#dallas blogger | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ultravionna · 23 days

Text

fine line ୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

𐙚 dallas winston x soc.ᐟreader꒱

warnings: none.ᐟ

a/n: wrote this while on a twelve hour road trip w no proofreading lol. sorry if there’s any typos angels

⤷ *based on request linked here* ༉‧₊˚✧

you had always known there was a line between the socs and the greasers. there was a visible barrier, separating two worlds that were never supposed to mix. you had crossed that line the moment you fell for dallas winston, the rough-edged greaser with a reputation that preceded him. you knew it wouldn’t be easy, but you hadn’t expected it to blow up like this.

an argument had started over something small, something you couldn’t even remember as the words slipped from your lips, earning you a ‘what’d you just say?’ from dallas. then a few snide comments between the two of you—but it escalated quickly, spiraling out of control like a car skidding on ice. dallas had always had a short fuse, and once it was lit, there was no stopping the explosion.

hand grasping the wheel as his other was raised to his mouth as he bit his nails out of habit, he hadn’t said much for the past few seconds, just that cold, distant look in his eyes that told you everything you needed to know. and now, as you sat in the passenger seat of his car, staring at the screen but not really seeing it, you knew the moment had come.

“so, you been lyin’ to me this whole damn time, huh?” he spat, his voice low and rough. “makin’ me think you were one of us. a greaser.”

you sat there, baffled, as his words hit you like a punch to the gut. “dallas, i never lied to you,” you said, your voice shook with sincerity. “i never pretended to be a greaser. i never pretended anything. i’m still the same person, the same girl when w—”

“no, you ain’t, you’re a damn soc.” he snapped, turning to glare at you. his eyes were dark and heavy with hurt and something else, something that looked a lot like distrust. “greasers don’t have rich folks waitin’ at home. we don’t have the luxury of pickin’ which side we’re on. we don’t get that choice, alright. we’re born into this life, we don’t get to step in and out whenever we please.”

you took another breath in as if the air around you grew tight, your heart breaking as you watched him unravel. “dallas, it’s not like th—”

“then what is it like?” he demanded, his deep brown eyes blazing with anger. “you tell me, what is it like to pretend to be like one of us then get to go back to your perfect little life at the end of the day? what’s it like to play both sides, huh?”

you felt tears sting your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. “i didn’t wanna tell you because i knew you’d react like this,” you said, your voice trembling.

“i knew you’d think i was just some rich girl slumming it with ah grease. but that’s not what this is. i’m not like them, dal’. i’m not.”

“i never wanted to play both sides,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “i just wanted to be with you. i thought… i thought we could be together. i thought that it didn’t matter where i came from.”

he scoffed then, but there was no humor in it. “yeah, well, it matters to me, man. i don’t wanna be some experiment for a soc tryin’ to get her kicks. i’ve been through enough of that shit.”

“that’s not fair,” you said, your voice breaking. “i never wanted to hurt you. i just wanted to be with you. i thought you’d understand.”

“understand what?” he shouted, his anger boiling over.

“what, that you’re just like every other soc i’ve ever known? that you’re lookin’ down on me, thinkin’ you’re better than me?”

“i don’t think i’m better than you,” you cried, the tears finally spilling over. “i love you, dallas. doesn’t that mean anything?”

for a moment, he looked like he might break, like the wall he’d built around himself might crumble. but then he shook his head, his expression hardening. “no,” he said, his voice cold. “it doesn’t. not anymore.”

his words were like a knife to your heart, and you felt the pain of them cut deep. you couldn’t stay, not after that. not when he looked at you like you were a stranger, like you were nothing.

“i guess i was wrong about you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “maybe you’re just like all the other greasers—too stuck in your ways to see what’s right in front of you.”

you turned and got out of the car, your footsteps heavy against the gravel of the drive in as you left him behind. you didn’t look back, couldn’t bear to see the expression on his face. you just kept walking, the tears blurring your vision as you tried to hold yourself together. but inside, you were falling apart, piece by piece.

dallas sat there, staring out of the car window. he could still hear your words echoing in his head, accusing him, hurting him in ways he hadn’t thought was possible. he had been angry, so damn angry, but now that you were gone, all he felt was empty. like the fight had drained him of everything, leaving nothing but a hollow shell.

“damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

he knew he had messed up, knew that he had let his pride and his temper get the best of him. but the thought of you being a soc, of you being part of the world that had always looked down on him, was too much to handle. it made him feel small, like he was nothing, and that was a feeling he couldn’t stand.

but now, standing alone in the silence, he realized that maybe he had been wrong. maybe you weren’t like them, maybe you really were different. and maybe, just maybe, he had pushed you away when he should have been holding on tighter.

the days that followed were pure hell for dallas. the gang noticed the change in him immediately. he was more irritable, more prone to snapping at them over the smallest things. his usual swagger was gone, replaced by a brooding silence that hung over him like a dark cloud. he didn’t talk much, didn’t smirk, didn’t even bother to flirt with the girls who passed by. it was like he had lost a part of himself, and he didn’t know how to get it back.

“man, you really messed up this time, dal,” soda said one evening, leaning against the wall as he watched dallas fidget with his lighter. “you’ve been actin’ like a bear with a sore head ever since that damn girl done walked out on you.”

“shut up, man,” dallas muttered, flicking the lighter open and closed. “you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“but we do,” ponyboy added, sitting down next to dallas. “we all know what happened between you two. and we know you’re missin’ ‘er.”

“so what if i am?” dallas snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. “it don’t change nothin’. she’s still a soc, still one of them.”

“maybe,” johnny said quietly, his dark eyes full of sympathy, “but she’s also your girl. and that means somethin’, right?”

dallas sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. he was tired, so damn tired of fighting, of feeling like he had to prove himself all the time. “i dunno, man,” he said, his voice weary. “it’s just… it’s complicated, y’know?”

“yeah, we get it,” steve said, leaning forward. “but maybe it’s not as complicated as you think. maybe you just gotta stop bein’ so damn stubborn and go after her.”

“and say what?” dallas asked, his voice thick with frustration. “that i was wrong? that ima piece of shit for what i said?”

“yeah,” ponyboy replied, his voice soft. “exactly that.”

dallas looked at them, his gang, the only family he had ever known. they were all looking at him, waiting for him to make the right choice, to do the right thing.

“alright, alright,” he muttered, standing up. “i’ll go talk to her. but don’t go thinkin’ this is gonna be easy.”

when you saw dallas at the drive-in, your heart skipped a beat. you hadn’t expected to see him, hadn’t expected him to come after you. but there he was, standing in the middle of the crowd, looking as lost as you felt.

he was out of place here, in the world of the socs, but he didn’t seem to care. he was focused on you, and only you. the movie was playing on the big screen behind him, some old black-and-white film that you both loved to watch together. but all you could see was him, standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes searching for yours.

“dallas, what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “i was wrong,” he said, his voice low and rough. “i was wrong about everything.”

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “what do you mean?”

“i mean, i was scared,” he admitted, his voice shaking slightly. “scared that you were too good for me, that maybe you didn’t really want someone like me. that maybe you were just playin’ me.”

“dallas, i never—”

“i know,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “i know that now. but at the time, all i could think about was how much i didn’t deserve you. how much i didn’t deserve to be with someone like you.”

he took another step closer, until he was standing right in front of you. “but the truth is, i don’t care if you’re a soc or a greaser or whatever. all i care about is you. and if you’ll have me, i’ll spend the rest of my life tryin’ to make it up to you.”

you looked up at him, your heart in your throat. you wanted to believe him, wanted to forgive him, but the hurt was still fresh, still raw. “how do i know you won’t push me away again?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“you don’t,” he said simply. “but i’ll do everything i can to prove to you that i won’t. and if i mess up, i’ll keep tryin’ until i get it right.”

he reached out, taking your hand in his. “i love you, baby” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “and i’ll never stop fightin’ for you. never.”

the words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. then, slowly, you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i love you too, dallas,” you whispered.

the relief on his face was almost palpable, and before you knew it, he was pulling you into his arms, holding you close. the movie played on behind you, the sound of the actors’ voices blending with the sound of your heart beating in your chest.

“d’you remember our favorite scene from this movie?” dallas asked, his lips brushing against your ear.

you nodded, smiling against his shoulder. “of course i do.”

he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. “then let’s watch it together. like we used to.”

you nodded, and he led you to a spot where you could both see the screen. the gang had followed him, watching from a distance as dallas wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close as the movie played on.

and when that familiar scene came on, the one where the main lead finally confessed his love to the girl, dallas leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered the lines along with the actor, his voice low and full of affection.

