╱ ⋆    ་  ❛ nerd!matt &&   lamb!reader .˚ ⋆  ꜝ  ꒱ ⋆  𓂅

You don’t show up to class.

The chair next to Matt stays heartbreakingly empty. No pen tapping, no whispered jokes that make him blush and forget how to divide. The whole room feels off without your spark. He spends the entire lecture breathing shallowly, eyes glued to the door. Waiting. Hoping. When it ends and you still haven’t appeared, he calls. No answer.

That’s when the quiet panic starts. Not loud or messy—Matt doesn’t do messy—but the kind that lodges deep in his chest and makes his hands tremble. He wipes his glasses three times in a row. Rethinks every word he’s said to you all week. What if you’re mad? What if you’re done with him? What if he ruined everything just by hoping too hard?

He stares at your name on his screen. Thumb hovers. Calling again feels like too much. Not calling? Worse. So somehow—somehow—he’s standing at your dorm door. Alone. For the first time. His knuckles hesitate mid-knock. His legs feel like jelly. He keeps nudging his glasses up even though they’re already straight. What if you don’t want to see him? What if this ruins everything?

But then the door creaks open, and you’re there. A sleepy little bundle wrapped in a blanket, cheeks warm, eyes half-lidded. ❝I’m dying,❞ you croak. Matt nearly forgets how to function.

❝Wh—what happened? Are you—?❞ ❝It’s my period.❞ He blinks. Once. Twice. His mouth opens and closes. Then a small nod, like he totally gets it. (He absolutely doesn’t.) But the worry? Oh, it gets worse. ❝Do you… want me to go?❞ he asks, voice gentle.

You groan louder, waving him in. ❝No. Stay. You’re warm. And you bring snacks.❞ He clutches the bag in his hands like it’s a love letter. ❝I brought the sour ones. You said those help, right?❞

You light up well, as much as someone melting into a heat pad can—and it makes his chest squeeze. He shrugs off his hoodie and kicks off his shoes. Climbs into bed slow, like he’s scared he’ll break it—or you. The bed dips beneath his awkward weight. You tug the blanket over both of you like it’s the most natural thing, and Matt? Matt forgets what breathing is.

His head ends up resting on your stomach, arms tucked beneath him like he’s trying to take up less space. You’re rambling about cramps and injustice and why this should be illegal. He listens like you’re narrating his favourite novel. His glasses keep sliding, and he adjusts them without looking up.

❝I feel like a balloon full of knives,❞ you mumble. ❝That sounds… awful. I—I’d fix it if I could,❞ he says, and without really thinking, he leans in and kisses your stomach. Just one soft, reverent press of lips.

You are tense. He jolts. ❝S-sorry!❞ he blurts. ❝I didn’t mean—I just—I don’t know why I did that! You probably want me to leave now—❞ ❝Matt,❞ you whisper, brushing your fingers through your hair. ❝It’s okay. Really.❞ He searches your face. For rejection. For weirdness. For anything.

Instead, you reach down and touch his curls. He practically melts. Sinks back into you like your bed is the only safe place left. Another kiss. Then another. Each one slower, softer. Like he’s sorry. Like he’s saying he’d trade places with you if he could.

❝That actually helps,❞ you murmur. Matt smiles into your hoodie, drawing tiny circles against your side. ❝Do you… want me to keep doing it?❞ he asks, barely above a whisper. You hum. Eyes close. Your breath evens.

And Matt stays still. So still. Like, if he moves too much, he might wake up from this. He kisses you quietly with soft little pressings of his lips to your tummy, like it’s sacred, like you’re something he’s worshipping without meaning to. His hand rubs gentle, slow circles into your side, every motion tender, like your comfort is the most important thing in the world.

You hum under your breath, your fingers brushing through his curls, grounding him. You don’t say anything. You don’t have to. The way your body melts into his, the way you breathe a little deeper with each kiss... it tells him everything.

He tells himself you’re just friends. He always does. But God, nothing has ever felt more like love.

he knew what he was doing in this clip

the way he adjusts his pants, the eye contact with the camera and the bulge

when did you get hot?

in which... something snaps in your brother's best friend

warnings: making out in a car, smut, unprotected pinv, praise, light daddy kink... you'll see it if you squint, reader is mentioned to be curvy and/or to have some curves, getting caught..kinda?

matt knew you were off limits, he was your brother's best friend! you were like a little sister to him.

or so he thought.

he didn't know if it was the sketchy fruit punch that was being served at this halloween frat party or the insane glow up you had while he was away at college. you went from your brothers little sister to someone matt needed to stay away from or he'd make a bad decision.

matt downed the rest of the fruit punch he had been nursing and turned the opposite direction, the longer he stared the more he’d do something he'd regret.

the next time he saw you matt felt stuck, you were there with some random frat guy's arms around you and you were just… allowing it. you were smiling, face flushed from the same fruit punch matt had been wary of while he spoke into your ear.

you weren't his, he had no right to do what he was about to do, but- he needed to for some reason.

matt scoffed, mentally cursing his body for moving before he could react. striding over to where you and the fratboy were currently about to eat each other's face off “hey.”

as soon as you heard matt you whipped your head around, your smile widening, “matt!” you called out, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

matt felt out of place- awkward but he hugged you back, his eyes narrowing at the fratboy before he broke it, “what're you doing here sweetheart?”

matt would be lying if he said he didn't like how your attention shifted onto him, the fratboy’s existence slipping from your head. “it’s a party!”

