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sagesturns · 18 days ago

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probably one of my most favourite part from the series because ohmygod this is ridiculously good

𝑮𝑹𝑼𝑫𝑮𝑬 | 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶 [08]

Welcome to Vivianne Hall, in which....

Julianna De Francis is put together, perfect, and everything Christopher Sturniolo isn’t. He’s reckless, cocky, and the one person who’s always gotten under her skin. Raised in the same elite world but constantly at odds, their rivalry turns into something deeper as tension sparks into something neither expected. In a world obsessed with appearances, falling for each other could cost them everything...

Warnings: arguing & body dysmorphia

Chapter 08: Jules Your Doing to Much

── .✦ JULIANNA

The end of the first month couldn’t have come soon enough. University had drained every ounce of energy from me—socially, emotionally, and academically. I’d been counting down the days until I could get out of that place and finally breathe again, even if it meant going home.

The drive back took just under an hour. I sat quietly in the back of the sleek black car, head leaned against the window, watching the trees blur past in autumn shades of gold and burnt orange. When the car finally rolled to a smooth stop at the gate, I felt my body loosen for the first time in days. My driver nodded at me through the rearview mirror before stepping out.

The tall wrought-iron gates opened slowly, revealing the familiar estate—white stone exterior, columns that looked like they were stolen from a Roman museum, perfectly trimmed hedges that lined the winding driveway like guards. The mansion sat proudly at the end, as polished and intimidating as always.

When the door opened, I stepped out. The air was crisper here, cleaner. My driver moved wordlessly, retrieving my bags from the trunk. I didn’t even have to ask—he was already moving toward the front steps with them.

The door opened before I even reached it.

“Welcome home, Miss Julianna,” one of the housekeepers greeted warmly, stepping aside to let me in. She wore her usual all-black uniform, hands folded in front of her.

“Thank you,” I murmured, offering a faint smile as I walked into the grand marble foyer.

Everything smelled faintly of fresh linen and something floral—probably the new arrangements Mother had ordered for the weekend. The chandelier above sparkled under the natural light pouring in through the high windows, casting fragments of light across the pristine floors.

I let my fingers drag lightly across the banister as I passed through the hallway and made my way to the drawing room.

The moment I stepped in, I saw them—exactly how I expected.

James, my ten-year-old brother, sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, some overly complicated Lego set scattered in front of him. His cheeks were flushed with concentration, tongue slightly out as he tried to snap two pieces together. He looked up at the sound of my footsteps and beamed.

“Jules!”

My heart softened instantly.

“Hey, James!” I said, crouching slightly as he launched himself up and ran into my arms.

I hugged him tightly, burying my face in his hair for a second longer than I meant to. He still smelled like shampoo and the faint scent of orange juice. Home.

From across the room, my parents sat on the cream velvet couches—my mother, Donna, was poised in a pale blue silk blouse, ankles crossed, a crystal glass of water in her hand. My father, Federick, was in a navy suit despite being at home, was skimming something on his tablet. Typical.

“You’re late,” my mother said without looking up. “Dinner’s at seven. Try not to disappear before then.”

I pulled back from James, straightening up.

“I just got in.”

“Then maybe you should’ve left earlier,” she replied, tone clipped, as she finally looked up at me. Her eyes scanned me, likely assessing my clothes, my hair, my posture.

My father didn’t say anything, just gave a nod in acknowledgment.

Typical.

I sighed softly through my nose, turning to leave and already plotting my escape route upstairs when my mother’s voice floated across the room, crisp and composed as ever.

“We have company this evening.”

I stopped in my tracks, closing my eyes for a beat.

Of course, we did.

“How many people?” I asked over my shoulder, keeping my tone neutral, though I already knew it didn’t matter. Whether it was two people or twenty, I’d be expected to act like we were hosting royalty.

“Not many,” she replied, setting her glass down on the side table with a soft clink. “Just around five families.”

That wasn’t “not many.” That was a roster. Five families meant at least around 25 people.

Her gaze lifted to me again, eyes trailing from my scuffed sneakers to the oversized sweatshirt I’d thrown on before leaving campus. A slight grimace pulled at the corners of her mouth.

“I expect you to look presentable,” she added pointedly. “Perhaps one of the new dresses I had sent from Italy—the ivory one with the pearl buttons. It’s elegant. Sophisticated. And it doesn’t cling.”

Translation: Don’t embarrass me.

I forced a polite smile, the kind I’d mastered from years of society events and family galas. “Of course.”

She gave a satisfied nod, already reaching for her phone. To check on the catering staff or update her Instagram story with a perfectly posed flower arrangement.

I turned fully and made my way out of the drawing room, James trailing close behind me, tugging gently at the sleeve of my sweater.

“Are you going to hang out with me tonight?” he asked, his voice soft, hopeful.

I glanced down at him, offering a warm smile. “Tomorrow, J. I promise. I’ll be here until Monday night, we’ll have all weekend.”

His shoulders drooped a little, but he nodded with a quiet, “Okay.” Then, after giving me a quick squeeze around the waist, he darted off down the hallway toward his room, his bare feet padding softly against the marble floor.

I turned back toward the grand staircase, already climbing the first few steps, when I heard rapid footsteps behind me. At first, I thought it was James again—until I heard the distinctive, sharp rhythm of claws tapping against the floor.

“Rocky!”

I squealed, spinning around just as my Doberman came bounding toward me, sleek and strong, his tail wagging. His dark coat shimmered, and his ears perked with excitement.

I dropped to my knees without hesitation, arms outstretched as he barreled into me, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth like a happy idiot.

“I missed you so much,” I whispered, hugging his muscular frame tight as he whined and nuzzled into my shoulder. His whole body vibrated with energy, as if he’d been waiting weeks just for this moment.

Rocky licked the side of my cheek, and I laughed, wiping it off with the sleeve of my sweater. “Okay, okay, you’re excited. I get it.”

He barked once, as if in response, then started trotting in circles around me, tail wagging furiously.

Still smiling, I stood up and patted my thigh. “C’mon, let’s go. I need to change before Mom loses her mind.”

Rocky immediately fell into step beside me, sticking close to my leg like the loyal shadow he’d always been. At least someone in this house was genuinely happy to see me.

I stepped into my bedroom, and instantly, the contrast between this and my dorm hit me like a wave.

At school, I’d done my best to make the dorm feel like mine—string lights, thrifted posters, a few prints I’d shot over the summer pinned up by my desk. It was warm, a little chaotic, but familiar.

But this room?

This room was nothing short of luxury.

The ceilings stretched high above me, white with delicate crown molding that wrapped around the edges, and polished marble floors. Thick white curtains hung on either side of the tall arched windows, pulled halfway back to reveal the balcony doors that opened out onto a sweeping view of our backyard—the pool, the manicured garden, the hedge maze my father insisted on, all bathed in golden afternoon light.

My closet sat like a boutique in the corner—wall-to-wall glass doors, spotlighted shelves, rows of heels and handbags, color-coded racks of designer clothes. My mother had a habit of having it restocked every few weeks. I’d learned to stop protesting.

I set my bag down by the edge of the plush cream chaise near my bed and let out a slow breath.

Rocky flopped dramatically onto the rug, his head resting on his paws as he watched me.

I crossed the room and opened the closet, scanning the fresh row of dresses, all tagged and untouched. Most still had the signature black and gold tags from boutiques in Milan and Rome. My mother’s doing, no doubt.

“Presentable,” I muttered under my breath, mimicking her voice.

After a minute of searching, I pulled out a black floor-length dress, square neckline, cinched waist with thin straps that tied at the shoulders.

I peeled off my sweatshirt and jeans, folding them neatly before slipping into the dress. The fabric was light, cool against my skin, flowing down. I stepped into a pair of black flats—heels would’ve been too much, even by my mother’s standards.

In the mirror above my vanity, I caught my reflection.

