#matt sturniolo thriller

[hearts4werka]

Missing

Summary: it’s been six months since your sister went missing, everyone gave up on the investigation but you’re determined to find her no matter what but someone comes along the way… Genre: first person pov’s Stalker, missing person, thriller, horror, crime investigation, dark aesthetic, stalker romance, double pov Warnings: stalking, mentions of possible murder and torturous acts on children, mental health problems, dark fantasy dreams, exploration of the dark web, mention of an asshole boyfriend and possibly more that might trigger some readers. Read At Your Own Risk!

This is part 3 of the ‘Missing’ series!

7:00 AM

🤍 - Rosalla’s POV

The sun starts rising and the sun pools into my room through the windows as I wake up from my slumber with a weird feeling of soreness and bruised skin on the inner parts of my thighs.

Immediately ripping the duvet off the lower half of my body I slide down my pyjama pants to my mid-thighs, seeing several marks left behind on the inner skin of my thighs.

Inspecting it, confused on how the fuck did I get them? I don’t think I woke up in the middle of the night to go take a piss and even if did, I wouldn’t have bruises on my inner thighs.

Searching my mind for a presumable answer, I scout out one most reasonable answer that makes the most sense.

My stalker.

But what was he doing between my thighs?…

Realization hits me like a big bookshelf falling down, it’s obvious what he was doing there now. Immediately I pull my pyjama pants right back up and a weird feeling of my dark fantasies coming to life…

I’ve never confessed to something like this to anyone except for my now ex-boyfriend, one morning we were just cuddling in bed and I started to talk about a dream I had about a being chased down by a man in a mask and then being taken against my will.

That morning I had woken up all wet and horny so I asked my now ex-boyfriend if we wanted to try something like that, he looked at me and said I was fucked up in the head and proceeded to ignore me for two whole weeks which broke my heart.

Those two weeks I’ve spent at home eating ice-cream, watching romcoms and crying myself to sleep. Blaming myself for even having such dreams, such dark and twisted fantasies in the dark parts of my brain…

He was the one that broke up with me since I had felt seriously emotionally attachted to him, like he actually loved me but it all ended when he found out I have a stalker and he said he couldnt be seen with me, knowing theres some other man lurking and watching our every move somewhere in the dark shadows.

I finally get the strength to get out of bed and make my way over to the bathroom to take a refreshing morning shower. Thank god I have a day off today or I would not survive an hour at work.

Undressing myself I step into the shower, washing my spiraling thoughts taunting me in the dark depths of my mind down my body. Running a hand over my face I silence out all of the voices in my head all speaking at once and allow myself to finally relax and have a moment of peace.

| - 🍂 - |

7:47 AM

I’ve gotten out of the shower and thrown on some random clothes I found in my closet so I won’t sit in my pyjamas all day even though i was being close to doing that. A simple black tank top under an oversized off-shoulder gray hoodie with black sweatpants and mini uggs on my feets, my hair being put up lazily in a messy bun. ( outfit here )

I walk down the stairs and enter the kitchen, putting on some my hometown Spanish music on the speakers I start preparing some breakfast, my hips swaying from side to side each time I walk and when I'm standing they start to create circle, dancing to the music using my hips.

🖤 - Matthew’s POV

I watch her every move, every sway of her hips and move of her perfect body. She wont be able to escape me now ever since I've laid my eyes on her that one time, after I got home that day I did all of my research and found out as much as I could without her finding out.

Fuck, she sure knows how to move her hips.

Also I may or may not installed cameras in her house a few weeks after she became my newly found obsession but atleast I can keep an eye on her and protect my girl from any danger coming her way she may not know of. No one touches what’s mine.

Shes preparing breakfast, doing something normal in this moment and still manages to look even more gorgeous each time.

I sit back in my chair at my house, watching her from all different angles on numerous monitors on my wall from the cameras I have scarretered all over her house in those small and invisible spots she would never think to check.

A laptop is dismissently sitting on my lap with the dark web opened and the newly leaked video loading, I'm checking if the new victim isn't her missing sister by any chance and to hopefully track down the location of their new stay. I've been trying to catch those fuckers for some time now with my team and we've been close in the past but never close enough.

I'm moving my gaze from a goddess dancing in her kitchen to a gory, disgusting video of various of tortureous acts being preformend on children, why do I do this you may ask? I don't know it just sucked me into the dark layers of the world and once you go in, you can't get out.

| - 🍂 - |

10:25 AM

She’s already ate breakfast, had a dance party and singing competition with the voices in her head. Finally she’s now resting on the couch of her living room writing in a journal-like notebook with her cat Willow sleeping in her lap.

That journal holds some of her darkest secrets and I’ve somehow managed to get my hands on it one night, reading thought the different things she’s been through and establishing her ex-boyfriend is a total asshole and didn’t deserve her.

If I could I would teach him a goddamn lesson for treating her like the way he did and when I first found out I was close to actually bashing that motherfucker head with a brick but I kept myself under control and decided to leave it alone.

🤍 - Rosalla’s POV

I was just journaling in my notebook, it’s always felt therapeutic to me and helped me to find my peace or to drain my constantly spiralling thoughts onto paper so I don’t have to bottle them up inside of me.

My cat Willow is snuggly cuddled up on my lap, peacefully sleeping. I wish I could be so carefree with no worries on my head like her, maybe if I was a cat I wouldn’t constantly be burying myself in my thoughts?

As I try to relax, placing the journal down next to me the memories of me and my missing sister together flood back into my mind, clouding any other thought I might have had in there.

A single small tear swirls in my eye and falls down onto the delicate fur of my cat as I pet her back, smiling at the funny and wholesome memories we had together as tears start to prick my eyes.

I wish she was here with me.

authors note: I didn’t know how to end this, kinda ended on a sad note but I finally finished it and fed you my children, there’s more backstory here to go indeep with the characters pasts. Hope I didn’t make you wait long and hope you enjoyed this!

Guestlist!

@slutforsturnioloss @sturnioloblues @sturnsxplr-25 @deffonotjae @strnzzvsp @luvvs4chriss @sturniolosweetheart333 @pussypie456 @choclatestarfishwithahat @venusxsturnio

Please turn on your mentions if you’re not here!

Reblogs, likes are very much appreciated!

[thicknick19]

Tell No One

Part Four: Don't Let Them Take Me

The Voice

You’re asleep when the knock comes. Not a sound you’ve heard since arriving.

It’s soft. Controlled. But it’s a knock.

You sit up slowly, heart pounding behind your ribs.

No one enters without a key. No one knocks. That’s been the rule.

No contact. No warning. No escape.

You don’t move. You listen.

The knock comes again.

Then a voice, muffled through the steel.

“EXR-117. Step to the door.”

It’s clipped. Too formal. Detached.

“You’re being relocated. Please comply.”

Yesterday

You know why they’re here.

They sent you to the exercise corridor again—longer this time. Too quiet. Too open.

That’s where you saw him again.

The other subject. The one from before. The one who talks too much.

He sat on the bench near the mirrored wall, stretching like it was just another ordinary day.

No escort. No staff. Just him. Waiting.

“Hey,” he said, eyes still forward. “Still got your shadow?”

You didn’t answer.

“I’ve seen how your lights flicker. The warm meals. The extras. Someone’s watching you.”

You kept walking. You should’ve kept walking.

But he stood up and followed. One step. Then another.

“The last girl who got that kind of attention? Gone. Not relocated. Gone.”

You stopped. You turned. Your voice was louder than you meant.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t follow me. You don’t know anything about me.”

He didn’t flinch.

“I know enough,” he said. “You’re being watched more closely than anyone else. But it’s not protection. It’s observation.”

He leaned in, voice low:

“When they’re done watching you, they’ll want to see what you do without him.”

You shoved him.

Not hard. But enough.

The impact echoed—his shoes scraped loudly against the floor as he stumbled back.

And then—

Sirens.

Sharp. Short. Not deafening—just alerting.

Doors opened fast.

Two staff members entered the hallway like they’d been waiting just out of frame. They didn’t speak. They didn’t hesitate.

They grabbed him.

He cursed. Struggled.

“I didn’t touch her! I didn’t do anything! She—she’s the one who—”

One of them jabbed a needle into the side of his neck. Quick. Precise.

He went still. Limbs slack. Eyes wide.

