MATTSCOQUETTE AU SPECIAL ౨ৎ

matt hummed to himself lowly as his left hand traced up and down your back lightly, his right hand on the mousepad of his laptop as you straddled his lap. it had been a pretty quiet evening so far, matt inviting you over only to find he had work he needed to catch up after you’d arrived to his house. not to mention just exactly what you wore to his house - a short and lacy skirt with an even shorter top.

you face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, deeply inhaling the smell of his cologne, his three day old stubble scratching your skin softly.

“daddy,” you whined softly, “need you.”

“daddy’s doing work, princess,” matt mumbled in return, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

you let out an impatient huff, pulling away from his chest to look at him, your glossy lips in a frown. “can you take a break?” you pleaded. you gently grabbed matt by the wrist, guiding his hands down to you soaked panties beneath your skirt, letting him press his fingers against your wetness.

his fingers pressed against the dampened fabric, a smirk growing across matt’s lips as a gently circled your clit, watching how your face contorted with pleasure.

“feels good, huh,” matt teased as he played with you, “i’ll give you what you want if you’re good f’me, ‘kay?”

you nodded in desperation, feeling matt pull your panties to the side. when you didn’t feel his fingers slide in and instead heard his belt clanking, you peeled your eyes open. matt undid his zipper and freed himself from his boxers, his dick sticking up, his tip red.

“sit, baby,” he murmured, holding your hips as you straddled his lap still. he lined himself up, gently guiding you down onto his cock. he let out a low grunt as he bottomed out, your gummy walls clenching around him as you sat down on his lap.

you readjusted yourself, his tip kissing your cervix as you let out a quiet moan and you nuzzled into his neck once more.

“once i’m done with my work we can play, jus’ lemme finish first, okay baby?” matt mumbled into your hair.

© mattscoquette | taglist

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ i lowkey hate this but i just simply couldn’t write full smut ! sorry 😞 chris oneshot friday tho that’s bout to be so good.

ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴇʏᴇʟᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴇʀꜰʟʏ ᴋɪꜱꜱᴇꜱ

...𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴

requested by @bernardsbendystraws !! also creds to @vanteguccir for the (almost) poking idea sbhsjshs

“Don't move.”

Matt freezes like a statue, halfway through opening a bottle of juice. “Why?”

You're already leaning in, eyes squinted in serious concentration. “I just need to check something.”

𝑺𝒂𝒚 𝑰𝒕 𝑨𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 2 | 𝑪.𝑺

▶︎ ၊၊||၊ STOP THE WORLD I WANNA GET OFF WITH YOU , ARCTIC MONKEYS

Chris Sturniolo x f!reader

WARNINGS : part two of three, build-up for part three!, lots of dirty talk and degradation, sexting, guiding you through touching yourself, edging, on camera, usage of slut & good girl, “not gonna let you come until i fuck you in every position you wrote about”

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

part one , part two , part three

word count : 4.2k ♡

Chris loved to watch. He always had.

There was something about seeing people’s reactions, their faces when they saw him, how their eyes lit up or how they’d nervously glance away when they thought he wasn’t paying attention.

But it wasn’t just that. It was hearing what people thought, the things they whispered to their friends when they thought no one else was listening, the conversations they had always thought were private. He loved finding those stray comments left in corners of the internet, the ones meant to be secret, buried in obscure threads or hidden behind quiet profiles.

Those were the ones that had always turned him on the most.

The raw, unfiltered thoughts. The fantasies that people felt safe sharing in the quiet anonymity of a post or a comment. The way they imagined him, how they saw him, how they wanted him.

It was a kind of power, knowing how much he affected people without even trying. And it turned him on like nothing else, feeding into a part of him that thrived on attention, even if it was just the private thoughts of strangers.

It was late, and Chris had just finished editing a new video they’d posted. He always liked to check what people thought, maybe it was simply just part of his curiosity, but to him, there was something about seeing how others reacted to him that got under his skin in the best possible way.

He leaned back in his chair, phone in hand, his messy brown hair falling loosely around his face, eyes still bright from hours of work.

