Reader does the “wearing sunglasses so my man doesn’t know what I’m looking at” trend on Matt
Scrolling through TikTok, multiple videos made me giggle. Matt was sitting on the couch, doing who knows what on his phone. I had seen the trend of someone putting on sunglasses to “hide their eyes” but looking directly at their significant others selected feature, and I wanted to hop on the trend as well. So, while Matt was on his phone, distracted, I took it as the perfect time to do it. I grabbed my Prada sunglasses (thank you matt) from his room and walked to the living room.
“Hey babe.” He muttered, I ignored him and started my TikTok. I started it by just a quick clip of me sliding the glasses onto my face and cut the camera. I then changed my angle, resting my arm along his hip, and face directly above his crotch, staring down at his dick. I pressed record for the last 10 seconds. Matt moved his phone to his left a little, saw the camera and smirked. Next thing I know, his hips thrust up, hand on the back of my head, face slamming straight into his dick. He put his hips back down, starting to cackle. I looked up, shocked but with a slight smile. The TikTok ended there. “Matthew!” He was still laughing, I unbelievably chuckled, playfully smacking his chest. He grabbed my arm, playing with my gold rings and put a hand on the back of my neck, pulling me closer. “You know I love you.” He whispered as he placed a passionate kiss to my lips.
“Four million likes in less than 24 hours??” the triplets were astonished, having shocked looks. I nodded my head, “Yeah, this really blew up. You know matt, this could be really good for your guys’ career..” Of course it would, but I definitely just wanted to do more trends with him. I poked him and wiggled my eyebrows. He looked at his triplet brothers, who looked just as hopeful as me. He looked back to me, “I’m sure it would.. fine.” I jumped up, “Yes!” and that only just started the growth of the tiktok “it” couple.
—Additional comments—
User: I know you guys saw the lip stain left on his pants 😭😭
User3: I always knew Matt was freaky like that
User8: I LOVE THEMMMMMM
Userwaa: was literally waiting for them to do it
Userqsi: I love her, she gives us more Matt content
Asmine’s thoughts!
My computer broke.. & i’m using my ipad- hopefully this looks fine 😩 RIP tiktok
POST FOR AWARENESS: MINOR PRETENDING TO BE AN ADULT
I had an anon come into my inbox yesterday and admit to me that they are thirteen years old but that they lie about their age and say they're 24 so that they can interact with adult blogs. They then proceeded to tell me that they have interacted sexually with adults on tumblr who are unaware of their actual age and that they will use it as ammunition and blackmail those people if anyone ever tries to kick them off tumblr for being a minor??
I debated whether I should even make this post or not, because I don't know who the person is, and I can't even be sure that it wasn't just someone trolling? I have no idea. But I just wanted everyone to be aware and be careful. I know a lot of us have close friends on here and people we love and care about, but you don't actually know who you're interacting with or what their intentions are.
I am deeply disturbed that anyone would ever do this. Please understand that if you are a minor on this app, it's okay to be here! You can write and read whatever you want. However, it is highly inappropriate to be lying about whether you're an adult or a minor, and the distinction is important for everybody's safety.
(BTW I know tagging this under the triplets is gonna annoy some people which is totally fair, but I just want as many people to see this as possible. Please reblog!)
ⁱⁿ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ exᵎᵎmatt sends your annoying boyfriend a video of him fucking you.
whimpers and the sounds of the bed creaking fill mats room. you know what your doing is wrong, you just came to get your things back and leave. but matt knows what to say to get to you, and he takes that to his advantage. hence why your legs are currently slung over his shoulders as his slow sloppy thrusts hit your spot over and over again. "tssk look at you mama such a mess" matt coos brushing his thumb over your bottom lip where you started drooling, all you could do was let out more choked babbles, to fucked out to form a sentence. this has been going on for a while now, matt fucking into you sloppy and heavy, putting his bodyweight into each thrust, but everytime that band in your stomach was about to snap matt pulled out. "oh i know baby i know im so mean huh" his voice laced with fake sympathy, but matt didn't feel bad at all. your fucked out expression, the way you claw at his arms looking for some support, he was enjoying all of this. matt grabbed your face as more incoherent babbles left your mouth "cmon sweetheart speak up f'me" he was messing with you. each thrust more forcefull as the words left his mouth. you were begging, barley audible but matt heard it. his girl was begging to let go. "y'wanna cum baby hm?' matt smirked at how eagerly you nodded your head, before grabbing your phone and hitting the record button, he wanted your boyfriend to see how he had you, to see that he will never make you feel as good as matt does. "go ahead baby cameras all on you" he coos panning the camera down to his hips snapping into you before moving it back to your face, capturing your eyes rolling back and your body shaking, that band in your stomach finally snapping, pornographic moans left your mouth."loook at that mama" matt whispers bittersweet, showing the camera your soaked cunt before stopping the video and quickly pressing send.
⋆. 𐙚 ̊. During a late-night filming a paranormal investigation with sam and colby, things take an unsettling turn. shaken by what they experienced, what happens when y/n struggles to sleep alone and ends up in Matt’s room?
trigger warnings: pure fluff ig :3
matt sturniolo x reader <3
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“Oh fuck! My candle went out, shit shit shit-” I say as I kneel over and set it down quickly. Matt spawns next to me with a match he had been using as a toothpick, quickly lighting up my candle before the 10 seconds run out.
“I got you” Matt nods, making sure my candle is lit.
“Jesus Christ” Sam exclaims.
“Oh my god, my heart almost stopped, I have the worst reflexes ever” I blow out a laugh, my hand on my chest.
