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sturniolo triplets the smiths books the perks of being a wallflower naps water sunday nights camping quietness being alone thrifting vanilla mace quen blackwell harry potter mac miller malcom todd
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Summary: Y/n is stuck surviving in an abusive marriage. After moving to a new town, she’s now more isolated than ever. Or maybe not…Matt’s never been one to socialize with strangers, but something made him go up to her. Call it instinct.
CW: 18+ mature. Mentions of abuse in multiple forms, mentions of cheating, flirting, and sexual implications that are not wanted. Please lmk if I missed anything.
Chapter 1
Boxes shuffled against the dusty floor, cardboard scratching against the wood. The house looks as empty as it feels. A grey couch sits in the middle of the living room, plain and lifeless. I wanted the green fabric. It was softer, the cushions less brick-like. But what I wanted didn’t matter. It never did.
SMOKE BETWEEN US - PT. 11
pairing.. dealer!chris x innocent!reader
warnings: smut, cowgirl, intimacy, nudity, smoking, weed
i don’t remember how i got there.
one second i was convincing myself i was fine without him. that weeks of silence had somehow hardened me and the next, i was in his house again. in his room. in his bed. like my body remembered something my mind had been trying to forget.
everything felt too warm.
the air. the sheets. him.
chris was beneath me, looking up like he hadn’t expected this either. like maybe he’d been imagining it the same way i had—quietly, guiltily, pretending it didn’t still live in him. the candle on the nightstand flickered, casting shadows over his face, softening edges that usually felt so guarded. moonlight spilled across his bare skin, and for a moment i just stared, overwhelmed by how real he was.
my hands found his chest before i could stop myself. his heartbeat was fast. that did something to me.
when he kissed me, it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t the sharp hunger we used to fall into. this was slower, deeper—like he was trying to feel everything at once. his lips lingered, moved like he was afraid the moment would break if he went too fast.
i was on him, moving without thinking, like instinct had taken over. my body remembered the shape of him, the way we fit together, the way time always seemed to blur when we were like this. his hands slid to my waist, steady, grounding, fingers pressing in just enough to remind me he was there—that he wasn’t pulling away.
he kissed everywhere he could reach, slow and consuming, like he was devouring me gently, reverently. there was something different in it. something almost desperate—like it wasn’t just about wanting me, but needing to feel me again after denying himself for so long.
i moved slowly, deliberately, like neither of us wanted this to end. we breathed each other in, shared heat and quiet sounds, the room filled with soft gasps and whispered exhales. when i let out a small, broken whimper, his hands tightened on my waist, not to control me, but like he was holding himself together.
it felt endless.
and then it became too much. not physically, but emotionally.
everything we hadn’t said, everything we’d buried, everything we’d lost control of crashed over me all at once. my strength gave out and i folded into him, my forehead pressed against his shoulder as my breath broke apart.
i expected him to pull away. he always did. i expected him to disappear..to roll out of bed, to reach for distance the way he always reached for smoke and open air.
but he didn’t.
chris wrapped his arms around me instead, firm and sure, pulling me close like it was instinct, like it didn’t even occur to him to leave. his hand pressed to my back, slow, steady, anchoring me as if he was saying i’ve got you without needing the words.
he kissed my hair.
once.
then again.
i waited for the familiar moment. the shift, the detachment, the way to the balcony.
it never came.
instead, he stayed right there, reaching for the weed on the nightstand and lighting it beside me. the soft glow flared, the scent curling into the room, but he didn’t put space between us. he didn’t let go.
i was still in his arms.
my head rested against his chest, my body heavy with exhaustion and something dangerously close to peace. his arm stayed wrapped around me, loose but protective, fingers tracing absent lines along my side. every now and then, he pressed a kiss into my hair like it was automatic—like his body had made a decision before his mind could talk him out of it.
we didn’t speak. there was no need.
the silence wasn’t awkward or heavy. it didn’t beg to be filled. it settled over us like a blanket—warm, fragile, and precious. the kind of silence you only get when something has shifted, when a wall has cracked and neither of you knows what it means yet.
i stayed there, breathing with him, listening to his heartbeat slow. for the first time, he didn’t run.
and for the first time, it felt like maybe i hadn’t broken us.
maybe i’d broken through him instead.
- finally new part !! i hope you guys still like it 💓
taglist: @macsangel @sorrybirds @matthewswifeyy @fadedstvrn @whore4chris @chrattn1fan @sturn-ath3na @angel-sturn1 @angelicameron @sturni-olii @snowprincessleopard @bittenbymatt @urfaveprettypsycho @sophieredevil @matts-babytomatoes @magicaldice @sturn1oh0 @sturn-fan @mattsdivaa @breesturn @pepsipoet @aurielasturniolo @bittenbymatt @rollingintheglitter @alorsxsturn @gofindanotherlovcr @johnporkblogsblog @aaliyah-sturns @camilaisangelicc @anniesprettyphotos @sturnwritess @katie-tibo @noooooofufutfugdytf @kalel2005 @diaryofaweirdooo @sadgirlslush @urf4vpr1nc3ssxoxo @rollingintheglitter @bambidreamzzz @kkenzie2706 @courta13
𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞.
I don’t need a perfect life.
