sturnswrites

[sturnswrites]

strangers to something more - pt.4 ish

Chris had been sitting on this secret for weeks. And if he was being honest, keeping it from you had been torture.

It wasn’t like he was good at keeping things from you, especially not when he was this excited about something. But somehow, he’d managed to keep his mouth shut, waiting for the perfect moment.

And tonight? Tonight was that moment.

You were already on stage, sitting between Matt and Nick, laughing at something one of them had said. You’d flown out to visit for a few days, and Chris had been counting down the minutes until you got here. He’d missed you more than he’d ever admit out loud—unless he was a few drinks in, but that was beside the point.

Matt smirked at Chris across the stage. “Alright, so, last time we brought her out here—” he gestured toward you “—it was to surprise you.”

Chris smirked, nodding. “Yeah, that was sick.”

Nick hummed. “Well, this time, it’s his turn.”

You furrowed your brows. “His turn for what?”

Chris leaned back against the couch, drumming his fingers against his knee. “Guess you’ll have to see.”

The crowd screamed in anticipation, and the lights dimmed. You sat up straighter, looking toward the giant screen as a video flickered to life.

At first, it was just Chris, sitting in a dimly lit room, his phone propped up in front of him.

“So, uh,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Like, before we even made things official. And I wanted to do something that—y’know, kinda represents you and me.”

Your stomach flipped.

The video shifted to a new clip. Chris was walking into a tattoo studio, shaking hands with an artist, sitting down in the chair—

Your heart stopped.

No. No way.

The camera zoomed in as the artist pulled on gloves, prepped the needle, and—

You gasped, covering your mouth as the camera panned to the design.

It was your handwriting.

You recognized it instantly. The little phrase you always wrote at the bottom of the notes you left for Chris—whether it was a reminder to eat before he left the house, a quick I love you, dummy on a sticky note, or a simple come home safe, please.

“Come back to me.”

The words were small, inked in delicate cursive. The tattoo was placed on his ribs, tucked under where his shirt would usually sit—hidden, just for him.

Just for you.

The camera cut back to Chris, now sitting in the chair, looking down at his freshly inked skin. He ran his fingers over it, a soft, almost shy smile tugging at his lips.

“Hope you like it, baby.”

The screen faded to black, and the entire venue lost it.

You just sat there, frozen, eyes wide, heart hammering in your chest.

Chris, on the other hand, looked smug as hell, sitting back on the couch like he hadn’t just completely shattered your ability to think.

“You did not,” you finally breathed, shaking your head.

Chris raised an eyebrow. “I definitely did.”

Your chest ached with emotion. “You—” You swallowed hard. “Chris, you got a tattoo for me?”

He nodded, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Well, yeah.”

“On your ribs?”

“Where else?”

Your throat tightened. “Chris, that’s—”

“Permanent?” he finished. “Yeah, I know.”

You stared at him, your heart in your throat.

Chris leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, voice dropping just low enough that you had to really listen. “That’s kinda the point.”

Your stomach flipped.

The crowd screamed.

Matt groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god, this is so gross.”

Nick just laughed. “Dude, he’s literally so in love with her, it’s disgusting.”

Chris ignored them, eyes locked on yours.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, shaking your head with a watery laugh. “I can’t believe you.”

He smirked. “Believe it, baby.”

And before you could even process what you were doing, you were pushing up from the couch and launching yourself into his arms.

The crowd erupted.

Chris caught you easily, his arms wrapping tight around your waist.

You pulled back just enough to cup his face, your fingers brushing against his jaw. “Chris,” you whispered, voice trembling.

His hands tightened around your waist. “Yeah?”

You blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “You’re it for me.”

His entire body softened.

His forehead pressed against yours, his nose nudging against your own. “Good,” he murmured. “Because you’re it for me, too.”

The world blurred around you, the roar of the crowd fading into white noise.

And then, Chris was kissing you.

It was soft at first, tentative, like he wanted to make sure you knew exactly what he was saying. But then you were gripping his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he melted into you.

It was like the entire world had disappeared.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were pink and just a little swollen, his eyes dark and so, so full of you.

“I love you,” he murmured.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers still tangled in his hoodie. “I love you, too.”

Chris grinned, tugging you even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Hope you like the tattoo.”

You laughed, burying your face in his shoulder. “Chris, I hate you.”

He just squeezed you tighter. “Nah, you love me.”

And honestly? He was so right.

a/n: ok I know I said i was done writing this story line but i had this idea and it was too cute

[sturnswrites]

i love ur fics

thank youu <3

[sturnswrites]

strangers to something more - pt.3 ish

It had only been a few weeks since Chris left for tour, but to you, it felt like forever. The two of you had been inseparable before he left, spending nearly every moment together, and now—he was miles away, traveling from city to city, while you were left watching from a distance.

You missed him. More than you expected.

At first, the late-night FaceTime calls were enough. You’d talk for hours until Chris’s voice got heavy with sleep, his eyelids drooping as he begged you to stay on the call so he could fall asleep to the sound of your voice.

Then, the time differences and the exhaustion from the road started to settle in. Your calls became shorter, texts left on read for hours, voice notes sent in rushed moments between sound checks and dinners. You understood it, of course. He was living his dream. He was doing what he loved.

But it didn’t stop the ache in your chest every time you missed him.

And it didn’t stop him from missing you.

You weren’t the only one struggling. Nick and Matt had told you that Chris talked about you all the time. That he constantly scrolled through pictures of you when he thought no one was looking. That he got this look whenever your name came up—like he wasn’t fully here, because a part of him was still with you.

That was why they came up with the idea.

You had been debating when to come visit, but Nick and Matt insisted on making it a surprise for the tour. They handled the logistics, made sure Chris didn’t suspect a thing, and now here you were—backstage at one of their biggest shows yet, hiding out of sight, waiting for the moment you’d finally see him again.

Chris had no idea what was about to hit him.

-

Chris slumped onto the couch on stage, completely oblivious to what was about to happen.

Tour had been amazing—better than he could have ever imagined—but there was one thing missing.

You.

He thought about you constantly. Even now, in the middle of a show, his mind drifted to you. What were you doing right now? Were you watching the livestream? Had you gone to sleep early?

Nick and Matt settled onto the couch opposite him, exchanging a quick glance before Nick grinned mischievously.

“So, Chris, we have a surprise for you,” he teased.

Chris’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he just leaned back, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “Oh yeah?”

Matt nodded, holding back a smirk. “Yeah, and we think you’re gonna like it.”

Chris gave them a skeptical look but didn’t press further. Instead, he watched as the venue lights dimmed slightly and the massive screen behind them flickered to life.

And then—

Your face appeared.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but Chris barely noticed. His breath hitched, his entire body tensing as he sat up fast.

“Hi,” you said, smiling softly at the camera. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Y/N… and I’m Chris’s girlfriend.”

The crowd screamed.

Chris’s mouth fell open.

Nick and Matt grinned on their couch, watching his reaction.

For a second, all he could do was stare at the screen. His heart pounded in his chest as your words registered—I’m Chris’s girlfriend.

Was this it? Was this their big surprise?

Were they hard launching your relationship in front of thousands of people?

Chris swallowed thickly, rubbing his palms over his jeans as he forced out a laugh. “Uh… okay?”

The audience laughed along with him, but his brothers could barely contain their excitement.

“Wait, wait, there’s more,” Nick urged, motioning toward the screen. “Keep watching.”

Chris turned his attention back just as you started speaking again.

“I know you’re probably freaking out right now,” you teased in the video, eyes twinkling. “But don’t worry, babe. This isn’t just a hard launch.”

Chris’s brow furrowed.

What?

“I mean, yeah, I guess this is kind of our official announcement,” you continued, smiling, “but… there’s something else, too.”

Chris’s stomach flipped.

The way you said it—your tone, the little glint in your eye—it set off something in his brain.

Something clicked.

His hands clenched into fists on his lap as he turned toward Nick and Matt. “Wait—”

And then—

You walked onto the stage.

For a second, Chris didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

His brain short-circuited at the sight of you, standing just a few feet away, smiling at him with the same soft look you always gave him.

The crowd lost their minds.

Chris launched off the couch.

He crossed the stage in record time, not caring about the cameras or the thousands of people watching. He didn’t stop moving until his hands were on you—one gripping your waist, the other sliding up to cradle your face.

And then he kissed you.

Right there, in front of everyone.

The venue erupted. Screams, cheers, absolute chaos.

But none of it mattered.

All Chris cared about was you.

Your arms wound around his neck as he poured everything into the kiss—the weeks apart, the loneliness, the missing you.

When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.

“You’re here,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, your hands sliding down to grip his wrists. “I’m here.”

Chris let out a shaky breath, his hold on you tightening like he still couldn’t believe it.

Then—without warning—he picked you up.

You squealed, laughing as he spun you in a circle, completely forgetting that you were still on stage in front of thousands of people.

Nick and Matt hollered from the couch. “WHOOO! BEST SURPRISE EVER!”