My face looked tired, pale from the stress of the past few weeks, my eyes a little sunken. I brushed a hand through my hair and pulled it half up, securing it with a clip. A touch of lip gloss. A dusting of blush.

Just enough to look put-together.

But I couldn't deny the way my mind didn't fully like what it was seeing when I looked in the mirror.

Behind me, Rocky gave a quiet huff, as if approving. I took one last look in the mirror, squared my shoulders, and turned toward the door.

In the mirror, I gave myself one last glance—chin up, posture straight, expression neutral. Then I squared my shoulders and turned toward the door.

I was exhausted. Every part of me ached for solitude, for a moment to collapse into bed, throw on an oversized hoodie, and let my brain rot to some dumb Netflix series while Rocky curled up by my feet. But instead, I was heading straight into a curated evening of forced smiles and stiff conversations.

The soft click of my heels echoed down the hallway as I descended the grand staircase, the familiar scent of fresh lilies and some expensive cologne lingering in the air. The chatter grew louder with each step, blending into the soft hum of jazz playing from the grand piano in the corner.

As soon as I reached the bottom, I spotted them—elegant figures dressed in designer clothes, wine glasses in hand, voices polite and practiced. Our family’s inner circle. Business partners. Their wives. Their too-perfect children, who smiled like they’d been trained to since birth.

I exhaled slowly and stepped into the room.

“Julianna!” a tall woman greeted me with a bright, artificial smile. It was one of my father’s colleagues’ wives. The name, I couldn’t remember.

“Hi,” I said politely, offering a soft smile and a gentle nod as she leaned in and kissed both of my cheeks.

“You look beautiful,” she added, her eyes scanning my outfit with an approving glance. “That dress is divine. Is it Italian?”

“Yes,” I replied, keeping the smile pinned in place. “My mother picked selected it.”

“Of course she did,” she laughed, as if that said everything.

From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of my father across the room, drink in hand, deep in conversation with two older men in tailored navy suits. My mother stood nearby, her posture regal, subtly watching me from a distance like I was a chess piece she’d just moved into play.

I made my way further in, greeting people as I passed—firm handshakes, cheek kisses, compliments traded like currency.

“Julianna, you’ve grown into such a young woman,” said Mr. Dalton, a real estate mogul who’d known my family since I was a child.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling politely, pretending I hadn’t heard that exact phrase from five different people already.

“How’s university? I’m sure you’re excelling.”

“It’s going well,” I replied.

Another sip of sparkling water. Another nod. Another fake laugh.

I was halfway through the room when I spotted something that made my stomach tighten—a familiar figure across the space.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black.

And not someone I expected to see tonight.

Chris.

Of course, he was here.

I wasn’t even surprised. I looked slightly around and saw Matt and Nick talking to different people as well.

His family had been a staple on every guest list since I could remember, even my tenth birthday party, which doubled as some networking event for our parents. The Sturniolos always showed up, immaculately dressed and right on cue.

Chris stood near the glass doors that led to the terrace, talking to someone older—probably one of our fathers’ mutual business partners—but even from across the room, I could see the way his hand sat casually in his pocket, the way his head tilted as he half-listened, eyes flicking lazily across the room.

They didn’t land on me.

Not yet, anyway.

I took a sip of the sparkling water in my hand, trying not to let my chest tighten. The last time we’d spoken, he’d been pissed—no, furious. Standing in the hallway outside my dorm, practically spitting venom, dragging my personal life out, and throwing it in my face like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.

I blinked slowly, the sound of glasses clinking and polite laughter fading to a dull hum in the background.

We hadn’t talked since that night.

Two weeks.

Not a single text. Not a passing word on campus. Not even one of those sideways glances that he used to give me. Just distance, cold, and unspoken.

We were still technically on bad terms.

I exhaled slowly through my nose and tore my gaze away before he could notice I’d been staring.

I turned away from the room, the glass in my hand suddenly feeling too heavy, my skin too tight beneath the silk of my dress. I smiled at a passing couple, murmured a polite “excuse me,” and slipped out of the main room like smoke.

The noise dulled as I stepped into the hallway, my heels echoing softly against the marble floors. It was quieter here, lined with family portraits and antique sconces that bathed the walls in a warm gold light.

And then I caught my reflection. Again.

A massive floor-length mirror stood at the end of the hall—ornate and old, the frame carved from dark wood with delicate swirls like vines. I paused in front of it, my breath catching for a reason I didn’t want to admit.

My eyes scanned the image slowly. Dress perfectly fitted, hair in place, makeup subtle and soft, exactly how my mother liked it. On the outside, I looked like the kind of girl who belonged in this house, at this party, in this life.

But all I could see were the things I didn’t like.

The way my arms sat against my sides. The soft curve of my stomach pressed ever so slightly against the fabric. My throat tightened.

Gosh, why couldn’t I just look…better?

The dress was supposed to be flattering. Imported. Hand-selected. My mother’s idea of a subtle statement. But standing there now, all I could see were the flaws. Tiny ones, probably invisible to everyone else—but to me, they were screaming.

I looked down, fingers brushing over my waist. The voice in my head never really stopped.

A quiet sigh slipped past my lips, my eyes still locked on my own.

I hated this mirror.

I hated that a part of me still wanted to be perfect, even though I knew perfection didn’t exist. But most of all, I hated how loud the silence was out here—how easy it was to hear all the things I tried to drown out. I smoothed the fabric of my dress again, swallowed hard, and stood up straighter.

You’re fine.

It didn’t matter if I believed it. I just had to look like I did—

“You good at staring contests with yourself now?”

I flinched, spinning slightly toward the voice, breath catching in my throat.

Christopher.

Of course, it was him. He was leaning against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed, half-shadowed in the hallway light like he’d been there for a while. His expression wasn’t teasing exactly… but it wasn’t soft either.

I blinked at him, body tensing automatically. “What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head. “I was going to ask you the same thing.” His gaze flicked to the mirror, then back to me. “Didn’t know you were the type to hide during your party.”

“It’s not my party,” I said quickly, arms crossing over my chest, suddenly hyper-aware of how I must look.

Chris raised a brow, but didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he pushed off the wall and took a few steps closer, his shoes quiet against the marble.

“You good?” he asked, more serious this time. “You look like you’re about to either cry or throw up.”

I gave a dry laugh, shaking my head. “That’s just my resting face when I’m around people I don’t like.”

“Funny,” he muttered, eyeing me. “Didn’t realize I made the list again.”

My lips pressed into a line, and rolled my eyes. “You never left it.”

His jaw twitched. I could tell he wanted to bite back—something sarcastic, probably—but then his eyes drifted toward the mirror again. And his face shifted. Just a little.

His voice was quieter when he spoke next. “You do that a lot?”

I frowned. “Do what?”

“Look at yourself like that.” His eyes stayed on mine. “Like you don’t like what you’re seeing.”

My stomach flipped.

“I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable.

I looked away, the pressure building behind my ribs. “It’s none of your business.”

Chris let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s not,” he said. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t notice.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “I just don’t like the dress,” I said, the lie leaving my lips too quickly, too stiff. My fingers subconsciously gripped the hem.

Chris looked like he was about to respond, brows lifting slightly, but I cut him off before he could.

I wanted to change the topic as possible as I could.

“What do you even want, Chris?” My voice was sharp. Tired. “Why are you even talking to me?”

He flinched—barely—but it was there. He didn't answer, I didn’t wait for a response. I turned on my heel and started walking down the hallway, the metal on my my flats clicking fast against the floor as I headed toward my room.

“Seriously, Jules?” he called after me. “You’re gonna do that now?”

I didn’t stop. “Do what? Exist in peace without you barging in with your guilt-laced speeches?”

“Guilt-laced?” he repeated, disbelief tightening his voice as he followed a few steps behind me. “I came here to apologize, Jules. But apparently, that’s still not good enough for you.”

