sturniololuv3r

[sturniololuv3r]

“Game Point”

The sand was warm beneath your feet, soft and uneven as you bounced lightly on your toes, squinting across the net at Nathan.

He stood with a cocky grin, ball in hand, sunglasses pushing back his messy hair. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

“You’re talking a lot of smack for someone who tripped during warm-ups,” you teased, stretching your arms over your head.

“That was strategy,” he argued. “Lowering your expectations so I can destroy you.”

You laughed, “You wish.”

With a dramatic toss, Nathan served. The ball flew over the net — fast, but you were faster. A solid bump sent it soaring back. He dove, managing to save it, and the game was on.

It started friendly — lots of laughs, mock trash talk, and exaggerated dives into the sand — but slowly turned competitive. The sun glinted off the ocean nearby, wind tugging at your clothes and hair as you both moved across the court with growing determination.

“Okay,” Nathan huffed, slightly out of breath, “if I win this next point, you owe me a smoothie. And a kiss.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And if I win?”

He smirked. “I’ll still give you the kiss.”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile too hard as he served. You blocked it with a perfectly timed hit, sending it just past his reach. Point: you.

Nathan dropped dramatically into the sand. “You’re cheating. You’re using your hotness to distract me.”

“I literally just beat you fair and square.”

He sat up, brushing sand from his hair. “Still. Distracted.”

You tossed the ball at his chest, laughing. “Smooth.”

Nathan pulled you down beside him, arms wrapping loosely around your waist as you landed in the sand with a soft oof. “Fine. You win. But I’m still claiming the kiss.”

You leaned in, brushing your nose against his. “You don’t have to win to earn that.”

And with a soft smile, sun on your backs and sand sticking to your skin, you kissed — warm, a little breathless, and entirely worth the game.

(Requested by @riggysworld )

[sturniololuv3r]

I really want to make a fic based off a chase Atlantic song or the weekend but I’m not too good at smut but I badly wanna write a fic for the song Cassie by chase Atlantic

[sturniololuv3r]

SMASH SMASH SMASH SO HARDDDD 😩😘

[sturniololuv3r]

“who the hell are you?”

meanmatt! x partygirl!reader — part 1

⸻

You didn’t even want to go to this party.

But your friends begged. Promised it���d be fun. Said he wouldn’t be there. And even if he was, you’d never notice him anyway.

Except now you’re here, the music’s too loud, the floor’s sticky, and some guy just spilled half a beer on your shoes. You’re annoyed, overstimulated, and completely sober — the worst combination possible.

So you do what you always do: fake a smile, throw back something fruity and dangerous, and find a quiet corner to claim as your own. Tonight it’s the back porch — dimly lit, mostly empty, with a half-dead string of fairy lights barely hanging on.

You sit on the rickety bench and let out a slow exhale, pulling your hoodie tighter around your shoulders. It’s peaceful for maybe three minutes.

Then:

“What the hell are you doing?”

You glance up.

He’s standing there with a plastic cup and a permanent scowl — tall, broad, and dressed like he didn’t try (which, annoyingly, works for him). You’ve never officially met, but you recognize him. Matt Sturniolo. One of the hosts, apparently. Notorious for hating everyone, especially girls like you — loud, sparkly, and “too much.”

You blink slowly. “Sitting?”

“That’s my spot.”

You laugh. “Are you serious?”

Matt doesn’t smile. “Dead serious.”

“You’ve got the whole house and backyard full of drunk people,” you say. “And you’re pressed about this bench?”

“It’s mine.”

You scoff. “Didn’t see your name on it.”

Matt glares. “Don’t care. Move.”

You raise a brow. “Make me.”

He stares at you like he’s deciding whether it’s worth dragging you off the bench or just setting the whole party on fire and starting over.

“Why are you even here?” he mutters, running a hand over his face like your presence is giving him a migraine.

“I was invited.”

“By who? Satan?”

You blink. “Damn. That’s the energy we’re on tonight?”

“I don’t like people who come to these things just to cause problems.”

“I don’t like people who act like the world revolves around their stupid bench.”

Matt glares again, and you glare right back.

It’s a full ten seconds of quiet, hostile eye contact before he mutters, “Whatever,” and sits down on the other side of the bench, as far from you as possible.