“you know, sweetheart, i never thought i’d find someone like you,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “but now that i have, i’m never lettin’ go.”

you smiled, leaning into him as you whispered the responding line back, “i’m not going anywhere.”

he pressed a kiss to your temple, his arm tightening around you as the movie continued to play. and in that moment, with the gang around you, the movie on the screen, and dallas holding you like he never wanted to let go, you knew that everything was going to be okay. because no matter what, you and him would always find your way back to each other.

#dallas winston #dally winston #dal winston #dallas winston x reader #the outsiders dally #the outsiders dallas #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders fic #matt dillon #x reader #girl blogger #coquette #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #girlblogging #girl blunt #female rage #this is what makes us girls #taking requests

95 notes · View notes

ultravionna · 6 hours

Text

rascals, saints, & inspirations ୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

𐙚 matt dillon x younger.ᐟreader꒱

warnings: age-gap relationship, smut, swearing here and there, painter references (i'm such a geek), um can't think of any other warnings so that's it ig.ᐟ

a/n: first ever smut fic so go easy on me, i kinda like it it's cute lmao

⤷ *based on request linked here* ༉‧₊˚✧

the air in matt's studio was thick with the smell of paint and varnish, the kind that stuck to your clothes long after you'd left. it was a quiet space, hidden away in the upper west side, where the noise of the city barely reached you could hear the faint hum of traffic, but in here, it was just the two of you. he was working on something when you walked in, his back to you, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing those forearms you loved. his hair was slightly messy, and the focus on his face made you hesitate to disturb him. almost.

"you've been at it all day," you teased, stepping closer, letting your fingers glide along the edge of the wooden table covered with brushes, palettes, and half-finished canvases.

matt turned to you with a half-smile, but his eyes had that look-you knew that look well. it was the same one he gave when he'd pick you up from the airport, that quiet hunger hidden beneath soft chuckles and smooth words.

"could say the same about you," he muttered, eyes flicking to the phone you'd left on the table. you rolled your eyes, leaning against the table, crossing your arms. "i don't spend all my time editing."

he didn't reply, at least not with words. instead, he crossed the small space between you with a few easy strides, his hand finding your waist, pulling you closer with a gentleness that didn't match the heat in his eyes.

without warning, his hand slid under your shirt, fingers tracing your skin like he was painting something only he could see.

"matt-"

"c'mon…" he smirked, pulling you closer. "y'know i could use a little inspiration."

you groaned, feeling his cool fingers brush the small of your back as he looked down at you, eyes narrowed. "just don't get paint on my shirt, i have to film a brand deal before noon." you said, earning a sarcastic exhale and raised eyebrow from matt.

"uh huh." he dismissed, his arm wrapping around your waist, his right hand lifting to gently cradle the side of your face as he leaned in.

"matt, i'm serious.." you warned softly, but he kissed you before you could finish, his lips gentle but familiar, the kind that made you forget whatever you were going to say next. you melted into him, your hands resting against his chest.

he grumbled at the feel of your hands on him, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, keeping it slow, deliberate, and full of need. his hand moved to the side of your neck, gently holding you in place as the kiss grew more passionate by the second.

he could feel your body yielding against his, and it only fueled the heat between you. he deepened the kiss further, his tongue exploring your mouth with a slow, sensual hunger. his hand held your neck as he pulled you flush against him, guiding you back toward the sink, his other hand resting on your hip. breaking the kiss, his warm breath mingled with yours as he spoke.

"turn around for me."

turning around, your hands found the edge of the wooden table, fingertips grazing over the scattered art supplies. his current canvas lay just in front of you, half-finished, as if it were watching the scene unfold.

matt's eyes darkened with hunger as you followed his lead. he stood behind you, his chest pressed against your back, his hips aligned with yours. his hands roamed your body, exploring your curves with a slow, deliberate touch as he leaned in, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. he planted a soft kiss there before murmuring in that low voice.

"my good girl…"

you hummed softly at his praise, a small smirk tugging at your lips as he kissed your neck again. you shifted just slightly, pushing back against him, making matt chuckle against your skin. one of his hands left your waist, and the sound of him undoing his pants filled the quiet studio.

his breath hitched when you pressed into him, heat rising between the two of you. he chuckled again, lips still grazing the back of your neck as he teased, "eager?"

his grip on your hip loosened as his hands worked to undo your jeans, fingers tracing the soft skin of your thighs as he pulled the fabric down, letting it rest just above your knees. he left them there, enough to get what he wanted.

