butterflies ઇଓ matt sturniolo imagines

𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴 ***

content warning:
mentions of negative body image.

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

chris liked to call you tiger. and at first, that might seem weird, but to you it was the best pet name in the world.

     chris is deadly positive. he forces himself to have a positive outlook on everything, and that was something you weren't used to- you were quite the downer, actually. a heavy pessimist. the world was out to get you, and everyone has an evil streak, and all that negative bullshit was your inner monologue for as long as you could remember. chris found that intriguing when you first met; he wanted to know why you hated things so much.
     his positivity annoyed you at first. you didn't like his happy-go-lucky attitude. but he swayed you with his dopey smile, and you had no choice but to learn to appreciate him. and you did.
     being so skeptical of people, letting chris in wasn't easy for you. as a bigger girl, you'd learned to keep your fences high; people often were after something with you, and you'd learned that lesson the hard way too many times. whether it was physical or just mean, people had an ulterior motive behind being kind to you. but instead of breaking your trust, the happy boy disarmed you. he'd barged right into your life and made himself at home in your heart. and when somebody is that close, they see every part of you... especially the parts you don't like.

     for you, that was your stretch marks.

     you saw them as ugly for most of your life. like gashes across your thighs and arms, gross eyesores that drew nothing but bad attention. they made you feel like you'd never be pretty. all the pretty girls never had marks like yours- they had freckles in the right places, or skin so smooth and spotless it looked fake. your stretch marks felt like a reminder that you'd never be enough. but chris didn't see them that way, and he changed everything for you; and his soft spot for them never let you forget, either.

     it was late at night, and the bedroom was quiet. you were sitting on chris's bed with a book in your lap, pillows tucked strategically beneath your knees to prop you up for reading. you were tucked into one of the boy's biggest shirts and a worn pair of pajama shorts that rode up your legs, leaving the skin vulnerable. chris was out with nick and matt and a few of their friends to film some vlog footage, so the apartment was empty; you were relieved to just have some time alone to decompress. normally you'd be out goofing off with them, but tonight you passed. you were feeling particularly drained, and going out would've only made that worse, so you elected to stay home and let them have fun. when chris left, he parted with a sweet kiss and promised to bring you back some food.
     it's been a few hours now, and you were halfway through your book by the time you heard the apartment door click open. loud voices bounced around the hallways, and after a moment a pair of footsteps clomped down the stairs towards you. slowly the bedroom door creaked open, and you saw a messy head of hair with a smile.

     "hello," you chuckled.

     chris made his way inside with a plastic bag and hopped onto the bed, right by your legs. he passed the bag to you and raised his eyebrows excitedly. "while we were out we found a little cuban place. malcolm said he loved the food there, and it was all the stuff you like. i got you a soda, too."

     you unpacked the goods with hungry eyes. inside the styrofoam container was a huge portion of rice, beans, and pork, and there were lumps of sweet plantains along the sides. you pulled a mandarin jarritos out as well, and felt it was still cold. there was a burst of fireworks in your chest as you rummaged through the bag for a fork and shoveled a loaded bite into your mouth.

     "oh my god!" you groaned, a smile spreading across your face like butter. "you need to take me back to this place, i gotta see it for myself. holy shit, this is good!"