#matt x fem oc

[mattluvr]

home alone

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: after reader shows up at matt’s door, the two end up sharing more than a few kisses

SMUT!! (female oral, riding)

* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ * 。° 。 • ˚* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ * 。° 。 • ˚

a simple text later and i was stood outside matt's door, the all too familiar heat flooding through my body as i waited for the doorbell chime to play out. chris and nick were out at that very moment, as i’d been repeatedly told in matt's messages, the words home alone being thrown around quite often.

my fingers itched for him, my body craving that feeling of being pushed up against him, and it was taking every ounce of my willpower not to be courteous and to storm into the house. i needed matt sturniolo in every way shape or form, my body on fire as i waited for him to answer the door.

it felt like years later when the door finally inched open ever so slightly, matt's head peeking round the side. i could've moaned at the mere sight of him, but instead kept myself calm and collected, however hard that may have been.

"took you long enough, sturniolo." i taunted, my breathing becoming more and more ragged as the overwhelming crave for his touch encased me.

he could clearly sense this inevitable discomfort, opening the door painfully slowly until his whole body was revealed, another moan trying its very best to slip past my lips. the smug fucker was wearing an all black fit, sweatpants low slung on his hips, tattoos and veins on full display.

he looked me up and down, chuckling softly as he played with the singular ring on his pointer finger. "nice to see you too, darling."

and that was my breaking point; you couldn't really blame me for practically throwing myself onto matt, our lips forced together angrily, the delightful sound of kissing filling my ears. i pushed against matt, body flush against his, making him walk backwards into the house so that i could shut the door behind us with my foot.

his lips and mine worked over one another rhythmically, my tongue grazing his lips, his hands travelling over my body, clearly not able to keep themselves planted on my lower back like they usually were. a moan escaped me, happily greeted by a groan from him, turning me on even more if possible.

i could've kept sloppily kissing matt for eternity, but i wasn't complaining all that much when his hips bucked into mine, sending me stumbling backwards against the front door with a surprised grunt. so now matt sturniolo was pinning me against a door, lips now leaving subtle marks along my neck and down my collarbone, finding all the right places and producing the most satisfying moans. i’d never been more grateful to be wearing my black lingerie.

as matt continued to leave these lovebites across my chest, his hands, originally planted either side of my head when he'd pushed me against the door, were now on my hips, his knees now visibly sinking into the ground, lips no longer attached to me.

oh my god. i was about to be eaten out. i threw my head back against the door, shivering at matt's wandering hands and cold touch, his fingers circling the waistband of my jeans.

he lifted my shirt ever so slightly, pressing a soft kiss to my abdomen, getting lower and lower until his lips were in tact with the top of my jeans. "may i?"

i nearly came on the spot then, a moan in reply all that i could physically muster. so, with another one of those criminally hot low laughs, matt undid the zipper of my jeans, the denim pooling around my ankles, leaving me in only my black thong and a pair of crocs on my lower half, the latter immediately being slipped off.

"oh, wow." matt chuckled again, his eyes bashful as he looked up at me from where he was kneeling on the floor. "all of this for me, sweetheart?"

"please... matt..." i said, voice weak, hands threatening to travel down to my underwear and do it myself if he didn't hurry up.

matt swatted me away, asking for consent once again before taking off my panties, eyes wide as he realised how drenched i was. but he was persistent, not put off in the slightest. instead, both of matt's hands came to rest on my thighs as he held me open enough for him.

"you sure you're okay with this?" one last check, making him even hotter, and i nodded in response. it was all i could apparently do, my speech seemingly robbed from me as matt groaned deeply before lining himself up, my cunt level with his face.

and so matt began... eating me out. he was experienced, tongue gliding over my entrance and clit, both throbbing in pure pleasure as he did so. this ordeal carried on for a few more minutes, my vocabulary reduced to a shaking mess of moans and 'fuck's' as matt's tongue dipped in and out of me.

one of his hands that'd been pressed against my thigh now came to my clit, two fingers rolling against it. it was the best feeling ever, my eyes rolling back into my head at the heavenly combination.

"fuck, matt, right there." i whispered, his groans against my pussy vibrating upwards, ehancing the pleasure. "oh my god, i'm so close."

matt hummed against me, eyes flickering up to admire the damage he'd managed to cause with a singular tongue and hand. "you've got this, baby. come for me."

"i'm... i... fuck!"

"come for me, y/n." matt murmured, and with one final flick of his tongue, i was seeing stars, that familiar feeling snapping, exploding everywhere. i’d never had an orgasm like it, breathing heavily as matt lifted himself back to face me, wiping me off his face with a small smirk.

"fuck, sturniolo. where did you learn that?" i pushed myself off the door, legs still shaking as i closed the gap between me and matt with a soft kiss.

matt smiled against me, his hands wrapping around my neck. he didn't answer my question, instead allowing his smile to morph into an almost devilish grin as he pulled back. "you up for round 2?"

i gasped, but nodded enthusiastically all the same. "fuck yes. but i'm on top this time."

"deal."

a minimal word exchange yet again, matt now stumbling backwards as i pushed him down the hall towards his room, our lips connected once more in a second display of pure sloppiness. his hands were up my shirt, cupping my breasts through my bra, and my hands were tugging on the hem of his shirt, asking for silent permission to take it off.

"mhm, y/n. oh my god."

i was going to take that as a yes. with a small giggle, i pulled matt's shirt over his head, discarding it on the floor outside his room. i then allowed my fingers to brush all the grooves in his skin, tracing his tattoos slowly, until they found their way to his jeans waistband, my two pointer fingers threading through the belt loops.

never in a million years did i think i'd be doing it, but here i was, pulling matt sturniolo into his room by the belt loops on his jeans, kissing him senseless. we were both breathing heavily as matt turned his light switch on, and i freed myself from his pants, taking my top off and watching in awe as he slipped his jeans off.

now matt was stripped to his underwear, with me left in only my bra, my thong still lying in a heap by the front door. matt didn't seem to be complaining too much though, his eyes travelling down to that area and back multiple times, a smirk adorning his face.

"you can take the bra off now." matt demanded, to which i complied, running my hand through my hair, satisfied with how matt's smirk wavered in response.

"fuck." he muttered, one hand brushing his jawline, before falling to the waistband of his boxers. "care to help a man out?"

i didn't hesitate, on my knees in seconds, shimmying the boxers down and smiling at the sight of him now also completely naked. he reached back and grabbed a condom from his desk drawer, handing it to me, allowing me to put it on teasingly slowly, praying to hear his own moans slip past his lips as i rolled the rubber on carefully.

he did moan, and he did curse under his breath, making me want to lean forward and just suck his dick... but i’d wait. i’d stand back upright and let myself be led over to the bed, preparing myself to ride matt until he was a moaning mess like i’d been mere minutes ago.

with a watchful eye, i followed matt over to his bed, smiling as he laid down, positioning himself so that i would be able to straddle him. i couldn't help but allow my smirk to double at the sight of matt impatiently bucking his hips up, a silent way of telling me to hurry the fuck up.

which i did, gratefully. matt was running his ring clad hand along his torso after all, making me more wet by the second, the urge to mount him strong. but, i was determined to prolong this teasing as much as possible, deciding to go in for a painfully slowly kiss, trailing my lips down his burning hot skin.

"y/n." matt's raspy voice cut straight through me, his desperate groans growing louder as my lips travelled down his neck, chest, stomach, until they paused, hovering over his dick with a growing smirk.

"please. i need you."

i hummed, the pads of my fingers inching closer and closer to the base of his cock, quite enjoying how matt writhed and squirmed under my touch. i never imagined i’d see matt in such a vulnerable, willing state, groaning as i tenderly stroked and rubbed. i could've kept going for hours in all honesty, my core aching at the sight of matt's head thrown back against his pillows, feeling slightly disappointed when his own hand came down to wrap around my wrist, pulling me away.

"you tease me one more time and i might come before i'm even inside you." matt whispered warningly, eyes narrowed.

i grinned, starting to readjust my body so that my legs were either side of matt, now hovering over his dick instead of my lips, laughing in response to this apparent threat. "i'd like that."

matt scoffed in reply, his hands finding their way back to the familiar grooves in my hips, rubbing the skin in slow, dangerous circles, producing a low whimper from me. "you going to ride me now or what?"

"damn." my own hands came to rest on matt's stomach, trying to ignore the way i throbbed for him. my next words were pretty hypocritical, therefore. "so needy, sturniolo."

"only for you, pretty girl."

pretty girl. yeah, i needed matt inside me now, deciding to communicate this by brushing my entrance against his tip, watching with bottom lip clenched between teeth as matt hissed in pleasure.

"what happened to no teasing, huh?" matt snapped, trying his best to not let his subtle groans weaken his threat.

i didn't even think to apologise, just repeated the action a few more times until i was satisfied that matt's moans were no longer subtle. then, softly, after a reassuring nod from the boy, i lowered myself onto matt's dick. slivers of pain overlapped the pleasure as i adjusted myself, the first few bounces slow, testers almost.

but, what with my wetness, my rhythm was easy to find, one hand planted on matt's stomach for support, the other cupping my breast as i threw my head back in sync with my moans. matt's grip was tightening around my hips, guiding me up and down with scattered grunts, his head too thrown back.

"fuck, y/n, yes." he managed to say, mouth open wide as he praised me. "keep doing that, baby."

"i'm... matt, i'm..." i gradually picked up speed, hitting the right spot continuously, my words slurring, incoherent over the loud moans cutting through me.

matt started to shudder beneath me, pushing upwards, tremors rippling through our bodies as we neared a shared release. i cried out, eyes squeezed shut, hands now gripping matt's on my hips. "oh my fuck, matt, i'm close. i'm there, i'm there, i'm..."

one last thrust from the boy, fingers making imprints on my skin as he bucked his hips, and i felt myself coming undone around him, shaking and whimpering as my orgasm hit me full force. matt must've been watching me, turned on by the sight of me releasing, because as i came down from my high, his face twisted into a look of pure ecstasy, finishing inside me with a low grunt.

heavy breathing filled the room as we came to terms with what had just happened, in a state of shock. slowly, i slid off matt, collapsing in a heap beside him. matt cleared his throat, a soft laugh escaping his lips as we locked eyes. "woah. that was, um..."

"crazy?"

"something like that." matt concluded, stretching an arm out, inviting me to nestle into his side, which i did, gratefully.

our panting soon died down, a comfortable silence settling over us as matt gave me a one sided hug, tracing patterns into the skin on my arm, kissing the top of my head affectionately every so often. i could stay like this forever, cuddled up against matt, listening to his chest rise and fall against my hair.

but, all good things must come to an end; with a reluctant sigh, i pushed myself off the bed, collecting my clothes from around the room, even going to the extent of putting a pair of matt's boxers and sweatpants on, not particularly wanting to make the long trek to the front door to retrieve my thong and jeans.

"same time next week?" were my last words to matt as i hovered by his doorway, eyes following him around the room as he too got dressed once again.

he hummed, looking up with a smirk. "as long as i get a blowjob. it's only fair."

"yeah, yeah, whatever, sturniolo." i laughed softly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips as he joined me by his door. "just don't be late."

"wouldn't dream of it. especially not when i know your lips are going to be around my dick."

with a roll of my eyes, another kiss, and some more gathering of clothes garments, i left matt's house, those last few words lingering in my mind. fuck, i couldn't wait for next week.

link to part 2 — the car 💗💓💝💘💞

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #smut #sturniolo smut #matt x fem oc

[secretsofafangirll]

oral fixation - m.s.

summary: matts girlfriend loves to have things in her mouth. when she gets home after a day of minor inconveniences, she seeks comfort from her boyfriend, in a rather, unconventional way.

warnings: oral (male receiving), praising, pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc.), soft!dom matt, sub!fem, talk of anxiety,

a/n: couple of things; one, the girl doesn't have a name so you can imagine whomever you'd like, two, i've started planning my Matt series...anyways, hope you guys like it! :)))

"A touch / From your real love / Is like heaven takin' the place of somethin' evil"

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

For my entire life, I’ve loved having things in my mouth. 

When I was younger, it was impossible for my parents to get my thumb or my pacifier out of my mouth. The comfort that came from having the object resting in my mouth was too intense for me to leave behind. Behaviors like that followed me into childhood with things like gum or lollipops. In high school, I chewed copious amounts of gum, always had a pen or pencil in my mouth and played with my lips all the time. 

Naturally, when I managed to find myself a boyfriend, he became aware of my oral fixation in many ways. He would always notice how often I had things in my mouth or if I was biting my lips, he would offer me something else so I didn’t tear up the delicate skin. It got to a point where, if he and I were laying down together and one of his hands was unoccupied, I would simply reach down and grab his hand, bringing it to my mouth and wrapping my lips around one of his fingers and playing with it in my mouth. Of course Matt enjoyed this himself, but there were other ...situations, where this oral fixation benefitted him much more than putting a finger in my mouth. 

Matt also understood why I do what I do. Him and I both struggle with anxiety, and we both have for years. In high school, I was medicated for it and had a hard time getting through the day. However, I hated the way that the meds made me feel and I swore to my parents that I wasn’t going to take them anymore and that I’d find another way to cope. Matt copes with alone time and silence but I get more overstimulated than he does and when I do, all I want is to have something in my mouth and someone to touch. 

Which is why on days like these, anxiety ridden and insane days, I need my boyfriend and one of his extremities to rest between my lips. 

After several cars cutting me off on the road and almost hitting me on the way to the gym this morning, I was already slightly shaken up and worried for my safety. When I got to the gym, there was a man somewhat following me around, conveniently using all of the machines next to me. After that, I went to the grocery store in hopes that they had some grapes and snacks for me to feel better, they were out of seedless grapes which sent me into a frenzy about the way that the seeds feel in my mouth, and the self-checkout lanes were under renovation and I had to talk to the cashier to check out. 

I took shallow and quick breaths as I walked swiftly out to my car. I tossed the bag into the back seat and swung open the driver door. The second that I was enclosed in my car, in my space, I was able to calm myself down. Once I had myself under control, I started the car and drove home. When I arrived, I grabbed my things from the car and headed inside. I used my house key to unlock the front door, using my foot to close it behind me. I tossed my keys in the dish and heard Matt typing on the couch. 

“Hi baby,” He said without looking up. I didn’t respond because I just wanted to put the groceries I picked up away and sit with him. “Alright,” He said and continued typing away. 

I put the cold stuff in the refrigerator and the dry stuff in the pantry and cabinets before heading to his room to slide out my dirty and uncomfortable gym clothes and into one of his shirts. Once I was comfortable and the smell of his cologne filled my nostrils, I was finally ready to lay down next to him on the couch. 

“Sorry,” I murmured quietly, gently taking a seat next to him and pulling a blanket over my legs, curling into his side and latching onto one of his arms, “I just wanted to put those away so that I could sit with you.” 

I sat there looking for something of his to grab onto but his hands were occupied and I don’t think he’d appreciate it if I put anything else, if you know what I mean, in my mouth at the moment. I sighed quietly to myself and began to bite on my lips. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” He said, leaning over to kiss the top of my head. 

I continued my assault on my lips and I felt the skin tear and the metallic taste of my own blood rested on my tongue. When it started to hurt too bad to bite my lips, one of my hands found my mouth and I started to bite and suck on that instead, the other arm wrapping impossibly tighter around his. His elbow nudged my side and he looked over at me. 

“You doin’ okay?” He asked without looking away from his computer where he was replying to emails and taking notes in a Google Doc. I only hummed, unwilling to take my fingers out of my mouth. My lack of a real response, which I know he hated, made him finally look up at me. My eyes blinked guiltily at him when his brows went from furrowed to concerned, “Sweetheart,” He sighed and reached up to pull my hand away from my mouth. I flexed all of my muscles to keep it in my mouth but he tilted his head at me and pulled harder, his strength easily overpowering mine. 

“I’m sorry,” I sighed, relaxing my muscles and looking down my hands with guilt and embarrassment written all over my face. 

“Hey,” He said softly, reaching out to grab my jaw and gently pull my head up to look at him, “You don’t have to say sorry. There’s nothing to apologize for.” He shook his head and looked into my eyes for an explanation, “D’you have a bad day?” He asked and closed his computer screen ¾ of the way down. 

“Kind of,” I said, questioning in my tone, “I don’t even know. It’s just been, like, too much.” I tried to spit it out but I struggled to pin-point how, exactly, I felt. It was just too much.

“That’s okay, baby,” He cooed, “You want my hand?” My eyes widened in excitement and I nodded before correcting myself with a ‘Yes, please’. 

He brought his left forearm up to my mouth and I played with his long fingers trying to pick which one I wanted. I decided on the pointer first, but planned to use every finger but the pinky. He used his other hand to scroll through emails and business inquiries, also scrolling through pinterest to find inspiration for future videos. 

I, on the other hand, swirled my tongue mindlessly around his fingers, taking them all the way into my mouth and then back out, my saliva coating his fingers down the knuckle. Every so often, he would shift his hips slightly or clear his throat and scratch his neck. I knew how this was affecting him, but he also respected my needs more than his and wouldn’t want to make me uncomfortable. After close to twenty minutes had passed of my sucking on his fingers, he looked at the time on his computer and closed it all the way. He leaned back against the couch, his hand still in my mouth and he turned his head as it laid against the top of the couch and he watched me mindlessly play with his fingers. When I fully pulled off his middle finger alone, I pushed his ring finger to meet it and took them both fully into my mouth. He groaned and I snapped my eyes to meet him and worked my mouth around his fingers. 

“God, don’t fuckin’ look at me like that when you’ve got my fingers down your throat, honey,” He instructed gently, understanding of my rather fragile nature. I pulled off his fingers, letting my tongue teasingly drag across the length of them. 

“Sorry,” I swallowed to clear my throat and scooted closer to him. He reached across himself and wrapped his dry hand around my thigh and under my knee to pull me onto his lap. I squealed at the sudden movement but settled and nuzzled into his lap. 

“How many times are you gonna apologize, hm?” He questioned with a smile, tucking my hair behind my ears. 

“You know how I am, Matt,” I laughed and grabbed his wrists and put them on top of my thighs, encouraging him to tickle them. 

“Yeah, I do,” He smiled, “But that means that I know you’re gonna keep saying sorry until you feel better.” He accused me and I smiled like I’d been caught stealing, “What else do you need, baby?”

I blushed and looked down at my hands, “I don’t wanna-,”

“Oh, you’re gonna.” He said sternly. 

“I want you.”

“You have me.” He said and nudged my chin with his knuckle, “What do you need?”

“Need your cock,” I said quietly. 

“What was that?” He turned his ear toward me. 

“I need your cock, Matthew.” I said louder. 

“There she is.” He said and gently moved my thighs to allow me to sink to my knees in front of him. “See? Wasn’t that hard, no?” 

When I was comfortable at his feet, I worked to remove his belt and unbuckle his pants. He did the work of actually pushing them down. His hard cock sprung out of his pants and he hissed as the cool air penetrated the sensitive and tacky skin. His tip was lathered in a small amount of pre-cum and he pulsed and twitched slightly. I pouted at the sight for two reasons; one being that it made me want him in my mouth even more, and two, I felt bad for the state I’d put him in. 

“Matty,” I whined, tracing circles with the fingernails on his knees, “I didn’t know it was this bad. I’m sorry.” 

“If you say sorry one more time, all you’re getting is my fingers,” He tutted. My eyes widened in fear. 

“Okay, I’ll stop.” I promised and he smiled down at me. 

“Good girl.” 

I got to quick work pumping his cock in my hand to get him ready. His cock looked so big compared to my smaller hand. It didn’t even fit around the entire thing. He groaned and hissed at the stimulation, his breathing getting heavier and slightly more labored. Soon, I leaned down and gently licked the tip before wrapping my lips around the tip. Pleasure and comfort washed over me and I continued to sink my head down onto his dick. His hands gathered my hair in a make-shift ponytail on my head and he held my hair out of my face. He didn’t push my head down, he just simply aided me in my quest for comfort, which I was most definitely finding. 

“There you go baby,” He praised, “So fuckin’ good,” He whispered, more to himself than anyone else. 

I took his cock down my throat slowly, suppressing the slight gag reflex I still have, though it’s not too bad. I whined around his dick with comfort and need. 

“What baby?” He asked breathlessly, pulling me off him, “Why’re you whinin’? You got what you wanted, no?” 

“No!,” I protested, pushing his hands away, “I’m fine! I just love having you, s’all.” I explained with a smile before going back down on him. As I continued to work his cock, my body visibly relaxed and the sighs of content that left my mouth. Matt simply closed his eyes above me, opening them periodically to watch me take him down my throat. 

Matt started to get close, his hips becoming restless under me and his hands that were in my hair started to guide me down his cock faster. He moaned and whimpered as he grew closer and closer to the edge. 

“Oh fuck-,” He whimpered, “God, so good, baby. So close.”

His stutters and whimpers encouraged me to work with him faster, yet take my time on all of his sensitive bits. I relied on the relief that accompanied the weight of his cock on my tongue. I worked him until hips stuttered and bucked off the couch and he moaned my name and praises into the air.  

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum.” He whispered, bucking his hips into my throat making me choke slightly but I didn’t care, “M Sorry. Fuck,” He whispered and then e shot his load down my throat. I felt the warm liquid hit the back of my throat and I swallowed it down. “Show me,” He demanded, once he caught his breath and he pulled me off him all the way. I stuck my tongue out to show him that I swallowed it and he smiled at me in response, lightly tapping my cheek with the hand that held my jaw. 

“Thank you,” I sighed, my throat somewhat sore. 

“No, thank you, my beautiful girl.” He leaned down and kissed me gently, rubbing my cheeks with his thumbs. When I pulled away, I bit the inside of my lip and looked into his eyes, silently yearning for more. His brows pinched together and his mouth opened slightly, “What, baby? Not enough?” I looked at him with a guilty smile and shook my head. 

“I just want more,” I said quietly. He opened his mouth to respond but as soon as he did, his laptop and phone dinged several times, he looked at his phone and saw what it was. 

“Look, sweetheart, I’ve got more work shit to do,” I groaned and sat back on my heels below him but he pressed a finger to my lips, “But, if you’d let me finish you impatient little baby,” he teased, “if you’re good and hold me without moving your tongue at all, you can stay where you are.” 

“Yes please. I promise I’ll be good,” I nodded my head and sat back up right. He nodded at me and grabbed everything he needed to continue working and I took him back into my mouth. I zoned out with him in my mouth but it was still exciting to be getting what I’d been craving all day and my tongue jerked against a few times. 

“Ah, ah,” He asked, “Settle, sweetheart. You promised me.” He directed and when I calmed down around his cock, his hand patted my head softly and he went back to typing away. 

//

a/n: i'd been working on this for about a week or so. hope you guys liked it!!

#Spotify #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #fluff #nicolas sturniolo #fanfic #matt sturniolo x fem!oc #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #smut #light smut #light angst #masterlist #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x oc #sturniolo x reader

[recklesssturniolo]

Bet - C.S

As per request for a no nut November bet Chris and reader make (: but I also tied in another request for public sex w Chris in it too!

*FYI MATT FIC IS BEING POSTED LATER*

NSFW below, leave if you’re a minor

“Y/N you know what November is?” Chris asks.

“What are you on about now?” You retort.

“November is no nut November, therefore no sex for the entire month” He explains.

“You can barely go a day without sex, never mind a month” You laugh.

“Oh yeah? Want to bet on it” He smirks.

You roll your eyes knowing this is the easiest bet ever, Chris was horny 24/7, he’s out of his mind if he thinks he’d last a month.

“Sure, first person to give in loses” You say sticking out your hand for him to shake.

“Deal” He replies shaking your hand. “Be prepared to lose”

It’s been a week. Quite possibly the longest week of your life. Chris’ non-stop teasing was driving you insane. Constantly having his hand on your thigh rubbing it up and down, whispering all the things he wants to do to you in your ear, grabbing your ass, going as far to grinding on you while you two make out which made you ache for him. You’d decided you were going to tease him back, but worse.