“well i know that,” matt countered, his lips in a small smirk as he moved his eyes to yours and your face that had changed all so much. “just didn't think this was scene at all, pretty.”

you tilted your head, “well, could say the same for you.” you pointed at him as an extra gesture. all matt did was nod, “guess you could say that.” and then he walked away.

matt silently cursed himself. he couldn't believe he just did that, made conversation with you to get some guy away from you. he thought as he walked back to crowd of people.

he was just protecting you. yeah, your brother wasn't here and he was just looking out for you is all.

yeahhhh, what a lie.

whatever matt told himself? it was done in 30 minutes.

he was just supposed to take you home, then it turned into getting food at the drive thru, and now it's turned into making out in his car in his driveway, your food going untouched as he maneuvers you over the center console and onto his lap.

your small breathy gasps were enough to make him combust in his pants, he didn't though.

“so fuckin’ pretty.” he rasped out against your lips, he couldn't shut his eyes, too busy mapping your your features and appreciating each one.

matt's lips followed yours when you pulled away, his hands moving from your hips to sneak under your shirt, grasping at your breasts.

you felt breathless, overwhelmed, hot and needy for more all at once. “matt,” you softly gasped, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders, lightly pushing him back. matt let out a noise between a groan and a whine, he didn't want to stop kissing you, not when he knew what you taste like.

his hand stayed under your shirt as he leaned back against his car seat, his eyes roaming over you again, “when did you get so pretty hm?” he asked, leaning in to plant kisses from the corner of your lips and down to your collarbone.

“mmpf- matt,” you said, trying to get his attention. matt pulled away from your neck reluctantly, his eyes meeting yours, “hm?” he hummed, his pupils blown wide, making his blue eyes almost black.

“can't do this, not in your car.” you said, your face flushed at the thought of taking it further. there was a silent moment that passed, and it was long to make you think that maybe you read into this wrong and matt didn't want to-

matt cut you off, not with words though. he swung his car door open immediately, getting out first and then throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, making you squeal and him grin.

when he had gotten to his room he pulled you back into his lap, his lips finding yours immediately and hands pulling the leather jacked off his shoulders before sneaking under the hem of your shirt.

you shuddered, his fingers sending goosebumps down your skin. he smirked against your lips, one of his hands trailing lower and sneaking into your pants. you let out a soft gasp as his fingers grazed your clothed core, expertly finding your clit through your soft wet panties.

“fuckin’ soaked.” he grit out, nibbling on your bottom lip and pulling it back gently. your eyelids fluttered as he rubbed in slow tantalizing circles, teasing you.

your mouth parted as another gasp ripped through your throat, your hips bucking up against his hand. matt’s breath hitched in his throat, feeling his dick jump in his jeans at the slightest contact. his lips trailed down the side of your throat to where your neck met your shoulders, biting down softly as he slipped off the pants you were wearing.

“bet your brother would fuckin’ flip if he knew you were letting me do this to you sweetheart.” you grasped at his shoulders, his words paired with his hand that had gone into your underwear, making your head spin.

seeing your reaction at his words, matt couldn't help the soft chuckle that left his lips. he pulled away from you completely, his hands slipping out of your underwear and resting on your hips, grasping at the plush skin there before tugging on your shirt.

“take this off for me.” he said, his voice gravely. you eagerly slipped off your shirt, it finding a spot somewhere on the floor as you threw it.

matt groaned at the sight of your bra covered chest, his hands groping at your breasts, “fuck sweetheart, when did you get hot?” his hands slid lower, discarding your underwear.

his lips found yours again, his hands sliding down to the back of your thighs he flipped you both over, your back now pressed against his bedsheets.

matt must've broken a record at the speed he got rid of his clothes. you didn't even realize his pants were off until you felt him sliding inside of you.

“shit,” he groaned as he bottomed out, “so fuckin’ tight, not gonna last very long.”

matt started to slowly move, his pace quickening as your gasps turned into whines and moans, making his head spin. you felt so perfect for him, better than anyone he had ever been with ever.

you let out a low moan as he grazed that sweet spot inside of you. you thought matt wouldn't have caught it, but matt was nothing but attentive when it came to you apparently, aiming for that spot directly.

“right there huh?” he chuckled dryly, “you're s’dirty sweetheart, letting your brothers best friend fuck you like this.” your walls tightened around him at his words, making him let out something between a groan and a growl, “fuck… keep doin’ that baby.”

your nails dug down his back deliciously, making him lose any control he had left and he couldn't have that. matt pulled one of your hands off of his back, threading his fingers with yours.

your cunt spasmed around him at the new added intimacy, your legs that had wrapped around his waist tightening. matt knew you were close by the pitch of your moans growing higher. his other hand left your thigh it was holding onto, rubbing tight and fast circles over your clit.

“mmpf! matt!” you cried out, your orgasm hitting you. matt’s hips jerked a few times before he came, whining in your ear as he spilled inside you and collapsed, careful not to put too much weight on you.

you were both panting heavily, matt placed soft kisses up your neck relishing in the way you felt. his stubble tickled you a bit, making a soft giggle leave your lips, he smiled up at you. before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“your brother can never find out.” he said as he pulled away, you nodded in agreement. it was silent, matt hadn't pulled out yet, not wanting to lose the connection so quickly, his face was buried in the junction of where your neck met your shoulder.

