#đ .âźartist!chris.áê±
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NIGHTS LIKE THIS
CONTENTS:ă»teeth rotting fluff-heavy plot (imo) ă»star!reader ă»mild language ă»sleeping in the same bedă»artist!chris ă»substance use + more (part two here) WC: 2.3k masterlist: here
i highly highly recommend listening to this on repeat, as thatâs what i did :,) promise it sets the mood. + heavily dedicated to my literal star @55sturn
The roof of Chrisâs trailer creaked as Star stretched out on the patchy blanket, her black hoodie blending into the night sky above. The air was cool, almost cold, but not quite enough to send her shivering. Pine View was never silent, even at nightâthe hum of cicadas buzzed low in the background, broken occasionally by a bark or the far-off growl of an engine.
Chris sat beside her, leaning back on one elbow, a joint hanging loosely from his fingers. His face was calm, unreadable as always, except for the faint furrow in his brow. Smoke curled lazily in the air between them, dissipating into the starry sky.
âIâm telling you,â Star said, voice animated as her finger traced a constellation, âif aliens exist, thereâs no way theyâre not watching us right now. Weâre like, prime reality TV for them. Chaos, drama, stupidityâitâs got everything.â
Chris exhaled a slow stream of smoke, not bothering to look up. âPretty sure aliens have better taste than watching us fail at life.â His tone was dry, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but wouldnât let himself.
Star glanced over at him, her lips twitching into a smirk. âYouâre such an optimist, Chris.â
âRealist,â he corrected, passing the joint to her without looking. His eyes were fixed somewhere on the horizon, but she could feel him listening in that quiet way he always did.
She took a drag, coughing slightly before handing it back. âStill. If theyâre watching us, I bet theyâre rooting for us, yâknow? Like⊠even when lifeâs a mess, people find these little moments of peace. Kinda like this.â
Chris finally glanced at her, the faintest flicker of something soft in his sharp features. The way her nose crinkled when she tried to suppress her laugh; the way her eyes lit up, reflecting the stars she couldnât stop rambling aboutâit was⊠annoying, maybe, how effortlessly she made the night feel less heavy. But not in a bad way.
âMaybe,â he muttered, almost to himself, before looking away again.
They lapsed into silence for a while, the kind that felt comfortable after months of stolen nights like this. Star broke it first, as she always did.
âYouâre extra quiet tonight,â she said, nudging his shoulder. âWhatâs on your mind? Or are you just too high to function?â
Chris rolled his eyes, taking another drag. âMaybe I like the quiet, Kid. You ever think about that?â
âNope,â she replied easily, grinning. âYouâd be miserable without me, admit it.â
âSure,â he said, deadpan, though the corners of his mouth twitched again.
Eventually, Star sat up, wobbling slightly as she eyed the trellis below. âAlright, we should head down before I fall asleep up here. Youâre terrible at carrying people, and I refuse to be a headline in the Pine View Gazette: Local Emo Girl Plummets to Death Off Trailer Roof.â
Chris snorted. âTheyâd probably get your name wrong, too.â
Star nudged him with her elbow. âGo first. Youâre the guy. Donât guys like⊠live for this macho stuff? Protecting damsels in distress nâall that?â
Chris rolled his eyes. âYouâre about as distressed as a cat on catnip.â
He swung his legs over the edge of the roof, gripping the trellis. It creaked under his weight, but he made it down smoothly, dusting his hands on his jeans when he reached the ground.
âSee?â he called up. âsâfine. Just donât be an idiot about it.â
Star pulled a face. âThanks for the vote of confidence, Captain Supportive.â
As she carefully climbed down, the trellis groaned ominously. Her foot slipped on a loose slat, and the sound of wood snapping was followed by a startled yelp.
âChris!â
She fell backward, and he scrambled to catch her. The impact sent them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
Star landed on top of him, groaning as she tried to sit up. âOh my god, I told you this thing was a death trap! Are you okay? Did Iââ
âShut up,â Chris said, breathless, but there was no heat in his words.
He stared up at her, his eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. The joint haze lingered in the air, making every detail sharperâthe warmth of her body against his, the way her breath hitched slightly, the glint of stars in her wide eyes.
Her voice softened. âChrisâŠâ
He didnât move, didnât speak, his gaze flicking briefly to her lips. It was as if gravity itself was pulling them closer, and she swayed slightly, her hands braced against his chest.
And thenâ
âChris?â
Lilaâs small, groggy voice shattered the moment. They froze, heads snapping toward the trailerâs back door, where Lila stood in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes.
Star scrambled to her feet, her cheeks burning. Chris sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair as he muttered, âWhat are you doing up, Lila?â
âI had a bad dream,â she mumbled, sniffling.
Chris sighed, climbing to his feet and brushing off the dirt. âAlright, câmon,â he said, jerking his head toward the trailer. âLetâs get you back to bed.â
Star stood awkwardly to the side, still flustered, as Chris led Lila inside. When he came back out a few minutes later, his face was unreadable again, the moment between them seemingly forgotten.
âYou coming?â he asked, nodding toward the trailer.
âYeah,â she said quickly, following him in.
They collapsed onto the couch with a spread of leftover snacks, bingeing Rick and Morty in comfortable silence. But every so often, Star caught Chris sneaking glances at her, his expression softening just slightly before he turned back to the screen.
Star popped a fry into her mouth, her legs curled beneath her on the couch. The glow from the TV flickered across her face as the absurd antics of Rick and Morty filled the small living room. She stole a glance at Chris, who sat slouched next to her, picking at the crust of a slice of leftover pizza.
She couldnât stop thinking about the moment on the groundâthe way his eyes had locked with hers, the way her heart had flipped in her chest. It was ridiculous, really. Chris wasâŠÂ Chris. Gruff, blunt, emotionally unavailable Chris. And yet, her cheeks still felt warm when she thought about how close theyâd been.
âYouâre staring,â Chris said without looking up. His tone was as dry as ever, but the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
Star jerked her gaze back to the TV, stuffing another fry into her mouth. âIâm not staring. Donât flatter yourself.â
âRight,â he drawled, finally glancing over at her. âBecause youâre the picture of subtlety.â
âLike youâre one to talk,â she shot back, turning to face him fully now. âYouâve been sneaking looks at me all night. What, do I have something on my face?â
Chris raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable as he leaned back against the couch. âMaybe. Or maybe youâre just paranoid.â
She narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge if he was messing with her. âYouâre so annoying, you know that?â
âAnd yet, here you are,â he replied smoothly, grabbing the remote and flipping to the next episode.
Star crossed her arms, leaning back with a huff. âI couldâve stayed home.â
Chris turned to her, the ghost of a smirk still lingering. âYou wouldnât have. You like it here too much.â
Her mouth opened to argue, but no words came out. Because he wasnât wrong. For all his snark and the peeling wallpaper of his trailer, Chrisâs place felt⊠safe.
âWhatever,â she muttered, grabbing a handful of fries.
They watched the episode in silence for a while, the tension between them softening into something almost comfortable again. But as the credits rolled, Chris spoke, his voice quieter than usual.
âWhatâŠwhat was that earlier,â he said, not looking at her.
Star stiffened, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. âWhat was what earlier?â
His jaw shifted, like he was debating whether to say it. Finally, he turned his head to meet her gaze, his expression unreadable. âYou almost kissed me.â
Her face burned. âIâwhat? No, I didnât!â
Chris arched an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. âYou sure about that?â
The air between them grew heavier, the space on the couch suddenly feeling much too small. Star swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as she held his gaze.
âWell, if I did,â she said, trying to sound casual, âyou almostâŠdid it back.â
He didnât deny it. Instead, his eyes flicked down to her lips, just for a second, before meeting hers again.
For a moment, it felt like they were back on the ground outside, the rest of the world fading away as gravity pulled them closer.
But then, from the hallway, Lilaâs small voice rang out again.
âChris? Can I have water?â
Chris sighed, breaking eye contact as he stood up. âYeah, I got it,â he called, his tone softer than usual.
Star exhaled, her shoulders slumping as the tension dissolved into the air. She stared at the TV, her fries forgotten, as Chris disappeared into the kitchen to help his sister.
When he came back, he sat down beside her without a word, grabbing another slice of pizza.
âChris,â she said after a long pause, her voice quieter now.
He glanced at her, chewing lazily. âYeah?â
She hesitated, her fingers twisting in the hem of her hoodie. âNever mind.â
Chris studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned back, grabbing the remote again. âYouâre weird,â he muttered, though there was no edge to his voice.
Star rolled her eyes, pulling her knees to her chest as the next episode started. But despite the casual banter, she couldnât shake the feeling that something between them had shifted.
Neither of them said anything more about it, but as the night stretched on, Chris stayed just a little closer to her on the couch, his shoulder brushing hers every now and then.
The glow of the TV flickered softly across the living room, the chaos of Rick and Morty still playing, though Star hadnât laughed in a while. Chris glanced over, noticing her head drooping slightly, her knees pulled to her chest. Her eyelids fluttered shut, the stubbornness that usually lit up her expression now replaced by something softer, more unguarded.
âStar,â Chris muttered, nudging her leg with his foot.
She mumbled something incoherent, barely stirring.
He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. The night had already been a whirlwindâher almost falling off the roof, the tension of their moment on the ground, and now this. Yet here she was, passed out on his couch like it was her own home.
Chris stood, stretching before leaning down to scoop up the half-empty plate of fries on her lap. He set it on the coffee table, shaking his head. âYou really canât hang, can you?â he muttered under his breath, though his voice lacked any real bite.
Star whimpered lightly but didnât wake. Chris hesitated, his hands twitching at his sides as he debated whether to just leave her there. But something about the thought of her waking up in an uncomfortable position, complaining about her back for the next week, pushed him to act.
He bent down, sliding an arm under her legs and another behind her back. She stirred slightly as he lifted her, her body instinctively curling into his chest. Her head lolled against him, nestling into the crook of his shoulder, and Chris froze mid-step.
Her soft breath tickled his neck as she adjusted again, snuggling closer, completely unaware of what she was doing. His heart stuttered in a way he wasnât used to, an unfamiliar warmth blooming low in his stomach.
âDamn it, Kid,â he muttered under his breath, though there was no malice in his tone.
She mumbled something incoherent again, her arm curling loosely against his chest like she belonged there. It was so unlike her usual sharp edges, her endless teasing and snarky comments. Like this, she was⊠soft. Vulnerable. The part of her she didnât let the world see.
Chris carried her down the narrow hallway to his room, his movements careful and deliberate, as if afraid to wake her. The soft creak of his bedroom door greeted him as he nudged it open with his foot. Moonlight spilled in through the window, casting a faint glow over the small, familiar space.
As he lowered her onto the bed, she stirred, her head shifting slightly. For a brief moment, he thought sheâd wake, but she just sighed, curling into herself instinctively.
Chris lingered, crouched beside the bed, watching the way her face relaxed, her lips slightly parted as she fell deeper into sleep. The faintest furrow creased his brow as he studied her, caught between the familiarity of her presence and the strange, twisting feelings in his chest.
She shifted again, burrowing deeper into the blankets as her arm stretched out toward the space where he usually slept. He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the pillow he always placed between them. The unspoken ruleâhis own attempt to avoid another awkward morning of waking up to find her tangled around him.
But now, as he watched her, those feelings from earlier returnedâthe strange pull, the warmth that made him feel more unsettled than he wanted to admit.
Chris dropped the pillow.
He stood there for another moment, his gaze lingering on her soft features before he climbed into the bed beside her. He stayed on his side at first, stiff and unsure, leaning back against the headboard.
But when her arm instinctively draped across his stomach and her head found his shoulder again, he didnât pull away.
For a while, he just lays there, staring up at the ceiling, her even breaths filling the quiet space around them. The barrier was gone, and something in himâsomething unspokenâdecided it didnât need to come back.
AUTHORS NOTE: i love him. i literally LOVE him. my sweet angel boy. thatâs all.
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COMFORT IN THE CHAOS
CONTENTS:ă»emotional distress-heavy plot ă»star!reader ă»mild language ă»sleeping in the same bedă»artist!chris ă»piercing discussion (self-piercing mentioned) ă»fluff/found family vibes :3 + more WC: 11.5k masterlist: here
Youâre sitting cross-legged at the edge of the trailer park playground, a cigarette dangling between your fingers, watching the sky bleed into a bruise of purples and greys. The swings creak in the breeze, empty but moving like ghosts are riding them. Itâs the kind of silence that makes you feel like youâre the only one alive here.
Then you see her.
Sheâs smallâprobably no more than sixâand sheâs making a beeline straight for you. Loose curls of brown hair bounce against her shoulders, the kind thatâs already starting to frizz in the sticky air, and her greenish-brown eyes look determined. You recognize her before sheâs even close: Chrisâs sister. Lila.
Sheâs clutching something to her chest, tiny fingers wrapped tight around it. As she stops in front of you, she presses her lips together, like sheâs sizing you up.
âUh⊠hey,â you say, because what else do you say to a kid who comes up to you unprompted? âYou lost or something?â
She shakes her head solemnly. âYouâre Star.â
Itâs not a question.
You blink, a little caught off guard. âYeah. Thatâs me.â
Satisfied, she drops her hands, holding her stuffed bunny up for you to see. You notice the torn ear right away, the uneven stitching like someoneâprobably Chrisâtried to fix it but gave up halfway through. The poor thingâs been through hell.
âThis is Bunny,â Lila says. âHeâs tired.â
You tilt your head, amusement flickering across your face. âSame.â
Lilaâs smile is shy but pleased, like youâve passed some secret test. Without waiting for an invitation, she plops down next to you on the gravel, the stuffed rabbit settling into her lap like a living thing.
For a second, you just watch her, mildly bewildered. You donât exactly scream kid-friendly, not with the cigarette stubs and piercings and eyeliner smeared under your eyes. But she seems unbothered, picking at a loose thread on Bunnyâs paw as she leans back like sheâs been planning to hang out with you all day.
âYouâre not supposed to talk to strangers, you know,â you tell her, nudging a pebble with your boot.
âYouâre not a stranger,â she says matter-of-factly.
âYeah? Who told you that?â
âChris.â
Your eyebrows shoot up, surprised. Chris talks about me?
Youâre about to ask what he said when you hear itâthe unmistakable sound of someone calling her name. Sharp. Frantic. You glance up just in time to see Chris stalking toward the playground, panic written all over his face, his hood pushed back and his dark hair a mess like he ran all the way here.
âLila,â he calls again, his voice edged with something rougher than worry, and she perks up like nothingâs wrong at all.
âOver here!â she chirps, waving one small arm above her head.
Chrisâs gaze snaps to herâand then to you. He freezes mid-step, his shoulders stiffening as he takes in the scene: Lila sitting cross-legged beside you like youâre old friends, her bunny nestled in her lap, and you sitting there with your half-smoked cigarette and black nails tapping idly against your knee.
His face goes a shade darker, embarrassment settling in as he swipes a hand over his jaw.
âLila,â he mutters, striding over and crouching down in front of her. âYou canât just run off like that. I told you to stay inside.â
âI wasnât far,â she insists, all innocence. âYou were sleeping.â
Chris shoots you a look like this is somehow your fault. You hold up your hands in surrender, amused. âHey, donât look at me. She found me.â
He doesnât answer, just exhales sharply as he runs a hand through his hair. âCome on,â he says quietly to Lila, his voice softer now. âLetâs go.â
Lila pouts, clinging to Bunny. âBut I like Star.â
Chrisâs ears go pink, and he shoots you a glare like youâre going to make this worse somehow. You smirk, leaning back against your palms. âI didnât kidnap her, you know.â
âYeah, well, youâre still smoking around her,â he mutters, standing up and brushing gravel off his jeans.
You roll your eyes but drop the cigarette, grinding it into the dirt with your heel. âHappy?â
He doesnât answer, just mumbles something under his breath as he grabs Lilaâs hand. She stares up at him, unimpressed. âChris, youâre being weird.â
âYouâre being weird,â he mutters back, then freezes, realizing how stupid that sounds. He shifts uncomfortably, eyes flicking to you like heâs hoping the ground will swallow him whole.
You grin. âYou guys make a good team.â
Chris glares, but it doesnât hold much weight. He just looks tired, embarrassed, and maybe a little grateful that you didnât make this into a thing. âLetâs go, Lila,â he mutters again, tugging her hand gently.
âBye, Star!â Lila calls as they turn away, her curls bouncing again. âSay bye, Chris.â
Chris doesnât say anythingâhe just shoves his hands in his pockets, his face turned down. But as they walk off, you think you see him glance back once, just for a second.
You donât wave. You donât say anything. You just smile to yourself and lean back into the silence, watching the empty swings sway in the wind.
The trailer feels smaller than usual tonight. The kind of small that presses against your ribs, suffocating you even when thereâs no one in the room. But there is someone in the roomâhim. Sitting in his stained recliner with a half-empty beer can on the armrest, his voice a low, slurred hum of irritation thatâs been building for the last ten minutes.
âWhere the hell were you all day?â he spits, his words slow and deliberate, like heâs trying to corner you with each one.
You stand by the counter, jaw tight, arms crossed over your chest. âAround.â
âAround?â He laughsâshort and humorlessâand smacks the arm of the chair with his palm. âWhatâs that mean, huh? You think you can just disappear whenever you feel like it?â
âIt means itâs none of your business,â you fire back, the edge in your voice sharper than you intended. You regret it as soon as his head snaps up.
His face darkens, brows pulling together as he points a finger at you. âDonât start with me, Y/N. Not tonight. I work my assoff to keep a roof over your head, and youââ
âYou sit around drinking all day,â you interrupt, your voice cracking slightly. âThatâs not working your ass off, and we both know it.â
The silence that follows is loud. Too loud. He stares at you for a moment, his eyes cold and mean in the lamplight. Then he standsâslow and deliberateâand you feel your heart slam against your ribs.
âYouâre lucky youâve got a roof at all,â he growls, the words low but thick with anger. âYou think anyone else would put up with you? Huh? Look at yourself. Youâre a goddamn mess.â
The words hit you harder than they should, and you canât stand to hear another one. âScrew this,â you mutter, grabbing your jacket off the back of a chair and shoving your feet into your boots.
âWhere are you going?â he barks, but youâre already at the door.
âOut.â
âYou come back in this house when I sayââ
The door slams behind you before he can finish, the sound shaking through the frame. The cool night air hits you like a shock, sharp and sobering. You take a deep breath, letting it fill your lungs, trying to push his words out with it.
The trailer park is quiet at this hour, most of the lights turned off, the gravel beneath your boots crunching as you head toward the road. Your hands are shaking. You jam them into your jacket pockets and keep walking, letting the dark swallow you whole. You donât know where youâre goingâjust that anywhere is better than here.
The gravel crunches under your boots as you storm across the trailer park, the sharp chill of the night air biting at your cheeks. Your ears are still ringing with the last echoes of your fatherâs voiceâmess, lucky, roofâwords you didnât want to hear but couldnât shut out.
You donât stop walking until you see the faint orange glow of a joint flickering in the darkness.
At first, you think itâs nothingâjust another shadow against the trailersâbut then the low creak of metal catches your attention. A figure bends over the open hood of a car, lit faintly by the weak yellow light of the porch bulb. Chris.
His once-white wife beater is smeared with grease and oil, clinging to his skin in places where sweatâs soaked through. A red bandanaâdarkened with its own share of stainsâhangs from the back pocket of his jeans, forgotten as he works. His dark curls are matted against his forehead, slick with sweat, and his jaw tenses slightly around the joint wedged between his lips.
You slow down without meaning to, your anger cooling just a little as you take him in. He doesnât look up, not at firstâtoo focused on whateverâs under the hood. But thereâs something in the set of his shoulders, the way his movements seem heavy, like even this takes more energy than he has.
You clear your throat, just enough to let him know youâre there. He straightens up immediately, turning toward you, brows pulling together in that guarded way of his.
For a moment, neither of you say anything. The glow of the joint brightens as he takes a drag, exhaling a thin stream of smoke before muttering, âYou lost or something?â
His voice is rough, gruff in the way it always is, but tonight thereâs a softness under itâlike he doesnât have the energy to put up too much of a front.
âNo,â you answer, shoving your hands deeper into your jacket pockets. âJust⊠walking.â
He eyes you for a moment, his dark blue gaze lingering on the way your shoulders are hunched, the tension still obvious in your frame. He doesnât ask any questions, though. Chris doesnât ask questions.
âYou look like shit,â he says finally, blunt as ever, but thereâs no malice in it.
âSo do you,â you shoot back, motioning to his grease-streaked shirt and the curls sticking to his forehead.
That earns you a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. He shakes his head slightly, pulling the joint from his lips and tapping the ash onto the ground. âFair enough.â
The two of you fall quiet again, the only sounds the faint hum of crickets and the soft ticking of the carâs engine as it cools. Chris turns back toward the hood, wiping his hands on the bandana before tucking it into his pocket again.
âYour car broken?â you ask after a moment, just to fill the silence.
âAlways is,â he replies, glancing over his shoulder at you. His eyes still hold that tired, distant look, like he hasnât really slept in days. âGotta keep it running somehow.â
You nod, even though you donât really know what else to say. He seems fine with the silence, though. Chris always does.
âWhereâs Lila?â you ask softly, surprising yourself with the question.
âInside,â he says, his voice losing some of its edge. âSleeping.â
âSheâs cute,â you offer. âShe told me about Bunny.â
That earns you somethingâa short, rough chuckle as he runs a hand through his hair, smearing a little grease into the curls. âYeah, she would.â
You watch him for a moment longer, his silhouette outlined against the dim light. He doesnât look at you again, but you can tell he knows youâre still there, lingering like youâre not ready to go back yet.
âYouâre out late,â he says suddenly, though his tone is careful, like heâs not trying to pry.
âSo are you.â
He snorts, shaking his head slightly. âI donât have much of a choice.â
Thereâs something in the way he says itâa kind of resignation that makes your chest feel heavy. You look at him then, really look, and for a second it feels like neither of you have a choice. Like youâre both stuck here in this trailer park, leaning on broken cars and broken homes just to make it through the night.
âYou want me to go?â you ask, though you donât really want him to say yes.
Chris doesnât answer right away. He takes another slow drag from his joint, staring at something in the distance before finally shaking his head. âNah. Youâre good.â
You nod, sinking down to sit on the edge of the gravel, your knees pulled up to your chest. You donât talk. He doesnât either. But the silence feels different nowânot suffocating, not angry. Just quiet.
The quiet settles in, not quite comfortable, but not suffocating either. Chris keeps his focus on the open hood, the occasional clink of metal and soft murmur of frustration breaking the silence. You sit perched on the gravel a few feet away, elbows on your knees, your boots scuffing against the dirt. From where you are, you can see the way his arms flex as he worksâlean, tense muscles moving under skin smudged with oil and sweat.
âPass me theââ he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at you. âShit. The socket wrench. Small one.â
You blink, staring at the scattered mess of tools in the box next to you like theyâre written in another language. âUh⊠sure.â
Grabbing the first thing that seems like it might work, you hold it up for inspection. Chris barely glances before shaking his head. âNo. Not that. The other one. Looks like a ratchet.â
âAÂ ratchet?â you echo, scowling at him. âI donât know what that means.â
He sighs, muttering something under his breath before jerking his chin at the toolbox. âSilver handle. Little head. Spins.â
You frown down at the tools again, narrowing your eyes as if thatâll help. After a few seconds of trial and error, you grab one and hold it up like youâve won a prize. âThis?â
Chris finally looks up, his dark blue gaze sweeping over it before nodding once. âYeah. Thatâs the one.â
You toss it to him underhand, and he catches it without breaking stride, sliding back under the hood like the conversation never happened.
