Thick Nicks Writing :)

Matt Series

🩸 Tell No One (Dark Romance, Ongoing)

Part One - Welcome Package Part Two - Eyes On You Part Three - They're Watching Part Four - Don't Let Them Take Me Part Five - Show Me Your Face Part Six - Unauthorized Part Seven - Close Enough to Burn

One Shots

Let Me Be The Quiet

Headcanons

BF!Matt DarkRomance!Matt

Chris

One Shots

All is Fair in Love and Trivia Through the Lens Well, I Made Dinner

Sick Day

HeadCanons

BF!Chris

Other

Sturniolo Triplets As Scents

Part Eight - Breach Recorded

Waiting for Something That’s Already Coming

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting by the door. Time doesn’t pass here—it presses. Heavy. Slow. Soft around the edges like fog.

Your knees ache from sitting too long on cold tile, but you don’t move. You can’t move.

The room is too quiet, like it’s holding its breath with you.

The lights haven’t shifted in hours. The hum in the wall has gone still.

And the mirror?

It hasn’t blinked once.

Not even to say goodbye.

Your pulse flutters low in your throat. Not fear. Not quite.

It’s something else now.

You glance at the mask lying beside you on the floor. You haven’t touched it in hours.

You want him to come back—but not as a symbol. Not as a shadow.

This time, you want skin. Heat. Real.

Return

The door unlocks.

No alarm. No warning. Just the faintest click, like the room itself is surrendering.

You don’t stand immediately.

You wait.

The air shifts—cool first, then warmer. Thicker. Like something has entered.

And then you feel it.

The hum of him.

Not footsteps. Not sound.

Just a weight that presses against the silence and fills your lungs with heat.

You rise slowly, every movement deliberate. Your muscles are tight—not from fear, but from holding in too much want.

He steps into the room.

Same black clothing. Same mask—this one darker, smoother, more unreadable than the one he gave you.

But you feel the difference.

The charge.

It hits you low, curls like heat behind your navel, pulses against your throat.

He’s not a thought behind glass anymore.

He’s here.

Your body doesn’t freeze this time.

It responds.

Your feet move without asking.

You meet him halfway.

Touch

He stops just inches in front of you.

The heat of him rolls over your skin like smoke—thin, warm, inescapable. It curls down your arms and settles in your chest like it belongs there.

You don’t look at the mask.

You look at him.

At his arms. Bare. Exposed beneath short sleeves you didn’t expect.

His skin is lined with ink—sharp black symbols, small etchings, intricate shapes. Some violent. Some almost… delicate. You don’t know what they mean. You don’t care.

Your gaze lingers on one near his bicep—familiar. A face. A fang. You can’t name it, but you feel it.

Your hand lifts before you realize it’s moving.

Not for the mask.

For him.

Your fingertips trail up the inside of his arm, just shy of the ink. Your breath hitches when you’re close enough to feel the heat of it.

And then—

He catches your wrist.

Not a jolt. Not a command.

Just a stillness that wraps around you like a tether.

Your breath stutters—sharp, broken.

But he doesn’t let go.

His thumb presses lightly against your pulse point. Bare skin to skin.

And your knees nearly give.

It’s the first touch.

Not a press. Not a grip.

Just contact. Real, warm, anchoring.

You glance back at the tattoos, barely breathing.

“They suit you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer.

But he doesn’t stop you when your hand rises again.

This time… toward the mask.

The Almost

You reach for the mask.

Slow. Careful.

Not because you’re afraid of him—

But because this moment feels like it’s balancing on the edge of a blade.

Your fingers skim the edge of the mask. The matte surface is cool beneath your touch, but the skin just below it—his jawline, the curve of his neck—radiates heat.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t flinch.

Your thumb brushes against his skin. Bare.

He inhales—slow, steady, but deep enough to shake his chest.

You tip your head back to look at him. The mask hides everything but that breath. And somehow, that’s the most vulnerable thing he’s given you.

Your other hand finds his chest, flat and firm beneath his shirt. His heart is beating.

Fast.

Hard.

