Latest Posts by shaquilles-0atmeal - Page 4

i'm getting a D in AP bio right now

hiiiii wyddddd ??

laying in my bed while I have like 7 missing assignments

hi guys i don’t usually come on here to talk about this, but it needs to be discussed. my friend kenzie, went missing on october seventh. she left a note saying she ran away. she hasn’t been answering anyone’s calls or texts, and claims she ran away to live with her girlfriend who lives two hours away.

she never said who her girlfriend is.

please, keep an eye out for her if you live in: pennsylvania, new york city, new york state, new jersey, maryland, and anywhere close to the areas listed.

this is her. we all really miss her, and want her to come home soon.

here is some information about her.

if you see her, don’t approach her. call 911 right away.

please, share this and help bring kenzie home.

i hate when ppl say “MDNI” like girl ??? ima do it anyway u cant stop the grind 🤫🤫

LMFAOOOO me reading why don't we smut at like 11 & 12

Antiblackness Isn't Sexy!

As #Kinktober is upon us, I want to take this time to remind everyone that certain things may not carry the same "sexy" connotation for everyone! This isn't just a "your yuck is my yum" situation, this is a "hey, you're being racist" situation. Now if that's what you enjoy, I can't tell you otherwise. But if you'd like to be considerate towards your Black readers and peers, here are *some* (not all!) things to keep in mind:

1) Objectification is not respect. You can think Black people are sexy- I certainly do! That does not mean treating us like sex toys. An example: if your first thought when you look at a Black male character, is "This'll be good smut, I bet his dick is gigantic"- if your first thought is about their genitals and that they're a good fuck... That is weird. Abeg. Nothing else stood out to you? Just ye olde "Black men have big dicks?"

There's a racist and dehumanizing history behind the oversexualization of Black men, Black bodies in general. Sure, big penises are not insulting or bad, but just as you don't want to be brought down to your bits... Don't do it to us. We can be sexy without being objectified. You can think we're sexy without objectifying us!

2) Making your Black character more sexually aggressive (if fic: -than their canon counterpart). Your Black character having a high libido is fine, but if you've essentially written a sex pest, especially in comparison to a nonblack counterpart... Why? Why do you think that they're automatically the one that would be like that? One example of that is the whole "step on me mommy" thing with confidently sexy Black women. What makes you deem she's the "aggressive" one? She could be a gentle pillow princess.

3) Making your Black character more physically hulking (if fic: -than their canon counterpart). They don't look like that, you know they don't look like that, and you need to consider why you felt the need. Especially in comparison to their nonblack counterparts.

4) Chains and whips, Specifically the large, hulking Black or Brown character in chains held by a skinny white character. Especially if they're like a werewolf. You know why these visuals can be questionable! I know the intended symbolism is supposed to be steamy and animalistic, a bodice ripper deal. But think about it- how often have you seen the opposite- with a skinny Black person holding a hulking, animalistic white person in chains? What imagery are we evoking when we draw this, constantly? We are not animals, we are not raging, uncontrollable sex beasts.

Consensual sex and kink are supposed to involve respect between all parties. Respect, communication, vulnerability, and trust. You can have an interesting, sexually active, high libido, kinky Black character without morphing them a stereotype to be used for the sexual satisfaction of white viewers. Just as white people that do kink are humans with inner lives, so are we. Do better by your Black characters, and your Black readers, by showing us that respect. 👍🏾

LISTEN

I need to write some hot Gryffindor Professor Stiles Stilinski fics NOW

That feeling when your favorite writter still aint post the next chapter...

Im jp yall, i just be talking shit lol

JOEL MILLER in every scene — 8/?

Raise your wands,

For Dame Maggie Smith, our beloved Professor McGonagall.

May she rest in peace

soooo who was gonna tell me tom and sirius were tight like that?

I don't need space, I need you

Mattheo and Theodore fluff

Based on this request, please don't hate me for taking 29 days to post this rather average piece, but I had a lot of requests and not a lot of time. I hope you like it!

Finally I had time to write today! Big yey for me, people. I needed it and I'm so happy I wrote something today. 💛 Sending you lots of love and of course: happy readings!

A/N: I got some stuff going on in life so if I don't respond, I'm sorry. Just know that I love you. 💛

There was a request for a Draco and Enzo version: you can read it here

Mattheo

“Where’s my princess?” Mattheo sings as he enters the common room in search of you. “Not here, I would check the library.” Blaise states not looking up from his book. Mattheo nods and is about to turn around to head straight for the library, but Draco’s snickering stops him from doing so. “I bet you’re pleased to have a moment of peace.” Mattheo focuses on Draco, not completely getting where the blond's going with this. “I honestly pity you, man, must be so suffocating.” Suddenly all eyes are on Mattheo and not just his friends, the entire slytherin common room is curious to hear what the big bad boy has to say. Mattheo moves a nervous hand through his curls and chuckles. “Yeah, she’s a bit much with her hugs and cuddles, and urgh those constant questions to check on me. I’m lucky she studies so much, so I have a break from time to time.” Mattheo sits down opposite of Draco who grins and nods, fully believing that Mattheo feels saved by your absence. However, Mattheo felt miserable sitting there, knowing that he could be spending time with you.

Just like Mattheo was searching the castle for you, you had been searching for him and ended up checking the common room. With watery eyes you turn around, unnoticed by anyone, and leave the common room. He thinks I’m too much?

***

“Who is it?!” Mattheo yells as he pushes you against the wall of an empty hallway. He rarely raised his voice with you, but now his face was close to yours, his eyes dark and piercing yours. He looks more pained than angry, but you just look confused. To him it was obvious, you had fallen out of love with him and probably found someone else. There was plenty of proof:

A quick kiss on the lips and a wish of good luck before Tuesday's test was all Mattheo got, instead of the tight hug and intense kiss you would normally give him before a test. 

When you got your results back on Wednesday you jumped into Luna’s arms and just gave him a happy smile, while he was standing right there next to Luna. His heart ached to hold you and press you against his chest. Worse was when you asked Enzo about his test first and ended up discussing all the answers, barely giving your boyfriend any attention.

Thursday you went to sit next to Pansy in the common room, instead of settling in your boyfriend’s lap. Mattheo was forced to watch you the whole evening without touching you once. When you left for bed, you told him not to walk you to your room and reminded him to spend some much needed time with his friends. The sweet kiss you gave him, didn’t make up for any of it. 

Were you trying to get rid of him? To Mattheo the case was obvious.

Friday was the worst. Happy to finally have you next to him as you were both reading, settled close by the fire. With his eyes still on the page of his own book his arm moved behind you to pull you closer and you let your head rest on his shoulder as you continued to read, but still Mattheo frowned. Normally you would sling your legs over his and cuddle up against his chest, wrapping your blanket around the both of you and creating this warm bubble of love. He could barely focus on his book, as his eyes constantly wandered to you reading next to him but not cuddled up against him like you used to.

So by Saturday Mattheo had pretty much had it with you. You rubbed your temple as squeezed your eyes. “I have a headache, I’m gonna head to my room and rest for a bit.” You got up from your seat to leave the library and Mattheo did the same. If you weren’t feeling well then he needed to be by your side. “Oh, don’t Matt. I’ll be fine. I’ll ask Pansy to give me something against the pain and settle next to me until I fall asleep.” Mattheo stood perplexed as you just kissed him and left. Now he wasn’t even good enough to take care of you anymore.

This was the moment he snapped. With stern strides he follows you.

“Who is it?!” You frowned at the question and met Mattheo’s dark eyes. “Obviously, you’re done with me. So who’s better than me, huh?” His voice was filled with anger, but his question sounded so heartbreaking, that you felt no need to get angry with him for pushing you against the wall and snapping at you. You cup his cheeks and softly shake your head. “Matt, I love you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Your voice is calm and endearing, reminding him of how much he needed your love. You were always so gentle with him and feeling you slip away the past week hurt so much that he felt like falling apart on the spot. He's too hurt and afraid to lose you to act tough and with a whisper he confesses his worries. “You don’t check up on me anymore. You don’t wish me luck before a test like you used to. We don’t cuddle anymore.” You stare at him in silence for a moment, you had never seen Mattheo this soft and vulnerable before. 

Your hands still resting on his cheeks move to his neck as you wrap your arms around him and pull him against you. Mattheo snuggles his face in your neck, embarrassed with himself and desperate for your warmth. You rest your head against his and your fingers move through his curls, making him sigh at your touch. “You told Draco I was a bit too much. So I backed off, because I didn’t want to lose you. I know I can get clingy sometimes, I’m sorry.” Mattheo moves away to look at you and his eyes look guilty. “No, no. Don’t apologise. Don’t be sorry. I love you clingy and cuddly. I need you to be around me.” Your eyebrows knit together. “But I heard you say-” Mattheo interrupts you and shakes his head. “I was being stupid. Don’t listen to the things I say. Just stay with me and love me… overwhelm me with everything you have.” You tilt your head in confusion. “No, I mean listen to me, just forget about what I said back then. I- I was trying to act tough so I pretended to- you know.” You chuckle. “You pretended not to like cuddles, because you wanted to be a tough guy?” Embarrassed with himself Mattheo nods. “I’m a softy for you and I need my daily dose of love. I don’t need space.” 

You sigh at Mattheo’s pouty face. “My boyfriend’s an idiot.” Mattheo nods and leans in for a kiss. “Please, let me take you to your room and let me take care of you, because I want nothing more than to be around you.” You pull him in for another intense kiss as an answer and as you walk to your dorm, he squeezes your hand the whole time walking.

Theodore

“Where’s my lady?” Theodore frowns as he sits down opposite of Blaise, who raises his shoulders without looking up from his book. Theo shakes his head in annoyance, he needed you like he needed cigarettes. He spent the whole day longing for your love and warm embraces. Merlin, all he wanted right now was for you to entangle your fingers with his hair and ask him about his day. “For once the two of you aren’t attached to the hip.” Mattheo quips and Draco snickers. “Must be refreshing to have a moment to yourself.” Theodore stays silent for a moment and a little further, near the common room entrance you halt in your step. “She’s so mothering, it’s almost toxic. I don’t know how you do it, mate.” Draco wiggles his eyebrows at Theo as Mattheo talks. “You know, if you ever need us to come save you, we could always come up with a code word.” Draco offers and Theodore chuckles, not knowing what to say. “It’s not toxic, but I’m happy to have a moment with you guys, because she can be a bit much. She’s always so… clingy.” You chew your lip and slowly take a step back, leaving the common room as the word ‘clingy’ rings in your head. 