Chris finally set you down, but he did not let go. His hands stayed on your waist, his thumbs brushing over your skin like he needed to keep touching you to convince himself you were real.

“How long are you staying?” he asked, his voice almost desperate.

You smiled, brushing your fingers over his jaw. “Through the weekend.”

Chris groaned dramatically, making the audience laugh. “Not long enough.”

You grinned. “Then you better make the most of it.”

Chris smirked, leaning down to press another kiss to your lips, this one softer. “Oh, trust me. I will.”

And in that moment, with his arms around you and his brothers grinning from the other couch, you knew—

No amount of distance could ever change this.

Chris let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him. His fingers curled tighter around your waist, anchoring himself to reality.

“You guys really did this?” He glanced over at Nick and Matt, eyes still wide with shock.

Nick smirked, leaning back against the couch with his arms crossed. “Dude, you’ve been moping for weeks—we had to step in.”

Matt grinned. “You should’ve seen your face.”

The crowd erupted into laughter, but Chris barely acknowledged them. His focus was on you—his hands holding you close, his eyes flickering over every detail of your face, like he was memorizing you all over again.

He swallowed hard. “I missed you so much.”

Your face softened. “I missed you too.”

“You’re never leaving my side this weekend,” he murmured.

You smirked. “Good.”

Chris was still grinning as he pulled you toward the couch, keeping you tucked close to his side. He looked out at the crowd, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe this was real.

“Damn,” he breathed out, still in awe. “I seriously did not see this coming.”

Nick smirked. “That’s kind of the point of the surprise party tour, dumbass.”

The crowd laughed, but Chris wasn’t paying attention. His thumb was absentmindedly rubbing circles against your hip, his other hand still clutching the mic.

“So, since you’re here,” he said, glancing at you, “I feel like this is the perfect time to tell everyone how we met.”

The audience erupted into cheers.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You really wanna go there?”

Chris smirked. “Hell yeah. It’s a great story.”

Matt leaned forward. “Oh, this you all gotta hear.”

Chris turned his attention back to the crowd, his grin widening. “Alright, so get this—months ago, I was at this restaurant, waiting for a date who never showed up—”

The audience gasped dramatically, making you snort.

“And this one”—he pointed at you—“was at the same restaurant, waiting for her friend who also never showed up.”

The crowd gasped again, clearly invested.

“And then,” Chris continued, his tone becoming more animated, “this creepy-ass waiter started flirting with her, and I was sitting a few tables away, watching it go down, thinking, ‘No shot am I letting this happen.’ So, I walked over and pretended to be her date.”

The audience screamed.

“Yeah,” you chimed in, laughing. “He just sat down at my table and was like, ‘The waiter is flirting with you and making you uncomfortable, so I’m pretending to be your date even though we’re strangers.’”

Chris smirked. “Smooth, right?”

Nick rolled his eyes. “So smooth.”

Chris ignored him. “And then we just… clicked. Like, we sat there talking for hours. It was supposed to be fake, but by the end of the night, I was already thinking, ‘Yeah, I wanna see her again.’”

The crowd awed.

Matt leaned back, smirking. “So, let’s get this straight—you got stood up, she got stood up, and you guys ended up together?”

Chris nodded. “Basically.”

Nick shook his head in amusement. “So, what you’re saying is, if you ever get stood up, just fake-date a stranger, and it might work out?”

Chris grinned, looking at you. “Only if you get lucky enough to fake-date someone like her.”

The audience lost it, and you felt your cheeks heat up. Chris just laughed, squeezing your hand.

“But yeah,” he continued, turning back to the crowd, “that’s how I met my girlfriend. Best failed date of my life.”

You nudged him playfully. “Same.”

Chris turned toward you fully, lowering the mic. “I’m so damn happy you’re here,” he murmured.

You smiled. “Me too.”

His gaze flickered to your lips, like he was considering kissing you again right then and there—but Nick cut in, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Alright, we get it, you guys are in love.”

The crowd laughed, and Chris groaned. “Fine, fine.” He looked back at the audience, smirking. “Guess I should actually finish this show, huh?”

The cheers were deafening.

Chris shook his head, still grinning, before looking at you one last time. “Best night ever,” he murmured.

And you had a feeling he meant it.

[sturnswrites]

you planning on writing more for strangers to something more? I know you just posted it loll, but I had to ask. I think it would be sweet to see how it goes on and when fans realize chris is dating someone and sometimes later reader being in a video

It had been weeks since that unexpected night at the restaurant, and somehow, Chris had become a part of your daily life.

What started as a chance encounter had turned into late-night phone calls, impromptu coffee dates, and endless teasing that always had an underlying tension neither of you acknowledged outright.

And then there were the touches.

The way Chris always found a reason to brush his fingers over your arm, the way he’d absentmindedly play with your rings when you sat next to him, the way he’d tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

He hadn’t kissed you again since that night, but you felt it building—like a slow-burning fire waiting to consume everything in its path.

And truthfully? You wanted to be consumed by him.

-

You were sitting on Chris’s couch, curled up in one of his hoodies—at this point, you weren’t even sure which one actually belonged to you anymore. The two of you had planned on watching a movie, but Chris had spent the last hour on his phone, texting back and forth with Nick and Matt about something that was clearly stressing him out.

"You good?" you asked softly, nudging his leg with your foot.

Chris sighed, tossing his phone onto the table before running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, just… tour stuff. We’re leaving in a couple weeks, and there’s a lot to figure out."

Your stomach twisted at the mention of it. You knew the trip was coming up—it wasn’t something either of you had really talked about, but the reality of it lingered in the back of your mind.

A couple of weeks.

And then he’d be gone.

You swallowed, trying to push the thought away. "Anything I can do to help?"

Chris smirked slightly, reaching over to squeeze your thigh. "Just keep sitting here looking cute."

You rolled your eyes, but your heart clenched. The teasing was always there, but you wanted more. You wanted him.

"Chris…" you started, hesitating.

He must’ve sensed the shift because he turned toward you fully, his expression softening. "Yeah?"

You fidgeted with the sleeves of your hoodie. "What are we doing?"

Chris’s brows pulled together slightly. "What do you mean?"

You inhaled sharply. "I mean… we’ve been spending all this time together, and I—" You exhaled, shaking your head. "I don’t know. I just—"

Chris didn’t let you finish.

One second, he was watching you with careful curiosity, and the next, he was cupping your face, his thumb skimming across your cheek as he leaned in.

"I was waiting for the right time to do this," he murmured.

"Do what?" you whispered.

Chris kissed you.

But this time, it was different.

This wasn’t a first-date, testing-the-waters kind of kiss.

This was possession. This was confirmation.

This was him telling you everything you needed to know without saying a single word.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your hands gripping the front of his hoodie like you needed it to keep you steady.

Chris rested his forehead against yours, exhaling a shaky breath. "I don’t want this to just be a thing between us," he admitted. "I want you to be my girlfriend."

Your heart nearly stopped.

"You do?"

Chris let out a soft chuckle, brushing his nose against yours. "Yeah, I do. And I probably should’ve asked you sooner, but I got caught up in my own head. I didn't want to rush you or make you feel like you had to say yes just because—"

You kissed him before he could finish, pressing your lips to his in a way that made it abundantly clear where you stood.

When you pulled back, you smiled. "You could’ve asked me weeks ago, and I would’ve said yes."

Chris grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his chest.

"Well, that would’ve saved me a lot of overthinking," he muttered, making you laugh.

But then, after a moment, his grip tightened. "I just wish I wasn’t leaving so soon."

Your chest ached. "I know."

Chris tilted your chin up so he could look at you. "You’ll come visit, right?"

You bit your lip. "Are you sure you want that? I don’t want to be a distraction or—"

Chris cut you off with another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate.

"You’re not a distraction, Y/N," he murmured against your lips. "You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now."

And in that moment, with his arms wrapped around you and his heart beating steady against yours, you knew—

No matter how many miles stretched between you, this wasn’t something distance could break.

a/n: def gonna make another part to this!

[sturnswrites]

strangers to something more?

⤳ fluff, kissing

⤳ chris saves reader from a waiter who is flirting with her and the end up getting to know each other as a bit more than strangers...

The restaurant hummed with low chatter, silverware clinking against porcelain as dim candlelight cast flickering shadows across the walls. You sat at a small corner table, your fingers curling around the stem of your wine glass as you checked your phone again.

Nothing.

Your friend was supposed to meet you for dinner nearly forty-five minutes ago, but their last rushed text—"Work is a mess. I don’t think I’ll make it. I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you!"—made it clear that you were on your own for the evening.

You sighed, setting your phone down, debating whether you should stay and order or just head home. But before you could decide, the waiter appeared again.

"You sure you don’t want to order yet?" he asked, leaning just a little too close.

You gave a polite smile. "I think I’ll wait a few more minutes."

The waiter lingered. "You know… it’s kind of a shame you’re sitting here alone." His smirk was lazy, predatory in a way that made your skin prickle. "I could keep you company when my shift’s over."

