backwardshatnick

[backwardshatnick]

ngl my favourite au of mine is definitely my forget me not au (with dj!chris) because i am a true sucker for anonymous confessions but i am sort of hitting a blank wall rn for them,,,,

actually that isn't true i have stuff to write but i am just lazy lol please leave some stuff in my inbox if there is anything that you would like to specifically see with him! maybe prompts or something to build their lore :)

p/s: i've already decided on reader's name >:))))

[backwardshatnick]

𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝗒𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗒

in which matt gets home with juicy meatballs and an even juicier story to tell.

pairing: caterer!stand-up comedian!chris x photographer!social media campaigner!reader wc: 1.6k notes: for the masterlist, click here! divider credits to: @sister-lucifer :)

She was in the dorm’s kitchen, beads of sweat forming on her forehead like pearls as the light from the cooktop letting not only it glimmer, but also the reflective aluminium tray of carefully baked meatballs left to cool on the counter. The door creaked— no, it was shoved open, its knob hitting the wall deeper than it had before, the grey paint now covered in specks of white gypsum.

“He said yes!” her roommate, Daphne, bounced with excitement, voice loud and clear against the gentle hum of Bossa nova, “He. Said. Yes. And he’s coming over at 7 for dinner!”

Her eyes stretched out wide as she could feel her vein pulsing against her neck and temples rapidly, “God, are we even sure this is a good idea? He might be sus about this ‘Thank-you dinner’ of yours.”

Daphne’s reply came out too quick and confident, answering to her uncertainty at the speed of light.

“Nope! I told him it’s just a chill dinner as a thanks for being a good teammate for that assignment of ours. Zero pressure, not weird at all.”

“Right…” she answered, voice trailing as she took a glance at the meatballs, “I just feel like this is too much for a dinner. Homemade meatballs? Really?”

Daphne shook her hands, “Are you joking? Meatballs are Matt’s favourite. Trust.”

A few days after the Spring Ball, she was hunched over at her desk scrolling through endless and endless rows of pictures that she took with her camera, the SD card reader being connected to the laptop, waiting for its contents to be transferred and edited in the monthly university magazine.

Taking a break, she took off her glasses, placing it on a nearby shelf as she massaged the sides of her head while straightening her own posture, shoulders now strained in addition to her back.

With the groans leaving her mouth, Daphne went up to her, her nose that was long gone in a chick flick book now showing up as she approached the study table, “What are you up to?”

She looked up at her before diverting her gaze to her own finger that was now pointing at the laptop's screen, on a particular boy’s picture. A brunette boy in a blue tuxedo jacket, a white dress shirt and yellow tie complimenting his look.

“Woah,” Daphne blurted, knees now on the floor to scroll on the trackpad, “Now, why do you have a lot of his photo?”

“I don’t know. He kinda caught my attention but now I’m fucked because I don’t know which photo to choose for our zine. Nothing is balanced, I have too much of his photos for the layout and it won’t make sense,” she huffed out as she covered her face with her palms, “And I don’t even know who he is.”

“I know.”

She shot up, fixing the fringe on her forehead, “What?”

“That’s Matt Sturniolo. The guy from my Comms class. Pretty sure he’s single.”

“Don’t you dare come up with crazy ideas,” she threatened her roommate who has a mischievous smirk plastered on her face.

30 minutes before the clock hits 7, both her and her roommate were already at the dining hall which was understandably tranquil— it was a Friday night during the period of time that finals are closing, most students were out celebrating their newly found freedom before summer officially rolls in.

The wooden table separating the cerulean couches fit for a crowd of four was splayed out with three crystal glasses and a complete set of cutleries lying under a folded maroon napkin where a large aquamarine ceramic plate separated them. Right in the middle was the lovingly-prepared meatballs, still hot with the gravy oozing throughout the tray, waiting for the foil to be removed and devoured with the bowl of angel hair pasta next to it.

She moved around the leather sofa nervously, fingers fidgeting and picking on the skin of it before Daphne gently slapped her hand, “Girl, relax!”

“I can’t,” she cried out, “I’m having a crisis.”

Daphne beamed at her reply, “Look, you and I are both dressed casually. We’re in jeans and a simple top, our staple when we have class. He won’t think it’s a setup.”

Soon after, Matt had arrived in his signature leather jacket and a small tub of ice cream in his hand, approaching the both of them when he finished scanning the area.

“Hey! Thanks for inviting me over,” he smiled, taking a seat opposite of Daphne.

Daphne grinned, kicking her friend's leg under the table to stop it from bouncing with anxiety, “No worries about it. I hope you like meatballs,” she lied through her teeth, “My roommate made them.”

Matt perked up upon hearing his favourite dish being mentioned, “No fucking way! No wonder it smells incredible.”

She gave him an awkward smile, now standing up to remove the foil as she allowed the smell of the tomato sauce and black pepper to waft throughout the table, “Shall we dig in?”

Dinner went fine, the food was incredible, with Matt going in for seconds before everyone washed the food away with the Neapolitan ice cream that he had brought from home. The conversation shared between the two of them was pleasant, but it felt too cautious and rehearsed. In her opinion, Matt was indeed nice and polite, but there was something about his overall spirit, or looks even, that did not seem to match the one in the picture.

While she has gone to the sinks to wash the dishes, Matt had followed her a few tracks behind to help, with her roommate mentally fist-bumping the air in hopes of something to blossom.

“Hi,” he said, hand reaching over for the extra sponge, lathering it up with some dish soap, “It’s really thoughtful of you to cook for everyone. The meatballs were so good.”

Her cheeks warmed at the close distance shared between the two, the sound of water flowing out from the tap and citrusy scent of the soap now in the air, “It’s no problem at all. She said you were free and wanted to thank you for the group project that you guys got a 95% on. I hope me joining in didn’t throw you off.”

“No, not at all. I mean, I was free…” Matt answered, voice fading before clearing his throat, “I just… I don’t know. Just wasn’t sure that I agreed to this.”

This, as in my roommate ditching the dinner most of the time to give us both the time to chat? Definitely not, she thought to herself.

“Honestly, I don’t know either,” she forced out a meek laugh, “Daphne sorta winged it.”

Matt chuckled as he turned off the tap, hoping that he could get his point across a lot more clearer, “Well, you see, I hope I wasn’t leading you on with anything. You’re really sweet and everything tasted amazing. But I should be honest with you— I’m actually seeing someone right now.”