***

You didn’t want to lose your boyfriend due to being too clingy. So you decided to keep your distance. 

Instead of spending your evening studying cuddled up with your boyfriend you ask Hermione to help you out with potions who of course never passes the opportunity to study. Keeping up his tough act in front of his friends, Theodore can’t protest as you leave the common room to go study with your friend instead of with him. Theo feels himself get cold as he sits by the fireplace with his friends. If you’re not there to keep him warm the room just feels empty and even the conversations are boring. He can’t help but curse himself for letting you go study with Hermione. Having to make peace with an evening without you, Theodore longs for the next day and having you next to him during breakfast while you talk about your plans for the day. 

The next morning, at breakfast Theo only gets a small kiss from you before you turn to Pansy gossiping about some third years. Theodore can’t resist but snake an arm around you and you love his touch, but you try not to be too clingy and decide to not fully lean against him. Your boyfriend is happy to have you next to him, but disappointed that you stay engaged with Pansy’s gossip instead of giving him some much needed attention. Why were you not combing his hair with your fingers until it looked the way you preferred it? Why were you not checking if he had done all his homework? What was so bloody interesting about Pansy’s conversation?!! He was getting so annoyed that he was caught by surprise when you kissed him tenderly and headed for class. His mind and body were screaming to have you back by his side and walk you to class, but he just turned to his breakfast and spent the morning sulking.

Finally, after two days, he had you close to him, settled on his bed with a book in your hand. You were all alone in his room and you both enjoyed the peace and quiet. You lay between his legs with his arms around you, while his head rested on yours, reading some of the paragraphs of your book but mostly taking in your warmth and scent. He gives you a soft kiss on your cheek and you smile and lean against his chest. “I love you.” You whisper and his eyes shine even brighter than he smiles. “Love you too.” However, your romantic moment is ruined when Blaise and Mattheo enter. “Astronomy tower?” Mattheo raises his eyebrows at Theo who is about to decline the invitation, but you speak up first. “I was just about to meet up with Luna.” You jump up and Theodore's eyes go furious at the suggestion of you leaving. “No you’re not.” Theo snaps at you, shaking everyone in the room. “Why are you so eager to get away from me?” Theo questions and Blaise and Mattheo’s eyes move from their friend to you. You take a step back at your boyfriend's accusation. “I’m not. I’m just giving you space so you can hang out with your friends.” Theo shoots Blaise and Mattheo a dark glare. “Out! Both of you!” 

As soon as the duo closes the door behind them and you and Theodore are left alone in the room Theodore gets up and towers over you. “I don’t want space, I want you. So tell me what’s going on, because I can’t stand it anymore.” His voice is stern, but you feel yourself relax as you no longer have to act differently and you can finally be honest with him. “You think I’m clingy and sometimes I’m too much… and I get that and I don’t want to lose you… so I did my best to give you some space in the hopes of saving our relationship.” Theodore’s heart aches at the soft tone of your voice. How could he make you feel like you were too much when you were all he wanted. “I’m such a shit boyfriend.” Theo sighs as he sits back down on his bed, making you frown and join him. “No, I was too much.” Theo’s head snaps to you. “You are not. I didn’t want those idiots to think I was whipped or soft or- so I said you were clingy, but you're not, if anything I am… I want you around 24/7.” Your eyes widen at his confession. “Soooo, you’re saying that ‘the’ Theodore Nott is so in love with me that he prefers cuddling over hanging with his friends.” Your boyfriend chuckles. “Yeah, so please just go back to reading in my arms and make me the happiest man alive.” You lean towards him and he meets your lips. The sweet kiss quickly turns passionate as you both fall back on the bed.

For the ones who asked to be tagged, here you go lovies: @ho3forfakeguys and @bitchoftoji

This is what he sounds like after he nut’s inside you.

(ik this from personal experiences)

𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒔 (𝒏𝒐𝒕) 𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒚 | 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉… you slowly start avoiding being home and your boyfriend notices, resulting in an argument.

ballerina!reader x undergroundfighter!matt, angst, crying, cursing, fighting, mention of violence, lowkey toxic matt

2.7k words

“when are you coming home?” , “are you back yet?” , “it’s getting late, where are you?” , the three questions that you heard the most coming from matt. you didn’t know if he was asking them out of genuine concern or just to be the controlling boyfriend he had become, although you tend to think it was the second option. he wasn’t like this when you met him, when you fell in love with him. but the once loving and thoughtful boyfriend that he was had vanished some months ago.

youtube wasn’t paying nearly as much as it used to for matt and his triplet brothers, their prime time was long gone and their audience had moved on to the next big thing, leaving them with no choice but finding a side hustle to get by. while chris and nick had found some decently normal jobs, chris working for a music production company while nick found a photography gig, matt had had a harder time finding a job. nothing seemed fitting enough for him, going from modeling to graphic designing for video games he couldn’t seem to find the right fit for him.

you supported him through the whole process, using your free time between college and rehearsals to help him look at thousands of job offers online. your earnings as a dancer and matt’s savings couldn’t support you guys forever, and you both knew that. it wasn’t long before matt got frustrated and abandoned his quest for work, choosing to go for something a little more easy. and illegal.

on a random friday night a few months ago matt had come home late, with busted knuckles and a slight cut on the top of his lip. he kept insisting that he was fine, to stop asking questions, until he snapped at you to leave him alone and stop being pushy about it. the next day, the two of you got into an argument, then matt finally admitted to have turned to underground fighting at a nearby private club.

you tried your best to reason with him, telling him he didn’t have to put his life on the line to keep you guys afloat with money, that you could manage to get more opportunities for bigger ballet productions and get a better earning or that he could simply find a safer job. he didn’t want to hear any of it though, his decision was final and you couldn’t do anything to change his mind.

at first, matt just seemed exhausted and in pain every time he’d come home. you did your best to try and support him, taking care of him when he got home and doing everything in the house to ease his mind. the more time passed, the more matt came home with an attitude, cursing at you and getting mad at the slightest thing being off, on top of that he had started drinking. his constant yelling and controlling behavior is what drove a ledge between you two, and it wasn’t long until you couldn’t take it anymore.

late night dance practices became an almost daily thing. you did not want to be home. from the moment your classes ended, until late at night you’d be at the dance studio. the older, cold lady that had been teaching you ballet for the better part of your life took a notice in how often you’d stay late, in an empty studio either dancing, rehearsing or doing your homework, pointes, sewing kit and textbooks splattered everywhere across the floor. one night she finally decided to ask you about it, and after explaining to her that things at home haven’t been easy, she took it upon herself to always reserve an empty studio for you to hang out in for as long as you needed. that place easily became your new safe place, and you were barely ever home anymore. 

it took matt a lot longer than you wished it would to realize that you weren’t ever really around anymore. it was almost always past ten pm when you’d walk in, careful to not make much noise and tiptoeing to your guys' shared room. you’d put your things down and take a shower, heading straight to bed and avoiding any attempt at small talk that matt would make, knowing it almost always ended with him getting pissed. he was rarely mad at you, but whatever it was that ticked him off, he’d take it out on you. the nights that you were home before him, you’d already be fast asleep when he walked through the door.

for the first few months, he did believe your countless excuses; that you just got more busy on a production, that you stayed at the library late to study for exams, that your instructor made you stay at the studio longer, but the more time passed, the less he believed you.

it was monday night and for the first time in what felt like forever, matt was seated at the kitchen table with two plates of food when you walked in. it took you a minute to process, but when you did look up at his face a sudden gasp left your mouth. his white tee was covered in platters of blood and dirt, his lip was bleeding and a black eye was starting to form on his left eye. he looked worse than you’d ever seen him.

you took a step toward the table, walking slowly not daring to look him in the eye.

matt cleared his throat, “you never answered my text.”

you finally look up, almost shocked that he spoke this softly to you. “sorry, they had me stay a bit longer at the studio”, the lie rolled off your tongue easily.

he nodded slowly, “right”, he paused for a second, “they have you doing this a lot lately.”

you wondered where he was going with this, but chose to answer short, not wanting this conversation to go where all the others before went, “i got a role in a pretty big production, i have to put in a little more work to keep it”. that wasn’t a total lie, you did score a leading role in the swan lake production taking place at the local studio next spring and there was a lot of work to put in.

“you didn’t tell me that”, matt said, “i don’t know why i’m surprised, you never tell me anything anymore”.

a frown takes over your face, “that’s not-”

matt suddenly interrupts you, “it is true. don’t play dumb”, you can tell he’s getting agitated, “you’ve been avoiding being home, or anywhere near me like the plague, y/n.”

you shake your head, not really knowing how to answer because you know that he’s right. you’ve been doing everything in your power to avoid him, not because you don’t love him, but because you don’t love who he’s become. the short-tempered, always angry at everything matt that sat in front of you was not the same matt that you knew and loved. he felt like a stranger.

you chose to sit down in the chair opposite of him, not sure how to approach the conversation that you knew was necessary to have, “i don’t want to argue, matt.”

he huffs, shaking his head lightly, “i just want to know why you’re never home. we haven’t spent time together in months, hell i can’t even remember the last time we fucked, not that it matters.”

you swallow hard. “you’ve changed matt, and i don’t want to blame it all on you but i can’t recognize you anymore,” you let out a shaky breath, tucking some hair behind your ear, “you’re always getting mad, raising your voice at me for no reason. you know i can’t handle the yelling.”

matt looks down at his lap for a split second, “i know i’ve been loosing my temper lately, but this can’t be the only reason why you spend all of your time away,” his blue eyes fixates on you, “is there someone else?”

the gasp that leaves your mouth is loud. you can’t believe that he’d think you’d have met someone else. 

