HI PUMPKIN! i’m hiba :) i love to interact with new (or old) mutuals, so please don’t hesitate to talk to me in any way! i mainly write for the sturniolo triplet fandom, but if you have any requests, let me know! please please please send an ask in my inbox, i absolutely love talking to you guys!
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Summary: In which you’re Nick’s best friend, and he brings you to Gabi’s birthday party. By the end of the night, you find your place in a new crowd—and catch the eye of someone special.
CW: pure fluff that's all.
You always heard how being in LA was so glamorous, a real place made of dreams. But for you? It was a place of pure confusion. The city was a continuous cycle of neon lights, palm trees, and people trying to just make it big. All you saw was a city moving way too fast for you sometimes, and it was a struggle.
You really did miss your old life. You missed the comfort of a small town, people who knew you at heart, and how every barista knew exactly how you liked your coffee. In LA, you felt small, almost invisible, swallowed up by the number of people. This wasn’t a small town, and you weren’t even sure how to begin making friends or even making a name for yourself.
Then something amazing happened: Nick Sturniolo walked into your life, and you were saved. Or so you claimed every day when you were with him.
You remember it like it was yesterday. A random Tuesday morning, you were exhausted from unpacking all of your things, so you decided to visit a coffee shop not too far from where you live. When you walked in, the line was long, but the smell of caffeine kept you there. The guy in front of you seemed super happy to be there, so you looked up. He was ordering three different drinks and some kind of pastry. Why he needed that much coffee was beyond you, but hey, it’s LA so anything is possible. He must have felt you staring because he turned around, looking at you before turning to the cashier and paying.
When he was done, he stepped to the side, let you order, and then grinned. “I’m going to say this is your first time in LA?” he asked.
“How can you tell?” You asked softly.
Nick just laughed and shrugged. “You didn’t really recognize me. And you look like you’re petrified.”
You blushed and laughed softly. He then followed you to a table, and you both sat and talked for what felt like forever. He gave multiple tips on making a name for yourself, who to avoid, who to be friends with, and the best way to avoid the horrible traffic in downtown.
It was pretty much everything you needed. Nick was the whirlwind of endless friendship and charm. By the time you were ready to leave, you had exchanged phone numbers, and he made you promise to text him, because now you were, in his own words, “besties”. A few hours later, you texted him, and he sent you a list of the best places to eat at and an invite to his trivia night. That was the friendship that started everything you knew and hoped for.
Over the following months, Nick became your rock. LA didn’t seem so scary when he was around; it seemed almost calm and manageable. You two went to different restaurants, different events, and even found time to just be normal friends and swim at your place on weekends. Nick held so many stories about everything and everyone. It made you wonder whether he actually slept or was just constantly out, given how many people he truly knew.
There was always something you wondered about: his family. Specifically his brothers, Matt and Chris. You heard stories about them, but there was never a time when you could meet them. The triplets were inseparable, or so you had heard from others you talked to. And you did see glimpses of that when they posted TikToks or Instagram posts, especially in their YouTube videos. That was the only time you saw Chris and Matt, but you really wanted to meet them in person because they were two-thirds of your best friend. It really was important to you.
Then you finally had the chance to do exactly that when Nick invited you to Gabi’s birthday party.
“[Y/N]. You have to come. You know Gabi, and plus you can actually meet my brothers. Please.” Nick begged, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes.
You sigh, “Fine. But you know how I am with a ton of people I don’t know.”
Nick promised that everyone would love you once they met you. He even promised to stay with you until you felt comfortable enough to be alone with the others.
You spent the days leading up to the trip stressing over what to pack and wear. You wanted to show them all that you belonged with their crowd. Standing out was the last thing you wanted. When the day came to head to the house, you decided on jean shorts and a white lace halter top. It was stylish and cute without being over the top. You felt confident in it, and you thought it would show the other girls that LA was a place where you could belong.
When you arrived at the house, it was already alive. Laughter and music filled the air around it. The backyard was set up with balloons and lights. The pool was beautiful, shimmering under the warm sun. As you wandered into the house, you could smell the food, as if something were being grilled or cooked to perfection.
You had only made it about five feet before a group of girls came over, smiling widely. Gabi squealed and hugged you tightly, happy to see you again. She looked absolutely beautiful, as always. Grace had a kind smile, but her humor was sharp and playful, and that alone made you feel less anxious. Sofia had such a contagious laugh, and the way she looked at you while talking and engaged with you so easily made it feel like you had known her forever. Rainbow kindly offered you a drink and excitedly told you that you’d be sharing a room with her. She called it a mega sleepover. It made you smile.
“I’m so glad you came! I missed you so much!” Gabi said, linking her arm through yours as you walked towards the chairs by the pool.
“Gabi hasn’t stopped talking about you. She said Nick has the best new friend and that we were going to love you.” Grace said, smiling as she sat on the other side of you.
I grabbed the drink that Rainbow got for me, and all of us sat in a sort of circle over the few chairs we had. The girls asked me questions about everything. From how I felt about moving to LA to how I have managed my life here so far. Opening up to them was easier than I thought it would be. I shared stories that I hadn’t shared in months.
Grace told stories about her and Blake, which made most of us laugh at how goofy they are. Sofia was sharing what it was like to live in LA and to be an influencer without it getting overwhelming. Rainbow told me if I ever really wanted to make a name for myself, she could maybe pull some strings and get me a guest appearance on some show she is on. Gabi just sat there, smiling at me, assessing how well I was fitting in and how comfortable I was becoming.
Nick came over like he promised and smiled. “Everything okay? Just checking on my bestie.”
I smiled and nodded. “I think I’m just fine. Thank you, Nick.”
Nick squeezed your shoulder, walked back over to a group of boys, and started talking again. You were so grateful that he checked on you.
You finally realized it was getting dark out. You were so into talking with the girls that time just slipped away. The air got slightly cooler, like it normally does in California. The mood of the party was starting to wind down, and you realized Sofia wasn’t going to have that happen. She ran off and grabbed a karaoke machine. All the girls cheered and ran over. Before you knew it, everyone was crowding the area, and the karaoke party was just starting.
As soon as you walked up, you saw Nick and two other boys grab the mics. You knew it was Matt and Chris; it wasn’t hard to tell since they all looked the same. You watched them whisper to each other quickly, debating on a song to pick. Chris or Matt? You weren’t sure which one suggested a song and the other two smacked him upside the head. Nick then whispered something, and the other two rolled their eyes. Finally, the last boy whispered a song, and you watched as Nick and the other one nodded fast and smiled widely.
You giggled as soon as you heard the opening notes of “Since U Been Gone”. They were all trying to be serious. That didn’t last. Nick started to dance silly, and the other two somehow began screaming into the mics instead of actually singing it. But the one with the tattoos next to Nick? Even though he was acting like a fool, you two would occasionally make eye contact. You felt your heart skipping a beat.
Grace came over and whispered in your ear teasingly. “Oh, it seems like somebody has caught the eye of Matt.”
You blushed, your eyes briefly leaving Matt to look at Grace before going right back to him.
“He’s cute. I’m not afraid to admit that.” You spoke confidently.
Grace laughed and playfully bumped me. “He’s also very single. Just putting that out there.”
At that moment, all three boys started pointing to follow along with part of the song, and you could’ve sworn that Matt pointed right at you, sending goosebumps all over your skin.
Once the song finished, Nick put his mic on the table and came over to you. “Ok! Time to meet Matt and Chris!”
Before you could respond, he grabbed your arm and dragged you with him. You both stopped right in front of his brothers, and you were silent, suddenly shy. Chris smiled softly, and Matt just looked you up and down.
“So I’m guessing that you’re [Y/N]?” Chris joked. “Nick hasn’t stopped telling us how great you are and that we just have to meet you.”
You looked at Nick, then back to Chris and shrugged. “I guess? I just am here. Love a good Yelp review from Nick though.”
Chris laughed and then hugged you. “Well, it’s great to meet you finally.”
Matt was still just standing there, his eyes never leaving you. It made you almost uncomfortable. You looked around nervously.
“Nick didn’t mention that you were cute.” Matt blurted before going red. “Oh fuck. Uh. I mean—”
You smiled and could tell he was panicking. You squeezed his arm. “Thank you. I appreciate the compliment. It’s nice to meet you too.” At your words, Matt instantly relaxed and smiled.
The four of you found a rhythm of talking for what felt like hours, just enjoying the company and learning more about your best friend’s brothers. Chris was clearly the more energetic one, with no filter to his words most of the time, but Matt’s humor was sarcastic and quick-witted. He carried himself as someone more private and reserved, someone who made you curious to know more.
Sofia came over and was passing out birthday cupcakes, insisting that the birthday girl said we had to eat one. As you calmly ate the cupcake, you watched Sofia go up to Chris and smash it right into his face, saying something about payback for the prank he pulled on her earlier. You all laughed, and Matt pulled out his phone to take a quick picture of his red face with frosting all over it.