I didn’t slow down, my heels clicking sharper against the marble floors. “You think I need an apology?” I snapped, voice cold. “Like I’m just sitting around, hoping you’ll finally look at me and say you’re sorry?”

He kept pace behind me. “I crossed a line. I know that. But you haven’t even looked me in the eye since it happened.”

I turned the corner sharply, already at the door to my room. “Okay?” I said flatly, hand on the knob. “And?”

He didn’t say anything. Not right away. But I could feel him behind me, standing there in silence, like that was enough.

I twisted the knob. “Whatever. I’ll see you at dinner.”

I pushed the door open and stepped in, but before I could shut it behind me, his hand shot out, firm against the edge.

“Chris,” I warned, pushing harder. “Let go of the door.”

“No.”

His voice was low but firm. And then he pushed—just enough to force it back open. He stepped inside like he had every right to, the door clicking shut behind him as he turned to face me.

My eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

“I’m not leaving things like this.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” I said, voice rising. “Because I am.”

“You don’t get to walk away like you didn’t hurt me too.”

“Oh, so now I’m the villain?” I laughed bitterly, throwing my hands up. “You humiliated me, Chris. You took something I trusted someone with—something that wasn’t yours to say—and weaponized it.”

“I was angry!”

“And I was hurt!” I shouted back, my chest rising and falling fast. “You think I liked hearing that half the team jokes about me, too? You think it doesn’t embarrass me every time I walk into the room?”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I was pissed, okay? I shouldn’t have believed what they said so quickly.”

“But you still did, Chris. You didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt.” My voice cracked, sharp and exhausted. “You heard something twisted and just believed it.”

“I asked Cal!” he said defensively. “And when I realized he was just making shit up, I came to you.”

“Two weeks later.”

We stood there, breathing heavily in the middle of my room, the silence burning between us like acid.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said eventually. “But you won’t even talk to me unless we’re arguing.”

“That’s because talking to you always leads to this,” I whispered. “Yelling and Fighting. It's tiring.”

Chris’s eyes flickered—something breaking through the frustration. Regret? Pain maybe? But I was too tired to decipher it.

I turned away, crossing the room to put distance between us, my voice quieter but raw. “I’m tired of being your punching bag every time you’re pissed.”

His reply came quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

I kept my back to him, arms crossed tightly over my chest as I stared at the far wall. My voice came out quiet, but sharp—sharp enough to cut.

“You know what the worst part is, Chris?” I said, turning slowly to face him, my eyes locking with his. “You keep saying you didn’t mean to hurt me. But I think deep down, part of you wanted to.”

His expression froze. Something behind his eyes flickered—like a storm cloud had just rolled in, dark and heavy.

I stepped closer, bitterness curling in my chest.

“You wanted to get even. You wanted me to feel small for once. Because God forbid someone bruises your ego.”

His jaw clenched hard. He looked like he’d just been slapped.

And then, slowly, he stepped forward.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Until the space between us was nearly gone.

His eyes never left mine, something unreadable swimming in the dark brown. His hand came up, slow but certain, and he gently cupped my jaw—his palm warm, fingertips pressing against my skin like he needed the contact to ground himself.

“You think I wanted to hurt you?” he said, voice low, controlled, but shaking underneath it. “You think I liked seeing you cry over something I said?”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. The air between us felt electric, pulsing.

“You don’t get it,” he murmured, leaning closer, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth like he was trying to erase everything that had come before. “You’ve never gotten it.”

My breath caught.

“I’d never hurt you. I wouldn’t even let anyone else try.”

There was something else hidden in his tone—like he was speaking from experience, like there had already been a moment where he hadn’t let someone hurt me. The idea was almost laughable.

But his touch was too gentle for someone so angry. His eyes were too full of something I didn’t want to name. And for a second—just a second—it felt like the rest of the world faded out.

Like it was just us again.

Breathing the same air. Sharing the same fire.

Dangerous. Familiar. Too much.

“Say something,” he whispered, eyes locked on mine.

But I didn’t know what to say. Because everything I felt was caught somewhere between fury and something terrifyingly close to longing. My breath hitched, heart pounding, but I forced the words out anyway.

“I hate you,” I whispered, jaw tight.

Chris’s smirk was slow, infuriatingly smug as it curved across his face. His hand was still cradling my jaw, his thumb brushing lightly along my cheek.

“No,” he murmured, voice low and maddeningly calm. “I don’t think you do.”

I scoffed, but it came out shaky. “You think you know everything.”

“I know you, Jules.” His eyes dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second—barely a flicker—but I caught it. Felt it. “And I know hate isn’t what’s got your pulse racing right now.”

I hated how close he was. There was nothing about the way we were standing so close to one another that would imply our mutual distain.

I hated the way my stomach twisted when he looked at me like that—like I was something he touch and push to far.

And I really hated that I couldn’t step away.

“You’re impossible,” I whispered, the words barely audible. Chris leaned in just slightly, his nose nearly brushing mine, his hand still firm against my face. “Back up,” I said, my voice soft but sharp, trying to ignore the fact that I didn’t really mean it.

Chris didn’t move. If anything, he leaned in closer, his breath brushing across my lips. “Why?” he said, tone low and irritatingly smug. “Does this bother you?”

“Move,” I said again, weaker this time.

Chris leaned in, his voice a low whisper against my skin. “You say that like you want me to listen.”

My heart was in my throat. I should’ve walked away, slammed the door and screamed.

But I didn’t do that.

Chris tilted his head slightly, eyes still locked on mine, his hand still warm against my jaw.

“You know what’s funny?” he murmured. “You act like you hate me, but the second we’re alone, you never walk away.”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“And right now?” His thumb brushed along my cheek. “You’re looking at me like you want me to—”

Click.

The door creaked open behind us.

“Julianna—”

My mom’s voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and laced with disapproval.

We both froze.

Chris slowly turned his head, but he didn’t move away from me. I pulled back instinctively, heart racing, face flushed, and stumbled a step out of his hold.

My mother stood in the doorway, perfectly dressed in a cream silk blouse and black slacks, her brows raised in that terrifying way only mothers could master.

Her gaze moved from me to Chris, then back to me—taking in the closeness, the silence, the tension that still practically buzzed between us.

“I see…” she said slowly, arms crossing. “Well, everyone is seated at the table..”

She gave Chris a pointed look before turning on her heel and shutting the door behind her. I didn’t breathe for a full five seconds.

I stared at the closed door for a second, chest still heaving from the tension that hadn’t even had a chance to cool. My eyes flicked to Chris—still standing there, way too calm for someone who’d just been caught in that position.

Without another word, I stormed toward the door, yanking it open. My heels clicked sharply against the marble as I walked out into the hallway, not bothering to wait for him. I needed space—air—anything.

Of course, I could hear him behind me. Not running, not calling after me. Just following. Like he always did. I didn’t slow down until the hallway opened into the sprawling dining room, high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, a table that could seat twenty without breaking a sweat.

A few guests were already filtering in, dressed in muted elegance and soft perfume, their chatter low and clipped in that rich-people kind of way. I paused at the edge of the room, my mind still spinning. The argument.

His hands on me. My hands not pushing him away fast enough. And then my mother walking in like she hadn’t just witnessed the tension of the century.

I slid into a seat beside a girl I vaguely knew—someone from school or a fundraiser, I wasn’t sure. Familiar enough to make the choice easy, distant enough that I wouldn’t be forced into small talk.

Directly across from me sat Nick and Chris, and a few seats over, Matt, already leaning back in his chair like he’d rather be anywhere else.

The tension? Palpable. Suffocating, even. My skin felt too tight, like every glance was another reminder of what had just happened upstairs.

Nick gave me a small smile, warm and knowing in that quiet way he always had. “these dinners are always the same,” he muttered, lifting his glass slightly. “Just can’t believe you mom was so quick to throw one the day we all got back.”

