filipino ● 13 ● sturniolos ● bunnies ● poetry ● beabadoobee ● tulips ● coffee ● photography ● sweaters ● friendship bracelets ● ˖ ִֶָ ⋆🧸ྀ⋆˖·˳˖
Fluff Recommendations!

Andulka
Cosimo Galluzzi
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

roma★

tannertan36
cherry valley forever
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

Origami Around

izzy's playlists!

★
NASA
YOU ARE THE REASON

shark vs the universe

Discoholic 🪩
h
tumblr dot com
Today's Document
🪼
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Monterey Bay Aquarium

seen from Australia

seen from Germany

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Taiwan

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
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seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia

seen from Indonesia

seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from United States
seen from United States
@ketchuplvr
filipino ● 13 ● sturniolos ● bunnies ● poetry ● beabadoobee ● tulips ● coffee ● photography ● sweaters ● friendship bracelets ● ˖ ִֶָ ⋆🧸ྀ⋆˖·˳˖
Fluff Recommendations!
hiiiiii i just saw ur blog and wanted to say it was really cute. and i guess we automatically bffs now sooo hiiii
HIII tsymm!! I looked at ur blog and ur so gorgeous whaaaat 😧
okay according to your bio we are automatically bffs so i just wanted to say hi bff 🥹
its really nice to see someone who’s my age on here since theres mostly people who are older lol
also i see that you like beabadoobee (i do too) and i wanted to ask what’s your favorite song by her? mine is perfect pair!
HIIIIII!! omg yess when I saw you introduce urself, I was so happpyyy someone my age is here too🥹 My fav beabadoobee song is the way things go 💕 btw I hope ur doing wellll cuz I replied to this kinda late 😭
i love that song too!! also yeah im doing fine atm what abt you? :D
im doing gooood! I only have a few weeks until my school year ends so im veryvery excitedd:3
whatttt you’re so lucky my school year doesn’t end until june 💔💔
JUNE?? I'd sue the whole school 😭 I reaaaaally want to travel a lot when summer comes
i really should sue the school bc wdym i have to wait like 3-4 months before summer break 😔
girl me toooo im tired of the US, i only know that im going to Atlanta for youth camp over the summer so far but i want to get out of the country and go to like London or smth. do you have any places you wanna go for the summer?
OH MYYYYY, LONDON WOULD BE SO NICEEE🙏 For me, I don't think I'll travel out of the country:( I currently live in the UAE, and there are nice places here, but idkk... I'm Filipino thoughhh so I hope this year I can at least visit the Philippines🥲 ITS BEEN THREE YEARSS
okay according to your bio we are automatically bffs so i just wanted to say hi bff 🥹
its really nice to see someone who’s my age on here since theres mostly people who are older lol
also i see that you like beabadoobee (i do too) and i wanted to ask what’s your favorite song by her? mine is perfect pair!
HIIIIII!! omg yess when I saw you introduce urself, I was so happpyyy someone my age is here too🥹 My fav beabadoobee song is the way things go 💕 btw I hope ur doing wellll cuz I replied to this kinda late 😭
i love that song too!! also yeah im doing fine atm what abt you? :D
im doing gooood! I only have a few weeks until my school year ends so im veryvery excitedd:3
whatttt you’re so lucky my school year doesn’t end until june 💔💔
JUNE?? I'd sue the whole school 😭 I reaaaaally want to travel a lot when summer comes
okay according to your bio we are automatically bffs so i just wanted to say hi bff 🥹
its really nice to see someone who’s my age on here since theres mostly people who are older lol
also i see that you like beabadoobee (i do too) and i wanted to ask what’s your favorite song by her? mine is perfect pair!
HIIIIII!! omg yess when I saw you introduce urself, I was so happpyyy someone my age is here too🥹 My fav beabadoobee song is the way things go 💕 btw I hope ur doing wellll cuz I replied to this kinda late 😭
i love that song too!! also yeah im doing fine atm what abt you? :D
im doing gooood! I only have a few weeks until my school year ends so im veryvery excitedd:3
okay according to your bio we are automatically bffs so i just wanted to say hi bff 🥹
its really nice to see someone who’s my age on here since theres mostly people who are older lol
also i see that you like beabadoobee (i do too) and i wanted to ask what’s your favorite song by her? mine is perfect pair!