You were getting read to out to dinner with his brothers, Nate and Madi. Chris and you both in his room as you finish your makeup. Standing up you go to figure out an outfit but knowing you purposely but on a lingerie set that you knew made Chris go insane, you take off your shirt and sweatpants. You feel Chris’ eyes on you as you search through the closet, making sure to take your time.

“What about this dress?” You ask showing it to him.

“That one’s nice” He replies, barely even looking at the dress and instead looking at your body.

Knowing your plan was working you walk closer to him.

“Are you sure? You think the colour is okay?” You knew the dress was fine, you just knew getting closer to him would only turn him on more.

“I know what you’re doing Y/N” Chris says to you, ignoring your questions.

You bend over so your face is hovering above him as he lays on the bed, pushing your chest closer to his face, “Yeah? Is that why I can see your hard on and I haven’t even touched you?”

“Put the dress on before I fuck you so hard you can’t walk to dinner tonight” Chris replies.

“But then you’d lose the bet, wouldn’t want that would we?” You smirk at him, going further and straddling him. There wasn’t any denying that the feeling of his hard on was turning you on, but you focused your attention back to just him.

Chris groaned at the contact from you sitting on him, placing his hands on your hips and slightly pushing you down harder on himself.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself now, I’m not losing the bet sweetheart. I might like what I see but I’ll have you begging for it” He smirks.

Not sure of what to respond, you connect your lips and begin grinding yourself on him, causing both of you to moan. You knew even by just doing this you could get him close, and that was exactly your plan. You continued grinding on him, honestly enjoying it just as much as he was but when you could tell he was close, you got up.

“Now I should probably put this dress on so we can go!” You smile.

“Fucking hell, there’s no fucking way you just did that to me” Chris says.

“Did what?” You reply innocently. “Can you zip this dress for me?”

Chris stands up and walks towards you, “Don’t act all innocent, I could feel how wet you were. You want me just as badly as I want you”

You shrug in response, kissing his cheek before leaving the room to leave for dinner.

Now at dinner, Chris is on some tangent about god knows what, and you decide to place your hand on his thigh. Instantly causing his body to tense up, and his eyes to flicker over to you.

“No Chris continue I get what you’re saying” You say, wanting to see just how much you could get away with.

Chris continued talking, and you began palming his dick through is pants.

“Well yeah b-but” Chris stumbles on his words, not being able to fully focus on what’s he’s saying from what you’re doing.

Nick takes over the conversation. You now put your hand under Chris’ jeans on top of his boxers, continuing to palm him.

“Fuck sakes” He mumbles.

“You okay baby?” You smirk up at him as you put your hand under his boxers, grabbing his dick and swiping the tip with your thumb noticing the pre cum that’s there.

Chris let out a moan, immediately covering it up with a cough. No one else really paying any mind to it.

“You know, I took off my parties before we left” You whisper in his ear.

That was Chris’ final straw, he didn’t give a fuck about the bet any more. He needed you.

Cutting Nate off Chris tells the table that you aren’t feeling well and that you’re both going to get an Uber home. You apologize for ‘not feeling well’ and you both say your goodbyes. You knew what this meant - you won. You started walking towards to exit before Chris grabbed your hand.

“Not a fucking chance, bathroom, now. I’m not waiting any longer. Fuck the stupid bet” He demands.

You were surprised by this, Chris had never been so needy that you did it in a public space. Getting into the washroom he pushes your back against the door and immediately starts making out with you.

“God you’re a fucking whore, doing that to me in front of everyone” He says with his hand wrapped around your throat. You moaned back in response.

You were getting exactly what you wanted, you loved seeing Chris like this. He’s wasting no time, he bends you over the counter and pulls his pants down and pulling up your dress.

“Chris” You whine out as he rubbed his dick against your entrance, teasing you.

“Oh what? You don’t like being teased?” He replies.

“Please just fuck me” You reply.

“Oh I’m going to, and you’re going to watch yourself in the mirror while I fuck you like the whore you are, got it?” He says while lining himself up.

“Yes yes just please” You moan out.

With that Chris slammed into you his pace already fast.

“God I’ve missed your pussy, so fucking tight” He groans out. Continuing to slam himself into you, each thrust hitting you in the perfect place.

“Chris you make me feel so good” You whine out, feeling your legs starting to tremble.

Unaware that you had even closed your eyes, Chris grabs your hair and lifts your head back up, “I told you to watch yourself get fucked by me, keep your eyes open”

“Yes yes I’m sorry, please keep going” You slur out, now watching in the mirror as Chris picks up his pace even more.

“You miss this baby? My dick deep inside you?” He asks, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear you say it.

“God fuck yes Chris I’ve missed it so much” You whimper, “I’m close”

“Good, come for me like the whore you are” He replies and moves his hand around you and starts rubbing your clit.

Any sentence you tried to get out from that point on was incomprehensible, the pleasure not allowing you to focus on anything else.

“Oh my god, I’m coming Chris don’t stop” You moan out. Not caring how badly your legs were shaking or how loud you were being, letting yourself ride out your high.

Chris too was about to come, meaning he was going as hard as he possibly could now, well aware there’d be bruises on your hips from how tight his grasp was.

“Such a pretty girl, you gonna let me come in you baby?” Chris asks.

“Yes” You whisper through slight pants.

You feel Chris’ dick twitch inside of you and him release himself. His pace slowing down as he moans out in pleasure.

After helping you clean yourself up, Chris stops you momentarily, “we are never doing a bet like that again, I’m never going that long without you, I’ll go insane”

“Agreed” You laugh.

You walk out ahead of Chris, him waiting a couple moments before leaving himself. What you both weren’t expecting was for the group you told you were leaving due to you ‘not feeling well’ to be standing at the exit.

“What the hell you guys are still here?” Nick asks.

You and Chris both look at each other, your cheeks heating up as you both tried to come up with an excuse.

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fic #chris sturniolo imagine #chris x reader #fem!oc #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo edit

[cellophaine]

Shy

Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Abs riding – a hint of sub/dom dynamic, sweet talk, praise kink, cum eating.

Author's Note: I finally got around to writing this prompt that was on my list for forever! I just want to go 😖👹 on his delicious yummy abs holy crap somebody take the wheel 😵‍💫

*Everything in italic is flashback*

GIF made by me.

You knew how it went. It always started out innocent until one of you wanted something from the other. 

… damn him and his abs. 

Matt was shirtless, reclining on the spacious couch with you lying on his side, your head on his chest. He was laughing at a joke on the TV, but you couldn't register what was on since you had tuned it out a while ago, ever since you placed your hand on his midriffs. You leisurely caressed the dibs and ridges, feeling the smooth skin with little bumps of tiny scars. Your legs squeezed together to relieve the tension of something that was missing. You squirmed a little in your position; your mind wandered far away from the cozy living room, wondering if you could make yourself come on his–

"What are you thinking about?"

You blinked, lifting your head to look at him. His unsighted gaze had turned to where you were, a small grin on his lips that softened his face with all the faint wrinkles. 

"You seem distracted, and you're squirming a lot."

You put your hand on his chest, moving it in a soothing pattern to ease his concern.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to distract you. You can go back to–"

"No no, you can tell me. What's wrong?"

His hand gently squeezed at your side, imploring you to be honest with him.

"Nothing's wrong. I just … I wonder if– you know what? It's really stupid."

You tried to sit up, but his hand stopped you. Instead, Matt pulled you closer so you would sprawl on top of his sturdy frame; his other hand gripped your chin to keep you facing him, making it impossible to hide.

"Tell me."

You took a deep breath, knowing there was no point in delaying the inevitable.

"I want to … ride your … abs."

Matt didn't say anything for a moment, and you felt your stomach drop in anxiety over a stupid proposal.

"Never mind I said anything. It's–"

"I'm surprised you didn't ask me sooner, sweetheart."

The smirk on his face was sinful, and you knew you were in for a day spent in bed with him. Or on the couch. Either way, you wouldn't mind.

And now, here you were, moving on top of him fervently like there was a fire you couldn't put out. Your arousal painted a sheer coat of translucent essence on his abdominals. You moved back and forth, swivelling your hips, revelling in the effortless glides of your wet folds on his smooth skin with all the pronounced definition underneath. It tied a knot in your lower belly in a foreign style, and you eagerly worked yourself up to unravel it. His hands grabbed at either side of your thighs, helping you move with ease. The grasp wasn't painful but tight like a pair of shackles, anchoring you to his heavenly body. Matt was laid back, completely in control, while you lost your mind over the strange feeling, your head thrown back with needy moans spilling out of your mouth. You repositioned yourself to move your hips just right, making your clit rub on the dibs and rise. The repeated friction drew more arousal from your core, leaking juice all over his muscles with your frantic movement. That fresh wave of pleasure hit you, causing your face to burn with the embarrassment of doing something so filthy. So debauchery. Your hips slowed as you held back your moans, and your head dipped slightly in self-consciousness. Matt's hand came up and searched for your face. He gripped your chin, pulling at your bottom lip so it would relax. 

"Don't get shy on me now, sweetheart. Get what you want from me."

As if he could sense your hesitation still, he persisted.

"Don't think about it too much. Stay with me. Can you do that for me?"

You shyly nodded, which earned you an approving smile from him. You resumed the motion, working yourself up again. Matt's hand slipped underneath your sweatshirt, covering one breast and kneading with his calloused palm. The rhythm of your breathing became short and heavy, unsteady with each glide of your sensitive bundle of nerves on his abs. His fingers teased your nipple, playing with the aching nub. You whimpered, feeling overwhelmed with your senses being toyed with under his influence.

"That's it. That's my good girl."

His praise went to your head, sending a pleasant wave of bliss to your core, encouraging you to chase that high. You moaned wantonly as Matt tweaked your nipple; his hand on your ass pulled you towards the definition of his abs, magnifying the sensation. Hearing you let yourself go seemed to affect Matt too. His chest and neck were flushed, and his lips parted as he took a deep breath, taking in the scent of your arousal. His cock was so hard it ached, creating a tent in the sweatpants he wore. You moved faster on top of him, and you were close; Matt could feel it. Upon your desperate whines, he flexed his abs; his hands helped you move faster and faster. The dam broke, and you came undone with a choked cry, your hands braced on his chest to hold yourself up. You caught your breath, his hand tenderly stroking at your hips, coaxing you down from the orgasm. Your eyes fluttered, feeling hazy from the exertion. But they snapped wide open when you saw Matt gathering the wetness on his stomach and bringing the fluid to his lips. You watched as he sucked on his fingers, moaning at the taste. Even after what you just did, you still couldn't help but blush. 

Matt pulled you down with him, unabashedly searching for your lips with his own. You could taste yourself on him, and you shivered at how it turned you on. When you parted to pull air into your lungs, Matt whispered against your lips, a mischievous glint hidden in his tone. 

"We should do that more often."

You felt your face heat up and couldn't help the giggle that escaped at the suggestion. You buried your face in Matt's chest, closing your eyes as you felt the rise and fall of his ribcage and the beat of his heart underneath your cheek, steady as ever, grounding you.

*Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!*

#kinktober #kinktober 2022 #cellophaine's kinktober #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock au #matthew murdock #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murderdock #netflix daredevil #matt murdock daredevil #matt murdock smut #matt murdock needs a hug #matt murdock drabble #matt murdock headcanon #daredevil au #daredevil mcu #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil smut #daredevil x y/n #daredevil x you #daredevil x oc

[ariqxwz]

𝕱𝖆𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖘

𝔓𝔞𝔦r𝔦𝔫𝔤 - Christopher sturniolo ︀︀x fem!reader

𝔰𝔶𝔭𝔫𝔬𝔰𝔦𝔰 - You are famous, and Chris has a big crush on you. Finally, you meet in person thanks to Nick

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 - English is not my first language, so forgive me if I make mistakes.

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 - 1053

"Chris, Y/n just posted a video!" Nick shouted from the living room.

Chris rushed out of his room and plopped down on the couch next to his brothers.

"She's got you hooked," Matt laughed, setting his phone aside and focusing on the living room TV, paused with your video.

You had a channel with your friends, creating videos similar to those of the triplets. Your channel had almost 5 million followers, making you quite famous, and your fans loved you.

"Quiet down, Nick, hit play," Chris said, his gaze fixed on the TV.

Nick chuckled and played the video; there you were on the screen with your two friends.

"Rock, paper, scissors," you said after a while of chatting.

"No way," you laughed, having drawn paper and your friends scissors. "Looks like I'll be the blindfolded one."

The video continued, Chris keeping his eyes on you. Despite not knowing you in person or whether you were aware of his existence, he had a major crush on you.

"I'd love to meet her in person," Chris murmured, earning curious looks from his brothers.

"We already know, every time you watch one of her videos, you say that," Nick rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the screen.

"Y/n!" Daniela shouted, approaching you and pulling you away from the kitchen island.

"I need a piece of paper, can you guys give me a piece of paper?" You asked, turning your head both ways, expecting a response that didn't take long to come.

You felt someone put their hands on your shoulders and move you. "You need to wash your whole body," Sophie said.

"Oh, that reminds me of Nick," you said as Sophie led you to the kitchen sink.

"Nick?" Sophie asked.

Daniela grabbed the camera and brought it closer to you both, recording as Sophie washed your hands.

"Yeah, Nick Sturniolo, from Sturniolo Triplets, don't you know him?"

Nick and Matt exchanged glances, waiting for Chris to react (which didn't take long), him jumping up from the couch.

"She knows you, she knows us!" Chris celebrated with a smile on his face.

"Yeah, Chris, she knows us. Sit down and watch the video," Matt laughed, grabbing him by the arm to get him to sit back on the couch.

Nick took the remote again and pressed play.

"No, I don't know who they are," Sophie replied, turning off the tap.

"You should watch their videos; they're very funny," you said while drying your hands with a piece of paper.

Daniela put the camera back in place when Sophie and you approached the island to continue with the brownie.

"I know them; what about you, Y/n? Are you a Chris girl, Matt girl, or Nick girl?" Daniela asked, appearing on camera again.

"Chris girl, definitely."

Chris looked at his excited brothers; they laughed at his exaggerated reaction.

"I've never been so excited because a girl said she's a Chris girl," he nervously laughed, running a hand through his hair.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

"I don't understand why you guys drag me out of bed so early to go play hockey," Chris complained, rubbing his eyes.

"Can you stop complaining?! That's all you ever do," Nick complained this time, causing his brothers to laugh.

Matt started the car and began driving towards the hockey rink.

Minutes later, Chris furrowed his brow in confusion as he looked out the window.

"This isn't the way," he said confused.

"The road is closed," Nick replied.

Chris shook his head and took his phone out of his pocket to go on Instagram.

"Leave the phone and move your butt," Nick said, getting out of the car and grabbing his backpack.

Chris and Matt followed suit and entered the facility. They passed the locker rooms before entering the rink.

"Who in their right mind comes to skate at eight in the morning?" Chris complained, walking through the hallways to get to the rink.

"You're such a pain," Nick made a face.

The triplets stepped onto the rink, finding three girls on the ice, one brunette and the other two blondes.

"Hey!" Nick greeted, getting onto the rink already with skates on.

Chris looked at Matt confused, who didn't say anything, just smiled.

Seconds later, Chris and Matt were approaching those girls who had their backs to them, although, truth be told, they looked quite familiar.

"Look, they're coming this way," Nick said, making the girls turn to look at them.

Chris's eyes widened in surprise when his eyes met yours.

"I had thought about doing a collaboration between the two channels." Nick continued. "You already know each other, so I don't see it necessary to introduce you."

Later, you started skating, and Chris fell behind, so you decided to join him.

"Hello," you greeted kindly, skating up to his side.

Chris turned his head to look at you and smiled.

"Hey," was all he managed to say.

"Nick told me you like our videos," you said, still smiling.

"Yeah, well, I always laugh," he said, nervously running a hand through his hair.

"I like your videos too; I laugh a lot as well."

You noticed Chris blushing slightly, but he turned his head to avoid you noticing – although you did – and smiled.

After a few seconds in silence, he finally gathered the courage to speak, even without looking at you.

"Could I get your number? For the collaboration and all, I mean."

You laughed slightly and looked at him.

“I'll give it to you now," you said, grabbing his hand to pull him off the rink.

Chris rummaged through his backpack for his phone, and when he finally found it, he handed it to you for you to enter your number.

"Do you mind if I text you not just for the collaboration? I really like you, and I think... we could be friends," he said, running his hand through his hair again as he looked at you while you typed on his phone.

"Sure" you smiled and handed him back the phone.

Chris took the phone and put it back in his backpack as best he could since he was nervous.

"Come on, let's go back to the rink" you said, grabbing his hand again to lead him back to the rink.

He didn't refuse, and you could see his smile again with a slight blush on his cheeks.

#christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #kinktober #fem oc

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

ñuhus prūmӯs (my heart) │Chapter 12: Dynasty

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. You stand your ground.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to my slap daddy @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for editing this monster! Thank you also to  @evisnotok, @connorsui​​ and @ajthefujoshi​ for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, dysfunctional family dynamics, brief reference to gore, brief reference to graphic child murder.

It’s been weeks, he seethes as he follows you back to the Keep, and those two fucks couldn’t even bother sending a raven to mark the deed as done? For his decrepit brother to bring the news before the cutthroats themselves…

Daemon reminds himself that it’s likely neither man had ever learned his letters. Nor had he extracted a vow through which he could come to expect confirmation of the slaying. He curses the oversight. How in the hells had he expected to discover if his target was successfully slaughtered without an adequate means of communication? Fucking lackwit.

You maintain as stony a silence as he while stalking your way up the path, past the Garden, through the heavy stone doors etched into the base of the fortress and along the halls of your island home. It is as though the varied aches and pains of childbirth have fled your body entirely, such is the stiffness of your disposition and the chilly wrath that chokes the air around you. The babes, foisted on that plain milk sow—Fredda? Freya? who knows, or cares for that matter—squawk with outrage as they are rattled about in her arms, assuredly disgusted by such indelicate management.

Good. He’d hate for his heirs to willingly submit to ill treatment by lesser hands.

Cargyll is escorting you all to the Chamber of the Painted Table, or so he surmises. There’s little else to be found in this direction. The stairs that wind up and up and up from the Great Hall lead to apartments and the relics of Aegon’s Conquest from long ago. You wave away his every attempt to assist you in climbing the steps, fresh from childbed as you are. He notes with some concern each wince and gasping breath, each press of hand to your side or to your belly like you are trying to hold the fractured parts of yourself together for just a little longer. By the time your party reaches the top of the tower, even he is winded. Too damn young to feel so old, his thoughts protest.

The doors creak open with a resounding echo as his foot meets the landing, the solid mass of Breakbones thumping through the parting of wood with heavy stomps. He pauses when he sees Daemon, a tempest raging across the terrain of his face. His fists ball up at his sides even as he remains stock-still.

Shit.

Daemon takes careful note of his surroundings—the lit torches mounted on the walls, the winding carvings of dragons etched into the rock around the window, the widening of the stairway as it approaches the open hall outside the Chamber—and assesses Strong, waiting for any indication that he will strike. He wouldn’t blame the man if he did. Larys might have been a treasonous viper and a cunt, but he was Harwin’s brother. No, he wouldn’t blame him. But neither will he allow him to attack without putting up a fight of his own.

A pale hand settles on Harwin’s arm. Rhaenyra moves out from behind him, communing wordlessly to her lover with solemn eyes and thin-pressed lips, a subtle shake of the head. The man huffs, working his jaw. Then, with an abrupt lurch, he storms past, deliberately avoiding Daemon as he marches down, down, down the stairs. Each footfall resounds with a dull thump, fainter and fainter.

She turns to Daemon. “With all this time having passed”—his eldest niece hisses as she steps forward to remonstrate him, though her attempt at privacy is utterly lost in the resonant composition of the space—“and you never once thought to tell me you’d ordered the man’s death?”

He glances at you. With a carefully blank expression, you’ve turned away to dandle at the babes in the wetnurse’s arms, tiny fists clenching onto outstretched fingers. You murmur in low tones to your companion, making it clear that you have no intention of participating in the conversation taking place. He knows not what you think of the revelation.

“You would have counselled caution,” he says, never once taking his eyes off you. She blusters in annoyance, but he hardly cares. A cold wash of triumph suffuses the very air he breathes, almost as though it is a tangible flavour collected on the tongue. They’ve done it. The traitor is dead. You are safe now, you and Rhaenar and Aelys. “I’ll not apologise for the deed. He deserved it.”

Rhaenyra sighs. “I know. But… Harwin—” She stops, shaking her head. “Never mind. The King is waiting. He is—most displeased.”

Daemon grunts. “When is he not?”

Her responding smile is wan. She nods her farewell in grave ceremony, sidestepping him and venturing to you. Reaching a hand forth to glide across the feather-fluff softness of each babe’s head, she presses a single, wordless peck of dry lips to your cheek before following her vexed paramour’s path down at a much more sedate pace, slippers barely to be heard on the stone steps.

Daemon’s pulse rumbles in his ears as he enters the Chamber with you and your attendants in tow. He knows most perceive him as someone who enjoys riling the King; but, in truth, he does not take pleasure in this. He never has, though he is by nature one who creates chaos wherever he walks, a blight upon the earth. It is his curse to crave approval from Viserys, even now that age and circumstance have elevated him so by comparison. He will forever be a little boy begging for scraps of his brother’s love, never to be satisfied.

Viserys sits at the head of the table, distinctly out of place. King’s Landing may be the epicentre of Targaryen power, but it is here at Dragonstone that the true vestiges of Old Valyria remain. Draconic, ominous, almost savage—it does not suit a man so affable, indecisive, common as Viserys.

“Brother,” Daemon says, stopping at the edge of the Painted Table opposite the King.

Viserys makes no attempt at greeting, nor any other movement. He simply continues staring at Daemon with a frigid countenance, purple eyes glinting like cracked ice in weak sunlight, dangerous and jagged. An excellent beginning.

Daemon doesn’t bother genuflecting. The concession would be pointless. Still, the King appears to take notice, jaw clenching faintly at the slight.

“I believe you summoned me,” he adds with an air of insolence, testing, needling. Silence in return. He lets his next statement hang. “If His Grace has forgotten the purpose…”

Viserys’s deformed face twists in anger. “I would have you silent, you—you plague! You do not speak unless I comm—”

“Father.”

The King’s gaze darts to you, surprised, starting visibly when he notices the wetnurse by your side and the wriggling forms of the twins in her hold. All at once, his disposition changes. He is no longer the austere arbiter of justice come to scold Daemon for his many failings, but instead a jovial, tender-hearted father. “Oh!” he says, exhilarated and overcome. “Oh!”

Though you smile as you approach him, there is a stiffness to your shoulders and an unhappy pout to your mouth that belies just how deeply the bond between you has fractured. You avert your eyes from the King’s, avoiding his upturned cheek to settle Aelys into the crook of his remaining arm and taking Rhaenar into your own grasp. Your voice is too light as you introduce your children—Daemon’s children—to their grandsire.

“Rhaenar and Aelys?” Viserys asks, distracted from his own words by the whimpering of the babe in his grip. “I cannot recall a ‘Rhaenar’ or an ‘Aelys’ in our histories.”

“They are new. Free from the burden of comparison to one’s namesake.” A moue of defensiveness colours your speech. The King does not notice.

“I’d believed you might call them ‘Viserys’ or ‘Aemma’, for those that bore you,” he says, entertained by Aelys’s scowling expression. He does not see the chill that sweeps across your visage, the traces of warmth that are stifled by wintry resentment, deadening the flush of your skin to pale ice and the brightness of your eyes to dulled jewels. “Ah, but ‘tis no matter. They are a fine pair, my girl. Well done!”

You nod jerkily. Daemon watches the scene with incredulity, stock-still at his post across the Table. Surely my brother is not that obtuse? he wonders. But of course he is. So proficient has he become at ignoring the discontent of those around him that it is probable that he no longer recognises the sight of it.

“I trust your labours were easy?” Viserys asks. It is the wrong thing to say.