“no, god no. there is no one else, i promise matt,” you look up at him, “i can’t bear the constant being mad and fighting. every time i come home, you’re moody and hurt, i can’t handle that.”

you feel the tears start to gather in your eyes, and try to blink them away but there’s no use. you feel your face getting hot and your hands are sweating, this conversation might’ve been needed but it doesn’t mean you’re enjoying it.

“being hurt is part of my job, y/n. i can’t prevent it from happening and i can’t stop fighting,” matt says, his voice raising slightly, “the money is good and i’m doing this for us, you have to understand that.”

this has you getting up from your chair, “don’t put this on us matt. you had a choice, you could’ve worked a normal job, but you chose to put yourself in this position,” you pause, taking a deep breath, “and i don’t care if you make millions, no amount of money is worth your life.”

“i don’t know in what kind of fairytale you think we’re in, but believe it or not, we need money to keep having a roof over our heads and food on the table.” matt is still sitting, in an almost nonchalant matter.

this sets you off, because if there is one person here that is painfully aware of this, its you. within  seconds you're out of the kitchen, speed walking towards your guy’s shared bedroom. in a hurry, you grab your baby pink duffel bag from the closet and throw it on the bed. your grabbing whatever clothes you have in sight, as well as your cosmetics bag and your charger. by the time you’re going over to the bathroom to grab more stuff, matt waltzes in.

“what are you even doing with that?” he says looking around at the mess you’re making, grabbing and shoving everything you can fit in your bag.

you spin to face him, your hair whipping him in the chest, “i can’t do this anymore,’ you say brokenly, “i can’t keep watching you get hurt and taking it out on me anymore.”

his face soften slightly, “angel, come on don’t do this,” he reaches towards you but you step back, not feeling strong enough to have him close. “where are you even planning to go, uh?”

tears of rage starts going down your cheeks rapidly, your hands are slightly shaking because he does have a point, you have nowhere to go. your family lives hours away and you wouldn’t know who else to turn to. and he knows it.

“i’ll figure it out.” you let out harshly, pushing past him towards the bathroom.

matt follows in tow, almost desperate to have you stay, “you can’t leave, y/n.”

you keep grabbing things from the vanity, not daring to look at him knowing it’ll make you even more emotional, “why, uh? i can’t keep living like this, i feel like a disturbance in my own house,” you keep going, “everything i say ticks you off, you’re always raising your voice and belittling me.”

at that, he stays silent. “you’re never affectionate with me anymore. you don’t pay attention to me, we don’t even act like a couple anymore.” you wipe your cheeks, “you’re always in pain, i know it’s uncomfortable but you don’t even let me help. you just tell me to leave you alone. it’s killing me, matt.”

“is this really how i make you feel?” matt whispers quietly.

you finally turn to look at him not expecting to see his glassy eyes and a pained expression forming across his face, as if he’s been stabbed in the chest. he’s holding his breath waiting for your answer, already knowing it.

“yes,” you say in a small voice, leaning against the marble counter.

suddenly, matt turns around, muttering a barely audible sorry and leaves. seconds later you hear the front door close and his car speeding out of the driveway. sliding down the wall to the cold tiles of the bathroom, you let out a sob that you didn’t know you were holding. 

you stay there for what feels like hours, just sobbing with your face in your hands, still clad in your light pink leotard and a pair of grey joggers, sitting on the cold floor. after a while, exhaustion takes over and you slump over, falling asleep.

you feel yourself getting lifted up, causing you to stir and rub your eyes. “matt?” you ask, visibly confused.

“shh, go back to sleep,” matt says, dropping a kiss on your forehead and setting you on the clean bed and putting the covers over you.

you sit up, “where did you go?” you take a good look at him, he’s definitely not wearing the blood splattered shirt from earlier and his face is cleaned up, making him look a bit less disheveled.

matt sits on the edge of the bed, taking your duffel bag from earlier and putting it on the floor, “i went to see nick and chris. i needed their advice.”

this peaks your interest, “advice on what?”

“on how to make you stay.” he’s looking at you with so much purpose, “i’ll put in the effort, i’ll go back to therapy and learn how to deal with my emotions, but you can’t leave me.”

suddenly it hits you. you see a glimpse of the matt you’ve been missing. the matt you fell in love with.

without leaving you any time to speak, he continues, “i’ve been the worst boyfriend ever lately, but i promise, i’ll keep myself in check and i’ll fix this. just please, give me the chance to do it.”

he hesitantly put his tattooed hand on your thigh, and for the first time in months, you feel relaxed because you know that he meant every word he just said.

“you can’t let it get this bad again matt,” you cover his hand with yours, “love is not easy, we both know it, but you have to let me be there for you.”

he nods fast, “i know. i was just in so much pain, and it made me feel weak because i see you suffer every day, dancing until your feet are bleeding and your ankles ache and you never complain.”

“you can’t compare yourself to me, baby,” you lift yourself on your knees, passing a hand through his dark hair, “and you can’t keep me from taking care of you. that’s what i’m here for.”

he puts a gentle hand on your cheek, caressing it tenderly before speaking up, “i’m so sorry for treating you like this my love. i hate myself for making you feel this awful.”

you lean in, pressing a sweet kiss to his plump lips and leaning back to look into his eyes, “i know you matt. i know this wasn’t intentional.”

“i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” he tugs you onto his lap, hugging you to his chest and letting out a breath of relief.

the two of you stay like this for a while, bathing in each other’s embrace until matt speaks up again, “congrats on that big production, baby.”

a huge smile takes over your face, “you won’t even believe what it is.”

his eyebrows shoot up, “what is it?”

your eyes are sparkling as you tell him that you’ll be performing as the lead in swan lake for all of next spring.

“no way,” he shakes his head, smiling at you like a fool, “this is huge, you’re a star.”

you tackle him onto the bed, smiling and being so happy to have your matt back.

© mattsangel

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆; this lowkey sucks, i’m just getting back into writing fics as i was previously writing on wattpad! i really hope you guys like this one, let me know if we want more of ballerina!reader, i love writing her as i am myself a ballet dancer and it feeds my delusions lol. don’t forget to leave some suggestions for either blurbs, headcanons or oneshots in my asks! love you all x

Something is coming tonight. My lips are sealed. 🤫

8 PM MST…you’re not ready…

here are my fav matt pics 4 u queen (i love your content with a passion and this is my first time submitting anything to anybody's inbox even though I've been on Tumblr for a while over a year)

STAWP I SEE UR USER ALL THE TIME AND I ACTUALLY ADORE YOU ( I see the comments lol)

He’s so bf ✨✨✨

𝐀 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐮𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

fluff| Tom Riddle | ༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.| | Tom Riddle Masterlist | Masterlist

Summary: Y/N asks Tom Riddle for something he's never given—comfort. Though hesitant, Tom awkwardly mimics a gesture of affection, pulling her into an embrace. As warmth spreads between them, Tom battles with unfamiliar feelings of connection, but when Y/N pulls away, he struggles to hide his desire for the closeness to return.

Word Count: 718

Tom Riddle was always observant, his sharp mind attuned to even the smallest changes in the people around him. And today, something about Y/N was… off. She wasn’t her usual self, quieter than normal, and there was a subtle tension in her movements that hadn’t escaped his notice. They sat together in the dim common room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. He studied her closely, brows furrowed.

"Tom," Y/N's voice broke the silence, soft and hesitant. She glanced at him, eyes pleading in a way she rarely allowed herself to show. "Can I have a hug?"

For a moment, he stiffened. A hug? Tom had never been one for displays of affection. It wasn’t something that came naturally to him. His mind raced, trying to recall if he had ever seen anyone in his life offer comfort in such a simple gesture. But none of that mattered now, not with her looking at him like that. Still, he hesitated, unsure, his body rigid with discomfort.

When Y/N reached out, her hand brushing his shoulder, he instinctively tensed. Yet, before he could pull away or say something cold to mask his uncertainty, she leaned in, pulling him gently toward her. Something in the way she clung to him—like he was her anchor in a storm—made him react.

Tom moved awkwardly at first, imitating what he'd seen others do, slipping one arm around her back and, after a beat of hesitation, placing the other behind her head. He'd seen people embrace like this, hadn’t he? It seemed… right, though foreign. Y/N nestled against him, her warmth seeping through his robes, and despite himself, Tom found the rigid lines of his posture beginning to soften.

At first, every fiber of his being resisted the closeness, but as the seconds ticked by, something strange began to happen. His body slowly relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing as the unfamiliar warmth spread through him. He didn’t understand it, didn’t quite know how to process the sensation of having her so close, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, there was a certain peace in it, a calm that settled over him, one he hadn't anticipated.

Tom Riddle was not used to comfort—neither receiving it nor giving it—but as he held her, the scent of her hair and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing made something inside him shift. He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but he was… enjoying this. The closeness, the contact, her trust in him.

And then, just as he was getting used to the feeling, Y/N pulled away. Tom's arms, which had grown accustomed to holding her, instantly felt cold in her absence. He couldn’t stop the slight furrow of his brow as she moved out of his grasp, nor the faint flicker of displeasure that crossed his features.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N murmured, as if she thought she had overstayed her welcome in his arms. She gave him a small, tentative smile, unaware of the internal battle waging within him.

Tom sat still for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I hated that," he said, his voice flat and emotionless, as if he was making a simple statement of fact.

Y/N blinked, a look of mild surprise flickering across her face. “Oh… okay.”

She started to turn away, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something he didn’t let slip often. Desperation, maybe? He quickly masked it, but not before it left an imprint on his thoughts. He hadn’t hated it. No, the truth was far more uncomfortable to admit: he wanted her to do it again. Desperately.

But Tom Riddle was not one to give in to such vulnerabilities. Instead, he scowled and crossed his arms, his tone curt, almost irritated. "I mean, it's pointless. There's no need for such… gestures."

But the way his eyes lingered on her, how his body seemed to slightly tilt in her direction even as he tried to maintain his cold composure, told a different story. Deep inside, buried beneath layers of control and calculated indifference, Tom knew he craved that closeness again. He wouldn’t admit it, not now, but the memory of her warmth remained, and he silently hoped she’d reach for him again.