HIIIIII!! omg yess when I saw you introduce urself, I was so happpyyy someone my age is here too🥹 My fav beabadoobee song is the way things go 💕 btw I hope ur doing wellll cuz I replied to this kinda late 😭
The theme is so so cuteee
THANKUUUU SM!<3 I got kinda annoyed cuz my intro post got content labeled SHSHSH
the concept of the triplets putting more effort into an ad promoting an ai app than any video they’ve filmed in the past five years
ate
LITERALLY THOUGH
CLOSER
matt sturniolo
The night had quieted in that almost scary way where the whole world felt like it had paused just for the two of you. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlight sneaking through the blinds, spilling soft lines of light across the sheets. The heater hummed in the background, steady and warm. Everything else was still.
Matt pulled you in closer by instinct when you shifted, his hand fitting around your hip like he’d known exactly where it was without having to look. His breath was warm against the back of your neck, and you could feel the lazy rise and fall of his chest against your spine.
But even wrapped up in him like this, something in you ached for more.
You wanted him pressed so close you couldn’t tell where you ended and where he began.
So you sighed — long, dramatic, and completely intentional.
Matt’s voice came out soft and groggy behind you. “What was that for?”
You rolled over in his arms until you were facing him. His hair was messy from the pillow, sticking up in a way that made him look unfairly hot yet sooo cute. His eyelids were heavy, and his lips quirked up like he already knew you wanted something.
You pressed your forehead into his collarbone and murmured, “I wish you could be closer.”
Matt blinked slowly. “But… I’m literally… right here.” He squeezed your waist gently for emphasis.
You shook your head, voice quiet. “Not that kind of close. I mean… like super close. closer than skin-to-skin.”
He stared at you for two seconds.
“Are you saying you want to fuse with me?”
You lifted your head just enough to give him a serious look. “Yes. Permanently.”
The sleepy confusion on his face melted into a quiet, breathy laugh that warmed your whole chest.
“You’re unbelievable,” he whispered, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
But there was so much fondness in his eyes you felt your cheeks heat.
Matt slid his hand up and down your back slowly—barely-there touches, gentle and slow, like he was soothing a heartbeat. His voice, low and soft, brushed your ear.
“Come here then.”
He tilted you gently until he was on his back and you were half on top of him, your body molded to his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like he was afraid to loosen even a single finger.
“This,” he murmured sleepily, “is basically bone fusion.”
You snorted into his shirt. “It’s not even close.”
“Oh?” His voice shifted still soft, but playful now. “Maybe you need a little help then.”
His fingers danced lightly along your ribs — soft, teasing, slow tickles — just enough to make a tiny giggle escape your lips.
“Matt—stop—” you whispered, half-laughing, half-whining.
“Nope,” he said quietly, smiling against your forehead. “This is part of the fusion ritual.”
His fingers brushed your side again and you squirmed helplessly, burying your face into his chest to muffle your laughter. He held you steady, arms firm but gentle, like he loved every sound you made.
When he finally stopped, his hands settled warmly on your waist again, thumbs stroking absent little circles that made your heart flutter.
He kissed the top of your head — once, then again, like he couldn’t help himself.
“Better?” he asked softly.
“A little,” you murmured against him. “Still not fused, though.”
He let out a tiny, amused groan. “You’re gonna be the cause of my death you know that right?”
But he shifted closer anyway — guiding your legs to tangle with his, pulling the blanket over both of you, tucking your head under his chin. One arm stayed wrapped around your waist while the other came up to cradle the back of your head, stroking your hair slow and gentle.
You melted instantly.
His voice dipped to a whisper. “Hey?”
You hummed in response, your cheek warm against his heartbeat.
“You know… I kinda like when you want me close like this.”
Your chest tightened in the softest way.
You pressed a kiss to the base of his throat. “I always want you close.”
Matt’s breath hitched — just a tiny, vulnerable sound — and he held you tighter, so close you felt his heartbeat against your lips.
He pressed a slow kiss into your hair, lips lingering like he wanted the moment to last forever.
“Stay then,” you whispered.
“I am,” he breathed. “I’m right here.”
His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, then brushed under your jaw, slow and tender.
Your eyes fluttered closed.
The room felt warmer. Softer.
Like the two of you had created your own pocket of safety.
Matt’s voice drifted out again, quieter than before, like he was seconds from sleep.
“If we fuse bones,” he murmured lazily, “I call dibs on your spine.”
You snorted softly. “Why my spine?”
“Dunno,” he said, already sounding half-asleep. “Feels important.”
You tucked closer, kissing his chest gently. “Okay. You can have it.”
He hummed at that — a low, content sound — and pulled you impossibly closer, the kind of hold that wrapped you in warmth from every angle.
“Good,” he whispered. “Means you can’t leave.”
Your breath softened. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
Matt smiled into your hair, arms tightening, voice slurred with sleep.
“Perfect… ‘cause I’m keeping you.”
“Wait… do people actually fuse together? Is that, like… a real thing?” he mumbled, already half-asleep and sounding absolutely concerned for no reason.