“That is so going to be held as blackmail.” Matt smiled.
“What the fuck? Matt, you better not post that.” Chris tried to shove his cupcake in Matt’s face, but he easily dodged him.
You slowly move closer to Nick as you both ate your cupcakes. You looked at him and asked, “Are they always like this?”
Nick laughed and nodded. “Sometimes they are even worse.”
The party eventually started to thin out. Some went to bed from going hard all day, others trying to sing one last song, and some headed to the kitchen to eat more food and soak up all the alcohol that was consumed. You were slowly walking towards the pool, where Matt was sitting with his feet in the water. Sitting down slowly next to him, you put your feet into the water. The moon cast a beautiful glow across his face.
The silence wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. In fact, this was the most comfortable you had felt all day. You just listened to the laughter and singing happening behind you both, enjoying the white noise. Matt was fixed on moving the water with his legs, occasionally pausing to look at you before quickly looking away.
“Nick has said nothing but really great things about you.” He whispered. “It made me really nervous to meet you.”
You looked at him, shocked, then smiled softly. “Honestly? I was nervous too. You are a big deal, well, according to Nick. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t make a fool of myself.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Nick is full of it. We are just three boys from Boston. But I’m glad he holds us to high standards.”
The conversation took off from there—weird things he witnessed in LA, his favorite childhood memory, and how being at the beach at night was the most therapeutic thing ever. Matt shared what it was like to be a triplet and with them, how there were lots of sleepless nights filled with laughter and pranks that drove their parents insane. You shared stories of your small town, how summers were different, and how there wasn’t much privacy because everyone knew everyone and everything.
At some point, Rainbow walked over and joined us. She asked why, out of all the songs to pick, they chose Kelly Clarkson. Soon, Sofia and Grace joined as well. We were all laughing as they told a story. It was about a concert that went wrong for them. Matt shared a story about their last tour and how stressful it was when they weren’t having fun. The stories weaved in and out of seriousness.
Gabi finally came over and dragged us all away from the pool, demanding that we all take a group picture before anyone went to bed. Tiny party hats were handed out, and we all posed with silly faces. Then just the girls took a picture, and we were all smiling. When you looked over, you noticed that Matt was taking a picture as well, a small smile on his face before he noticed you staring and then quickly looked away.
Afterward, when most people left, you were sitting on a lounge chair and looking at the stars. Matt walked over and sat quietly next to you. Finally, he spoke up, “Hey… Uh, would you like to maybe hang out sometime? Just us?”
Your heart started to beat fast. “I’d really like that.”
His face relaxed, and a smile went across his face. “Cool. There’s a bowling alley that’s really fun. Or we can go do mini golf. Whatever you’d like to do, really.”
You giggled, “It sounds like a plan. Here, give me your phone. I’ll put my number in it.”
You quietly put your number into his phone. When you went to hand it back, he gently grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. “I meant it earlier.”
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What did you mean?”
Matt blushed, but kept holding your hand. “I think you’re beautiful.”
The words put a warm feeling into your stomach. “Thank you, Matt.”
He gave a soft nod, let go of your hand, and stood up. “Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You sat there in shock. You went from knowing only Gabi and Nick at this party to suddenly making friends with all the girls and getting Matt’s number. Nick walked over and sat next to you.
“You look oddly happy.” He smiled.
You smiled back and whispered, “Thank you for bringing me. Really.”
Nick laughed and hugged you tightly. “I told you that you’d fit right in.”
The next morning, you had to leave for an event you had agreed to attend. Once you said goodbye to everyone, you drove home and smiled the whole way. As you were driving, you felt your phone vibrate. When you reached a point where you could stop, you pulled out your phone. There were three messages.
Nick: Ok, I don’t know what witchcraft you did to Matt, but he looks so lost without you here now.
Gabi: (sent the group picture) So… You and Matt are cute. Look at you two right next to each other.
Matt: I am really glad I met you last night. I can’t wait to see you again.
You smiled and put your phone away as you continued driving back to your place. But your mind was on a certain blue-eyed boy who captivated you the minute he started to sing poorly. You were sure Nick would have a lot of questions, but for now you were okay with this just being yours. Life felt good for once, like LA could truly be the start of everything for you.
M yaps: I thought of this idea back when the party happened, and just ran with it. I love me some good fluff.
note: i’m sorry for ghosting all of you 🙈!!!!!! uni has taken a toll on me but i’m back on that grind. for now i’ll just do asks since u guys have better ideas than me, (also pls ignore this was months ago) anyways enjoyy~
જ⁀➴ ♡ nasty but also super gentle
જ⁀➴ ♡ this man is an EATERRRRRR
જ⁀➴ ♡ cannot shut the fuck up. always murming nonsense into your ear: “mmm baby so fcking good” “your such a -fuck- good girl for me”
જ⁀➴ ♡ oh yeah did i mention he likes to say good girl?
જ⁀➴ ♡ loves being praised
જ⁀➴ ♡ likes it when you suddenly turn dominant
જ⁀➴ ♡ always makes sure you’re looking at him (even forces you…..)
જ⁀➴ ♡ LOOVES fingering you, if his fingers could live inside you he would.
જ⁀➴ ♡ loves public sex, definitely has a kink for humiliation toward you
જ⁀➴ ♡ absolutely loves when you ride him. his favorite position is reverse cowgirl.
જ⁀➴ ♡ also loves when you sit on his face
જ⁀➴ ♡ overstimulates you to hell, ALSO loves edging you (and him)
a/n: if u liked this please support by commenting/reblogging, it means a lot to me! ૮ ´ ꒳ `ა
now playing ⊹˚♬₊⋆ : seven nation army by the white stripes
christopher sturniolo. goes by chris. 23. assassin name is viper. alina nicknamed him freckles. super soldier. human experiment. captured by hydra at 11. nicknamed “unit 4” by hydra. one of the top agents at the orion initiative. tactical genius. avid radiohead listener. all black. dry humor. overprotective. yearns. hyper-vigilant. guns. deep talks. controlled by trauma. scared to open up. nightmares. wants to be loved, but is scared of opening up.
paired with redroomassasin!reader.
a/n: please tell me some of you are marvel geeks and get the reference 🙏 i’m trying to fulfill my winterwidow fantasies 💔💔
alina volkova. 21. goes by alya. assassin name is echo. chris nicknamed her cherry. trained in the red room. elite assassin. one of the top agents at the orion initiative. captured by general dreykov at 7. escaped at 19. nicknamed “project echo” by department x. sarcastic. quick witted. fluent in 4 languages. adrenaline junkie. has “echo” tattooed on her wrist from her time in the red room. carries a dagger at all times. skilled in hand-to-hand combat. has guilt that she can’t outrun. wants to be loved without feeling like she has to earn it.
best paired with supersoldier!chris
a/n: hai 🤗🤗🤗 this is the new chris au as promised!!
Tissues are strewn across the sofa, disgregarded, as you curl into the cushions. Even being wrapped in your most comfortable sweats doesn’t ease the chill of your body. You reach for a mug on the coffee table—the fifth cup of tea you’d brewed today.
Before your fingers could touch the ceramic, the phone rings.
Reaching to it, you groggily answer. “Hello?”
“Hey there, peach.” Elaine’s voice is cheerful from the other end of the line. “You up for a lake day?”
“I’d love to.” You cough. “But maybe another day?”
She hears the wavering of your tone. “You sick?”
“It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine.”
“Oh honey, I know just the thing.” With that, Elaine hangs up.
You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it surely wasn’t this.
Chris is standing in the doorway, holding a thermos. His big hands stretch across the container, making it look tiny in his grasp. Your eyes flit from his fingers to the keys hanging at his belt loop.
“Chris… hi!” You try to keep the enthusiasm at a minimum.
“Sorry, Elaine told me to come over with soup. Are you sick?” He raked his gaze over your disheveled appearance.
Your face is completely flush—both from the sickness and from Chris’ sudden arrival. “Yeah, I am. It’s nothing, though.”
He taps his fingers to the metal thermos. “Can I come in?”
“Are you sure you want to? I might be contagious.”
“I don’t get sick,” he assures, in a way that makes you believe him without a second thought.
Moving your shoulder aside, you gesture for him to come in. Heavy stomps from his boots descend past you, adding to the hammering of your chest. Once the door is closed, you walk to where he’s standing in the kitchen. Unable to stand up straight, the island beneath you acts as a physical support.
While he unscrews the container, Chris scans your figure. Not objectifying, not even admiring, just analyzing.
“You should go lay down,” he says. “You look pretty out of it.”
Grumbling, you retreat and lay back to the sofa. Thankfully, you had disposed of all the tissues. Head pounding and body shivering, you nestle into yourself, knees to chest. Having Chris here under these circumstances was not ideal, but it gave you an odd sense of comfort. In these last few months, you had grown accustomed to looking after yourself. You forgot how lovely it felt being cared for.
