kier-with-a-k

[kier-with-a-k]

LAST NIGHT - M.S.

A/N: first fic! Omg I'm so happy to share this! I hope y'all enjoy this one!

Warning: death, angst, I think that's all

Not proofred!

--- Y/N's POV ---

It’s 6:59 PM, and I’m walking into a club. A little early, I know — but you can’t really blame me. I cough into my hand as the sharp scent of alcohol hits me like a truck. The place isn’t alive yet, but a few people are already scattered around, nursing their drinks and waiting for the night to begin.

I’ve convinced myself I’m going out tonight. No backing down... not that I really can. A week ago, they told me I only had one week to live.

And today... today is the last day.

---

7:00 PM.

The clock on the wall flips to 7:00, and my chest tightens. I don’t know if it’s this tight top cutting off my circulation or something deeper.

Everything feels off — like I’m floating outside my own body, watching someone else live my life. None of this feels real.

I wander the club, heels clicking against the floor, until my eyes land on a man sitting alone.

He’s strange-looking — not in a bad way. Attractive, even. But there’s something about him that feels... unraveling.

I adjust my tight black leather skirt as I walk toward him. Normally, I don’t dress up. But tonight... I kind of have to.

He’s surrounded by empty bottles, and judging by his slumped posture, he’s been drinking for a while.

I open my mouth to speak —

“He—”

“Go away,” he cuts me off sharply, voice flat.

Not exactly a "talk to me" tone.

Who the hell does he think he is? But since it is my last day on Earth... I decide to be a little menace.

My lips tug into a smirk.

“Day drinking, huh?”

“Day drinking? It’s fucking 7:05 PM.”

I grin wider. “Didn’t think you were gonna talk to me, Mr. Grumpy.”

He groans — it’s sharp, but weak at the edges. Tired.

Silence falls between us. Ten seconds pass before I sit beside him like I belong there.

I scan the crowd. The club’s still relatively tame, but the bitter smell of liquor clings to the air.

“What do you want?” he asks suddenly, snapping me out of my people-watching.

I turn to him, studying his face.

His eyes are impossibly blue — the kind that pull you in. But they’re ringed with dark circles, and his skin looks pale under the low lights.

He looks exhausted.

“What do you want?” he repeats, more impatient now.

I cough — louder this time. He notices.

“You know you really shouldn’t be here,” he mutters. That same voice — weak, but not soft. Like a storm he’s trying to keep inside.

I grin at him. “You seem really concerned.”

“I don’t care. Do whatever you want with your life. Just leave me alone.”

---

7:30 PM.

It’s been half an hour since I sat down next to him. He still hasn’t said much.

I glance at his outfit again — plain white button-down, creased and slightly damp from sweat and spilled whiskey. The collar is askew, like he stopped caring halfway through the day. Or halfway through life.

“You look incredibly sad,” I say, folding one leg over the other, letting my heel dangle off the tip of my toe like I don’t notice how bold I’m being.

He scoffs, takes a long breath. Doesn’t meet my gaze.

“Do you always talk this much?”

“Nope,” I pop, “just when I’m around people who look like they need saving.”

He shoots me a glare — the kind meant to cut. But the edges are dull. There's something in it that almost feels… curious.

“And what makes you think you’re the savior in this situation?”

I shrug, leaning in slightly, a ghost of a smirk tugging at my lips. “Because between the two of us, I’m the one still standing.”

He glances at the empty glass I took from him earlier, eyes narrowing. “You're annoying.”

“And you’re not nearly as scary as you pretend to be.”

He laughs — bitter, sharp — and then it softens. Just a little.

There’s a pause. A shift. Like the air decides to press closer.

“You wanna play a game?” I ask.

He raises a brow. “What kind of game?”

“A stupid one. Since, you know…” I trail off. I don’t say since I’m dying tonight, but it hangs there between us like invisible ink we’re both pretending not to read.

I smile, more playfully this time. “Let’s see who can make the other fall in love first before sunrise.”

He stares at me, like I’ve said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“You think love is something you can win?”

“No,” I whisper, “but it’s something you can fake. And I want to see who fakes it better.”

He studies me — eyes lingering too long. “You’re messed up.”

“And you’re intrigued.”

His lip twitches. The tiniest crack in the armor.

“Fine. You’re on.”

---

8:00 PM

The club is louder now. Bodies are moving, the lights pulsing in time with the bass. Everything feels warmer — hazy in that almost-too-much kind of way.

He’s dancing.

Matt — I finally got his name in between shots and half-laughed insults — stands across from me, smirking as the music swells. His sleeves are rolled up, collar loosened, and there’s a dangerous sort of charm to the way he moves. Confident but chaotic.

I laugh at something he muttered in my ear — something about me being a menace with a god complex — and slide my hands up his chest, fingers playing with the edges of his collar.

“You’re getting soft on me,” I tease.

“Please,” he says, brushing his fingers along my waist like he’s barely touching me. “If I’m getting soft, you’re the one making it happen.”

My breath hitches — just slightly — but I recover fast.

“Still convinced I’m gonna fall first?” I ask, head tilted.

He leans in closer, lips ghosting the shell of my ear. “I already saw the way you looked at me five minutes ago.”

“That was pity,” I lie.

“That was interest,” he counters. “And it’s mutual.”

We’re dancing closer now. Closer than I expected. My hands find his shoulders, and his hand — warm, grounding — settles on the small of my back.

It’s dangerous, this thing we’re doing.

But for the first time in days, maybe weeks, I don’t feel like I’m dying.

I feel alive.

And that’s exactly what scares me most.

---

8:52 PM.

He says he’s getting us drinks. I nod, watch him weave through the crowd like he knows exactly where he’s going. I should’ve followed.

A hand grabs my wrist. Not gentle. Not familiar. Just... rough.

“Hey,” some stranger slurs, reeking of vodka and something sourer.

I try to pull away. I say “no.” Once, then louder.

And that’s when I see him — Matt — storming back toward us like the floor itself is shaking beneath him.

“Let. Her. Go.”

One swing. Then another. Glass breaks. Someone yells. There's blood on someone’s collar — maybe his, maybe not.

We’re thrown out before I can even process what happened.

---

9:10 PM. Outside the bar.

“What the hell was that?” I shout, heart racing as we stumble into the cold night air. “You just... punched that guy!”

“He touched you,” he says simply, like that explains everything.

“You got us kicked out!”

“I don’t care.”

I stare at him, shaking my head, still panting from the adrenaline. His lip is bleeding. I reach up without thinking and wipe the corner with my thumb.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world not falling apart.

“I’m not losing this game,” he says.

Neither am I.

---

9:45 PM.

The hotel room is shitty. One flickering lamp. A mirror that’s probably seen too much. One bed.

I sit on the edge, legs crossed, watching him toss the room key on the desk like he’s been here before.

“We’re really doing this?” I ask.

He shrugs, tugging off his jacket. “Unless you’re scared.”

“I’m dying. What do I have to be scared of?”

His eyes flick up. That word again. Dying.

I see it hit him — not like a truck. Like a slow realization that burns.

He doesn't say anything. Just crawls into bed beside me, leaving a full foot of space between us. It's weird. The restraint. Like he's scared of touching something that won’t be there in the morning.

---

10:30 PM.

We talk.

Not flirt.

Not tease.

Talk.

He tells me about his brother. About the hospital bills. About the pawn shop he robbed and the camera he didn’t know was there.

“I'll turn myself in tomorrow morning,” he says.

I tell him how my lungs are slowly giving out. How I spent months pretending I had more time than I did. That the world’s too loud and I’m too tired.

“You don’t look sick,” he whispers.

I laugh bitterly. “That’s the worst part.”

There’s a silence between us, thick like molasses.

And then — he inches closer. Our hands touch under the covers. Just barely. But it’s enough to make my heart ache.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Not right now,” I whisper. “Right now it feels like breathing.”

