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who’s the better detective? ...introducing detective!chris and detective!reader (buttons)

fluff, kinda crack content, mild sexual references/innuendos, why so sexy if so dumb, workplace romance, peraltiago-inspired

word count - 800ish

God, she’s so sick of waiting for Chris to just do something as simple as arrest the guy. She hated working with him, and she couldn't wait for Nate to come back from vacation so Chris could have a different babysitter. 

It wasn’t like he was a bad detective, she just preferred working alone. Not to mention, Chris had unusual methods…

“Hey, Buttons! Can you give me your handcuffs?”

She looked at him, already dumbfounded by the apparent manchild in front of her, who had somehow made use of a deli sandwich to keep the suspect’s hands in place. She placed a hand on her hip as she fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Christopher Sturniolo. Where are your handcuffs?”

He grinned at her, sunglasses dropped low on his nose. “Had a bit of fun last night, Buttons. You don’t mind sharing, do you?”

“I already told you not to call me that, Chris,” she said, reluctantly pulling the cuffs off her belt and handing them to him. “You know,” she continues, “I could write you up for that.”

Chris glances at her then, as he’s busy handcuffing the perp in front of him. Once the double lock clicks in place, he brings a hand up to his chest, in mock, dramatic death. “Oh Buttons,” he says, drawing the pet name out for his own amusement, as he puts on a horrible Victorian accent, “you torture me so”. 

Buttons rolls her eyes then, ushering him forward as she walks behind him, one eyebrow raised just enough for Chris to know to back off. He puts the perp in the back of their squad car, somehow managing to close the door and lean against the car in one infuriatingly charming swoop. 

“It’s a pity that arrest won’t go towards my count,” he says, picking his sunglasses off his nose to rest them on the top of his head, his brown curls still fanning about his forehead effortlessly.

She makes a small scoffing sound. “Oh please, Chris, give me a break. You used my intel to track the guy to this bodega, my handcuffs to make the arrest, and I think we both know it’s going to be my hand with my pen writing the report.” This time she does roll her eyes as she makes her way over to the driver’s side of the car.

“Jeez, Buttons, what got your panties in a twist this morning?” Chris says, chuckling lightly at the reference to her underwear.

She shoots him one more look before getting into her seat behind the wheel. Chris slides in beside her, immediately fiddling with the radio, to which Buttons slaps his hand away. Chris then checks his sleeve, pretending to tap a watch that isn’t there. “Only six months left for you to beat me, Buttons.”

“We’re literally neck and neck, Sturniolo,” she says, pulling the car out of the spot, checking for oncoming traffic by twisting behind her and placing a hand on Chris’s seat, before heading in the direction of the precinct.

“Still, you never know when I’m going to pull ahead. It’s real comfy on top, I hear,” he wiggles his eyebrows at her, before continuing, “Hey! Title of your sextape, Buttons, what do you know.” Chris smiles earnestly at her, practically begging for at least a giggle from her.

All he gets is more sarcasm.

“Real comfy on top? How thrilling. I can’t wait till I take your precious car from you, Sturniolo. See how many sex jokes you can make when I’m driving your so-called “babe magnet”. See who’ll get all the girls…” Buttons trails off into an awkward silence, not quite sure where she was going with that line other than apparent lesbianism.

“That’s when the gay sex jokes will start,” Chris says, smiling fondly at her again, completely matter of fact tone in an attempt to conceal the truth in his gaze. “Besides, we all know I’m going to have the last laugh when you finally go out on that date with me. What should we call our sex tape, Buttons?”

“Eww, Chris.” She shoots him a look of complete and utter disgust, face scrunched up like she just had some Greek yoghurt, which pulls a real laugh out of him, breaking his boyish features free from the smug look originally on his face.

Silence settles between the two, and Buttons almost convinces herself that it isn’t the worst thing in the world to be partnered with Chris. That it’s almost nice to joke around, have some banter with him. That he makes the job more enjoyable. As long as it remained just the odd assignment or two.

The moment is broken when the perp calls out, “Hey, I lowkey ship you guys,” from the back.

“Shut up Derek,” they both say at the same time, glancing at each other before looking away again.