I let out a small, genuine laugh, grateful for the break in my nerves. “She probably got to it before your mom. To be fair i’m sure we all rather be relaxing right now..”

“No way,” he said, grinning. “Then I’d be stuck next to him.” He tilted his head subtly toward Chris, who—unsurprisingly—was silent, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on some invisible point just past me.

Nick leaned in a bit, voice low. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” I whispered back, eyes flicking down to the cutlery. “Totally fine.”

Nick raised a brow, clearly not buying it, but he let it go, shifting back in his chair.

Chris, meanwhile, hadn’t said a word—but I could feel his eyes. Like heat. Like gravity. Every time I glanced up, there he was, his stare sharp, unreadable.

Dinner finally came to an end, the clinking of silverware replaced by murmurs and the scraping of chairs as guests began to rise. I stood slowly, offering a quick goodbye to the girl beside me and giving Nick a small, tired nod. He just smiled knowingly and mouthed, good luck.

I moved toward the hallway, heels quiet against the polished floors, already picturing myself curled up in my bed with a book and Rocky at my feet.

But then—

“Jules.”

My father’s voice cut through the buzz of chatter. I froze mid-step, spine stiffening.

I turned slowly to see him standing near the grand piano, a crystal glass in one hand, his other gesturing me over. His tone was smooth, pleasant—fake. The way he got when he wanted to show me off.

I forced a polite smile and walked toward him. “Yes?”

“Come with me. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

I blinked but didn’t argue. He was already turning, walking down the hall that led to one of the more private sitting rooms. I followed.

When we entered, I instantly clocked the people inside. A few older men in sleek suits, clearly business types, their watches screaming generational wealth. And then—Chris. Standing by the fireplace with a glass in hand, saying nothing. Matt beside him, chatting lightly with someone. Nick leaned back in an armchair, bored and scrolling through his phone.

And then, a guy I didn’t recognize.

My father placed a hand lightly on my back. “Julianna, this is Ronan Antonov. He’s taking over his fathers company next year .”

I glanced at the guy—Ronan. He had dark brown hair, neatly parted, soft features, expensive shoes. He smiled, extending a hand.

“Ronan,” my father added, tone suddenly warm and approving, “is just about your age.”

Elijah gave a small chuckle. “I’m twenty-two, actually.”

“See?” my dad laughed, turning to one of the other men. “Practically perfect.”

He rarely laughed like that. Not unless he genuinely liked someone. And that told me everything I needed to know.

I looked at Elijah again, and he was still smiling, still polite, still exactly the kind of man my father had in mind for me. Across the room, I felt the heat of Chris’s gaze, sharp and unreadable. He hadn’t moved, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. What the hell is he staring at?

I stood there, the practiced smile still plastered across my lips, even as my chest tightened. I wasn’t stupid—this wasn’t just a friendly introduction. It was orchestrated. A glimpse of what my father envisioned. A test run.

Sure, I wouldn’t be forced to marry Ronan. My parents wouldn’t start planning a wedding tomorrow if I said no. But I knew how these things worked. Pressure came in waves. Tonight, that wave was starting with a conversation.

“Well,” my father said, the charm still thick in his voice, “why don’t you two get to know each other a little better?”

Before I could respond, Ronan lifted a hand toward me, a polite, easy gesture. His expression was warm, but there was something rehearsed in his confidence. The kind of charm that had been taught, not felt.

I glanced at my father.

He was already nodding. Expectant. Pleased.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and slipped my hand into Ronan’s.

“Sure,” I said softly. “Let’s talk.”

He smiled and led the way, his palm light against mine as we walked toward the French doors that opened into the backyard.

Just before we stepped outside, I caught Chris’s face out of the corner of my eye.

He wasn’t talking. He wasn’t smiling. His jaw was tight, and his stare was locked on our joined hands. I looked away, and kept walking. He probably hated that he had no one to fight with for the rest of the night.

The night air hit me softly as we stepped into the garden, the faint scent of roses and fresh-cut grass clinging to the breeze. Fairy lights strung through the trees cast a warm golden hue over the perfectly manicured hedges and stone pathways, making the backyard look like something out of a magazine. It was quiet, peaceful—deceivingly so.

Ronan still held my hand as we walked a few steps further, then finally let go once we reached a secluded bench near the fountain. He didn’t sit though. He just stood, turned slightly toward me, hands in his pockets, watching me.

“You look nice tonight,” he said, his voice smooth but suddenly flatter than it was inside.

“Thanks,” I replied cautiously. “You too.”

For a moment, there was a pause, just the sound of water trickling behind us.

Ronan smiled, though there was something unreadable behind it now—something more calculated.

“Your dad speaks highly of you,” he said, stepping slightly closer, hands still tucked into his pockets. “Says you’re quiet. Respectful. Private. That’s rare.”

I offered a tight smile. “He’s definitely proud of the version he tells people about.”

He gave a low chuckle, but didn’t comment on that. “Honestly, I was surprised when he mentioned introducing us. I figured a girl like you… you’d already be spoken for.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “A girl like me?”

“You know,” he said, eyes scanning me a little too deliberately, “clean background, good family. Knows how to move in rooms like this one.”

I resisted the urge to shift away from him, keeping my posture composed. “It’s not exactly easy keeping up an image like that,” I said evenly, meeting his gaze.

Ronan tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “So what do you like then?” he asked. “In a guy, I mean. Since you’re not exactly advertising yourself to the highest bidder.”

I shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Someone who's patient… steady,” I said slowly. “Someone who challenges me, but doesn’t make me feel small. Someone who’s protective, not possessive. Loyal, Honest. Doesn’t put on a show. Just… knows who he is and doesn’t need to prove anything.”

I paused, blinking. That sounded very similar to someone I already knew.

Ronan gave a quiet “Hmm,” like he was storing that all away in his mental filing cabinet. “Interesting.”

Then, without skipping a beat, he asked, “So when do you want to get married?”

The shift made my eyebrows rise. “Sorry?”

“You know,” he said, smiling like this was the most natural next question in the world. “What age, what stage, whatever. Your ideal timeline.”

I let out a soft breath. “When I fall in love. When I find the right person.”

That made Ronan laugh. Not just a chuckle—a short, amused, disbelieving laugh that caught me completely off guard. I stared at him, feeling my stomach twist.

“You actually believe in that stuff?” he said, still smirking. “Love?”

My mouth opened slightly, then shut again. The embarrassment hit slow but deep, like heat crawling up my neck.

“I didn’t say it had to be a fairytale,” I muttered. “Just someone who matches me.”

Ronan just shook his head, still wearing that smug smile. “Yeah, right.”

I stood a little straighter, my fingers curling slightly at my sides.

“Guess we see the world differently,” I said softly, but firmly.

He didn’t argue. But the silence between us grew heavier—his disbelief still hanging in the air, and my words already starting to feel foolish.

Ronan let out a quiet laugh under his breath, almost like he didn’t mean for me to hear it. But I did.

“You’re so… girlish,” he muttered, shaking his head.

I blinked, taken aback. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Just that you talk like a child. Fairytales, love, waiting for the right man—it’s unrealistic. It’s… unwoman-like. You need to learn how to respect the men in your life.”

I stared at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, voice harder now. “Girls like you, spoiled, coddled—think you can talk back, act like men are supposed to earn your respect. That’s not how this works.”

I felt the heat surge in my chest before I could stop it. My jaw clenched. “You don’t get to speak to me like that.”

“Why? Because you think you’re above everyone?” he snapped. “You need to be humbled.”

That was it.

“I don’t need anything from you,” I hissed, voice shaking. “And if your idea of a woman is someone who keeps her mouth shut and worships your ego, then I feel sorry for whoever ends up with you.”

Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re out of line.”