---

12:02 AM.

I don’t know when we fell asleep. I just know his arm’s around me and his breath is in sync with mine.

There’s something sacred about it — like we’re stealing hours the universe didn’t want to give us.

He mumbles my name in his sleep.

And for once... I wish I had more time.

--- Matt's POV ---

5:58 AM

Something’s off.

It’s the kind of quiet that feels wrong — not peaceful, not soft. Just… wrong.

I blink awake slowly, eyes burning from too little sleep and too much everything else. She’s still beside me, her body curled into mine like she never planned to leave.

Her head rests against my chest. I can feel the weight of it. But… not the warmth.

“Hey,” I whisper, voice thick, cracking in my throat. I shift a little, brushing her hair from her face.

She doesn’t move.

Something in my chest snaps.

“Hey,” I say again, louder now, sitting up. My hand goes to her shoulder, gently shaking. “Come on. Don’t do that.”

She stays still.

My heart is thudding. Loud. Stupidly loud. I press two fingers to her wrist. Nothing.

Her lips are parted — barely — and I swear I can feel the absence of breath like it’s trying to suck the air out of the whole room.

“No, no, no—” My voice starts to crack open, sharp and raw. I shake her harder now, panic drowning me. “Don’t do this. Please don’t fucking do this.”

But she’s not waking up.

She’s not here anymore.

And it’s like the world is splitting in half.

---

I pull her into me, arms wrapped so tightly around her that if holding someone hard enough could bring them back, she'd be breathing again. Her skin’s cold. Not frozen, but that kind of cold that feels like the start of forever.

“I didn’t mean to win,” I whisper against her hair. My chest is shaking.

“I didn’t want to win.”

I keep rocking her. Back and forth, like that might keep time from moving forward. Like maybe if I just don’t stop, I can undo the sunrise, the sickness, the silence.

“I was supposed to go to jail,” I choke out. “You were supposed to— You weren’t supposed to leave first.”

She looks like she’s sleeping. Like if I just say the right thing, she’ll open her eyes and tell me to shut up and stop being dramatic.

But she doesn’t.

She doesn’t.

So I stay there. Holding her. Talking to someone who can’t answer. Crying so quietly the walls can’t hear it.

Because even if it was a game,

even if we only had one night,

I lost something I didn’t know I needed until it was already gone.

---

A/N: YAY! I'm really proud of this work! I hope you cried... Cause I did!

Thank you to these divas who helped me!!! @sturnsblogs @oopsiedaisydeer

@bambisturns

Deviders from: @bernardsbendystraws

[kier-with-a-k]

LAST NIGHT - M.S.

A/N: first fic! Omg I'm so happy to share this! I hope y'all enjoy this one!

Warning: death, angst, I think that's all

Not proofred!

--- Y/N's POV ---

It’s 6:59 PM, and I’m walking into a club. A little early, I know — but you can’t really blame me. I cough into my hand as the sharp scent of alcohol hits me like a truck. The place isn’t alive yet, but a few people are already scattered around, nursing their drinks and waiting for the night to begin.

I’ve convinced myself I’m going out tonight. No backing down... not that I really can. A week ago, they told me I only had one week to live.

And today... today is the last day.

---

7:00 PM.

The clock on the wall flips to 7:00, and my chest tightens. I don’t know if it’s this tight top cutting off my circulation or something deeper.

Everything feels off — like I’m floating outside my own body, watching someone else live my life. None of this feels real.

I wander the club, heels clicking against the floor, until my eyes land on a man sitting alone.

He’s strange-looking — not in a bad way. Attractive, even. But there’s something about him that feels... unraveling.

I adjust my tight black leather skirt as I walk toward him. Normally, I don’t dress up. But tonight... I kind of have to.

He’s surrounded by empty bottles, and judging by his slumped posture, he’s been drinking for a while.

I open my mouth to speak —

“He—”

“Go away,” he cuts me off sharply, voice flat.

Not exactly a "talk to me" tone.

Who the hell does he think he is? But since it is my last day on Earth... I decide to be a little menace.

My lips tug into a smirk.

“Day drinking, huh?”

“Day drinking? It’s fucking 7:05 PM.”

I grin wider. “Didn’t think you were gonna talk to me, Mr. Grumpy.”

He groans — it’s sharp, but weak at the edges. Tired.

Silence falls between us. Ten seconds pass before I sit beside him like I belong there.

I scan the crowd. The club’s still relatively tame, but the bitter smell of liquor clings to the air.

“What do you want?” he asks suddenly, snapping me out of my people-watching.

I turn to him, studying his face.

His eyes are impossibly blue — the kind that pull you in. But they’re ringed with dark circles, and his skin looks pale under the low lights.

He looks exhausted.

“What do you want?” he repeats, more impatient now.

I cough — louder this time. He notices.

“You know you really shouldn’t be here,” he mutters. That same voice — weak, but not soft. Like a storm he’s trying to keep inside.

I grin at him. “You seem really concerned.”

“I don’t care. Do whatever you want with your life. Just leave me alone.”

---

7:30 PM.

It’s been half an hour since I sat down next to him. He still hasn’t said much.

I glance at his outfit again — plain white button-down, creased and slightly damp from sweat and spilled whiskey. The collar is askew, like he stopped caring halfway through the day. Or halfway through life.

“You look incredibly sad,” I say, folding one leg over the other, letting my heel dangle off the tip of my toe like I don’t notice how bold I’m being.

He scoffs, takes a long breath. Doesn’t meet my gaze.

“Do you always talk this much?”

“Nope,” I pop, “just when I’m around people who look like they need saving.”

He shoots me a glare — the kind meant to cut. But the edges are dull. There's something in it that almost feels… curious.

“And what makes you think you’re the savior in this situation?”

I shrug, leaning in slightly, a ghost of a smirk tugging at my lips. “Because between the two of us, I’m the one still standing.”

He glances at the empty glass I took from him earlier, eyes narrowing. “You're annoying.”

“And you’re not nearly as scary as you pretend to be.”

He laughs — bitter, sharp — and then it softens. Just a little.

There’s a pause. A shift. Like the air decides to press closer.

“You wanna play a game?” I ask.

He raises a brow. “What kind of game?”

“A stupid one. Since, you know…” I trail off. I don’t say since I’m dying tonight, but it hangs there between us like invisible ink we’re both pretending not to read.

I smile, more playfully this time. “Let’s see who can make the other fall in love first before sunrise.”

He stares at me, like I’ve said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“You think love is something you can win?”

“No,” I whisper, “but it’s something you can fake. And I want to see who fakes it better.”

He studies me — eyes lingering too long. “You’re messed up.”

“And you’re intrigued.”

His lip twitches. The tiniest crack in the armor.

“Fine. You’re on.”

---

8:00 PM

The club is louder now. Bodies are moving, the lights pulsing in time with the bass. Everything feels warmer — hazy in that almost-too-much kind of way.

He’s dancing.

Matt — I finally got his name in between shots and half-laughed insults — stands across from me, smirking as the music swells. His sleeves are rolled up, collar loosened, and there’s a dangerous sort of charm to the way he moves. Confident but chaotic.

I laugh at something he muttered in my ear — something about me being a menace with a god complex — and slide my hands up his chest, fingers playing with the edges of his collar.

“You’re getting soft on me,” I tease.

“Please,” he says, brushing his fingers along my waist like he’s barely touching me. “If I’m getting soft, you’re the one making it happen.”

My breath hitches — just slightly — but I recover fast.

“Still convinced I’m gonna fall first?” I ask, head tilted.

He leans in closer, lips ghosting the shell of my ear. “I already saw the way you looked at me five minutes ago.”

“That was pity,” I lie.

“That was interest,” he counters. “And it’s mutual.”

We’re dancing closer now. Closer than I expected. My hands find his shoulders, and his hand — warm, grounding — settles on the small of my back.