âThat was a total guess,â you admit, smirking a little to yourself. âIâm basically a mechanic now.â
âYouâd be a shitty mechanic,â he mutters, but thereâs the faintest trace of amusement in his voice.
You rest your chin on your knees, watching as he works. Thereâs something about the way he movesâsteady, deliberateâthat makes you feel calmer just sitting there. Itâs like every motion has a purpose, every clink of the tools against the metal a reminder that he knows what heâs doing. You donât see much of that in Pine Viewâpeople who actually dosomething instead of just saying they will.
After a while, he asks again. âNeed the pliers.â
You hand him the needle-nose pliers without hesitation this time, earning you a glance from under his sweat-damp curls. âQuicker that time.â
âShut up,â you mutter, but thereâs no heat behind it.
He keeps going, a low hum of focus settling around him as the minutes stretch on. You lose track of time out there, the night growing darker, the trailer park falling into a heavy kind of quiet. Every now and then, Chris adjusts his joint between his lips, inhaling slow before letting the smoke curl up into the humid air. The smell of it mixes with the sharp scent of oil and metalâsomething oddly familiar and grounding.
âWhyâd you start working on cars?â you ask eventually, your voice low enough not to break the stillness.
Chris pauses just long enough to swipe his bandana over his forehead, leaving a darker streak across the fabric. âDidnât have a choice,â he says simply, leaning back to check something under the hood. âCar broke, no money to fix it. You figure it out or you walk everywhere.â
âYou get good at it?â
âGood enough.â
You nod like that makes perfect sense. Because it does. Pine View is full of people who have to figure it outâor donât.
âStar.â
You blink at the sound of your name, glancing up. Chrisâs hand is out, palm open. âFlathead screwdriver.â
You reach into the box again, grabbing what you think is right and handing it over. This time, Chris doesnât even lookâjust takes it like he trusts you to get it right. For some reason, that makes your chest feel a little less tight.
He works for another few minutes before standing up fully, stretching out his back with a low groan. The jointâs burned down to almost nothing now, barely a flicker between his fingers. He tilts his head back, staring at the dark sky as he exhales the last drag, the smoke catching the faint glow of the porch light.
âYou donât talk much, do you?â you say quietly, your voice cutting through the silence.
Chris glances down at you, dark blue eyes still holding that perpetual tiredness, though thereâs something else tooâsomething less sharp. âNo.â
âThatâs okay,â you reply, pulling your knees closer to your chest. âI talk enough for both of us.â
His mouth twitches like he might smile, but he doesnât. Instead, he looks at you for a beat longer than he needs to, then shakes his head slightly and goes back to wiping his hands on the stained bandana.
âYou should get inside,â he says eventually, his voice softer than before. âItâs late.â
âYeah.â You donât move.
Chris doesnât say anything else. He doesnât need to. He just tosses the wrench back into the toolbox with a clatter and leans against the car, his arms crossed as he stares out at the empty stretch of trailers beyond you both. You donât know how long you sit there, quiet but not alone. Long enough for the night air to feel a little less cold. Long enough for the knots in your chest to loosen, just a little.
Chris exhales, long and slow, like heâs been thinking about something for a while before finally deciding to say it. He pushes away from the car, flicking the remains of his joint into the gravel where it smolders out. âYou wanna come inside?â
You look up, surprised. âWhat?â
He shrugs, not quite meeting your gaze as he wipes his hands down the front of his oil-streaked shirt. âItâs not much, but I need to check on Lila, and you shouldnât be out here alone. Place gets sketchy this time of night.â
That makes you laugh, a sharp sound that echoes a little too loudly in the quiet. âI grew up here, Chris. I think I can handle it.â
âYeah, well,â he mutters, jaw tightening, âI donât like it.â
You raise an eyebrow at him, something flickering through youâannoyance, curiosity, maybe a bit of both. âWhy do you care?â
He pauses for a beat, shoving the stained bandana back into his pocket. âI just do.â
Itâs simple. Final. Like he doesnât need to explain himself further. He glances toward the shadows stretching across the trailer park, the kind that swallow up anything just out of sight. His voice softens a little. âYou donât gotta stay out here.â
You hesitate, glancing back toward your trailerâtoward himâand suddenly, being out here alone doesnât feel so great. You hate that Chris might be right.
âItâs not that bad,â you mumble, half-hearted, because youâve said it so many times before that itâs practically a reflex.
Chris just stares at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes steady. Thereâs something about him that makes you feel like you canât lie to yourself tonightânot with him standing there, oil-slicked and sweaty, watching you like heâs already decided youâre coming inside whether you argue or not.
âFine,â you say finally, pushing yourself to your feet. âBut if your place smells like feet and motor oil, Iâm leaving.â
Chrisâs lips twitch like heâs trying not to smirk. âIâll survive.â
He turns without another word, leading the way toward his trailer. You follow a few steps behind, your boots crunching in the gravel. It feels weird, letting someone look out for youâespecially him. But you donât hate it. Not tonight.
Chris doesnât look back as he walks, but he doesnât need to. You follow him up the short set of steps to his trailer, where the porch light flickers dimly, barely enough to cast shadows. He unlocks the door with a quiet clink, nudging it open with his shoulder.
âWatch your step,â he mutters, stepping aside to let you in first.
You hesitate for just a second before walking past him, the inside of the trailer warmer than you expected. It smells faintly of something familiarâlaundry detergent, maybeâand something else beneath it: motor oil and faint smoke, a scent youâre starting to associate with him. Itâs not a mess, exactly, but itâs not neat either. A stack of Lilaâs drawings is scattered across the coffee table, along with an empty cereal bowl and a few crumpled fast-food napkins. On the couch sits one of Lilaâs small sneakers, abandoned like she kicked it off mid-run.
Chris steps in behind you, pulling the door shut softly. âLike I said, itâs not much.â
âItâs fine,â you say, brushing off the comment as you glance around. The place feels⊠lived in. Not cold. Not empty. Just a little worn, like him.
Chris drops his keys on the counter, the faint clink loud in the quiet. He pulls the bandana from his pocket again and wipes the sweat from his neck before tossing it into a laundry basket near the door. Then he jerks his chin toward the couch. âSit if you want. Iâll be quick.â
You hover awkwardly for a second before perching on the edge of the couch cushion. Itâs softer than it looks. You glance down at the drawings scattered across the coffee tableâcrayon sketches of flowers, some wonky-looking animals, and a big house with stick figures holding hands in front of it. You feel something in your chest pull a little.
Chris disappears down the narrow hall toward the back room, where the soft sound of a door creaking open reaches your ears. You hear him moving, his voice low and quietâgentler than youâd expect.
âLila?â A beat. âYou good?â
Thereâs no response that you can hear, but after a moment, his footsteps return, slower this time. He reappears in the doorway, running a hand through his damp curls, leaving behind a streak of oil he doesnât seem to notice.
âSheâs still out,â he says, like he needs to explain himself. âSleeps through anything.â
You nod, not sure what to say. Chris lingers for a second, his dark blue eyes flicking to you as he crosses the room and drops into the recliner across from you. He leans back, stretching one arm along the armrest as he exhales through his nose.
âSorry,â he mutters, though youâre not sure what for. âAbout earlier. I didnât mean toââ He stops himself, frowning slightly before shaking his head. âForget it.â
You look at him, watching the way he slouches into the chair like heâs just done. Done with the day, done with the car, done with everything. You shrug, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. âItâs fine. You didnât do anything.â
Chris glances at you, his tired gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he looks away, staring somewhere past you. The porch light outside casts shadows across his face, making the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones stand out even more. He looks like heâs about to say something, but doesnât.
Instead, the two of you just sit there, the silence stretching out againâbut itâs not the heavy, tense kind that makes you want to bolt. Itâs different. Quieter. Settled. You find yourself relaxing into the couch without realizing it, the weight of the night finally easing off your shoulders.
âWhy were you out there?â he asks eventually, his voice low but even.
You blink, caught off guard. âWhat?â
âEarlier,â he says, not looking at you. âIn the dark, walking around by yourself.â
Your stomach twists slightly, the fight with your dad flashing through your mind like a bruise youâre not ready to touch. You pick at the loose threads in the cushion beneath your hand. âJust⊠needed air.â
Chris doesnât push. He just nods slowly, like he gets itâlike heâs been there before. âYeah.â
You glance over at him, at the tired set of his shoulders and the dark circles beneath his eyes. The small house Lila drew on the table catches your eye again, and you wonder how often he feels like thisâlike the walls are closing in, like thereâs nowhere to go but out.
âThanks,â you say quietly.
Chris looks at you, brow furrowing slightly. âFor what?â
You shrug, looking down at your hands. âNot letting me sit out there.â
He doesnât say anything right away, but you can feel his gaze linger on you. âYeah. Sure.â
You look up, and for a second, you swear heâs about to smileâbut then he blinks, the moment slipping away, and he stands up abruptly. âIâll get you something to drink. You want water orâŠ?â
âWaterâs fine.â
Chris nods and disappears into the small kitchen. You listen to the sound of cabinets opening, the faint clang of glass against the counter. You exhale slowly, letting yourself sink deeper into the couch. The soft clink of glass fills the space as Chris moves around the kitchen, his footsteps heavy against the trailer floor. You lean back further into the couch, the quiet hum of the place settling over you like a blanket. It feels strange to be here, strange in the way that something too normal feels after a fight. Like youâve slipped sideways into someone elseâs night, someone elseâs life.
When Chris returns, he hands you a glass of water without a word, his fingers brushing yours briefly before he drops back into his chair. He sits forward this time, elbows on his knees, his oil-streaked hands hanging loosely between them. He looks like heâs about to say something, but instead, he just sighs and drags a hand through his curls againâonly smearing more grease into them.
âYouâve gotâŠâ You motion vaguely to your head. âOil. Everywhere.â
Chris snorts under his breath and wipes at it with his wrist, only making it worse. âYeah, well. Comes with the job.â He tilts his head slightly, shooting you a dry look. âYou offerinâ tâfix it?â
You grin faintly. âNah. Not much of a stylist.â
âDidnât think so.â
Silence stretches again, but itâs different this timeâless heavy, less awkward. Chris leans back again, his head tipping against the back of the chair, eyes flickering shut for a second. His chest rises and falls steadily, like heâs trying to take one decent breath after a long day.
âLila likes you,â he says suddenly, eyes still closed.
You blink, caught off guard. âWhat?â
âShe said so,â he mutters, cracking one eye open to glance at you. âSaid you were âcool.â And that Bunny likes you too.â
That makes you smile. You think about Lila earlier, her little face so serious as she introduced you to her torn-eared rabbit, and you canât help but feel a flicker of warmth in your chest. âWell, Bunnyâs got good taste.â
Chris huffs a quiet laugh, though itâs more air than sound. âYeah, donât let it go to your head.â
âI wonât.â You sip from the glass, watching him carefully. Thereâs something about the way he talks about Lilaâsoft, careful, like he knows how fragile she is. âYou take care of her a lot?â
Chris doesnât answer right away. He stares at a spot on the floor like heâs deciding what to say. âYeah. Someoneâs gotta.â
Itâs simple, but thereâs so much weight behind itâlike those three words carry everything he doesnât say. Because Mom canât. Because itâs just us. Because no one else will. You donât press, though. You donât need to.
âI get it,â you say softly, though youâre not sure if youâre talking about him or yourself.
Chris looks at you then, really looks, like heâs seeing you in a different light. His blue eyes are darker in the dim room, but thereâs something softer in them too, something quieter. He doesnât say anything, just nods faintly before pushing himself to his feet.
âLilaâll freak if you wake her up,â he mutters, moving toward the hallway. âIâll grab you a blanket or something.â
You sit up straighter, blinking. âWaitâwhat?â
He pauses, turning back with a raised eyebrow. âYouâre not walking back. Not this late.â
âI can handle it,â you argue, though the idea of going back to your trailer, to him, makes your stomach twist.
Chris doesnât budge. âItâs fine. Couch isnât great, but itâs better than walking through this dump alone.â He hesitates, frowning slightly before adding, âItâs just a couch. Donât get weird about it.â
You donât know why that makes you feel so seenâlike he already knew youâd argue, like he already knew you wouldnât want to ask for this. You glance at the coffee table again, at the crayon drawings of flowers and houses, at the empty sneaker, at the life thatâs been built here in pieces.
âFine,â you mumble, leaning back into the cushions like youâre totally unaffected. âBut if you snore, Iâm out.â
Chris rolls his eyes as he turns toward the back room. âYou wonât hear me.â
You donât argue with him this time. Instead, you let yourself settle in, the glass of water still cool in your hand. The hum of the trailer settles back over you, and for once, it doesnât feel like a trap. It feels⊠still.
And you think maybe, just maybe, you wonât hear anything tonight except the quiet.
Chris disappears down the narrow hallway, leaving you alone in the quiet hum of the trailer. You sit there, awkwardly at first, picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion while the faint creak of a door opening echoes down the hall. A minute later, he reappears, holding a crumpled blanket that looks like itâs been shoved into a closet for months. He tosses it onto the couch beside you with a quick, almost sheepish motion.
âHere,â he mutters. âBest Iâve got.â
You grab it before it slides onto the floor, and as soon as you do, you catch the smellâfamiliar in a way you canât quite place. Faint cigarette smoke. A hint of motor oil. That sharp scent of clean laundry that only barely cuts through it. Your fingers sink into the worn fabric, and for some reason, it makes your chest feel tight. Like youâre holding something you shouldnât, something that feels too close.
âYou good?â Chris asks, pausing halfway to the hallway.
You look up quickly, masking whatever you were feeling. âYeah. Itâs fine.â
Chris doesnât press. He just nods, running a hand through his curls again and grimacing when his fingers catch on something stickyâprobably more oil. âIâm gonna shower. Donât break anything.â
âIâll try not to,â you shoot back, rolling your eyes.
He disappears again, the sound of the bathroom door closing behind him followed by the hiss of old pipes groaning to life. You hear the water turn on a moment later, a dull rush that fills the silence in the trailer.
For a moment, you just sit there, fingers still curled around the blanket, your thoughts drifting to the fight you left behind. To your dadâs voice, sharp and cutting. To the slamming door and the way your own breathing felt too loud as you stepped outside. Now, wrapped up in the dim light of Chrisâs space, it all feels distantâlike the angerâs been stripped from it, leaving only exhaustion behind.
Your eyes drift to the coffee table againâLilaâs crayon drawings spread out in a messy stack, one page overlapping the next. You see the house again, the one she drew with thick brown walls and a triangle roof, stick figures holding hands out front. The tallest one has curls. Chris. The little one has bunny ears sticking out of her head. Lila.
You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, chewing the inside of your cheek as curiosity tugs at the edge of your mind. The waterâs still runningâChris is still in the showerâand the rest of the trailer feels so still, so there.
You stand, moving quietly toward the small kitchen area. A couple of dishes sit in the sink, one of them holding a soggy cereal spoon. Thereâs an unopened box of crackers on the counter next to a stack of overdue bills, their edges curled and frayed. Your gaze drifts up to a corkboard tacked to the wall, cluttered with half-pinned papers and reminders scrawled in Chrisâs sharp, blocky handwriting. Some of them are grocery lists.
Milk, cereal, ramen. Lila likes those gummy worms.
You donât realize youâre smiling until you catch yourself, your lips twitching faintly as you step back. Something about it feels realâthis life heâs patching together out of lists and leftovers and old blankets shoved into corners.
You glance back toward the hall, listening to the faint trickle of the shower. Heâs still in there.
Your curiosity pulls you to the corner of the living room, where a few of Chrisâs sketches are piled on a small, dented table. You hover for a second, your fingers twitching at your sides. Then, slowly, you reach out and pick up the top sheet.
Itâs a charcoal drawingâa skull, its shadows so deep and detailed it almost looks three-dimensional. Around it, faint flowers bloom from cracks in the bone, the petals shaded with the kind of precision that makes your breath catch. You flip to the next one, another skullâthis time paired with thorny vines, curling around its hollow eye sockets. Thereâs something beautiful and haunting about it, something that feels him.
You hear the pipes groan again, the water pressure shifting slightly, and you freeze. Carefully, you place the sketches back where you found them and return to the couch, sinking down quickly with the blanket still bunched in your lap.
The shower cuts off, and for a moment, the only sound is the faint drip of water before the pipes settle again. You lean back into the cushions, forcing your gaze on the ceiling as you try to ignore the way your chest feelsâlike youâve seen something you werenât supposed to. Like youâve been let in, just a little, to a world Chris doesnât show anyone.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door creaks open, and Chrisâs footsteps shuffle back down the hallway. You glance over to see him in a clean shirtâthis one black and looseâhis curls still damp and sticking to his forehead. He pauses when he sees you sitting exactly where he left you, the blanket tucked around your shoulders.
âYou didnât snoop, did you?â he asks, but thereâs no real bite to itâjust the same dry, tired Chris.
âNope,â you say quickly, looking at the TV like itâs suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.
He eyes you for a moment, like he doesnât quite believe you, but then he shakes his head and drops back into his chair with a groan. âYouâre a terrible liar.â
You donât answer. You just tuck the blanket tighter around yourself and let your gaze flicker toward the window, where the night outside feels a little less lonely than it did an hour ago.
Chris doesnât say anything for a while, settling deeper into the recliner with that same tired look he always seems to carry. You hear the springs creak faintly under his weight, the sound filling the space where conversation might go. You donât mind. The quiet feels easier now, softer somehow.
You adjust the blanket in your lap, the familiar smell still lingering. Itâs strangeâalmost comfortingâbut it makes your chest ache a little, like it knows something about you that you donât want to admit.
Chris catches you staring at the window. âWhat, you scared of the dark now?â
You glance at him, rolling your eyes. âNo.â
âCouldâve fooled me.â
You open your mouth to fire something back, but when you see him leaning back like that, his arms hanging loosely over the chairâs sides, you lose your edge. Thereâs no malice in his wordsâjust something dry and unbothered, like heâs filling the silence out of habit.
âWhatâs your deal with this place anyway?â you ask suddenly, voice quieter than you meant it to be. âYou hate it or what?â
Chris doesnât answer right away. He tips his head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling like the answerâs written somewhere in the shadows there. âWhat do you think?â
âI think you donât say much of anything,â you shoot back, though thereâs no bite to it.
He huffs softly through his nose, his mouth twitching like he might smirk. âWhatâs there to say? Itâs a dump. Same as everywhere else.â
You watch him carefully, the way his gaze stays fixed on a crack in the ceiling, the way his fingers twitch faintly where they rest. âDoes Lila know that?â
Chrisâs jaw tenses slightly, but he doesnât look at you. âNo.â
âGood,â you say simply, leaning back into the couch. âBecause she seems pretty happy here.â
That gets him to glance at you, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. For a moment, he just stares, his gaze heavy but unreadable, like heâs trying to figure out why youâre saying any of this. Then he shakes his head, muttering, âYouâre weird.â
âThanks,â you reply, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
Chris snorts quietly, the sound barely there, before running a hand through his damp curls. âDonât make it sound like some big secret, alright? Lila thinks itâs good here because I want her to think that. Thatâs all.â
You donât respond right away. The weight behind his words settles between you both, and you realize thereâs nothing easy about what heâs carryingânot the trailer, not Lila, not the quiet resentment that simmers behind everything he does.
âDoesnât mean youâre wrong,â you say finally, surprising even yourself.
Chris looks at you again, brow furrowing slightly. âAbout what?â
âThat itâs a dump,â you say simply, shrugging. âBut sometimes dumps are all youâve got.â
He watches you for a second longer, like he wants to argue, like he wants to say something, but the words never come. Instead, he just shifts in his chair, his gaze dropping to the floor. âYeah.â
The clock ticks faintly on the far wall, the sound almost loud in the quiet. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself again, letting its familiar scent wrap around you. Chris doesnât say anything else, and neither do you. But you donât leave, either.
Instead, you sit there in the dim light, the shadows stretching longer, the quiet settling deep into your bones. For the first time all night, you donât feel like you need to go anywhere.
The stillness stretches, not heavy, but weightedâlike it knows it belongs there. Chris leans further into the recliner, his head tipped back and his breathing even, almost like heâs teetering on the edge of sleep. Youâre not sure how long youâve been sitting there, only that the world outside feels far away. Even the sound of your fatherâs voice, still echoing faintly in the back of your mind, has been drowned out by the faint hum of the trailer and the way the room seems to hold its breath.
Your gaze drifts over to Chris again, your eyes catching on the rise and fall of his chest. For once, the tension in his shoulders seems to have let go, his face softer without its usual guarded edge. Heâs got that same kind of tired look he always carries, like sleep doesnât come easy, but here, in the quiet of his own space, it doesnât seem to bother him as much.
And you donât know why, but something about it makes your chest ache.
You pull the blanket closer around you, sinking further into the couch, the worn fabric soft against your hands. Itâs not just the smell thatâs familiar anymoreâitâs the feeling. A kind of warmth that comes from something lived in, something thatâs been through its share of wear and tear but hasnât fallen apart yet. It makes you feel strangely safe, even if you donât want to admit it. Even if you havenât felt that way in a long time.
From across the room, Chrisâs voice cuts through the quiet, low and slightly groggy. âYouâre staring.â
You blink, jolted back to the moment. Chris doesnât move muchâhis head still leans against the back of the reclinerâbut one blue eye cracks open, catching you in the act.
âWas not,â you mutter, defensive but not sharp.
âYeah?â He raises an eyebrow, that familiar hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. âYouâre a shitty liar.â
âYouâve said that already,â you fire back, but thereâs no real heat in it.
Chris just snorts softly, letting his eyes slip shut again. For a moment, you think heâs going to drift off completely, the slow rhythm of his breathing filling the silence. Then he speaks again, quieter this time.
âYou donât have to stay, you know.â
You glance at him, frowning slightly. âHm?â
His voice stays even, but thereâs something softer underneath. âHere. Iâm not⊠I didnât mean to keep you or anything.â
âMâfine,â you say quickly, because you are. Or maybe you just donât want to leave. âItâs better thanâŠâ You stop yourself, biting back the words better than home.
Chris doesnât press you. He never does. Instead, he shifts slightly in the recliner, turning his head toward you without opening his eyes. âSuit yourself.â
Another beat of quiet settles, and you let your eyes drift back to the coffee table, where one of Lilaâs crayon drawings peeks out from the pile. Itâs not muchâjust a bright yellow sun with wobbly beams stretching out from the centerâbut it feels important somehow. Like itâs holding something together.
âYou take care of her,â you say softly, surprising yourself.
Chris hums faintly, like heâs not sure if itâs a question or not. âYeah.â
âYouâre good at it,â you add, even softer.
Chris doesnât respond right away, but when he does, his voice is quieter than youâve heard it all night. âNot really.â
You donât argue, but you donât agree either. Because you see itâthe way Lila lights up when sheâs around him, the way her drawings seem to fill the space he doesnât talk about. Itâs the kind of care you donât see in most people, the kind that doesnât get shown off but sits there, constant and steady.
Chris doesnât say anything else, and you donât push. Instead, you sink back into the couch again, the blanket pulled up to your chin, and let the quiet return. The hum of the trailer wraps around both of you, its walls creaking faintly with the settling night.
The quiet stretches out again, and for the first time all night, it feels like you can actually breathe. Chrisâs breathing evens out too, slower now, like heâs on the verge of slipping into sleep. His head tilts to one side, his curls damp and messy against his forehead, and his arms hang loosely over the sides of the recliner.