I’m not asking for miracles
or some movie-level ending
where everything suddenly makes sense.
I just want peace.
the kind that sits with you,
quiet and steady,
like a friend who doesn’t need to talk
to make you feel less alone.
I want mornings that don’t feel heavy,
and nights where my chest
isn’t full of leftover worries.
I want to breathe
without thinking about breathing.
I want to exist
without feeling like I’m doing it wrong.
I want a day
where no one raises their voice,
where nothing slams,
where I don’t jump
at things that aren’t even scary.
a day where my mind
isn’t a place I’m trying to escape from.
sometimes I think peace
is too small of a thing to want—
but maybe it’s actually big.
maybe it’s the biggest thing.
maybe it’s okay
to say I’m tired
and I just want gentleness
for once.
I don’t need everything fixed.
I don’t need the world to change.
I just want a quiet place
to rest
that doesn’t disappear
when I exhale.
©𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗
꒰ a/n ꒱ : I hope you guys like this <33
⤷ poem taglist...here!
꒰ 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 ꒱ ⋮ @heyitskitty
introducing avoidant-attachment!matt
cold. self-sabotaging. carries guilt like a second skin. shaky hands. looks at you with soft eyes when you’re not looking. distant. addict. hates physical touch unless he has sex with someone. terrified of the love he so badly craves. eye bags. dark light by night lovell.
SMOKE BETWEEN US - PT. 10
pairing.. dealer!chris x innocent!reader
warnings: angst, rejection, heartbreak, weed, smoking, physical touch
it had been an hour. an hour of me sitting there, waiting, pretending i wasn’t slowly falling apart inside. i kept telling myself he would show up, that we’d have this perfect evening, a nice dinner, something simple and sweet. something i deserved for once.
but instead i was on the pavement, my heels digging into the ground, my hands cold, my head down. the streetlight above me buzzed softly. the night air was getting colder and my bare legs were starting to go numb. i swallowed a breath that hurt, and when a tiny tear slipped to the corner of my eye, i quickly wiped it away.
then headlights swept across the street.
my heart jumped. i actually smiled. thinking maybe he came. but the second the door opened, and i saw someone else step out…
my smile died.
chris.
of course. of all people.
“what are you doing here?” he said as he walked toward me, his brows furrowed. “gosh—you’ll catch a cold out here.” his voice was firm, worried in a way he clearly didn’t mean to show.
before i could react, he crouched down beside me and wrapped his jacket around my shoulders, pulling it close like i was breakable.
i didn’t say anything.
“hey,” he nudged gently. “talk to me. come on. nothing to say? really?”
something inside me snapped.
“what do you want me to say?” i whispered, blinking fast. “that the guy ghosted me?” my voice cracked even though i tried so hard to keep it steady. i wiped the tear that dared to show. chris’s expression softened instantly, almost painfully.
“come on,” he murmured as he stood up and held his hands out to me. “what…?” i asked quietly.
“you’re not sitting here all night waiting for some random dude,” he said firmly, his hands still extended.
i hesitated, but then i reached out. his fingers wrapped around mine, warm, steadying, and he pulled me up with that gentle care he always tried to hide. his hand stayed on my lower back as he guided me toward the car. he opened the passenger door for me without saying anything, so i got in.
and just like that, we were driving down the street.
the heater warmed my legs. the scent of his car—faint cologne, mint, and smoke—wrapped around me. the silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable this time. it felt familiar. like something i used to know.
“hungry…?” he asked after a few minutes. just one word, simple, soft. i nodded slowly. he nodded too—more to himself than to me and kept driving.
before i knew it, we were parked in front of an italian restaurant. not the mexican place the guy said he’d take me. no. this one…this one i liked. this one chris somehow remembered.
i reached for the door handle, but he was already opening the door for me, his hand slipping into mine again like it was the most natural thing in the world.
maybe he felt bad. maybe he felt guilty. maybe he remembered all the times he did the same thing to me—leaving, vanishing, hurting.
all i knew was that he wasn’t doing this for no reason.
inside, he led me to a corner table. intimate, soft candlelight, quiet. the kind of place couples would come to. i didn’t know what to say.
the waiter came over, and before i opened my mouth, chris ordered for me. exactly what i wanted.
bolognese pasta.
i blinked at him, surprised. am i really that obvious? i gave the smallest smile when he said it, and he noticed. we settled into this strange, comfortable silence while waiting.
“nothing?” he asked after a moment, clearly fishing for something about the guy. i shook my head and sighed.
he let out a long exhale. “i’m glad you didn’t complain about being with me..”
i raised an eyebrow at that, but he continued quietly, almost as if he didn’t want me to hear it: “i missed being around you…”
heat rose to my cheeks but i didn’t reply. he laughed softly. “yeah, cheesy.” “no,” i said, a smile tugging at my lips. “just… unexpected from you.”
the wine arrived, and we drank. and the food came soon after. i didn’t realize how hungry i was until i took the first bite. everything felt…normal..too normal.
after dinner, he pulled his car up to my street. i thought he’d just drop me off like any regular night, but instead he gently tugged my wrist and pulled me toward the front of the car.
so i sat there. on the hood, next to him. he handed me a weed.
i couldn’t help but smile as i took it between my fingers, bringing it to my lips. the warmth from his jacket wrapped around me. the scent of the joint and the night mixed in the cool air. chris sat close, his shoulder brushing mine.
his hand slid onto my bare thigh. warm. familiar. steadying.
and for the first time in weeks…everything felt like before.