His dark hoodie was pulled over his head, the sleeves pushed up to show off the tattoos creeping down his arms. His jawline was sharp, barely shadowed from a day’s worth of stubble, and he ran a hand over his face, rubbing the exhaustion away.

Chris sighed, his thumb already drifting through the familiar apps. He knew these platforms like the back of his hand—each one a rabbit hole he could fall into without thinking twice.

Maybe that was the excitement of it all, the root of the exhibitionist streak he had, the way he could get lost in the endless scroll and always find something new that pulled him even deeper, that exposed parts of him even further.

As he scrolled through Tumblr, he was looking for the usual conversation about the triplets—reactions, gifs, the fiction that people always posted after something new dropped.

He loved that feeling. the way his name popped up all over the place, the way people shared their thoughts with each other in their own little world. It was all intoxicating to Chris, knowing that people were thinking about him, imagining him, even when he wasn’t around.

But what he craved the most was the raw, unfiltered content. The things people didn’t say to his face, the fantasies they kept hidden behind screens.

That was the real goldmine.

His thumb moved lazily as he skimmed through the posts, eyes flicking over the familiar reactions, the endless stream of comments. He’d seen it all before—people gushing about him and his brothers, the usual fanfics filling up the tags.

But then, something caught his eye.

A post buried among the rest, a fanfiction published just last night.

“Say It Again | C.S”

It wasn’t the title that stopped him, though. It was the synopsis :

He stared at the words, his breath catching in his throat. Backstage?

Chris wasn’t new to fanfiction. He’d seen his fair share of wild scenarios, from sweet and fluffy to downright ridiculous.

But something about this one felt, different. A thousand times more personal.

His finger hovered over the post. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

But then again, he always had a habit of doing things he shouldn’t.

With a quick glance around the room—Nick still deep in his own world, Matt’s voice carrying from the kitchen—Chris tapped the post.

Immediately, the fic opened with a familiar scene.

His heart did a weird little stutter.

Okay. That was normal, right? His fans got nervous around him all the time. He knew that, he was used to it.

Chris continued to scroll, but the next lines made his grip on the phone tighten.

Chris inhaled sharply through his nose.

That was real. He had said that.

He remembered the interaction now, the same girl he hadn't been able to stop thinking about for days—the way you had laughed, the way his hand had brushed against yours when he took their phone for a picture.

His pulse thumped as he scrolled further.

He leaned forward slightly in his chair, running his fingers through his tousled brown hair, his breath catching as his eyes darted over the post.

His fingers twitched, itching to scroll, but something made him hesitate, his eyes flicked back to the screen, the words sinking in.

He’d read the post over twice, and it still felt too real.

Too familiar.

The way the writer had described it—the setting, the way he touched her, the words he whispered against her skin—it wasn’t just fantasy. It was a memory.

This wasn’t just some random fanfiction about a random encounter backstage,

It was about him,

And it was about you—the girl he had taken backstage with him.

His chest tightened as his mind replayed those moments: the look in your eyes when you followed him, the way your body had responded when he had leaned in just a little too close.

He swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears.

He thought about that night more than he’d ever admit. How things had escalated in a way he hadn’t expected, until it was already far too late and his fingers had already slid inside of you.

It was as if he could feel everything again, now, through your writing.

The feeling of you against his fingers and the taste of you on his tongue, the words he had whispered in your ear, the way your breath had caught in your throat when the voices of both Matt and Nick had gotten too close behind the closed door.

The post was an exact reflection of that energy, only this time, it was laid bare for anyone to see. The casual mention of everything that wasn’t supposed to happen—it was a perfect summary of how it felt to be backstage with him, how it felt to be his for just a few moments.

But it wasn’t just the words that were affecting him.

It was the way the whole thing had been written, the details that only someone who had been there could know.

And damn, it turned him on. The way you had captured it all, the tension, the rawness, the way you made it sound like he was desperate, wanting more from you than he would ever admit.

He could practically feel the heat of your body next to his, it felt like he was with you all over again, his fingers buried deep inside of you and his tongue against yours.

Every word pulled him further into the scene. And the thought of you putting it all out there, writing it for the world to see, it made him ache for you all over again.

His grip on his phone tightened, his breath coming quicker.