You smirk. Victory.

Kind of.

⸻

Five minutes pass. Then ten. You both sit in tense silence, the only sound the thump of bass from inside and the occasional shout of someone getting too drunk.

Finally, you break it.

“You always this charming, or is it just me?”

Matt doesn’t look at you. “Just you.”

You hum. “Lucky me.”

Another silence.

You sip your drink. “You don’t like me.”

“I don’t even know you,” he snaps.

“Didn’t stop you from being a dick.”

He turns to face you now, jaw tight. “You walk into someone else’s house, throw your attitude around, and expect people to kiss the ground you glittered on?”

You blink. “Wow. You really hate fun, huh?”

Matt shrugs. “Fun doesn’t usually involve fake smiles, tequila breath, and girls taking selfies in my bathroom.”

“You sound fun at parties.”

“I’m not.”

You laugh again, even though your stomach twists. He’s mean — like, unnecessarily mean — but you’ve dealt with worse. Guys who pretended to like you. Guys who pretended to listen. Matt? He doesn’t pretend.

And that pisses you off more than anything.

“You must be such a hit with the ladies,” you say, voice sugar-sweet. “Do they all fall at your feet after you call them annoying and chase them off benches?”

He leans back, finally sipping his drink. “Most of them don’t talk back.”

“Maybe they’re smart.”

“Maybe you’re not.”

You grin. “You’re just mad I’m not scared of you.”

“I’m not trying to scare you.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

Another beat of silence. Matt doesn’t answer.

You both sit with it — the tension, the unspoken, the push-pull of two people who are either about to kiss or throw each other off the porch.

You swallow hard. “You know, you don’t actually know me. So maybe get off your high horse before you break something.”

Matt’s eyes flicker toward you. “You come off like someone who wants attention. You dress loud. You talk louder. You walk in like it’s your world and everyone’s just lucky to exist in it.”

“And you hate that?”

“I think it’s fake.”

You go quiet. That one stings — not because it’s new, but because it’s familiar.

Matt watches your expression shift. Regret flickers across his face for a half-second before he masks it with his usual scowl.

You stand up. “You don’t know me,” you repeat, quieter this time.

He doesn’t say anything.

You walk away.

⸻

You don’t expect to see him again that night, and you don’t want to.

But two hours later, you’re in the kitchen, sipping something someone shoved in your hand, when you feel someone watching you. You turn. It’s Matt. Across the room. Arms crossed, unreadable expression, eyes locked on you.

He doesn’t look away.

You roll your eyes and head outside.

You sit on the front step this time. Different porch. Same night.

You let the cool air hit your skin. It’s too much — the noise, the heat, the way Matt made you feel like every layer of yourself was see-through and stupid. You hate that he got to you. You hate that he was right about some of it.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when the door creaks open again.

Matt.

Of course.

He sits down a few feet away, but not too far. Enough to give you space, but not let you disappear.

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” you mutter.

“I live here.”

“Tragic.”

Another pause. You don’t look at him. He doesn’t look away.

Finally, he says, “I was kind of an asshole earlier.”

You scoff. “Kind of?”

Matt exhales. “I just— I don’t like parties. I don’t like pretending.”

“I wasn’t pretending.”

“I thought you were.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

Silence again. Softer this time.

“I still think you’re a lot,” he adds, like he can’t help himself.

You smile bitterly. “I am.”

“It’s not always a bad thing.”

You glance over. He’s already looking at you. Not glaring. Just… looking.

You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest. “I don’t do fake either, Matt. This is just me.”

He nods slowly. “I noticed.”

Another beat.

“You still hate me?” you ask, half-joking.

He doesn’t smile. “Don’t know you yet.”

“Still sounds like a yes.”

Matt shrugs. “You make things complicated.”

You grin. “You make things boring.”

He looks away, but his mouth twitches — the smallest hint of a smirk.

You lean back against the railing, finally starting to relax again.

Maybe you still don’t like him.

But he’s not pretending.

And neither are you.

