#☆ noturmatt ​⋮ writes

[noturmatt]

✮⋆˙ eyes on the lens, baby

──── clicking online photo booth pictures with matt. flashes go off but not all those pictures are safe for the camera roll ;) boyfriend!matt. fluff. smut. mdni.

the room was lit up with clusters of small lamps and strings of fairy lights, save for the white glow emitting from your laptop screen reflecting in the orbs of your eyes. it was raining - nothing dramatic - just the kind that blanketed your apartment in a sleepier hue. a half-eaten cup of strawberry yoghurt sat quietly matt and you.

the boy sat snug against the pillows at the head of the bed while you lay on your tummy towards the bed of the bed, legs dancing around to the sweet hum in the air.

matt had been quiet for the past fifteen minutes, sprawled on your bed in the hoodie you always stole, scrolling on his phone while absentmindedly rubbing your ankle.

you had found a photo booth website while scrolling through instagram. it was a cool vintage photo booth-themed website with downloadable pictures. you clicked a few pictures. messy hair. hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. the corner of your mouth twisted like you were in on a secret.

you didn’t mean to post them. not really. but the pictures came out like an actual photo booth strip. and the lighting was good and you missed how you looked when you weren’t trying so hard, so you posted one. then another. by the time you heard matt’s voice, you’d already forgotten about them.

“those new?”

his voice was calm but curious, and when you looked over, his phone was still in his hand — screen open to your story. the song of your choice still playing in the background.

you nodded. “just now.”

he set his phone down beside him slowly, like something had shifted. “you didn’t think to take any with me?”

you blinked, surprised by the hint of something in his tone — not jealousy, exactly. something gentler. want. “i figured you were busy.”

matt tilted his head and gave you that half-smile - the one that meant he was already planning something.

“c’mere.”

“what?”

he sat up, patting the space in front of him on the bed. “bring your laptop. If we’re gonna take cute pictures, you’re not doing it without me.”

the first few pictures were harmless — your heads pressed together, his smile wide and obnoxious, your crinkled with laughter. he kissed your cheek in one. poked your jaw in another. normal. soft. the kind of photos you keep in secret folders.

but then he tugged you closer.

your laptop tilted forward slightly from the shift, and you almost protested — but then his hands were sliding under your hoodie, and the feel of his fingers on bare skin made your thoughts fall apart before you could say anything.

“you gonna keep posing,” he said, voice low, “or do i have to make these pictures more interesting?”

click.

that one caught your lip between your teeth.

click.

that one caught the moment he tilted your chin to kiss you properly.

click.

your hand in his hair.

click.

his hand down your back.

the camera was still open. your weren’t paying attention anymore.

©️NOTURMATT

[noturmatt]

a CNC fic for matt would fix me i think 🙂‍↕️

could u write about him having a hard day and reader wants him to take it out on her? like dom!matt asf 🤭🤭

⋆˙⟡ made of bruises and trust

──── ❗️CNC, rough handling, degradation, restraint, manhandling, aftercare. dom!matt x reader. est. relationship. a/n. trust & communication is imperative when engaging in such kinks.

matt is a beautiful boy. spring for eyes and autumn comfort for a smile. he’s the poster boy of a gentle lover, in and out of bed. looking at you with the most vulnerable blue eyes like he bared his entire soul to you. his touch loomed on your skin like poetry - soft and sharp.

however, for the last few days the gentle boy you knew seemingly had hidden away. he’d been quiet. not mad. not cold. just off. like his body was here, but his mind was pacing somewhere far away - hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, fingers flexing like he needed to punch something or hold someone and couldn’t decide which.

matt was late. again. the door creaked open way past into the night when your plates lay in the sink and you were knee deep into revising for an upcoming test. the familiar hum of the washer played in the background as the lights cast a vulnerable yet comforting shadow over the room you were in.

donned in perky khaki shorts and your boyfriends tshirt, you were perched on your chair twirling a pen around which dropped at the sound of the door opening.

he walked in dropping his bag by the leg of the stairs. you perked up at his movements and rushed down to greet him. finding him in the dim of the living room, slouched on the couch, staring blankly at his phone.

you didn’t say anything. you just climbed into his lap. you felt him exhale as your weight settled on him, like your body alone was enough to knock the breath out of his chest.

he didn’t move at first. just let you rest there, warm, soft, breathing against his neck. then his hands found your thighs. you traced the veins on his forearms with your finger as matt stared at your movements breathing heavier by the minute, slowly, tenderly. your hand fit perfectly over his. your body curved naturally into his like it was built to quiet storms.

you looked up at him, whispered, “you need to let it out, don’t you?” his eyes were glassy. wild. “you don’t want to see that part of me.”

“yes, i do.”

“i’ll be rough.”

“i can take it.”

he swallowed hard, jaw tight.