Your grip on your glass tightened. You laughed awkwardly, trying not to make it weird. "That’s really not necessary."

"Come on," he persisted, clearly undeterred. "Just one drink?"

Before you could come up with another excuse, a deep voice interrupted.

"Sorry I’m late, babe."

You blinked, startled, as a man slid smoothly into the seat across from you. His presence was immediate—hoodie-clad, tousled brown hair falling slightly over sharp blue eyes.

What?

Your lips parted in confusion, but before you could say anything, he leaned forward slightly, speaking low so only you could hear.

"The waiter is flirting with you and making you uncomfortable, so I’m going to pretend to be your date even though we’re strangers."

You stared at him, momentarily caught between shock and amusement. But then you glanced at the waiter, who now stood stiffly, his jaw tight.

Well… this was an unexpected turn of events.

You recovered quickly, forcing a relieved smile. "Took you long enough," you said, playing along. "I was starting to think you stood me up."

Chris smirked, effortlessly sinking into the act. "Traffic was brutal." He turned his gaze to the waiter, casually slinging an arm over the back of his chair. "She already ordered?"

The waiter hesitated before muttering something about coming back and walked off.

As soon as he was gone, you exhaled. "Okay, I have so many questions."

Chris grinned. "I figured. But first—do you want me to leave? I didn’t mean to overstep."

You studied him for a second. He wasn’t what you’d call traditionally polished, but there was an effortless charm about him—something in his posture, his smirk, the way his eyes stayed on yours like he was genuinely interested in your answer.

You shook your head. "Actually… I think you might’ve just saved my night."

Chris leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with an amused glint in his eyes. "No problem. You looked like you wanted to disappear."

"You’re not wrong," you admitted, shaking your head with a small laugh. "So, what’s your deal? Why are you here alone?"

His jaw tensed for half a second before he let out a low chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "Blind date. She never showed."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"

"Yup." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "But I think I like this situation better."

Your breath caught for a second at the way he looked at you—genuine interest mixed with just enough teasing to make your stomach flutter.

"Well, since we’re both here, might as well make the most of it," you said, finally relaxing.

Chris’s smirk deepened. He reached out his hand, and you hesitated before slipping yours into his. His grip was warm, firm but gentle. "Chris."

"Y/N."

The handshake lingered just a little too long before you pulled back.

"So, do you make a habit of saving strangers from uncomfortable situations?" you teased.

"Only the cute ones," he shot back smoothly.

Your stomach did an unexpected little flip.

-

The evening passed in a blur of easy conversation and laughter.

Chris was easy to talk to. He was funny—actually funny, not the kind of guy who just laughed at his own jokes. He told you stories about growing up in Boston, his brothers, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a long time.

"You’re seriously telling me you once lit a Pop-Tart on fire?" you asked, trying to stifle a laugh.

Chris groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "It wasn’t my fault! Toaster was broken, and I thought the microwave would work."

"Oh my god," you giggled. "That’s worse than I expected."

"You ever set food on fire?" he challenged, smirking.

You hesitated. "…Maybe."

Chris’s eyes widened. "No way. What happened?"

You grinned sheepishly. "Let’s just say oil, a hot pan, and bad timing don’t mix."

Chris laughed, shaking his head. "You and I? We’d probably burn a house down together."

"Good thing we’re at a restaurant then," you teased.

Chris’s eyes flickered with something unreadable as he studied you. "You’re kind of fun to talk to, you know that?"

You tilted your head. "Is that so?"

"Mhm." He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. "Most people I meet… it’s different. But this? This is nice."

Your heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his tone.

And then, just as easily, the smirk returned. "Although I am a little sad you didn’t recognize me."

You frowned. "Should I?"

Chris let out a fake gasp, clutching his chest in mock offense. "Ouch. That one hurt."

You laughed. "Are you famous or something?"

He grinned. "Something like that."

You narrowed your eyes, pulling out your phone. "Okay, now I have to Google you."

Chris reached across the table, gently pushing your phone down. "Or… you could just get to know me without the internet."

Your breath caught slightly at the way he was looking at you.

God, when did the air shift like this?

-

By the time the check was paid, you weren’t ready for the night to end.

"Let me walk you home," Chris said as you stepped out onto the sidewalk. The cool night air sent a chill through you, and before you could respond, he was already shrugging off his hoodie.

"You don’t have to—"

"Just take it," he insisted, draping it over your shoulders. His fingertips brushed against your skin, and suddenly, the night didn’t feel so cold.

You swallowed hard. "Thanks."

As you walked down the dimly lit street, his fingers brushed against yours. Once. Twice. Until finally, he just took your hand.

Your pulse spiked.

"You good?" Chris asked, glancing at you.

You nodded, exhaling a breathless laugh. "Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting any of this tonight."

Chris squeezed your hand slightly. "Neither was I."

The tension between you buzzed, electric and undeniable. And then, as if drawn together by some invisible force, you stopped walking.

Chris turned to you, his blue eyes flickering between yours and your lips. "Tell me if I’m reading this wrong."

Your breath hitched. "You’re not."

That was all he needed.

Chris cupped your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek before closing the space between you. The moment his lips met yours, warmth bloomed in your chest, curling down to your fingertips.

The kiss was slow, lingering—like he wanted to memorize the feel of you. When he finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours, exhaling softly.

"Wow," you murmured, a little dazed.

Chris chuckled, his thumb still tracing over your jaw. "Yeah. Wow."

You smiled, unable to help yourself.

"So… same time, same place next week?" he asked, smirking.

You laughed, nodding. "Yeah. But this time, you won’t have to pretend to be my date."

Chris grinned, lacing his fingers with yours again. "Good. Because I wasn’t pretending for very long."

And with that, he walked you home, his hoodie still draped over your shoulders, your hand still in his.

Something told you this wasn’t just a chance encounter.

This was the start of something real.

[sturnswrites]

in too deep

⤳ anxiety, angst

⤳ reader starts to worry about her undefined relationship with chris and is afraid she's in too deep...

From the start, things with Chris had felt different. Not in a way that screamed grand gestures or over-the-top romantic moments, but in the kind of quiet, understated way that only felt right when you were with him. He’d become a fixture in your life, his presence comfortable and familiar.

You found yourself looking forward to every moment with him, whether it was a simple dinner, a shared playlist, or the way he would pull you into his arms when the world felt too heavy. His touch was always gentle, but there was an intensity to it—like he was trying to show you something, something deeper that words couldn’t capture.

The little things he did for you—a coffee at your doorstep before work, a soft “Good morning” text when he knew you’d had a rough night—made your heart flutter in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. The way his eyes would linger on you, his voice just a little softer when he called your name, made you feel special.

And maybe that was the problem.

You felt things you hadn’t expected. You’d told yourself that it wasn’t going to be anything more than casual. No labels, just two people enjoying each other’s company. But deep down, you knew you were in too deep. And maybe Chris was, too.

But you couldn’t help it. He made you feel safe, like you mattered more than you ever had before.

Still, something inside you, the nagging voice in your head, told you that this was dangerous. That feeling this strongly for someone without knowing exactly where they stood was a risk. A risk that could end in heartbreak.

The truth was, you were scared. Scared of how much you cared, scared of how close you’d gotten to him. Every moment you spent with him made you feel like you were already losing control, and you hated that. You didn’t want to fall harder for him, but you were already too far gone.

-

It was late one evening when it all came to a head.

The two of you had spent the day together, the kind of day that felt natural. You laughed over an impromptu cooking session that ended with burned pasta and way too much wine, and you talked about everything and nothing. But as the night wore on, your anxiety began to creep in.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” you said, breaking the silence as you cleaned up the mess in the kitchen. Chris stood behind you, a warm hand on your back, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin.

“What about?” he asked, his voice steady, but you could hear the concern there.

You turned to face him, trying to keep your expression neutral. “About us. About… what we are.”

Chris furrowed his brow, his hands dropping to his sides as he studied you. “What do you mean? You know we’re good, right?”

You sighed, your chest tightening. “That’s just it. I don’t know what we are, Chris. I don’t know where this is going. I’m just scared. I don’t want to get hurt.”

Chris’s face softened, but there was a hint of frustration in his eyes. “Why would you get hurt? We’re fine. We’re happy.”

“I don’t know, okay? I just—" You shook your head, your voice growing more frantic. “I’m in too deep. I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t know where we’re going, and that scares me more than anything else.”

Chris stepped closer to you, his expression unreadable. “You’re scared? You think I’m not? But I’m here. I’m right here, trying to figure this out with you.”

You could feel the tension building, the weight of your words crushing you. The uncertainty was suffocating. “I don’t want to be in this place where I don’t know if you feel the same way I do.”

“You think I don’t care about you?” Chris asked, a hint of hurt creeping into his voice. He reached out to touch your arm, but you pulled away, stepping back. “What’s going on with you? This isn’t like you.”

“I just need some space,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “I need some time to think, okay? I don’t think I can do this right now.”

Chris’s eyes widened. “Wait, what do you mean? You need space? From me?”

