Lover Boy - Blog Posts

hey girl i love ur stuff, do u think u could do a Matt imagine where the triplets are filming a baking video or smthn with the reader. There's a lot of speculation of whether Matt and reader are dating (idm if they're together yet or not) and reader minorly burns their hand or smthn and Matt makes a b-line to reader to comfort them? thanks ily<3

— ★ !! speculation

pairing : matt sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis : desc is explained in the req !!

a/n : girl i'm SO sorry that this took forever. my inbox is literally so confusing & it stresses me out so bad to look at ; i need to organize it asap ! anyway im sorry this took so long, ur req got burried under a ton of others

anyway , i hope u like this bc u deserve it after waiting so long 😭 also, i'm trying a slighty different format for my posts (its so subtle idek if u guys will notice but i love it so wtv 🤞🤞)

wc : 1.8k

for the past few months, you and matt have been acting a bit differently on camera. normally, the two of you make an effort to stay decently apart so none of the his fans will notice that you're dating.

you've been friends with the triplets since middle school and you show up in their videos all the time. but last summer, matt finally asked you to be his girlfriend. you guys agreed to keep your relationship off the internet and since then, you two have been trying your absolute best to avoid eachother while on camera.

but it's harder than it sounds to keep a distance from the one you love. all you want to do it hold his hand, rest your head on his shoudler, or hug him. but you can't. and it drives you fucking crazy.

this morning, nick texted you and asked if you wanted to come over to film a baking video with them. seeing as you had nothing better to do, you happily agreed.

nick explained that you would be the one blindfolded. he and his brothers would be normal — able to speak, see, and hear freely. you were a bit nervous at first, knowing how horrible you are at baking. but you still agreed to film the video because you know their fans have been begging for you to participate in one of their cooking videos for years.

you're currently in the kitchen with matt as he sets out all the ingredients that will be used. across the room, nick is setting up the camera so you guys can film in a few minutes. chris is in his bedroom, searching for the bandana he set out for you.

"got it!" chris shouts excitedly as he rushes into the kitchen, waving the hot pink bandana around in the air.

you laugh at the sight of its bright colors before asking, "why the hell did you casually had that laying around your room?"

"don't worry about it." he responds, trying to be mysterious and dramatic.

he hands the bandana to you and you place it over your eyes. you wrap it around your head and end up fumbling with the ends of it, unable to tie it blindly. you sigh with annoyance but continue to struggle, too determined to ask for help.

suddenly you feel someone place their hands on top of yours. you immediately recognize them to be matt's. his fingertips are cold but his palms are warm, causing chills to wash over your skin like an ocean wave.

"you don't need to be so independent all the time," he tells you softly. "it's okay to ask for help every once in a while."

you feel his hands leave yours — meaning the bandana is tied. you turn around and blindly reach your hands up to find his face. you feel your hands graze his jaw and you smile, feeling the stubble of his beard brush against your skin.

you tip your head up and reach to kiss him. however, seeing as you can't see, you end up missing his mouth and kissing the corner of his lips. you feel his mouth pull upward with a smile before he moves his head to the side so you can kiss him correctly.

"i need to make this worth it." he says against your mouth. he pulls away to speak, but you lean forward to chase his lips. "i won't be able to kiss you until after the video is finished."

"then quit wasting your time talking and kiss me." you say. you feel his chest shake with an airy chuckle before he places his hands on your hips and pulls you closer against him, reconnecting your mouths to kiss you again.

"guys, what the fuck?" you hear nick's voice call out from across the kitchen. "you've been making out for the past three minutes."

"yeah," chris's voice agrees. it sounds like he's standing in the doorway. "we were trying to be nice and let you have your moment, but you just won't stop kissing."

matt lets go of your hips with a sigh. "whatever, let's get this over with."

"woah, kid!" chris exclaims dramatically. you can hear his voice move and his footsteps get louder as he makes his way over to where you and matt are standing in front of the counter. "don't sound too excited."

as unbelievable as this sounds, matt doesn't actually hate filming. he actually loves making videos for his channel. if he didn't, he would not be doing it as a job. what he hates is being away from you.

he's the literal definition of clingy. and you're like the exhausted mom who has to put up with his tantrums whenever you're torn apart.

