FROSTED FLAKES Pt.2
FROSTED FLAKES pt.2
In the summer of ‘76,, Matt meets a walking social disaster. In simpler terms.. a girl. I know. Matt Sturniolo and girls aren’t exactly a match made in heaven. But maybe this one is an exception?
Matt Sturniolo wasn’t a guy people noticed. He was the one on the edge of every conversation, hands shoved in his pockets, nodding along but never speaking. He existed in the background, the human equivalent of white noise, there, but never quite there. And he was okay with that.
But for some reason, ever since that day at the grocery store, he kept noticing her.
At first, it was just a passing thought. A flash of curls and big brown eyes somewhere in the back of his mind. Then, it was something worse, a weird, nagging feeling, like he was waiting for something. Like maybe he’d run into her again.
Except summer stretched long and hazy, and she didn’t show up anywhere. Not at the record store when he went with Nick. Not at Nate’s house, where the air was thick with the scent of weed and cheap cologne. Not even at the parties Chris dragged him to, where everyone blended together into a blur of voices and smoke and music that wasn’t as good as people thought it was.
So, he forgot. Mostly.
But then school started.
And there she was.
At first, it was just a glimpse in the hallway, like a trick of the light. Then he saw her again, on the front steps, in the cafeteria, at the lockers, in the exact wrong places at the wrong times. And every time, it was like some cosmic joke, like fate was dangling something just out of reach.
He didn’t approach her, of course. Matt Sturniolo did not approach girls.
Chris would. Chris could walk up to any girl, any time, and just talk. Didn’t matter who, didn’t matter where, he had a way of slipping into conversations like he belonged there.
Matt? He was lucky if he could get a sentence out without sounding like an idiot.
So he didn’t talk to her. He just… saw her. More than he should’ve.
It was starting to feel like some kind of setup.
Then came the next morning.
Chris had to go in early for tutoring, something about making up for skipping too many classes last year, so Matt got dragged along for the ride. The school was barely awake yet, the halls stretching empty and hollow.
With nothing else to do, he went to the cafeteria, figuring he’d sit there until people started showing up.
And that’s when he saw her.
She was standing in the breakfast line, her hair a little wilder than usual. She grabbed a little plastic bowl of Frosted Flakes and a carton of milk, shaking the box like she was testing how much was inside.
Matt didn’t mean to stare.
But she must’ve felt it, because right then, she looked up, straight at him.
And smiled.
It wasn’t just a polite smile, either. It was real, bright, warm, like she knew something he didn’t.
Then, before he could even think about looking away, she turned and walked right toward him.
Matt swallowed hard, his hands instinctively tucking into his hoodie pockets as she dropped into the seat across from him, setting her tray down with a little clack.
Matt stiffened, pulse kicking up, every instinct screaming at him to look away, act normal, pretend you weren’t staring like a freak.
“Hey,” she said casually, ripping the plastic lid off her cereal. “You always sit here?”
Matt blinked. He hadn’t expected her to actually talk to him.
He hesitated, then shook his head. “No. My brother had tutoring.”
She tilted her head. “Huh. Didn’t know they did tutoring this early.” Then she scooped up some cereal, chewing thoughtfully before glancing at him again. “You got a name, or should I just call you ‘guy who stares at me from across the room’?”
Matt felt heat creep up his neck. Great. She noticed.
“Sturniolo,” he muttered.
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s a mouthful.”
“Matt,” he amended.
She nodded approvingly. “Better.” Then, after a beat, she slid the bowl of cereal toward him. “Hold this for a sec? Gotta grab a napkin.”
And just like that, she was gone, leaving him sitting there, staring down at a bowl of soggy Frosted Flakes.
Matt exhaled, running a hand down his face.
This girl was gonna be a problem.
Matt sat stiffly, staring down at the bowl of Frosted Flakes like it was some kind of test. The milk was already turning sugary and pale, the cereal floating lazily on top. He didn’t dare touch it.
Across the cafeteria, she was rifling through the napkin dispenser, curls bouncing with every movement. Like she wasn’t even thinking about the fact that she’d just sat down with him. Like this wasn’t weird at all.
Matt felt his throat tighten.
She didn’t even know who he was. She probably sat down because he looked alone, and people like her had a way of making things less awkward for the ones who didn’t fit in. It didn’t mean anything.
