sunsturns

[sunsturns]

AFTERCARE DELUXE ⊹ ࣪ ˖

𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦��𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐧

✮⋆˙ LOVE LOOKS PRETTY ON YOU ⋆˚࿔ 𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 - 𝒸𝓈

✮⋆˙ DOES GOD CRY? ⋆˚࿔ 𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 - 𝓂𝓈

✮⋆˙ BLUE VALENTINE ⋆˚࿔ 𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟏𝟐𝐭𝐡 - 𝓂𝓈

✮⋆˙ KEEP YOUR EYES ON ME BOY ⋆˚࿔ 𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟏𝟑𝐭𝐡 - 𝒸𝓈

✮⋆˙ AMERICAN BEAUTY ⋆˚࿔ 𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟏𝟒𝐭𝐡 - 𝓂𝓈

✮⋆˙ BREAKFAST IN BED ⋆˚࿔ 𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟏𝟓𝐭𝐡 - 𝒸𝓈

[sunsturns]

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐀 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀

robot!chris takes a nap with his head under your shirt

fog grew over the scene outside of your window. the bright leaves on the gathering of trees became dull, almost missable. it had been a long day for both of you, but especially Chris.

the temperature had climbed immensely towards midday, Chris burned most of his energy trying not to overheat. and he was tired.

you chuckled every time you glanced at the chris-shaped blushed under your top. his lips teased against your chest, showing a whole lot of love between your tits.

but as the hours went by, as you turned the pages of your textbook, the kisses subsided, easing into nothing but warm, even breaths against your skin.

his parts hummed, soft hairs tussled under pale fabric. he stirred slightly, shifting when you scratched the sweet spot behind what you could make out to be his ear.

“y’not claustrophobic in there?” you whispered, earning a head shake from Chris. your shirt rode up, the hem now dancing along your diaphragm.

“mh…no. i love it. it’s the nice kind of warm.”

his eyelashes fluttered, leaving your skin tingly. a grin revealed itself on your face, back easing into the pillow behind you when his nose pressed against you, lip catching a nipple.

“hh…chris—”

“sorry, it seems i got carried away. would you like me to stop?”

and for some reason, a reason you could think up later, you weren’t planning on saying yes.

okay here it is, i am so tired so i’m heading to sleep but enjoy !! btw i dont think claustrophilia is a real word gang.

- ©phone4pills

[sunsturns]

FUCK YOU TO SLEEP ࣭ ⭑ ( ｡ featuring . . . bookstore owner!matt && insomniac!reader ⸝⸝ 𑁍ࠬܓ

⁺˖ ⸝⸝ soft smut, unprotected sex, exhaustion, soft aftercare, gentle praise kink, reader-focused pleasure, etc.

it’s 2:08 am when you hear the soft creak of your apartment door pushing open, then the quiet click as it shuts again. you’re still lying on your side, curled beneath the thin sheet, eyes heavy but stubbornly open. matt’s footsteps are light—barely audible—but you know it’s him before he says anything. he doesn’t need to announce himself. you feel his presence in the room like the warm buzz of electricity, something soft but grounding.

he drops his bag by the wall, peels off his shirt without a word. there’s no urgency in the way he moves, only ease, like this is second nature. and it is—he’s been coming over on your sleepless nights for weeks now. your body instinctively shifts back, making room as he slips into bed beside you, one arm sliding beneath your head, the other wrapping over your middle.

you let out a small sigh, tucking yourself into his chest, nose brushing against the slope of his collarbone. his skin smells like lavender detergent and old books, the familiar scent comforting enough to draw a quiet hum from your throat. the two of you lie there for a while, tangled up in warm silence. he rubs slow circles into your hip with the pads of his fingers, his voice low as he mumbles about closing the shop early and how a first edition came in that reminded him of you.

after thirty minutes, you groan, frustrated, and push your face into his neck. “my body is so tired,” you murmur, voice small and pouty, “but i can’t fall asleep no matter how hard i try. i just wanna go to sleep, matt.” his hand stills, and he turns his head toward you. his voice is soft, barely more than a whisper. “you want me to put you to sleep?” you nod, expecting him to reach for the worn book he keeps on your shelf—the one he reads from when nothing else works. but instead, he shifts, flipping your body beneath his in one slow, seamless motion.

he settles between your thighs, the heat of him sinking into your skin. one arm wraps snugly under your waist, pulling your hips closer, while his other hand cups your jaw gently. he leans down, nose brushing along your neck before his lips press to the base of it.

he starts slow, open-mouthed kisses dragging over your pulse point, lingering there until your breath hitches. he sucks softly at your sweet spot, teeth grazing, tongue smoothing over the mark. a needy little whine slips past your lips, and he hums against your skin like he’s proud of himself.

then his mouth trails down, tugging your tee up as he moves, until it rests bunched beneath your arms. he kisses down the valley of your chest, mouthing at the soft curve of each breast, sucking gently at the skin until it’s damp and warm. you arch toward him, toes curling when his teeth graze your nipple.

he doesn’t rush. doesn’t fumble. just slides your shorts down your legs in one slow pull, leaving you bare beneath him. he pushes his sweats and boxers down to his thighs, dick thick and already hard, tip nudging softly at your clit.

he drags it through your slit a few times, slow and deliberate, teasing you with a lazy rhythm that makes your hips twitch. you gasp when he finally pushes in, his eyes locked on yours, mouth parted as he sinks into you.

“there you go, baby” he whispers, brushing his nose against yours, “doin’ good already.” he moves slow, rocking into you with deep, steady thrusts, like he’s got nowhere to be but here—like he’s trying to fuck the tension right out of your bones. your breath hitches, and your back arches.

“shh, jus’ go to sleep, baby, i got you,” he murmurs against your mouth. you whimper, hands clinging to his shoulders as he keeps his pace. every roll of his hips is controlled and loving, his eyes never leaving your face. he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your temple, his thumbs cradling your skin as you start to unravel beneath him.

“i know you’re tired, kid,” he breathes, voice hoarse, “go to sleep f’me, yeah?” you moan his name, soft and shaky, and he kisses your lips again, slow and warm and full of care. your body trembles as the pleasure builds, soft waves of heat curling through your belly.

“jus’ lemme fuck you right to sleep,” he says, still brushing his thumbs across your face, like he’s soothing you even in the middle of all this.

you cum with a soft cry, thighs shaking around his waist, mouth falling open as your nails dig gently into his back. your eyes flutter, and your breathing slows, the tension in your muscles melting into stillness. you fall asleep with him still inside you, forehead resting against his, body loose and warm beneath his weight.

he doesn’t move for a moment—just watches you with a small smile, his heart aching in the best way. then, careful not to wake you, he slips out, kisses the inside of your thigh, and gets up. a moment later, he returns with a damp towel, gently cleaning you up, whispering apologies every time your body flinches. he slides your shorts back on, kisses your knee, then climbs into bed again.

you murmur his name sleepily, curling toward him without fully waking. he wraps his arms around you, pulls you into his chest, and kisses the top of your head.

“always know how to put my baby to sleep,” he whispers.

𖥔﹒ 🎋 from the grove: mimi speaks ˇ ⋆ ╱ did you guys miss my writing?? (say yes or i'll deactivate) 🥰

taglist ;ଓ @japblogs @courta13 @spookysturnz @sturniolo-szn2 @theowensturniolo @jvngle18 @chrisgirltilidie2 @urfavvbilliemunch @devotedlyteenagemusic @sturnsflirt @chriss-slut @oopsiedaisydeer @fawnsprings @mattsd0llfac3 @matthewswifeyy @chrisbambi @mivogjk @adorechris @evansturn @skibidisturniolo @babyt0matoes @vxmp42 @izzylovesmatt @silverspringsstare @sturniszn @blahbel668 @angelbabychris @lvrsturniolo @favsdti @sturniphone

[sunsturns]

boyfriend matt being lovey dovey

warnings : just lots of fluff!

authors note : i absolutely adore writing, but this is something I definitely won’t do often. Also thank you for 100 followers :)

The rain had been coming down for hours, a steady hum against the windows that turned the whole apartment into a soft cocoon. The kind of day that made the outside world feel a little less real, like it could wait until tomorrow.

You were curled up on the couch, one blanket draped over your legs, another tucked over your shoulders, scrolling lazily through your phone. It wasn’t that you were waiting for Matt—you’d seen him earlier that morning before he left—but something about the rain always made you want him here, close enough to reach out and touch.

The front door clicked open, and you peeked over the top of the blanket. Matt stepped in, hoodie up, hair damp from the mist outside. He kicked off his shoes, hung up his jacket, and finally turned toward you with that familiar, crooked smile.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and warm, like he’d been waiting all day to be here too.

“Hey,” you replied, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

Matt crossed the room in a few easy steps, tossing his phone onto the coffee table and lowering himself beside you. The couch dipped under his weight, and without a word, he pulled at the blanket until there was enough for him to slip under.

“You’re cold,” you murmured, feeling the chill of his fingers brushing yours.

“Then warm me up,” he said softly, a little smirk in his voice.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t hesitate, letting him wrap his arms around you. He pressed himself in close, tucking his face into the curve of your neck. His hoodie smelled faintly like rain and that cologne he swore he didn’t wear every day, but you knew better.

Matt let out a long breath, the kind that seemed to empty out all the leftover tension from being out in the world. “This is better,” he murmured against your skin.

“Than what?” you asked.

“Than anything.” His voice was quiet, almost shy, but his arms tightened around you.

You felt yourself melt a little at that. It was always like this with Matt—he wasn’t loud about how he cared, but when it slipped through in moments like this, it hit you harder than anything else.

The two of you settled deeper into the couch, your legs tangled under the blanket. Matt shifted until his head was resting against your chest, and you could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. Outside, the rain kept falling, a soft percussion to the warmth between you.

You reached up to card your fingers through his hair, the damp strands curling slightly from the weather. “You’re getting my hoodie wet,” you teased.

He hummed, not moving. “Worth it.”

For a while, there wasn’t much talking. Just the occasional sigh, the gentle brushing of his thumb over your hand, the quiet comfort of knowing neither of you needed to be anywhere else. You traced small shapes on his back, and every so often, he’d press a tiny kiss to your collarbone or the side of your jaw, like he couldn’t help himself.

At one point, Matt shifted enough to look up at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and warm. “You’re staring,” he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Am not,” you lied instantly.

“Yeah, you are.” He grinned now, just enough to show that dimple you loved. “It’s cute.”

You felt your face heat up, which only made him chuckle before pulling you back down against him. “Don’t worry,” he added. “I stare at you too.”