You no longer hide your disdain. It mars the sweetness of your features like ink stains parchment, spreading swift and uncontrollable. “Aelys was breech. Maester Gerardys wished to cut me open to take her from my womb.”

Daemon’s gut roils at the reminder even as his brother’s face blanches.

“By the gods!” he gasps, peering up at you. “But—”

“But Daemon refused to allow him to do so,” you say, lower lip wobbling. “My life mattered to him more than the prospect of an heir, you see.”

Dangerous territory. The jibe almost hits its mark. The King’s brow furrows, creasing in concern as he notes your hostility.

“Why have you come to Dragonstone, Viserys?” Daemon asks, stopping the conversation in its tracks.

No good can come of such vitriol. Your umbrage may be justified, but you are too ruled by the irrationality of new motherhood to head down this avenue of discussion. You are too young to risk losing your father to your own bitterness. The time may come that the truth of Aemma’s death can be dragged into the harsh light of day—but it is not this day. He’ll not let you make this mistake. Not yet.

“I’d have thought Ser Arryk had made that abundantly clear already.” His brother appears to shake the uncertainty off as he refocuses upon his sole purpose for traversing the Bay alone, sighing. “Lord Larys was found in his chambers. Or, rather, his body was found in his chambers. His head is… elsewhere.”

“How unfortunate.” Daemon cannot help the drollness. It goads a twitch from the corner of Viserys’s eye. “We’ll all miss him so.”

“Daemon.” Ah, the aggravation has returned. His mouth curves cruelly at the sight of the King’s indignation. “I know it was you.”

“And how do you know this?” you ask, ushering the wetnurse forth to retrieve Aelys from your father. “My husband has scarcely left my side since our return. And whatever time he has had to spare was most certainly not long enough to commit the crime of which you have accused him.”

Daemon calls your name. There is still enough of the biddable little doll in you to follow his implicit command and come to heel at his side like a good wife, to turn willingly into him when his hand rests upon your waist. It’s hardly improper, but close enough to raise an eyebrow or two. His brother observes you, observes how you gladly obey his whims, how you have readily found another sun around which to orbit. How easily he has been replaced.

He stares impassively back while you mutter instructions to the nursemaid and the Mallery knight, while the pair convey his children out of the room, infant squalls fading with the clanging close of the door. Viserys is pained, sorrowed. That much is clear. He tries not to let the conceit play out so obviously on his own expression, but it is most difficult. Modesty does not become him, after all.

‘Do you see, Viserys?’ he wishes to say. ‘You are not wanted here, not anymore. I am her world. We are all each other needs.’

“Will you not confess to it, brother?” The man is resigned now; the wrath has fled, cowed by your frosty reception. “I remember your words to Lord Strong well: ‘One day soon, you’ll be alone. And one day soon, I’ll have my revenge.’ The day has come and gone, it seems.”

Daemon cannot resist drawing it out. “What strange customs you set stock by, Your Grace. Symbols taken from the attacker’s own bodies and confirmation from Harwin Strong himself will not incite action from you. And yet, mere words—spoken in anger, at that—have you traversing the waters to Dragonstone to seek confession? Strange, indeed.”

“Enough of the games!” Viserys snaps, sharp and discordant in the ringing hall. “Admit to the deed and let us be done with it.”

“Ha! ‘Be done with it.’ Yes, we are ‘done with it’—no thanks to you.” Daemon feels the urge to laugh rising, rising. This is fucking ludicrous. “What do you want so desperately to hear, Viserys? That I was the cause of his demise? Take your satisfaction, then. I did. I did it.” He persists through his brother’s gusty inhale of dismay. “I hired cutthroats before I even left your fucking city. I made sure that Larys Strong would be dead before he could come for my children again.”

The King wavers, astonished. It seems that for all his bluster, he had not actually expected Daemon to assert his culpability so brazenly. “You had the man killed? Even after I expressly forbade you from such violence?”

Daemon snorts. He is not ashamed of his actions. “You refused to act, so I took it upon myself to eliminate the threat to my wife.”

“Such—such impertinence!” Viserys sounds utterly winded, scored open at the navel. “Such disloyalty. Why must you betray me time and time again?”

Disloyalty. How insulting. How disappointing. How very like the man to disparage him so.

This time, he does laugh. It is more of a chuckle, but with none of the joy. Rather, it is harsh and biting, mocking. “Disloyalty? We aren’t in King’s Landing now, Viserys. You do not rule here. I’m well within my rights to tell you to fuck off.”

If anyone holds dominion over this rock, Daemon thinks viciously, it is not the battered creature before me. Any other may make their claim. Rhaenyra; you; even he himself.

You do not belong here, brother.

The man stands, slapping the jagged surface of the table with his sole hand. “I am the King!” He sits at the craggy North, where the surface rises and dips with the spiked contours of icy mountains. His action draws blood from skin, welling rapidly and oozing across the peaks. He does not notice, instead turning to you.  “And you, girl,” he says. “What have you to say to this treachery?”

You twitch at the abrupt directive, having been but a bystander to the fray. “What have I to say?” Your voice is frosty.

“Yes! I demand you speak, child!”

You move away from him, clutching your hands together before you. The very image of maidenly grace, Daemon’s mind supplies. The sight of you standing so demurely calls forth a faint resonation of desire. It pulses in his gut like a broiling flame.

“What would you like me to say, Your Grace?” you ask flatly, the dawning thunder in your expression so at odds with your stance. “I could say many things. I could say that Daemon did what you would not. That for all my dislike of his methods, I can trust that he will keep me safe. That I have never, not once, been anything other than a loyal and obedient daughter to you—only to find that in my hour of greatest need, you would bend to the vultures that rule in your stead, cast the name of the man responsible for my plight aside like rot beneath your feet, without care. That you have failed me in every conceivable way; as a King, as the head of my House, as a father, as grandfather to the babes you never bothered to enquire after in the wake of the attack.”

Each word lands like a physical blow, and so it is fitting that blood drips readily from Viserys’s flesh. He jerks as if injured by your mounting pitch, as if your diatribe alone lays waste to his form.

You remain immobile, frozen in your ferocity, your seething misery. Still, you speak, trembling. “So, yes. I could say a great many things. Where would you like me to begin?”

Not even he can conjure up a worthwhile response to such a challenge. My poor, precious girl. Though you stand tall with chin jutted forth and brow arched in supercilious question, he can only see the quailing child in you, plaintive and forlorn, eager for the slightest validation from a sire who could never give you what you need. In this moment, he wants to tuck you away, coddle you close, hold you down and surround you so that all you can see or hear or feel is him, him, him—

The hush reigns long—until it doesn’t.

Viserys’s breathing can be heard even from here, nearly the opposite end of the room. His words are weak. “I did the best I could.”

“And yet, it was not enough. You were not enough.” Your address is just as quiet, distressingly saddened. “You did not even ask after me when you arrived, did you? Or you would have known beforehand that I had already given birth. So much for loyalty. Mother would be disappointed.”

It is here that Viserys protests. “Daughter—”

“No.” Daemon can see the threat of tears in your eyes. “You had every opportunity to use your voice before this moment, Father. I will not hear whatever excuse you have to make now.” At this, you turn back, angling yourself away from the King to direct your next words only to him. “I need to make sure the babes are settled.”

“Sȳrī iksā?” Are you well?

He cannot help but reach for you, to cup your jaw in his hand and collect the moisture from the corner of your eye with the pads of his fingers. He sweeps your sorrow away with the brush of skin on skin, shining iridescence that paints your cheekbone in glow.

You nuzzle against him like a cat, like a starved pet, like a little princess aching for care. “Issa,” you say—yes—laying your hand upon his own, cradling him to you as though you are afraid he will vanish if he lets go. “Kesīr humbon daor. Zijomy daor.” I cannot be here. Not with him.

Who else but he can understand that sentiment so profoundly? He nods once, stealing a final touch of thumb to the plush divot of your lower lip. “Jās.” Go.

You revolve like a puppet on strings, staccato motions of rote absentmindedness. Curtseying with perfunctory deference, your parting words to your father are chilling in their detachment. “I pray that you have a safe journey back to the capital, Your Grace.”

Viserys makes an appeal of your name, beseeching, but you are lost to him now. You lean up and—with more zeal than the occasion calls for—press your lips to Daemon’s, parting your mouth to welcome his instinctive drive to claim. He sinks into the flavour of you without thinking, gripping your waist to keep you on tiptoes and pull you tight to him, your soft little sounds coiling dark in his groin.

You withdraw with a smug half-smile, dimmed by your melancholy but beautiful, nonetheless. His impulses drive him to snatch you back to him as you step away. He won’t. Enough has been taken from you today.

You make your escape with poise, turning your back on his brother with a strength he had not known you possessed and seemingly gliding from the chamber, weightless.

When did she become so formidable? he wonders. It is no easy thing to deny a king. Perhaps motherhood—the fire of bearing babes borne of his own blazing nature, their father’s heirs in truth—has ennobled you with a tenacity you have long kept dormant.

“You have turned her from me.”

He’d forgotten Viserys is still here. The man is grey, hollowed out. Defeated. He has sunk himself back into the chair at the head of the Painted Table, hunched over and looking every inch the ailing life-form he has been reduced to. Malady has crept back in, casting a shadow of gloom across Daemon’s ire until it too feels as a void rather than a maelstrom.

With a tone just as resigned as his brother’s, he replies. “You did that yourself.”

Silence.

“I know.” The King stares at some fixed point on the Table, or perhaps he is unseeing. He has retreated into himself, into thoughts unknown to Daemon. “I did not wish for this,” he says, more air than word. “What happened to her… I wanted to strike the head from his shoulders myself. But I am—”

“—the King.”

The King, the King. Make way for the fucking King.

It is always the excuse, the reason, the proof that Viserys will forever remain powerless to the capriciousness of others. If he is the King, he cannot be the husband, or the father, or the grandsire. If he is King, he cannot be Daemon’s brother.

“Yes.” Viserys chuckles. It is a wretched noise, a mournful hacking from crippled lungs. “King of the Seven Kingdoms… and yet I am as limited by law as any other. More, mayhaps.” Finally, he looks up from whatever had taken his focus. When he does, his eyes seem eclipsed, without light or emotion. It is like peering into the face of the Stranger. “Maegor did what he wanted. He ruled according to his every whim. Where did that get him? Who today remembers him as anything other than a despot and a monster?”

Daemon scoffs. “And yet you allow your lackeys to call me by his name—to abuse my temperament and malign my character.”

“Not even I can control what others think, Daemon.” How kindly the man sinks the blade through my flesh. Viserys hums. “Be that as it may, I do not think you to be Maegor reborn. Unruly, yes. Reckless and brutish, at times. But not cruel.” Here, his voice gentles. “She would not love you if you were cruel.”

There are times that he wonders if he’d ever given you the chance to feel otherwise—if he’d taken and taken and taken until you’d reshaped yourself entirely, bowed and bent and broken under the weight of his ceaseless desire. What is worse? To be tormented by the thought that the one woman he’d ever loved had been forced to return the sentiment for the sake of survival? Or to find that very same thought maddening, stirring, thrilling beyond measure?

No, he chides himself. She loves me. She sees me for all that I am, and she loves me anyway.

Viserys resumes after a brief pause. “The details of Larys Strong’s death have been concealed from the commons. But the Council suspects you. They have charged me to summon you to court and arrest you for conspiracy to murder a member of the governing body. And I cannot say now that there is no recourse for it.”

“You’d arrest your own broth—”

“Of course not! Have I fallen so far in your esteem?”

‘You have,’ Daemon wants to say. He does not.

“Brother,” the King says. “You have committed the crime you are accused of, by your own admission. This is true, yes. But I will not throw you to the vipers. The price would be… too high.”

“Death?” At the vociferous shake of the head, Daemon revises. “No… Exile.”

Ah, his old friend. He recalls the occasions in which you had teased him for it in the past. How many times, indeed? It would be galling, yes, if he were alone. But he is not alone.

What of my wife? What of Rhaenar and Aelys and Daeron?

“Most likely.” Viserys’s upturned hand rests on the table, the blood clotting to dark in the centre of his palm. A minor wound by any other measure; but for the King, it is like to be the source of new infection. “Perhaps not a punishment you are unfamiliar with—but for my daughter and grandchildren’s sakes, I should seek some lesser consequence for your actions. There must be a reckoning, Daemon. For the sake of the Realm.”

“If you cared more for her than for your fucking Realm,” is his answering hiss, “perhaps we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Enough! I will not—enough.”

What little vexation that had been stirred by Daemon’s taunt vanishes like smoke in a dark sky. His heart sinks. There is no triumph in conquering a man so beholden to his own feebleness.

Viserys makes his proclamation with the weariness of one that may well have lived a thousand years. “You will be charged with perfidy if you return to the city. Thus… you shall not return.”

“So it is exile, then?” How uninspired. Daemon might have respected the man more if the sentence had been more dire. He is fully aware of how contrary that makes him.

“Is it so terrible? You despise the capital,” the King says. “Remain on Dragonstone, Daemon. Raise your children. Be with your wife. Tour the Kingdoms. Travel across the Narrow Sea, by all means. But you will not—you cannot—step foot in King’s Landing again. That is the price you must pay.”

It is not so bad, he thinks. Better than he had expected, though worse than he had hoped. Some small, naïve, foolish part of him had half-believed Viserys might spare him entirely.

‘But I am your brother, when Father died you made a promise, you swore—’

‘And what of your whore Queen, do you know what she’s done, do you know about the moon tea—’

‘Why don’t you love me as I love you, why was I never enough as I am—’

The possibilities crumble like ash, words floating by on a breeze just out of reach. Things he might have said, might have done, no more than unattainable futures now. There is no point. He is a haunted shade of the man he is, seated at the table in the room on the isle, forever wishing, wanting, waiting for the sun to shine a light upon him. And yet. And yet.

Daemon tries to convey a façade of agreeability. What comes forth is terse, a threat of temper lurking below the depths. “Fine.” Folding his arms, he cannot help but make one last query. “But you understand that you won’t see her again, either?”

His meaning is abundantly clear if Viserys’s reaction is anything to go by. Though the King does not move, he appears smaller, less substantial, the breadth of him collapsing like a dying star. When he concedes, it is with a burdensome breath out, a rattling knell of defeat. “I do,” he says, forfeiting all rights to you in so short a statement.

What a sire! What a man! Viserys may be a wretch, but he loves Aemma’s girls. His love is not enough, it seems.

Such folly it was, Aemma—dear, dear cousin—to depart so soon from this world…

Daemon is tired. “If that is all, Your Grace.” He dips his head, intending to make for the door, to seek out the place in which he truly belongs: in his chambers, by your side, with his children.

“Wait!” his brother says.

He turns back.

“One thing more. I… please. Here.” A scroll is drawn out from beneath the layers of cloak, bound in blood-red ribbon gilt along the edges in brilliant gold. Viserys holds it up, inviting him to take it for himself. “It is a pittance, but I… I hope it might ease the sting, if only a little.”

The temptation is great—too great. Almost without realising, he is where he wishes to be least of all: next to the King, cracking the hard wax of the royal seal open, unfurling the contents within with nary a word of thanks to offer the giver.

Daemon’s brow raises. The living sons and daughters of Our esteemed daughter… will have... the style, title or attribute of Prince or Princess.

Prince Rhaenar. Princess Aelys. Titles worthy of his heirs, after all. It galls him that he has no gratification left to indulge in, no reserves of feeling from which to draw his pleasure at finally, finally gaining at least something he has coveted.

“My thanks,” is all he can offer. It sounds feeble in his own ears, apathetic.

Clutching the parchment tight in his fist, he hopes that his response will not spur Viserys into reneging on the decree etched within. To his relief, the man only nods, ashen smile contorting the open sores on his face.

Daemon swallows; lays his hand tentatively on his brother’s shoulder. “Farewell.” It rings with finality, finality he is not ready for, he is not ready, not ready—

A light touch against his elbow. Viserys pats his arm, rueful, mired by all that is left unsaid. “Farewell… brother.”

Daemon pictures you in his mind’s eye—your strength, your steadfastness, the iron sturdiness of your willpower—and lets the thought surround him, overwhelm him, obscure the churn of his gut and the throb in his chest. He takes a step, and another, and another, resisting the urge to look back at what remains.

The door closes.

You will not deign to see him off.

“Let my disappointment be his last recollection of me,” you say snidely, swaying a whimpering Aelys from side to side. “Mine own mind remembers naught but a coward.”

Still angered, then. Daemon does not dare press you. With a nod and a gentle stroke of each babe’s head—daughter in your arms, son in the wetnurse’s—he goes forth to meet Rhaenyra at the shore.

The skies are dark and grey as he observes Viserys hobble his way through the sand, helped along only by the Cargyll man. Though it galls him to see his brother brought so low, he makes little move to assist. If he wishes to create some great observance of his departure, then let him do so by his own power.

He stands back and endures the parting words between the King and his heir—the only person on this isle he’d ever truly given a damn about—and the weak attempt at light-heartedness from Laenor, idling thoughts keeping him company.

‘Tis a suitable day for dragonriding, he muses. Not too bright, not too cold… Perfect for introducing fragile forms unused to the severity of the changing winds to flight. He is glad to have finally settled on the venture with you earlier.

“… and I’d best not keep Alicent waiting. She was much aggrieved by my venturing here alone,” the man says with a joviality that seems only slightly forced, ignoring the manner in which Rhaenyra’s countenance slides flat at the mention of her once-dear friend. “Alas! She herself would not brave the journey, and the Hand… Well, someone must keep things in order.”

He grits his teeth at the mention of Otto and his bitch of a daughter, paying no notice to whatever words spill next from Viserys’s overeager mouth. More of the same prattle, no doubt. From what he’d discerned, the man had tried his hardest to uplift the spirits of the Keep’s inhabitants for the remainder of his stay, desperate to alleviate the blow the news of the Rogue Prince’s latest banishment had struck.

What follows is of little pomp or curiosity. The King shares but one look with the brother he has forbade from his city, offering no words of leave nor of apology. Daemon had not truly expected any. All that could be said has been in days previous.

The Kingsguard escort their sovereign onto the ship docked at harbour, a further distance than he himself cares to traverse. The faint shouts from the crew above and below deck herald the unmooring of the vessel, the shifting tides taking it swiftly out to sea. He watches, and waits, and wishes that Viserys and he had concluded proceedings under better circumstances—that, for once, the parting had served to bring them closer together than further apart.

Until we meet again, brother. This is not the last time. Daemon knows better than most that exile is not tantamount to an ending.

A flash of silver appears at the window overhanging the beach, bright against the sombre hues of stone and capturing his notice even from a distance.

It is you. He is sure of it.

Never would you forgive yourself if you had allowed your papa to depart without at least seeing the event with your own eyes. A dutiful daughter, even to the very limits of your tolerance.

He thinks to make his way to where he assumes you must be surveying the Silver Firedrake’s slow shrinking on the horizon—but when he arrives at your chambers to don his sturdier riding boots (for if he should think to take the twins on their first trip in the sky, how can he be anything less than prepared for the task?), you are once more to be found within.

A melancholy princess is what he discovers, sitting on the great chair with knees tucked into your chest and staring unseeingly at the empty hearth. Jeyne and Bethany cluck over his children like broody hens across the room, overseen by that exceedingly loud-mouthed nursemaid, clearly waiting for his arrival so that he may take his heirs on the agreed-upon expedition. He disregards them as he always does. They are unimportant, all three of them, useful only in their capacity as your aides.

“Sweetling,” he murmurs, prying one of your palms free from the vice-like grip you’ve established in amongst your skirts.

Though you release easily enough, you do not look up at him. Indeed, there is no outward recognition of his presence from you at all, and so he is obliged to take your chin in his grasp and tug upwards until your gaze meets his own.

The words lodge in his throat. It seems rather redundant to ask if you are well at the sight of your deadened stare, rage and grief and discontent burnt out entirely so that all that is left is the husk of once-feeling. A not-uncommon mood after matching wits against Viserys. The man most certainly has a talent for ensuring the impossibility of victory regardless of the outcome of quarrelling with him. Dark circles have formed under your eyes, a memoir of disturbed nights imprinted in skin, the shade deep enough to tell him that you have slumbered poorly since rowing with your father some days previous.

How many more blows will she be forced to take for the sake of this fucking family?

He tuts, tilting your head to the light to examine the bruise-deep smudges marring your sweet little face.

No, you are not well—but it doesn’t mean you won’t be eventually.

“You’ll get some sleep while we’re gone,” Daemon says, already digging his hand between thigh and calf to curl an arm under your knees.

You squeak softly, fingers digging into the hairs at the nape of his neck as he lifts you bodily and carries you toward the bed. “I am not tired,” you say, stubborn insistence so like the choleric peevishness of a girl so much smaller than you are presently. “I don’t want to sleep—”

“And I don’t recall asking.” He shifts you in his hold so that he can free the sheets from where they have been tucked tight against the mattress and deposit you soundly below the covers.

You frown, glancing past him at the ladies ogling the scene. “But I want to go with you and the babes!”

A firmer touch. He is reminded of nights so long ago—back when Aemma’s love had softened Viserys’s opinion of his carefree younger brother—taking visitation with his King and goodsister (of course, these were the evenings where he had not been trussed up between some brothel whore’s thighs), only to be interrupted by a bashful, sulking girl-child of barely three summers, plump baby-fat fists rubbing gummy doe eyes as you’d toddled in with a babbled refusal of bedtime. “No, no, no,” you’d mumble, swaying on unsteady legs toward your uncle, so sure already that it would be he to support your juvenile rebellion.

He’d had regrettably little patience for the display back then. He’d scoop you up, whirl you about so that you were red-faced and squealing, and promptly march you back to the nursery to trap you beneath your coverlets until the exhaustion of wrestling against his much stronger arms had you fast asleep.

I’ll do it again right here and now if I must, he decides. “Do you happen to find respite easily on dragonback?”

“What?”

Daemon huffs, tapping you on the chin to regain your wandering attention. “I’ll be taking our son and daughter on Caraxes. You need your rest,” he says, a touch of condescension bleeding into his cadence. You flush, whether in ire, embarrassment or the faint stirrings of longing, he knows not—but it is gladdening to see the colour livening your wan expression. “So, you have two options: you sleep here in our bed, or outside in the saddle. Either way, you’ll do as you’ve been told. Unless you’d like for them”—he nods toward your wide-eyed spectators—“to see what happens when insolent girls disobey kepa. Which sounds better to you, hm?”

The hidden threat quails you. You sag into the pillows, no longer warring with him, with yourself, relief lingering in the capitulatory flare of nostrils. “I… I will stay.”

“Good.” Delighting in the sullen lowering of your lashes, he strokes your hair down, more proprietary than soft, and tucks the coverings around you tight, hushing noises escaping at your minute protests. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. Lay down properly, there’s a love. Tired little girls don’t get to make choices, do they? That’s why I’m here. Sh, sh.”

Truly irritable now, you turn away from his wandering hands and his patronising devotions, burying your face into the plush softness of the cushions beneath your head. By the time he has located those damned boots and tugged them on, you are already lost to your long-needed slumber, mouth lax and breathing slow and even.

Predictable, isn’t she? And a terribly easy thing to bend to his will. He takes one final look at you, that trace of uneasiness unclenching in his gut, and readies himself for the outing ahead.

Daemon selects no one save the Mallery man and a pair of the Keep’s guards to accompany him down the path to the craggy sunning spot so favoured by his dragon. He finds the walk somewhat arduous, hyperaware of every bounce his form makes along the uneven trail, every jostle that risks upsetting the babes strapped to his chest. Not the most accommodating of arrangements, it is true, but he had been loath to attach them to his back where he could not reach in the midst of strife. He’ll have to make do with minimal manoeuvrability in the air.

Caraxes chirrups when he approaches, a gust of hot air jettisoning out from between his teeth. It is rank enough to give his companions pause. They cough, stepping further back, ensuring they are well out of range of the Blood Wyrm and his famous capriciousness.

Fat fucking chance of frightening anyone nowadays, Daemon grouses to himself.