"okay, the camera is set up." nick announces. "i'm gonna start recording, so get your coupley-ness over with so we can film."

it's kind of crazy how casual it's become for everyone to work around yours and matt's secret relationship. his brothers respect your guys' decision to stay private and they help you guys hide it from the media. it genuinely means a lot to you to know how supportive chrtis and nick are — even though they like to make jokes and tease matt for his clinginess.

"hey guys!" nick says to the camera. “today, y/n is going to be blind baking some santa-shaped cookies since it’s almost christmas!”

you can hear nick walk over to where everyone else is standing. he continues to talk to the camera when you feel matt’s knuckles brush against the small of your back — where the camera can’t see.

you smile, enjoying the physical touch. but you know how risky it is for him to do things like that. if you start blushing or acting weird on camera, the fans will easily put the pieces together and realize what it means. so you shift a little, causing matt’s hand to fall off your back and back to his side.

"okay," you hear nick's voice say. you jump at how close he is now.

"oh my fuck, nick!" you shout, turning to glare at him — hoping you're looking in the right direction. "you scared the absolute shit out of me!"

"i'm not nick." chris says.

you turn in the opposite direction and tilt your head dramatically, waiting for nick to apologize for scaring you. but instead of an apology, you hear matt say "i'm not nick either. sorry."

you huff out a scoff and turn to the last remaining direction where nick could be. this time you were finally glaring at the correct triplet.

you hear matt laugh from beside you and your stomach twists into a knot.

since you can't see, the rest of your senses have been heightened — meaning you're hyperaware of the sound of your boyfriend's laugh. everything in you is tempted to kiss and hold him and tell him how much you love him.

but. you. cant.

"as i was saying," nick continues, "matt set out all the ingredients before we started recording. so, everything is on the counter in front of you, y/n."

you nod in response, happily beginning your task. the first portion of the video is calm and kind of relaxing. you listen to the triplets' commands as you grab and pour random things into random bowls. honestly, you've lost track of what step you're on. it feels like you're just going through the movements of baking cookies rather than actually cooking a meal.

chris and nick have no problem with holding your hands or wrists to point you in the right direction. but matt? he hasn't touched you at all. he still talks to you and helps out when it's needed, but you both know better than to touch.

due to matt's intense clinginess, it's safest to stay apart. if not, nick will end up cutting out a large portion of the video where matt has to be pried off of you (it's happened before).

"now, you need to put the cookie tray in the oven." nick tells you. from the sound of his voice, you can tell that he's reading instructions off the back of the cookie box. you hear him set the box on the counter before he continues. "while you do that, i'll put the dirty dishes in the sink; chris will clean the counters so you can decorate the cookies when they're done; and matt can make sure you don't catch the house on fire."

"alright." you agree with the plan. you reach forward to grab the tray of cookies. you pat thepalm of your hands on the countertop, trying to find the metal board. but you can't find it. "what the fuck?" you mutter, knowing it was just right here.

"right here," matt's voice murmers against the shell of your ear. he reaches over you, his chest pressed against your back. you hear the cookies slide agianst the counter before you feel the cool material of the tray touch your hands.

you clear your throat awkwardly, trying not to think about him too much. "thanks."

"mhm," he hums. as he stands up straight, the warmth of his chest leaves your back and you're left feeling cold and empty without his presence.

you mimick his actions by standing up straight. you then carry the tray in your hands as you walk around the island to where you know the stove is. you're about to set the tray down to open the oven, but you hear someone come up behind you. matt tells you to just hold still and he'll open it for you.

you do as he says and wait for him to open the oven door. when you hear it unlatch, you reach down to slide the tray onto the rack.

apparently, you miscalculated the distance between you and the oven. because just as you were going to set the tray down, you felt a sharp pain in the knuckles of your pinky finger.

"fuck!" you shout in pained breath before dropping the tray to the ground.

"what happened? are you okay? are you hurt?" matt rushes out a string of questions, immediately taking your hand into his. he twists and turns it, examining the injury.