For a moment, you think heâs finally outâbut then he jerks awake slightly, his eyes flickering open as he shifts in his seat. He sits up straighter, blinking at you like heâs trying to shake off the drowsiness.
âYou good?â he mutters, his voice rougher now, thicker with sleep.
âYeah,â you say quickly, adjusting the blanket over your lap. âIâm fine.â
He studies you for a second, his blue eyes narrowed slightly like he doesnât quite believe you. You glance away, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, but it doesnât help. You know what heâs looking atâyour face, the way itâs probably giving you away, showing everything you donât want to admit.
Chris leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. âThat couch isnât great,â he says quietly, nodding toward the lumpy cushions beneath you. âYouâre not used to it.â
âItâs fine,â you say again, sharper this time, even though the ache in your chest isnât from the couch at all. Itâs from everything elseâthe fight, the words, the way your own home feels like a warzone every time you walk through the door. But you canât say that. Not to him.
Chris doesnât look convinced. His brows furrow slightly, his hand raking through his curls again as he thinks. Finally, he stands, stretching his arms over his head before motioning toward the back of the trailer.
âTake the bed,â he says simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.
You blink up at him, startled. âWhat?â
âThe bed,â he repeats, like itâs obvious. âItâs better than this. Youâll sleep better.â
âIâm not taking your bed,â you shoot back, frowning at him. âYouâre already letting me crash here. Iâm notââ
âStar,â he cuts you off, his voice calm but firm. âSâfine. I donât sleep much anyway.â
âThatâs not the point,â you argue, but the look he gives you stops you mid-sentence. Itâs not harsh or annoyedâitâs steady, like heâs already decided and thereâs no point in fighting him.
âIâm not doing it for me,â he says quietly, his blue eyes holding yours. âYouâre not fine, and we both know it.â
You feel your chest tighten at his words, and for a second, you canât look at him. He doesnât mean it in a bad way, you can tell, but hearing it out loud makes it harder to keep the walls up. You glance down at the blanket, your fingers curling into the fabric.
âItâs not the couch,â you mumble, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
Chris exhales slowly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. âI know.â
You look up at him, surprised. He shrugs, leaning back against the edge of the recliner. âYou donât have to say anything. Iâm just saying⊠if it helps, take the bed. Iâll stay out here.â
His words hang in the air, heavy but not suffocating. You know he means itâthereâs no pity in his voice, no expectation, just an offering. A way to let you breathe, even if itâs only for a night.
After a long pause, you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. âOkay.â
Chris nods too, his expression unreadable but softer somehow. He gestures toward the hallway again. âDoor on the right. Sheets are clean.â
You stand, still clutching the blanket around your shoulders, and glance back at him before heading toward the hall. Heâs already moving back toward the couch, grabbing another blanket off the back of the recliner as he settles in.
âChris,â you say softly, pausing in the doorway.
He looks up, his gaze steady but tired. âWhat?â
âThanks,â you say, your voice cracking just enough for him to notice.
He doesnât say anything for a moment, just nods once before leaning back into the couch. âYeah. Get some sleep.â
You step into the room, the door clicking softly behind you. The bed is small but neatly made, the faint smell of his cologne lingering on the sheets. You climb in slowly, sinking into the mattress as the weight of the night finally starts to lift.
You lie on the bed for a while, staring up at the ceiling. The mattress is soft, and the faint scent of Chrisâcologne, smoke, and something earthy you canât quite placeâlingers on the sheets. Itâs not unpleasant, but itâs enough to make you feel a little⊠uneasy. Not in a bad way, just in a way that makes your chest feel too tight, like you donât quite deserve the comfort of it.
Your eyes wander around the room, taking it in. Itâs simple, like the rest of the trailerâjust a dresser against the far wall, a few scattered shirts peeking out from an open drawer. Thereâs a sketchbook on the bedside table, its edges worn, with a pencil lying haphazardly across it. The walls are bare, except for a single framed photo on the dresser. You squint, barely making out the image of a younger Chris with Lila perched on his shoulders, her wide grin almost overshadowing his reluctant one.
You roll onto your side, tucking the blanket tighter around you, but the guilt creeps in anyway. The bed feels too warm, too good, too⊠his. You stare at the faint light seeping in through the cracks of the door, imagining him out there on the couch, probably just as tired as you but too stubborn to admit it.
You sigh, sitting up and rubbing a hand over your face. The thought of him trying to sleep in that lumpy old recliner makes your stomach twist, and before you can overthink it, you push the blanket off and swing your legs over the side of the bed.
The trailer is quiet when you open the door. The faint light from the kitchen spills into the living room, casting shadows over the couch where Chris is stretched out, one arm thrown over his face. His blanket barely covers him, the edges falling short of his feet.
You hover for a second, second-guessing yourself, but then you take a step forward and clear your throat softly. âChris.â
He stirs, his arm dropping slightly so his eyesâhalf-lidded and groggyâmeet yours. âWhat?â he mutters, his voice low and thick with sleep.
âYou donât have to sleep out here,â you say quickly, before you lose your nerve. âI meanâyou can come back. To the bed. Just⊠separate blankets or whatever.â
He blinks at you, his brows furrowing slightly as he pushes himself up onto one elbow. âWhat?â
âI feel bad,â you admit, crossing your arms over your chest. âItâs your bed. You shouldnât have to give it up.â
Chris stares at you for a moment, like heâs trying to process what youâre saying, before shaking his head slightly. âSâfine, Star. I told youââ
âI know what you told me,â you interrupt, frowning at him. âBut you look just as wrecked as I feel, so stop being stubborn and come back there. Iâm not gonna bite.â
That earns you a faint snort, though his face is still guarded. âYou sure about this?â
âYeah.â You shrug, trying to play it cool even though your chest feels tight again. âItâs just one night. You donât have to sleep on that deathtrap.â
Chris hesitates, running a hand through his curls as he considers it. Finally, he sighs and swings his legs off the couch, standing up and grabbing his blanket. âSeparate blankets,â he mutters, his voice dry but not unkind.
âObviously,â you shoot back, rolling your eyes as you head back toward the room.
Chris follows, his footsteps quiet behind you. The bed feels smaller when you climb back in, scooting to one side as he drops his blanket on the other. He doesnât say anything as he settles in, lying stiffly on his back with his own blanket pulled up to his chest.
The silence stretches out again, but this time it feels heavier, more aware of itself. You stare at the ceiling, your heartbeat a little too loud in your ears.
âThanks,â you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.
Chris doesnât look at you, but his voice is low and steady when he replies. âYeah. Go to sleep, Star.â
You close your eyes, the faint sound of his breathing filling the room. And somehow, with him there, the weight on your chest feels just a little bit lighter.
The room is quiet except for the faint creak of the trailer settling and the steady rhythm of Chrisâs breathing. You lie on your side, facing away from him, staring at the faint outlines of the dresser in the dark. The guilt and awkwardness of earlier fade slowly, replaced by the steady calm of his presence just a foot away. His breathing evens out after a while, the tension in his frame melting as sleep takes over. You hear him shift once, settling deeper into the mattress, his quiet exhale signaling that heâs finally out.
You donât know when your own eyes drift shut, but when they do, the room falls into a stillness that swallows you whole. The bed, the space, the faint hum of his existence next to youâit all pulls you under like a tide.
Chris stirs at first light, groggy and disoriented, the sharp pang of something warm and heavy on his chest dragging him out of sleep. He blinks, squinting against the pale light seeping through the blinds, his mind sluggish as he tries to figure out whatâs wrong. It takes a second for him to register itâwhy his left arm feels pinned, why the blanket he remembers pulling over himself is now somewhere at the foot of the bed.
And then he sees her.
Star.
Sheâs not in her designated zone. Not even close. Her head rests against his chest, her face relaxed, lips slightly parted as soft snores escape her. One of her arms is draped lazily across his stomach, and her legâbarely covered by her own blanketâhas somehow tangled with his.
Chris freezes, his breath catching in his throat as he stares down at her. His mind races in a million directions, but none of them seem to help the situation. She looks so⊠soft. Completely out of place from the sharp, sarcastic edges she normally carries like armor. Her messy hair is splayed across his shirt, a few strands tickling his chin, and her face is tilted just enough that he can see the faint rise and fall of her chest, the slow rhythm of her breathing.
âShit,â he mutters under his breath, careful not to move too much.
Heâs not sure how this happenedâhow she ended up here, draped over him like itâs the most natural thing in the world. Part of him wants to wake her up, to shift her back to her side of the bed before she realizes what sheâs done. But another partâthe part heâs trying hard to ignoreâcanât bring himself to disturb her. She looks⊠peaceful. More peaceful than heâs ever seen her.
Chris glances toward the door, half-hoping for some kind of escape route, but thereâs no way out of this without waking her. He sighs quietly, his chest rising under her weight, and lets his head fall back against the pillow.
The warmth of her against him is distractingâtoo distracting. He feels her breath ghost over his collarbone, soft and steady, and it makes his throat tighten. Her hand shifts slightly, her fingers twitching against his side, and he has to clench his jaw to keep himself still.
This is fine, he tells himself, though the heat creeping up his neck says otherwise. Sheâs asleep. She doesnât know.
He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to will himself back to calm, but itâs impossible. Every breath she takes, every slight movement, pulls his focus right back to her.
Finally, he mutters under his breath again, quieter this time. âShit.â
Chris leans his head back against the pillow, his body still stiff beneath her weight. He doesnât move, just lets his tired gaze drift down to her face. Thereâs something almost strange about seeing her like thisâso quiet, so still, so⊠unguarded. Itâs a far cry from the sharp edges and quick comebacks heâs come to expect.
His eyes linger on her lips, parted just enough for her soft, even breaths to brush against his chest. Thatâs when he notices themâtwo new piercings he definitely didnât see last night. A small hoop glinting faintly from just under the curve of her upper lip, tucked near the corner of her mouth. And below that, in the center of her bottom lip, another piercingâvertical, the shiny ends of a barbell catching the early light filtering through the blinds.
Chris furrows his brow slightly, the sluggish haze of sleep keeping his thoughts slow. He wonders when she had the timeâor the nerveâto get them done. He thinks about her rambling about something ridiculous like piercing her own face and winces faintly at the possibility that she actually did.
He doesnât even realize heâs been staring until his own exhaustion starts to creep back in, the steady warmth of her body pulling him under. He blinks once, then twice, his lids growing heavier with each passing second. The last thing he registers before sleep claims him is the quiet sound of her breathing, the faint weight of her resting against him.
Chris isnât sure how long heâs out before the door bursts open with a bang, jolting him awake.
âChris! Waffles! I wantââ
Lilaâs voice cuts off sharply, replaced by an ear-piercing squeal that makes him wince. His eyes snap open, his mind catching up slower than his body as he registers the weight still pressed against himâand the very smug expression on Lilaâs face standing in the doorway.
âLila,â he groans, his voice rough with sleep, âwhat the hell?â
âChris!â she shrieks again, pointing dramatically at the bed. âWhat are you doing?â
Chris looks down to find Star still half-asleep on his chest, her head nestled there like she belongs. Her lips part slightly, a faint mumble slipping out as she stirs, her fingers twitching against his side. And just like that, the heat that had started creeping up his neck earlier comes rushing back in full force.
âLila, get out!â he snaps, his voice louder now as he tries to sit up, but Star shifts against him, groaning softly as her eyes flutter open.
She blinks blearily, her face inches from his chest, before realization sets in. Her head jerks up, her eyes wide as she scrambles back to her side of the bed, yanking her blanket around her like a shield. âWhat theâChris?â
âIt wasnât me!â Chris blurts, his voice defensive as he throws his hands up. âYou wereâyou justââ
Lila is practically bouncing on her toes now, her squeals turning into giggles as she clutches Bunny to her chest. âYou two were cuddling!â
âWe were not,â Chris says firmly, glaring at her as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. âGo wait in the kitchen, Lila.â
âBut you were sleeping together!â she insists, her giggles growing louder.
Star groans, burying her face in her hands. âOh my God.â
Chris pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. âI swear to God, Lila, if you donâtââ
âWaffles!â Lila announces, spinning on her heel and darting out of the room, her laughter echoing down the hall.
Chris exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping as the room falls silent again. He glances over at Star, whoâs still wrapped tightly in her blanket, her face buried in her hands. Her hairâs a mess, sticking up at odd angles, and thereâs a red crease on her cheek from the pillowâor, more likely, his chest.
âYou good?â he asks after a beat, his voice low and gruff.
Star groans into her hands. âAbsolutely not.â
He huffs out a dry laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. âCouldâve been worse.â
She finally peeks out from behind her hands, glaring at him. âWorse than your little sister catching us in the worldâs most awkward position and making it sound ten times worse? Sure. Let me know when that happens.â
Chris smirks faintly, leaning back against the edge of the dresser. âSheâs six. Sheâll forget about it by lunchtime.â
âYou sure about that?â Star mutters, pulling the blanket tighter around herself like itâll somehow shield her from the sheer embarrassment radiating through her body.
âNot even a little,â he admits, shrugging. âBut itâs not like sheâs gonna tell anyone. Whatâs she gonna do, run to the neighbors?â
Star lets out a dry laugh, finally dropping her hands to her lap. âI donât even care about that. I justââ She cuts herself off, shaking her head. âForget it.â
Chris doesnât press, but his tired gaze lingers on her for a moment longer, studying the way her shoulders are still hunched under the blanket. âYou didnât do anything wrong, you know.â
She snorts softly, brushing her messy hair back from her face. âI think your sister would disagree.â
âLilaâs six,â he says again, pushing himself off the dresser. âShe also thinks Bunnyâs alive. Not exactly a credible source.â
That earns him the faintest smile, though she quickly hides it by ducking her head. He sighs, raking a hand through his curls as he nods toward the door.
âCome on,â he mutters. âYou might as well eat something before she makes this worse.â
Star looks up at him, her eyebrows raising. âSheâs gonna make it worse?â
âOh, I definitely lied,â Chris says, smirking faintly. âThisâll be all she talks about for days.â
She groans, throwing the blanket off and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. âGreat. Canât wait.â
Chris doesnât respond, just turns toward the door and heads into the hall. Star follows a second later, still trying to shake off the awkwardness of waking up where she definitely wasnât supposed to be.
When they reach the kitchen, Lilaâs already at the table, Bunny perched on the edge like heâs part of the conversation. She grins at them as they walk in, her greenish-brown eyes sparkling with barely-contained glee.
âYou guys were cuddling,â she announces again, just in case anyone forgot.
Chris groans, opening a cabinet to grab the waffle mix. âDrop it, Lila.â
âBut it was so cute,â she insists, swinging her legs under the table. âLike you were best friends or something.â
âDrop it,â he says again, though his voice lacks any real heat.
Star slides into the chair across from Lila, her face still warm but her smirk returning. âYouâre relentless, kid.â
Lila shrugs, flashing her a cheeky grin. âYouâre lucky I like you.â
Chris snorts as he measures the mix into a bowl. âDonât let it go to your head, Star.â
âToo late,â she fires back, and for the first time in a long time, the smile that spreads across her face feels easy.
Lila chatters away like a radio stuck on full volume, her words tumbling out so fast you can barely keep up. Sheâs already telling you about Bunnyâs âbig adventuresâ this weekâapparently, he had to âsave the dayâ when her friendâs toy broke at schoolâand you nod along, biting back a grin as she gestures wildly, her curls bouncing with every word.
Across the tiny kitchen, Chris stands at the counter, methodically sliding frozen Eggo waffles into the toaster. He doesnât say much, just glances over his shoulder every so often to make sure neither of you are about to set something on fire.
âStar,â Lila says suddenly, leaning forward and propping her chin on her hands. âDo you like waffles?â
âUh, yeah,â you reply, glancing at Chris. âWho doesnât?â
âRight?â Lila says, throwing her hands up like itâs a universal truth. âChris makes the best waffles.â
You snort softly, raising an eyebrow at him. âDoes he now?â
Chris rolls his eyes, pulling a plate from the cabinet. âTheyâre frozen, Star. Letâs not get crazy.â
âYeah, but you put the good stuff on them,â Lila insists, beaming as she watches him grab a jar of Nutella. âThatâs what makes them the best.â
Chris sighs but doesnât argue, twisting the jar open and slathering a thick layer of Nutella over the steaming waffles. He grabs a banana from the counter, slicing it with the precision of someone whoâs clearly done this routine a hundred times before. When heâs finished, he pours a cup of strawberry milk and sets everything on the table in front of Lila.
âHere,â he mutters, sliding the plate and cup over. âKnock yourself out.â
You watch, wide-eyed, as Lila digs in immediately, taking a huge bite and humming with exaggerated delight. Chris catches the look on your face and smirks faintly, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed.
âWhat?â he asks, feigning innocence.
âNutella? Bananas? Strawberry milk?â you say, motioning to Lilaâs plate like itâs some kind of luxury breakfast. âYouâre gonna have her bouncing off the walls.â
Chris shrugs, his smirk growing. âAlmond moms would probably kill me, but I donât have the energy to fight a six-year-old over food. Besides,â he adds, nodding toward Lila, âsheâd win.â
Lila grins, her cheeks already sticky with Nutella. âIâm unstoppable!â
You laugh, shaking your head as Chris grabs another pair of waffles from the toaster and slaps them onto a plate. This time, he doesnât bother with the toppings, just slides the plain ones across the table toward you.
âSorry,â he says, smirking as he sets a butter knife down beside you. âYou donât rate the deluxe version.â
âGee, thanks,â you reply, but your smile lingers as you pick up the knife and start spreading butter over the still-warm waffles.
Lila kicks her feet happily under the table, pausing only to take a long sip of her strawberry milk before launching into another storyâthis one about a school art project Chris apparently helped her with. You glance at him, raising an eyebrow, and he just shrugs, his tired eyes softening slightly as he watches her ramble.
Itâs loud and chaotic, but as you sit there, listening to Lilaâs endless chatter and the faint clatter of Chris cleaning up at the counter, you realize it doesnât feel overwhelming. It feels warm. Familiar. Like maybe this is what mornings are supposed to be.
Lila clings to your arm like sheâs physically trying to anchor you to the trailer. Her curls are wild from the morningâs chaos, and thereâs still a faint smudge of Nutella at the corner of her mouth as she pouts up at you.
âDonât go!â she whines, her voice teetering on the edge of dramatic. âYou just got here!â
âIâve been here all night, kid,â you say with a small laugh, gently prying her fingers off your sleeve. âIâve gotta go. Iâve got plans.â
âBut Bunny likes you!â she insists, holding up her stuffed rabbit like itâs a compelling argument. âHe says you should stay.â
Chris, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, rolls his eyes. âBunny doesnât pay rent, Lila. He doesnât get a vote.â
Lila glares at him but turns back to you, her greenish-brown eyes wide with determination. âStay for just a little longer? Please?â
You crouch down to her level, your hands resting lightly on her shoulders. âI wish I could, but my friend Madisonâs waiting for me. I promised her.â
Lilaâs pout deepens, and for a second, you think she might actually cry. Chris clears his throat from behind her, his tone dry but not unkind. âStarâs gotta go, Lila. Youâll see her again.â
âYou promise?â she asks, turning to look at him, her voice suddenly softer.
Chrisâs gaze flicks to you briefly before nodding. âYeah. Sheâll come back.â
You stand, glancing at him, and thereâs something unspoken in the way he meets your eyes. He doesnât say it, but you can tell he means itâthat he expects you to follow through.
âOf course I will,â you say, ruffling Lilaâs curls. âWho else is gonna hear about Bunnyâs next big adventure?â
That earns you a small, reluctant smile from Lila, though she still looks a little heartbroken. âOkay,â she mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper.
Chris straightens up from the doorframe, opening the door and nodding toward the gravel outside. âIâll walk you out.â
You grab your jacket from the back of the couch and follow him, Lila trailing behind until Chris gives her a look that sends her back inside with one last wistful wave. The morning sun is brighter now, cutting through the cool air as you step onto the porch.
Chris steps down after you, his hands shoved into his pockets. âSheâs dramatic, in case you didnât notice.â
âSheâs sweet,â you counter, glancing back at the trailer. âYouâre lucky to have her.â
His jaw tenses slightly, but he nods, his gaze dropping to the ground. âYeah. I know.â
For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the sound of the gravel crunching faintly under your boots as you shift your weight. Finally, you glance at him, tilting your head slightly.
âYouâre not gonna get all sappy, are you?â you tease, trying to lighten the mood.
Chris smirks faintly, his tired eyes narrowing slightly. âNot a chance.â
You grin, pulling your jacket tighter around you as you take a step toward the road. âSee you around, Chris.â
He nods, leaning back against the porch railing. âYeah. Take it easy.â
As you walk away, you can still feel his gaze lingering on your back. And even though the morning feels a little too bright, a little too sharp, you find yourself smiling as you head toward Madisonâs.
AUTHORS NOTE: can you tell i have some time on my hands todayâŠ
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SKETCHES & SPACE
CONTENTS:ă»BLURB plot with tension ă»artist!chris ă»star!readeră»marijuana usageă»slight fluff WC: 3.8k
You didn't plan on ending your night sitting cross-legged on Chris's bed, the hum of the air conditioner mixing with the low music playing from his speaker. The trailer was unusually still-Lila was at a friend's house, and Chris's mom was at the hospital for overnight tests. For once, the place didn't carry its usual noise or chaos, and you weren't sure if that made it better or worse.
Chris hadn't invited you over, but he hadn't complained when you barged in earlier, tossing your bag onto the couch and wandering straight to his room like you lived there. Now, the two of you sat in companionable silence, passing a joint back and forth, the smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling.
The quiet was almost comfortable, but the haze in your head made everything feel slightly heavier. You were mid-exhale when Chris, sitting at the edge of the bed, broke the silence.
âTake your shorts off,â he said flatly, as though he were asking you to hand him the remote.
You choked on the smoke, coughing violently as your brain scrambled to process what heâd just said. âExcuse me?â you croaked, your voice higher than youâd like.
He glanced over his shoulder at you, completely unfazed. âYour shorts? Take them off.â
Your heart slammed against your ribs, and you stared at him, trying to decide if you were having some kind of THC-induced hallucination. ââŠwhy?â you managed, feeling your face heat.
Chris let out an annoyed sigh, turning fully to face you now. â star just do it.â
âYou canât just command me to do things idiot,â you muttered, but still you hesitantly stood up, your hands fumbling with the waistband of your shorts. Your mind raced with every possible explanation for what was happening, none of them making you feel any less like you were about to pass out.
Once youâd awkwardly stepped out of your shorts, Chris grabbed a Sharpie from the cluttered table beside his bed and motioned for you to sit back down. You did, stiffly, crossing your arms over your knees.
âWhat are you doing?â you asked, your voice sharp with suspicion.
âHold still,â he muttered, leaning down and gripping your thigh to steady it. The Sharpieâs tip touched your skin, and you froze, realization dawning.
âYouâre drawing on me?â
âYeah,â he said bluntly, not looking up. âWhat did you think I was doing?â
You didnât answer, too busy dying inside. Your heart was still racing, but now it was out of sheer embarrassment.
Chris smirked faintly, clearly catching on but mercifully not saying anything about it. He focused on the lines he was sketching, his hand steady as the dragon took shape across your thigh. The black ink stood out starkly against your skin, the design intricate and fluid.
You glanced down, watching as his hand moved, his fingers brushing against your leg every now and then. âYou didnât even ask,â you said, trying to sound annoyed but failing.