In your delusive state, time ticks by like a fever dream. You aren’t sure long it takes, but soon Chris is in front of you, holding a bowl.
“You might wanna sit up,” he says, with such authority that it leaves disobeying out of the question.
Once you’re seated upright, he hands you the soup.
“It’s the only thing I know how to cook.” He sits beside you, giving you a spoon. “Mom’s recipe.”
You hold the bowl in both hands, relishing in the warmth. Cozying up to it as if it’s a fire, you smile. “Thank you.”
“Anything for a neighbour.”
‘Neighbour’ isn’t exactly the title you want, but at least it’s a step up from ‘kid’.
“You can put some TV on, if you want,” you suggest, nodding towards the remote.
“Nah, the only things on are tennis and golf.” He makes a face.
You want to say the television is for more than just sports, but decide against it. Instead, you drink a spoonful of the soup. Although your tastebuds are muted, the fact that Chris cooked it made it the best thing you’d ever tasted. He’s watching you, like you’re a child at risk of choking.
After finishing half the soup, your body forces you to lay down. He is still next to you, and you curl your feet to not touch him. You tuck your palms into the sleeves of your hoodie, holding the edge of the fabric with your fingers. Rapidly, the cold shivers turn into hot sweats, and you feel like you’re on fire.
Weight lifts off the sofa as Chris gets up. At first you’re afraid he’s leaving, but you soon hear the sound of running water. When he circles back to you, he’s holding a folded cloth in his hands.
Crouching on his heels in front of you, he slowly brings the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up.”
You mumble in response. It’s impossible to string a full sentence together while he’s touching you.
“Here.” He replaces his hand with the rag.
Cool and wet, the cloth lays on your skin. Relief washes over you. You can’t help but close your eyes under his comforting touch.
The next thing you know, you’re waking up. Eyes still gritty with sleep, you immediately search the room for Chris. You’re met with the dark seeping in through the living room windows. And, of course, Chris sitting at the end of the couch.
“Ah, look who’s up,” he says with a soft smile.
“Oh gosh, how long was I out?” you murmur, brushing the hair from your face.
“A few hours. I didn’t wake ya, figured ya needed a good rest.”
The question gnaws at you enough that you have to ask it. “Have you been here the whole time?”
“Yeah, hope that’s alright. I fixed the window in your bedroom, and that backdoor lock.”
He huffs a small laugh, and raises from the couch. “You better get to bed.”
You try to push yourself from the cushions, but your weak body betrays you.
“Can i?” He asks, looking down at you.
Whatever it was, you would let him. You nod.
Chris lowers just enough to hook the bend of your knees under his arm. His hand sneaks behind your back, and holds you. Like a feather, you lift to into the air. Stability isn’t needed, but you instinctively bring your hand around his shoulder. After one quick adjustment, he begins walking you down the hallway. Your face is nuzzled to his chest. Deep, woodsy cologne is clinging to his t-shirt. Your pulse throbs rapidly as he nears the bedroom.
Pushing the door open with his back, he brings you into your room. In a swift movement, he places you softly on the bed. The duvet is chilled under your touch, the perfect temperature for your heated body.
He unfolds a blanket at the footboard, and drapes the cozy material over you.
“Thank you…for everything.” You smile, cuddling to the covering.
“You gotta stop thanking me, kid.” He plants on the edge of the bed. He looks like a dad getting prepared to read a bedtime story. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
a/n: ik this is slow burn but I just have to really set the scene guys please get the vibe 🙏
There are seven days in a week. You know there are seven days in a week. You’re painfully aware there are seven days in a week. The weekdays were among the first things your little mind was taught, right alongside the alphabet and how to count to ten.
Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours.
And you felt every single one of them.
Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.
You find yourself sprawled across the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through Indeed without ever actually applying to anything. You watch movies, take walks with your mom, help her cook all the meals you grew up eating, but your phone burns in your hand every time you pick it up.
You swear you can feel the heat of it beneath your pillow at night. Pretty soon, you’re convinced it’s going to grow a mouth and tell you to just text Chris already.
Embarrassment rushes through you every time you open your text thread with him. You glance over your shoulder each time, convinced that somehow, someway, a news anchor is going to appear in your bedroom, microphone in hand, broadcasting you to the entire state of Virginia.
DUMB GIRL CHECKS HER PHONE FOR THE 100TH TIME TO SEE IF DAD’S BEST FRIEND HAS TEXTED.
You knew he wouldn’t text you because he had nothing to text you about. You were his best friend’s daughter, and that’s all you were to him.
…And you were fine with that.
Mostly.
Your mom always kept scrapbooks, and you loved that about her. In an age where most parents just pulled out their phones and slapped a Snapchat filter over every milestone, she made sure there was something you could actually hold. Every year had its own album, tucked neatly into a labeled storage box.
You hadn’t looked through them in years. Honestly, you hadn’t even thought about them.
But for some reason, you found yourself pulling the box out anyway.
It starts in 2001.
You look at yourself as a newborn, all tiny limbs and alien-like features. Your parents look impossibly happy bringing their brand-new baby girl home. They dressed you in pink.
You skim through the years 2002 to 2005, watching yourself grow up across the bright pink and yellow pages of the scrapbook. You watch yourself eat your first slice of birthday cake, sit on Santa’s lap, and throw a fit at your fourth birthday party because, apparently, you were absolutely terrified of the poor guy dressed up as Blue from Blue’s Clues.
It always freaked you out that photographs were snapshots of time—that you could look at a single picture and peek into a moment that had long since passed. You saw moms trying to grow out the pencil-thin eyebrows they’d survived the nineties with, and kids crammed around a park picnic table with not a single iPad in sight.
Everybody in those photographs had no idea what their lives would become.
They didn’t know if they would move away.
Some would end up divorced, some would have to make very hard decisions, some would be happy, and some would not.
They weren’t thinking that, someday, these would be just memories. They were living in the moment.
At least you hoped so.
2007-2009.
You look at yourself in a Rapunzel dress. Plastic heels on your feet and a toothless grin. Your parents practically had to beg you to take off your dress.
You flip the page.
And then you see it.
A photo with your mom’s handwriting scribbled neatly beneath it.
Virginia, 2009. New friends!
Your heart climbs into your throat as your clammy hands tighten around the scrapbook.
A quick glance over your shoulder.
No news anchor.
Your dad and Chris are sitting beside a fire, arms slung around each other’s shoulders.
It’s the same blue eyes.
The same birthmark along his jaw.
The same stubble.
Except all of it was brown.
He would’ve been twenty-three in this picture.
Almost your age now.
He’s smiling so hard his eyes nearly disappear, a Busch Light dangling loosely from his hand. He looks impossibly happy.
A little drunk, too.
It was strange seeing him like this. You’d never seen him this young before.
Your logical brain knew Chris hadn’t always been thirty-nine. He’d been ten with missing teeth. Sixteen with acne. And now, in this picture, he was twenty-three, drunk with your dad around a bonfire.
You flip another page.
2010.
Nothing.
Another page.
2011.
Chris stands behind the grill in red, white, and blue swim trunks. It had to be the Fourth of July.
Twenty-four.
Another page.
2012.
He’s helping your dad unload kayaks.
Twenty-five.
Another page.
2013.
Chris flips off the camera with a fishhook lodged in his middle finger.
Twenty-six.
Another page.
2014.
He’s wearing the same stupid shoes.
Twenty-seven.
The phone that’s been burning a hole in your back pocket finds its way into your hand.
You zoom in on the picture, snap a photo of it, and send it before you can stop yourself.
you’ve been wearing these ugly ass shoes since 2014????
You laugh to yourself as you stare at the text thread, waiting for those three little dots to appear.
“Honey?”
You nearly jump out of your skin, locking your phone so fast you’d think there was porn on the screen.
“Jesus, Mom,” you breathe. “How long have you been standing there?”
She shrugs.
“Not long. Just got in here.”
She lowers herself onto the floor beside you, glancing down at the scrapbook.
“Scrapbooks?”
“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “I was bored.”
Your mom leans in, scanning the pages.
“This one starts in 2009?”
“Uh…” You flip back to the cover, pretending you have no idea what years it covers. “Looks like it.”
She hums.
“Chris is in these ones a lot. Your dad met him in 2009.”
You don’t answer.
Neither does she.
“…Yeah,” you finally say. “He’s, uh… he’s in these ones a lot.”
Your mom smiles to herself.
“He always fit right in.”
You nod, pretending to study another page.
She pushes herself to her feet, brushing the dust from her jeans.
Her eyes flick to the phone still resting in your hand.
“Tell Chris I said hi.”
“What?”
One eyebrow lifts.
The corners of her mouth twitch.
“If that’s who you’re texting.”
She disappears into the kitchen.
You stare after her.
How would she even know?
Buzz.
They ain’t the same shoes, smart ass.