The scent of his son and daughter attracts the creature like a moth to flame. His whistling growls cease abruptly, head tilting akin to that of a curious hound as he bends forward to examine his rider closely. Then, what can only be described as a softening occurs, rippling over Caraxes’s massive frame like sunlight dappling across scales. The wyrm blows the gentlest of breaths across Rhaenar and Aelys’s heads, a sweet little greeting before he settles down, seeming to disregard Daemon entirely.

What has happened to my fucking dragon? The scourge who routed the Dornish, the fiercest of beasts—a doddering old fool in the presence of two tiny humans.

He’ll admit it to no one, but he is immeasurably pleased. There are exceedingly few who could claim the protection of so mighty a monstrosity as a battle-hardened dragon, let alone at less than a moon’s turn of life.

“Avy kipagon kosti, Karaksys?” Will you allow us to ride you, Caraxes? he asks, thumping the dragon’s flank good-naturedly. A needless gesture, to be sure—but still, it is best to make it clear that he intends to bring aboard new quarry today.

A soft hoot sounds. The ground shudders as the draconic being’s belly thuds to the grassy surface, wing flattening to a smooth incline so that he may tread upward without the necessitation of climbing.

With a wry grin—how sentimental you’ve become, old boy!—Daemon treks up sinew and cartilage, cupping the babes’ heads to his neck to alleviate the erratic shifting of live flesh below his feet.

Aelys wiggles in her bonds as Daemon adjusts himself in the saddle, neck craning to the side like she is desperate to take in the sight of the world atop this new summit. Meanwhile, Rhaenar has fallen promptly to sleep, utterly at home next to the pulse and warmth of his sire’s heartbeat. Both are endearing in their own way; his daughter for her ceaseless inquisitiveness, his son for his perpetual surety.

“Sōvēs!” Fly!

Rhaenar cries at the rough shaking as Caraxes skitters toward the precipice, ramping up his pace to build momentum, and so Daemon tucks the boy further into the wrappings to secure him more tightly and shield him from the elements. When the dragon takes a dive from the cliff face, Aelys squeals, legs kicking at the booming rustle of wings flapping once, twice, three times, each swift beat careening them up and up into the air.

There are but three things that ignite the flame of exultation in his soul: the newest being his children, whether they be but sleeping or screaming or shitting, because they’re alive and they’re here after so long waiting, wanting; the most maddening being you, his baby wife turned woman, pudgy-cheeked tot turned maiden whore in a mere moment, his obsession, devotion, frenzy; and the longest-serving being this, soaring atop a giant winged beast, the thin air and roaring breeze stealing the breath from his lungs and forcing his heart to pound almost through his chest. Even when he’d had nothing but his reputation across the Narrow Sea—“Rogue Prince,” they’d whispered, “brother to a King who’d rather banish him than address the failings that had brought him so low in the first place”—he’d had Caraxes, he’d had flight, and he’d had freedom.

As Caraxes careens further and further out from the hillside, Daemon glances down to his son and daughter. For once, Rhaenar is looking about curiously, taking interest in his surroundings in a way he has so rarely done thus far. For once, Aelys is silent, eyes wide but carrying none of the vitriol her waking hours usually comprise.

“This is what it means to be Targaryen,” he whispers to them, pressing his nose to the warm buttermilk suppleness of each tiny infant’s snowshine hair. He is sure that this is what love smells like. “Va Zaldrīzo Lentrot jemī jiōran, ñuhus dārannis.”

Welcome to the House of the Dragon, my heirs.

The whipping winds take his words unto themselves, conveying them henceforth to be lost in the great wild world. Still, he feels their power in his bones. His heels dig into Caraxes’s flanks to speed him onward, racing the sun to the very edge of the horizon, hues of brilliant gold nearly blinding him and the saline tang of the sea stinging sharp in his mouth.

Grinning like a boy, Daemon leans forward, revelling in his flight across the open sky.

A new normality weaves itself into the tapestry of life upon Dragonstone.

Soon enough—too soon—that blasted healer deems you healed enough from your labours to move around the Keep unfettered. “She have babe,” Ūlla snaps as she shoves him out of the way, silencing him with an admonishing noise. “You act like she almost die. A natural thing, birth. Calm yourself!”

Daemon had tried to pay her for her services and send her off on her way. She’d merely levied him with an unimpressed look in response to his attempt at a conciliatory farewell.

“I hear you both sometime,” she’d said pointedly, cackling at your red-faced splutters. “New babe come very soon, I think. Better stay here, or I leave for Qohor and you make boat turn around when I get there!”

“I thought you were living in Braavos before?” he couldn’t help but ask.

She’d sighed. “I tell you once, I tell you again: sometime Braavos, sometime Qohor, sometime other place. And now, sometime Dragonstone. I live where I like, stupid boy.”

If the woman wants to make yet another port of Dragonstone, let it not be for me to stop her. Besides, she’s probably correct. There are plenty of rooms in this wing of the castle to fill, after all. He’s not going to fund her bizarre lifestyle, though. She can find her own bloody income.

And so, with you fully liberated from childbed and no longer in need of him, it is with great reluctance and no small amount of relief—for a man can only spend so long staring at tiny beings that do little else but sleep—that he returns to the task of maintaining the fortress.

His routine of old awaits him near unchanged. His men-at-arms welcome him back with congratulatory slaps to the back and cheerful salutations, a whirlwind that ceases only when his particular training methods serve to wipe the smiles from their faces and sap the strength from their limbs. By the time they are finished that first day, not a single man is able to move about without hobbling, clutching at a spasm in their side or stemming a weakly oozing cut with grimy fingers.

Good. They’d gotten too complacent in his absence.

In running drills, reviewing the training of Jace, Luke and Daeron (and Baela, too, it had been decided), rearranging the shift of the guards, recompiling figures upon the ledgers—and he’d have to speak to Robert Quince about his fucking appalling sums, by the gods—it becomes a true effort to find a moment to spare for you or the babes. Gone are the hours of uninterrupted leisure where he could lounge about with a book or with his varied lines of correspondence, using such activities as concealment for his preferred pursuit of watching you learn and adapt to the ever-changing role of motherhood.

Whenever he can, he goes back to you. On those occasions, he makes little attempt to reveal his presence. Rather, he stands at the door to the solar or hall or garden and surveys you and Rhaenar and Aelys. You take tea with Ser Lysan, infants propped up on your laps as you converse over your philosophies and linguistics, treating each squawk or whimper like it is a serious contribution to discussion with solemn nods and mischievous eyes. You arrange and rearrange the furnishings of the cradle, pensive eyes lingering overlong on the stone-still eggs laying within before turning to coo in the tongue of his homeland, sweet words of adoration for the beings you’d made. You wave freshly plucked blossoms at the babes laid out on a woollen rug spread over grass, laughing with Daeron and Rhaena as Aelys sneezes after jamming a flower into her face.

Such a pretty little mama you make. There is a rightness to it, taking and claiming you for himself, a Valyrian maiden for a Valyrian man as it had always been and will always be. He’d felt it when first he devised to make you his, and he feels it ever more keenly now. A sweet baby cunt—a Targaryen cunt—ripened with his seed, pure blood sprung from pure blood as it had since the dawn of dragonbinding, since those with magic in their veins had climbed to the very peak of power so long ago.

He dispels the musings with a toss of the chin. Yes, you’d taken beautifully to your new station, cossetting his babes with a heartrending sort of tenderness that can only be born from having gone so long without that same unwavering dedication. He’d chosen the vessel to bear his heirs well.

But so enamoured of these new lives are you that he has become the one bereft. He’d almost think you barely notice his existence if not for your absent-minded requests to ‘hold Rhaenar, would you, kepus?’ or to ‘take Aelys for just a moment while I use the privy’ when he arrives to your chambers after a long day.

Daemon had never quite grasped how fortunate he’d been to have procured and made himself such a wanton little whore of a wife. He does now. The shifting humours of your blood—the arduous process of healing from the inside out, of producing sustenance for small hungry mouths, of attuning yourself to the innate needs of these whole persons formed from parts of you and him—had rendered desire utterly meaningless to you.

He’d love nothing more than to show you how deeply he appreciates the undertaking of your body and spirit over the previous moons. He mightn’t be able to fuck you just yet, but there are certainly plenty of other acts to partake in. And yet his overtures—sly stroking here and there, a lazy upcurve of lips awash with intent, his solid warmth pressing in in in against your smaller frame—remain frustratingly, vexingly unobserved. He makes do with a spit-slick hand to his cock and the dim of the moonlight casting a dreamy glow over you, ethereal, lovingly caressing your newfound curves and near begging him to follow the path of it with his own unworthy touch.

Alas, as Viserys might say. It is not to be. Thus, he trammels his want as far down as he is able and focuses on the things he can do, such as finalising this evening’s undertaking.

It is like any other evening in recent memory, save for one addition. Daemon sits across from Laenor this time, restraining the urge to beat the man about the head to finally, finally shut him up, the man prattling on and on about nothing of import instead of actually assisting with inventorying the reserves of dragonglass on the isle. The entire enterprise is pointless, he’s sure, but some stupid cunt had told Rhaenyra that obsidian may be a marketable commodity further East.

Not like there’s anything else of value on this rock. Dragonstone is rich in sentiment and strategy rather than in resources. He’d have gotten the castellan to do it, but after the bother he’d made of the ledgers… well.

When he is at last free to escape Laenor’s clutches, he immediately ventures to the relative safety of his apartments. Like any other evening, he finds you alone with the babes, the hearth lit to blazing despite the mildness of the weather outside. The ties at the front of your shift are loose, the smooth swell of your tits peeking out from just below the hemline as you bend down to settle Rhaenar or Aelys—he cannot tell from this vantage point—beside their sibling in the cradle.

Daemon pauses. There is an odd scent upon the air. It reminds him of the Stepstones. His stomach churns.

And then he sees it. The eggs on the table beside the cradle, blackened with ash, the wood beneath smoking at the points of contact.

“What are you doing?” He tries to keep the ire from his voice, but he cannot conceal the bewilderment. What the fuck is she doing? he thinks.

You smile, moving toward him in greeting like there is not, in fact, a pair of scorching dragon eggs destroying the furniture. “Daemon.” He wants to wring your neck. How can she be so simple-minded, how can she endanger herself, the babes—”I solved it.”

“What?”

You lay a hand to his chest, bracing yourself to stand tall and brush petal-soft lips to his jaw, docile little princess, darling baby pet. He grits his teeth against the temptation to teach you a lesson you’ll not soon forget. Grab her and rip those fucking silks into tatters, pin her to the ground and beat her arse until it’s blue, ‘no, kepus, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again’–

Your hand is bleeding. He snatches you by the wrist with too-rough fingers, tracing the thin gash in your palm with the pad of his thumb until you hiss at the sting of it.

“What is this?” he asks sternly. “What’s going on?”

Has she gone mad? It’s not an illogical assumption. Madness runs in the bloodline. ‘Tis the curse of pure breeding, he knows. There’s been a fair share of harebrained, eccentric, even downright cruel members of his lineage. He cannot say for certain that he would not also be named to such notoriety in the annals of history. But this: slicing your own skin open, for it can be nothing else to have done the deed; preparing to place dragon eggs scorched from the fire straight into the cradle beside your newborns, for the scene he’d walked in on can suggest little alternative…

There is a saying about Targaryens. He cannot recall it. Madness, greatness. Something about coins.

“Oh,” you murmur, half-absent, peering upon your rent flesh as though surprised by the blood that wells there. “I forgot about that.”

You hum as you pull away, wandering back over to your little arrangement. Stopping before the eggs, you lean forward and eye the surface of the yellow one with zealous interest.

“You forgot about your fucki—”

“Fire and blood,” you say, the absurdity of such a statement stopping his vehemence in its tracks. “Such strange words, no? What is the reason for them?”

Daemon frowns, heart pounding. He’s never seen this side of you before… this distant creature that seems two steps out of time, floating on a plane just out of his reach. Gael had seemed that way as her waist thickened and then thinned once more, growing pale and frenetic and prone to fits of howling. It had been no surprise to him to eventually learn that his dear, sweet wisp of an aunt had walked into the sea, torn apart by anguish.

The fear—that same fear—renders him mute.

You continue on. “I found it peculiar that the eggs had not yet hatched. My sister’s boys’ did on the days of their births. Why then did ours not?” You look up at him, brow furrowed, struggling with some great puzzle.

Fuck. Perhaps he ought to have taken more notice of your concern when the eggs had remained stone-still, unchanged by the emergence of their riders-to-be. He’d not been too bothered. Long has the notorious volatility of dragonspawn been known. Most Targaryens of note had had to claim a mount from among the riderless dragons. Still. He’d not been paying attention, clearly. Fuck.

“Rhaenyra told me a story earlier,” you are saying to him, earnest now. “How she’d been presented with Luke’s egg while her hands were still wet with birthing blood. He’d only just come from her, and the cord was not yet cut. Laenor put the egg back into the brazier, you see… the smell of burning blood made her retch as she delivered the afterbirth. That night, the dragon hatched. She meant nothing of it, but… I thought about it.”

You take the purple egg in your grasp, still smoking beneath, and what comes lurching from the bowels of his chest is a strangled noise of terror. It dies as quickly as he’d given it life.

You do not scream. You do not cry. There is no aroma of singed flesh nor sizzling sound of skin crisping like overcooked meat. Instead, you hold it out like an offering, mouth twisting up in recognition of his fright.

“There is magic in our blood,” you say, and suddenly your inexplicable fanaticism bears great weight. “We are the ones—the only ones—able to bring the fire to life. Fire and blood. Fire of home… and blood. My blood. It is no adage, don’t you see? It is a secret. It is the secret.”

He is torn. Part of him wants to dash the egg from your hands, to bellow for the guards to bring the healer or the maester, to force potions and tinctures down your gullet until the gleam, that perplexing, unnerving gleam, fizzles out and you are returned to him. But the other part—the other part wants to bend the fucking knee.

He chooses neither.

“Come, riñītsos”—little girl, oh gods, please just stay my little girl—“let’s go to bed.”

Daemon cleans and binds your hand himself, shoving you backward in spite of your stubborn insistence that the eggs “really must go in the cradle, kepus, please, wait a moment,” and so he does that, too, shrugging off his coat to use as a barrier between the consuming heat and his bare skin, only to find that the eggs really aren’t hot at all, though the wood still smokes and the table is singed and ruined. He ignores the significance of it. It’s too mad, even for him.

The babes—his Rhaenar, his Aelys, his littlest beloveds—are fast asleep, stirring not once at the exchange between mother and father, and they care little when he places the eggs beside them. Purple for him, yellow for her. He knows not why, but it’s a simple thing to heed your intuition. A brief caress to each small head is all that he can spare this night, all the disturbance that he can stand to risk what with their milkdrunk mouths slackened peacefully and their gossamer lashes unmoving upon their cheeks.

When Daemon sinks into unconsciousness, he is plagued by fragmented visions, your words spun around upon themselves until all he knows is the tang of copper stealing through the air and the choke of ash fumes and charred dust. ‘Fire and blood,’ your voice haunts him, the egg in your grip but this time the blood stains you dark, running rivulets down your arms and spurting from between your teeth as you grin, maniacal, an unholy light in your lilac stare.  ‘Fire and blood,’ and he sees his own unwieldy fists as from above, watches his hands lay themselves upon Rhaenar and twist, wrench, birdbones cracking like paper overdried in the sun, watches himself hook around Aelys’s chin and tear the head from her shoulders like pulling apart bread, ichor coating his tongue. ‘Fire and blood,’ and the eggs hatch but they are no dragons, no, they are shrivelled and misshapen, maggots wriggling from deep wounds in the belly and claws snapping into a thousand pieces like hard wax, and when they scream it is not the sound of a dragon but your own voice, wailing, “I think I will die, oh, gods—”

He starts awake.

At first, he thinks it is his own mind to have drawn him from an uneasy rest. Casting his eye upon you—splayed out on your stomach in the moonlight, face turned to him, slow, even puffs escaping parted lips—he is satisfied that his dreams have not become reality. Rolling closer to you, suddenly cold, he draws the covers up higher around you both and presses his nose into your hair.

And then, he hears it.

A cry in the night. But it is not you, not Rhaenar, not Aelys. It is different, foreign. Wrong.

Someone is here.

Daemon lurches from the bed with a grunt, Dark Sister already in hand and drawn from the scabbard. The snick of the blade and the clatter of the wood-and-leather sheath as he casts it upon the floor is enough to rouse you, though he is heedless of the befuddled exclamations you emit, eyes straining through shadow to acquire a sense of whom has entered his chambers so brazenly.

One of the babes squawks. It is this that breaks his standstill. Stumbling toward the cradle, his pace quickens at that same hooting, unnatural cry, louder with each step he takes.

No. No, no, no. Not his heirs. Not his son and daughter, please…

“Daemon?”

“Wait!” he barks in your direction, barely registering the rustle of you fumbling with the tinderbox beside the bed. In the darkness, he is forced to feel rather than see, fingertips outstretched to ascertain the wellbeing of the babes. “Fuck!” he hisses. His hand throbs.

A dim light draws nearer. You follow his path onward, slower, the golden glow bathing the nearby furnishings. Daemon chances a look down into the cradle, searching for the cause of the sharp sting in the meat between his thumb and finger.

“Oh,” you say, stunned. “Oh!”

The paler one cocks its head at the sound, tiny snout craning up from where it had rested upon Aelys’s swaddled thigh. Unfurling wings so thin he can nearly see through them, no bigger than the span of his palm, the creature totters forward on unsteady legs, hooting again when it falls flat. This rouses the darker one—the shade of deep, glittering amethyst, tinged gold by candlelight—from beside Rhaenar, and it straightens itself much like a kitten might, stretching its spine out and hissing low, tinny. Though Daemon’s children are awake, they remain unbothered by these curious interlopers, these fragments of stone shell littered about their place of slumber, wide eyes watching as the baby dragons make themselves familiar with the world in which they have arrived.

By the gods.

“See, kepus?” you whisper, exultant. “Do you see?”

“I do,” he says, stunned and overcome, overwhelmed and overawed. “I see them.”

“Fire and blood. I was right. I was right.”

He sees. He hears. And he knows, in his gut and in his heart, that you speak true.

“Prince Daemon had at last a son and daughter both of his own blood, delivered unto him by his lady wife. Indeed, the early years of the marriage are widely regarded as some of House Targaryen’s most fruitful, as the young Princess proceeded to bring several of her husband’s children forth in quick succession. All would receive dragon eggs in the cradle, and all would hatch, bringing the might of the royal dynasty to astounding new heights.”

- 'Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros' by Archmaester Gyldayn

Read it on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44058132/chapters/119324212

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x you #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon x fem!reader #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen x niece!reader #matt smith #a song of ice and fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #got #got fanfiction #house targaryen #fire and blood #dance of dragons #daemon x oc #daemon x you #daemon x reader

[bellaxgiornata]

Bella's Masterlist of Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Michael Kinsella, & Daryl Dixon Series & One Shots

I am currently working on multiple series and fics for Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Michael Kinsella, and Daryl Dixon. I've updated my Masterlist so that each link will bring you to a separate, organized Masterlist for each specific character because there are just so many now! There's also some "bonus" characters I write for listed at the bottom of this Masterlist (Henry from Eat Locals, Owen Sleater in the future maybe). Always feel free to chat with me about any of the fics or characters I'm writing for. Y'all know I'm chatty!

I post new fics/updates multiple times a week and all of my stories are available fully on tumblr and AO3. If you'd like information on my tag lists you can find that here.

Masterlist of Matt Murdock Fics and Series

Masterlist of Frank Castle Fics and Series

Masterlist of Michael Kinsella Fics and Series

Masterlist of Daryl Dixon Fics

Additional Characters:

Henry x Fem!Werewolf!Reader Mini Series

Forbidden Love [Installment List]

Pairing: Vampire Henry x Fem!Werewolf!Reader

Warnings/tags: Smut, blood, biting (I mean...that's a given), bit of enemies to lovers, maybe some angst and fluff

After awhile you'd grown used to the vampire who often lurked around the woods you hunted in. Though that didn't mean his irritating presence didn't bother you, or that you didn't wonder why he often seemed to be waiting for you–especially since your kinds weren't meant to intermingle.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fem!reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil x female reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fic #matt murdock series #matt murdock x ofc #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfiction #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle x f!reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon #the walking dead #henry eat locals

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

THE DEVIL I KNOW- M. MURDOCK

Pairing: Ex- Boyfriend! Matt x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: you and matt had broken up months ago, but somehow you end up back in his bed over and over again. he knows you better than anyone else, and you can't deny the feelings you still have towards him, so why not end up in the sheets again? 

Warnings: SMUT, praise kink, degradation kink, mocking, pussy slapping, teasing, swearing, a lill dumbification kink, smoking, mentions of choking, enemies to lovers<3

“i’m okay with history repeating- tell me i’m the one you can’t forget. back in hell at least i’m comfortable, need your body when my fires cold. hand to heart i’m gonna stay faithful to the devil i know...”- the devil i know, suki waterhouse

You hated the city. 

The atmosphere seemed to choke you here, filling your stomach with a pit of dread and anxiety. The air had an almost rotten, dirty feeling to it, something that made your skin itch as it wrapped around your skin. 

It wasn't always like this, this feeling you got whenever you traveled to Hell’s Kitchen. 

There was once a time where the familiar streets and back allies brought you a sense of comfort, where you could pick out scents like fresh bread on 5th Street instead of the fumes, or hear the birds chirp in the park instead of the car's constant honking. 

But that time was long gone, as the man who had brought the city to life had disappeared. He had been gone, for quite some time now. 

Hell’s Kitchen was Matt Murdock's home. The one place he cherished with his heart and soul, the one thing he could always rely on when things became tough. New York reflected him, and every single time your heels clicked on the sidewalk, you thought of him. 

The flowers he gave you time and time again, from the florist you adored so much. Always recommending his favorite books after reading them in braille, taking you to an antique bookstore on the corner so you could pick it out and he could hold you from behind, leaning down to kiss and nibble on your neck. 

You missed him, and the relationship the two of you had so long ago. 

But it was an end of a chapter, the feeling of the chill, crisp rainfall on your figure still haunting your memory as the two of you parted ways on that crosswalk.

 You had walked on it now head held high as you stepped across the painted lines, the people around you going on their way, to their own little life you knew nothing about. As they knew nothing of yours, how the thoughts of Matt plagued you as your head hit the pillow each night, how good he made you feel, how much you missed his touch. 

It was sickening. 

The thoughts came more and more frequent as each hour ticked by, and you were anxious to finish this business trip, once and for all. It seemed your boss hated you, always sending you to Hell’s Kitchen for tasks that were associated with Matt's law firm, instead of anyone else. 

It's because you're the best candidate, Miss. Y/L/N. Stay professional. She had said after you had confessed the tension that was so thick you could cut it with a butterknife whenever you saw Matt. 

You didn't tell her you didn't want to go because you knew you could end up in his bed again. 

Like last time. And the time before that. 

The trips were becoming less and less frequent, which you were thankful for- time spent away from the scent of Matt’s sheets, patchioni and sex, was good for you. It gave you time to “move on” whatever that meant in your sense. 

But here you were once again, fist tightening around the briefcase handle as you allowed the wave of people to walk around you as you stared up at the doorway to his office. 

You closed your eyes, taking one deep breath- then another. 

You could do this. You had to do this. 

Not just for the paycheque, but for a sense of clarity as well. So you could go to sleep at night peacefully, knowing you had faced your ex-boyfriend and didn't end up sprawled across his bed, gripping the sheets with your ass up in the air as he pounded ruthlessly into you. 

You had to get over him. 

Once the final breath had escaped you, you walked up the steps, hand twisting the door handle. The old wood creaked as you popped your head in, the front entrance empty. 

You tried to hide the relief that flared up inside you as you slipped in, shutting the door softly behind you. You knew their office was on the third floor, and due to the old building- you’d have to take the stairs. Which was fine with you of course- it gave you more time to walk through how’d you react to his presence in your mind.