⸻

Did yall like it!!???

tag list : @sturniolo-szn2 @fadedstvrn @tezzzzzzzz @stayingstromboli @ivysturnss @sturniolofreakk @ihateemetoo @sturniolo-tease @sturniololuv3r @sturnsclam @nxra-cxm @csturniolo43 @mattspillowprincess @sturniolo-fann @izzylovesmatt

[sturniololuv3r]

“Cloud 9”

Including: smoking, mention of getting high, fluff

The room was dim, lit only by the fairy lights strung around her headboard. The air was still, quiet, warm. Music played low—some vibey instrumental lo-fi beat that neither of them could name, but it somehow fit the mood perfectly.

They were curled up under her comforter, limbs tangled like a lazy knot. Y/N lay on her back, eyes half-lidded, lips slightly parted. Nathan was on his stomach, face turned toward her, his fingers tracing invisible lines on her arm.

“I feel like my body’s melting into the bed,” she whispered.

Nathan chuckled, voice thick with sleep and smoke. “Good melting or concerning melting?”

“Like... marshmallow in a s’more melting.”

“So good,” he confirmed.

She turned her head to look at him, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. “Why do your eyelashes look so pretty right now? That’s rude.”

Nathan smirked, his hand sliding to rest gently on her stomach. “You say the weirdest compliments when you’re high.”

“You like it.”

“I really do.”

They stared at each other in that kind of high silence where time slows down and all you can hear is your own heartbeat and the soft buzz of being near someone who makes you feel safe.

Y/N brushed a curl off his forehead, then leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. “You’re so pretty it’s unfair.”

Nathan blinked, a slow grin creeping up. “You’re the one glowing right now.”

“I think that’s just the weed.”

“Nah,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “That’s just you.”

They laid there, letting the quiet wash over them again. No rush. No noise. Just warmth. His thumb stroked her side gently. Her fingers played with the hem of his hoodie. Everything felt floaty and soft and still.

Eventually, she yawned. He pulled her closer. Their legs tangled tighter.

“Stay here,” she murmured.

“I wasn’t going anywhere.”

(The photo I added is like kinda what I picture y/n as)

[sturniololuv3r]

“Miles Between Us, But Not My Heart”

The phone buzzed at 1:47 AM.

Y/N blinked sleepily, her screen lighting up with “Nate 🖤”. She didn’t even hesitate — she answered with a smile already forming.

“¿Hola, mi amor?” she whispered, voice still thick with sleep.

Nathan’s tired voice came through, soft but warm. “Did I wake you up?”

“You always do,” she teased gently, “but I don’t mind.”

He chuckled, voice a little raspy. “I miss you. A lot.”

She rolled onto her back, pulling the blanket over her shoulders tighter. “I miss you too. It’s hard pretending like my day is full when the part I want most is in a different time zone.”

“I saw your abuela made tamales,” he said suddenly, trying to lift the mood. “You’re evil for sending that photo. I could practically smell them through the screen.”

Y/N laughed. “She said she’ll make you your own dozen next time you visit.”

“I’ll literally fly there just for that.”

“You mean for me, right?”

“Tamales and you. A dual-purpose trip.”

The teasing faded into a quiet pause.

Nathan sighed. “I hate not being able to hold you when you’re having a bad day. I hate that I’m just… a phone call.”

“You’re not just a phone call,” she said seriously. “You’re my safe place. Even like this.”

His silence told her how much that meant.

Then she added in a softer voice, “We’re strong, Nate. I know the distance sucks. But I’d rather be missing you from miles away than never have met you at all.”

He exhaled deeply, smiling. “God, I love you.”

“Te amo,” she whispered. “And when we’re finally in the same place again, I’m never letting you go.”

He grinned. “I’m gonna hold you so tight, your brothers are gonna threaten me in three languages.”

Y/N giggled. “Two. They only know Spanish and Spanglish.”

They both laughed until the call softened again — quieter now. Safer. Closer.

“Promise me you’ll keep sending voice notes,” she said. “Even when I don’t answer right away. Your voice makes it easier to breathe.”

Nathan paused, then replied, “I’ll send you one every night. Until I’m the one whispering to you in person.”

Somewhere between Mexico and Massachusetts,

two hearts beat in sync, even when time and space tried to stretch the thread.

Love, after all, doesn't follow borders. Only connection.