“you look like a dilf with your stubble like that,” once you realized you said it out loud your face flushed. matt moved back, looking down at you with a smirk, “yeah?” he asked, his head slightly tilted.

you nodded, your eyes still wide at your sudden outburst but matt seemed to be loving it, he gave an experimental thrust, his hands keeping thighs open when you began to squirm. “let's do something about that then.” he said before smashing his lips back on to yours. matt didn't plan on stopping anytime soon, you felt too good, too perfect. he couldn't stop, not until you had tears running down your face telling him how good you felt and how loud you could be.

guess he forgot about the tiny detail that your brother was sleeping next door to him, oh well.

a/n: this for @snoopychris!! i love youu!! i hope whoever reads this enjoys brothers bsf matt cause hes so sexy to me...

divider by @chrisssiren!

𝙊𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙨

⤷ 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙!𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩 𝙭 𝙣𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

⤷ 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨

⤷𝙘𝙬: 𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

Brown boots. It’s all wrong. Too shiny. Too clean. His eyes don’t follow the crowd the way Matt’s did. He doesn’t plug your phone into its charger when you’re too drunk and forget to. He doesn’t research the lavish restaurant you have reservations for, scrawl out a detailed escape route just in case.

He’s not Matt.

He’ll never be Matt.

Your goodbyes were clipped, quiet, already dissolving into silence before they even began. He let you stay the night after you chased him down, messy and unraveling. Said you weren’t fit to drive. He’s only seen you like that one other time, the hotel — panic cracking through your chest, too sharp to hide, too fast to control.

“Hey.” His hands framed your face, steady palms against your burning skin. His voice a whisper. “Where are you going? Stay with me.”

But it felt like floating. Like your back was glued to his ceiling, and you were watching your own life spin out beneath you. The photostrip pinned to his fridge. The plants crowding his windowsill. His favorite sweatshirt slumped over the arm of the couch. You saw everything, and then you saw everything else.

Your Girl Scout sash at ten. Your mom’s soft voice telling you the tooth fairy wasn’t real. Thirteen years old, bleeding through your jeans, your dad’s disgusted face as he scrubbed crimson from denim. Your mom the night before she left — eyes bright, smile wide, twirling you through the living room to The Beatles.

And then the blanket. The smell of detergent and smoke and him.

Matt.

His hand on your chest, pressing steady. “Breathe. In and out. Like that.”

Your palm over his now, desperate to come down.

“Do you feel that? Hm?” His thumb brushed hair from your face. You were on his bed, in his lap. You didn’t remember moving. “That’s your heart. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

But that was then.

Paris was just another city. Romanticized. Busy. Pretty lights on every corner, and none of them for you.

“Your dad set up a photoshoot for you today at three p.m.” You couldn’t remember his name. You didn’t care to.

“I’m not doing that. I looked at that photographer's portfolio, it’s shit.” (It wasn’t shit. You were tired. You wanted a fight.)

“I don’t work for you. I work for your father. I’m just being nice and letting you know that’s where you’ll find yourself at three p.m.” He kept his eyes on the road.

Not Matt. Matt would’ve asked you to see the portfolio. He would’ve given you tips on how to make it work. Show you how to stand taller, look sharper. Matt would've agreed with you, but he still would’ve made you go.

“I don’t feel good.” You pressed your forehead to the damp window, watching the families on the street. A mom, a dad, two kids. They looked happy. You wondered about their lives. Did the mom work? Did she know how to cook a delicious cake? Was the dad nice to the boy, or did he push whatever his father pushed onto him? Were the kids happy?

He says something now. You don’t catch it.

“Huh?”

“I said I can stop for medicine.” He gives you a side-eyed glance.

“You don’t have anything on you?” You raise your eyebrows.

“No.”

Not Matt.

One foot in front of the other. One deep breath. Not too much pressure on the ankles. The high will come soon. Won’t it?

No matter how many miles he ran, Matt couldn’t escape you.

You were everywhere. In the rhythm of his breathing, the rasp of his laces against the pavement. In the taste of the salt when sweat slid into his mouth. In the thud of his lungs hitting his ribcage.

He didn’t fly back to Pennsylvania like he planned. He couldn’t face Leila. She’d ask where you were. She’d call him an idiot. Tell him she was an adult. Tell him to buy a ticket to Paris.

Why didn’t he go? He didn’t know. Was it really about leaving his sister?

What was it?

What was it?

The hospital room was cold. Sterile. Unwelcoming. The kind of air that stuck to your clothes and followed you home.

She shouldn’t be here. She should've been home. She should've been curled up on the couch with the crocheted blanket his grandmother made, calling for him to bring her tea, telling him he looked too thin.

Fuck, did he forget the blanket?

The monitors beeped in a steady hum. Nurses walked down the hallway as if it were just another day. Patients were wheeled to different departments of the hospital. Women are discharged to their pink-cheeked husbands, who hold flowers wilted from the heat.

Matt knew death didn’t stop the world from turning. Afghanistan taught him that. But this–this was his mother. Surely the world should’ve stopped for her.

He could only hide from it for so long.

You seemed fine. You were posting on social media, and he knew you made it off of your flight safely. He tracked it.