You can already guess where I am and what we’re doing. Somehow, Sam and Colby convinced me to tag along with them and my roommates and best friends Matt, Nick, and Chris to this investigation where we’re summoning a spirit called the Midnight Man.
“Thanks, Matt,” I say with a grin, nudging him as we walk side by side to the room next to the kitchen. We sit down in a circle and Sam introduces a new piece of equipment, a recorder.
Sam explains that each one of us is going to ask a question and wait 10 seconds for an answer from a spirit. We all nod along to the instructions, and as soon as he clicks the record button, each of us asks a question, leaving 10 seconds in between for answers.
And when we’re finally done, we listen to the recording again, and our hearts drop to our asses.
A scream.
A very clear scream.
And towards the end of the recording, a clear “GET OUT OF HERE” is heard, and I look towards Matt with wide eyes and a nervous smile.
The rest of the night is pure chaos. We leave Sam and Colby’s old house after finishing the ritual, and I’m still replaying the events of the night on the car ride home. It’s stupid, but it freaked me out.
Back home, we all bid each other goodnight and head to our rooms. I lay down in bed, thoughts of the night still replaying in my head.
I see a figment of my imagination in the corner of the room, a shadow, and I turn on my nightstand light quickly, heart beating fast. I sigh before throwing the covers off, opening my bedroom door, and padding downstairs to Matt’s room. I knock gently. No answer. I knock again and open the door slightly, peeking in. Matt turns in bed towards the door with squinted eyes.
“Y/N?” he says with a sleepy voice.
“Can I sleep here tonight?” I ask, still standing in the doorway.
Matt blinks a few times before answering, “Come here” he says, lifting the covers.
I shut his bedroom door and walk over to his bed, sliding beneath the lifted covers. He makes sure I’m covered before laying down on his back next to me.
“You okay?” he asks after a few beats of silence.
“Mhmm. I was just freaked out about what happened tonight” I say, turning my head to look at him.
“You haven’t come to my room at night in a while” he grins.
“Yeah, well, I stopped watching those scary videos I used to watch before bed” I laugh, adjusting myself so I’m facing him.
“I don’t know why you watch that creepy shit if you know it’ll have consequences later at night” he says.
“Okay, stop lecturing me. I don’t watch it anymore” I frown, and he laughs.
“I missed our sleepovers,” he smiles after a few beats of silence, now turning to face me.
“Yeah, me too” I say, smiling softly.
I move a little to adjust my position when my cold toes graze over Matt’s leg.
“Holy shit, Y/N!” he says as he jumps slightly.
“What!” I say, panicked, thinking he saw something behind me.
“Nothing, you idiot. Your icicles grazed my leg,” he exclaims with a small laugh.
“Matt!” I frown, hitting his chest. “You scared me, asshole,” I say.
“Ow! Why are you so cold?!” he says, holding my hand against his chest.
“It’s freezing in here!” I exclaim with a laugh.
“It’s not,” he argues.
“Yes it is.” I pull my hand from his grip, but he holds on.
“Jesus Christ, just come here” he says, tugging me closer with the hand he has a grip on, wrapping his arms around me to warm me up.
I let my forehead fall on his chest as I sigh. “You’re so warm. How are you so warm?” I say.
“It’s not me that’s warm, it’s you that’s freezing cold” he chuckles, rubbing my back to warm me up.
“It’s because your room is a literal freezer-” I start to argue.
“Shhhh, go to sleep,” he interrupts me, tangling his legs with mine to warm my cold feet up.
“But it’s literally-” I start.
“Y/N, close your eyes and count the sheep, c’mon” he cuts me off, making me burst out laughing.
“When have I ever closed my eyes and counted sheep to go to bed? You mistake me for Chris” I grin.
“He does do that, doesn’t he?” he chuckles.
“Yeah, he does” I smile, nuzzling my head into his chest.
I yawn, my eyes starting to get heavy.
“Night, scaredy cat” he murmurs into my hair.
“Goodnight, asshole” I say in a sleepy voice, and he chuckles.
I doze off to him rubbing my back, and I realize just how lucky I am to have him.
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author’s note: I haven’t written in a LONG while, hi tumblr I’ve missed u! anyway I love writing fluff so here u go! hope you enjoyed <3
in which. . .you're matt's favorite medicine➜inspired by the we had covid :( vlog!
warnings: smut, sub!matt, brat!matt, p in v, cowgirl, sex while sick (guys this is fiction), fluff!!
wc: 1.6k
*originally posted on bratzforchris in spring 2024*
you sighed as you stirred the pot of chicken noodle soup that was currently simmering on the stove. both matt and nick were home sick with COVID, and by extension, so were you and chris. despite knowing that you should be making matt quarantine, you hadn’t done very well with being apart from your boyfriend. not only did your heart long to care for him, but matt was a bit…whiny when he was sick. you found it rather endearing, the way he would whine and grab for things, and the way he would absolutely beg you to lay with him and cuddle him until he felt better. he claimed that the snuggles and you scratching his scalp softly with your nails was better than any amount of dayquil.
just because matt was your boyfriend wouldn’t stop you from caring for the other two triplets, though. you quickly turned off the stove and divided the soup into three bowls, placing them on a tray and starting the trek throughout the house to deliver the food like the boy's personal door-dasher. your first stop was chris’ room in the basement. you felt rather bad for the youngest triplet; he had never liked sleeping or even being alone, and now he was basically holed up in his room all by himself for days.