You laughed softly, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Matt, i actually don’t know. Go to sleep.”
And just like that, you both drifted off — his heartbeat steady under your ear, his arms secure around you, the world quiet and warm — perfectly fused in all the ways that mattered.
my taglist is always open.
@sturnililio @stevielovesmatt @mmegamatt @breesturn @saintlaurentcowgirl101 @matts1989 @courta13 @stuniolobabes @challengers4ev @drcamin @oopsiedaisydeer @love4madii @aaliyah-sturns @angel-sturn1 @mattsaplejuicex @bittenbymatt @whore4chris @matthewsvanillakisses @cmprmise @reenluvschris @sturn-fan @gofindanotherlovcr
FINAL CHAPTER — “I’m Not Losing You”
(as long as as i could— almost-breakup because of distance fear)
The moment Matt’s plane touches down in LA, you’re still awake in your bed with your phone beside you, screen dimmed, thumb tapping anxiously at your blanket. You told yourself you wouldn’t overthink. You told yourself you’d trust him.
But something felt different ever since he boarded.
And you don’t even know why.
Your phone buzzes.
Matt:
we landed :)
A smiley face.
Not a heart.
Not a “baby.”
Not an “I miss you already.”
Just
“:)”
You stare at it for a full minute, trying to convince yourself you’re imagining the shift.
You:
i’m glad <3
His reply comes two minutes later.
Matt:
yeah. tired tho.
No “love,”
no “call u soon,”
no soft teasing voice note.
Your stomach sinks, and you hate that it does.
⸻
Matt goes quiet the whole drive home.
No spam.
No selfies.
No complaining about LAX traffic like he usually would.
Eventually, two hours later, you get:
Matt:
sorry i passed out when we got home lol
long day
lol.
lol.
He never “lol”s you.
Something’s wrong.
⸻
The next day is worse.
The texts are short.
Dry.
He answers in minutes, not seconds.
He doesn’t send voice notes.
You FaceTime him and the call lasts nine minutes instead of your usual three hours.
He keeps scratching the back of his neck, glancing off-screen, talking like he owes you nothing and everything at the same time.
He looks scared.
But not of you.
Of something else.
Something bigger.
⸻
By day three, you’re losing your mind.
You keep rereading old messages.
Old photos.
The ones from the beach.
The airport goodbye.
The way he held you like he wasn’t sure he’d survive letting go.
So why is he pulling back now?
You finally break and text him:
You:
matt
did i do something?
He replies instantly.
Matt:
no
not at all
im just in my head
You bite your lip.
His head is EXACTLY the problem.
You:
about what?
He doesn’t answer.
For an hour.
Two.
Three.
Then finally:
Matt:
can we talk tmrw
im tired rn
Your heart drops.
⸻
You barely sleep.
He barely texts.
The silence feels thick.
Heavy.
Wrong.
At 3AM, you scroll through your call log, staring at his name, wondering how love can flip so fast.
⸻
THE CONFRONTATION
The next night, you FaceTime him first.
He answers on the third ring.
He looks exhausted.
Eyes heavy.
Hair messy like he’s been dragging his hands through it non-stop.
“…hey,” he says quietly.
Not baby.
Not sweet.
Not Matt.
Just “hey.”
Your voice cracks before you even speak.
“What’s going on with you?”
He freezes—like he didn’t expect you to ask so directly.
“I don’t— I’m not doing anything. I’m fine.”
You shake your head, tears burning your eyes.
“You’re not fine. You’ve been distant since you got home. I can feel it. You barely talk to me. You barely look at me.”
He exhales, long and shaky.
“Please don’t cry,” he whispers.
“Then tell me what’s wrong.”
He leans back against his headboard, eyes flicking down. His throat moves like he’s swallowing words he doesn’t want to say.
“I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“You’re hurting me right now, Matt.”
That hits him.
Hard.
He looks up at you, eyes already glossy.
“I’m scared,” he says quietly.
Your breath catches.
“Scared of what?”
He wipes his face with his sleeve, embarrassed to be so emotional.
“This. Us. Long-distance. You’re there. I’m here. And everything feels… too real.”
You whisper, “…too real?”
He nods, voice cracking.
“I’ve never felt like this about someone. Ever. And I don’t wanna lose you. But long distance? What if it ruins us? What if we drift? What if one day you wake up and realize I’m too far away and you deserve someone who can actually be there—”
“Matt,” you interrupt, heart pounding.
He shuts his eyes like he’s bracing for impact.
“I thought,” he whispers, “…if I pulled back a little… maybe it wouldn’t hurt you as much when it happens.”
“When WHAT happens?”
“…when you move on.”
The world stops.