He knew he needed to find new work for another client. He couldn’t sit with it. He couldn’t bask in your absence; he needed to make a move. He needed to stand up. Stop being so soft.

He understood no one would compare to you. And couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing.

His phone buzzed. It was you.

“He wears fuck ass brown boots.”

Matt’s hand is shaking, and he laughs out loud. He messages you back immediately.

“You don’t like brown boots?”

“No. I like your boots.”

He types out I miss you, then deletes it.

His thumb hovers over the screen, useless.

Coward.

“You always made fun of my boots.”

You say it first.

“I miss you.”

It’s been a month.

The texts blur into calls, and the calls blur into ritual. Every night, your voice fills the line before bed. You always sound tired, soft, a little drunk sometimes. The time difference means you’re yawning while Matt’s still wired from the day. He hates that. Hates that your bodies aren’t resting at the same time. Hates that it feels like he’s missing whole pieces of you when he sleeps.

He’s afraid he isn’t going to remember what you look like. He knows it isn’t rational — it’s only been thirty days. Thirty days without you. But fear doesn’t listen to reason.

So he scrolls. Through your Instagram, through the paparazzi shots he pretends not to see. He screenshots every post, every story, every blurry picture you send him “just because.” He knows you get the notification. He doesn’t care. Maybe he wants you to know. Maybe it’s the only way he can say I miss you without saying it.

Then he sees it.

A man.

Holding you around the waist while you walk into a dimly lit bar. You haven’t mentioned anyone to him, and it’s been twenty-seven days of phone calls.

He knows it’s been twenty-seven days because he marks them down in his journal: every conversation, a list of times of the phone calls, who called whom first.

Day ten: You picked up the same ingredients he taught you to cook with. You said, “It didn’t compare to yours.”

Day fifteen: You called him first. You were tipsy and laughed at everything he said. You asked about Leila.

Twenty-one: He called you because he saw a billboard that reminded him of you. An artist you liked was dropping an album. He wanted to know if you knew – of course you did.

Day twenty-seven: You reminded him that he said “He would never fucking leave you.”

He rechecks his notes. Nothing. No mysterious man.

He stares at the photo until his vision blurs, until he’s surprised the image doesn’t burn itself into the screen. His chest tightens. Acid crawls up his throat. That ache in his gut won’t shut up — the one whispering he’s already lost you.

So when your name lights up his phone, he turns it face down on the table. Lets it buzz against the wood until it stops.

He doesn’t answer. Not that night.

“This isn’t a question. You’re going to go out with this guy. It’s final.” Your dad paced the apartment, watch too heavy on his wrist, eyes skimming over the dirty dishes stacked in the sink.

Being set up on a date by your father was the last thing you needed right now.

“I don’t even know this guy.” You huffed. “This is so fucking weird, Dad. I don’t understand why I have to do this.”

“I’m not going to have a depressed daughter—it’s bad for my look.” He stopped, corrected himself. “Your look.”

You laughed, sharp and ugly. “So when I go out, I’m reckless. I’m crazy. I can’t be trusted. But when I stay home, that’s wrong too?”

His jaw tightened. “You’re not going to end up like your mother. I won’t have it. You’re going on that date, or I cut you off.”

The words sank like stones. You wanted to scream that he was too late, that you already felt like her some days. Instead, you swallowed hard and nodded, because part of you knew he was bluffing—but you couldn’t risk it.

The guy wasn’t ugly. He wasn’t even rude. He was just nothing. Polite smiles, polite conversation, droning on about your dad’s cinematic “masterpieces” like he’d memorized a press kit. He said your dress was nice.

But you wanted him to tell you it was too short.

Like Matt would’ve.

One cocktail turned into three, and you were on your phone looking at pictures you took of Matt. With Matt. He always hated it when you took candid photos of him, but he just looked so handsome.

Your date didn’t seem interested in the pictures or the fact that you missed your bodyguard so much.

“Was he like your boyfriend or something?” Your date took a sip of room-temperature water.

“No,” You felt embarrassed. You put your phone away. You knew you were in love with someone who didn’t love you back, someone who couldn’t love you back, and now someone who was thousands of miles away from you. A vast ocean separating you.

You excused yourself. Said you needed the bathroom.

You step out into the Paris night, the cool air wrapping around your legs, the moon spilling silver over the cobblestones. You shouldn’t be out here like this. Alone. Drunk. Matt would kill you. Matt would’ve demanded to be on the date, shadowing every step, just to make sure.

Matt.

Your hands fumble through your bag until your phone slips, clattering against stone. You snatch it up, thumb trembling as you press his name.

You hold it to your ear. You wait for his voice. It should only be noon in California. He should answer. He always answers.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

The lump in your throat swells, hard and aching. He never misses a call. Ever.

Except tonight.

The streets of Paris go by you in slow motion. The phone rings in your head, buzzing throughout your brain. You don’t want to cry. You’ve cried so much, you've wasted so many tears on him. The phone rings and rings, and you don’t even know if you would realize if he picked up the phone. The voices in your head are so loud now, asking you why you’re doing this. He pulls away every time. Why can’t you just let go of him when he let go of you so easily?

You’ve lost count of how many times you hear a busy signal before you finally reach your apartment, reach your bed, holding your phone close to your chest so if it does ring, you’ll hear it, you won’t miss his call.