âYou didnât exactly stop me,â he shot back, his tone dry.
You huffed but stayed still, your nerves slowly replaced by a strange, quiet tension. The Sharpie glided over your skin, his grip firm but not rough. The way he was focusedâso deliberate, so preciseâmade the air between you feel heavier somehow.
Minutes passed in silence, the music continuing to play softly in the background. Chris leaned back to inspect his work, his fingers lingering on your thigh for just a second longer than necessary.
âNot bad?â he questioned, finally meeting your eyes.
You glanced down at the dragon etched across your skin, the lines intricate and wild. âWell You missed a spot,â you said, pointing at the tail.
Chris rolled his eyes, leaning forward again. âIf youâre seriously gonna criticize, do it after Iâm finished.â His voice was sharp, but the corners of his mouth twitched, and you swore you saw the faintest hint of a smile.
As Chris continued to add the smoke curling from the dragon's mouth, the Sharpie gliding across the back of your thigh, you shifted slightly, trying to stretch your leg. The movement caused his hand to slip, the line wavering.
"Stop moving," he muttered, his tone annoyed but calm.
"I'm not moving," you shot back, though you absolutely were. Sitting still this long was starting to make your muscles ache, and the growing awareness of his hand so close to you wasn't helping.
"You are," Chris said sharply, lifting the pen to fix the line. "If you don't stay still, this is gonna look like shit."
You huffed, trying to lock your leg into place, but after another minute, you shifted again, this time without meaning to.
Chris cursed under his breath, setting the Sharpie down on the bed. "Alright, always sâfuckin difficult," he said bluntly, his hands gripping your hips before you could react.
"Wait-what are you-"
Before you could finish your protest, he pulled you into his lap, settling you sideways across his legs. The suddenness of the movement left you stunned, your heart thudding in your chest.
"Stay still," he said firmly, adjusting you so your thigh was in the perfect position for him to finish the design. His voice was steady, almost cold, but there was an edge to it that sent heat rushing to your face.
You opened your mouth to argue, but his hand was already back on your leg, holding it steady as the Sharpie resumed its path. His grip was firm, his fingers digging just enough into your skin to keep you from moving again.
"Comfortable?" you asked dryly, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
"Very," he muttered, not looking up.
The air felt heavier now, and you were acutely aware of how close you were-your knee brushing his side, his arm nearly circling your waist as he leaned in to add the final details.You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes on the wall as the minutes dragged on.
Every now and then, his thumb would brush against your skin as he adjusted his hold, each touch sending a jolt of something through you that you refused to acknowledge. The Sharpie scratched softly against your thigh, the design coming to life under his hand.
"Is this better?" you asked, your voice quieter than you'd intended.
Chris didn't answer immediately. He sat back slightly, inspecting his work, his hand still resting on your leg. "Yeah," he said finally, his voice low. "Much better."
You tried to ignore the heat spreading across your face as he leaned closer again, adding the last curl of smoke to the design. The silence between you was thick, the music in the background barely registering over the sound of your heartbeat.
"Seriously, donât move on this part," he said again, his voice softer now but still carrying that edge.
As if you could.
The air crackled with tension the longer you found yourself sitting on Chris's lap, your heart hammering in your chest as he continued to draw on your thigh. It was an inexplicably intimate moment, one that had you biting your lip to keep from making a sound.
"Are you almost done?" you managed to mutter, your throat dry.
Chris didn't look up, his focus still on the design he was creating. "Almost."
His hand slid further up your thigh, his callused fingers brushing against your skin, and you shivered involuntarily. You felt exposed, sitting on his lap like this, the silence between you filled with a strange, electric energy.
Without warning, Chris's hand shifted, the pad of his thumb pressing against a particularly sensitive spot on your inner thigh. You let out a small gasp, your body tensing as the sensation shot through you. Chris paused for a split second, his thumb still pressed against your skin.
"Sorry," he muttered, his voice low. Though he didn't move his hand back, and something told you that he wasn't sorry at all. You could feel his breath against your skin, his proximity making your head spin.
The tension between you was unbearable now, the silence heavy with something unspoken. Your body was on fire, your mind racing with possibilities that you were too afraid to acknowledge. And through it all, Chris continued to draw, the sharpie rubbing against your skin, his hand holding you in place with an almost possessiveness.
Chris's hand hadn't moved from your thigh, and you were suddenly very conscious of the fact that you were still sitting on his lap. The heat of his body radiated through you, adding to the already heady mix of emotions swirling within you, and you were acutely aware of every point where he was touching youâhis hand on your leg, his arm around your waist, his breath warm against your neck.
The moment stretched on, the charged air around you refusing to dissipate. You couldn't bring yourself to move, your heart thudding so loudly you were sure Chris could hear it. Your mind was a whirl of confusion and desire, your body screaming for you to do something, anything, to break the tension. Chris set the Sharpie down on the bed and leaned back, his hand still resting on your thigh as he inspected his work. âThere,â he said finally, his voice steady but quieter than usual. âAll done.â
You glanced down at the dragon now coiled across your skin, its tail curling around your thigh in intricate, fluid lines. The detail was incredibleâtoo good for something drawn with a Sharpie on a whim.
âYeah, not bad,â you said, trying to sound casual despite the faint heat rising to your face.
Chris didnât respond right away, his eyes lingering on the design before his gaze flicked up, and he seemed to realize the position the two of you were in. His body stiffened slightly, his jaw tightening as the weight of the moment hung between you.
Without a word, he shifted his grip on your leg, carefully moving it aside as he nudged you off his lap. The abruptness of it made you feel unsteady for a second, but you didnât say anything, your own thoughts spiraling too fast to form words.
Chris stood quickly, running a hand through his hair as he avoided looking at you. âbe right back,â he muttered, his voice lower than usual.
Before you could respond, he crossed the room and grabbed his sketchpad from the cluttered desk near the window. His movements were quick, almost hurried, like he needed somethingâanythingâto focus on other than what had just happened.
You stayed where you were, still sitting on the bed with your legs crossed, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of the dragon. The air in the room felt heavier now, the faint hum of the air conditioner and music filling the silence like static.
Chris flipped open the sketchpad and sat down at the desk, his back to you. He picked up a pencil and started sketching, his hand moving rapidly across the page as though it would help drown out whatever had just passed between you.
You didnât bring it up. Maybe it was the haze in your head, or maybe it was the fact that your own heart was still racing in a way you didnât quite understand. Either way, you stayed quiet, glancing at the dragon one more time before leaning back against the pillows, letting the music and hum of the trailer fill the space between you. You leaned back on Chrisâs bed, still tracing the edges of the dragon on your thigh, the quiet of the trailer settling over you again. Your fingers brushed absently over the lines as your thoughts wandered, and before you knew it, you were speaking without really thinking.
âYou ever wonder what itâs like to be out there?â you asked, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.
Chris glanced up briefly from his sketchpad, his pencil pausing mid-line. âOut where?â
âSpace,â you said, gesturing vaguely toward the ceiling as though it were a window to the stars. âLike, just floating out there with no noise, no gravity, no bullshit. Just⊠nothing.â
He went back to his sketch, the faint scratch of pencil on paper filling the gap before he responded. âSounds peaceful.â
âItâs not, though,â you continued, your fingers still idly brushing over the dragon. âItâs terrifying. Like, youâre literally one wrong move away from being sucked into a vacuum where no one can hear you scream.â
Chrisâs lips quirked, a soft huff of amusement escaping him. âVery optimistic of you.â
You tilted your head to look at him, watching the way his brow furrowed slightly as he worked on whatever he was sketching. âBut itâs kind of beautiful too, you know? Like, everything out there is just⊠endless. Infinite. No rules, no boundaries, no limits. Itâs pure chaos, but it works somehow.â
Chris didnât look up this time, but his voice was soft. âSounds like you.â
You blinked, caught off guard. âWhat?â
âChaos that works,â he said simply, not elaborating as his pencil scratched another line.
Your face warmed slightly, and you turned your gaze back to the ceiling, pretending to ignore the way your chest tightened at his words. âWell, Iâm not infinite,â you muttered.
âThank God,â Chris murmured, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his mouth.
You huffed a giggle, shaking your head. âAsshole.â
His response was a noncommittal grunt, but the way he angled his head slightly toward you let you know he was still listening.
âYou know,â you said after a beat, âthereâs this theory that the universe is expanding faster than we thought. Like, galaxies are speeding away from each other, getting farther and farther apart. Itâs wild.â
Chrisâs pencil paused for a fraction of a second before continuing. âWhyâs that wild?â
âBecause itâs like everythingâs trying to escape everything else,â you said, your voice quieter now. âBut at the same time, itâs all connected, you know? Like, even the emptiest parts of space are still full of something. Energy, dark matter, whatever.â
âSounds crowded,â Chris said, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he kept his eyes on the page.
You smiled faintly, your gaze still on the ceiling. âIt is. But itâs also lonely.â
The pencil stopped, and you heard Chris shift slightly in his chair. âThat make you nervous?â he asked, his voice quieter than before.
You shrugged, playing with the edge of the blanket. âNot really. I think itâs kind of nice. Like, even when youâre out there, completely alone, youâre still part of something bigger.â
The room fell silent again, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the faint scratch of his pencil. His questions were small, almost offhand, but they kept coming, pulling more of your thoughts from you as he sketched in that quiet, unhurried way of his.
âYou talk about space like youâve been there,â he said after a while, his tone light.
âMaybe I have,â you shot back, smirking slightly.
Chris shook his head, his smirk faint but visible as he glanced at you briefly. âYouâre ridiculous.â
âAnd youâre boring,â you countered, grinning as you stretched out on the bed.
âBetter than being sucked into a vacuum,â he muttered, going back to his sketching.
And just like that, the quiet settled again, the conversation ebbing and flowing in a way that felt easy, even as something heavier lingered. The two of you sat side by side on Chrisâs bed, the air conditioning humming softly, the smell of smoke lingering faintly from earlier. He was leaned back against the headboard, sketchbook balanced on his knee, pencil moving quietly as he worked on something. You were scrolling absentmindedly through your phone, occasionally glancing at the Sharpie dragon on your thigh.
Neither of you spoke much, but the silence wasnât uncomfortable. It was just⊠there. Like the kind of quiet that exists when two people have been around each other long enough to not need to fill the space with words.
Chris shifted suddenly, setting his pencil down on the edge of the sketchbook. âBe right back, againâ he muttered, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up.
âDonât have to announce your departure every time,â you replied, not looking up as he disappeared down the narrow hallway.
The creak of the bathroom door shutting made you glance up, your gaze landing on his sketchbook left open on the bed. You hesitated for a second before curiosity got the better of you.
Sliding the book toward you, you tilted it slightly to get a better look. The first sketch was striking: a tall, shadowy church with jagged spires, the lines rough but deliberate. You stared at it for a moment, recognizing the eeriness in the way heâd drawn it, almost like it was crumbling but still standing tall.
Flipping the page, you found a sketch of Lila. The detail was softer, more carefulâher small face framed by loose curls, her grin wide and toothy like sheâd just said something she thought was the funniest thing in the world. You could practically hear her giggling through the lines.
The next page stopped you in your tracks. It was a statue, wings spread wide, its face serene but haunting. You squinted at it, certain youâd seen it somewhere beforeâprobably in Pine Viewâs graveyard. Chris had captured every detail: the folds of the fabric, the slight tilt of the head, the rosary dangling from its hands. It looked like it could step right off the page.
And then you turned to the next sketch, the one he must have been working on just moments ago.
Your stomach flipped. It was you.
Or at least, it looked awfully like youâsame slouched position, same lazy grip on your phone, even the crumpled hem of your shirt sitting exactly the way it did now. Heâd even drawn the faint lines of the Sharpie dragon on your thigh.
You stared at it, your chest tightening. The detail was striking, but what got to you was the way heâd drawn it: with an intimacy that felt too precise to be accidental. There was something about the tilt of your head, the way your posture looked so familiar but also so studied.
The sound of the bathroom door opening snapped you out of it. You scrambled to set the sketchbook back down where heâd left it, flipping the cover closed just as Chris walked back into the room.
He glanced at you briefly as he crossed the small space to the bed. âYou good?â he asked, his tone casual but with the faintest trace of suspicion.
âYeah,â you said quickly, tucking your phone into your pocket and leaning back like nothing had happened.
Chris sat back down, picking up his sketchbook without a word. He didnât open it, though, just held it in his lap as he looked at you. His brow furrowed slightly, like he was about to say something, but instead, he leaned back and grabbed his pencil.
You stayed quiet, pretending not to notice the way your pulse was still racing. The air in the room felt heavier now, though you couldnât tell if that was just your imagination. If Chris suspected anything, he didnât show it, his pencil scratching softly against the paper again as if nothing had happened. You shifted slightly, leaning back against the headboard, feigning a casualness you didnât feel. Your fingers picked idly at a loose thread on your shorts, your gaze fixed on the faint glow of the bedside lamp. But your mind kept drifting back to the sketchâthe way heâd captured you so effortlessly, like heâd been watching longer than you realized.
Chris was quiet as he worked, the faint scratching of his pencil filling the space between you. You wanted to say something, anything, to cut through the strange weight that had settled in the room, but nothing came to mind.
âWhy are you so quiet all of a sudden?â he asked, not looking up. His voice was even, but there was a faint edge of curiosity, like he already suspected the answer.
âMâjust thinking,â you said, a little too quickly.
Chris hummed, the kind of noncommittal sound he made when he wasnât entirely convinced. â âbout what?â
You shrugged, your eyes flicking toward the dragon still etched on your thigh. âI donât know. Space stuff.â
That earned a faint smirk from him, though his pencil didnât stop moving. âYouâre always thinking about space stuff.â
âItâs better than thinking about⊠other stuff,â you muttered, your voice trailing off.
Chris finally looked up at that, his dark eyes studying you for a moment. The silence stretched again, heavier this time, before he went back to his sketch.
âI saw the one of Lila,â you blurted out before you could stop yourself.
Chris paused mid-line, his hand stilling as his gaze flicked toward you again. âWhat?â
You gestured toward his sketchbook, trying to keep your tone casual. âWhen you went to the bathroom. I peeked. Thereâs one of Lila. Itâs⊠really good.â
His expression softened slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned back against the wall. âYeah. She sat still for like five minutes, which is a miracle.â
You smiled faintly, relieved that he didnât seem upset. âThe one of the statue⊠is that from Pine Viewâs graveyard?â
Chris nodded, his pencil tapping lightly against the edge of the sketchbook. âYeah. I go there sometimes to sketch. Itâs quiet.â
âFigures,â you said, shaking your head. âYouâre the only person I know whoâd find a graveyard relaxing.â
He rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching. âI was gone for like three minutes max, kid, why you writinâ a biography of me.â
You snorted softly, but your mind was still stuck on the last sketch. The one of you. You wanted to ask about it, to call him out, but the words felt too big, too risky. Instead, you reached for the joint still sitting in the ashtray on the nightstand, lighting it and taking a slow drag.
Chris didnât say anything as you passed it to him, his fingers brushing yours briefly before he took it. The air was thick with unspoken words, but Chris wasnât stupid. Heâd noticed the way you avoided looking at him when he came back into the room, how your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your shorts like you were trying to distract yourself. He knew youâd seen the drawingâhe could tell by the way your voice had faltered when you brought up Lilaâs sketch, as if you were testing the waters. But when you didnât mention it, when you chose not to talk about anything else instead, he felt a strange sense of relief. He wasnât sure what he wouldâve said if youâd brought it up, wasnât ready to explain why heâd felt compelled to draw you the way he had. So instead, he let the silence stretch between you, grateful that, for once, neither of you pushed too hard.
authors note: for all my priest!matthew babies, promise ur getting fed soon! iâm binge watching euphoria and i still canât help but need nate, elliot and fez in a way detrimental to feminism :,p
TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams
#âdarksturnz#đ .âźstar!reader.áê±#đ .âźartist!chris.áê±#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader
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BETWEEN THE CRACKS
CONTENTS:ă»teeth rotting fluff-heavy plot (again..) ă»star!reader ă»mild language ă»mentions of death/hospitalsă»artist!chris ă»mild language + more WC: 3.6k masterlist: here
slightly a part two to this, and once again, highly recommend you listen to this on repeat as thatâs what i did.
The first rays of sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, painting faint streaks of gold across the small, cluttered room. Star stirred, her body caught between the pull of sleep and the growing awareness of something unfamiliar. Warmth.
Her eyes fluttered open, her breath catching as she realized she wasnât alone. Chrisâs arm was slung loosely around her waist, his hand resting on the fabric of her shirt like a promise he hadnât meant to make. His face was inches from hers, his expression uncharacteristically peaceful in sleep, the usual tension smoothed from his features.
For a moment, she froze, her heart pounding in her chest. Sheâd spent years perfecting the art of keeping people at armâs length, of never letting anyone close enough to see the cracks beneath the surfaceâ besides madison of course. And yet, here she was, tangled up with Chris Sturniolo of all peopleâthe guarded, gruff boy who never smiled, never laughed, and yet somehow felt safer than anyone sheâd ever known.
Her gaze flicked over his face, taking in the faint scar along his jawline, the way his dark lashes rested against his cheekbones. He looked softer like this. Human, even. It was a stark contrast to the sharp edges he usually wore like armor.
She swallowed hard, unsure of what to do. The rational part of her wanted to slip away, to put distance between them before he woke and they had to confront whatever this was. But the softer, quieter part of herâthe part she tried so hard to ignoreâdidnât want to move.
Her hand rested against his chest, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. It was grounding, in a way, and terrifying all at once.
Chris shifted slightly in his sleep, his arm tightening around her for just a moment before his eyes opened.
Star froze again, her breath hitching as his gaze met hers. For a split second, there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a glimpse of something raw and unguarded. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a sort of quiet confusion.
âMorning,â he muttered, his voice rough and low from sleep.
Star blinked, the sound of his voice snapping her out of whatever trance sheâd been in. âMorning,â she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Neither of them moved. The silence between them felt heavy, but not uncomfortableâmore like the weight of something unspoken, something fragile.
Chris glanced down at her hand still resting against his chest, his brows furrowing slightly. A faint, almost self-deprecating smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. âDidnât mean to, uh, hold you captive,â he said, his voice gruff but tinged with awkward humor.
Star felt her cheeks flush, but she didnât pull away. A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. âYou didnât,â she murmured, her voice quieter than she meant it to be. âI didnât mind.â
That quiet admission settled between them like a secret, one neither of them was ready to unpack.
Chris finally shifted, breaking the silence but not the closeness entirely. âmâgonna make coffee,â he muttered, his voice softer now, as if the moment had chipped away some of his usual defenses.
Star stayed where she was, staring up at the ceiling as the sound of his footsteps retreated into the kitchen. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts swirling with feelings she wasnât ready to name.
This was dangerous. She knew that. Letting someone in, even a little, was a risk she couldnât afford to take. And yet, as she traced her fingers over the wrinkle in the sheet where Chris had been, she couldnât help but feel the faintest flicker of something that felt an awful lot like hope.
The coffee maker sputtered weakly, its rhythmic bubbling filling the small trailer as Chris leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the chipped mug in his hand. He wasnât sure why heâd said what he had back in the room. Didnât mean to hold you captive. It wasnât like him to really jokeâat least not in a situation like that.
But Star did something to him. Slowly, without permission, she had slipped past all the defenses heâd spent years building. He didnât know how to navigate it, the strange pull he felt toward her. It was terrifying. Maddening. But when he heard her footsteps padding softly into the kitchen, a part of himâthe part he didnât like to acknowledgeâfelt calmer.
Star lingered in the doorway, watching him. The faint smile sheâd worn earlier had faded, replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. âYou okay?â she asked, her voice soft.
Chris turned his head, meeting her eyes. There was a vulnerability in her question, like she wasnât just asking about him but testing the waters to see if it was okay for her to stay. He nodded once, setting the mug down. âYeah. You want some?â He gestured to the coffee maker.
She shook her head. âIâm good.â
The moment stretched between them, warm and unspoken. Chris cleared his throat, turning back to the counter. âLila should be up soon,â he said, his voice gruff again.
âRight,â Star murmured. She hesitated before stepping closer, leaning against the opposite side of the counter. âDo you think sheâll want pancakes?â
Chris raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. âShe always wants pancakes.â
Star chuckled softly, and the sound did something to himâsomething he didnât have words for.
Lila emerged a little while later, her brown curls a tangled mess and her eyes puffy with sleep. She dragged her blanket behind her like a cape, rubbing at her face as she padded into the kitchen.
âMorning, Bug,â Chris said, his tone softer now.
Lila mumbled something incomprehensible, then perked up when she saw Star standing by the stove. âStar!â she exclaimed, her voice brightening.
Star turned, crouching slightly to meet Lilaâs excited gaze. âMorning, Lil.â
Lila giggled, abandoning her blanket to run over and wrap her arms around Starâs legs. âAre you making pancakes?â
Chris smirked from his spot by the counter. âTold you.â
Star rolled her eyes at him before turning her attention back to Lila. âOnly if you promise to help me flip them.â
Lila gasped, nodding vigorously. âIâm the best flipper!â
Chris chuckled, the sound low and brief, but it made Starâs chest feel strangely warm. She caught his eye for a moment, and something passed between themâa silent acknowledgment of how natural this felt.
After breakfast, the three of them settled into their usual rhythm. Lila spent time coloring on the living room floor while Chris worked on a sketch at the small table near the window. Star watched them from her spot on the couch, feeling an odd sense of belonging she hadnât felt in years.
It was Lila who broke the comfortable silence. She climbed into Chrisâs lap, her coloring book in hand. âCan we go see Mommy today?â she asked softly, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
Chris set his pencil down, his expression softening. âYeah, Bug. We can go.â
Lila hesitated, twisting a curl around her finger. âCan Star come too?â
Chris blinked, caught off guard by the request. His eyes flicked to Star, who sat very still, her gaze carefully neutral. He hadnât expected Lila to ask, and he wasnât sure if Star would even want to go.
Star hesitated, her stomach twisting. The last time sheâd been in a hospital, her mother had died. Just the thought of stepping into those sterile halls again made her chest tighten.
But then Lila turned to her, her wide eyes filled with hope. âPlease, Star? Mommy would like you,â she said softly.
Chris didnât say anything, but he watched Star closely, his brow furrowed as if he was trying to figure her out.
Star exhaled shakily, forcing a small smile. âYeah,â she said finally. âIâll come.â
The hospital was as stark and sterile as Star had expected. Every step inside felt heavier than the last, memories pressing down on her chest like a weight she couldnât shake. She kept her gaze fixed on Lila, who walked ahead with her small hand clasped in Chrisâs.
When they reached Evelynâs room, Star hesitated just outside the door. She could hear the steady hum of machines, the faint murmur of voices, and her heart began to race.
âYou okay?â Chrisâs voice broke through her spiraling thoughts.
She glanced at him, nodding quickly. âYeah.â
Chris studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before pushing the door open.
Lila ran ahead, her voice bright. âMommy!â
The woman lying in the bed was pale and frail, her breathing shallow as she smiled weakly at her daughter. Star lingered by the door, unsure of where to stand or what to do.
âHi, sweet girl,â Evelyn murmured, her voice thin but warm.
Chris crossed the room to stand by her bedside, his hand resting lightly on Lilaâs shoulder. He glanced back at Star, his gaze expectant.