- wrapped with love, karla ᢉ𐭩
taglist: @macsangel @sorrybirds @matthewswifeyy @fadedstvrn @mattsgirlxoxo @whore4chris @chrattn1fan @sturn-ath3na @angel-sturn1 @angelicameron @sturni-olii @snowprincessleopard @brooke3002 @bittenbymatt @urfaveprettypsycho @sophieredevil @matts-babytomatoes @magicaldice @sturn1oh0 @sturn-fan @camilaisangelicc @anniesprettyphotos @sturnwritess @katie-tibo @noooooofufutfugdytf @kalel2005 @diaryofaweirdooo @sadgirlslush @johnporkblogsblog @urf4vpr1nc3ssxoxo
DINNER 4
Christophersturniolo x populargirl!reader
CONTEXT: popular girl YN, who's dating the star football player, but secretly finds herself drawn to skater/stoner Chris, the boy she's always been warned to stay away from. YN begins crossing lines she shouldn't while still in a relationship, and Chris is the one person who sees through her perfect-girl act.
TW: lying, cheating, toxic dynamics, sexual content.
Y/N’S POV:
I knew the outfit was going to cause problems.
The skirt hugs my waist a little too well.
My boots click when I walk.
The off-the-shoulder sweater dips just enough to show skin my mom thinks should stay hidden.
My curls are perfect, soft, bouncy, framed around my face like I actually tried today.
Maybe I did.
Maybe I wanted to feel like someone other than the daughter who’s “always doing something wrong.”
Dinner starts with that forced holiday cheeriness. Fake smiles.
Forced laughter.
Everyone pretending everything’s fine because it’s Thanksgiving.
But the air feels stiff.
Like people have been waiting for the moment to pounce.
It starts when I take a sip of water.
“So, Y/N,” my aunt says, not even looking up from her plate, “your mother tells me you’ve been… distracted lately.”
There it is.
The spark.
My jaw tightens. I place the cup down too softly.
“So I can’t just… live my life now?”
My mom cuts in before I even finish.
“You haven’t been yourself. And we’re worried.”
Her tone is the kind that means I’m criticizing you, but I’ll disguise it as concern.
My dad nods like a stern judge.
“She’s right. You’ve been distant. Moody. And your grades—”
“It’s one B,” I say. “One.”
“You used to be more focused,” he adds. “Lately you’re always somewhere else.”
The words dig into me. Slow. Precise. Like they’ve been rehearsed.
Noah is beside me, eating quietly.
He’s been quiet all night.
Like he already knew they were going to dissect me.
Then he clears his throat.
Soft. Careful. Too careful.
“She does have a point, Y/N… you’ve been kinda distant with me too.”
My stomach drops.
Hard.
I turn to him slowly, because I’m scared if I move too fast, I’ll explode, and he’ll know.
“You’re siding with them?” My voice is low. Sharp.
“No— I’m just saying…” He lifts his hands slightly. “I get worried too. You don’t answer my texts, you cancel plans—”
“Because I’ve been tired,” I say. “Because everything feels like too much sometimes.”
“Then say that,” he replies. “You don’t say anything anymore.”
My mom hums like she’s validated.
My dad shakes his head like I’m proving their point.
Something inside me cracks.
Loudly.
Like a clean break in bone.
“You guys don’t listen,” I say, voice shaking. “You don’t ask me anything. You just tell me what’s wrong with me.”
My aunt whispers to my mom, “See? The attitude.”
I whip toward her.
“What did you say?”
She raises her brows like I’m proving I’m the problem.
Then my dad puts his fork down, slow and heavy.
“Watch your tone.”
“Then stop talking about me like I’m not here!”
My voice shoots out, sharp and too loud, echoing through the dining room.
My mom’s face hardens. “Y/N, you’re being dramatic.”
That word.
Dramatic.
It hits like a punch.
Noah stands now too, reaching toward my wrist.
“Baby, come on, let’s step away—”
I jerk back before he touches me.
“Don’t call me that.”
He freezes.
Everyone freezes.
“Why are you acting like this?” he asks, eyes wide. “I’m trying to help you.”
“You are sitting here letting them talk shit about me,” I choke out. “And you didn’t say anything.”
“I wasn’t agreeing—”
“You weren’t disagreeing either,” I snap. “Adding your two cents in there too.”
He looks hurt, confused, maybe even embarrassed in front of my family.
But I can’t care right now.
I can barely breathe.
“Yn,” he says softly, “just come outside with me—”
“Stop trying to control me,” I whisper. “You don’t get to fix me like I’m some problem you’re trying to manage.”
He swallows hard. “I’m not trying to control you—”
“Then leave me alone.”
The room goes completely silent.
Forks mid-air.
Tunes of judgement thick in the air.
I walk away.
Boots pounding against the hardwood.
Heart pounding louder.
I don’t care that everyone is staring.
I don’t care that Noah calls my name again.
I don’t care that my mom mutters something about “disrespect.”
I slam my bedroom door.
The noise shakes the frame.