“Matt, you have to slow down.” Leila’s voice comes out of the phone speaker. “You said she’s in Paris? What are you talking about?”

“She moved.” He sniffles.

“Moved?! When? What the fuck, Matt?”

“It’s been a month.” His throat aches. “It’s been a month and she’s fucking with some random guy.” He paces.

Leila is quiet.

“She wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“I fucking know that, Leila.” He spits. “I’m sorry..I’m sorry.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I don’t feel like myself. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“You love her.” It’s simple.

“No, I don’t.” Matt shakes his head as if Leila can see him.

“Matt, I saw the way you looked at her. I’m not stupid.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t what?”

“Love her.” The words are strained coming out. “Fuck, she keeps calling me.”

“Why can’t you love her?”

“It’s just…it wasn’t appropriate. And you’re going to college now.” He mumbles through his lies.

“Don’t bullshit me, Matt. What is the real reason?”

Matt presses the heel of his palm into his eye socket, hard enough to see stars. The silence stretches until it feels like it chokes him.

He swallows. “Because the only woman I ever loved died. And I couldn’t save her.” His voice cracks. “If I let myself love her... what if something happens? What if I can’t protect her either?”

He’s crying now.

“All my friends I lost in Afghanistan–I couldn’t save them either. I can’t save anyone.”

On the other end of the line, Leila exhales. “Mom was sick, Matt. There was nothing you could’ve done. You can’t save everyone, that’s not your job, okay? So what are you going to do? Just to let her go because you’re too afraid to admit that you’re scared? Really? I’ve never even heard you cry…not even at Mom's funeral. And look at you. On the phone with me–me, who you don’t tell anything –crying over her.”

Silence stretches.

“Go to fucking Paris, Matt.”

Matt sinks onto the edge of his bed, the phone slippery in his hand. His chest feels hollow, scraped clean. For the first time since she left, the answer doesn’t feel impossible. It feels inevitable.

He opens his laptop. Searches flights. Paris.

He thanks Leila and hangs up the phone.

The Paris sun forces your eyes open, and you groan. Your phone attached to your sweaty chest, and you pry it off. It’s dead. You stumble around your apartment with one eye open, looking for your charger. You finally find it and plug it in.

You start up a pot of coffee and try to push your thoughts of Matt away. He’s done with you. With your antics. You were only a client to him, and you need to make peace with that. Maybe you’ll text that guy and apologize for leaving him, make up some flimsy excuse about being sick.

The coffee pot sloshes against the counter as your phone lights up.

You expect your father’s name. Another lecture, another disappointment.

But it isn’t him.

Matt: I’m coming.

You read it twice. Three times. Your pulse pounds in your ears. For the first time in weeks, you don’t feel tired.

[a/n: he's going to paris y'all! whenever i write anything i read it a million times until i hate it so i hope this chapter is fulfilling]

taglist: @y3sterdaysproblem @babyt0matoes @grace-sturnz @courta13 @sturnslutz @mattsdivaa @oopsiedaisydeer @iluvchr1s @pip4444chris @izzylovesmatt @sturniolofan-20 @hannahsturns @le4hsblog @silverspringsstare @chrattn1fan @xoxbunni @chrissturniolodailysluts @namelesssav @sorrybirds @meg-sturniolo @sturnwritess @sexyblkmf @mattsstarlet @sturniszn @mattsturnlover1 @hamzahsn1gf @matthewsdarlinggirl @pix3lsturniolo @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @wtfiamad1no @sturniolosluttt @they-luvaaliyah4 @ivysturnss @mattsdiamonds @everythingaboutbags @sippindietpepsii @lynniethe4thtriplet @mattsturnsangel @spaghettislut1 @mamaagirlbehindu123 @megsturn @sturniolosymphony @chriss-slutt @eeyore-of-100-acre-wood

OH MY GOD.

HOT DOCTORS N WET DREAMS matt sturniolo

“relax for me, yeah? just need to take a listen.”

his voice is calm, practiced, but it sinks into you like warmth against the sterile chill of the room. your shirt is already unbuttoned, his fingers brushing the fabric aside so he can press the cold metal of the stethoscope against your chest. icy blue eyes drop to your body, then back to your face, holding your gaze with a steady intensity that makes your breath catch.

“deep breath in,” he says, tone low but steady. his hand rests on your thigh, wedding band cool against your skin, colder still than the vinyl of the exam chair beneath you. “good… now let it out.” a hum of approval follows, quiet but firm as your body is responding exactly how he wants it to.

the room smells faintly sterile—alcohol swabs and disinfectant—but it’s his cologne that lingers strongest, subtle and warm as he leans closer.

he moves behind you, palm guiding your shoulder forward. the stethoscope slides to your back, chilled metal against bare skin, your shirt slipping lower with every movement. “breathe in,” he murmurs. “out.” he follows each inhale with faint praises, small hums that vibrate low in his throat.

you don’t realize when his lips replace the instrument, brushing against the curve of your neck. his other hand comes up to cradle just beneath your shoulder, holding you in place as his mouth leaves a trail of kisses along sensitive skin. his breath is warm against your ear when he whispers, “touch yourself for me.”

hesitation flickers, but it fades under his steady gaze. your hand drifts lower, and his approval is immediate, murmured against your jaw. “jus’ like that, sweetheart. mhm… there y’go.” each word pulls you deeper into the haze, his voice guiding your every move.

his hand smooths down your arm, firm and precise, before sliding over yours. long fingers slip past your own, pressing into you with a confidence that makes your back arch. he knows exactly how to curl them, how to apply the right amount of pressure that makes your head loll back against his shoulder. his precision is devastating, each motion deliberate.

your breathing grows ragged, thighs trembling as the edge creeps closer. his words never stop, low and gentle, urging you through it. “that’s it… i know, honey. i know.” you choke out that you’re about to let go—your voice a desperate whisper—but his reply is soft in your ear, pulling you off balance.