“Oh,” she nodded, the disappointment masked with the grin tugging on her lips, “That’s great. And please, you’re not in the wrong, here. I’m just agreeing to my roommate’s crazy ideas most of the time.”

“Well, if I ever get lazy to cook, I know who to go to now,” he tried to ease the tension, nape plastered with his curls after awkwardly scratching it with his wet hand, “You’re a really good cook.”

“So do we have any normal water that doesn’t taste like static?”

Chris, who stood in front of the microwave waiting for his leftover fried rice to be done turned over to the source of sound, “Ooooh, looks like someone’s in a mood. Dinner didn’t go well?”

“I don’t know, man. My friend invited me over for a group work thing but she left me and her roommate alone most of the time that it just felt like I was leading her on. So now I have some leftover meatballs for you guys to feast on.”

“That sentence is chaos in itself,” Nick chimed in, his attention towards the TV now averted towards the purple Tupperware on their dinner table.

Matt dragged a seat out, “Like, I’d get it if it was my friend who did the cooking, but this was from her roommate. And they’re coincidentally my favourite dish too.”

“That’s a lot for a casual dinner,” Chris added through a mouthful of rice and green peas, “But aren’t you already seeing someone? That girl that you managed to fool on Insta?”

Nick snorted as he was reminded of the debacle that he had witnessed on Matt’s recent return to Instagram.

“Shut up,” Matt answered, rolling his eyes, “You’re the one with punch-based crimes on your record.”

“You know I’m still sensitive about that!”

Dissolving in laughter and the meatballs that they decided to reheat, Nick blurted out in between chuckles, “Imagine if her friend really did intend on setting you both up, but she actually fell for a different triplet brother. God forbid it’s me because I’d totally disappoint her more than Matt just did.”

“She really was nice, you know. I felt bad turning her down.”

Chris looked away, a thoughtful expression on his face and sighed, “Yeah, sounds like someone should make it up to her.”

He just doesn't know it yet, but maybe a rogue laundry basket overflown with his suits and aprons could come in the rescue, making him the someone that could make everything up to her.

📇 @oopsiedaisydeer @courta13 @mattspillowprincess

[backwardshatnick]

posting the first chapter for comedian!chris (finally decided on comedian instead of caterer hehe) in a few hours :D

also, this au takes place at the same time as the call centre au that i have for matt!! for plot convenience lol

[backwardshatnick]

after the tone | c.s

— chris sturniolo x fem! reader

— warnings: HEAVY angst, heartbreak, hurt (no comfot), raw emotional language, voice message format, denial, regret, unresolved tension, inspired by @strnilolover 's voicemail fic ! (ily)

Chris keeps leaving voicemails on your phone, thinking you just need space. He doesn’t know you’ll never call back.

Ever since the fight, Chris couldn’t stop leaving messages. Some were short. Some were angry. Some were soft enough to break your heart. But they all started the same way—right after the sound of her voice. The last real thing he said to her was mean. Sharp. Something he didn’t mean. And now, it’s the only thing echoing in the silence she left behind.

start voicemails — eleven (11) messages remaining…

*beep!*

Her voice still plays every time. Still cheerful. Still alive.

“Hi, this is Y/N! I can’t come to the phone at the moment, so please leave a message, and I’ll return the call ASAP. Thanks and have a great day!”

*beep!*

Voicemail #1

[March 2— 10:18 PM]

“Hey. It’s me. Um… I know you said you needed space, and I’m trying. I really am. I just… I miss you, that’s all. I walked past that bakery on Main—the one with the crooked sign and those stupid pink cupcakes you loved? Yeah. Thought about getting one for you.

Anyway… I hope you’re okay. You don’t have to call back. Just… wanted to hear your name in my mouth again.”

Voicemail #2

[March 5 — 3:02 PM]

“Your favorite song came on while I was driving. I nearly crashed pulling over because it hit so hard.

You always said it reminded you of us.

I didn’t get it before.

I do now."

Voicemail #3

[March 9 — 12: 41 AM]

“I’m drunk. Just gonna say it straight: I’m sorry. For the last fight. For the part where I told you I didn’t care. I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t, right?

You were just standing there, looking so hurt, and I wanted to stop hurting too.

But all I did was make it worse.

God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Voicemail #4

[March 14 — 6:03 PM]

“You still haven’t listened to any of these, have you?

That’s okay.

I don’t really need a reply. I just need to feel like you’re still… somewhere. Like you’re still on the other end.”

Voicemail #5

[March 17 — 2:43 AM]

“I drove to your place tonight. I don’t even know why.

The lights were off. I sat outside for an hour, maybe two. I kept thinking your bedroom curtain would move.

It didn’t.”

(pause)

“Are you avoiding me, or are you gone?”

Voicemail #6

[March 19 — 11:09 AM]

"Matt asked me if i'm okay.

I told him yeah

I lied.

Voicemail #7

[March 24 — 9:28 PM]

“I started writing a letter to you. Like pen and paper. Like it was 1996 or some shit.

I don’t know what I thought I’d do with it. Mail it? Burn it?

Fold it up and bury it somewhere no one would find but you?”

Voicemail #8

[April 2 — 10:59 PM]

“Nick said I should stop.

Stop calling.

Said it’s not healthy.

Said you’re not answering because you’re not going to.

I told him he doesn’t get it.

But maybe he does.”*

Voicemail #9

[April 8 — 12:10 PM]

”…Your mom called me.

I thought she was gonna tell me off, or tell me to move on.

She didn’t...

She said you’d been sick. That you didn’t want anyone to know. Not even me.

And then—

God, I can’t even—”*

(sharp inhale)

“You’re gone.”

“You’re really… fucking gone.”

”…Why didn’t you tell me?”

Voicemail #10

[April 11 — 7:00 PM]

“I keep calling even though I know you won’t pick up.

I keep calling like maybe… I’ll hear your voice. Just once.

Like maybe heaven has voicemail, too.”*

(long pause)

“I would’ve held your hand through the worst of it, you know that?

I would’ve stayed. Every day.

I would’ve held your hair back. Slept in hospital chairs. Let you yell. Let you cry.

I would’ve loved you through the dying.”*

“But you didn’t let me.”

Voicemail #11

[April 20 — 3:33 AM]

“I had this dream where I walked into our old apartment and you were sitting there on the couch like nothing ever happened.

You looked at me and smiled. Said, ‘You finally came home.’

And I woke up crying.”*

(voice cracks)

*“I don’t know how to do this without you.

I keep trying. I promise I do.