( side note sorry for adding the sturniolos in this I just felt like it went with the plot of my fanfictions) @riggysworld

[sturniololuv3r]

I have a question, what days do you usually post, or do you not have a schedule? 💗

I don’t have a schedule to post I just post randomly!

[sturniololuv3r]

Can you do one where, the triplets little sister and Nate are dating, and there filming a vlog with the triplets on a cruise and she keeps getting catcalled and looked at by weird guys and the triplets and Nate notice she’s getting uncomfortable and do something about it

“Watch your mouth”

The sun was setting over the open ocean, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink. Matt held the camera, vlogging with his usual hype, while Chris and Nick danced around behind him, acting out some chaotic bit for the vlog.

Y/N stood just off to the side, filming behind-the-scenes clips on her phone, sunglasses pushed up in her hair, her sundress swaying slightly in the sea breeze. Nathan was leaning on the railing nearby, watching her with that soft, half-smirk he always wore around her.

It should’ve been perfect.

But it wasn’t.

It started as a whisper.

Then a whistle.

Y/N’s shoulders tensed the second it hit her ears — again.

She was walking a little ahead of the boys down the sun deck, her dress fluttering slightly in the breeze. They were filming a vlog, laughing, talking, but Nathan had his eye on her. He always did.

And then he heard it too.

“Damn, what I’d give for a night with her.”

The comment came from a group of three guys leaned up against the railing, drinks in hand and eyes glued to her like she was something for sale. One of them smirked, elbowing the other.

Nathan’s body went rigid.

Y/N froze mid-step.

She didn’t have to say a word — her face said it all. Uncomfortable. Angry. Hurt.

Chris noticed first. “What the hell did they just say?”

Matt turned. “No. Nope. Not happening.”

Before Y/N could speak, Nathan was already turning on his heel, storming straight toward the group.

“Hey,” he said sharply, jaw clenched. “You want to repeat that for me?”

The guys chuckled, smug. “Relax, bro. We were just admiring the view.”

Nick’s voice came in cold. “That’s our sister.”

Nathan added without blinking, “That’s my girlfriend.”

“Still doesn’t mean we can’t look,” one of them said with a grin. “She came out dressed like that—what do you expect?”

That was it.

Chris shoved the guy’s shoulder. “Say it again. See what happens.”

The guy stepped up, squaring off. “You wanna throw hands over a girl?”

Nathan didn’t even hesitate — he stepped between them and shoved the guy hard in the chest. “No. I want you to back off, shut your mouth, and keep your eyes off her.”

Security was already moving toward them, called by the growing voices and tension. But the scene was already lit — Matt and Nick stepping forward, Chris right behind Nathan, all four of them staring the men down like a wall.

Y/N watched, heart pounding, torn between wanting to cry and wanting to scream. But mostly… feeling seen. Defended.

Before anything could escalate into punches, cruise security pulled the groups apart. Nathan kept his eyes locked on the guy until the last second, voice low and venomous:

“She’s not your view. She’s a person. And next time, you won’t just get words.”

The triplets backed off when security stepped in, but the message was loud and clear: You don’t mess with her. Ever.

Later that night, when they were all back in the cabin, Y/N curled up next to Nathan, eyes a little watery.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He kissed the side of her head. “Yeah. I did.”

And her brothers?

They just nodded, each one silently agreeing.

She wasn’t just the little sister anymore.

She was their girl.

And no one got to disrespect her and walk away easy.

(I think this is the longest thing I've written)

[sturniololuv3r]

Can you do one where the triplets sister has a bad day, like everything just goes wrong and the triplets tried to help but they just couldn’t seem to so they called Nate and he comforts her and knows exactly what she need

“The One Who Knows”

It had been one of those days.

Y/N woke up late, spilled coffee on her favorite hoodie, bombed a quiz she swore she studied for, and then came home to find her favorite snack mysteriously missing from the pantry.

Every little thing piled up until her head felt too full, her chest too tight.

Nick tried cracking jokes.

Chris offered to drive to the store and restock everything she loved.

Matt brought her his hoodie and a weighted blanket.

They meant well. They always did. But none of it stuck.

She was curled up on the couch, hoodie pulled over her knees, eyes puffy, when Matt quietly slipped out and sent one text:

“Can you come? She’s not saying much but I know she needs you.”