"maybe if you were free earlier like you said, i could've given you all the inspiration you needed," you quipped slyly.

your body moved beneath his touch, and matt growled softly against your skin, nipping at your neck as you spoke.

"teasing me, hm?"

his hands continued exploring your exposed skin, fingers brushing lightly over the sensitive spots on your thighs. he leaned down, his mouth close to your ear, breath hot against your skin. "i should punish you for that…"

you placed a hand on the table, looking back at him with a smirk. "punish? you think rembrandt had time to punish his muses between all those self-portraits? i bet he was more disciplined than that." matt smirked, pressing his body closer to yours, his hand sliding over yours on the table.

"oh, you think rembrandt controlled his muses? the guy dressed up in costumes just to amuse himself. trust me, he'd have taken a break for you." as he spoke, his other hand slid your tiny thong up to rest above your jeans. you leaned back against him, a quiet laugh escaping your lips.

"yeah? well, he was meticulous, wasn't he? you're always telling me how much he paid attention to the details. can you really call yourself an artist if you're not doing the same?"

matt pulled you closer by the hip, raising an eyebrow, "details, huh?" he murmured. his hand skimmed over your hip bone, voice low in your ear.

"let's talk about how rembrandt layered his oils, slowly, with patience. think you can handle that kind of pace?"

with that, matt took hold of himself behind you, lining up at your entrance, pressing just enough to slip in slightly before pulling back, teasing you with the slow rhythm.

you let out a little hum, fighting the grin that always seemed to come so easily with him.

"i'd say i'm more of a van gogh-impulsive, erratic, cutting right to the heart of it…" matt growled playfully, tightening his grip on you.

"careful, i might end up painting you like he did — bold, wild, unapologetic… unfinished." he quipped, pressing the tip of himself against you again, this time pushing in deeper with a force that made you hum, your body welcoming him easily.

"unfinished? you really think van gogh would've left his muse unfinished?" you teased, adjusting to the familiar stretch of him inside you.

matt pressed you further into the table, sinking deeper as his breath caught in his throat.

"van gogh might not have, but i'm not him. besides… i don't have to finish right away-fuck… i like taking my time."

the curse slipped from him like a low growl, and it sent a shiver through you, your body reacting instinctively, tightening around him as he started to move with slow, deliberate strokes.

he withdrew partially, then pushed back in, his grip on your hip tightening as he set a steady pace, each thrust deep and measured.

you let out a soft, breathless sigh, one hand gripping the edge of the wooden table while the other found its way to his face, your fingers brushing against his jaw as he breathed heavily against your neck. his breath was even, save for the little hitches when you clenched around him, reminding him of just how good you felt.

"mmh… guess i should thank you for not being as busy as picasso… he'd have me waiting… days just… for a sketch," you muttered between breaths, a soft hum escaping as matt placed a series of open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

his lips trailed toward your shoulder, and you felt the corner of his mouth curve into a smirk as he let out a small, amused breath. "nah, you'd be his masterpiece… but trust me, i'm a lot better at finishing what i start."

his words were accompanied by the gentle squeeze of his hand as it slid from yours up your arm to your shoulder, holding you firmly, while the other hand stayed gripping your hip, his hips pressing against you with a steady determination.

matt's pace picked up gradually, each thrust driving deeper, more deliberate, the sound of skin against skin filling the studio as he pulled you closer with every stroke. your fingers gripped the edge of the table harder, your breath coming out in shallow pants as the pressure built inside you. he groaned softly against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin between kisses, the warmth of his breath sending chills down your spine.

"you feel so good," he murmured, his voice a low rasp, rougher now with need. his grip on your hip tightened as his other hand moved to your stomach, pulling you back into him with each thrust, making sure you felt every inch of him. your body responded in kind, arching back into him, seeking more, wanting all of him.

your head fell back slightly, resting against his shoulder as his movements became more insistent.

"matt" you breathed out, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard you. he always did. he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your neck.