“knock knock!” you said cheerfully, announcing your arrival at his bedroom door.
chris opened his door a few moments later, looking bleary-eyed with messy hair. “hello?”
“i brought soup!” you explained happily.
“i’m not the sick one,” chris grumbled. “but thank you.”
you and Chris continued to chat for a few moments, with you making sure you kept your distance since you had been around matt, before you spoke. “well, i guess i should go finish playing doordash and make sure the toddler is alright.”
“the toddler?”
“someone's whiny when he’s sick.” you snorted.
chris laughed as well, knowing exactly who you were referencing. after bidding the youngest triplet goodbye, you picked up your tray and headed to nick’s room. seeing as how the oldest was still contagious, you shot him a quick text to let him know that his food was outside. finally, you made your way to your and matt’s shared room with one bowl of soup left. pushing open the door, you were met with a sight that you were not expecting at all. matt was on the ground doing push ups, still in pajamas and vlogging the whole thing.
“matt!” you exclaimed, setting his bowl down on his desk. “what are you doing? you’re supposed to be resting.”
“i’m bored,” your boy whined, sitting up and leaning against the wall. “and i need physical activity.”
“baby, you’re sick. you need to be resting.” you said, rolling your eyes playfully and offering him your hand to stand up.
“i took less than 100 steps yesterday. that’s sickening–” matt groaned, being cut off by a barking cough as you helped him lay down once more.
you pulled your boyfriend into your chest as you laid down beside him, running your nails through his fluffy, brown hair. matt let out a content little sigh, curling into your chest and sniffling. he was still feverish, but he was already doing loads better than he had been yesterday. at this point, he was mostly just bored and eager to do something other than watch movies, play fortnite, and sleep, despite his pounding headache.
you looked down at the boy resting on your chest as matt snuck his hand between your thighs. “what are you doing?” you asked, raising a brow.
“nothing,” matt said with faux innocence, blinking his glassy, blue eyes at you. “jus’ getting comfy.”
“you need your hand between my thighs to be comfortable?”
“mhm.”
you rolled your eyes, pressing a kiss to the brunette’s head. “you know you’re not a good liar, sweetheart.”
matt groaned softly, scooting his hips closer to your own as he began to rub soft circles over the fabric that covered your pussy. “‘m bored and i need that physical activity i mentioned earlier.”
“you’re also sick. when was the last time you brushed your teeth and showered?”
matt huffed cutely, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed. “you’re being mean.”
before he could speak again, you turned and pressed a kiss to matt’s plump, pink lips. the boy moaned softly into the kiss, allowing you to slip your tongue into his mouth, making out with him as you moved yourself to straddle his waist.
“you’re gonna get sick.” matt whined softly, making no move to push you off.
“i don’t care.” you replied in a cliché manner, a dopey smile on your face as you pulled back to look at him.
matt let out a soft grunt, rutting his hips up to meet your own. “i need you,” he whimpered, already arching his back against the pillows even though you hadn’t really done anything. “gonna make me feel better.”
“you’re so whiny when you’re sick.” you tsked, running your hands along the soft skin of his abdomen to pull his white pajama shirt up and over his head.
“i am not.” he sniffled, voice gravelly from the congestion.
“are so.” you hummed back teasingly, leaving soft kisses on his warm tummy.
you could feel matt’s cock hardening beneath you, making him blush and whine as he tugged at your leggings. you pressed soft kisses to his chest and stomach as you tugged his pajama bottoms off, smirking at the way he was already hard for you, pink tip glistening with precum. matt moaned softly as he blushed harder, letting out little coughs and sniffles as he futilely attempted to cover himself.
“ah ah,” you purred, batting his hands away. “what happened to all that ‘i need physical activity’ from earlier?” you said, pulling off your shirt and bra.
“you’re a bully.” matt grumbled, hissing from the combination of the way you began to stroke his cock and the sight of your now-bare tits bouncing in his face as you got yourself worked up on his thigh.
you broke the connection for a moment to slide off your leggings and already soaked panties. you continued to palm your boyfriend's cock, leaving him whimpering and moaning as you reached into the nightstand and retrieved a condom.
“are you sure you feel okay? we don’t have to.” you assured matt, brushing some of the messy hair off of his forehead as he sneezed.
“i want to. it’ll make me feel better.” matt pouted, thrusting his dick into your hand, desperate to chase his orgasm.
“so needy.” you shook your head with a laugh, ripping open the condom and replacing your hand with the rubber on his throbbing cock.
your boyfriend hissed as you slid onto him, the feeling of your cunt clenching against him making him whimper. you began to ride Matt slowly, allowing his aching, feverish joints to get used to the feeling of you being on top. it was clear that illness or not, he was beyond needy. matt loved the feeling of you being in charge, telling him what to do and calling him a pretty boy. he was, by definition, your pillow prince, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
“i thought this was supposed to be physical activity for you.” you panted with a small giggle as you began to speed up your rhythm.
matt had a lazy, sleepy smile on his face as you rode him, every now and then letting out little whimpers and moans. “my heart rate elevates every time i look at you.” he smiled cheesily and then hissed when you hit a particularly good angle, brown, feathery curls fanning out against the silken pillow cases as he arched his back.
your lower stomach began to clench with the need to orgasm at your boyfriend's sensual noises. the added gravel to his voice from the sickness was just turning you on more, making you grip matt’s shoulders shakily.