You nodded, unable to look him in the eye. Your chest felt tight, your throat raw. “Yeah. I need space, Chris. I can’t do this if it’s just… if it’s like this.”

The words felt heavy in the air, a finality that left no room for negotiation. Chris looked at you for a long moment, his face unreadable. Finally, he exhaled slowly, nodding.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “Okay, if that’s what you need.”

You turned away, not trusting yourself to speak another word. You heard him leave, the sound of his footsteps growing fainter as the door closed behind him.

You stayed there, standing in the silence that now filled the apartment, and felt the weight of the emptiness press down on you, only letting a few moments go by until the tears started falling uncontrollably.

-

Two hours later, the storm outside had worsened, the rain pounding against your window as the wind howled. You sat on the couch, curled into yourself, the tears falling as you realized what you’d just done. What had you really pushed away? Chris? The one person who’d made you feel safe, who had shown you what it was like to be cared for in a way you never thought possible?

You couldn’t breathe.

You grabbed your jacket, desperate to fix the mess you’d made. You had to make it right. You couldn’t let him go like this, not when you were the one who had broken it all.

-

When you arrived at Chris’s apartment, you barely knocked before the door swung open. Chris stood there, his face still marked by confusion and hurt. His eyes widened when he saw you, drenched from the rain, your hair matted against your face, your eyes bloodshot and red from crying.

“Y/N?” he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your words barely audible as you stepped into his apartment. The floodgates opened, and the words rushed out in a desperate stream. “I’m so sorry, Chris. I didn’t mean it. I was just so scared of how much I care about you. I pushed you away because I thought that’s what I needed, but all I want is you. All I want is to be with you.”

Chris took a step forward, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he studied you. “Y/N…” His voice was soft, the hurt still lingering, but there was a tenderness there, too. “I care about you. I’ve cared about you for so long, but you have to stop pushing me away. You have to trust me. Trust that I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m scared, Chris. I’m scared of how much you mean to me. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Chris’s thumb gently brushed over your cheek as he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “You won’t mess it up. But you’ve got to let me in. I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into your bones. “I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Chris murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just trust me, okay? We’ll figure it out. Together.”

As the storm raged on outside, you felt a sense of peace settle in your chest. It wasn’t perfect, and there would be bumps along the way, but for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe again. You were in this—all in—and maybe, just maybe, Chris was, too.

[sturnswrites]

homecoming

matt surniolo x gf!reader

⤳ fluff

⤳ matt brings his girlfriend to his childhood home to meet his parents...

The drive to Matt’s childhood home in Boston was a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. You’d been living with your boyfriend Matt, and his brothers, Nick, and Chris in Los Angeles for months, but today was different. Today, you were meeting Matt’s parents for the first time, and the significance of the moment wasn’t lost on you. As the car rolled through the familiar Boston streets, you could feel your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected.

Matt, sitting beside you, noticed immediately. His hand slipped gently over yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You good?" he asked softly, his eyes full of that intense gaze that only he had.

You looked at him, trying to muster a calm smile. "Just a little nervous," you admitted, feeling a bit silly, but it was true.

Matt’s expression softened, his thumb lightly stroking your hand. "Hey, there's nothing to be nervous about," he said with that calm, steady voice of his. "They’re going to love you. They’re already obsessed with you from everything I’ve told them." He smiled proudly, and you could see the glint in his eyes—the pride he took in having you in his life.

Nick, sitting in the front seat, turned around and winked at you. "You hear that? Matt’s been gushing about you for weeks. If anyone’s nervous, it’s him. Trust me."

Chris, who was in the back seat with you, chimed in with a smirk, “You’re pretty much a celebrity in our family already. Don’t worry, you’re gonna fit right in.”

Matt’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he shot his brothers a mock glare. "Enough from you two," he muttered, though the smile never left his face. His gaze returned to you, softening once more. "Let’s go meet my parents."

You nodded, appreciating how Matt’s quiet strength always made you feel safe. The car pulled up to a charming two-story home that immediately felt warm and inviting. You could tell that this was where Matt had grown up—a place filled with love, memories, and the kind of comfort only a home like this could offer. As soon as you stepped out of the car, Matt’s dad, Jimmy, was standing in the doorway, a welcoming smile spreading across his face as he waved.

"Matty! My boy!" Jimmy called, his deep voice full of warmth. Without hesitation, he pulled Matt into a big bear hug, and you watched in awe as Matt’s normally guarded expression melted away. He smiled widely, squeezing his dad back before pulling away.

"Good to see you, Dad," Matt said, his voice full of affection, before turning toward you. "Mom’s inside. Ready?"

You gave him a nod, your heart beating a little faster. This was the moment.

Jimmy stepped forward, his smile wide as he eyed you. "And you must be Y/N," he said warmly, his hand outstretched. "Welcome to our home."

You shook his hand, feeling a sense of ease as he gave you a firm yet friendly handshake. "It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. Sturniolo."

"Please," Jimmy said, waving his hand dismissively. "Call me Jimmy."

Before you could respond, Matt’s mom, Mary Lou, appeared at the door. She had a gentle, nurturing presence that immediately put you at ease. Her hair was soft and framed her face in loose waves, and her eyes sparkled with warmth as she looked at you.

"Y/N!" she said, stepping forward to give you a warm hug. "I’ve heard so much about you from Matt. We’ve been waiting for this day."

You returned her hug, feeling instantly welcomed. "It’s great to finally meet you, Mrs. Sturniolo," you said, pulling away with a smile.

"Mary Lou," she corrected, her tone light and affectionate. "None of that Mrs. stuff around here."

Matt, watching you interact with his parents, couldn’t help but smile. He stepped closer, resting a hand gently on the small of your back, guiding you inside. As the group made their way into the living room, Matt’s hand never left your back, the affection in his gestures clear to everyone in the room. It was impossible not to notice how he was constantly leaning toward you, making sure you were comfortable and part of the conversation. Every time you laughed or spoke, his eyes softened, and you could see the pride in them. He was showing you off—unapologetically, but with so much love.

Dinner that night felt like a celebration, with laughter echoing through the walls of Matt’s family home. The Sturniolo family was a loud, loving bunch, and the banter between the brothers was nothing short of hilarious. Matt, however, was a different version of himself—a version that showed a side of him that was tender and openly affectionate. He kept his hand on your knee beneath the table, his thumb brushing back and forth as he listened to his dad and brothers talk about their childhood memories.

Throughout dinner, Matt’s attention was fixed on you. His arm would often brush against yours, or his hand would find yours under the table when he needed to catch your eye. He couldn’t stop smiling at you, and it was clear to anyone who was paying attention just how much he loved you.

When the meal came to a close, and the dishes were cleared away, Jimmy stood to raise his glass for a toast. Everyone quieted down, all eyes on him.

“To family,” Jimmy began, his voice warm with emotion. “And to the ones who make it even better. Y/N, we’re so glad to have you here. You’ve already become a part of this family in so many ways.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you looked over at Matt, whose eyes were locked on you. His gaze was full of tenderness, and you could feel how deeply he cared for you in that moment.

"Thanks, Jimmy," Matt said softly, giving his dad a small smile before his attention returned to you. "I’m glad you’re here too."

Later that night, after everyone had settled in and the house had quieted down, you and Matt found yourselves alone in the guest bedroom. Matt’s hand was once again on your back, his body leaning into yours as he helped you take off your jacket. The room was dimly lit, and the soft hum of the house outside was the only sound as you sat down on the bed together.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Matt said, his voice low and sincere. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as he gazed at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

You smiled, your heart fluttering. “I’m just me,” you replied, but the way Matt was looking at you made you feel like the most important person in the world.

Matt’s voice softened, his words almost a whisper. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life. My family—they see it too. They see how happy you make me.”

You felt the depth of his words settle in your chest. “I’m happy too. So happy.”

“Good,” Matt said, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Because I’m not letting you go.” He paused for a moment, his eyes soft but intense. “You’re the one, Y/N. I know that without a doubt.”

The night passed in a blur of quiet affection, but what stayed with you was the overwhelming sense of belonging. Matt had shown you off all weekend—not in a boastful way, but in a way that let everyone around him see just how much he adored you. And his family, his parents especially, had welcomed you with open arms, making you feel like part of their world.

Later, after you’d gone to bed, the sounds of Matt’s parents talking quietly in the living room reached your ears. You couldn’t help but listen in, your heart warming at the conversation that followed.

“You know,” Jimmy began, his voice full of pride, “I’ve never seen Matt like this. He’s always been a good kid, but there’s something different about how he is with her. He’s happier, lighter. It’s clear that Y/N is the one.”

Mary Lou agreed, her voice full of affection. “I can see it too. The way he looks at her... it’s how someone looks at the love of their life. I’m so happy for them both.”

Matt’s brothers, Nick and Chris, were sitting nearby, their faces soft with understanding. Nick spoke up first. “I’ve never seen Matt this way. He’s so... open. He’s always kept his emotions close, but with Y/N—he just can’t hide how much he cares. It’s amazing.”

