head, dusting yourself off. no no no, what are you thinking!? he’s not gone, he’s still here, obviously.

right…?

© delilahsturniolo

💌: i was afraid to post this

chris insists that you guys sleep skin to skin every night.

warnings: pets names, sexual innuendos

“what are you doin’?” chris asks as you crawl into bed wearing his t-shirt and a pair of panties. you furrow your eyebrows, “going to..bed..” you say in a ‘duh’ tone.

chris smirks and tugs on the hem of the shirt you were wearing, “you know the rule, strip.” his smirk turning into a cheeky grin as he lifts the fabric over your head, reveling your breasts and soft skin. “better?” you teased as you lifted up the covers to crawl underneath, “these too,” he hummed as he snapped the elastic of your panties against your hip, with a sigh you slipped off the fabric, turning back to him, “better now?” you draw out, “much.” he shot back.

you guys entangled in each other, legs hooked together, your head tucked under his chin—against his chest, from time to time you can feel the stubble of his chin scratch against your forehead, making your nose scrunch.

you feel his hands rub your back softly, till they get lower— squeezing you left ass cheek gently making you look up at him, a knowing look.

that stupid smirk is back on his face, “open your legs, lemme play with you till you go to sleep..”

super short but i’m trying to make up for the little break i was on 😵‍💫

divider creds: @bernardsbendystraws

You haven't seen Matt in weeks.

Not since you buried yourself in chemistry books, desperately attempting to prepare for your final.

No weed, no alcohol—just textbooks stacked high, and the click of your pen repeating, filling up the silence in your living room.

You're hunched over your notes, fingers tangled in your hair, review sheet crumpled in your grip until someone banging on your door like they're the damn police snaps you out of it.

Your eyebrows pull together before you even open the door, annoyance bubbling up as the pounding continues, impatient and relentless. You're already crafting up some snarky remark as you twist the door knob.

"Damn. You look rough." The words hit before you've even registered his face, your mouth twisting into a scoff, an insult on the tip of your tongue—something about sending him back to his fuck ass frat house—But then you see it. The beard.

Matt's always had facial hair. A goatee, a mustache, nothing special. Not worth a second glance. But, fuck. He looks so...

"Gon' let me in or keep staring?" You roll your eyes as sarcastically as you always do, trying to play it off. "Shut up."

It's weird. Matt being in your apartment for something other than fucking, fighting, or rolling you a blunt. Sitting across from him on your couch? Even weirder.

Especially with that new addition to his face. "Seriously, you got a staring problem or sum?"

Your teeth sink into your lip. Fuck. "You have a beard." He chuckles, leaning back like he's waiting on something. "Y'like it?" You roll your eyes before he even finishes talking. Quick, automatic.

"Fuck no."

Matt smirks, like he doesn't believe you, like he knows better. "You sure? You were just doin' a whole lotta staring."

You hate that question. The way he says it. The way it lingers. Your arms cross, "I'm sure."

"I don't think you are." He murmurs, creeping closer to your spot on the couch. "Think y'wanna feel it while I eat your pretty little pussy out." The tamest dirty talk Matt's ever done, but the affect it has on you after not hearing it in weeks? Your thighs are pressing together, panties soaked.

"C'mon, admit it. Already squirming f'me."

"No."

Matt cocks an eyebrow.

"M—matt—!" You cry out, grabbing at the couch cushions for leverage as you try desperately to arch out of the delicious, overstimulating pleasure he's giving you.

He's quick to hold you down and make you take it.

You can't count how many times he's made you cum, make you squirt all over his face and his stupid beard. You squirm and thrash, thighs threatening to close around his head.

Matt's hand parts them before delivering a quick slap to your pussy that makes you whine. "Not goin' no where till you admit it." He rasps before going right back into devouring you, making you scream for him.

His beard burns your thighs, hips stuttering under his grip as his tongue flicks at your clit.

"P—pleaseuh— c-cant— c—cant—" You babble, "C'mon." He speaks into your cunt making you moan louder than you have all night, "Say it." And then his fingers are inside you, curling upwards, hitting that spot inside you each time.

And then you see white. Eyes fluttering shut as your body falls limp, body doing its best to recover from your most recent orgasm.

You grab at Matt's hair, not having to see him to know what he's trying to do—you can feel it.

You get out before he even has to say it.

"I like it."

a/n:... idk what came over me.