“And you’re delusional. The next time you try to talk to a woman, don’t disrespect her whole sex in the process”

He stepped forward, frustration flaring. “You’re proving my point. You can’t even have a conversation without getting emotional—”

“Screw you!” I said, my voice cracking. I turned sharply, walking fast, before he could say another word.

My eyes burned, tears pricking the corners, blurring the path ahead. I stormed through the house, trying to breathe, trying to calm the ache in my chest.

I was tired of people telling me I was to much.

Halfway across the marble hall when I heard him.

“Jules?”

Chris.

He stepped out from the lounge, catching sight of me just as I tried to duck past. His eyes locked on my face instantly.

“Jules—hey, what happened?”

I didn’t say a word.

His voice softened. “Jules, talk to me—”

But I brushed past him, refusing to meet his eyes, refusing to let him see me like this. My heels clicked harshly against the polished floor as I made a beeline for the stairs, heart thudding in my throat.

He turned slightly, watching after me, his jaw tight with concern.

But I didn’t stop.

I made it to my room and closed the door behind me with more force than I meant to. The soft click of the latch sounded final, like a seal over everything I was feeling.

I didn’t even bother changing out of the dress. I just crossed the room, ignoring the ache in my chest, and sank onto the edge of my bed.

The tears came quickly—too quickly to stop.

Silent at first, then sharp. My shoulders shook as I buried my face in my hands, the fabric of the dress crumpling beneath my fingers.

I felt so oversimulated.

The door creaked open, and I didn’t lift my head.

I didn’t have to.

I knew those footsteps—measured, composed, deliberate. The soft click of expensive heels against hardwood. My mother.

She stepped into the room without a word, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She closed the door behind her with a soft thud, then paused by the edge of the bed, her eyes scanning the scene like she’d walked into a meeting that had already gone off script.

“Why did you storm out like that?” she asked, tone sharp but quiet.

I didn’t answer.

She took a step closer. “Julianna.”

I kept my head down. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” she said flatly.

I finally glanced up—and whatever she was about to say next stopped the second her eyes met mine.

Her posture shifted. Slightly. Barely. But it did. The coldness in her expression flickered, replaced by something else. Something restrained and unfamiliar—concern, maybe, but the kind that came wrapped in silk and steel.

She sat down on the edge of the bed beside me, not too close. She didn’t touch me, didn’t coddle me. That wasn’t who she was. But her voice softened. Just enough.

“What happened?”

I blinked, brushing a tear away with the side of my palm. “Nothing.”

She gave me a look—skeptical, measured—but let it go.

Instead, I took a breath, voice low. “Dad needs to stop trying to set me up with these weird, overconfident men. I’m serious.”

There was a pause. Her gaze drifted across the room before settling back on me.

“I told him Ronan was too forward,” she said coolly. “But your father likes young men who are ‘assertive.’” The word dripped with distaste.

I shook my head. “He wasn’t assertive. He was condescending and entitled and made me feel like I was being auctioned off.”

A quiet hum escaped her. Not quite agreement. Not quite dismissal. She still hadn’t moved closer, but her voice dipped slightly lower.

“It’s exhausting,” she murmured. “Being a woman. Especially in this world.”

I blinked. That wasn’t something she said often.

“I know it’s hard. And I know your father’s idea of a match isn’t always… realistic.”

I nodded slowly, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak.

“I just want to choose for myself,” I whispered. “Is that too much to ask?”

She didn’t respond right away.

Here’s the thing about her—she was a kind woman, deep down, but most of the time she came off harsh. My dad chased perfection, and marrying him turned a once carefree woman into someone who never let herself falter.

She mother paused at the door, her hand resting lightly on the knob.

Then, without turning around, she asked casually, “Is this about Chris?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She finally looked over her shoulder, arching a brow. “You really think I didn’t notice what I walked in on earlier?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again, heat rising to my face.

“That was nothing,” I said quickly. “He was just—annoying me. That’s what he does.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying me the way she always did when she knew I was lying.

“You looked like you were about to rip each other’s clothes off,” she said dryly.

“Mom!” I nearly choked. “We were arguing. Loudly. That’s it. I very much dislike Chris.”

“Mmhmm,” she replied, clearly unconvinced.

I stood up, crossing my arms. “I do.”

She didn’t press, but the silence that followed spoke volumes. Like she’d already made up her mind and didn’t feel the need to argue it.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. “You my daughter Jules. I may be harsh at times, but I know you.”

“I’m telling the truth.” I said, then added, “and as my mother I would except you know who and what I dislike”

She gave me a faint, elegant shrug. “If you say so.”

And with that, she turned and walked out, leaving me standing there, flushed, flustered, and very much not okay.

Flashes of how we stood earlier played through my mind—the way his hands cradled my cheeks. He’s been in my face my whole life, but today… it felt different.

Whatever.

Christopher Sturniolo could kiss my ass for all I cared.

READ ALL RELEASED PARTS HERE!

[a/n: i think this series has the most tension. Like and reblog! mwah] - ceyana

tags: @chynapleasehavemercy @sweetheartsturn @mattspillowprincess @oopsiedaisydeer @chriss-slutt @sturnsflirt @idkwhatthisis2009 @angelicsturns @fmg05 @enviedparty101 @cupiidsbows @malox12 @chrissturniolodailysluts @ribbonlovergirl @kitty-meow-meow44 @jaybirdie34 @mattscore @mattsfrenchtoast @sturnsobsessed21 @kingofeverythingmb @courta13 @slvtf0rchr1s @mattspillowprincess @thewizardfall @sturnsfluff @ifamils @le4hsblog @carrielovesmatt @mattsdiva @mattysmrwrinkleton @sturnsplatter @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @ellssturn @meatballlover10 @sagesturns @kiarasmaybank @malox12 @sturnsblogs

Comment taglist on this post to be added!

#★ ˎˊ˗ sage's recs!#★ ˎˊ˗ sages moots!#★ ˎˊ˗ ceyanabbiolo!#chris sturniolo series #the sturniolo triplets #this is fucking awesome #oh my goodness

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sagesturns · 20 days ago

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sigh . . . i just wanna long hug from Matt and then fall asleep against his chest

JUST HOLD ME LIKE THIS AND ILL BE OKAY

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #★ ˎˊ˗ sagesturns #sage is yapping again☆

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sagesturns · 20 days ago

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GAWDDDDDDDD

𝑷𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒚 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒗

obsessive .ᐟ matt is a panty perv

⚠︎ smut, panty stealing, jerking off, edging, male!recieving, degrading, praising, horny and more lol

“Holy…” Matt huffs, his chest tight as he holds the dainty fabric up to his nose. The lace in his hands is delicate—it reminds him of you.

You’re always wearing those pretty bows in your hair, the ones that are silky and soft. He loves it. The little accessory always reminds him how pretty you are—how lucky he is to call you his.

The underwear weighs in his hand like a feather. His eyes are glued to the fabric, his throat tightening as he swallows thickly. It’s just so…you. So perfect.

Small ruffles with a tiny bow in the front makes his heart pummel into his throat. The added details make it a bit too real. You’re his girl, but honestly it all seems like a dream. Too good to be true.

“Oh my god.”

The whisper is barely audible. Matt makes his way to your shared room, tentatively making sure the shower is still on as he hears you hum in chorus with the running water.

Your voice is sweet. The melodies floating through the door makes this feel too intense. He should ask you. Matt’s your boyfriend, there’s no reason he shouldn’t just go touch you.

But this is more than that—it’s deeper than touching what’s his.

“Fuck.” Matt hisses as he palms over his hard cock through his sweats. The bulge is throbbing, his dick practically pulsing as he imagines your pussy dampening the soft fabric in his hand.

As he lays in the bed and tugs down his sweats and briefs, he hears your echoing taunts of you always calling him a perv. The joke you always seem to reiterate when he acts a bit too obsessed. But, you’re not ever just teasing.