They dragged him down the corridor by the arms, his heels scraping the floor.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

They didn’t look at you. They didn’t need to.

You’d already broken the rules.

And someone had seen everything.

The Observation Log

That night, your dinner tray comes with something extra.

A folded slip of paper—tucked under the utensils like it belongs there.

You bring it to the desk. Open it slowly.

It’s a document. A report. Not for you.

SUBJECT: EXR-117 Emotional engagement fluctuates in response to isolated stimuli. Observer interference suspected. See logs: 09.02, 09.04, 09.06. Note: Observer M22 exhibiting pattern divergence. Attachment behavior escalating.

Your skin goes cold.

They know someone is watching you more closely than they should. They don’t name him. But you know who it means.

The one behind the mirror. The one who moved your bed. The one who left the blanket. The one who hasn’t stopped since.

The Isolation Room

You don’t sleep.

In the morning, they don’t take you to the corridor.

They take you to a new room. Smaller. White. Blank. No mirror. No lights that change. No sounds. No blinking red light.

You sit on the floor and wait.

Ten minutes. Twenty.

Then you speak.

“What is this? Am I being punished?”

No answer.

You knock. You shout. You stand. Pace. Sit again. Nothing changes.

“Where is he?”

The silence eats the words.

You feel it for the first time—not just the absence of comfort, but the absence of him.

“Please,” you whisper. “Don’t make me disappear.”

Still nothing.

You don’t know how long you’re in there. Time doesn’t work in blank space.

And then, the door opens.

They bring you back to your room.

Everything is the same.

Except your bed. It’s been made differently. The way you like it.

And there's something new folded neatly on top.

A heavier blanket. Familiar weight. Familiar scent.

He was here.

While you were gone—he came back.

The Attempt

You fall asleep holding the edge of that blanket tight in your hands.

And then the knock comes.

“EXR-117. You’re being relocated. Please comply.”

You sit up slowly. Turn your eyes to the mirror.

“Don’t let them take me.”

The light blinks.

Once. Then again. Then—faster.

The Breach

The door opens.

Two masked staff. One with restraints. One holding a tablet.

“Please don’t resist. This is for your safety.”

You step back until your spine touches the mirror.

The light flares.

Then—darkness.

Not flickering. Not fading. A full blackout.

A soft mechanical shift behind the mirror.

And then—movement. Not loud. Not threatening. Just the sense of presence on the other side.

A low electrical hum. A hiss of air. A click.

Something is being overridden.

You don’t see him. But you know who it is.

Then—light. Back on. Blinding.

The staff looks to the mirror. Then each other.

“Pulling back. Subject compromised. Possible breach of observation.”

They leave.

They don’t look back.

The Message

That night, there’s no food on your tray.

Only a single piece of folded paper.

You open it slowly.

No name. No signature.

But the red light on the mirror is blinking again.

Steady. Solid. A heartbeat you’ve started to recognize.

He's not supposed to care. He's not supposed to intervene. But he has.

And now you know—he won’t stop.

Taglist: @riasturns@poppetbaby02@johnheart@bells-sturn@user1smvtysturniolo@finnickodairslut @bellxx9 @ariastur9z @sage-burrow@theylovedemi @persephonesluvs @elisebeattie@novalovesstvrz@angelsturniolo@honey-zozo@idek1234567891@darksturnioloqueen@alexisa78

[loud-sturniolos]

I’m writing my own series🤗

Idk when the first part will come out, but the character introductions may come out today/tomorrow. I’m still gonna be writing fanfics, this may become my main series though.

Summary isn’t that good but oh well😽

Comment if u wanna be tagged :)

[mattslolita]

CHRIS STURNIOLO MASTERLIST ‧₊˚🍊༉‧₊˚. .ᐟ

guide ᝰ.ᐟ

─── 💌 - smut, ❤‍🩹 - angst, 🧸 - fluff

꒰ series! ꒱

psycho killer ( on hold ) - intro, 1, 2, 3, 4 💌❤‍🩹 ( ghostface!chris )

daddy issues ( tbd ) - 1 ❤‍🩹

teddy bear ft. matt ( on hold ) - 1 ❤‍🩹💌🧸 ( ghostface!chris )

thriller - 1, 2 ❤‍🩹💌 ( vampire!chris )

dealer!chris au 🧸❤‍🩹💌

she - 1, 2, 3💌 ( ghostface!chris )

drummer!chris collection 🧸💌❤‍🩹

—————————————————————————————————

꒰ standalone smut fics! ꒱

lights down low 💌

bitch from da souf 💌

moonlight 💌

best on earth 💌

one of the girls 💌

come get her 💌

p power ft. matt 💌

make u cum 💌

————————————————————————————————

꒰ standalone angst fics! ꒱

happier than ever ❤‍🩹

plane to paris ❤‍🩹

————————————————————————————————

꒰ standalone smut, angst, & fluff fics! ꒱

dilemma ❤‍🩹💌🧸

————————————————————————————————

꒰ standalone fluff fics! ꒱

compass 🧸

no fear 🧸

————————————————————————————————

꒰ headcanons! ꒱

touchy!chris 🧸

————————————————————————————————

꒰ blurbs! ꒱

see you again 🧸

pussy poppin ( riding chris's face ) 💌

fresh love for the fit ( backshots in chris's brand ) 💌

i miss you sex w chris 💌

chris during arguments ❤‍🩹

chris & shy!reader 🧸

chris w dumbification kink 💌

bff!chris who eats you out as a joke 💌

mutual masturbation with chris 💌

massaging chris with new nails 🧸

chris watching you shake ass ft. matt 🧸 ( ish? )

bff!chris & you building snowmen 🧸

————————————————————————————————

꒰ extras! ꒱

lyrics that remind me of chris! - 1

—————————————————————————————————

chris taglist : tbd ( comment to be added! )

[starrysturnz]

star’s sturniolo fic & blog recommendations .ᐟ

just a little something while i work on getting some of my own writing out there. see my blog navigation if you’re interested in what’s up next. i’ll be posting very soon! much love <3

a couple things to note: fics that have multiple parts will be indicated with an asterisk (*), but i’m only going to link the first part. only fics that currently have multiple parts will be indicated. happy reading!

also, i recognize that some of these authors may not be active anymore. that doesn’t mean we can’t still appreciate their work!

☼ matthew sturniolo

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ casual by @hollandsangel

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ earned it* by @ch0llies

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ gloves off by @sturnsdarling

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ i get them too, sometimes* by @sturnsdarling

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ my baby by @bernardsbendystraws

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ play dirty by @solarsturniolo

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ seven minutes in hell by @plasticferal

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ this is (not) easy by @sturnioz

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ voice by @hollandsangel

☾ christopher sturniolo

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ crimson sweats by @evieolo

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ heaven and back by @sweetangelgirl7

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ lollipop* by @freshloverr

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ real, and mine by @bambi-slxt

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ red eyes* by @bernardsbendystraws

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ rough day by @mattscoquette

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ stay the fuck away from her* @sturnsdarling

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ tulips and forget-me-nots* @darksturnz

✴︎ matt & chris sturniolo

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ sharing is caring* by @bambi-slxt

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ three is not a crowd by @junovrsmp4

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ thriller* by @mattslolita

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ two is always better by @vanteguccir

⤷ ⁺⁎˚ you jealous? by @likeumeanit9497

i’ll keep adding to this list until i can’t tag any more people. kisses .ᐟ

[miss-sturn]

Ghostface | Matt Sturniolo | Finale.

'What's the matter Sidney? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

ghostface!matt x reader

Chapter 9: Thriller night.

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9

Warnings: Death. Bad ending. Cursing.

My hand hovered over the doorknob, the ominous words still echoing in my head:

"Don't answer the door."

But I couldn’t ignore it. We needed help, and this was our way out.

“Matt, don't!” y/n’s voice cut through the tension, her fear palpable. I turned to see her behind me, wide-eyed and trembling. I wanted to tell her to run, but the words caught in my throat as I faced the monster before me.

I glance at y/n one last time. Her face is pale, her eyes silently pleading with me. I push the thought aside. This has to be over. It has to.

With a deep breath, I yank the door open.

And there he is.

Me. But not me.

My doppelganger stands in the doorway, his twisted grin illuminated by the dim hallway light.