It’s dangerous, this thing we’re doing.

But for the first time in days, maybe weeks, I don’t feel like I’m dying.

I feel alive.

And that’s exactly what scares me most.

---

8:52 PM.

He says he’s getting us drinks. I nod, watch him weave through the crowd like he knows exactly where he’s going. I should’ve followed.

A hand grabs my wrist. Not gentle. Not familiar. Just... rough.

“Hey,” some stranger slurs, reeking of vodka and something sourer.

I try to pull away. I say “no.” Once, then louder.

And that’s when I see him — Matt — storming back toward us like the floor itself is shaking beneath him.

“Let. Her. Go.”

One swing. Then another. Glass breaks. Someone yells. There's blood on someone’s collar — maybe his, maybe not.

We’re thrown out before I can even process what happened.

---

9:10 PM. Outside the bar.

“What the hell was that?” I shout, heart racing as we stumble into the cold night air. “You just... punched that guy!”

“He touched you,” he says simply, like that explains everything.

“You got us kicked out!”

“I don’t care.”

I stare at him, shaking my head, still panting from the adrenaline. His lip is bleeding. I reach up without thinking and wipe the corner with my thumb.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world not falling apart.

“I’m not losing this game,” he says.

Neither am I.

---

9:45 PM.

The hotel room is shitty. One flickering lamp. A mirror that’s probably seen too much. One bed.

I sit on the edge, legs crossed, watching him toss the room key on the desk like he’s been here before.

“We’re really doing this?” I ask.

He shrugs, tugging off his jacket. “Unless you’re scared.”

“I’m dying. What do I have to be scared of?”

His eyes flick up. That word again. Dying.

I see it hit him — not like a truck. Like a slow realization that burns.

He doesn't say anything. Just crawls into bed beside me, leaving a full foot of space between us. It's weird. The restraint. Like he's scared of touching something that won’t be there in the morning.

---

10:30 PM.

We talk.

Not flirt.

Not tease.

Talk.

He tells me about his brother. About the hospital bills. About the pawn shop he robbed and the camera he didn’t know was there.

“I'll turn myself in tomorrow morning,” he says.

I tell him how my lungs are slowly giving out. How I spent months pretending I had more time than I did. That the world’s too loud and I’m too tired.

“You don’t look sick,” he whispers.

I laugh bitterly. “That’s the worst part.”

There’s a silence between us, thick like molasses.

And then — he inches closer. Our hands touch under the covers. Just barely. But it’s enough to make my heart ache.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Not right now,” I whisper. “Right now it feels like breathing.”

---

12:02 AM.

I don’t know when we fell asleep. I just know his arm’s around me and his breath is in sync with mine.

There’s something sacred about it — like we’re stealing hours the universe didn’t want to give us.

He mumbles my name in his sleep.

And for once... I wish I had more time.

--- Matt's POV ---

5:58 AM

Something’s off.

It’s the kind of quiet that feels wrong — not peaceful, not soft. Just… wrong.

I blink awake slowly, eyes burning from too little sleep and too much everything else. She’s still beside me, her body curled into mine like she never planned to leave.

Her head rests against my chest. I can feel the weight of it. But… not the warmth.

“Hey,” I whisper, voice thick, cracking in my throat. I shift a little, brushing her hair from her face.

She doesn’t move.

Something in my chest snaps.

“Hey,” I say again, louder now, sitting up. My hand goes to her shoulder, gently shaking. “Come on. Don’t do that.”

She stays still.

My heart is thudding. Loud. Stupidly loud. I press two fingers to her wrist. Nothing.

Her lips are parted — barely — and I swear I can feel the absence of breath like it’s trying to suck the air out of the whole room.

“No, no, no—” My voice starts to crack open, sharp and raw. I shake her harder now, panic drowning me. “Don’t do this. Please don’t fucking do this.”

But she’s not waking up.

She’s not here anymore.

And it’s like the world is splitting in half.

---

I pull her into me, arms wrapped so tightly around her that if holding someone hard enough could bring them back, she'd be breathing again. Her skin’s cold. Not frozen, but that kind of cold that feels like the start of forever.

“I didn’t mean to win,” I whisper against her hair. My chest is shaking.

“I didn’t want to win.”

I keep rocking her. Back and forth, like that might keep time from moving forward. Like maybe if I just don’t stop, I can undo the sunrise, the sickness, the silence.

“I was supposed to go to jail,” I choke out. “You were supposed to— You weren’t supposed to leave first.”

She looks like she’s sleeping. Like if I just say the right thing, she’ll open her eyes and tell me to shut up and stop being dramatic.

But she doesn’t.

She doesn’t.

So I stay there. Holding her. Talking to someone who can’t answer. Crying so quietly the walls can’t hear it.

Because even if it was a game,

even if we only had one night,

I lost something I didn’t know I needed until it was already gone.

---

A/N: YAY! I'm really proud of this work! I hope you cried... Cause I did!

Thank you to these divas who helped me!!! @sturnsblogs @oopsiedaisydeer

@bambisturns

Deviders from: @bernardsbendystraws

[kier-with-a-k]

Like and reblog. Credit by tagging. Do not claim as your own.

[kier-with-a-k]

LAST NIGHT - M.S.

A/N: first fic! Omg I'm so happy to share this! I hope y'all enjoy this one!

Warning: death, angst, I think that's all

Not proofred!

--- Y/N's POV ---

It’s 6:59 PM, and I’m walking into a club. A little early, I know — but you can’t really blame me. I cough into my hand as the sharp scent of alcohol hits me like a truck. The place isn’t alive yet, but a few people are already scattered around, nursing their drinks and waiting for the night to begin.

I’ve convinced myself I’m going out tonight. No backing down... not that I really can. A week ago, they told me I only had one week to live.

And today... today is the last day.

---

7:00 PM.

The clock on the wall flips to 7:00, and my chest tightens. I don’t know if it’s this tight top cutting off my circulation or something deeper.

Everything feels off — like I’m floating outside my own body, watching someone else live my life. None of this feels real.

I wander the club, heels clicking against the floor, until my eyes land on a man sitting alone.

He’s strange-looking — not in a bad way. Attractive, even. But there’s something about him that feels... unraveling.

I adjust my tight black leather skirt as I walk toward him. Normally, I don’t dress up. But tonight... I kind of have to.

He’s surrounded by empty bottles, and judging by his slumped posture, he’s been drinking for a while.

I open my mouth to speak —

“He—”

“Go away,” he cuts me off sharply, voice flat.

Not exactly a "talk to me" tone.

Who the hell does he think he is? But since it is my last day on Earth... I decide to be a little menace.

My lips tug into a smirk.

“Day drinking, huh?”

“Day drinking? It’s fucking 7:05 PM.”

I grin wider. “Didn’t think you were gonna talk to me, Mr. Grumpy.”

He groans — it’s sharp, but weak at the edges. Tired.

Silence falls between us. Ten seconds pass before I sit beside him like I belong there.

I scan the crowd. The club’s still relatively tame, but the bitter smell of liquor clings to the air.

“What do you want?” he asks suddenly, snapping me out of my people-watching.

I turn to him, studying his face.

His eyes are impossibly blue — the kind that pull you in. But they’re ringed with dark circles, and his skin looks pale under the low lights.

He looks exhausted.

“What do you want?” he repeats, more impatient now.

I cough — louder this time. He notices.

“You know you really shouldn’t be here,” he mutters. That same voice — weak, but not soft. Like a storm he’s trying to keep inside.

I grin at him. “You seem really concerned.”

“I don’t care. Do whatever you want with your life. Just leave me alone.”

---

7:30 PM.

It’s been half an hour since I sat down next to him. He still hasn’t said much.

I glance at his outfit again — plain white button-down, creased and slightly damp from sweat and spilled whiskey. The collar is askew, like he stopped caring halfway through the day. Or halfway through life.

