Super Sour Gonna Blow Your Face Off @sturntiolo - Tumblr Blog

── GRUMPY MATT X MUTE READER ⋆˚࿔

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CONTENT: matt and dotty have the house to themselves, forcing them to talk.

WARNINGS: tense relationship, mentions of matt sleeping with other girls (not cheating), matt picturing dotty instead of the girls he sleeps with, crying, bickering, selective mutism (she speaks in this once).

— this was supposed to be a smut fic but uh I didnt go that way </3

WC: 1.3k

The fear in her eyes turned into a lump of guilt in Matt's throat.

mi-co-uk

── 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑠:

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 #2:

@snoopychris @drcamin @hysterichues @angelicameron @angelysturns @jesssturnn @thesecretofceleste @hauntedhouseofhorrors @ellssturn @sturnililio @cosmicloom @jesssturnn @sturniolo1trips @bugs-tags @ilovemykittymeow @jadestxrnzz @httpsmadisonsangelic @auttysturnz @jrikimsturniolo @bambidreamzzz @snoopysturns @sturntiolo @mamaagirlbehindu123 @bittenbymatt @addieeesturn @dailydoseofchratt @vunhun

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑀𝑎𝑡𝑡:

@dearapril @tori-isss-dying @cvrsedxzs @lydiaa2littyyy

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓:

@xeneasworld @sturniolosymphony

chrattvibe

៹Where You Fit. Matt Sturniolo.

plus size reader, body insecurity, emotional vulnerability, friends to lovers, comfort.

You had gotten used to the Sturniolo brothers' house faster than you ever thought you could get used to a place that wasn't yours.

It wasn't even about the space itself — the neutral walls, the couch that was definitely too big for the living room, the lamp in the corner that Matt always had to turn off because his brothers forgot. It had to do with the way you fit there. With how he made space for you without you ever having to ask.

That night felt like any other night you'd spent there. There was that light, calm happiness in the air. Peace.

You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in your favorite —stolen— blanket, with Matt to your right.

A few episodes of Gravity Falls played on the living room TV, even though you both already knew the jokes almost by heart.

You had met Matt shortly after he and his brothers moved to LA. A mutual friend, a casual hangout that turned into a long conversation between everyone—the kind where time passes without you noticing.

You took part in the group conversation, making quiet comments that only the people closest to you could hear. Over time, with more hangouts with the same group, every now and then you'd notice Matt laughing at your remarks from the other side of the circle. You didn't know how he could listen to you from so far away.

Later on, he would confess that he'd learned to read your lips when he didn't have the chance to properly move closer and talk to you.

But with time, that changed, and he found ways to slowly shift within the circle, inching closer to you until he finally asked your name. The night he did, he stayed by your side the entire hangout, now properly enjoying your jokes—the kind that felt like inside jokes.

Back then, you hadn't given it much importance. You didn't know what this guy would come to mean to you over the months. He had been quiet, polite, the calmest one in the group. Someone easy to talk to.

Somehow, he had become your person. Not in a dramatic way. More like… slowly. Exchanging socials, phone numbers, late-night messages.

You couldn't remember the day you grew closer to his brothers, Chris and Nick, or when exactly you started having your own little hangouts at the triplets' house.

You also didn't know when the hangouts started being just you and Matt. Car rides that lasted longer than planned. Late-night dinners in the car. He now even knows how you liked your coffee, and how you always needed a blanket even when it wasn't cold.

Friends. Definitely friends.

You repeated it to yourself every time your chest tightened a little too much when he smiled at you like that.

Matt let out a soft laugh at something happening on the screen, a gentle sound that made you look at him without thinking. His head was slightly tilted, one arm resting on the back of the couch, fingers tapping absently against the cushion behind you.

You looked away immediately. You had learned to do that. To not look too much. To not overthink the way he always stayed outside, waiting until you were safely inside your house before driving back to his whenever he insisted on taking you home. How he adjusted his pace to match yours without saying a word. How he never, ever made you feel like you took up too much space — too much noise, too much silence, too much of anything.

Sometimes, that was the hardest part.

Because if he had ever given you a reason —just one— to believe all of this was in your head, you could have handled it. You would have laughed it off, tucked it away in the drawer of things that were never going to happen.

But Matt was careful. Considerate. Constant. And that made your insecurities scream louder. Had you seriously managed to misinterpret absolutely everything?

Of course you had. You had always known you weren't the obvious choice. That couldn't be possible, right? Of course not. What were you even thinking?

You shifted slightly, adjusting yourself on the couch. The movement must have caught his attention, because his gaze went straight to you, brows furrowing with a crooked smile.

"Want something to drink?" he asked, standing up with a quiet groan. It was late. He must be tired…

"No, thanks." You checked the time on your phone and looked back at him as he grabbed the bottle of lemonade from the fridge. "I should probably get going anyway."