:)
Suddenly, none of your jean shorts fit right, and you hate every single top that you own. You need something suitable for…
…fishing.
Something practical. Something that makes sense.
You could throw on an old T-shirt and a pair of jean shorts.
But there’s nothing wrong with wanting to look cute while fishing. Right?
You rush down the stairs in Daisy Dukes and a plain red tank top. “Moooom, do you know where that Budweiser, like, crop top is?”
Chris is already sitting on your couch, camo pants on, a gray t-shirt, and a baseball cap that’s always on his head.
His eyebrows lift as his eyes drop to your bare legs.
Your cheeks warm before he even says anything.
“You’re gonna get bit the hell up out there, kid.” He shakes his head. “You gotta put some pants on.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Gonna be real itchy soon.”
Smack. Smack. Smack.
You’ve lost count of the number of times you have swatted mosquitoes from your legs. They’re red and burning.
Chris casts his line and looks back at you, smirking and shaking his head.
“Don’t.”
He tosses you the calamine lotion without any ‘I told you so’s.’
You remember quickly why you hate fishing so much. You’re absolutely god-awful at it. You watch Chris fish, how natural it looks to him, how relaxed he is. How his arms flex every time he casts his reel. You try to act like you know what you’re doing.
“So, how long have you liked to fish?” You look over at him.
He swallows, and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat.
“Since I was little, my old man would always take me out. He used to say it helped him clear his head.” He rolls his shoulders back. “He was right.”
“Do you guys still fish together?”
“Nah.” He clears his throat and blinks. “Old man's been gone a couple of years now.”
“I am so sorry–”
“Hey, it’s alright.” He looks over at you now. “We all gotta go some day.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“Thank you, kid.”
You’ve always been a curious person. You’ve heard the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’ more than you’ve heard your own name. It’s like your mouth has a mind of its own, the question racing up your throat, passing any reasoning along the way.
“How about your mom?”
“Alive and well.” He smiles widely.
A pause.
He watches you struggle to cast your line.
“Here.”
His voice is soft.
His chest presses lightly against your back as he reaches around you, adjusting your grip on the rod.
“Lean back.”
His hand guides yours through the motions.
It casts perfectly.
Your fingers tighten around the handle.
You aren’t sure you’ve heard a single word he’s said.
“Shit,” he whispers, breaking you out of the spell. “Fuckin’ raining.”
You blink.
It did start to rain.
It starts to come down hard, bouncing off the lake in front of you. “You go to the truck, I’ll get everything.”
“Chris, I can literally help; it’s just rain.”
He rolls his eyes and smiles.
“You’re hardly even wearing clothes. You’ll get soaked. Get to the truck.” He tosses his keys.
You race to his truck. The rain doesn't let up, coming down so hard you have to shield your eyes to see. Your cowboy boot squelches on the ground, and then your ass is meeting mud.
You hear Chris coming up behind you.
He sets the fishing gear down.
And then he laughs.
Loud.
You should be embarrassed.
You should tell him to stop laughing.
You should tell him to help you up.
But…
That laugh feels familiar.
Laughing so hard that his eyes squint just like in the scrapbook.
You got that laugh out of him this time.
You laugh now, too.
“Hey! It’s not fucking funny, Chris.”
He starts walking closer to you.
“I’m sorry,” he covers his mouth, trying not to laugh again. “Y’okay?” He crouches down so he’s eye level with you now.
“Oh, I’m perfect. Never been better.” You giggle.
Chris shakes his head and smiles.
“Look at you, a mess.” He taps your knee with his fingers. It feels like fire. “Covered in bug bites and mud.”
Chris pushes himself to his feet and extends a hand.
“C’mon.”
His hand feels big in yours.
Warm.
Inviting.
“Fuck,” you groan, looking down at yourself. “I’m covered.”
You reach for the passenger door.
“Whoa, whoa.” His eyebrows lift. “Where ya goin’?”
“The truck?”
“Hold on.”
He opens the back door, digging around.
“Think I got a water bottle back here somewhere…”
“Your truck’s already a mess,” you laugh. “Figured a little mud wouldn’t hurt.”
He glances over his shoulder.
His eyes narrow, but there is a ghost of a smile on his lips.
He finds the bottle.
“Lift your foot.”
The water slides down your legs, taking some mud with it.
“And not my fault you decided to take me fishing without checking the weather.” You grin.
He huffs out a laugh.
“Yeah.”
He pauses.
“Usually better about that.”
Another pause.
“...Been a little distracted lately.”
You don’t ask what he means.
You’ll let yourself live in the space where you could pretend he meant you.
His eyes lift to yours.
Almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
“C’mon,” he says, clearing his throat. “Before we both get pneumonia and your dad kills me.”
The heater in the truck is turned on immediately, and you feel like you can let out a breath. Chris gave you an old sweatshirt of his that he found in the backseat of his car because he noticed you were shivering.
The truck smells like wet earth, rain, and Chris’s cologne.
It’s quiet.
The only sounds are the soft hum of his engine and the rain tapping against the truck's hood.
Comfortable.
Your face hurts from laughing so much today.
Chris flicks on his turn signal, easing into the parking lot of a tiny gas station.
“You need gas?”
“Nah.”
He shakes his head.
“Figured I owe ya some kinda snack after your little fall.”
Your stomach flips.
“What do ya want?”
“Uh… any kind of candy.” You shrug, feeling shy suddenly.
He nods before going to shut his door.
“-Chris?”
“Huh?”
“I think Virginia’s waters are better than Georgia’s.”
For a second, he just looks at you.
Then he smiles.
A real one.
Eyes squinting.
“Was hoping you’d think so.”
The door slams shut, and Chris disappears into the gas station.
You put your head in your hands and let out a little squeal.
This was going to be a problem.
𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎… hehehehehehe 🤭 i promise i’m taking my time on purpose. it was really important to me that they built something real before i started ruining their lives 🤕
This one shot contains ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ smut w plot, sauna smex, angst, toxicity, bickering, praise, p n v, fingering, clit stimulation, softsub!reader, mentions of previous trauma and family issues, degradation, small size kink, dry humping, use of names (good girl, slut)
Word count ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 4.4k
𖥻 Summer of Sturniolo post for @crystalcider !!
Golden sunshine poured through the crowded car, nostalgic summer wind hitting your face through the rolled-down passenger window. You relished in it—the last few moments before the sun fully set, closing your eyes to feel the final rays on your cheeks.
"Five minutes." Matt says, fingers tapping on the steering wheel in anticipation.
The forest became more condensed as you neared your destination, thick trees bordering each side of the street. Restlessness enveloped the backseat—Chris, Nick, and the group's mutual friend Noah stirring. Soon Matt turned onto a cobbled back road, a familiar route that made your stomach swirl with excitement.
For as long as you could remember, the cabin was your sanctuary. Your family and the Sturniolo family were tight-knit, and every year would carve out time to spend at the shared house. This year was especially significant, considering that it was the first time you were going to celebrate the Fourth of July here—and the first time you had the property all to yourselves.
It took convincing, but your parents handed over the keys for the weekend. They trusted that their children, as new adults, would treat the cabin responsibly. They couldn't have been more wrong.
As you came within eyesight of the house, it was clear you guys weren't the first to the party. White plastic tables were planted throughout the lawn, housing bottles of alcohol, cup-pong, and various types of classic American food. People crowded the area—the yard, dock, and wrap-around porch teeming with partyers. You recognized most of them, even from afar—summer kids and locals you were used to seeing during these months. Why they were here though, you had no idea.
"Ah. They're early," Chris mumbled from the backseat.
"Are you fucking serious, Chris? We're supposed to be taking care of the lake house, not destroying it." Matt shot at him, gripping the wheel as he turned to park behind a line of cars.
"It's the Fourth of July and we have an empty house. What did you think we were gonna do?" Chris tried to justify himself.
Matt's face stayed unimpressed, and you sighed from the tension. Being able to mentally prepare yourself for a party was more favourable, but you weren't opposed to having a little fun. You stayed silent, not wanting to take Chris's side.
The five of you filed from your seats, and rounded to the back of the car to grab your belongings. Frustration seeped from Matt as he slammed the trunk, enclosing the now empty vehicle. Chris began trudging down the dirt path towards the music, one hand folded to hold his backpack strap. Nick and Noah followed, talking amongst themselves, while you hung behind with Matt. He began grumbling as soon as the others were out of ear shot.
"It's always what Chris wants."
"It might be fun." You nudged his shoulder with your own as you walked.
"You're taking his side?"
"No. Never. I'm just saying, might as well make the most of it."
Matt shrugged, a smile beginning to creep on his face. "Yeah, you're right."
"Always am."
"You sound like Chris."
Despite your aversion to Chris, the two of you were a lot alike. The style you adorned yourself with, the bands you liked, your favourite movies—you shared them all with him. You cringed when you thought about it—being anything like him. You tried to convince yourself that you were all the good parts of Chris, but it left you confused when you identified that many positive aspects.