Inside my room, everything feels too small, too bright, too loud.
My breath hiccups in my chest.
My hands tremble like my body is still fighting the scene at the table. I sit on my bed, legs curled under me, muscles tight like I’m bracing for something else to break.
Then I grab my phone.
The screen lights up and, for a moment, I see my reflection in it eyes glossy, mascara perfect, lips trembling.
I open my messages.
My fingers hover.
I shouldn’t.
I know I shouldn’t.
But I need to feel okay for five seconds.
I need someone who won’t look at me like I’m failing.
My thumbs move before the guilt can stop them.
can you come get me?
I stare at the message.
Heart pounding.
Chest warm and aching.
I hit send.
The second it delivers, I inhale shaky but deeper.
Like I just opened a door in the middle of suffocating.
Because I know he’ll come.
Because he always does.
And maybe that’s the problem.
Or maybe that’s the only thing keeping me sane.
My phone buzzes before I can even put it down.
One vibration.
Then another.
Then the screen lights up with his name.
yeah. im coming now.
10 mins.
I stare at the message.
He didn’t hesitate.
Not even a second.
It’s Thanksgiving, he’s probably sitting at his table with his family, eating dinner, laughing with his family
but he still said yes.
And he’s coming.
For me.
I press the back of my hand to my mouth, trying to breathe through the relief and the guilt twisting together.
I walk to my window, push the curtain aside.
Outside, the streetlights glow on the empty road.
Quiet.
Cold.
Somewhere out there, he’s already on his way.
My heart starts beating fast.
Too fast.
My boots thud softly against the floor as I walk to my door.
The voices from the dining room leak down the hall—
my mom complaining,
my dad disappointed,
Noah still trying to explain me like I’m homework he can’t finish.
I’m done listening.
I swing my bedroom door open and step into the hallway.
No one sees me at first.
But the second my boots hit the wooden floor, all heads snap toward me.
“Where do you think you’re going?” my mom demands.
I don’t answer.
I just keep walking.
Her chair scrapes loudly as she stands.
“Y/N don’t you dare walk out of this house like this.”
I grab my bag from the counter without looking at her.
My dad’s brows furrow. “You are not leaving in the middle of Thanksgiving.”
“I’m not staying here and being picked apart like I’m some broken thing,” I say, voice tight but steady.
Noah tries to stand. “Yn, please… can we just talk—”
“Not right now,” I whisper.
I open the front door.
Cold air rushes in.
Shivers down my back.
Relief, sharp and sudden.
“Y/N!” my mom calls, footsteps fast behind me. “You better turn around right now—”
I walk down the driveway.
She follows.
Angry.
Confused.
Unable to believe I’m actually leaving.
“What has gotten into you? Where are you going?” she snaps.
I don’t answer.
Headlights appear at the end of the street.
Dim.
One slightly foggy.
The engine louder than it should be.
His car.
That black Lexus that smells like weed.
The front bumper is slightly dented.
Windows tinted too dark.
It turns the corner and slows in front of my driveway.
My mom’s voice sharpens.
“Who is that?”
Chris rolls down the passenger window.
He doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t wave.
He just looks at me with that cool, unreadable expression, jaw tense, curls messy, jacket still on like he left mid-meal.
“Get in,” he says quietly.
My mom gasps. “Absolutely not… you are NOT getting into that car—”
But I already am.
I pull the door open, slide into the seat, slam it shut before she can grab me.
The interior smells like smoke and cologne.
Music is loud, bass vibrating under my feet.
Chris shifts into drive.
My mom is shouting something—
about respect,
manners,
this boy,
this car—
her voice muffled through the glass.
Chris glances at her once, expression blank, then looks at me.
“You good?” he asks, voice low, rough, like he drove fast the whole way here.
I exhale, shaky.
“I am now.”
He nods once.
Then he pulls away from the curb, tires crunching over the gravel, tension thick between us,
and the house,
my mom,
Noah,
all of it, shrinks in the rearview mirror.
The moment we turn off my street, my body finally starts to unclench.
Like I’ve been holding my breath for hours. Days. Maybe months.
The heater hums low.
The faint smell of cologne clings to the air.
Chris drives with one hand on the wheel, jaw tight, eyes forward, like he’s trying not to look too hard at me.
But he keeps glancing anyway.
After a minute, he asks quietly,
“What happened?”
I swallow hard, staring at my hands. “Nothing new. Just… them doing what they always do.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his grip on the wheel tightens.
I breathe in.
Slow.
Shaky.
“My aunt started in on me first,” I whisper. “Then my mom. Then my dad. Saying I’ve been ‘off.’ Distracted. Different.”
He clicks his tongue softly, like he already hates them for it.
“And Noah…” I pause. “He just sat there. Let them talk about me like I wasn’t even in the room.”
Chris glances at me again. Longer this time.
“Did he say anything?”
“He said I’ve been… distant.”
The word tastes bitter.
“Like he was agreeing with them.”
Chris exhales through his nose, sharp and annoyed.
“Sounds like bullshit.”
The validation hits my chest harder than I expect.
I look out the window so he doesn’t see my eyes get glossy.
He stays quiet for a second.
Then:
“You wanna go to my place?”
The question startles me.
I turn to him, eyebrows raised.