“You look incredibly sad,” I say, folding one leg over the other, letting my heel dangle off the tip of my toe like I don’t notice how bold I’m being.

He scoffs, takes a long breath. Doesn’t meet my gaze.

“Do you always talk this much?”

“Nope,” I pop, “just when I’m around people who look like they need saving.”

He shoots me a glare — the kind meant to cut. But the edges are dull. There's something in it that almost feels… curious.

“And what makes you think you’re the savior in this situation?”

I shrug, leaning in slightly, a ghost of a smirk tugging at my lips. “Because between the two of us, I’m the one still standing.”

He glances at the empty glass I took from him earlier, eyes narrowing. “You're annoying.”

“And you’re not nearly as scary as you pretend to be.”

He laughs — bitter, sharp — and then it softens. Just a little.

There’s a pause. A shift. Like the air decides to press closer.

“You wanna play a game?” I ask.

He raises a brow. “What kind of game?”

“A stupid one. Since, you know…” I trail off. I don’t say since I’m dying tonight, but it hangs there between us like invisible ink we’re both pretending not to read.

I smile, more playfully this time. “Let’s see who can make the other fall in love first before sunrise.”

He stares at me, like I’ve said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“You think love is something you can win?”

“No,” I whisper, “but it’s something you can fake. And I want to see who fakes it better.”

He studies me — eyes lingering too long. “You’re messed up.”

“And you’re intrigued.”

His lip twitches. The tiniest crack in the armor.

“Fine. You’re on.”

---

8:00 PM

The club is louder now. Bodies are moving, the lights pulsing in time with the bass. Everything feels warmer — hazy in that almost-too-much kind of way.

He’s dancing.

Matt — I finally got his name in between shots and half-laughed insults — stands across from me, smirking as the music swells. His sleeves are rolled up, collar loosened, and there’s a dangerous sort of charm to the way he moves. Confident but chaotic.

I laugh at something he muttered in my ear — something about me being a menace with a god complex — and slide my hands up his chest, fingers playing with the edges of his collar.

“You’re getting soft on me,” I tease.

“Please,” he says, brushing his fingers along my waist like he’s barely touching me. “If I’m getting soft, you’re the one making it happen.”

My breath hitches — just slightly — but I recover fast.

“Still convinced I’m gonna fall first?” I ask, head tilted.

He leans in closer, lips ghosting the shell of my ear. “I already saw the way you looked at me five minutes ago.”

“That was pity,” I lie.

“That was interest,” he counters. “And it’s mutual.”

We’re dancing closer now. Closer than I expected. My hands find his shoulders, and his hand — warm, grounding — settles on the small of my back.

It’s dangerous, this thing we’re doing.

But for the first time in days, maybe weeks, I don’t feel like I’m dying.

I feel alive.

And that’s exactly what scares me most.

---

8:52 PM.

He says he’s getting us drinks. I nod, watch him weave through the crowd like he knows exactly where he’s going. I should’ve followed.

A hand grabs my wrist. Not gentle. Not familiar. Just... rough.

“Hey,” some stranger slurs, reeking of vodka and something sourer.

I try to pull away. I say “no.” Once, then louder.

And that’s when I see him — Matt — storming back toward us like the floor itself is shaking beneath him.

“Let. Her. Go.”

One swing. Then another. Glass breaks. Someone yells. There's blood on someone’s collar — maybe his, maybe not.

We’re thrown out before I can even process what happened.

---

9:10 PM. Outside the bar.

“What the hell was that?” I shout, heart racing as we stumble into the cold night air. “You just... punched that guy!”

“He touched you,” he says simply, like that explains everything.

“You got us kicked out!”

“I don’t care.”

I stare at him, shaking my head, still panting from the adrenaline. His lip is bleeding. I reach up without thinking and wipe the corner with my thumb.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world not falling apart.

“I’m not losing this game,” he says.

Neither am I.

---

9:45 PM.

The hotel room is shitty. One flickering lamp. A mirror that’s probably seen too much. One bed.

I sit on the edge, legs crossed, watching him toss the room key on the desk like he’s been here before.

“We’re really doing this?” I ask.

He shrugs, tugging off his jacket. “Unless you’re scared.”

“I’m dying. What do I have to be scared of?”

His eyes flick up. That word again. Dying.

I see it hit him — not like a truck. Like a slow realization that burns.

He doesn't say anything. Just crawls into bed beside me, leaving a full foot of space between us. It's weird. The restraint. Like he's scared of touching something that won’t be there in the morning.

---

10:30 PM.

We talk.

Not flirt.

Not tease.

Talk.

He tells me about his brother. About the hospital bills. About the pawn shop he robbed and the camera he didn’t know was there.

“I'll turn myself in tomorrow morning,” he says.

I tell him how my lungs are slowly giving out. How I spent months pretending I had more time than I did. That the world’s too loud and I’m too tired.

“You don’t look sick,” he whispers.

I laugh bitterly. “That’s the worst part.”

There’s a silence between us, thick like molasses.

And then — he inches closer. Our hands touch under the covers. Just barely. But it’s enough to make my heart ache.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Not right now,” I whisper. “Right now it feels like breathing.”

---

12:02 AM.

I don’t know when we fell asleep. I just know his arm’s around me and his breath is in sync with mine.

There’s something sacred about it — like we’re stealing hours the universe didn’t want to give us.

He mumbles my name in his sleep.

And for once... I wish I had more time.

--- Matt's POV ---

5:58 AM

Something’s off.

It’s the kind of quiet that feels wrong — not peaceful, not soft. Just… wrong.

I blink awake slowly, eyes burning from too little sleep and too much everything else. She’s still beside me, her body curled into mine like she never planned to leave.

Her head rests against my chest. I can feel the weight of it. But… not the warmth.

“Hey,” I whisper, voice thick, cracking in my throat. I shift a little, brushing her hair from her face.

She doesn’t move.

Something in my chest snaps.

“Hey,” I say again, louder now, sitting up. My hand goes to her shoulder, gently shaking. “Come on. Don’t do that.”

She stays still.

My heart is thudding. Loud. Stupidly loud. I press two fingers to her wrist. Nothing.

Her lips are parted — barely — and I swear I can feel the absence of breath like it’s trying to suck the air out of the whole room.

“No, no, no—” My voice starts to crack open, sharp and raw. I shake her harder now, panic drowning me. “Don’t do this. Please don’t fucking do this.”

But she’s not waking up.

She’s not here anymore.

And it’s like the world is splitting in half.

---

I pull her into me, arms wrapped so tightly around her that if holding someone hard enough could bring them back, she'd be breathing again. Her skin’s cold. Not frozen, but that kind of cold that feels like the start of forever.

“I didn’t mean to win,” I whisper against her hair. My chest is shaking.

“I didn’t want to win.”

I keep rocking her. Back and forth, like that might keep time from moving forward. Like maybe if I just don’t stop, I can undo the sunrise, the sickness, the silence.

“I was supposed to go to jail,” I choke out. “You were supposed to— You weren’t supposed to leave first.”

She looks like she’s sleeping. Like if I just say the right thing, she’ll open her eyes and tell me to shut up and stop being dramatic.

But she doesn’t.

She doesn’t.

So I stay there. Holding her. Talking to someone who can’t answer. Crying so quietly the walls can’t hear it.

Because even if it was a game,

even if we only had one night,

I lost something I didn’t know I needed until it was already gone.

---

A/N: YAY! I'm really proud of this work! I hope you cried... Cause I did!

Thank you to these divas who helped me!!! @sturnsblogs @oopsiedaisydeer

@bambisturns @sturns-mermaid

Deviders from: @bernardsbendystraws

[kier-with-a-k]

I FFUCKING KNEW IT! OFCOURSE THIS SERIES WILL ALSO HAVE A BAD DAD! I KNEW IT!!!