"yeah, i'm fine." you tell him. "i shouldn't have dropped the tray like that, it was kinda dramatic."

you hear him sigh, "what did i tell you? it's okay to ask for help."

"i didn't think i needed it." you tell him, dropping your voice to a whisper as you tell him your next concern. "plus, you might wanna get away from me. we're still filming."

"fuck the video, y/n." he says, pulling you into a hug. he holds you against him, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "you mean way more to me than a bit of speculation."

tags : @kasqnxx @lvrsparadise @prettysturniolo @strniolo @urmyslxt @cupidsturniolo @opheliaofficial07 @thetriplets3 @sturn1olo-ffics @uhnanix @deadxrx @kitaysworld @slaysturniolo @wilmalovegood @ladylokilaufeyson5 @sturniolopepsi @strnilolo @knowingnothingnoel @its-jennarose @lea0518

Just a sketch from my note book so yeee (I'm sorry I'm awkward)

nurse for a day

synopsis: who knew a sick doctor could be such a handful? 

tags: stubborn zayne who hates being sick, reader takes care of him anyway, sleepy delirious zayne, fluff fluff fluff, humor(?), suggestive for .5 seconds word count: 2k 

a/n: i personally think i ate with this one 

It was quiet. Too quiet. 

As you slink through the seemingly empty house, ducking into shadows like you’re on a stealth mission, you really wish your boyfriend weren’t so damn stubborn. 

On your earlier phone call, Zayne had tried admirably hard to mask the nasally tone in his voice—to pretend like his frequent coughs were simply him “clearing his throat.” But you knew better.

He doesn’t get sick often—what with knowing exactly how to prevent it, and all—but when he does, he detests it for several reasons. The most pressing one, at the moment? You love when Zayne is sick.

Not because you think he deserves it, not because you want to see him suffer, but because you get to play nurse. After so many days being taken care of and scolded by the best doctor in Linkon, you finally get to return the favor. 

Except Zayne isn’t particularly…appreciative of the favor. You’re a very strict nurse, he’s frowned at you several times before. You tell him over and over again that you only want him to feel better, but that doesn’t stop him from holing up in a bunker every time he comes down with something. It’s the only time he avoids you. 

And now, he’s hiding from you. In his own home. 

You know he’s here. When you arrived, his freshly washed car was sparkling in the driveway, a full mug of jasmine tea was still steaming on the kitchen countertop, and various office supplies were left scattered across the coffee table. As if he’d heard you coming and frantically abandoned ship. 

You’d searched the usual spots: his empty bedroom, so pristine it looked like a hotel cleaning crew had stopped by; the walk-in closet, to make sure he hadn’t disguised himself among the hangers; and his study, where there’d been nothing but heaps of paperwork threatening the desk’s structural integrity. 

He’s being extra sneaky this time, you scoff to yourself as you tiptoe around upstairs. Room after room, and no endearingly, adorably, annoyingly stubborn doctor inside. 

But then, pressing your ear to the laundry room door, you hear it. 

The unmistakable crinkle of a candy wrapper.

You’ve never felt so lucky that Zayne reserves his self-control for you and not sweets. 

With a deep breath and a crack of your knuckles, you jiggle the doorknob slightly before bursting into the room. The man inside, hunched over the floor next to a tissue box, jumps at the sudden noise before freezing in place. And then, slowly, shyly, he spins to face you with the wide eyes and stuffed cheeks of a disgruntled hamster. 

Zayne has spent enough time with you to know what the unimpressed look on your face means: Explain yourself. 

“I don’t remember you knocking,” he sniffles curtly, unable to hide the way his stuffy nose constricts his throat. The rosy blush on his cheeks is the only indication of his guilt. 

“I don’t remember signing up to date an escape artist,” you shoot back, satisfied with his resulting wince. “What are you doing all the way in here? Was the space under the desk in your study not suitable this time?” 

“Just wanted a—”sniff—“change of scenery,” he jokes lamely, gesturing to the sleek washer and dryer towering over him. 

Sighing, you crouch down in front of him, taking in the wall of chocolate wrappers barricading him in. “Is the idea of me taking care of you really that bad? I’m just trying to help.” 