Chris burps in the now very silent vehicle. It smells like deli meat. God, I can’t wait for Nathan Doe to get back from Hawaii, Buttons thinks to herself.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws ꨄ

a/n: eeek i'm not sure how i feel abt this like am i the least funny person alive why do i keep basing my aus off of sitcoms but wait detective!chris is kinda sexy. anyways hope u enjoy!!!! :)

thanks for reading!!!!!! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated <3

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WAFFLESSS

anyone else who wants to continue 🙂‍↔️🩷

I'm boutta start a war on Tumblr

Pancakes or Waffles (Reblog with answer then tag more people)

@mifgirlcomics @belladeezbombz

@mosslover999 @the-real-great-papyrus

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BOTH MY WORLDS COLLIDED SLUSHY NOOBZ AND STURNIOLOS

SHEIJEDHEJ IM CRASHINGOUTRJ

do not speak to me for 2-3 business days THANK YOU BYE 😊

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NO OMG THAT WOULD BE SOO GOOD

i have such a good idea for the triplets

they should collab with slushy noobz and they should have martin as the thumbnail and its like “meeting our fourplet” or something BC THAT ONE VIDEO that would be hilarious

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what are soulmate!chris and birdie up to rn!! 🍁

based on my time ꒰ 20:46 ꒱

they’re currently out for dinner with some of their friends. the waitress keeps flirting with chris and chris is lowkey flirting back :/ silly silly boy. nick keeps kicking birdie under the table and giving her a look that says “do not cause a fucking scene”

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the holy grail types of fanfic

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me as a writer

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REAL 😭🤍

Never going to get over the fact that I went into the Mission Impossible films expecting Ethan Hunt to be this macho man that’s peak “made by men for men” and instead got absolutely slapped across the face by the fact that he’s in fact not that… he’s just this sad little guy who loves his friends a little too much and runs more than any one person should

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masterlist

matt sturniolo:

chris sturniolo:

this was not on the syllabus

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one of my fav movies 🤍

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13 Going on 30 (2004) dir. Gary Winick

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13 GOING ON 30 (2004) dir. Gary Winick

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This Wasn't On the Syllabus

word count: 1.2k

warnings: very minor cursing, mainly fluff, and angst

You don’t know why you agreed to volunteer for this, checking your watch as you sit in the back of the library, legs crossed, foot bouncing. Your phone’s open to the messages between you and Chris.

“im on my way.” You’ve reread that line for the past fifteen minutes.

Just as you’re about to leave, a voice far too loud for the library crashes through the silence, and Chris slides into the seat beside you.

“Sorry,” he says, proudly smug. “Was at the vending machine, fighting it for the Gatorade flavor I wanted.”

You raise an eyebrow. He’s here without a backpack, holding a crumpled worksheet and two chewed-up pens that are both leaking. He takes a sip from a bottle already dripping onto his hoodie.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. Loudly.

“We have about two months until your physics final, and you still don’t know the difference between velocity and acceleration.”

“What do you mean, I do know what you're talking about,” he says defensively, rocking back in the chair like it’s a game. “Wait—which is the one about speed again?”

You blink at him. Hard. You’re genuinely unsure if this is an elaborate prank.

“Yeah,” you deadpan, “you’re going to fail. I have to teach you from the beginning of the year.”

Chris grins, smug as ever. “That’s why I’ve got you, Einstein.”

You mutter, “I’m honestly surprised you even know who that is.”

The first session is a disaster.

He doodles over the notes you painstakingly printed. Spills Gatorade—again. Gets a warning from the librarian for being too loud. The textbook ends the hour with a coffee-ring-shaped stain. Somehow, so do you.

If there were an Olympic sport for sighing, you would’ve medaled by now.

Chris: trsut me, ill do better nexgt time

You: I find it hard to believe when you can’t even spell “trust” or “next.”

Chris reacted with “😑”

By the second session, though, he’s… different.

He shows up early. With pens that work. His own book. Even a folder (ugly, but functional). He’s got that determined squint, the one you’ve only ever seen on students during finals week.

“So if the object’s mass is five kilograms, and it accelerates at two meters per second squared… that’s, like… ten Newtons?” he says, tentative.

Your brows lift in surprise. “Yes.”

He blinks. “Wait. Actually?”

“You did multiplication,” you say flatly. “I’m not throwing you a party.”

His eyes light up. He does a tiny, dumb victory dance in the chair that absolutely no one asked for.