But some part of me will always be waiting for a text back.”*

(softest whisper)

“God, I hope you knew how much I loved you.”

[End of saved messages.]

Chris never received a reply, but he wrote something anyway.

Dear Y/N,

I don’t know how to start this. You always hated when I rambled, and yet here I am. Writing a letter you’ll never read. Talking to you like you’re still going to roll your eyes and tell me to “get to the point.” But I don’t want to get to the point. Not when the point is you’re gone. I keep thinking about how much I didn’t know. About how you kept it all inside—how you made sure I was okay, even when your body was slowly turning against you. I would’ve held you through it. I would’ve slept in waiting rooms and memorized your med schedule. I would’ve read you books when the words got too blurry for you to see. I would’ve held your hand every second of the pain. But you didn’t let me. And I’m mad. I’m mad because I would’ve done it all without thinking twice. And I’m mad because you didn’t give me the chance. But I’m mostly mad at myself—for not seeing it. For thinking your silence was just distance instead of a goodbye. I call your phone more than I should. It still rings. That’s the worst part. It rings and rings, and then your voicemail plays—your voice, still soft, still alive, telling me to leave a message after the tone. Like you’re just in the next room. Like you might pick up if I say the right thing. I left eleven messages. Eleven pieces of my heart that you’ll never hear. But I had to say them anyway. I had to say something, or I’d collapse under all the things I didn’t get to tell you while you were still here. Like how I still sleep in your hoodie. The one you always said smelled like “home.” Or how I still make your tea the exact way you liked it—honey before the water, not after. Or how I bought that stupid pink cupcake from the bakery on Main and sat in the car crying because I realized I’d never see your face light up over frosting again. It’s the little things that kill me. You left a hole no one can fill.Not because you were perfect. You weren’t. You were messy and stubborn and sometimes too quiet for your own good. But you were real. You loved in quiet ways—folded socks, forehead kisses, standing on the opposite side of the street just to walk me home. You loved me even when I didn’t know how to love myself. And now you’re gone. And I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to be okay. But there’s no rulebook for this kind of grief. No step-by-step for how to wake up knowing you’re not in the world anymore. So I write. I talk to you. I close my eyes and pretend you’re still here. And if there’s any part of you still out there—floating in the stars or curled up in whatever soft place you believe souls go— then please just know: I loved you. I love you. I always will. And maybe one day I’ll learn how to let you go. But tonight? I'll let the voicemail ring again and i'll pretend you're just taking your time calling back

Love,

— Chris

i literally had to take a break while writing bc of all the crying

click here to be added to my taglist and here for masterlist <3

taglist 1 ✎ @chrisissobabygirl @sturnzwrld @strnilolover @sweetshuga @mattslilies @sirensdollesque @slxtarchive @heartsonlyforchris @sturns-mermaid @bluessturniolo @pasteldreams @endereies @solarsturniolo @drewswife @conspiracy-ash @courta13 @ivytthew @blushsturns @surprisecurlyfriess @mazzystarrysky @eclipsturns @riasturns @mattsgirl4ever @elisesturnz @ribbonlovergirl @chrisslut04 @pair-of-pantaloons @obxfansstuff @poppetbaby02 @bgfshai @kalel2005 @sturniszn @leahfaith @rafespuppyy @babciaala13 @whump-loverz @chrispycremedonut @mattsdiva

[backwardshatnick]

⸝⸝ the group have a pool day at birdie's, and lucky and matt finally get five minutes alone ꒱

OR matt and lucky get their first moment alone all day, but birdie is the clumsiest person alive.

warnings: sexual tension, not smut but suggestive content, mentions of alcohol. think that’s it !

notes: if you saw this last night… you did not 🫡

“birdie, you just said put two shots in,” you hear chris’s voice from the kitchen behind you, “i’m followin’ your instructions, baby.”

“i said put in two shots per glass. not two shots between five,” birdie fires back, giggling at chris’s error.

“you didn’t say that.”

“i did, chris. you just don’t listen.”

“this is fuckin’ painful,” nick groans, “can you two just cut the fruit or something? i’ll make the drinks.”

the three of them had been like that since they had gone inside fifteen minutes ago to make you all more drinks. they’ve been bickering, laughing, getting absolutely nothing done and from what you can hear, not a single drink has been poured yet because chris is too busy complaining about how he’s already bored of cutting up the fruit, and birdie is more focused on proving a point than measuring anything accurately.

you’re half listening to them from the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water. your skin smells like residue sun cream mixed with chlorine, your hair is still a little damp from your dip earlier, and although it’s evening now the heat from the day hasn’t lifted at all, leaving a thick, stuffy humidity hanging in the air.

but truthfully, you can’t focus on any of that because it’s just you and matt out here, alone, for the first time all day.

he’s in the deep end of the pool, elbows resting on the ledge, his head tipped back pretending that he’s looking at the sky, but he’s not. you know he’s not, he’s looking at you.

you’ve noticed him looking at you all day.

you’ve felt it. every time your legs brushed under the garden table during dinner, every time he caught your eye from the sun loungers and didn’t look away. the tension has been brewing between you both all day, now becoming impossible to ignore.

“what’re you thinkin’ about?” his voice cuts through, breaking the silence between you.

you look up, instantly catching his eyes.

“nothing much.” a lie, and you both know it.

he pushes himself off the ledge, and slowly makes his way towards you, stopping just in front of where you’re sat on the edge.

“don’t believe you.” he says, resting his chin on your knee. “you thinkin’ about me?” a smirk creeping onto his lips.

“oh please,” you roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the giggle that slips out. “you’re full of it.”

“haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since the other night,” matt’s voice a little lower now.

“i’ve been right here, all day.” you whisper, reaching down without thinking to brush a wet strand of hair from his face. the way he’s looking at you makes your heart race and stomach flip.

he leans in without breaking eye contact, pressing a soft peck to your knee. then another, and another. each kiss landing slower than the last, as they move closer to the inside of your thigh.

“pretty girl.” he murmurs, lips brushing higher now.

you don’t even realise it but your legs part just slightly as his hands slowly slide up the outside of your thighs, fingers curling themselves around your hips steadying you in place as he trails more kisses higher and higher, until his mouth is at the edge of your bikini bottoms.

his fingers start fiddling with the strings of your set, tugging them just enough to tease you, like he’s contemplating the idea of undoing them but doesn’t want to rush it.

he glances up at you, his lips hovering just over the thin fabric of your bikini, so close to you now that you’re aching for him. “you missed me, lucky?” he asks, still looking up at you, teasing you like he’s about to give in.

you nod, “missed you.” your voice is barely above a whisper, and he smiles but it’s not a smug smile, it’s something a little softer.