Chris nodded in agreement. “Yeah, man’s glowing. I’ve never seen him so happy, and I know it’s because of her.”

Matt’s parents looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Jimmy raised his glass, as if toasting to the future. “Here’s to love, to family, and to the ones who make everything worth it.”

[sturnswrites]

protective!matt x innocent!reader moodboard #1

[sturnswrites]

charming!chris is late, again, and tries to make it up to workaholic!reader...

You check your watch for what feels like the hundredth time, the steady tick of the second hand mocking you. 11:47 PM. Almost an hour past when Chris was supposed to be here.

With a sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose and glance at your laptop screen, the half-written press release staring back at you. You should be finishing it. You should be finalizing the itinerary for next week’s interviews. You should not be sitting in this dimly lit hotel conference room waiting for a client who has no concept of time management.

Your phone vibrates against the table. Chris: on my wayyy don’t fire me pls

You exhale sharply through your nose, your irritation flaring. You should ignore him, let him sweat a little, but your fingers move before you can stop them.

You: You were supposed to be here an hour ago.Chris: yeah but I’m bringing snacks soooo that cancels it out right?You: Absolutely not.Chris: u say that now but wait till u see what I got

You don’t have time for this. You don’t have time for him to be late, for him to act like this is all a joke when there’s a brand image to maintain, deals that need closing, an audience that expects a level of professionalism that he insists on skirting around like a game.

The door swings open before you can type another response, and in strolls Chris, looking effortlessly carefree in an oversized hoodie and sweats, plastic bags in hand. His hair is a little messy, a lazy grin on his face like he hasn’t just wasted an hour of your time.

"Okay, before you yell at me," he says, setting the bags down dramatically, "I come bearing peace offerings. We got chips, candy, some fancy sparkling water ‘cause I know you’re weird about hydration, and—" he pauses for effect, reaching into the bag with an exaggerated flourish—"a croissant. Because I figured you haven’t eaten all day. And I was right, wasn’t I?"

You cross your arms, ignoring the way your stomach twists at his words. "You think feeding me is going to make up for being late?"

Chris shrugs, popping open a bag of chips and tossing one in his mouth. "I think you’re gonna take the croissant and then pretend to be mad for another ten minutes before we actually get to work."

You glare at him, unimpressed. He just grins wider.

Unfortunately, he’s right.

[sturnswrites]

innocent!reader tries to distract herself from what is going on between her and protective!matt by going out with someone else...

You should have known this was a bad idea.

From the moment you agreed to this date, something in your gut told you it wasn’t going to end well.

Maybe it was the way Liam—a guy you’d met through a mutual friend—texted you with too many emojis and exclamation points, his enthusiasm almost too eager. Maybe it was the way you had spent the entire day dreading the thought of sitting across from him, pretending to be present when your mind was still stuck on him.

Matt.

But the worst part? The part that made you hate yourself just a little bit?

You weren’t here because you wanted to be.

You were here because you were running.

Running from Matt. Running from the way your feelings for him had only gotten worse since the night you spent in his bed. Running from the fact that no matter what he said, no matter how much he claimed he wasn’t going anywhere—part of you still refused to believe it.

So when Liam had asked you out, you said yes.

Because you thought maybe, maybe—if you sat across from someone else, if you let yourself get swept up in the idea of someone new—you could erase Matt from your mind.

It was laughable, really.

Because here you were, sitting at a dimly lit table in one of the trendier restaurants downtown, stirring the straw in your drink as Liam droned on about some corporate merger at his finance job, and all you could think about was him.

The way Matt had looked at you the last time you saw him. How his voice had dropped to something rough and unreadable when he told you he wasn’t going to stop protecting you.

How, despite everything, despite every wall you’d tried to put between you, he was still there.

Still in your head.

Still in your heart.

“—and so, I told my boss, ‘Listen, if we’re going to make this deal, we need to talk real numbers.’” Liam’s voice cut through your thoughts, his grin wide, oblivious to the fact that you hadn’t been listening to a single word he’d said.

You forced a smile. “That sounds... really impressive.”

God. Even you didn’t believe your own lie.

Liam seemed to, though, his chest puffing up a little. “Yeah, it’s a lot of responsibility, but you know me. Always up for a challenge.”

You barely knew him.

And that’s when you felt it.

That strange, almost primal awareness that prickled at the back of your neck.

The sensation of being watched.

Your fingers tightened around your glass. Slowly, hesitantly, you glanced over your shoulder—

And your heart stopped.

Because there he was.

Matt.

Standing near the entrance of the restaurant, dressed in all black, his jaw tight, his blue eyes locked directly onto yours.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He looked... pissed.

Not in the overt, ready-to-start-a-fight way. No, this was something deeper.

Something dangerous.

The kind of anger that simmered just beneath the surface. Controlled. Steady.

And somehow, infinitely more terrifying.

He started walking toward you.

Oh. Oh no.

You turned back around quickly, pulse hammering in your ears, trying to act like you hadn’t just been caught in the act of trying to forget him.

“Are you okay?” Liam asked, frowning.

“Yeah! Yes. Fine.” You forced another smile. “Just—uh, just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Liam opened his mouth to respond—

And then a shadow fell over the table.

The air shifted.

And you knew.

You knew before you even looked up.

“Funny running into you here.”

Matt’s voice was smooth. Deceptively casual.

Your stomach plummeted.

Slowly, you turned your head—

And were met with the full force of Matt’s unreadable expression as he stood beside your table, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, looking for all the world like he belonged there.

Like he had every right to be standing beside you, interrupting your date.

Your mouth went dry.

Matt tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking between you and Liam. “New friend?”

Liam, bless his oblivious heart, stuck out a hand. “Yeah, I’m Liam.”

Matt didn’t take it.

Didn’t even acknowledge it.

His eyes stayed on you.

The weight of his gaze burned into your skin, into your soul.

Your heart pounded. “Matt.” You swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

He lifted a brow, the corner of his mouth tilting up just slightly. “Having dinner.”

You knew he was lying.

He didn’t come to this restaurant. Ever.

And yet, here he was.

Liam cleared his throat. “So, uh, how do you two know each other?”

The loaded silence that followed was unbearable.

You opened your mouth, but Matt beat you to it.

“She works for me.” His voice was smooth. Amused. “And we go way back.”

Liam frowned, glancing between the two of you like he sensed there was more to the story. “Right. Well—”

“She’s not really into finance, by the way.”

Your head snapped up at that.

Matt was still looking at Liam, still wearing that smug, knowing expression that made you want to kill him.

“Excuse me?” Liam said, confused.

Matt shrugged. “Just saying. She doesn’t care about stocks. Or corporate mergers.”

Your entire face burned.

Liam looked at you, waiting for you to say something. To deny it.

But you didn’t.

Because Matt was right.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

You hated him.

Hated him for coming here, for proving exactly what you were trying to run from.

That no matter how hard you tried, no matter who you tried to replace him with—

There would only ever be him.

Matt held your gaze for a long moment, something dark and unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Then, he smirked.

“I’ll see you at work, sweetheart.”

And then he was gone.

Just like that.

Leaving you sitting there, your breath unsteady, your heart in shambles, as Liam blinked at you, confused.

And all you could think was—

You should have known it wouldn’t work.

[sturnswrites]

i love protective matt sm i need more of him 😍😍

I know I've only been posting things for this AU but I seriously love it so much I just have fun writing it!

[sturnswrites]

innocent!reader finds it hard to deal with coworkers finding out about her and protective!matt...

You should have known it wouldn’t be easy.

Being with Matt—whatever this even was—was never going to be simple.

But you thought, maybe, after everything, after the week he spent proving to you that he wasn’t going anywhere, that the hard part was over.

You were so wrong.

Because now, it’s Monday morning, and instead of soaking in the newness of whatever you and Matt are becoming, you’re dealing with something you should have seen coming.

The whispers. The stares.

The knowing glances between coworkers when you walk into a room.

It starts small. A quiet hush when you pass by the break room. A couple of people exchanging looks when they see you walking into Matt’s office to drop off a file.

You ignore it. Try to, at least.

Until you hear it.

“Guess we know who’s got the boss wrapped around her finger.”

The words are barely hushed, spoken by some junior designer you barely know. You freeze, grip tightening around the portfolio in your hands.

Heat burns at the back of your neck.

You want to turn around. You want to say something.

But before you can, a new voice cuts through the room.

Low. Dangerous.

“Want to repeat that?”

Your stomach drops.

Matt.

When you turn, he’s already there. Standing in the doorway of the conference room, arms crossed, a look on his face that could kill.

The guy who spoke looks like he’s just realized he stepped into traffic. His face drains of color. “I—I didn’t mean—”

Matt doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares.

“You have a problem with my decisions?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a weight that makes the air in the room feel heavy. “Or do you just have a problem with running your mouth?”

The guy stammers out an apology, but Matt’s already done with him.

He turns to you next.

And you hate that your stomach clenches when his eyes land on yours.

But it’s not the usual warmth you’re met with. Not the barely contained smirk, the teasing familiarity.

