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izzylovesmatt · 16 days ago

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I LOVE YOU, IM SORRY 018

Final Chapter: Built on Tears, Made of Light

warning: angst, sexual content, and more that I don't condone.

Y/N: Six Months Later

The waves breathe in and out, and I breathe with them.

For the first time in a long time, I’m not trying to be okay.

I’m just… here. Sitting in damp sand, wrapped in a hoodie two sizes too big, the sleeves pushed over my fingers, my toes buried in the cold. My face is turned toward the sea like it might whisper answers if I stay still enough.

It’s quiet out here. Lonely, in a healing kind of way.

I’ve spent every day since stepping carefully over the pieces, trying not to cut myself too deep. Some wounds still bleed when I touch them. Others are finally just scars.

I’ve forgiven him.

I’m still learning how to forgive myself.

The cheating.

Matt.

Chris.

Milo.

The silence.

The rage.

The love that never stopped burning even after the match went out.

I close my eyes.

For a second, I feel it again, the version of me that used to dream about Matt’s last name behind mine, about toddlers with sleepy blue eyes, about Christmas mornings and shared coffee and decades of small moments that built a life.

And then I hear it.

That voice.

Like the wind pulled it from my memory and placed it behind me.

“Y/N?”

My whole body stills.

I turn.

Matt.

Standing there with the ocean at his back, barefoot in the sand, holding his daughter. Wrapped in a yellow blanket, head against his chest, eyes wide and alert, as if the world is something brand new.

He looks older. Tired in the eyes, fuller in the face. But there’s still something soft about him. Like time carved away the sharp edges but left the sadness.

“Can I sit here?” He asks.

I don’t say anything. I just nod.

He walks toward me, slow and unsure, and sits beside me in the sand.

“She likes the ocean,” he says. “She’s calm here.”

I smile faintly. “Me too.”

He looks down at her. She’s clutching his thumb. His entire world in a fist the size of a plum.

“She’s beautiful,” I whisper.

“She is,” he says. “And strong.”

We fall into silence.

My voice is raw when I finally speak again.

“I always thought my ending would be you and me. A little version of us running in the yard. Me in a white dress, long train dragging through grass. I thought we’d grow old together, be buried in the same place, have cats, dogs, grandkids. All of it.”

He closes his eyes. I watch his jaw tighten.

“But we didn’t make it,” I add. “And I’ve spent months trying to understand why.”

“I failed you,” he says quietly.

I shake my head. “We failed each other.”

Then I look at the baby again.

“Can I hold her?”

He hesitates, but only for a second, before handing her over gently. She fits into my arms like she’s always belonged there. Like some strange cosmic joke. Like a ‘what if’ made flesh.

She blinks up at me, tiny fists curled. She doesn’t cry. She just watches me like she knows I’m someone important, even if she doesn’t understand why.

“I wanted this,” I whisper. “I wanted her. With you.”

A tear slips down my cheek.

Matt doesn’t speak. He just watches. I know he feels it too.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice shaking. “For what I did. With Chris. It was never about revenge. It was pain. And loneliness. And wanting to feel something that didn’t hurt.”

He nods slowly. “I get it.”

“I know it’s fucked up. I know I crossed a line.”

“You weren’t the only one,” he murmurs. “I started it. I set the fire. I lit the match and walked away.”

We sit there, the tide inching closer.

“I never stopped loving you,” I whisper.

His eyes meet mine. “I didn’t either.”

I glance down at the baby, her lashes fluttering. “But I don’t want you back.”

Matt exhales, like that hurts more than anything else I’ve said.

“And yet,” I continue, “it still feels like I can’t let you go.”

He swallows hard. “You’re the reason I still believe in real love. Even if I lost it.”

The tears come freely now. I hand her back, gently, like returning a part of myself I wasn’t meant to keep.

He cradles her close.

I wipe at my face, even though I know I’ll cry again later.

“She’s perfect,” I say. “Please take care of her.”

“I will,” he says. “I promise.”

“And if you ever tell her about me,” I say, looking at the ocean, “tell her I forgave her father.”

He pauses. His voice thick. “I will.”

Matt stands, rocking her gently in his arms. The wind tugs at the hem of his shirt. I stay sitting.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

I look up at him one last time. My heart squeezes, but I smile. “Goodbye, Matt.”

And then he walks away.

I stay.

Letting it all sink in, the past, the hurt, the growth.

When I finally check my phone, there’s a message waiting.

Milo💕:

I hope you know I’ll be here, waiting for you.

No matter how long it takes.

I don’t reply. Not yet.

But I press my palm over my heart.

And for the first time in what feels like years, I whisper:

“I’m going to be okay.”

I sit still for a while after he’s gone.

The ocean keeps moving like nothing ever happened. The waves don’t know about us, about Matt and me, about all the versions of love we tried and failed to keep. The water just rises, crashes, recedes. Again and again. Without shame. Without apology.

The sand under me is cold, but I don’t feel frozen anymore.

I’m not angry.

I’m not aching.

I’m not even sad the way I expected to be.

I’m just… full.

Not of regret, not of resentment, just the reality of it all.

We loved.

We lost.

We hurt each other in ways we’ll never fully understand.

But we survived it.

I survived it.

Slowly, I press my hands to the sand and push myself up to stand. My legs feel heavy at first, like they’ve been holding the weight of years. But then I plant my feet firmly beneath me, brush the hair from my face, and let the breeze wrap around me.

I look out over the horizon, letting the sea air sting my cheeks and dry the last of the tears.

That was the goodbye I never got.

The one I used to imagine over and over, rehearsing what I’d say if I ever saw him again.

And it didn’t come with fireworks or screaming or a desperate I love you, I’m sorry.

It came with quiet. With honesty. With a baby girl laying on his chest, and the echo of the life we didn’t get to build.

It was soft.

And it was enough.

And for the first time since everything fell apart, I feel like I can take the next step without dragging him behind me.

I let my eyes flutter shut for a second, breathing deep.

This is what peace feels like.

Not forgetting. Not replacing.

Just finally being able to let go.

I open my phone again and stare at Milo’s message.

“I hope you know I’ll be here, waiting for you. No matter how long it takes.”

And maybe I’m not ready to answer.

Maybe I won’t be for a while.

But I smile, just a little.

Because I know now, I will be.

MATT:

The apartment’s quiet except for the sound of a lullaby playing softly in the background. Light filters in through the curtains, warm, gold, comforting in the way late afternoon sometimes feels.

I’m sitting on the couch, my daughter asleep in my arms, her tiny hand curled around the collar of my hoodie.

Avery’s in the other room on the phone with her OB. She’s twelve weeks pregnant.

Again.

She’s excited. Nervous. Planning names already.

And I’m trying to be everything I wasn’t the first time.

More present. More steady. More… something.

But I won’t lie to myself.

The joy I feel, it’s real, but it’s dulled.

Because it came from a life I never really meant to build.

We’re not broken, Avery and I.

We function. We share laughs. We have a rhythm now. We moved into this two-bedroom apartment on the east side, closer to her mom’s, decorated it in muted tones and soft furniture. We’re trying.

But love?

It’s not the kind that keeps you up at night in a good way.

It’s quiet. Convenient. Comfortable.

And sometimes I catch myself looking at her and remembering YN.

It happens in the smallest moments.

Like when we go to the beach.

Or when Avery plays old songs in the car, once, she played “And I Love Her” by The Beatles, and I swear I felt the earth tilt under me.

Because that song will never not be YN.

The first time I saw her in that stupid backyard.

The first time I thought, That’s her. That’s the girl.

And now… she’s gone.

We haven’t spoken since that day at the beach.

She held my daughter like she’d dreamed her into existence. And then she let her go. She let me go. And that’s something I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

But I didn’t chase her.

Because I knew the goodbye we had…

was the one she needed.

Chris and I are good again now.

It took time.

Time and a few ugly arguments and one night where we both got high and didn’t say anything for three hours. But when he told me he was dating someone seriously, a girl named Kelly with a loud laugh and freckles, I saw something soft in him I hadn’t seen in years.

He still teases me. But I think he’s finally forgiven me.

And maybe I’ve finally forgiven myself too.

Even Nick and I have been better. He comes over every Sunday to eat half the food in our fridge and play with the baby like she’s made of magic. Sometimes I think he misses YN too. Quietly. Like we all do.

I look down at the little girl sleeping on my chest.

Her mouth twitches in her sleep, maybe dreaming.

Her lashes are long. Her cheeks flushed.

Her name still tastes like YN when I say it out loud.

I rest my chin gently on her head and close my eyes.

I don’t know if I’ll ever fully stop loving YN.

Not in the way I did.

Not in the way that cost me everything.

But I’m learning to love this version of my life.

The one I never saw coming.

The one I have now.

MATT: Couple Months Later

It’s spring.

We’re out on a sunny afternoon, me, Chris, and Nick, sitting at an outdoor table downtown. It’s one of those rare quiet Saturdays where no one’s filming, no one’s arguing, and the world feels… almost easy.

Chris is sipping a soda and arguing with Nick about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza. I’m just watching people pass by on the sidewalk, pushing strollers, holding iced coffees, laughing like the world didn’t break last year.

And then, like the universe has impeccable timing, I see her.

YN.

She’s across the street, standing beside a guy.

Her hand’s in his.

She’s laughing at something he said, her head tilted back, hair caught in the breeze.

She looks… happy.

Like glowing-from-the-inside happy.

Like she finally stepped out of that storm she was stuck in for years.

She’s in a pale pink dress, the kind she used to say made her feel soft. Her eyes scan the sidewalk, unbothered, free.

I freeze.

Nick sees her first too. He goes still mid-sip, lips parting like he’s seeing a ghost that isn’t quite a ghost anymore. Chris notices a second later, he doesn’t speak, but his jaw tenses, and he shifts back in his seat.

“She looks good,” Nick says quietly.

“She looks.. happy, like herself again,” Chris adds.

And they’re right.

She doesn’t look like the girl I watched cry in my bedroom. Or the one who walked barefoot into the ocean just to feel something. Or the one who kissed my brother like she was trying to forget me.

She looks like someone who healed.

He leans in and whispers something in her ear, and she smiles so wide it scrunches her nose. She reaches up and fixes his hair, like it’s instinct. And when the crosswalk signal turns green, they walk together, fingers still laced.

She doesn’t see us.

And maybe that’s for the best.

Because for the first time since everything shattered, I don’t feel angry. I don’t feel jealous. I don’t even feel the ache I thought I would.

I just feel… proud.

Of her. Of me. Of what we survived.

Chris claps me on the shoulder once and stands up. “Come on. Let’s get another drink.”

I nod. Nick’s already walking ahead.

But I take one last look.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving her.. not in the deep, permanent way.

But that love?

It doesn’t burn anymore.

It just glows, quiet, respectful, and from a distance.

I let go.

And then I follow my brothers inside.

Y/N: EPILOGUE

There’s a strange kind of peace you get when you get the closure you needed.

When the storm inside you quiets.

When you stop needing answers to sleep at night.

When you stop waiting for someone to come back just to explain why they left.

I don’t flinch when I hear his name anymore.

I don’t stalk his page.

I don’t ache like I used to.

But sometimes, when it rains hard against the windows, or I pass by the parking lot where he once spun me in circles, I feel it.

The ghost of us.

The ache that never fully died.

I’m engaged now.

Milo asked me last month, on a quiet Sunday morning with pancakes and bedhead and no big performance.

I said yes without shaking.

We’re getting married next August.

And I know, truly know, he’s the kind of man who will show up for the boring days, not just the beautiful ones.

The kind who reads my moods like weather.

Who kisses my forehead when I forget how to breathe.

Who looks at me like I’m still magic even after I’ve told him every broken thing I’ve ever done.

He’s steady.

He’s warm.

He’s mine.

I love him.

Not with the chaos I once thought was love, but with something quieter, deeper, like roots growing in the dark.

A kind of love that doesn’t demand I earn it.

A kind of love that lets me be held without being hurt.

He makes me feel like I’m enough, just as I am.

And that’s a kind of happiness I never thought I’d get to have.

But if I’m being honest—

Deep in my soul, there’s a piece of me that still wishes it was Matt.

I don’t say it out loud.

Not to Milo. Not even to myself most days.

Because what would be the point?

Matt chose a different life.

He chose someone else.

Twice.

He’s a father now.

Living in a home that once could’ve been ours.

Loving someone who looks like me, but isn’t me.

Maybe that’s why it still lingers, because he never let me go gently.

He tore it out of me.

And still…

He’s the love that never fully left.

The storm that passed, but carved the coastline forever.

Milo knows about Matt.

He knows I was in love with him. That I got with his brother. That the whole thing was messy and brutal and nothing I’m proud of.

But he doesn’t know that sometimes, when he’s asleep beside me, snoring softly into my shoulder, I still think of Matt’s laugh echoing through an old kitchen at 1 a.m.

He doesn’t know that some songs still hurt.

That some part of me still checks the weather in the city where Matt lives now.

It’s not that I want him back.

I don’t.

But there’s no version of my life where Matt didn’t change me.

Break me.

Shape me.

Burn me and leave me raw.

And that’s the thing about love like that:

You don’t always carry it by choice.

Sometimes, it becomes part of your bloodstream.

A quiet, permanent scar under your skin.

But I’m done bleeding for him.

I’m choosing something soft now.

Something real.

Something that doesn’t ask me to shrink or chase or beg.

Because Milo?

Milo is the kind of love that builds.

He’s patient with the parts of me still healing.

He never made me prove I was over Matt, he just waited until I was ready to be loved right.

And I’m ready now.

This is my happy ending.

Not the one I once begged for.

But the one I fought to become whole enough to receive.

Because the truth is:

A man can have everything, your heart, your loyalty, a home, and still cheat.

Not because you weren’t enough.

But because he never learned how to hold enough inside himself.

Maybe she thinks she won.

Maybe she looks in the mirror and sees a life she took.

But a house built on another woman’s tears never stands.

And one day, that truth will rattle the walls of her quiet mornings, too.

I don’t hate him.

I don’t want revenge.

I’m not jealous anymore.

But I’ll always remember the way it felt when he made me feel like home, then locked the door behind him.

Matt will always be a love I carry.

Not the kind I run back to.

Not the kind that still owns me.

But the kind that lives in the echo of what could’ve been.

And now?

Now I’m learning to let that echo fade.

I stand taller.

I cry less.

And when I look at my future, I don’t flinch.

Because I chose myself.

And then I chose love again.

Not the explosive kind.

Not the kind that ruined me.

But the kind that holds me steady.

The kind that doesn’t ask me to bleed to prove I’m alive.

And finally, finally,

I’m free.

I hope you all enjoyed this story as much as I loved sharing it with you. Your support, encouragement, and thoughtful messages have meant the world to me throughout this entire journey. It’s been such a rewarding experience to see so many of you connect with the characters, the plot, and all the emotions in between. As for what’s next, while this chapter has come to a close, I’m definitely not going anywhere. I’ll be staying active with AU’s and smaller ideas for now. But when it comes to full-length stories, I’m honestly not sure when, or if I’ll be starting another one anytime soon. I’m giving myself space to rest, reflect, and feel inspired again without pressure.. Until then, thank you again for being here. I appreciate every single one of you. 💛

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izzylovesmatt · 17 days ago

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I LOVE YOU, IM SORRY 017

Chapter Seventeen: Wrong Bed, Right Grief.

warning: angst, sexual content, and more that I don't condone.

Y/N: Continuation..