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. PLEASE READ AND LOOK UP DEFINITIONS OF WARNINGS FOR FURTHER CLARIFICATION. HUGE TW FOR THIS CHAPTER. CSA (only mentioned, not described), angst, fluff, fighting, physical altercation, lying, and more.

A/N: This is long as fuck and have fun on this emotional rollercoaster lol this is barely proofread btw

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P24: Too Soon?

A week. My mom would be gone on some work trip for an entire seven days.

I really don’t believe it. Part of me always thought she would lie about them being ‘work trips,’ but now I was sure. What kind of work trip didn’t have cell service?

She’s lying. I know she’s hiding something, I know deep down this probably isn’t the first time she’s done this before. But that’s not even the worst part.

The worst part is that she that she left Byalen in charge to ‘watch’ me—like a fucking babysitter, since I couldn’t be trusted anymore because of the time she caught me coming home with Chris early in the morning.

Fucking hypocrite. 

Sure, I wasn’t telling the truth—but neither was she. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. 

Currently, I’m on my bed, staring up at the ceiling as my phone rests on my stomach. Chris’ voice echoes through the device. We’ve been talking for hours. I really want to just go over and see him—see my boyfriend, but I can’t. Not while I’m being fucking babysat. 

“Are you sure you don’t wanna sleep over? You need to sleep.” Chris says.

God, the offer is tempting. All of me wants to say yes, walk over to his house, and cuddle up in his arms. But I can’t. I’ve slept like shit for the past three days and it keeps getting worse. I need him to hold me in order to feel okay, I wanna sleep in a house that feels like a home too. 

It’s not even just him. It’s Jimmy, it’s Matt, and hell—even Trevor. I love being around them, it makes everything feel so much easier. 

I huff, shaking my head against my pillow as I roll my eyes. “I can’t, I’m being fuckin babysat at 18 years old.” I remark. 

A wave of silence washes over for a minute. I can practically hear Chris thinking, the slight vibration of a curious hum sounding through the phone. My fingers callus over my lip, the slight graze of my nails making the muscle tingle in a way that mimics how Chris’ lips feel against my own.

Fuck. I miss that. 

It’s like he has something that I need and crave all the damn time, like he possesses some sort of energy that makes my body feel better—lighter, even. 

“Well…what if I came over there?” He offers. 

My eyebrows twist together. I lick over my lip, gnawing on the muscle as I think of his statement. 

“But…but what if we get caught?” I question. 

I could imagine it. Baylen would see Chris and all hell would break loose. 

I doubt he’d cover for me, he’d probably enthusiastically go telling my mom the second she walks back into the house. 

Chris lets out a dry laugh. “Has he really ever bothered to check in your room? I mean, even if he does, I’ll just hide in your closet or something.”

“That’s kinda gay, bro,” I joke, gnawing on my lip as I hear Chris let out a fit of chuckles that make my heart echo in my ears. 

I love being able to do that. Hearing him laugh—making him laugh, it all feels so pure. It honestly feels as intimate as him in between my legs, just in a different type of way. 

Either are addicting. It was hard to miss only one or the other, I craved both. 

I wanted to feel the euphoric relief from his touch. I wanted to laugh with him to the point where I couldn’t think of anything except how bad my stomach cramped from giggling. 

I wanted everything and all of it—I just want him. 

It’s only been a bit over a week since we made things official, but god—I could feel emotions building so rapidly, so much that they felt like they were consuming every corner of my mind.

Some of it made me sick. 

I never felt this way with Ryan, my ex. The butterflies were there, but not to this extent—not to the point where I caught myself trying to imagine he was holding me in order to fall asleep. 

“Do you want me to come over and not?” Chris remarks, pulling me back to reality as his voice echoes through my phone. 

I bite back a sore smile, humming in approval, “Yes please.” 

___

It feels good like this. Every inch of my body is content, my limbs melted in his hold as I let myself breathe in the fresh air from the cracked window in my bedroom.

His hand is combing through my hair. I hear him clear his throat, his chest rumbling as he begins to speak, “So, um…I…I’ve really missed you.” he says—again.

My lips tug into an unrelenting smile. We’ve been cuddling for hours and he’s repeated the same statement at least ten times. 

It should be annoying, but it’s not. It makes me feel warm—it makes me feel a part of the moment, like every wave of the breeze is infiltrating the pores on my skin to ground me with a profound amount of peace. 

“I missed you too.” I reply, scratching my nails over his chest as I let out another hum of contentment. His lips press against the crown of my head, a lingering kiss placed on my scalp as I feel his warm breath tickle into my hair. 

It’s dark now. We should be tired, but we’re not. A short nap had rendered us a bit sad since we wanted to watch the sunset together, but it was okay since now we got to watch the night sky illuminate with a crescent moon and thousands of stars varying in vibrance. 

I wonder who’s watching. Maybe my dad is one of those stars, maybe he gets to see me finally living after all these years without him. 

The gap of his presence still aches in my heart, but it’s not as exhausting. A tiny splinter of a gap still remains in the pumping muscle, but it seems to be soothed by the added layers of security from Chris’ arms around me. 

“What’re you thinking about, pretty girl?” Chris asks, combing through my hair. 

I crane my head to stare up at him, sparing a soft smile as I give a slight shrug of my shoulders. “I just…” my words float into the air, unfinished as I gulp the lump in my throat that seems to build with how his eyes are piercing into me. “-I really like this. I…really like you…being here with me. It’s just–” 

Chris leans down, pressing the tip of his nose against my own as he blinks, his eyes lashes fluttering against my own with a ticklish sensation that makes a soft sigh fall from my lips. 

“-good. I’m glad you like it because I love it. You don’t understand how much I missed holding you, really,” he whispers, his breath fanning across my lips in a way that makes my stomach swarm with warm butterflies. “-this makes me so, so, so fuckin’ happy—holding my girl, in my arms—”

“You’re never gonna stop saying that, huh?” I tease, biting on my lip as his eyes open and gleam into my own.              

Chris purses his lips, shrugging. “Nah. Getting to call you my girl?” he puffs, his eyes going with before he offers a playful smile, “-could never get old to me. Makes me feel all….” he wraps his arms tighter around me, pulling a gasp from my mouth as he pulls my chest plush against his, “-warm.” 

Ugh. He feels the same way I do—maybe even more so. 

I let myself bathe in his stare, the reassurance of his gaze making me feel like moonlight—calm, radiate, and important. Part of me doesn’t wanna speak at all, the fear of this exact moment ending making my heart pulse in my chest with a sharp sting. 

But it’s okay. 

It’s okay because I know there will always be more moments like this with him. It’s okay because there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll ever let me feel anything less than cared for. 

Words linger on the tip of my tongue, words I know I shouldn’t say—not yet, at least.

But it’s true. I love him, I really, really do. I don’t know when the realization happened. Honestly, I think it might’ve been when we first met, like some sort of cautious feeling that was warning me of destiny. 

Chris licks over his lips, his smile fading into a serious look as he swallows thickly. “I…I know we haven’t been official for very long, but—I…I feel things for you, I feel so much it hurts,” he breaths. 

My breath halts in my chest, my ears ringing as my bones seem to vibrate inside my body. He feels it too. It’s like everything about us is connected, like everything is falling into place so effortlessly it feels like magic. 

“I…” The words fall flat on the tip of my tongue, my eyes glazing over with pure emotion as I let my eyes wander over his face.

It’s so comfortable. All I can hear is our hearts beating in sync, the way my entire soul is burning for me to say it—say everything. 

“I love you.”

My eyes widened in shock. The words had rambled off my tongue so rushed, the devotion hanging in the air with an accompanied echo of his own voice. 

“Oh.” 

Our words are still in sync. We both let out a small laugh, the giggles falling quiet as we just breath in each other’s presence. 