His hand clenches a bloody knife, and in his other, a torn candy bag drips with something far darker than chocolate. His eyes lock onto mine, his grin widening.

"Trick or treat, bitch."

The sight of him freezes my blood, and before I can react, he lunges at me, shoving me backward into the apartment.

The door slams shut, trapping us all in this nightmare.

I scramble to my feet, reaching for y/n, but she hesitates, backing away. There's a flicker in her eyes—a trace of fear mixed with something unrecognizable.

She’s pulling away from me. 

The doppelgänger laughs, a bone-chilling sound that sends a shiver down my spine.

"You thought you could save her?" he mocks. "You thought this was all just a bad dream?"

I stagger, heart racing. My muscles feel leaden, every move like wading through quicksand.

He advances toward y/n, the knife glinting menacingly, "Get away from her!" I lunge to grab him, but my vision blurs, the room twisting and spinning.

But…the twist.

Y/n's eyes lock onto mine, her lips curling into a small, almost apologetic smile.

And then… she steps forward, toward him.

I freeze, disbelief washing over me as she whispers something under her breath, something I can’t quite make out.

Then she takes his hand.

"Y/n?" My voice cracks, barely audible, the shock too much to process.

She turns to me, her face pale but determined. "I’m sorry, Matt," she says, her voice cold. "But… this was always going to happen."

My breath caught in my chest as the realization hit me: she was no longer just a terrified girl caught in the middle of my nightmare.

And with a swift, brutal motion, she takes the knife from his hand and drives it deep into my chest.

I gasp, the pain exploding through my body. The betrayal stings even more than the blade as I collapse to the floor, blood pooling around me.

“You thought you could save her?” my doppelgänger mocked, glancing back at y/n, who now wore a chilling smile. “She’s mine.”

The last thing I see before darkness overtakes me is their figures—mine and hers—standing over me, smiling as the room around us begins to twist and warp. Like the nightmare isn’t over, like it’s just beginning.

Darkness.

I blink, groggy and disoriented, lying on y/n’s kitchen floor. Soft morning light filters through the curtains, and for a moment, everything feels ordinary, safe.

I sit up slowly, my hand flying to my chest, but there’s no wound, no blood. I glance around, confused but relieved to see y/n sleeping on the couch nearby.

There’s no blood, no knife. Was it all just a nightmare?

I stagger to my feet, my chest aching with a raw, hollow pain that sinks deep. The betrayal is a fresh wound, and my heart twists as I watch her, sitting there with a chilling calm.

Every moment echoes with her words: “It was always going to happen.”

Unable to shake the image of her turning against me, I back away, fury and sorrow boiling up until it’s almost unbearable.

Blinded by betrayal, I stumble into the kitchen, hands trembling as I fumble through the drawer and pull out a cold, gleaming knife.

Each step feels heavier, a weight pressing down as I return to her side, blade clutched tight.

“Why?” I whisper, voice raw, a tear sliding down my cheek. But she only watches, unreadable, offering no answers, no remorse. Just that silent, haunting calm.

In a single, swift motion, I drive the knife into her chest.

She gasps, her eyes widening as they meet mine, and my breath catches as I see, not malice or anger in her gaze, but… innocence.

Her lips part, a flicker of pain flashing across her face, as if she’s seeing me for the first time. A tear rolls down her cheek, glistening in the dim light.

Was this… was this not her?

The silence after the final shudder of her breath hangs heavy, oppressive. My chest tightens, and I stumble back, the knife slipping from my fingers and clattering to the floor.

My mind races, confusion blurring with horror as I stare at her still form, trying to make sense of the innocence in her eyes, the tear that glistened there.

But then, the doorbell rings.

And this time, it’s real.

My stomach twists with dread as I stand, my heart pounding in my chest. Slowly, I approach the door, every instinct screaming at me to stop, to turn back.

But I don’t.

I open the door.

Standing there, just as before, is my doppelgänger, his grin wider than ever, his eyes gleaming with malice. He raises the knife again, dripping with fresh blood.

"I told you," he whispers, stepping forward. "You can't kill what's already dead."

But then, a shadow stirs behind him.

It’s y/n, emerging from the darkened hallway, her movements slow, unnatural, like a puppet on strings. Blood stains her shirt where the knife pierced her, yet her eyes burn with a twisted, malevolent glow.

Her lips pull into a sickly smile, and she steps forward, her gaze locked onto mine with a predatory gleam that sends chills down my spine.

In that moment, a sick jolt of disbelief surged through me, twisting into a horror that clawed at my chest. I thought I’d ended this—I thought she was gone.

“Y/n… how? How can you be with him?” I whispered, my voice raw, barely audible. I backed away, feeling a betrayal so deep it left me hollow.

“Why not, Matt? He understands me,” she replied, her voice dripping with venom. “You were always too scared to embrace the darkness.”

Then, without a word, she ran into the darkness, her figure blurring as the kitchen began to twist and shift around me.

The once familiar space morphed into a chilling corn maze, the walls of towering stalks looming ominously. Shadows danced between the rows, whispering secrets that sent shivers down my spine.

“Y/n!” I called out, my voice echoing in the eerie silence. I felt a strange pull, a desperation driving me forward as I sprinted deeper into the unnatural corn maze.

Each turn brought new terrors: rustling leaves that seemed to mock my every step, distant whispers that tickled the back of my mind.

The air thickened, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something far more sinister.

But then I saw her—a flash of movement in the distance. “Y/n!” I shouted again, pushing past the creeping vines and twisting paths.

My heart raced as I navigated the maze, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Suddenly, the doppelgänger appeared, but just as quickly as he came, he vanished into the shadows, leaving only the chilling echo of his laughter behind.

My instincts screamed at me to turn back, but I couldn’t abandon her, not now.

The corn stalks whispered around me, their rustling growing louder, and I felt a chilling sense of dread settle in.

Just when I thought I was lost forever, I caught sight of her again, standing still at the end of a narrow path, her back turned to me.

"Y/n." I say softly, my voice barely more than a whisper, my heart aching with a storm of emotions—betrayal, grief, an aching need to understand, and... something else I can’t even name.

As I gaze at her, conflicting emotions wrestle within me. I had just killed her—had felt the warmth of her blood on my hands, the finality of her breath leaving her body.

And yet, here she stood, hauntingly beautiful amidst the corn maze's shadows. I should feel rage, betrayal, but instead, an ache in my chest deepens.

Y/n pauses, and for a heart-stopping moment, everything goes still. She turns, slowly, her movements unnaturally deliberate, like she’s savoring every second. My breath catches as her face finally comes into view.

Her eyes are dark, glistening with a strange light, and her lips curve into a bittersweet, knowing smile. It's a face I almost recognize—but twisted, hollow, like the girl I knew has been swallowed by something else.

Then she speaks, and her eyes soften, but for a moment, it’s like I’m looking at the girl I used to know—the girl who’d laugh at my jokes, who'd smile shyly when I caught her glancing my way.

Her expression shifts, a glimmer of sadness touching her features as she looks at me with those familiar, tender eyes.

"You really think we can escape this, Matt?" she asks, almost pleading. Her lips tremble as though she’s fighting back tears. "This is Halloween... their night."

“Matt…” she breathed, her voice now soft and vulnerable. “Don’t you see? This is our chance. We can be free.”

In that moment, something shifted, and I was drawn to her. The darkness that had enveloped us faded for just an instant, revealing the deep connection we shared.

I stepped forward, our bodies inches apart, the heat between us igniting a fire I thought was lost.

“I’ll save you,” I whispered, my voice laced with determination as I closed the distance between us, my heart racing. I reached out, brushing my fingers against her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch. “I won’t let him take you.”

I leaned in, our lips meeting in a desperate kiss as I gently cradled her face, her delicate body.

For a fleeting moment, everything felt right—until I tasted something metallic, something warm.

I pulled back, confusion flooding my senses as I realized it was blood, her blood, seeping from her mouth.

The blood poured steadily from her mouth as she stepped back, staring at me with wide eyes, an evil smile gracing her lips as she cocked her head to one side.

Then, she reached out, stroking my face with her fingertips, the softness of her touch contrasting the horror of the moment.

"I've always loved you, Matt,” she said softly, the words hanging heavy in the air.

I felt a rush of emotions, my heart aching with a desperate longing to tell her how much she meant to me, how I would do anything to pull her back from the darkness. But the words caught in my throat, leaving me paralyzed.