The seconds stretch and bend like they don’t want to end. My phone’s screen glows cold in the dark room, the quiet hum of the city outside leaking through the cracked window.

I sit on the edge of the couch, heart drumming in my ribs. My hands won’t stop trembling, and every breath feels too sharp, too loud in the silence.

I don’t know what I’m about to walk into. Or if I’m even ready. But I need someone.

Someone who sees the pieces before they shatter.

Then, headlights flash outside, bright, familiar. My stomach twists. My throat tightens.

I stand, pacing, biting the inside of my cheek until it bleeds a little. My feet hesitate at the door. What if I regret this? What if he regrets this? What if-

Knock.

Soft.

Steady.

It’s him.

My heart catches like it’s caught in a wire trap.

I hurry to the door, hands shaking as I twist the knob. I don’t look through the peephole, don’t wait for permission.

I just open it.

There he stands.

Chris.

Same messy curls, hoodie and sweatpants hanging low around his waist. His dark eyes search mine, cautious but warm, like he’s trying to read the storm in me.

The faint scent of pine and something smoky clings to him. The kind of smell that somehow feels like home and danger all at once.

Before either of us can say a word, my body betrays me. I step forward and wrap my arms around him, tight. Desperate. Like I’m trying to anchor myself to something real.

He stiffens for a moment, like he’s surprised by the sudden need. But then his arms close around me too, solid and steady.

I bury my face in his chest, breathing in the faint, familiar scent. It’s the kind of comfort I haven’t known in months. The kind that quiets the noise inside my head, if only for a little while.

His hands move slowly up my back, rubbing small, soothing circles. The warmth seeps through my thin shirt and melts a little bit of the cold that’s been inside me.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, like a lifeline.

For a moment, I don’t say anything. I just hold on.

Because sometimes, words don’t matter.

Sometimes, all you need is someone who won’t let go.

I let go of him, just barely, but I don’t move far. My hands are still on his chest, my fingers still curled into the fabric of his hoodie like I’m afraid he’ll disappear.

The silence between us stretches, heavy and full. My body’s still humming from the hug, from how tightly he held me, how solid he felt.

And I don’t know what comes over me, but I kiss him.

It’s quick, messy, thoughtless, more of a flinch than a move, and I pull back immediately, heart pounding in my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, voice too breathless. “I shouldn’t have—”

But he doesn’t say anything.

He just stares at me. Really stares.

Then he steps forward and kisses me back.

This time, it’s slower, not sweet, not soft, but intentional. There’s nothing careful about the way his mouth moves against mine. It’s firmer, rougher than I remember being touched in months. His hand slides around my waist, and I feel it, how easily it fits there. Like he knows where to grab, how to hold me.

It’s so different from Matt.

Matt was always gentle, nervous almost. Chris touches me like he’s already sure I want this. Like he doesn’t second-guess it.

His grip isn’t shy. His fingers press into the curve of my lower back like he’s memorizing the shape of me, like he’s felt it in a dream.

And fuck… maybe I’m losing it, but it feels good. Not soft, not comforting, it feels real.

My back hits the inside of my front door before I realize we’ve moved.

His hand fists the bottom of my tank top, not pulling it up, not yet, just holding it, anchoring me.

“I didn’t come here for this,” he murmurs, voice low, lips still brushing mine.

“I know,” I whisper back. “I didn’t text you for this.”

But here we are.

And his hand is still on me.

And mine’s fisting the collar of his hoodie.

I close my eyes, breathing shallow. “You touch different than he did,” I say, almost too quiet. “Like you don’t even have to think about it. Like you already know where I want you.”

He doesn’t reply right away.

But his hand tightens at my waist.

“I don’t know what this is,” I say again, truth catching in my throat. “But I feel like I’m burning alive, and you’re the only thing that doesn’t hurt.”

His forehead presses against mine.

“You shouldn’t be saying that to me,” he mutters. “But I’m not gonna lie and say I haven’t wanted to hear it.”

Then he kisses me again, and this time, there’s no guilt between us.

Only heat.

Only ache.

Only the sound of two people crossing a line they can never uncross.

I don't remember locking the door.

Maybe I didn't.

Chris's hands are already on my hips, pressing me back until I feel the wall behind me again, cool against my shoulder blades, the contrast jarring.

My breath stutters as his mouth finds mine with more force this time.

This isn't slow.

It's not romantic.

There's no pretense of love in this.

It's need.

His tongue slides against mine, hot and hungry, like he's been waiting for this, maybe not tonight, but forever.

His fingers dig into my thighs when he lifts me, and I gasp, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

He doesn't ask.

He doesn't hesitate.

Matt used to ask before he touched me, always slow and soft, like he was scared he'd hurt me, it was adorable.

Chris holds me like he knows I want to be handled. Like I've been starving for this kind of pressure, this weight, this control.

He carries me down the hall, barely able to keep his mouth off me long enough to see.

When we crash through my bedroom door, it's not graceful, it's messy and fast and desperate.

Clothes are gone in a blur.

His hoodie.

My tank top.

His shirt.

My Jeans.

I don't even think we speak.

But his eyes, God, his eyes, never leave mine. Even when he drops me onto the bed like I weigh nothing, even when he kneels above me, tracing rough hands down my body like he's memorizing bruises he hasn't made yet.

"You needed this, didn't you?" he mutters, voice low, hoarse, like gravel.

I nod, breath ragged. "Yes."

His hand wraps around my throat, not tight, just there. A reminder of how easily he could break me in half.

But he won't.

He knows better than to treat me like glass.

Matt never figured that out.

Chris already knows.

He fucks me like he's angry.

Not at me, at the world.

At whatever made this night happen.

And I let him.

I want him to.

My back arches, nails digging into his shoulders, mouth open on a cry l don't even recognize as mine.

It's not pretty.

It's not sweet.

It's raw.

It's wrong.

And it feels so right.

His hands don't tremble. His rhythm doesn't falter. He doesn't slow down to ask if I'm okay because he knows I am, maybe more okay than I've been in months.

Because someone is finally touching me like they see me.

Not like I'm something to preserve.

But like I'm something to devour.

He pulls out only to flip me, rough hands pressing into the small of my back, and I gasp again, this time louder, messier. My face hits the pillow and I let it. I take it.

And when he thrusts back into me, it's harder, deeper, and I cry out his name before I can stop myself.

"Chris—"

He groans, low and strained, gripping my hips like he's trying to stay tethered.

"Say it again," he growls.

I do.

I don't even think.

"Chris."

We break together, not in sync, not perfectly timed, but fucking ruined.

And when it's over, there's no cuddling.

Just heavy breathing.

Sweaty skin.

My face still in the pillow.

His weight still over me.

And silence.

The kind that says we did something irreversible.

The silence stretches long. Too long.

My heartbeat has slowed, but everything else inside me is still loud.

Chris doesn’t move at first. Just sits on the edge of the bed, shirtless, his shoulders rising and falling with every steady breath.

Then, without a word, he leans back, crawling toward me like gravity’s pulling him in again.

He’s warm. Heavy.

The weight of what we just did still clings to the air between us.

I keep the blanket clutched around me, but he doesn’t try to take it off. He just lowers his mouth to my shoulder, presses a kiss there. Then another.

A breath catches in my throat.

“that was a one-time thing, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing against my skin.

I close my eyes.

His voice is quieter now, deeper, almost like he doesn’t want to know the answer.

“…Yeah,” I whisper.

He nods against my shoulder, his mouth still pressed there. I feel him exhale slowly, like he’s letting it sink in before responding.

“Alright,” he says. “Cool. I’m not mad.”

I turn slightly, looking at him. His eyes flick up to mine, lazy and unreadable.

“No hard feelings?” I ask.

He grins, but doesn’t move away. “Nope. You just took my ‘first in line if Matt screws up’ comment a little too seriously huh?.”

“Chris.”

“What?” he teases, fingers now grazing the side of my waist through the blanket. “I didn’t think you’d actually cash in on it. At least not so fast.”

“Shut up,” I say, but my voice cracks, from exhaustion or shame or something in between.

He hums, kisses just beneath my jaw now, slow and warm. “I respect it though. The urgency. That was…” He pauses. “That was something.”

“You were different,” I say, before I can stop myself.

He lifts his head. “Different how?”

I hesitate. Then:

“like rougher. In a way… like your hands just knew where to go. You didn’t hesitate.”

I glance away. “Matt never… it was never like that.”

Chris is silent, but his fingers tighten a little where they rest on my waist.

“Maybe I didn’t want to give you time to think,” he says softly. “Maybe I wanted to be the one to break you open.”

I flinch. Not from the words. From how much they feel like truth.

“I’m not saying it was right,” he adds, kissing below my ear now, voice lower, more careful. “But I saw it. In your eyes. You needed someone who wasn’t scared of you breaking.”

I swallow thickly. A tear slips down my cheek.

He catches it with his thumb. Doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I say quickly. “Right?”

He shrugs. “I mean, it meant something to your body.”

I shoot him a look.

He laughs softly, then presses a kiss to my temple.

“I’m kidding. Kind of.”

I pull away slightly, enough to see him. “You’re not gonna… tell him?”

He frowns. “I won’t.”

Then, with a grin: “Besides, I already won. Got to be first in line and prove a point.”

I raise an eyebrow. “A point?”

“Matt always said you liked that soft shit,” he smirks. “Guess he was wrong.”

I punch his chest. “You’re such a dick.”

“I mean—” he starts, but I kiss him to shut him up.

Just once. Just because I can.

But when I pull away, the look in his eyes changes.

Like he knows this isn’t going to stay simple.

I think he’s going to leave.

But he doesn’t.

Chris just lays beside me, one arm tucked behind his head, the other reaching lazily across my stomach like we didn’t just make the worst mistake imaginable.

The room is silent, dark. His hand drums lightly over the blanket where my skin still burns. He doesn’t even look at me at first, like he’s just casually winding down from a long day, not a life-altering one.

Then he says it—

“I can’t believe I had sex with my brother’s ex-girlfriend.”

I stiffen.

He turns his head toward me slowly, smirking.

“Nah, like… I actually can’t believe it. I’m going to hell. You’re driving the car.”

I groan, dragging the blanket up over my face. “Chris—”

“What?” he laughs. “I didn’t say I regret it. I just didn’t think you had it in you.”

I peek out from under the blanket. “Had what in me?”

He grins. “Me.”

I slap his bare chest. “You’re disgusting.”

“Physically, maybe,” he says, voice smug as he rolls onto his side, facing me completely. His hand doesn’t leave my waist. Instead, it finds skin. Palm spread flat against the dip of my side like it belongs there.

“Stop,” I say, but it comes out breathless.

He hums. “You say that, but you’re not exactly pushing me off.”

Then, quieter: “You cold or you just want me to keep touching you?”

I look at him, really look, and it’s too much.

His eyes are heavy, slow-lidded. His curls a mess. Lips swollen.

My chest aches. Not from what just happened, from everything before it. Everything that led up to it.

“It’s not gonna happen again,” I say, mostly to myself.

He nods. “Right. Of course.”

Then he leans in and kisses my shoulder again.

“Chris,” I warn.

“I know,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers down the curve of my back beneath the blanket. “Just… muscle memory now.”

I don’t stop him. I should, but I don’t.

His hand finds my thigh, the outer edge of it, and rests there like he’s mapping it.

His voice breaks the silence again, softer this time, teasing but not cruel:

“Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Did he ever make you sound like that?”

I whip my head toward him, wide-eyed. “Chris.”

He just looks at me, mouth tilted up like he already knows the answer.

“You’re such an ass,” I mutter.

“But an honest one,” he shrugs, eyes tracing my face. “I mean, listen. I never said I had morals. Just better aim.”

I blink. Then burst out laughing.

He grins, and for a second, it’s like nothing is messy.

Just two people in bed, warm and wicked.

“You should go,” I say finally, even though I don’t want him to.

He doesn’t move.

Instead, he tilts my chin gently, makes me look at him.

His voice drops, something unreadable in his eyes now.

“Tell me to leave,” he says, low.

I part my lips. Pause.

The words don’t come out.

He smiles like he knows that too.

Then, after a beat, he sighs and rolls onto his back.

“Alright,” he mumbles. “But I’m stealing one of your panties.”

“Chris—”

“I need something to remember you by, since it’s not happening again, right?”

I shoot him a look. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you came twice, so I’m obviously doing something right.”

I throw a pillow at his head.

He catches it midair, grinning like the devil.

He’s still lying next to me, too relaxed for someone who just ruined the brother code.

The blanket clings to our skin, and my body’s warm from everything, the shame, the high, the way he touched me like no one else ever did.

His fingers are still tracing lazy lines across my hip when I say it.

“I saw him.”

Chris doesn’t move.

But his hand stops.

“I went to Disneyland,” I whisper. “With a guy. Just a date. Nothing serious. But he was there.”

His voice is low, careful. “Matt?”

I nod, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Yeah. With… her. And the baby.”

Chris slowly sits up, pulling the blanket higher around his waist, but still facing me.

“You okay?”

I laugh, but it comes out broken. “No.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just lets it sit.

“I tried not to look,” I continue, like if I stop talking it’ll crash over me again. “But I heard him say her name.”

Chris turns his head, already knowing.

“He named her after me,” I say, barely a whisper. “His baby girl.”

There’s a pause so heavy it presses against my chest.

Chris exhales through his nose, jaw tightening. “I’m sorry.”

My lips press together hard to keep them from shaking. “She had big blue eyes. Curly hair. She was beautiful.”

“Don’t do that,” he says softly.

“Do what?”

“Make it poetic,” he mutters. “Make him poetic. He doesn’t deserve it.”

I look at him, and he’s looking at me too. Realer than he’s ever looked. No teasing in his eyes now. Just quiet rage.

Protective. Maybe jealous. Maybe both.

I shift under the blanket. “I thought it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I thought I was over it.”

Chris leans closer, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear.

“Can I tell you something?” he says, voice low.

I nod.

“I think he knew exactly what he was doing when he named her after you.”

My throat tightens.

Chris’s hand finds mine under the blanket. “He knew it’d mess with your head. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s punishment. But he’s still pulling your strings.”

I blink fast, trying not to cry. “It worked.”

“I know.”

For a while, we just sit like that. Our fingers laced, his thumb grazing my knuckles in slow circles.

Then he sighs and leans back again.

“I can’t believe I just slept with my ex sister in law and gave her a therapy session.”

Despite everything, I smile a little. “Multi-talented.”

“Yeah well, I aim to please.”

His hand slides down my leg again.

“Chris,” I warn.

“I’m kidding,” he smirks. “Kind of.”

He pulls me closer, wrapping his arm back around my waist like it’s second nature now. And I let him.

Not because it fixes anything.

But because right now, it’s easier than being alone.

His arm stays around me for a while. And for a second, I let myself believe the warmth is safe.

But it’s not.

We both know that.

Chris eventually shifts, glancing at the time on his phone, the screen lighting up his face in soft blue. He doesn’t say it, but I know what it means.

He has to go.

He sits up, raking a hand through his hair the curls flattened, his hoodie nowhere to be found. His body is lean, bruised with secrets. Mine included now.

I pull the blanket tighter around myself as he stands and grabs his sweatpants.

The silence hums. Familiar. Loud.

I wait for awkwardness. For guilt. For distance.

But he turns before the door.

Takes one step toward the bed.

And leans in.

Not rushed. Not sweet either. Just… a kiss. Quick. Hot. Almost like he’s trying to brand it into me.