Almost as hard as yours.

“Is this okay?” you whisper.

“You tell me.”

His voice is quieter than before. Raw. Thick.

You slide your fingers higher.

His hand catches your wrist again—not to stop you, just to feel it with you.

You don’t reach for the mask this time.

You reach for him.

His head tilts. Slowly. The edge of the mask grazes your cheek as he leans in. His breath fans across your lips—warm, unfiltered, real.

You don’t close the space.

You just let it narrow.

And then…

Your lips graze.

Barely.

Enough to spark. Enough to scorch.

But not enough to kiss.

Not yet.

You’re frozen. Breath held. Knees locked.

And he’s so still, it hurts.

“If I kiss you,” he whispers, “I’ll forget where we are.”

“Then forget.”

For a heartbeat, you both stay there—mouths barely apart, skin trembling, the rest of the world dissolving around you.

And then—

The Interruption

“Observer M22, return to command. Breach recorded.”

The voice cuts through the room like a blade.

Mechanical. Female. Emotionless.

But not neutral.

You flinch like you’ve been struck. He doesn’t move.

He stays close, his breath still brushing your mouth like the moment didn’t just shatter.

But you feel it in him—something sharp pulling taut beneath the surface.

“They were watching?” you whisper.

“They always are.”

“What happens now?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“Now I go.”

“Will they punish you?”

He lifts his hand—brushes his thumb over your lower lip.

It’s the softest thing anyone’s ever done to you.

“Not if I get there first.”

You want to chase him. Want to beg.

But the door’s already opening again.

He doesn’t look at you when he steps through it.

But just before it shuts, he says:

“I’ll come back.”

And then he’s gone.

If yall know the movie from the picture on the right, you deserve a kiss

Part Seven - Close Enough to Burn

Something Changes

You don’t notice it at first.

Not in a loud way.

It’s in the rhythm.

The lights in your room flicker a fraction of a second too long before shifting. The tray slot doesn’t open at the exact moment it should. The hum in the ceiling—barely audible—is softer than usual.

Everything is… off by just enough to feel like the room is holding its breath.

And the mirror?

It hasn’t blinked in hours.

You sit on the edge of your bed, still holding the mask in your lap, your fingertips tracing it like a habit now. You don’t even realize you’re doing it.

Your chest feels tight.

Like you’re waiting for something you don’t remember asking for.

The Space Between

You walk to the mirror like your body’s been moving there on its own.

You rest your palm against the glass. Not to test it. Just to anchor yourself.

“You’re there,” you whisper. “Aren’t you?”

No knock. No blink.

But it feels like he’s there. Like the air on the other side is pressing against the glass, straining to reach you.

“You haven’t moved. I know you haven’t.”

You press your forehead to the mirror. Your skin is clammy. Every breath you take feels like it has to squeeze past your ribs.

“I’m here. I’ve been here. I let you in.”

Your voice cracks around it.

“And I don’t know what that makes me anymore.”

Your hand slides lower, fingers curling at the edge of the mirror’s base.

“Please. Just let me see you.”

You don’t mean the light. You don’t mean the knock.

You mean him.

The real him.

The Door

It happens so quietly, it almost doesn’t register.

A soft mechanical click. Then the gentle hiss of hydraulics releasing.

You spin around, lungs locking.

Your door is open.

Not wide—just enough.

Enough to know it’s not a malfunction.

And not a mistake.

Something stands in the hallway. Still. Tall. Silent.

The red lighting spills across the threshold like a warning.

Your heart slams so hard you can hear it in your ears.

No. Not hear it. Feel it.

First Sight

He steps through like he’s been waiting just behind the wall all this time.

You don’t need him to speak.

You know.

Your whole body knows.

He’s dressed in black—head to toe. He moves like shadow and muscle stitched together by tension. And the mask—

It’s not the white one he gave you. This one is matte black, expressionless, deep shadows where his eyes should be.

You can’t see them.

But you can feel them.

You take a breath—too sharp, too shallow—and your hands curl into fists at your sides just to keep them from shaking.