 So as you took your first step on the chestnut, you mapped it all out in your head to the rhythm of your heels clicking. You’d see him, obviously. But you would look right through him. 

You’d be formal and polite, as you had no bad blood towards him, and this was a business meeting after all. He would nod, walking off to his office, expecting you to follow. And then once the door was shut, and blinds were closed- when the two of you were in private he would throw you against the wall… hand wrapping around your throat ever so slightly… 

No! God no Y/N stop. Stop, stop, stop. you yelled at yourself internally, shaking your head as if that would shake the dirty thoughts out. 

The last visit was the last time. It had to be, for your own sake. 

Before you knew it, you had reached his floor, the office plaque placed outside the front door. Nelson and Murdock, it read, the grooves of the letters smooth as you brushed your fingers across the metal. 

You were stalling, and you knew it. 

Your rings grazed against the door as you knocked, feeling sweat seep out slightly from your pores. This was a lot more nerve-racking than you remembered. The familiar feeling of butterflies filled in your stomach, accept these weren't “butterflies”. They were hungry wasps, swarming your organs and stinging them, suffocating your lungs so you could barely breathe as you waited. 

“Come in!” a sweet voice called out, unknown to you. You frowned, confused as you pushed open the door. A woman sat behind a desk, her long blonde hair draped across her one shoulder as she clacked away on her laptop.

 You took in her slightly messy desk, a few pens out of their holder, the odd paper scattered by the somewhat wilting plant. She smiled at you, blue eyes bright as you made your way over. 

“Hi! You must be Y/N!” the lady quipped, sitting up quickly to extend her hand. 

“Hi, yes, yes that's me. And you are..?” 

“Karen Page. I'm new here, Matt and Foggy’s secretary.” she exclaimed, and you shoke her hand firmly. You couldn't help but smile, she seemed to have an enticing energy to her- making you feel comfortable and warm. 

“Well it is very nice to meet you Karen.” 

Suddenly, the door from the right swung open, and a familiar face peering over at you. “It’s you!” he called, and you felt your jaw drop.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How have you been?” Foggy asked, a smile permanently etched on his face as he looked at you, fingers running through the silky strands of blonde. 

“Good, good! Where’s um… where’s Matt?” you wondering, trying to make the question sound casual despite the severity behind it, your hands twisting together under the desk. 

“Oh, he's found himself in a courtroom again. He won't be joining us.” he replied, shuffling papers around as he attempted to find the files the two of you needed to discuss today. 

You couldn't help but feel the balloon pop in your chest, releasing all the air back into your lungs. 

This was good. This was so good. 

No worrying about him hearing your heartbeat skip beats when he was in the room, no watching him smirk childishly as you'd cross your legs together. Now it was just managing to get out of the city without him finding out. 

“Of course he is.” you joked, feeling the heat leave your cheeks as they returned to their normal temperature. Hands were smacked on the table, making you jump slightly as Foggy stood. 

“Well, shall we get started?” 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air was chill and crisp as you walked on the sidewalk again, the cab dropping you off a few feet away. You watched as it speed back off into traffic, leaving you in the dust. 

The wind blew, making you shiver as you hugged your coat tighter around yourself, snuggling your face into your maroon scarf. You surveyed the area, taking note of the lack of people around at this hour. 

It was quiet here, whenever the clock rolled around eleven. The odd person would have a smoke in hand, longed out on the steps leading up to their building, or a curtain was being yanked shut from above. 

It was a good neighborhood, this area.You had never had any troubles with it. 

But yet, you still felt a twinge of anxiety as you walked around the corner. 

You were on Matt’s street. 

His apartment, beautifully crafted with it’s large windows and almost vintage feel was a few feet away, and you couldn't help but stop and waver. You couldn't continue on. This felt wrong, walking by but not seeing him. 

But at the same time, wasn't this the whole point of coming down here? To prove to yourself, hey, I can do this. I can walk by that stupidly beautiful, smart-assed catholic's house, and not feel the pull to go inside and curl up in his arms again. 

And yet, the idea of walking by the front steps made you feel queasy, made your stomach turn over on itself. You were stuck, a rope in a game of tug of war as you were pulled between two sides. 

Before you could make a decision, you heard your phone ring. Digging through your pockets, your chilled fingers gripped around the phone, your heart seeming to sneak up and lodge itself in your esophagus as the caller ID showed. 

Matt Murdock. Your eyes widened, and you gripped the device tighter as you were torn between answering. 

Speak of the devil. 

It was like he had crawled up into your brain, sensed you were thinking of him (again), and decided to make himself known. Before you could rationally talk yourself out of it, you answered. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi sweetheart.” his smooth voice sounded from the phone, silky and sweet as oozing honey. 

You felt yourself fold.

 “Matthew.To what do I owe the pleasure?” You heard him chuckle lightly, and you could visibly see the little smile blooming across his face. “A little birdy told me you were in town today.” he teased lightly, and you sighed. 

Of course, he knew. You were stupid to think he wouldn't find out. That man could find out anything. 

“Did that bird have blonde hair, the worst dad jokes I’ve ever heard and chocolate brown eyes I find myself getting lost in?” you asked, making Matt laugh. 

“Perhaps. Where are you right now, sweetheart?” 

You considered lying. Saying you were in your hotel room, deep under the sheets in your pajamas, not willing to leave the warmth of your bed. But even that wouldn't work, as your hotel was near his apartment anyways. 

“I’m um, I’m on your street.” 

Silence. 

You heard the whoosh of his breath, and you swore he could hear the increasing, steady rhythm of your heartbeat from down here. 

“The doors unlocked.” was all he said, the line going dead. 

You held the phone up to your ear still, listening to the dial tone before slowly bringing it down, your mind in a different place. It was happening again. This buzzing, static in your mind. Where your limbs seemed controlled by strings, you were a marionette as you removed yourself from the spot your roots had been planted. 

With each step your chest felt more and more hollow, and you hated yourself for going through with this. 

But he invited you.

 It was rude not to just show up, to ignore him, and go on with your night. Though he would still be there even if you left him in the dirt, because you'd be thinking of the what ifs. 

Heat blasted on your body as you entered his building, and you were thankful to escape the cold air of the night. There was no doorman to greet, so you gravitated towards the steps, making the trudge up. 

You debated stopping many times, to just sit and cry and regret every decision with this man you had ever made. 

Why did the two of you end things? Why couldn't the two of you worked it out? Why was he being so distant all the time, but suddenly needed you whenever you were in a close proximity?

 It made you feel sick, all the questions that trampled over your brain like wild horses in the wind. You pushed them to the side, ego refusing to stop and mope. The dim lights flickered softly as you made your way up to his floor, and you pushed the door open to reveal the long, intimating hallway. 

The hardwood was smooth against your heels as they clacked, the only sound in this hallowed room as you made your way toward the end goal. His door loomed over at you menacingly, as if it would come to life and swallow you whole. 

You knew your thoughts were irrational, and you knew that you felt like this every time you came over to see him again. One time, this place was an amenity to you, a safe haven where you and Matt could escape the troubles of the world together. 

Now it was just plywood bones, cement, and rust mixed with hot and heavy breaths, filled with longing and regret. 

It was filled with happy memories too, which turned into sad ones whenever you thought about them too hard, because you longed to have them back. 

Your hand twisted the door handle, the door creaking open as the front entrance came into view. All the memories hit you at once, the passion, the love, the cravings, and the aches. 

The smell of bergomace filled your nostrils, a warm and soothing aura filling your bones from the scent alone. 

You could do this. You had no choice now. 

Your bag dropped to the ground, and you slowly unbuttoned your coat to place it on the coat hooks with your scarf. Matt still hadn't said anything, even though you knew he could hear you from around the block. 

He wanted you to make the first move. Fine. If he wanted to play a game, then you'd play.

 “I’m here.” you called out meekly, stepping into the open floorplan of his home. Matt was sprawled out in the brown leather chair, his hair slightly messy, wearing the red sweater you had made him so many months ago, saying ‘I’M NOT DAREDEVIL”. 

A smirk was evident on his face, fingers drumming on the armrest as he made note of your presence. “You missed me?” he asked calmly. 

“No.” you lied smoothly, still standing and staring at him, as if he was a piece of artwork at a museum. His head tilted ever so slightly, a smirk growing as he listened more closely to your ever-growing heartbeat. 

“You’re lying, sweetheart. There's no need to lie to me.” he cooed, and you sighed, hands curling into fists so you could squeeze something as a means of comfort. 

“I’m not lying.” you insisted, lying again. Digging yourself into an even bigger hole to attempt to get yourself out of later.

 “You were always pretty bad at it. Not that that's a bad thing of course, but someone doesn't need to read your heartbeat to be able to tell.” he shrugged notionally, standing up with a sigh. 

You remained frozen in place, too scared to move from the spot you had chosen, feeling if you moved this would all flutter away like a leaf in the wind. You hated how much you still wanted him, how much you did truly miss him. You watched as he made his way over to you, warm palm cupping your cheek as he teased your bottom lip with the brush of his thumb.

 “Now I’ll ask you again angel. Did you miss me?” 

“Yes.” you breathed with no gestation as his thumb brushed again in that soothing motion, the one he always did to coax the secrets out of you, making you gasp and shiver. 

He was intoxicating, and you were drawn to him- moth to a flame. 

“I missed you too.” he confessed, as if he had been reciting it in his mind a million times over. 

“You say that to every woman you've had in here.” you whispered sharply, the thought of him treating any woman the way he treated you making you feel nauseous. 

You didn't want him touching anyone the way he had touched you. His hands were branded to your flesh, hot and fiery like the devil's as his hand stilled, holding your head in place. 

“There hasn't been any other woman in here. It’s only been you.”

 Time stopped. The clocks stopped there ticking, the air turning dry and stale as his words reverberated through your mind. 

It's only been you.  

You wanted to believe him, you really did. But you were scared too. Because if it were true, if he had waited all this time for you, had waited for you in between trips- longing for you, you wouldn’t know how to compose yourself. 

“No, no stop that. Matt, we can’t- we can’t keep doing this.” you argued, voice breaking as you gripped his sweater, the fabric soft and noble between your fingers. 

“Why? Why can't we?” he insisted, pressing you further- his voice filled with an emotion you couldn't quite describe. “Because- fuck Matthew this hurts. This hurts me. That I see you and we act like nothings wrong and I can't have you.” you empathized, octaves rising as you clawed at his chest, his grip on your chin tightening as his hand came up to stroke your hair softly. 

“Please. Please just for tonight. We can be whatever you want to be in the morning, I promise.” he begged, cradling your head with his hands, scared to let you go as you shoke your head in defeat.

 “Matthew I can’t. We can’t.” 

“Tonight. Tonight and I’ll do whatever you ask of me Y/N I’ll leave if that's what you want. I’ll leave your life and never come back, or I’ll stay. I just need you.” he whimpered, clinging to you as you were him. 

It seemed the two of you couldn't let go, a magnetic force pulling you closer to his body to warm your fire. He began to back the two of you up towards his bed, the sheets slightly messy, making you whine.

 “You want me, angel. I can smell it on you, can practically taste you. I’ve always been able to read you better than anyone else.” he sighed, breathing in your perfume. 

It was true. Your pages were open for him, spine cracked as he thumbed through the text. An open book was something you tended to be for him- never being able to hide your intentions from him.

 “I hate you.” you whispered softly, a sharp edge to your words as he smiled softly- knowing he had won you over. 

“Yeah? You hate me?” The back of your legs hit the bedframe, body slumping back against the sheets as he leaned over you. 

“I hate you. I hate you so much.” you moaned as he kissed you, cutting off your words clean from the source. He tasted of cherries and sweet wine, and you savored it on your tongue before he broke it. 

“Say it again.” he growled, your hands tugging in his hair, fingers running through the messy chestnut locks as he kissed you harder. It was filled with passion and hatred, a mixture of unspoken words that hadn't been said that night in the rain. 

Things you wanted to say but couldn't, things you wanted back but weren't able to piece back together again. 

It was hot and heated, breaths coming in gasps and pants as Matt's hands traced your body, fingers burning you through the light fabric of your dress. 

“I hate you Matthew Murdock. I hate you with everything- mghm- everything in me.” you moaned, words interrupted as his teeth found their way sunk into the smooth skin of your neck, your body shivering with anticipation in protest. 

“You're so well trained, aren’t you? All these nights we've spent together really paid off hmm?” he purred against your neck, sucking on the skin hard enough to leave a mark. 

“You're insufferable.” you huffed, fingers curling around his neck, nails scratching the bottom of his scalp as you arched your back into him. 

“Look at you, using big girl words.” he cooed teasingly, making you roll your eyes before you kissed him, thigh hitching up to wrap your leg around him possessively. 

“Off.” You snarled, tugging at his shirt- the barrier preventing you from what you needed most. 

Skin-to-skin contact. Please. Because I've waited this long, and if I’m allowing myself off the leash, I want to go all the way. 

“Off, off off-” you commanded, watching with desire as he pulled away slightly, back muscles rippling as he tugged the sweater over his head.

 “Your turn.” he whispered, unleashing a squeak from your body as he gripped your thighs, yanking you closer to the edge of the bed- legs spread wide. 

You moaned as he cupped your clothed cunt, already soaking from his caresses. Arms were raised as he slipped the dress off your body in one fluid motion, the fabric was long forgotten about as it hit the floor. 

He was purely focused on you, as he always had been in these tender moments. It was like the outside world didn't matter, like both of your problems were pushed aside just for a little bit longer. 

Matt put you first. He always had, back when the two of you were together- until he didn't. 

But this was new. Each time the two of you had this secret rendezvous, it was like a new relationship blooming all over again. He was touching you again for the first time, he was whispering your name like it was brand new. It was all the excitement and passion of a new sparking flame, not a dulling ember. 

And you craved it, craved it like a drug addict needing her high and doing anything and anyone to get it. It was pure admiration, the way he brushed his fingertips across your collarbone, down your sides. 

Like he was thankful you had allowed him to sweep you back in his bed- just one more time. 

“That’s my good little girl” he cooed softly as you bucked your hips up at his delicate touches. 

“Don’t tease.” you insisted, feeling your head turn to the side, scared to look at him any longer. You feared him right now, anxious you’d allow yourself to fall again. 

But you had already fallen again. Hard. 

You didn't want to face that reality just yet. Not when he was touching you like this, making you feel like you were an angel with your wings spread wide, halo shining as bright as the sun. 

“M’not teasing. I’m enjoying.” he hummed, hands slowly rubbing the insides of your thighs, knuckles brushing the delicate skin as he’d inch closer to where you needed him most. 

“I want to enjoy you, because I know you’ll be gone before I know it.” 

You had nothing to say to this. What could you have possibly said- that wasn't a lie? It was up to fate- whatever happened in the morning, and the next few coming days after that. 

It was always like a sore, the days after the mistake. Matt's fingertips seemed to almost scorch you, tingles randomly sizzling on the layers of skin where he had touched you previously. The guilt that stayed with you was tied to your ankle like a ball and chain, chasing you into sleep for the next week or so.

 Then you’d try your best to forget him, until you appeared in his bed again. It was a continuous cycle, a habit you were almost scared to break, in case it was decided it should stop completely. 

You knew that was the right thing- the good thing for the long term. But you didn't want it to stop. You liked this, this little thrill you released. You didn't know what kind of person that made you, but frankly, you didn't care. 

You just needed to be his person. 

You whimpered, heartbeat racing as he used the pads of his finger to rub little circular motions on the wet spot that had formed on your panties, giving your cunt a quick little smack. 

“You’d do whatever I asked of you, wouldn't you?” he asked genuinely, suddenly deciding the layer that separated the two of you was still too much for him. You nodded aimlessly, feeling high off his touches alone.

 “Good. That's the girl I know.” 

He sounded like he had cut himself off, like the sentence was unfinished. There's the girl I know and love. 

“Yes.” was all you replied with, letting your legs spread further to express all of the other things you had wanted to say- but didn't know how. 

“You smell so fuckin sweet. Gonna be the death of me sweetheart.” he confessed, adjusting you to the way he wanted, manhandling you. 

“Let me kill you then.” you murmured softly, hand tracing across his bicep, wanting nothing more than to sink your teeth into the delicate beauty of the man. 

“Damn you.” he snarled, words trailing off into a moan as he entered you swiftly, causing your back to arch in unison.

 “Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck you.” he groaned- as if you were the one who had played with him all these months. As if he were mad at you for feeling so good. 

“Oh- god.” was all you could let out as he wasted next to no time letting you adjust, knowing time was scarred between these walls. You never got used to the feeling of him, no matter how many times he had been between your legs. 

It was a stretch, and you couldn't help but feel filled to the brim as he made himself comfortable.

 “You’re so fucking divine.” he growled, his grip tightening on your thighs as he slid out, thrusting into you harshly- making your body jolt in sync with your whimpers. 

His words and praises made you feel woozy, like he had drugged you with too much cough syrup from the spoon. He was in his own little world, using your body for his own pleasure- knowing he wouldn't be getting it for some time after. 

“I- hate- you-” you mewled, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing out the sounds of your cries. 

“I hate you more.” he breathed, head tilted back in pure bliss, cock brushing your spongy walls with each thrust. His hips found an easy rhythm that had your eyes rolling back in your skull and your legs threatening to close together from the intense feelings of overstimulation. 

You thought back to one of the first times you had met Matt, when the relationship was just starting to bloom. You were drunk, the red wine seeping into your bloodstream as you stumbled to the couch, unable to stop laughing and smiling the whole trip down to the cushions. 

What do you tell the women you bring home? You had teased, the alcohol making your lips loose, words spilling out of them uncontrollably. 

Oh they're enjoying themselves too much, they don’t ask. He had smirked, making you laugh even harder.

 It was true though, you had realized. He hadn't been joking. 

You were far too gone with enjoyment to care about anything but him right now, the feeling of his skin on yours, his hot breath as soft as velvet in your ear as he leaned in closer. 

“We will always hate each other, sweetheart. That's what makes it so fun.” 

You clenched around him with a cry, words blending together like oil paints on a canvas as you felt the orgasm rush over your body in waves. It was like you had touched an electric fence, your body bursting with little shocks like fireworks as you came. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful. So fucking beautiful.” he whispered, and it was then you realized. 

I hate you more. An antonym. 

He still loved you.

 “My pretty little thing.” you smiled softly, voice hoarse as you cupped his cheek. His skin was warm and soft against your palm, cheeks stained pink as his hips faltered. 

It was over before you knew it- that gentle, soft moment the two of you had just shared, where you were his and he was yours had shattered. It was gone, as fast as your hand had been removed from his cheek. 

The wall was put up again, any act of vulnerability was shooed off the stage. Matt had slipped from your fingers, nothing but sweat and gentle pants reverberating off the walls, getting tangled up in the ceiling fan. 

You watched as he removed himself from you slowly, a sly grin on his face as he realized his cum had started to slowly ooze out of you.

 “I’ll be out of here in a few.” was all you said, watching him walk off to the bathroom in silence. You heard the tap start, water trickling out of the faucet, Matt refusing to respond. 

You fought back the tears, knowing the painful cycle was about to start all over again. Before you could rise, he emerged once more, a damp washcloth in hand. 

“No need.” he replied, making his way back over to you slowly. You flinched slightly as the bed creaked, the sudden proximity seeming weird and out of context despite the fact he was up in your guts less than five minutes prior.

 “May I?” he asked, hinting for you to spread your legs again. You spread them slightly, shivering as the cloth touched you, a droplet of water sliding down your inner thigh and onto the sheets below. 

“Are you sure? I can stay, you mean?” you asked, watching his hands carefully clean you up, knowing exactly how to soothe your body from the adrenaline it had just taken buckets of. 

“I left a pack of Marlboro’s in the bedside table.” 

You bit your lip, wanting nothing more than to put your head in your hands and sigh. The cycle was breaking, a little gap emerging from the guilt. He wanted you to stay. He had bought your favorite cigarettes, the ones you had always smoked for ‘special occasions’ in hopes you’d come back again- and stay.

 The thought made your stomach turn, whether that was from nausea or butterflies. 

You couldn't do this again. 

You couldn't pretend to feel this way, like you weren't affected by these hooks up. You needed something continuous, something that was repetitive and that meant something. Something that meant more than just touches and kisses, regrets and mistakes. 

You watched as he stood up, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

You sighed. And you did end up putting your head in your hands, and no- it did not make you feel better. 

It did not change any of this, take any of this away. Your fingers itched towards the handle, and you finally caved and pulled the drawer open. Snatching the box and the lighter that was left there, you placed the cigarette between your lips, the lighter flickering softly as you saw the smoke start to rise. 

Matt had made his way back over to the bed, the bright city lights illuminating across his figure, dancing across his sculpted torso with excitement. He looked like a painting, an abstract that didn't make sense at first glance, until you truly studied it hard enough. 

You had studied him though, and you had somehow pieced the puzzle together to make sense. It had been knocked from the table, its pieces breaking apart for a few brief months- but you had the courage to pick them up and start over again. 

It would result in the same beautiful picture, afterall. 

“Matt?” 

His head turned towards you and you blew a cloud of smoke into the air, feeling your muscles relax into the soft bedding that smelt of him. 

“I hate you.” 

He just smiled, shaking his head softly. “I know.”

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[vanteguccir]

The right love for me | M.S.

Matt Sturniolo x fem!oc (Elena)

Summary: Where Elena and Matt grew up together, fell in love as kids but realized too late. Will there be any hope for them?

Warning: A little angst and mentions of cheating.

Word count: 4.5k

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 2

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Elena was born and raised in Boston, in a two-story house, next door to one of the most beautiful houses in the city, but not because of its external beauty, but because of who lived inside.

Elena grew up being the next-door neighbor of the Sturniolo triplets, she also studied at the same school as the three of them, these two factors made her and the trio become almost a fantastic quartet.

The four of them grew up together, ran down the street every day together, got dirty with dirt and mud on rainy days together, played cooking together (they were forced by her) and, best of all, they made mini "vlogs" together throughout their childhood and pre-adolescence, becoming literally inseparable.

Nick was Elena's confidant, always there to listen to her and give faithful advice to the girl, giving her a shoulder to cry on and a company to laugh when needed. Nick trusted Elena with his eyes closed and loved her with all his heart, so much so that she was the first one he came out to.

Chris was her partner in crime, the two grew up playing pranks on their parents, brothers (on his side) and neighbors. Chris saw Elena as his anchor, losing count of how many times he entered the girl's room through the window in the early hours of the morning to vent or just to be able to sleep with her company, dispelling his biggest fears.

Matt was a different case. Matt was the boy who took her as his date to every school dance and accompanied her to every friend's party. Matt was the boy who bought Elena flowers every week and took her to the city's summer amusement parks, always making sure to get her a different teddy bear. Matt was the boy who made her heart flutter, but also stay in a sacred calm; that made her body freeze, but also warm with affection. He was the one who introduced the feeling of love to her...

But who said he did anything about it? Despite acting almost like her boyfriend, Matt was afraid of rejection, after all, his heart belonged 100% to Elena and he couldn't bear having it completely stolen from him if she denied it. And that's why, out of a silly but genuine fear, he lost her.

At the age of 17, Elena moved to New York with her parents after her mother received a job offer that she couldn't refuse and that would open doors for her career. Seeing her leave was one of the hardest things Matt has been through, but the most painful was seeing her post on Instagram, 6 months after she left. Elena was dating, and it wasn't him.

Over time, things changed, the triplets moved to Los Angeles and grew dramatically on social media, becoming extremely well-known and loved on the Internet.

And Elena... well, Elena finished school and started International Relations at NYU, working at a coffee shop near her house so she could save money, since she was engaged. That's right, her boyfriend, Jeremy, of almost 2 years had asked her to marry him. It was a big shock and Elena had to think a lot before accepting, but it was her dream, to have a successful career and raise a family. Right?