"Oh c'mon. Stay a little longer.This episode just started." He pointed at the TV, almost offended. "Let this one finish and I'll drive you." He dropped back down next to you, a little closer than before.

You nodded. Arguing with him was useless. You'd learned that over the months, too.

"Are you comfy?"

You nodded, forcing a small smile, watching his Adam's apple move with each swallow as he drank.

Matt nodded back, not questioning it, and settled into the couch again. He didn't say anything else. Let the episode run its course, let the animated voices fill the living room.

A few minutes passed like that. You absentmindedly playing with the edge of the blanket. Him staring at the screen, but clearly somewhere else.

"You always leave early," he said suddenly, without looking at you.

You blinked. "What?"

He shrugged, like it was a weightless observation. "Nothing. It's just something I've noticed. Lately you leave out of nowhere."

"Well… —you hesitated— it's kinda late. I don't wanna bother you."

Matt turned his head toward you quickly. "You don't bother me." He said it so naturally it left you speechless. "You never have." he added, quieter.

Your chest gave a small jolt. "I feel like I spend more time here, or doing things with you, and I don't leave you time for yourself," you started, without knowing where you were going.

He looked back at the TV. "Sometimes I think you don't realize how much I like you being here. Being with you…"

The silence fell all at once.

He didn't look at you. He didn't wait for a reaction. He said it like someone admitting something they'd already accepted internally.

Your head filled with noise.

"Being with me?" The words slipped out without your permission. Like your mind wanted to ignore them, strip them of their weight, but your heart forced you to ask. Finally face the questions you'd been avoiding.

Only then did he look at you, sitting up straighter on the couch and turning to face you, lowering the volume on the TV.

"I've wanted to talk about this with you for a while now, but I couldn't find the right moment." His voice dropped significantly.

You went still. There was no dramatic tone. No pressure. No explicit expectations. Just a truth spoken softly.

He looked so… comfortable saying it.

You didn't know that he'd made peace a while ago with the idea that you were everything he loved.

But you hadn't. You couldn't get comfortable with the idea of falling in love with a friend, with someone like him.

"Matt…" your voice came out softer than you expected. "You don't have to… do this—." You stopped. You didn't know where to start without sounding ridiculous. Without everything you'd always told yourself slipping out with the words.

We're just friends.

He would never like someone like me.

I'm misreading everything.

He waited. He didn't rush you. Didn't finish the sentence for you. He just stayed there, looking at you attentively, like every second of silence was valid.

"I don't… —you swallowed— I'm not the person you want me to be."

He frowned slightly. "What do I want you to be?"

You looked away, staring at your hands, at the way the blanket wrinkled over your body. Suddenly you were painfully aware of yourself. Of how much space you took up on the couch. Of how you were sitting. Of everything.

"Matt." you said, and this time it sounded like a warning "You know what I mean— You deserve… so much more. So much. Someone better. I'm just… me."

He inhaled slowly. "Don't say that."

"I doubt myself all the time," you continued. "What I say, how I look, whether I'm too much. All the time I feel like eventually you'll realize that—"

"Hey." His voice was gentle, but firm. He waited for you to look at him. But you couldn't. "Don't talk about yourself like that."

"I'm not enough." You let out a humorless laugh. "It's true."

Matt shook his head slowly. "It's not," he replied. "You're more than enough, and everything I want."

He didn't leave room for you to hide behind excuses. "I'm not telling you this so you'll do anything," he clarified immediately. "Or so you'll change. I just… needed you to know."

The silence returned, different now. Heavier. More honest.

"I like you, like— a lot." he said finally. "Just the way you are. With your overthinking, your silences, with everything you think is too much."

Your eyes burned. "I don't understand how," you murmured.

Matt leaned in a little toward you, not touching you yet. "I do." He looked at you with a calm that made your head spin. "And I'm not in a rush," he added. "I don't need an answer today. Or tomorrow. I just wanted you to know you're not imagining things."

That. That was what broke you. Because you'd always thought it was all in your head. You dared to reach out, just a little, enough for your fingers to brush against his. A minimal contact. Trembling.

He didn't move away. He simply laced his fingers with yours, slowly, like he was testing it.

"Thank you for telling me," you whispered.

Matt squeezed your hand gently, then moved closer, slipping an arm around your shoulders.

You quickly buried your face into his chest and neck, breaking down as you admitted that you liked him too. "It's okay…" he said softly, stroking your back with care. "I like everything you are. Don't ever doubt that. Thank you for staying."

And for the first time, you didn't feel like you were taking up too much space.

—Chrattvibe.

masterlist.

Taglist.

cinnamonsturns

⋮ ⌗ ───── willow's parents are away for the weekend, so chris comes for a visit. ꒱

$ willow!reader x businesspartner!chris ˎˊ˗

warnings: nsfw content. oral (f receiving). fingering. heavy kissing. mentions of spit. slight dirty talk.