“but y’gotta wake up for me.”

your brows furrow, pleasure twisting with confusion. a whimper slips from your lips as he repeats it, firmer this time. “wake up.”

you blink—suddenly upright in the exam chair. the paper beneath you crackles as you shift. dr. sturniolo crouches at your side, smile tugging faintly at his mouth. “there y’go.”

heat floods your face as you sit up straighter. “i’m sorry, i must’ve fell asleep while wai—”

he stands, crossing the room with ease, rolling his sleeves higher as he pulls on a fresh pair of gloves. a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “imagining your visit with me before it even happened, huh?”

your gaze drops to the floor, sheepish, but you feel his eyes on you—teasing, flirty, impossible to ignore.

“alright now,” he says, returning to your side with a calm steadiness. “y’wanna go ’head n unbutton your shirt for me, honey?”

a/n: might jus make an official au for this… hold up

𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙!𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩 𝙭 𝙣𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙪

𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙!𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩

𝙣𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨:

𝘽𝙚𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚: 𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚

𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙙

𝙃𝙤𝙢𝙚

𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙨:

𝙩𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙨

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙢 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩

𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙!𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩 𝙗𝙤𝙩

𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙!𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩 𝙭 𝙣𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙪

𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙!𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩

𝙣𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨:

𝘽𝙚𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚: 𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚

𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙙

𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙨:

𝙩𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙨

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙢 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩

Off limits p. 2 - Matt Sturniolo

Part 1 here

Pairing: older sisters bf!Matt x innocent!reader

Summary: You’ve always had a small crush on your sister’s boyfriend. But you never acted on it, not until this summer, after you found out some things that changed everything.

Warnings: long plot?, cheating (I don’t condone cheating this is all fiction), teasing, age gap (Matt is 22 reader 18), virgin!reader, oral, lowkey mean!sister, kissing, fingering, pet names, clit spanking, “just the tip”, outercourse sex, p in v, virginity loss, sneaking around, unprotected sex, etc…

You should regret it.

You really should.

He’s not just anyone…he’s your sister’s boyfriend. Completely off limits. The one person you were never supposed to want, let alone touch. But the way he looked at you… it’s burned into your memory. The softness in his eyes, the way his voice dropped when he said your name, the way his lips felt against yours, and the way his hands moved across your skin, all of it plays on a loop in your head as you lie awake in bed. You barely slept. Every time you closed your eyes, it came back. Not just what happened… but that you didn’t pull away.

˖⋆࿐໋sub!emo!matt x smalltown!reader

ᝰ.ᐟ matt can’t keep his fingers out of his mouth…

warnings: smut, p in v, riding, verbal insults?, nail biting, implied established safe word.-lmk if I missed any

You were on top of him, as fucking always. Matt was a groaning, whimpering crying mess below you. His hands desperately pawed at your hips, needing something to hold onto.

“Hands to yourself Matt” you interrupted shoving them off

You bounced on his dick with ease, chasing the orgasm that you knew wasn’t coming anytime soon. But you still loved the way Matt stirred below you, teary eyed and sweaty. He was struggling to keep up and you knew it. Your hand tussled in his hair, grinning back down at his pathetic expression, the way his breath heaved with the added contact.

“i-I um mmf” Matt moaned helplessly trying to form a sentence

“Mmm what was that Matt?” You questioned mockingly, him only letting out a quiet sob in response.

“Pathetic” you hummed “fucking pathetic”

Your hand left its grip on his hair, travelling to his waist. Dragging your fingers in carful traces down his sides as he squirmed in desperation.

“Mmf-f-fuck y/n stop i-i can’t” Matt cried holding your wrists tightly as he stared up at you with a pleading look. “I-im gonna c-mmf cum if y-ou keep doing that” he practically sobbed “t-too soon f-fuck”

You giggled at his pleas but he was right, the torture would have him untied in seconds if your continued, and you weren’t there yet. Which was exactly why you didn’t stop. You shushed him gently, continuing you soft strokes of your hand past his stomach and chest, his skin twitching through every move.

“I-i can’t hold it mmf fuck im s-sorry” he groaned, Matt had used all his willpower lasting as long as he did but this was his tipping point.

“S’alright Matt let it go” you smiled at him, pace of your hips unwavering.

Within seconds of your words Matt’s hands were gripping his sheets desperately as he finished with a loud sobbing moan. You however didn’t stop, or even slow as you continued to grind down on him, his release guiding even smoother movements of your hips. As the stimulation continued Matt squirmed desperately, looking up at you with pleading eyes, chest nearly concaving.

“I-im done why are y-you still going” Matt questioned meekly, trying to hold back the whimpers leaving his open lips. You chuckled dryly at his plea, your hand pressing down his chest to still his arching.

“I’m not done though? Am I Matt?” You snap, picking up the pace of your hips. His squirms intensifying.

