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© sophsturns 2026 | est September 2024

Sturniolo Triplets

Billie Eilish

♡About Me♡

19, Italian, Taurus, May, East Coast

♡ Music

Harry Styles, Billie Eilish, Mac Miller, Charlie XCX, Role Model, Sabrina Carpenter , Madison Beer, The Neighborhood, Drake, Party Next Door, The Weeknd

♡ Hobbies

softball, reading, writing, singing, guitar, journaling, traveling, concerts, tanning, shopping, late night drives, beach trips, bedazzling,

♡ Animals

deer, puppies (especially beagles), bunnies, bearded dragons,

♡ Colors

pink, dark red, green, orange

♡ Etc

rapper matt uses your sex tape as ad-libs

You found out by accident.

Sitting cross-legged on the studio couch, you were sipping from a water bottle, scrolling your phone, barely listening as the speakers played the rough mix of Matt’s new track. The beat dark and slow, your favorite kind. But something about the background caught your attention. A soft, breathy moan. Familiar.

Too familiar.

You blinked, looking up, suddenly very aware of the sound coming through the speakers.

Then again. A soft gasp. Followed by a sharp cry.

Your cry.

“Matt.” Your voice was flat, jaw already dropping as the track played on, each beat layered with your moans, whimpers, the wet sound of skin slapping against skin, your ragged breaths.

Matt was leaned back in the producer’s chair, arms folded, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips like he was just waiting for you to figure it out.

Your moans bled into the beat, layered under the bass. Your gasps, your little cries, the sound of your body getting wrecked, all laced into the track like they belonged there.

“…Is this from—” you started, voice barely working. “Matt. Did you use our—”

He nodded once, cocky and slow. “Every sound.”

Your stomach flipped. “You’re sick.”

You stared at him, stunned silent, as the song continued each filthy sound from that night looped and layered into the beat. Your breath hitched when your voice came through again, whispering “fuck, right there” in the background.

Matt stood slowly, coming over to where you sat, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. He didn’t answer you. He just reached down, grabbed your chin, and tilted your head up.

“You said don’t forget you when I’m famous.” he reminded you.

“That’s not what I fucking meant.” You say.

“You hear that?” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “That little whimper? That’s when I had you face down, barely able to think.”

He kissed you, slow and deep, while your own moans echoed from the speakers behind him.

His hand slipped between your legs, pressing through your leggings, and your hips bucked into him on instinct.

“You gonna make some more for me?” he asked, grinning as the beat played behind him, filthy and full of you. “Need some fresh vocals, baby.”

You didn’t answer, not with words.

The pressure of his fingers through your leggings made it impossible to think, let alone speak. The track was still playing behind him, your moans echoing off the studio walls, syncing perfectly with the beat. Each sound you’d made that night turned into something rhythmic, hypnotic. It should’ve been humiliating.

But you were wet. Throbbing.

Matt could feel it, too. His smirk widened as his palm dragged slow, deliberate circles against your cunt.

“Already dripping,” he murmured. “Didn’t even touch you properly yet.”

He didn’t have to.

The idea of him playing you like an instrument all over again, with every dirty sound recorded, captured, used. It had your legs going weak.

He dropped to his knees like it was nothing. Like he belonged there.

And maybe he did.

Fingers hooked the waistband of your leggings, dragging them down until they pooled at your ankles. He didn’t bother taking your panties off, he just pulled them to the side with one knuckle and groaned under his breath.

“Fuck. Missed this pussy.”

His mouth was on you before you could answer.

Tongue hot and messy, licking through your folds, not giving a single fuck about technique. Sucking, slurping, eating like he wanted the mic to catch everything. And it did.

You heard it, heard the wet noises, your gasp, your little cry of “Matt…oh my god” cut through the beat still playing in the background.

He pulled back for half a second, just to smirk up at you. “That mic’s live.”

Your thighs clenched around his head.

“You’re fucking recording this?” you panted, brain swimming.

“Uh-huh.” He flicked his tongue over your clit, fast, wicked.