It wasn’t even ten minutes later when the front door opened, and Nathan stepped in, quiet but certain. He nodded at the boys, who all gave him a grateful look and stepped aside.

He found her in the living room. The soft glow of a muted TV. Her eyes half-closed, like she was too tired to even cry anymore.

Nathan didn’t ask anything.

He just sat beside her, slid his arm behind her back, and gently tugged her toward him. She didn’t fight it. Didn’t speak. Just let herself fold into his chest like she’d been waiting for that exact moment.

He kissed the top of her head. “Rough day, huh?”

Her voice cracked. “I don’t even know why I’m so upset. It’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb.” His fingers traced slow circles on her back. “It’s real. And I’m here.”

She sighed, the kind that sounded like surrender. Like safety. Like maybe she didn’t have to hold it together anymore.

They sat like that in silence. He didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t rush her or distract her or smother her with jokes.

He just held her.

Eventually, he whispered, “Wanna go for a drive?”

She nodded against his chest.

They drove with the windows cracked, music low, his hand resting on her thigh as she stared out at the quiet night. And for the first time that day, her chest loosened.

Because Nathan didn’t try to solve her.

He just saw her.

And that made all the difference.

(I promise I'll tag the ppl who wanted me to make a tag list Soon)

[sturniololuv3r]

"Huapango Heartbeats"

The sharp tap of your boots echoed through the garage as you moved effortlessly across the wooden floor. The huapango music played loud from your speaker—violin and jarana striking that unmistakable rhythm that made your soul dance even before your feet did.

Nathan stood nearby, arms crossed, watching you with wide eyes. “There’s no way I’m keeping up with that,” he said, pointing to your feet, which were tapping in complex, rapid patterns.

You grinned, brushing sweat from your brow. “You wanted to learn huapango, Nathan. This isn’t some cute slow dance—it’s footwork, rhythm, and heart. C’mon, I’ll go slow.”

He stepped forward reluctantly. “You’re gonna destroy my ankles.”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll teach you the basic zapateado primero. Just watch me.” You demonstrated a simple heel-toe combination, breaking down the beat. “Right heel, left toe, stomp—then switch. Feel the beat with your chest, not your brain.”

He tried mimicking you and instantly got off rhythm. You stifled a laugh, walking over to adjust his stance.

“Your posture’s too stiff. Bend your knees. You’re not marching into battle, you’re dancing!”

He chuckled. “Feels like a battle—with gravity.”

You moved beside him, stomping in sync. “Just listen to the music. Let it tell your feet what to do.”

Slowly, he got the hang of it. The two of you stomped and tapped side-by-side, the rhythm taking over. When he finally nailed the step, you cheered, giving him a high-five.

“There we go! That’s it, Nathan!”

He beamed, breathless. “Okay, that was kinda awesome.”

You nodded. “Told you. Huapango isn’t just dance—it’s identity, it’s pride. When we dance it, we’re dancing our history.”

Nathan looked at you with newfound admiration. “I think I’m starting to get it. Teach me more?”

You turned up the volume and winked. “Only if you can survive the next round.”

As the music played on, the wooden floor echoed with two sets of dancing feet, laughter, and the spark of something growing between you—step by step, beat by beat.

(Sorry this took so long and not very detailed I'm lowkey a no sabo)

@riggysworld

[sturniololuv3r]

Can you do one where they get into there first argument but it’s small and they work it out

“Not Mad, Just... Off”

It started with something small. Stupid, really.

Nathan had promised he’d be done editing by 8 so they could watch the movie she’d been looking forward to all week. But 8 came and went. Then 9. He hadn’t texted, hadn’t come out of his room. She finally walked in to find him still at his desk, headphones on, hyper-focused.

She didn’t want to be clingy. So she just quietly backed out.

Later, when he came into the kitchen, stretching and yawning, he found her sitting at the counter, scrolling on her phone, earbuds in.

“Hey, babe,” he said, leaning down to kiss her head. She flinched just slightly.

He froze. “You good?”

She pulled out one earbud. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Nathan tilted his head. “You sure?”

Y/N gave him a small shrug. “It’s fine. You were busy.”

His brows furrowed. “Wait. Are you... upset with me?”