He shouldn’t be this turned on by it, but he was. The way you wrote about him, about that night, about what he had done to you, it was overwhelming.

Chris licked his lips, shifting slightly in his chair, he could feel his erection growing with every word, every piece of dialogue you had written.

His mind raced with the possibilities—had you written this for yourself? For your followers?

Or had you known, deep down, that he would find it?

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he exhaled sharply, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. He could ignore it, pretend he never saw it. But that wasn’t going to happen.

Instead, he clicked your profile. And started reading more.

Your blog was a mix of reblogs, random thoughts, and text posts that made him smirk. But beneath all that, there were more. More fiction. More posts. More words that you had written—about him.

Some posts were vague, little snippets of thoughts, things you wanted, things you imagined.

Others? They were just like the first one. Detailed. Explicit. And all about him.

Fuck.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

The way you described him, the things you wanted him to do to you—it was like you had cracked open his skull and pulled the thoughts straight from his own head. It was addicting to him, the way you saw him, the way you wrote about him like he was something to be devoured.

Chris dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he felt his body fill with absolute heat. His chest was tight, his jaw locked.

The worst part, or the best part—was that you had no idea he was reading this. That he was sitting here, taking in every filthy word you had written with his name on your tongue.

And he wasn’t just reading. He was remembering everything about you.

Chris let out a low breath, his pulse hammering in his ears as he scrolled further, devouring every little piece of you that you had left behind.

Did you have any idea what you were doing to him?

Did you know how badly he wanted to ruin you all over again?

His cock throbbed at the thought, pressing hard against the fabric of his sweats, his other hand drifting to hold the outline of his bulge with his hand.

Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to get to him like this, but it did.

His grip on his phone tightened, fingers flexing against the cool metal as he exhaled sharply. He could keep scrolling, keep reading, keep getting lost in the way you saw him, how you imagined him. But that wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

Chris wasn’t just some idea in your head. He wasn’t just a fantasy to be written about and reblogged.

He was real, and you had already felt that once.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, jaw tightening as his free hand dragged over his thigh, a slow exhale leaving him.

He needed more.

His thumb hovered over the message button, pulse roaring in his ears.

This was a line he shouldn’t cross. He knew that.

But he had already crossed it, hadn’t he? That day, backstage, the moment he had slipped his fingers inside of you. Besides, he wasn't done with you—not even close.

And now, after reading all of this—seeing how much you wanted him, how much you still thought about him—how the fuck was he supposed to stop himself?

You were lying in bed, the soft hum of traffic outside the window blending with the distant sounds of the city night. The warmth of your comforter cocooned you, and your body felt heavy, unwinding after the long, tiring day.

You were in an oversized T-shirt, the fabric soft against your skin, and a pair of cotton shorts that barely brushed the tops of your thighs. It was comfortable, casual—exactly what you needed to relax. Your feet were bare, the cool sheets brushing against your skin.

Your phone rested in your hand, the screen lighting up briefly as you scrolled through your Tumblr feed. A few reblogs, some random posts, the usual stuff.

The low sound of a car engine echoed through the window, mingling with the distant beeps of a passing horn. You were half-zoning out when your phone buzzed with a notification.

You didn’t expect much. Probably just a random follower or an anonymous ask.But then you saw the message.

No name, no profile picture—just a strange, anonymous account.

You almost didn’t open it, figuring it was a bot. But your curiosity got the better of you, and you swiped to reveal the message.

Anonymous: I can’t believe you fucking shared this with the world. Couldn’t get me off your mind, could you?

Anonymous: Guess you just had to tell everyone how bad you wanted me.

Your stomach dropped as your eyes flew over the words, your heart skipping a beat. You couldn’t believe what you were reading. For a moment, you just stared at the screen, your fingers frozen.

What the hell?

Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of it. The words were rough, almost familiar, but that was impossible.

You felt a cold shiver run down your spine.

There was no way.

No fucking way he would have seen it.

You took a breath, almost too afraid to reply; but your fingers moved before you could think it through.

Who is this? you typed, your heart hammering in your chest.

You: "Is this some kind of joke?"