“Isn’t your family having dinner right now?”
“Yeah,” he says simply. “Nick’s probably annoying everyone, Matt’s trying to not burn something, my mom’s yelling at someone for touching her mashed potatoes. You know… normal.”
I stare at him.
He shrugs, like it’s obvious.
“They won’t care if I bring you.”
That makes heat rush to my cheeks.
“Chris… I don’t wanna be a problem.”
His lips quirk, barely, almost a smirk but softer.
“You’re not a problem.”
“I just don’t wanna show up and make everything weird.”
“It won’t be weird,” he says. “They like you.”
“Your family doesn’t even know me,” I say under my breath.
He glances at me again.
“they likes anyone I don’t hate.”
I huff out a tiny laugh despite everything.
He slows at a stop sign, turns his body slightly toward me, voice low and gentle in a way that makes my stomach flip.
“You can come,” he says. “Eat with us. Sit next to me. Pretend they’re your family for the night if you want.”
I look at him, really look, the messy curls falling over his forehead, the small freckle under his eye, the softness in his eyes he doesn’t let anyone else see.
“Chris…” I whisper. “I don’t know if I should.”
“Why not?”
Because being next to you feels too good.
Because being near you makes everything else fall apart.
Because I shouldn’t want this as much as I do.
But I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I say, “I don’t wanna ruin your holiday.”
“You’re not,” he murmurs. “If anything, you’d make it better.”
My heart stutters.
He taps the wheel lightly, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.
“Just say yes,” he says, quiet, almost coaxing. “I don’t wanna drop you off somewhere alone.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
The warmth in my chest spreads slowly, softly.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll go.”
He nods once, like he expected that answer the whole time, and pulls the car forward.
The road stretches dark and quiet in front of us, and for the first time all night, I don’t feel alone. Not even a little.
Chris turns down his street, the glow of warm yellow windows spilling onto the pavement.
His house looks… alive.
Like laughter is leaking out from the walls.
Nothing like mine.
My stomach twists with nerves as he parks in the driveway.
I can hear voices inside, laughing in the background…
Chris turns the engine off.
“You sure?” he asks softly, like he’ll turn around if I even blink the wrong way.
I nod, even though my heart is pounding.
“Yeah.”
He watches me for a second, like he’s trying to read something in my face, then gets out. I follow, boots crunching against the driveway. The cold air hits my bare shoulders, and without even thinking, Chris shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over me.
I freeze.
He doesn’t make it a big deal.
Just says, “It’s cold,” and keeps walking.
But my heart… it does something.
We reach the porch, and before he can even open the door, I hear Nick yell from inside:
“BRO, HURRY UP, THE MAC AND CHEESE IS—”
He stops when Chris swings the door open.
Then Nick sees me.
Standing slightly behind Chris.
Wearing Chris’s hoodie.
Hair curled, skirt tight, eyes still a little shiny from earlier.
Nick’s eyes go huge.
“Ohhhhhh,” he says slowly, pointing between us. “No way. No way. Am I hallucinating? Matt, am I hallucinating?!”
Matt peeks around the corner, sees me, blinks twice, and gives Chris this soft but stunned smile.
Their mom comes out from the kitchen, hands on her apron, mid-sentence.
“Christopher, what took you so lon—”
She stops.
Her eyes land on me.
Warm, not judgmental.
Surprised, but in a way that feels welcoming.
“Oh! Hi sweetheart,” she says, instantly kind. “We weren’t expecting company but you’re more than welcome. I’m Marylou.”
I swallow, suddenly shy.
“Hi… sorry for just showing up—”
“No, no, honey, you’re fine,” she says warmly. “Come in, you must be freezing.”
Before I can step fully inside, Jimmy looks up from the dining table where he’s pouring himself a drink.
He pauses when he sees me, eyebrows raising slightly.
“Well,” he says in that low, dad-voice that somehow fills the whole room, “Chris didn’t tell us he was bringing someone over.”
I freeze, unsure.
But he gives a small smile.
A welcoming one.
Not judging.
Just… noting.
Nick practically bounces closer.
“Chris brought a girl home. CHRIS brought a GIRL. HOME.”
Chris groans. “Nick, shut up.”
“No, no, this is historical,” Nick says dramatically. “Do you understand he has never… and I mean NEVER, brought a girl here? Ever. Not even by accident. Not even in a dream.”
Matt chuckles quietly.
“He’s right.”
Jimmy snorts under his breath.
“Yeah… this is new.”
My cheeks heat instantly.
Chris runs a hand through his hair, annoyed but also slightly embarrassed.
“She just needed somewhere to go,” he mutters.
Nick grins.
“Oh yeah? Is that what they call it now?”
“Nick,” Chris snaps, glaring.
Marylou swats Nick with a dish towel.
“Leave them alone. Go wash your hands.”
Nick laughs and heads to the kitchen, whispering loudly,
“Chris has a GIRL in the HOUSE—”
Jimmy shakes his head but he’s smiling into his glass.
Marylou tries to hide her grin.
Chris turns to me, jaw tight like he wants to kill Nick but also like he’s holding in a smile.
“Sorry about him,” he murmurs.
I shake my head.
“No… it’s okay. They’re… sweet.”
And they are.
This house feels warm.