“No,” she said, but her voice gave her away.

He sat across from her. “Y/N.”

She looked up, eyes tired. “You said we’d watch the movie together. I waited. You didn’t even text.”

Nathan’s face dropped. “Oh. Shit. I lost track of time. I thought I’d only been at it an hour.”

“I know,” she said softly. “It’s not a big deal. I just... I miss you sometimes, even when you’re here.”

The silence was heavy—but not angry. Just honest.

Nathan reached across the table, taking her hand. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should’ve messaged. I don’t ever wanna make you feel like you’re not important.”

Y/N blinked, holding back the sting behind her eyes. “I’m not mad. Just... off.”

He stood, walked around, and wrapped his arms around her tightly. “Off sucks. Let me fix it?”

She leaned into him. “Movie’s probably halfway over by now.”

“Then we’ll start it now. And I’ll put my phone face-down and give you my full attention. Deal?”

She smiled. “Deal.”

And just like that, it passed—not by pretending it didn’t happen, but by listening.

@riggysworld

[sturniololuv3r]

"Step by Step"

You couldn’t help but laugh as Nathan stumbled over his own feet for the third time in a row.

“Okay, okay—stop laughing! I’m trying here!” he grumbled, pouting in a way that only made you laugh harder.

“You said you wanted to learn how to dance bien, and this is how we do it. No shortcuts,” you said, placing your hands on your hips. Your cumbia playlist was still going strong in the background, the familiar rhythm of accordion and bass coaxing your hips into motion without effort.

Nathan gave you a look—half desperation, half admiration. “How do you make it look so easy?”

You stepped closer, took his hand gently, and said, “Because I grew up with this. At every family party, quinceañera, wedding—dancing is just part of us. You? You're still walking like a stiff broomstick.”

“Wow, thank you for the encouragement,” he muttered sarcastically, making you grin.

You moved behind him, guiding his hips with your hands. “Relax. Let the rhythm move you. Listen to the beat—uno, dos, tres, cuatro. Step, step, back, back. That’s it!”

He followed your lead, slowly picking up the motion. His frown melted into a shy smile as he started to get it.

“You’re doing better,” you said, eyes meeting his.

“Thanks to my amazing, slightly bossy teacher.”

You rolled your eyes, then spun in front of him again, pulling him a little closer this time. “Now try it with me.”

You both danced across the room, your laughter mixing with the music, the distance between you growing smaller with each step. His grip on your waist grew more confident, and his eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Maybe I should mess up more often,” he whispered, “if it means getting you this close.”

You gave him a playful shove, but didn’t move away. “Careful, Nathan. I might start teaching you salsa next.”

“Bring it on, Y/N.”

(I actually kinda love this)

@riggysworld

[sturniololuv3r]

“Five Months Deep”

Five months.

Five months of stolen glances, background appearances, inside jokes, hoodie stealing, public chaos, and private comfort.

Y/N didn’t think Nathan would remember the exact day. Not because he didn’t care—but because he didn’t seem like a “month counter” kind of guy.

Turns out, he was exactly that kind of guy.

She woke up that morning to a text:

> Nathan: “Happy 5 months, troublemaker. Check the front porch.”

Still in pajamas, hair wild and half-awake, she opened the door—and almost tripped over a little box with a note taped to the top:

> “For my favorite person. Don’t open until I get there. Yes, I’m dramatic. Deal with it.”

Inside the box: a disposable camera, two bracelets—one with his initials, one with hers—and a playlist card with a QR code titled: “For the Girl Who Made It All Make Sense.”

Cue: emotional damage.

By the time Nathan showed up (wearing her hoodie this time), she launched herself into his arms.

“You’re disgustingly cute,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“I try,” he smirked. “Wanna do something chill today? Just us?”

“Always.”

They spent the day doing nothing special—and that’s what made it perfect. Drive-thru lunch. Polaroids at the lake. Sitting in the back of his car listening to music and making dumb videos they’d never post.

As the sun started to dip, they laid tangled in her bed again, the disposable camera sitting on the nightstand.

Nathan turned to her. “Five months.”

She smiled sleepily. “I’d do five more in a heartbeat.”

“How about fifty?”