You stared at your phone, waiting for a response. Each second felt like an eternity, your pulse quickening with the uncertainty of it all.

You thought about ignoring it, maybe blocking the account, but something in the back of your mind stopped you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this message, rough and degrading as it was, meant something more.

Finally, the screen lit up again.

Anonymous: You really don’t recognize me? Been thinking about me so much and still can’t figure it out? Fuckin' pathetic.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze, reading the words over and over, trying to make sense of them. The message felt so real. Too real. Your stomach churned as the pieces started to fall into place.

No. It couldn’t be.

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the racing thoughts in your head. This is insane, you told yourself. It’s not him. It can’t be. But the more you read, the more familiar it felt. The way the words twisted, the tone, no one else had known that this was real. No one but Chris.

Chris: Couldn’t stop thinking about me, could you? Had to share it, let everyone know how bad you wanted me, huh?

Your mind was racing now, his touch, the way he had tasted you on his tongue, the way he’d made you feel. It wasn’t that you hadn’t already thought about it before—it was just that now, with his words hanging in the air, everything felt different.

You: Chris?

You typed the name quickly, pressing send before you can even second guess yourself.

It felt almost like a whisper, though you were alone in your room.

You stared at the screen, waiting. Your heart racing in your chest, each second feeling like it stretched on forever. The silence in the room was suffocating, the hum of the traffic outside almost drowned out by the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

Your phone lit up again.

Chris: Took you long enough to figure it out. Thought you’d be smarter than that.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, a wave of heat rushing over you as the realization settled in. It was him. Chris.

He had somehow found your post, found you.

You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream or just throw your phone across the room. Your fingers hovered over the screen, unsure of what to type next.

What do you even say to this?

But before you could stop yourself, another message popped up.

Chris: You think I wouldn’t see it? You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted me to see how badly you were thinking about me.

Your fingers hovered above the screen, your heart still hammering in your chest. You knew now.

It was Chris.

The way he spoke, the words he used, the way he knew exactly what had happened, there was no denying it.

You swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself.

You: How did you find it?

The question left your fingers without thinking, the curiosity mixed with fear and something else you didn’t want to admit.

You waited, staring at the screen, unsure of what to expect next. The seconds stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity. Then, finally, his reply came through.

Chris: How? You really didn’t think I’d find it? Thought you’d be smarter than that, huh? You’re not the only one who knows how to look around.

Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could process his words, the next message hit you like a wave.

Chris: You have no fuckin' idea how turned on I am right now. God, you’re still fucking mine, my fucking slut

Chris: I bet you're soaked right now, aren't you? You can’t stop thinking about me, can you?

Chris: Well, if it’s eating at you that much, I think I should help you with that, shouldn't I?

His words dripped with a dangerous kind of confidence, making you even more soaked. He knew exactly how to make your heart race and your thoughts scatter.

There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just him, giving you a choice he knew you couldn't say no to. Chris' next messages came through quick, each one more demanding than the last.

Chris: I want you to tell me what you’re wearing right now. I need to know.

You: I’m wearing a shirt and shorts...

Chris: A shirt and shorts? That’s cute, baby

Chris: I want you to take them off. Now, do it for me and tell me when you have.

You feel your heart race as you pull your long, over-sized shirt over your head, letting it fall onto the floor over the edge of your bed, doing just as he asked. You sigh leaning back into your pillows and resting your phone onto your tits as your fingers trail down against your body, your fingertips finding the waistband of your cotton shorts,slowly pulling them down to your ankles.

You slide them off of your body, leaving them at the edge of your bed as you reach your hand back up to your phone, texting him to let him know that you have.

Chris: Good girl. Take off your panties.

You bite your lip, a rush of excitement flooding your body as your hand slides down to your panties. You slide your fingers along the elastic waistband, slowly pulling them down your legs. As they hit the floor, you quickly text Chris to let him know you've done as he asked.

Chris: Now, show me. Send me a picture of yourself, just like that.

You feel a thrill run through you as you grab your phone again, your fingers trembling slightly with excitement as you open the camera app.

Laying back down, you position the phone just right, your legs parted slightly as you trace your fingers over your bare skin, your soaked pussy on full display for him. You make sure the shot captures just enough, from your hips, to your breasts, to your slick folds, the soft glow of the light accentuating your exposed body.