Elena and Jeremy were in the middle of a month of decisions for the wedding, decoration, food, cake, clothes, etc., so Elena was feeling overwhelmed, it was a lot on her mind, and she found herself wondering if that was really what she wanted. Therefore, the girl (now woman) decided to pay a visit to her grandparents, who still lived in Boston. Cooling down in a place more than familiar to her seemed ideal now.

Elena just didn't expect that her grandmother would tell Mary Lou, and that Mary would tell Nick, who would tell his brothers, generating a secret collective trip to Boston. The triplets were dying to see Elena, after all, it had been 2 years since they had seen her best friend, or, in Matt's case, crush.

It was a Saturday morning when Elena landed in Boston, quickly grabbing her small suitcase and hailing a taxi at the airport's main pedestrian entry and exit gate, giving as her destination address her grandparents' house, which coincidentally, was on the same street where she grew up.

Elena planned to stay in Boston only until the next day, Sunday, since Monday she had classes again and she was going back to work, besides she knew that if she stayed much longer away from home, from Jeremy, he would lose his mind.

It didn't take long for Elena to arrive at her destination. The girl got out of the car after paying the taxi driver and took her suitcase from the trunk, thanking him once again before she knocked on the front door, waiting.

It was a big surprise for her when her grandfather opened the door and behind him were her best friends, Nick was holding a sign that said "WELCOME BACK, ELENA! WE MISSED YOU ♡", while Chris was holding three packets of her favorite candy in his hands and Matt held a bouquet of flowers that almost hid his red face, Elena wondered if it was from embarrassment or the heat from the summer.

The girl dropped the suitcase, bringing her right hand to her mouth, covering half of her surprised expression. She felt her eyes fill with tears, God, how she missed the three boys.

Next to her were her grandparents, with big smiles on their faces and bright eyes, watching her with a mix of affection and pride.

"Oh my God, you guys are crazy! What are you doing in Boston? I thought you were in LA!" Elena exclaimed, her voice cracking mid-sentence with high emotions.

"We were, but Grandma told our mom that you were coming here today and I couldn't handle missing my best friend anymore." Nick said as he placed the poster on the couch. He turned quickly and ran to the girl, hugging her tightly. The action seemed to wake Matt and Chris, who quickly moved and formed a mini line behind the oldest.

"Damn, you look old" Chris joked when his brother got out of the hug, laughing loudly when Elena hit his forehead. "Here, to sweeten your life." He scoffed, handing the candy packets to her.

"I have to check if these aren't sour candies, coming from you I expect everything." Elena joked, taking the candies and placing them on top of her suitcase. She opened her arms and hugged Chris momentarily.

Chris pulled away as they separated and positioned himself next to Nick, the two exchanging glances before turning their gaze to Matt.

"They're pink tulips, I hope they're still your favorites" Matt stepped forward, showing the full bouquet before handing it to her.

"Oh Matt, they're beautiful! Thank you" Elena received the bouquet, smelling them quickly and mentally punishing herself for blushing.

Matt smiled widely and watched her for a few seconds, only breaking out of his trance when he heard Elena's grandfather make a fake cough. The boy shook his head and walked away, lowering his gaze to the ground.

Elena quickly placed the bouquet on the coffee table and finally greeted her grandparents, placing kisses on their age-marked cheeks.

"Let's take these things to your room and make plans for the weekend!" Nick spoke loudly, throwing the candies to Chris and taking the small suitcase in his hands, before starting to climb the stairs without waiting for anyone.

Elena laughed loudly as she heard Chris swear at Nick as he bent down to pick up the packages that fell at his feet. Matt shook his head, smiling as he saw the girl take the bouquet with extreme delicacy.

The three following the oldest up the stairs.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Hours later, the quartet found themselves in the triplets parents car, parked at the Mc Donald's they grew up going to, while eating their favorite burguers and catching up on conversations. They spent the afternoon driving around the places they went when young, which made Elena's heart warm, she missed that, that feeling of calm, without any burden, without obligations or responsibilities, just the interest of being happy.

During that early morning, Elena woke up to the sound of rocks hitting her window, which she quickly recognized. What surprised her was that when she got up and approached the window it wasn't Chris there, but Matt.

"What are you doing here?" Elena asked in a whisper after opening her window, squinting her eyes as she tried to better see Matt's silhouette in the pitch black night.

"Let me in." Matt whispered back, ignoring her question as he looked down to check if he wasn't about to fall off the edge of the roof.

Elena sighed and walked to the side, giving Matt space to enter through the window, closing it shortly after to stop the night wind of entering the room.

"What are you doing here at this time?" Elena asked again, sitting on the edge of her bed and watching him.

"As if I didn't pay you visits in the early hours of the morning before." He responded smiling, sitting on the bed and dragging himself until his back was against the headboard and his legs were stretched out on the mattress. He slapped his hand on the space beside him, looking at Elena.

The girl sighed but smiled, following his silent request.

"I missed you" Matt commented. "It's strange to live life without you with us"

"I miss you too" Elena replied, looking at him. "It's strange to only keep in touch on the phone and find out about some things through social media" She continued, receiving a nod from the brunette.

"You still have them" Matt realized as he noticed all the teddy bears he got for Elena piled up on top of the dresser next to the closet.

"Of course I have them, why would I throw them away? They're cute and remind me that you're actually good at something" She scoffed, receiving a light push from the boy.

"As if you weren't rooting like crazy for me while I was trying to hit the game targets" He mocked back, seeing Elena roll her eyes with a big smile on her face.

"Obviously, getting teddy bears is better than buying them, have you seen the prices of these little things?" Elena gave a low laugh when she saw Matt open his mouth exaggeratedly, soon after the two burst into laughter together.

"So, are you really going to get married?" Matt asked suddenly after they calmed down, looking directly at her.

"Yeah, I will" She replied, lowering her gaze to her hands, specifically to the silver ring on her left ring finger.

"You don't look very excited" He commented, making the girl sigh.

"I just... I don't know, I'm so young, you know? I'm only 20, getting married seems a bit drastic right now, but Jeremy thinks it will be good for our future, us having the same last name will help in the office" She replied, furrowing his eyebrows.

"What does he do for a living again?" The brunette asked.

"He currently works at his father's office and studies law," Elena said, noticing the grimace he made at her response. "What?"

"He doesn't seem like your type. In fact, he seems like quite a daddy's boy." Matt commented, regretting it seconds later after seeing Elena's eyebrows raise in surprise.

"And what do you know about my type, Matthew?"

"I'm sorry, ignore what I said" Matt intervened quickly, the last thing he wanted was to fight with Elena now, knowing that after that Sunday, he didn't know when he would see her again. Maybe at her wedding, the boy felt himself shudder at the thought.

Elena sighed.

"You know that my dream has always been to be successful with my career and have my own family. Us getting married would give me both... Having his last name, I will be able to start my International Relations profession within the office that soon will be his, which will make me grow faster on the career, and I'll have my own family." Elena spoke while gesturing.

"Sounds like there's a lot of self-interest involved" Matt commented.

"Matthew!" The girl exclaimed, making him raise his arms in a sign of redemption.

"Sorry, sorry." He sighed. "I remember, you know."

"What?" Elena looked at him confused.

"How you always wanted a family, when we were kids me, Nick and Chris were always messing around and you were playing mommy with your barbies. You wouldn't let go of that damn Baby Alive even if you were paid to, always taking her everywhere." Matt let out a laugh as he remembered, making Elena laugh along as she saw her own smaller figure running after the triplets with her doll in hands.

"You can't say anything, you always took care of my Baby Alive when I asked you to" The girl replied with a wide smile, watching Matt roll his eyes exaggeratedly while she laughed as quietly as she could.

The brunette turned to her to rebut, but stopped in his action, reinforcing in his mind every detail of the face of the girl who had his heart in her hands, details that he had memorized a long time ago and still found himself remembering and tracing in his mind on sleepless nights.

The two stared deeply at each other for what seemed like an eternity, before Elena looked away and fake coughed.

"Just think about your decision Elena." Matt asked softly before getting up from the queen sized bed.

"Where are you going?" Elena looked at him again, her eyes pleading, as if she was afraid he would leave her there, alone and without him.

"I'm going back home, if my mother wakes up and doesn't see me in bed in the morning, I'm sure she'll freak out, and the situation won't turn out very well for us." He spoke with a sigh, going to the window and opening it, looking back one last time, before moving outside, closing it again before disappearing from the girl's vision.

Elena stood still for a few minutes, processing the conversation and that last moment, feeling her heart sink at the thought of not seeing the boy again for a long time after Sunday. It felt like a goodbye.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

On the next day, Elena woke up significantly early as she felt the sun's rays coming through her window. As she opened her eyes, ready to complain about why it was so bright in the room, she remembered Matt leaving and how she forgot to get up and close the curtains.

The girl sighed, before getting up and getting ready for the day. She felt excited to be able to see her friends again, but her heart ached at the thought that that very night she would leave again.

After getting ready, Elena took her cell phone and saw a message left by Jeremy.

"I hope you're having a good time there. I can't wait to have you here again today, I can't stop looking at the wedding catalogues. Do you prefer chocolate or vanilla cake? xx, jeremy"

Elena sighed again, it's obvious she preferred vanilla, how did he not know that? The girl shook her head, deciding to answer him another time.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"What are we doing today?" Nick asked as they found themselves in front of the triplets' door, as they had done years before.

"I thought we'd go to the amusement park, the one that only opens in the summer, you know? Like old days." Matt suggested. Elena looked at him when she heard about the park, quickly looking away when she saw him already looking back at her. She needed to stop this.

"Let's go then!" Chris spoke loudly, running over to his parents' car again, fiddling with the passenger door handle impatiently, begging Matt to unlock it.

Elena laughed at the action, running to the car too and soon getting into the back seat, sitting behind Chris's group, having a view of the driver's seat.

A few minutes later the four arrived at the amusement park and started going on the basic rides, which the four liked, bumper cars, roller coasters and carousel.

"Can we go on the ferris wheel?" Elena asked, puting her hands in a sign of prayer and looking at the three of them with a pleading look.

"I'm not going, it's too boring. I want to go to the arcade area" Chris replied, ignoring the girl who was begging.

"I want to go to the arcade too!" Nick shouted, raising his hand like a child and approaching Chris, making Elena roll her eyes and cross her arms with a huff.

"I'll go with you." Matt said looking at Elena, who smiled big, taking his hand and dragging him through the park to the ferris wheel line, ignoring the taller man's protests.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Wow, I don't remember the last time I entered a cabin like that" Matt commented, closing the small door behind him and sitting on the single bench next to Elena, who smiled as she nodded and looked at the outside view through the cabin's glass window.

Matt found himself watching her, taking note of her profile, feeling himself falling in love with her all over again.

It didn't take long for the wheel to start moving, the cabin swayed a little making Elena let out a surprised sound, holding onto Matt's arm to steady herself.

"Sorry, I don't remember it moving that much" She commented, smiling awkwardly as she took her hand off the boy's arm, watching him wave his hand like it was nothing.

The two focused their eyes outside the cabin, taking note of the people who looked like little ants as the cabin rose higher, the blue sky with few clouds, the light breeze that blew and the birds that passed by in the distance. Elena looked at the cabin ahead and saw a couple cuddling each other, smiling big as they also watched the view, and she found herself trying to remember if she had ever been through that with Jeremy, but her mind came out was blank.

Her chest tightened as she realized that she had never even been to an amusement park with Jeremy, or a park, or a romantic walk. With Jeremy it was always all about work and having the perfect status.

Her gaze changed from the couple to Matt, noticing that he was also looking at the couple, but quickly his blue eyes focused on her as well.

"I love being able to look at you up close like this," Matt whispered, as if he was afraid of speaking too loudly and end what they were having.

Elena smiled, blushing, but forcing herself not to look away from him, she didn't want to miss that moment for anything. Her eyes took in all the little details of Matt's face, his sparkling blue eyes with dilated pupils, his nose perfectly shaped and the right size for his face, his cheekbones slightly reddened by the heat, his big, messy hair, his beard starting to appear again due to the time without shaving it... She felt like she could stay there forever.

Matt moved slightly closer, stopping with his mouth centimeters from hers, seeming to wait to see if she would pull away, which she didn't. Elena held herself in place, yearning to feel him.

Matt, realizing that there was no movement on her part, moved closer until their lips touched, and Elena felt that everything she read in romance books about the sensations of electricity through her body and the fireworks around her when kissing her right person was true.

Matt let out a sigh through his nose at the sensation, feeling instant relief and as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He never wanted to leave there again.

It was just a touch of lips, but it was enough for them at that moment. It was exactly what they needed.

Elena pulled away first, still with her eyes closed, trying to prolong the feeling and sensations in her body and mind. When she opened her eyes, she noticed Matt already looking at her, smiling broadly, and she returned the smile.

"I love you." Matt blurted out, making Elena's eyes widen. "Elena, I'm sorry for not having said or done anything before, but I've loved you for as long as I can remember, since the first flower I plucked from my mother's garden and gave to you, since the first time you gave me your Baby Alive for me to take care of as if it were the most precious thing in the world, since the first day you asked me to kiss your scraped knee to heal it. I've loved you for so long and I was an idiot for not saying it. And it's okay if you don't want me, you're engaged, you have a life in New York and... Asking you to leave all of this is impossible, but I needed to tell you."

Before Elena could process it, the bubble around the two seemed to burst as the ferris wheel stopped and their turn was over, the little cabin door opening again.

Matt cleared his throat, getting up and helping Elena out. When they both touched their feet on the floor, Elena felt her cell phone vibrate, picking it up only to see that Jeremy was sending her a new message about the wedding, and at that moment she fell to reality, she had cheated on her fiancé with her best friend. A bitter taste entered her mouth, her body froze and a horrible feeling took over her heart. God, what did she do?

Elena quickly pulled away from Matt, feeling her hands shake. She put her cell phone in her bag and turned to the taller man, seeing him looking at her with a worried look.

"Matt I cheated on him... I-I cheated on my fiancé with you." She stuttered. Matt looked at her with a weight on his eyes, feeling horrible for having contributed to that, blaming himself for kissing her, wanting to go back in time and not even agreeing to go on the ferris wheel with the girl.

He loved her, but she didn't love him back, not like he wanted her to.

"Elena look, it's going to be okay, you can talk to him, I swear I won't approach you again, I'm sorry-"

"I-I need to go."

"What?" Matt stopped walking completely.

"I need to go Matt." She looked into his eyes, feeling guilty as she saw immense pain in the blue pools. "Don't go after me, please. I'm sorry."

Elena turned and ran away, wiping the tears that fell from her eyes without stopping and feeling an emptiness and weight in her chest, as if part of her had stayed with Matt.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The girl got out of the taxi in front of her grandparents house and walked to the door, taking the spare key that her grandfather had given her, trying to unlock the lock with her blurry vision.

"Elena?" The girl heard her grandmother call from the kitchen after closing the door behind her.

"Hi grandma." Elena responded, her voice cracking from the held back cry.

Her grandmother quickly appeared at the kitchen door after noticing the difference in her granddaughter's voice, approaching with quick steps when she saw the youngest's red eyes and wet cheeks.

"Oh Elena, what happened?" The older woman asked worriedly, taking Elena's shoulders and leading her to the sofa, sitting her on the soft surface and sitting next to her.

"Why does love hurt so much, grandma?" Elena asked, letting out a sob. Her grandmother sighed, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Oh Elena, love doesn't hurt dear. It took me many years to learn that, if love is right for you and your heart, and it's reciprocal, it doesn't hurt, it wasn't made to hurt. It was with your grandfather that I learned that love is free, it is generous, it is safe and it empowers you in a way that makes you feel stronger and like you can conquer the world." The oldest explained with a smile. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"I kissed Matt." Elena said, looking down at her hands, quickly looking away from the ring. "We went to the amusement park we went to as kids, I wanted to go on the ferris wheel and he accompanied me, we had a moment and we kissed."

"He always looked at you differently... And you at him, so much so that I swore you two would end up together. I remember all the times you came running here with a new flower in your hands and said it was from Matt, as If I didn't already know that." Elena smiled upon hearing her grandmother's words.

"But grandma, I'm engaged." She whispered regretfully.

"Do you love Jeremy?" The eldest asked, cupping her granddaughter's cheek and lifting her face so she could look her in the eyes.

"I-I... I don't know." Elena desperately tried to feel for Jeremy what she felt for Matt. "I don't feel about him what I feel when I think about Matt, or when I'm with him. Jeremy is an incredible man, with a planned and perfect life... I feel so pressured sometimes, like I have to be perfect all the time to fit in with him and his plans. It's not light, grandma."

Elena cried harder when she realized how heavy her days were with Jeremy, how she always had to have the most impeccable and perfect clothes, with the best posture, the most flawless makeup, the best-groomed hair and the best modes. How she felt about being looked at and evaluated by everyone all the time, especially at Jeremy's parenting conferences or in her father's office.

"Elena, pay close attention to me, what does your heart say if you spend more time worrying about perfection than kissing him? If you spend more time in the day thinking about a thousand things than living love lightly? Do you feel like to run away when with him? Honey, I'm sorry, but that's not love. Not the right one for you, at least."

Elena looked at her grandmother, surprised by her wisdom and how it all made sense.

Jeremy was a perfect man, but not for her. Matt was her perfect match.

God, what would she do now? She ran out of the park and left Matt all by himself after he declared his love for her. And she still had Jeremy...

"I already know what I gave to do."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Part 2

#x reader #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #fanfic #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #matt x reader #oc #fem!oc #matt sturniolo au #matt au #fic #fanfiction #matt sturniolo oneshot #matt sturniolo oneshots #matt sturniolo one shot #matt sturniolo writing #writing #matt sturniolo fiction #love #romance #matt sturniolo imagine #friends to lovers

[malirosee]

SELF DESTRUCT - CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY;; Chris and Clara had been in a talking stage for 2 months and Chris decided to ghost her. But not for the reasons Clara thought he did ..

NOT PROOF READ ; NO SMUT JUST ANGST AND SLIGHT FLUFF :3 I suggest listening to the song before or while reading the fic because it'll make more sense to the plot !

Chris and Clara were basically perfect for each other. From the day they met at Larray's party they immediately had a connection and got along instantly. Both being the loudest and outgoing at the party. Their personalities together really made a room light up. They matched each other like puzzle pieces.

It didn’t take them long till they continued to bump into each other at Larrays multiple parties and  eventually got each other's numbers and started talking a bit more seriously. 

Clara was head over heels for Chris to say the least. From that night she knew she had something for him. It's like the universe aligned them together on purpose. He made her feel like her. He was the first guy ever to make her really feel something.  

If Clara had to describe him he was perfect in her eyes. In every way possible. The way he’d stay up all night talking to her, or how he’d assure her she was okay when she was having a bad day, or even the slight compliments he gave her, the way he made her smile at her phone, the way he’d listen to everything she had to say, he was everything she wanted. Everything she needed.

And Chris absolutely returned the feeling. He even made sure to hint to Clara how he felt.

So when Chris started distancing himself from Clara randomly it felt weird. It made Clara feel utterly confused. 

At first it started off as dry responses. She tried not to think too hard about it because Chris was a human and of course he had a life and other things to worry about. Then it started to become where he’d only text her once every other day. Then after about four messages in a row she sent him is when she realized he fully ghosted her.

She stared at her screen, blue light plastered on her face from the reflection. She bit her lip- holding back the urge to text him once again. She sighed and slammed her phone down on her bed. She just didn’t understand it. Was it something wrong she did? She said?  She looked? The entire situation kept her up late at night. 

She felt something she had never felt with anyone else with Chris. Clara had been in plenty of relationships before but she swore up and down that Chris was different. When in reality it wasn’t. He was just like everyone else. He was interested, he got bored, and was clearly too big of a dick to tell Clara the truth so he did the thing any other guy would do and ghost her.

They had only been talking for two months and she knew she shouldn’t have gotten attached but still, it fucked her up. It had officially been two weeks today since the last text Chris had sent her. She just needed to accept the fact that what they had was dead now. 

She sucked it all up and decided to go to Tara's party tonight. She knew she needed a distraction and hoped that Chris or the triplets wouldn’t be there because she had never seen them interact with Tara like that. 

For Chris, this was absolutely eating him alive. He hadn’t gotten proper sleep since then. Chris couldn’t exactly pinpoint why he ghosted Clara. Chris had extremely bad commitment issues and everyone knew that. His past relationships really wiring his brain anytime he found someone knew. So when he met Clara he thought that it would just end up being the same thing. He’d get attached to her and she’d end up hurting him. So he distanced himself to the point where he accidentally ghosted her. He didn’t even realize that he hurt her in order to protect himself until it was too late.

He even thought about texting Clara again but he couldn’t. He knew he had already fucked it up enough. He almost did though. A bunch of times. He would always write her really long paragraphs at 2 in the morning and almost end up sending them. He’d always feel really pathetic and end up deleting it and rolling over and try to sleep.  

He hated the thought of hurting Clara. He had been ghosted before by girls and it absolutely crushed him and he didn’t even wanna imagine what Clara was thinking. It made him feel like an absolute asshole. He wanted her to know how badly it hurt him too. It's like he self-destructed himself when he was around her. 

So here he was at Taras party. Trying to distract himself from it all. 

When Clara saw him she felt like her heart stopped for a second. Her entire body stopped. She stood in the middle of Larrays hallway staring at him. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Her mouth slightly opened out of shock. 

It didn’t take Chris long to notice Clara’s eyes on him. They locked eyes. Both their faces went pale. Chris could feel the breath leave his body. Immediately when Clara noticed Chris´ eyes on her she stormed out the room. Chris excused himself from the girl he was talking to in front of her and immediately ran after her.

“Clara, wait..” He called out. Clara heard his voice. The same voice that used to calm her down. Her vision began to get blurry and her head started pounding. She began to push everyone and everything out her way. She didn’t even know where she was trying to go; she just knew she needed to get away. “Clara please!” Chris called again.

Clara finally reached outside. She took a deep breath in from the fresh air. She turned around and met Chris’ tall figure in front of her. Her mouth still held open; her pupils small and her breath shaky. An extremely disappointed look on her face. Chris’ face was filled with guilt and worry. “What.” Clara said sternly. Chris didn’t exactly know what to say. He said the first thing that came to mind, “I’m sorry.” is all he could spit out. A scoff left Clara’s mouth. “You’re sorry? For what Christopher. What are you sorry for?” Clara spat back. Her arms crossed her body. Anger began to fill her body. “Clara, you know what I'm sorry for…” He spoke softly. Clara rolled her eyes. “Yeah sorry for ghosting me and getting my hopes up? Wow thanks for that awesome apology Chris!” Clara began to walk away as she said that. Tears began to fill the brim of her eyes. Chris continued to follow after her “Clara you don’t understand, I didn’t mean to ghost you.” He explained. He placed his hand on her shoulder trying to turn her around. She met his eyes again. “How the fuck do you not mean to ghost someone Chris?” the tears began to spill out her eyes. 

Chris inhaled. “Clara I didn’t know how to function with you because I like you too much. I threw it all away because I was scared. I was scared of getting hurt that I didn’t even realize I was hurting you in the process. I self-destructed and panicked and just left with no explanation and it's been eating me alive. I hope that you know this entire thing has hurt me so unbelievably and I've tried so hard to reach out to you but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I felt like I fucked up too much. Maybe I should’ve stayed and I'm sorry…” He explained. Everything coming out at once. Every feeling Chris has had in these past two weeks finally came out. Clara’s face lit up in shock. She couldn’t believe what Chris was saying. Clara had no words. She didn’t even know how to respond to this. 

“Really?”

Chris chuckled awkwardly

“Really.”