She grinned. “Now you’re being dramatic.”

He kissed her temple. “I’m serious. You’re my favorite.”

“Even over Chris?”

“Way over Chris.”

As if summoned by name, Chris banged on the door outside.

“ARE YOU TWO HAVING AN EMOTIONAL MOMENT IN THERE? BECAUSE I’M COMING IN WITH PIZZA.”

Nathan groaned into the pillow. “The romance. Dead.”

Y/N laughed, grabbing his hand. “It was alive while it lasted.”

(I don't even know what to post)

@riggysworld

[sturniololuv3r]

“Quiet Places”

It was late.

The kind of late where the world feels hushed, like everything’s holding its breath. The triplets were out filming something chaotic with friends, and for once, Y/N and Nathan had the house to themselves.

No brothers.

No cameras.

No chaos.

Just quiet.

Y/N was curled under her blanket, hair messy from the day, her phone abandoned on the floor. Nathan lay beside her, propped on one elbow, watching her with that soft, dopey look he didn’t bother hiding anymore.

“You’re staring,” she whispered.

“You’re glowing.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile. “That’s literally just the LED strips.”

“Still counts.”

He tugged her closer, her head fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck. His arms wrapped around her like muscle memory, her fingers sliding beneath the hem of his hoodie to rest against warm skin.

They didn’t talk much. They didn’t have to.

The sound of Nathan’s breathing, slow and steady. The scratch of his fingertips against her back. Her hand resting over his heartbeat, steady and familiar.

After a moment, she mumbled, “Do you ever miss when it was just us, before people noticed?”

Nathan kissed the top of her head. “Sometimes. But I wouldn’t trade this for hiding.”

“You sure?” she teased. “Not even a little?”

He pulled her impossibly closer. “Y/N. I’d let the entire internet livestream me brushing your hair if it meant I still got to fall asleep next to you.”

She laughed into his chest, heart full.

“I’m holding you to that,” she whispered.

His voice was lower now, sleepier. “M’not scared.”

“Good.”

And just like that, tangled in blankets and hoodie sleeves, limbs overlapping like ivy, they drifted off. No flashing cameras. No whispering fans. No brothers barging in.

Just peace.

And love.

And warmth.

The kind of night where even the silence feels like it’s humming your name.

(Love this one so badd 😢)

@riggysworld

[sturniololuv3r]

“Background Appearance”

The internet was still recovering from the hard launch when the background appearances started.

It wasn’t intentional… at first.

The Sturniolo triplets were filming a casual vlog in their kitchen—ranking chips or some nonsense—when, mid-sentence, Nathan walked through the background in sweats, holding two mugs. He handed one to someone just off-camera.

“really? ” Matt said, rolling his eyes.

Nathan didn’t even break stride. “yes really..”

The comments exploded.

> “That was Y/N. I know her hair from anywhere.”

“Don’t think we didn’t notice Nathan making her coffee like a HUSBAND.”

“Can we please get a Y/N cam at this point??”

Next vlog? Same chaos.

The boys were filming in the living room. Nathan wasn’t even supposed to be there. But halfway through, a hoodie-wrapped blur darted by in the background.

Chris paused, glaring off-screen. “Y/N. I swear if you’re stealing my snacks again—”

From somewhere off-camera:

> “Blame nathan, he opened the bag!”

Nathan popped into frame a second later, looking zero percent sorry.

The fans lived for it.

Tumblr started tagging every appearance: “#Y/N Sighting #NayNWatch”

People made TikTok compilations of her laughing in the background, or Nathan instinctively reaching out to fix her hair as she walked past.

But the peak moment?

They were live-streaming. Just a chill Q&A with fans.

And halfway through, Nathan was caught fully zoned out, smiling like a dork at someone off-screen. Matt noticed and turned the camera slightly.

There was Y/N, sitting on the chair in the corner, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, mouthing, “Stop staring at me like that.”

Nathan didn’t even blink. “Can’t help it.”

The chat exploded.

> “He’s gone. That man is GONE.”

“She’s in her cozy era and he’s in his whipped era.”

“Get you a Nathan Doe, fr.”

The triplets had lost all control of their fans.

And honestly? They were kinda fine with it.