Your breath is shallow as you press send, waiting for his response.

It's been less than a minute when your phone buzzes with a notification. You hesitate for a moment before opening the message, your pussy completely soaked with anticipation and desire, all for him.

Chris: That’s what I like to see. You’re such a good fuckin' slut for me, always listening so good..

Chris : Fuck..ma, that sloppy pretty pussy—god I should've just filled you up with them right outside that stupid fuckin' door.

Chris: You're such a slutty tease. Now play with those pretty tits for me.

It's almost like you can hear him groaning in your ears again, like you can hear him whispering all of this filth straight in your ears all over again. The memory alone has heat pooling in your stomach, has your breath coming out uneven as you reach for your phone with shaky fingers.

You prop it up in front of you, angling the camera just right—just enough to put your body on display for him for when you send this to him.

Your skin is flushed, your lips slightly parted as you hesitate for only a second before pressing record. The red light blinks back at you, and it feels dangerous, feels dirty, but you don’t stop, you've wanted him for so long now, that you can't.

You reach up, slowly pulling down your shirt, revealing your perfect breasts to the camera. You cup them both in your hands, gently squeezing and massaging them as you watch yourself on the screen, pretending he's watching you, live.

The texts on the other end of the phone fall silent for a moment, Chris' words coming to a halt, probably because his hands are occupied, rubbing against his bulge as he closes his eyes, imagining you.

You can't help but let out a small moan as you continue to play with your own tits, your fingers slick with your own saliva tracing circles around your hardened nipples.

You know if Chris was there he would massage them too, his hands pulling at your skin, rubbing against their shape as he looked up at you.

The thought sends shivers down your spine. You can almost feel his breath on your neck, his other hand roaming lower, cupping your ass, maybe gliding along your hips all while his tongue twirls around your nipples.

Your fingers continue to tease your nipples, rolling them between your thumbs and forefingers as you imagine Chris' touch, while you watch yourself in the reflection of the camera.

Your phone buzzes with a notification, the sound making you glance up to the top of your screen.

Chris: Are you fuckin' doing it for me..? hmm... my pretty writer?

Chris: Rub that pretty pussy for me baby, cmon show me how needy you are, all for me, think about how it felt when it was my hands on that clit.. when it was my touch driving you insane instead of your own.

Your heart races as you obey his command, sliding your fingers down your stomach slowly, feeling every inch of your own body.

Whimpering, your hands move down your body, gliding against your inner thighs, skimming along the skin of your abdomen.

You gasp as your hands dip lower, feel the wetness of your pussy against your fingertips. You start to rub your clit, circling it gently at first, then harder and faster as your hands explore your slick folds.

You moan loudly, your back arching as you push your hips forward, seeking more contact with your fingers as you watch yourself on the screen.

Chris: God I wish I could hear you ma.. slip those fuckin' fingers in there and rub that slutty pussy at the same time for me..

You feel yourself whimper as your fingers push into your cunt, the walls of your soaking wet pussy convulsing around them, squeezing your fingers tight.

The slick sounds fill your quiet room, mixing with your ragged breaths, the camera catching it all.

Your free hand grips the sheets, knuckles turning white as you slowly fuck yourself open to his instructions, curling your fingers just right to skim along your g-spot, just the way you imagine he would.

Your eyes flutter shut, and in your mind, it’s not your fingers—it’s his. His long, thick vein-covered fingers stretching you open, his voice low and taunting in your ear, just as it was when he fucked you with his fingers backstage that day.

Your fingers continue to fill up your cunt when your phone vibrates again, Chris' anonymous profile filling the top of the screen with his next message.

You close out of the camera app, ending the video as your eyes scan over his messages.

Chris: So fucking desperate for me, huh?

Chris: I should've fuckin' made you suck this cock when I had you, could've left all of my come on your tongue, on your tits.. I fuckin' need you again, I need to fuck open that sweet pussy of yours ..

Your phone buzzes beside you, the screen lighting up with a new message. You don’t stop—can’t stop—your fingers still buried deep inside yourself as you reach for it with your free hand. The second you open it, a sharp gasp slips past your lips.