©cinnamonsturns

x2foru

someone sedate me cause he looked TOO good in this video

megluvsmichael

Days like these where I just say “Men are hot” and by men I mean Nick, Matt, and Chris.

sturncoast

Nick looks so fucking hot 🫠

sturncoast

⿻﹕𐔌 𝙀𝙋𝙄𝙎𝙊𝘿𝙀 14: stray!reader & gas station!matt from the new americana au

content warnings: starts off as fluff, mentions of alcohol, mentions of child abuse, mentions of trauma, angst, hints of homophobia, crying, pls lmk if I left anything out. word count: 1.6k author's note: this feels short to me for some reason? sorry this took a million years. sorry if it sucks! and sorry if you hate the ending 😭 this is not proofread.

starrsturns

₊˚⊹ ᰔ shot in the heart

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 . . . bsf!chris ⋆ bigdick!chris ⋆ smut ⋆ sexual content ⋆ very light angst ⋆ chris being cocky ⋆ sexual tension ⋆ softdom!chris ⋆ kissing/making out ⋆ unprotected pnv ⋆ creampie ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ slight manhandling ⋆ pussy slapping ⋆ implied cockwarming ⋆ intimacy/fluff at the end

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 . . . 2.2k words (not proofread bc i’m lazy rn)

𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 . . . part two to this (requested)

𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑦𝑎 𝑦𝑎𝑝𝑠 . . . surprise, i actually wrote a part two after procrastinating for a whole ass week. layout ib @/chrisssiren

it’s been three days since the events of the laser tag game.

you’ve been avoiding chris ever since. he had said “let’s finish this later,” to you, but when you got home, there wasn’t so much as a word spoken about it.

you can’t stop thinking about chris. he’s like a drug you were given a taste of before it was cruelly snatched away. you also can’t help thinking that was this all just some sort of joke? was it just some stupid ploy for him to win the laser tag game without any thought of what he did with you?

you push the thoughts down and try to focus on what’s happening now. you’re sprawled out on chris’ bed, staring up at the ceiling as he lays propped up beside you, scrolling on his phone. you two often sit in comfortable silence like this—doing nothing but enjoying each other’s presence—but now, it feels charged, stiff with tension and unspoken feelings.

“chris?” you suddenly blurt out, turning your head to look over at him. he looks back over at you, making eye contact for what seems to be a longer time than usual. “yeah?”

“uh… i was just wondering,” you start, while simultaneously pretending to examine your hair for split ends. “—wondering if you want to talk about what happened at laser tag.”

“i mean you don’t have to, it’s just that i’m a bit confused—i don’t know? but like of course you don’t have to at all because it’s not your duty to explain everything to me—” the words gush out of your mouth like a free-flowing river; uncontrolled and rapid. when you finally realise you’re babbling on, you cut yourself off. “sorry.”

the pause leaves an uncomfortable silence between you two that stretches out into a moment seeming like hours. it's chris who breaks the thick silence first. "i meant it." he says in barely above a murmur. "i meant it all."

you stare at him, tension twisting low in your belly at the revelation that he meant it. "really?" your eyes meet his, analysing them as if you're trying to figure him out.

"yeah. everything." he nods, swallowing, adam's apple bobbing.

in the small moment that follows, a sliver of understanding passes between you two. and suddenly, it’s clear.

one of chris’ hands reaches over to cup your jaw, pausing a moment to give you a second to decline. when he sees no hesitation, he leans forward, lips meeting yours with intent. you reciprocate, kissing him back with all the want that’s been stored in your body since he first kissed you.

his tongue swipes against the seam of your lips hungrily, parting them before slipping into your mouth; exploring with a lazy confidence that doesn’t hide how much he wants this too.

his large, veined hands reach out to grab your hips, gently but steadily pulling you onto his lap. you straddle his thighs, feeling the weight of his already half-hard cock beneath you.

his hands slide down your sides, resting on your lower back just as they had three days ago, arching you into him.

your lips work more feverishly together; tongues tangled, noses bumping, and breathing becoming heavier. he nips gently at your bottom lip, drawing a whine from your throat. you feel his lips curve into a cocky smirk against yours. he's clearly pleased with himself.

chris breaks the kiss momentarily to catch his breath before dipping his head down to lick and suck at your neck, trailing wet kisses along your jawline, down your throat and towards your collarbone.

your head tilts back with a soft gasp, surprised yet pleased at the sensation of his lips on your neck. "chris..." your teeth catch on your lip just as his had moments before, this time stifling the breathy pants threatening to bubble up.

chris' hands begin to wander, first tracing the curve of your waist as your own hands guide him through it. although after a few short moments, his touches begin to become more daring. warm palms meet the skin of your stomach, trailing up your ribs, getting closer and closer to the stiff peaks that are barely restrained by your loose sports bra.