“Is it you?” you whisper.

A pause. A tilt of his head.

“You’ve been in my room.”

“You asked me to stay.”

“So you broke protocol.”

“I’ve broken a lot for you.”

He steps closer.

Not enough to touch. But enough to change the temperature between you.

Your chest rises in a sharp inhale.

“Why now?”

“Because I couldn’t watch you ask for me one more time.”

Your breath stutters. You can’t stop blinking.

“Is this real?”

“Realer than glass.”

You don’t dare move.

Every nerve in your body feels lit from within, like something electric is crawling beneath your skin.

“Will you take it off?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because if I do, you’ll see too much.”

“And if you don’t, I’ll imagine worse.”

“Would that be so bad?”

Your breath catches so hard it burns.

“I should be afraid of you.”

“You are.”

“But not the way I was.”

“I know.”

No Contact

He raises one gloved hand.

Not to touch you. To almost.

The heat of it floods into your skin, even though it never lands.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat.

You’re close enough now to feel it. Not just heat. Presence.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

You can’t answer.

Your lungs are too full. Your chest too tight. Your heart too loud.

“That’s what I thought.”

He lowers his hand.

You want to scream.

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because the first time I touch you, I won’t stop.”

Your pulse slams in your ears.

You know it’s not a threat.

And that’s what terrifies you most.

The Leaving

He turns. Walks to the door.

And somehow that hurts more than the space between you.

“You’re not staying?”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

He pauses.

“Because if I stay, I won’t leave.”

“Will I see you again?”

“Next time, you won’t have to ask.”

The door slides shut behind him.

Locks.

And this time, the silence that follows isn’t empty.

It’s full of everything he didn’t do.

And everything he promised he will.

okay so i think i'm bouta to do something that gone have you bitches breathless. tell me why my ass felt like Shakespeare the way this chapter turning out...

Part Six - Unauthorized

The Glitch

It’s not the first time breakfast has arrived late.

You’ve stopped expecting it to be on time. But this morning, something’s different.

The tray slides in nine minutes past the usual cue. You count it out. You always do now.

But this time, there’s something else.

The tea.

You don’t drink it right away. You just stare at it. The color’s right. The smell’s right. And when you lift it to your mouth, it’s steeped the way you always make it for yourself. Three minutes. Just a hint of honey. No lemon.

You never told anyone that.

You set it down slowly. Hands steady even though your stomach isn’t.

You turn—and see it waiting.

The tablet.

Open. Already powered. Not blinking or locked. No login screen. Just there.

And under the usual folders—REFLECTION LOGS, SYSTEM RECORDINGS, OBSERVER NOTES—you see a fourth one.

Small. Unlabeled.

Just a single black dot.

•

You tap it.

What You Weren’t Supposed to Know

A list loads. Clean. Tidy. Clinical.

Override logs.

You scroll slowly at first. Then faster.

Observer M22 – Room Temperature Adjustment – UNAUTHORIZED Observer M22 – Tray Delay Approved – UNAUTHORIZED Observer M22 – Viewer Reassignment – UNAUTHORIZED Observer M22 – Subject Access Override – UNAUTHORIZED Observer M22 – Noncompliant Review Flag – PENDING ESCALATION

Each one feels like a thread tightening around your ribs.

You back out. Open Personnel Assignments.

You tap your ID: EXR-117

Observer: NULL

You were never assigned an observer.

You were supposed to be unmonitored.

The Realization

You don’t cry. Not yet.

You just walk to the mirror like it might break if you breathe wrong.

You touch the glass with your fingers.

“You weren’t supposed to see me.”

The red light above the mirror blinks once.

A flicker. Barely perceptible.

“You weren’t assigned to me. You chose me.”

Nothing.

No knock. No message. Just the light. Watching.

And that’s somehow worse.

Because it means he knows.

Someone Else Knows

They take you to the corridor again.

You don't ask why. You don't talk. You just walk, eyes forward, mind spinning.

He's already there - the other subject.

The one with the too-watchful eyes.

He doesn't smirk this time. Doesn't say anything at first.