No, this is different.

He’s pissed.

And not just at that guy.

At you, too.

Because in his mind, he’s protecting you.

But in yours?

He’s making it so much worse.

You don’t say anything. You just turn and walk away, gripping the portfolio so tightly your fingers ache.

You don’t make it far.

By the time you’ve stormed into your office, slammed the door, and tossed the portfolio onto your desk, your hands are shaking.

A knock on the door.

You already know who it is before he even opens it.

Matt steps inside, closing the door behind him with that calm, collected energy that just makes you even more frustrated.

“What the hell was that?” You spin to face him, your voice sharp.

Matt barely reacts. He just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “That was me handling it.”

Your jaw clenches. “That wasn’t handling it, Matt. That was making it worse.”

His brows lift, like he genuinely can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You think it’s better to let people talk about you like that?”

“Yes!”

That makes him pause.

Your breath is coming too fast. Your heartbeat is erratic.

“You think I don’t care?” you demand. “You think I don’t hear what people say? That I don’t know what they think? But you making a scene doesn’t fix it, Matt. It just proves them right.”

Matt’s jaw tightens, his expression darkening.

“The hell it does.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Just frustration. Just exhaustion. “You don’t get it.”

“No.” He pushes off the doorframe, stepping closer. “I get it perfectly. You don’t want me to protect you. You don’t want people knowing about us—”

“That’s not what this is about,” you snap.

Matt stops, searching your face.

“Then what is it about?” he asks, voice softer now.

You hesitate.

Because you don’t know how to explain it.

That it’s not just about the rumors. That it’s about you—about the way you still can’t let yourself believe that this thing with Matt could ever be safe.

Because it never has been before.

And he knows it.

He sees it in the way you won’t meet his eyes. In the way you fold your arms over your chest like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

Matt exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, gentler.

“I’m not going to stop protecting you.”

Your throat tightens.

“No matter how much you try to push me away,” he adds, voice rough.

You don’t know what to say.

Because you want to believe him.

But you’re so damn scared to.

[sturnswrites]

innocent!reader stops running from her feelings for protective!matt... or does she...

She steps inside before she can change her mind.

Matt closes the door behind her, and the lock clicking into place sounds deafening in the quiet.

She turns to face him, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t reach for her. He just looks at her—like he’s waiting. Like he’s giving her every opportunity to walk away before they cross the line they’ve been dancing around since high school.

But she doesn’t leave.

She clenches her hands into fists at her sides, her breath uneven. “You meant it, didn’t you?” she whispers.

His brows furrow. “Meant what?”

She lifts her gaze to meet his. “That you’re not going anywhere.”

Matt exhales sharply, as if the weight of her words settles somewhere deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “I meant it.”

She takes a slow step closer. The space between them is barely a breath now, and her heart is hammering so loudly she’s sure he can hear it.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits, her voice small. “I don’t know how to do this. Every time I let myself care too much, it—” She cuts herself off, swallowing hard. “I lose myself.”

Matt’s eyes darken, something sharp flashing through them. His jaw tenses, like he’s holding something back.

But then he moves.

Not fast. Not reckless. Just enough to close the final inches of space between them. His hand lifts, brushing a knuckle along her cheek—so soft, so careful, like he’s afraid she’ll flinch.

“You won’t lose yourself with me,” he murmurs. “I won’t let that happen.”

Her breath shudders. “You can’t promise that.”

His fingers curl under her chin, tilting her face up to his. “The hell I can’t.”

She stares up at him, and that’s when she sees it—he’s scared too.

Not of her, not of what’s happening between them, but of pushing her too far. Of moving too fast. Of breaking something delicate between them that he’s spent years trying to protect.

And God, that just makes her want him more.

So she makes the choice.

She leans in first, standing on her toes, hesitating for only a second before pressing her lips to his.

Matt makes a sound low in his throat, something almost pained, but then his hand cups the back of her head, and he kisses her back.

And this isn’t like the last time.

This isn’t careful or uncertain. It’s years of tension, of longing, of waiting too damn long crashing all at once. His other hand finds her waist, pulling her against him, and she gasps into his mouth, fingers clutching at the front of his shirt like she can’t get close enough.

“Tell me if you need to stop,” he murmurs against her lips, his voice hoarse. “Tell me now.”

She shakes her head, breathless. “Don’t want to stop.”

That’s all it takes.

Matt lifts her, his hands strong and steady as he carries her toward his bedroom, his lips never leaving hers. And when he lays her down, when he really looks at her, his expression isn’t just hunger—it’s awe.

Like he still can’t believe she’s here.

Like he still can’t believe she’s his.

And for the first time in a long, long time—neither can she.

Sunday Morning

She wakes up to the scent of coffee and something warm pressing against her back.

Matt.

For a moment, she doesn’t move.

She just listens to the steady sound of his breathing, the way his arm is draped over her waist, the way their bodies fit together like they were meant to.

And it’s terrifying how right it feels.

She inhales slowly, then shifts, trying to slip out of bed without waking him—but the moment she moves, Matt tightens his grip, burying his face against her shoulder with a sleepy groan.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is thick with sleep, deeper than usual, and it sends a shiver down her spine.

“I—” She stops, suddenly feeling shy. “I thought you were asleep.”

His lips brush lazily against the curve of her neck. “I was.”

Her heart stutters.

Then he exhales and stretches, finally releasing her. “Stay there,” he murmurs. “I’m making you breakfast.”

She blinks. “You—what?”

But he’s already out of bed, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and tugging them on as he heads toward the kitchen. And God help her, because the sight of his broad, bare back as he walks away almost has her crawling out of bed just to drag him back in.

She forces herself up, tugging on his discarded T-shirt from last night, and follows the scent of coffee and bacon to the kitchen.

And that’s when she sees him.

Shirtless. Muscles covered in tattoos on full display. Standing at the stove with a spatula in one hand and her coffee order sitting on the counter beside him.

Jesus Christ.

He glances over his shoulder and smirks. “You’re staring.”

She huffs, sinking into a chair at the kitchen island. “You’re ridiculous.”

Matt just chuckles, plating up the food and setting it in front of her. “Eat.”

She does. And it’s good.

Too good.

Too easy.

It terrifies her how normal this feels. Like it’s always been this way. Like they didn’t spend years pretending this thing between them didn’t exist.

And Matt knows she’s thinking too much.

He leans on the counter, watching her carefully. “You okay?”

She nods. “Yeah. Just… still processing.”

Matt’s expression doesn’t change, but his fingers drum against the counter. “You’re not running again, are you?”

She exhales, shaking her head. “No.”

His lips press together like he doesn’t fully believe her, but he doesn’t push.

Instead, when she’s done eating, he leans in and murmurs, “I’ll drive you home.”

She hesitates. Then, without fully knowing why, she shakes her head. “I’ll get an Uber.”

Something flickers across Matt’s face. Frustration. Maybe even hurt.

But he doesn’t fight her on it.

He just clenches his jaw and nods.

And when she finally leaves, slipping into the car waiting at the curb, she catches one last glimpse of him standing in the doorway—watching her go.

Her stomach twists.

Because she’s happy. She is.

Last night was good.

Matt is good.

But the unknown—the sheer weight of everything between them—is terrifying.

And as the car pulls away, she doesn’t know if she’s running again or just trying to catch her breath.

[sturnswrites]

Monday

Reader expects things to be awkward. She made them awkward, after all—avoiding Matt, barely meeting his eyes, keeping her answers clipped and professional. She thinks he’ll match her distance, let her disappear into the walls of his company like she’s trying to.

But Matt doesn’t let that happen.

When she walks into her office, there’s a coffee waiting for her. Her usual order, still warm, the cup sitting next to her laptop with no note. But she doesn’t need a note to know who it’s from.

Matt is giving her space, but not distance. And that makes it so much harder to pretend she doesn’t feel the pull of him.

Tuesday

She stays late at the office, drowning herself in work, trying to ignore the tension twisting inside her chest. She thinks she’s alone—until she glances up and finds Matt leaning against her doorway, watching her with that unreadable look in his blue eyes.

“You planning on sleeping here?” His voice is calm, teasing, but there’s something under it—something deeper.

She swallows. “Just finishing up.”

Matt steps inside, crossing the room in a few slow strides. He doesn’t push, doesn’t force her to talk, but then he sets a takeout bag beside her laptop, and she blinks in surprise.

“I know you haven’t eaten today,” he says simply. “So eat.”

She stares at the bag, the warmth of it still lingering in the air. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him she had planned on skipping dinner, that the weight of her own thoughts made her stomach too tight for food.

She glances up at him, trying to find the words, but he just shakes his head. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs. “Just take care of yourself, yeah?”

And then he walks away, leaving her to stare after him, stomach twisting—this time not from nerves, but from something else entirely.

Wednesday

She’s presenting a design pitch today. It’s nothing she hasn’t done before, but the nerves still creep up her spine as she stands in the conference room, eyes scanning the faces of the executives in front of her. She can feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on her.

Then she looks to the side—and Matt is already watching her.