Your legs pinned his together as he kicked and thrashed underneath you. He knew he could make you stop if he needed to, but he didn’t, you knew how much he secretly loved this. Matt arched his back desperately, his dick pushing further into you, your pace slowing but intensified.

“I-it hurts” Matt whimpered below you, his eyes staring anywhere but your face.

“You’re fine” you mutter with a cruel roll of your eyes. It probably did hurt, but you were ok with that.

You began to feel yourself getting closer, throwing your head back from the sudden increase of pleasure. Matt stared up at you mesmerised, he loved watching you like this, his cheeks flushing a dark red as his gaze locked on your blissed expression.

Just as the pressure intensified from your growing orgasm, Matt begin to feel the knot in his stomach return. Small, weak moans left his lips as he stared up at you, your gaze eventually falling to ment his. The eye contact only grew the well of pleasure that was building in him, it somehow scared him, and you loved it.

Matt’s shaking hand moved to his mouth as he weakly bit this thumbnail, just as he always did when he was nervous. His eyes fell from your view, looking down to his hand has he tried to focus on not going red. His thumb failed to stifle the cries and whimpers that left his lips, his oncoming collapse becoming obvious.

“Get your fucking hand out of your mouth Matt” you spat, pulling his thumb away from his own grip. You shook your head tauntingly at his pitiful state, the smirk you were hiding poking through the corners of your mouth.

“I-im sorry-fuck you just make me nervous” he huffed with embarrassment.

“Good” you grinned as your pace quickened.

ᝰ.ᐟ a/n: yayy first mini fic for the au!! These fics/blurbs/etc won’t be in any kind of order so feel free when requesting to ask for different time frames, aka before they met, when they were just friends, and so on. Also don’t be shy to ask for genres other than smut, I also love writing fluff and angst :)

divider creds: @bernardsbendystraws

taglist: @mattilda987 @lolastrniolo @courta13

SONGS BY…. SOMBR, FANFIC MARATHON.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 warnings - this will contain mentions of death, detailed smut, aloooottt of fluff.

0.1 ⋆𐙚 back to friends - chris

0.2 ⋆𐙚 makes me want you - chris

0.3 ⋆𐙚 undressed - matt

0.4 ⋆𐙚 never find u - matt

0.5 ⋆𐙚 my house is warm - chris

0.6 ⋆𐙚 we never dated - chris

0.7 ⋆𐙚 in your arms - matt

0.8 ⋆𐙚 would’ve been you - matt

0.9 ⋆𐙚 savior - chris

10 ⋆𐙚 i’ll remember tonight - matt

inspo : @mattsangelbaby & @delilahsturniolo

note : i don’t have a specific date for posts so ill just write when i feel motivated!

I CANT WAIT

guardianangel!reader.

paranoid!matt.

tags✞︎: @mattslilies @heartsonlyforchris @ifwdominicfike @izzylovesmatt

do you want to be an angel? do you want to be pure? click here! ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

┃ ⋆.˚ ★— back tattoo

“turn around.. get on your knees.” matt murmurs, his breaths coming out as gasps as he pats your hip.

you had met matt at a party. you weren’t expecting anything, but now here you were, naked and laying on a random bed, matt pounding into you. you didn’t think it would be anything but a one night stand. a quick meet and fuck.

you quickly nod as you roll over, letting matt pull out and lean back on his heels. you roll over onto your knees, propping yourself up on your hands as you let out a breath.

matt quickly pushes himself back on his knees, one of his hands finding your hip as the other positions himself into you.

the second he’s back in you, his hips are colliding against your backside, his other hand finding his way to your hips again. moans and groans escape your lips as you grip the blankets on the bed, your chest rising and falling with your breaths.

but then he slows his pace suddenly, his grip on your hips loosening. your brows furrow as curiosity fills you. you slowly turn your head around to look at matt only to see him looking down at your back.

specifically your back tattoo.

“its- beautiful..” matt says, his voice a soft whisper.

“you say that like you’re questioning it.” you whisper back, letting out a soft breath of relief as you realize you didn’t do anything wrong.

matt rolls his eyes, letting out a soft murmur you couldn’t understand before moving one of his hands to your back, letting his digits run over the black ink.

“any reason for this design?” he asks, curiosity getting the best of him.

you couldn’t help but smile at his question, nodding softly. “the butterfly is my moms favorite animal. the flowers were my dad’s favorite.”

he hums and nods, his eyes darting up to look at you before back at the tattoo. “cute.”

he begins to softly thrust back into you, his fingers beginning to trace the black lines, as if he was drawing it out for you.

“you should let me color it in with markers one day.” he whispers, leaning down to kiss the top of your back, where the tattoo begins. and then you realize, this wouldn’t just be a one night stand.

tattoo inspo here.

STOP THIS IS SO CUTE

warnings: slight angst (it's not terrible, i promise)

-

chapter 4: acknowledge me.

-

you stayed in the basement. for hours, curled up in the corner you had started to find comfort in. small polaroids hung up on the wall underneath the stairs, ones which you took down every time the real estate agent came back.

sometimes you hated seeing how happy you used to be. it was like a reminder that you'd never get that life back.

you tried to brush that off though, letting out a huff before you leaned against the wall, knees pulled up to your chest.

you felt like you were going crazy. and maybe you were. being dead would drive any normal person insane.

your eyes glanced back up at the photos, taking in every detail like you had done countless times before. you studied photos of your old best friend, one of your old bandmates. one of you and your parents.

you felt a slight pang in your chest.

a feeling of envy soon creeped up in your bones again.

how come he, and everyone else was free, and you weren't?

it wasn't fair.

that's when you got an idea. kill him.