“i’m…gonna cum.” you groaned, your pussy clenching as matt whimpered again.
matt nodded, letting out loud, sexual noises as you rode him harder than you had previously. “want you to cum with me.” he pouted, looking up at you through his lashes.
you two really didn’t have a chance to say anything else as both of your climaxes overtook you. in spite of his incredibly sore throat, Matt was practically screaming your name as your orgasm clenched against his dick, making him fill the condom quickly. by the time you had regained your senses, your boyfriend had softened inside of you. you slid off of matt easily, helping him pull the condom off and dispose of it in the trash can beside the bed.
“was that enough physical activity for you?” you asked with a sly chuckle, kissing his cheek softly.
matt nodded sleepily, coughing into his arm roughly. “i feel so much better now.” he said with a watery grin.
“do you?” you asked skeptically.
“...well no, but now i’m content and no longer bored.” the brunette informed you matter-of-factly, his bratty, subby side still showing despite the fact that you were no longer fucking.
“so you aren’t going to complain about sleeping and taking medicine, right?” you murmured, grabbing a pack of baby wipes off the nightstand and wiping both yourself and matt down.
“medicine tastes like ass and i’ve slept so much in the past two days.”
you hummed in acknowledgement, pulling the comforter over the both of you until you shot up, just now remembering the bowl on matt’s desk. “fuck. your soup’s gone cold.”
“you bought me soup?” matt cocked his head and blew his nose, unaware that you had ‘left’ the house.
“i made it. i made you homemade chicken noodle soup and forgot about it because you jumped my bones.” you joked.
“you didn’t stop me,” matt pointed out, another chesty cough escaping his mouth. “but if the soup’s already cold…round two?”
lilah yaps ⋆. 𐙚 ˚: hey hey hey! reposting this because i'm sick and lowkey dying and craving chicken noodle soup rn :( if you have an old fic of mine that you want me to repost, inbox me!!
— warnings: none! just FUFFY FLUFF, boyfriend!Chris, featuring matt and nick!! Japan trip, chopstick lesson, soft teasing, hand-on-hand moment, culture-sharing fluff, chaotic brothers, clingy!Chris, romantic tension, mutual adoration, flustered boy, supportive!reader, travel romance
Chris is great at a lot of things—using chopsticks just isn’t one of them. But in a cozy barbecue spot in the middle of Tokyo, with the lights low and the grill sizzling, he doesn’t mind letting you teach him. Especially when you’re this close.
dividers by @huraxy
The restaurant is warm and cozy—low golden lights, wooden walls, the soft crackle of meat sizzling on the tabletop grill.
Outside the window, Tokyo glimmers. Inside, it’s chaos.
“Okay, but hear me out,” Nick says, already unwrapping his wet napkin like it’s a prize. “What if we order everything and just… rotate bites?”
“That’s called dinner, Nick,” Matt mutters, squinting at the laminated menu like it personally wronged him.
You smile, tucking your legs underneath you on the booth bench. The little grill in the middle of the table crackles gently, filling the air with the smell of sesame, soy, and grilled garlic.
Chris is sitting beside you. His knee’s bumping yours every so often, like he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t want to stop. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up, rings glinting as he picks up the chopsticks with all the confidence in the world.
And then immediately drops them.
You try to stifle your giggle.
“I got it,” he says quickly, like he knows he didn’t.
Nick leans across the table, deadpan. “You definitely don’t got it.”
Chris ignores him. “Just slipped. These ones are… slick.”
You tilt your head, biting your lip. “Slick?”
“They’re a little rounder than the ones at sushi places back home,” he says, frowning like he’s crafting an excuse. “Slicker. Different wood. Japanese friction ratios.”
Matt nearly chokes on his water and you’re full-on laughing now.
“Okay, Mr. Physics,” you say. “Need a lesson?” Chris squints. “Only if it comes with hand-holding.”
You lean closer. “It does.” That shuts him up.
You gently reach for his hand, warm and familiar. His fingers twitch when you touch him, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he moves closer—knee against yours, shoulder brushing yours, like he wants to memorize the way this moment feels.
“Alright,” you whisper, voice playful. “This stick rests here…” You position it between his thumb and index finger. “This one’s your mover. You just pivot with the top.”
He watches your hands carefully—but not as carefully as he watches you.
“You’re not even paying attention,” you murmur, eyes still on his fingers.
“I am,” he says, lips tilted up. “Just not to the chopsticks.”
You shoot him a look. He shrugs, not even sorry. “Try picking up the meat,” you say.
He attempts. The beef slips from his grip and flops back into the plate with a wet little plop.
Matt groans. “Bro.”
Chris huffs. “It’s slippery, okay?!”
“Let me help,” you say again, gently guiding his fingers. “Light pressure. Just enough to hold it. No stabbing. No chaos.”
With your hand still over his, Chris tries again. Slowly. Gently.
This time, it lifts and he gasps. “I’m amazing.”
You clap softly. “A prodigy.”
He grins, proudly holding the bite out to you.
“For you.” You blink. “What?”
“You heard me. Open up.”
So you do. You lean forward and take the bite from his chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully, trying not to smile as he watches you like you’re the only person in the room.
Nick groans from across the table. “I’m so serious, I’m going to throw myself into the grill.”
“Jealous?” Chris grins, turning to you again. “She’s proud of me. That’s all that matters.”
You laugh. “I am proud.”
“And grateful?” he asks. “For the food and the romantic gesture?”
“Very.” Chris beams.
The rest of the dinner is full of laughter—Chris gets better with the chopsticks, and you keep helping when he fumbles. Nick makes a game out of flipping the meat perfectly, and Matt tries to translate the dipping sauces without Google.
Chris leans into you the whole time, brushing shoulders, nudging your knee, stealing glances like he can’t help himself.
