꧁Liv꧂

𝐋𝐢𝐯ミ☆ ★ 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 ★ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 ★ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 ★ 𝐢𝐟 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 ★ 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐝 ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 ★ 𝐝𝐫.𝐩𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 ★ 𝐬𝐮𝐛 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭 ★ 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 ★ 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐬 ★

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 ’💙’ 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝

At the hip

tw! mental health, kinda mentions of su!c!de/death?

ANGST, comfort, swearing, let me know if i missed anything!

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You and Matt had always been inseparable, best friends so close it felt like you shared a single heartbeat. Since childhood, you were a pair who did everything together. From the dumbest inside jokes to the deepest secrets. When one of you was hurting, the other was always there. You were tied at the hip in a way that no one else could understand. It wasn’t just friendship, it was something deeper. And unbreakable.

Atleast that’s what you’d always thought. But lately, Matt had changed. Not in small ways, but in ways that shredded your chest with worry. His laughter was rarer. His eyes, once so bright, were dull and distant. He stopped texting back, stopped answering calls, stopped even looking you in the eye when you saw him. His mental health was crumbling, and you could see it every day, yet he wouldn’t say a word to anyone, not even you.

You tried. God, you tried.

You gave him space when he needed it, sat silently beside him when he was quiet, asked gently when you thought he might be ready. But every time, he shut down like a stone wall. You felt useless. Helpless.

Tonight he was at your house. You’d invited him over because you hoped maybe, just maybe, being somewhere safe and quiet might help him open up. You two were laying on your bed, you curled around him like a shield, your arms around his shoulders, your heart aching for him.

“Matty,” you whispered softly, brushing his hair from his face, “you can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

He didn’t answer.

You waited, heart thumping in the silence.

Then you tried again, voice barely above a whisper. “Please. I want to help you.”

His body tensed beneath your hands.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he pulled back, his eyes dark and stormy.

“I don’t wanna to talk…” he muttered.

You squeezed him gently. “Okay…I’m here when you’re ready.”

He didn’t meet your eyes. The silence stretched unbearably long.

Suddenly, frustration twisted in your chest. You couldn’t keep pretending it was okay.

“Matt, why won’t you just open up?” you said, voice cracking with emotion. “Why won’t you let me in?”

His face hardened. His jaw clenched.

“Because you’d be weird about it,” he said harshly. “I don’t feel safe crying around you.”

The words hit you like a slap.

“What the hell does that even mean?” you snapped.

“Just… I can’t be that vulnerable with you,” he said, voice low and bitter. “You’d think I’m weak or something.”

“No- Matt what the hell?” you hissed, biting your lip to hold back tears, “after everything we’ve been through?… you think you’re a burden?”

He glared at you, then spat out, “Maybe I am! Maybe you’d be better off without me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your voice rose. “You think I want to lose you? You think I want to bury my best friend because you won’t talk to me?!”

“You don’t get it!” he yelled, his voice breaking. “You don’t know what it’s like in here!” He jabbed a finger at his chest, eyes wild with pain. “It’s dark, and heavy, and sometimes I don’t want to be around anymore.”

Your throat tightened. “Then why didn’t you say anything? Why did you hide it from me?”

“Because I’m scared,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Scared you’ll hate me. Scared you’ll think I’m broken beyond repair.”

You stood up suddenly, heart pounding with desperation. “Matt, look at me. I don’t hate you. I don’t want you to be perfect. I want you alive. I want you here.”

He shook his head violently. “No. You don’t get to keep pushing. I’m done!”

Before you could stop him, he stormed past you, out the door into the night.

You froze for a moment, them ran after him.

Outside, the night was pitch black and still except for the distant hum of the city. The cold air slapped your face, but you barely felt it.

“Matthew!” you called, voice raw. “Stop it!”

He didn’t stop.

You sprinted after him, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst.

He turned abruptly and shoved his hands in his pockets, his breath ragged.

“Why do you care so much?” he snapped, voice cracking on the edge of breaking. “Why do you want me to suffer so bad I have to spill my guts just to keep you from worrying?”

You stopped a few feet away, voice shaking. “Because I love you! Because I don’t want to lose you! Because I’m scared too Matt! Im terrefied!”

He looked away, swallowing hard.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he said, voice low. “Like I’m falling apart.”