So why was he sitting here like his entire morning had just been thrown off course?
Before he could think too much about it, she was back, napkin in hand, sliding into her seat like she belonged there. She pulled the cereal back in front of her, barely sparing him a glance before she dug in again.
“Thanks, Matt.”
His stomach did something weird at the way she said his name. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like they’d always been friends.
He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
She grinned mid-bite, like she could hear the awkwardness in his voice.
“So, do you, like, not eat breakfast, or do you just enjoy staring at people while they eat?”
Matt frowned, crossing his arms. “I don’t stare.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Mmm.”
“I don’t,” he insisted, but it came out weak, because, well… maybe he had been looking at her more than he should’ve.
She didn’t push it, just smirked like she knew something he didn’t. “Alright, not-staring-Matt, what’s your deal?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Like, what’s your thing?” she said, waving her spoon. “Everyone’s got something. You a football guy? A stoner? One of those weird band kids?”
Matt hesitated. He could’ve told her about movies, about the hours he spent watching and rewatching old foreign films no one else cared about. About the way music sounded different on vinyl, how he had a whole crate of records stacked in his room. But all of that felt… too personal.
So he just shrugged. “Dunno.”
She sighed dramatically. “God, you’re so cryptic.”
“I’m not cryptic,” he muttered.
“You totally are,” she said, shaking her head. “I bet you’re, like, the brooding type. Probably lean against lockers all mysterious, making girls wonder what your deal is.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “Yeah. That’s me. Real mysterious.”
She laughed, and Matt didn’t realize how much he liked the sound of it until it was already out there, loud and full and unfiltered.
For a second, they just sat there, her eating, him sitting there, unsure of why he wasn’t getting up, why he wasn’t saying something stupid to ruin the moment.
Then—
“Hey, there you are.”
Matt’s shoulders tensed as he heard Chris’s voice.
He turned to see his brother strolling toward the table, looking like he owned the place, because Chris always looked like that. His grayish-purple shirt was half unbuttoned, his dark hair tousled in that effortless way that made girls trip over themselves.
And, of course, he noticed her immediately.
Chris slid into the seat next to Matt, grinning lazily at her. “Hey. Who’s your friend?”
Matt opened his mouth to say I don’t know, but before he could, she answered for him.
“Sage.” She stuck out a hand. “And you must be the brother?”
Chris took her hand like he was some kind of movie star, shooting her the most flirty smile, which Matt knew all too well. “of course.”
Matt groaned, dropping his head into his hands.
He could already tell, this was about to get so much worse.
@issysh3ll
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More Posts from Lovelymylene and Others
I told one of my teachers I wanted to work at a country club and he looked at me with pure terror. The things he told me GIRLS DONT DO IT. THE BAG ISNT WORTH IT.
martin as early 2000s older brother core
70s teenage dirtbag hamzah meeting reader at some old vhs place and immediately gushing to martin abt her ...
the WARRIORS
teenage dirtbag hamzah and reader
summary.. A chance encounter at a dusty VHS store leaves Hamzah completely hooked.. now all he can do is rewind the moment in his head and gush to Martin like an idiot.
VHS & Chill was the kind of place that smelled like stale popcorn and forgotten cigarette smoke, the scent of dust settling over old plastic cases stacked on wire racks. The sign outside flickered weakly, a busted neon “Open” buzzing against the quiet hum of the street. It wasn’t the busiest spot in town, most kids preferred the drive-in or the record store, but Hamzah liked it here. The silence. The low hum of a TV in the background playing something grainy and forgotten. The feeling that no one was really watching him, that he could just exist.
Martin, on the other hand, didn’t give a damn about silence. He was already flipping through tapes, tossing titles at Hamzah like he was quizzing him. The Last Picture Show? “Depressing.” Enter the Dragon? “Classic.” Harold and Maude? “Kinda weird, but I dig it.” Hamzah let out a breath, running a hand over his buzzed head, before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out his camera. It was second nature at this point, filming the nothingness of his days, capturing the way life looked when you weren’t really a part of it.
And then she walked in.