But as you pass him, he leans in just enough to whisper:

“He’s not supposed to care about you.”

You pause.

“What?”

He looks straight ahead. His voice is quieter now.

“You know that, right? That they don’t assign… feelings. You sleep closer to the mirror now.”

You stare at him. Something’s wrong in his expression—too still.

You stop.

“What?”

He glances at you, but only briefly. His expression is unreadable.

“You lean into it when you talk. Like it’s a person. Not glass.”

You don’t answer.

He tilts his head.

“Has it answered you yet?”

Your voice is low. Guarded.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he says. “You’re different now. Look at you.”

He pushes off the wall and walks past you—but as he passes, his voice drops to almost a whisper:

“Just be careful. That’s how it starts.”

You turn to look at him.

“How what starts?”

He stops. Doesn’t look at you.

“You stop being scared of it. And start wanting it to see you.”

His gaze flicks to the mirror.

“That’s when they stop protecting you.”

“They?”

A bitter half-smile curves across his face.

“You think there’s only one of them watching?”

“Why are you telling me this?”

He doesn’t answer. Not directly.

“I had one too. A long time ago. She used to leave me notes.”

He smiles. It's small. Empty.

“I stopped getting them.”

You look down at your feet.

“What happened to her?”

He shrugs.

“Ask your mirror.”

Then he walks away.

You’re not sure if your chest aches from the warning… or the suggestion of what it might mean.

The Mirror Doesn't Blink

The mask is under your pillow again.

You don’t remember putting it there. You don’t even remember falling asleep.

You pull it out slowly. Unwrap it. Press your forehead to it for a second—just one.

Then you rise. Walk to the mirror.

You don’t sit in the chair.

You stand in front of the mirror, hands gripping the frame like you could tear it from the wall if you just pulled hard enough.

“Are there others?”

No knock. No blink. No breath.

“How many of you are watching me?”

Still nothing.

“Is it just you, or do they all see me the way you do?”

Your voice rises. It shakes. It dares.

“Or am I the only one you’ve broken the rules for?”

The glass stays silent.

“You weren’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to be watched.”

Your palm hits the mirror—louder this time. Not violent. Just done pretending.

“But you watched me anyway.”

You press your forehead to the cool surface.

“You’ve changed everything. You know that, right?”

Your reflection looks tired. Like it’s been awake for days. Like it’s someone else now—someone softer, someone haunted.

“I used to want to leave.”

You slide down the wall until your back hits the floor, knees pulled to your chest.

“Now I just want to know if you’ll still be here when they take that choice away.”

The light above the mirror doesn’t flicker. It just glows. Constant. Steady.

The mask.

You bring it to your lap. Let it rest there. You trace the edge with your thumb, slow and gentle like you’re afraid it might feel you back.

“I don’t know what you look like.”

Your voice is quiet now. Raw.

“But I think if I saw you… I’d still recognize you.”

The mask doesn’t move.

The mirror doesn’t blink.

You hesitate, then look back toward the glass.

“There was someone else. The boy. The one in the corridor.”

You hold the mask a little tighter.

“He said he used to have someone, too. Someone who left him notes. Then one day they just stopped.”

You let the words sink in—his and yours.

“He told me to ask my mirror what happened to her.”

You lift your chin, eyes locking with the red light like it’s watching more than your face.

“So I’m asking.”

“What happened to her?”

Silence.

“Was she like you?”

Still nothing.

“Was he like me?”

Then—finally—a single, slow knock.

One.

You tilt your head, forehead resting lightly on the shell of it.

“I’m scared of what this is.”

You take a breath.

“But I’m more scared of what it means if it stops.”

You look up. Into the glass. Not at your reflection.

“Don’t stop choosing me.”

The knock doesn’t come.

But the red light blinks—

Once. Then again.

And then stays on.

GUYS!!!!! I'm almost done writing part six of TELL NO ONE

i want y'all to be shook. I'm hoping to post it tn!

Guyssss don’t hate meeeee

So I started school recently and have been very busy… so I haven’t been able to write 😬😅