Chris fucking Sturniolo.

The picture loads slowly, teasingly, and when it finally appears, your breath catches in your throat. His hand—those hands—are the first thing you notice.

Big, veiny, the tendons flexing as he holds his phone, his fingers curled just enough to remind you of how they’d feel wrapped around your throat, gripping your hips, stretching you open.

Your eyes drift lower, taking in the his chest—bare, toned, his skin smooth except for the faintest dusting of hair trailing down his stomach. His abs are sharp, defined, every muscle visible under the dim lighting.

Chris: This what you wanted?

Your fingers falter, slowing inside your dripping cunt as you stare at the message, at the picture. Your breath is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, but you can’t look away. His hands, his chest, his abs—he looks so fucking good, and he knows it.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, mind racing for something to say, something that won’t make you sound as desperate as you feel. But before you can type a response, another message pops up.

Chris: Fucking slut

A shaky breath leaves you, thighs instinctively pressing together, your hand inside of your pussy slowing, barely moving inside of you.

He’s right. He has to know he’s right. Because you are—dripping, your fingers slick and sticky from how turned on you are.

Your free hand tightens in the sheets, frustration and need burning under your skin. He’s teasing you, making you squirm uncontrollably, and you hate how easily he does it, how easily he gets under your skin, makes you fall apart with just a picture and a few words.

But two can play at that game.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you scroll through your camera roll, your thumb hesitating for only a second before tapping on the video—the one you’d recorded earlier, the one where you had put yourself on full display, fucking yourself to his directions.

The read receipt pops up almost instantly.

And then—

Chris: Fuck.

A smirk tugs at your lips, satisfaction curling in your stomach. You type back, fingers still trembling.

You: This what you wanted?

Your body is on fire, as your fingers move inside of you faster, your walls tightening around them as you fuck yourself to the thought of him, to the way you know he’s watching that video over and over, stroking himself to the sight of you falling apart.

Your phone vibrates again, another message from him lighting up your screen.

Chris: Bet you're close..huh? my naughty fuckin' girl.

Your fingers slow, your body trembling on the edge, so fucking close it hurts. You’re right there, so close to falling apart when your phone buzzes again.

Another message.

Chris: Don’t fucking cum.

Your breath hitches, a frustrated whimper slipping from your lips. Your body protests, thighs clenching, every muscle screaming for release.

Chris: Unless you wanna do it alone.

Fuck.

Your fingers freeze inside yourself, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

He’s toying with you, toying with your soaking pussy, dragging this out, making you suffer—and you hate how much you love it.

Chris: Be a good girl and stop touching that pretty pussy unless you want me to make you wait even longer, unless you never want me to help you recreate all of those fucking stories, baby.

Another buzz.

Chris: And if you keep touching yourself like you don’t belong to me, I'll know and i'll never let you fuckin' come.

Chris: That would be such a fuckin’ shame, that sweet pussy all pent up and i won’t let you come until we live out all of those posts—until i fuck you in every scenario you wrote about while i read them to you.

Your blurry vision shifts to your phone, your fingers sliding out of your clenched pussy, your stomach flipping as a new message appears. But it’s not words this time.

It’s a location, an invitation.

An address.

I'm so sorry for adding another part but I got another idea & wanted to incorporate more smut in the next part

𖧧 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

part three : here

thank you for reading ! ♡

lowkey might rewrite, feeling emo asf rn & rushed this

🖇- @chriss-slutt @55sturn @chrysiie @il0vey0um0st @trustinsturniolos @v4lsturn @shitttttypoet @mattsplaything @emely9274 @pip4444chris @whore4mattsturniolo @sweetshuga @courta13

@lilyloveschris @kat-m-syd @sturniolo101 @iwantchristopherowensturniolo @starzinasblog @weron1ka @ellssturn @ifilwtmfc @sturnispider @matts-girlfriend @spinninnn @urfavvbilliemunch

holy bust

matt sturniolo blurb

relief

warnings: pillow humping, not proofread.