The rain started to slow, but neither of you made any move to get up. The world could wait. Matt’s fingers were linked with yours under the blanket, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart where his chest pressed to your side. Every so often, his thumb would brush against your knuckles, a small, grounding gesture.

Eventually, you felt him relax even more, his breathing deepening until you realized he was on the edge of sleep. His grip stayed gentle but constant, like even in dreams he didn’t want to let go.

You pressed a light kiss to his hair and whispered, “I love you.”

He didn’t open his eyes, but you heard the softest reply, muffled against you. “Love you more.”

The rain outside had nearly stopped now, leaving just the quiet drip of water from the roof and the faint glow of streetlights through the curtains. The couch was warm, the blanket was soft, and Matt was right there, tucked against you like he belonged.

And in that moment, with his arms still holding you close and the world shut out beyond the window, you were sure there was nowhere else either of you would rather be.

second authors note : I hope this made someone smile today!! I also adore matt so much ughh!!

tags 💌 - no one yet! But here’s some random ones!! @bernardsbendystraws @bernardsberries @luvs4matt @777freshlove @fawnquette @spookysturnz @nickssidewitch @spookysturniolo @sturniphone @sturnsrecord @sturnsflirt @sturniolotoast @httpssturns @mattscoquette

[sunsturns]

pairing . . . buttercup.ᐟreader && bluecollar.ᐟchris ۶ৎ

⚠︎ warnings: none! 𓏲 summary: Chris comes back from a job exhausted and absolutely filthy, and he cant do anything about it but let you baby him ⋆.˚ au masterlist ۶ৎ main masterlist

As soon as Chris gets home, you’re all over him. But not in the way that you would think, no, not at all.

You have him sat on the couch, doting over him with antiseptic and bandaids with little bears on them and wipes, totally overbearing but yet so utterly cute.

“Buttercup, I told you, m’fine. S’just a little scratch.” Chris huffs softly, his exhaustion apparent even through the exasperated—and quite amused—tone of voice.

“No, you’re not. You said you were helping the neighbors, it looks like you got in a brawl with the forest!” You pout, dabbing over the cut right in his eyebrow with a cotton pad.

The more you clean him up, the more adorable you appear, with the furrow in your brow from concentration, the whiney undertone of your voice as you berate him about being more careful. It’s just so you. And quite frankly, just you in general is just plain adorable.

Chris hisses softly as he feels you run antiseptic over another cut, “Pretty girl, mind being a bit more careful with that stuff? It burns like hell,”

You gasp at his words, immediately planting kisses around the injured area but careful to avoid the surface. “I’m so sorry baby, I didn't mean to hurt you!” You whine softly, tugging his face closer to yours.

Chris only chuckles at your concerned expression, cupping your face in response and pressing a quiet kiss to your nose.

“S’fine baby, you’re such a worrier.”

“I have to worry, you’re my baby!” You counter, scooting closer to him on his lap and holding him close.

At your words, Chris’ face dusts a light pink, and he quickly tries to cover it with a turn of his head and a grumble of his voice.

“I am not a baby,” he mumbles under his breath, “Yes you are, you're my baby, there's a difference.” You coo with a laugh, kissing his forehead.

“Only your baby here, okay?” Chris relents, sighing in defeat. “I cannot be teased by the guys at work. So no saying that when you bring me lunch or I'll have to bring my own.”

You only giggle, pecking his lips with yours before murmuring a soft “Don’t worry, everyone already knows you’re my baby.”

Chris lets out a surprised chuckle, pulling back to narrow his eyes at you. “You are so ridiculous,”

You tilt your head in mock-confusion, before breaking the facade and laughing harder. “Well, i’m your ridiculous.”

Chris pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m your baby, and you're my ridiculous. What a good combo.”

“The greatest,” You tease, nudging your nose against his.

“You’re lucky I think you’re cute.” He snorts, locking his eyes with yours as he continues to cradle your face.

“You love me and you know it,”

“Unfortunately.”

“Chris!” You squeal, looking at him with fake anger before raining kisses down on his face, everywhere you can reach is being touched by your lips.

“Okay kissy monster, let's see how you can handle this!” He taunts before his fingers are scittering around your skin, tickling and poking at your soft flesh until you’re almost crying with laughter.

When he finally relents on his ticklish assault, you both are giggly messes, you on top of his lap and resting your head on his chest, both of your bodies still shaking in harmony with laughter.

This. This is what he goes out there for. This is why he does the work that he does, for you, and he’d do a million more each day just to get you in the end.

Because you are his everything.

Dividers by @enchanthings-a

۶ৎ Soph's notes: ok so the fic layout is looking different!!! I am not changing my layout for regular fics, but I think I like this layout better for my aus! I hope you liked this little fic/blurb thing, send asks about them!! id love to build their lore.

[sunsturns]

ᩘ: | ⋆  𓂅 ﹒ ⌗ sturnentries ⌇ ❛ 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ❜ ──── a dom!chris && sub!reader prompt ⸝⸝ featuring inexperienced!matt ݂ ֔ . ⋮ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 :: sexual content, fingering, instructional scenario, voyeurism, explicit language, sexual tension between siblings (non-incestual focus—both with reader), more. ゛⁴⁴⁴

Matt wasn’t exactly shy, but he wasn’t as bold as his brother. He had an easy charm, the kind that made people comfortable, but when it came to certain things… he hesitated. You’d noticed it before—the way his gaze would drop when the topic of sex came up, or how he’d shift in his seat when his friends tossed crude jokes around. So when Chris told you, in that casually smug tone of his, that Matt had never pleasured a girl before, it made perfect sense.

“It came up the other night,” Chris had said, leaning against your counter like he was relaying gossip. “We were talkin’, and he admitted it. Said he’s never even touched one like that. Figured I could give him a hand.” His smirk had deepened at the choice of words, like he knew exactly where your mind would go.

You’d tilted your head, pretending not to care as much as you did. “And what… you’re gonna give him a pep talk?”

Chris’s eyes had sharpened on you, reading you like he always did. “I was thinkin’ more of a demonstration.”

It should’ve shocked you, but it didn’t—mostly because the thought of Matt, uncertain and eager to learn, had been sitting in the back of your mind for months. You’d never said it outright, but Chris had noticed. Of course he had. He’d caught the way your eyes would linger on Matt when the three of you hung out, following the little quirks in his expressions. He’d noticed the way your thighs would subtly press together whenever Matt would stretch his arms above his head or lean too close to look at something on your phone.

“You’ve been into him,” Chris had said one night, no room for denial in his tone. “Don’t bother arguing. I can see it. You look at him different. Not like you look at me.”

You’d rolled your eyes, heat curling low in your stomach. “And? You jealous?”

Chris had only grinned, leaning in close enough for his breath to brush your ear. “Not at all. m’just sayin’… if m’gonna teach him, you’re the perfect example.”

It wasn’t a hard sell. The way Chris laid it out, it sounded almost… harmless. Matt would watch. Chris would explain. Nothing more unless you wanted it. And the more you thought about it, the more you realized you did want it—the idea of Matt seeing you like that, hearing the sounds he could pull from you, felt heady and reckless in a way you couldn’t resist.

Which is how you ended up here, sitting on the very edge of the bed, bottom half bare, the soft cotton of your tank top bunched up under your armpits. Chris knelt between your parted thighs, his frame taking up the space in front of you with the same easy dominance he always carried. Matt sat just to the side, knees on the floor, eyes fixed and unblinking as if committing every detail to memory.

Chris glanced at him, the corner of his mouth curving. “Pay attention. Lesson one’s important.”

Chris’s words seemed to make Matt stiffen, his shoulders squaring as if he was trying to play it cool. But you could see it—the way his jaw worked, the faint pull of his bottom lip between his teeth, the slight fidget in his hands against his thighs. He was nervous. Curious, but nervous.

“Relax,” Chris told him without looking away from you. His hands settled on your knees, thumbs brushing in slow, grounding circles. “She’s not gonna bite.” He shot you a glance, smirk deepening. “Unless you want her to.”

Matt exhaled a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but his gaze never left your body. You could feel the weight of it, heavier than you’d imagined—like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from this close.

Chris’s fingers slid upward, firm but unhurried, tracing the soft curve of your thighs until his palms cupped them. “First thing you gotta know,” he said, voice steady and deliberate, “is that you don’t jus’ dive in. You take your time. Make her want it.” He leaned in, catching your chin with a hooked finger. “You want it, don’t you?”

Your voice caught, but you nodded, the answer enough for him.

Chris’s hand rose, two fingers pressing lightly against your lips. “Gotta make sure she’s ready f’you—and sometimes, you can use her to get her ready too. Open.”

You parted your lips, letting his middle and ring finger slip past. The taste of him was faint but warm, and you swirled your tongue around them without thinking. Chris’s eyes flicked to Matt, making sure he was watching. “See that? Don’t just stick ‘em in dry. Give her a second. Make it feel good first.”

When he pulled his fingers from your mouth, they trailed down your chin, your neck, your stomach, until they dipped between your thighs. He didn’t hesitate, slipping inside you with a slow, deliberate push that made your back arch.

“That’s it,” Chris murmured, watching the way your lips parted around a quiet gasp. “Let her feel you. Not too fast at first.” His fingers curled slightly, dragging against a spot that had your breath stuttering. “Sometimes slow works best… makes her crave more.”

You could feel Matt’s stare like heat against your skin, but you didn’t dare look at him—you knew what you’d see there. His breathing had changed, heavier now, like he was matching yours without meaning to.

Chris’s pace shifted, quicker now, his palm brushing against you with each thrust. “Or, you speed it up when she’s ready for it.” Your moans rose with his tempo, thighs twitching in instinct. When they started to close around his wrist, his free hand pressed them back apart. “Aht, aht. Don’t run from it.”

He looked at Matt again, voice smooth but edged with command. “You hear that? That little change in her voice? Means she likes it faster. Y’understanding?”

Matt’s nod was sharp, his eyes locked on where Chris’s hand was working you open, watching the slick shine coat his brother’s skin. “Yeah,” he said, voice lower than before, almost rough.

Chris smirked. “Good. We’re not done yet.”

Chris adjusted his hand slightly, angling his fingers upward until they brushed against a spot deep inside that made your breath catch in your throat. “This right here,” he said, his tone slow and deliberate, “is where you’ll wreck her. s’not about how hard you go—s’about findin’ this and keepin’ her right there.”

Your body trembled at the steady, deliberate pressure, every drag of his fingertips sending jolts through your core. You couldn’t help the sounds leaving you, soft at first but growing sharper, higher, as he kept the exact same rhythm.