Real.
Like people actually love each other here.
Marylou sets another plate at the table without question, patting my back gently.
“Sit wherever you like, darling. Make yourself at home.”
Jimmy pushes a chair out with his foot, nodding toward it.
“There you go.”
I catch Chris watching me as I sit down, his eyes softer than they were in the car.
He sits beside me, his knee brushing mine under the table.
Just barely.
But I feel it everywhere.
The chaos of the table continues, Nick talking too loudly, Matt quietly asking if I want more stuffing, their mom fussing over Chris for leaving earlier without explanation, Jimmy asking if I want something to drink in the most dad-like tone ever.
But no one is criticizing me.
No one is looking at me like I’m ruining something.
No one is waiting to attack.
It feels safe here.
And every few minutes, Chris leans closer and quietly asks:
“You okay?” Or, “Need anything?” Or just lets his knee touch mine again, grounding me.
When dessert is served, Nick leans across the table with a mischievous grin.
“So, Yn,” he says, “how long have you and Chris been secretly in love?”
Chris nearly chokes on his drink.
Matt tries not to laugh.
Marylou rolls her eyes.
Jimmy lifts an eyebrow like he’s listening now.
I blush so hard I have to look at my plate.
“We’re not—” Chris starts.
Nick laughs. “Sure, man. Whatever you say.”
But the funniest thing?
When I glance at Chris from the corner of my eye…
He’s already looking at me.
And he doesn’t look away.
The table’s chaos winds down.
Nick and Matt are bickering quietly over the last slice of pie.
Jimmy leans back in his chair, rubbing his hands together, already full but still surveying the room like a dad in charge of a small kingdom.
Marylou’s wiping the last few dishes, humming softly.
I get up without thinking.
“Here, let me help,” I say, grabbing a towel.
She hands me a plate with a smile.
“You’re a doll, Y/N. Thank you.”
The warmth of the kitchen, the chatter, the clatter of dishes, the laughter, feels different than my own house. No tension here, no judgment.
Even Jimmy nods at me from his chair. “Good work, kid,” he says, voice low but approving.
I find myself enjoying it, helping put away silverware, stacking plates.
Nick is still teasing Chris, who just shakes his head, muttering about how “he’s going to kill me later.”
Matt is quieter, watching, but he catches my glance and smiles softly.
Finally, the kitchen is tidy.
Marylou pats my shoulder, satisfied.
“You’ve done enough. Go, now. You need a break.”
I nod, stomach twisting again, a mix of nerves and excitement.
I know exactly where I want to go.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
Chris is waiting at the top of the stairs, leaning casually against the railing.
He watches me with that familiar unreadable expression, half irritation, half… something softer, something warmer.
“You done being a good girl for the Sturniolos?” he asks, voice low, teasing.
I smirk, shrugging off the tension I’ve been carrying since the car.
“Done enough,” I murmur.
He steps aside and gestures for me to pass.
I do, heart pounding as I climb the last few stairs to his room.
His door clicks shut behind us.
The house sounds fade: Nick and Matt laughing downstairs, the hum of lights, Jimmy’s chair scraping softly as he settles back.
Chris leans against his desk, eyes on me.
“Sit,” he says quietly, voice soft but commanding.
I sit on the edge of his bed, hugging my knees slightly, feeling small and nervous and… alive.
He sits beside me, shoulder brushing mine.
“Rough night,” he murmurs.
I exhale, finally letting some of the tension slip.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “They… they didn’t understand.”
He nods, hand brushing against mine lightly, just enough to make me shiver.
“Not our problem,” he says simply.
I look up at him.
“You always make it sound so easy,” I murmur.
He smirks slightly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Not easy,” he says softly. “Just… worth it.”
We stay like that for a long moment, quiet, side by side, the weight of everything finally settling between us.
Not saying much. Just being.
And I realize, for the first time tonight…
I don’t feel like I have to explain anything.
Not to him.
Not to anyone.
Chris finally reaches out, fingers brushing a loose curl from my face.
“Stay,” he says quietly, leaning closer.
I nod, heart hammering.
Because I want to.
Because this, right here, right now is ours.
The quiet of his room is different from anywhere I’ve ever been.
No pressure, no judgment, just… us.
The faint smell of his cologne mixes with the lingering scent of weed, and somehow it feels comforting.
I sit on the edge of his bed, heart still hammering from the car, the teasing, the warmth of his family… and the memory of my own house, the tension, the anger, the weight of everyone telling me I was “off” or “distracted.”
He sits beside me, close enough that the warmth from his body drifts over me.
I can feel the pull, the electricity in the space between us, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
Safe, yes, but also… sharp, like falling into something I shouldn’t and wanting it anyway.
I swallow.
It’s too much, this feeling swelling in my chest, and without thinking I lean closer.
“Chris…” My voice barely makes it out, thin and shaking.
He tilts his head, curls falling into his eyes, that soft unreadable look pulling the breath right out of me.
And before I can think, my lips brush his.
Just a test. A question. But it hits like a shock, warmth, danger, safety, all crashing together.
He freezes for a heartbeat, then his hands rise, cupping my face gently. His thumbs sweep my cheeks like he’s memorizing something he shouldn’t.
“Yn…” he murmurs, low, rough, already unraveling.