“I guess that wasn’t as scary as I was making it out to seem, huh?” he tuts. 

I shake my head, laughing under my breath as I shrug, “-I guess so.” 

___

Chris’ POV

I keep waking up. I’m not sure what time it is, but it’s like my body doesn’t want to sleep, even though I’m very comfortable, I just wanna look at her in my arms. 

The slight sound of crickets echoing with the cool night air makes me sigh. My eyes drift over to her nightstand, her empty water bottle catching my attention. She had jugged all of it and fell back asleep within an instant a while ago, waking up a bit later, disappointed to find the bottle empty. 

Maybe I should fill it for her.

Yeah.

Slowly sliding away, I wince hearing her let out a small whimper, reaching out for me as I stand up fully. Her eyes peek open. I pet over her shoulder, cooing, “-hey, go back to sleep—’m just gonna fill your water, okay?” 

She nods hazily, her eyes falling shut with a slight scowl printed on her face. 

God, she’s pretty.

My stomach flutters with warmth as I watch her bottom lip pout slightly, her arms reaching out and tugging the pillow that was beneath my head into her hold as she greedily takes a large breath.

Fuck.

She’s barely awake and she still wants me. 

With light steps, I carefully make my way out of her room, venturing through the halls in hopes of finding the kitchen. It doesn’t take long. I walk into the tiled room, the cold flooring against my feet making me miss the warmth of her touch. 

“Ugh,” I sigh, walking over to the sink and filling the bottle, trying to tilt the object to create as little noise as possible. 

My lips roll together, my mind racing with thoughts as I reminisce on earlier. I was so scared to tell her that I loved her, I was scared it was too soon, too much, or purely insane to feel so strongly when we only made things official a bit ago. 

But she said it at the same time, and somehow that was better than her saying it back. 

“Who the fuck?” 

My eyes go wide as I screw on the cap to the water bottle. I turn around, finding her brother with messy hair and sunken eyes staring at me with a scowl. 

Fuck. 

“Shit.” I mutter, squinting my eyes shut in hopes I’m just having a nightmare. 

But no. 

I open my eyes, he’s still there—closer. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he interrogates, his shoulders broadening as his nostrils flare with an angry huff. 

“I, uh,” I look towards the hallway, mentally cursing myself as I think of her getting in trouble because of me, “-I’m Chris. I’m…uh—”

I don’t get the chance to finish. Baylen’s eyes shift to the bottle in my hand, his tongue prodding on the side of his cheek as he shakes his head disappointedly. 

“What? Are you her boyfriend or something?” he asks, lips tugged into a straight line. 

Gulping, I nod. Surely me being her boyfriend is better than being a stranger breaking in, right?

“No.”

The fuck?

My brows furrow together at his statement. Baylen seems to analyze the confusion on my face, shrugging as he repeats the words with a more tense voice, “-I said no.” 

“What? No? Hate to break it to you, but that’s not really your decision.” I point. 

No wonder she can’t get along with him, he’s a prick. He barely acts like a brother, yet he’s trying to dictate our relationship? 

Fuck that. I’ve done more for her than he has with a fraction of the time. 

I mean, how hard is it to be there for his sister? 

After losing my mom and Nick, no matter how distant or hurt I was, I still hugged Matt when he needed it. I might’ve grown distant, but I never grew heartless.

Baylen couldn’t even suck it up to play video games with her. 

His face contorts with distaste. I let out an angry sigh, my eyes rolling while he let out a scoff. 

“She’s my sister. I’m the one who gets to look out for her, not some guy she’s known for what, a couple months?” he remarks, a slight snort echoing at the end of his sentence. 

His words seem to make my heart pummel against my chest with rage, the statement making my blood boil as I lick over my teeth. “Look out for her? You can’t even sit down and play a video game with her for more than five minutes. Just…” I shake my head, watching as his face shifts into shock before the fury in his eyes starts to become more intense, “-it’s whatever.” 

Baylen clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth, shaking his head, “Shut the fuck up. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

My nose twitches, my eyes squint as my jaw becomes tight. Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to? 

“Oh, I have no idea what I’m talking about?” I huff, my brows lifting as I let out a dry laugh, “-no, you have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re an awful fucking brother, you have no say in anything when you’re treating her like…like a fucking dick.” 

His jaw clicks. Baylen stalks forward, his hands twisting in the collar of my shirt as he yanks me to the side, pushing me against the wall as his eyes glare into me, the anger radiating off of him making the ache in my head from the impact seem less apparent as I drop the water bottle and clutch onto his wrists, trying to yank him off of me. The loud clunk of the bottle hitting the ground makes me wince. I huff at his unrelenting grip, taking a heavy sigh as I try to calm the pulsing anger in my body. 

I can’t hit him. She cares about him—even if he hurts her, I know that would make her upset.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he repeats, his voice dangerously low as he pushes me harder against the wall.  

“You abandoned her when she needed you most. What kind of brother does that?” I spit, the emotions in my voice leaking with a bit of hypocrisy. 

I wasn’t always the best when it came to comforting Matt after my mom and Nick had died, but at least I came around. Someone had to knock some sense into me—that someone being my dad, but it didn’t seem like anyone was ever gonna set Baylen straight. 

“You—you don’t get it. Stop. Just—just shut up,” he yells, shoving me even harder as I feel the back of my head pulse. 

“I do. Just…ow, fuck—” I hiss, the pain becoming evidentally apparent as my skull aches, “-I lost some of my family. Someone had to knock some sense into me. She—she’s your sister, you both lost your dad, she’s hurting and—shit.” 

It fucking hurts. The back of my head is pulsing, an echoing pain bursting through my forehead as I try to move, only to have him shove me harder. 

“I didn’t lose anyone. You…you don’t understand.” 

My eyes peak open, curiosity accompanied by pain as I hear a slight crack in his voice. His face drops with sadness, the anger fleeting into some sort of sullen emotion as he swallows thickly. 

“You…you don’t understand. That man—he’s not my father. He’s a sick excuse of a man that traumatized her and she doesn’t even fucking remember,” he spits. 

“I…what?” I breathe, my chest tightening as Baylen loosens his grip around the collar of my shirt, his lower lip wobbling. 

“I’m never supposed to tell her. I…I have to hear her mourn a man who would…who’s the reason she’d have to sneak into my room—he’s the reason she could never make it through the night without having an accident. Something was wrong—everything was wrong.” 

“What—what’re you saying?” I ask, my mouth falling open as I let my hands fall from his wrists. 

Baylen’s eyes sink with sadness, his cheek hollowing as he gulps. “She wasn’t potty trained for a long time. At first, I didn’t get it. But…but…he was touching her, her body was showing all the signs of sexual assault, but I was just a kid, I didn’t…I—by the time I understood what had happened, it—it was too late. Now I have to hear her mourn a man who is the reason I feel—he’s…he’s the reason I can’t comfort her, he’s the reason I can’t look at her,” he says, his head tilting as his face scrunches with pain;

“He’s the reason I hate myself—the reason I can’t let myself get close to her without seeing how much of a failure I am.” 

Oh.

[kier-with-a-k]

What's nurse!Nick and Thomas doing rn?

nurse!nick just got off his shift. he’s tired, still in scrubs, sipping the last of the cappucino thomas made him earlier. the cup has a dumb pun on it: ICU later ;) he’s trying not to smile.

thomas is closing up the café. he keeps thinking about how nick looked when he stopped by, hair still wet from the shower. he wiped the counter three times already, distracted.

they’re also both hoping the other texts first :>

[kier-with-a-k]

love the irony!!!

LAWDD THE BUGLE SOMEONE HOLD ME BACK!!