"can i take this off?" chris mutters against your skin, now kissing down your collarbones, and beneath the neckline of your shirt. you nod quickly, lifting the hem of the top to speed up the process.

other clothes are shed quickly after that, and soon you're both left in your underwear, groping each other through the thin fabric. chris' boxers are doing nothing to hide the fact that he's fully hard now, dick straining against the material.

he's big. you can tell from just seeing the outline. you subconsciously clench around nothing, wet arousal steadily forming.

“fuck…” you swear under your breath, causing chris' face to split into yet another cocky smirk.

"something wrong?" he coos in mock sympathy, the hand resting on his lap moving to ghost over his erection, palming it slightly as your eyes fixate on his hand's movements.

you swallow, forcing your eyes back up to his; which are filled with controlled mirth and a teasing glint that flashes every time he looks at you. "no, no, i'm fine," you mutter, your cheeks flushing unwillingly. "totally fine."

"really? 'cuz it looks like you're really interested in my boxers." he hooks a thumb under the waistband, holding it there—as if to test your patience—before letting it snap back against his skin. "or are you actually interested about what's in them?"

you're slightly taken aback at his abrupt, dirty words. but a part of you doesn't mind at all. in fact, you could get used to listening to hearing his voice like that. instructing you to do much filthier things.

“and what if i was?” you say defiantly, trying your best to stay in control of the situation. “if you were...” his words trail just long enough for your neediness to grow. "then i'd show you." he says, voice way too casual for the current situation.

"needy little thing, aren't you?" he whispers, leaning in so his lips graze your ear, sending an involuntary shiver—that has nothing to do with cold—down your spine. he suddenly grabs your hips, flipping you over and onto the mattress, leaving you looking up from beneath him.

"now," his tongue prods his cheek in an unfairly hot way for such a simple gesture. "ya gonna be good and let me finish what i started?" it's almost embarrassing how fast you nod, swallowing any remaining doubts that you had.

he sits back on his heels, and his thumbs return to his boxers. this time however, he doesn't stop, and tugs down the fabric slowly—teasingly. his throbbing cock is finally free, standing at attention against his abdomen. now that you can see him properly, you notice that even though you felt him, he's bigger than you thought. his tip is flushed pink, precum already gathering at the slit.

one of his hands wraps around himself, stroking up and down lazily, coating the shaft in precum. your eyes stay fixed on him, watching him jerk off languidly. "just gonna lay there and stare?" he kisses his teeth, cocking his head almost mockingly. "or do you not wanna be fucked?"

"no, no, i do." you say, almost a little too fast. and you swear to god you can feel chris' ego inflating by the second. "thaaat's it." he grins, hand leaving his cock to play with the strap of your bra. "how 'bout i take these off f'ya?" you nod into submission, arching your back slightly to allow him to undo the hooks of your bra and to slide the damp cotton of your panties down your legs.

"so pretty," he whispers at the sight of your body, eyes mapping your figure as if you're a piece of artwork he’s seeing for the first time.

"jesus, you really wanted this didn't you?" he teases, a long finger swiping through your slick without warning, causing you to jolt up into his hand. "been wanting it since you kissed me." your voice comes out in a low rasp. "please."

"shh-shh, don't worry." he silences you with a wet kiss, teeth tugging on your lip just enough to make you gasp. he grips his length with one hand, stroking and guiding himself towards your weeping cunt.

when he finally pushes the fat head in, it's accompanied by the most delicious stretch which dissipates into a satisfying burn after a few seconds. "y'good?" he checks, before pushing the rest of the way in. as soon as he bottoms out, you clench around him, feeling full and stretched around the base of his cock.

"shit," he hisses. "don't do that." his cock twitches inside you, showing just how affected he is. his hips start to rock with slow, intense grinds that push him deeper, hitting spots that no one has before.

it’s not long before his hips pick up speed, drawing back and thrusting forward with intent. every snap of his hips is accompanied by a symphony of filthy noises; the wet squelch of your pussy dripping around him, the sound of skin-on-skin, and the heavy breaths coming from chris’ lips.

“mmmph fuuck,” you whine as his mushroom tip hits a particularly sensitive spot, prodding at tumour gummy walls. your head tips back, exposing more of your throat to him, which he instantly takes advantage of, leaning down to suckle at the soft skin.

“that’s the spot, yeah?” he grits out—jaw clenched in pleasure. “haahh… so fuckin’ tight,” he groans. “pussy’s squeezin’ me like she never wants to let go.” his monologue sends a sharp, fresh bolt of arousal to your lower stomach, making it twist even more than it already has due to the intrusion of your best friend’s cock.

“chris,” you whimper his name, hands clutching at him at your hips grind desperately up into him. “harder, please.” your plea sounds so desperate and sweet that there’s no way he can’t oblige.

his hips pick up the pace, driving faster and harder into you. higher pitched moans tumblr from your lips as he targets your sensitive spot with deep, powerful thrusts. “fuck—chris! s’too much!” you cry out, legs twitching and stomach coiling.

his only reaction is to let out an amused scoff. “you’re the one that begged for me to go faster sweetheart. y’saying you can’t take it now?” his tone is slightly patronising, mocking you wordlessly with each whimper that leaves you.