When you and Matt reached the log cabin, you were now in the center of the blowout. A girl in a striped tube top giggled at Matt, gesturing for him to join her. He fumbled his backpack into your arms, stuttering something about bringing it to his room for him. The girl pulled him by his bicep, and the two of them camouflaged into the crowd. It was safe to say he was now on board with the party.
Now alone, you stepped up the deck stairs of the familiar lakehouse. American flags were hung from the banister, blowing in the soft summer air. Dusk fell over the lawn, covering the partyers in a deep blue hue. Sparks from a bonfire flew as a guy stoked it, the classic woodsy scent wafting in all directions.
You tore your eyes from the magnetic scene, and made your way to your bedroom for the weekend. It was the first room at the top of the stairs, and had always been assigned to you. Without thinking, you pushed the door ajar. In your immediate line of vision, a scene from your nightmares was at play. A girl was placed on the dresser, her lips locked onto Chris's. Although his face was turned from you, his red backwards cap made it obvious it was him. He was between the girls thighs, her legs straddling around his waist. They were oblivious to you entering, hands exploring one another like the world depended on it. Flooded with embarrassment, you debated silently retreating. A mix of disgust and confidence overtook you though, and you cleared your throat instead.
Chris whipped his head around, eyes meeting yours.
"We're busy," the girl sneered.
"You can go be busy in a different room," you quipped, throwing both backpacks you held onto the bed.
"Or you can go be a stuck-up bitch somewhere else," she responded, wiping her smudged lipstick.
Chris stepped away from her body, hands dragging off her thighs. "Okay, you can get out."
"What?" The girl grasped for his sleeves.
He pushed her hands off of him. "She's like family, okay? Don't fucking talk to her like that."
She scoffed and hopped from the dresser. Profanities whispered from her mouth as she stomped through the doorway.
Why had he defended you like that? Did he really see you as a sister?
"She seems like a real treat!" Sarcasm dripped from your tongue.
"Why do you always gotta ruin shit for me."
"We've been here ten minutes, I'm sure you can find someone else," you started. "And don't hook up in my room."
These kinds of situations were common with Chris. Regard for other's feelings was completely out of his realm of perception. He acted in a way that made everyone accommodate to him—the classic "golden child", as Matt often put it. You, however, never catered to his narcissism. This drove him crazy, and was one of the many reasons the two of you never got along.
"Whatever, I'm gonna go set up the fireworks." As the words left his mouth, a pang of horror washed through you.
"Fireworks?" you questioned, paleness creeping to your cheeks.
"Yeah..?"
"Here?"
He caught wind of your sudden agitation, but his tone didn't become any more compassionate. "Yes. Here. That a problem?"
Without waiting for a response, Chris pushed past you. Rhymic steps descended down the hallway as he left.
Your heart stuttered in your chest, premature panic settling into your skin. Why hadn't you thought about this? You should've known that Chris would bring fireworks, it was Fourth of July after all. Goosebumps traveled up your spine at the thought of the booming noise.
Ever since you were little, yelling had been a part of your life. Whether it was picture frames shaking off the walls, or being forced to "pick a side" of your parents arguments, shouting was constant. It acted as lullabies when you slept, and background noise to every activity. That's part of the reason you loved this cabin so much—no arguing ever happened here. It was a safe place, free from the deafening sounds of your every day existence.
Because of this childhood, you were confined to a life of relative quietude. You knew that something like fireworks would undue all the progress you made in rebuilding yourself. Anxiety fixed into your bones as you closed the door behind you. Fighting the fit of terror creeping on, you curled to the pillows of your bed.
Just wait it out. Wait the fireworks out, and everything would be okay.
Minutes of anticipation ticked by, and you watched as darkness concealed the sky. From the mattress, you could see the dock through the second-story window. Boys were crowded in a circle, kneeled around what you assumed to be the culprits of your fear. Laying on your side, you waited until plugging your ears became a necessity.
Through the solid pane of glass, you heard the hissing begin. Beams of light shot to the sky, cascades of vibrant colours sweeping over the trees. You cup your hands over your ears instantly, but the insulation does nothing to block the thundering blasts. Tears well in your eyes in time with the next reverberating roar. Blistering through the walls, the sound of the fireworks was not letting up. Boom, boom, boom. Inhaling shaky breaths, you curl yourself tighter on the duvet.
Without warning, a hand is placed on the side of your goosebumped arm. You flip your body around, palms slipping down from your ears.
"Chris?" Your voice is shaky, and your tears are revealed instantaneously. "What are you doing here?"
"I left my—it doesn't matter. What's going on?" You had never seen genuine worry in his eyes until this moment.
"I-I can't—" Throat hoarse and mind jumbled, it was impossible to force any words out.
He sat down next to you, hand still firm on your shoulder. "Hey, hey, it's okay."
"I'm okay I just," a blaring blast caused you to flinch. "Fuck."
Sitting up, you brought your knees to your chest. Hugging them, you opened your mouth to make an excuse. But as the noises continued to bellow, more briny sadness wept from your eyes.
Chris instinctively moved next to you, wrapping his arm around your shivering shoulder. "What can I do?"
"Just…just stay with me.” You met his gaze. "Please."
He nodded, brows pulled together in concern. "Of course."
Nuzzling against his chest, your tears stained his t-shirt. Warmth radiated off of him, a blanket of comfort settling over you. He brought his hand to cup one of your ears, while you pressed the other firm to his body. You shook against him each time a firework roared, but his hold on you stayed steady. He anchored you to reality each time he exhaled, warm breath blowing onto the top of your head. The storm inside your mind lulled as his hands muffed the sound.
A concussive thud hammered in your chest, heartbeat erratic. At first you blamed the thrumming on the uproar of the holiday, but as the booms became sporadic, your heart continued to pound. You were too consumed by fear to realize it initially, but Chris wrapped around you made you feel a type of way you didn't want to admit. Butterflies you wished you could slaughter fluttered in your stomach as you breathed in the scent of him. Perfect cologne and the smell of a bonfire clung to his shirt.
"Chris?" you muttered, bringing your face up to look at him.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." Your eyes flit to his lips without thinking, and you pulled them away immediately.
He returned the gaze, view lingering on your mouth long enough to make your stomach flip.
You were suddenly all too aware of your proximity—your touching shoulders, your noses inches from one another. Chris seemed conscious of this as well, his breath hitching as you impulsively scanned his face. Hotness seeped into your skin. You held a silent thankfulness for the dark, grateful that he couldn't see the blush flushing your cheeks.
He parted his lips, looking down at your own before speaking. A mental argument seemed to be taking place in his mind. "I'm sorry."
Tilting your head, you questioned, "For what?"
"For getting so close to you, I didn't know what to do."
"It's okay…it's nice," you admitted.
A small smile crept onto his mouth, but concern still filled his eyes. "Do you want me to stay?"
Hesitating, you looked through the window. "Don't you want to get back to your party?"
He shook his head. "This feels more important."
Nervous, you tried to relieve the tension. "All out of girls to hook up with?"
He huffed a laugh. "Now, don't get jealous."
Scowling, you formed a line with your mouth. "I'm not jealous."
Chris pulled you back to his chest, nuzzling his chin to your hair. “Sure.”
Wind wafted softly past your cheeks as you listened to the birds sing. Cupped in your hands steamed a coffee Matt had brewed for you, the sweet aroma aiding the peacefulness of the morning.
"I don't know, that really doesn't seem like Chris," Matt says, sipping from his own mug.
"I'm telling you, he was… sweet."
"That's unsettling."
Listening to the songbirds melodies, you clicked your manicured nails on the ceramic cup. "It was refreshing."
In your mind, you replayed the previous night over again countless times. Chris soothed your panic as effectively as a drug, leaving you addicted to his touch. He held you until you fell asleep against him, his warmth easing you to slumber without delay. When you awoke, an indent laid in the bed next to you, the only evidence of his previous presence. At what point in the night he left, you weren't sure. But when you reached to graze the duvet, it was still heated from his body.
"Don't tell me you're lettin' him snake his way into your brain." He glanced over at you, eyes squinted with suspicion.
You returned his gaze, not responding.
Matt groans, "Jesus. Not you too."
"No. It was just nice seeing him not be a dick for once." You shrug, bringing the coffee to your lips.
"Better not get attached. Don't need another person swooning over Chris."
Later that day, when the sun rose to its peak, a swim in the lake was growing increasingly more desirable. Feet dangling off the edge of the dock, you got your body used to the chill of the water. Radiance beemed down into your near bare body, tanning everywhere that your bikini didn't lay. You were always the type to ease into the water at your own pace.
In your procrastination, the sky darkened. Clouds rolled in gray billows across the horizon, small drips of precipitation ricocheting off the water. Allowing the gentle summer rain to patter off of you, you had no intention of retreating to the house.