Not with scrutiny. Not with impatience. But with quiet, unwavering trust.

That look alone steadies her.

She delivers her presentation, her voice strong, her ideas clear. And when she’s done, when she meets Matt’s gaze again, he gives her the smallest nod of approval. No words, just a silent I knew you could do it.

She tells herself it shouldn’t mean as much as it does.

Thursday

She doesn’t expect him to open up first. Matt has always been steady, protective—but rarely vulnerable.

But that night, as they linger in the parking lot after a long day, he leans against his car and exhales. “I get why you’re scared,” he says suddenly, voice rough. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, too.”

Her breath catches. “You are?”

His jaw flexes, but he nods. “Yeah.” He pauses, watching her carefully before continuing. “But you’re worth the risk.”

She grips her bag tighter, her heart hammering, but he doesn’t push her for a response. He just gives her that steady look again, as if to remind her: I’m here. I’m not leaving.

Friday

She’s exhausted. The weight of her thoughts, of everything she’s been feeling, has drained her all week.

And Matt sees it.

That’s the thing—he always sees her, even when she doesn’t want him to.

So when she gets home that night, there’s a text waiting for her.

Matt: Check your front door.

Her heart stumbles. She hesitates, then steps outside—and finds a neatly wrapped box sitting on her doorstep.

Inside is a small, delicate keychain. A tiny charm engraved with the same initials he had put on that bracelet weeks ago. A silent reminder. You. I see you. I’m here.

There’s no grand declaration. No pressure. Just something small, something thoughtful, something that makes her chest ache with how much he knows her.

She clutches it in her palm, breath shuddering.

Maybe—just maybe—she’s ready to stop running.

Saturday Night She’s standing outside his apartment before she can talk herself out of it.

She doesn’t text. She doesn’t call. She just knocks.

And when Matt opens the door, when he looks at her with equal parts surprise and something deeper, something recklessin his gaze—she knows she’s finally done running.

But Matt doesn’t reach for her first. He doesn’t rush her.

He just steps aside, nodding toward the inside of his apartment.

“Come in,” he says softly.

And she does.

a/n: feeding you with the content of themmmm

[sturnswrites]

a look into innocent!readers past with her ex boyfriend jacob...

You hadn’t realized what was happening at first.

Jacob hadn’t been a monster from the start. If he had been, maybe you wouldn’t have stayed as long as you did. Maybe you would’ve known better.

At first, he had been perfect.

The kind of guy who made you feel like you were the most fascinating person in the world. He would listen to you talk about your design ideas, the way your hands moved when you described concepts, how you could bring a space to life with just a vision and the right materials. He had smiled like you were something to be treasured. He would hold your hand in public, tuck you against his side when you crossed the street, send you texts just to remind you how much he loved you.

You had fallen fast.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because by the time the cracks started to show, you had already convinced yourself that Jacob was it for you. That he was the one person who truly saw you. So when he started pulling away, you didn’t question him. You questioned yourself.

It started small.

A shift in his tone when you talked too much about your projects.

"You get so obsessed with this stuff," he had said once, flipping through your portfolio with barely a glance. "It’s just furniture and paint, babe. Not exactly world-changing."

It stung. But you told yourself he was just in a bad mood.

Then there was the time you got your first real internship at a prestigious design firm, the one you had worked so hard for. You had been so excited to tell him, barely able to contain your smile. But when you did, his reaction wasn’t at all what you expected.

"Wow, okay. Guess I’ll just be the one waiting around while you focus on your little decorating thing," he said, voice sharp.

You had laughed, thinking he was joking. But the way he looked at you made your stomach drop.

"You don’t mean that," you had said softly, searching his face.

He scoffed. "I mean, I’m just saying—it’s cute that you think this is going to be something. But at some point, you’re going to have to grow up and get serious."

That was the first time you had really felt it—that sick twist in your stomach, the creeping feeling that something wasn’t right. But you ignored it. You pushed it down, telling yourself that of course Jacob supported you. He was just stressed. He was just worried about the future.

You had always been good at giving people the benefit of the doubt.

But as time went on, the comments got sharper.

"I don’t know why you’re so sensitive." "You’re overthinking everything—God, you always do this." "Do you even realize how exhausting it is to be around you sometimes?"

And maybe the worst one: "You used to be so much easier to love."

That one had stuck.

Because by that point, you had already changed so much for him.

You had made yourself smaller, quieter, easier to handle. You had stopped talking about your ideas as much, had started questioning whether you were even good enough for this field in the first place. You had let him poke holes in your confidence until you could barely remember what it felt like to believe in yourself.

And when you had finally tried to stand up for yourself? When you had finally gathered enough courage to say I don’t like how you treat me?

Jacob had laughed.

"You’re just being dramatic."

That was the thing about him—he made you feel like you were the problem.

It wasn’t his fault you were hurt. It wasn’t his fault you felt like you were walking on eggshells all the time. No, it was yours. Because you were too sensitive. Too emotional. Too caught up in your head.

And the worst part?

You had believed him.

You had believed him so much that by the time you finally left, you weren’t even sure who you were anymore.

The girl who had been so full of ideas, so quick to trust, so eager to create—she was gone.

And in her place was someone who had to unlearn every lie Jacob had made her believe.

Someone who now flinched at sharp words. Someone who second-guessed herself constantly. Someone who, even after all this time, still struggled to believe that love could be safe.

That was why Matt terrified you.

Because Matt had never made you feel small. He had never talked down to you, never made you feel like your work wasn’t worth something.

And maybe that was exactly why you couldn’t let yourself fall for him.

Because the last time you trusted a man to hold your heart, he had shattered it in his hands.

And you weren’t sure if you were ready to risk it again.

[sturnswrites]

innocent!reader gets worried about the direction her relationship with protective!matt is going...

Monday morning arrives like a storm cloud hovering over you, heavy and unrelenting. You’re already at your desk before Matt even walks into the office, trying to make yourself busy, trying to ignore the way your skin still burns with the memory of his hands, the way your lips still tingle from the way he kissed you, owned you, like he had every right to.

The weekend feels like a fever dream, and that’s exactly how you’re going to treat it. A moment of weakness, an indulgence in something you weren’t supposed to have.

Because if you let yourself believe that Matt meant everything he said in the dark, if you let yourself believe that this was more than just something fleeting, you’d be setting yourself up to be shattered.

You won’t let that happen. Not again.

So you keep your head down. You focus on your work. You don’t go to his office like you usually do, don’t wait for him at lunch, don’t let yourself linger by the glass walls that separate you from him. It’s a pathetic attempt at distance, but it’s all you have.

And Matt notices. Of course, he notices.

By noon, you can feel the weight of his stare through the conference room, the way his presence is a gravitational pull you’re doing everything to resist. But Matt is persistent. He doesn’t just let things slide. He doesn’t do well with avoidance.

So, when you step into the break room for a moment of reprieve, to just breathe, you don’t even hear him enter until the door clicks shut behind you.

“Okay. What the hell is going on?”

His voice is rough, but there’s something else there—something vulnerable beneath the frustration.

You don’t turn around. You keep your hands braced against the counter, eyes on the coffee machine, willing yourself to stay composed.

“Nothing’s going on.”

Matt scoffs, the sound sharp. “Right. Because we just went from spending almost an entire weekend together to you suddenly acting like I don’t exist.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You should’ve known he wouldn’t let this go. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want the truth.” He’s closer now, enough that you can feel the heat of his body just behind you. “Did I do something? Did I hurt you?”

Your breath catches at the genuine concern in his voice, the way his anger is wrapped in worry, in something deeper. But that just makes it worse. It makes it harder to keep your walls up.

You step away, turning to face him, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “You didn’t do anything, Matt.”

His jaw tenses. “Then why are you shutting me out?”

The words are stuck in your throat, heavy and suffocating, but you have to say them. He deserves that much.

“Because I know how this ends.” Your voice is quieter now, raw. “Because I’ve done this before. I’ve trusted someone before, and I—” You exhale shakily, unable to meet his eyes. “And it nearly broke me.”

Matt doesn’t speak right away, and for a second, you think maybe he’ll just let it go. But then he moves closer, his fingers brushing yours before you can pull away. It’s soft. Barely there. But it still sends a shiver up your spine.

“What happened?” he asks, voice low, careful.

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

You force yourself to look at him then, at the sharp blue of his eyes, at the concern carved into his features. And you know Matt. You know he’s stubborn. He won’t let this go, won’t let you brush this under the rug.

So, you tell him.

Not everything. But enough. Enough for him to understand.

You tell him about the relationship that came after high school, after him. About the boy who said all the right things, who made you believe in something real, only to take pieces of you that you weren’t ready to give. You tell him about the fights, the emotional whiplash, the way it had chipped away at you until you weren’t sure who you were anymore.

Matt listens. He doesn’t interrupt. He just watches you, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“And I know you’re not him,” you whisper. “I do. But feelings… they make people do things. Say things they don’t mean. Hurt people they don’t mean to hurt.” You swallow hard. “And I can’t go through that again.”