“you can take it baby. jus’ look at how well this pussy’s swallowing my dick. fuckin’ greedy.” he taunts, delivering a short, sharp, and totally unexpected slap to your cunt, forcing your hips to buck into it, jolting as the sting hits your sensitive clit.

“ohhh, you liked that?” he says, tilting his head as the cockiest grin plasters to his face. “dirty girl.” he slaps your pussy again lightly, then brings two fingers down to rub your clit in tight, perfect circles.

the pressure on your previously neglected nub drives you closer to the edge much more effectively than chris anticipated. “chris,” you hiccup. you must look like a ruined mess; sweat making the baby hairs stick to your forehead, and cheeks flushed warmer than your already sweaty body. “m’close. gonna cum.” you whimper, body tensing as you teeter on the edge of your climax.

his thrusts are perfectly synced with the tight circles he’s drawing on your clit—tipping you over into euphoria. “c’mon then pretty girl, cum for me.” he barely finishes the sentence before your cunt is clamping down on him, walls gushing and pulsing around his cock as you cum with a cry of his name.

the tight spasming of your pussy around him is too much to handle. he doesn’t know what heaven feels like, but his personal example would be this.

his balls draw up tight against his body as he spills hot cum into you with a low moan of your name, fucking you into the mattress still. “fuuuckk,” his head tips back, slightly chapped lips parting at the pleasure mounts in him. you can’t help but stare up at him, admiring his oh-so-gorgeous fucked out expression.

“shit,” he pants, lowering his body weight into yours, but being careful not to crush you. his strong arms wrap around you, and his head drops to your shoulder while you both simultaneously come down from your highs, breathing heavy like you just ran a marathon.

he doesn’t try to pull out yet, wanting to enjoy the sensation of still being sheathed inside your warm, wet, and tight walls, your releases mixing. “holy—” your voice comes out shaky and spent, but warm with a content pleasure and relaxation.

“thank you.” you whisper against his jaw, pressing a soft kiss there. “that was—” he finishes for you “—amazing,” “shoulda done this sooner.” he prods your side playfully, now mouthing at your shoulder, pressing uncharacteristically loving and gentle kisses.

you know this’ll ultimately change your dynamic. but at the end of the road, you’re still best friends, whether you fuck or not. there might be a label for your situation with him but you don’t care. all you want at the moment is to lay here with him, wrapped in his embrace while his cock softens inside of you.

what it means is a question for another day.

comment under this post to be added to my taglist.

starrsturns

taglist . . . @h3arts4nat, @heartz4lily, @bernardsmulti, @whore4chris, @aaliyah-sturns, @mrssturnioloo, @chrepsi, @bernwentonio, @babysweetheartmelia, @matts1989, @angel-sturn1, @chrisfavgirl, @courta13, @vqniiiiq, @sturntiolo, @chrisbaddie, @chrisssiren, @conspiracy-ash, @chrisbendmeovernow, @love4madii, @crjsss, @ariieeesworld, @pepsipoet, @sturncoast, @flimsturns, @hauntedhouseofhorrors, @megluvsmatt, @urfaveprettypsycho, @rainyyy-weather, @iheartaly, @stuvrnz, @bigbootylatinasposts, @chriss-slutt, @sheluvsthesturniolos, @challengers4ev, @bava1408, @sturniolo-szn2, @iamthebestswag, @slivsturns, @madisynsoto

sleepysturns

[🏒] Cooling Off

hockey!matt x reader

warnings: oral, semi public smut, physical violence, blood (from injury).

The arena lights still buzzed overhead as the game spiraled into chaos. Matt was out there in his black long-sleeve shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips from the constant readjusting. The other team had been playing filthy all night cross checks to the back, elbows high, sticks slashing at knees and wrists. Matt’s teammates were coming off the ice with red welts blooming across forearms, fresh bruises purpling along ribs and jaws.

You stood pressed right up against the glass by the penalty box, close enough to hear every curse Matt muttered under his breath. Nick was beside you, arms folded tight across his chest, jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. Every time another dirty hit landed, one of you or both would explode. “That’s bullshit!” you shouted after a particularly hit that went unpunished. “They’re targeting him look at the fucking marks!”

Nick banged a fist on the glass. “ref?! are you blind! Tell em off!”

Matt’s first retaliation came after one of their wingers caught Chris with a late hit into the boards shoulder to shoulder, but the guy followed through with his stick across the back of Chris’s knees. Matt snapped. He dropped his shoulder and skated full speed, barreling the guy over like a freight train. The player went down hard, sprawling across the ice. The whistle blew immediately. The ref pointed straight at Matt.

“Twenty push ups. Right here. Then ten minutes penalty.”