His hand cups my jaw for a second, his thumb brushing the edge of my lip. Then he pulls back with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“If you ever need anything else…” he says low, that gravel still in his voice. “You know where to find me.”

A wink.

And then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut.

And I’m alone again.

The sheets still smell like him.

The ache still buzzes through me.

But it’s quieter now.

Not fixed.

Just… rearranged.

And for the first time in months, I don’t cry.

Not yet.

⸻

The sun slips through the blinds like it’s trying not to wake me.

But I’m already awake.

I’ve been awake.

Lying still in the same bed where it happened, the pillows messed, the air still thick with last night’s shadows. My body sore in places I haven’t felt in a long time. My lips dry. My heart louder than it should be.

There’s no trace of him.

No hoodie. No text.

Just the ghost of his touch and that smug fucking wink.

I sit up slowly, the blanket slipping off my bare shoulder. I don’t flinch. I don’t cry. But I don’t smile either.

It’s not regret exactly.

But it’s not peace either.

It’s something in between.

Like a bruise I pressed on myself.

I swing my legs over the bed and stare at the floor for a second. The hardwood feels cold under my toes. The rest of the house is quiet.

Too quiet.

I think about calling Milo.

I think about Chris again.

His hands were so different.

Rough. Greedy. Like he needed me in a way Matt never did.

And maybe I needed that. Just for a night. Just to feel like I had control of something again.

But underneath the fire, there’s this small ache in my chest that won’t go away.

Because it was Chris.

Matt’s brother.

The first person to see through me last night. To hold me like I wasn’t broken. But also the first to remind me that I still am.

I glance over at my phone. No new texts.

Of course.

Because last night wasn’t about love.

It was about pain.

And filling silence.

And pretending I wasn’t still bleeding from everything Matt tore out of me.

I pull on a hoodie, maybe Matt’s, maybe not, and pad into the kitchen. I pour myself a mug of coffee with hands that shake just a little.

Because even though I don’t regret what happened,

I don’t feel proud of it either.

And maybe that’s worse.

I’m rinsing out my coffee mug when my phone buzzes.

Chris🕺:

damn, i didn’t even break the bed frame

kinda disappointed ngl

My lips twitch, involuntary. That crooked little smirk pulling even though I’m still raw.

Chris🕺:

u good tho?

or did I ruin u for all men forever

I dry my hands on a dishtowel, staring at the screen.

Another text pops in before I can respond.

Chris 🕺:

be honest

u thinking about it right now huh

I hesitate.

Because I am.

I was.

Before the mug.

Before the coffee.

Before the sun came up.

It’s still clinging to me, his voice in my ear, his hands on my hips, the way he didn’t say sorry, just laughed against my mouth like I already knew what it meant.

YN:

you’re so full of yourself

He replies instantly.

Chris🕺:

nah just full of u (for like 2 hours)

sorry i had to

I exhale through my nose, dropping my forehead into my hand.

Chris🕺:

on a real note tho

u okay?

YN:

i don’t regret it

but i feel weird

not because of you. just… everything.

There’s a pause this time.

I bite my bagel, trying not to imagine him rereading the message with his teeth on his lip, or his eyes narrowing in that tired way, like he sees more than I want him to.

Then:

Chris🕺:

yeah

i get that

Another beat.

Chris🕺:

not gonna lie though

didn’t know how I’d feel after

but like

how the fuck am I supposed to go on being “just a one-time thing” after that?

My heart flinches. I swallow.

YN:

don’t start

Chris🕺:

i’m not

just saying

u might’ve broken me a little

kinda rude honestly

I let the silence stretch between us. Bite. Breathe.

Then:

YN:

no hard feelings?

Chris🕺:

only in my lower back

I laugh under my breath before I can stop it. It hurts. But it helps.

Chris🕺:

seriously tho

u ever need anything

like anything…..

u know where i’m at

even if it’s not the bed next time

My thumb hovers over the keyboard.

Part of me wants to shut off my phone. Lock it. Pretend it didn’t happen.

But another part…

Another part is still thinking about the way he looked at me like I wasn’t something to fix. Just something to hold.

hate how much I still love him.

Matt.

Even after everything, the lies, the betrayal, the way he broke me, I feel like my heart is stitched to his. Like no matter how many times I tell myself to let go, the thread just pulls tighter.

I know what I did with Chris. It wasn’t love. It was anger, frustration, the desperate need to feel something, anything, that wasn’t the hollow ache inside me.

But loving Matt? That’s something else entirely.

I keep replaying memories in my head. The way he laughed when I surprised him with dinner, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me.

I always thought my ending would be with Matt, after a lifetime of love, good and bad.

But that dream feels like a ghost now.

Because he’s with someone else, or maybe with no one, but he’s moved on in ways I can’t.

And here I am, caught between wanting to forget him and wanting to scream his name until he hears me.

I’m still in love with him.

Even when my body betrayed me and reached for Chris like he’s a lifeline.

Even when my mind tells me to stop hoping.

Because loving him, truly, deeply, is like holding a flame in the dark.

It burns. It hurts.

But I can’t let it go.

MATT:

I don’t even know why I knocked.

I had the spare key. I could’ve just walked in like always, no hesitation, no warning. But something about today made me stop. Maybe it was the headache, or maybe it was how heavy my chest had felt ever since I saw her at Disneyland.

Since those damn fireworks.

Since her eyes locked with mine like the way they used to, but didn’t feel the same at all.

She wasn’t mine anymore. I knew that. I just didn’t realize how much it would burn to see someone else’s hand on her waist. Someone else’s stupid grin in her ear. She didn’t look like she missed me. She looked like she was trying to forget me.

I knock, and a second later, Chris swings the door open.

He’s in a tank top, one of those loose ones that hangs low and shows half his torso. Grey sweats, messy hair, the faint smell of weed lingering in the air like always.

“Yo,” he says, stepping back to let me in. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“Didn’t know I needed a fuckin’ appointment,” I mutter, walking past him.

Place is quiet. Nick must be out. I drop down onto the couch, elbows on my knees, and just sit there for a second trying to figure out what the hell I’m even doing here.

Chris leans against the wall, drinking a Pepsi, looking at me like he’s waiting for me to talk first.

And that’s when I see it.

That bruise.

High up on his neck. Faint but fresh.

My stomach twists.

He’s got a

And I know that look. I know that color. That’s not just some random girl’s lipstick stain. That’s hers. I know what her mouth leaves behind.

I know it in my bones.

“Who’s that from?” I ask flatly.

Chris blinks, slow. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even try to hide it.

“Don’t worry about it.”

My jaw clenches. “Christopher. Who. the. fuck. gave you that?”

He’s still calm, too calm, which only pisses me off more.

Then I hear it. A ping.

His phone lights up.

Her name. Right there. Her fucking name, on his screen. YN.

He picks it up like nothing just happened. Like the world didn’t just tilt off its fucking axis.

And that’s when it hits me.

“You’re kidding,” I breathe out. “Tell me you’re not that much of a piece of shit.”

Chris sighs, sets the phone down face-down this time. “You’re one to talk.”

My hands are fists in my lap now. “I’m not perfect. But that’s my ex-girlfriend, bro. You know what she meant to me.”

“You cheated on her,” he snaps, finally pushing off the wall. “You don’t get to play the wounded lover now.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to fuck her behind my back!”

“I didn’t fuck her behind your back,” he says sharply, stepping closer. “You broke her. She came to me.”

That stings more than I’ll ever admit. And the worst part is, I believe him.

I can picture it. Her, all broken and soft-voiced, him knocking on her door because she needed something familiar. Something to help her forget.

Chris runs a hand through his hair. He looks irritated now, like he didn’t want to have this conversation, like he knew it would eventually come back to bite him.

“I didn’t plan for it to happen, Matt,” he says, quieter this time. “But I’m not sorry either.”

I swallow hard. My voice comes out rough. “How many times?”

He hesitates.

My voice sharpens. “How. Many fucking times Christopher.”

“Once,” he says. “Just once. She said it wasn’t gonna happen again.”

And that should make me feel better.

But it doesn’t.

Because I can still see her name on his phone.

Still see the mark on his neck.

Still hear the silence in my own apartment at night where she used to hum while brushing her hair.

I laugh, but it’s bitter. “She was everything to me, man.”

Chris nods. “I know.”

And then he has the audacity to smirk a little, like he’s trying to lighten it.

“She said I was rougher than you,” he mutters under his breath.

My fist slams into the side table before I even realize I’ve moved.

Chris doesn’t flinch. He just holds my gaze. Like he wants me to throw the first punch.

But I don’t.

Because no matter how much I hate this, hate him, I hate myself more for starting it.

“She’s not gonna stay,” I say through my teeth. “Not with you.”

He shrugs. “She’s not with any of us, Matt.”

And I have nothing to say to that.

Because he’s right.

She’s gone.

And we both lost her.

In different ways.

For different reasons.

But maybe neither of us ever really deserved her to begin with.

The table rattles where I hit it. My knuckles ache.

But he still doesn’t move.

He just crosses his arms over his chest, looking at me like I’m some pissed-off teenager instead of his brother.

“You think this is funny?” I snap, voice ragged.

Chris quirks an eyebrow. “A little.”

I blink at him. My mouth falls open. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He actually laughs. A short, humorless sound that only makes the blood roar in my ears. “Bro, you really think you get to stand here all righteous? After what you did?”

“I know I fucked up—”

“Yeah, you did,” he cuts in, calm and sharp. “You broke her. You left her alone with nothing but your apologies and your bullshit regrets. And then you’re surprised she didn’t stay loyal to your fucking memory?”

My hands are shaking. I curl them into tighter fists. “It’s not about loyalty. It’s about—”

“What? Ownership? Bro Code?” He tilts his head. “She’s not yours anymore.”

“Don’t—” My voice cracks. “Don’t talk about her like you know her better than I do.”

Chris grins, teeth showing. “I don’t have to know her better. But I know exactly how she sounds when she’s trying not to cry.”

That’s it. I step forward, chest to chest. We’re almost the same height, same build, and for a second I wonder if this is what it would take to finally hit him, really hit him.

“Say one more thing,” I dare him.

His expression softens just a fraction. “Matt. You think this is about me stealing something from you. But you never realized you lost her before I ever fucking touched her.”

I stare at him. My heart thumps hard, uneven, painful.

Chris exhales, almost like he feels sorry for me. “She came to me because she saw you and shit.”

I look away, jaw clenching. “And you couldn’t say no.”

He scratches at the hickey on his neck, smirking. “Well, you know me. Never been good with boundaries.”

“Fuck you.”

He snorts, pushing past me to grab his phone off the counter. “Already did.”

I spin around. “You think this is funny?”

Chris looks back over his shoulder, grin crooked. “Nah. Just… poetic, I guess.”

Something behind my ribs snaps. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Probably. But you know what, Matt?”

“What?”

He lifts his phone, glancing down at her name again, like he can’t help himself. “At least I didn’t pretend I was better than I am.”

He walks past me to the doorway, and I stand there breathing like I just ran ten miles.

“You’re gonna lose her too,” I tell him hoarsely.

He pauses, hand on the doorknob, and for a second, the smirk slips. Something real flickers across his face, doubt, or fear, or maybe something worse.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Probably, maybe already did.”

And then he’s gone.

Leaving me standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by the echoes of everything I threw away.

I stare at the door after it closes, my breath still jagged, fists still curled like I’m bracing for an aftershock that’s already passed.

Everything feels slow and sharp all at once, like my blood’s moving too fast for my body to keep up.

The silence swells.

But it doesn’t last.

Behind me, I hear the creak of his bedroom door opening again.

I don’t turn around right away. Not until I hear his footsteps. Calm. Deliberate.

Chris walks back into the living room with that same blank, unreadable look on his face. The smirk is gone. His phone is gone too. His jaw tight.

He doesn’t look at me like a brother now. Not like a friend, or even an enemy.

He looks at me like someone who’s just done something he can’t undo.

“I hope you don’t think I did it out of revenge,” he says.

I turn to face him slowly.

He runs a hand over the back of his neck. “It wasn’t about that.”

My throat is dry. “Then what the fuck was it?”

“It just happened,” he says, quiet but firm. “She was there. And hurting. And I didn’t think. I didn’t plan it. But I’m not gonna stand here and lie and say it didn’t mean something to me in the moment.”

“You slept with her,” I say, voice low, shaky.

Chris exhales through his nose. His hands go into his hoodie pockets like he’s trying to ground himself.

“I didn’t go into it to get back at you,” he says again, like it matters. “But I can’t lie and say it did feel… good to be wanted by someone you tossed aside, regardless I don’t regret it… it was something to me.”

I flinch. He sees it. Doesn’t flinch back.

“But don’t get it twisted, Matt,” he adds, stepping a little closer. “You think you’re mad about me? About her and me? You’re not. You’re mad because you fucked it up so bad she couldn’t even look at you anymore. Mad because you had her. And you lost her.”

“Stop,” I say, a warning in my voice.

He keeps going. “You had everything. And when you tore it apart, you filled the hole with a girl who looks like her.”

That makes my chest seize.

“You think I don’t see it?” he spits. “You didn’t name the baby after Yn because you wanted to honor her. You did it because you couldn’t stand the idea of letting go. You wanted a piece of her forever. You wanted something that looked like her, sounded like her, but wouldn’t leave you.”

I stagger a step back like his words hit harder than any punch.

He’s right. And he knows it.

Chris’s voice lowers.

“You had a baby with a girl who looks like Yn because you couldn’t love her enough. You just loved the version of Yn you built in your head, and when the real one needed more than that, you didn’t know how to stay.”

My breath hitches.

His eyes flicker, softer now, but not forgiving.

“And now that she’s finally getting a sliver of peace… now that she let go of you for one fucking night, you show up here, wanting blood over a woman you didn’t fight hard enough to keep.”

I look down at the ground. My whole body feels like it’s vibrating, like if I speak I might fall apart.

Chris shakes his head. His voice quiets.

“But don’t worry,” he says. “Nothing’s ever gonna happen again between us.”

I look up sharply. His mouth twitches.

“I hope you know that,” he adds.

“Why?” I ask, brokenly.

He shrugs once, but his jaw clenches.

“Because she’s still fucking in love with you, dumbass.”

My heart breaks all over again.

Chris backs up toward the hallway.

“That’s the worst part,” he mutters. “She gave her body to me, but Ill never have her heart because you still do. And you don’t even know what to do with it.”

He turns and walks away.

I don’t stop him.

I just stand there, surrounded by everything I lost, choking on the fact that maybe I never deserved to keep it in the first place.

The door clicks shut again.

This time, he’s gone for real.

And I’m still standing here like a fucking idiot, trying to remember how to breathe.

My fists slowly uncurl at my sides. The adrenaline drains out of me all at once. My heart’s still hammering, but there’s no one left to fight. Just the echo of everything he said.

“You had her.”

“You lost her.”

“You named your baby after her.”

I sink down onto the edge of the couch like my knees can’t carry the weight of what I’ve done anymore.

And for the first time in months—

Maybe since the party.

Maybe since she walked away.

Maybe since the moment I let someone else put her hands where only Yn’s ever belonged—

I finally let myself fully feel it all.

The guilt.

The ache.

The truth.

I close my eyes.

And it hits me hard and clear:

I can’t even be mad.

Not at Chris.

Not at her.

Because I’m the reason.

I’m the reason she looked somewhere else for comfort.

I’m the reason Chris became something more than my brother in her story.

Im the reasons she wants nothing to do with me.

I cheated.

I lied.

I destroyed the one thing that ever made me feel like I was good.