Matt shifted beside you, leaning in without realizing it. His breathing was heavier now, hands curled into loose fists against his thighs as though he didn’t trust himself to move them. His eyes flicked between your face and where Chris’s hand disappeared between your legs.

“How do you know when she’s y’know... close?” Matt asked, voice low but cutting through the sound of your shaky exhales.

Chris didn’t miss a beat. “You’ll feel it,” he answered, fingers curling with a little more insistence. “She’ll get tighter around you—see how she’s squeezin’ me now?—and her hips will start chasing it. That’s when you keep her there until she falls apart.”

Your hips did shift toward him, chasing that friction he was giving so perfectly, your head tipping back against the mattress. Chris’s smirk deepened, like your reaction was the punctuation to his point.

Then he pulled his hand back, just enough to make you whine. “Think you’re ready to try?” he asked Matt, tone casual, but his eyes glinting with challenge.

Matt froze. “You… wan’ me to—?”

Chris nodded once. “C’mere. Start slow. She’s already worked up f’you.”

You swallowed, heat flooding through you as Matt hesitated for only a moment before moving closer. Chris guided his wrist, the warmth of Matt’s hand tentative as it rested against your thigh. “Feel that?” Chris murmured, pressing Matt’s fingers lower until they brushed against your slick folds. Matt’s breath stuttered audibly. “She’s warm, yeah? Don’t be afraid of it. Slide two fingers in, middle and ring.”

Matt did as he was told, his touch careful at first, pushing into you with a caution that made you shiver in a different way. Chris stayed close, his palm resting lightly on the back of Matt’s hand, adjusting the angle just enough to make you gasp.

“There you go,” Chris said, voice smooth with approval. “Now curl ‘em up—good—right there. Keep that pace. Watch her face, listen to her. She’ll tell you without saying a word.”

Matt’s eyes darted up to you then, locking onto your expression, and something in his own seemed to shift—his jaw tightening, his fingers pressing just a little more firmly inside you. The nervousness was still there, but it was buried under something new, something darker.

You let out a breathless moan, and Chris chuckled under his breath. “Lesson one complete.” His gaze flicked between you and Matt. “Think you’re ready for lesson two?”

back to 𓂅 ⊹ navigation ⸝⸝ taglist ©STURNENTRIES all rights reserved ︵ ⊹. 08/09/25

──── @fmalewokk ⸝⸝ @lyingonchris ⸝⸝ @macsangel

[sunsturns]

🪽 𝓐𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝑫𝑬𝑳𝑼𝑿𝑬 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 ୨୧

presented to you by @luvs4matt ㅤ ♡

☆ . aftercare . . . tbd

☆ . pornstar . . . m.s

☆ . heartbeat . . . tbd

☆ . disco . . . tbd

☆ . passenger princess . . . tbd

☆ . mustang baby . . . tbd

☆ . russian roulette . . . tbd

☆ . s.l.u.t . . . tbd

☆ . babydoll . . . tbd

☆ . given enough . . . tbd

☆ . edward scissorhands . . . tbd

☆ . glitter and violence . . . tbd

☆ . pins and needles . . . tbd

☆ . stay alive . . . tbd

☆ . dirty little secret . . . c.s

✮ . love looks pretty on you . . . tbd

✮ . does god cry? . . . tbd

✮ . blue valentine . . . tbd

✮ . keep your eyes on me boy . . . tbd

✮ . american beauty . . . tbd

✮ . breakfast in bed . . . tbd

౨ৎ things to know about this writing special ౨ৎ

© luvs4matt 🎧ྀི tag list

album writing marathon concept originally by @delilahsturniolo !! this is not a marathon but i wouldn’t be thinking to do this special if it wasn’t for lilah bringing them to sturntumblr !!🤍🤍 find hers below …

SO CLOSE TO WHAT. POSITIONS. HIT ME HARD AND SOFT.

credits to @chrisstvrns for being the first to do a aftercare writing marathon and for allowing me to do one as well !! find hers below …

AFTERCARE

[sunsturns]

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 :: no one can know.

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 :: werewolf!reader x vampire!chris

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 :: at eidolon university, supernatural species are separated by blood and bound by law. werewolves don't touch vampires. vampires don't speak to witches. no one mixes. no one crosses lines. not unless they want to disappear. you've known that rule your entire life—carved it into your bones the first time you turned under a full moon. but when a second-year science class puts you next to chris—cold, quiet, loser-coded vampire with a past no one talks about—something shifts.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 :: mentions of death (parental + accidental), emotional neglect, alcohol abuse (briefly referenced), sibling caretaking, trauma from transformation, body horror (graphic description of werewolf shift :: bones breaking, pain, blood), past violence, supernatural hierarchy, academic setting with separation by species, and suggestive dialogue / tension (mild flirtation, emotional manipulation, verbal bickering).

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 :: it begins.

you don't remember the first time your house felt haunted. not by ghosts, but by something colder. something quiet. your father's voice used to fill the rooms—loud, booming, sometimes angry, but always alive. he laughed with his whole chest. when he yelled, it shook the walls. when he sang—badly—it made your mom smile even if she rolled her eyes. it was chaos, sure, but it was whole. and then one day, it wasn't.

you were twelve when he died. the kind of death that didn't make sense. sudden. fast. your mom didn't cry at the funeral. she just stopped speaking altogether. not to you. not to your brother. just to her bottles. whiskey first, then wine, then anything she could pour. every night she slipped deeper into glass. every morning she came out angrier. and you? you learned how to clean up after her without being asked. you learned how to heat dinner on your own. you learned how to stop expecting softness from someone who had none left to give.

your brother was different. six years older. already carrying the weight your mother dropped. he picked up the slack. helped you with homework, showed you how to tape your hands before training, taught you how to lie to social workers and neighbors when the bruises on your arms came from furniture you didn't bump into. he was good. not perfect, but good. better than anyone deserved to be in a house that sour.

he got his curse at sixteen. someone died, and he was the reason. he didn't talk about it much, only told you enough so you'd understand when your time came. said it with a look in his eye you didn't recognize at the time—fear. a little guilt. maybe some regret. back then, you didn't think it would happen to you. you weren't reckless. you weren't like that.

but when you were eighteen, it happened. last week of senior year. school bathrooms, ugly fluorescent lighting, too many voices. a fight. you didn't mean to shove her that hard. didn't know the floor was wet. didn't know her head would meet the sink like that. but it did. and she never got back up.

you don't remember crying. just the screaming. yours. your classmates. the teachers who pulled you away. the cops. the coroner. it all blurred. but you remember your brother’s voice that night—calm, low, scared. he told you what would happen next. told you how to prepare. how to lock yourself down. how to survive the first shift.

you didn't understand what that meant until the moon rose.

it wasn't like the stories. it wasn't beautiful or freeing or spiritual. it was agony. pain that cracked you open from the inside out, starting in your spine and spilling down into your limbs like fire. your vision blurred. your mouth filled with blood from biting down on your own tongue just to keep from screaming too loud. your skin burned hot then cold then hot again, and it didn't stop—not even when the bones started breaking. your wrists snapped first, pulled forward by the weight of something inside you, something old and sharp and hungry. then your ribs, your legs, your jaw. every part of you bent in directions it was never meant to. you weren't screaming anymore after that. you couldn't. your throat was too raw.

your brother couldn't stay. he was locked up too, in his own cell not far from yours. the two of you had spent the day prepping—silver cuffs on your wrists, thick chains on your ankles, reinforced steel doors, padded walls. none of it made a difference when it started. your body wanted to be something else, and it didn't care what it had to destroy to get there.

an hour. that's how long it lasted. that first shift. and every one since. an hour of violence inside your own skin. some werewolves say it gets easier over time. some say you learn how to ride the pain, how to let go, how to let it happen. but for you, it never got easier. it never felt natural. it felt like punishment. a monthly reminder that no matter how careful you were, how good your intentions, one mistake was enough to turn you into a monster.

you're twenty now. two years in. you still dread every full moon. still feel it coming days in advance—your bones ache, your vision gets sharp at the edges, your body feels too small to hold itself. and when it's over, when you wake up naked and shaking in that cold steel room, you remember her face. the girl. the sink. the blood. the way her friends screamed your name like it meant something evil.

you don't talk about it. not with your brother. not with anyone. it's just something you carry now. like weight around your ribs. and that's the thing about being cursed. it doesn't make you stronger. it just makes you quiet.

you stopped talking about the full moons after the third one. stopped letting your brother see how bad it really was. he still asked, still checked in, still left out food and water and clean clothes the day after, but you could see it in his face—he was tired too. his body was wearing down faster than it should've, spine stiff, knuckles always bruised from training, eyes dulled from years of shifting, of hiding what he really felt. and you didn't want to be another thing that wore him out. so you started pretending. said it was getting better. said it hurt less. said you barely remembered the pain afterward, even though you remembered every second. you always remembered.

some part of you wanted to believe it'd get easier once you left town. that once you weren't waking up under the same roof where your mother died, once you weren't seeing the ghost of your father in every hallway, once you weren't lying awake at night counting the days until the next moon, things would get better. more normal. more manageable. so when eidolon university sent you that acceptance letter—handwritten, sealed in wax, delivered by a courier with silver rings on every finger—you took it as a sign.

you'd always wanted to be a photographer. something about the idea of capturing people exactly as they were in the moment, in all their mess and light and shadow, felt holy. you watched videos as a kid, followed creators who turned everyday life into something beautiful with nothing but a lens and a little editing software. and now? now you'd finally have a chance to study it properly. get your degree. maybe even get out of this town for good.

eidolon was exactly what you expected. massive, gothic, buried in the mountains like a secret. the walls were covered in ivy so thick it looked alive. the main buildings were carved from stone and warded with sigils you weren't even allowed to study until third year. everything about it felt older than you could comprehend. dangerous, but sacred. the kind of place that whispered we’ve seen worse than you every time you walked the halls.

no humans allowed. no one "normal." just monsters trying to make something of themselves.

but you weren't naïve. you knew what the rules were the second you stepped on campus. every species had their place. werewolves stuck with werewolves. vampires stayed with their own. witches kept to themselves. the hybrids and tribrids were cocky, like royalty, untouchable in the social ladder. demons were rare, secretive, always watching. and hunters—well, they hated all of you. but the law was clear, posted on every dorm wall, etched into the code of the school's founding charter:

no mixing. no bonding. no crossing bloodlines.

and if you did?

you weren't coming back.

you'd heard the horror stories, of course. about what happened to the ones who broke the law. they didn't just get expelled. they disappeared. no trial. no final warning. just gone. the school didn't even try to hide it—students who crossed the line between species were labeled as unstable, threats to the "balance of power." one bite, one kiss, one drop of blood shared between the wrong people, and that was it. they'd say you turned feral. they'd say you lost control. and no one would question it, because no one wanted to be next.