When dessert comes (mochi and little caramel custards), Chris cuts his in half and slides it onto your plate. You raise an eyebrow.
“I thought you said that one was yours.”
“It was,” he says. “Now it’s ours.”
You kiss his cheek before you can think twice. He blushes.
Later that night… Back at the hotel, Chris collapses face-down on the bed, limbs sprawled, hoodie riding up his back.
“I think I burned my fingers on the grill.”
You laugh softly. “You also dropped three pieces of meat and made the waitress giggle when you tried to order.”
“Yeah,” he says, muffled into a pillow. “But I got you to feed me.”
You crawl onto the bed beside him, resting your chin on his back. “And I’d do it again.”
He turns his head to look at you. His hair’s a little messy, eyes sleepy and soft.
“Hey,” he says, quiet now. “Thanks for showing me.”
“Of course.”
“No—I mean…” He reaches back for your hand. “For coming with us. For making this trip feel like more than just a trip.”
Your chest tightens in that good, full way. You squeeze his hand. “You’re my favorite view.”
He grins. “Even more than the Tokyo skyline?”
You nod. “You’re brighter.” Chris blinks like he wasn’t ready for that.
Then he rolls onto his side, pulling you close until your face is tucked against his chest and you can hear the smile in his voice.
“Okay,” he murmurs, hugging you tight. “But tomorrow, I’m learning how to use those little soy sauce dishes. And I’m gonna crush it.”
You laugh into his hoodie. “I believe in you.”
And that night, wrapped in his arms with the soft glow of Tokyo outside the window, you fall asleep smiling.
Because practice doesn’t just make perfect, sometimes, it makes everything.
after watching the vlog i literally needed to write about it like its such a cute ideaa <3
click here to be added to my taglist and here for masterlist <3
Summary: Chris is a rising star in the MLS - talented, charming, and known for being a player, both on and off the pitch. He’s never had a girlfriend, but always had a soft spot for Y/n, the girl who knew him before the fame but never took him seriously. Once their paths cross again, will history repeat itself or start to feel like potential?
It’s Thursday evening, and my apartment smells like takeout with a hint of unserious stress. A pile of open textbooks and empty pizza boxes are scattered across my bedroom floor, all of us pretending to study while slowly drifting into talk of playoffs. That’s what happens when you live in Houston and the Dynamo’s make the final, nothing else really matters for a few days. Not even our looming exams.
We’re all future biology teachers in theory, but tonight? We're just soccer fans, buzzing like the rest of the city.
“Anyone got a spare jersey?” Liv asks, digging through a drawer like one might magically appear.
“Yeah I’ve got one” Tasha says. “You can wear my orange home kit, it says Herrera on the back of it.”
“I’m just excited for the night out after if I’m honest” Liv grins, turning as she closes the drawer. “The city’s gonna be wild whether we win or lose.”
“Oh we’re gonna win!” I say without thinking, leaning back against my beds headboard. “I’ve got a good feeling about it.”
“Oh okay Ms.Manifestation, lets hope you’re right.” Tasha smirks. “So, who do you think’s going to start?”
Liv gives me a look. A slow, smug kind of smirk that makes me want to throw a pillow at her before she even opens her mouth. I know where she’s going with this.
“I think Chris Sturniolo will be in the starting 11.” she says, way too casually.
I roll my eyes immediately. “Please stop.”
“What?” she grins, “It’s a valid take.”
“I swear, if you lot start this again-”
Maya, who’s only just moved in from Utah this semester is still catching up with everything, so she raises a brow. “Wait, what’s the deal with Chris Sturniolo?”
The girls all look at me, waiting for me to explain.
I sigh. “We knew each other a few years ago. We were in the same school year, he used to try it with me constantly. Like.. wouldn’t let it go. But I never gave in. Ever.”
Tasha sniggers. “Yeah keyword is tried. Girl was made of stone.”
I laugh, because it’s true. Chris was.. persistent, to say the least. Always smiling like he knew one day he’d get what he wanted.
But he’s a pro footballer now. One of Houston’s most talked about rising stars, considered a wonderkid. But to me? He’s still that same guy who never took no for an answer, and always thought he could change my mind.
Still, I can’t help but wonder if he’s actually starting Sunday.
“I actually don’t hear much about him anymore, like.. on a personal level” I say, almost more to myself than anyone else. “Soccer fans absolutely idolise him now, but it’s weird not seeing him pop up anywhere else.”
Maya tilts her head, as she looks up from her phone. “Does he have a girlfriend?.. I mean.. he is a goodlooking boy.”
The rest of us shake our heads in sync like it’s a reflex.
“Nope.”
“Never.”
“Not a real one anyway” Liv adds, stretching her legs over the edge of the bed. “Chris was one for hookups and hookups only.”
I shrug, grabbing my cup off the floor. “That’s why I never went for him. Even back then, he just seemed like one big player. Flashy smile, smooth talk, always surrounded by people, and never the same girl twice.”
“Sounds like half the team then” Maya mutters, making us laugh.
“But seriously..” I continue, “he was the kind of guy who made you feel like you were the only one in the room.. and then did the exact same thing with someone else five minutes later.”
Maya whistles. “Yikes.”
“Exactly, I’m not falling for that one.”
Still, part of me wonders if he’s changed. Fame does that to people, sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better. Or maybe he just got better at hiding it.
I shake the thought off. It doesn’t matter. I haven’t spoken to him in years, and after Sunday’s final, he’ll be off doing whatever pro soccer players do in the off season. Probably in Miami, probably surrounded by beautiful women.