And now I’m sitting here angry at someone else for catching her when she fell, when I was the one who pushed her off the edge in the first place.

My eyes sting, but I don’t cry. Not yet.

I stare at the spot where Chris stood. I hear the words again.

“She gave her body to me, but I’ll never have her heart because you still do.”

I run a hand down my face.

Even after everything I did. Even after I broke her.

Even after she let someone else in, she hasn’t let me go.

And that’s the part that ruins me.

Because maybe… she should’ve.

Y/N:

It’s almost noon when my phone buzzes.

I’m curled up on the couch, knees pulled to my chest, a blanket around me even though the sun is leaking in through the blinds. The TV is playing something I’m not watching. My mouth tastes like regret and coffee. My heart? Still somewhere between confusion and chaos.

I already knew I wouldn’t feel normal today.

But I didn’t expect this.

Chris🕺:

Matt came over.

He knows.

I know I said I wouldn’t tell him but

My stomach drops.

I sit up fast, the blanket slipping off my shoulders. I stare at the message like it might change if I blink enough.

Another buzz.

Chris🕺:

You left me a hickey and saw it

And your name popped up on my phone while he was sitting there.

I didn’t lie. I told him not to worry about it.

He figured it out.

I grip the phone tighter.

My chest tightens like it’s being slowly pulled inward by invisible strings.

Matt knows.

The weight of it lands harder than I expected. Not guilt. Not shame.

Just… the way the past catches up to you even when you thought you left it behind.

The screen lights up again.

Chris🕺:

He got mad at first. I get it.

But I told him he couldn’t be.

He’s the one who fucked it all up.

You don’t owe him anything.

I hope you know that

I swallow hard.

Chris always has a way of saying the most direct thing in the most casual tone. Like he’s immune to the mess. Like he lives in the smoke while I’m still trying to see through it.

I stare at the message, then at the one above it.

“You don’t owe him anything.”

Don’t I?

My thumbs hover over the keyboard.

YN:

Is he okay?

The three dots show up almost instantly.

Chris🕺:

Idk I think

He sat there quiet for a while.

Left without saying much.

I think it finally hit him.

Then another.

Chris🕺:

Not just that we happened.

But that you’re not his anymore.

I put my phone face-down on the coffee table and lean back into the cushions, my mind racing.

He knows.

And maybe, in some twisted, painful, final way…

That’s what we both needed.

IM SORRYYY FOR THE PEOPLE WHO DIDNT WANT THIS I APOLOGIZE ( PLS FORGIVE ME) also pls ignore mistakes.

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁ੈ❀

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44 @sturnslux3

@kalel2005 @sarahsturnn

@teheabrams @prettypriscilla

@my-world-is-poetry @sturniszn

@slutforchrissturniolo2

@alinagrace11 @beardedbernard

@matthewswifeyy @blindedheartp

@chrissfavoritecherry

@jaybirdie34

@courta13 @chriss-slutt

@chrissturniolobendmeovernow

@norahsturns. @chrattstromboli

@iluvchr1s @japblogs @akalizzygrantxo @sturniolobananas1 @franficc @oopsiedaisydeer @wesj11

@watercolorskyy

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izzylovesmatt · 18 days ago

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chris and readers soft launch insta posts

y/n_thebest 😉🤍

liked by christopher sturniolo madison beer and 100,526 others

@/nicolassturniolo sister in law

@/nicolassturniolo cuties

@/christophersturniolo 😛

@/madisonbeer your so beautiful

@/ilovesturniolotriplets ew this is chris's gf?

@/mattgirl019 grow up

christophersturniolo 🪄🪄

liked by y/n_isthebest nicolassturniolo and 300,426 others

@/mattsturniolo twin

@/nicolassturniolo cuties

@/y/n_isthebest wow awsome

@/sturniolosaremylife my shayla💔

a/n- ignore how bad this is im still working on part 2

🏷️ @izzylovesmatt @japblogs @iluvchr1s @sturns-mermaid @spookysturnz @privatelyowned-t

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izzylovesmatt · 18 days ago

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YESSS LAWDD

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 :: no one can know.

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 :: werewolf!reader x vampire!chris

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 :: at eidolon university, supernatural species are separated by blood and bound by law. werewolves don't touch vampires. vampires don't speak to witches. no one mixes. no one crosses lines. not unless they want to disappear. you've known that rule your entire life—carved it into your bones the first time you turned under a full moon. but when a second-year science class puts you next to chris—cold, quiet, loser-coded vampire with a past no one talks about—something shifts.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 :: mentions of death (parental + accidental), emotional neglect, alcohol abuse (briefly referenced), sibling caretaking, trauma from transformation, body horror (graphic description of werewolf shift :: bones breaking, pain, blood), past violence, supernatural hierarchy, academic setting with separation by species, and suggestive dialogue / tension (mild flirtation, emotional manipulation, verbal bickering).

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 :: it begins.

you don't remember the first time your house felt haunted. not by ghosts, but by something colder. something quiet. your father's voice used to fill the rooms—loud, booming, sometimes angry, but always alive. he laughed with his whole chest. when he yelled, it shook the walls. when he sang—badly—it made your mom smile even if she rolled her eyes. it was chaos, sure, but it was whole. and then one day, it wasn't.

you were twelve when he died. the kind of death that didn't make sense. sudden. fast. your mom didn't cry at the funeral. she just stopped speaking altogether. not to you. not to your brother. just to her bottles. whiskey first, then wine, then anything she could pour. every night she slipped deeper into glass. every morning she came out angrier. and you? you learned how to clean up after her without being asked. you learned how to heat dinner on your own. you learned how to stop expecting softness from someone who had none left to give.

your brother was different. six years older. already carrying the weight your mother dropped. he picked up the slack. helped you with homework, showed you how to tape your hands before training, taught you how to lie to social workers and neighbors when the bruises on your arms came from furniture you didn't bump into. he was good. not perfect, but good. better than anyone deserved to be in a house that sour.

he got his curse at sixteen. someone died, and he was the reason. he didn't talk about it much, only told you enough so you'd understand when your time came. said it with a look in his eye you didn't recognize at the time—fear. a little guilt. maybe some regret. back then, you didn't think it would happen to you. you weren't reckless. you weren't like that.

but when you were eighteen, it happened. last week of senior year. school bathrooms, ugly fluorescent lighting, too many voices. a fight. you didn't mean to shove her that hard. didn't know the floor was wet. didn't know her head would meet the sink like that. but it did. and she never got back up.

you don't remember crying. just the screaming. yours. your classmates. the teachers who pulled you away. the cops. the coroner. it all blurred. but you remember your brother’s voice that night—calm, low, scared. he told you what would happen next. told you how to prepare. how to lock yourself down. how to survive the first shift.

you didn't understand what that meant until the moon rose.

it wasn't like the stories. it wasn't beautiful or freeing or spiritual. it was agony. pain that cracked you open from the inside out, starting in your spine and spilling down into your limbs like fire. your vision blurred. your mouth filled with blood from biting down on your own tongue just to keep from screaming too loud. your skin burned hot then cold then hot again, and it didn't stop—not even when the bones started breaking. your wrists snapped first, pulled forward by the weight of something inside you, something old and sharp and hungry. then your ribs, your legs, your jaw. every part of you bent in directions it was never meant to. you weren't screaming anymore after that. you couldn't. your throat was too raw.

your brother couldn't stay. he was locked up too, in his own cell not far from yours. the two of you had spent the day prepping—silver cuffs on your wrists, thick chains on your ankles, reinforced steel doors, padded walls. none of it made a difference when it started. your body wanted to be something else, and it didn't care what it had to destroy to get there.

an hour. that's how long it lasted. that first shift. and every one since. an hour of violence inside your own skin. some werewolves say it gets easier over time. some say you learn how to ride the pain, how to let go, how to let it happen. but for you, it never got easier. it never felt natural. it felt like punishment. a monthly reminder that no matter how careful you were, how good your intentions, one mistake was enough to turn you into a monster.

you're twenty now. two years in. you still dread every full moon. still feel it coming days in advance—your bones ache, your vision gets sharp at the edges, your body feels too small to hold itself. and when it's over, when you wake up naked and shaking in that cold steel room, you remember her face. the girl. the sink. the blood. the way her friends screamed your name like it meant something evil.

you don't talk about it. not with your brother. not with anyone. it's just something you carry now. like weight around your ribs. and that's the thing about being cursed. it doesn't make you stronger. it just makes you quiet.

you stopped talking about the full moons after the third one. stopped letting your brother see how bad it really was. he still asked, still checked in, still left out food and water and clean clothes the day after, but you could see it in his face—he was tired too. his body was wearing down faster than it should've, spine stiff, knuckles always bruised from training, eyes dulled from years of shifting, of hiding what he really felt. and you didn't want to be another thing that wore him out. so you started pretending. said it was getting better. said it hurt less. said you barely remembered the pain afterward, even though you remembered every second. you always remembered.

some part of you wanted to believe it'd get easier once you left town. that once you weren't waking up under the same roof where your mother died, once you weren't seeing the ghost of your father in every hallway, once you weren't lying awake at night counting the days until the next moon, things would get better. more normal. more manageable. so when eidolon university sent you that acceptance letter—handwritten, sealed in wax, delivered by a courier with silver rings on every finger—you took it as a sign.

you'd always wanted to be a photographer. something about the idea of capturing people exactly as they were in the moment, in all their mess and light and shadow, felt holy. you watched videos as a kid, followed creators who turned everyday life into something beautiful with nothing but a lens and a little editing software. and now? now you'd finally have a chance to study it properly. get your degree. maybe even get out of this town for good.

eidolon was exactly what you expected. massive, gothic, buried in the mountains like a secret. the walls were covered in ivy so thick it looked alive. the main buildings were carved from stone and warded with sigils you weren't even allowed to study until third year. everything about it felt older than you could comprehend. dangerous, but sacred. the kind of place that whispered we’ve seen worse than you every time you walked the halls.

no humans allowed. no one "normal." just monsters trying to make something of themselves.

but you weren't naïve. you knew what the rules were the second you stepped on campus. every species had their place. werewolves stuck with werewolves. vampires stayed with their own. witches kept to themselves. the hybrids and tribrids were cocky, like royalty, untouchable in the social ladder. demons were rare, secretive, always watching. and hunters—well, they hated all of you. but the law was clear, posted on every dorm wall, etched into the code of the school's founding charter:

no mixing. no bonding. no crossing bloodlines.

and if you did?

you weren't coming back.

you'd heard the horror stories, of course. about what happened to the ones who broke the law. they didn't just get expelled. they disappeared. no trial. no final warning. just gone. the school didn't even try to hide it—students who crossed the line between species were labeled as unstable, threats to the "balance of power." one bite, one kiss, one drop of blood shared between the wrong people, and that was it. they'd say you turned feral. they'd say you lost control. and no one would question it, because no one wanted to be next.

you knew all of that. and yet, somehow, none of it stopped you from looking at him.

chris.

they called him names. said he didn't feed properly. that he only drank from blood bags and animals like some kind of wannabe hybrid. they said he used to be something else—used to be reckless, wild, dangerous. girls would whisper about him in the hallways, say he used to fuck like he was starving and fight like he couldn't die. but now? he didn't even make eye contact.

you didn't care much then. there were other people to look at, other things to focus on. you had your camera, your electives, your place among the werewolves. but still—he stuck in the back of your mind like a bruise. quiet. dark. a question mark in a school full of people who thought they already knew everything.

you didn't know any of the real story until months later, and even then it was pieces—bits of conversation, things overheard in the common rooms, fragments from professors who forgot to censor themselves.

he'd been human once. youngest of a set of triplets. loved his brothers more than anything. then one night, something happened. something with their parents. nick and matt—his blood—turned first. no one taught them how to handle it. and before the week was over, their house was covered in blood. chris was the only one who made it out.

he vanished after that. left his brothers behind. swore off vampires entirely. didn't want anything to do with them, didn't even want to look at them. it should've ended there.

but fate doesn't care about promises.

he met a girl. beautiful. older. strange in a way that didn't make sense at first. he fell in love fast. and when she told him what she was, he stayed. swore he didn't care. swore he'd love her anyway. but he made her promise something in return: never turn him.

she broke that promise.

it happened in a hospital bed—white sheets, dull walls, the smell of antiseptic and cold metal in the air. he'd been injured somehow. no one really knows the full story. maybe a car accident. maybe something worse. but what they do know, what's been whispered through dorm walls and passed through gossip like folklore, is that she visited him while he was unconscious. stayed by his side for hours. waited for the nurses to leave. and then she opened her veins, fed him her blood, and killed him with a kiss to the forehead.

he woke up cold. confused. starved.

and when she told him what she'd done, he left her on the spot. didn't scream. didn't cry. just walked out of that hospital and never looked back. and from that moment on, he became the very thing he'd sworn he'd never be.

but he didn't have anyone to teach him. no coven. no sire-bond. no rules. just hunger and panic and the broken echo of his brothers' screams in his head. so he did what a lot of new vampires do—he lost control. fully. completely. no restraint, no morality. just instinct.

people started dying.

not students. not staff. not anyone the school would miss. but enough. travelers passing through the forest. campers who didn't read the signs. kids who thought the town was just a quiet place to get drunk and do dumb things under the moonlight. all of them left behind in pieces. and the news ran with it, of course. animal attacks. coyote packs. freak accidents. never once did they say vampire, but anyone with sense knew better.

he fed from anyone who got close. girls, mostly. ones who were too curious or too drawn to the way he looked when he was quiet and smiling in the corner. he didn't need to compel them. not back then. he knew how to play the part. he looked harmless. soft-spoken. a little sad, a little mysterious. the kind of boy you think you can fix. the kind of boy you follow into the dark.

and when he was done with them—when the bloodlust faded and the regret hadn't hit yet—he left them with nothing but bite marks and missing memories. if they were lucky.

he lived like that for almost two years. spiraling in silence, burning his life down one night at a time. and then, somewhere along the way, he just… stopped. pulled back. vanished for a while. people said he disappeared into the mountains. others said he turned himself in to one of the older covens, begged them to cage him like an animal until he got control.

no one really knows what happened in that year between the chaos and the quiet. but when he showed up again—older, sharper, colder—something in him had changed.

he didn't flirt. didn't feed from classmates. didn't party. didn't speak unless absolutely necessary. and when people tried to press him, tried to poke the sleeping dog to see if it still had teeth, he didn't fight. he just looked at them with those empty, ancient eyes and said nothing.

and now?

now they just call him a loser.

they don't say it to his face, but they don't have to. it's in the way people glance over him in the halls like he's part of the scenery. it's in the way the vampires whisper about how soft he is, how broken, how he used to be someone worth fearing but now he barely feeds, barely speaks, barely moves. the werewolves laugh at him. the witches ignore him. the tribrids just sneer.

he doesn't fight it. doesn't argue or prove anyone wrong. he shows up to class, slouches in the back, scribbles notes no one will ever read. his hood's always up. his headphones are always in, whether they're playing anything or not. he walks with his head down and his hands in his pockets, quiet, like a ghost that hasn't decided whether or not it wants to haunt anyone anymore.

but despite what they say—despite what he lets them believe—he's not weak. not really. he just doesn't care about being seen. not after everything. not after what he's done.

you think about that sometimes, how being hated might be easier than being forgotten. how silence becomes its own kind of armor if you wear it long enough. and still, despite all the space he carves between himself and the rest of the world, you keep finding your eyes drawn to him.