Your fingers scrambled for balance, clutching the edge of the console behind you as your body writhed under his mouth. He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he devoured you, letting every moan, whimper, and curse get swallowed by the mic.

He was going to use this. Turn your orgasm into a hit.

And god, that just pushed you over the edge.

You came with a cry, back arching, hips grinding against his face, and the mic caught all of it, the tremble in your voice, the broken gasps, the wet suck of his mouth still working you through it.

Matt stood up after, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking cocky as hell.

“You hear that?” he said, nodding toward the playback.

Your orgasm, looped and layered into the beat, already sounded like part of the track.

“Perfect” he said, tugging your panties down the rest of the way. His eyes dragged over your body like he owned it, like he already knew the sound of it breaking apart. “Now bend over, baby.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“Let’s make this track go platinum.”

matt loves making you go dumb for him

It’s been a whole week since you’ve seen Matt. You almost couldn’t control your excitement when he texted you that he was on his way to your house.

Matt was just as eager to see you again, to touch you. Once he walked through the door you barely made it to the bed.

The second Matt shut the bedroom door behind him, his mouth crushed against yours, his hands gripping your hips like he was scared you’d disappear. Clothes came off in frantic, impatient tugs. Your dress shoved up around your waist, his jeans half hanging as he pushed you back onto the mattress.

Your thighs fell open instinctively, legs trembling as he climbed over you, dragging the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds. He didn’t tease, didn’t warn you, just pushed in slow and deep, inch by inch, until your back arched off the bed.

The stretch made your eyes roll back. He was too big, too deep already, and your walls pulsed around him like your body couldn’t decide if it needed more or needed to stop.

You gasped, nails digging into his forearms as he bottomed out.

Matt hissed, jaw clenched tight. “Fuck, baby.”

His hips pulled back, then snapped forward, hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. Again. And again. The bed creaked beneath you with every thrust, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room.

Your mouth fell open but no sound came out, just choked gasps as he fucked into you, rough and relentless. His pace was brutal like he was trying to fuck the week apart from your body.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, instinctive and desperate to keep him close, to feel every sharp, punishing drive of his hips. You were dizzy from it, the sweat slicked skin, the overwhelming pressure building between your legs, the ache in your thighs, the stretch in your cunt.

He leaned down, chest pressed to yours, hand sliding up to wrap lightly around your throat—not squeezing, just holding.

“Feel that?” he muttered against your ear, voice breathless and raw. “Feel how deep I am?”

You tried to nod, but your whole body was too busy shaking. He was everywhere. Inside you, against you, stealing your breath, your thoughts. Your fingers clawed at his back, your pussy fluttering around him with every thrust.

He pulled back slightly just to drive in harder, pulling a whimper from your throat. Your eyes burned as tears began to build up, thighs trembling violently now, slick coating the insides of your legs, soaking the sheets.

“You’re close,” he growled, teeth gritted. “I can feel it.”

You were. Your body was so tight around him it felt like you might snap in half. You couldn’t think, your brain was white noise. Every drag of his cock, every slam of his hips, every ragged breath you pulled in just pushed you closer to the edge.

Your body locked up, then broke apart all at once. Your moan was half sob, half scream, as your orgasm slammed into you, lighting up every nerve ending with sharp, blinding heat.

Matt kept going.

He fucked you through it, harder, faster, dragging out every spasm of your release as your body writhed beneath him.

“S’all you’re good for, huh?” he growled through gritted teeth, pounding into your overstimulated cunt as you whimpered, “just lay there and take it.”

Your vision blurred. You were gone. Barely conscious, body twitching with aftershocks, brain completely empty except for him.

His cock dragged against your walls with each forceful thrust, his hips slamming into yours with a brutal, steady rhythm that had your vision blurring even more.

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t talk?” he taunted, his hands sliding over your body, squeezing your breasts roughly. “That brain gone already?”

You couldn’t respond. Your body was too far gone. Every inch of you overwhelmed by pleasure, your legs shaking, your heart racing, the pressure building deep inside you again. Your cunt was dripping around him, wet with desire and the heat he was building inside you.