-

AN: I didn't know what to do for the end so just come up with it with your imagination LMAO

TAGLIST (tell me if u wanna be removed or added!) ; @sturnioloshacker @sturnish @hoesformatt @lovingmattysposts @gwenlore @daddyslilchickenfingers @thenickgirl

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo an #sturniolo angst #sturniolos #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #fem oc #sturniolo #sturniolo fluff #fic #idfk #:3 #song fic #between friends #Spotify

[chrissfawn]

ꨄ MAKE IT UP . 𓂃 ㅤ۫ ㅤ⊹

— c.s. series | part 1 . .

pairing :: chris sturniolo x fem!oc

summary :: in which isabella decantis has to share a dorm room with her high school enemy, chris sturniolo.

word count :: 1,390 k

warnings :: swearing, angst (??), lowercase intentioned, 3rd person, chris is a dick, drinking, throwing up, fluff if u squint, n thats it

a/n :: yall r crazy for getting tense to 800 notes 😭😭 i love u guys all dearly. also the story line is js smth i ended up doing on c.ai and i thought it was realy good so 😁 also credits to maxine for the name she said she wouldnt read this if i didnt give her credits

COLD was what amber-eyed isabella decantis felt while walking down the long hallway. after waiting for weeks and even months, she had finally gotten accepted into her dream college. the brunette girl looked down at the small folded paper to know which dorm was hers. to her surprise, the hallway was empty on move in day. she knew how hard had been working and how much money she paid to get one of the dorms that have a private bathroom. she knew she deserved this.

‘ROOM 617’ was said on the small sign on the door. isabella put her boxes down after struggling to carry them for almost 10 minutes. she excitedly took out the key to unlock the door, but it was already open. bella raised her eyebrow slightly, a bit shocked that her dorm mate would already be here. she opened the door slowly while letting out a soft, “hello?”

her amber eyes met with blue eyes. “uhm.. what the fuck are you doing here?” chris mumbled, getting up from his bed. isabella’s jaw clenched as she looked back down at the folded paper. “this is room 617?” she spoke with anxiety laced into her tone. “are ya’ blind?” the brunette boy spoke coldly. “no because if i was, i wouldn’t already know that im gonna have to be with you.” she spat as she kicked her boxes filled with clothes and other things into the room.

bella picked up the few boxes and placed them on top of her bed. the room now completely silent, she took a box knife that she had in her purse and started to open the boxes up. “cant fucking believe im gonna have to be stuck with you for the entire year.” chris mumbled under his breath, thinking that isabella couldn’t hear him when in reality she did. “well we both wouldn’t be pissed off if you didn’t bully me through all of high school, wouldn’t we sturniolo?” isabella snapped.

“well thats what you deserve for being all slutty n shit when you fucked every guy in school decantis.” he argued back, not even looking up from his phone. bella paused from packing to turn to chris. her hands rested on her love handles. “excuse you! your the one who played every girl in bell borne! remember lizzy? yeah, you fucked around with her for a bit and then you cheated on her with her sister.” she retorted with frustration laced into her words. “but ohhh, no remember that one time when you cheated on her sister with her bestfriend?” bella continued, pissed off that chris was probably not even listening.

“oh please bella! you sent nudes to basically all of the guys during junior and senior year. dont act all innocent and act like you didn’t do anything.” chris finally snapped as he put his phone down. “jesus christ and you fucked how many guys in the bathroom?” he didn’t stop there. “don’t be coming after me sayin shit like im a player when you were a slut too.” he finally stopped. isabella rolled her eyes, turning her back to chris. “oh so now what? when i finally say the truth you stay quiet? is that what hurts you to know bella?” he taunted.

“that’s because its all a shitty humor chris! i didn’t fuck anybody in any bathroom, i didn’t send nu— well i sent nudes to my boyfriend.. i didnt send nudes to any other guy but him!” she defended herself while throwing her hands up with mercy. “for fucks sake chris you’re just like your ex girlfriend. she was such a fucking dick. you know you were nicer in eighth grade but when you started to date her during the summer you became a prick. guessing you also played her then?” bella added, tilting her head to the side slightly while crossing her arms. after a few seconds of awkwardness, isabella knew chris was finally silenced, atleast for now.

bella turned back to her things and continued to unpack everything. she carefully placed things on top of the shelfs next to her bed. her dainty crystals, her box of tarot cards, her little jewelry box, everything that she had loved. but it wasn’t too soon until the silence started to kill her. she then remembered that he had brought her vinyl player along with two or three records. the brunette girl carefully opened the book that held them, then taking them out. happily, isabella plugged in the vinyl player and putting on a mac demarco record on to play. chris groaned quietly as the music started to fill the room. “jesus what is this shit?” he asked while getting up from his bed to turn off the music.

“its music…” bella mumbled, quickly turning it back on. “well yeah it sounds depressing, who listens to that kinda stuff.” chris argued as he turned it back off. the girl pouted slightly. “people who listen to mac demarco?? if its bothering you so much then get out while i finish unpacking.” she shrugged. chris didn’t give her an audible reply, instead just simply putting his shoes on and leaving the room. isabella let out a small sigh of relief, thankful she had the room to herself now for a while.

. . . .

isabella was now in her nicely made bed comfortably. her wired earbuds connected to her phone which played music softly into her pierced ears. she hummed to herself quietly once she noticed the time. 1:03am. the brunette girl couldn’t actually help but feel a little bit worried about where he was. but of course, she quickly brushed it off and enjoyed how cozy she was currently. soon enough, a loud thud hit the door. isabella’s eyebrow raised slightly while lazily getting out of bed.

the brunette walked over to the door, taking out one earbud while opening it. her eyes met chris’ eyes. his hair stook out everywhere and some of it stuck to his forehead, his hand holding a bottle of something, his eyelids droopy, and his scent reeking of alcohol and his cheap cologne. “jesus what did you do?” bella asked while moving to the side to let chris in. “mmmhh” he rather giggled. he belly-flopped onto his bed and wiggled around on it for a while, bella assuming he was trying to get comfortable. “are you.. drunk?” she asked, crossing her arms. “don’t be ridicu-lush.. ‘m not that drunk.” he slurred while continuing to giggle like a baby.

isabella hesitated, but she grabbed the bottle that was in his grasp. “jesus! vodka chris?” she groaned in annoyance. he let out a small hiccup in reply that kinda made her laugh. isabella just watched him wriggle around in his bed before his body shot up. “what now?” she mumbled. “im gonna throw up.” chris groaned as he quickly ran to the bathroom that was connected to the dorm. the brunette girl ran after the boy as he kneeled down in-front of the toilet to throw up. isabella who had emetophobia, was also not doing well. her fingers lightly held chris’ front pieces of hair back with one hand patting his back gently, trying not to look at the throw up.

“there ya go..” she whispered quietly. after he was done doing his thing, isabella grabbed a plastic cup and filled it up with tap water. “here, drink some water.” the brunette said, then flushing the toilet. chris gladly took the cup of water and took little sips. “feel better?” she asked as she leaned against the sink counter, looking down at chris on the floor. “hm, i think ‘m still drunk.” he admitted, putting the cup down. isabella hummed quietly, nodding her head as she stuck out a hand to help chris up. “get some sleep.” she suggested while walking chris back into the room. “m’kay..” he babbled while quickly flopping back on his bed.

the amber-eyed girl turned off the bathroom lights then walked over to her bed. she had also decided to go to sleep. isabella turned off her lamp and put her phone to charge. her body slid underneath her sheets and blankets. she heard chris snore like a truck, “great.” she thought. honestly though, she didn’t mind it that much. after staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, she quickly fell asleep.

a/n ;; STARTING MY FIRST SERIES 🙀🙀🙀 this might be a bit messy for the first part but i do hope u guys enjoyed it!!

taglist :: @espressomads @mattsluttywaist @sturniol0s @luverboychris

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x fem!oc #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo angst #light angst #fluff if you squint #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chrissfawn #matt sturniolo x you

[sturnphilia]

𝐍𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶 𝑿 𝑭𝑬𝑴!𝑶𝑪 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝚰𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐔

𝚰𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝚰𝐂𝐇;; Gia and her two friends move to new york for a new start. She can't help but want to get to know her next door neighbor Matt a little more ...

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄; coming soon!

𝐆𝐈𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄; 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑; 𝟏𝟗

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎; 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋; 𝟐𝟎

𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄; 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒; 𝟏𝟗

𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐇; 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃; 𝟐𝟏

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎; 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃; 𝟐𝟎

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎; 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐑; 𝟐𝟎

#𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #fem oc #original characters #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #matthew bernard sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets

[secretsofafangirll]

you're still my favorite girl - vol. two

pairing: chris sturniolo x fem!oc

summary: after chris and his childhood best friend reveal their true feelings for one another, they end up going to bed beside one another hot and bothered. what happened when they wake up and those feelings, physically and emotionally, never went away?

//t.w// smut, soft!dom chris, sub!oc, , fingering,, use of "ma'" and "mamas", stomach bulging, mild sub space moment, mild overstimulation, lots of dirty talk.

As the morning sun drew brighter and higher in the sky, it crept through the curtains of my bedroom, casting a warm light directly on my eyes. I blinked them open, one at a time, scrunching each open side to help soothe the ache of the alarming brightness.

Upon coming to, I felt a pressure on my chest. Nothing strong or harsh, but a presence in front of me as I lied on my side. My arm lied heavy against a smaller object and I realized the position I was currently in.

With her back pressed against my chest, sweatshirt and pants long gone, my sickly sweet Isabelle Lavigne slept peacefully beside me, her back arched and ass pressed against me. I allowed my hands to slip under the hem of her shirt and travel the expanse of her stomach, reaching to cup her underboob and then all the way back down to her hip. I pressed my hips into hers and hooked my ankle over hers. Pushing her hair away from her neck, I placed a gentle kiss on the warm skin below her ear.

"My beautiful sunshine angel," I whispered to myself. I felt her stir beside me slightly, a whine scratching her throat as her muscles stretched. My hand stopped moving on her stomach as I felt her subconsciously press herself back into me.

"Chris," She croaked with her adorable morning voice, "What are mumbling about?" She questioned, squeezing her eyes shut and rolling onto her back? throwing her forearm onto her forehead.

"Nothin'," I answered, grabbing her wrist and pulling her arm away from her face and pushing her hair out of her eyes, "Just thinkin 'bout how beautiful you are."

"Oh, is that the new thing?" She blinked her eyes open and smiled at me.

"What? Calling you beautiful?" I asked, to which she nodded, "Don't act like that, a new thing, Belle. I've always called you beautiful." My hands roamed the expanse of her body, around her stomach and waist and down to her thighs and knees. I wrapped my hand around her waist and pulled her over and into my side before locking my hand under her knee and pulling her leg over my body.

"Chris.." She drawled out, as her body thumped into mine.

"What? I'm just making sure you're comfortable," I teased. She climbed on top of me, straddling my hips as my hands found hers. They rubbed up and down the length of her sides and down to squeeze her exposed ass. My eyes bore into hers until they closed when I gripped the skin tight enough to bruise. She bit her lip and moaned softly, her back arching making her press her hips down into mine. I could feel how wet she was through her panties.

"Chris, please," She begged, her eyes blinking open and looking so innocent.

"Please, what?" I asked, reaching up to her back to push her chest down to mine. I pressed a kiss against her cheek before finishing, "How am I supposed to know what you want?"

"Don't make me say it," She blushed and turned away from me. My hand wrapped around her jaw, forcing her to look back at me.

"Oh, you know better than that, baby,"

"Please touch me," She finally found the words.

"Not so hard, huh?" I teased, wrapping one arm around her ass and one around her shoulder so that I could flip her over onto her back.

She smiled a cheeky smile before saying, "Well," and gesturing down to bulge in my boxers.

"Shut the fuck up," I breathed, before leaning down to her face and capturing her lips in mine. Her hands found my back and slid up under my shoulders before tickling down my spine. My back arched and my smile broke the kiss.

"I really want to feel your hands on my body ma', I do," I said as I pulled away from the kiss, "but if I'm laughing while I'm trying to kiss you, we're gonna have to put them away. And I really don't want to do that."

"Okay, I'm sorry," She bit her lip.

"One, you have nothing to be sorry for. Two, put that lip back where it belongs." I said and pulled it from between her lips. "Now let's take care of my favorite girl, hm?".

I leaned back from her chest and sat back on my knees but snaked an arm behind her to pull her up with me. I grasped the hem of my hoodie that adorned her body, pausing for a moment to remember this moment. I, Christopher Sturniolo, was about to pull my sweatshirt off of this woman's body to expose my half-naked best friend. What a morning...

Third Person Point of View

Chris slowly bunched the thick material around her waist and over her chest and she raised her arms for her to rip it off. He avoided looking until it was fully gone and she was left in nothing but her underwear. He blinked his eyes down to her breasts and took his time admiring each one. His large hands cupped her B-cup tits and massaged them in his hands. She whined in response and bucked her hips up toward his. One hand dropped her breasts and pushed her hips back down to the bed.

"Patience, ma'," He sighed looking in her eyes before darting his own back to her body, "I wanna take my time with you."

His hands dragged down her stomach and sides and down to her hips where he fiddled with the lacy trim of her panties. He continued to touch her thighs, his fingertips tickling the soft skin. He hooked his hands under her knees and slowly separated her thighs.

Vulnerability took Isabelle over and suddenly grew very nervous. She took in a deep breath, one all too similar to the kind Matt takes when he's getting anxious.

"Hey, you okay?" He checks, releasing a leg and reaching up to cup her cheek.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good. Just a bit nervous, s'all." She assures.

"Ya' sure?" She nods and he makes his way back down to her thighs. He separated her legs again and allowed his hands to fall down the outside of thighs and to her panties again. He grips the hem of them in his slender fingers and pulls them down and over her knees. He unhooks them from her ankles and tosses them elsewhere. Isabelle's legs instinctively closed again and this time, Chris gripped her knees tightly and threw them apart, "Keep these. Right here. I'm not gonna tell you again."

Chris was always a more dominant person. Within his past relationship, hook-ups, and even friendships, he always took on a dominant, sometimes fatherly role. With Isabelle, he was always very protective and casually dominant. Making sure she ate, tying her shoes for her, and scolding her when necessary. Chris has always imagined how much of a brat or how much of a sub she was in bed and Isabelle has always wondered just how dominant Chris could be. And neither of them could lie, this was exactly what they had hoped for.

"Yes sir," She nodded quickly, swallowing thickly.

Chris' gaze diverted to her most private area. The sight he was met with was heavenly. Entirely bare, smooth and so incredibly wet was his, soon to not be, best friend's pussy. He bit his lip and looked up to the ceiling, silently begging for forgiveness for the thoughts he was having.

"So pretty, baby," He cooed, "So fuckin' gorgeous. And just for me, right?" His voice dropped.

"Yes, yes. Only you. Belongs to you." She whimpered as her hips writhed against the bed. She wanted to, no, she needed him to touch her.

"That's right," He whispered and reached out to drag his fingers through her folds, "So pink and wet and all mine."

His touch lit Isabelle on fire. His fingertips grazed over her clit and her breath hitched in her throat. His cold fingers dragged over her core again and slid down to her entrance, "Gotta open you up a bit first, mama."

She whined as his fingers slid inside of her, going deeper and deeper with every second. The pressure inside of her so foreign, as she hadn't been touched in months, "Chris," she breathed.

"What, baby? Feel good?" He coaxed

"Yes, Chris. You know it does," She breathed as her eyes rolled back behind her eyelids. He continued his work inside of her, curling his fingers and pumping them in and out of her. All she could do was writhe and whimper due to the pleasure coursing through her body and he just watched in awe of her beauty.

"Chris," She gasped, shooting her eyes open, "Chris, I'm gonna cum!" She exclaimed as her legs and hips roamed the bed even more.

"Yeah? You're gonna cum?" She nodded and bit down on her lip as her eyes squinted shut, "Go ahead, mama. Cum on my fingers."

She breathed out swiftly as she tried to suppress her moans and whimpers. She brought her hand down to her mouth and bit down on her wrist. Chris reached up with his free hand and tore it from her mouth, "No no no. I wanna hear my pretty girls' pretty sounds."

His words only amplified the pleasure already upon her and she whimpered even louder, however, she still tried to remain quiet so that Nick and Matt wouldn't hear. Gross. She thought. I'm thinking about his brothers while he's knuckle deep inside of me.

He worked her through her high and her breathing slowed as she gained control of herself once again. Part of her was worried about how overstimulated she would be, but she secretly craved the feeling and the control that he has over her. Once she had come down, he pulled his fingers out of her heat and brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean. Isabelle's brows pinned together as she felt herself getting even more worked up. He backed away from her body to pull his own boxers from his legs. Exposing his cock to her.

Holy fuck. She thought. She had always imagined what his dick would look like but she would feel guilty and perverted when her mind went too far. She had always thought it would be big, but not this big.

"God, everything about you is so fuckin' beautiful," He breathed, letting his eyes wander her body, "The way you sound when your moaning and whining," He straightened her legs around his waist, "How your hips move because it just feels too good," He teased her and wrapped his hands around her hips and pulled her closer so that he core was flush with his own, "And your pretty little face when I touch you just right or say what you need to hear. How your eyes get bigger and how you bite your soft, so soft, lips."

"Christopher," She huffed, "Please."

"Alright, alright. I'm gettin' there," He soothed, running the back of his fingers over he cheek, "Just can't get over you."

His right hand grabbed the base of his cock and his left reached to wrap around her right thigh, "Let me know if anything hurts, okay? You understand?" She nodded in response but that wasn't

good enough for him. He tilted his head and pinched her thigh making her yelp, "You know better than that. Use your words."

"Yes, I understand." She spat out quickly, her need becoming more and more apparent.

"Good girl," He dragged his cock through her folds, the feeling of her warm wetness engulfed his tip and his body shuddered at the feeling. He pressed his tip to her entrance just to test the waters and her body seized for a moment. His eyes darted up to her and his eyebrows raised to check on her.

"I'm okay, promise. Please, keep going." She begged and bucked her hips, getting impossible closer to him. Ever so slowly, he pushed further in, working against the resistance he was met with. He tried his best to keep his eyes open as he felt her stretch and squeeze around his size. Once she got just over halfway he felt her body pull back slightly and a whine of pain escaped her lips, "Chris." She whispered with a trembling voice.

"I know, I know," He soothed, bending down to place a chaste kiss on her lips, "Just a little more, hm? Think you can take it?" He ran his hands up and down her thighs.

"Mhm, yes," She whimpered, "Yes, I can take it."

"Know you can, mama." He praised before pushing in all the way. Isabelle moaned in response and Chris jaw fell slack and his eyes slammed shut before a cheeky smirk was planted on his face, "So fuckin' good, ma'" He breathed out while shaking his head. He gave her a moment to adjust to his size. Once she gave him the green light, there was no going back.

He pulled back and slammed back in, watching her body move up and down on the bed. His hands gripped her hips tightly for leverage as he thrusted his length inside of her.

"Oh my God!" She moaned, her eyes pinching shut. He continued his assault on her pussy and watched as her innocent eyes stared up at his dominant ones. He pinched his lip to try and conceal his own moans but he failed miserably. Groans, moans, and whimpers of pleasure fell from his plush lips as he worked his way through her.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight, holy fuck," He groaned and mounted his hands under her thighs to lift them to 90 degrees, then he slid them down to her calves and through them over his shoulder and leaned forward to continue. This new angle had her throwing her head back and moaning loudly.

"Chris, Chris, Chris," She moaned, tears springing to her eyes are the stimulation, "Oh my fucking God." Her hands reached up to cover her face as hot tears fell from her eyes. They were tears of pleasure, but they were tears, nonetheless, and she didn't want him to see her crying. His hands removed their harsh grip from her hips, where there were surely bruises, and they tore her hands away from her face and he pinned them with one hand to the bed. His brows furrowed when he saw the tears but they leveled out when she cried, "Feels so good. So deep."

His eyes traveled down to her core but were stopped when he saw a lump in her lower stomach. He halted his movements inside of her and she sprang up in surprise to ask him why he stopped. When he challenged force with his hand on the shape, her jaw fell open and a high moan tumbled from her mouth. Her hand shot for his wrist to move it but he was much stronger than her. He could feel the force because it was him that was making the lump.

"Yeah? So deep? You feel me here?" He pressed harder, "You feel me in your tummy, taking up all this space?" He taunted and started his thrusts once again. She fell back against the pillows once again, and he allowed her to be his pillow princess. "That's right. Just lay back and let me fuck you, yeah?" He said and his hands found their way back to her hips so that he could pound into her harder.

"Chris, 'm so close," She whimpered and grasped the sheets in her hands.

His eyes stared down into hers, "I know baby, I'm almost there. You just gotta wait a little bit longer."

"I can't Chris," She whimpered, trying to mitigate the overwhelming pleasure that tingles all over her body. Chris' thrusts didn't relent and he worked so hard to chase his building high, "I can't hold it."

"Then, go ahead, ma'," He permitted, "Cum on my cock, baby."

With that, Isabelle's back arched off the bed and her body writhed in Chris' hands. He pushed her back down to the bed and continued to work in and out of her. Her vision clouded and her eyes rang slightly as he was overstimulating her. High pitched whines and whimpers started to fall from her plump lips and he looked up to his eyes in concern.

"It's alright, mama," He laughed and breathed a chuckle at her dependence on him, "I've got you."

Chris high followed shortly after and whines and whimpers fell from her lips as she fucked her through both of their orgasms, "Want my cum inside you, don't you mama? Want me to make you a mama someday, hm?" His mindless, meaningless words didn't register in his brain but they did in hers and her mind clouded at the pleasure she was experiencing. She nodded in response, not even really meaning to.

Chris continued to pump thick ropes of cum into her and once he was done, he plopped down onto her front, leaving his softening cock inside of her to trap the mess they'd made.

"You okay, my girl?" He checked on her after taking a moment to catch his breath. When she didn't answer and all she heard were her quick breaths, he pushed himself up from his position directly on top of her and looked at her face. He was met with a spacey, fucked-out mess of a woman that he needed to take care of. "Isabelle, baby, you're here with me yeah?" He tucked a sweaty strand of her hair behind her ears and tried to provide her with grounding, innocent touches.

Her cloudy eyes found him and she nodded, unable to form words yet. He just chuckled and pulled out of her slowly so that he could do what he needed to do for her. This made her finally speak, "No," She whined, "Wanted you to stay." She pouted.

"Trust me, ma', I did too, but I need to clean my favorite girl up," He said in a dominant tone that told her not to argue and she didn't even want to. He climbed off the bed and slid his arms underneath her body to carry her bridal style to the bathroom. Isabelle had finally come back to planet earth and found herself staring at him in amazement. "Why're you looking at me like that?" He squinted.

"Nothin'. I just love you," She murmured softly in his ear and her hand played with the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck.

"I love you too. You're so perfect." He complimented and set her on the toilet. She stared up at him with her lips folded into her mouth.

"I'm not peeing with you in here, mister." She said sternly.

"Bro," he kissed his teeth, "I was just balls deep inside of you and you think I care about watching you pee?"

"I don't care if you care, I care if I care. Now please, exit." She shooed him away with her hand. He groaned before spinning on his heels.

"Anything for my favorite girl."

///

aaaahhhh!!! i know this took way longer than expected but i had a ton of exams and my schedule just got super busy, but she's finally here. i'm sorry if it was underwhelming or not what you expected but this was my first time writing something like this, so let me know what you think or what to work on.

thank you all so much for all the love, i definitely wasn't expecting this many people to see my work, so, for that i'm very grateful.

i have a series planned, so, be on the look out for any information about that.

all the love, she <3

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #fluff #nicolas sturniolo #childhood best friends to lovers #fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x fem!oc #chris sturniolo fanfic #dom/sub #belly bulge #size k!nk #size difference #dom!chris struniolo #Spotify

[recklesssturniolo]

Should’ve Done This Sooner - M.S

This is my first fic so I’m SORRY if it’s shit, if y’all are mean to me I stg. I tried I promise

Matt Sturniolo x Fem Reader

Basically you n Matt are lowkey enemies to lovers vibes, at a party he pisses you off and it leads to more than you expected

Not proofread sorry not sorry

NSFW below, leave if you’re a minor

It’s safe to say parties weren’t your thing. Sure you drank here and there, but this party was just brutal. Walking up to Matt, Chris and Madi as they plus Nick were pretty much the only people you knew at the party - all clearly intoxicated you almost immediately regretted it.