you noticed him your first year, but only in passing. english class. three rows back, far right corner, always half-asleep or pretending to be. you never spoke. you didn't have a reason to. and he certainly wasn't looking for one. but even then—he had something about him. not charm, not exactly. not mystery either. just… stillness. and in a school full of people who were all teeth and arrogance and trying too hard to matter, his quiet felt different. like he knew something the rest of you didn't.

you'd catch him watching sometimes. not often. just once or twice when you laughed too loud or walked into class late with your camera slung over your shoulder and a stain on your jeans. he never smiled. never looked away in a rush. just watched. like he was studying you. like he wanted to know how you moved, how you worked. and then he'd blink, and it'd be gone.

you didn't think much of it then. maybe a tiny part of you thought he was cute, in that messy, distant way. but not enough to act on. not enough to risk attention. besides, freshman year moved fast. there were other people, other stories, other eyes that followed you more obviously.

but now? it's second year. and things feel different already.

the campus feels louder. heavier. the weather's hotter than you remember. there's this thick humidity in the air that clings to your skin like sweat, like pressure. the courtyard's packed with returning students and fresh bloods—new faces with wide eyes and clean shoes, all of them buzzing with magic they don't know how to use yet. you slip past them easily. your bag's heavy against your shoulder, your camera slung across your chest, half-charged and smudged with fingerprints. you don't bother with a map. you remember where you're going.

first class of the year: history.

you're not in the mood for it. the professor is older than god and twice as dramatic. he likes to monologue about ancient supernatural law like he wrote it himself, which maybe he did. you usually spend most of the class sketching in the margins of your notes or messing with your camera settings under the desk. last year you sat near the window, second row from the back. this year, your body makes the decision for you.

you walk in, and you see him.

chris.

he's already there—third row from the front, far left side. hood off this time. no headphones. his hair's shorter than it was last year, messier but cleaner somehow, like he actually tried this morning. and the stubble along his jaw is new. subtle, but enough to make your stomach do something it shouldn't.

he doesn't notice you right away. his eyes are low, fixed on the edge of his desk, thumb brushing against the spine of a blank notebook like he's waiting for something to start. or end.

you stand there for a second. debating. considering your options. and then, without thinking too hard about it, you move.

you walk straight past the empty seats—past the middle row, past your old spot by the window—and slide into the desk beside him. your bag hits the floor with a soft thud. your camera clicks against the edge of the desk. his shoulder shifts slightly, but he doesn't look up.

you glance at him. study him from the side. he looks… tired. pale, obviously, but that's not new. his lashes are stupid long. his mouth is pressed into this straight, unreadable line. you clear your throat, lean your elbow on the desk, and speak.

"hey," you say, soft but direct. "you remember me?"

nothing. he doesn't blink. doesn't twitch. doesn't breathe, maybe.

you tilt your head. try again.

"from last year. english class? you sat in the corner like a vampire bat."

still nothing.

you blink once. then twice. your brow lifts.

"y'know," you murmur, voice lower now, a little flatter, "it's rude to ignore people."

he exhales, finally. slow. like you're the inconvenience here.

"then stop talkin' to me," he mutters, without looking at you.

you let out a quiet laugh. not sweet. not surprised. amused in a way that makes him tense. you lean back in your chair, stretch your legs out under the desk until your knee taps against his.

"wow," you say. "you're just as charming as i remember."

he turns his head just enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye. they're darker than last year. not just in color, but in mood. like whatever's behind them doesn't want to be touched.

"m'not here to make friends."

you hum, tapping your pen against your notebook without looking at it. "good. i wasn't offering."

his jaw tightens. barely. but you see it.

you smirk.

"just thought i'd be nice. clearly a mistake."

"clearly," he says, dry.

"you always this much fun in the morning?"

he shifts again, leans slightly away from you, arm braced against the edge of the desk. "you always this persistent, or am i just lucky?"

"i’m bored," you admit, unapologetic. "and you're interesting."

he scoffs, soft and mean. "you must be really bored, then."

you turn to face him more fully now, chin propped in your palm, staring at him with a kind of half-lidded, lazy curiosity that you know gets under people's skin.

"you ever get tired of being a dick to people for no reason?"

his mouth twitches. it could've been a smirk. could've been irritation. hard to tell. "you ever get tired of talkin' just to hear yourself speak?"

you let out a soft, breathy laugh, and it makes him finally look at you—fully, eyes meeting yours for the first time in a year. it's like being hit in the chest with silence. not surprise. not heat. not softness. just this hollow, restrained sort of quiet that you feel settle behind your ribs and stay there. his gaze doesn't wander. doesn't flick to your mouth or your hands or your throat like most guys do. it just stays locked on yours, steady, almost bored. but not quite.

you don’t look away. you want to see if he'll flinch.

he doesn't.

you think maybe you imagined the shift in his expression—the brief, twitching annoyance, the way his mouth pressed tighter together like he was biting something back. but no. it's there. subtle, but there.

you grin. "there he is," you murmur under your breath, voice light and smug and just a little too close. "i was starting to think you forgot how to blink." he exhales again. not quite a sigh. more like irritation trying to be polite. "do werewolves always talk this much?" he mutters, not looking at you this time. you raise your eyebrows slightly at that. "so you do know what i am."

"everyone knows what you are," he says flatly, eyes still forward. "your pack makes sure of it."

you laugh, quiet and sharp. "jesus. you're grumpier than the professors."

"and you're nosier than the witches."

"you say that like it's a bad thing."

he finally glances your way again, slower this time. his gaze drags across your face with the kind of indifference that's too practiced, like he's worked very hard to make it look like he doesn't care about anything he's seeing. but underneath it—underneath that flatness—there's something else. not interest. not attraction. but awareness. like he's memorizing the shape of your mouth just to make sure he never looks at it again.

you tilt your head at him. he tenses again—just a little, just enough to make you notice.

"you always this defensive," you ask, "or is it just when women sit next to you?"

he snorts. "it's when people sit next to me."

"shame. you must be terrible at group projects."

"i don't do group projects."

"of course you don't."

the bell rings overhead, loud and shrill and sudden. you don't move right away, and neither does he. students pour into the classroom like a wave, their voices growing louder as they claim seats and drop bags and catch up with each other, but for a few seconds, it all feels muffled. like you're sitting inside a moment that hasn't decided what it is yet.

then the professor walks in, and chris finally shifts his focus forward again. his hands slide into his lap. his jaw ticks. whatever just passed between you—whatever thin, crackling thread tied your words together—it snaps clean.

you sit back in your chair, let your gaze linger on the side of his face, and let yourself smile like you already know you're going to ruin him.

by the time science rolls around, the heat outside has started to settle into your skin. your hair's frizzing at the edges, your water bottle's empty, and you're still thinking about the way he wouldn't look at you when he left. not in a clingy way. just… curious. the kind of curiosity that curls around your ribs and taps at the back of your mind until you're distracted enough to want more.

you get to class early this time. not because you're trying to look eager, but because you want the seat by the window, and the science wing is always freezing. you slide into the chair near the back corner, closest to the sunlight bleeding through the glass. you set your bag down with a thud and drop your camera into your lap, flipping it open just to mess with the settings. you're not thinking about him.

not really.

students start to file in—clusters of vampires sticking to the shade of the walls, a few werewolves with low voices and strong cologne, one demon girl with violet eyes who scans the room like she owns it. the last pack of students that comes in is a group of hybrids you recognize from last year. loud. obnoxious. one of them has a laugh that makes your spine ache.

there are only two seats left.

you don't notice him at first.

the door opens again, slower this time, quieter. and there he is.

chris.

he walks in like he's already exhausted. hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over his hands, backpack slung low, eyes half-lidded like he didn't bother sleeping last night. he pauses in the doorway for a second, scanning the room with that same bored, empty expression you're starting to recognize. then his eyes land on the options.

seat one: directly beside you.

seat two: in the middle of the loudest fucking group in the room.

he stares at them for a beat too long, jaw ticking. one of the hybrids spots him, grins wide, and waves a little too enthusiastically.

"yo, vamp boy! over here!"

chris sighs. audible. bone-deep.

then he turns, walks down the aisle, and drops into the seat next to you like gravity gave him no choice.

you don't say anything at first. you just look at him, your grin already forming, mouth halfway open, ready to say something—anything—but he beats you to it. "don't." he doesn't look at you. "don't speak to me."

your smile stretches slow, syrupy. "aw? not happy to see me again?" his head tips back slightly, eyes closed like he's summoning every ounce of patience left in his body. "m'prayin' for an earthquake."

you snort, pulling your camera off your lap and setting it gently on the desk. "what, so you can be swallowed whole by the floor and spared another hour of sitting next to me?"

"exactly."

"a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"no."

you hum, leaning a little closer, just enough for your shoulder to brush his. he tenses immediately, then shifts away a fraction of an inch, like your presence burns. "it's not that deep," you murmur, voice low, teasing. "we're just classmates, remember?"

"you're not even a good classmate.”

"yet you keep ending up next to me."

he opens his eyes slowly and turns his head just enough to glance at you, and that's when you see it—the flicker. quick, soft, dangerous. his fangs don't show, but something sharper does. a warning in the way his gaze drops to your mouth, then pulls back like he caught himself mid-thought.

"don't make that my fault."

you blink once. "i didn't."

"you're actin' like it."

"am i?"

he exhales again, deeper this time, dragging his fingers across the edge of the desk like he's considering whether or not to pick it up and throw it.

"you're exhausting," he mutters.

you smile wider. "and you're easy."

he huffs out something between a laugh and a scoff, shakes his head, and faces forward again. but he doesn't move his chair. doesn't shift further away. he just stays there.

the professor’s voice buzzes somewhere in the background. he's an older vampire—immaculate posture, low voice, endless patience. he lectures like he's performed the same speech a hundred times over and doesn't particularly care whether any of you are listening. he's talking about blood chemistry right now. something about scent profiles and hormonal triggers. the kind of thing that's supposed to help students "understand their differences" and "keep the peace." really, it's a long-winded way of telling everyone why they're not supposed to touch anyone outside their species.

you're half-listening. more than usual, honestly.

mostly because you can feel chris breathing.

not loud. not heavy. just present. steady. slow. each breath pulls in through his nose, comes out quiet through parted lips. it's measured. controlled. practiced. like he's keeping himself on a leash.

you wonder if he even notices he's doing it.

his hands are flat on the desk. not fidgeting, not tapping, just resting there. his fingers are long. sharp-boned. his nails are clean, not clawed like yours get before a full moon. you glance down at them once, briefly, then force your eyes back to your notebook before you get caught staring. again.

he hasn't spoken since that last comment. hasn't looked at you, either. but you can feel him. not in a magical way—just physically. viscerally. like his energy is pressed up against the edge of yours and pretending not to care.

you lean forward slightly, elbow on the desk, chin resting in your hand as you watch the professor draw something on the board. some kind of chart. scent signatures during cross-species contact. apparently there was a whole study on it—how wolves spike higher than vampires, how certain mixtures can trigger instinctive reactions. nothing officially illegal, but enough to raise suspicion if caught. enough to earn a visit from the council.

you smirk faintly, eyes still on the board. "funny, isn't it?" you say, voice low, not even bothering to turn your head toward him. "how the whole class is about why we shouldn't mix… while you're sitting here pretending you're not breathing me in."

he doesn't respond. for a moment, you think maybe he's going to ignore you again, let the silence stretch until it breaks under its own weight.

but then he shifts. just slightly. not away from you. not toward you either. just… adjusts. like his body needs something and his brain is telling him not to want it. "y'smell like pine," he mutters eventually, voice so low you barely catch it. "and blood. faint. old."

you blink. straighten up a little. "…that supposed to be an insult?"

"more of an observation," he says. "i'd rather not make it again."

you laugh softly, and it makes him tense beside you. his shoulders stiffen like they're bracing for impact. "guess you'll have to pick a better seat next time," you murmur. "unless you're planning to suffer through me all semester."

he doesn't answer, but you see the corner of his mouth twitch. not a smile. not even close. just a flicker of movement. a crack in the cold.

before you can poke at it, the professor's voice cuts sharper.

"you two."

you blink and glance up. chris doesn't move. the professor is staring directly at your row, expression unreadable. "since you're so invested in each other's presence, you'll be partners for the group project."

your stomach drops a little.

you hear it before you see it—chris's breath, low and tight and long-suffering. he scrubs a hand down his face without saying a word.

the professor moves on. keeps talking. keeps writing. the rest of the class acts like nothing happened. but you're sitting there, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

because of course you're partners.

and when you glance over at chris, you see it—just for a second.

his eyes are closed. jaw clenched. and under all that?

resignation.

this is going to be a problem.

໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა mimi speaks . . . can you tell i tried a slightly different writing style? i wanted to match the vibe of the storyline. lmk if you don't like it though :( constructive criticism.

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izzylovesmatt · 19 days ago

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when do we get some skater!chris and girly!reader smut?

❛❛just— keep t-talking, please..?❜❜

⋆ ˚ .ೃ ࿔ * pairing... skater!chris x girly!reader

𓂃 ֹ ᮫ in which... you're on the phone with skater!chris, but he can't seem to concentrate when you sound so pretty

warnings... masturbation (m), swearing, he jerks off to.. your voice

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ you’re on the phone with chris, your phone on your desk as you try to concentrate on both setting your for the night, but also talk to chris. he doesn’t seem to notice, nor does he say much, but you take no notice of it.

“ugh! this stupid thing won’t work!” you whine, carefully hitting your desk with a fist, your arms already going numb from trying to put up your hair. you can hear chris trying not to laugh too loudly on the other end, rolling your eyes.

“it’s not funny! this is really hard, okay? definitely not for the weak..” you mumble, deciding to give it a break and take off your makeup instead.

chris doesn’t answer right away, but your hear some rustling. “wh- what are you doing?” he asks, his voice a little strained, followed by a deep sigh. you take no notice, moving on to find some cotton pads.

“i’m trying.. well, i tried to do my hair for the night. like, so i can wake up with pretty hair. overnight curls..?” you answer, completely oblivious to the fact that chris was on the other end with his hand wrapped around his flushed, aching cock, carefully teasing his tip that was beading with precum with his thumb. “t-that.. sounds cool. can you show me tomorrow?”

you raise a brow, a little concerned about the way his voice sounded so different, almost like he was sick. “are you alright, chris?” his hips stutter, finally starting to jerk his hand up and down his hard cock. “i-i’m fine.. don’t worry,” he groans, eyes clenched shut as your pretty, concerned voice echoes through his head.

you’re not convinced, brows furrowed as you put down the cotton pad. “hey, you don’t sound too well. are you sure you’re okay? if you’ve got a headache you should probably drink some water,” your voice is so sweet he could’ve gotten a toothache, letting out a quiet groan as his cock twitches.

“yeah.. i-i’m good, just— keep t-talking, please..?” he whines, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as he throws his head back, putting the phone down on the bed next to him, turning the volume up.

you’re startled, staring at your reflection as you try to figure out what he’s doing or what’s going on, but if he’s sick or feels bad, you might as well help a friend out. “um… well, what should i say?” you continue taking off your makeup, going past the whole thing like it was nothing.

“just.. tell me about y-your day,” he’s panting, hair sticking to his forehead as a sheen layer of sweat starts beading, fingers trembling as he continues to fuck his cock into his fist.

you shrug, deciding to follow his instructions. “okay.. well. i went out with my friend today, we went shopping. i got a new skirts, it’s so cute! i’ll show you that tomorrow as well then..” chris’s mind is reeling, listening to your pretty voice as he imagines what you’d sound like whining his name.. gosh, how awful he’s gonna feel after this.