“That’s exactly it,” he says dryly. “You always help more than what’s needed.” 

At that, your eyes narrow into slits sharp enough to cut through bone. His bones, if he’s not careful. “Excuse me?” 

“I mean,” he clears his throat, grimacing at the dull burn in his sinuses, “You always help me exactly how I need it, and more.” 

“That’s what I thought you said. Now, come downstairs so I can give you the medicine you need, Dr. Zayne. And hand over the candy.” 

It was no secret that Zayne loved sweet things. The confiscated tub of chocolates sitting on the counter was evidence enough. 

But as you look down at his frowning face, cup of chemically red liquid in hand, you can’t help but wonder if it’s because Zayne loves sweet things that he hates taking medicine. 

Once he’d finally trudged into the kitchen, you’d sat him down on a barstool before fishing the dreaded bottle out of the cabinet. “Why not a lozenge instead?” he’d asked. “One of the citrus ones.” 

You hadn’t fallen for his trap, of course. But as he eyes you like he’ll make a break for it any second now, a weary part of you wishes you had. 

“You know,” you lean in conspiratorially, “they say if you plug your nose, you won’t taste it as much.” 

“Illness doesn’t make me a fool,” he mutters bitterly. “I, more than anyone, know how fruitless that trick often is. It doesn’t even work on the kids in the pediatric ward anymore.” 

“And why would a 27-year-old man need the same encouragement as sick children, I wonder?” you crack slyly. 

Zayne looks away, taking a sudden interest in the floor tiles. 

Snorting, you double-check the dosage in the medicine cup and hold it out to him. He regards it with abject misery, his big, hazel eyes staring up at you pleadingly, and you feel a crack in your resolve.

“Fine,” you grumble, pivoting to raid the pantry behind you. Retrieving the most acceptable pastry you can find—there are about 7 different options—you set the blueberry muffin on the island in front of him. 

At the peace offering, those hazel eyes light up slightly, driving out some of the pallor on his face. With a deep breath, Zayne grunts softly before downing the liquid like a shot, shuddering at the aftertaste. Eyes closed in a lasting grimace, he reaches blindly for the muffin before you push it into his grasp, and he sighs in contentment when he bites into it.

Running a hand through his dark hair, you can’t help but grin fondly. 

If only the pediatric ward could see him now. 

After Zayne recovered from the horrors of modern medicine, he’d sullenly asked for more tea, since the batch he’d made earlier was cold now. Pinching his cheek, you’d sent him to sulk on the living room couch so you could keep an eye on him. Which had worked, for several minutes. You’d gathered the ingredients, and he’d flipped blankly through a journal, intermittent sniffles reassuring you of his presence. 

But as you gawk at the abandoned sofa, you realize he must have ducked you while your back was turned. 

Yep. Definitely an escape artist.

With a frustrated growl, you hurriedly plunk the tea bag in and listen for signs of movement. Hearing the faint clicks of a keyboard, you stomp up the stairs to his study, not caring if the drink in hand sloshes over the rim of his favorite penguin mug. Serves him right.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you snap, setting the cup on his desk to put your hands on your hips.

“Working,” he answers with an innocent upturn of his lips. 

“I mean,” you clarify, “what do you think you’re doing when you should be resting?”

Too distracted to keep typing, Zayne switches his attention to the stack of papers before him. “I feel much better already,” he lies flatly, breaking eye contact when yours bore into his. 

As an incredulous laugh escapes you, you throw your hands up in exasperation. “What would you say to one of your patients if they tried to work through an illness?” 

“I’d say that as a medical professional, I only have the jurisdiction to advise them on the best course of treatment. Once out of hospital care, it’s up to them to exercise judgment and decide if they’re able to work or not. Like I’m doing now,” he retorts, and you almost commend his ability to bullshit such a polished answer.

“Right, of course,” you entertain him sweetly. “So is that why you just scrawled your signature through the bottom of that confidentiality agreement?”

With sluggish alarm, Zayne jerks his head down to survey the damage, and sure enough, his swooping penmanship has rendered the contract illegible.