"you like that, don't you?" he asked, his tone teasing, but his hips never faltered, keeping the rhythm steady, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

matt's hands slid from your waist up to your shoulders, pressing you forward, your chest now flush against the table. his grip tightened as he pushed down slightly, creating that delicious tension in your body. your hand, searching for balance, knocked over a few brushes in the process, and they clattered onto the table, landing on a nearby flat surface.

before you could process the mess, matt's thrusts grew more intense, forcing your body to press harder against the table-and more specifically-his painting. wet paint smeared across your shirt, and his canvas, hours of his careful work, was smudged in a frenzy of color and texture.

"matt.." you whispered, your eyes darting to the ruined painting beneath you, but the word was barely audible, drowned by the moan that escaped your lips as his movements deepened. the sensation of being so thoroughly claimed by him overrode everything else, and your voice trembled as you gripped the edge of the table.

he pulled you back against his chest, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips. "that's it… oh fuck, that's it…" he groaned, his voice strained and desperate, as though he was teetering on the edge of losing control. what the fuck?

you furrowed your brow, a brief thought flickering in your mind. "matt… you're coming that fast?" you asked, your voice breathless, genuinely curious how he was so close already when it usually took more time.

he chuckled, though his breath was ragged, his words coming out in a heated rush. "god. no. the painting… it's beautiful… fuck… maybe." his chest heaved as he fought for control, hovering on the verge of completely unraveling.

you turned your head, glancing down at the painting, now a blur of colors and shapes. where your chest and hands had smeared across it, the once-detailed image had become something abstract, chaotic-but somehow… stunning. you couldn't help but let out a breathy laugh, caught between the mess you'd made and the pleasure building in your core.

matt's hands roamed your body again, one sliding down to grip your waist while the other found its way to your lower back, adding more pressure as he thrust deeper into you, your top, completely ruined by the wet paint, clung to your skin, and each motion smeared the vibrant colors further across your chest. his hips collided with yours, the intensity of his pace increasing, matching the heat between you both.

you were practically melting under his touch, but you couldn't stop staring at the canvas beneath you. the accidental smears and handprints somehow made the piece look… alive, raw, like it held a kind of reckless beauty you'd never seen in matt's work before.

he pressed his forehead against the back of your neck, his breath hot and uneven. "fuck… look at what you've done," he whispered, his tone almost reverent, a mixture of awe and desire. "it's like… you were supposed to touch it."

you moaned softly at his words, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you looked at the painting again, the messy beauty of it sinking in.

"maybe i should ruin your work more often…" you teased, but your voice faltered as matt's hand moved from your back to grip your shoulder, pulling you even closer.

he let out a low growl, his hips driving into you with renewed fervor. "don't tempt me," he breathed against your ear, his grip tightening as if he was trying to keep control, though you could feel him unraveling with each thrust.

the rhythm between you quickened, and with every thrust, matt's hands tightened on you, as if he were trying to hold onto this moment forever. the world outside faded away, the only sounds filling the studio were the slapping of skin against skin and the breathy moans escaping your lips. you could feel his heat, his urgency, and it sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, drowning out everything else.

with one final, deep thrust, matt let out a low groan, his body shuddering against yours as he reached his peak. a moment of bliss washed over you both, the culmination of passion and art merging in a way that felt almost transcendent.

51,932 likes

youruser soo la voo or whatever

View all 1,308 comments

yourfriendsuser ugh so hot

youruser wth watch the reels i sent u

mattdillon ma belle

youruser mon beau ;)

randomuserone hello???

randomusertwo matt's comment is cute why is everyone pressed omg

the next following thursday arrived with a buzz of excitement in the air. the gallery was set for the opening day of matt's exhibition, the walls adorned with his masterpieces, each canvas telling a story. the vibrant colors and intricate details sparkled under the gallery lights, drawing in the crowd eager to experience the world he had created. you stood beside him, your heart swelling with pride as you watched people admire his work, a bittersweet smile playing on your lips as you recalled the chaos that had led to this moment.

your phone buzzed again in your lap, but you barely glanced at it. the car rolled through the streets of paris, the gray buildings towering above, casting long shadows in the late afternoon sun. outside, the city moved at its usual pace-tourists snapping photos, locals rushing by with their coffee cups and baguettes, unaware of the little moment you were in.

after a whirlwind of brand deals and meetings, you finally had a moment to breathe. this was your first time in paris, and you wanted to soak in every bit of it. matt had sent a car for you, of course, because he wouldn't have it any other way. you smiled, remembering the way he insisted on it, as if you couldn't have figured out how to get to the gallery on your own. but that was just how he was-always making sure you had everything, making sure you were taken care of. the car pulled up in front of ruttkowski;68, the art gallery's sleek facade reflecting the light in a way that made it almost glow. you thanked the driver, stepping out, your heels clicking softly against the pavement.