But all in the same breath, curiosity gets the better of me.
While the others argue over who’s going to score first on Sunday, I quietly grab my phone and search Chris on Instagram.
It doesn’t take long, his account pops right up, verified tick and everything.
His page is exactly what I expect. Clean, posed, very.. athlete. Rows of football photos, in uniform, mid training, post match grins with a mix of gym selfies.
As much of a player as he was, I have to admit it, it’s nice seeing someone from here actually make it.
Houston raised. Houston playing.
It’s not often a local boy gets the opportunity to be the hometown hero.
I scroll a bit more. He’s gained a ton of followers, influencers, fitness pages, fans from all over the league. Probably girls from everywhere too, which is why I tell myself if I hit follow, it’ll go completely unnoticed.
So I do.
Just a little harmless follow.
Nothing more.
I zone back into the conversation, locking my phone and tossing it to the side like I hadn’t just deep dived into Chris Sturniolo’s highlight reel.
The girls are still chatting, this time full swing into pregame plans.
“I’m thinking we start at Liv’s place” Tasha says, already listing off who’s bringing what. “She’s closest to the stadium anyway.”
“I’ll have shots ready before we leave” Liv nods with full commitment.
“And where are we going after?” I ask, taking a swig of my water and trying to act like I hadn’t mentally wandered off for five minutes.
Maya lights up. “Oh actually! My cousin said if they win, the team’s hitting Fire.”
“Fire Fire?” I repeat, eyebrows raised.
She grins. “Yup. Fire Nightclub. The whole team’s planning to go with the cup and everything. Shots, DJ, bottle girls, the works.”
“Oh we’re definitely going then” Liv says, already pulling out her phone to make sure her outfit's still sitting in her cart.
“Imagine getting a pic with the cup” Maya laughs.
“Or with Chris Sturniolo” Liv teases, looking directly at me.
I roll my eyes hard enough to see my own brain. “Don’t start.”
But part of me knows.. if Houston wins and Chris ends up at Fire that night.. the chances of running into him just got very real.
Just as Livs finishing her smug little smirk, I hear it.
Ding.
I glance down at my phone, lighting up beside me on my bed.
I look down.
Chris Sturniolo followed you.
Then, ding again.
Two notifications in such a short time.
A message.
Chris Sturniolo: “What’s up Y/n”
There's no way he’s just text me.
a/n : before we start i dont know how the MLS truly works and calling it soccer is making me SICK
Little nudges like, “You know you don’t have to bring your bag every single time,” or, “Wouldn’t it be easier if you left your favorite hoodie here instead of packing it back and forth?” But every time, she’d wave it off with a quiet smile and a soft, “I don’t want to intrude.”
Chris hated that word. Intrude. Like she wasn’t already one of the most comforting, important, loved parts of his life. Like she wasn’t already someone who curled into his side like she belonged there—because she did.
It finally hit him one Thursday night.
She was standing at his bathroom sink, balancing her skincare bag on the edge of the counter. Face wash, serum, moisturizer—all her little products lined up for the five minutes she’d need before they’d crawl into bed.
“Why don’t you just leave it here?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the tub, shirtless and barefoot, watching her apply something with a dropper like it was a science experiment.
She blinked at him through the mirror. “What?”
“Your face wash. Your serum. Your…eye goo, whatever it is. Just leave it. Keep it here.”
She shook her head with a soft laugh. “Chris…”
“No, I mean it.” He stood up, walking behind her and resting his chin on her shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around her waist. “I hate that you keep acting like this isn’t your space too.”
“It’s your apartment,” she said gently. “You share it with your brothers. I’m already here all the time. I don’t want to overstep.”
Chris turned her to face him, hands warm on her hips. “You’re not overstepping, baby. You’re home. I want you here more. I like seeing your stuff in my bathroom. I like when your sweater’s on my desk chair or your socks are mixed in with mine. And I love when your toothbrush is next to mine.” His voice softened even more. “I wanna see more than that.”
Her brows furrowed slightly, the weight of his words settling into her chest.
“Chris…”
“Look,” he said, brushing a hand down her arm. “Leave a couple outfits here. Your face stuff. Your fuzzy pajama pants that I boughtl anyway. You already spend most nights here. Let yourself exist here without it feeling like you’re on borrowed time.”
She looked up at him, eyes glassy in that tender-overwhelm way he’d come to recognize.
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want this—us—to feel permanent. I don’t want it to feel like you’re visiting. I want it to feel like you’re just…home.”
A long silence passed. Then, slowly, her lips curled into the softest smile.
“Okay,” she whispered.
The next day, she showed up with a little duffle bag. Chris didn’t make a big deal out of it—just helped her unpack like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She lined up her face products in the corner of the bathroom counter. Hung a hoodie or two in his closet. Left a drawer half-filled with sweats, jeans, and oversized tees. And when she noticed him gently folding her socks into the top drawer next to his own, her heart cracked wide open.
Later that night, they were tangled on the couch watching a movie when she whispered, “I like having my stuff here.”
Chris kissed the top of her head, arm snug around her. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I plan on organizing all of it anyway.”
She laughed, leaning closer, and it felt—finally, fully—like hers too. Like more than just a visit.
its not uncommon for matt to be throwing punches at cameras or thin air. i dont know why he does it. is he practicing to be a future boxer? or does he just think he looks cool?
after spending the night round my boyfriends house, i walk into his bathroom to take a shower and im met with the sight of him looking into the mirror and throwing punches at.. his reflection? in nothing but his boxers by the way.
and he’s really getting into it, grunting softly as his fists stop a couple centimetres away from the mirror. he doesn’t look at all cool, with his tongue slightly poking out between his pink lips to focus, and the slight furrow of his brows. the only thing that’s remotely cool is the way his biceps flex with each jab, but he doesn’t pay any mind to that.
however, the moment he hears the door creak open he stops dead in his tracks, staring at me through the mirror.