You burst into tears instantly—because the idea you’d ever leave him is insane. INSANE.
“Matt,” you choke out. “Why would you think that?”
He finally looks at you—really looks at you—and his face crumbles.
“Because I love you,” he says, voice shaking. “And I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never done real love. Not like this.”
Your breath stutters.
Love.
He said love.
“You’re not gonna lose me,” you whisper.
His face twists like he wants to believe you but he’s terrified to.
You sniff, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.
“Listen to me.”
Your voice breaks but stays steady.
“You’re the one I want. You. I chose you. Why would distance change that?”
He shakes his head.
“Because you deserve someone better.”
You almost laugh through your tears.
“Matt, shut up.”
His eyes widen slightly.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you say. “And you’re pushing me away because you’re scared? You don’t get to do that. Not without talking to me about it.”
He presses his lips together, tears spilling.
He whispers, “I’m sorry.”
You whisper back, “Come here,” even though he can’t.
He leans closer to the camera anyway—like muscle memory, like instinct.
Your voice softens, warm and steady.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He sniffles loudly and hides his face in his hands.
You’ve never seen him cry like this.
You’ve never seen him this scared.
You’ve never loved him more.
“Baby,” you whisper, “it’s okay. I’m right here.”
He lifts his head, eyes red, nose pink.
“I don’t wanna lose you.”
“You won’t.”
He exhales shakily.
“Please don’t leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” you say. “But you gotta stop running from me.”
He nods. Hard. Over and over.
“I will,” he promises. “I swear. I won’t pull away again. I’ll tell you when I’m scared instead of shutting you out.”
“Good,” you whisper. “Because we’re a team. Okay?”
Another nod.
“Okay.”
Silence settles between you—but it’s soft this time. Warm. Healing.
His voice is tiny when he speaks again:
“Can you stay on call tonight?”
“Of course.”
He wipes his cheeks, sniffs again, tries to smile.
“You still love me?”
You laugh softly through your tears.
“More than anything.”
His shoulders finally relax.
“I love you too,” he whispers. “I really do.”
You curl under your blanket as he shifts in his bed, angling the phone so you can see him better.
Your breathing syncs up.
Your heartbeats calm.
Your tears dry.
After a while, he mumbles sleepily:
“If you leave me I’m haunting you.”
You laugh. “Deal.”
“Night, baby,” he whispers.
You smile. “Night, Matt.”
His eyes close.
And right before he fully drifts off, you hear him murmur:
“…not losing you.”
And then he falls asleep.
Peaceful.
Safe.
Still on the call.
Still with you.
You fall asleep too, phone warm beside your cheek, his soft breathing in your ear.
And that’s the end.
Not a goodbye.
Not a breaking point.
A beginning.
A promise.
A love that’s scared but real—
and strong enough to last across oceans.
————————-
I CANT BELIEVE THIS AU ENDED💔 i miss it already
Taglist: @thechratt-twins @spookysturnz @mattsdivaa @ketchuplvr @mattsturniolosbabe@lyingonchris
@ta3y0ung @cangster @riggysworld @whore4chris @sturnililio @chrissturniolodailysluts@angelbabysturnz @snoopysturnzz @thewizardfall @matts1989 @urfaveprettypsycho
I WORKED SO HARD ON MY THEME AND IT GOT CONTENT LABELED..
⋆ ˚ 𝜗𝜚 ˚ ⋆ skating matthew sturniolo
advent calendar - december 4th˚ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖
where… matt tries to reach reader how to ice skate.
you don’t even make it two steps onto the ice before your legs start doing that tragic wobble, the kind that looks like a baby deer learning how to exist. matt is already laughing, not in a mean way, just in a god, you’re cute way that makes your face heat up even in the cold.
“okay wow,” you mutter, clinging to the railing. “i hate this already.”
matt glides toward you like it’s nothing, hands in his pockets, not even looking down at his feet. show-off. former-hockey-player show-off.
“you’re doing great,” he says, biting back a smile.
“you’re literally lying.”
“yeah, but i’m being supportive.”
cuteeeee!!
empty pages
─── expired reader has been told she's dying. but how much does it matter if she wanted to anyway? best friend matt is heartbroken to be losing the girl he never shared his feelings for - until now.
warnings: suicide ideation, mentions of self injury/ suicide (no actual suicide), struggles with connections/relationships, medical trigger warning !! sickness, lots of crying, death is written as peaceful, mentions of childhood struggles, heavily implied death.
wc: 1.1k
au masterlist || previous || all aus
PART FOUR - FINALE
How do you want to be remembered?