[kier-with-a-k]

IM DYUNG FOR MOREE!!! I'm sure this one will BLOSSOM into an amazing series! And I'll be hear POURING compliments 😉🤭

NOW INTRODUCING…

BOYFRIEND!NICK X FLORIST!READER

21. Blonde era. Sarcastic. Impulsive. Dramatic. Utterly in-love with Julian. Photography. Hilarious. Pouty. Billie Eilish. Physical touch. Emotionally reactive.

23. Flowers. Clean. Strict. Words of affirmation. Lavender tea. Quiet. Slightly shy. Organized. Type A person. Easily flustered. Handwritten notes. Emotionally intelligent.

Masterlist ↓

Rain or Shine ✧.*

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo

A/N- Thank you to my baby @sunrisemill for helping with ideas and coming up with “Florist” and the pictures!

Got my dividers from the one and only @bernardsbendystraws! 💋

[kier-with-a-k]

BITCH?! YYOU GAVE ME NO WARNING!!! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!! NOW I HAVE MORE THINGS TO ANNOY YOU ABOUT!!!

RAIN OR SHINE ✧.*

Pairing: Boyfriend!Nick Sturniolo x Florist!Julian

Word Count: 1054

Warnings: None, just rain, sarcasm, and flowers

Summary: Nick shows up to Julian’s flower shop drenched from a storm — of course, he didn’t wear the coat Julian told him to wear. Julian’s annoyed, Nick’s soaked, and neither of them are very good at saying what they feel… but flowers speak for them just fine.

The rain had started with a whisper. A light patter against windows, a drizzle barely worth a second thought. But within half an hour, it had turned into a downpour — a thick, relentless sheet of gray that swallowed the streets whole.

Julian knew it was going to rain like this. He’d checked the weather at least three times that morning, and more importantly — he had told Nick.

“Wear your coat.”

“I’m serious, Nick.”

“It’s going to pour — and no, your hoodie doesn’t count.”

Naturally, Nick hadn’t listened.

The bell above the front door of the flower shop gave a chaotic jingle, nearly drowned out by the crash of thunder outside. Julian looked up from his arrangement of ranunculus and white roses — the commission he was working on for Mrs. Langdon’s anniversary — and there stood Nick.

Drenched.

Utterly, hopelessly, ridiculously soaked from head to toe. His dirty blonde hair was flattened to his forehead, water dripping off the ends. His hoodie was plastered to his body like second skin, jeans soaked dark and clinging to his legs, and his sneakers made squelching noises on the floor.

“Hey, babe,” Nick grinned, water dripping from his nose. “You miss me?”

Julian’s jaw dropped. “Are you insane?”

Nick blinked, eyebrows raised. “I mean… arguably, yes?”

Julian stormed around the counter like a man on a mission, grabbing Nick’s wrist and dragging him toward the back room. “You’re dripping on the lilies. Get back here before you ruin everything.”

“I’m adding rustic ambiance!” Nick called, but he followed obediently, half-laughing as Julian shoved the curtain aside and pulled him into the shop’s back storage room.

Julian didn’t stop until Nick was standing on the rubber mat in front of the tiny space heater. He spun around, hands on his hips.

“I told you,” he said, stern and sharp and a little breathless with frustration. “I specifically told you to wear your coat. Not suggested, not hinted at, I told you. And what did you do, Nicolas?”

Nick wrapped his arms around himself with an exaggerated shiver. “I forgot, okay? It wasn’t raining when I left the house—”

“You live four blocks away. You could have turned around. You could’ve texted me. Anything.”

“I was on a vibe!” Nick argued. “Headphones in, main character energy—”

Julian grabbed a fluffy blanket from the storage shelf and practically threw it at him. “You are not the main character when you’re soaking wet and about to catch pneumonia in my workspace.”

Nick, grinning now, wrapped himself in the blanket like it was a royal cape. “So dramatic. I’m fine.”

Julian didn’t answer right away. He turned to the hot plate in the corner and filled the kettle, flicking it on with short, irritated movements. But Nick noticed the way his jaw clenched — how his fingers trembled just slightly as he pulled down a mug.

Nick took a quiet step forward, less theatrical this time. “Hey. I really am okay, Jules.”

Julian turned halfway, crossing his arms. “You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot,” Nick said, flashing that crooked grin — the one Julian pretended didn’t always soften him instantly.

The kettle began to steam. Julian poured the water, dunked a peppermint tea bag in, and held out the mug.

“Drink this. And sit down before you pass out and make this a liability issue.”

Nick took it with a little laugh, dropping down onto the stool beside the plant-wrapping station. “Yes, boss.”

Julian crouched in front of him, adjusting the blanket so it was tighter around Nick’s shoulders. His hands lingered, pressed to the sides of Nick’s neck for warmth. For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

“I just worry, you know,” Julian said quietly, his voice losing the sharp edge. “You run around like it’s all fine, and you don’t think about consequences. You don’t get to make me care and then act like it’s nothing.”

Nick’s smile softened. “I know. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you stress.”

Julian let out a sigh and rested his forehead gently against Nick’s. “You just make it so damn hard to stay mad at you.”

“That’s my charm,” Nick whispered.

Julian pulled back, eyes narrowing again — but this time, there was amusement behind it. “Finish your tea. If you ruin that hoodie, I’m not replacing it.”

“You mean your hoodie?” Nick teased, tugging at the sleeve. “Pretty sure you stole this from my drawer.”

Julian gave him a shove on the shoulder, just enough to make Nick snicker.

The rain kept pouring outside, relentless and loud. But inside the little flower shop, with the scent of roses in the air and the warmth of tea and sarcasm shared between them, everything felt still.

Even with wet sneakers squeaking on the floor and petals falling like confetti, they were, somehow, in perfect sync.

Julian didn’t say much after that. He moved back to the main work table, seemingly lost in thought, but his movements were too careful — too specific — for it to be mindless.

Nick watched from his little blanket nest as Julian began pulling flowers from the small shelf beside him.

Hydrangeas. Forget-me-nots. A single yellow daffodil. A cluster of blue cornflowers and a few soft sprigs of freesia.

Nick tilted his head, biting back a smile. He already knew what Julian was doing, but he didn’t dare say anything.

Julian wrapped the tiny bouquet tightly in brown paper and tied it off with twine, then stood there for a second just… holding it. Like he was weighing whether or not to go through with it.

Finally, he walked over and placed it carefully in Nick’s lap.

“For your eyes,” he muttered. “And your hair. Idiot.”

Nick stared at it, heart flipping a little. The blues were soft and bright, perfectly matched to his eyes. The yellow blooms were warm, hopeful — unmistakably chosen for him.

He looked up, just in time to catch Julian looking away, trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal.

“Jules,” Nick said softly, then stood and kissed him. Slow. Gentle. Less about heat and more about gratitude — a quiet thank you pressed against his mouth.

Julian stayed still for a second, then leaned in without thinking, pressing his hand lightly to Nick’s chest.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Julian said when they pulled apart.

Nick grinned, holding the bouquet to his chest. “I really, really am.”

A/N- I have a really good feeling about this au!!

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo

[kier-with-a-k]

https://www.tumblr.com/kier-with-a-k/783036339103858688/httpswwwtumblrcomkier-with-a-k78303355466388

It’s a long storyyyyy 🫢

oop diva yk I'm all ears

[kier-with-a-k]

https://www.tumblr.com/kier-with-a-k/783033554663882752/hi-kierrrrr

I’m goooodddd!! How about youuu?

im doing hella great! I've been seeing you and... Mr. @jacksonsturniolo... What's that about diva? Care to share the tea?

[kier-with-a-k]

Hi kierrrrr

Heyyyy divaaaaa how you doin?

[kier-with-a-k]

I'm dying!!!

Hi Batman Kam! I just wanna ask... Can we get a Mine by Taylor Swift fic with nick? If that's ok! Please and thank yous

Of course you can sweetie!

The night was soft around us, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like the world’s taking a breath. We were parked just outside of Boston, sitting in Nick’s car, the windows cracked open to let in the cool spring air. The hum of traffic in the distance, the occasional click of the engine cooling down, and his music on low—just enough to fill the space between us.