“oh, hi” he murmurs, a flushed embarrassed expression on his face as he realises how stupid he must have looked.
“the fuck are you doing?” i tease with a chuckle and smirk at him through the mirror.
his cheeks grow a deeper shade of pink as he turns around slowly, running a hand through his messy hair. “uhm… practicing? obviously.”
“for what exactly? a street fight with your own reflection?” i laugh, stepping into the bathroom with him and tracing my fingers along his bicep.
he looks down at me with that cute look in his eyes, the one that always makes my stomach flip. “you never know,” he shrugs. “might wake up one day and my evil twin tries to steal my beautiful girlfriend.”
“and by evil twin you mean chris?” i giggle and roll my eyes.
“wha- no! just-“ he groans dramatically. “if you didn’t interrupt i would’ve knocked my reflection out.”
my fingers continue their path up and down his upperarm, feeling the muscles relax under my touch. “you’re lucky your reflection didn’t hit you back, weirdo”
his blue eyes watch my digits graze against his skin. he wraps his arms around my waist and brings a hand up to brush a strand of hair out of my face.
“admit it,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine, “you liked the bicep thing a little?”
i bite my lip and scratch my head, pretending to think. “maybe just a little,” i whisper. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”
he grins, lowering his mouth down and lingering a kiss on my forehead.
“you know,” i start “if you ever do fight your reflection, i think you’d win”
“you’re damn right i would,” he chuckles “now what do you want?”
“to shower?” i frown.
“let me come, will you?” he asks pleadingly, “punching the mirror works up more of a sweat than you’d think”
i laugh but agree nonetheless, starting to strip my pjs off, “fine, but you better not throw any punches in there. i dont wanna get knocked out mid-shampoo”
why does everyone hate matts actual beard💔💔💔 i think its so sexy. like dont get me wrong hes always sexy and i love the stubble but LORD the beard has me feral.
in which . . . you can’t help but keep living in denial
warnings . . . grief, loss, hallucinations due to trauma, heavy and emotional distress & angst, death of a partner, mentions of a car crash, mental health struggles, slight panic attack, no happy ending, plot twist. please read with discretion and remember this is only fiction. i am in absolutely no way romanticizing any of these topics, this is simply for writing purposes, please scroll if you are uncomfortable.
written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)
you don’t remember the first time he came back, only that one day you were alone, and the next, chris was there. he’d always been gentle with you. hands warm, voice quieter than usual. you thought it was because of how broken you were, because of the panic attacks, the way you woke up crying without knowing why, the long silences where your chest ached and your heart pounded and you couldn’t breathe.
but chris never made you feel ashamed. he’d stroke your hair, press kisses to your knuckles. whisper, “it’s okay. i’ve got you.” and you believed him, you always do. even when you couldn’t remember the last time he texted you first. even when his calls never showed up in your logs.
you told yourself, grief messes with time. trauma makes memory fuzzy. maybe you’re just healing slowly. he was here now. that’s what mattered.
every day, you woke up just after sunrise and found his hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. he always left before you opened your eyes, something about “early meetings,” but his scent lingered on your pillow. sometimes he’d show up at night, knocking softly, eyes tired, rain dripping from his hair.
you never asked questions. you were just so glad he kept coming back to you. you have a box of keepsakes you don’t open anymore. photos. love notes. polaroids of the two of you from that summer in hawaii, your legs over his lap, sand in your hair, sunburn on his nose.
you don’t open the box because it hurts. but more than that, you don’t open it because you don’t need to. because he’s still here.
the day everything unravels, you wake up with a strange feeling in your chest. like static. like something important is shifting, and your body knows before your mind catches up. it’s storming outside. thunder rolls low and heavy, and the windows rattle with wind. you wrap yourself in a blanket and pad into the kitchen, hoping chris left a note or a cup of coffee warming in the pot.
there’s nothing. your stomach sinks.
you try calling him, something you haven’t done in a while, because he always just…shows up. but the number doesn’t ring. disconnected. you frown, try again. same thing.
you check his socials. haven’t been updated in almost a year.
weird.
weird.
weird.
your fingers tremble as you open the box you swore you’d never touch again.
inside, everything’s just as you left it, except now you’re seeing it like it’s brand new. a photo, creased down the middle. chris’s handwriting on the back.
our last beach trip. best weekend of my life.
you turn it over. you’re in his arms. his lips on your cheek. but there’s a date written in the corner. almost a year ago.
almost exactly the same week the dreams started. no. you flip through the stack. ticket stubs. a dried flower from the bouquet he gave you on your birthday. a ripped envelope.
and then, at the very bottom, a folded piece of paper you don’t remember ever seeing before. it has your name on it. in his handwriting.
hey love,
i’m writing this because sometimes words spoken aren’t enough. sometimes, life feels too heavy, too unpredictable. i don’t know if i’ll get to say all of this out loud again, so here it is
you are everything. every quiet moment, every laugh we shared, they’re all pieces of my heart.
if tonight is the last time i get to come home to you, please don’t carry any blame.
this isn’t on you. it’s on fate, on chance, on something neither of us could control.
promise me you’ll keep fighting, keep living in color, for the both of us.