Jiji's Fluff Recs! ✯
Here are some of the cutest and fluffiest sturniolo fanfics I've read. If you have recommendations for me, please send them! (Especially Nick fics, I'd love to read more of it)
updated a little for the pretty girl @dandoonsturns ! tumblr's word limit is kinda annoying.. maybe i'll do a second list soon :3
❛ INSTAGRAM + TEXTS ⸝⸝ ♯FRATBOY!CHRIS & SHY!READER .ᐟ
authors note. trying something a little new. this is bun's and chris' texts, insta, and insta dms that are from the pov of their 'macbooks'. (or desktop in general i guess) this took me waaaay too long to create so please be kind if you see any mistakes. thank you ! (edit. forgot to mention i’ve also changed some of the usernames for my own personal benefit lol.)
𝙑𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙣𝙖
⤷ 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙!𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩 𝙭 𝙣𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
Application Fees. Start date. GPA. Maiden name. The words on the screen burn into the computer, and you squint your eyes. It feels like it’s been years since you’ve been applying to schools, since you’ve moved from LA and flipped your life completely. Things are less expensive here. There’s no Erewhon, gas isn’t five dollars a gallon, and the housing is that bad. Matt says you don’t have to work, that he’ll take care of you. He always takes care of you. But then what would’ve been the point? Moving? Starting a brand new life with him? Your father cutting you off? You were going to make something of yourself. You’d apply to law school. You’d make friends. You’d be happy.
Happy.
You were happy. You had Matt. Life was easy now, simple. You both took care of the house and tended the garden; he left for work and came home every night, but you just sat.
The phone buzzes beside the laptop. Dad. Your stomach falls, the room slows, tunnel vision. You dig your nails into your palm.
Ground yourself.
He hadn’t called since you left. Quick texts here and there of “How are you?” or “What town did you say you moved to again?” It’s all distant. All cold.
“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice comes through the other end. Warm and happy, almost rehearsed. What time even is it in Paris?
“Hey,” you manage. You tell him that you’re fine, that you’re applying to schools. He asks about friends: "Do you have any?" You lie. You tell him the house is coming together and that you’re happy. That word again.
Happy.
“You know you can come back if you want to. My movie is wrapping up. I’m moving back to Los Angeles. No, you can’t bring Matt.” The words haunt you on the screen as your dad talks. Penn State. Temple. Kutztown. Drexel. He ends the call by saying, "You sound different." But you are different now, different is good…right?
After you hang up, the silence stretches. The microwave flashes four thirty pm. Matt will be home soon. Your stomach twists around the words “you know you can come back if you want to” and tightens at the way your brain, even if only for half a second, considered it.
The laptop snaps closed. Your feet bring you to the bathroom. You’ve been working on it for so long, so many nights of paint swatches of Matt insisting the colors were the same when they obviously weren’t. You were building this home together. This life together. Your reflection looks different, tired, older, softer maybe.
Different.
Your hand brushes down your face, and you splash your face with cold water, telling yourself to snap out of it. You wanted this. You needed this.
You dry your hands with a hand towel, staring at the porcelain sink as the water drains through the pipes. You can remember Matt putting this sink in for you; he knew you loved it as soon as you laid eyes on it, even though you already had a perfectly working sink. He bought it for you. He didn’t know how to install a new sink, didn’t know how to work with the pipes, didn’t know much about renovating a house, but he learned for you.
You reach for your phone on the counter. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard.
‘My dad called.’
You stare at the screen. Matt’s contact picture. You took it in the summer; it was so hot, and he was moody, but you thought he looked so handsome.
“Please, Matt, just right in front of this tree,” you giggle, moving him to where you wanted him.
“Baby, it’s so hot I wanna get back to the car.” Matt took a breath through his nose, his jaw right.
“Please, Matt”
“.....Fine”
“Uncross your arms.”
“No”
He ended up posting that picture later. Taken by the love of my life, he captioned it.
You text again.
“he’s moving back to LA.”
“said he’d take me back.”
Three dots appear. Then disappear.
The water is warm on your back, your soap-stung eyes watch as the suds circle around the drain and then fall into it. You scrub your body hard and imagine the dead cells clumping together and falling off of your legs, your arms, your torso. It felt like you were recreating yourself, shedding your old skin and generating a new body that would survive Pennsylvania winters. Isn’t that what you have been doing? Changing, becoming something brand new. You couldn’t figure out if you were the same person as before, before Paris, before Matt, even, but was that a bad thing? To change?
You turn the water off when you hear the gravel. You stand still in the shower, water dripping down your spine, listening like you’re trying to match each sound to a part of him.
Engine off.
Boots on the cement steps.
Door hinge groaning.
Keys on the table - the metallic clatter you know by heart.
Your chest tightens. It always does, even on good days.