inside, it was quieter than you expected. a few people mingled around the pieces already on display, talking in low voices as they sipped champagne. but you barely noticed them. your eyes were scanning the room, looking for him.

and then you saw him, standing near one of the larger pieces-one of his, of course. he was mid-conversation with someone, but the moment his eyes met yours, he smiled. it was that quiet, knowing smile that said everything without saying anything at all.

you made your way over to him, weaving through the crowd, your heart picking up speed just a little. when you reached him, he greeted you with a soft kiss on the cheek, his hand resting lightly on your waist.

"you made it," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "of course i did," you replied, looking up at him with a grin. "you flew me out, remember?"

you and matt snickered softly, sharing little inside jokes as he led you around the gallery. he pointed out various pieces, some that you'd seen many times before and others that were new to you. each painting had a story, and you loved hearing him recount them with that passionate spark in his eyes. the way he talked about his work, how he poured his soul into every stroke, made you feel even more connected to him.

as you made your way back toward the front of the gallery, light small talk flowed naturally between you. you asked him about the inspiration for one piece, and he playfully bantered about how it was "just a phase" he was going through. you chuckled, rolling your eyes at his modesty, and he grinned, clearly enjoying the moment.

then, as the evening progressed, the speakers began to introduce him. you stepped back, a few feet away, wine glass in hand, watching as they handed him the microphone. he took a deep breath, and the room fell silent, everyone's attention on him. your heart swelled with pride as he spoke passionately about his exhibition, "rascals and saints." you couldn't help but admire the way he commanded the room, his words weaving a tapestry of emotion that resonated with everyone present.

after the applause faded, you made your way back to him, feeling a warm buzz from the wine. "i loved your speech," you said, a genuine smile spreading across your face.

audience that deserves the credit," he replied with a wink. in a swift, discreet motion, he lightly tapped your bum, making you laugh. he leaned in, planting a quick kiss on your temple before holding your hip gently, guiding you toward a small group of people engaged in conversation.

"matt, who is this?" a woman asked, her eyes flicking to you with thinly veiled curiosity.

"this is my girlfriend," matt said, his tone casual, as if it wasn't a big deal at all, even though you could feel the slight tension that followed his words. a few of them exchanged looks, one man even smirking slightly, but matt just gave them one of those take scoffs, like he found it all amusing.

one of the older women spoke up, her french accent steady and posh as she lifted a hand to lightly touch matt's shoulder. "oh, she's lovely, dear. quite lovely indeed… yes," she praised, her eyes drifting as she scanned you from head to toe.

"just a tad bit young, i'm afraid. how old are you, dear?" she questioned, her voice low as her sunken blue eyes traced your face.

pardon my french, but what a nosy bitch, you thought to yourself.

"twenty-five, madame," you responded gracefully, giving the older woman a brief smile.

she looked shocked, appalled almost, covering up with a small laugh and placing a hand on her heart.

"oh, good heavens, she's still a baby," she joked, her tone light, but you could see matt's jaw tighten slightly as he tried to remain polite. "it's about more than what meets the eye, for me," he said, his tone light, matching hers, but there was a sharpness there that you couldn't ignore.

then another person spoke up, a man who pointed his thumb toward the large painting hanging in the center of the wall. it was a striking piece-dark, grunge-like colors smudged with bright strokes that drew the eye in. you felt a flush of embarrassment remembering how you'd accidentally ruined it.

''the pulse of the city' is spectacular. what's your inspiration behind that?" the man asked.

matt let out a huff of a breath, bowing his head sheepishly as he thanked the guy for the praise.

"thank you, i can tell you in one simple word-chaos. let's go take a look at it, shall we?" he said, walking over to the painting, pointing out certain elements and key points that he described with an enthusiasm that was infectious.

as you stood there, fancy champagne in hand, matt's eyes met yours in the crowd, and ever so slightly, he winked and flashed you a knowing smile.

just like that, the tension shifted to something lighter as the conversation moved on to pieces in the gallery. you could still feel the weight of his words, the way he looked at you. it wasn't just about your age or what people might think. for him, it was more than that. and in that moment, you knew you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

7 notes · View notes