“just wanna show you how much i missed you,” he breathes out, leaning in closer. his fingers hooking into the side of your bikini bottoms, tugging them gently aside as his lips stay hovered over your newly exposed skin. your fingers thread into his hair, tugging at it gently as a quiet moan slips from your mouth.

and then, smash.

there’s a loud crash from outside the kitchen doorway that leads out to the garden, followed by birdie’s voice.

“oh fuck, chris. i’ve dropped the glasses.”

you both jump, and matt immediately pulls back, and in a panic you slip into the pool next to him, pretending to anyone if they saw you that you’d been in the water this whole time. you slick your hair back with the water, and the both of you are trying to not laugh at how close you were to getting caught, but your heart is racing, and you’re slightly out of breath still.

“you good, bird? be careful of the glass.” matt calls out, casually.

“holy fuck,” chris’s voice follows as he opens the glass door to the garden further, “you’re the clumsiest girl on this whole fuckin’ planet, i swear.”

you hear her apologising through a fit of giggles, followed by chris’s voice again. “don’t move,” he says, “you’re barefoot and there’s glass literally fuckin’ everywhere.” then you hear a squeal from birdie’s mouth as you watch chris lift her up, bridal style, off the floor.

nick trails out into the garden then, immediately seeing the drinks he’d spent so long making, all over the floor. “y’know? i love you birdie, but your clumsiness right now is really inconvenient.”

matt lets out a quiet laugh, muttering under his breath for only you to hear.

“fuckin’ tell me about it.”

divider credit: enchanthings-a

[backwardshatnick]

𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗌 #𝟣

a sneak peek into character personas through their actual digital footprints.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ featuring bostonbellyticklers !

[backwardshatnick]

𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 #𝟣

a deep dive into character voices through 24-hour instagram stories.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ featuring bostonbellyticklers !

notes: yes!!! quen as in quenlin blackwell will make a cameo in this au (along with larray :D)

[backwardshatnick]

[backwardshatnick]

guardian angel puppy

[backwardshatnick]

helloooo has anyone ever read the cinnamon bun book store by laurie gilmore 😊

[backwardshatnick]

practice makes perfect! | c.s

— bf! chris sturniolo x fem! reader

— warnings: none! just FUFFY FLUFF, boyfriend!Chris, featuring matt and nick!! Japan trip, chopstick lesson, soft teasing, hand-on-hand moment, culture-sharing fluff, chaotic brothers, clingy!Chris, romantic tension, mutual adoration, flustered boy, supportive!reader, travel romance

Chris is great at a lot of things—using chopsticks just isn’t one of them. But in a cozy barbecue spot in the middle of Tokyo, with the lights low and the grill sizzling, he doesn’t mind letting you teach him. Especially when you’re this close.

dividers by @huraxy

The restaurant is warm and cozy—low golden lights, wooden walls, the soft crackle of meat sizzling on the tabletop grill.

Outside the window, Tokyo glimmers. Inside, it’s chaos.

“Okay, but hear me out,” Nick says, already unwrapping his wet napkin like it’s a prize. “What if we order everything and just… rotate bites?”

“That’s called dinner, Nick,” Matt mutters, squinting at the laminated menu like it personally wronged him.

You smile, tucking your legs underneath you on the booth bench. The little grill in the middle of the table crackles gently, filling the air with the smell of sesame, soy, and grilled garlic.

Chris is sitting beside you. His knee’s bumping yours every so often, like he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t want to stop. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up, rings glinting as he picks up the chopsticks with all the confidence in the world.

And then immediately drops them.

You try to stifle your giggle.

“I got it,” he says quickly, like he knows he didn’t.

Nick leans across the table, deadpan. “You definitely don’t got it.”

Chris ignores him. “Just slipped. These ones are… slick.”

You tilt your head, biting your lip. “Slick?”

“They’re a little rounder than the ones at sushi places back home,” he says, frowning like he’s crafting an excuse. “Slicker. Different wood. Japanese friction ratios.”

Matt nearly chokes on his water and you’re full-on laughing now.

“Okay, Mr. Physics,” you say. “Need a lesson?” Chris squints. “Only if it comes with hand-holding.”

You lean closer. “It does.” That shuts him up.

You gently reach for his hand, warm and familiar. His fingers twitch when you touch him, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he moves closer—knee against yours, shoulder brushing yours, like he wants to memorize the way this moment feels.

“Alright,” you whisper, voice playful. “This stick rests here…” You position it between his thumb and index finger. “This one’s your mover. You just pivot with the top.”

He watches your hands carefully—but not as carefully as he watches you.

“You’re not even paying attention,” you murmur, eyes still on his fingers.

“I am,” he says, lips tilted up. “Just not to the chopsticks.”

You shoot him a look. He shrugs, not even sorry. “Try picking up the meat,” you say.

He attempts. The beef slips from his grip and flops back into the plate with a wet little plop.

Matt groans. “Bro.”

Chris huffs. “It’s slippery, okay?!”

“Let me help,” you say again, gently guiding his fingers. “Light pressure. Just enough to hold it. No stabbing. No chaos.”

With your hand still over his, Chris tries again. Slowly. Gently.

This time, it lifts and he gasps. “I’m amazing.”

You clap softly. “A prodigy.”

He grins, proudly holding the bite out to you.

“For you.” You blink. “What?”

“You heard me. Open up.”

So you do. You lean forward and take the bite from his chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully, trying not to smile as he watches you like you’re the only person in the room.

Nick groans from across the table. “I’m so serious, I’m going to throw myself into the grill.”

“Jealous?” Chris grins, turning to you again. “She’s proud of me. That’s all that matters.”

You laugh. “I am proud.”

“And grateful?” he asks. “For the food and the romantic gesture?”

“Very.” Chris beams.

The rest of the dinner is full of laughter—Chris gets better with the chopsticks, and you keep helping when he fumbles. Nick makes a game out of flipping the meat perfectly, and Matt tries to translate the dipping sauces without Google.

Chris leans into you the whole time, brushing shoulders, nudging your knee, stealing glances like he can’t help himself.

When dessert comes (mochi and little caramel custards), Chris cuts his in half and slides it onto your plate. You raise an eyebrow.

“I thought you said that one was yours.”

“It was,” he says. “Now it’s ours.”