Hamzah didn’t even notice her at first, not really. Just the soft jingle of bracelets, the scuff of thick rubber soles against linoleum. It wasn’t until she passed by, the scent of vanilla and something deeper, warmer, hitting him like a sucker punch, that he actually looked up. Her hair framed her face perfectly, like one of those actresses in French films he pretended to understand, and she was wearing these shoes, chunky, broken-in, the kind that made a girl look like she could stomp you out if she wanted. A black baby tee, gold jewelry catching the dim light, making her look untouchable, unreal.
Hamzah stared.
And then Martin, the menace, clocked him immediately. “Oh, hell no,” he whispered, grinning. “Don’t even say it.”
“I—” Hamzah started, but Martin cut him off.
“Dude. Every time.”
“This is different.”
“It’s never different.”
Hamzah huffed, gripping his camera like it might stabilize him. “She looks like she has good taste.”
“She just walked in, man.”
“And?”
Martin just shook his head, amused, but Hamzah could feel it, the inevitable. The way he was already forming theories in his head. What movies she liked. What kind of music she listened to when no one was around. If she’d think his camera thing was weird or if she’d let him interview her with that lazy, amused look that pretty girls always had when he got too in his head.
She was flipping through the cult classics section now, rings glinting as she ran her fingers over the spines of old VHS tapes. Hamzah was not gonna go up to her. Absolutely not. His social skills were limited to Martin and his cats, and he was barely holding onto those. But then.. then she grabbed The Warriors, tilting her head like she was debating it.
Hamzah’s mouth moved before his brain did. “That’s a good one.”
She turned, surprised, and for a second, he thought maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut. But then.. she smiled. Not big, not showy, just enough for him to see the amusement behind her eyes.
“Yeah?” she said, flipping the tape in her hands. “Think it’s worth it?”
Hamzah swallowed, nodding. “Definitely.”
And just like that, Martin was grinning like a devil over his shoulder, and Hamzah knew he was doomed.
The second she walked out the door, the little bell jingling behind her, Hamzah let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. He turned to Martin, eyes wide, heart still stuttering in his chest like an old car refusing to start.
“Oh, man,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, man.”
Martin just stared at him, arms crossed, already smirking like he’d been waiting for this moment. “Here we go.”
Hamzah ignored him. He was still staring at the door, like maybe she’d come back, like maybe he’d get another chance to act like a normal human being around her.
“Did you see her?” he asked, half in a daze. “Like, actually see her? The shoes, man. The jewelry. She smelled like—I don’t even know, but I think I just got cursed or something. That was—I think I’m actually losing my mind.”
Martin snorted. “Dude, she bought The Warriors. That’s literally the bare minimum.”
Hamzah whipped his head toward him, scandalized. “The bare minimum?! That’s cinematic taste, Martin. That’s culture.”
Martin held up his hands. “Okay, okay, relax, movie nerd. So what, you gonna actually talk to her next time?”
Hamzah groaned, tipping his head back. “I did talk to her.”
“Telling a girl a movie is ‘good’ doesn’t count as talking, dumbass.”
Hamzah let out another sigh, glancing back at the door. His camera was still clutched in his hands, fingers drumming anxiously against the side. Next time, he thought. If there was a next time.
And God, he really wanted there to be a next time.
I accidentally got lost in the sauce and stayed up all night writing this and now I’m running off no sleep..
@issysh3ll
taglist.. @italiansunsetss @b1gba113r @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @sweetangelgirl7 @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @cwemetrys @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @rempessturniolo
enemies to lovers hate lwk warranted cause why are u beefing every ten minutes just to end up together like wtf
THIS. Like I get so impatient like it’s so cringey yk u wanna kiss why are u acting slow? If im enemies with someone I couldnt even be in the same room as them.. how are yall fuckin 6 minutes later? Stand on business
Relationships are so scary cause what if fine shyt likes his brother more than me.