You took a step closer. “Matt, you don’t have to be strong for me. You can be broken. I’ll still be here.”

He shook his head, voice hoarse, “You don’t get it! You dont understand!”

You snapped, voice fierce and desperate, “What the fuck Matt!? I may not! But I’m trying fucking trying!”

His eyes flashed with pain. "Why the fuck do you care so much?!?"

“You know why, You know why I FUCKING care so much?!” you shouted, tears streaming down your face. "Cause I’d rather force you to open up and talk about your feelings until you’re sobbing so hard you’re soaking my clothes than have to stare at your fucking casket because you didnt let me!!”

That was the last straw.

He crumpled forward, collapsing into you, his sobs shaking his whole body.

He was loud, desperate, painful. Ugly, wrenching sobbing that tore at your soul.

You wrapped your arms tighter around him, whispering broken reassurances, holding him up because he had nothing left to hold onto.

“Matt…” you whispered, voice cracking as you wrapped your arms tighter around him, your fingers threading through his hair. “It’s okay love..I’m here…you’re not alone.”

He didn’t answer. He just buried his face into your neck and sobbed harder, his whole frame trembling as the pain he’d locked away exploded out of him.

“I’m so fucking tired,” he gasped between sobs. “I’m so tired of feeling like this. Like I’m… fucking broken.”

“No,” you said fiercely, voice soft but full of fire. “You’re not broken…You’re not perfect, but nobody’s asking you to be..I just need you alive Matt.."

He pulled back slightly, wiping his

tear-streaked face on his sleeve, voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t think anyone would care… not really.”

“Of course I care,” you said, your own tears falling now. “I’ve been scared too..of losing you, scared of not knowing how to help. But please, promise me you won’t shut me out again.”

He looked into your eyes,so vulnerable, so raw, and nodded slowly. “I promise...”

You held him close again, rocking him gently in the dark, knowing that healing would be a long road, but this night, this moment, it was the start.

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Pink Panties꧂

inspired by @bernardsbendystraws panty perv!

warnings! Masturbation (m), use of ‘y/n’, sexual thoughts, orgasm, tell me if i missed anything!

You were Matt’s girlfriend. His for nearly two years now. Everybody knew it. And Chris, being Matt’s triplet brother, had no business even thinking about you the way he did.

But here he was. Standing in his bedroom with the door locked, your delicate pink lace panties balled up in his fist.

He didn’t even know how he ended up with them. Maybe when you stayed over last week and did laundry with Matt. Maybe when you left in a rush that morning, slipping out wearing his hoodie but forgetting these behind. All Chris knew was that when he saw them in the laundry basket, something in him snapped.

He stared at them for a long moment, thumb running over the delicate fabric, the tiny bow at the waistband. He remembered the first time he saw you wearing them, barely there under Matt’s oversized shirt as you bent over to pick up your phone. He shouldn’t have looked, but he had. And now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“fuck, y/n…” His voice was low, strained, as he brought the panties to his face. The faint trace of your scent still clung to them, enough to make his cock twitch in his sweats.

He didn’t waste time. His hand slid down, shoving his waistband low enough for his cock to spring free,already hard, flushed, and leaking. He wrapped the lace around his length, groaning at the contrast of the soft fabric against his sensitive skin.

The first stroke made him hiss through clenched teeth. He gripped himself tight, the panties still in his other hand, the lace brushing against his lips as his imagination went wild.

“God, you’d feel so fucking good,” he hissed through his teeth, pumping slowly. He imagined the lace wasn’t in his hand anymore,that it was you, straddling him in nothing but those panties, your slick heat gliding over him as you teased the head against your folds.

Chris bit his lip, tightening the panties around his dick so the lace rubbed right over the tip with every stroke. Precum smeared into the delicate fabric, and he thought about how wrong this was,how pissed Matt would be if he knew. But that only made it hotter.

His pace quickened. He pictured pulling those panties aside and burying himself in you, your soft moans turning to cries as his hips snapped up, fucking you hard enough to make the bed creak.

“y/n… fuck… yeah, ride me—just like that…” His voice broke into a groan as his thighs tensed, his free hand gripping the edge of the mattress. The thought of your panties soaking through as you came around him pushed him over the edge.