I was staring out the passenger window, chewing my bottom lip. Not because I was nervous, exactly. But because being with Nick always made me feel things I didn’t know how to name.

He looked over at me, one hand still on the steering wheel. “You okay, babe?”

I nodded too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“You do that thing when you lie,” he said, smiling a little. “You blink too much. And your voice goes kinda… high-pitched.”

I rolled my eyes. “You study me or something?”

“Every day,” he said without missing a beat. “You’re my favorite class.”

I laughed, but it was shaky. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re deflecting,” he replied, softer this time. “Talk to me.”

I hesitated. The words felt too big in my throat. Too vulnerable. But I looked at him—really looked—and everything softened. His beanie was pushed back slightly, his curls curling at the edge of it, eyes bluer than the ocean, lips parted like he was holding back more than he was letting out.

“I just…” I exhaled slowly. “I don’t want to ruin this. Us.”

His face didn’t change, but his hand reached for mine. His fingers brushed mine, then held tight.

“You’re not gonna ruin it, love.”

I swallowed hard. “I’ve never had something like this, Nick. Something that feels good without it falling apart. My parents? Fell apart. Every crush I ever liked? Ghosted. I’m always the careful one. I never let people in. But then… you just showed up. And it’s like—like I can’t remember how to protect myself.”

Nick squeezed my hand. “I get it. I do. But baby, you’re not something I’m planning to walk away from. You hear me?”

I nodded, blinking too quickly again.

He smiled gently. “There you go with the blinking.”

I huffed out a laugh, and suddenly he leaned in, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’re mine. I mean that. Not in a possessive way—just in that, like, you’re the part of life I want to keep choosing. Even on the bad days. Even when you hog the blankets and steal my hoodies and get all quiet like this.”

I looked at him, and something in me cracked wide open. “You really mean that?”

He nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Silence fell between us again, but it was the good kind. The kind where everything that needed to be said had been said.

Then he added, “Also, when we move in together, you’re gonna have to stop putting the cereal before the milk. It’s criminal.”

I gasped. “Wait—you put the milk first?”

Nick smirked. “I knew that’d get your attention.”

I shoved him lightly, and he caught my wrist, pulling me closer. I ended up halfway in his lap, his hoodie swallowing me up. He kissed me again, this time slower—like a promise.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever been mine,” he whispered.

I buried my face into his neck, smiling like a fool. “Forever starts in this passenger seat, huh?”

He chuckled. “Damn right it does.”

—

Batman Family:

@chrislittleslut @drewswife @chrepsi @rinnsgalaxy @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @sturniolooluvv @courta13 @cor-xoxo @oopsiedaisydeer @sturns-mermaid @matts-girlfriend @idkwhatthisis2009 @lezleeferguson-120 @eeyoresturnz @kier-with-a-k @nicks-bubbles

[kier-with-a-k]

The Archer

Summary: Y/N struggles with self-doubt and insecurity in her relationship.

Contains/warnings: Angst, emotional vulnerability, comfort, established relationship, self-doubt, crying.

A/n: this is my song from Taylor so..enjoy :)

➜ Taglist ➜ Masterlist �� other blog

Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

There are times when I’m convinced Chris doesn’t really see me.

Not in the way people are supposed to see the ones they love — as something permanent, something steady. Something they know how to hold without breaking.

It’s not his fault. Chris loves so hard it swallows a room whole. He loves loudly, without rules. And I’ve never been one to raise my hand in a crowd.

But it’s late — that raw, 2 a.m. kind of late — and Chris is asleep beside me, one hand curled under his pillow, his lashes resting softly against his cheeks. I trace the outline of his shoulder beneath the blanket and try to pretend the silence doesn’t feel like a warning.

I’ve always been afraid of being too much. Too emotional. Too quiet. Too paranoid. And even now, with his warmth beside me, I wonder if he’ll get tired of trying to understand me.

He shifts in his sleep, mumbling something that sounds like “stay.” My heart twists.

Because what if I don’t even know how to?

⸻

I don’t say anything the next morning when he kisses me on the cheek and tells me he’ll be back after filming.

I smile. I say “okay.” I wave from the doorway.

I don’t tell him I barely slept. That the doubt sat on my chest like a weighted blanket and didn’t leave until sunlight bled through the blinds. That I spent the morning reading over old texts like they were proof he still loved me.

Instead, I clean the apartment. Fold laundry. Scroll through Instagram until I’ve memorized every post on my feed.

Still, I feel it — that weird ache. The one that lingers even when nothing is technically wrong.

⸻

By the time Chris gets home, I’m sitting cross-legged on the couch, trying to look casual.

He drops his keys in the bowl by the door and gives me a tired grin. “Hey, baby.”

I smile, and it’s almost convincing. “Hey.”

He walks over, leans down, and kisses the top of my head. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

And I mean it. God, I mean it.

He flops down next to me, kicks off his sneakers, and tosses his phone to the side. “Today was a mess. Matt got coffee all over his hoodie, and Nick wouldn’t stop making dumb jokes.”

I nod, listening. But my mind is elsewhere.

Do you see me, Chris? The real me?

He doesn’t notice. He keeps talking, and I keep nodding. He doesn’t see how I pull my sleeves over my hands, how I shrink just a little smaller into the couch.

⸻

Later that night, we lie in bed again, but this time I can’t keep it in.

“Chris?”

His arm is draped over my waist. “Hmm?”

“Do you think I’m hard to love?”

He tenses behind me. “What?”

I swallow. “Just… sometimes I feel like I’m too much. Or too quiet. Or not enough. I don’t know.”

He shifts so he’s propped up on one elbow, looking down at me. His brows furrow like I just said the moon fell out of the sky.

“Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, not meeting his eyes. “I just feel like… I make things harder. And maybe you deserve someone easier.”

Silence stretches between us. I brace for the worst — for the sigh, the hurt, the maybe you’re right.

But instead, Chris reaches out and cups my face gently. His voice is low, steady.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

I do. Slowly.

“I love you,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “All of you. Even the parts you try to hide.”

“But I—”

“No. Listen.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “You don’t make things harder. You make things real. You make me better. And I see how you hold in your feelings because you don’t want to be a burden — but you’re not. You’re not.”

I bite my lip. My throat tightens.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t see you,” he adds. “Because I do. Every day. Even when you don’t say anything.”

I close my eyes, and tears slip out anyway.

Chris leans in and kisses them away.

He doesn’t let go of me all night.

⸻

The next morning, I wake up before him. The sun filters through the curtains, casting soft light across his face.

I watch him sleep, and for the first time in a while, the doubt is quieter.

Because I know now — even when my brain gets loud, even when I convince myself I’m unlovable — he stays.

He sees me.

Even when I’m not sure how to be seen.

Batman Family:

@chrislittleslut @drewswife @chrepsi @rinnsgalaxy @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @sturniolooluvv @courta13 @cor-xoxo @oopsiedaisydeer @sturns-mermaid @matts-girlfriend @idkwhatthisis2009 @lezleeferguson-120 @eeyoresturnz

[kier-with-a-k]

Fuck this shit!!! I can't anymorreee😭

Return to sender au update??? I wanna cry again!!!

chris is currently listening to a playlist of all of the songs she ever mentioned in her letters to him!

[kier-with-a-k]

Idk... I guess I like the bread part not the icing... It's too sweet for me

Is it just me? Cakes is not all that! Like... It's OKAY.

WHAT I LOVE A LITTLE SWEET TREAT??? I fear.... it is just you😭

[kier-with-a-k]

I'm hurt... Like I love pastries just not cakes...

Is it just me? Cakes is not all that! Like... It's OKAY.

WHAT I LOVE A LITTLE SWEET TREAT??? I fear.... it is just you😭