You kiss his cheek before you can think twice. He blushes.

Later that night… Back at the hotel, Chris collapses face-down on the bed, limbs sprawled, hoodie riding up his back.

“I think I burned my fingers on the grill.”

You laugh softly. “You also dropped three pieces of meat and made the waitress giggle when you tried to order.”

“Yeah,” he says, muffled into a pillow. “But I got you to feed me.”

You crawl onto the bed beside him, resting your chin on his back. “And I’d do it again.”

He turns his head to look at you. His hair’s a little messy, eyes sleepy and soft.

“Hey,” he says, quiet now. “Thanks for showing me.”

“Of course.”

“No—I mean…” He reaches back for your hand. “For coming with us. For making this trip feel like more than just a trip.”

Your chest tightens in that good, full way. You squeeze his hand. “You’re my favorite view.”

He grins. “Even more than the Tokyo skyline?”

You nod. “You’re brighter.” Chris blinks like he wasn’t ready for that.

Then he rolls onto his side, pulling you close until your face is tucked against his chest and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Okay,” he murmurs, hugging you tight. “But tomorrow, I’m learning how to use those little soy sauce dishes. And I’m gonna crush it.”

You laugh into his hoodie. “I believe in you.”

And that night, wrapped in his arms with the soft glow of Tokyo outside the window, you fall asleep smiling.

Because practice doesn’t just make perfect, sometimes, it makes everything.

after watching the vlog i literally needed to write about it like its such a cute ideaa <3

click here to be added to my taglist and here for masterlist <3

taglist 1 ✎ @chrisissobabygirl @sturnzwrld @strnilolover @sweetshuga @mattslilies @sirensdollesque @slxtarchive @heartsonlyforchris @sturns-mermaid @bluessturniolo @pasteldreams @endereies @solarsturniolo @drewswife @conspiracy-ash @courta13 @ivytthew @blushsturns @surprisecurlyfriess @mazzystarrysky @eclipsturns @riasturns @mattsgirl4ever @elisesturnz @ribbonlovergirl @chrisslut04 @pair-of-pantaloons @obxfansstuff @poppetbaby02 @bgfshai @kalel2005 @sturniszn @leahfaith @rafespuppyy @babciaala13 @whump-loverz @chrispycremedonut @mattsdiva

[backwardshatnick]

Dark Circus

chris sturniolo x reader

go check out my moodboards

this is also on wattpad

go read part 1 this is part2

A single, thin thread.

A silvery strand that snapped loose from Y/N’s wrist as she raised her arms, then let them descend as if they were a waterfall. She continued the dance, twirling beneath the glow of a thousand lanterns. No one noticed. Not the crowd entranced by her grace. Not Chris, basking in their applause. Not even Matt, standing just off the stage, arms folded, blade glinting in his hand.

But Nick had noticed.

His fingers paused over his tarot deck, and his eyes, haunted and hollow, lifted toward the marionette. He didn’t say anything. Not yet. He watched as the thread drifted down slowly and vanished into the sawdust-covered floor. His eyes squinted with curiosity, the corner of his lips raised just the slightest, and he got lost in a tsunami of thoughts.

Later that night, when the music had no longer played and the crowd had filed out in a daze, Nick found her sitting on the edge of the stage, hands still poised like a doll at rest.

She didn’t look at him. It seemed her mind was racing just as much as his was.

“Did you feel it?” he asked quietly as if his voice could crack her skin if he spoke at a high enough volume.

Nick had always had a calm demeanor around her. Over the years, she had become fragile in his eyes, like ice held too close to a flame or glass being dropped from a great height. It was as if she were guaranteed to break. He cared for her too deeply to ever be harsh or loud. His love for her had always remained inconspicuous but unwavering.  She was his family, the one person he believed could escape the circus and find happiness beyond. 

“I thought I imagined it,” she whispered.

“You didn’t.”

She stared at her wrist, marked by invisible grooves where the strings had always pulled tight. One was missing now. Just one.

Chris still hadn’t said anything.

In the nights that followed, Y/N began noticing more.

Little things. Subtle shifts.

The strings still controlled her. Sometimes, she would even try to reach for things, water, a comb, a key Matt left by her dressing room door. Every time, her fingers were able to move for a second before a pull came. She still had her limits, though.

Her breath didn’t always echo like it used to. Her smile, once frozen, now flickered with something real.

She started humming to herself in quiet places. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to. She hadn't listened to a happy melody for herself in so long, no longer remembering what happiness even sounded like. Sure, she had danced to the music during her performances, but it had always felt like a blur. The notes didn't sound like music to her. They were just sounds of routine, a haunting reminder of what she was trapped doing.

The mirror in her room, long fogged with an unnatural haze, began to show her face again. Just glimpses, but enough to remind her, I was once human.

And across the circus, in his wagon surrounded by candlelight, Nick kept a tally. A secret list of the changes. A log of every shift. Every broken thread.

Chris began to feel it too.

He didn’t sleep; he never really did. He didn’t need to. But something began to stir behind his eyes, a realization. His hypnotism took longer to settle over the crowd. People hesitated before clapping. Laughed a second too late. Looked…confused.

He smiled through it. Of course he did. The Ringmaster always smiles. Chris always wore a facade. He told himself he was happy with his life, or at least the attention it brought. Still, a problem lingered at the back of his mind, growing heavier with time. He had pushed it aside. Recently though, it felt like it was anchoring him down, dragging him back with every step he took towards the crowd.

When he closed his eyes to bathe in the praise this time, there was a strange noise beneath the cheers. Like something unraveling.

He told no one. He smiled wider.

But the more he tried to tighten control, the more the circus began to resist.

The lights flickered. The animals grew restless. The audience left with memories that didn’t stick. 

Chris never thought he’d have to confront the problem that had been intensifying in him, but lately, it was becoming clear that maybe he should have. Still, he was a stubborn man. He wouldn't go down without a fight. Power came first; it always had. He’d do anything to reclaim it before even considering facing the dark issue within him.

Matt noticed in his own way.

Not in spells or strings, but through his knife. The first time it happened, he missed by a hair. The blade grazed a target’s ear, not enough to injure, but enough to make the crowd gasp.

He blamed the lighting and the wind, but deep down, he knew. The circus was shifting.

He stopped letting Chris pick the targets. He wasn't as certain of his abilities now. He chose older men, never teens, and never anyone in their early twenties. He couldn’t live with himself if he had stolen a life that still had so much left to live. Yes, he had always found something thrilling in scaring someone, only to show them they were safe in his hands. Now, the fear that they might not be okay had begun the change his performance. He threw more precisely. Every missed throw, even by a fraction, felt like a shatter in his identity.