Star swallowed hard and stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. âHi,â she said softly, her voice trembling just enough for Chris to notice. âItâs nice to meet you.â
Evelynâs eyes flicked to Chris, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. âYou must be Star,â she said. âLila talks about you all the time.â
Star blinked, surprised. âShe does?â
Lila nodded enthusiastically. âUh-huh! I told Mommy how you make pancakes and how you help me with my drawings.â
Star felt her cheeks flush, but she smiled. âWell, youâre a pretty great artist, Lil.â
Evelyn chuckled softly, the sound weak but genuine. âYouâre very sweet,â she said, her eyes lingering on Star for a moment before shifting to Chris.
Chris stayed quiet, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, but his gaze was fixed on Star. He watched the way she interacted with his momâhow gentle and respectful she was, how she seemed to genuinely care. She didnât notice Chris watching her, but he couldnât look away. There was something about the way she fit into this moment, into his life, that scared him and comforted him all at once.
Star sat on the edge of the chair near Evelynâs bedside, her posture tentative but open. She folded her hands tightly in her lap, unsure if she should lean closer or stay where she was. The machines hooked up to Evelyn hummed softly in the background, their rhythmic beeping both comforting and unsettling.
Lila was perched at the foot of the hospital bed, her sketchbook open as she chattered away about her latest masterpiece. Star leaned in to admire it when Lila held it up, a messy swirl of crayons resembling what Lila insisted was a butterfly.
âItâs beautiful,â Star said softly, smiling at the little girl.
âItâs for Mommy,â Lila announced proudly.
Chris shifted by the wall, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. âYou better get it framed, Mom. Bugâs a professional now.â
Evelyn laughed quietly, her gaze flicking from Lila to Chris. âI might just do that,â she murmured. Her voice was tired, but there was something about the way she looked at her sonâpride mingled with sadness.
Star could feel itâthe heaviness in the air, the weight Chris carried every time he walked into this room. She glanced at him briefly, catching the way his jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he wanted to do more but couldnât.
After a while, Lila climbed into the chair on Starâs lap, distracted by her coloring book. Evelyn turned her attention to Star, her soft gaze curious but kind.
âSo, y/n,â Evelyn began, her voice gentle, âhow long have you been putting up with my son?â
Star blinked, caught off guard by the question. She glanced at Chris, who rolled his eyes but didnât protest.
âUm⊠a few months now,â Star replied, a small, nervous smile tugging at her lips. âHe doesnât make it too hard.â
Evelyn chuckled, though it quickly turned into a cough. Chris straightened, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer to the bed. âMom,â he said quietly, his voice edged with concern.
âIâm fine,â Evelyn assured him, waving a weak hand. She turned back to Star, her expression softening. âItâs good he has someone around. Lila talks about you like your family.â
Star froze, her chest tightening. Family. The word felt foreign, like something she couldnât quite hold onto. She forced a small laugh, brushing her hair behind her ear. âLilaâs easy to love,â she said, her voice quieter now.
Chris caught thatâthe slight tremor in her voice, the way her eyes shifted down to her hands. He didnât say anything, but he stayed close, his presence steady even if his words werenât.
As Star talked with Evelyn, Chris found himself studying her. She was nervousâhe could tell by the way her fingers twisted the hem of her hoodie, the way her shoulders tensed every time Evelyn asked her a question. But she didnât shy away.
She met his momâs gaze, listened intently, and responded with a quiet respect that wasnât forced. Chris wasnât used to that. Most people tiptoed around his mom, either out of pity or discomfort. But Star just⊠was.
And it was the way she was with Lila that got to him the most. She didnât treat her like a kid to be humored but like someone worth listening to, worth spending time with. It reminded him of how his mom used to be before the illness took so much from her.
That feeling in his gutâthe one that twisted and ached every time Star was aroundâwas back. He didnât know what to do with it, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, trying to look indifferent.
When it was time to leave, Evelyn hugged Lila as tightly as her strength would allow, kissing her forehead and whispering something that made Lila giggle. Chris bent down to press a quick kiss to his momâs cheek, murmuring something Star couldnât hear.
As they walked out of the room, Star lingered for a moment, glancing back at Evelyn. The older woman smiled at her, her gaze warm but knowing, as if she could see straight through Starâs guarded walls.
âYouâre good for them,â Evelyn said softly.
Star felt her cheeks flush. âTheyâre good for me,â she murmured with a soft smile before turning to follow Chris and Lila.
The walk back to the car was quiet. Lila held Chrisâs hand, skipping slightly as she hummed a tune Star didnât recognize. Chris opened the passenger door for Star without a word, his hand brushing hers briefly as she climbed in.
The car ride back was quieter than usual. Lila dozed off in the backseat, her head lolling against the window, her sketchbook clutched tightly in her lap.
Star stared out the window, her thoughts swirling. The hospital had stirred up memories she hadnât wanted to face, but it had also given her something unexpectedâconnection. She glanced at Chris, his profile sharp and focused as he drove.
âYour momâs really kind,â she said softly, breaking the silence.
Chrisâs grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, but his voice was even when he replied. âYeah. She is.â
Star hesitated, her fingers playing with the frayed hem of her jeans. âThanks for letting me come,â she said quietly.
Chris glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable. âShe liked you,â he said simply. âKinda knew she would.â
Starâs chest tightened at the admission. She wanted to say more, to ask what he meant, but the words wouldnât come. Instead, she rested her hand lightly on the console between them, her fingers brushing his briefly.
Chris didnât pull away.
The trailer was quiet when they got back. Chris carried Lila inside, her small body heavy with sleep as her head lolled against his shoulder. Star followed, closing the door softly behind her. The familiar warmth of the space wrapped around her, a stark contrast to the sterile chill of the hospital.
Chris gently laid Lila on her bed, brushing her curls back from her face. She stirred slightly, murmuring something incoherent before curling into the blankets. Star hovered near the door, unsure if she should help or stay out of the way, but Chris glanced back at her.
âCan you grab Bugâs stuffed bunny? sâover by the couch,â he said quietly.
Star nodded, moving to retrieve the well-loved bunny that Lila never slept without. When she handed it to Chris, their fingers brushed, and she caught the faintest flicker of a smile on his lips.
Chris tucked the bunny into Lilaâs arms and adjusted the blanket over her shoulders. âNight, Bug,â he murmured.
ââNight,â Lila mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
Star watched from the doorway, her heart twisting at the tenderness in Chrisâs actions. He moved so easily between his rough edges and these softer moments, and she felt a pang of something she couldnât quite name.
When Lila was settled, Chris turned off the light, leaving the door slightly ajar. He stepped into the hallway, his gaze meeting Starâs briefly before he nodded toward the porch.
âCâmon,â he said, his voice low.
The air outside was crisp but not cold, the faint scent of pine and earth lingering in the night. Star leaned against the wooden railing, her arms crossed over her chest as she looked out at the dark expanse beyond the trailer park.
Chris stood beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet settling around them like a blanket.
âYou okay?â he asked finally, his voice soft.
Star hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the railing. âYeah,â she said, though the word felt heavy in her mouth.
Chris didnât push, but his gaze lingered on her profile, studying the way her jaw tensed, the way her eyes stayed fixed on the horizon as if she was afraid to meet his.
After a long pause, Star exhaled shakily, the words falling from her mouth before she could stop them. âThe hospitalâŠâ she began, her voice barely above a whisper. âIt brought back some things.â
Chris stayed quiet, giving her the space to continue.
âMy mom died in a car accident,â Star said, her voice trembling slightly. âShe was trying to bring me an essay Iâd left at home. She knew how much it meant to me, and sheâŠâ Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in her eyes. âShe didnât make it to the school. A drunk driver hit her on the way.â
Chrisâs chest tightened. He hadnât expected thisâhadnât realized the weight she was carrying every time she stepped into his home, into his life.
âI havenât been back to a hospital since,â Star admitted, her voice quieter now. âI couldnât. Until today.â
Chrisâs hand twitched at his side, and before he could think better of it, he reached out, his fingers brushing hers. âI didnât know,â he said softly.
She looked down at their hands, her lips pressing into a faint, sad smile. âItâs not something I talk about, I hear about it enough from my dadâ she murmured. âBut⊠being here, with you and Lilaâitâs different. Your place feels safe. And I donât have a lot of that in my life.â
Chrisâs throat felt tight. He wasnât good at thisâat knowing the right things to say. But he couldnât ignore the pull in his chest, the way her words settled deep inside him.
âYouâre always welcome here,â he said quietly.
Star turned to face him fully, her eyes searching his. The vulnerability in her gaze made his heart ache.
âChrisâŠâ she began, her voice barely above a whisper. âI donât know what Iâd do without this. Without Lila. Without you.â
His breath caught, and for a moment, he didnât move. But then, before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped closer, his hand brushing against her cheek.
ây/n,â he murmured, his voice rough but gentle. âIf I kissed you right now, would you stop me?â
Her lips parted slightly, her breath hitching. For a moment, she didnât answer, the weight of the question settling between them. Then, she shook her head, her voice soft but steady.
âIâd really, really like it if you kissed me.â
Chrisâs chest tightened, and he didnât hesitate this time. He closed the small distance between them, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was as much a confession as it was a promise.
Starâs hands found their way to his chest, gripping his shirt lightly as she leaned into him. The kiss was slow, tentative at first, but it deepened as the weight of their unspoken feelings spilled over.
When they finally broke apart, Chris rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin.
âYou scare the hell out of me,â he admitted quietly.
Star laughed softly, her hands still pressed against his chest. âYouâre not exactly the safest thing either.â
Chrisâs lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, and for once, he didnât try to hide it.
âYou should stay,â he said softly. It wasnât a question.
Star nodded, her voice barely audible. âOkay.â
Chris exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he stepped back, holding the door open for her.
Star followed him inside, her heart still racing.
Maybe this was dangerous. Maybe it would hurt later.
But for now, it felt safe.
AUTHORS NOTE: the âiâd really really like it if you kissed meâ line was sooo ib something @bernardsbendystraws responded to an ask to. i seen it on my feed and it literally screamed star & chris idk! anywho they kissed, fr this time and this has opened so many doors to potential blurbs, youâre getting fed.
TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @coquettechris
#âdarksturnz#đ .âźstar!reader.áê±#đ .âźartist!chris.áê±#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo drabble#chris sturniolo blurb#christopher sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo angst#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#Spotify
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HELPING HANDS . . . ?
CONTENTS:ă»smut-heavy plot ă»star!reader ă»artist!chris ă»semi-public handjob..ă»substance use ă»pet names used (baby a few times, kid like once) + more WC: 3.7k masterlist: here
the song for this is champagne coast by blood orange. it wonât let me link it. + this was rewritten like six times bare w me.
The night in Pine View was quiet, blanketed in a stillness that made the small town feel even smaller. The kind of night where the streetlights flickered faintly and the air carried the faint scent of distant woodsmoke. The trailer park sat on the edge of it all, surrounded by thick trees that swayed gently in the cool breeze. Somewhere far off, a dog barked, its sound lost to the crickets and the occasional hum of a passing car on the main road.
Chris leaned against the hood of his car, one foot propped up, a cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers. Star stood a few feet away, her arms crossed, her converse scuffing the gravel beneath her. She was watching the horizon, where the faint glow of the neighboring townâs lights blurred into the inky darkness. The blunt between her fingers had burned down to almost nothing, the ember glowing faintly before she let it fall and snuffed it out with her toe.
âYou good?â Chris asked, his voice cutting through the quiet. It wasnât loud, just enough to draw her attention. She looked at him, and for a moment, he thought she might lie. But instead, she shrugged.
âI guess,â she muttered, shivering slightly. âItâs just⊠feels heavy tonight I dunno.â
Chris nodded, taking another drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground. He pushed off the car, closing the distance between them, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. âCome with me,â he said softly, his voice gentler than she expected.
She glanced up at him, her brows knitting together. âWhere?â
He smiled faintly, tilting his head toward the car. âJust a drive. Clear your head. Iâll drive slow. You can even pick the music.â
âChrisâŠâ she trailed off, her fingers twitching at her sides. âYâknow I hate cars.â
âI know,â he said quietly, stepping closer. His hand brushed against hers, and when she didnât pull away, he took it, his thumb tracing over her knuckles. âBut Iâd never let anything happen to you, Star. You know that, right?â
Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching in her throat. She wanted to argue, to tell him sheâd rather stay where it was safe, but something about the way he was looking at herâso soft, so patientâmade her resolve falter.
â mâkay,â she whispered finally, her voice barely audible. âBut if I freak outââ
âIâll pull over,â he promised, his hand squeezing hers. âIâll stop the second you want me to.â
She nodded, and he opened the passenger door for her, holding it until she climbed in. The Tempestâs interior was warm, the faint scent of leather and Chrisâs cologne filling the space as he slid into the driverâs seat. He turned the key, the engine rumbling to life, and reached over to rest his hand on her knee.
âYou sure youâre good?â he asked again, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her jeans.
She swallowed, nodding. âYeah. Iâm good.â
The car rolled out of the trailer park, the headlights cutting through the darkness as they hit the open road. Pine View at night was a mix of sprawling woods and quiet streets, the occasional porch light casting a faint glow against the shadows. The farther they drove, the more the town fell away, replaced by winding roads and tall trees that seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky.
Chris reached for the radio, turning the dial until a soft, crackling tune filled the car. Star relaxed slightly, her head leaning against the window as she watched the trees blur by. He kept his hand on her knee, his fingers tracing small circles absentmindedly, grounding her in a way she hadnât expected.
The rain started as a light drizzle, the drops tapping against the windshield like a faint rhythm. But it didnât stay light for long. Within minutes, the drizzle turned into a downpour, the kind of rain that swallowed the world whole, reducing everything beyond the headlights to a blurry mess. Star tensed, her breath hitching as the carâs tires hissed against the wet road.
âChris,â she said, her voice tight. âI donât like this.â
âI know, baby,â he murmured, his hand leaving her knee to take hers. He laced their fingers together, his grip steady and reassuring. âIâm pullinâ over. Itâs okay.â
He guided the car off the road and into an empty parking lot, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as he parked beneath the faint outline of a lamppost. The rain pounded against the roof, a steady roar that made the small space feel even more intimate. Chris shut off the engine but left the heater running, the warm air filling the car as he turned to face her.
âBetter?â he asked softly, his hand still holding hers.
She nodded, but her hands were trembling slightly. âI just hate the sound of it even,â she admitted, her voice barely audible over the rain.
âCâmere,â he said, his free hand reaching out to gently tug her closer. She hesitated for only a moment before sliding across the seat, her body pressed against his side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his lips brushing against her temple in a soft kiss.
âSee? Youâre safe, I gotcha,â he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.
They sat like that for a while, the rain creating a cocoon of sound around them. Chrisâs hand rested on her hip now, his thumb tracing slow, soothing patterns against her side. Starâs head was tucked against his neck, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as she let his warmth ease the tension in her chest.
When she tilted her head up to look at him, the space between them felt impossibly small. His eyes met hers, dark and steady, and without thinking, she leaned in. The kiss was soft at first but Chris deepened it, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head.
Star shifted, climbing into his lap, her knees bracketing his thighs as the kiss grew more urgent. Chrisâs seat was pushed all the way back, giving them just enough room, but the closeness still made her breath catch. His hands gripped her waist, his fingers pressing into her skin as her lips moved against his.
When they finally pulled apart, gasping for air, the windows were fogged, and the car felt suffocatingly warm. Starâs forehead rested against his, her fingers tracing the edge of his jaw.
âFuck kid,â Chris murmured, his voice low and rough. She felt it thenâthe hard press of him against her thigh, impossible to ignore. Her cheeks flushed as she glanced down, her breath catching at the sight of him.
âDoes it hurt?â she asked softly, her fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt.
Chris swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. âNo? Why do you keep asking that..Mâfine promise,â he said, though his voice was strained. âYou donâtââ
âI want to,â she interrupted, her eyes meeting his. âLet me help.â
His breath hitched as her fingers moved lower, tracing the waistband of his jeans. She hesitated for only a moment before slipping her hand underneath, her touch warm and deliberate.
âFuck,â Chris sighed, his head falling back against the seat. Starâs fingers moved with a mix of hesitance and curiosity, her touch featherlight as she ventured further. The tension in the car was palpable, the air thick with the scent of rain and heated breaths. Chrisâs head was tilted back against the seat, his eyes squeezed shut, and his lips slightly parted as if he were bracing himself against the pleasure that her tentative movements sent through him.
âYou okay?â it was her turn to ask him, her voice barely audible over the drumming rain.
Chris opened his eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, and met hers. A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it was strained. âYeah, âcourse baby,â he murmured, his voice low and rough, like gravel. âSeriously you donât have to, though. I donât want youââ
âChris,â she interrupted, her voice soft but firm. âI want to.â
Her determination left him speechless, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. Starâs fingers moved again, brushing against him in a way that made his hips jerk involuntarily. A soft groan escaped his lips, and she froze for a second, unsure if sheâd gone too far.
âSorry,â she murmured quickly, pulling back slightly.
âNoâDonât,â Chris rasped, his hand reaching up to cover hers. His palm was rough and warm, grounding her. âDonât stop.â
His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she nodded, her confidence growing. She returned her focus to him, her fingers tracing the waistband of his jeans again before dipping beneath. The rough denim gave way to soft, heated skin, and she felt him inhale sharply at the contact. Her cheeks burned, but she didnât stop, didnât falter. Chris deserved to feel goodâshe wanted to be the one to make him feel that way. Her hands life under his boxers, her finger tips grazing the silky skin of his cock.Â
âFuck,â he muttered under his breath, his head tilting forward to press his lips against her shoulder. The light scrape of his teeth against her skin made her pulse race, but she tried to keep her focus. His hands gripped her hips tightly, his fingertips pressing into her in a way that was almost possessive.
He lifted his hips slightly, both of them fumbling to tug his jeans down, the air thick with tension and unspoken anticipation. The moment his cock sprang free, the tip glistening with pre-cum, Starâs tongue darted across her lips instinctively, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on him.
The rain outside faded into the background, drowned out by the soft hum of the heater and the rhythmic thrum of her pulse in her ears. The windows fogged further, sealing them in their own private world. Star shifted slightly in his lap, her movement eliciting a low, guttural groan from Chris, his hips jerking involuntarily against her. The sound sent a jolt through her, a thrill that made her lips curl into a soft, almost nervous smile.
Chrisâs hand wrapped around his length, stroking himself with slow, practiced movements. His lips parted, his head tilting back against the seat as a quiet sigh escaped him. Star watched, mesmerized, unable to tear her eyes away. She took in every detailâthe way his wrist twisted slightly with each stroke, the way his thumb grazed the sensitive tip, smearing the clear liquid pooling there. There was something hypnotic about his ease, the way he seemed so lost in the moment yet entirely aware of her presence.
Before she realized what she was doing, her hand reached out, her soft fingers brushing against his. Chris hissed sharply at the contact, his eyes snapping open to meet hers. His gaze darkened, but he didnât stop her, didnât move away. Instead, he let his hand fall to the side, giving her control.
Starâs fingers trembled slightly as they wrapped around him, her touch tentative at first, her movements experimental. His sharp inhale was enough to spur her on, and she adjusted her grip, her eyes flicking up to his face to gauge his reaction. Chrisâs brows furrowed slightly each time she squeezed the base a little firmer than the tip, and she quickly memorized the pattern, repeating it until his breathing grew uneven.
âYeahâ âŠyeah, jusâ like that,â he murmured, his voice rough and low, almost a whisper. His hand settled gently on her thigh, a grounding touch, but he didnât push her, didnât rush her.
Encouraged, Star mirrored what sheâd seen him do earlier, her thumb brushing over the slick head, collecting the pre-cum that had gathered there. Chris let out a quiet, broken moan, his head falling forward to rest against hers. The intimacy of itâthe warmth of his breath against her cheek, the way his hands trembled slightly where they restedâsent a flush through her. She was learning, slowly but surely, what made him come undone, and she wanted to memorize every sound, every reaction, every detail of the way he unraveled beneath her touch.
âFuck, Star,â he muttered, his voice barely audible over the rain, but the way it broke at the edges made her shiver.
âYouâre so pretty like this,â she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Chris let out a strained laugh, his head falling back against the seat as his eyes fluttered closed again. âPretty, huh?â he managed, his voice tinged with amusement despite the situation.
âShut up,â she said, her tone teasing, though her cheeks were burning. âYâknow what I mean.â
He opened his eyes again, the warmth in his gaze making her stomach flip. âThank you,â he said softly, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair away from her face. His touch lingered, his thumb grazing her cheek before he leaned up to kiss her again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, and it stole the breath from her lungs.
Her hand stilled for a moment, and he let out a soft whine of protest against her lips, making her smile. âYouâre beinâ impatient,â she teased, her voice breathless.
âCan you blame me?â he muttered, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.
Star laughed softly, the sound muffled against his mouth as she resumed her movements. Chrisâs breath hitched, his hands tightening on her hips as he leaned his forehead against hers. The intimacy of the moment wasnât lost on herâthe way he let himself be vulnerable with her, the way his voice cracked when he whispered her name, the way he held her like she was the only thing grounding him to the earth.
Her hand moved slowly, deliberately, as if she were piecing together a puzzle. She kept her eyes locked on Chrisâs face, studying every flicker of his expression like it held the answers she needed. His jaw clenched and then relaxed with each stroke, his brows knitting together whenever her touch lingered at the tip. When she brushed her thumb over the sensitive slit again, his mouth fell open, a low, broken groan spilling out before he could stop it.
Her lips curled into a small smile at the sound, a mixture of pride and nerves swirling in her chest. She adjusted her grip, experimenting with her fingers, squeezing a little tighter around the base to see how heâd react. This time, the sharp hiss that escaped him wasnât followed by a groan, but by his hand gently wrapping around her wrist.
âNot so tight,â he murmured, his voice soft but strained, as if even speaking was an effort. âYouâllâoh fuckâyouâll hurt me, baby.â
Star immediately froze, her eyes going wide as heat flooded her cheeks. âOhâ Iâm sorry,â she stammered, pulling her hand back slightly. âI didnât mean toââ
âHey, hey,â Chris interrupted, his hand catching hers before she could fully pull away. His eyes met hers, dark and heavy with need, but there was nothing but warmth in his expression. âYouâre doinâ so good.â
âBut Iââ
âYouâre perfect,â he cut her off, his words tumbling out in a rushed, breathless whisper. âSo fuckinâ perfect, Star. Justâjust go a little softer, yeah?â
She nodded, swallowing hard as her fingers returned to him, her touch gentler this time. He exhaled a shaky breath, his hips lifting slightly as she resumed her movements. The tension in his body melted back into pleasure, his head falling against the seat, his lips parting as a soft, desperate whimper escaped him.
âThatâs it,â he murmured, his voice breaking. âkeep doinâ it like that.â
Encouraged by his reaction, Star leaned in closer, her breath brushing against his neck as she tried to find a rhythm that made him fall apart. Every time his head tipped back or his mouth opened in a gasp, she filed it away, repeating the motions until the car was filled with the sound of his ragged breathing and the soft, wet noises of her hand moving against him.
âYâsure Iâm doinâ it okay?â she asked quietly, her voice laced with a mix of nerves and curiosity. She wanted to be sure, needed to hear it from him.
Chrisâs eyes opened, heavy-lidded and glassy as he looked at her. âYeah,â he breathed, his voice shaking, â..yesâyeah. more than okay. Youâre perfectâso fuckinâ perfect. Yâgot no idea what youâre doinâ to me.â
The raw honesty in his voice made her chest tighten, a new kind of confidence surging through her. She adjusted her grip again, following the pattern she knew worked, and was rewarded with another choked moan from him. His hands gripped her thighs now, his fingers digging into her jeans as if he needed something to ground himself.