It’s true. He is a perv—an obsessive lover who seems to burn for the thrill of anything to do with you.

This is a habit for Matt, an odd routine that makes him burn with excitement. He always likes taking care of you. He’ll cook, clean, and he always insists on doing the laundry. You’re his girl, it’s his job to make your life easier, it’s his pride and joy.

But your panties always seem to go missing. Some of them return after a few laundry cycles, but some get too ruined for him to ever return.

That’s the case right now.

A rip of fabric echoes as Matt rushedly tries to wrap the cloth around his hand as he fits his fist around his length. He winces at the noise, but he can’t find it in himself to care the second he feels the soft fabric collide with the side of his dick.

“Fu-fuck,” he hisses, his eyes screwed shut as he lets the wetness on his tip leak onto the panties. There’s enough precum to thoroughly soak the fabric that rushes up and down his cock with the way he has it twisted in his hand—it’s enough to make him melt under the sensations of pure bliss and relief.

Matt’s head falls backward, a large huff of air escaping his lips as he feels the brutal thrill of doing something so filthy.

Up and down.

His movements are repetitive, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he tries to keep the subtle noises erupting from his throat to a low volume.

Part of him is desperately trying to stay focused on the sound of the shower running, wanting to make sure he doesn’t get caught. But he just can’t. Not when it feels this good—not when he can picture the exact panties he has in his hand on the floor when he was deep inside of you the other night.

“God—shit!” he groans loudly, too deep in his imagination as he recalls pumping his cock fully inside of you, your nails clawing into his back as you begged him to go harder—deeper.

The way you always tell him exactly what to do always makes him lose control. Matt can’t help but take your words and sprint. That night, you wanted it harder—so he pounded you, listening to your screams like they were the best praise to ever exist.

When you go speechless it’s even better. Your lips will open and shut with silent cries. It’s too good for your mind to even comprehend how to react—that’s when he finds himself hypnotized, obsessing over how to give you everything and more.

“Sweetheart, I—I—ohmygod,” he rushes, his hips starting to lift off the bed as he fucks his cock into his own hand. His mind races with images of you—your tits bouncing, your lips parted, and your legs trembling.

All the things that make him lose himself in his imagination.

He’s gone. Matt’s lost in pure euphoria, his moans and grunts getting louder without any recollection of the risky situation.

The sound of the bathroom door opening doesn’t register in his mind. You open the door, your hand clutching your towel around your damp skin before you feel yourself flush with a wave of shock and excitement.

It’s a sight.

Matt’s ruthlessly fucking into his hand, your ripped panties soaked and strangled around his fingers. Your chest tightens at the scene in front of you.

It’s everything.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you can’t help but feel your thighs clutch together, your feet hesitant as you walk over and sit on the edge of the bed.

“Ma—” Your words fall short as he lets out a raw moan. The dip of your weight on the mattress doesn’t even phase him.

Matt’s so caught up in his imagination—drowning in the way your panties feel so fucking good gliding with his hand—he doesn’t even realize you’re right here.

A sudden touch makes Matt jolt, your damp hand sliding onto his thigh.

His breath is ragged, his eyes hazy as he stops his movements abruptly, his dick twitching for more. “I—I, I was just—”

You don’t let him finish. Sliding your hand up, Matt gasps as your fingers tentatively graze around his hand holding his length, his eyes squinting shut as you lightly trace your palm around the side of his cock before letting your hand fall back down to his thigh.

“You being a perv again, hm?” you taunt.

Matt goes to reply, to argue with at least some sort of dignity, but his words only come out as a jumbled breath as you palm around his throbbing tip.

It’s not fair. He was so close—merely seconds away from finishing. But now it hurts—now he feels the ache to be satisfied like he needs it in order to breathe.

“Baby, fuck—I couldn’t…couldn’t help myself,” he rasps, his hair messy with some strands sticking to his forehead that glistens with a light layer of sweat.

His hips move slightly, desperate from some sort of friction—but you move your hand and slide your palm up and down his thigh, laughing under your breath as he lets out a whine.

Matt tries to grab your hand, he tries to reach even further to at least clutch your fingers, but you slide just out of reach.

The grin over your face makes him burn with a pink flush, his brows furrowing as his lips tighten into a thin line. “Sweetheart, I…please?” he asks, his voice groggy while his face sweetly falls into a pout.

How could you say no?

Your hand covers his own, the ripped, damp panties layered between your palm and his knuckles as you gently glide his hand to go up and down.

The way your hand grasps his makes everything blurry. His eyes run in and out of focus, his face scrunching as you squeeze your hand around his, making the pulse of his length even more apparent.

“Oh my—oh my god, baby….you’re…you’re so fuckin’ per-perfect.” Matt lets out a groan that echoes through the room, his voice shaky as he continues to ramble, “-can’t believe—fuck—can’t believe you’re mine—all mine, just—mmm, fuck.”

You coo softly at his babbling. Matt feels his stomach drop as you pick up the pace. His dick is leaking pre-cum profusely, practically echoing his heartbeat with how much everything aches.

“P–please, fuck—need to c-cum so—”

He’s close. You can tell he’s just about to tip over the edge, nearly brimming insanity with the way he’s fucking himself up into your hands tangled together.

So you stop.

Your hand rests back onto his thigh, tearing his own away as you gently rub your fingers over his knuckles.

“Pervs don’t get rewarded,” you taunt, sliding your palm up and over his hip bone, sliding up all the way to his collarbone before gently massaging the side of his cheek. “-you started without me. And you ruined my favorite panties, Matthew.”

God. The way you say his name makes even more blood rush down to his dick. He feels his balls tighten painfully, his cock twitching as he swallows the lump in his throat.

“No! No, no, no—please, baby, please—”

His words fall flat as you grab his hand again. You tear the panties out of his grip, looking shamefully at him before discarding the fabric onto the floor.

He watches as you reach over to the nightstand, pulling out a dildo and setting it on top of the dresser right next to the ribbon you always tie in your hair. The lump in his throat builds as he watches you sigh, tightening your towel.

“I was gonna let you use this on me…but I think I’m gonna make you watch since you decided to be a panty perv…again.”

Oh.

The dirty words leaving your lips sets something off in his mind. All the pent up frustration and desire clouds his sense, his attitude adjusting like a switch as he grabs onto your wrist firmly.

Your eyes widen as he pulls you onto the bed, your towel dropping from the quick movement.

The soft sheets beneath you stick to the damp skin of your back, every inch of your body practically vibrating with anticipation as you watch Matt grab the dildo and the ribbon from the nightstand with a determined look on his face.

“Fuck that. I…I’ve had enough,” he tuts, kneeling on the bed with a certain glint in his eyes that makes you feel like his prey. “-I may be a perv, but god…you make me insane.”

Oh…you’re just getting started.

part of my 11k follower special ₊˚⊹♡

a/n: a collab with cherry baby @luvs4matt !!! got the inspo from my dog stealing my fav pair of underwear and chewing them up (i'm still salty) BUT - are y'all ready for part two???

── 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒈 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒔, 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 ꫂ ၴႅၴ

#★ ˎˊ˗ sages moots!#sage recs! ☆#holy fuck #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #★ ˎˊ˗ bernardsbendystraws!

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sagesturns · 20 days ago

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my drafts have never been this low, this truly feels like such a big accomplishment because my ass always has above 20 and half the fics I don’t even publish 💔

#★ ˎˊ˗ sagesturns #★ ˎˊ˗ sagesturn tumblr #sage is yapping again☆

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sagesturns · 21 days ago

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Chris is so me complaining about the heat because mf NOTHING is happy when it feels like my body is absolutely slowly roasting in my own skin. and I WILL be quiet and dramatic like a fucking Victorian child with a fever.