You wrap a towel around yourself and step out into the steam heavy bathroom. Your phone mimics the fogged bathroom mirror. Cloudy, wet. No text.
You crack the door, and the cool air from the dark hallway makes you shiver. You can hear him, his movements slow. Unpacking the tupperware from his lunch box, placing them into the sink, washing his hands. You can tell he’s in his head. Usually, he is rushing to see you, throwing the dirty dishes in the sink and washing them quickly, and his hands are generally still soapy and wet when he finally gets to you.
His voice comes out soft, almost tentative.
“Baby?”
You swallow. “Up here.”
His boots thud up the steps. There are twelve steps. You count in your head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. He skipped some.
He looks at you - towel, wet hair sticking to your forehead, eyes red with soap residue and tears - and you know he reads it all in one breath.
He doesn’t touch you yet. He wants to gauge the situation first, not assume.
“You showered.”
You nod.
“You okay?”
Another nod. A lie.
He swipes his tongue across the front of his teeth. A habit. He wants to say something.
“I’m gonna make dinner,” he murmurs. “Come down when you’re ready.”
He glances at your phone on the sink behind you.
His jaw ticks - tiny, but you know him too well.
“I saw your texts,” he adds quietly.
Not angry.
Not hurt.
Just not making you say it first.
Then he turns, making his way down the dark hallway. Down the staircase, just not skipping any this time.
You’re suddenly very aware of everything that is touching you. The cold towel on the bottom of your feet, the towel fibers brushing against your naked body, your wet hair at the nape of your neck. You try to remember the way Matt looked when he said he saw the texts. His face was blank, not hard, not soft, he was trying to not project any emotion.
His soft shirt feels good on your body; your cotton shorts feel better than the cold, damp towel. Your wet hair rises and falls away from your neck. Guilt hits you in the gut. How could you possibly have thought about your old life when he just came home from a ten-hour shift and is making dinner for you?
“Come down when you’re ready.” Usually, you help him or pretend to help him, sneaking bits of pepper into your mouth as he works over the hot stove. “Come down when you’re ready.”
At the top of the stairs, you pause.
You can hear him.
Chopping something on the cutting board.
A gentle thud.
Another.
His breathing - steady, but deeper than usual.
He’s in his head, too.
You descend slowly. Eleven, ten, nine…
On step eight, the smell hits you.
Garlic. Butter.
Your stomach turns. Nerves. Guilt. Something.
On step three, you hear the scratch of a match and a crackle of a wick.
Step two–music.
It’s quiet at first, your ears training to hear it. Your feet are on the wooden floor now, the music becomes clearer; a piano melody swirls from the kitchen directly to you. Warm. Familiar. Heartbreaking.
Vienna.
You round the corner.
The kitchen is dim, lit only by two candles on the table–cheap little jars you bought at TJ Maxx, a store you promised yourself you wouldn't become a regular at. They glow brighter tonight.
Matt stands at the counter, shoulders drawn in a little, brow furrowed in concentration as he stirs whatever is in the pan. His hair is messy from his hands running through it. His uniform shirt is unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up.
He looks over his shoulder at you when he hears you. Relief flashes across his face.
You came down. You’re here. Good.
“You hungry?” he asks.
His voice is low, gentle.
You nod. You’re not hungry. Another lie. You can’t even think about food right now.
He turns off the burner now, placing the pan to the side and wiping his hands on the dish towel. He clears his throat. His cheeks are rosy either from the heat the stove or nerves. Matt wasn’t exactly the romantic type; he was more of an act-of-service man. He’d do anything for you, without even asking. Cook dinners. Fix shelves. Your laundry.
He gestures to the record player, the record spinning against the needle; he’s embarrassed to bring attention to it. “It’s an old vinyl I had.” his voice is quiet. “Song, uh, reminded me of you,” he clears his throat.
Your throat stings again, and you blink.
“Bad day?” he steps closer now, so close. You can feel the warmth from his body, see the stubble from his beard growing in, smell garlic and cumin on him.
You nod again, and fear he might think you’ve gone mute.
“Wanna tell me?” his hand reaches for your face now, a thumb softly brushing under your eye, and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“I don’t know,” your voice cracks and sounds muffled, weird, distant. “I don’t know anything right now.”
Matt nods and reaches for your hand, pulling you into the open space in the kitchen. “C’mere.” His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close to him, and you wrap your arms around his neck. For a moment, neither of you talk, all you can hear is his heart, slow and steady, and Billy Joel’s voice filling the kitchen. You sway.
“You’re so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need, though you can see when you’re wrong, you know, you can’t always see when you’re right, you’re right.”
You feel his lips press to your ear. “You know it’s okay that you’re confused, or, or I dunno considering it.” His voice is gentle.