You roll your eyes and push another worksheet across the table when he suddenly says, “Maybe if you showed this side of you more often, people would find you attractive.”

Your entire brain short-circuits.

You sputter, caught completely off-guard. “W-What?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “You just got flustered.”

“I am not flustered.”

(Lie.)

You: Just clarifying, I was flustered because your comment was unprofessional. Not because I liked it. Chris: uh huh. sure. not u blushing tho. You reacted with “🤐”

He keeps showing up. On time. Prepared. Asking follow-ups like he actually wants to understand. 

“I’m surprised Chris, you have been doing really well and grasping the concepts easily. I’ll give you a practice exam for your finals and we will continue reviewing on from there.” You said with surge of pride for Chris in your last session with him.

You couldn’t stop laughing when Chris looked over it. His reaction was priceless. His eyes widened and he looked at it like it was from a horror movie, before shoving it away and across the table.

It gets worse.

Because now he texts you even when you’re not tutoring.

Chris: just watched the smurf movie again, and i didn’t know they casted a girl as grumpy smurf 😉

You reacted with a “🙄”

Chris: wait what’s the triangle formula again                                             Chris: for when the thing moves but like… sideways??

You hate how often you smile when your phone buzzes. You hate how your stomach dips when he gives you that look—when he’s fully tuned in, watching you, not the page.

You remind yourself: he’s out of your league. You’ve never dated. He’s the guy everyone notices in a hallway. You’re the girl in the front row correcting the teacher’s math mistake.

Then it happens.

He stops showing up.

The texts slow. Then vanish.

You message once. Then twice. He finally responds.

Chris: can’t make it. coach is on my ass. sorry

But then it happens again. And again. And again.

Once, he walks into the library, sees you, and turns right back around.

You pretend not to care. But it starts eating at you.

When you corner him in the hallway before first period, it’s because you have to.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

He pauses, then shrugs. “I’ve got stuff going on. My life doesn’t revolve around our little tutoring sessions. Relax.”

You stare at him. “Wow. Okay.”

His friends laugh behind him, none of them realizing you feel like someone just yanked the floor out from under you.

“Go tutor yourself,” you snap, and walk off before he sees your eyes glass over.

You start ignoring him. It’s not that hard, once you remember how it felt before you had to tutor him.

Physics is easier without the distraction. Lonelier, though.

Three days later, you find something in your locker.

A sticky note. His handwriting. Familiar and stupidly charming.

“I acted like a jerk and I deserve to be hit with 9.8 m/s² of guilt. Also, I miss being called stupid with love. Let me make it up to you? —Chris”

Taped to it: a ticket to Friday’s football game.

You crumple it. Smooth it out. Crumple it again. Then, because you're insane, you show up.

You stand alone in the bleachers, hoodie pulled over your head, watching as Chris jogs out in his uniform, helmet tucked under his arm.

He spots you. His eyes widen.

He smiles.

You look away and leave before he can catch you after the game.

Doesn’t matter. He still finds you.

Back at the library. Same table. You’re reviewing motion equations. Chris slides into the chair across from you like nothing happened.

“Chris,” you say without looking up, “you smell like a gym sock.”

“Didn’t want to waste time,” he says, pulling out a wrinkled paper and sliding it across the table.

You glance at it. It’s the practice test.

Score at the top: 88%. Circled in red.

You blink. “You actually did this?”

He grins. “Had a good tutor.”

You exhaled before sternly warning him. “Your next study session will be torture, I’ll be making you do those word problems you hate.”

Folding his papers away, you continue studying until you notice his eyes watching you.

“What?”

“I think I’m finally understanding physics” he mentioned casually as he looked over at you, a sly smile tugging at his lips, “Like… how my heart accelerates every time you look at me.”

You groaned, shoving his shoulder. “Chris—”

“Too much?”

“Way too much.”

You roll your eyes and shove a worksheet into his chest. But you didn’t stop smiling.

a/n: ahhh FIRST STORYY 🤍 hope yall enjoy

divider creds: @sardika-graphics

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matt girls won.

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A WALK TO REMEMBER (2002) Dir. Adam Shankman

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The Summer I Turned Pretty Season 3 - Official Teaser 

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me as a kid when mum put me in charge of pushing the shopping cart.