âStar,â he groaned, his head falling forward as his lips brushed against her temple. His breath was hot and uneven against her skin, his voice barely audible but filled with so much need it made her pulse race. âYouâre gonna kill me.â
Star couldnât help the small laugh that bubbled out of her, her cheeks still flushed as she kept her focus on him. She wanted to keep pushing, to see just how far she could take him, and the way his body responded to her touch only made her more determined. Every whimper, every groan, every strained âfuckâ that slipped from his lips felt like a victory, and she wanted to collect them all.
The way his body started to react beneath her touch was impossible to ignore. Chris was trembling now, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts, his hips twitching upward against her hand as if he couldnât control it. His fingers gripped her hip tightly, so tightly she was certain thereâd be marks tomorrow, but she didnât mind. If anything, it thrilled herâproof of just how much she was affecting him.
âOhâ,â he groaned, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with urgency. ây/n, you gotta stopâ mâso close. If you donât stop, itâs gonna get everywhere.â
She could tell he meant it, could feel it in the way he pulsed in her hand, but instead of listening, she leaned forward, her lips capturing his in a deep, heated kiss. His warning melted into a choked moan against her mouth, his body tensing as he finally let go. Chrisâs hands gripped her hips even tighter as he came, hot and messy against her hand and her shirt. She felt the warmth seep through the fabric, but she didnât pull away, instead focusing on keeping him steady as he unraveled beneath her.
When the moment passed and Chris finally caught his breath, his head fell back against the seat, his eyes fluttering open to look at her. The realization of what had just happened hit him, and his cheeks flushed slightly, a rare vulnerability shining through as he mumbled, âShit, see look at your shirtâŠâ
Star glanced down at the mess, the white fabric stained, and shrugged sheepishly. â Itâs okay! Basically payback,â she said with a small grin, her tone teasing. âFor when I âruined your pantsâ remember?â
Chris huffed out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief as he watched her tug the shirt off without hesitation. His breath hitched slightly at the sight of her bare skin, the soft lace of her bra framing her chest in a way that made his mouth go dry. He didnât even try to hide the way his eyes lingered, taking her in like she was a masterpiece heâd never get tired of admiring.
âYouâre starinâ at meâ She said as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear.
âYeah,â he admitted shamelessly, his voice rough. His hand reached out, brushing softly over the lace. âThisâmy god star, this looks so pretty on you.â
Her blush deepened, and she quickly climbed back over to the passenger seat, awkward and shirtless, trying not to meet his gaze. Chris chuckled softly at her flustered movements, using her discarded shirt to clean himself up before pulling his pants back on. Once he was decent again, he shrugged off his hoodie, leaning over to drape it gently over her shoulders.
âHere,â he murmured, the scent of his cologne and the faint trace of weed enveloping her immediately. âIâll get you another shirt at home.â
Star tugged the hoodie on, the oversized fabric swallowing her frame, and the comforting scent eased the nerves that had begun to bubble in her chest. Chris noticed the way her hands fidgeted in the sleeves, her gaze flicking out the window as if she were trying to distract herself.
âHey,â he said softly, reaching over to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin. âYou feelinâ okay?â
She nodded, leaning into his touch. âYeah. Just⊠processing, I guess.â
He smiled gently, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. âYou were amazing, baby.â
His words, paired with the sincerity in his tone, made her chest warm. He leaned back slightly, one hand resting on her knee as he pressed soft, lingering kisses to her temple, her cheek, her jaw. The gentleness of his touch, the way he held her like she was something precious, calmed her in a way she hadnât expected.
The two of them sat in the warmth of the car, the rain still falling lightly outside as they caught their breath. Chris traced idle patterns on the fogged-up window, and Star followed his lead, her fingers sketching stars and moons into the condensation. She glanced over at his work, an intricate cross taking shape beneath his hand, and huffed out a laugh.
âYou couldnât even pretend to be ass?â she teased, nudging his shoulder lightly.
Chris turned to her with a playful shrug, his eyes glinting with gentle affection. âThink yours is perfect, personally,â he said simply, his voice soft.
Her cheeks warmed again, but she smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder as the rain finally began to ease. The world outside the car seemed to come back into focus, the storm clearing to reveal a quiet, damp night.
âYouâre a corny idiot after you orgasmâ
âRight âcause youâre one to speakâ He snorts softly, starting the car, the heater still running as he pulled out of the parking lot, driving slow like heâd promised.
His hand found hers again, their fingers lacing together as the familiar roads of Pine View came into view. Neither of them spoke much on the way back, but the silence wasnât uncomfortable. It was warm, filled with the quiet hum of the engine and eventually her soft snores as she fell asleep in passenger seat. The act itself said more about her trust in Chris than her words ever could.Â
AUTHORS NOTE: writing smut will be my downfall. iâm so bad at it i need tips PLEASE!
TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl @sturnslutz @sturniqlo @sofieeeeex @jadasmp4 @ncm9696 @courta13
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#âdarksturnz#đ .âźartist!chris.áê±#đ .âźstar!reader.áê±#đ .âźstar!reader x artist!chris x bambi!madison.áê±#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo blurb#sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo smut#christopher sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets smut#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo fluff#chris stuniolo x reader#chris sturniolo angst#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo imagine#christopher sturniolo#nick sturniolo#matt sturniolo
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ââââââââ â” star!reader x artist!chris instagram posts.
layout inspired by @sturnioz
st444rgrl
ᯀ Riskă»Deftones ᯀ
liked by madisonbeer, christophersturniolo, dullangel and 379 others.
st444rgrl got ahold of the needles⊠again ^-^ đ„madisonbeer
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christophersturniolo
ᯀ Everybody wants to rule the world ă»Tears For Fears ᯀ
liked by nathandoe8, st444rgrl, madisonbeer and 538 others.
christophersturniolo đŠđŠ.
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AUTHORS NOTE: i love insta auâs, makes the character feel real :,D im so so so sooo proud of my auâs and im so glad yall like them! ALSO the little girl WILL be lilaâs face claim.
TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams
#âdarksturnz#đ .âźstar!reader.áê±#đ .âźartist!chris.áê±#đ .âźartist!chris.insta.áê±#đ .âźstar!reader.insta.áê±#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets smut#chris sturniolo prompt#chris sturniolo drabble#chris sturniolo blurb#chris sturniolo angst#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#christopher sturniolo x reader
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A LITTLE LIGHT
masterlist: here
i hope everyone who celebrates is having a great Christmas eve! it honestly doesnât even feel like itâs christmas tho :,) anyways hereâs a sappy holiday blurb!
The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, Star stood on her porch, the gift sheâd spent hours wrapping cradled in her arms. Across the lot, Chrisâs trailer glowed faintly with the light of a single window. It was beat up, like all the trailers here, but tonight it seemed more inviting than usual. Maybe it was the thought of Evelyn being home, or Lilaâs enthusiasm for the holidays, but something about it pulled her in.
Evelyn had opened the door before Star even had the chance to knock.
âHi, sweetheart!â Evelyn greeted her with a warm smile, her voice carrying the faint rasp of someone who had been through more than her share of battles. But tonight, there was a brightness in her that matched the twinkle in her eye. âCome in, come inâitâs cold out there!â
Star smiled, stepping inside and kicking off her boots at the door. The trailer smelled like cinnamon and pine, and for a moment, she felt as though she had stepped into a scene from one of those holiday movies Madison was always trying to get her to watch.
âMa, youâre supposed to be resting,â came Chrisâs voice from the kitchen. He appeared a moment later, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. His hair was slightly messy, as though heâd been running his hands through it while working. His eyes landed on Star, softening just a fraction.
âChris, Iâve been resting for weeks, Iâm not dead yet,â Evelyn shot back, already making her way to a box of ornaments sitting by the couch. She moved carefully, but there was a stubborn determination in her every step. âIf I donât help decorate this tree, whoâs going to stop Lila from putting all the ornaments in one spot?â
Chris let out a small sigh but didnât argue. Instead, he turned to Star, his expression softening even further. âHey.â
âHi,â Star replied, feeling a flutter in her chest she still wasnât used to.
âChris, help me with the lights!â Lilaâs voice rang out from somewhere near the couch. The six-year-old was already untangling a mess of string lights, her curls bouncing as she pulled on the strands with the determination of someone three times her age.
Chris glanced at Star, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. âGuess youâre on ornament duty.â
The next hour was a flurry of activity. Lila darted around the room, her excitement infectious as she insisted on showing Star every ornament she pulled from the box.
âThis oneâs my favorite,â Lila said, holding up a glittery snowflake with a missing point. âI made it when I was little.â
âYou were so much littler, huh?â Star teased, helping Lila hang the snowflake on a low branch where she could reach.
Chris worked silently but efficiently, stringing the lights around the tree with a practiced ease. Star couldnât help but watch him from time to time, her heart softening at the sight of him crouching to adjust the lights at Lilaâs height or standing back to admire his work with a faint nod of approval.
Evelyn refused to sit still. She was everywhere at once, hanging garlands, offering decorating tips, and reminiscing about Christmases past.
âChris used to hate Christmas when he was Lilaâs age,â Evelyn said with a laugh, hanging a wreath near the window. âHeâd complain about the cold and the noise, but the second the gifts came out, heâd be the happiest kid in the world.â
âMa,â Chris groaned, his ears turning pink.
Star bit back a laugh. âSounds like heâs always been a little grinchy.â
âNot always,â Evelyn said, giving Chris a fond look. âHe used to draw me Christmas cards every yearâthese beautiful little sketches of trees and snow. I still have them in a box somewhere.â
Chris looked away, busying himself with adjusting a strand of lights.
âDid he ever make you anything, Lila?â Star asked, smiling at the girl.
âHe drew me a princess last christmas,â Lila said proudly. âBut she had armor, âcause Chris said princesses donât need saving.â
Star glanced at Chris, who was still pretending not to hear. She couldnât help but smile.
As they worked, Evelyn turned to Star. âWhat about you, sweetheart? What does your family do for the holidays?â
Star hesitated, the warmth of the room suddenly feeling a little too close. She hadnât expected the question, and for a moment, she wasnât sure how to answer.
âMy mom passed away a while ago,â she said finally, keeping her voice steady. âAnd my dadâs⊠away for the holidays. On a trip.â She tried to sound nonchalant, but the weight of the words hung in the air.
Evelynâs face softened, her hand resting lightly on Starâs arm. âIâm sorry, honey. That must be hard.â
âItâs fine,â Star said quickly, forcing a small smile.Â
For a moment, the room grew quiet, the cheerful buzz of activity paused. Then, Lila broke the silence.
âsâokay, Star,â she said brightly, tugging on her hand. âYou can come over with us for Christmas!â
Star blinked, the sudden warmth in her chest catching her off guard. âOh, Iââ
âSheâs right,â Evelyn said gently. âWeâd love to have you.â
Lila leaned closer, cupping her hand to Starâs ear and whispering loudly, âChris already got you a present anyway.â
âBug.â Chris turned, his voice half-annoyed, half-embarrassed.
âWhat? Itâs true!â Lila said, grinning innocently.
Star glanced at Chris, who was now very focused on untangling a nonexistent knot in the lights.
âCanât wait to see what it is,â Star teased, her smile softening as Chris muttered something under his breath.
The trailer had transformed by the time they were done. The little tree sparkled with mismatched ornaments, glittering lights, and Lilaâs signature touchesâa cluster of candy canes in one spot and a crooked star on top. Garland draped over the windows, and a few candles flickered on the kitchen counter, their glow soft and warm.
Evelyn sat on the recliner, a satisfied smile on her face. âThis is the best itâs looked in years,â she said, looking around the room. âYou kids did good.â
Chris shook his head, pretending to brush off the compliment, but Star caught the faint smile tugging at his lips.
âIt looks perfect,â Star said, standing beside him. Her shoulder brushed his, and he didnât move away this time.
âYeah,â he said softly, glancing down at her. âIt does.â
Evelyn watched them with a knowing look, but for once, she didnât say anything.
They all settled down on the couch and recliner with mugs of cocoa. Lila climbed into Starâs lap, chattering away about how sheâd convinced Chris to let her pick out the tree (âHe said no at first, but then I looked at him like thisââ she demonstrated with wide, pleading eyesââand he said fine!â).
Chris rolled his eyes but didnât argue, sipping his cocoa quietly.
âI remember the year Chris tried to make eggnogâ Evelyn said suddenly, her eyes sparkling with laughter.
âMa, donât,â Chris said, groaning.
âOh, Iâm telling this one,â Evelyn said with a grin. She turned to Star. âHe was about thirteen, and he decided he wanted to make Christmas special. So, he found this recipe for eggnogâexcept he didnât have half the ingredients, so he just improvised.â
âIt was fine,â Chris muttered.
âIt was terrible,â Evelyn corrected. âIt curdled! And the kitchen smelled like spoiled milk for days. But he was so proud of it, and he made me drink an entire glass.â
Star couldnât hold back her laugh, and even Chris, despite his embarrassment, let out a low chuckle.
âDonât let her fool you,â Chris said, shaking his head. âShe told me it was the best eggnog sheâd ever had.â
âI couldnât crush your little spirit,â Evelyn said with a mock-serious tone.
The sound of their laughter filled the room, blending with the warm glow of the lights. For a moment, Star forgot about everything elseâthe cold, her empty trailer, the ache of her fatherâs absence. Here, in this small space, surrounded by this messy, imperfect family, she felt a sense of belonging she hadnât realized sheâd been missing.
Lilaâs energy finally waned, and she fell asleep curled up on the couch. Chris carried her to her room, tucking her in with the kind of care that always surprised Star. He didnât speak, but the way he smoothed her curls and pulled the blanket up to her chin said everything.
When he returned, Evelyn was already making her way to her room.
âI think Iâll turn in too,â she said, but not before stopping to kiss Chris on the cheek. âThank you for making this a good night.â
Chris looked embarrassed, but his smile lingered even after Evelyn turned to Star.
âYouâre always welcome here, sweetheart,â Evelyn said softly, squeezing Starâs hand. âDonât be a stranger.â
As Evelyn disappeared into her room, Star made her way to the door, Chris following behind her. She turned to say goodbye, but the words caught in her throat when Evelynâs voice rang out from down the hall.
âOh, would you look at that!â Evelyn said, peeking her head out of her bedroom with a cheeky grin. She pointed upward. âMistletoe!â
Star blinked, her eyes darting to the doorway. Sure enough, there it wasâa tiny, fake ornament hanging crookedly above the doorframe.
Chris groaned, his hand running through his hair. âMa,â he muttered, his ears turning pink.
Evelyn only laughed, retreating into her room. âGoodnight, you two!â
Star turned back to Chris, her heart pounding. He looked down at her, his usual guarded expression faltering into something softer.
âWell,â Star said, trying to sound casual even as her voice wavered, âitâd be sorta rude not to follow tradition huh?â
Chris hesitated for a moment, his hand twitching at his side as though he wasnât sure what to do. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.
The kiss was softâgentle in a way that made Starâs chest ache. Chrisâs hand came up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into him, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. It was different from the first timeâless tentative, more certain.
When they finally pulled apart, Chris rested his forehead against hers, his eyes half-closed. âSheâs gonna give me hell for this,â he muttered, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.
Star laughed softly, her breath warm against his skin. âWorth it.â
Star stepped out into the cold night air, her cheeks still flushed. She made her way across the lot, the glow of Chrisâs trailer fading behind her.
âStar!â
She stopped, turning just in time to see Chris jogging toward her. His breath curled in the air, and before she could ask what he was doing, he was there, pulling her close and kissing her again.
It was rougher this timeâmore urgent, as though he was afraid the moment might slip away. When he pulled back, his voice was low and unsteady.
âDonât ever think youâre not part of something,â he said, his hand lingering on her waist. âNot anymore.â
Star stared at him, her heart pounding.
âGoodnight,â he said softly, his lips quirking into a faint smile before he turned and walked back to the trailer.
Star stood there for a moment, her breath visible in the cold night air. Then, with a small, dazed smile, she turned and went inside.
AUTHORS NOTE: did you catch what i did there or⊠;3
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BACKWOODS
CONTENTS:ă»fluff-heavy plot ă»star!reader ă»substance usage ă»artist!chrisă»smoochă»pls more actual weed smokers write about it, iâm tired of the random ai generated terminology ppl useđ
+ more. WC:2.5k
random blurb-ishy short filler chapter ? idk iâm smoking and canât decide how to fit in the next events LOL as always, on repeat or donât !!
The trailer felt foreign as Star stepped inside, the weight of the past few days pressing on her chest. The air was stale, like the space had been holding its breath in her absence. The hum of the fridge and the faint groan of the trailer settling were the only sounds, underscored by the low murmur of the TV from the living room. She glanced toward Danny, slumped in the recliner, one arm hanging over the side, a can of beer precariously balanced on the edge of the table. He stirred slightly as the door clicked shut behind her but didnât wake, his face turned away, lips parted in a soft snore.
Something about the sight made her stomach twist. Maybe it was the stillness, or maybe it was the way the room seemed frozen, like she had stepped into a moment she wasnât meant to see. Star lingered in the doorway for a second longer than necessary before making her way to her room.
Comet greeted her instantly, winding between her legs, his loud purr vibrating against her ankles. âHey, baby,â she murmured, leaning down to scratch behind his ears. He meowed in response, his big eyes gleaming in the dim light from her bedside lamp. The small moment of normalcy grounded her, but only slightly. The room felt off too, like a part of her hadnât returned with her.
Star settled onto her bed, the mattress creaking beneath her weight. She kicked off her battered Converse, watching as Comet pounced on a stray hair tie and began batting it across the floor. The distraction was welcome, but her thoughts didnât stay quiet for long. The past week replayed in her mindâMadisonâs hesitant glances, the way her words had started to feel edged with something Star couldnât name. It had been subtle at first, a quiet discomfort that grew louder with every passing day. By the end, it felt like she had overstayed her welcome, even if Madison would never say it outright.
Her leaving had been abrupt. Madison was at church, and Star hadnât wanted to wait for another awkward conversation. Sheâd cleaned the treehouse thoroughly, leaving a note on the small table near the windowâa simple âthank youâ that felt both too much and not enough. She hadnât said goodbye.
Now, back in her room, she wondered if sheâd made the right call. The trailer wasnât any easier to be in, not with Dannyâs presence looming, even in sleep. Her mind was spiraling, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest when Cometâs sudden meow broke through the noise.
He stood at the dresser, pawing at the space behind it, his tail flicking in frustration. Star frowned, sitting up. âWhat is it, Comet?â she asked softly. He meowed again, louder this time, his claws scraping at the wood as if whatever was back there was the most important thing in the world.
She sighed, pushing herself off the bed. âAlright, Iâm coming.â The dresser was heavy, the carpet catching under its legs as she strained to pull it forward. âCalm down, itâs not that seriousâ she muttered. Her fingers reached behind, brushing against a piece of paper.
Her heart stopped.
She pulled it out slowly, the edges slightly crumpled from being wedged behind the dresser. It was a drawingâsmoke-like hands reaching toward scattered stars, delicate and haunting. In the bottom corner, small and nearly illegible, were the words:Â Can we talk?
Starâs breath caught in her throat. Chris. Heâd told her about the drawing, how heâd slipped it through her window, thinking she was home. Her fingers trembled as she held it, the memory of his hesitant confession from a few nights ago rushing back. Comet meowed again, impatient, and she quickly tossed the hair tie for him before grabbing her Converse. She didnât bother tying them, didnât even grab a jacket. Her damp hair clung to the back of her hoodie as she bolted out the door, the drawing clutched tightly in her hand.
Danny was still passed out in the recliner, the faint scent of beer hanging in the air as Star slipped past him. The cold night air bit at her cheeks and nose, but she didnât care. Her legs carried her on autopilot, the path to Chrisâs trailer etched into her bones. The drawing crinkled in her grasp as she reached his door, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the sound of the world around her. She knocked softly, hesitating for only a moment before the door creaked open.
Chris stood there, his hair a mess, his eyes puffy like heâd just woken up. He blinked at her, confused, and for a second, neither of them said anything. Starâs gaze drifted to his hoodieâa ridiculous unicorn crop sweater that caught her off guard and made a small smile tug at her lips despite herself.
âHey,â he mumbled, his voice low and raspy.
âHi,â she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes flicked over her, lingering on her damp hair and the way she was shivering despite the thick hoodie she wore. He frowned, his hand hesitating before reaching out to hers. Their fingers brushed as he intertwined them lightly, tugging her gently inside. The warmth of the trailer enveloped her instantly, and she let out a breath she didnât realize she was holding.
The living room was dimly lit, the soft glow of an action movie playing on the TV casting flickering shadows on the walls. Chris led her to the couch, his hand slipping from hers as they sat down. The distance between them felt intentional, cautious. His gaze fell to the paper in her hand, and a flicker of somethingâshyness, maybeâcrossed his face before he masked it with his usual guarded expression.
âYou found it,â he said, his voice even.
âYeah,â Star replied, holding it up slightly. âBehind my dresser. If comet wasnât dramatic, I probably wouldnât have seen it.â
Chris nodded silently, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile. âHe found it? was pretty stupid of me, huh?â
âNot really, fell behind my dresser but it was thoughtful,â she said softly, her fingers fidgeting with the strings of her pajama pants.
They sat in silence for a moment, pretending to focus on the movie. Star could feel Chrisâs eyes on her, his gaze heavy and unyielding. When she finally turned to look at him, he didnât look away. Their eyes locked, the tension between them almost tangible. Slowly, Chris raised a hand, his fingers brushing her hair back behind her ear. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a shiver down her spine. His hand lingered by her jaw, his thumb grazing her skin before he pulled back, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
âYou wanna roll up?â he asked, his voice quiet.
Star nodded, her voice caught in her throat. She watched as he pulled out a small tin, his movements fluid and practiced. The way his fingers moved, precise and deliberate, was almost hypnotic. When he handed her the blunt to seal, their fingers brushed again, the moment charged in a way that felt both fragile and electric.
A few minutes later, they stepped onto the porch. Chris grabbed a blanket on the way out, tossing it at her with a muttered comment about her damp hair and the cold. She wrapped it around her shoulders, sitting at the top of the steps while Chris settled a step below her, his shoulder brushing her knee. He lit the blunt, taking the first puff before turning to hand it to her. Their eyes met as she took it, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away.
âWhy do they call you Star?â Chris asked suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.
Star exhaled, the smoke curling in the air between them. âItâs a silly story,â she said with a small laugh.
Chris took the blunt back, his gaze steady. âWeâve got all night.â
Star hesitated, then smiled. âAlright,â she said, her voice soft. And so, she told him.
By the time she finished, the blunt was nearly gone, and Chrisâs gaze had grown droopy with the effects of the THC. âCanât really imagine Danny being thoughtful like that,â he murmured.
Star snorted. âMe neither. I was there, and I still canât believe it.â
Chris laughed quietly, pushing his hoodie off his curls and running a hand through them. The movement caught Starâs attention, and before she could think twice, her fingers were in his hair. Chris melted into her touch instantly, his jaw resting against her knee as he looked up at her with half-lidded eyes.
âCan I ask you something?â she whispered.
â âcourse,â he murmured, closing his eyes.
âWhat was your dad like?â
Chris tensed, his body stiffening slightly before he peeked one eye open. âHe was cool⊠till he wasnât,â he said with a shrug.