“and then we got coffee. it was fine, not the best, but the café was cute! we should go there, don’t you think?” you ask sweetly, a smile on your face as you think about how fun that would be.

chris is too stuck in a haze to even register your question, letting go of deep sighs as he feels himself edge closer, his flushed cock pulsing in his hand. just a teeny tiny push..

“chris..? are you there?” he has to bite his lip so hard he’s sure he’d draw blood to stifle his moans as he comes, white spurts of his seed coating his hand and lower stomach, a tiny noise slipping past his lips.

you’re on the other end, confused and silent, trying to figure out if he fell asleep. “… hello?” you whisper, “s-sorry, i.. i must’ve fallen asleep, that’s my bad..” he answers, finally, his chest still heaving as he gasps for heavy breaths, looking down at the mess he made and his still half-hard cock in his hand.

“no, that’s okay! you should go to sleep then,” you chirp with a soft smile on your face, making his chest ache. “mhm.. y-yeah, i’m gonna go.. if you took any pictures today i’d love to, um, to see them.”

you smile widely, your cheeks turning rosy, nodding to yourself immediately while your heart skips a beat. “yes! i’ll send them to you right now! o-okay, i should probably go too, sleep tight!” you can’t help but smile, and chris feels a little bit less horrible as he hears the smile and excitement through your voice.

“y-yeah, um.. goodnight, bunny.” your heart leaps at the pet name, cheeks still pink and warm, staring at your phone as he hangs up. you quickly send the pictures his way, watching as the message goes from sending, to sent, delivered, and read. you wait for a reply, but he seems to take awfully long.

after five minutes you give up, turning off your phone with a sigh as you head to bed. little did you know, that chris was still in bed, still with his hand around his now fully erect dick, rubbing out another orgasm, this time looking at your pretty face.

more skater!chris x girly!reader here!

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izzylovesmatt · 19 days ago

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Yesterday, Today, Always

timeloop!matt x timeloop!reader

Y/N - This morning, I woke up and decided it was time to get my life together. I'm a 21-year-old still living at my mom's house, and I figured it was time. So I got up to my alarm blaring through my childhood bedroom with movie posters all over the baby pink walls. 6:27 am is too early to be functioning, but I forced myself to get up anyway. After forcing myself to get out of my comfy bed, I go into my bathroom that's connected to my bedroom and I shower. I never shower in the mornings, but I figured I should start a new morning routine, considering I'm trying to be a better person. After my shower, I walk downstairs in my robe and my hair still wrapped in a towel, the minty taste of my toothpaste still lingering. “Good morning, sugar, how did you sleep?” my mom says as I walk into the kitchen. “Fine, I guess. But it's too early for me to talk right now.” I say before shoving a waffle into my mouth, “God, you are just like your father.” She says, laughing, Great way to ruin my morning. “Anyways, I have a lot of work to do today, so you have the house to yourself. Also, we're having people over for dinner tonight, so make sure the house and your room are cleaned,” she adds before walking out of the kitchen, probably to go shower or do whatever she does. I lean back against my chair and groan, ‘Gosh, why do people always have to come here for dinner, and why does my room have to be cleaned. It's not like we're eating there’ I think to myself. About 30 minutes later, I'm back in my overly bright room, writing in my notebook, or what my mom calls a “diary” 9-22-25 Today I woke up early for once, I took a shower, brushed my teeth and my hair, ate breakfast, talked to my mom a bit, and she brought up my dad again. She says, “God, you are so like your father.” What makes it worse is she laughed it off, but I'm trying not to think about it because I will cry if I do, but I'm being a better new person, so that is not an option. Anyways, I have to clean my room because people are coming over for dinner again, stupid though I should not have to clean my room just because people are going to be here, nobody's going to be in my room, but first I'm going to read my new book. Also, I wonder who it will be this time. Maybe my mom's friends from work, or maybe a really hot guy that will fall in love with me, either way, I'm dreading it.

Matt- Life felt like it was too much when I opened my eyes this morning. I woke up at 6:27 am, too early for me to even think about getting out of bed, but today was going to be different, so I got up anyway and took a shower, then I walked downstairs and got breakfast. But of course, right when I get downstairs, my mom is already up and in the kitchen pretending. Pretending that our life isn’t shit. After my sad soggy bowl of cereal and the worst news of my life, I started thinking about my life and why I need it to get better. My life has been the same since I was 16 years old. I go to bed around 3-4 am, wake up at noon, eat, shower, and do it all again. And I'm sick of it, I'm sick of playing the same game over and over again, so something has to change. I always thought it was simpler this way, where I could eat and play video games. But that's not the case, and I know it. I'm 22 years old and still don’t have my own house, apartment, car, or even my own insurance. So that’s why I decided to get out of bed. 30 minutes after I woke up, but now it's 8:45 and I'm still tired and not feeling any better, so I'm going to write in my diary. Well, it's a journal, but some may call it a diary.

9/22/25 Today was like any other day I have had, except I'm more tired, oh, and I'm trying to get my life better. We’ll see how that goes ;) My mom told me we are going to someone's house for dinner today. One of her only work friends, she says, has a “beautiful daughter my age who also still lives with her mom, and if I wanted to, we could get married and move in together.” Yeah, right. Sometimes I think my mom doesn’t even know me at all. I think she's just basing her thoughts about me on what she had/wanted when she was 22. Well, I can tell you right now, a wife, let alone a girlfriend, is not in the cards for me. Anyways, I have to go, I want to go for a walk because walking and thinking about my horrible life is better than sitting here thinking about it.

Y/N- It's about to be 6:30, which is what time my mom's work friend is supposed to come over for dinner, and my moms spent like 100 hours in this overly sage green kitchen cooking the food. “It smells like bread, chicken, and regret in here” i say walking into the kitchen with my grey sweatshorts and black tank top “Yeah this took me all d-” she cuts herself off when she sees what im wearing “Get upstairs and change into something nice please, i know you own a dress or a skirt.” I groan very loudly when hearing her words. “ Mom, you can not be serious about a dress?! I'm not wearing a dress or skirt.” She raises her eyebrow at me, and she looks like she could kill me with a kitchen knife right now. “Okay fine, I’ll wear a dress,” I said before turning on my heels and running up the stairs to go change. After what feels like forever, I finally get a dress, a perfect short white dress, with a high neck, no sleeves, and flowers around the neckline and the bottom. I put on deep red ballerina flats to go with it, then I finally went downstairs. “Finally, I thought you got lost in your closet or something,” my mom says as she finishes setting the table. “Wow, it looks so good. Almost like Pinterest threw up in here, "I say, staring at the perfect table in front of me. “Thank you? I don't really know what that means. But they should be here any second.” Right after she says that, I hear someone knock on the door “I got it!” I say, walking over to answer the door. I open it and there he is, a boy standing right next to my mom's friend Mary Lou. He has small stubble, brown, messy curly hair, and the most beautiful blue eyes. “Hey guys, come in,” I say, finally stepping out of the way, but not breaking eye contact with this boy. “Y/N, this is Matthew, he's your age,” my mom says, wiggling her eyebrows at the last part, which makes my face turn a bit red. I give him a small smile, then we all walk over to the table and sit down. I'm sitting across from Matthew, and I swear if he keeps looking at me, my head might explode.

Matt- It's about to be 6:30 and my mom is forcing me to get into something nice so I don’t "embarrass” her in front of her coworker, so I put on jeans and a black T-shirt with my airforces. I don’t need to dress up for people I don't even know, and I bet her daughter is going to be annoying like every other girl I’ve ever met. We pull up at their house, and my mom knocks. “I'm surprised they don’t have a doorbell, considering how big this house is.” I say, scoffing, “Shut up, Matthew, there’s nothing wrong with having a little money.” She says, hitting me on the arm with her purse. Then someone opens the door, a beautiful girl with gorgeous deep blue eyes that I could stare at forever, and long dirty blonde hair that flows down her back. We lock eyes until she steps back and says, “Hey guys, come in.” I look away first, ‘She's probably like every other girl I’ve met: rude, snotty, and thinks she's better than everyone because her family is perfect and prissy.’ I think to myself before sitting down at the table in the chair across from her. I try not to stare, I do, I keep trying to remind myself that she's most definitely a bitch and I shouldn't even try because she would probably look down on me anyway.

After the dinner, my mom says goodbye and she gives me that sweet smile again, where she smiles with her mouth but not her eyes, but she still looks like she means it. In the car on the way home, it’s pretty much silent besides the broken AC humming, and the radio is turned on low. “So what did you think of her?” My mom says to turn the radio all the way off, trying to sound casual. “Mom, stop. That was just for dinner, besides, I didn't even talk to her.” I say ending whatever she started in her head. “Okay, I was just asking,” she says, smirking. When we get home, I stay up late thinking. Not necessarily about Y/N, just about what my life would be like if it were as perfect as hers. And will I ever see her again?

a/n - this took me two hours... i need to get better at writing so im sorry if this is bad

🏷️ @japblogs @izzylovesmatt @iluvchr1s

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izzylovesmatt · 19 days ago

Text

Introducing

𓏲🔦 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖timeloop!matt

stuck in a time loop thinks hes in it alone doesn't believe in love secret softie The Man Who Cant Be Moved by the script never had a true relationship relives september 23rd sharp edged likes to be alone bad childhood reads the same news paper every morning has to find a way out but he cant do it alone

𓏲 📚 ࣪ ˖ timeloop!reader

stuck in a time loop knows theres someone else but can figure it out loves love book worm smart i know the end by Pheobe Bridgers relives september 23rd likes to do things alone but knows she need the help stubborn doesn't take no for an answer needs to get out of the time loop family doesnt know where she went

a/n idk if anyone has done something like this b4 but if they have lmk, also i dint know how bad this is going to flop but idc. If anyone had any recommendations comment them pls im running out of ideas for what to do

🏷️ @izzylovesmatt @japblogs

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izzylovesmatt · 19 days ago

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I LOVE YOU, IM SORRY 016

Chapter Sixteen: Almost A Farytale

warning: fluff, angst, sexual content, and more that I don't condone.

Y/N:

It’s been a year and a half.

Eighteen months since I walked out of that house and never looked back. Since I watched my reflection change in real time from someone who believed in forever, to someone who learned how easily it shatters.

I still feel the ache. Just… differently now. It’s dulled into something quieter. Less like a stab, more like a shadow that moves with me. I’ve learned how to exist with it. To live around it. But some days like today, it feels heavy in my lungs again, right beneath the surface of my ribs.

I stand in front of the mirror, curling the ends of my hair, watching the girl in the reflection. She’s not the same one who threw a birthday party with her whole chest and heart. She’s older. A little colder. A little smarter. A little lonelier.

I haven’t seen Matt since that day. Haven’t talked to him. Haven’t stalked his socials in months. I made myself stop.

But I did hear things. Through silence, you still hear. A due date. A gender. I didn’t seek it, but somehow, it always finds you.

I also haven’t talked to Nick or Chris. Not since the club.

Nothing happened, really. No fights. No drama. Just… silence. I stopped replying, and they stopped asking. Maybe they didn’t know what to say. Maybe I didn’t want to hear it. Or maybe I needed to disappear for a while, and they respected that in their own quiet way. I don’t blame them. I don’t blame anyone.

Tonight’s different, though.

I’m going on a date.

I almost said no, fingers hovering over the keyboard when I saw his message. But something in me said yes. It’s not love, not even close. But it’s… something. A chance to dress up. To laugh. To be touched by someone who doesn’t come with history like a loaded gun.

He’s taking me to Disneyland. I know, it sounds dramatic. But I think part of me liked the idea of being surrounded by something whimsical. Something innocent. Something so far from who I used to be.

I smooth my jeans down over my thighs and grab my gloss. My fingers are shaking a little.

It’s not nerves for him. It’s nerves for me.

For the version of me I buried.

For the one who used to talk about blue-eyed babies and backyard swings and never questioned if love was safe.

And maybe I’ll come back tonight feeling okay.

Or maybe I’ll come back cracked open again.

But at least I’m trying.

At least I’m walking out the door.

MATT:

It’s almost funny how quiet life gets when everything is loud inside your head.

Our apartment is soft, simple, baby toys scattered across the carpet, sunlight warming the hardwood floors in the morning. There’s a framed sonogram on the kitchen counter. A pink onesie hanging to dry on the balcony. The kind of place you’d call stable. Domestic.

And in a way, it is.

Avery and I- yeah, we’re something now. More than we were before. Moved in after the baby turned five months, tried to make it feel like a home. We sleep in the same bed, share a calendar, have matching mugs. She’ll rest her head on my chest at night and trace her finger along the tattoo on my arm. It’s warm, sometimes even sweet.

But it isn’t love.

Not the kind I once knew.

Not the kind that tore through me with wildfire and made me want to be better just because she existed.

This feels more like… obligation. Familiarity. Two people trying their best not to fall apart while raising something that needs them. It’s not bad. We laugh sometimes. We touch. We even go out to dinner now and then like some version of a real couple.

But I catch myself staring at Avery when she holds the baby, wondering if this version of my life was ever meant to be mine.

Or if it just became mine when I ruined the one I really wanted.

The baby, our daughter, is perfect. Blue-eyed, messy-haired, loud-laughing little thing. She calls me “Dada” and grabs my fingers like I’m her whole world. I’d do anything for her. I do.

She’s saved me, in a way.

But she also reminds me every day of what I lost.

Nick still isn’t really speaking to me. He loves the baby, spoils her every time he visits. But with me? There’s a wall. Every joke feels half-hearted, every hug awkward and short. He doesn’t look at me the same. I think part of him still sees her when he sees me, and hates me for it.

Chris is quieter. He checks in. Comes by with weed sometimes, lets the baby climb all over him while he scrolls through his phone. But even he doesn’t ask questions anymore. He used to. Used to push. Used to say things like, “You really fucked it up, huh?”

Now he just shrugs like the damage is done and there’s nothing left worth saving.

I don’t blame them.

Sometimes I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.

It’s like I built a life out of the rubble and tried to decorate it to look like something whole. But even with the baby’s giggles echoing through the apartment and Avery curled up on the couch beside me, there’s still a ghost in the room.

And she doesn’t speak.

She just stares.

And I stare back.

Because I gave someone else a child,

and lost the future I always imagined, with blue eyes, and her smile, and the kind of love that only happens once in a lifetime.

Sometimes I wonder if I ever really left her behind… or if I just carried her into everything I do now.

Avery doesn’t know that the first time we took the baby to the beach in December, wrapped in soft pink blankets, cheeks rosy from the wind, I had to fight off a memory so strong it nearly knocked the air out of my chest.

That winter, years ago, when I took YN to the coast. No tourists, just wind and salt and her eyes squinting into the sun. She kissed me with sand still on her lips. We stayed until it got dark. We didn’t even bring towels.

I told Avery it was just “peaceful” there.

She smiled and agreed. But I was somewhere else entirely.

Another time, we got ice cream at 11 p.m. The baby was fussy, so we took a drive, windows down, and Avery fed her tiny spoonfuls of vanilla from the front seat while I parked along the overlook.

She laughed, told me it felt like a movie scene.

And I didn’t say it, but I had lived that scene before. With YN. Summer after tour ended. When we didn’t have much money but we had each other. She danced barefoot in the parking lot that night, dripping strawberry cone all over her hoodie.

Sometimes, when the baby’s asleep and the world is quiet, I play songs for her. And the other night, I held her in my arms and hummed “And I Love Her” by The Beatles under my breath.