#★ ˎˊ˗ sagesturns #★ ˎˊ˗ sagesturn tumblr #sage is yapping again☆#the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo

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sagesturns · 21 days ago

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I actually LOVED LOVED LOVED Matt’s entire vibe in todays video. Like he was so hot and cute and just amazing. Just peak Matt behaviour. And the video was just so fucking fun and funny and I fucking loved every bit of it ESPECIALLY THE CAT CAFE LIKE I WANNA GOOOO.

And now I want apple juice too

#★ ˎˊ˗ sagesturns #★ ˎˊ˗ sagesturn tumblr #sage is yapping again☆#the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew bernard sturniolo

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sagesturns · 21 days ago

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ty sm isa, love youu 💗

@ceyanabbiolo @oopsiedaisydeer @passionfruitchris @y3sterdaysproblem @bernardsbendystraws @55sturn @viviansturns @matthewssangel @courta13 @bluestriips @leisturni @liiixsturniolos @shadowthesim237 @eeyoresturnz @solarsturniolo @cupiidkills @angelicwh1spers @sturnioloszn

(sorry if theres double tags)

BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD. Once you're given this award, you're supposed to paste it in the ask of eight people who deserve it. If you break the chain, nothing happens but it's sweet to know so. I think you're beautiful inside and out, never forget to love yourself! ❤️

awwww thank uuuu !!!

tagging ppl here cause I’m lazy:

@the-song-siren @your-fav-russian-assassin

@itzzkaylaaa @annathemcuandstlover

@arcaneavenger @thatone-midgardian

@sunnybeach0716 @under0-0s

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sagesturns · 21 days ago

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ISA… I SWEAR IF SOMETHING HAPPENS BETWEEN THEM.

ⓘ content warnings: smut ⋆ +18 ⋆ age gap ⋆ split second of fluff ⋆ sexual tension ⋆ munch!matt ⋆ pussy eating ⋆ pussy drunk!matt ⋆ praise kink ⋆ beard rash ⋆ light angst (unresolved) + more. «prompt»

It was almost the end of the semester and things were hectic to say the least. Exams were right around the corner and everyone was studying—even those who lazed around all semester.

Everyone was busy, and that included the professors and lecturers. Some were busy enough to neglect shaving, not having enough time to do anything more than what was necessary.

Matt Sturniolo—the lecturer you’d been having a physical relationship with—walked into the lecture hall in loose faded jeans, dark blue and white checkered button up and...

A grown out beard.

You immediately had to cross your legs in a futile attempt to get rid of the tension beginning to pool in your panties. You had seen him with a stubble, or a five o’clock shadow, but never a partially grown out beard. His blue eyes seemed to pop out even more in all the blue he wore, making him look more intimidating than usual.

His eyes were dead, expression serious, as he began to talk. The slight dark circles under his eyes paired with the beard and mustache combo had you wanting- no, needing to grind on his face.

You sat in the uni library, studying, trying but failing to erase the image of Matt’s facial hair out of your mind. God, he looked so fucking good. It was almost laughable how much you craved him between your legs.

With a sigh, you forced yourself to focus on your assignment and started to type on your laptop again. It had been two hours since you began working on your assignment and yet you hadn’t gotten much work done.

Suddenly, your phone lit up with a message, reminding you that you forgot to turn it off. You usually turn it off before you study so you wouldn’t get distracted but you somehow forgot to turn it off today. Your mind was too preoccupied with Matt.

«read the text messages»

As embarrassing as it was, you couldn’t help but rush to get there. He had never invited you to come over to his place. Hell, you probably had been there only once before and it was simply to bring a few of your assignments over. Which he initially refused but gave in after your pouty persuasion.

When you arrived at his place, he opened the door in loose grey sweatpants and bright pink t-shirt. His hair was damp and slightly messy like he’d been running his fingers through it after his shower.

Your eyes immediately landed on his face—or well, his facial hair.

Seeing your eyes glued to his beard, Matt couldn’t help his lips from curling up subtly at the corners, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"See something you like, sweetheart?"

His voice snapped you out of the tiny trance you were in, making you blink at him for a moment before you composed yourself, clearing your throat.

"Your beard... I don’t think I’ve ever seen you grow it out—not this much at least. You always shave." You pointed out, not answering his question but not denying it either.

"Yeah, I haven’t really had the time..." He paused, a hand coming up to scratch his jaw, briefly checking you out before continuing. "You look cute in that."

You glanced down at the simple oversized hoodie and pleated skirt you were wearing, your cheeks heating up despite your attempt to seem as experienced and composed as you made yourself out to be.

"Thanks, it’s nothing special though-"

"And? It looks good on you." He cut you off before you could say anything else.

"You gonna stand there all day, pretty?" He cocked an eyebrow, waiting for your response, and you could hear the teasing in his tone—something about it making your stomach swarm with butterflies.

"Yeah, no. I mean- I just... You know- Sleep deprivation. Right. I’m a bit sleep deprived so I just-" You stammered, rambling nonsense, your face flushing further.

He simply chuckled, the sound slightly deeper than usual.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the sound of his laughter, goosebumps breaking out on your skin.

Defeated, you quietly walked in when he stepped aside, lips pressed in a thin line, not knowing whether to cry or laugh at yourself.

Matt closed the front door and walked behind you. He was so close—almost pressed up against you. One of his hands slid down to rest on your waist as he leaned down to whisper lowly in your ear.

"My bedroom is the first door to the right. Wait for me there."

He slowly straightened up, his hand lingering on your waist for a moment too long before he lifted the same hand to gently pat your head then made his way to his kitchen—most likely to get something to drink and/or eat.

You watched him disappear into the kitchen, frozen in place, his whispered words still ringing in your ear. You complied with his request—after taking a few seconds to compose yourself—and made your way towards his bedroom.

When you walked inside, you were immediately hit with the smell of his cologne and something floral, probably air freshener.

You moved towards his bed, which had wine red silk sheets and matching pillowcase, paired with white fluffy comforter, quite the mature taste. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, you took in his room—from the little figurines on his bookshelf to the minimalistic decorations.

You couldn’t help your curiosity and stood up from his bed and walked towards the wall facing his bed where a painting—of a lone cabin in a dense forest—was hung.

"Beautiful isn’t it?"

Your head snapped to the side, startled by Matt’s voice. He was holding a few snacks and two cans of soda—not at all what you imagined him to like. A small laugh escaped you before you could stop yourself.

Matt smirked at your laughter, walking towards the bed and setting the snacks and soda down on the nightstand before turning to you with an amused expression.

"May I ask what’s so funny?" He questioned, sitting down on his bed, patting the space beside him, signaling you to come sit.

You obliged without being told twice and sat down beside him, close enough that your thighs were brushing against each other.

"Nothing... It’s just the snacks and soda were nothing l expected."

"What, you thought I’d bring alcohol or something?" He chuckled. "I try to stay away from things like that, but I do drink sometimes—it’s almost inevitable when you’re a working adult."

After some small talk that you usually never had with him, Matt brought up the actual reason you were at his place.

"So, about how you couldn’t orgasm," he began, taking a sip from his can of soda. "I hope you’re ready to change that."

He was acting differently today. Almost sweet. Oddly so.

It started with a slow kiss that Matt initiated but it didn’t take long for his tongue to slip between your parted lips, tangling with yours as he gently pushed you down on his bed, breaking the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw and down your neck before beginning to nip and suck the sensitive skin there.

His hands roamed over your body as if he was worshipping you, making you arch into his touch.

Your breath hitched softly when he tugged at the tiny skirt you wore for him, and you let him take it off without hesitation, letting him see your lace panties that were beginning to have a wet spot forming in the middle.

"Fuuck," he rasped. "Look at you."

His hands smoothed over your thighs, dick throbbing and tenting his sweats obscenely, breathing significantly heavier than before and pupils greatly dilated—making his pretty blue orbs look black in the dim lighting of the night lamp.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulled them off in one smooth motion, eliciting a surprised giggle from you.