“Fuck… y/n… shit,” he groaned, pumping faster. Pre-come slicked his shaft, making it easier for his fist to slide. He twisted his wrist, just the way he liked, and let his mind drown in the image of you riding him, your tits bouncing in his face as you moaned his name instead of Matt’s

He pictured you bent over Matt’s bed, those panties pulled down around your thighs, your perfect ass arching up for him. He imagined his cock pushing into you instead of Matt’s, your soft whimpers spilling into his ear as you clenched around him.

With a strangled gasp, Chris came hard, thick spurts of cum spilling into the lace. He kept jerking himself through it, hips twitching as the orgasm wracked his body. The sight of the pink fabric streaked with white made his stomach twist with both satisfaction and shame.

When he finally let go, his cock softened, but his fingers still traced the wet spot on the lace. He knew he should clean it, should put them back before anyone noticed,but instead, he brought them back to his face, inhaling deeply, already half-hard again at the thought of doing it all over.

might have to do a part two..

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 ~ 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭

warnings!: mentions of sex/virginity loss, fingering, clit play, kissing, orgasm

word count: 1,027

You were both sitting cross-legged on your bed, facing each other. Matt’s hand was resting on your knee, his thumb rubbing absent circles. Neither of you spoke for a moment, just staring like you were trying to work up the courage.

“So…” he started, clearing his throat. “Do we… just… start?”

You let out a nervous laugh. “I guess? I don’t really know..

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Me either. But… uh, you’re..not really..wet, yet…”

“right..” you muttered, blushing hard.

He looked away, grinning awkwardly. “Yeah. That. So… maybe we should, um… try to get you there first?”

Your stomach twisted with nerves, but you nodded. “Yeah… I think so.”

His hand slid off your knee and hesitated at your thigh. “Can I…?”

“Yeah...” Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

He moved closer, kissing you—soft at first, then a little deeper as his fingers traced up your inner thigh. When he reached the edge of your panties, he paused again.

“Under?” he asked, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe he was saying it out loud.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

His fingers slipped under the waistband, warm and a little shaky against your skin. He touched you gently, like he wasn’t sure where to start.

“Wow,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “You’re… um… soft.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at his honesty. “You can… move your fingers?”

“Right,” he said quickly, and began to explore, dragging two fingers clumsily along your slit. You weren’t really wet yet, and he seemed to notice.

“Uh… is it supposed to… feel like this?” he asked, sounding unsure.

You laughed softly. “Not yet. Maybe try… circles? On the top?”

“Oh. Okay.” He adjusted, finding your clit and rubbing light, tentative circles. The new sensation made you suck in a breath, and his eyes flicked up to your face.

“Like that?” he whispered.

“Yeah… keep going.”

His fingers started slow and careful, his touch a little awkward but somehow endearing. He tried speeding up a little, then slowed down again when you winced.

His hand was trembling slightly as he eased his finger inside you, stopping the second your breath caught.

“Too much?” he asked, his voice low and nervous.

You shook your head quickly. “No. It’s okay. Just… slow.”

He nodded, lips parting like he was concentrating way too hard. Carefully, he pushed a little deeper until his finger was fully inside. The sensation was strange but not bad, and the way his thumb brushed clumsily against your clit sent a shiver up your spine.

“Oh—okay,” you whispered.

“Okay good?”

“Yeah… keep going.”

He moved his finger experimentally, curling it slightly like he’d read somewhere online. “Like… that?”

Your breath hitched. “Yeah—kind of. Try… moving in and out?”

“Right, right…” He started sliding it out almost completely, then back in slowly, his brows furrowed as he tried to find a rhythm. His movements were awkward at first—sometimes too fast, sometimes too shallow—but when you gasped quietly, his eyes snapped up.

“Wait—that good?”

You nodded, clutching the sheets. “Yeah. Just… keep doing that.”

“Okay,” he said softly, and his confidence seemed to grow. His finger began pumping steadily, his thumb still circling up top. The combination sent little waves of pleasure through you, and your hips shifted instinctively toward his hand.

“You’re… getting wetter,” he said, almost to himself, cheeks flushing deeper as soon as the words left his mouth. “Sorry—that was weird.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “It’s fine… true, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, grinning sheepishly. “Really true.”