Then, with one final look of pity, she spun round, disappearing into the corn maze once again.

My heart pounded in my chest as I touched my bloodstained lips, the metallic taste a grim reminder of what had just transpired. I had to find y/n—I had to save her.

With renewed determination, I bolted down the darkened maze, my feet pounding against the floor as I pushed through the suffocating fear.

“Trick or treat!” she screamed, her laughter echoing eerily in my mind as I dashed deeper into the shadows, her voice haunting me, refusing to let go.

But as I ran, I stumbled and fell hard, the impact jolting me back to reality. Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself up, ignoring the sharp pain in my side.

“Don’t you want to feel the thrill?” her voice echoed through the hall, laced with malicious glee, sending chills down my spine.

I shook my head sharply, fighting against the intoxicating pull of her voice. The shadows morphed around me, twisting into nightmarish shapes, taunting me with glimpses of what I feared I might lose forever.

Then;

“Matt,” she called softly, that deceptively sweet tone wrapping around me like a vice. “Come join us. We’ve been waiting for you.”

I whip my head around, in search of the voice. But a bitter truth dawns on me. Y/n was dead. This was not her. This was her doppelganger.

I turned to escape, ready to find another way out, when suddenly, y/n emerged out of nowhere, her figure gliding between the corn stalks like a wraith. She lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with an iron grip, her eyes glinting with an unsettling intensity.

"Come join us." She said, her mouth stained with blood, head tilted to the side.

I try to yank myself free, but it's no use. Her eyes turn angry when she sees the look of horror on my face.

"Don't run from me." She snarls, her tone dripping with urgency and something darker. I felt a jolt of panic, confusion twisting in my gut as I tried to pull away, but her hold was unyielding.

"Let go of me!" I yell, my voice echoing into the endless void of the corn maze.

Then her face suddenly drops, devoid of any emotion, transforming into something freakishly calm. A smile played on her lips, but it was devoid of warmth. She stared into the void, her gaze distant and unsettling.

Then she uttered one chilling word: “Run.”

Panic surged through me, and I stumbled, yanking free of her grip. As I turned to flee, I felt a knot of dread tighten in my gut, the shadowy remnants of her presence lingering as I raced away.

Without thinking, I rounded a corner and came face to face with my doppelgänger, who stood there with that twisted grin, his eyes gleaming with malice.

Just as I was about to crash into him, a sudden, surreal sensation enveloped me. I felt myself floating, the world around me blurring and twisting as I was pulled through him, as if I were a mere ghost passing through a wall.

In an instant, everything shifted, and I found myself transported back to the kitchen. The room was eerily quiet, but the suffocating feeling of dread lingered, pressing against my chest like a heavy weight.

Matt stumbled forward, breath heaving as he felt himself cross an invisible threshold, the haunting echoes behind him fading into silence.

For a moment, he thought he’d escaped—that he was free of the nightmare. He took a shaky breath, grounding himself in the stillness of the night.

But then—pain, sharp and unrelenting, bloomed in his back, stealing his breath. His knees buckled as he looked down to see a blade’s edge protruding just below his ribs, blood seeping through his shirt.

His body convulsed, and he fell forward, his mind struggling to process what was happening.

But even as he felt himself slipping away, he could hear her voice echoing in the night, haunting and beautiful. “You wanted the thrill, Matt. Now you’ll live it.”

The world spun as he dropped to his knees, hands instinctively clutching his chest, blood pooling beneath his fingers.

Weakly, he looked up, hoping for one last glimpse of her, of the person he once trusted.

But her face was devoid of warmth, her eyes fixed on him with a twisted satisfaction. She leaned down, close enough that he could feel the coldness radiating from her.

In that moment, I understood the true horror of Halloween.

I was trapped, destined to relive this nightmare over and over again.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing my doppelgänger, now fully formed and grinning widely. “You can’t kill what’s already dead, Matt,” he said, his voice a twisted mockery of my own.

“You can’t kill what’s already dead,” he repeated, stepping closer.

Again. And again.

You can't kill what's already dead. You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead. You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead.You can't kill what's already dead. You can't kill what's already dead.

"Darkness falls across the land, the midnight hour is close at hand. Creatures crawl in search of blood, To terrorize y'all's neighborhood.

And whosoever shall be found, Without the soul for getting down, Must stand and face the hounds of hell, And rot inside a corpse's shell.

taglist: @lexisecretaccx @itssophiasstuff @junnniiieee07

@bernardsbendystraws for the divider!!

a/n: lowkey rushed this!

[allyleetheo]

Matt Sturniolo

🌼 fluff | ❤️ smut | ⚠️ angst

💫 AU's | 😂 comedy | 👻 horror

👾 Sci-fi | 💀 thriller | ⚔️ action

Ongoing ↗️ Complete 🔁

18+ 🔞 No 18+ 🚫

Good pacing 📶 Slow pacing 〽️

📚 Worth rereading

Voice 🚫🌼

Cabin fever 🔞❤️💫

Play Dirty (Part 1) 🔞❤️💫↗️📚

Fuckboy! 🔞❤️💫

Cowboy by Tyler the creator 🔞❤️💫🌼

Me & U Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 🔞❤️💫↗️📚

Blurbs:

Dating Matt is hard at times 🔞❤️

Taking a photo with the triplets (Dating Matt) - Established relationship 🚫🌼

Lurking (part 1/4) (Stalker au) 🔞❤️⚠️💫🔁

Link to my full Masterlist -> here

Tumblr fanfic recs Masterlist -> here

[ssturniolo92]

can u write about reader x chris or matt watching a horror or thriller movie that the reader recommended so they dont get scared but matt or chris does and it’s just really funny to them

Chris Sturniolo-Fearful

pairing-chris sturniolo x reader

genre-fluff

warnings-idk horror movie, killing mentioned, cursing

a/n-let me know if you want a matt version of this and tysm for the request!!!

you already knew the jumpscare was coming up. so you watched as chris hugged you to his chest and covered his mouth nervously with his hand.

he seemed to have been so engrossed in the movie that he forgot you were there. you looked up at him and waited patiently.

you glanced at the tv screen and saw that it was just moments before the scare. you had seen this movie dozens of times and since halloween season was almost here you decided to watch it with chris.

he was a big fan of horror movies, yet had never seen this one. as soon as the killer popped up behind the main character chris yelped.

“GO GO GO FUCKING GO. RUN.” he yelled from next to you. you laughed as he jumped up off the couch, putting hands on his head.

“CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR!” he yelled.

“chris it’s just a movie.” you said, still chuckling. you tilted your head to look at him as he sat back down.

“could’ve given me a warning.” he mumbled.

“what’s the fun in that?”

[sturns-mermaid]

UPCOMING WORKS .ᐟ

coming to a tumblr post near you!

| ✶ smut ✽ fluff ✸ angst

prom queen - chratt mini series | horror/thriller? | how far will you go to claim your crown?

trouble in paradise - chratt | what happens when you find love on vacation?

runaway bride - chratt | you make a last minute decision to run from the alter, and your two best friends are your getaway drivers. ✶

good boy - sub matt | you see matt walk out of a club on your night shift as a police officer. you help him ✶

sundress - dom matt | matt planned a picnic for you both. giving you the perfect opportunity to wear a sundress and no panties ✶

fan girl reader x chris - what happens when you live in the same apartment complex as chris sturniolo? (mini blurbs)

star girl - dom chris | gold star but in reverse ✶

stolen hearts intro - interactive, chris series

american dream - intro, matt series

campfire secrets - slasher/thriller, kinda based on fear street 1994

let me know if you would like to be tagged!

tags: @itsmaddielouis @oliviasthatgirl @brianna-grace12 @scorpio1205 @submattenthusiast @courta13 @mattsplaything @conspiracy-ash @anyaa2s @hazedsturns @eclipsturns @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @immaqulate @t0riiiis @heartsonlyforchris @blushsturns @hearts4werka @mattsbows @sweetshuga @leoslaboratory @pair-of-pantaloons @riasturns  @lezleeferguson-120 @sturnsflirt

[fuddsgf]

STURNIOLO MASTERLIST !

key:

❣︎ fluff

✧ angst

✽ suggestive

✪ thriller

(request closed)

chris:

letters to my lover series!