“I’m not-”
“Shh,” He pulls back to look at you. “You’ve made the biggest sacrifice here, not me, you. You’ve been brave, made changes, left a life behind.”
Tears fall before you can stop them, and you suck in a breath. You hide your face in his shirt, the hot tears dampening the fabric.
Matt pulls you tighter, one hand to the back of your head, cradling it. Shielding you, protecting you. “I’ve got you, baby,” he mumbles into your hair. “I’ve always got you.”
You breath tumbles out of you, uneven.
“I’m trying,” you sniffle. “Fuck, I’m trying just to be happy here, I-“ a deep breath, “And I am-please know that I am-it’s just a lot. And hearing him today just randomly saying I could go back as if nothing happened, it just messed with me.”
He leans back to look at you—his thumb wiping your hot tears. “I know, it’s confusing. It’s a lot and you, you’re doing a lot.”
“You are too.”
Matt rolls his eyes, but you know it’s playful. His forehead touches yours, and he breathes in deep. “Not as much as you, I mean, who else would be taking daily trips to TJ Maxx and send me pictures of decorative pillows?” he smirks.
A wet laugh escapes you.
“And listen,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “If you ever need to go back, or need to visit, or figure things out, I’d understand.”
You shake your head immediately, panic rising. “No, I don’t want to go back. Why would you say that?”
“I'm not telling you to, baby. I just want you to know you have a choice. And I'd understand. I know you don’t want to go back, but I know this must be hard for you. It can’t be easy. You’re allowed to think. To feel. You’re allowed to miss your old life.”
Another tear slips, and he places his hands on your shoulders, massaging.
“You’re allowed to be scared,” he murmurs. “You’re allowed to be confused, but you’re not allowed to shut me out, okay? I won’t be mad at you.”
A pause.
“You’re happy with me?” he whispers quickly.
“Of course, I am.”
Matt nods, almost looking relieved, guilt hitting your gut again. “Me too. Happiest I’ve ever been, and I want to keep you happy.”
His words settle between you two. The kitchen is quiet now, the record stopped.
“Matt,” you mumble, your voice wobbling, “you don’t have to keep me happy. That’s..that’s not your job.”
He huffs, confusion and disbelief washing over his features. “That’s the only job that matters to me. You.”
Your chest tightens. His hands move from your shoulders down your arms, slow and reassuring, thumbs gliding over the inside of your elbows.
“I don’t want you feeling guilty,” he says, softer now. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I thought about it,” the words spill out of your chest, the guilt that has been stuck to the inside of your stomach tries to crawl up your throat. “When he said I could come back, I thought about it for half of a second. And I feel sick about it.’
He shakes his head instantly, forehead brushing yours again.
“You’re human,” he murmurs. “That’s all that was. I can’t be mad at you for that, let alone be angry with you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“And I could be doing better. Getting you out more, you need friends, a life separate from me.” He whispers, and your eyes roll immediately.
“I can’t really complain when you work and I stay at home and decorate.”
“I saw your laptop on the kitchen table. You were applying to school.”
“Yes-”
“So stop comparing, stop saying you’re doing nothing. You’re gonna get in, you’re a smart girl. My smart girl.” He kisses your forehead. “It’ll get better, things will get easier, I promise. Do you trust me?”
You laugh. “Of course I trust you; you were literally my bodyguard.”
Matt laughs with you, and he squints. “Yeah, yeah,” he pauses to just look at you. “No more overthinking in that pretty little head of yours tonight." He taps his finger on your temple. “No more being mean to my baby.” He turns to go back to the stove. “Let’s get you fed-” Your hands stop him, grabbing his forearm.
“I want to dance again,” you whisper.
Matt’s eyes soften the second the words leave your mouth.
You want to dance again.
Not talk, not apologize, not spiral.
Dance.
“Yeah?” he murmurs.
You nod, fingers still curled around his forearm.
He places his other hand over yours—large, warm, steady—and gives the tiniest squeeze, like he’s saying I hear you. I’m here.
He lets go only long enough to walk to the record player. He flips the vinyl gently, like it’s something fragile, something he’s afraid to mishandle. The needle drops with a soft crackle.
And then the piano begins again.
That same warm swell.
That same tender ache.
Slow down, you crazy child…
He turns back to you slowly, almost shy now. His cheeks are still rosy, the candlelight pooling gold across his jaw and the bare skin at his collar. His hands slide onto your waist, fingers curling into the cotton of your shorts.
“C’mere,” he whispers, even though you’re already stepping into him. You wrap your arms around your neck, and his hands settle on your hips.