Star didnât push, sensing the shift in his tone. Instead, she let her fingers continue their gentle path through his curls, the silence between them growing heavier but not uncomfortable.
The night stretched on, the stars above them shining faintly through the haze of the shared blunt and the quiet intimacy they had created. For once, Star felt like the world had stopped spinning, if only for a moment.
Starâs fingers slowed as she brushed them through Chrisâs curls, letting her hand rest lightly on the back of his neck. His jaw stayed nestled against her knee, his eyes fluttering closed again, and for a moment, it felt like the night itself had paused around them. The warmth of his skin against hers grounded her in a way she hadnât realized she needed.
Chris broke the stillness first, shifting slightly and sitting up. His movements were slow, almost reluctant, as if pulling away from her touch took more effort than it should. He stretched, his hoodie riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his torso, and Starâs gaze lingered for half a second too long before she caught herself. She bit back a smile, but Chris noticed anyway.
âWhat?â he asked, his voice lazy, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
Star shook her head, letting out a quiet laugh. âNothing. Just⊠your hoodie,â she said, gesturing vaguely at it. âItâs very⊠you.â
Chris glanced down at the unicorn print and shrugged, his grin turning playful. âBug got it for me,â he said, his voice softening slightly at the mention of Lila. âSaid itâs âcomfy and cool,â so who was I to argue?â
Starâs chest ached at the thought of Lila, her sweet little voice echoing in her mind. She tightened the blanket around her shoulders, her lips twitching into a smile. âI miss her,â she admitted quietly, almost to herself.
Chris nodded, his gaze softening. âShe misses you more. Keeps asking when youâre coming back.â
The sincerity in his voice made her heart squeeze. She shifted on the steps, her eyes meeting his for a moment before drifting up to the stars above them. âMaybe tomorrow,â she murmured.
Chris arched a brow, leaning back slightly to study her face. âTomorrow?â he repeated, his tone teasing but with a faint edge of disappointment. âWhy not tonight?â
Star turned to him, her lips parting in a soft laugh. âBecause I live, like, ten feet away,â she said, motioning vaguely toward her trailer. âand sheâs sleeping, I can just come over early.â
Chris rolled his eyes, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. âFair,â he said, his voice mock-dismissive, but there was a glint of amusement in his expression.Â
They lapsed into another comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the night settling over them. Chrisâs fingers drummed lightly against his knees, his movements slow and relaxed. Star watched him out of the corner of her eye, her gaze lingering on the curve of his jaw, the faint scruff that dusted his skin.
âYou should keep it,â she said suddenly, her voice breaking the silence.
Chris glanced at her, his brow furrowing. âKeep what?â
âThe scruff,â she clarified, motioning toward his jaw. âI like it.â
Chris huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over his chin. âMa says it makes me look bummy.â
Star grinned, her teeth catching her bottom lip. âEvelynâs wrong,â she said softly. âIt suits you.â
The compliment hung between them for a beat too long, the weight of it pressing gently against the air. Chrisâs eyes flicked to hers, his gaze searching, before he nodded slightly, his lips twitching into a faint smile. âNoted.â
Star adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, shifting slightly to face him. âHow is she?â she asked, her voice quieter now. âYour mom.â
Chrisâs expression sobered, the lightness fading from his eyes. He hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. âBetter,â he said finally. âSome bacterial infection in her lungs. Theyâve got her on meds, and itâs helping, butâŠâ He trailed off, his shoulders lifting in a faint shrug. âItâs a process.â
Star nodded, her chest tightening at the weight in his voice. âThatâs really good, though,â she said softly. âSheâs getting better.â
Chris met her gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded. âYeah. It is.â
Star stood then, letting the blanket slip from her shoulders as she held it out to him. âYou take this,â she said with a small smile. âI should probably head back.â
Chris took the blanket, his fingers brushing hers for a fleeting second. He didnât move to stand, though, his eyes lingering on her face. The quiet between them shifted, growing heavier, and Star felt her pulse quicken under his gaze.
âStay,â Chris said softly, the word almost a plea. âJust for the night.â
Star let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. âI will come over tomorrow,â she said, her tone teasing.
Chris rolled his eyes, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. âYouâre being difficult, you know that?â
âYou are,â she said, her grin widening.
He studied her for a moment longer, his eyes tracing her face like he was trying to commit it to memory. Then, without warning, he leaned in, his hand brushing lightly against her hip as he kissed her. The contact was soft but full of unspoken emotion, his lips warm and steady against hers. Star melted into it, her hands coming up to cup his face as the world around them faded into nothing.
When they pulled away, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. Chrisâs hand lingered on her hip, his grip hesitant but firm enough to ground her.
âYou sure you donât wanna stay?â he murmured, his voice low.
Star smiled, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, âGoodnight, Chris.â
She pulled back slowly, her heart racing as she turned toward the steps. Chris didnât move, watching her as she walked across the lot and up to her own porch. She glanced back once, her gaze meeting his, and she caught the faintest hint of a smile on his lips before he finally turned and went inside.
AUTHORS NOTE: no shade or anything but itâs just really incredibly obvious if your only smoking experience was hitting a burnt disposable in the school bathroom or if youâve never even seen it irl đż
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what are star and chris doing right now?
8:38 am
Star is still dead asleep in Chrisâs room. Sunlight seeps through the half-open blinds, stretching across the cluttered floor and pooling at the edge of the bed where her foot peeks out from under his worn comforter. Itâs become something of a habit latelyâshowing up unannounced after arguments with her father, eyes raw and voice tight, a silent plea that Chris always seems to understand without a word. Unlike Madison, who would gently pry and try to piece her back together with soft questions and careful hands, Chris never asks. He never makes her talk about what happened, and although she loves Madison for her unwavering care, sometimes Star doesnât want to be pieced back together. Sometimes, she just wants to forget, and Chris gives her that.
Chrisâs bed is an oversized mess of tangled sheets, fraying blankets, and too many pillowsâan unspoken compromise born out of nights like this. A pillow barrier sits clumsily between them now, built half-heartedly, as though both of them know itâs more of a suggestion than a rule. Star, curled up on her side, has somehow managed to look both small and impossibly stubborn, her face buried into Chrisâs pillow while she clings to the comforter with one hand like a toddler. Her breathing is deep and even, but every once in a while, she stirs, mumbling something unintelligible and adjusting her position until she settles again.
Chris, under the disguise of âlooking for something,â drifts in and out of the room with his usual quiet tread, careful to avoid the floorboards that creak. He doesnât really have a reason to keep coming backâat least not one heâll admit to. Lila knows it too. Sheâs perched in the living room, legs swinging off the couch, her bowl of Lucky Charms precariously balanced on her knees as Bluey plays on the TV at a low volume. Chris muttered something earlier about keeping her quiet so she âdoesnât wake Star,â and Lila didnât miss the way he said it with that same strange care in his voice. She just nodded knowingly, like sheâs seen this before.
The soft hum of Bluey fills the living room, its cheerful dialogue blending with the occasional clink of Lilaâs spoon against her bowl. Chris leans against the doorframe for a beat too long before turning back into the room to âcheck his closetâ for the third time. Star doesnât stir, and Chris watches her for a secondâher face half-hidden, her breathing steady, like sleep has finally given her some fragile peace.
The house is quiet except for the TV in the other room, Lilaâs contented munching, and the sound of Chris moving through his space. Itâs routine now, even if neither of them would call it that. He doesnât wake her, thoughânever does.
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THE COST OF LEAVING
CONTENTS:ă»angst-heavy plot ă»artist!chris ă»mentions of drug useă»terminal illnessă»financial hardship ă»parental abandonment ă»unintentional child neglect. WC: 1.9k
The house had a strange hum to it now, a mixture of silence and sounds that only reminded Chris of what was missing. When James Sturniolo walked out, he didnât slam the door or pack a dramatic bag. He just⊠left. There was no screaming, no scene. Chris could still remember the steady cadence of his dadâs boots crossing the wooden floor, the brief exchange of heated whispers between his parents before his fatherâs voice cut out entirely. And then, silence.
Chris was sixteen, old enough to understand what had happened but young enough for it to devastate him. For Lila, just two, the loss wasnât as visceral. She toddled through the house the next morning, dragging her stuffed bunny by its ear and calling, âDaddy?â in her tiny voice, as if heâd just been misplaced. Chris had stood frozen in the hallway, watching her, something breaking in him that he didnât yet have the words to explain.
Evelyn tried to pick up the pieces. She worked longer shifts at the diner, pulling doubles when she could, but she always came home with a tired smile for her kids. She was the kind of mother who baked birthday cakes from scratch, even when the pantry was nearly empty. The kind who sang Lila to sleep at night and stayed up late to help Chris with his geometry homework, even if she didnât understand it herself. She made life bearable.
But Jamesâs absence left cracks no amount of glue could fix.
At first, Chris was just angry. He lashed out at teachers, snapped at his mom, stormed out of the house more times than he could count. His grades began to slip. Once a B+ student with the occasional A, he now stared blankly at tests and left half the questions unanswered. Evelyn did her best to rein him in, but between work and caring for Lila, there wasnât much of her left to go around.
By the time he was seventeen, Chris had all but given up on school. He spent most of his time with a group of kids his mom didnât approve ofâguys who always seemed to have a joint or a flask in hand, who laughed too loud and drove too fast. They werenât friends, not really, but they made it easy to forget the ache in his chest.
Drugs became his escape. At first, it was just weed, something to dull the edges of his anger. But soon, he found himself experimenting with harder substances, chasing a numbness he could never quite reach. He told himself he could stop anytime. That he wasnât like the guys who used until their faces hollowed out and their hands shook. He was just⊠managing.
Then came Evelynâs diagnosis.
It was two days after Lilaâs fourth birthday. Evelyn had been complaining of fatigue for weeks, brushing it off as stress or overwork. But when she collapsed in the kitchen, Chris had to carry her to the car and drive her to the hospital himself.
âLeukemia,â the doctor said, his voice clinical and detached, as if the word wouldnât shatter their world.
Chris didnât cry in front of her. He held her hand and promised it would be okay, even as his mind spiraled. He didnât cry that night, either, when he sat in his car outside the hospital, staring at the dashboard and trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to keep his family afloat. He didnât cry the next morning, or the morning after that.
Instead, he got to work.
Evelyn insisted on continuing to work, even as the chemo sapped her strength. Chris hated seeing her like thatâpale and frail, her once-bright eyes dull with exhaustion. He picked up a part-time job at a local auto shop, but it wasnât enough. The bills piled up faster than they could pay them, and Chris felt like he was drowning, so he made a decision.
The same guys he got high with had connections. It wasnât hard to start selling on the side, just enough to make ends meet. At first, he told himself it was temporary. Just until his mom got better. Just until he could figure something else out. But the money came fast, and for the first time in months, Chris felt like he could breathe.
Then came the night Evelyn collapsed again.
Chris had been out making a drop when it happened. Lila, now six, found her mother unconscious in the living room. She didnât know what to do, so she grabbed her stuffed bunny and wandered to the neighborâs house, tears streaming down her face.
By the time Chris got home, the ambulance was already there. The neighborâa middle-aged woman named Mrs. Carterâtore into him as soon as she saw him.
âWhat kind of son leaves his sick mother and little sister alone like that?â she hissed, her voice sharp with judgment.
Chris didnât answer. He couldnât. He just stood there, watching as the paramedics loaded Evelyn into the ambulance, feeling like the worst person in the world.
Chris followed the ambulance to the hospital in silence, Lila curled up in the backseat with her stuffed bunny clutched tightly in her arms. She didnât cry anymore; her wide eyes just stared out the window, as though she was trying to process the enormity of what had just happened.
When they got to the hospital, Chris parked haphazardly in the lot and scooped Lila into his arms. She didnât protest, just buried her face in his shoulder.
The doctors stabilized Evelyn that night, but the news wasnât good. The leukemia was progressing faster than expected, and the treatments werenât working the way theyâd hoped. Chris sat by her bedside, his hand wrapped around hers, while Lila slept fitfully in the chair beside him.
âYou canât keep doing this,â Evelyn murmured, her voice weak but firm.
âDoing what?â Chris asked, though he already knew what she meant.
âCarrying all this on your shoulders,â she said. âYouâreâŠyouâre just a kid, Chris. You should be in school, not⊠whatever it is youâve been doing.â
Chrisâs jaw clenched. He wanted to tell her everythingâto confess the depths of what heâd done to keep them afloat. But he couldnât. The shame was too heavy.
âIâm fine, Mom,â he said instead. âI can handle it.â
Evelynâs eyes softened, and she reached up to touch his cheek. Her hand was cold, her fingers trembling.
âYouâre not fine,â she whispered. âBut youâre trying. And Iâm so proud of you for that.â
Those words broke something in Chris. He stayed by her side until morning, holding her hand and trying to memorize the feel of itâjust in case.
Over the next few weeks, Evelynâs condition worsened. She couldnât work anymore, which meant the financial strain was worse than ever. Chris picked up more shifts at the auto shop, but it still wasnât enough. He found himself taking more risks with his dealingâbigger quantities, sketchier buyers.
One night, he came home to find Lila sitting at the kitchen table with Mrs. Carter. The woman had a hard look in her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line.
âShe showed up at my door again,â Mrs. Carter said, gesturing to Lila. âSaid she was hungry.â
Chris felt the blood drain from his face. âIâsheââ He didnât know what to say.
âI know youâre doing your best,â Mrs. Carter continued, her tone softening slightly. âBut youâre just a kid, Chris. You canât do this alone.â
âI donât have a choice,â Chris snapped, his voice rising before he could stop it. Lila flinched, and he immediately regretted it.
Mrs. Carter stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. âThereâs always a choice,â she said. âBut you need to think about whatâs best for Lila. Sheâs just a little girl. She shouldnât have to grow up like this.â
After she left, Chris sat at the table with his head in his hands. Lila climbed into his lap, wrapping her small arms around his neck.
âDonât be sad, Chris,â she whispered. âIâm not hungry anymore.â
Her innocence was a knife in his chest.
The decision to leave wasnât an easy one, but it felt inevitable. The town was a dead end, a place where hope went to die. Chris had no future here, and neither did Lila.
One night, after putting Lila to bed, he sat down with Evelyn to tell her his plan.
âYouâre going to move us?â she asked, her voice quiet.
Chris nodded. âWe canât stay here, Mom. Itâs not working. Iâve saved up enough to get us somewhere elseâsomewhere cheaper. A fresh start.â
Evelynâs eyes filled with tears, but she didnât argue. She just reached out and squeezed his hand. âYouâre a good boy, Chris,â she said. âBetter than I deserve.â
âDonât say that,â he replied, his throat tightening.
They sat together in silence, the weight of everything theyâd lost hanging heavy between them.
The day they left, the house felt like a hollow shell of its former self. Most of their belongings were goneâsold to pay bills or crammed into the trunk of Chrisâs black 1963 Pontiac Tempest. The car sat in the driveway, gleaming in the soft morning light, a sharp contrast to the tired faces of the family leaving everything behind.
Chris stood at the edge of the driveway, staring at the house that had been their home for so long. It still looked the sameâfaded shutters, a crooked mailbox, and the porch steps that creaked when you stepped on them. But it didnât feel like home anymore. Too much had happened here. Too much had been lost.
Evelyn sat in the passenger seat of the Tempest, leaning back against the headrest with her eyes closed. She was exhausted, her thin frame barely filling the seat. In the back, Lila was strapped into the seatbelt, her stuffed bunny perched on her lap. She stared out the window, quiet and solemn, as though she understood the weight of what was happening.
Chris took a deep breath and opened the driverâs side door, sliding into the cracked leather seat. He ran his hands over the steering wheel, the cool metal grounding him for a moment. This car had been one of the few constants in his lifeâhis sanctuary on countless nights when the weight of the world was too much to bear.
âReady?â he asked, glancing at Lila in the rearview mirror.
She nodded, her small hands gripping the bunny tighter.
Chris looked over at his mother. Evelyn opened her eyes and gave him a weak smile, the kind that broke his heart every time he saw it.
âYouâre doing the right thing, Chris,â she whispered. Her voice was faint, but the conviction in it was strong.
He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
The Tempest roared to life with a deep rumble that filled the air, steady and reliable. Chris shifted into gear and glanced one last time at the house. The memories it heldâboth good and badâswirled in his mind.
But then he looked at Lila, her wide doe eyes watching him in the mirror, filled with quiet trust. She was the reason he kept going, the light in a world that felt too dark most days.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pulled out of the driveway. The Tempest rolled smoothly onto the road, leaving the houseâand the life they once knewâbehind.
As they drove away, Chris felt the faintest glimmer of something he hadnât felt in a long time: hope. The road ahead was uncertain, but it was a chance to start over. A chance to give Lila the life she deserved.
And heâd do whatever it took to make that happen.
AUTHORS NOTE: i love a good lore drop + you need to understand artist!chris just a tad more :3 as always, ask about any and all of my auâs are welcomed.
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IN YOUR ORBIT
CONTENTS:ă»fluff? angst?-heavy plot (¿¿¿) ă»star!reader ă»bambi!madison ă»artist!chrisă»sappy sappy sappy ă»artist!chris gets a smidge corny but ITS CUTEE I SWEAR đż + more WC:4.2k
this song literally has been my top song in my spotify wraps since it was released. please listen on loop :3!
The treehouse sat nestled behind Madisonâs house, its edges worn by years of weather and love. Its faded wood blended with the trees surrounding it, and the faint golden glow of string lights woven along the beams made it feel like something out of a dream. The creek gurgled softly nearby, its sound underscoring the quiet retreat Star had created for herself. She hadnât left this sanctuary in a week. She hadnât gone back to the trailer park, hadnât faced the mess waiting for her there. Instead, she stayed here, wrapped in the safety of Madisonâs presence.
Inside, the treehouse was cluttered with years of memories: old books with dog-eared pages, throw blankets, faded cushions, and now, Starâs cat, Comet, who had claimed a corner as his personal kingdom. His litter box sat discreetly in one corner, his food and water bowls lined up neatly beside a blanket sheâd brought from home. He was sprawled lazily on one of Madisonâs pillows, his black fur blending seamlessly with the worn fabric as he watched the girls with a contented air.
Madison sat cross-legged by the window, her guitar resting on her lap as she plucked at the strings, trying to tune them. Star lay on her stomach near the center of the room, flipping through one of Madisonâs journals without any real focus. Her eyes skimmed over the half-finished song lyrics, doodles, and scattered thoughts, but her mind felt too crowded to take any of it in. She wasnât ready to think about Chris or Danny or the complicated mess that connected them all. The idea of going back to the trailer park made her chest tighten.
Madison hadnât said anything about it. She hadnât asked why Star wasnât going home or pressed her for answers. Instead, sheâd quietly made the treehouse feel as welcoming as possible. A portable heater hummed in the corner, keeping the space warm despite the winter chill outside. A lavender-scented candle flickered on a small shelf, its faint aroma mingling with the earthy scent of the creek and the wood. Madison just kept things easy, offering quiet companionship without demands, and Star was grateful for it.
âYouâre being too quiet,â Madison said softly, breaking the quiet strum of her guitar. She glanced at Star with a knowing look.
âWhatâs there to say?â Star mumbled, not looking up.
Madison adjusted one of the guitar strings, the sound twanging sharply in the stillness. âI dunno, just checking in I guess,â she said lightly, though her gaze lingered on Star a moment longer.
Star shrugged, her fingers idly flipping another page. âIâm fine.â
It was a lie, and Madison knew it. But she didnât press. She just returned her attention to the guitar, her fingers moving deftly as she strummed out a soft melody. The sound filled the space, soothing in its familiarity. Madisonâs music had always had a way of quieting Starâs thoughts, and tonight was no different. Star let the notes wash over her, her body sinking deeper into the cushion beneath her.
Comet chose that moment to leap onto Madisonâs lap, his paws landing squarely on the strings with an audible thud. Madison laughed, pulling him away gently and holding him up to eye level.
âYour son is terribly unaware of manners,â she teased, setting him down on the floor beside her.
Star grinned, propping herself up on her elbows. âHeâs the most well-behaved man in my life. Leave him alone.â
Madison raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching. âThatâs depressing.â
Star shrugged again, the corner of her mouth lifting. âYeah, well. Itâs the truth.â
Madison rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. She gave the guitar another strum, then set it aside, leaning back against the wall. âThis place has seriously seen better days,â she said, gesturing at the treehouse around them.
âSâperfect,â Star said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Madison looked at her for a long moment, her expression softening. âYeah,â she said quietly. âI guess it is.â
The air between them settled again, the kind of comfortable silence that only years of friendship could create. Star closed her eyes, letting the quiet hum of the creek and the faint rustle of the wind outside lull her into a sense of calm. Madison picked up the guitar again, strumming idly, the soft notes blending seamlessly with the sounds of the night.
âYou havenât sung for me in forever,â Star said after a while, her voice barely above a murmur.
Madison glanced at her, her fingers pausing on the strings. âWhat do you want to hear?â
Star opened her eyes, her gaze drifting to Madisonâs hands. âYou know what I want.â
Madison froze, her fingers stilling. âSeriously?â
Star nodded, her lips twitching into a small smile. âItâs your favorite. And⊠itâs kinda ours, isnât it?â
Madison hesitated, her expression unreadable. Then, with a soft sigh, she adjusted her grip on the guitar. âAlright,â she said quietly. âBut donât judge me if I mess it up.â
Star didnât answer, just leaned back against the pillow and closed her eyes again. Madison wouldnât mess it up, she never did.Â
The first notes of Weâll Never Have Sex filled the space, tentative at first but growing stronger as Madison found her rhythm. Her voice was soft, almost shy, but it carried an unpolished beauty that made Starâs chest ache. The lyrics hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.
For Madison, the song was an outlet, a way to express everything she couldnât say out loud. For Star, it was a reminder of safety and love, of the kind of connection that didnât come with expectations or strings. As Madison sang, Star felt something in her chest loosen, the weight sheâd been carrying for days easing just slightly.
By the time Madison reached the second chorus, Star had shifted closer, her head resting against Madisonâs shoulder. Madison didnât stop playing, but she glanced down at Star, her expression softening. She kept singing, her voice steady even as her heart raced.
When the song ended, the treehouse fell silent except for the faint crackle of the heater and the soft purring of Comet. Madison set the guitar aside, her fingers lingering on the strings.
âI missed that, Your voiceâ Star said softly, her voice thick with emotion.
Madison shrugged, her cheeks flushing. âItâs not all that and a bag of chips.â
âIt is,â Star insisted, sitting up slightly. âThat songâwhat it means⊠Itâs everything. Youâre everything.â
Madison swallowed hard, her heart racing. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Starâs face. âI just want you to feel⊠loved,â she said quietly. âLike you matter. Because you do.â
Starâs lips twitched into a small smile. âYou make me feel that way, Mads. Always.â
Madison didnât trust herself to speak, so she pressed a soft kiss to Starâs temple, letting the moment speak for itself.
They stayed like that for a while, the silence between them comfortable and full of unspoken understanding. But eventually, Madison broke it, her voice hesitant.
âYou should talk to him,â she said.