The sound of your wetness was faint but there, making both of you blush harder. He twisted his wrist a little, accidentally brushing a spot inside you that made you gasp louder than before.

“Oh—what—was that it?” he asked, startled.

“Yeah… right there,” you managed, your fingers gripping his forearm.

“Got it,” he murmured, his finger curling deliberately this time, trying to hit that same spot while rubbing your clit more purposefully.

You couldn’t hold back a small moan, and his eyes went wide.

“Holy shit… did I—?”

“Yes. Just don’t stop, Matt.”

His breath was shaky now, and he leaned closer to watch your face as he kept working his fingers in and out, testing what made your thighs twitch and your hips lift.

“Should I… try two?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Slow.”

His other hand steadied your thigh as he gently slid in a second finger. It felt tight at first, and you tensed slightly.

“Too much?” he asked immediately.

“Just… give me a sec.”

He froze, thumb still tracing light circles up top, waiting until you relaxed again. “Better?”

“Yeah. You can move.”

He began working both fingers in and out carefully, adjusting his pace as he watched you squirm beneath him. “God… you feel…” He trailed off, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was actually doing this.

Your breathing grew ragged as the pressure built, his clumsy fingers surprisingly effective now that he’d found a rhythm.

“Oh my God… Matt—”

His eyes widened. “Wait—are you—?”

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, your hips grinding up against his hand.

He swallowed hard, his fingers curling just right as he kept up the motion. “I’m not. I promise.”

When your thighs started to tremble and you let out a broken moan, his jaw dropped slightly.

“Oh my God… you’re close, aren’t you?”

“Yeah—yes—just—” Your words dissolved into whimpers as he continued, determined to see it through.

Moments later, pleasure crashed over you in waves, your walls clenching around his fingers as you let out a soft cry.

“Holy shit,” Matt whispered, staring in awe. “Did you—?”

“Yeah…” you panted, covering your flushed face with your hands. “Oh my God.”

He slowly pulled his fingers out, looking down at them like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

“You’re… amazing,” he said softly, lying down beside you, his face red but smiling. “I seriously didn’t know if I could… you know… do that for you.”

You turned to him, laughing breathlessly. “You definitely did.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling with nervous pride. “So… I guess now you’re ready?”

You nodded shyly. “Yeah… if you are.”

First time writing smut, kinda hate this shit but oh well!😭

taglist! comment if you want to be added!

𝐂𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐠-𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

warnings! : Mentions of sex, use of pet names, mentions of alcohol, nothing else i think! Fluff!

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Chris was born to cuddle. Like, genuinely—if it were a sport, he’d have Olympic gold medals by now. Loud, proud, and shameless about it, he was the kind of guy who’d pull you into a hug in front of a crowd and then refuse to let go because “you’re warm and I like you, deal with it.”

And with you? Oh, he was on another level.

When he wasn’t lighting up half the frat house and getting the entire party group-chat-level stoned, or when he wasn’t tossing you onto his mattress and making your legs shake and your face press deep into the sheets as you screamed his name so loud the walls echoed—he was cuddling.

He’d never say it to the guys, but at your place, he slept like a baby. A clingy, oversized baby who latched onto you like a koala and refused to let go

He loved sleeping at your place. Your bed was smaller, but cozier. It smelled like your shampoo and candles, not stale beer and the ghost of frat party regrets. He’d never say it out loud in front of the guys, but he’d confess it in your ear at 3AM, half-asleep: “I like it here… it’s quiet. Feels like home.”

There was just one tiny issue.

Chris didn’t cuddle—he engulfed. Full-on boa constrictor mode. You’d go to bed expecting a little snuggle, maybe some cute spooning. Instead, you’d wake up immobilized, face smushed into his chest, one leg flung over you like a human seatbelt, arm around your waist like he was afraid someone might steal you in the night.

And forget trying to escape.

You’d squirm, try to shift, maybe peel his arm off gently. But no. This man was dead weight. A heavy sleeper, built like he’d wrestled bears in a past life, and somehow even tighter in his unconscious state. Once Chris latched on, it was game over.

“You’re so comfy,” he’d mumble, lips brushing your forehead, voice raspy with sleep.

And despite the lack of circulation in your left leg and the mild suffocation, you couldn’t help but smile.