Y/N… she smiled at him one night.

Not her eerie, mechanical grin. A true one. Barely there. Small. Sad. But true.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded. That was enough to confirm his beliefs.

The change continued at a glacial pace.

Y/N started choosing her show attire before the strings could decide for her.

 Nick’s tarot cards began refusing to flip. Some simply lit up in flames held in his hand. 

Matt threw a blade into Chris’s door “by accident.” 

Chris spoke to mirrors at night. For once the mirrors answered back.

Each day, the circus felt a little heavier. Like it had weight drowning it deeper into an ocean of an inexorable downfall. Like time was finally catching up.

And one evening, Nick sat in front of Y/N’s tent and whispered, “I think the curse is aging.”

She stared at her hands.

“What happens when it breaks?”

Nick looked at the sky, where the stars never moved. He said nothing.

But the mirror in the tent shattered that night.

not proofread

taglist; @pair-of-pantaloons @sturns-mermaid @oopsiedaisydeer @matt-sturnioloo @httpssturns @kenah-sturniolo @courta13 @sturnslux3

[backwardshatnick]

Dark Circus

chris sturniolo x reader

(go check out my au moodboards for this)

first chap + is on wattpad

They say time moved slower under the big tent.

At least, that’s what people said when they'd find themselves waking up days after a single night at Eternal Circus, wrists hurting, vision blurred, face aching with the reminiscences of a forced smile, but the true memories seemed to be shredded like confetti, replaced with an overpowering feeling of joy. To the outside world, the circus never stayed in one place for long. But to those who experienced the circus, it never truly left. Inside, the days were all just one endless loop, where the sun never quite set and the moon never quite rose. It was always showtime.

And at the center of it all was Chris, the Ringmaster.

He was tall, elegant, and draped in crimson. Chris commanded the circus like a conductor commands a symphony, except his music is made of screams and applause. No one knew his real age, though his records said 27. His smile could charm a snake, and his stare could freeze anyone, like locking one in an icebox. But never gaze into his eyes for too long. That’s how he found you. That’s how he chose you.

Chris had once been like any other ambitious performer. He loved what he did, leading a performance since he was of young age. This was what he was made for. Until one fateful night, desperate to save the dying circus their parents left behind, desperate to keep the one thing that defined him, he cautiously stepped into the mirror tent alone and made a deal with a voice older than time. In return for eternal fame and adoration, he gave up his soul and a piece of everyone else’s.

The circus has been thriving ever since.

He used hypnosis like a weapon, weaving it into every show. Audiences didn't applaud because they wanted to. They did it because they had to. He bathed in their adoration nightly, eyes closed, arms outstretched, letting the sound of claps feed the curse that kept his circus running forever.

But what is a circus with only a ringmaster? He wasn't alone.

In the amber-lit tent at the back, wrapped in heavy velvet, sat Nick, the Fortune Teller. Also 27. Also cursed. His eyes were foggy with the weight of futures, of inevitability. He saw everything, but couldn't change anything. The boy who once read tarot cards to pass time now saw truths far too cruel for fantasy. Children were never allowed in his tent. He refused them. He couldn't bear to put inescapable death into such small hands.

Nick wasn't Chris. He never longed for attention; he only longed for life. He wanted nothing more than to bask in the idea of making his own choices.

Nick once read his own cards, just once. His fate was inevitable sorrow. He so deeply wanted to give up on anything to do with those cards, burn them, destroy them, anything to get rid of his present and future. He would never read his own again.

But for his brothers? He peeked.

Chris, he saw, would fall. Violently. Gloriously. And though he told no one, he began to keep a secret journal, documenting the signs of decline. This reading was the only thing that could allow him to sleep with a smile on his face. In the quiet hours, he comforted Y/N, the Marionette, offering riddled hope and sad smiles, because her story was never supposed to end this way.

Y/N used to be a girl. Now, she danced.

Graceful and dressed in frilled porcelain dresses, she floated across the stage like a marionette because she was one. Cursed by Chris the night she said she might leave. Funny to think she'd ever be able to leave a man like Chris. Her limbs obeyed invisible strings, and her words echoed like they were coming from a wind-up doll. But her mind? Her heart? Still human. Still aching. She was his once. Still is. But she couldn't tell if her love was real or just another spell. She wished more than anything that Chris would undo it all. That he would love her enough to let her go.

Matt watched her from the shadows.

Matt, the Knife Thrower. Precision within every movement. Control in every breath. Emotionally distant and quiet, he rarely spoke to anyone unless it was to his brothers or Y/N. But when he stepped on stage and the spotlight hit, there was a fire in his eyes. The crowd watched in horror as he hurled blades at his bound targets; none of them were ever willing, none of them were safe. And yet he never missed. Never. Missing was never on Matt’s agenda.

It wasn't about violence. It was about the power. The moment just before the scream. The second when their life trembled on the edge of a blade. Knowing that he could decide to harm someone with just an inch of space.That’s the high. That’s what Chris gave him, a place where he could do what he loved without rules.

Still, Matt knew it was wrong. All of it. But he’d never betray Chris. Not because he believed in him, but because without the circus, they were nothing. And because he saw the way Y/N looked at his brother. The way she hoped.

And somewhere deep down, Matt hoped too.

One night, the wind howled louder than the applause.

A girl observed her surroundings, and her smile faltered almost as if she were confused, unaware she had caught the Ringmaster’s gaze. Chris stopped mid-speech. His pupils dilated like an animal ready to strike at its prey. Matt noticed, too, and stepped forward. A twitch in his jaw.

Nick’s cards flipped on their own. A tower. An eye. A sun.

Y/N’s strings pulled tight, tensing her muscles, as if even they sensed something was coming.

For the first time in decades, the circus stuttered. Time hiccupped. The lights dimmed not from a trick, but from fear.

Because the Ringmaster had seen a slight change.

Because the cards had spoken.

Because the knife thrower had missed his target by less than an inch.

And because the Marionette smiled.

“Time doesn’t pass here,” Nick whispered as the girl’s smile appeared a second later, no longer confused, as if she were under an enchantment. “It rots.”

And behind him, the mirror tent cracked open. Wind whistling in the air, flowing through the flaps of the tent where it all started.