You sway to the music as Matt whispers the lyrics into your ear, and it feels like the walls settle. The floor is no longer swept up from under you. The world doesn’t feel so foreign and scary. You can feel your lungs opening up again and your head clearing. Matt holds you, and it’s like everything else melts away. Nothing else matters.
Matt dips his head, nudging your nose with his. “Can I?”
You nod.
His lips catch yours in a slow, lazy, warm kiss. He hums against your lips, and you can feel him smiling. You smile too. He laughs softly. Your heart finds a steady beat against his chest.
“For the record…” he smirks, licking his lips. “If you ever did leave me and go back to Los Angeles, I would just follow you there and stalk you.”
“Matt, that is so fucking weird.” You giggle.
He shrugs, bottom lip poking out. “It’s not.” He smirks, falters, eyes soft now. “You’re my whole world now; everything would blur if I didn’t have you.”
Your throat tightens–but this time not from fear or guilt.
“Me too,” you breathe. “Me too.”
His arms tighten around you, and you both sway there, in the glow of the cheap candles and a crackling Billy Joel vinyl, and it feels like Pennsylvania is the only place on the planet.
[a/n: don't really even know what this is but i do know i missed writing and wanted to give a little glimpse into their life. apologizing in advance if this is ass i feel rusty. ]
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❝. . . shopping ❞ ⇝ c.s
┈➤ chris takes you && your daughter shopping, not realising how tiring it would be
❦︎ chris && fem!reader
ⓘ fluff. daughter is named ‘edith’. claire’s is a children’s shop, i don’t know if there’s a claire’s in the us or anything 😓. blurb. not proofread. nnn day two. lmk if more
chris is knackered to say the least. he’s been shopping with you before, and edith, but not the both of you together. it’s been almost two hours and your squeaky, bubbly, nearly four year old seems to require ‘pink hair clips with flowers’ in order to function properly.
approaching claire’s, little edith gazes up at the bright purple banner with the classic, clean, white ‘claire’s’ written on it in awe, like she’d never seen something to magnificent. you give chris a look of ‘oh god,’ with a subtle grin, to which he returns a stretched out, dread filled groan. it was adorable to see how fascinating your little girl was by the cleverly placed rotating jewellery racks were, perfectly designed to captivate a little child’s interest, but sometimes you wished you could just place a screen in front of the shop before she could notice it.
“mama, mama! look— there’s m’clips!!” she exclaimed with glee, skipping hurriedly up to the shop. “slow down, edie, no running in shops,” you chuckle softly, gently tapping her shoulder to get her attention. her delicate face drops, a bratty pout forming, eyebrows furrowed with her arms furiously crossed like you’d just told her she could go in but not get anything simply because you didn’t feel like it.
but as your eyebrows raise expectantly and chris speaks “edie, if mommy says no running, then no running.” She bursts into fake tears, sobbing dramatically while flopping onto the floor like a doll.
“no clips then,” you shrug, silently praying she’d halt her tantrum in the middle of the hall.
after a few protests, she finally stops sobbing—in a matter of seconds when she decides it’s just not working. so she resorts to her best puppy eyes, choosing to look up at you instead of chris, since she has higher chances of persuading you than chris. “please can i hav’ pink clips, mommy?”
“are you gonna be good?”
she nods eagerly when a smile grows on your face.
walking out of claire’s, you and chris approach a bench, chris tugging you over by the waist while you tug edith along whilst her tiny fingers wrap around yours. chris sits down, resting the multiple bags of clothing, jewellery, perfume, cologne, and more you all bought—and you did offer to pay for multiple items but swiftly shut that idea down the second chris warned you with a stern glance.
he finally gets himself in a somewhat pleasant position , despite how uncomfortable the old, worn out, wooden benches were. reaching out for your hand, he’s sets you down on his thigh, thumb rubbing against your hip when his fingers mould against your waist, his head dropping back and taking the weight off his neck as it rests against the wood.
“thank you, baby, i really appreciate you doing all this with and for us.” you press a soft kiss to his lips, despite his body being extremely tired, his mouth wasn’t—his lips crashing against yours like they were fire and yours were a fire blanket, tugging your lip between his teeth jokingly as he prods his tongue between your lips. kissing him once more, before he began getting too explicit for the public to see, you press a finger to his lips. expecting a mature response, you’re shocked when he juts his lip out, narrowing his eyes.
“not you too,” you groan before chris chuckles, then you’re interrupted by the words you dread hearing; “daddy, can i get one more thing before we go?” twirling her hair innocently. and of course he’d say yes, so off you all went again.
but then you eventually went home, everyone pleased with their shop and edith temporarily distracted so you and chris could relax.
a/n— that photo of chris is so dad!chris idk why,, anyway yes i was meant to post this a few days ago. but lowkey cute idea?