Bad Habit

“Don’t you ever start smokin’. If I catch ya with one of these in that mouth of yours, I’ll make you regret it,” he said, exhaling smoke. “I will make you fuckin’ regret it.”

After Joel catches you smoking, he gives you something else to put between your lips. (7.2k)

Tags - dbf!joel, neighbor!joel, pervy/sleazy yet comforting Joel, cock from a man who could be your second father, smut, smoking, dubcon elements, blowjobs, masturbation, joel jorks it, oral sex, unprotected piv, creampie, joel makes you smoke until you’re sick to your stomach, vomiting, gratuitous use of the nickname ‘kiddo’ because I am who I am, dubcon, the other stuff Fic help - thank you my dearest @noxturnalpascal for editing <3 and @pinkypromisepascal for giving me your eyeballs and leaving lovely comments, my other main squeezes for brainstorming with me!! @endlessthxxghts @beefrobeefcal A/N - heddo!I sorry for the delay on getting this out. fic posting will continue to be sporadic and weird for a while so thank you for being patient <3 i hope you all have a safe week and I love you very much 🫂💕 definitely didn’t skip class to finish this and watch gilmore girls btw so if you hear that rumor about me it is bullshit it is not true at all

The cool, late-summer air blows gently on your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as you sit next to your open window, headphones on, Fiona Apple’s When The Pawn… playing in your ears. You take a long drag of your cigarette and let it fill and burn your lungs, then blow the smoke outside. The sun is setting, the dim light making everything in your room look like a black and white movie, even your own hand in front of you. You love nights like these. 

Eyes gently shut, you’re lost in thought when a tapping on the glass startles you. You gasp when you see Joel, his big hand clutching a large garbage bag. He must have seen you on his way taking the trash out. 

Joel’s your neighbor, he’s been your neighbor all your life. He’s your dad’s closest friend as well, and had a heavy hand in raising you. You used to eat at his house for dinner on Sunday nights, a tradition that’s lasted to present day. As a teenager, you’d spend days and nights at his house when you and your dad weren’t getting along, needing some space from each other. Joel was always a safe person for you to go to. His guest room practically became your second bedroom by the time you graduated. Joel taught you card games, and would make you root beer floats while you played round after round of Rummy. 

Joel was actually the first person to introduce you to smoking. Unintentionally, of course. You can remember him always smelling warmly of tobacco, smelling it on his hair, skin, and clothes when you’d hug him. When you were younger, he told you once, cigarette in his mouth, “Don’t you ever start smokin’. If I catch ya with one of these in that mouth of yours, I’ll make you regret it,” he said, exhaling smoke, “I will make you fuckin’ regret it.”

“Hey, trouble,” Joel drawls. “You ain’t ‘sposed to be smokin’ that.” 

Joel reaches for your cigarettes and pulls it from your mouth, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. He examines it, chuckling quietly at the feeling of the stickiness of your lipgloss on the rolling paper. He brings it to his mouth, then takes a couple puffs before stubbing the cigarette out on the sole of his shoe, then disposes it in his garbage bag. Your dad doesn’t need to see your old cigarette stubs when he’s mowing the lawn. “Don’t let me catch ya again,” he warns, then presses a warm kiss to your forehead, mustache tickling your skin. “Get some sleep. G’night, kiddo.”

This isn’t the first time Joel’s caught you smoking. The first time he did, you were probably around eighteen years old. You remember that it was around Thanksgiving, the leaves were still falling off the trees and the air was chilly. It was an evening when Joel and your dad were hanging out in the kitchen, watching a Bears and Cowboys game on TV. Rooting for the opposite teams, your dad and Joel were barking at each other, getting loud and rowdy. There was no escape from the noise, so you snuck out of your bedroom window and just started walking. Joel left his garage door open, so you decided to hang out there. You admired the posters on the wall, Nirvana and The Rolling Stones. Different liquor brand artwork, picked up from when he used to work as a bartender. The garage never changed, always had that faint smell of cigarettes permeating the air. 

Cigarettes. They were on the workbench in the back of the garage, a pack of Marlboro reds just sitting there, waiting to be smoked. To the left of the pack, a little white Bic lighter. You weren’t sure what came over you at that moment but you palmed both items, then peeked over your shoulder to make sure you really were as alone as you thought you were. You held your breath and focused hard, and found that you were able to hear the faint sounds of Joel and your dad yelling. You were in the clear. 

You opened the worn pack of Marlboros and pulled out one of the cigarettes, the first time you ever held one in your hand. You rolled it between your fingers, inspecting it, before you brought it to your nose to smell the tobacco. With trembling hands you placed the cigarette between your lips, and as you fumbled with the little white lighter, Joel’s warning played over and over again in your mind. If I catch ya with one of these in that mouth of yours, I’ll make you regret it.

But Joel wasn’t there. And what Joel didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. So you lit the cigarette and inhaled, then coughed a bit at the sensation. It was harsh, made your throat feel itchy and scratchy. You didn’t like the way the smoke burned your lungs and you couldn’t wrap your head around how Joel - anyone, for that matter - could become addicted to something as unpleasant as this. You took another puff for the sake of experimenting and you were met with the same experience. Unpleasant. But by the third or fourth drag, you felt the beginning of that headrush everyone talks about. A lightheaded, hazy sort of feeling. Now that…that wasn’t quite so unpleasant. You could see exactly how cigarettes could relieve stress. Taking another puff, you thought maybe you’d steal one or two more from the pack, save them for the end of the week. Smoke them when you’re home from school, before your dad or Joel could see you. And then you’ll shower real quick, wash your hair and brush your teeth and toss your clothes in the washer and -

“The hell do you think you’re doin’?” 

Shit. 

You pulled the cigarette out of your mouth and stubbed it out in a nearby ashtray on Joel’s workbench. “N-nothing.” 

“Bullshit, you’re smokin’,” Joel bit, approaching you through the open garage door. “So help me god, kid...” He snatched his pack of cigarettes from you, along with his lighter. “Stealin’, too. These are my smokes. What the fuck’s the matter with you?” 

“Joel, I’m sorry. I-” 

“You ain’t sorry, yet. Get in the truck.” 

“Joel-”

“Get. In. The fucking. Truck.” he seethed. He wore such a threatening scowl, and his face and neck were red, veins bulging in his skin as his anger grew. 

You scurried into his truck that sat on the driveway and Joel followed suit, slamming the door shut before turning the key into the ignition. Even the truck sounded angry as it roared to life. Joel shifted into reverse and drove you down the street, to the nearest gas station. “Stay there,” he ordered. 

You awaited his return anxiously, picking at your nails. Joel returned with a new pack of Marlboro reds and drove back to his home. “Garage,” he said. 

“But my dad-”

“Garage.” 

 If I catch ya with one of these in that mouth of yours, I’ll make you regret it.

Joel made good on his promise. He sat you down in front of the workbench, right where you were before. He lowered the garage door until it rested just about a foot off the ground so that the smoke had somewhere to go. Then he sat in front of you, hit the pack of cigarettes on his palm five times before unwrapping the cellophane and opening the pack. Joel took one cigarette out and flipped it upside down in the pack. 

“What are you doing?”

“Christ almighty,” he sighs. “You’re so fuckin’ young. You pack the cigarettes first, so they burn smoother an’ longer.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. And then you flip your lucky - just the one cigarette.” Joel pulled the upside down cigarette from the pack to demonstrate. “Old World War II tradition, if I’m not mistaken. ‘Sposed to be a good luck charm.” 

Joel pulled one cigarette from the pack for you, placed it between your lips and lit it. He could see the confused expression on your face as you inhale and exhale. 

“Just you wait,” he said. “I promise you, this is a punishment.” 

“How?”

“You’re gonna sit here with me and smoke every last cigarette in that pack. I don’t care f’your lungs start to burn and you feel sick to your stomach, you’re smokin’ ‘em all,” he said. “Now get to it.” 

Joel watched you as you smoked cigarette after cigarette. He was right, your lungs did start to ache and hurt and your stomach had begun to feel queasy from all the nicotine. After about the sixth or seventh, you had figured out that you could make things a little easier on yourself by not breathing in the smoke all the way, just let it hang out in your mouth instead. 

“I started smokin’ when I was around your age,” Joel said as he lit another cigarette for you. “Couldn’t ‘a been older than seventeen.”

You nodded. 

“Why’d you pick this habit up, huh? You know these things aren’t any good for ya.” 

“I don’t know,” you sighed, ashing onto the garage floor. “I just…I don’t know. Stressed out.”

“‘Bout what?”

You shrugged. “Just everything, I guess.” 

Joel nodded. “I get it,” he said. “But there’s other ways of relievin’ stress that ain’t smokin’.” 

“Like what?”

“Well,” Joel began, looking down at his lap. “The cigarettes are causin’ that brain of yours to release those feel-good chemicals. You gotta find something else that feels good, hon. M’sure you’ll figure out what that means.” 

 You felt your cheeks heat up at the implication of how to get your endorphins flowing, but you knew he wasn’t wrong. You nodded shyly. 

“Now keep smokin’.” 

“Joel,” you whined, coughing dryly. 

“Keep it up,” he threatened, “I’ll make it two packs.” 

What felt like hours passed until you finally made it to the last two cigarettes in the pack, and you felt ill. “C’mon,” Joel said. “Last two. I’m smokin’ the last one with ya, and then we’re done, both of us,” he promised. He lit his cigarette first, then yours, and then took a drag. You did too, though it was agony. 

“I don’t feel so good, Joel,” you told him, clutching your stomach and squirming in your seat as the nauseating feeling in your stomach worsened. 