Focusing on the croaking frogs, you almost didn't notice the sound of someone nearing you. The soft shake of the wood underneath you stopped as the steps reached the end of the dock.
"You gonna jump off?"
Matt had taken Nick and Noah to a nearby grocery store, so you knew who the voice came from immediately.
"Hey, Chris." You kept your eyes on the rippelling of the lake.
"Going swimming?" his voice asked from the back of you.
"Nope, just got my bathing suit on for fun."
"Funny."
Placing your hand behind your seated body, you turned to look at Chris. "Do you need something?"
"I got the sauna set up," he said proudly, peering down at you.
"Cool." you nodded. "Is that, like, an invitation?"
"If you want it to be."
Droplets became heavier against your exposed skin. Chilled, stormy air drifted past you, raising goosebumps along your figure.
"Or you can stay out here in the cold," he scoffed, "your choice."
Raindrops pattered against his shirt as he turned away. Reluctantly, you pushed yourself from the wood and followed.
Humid and steamy, the sauna sat on the forest’s edge. It was logged with cedar—a beautiful home-made construction done by the triplet’s father. When you stepped inside, the tropical temperature seeped comfortably into your body. Like a blanket of relaxation, the heat calmed you.
This peacefulness quickly dissipated when Chris closed the door. His t-shirt was off in an instant, your eyes immediately falling to the chisel of his stomach.
“Since when you do work out?” Your gaze lingered far too long on his biceps.
He laughed. “Since when do you check me out?”
“I’m not—“ you hesitated. “Shut up.”
His eyes flitted down to your chest, tracing the curves of your tits.
“My eyes are up here,” you shot, sitting down on the bench.
When he planted himself beside you, the air shifted.
“Hey, about last night—“
“We don’t have to talk about it,” you interrupted.
Moisture beaded at the nape of his neck, the swelter of the sauna affecting him. Adjusting his waist upwards, you saw the imprint of hardness through his shorts. You gulped and began focusing on the strings of your bathing suit bottoms, fiddling aimlessly.
Chris glimpsed at your fingers messing with the string. “You nervous?”
“What?”
“You always start fidgeting when you’re nervous.”
“Hey, did you mean it?” You changed the subject. “Last night.”
He tilted his head in confusion.
“When you were with that girl. You said I was like a sister.”
A smirk curled at his lip. “You wanna know if I think of you like a sister?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I think of you as my brother’s annoying best friend.”
“Okay, good.” Why did you say that?
“Good?” he questioned, adjusting his hips again.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” you said quickly.
Sweat began dewing at your skin. The heat caused your thinking to become a muddled mess, self control slipping by the minute. His glistening abs, his arms that were surely able to manhandle you—your critical thinking skills were crumbling.
"What did you mean, then?"
You stuttered, but couldn't force out an answer.
He smiled—that cocky grin that always made your blood boil. But as you looked at him, that usual rage was replaced with a deep, aching lust. Crossing your legs, you tried to fight the arousal. He noticed this movement, of course, and it seemed he was just as affected. In an attempt at hiding his erection, Chris's hands were placed in the centre of his lap.
It was just a matter of who was going to break first.
You adjusted your bikini top using both straps, causing your boobs to bounce as you released the strings. Chris was watching, and sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers were closed in a fist at the middle of his thighs, veins tracing up his forearm. You were beginning to lose this mental battle.
"What you thinking about?" his voice broke the silence.
You tore your eyes from his hands. "Uh.. nothing really. You?"
"Don't lie to me."
"What makes you think I'm lying?"
"You bite your bottom lip," he replied, eyes fixed on your mouth.
You released the lip you didn't realize you were biting. "Are you just constantly analyzing me or something?"
"You just have some tells."
"Well, you do too." Your gaze darted to his lap.
"You're not slick, either." He gestured towards your crossed legs.
Blush attacked your cheeks. Your chest feels heavy—both from the sauna and from the weight of your pounding heart. He unscrewed a bottle of water, adam's apple bobbing as he drank. Mouth feeling irreversibly dry, the sight fueled your thirst.
"You want some?" he asked, bringing the bottle from his mouth.
You nodded. He placed it next to him, on the opposite side from you.
You glared.
"You can grab it, it's right there."
Feeding into his games was never the preferable option, but you were too thirsty to refuse. You separated your intertwined legs and reached over him. It's just far enough that you can't quite grab it—definitely not an accident.
Something in you wanted to mess with him back, so you did the first thing that came to mind. Folding to sit on your knees, you pulled your hair into a ponytail. Now on all fours, you reached over his lap to the water. When bringing it back to you, you traced the cold metal at the bottom hem of his shorts. The condensation trickled against his exposed skin. Sitting back on your knees, you accepted victory and drank.
"Come here." Chris spoke, demanding.
"What?" Your stomach flipped.
"You know what you're doing. Come here... please."
All sense of pride washed from you. Without thinking twice, you placed the bottle down and crawl to his lap. Straddling on either side of his waist, his erection pressed against you immediately. You move slightly against him, the friction of his cock between your legs sending shivers through your body.
"See, that wasn't so hard, huh?" He mocked, snaking his hand to hold the curve of your waist.
"Lot of talk from someone who's bricked just from looking at me."
Moving his face to your neck, he planted a kiss just below your ear. "I can feel how wet you are for me."
His words elicited goosebumps down your skin. You shook your head, denying. But unconsciously, you bit your lip.
A silent duel ensued between the two of you, a fight to keep your composure. As soon as his waist moved upwards, it was a losing battle. His bulge rubbed against your clothed clit, causing a moan to fall from your throat. Placing both hands on your hips, he guided your body against him. Gnawing desire ripped through you, and his measured pace in which he piloted you only made your lust grow. You pressed down on his lap, aching for friction.
Biting back a moan, he held you in place. "Patience."
Your brows pulled together.
"So eager," he taunted, "don't worry, I'll give you what you need."
Sliding your bottoms to the side, his fingers dipped into your folds. Immediately being coated in arousal, he used it to circle your clit with his thumb. You throw your head back, relishing in the pleasure. Hot, congested air covered your body, the smell of cedar and Chris's cologne filling your nose.
"You gonna be a good girl for me?" He slowly sunk two fingers into your pussy.
You tightened around him, your walls gripping him like a vice. "Fuck Chris—"
"God, you sound so fucking sexy moaning my name," he groans, curling his fingers expertly.
You grinded down on his hand automatically, submerging him deeper inside of you. Unable to refrain, you began riding the length of his digits. Pulse hammering, you chased the pleasure.
He pulled out of you. "If you're gonna ride anything, it's gonna be my cock."
Giving up on not seeming desperate, you quickly fondled with the strings of his gray shorts. Your breasts were at his face, shaking in time with your untying. Scooting back, you're able to pull down his shorts and boxers. Hard and leaking with pre-cum, his dick slapped to his stomach. He's bigger than you had anticipated—and throbbing with a need for you.
Chris watched your awed expression. "You can take it."
A whine escaped your lips, but you don't argue. Instead, you reach to his length, gripping his base. Taking your thumb, you pumped the pre-cum down his veins. Pulsating under your hand, his dick moved involuntarily from your touch. He sucked in a breath through bared teeth.
"Patience," you mocked.
He bucked into your hand, a clear sense of defiance. He held back onto your sides, urging for you to get closer. You silently obeyed, moving your bottoms aside and hovering over his cock. His hands were steady on you as you align yourself.
Slowly, you lowered your hips. Your walls sucked in his tip, the two of you moaning in sync. At a painstaking pace, you sunk him deeper. He’s big inside of you, your pussy stretched like elastic around his cock. You gasped as you hit the base, taking his entire length.
Chris’s cheeks were flushed red from the heat, and his chest was slick with moisture. Hair tousled and breath labored, he looked perfect beneath you. You began raising yourself off his dick, emptiness filling you before you sank back down. With Chris’s guided help, you set a pace.
Undoing your bikini strap in a slick movement, your tits fell from the fabric. He kneaded them, using them as handles as you rode him. Your nipples hardened under his touch, and your boobs bounced with the rhythm you had set. Arching your back, they were in full display in front of his face. He took the opportunity, and latched his mouth to your hardened bud. Sucking at the sensative skin, whimpers fell rom your lips.
“Holy fuck, Chris,” you breathed, holding his shoulders.
He released your nipple. “Riding me so fucking good.”
His fingers traveled to where your bodies meet. He rubbed your clit in messy circles, and began thrusting with your pace. The added sensation caused an ache to coil low in your stomach.
“You feel so—holy shit.” You can barely force words out, and he knows this.
You ride him relentlessly, using him to fuel your own pleasure. His tip rams your g-spot each time, the angle impeccable. Throwing your head back, you quicken your speed. Sounds escape from his throat, guttural groans that make your chest pound. You squeeze your eyes shut.
“Fucking yourself dumb on my cock, aren’t you?” you can hear the stupid grin in the voice.