summary: chris writes love letter to his girlfriend

p.s. i still love you ✧

p.s. i’ll always love you ✧

parts of her series! (discontinued)

summary: chris meets a girl, who's everything he wants and more. little does he know, she's got a hidden secret.

does she even exist ✪

now you know ✪

one shots:

a bedtime story ❣︎

| request ➜ “dad chris with twin boys”

softcore ✧

matt

dangerous women series! (discontinued)

summary: matt gets assigned to work for the most wanted drug lord

dangerous women

dangerous women 2

dangerous women 3

one shots:

tag, you’re it ✪

was it worth it? ✧

[iluvmatt]

unearthly, m.s

prologue, i beg of you, save us from this hell. synopsis: in a small suburban area of boston, a group of teenagers—matthew sturniolo and his two triplet brothers, nick and chris, and a childhood friend of theirs, y/n—travel to an old destination named granger’s deathly hill; a place in which hadn’t been visited merely since the early 1970s. atop of the old haunted hill, the group soon realize things aren’t truly as picturesque as they imagined and conclude that they are in grave danger. as they meet people along the way, they realize that the journey home may be harder than expected. knowing that they are in a situation that could ultimately ruin their lives or end them entirely, they make up a plan to make it back home safe, or better yet, alive. amongst the chaos, while trying to save each other, matt and y/n realize that there is more to them than just friendship. warnings: mentions of death with small description, and anxiety expressed in the prologue below.

rumor spread rapidly around the small suburban area in boston, of the old hill owned formerly by choi granger; who was recently found suspiciously deceased in the driveway of his residence. apparent witnesses in the weekly sunday newspaper state that there were ghosts and other such paranormal beings around the area over the weekend of the fifth of august, as they could hear sobs for help within the trees. 

granger hill was something unlike any other, as some lifelong villagers say, due to the suspicion and unpredictability of mr. granger himself. it had all started around 1965— the year that mr. granger moved in, fresh to the small area of merely six-thousand people. 

he was tall and stocky, with dark eyes that everyone he had met said that they saw the devil staring back at them when they looked directly in them. he wore old worn overalls, a black long-sleeve underneath— even in the summer heat— and gloves that none of the villagers remembered him taking off. locals said he held secrets beneath those dirt-stained gloves and that's why he never removed them out in the public eye. 

even as a child, he was someone that nobody wanted to be around, as just his presence was enough to drain someone’s soul for the next six months. maybe it was his fault, maybe it was someone else’s, or maybe, he was just made like that. maybe, he was simply made with a heart that was cold as ice, a stare that could send someone into a panic, and a personality that nobody wanted to get to know, except for his wife, that left him alone even after her death. 

that, too, was something nobody could quite understand or piece together. how did granger, one of the worst people known to this town, have a wife? how was he able to meet someone who loved hi, no matter what. nobody saw his wife much, they only knew that her hair was jet black and her cheeks had no color. 

soon after their marriage, though, she was found in the woods.

that being said, with the mysterious death of his wife and the appearance of granger as a whole, he was an unsettling topic all by his lonesome, but the property in which he lived both on and around was something indescribably horrifying. 

in the spring of seventy-three, a couple went on a romantic old-style picnic date within the woods of granger hill, and came out completely different people. after their picnic, the woman, coretta anderson, was placed into a psychiatric asylum due to uncontrollable anxiety, and her boyfriend, dylan russo, was rumored to have moved far out of town and hadn't been seen since. 

it was also rumored amongst the town that an old man in the late 1800s still haunts where he was hung in the woods, near where granger’s wife was found, as you can see his visible figure at dawn, and a little girl who was viciously killed years after the older man can still be heard singing in the distance if listened to close enough. 

months after the rumors surfaced, more than five decomposed bodies were found in the mess of the trees. nobody knows if they are the two of those who were rumored, or who they might've been. it was a closed case, and not a single person was asking questions about it. 

there were so many unanswered questions about mr. granger, his life, and his home; now put to a perpetual halt due to his death. 

the people wondered what caused the mans death, though; he was in perfectly good health and seemed to be better than he had ever been before. now, with choi granger dead and the entirety of the community together and asking why, the hill was renamed granger's deathly hill. 

now, after forty-nine years of the mystery going unsolved— four teens find themselves venturing to the troubled land, hoping for a good explanation to ease their worries.

taglist: @taking-a-footnote-in-your-life, @lostwonderwall, @lomlolivia, @sturniolomads, @kylespencersvocalcords, @stxrniqlo, @sophialimass, @loonielol, @siriusfahey, @getbillzoned, @kjd55, @ceceswritings, @dancingintheedark, @yoongoboongo, @kissesforkills, @dabwoos​, @iloveneilperry​, @im-a-matt-girl​, @zebonos​, reach out to be added!

masterlist | previous © iluvmatt, 2023.

[hearts4werka]

Missing

Summary: it’s been six months since your sister went missing, everyone gave up on the investigation but you’re determined to find her no matter what but someone comes along the way… Genre: ANGST first person pov, Stalker, missing person, thriller, horror, crime investigation, dark aesthetic, stalker romance, double pov, b&e, unexpected visitor, dark themes, Warnings: breaking in, abuse, use of weapons, being held hostage, ?depression?, mental health issues, swearing, pet names (little monster), skin bruising, fighting, ?suggestive content?, traumatizing, possibly trigging subjects, ass content ahead and ofc Read At Your Own Risk!

This is part 4 of the 'Missing' series!

🤍 - Rosalla's POV

I wish she was here with me.

Memories of me and her flood my mind like a tsunami hitting a building, all of the moments I'll cherish for all of my life, with or without her. I've cried over her multiple time since her disappearance and I have to get my shit together and figure out how to report that stalker of mine to the police again, I still cannot believe that my stalker have gone to the point to break into my house and do unspeakle acts between my legs.

My mind keeps on denying the fact that I possibly enjoyed the acts he has done, I havent been able to feel safe in my own house for these past months ever since. Today though the feeling seems to be intensified as I constantly feel a pair of eyes following my every move like everyday but they feel like they're coming closer to me.

I gaze around my surroundings, my mind trying to make me think im not actually going insane and that there is something lurking in the shadows of my own house, before I could get completely dragged into the dark shadows of my mind it has created my cat Willow comes up purring, petting herself on my leg and silently demaning some sustenance in the form of cat food.

A soft chuckle rumbles in my throat at her clear attention seeking attitude, finding it slightly adorable as I rise from my seat and my feet slide over the tile floor under them as I travel into the kitchen. I squat down and take the cat's food bowl into my hand but a simple ring of the front door doorbell catches me off guard as I am not expecting anyone currently nor any packages.

Confusion contours my facial features as my eyes move towards the front door where the noise is coming from, maybe a possible unexpected guest decided to visit my household today? but who could it be? questions begin to rise in my already spiraling mind which only overweighs the other thoughts stuck inside of my head.

I stand up onto my feet and make my way towards the door with upkept caution to not let the person on the other side of the door know that I am trying to figure out who it could be, making as less noise as it is humanly possible in the moment ive been placed in right now, checking through the peephole I dont find what ive expected to be on the other side.

Twisting the house key in the keyhole of the door and grabbing ahold of the doorhandle I swing it open and scan my eyes around the surrounding nature on the front porch and find once again nothing and am only met with my black doormat with "Welcome!" written across it in white bold letters.

My anxiety rises onto a higher level than it was already on before with the growing questions slowly starting to cloud my mind alongside the shadows, I walk back to my living room and notice Willow ran off somewhere and isnt near me anymore, not thinking much about it when I finally find myself back in the living room i notice a strangely familiar man sitting on my couch with his body facing me and Willow snuggled into his lap as he pets her spine with his heavily tattoed arm.

My body instantly responds to the sudden intruder inside of my house by freezing inplace and refusing to move from my standing form, laborthed sharp breaths leave my mouth as I silently observe the surely unexpected guest inside of my house acting way to calm for my liking, not seeming like the hostile type and more on the kinder side which doesn’t make me feel better about this whole situation.

"Look who decided to join us, welcome Rosalla" He speaks in a calm, almost soothing tone while his gaze visibly runs up and down my frozen body as I notice a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth under the hood that’s currently concealing the upper half of his face.