“Good,” Joel retorted. “Means the punishment’s workin’. You ain’t ‘sposed to feel good.” You looked at Joel with glassy eyes, your skin a little damp with sweat. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You shook your head. Your stomach churned harder, you felt your mouth salivate as your heart began to beat faster. There was no more staving off the feeling - you dropped your cigarette and sprinted inside, making a beeline for Joel’s bathroom. Joel followed close behind and rubbed your back as you emptied your guts into his toilet until you were dry-heaving. “Oh, I know, I know,” he whispered, patting you gently. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Fuck,” you groaned, lifting your head up and leaning back to rest against Joel. He flushed the toilet for you, then helped you up so you could rinse your mouth out in the sink. 

“It don’t feel too good, huh?” he murmured, stroking the side of your face. “You’re gonna be a good girl for me? Gonna quit smokin’?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I’m done.”

“Attagirl,” Joel smiled. 

Joel offered you some Pepto-Bismol and guided you to his couch, where he held you and talked. After about forty-five minutes, he sent you home. Your dad was none the wiser, probably passed out on his own couch after the game. Joel kept your secret under the condition that you’d quit smoking for good, and he quit too. In all honesty, he was shaken that it was his cigarettes you’d stolen, and disturbed by the fact he was the one to introduce you to tobacco - your dad didn’t smoke, never has. He had unknowingly introduced you to it, of course, but Joel still held himself responsible. Joel meant it, smoking that last cigarette with you. He decided that night he was quitting cold turkey. He was done.

-

You should have been done too. You shouldn’t still be doing this. And that pack of Marlboros in your purse shouldn’t be there, you should have thrown it out the other night when Joel caught you smoking out of your window. But you’re in Joel’s backyard, cigarette between your fingers as you listen to the sounds of the family barbecue taking place in your own backyard. 

It was just too much. Your family increases in size every year, be it a new partner, new family friends, new children. And your family is loud. Every conversation happens using raised voices, even if no one is speaking in anger. Boisterous laughter, dogs barking, shrill squeals of excited kids running through sprinklers. There’s no escape from it at all, unless you’re to escape it entirely - so that’s exactly what you did, and why you’re at Joel’s house instead of your own. You needed a momentary reprieve. Separated by nothing more than a thin fence and yet it makes all the difference. Joel’s backyard is quiet, serene. He keeps his fence lined with flowers that he had you pick out at the nursery, he has a nice deck with a comfortable patio furniture set. You rock back and forth in one of the chairs as you smoke, promising yourself after this cigarette - or maybe just one more - you’ll go back to the party. 

The glass patio door slides open, causing you to jump and scramble to put your cigarette out, but you’re too late. Joel’s always a step ahead, somehow. “What are you doin’, kiddo?” he asks in a low, accusatory tone. 

“Nothing,” you lie. 

“You’re smokin’.”

You hang your head. Joel sits in the chair next to you and holds out his hand, palm facing up. You sigh and place your pack in his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

“Uh-huh,” Joel says. “Why’re you still doin’ this? You’re poisoning yourself, sweetheart. It’s breakin’ my heart.” 

You shrug. “I don’t know,” you admit. You open your mouth to speak again, then exhale when you give up. 

“I want you to try,” he urges. “Jus’ talk to me, hon, you’re not in trouble right now. Tell me what’s goin’ on.” 

“Okay,” you nod. You take a deep breath, then begin to explain. “I want to quit, Joel. I do. I tried gum and patches…”

“Go on. I’m listenin’.” 

“They worked for a while, I guess. I was even able to stop entirely, get past the nicotine withdrawals. They weren’t even so bad.” 

“Right,” Joel nods, “But what?”

“It’s stupid.” 

“S’not stupid. Keep tellin’ me.” 

“I missed the ritual of it all, if that makes sense,” you confess. “ Lighting it, holding it. Watching the smoke. Feeling it in my mouth.” You find the courage to look at Joel, and he’s not making fun of you for your admission. He’s nodding along, listening intently. “It’s sort of soothing.” 

“I get it,” he says. “I do.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. S’called an oral fixation, sweetheart. Means it calms ya down to have somethin’ in that mouth of yours. You heard of it?” You shake your head no, and Joel explains further. “Same reason some people bite their nails or chew on straws. Jus’ somethin’ people do.” 

“Oh.” 

“Mhm. You should try keepin’ your mouth busy with somethin’ else.” 

Your mouth goes dry, and you feel yourself becoming flustered. “Joel…” you whisper. 

“Quite the imagination you got there, huh?” he smirks, nudging your knee with his own. “M’not talkin’ about that, dirty bird. Do you have a sweet tooth at all?”

“Um,” you hum, “I guess.” 

“I got a sweet tooth myself,” Joel replies. “C’mon inside.” 

Joel leads you inside, and he doesn’t bother to sneakily throw your cigarettes in the trash. He makes sure you can see it, hear the thud of the pack hitting the bottom of the can. You stand in his kitchen as he opens his freezer and rifles through some items. “Pick a flavor,” he says, “I got green apple, grape, cherry, and lemon.” 

“Cherry,” you answer. 

Joel pulls out a cherry-flavored popsicle and unwraps it for you. “Open,” he says, then places the cold, sweet and tart ice on your tongue. Your hand brushes his when you grab the wooden stick, watching him. You can see the way his pupils dilate when you suck on it, how his chest rises when he sucks in a deep breath. Joel feels his cock begin to thicken in his jeans and abruptly clears his throat. “So, uh, anyway,” he stutters, “It helps to suck on somethin’ sweet. I’ll keep my freezer stocked with these for ya, you just let me know if you have any flavor requests. You help yourself anytime you’re havin’ one of your cravings.”

You pull the popsicle from your mouth, your lips stained red. “Thanks, Joel,” you smile. 

“You’d best get back to that party, hon. I’ll catch up with ya in a minute, nature’s callin’,” he teases, quickly excusing himself into his nearby bathroom. He hears you giggle and whine, “Gross,” as you leave his house. Joel watches you through the frosted bathroom window as you sneak back into the party. He’s palming his growing bulge, pressing his hand firmly against it until he can’t see you anymore, then quickly unzips his jeans and pulls out his cock, leaking and hard. He spits into his hand and strokes himself, his rough palm sliding up and down his thick, veiny cock, squeezing hard. He pumps himself and groans when he comes, spilling into his palm and on his fingers. Joel washes his hands, tucks himself back into his jeans and makes his way back to the barbecue. 

-

You’re in Joel’s truck. It was a long day of work, the phone was ringing nonstop and you could hardly catch a break, though Joel gave you extra time on your lunch to make up for the crappy day. He has you helping him out with his contracting job, having you answer phones and schedule estimates and whatnot. He likes having you around, giving you a little money to burn as you expand your resume. 

At six, Joel tossed you his truck keys and told you he’d be right out there, but that he’s gotta finish up with a client real quick first. “Go ‘head and start up the truck for me, hon, I’ll be out there soon. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes,” he promised. But that was an hour ago, and it’s beginning to get dark. You’re itching to leave. On days you work with Joel, he’s your ride. Oftentimes it’s a blessing as he’s the one paying for gas and driving through traffic, but other times, it’s a curse. You’re on Joel’s time, itching to leave and he’s…doing whatever he’s doing.

You’re getting that feeling again. You’re not sure why, but it’s been happening more and more lately. You’ve been absolutely craving a cigarette recently. Just one, maybe two. You shouldn’t have done it, but you bought a pack at the gas station. Promised yourself you’d save it for special occasions but after this pack, you’d be done. For good. 

You’re just dying for one right now. Turning the pack over in your hand, you watch, anticipating seeing Joel leaving the building. But it never happens. Fuck it. You take a cigarette out of your pack and place it between your lips, and just before you light it, you stop. You look around in his truck, see if he’s got a straw from a fast food restaurant in his glove box that you could chew on, maybe a toothpick. At least you tried. It certainly doesn’t help that it smells like cigarette smoke in here anyway, what with Tommy always smoking when he drives with Joel. You resign yourself to lighting the cigarette, inhaling that smoke you missed so much. That familiar burn doesn’t quite hurt the same way it used to and in fact, it’s a welcome pain now. You love that tingly, heady feeling of the nicotine entering your bloodstream. You exhale the smoke out of the window of the truck and close your eyes. 

You think about lots of things, what you’re gonna eat for dinner when you get home, what movie you’re gonna watch. What flavor popsicle you’ll steal from Joel’s freezer. You think about which vibrator you’re gonna use between your thighs, which ones are charged and which aren’t. 

You’re not being subtle. Shamelessly blowing smoke out of the window, Joel can see you. And in fact, he’s been watching you. He’s fuming as he walks toward his truck and opens his door, startling you and causing you to drop the lit cigarette on your lap. “You are un-fuckin’-believable,” he seethes as he leans over you to pick it up off of your thighs and tosses it out of the window. “In my truck? Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“Joel, I’m sorry–”

“Shut up,” he interrupts. “You pissed me off. I don’t wanna hear it.” 

You shrink into your seat and stare at your lap, anxiously circling your thumbs around each other as Joel breathes deeply. He leans back in the driver’s seat and pinches the bridge of his nose, groaning angrily. 

“Joel–”

“Don’t.”

In Joel’s head, he counts backwards from ten, attempting to let go of some of his rage. He looks at you, your eyes are big and pleading, those plump lips of yours are pouting, just begging, aching for something to fit snugly between them. “What am I gonna do with you, kiddo,” he whispers, reaching for your face and cupping your cheek. Fuck, that goddamn soft spot he has for you. “All sorts ‘a trouble you could go an’ get yourself into and you pick the one that’s makin’ you sick.” 

You nod, feeling guilty for putting Joel through this stress. You know he’s right. You’re gonna drive him to pick up the addiction again himself.

He rubs his calloused thumb back and forth over your cheekbone, looking at you with those big, brown eyes of his. They’re sparkling under the diminishing daylight, looking darker than they usually do. He’s so handsome. He’s always been so handsome. 

“Maybe you need to get into a different kinda trouble,” Joel murmurs. 

You pause. “Like what?”

“You know what kinda trouble,” he answers softly, assertively. You look down at his lap and notice that with his free hand, he’s begun palming his crotch, cock hardening in his jeans. “Somethin’ else to satisfy that fuckin’ fixation of yours.”