“Chris—“
“Gonna cum around me?”
You nod helplessly.
“Cum around my dick, fucking slut.”
A wave crashed over you, and you leaned your forehead against his. In a mess of shivers, you released around him. He continued to thrust upwards, chasing his own pleasure. You’re unable to move, and your thighs are shaking around his pulsing cock.
As he continues his relentless pace, you realize he has no intention of stopping. Instead, he holds your back, flipping you to lay on the wood.
“Oh my god Chris I can’t—“ you try to finish a sentence, but it’s impossible.
“You feel so good—holy shit,” he groans, speeding up.
His face lowers to yours, and you dig your manicured nails into his back. Lips desperately colliding, your tongues fight for dominance. It’s sloppy, disordered, and perfect. His pumps match the pace of your kiss, and you can tell he’s close. Your nails are sure to draw blood. Your back is pressed to the hot wood, and the weight of him against you is intoxicating. He tastes sweet in a way you wouldn’t have expected.
You clenched your pussy around him, feeling your second climax nearing.
“Oh fuck, do that again,” he breathed.
You continue to tighten, feeling his thrusts become disordered. In a messy final stroke, you feel him spilling inside of you. The sensation causes another climax to rip at your core. Moaning into his mouth, the two of you pant together. Scalding heat permeates both of your bodies, sweat slicking between you.
“Just to be clear,” he starts, pulling out of you.
“This never happened,” you finish.
a/n: go check out Summer of Sturniolo!
This is definitely the longest fic I've done! I wrote this before the newest video came out, but it’s funny that their theme was fireworks too 😭
It was the neighbourly thing to do, you told yourself. This affirmation didn’t sooth your jitters as you stood outside of Chris’s house.
You had spent the last three days absolutely perfecting a brownie recipe. Not too sweet, not too bland. Fudgy, decadent, and delicious. Holding a Tupperware full of them in front of your chest, you reach to knock on the front door.
After waiting long enough to debate leaving, Chris finally pulls open the entrance.
Similar jeans and a black t-shirt spotted with paint stains hang over his body. He has his arm folded up to his wet hair, and is drying it with a towel. Soap, cologne, and the distinct smell of heated water radiates from him.
Great. You interrupted his shower.
He’s looking back at you, tilting his head as if he’s waiting for you to speak first.
“Hey! Um… I remember you saying you lived at the end of the street,” you ramble. “I just wanted to bring something and introduce myself to the neighbours. I know we’ve already met but…”
“Aint that usually the other way around?” He questions, “Aint I supposed to bring you something to welcome you to the neighbourhood?”
Gulping, you answer, “You already helped me plenty. Think of this as a thank you!”
“Well good, ‘cause I can’t bake for shit.” Chris laughs, taking the container you were pushing towards him. “Have you gone to over there yet?” He points across the way.
Turning, you see a small, lovely-looking house with a picket fence. Vintage charm blanketed the whole neighborhood, but this house in particular seemed like a diamond in the ruff. Freshly planted flowers, pink trim under the windows, and a bright layer of white paint over the house made it shine. Despite being petite, it gleamed with the allure of a fine country home.
“No, I haven’t,” you admit. The truth was, Chris’s place was the only you were planning on visiting with the brownies.
“You better. Elaine’s a real people-person.”
Relief washes over you. It had been weeks since you’d spoken to another woman, and it was sure to boost your morale. Home sickness had become almost impossible to bear, despite constant calls with your mother and sisters. Even though you were in West Virginia and not Wisconsin anymore, a female friendship would certainly make you feel more at home.
Sauntering back to your house, you immediately immerse yourself in the kitchen. Tailoring perfectly to the aesthetic of Elaine’s house, you expertly whip up raspberry scones. You thought it gave feminine and classic, the impression you had of Elaine.
Wasting no time, you amble down the unpaved road. Having been raised on farmland in the midwest, you were used to these kinds of towns. What you weren’t familiar with was the houses being close enough together that you could walk to them. Growing up, the nearest family was half a mile away. You prefer this layout, though—a strong community was something you always wanted to be a part of.
You knock on the pretty white door. It pulls open almost instantly.
In the entryway stands a woman you knew you’d get along with. Long blonde hair cascades down her sides, locks twisting in flawless curls. A patterned half apron is tied at the waist of her sundress. She is beautifully put together—an idealistic southern belle. You immediately felt much more at ease, having found someone your age in the area. There was Chris—but even he had some years on you.
“Well hey there darlin’,” she greeted, her accent reminding you how far you were from home.
“Hi! I’m the new neighbor, i just wanted to introduce myself.” You say, and give her your name.
“How sweet! I’m Elaine. Now, come inside, don’t need ya getting burnt up out there.” She smiles, and gestures for you to come through the doorway.
Stepping inside, it was obvious it matched the beauty of the outside. Quaint but decorative, everything about the home screamed country living.
“I’m just cookin’ dinner for my husband, he’ll be home shortly here.” She walked to the kitchen as if your presence was casual.
You followed. She was already at the stove, searing a steak.
“Pour yourself some sweet tea,” she offered, turning to point at a pitcher on the counter.
“I won’t interrupt your dinner, I just wanted to bring over some scones and say hello.” You place the plastic-wrapped plate down.
“Aren’t you just a peach,” she began pouring your tea for you. “I already ate, and my husband won’t mind that you’re over. He loves the company, especially from someone who’s intrigued his brother.”
“Brother?” You tilt your head, sipping at the drink.
Elaine looks up as the front door opens. You follow her gaze, only to be met with a sight that confuses your mind.
Strolling in the house is a man near identical to Chris. Same brooding stature, same blue-collar aesthetic, same features. The only difference was a beard that laid on this man’s lower face.
Throwing his keys on a side table, he sees you. “Ah, new neighbour?”
You introduce yourself, shake his hand, and try not to seem foolish.
“This is my husband, Matt. Chris’s brother.” Elaine walks over, dress swaying as she gives him a kiss.
Twin brother, you correct mentally. “Nice to meet you!”
Matt sits down at the island next to you, his wife preparing food on a plate. The staple, traditional atmosphere makes you feel at ease. They both seemed so at peace with their routine.
“How’s that sink treating you? Any more problems?” He asks, cutting his steak.
“No, no. Chris really fixed it up.” You couldn’t help but wonder why Chris had told his brother about such a mundane task.
“So, what brings you to the middle of nowhere?”
You smile at Matt’s question. “I guess I’ve always wanted to live in the country. Found a good deal on a house with a big kitchen, and here I am.”
“Have you met any other people in the community yet?” Elaine asks.
“Just you guys and… Chris.” His name leaving your mouth makes your cheeks blush.
“He seems to like you,” Matt says, “he usually doesn’t talk to anyone but us.”
This doesn’t help ease the flush of your face.
“Matt, hush. You’re embarrassing the girl.” Elaine quips.
He just smiles into his fork, biting his food.
“No, it’s okay. I… like him too,” you say, staring into the glass in your cup.
Elaine shoots her husband a look that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Her eyebrows are raised, and a tight smirk is curled at her lip. It almost signified that they were planning something.
a/n: I’ve switched up my style a bit—writing and theme. lemme know what you think!
Also, sorry to the people in my taglist 😭 I’ve been so active lately. (Can you tell I haven’t worked in 5 days)
Water gushes to your face, a jet of pure liquid chill encasing your skin in seconds. Hastening to the faucet, you desperately try to turn the spray off. The hose of the kitchen tap has come off the post, and is writhing like a wild cobra. Water is showering in all directions, making a rainforest out of your home.
This is the fourth time this week.
Once the faucet was tamed, and your clothes are changed, you slouch on your worn couch. Phone to your ear, you speak small sentences to your landlord.
“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry,” you begin. “It happened again, I really don’t mean to be calling so much.”
Mumbles come from the other side of the phone.
“You’ll send someone? Okay… yes… thank you, bye.”
You immediately straighten the ‘Bake from Scratch’ magazines on your coffee table.
Everything has to be perfect. You haven’t had a visitor in your new house yet. Even if it was just a handyman, it was company nonetheless.
Hopping to your feet, you scurry to clean anything that might need it. Not having much furniture or belongings out yet anyway, this task was relatively easy. You had only been living here a month, and unpacking hadn’t been high on your to-do list.
A loud DING! puts an end to your dusting, and you skip to the door.
Subconsciously, you had been expecting an old plumber in a jumpsuit. But in the doorway stood a man far from a Mario lookalike.
He is taller than you significantly, large brown boots aiding his height. A soft shadow of stubble creeps along his chiseled jawline, and dark brunette waves fall past his ears. Wearing a dirtied white wifebeater and jeans, you wonder if he is even your handyman. But the toolbelt he had strapped above his belt made it obvious he was.
You realize that you’ve been staring. “Hi! …you’re the plumber?”