Because even if Y/N and Nathan never tried to make it a show, what they had still managed to steal every scene—even from three internet-famous brothers.

(Might spam like 3 posts!!)

@riggysworld

[sturniololuv3r]

“The Hard Launch”

The soft launch was cute. The hand-holding, the blurry coffee shop pic, Nathan’s moody story post with zero context.

But after a week of chaos, speculation, and fans turning into full-blown detectives, Y/N and Nathan decided it was time.

Hard launch.

They didn’t tell the triplets. Not because they were hiding it—just because the drama was funnier that way.

On Saturday night, Nathan posted a carousel on Instagram. The first photo:

Y/N sitting on his lap, hoodie-swallowed, laughing while holding a half-eaten fry.

Second slide: a mirror selfie of them in matching sweatpants, Y/N giving him bunny ears while he kissed her cheek.

Third: a short video—Nathan filming Y/N dancing in his kitchen, off-beat and unapologetically goofy. His laugh echoed in the background.

Fourth slide was the killer.

A photo of them kissing.

Not some blurry, almost-there photo—an actual, full-on, forehead-touching, soft-smile kiss, in front of the sunset. Her hand in his hair. His other arm around her waist.

Caption:

> “guess the internet was right.”

[black heart emoji]

Within minutes, the comments blew up.

> “THIS IS THE HARDEST LAUNCH OF ALL TIME.”

“I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT.”

“chris is somewhere screaming into a pillow rn.”

“my heart??? actually shattered from how cute this is.”

“realest soft-boy & sister love story ever.”

Y/N posted her own version later—just one photo.

Nathan mid-laugh, hair messy, looking at her like she hung the stars.

Caption:

> “he was worth the risk.”

Chris texted them both five minutes later:

> “Really? The matching sweats? You couldn’t even warn me??”

Matt sent a voice memo that was just a groan.

Nick reposted the kiss pic with:

> “I’m gonna be sick. Also… congrats I guess.”

But the fans? The internet?

They were obsessed.

#NayN (Nathan + Y/N) started trending.

Edits poured in. One fan tweeted:

> “Not to be dramatic but if they break up I’m dropping out of life.”

But they weren’t breaking up.

Not anytime soon.

Because the secret was out, the world knew, and Nathan couldn’t stop smiling every time someone said her name.

(Lmk if anyone else wants to be tagged or if I should start a list?)

@riggysworld

[sturniololuv3r]

“Spotted”

Y/N had finally started to relax. Her brothers were mostly chill, Nathan was still treating her like the center of the universe, and the secret was out—at least in the house. It was peaceful.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with a blurry photo.

Someone on TikTok posted a zoomed-in shot of Y/N and Nathan at a coffee shop, heads close, laughing over a shared drink.

> “That’s not just Chris’s best friend. That’s Nathan. And that’s definitely not just a friend moment.”

#SturnioloTriplets #YNSturniolo #NathanDoe

It blew up overnight.

Y/N woke up to 4000 new followers and her phone buzzing nonstop.

Chris sent her the link with one word:

> “Explain.”

Nathan texted at the same time:

> “We’ve been soft launched by a stranger. This is wild.”

Then came the theories.

Fan edits. Speculations. Instagram pages with side-by-side comparisons of “Nathan’s hoodie” in two different pictures.

And then, of course—comments.

> “Wait… Y/N and NATE??? Since when??”

“I KNEW it. The way he looked at her in that one vlog???”

“Protect her at all costs.”

“I love this if it’s real. Just PLEASE don’t let the drama start.”

Some people were supportive. Others… weren’t.

Y/N kept quiet. Nathan did too. But the comments kept piling up. Screenshots made their way onto Twitter, and edits started hitting 100k likes.

Finally, Chris walked into her room, phone in hand, and said, “So… we’re pretending TikTok didn’t just explode?”

Y/N sat up, wide-eyed. “What do we do?”

He shrugged. “Either confirm it, or wait for Nathan to get mobbed at Dunkin’. Your call.”

That night, Nathan posted a single photo on his Instagram story:

Him and Y/N’s hands—linked under a table. No caption. Just a black heart.

The internet broke.

And in the chaos, Y/N smiled to herself. Because even with the world watching, Nathan still made her feel like it was just them.