The cycle had begun to break.

not proofread so if something looks off sorry

taglist: @pair-of-pantaloons @sturns-mermaid @oopsiedaisydeer @kenah-sturniolo @httpssturns @matt-sturnioloo

[backwardshatnick]

Dark Circus

~IN A DARK CIRCUS WHERE TIME GOES BY SLOWER AND CHOICES ARE MADE FOR YOU~

Sturniolo Moodboards Dark Circus Au

chris sturniolo x reader ~ ringmaster x puppet

Chris - 27 - Ringmaster - commanding, secretive, theatrical, determined to keep the circus running forever, sold his soul for fame, loves to close his eyes and listen to the cheers and claps of the crowd, don't look into his eyes for too long, though he looks very charming he uses hypnotism to control the circus and also the audience, people don't choose to join the circus he choses for them, if you catch the eye of the ringmaster he will stop at nothing to get to you, he has eyes everywhere, so have fun trying to hide something from him, Can he ever love after selling his soul?…..that is a question to which the answer is locked deep inside his heart

Nick - 27 - Fortune Teller - wise, poetic, cryptic, haunted, every prediction of his will come true, sees everyone's fate but cannot change his own, refuses to tell the future of children, he loves his brothers dearly so in his own time he read their fortune(without them knowing), what he witnessed for Chris was his undeniable downfall, he felt sorrow for his brother but hope that one day he would be able to escape the wretched prison disguised as a circus

Matt - 27- Knife Thrower - precise, definitely emotionally distant, proud, sure of himself, calculating, protective of those he cares about, his targets are never willing, fortunately for them he doesn't miss, has a dark addiction to the rush of nearly harming someone, he knows what chris does is wrong but he simply doesn't care because he gets to do what he wants in the circus, he doesn't talk much to others apart of the circus other than his brothers, he has a soft spot for yn, knowing she truly loves his brother

Y/N - 23 - The Marionette - graceful, eerie, obedient, torn between love for freedom or love for chris, sad, you can't tell if she's a person pretending to be a doll or a doll pretending to be human, controlled by invisible strings, cursed by chris into a life on stage, gets comforted by nick that some day she wont be trapped but all she really ever wanted was a happy loving life with Chris, somewhere in her heart she believes he will change, Will she choose to attempt an escape or will her feelings take over?

not proofread so if something doesn’t make sense let me know

miemie- hii ive literally have been working my butt off for these past moodboards and stories. ive been tryna put alot out. if you like these please show some love or reblog. i know not many people actually look at my work so i want to put it out there but i cant do that if no one helps🥲

also if anyone likes my ideas just let me know and tag me if you wanna do something similar or use it.

taglist; @pair-of-pantaloons , @sturns-mermaid , @oopsiedaisydeer , @httpssturns , @matt-sturnioloo , @kenah-sturniolo

[backwardshatnick]

[backwardshatnick]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 - 𝗰.𝘀 + 𝗺.𝘀 ☆

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴: 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 ( 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 ) 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 ( 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 ) , 90'𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥. 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴! + 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵! 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.

𝘱𝘳é𝘤𝘪𝘴: 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺.

𝘢.𝘯: 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦! 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 <3

𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺! 🎈

it’s been months since the balloon killer appeared in your bedroom. the itchy feeling of chris’s hands on your skin hasn’t gone away. you missed him. god, you were so worried. where could he be?

the eerie balloon messages around ucla continued. but they were more malicious. violent slashings, hurtful words plastered on the victim’s body, and the last victim had a bite mark on her neck.

you couldn’t believe that this was chris’s doing. it couldn’t be. not your childhood best friend. you shooed him away and couldn’t find him again. you’ve gone from party to party, marking yourself as bait for the killer to catch, only this time, you didn’t plan on it.

your twenty-first birthday was tonight. you friends decided to throw a house party, considering it was also the end of the semester. the balloon killer didn’t once cross your mind, but oh, you were the only thing on his.

your friends thought it would be a fun idea for a themed party. the theme set was a masquerade. it seemed odd at first, but the idea of being hidden behind a persona seemed thrilling. it also hid the killer's face perfectly.

after countless hours of dress up, mix and matching outfits, and smudged eyeliner, time crept, and it was time to leave.

a striking outfit was necessary for your birthday party. a dark red dress that flowed at your knees and tied behind your neck. the glitter spray shimmered across the fabric along with your skin. the matching mask covered around your eyes and cheeks, just your glossed lips were shown. enough for the killer to recognize.

drinks flowed and music pounced. intoxicated dancing and second-hand smoke lingered. laughing and gossiping shared around the room, along with the casual groping and steamy kissing in various parts of the house.

burning alcohol down your throat made you lose a bit of your stability. your vision hazed as your legs stumbled. one shot, another shot. music blaring in your ears as you danced with your friends. “happy birthday!” shrieks along with happy glees of finishing a semester of college.

it seemed like an average college party night, except you didn’t anticipate an uninvited guest. as your mind was delirious, you felt rough hands reach your waist. a tall gentleman in black jeans, along with a buttoned-up shirt. his full-faced mask intrigued you more.

his hands roamed across your dress, then up to your shoulders. moving you around the dance floor, carefree.

as your mind was clouded, you didn’t notice that this gentleman had gotten closer, closer to the point where you could see his ravishing blue eyes.

“would you accompany me upstairs? i’d like to be alone with you.” his voice was deep and raspy underneath the mask, as if his voice was velvet.

your stomach churned, you took his hand, heading up to the bedroom of the house. immediately shutting the door, he led you to the white bed. sitting in front of him, he lifted your head with his hand. your neck exposed. in the dark bedroom, the only light was the moonlight through the window, and the gentleman removed his mask. his chapped lips kissing your soft neck, he opened his mouth agape. his lips sucked as your head leaned back.

your vision was blurred, you couldn’t see the man's face clearly. you could make out his deep, dusky ocean eyes. the sensation of his lips on your neck. aroused, soft moans left your lips while your hand made its way in his long, dark hair.

“i’ve missed you,” he whispered in your ear. his teeth sank into your neck like a vampire. “ow!” you wince. his lips taste the metallic liquid drip from the small puncture.

you push him away, your hand holding onto his bite. “what are you talking about?” you whisper, confused, you blink. the pain from his sharp teeth sobered you just a bit.

“don’t recognize me, darling? let’s take this off.” his hand removed your string mask, and the felt piece dropped onto the floor.

your eyes watered as you blinked, your brain and memories recognizing the man's face clearly, who stood in front of you. memories of ice cream trucks, family dinners, playground games, first kisses, and high school dares.

your heart pounded, you knew his face. you recognized those blue eyes. but, they weren’t the ones you fell in love with.