Matt ripped his helmet off, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, and dropped to the ice without a word. He banged out the push ups fast and furious, every rep punctuated by the crowd’s mix of boos and cheers. When he finished, he shoved back to his feet, glaring daggers at the ref the whole way to the box. You and Nick were both yelling now.

“You gonna call anything on the other team or just keep punishing matthew who’s actually defending his team?”!” you shouted, hands cupped around your mouth. “That was clean compared to what they’ve pulled!”

Matt sat in the penalty box seething, stick tapping restlessly against his skate, eyes locked jon the ice like he was counting seconds until he could get back out. Then it happened.

The same guy who’d high sticked Chris earlier came barreling through. Chris went to poke check the puck away the guy swung his stick like a baseball bat, catching Chris square across the face. The sound was sickening. Chris skated over to his coach covering his left eye, when he revealed the damage you, Nick and Matt instantly see the black eye and gash on his cheek blood already streaming, eye swelling shut in real time.

The crowd lost it. You screamed. Nick roared something unintelligible and slammed both palms on the glass so hard it rattled.

Matt was already moving.

He didn’t wait for the whistle. Didn’t wait for anything. He exploded off the bench the second his penalty expired, gloves yanked off and thrown behind him mid stride. He closed the gap in three heartbeats, dropped his shoulder once to check momentum, then drove a fist straight into the guy’s nose. The crack was louder than the stick hit.

The player staggered. Matt didn’t stop. Another punch, right hook to the jaw, then an uppercut that had blood spray from the guys broken nose the lip split on the next hit. The guy went down hard arms pinwheeling and Matt followed him to the ice straddling his chest, fist cocked back again.

The ref dove in, hauling Matt off by the shoulders. linesmen piled on. It took three of them to drag him away while the other team swarmed. Matt was ejected. Disqualified. Done for the night.

He didn’t even look back at the ice. Just ripped his skates off in the tunnel, shouted a “fuck you guys!” to no one in particular, tossed his skates against the wall with a clang, and kept walking, straight toward you.

“I’m going to cool off” His hand found your wrist, fingers tight but trembling with leftover adrenaline. “come with me?” He gave a sharp tug, you nodded letting him pull you down the corridor, past the empty benches, into the locker room. Meanwhile Nick was checking on Chris’s injury.

The door slammed shut behind you. The space was dim, still smelling of sweat and tape. Showers dripped in the distance. No one else was here yet. Matt backed you against the cool tile wall just outside the bathroom, breathing hard through his nose. His forehead dropped to yours, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m not just gonna let the target us,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Not Chris. Not anyone.”

You reached up, thumb brushing the fresh bruise on his cheekbone where a stray elbow had caught him earlier. “I know.” His mouth crashed into yours desperate, One hand shoved under your shirt, rough palm dragging up your side the other yanked your hips against his so you could feel how hard he still was, how the fight hadn’t burned any of it out.

“Bathroom,” you gasped between kisses. “Now.” He didn’t hesitate. The bathroom door banged open. Single stall. Industrial sink. Harsh fluorescent light flickering overhead.

He kicked the door shut, twisted the lock, then spun you so your back hit the tile again. Jeans and underwear shoved down in one impatient yank. You kicked them off while he dropped to one knee, hooked your leg over his shoulder, and buried his mouth between your thighs no preamble, just raw need, tongue working fast until your fingers were twisted in his damp hair and your hips were bucking against his face.

“Matt—”

He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes black with everything he hadn’t said yet. Sweatpants shoved to his thighs, cock hard and flushed against his stomach. He lifted you easily hands under your thighs, your legs wrapping around his waist and thrust in deep with one hard stroke.

You both groaned at the stretch.

He didn’t go slow. Couldn’t. Every snap of his hips was punishing, desperate, the wet slap of skin echoing off the tiles. His forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath ragged against your neck. “Should’ve broken his fucking jaw,” he growled, punctuating each word with a thrust. “Should’ve- fuck”

You clenched around him deliberately, nails raking down the back of his neck. “You protected Chris. You protected your team.”

Another brutal snap.

You kissed him messy and open, tasting the adrenaline still raging through him. “I’m right here. I’m safe baby. Let go, give it to me.”

That snapped the last thread.

His rhythm turned feral. short, grinding strokes that hit exactly where you needed, over and over. One hand braced on the wall beside your head, the other slid between your bodies, rough fingertips circling your clit with ruthless focus.

You came hard crying out against his mouth as your whole body locked around him. He followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside you with a low, broken growl that vibrated through both of you.

For a long minute he just held you there, still inside, softening slowly, breathing you in like he needed the proof everything was still okay.

Eventually he eased you down, legs shaky. He didn’t pull out right away just stayed close, forehead to yours. “Shower?” he muttered, voice gravel-rough. “We’re a mess.”

You laughed. breathless, a little shaky. “Yeah. We really are.”