You’d sigh, trapped between suffocation and soft-boy bliss.

Because yeah, maybe he’d wrecked you earlier, face-down, gasping, unable to do anything but take whatever he gave you—and now here he was, post-chaos, snuggled up like a sweet little menace who just wanted to hold you through the night

Because even if Chris was too much sometimes—too loud, too high, too horny, too everything—when he held you like that, all wrapped up and blissed out, it was impossible not to love every second of it.

***

Currently you were in Chris’s bed, his room smelled like a highschool boys changing room, cheep cologne, sweat, and a hint of beer, but it was oddly comforting, and distinctly him.

"Chris..i can’t breathe-" you muttered, holding back a chuckle at the usually cocky Chris now acting like a baby. "Let me- move!" You chuckled.

He shook his head, not even thinking about letting you go, instead he just pulled you closer.

"’m comfy..and youre warm.." he muttered, his voice muffled by being buried neck.

"baby- I can’t-" you were cut off by chris’s soft snore, his body limp ontop of you, his face relaxed, he looked so innocent like this, absoulutly adorable.

"great.." you muttered under your breath, knowing you wouldn’t be able to move until he woke up.

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, mumbling a quiet "goodnight.." at that he snuggled closer, almost like he had heard you.

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taglist! comment ‘💙’ if you want to be added!

Daddy’s girl, and mine…

warnings! : mentions of sex (not actual sex though) age gap, i dont really know??

This is heavily inspired by @luvs4matt’s dilf au

Chris was six years older than you, and every second of it showed — in all the best ways. You never had time for boys your age anyway. They talked too much, tried too hard. Chris didn’t have to. He was the room when he walked into it.

He had that kind of rough perfection you only see in daydreams — tall, broad chest, thick forearms inked from wrist to bicep in black and grey tattoos that told a life before this one. Not the kind of guy who used filters or wore skinny jeans. He had that slow, masculine energy — calm, unreadable, dangerous if you didn’t know better. Dark, slightly wavy hair he always kept messy, like he never tried. A jawline sharp enough to bruise and eyes so intense, you swore they pinned you in place. He smelled like cedarwood and leather — addictive and clean.

He was a single dad, full custody. His ex was long gone — her idea, not his. She “wasn’t cut out for motherhood,” he said once, voice low like it was a secret. He didn’t sound bitter. Just tired. He’d been raising his daughter, Sienna, on his own since she was two. She was four now — sharp as a whip and bright as sunshine, a little thing with her dad’s blue eyes and her own wild heart.

You met her at the kindergarten where you worked, and from the moment she saw you, it was like gravity. She followed you around like a shadow, drew you pictures, called you “my best one.” You adored her. You adored him. Chris would pick her up every day in that black matte Jeep, tattoos out, sunglasses on, all slow steps and low voice. Every mom there watched him like prey. But it was you he waited for with his eyes.

You started sleeping together after the third parent-teacher meeting. He invited you for dinner. She was asleep. And after one look across his dimly lit kitchen, you were done for. He kissed like he meant it, like he owned it — hands rough on your hips, mouth unforgiving, voice low and filthy when he got you under him. That night, he didn’t let you go until you were shaking in his sheets. He never did.

Every other weekend, Sienna stayed at her grandparents — his parents, good people who adored her. And those weekends? You belonged to Chris. Bent over his kitchen counter, clawing at his back in the shower, moaning into pillows as he whispered things in your ear you couldn’t believe you liked. He wasn’t just good in bed — he was addictive. Slow. Deep. Possessive. He loved wrecking you, loved spoiling you after — silk robes, gold around your neck, first-class tickets to “run away for a bit.”

And even though she was too young to know what happened when she was gone, Sienna saw the way he looked at you. Saw how your face softened when you looked back.

One Wednesday afternoon, she took his hand at pickup, tilted her little face up, and said sweetly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world,

“Daddy, can Miss [name] be my new mommy?”

Your heart stopped. Chris looked at you over her head, his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk.

“She already kind of is,” he said, voice low just for you.

And from the way he held your stare — from the memory of the night before still burning between your legs — you knew he wasn’t just talking about coloring books and lunchboxes.

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@bernardsbendystraws @slvt4subchratt @sturniolosluttt @starsforu