He leaned in close, his lips grazing your ear. “Look at you. So fucked out already,” he growled, his thrusts getting harder, his cock stretching you deeper. Your eyes rolled back, tears spilling down your cheeks.

You tried to hold on, but it was impossible. Your body couldn’t take the overload. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing harsh circles over it as his hips slammed into yours.

“Don’t need to think baby,” he muttered, his voice rough with hunger. “Just feel me”.

The words hit you like a shockwave, your body shaking with the intensity of it. You were so close to falling apart again. Every inch of you was screaming for release, but it was just a matter of when.

“Good girl” Matt grunted as he shifted, his movements sharp. “That’s all you know how to be, yeah?”

You barely registered the words. All you could focus on was the way his cock filled you, the way his hands moved over your body, the way his breath fanned against your ear, as your second orgasm built and crashed in a way that left you gasping.

Your eyes fluttered open just as he thrust into you one final time. Your body locked, then broke apart as the final wave of pleasure hit you.

in which chris’s hands turn you on

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long you’ve been watching Chris’s hands move across the keyboard, effortless and unfairly hot. He’s been reviewing ideas for the next Fresh Love release. He’s completely focused, while you’ve been completely distracted.

The way his fingers move and veins flex with each keystroke makes your throat go dry. He scrolls, clicks, and types all casual like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. But you’re hyper aware of the rings hugging his fingers. Of the bracelet sitting on his wrist. Of way his thumb brushes over the spacebar like it’s second nature. Of how unfair it is that something as simple as his hands could make your stomach twist and your thoughts spiral somewhere very far from work.

You shift in your seat, biting your lip, your eyes still locked on his fingers.

“You’re staring,” Chris says without looking up, voice low and amused, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. You blink. “No I’m not.”

He hums, finally turning toward you. “Baby, you’ve watching me type for the past fifteen minutes.” You roll your eyes, cheeks growing warm from being caught in the act. “Maybe I just like watching you work.” you say in defense.

“Oh yeah?” he murmurs, stepping closer, hand trailing along your thigh as he leans in. “Or maybe you’re thinking about how good these fingers feel when they’re somewhere other than keyboard.”

Your breath catches as he settles his hand higher. Just high enough to make your pulse spike, but not high enough to give you what you want. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, teasingly slow.

“I could take a break,” he whispers. “Seems like you need my attention more than these designs do.” he teases.

His fingers press just slightly tighter, the intention clear in the way his eyes drop to your lips, then lower.

But then he grins. “Or…” he pulls back, leaving you warm and wanting, “I could finish this draft and really make it worth your while after, give you exactly what you need” You bite your lip after hearing his offer, one you couldn’t pass up. You eagerly nod your head.

He returns to his computer like nothing happened. His fingers already back on the keyboard, just as dangerous as before.

And now you’re not just staring.

Matt sends you a special video while on his tour bus

Matt only had a short amount of alone time while his brothers were out getting something to eat. He knew exactly what he wanted to do in that time frame.

The second the bus door shuts, Matt’s on the couch, already breathless. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights, the dim glow from a streetlamp outside is perfect. He tugs his sweatpants down just enough with one hand, his phone in the other, camera flipped to face him. He hits record.

“Couldn’t even wait a full minute,” he whispers, eyes dark, glassy. “They’re getting food and all I could think about was you.”

He shifts, biting his lip hard, letting the camera see the tremble in his jaw, the way his lashes flutter as his hand moves below frame.

“I miss you so bad it hurts,” he breathes. “I miss your voice. Your mouth. The way you look at me”

He whimpers softly, raw and involuntary. His hips twitch up into his palm.

“I need you, baby” he gasps. “I need your hands on me. I need your thighs around me. I keep thinking about how warm you are, how good you sound when I’m inside you…”

His breath catches. Another broken whimper leaves his lips, high and shaky. He closes his eyes tight, groaning low like it physically aches not to have you there.

“Wanna come home. Wanna feel you.” he barely gets out.

You can hear the wet sounds of his hand working his cock start to speed up. His camera flips to give you a perfect view. “i’m gonna come—mmfh b-baby, gonna come for you”. He lets out one last whimper as he spills his release all over his hand.