As much as I would love to just rip that hood off his face and take Willow away from him I can’t move my body no matter how hard I try, it’s like my body turned into a stone statue in a museum in the section of Ancient Greece but the only thing is that I am in my house currently with what could have the possibility to be my stalker.

“W-who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house?” I trip over my words as he suddenly rises from his seat and slowly makes steps closer towards me, I continue to stand in place with my mind becoming a bigger scramble and pleading for my body to move or do something rational and not just stand in place like a fucking idiot.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m not here to harm you in any way.” He calmly teased, I already could feel his hot breath hitting my skin and goosebumps growing all over my body. His slender form looms over me as the heavily tattooed arm reaches over and brushes against my chest before roughly grabbing my chin and making me look up at him.

“I’m going to enjoy ruining you, little monster.”

“Fuck you.”

“That as well.”

I roll my eyes at him and finally manage to make my first move, grabbing his hand and digging my nails into his inked skin to leave a mark as I push it away from my chin, freeing my face from his tight grasp and automatically taking a cautious step backwards.

"You're a sick bastard if you think I'll let you anywhere near me." I bite back, now slowly regaining back my confidence and movement capability, now running into the kitchen as he calls out from the hallway. “You’re running already? We haven’t even started the real fun yet.” I notice the slight venom between the ‘innocent’ words which makes a shiver run down my spine.

When he finally catches up to me in the kitchen I quickly open one of the drawers with all of the kitchen knifes residing inside of it and take one of the bigger ones out of it, holding it up for him to see and pointing the sharp tip of it in his direction for any possible protection I could get out of it, he stands infront of me on the other side of the kitchen island.

"Back off, bitch." I state with warning lacing my tone as my confidence rises more and the fear now lowering to a smaller level with a calming shiver washing over my body. The only reaction I manage to gauge out of him is a sinister laugh and his smirk intensifying in growth, as if he wasnt comprehending the fact that a kitchen knife resides in my hand.

"You're gonna try to fight me off with that? how cute." He mocks my choice of protection, as if he has anything on himself. He's helpless right now while the knife stays clutched in my hand, well if you discard the fact he has strong arms and could probably snap me in half with just a flick of his fingers which doesnt help with my already high anxiety level.

Before I get to think and appreciate I have the possible high ground in this situation he quickly makes his way towards me which makes me sprint out of the kitchen and back into the living room with him right on my ass behind me, suddenly as Im running away from him a strong calloused hand slams me into the nearby wall and the pain spreads across the whole upper part of my body, a line of curses leaves my mouth in one painful groan.

“You think you can run from me?” He mocks my attempt on trying to escape his wrath, the hand where the knife resided in is currently pinned against my back. The vice grip he has on my hand makes me drop the knife, it hitting the floor with a loud thud which makes me groan in the increase of the immense pain I already feel all over my body.

“You are mine and only mine, if any other men try to even get close to you. I won’t fucking hesitate to kill them and bury them in your backyard for a little reminder who you belong to.”

I try to wiggle my way out of the trap I’ve been placed in, squirming in pain as I feel multiple bruises growing and starting to adore the surface of my skin, and I was out here thinking I had the high ground in this situation against a man thats clearly way stronger, taller and surely has some tricks up his sleave when I have now none since my item for protection has now ended up on the floor and I cannot move to pick it up because of the position Im in.

Suddenly, I feel cold metal being pressed against the back of my head and the fear rises back inside of me as I realize what is currently being held against my head. My breathing becomes labored as he brings his face closer to my ear, his breath hot against the shell of my ear which sends a shiver running down my spine before whispering. “You look so adorable all scared and terrified.”

“I’m gonna call the police on you and they’ll put you finally where you belong.” I hiss through my gridded teeth, fear being evident in my voice which it seems only fuels him to continue through with his actions, the cold metal barrel sliding down my back and tapping the back of my thighs, asking for them to move apart but with how they’re trembling right now I doubt there are going to move in any moment.

“And you think they’ll believe any word you say about this? You can call them all you want but just know, you’ll never get rid of me, little monster.” A chuckle rumbles in his throat and escaping past his lips at my words, him mocking me once again and assuring me I’ll never be able to get rid of him. It’s already been over five months and I the police haven’t even found one trace of finding out this man’s identity and neither did I, he seems like just an everlasting shadow that’s just stuck in your mind that you can’t get rid of.

We hear the front doorbell ring and realization hits me, I remembered my best friend Nora was supposed to visit today to check in on my sanity and how I’m holding up. She visits me whenever she can borrow the time and she makes it her priority to see me atleast once every few days which I appreciate her for so much and can’t thank god that she decided to come at this rightful time.

Before I can realize it, the man releases me from his grasp and the cold gun is taken away from my body and I feel slight relief as my body slides against the wall and down onto the cold floor of my house as the doorbell rings again and we hear Nora call out my name form behind the door. “Hey Ro, you good in there? I heard fighting inside.”

As soon as the front door cracks opens and Nora steps foot into the house, the man is gone. No trace left behind of him, only me sitting on the floor and clutching my body as if it would fall apart if I let go. Nora immediately runs up to my trembling form and envelops me into her warm arms, her face contoured with confusion as she finally speaks up.

“What the fuck happened here?”

@hearts4werka

authors note: omfg the end is so rushed and I’m so so sorry that y’all needed to wait so long for this but I’ve been focused on some of the other fics and my mind was so empty when I was writing this so some sentences might repeat, I hope the wait was worth it but I kinda doubt it. Luv y’all so much

& love and peace, V

Guestlist!

| @sturnioloblues - @sturnsxplr-25 - @deffonotjae - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @klaus223492 - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot |

Reblogs, likes and comments are very much appreciated!

[thicknick19]

Tell No One

Part Three: They're Watching

Routine Repetition

Your routine is starting to rot.

Not dramatically—just enough to notice. You wake, you eat, you sit for your reflection periods. The lights shift, the meals arrive, the silence holds. But everything feels a little off-script.

Breakfast is served five minutes late. Your “assigned reading” changes without warning. The water in your shower runs warmer than it used to—comfortably warm, not the ice-cold compliance they’d been drilling into you since you arrived.

You didn’t request that.

They said you couldn’t.

The Reflection Period

You sit in the hard-backed chair across from the mirror. The blinking red camera light stares through you.

“You’re not following the rules anymore,” you say. “At least not all of them.”

You let the silence stretch. It used to feel like talking into a void—now it feels like whispering through a wall you’re not supposed to know is hollow.

“The lights are different. The food is better. The bed—someone moved it. It’s closer to the mirror than it was yesterday.”

You glance behind you, jaw tight.

“I don’t know if that was you. Or if someone else is starting to notice that you’re paying attention.”

No answer. Just the soft blink. Steady. Measured.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

The Pencil

It shows up in your lunch tray. Ordinary. Unlabeled. A black pencil, freshly sharpened. No eraser.

You haven’t been given anything to write with until now. Not once. No paper. No notebooks. Not even a pen to sign your name with on arrival.

And now, suddenly, this.

You stare at it for a long time, fingers curling around it.

It doesn’t feel like a mistake.

You move it to your desk. Lay it carefully across the center. Two hours later, it’s gone.

In its place: a new book. One you mentioned wanting in a reflection days ago. You didn’t request it. You just... thought out loud.

It’s there now. Waiting for you.

The next morning, the blanket is folded differently. Not hospital-corner tight—soft, curved edges, tucked under just the way you do it.

There’s a second cup next to your usual water glass. No note. No explanation.

You lift it. Still warm.

A Voice in Her Head—Her Own

You start questioning yourself.

Not hallucinating. Not panicking. Just thinking too hard about patterns. About what's allowed and what's real.

“He’s not supposed to care,” you whisper one night to the mirror. “Is he?”

It was in the welcome guide, somewhere near the middle:

Observers must maintain neutrality. Observers must not influence the subject’s state or routine.

You run your hand over the edge of your bed again.

You’re not imagining this.

The mattress has been moved. Less than an inch, but moved.

Closer to the mirror.

You stare at your reflection. Not because you expect a reply, but because you’ve stopped trusting silence to mean no one is there.

The Warning

Your dinner tray includes something new again: a single slip of paper, folded under the napkin.

You unfold it slowly. The writing is shaky. Pen. Not typed. No signature.

Be careful what you say... They're watching

You sit back in your chair. The paper trembles in your hand.

No breathing behind the mirror. No voice in your head.