the tour bus has always been an action packed setting for matt. chris blaring music at any given point, arguments taking place every few moments, too much work talk for matt’s liking and most of all— there is no privacy. at all.

how much ever matt loved being on the road, meeting fans and entertaining them he would also like just a moment alone.

a moment to think what he wants to, able to stress in peace, or relieve the stress in some way or the other.

matt is currently laid on his bunk, the red curtain pulled completely in attempts to mask the sound of the loud music being played in the small lounge area in celebration of yet another successful show.

even though nick was insisting matt on staying up for a little, matt convinced him that he had a throbbing head ache and said his good nights earlier than usual.

matt sighs into his pillow thinking over the events that took place today, all the work that he has to get done before tomorrow’s show and the rest of the tour. but one thought in particular that’s bothering him is what the fuck is he is going to do about the raging boner tenting his sweats right now.

it feels wrong to help himself out when everyone including his brothers are right outside. awake.

matt screws his eyes shut in order to fall sleep, pulling the blanket all the way up to his bare shoulders and letting out a breath.

he shuffles and stirs all through an hour before he finally settles in a position that was comfortable enough—partially on his back, face to the side, hands on either side of his face, blanket loosely laying below his thighs and a small pillow between his legs.

he keeps his eyes shut focusing on the goal of falling asleep, when a small bump in the road shakes him up.

the pillow between his legs shifts with his body, matt was startled—not by the bump but by the way his cock twitched at the small friction of the pillow shifting between his legs, at how his body tensed immediately.

matt can’t help but buck his hips into the pillow just a little, pressing his clothed cock on it.

he lets out a shaky breath keeping his eyes shut but his eyebrows pinned together, slowly allowing himself to grind against the feather filled appliance that he should definitely not be humping.

but he can’t help it, he needs the pressure that has been building up to release.

soon matt’s thoughts fog up, not caring if the people present in the vehicle with him catch him and he starts humping the pillow recklessly.

the loud music that is still being played outside engulfing the faint sounds of matt’s hips plowing into the pillow.

his fingers holding onto the thin sheet covering the mattress, gripping onto it as the intensity of his humping and grinding increases.

a small whimper slips through his lips before letting his mouth hang open, emitting a soft pant with each one of his movements.

his body shaking violently and breathing growing heavier, his cock twitching under his sweats feeling his release come closer.

matt’s stomach muscles tense, his back arched, hips bucked in with the last powerful thrust, lips caught between his teeth, face flushed-sweaty and scrunched up in pleasure when he cums undone in his pants. painting them and the pillow cover with his sticky, translucent release.

matt’s eyes flutter open and immediately drop down to the mess he’d made.

realisation settling in as he quickly gets rid of the pillow cover, still trying to even out his breathing.

once he’s cleared the evidence of his shameful and pathetic act, he flops back down with a loud sigh.

finally feeling relaxed enough to sleep.

taglist: @espressqe @ginswife @sturnsburna @carolina454 @hope2244 @hotgirlbl0gger @violetstxrniolo777 @riggysworld @verycoolmiyah @fadedstvrn @purpledreamertyphoon @mattsplaything @whore4chris @chris-halleluja @annsx03 @mattsdemi @chrislittleslut @poolover123 @luvvnai @chrissturniolossidehoe @pompomprrin @harmonysturniolo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @soph-loren @ccsturns @lovesturni0l0s @chriss-slutt @wysmols @sturniolosluttt @mattsdillion @alyssa-sturn @bilssturns @sturnobessed @mxnsonn @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @chrissturnioloswife88 @sxphiee3 @purpledreamertyphoon @whoreforchrissturnniolo @slutformatt17 @realuvrrr @sweetxcheeryx @sturnl0ve @estellesdoll @glitterybtch @courta13 @mattsbitchh @slvtf0rchr1s @trevorsgodmother

for those who aren’t going to the sturniolo triplets surprise tour, i found these videos of the different segments of the tour for orlando!

entrance

group chat

anonymous confessions section

story time roulette

the surprise!

the end

THANK U

OH!

Literally screamed like i was a 13 yo girl again when i heard the song.

Hes so cute put him in my pocket RN.