"Prof-"

"Matt." He cut you off. "Call me Matt."

"Matt."

He smiled at your obedience. "Good girl," he purred.

Your breath hitched softly at the praise, his honey-like voice making that fire deep in your gut burn hotter.

You watched with hooded eyes as he kissed down your stomach, making your abdominal muscles tremble and quiver under his soft yet hungry kisses. The further down he went the more ragged your breath became.

Matt could smell your arousal. The scent was making his head spin. It was so intoxicating, so sweet, and it was making him hungry. His mouth watered as he got closer to his destination, resulting in his kisses becoming sloppier and more hurried.

Your breath hitched deep in your throat when Matt placed a soft kiss on your sensitive clit. Swallowing hard, he flattened his tongue and licked a stripe up your soaked folds, as if you were his favorite ice cream.

A soft, shuddering sigh slipped past your lips as Matt’s tongue slowly lapped up your juices, groaning softly in delight as the musky yet sweet taste of your arousal overwhelmed his taste buds, sending sparks of pleasure through him.

"Fuuck... You taste soo good..." Matt murmured as he leaned back slightly to look at your glistening pussy before looking up into your eyes through his lashes.

He looked undone already, panting softly, eyes looking almost glazed over like he was the one experiencing pleasure.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage and you didn’t know if it was because of him looking at you like a hungry beast waiting to feast on his prey or if it was because of the anticipation coursing through you. But one thing was for sure, him between your thighs was a sight you would never get tired of seeing.

Just as you let your guard down and got lost in thought, Matt’s mouth was back on your pussy, licking and sucking on your sensitive flesh as if he couldn’t get enough.

The sounds he was making were incredibly erotic and so fucking dirty. The soft, wet smacks of his lips almost french kissing your folds had your face burning hot in embarrassment.

"That feels so fucking good..." You found yourself moaning, your fingers tangling in his unruly brown locks, urging him to keep going.

Matt groaned against your pussy, the sound raw and filled to the brim with desire. His large hands slid under your ass, gripping the supple flesh, using his strong grip to pull you closer to his face.

He had been careful not to let his beard scratch your inner thighs but the taste of you on his tongue and the pleasure he felt from making you feel good was beginning to mess with his head, hence making him forget about his facial hair.

You felt something coarse rub against your inner thighs and you knew exactly what it was. It didn’t hurt at first, just a slight tickling sensation that had you squirming more than usual. But then Matt wrapped his arms around your thighs in an iron grip, locking you in place and keeping you glued to his face.

Before you could say anything about his facial hair, he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently. The pleasure he was giving you, paired with the slight discomfort of his beard rubbing against your delicate skin, made your mind go numb.

Your fingers tightened its hold on Matt’s hair, unsure if you wanted to push his face away and or pull it closer. Although you felt discomfort, you couldn’t get yourself to tell Matt, fearing he’d get worried and stop. You were getting close after all. You didn’t want him to stop.

Your hips twitched, rocking ever so slightly against his tongue as your orgasm approached slowly but surely. And Matt, ever the observer, noticed the way your body reacted. Every little jolt made him more aware of your impending orgasm.

The anticipation from knowing you weren’t far from coming all over his tongue was making him extremely turned on. The fabric of his sweats stretched taut around his erection and Matt couldn’t help but roll his hips against the mattress.

He’d always enjoyed eating pussy, but he had never unraveled this much during it. It felt as if he was the one on the receiving end with how much pleasure he felt just knowing he was making you feel good.

Your thighs quivered, your breaths coming in shorter gasps and pants. The amount of hitch in your breath was enough for Matt to understand that you were right on the edge, ready to fall.

And who was he to stop you?

His tongue flicked your clit rapidly, his eyelids fluttering. Groans clawed its way out of his throat and vibrated against your pussy as if he was feeling pleasure from munching on you. His jaw and tongue muscles ached from exertion but he had no intention to stop.

He was determined to make you come.

"Fuuck... Matt-- I’m—ahnn—cumming, cumming!" You cried out, body tensing briefly before shuddering uncontrollably. Your release washed over you in strong waves, each one making you whimper softly and roll your hips against his face.

A moan, raw and full of need, rumbled out of his chest as the sweet taste of your release coated his tongue and he eagerly lapped it all up.

"Y’taste fucking incredible, sweetheart-" Matt cut himself off with a groan of pleasure. He wasn’t even lying, you tasted like something he could eat every day and night and every hour in between.

He helped you ride out your high with his tongue, reluctantly pulling his head back when your body went limp, sated. He wanted to feast on you more but with the exhaustion from his busy schedule and the way his jaw ached, he wasn’t sure if he could.

Watching the blatant satisfaction on your face made him feel quite good. His ego skyrocketed when you opened your eyes and gazed at him with those soft, glazed over eyes filled with post-orgasm vulnerability.

He opened his mouth to tease you about how he just helped you come when you were having trouble orgasming on your own.

But then remembered his role in your life. He was your lecturer and you were just his student—someone he couldn’t have. Maybe it was the fear of judgement from others or it was just the discomfort of knowing he was twice your age. Either way, he couldn’t do this again.

With a sigh, Matt wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze already drifting elsewhere—away from your vulnerable figure laying so invitingly on his bed, all sprawled out.

"Go home."

You blinked slowly and sat up. What was he suddenly saying? Wasn’t everything going well? Wasn’t that supposed to lead to an intimate moment?

"What?" You mumbled, your body still buzzing with pleasure.

"My ex-wife is coming over tonight." Matt lied, trying to get you to leave so he wouldn’t have to deal with the complex emotions that appeared whenever you were near.

Your expression fell. His ex-wife? He’s still in contact with her? Why’s she coming over? To do what? Are they reconciling?

Although hundreds of questions swirled inside your head, you couldn’t voice any of them. You felt utterly pathetic.

An uncomfortable silence filled his home at your departure. The taste of you still lingered on his lips, but it felt bitter now that you went back to the dorm, probably upset because of his stupidity.

Matt stared longingly at his closed front door.

He ran his hand through his messy locks, cursing under his breath at himself for pushing you away yet again. His mind began to fill with thoughts he didn’t want to think about. What if you get tired of this cat and mouse game and leave him for good? What if you–

Just then, his phone rang, cutting off his thoughts. It was his ex-wife, and Matt’s expression turned serious when he heard her request. She was asking him to consider getting back together? What was this woman thinking?

✰ english is not my first language! || wc: 2.6k ✰

Isa’s rambling ۶ৎ I immediately thought of lecturer!matt when I saw those delicious pictures of Matt in that photo dump. Also, I’m so so so sorry for delaying this fic sm holy fuck it’s been more than a month since that photo dump 💔

⟢ lecturer!matt taglist: @blahbel668 @ribread03 @sturniologals @annedebeijer @sleazy-1 @m0r94n @sugarraez @lvrsturniolo @iluvnicksturniolo @sturniolosluttt @sophand4n4 @squishybxg @matts-247 @lifecansmd @zokhlyxo @jibitzlesscrocs @oopsiedaisydeer @v33angel @shortnsweetsturnz @sagesturns @corspebridedelrey @anonymouslyachrisgirl @heartsforvin @lvrsturniolo @poolover123 @trustinsturniolos @mattsturnsgirlie @ri444nna @sturnboos @whore4-chrissturniolo @chrismoans @chlosallow @juless-is-elsa @nai2two @natesfavoritehoe @ineedchrisbadly @l0s3rhaha @chrissbabymumma @h3arts4nat @moond0llie @bernardsbendystraws @sorrybirds @devotedlyteenagemusic @httpssturns @mattswrinkleton

#★ ˎˊ˗ sweetshuga!#★ ˎˊ˗ sages moots!#★ ˎˊ˗ sage reblogs!

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