Joel unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out, half hard and growing. “Gimme your hand,” he instructs. He doesn’t wait for you to comply, and takes the pack of Marlboros you had forgotten you were holding out of your hand. He takes your hand and first spits in it, then wraps it around his cock, his fingers wrapped around your wrist as he helps you stroke him. His cock grows to full length in your hand, so thick and hard and meaty. “On your knees, now,” he says. “C’mon. You know what you’re doin’.” 

You sink to your knees and Joel slides to the center of the seat so you’re as close to him as can be. He spreads his legs apart and you slot yourself snugly between them, a hand on each one of his thick thighs. It feels surreal, being in this position. Joel senses your nervousness, and you look so vulnerable on your knees for him. Poor thing. 

He leans forward a little to tangle his fingers in your hair and then pulls you down, ushering you toward his hard cock. “Open up f’me,” he says. You part your lips and he presses the warm, blunt head against them. You open your jaw wider and he pushes you down on his cock, filling your mouth entirely. “Nice an’ wide. That’s it.” 

Joel keeps pushing you down, past the point of comfortability and you choke and sputter on his cock when he hits the back of your throat. “Just relax a minute,” Joel says. “An’ breathe through your nose, kiddo. You’ll get used to it.” 

With his hand tangled in your hair, it’s less of you moving of your own volition and more of Joel guiding you, making you take him down your throat the way he wants you to. You like that. As your head dips lower and bobs back up again, you swirl and drag your tongue along his shaft, tasting that heady, musky flavor of his cock, the salty precum when your tongue slides over his small slit.“Yeah, you know what to do,” Joel groans. “Ohh, that’s it. Good girl.” 

You feel his cock pulsing under your tongue, a welcome experience. There’s something so intimate and satisfying about learning all of the exact, fine details of what Joel’s pleasure looks and tastes like. He rolls his hips to meet you where you’re at, taking control of his pleasure, doing all the work himself. Sweat is beginning to gather on his body, dripping down his temples and gathering on his soft tummy. He can’t help but feel a little like he’s taking advantage of you right now, but he doesn’t feel bad enough to stop. In fact, it turns him on more. Joel thinks that maybe it even turns you on, too, what with the way you let out quiet, sweet little moans. “You like it, don’t you, baby?” 

“Mm-hmm,” you hum. 

“I know you do,” Joel coos. “Feels good, don’t it?”

You nod your head, moaning as you slide your tongue along his length, swirling it around his head before dipping lower again, your nose buried in those thick curls spattered around the base of his cock, dampened by your saliva. “What a mess you’re makin’,” Joel murmurs, enjoying those wet, sloppy noises you’re making. “Such a good girl f’me, you’re takin’ it so good.” 

You reach for his balls, cupping them and rolling them gently in your palm, eliciting a sharp gasp from Joel. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, “That’s it, kiddo, keep doin’ it jus’ like that. Goddamn.” 

Joel basks in the feeling of being inside your hot, wet mouth, feeling you suck and slobber on him, the dizzying feeling of your tongue teasing his shaft and his head. It’s all so soft, so slick and warm. He can feel it in his stomach, his balls begin to tighten as he approaches release. Joel takes your head in both of his big, masculine hands and fucks your mouth hard. “Oh, Christ,” he hisses. “Fuck, ohhh, fuck.” 

With just a few more deep, frenetic thrusts, Joel comes in your mouth without a warning, just a guttural, deep groan. He paints your tongue with his hot, salty spend, ropes and ropes of it spurting from his thick, twitching cock. He fucks your mouth through his orgasm, his thrusts turning slower, more shallow in time as you take every last bit of his come, swallowing it all. 

“Up,” he tells you, his voice raspy. “C’mere.” 

You sit next to Joel as he comes down from his high, his deep breathing beginning to regulate. Joel looks at you, wipes a bit of his come from your bottom lip with his thumb and pushes it inside your mouth, where you suck the digit and lick the spend. “S’all you needed, huh? My cock in your mouth?” Your face is hot and a little damp with sweat, your lips all swollen as you nod, a little sheepish. “No need to be bashful, sweetheart. S’okay. F’it works, it works.” 

Joel adjusts his jeans and turns up the air conditioner, then scoots back over into the driver’s seat. He pulls you close to his body, tucking you into his side as he shifts the truck into reverse, then drives out of the parking lot. “When that fixation of yours starts actin’ up again or you’re gettin’ nicotine cravings, you to come to me. Will you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nod. “I will.” 

“Good girl,” he says. “I’ll get ya taken care of.” 

-

Your craving for a cigarette hits as early as the following night. To test you, Joel had surreptitiously dropped your last pack of cigarettes in your purse last night in his truck. You only noticed a little bit ago, when you were digging through your belongings to find your lip gloss. You could smoke them if you wanted to. You do want to. You could be sneakier about it, go for a walk and smoke somewhere Joel won’t see you. 

You slip on a pair of sneakers and throw a light sweatshirt over your shoulders, then walk out of your room and past your father in the living room. “Where you off to, sweetie?” he asks. 

“Just for a walk,” you answer quickly. To be honest, you weren’t expecting him to be awake. It’s late and the TV’s on, which usually means he’s sleeping. He can’t stay awake through any movie or TV show. 

“Mm,” he hums. “Be safe, honey. Come back soon, I don’t like you out too late all by yourself.” 

You promise your dad you’ll be back soon, then leave out of your front door and make a left. As you walk past your yard, then Joel’s, you realize he’s in his garage, tinkering with something at his workbench. He doesn’t see you, and you could walk on by without him noticing, smoke your secret cigarette and he’d be none the wiser. 

But you’d feel guilty. You feel guilty for even thinking about it. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, contemplating. Maybe Joel’s right, that you need to get yourself into a different kind of trouble. You used to feel thrilled when you’d drink underage or smoke when you shouldn’t have been. But Joel’s cock down your throat, on your knees for your dad’s best friend, a man who’s like a second father to you…Well, nothing compared to that thrill. 

You walk up Joel’s driveway and quietly into his garage, he’s got an old CD player on and he’s listening to Nirvana. “Joel?”

Joel turns to look over his shoulder and smiles at you. “Hey, you.” 

“I…” you struggle to get the words out. Joel nods in understanding, he knows exactly why you’re here. You’re such a good girl for him. Always been a good girl.

Joel pauses his CD player and takes your hand, then leads you inside his house. When you’ve finished sucking his cock, he tells you he’s glad you came to him and that he’s very proud of you. On your way home, you throw that pack of Marlboros away. And for once, you really are done. 

You suck his cock the next week at work, when you’re watching Tommy take a smoke break through the window next to your desk. You’re on the phone with one of Joel’s clients who’s been giving both you and him trouble all week, and you’re reaching the end of your rope with this guy. He’s old, impatient, and speaks so rudely to you. After you’ve argued with him in circles for about twenty minutes, he interrupts you and demands that you put him on the phone with a man. You’re livid. “Absolutely, sir. Let me place you on a brief hold and I’ll transfer you to my boss,” you tell him as sweetly. You press a few buttons on the phone and slam it on your desk, then march into Joel’s office, slamming the door and then locking it. 

Joel’s eyes light up. He rolls back in his chair and reaches behind himself to twist the blinds shut, then unzips his pants as you drop to your knees .

The routine happens day to day, week to week. Joel notices that there are days when you suck his cock aggressively, like you’re angry or you’re restless and antsy. But after a few weeks, they don’t quite feel that way anymore. You focus on his pleasure, and not your need to curb an addiction. It felt satisfying to have Joel’s cock down your throat before, and that certainly helped to satisfy your particular fixation. You’re more satisfied now at the notion of bringing Joel to absolute ecstasy, memorizing the way his breathing changes when you trace your tongue along his shaft and around his head. You’ve begun kissing up and down his length, gently sucking his balls and kissing his thighs, his tummy. You used to grip his thighs tight, digging your fingers into his flesh, but you hold his hand, now. It’s passion, adoration, maybe even love. You deserve the same pleasure, Joel thinks. 

Your dad’s out of town for a few days, he’s staying overnight in some city a few hours away for some work conference. He had stocked the fridge with different snacks and had tasked Joel with making sure you have something hot and filling each night for dinner, so you’ve spent the past few evenings at Joel’s house. 

 You’re on Joel’s couch, watching old reruns of Will and Grace on TV as Joel does the dishes. When he’s done, he joins you on the couch. When the show pauses for a commercial break, Joel mutes the TV. “Wanna talk to you ‘bout somethin’,” he says. You turn your attention to him. Joel’s hand drops to your thigh, and he scratches your skin lazily. His touch sends a jolt of excitement to your core. “You’ve been real good f’me, you know that, don’t you?” 

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Been a long time since your last cigarette, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply, “Couple months, I think.” 

“S’what I thought,” he whispers. “An’ it’s why I wanna do somethin’ for ya.” 

“Do what?”

“Well,” Joel begins, inhaling deeply. His hand goes higher with every pass, fingers closer and closer to the apex of your thighs. You’re starting to feel hot. “I think it’s awful unfair ‘a me to be leavin’ you high and dry the way I’ve been. Not very gentlemanly, huh?” 

Joel’s fingers are wiggling beneath the fabric of your shorts, gently skating along your thin cotton panties. “Joel,” you whine. 

“I’m gonna make it even,” he murmurs softly into your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck. Joel drags the tip of his sharp, aquiline nose over the curve of your ear, then gently bites your earlobe, causing you to squirm. He smirks at that. “Gonna taste you.” 

Joel hovers over you, laying your body across his soft couch. He kneels as he hooks his fingers around your shorts and panties and pulls them down and off your legs, tossing them on the floor. 

His warm, big hands slide up your legs until he reaches your knees, “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he says, and you part your thighs for him. He spreads them wider, pushing your knees toward your chest. Your nerves are on fire as he slides your shirt up your chest, exposing your bare body to him. “C’mere,” he mumbles, dipping his head low to kiss all over your torso, up your belly until he reaches the soft flesh of your breasts, nipping at the skin there before he sucks a nipple into his mouth. 