He kissed you softer this time. Slower. The anger finally bleeding out, leaving something quieter, steadier behind.

“C’mon,” he said, tugging you toward the showers. “Let’s get cleaned up before the guys come looking.”

You smirked, already reaching for the hem of his soaked long-sleeve. “You think they’ll buy that we were just… cooling off?”

He gave you that crooked half-grin, the one that always spelled trouble. “They can think whatever they want. Long as I’ve got you, and my teams safe.”

Taglist: @riasturns @chrissbxby @sturnobessed @tits4matt @sturn1uver @sturniolobananas10 @courta13 @alexisa78 @chrisissos3xy @sturnobessed @mattschelseaa @norahsturns @jibitzlesscrocs @oopsiedaisydeer @mattswrinkleton @hesvoid34 @spaghettislut1 @sturnslux3 @phone4pills @owenstar @luvsturns @nickssidewitch @ariieeesworld @babyt0matoes @sturniolo-tease @jbieve04 @midnightwiththedead @mattspuppy @matts1989 @challengers4ev @lolaslolli @mattysbunny @mattsnight14 @voidsturnz @sage-daisy @bendmeoverchris @neverstopthekashh @jenna0rtegaswife @ivysturnss

le4hsblog

HELLO????

They’re gonna have to put me down like a broke-leg horse to get me to stop barking at this man

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #until my throat knows every vein #he knows i’m ovulating fr #he looks so hot ohmygod are you kidding me

camilaisangelicc

That fucking puppy stare 🤧🤧🤧

hannahsturniolo

I’m squirting tbh

ariestrxsh

Daydreaming of a fic where you give sub!chris the most sensual head ever and praise him the whole time to make him feel better after getting second place in the athletic competition 🥺💔

chrepsi

OH MY GOD PLEASEEE

vxnitra

viviansturns

⊹ ࣪⌖ HARDCOREㅤby 𝒦en 𝒞arson

[[𝑪𝑾 : asshole!matt, harddom!matt, beard!matt, oral f!receiving, choking, ass slapping, hair pulling, backshotss :pp, p in v, creampie (don't do this guys), ALL CONSENSUAL. discuss with your partner before doing anything of the sort ]]

The door slammed just a tiny bit louder than it should have. You didn't even have to look to know it was Matt. He'd been in a mood for days, a dark cloud rolling in over that seemed to follow him everywhere.

"The fuck was that at dinner?" he said. He didn't wait for an answer, just shrugged off his leather jacket, letting it fall in a heap on the floor. Your stomach clenched. He was pissed at you.

"Hmm? What was what?" you asked, feigning ignorance even as your heart started to hammer against your ribs. You knew exactly what he was talking about—you had laughed a little too long at Chris's stupid joke, leaning in just a bit too close when he was telling you a story.

He crossed the room, crowding your space until your back hit the wall. He caged you in with an arm on either side of your head, his face inches from yours. "Don't play dumb with me," he muttered, his tongue poking his cheek in annoyance. "You know what."

Before you could stammer out another lie, his hands were on you. One wrapped around your waist, the other gripped your arm, and he was walking you backward. Your legs hit the edge of the bed and you fell back onto the mattress with a soft "oomph." He was on you in a second, a heavy weight pinning you down.

"You think you're so clever," he growled, his hands roughly yanking your jeans down your legs. His movements were quick, efficient, stripped of any tenderness. "Flaunting yourself in front of my brother like that. You think that's cute?"

You whimpered, a mix of fear and a sick, twisting arousal pooling low in your belly.

Matt smirked just the slightest bit as he shoved your thighs apart, a rough, demanding grip that would leave bruises. He didn't give you a second to brace yourself before he ducked his head and his mouth was on you.

“Fuck, Matt!” There was no gentleness, no slow build-up. It was a punishing, wet heat, his tongue lashing against your clit with a ferocity that stole your breath. The coarse stubble on his jaw and chin scraped against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, a delicious burn.

It was too much, too fast. Your hands flew to his hair, intending to push him away, but your fingers just tangled in the soft strands, pulling him closer instead. A high, desperate whine escaped your lips, muffled by the hand he slapped over your mouth.

"Shut up," he commanded against you, the vibrations making your whole body tremble. "You wanted to act like a little slut tonight? This is what little sluts get."

You moaned loudly. The words, sharp and cruel, should have been a bucket of cold water. Instead, they made you clench around nothing, a fresh wave of slickness coating his chin. He noticed, of course he noticed, and let out a laugh. "Oh, you like that, don't you? Fucking loves being put in her place." He doubled down, sucking your clit hard into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth just enough to make you cry out.

Overstimulation was a dizzying, terrifying wave. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain, your mind going blank, unable to focus on anything but the relentless assault between your legs.

The scrape of his beard, the wet sounds of his mouth, the tight grip he had on your hips, pinning you to the bed. He was punishing you for Chris, for your stupid, fleeting flirtation, and the thought was so twisted, so fucking hot, that it sent you hurtling over the edge.