“How could I have missed the signature line?” he whispers, face aghast with disbelief. “I…I don’t even know what…”

“I do,” you sing triumphantly, walking around to haul him up from his armchair. “I know exactly what’s wrong.” 

The main reason Zayne hates being sick isn’t the symptoms. It isn’t the unneeded pity, the inopportune sick days, or even the insidious slide of what tastes like poison down his throat.  

No. Unfortunately, for your stubborn snowman of a boyfriend, the main reason Zayne hates being sick is simply of his nature: cold medicine makes him terribly drowsy. 

Its heightened effect on him is just like his alcohol intolerance—something in his genes just can’t handle outside influences. 

So as you lead him back to rest on the sofa, laying his head across your lap, it becomes clear you’re now dealing with an oversized koala. 

“You smell nice. I think. I can’t really smell anything,” he murmurs into your navel, tickling your skin with his rhythmic deep breaths. 

“Mm. You smell nice too, under the medicine scent. Like jasmine tea.”

As you gently massage his scalp, he burrows into your stomach, lifting his head up seconds later as if remembering something. 

“Did you d’something different with your hair today? Looks nice,” he slurs, blinking at you with sleep-laced eyes. 

“Yep!” Nope. “Thank you for noticing, Zaynie. So observant even when you’re sick,” you coo, rubbing soothing circles into his back. 

With a delirious hum, he smiles softly at the praise before his gaze lands on your chest, rising and falling above him. “You’re very…warm,” he whispers, baby pink tongue wetting his lips. But just as he leans up to nuzzle into you, you stop him halfway. 

“Oh no, you don’t,” you chide, catching him by the scruff. “Not right now, at least.” 

A quiet sigh is his only resistance, and as he slumps back down, he brings a hand around your waist to leave a lingering kiss on your stomach. 

“Are you tired, Zayne?” you ask, cradling his head in your palms to meet his clouded gaze.

“Mm. I’d like to go to bed now.”

As you turn off the bedside lamp, preparing to leave Zayne in peace for the night, feverishly warm hands pull you down onto the mattress. Lying beside him, you flutter your eyes closed as he presses a tender kiss to your cheek. 

“Aren’t you worried about getting me sick?” you question, raising a brow in the moonlight. 

Chuckling, he shakes his head languidly. “Sinus infections aren’t contagious,” he yawns. “But even if they were, transmission would only give me the chance to look after you in return.”

“Are you sure? Someone once told me I’m too stern of a nurse. I’d hate to be the same way as a patient.” 

Zayne frowns contemplatively as he rests a hand on your hip. “Even though your methods are…involved,” he swallows, “I appreciate the consideration you’ve shown me today. Thank you for taking care of me.” 

“Approval from the illustrious Dr. Zayne,” you whisper, gently tapping his reddened nose. “I hope this means he won’t hide from me next time.” 

As he winces, you can almost see the events of this afternoon replaying in his mind. “If he can help it, there won’t be a next time. But yes, I won’t hide from you again. I truly do feel better with you here beside me.” 

“And you’ll feel even better with proper rest,” you remind him. “Sleep. I’ll stay right here until you do.”

Finally relenting, he turns on his side, holding you to him like a child with a teddy bear. 

And though he’s never believed in them before, when Zayne wakes the next morning, nose clear and fever broken, he thinks you might be a miracle worker. 

“zayne looks somewhat helpless, but he lets you do whatever you want.”

i really love zayne’s character. he means the world to me. i love how gentle his love can be and how close he holds it to his heart.

at first glance, it’s easy to conclude that he’s a man of few words, and fewer emotions. he doesn’t smile often, nor does he laugh, but when he’s with you, he can’t help but let the joyful rush of being next to someone he loves overtake him.

he’s witty, playful, at times even cruel in how he cares for you. he is both unyielding and overly willing when it comes to you. he steals kisses and buys you flowers. he teases you, delightful when your overconfidence falters and your stubborn frustration shines through. he speaks sweetly to you, indulges your extravagance and whimsy, but doesn’t let your naïveté cloud your decisions.

he’s the eye and the storm. blindly he crashes into and through you, before stealing those tranquil moments of a calm embrace. he’s the assurance of a quieter sky come morning.