you knew all of that. and yet, somehow, none of it stopped you from looking at him.

chris.

they called him names. said he didn't feed properly. that he only drank from blood bags and animals like some kind of wannabe hybrid. they said he used to be something else—used to be reckless, wild, dangerous. girls would whisper about him in the hallways, say he used to fuck like he was starving and fight like he couldn't die. but now? he didn't even make eye contact.

you didn't care much then. there were other people to look at, other things to focus on. you had your camera, your electives, your place among the werewolves. but still—he stuck in the back of your mind like a bruise. quiet. dark. a question mark in a school full of people who thought they already knew everything.

you didn't know any of the real story until months later, and even then it was pieces—bits of conversation, things overheard in the common rooms, fragments from professors who forgot to censor themselves.

he'd been human once. youngest of a set of triplets. loved his brothers more than anything. then one night, something happened. something with their parents. nick and matt—his blood—turned first. no one taught them how to handle it. and before the week was over, their house was covered in blood. chris was the only one who made it out.

he vanished after that. left his brothers behind. swore off vampires entirely. didn't want anything to do with them, didn't even want to look at them. it should've ended there.

but fate doesn't care about promises.

he met a girl. beautiful. older. strange in a way that didn't make sense at first. he fell in love fast. and when she told him what she was, he stayed. swore he didn't care. swore he'd love her anyway. but he made her promise something in return: never turn him.

she broke that promise.

it happened in a hospital bed—white sheets, dull walls, the smell of antiseptic and cold metal in the air. he'd been injured somehow. no one really knows the full story. maybe a car accident. maybe something worse. but what they do know, what's been whispered through dorm walls and passed through gossip like folklore, is that she visited him while he was unconscious. stayed by his side for hours. waited for the nurses to leave. and then she opened her veins, fed him her blood, and killed him with a kiss to the forehead.

he woke up cold. confused. starved.

and when she told him what she'd done, he left her on the spot. didn't scream. didn't cry. just walked out of that hospital and never looked back. and from that moment on, he became the very thing he'd sworn he'd never be.

but he didn't have anyone to teach him. no coven. no sire-bond. no rules. just hunger and panic and the broken echo of his brothers' screams in his head. so he did what a lot of new vampires do—he lost control. fully. completely. no restraint, no morality. just instinct.

people started dying.

not students. not staff. not anyone the school would miss. but enough. travelers passing through the forest. campers who didn't read the signs. kids who thought the town was just a quiet place to get drunk and do dumb things under the moonlight. all of them left behind in pieces. and the news ran with it, of course. animal attacks. coyote packs. freak accidents. never once did they say vampire, but anyone with sense knew better.

he fed from anyone who got close. girls, mostly. ones who were too curious or too drawn to the way he looked when he was quiet and smiling in the corner. he didn't need to compel them. not back then. he knew how to play the part. he looked harmless. soft-spoken. a little sad, a little mysterious. the kind of boy you think you can fix. the kind of boy you follow into the dark.

and when he was done with them—when the bloodlust faded and the regret hadn't hit yet—he left them with nothing but bite marks and missing memories. if they were lucky.

he lived like that for almost two years. spiraling in silence, burning his life down one night at a time. and then, somewhere along the way, he just… stopped. pulled back. vanished for a while. people said he disappeared into the mountains. others said he turned himself in to one of the older covens, begged them to cage him like an animal until he got control.

no one really knows what happened in that year between the chaos and the quiet. but when he showed up again—older, sharper, colder—something in him had changed.

he didn't flirt. didn't feed from classmates. didn't party. didn't speak unless absolutely necessary. and when people tried to press him, tried to poke the sleeping dog to see if it still had teeth, he didn't fight. he just looked at them with those empty, ancient eyes and said nothing.

and now?

now they just call him a loser.

they don't say it to his face, but they don't have to. it's in the way people glance over him in the halls like he's part of the scenery. it's in the way the vampires whisper about how soft he is, how broken, how he used to be someone worth fearing but now he barely feeds, barely speaks, barely moves. the werewolves laugh at him. the witches ignore him. the tribrids just sneer.

he doesn't fight it. doesn't argue or prove anyone wrong. he shows up to class, slouches in the back, scribbles notes no one will ever read. his hood's always up. his headphones are always in, whether they're playing anything or not. he walks with his head down and his hands in his pockets, quiet, like a ghost that hasn't decided whether or not it wants to haunt anyone anymore.

but despite what they say—despite what he lets them believe—he's not weak. not really. he just doesn't care about being seen. not after everything. not after what he's done.

you think about that sometimes, how being hated might be easier than being forgotten. how silence becomes its own kind of armor if you wear it long enough. and still, despite all the space he carves between himself and the rest of the world, you keep finding your eyes drawn to him.

you noticed him your first year, but only in passing. english class. three rows back, far right corner, always half-asleep or pretending to be. you never spoke. you didn't have a reason to. and he certainly wasn't looking for one. but even then—he had something about him. not charm, not exactly. not mystery either. just… stillness. and in a school full of people who were all teeth and arrogance and trying too hard to matter, his quiet felt different. like he knew something the rest of you didn't.

you'd catch him watching sometimes. not often. just once or twice when you laughed too loud or walked into class late with your camera slung over your shoulder and a stain on your jeans. he never smiled. never looked away in a rush. just watched. like he was studying you. like he wanted to know how you moved, how you worked. and then he'd blink, and it'd be gone.

you didn't think much of it then. maybe a tiny part of you thought he was cute, in that messy, distant way. but not enough to act on. not enough to risk attention. besides, freshman year moved fast. there were other people, other stories, other eyes that followed you more obviously.

but now? it's second year. and things feel different already.

the campus feels louder. heavier. the weather's hotter than you remember. there's this thick humidity in the air that clings to your skin like sweat, like pressure. the courtyard's packed with returning students and fresh bloods—new faces with wide eyes and clean shoes, all of them buzzing with magic they don't know how to use yet. you slip past them easily. your bag's heavy against your shoulder, your camera slung across your chest, half-charged and smudged with fingerprints. you don't bother with a map. you remember where you're going.

first class of the year: history.

you're not in the mood for it. the professor is older than god and twice as dramatic. he likes to monologue about ancient supernatural law like he wrote it himself, which maybe he did. you usually spend most of the class sketching in the margins of your notes or messing with your camera settings under the desk. last year you sat near the window, second row from the back. this year, your body makes the decision for you.

you walk in, and you see him.

chris.

he's already there—third row from the front, far left side. hood off this time. no headphones. his hair's shorter than it was last year, messier but cleaner somehow, like he actually tried this morning. and the stubble along his jaw is new. subtle, but enough to make your stomach do something it shouldn't.

he doesn't notice you right away. his eyes are low, fixed on the edge of his desk, thumb brushing against the spine of a blank notebook like he's waiting for something to start. or end.

you stand there for a second. debating. considering your options. and then, without thinking too hard about it, you move.

you walk straight past the empty seats—past the middle row, past your old spot by the window—and slide into the desk beside him. your bag hits the floor with a soft thud. your camera clicks against the edge of the desk. his shoulder shifts slightly, but he doesn't look up.

you glance at him. study him from the side. he looks… tired. pale, obviously, but that's not new. his lashes are stupid long. his mouth is pressed into this straight, unreadable line. you clear your throat, lean your elbow on the desk, and speak.

"hey," you say, soft but direct. "you remember me?"

nothing. he doesn't blink. doesn't twitch. doesn't breathe, maybe.

you tilt your head. try again.

"from last year. english class? you sat in the corner like a vampire bat."

still nothing.

you blink once. then twice. your brow lifts.

"y'know," you murmur, voice lower now, a little flatter, "it's rude to ignore people."

he exhales, finally. slow. like you're the inconvenience here.

"then stop talkin' to me," he mutters, without looking at you.

you let out a quiet laugh. not sweet. not surprised. amused in a way that makes him tense. you lean back in your chair, stretch your legs out under the desk until your knee taps against his.

"wow," you say. "you're just as charming as i remember."

he turns his head just enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye. they're darker than last year. not just in color, but in mood. like whatever's behind them doesn't want to be touched.

"m'not here to make friends."

you hum, tapping your pen against your notebook without looking at it. "good. i wasn't offering."

his jaw tightens. barely. but you see it.

you smirk.

"just thought i'd be nice. clearly a mistake."

"clearly," he says, dry.

"you always this much fun in the morning?"

he shifts again, leans slightly away from you, arm braced against the edge of the desk. "you always this persistent, or am i just lucky?"

"i’m bored," you admit, unapologetic. "and you're interesting."

he scoffs, soft and mean. "you must be really bored, then."

you turn to face him more fully now, chin propped in your palm, staring at him with a kind of half-lidded, lazy curiosity that you know gets under people's skin.

"you ever get tired of being a dick to people for no reason?"

his mouth twitches. it could've been a smirk. could've been irritation. hard to tell. "you ever get tired of talkin' just to hear yourself speak?"

you let out a soft, breathy laugh, and it makes him finally look at you—fully, eyes meeting yours for the first time in a year. it's like being hit in the chest with silence. not surprise. not heat. not softness. just this hollow, restrained sort of quiet that you feel settle behind your ribs and stay there. his gaze doesn't wander. doesn't flick to your mouth or your hands or your throat like most guys do. it just stays locked on yours, steady, almost bored. but not quite.

you don’t look away. you want to see if he'll flinch.

he doesn't.

you think maybe you imagined the shift in his expression—the brief, twitching annoyance, the way his mouth pressed tighter together like he was biting something back. but no. it's there. subtle, but there.

you grin. "there he is," you murmur under your breath, voice light and smug and just a little too close. "i was starting to think you forgot how to blink." he exhales again. not quite a sigh. more like irritation trying to be polite. "do werewolves always talk this much?" he mutters, not looking at you this time. you raise your eyebrows slightly at that. "so you do know what i am."

"everyone knows what you are," he says flatly, eyes still forward. "your pack makes sure of it."

you laugh, quiet and sharp. "jesus. you're grumpier than the professors."

"and you're nosier than the witches."

"you say that like it's a bad thing."

he finally glances your way again, slower this time. his gaze drags across your face with the kind of indifference that's too practiced, like he's worked very hard to make it look like he doesn't care about anything he's seeing. but underneath it—underneath that flatness—there's something else. not interest. not attraction. but awareness. like he's memorizing the shape of your mouth just to make sure he never looks at it again.

you tilt your head at him. he tenses again—just a little, just enough to make you notice.