I lean in without thinking, my heart thudding fast enough to hurt.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his jaw, not sure why, not sure for what, just needing him close.
His lips find mine again, soft at first, then deeper, purposeful, pulling the breath right out of me. I feel myself being guided onto his lap, his hands firm at my waist, grounding me, pulling me into a warmth that borders on dangerous.
The world blurs. The stress, the guilt, Noah, everything dissolves under the weight of his closeness.
The kiss turns hungrier, like we’re trying to say everything we’ve kept locked up. My fingers twist into his shirt, holding on. His hands travel up my thighs, slow, sure, claiming me with every stroke.
I’ve never felt anything like this, this heat, this gravity that feels bigger than both of us.
When we pull away for just a breath, our foreheads meet. His eyes flutter closed, mine too, the space between us hot, trembling.
“I’ve… never felt like that,” I whisper.
A soft sound escapes him, half-groan, half-confession.
“Neither have I.”
He kisses me again, deeper, slower, as if this one actually matters and something inside me gives way.
His hands slide along my skin, fingertips trailing my waist, my ribs, leaving sparks everywhere they touch. When his lips graze my neck, a shiver shoots straight through me. I bite my lip, but the sound escapes anyway, small and helpless.
He hears it. He feels it. His grip tightens.
“Yn,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, “look at me.”
I do. My heartbeat stutters at the way he’s staring, dark, intense, like he’s choosing me even when he shouldn’t.
His palm cups my cheek. My body leans into it instinctively.
“You’re here,” he whispers. “That’s all that matters.”
And God help me, I let myself fall.
The kiss deepens, messier now, breathing tangled, hands roaming like we’re trying to pull each other apart and hold each other together at the same time. His fingertips drag up my stomach and I gasp, clutching at his shoulders.
Clothes shift. Skin meets skin. The heat sharpens, rising between us like a spark hitting gasoline.
His mouth trails down my jaw to my collarbone. My fingers slide into his curls, pulling him closer. Every inch of contact burns in the best way. His breath hits my shoulder and I swear I feel it in my knees.
“We shouldn’t…” I breathe, barely holding on.
He hums against my skin, a low vibration that makes me tremble.
“But you’re here,” he murmurs again, lips brushing my throat. “And I can’t stay away.”
His hands slide under my sweater, slow, reverent, like he’s waiting for me to stop him.
I don’t. I lift my arms instead.
He pulls the sweater over my head, eyes dragging over me with something close to awe, and something darker. Goosebumps rise instantly under his touch.
“I need you,” I whisper, voice trembling. “I—”
“I know, princess,” he murmurs, kissing down my neck, my shoulder, the center of my chest. “I know.”
My hands push at his shirt, desperate, until he lifts his arms and lets me take it off. Heat radiates off him, chest warm under my palms, heartbeat hard enough to feel.
He pulls me closer, skin meeting skin, and everything inside me tilts.
“You feel that?” he breathes against my lips. His body pressed to mine, heat, tension, desire. “Yes,” I gasp. “God—yes.”
His lips curl into a soft, wicked smile.
“You bring the light to the sin,” he whispers, kissing me again, slow, deep, stealing my breath. “Every time you’re with me.”
I tremble, arching into him, the heat between us turning sharp and unbearable. His hands roam my body like he’s learning me, tracing lines no one’s touched before. Every brush of his fingers sends shivers down my spine.
I whisper his name like a confession, a plea, a warning. “Chris…”
His breath stutters. “Yeah?” he whispers back, lips brushing my ear.
“I can’t stop,” I breathe.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling my lips to his.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Neither can I.”
The rest happens in a blur of skin and breath and whispered names, clothes vanishing between frantic kisses, bodies meeting without space to spare, warmth spreading everywhere his hands touch. Every movement he makes is slow but certain, guiding, grounding, claiming.
I cling to him, nails digging lightly into his shoulders, heart racing so hard I feel it through my whole body.
He groans softly, forehead pressed to mine, breath shaking.
“You feel what you do to me?” he whimpers.
I nod, trembling, lips finding his again.
“And I can’t let go of you,” he admits, voice barely holding together.
Skin on skin, breathless, urgent, dangerous, we fall into each other completely, and there’s no going back.
Not now. Not ever.
Authors Note: thanksgiving special!! Happy Thanksgiving! I hope you all had the most amazing day and the yummiest dinner. I’m so grateful for every single one of you, thank you for being here.🤎
@mellowtyrantwerewolf @tarafilmz @fzrtqp @riggysworld @aaliyah-sturns @bambisribbon @courta13 @koolaidkenzie @skye-butterfly @sturniololuv3r @cashgivesmefeels @chrissturniolobendmeovernow @444sturns @sturntiolo @melanielsturniolo @angel-sturn1 @blueberrymuff1nn @chrismattnick @perscriptionlove @maya-88-blog @blindedheartp @dawnsturn
the door never just
closes.
it always has to crash,
like the house is clearing its throat
just to remind me
it’s bigger than me.
stronger, too.
the sound jumps down the hallway,
hits me before the silence does.
my shoulders go tight
before I even think about it,
like my bones are trying to hide
inside themselves.
people say,
“it’s just a door, calm down,”
but they don’t hear it
the way I do.