“i don’t want to hurt you.”

you smiled, soft and sure, whispering into his throat, “matt. hurt me with love.”

his breath caught. his grip tightened. and then he was moving. he carried you to the bedroom, dropped you on the mattress like a man on the edge of ruin.

“strip,” he said. his voice was flat. calm. dangerous.

you hesitated. on purpose. and god, the way his eyes darkened at that—“you want to pretend this isn’t what you begged for?” he growled. “fine. we’ll play it your way.”

he bent you over the mattress, yanked your shirt over your head. his hand found the back of your neck and pushed — not enough to hurt, but enough to say: you don’t run this anymore.

“get on the bed. on your knees. hands behind your back.” you obeyed. his belt looped around your wrists, tight. practiced.

“good fucking girl,” he muttered.

you flinched as he palmed your ass, then slapped it hard, making you gasp. “this what you wanted?”

smack.

“offering yourself like a toy?”

smack.

“say it.”

“yes, matt,” you panted. “i wanted this. i want you to use me.”he chuckled, low and dangerous. you moaned — breathless, soaked, ruined already.

he took what he needed. no prep. no warning. just the rough drag of his cock, stretching you open in one relentless thrust that made your eyes roll back.

“god, you’re tight. fuckin’ perfect. built for this.”

his hands bruised your hips. his hips slammed into you like punishment. you whimpered - he grabbed your hair.

he used you - roughly, unapologetically. made you gasp. made you cry. made you feel everything he couldn’t say. he slapped your thighs when they shook too much. spit on your chest. called you his hole, his toy, his perfect little thing.

and you - god, you thrived in it.

you whispered filth between your moans. begged for it rougher. told him to keep going even when you shook from the overstimulation.

“what are you?”

“your hole. your toy. your, fuck, whatever you want.”

he groaned, losing rhythm for a second. then faster. harder. like every thrust was him exorcising something.

“you take it so fucking well,” he hissed. “crying on my cock like a good girl. look at you.” he bent you deeper, pressed his palm between your shoulders until you collapsed, sobbing, wrists still tied.

he grabbed your throat, just light enough, just long enough to make your vision pulse. then he let go, kissed your spine.

“i’m close.”

“come inside me,” you whispered. “mark me. claim me.”

“say it again.”

“use me.”

he came with a groan so deep it shook your name loose from his chest. he kept moving through it, riding it out, fucking his come into you until it leaked down your thighs. and even then, he didn’t let go.

but the moment he came — shaking, breath ragged, voice breaking on your name — everything shifted again. he collapsed beside you, immediately undoing the belt.

“fuck. baby, are you okay?” he whispered, untying you with trembling hands.

you nodded, still breathless.

“you’re incredible,” he said, pressing kiss after kiss to your wrists, your jaw, your chest. “i didn’t go too far?”

“no,” you whispered, eyes fluttering. “you did exactly what i needed.” he exhaled, brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face.

“i don’t deserve you.”

“you do,” you murmured. “especially like this.”

he held you tighter after that. grabbed a warm cloth. kissed every bruise. wrapped you in his hoodie and pulled you into his lap again, this time, to protect. not to take.

his voice broke when he whispered, “thank you for letting me be ugly with you.” and you whispered back, “you were never ugly. you just needed to be seen.”

©️NOTURMATT

a/n. i went light while writing this as its the first time on here. lmk if i should go deep into this kink!

[noturmatt]

hashtag for my works. ☆ noturmatt ​⋮ writes

MATTHEW STURNIOLO

01. eyes on the lens, baby [M]

02. made of bruises and trust [M]

CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO

00. coming soon . . .

𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 — a collection of stories and aus i loved from other writers for matt and chris :) hashtag used . —​ ☆ noturmatt ​⋮ 🔖

[noturmatt]

── ABOUT ME ‧₊˚🖇️

@noturmatt. sasha , she/her , twenty smthg , law student , writer , matt girl with a chris glitch , cat mom , hopeless romantic , redbull connoisseur

this blog supports & loves lgbtqia+ people. life is much more than politics. there’s no place for hate here. this blog is a safe space for mental health.

── GUIDELINES AND RULES ‧₊˚🖇️

writing for matt and chris sturniolo. i do not write for nick sturniolo and nathan doe. stealing, copying and translating my stories is not allowed.

🔞‼️ reader discretion advised. i write both fluff and mature themes and i cannot control what you read. minors dni with mature themed stories. all such stories will be marked appropriately.

✅ comfortable themes. tropes such as friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, fwbs, etc. consensual sex. healthy kinks. choking. CNC. different AUs. bisexual reader. anything else i’m comfortable with. (s/o @sturnioz for giving me an idea)

❌ uncomfortable themes. incest. polygamous relationships. threesomes. cheating. murder. kidnapping. substance and physical abuse. uncomfortable fetishes. extreme kinks and bdsm. anything pregnancy. parent!sturniolo. r*pe/non consensual sex. anything else i’m uncomfortable with.