"you always this defensive," you ask, "or is it just when women sit next to you?"

he snorts. "it's when people sit next to me."

"shame. you must be terrible at group projects."

"i don't do group projects."

"of course you don't."

the bell rings overhead, loud and shrill and sudden. you don't move right away, and neither does he. students pour into the classroom like a wave, their voices growing louder as they claim seats and drop bags and catch up with each other, but for a few seconds, it all feels muffled. like you're sitting inside a moment that hasn't decided what it is yet.

then the professor walks in, and chris finally shifts his focus forward again. his hands slide into his lap. his jaw ticks. whatever just passed between you—whatever thin, crackling thread tied your words together—it snaps clean.

you sit back in your chair, let your gaze linger on the side of his face, and let yourself smile like you already know you're going to ruin him.

by the time science rolls around, the heat outside has started to settle into your skin. your hair's frizzing at the edges, your water bottle's empty, and you're still thinking about the way he wouldn't look at you when he left. not in a clingy way. just… curious. the kind of curiosity that curls around your ribs and taps at the back of your mind until you're distracted enough to want more.

you get to class early this time. not because you're trying to look eager, but because you want the seat by the window, and the science wing is always freezing. you slide into the chair near the back corner, closest to the sunlight bleeding through the glass. you set your bag down with a thud and drop your camera into your lap, flipping it open just to mess with the settings. you're not thinking about him.

not really.

students start to file in—clusters of vampires sticking to the shade of the walls, a few werewolves with low voices and strong cologne, one demon girl with violet eyes who scans the room like she owns it. the last pack of students that comes in is a group of hybrids you recognize from last year. loud. obnoxious. one of them has a laugh that makes your spine ache.

there are only two seats left.

you don't notice him at first.

the door opens again, slower this time, quieter. and there he is.

chris.

he walks in like he's already exhausted. hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over his hands, backpack slung low, eyes half-lidded like he didn't bother sleeping last night. he pauses in the doorway for a second, scanning the room with that same bored, empty expression you're starting to recognize. then his eyes land on the options.

seat one: directly beside you.

seat two: in the middle of the loudest fucking group in the room.

he stares at them for a beat too long, jaw ticking. one of the hybrids spots him, grins wide, and waves a little too enthusiastically.

"yo, vamp boy! over here!"

chris sighs. audible. bone-deep.

then he turns, walks down the aisle, and drops into the seat next to you like gravity gave him no choice.

you don't say anything at first. you just look at him, your grin already forming, mouth halfway open, ready to say something—anything—but he beats you to it. "don't." he doesn't look at you. "don't speak to me."

your smile stretches slow, syrupy. "aw? not happy to see me again?" his head tips back slightly, eyes closed like he's summoning every ounce of patience left in his body. "m'prayin' for an earthquake."

you snort, pulling your camera off your lap and setting it gently on the desk. "what, so you can be swallowed whole by the floor and spared another hour of sitting next to me?"

"exactly."

"a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"no."

you hum, leaning a little closer, just enough for your shoulder to brush his. he tenses immediately, then shifts away a fraction of an inch, like your presence burns. "it's not that deep," you murmur, voice low, teasing. "we're just classmates, remember?"

"you're not even a good classmate.”

"yet you keep ending up next to me."

he opens his eyes slowly and turns his head just enough to glance at you, and that's when you see it—the flicker. quick, soft, dangerous. his fangs don't show, but something sharper does. a warning in the way his gaze drops to your mouth, then pulls back like he caught himself mid-thought.

"don't make that my fault."

you blink once. "i didn't."

"you're actin' like it."

"am i?"

he exhales again, deeper this time, dragging his fingers across the edge of the desk like he's considering whether or not to pick it up and throw it.

"you're exhausting," he mutters.

you smile wider. "and you're easy."

he huffs out something between a laugh and a scoff, shakes his head, and faces forward again. but he doesn't move his chair. doesn't shift further away. he just stays there.

the professor’s voice buzzes somewhere in the background. he's an older vampire—immaculate posture, low voice, endless patience. he lectures like he's performed the same speech a hundred times over and doesn't particularly care whether any of you are listening. he's talking about blood chemistry right now. something about scent profiles and hormonal triggers. the kind of thing that's supposed to help students "understand their differences" and "keep the peace." really, it's a long-winded way of telling everyone why they're not supposed to touch anyone outside their species.

you're half-listening. more than usual, honestly.

mostly because you can feel chris breathing.

not loud. not heavy. just present. steady. slow. each breath pulls in through his nose, comes out quiet through parted lips. it's measured. controlled. practiced. like he's keeping himself on a leash.

you wonder if he even notices he's doing it.

his hands are flat on the desk. not fidgeting, not tapping, just resting there. his fingers are long. sharp-boned. his nails are clean, not clawed like yours get before a full moon. you glance down at them once, briefly, then force your eyes back to your notebook before you get caught staring. again.

he hasn't spoken since that last comment. hasn't looked at you, either. but you can feel him. not in a magical way—just physically. viscerally. like his energy is pressed up against the edge of yours and pretending not to care.

you lean forward slightly, elbow on the desk, chin resting in your hand as you watch the professor draw something on the board. some kind of chart. scent signatures during cross-species contact. apparently there was a whole study on it—how wolves spike higher than vampires, how certain mixtures can trigger instinctive reactions. nothing officially illegal, but enough to raise suspicion if caught. enough to earn a visit from the council.

you smirk faintly, eyes still on the board. "funny, isn't it?" you say, voice low, not even bothering to turn your head toward him. "how the whole class is about why we shouldn't mix… while you're sitting here pretending you're not breathing me in."

he doesn't respond. for a moment, you think maybe he's going to ignore you again, let the silence stretch until it breaks under its own weight.

but then he shifts. just slightly. not away from you. not toward you either. just… adjusts. like his body needs something and his brain is telling him not to want it. "y'smell like pine," he mutters eventually, voice so low you barely catch it. "and blood. faint. old."

you blink. straighten up a little. "…that supposed to be an insult?"

"more of an observation," he says. "i'd rather not make it again."

you laugh softly, and it makes him tense beside you. his shoulders stiffen like they're bracing for impact. "guess you'll have to pick a better seat next time," you murmur. "unless you're planning to suffer through me all semester."

he doesn't answer, but you see the corner of his mouth twitch. not a smile. not even close. just a flicker of movement. a crack in the cold.

before you can poke at it, the professor's voice cuts sharper.

"you two."

you blink and glance up. chris doesn't move. the professor is staring directly at your row, expression unreadable. "since you're so invested in each other's presence, you'll be partners for the group project."

your stomach drops a little.

you hear it before you see it—chris's breath, low and tight and long-suffering. he scrubs a hand down his face without saying a word.

the professor moves on. keeps talking. keeps writing. the rest of the class acts like nothing happened. but you're sitting there, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

because of course you're partners.

and when you glance over at chris, you see it—just for a second.

his eyes are closed. jaw clenched. and under all that?

resignation.

this is going to be a problem.

໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა mimi speaks . . . can you tell i tried a slightly different writing style? i wanted to match the vibe of the storyline. lmk if you don't like it though :( constructive criticism.

;ଓ taglist . . . @japblogs @courta13 @spookysturnz @sturniolo-szn2 @theowensturniolo @jvngle18 @chrisgirltilidie2 @urfavvbilliemunch @devotedlyteenagemusic @sturnsflirt @chriss-slut @oopsiedaisydeer @fawnsprings @mattsd0llfac3 @matthewswifeyy @chrisbambi @mivogjk @adorechris @evansturn @skibidisturniolo @babyt0matoes @vxmp42 @izzylovesmatt @silverspringsstare @sturniszn @blahbel668 @angelbabychris @lvrsturniolo @favsdti @sturniphone @httpssturns @mattspillowprincess

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[sunsturns]

MOMMY ౨ৎ chris accidentally calling you mommy .ᐟ

warnings ᝰ.ᐟ sub!chris, soft dom!reader, pet names ; mommy, good boy & baby, pnv, cowgirl, mommy kink, teasing, praise, lmk if i missed smt <3

your hips move slow, steady, drawing desperate little sounds out of him with every roll. chris is flushed deep down to his chest, arms stretched above his head, hands fisting the sheets like that’s the only thing grounding him.

“f—fuck,” he whimpers, head tipping back, hair sticking to his forehead. “please—please don’t stop, feels s—so good!” you grind deeper, dragging the motion out. “i’m not stopping, baby, you’re doing so good for me.” you coo.

that makes him choke on a breath, thighs trembling beneath you. he’s right there—so close, so far gone. you lean in, pressing your lips against his, biting on his bottom lip gently, making him moan out. you pull back, only to see him avoiding your gaze.

“look at me, chris.” he blinks up at you, eyes glossy, lips parted. “i—i can’t—,” he breathes, completely unraveling. “feels so—!” you cut him off. “shh,” you murmur breathlessly, hand in his hair. “just take it.” you kiss down his jaw, soft and slow, and the way he arches into you makes you ache.

he’s so needy. so desperate. so, you give him what he wants, rolling your hips with just enough pressure to knock the air out of his lungs. his head falls back against the pillow and that’s when it slips. “ah—ahh.. mommy—” you still. so does he. it’s barely above a whisper, but you hear it. and so does he.

his eyes snap open, panic flooding his face. “i—i didn’t mean—” he stammers, voice cracking. “oh my god—i didn’t mean to say that, i’m sorry—” you tilt your head, eyes dark, lips curled into a wicked smirk. “did you just call me mommy?” he groans and turns his head, like he can hide from you. from himself.

“i didn’t mean to—i was just—i wasn’t thinking..” you move again, slow and deep, and his whole body jerks like he’s been shocked. “chris,” you whisper, hand laid across his chest. “i was just making you feel too good, huh?” he nods quickly, too embarrassed to speak. his face is bright red, eyes glossy, bottom lip trembling.

and still—still his hips twitch up, chasing more. “you’re so needy today,” you murmur, lips grazing his cheek. a wrecked sound comes from his throat, somewhere between a moan and a sob. he’s holding back, and you can see it—in the tension in his arms, the way his legs twitch beneath you.

“say it again.” his eyes go wide. “w—what?” you bring your mouth to his ear, your voice sweet as sugar. “say it again. call me mommy.” his breath catches hard. he looks like he’s about to fall apart right then and there. “please—please, mommy, don’t stop—need it so bad—need you to keep going, please—”

“that’s it,” you whisper, dragging your hips with a slow grind that pulls a filthy cry from his lips. “such a good boy.” he breaks. completely. he’s babbling now, words slurred and soaked in pleasure until you finally lean in, kiss beneath his jaw, and give him what he’s begging for. he comes hard, sobbing out your name into your shoulder, shaking, trembling, clinging to you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

💌 @sturnspup @httpssturns @jvngle18 @lilianasturnsz @courta13 @rekafilmz @spookysturnz

[sunsturns]

I PUSH YOU OUT, AND YOU COME RIGHT BACK. . . client!chris.