to them it’s a mistake.
to me it’s history.
pages I didn’t ask to read,
but the noise rips them open anyway.
the yelling’s worse,
cutting through the walls
and through me,
like the kind of storm
you can’t get away from
even if you plug your ears.
the words blur together
not exact sentences,
just the sharp edges.
sometimes I pretend
I’m somewhere else,
like a cafeteria full of chatter,
or a bus rumbling too loud
to hear anything important.
anywhere but here,
breathing shallow,
counting the seconds
until whoever’s angry
gets tired of being angry.
and yeah,
I know everyone fights,
and sometimes doors slam
because hands slip,
or someone’s just in a hurry.
but my body doesn’t know that.
my body only knows
what came before—
the nights that everything felt like
it could break apart
if one more sound hit too hard.
so when it happens now
even years later,
even in places that feel safe—
my heart still skids
like a car on wet pavement.
my stomach drops.
my mind goes somewhere
I don’t mean to visit anymore.
the house always goes quiet
after the slam,
like it’s holding its breath.
and I do too,
waiting for the world
to settle back into place.
when it finally does,
I act normal again
because that’s what you do.
but the echo stays,
buzzing in my chest,
long after everyone else
has forgotten the noise
ever happened.
꒰ a/n ꒱ : I decided to post something different than what i normally post. I've been doing lots of poetry in my english class lately, and I felt like this was a good way to get out some of my emotions. I've done poetry before, but I'm really proud of this one. I hope you like it :)
⋮ ⌗ ┆smut ₊ fluff 𖥻 bsf!matt 𖥻 wc: 0.6k 𖥻 intended lowercase.
ⓘ let’s play a little game called "guess the writer". the rule is simple, you just have to guess the writer behind this blog.
❝oh—fuck--! i’m gonna cum if you keep moving.❞ matt warns, eyes rolling back as you bounce on him, your tight walls squeezing around him just right. his hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh and no doubt leaving marks behind. his hips give small thrusts and jerks up as he tries to match your pace but also too overwhelmed to do a good job at it.
❝mimes don’t talk.❞ you tease through a breathless moan, one hand leaving his shoulder where you’d gripped to balance yourself to clamp around his mouth instead, successfully muffling his cries of pleasure. your own face is contorted in pleasure, his thick length stretching you to your limit, long enough to hit your cervix easily. it’s almost a miracle how you two didn’t pounce on each other long before this.
matt’s always been your best friend, your comfort person—but somewhere between late night talks and early morning banter, you’d developed feelings for him. it, of course, wasn’t anything sexual at first—until you became aware of how... hung he was. you’d accidentally caught a glimpse of his bulge through his boxers while he was changing one time, and after that it was like you were ovulating every time matt was close.
but unbeknownst to you (until today) matt had always been into you as much as you were into him—maybe even more. he doesn’t even know how many times he’d jerked off to you, whether it was pictures or fantasies. so it wasn’t really surprising how quickly he jumped at the chance to have you on top of him.
you wanted to do his mime make-up for him so naturally you tried to get into a comfortable position and ended up on his lap, your knees on either side of his hips, ass on his thighs. matt immediately felt himself rise in his jeans, but before he could adjust it or somehow hide it, you’d already noticed the prominent bulge tenting the front of his pants.
somehow that ended into this.
a muscle in matt’s jaw twitches as he clenches it hard. he doesn’t want to make too much noise despite how fucking good your sopping wet pussy feels around his aching cock. his orgasm is so close that he can feel his balls drawing tight and the bands in his stomach growing impossibly taut, slowly getting ready to explode with each bounce.
you’re close now, too, maybe even more so than matt, your movements growing more uncoordinated and jerky. that'’s when matt takes control. you make a confused noise when he suddenly wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close and in place, and plants his feet on the bed. before you can ask him what he’s doing, he’s fucking up into you, hard.
your eyes widen in shock and pleasure as you hold onto him, scratching and gripping whatever you can hold onto, your brain short-circuiting from pleasure. ❝matt—ahn—fuuck! i- i can’t-! i’m gonna cum!❞ your moans are growing more and more high pitched and loud with each quick thrust, and matt knows his brothers can hear everything and know exactly what’s happening in his room.
but he can’t stop now. not when you’re both so close to something earth-shattering.
you fall over the edge first, followed by matt, both of you panting and moaning as you ride out your highs together. you feel all warm inside, and it’s not just because you can feel matt’s hot, creamy semen flooding your inner walls. matt can feel your greedy pussy milking his cock, making his orgasm seem endless.
after your orgasm subsides, you still choose to stay on top of him, content in the feeling of him softening inside you. and matt doesn’t complain or push you away—he actually enjoys it, a lot. matt’s lips find your neck and he presses butterfly kisses all over it, all while murmuring, ❝i love you,❞ into your skin.
˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ i'll be so good for you...c.s.
In which a harmless game of catch bruises chris’s ego, and you remind him exactly how to use his mouth. wc: 1.5k cw: sub!chris, dom!reader, degradation, praise, face riding, fingers in v, chris nuts without being touched an: tysm to @luvs4matt for giving me the starting scenario, I couldn't have written this without u. dedicated to my fellow sub!chris lover @readsick dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/cursedcarmine