Just your own pulse, fast and human.

The facility is quiet. The rules are shifting. And the one person breaking them for you?

You’ve never seen his face. But you’re starting to think you trust him more than anyone here.

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[thicknick19]

Tell No One

Part Two - Eyes On You

The Routine

Time doesn’t pass here. It circles.

You wake when the lights shift from deep amber to sterile white, flickering once like a sunrise that forgot how to be warm. You eat when the tray slides in from the wall, always silent. Always the same food. A little too perfect. A little too you.

Then come the reflection periods.

Twice a day, morning and evening, you’re required to sit in front of the mirror and talk. About what? Anything. Everything. You’re told this is “vital for emotional data collection.”

The Welcome Packet included guidelines:

Face the mirror directly.

Speak clearly.

Be emotionally transparent.

Do not engage in self-harm or acts of deception.

Do not attempt to provoke or manipulate your observer.

That last one stays in your mind like a song lyric.

"Your observer."

You haven’t seen them. Haven’t heard them. But you feel it—eyes, always just past the surface of the glass. Watching. Listening.

At first, you follow the guidelines with distant sarcasm:

“I’m fine. Day one, maybe day two. Hard to tell. Thanks for the food. I’d kill for a clock. Are you bored yet, or is staring at me cry the highlight of your week?”

The mirror gives nothing back.

But you keep going. Because what else is there?

The Breakdown Begins

By the fifth—or maybe fifteenth—day, your sarcasm thins.

The silence seeps in. It fills the corners of your room, winds around your ankles when you sleep, presses in behind your eyes when you’re awake. You start talking to the mirror just to make noise.

“My mom would love this place. Always said I needed discipline.” “I had a dog once. He died in the winter.” “There’s something wrong with the light in here. It doesn’t feel real.”

No one answers. Of course they don’t. But sometimes, when your voice cracks, or when you press your fingers to the glass—you swear the red light pauses. Just for a second.

You tell yourself it's nothing.

But you stop looking directly at the mirror after that.

Protocol Breach (Subtle)

One morning, you skip the reflection session.

You curl up on the bed and close your eyes instead, refusing to face the mirror.

Ten minutes pass. Then twenty.

Then—click. A soft, mechanical shift.

You open your eyes.

There’s a blanket at the foot of your bed. Not the thin, scratchy standard-issue sheet. A different one—soft. Dark gray. Heavy. Folded perfectly.

You didn’t see or hear anyone come in.

It smells faintly like detergent. Clean, but real. Like a home you forgot existed.

Your throat tightens.

“Thank you,” you whisper toward the mirror, unsure if you mean it.

The red light blinks. Once. Twice. Then it holds.

Solid red. Unmoving.

You feel watched. But for the first time… not alone.

What They Don’t Say

The protocol packet never said what happens if your observer interacts with you. It outlined the rules you must follow—but nothing about consequences for them.

You flip back through the manual one night, flipping through familiar pages. You notice something now that didn’t register before.

“Observers are trained to maintain emotional distance for the duration of the subject’s stay. Direct contact is not advised except in emergency protocol scenarios.”

Not advised. Not forbidden.

You read it again. And again.

Your pulse rises.

They didn’t say can’t. They said shouldn’t.

So what happens when they do?

The Mirror Responds

You test it.

You write again on the glass—this time smaller. More personal. You crouch down at the base of the mirror, away from the camera’s angle.

“Are you real?”

The next morning, the message is gone. But your handwriting isn’t smeared. It wasn’t cleaned away. It was… rewritten. In neater strokes. Faint. Careful.

It says:

“Are you?”

You freeze.

For the rest of the day, you don’t speak during the reflection periods. You just stare at the mirror. Quiet. Heavy. Waiting.

And somehow, the silence feels heavier than your voice ever did.

A New Face

You’re escorted to the observation wing again. This time for a different task—walking laps in the corridor, under the guise of light physical therapy.

And that’s when you see him.

Another subject.

Male. Late teens or early twenties. Messy dark hair. Slim build. His arms are crossed. There’s a look in his eyes—like he knows something. Like he’s been here longer.

The guards give you a wide berth as you pass each other.

He looks right at you.

And says:

“They don’t let you leave. Not really.” “Some of us are just part of the test now.”

Your escort yanks him back before he can say more.

When you return to your room, you find something new.

In the bottom corner of your mirror, barely visible unless the light hits it just right:

Don’t speak to him again.

And under it, scribbled in rushed, uneven strokes:

He’s watching everything. You’re in danger now.

You sit on the floor that night, blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders. The reflection session comes and goes. You don’t speak. You just stare at the mirror and ask—soft enough that only the glass can hear it:

“Are you protecting me… or keeping me for yourself?”

This time, the red light doesn’t blink. It glows.

Solid. Steady. Unflinching. He heard you. And he’s still there.

Taglist: @riasturns @poppetbaby02 @johnheart @bells-sturn @user1smvtysturniolo @finnickodairslut @bellxx9 @ariastur9z @sage-burrow @theylovedemi @persephonesluvs @elisebeattie @novalovesstvrz @angelsturniolo @honey-zozo @idek1234567891 @darksturnioloqueen

[thicknick19]

Tell No One

Part Five - Show Me Your Face

Aftermath

You barely sleep after what happened.

They sedated him. Dragged him out like a piece of furniture. No warning. No protocol. Just hands and needles and silence.

You weren’t punished. But you weren’t reassured, either.

And when you woke up the next morning, you found a message slipped under your pillow.

No signature. Same urgency as before.

You fold the paper slowly and don’t throw it away.

The Reflection Breaks

It happens during evening reflection.

You’re sitting in the chair, facing the mirror like always. You speak, like always. But this time, your voice cracks halfway through.

“I don’t want to talk to a wall anymore.”

You lean forward. Your breath fogs the glass.

“You left me alone in that room. You let them drag him away. You came back while I was gone, but you still won’t let me see you.”

The red light blinks. Slow. Passive.

“You protect me. You leave me things. You touch the air around me like even that’s too close.”

Your hand curls into a fist.

“What are you so afraid of?”

You slap the glass—not hard. Just enough for the sound to crack the silence.

But something… responds.

The light on the ceiling flickers. The air pressure shifts.

And behind the mirror—you hear it.

A breath. Sharp. Immediate. Real.

And then… a thud. Like someone backing into a wall on the other side. Like he flinched.

“You’re there,” you whisper. “I know you’re there.”

You stand. Walk slowly up to the glass. Press your palm flat to the surface.

“I won’t tell them. I swear I won’t. Just—” Your voice breaks. “Let me see you.”

The mirror remains still.

The light blinks again.

And then—something slides at the edge of the panel. A hairline seam. A parting so subtle you almost miss it.

You step back.

A small square opens—not big enough to see through, not even enough to glimpse a shadow.

But something is passed through. Wrapped in black cloth.

You take it carefully, heart hammering. Inside is a single object:

A mask. Smooth. Featureless. White.

You stare down at it.

Not because it’s a threat. But because it’s personal.

A piece of him. Given to you.

The First Crack

That night, you don’t sleep.

You sit on your bed with the mask in your lap.

You don’t speak during reflection. You don’t look at the mirror.

You wait.

And eventually—the red light blinks once… and goes dark. Only for a moment.

But long enough to mean something.

The Code

You don’t know what makes you try it. Maybe it’s the silence. Maybe it’s the mask still lying in your lap like proof of something unspoken.

But during reflection that night, you speak only once.

“Can you hear me right now?”

Silence.

Then—a knock. Soft. Muffled. From behind the mirror.

One.

You sit up straighter.

“Was that… yes?”

Another knock.

One.

You inhale.

“Can you do two knocks for no?”

Silence.

You count. You wait.

Then—two knocks.

Your pulse stumbles.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay.”

You glance at the camera light—still blinking red. You don’t care.

You speak again. Slower this time. Testing.

“Were you the one who moved the bed?”

One.

“Did they try to move me because of… you?”

One.

Your throat tightens. You shift closer to the mirror.

“Do you want me to see your face?”

A pause.

Then—two knocks.

“Because you’re afraid I’ll run?”

Two.

You stare at the glass, voice low.

“Because you think I’ll stay?”

The silence stretches—thick, waiting.

Then— One.

Her Voice Shifts

The next morning, during reflection, you don’t ask for his name.