“Joel,” you gasp, your hands reaching for his head, fingers tangling in his thick, graying curls. He smirks against you as he kisses his way across to your other breast, repeating the same actions and kissing, licking down your stomach until he’s hovering over your pussy. Under the soft, warm light in the room, he admires your body. Your chest is rising and falling with shaky, nervous breaths. Your legs spread wide gives Joel the perfect view of your pussy, curls framing the shape of your cunt. Skin darkened and glistening wet, pearly ribbons of arousal delicately decorating your slick folds. He can’t wait any longer, he needs to taste you now. 

Joel quickly pulls his shirt off and unbuckles his belt, then kicks his jeans off where they join the rest of the discarded clothes on the floor. He settles on his stomach and pulls your body close to his face, his hot breath fanning over your damp, aching pussy. To tease you, he kisses his way toward your center, inching closer and closer to where you need him most yet not giving all the way in. “Please, Joel,” you whine. 

“Ohh, I know,” he rasps. He kisses the other thigh, then uses his thumbs to spread your soft folds apart for easier access and licks one long, fat stripe up your pussy. “Oh my god, yes,” you gasp. Joel chuckles at your excitement. He traces up and down with his tongue, his nose buried in the hair that covers your mound. You rock your hips into his face and he holds you tight, limiting your movement so that he holds all control. He’s feeling generous, and you’re going to take all that he gives you. 

“Fuck, right there,” you whimper when he licks your clit in circles. His tongue dips lower, circling your tight, wet hole before dipping inside to taste your sweet arousal. Joel hums in pleasure, he loves everything about this - the way you writhe and moan, how your dripping pussy feels against his face. He dips his tongue and swirls it inside of you before replacing it with two of his calloused, weathered fingers, rhythmically curling them inside you so that he’s hitting your g-spot. 

You’re moaning, babbling his name along with some other dirty words as Joel licks you and pumps his fingers, soaking him so intensely he thinks he could drown. He’d be happy to. There’s nothing he loves more than eating you out right now, passionately lapping your cunt like you’re the first meal he’s had in days. Your moans are becoming quicker, more frantic as you reach for his free hand and suck and bite his fingertips - always needing something in your mouth. He knows you’re close. Joel focuses on bringing you to the edge and sending you over, unwaveringly fucking you with his fingers and his tongue as your thighs are trembling and twitching, then squeezing the sides of his head as you come hard for him. “Joel,” you cry loudly. 

“Yeah, s’it. Give it to me, kiddo. That’s it,” he praises, “Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.” 

Joel works you through your orgasm until the feeling subsides, and then pulls away from you. As you steady your breathing, you close your legs gingerly, hips sore from the position Joel held you in. Joel holds your knee, preventing you from moving any further. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”

“You made it even,” you breathe, reaching for his hand and placing yours on top.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. We ain’t square yet,” Joel spreads your legs again, then reaches for his cock. It’s rock-hard, the tip is blushed and swollen as he pumps it with his fist. “You gotta come on my tongue a couple more times than that before we’re even. And-” he grunts, adjusting his position before lowering himself over your body. He wraps your legs around his waist and notches his tip inside of you, “M’only a man. I’m gettin’ mine tonight too.” 

With that, he begins to push himself inside you. That slow, deep slide inside your cunt has him groaning in pleasure, Christ, you’re fucking tight. And so warm, soft, and wet. You squeal a bit as you adjust to the feeling of his cock inside of you, his cock splitting you open. “Shhh…” Joel quiets your moans. “Give it a minute, kiddo, you’ll get used to it.” 

You watch Joel as he slowly pulls out of you about halfway, then inches his way back inside you incrementally, little by little until your face relaxes and you let out that first sigh of pleasure. “Oh, there it is,” Joel coos. “Right there, huh?”

You nod, then wrap your arms around Joel's broad shoulders as he sets a steady pace. It’s slow, but not quite gentle at first, before it builds to something faster and harder. He rolls his hips at the perfect angle to have you squirming and writhing in pleasure, the head of his cock kissing that sweet spot inside of you over and over. You bury your face into him, biting softly where his neck and shoulders meet. His skin is so soft, slightly salty under your tongue. 

“Fuck, good girl,” he praises, kissing the side of your head where your hair is slightly damp with sweat. With each of his thrusts, you feel every inch of him. The scruff on his face brushing against you, his weight on your body, his skin on your skin, his pubic bone grinding against you. He fucks you passionately, sometimes quickening his thrusting, sometimes slowing it down, fucking you with longer, slower strokes. You bask in the sensation, entirely consumed in it all, in Joel. “You’re doin’ so good.” 

You rock your hips to match each one of his thrusts, needing more friction against your clit. “M-more, Joel,” you beg. “I wanna come. Please, Joel, make me come again.” 

Still fucking you, Joel spits onto his fingertips and wriggles his hand between your body. He searches for your swollen, sensitive bud and then paints steady circles into it, using the motion of his thrusting to help bring you to the edge once more. “Right there,” you tell him. “Don’t stop, please.” 

“I know, I gotcha,” he says. “Go ‘head and come for me, baby. Come all over my cock.”

You’re right there, right fucking there as he rounds your clit again and again with his fingers. Your reaction is more intense than before; your moans are louder now, pleading, more urgent. Your brows are knit together, mouth wide open when you go quiet - you’re gonna come, and it’s gonna be long and fiery and intense. 

Pure, unadulterated pleasure is all you feel when you finally reach your climax, moans and whimpers falling from your lips like honey until you’re crying Joel’s name, begging him as he fucks you through it. Begging for what, you don’t know. “Joel, Joel, Joel.” 

Your orgasm propels Joel’s own, and he’s growling into your ear as he spills into you, milking himself entirely. His come feels so warm inside you, so satisfying. “Oh, fuck me. Jesus, hon,” he groans. “Ohhh, god.” 

His thrusts slow, slow, then stop. He whimpers a little when he pulls out of you, then sits back on the couch. His head resting against the back of it, he turns to you. His eyes travel down your body, where some of his spend drips from your pussy. He pushes it back inside you, finger buried all the way to the knuckle, then pulls you into his side. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. 

You look up at him, “Why?” 

Joel smirks. “ Could use a cigarette,” he answers. “Hits the spot right after sex.”

“Fuck off,” you giggle. “You said we’re done.” 

“We are done,” he affirms. “But our deal’s still in place. Which means…” Joel gently pushes you onto your stomach, then pulls you up by your hips. “We’re goin’ for another round.” 

If you enjoyed, please reblog/send an ask with some nice comments! Your words keep me motivated to write.

PEDRO PASCAL SAG Awards | 2024

he’s literally my teensy baby i’m gonna put him in my pocket

Always Care (Matt x Reader)

➢   "I got you, sweetheart. I'm right here. Not going anywhere."

⚠︎ fluff, crying, mental breakdown → 495 words

A/N: Interaction is appreciated! I do not give consent for my work to be plagiarized or uploaded on any other platform.

With love and big tits, ᡣ𐭩 Rose → Navigation

♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢

Your day had been awful. Not a singular event seemed to sway your way, everything had been set up against you.

As soon as you had gotten home, you darted to your room that you shared with your boyfriend, Matt. But he wasn't there. He had just left for filming and he wouldn't be back for hours.

It was annoying having such contradicting schedules. You had slaved your poor paying job all day and Matt went to work most in the nights. Usually, you could handle this routinely frustration.

Not today though.

You immediately fall on the bed, clutching into yourself as you let out the flood of emotions that had collected all day.

It all felt so heavy.

You failed to hear the car pull up. Your cries drowned out the sound of Matt rushing into the room. He had opened the door, in search of his phone that he had left behind.

Instead he found you.

"Oh baby..." he whispers under his breathe. He walks over to the bed, sitting behind you.

You flinch at the sudden jostle of weight shifting, sniffling with a relieved expression as you realize it's Matt. "Why---why are you back so soon?" you ask with a wavering voice.

Matt soothes his palm over your back as you hiccup. "I forgot my phone, but c'mere," he spreads his arms open welcomingly. However, you stay put.

"But--you have to go film." you point out.

A brief sigh escapes his lips as he lurches forward and hugs you to his chest. Your composure is lost and forgotten as you cry into him, scrunching your fists in his shirt.

"I got you, sweetheart. I'm right here. Not going anywhere."

He pets the back of your head as he cradles your body further into him. As you cries soften to light pants and sniffles, he brushes your hair from the side of your face.

"Who do I need to slap? Who's makin' my pretty girl cry, hm?" he asks teasingly, smiling as he sees your pouted lips curve upward.

"Work...just a lot today. Can you...can you just hold me for a bit before you leave?" you ask.

Looking hopefully at him, your hopes fall as he reaches over you to grab his phone. You shrink into yourself with disappointment and rejection.

"Yeah, I can't anymore." you look up to see your boyfriend holding his phone up to his ear. "No, fuck off. We can film tomorrow and I'll even edit it last minute. I'm not leavin' my girl." he says, pulling the device and tossing it carelessly.

You smile softly at him as you let out a small sigh.

He's not leaving.

He's always there for you.

"C'mere, sweetheart," he leans back whilst tugging you into his chest. You snuggle further into his embrace, smiling as you feel his soft lips place a kiss on your head.

"Not but, for real---who's gettin' their shit rocked?" he jokes.

He's always there, he always cares.

I want to come on here and talk my shit about this whole entire Nick ‘cancelled’ thing.

I am beyond dissapointed with the things that have been said by Nick. I truly thought that peoples were joking when i woke up and saw a video addressing the things nick said, and i honestly thought that it was sarcasm and he didn’t actually say that.

I am autistic and have ADHD. I am really, truly shocked. “stimming out like a physcopath” is a blatantly ableist comment to make.

We are not mad because he said it to chris and we think it ‘offended’ chris like people are saying in defence of nick. We are mad because it was said infront of thousands of fans, thousands of people who may be neurodivergent. Are people not seeing how wrong this is?

Nobody wants to ‘cancel’ nick. We want him to take responsibility of his own actions and stand up and apologise to everyone who he hurt and offended.