“Heyyy look it’s the party pooper” Chris laughs

“Yeah you’re so funny Chris” you retort

You catch Matt’s eye for just a brief moment but make sure to send a glare his way. Silently noting to yourself that regardless of your hatred for him, he looked hot as fuck.

Snapping you out of your thoughts Matt smirks and says “Y/N doesn’t have fun, she couldn’t if she tried” Clearly trying to get under your skin.

Rolling your eyes at Matt you resisted the urge to walk away.

“What all quiet now?” Matt says, enjoying seeing you getting angrier and trying to bite your tongue.

And with that, you started walking away, not even sure where you were exactly headed but anywhere away from Matt worked. Halfway down some random hallway you turn around.

“Why the fuck are you following me?” You basically yell due to the music being so loud.

Matt doesn’t say anything yet steps closer to you, almost as if it was an automatic bodily response your breath hitched in your throat. He looked good. So good that honestly you’d drop to your knees right in the hall if he asked you too.

“Seriously Matt, what do you want?” You glare, hoping he didn’t notice your change in breathing once he stepped closer.

Grabbing your chin and tilting your head up to make you look himself in the eyes, he smirks before saying “I want a lot of things, but they all have to do with you being naked”

Immediately taken aback by Matt’s comment, he’s never been so bold, you’re silent for a moment before saying “Oh yeah? That’s what you want?”

“Yeah it is, and I want to watch you cum all over my dick like the whore you are” He replies.

At that comment you felt a warmth starting between your legs, unsure of how to respond to that you grab his hand and lead him into god knows whose bedroom. Once the doors shut your back is immediately pinned to the door and Matt’s hand is around your throat.

“You’re so easy to see through, you don’t think I didn’t notice you eye-fucking me from across the room?”

“I - I couldn’t help it” you mumble.

Matt smirks before connecting your lips, it’s rough, his tongue immediately taking dominance and you didn’t even bother trying to fight it - you knew he was in full control, and all you could focus on was how you could feel his hard on between your legs and the wetness already pooling in your panties. Taking you to the bed, he puts your arms over your head, holding them there with one hand. His mouth started to explore your body, you let out a soft moan and he left sloppy kisses on your neck, following you taking your shirt off he only continued kissing lower down your body.

“Matt please” You whined.

“Please what princess?” He says, looking up at you.

“Touch me, please, I need you” At this point you didn’t care how pathetic you sounded. You did need him.

“God you’re a needy whore” Matt replies before slipping off your skirt, smirking as he noticed how wet you already were. “Look at you, you’re already a mess and I’ve barely touched you”

With that Matt brought his mouth to your pussy, slowly licking it making his was to your clit. Your back arching even at the smallest action of his tongue. A stream of moans flowing from your mouth, as he circles on your clit and opening, spitting on it here and there. His tongue flicks up and down as you squirm beneath him trying to control yourself.

“Matt please, I’m gonna cum please don’t stop” you whimper

“Oh does the little slut want to cum? You think you can do that without my permission” He says back, still in between your thighs.

“Y-yes Matt please”

He stops abruptly “I want you to come around my cock princess, think you can do that for me?”

You nod immediately, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you. Matt pulls you lower on the bed, closer to himself and lines himself up. Pushing himself into you, slowly at first.

“Oh fuck you’re so tight” he groans.

He doesn’t go slow for long, picking up his pace and slamming into you, hitting your walls as his hands grip either side of your hips.

“You look so pretty taking all of me baby” Matt says, “look at me while I fuck you”

“Mmm yes fuck oh my god I’m going to cum” you breathlessly exclaim.

And with that Matt’s hand makes it way up to your throat, squeezing.

“Cum on my cock, you’ve been such a good whore baby” He states.

As you almost reach your climax, your eyes squeeze shut.

“Open your fucking eyes and look at me, I want to see you while you cum all over me” He demands.

You do as he says and within seconds you feel yourself come undone beneath him, moaning out his name as you ride through your pleasure, him looking directly at you in awe of how good you look beneath him, almost cursing himself for not doing this sooner.

“God you look fucking amazing, did I make you feel good baby?”

“Yes, so good” you say still coming down from your high. Looking up you see him clench his eyes shut briefly and you know he’s close. You listen to his moms as he curses slightly under his breath before releasing himself inside of you, laying gently on top of you leaving small kisses on your collarbone.

“I can’t believe we didn’t do that sooner” he mumbled.

“Better late than never” you laugh and look over to see him smirking at you.

#matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #sturniolo edit #fem!oc #solo triplets x reader #nick sturniolo

[cellophaine]

i dont know if you listen to lana del rey but MATT MURDOCK AND SAD GIRL BY LANA DEL REY

i need a fic based on this like i have been listening to it non stop and i cant stop thinking on him so a matt murdock angst fic with fluff with a lil smut?

Sad Girl

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, angst, smut.

Author's Note: This fic is brought to you by delusion and denial. The song has a big influence, but I made a few tweaks. Italics are flashbacks.

To Anon: yes I do listen to Lana! Quite religiously 🫣 If you read through the fic names in my masterlist, you'll see some of Lana's song titles.

Share and feedback are welcomed!

GIF Credit

"Sooo … how's it going with the guy you're seeing?"

Over the rim of your cup, you cast your watchful eyes at your friend as you took a sip of your steamed drink. Mindy's inquisitive gaze bored into you, pawing and prodding at the film of protection you projected on the particular topic. You had expected her to ask about Matt since that was where you left off the last time you saw her three months ago, even though she was your closest friend. The way you left it wasn't positive in your friend's eyes, so this time, she was adamant about the two of you catching up. You couldn't hide from her anymore, even if you tried.

You bit into the side of your cheek before releasing it; your eyes briefly darted away from Mindy's face before answering.

"It's… good."

Mindy arched a brow at your drawn-out 'good', waiting patiently as she expected you to divulge.

"It's really good. Same old, you know?"

She nodded, her eyes slightly narrowed in a way that seldomly meant something good.

"Does that mean you're still stuck in the … grey area?"

You placed your drink down a little harsher than necessary, striking a sharp sound on the delicate saucer.

"I'm not 'stuck'. It's not even a grey area; it's black and white. I chose this."

She had struck a nerve, and you didn't want to admit that to yourself.

"So you chose to be in an ambiguous relationship with a man who doesn't seem to care that much about you? Who only hits you up when he needs someone to warm his bed?"

Your casual, friends-with-benefits relationship with Matt had gone on for well over eight months. At the very beginning, you both agreed on strictly no strings attached. He would come over, you would fuck, and at the end, he would leave. It started out as a once-in-a-while thing, then once a week, and now it had almost become a nightly basis. Your closet stored some of his comfy and formal clothes, your bathroom cabinet held his own hygiene items, and your pantry was stocked with his favourite teas. Matt had slept over so often that you felt like your place was his, too. Even your first aid kit got an upgrade as you equipped it with stuff you wouldn't need yourself so you could be more prepared for any injuries he might have. You knew Matt was Daredevil, knowing the danger he might face every night. It wasn't something he could hide from you. Not for as long as Matt tried to, anyway. After your discovery of Daredevil and Matt's acceptance of the fact that you knew, you started patching him up when his nights got rough, and he began to ask for your help more often. On those nights when his injuries weren't so grave, his fucking would get rougher as the extension of his waning wrath.

"No! You're wrong. It's not like that at all. He cares about me …."

You trailed off when the doubt crept in, making you unsure of yourself. Mindy caught on to your hesitation and gave you a concerned gaze. You couldn't help it, but you wanted to prove your friend wrong. After all, it only happened three weeks ago, and the memory was still fresh in your mind.

Your boss was in a particular mood that day. He scrapped the entirety of your careful research and made you go down the police station all the way in Brooklyn to obtain the paper documents yourself. You barely made it out of work and into a cab before eleven, slouching in the back seat as the toll of the day took over. Your feet ached from the heels, and your body was riddled with tension. You were so exhausted that once you came home, you headed straight for the shower to wash off the grime and sweat; the melody of your wind chime outside on the fire escape didn't even register in your ears. After the much-needed cleanse, you settled on the couch with greasy takeout and put on your show. You didn't even notice how the wind chime had gone quiet, turning into a gentle tune momentarily before three dull knocks on the window pane startled you.

Your attention turned to the window, recognizing the silhouette outside. You only realized then that you had forgotten to take the wind chime in – the form of communication you used to signal that you were waiting for him. The melody had almost become a permanent fixture on your fire escape. You hurried to the window and ushered Matt in.

"Sorry, I totally forgot that you were coming."

You felt guilty of your own forgetfulness for giving him a false signal, but a small part of you didn't. You wanted him to stay, but you couldn't bring yourself to ask him to. It felt like a violation of your agreement. And yet, you desperately did not want to be alone that night. All the turmoil in your head quickly evaporated as Matt closed the distance, discarding his mask before he reached you and pulled you in by your waist. He planted a hungry kiss on your lips, slowly smouldering to a lingering touch. You would be lying if you said his impatience didn't turn you on. You pulled away from him, feeling embarrassed when you remembered the chow mein you had, but Matt didn't seem to mind.

"What was that for?"

Your eyes drank in the messed up hair, the glossy unsighted eyes focused a lower point on your face, and the easy smile tugged at a corner of his plump, just-kissed lips. Everything added to the boyish charm you had come to love.

"It's been a while since I last saw you. I missed you."

His confession and the way he said it with a soft smirk made you melt. Matt wasn't one for sentimental statements, but when he was in the mood for it, he always knew how to make you weak in the knees. No matter how true the admission was, he knew you knew that this was no more than a casual arrangement. Crossing the boundaries was something of a figment.

"It's only been three days."

"I know. And I still missed you all the same."

He stepped even closer, slotting one leg between your open stance before slanting his lips over yours. You couldn't help but lean into the kiss and moan; your body arched into his embrace out of second nature. His soft lips found the pulse on your neck and sucked, marking the smooth skin there as if he deemed that it was missing his mark. His hands started pulling on your clothes, making your mind run wild with the possibilities of the night. But your muscles' cry for rest was louder. For the second time that night, you gingerly pulled away from his warm embrace, and the crestfallen look on his face once you had distanced yourself almost made you regret it.

"Is something wrong?"

He asked gently. None of the whining and all of the genuine concern. You sighed, running your hands over your face.

"It's not you. It's me. I had a pretty … shitty day at work, and I … I don't feel like doing this right now."

You quickly added.

"I hope that's okay."

His immediate response untied the knot in your belly.

"Of course it's okay. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. You know that, right?"

You lowered your gaze to the ground; your voice was small and quiet.

"I do, I just don't want to disappoint you, that's all."

Matt placed a hand under your chin, lifting your face so you could look at him.

"You could never disappoint me, no matter what."

You clasped a hand around the wrist that was hovering over your collarbone. With all the courage you could muster, you begrudgingly gave voice to the inescapable outcome of the night.

"Well, I guess I'll… see you later?"

His brows furrowed as if you were speaking a language he didn't know.

"What do you mean? You're not getting rid of me that easily."

In a fell swoop, Matt picked you up. He walked to the couch, gently laid you down on the plush surface and told you to stay still. You watched with wide eyes as he disappeared into your bathroom. You heard the water running, then shutting off, and Matt appeared only to vanish into your bedroom. You peeked over the couch as you heard him rummaging around what sounded like your bedside table, helping himself to its content. Eventually, he left the bedroom with your body oil mist. You braced yourself on your elbows, apprehensive and confused, when Matt asked you to remove your sweats.

"I'm just going to give you a massage. No funny business, I promise."

He urged you to lay back as he carefully folded your clothes and put them on the armchair nearby. He loosened the knots in your muscles, kneading at your sore limbs. His hands worked with so much tenderness and patience, smoothing the oil over your skin, making sure you were relaxed and comfortable. You practically melted into the couch once he was done with you, feeling the tension had long ebbed away.

You sighed happily; the touch of appreciation sweetened your voice.

"Thank you for that."

"You don't have to thank me. I'm here for you."

Matt smiled fondly at you, which deepened the crinkles around his eyes. And then, there was a brief moment of hesitation, as if he didn't know if he should say what he wanted to say.

"Do you want me to leave?"

He finally asked, his voice soft. The question seemed so small, yet, it made your heart soar, sending a familiar serotonin rush through your veins.

"No. Stay with me, please."

Matt slid onto the couch with you, cuddling you from behind. The space was a little cramped, but you were grateful for it for the way his body pressed up against you underneath the cozy blanket. The two of you watched your favourite show together. Still, you didn't pay much attention to it as your mind tried to soak up as much of this feeling as possible until you fell asleep. When you woke the next morning, he wasn't there. Yet, something felt different now that you had a taste of what it was like to be on the other side of the thorned fence.

Despite the "developement", you still felt unsure. And Mindy could tell that.

"If he cared about you like that, why haven't you made it official? Is there something holding you back?"

You bit your lip, your head lowered as you still tether at the edge of acceptance of your situation after an even more recent event.

"Actually, yeah …"

You thought you knew him better than most people did, but maybe, it was you who knew the least of all. You thought about last week when you were tasked with writing a piece on the new up-and-coming law firm in the middle of Hell's Kitchen that took down Wilson Fisk.

It was all a coincidence, but you didn't mind getting to observe Matt on a professional level. The business plate on the wall outside looked new and polished, contrary to the inside. The building was a little dingy but functional. When Foggy Nelson welcomed you into the small office, the sight you saw was all but welcoming. The glass panes did nothing to conceal the view of Matt being awfully cozy with a gorgeous woman, who you knew was Karen Page. She straightened his tie, and Matt was saying something to her, his soft lips close to the crown of her head. Karen laughed at his words, and in return, an easy smile spread across his face. The intimate scene made you feel like you were intruding on the two of them just by looking in. A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down. It was no time for personal feelings and thoughts.

Still, the unpleasant feeling simmered and stayed with you throughout the interview until the very end. When the photographer showed up to take their photos for the newspaper, you bore witness to their intimacy once more. It was obvious to anyone that there was something between them, whether it was in the past or present. The way they held each other before your observant eyes manifested into something tangible that you could touch and couldn't compare. Their bond was something deeper than your relationship. That only aggravated your stubborn jealousy and how ashamed you felt afterward for feeling such fierce possessiveness over someone who wasn't even yours. He never was, never had been, and never would be. What you had was a casual agreement, and that was all to it. But you had to go ahead and fall for him.

The look on Mindy's face after you told her about Matt and Karen was one you knew too well. It was of pity, and you hated being on the receiving end.

"It sounds like he might have something going on with that woman. After all, you didn't agree to be mutually exclusive."

She took hold of your hand, giving it a squeeze as if to soften the blow she was about to deliver.

"I think you should reconsider your relationship. Being the other woman is not worth it, no matter how good in bed he is."

You couldn't stop the frown that formed on your lips, but you could control the trembling that almost broke in your lower lip. You jerked your hand away as if Mindy's touch seared you with shame. Your voice shook as your defensiveness raised itself around you.

"You don't know him like I do, okay? Stay out of it. I don't need your sage advice."

I don't need you to tell me how wrong I am. You wanted to say. You knew that already. Saying that out loud would mean admitting you were wrong about Matt, about the two of you, and about everything.

You grabbed your bag from the chair and walked out of the coffee shop, ignoring Mindy's calls. Your nose felt stung from the unshed tears, from the weight of your friend's words. You knew she only wanted good things for you, but she was wrong. She must be.

Even then, in your heart, you weren't so sure.

That night, you didn't think Matt would come. But you were thankful that he did. The moment you heard his familiar steps on the stairs, making his way up to you, you were already at the window, practically pulling Matt in once he reached you. You didn't even wait until he got even footing on the floor to kiss him senselessly, drawing a surprised gasp from him. He didn't seem to mind and quickly reciprocated. Moments later, your clothes were shed, letting your bare skin and laboured breaths fill the silence. Matt's hands ran all over your curves appreciatively, his lips tangled with yours fervently. He whispered on your lips when you parted to breathe.

"I missed you."

You heard that, Mindy? He said he missed me.

"I missed you too."

Your words drawled into a soft moan as he took your bottom lip between his teeth and pulled slightly. His hand settled on your ass, urging you to jump into his arms like you always would, and you did. The proof of his need for you pressed against your stomach, hard and unyielding. Matt shifted you in his arms, and you used the movement to graze your slick core around his shaft. Your arousal smeared on his length, and you couldn't stop the gasp at the feeling of him so close to your entrance. Matt found your bedroom easily and fell onto the soft sheets with you. You scuttled back to make room, and he followed you. You held yourself up by your elbows; a shiver ran through your body as you watched him stroke his cock a few times before teasing your entrance. His tip touched your wet folds, dragging and spreading the slickness along the slit. He stimulated your clit with his velvet head, and you whimpered at how good it felt. As you parted your lips to tell him to stop teasing you, he plunged in without warning, and the complaint from your throat became a blissed moan.

Matt stopped for a moment after fully sheathed inside you, his face tilted towards yours, allowing you to drink in the pure euphoria on his face. His mouth was open-slacked, his brows curved up in an acute focus of relief, his unsighted eyes lost in the heaven you shared. You rocked your hip to meet his, only to be stopped with his hands on your waist, his hold tight, but not enough to leave bruises.

"If you keep moving like that, I won't last very long."

You nudged your heel against his ass, and your thighs squeezed his hips like an invitation.

"I don't care. I need you. Please."

Something shifted in him when you begged, and your prayer was answered with a withdrawal and hard thrust of his hips. You cried out, letting yourself fall back on the mattress and allowing Matt to pound into you. Each delicious thrust brought you closer to the edge, but you used all of your willpower to hold on. You wanted to finish with him. Matt's body covered yours as he nudged your head to rest on the crook of his arm. He caged you in, encompassing you in a cocoon that was him. His fingers wove into your hair, pulling the strands slightly to draw out your moans. His face hovered over yours, and with the barely-there distance, you felt like you were observing a piece of art reserved for your eyes only. Matt was all-consuming, demanding your attention and submission in every sense possible. All you saw was his beautiful face, all you heard was his lustful cries, and all you felt was his fullness inside you, stealing your breaths. You succumbed to him fully, worshipping him with everything that was attached to your mortal shell.

Your cries of pleasure intertwined with his created a beautiful melody of primal desires. Your hands clawed at his back, without a doubt making marks. Matt only groaned louder at the claim you made on his back, enjoying the pain you inflicted on him. As you neared your end, your core clenched hard, and his thrusts only got rougher at the tell-tale sign of your finish line. You could feel how close he was with the way his pace stuttered. You took hold of his chin, and Matt took a brief moment to kiss your thumb.

"Let go. I've got you."

You whispered breathlessly as his deep strokes made it hard to talk. Matt drew your thumb into his mouth and bit on it, but it did little to muffle his grunts of release. The feeling of him filling you up triggered your own orgasm as you came with him. The white-hot pleasure made you arch your back, making your pebbled nipples graze his broad chest. Matt's hand came down to grope at one breast, massaging and playing with your nipple, making you gasp, moan, and writhe at the sensation. He dipped his head to the hardened peak and soothed its ache with the warmth of his mouth as if to apologize for the lack of attention he paid. When you finally came down from the high, Matt whisked you into a breathless, lingering kiss as if he never wanted it to end. You happily reciprocated, and at that moment, it really felt like he might have feelings for you.

A little while later, after Matt had helped you settle in bed and fetched you some water, he slipped into the spot beside you, nudging your head to rest on his chest. His fingers caressed your arm, raising goosebumps on your skin. You played with the ridges of his abs; your blissful mind ran wild with all the possibilities and hypotheses. You felt something different tonight, just like that night when he cuddled you to sleep.

"Hey, I was wondering …."

He hummed in reply, waiting for you to continue.

"We've been doing this for a while, and I … I wonder if anything has changed."

His hand still kept a steady rhythm on your arm.

"What has changed?"

"Us. Our relationship."

Matt turned his face towards you, and your heart chipped a little at the confusion. He took a moment before answering you.

"We both agreed on being strictly casual. So … no, nothing has changed."

The crack on your heart turned into splinters that kept falling down like a flimsy house of cards, and you weren't fast enough to catch all the pieces. Of course, Mindy was right. You were such a fool. How could you hope for something different after all this time?

"Where was my memo on this thing?"

Matt chuckled softly, seeming to please with the little joke he made. Even though his body was warm, you only felt colder than ever. You slowly removed yourself from him as if Matt had grown thorns, and every movement hurt. Once you left the bed, Matt braced himself on one elbow, an easy, nonchalant, suggestive air about him.

"Are you freshening up for round two?"

You sighed heavily.

"No, I'm tired, and I would like to go to bed."

When Matt didn't say anything, you quickly added.

"Besides, I have to get up early tomorrow."

It was not exactly the truth, but a half-lie would do just fine. It seemed like Matt got the hint as he got up and searched for his scattered clothes on the floor. Once decent, he made his way to you at the window sill; his hand reached out to touch your elbow.

"Are we okay?"

He asked with a touch of hesitation. You huffed an indulgent chuckle.

"Yes. We're okay. I've had a long day, with a lot to think about."

You forced yourself to smile, even though he couldn't see it. It was more for you, so you wouldn't physically surrender to the turmoil inside. Matt kissed your cheek softly, and you did everything not to avoid his affection.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

He left your apartment with the promise, one that you wouldn't blame him for not keeping. You stayed up until the morning, and throughout the day, you allowed everything Mindy said to torment you, driving and twisting the knife further until your heart was a mangled, broken piece of decoration in your chest. And you knew you deserved every single cut. You weren't stupid; you knew that you were in the wrong. You were blinded by the possibility of Matt reciprocating your feelings that you were all too happy to be the other woman despite all the red lights. But the answer he gave you last night was definite. There was no future for the two of you that wouldn't end in a crash and burn.

That night, your fire escape was dead quiet for the first time in months. You were home; Matt could tell by the rhythm of your heart inside your cozy place. No matter how many times he called your name and knocked on your window, you wouldn't welcome him in like you usually would. Matt left the bundle of flowers he brought you at your fire escape that night. They would stay where they were as he felt them wither away every night until they ceased to exist.

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[ariqxwz]

𝕭𝖔𝖞𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

𝕻𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 - Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader

𝕾𝖞𝖕𝖓𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖘 - Matt as your boyfriend

𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 - English is not my first language, so forgive me if I make mistakes.

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 - 405

He would cook for you

It takes him a few days to tell you he loves you, but once he does, he tells you every day how much he loves you.

"Sorry for not responding, I was busy doing…"

"Text me when you get home."

"You make me happy."

"Have you eaten today?"

Good morning texts.

"Good morning, beautiful."

"Did you sleep well?"

Good night texts.

"Dream about me."

"We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

"Good night, sleep well."

He takes you out to dinner whenever he can.

He doesn't like you walking alone on the street, so he always accompanies you, and when he can't, he calls you.

He loves holding your hand when you're walking down the street.

If you're cold, he gives you his jacket or hoodie.

Loves when you wear his clothes.

"You look beautiful."

Smiles during kisses.

Hands on your waist almost always.

Caresses everywhere (legs, arms, shoulders).

Princess passenger.

When you four are in the car, he tells Chris to sit in the back with Nick so you can sit next to him.

When you go somewhere and you're wearing heels, if you get tired, he would either carry your heels or sweep you off your feet like a princess.

Hand, head, and shoulder kisses.

He doesn't usually buy you many things, but if he does, they would be things that remind him of you or things he made himself.

He listens to the songs you like.

Princess treatment.

"You have no idea how much I love you."

Cuddling in bed.

He loves hugging you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

You catch him looking at you almost always.

He would take you everywhere, no matter the time.

If you call him at 3 a.m. because you can't sleep, he would talk to you until you fall asleep, even if he was asleep.

"I bought this because it reminds me of you."

His phone is filled with pictures of you.

You are his wallpaper.

When you argue (almost never), he listens without interrupting, and you resolve things by talking.

He never lets you go to bed angry.

"If you have any problems, tell me, I'd change even my name for you."

"Miss Sturniolo."

He loves including you in his plans.

Late-night conversations.

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