"goddamnit, y/n, you can't do that shit..." you muttered quietly to yourself as you slowly peeled up from the ground.

-

you needed to make yourself known, and that was your only goal. get attention. from someone, it doesn't matter who.

you walked up the stairs of the basement, still wringing through your thoughts for answers. what were you even supposed to do?

you sighed softly, prying the door open before heading up the stairs to Matt's room again. you slowly, albeit hesitantly opened his door.

oops.

coincidentally, you came in at the exact wrong time. he was in the middle of changing. your eyes immediately averted downwards, not wanting to invade privacy.

you heard a loud scoff coming from him.

"seriously, dude! get lost, i don't want to talk to you!" he said angrily, shooing you out of his room after he got his pants back on.

there it was, that same pang in your chest. your brows furrowed slightly as you looked back up at him.

"why?.." you asked quietly, your voice slightly breaking.

"you're weird! don't you understand that?" he spoke harshly.

"sorry." you murmured, not meaning it. no, you didn't mean it at all.

instead of pushing more, you turned back around. you bit down harshly on your lip as you headed back down to the basement.

you practically collapsed on the ground under the stairs, tears already welling in your eyes.

maybe he was right.

stupid.

weird.

unwanted.

and that was fine, you supposed. you'd be pissed off too, if you had ghosts in your house.

you felt a warm, salty tear run down your cheek. your hand immediately came up to wipe it away, not used to the amount of vulnerability you were experiencing.

maybe you believed him.

maybe you didn't.

maybe you wanted to believe that you weren't that bad. even if you were unwanted.

-

a/n: i need to catch up on the other au guys ...

-

pervy!bsf!chris x innocent!bsf!reader

᧔•᧓ content warning: smut, innocence corrpution, oral (m!receiving), semi-public/risky (under the table stuff), praise/degradation

᧔•᧓ summary: your mom invites chris to stay for dinner. she's in the kitchen, cooking the food and making small talk with him, but what she doesn't know is you're on your knees under the kitchen table!

Creeping

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 |

[ click to return to navigation ]

customer!matt x stripper!reader

🎀 content warning: smut, lap dance, role play, fingering, oral (f!receiving) unprotected sex, praise, pussy worship, exchange of money for sex

🎀 summary: while working a busy night at your local strip club, you see a familiar face in the crowd, but the two of you pretend not to know each other for the night

warnings: girl idk probably none

-

chapter 3: ghosts are real?

-

"you seriously don't get it, do you?" you

scoffed, tilting your head slightly as you stared straight into his baby blues.

"get what?.." he asked quietly, his brows furrowing.

"i'm can't leave." you said harshly. "i can prove it to you."

his brows raised slightly at your remark. "then prove it." he scoffed back.

that's how the next half hour went. front door wide open, the back door opening and closing as you kept walking in and out. you were utterly exhausted, getting tired of the same bullshit over and over again. once you got back inside, you sighed.

"do you believe me yet, dumbass?" you asked, forcing a small, sarcastic snicker.

Matt stood there, dumbfounded as he tried to process what was happening.

"so, like.." he trailed off. "how?"

"i died here." you said bluntly, watching as Matt's eyes widened.

"w-what?" he asked quietly. "so, you're dead. you're a ghost. and you're...you're haunting my house." he stated to himself.

"i'm not haunting you.." you muttered quietly, slightly offended by his words. "just...you looked kinda interesting, so i decided to make myself known.." you shrugged.

Matt nodded slowly. "right...not haunting me, yet a ghost trapped in my house."

"you're taking this a lot better than I thought you would be.." you said softly. "you into ghosts or somethin'?" you tilted your head like a curious puppy.

"fuck no!" matt exclaimed, immediately shaking his head. "just because i'm not scared of you, doesn't mean i'm into you!" he scoffed defensively.

"right," you rolled your eyes. "and i'm the goddamn president." you crossed your arms, giving him a slight glare.

"i'm serious, i'm not into you." his brows furrowed slightly as he spoke. "just--" he sighed. "go away, will you?"

"ouch." you muttered. "how cold." you teased. "yeah, yeah, whatever...i'll leave you alone." you groaned softly, trying to make him feel guilty.

you were good at putting on a show, that was for sure. the pout on your lips, the look in your eyes, as if you were desperate for him to let you stay.

he muttered quietly to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. "fine, do whatever you want. just stop bothering me." he said harshly

"fine," you grumbled. "i'll leave you alone."

-

your next hours were spent in the basement, in the same corner you'd been living in for the past...however many years. felt like a lifetime, and which, for some it is.

you were overthinking, you acknowledged as you anxiously picked at the skin of your lips. you felt the cold blood escape the fresh wounds. not that you cared, since it wasn't causing any pain.

how were you going to get through to him?

that was the only question on your mind. you had several ideas, but none of them seemed right.

maybe you just had to wait for him to acknowledge you again. for him to finally start acting like he cared that there were ghosts in his house.

and maybe, just maybe will you finally have company.

-

a/n: i apologize for taking so long with this, my nonexistent audience !

-