i’ll be watching, in every breeze, every shadow that dances with you.
and i’ll be loving you, forever.
so don’t give up on yourself. don’t give up on us.
please.
all my love,
chris.
your vision blurs. your whole body goes cold.
you drop the letter.
and then it all comes back at once.
the sirens.
the hospital call.
his car getting flipped over, all because the rain was too heavy, he went off the road. the letter…he had a feeling of what was going to happen. he knew, his gut told him to write that letter. and that’s why he gave you an extra long hug, and deeper kiss before he left. he only wrote the letter just in case he didn’t come back, little did you both know, he didn’t come back.
all because he was in a rush, picking up flowers for you because you were upset that day. the moment doctors pulled you into a sterile room with shaking hands and quiet eyes and said, “we’re so sorry…we did the best we could..”
you fell apart. and then…you forgot. you forced yourself to forget. and your mind, aching for him, started stitching together pieces of what used to be. it pulled his voice from voicemails. it built his silhouette out of shadows and old clothes. it conjured the ghost of a boy who’d never let you cry alone.
you didn’t heal. you hallucinated love.
and now, now that you remember, he’s gone. really gone. no more footsteps in the hallway. no more kisses to your shoulder. no more “i’ll be back soon.” just silence. you sit on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, as the storm crashes against the windows. and for the first time in almost a year, you truly cry for him.
not a ghost. not a dream. just the boy you loved. and lost. you sit up, frantically shaking your head, dusting yourself off. no no no, what are you thinking!? he’s not gone, he’s still here, obviously.
chris insists that you guys sleep skin to skin every night.
warnings: pets names, sexual innuendos
“what are you doin’?” chris asks as you crawl into bed wearing his t-shirt and a pair of panties. you furrow your eyebrows, “going to..bed..” you say in a ‘duh’ tone.
chris smirks and tugs on the hem of the shirt you were wearing, “you know the rule, strip.” his smirk turning into a cheeky grin as he lifts the fabric over your head, reveling your breasts and soft skin. “better?” you teased as you lifted up the covers to crawl underneath, “these too,” he hummed as he snapped the elastic of your panties against your hip, with a sigh you slipped off the fabric, turning back to him, “better now?” you draw out, “much.” he shot back.
you guys entangled in each other, legs hooked together, your head tucked under his chin—against his chest, from time to time you can feel the stubble of his chin scratch against your forehead, making your nose scrunch.
you feel his hands rub your back softly, till they get lower— squeezing you left ass cheek gently making you look up at him, a knowing look.
that stupid smirk is back on his face, “open your legs, lemme play with you till you go to sleep..”
super short but i’m trying to make up for the little break i was on 😵💫
Not since you buried yourself in chemistry books, desperately attempting to prepare for your final.
No weed, no alcohol—just textbooks stacked high, and the click of your pen repeating, filling up the silence in your living room.
You're hunched over your notes, fingers tangled in your hair, review sheet crumpled in your grip until someone banging on your door like they're the damn police snaps you out of it.
Your eyebrows pull together before you even open the door, annoyance bubbling up as the pounding continues, impatient and relentless. You're already crafting up some snarky remark as you twist the door knob.
"Damn. You look rough." The words hit before you've even registered his face, your mouth twisting into a scoff, an insult on the tip of your tongue—something about sending him back to his fuck ass frat house—But then you see it. The beard.
Matt's always had facial hair. A goatee, a mustache, nothing special. Not worth a second glance. But, fuck. He looks so...
"Gon' let me in or keep staring?" You roll your eyes as sarcastically as you always do, trying to play it off. "Shut up."
It's weird. Matt being in your apartment for something other than fucking, fighting, or rolling you a blunt. Sitting across from him on your couch? Even weirder.
Especially with that new addition to his face. "Seriously, you got a staring problem or sum?"
Your teeth sink into your lip. Fuck. "You have a beard." He chuckles, leaning back like he's waiting on something. "Y'like it?" You roll your eyes before he even finishes talking. Quick, automatic.
"Fuck no."
Matt smirks, like he doesn't believe you, like he knows better. "You sure? You were just doin' a whole lotta staring."
You hate that question. The way he says it. The way it lingers. Your arms cross, "I'm sure."
"I don't think you are." He murmurs, creeping closer to your spot on the couch. "Think y'wanna feel it while I eat your pretty little pussy out." The tamest dirty talk Matt's ever done, but the affect it has on you after not hearing it in weeks? Your thighs are pressing together, panties soaked.
"C'mon, admit it. Already squirming f'me."
"No."
Matt cocks an eyebrow.
"M—matt—!" You cry out, grabbing at the couch cushions for leverage as you try desperately to arch out of the delicious, overstimulating pleasure he's giving you.
He's quick to hold you down and make you take it.
You can't count how many times he's made you cum, make you squirt all over his face and his stupid beard. You squirm and thrash, thighs threatening to close around his head.
Matt's hand parts them before delivering a quick slap to your pussy that makes you whine. "Not goin' no where till you admit it." He rasps before going right back into devouring you, making you scream for him.
His beard burns your thighs, hips stuttering under his grip as his tongue flicks at your clit.
"P—pleaseuh— c-cant— c—cant—" You babble, "C'mon." He speaks into your cunt making you moan louder than you have all night, "Say it." And then his fingers are inside you, curling upwards, hitting that spot inside you each time.
And then you see white. Eyes fluttering shut as your body falls limp, body doing its best to recover from your most recent orgasm.
You grab at Matt's hair, not having to see him to know what he's trying to do—you can feel it.