For a long moment, Matt doesn’t say anything. He just watches you, eyes dark, unreadable.

And then, finally, he steps closer.

“You think I’d hurt you like that?” His voice is quiet, but there’s something lethal in it, something that makes your pulse spike. “You think I’d ever do anything to break you?”

You don’t know how to answer that.

Because the truth is, no, you don’t think he would.

But you also didn’t think it would happen last time, either.

Matt exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You don’t get to shut me out because you’re scared.” His fingers reach for your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart stutters. “Matt—”

“No.” His grip is gentle but firm. “You’re not gonna push me away because of something someone else did. You wanna run? Fine. But I’m not running with you.”

His words knock the breath out of you, and for the first time all day, you feel something crack inside your chest, something you’re not sure you can piece back together.

Matt takes a step back, his hands slipping into his pockets, jaw tight, eyes still locked on you.

“You need time?” he asks. “Take it.”

Your throat tightens.

“But just so we’re clear.” He leans in, voice dropping lower, a promise laced beneath the grit of it. “I’m all in, sweetheart. Whether you’re ready for it or not.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you standing there, heart racing, hands shaking, completely unsure of what the hell to do next.

[sturnswrites]

night to remember - pt.4

tw: smut

Monday. Work. Professionalism.

You should have been thinking about all of that as you stood in Matt’s dimly lit apartment, your lips still tingling from his kiss, your heart pounding against your ribs.

But all you could think about was him.

The way he looked at you like you were something precious, something he’d been waiting for. The way his hands had cupped your face, firm but reverent, like he was afraid to wake up from this moment.

You should leave. You should pull away, thank him for the clarity, and put distance between you before things got any more complicated.

Instead, you whispered, “I don’t want to go home.”

Matt went very still.

His blue eyes darkened, flickering with something unreadable. “Are you sure?” His voice was rough, edged with restraint.

No hesitation. “Yes.”

He exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening against your waist, pulling you closer.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, and then his lips were on yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate.

You gasped into the kiss as he walked you backward toward his bedroom, his grip never faltering. You clutched his shoulders, your head spinning, knowing deep down that this was inevitable—that this had always been where you were meant to end up.

With him.

The backs of your knees hit the bed, and suddenly, you were lying beneath him, breathless, flushed, heat pooling low in your stomach as he hovered over you, his forehead resting against yours.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, but you could hear the plea in it.

You reached up, tracing his jaw, your fingers ghosting over the stubble there. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Matt let out a shaky breath, his resolve shattering.

And then there was no more space, no more hesitation—just him, his body pressing into yours, his lips on your skin, his hands learning every inch of you like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. You could feel his hard cock pressing against you, and you moaned into his mouth as you ground your hips against him.

Gently, his eyes never leaving yours, he began to undress you. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring every moment.

Once you were completely naked, Matt took a step back to admire your body. You could see the hunger in his eyes, the way his gaze raked over every inch of you. He licked his lips, as if he was already tasting you, and you couldn't help but squirm with anticipation.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "I can't wait to be inside you."

You could feel your pussy growing even wetter at his words, and you spread your legs wider in invitation. Matt didn't hesitate, crawling onto the bed and positioning himself between your thighs. He leaned down to kiss you again, his tongue delving into your mouth as his hands roamed over your body.

You could feel his cock pressing against your entrance, and you moaned into his mouth as he began to push inside you. He was slow at first, taking his time as he stretched you open. You could feel every inch of him, and you arched your back as he began to thrust deeper.

Matt's movements became more urgent, more intense, as he began to fuck you harder. You could feel his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust, and you cried out in pleasure as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Matt groaned, his voice strained. "I could fuck you all night."

You could feel your orgasm building, your entire body trembling with the force of it. Matt's thrusts became more erratic, more desperate, as he chased his own release. You could feel his cock swelling inside you, and you knew that he was close.

"Come for me, baby," you moaned, your voice breathless. "I want to feel you come inside me."

Matt's movements became frantic, his thrusts wild and uncontrolled. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, and you cried out as you came hard around him. Matt followed soon after, his cock twitching inside you as he emptied himself deep inside.

You lay there for a moment, your bodies still joined, as you caught your breath. Matt's gaze was soft as he looked down at you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

"That was amazing," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "I can't wait to do it again."

You couldn't help but smile at his words.

As the night went on, as whispered words turned into gasping breaths, restraint faded, and it became something else entirely—something raw, something consuming.

Something real.

-

The scent of coffee and something warm and buttery pulled you from the depths of sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, you didn’t know where you were. The sheets felt different, the mattress firmer than your own. Then you shifted, feeling the ache deep in your body, a reminder of last night—of him.

Matt.

Your breath caught in your throat as the memories crashed over you all at once. The way his hands had mapped every inch of your skin. The way he’d murmured your name like it was sacred. The way you had completely and utterly given yourself to him.

You sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to your chest, scanning the unfamiliar room—his room. It was neat, organized in a way that screamed Matt—minimalist, clean, controlled. There were small personal touches, though: a framed photograph on his dresser, a few books stacked on the nightstand, the watch he always wore sitting beside them.

A deep voice, laced with amusement, broke through your thoughts.

“Good morning.”

Your head snapped up.

And there he was.

Matt stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, holding two mugs of coffee—one in each hand.

He was shirtless.

Something about this—waking up in his bed, knowing exactly how his hands had felt on you, how his body had moved against yours—made the sight of him infinitely more dangerous.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling way too warm under his gaze. “Morning.”

His lips curved into something smug, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Without a word, he crossed the room and handed you a mug, watching as you took a tentative sip. The warmth spread through you, and you sighed softly, allowing yourself to enjoy the small moment of normalcy.

Then reality slammed back into you.

It’s Sunday.

Which means tomorrow is Monday.

Which means work. And seeing him. And pretending that last night didn’t just completely change everything.

Your stomach twisted.

Matt must have noticed your shift in demeanor because his brows furrowed slightly. “You okay?”

You forced a smile. “Yeah. Just…thinking.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a second, you thought he might press you for more, but instead, he nodded toward the door. “Come on. I made breakfast.”

You hesitated. “You cook?”

That made him smirk. “I have some skills.”

You had no doubt about that—last night had proven that he definitely had skills.

Biting your lip to keep from blushing, you followed him out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

And oh, that was a mistake.

Because if Matt Sturniolo was unfairly attractive when fully dressed, seeing him in just a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants, his abs flexing as he moved around the kitchen holding silverware in his tattooed arms, was downright unholy.

You sat at one of the barstools, watching as he plated up scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“This is nice,” you admitted, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I didn’t expect you to be a breakfast-in-the-morning type.”

Matt slid a plate in front of you and shrugged. “Wanted to make sure you actually ate before you ran off overthinking everything.”

Your breath hitched.

Because he knew.

He knew you well enough to know that while last night had been good, while you had wanted it, your brain was already spinning with all the questions and uncertainties.

You bit your lip. “I don’t regret it.”

Matt exhaled, his expression softening. “Good.”

You poked at your eggs with your fork, suddenly feeling restless. “But I don’t know what happens now.”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “We figure it out.”

You wanted to believe that. Wanted to trust that it was that simple.

But nothing about this was simple.

You worked together. He was your boss. You had a history. You had spent years dancing around this very thing, and now that the line had been crossed, there was no pretending it hadn’t happened.

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

Because no matter how much your head was screaming at you to be rational, your heart knew the truth—Matt had always been the one person who made you feel safe.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

The rest of breakfast passed in comfortable conversation, small smiles, and little touches that made your stomach flutter.

But eventually, reality came knocking again.

You sighed, pushing your empty plate away. “I should get going.”

Matt frowned, setting down his coffee. “I’ll drive you.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. I’ll call an Uber.”

His jaw tightened. “You stayed the night, but you won’t let me drive you home?”

You hesitated. “It just…it makes it feel like more.”

His expression darkened. “It is more.”

Your chest tightened.

You knew that. You felt that. But something in you still warred with the fear of getting too close, too fast.

Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair before relenting. “Fine. But text me when you get home.”

You nodded, grabbing your phone and pulling up the Uber app. Within minutes, your ride was on the way.

Matt walked you to the door, standing there, watching as you slipped on your shoes.

Your fingers hovered over the doorknob before you turned back to him.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

Something flickered in his expression. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

You lingered for a second, then pushed up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Then you stepped outside, closing the door behind you before you could second-guess yourself.

As you climbed into the Uber, you let out a slow breath, your thoughts racing.

You had slept with Matt.

And it had been good. More than good. It had been everything.

And now, tomorrow, you had to see him at work, act like everything was normal, and pretend like you weren’t completely unraveling inside.

You didn’t regret it.

But the unknown—the what happens next—terrified you.

Still, as you glanced down at your phone and saw a new text from Matt—Get home safe. I mean it.—you couldn’t help but smile.

Because no matter what happened next, one thing was clear.

It had always been him.

a/n: this was the final part but ofc I'll be continuing more with this au and storyline :)