Does anyone wanna follow eachother on Pinterest and share cute boards and stuff my pins are so bland🙁
UGH
okay okay but hear me out right. slow soft sex with saxon who gets super freaked out because he was trying to do his usual thing and then it got real vulnerable all of a sudden and he doesn’t know how to feel about it after….BUT he knows it got vulnerable because he actually felt safe with her and blah blah blah or whatever. i think about him. that man needs to be fucked real gentle and lovingly or something.
anon, I like the way your mind works… I’ve added some plot to this though so bear with me in the first half…
let me be in your life like that ft. Saxon Ratliff
MDNI 18+
cw: obsessive(?) Saxon, established relationship, fluff, p in v (unprotected), “babe” as a pet name, mentions of oral (f! receiving), mentions of cheating (not followed through)
a/n: re-read it and now I have to write rafe & him tag teaming or something... idk the things going on in my head are devious rn. Title inspired by Ariana Grande’s “west side”
Not that SAXON RATLIFF ever thought of himself as the loyal kind, but he’s just been so uninterested in any girl other than you. Well, any one other than you. Understand that he would never admit that he’s a shit boyfriend; in every relationship before this, there was always a point where he’d wake up to realize how little he cared for his current partner. There was a whole twitter “exposé” at one point from one of the sorority girls he dated. Something about how much of a douchebag he was and that “he’s the equivalent to a community bike.” So with that in mind, he can’t help but be confused about his current predicament.
He’s away from you, on some business trip in the Outer Banks to close up a deal with some investors. Really, it’s more like a vacation; hot girls in the most scantily clad bikinis, (other) out of touch nepo babies on their week long vacation trip, and all the great restaurants, of course.
But get this, he can’t get his dick up. Like at all. Every time, he would bring someone back to his room, and bam! He’s got whiskey dick. Not that he could even fall back on that. Half of the time, he wasn’t even drunk. He’s never had this problem before. Rather, the opposite. Always needing another warm body. Always needing someone new. Which is why it’s such a perplexing experience to come to terms that he’s being haunted by you. From his wet dreams to any time he’s getting hard, it’s always about you, you, you.
So, maybe he needs to fuck you out of his system. Have his way with you on his bed, in the bathroom, in his car. And when that doesn’t work out, he figures he needs to go to your place; smell your sheets when he has you pressed into him, use your shampoo when he’s got you in the shower, eat you out as breakfast on your kitchen counter. Just anything to work you out of his head.
He thinks it’s finally working. He’s over at your place again, nose buried in your hair to smell that fresh shampoo as your legs dangle over his shoulders. Y’know, to really ram into your cervix. He swears he’s starting to feel that same sort of boredom he’s gotten with all his past relationships. Suppose that after today, he’ll be done with you and onto the next.
But, he makes a mistake. He kisses you. And it doesn’t feel like those “heat-of-the-moment” kisses. Matter of fact, it’s something much too foreign to him. Your nose is bumping his, and your lips are entirely too soft. How is it that the way he’s fucking you is so savage, but every touch of you makes him confront those weird butterflies in his stomach? How has he never noticed how you scrunch your nose? That you laugh with your whole chest? Or how your smile lines enrich your expression?
“Saxon?” You’ve got lilt to your voice that he can’t bring himself to snap out of. “You good?”
Somehow, you don’t even realize what you’re doing with your eyes.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”
“What are you talking about, you weirdo?” God, how is it that even your giggle is infectious?
He rolls his hips slowly, almost experimentally. He catches how you gasp a bit at that, rolling once more at a much slower pace.
“Please, babe, keep doing that.” Your legs are around his waist now, but he’s taking his time rocking back and forth, reveling at how your breath hitches when he circles your bud.
You’re kissing at his shoulders, hand massaging through his hair, and he doesn’t ever want to leave this moment. He whines at how you’re touching him. Soft, high moans that sort of catch you off guard. It makes you feel so good to know he’s enjoying himself though.
He’s kissing the nape of your neck, leaving deep hickeys in his wake. Then he’s at your lips again, gently. As if he’s scared he’s going to break you. As if all the time before he wasn’t going crazy on you.
“Ugh, I think I’m going to…” Saxon is rutting into you now, fingers still on your clit.
“Okay, fuck, don’t pull out…”
“huh?”
“Inside! Just cum inside!”
Your legs are tied around him, and you’re so tight that Saxon couldn’t even pull out if he wanted to. He’s so deep in you that he wouldn’t even be surprised if you told him your Plan B didn’t work out. He figures he would cross that bridge when he gets there.
For now, he’d rather enjoy basking in the heat of the sunlight to cuddle you with.
Lady Gaga ahs hotel
BOTH. AT THE SIME TIME. guys i neeeeed requests for the white lotus s3
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