You're not proud of yourself.

Chris Sturniolo is in your apartment, in your sheets again. You're not proud of yourself that flowers he got you that are your favorite, worked on you. That his new haircut makes your thighs rub against each other.

But he's different, noticeably. You don't know what's gotten into him. He's gentle. Sweet, even.

You whined, his lips brushing against your neck as he continued to tease and pleasure you. His thumb circling your clit as his other fingers sunk into your wetness, after what has to be your fourth orgasm.

"Chris." You moaned out, hearing his name on your lips only fuled his desire. He increased the pace of his touches, both inside and out, as he leaned in for a deep kiss.

He moaned into it, his thumb against your clit began to move harder as his other fingers pumped in and out of you. He pulls away, a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

"Do you want it?" He asked, his lips trailing down your jawline. "P-please.." You're so embarrassed by how pathetic you sound. "Please, what?" He coos, "C'mon, use your words."

"Fuck me." A soft smile traces his lips, his fingers slowly pulled out of you, causing a soft whimper to escape your lips. "Good girl."

He positioned himself between your legs, his hard cock rubbing against your sensitive folds. You whine, arms wrapping around his neck, "Shhhh, s' okay. Gonna make it so good for you, Dea." Chris whispered softly, pressing his hips against your opening. He began to push inside you, inch by slow inch, groaning as he feels your walls stretch around him.

A soft moan leaves him as he slowly thrusts into you, "So, so good..." His eyes fight to roll back at every stroke, "Always so fuckin' good." He praises, his hands gripping your hips tighter. "Fuckin' love this pussy—s' like you were made for me, ma'."

You can't speak as his thrusts grow deeper, faster, as hips his slap against your ass. Your mouth is left open in the perfect 'O'.

Chris pants, fucking you even harder. "M'— m' sorry, yeah?" He brushes your hair out of your face, gentle compared to his pace. "Won't ever treat you like that ever— fuckkk— ever again."

He drives himself deeper into you, making you mewl. "M' just not good at this typa stuff." He murmurs, leaving marks all over your chest.

You barely process the apology, too cock drunk. He tries to get something else out, but you kiss him, deep and messy. Just to get you point across.

He pants against your lips, staring right into your eyes. "G-gonna prove it." He spreads your legs wider and pushes deeper, making your back arch off the bed. "How sorry I am."

©LILOLEBAMBI

a/n: creds to @hotelstares for the gif :)

this is in infact a sign to get back with your toxic situationship!

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @domizmez @drewswife @strnilolover @sirensdollesque @courta13 @mattslilies @sturns-mermaid @bluetalia @pair-of-pantaloons @y2kstarr @sweeethrt @moond0llie @ambi-squirrelly @wastelandzella @applecidersturniolo @riasturns @iloveduckssm @oopsiedaisydeer @cayleeuhithinknott @h3arts4nat @angelyearner @pink1man @mi-co-uk @slvt4subchratt @tezzzzzzzz @izzylovesmatt @chrisowenmuncher @bluestriips @snoopychris @bratzforchris

[sunsturns]

warm enough ⋆˚౨ৎ ⋆.˚

⋆. 𐙚 ̊. During a late-night filming a paranormal investigation with sam and colby, things take an unsettling turn. shaken by what they experienced, what happens when y/n struggles to sleep alone and ends up in Matt’s room?

trigger warnings: pure fluff ig :3

matt sturniolo x reader <3

click here -`♡´- for the next part!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

“Oh fuck! My candle went out, shit shit shit-” I say as I kneel over and set it down quickly. Matt spawns next to me with a match he had been using as a toothpick, quickly lighting up my candle before the 10 seconds run out.

“I got you” Matt nods, making sure my candle is lit.

“Jesus Christ” Sam exclaims.

“Oh my god, my heart almost stopped, I have the worst reflexes ever” I blow out a laugh, my hand on my chest.

You can already guess where I am and what we’re doing. Somehow, Sam and Colby convinced me to tag along with them and my roommates and best friends Matt, Nick, and Chris to this investigation where we’re summoning a spirit called the Midnight Man.

“Thanks, Matt,” I say with a grin, nudging him as we walk side by side to the room next to the kitchen. We sit down in a circle and Sam introduces a new piece of equipment, a recorder.

Sam explains that each one of us is going to ask a question and wait 10 seconds for an answer from a spirit. We all nod along to the instructions, and as soon as he clicks the record button, each of us asks a question, leaving 10 seconds in between for answers.

And when we’re finally done, we listen to the recording again, and our hearts drop to our asses.

A scream.

A very clear scream.

And towards the end of the recording, a clear “GET OUT OF HERE” is heard, and I look towards Matt with wide eyes and a nervous smile.

The rest of the night is pure chaos. We leave Sam and Colby’s old house after finishing the ritual, and I’m still replaying the events of the night on the car ride home. It’s stupid, but it freaked me out.

Back home, we all bid each other goodnight and head to our rooms. I lay down in bed, thoughts of the night still replaying in my head.

I see a figment of my imagination in the corner of the room, a shadow, and I turn on my nightstand light quickly, heart beating fast. I sigh before throwing the covers off, opening my bedroom door, and padding downstairs to Matt’s room. I knock gently. No answer. I knock again and open the door slightly, peeking in. Matt turns in bed towards the door with squinted eyes.

“Y/N?” he says with a sleepy voice.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” I ask, still standing in the doorway.

Matt blinks a few times before answering, “Come here” he says, lifting the covers.

I shut his bedroom door and walk over to his bed, sliding beneath the lifted covers. He makes sure I’m covered before laying down on his back next to me.

“You okay?” he asks after a few beats of silence.

“Mhmm. I was just freaked out about what happened tonight” I say, turning my head to look at him.

“You haven’t come to my room at night in a while” he grins.

“Yeah, well, I stopped watching those scary videos I used to watch before bed” I laugh, adjusting myself so I’m facing him.

“I don’t know why you watch that creepy shit if you know it’ll have consequences later at night” he says.

“Okay, stop lecturing me. I don’t watch it anymore” I frown, and he laughs.

“I missed our sleepovers,” he smiles after a few beats of silence, now turning to face me.

“Yeah, me too” I say, smiling softly.

I move a little to adjust my position when my cold toes graze over Matt’s leg.

“Holy shit, Y/N!” he says as he jumps slightly.

“What!” I say, panicked, thinking he saw something behind me.

“Nothing, you idiot. Your icicles grazed my leg,” he exclaims with a small laugh.

“Matt!” I frown, hitting his chest. “You scared me, asshole,” I say.

“Ow! Why are you so cold?!” he says, holding my hand against his chest.

“It’s freezing in here!” I exclaim with a laugh.

“It’s not,” he argues.

“Yes it is.” I pull my hand from his grip, but he holds on.

“Jesus Christ, just come here” he says, tugging me closer with the hand he has a grip on, wrapping his arms around me to warm me up.

I let my forehead fall on his chest as I sigh. “You’re so warm. How are you so warm?” I say.

“It’s not me that’s warm, it’s you that’s freezing cold” he chuckles, rubbing my back to warm me up.

“It’s because your room is a literal freezer-” I start to argue.

“Shhhh, go to sleep,” he interrupts me, tangling his legs with mine to warm my cold feet up.

“But it’s literally-” I start.

“Y/N, close your eyes and count the sheep, c’mon” he cuts me off, making me burst out laughing.

“When have I ever closed my eyes and counted sheep to go to bed? You mistake me for Chris” I grin.

“He does do that, doesn’t he?” he chuckles.

“Yeah, he does” I smile, nuzzling my head into his chest.

I yawn, my eyes starting to get heavy.

“Night, scaredy cat” he murmurs into my hair.

“Goodnight, asshole” I say in a sleepy voice, and he chuckles.

I doze off to him rubbing my back, and I realize just how lucky I am to have him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

author’s note: I haven’t written in a LONG while, hi tumblr I’ve missed u! anyway I love writing fluff so here u go! hope you enjoyed <3

[sunsturns]

𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 ⋆·˚ ༘ * c.s.

p2.

The sky outside her apartment was a dull, overcast gray, matching exactly how she felt. Her head pounded, her throat was raw, and her nose had become a traitorous faucet she couldn’t shut off. She was bundled up on the couch like a sad little burrito, surrounded by balled-up tissues and neglected mugs of half-drunk tea.

Her phone buzzed for the third time.

Chris:

“i’m coming over. what kind of soup u want?”

Chris:

“babe?”

Chris:

“if u don’t answer me in 5 min i’m showing up w every soup known to man.”

She sniffled, squinting at the screen, and typed back with one hand.

You:

“miso or chicken noodle. don’t get sick tho pls.”

Chris:

“i’d kiss you on the mouth with a fever so don’t test me.”

She cracked a smile despite the pressure behind her eyes and let her phone drop onto the blanket heap as she drifted again into feverish half-sleep.

It was less than 40 minutes later when she heard the door open—softly, gently, followed by a voice calling out:

“Baby?” Chris’s voice, low and cautious. “You alive in there?”

“Barely,” she rasped, not even opening her eyes.

He walked in slowly, holding two grocery bags and wearing a shirt three sizes too big. His curls were messier than usual, hood halfway up, and his eyes scanned the living room like he was preparing for war.

“Oh my god,” he breathed dramatically. “It’s worse than I thought.”

“Told you not to come,” she said, peeking out from the blankets.

“You told me to bring soup. And what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t bring the entire pharmacy section of CVS, too?”

He set the bags down and immediately crouched by the couch, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. His hand was warm against her overheated skin.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart.”

She gave a weak shrug. “I think I’m part blanket now.”

He leaned in, planting a kiss right on the crown of her head. “Even sick you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She groaned and turned her face into the pillow. “Stop lying. I’m disgusting. I haven’t brushed my hair in two days.”

“Perfect. I like you feral,” he teased, gently running his fingers through a tangle. “You want soup now or tea first?”

She didn’t answer right away. She just tilted her head toward him like a sleepy cat. He smiled and squeezed her arm. “Soup it is.”

Ten minutes later, the apartment smelled like chicken noodle and steam. Chris had found the one mug with the chip in it—the one she always reached for—and filled it with warm lemon tea. He returned with a tray: soup, tea, tissues, two kinds of cold meds, VapoRub, Gatorade, and a tiny chocolate bar.