NO HANDS — c.s.

wc: 1.1k

cws: smut, swearing, sub!chris, dry humping, begging, oral (m receiving) w no hands, dirty talk, use of "baby, ma, mommy, pretty boy, good boy"

you finally give chris what he needs after a long day of whining and pleading

──── sucking ⌗ m.s

matt had always been a little shy, but right now—sitting between your legs with flushed cheeks and twitching fingers—he was downright skittish.

you had him caged in, one arm draped lazily around his middle while the other rested on his jaw, your fingers barely grazing his bottom lip.

“c’mon, bunny,” you cooed, tilting your head with a soft, encouraging smile. “open up.”

matt swallowed, his throat bobbing as his eyes flickered between your face and your fingers. he was so obedient—he always had been.

he listened.

his lips parted, and you took your time, brushing the tips of your fingers over his tongue before pushing in further. his breath hitched, lashes fluttering as he instinctively wrapped his lips around you.

“good boy,” you murmured, thumb stroking over his cheek.

matt whimpered, his hands clutching at your wrist, unsure if he wanted to push you away or pull you closer. his tongue moved shyly against your skin, warm and wet as he suckled ever so softly.

you groaned, voice dropping to a purr. “knew you’d be sweet like this. listen so well.”

his whole body tensed, ears burning red as he let out the softest, most desperate little whine against your fingers. slowly, you pushed your fingers deeper, feeling his tongue swirl around the digits before hitting the back of his throat softly.

he gagged slightly, his eyes widened, sputtering a little as you pulled your fingers back.

“shh, you got it baby. you can take them a little more, yeah?”

my legs shot open. sub boys will always be my fav

ᴘᴜᴘᴘʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

…𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘴

based off this request !!

The second we step into the shelter’s playroom, Chris is ambushed. A litter of wiggly, overexcited puppies launches at him like he’s made of treats, tiny paws scrambling up his legs as he lets out a very dramatic yell.

AWWW

Imma say it …..I hated the thought of tour when the boys first announced it . I thought it was a money grab but after seeing how much time and effort they put into It I love it;I love all the tour content we’re getting it’s just refreshing now. I’ll never doubt my tripledippers again🫶🏾

the way everyone was in shambles when they announced it but it’s been great so far

“quiet” “too shy” oh.

how is this the same man, nonetheless on the same DAY?! he flips the hat around and goes from cutie to daddy REAL QUICK 🫦🫦🫦

pt 2 to this. sorta kinda reqed by @miasturn1ol0

warnings!!: meandom!reader, degradation. choking, slapping, m receiving.

He can barely think. Lashes soaked as you slap his face back and forth, lip trembling at the impact. Hand wrapped around his throat getting tighter each time his words get stuck in his throat. Knee cruelly rubbing his throbbing cock through his boxers at the the slowest pace ever.

"P-please." He whines. "Bein' so mean—" You squeeze his throat, "I'm being mean?" You scoff. "You deserve this—You know you'd get punised, yet you still decided to be a slut." He whines, "But I missed you—" You slap him again, smirking at the sob that leaves his lips. "Msorry!"

You press your knee against him harder, tears falling from his eyes as they squeeze shut. "Are you?" You murmur, watching his eyes immediately fly open. "So sorry mama, won' be a be a bad boy ever again," He babbles, voice wobbly and rough. "M-missed y'so much, wanted you so bad." He whimpers.

You cock your head to the side, "Yeah?" You coo in faux sympathy, rocking your knee faster against him. "Uh-huh—" He moans, hips bucking. "I...ju..just—" He chokes on moan, "Please." He gasps, "Needa cum."

"You really think you deserve to cum after being a slut?" You purr in the sweetest tone making his dick twitch, he nods vigorously. "S-said m' sorry!" He gasps as you speed up, back arching off the bed as he gets closer to the edge. "Took— my punishment like good boy!" You smirk, "Yeah?"

"Mhm! Pleasepleaseplease— Ineeda—" His eyes roll into the back of his head, finally cumming after the friction from your knee becomes too much.

You unwrap your hand from around his throat, smirking as you feel the sticky substance seep through his boxers.

You lean up and kiss his forehead. "What a good boy."

a/n: brat tamer reader save me save me