You just say:

“I’m not afraid of you.”

A pause.

“Are you afraid of me?”

You wait.

No sound. No movement.

Just the quiet hum of the walls and your own pulse ticking in your ears.

Final Beat

As you turn to leave, the mirror flickers.

You stop. Turn back.

There’s nothing there. Just your reflection.

But something has changed.

The red light is blinking slower now. Not malfunctioning—calmer.

Like a heartbeat finally syncing with your own.

Taglist: @riasturns@poppetbaby02@johnheart@bells-sturn@user1smvtysturniolo@finnickodairslut @bellxx9 @ariastur9z @sage-burrow@theylovedemi @persephonesluvs @elisebeattie@novalovesstvrz@angelsturniolo@honey-zozo@idek1234567891@darksturnioloqueen@alexisa78

[thicknick19]

Tell No One

Shout out to @darksturnioloqueen for being so awesome and supportive! This one's for you girlie! <3

🔪 Summary: You signed up for an experiment. Strict rules. Constant surveillance. But the longer you’re inside, the more the walls seem to shift— and the closer he gets.

You were told not to speak. Not to ask questions. And above all… Tell no one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part One - Welcome Package

The Car Ride

You almost don’t see the car at first.

It pulls up at the end of your driveway in complete silence, no engine hum, no headlights, nothing but the soft shift of gravel under its tires. Matte black. Tinted windows. The kind of car you’d expect to see in a spy movie or a funeral procession. You don’t know what you were expecting… but this feels wrong.

Still, you step out of your house with your small duffel bag in hand. The contract said light packing only. They would provide the rest.

A man waits at the rear passenger door. No uniform. No badge. No smile. He opens the door for you without a word, nods once, then walks back to the driver’s seat.

The inside of the car smells faintly sterile, like citrus, metal, and something sharper, like new wires or blood. Not enough to choke you. Just enough to make you sit a little straighter.

There’s no music. No screen. No welcome. Just your name displayed in soft white letters on a black panel above the seat in front of you.

SUBJECT: [REDACTED] EXR-117 DURATION: UNDISCLOSED COMMUNICATION: DISABLED

You open your mouth to ask how long the drive is, but you remember the first line of your contract.

No communication after entry.

You close your mouth. And the doors lock with a soft, final click.

Arrival

You lose track of time.

The sky grows darker as trees thicken outside your window, gradually blocking out the horizon. Civilization peels away, no street signs, no billboards, no signal. Your phone is off, packed deep in a sealed envelope the moment you were picked up. You're not supposed to use it. You're not even supposed to want it.

Eventually, the road narrows. You pass under something tall and black—a gate?—but it’s over before you register it. Your ears pop as the car dips downhill.

And then, suddenly, you stop.

The facility is nearly invisible, nestled in a clearing surrounded by trees. It doesn’t rise like a building. It sinks. Subtle. Spread-out. Sleek panels of black glass and pale stone. No signs. No guards. No lights in the windows.

The front entrance is a square of glass that slides open before you even approach it.

Inside: silence. Not hospital quiet—intentional quiet. Like sound itself was asked to leave.

A woman stands behind a desk. She looks up at you, but she doesn’t smile.

“Welcome to the Observation Trial,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please follow the illuminated path.”

A line of soft blue light pulses on the floor, leading down the hallway.

You follow.

Orientation

You’re brought to a small white room with two chairs and a single table. There’s nothing on the walls. A camera watches from the corner, blinking red once every ten seconds.

The same woman enters behind you. She places a slim folder on the table.

Welcome Package: EXR-117

Inside:

A redacted consent form with multiple pages blacked out entirely

A subject ID badge

A daily schedule:

Wake: 7:00 a.m.

Meals: 8:00 a.m., 12:00 p.m., 6:00 p.m.

Reflection Periods: 9:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m.

Lights Out: 10:00 p.m.

“The Observation Trial is a psychological endurance study designed to measure human behavior under controlled isolation,” the woman recites. “It simulates social deprivation, environmental monotony, and regulated observation. The goal is to better understand emotional resilience and dependency under stress.”

She pauses. “There will be no clocks in your space. No contact with other participants. And no confirmation of when, or if, the trial will end. You’ll remain in your assigned quarters unless instructed otherwise.”

You nod, pretending it’s new. But you’ve read the abstract already—twice. It was vague. Fluffy with academic buzzwords. Controlled stimuli, variable exposure, emotional transparency... all dancing around one thing:

They want to watch you break. And they want to see what pieces you try to protect.

You signed up anyway.

Maybe it was the money—definitely part of it. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe it was just the silence you’ve been craving.

Ever since everything at home imploded, you’ve felt like you’ve been watching yourself from the outside anyway. Like you’ve been performing normalcy while something cold buzzes quietly in the background.

You thought this might help. Or maybe, deep down, you just wanted to see what would happen if someone finally watched back.

You flip to the last page of the contract. One phrase is written in bold, unmistakable lettering:

TELL NO ONE.

She doesn’t explain what it means. She doesn’t have to. It feels like a warning.

The Room

The hallway stretches long and clean, its walls gleaming with that same too-smooth finish. It doesn’t feel like a hospital, not quite, but it doesn’t feel like a place meant for living, either.

You’re led to a door marked only with your subject number: EXR-117.

No name. No keyhole. No handle.

The staff member—silent again—taps a small panel beside it, and the door slides open with a whisper. You’re gestured inside.

“Your reflection period begins at 0900. Dinner is at 1800. Lights out at 2200.”

She leaves before you can respond. The door seals behind you with a soft hiss, and the click of the lock echoes louder than it should.

You’re alone. Or at least, that’s the idea.

The room is… minimal.

Not empty, but designed. The bed is made, corners tucked tight. A white desk sits in the corner beneath a mounted light panel. There’s a shelf built into the wall—just a few books, blank notebooks, and a mechanical pencil. Everything looks untouched. Sterile.

The walls are bare except for one.

A full mirrored panel stretches across it from floor to ceiling.

It reflects everything: the bed, the door, you.

You stare at your reflection. It doesn’t blink. But you swear… it watches.

There’s a faint red light glowing in the upper right corner of the mirror. It blinks once every ten seconds, steady, rhythmic, like a pulse. The camera, no doubt.

The ceiling is ventless. The corners are seamless. The room is too quiet.

It’s not a place made for comfort. It’s a place made for observation.

You take a slow lap around the space. No windows. No air vents. The walls don’t feel quite like drywall—something smoother, maybe plastic or glass beneath paint. The bookshelf is built-in, the bed bolted down.

You try the door again. It doesn’t budge. No handle. No seam. Just cold, hard metal.

You sit on the edge of the bed. It doesn’t creak. Even the mattress feels… measured. Soft enough not to complain about, firm enough to discourage sleep.

There’s a tray slot in the bottom of the wall beside the door. You hadn’t noticed it before. A soft whirring sound begins as if on cue, and a covered tray slides through, slow and deliberate.

Dinner.

You lift the lid. The food is exactly what you’d choose if someone had asked. Nothing extravagant—just right. Too right.

You didn’t tell anyone your preferences. But they knew.

Later, you explore what you’ve been given. The books on the shelf? All things you’ve read before. Or wanted to. Even the edition of your favorite novel is the same—the dog-eared one you left behind.

Your pulse picks up. You speak, mostly to break the silence:

“How do you know that?”

No response.

Just the red light. Blink. Blink. Blink.

You end the day in front of the mirror, as instructed. You sit. You speak. You say your name. You say how you’re feeling.

Not watched. Just… recorded.

“This feels like a setup,” you mutter. “Like something’s happening I’m not supposed to see. But someone is. Aren’t they?”

Your reflection stares back. Neutral. Familiar. Not comforting.

You lean forward, close enough that your breath fogs the glass. The red light blinks once. Then again.

Just before you turn away, you notice it—a smudge.

Faint. Small. A half-fingerprint was near the bottom edge of the mirror.

It isn’t yours. You haven’t touched it yet.

Taglist:

@riasturns @poppetbaby02 @johnheart @bells-sturn @user1smvtysturniolo @finnickodairslut @bellxx9 @ariastur9z @sage-burrow @theylovedemi @persephonesluvs @elisebeattie @novalovesstvrz @angelsturniolo @honey-zozo @idek1234567891 @darksturnioloqueen