Avery looked over, said how that is a really good song.

I just nodded.

Didn’t tell her it was the song I played after taking YN to In-N-Out for the first time, just the two of us, a couple days after we met at that party.

We sat in the car for almost an hour after eating.

She dipped her fries in ranch. Talked about music and constellations and what it felt like to kiss someone you were afraid to lose.

She made me laugh so hard I forgot to care about anything else. I watched her like she was something I wasn’t sure I deserved.

And on the drive home, that song came on. And I remember thinking, this is her. This is the girl.

It’s not fair to Avery.

She’s been patient. Kind. She’s trying.

She didn’t ask for a man with ghosts in his chest.

But I don’t know how to be someone who doesn’t remember.

I’ve built a new life. One I show up for. One I’m grateful for.

But every so often, in the middle of something ordinary, I’ll catch myself drifting,

to the old apartment smelling like her perfume,

to the way she used to mouth the lyrics of every song,

to the feeling of being so deeply seen I couldn’t look away.

And I wonder if I’ll ever get to live a single day without asking:

What if I hadn’t fucked it all up?

Y/N:

Milo: Outside when you’re ready :) Disneyland awaits.

I smiled. Not because I was ready. But because I wanted to be.

And maybe that was good enough.

The car pulled up five minutes early.

That alone was enough to make me blink twice, most guys I’d met could barely be on time for a phone call, let alone a full-day plan. But Milo was leaning against the passenger door of his silver Audi, holding a little iced coffee tray like it was flowers, and smiling like he wasn’t nervous.

“Good morning, pretty girl,” he said when I stepped out. His voice was soft, a little raspy. He always spoke like the world might be listening, so he kept it gentle.

I tugged at the edge of my cardigan, suddenly unsure if the light makeup I’d done looked like effort or like overthinking.

“You remembered the coffee,” I smiled.

“Of course I did. I’m not a monster,” he teased, handing me the one with extra vanilla cold foam. “And I figured you’d need it if I’m dragging you to Disneyland on a Saturday.”

I laughed as I slid into the seat. “Dragging? I thought this was your idea.”

“It was, but I’m giving you the credit. You look cute when you get excited.”

He got in and started the car like he wasn’t making my heart lurch. He was charming in a kind way, not a loud way. Everything about him was easy. Comfortable.

And that scared me a little.

The radio was playing something quiet and mellow as we drove through the early morning light. Milo didn’t talk the whole time, he let me rest my head back, sip my coffee, and just be. It was the kind of silence that didn’t beg to be filled. I liked that.

Still, my eyes wandered sometimes, to the window, to the sky, to places memory lived.

I thought about the last time I went on a real date. The last time someone held my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist like I was something soft. Like I was his.

I thought about that night Matt and I drove to In-N-Out a few days after we met at a party. How we sat in the parking lot with fries and his hoodie in my lap. He played “I Love Her” by the Beatles on the aux and eventually after a couple month of talking he told me it reminded him of the first time he saw me.

It was raining that night.

My chest ached like a bruise now when I remembered it.

“You okay?” Milo asked gently, eyes still on the road.

“Yeah,” I answered too quickly. “Just tired.”

He didn’t push. Just smiled and reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Well, you deserve a good day. That’s the only rule.”

I nodded, trying to believe it.

Outside, the signs started changing, Mickey ears on the highway, the shimmer of distant park rides. My heart fluttered in a strange way. Like something was starting.

I didn’t know that a chapter was about to open and close all in one day. That fate would twist itself in the middle of Main Street and force me to look back.

For now, I just smiled at Milo, grateful. He didn’t know the whole story. He didn’t need to. He was kind. He was safe.

The morning sun was warm on my skin, and for once, the ache in my chest felt like it had faded into the background, just a whisper.

Milo held my hand as we walked past the gates, the buzz of the park filling the air, children’s laughter, the distant chime of the carousel, the scent of popcorn and cinnamon wafting around us.

We stopped first by the castle, where a little girl in a sparkly Elsa dress gasped as she met the real Elsa. Milo knelt beside me to tie his shoe, his eyes bright as he watched the scene. “You know,” he said quietly, “I never thought I’d be a Disneyland person. But this… this is kinda magical.”

I smiled. “Yeah. It’s like stepping into a dream.”

We wandered into Fantasyland, where the princesses and princes greeted kids and adults alike. When I spotted Belle, I couldn’t help but smile, her gentle kindness always felt like the kind of love I hoped for.

Milo nudged me and whispered, “Want me to get you a rose?”

I laughed softly, the sound coming easier than I expected. “Only if you promise not to curse me like the Beast.”

He winked. “Deal.”

Later, we found ourselves in line for the teacup ride, spinning in circles until our laughter was breathless and light-headed.

“You’re a terrible spinner,” Milo teased, pretending to swerve dramatically.

“Oh please,” I shot back, “You’re just mad I’m better.”

The way he laughed, deep, genuine, felt like a balm.

As we slowed down, the teacups settling, I caught his gaze and saw something soft and hopeful in his eyes.

Maybe it was the day, or the way the sun hit his hair, but I allowed myself to believe, just for a moment, that I could feel light again.

And in that moment, I forgot the past.

Forgot the cracks.

Forgot everything except the warm squeeze of his hand in mine.

He insisted I close my eyes.

We were standing just outside one of the little souvenir shops, and even though I was still a little flushed from Space Mountain, I did as he asked.

I felt the soft fabric of something plush settle over my head, the strap adjusting under my chin.

“Okay,” Milo said. “Open.”

I blinked at him, then at the reflection in the glass. On my head was a pair of baby pink Minnie Mouse ears, sequins sparkling in the sunlight, a tiny bow sitting perfectly between them.

“Milo,” I whispered, half amused, half flustered. “You didn’t have to—”

“You hesitated when we passed them earlier. That was enough.” He smiled, proud of himself. “You’re the Minnie to my Mickey today. Just go with it.”

I tried not to let the weight of those words settle too deeply into my chest. So I laughed instead. “Only if I get to pick our next ride.”

We ended up on the Jungle Cruise, cheesy jokes and all, and I watched Milo laugh harder than he probably should have at the skipper’s puns. He bought us Ice Cream after, and we sat under a shaded bench near Adventureland.

He fed me a spoonful with the tip of the plastic spoon, teasing when some of it landed on my nose.

“Don’t move,” he said, and wiped it gently with his thumb, letting his hand linger for a moment on my cheek. It felt… easy. Safe.

By midday, we were knee-deep in churros and had taken selfies in front of the sleeping beauty castle, I caught myself smiling, real, not forced, in more pictures than I had in months.

When we passed a couple slow dancing to a jazz band playing near New Orleans Square, he held out his hand and wiggled his brows. “Dance with me?”

“In the middle of Disneyland?” I laughed.

He didn’t flinch. “Exactly.”

So we danced, barely swaying, his hand at my waist, my chin tilted up toward the sky as we giggled like idiots. And for a few brief minutes, nothing else existed.

Not the ache.

Not the memory.

Not the future.

Just this: sunlight, music, and the soft warmth of someone who wanted me to be happy. Who didn’t ask for my story but held space for the girl who had one.

Later, we rode It’s a Small World and made sarcastic commentary the whole time. He pointed out which dolls looked like us. “That one’s you,” he joked. “She’s cute but kinda scary when you look too long.”

“Rude,” I gasped.

“And that one’s me,” he added, pointing at a pirate-looking one. “Dumb and waving aggressively.”

We ended the ride laughing so hard our cheeks hurt.

It wasn’t love. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But it was peace.

It was good.

It was mine.

⸻

The fireworks bloomed above Sleeping Beauty’s Castle like painted explosions. Gold, pink, and lavender light tore through the sky, crackling in slow motion, reflecting in every pair of eyes watching. It felt like a movie. It felt fake. Too perfect to be real.

Milo’s arm was around my shoulder, pulling me into him gently, his hoodie smelling like sugar and cologne and something safe. I was leaning into it. Into him. I even laughed when he whispered something stupid about how Mickey probably has back problems from smiling all the time.

For once, I let myself exist in the moment.

We had matching wristbands, cotton candy-stained fingers, a selfie with Cinderella who said we looked like a “very sweet couple.” My Minnie ears were slightly crooked, and I hadn’t bothered to fix them. He bought them earlier, grinning like he was proud of himself, calling them “a trophy for the prettiest girl here.”

We were supposed to stay for the fireworks. That was the plan.

That was the whole plan.

Until I heard it.

“Y/N! Come here, baby!”

The world didn’t stop immediately. Not at first. But my body did.

My shoulders stiffened. My mouth dried. Something inside me twisted violently, like my stomach knew before my mind did.

It was the way he said my name.

The way it sounded when he used to say it.

I turned my head slowly, like I already knew what I was going to see but didn’t want to.

And there he was.

Matt.

Kneeling on the pavement not far from the edge of the crowd, just outside the line of stroller traffic. His hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms. His hair a little longer than before. His face, God, his face. So familiar it hurt. And so different it made me want to cry.

He was holding out his arms.

And running toward him, wobbly and full of excitement, was a little girl. Dressed in a lavender dress. Light-up shoes blinking with every tiny step.

She had curls.

And the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen.

She looked just like him.

I barely noticed Avery standing beside them, her head turned toward them with a soft, tired smile.

But I saw everything else.

I saw him catch the little girl in his arms.

I saw the way he lifted her with ease, his whole body curving around her like a home.

I saw the way she melted into his shoulder, the way his lips brushed her temple.

I saw him whisper something in her ear that made her giggle.

And then he turned.

And his eyes met mine.

Right there, beneath the fireworks, under all the light and smoke and Disney magic, our eyes locked like fate had just grabbed both our collars and slammed us into the moment.

It didn’t feel real.

It felt like I’d dreamed this exact scenario before. Or maybe had nightmares about it.

My legs stopped moving.

My heartbeat turned to glass.

And in the exact same second my eyes blurred with tears, one slipped free and rolled silently down my cheek.

He didn’t move.

I didn’t either.

Just two people, two ghosts, staring at the versions of each other they never expected to see again.

He looked stunned. Wrecked. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

And the worst part?

The little girl, his daughter, tugged at his sleeve and pointed to the fireworks like none of it meant anything at all.

Because to her, it didn’t.

To her, I was just a stranger.

To me, she was everything I lost.

Milo’s voice was distant. Like he was underwater.

“YN? Are you okay?”

I blinked and forced air into my lungs.

“I— I wanna leave.”

“What?”

“I need to leave. Now.”

My voice cracked like glass under a boot, and that was when he really looked at me.

“Did something happen?”

I shook my head and turned, wiping my face with the back of my hand like it would erase the sting.

“I just… I need to go.”

I didn’t wait for him.

I didn’t dare look back again.

Because if I did… if I looked into those blue eyes one more time… I was scared I wouldn’t leave at all.

And God, that little girl.

He gave her my name.

And I had nothing but a tear-stained memory, falling apart beneath a sky of fireworks.

MATT:

The fireworks were beautiful.

That kind of over-the-top, choreographed magic that’s supposed to make people believe in things again. Like hope. Or happy endings. Or the idea that anything can be okay if you just wish hard enough beneath the right sky.

I wasn’t looking at the fireworks.

I was looking at my daughter.

Her cheeks lit up with every burst of color. Blue. Then gold. Then pink. She giggled when she pointed to the sky and I nodded like I hadn’t seen it too many times already. Like I wasn’t exhausted. Like I didn’t feel hollow in places I couldn’t even name anymore.

Then I said it.

“Y/N! Come here, baby!”

And that name tasted like a bruise.

I meant her, my daughter. But the moment it left my lips, something shifted.

I felt it.

Like a cold ripple in warm water.

Like my heart tripped over something invisible.

I bent to pick her up, all lavender and laughter, and when I looked up…

I saw her.

Her.

Standing just beyond the stroller crowd. Still. Frozen. Drenched in the glow of the fireworks like the universe lit her up on purpose.

It was like the air left my lungs in one breath.

YN.

She hadn’t changed, and she had. Her hair was longer. Her face a little sharper. But her eyes, God, her eyes were the same. Wide, brown, and bottomless. Like the first time I looked into them across a crowded birthday party. Like that night in the car when I told her I didn’t deserve her. Like every second she ever cried into my hoodie, and I let her.

She was standing beside some guy. He had his arm around her. She wasn’t looking at him.

She was looking at me.

And I swear to God, if she had run, I would’ve chased her. If she had spoken, I would’ve listened. If she had cried, I would’ve begged.

But she just stood there.

And I did the one thing I shouldn’t have.

I stared back.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

Because that was the woman I loved more than I ever thought I could love anyone. And now I was holding the child she never got to experience with me.

The daughter I named after her.

Avery shifted beside me, her voice soft. “Matt?”

But I barely heard her. My ears were ringing.

Then I saw it.

A single tear, streaking down YN’s cheek like a silent goodbye.

And my stomach fucking dropped.

She turned away. I saw her push past people, shoulders tight, hands trembling.

She was leaving.

Again.

And I had no right to stop her.

I looked down at my daughter. She was still laughing. Still pointing at the sky. Oblivious to the hole in my chest.

“Let’s go find a quieter spot,” Avery said, touching my arm. “Too loud here.”

I nodded but didn’t speak.

Not until we were walking away did I find the courage to say anything at all.

“She saw me,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else. “She saw us.”

Avery looked up, brows drawing together. “Was that her?”

I didn’t answer. She already knew.

Her hand brushed against mine as we walked. I didn’t take it.

And later, hours later, when we were driving home and my daughter was asleep in her car seat, I looked out at the highway and thought about every version of life we could’ve had.

All the ones that never happened.

All the ones I destroyed.

And even with Avery beside me, even with my baby girl breathing softly in the back seat…

I’d never felt more alone in my life.

Y/N:

The air in the car was different now.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that comforted you after a long day, it was thick, pressing down on my chest like it wanted me to speak, but I didn’t have the words. My stomach still felt hollow. My ears rang, not from the fireworks, but from that voice echoing in my head:

“Y/N, come here baby.”

And it wasn’t mine he meant.

Milo kept glancing at me from the driver’s seat, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting over the gear shift like he didn’t know whether to reach for me or give me space. The road lights flickered across his face, softening the crease in his brows.

“Are you okay?,” he finally asked, voice cautious but kind. “Did I… do something wrong back there?”

I shook my head. My voice caught before it even reached my mouth. “No, it’s not you.”

He nodded slowly, like he wanted to believe me but didn’t. “You don’t have to talk about it. I just, I hope you had fun. I was really looking forward to today.”

“I know,” I said quietly, eyes on the window, watching the night blur past. “You were great, Milo. Really I had so much fun with you.”

“But something changed,” he said softly. “After the fireworks.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I didn’t want to hurt him. He was sweet. He bought me ears, made me laugh, danced with me in line for churros. But the moment I saw Matt… everything tilted.

“I saw someone,” I finally admitted.

He looked over, his eyes flickering with something like understanding. “An ex?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

“Oh,” he breathed.

A beat passed. Then two. He slowed the car a little as we got closer to my place. “Was it… serious?”

I stared at my hands. My nails were still painted the color he once said reminded him of me. My ring finger twitched.

“I thought it was forever,” I said honestly. “I thought he was it for me.”

Milo stayed quiet.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t have come today. I thought I was ready, but I’m not. That wasn’t fair to you.”

He pulled up to the curb outside my apartment and shifted the car into park. His voice was gentle, but there was a quiet sadness in it. “It’s okay. I’d rather you be honest than pretend.”