“You brought candy?” she asked, voice hoarse.

“You’re sick, not on death row. You deserve a treat,” he said, climbing onto the couch behind her and letting her lean back into him.

“God, I’m so gross,” she said, blowing her nose into yet another tissue.

Chris didn’t even flinch. He just wrapped his arm tighter around her and grabbed the spoon. “Open your mouth, snot monster.”

She turned to him with a betrayed expression. “Did you just call me a snot monster?”

“I did. Because I love you and you’re brave enough to fight mucus like a warrior.”

She snorted, and he smiled when it turned into a cough-laugh combo. “You’re the worst nurse ever.”

“Yet here I am. You’re welcome.”

She ate slowly, her fingers cold against the warm ceramic bowl as he helped feed her. Between sips of tea and soup, she murmured:

“Chris?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you being so nice to me? This is, like, peak unattractive behavior.”

“Are you serious?” He looked genuinely surprised. “You could look like a damp mop and I’d still wanna hold you.”

Her eyes filled with tears—part fever, part love—and she leaned her head against his shoulder. “You’re gonna get sick.”

“I don’t care. I’d rather get sick with you than leave you alone like this.”

“You’re gonna regret saying that when you’re whining like a baby in three days.”

Chris grinned and kissed her temple. “That’s fine. You can hold me and call me a brave little soldier.”

She laughed again—wheezing a little—and he gave her the chocolate bar like it was a reward for surviving her own coughing fit.

Eventually, he helped her into one of his oversized hoodies, changed her pillowcase, and guided her into bed. She collapsed into the clean sheets like a ragdoll, cheeks flushed and hair sticking out in wild directions.

“You look like a sick baby bird,” he whispered fondly.

“Stop,” she moaned into the pillow.

“No, I mean it. You’re my sick little bird. I will fight this flu for you.”

She rolled over and held out her arms. “Cuddle me before I die.”

“Dramatic,” he said, but slid in beside her instantly, pulling the blankets over them both. He let her tangle her freezing legs around his warm ones, one hand rubbing slow circles into her back.

“Chris?” she mumbled sleepily, nose buried in his neck.

“Yeah, baby.”

“Thanks for taking care of me. Even though I look like a zombie and sound like a chainsaw.”

He tightened his grip and kissed her forehead. “Always. Even if you turn into a literal chainsaw.”

She giggled softly, and finally, finally, let her eyes close.

Around 3 a.m., her fever finally broke. She stirred slightly, too hot now under the blankets, and shifted closer to Chris, who never let her go—not even for a second.

He cracked one eye open, watched her breathing even out, and whispered against her forehead:

“You’re doing so good. I got you.”

And when the sun rose the next morning and her symptoms eased just a bit, Chris was already Googling “best immune-boosting smoothies” while she slept—just in case.

Because he’d do anything to make her feel better. Always.

✦ join my taglist⭐️

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[sunsturns]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 ⋆·˚ ༘ * m.s.

The bathroom was warm, steam curling through the air like whispers of peace. The mirror fogged at the edges, soft music playing from a Bluetooth speaker somewhere on the sink. It was late afternoon—one of those slow Sundays where time didn’t matter. Where plans could wait. Where love lived in the little things.

Matt leaned under the stream of the water, his back to her, head tilted slightly forward. “You always do it better than I can,” he mumbled with a lazy grin, handing her the bottle of shampoo.

His girlfriend smiled as she took it from him. “Because you try to wash your hair like it’s mad at you.”

“It is mad at me. I can feel it.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing softly, then poured a bit of the shampoo into her palm and rubbed it between her hands before reaching up to his head. Her fingers slipped gently through his hair, circling his scalp with practiced ease. She took her time, massaging behind his ears, near his temples, the nape of his neck. Matt let out a quiet sigh, tilting his head further forward, shoulders visibly relaxing.

“See?” he murmured. “Magic.”

She smiled to herself. There was something about these moments—quiet, close, almost sacred. He was always so comfortable with her here, in the space where most people would feel awkward. But with her, Matt was content to just exist. To lean on her. To let go.

“You like this way too much,” she teased softly, fingernails lightly grazing his scalp just to mess with him.

He let out a deep, pleased groan. “I’d marry you just for this.”

She paused, hands frozen mid-suds. “Just for this?”

“Well,” he said, turning slightly and looking at her with a smug little smile, “this and your pasta. And your laugh. And the way you always know when I’m overwhelmed even when I don’t say anything.”

“Oh.” She blinked, caught off guard by the switch from playful to sincere.

“And how you let me put my cold feet on you under the blanket,” he added.

“That’s because you do it anyway,” she grinned, resuming the gentle rhythm of her fingers in his hair. “Don’t act like it’s by permission.”

Matt chuckled and reached behind him to squeeze her thigh, fingertips dripping wet but warm. “Still counts.”

They stayed like that for a while, him quiet under the shower stream, her hands threading through his hair like it was the only thing that mattered. When the last of the shampoo had rinsed away, he turned to face her, eyes soft and a little sleepy.

He looked at her for a long second, then reached behind her to grab her body wash. “My turn,” he said, voice low, something tender sitting behind every word.

She raised an eyebrow, teasing. “You gonna wash my hair too?”

“Nope,” he grinned. “Just everything else.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t stop him as he poured the soap into his hands, rubbed them together, and then started at her shoulders. His touch was slow, reverent. He wasn’t rushing. His thumbs swept in little circles over her arms, down her back, around the curve of her waist. Not rough, not rushed—just present. Gentle.

As he moved lower, his hand slid carefully along her side and she squirmed slightly, a giggle slipping from her lips. “Matt, that tickles.”

He looked up with a smirk, then leaned in and pressed a kiss just beneath her ribs, where her skin had twitched. “Sorry,” he murmured, lips warm and soft, “can’t help it. You’re cute when you flinch.”

“You’re so evil,” she said, but she couldn’t stop smiling, not even a little.

“You like it,” he said simply, moving his hand back to rinse away the soap with slow care. “Admit it.”

She didn’t answer. Just watched the way his brow furrowed slightly with concentration again, how tender his movements stayed, how even something as simple as this—him washing her off—felt like love.

“You’re so good to me,” she said quietly, echoing his words from earlier.

He leaned in, brushing another kiss to her wet shoulder. “You make it easy.”

He rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling with the steam. “Can we stay here forever?”

“As long as the hot water lasts,” she said, tugging him close with a grin. “And then I’m taking your hoodie.”

He laughed, arms wrapping around her under the stream, water cascading down their backs. “Deal.”

Later that night, she sat on the couch, wet hair twisted into a towel, wearing the very hoodie she claimed. Matt lay beside her with damp curls still drying, eyes heavy but happy.

He looked up at her and murmured, “Next Sunday, same time?”

She kissed his forehead. “Always.”

✦ join my taglist⭐️

Taglist @mattspillowprincess @drewinlace @matthewsroses @ellsxxoxo @xsturnkay @edu4rd0ss @oopsiedaisydeer @nessaisabelartemas333 @bugs-tags @clairo4life @courta13 @lyingonchris @matts-babytomatoes @leahfaith @luzstarkey @ivysturnss @sabheartsturn @sturnsburna @weirdosloveme @sturnsobsessed21 @maliaforstvrns

[sunsturns]

don’t do this to me 😭

they really grew up right in front of our eyes.

[sunsturns]

𝐘𝐄𝐒, 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘 ⌗ . ݁ ft. chris sturniolo

sum. chris messing with you during a live stream.

cw. annoying!chris, dirty talk?, suggestive, use of mommy obvi, no smut, literally chris just being a tease.

a/n. this was supposed to be the same universe as my when in doubt chris texts… but i kind of messed it up so there’s actually no correlation, you can still pretend. </3. wc. 1.1k

🎮 . 𓂃 ݁₊  𝓦alking into chris's room, you really had no idea what to expect. he texted you about an hour ago, telling you to "get your ass over here" and being the compliant girlfriend you are, you didn't hesitate when it came to picking up your car keys and getting the fuck out of your house.

as you opened his door, you noticed that he was sitting in his spinny chair, talking to someone on the computer. curiosity took over and you found yourself creeping up on the oblivious boy, only to realize that he was not as unaware as you thought.

see, chris had this special sixth sense when it came to you. he could just feel your presence, and with the quickest glance in your direction, he had his confirmation too. when you got close enough, you noticed him touching a bunch of random buttons on the keyboard, but you unfortunately didn't know what any of them meant. leading to your ultimate surprise when he practically jumped out of his chair, picked you up and threw you both onto his bed. giggles poured from your mouth, his favorite sound ever.

he held you close, nuzzling his face into your chest, "hi, baby. i missed you soo much," he mumbled.

"yeah?" you spoke softly, knowing that one word was absolutely one of his weaknesses. not the word itself, it was the way you said it. and only you made it sound like that to him. "who were you talking to?" you asked suddenly, running your hands through his hair. you didn't say it in a worried way or anything, you just wanted to know.

"the chat. i'm on stream," he replied, his eyes closed as he cuddled next to you like he could honestly not care less. how could he when he had you right here in his arms? he eventually sensed your unspoken concern, adding "don't worry, we're on mute."

"and why's that?"

"well i was hoping you would let me teach you how to play fortnite?" he looked up at you like he knew you were about to say no, but that was exactly why he needed to bring out his look.

instead of immediately declining like he thought you would, you asked, "what's in it for me?”

"you learn how to play fortnite," chris replied playfully, knowing that was probably the last thing you really wanted. it wasn't until he saw the look that you gave him when he added something you definitely had a stronger likelihood of liking, "and you get to sit on my lap."

a smile crept across you're face, "on stream?"

"yeah, on stream." he chuckled.

"i don't know," you said, adding a splash of doubt. it wasn’t that you didn’t want him to teach you, or even the game itself. it was the idea of getting in front of that camera and allowing thousands of people to talk about you however they wanted, even after the fact. and it wasn’t like you didn’t know what most of them would say.

"why don't you know?" chris’s hand moved to cradle your cheek in comfort, moving his thumb across the skin.

you sighed before explaining what was going on in your mind, "i'll probably become a joke. i drowned in a fucking pool the last time i played with you. and they all hate me anyways." you gestured towards the computer, waiting for him to understand what you meant, and it didn’t take very long at all.

you dramatically flopped onto your back looking up at the ceiling, until you felt his hand clasp around your chin as he gently forced you to look him in the eye. "listen, they're just mad because they're not you."

you just stared at him, not knowing what to say.

"please?" he pleaded within the next minute or two. his bottom lip pronounced as he pouted. you might as well just put him on a leash the way he begged you like a fucking puppy dog. but it was his look, the one you always ended up falling for.