He huffs a laugh. “Just a friend of your landlord. He says you’ve got a situation with your sink, and I know a few things. I’m Chris.” He outstretches his hand.
You shake it, feeling his callouses as you give him your name.
“So, what seems to be the problem.”
You walk him through the last five weeks of your life in far too many details. His gaze held on you makes you ramble, and you begin listing off many more things than just the faucet. Flickering lights, cold draft in your bedroom, back door not locking. Problems with the house spew from your mouth before you can choke them back.
He nods, checking his old watch before he responds. “Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll check out the sink, then I’ll see what I can do about everything else.”
You smile and agree, hoping you don’t seem ungrateful.
Chris got to work immediately. He laid under your sink like he was working on a car, twisting wrenches around pipes you didn’t even know were there. You watch as his hips raise to get leverage.
Gulping, you turn away. Circling around him to the counter, you begin brewing coffee.
Having someone in your space was a special type of foreign. Like a fleeting vacation you wanted to cherish every moment of. You had to admit he was hard to tear your eyes from.
Was everyone in your new town this handsome?
Chris sat up, sighing.
“Coffee?” You offer, cupping a mug.
A gruff grin curls at his lip. “Black?”
You nod, and kneel to give him the cup. What was the right amount of space to keep between you and this model-like stranger?
His fingers graze over yours as he takes the drink from you. Nerves that you’ve never felt before wash through your body, coating your skin in goosebumps. Unknowingly holding your breath, you straighten to a stance.
“Anything I can do for you?” you hope your words don’t come off desperate.
“Nah, you’re good. Thanks for the coffee, kid.”
Kid? More anxiety infiltrated your mind.
Luckily, you had a foolproof method for ridding yourself of nerves. You throw an apron over your head, and pull your hair from under the string. Staying out of his way was first priority, of course—the last thing you wanted to do was annoy him. So, in a strategic manner, you silently got the ingredients and bowl ready—making sure you stood on the opposite side of the counter.
Eggs. Flour. Vanilla. Salt. Sugar, obviously. You made sure you had everything before starting your mental recipe.
To you, baking was casual. Like pulling a book out to read, or flipping on the television. You could whip up a batch of sweet treats in an instant, relying solely on memory. Whether it was a craving, or just boredom, everyday was filled with a baked good.
Occasionally, Chris would get up and fiddle with the faucet. He barely paid you any mind as you whisked. You almost wanted him to praise you, say the contents of the mixing bowl smelled good, or ask what you were making. Never had you wanted this type of validation, and it confused you that you craved it so deeply.
He moved on to the flickering hallway light as you claimed full reign of the counters. Baking had always been just a you thing, something you did to escape the whirlwind of your mind. It was private, intimate. But having Chris next to you made the kitchen feel full—the way it was supposed to be. Kitchens always remind you of happy, crowded times. Cooking for thanksgiving, family pizza night. You only realize how lonely you are when Chris is no longer in the room.
Sweet aroma wafts through the air as you began decorating the cupcakes. Light pink swirls of frosting stood in pristine peaks, evidence of your skill.
You were always the earliest person to try your creations. But as soon as the first treat was ready, you bring it to Chris.
“Cupcake?” You ask, watching him screw in your hallway lightbulb.
He looks down. “Why don’t you set it down there and I’ll get it when I’m done.”
A small frown settles on your face. You were expecting a compliment, or at least some stamp of approval. You set the cupcake on the table near him.
In no time, Chris was brushing his jeans off, and signaling his work was done. After gathering his things, he made his way to the front door.
“I live at the end of the alley, in case you ever need any more help.” he says, gripping the door handle.
Your apron is still tied to your waist, and flour is dusted along the front of it. You wipe the powder as you respond, “Sure!”
Why did you always have to have so much enthusiasm?
He smiles politely, and leaves through the doorway.
Cursing yourself, you run your hands over your face. Since when were you such a ditz? Pull yourself together!
You drop your palms from your cheeks as you see it. The flawlessly wrapped, flawlessly frosted, perfect cupcake sat right where you left it.
Had he forgotten it? Had he purposefully left it like that? A parasite inside of you wondered his favourite flavors, favourite desserts. He might not even like sugar!
After all, he did take his coffee black.
a/n: this is 100% self indulgent, blue collar men are my obsession.
“Oh my God, enough,” Matt says through his teeth, his hair sticking to his forehead, his cheeks red from the sun.
You were on one today. Pennsylvania was going through a heat wave, and it was 102 degrees. You were used to the heat; you grew up in Los Angeles. But this was bum fuck Pennsylvania, where you couldn’t exactly just go to the beach without taking a two-hour drive.
“Matt, it’s fucking hot,” you whine, your feet dragging along the sidewalk.
You begged him to go to the Farmer’s Market. You wanted fresh flowers for the kitchen and good matcha because—
“Pennsylvania’s matcha fucking sucks, Matt.”
And this was the only place that made it the way you liked.
“Baby.” You can tell he’s trying to calm himself down. “I warned you it was going to be hot today. I told you it wasn’t worth coming out here, and I offered to run to the store and grab flowers for you.”
He wipes the sweat from his forehead, squinting against the sun.
“I didn’t want store-bought flowers.” The words leave your mouth sharper than you mean them to.
You know you’re being ridiculous. You know he’s trying to fix the problem instead of arguing. But it’s one hundred and two degrees, your shirt is sticking to your back, your matcha is already melting, and every ounce of patience you woke up with has evaporated into the Pennsylvania humidity.
You finally make it to the flower stand, only to find the bouquets wilted from sitting in the relentless heat all morning.
You stand there with your arms crossed, staring at them with complete disappointment.
Matt takes a slow breath.
“How about these, baby?” He reaches toward a bundle of white daisies. “You like these?”
“I don’t know.” You shrug.
His eyebrows lift.
“…Okay.”
His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek as he walks around to the other side of the stand. He studies a few more bouquets before pulling one out.
“What about these? They don’t look as wilted.”
“I guess.” You let out a long, dramatic sigh.
Matt pauses.
“‘You guess?’” His eyes meet yours. “We drove thirty minutes because you wanted flowers, and all you’ve got is ‘I guess?’”
“I don’t care.” You wave him off. “Just get them. Whatever.”
Even you cringe at your own tone. You don’t mean to sound like a brat. You’re just so hot, and you’re even more annoyed that you’re acting like this but can’t find it in you to stop.
“Got me driving thirty damn minutes for flowers,” he mutters under his breath.
His stride is so long that you practically have to jog to keep up.
He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.
“Then you spend the whole time acting like a brat.”
He glances over at you.
“Had a million other things I needed to get done today, and instead I’ve been chasing you around this damn market.”
“Oh my God, Matt, it’s thirty fucking minutes. You’ll survive.”
You double down.
Matt doesn’t answer.
He unlocks the truck, carefully setting the bouquet on the driver’s seat before shutting the door again.
His eyes scan the nearly empty parking lot. A few cars pull out near the front of the market, but the row he’d parked in is quiet, tucked beneath a line of trees.
Only then does he open the back door.
“Get in the back.”
“Why?”
“Get. In. The. Back.”
You barely have time to settle into the seat before Matt reaches for your wrist, pulling you forward. The sudden tug catches you off guard, your balance giving out as he guides you across him. One arm wraps securely around your waist to keep you from colliding with the door, leaving you draped sideways over his lap before your brain can catch up.
“Matt—”
He tugs your shorts and thong down to your mid-thighs.
“Acting fucking ridiculous today, hm?”
His free hand comes up to your face, his fingers closing around your jaw until your cheeks puff slightly beneath his grip.
“Matt—”
“Can you take this?”
“I—”
“Yes or no.”
You swallow hard.
“Yes.”
His hand comes down hard. No warm-up. No warning.
The impact jolts through you, your body jerking on instinct as a startled whimper slips past your lips.
His grip never leaves your jaw, keeping your gaze fixed on him. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip before he delivers another sharp smack.
“There you are,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smug smile. “C’mon. I wanna hear you talk.”
Another pause. Another smack.
“Go on.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Bitch at me now.”
You go to open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your eyes sting with tears.
“Quiet now, huh?” he whispers.
Smack.
“God, you must be so embarrassed, baby.”
He licks his lips, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek.
“In the backseat of my truck with your panties down, in public.” A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest. “Fucking ridiculous.”
His hand comes down again. Your ass jiggles from the impact, another broken whimper slipping past your lips.
“The only way to get you to shut up is by spanking you, huh? That’s the only way?”
Smack.
You gasp.
His gaze finally leaves yours, drifting lower as he spreads your cheeks apart. You’re soaked—your slick clings to your inner thighs.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans, grinding into you.
“Wet for me?”
You whimper, giving him a small nod.
Smack.
“You’re unbelievable.” He lets out an exasperated laugh. “Might have to fuck you right here. Let those flowers really die.”
[a/n: old request! short lil blurb! not too confident in this one but hope you enjoy! i've missed his ass]