Your orgasm hit you like a physical blow, a violent, full-body convulsion that left you gasping and shaking. He didn't stop. He worked you through it, lapping at the mess you'd made, extending the pleasure until it was almost unbearable, until you were writhing away from him, a broken, whimpering mess.

When the tremors finally subsided, he pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His chest was heaving, himself straining against his pants. "Shit. Look at this fucking mess," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "So pretty.”

He flipped you over with a strength that always took you by surprise, maneuvering you onto your hands and knees like you were nothing more than a doll. He kicked your ankles further apart, a rough gesture that made your pussy throb once again. You heard the metallic rasp of his zipper, the shuffle of denim, and then the head of his cock, hot and heavy, was nudging against your entrance.

He held himself by the base and smeared the tip near your entrance, coating himself in your juices. You did nothing but whimper, resisting the urge to move your hips backwards in case he stopped.

The, he pressed into you slowly, forcing you to feel every slow inch. You let out a choked cry from your throat. The burn was instantaneous, a sharp, stretching pain that quickly morphed into a deep, satisfying ache as your body adjusted to his size. He was so fucking big, and from this angle, he felt impossibly deeper.

"Shittt," he moaned, pulling out slowly before pistoning back in, hard enough to make your whole body jolt. "Fuck, look at you, so fucking pretty on my cock." One of his hands left your hip and tangled in your hair, yanking your head back at an angle. The other wrapped around your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a silent, possessive threat. "You get this dumb and sloppy just from my dick? Can't even think straight, can you, baby?"

You could only moan in response, your mind a blissful, hazy blank. He was right. The way he was filling you, the pressure on your throat, the stinging grip on your scalp—it was all too much, short-circuiting your brain until all you could do was feel. You were a mindless, drooling thing, existing only for his pleasure.

"Such a good girl," he praised, his hips snapping against your ass. The wet, slapping sounds filled the room, obscene and beautiful. "Just a tight, wet hole for me to use. This is all you're good for, isn't it?"

He brought his other hand down on your ass with a sharp smack, the crack echoing in the quiet room. The sting was immediate, blooming into a delicious heat that spread across your skin. You cried out, pushing back against him, silently begging for more.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He hit you again, harder this time, on the other cheek. "Yeah, you do. Fucking loves getting marked up." His grip on your throat tightened, just a little, cutting off your airflow just enough to make your head swim. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," you managed to gasp, the word a strangled, pathetic thing. "Mm—harder, please."

"Damn right," he growled, his rhythm becoming erratic, more desperate. He was close. "Gonna fill this pretty thing up baby." His strokes became shorter, harder, drilling into that one perfect spot inside you that made your vision go white. "Fuck, I-I'm close. Come with me, baby—please.”

That was all it took. The command, the desperate need in his voice, sent you flying again. Your walls clenched around him, a vice-like grip that ripped a guttural groan from his chest. He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he came, a hot, thick flood of warmth. For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your combined, ragged breaths and the frantic thumping of your own heart in your ears.

He collapsed on top of you, a dead weight for a moment that was both suffocating and deeply comforting. His heart hammered against your back, a frantic drum solo against your shoulder blades. The angry energy that had crackled around him was gone, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. He stayed there, buried inside you, for a long minute, just breathing, the rise and fall of his chest a steady rhythm against your spine.

Then, with a soft groan, he pulled out. You whimpered, the loss leaving you feeling achingly empty. The mattress dipped as he rolled away, and you heard the rustle of him getting up. You stayed where you were, face pressed into the tangled sheets, your body a collection of pleasant aches and tender spots. The air in the room felt cool against your sweat-slicked skin.

Footsteps padded toward the bathroom, followed by the sound of the faucet running. A moment later, he was back, the mattress dipping again. A warm, damp washcloth was gently pressed against your sore, swollen flesh. You flinched at the initial contact, but his touch was impossibly soft, so different from the brutal way he'd taken you just minutes before. He cleaned you with a deliberate, almost reverent tenderness, wiping away the mess he'd made, his movements slow and careful.

"Shit," he murmured, the word a low rumble of genuine remorse. He tossed the cloth toward the hamper, then gently urged you to turn over. You did, your muscles protesting with a satisfying twinge. He settled on the edge of the bed, his gaze sweeping over you. His eyes were no longer stormy; they were soft, clear blue, filled with a familiar warmth that made your chest ache.

"Are you okay? Was that too much?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. He reached out, his thumb gently stroking the red marks on your hip. His gaze lingered on the faint, purple-ish handprint already blooming around your throat, and a flicker of something like guilt crossed his face.

“No, not at all,” you said, making sure he didn’t feel bad about it—the two of you had already talked about things like this— “It was so good.”

He smiled and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. “Knew you’d say that.”

CREDITS TO @delilahsturniolo for the album marathon concept!!!