"i hate when you do that," you groaned as you slid off the bed.

he hopped off his own bed, brushing your waist as he passed, almost like a beaconing. "yeah? well i love doing it."

you watched as chris took his seat in the gaming chair. chuckling because he knew he already had you hooked just by the way you couldn’t resist a smile.

still off screen, you looked at him with a furrowing brow, crossing your arms with a teasing demeanor. "so you love looking borderline submissive?"

he turned the chair to face you, saying with a playful wink, "only when it's for you."

"maybe we should just turn off the stream?" wanting to see where this conversation would land you tonight, you looked at him with a knowing look in your eye as you tried to reason with him.

chris was, of course, easily pulled into your trance, and it wasn’t very long until he gave into you. though he unexpectedly started shaking his head in defiance , not letting you get away with it that easily. he had to have some dignity. "no, no, no. i promised them."

“so?”

he placed his controller back on the desk, and the sound of the chair’s wheels made their way over to you, along with his hands as they found their place on your hips. he gently brought you closer to him and he looked up at you with those fucking eyes as he tried to persuade you. "how about you play one round and then we'll be done. deal?"

chris watched impatiently as you weighed your options, even though you were pretty much already on board the second he said you got to sit on his lap. and with a fake dramatic sigh, you pretended to give in, "deal. but don't you dare try shit like last time."

"whatever could you be talking about?"

he smirked up at you, knowing exactly what kind of gimmicks he would try to pull on you while you two were on stream.

he gestured for you to climb onto to him, and you already felt relieved to be this close with him again.

right before he started to move into the camera’s field of vision, you whispered to him, as if you guys were already unmuted, "just... behave."

"yes, mommy, he breathed squeezing your thighs in his huge hands.

the the touch on your skin was enough to send you over board, but there was something about the name that sent an unfamiliar feeling through your body. he’s never called you that before, it was completely unexpected and new. so shock immediately fell upon your face, quickly replaced with seriousness once you remembered you were about to be live in front of thousands of people.

not liking how you seemed to be upset with him, he was quick to apologize, "okay, i’m sorry, i’ll be good,” he placed a kiss on your cheek, before whispering in your ear, "i swear."

despite his efforts to make you believe him, you both knew he wasn’t going to stop messing with you anytime soon. because that’s just who chris was, and there was nothing you could do about it. it was like asking him to stop loving you. and he sure as hell wasn’t letting that happen.

© sunsturns. all rights reserved.

⋆˙𝜗𝜚 ⸝⸝ 𝐍𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 𓂃 🗯️

🗒️ 𓂅 ⌗ lowkey this is not proofread so i hope it isn’t ass 💔

+ click here to join my tag list and for my masterlist .ᐟ

︎❦︎ ︎ tags: @sturns-mermaid @hannahsturniolo @sturniolo-fangirl @leahsturniolozz @leila-marie4

[sunsturns]

𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𐙚᭄

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡. matthew sturniolo + reader ➳ established relationship, oral (female), soft dom!matt

matt’s lips were everywhere. your torso, your hips, your thighs, hovering over your clothed pussy. you forced your hips upwards, bumping on his nose, begging to receive attention were you most needed.

“easy, princess” he whispered, holding you in place. “let me make it up to you, yeah? ‘m gonna take my time here” matt affirmed, leaving no space for questioning.

with one finger, matt pulled your panties and dragged them down you legs, turning you completely naked. he looks at you with those blue eyes, holding back a smile while positioning himself between your thighs.

two light taps on your knee, commanding you to spread them fully. he really has planned to take his time with you, especially after two whole weeks without sex or any intimacy.

it wasn’t his fault, nor yours. sometimes, life just gets in the way. he has work, you’re not in the mood… but tonight things were different. matt wanted to make it up to you, wanted to let you know how much he missed and craved and adored and desired your body.

your fingers found their way to his hair, holding him in place as the first licks started. matt was turning it into torture, going painfully slow.

matt dragged his tongue up and down, traveling through your folds before sucking your clit. it was sloppy, wet, hungry.

his hair wasn’t enough. the sheets, his back, anything easier to grab and keep holding while you grind against his face, trying to get some more relief to your aching pussy.

“matt! please!” you moan, his tongue mercilessly circling your clit. “‘m gonna cum!”.

matt muffled something you could hear, but the vibrations were enough to get you there. your thighs shaking, your entire body convulsing as you reached your high and matt continued eating you out.

you felt your cunt throbbing, trying to close your legs to prevent overstimulation. matt noticed your sounds were becoming lower, more suffering and quietly pulled away. his entire face was covered in your juices, and he seemed so satisfied. “c’mon, i’m only starting. i told you i’d make up for the time we lost”.

© 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 est. 2025

[sunsturns]

⌞birthday sex - christopher sturniolo⌝⸝⸝

⋮ ⌗ ┆ warnings ˎˊ˗ birthday sex, p in v, breeding kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, dom chris, highschool sweetheart!dad!chris x highschool sweetheart!mom!reader au, please let me know if i missed anything

⋮ ⌗ ┆ word count ˎˊ˗ 1.1k

you don’t even make it out of the hallway.

chris kicks the front door shut behind him, the sound sharp and sudden, startling in the quiet of the house. his birthday gift bag lies forgotten near the entryway, forgotten because he doesn’t care about presents right now, not when he’s got you pressed up against the wall, his hands already claiming your body like he’s been starved for days.

his lips find yours instantly, rough and urgent, tasting like the long day he’s had and the anticipation he’s been holding in since morning. he kisses you like he needs it, like this exact moment has been running through his mind in a loop, and god, it shows.

his hands slide under your shirt, fingers rough from work but gentle when they trace your skin, holding you like you’re fragile and precious all at once. your breath stutters, catching as his palms skim your ribs, tugging at the hem until the fabric slips over your head and falls to the floor.

“you wore this little top all day just to tease me, huh?” he mutters, lips brushing down the side of your neck, dragging slow along your collarbone like he’s savoring every inch. “actin’ all innocent, but you know damn well what today is.”

you smile, breathless already, tilting your head to give him more room, the heat of his mouth against your skin sending shivers down your spine. “maybe i just wanted to give you something to look forward to. happy 22nd birthday, baby." you whisper, voice soft and full of promise.

he groans, deep and low in his chest, and suddenly he’s lifting you like you weigh nothing at all. your legs instantly wrap around his waist, arms tightening around his shoulders, your back hitting the bedroom door with a soft thud as he carries you up the stairs, every step urgent and filled with need.

once inside your shared bedroom, the door clicks shut behind him, cutting off the rest of the world. the dim light from the bedside lamp casts a warm, golden glow over the room, making everything feel intimate and private, just the two of you.

he settles you down on the bed with care, hands already sliding over your hips, the touch sending sparks shooting through you as he kisses his way down your neck. his lips leave a trail of fire on your skin, slow and deliberate, each kiss like a promise.

your leggings are peeled off in seconds, discarded like they’re no more than a nuisance. your panties follow, dragged down by his teeth just enough to hear your sharp gasp, the sound making him grin against your skin. chris sinks between your legs, broad shoulders pressing against your thighs as he lowers his mouth to your most sensitive spot.

his tongue moves like it knows every secret your body holds, sliding through your folds slow and teasing, working you open with expert patience. your hips start to roll against his face, desperate for more, and he groans into you, hands holding you open like you’re the only thing in the world that matters right now.

“fuck, chris,” you breathe, fingers tangling in his curls, thighs shaking around him as the pleasure builds.

“don’t run from it,” he murmurs against you, voice gravel and thick with want. “gimme everything. cum on my tongue, baby, let me taste you.”

you do, trembling, breathless, thighs quivering as the orgasm crashes over you like a wave. and still he doesn’t stop. he works you through it with soft strokes of his tongue, lingering and gentle until your legs fall open, boneless beneath him.

then he’s on you again, lips claiming yours in a filthy kiss, letting you taste yourself on his mouth as he grinds against the soaked heat of your cunt. his sweats come off quick, fingers wrapping around the thick length of him as he positions himself at your entrance.

your fingers guide him slow, pushing him deeper until he’s buried to the hilt, the stretch perfect, the pressure like everything you didn’t know you needed.

“oh my god,” you moan, head falling back against the soft pillow, eyes fluttering closed. “you feel so, fuck, chris.”

he grits his teeth, holding himself still for a moment, watching the way your face twists with pleasure. “always so fuckin’ tight for me,” he groans, voice rough, “like your pussy knows who it belongs to.”

he starts moving, long, deep thrusts, slow and steady, grinding against that perfect spot inside you with every stroke. your nails rake down his back, hips rising to meet every motion, the heat and breath and need between you like a living thing.

“been thinkin’ about this all day,” he confesses, voice low in your ear, breath hot and rough. “how good you feel. how bad i wanna fill you up.”

“chris-” your voice cracks, pleasure building fast again, the room spinning.

he pins your wrists above your head, holding them there with one hand, the other gripping your hip hard to keep you right where he wants you.

“gonna give nicky and madi a baby sibling, ‘kay?” he breathes, eyes locked on yours with fierce determination. “gonna fuck a baby into you tonight. you want that?”

you whimper, whole body clenching tight around him at the thought, the weight of his words settling deep inside you.

“you want me to fill you up so deep it takes?” he growls, fucking into you harder now, deeper, each thrust more urgent. “make me a daddy again?”

“yes, fuck, yes, chris!” you cry out, breath ragged.

he leans down, kissing you hard, mouth claiming yours like he’s staking a claim, as his thrusts turn rougher and desperate. your second orgasm hits, louder this time, shaking through you, your body trembling beneath his.

he doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow down. chases his own high, wild and relentless.

“that’s it,” he pants, buried deep inside you, breath hot on your neck. “gonna put another fuckin’ baby in you, mama. make you mine all over again.”

then he cums, deep inside, thick and hot, filling you up just like he promised. he groans your name, shuddering through the release, hips twitching as he stays inside you, pulsing with aftershocks.

you’re both breathless, sweat-slick and tangled on the bed, hearts pounding in sync, skin flushed and sticky.

he leans down, presses a kiss to your stomach, soft and reverent, then to your mouth, lingering at your jaw.

“happy birthday to me,” he whispers with a smirk, brushing your hair out of your face, eyes dark and full of love.

“you gonna let me get up now?” you tease, voice rough but playful.

he shakes his head, settling between your legs again, lips brushing your thigh with slow intent.

“nah,” he murmurs, already hardening again, “i said all night, didn’t i?”

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aurora's notes: bringing back dad!chris hehehehehe i love him bad

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

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