When you have a platform, with millions of fans, there are things you have to filter. The second that camera switches on, you HAVE to think before you speak. A lot of people in their audience may be young, Nick saying this can lead to many young people thinking there’s something wrong them, being insecure and embarrassed about stimming, and creating newfound fears that stimming infront of people makes you look like a ‘physcopath’.

The second i saw that clip, i immediately felt upset and hurt. The first thought that ran through my head was ‘is this what people think of me when i stim?’.

I’m very aware that many people who are neurodivergent were not hurt by this. However, you are not the only people out of 7 million people. More were hurt than not caring.

It’s not being sensitive, it’s called pointing out ableism.

I still love the triplets, however i have been EXTREMELY put off by Nick’s comment.

Just because the triplets are popular, and just because you love them a lot, does not mean you can defend their down right offensive behaviour.

There were multiple different things Nick could of said. ‘jumping around’ being ‘excited’ or ‘energetic’, literally ANYTHING other than ‘stimming like a physcopath.’

Wake up. It’s ableism and there is no defending it.

I have been thinking about this for long and hard, because i am truly, truly, hurt and disappointed.

I’m going to be VERY, very upset if Nick does not apologise for this, or worse, if he says something in retaliation calling us dramatic or sensitive, which i’m concerned he will do.

Please stop dick riding the triplets and defending ableism, it makes you just as bad.

my cuddly baby :(((

Dylan O'Brien & Andrew Garfield at the Toronto International Film Festival - September 7th, 2024.

“ i told chris i can’t stream with you when you’re gonna stim out like a psychopath “ oh okay nick.

❕❗️ Nick’s Insensitive & Ableist “Stimming” Comment

Yeah this is something I reallyyyy want to talk about! ☝🏾

I love Nick, as we all know by my literal username lmao. But, it’s actually so disappointing to see Nick make a comment like that. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Associating stimming as something “negative” or “crazy” or “psycho” is straight-up ignorant, even if he wouldn’t call himself an ableist. Because at the end of the day, rhetoric matters, even if the intention wasn’t to hurt. You’re still putting out a certain narrative (in this case that people who stim are abnormal or crazy) even if your intention isn’t to actually say this.

Chris himself has commented about how he feels that he might have ADHD or something along those lines, so idk why TF Nick thought that was funny or cool. 🤔

Even if Chris never had those speculations, using rhetoric like that is still wrong. But it’s especially rude and ignorant when someone has literally expressed that they feel that they might have a certain diagnosis where stimming is common, normal, and soothing for them. And it’s even more rude because you’re streaming to hundreds of thousands of people. Dome are impressionable and will start saying shit like that, others are actually people who do stim who will be offended and feel bad for just… existing.

It may seem like “oh he’s just talking who cares”, but in reality, there wouldn’t be such an uproar if people didn’t care.

He genuinely needs to apologize for that. I feel that’s something he definitely should not gloss over since they’re words that literally came out if his mouth, and there are people within the fandom who do stim and will absolutely be offended by this, and ultimately they’ll feel unsafe or unwelcome in this community.

❗️❕ ANOTHER IMPORTANT THING FOR THE FANDOM: ❕❗️

Stop telling people not to be offended by this! Stop telling people to not call them out! There’s a reason why Nick is being called out for this, and telling people to hush is hurting the communities who take offense to what was said, and it can make them feel unsafe within the fandom.

Fandoms are supposed to be here to make people feel united and respected while sharing a common interest. To send death threats or call someone rude names simply because they’re just looking out for the people within the fandom who have been hurt makes you 🫵🏾 a shitty person!

I really do hope Nick makes an effort to apologize for this, or to just acknowledge it as a whole. It would just be the right thing to do. 💞✨

til a fucking sink hole opens up in the floor and the bed falls in

Just me n my two grumpy old wives with claws against the world :3

𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆

𓅷 Nick Sturniolo x F! Reader

it's a platonic fic!!!

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒄, 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔/𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇𝒊𝒔𝒉, 𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝚊/𝚗: 𝐡𝐢!! 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 ☹︎ 𝐢'𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐯, 𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 ♡︎ 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 ☕︎

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

-Nick, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to-

I tried to explain, but he interrupted me before I could, tossing his phone on his pocket.

-Yes, you fucking did! And honestly, I don't care, it's none of my business.

He raises his hands in defense, looking at me with a clear look of disappointment and disapproval.

-If you still think like that it's only bad for you considering you're definitely not his type anyways. -He shrugs, making me furrow my eyebrows, completely taken aback by his words.

-Oh. -It's the only thing I managed to say.

We looked at each other in silence, his eyes softening when he realized that the way he said it might've been too harsh.

⁺₊⋆ 3rd person ⁺₊⋆

With his emotions mixed and the tension of the moment, Nick's mind processed mean thoughts that walked along the lines "whatever, it's not like she's good enough to make him like her", which was selfish. The only reason he didn't want her to still be into Matt was that he didn't want to lose her friendship. And he sounded mad, with the same sarcastic tone he used when he was talking about things he hates.

You didn't even need to process the next steps, it was an automatic move to turn around and leave. The whole situation runned through your mind over and over again and you just couldn't find a reasonable explanation of what happened. He looked so mad at you just because he found out an old twitter account of yours and he happened to read about your old crush on Matt.

It wasn't that serious. Before y'all met and became friends, you were a fan. They didn't seem to mind, it just made things easier. You liked their content, you were excited to be around them and you made a good impression. Never seemed to be a problem, so you didn't make an effort to erase all the things you said when you were just someone behind the screen watching their car videos at random fridays.

You didn't use that account for almost a year now, you created a new one and never talked about it anymore, so it was hard to assimilate that you had another one before. But Nick somehow found it, and he wasn't pleased to see that you were a loyal Matt girl.

To be fair, you did say some weird things. Not bad, but definitely... explicit. You used to like Matt's personality, the way he was mostly calm, but made his point whenever he was done with being interrupted, the way he looked at the camera like you were there with them, the way his tattoos looked, his veins, his smirk, his expressions, his cute laugh and how intense his eyes seemed to be even through the screen.

It was unrealistic to think that some day you'd even talk to him. To any of those three. But when it happened, and you found yourself growing a nice and healthy friendship with them, all those thoughts were left behind and you no longer felt that way about Matt.

At least, that's what you thought. You didn't even remembered that you once said so many explicit things about Matt, but for you it was all in the past, so when Nick brought it back up you felt terrified.

He wasn't exactly mad, you were all adults and if you wanted to fuck Matt it was none of his business, but he was so sure he'd lose you somehow to his brother if you did that he was selfish enough to make it look like you weren't good enough to.

Of course he talked to you in private, calling you to his room and showing you some screenshots of your old tweets. You were so pale, like you've just seen a ghost. You didn't know how he managed to find that account, he doesn't even have an account of his own, but he was showing you things you didn't remember but were definitely wrote by you.

You tried and tried to apologize, but he wouldn't listen. You were heartbroken when you realized you probably screwed up your friendship with him. And not only with him, but definitely with his brothers too.

You walked away from his room, knowing it'd be useless talking to him in this state. If you were lucky maybe he'd calm down and text you, but it wasn't up to you to go after him.

⁺₊⋆ end of 3rd person ⁺₊⋆

Driving back home after knowing I probably fucked things up is something I've never thought I'd be doing. It's so hard to understand that things I've said in the past got in between my friendship with one of the best friends I've ever had. It's even harder to stay patient and wait. I want so badly to know if it's all over or if I still have a chance to be friends with him.

After parking on the garage, I walked up the stairs to my apartment, locking myself in and taking a deep breath. The tears rolled down my cheeks immediately. My heart was in pain and the first thing I did when I sat on my bed was deleting that stupid account.

I thought about texting Matt, not knowing if Nick was going to mention it to him, but trying to avoid making things worse. Although I wanted to do something, my body couldn't find the motivation to. It was already ruined, so fuck it, right?

I ended up crying myself to sleep, and when I last checked there was no sign of texts or calls from Nick, or Matt, or anyone really.

I woke up late. Still no calls, no texts, no nothing. I sigh, frustrated, and walked to my bathroom, doing my routine. I looked terrible, my eyes were puffy and slightly red, I wanted to cry again just by looking at me on the mirror, but before I could the door bell rings. My heartbeats race and I take large steps to the front door, opening it.

-I'm sorry. -He whispers.

Nick looked equally tired and upset, his expressions way different than yesterday's. I was somehow speechless, even though I wanted so bad to say something. He steps forward, rubbing his face.

-I was selfish and acted like a bad friend and I'm sorry. -He says, closing the door behind him and dropping his space camp tote bag on the floor.

-It's okay. -I whisper back, giving him a small smile.

-No, it's not. -He shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. -I was scared that if you and Matt got together you'd stop spending time with me and I actually enjoy your company so I acted like a lunatic.

I giggle at his choice of words, wiping a single tear off my cheek. He smiles softly, pulling me into a hug.

-I'm sorry, I didn't mean what I said, I have no fucking clue what Matt's type is, and you're amazing so he'd be crazy not to want you back.

I hug him back, resting my chin on his shoulder and closing my eyes. We don't hug that often, so I was glad to embrace him and know that he was being honest.

-I would never stop spending time with you, you're my best friend, Nick. -I say, pulling back from the hug. -And I'm really not into Matt anymore.

He laughs, making me laugh too. He walks to the couch, throwing himself on it and sighning loudly.

-Well, too bad, he was the one who showed me the tweets and wanted me to know if you're still a "Matt girl." -He shrugs, making air quotes and getting the remote to turn on the tv.

My mouth drops in a giant 'O' shape, disbelieving his words and surprised with them.

-What?!

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 ✍︎

➪ @riowritesitall @mattsfavbigtitties @sturniolosarethebest @hyacinthst @flower-sturns @sturncakez @watercolorskyy @delooshunalhoe @sarosfilms @blahbel668 @sturniyolo69 @sturniolosl0t @sturnsxbitvh @colbsposts00 @fallingforfalll2 @stvrnmc @slxtformatt @starnoirr @katie-tibo @sturnioloblues @monroesturnns @mattnchrisworld @shaquilles-0atmeal @fratbrochrisgf @dayzeandhaze @sharkcat1928

fall with matt !