I finally looked at him, the guilt burning hot in my chest. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He gave me a small, tired smile. “But I’m not the one you were thinking about when the fireworks went off, was I?”

I didn’t answer. He didn’t expect me to.

I stepped out of the car, gave him a soft thank you, and shut the door. He waited until I was inside the gate before driving off. I stood there a moment, in the stillness of the night, the wind cool against my skin, my heart still pounding from something that didn’t even happen.

I should’ve gone inside.

But instead, I pulled out my phone with shaking fingers and opened my messages. The contact was still pinned, though I hadn’t touched it in over a year.

Chris 🕺

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering.

Then I typed:

hey are you busy?

And hit send.

My heart ached. My hands trembled.

And all I could do was wait.

lmkkk what yall think about this.. sorry for the cliffhanger BTW I LOVE YOURE GUYS COMMENTS & MESSAGES IN MY INBOX PLEASE KEEP THEM COMING 🙏 ( ignore the mistakes pls and thank you🥲)

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁ੈ❀

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44 @sturnslux3

@kalel2005 @sarahsturnn

@teheabrams @prettypriscilla

@my-world-is-poetry @sturniszn

@slutforchrissturniolo2

@alinagrace11 @beardedbernard

@matthewswifeyy @blindedheartp

@chrissfavoritecherry

@jaybirdie34

@courta13 @chriss-slutt

@chrissturniolobendmeovernow

@norahsturns. @chrattstromboli

@iluvchr1s @japblogs @akalizzygrantxo @sturniolobananas1 @franficc @oopsiedaisydeer @wesj11

@watercolorskyy @sadgirlslush

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izzylovesmatt · 19 days ago

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thank you for the tagg

@humpster35 @sadgirlslush @thechratt-twins @spookysturnz

Tag game!

Let’s see how Pinterest sees you!

Search celebrity, aesthetic, food, movie, jewelry, and sturniolo!

TAGLIST/ no pressure tags! ( anyone can join and tag others!)

@carsonspepsi @babyt0matoes @sturniolo423 @bernardsbendystraws @mattsgirl23 @itsmeemmasturniolo @l0s3rhaha @sturniolo-szn2 @rlstarfiire @sabprincess @elianaaasworld @courta13 @matts-babytomatoes @aaliyah-sturns @matts-wife @oopsiedaisydeer @sturniololoverr @prettysturns @nickslicense @sturniololoverr

@miss-amour @vanteguccir @hannahsturniolo @hannahsturns @hotelstares

@likeumeanit9497 @lov3bug @pizzarhea00 @redsbookshelf

@immaqulate @thesturniolomanuscript @xxbaconlover69 @supasour

@girliemattitude @aaliyahsturniolo @annasturns @hearts4sturnz @h3arts4nat

@jaxstvrns @justacutegirly @forevvermb @missm333

@sourgummyball @whoresstuff @eeyoresturnz @thechratt-twins @tezzzzzzzz @angelicckisses

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izzylovesmatt · 20 days ago

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sidelines-matt sturniolo

“watching the world from the sidelines had nothing to prove”

I am at another party this week, another party where i have to pretend like im not feeling alone even in the room full of people. I used to be outgoing i loved parties, i was the life of them all. Now im just stuck in a shell of a body, a shell of someone who used to care too much, a shell of someone who used to be afriad. Afraid of losing it all, now in not afriad of anything not even my worst fears. Because i already lost it all the minute she walked outside of that door, the minute she told me that i would 'regret this one day' little did she know i regretted it right in the moment it happened. I had messed up and i cant even feel bad for myself, i had nothing to prove before she came into my life then she gave me something to lose, and i lost it. And now im here stuck drowning like im in a big river and i cant swim, stuck like time doesnt know how to move anymore. And theres nothing i can do to feel better because i know i will never have you like the way i did. But maybe one day i will believe you can hear the ocean in the seashells like i used to, maybe one day i wont feel alone anymore, Maybe one day i wont feel like im watching the world from the sidelines.

a/n this is kinda bad but i wanna start a taglist so if anyone wants to be on it comment🤗🤗

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izzylovesmatt · 20 days ago

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hey guys i have a friend whos new to tumblr and she asked me to make a post to bring people to her attention!!

@sadgirlslush shes new to writing and will accept any tips people will give her, im not forcing anyone to follow her but interacting with her would mean a lot!!

tagging some people @gigiii1sblog @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @viviansturns @thechratt-twins @softstvrnz @silverspringsstare @turniiisturnz @sturns-mermaid-alt @humpster35 @sourgummyball @angelxsturns

#sturniolo triplets #i love matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff #smut #christopher sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo #chris x reader #sturniolo smut

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izzylovesmatt · 21 days ago

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-bigdick!chris enjoys when you tell him how big he really is

| MDNI, 18+

Chris was deep inside you his dick reaching deep inside you, hitting all the spots that make your vison white and spotty , 'fuck just like that baby-mmph your doing so good' chris groans as he somehow keeps going deeper and deeper inside of you 'fuck chris mmm your s-so big' the second those words left your mouth chris's eyes widened, he didnt realize how badly that effected him when you said that 'w-what did y'say' he says getting unbelievably closer and closer to the edge, your pussy squeezing him wasnt helping his problem 'so bigg' were the only words you managed to get out while chris keeps pounding in you 'im gon-fuck cumming!' chris groans out before collapsing on top of you not even bothering to take his dick out from inside you.

a/n okay this is really bad... but its my first blurb and smut so yea

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izzylovesmatt · 21 days ago

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sober or not, I love you

dealer!chris x reader

matt's text is short and desperate: "chris's being cocky and handsy. save us"

you sigh, toss on your hoodie, and head to the house where the party's been going on for hours.

when you walk in, it's loud, the lighting's weirdly purple, and someone's already passed out on the stairs. you weaved your way through the crowd until you spotted him.

chris is leaning back against the kitchen counter, long legs crossed, drink in hand, eyes low. there are two girls standing close, clearly testing the limits of "friendly."

one of them playfully taps his chest. "you sure you're taken?"

chris just raises an eyebrow, tilting his head like it's the dumbest question he's heard all night. "very."

"what's her name?" the other one challenges.

that smug little smile spreads across his face, "wouldn't give it to you even if you asked nicely."

and then, like clockwork, his red eyes flick up, right over their heads and land on you.

his whole posture shifts. he stands straighter, subtly pushing off the counter, and without a word to the girls, starts walking straight towards you like gravity is dragging him.

you barely open your mouth before he's already in front of you, tall and unapologetically smug.

"hey," he says, voice smooth and low.

"you're drunk? and high?"

he shrugs, "and you're late."

he then leans in, no hesitation, hands finding your waist as he bends down just enough to nuzzle your cheek. his breath smells like lemon-lime soda and something sharper underneath.

"took you long enough."

you roll your eyes, pretending your not melting, "You've got groupies tonight?"

he hums lazily against your skin. "didn't even look at them. waste of time." his fingers slide just under the hem of your hoodie, settling at your hips like it's the most casual thing in the world. "why would I entertain that when I've got you?"

you glare at him, weakly. "you're really drunk."

"im really high," he corrects. "and a little drunk, which makes me honest."

matt walks past with two red solo cups and mutters, "he's been like this for hours."

you sigh, looping an arm around chris's waist to guide him toward the door. He didn't protest, just presses in closer, fingers tapping slow patterns against your side like he can't stop touching you now that your here.

he holds the door open for you, drunkenly bumping into the frame in the process. He then wraps both arms around you from behind as you step into the cool night air.

"i like my hoodie on you," he says into your neck. "even from across the room you looked hot. still do."

you scoff, "you're such a child."

he smirks, lips brushing your ear. "you love it."

and God, maybe you do. especially when he's this warm, this soft, this gentle, even when he smells like cheap vodka and weed.

he doesn't let go of you the entire walk to the car.

not even a little.

one arm wrapped around your waist, the other playing with the strings of your hoodie.

trailing up and down your side like he's memorizing the texture. he's humming under his breath, some random tune you don't recognize, and every couple of steps, he pulls you closer like he's making sure you don't disappear.

you open the passenger door for him and he grins, cocky and loose.

"you're so nice to me, ma," he drawls, leaning in close before getting in. "How'd I land you again?"

"years of being tolerable..and pre-rolls" you deadpan.

he just laughs, low and gravelly, head tilted back as he settles into the seat.

his hand immediately finds your thigh as you start the car— fingers warm through the fabric of your sweats, palm heavy, and claiming. you shoot him a glance.

"you good?"

"mhm," he says, turning his head to stare at you.

"you're so hot when you drive, ma. like—distractingly hot."

you let out a slow breath, "chris,"

"no, no, hear me out," he says, already sliding his hand higher. "you're doing the whole one-hand-on-the-wheel thing? absolute cinema."

you reach over to shove his hand back down—not too hard, but firm. he groans dramatically, flopping his head against the seat.

"rude."

"you're going to forget all of this in the morning."

"nope." he looks at you again, smiling. "burning it into my brain. my girlfriend. my uber driver. my soulmate."

you shake your head. soulmate? well that's a new one.

The moment you unlock the apartment door, he's on you again.

shoes kicked off haphazardly, jacket halfway unzipped, cheeks still flushed from the party. he closes the door behind you, then cages you against it without saying a word.

he leans in, lips barely brushing your temple. "you gonna tuck me in, sweetheart?"

"you're a big boy, you can handle yourself," you mutter, trying to breathe normally.

"you're so mean to me," he says, but he's smiling. his hands find your hips again, thumbs slipping under your shirt to press into your bare skin. "s'like you want me to beg."

"you are insufferable when you're drunk."

"but I'm still cute, right?" he asks, dipping down to kiss your neck, slow and lazy. "i love you so much, ma."

you open your mouth to respond, but he's already pulling you toward the couch, still touchy, still attached. he collapses onto it and drags you into his lap like he expected you to follow.

you don't even get a chance to adjust before he's wrapped around you like a human blanket, arms around your waist, face tucked into the crook of your neck, legs tangled with yours.

he exhales deeply.

you snort, "you're ridiculous."

"im in love," he mumbles into your shoulder, tightening his grip just slightly. "with the smartest, hottest, most patient girl in the world. and she came to pick me up like a knight in shining armor. you should get a sword."

"you're gonna be mortified tomorrow."

he grins, eyes closed, completely unbothered, "only if you don't stay here all night."

you go still for a second, then glance down at him, brushing the hair from his forehead.

"...you're already falling asleep."

he hums. "only 'cause you're warm, and pretty, and my spine is melting."

you stay there for a while--him clingy and drunk and too high for his own good. his fingers play with the hem of your shirt, drifting over your sides every so often like he can't help it. even as his breathing slows and his words blur, he doesn't let go.

you run your hands through his hair, take out the pre-rolled blunts and lighter from his pocket and drift off into a comfortable sleep.

you wake up to weight.

warm, heavy weight. long limbs tangled with yours, a lazy hand splayed over your stomach, and a slow, groggy breath against the back of your neck.

chris.

you shift slightly and feel him stir behind you, groaning into your shoulder, his voice scratchy and wrecked.

"ugh. what time is it?"

you check the phone beside you. "ten."

he groans louder, "that's disgusting."

"then go back to sleep."

you expect him to roll away, maybe throw the blanket over his face dramatically, but instead he tightens his hold on your waist, pulling you flush against him.

his hand skims beneath your shirt with a kind of sleepy confidence, palm warm on your bare skin. "mmm, no. this is fine. im good right here."

you snort, "you remember anything from last night, or did it all blur out around the second shot of vodka?"

he hums, "i remember..being amazing. rejecting two girls. saying some very romantic things."

you twist in his arms to face him. he looks like a mess, bed hair, puffy eyes, and a light hicky blooming beneath his jaw, probably your fault.

he blinks slowly at you, then smirks.

"and i remember thinking, very clearly, that my girlfriend is stupidly hot when she's mad at me."

you raise an eyebrow, "you literally climbed me like a tree in the hallway. i had to hold you up while unlocking the door."

"efficient," he mumbles, eyes dropping to your lips. "i was multitasking, admiring you and keeping you warm."

"you made out with my hoodie sleeve,"

he grins, unapologetic. "you were wearing it, that counts."

you press your fingers into his ribs. "chris, you're shameless."

he leans in closer, voice low and unbothered, "i told you i love you last night, didn't i?"

you pause, heart skipping once.

"...you did,"

he hums again, sleepy but smug. "then i meant it."

you blink, "you remember that?"

he nods against your pillow, brushing his nose against yours. "why wouldn't i remember telling you that?"

"because you were drunk,"

"yeah, but i wasn't lying." his voice softens a little, "i don't say stuff like that unless i mean it, you know that."

your heart twists. he's still warm, still a little sleepy and clingy, but there's something steady behind the lazy smile this time.

you push a hand through his hair and he leans into the touch automatically, eyelids fluttering shut like you're the cure to his hangover.

"i love you too," you whisper.

he smirks without opening his eyes. "i know."

he grumbles, burying his face in your chest. "still not moving, though." you give up trying to move at all.

as the day progressed you honestly thought he'd be more flustered.

you expected groaning, maybe hiding under your sheets for two hours, muttering things like "don't look at me" and "i didn't really say soulmate, right?"

but no.

chris rolls out of bed like he didn't practically confess his entire soul twelve hours ago, brushes his teeth, rolls a blunt, and steals a kiss before you can stop him.

it's noon now and he's been... weirdly calm.

too calm.

you're on the couch scrolling through your phone when he casually walks by, pretends like he's just going to the kitchen, then backpedals, bends down, and kisses the top of your head.

"what was that for?"

“felt like it,”

ten minutes later, he "accidentally" drops his phone beside you and leans over to grab it, with both arms beside your head, before kissing your cheek like it's nothing.

you narrow your eyes.

"chris,”

"what?" he says, blank-faced.

"you've kissed me three times in the past twenty minutes."

"correction," he says, pressing one to your jaw now. "four."

you blink.

"are you okay?"

"im great," he shrugs, now leaning against the couch like he doesn't have plans at all.

"my girlfriend picked me up from a party, let me fall asleep on her, and told me she loved me. i think im allowed to be annoying for at least twenty-four hours."

"you're being clingy."

he raises a brow. "if i was clingy i'd be-"

he cuts himself off by literally crawling into your lap.

"—doing this."

you laugh. "you're unbelievable."

"mhm." his arms wrap loosely around your waist, his head fitting under your chin as he sighs, all smug and sleepy and completely satisfied. "so you're saying i shouldn't keep kissing you every time I walk past?"

"im saying you're being obvious."

"so?"

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes are sharp now, but soft around the edges in that way he only ever is with you.

"I like you," he says, quietly. "a lot."

"i know," you tease, brushing his hair back. "you said it last night, loudly. in front of two girls who were definitely flirting with you."

"yeah." he grins, unrepentant. "that was kind of fun."

you're about to reply when he cuts you off, again, with a kiss. this time slower, deeper, hands cradling your jaw like he's not letting you go for anything.

you melt a little, maybe a lot.

when he pulls you back, he's annoyingly smug.

"you weren't complaining then either,"

you stare at him, dazed. "chris."

he tilts his head, already leaning back in. "just one more,"

you roll your eyes but let him kiss you again anyway. he knows exactly what he's doing, and he's gonna keep doing it all day.

hellooo?? I finally wrote something?? yayayayyayay!! big ol' thank you to my dearest rose @bernardsbendystraws for giving me a second opinion, love ya!!

xoxo, truly

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