“matthew?” “oh, you remember me, darling?” he smirked, his hand wiped the blood on his lip.

“how? what? what are you doing here?” you questioned, extremely dazed and confused.

“since you didn’t give me a birthday present on our birthday. i thought i’d give you one on yours,” he smiled maliciously, those blue eyes darkened. your body jolts with fear.

“what are you talking about?”

“i know you called the cops on chris. all he wanted was to love you. accept him. you didn’t.” matthew’s jaw tightened.

“where is he?” you stood up, frantic. matt didn’t move back.

“don’t know. he ran away from home once you betrayed him.” “didn’t even celebrate our birthday together.” “since you took away something i love, i’m going to take away the reason why he left.”

matthew moved away your hand from your neck, his hand on your mouth, while he sank his teeth again.

muffled screams in his hand, you tried to pry off his large hands, but his grip was too strong. the pain on your neck was excruciating.

“those murders weren’t chris. they were me, darling.” matt seethes into your ear, his hand not budging.

“matt, please!” you cried into his hand. you felt blood drip down your neck, staining his white shirt.

“i can’t find him, so now he can’t find you.” his hand moved to your neck, his fingers crushing your throat. you gasped for air, you tried removing his crushing hand.

“say it, say it. who am i?” the killer removed his hand, watching you fall to the ground, gasping for air.

“killer! you’re a killer!” you wheezed.

“i always thought christopher was a lousy murderer. ‘the balloon killer’”. what a stupid name.”

as you’re on the ground, gasping for air, blood seeped out of your neck, and your vision is blurry. you heard pounding on the bedroom door. “matthew, let me in!”

"uh oh, he's here," matthew said in a sing-song tone. reaching for his pocket, he pulled out a small switchblade that swiftly opened. he let the tip bruise your neck. whining from the pain on your neck, you couldn't push him away.

"tell him. tell him how much you've missed him."

"let me in matt!" chris yelled through the loud house music, his heavy boots kicking the doorknob.

you sobbed, terrified that matthew grew up into a vicious murderer.

with a harsh kick, chris bursts into the room, immediately tackling matt to the ground. the switchblade flew out of his hand and onto the floor. “where the fuck have you been chris?” matt yelled, “you abandoned me for her!”

“i had to run away, i knew i couldn’t continue the murders. you're psychotic!” chris ducked from matt’s pummels.

“you don’t love her. she tried taking you away from me!” “you’re my brother!”

“matt please, this isn’t her fault!”

“you don’t get to play hero, christopher.” matt had chris on the ground, his hands around his neck. matt felt a sharp pain in the center of his back. “let him go, or i’ll shove this in you,” you threatened, holding the same switchblade he had on your neck.

matthew froze. his chest rose and fell against your blade.

“do it’ he whispered, “prove it, you’re just like me.” your hands trembled. your eyes watered, you couldn’t. these were the boys you loved, you grew up with. you loved them.

“do it!” he released chris. immediately, chris pushed him to the side, pinning him to the ground.

“matthew, this has gone too far.” “i can’t let you hurt her more.”

“i spend countless nights listening to you cry about her. you left me. you left me alone with these heinous thoughts.” “i have too.”

you trembled as your hands dropped the knife. “go, run.”

“what?” chris looked back at you, extremely confused.

“i let you run, now it’s his turn. run. i won’t call the police, i won’t tell anyone. run.”

matthew’s breath caught. he stared at you. not angry, not wild, just… empty. chris loosened his grip, eyes flicking between the two of you. “you can’t be serious.”

“i am,” you whispered. “this ends now.” matthew sat up slowly. his face was unreadable, blood dripping from his mouth. “you always were the soft one,” he muttered. he staggered to his feet. no one moved.

at the doorway, he picked up his mask and looked back one last time. his eyes met yours. “i loved you too,” he said. “in my own way.” “yet, you chose chris.” then he was gone.

the silence that followed felt louder than the music still thumping in the background. chris collapsed to the floor, shaking. you stood still, staring at the doorway like he might walk back through it.

“i don’t know if i did the right thing,” you said.

chris didn’t answer. he didn’t have to.

“you saved him,” chris said quietly. “but at what cost?” “he’ll be back,” you whispered. chris didn’t reply. after a moment, he stood up quietly, looking down at you.

“i can’t leave him alone.” “im sorry.” “chris, no, please!’ you pleaded, but he slipped out the door without a word. you were left alone in the fading shadows.

a faint creak echoed from just beyond the door. you froze. when you looked, there was nothing there.

the nightmare wasn’t over.

a few days later, the soft hum of the television was the only sound in your quiet bedroom. you sat curled up on your canopy bed, the room dim and heavy with silence. your eyes were fixed on the flickering screen.

the news anchor’s voice broke through the stillness, calm but urgent:

“… in breaking developments regarding the recent string of murders caused by the 'balloon killer, ' police have revealed a startling new detail. the balloon killer is not a lone wolf, but identical brothers believed to be working together in these horrific crimes. authorities warn the public to remain alert as the investigation continues.”

grainy black-and-white surveillance footage played on the screen: two shadowy figures moving in eerie synchronicity through a foggy street, their faces obscured, but unmistakably alike.

your breath hitched. you clenched your fists, the puncture from days ago still on your neck, bandaged.

the past wasn’t done with you. and neither were they.

the room was silent except for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. your telephone rang sharply against the nightstand, breaking the stillness. your breath caught.

with trembling fingers, you answered, voice barely more than a whisper. “hello?”

a low, chilling voice whispered back, “did you really think it was over?”

“where are you?” your hands gripped the telephone.

a low, chilling voice whispered back, “i thought you wanted to be away from us."

“i did… i do.”

“yeah? then say it.”

your voice was quiet, a thousand thoughts ran through your head.

“that’s what i thought. open the door,” the line crackled and went silent. you sat frozen, heart pounding, caught between the desperate need to escape and the undeniable pull to stay.

 🏷 :@sturnsxbbyeilish @sturniolosssworld @chrepsi @chrispycremedonut @dykes4chris @mattsplaything @sturniolosluttt @livvyswrld @matts-girlfriend @courta13 @madisonswife @urfavvbilliemunch @chris-hallelujah @sturns-mermaid @chrisbratt333 @ikeuppang @mattybsgroupie

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Credit: @vxnitra