Star frowned, her brows knitting together. âTalk to who?â
Madison gave her a knowing look, and Starâs face fell as realization dawned. âNo. Absolutely not.â
Madisonâs expression didnât change. âIâm not saying what he did was okay. It wasnât. But heâs become a safe place for you, Star. And you deserve as many of those as you can get.â
Star hesitated, her defenses cracking. âWhat if itâs not safe anymore?â
Madison shook her head, her voice firm but gentle. âYou miss him. And Lila. Donât let your pride keep you from something good.â
The words sat heavily between them, and for the first time in days, Star allowed herself to consider them. By the time she agreed, the sun was beginning to set.Â
Star left the treehouse with reluctance, her steps heavy as she made her way down the old wooden steps. Comet stayed behind, curled into a ball in his makeshift corner, purring softly. Madison leaned against the doorframe, watching her go with an expression that was equal parts worry and hope. She didnât say anything as Star started down the path toward the trailer park, but her presence lingered, like a steadying hand on Starâs back.
The air was crisp, biting against her cheeks, but Star welcomed it. The chill helped distract her from the storm of thoughts swirling in her head. Each step closer to the trailer park felt like an admission of defeat, though she wasnât sure what she was surrendering toâChris, herself, or the ache that had settled in her chest since their fight.
The world around her was quiet, the only sounds coming from the crunch of gravel beneath her boots and the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees. It was the kind of silence that invited reflection, whether she wanted it or not.
Her mind drifted to moments with Chris. The sharpness of his dry humor, the way he moved through the world like he was trying to go unnoticed, and the rare softness he reserved for Lila. She thought about the way his hands were always busyâsketching, tinkering with the car, rolling bluntsâand how those same hands had brushed hers when he thought she wasnât paying attention. She thought about the quiet nights on his porch, words left unsaid between them, and how that silence had felt comforting until it hadnât.
Her chest tightened as the trailer park came into view, its familiar outline stirring up everything sheâd been avoiding all week. She clenched her fists at her sides, bracing herself for the weight of what was waiting for her there.
As she turned onto their shared street, her steps faltered. Chris was already there, standing in front of her trailer. He looked out of place in the streetlightâs glow, his broad shoulders slouched and his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. He seemed caught between leaving and knocking, his hesitation palpable even from a distance.
Star ducked behind a tree, watching him. She knew she shouldnât, but her feet stayed planted, her body frozen. He lifted his hand, hesitated, and then let it fall. The second time, his knuckles brushed the door, the sound barely audible even in the quiet.
The door opened to Danny, whose irritation was visible in the stiff set of his shoulders. Starâs breath caught, and she stepped back instinctively, her back pressing against the rough bark of the tree. She couldnât hear their words, but she didnât need to. Chrisâs body language said it all. His shoulders were hunched, his posture smaller than usual. Dannyâs crossed arms and narrowed eyes were all dismissal.
Chris said something low, his voice too soft to carry, and Dannyâs expression hardened. He responded with something curt before stepping back and slamming the door. Chris stood there, unmoving, for a long moment. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration before turning to leave.
Thatâs when he saw her.
Star froze, her breath hitching as his gaze locked onto hers. His surprise was clear in the way his body tensed, his feet halting mid-step. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Star stepped out from behind the tree, keeping a cautious distance between them.
âHey,â Chris said, his voice quiet, almost unsure.
âHi,â she echoed, the word barely more than a breath.
He glanced toward her trailer, then back at her. âYou heading home?â
She shook her head. âNo.â
The silence between them stretched, heavy and taut. Star dug her hands into the sleeves of her hoodie, her nails pressing into her palms as she searched for the right words. Finally, she cleared her throat. âCanâŠcan we talk?â
Chrisâs eyes flickered, something like relief crossing his face before he nodded. âYeah.â
They walked in silence to the old playground at the edge of the park, their steps slow and careful, like they were afraid to break whatever fragile truce had formed between them. The swings creaked softly in the breeze, the rusted chains groaning under their weight. Star sat on one of the swings, her fingers curling around the cold metal, while Chris settled on the bottom step of the slide, a few feet away.
The silence stretched between them again, the quiet almost unbearable.
âIâm sorry,â Star said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Chrisâs head snapped up, his brow furrowing. âDonât,â he said, his voice rough.
She looked at him, startled by the sharpness in his tone.
âYou didnât do anything wrong,â he said, quieter this time. He stared at the ground, his hands clasped tightly between his knees.
âI shouldnât haveââ
âYou were trying to help,â he interrupted, his voice tight. âAnd I⊠I shouldnât have said what I said.â He shifted uncomfortably, his hands running through his hair. "I felt cornered. Embarrassed. You were just... trying to help, and I threw it back at you. I got defensive because... because this is what I do. And it's fucking humiliating. But I have to do it, Star. For them. It wasnât about you. I just⊠I canâtââ He stopped, his words catching in his throat.
Star waited, giving him the space to continue, but when he didnât, she spoke. âI get it, youâre taking care of them,â she said softly. â But it felt like you were pushing me away.â
Chrisâs jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the ground. âI was,â he admitted, his voice barely audible.
The honesty in his words hit her like a punch to the gut. She looked down at her hands, the chains of the swing digging into her palms. âWhy?â
Chris exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. âBecause itâs easier,â he said finally. âTo push people away. To fuck things up before they canâŠâ He trailed off, his voice cracking.
âBefore they can what?â
He didnât answer. His hands flexed, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the step.
Star felt tears sting her eyes, but she blinked them back. âYou hurt me,â she said, her voice trembling. âI thought youâŠI thought maybe you let me in, but then you just⊠shut me out. Like I didnât matter.â
Chrisâs head snapped up, his eyes meeting hers for the first time. They were filled with so much guilt, so much regret, that it nearly took her breath away. âYou do matter,â he said, his voice raw. âMore than you know.â
The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Star looked away, her hands trembling as she gripped the chains tighter.
â mânot good at this,â Chris said finally, his voice low and hesitant. âAt⊠people. At letting them in. Not anymore,â He paused, his hands fidgeting in his lap. âBut you⊠youâre different. Youâre not like anyone else.â
Starâs breath hitched, her chest tightening at his words. She looked at him, her eyes searching his face for somethingâanythingâto hold onto.
âMâworking on it though.. donât give up on me yet,â he said, his voice barely above a whisper. âPlease.â
Her heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, the rawness in his expression. She reached out, her hand brushing his lightly. âI wonât,â she said softly.
For a moment, they just sat there, the quiet between them wrapping around them like a blanket, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken and everything they couldnât quite find the words to say.
Chrisâs voice broke the stillness, so soft it almost melted into the night. âYouâre like..every star in my sky, you know that?â
Star blinked, her breath catching in her chest. She turned to look at him, her brow furrowing slightly. âWhat does that make you?â
He hesitated, his lips pressing together like he was weighing the words, then let out a quiet, almost shy laugh. âI dunnoâŠmaybe just the sky,â he murmured. âBig, empty⊠but youâyou light it up. You make it mean something.â
Her heart ached in a way that was both painful and sweet, like it was trying to hold too much all at once. âYouâre not empty,â she said softly, shaking her head. âYouâre not.â
Chrisâs eyes lifted to hers, the guarded walls he always carried stripped away, leaving behind something raw and achingly sincere. âI just⊠I donât know what Iâd do without them. Or you. I donât think I want to find out.â
She smiled then, her lips trembling as warmth spread through her chest. âYou donât have to,â she said, her voice breaking slightly. âYouâre stuck with all of us, Sturniolo.â
His faint, lopsided smile returned, but this time it reached his eyes.
Star leaned back slightly, letting her gaze drift up to the night sky. The stars were scattered like pinpricks of light, distant and beautiful. âYouâre the moon for me,â she said softly, almost to herself.
Chris tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. âYeah? Howâs that?â
âBecause even when itâs dark, youâre still there,â she murmured, her voice steady. She turned to him, her eyes shimmering in the soft light. âYou always find a way to be there.â
Chris didnât respond right away. Instead, he reached out slowly, his hand brushing hers where it rested on the swingâs chain. His touch was hesitant, like he wasnât sure he had the right, but when her fingers curled around his, the tension in his shoulders eased.
Starâs chest swelled with something too big to name, and as she looked at him, she realized the ache sheâd carried all week had finally started to ease. Whatever this wasâwhatever they wereâit wasnât perfect, but it was real.
The walk back to the trailers was slow and unhurried, the crisp night air weaving around them as if it were trying to push them closer. Starâs boots kicked at stray pebbles, her thoughts swirling as the silence stretched between them. Finally, she glanced at Chris out of the corner of her eye.
âWhat were you doing at my trailer?â she asked, her voice careful but curious.
Chrisâs steps faltered for a moment, his hands sliding into his jacket pockets. He shrugged, the motion almost boyish, but the tips of his ears betrayed him, flushing a faint red. âWas seeing if you were home yet.â
Star stopped walking, her brow furrowed. âYet?â she echoed, her voice tinged with confusion.
Chris hesitated, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground now, like it might swallow him whole. âYeah,â he muttered, shifting his weight awkwardly. âbeen over there a couple times. Yâknow, to apologize. After you took a while to respond to the drawing.â
âThe what?â Starâs confusion deepened, her head tilting slightly.
Chris looked up, his expression caught somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief. âThe drawing. The one I slipped through your window?â he said, his voice quieter now, his usual confidence muted. âI just figured you saw it and didnât want anything to do with me.â
Star blinked at him, her mouth opening and closing for a moment before she found her voice. âChris,â she said slowly, âI havenât been home to see it.â
His expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and something softer, though he quickly tried to mask it with a shrug. âItâs no big deal now,â he said, his voice carrying a forced nonchalance. âWas just a stupid doodle asking to talk.â
Star stepped closer to him, her lips quirking into a small, teasing smile. âYou really need to work on your apology skills, maybe hand it to me next time.â
Chris huffed a quiet laugh, the sound low and genuine, and it sent a flutter through Starâs chest. âYeah,â he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. âWill do.â
As they neared her trailer, the conversation slowed, the quiet settling over them once again. When they reached her door, Chris stopped, turning to look at her. For a moment, they just stood there, the faint hum of the night filling the space between them.
âI missed you,â Star said softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
Chrisâs gaze darted to hers, his usual guardedness cracking. His cheeks turned red again, but this time he didnât look away. âYeah? The trailerâs been a little quiet without you barging in all the time,â he admitted, his voice gruff but laced with something warmer, softer.
The words settled over her like a balm, easing the ache that had lingered in her chest for days, he was terrible with his words but she knew what he was getting at. She smiled, stepping a little closer. âWhereâs Lila?â she asked, glancing toward his trailer.
Chris leaned against the railing, his hands still tucked into his pockets. âSheâs at a sleepover,â he said. âSome kid from school invited her over. First one sheâs ever gone to, actually.â
Star smiled at that, imagining Lilaâs excitement. âGood for her,â she said, her voice warm.
Chris nodded before glancing at her again. âWhereâve you been staying?â
âWith Madison and Comet,â she said, the corners of her mouth twitching. âTucked away in a treehouse.â
Chris arched a brow, the faintest hint of amusement flickering across his face. âA treehouse? That sounds very⊠you.â
Star nudged his arm lightly, rolling her eyes. âDonât knock it until you try it.â
But Chrisâs smile faded slightly, his expression turning thoughtful. âYou stayed away because of me,â he said quietly, more a statement than a question.
Star looked down, unable to meet his eyes. âIt wasnât just you,â she murmured, though they both knew that wasnât entirely true.
Chris reached out, his fingers brushing against hers, hesitant but steady. âIâm sorry,â he said again, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of everything he couldnât say.
Star looked up at him, her chest tightening. And before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft, tentative, but full of all the things they couldnât find the words for.
Chris froze for half a second before he kissed her back, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, warm and steady. When they pulled away, their foreheads rested together, and for the first time in days, Star felt like she could breathe again.
âCâmon,â Chris said after a moment, his voice still soft but steadier now. âLet me take you back to Madisonâs.â
Star hesitated, her pulse quickening.Â
Chris gave her a small, reassuring smile. âIâll go slow. Promise.â
After a moment, she nodded, and he led her to his car.
As Chris pulled up in front of Madisonâs house, the car hummed to a stop. Star reached for the door handle, but before she could push it open, Chris had already slipped out of his seat and rounded the hood.
She blinked at him as he opened her door, the quiet chivalry catching her off guard. âYou didnât have toââ
He shrugged, cutting her off with a lopsided smile. âJust wanted to.â
Star stepped out, her boots crunching softly against the gravel. Before she could thank him, Chris leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. It was brief but full of something unspoken, the warmth of his hand resting lightly on her back grounding her in the moment.
Above them, nestled in the soft glow of the treehouse lights, Madison sat frozen. Sheâd been lounging on the worn cushions, a book open on her lap, when the sound of a car pulling up caught her attention.
Curiosity had drawn her to the window, her gaze slipping past the familiar outline of the treehouse railing. At first, the car didnât register as anything more than an unexpected visitor. But then the passenger door opened, and Madison saw the guy step out.
Her heart fluttered as she watched him walk around the car, his movements easy but purposeful. He opened the passenger door, his head tilting toward the figure stepping out. Madisonâs breath caught as the girl emerged, her silhouette illuminated faintly by the moonlight.
The guy leaned down, pressing a kiss to the girlâs lips, and Madisonâs stomach twisted, the scene unfolding like a blow she hadnât seen coming. She was about to look away, unwilling to invade their privacy any further, when the girl turned, her face catching the faint glow of the moon.
Madisonâs heart stopped.
It was Star.
The book in Madisonâs lap tumbled to the floor, but she didnât notice. Her chest tightened, her breath shallow as she watched her best friend kiss Chris. The kiss was soft, nothing over the top, but it was enough. Enough to confirm what Madison hadnât seriously wanted to admit to herself.
Madison pressed her lips together, forcing herself to look away. She felt guilt pooling alongside the ache in her chest, guilt for watching, guilt for the bitterness she couldnât push down.
When she dared another glance, Chris was walking Star up the path toward the house, their conversation too quiet to hear. Madison swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the edge of the cushion. She felt like a stranger looking in, someone on the outside of something she couldnât touch.
As Star turned to wave at Chris before he left, the warmth in her smile was unmistakable, and it only made the ache in Madisonâs chest deepen. She forced herself to step back from the window, her heart heavy, and sat down on the cushions again, her head lowering into her hands.
It wasnât jealousy, she told herself, not really. It was just the ache of knowing sheâd lost something she never really had to begin with.
AUTHORS NOTE: this song GENUINELY makes me crash out my god. anyways you can all stop jumping me in my ask now pls, he fixed it itâs fixed theyâre married with 38464923874 children in another alternate universe đż
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#Spotify#âdarksturnz#đ .âźbambi!madison.áê±#đ .âźstar!reader.áê±#đ .âźartist!chris.áê±#đ .âźstar!reader x artist!chris x bambi!madison.áê±#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo blurb#sturniolo smut#christopher sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo angst#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo triplets smut#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo angst#sturniolo fluff
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ECHOES OF LIGHT
CONTENTS:ă»fluff-heavy plot ă» star!reader ă»fruity behavior againă»bambi!madisonă»mentions of church (kinda not really!) ă»substance use + more WC: 3K
no like you have to listen to this one AFTER the italicsđż
The trailer door slammed open, the echo of the impact rattling the thin walls of the small space. Danny stumbled inside, the weight of the late hour and too much cheap whiskey heavy on his every movement. His boots dragged across the floor, leaving scuff marks in their wake as he muttered curses under his breath. The stale smell of alcohol and cigarettes clung to him, mixing with the oppressive silence of the trailerâa silence that seemed to amplify the weight of his bubbling anger.
He scanned the dimly lit kitchen, his bloodshot eyes catching on the empty countertop and the unlit stove. No dinner, no Star. His jaw clenched, the frustration blooming into full-blown rage as he kicked the side of a chair, the clatter breaking the quiet. âUngrateful little shit,â he hissed, slurring the words together. âCanât even do the basics, can she? Out runninâ around like sheâs got no damn responsibilities.â
He staggered toward the hallway, the flickering bulb above casting uneven light on the worn floorboards. His movements were uneven, his balance precarious as his shoulder bumped against the wall. âDonât give a damn about no one but herself,â he muttered, a sneer twisting his face. Each step closer to Starâs room fed the fire of his anger, his mind already crafting a list of her supposed failures.
When he reached her door, he shoved it open without knocking, the old hinges creaking in protest. The sight inside gave him pauseânot for long, but long enough to let a flicker of something other than anger cross his features. The room was a stark contrast to the rest of the trailer, a small sanctuary filled with the scent of plums and mango. It was uniquely hers, a blend of moody, dark tones with tiny sentimental touches. Posters covered the walls, and string lights looped around the ceiling. The little glowing stars they had stuck up there years ago still clung stubbornly to the surface, a faint reminder of a time long past.
Dannyâs gaze lingered on the stars for a moment, his mind flicking to Grace and the hours they had spent arguing over how to get them to stick just right. The memory was a brief, unwelcome intrusion, and he shook it off, his anger swallowing the nostalgia whole.
âThink youâre better than me, huh? Better than this place?â he spat under his breath, as if Star were standing there to hear him. The bitterness in his voice reverberated off the walls as he began rifling through her belongings. His hands were rough, careless, pulling at her clothes, shoving items aside without purpose. He wasnât looking for anythingâhe just wanted to disrupt, to vent his frustration in the only way he knew how.
His attention shifted to the window, cracked open slightly to let in the crisp night air. He stumbled toward it, muttering under his breath. âFucking idiot,â he grumbled, slamming it shut with a loud thud that shook the frame. âHeating billâs gonna be through the roof. Sânot like she gives a damn.â
In his drunken clumsiness, his knee collided with the edge of the dresser. A loud thud echoed in the room as a small pile of items tumbled to the floorâa jewelry dish, a couple of notebooks, and a folded piece of paper. The drawing Chris had left the night before fluttered down, light as a feather, sliding behind the dresser and disappearing into the shadows.
Danny barely noticed, too preoccupied with his own muttered complaints. Satisfied with the misplaced tirade, he turned and stumbled out, slamming the door behind him. The once-cozy sanctuary was left in disarrayâStarâs belongings scattered, the scent of mango and plum now mixed with the stale air of his intrusion.
The trailer fell silent again, the chaos heâd left behind a stark contrast to the stillness. And the drawing, a quiet plea folded into a forgotten piece of paper, lay hidden in the dark, waiting to be found.
Madison sat cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, a clutter of makeup brushes and compacts scattered around her. The warm golden glow from the lamp on her dresser cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the soft ivory of her sweater and the plaid skirt sheâd carefully chosen earlier. Her Bible sat forgotten on the bed next to a notebook filled with scribbled notes for church meetings. Tonight wasnât about scripture or planning; it was about showing up, looking presentable, and being the dutiful daughter of Pine Viewâs sheriff and mayor.
Star, on the other hand, was sprawled on Madisonâs window seat, her back against the wall, one leg pulled up while the other dangled lazily. She held a well-worn copy of The Bell Jar by Sylvia Path in one hand, the pages dog-eared and smudged with fingerprints. In her other hand, a joint rested loosely between her fingers, the smoke curling upward and drifting out the cracked window. The faint hum of cicadas filtered in, blending with the low music playing from Madisonâs Bluetooth speaker.
âI hate everything I brought,â Star muttered, not looking up from her book as she exhaled a lazy plume of smoke. The words were heavy with frustration, and Madison glanced at her through the mirror, biting back a smile.
âYouâve said that about six times now, check my closetâ Madison replied, carefully brushing blush onto her cheeks. She tried to keep her tone light, but the corners of her lips twitched. Watching Star pout and grumble was always strangely endearing.
Star finally lowered the book, tossing it onto the seat beside her before swinging her legs over and standing. She stretched, her hoodie riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of skin, and Madisonâs brush faltered for a moment. She swallowed hard and forced herself to refocus on her reflection, even as her gaze darted back to Star through the mirror.
âYou donât get it,â Star said, pulling her hoodie over her head in one fluid motion. She stood there in her sports bra and jeans, her hair a wild mess from the sweater. âEverything I own is either too dark, too tight, or too depressing for whatever this church thing is supposed to be.â
Madison tried to respond, but the words caught in her throat. Her hands stilled on her makeup brush as her eyes lingered on Starâs reflection. The soft curve of her shoulders, the faint shadows of her collarbones, the way her hair tumbled down in uneven wavesâit was all so⊠distracting. Madisonâs cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked down, pretending to fidget with her lipstick.
âNot sure why I care,â Star continued, oblivious to Madisonâs sudden discomfort. She rifled through Madisonâs closet, her movements sharp and frustrated. âSânot like anyoneâs gonna say anything.â
âIâll notice,â Madison said before she could stop herself. Her voice was quiet, almost too soft to be heard, and she felt a flicker of panic as soon as the words left her mouth. She quickly added, âAnd for the record, you look good in anything.â
Star glanced over her shoulder, a grin tugging at her lips. âThatâs cute, Mads, but not very helpful.â She pulled out a black cardigan dress and held it up to her body. âWhat about this? Or is it too funeral-y?â
Madison turned her attention back to the mirror, pretending to focus on her eyeliner. But when she saw Star holding the dress in the reflection, her breath hitched. The soft black fabric hugged Starâs figure perfectly, and Madisonâs stomach flipped in a way that felt both thrilling and terrifying.
âSâperfect,â she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She hoped Star wouldnât notice the faint tremor in her words.
Star grinned, tossing the dress onto the bed before turning back to the closet to grab her boots. Madison let out a quiet sigh of relief, her hands trembling slightly as she capped her eyeliner. She told herself it was nothingâjust a passing thought, a moment of admiration for her best friend. But deep down, she knew it wasnât that simple.
The church courtyard was strung with soft yellow lights, the glow illuminating the clusters of townsfolk mingling beneath them. Tables were set up with trays of cookies and cupcakes, and a small speaker played country music in the background. It was a modest event, but the kind of thing Pine View thrived onâsimple, familiar, and filled with faces that all knew each other.
Madisonâs parents were already in the thick of it, her father shaking hands with other men in uniform while her mother chatted with the local pastor. Madison and Star slipped in quietly, doing their best to avoid drawing too much attention.
âThis is⊠a lot,â Star muttered, sticking close to Madisonâs side. Her black cardigan dress and platform boots made her stand out among the sea of pastel dresses and khaki slacks, but Madison thought she looked perfect.
âItâs not so bad,â Madison said, though she could feel the tension in Starâs posture. âWeâll just grab some cupcakes, pretend to care about small talk, and then bail.â
Starâs lips quirked into a small smile. âSounds like a plan.â
They wandered to the dessert table, where Star immediately grabbed one of the cupcakes and made a face. âThis tastes like disappointment.â
Madison laughed, the sound light and genuine. âItâs made by the church ladies. What did you expect?â
After an hour of obligatory small talk and polite smiles, Star tugged on Madisonâs sleeve. âYâwanna ditch?â
Madison hesitated, glancing around the courtyard. But when she saw the hopeful glint in Starâs eyes, she relented. âFine. But only for a little while.â
Star grinned and led the way to the small garden behind the church. The space was quiet and dimly lit, the string lights from the courtyard casting faint shadows across the benches and flowerbeds. Star flopped onto one of the benches, pulling a fresh joint from her bag and lighting it with practiced ease.
âYouâre crazy,â Madison said, sitting beside her. âWeâre at a church, Star.â
Star exhaled a soft plume of smoke, her grin playful. âSânot like Iâm lighting it in the sanctuary.â She held the joint out to Madison, her eyes gleaming with mischief. âCâmon. Live a little bambi.â
Madison hesitated, her cheeks flushing at the stupid nickname. âYouâre terrible.â
âAnd you love me,â Star teased, her voice warm and teasing.
Madisonâs heart skipped a beat, but she forced a laugh and took the joint, coughing on her first drag as Star laughed beside her.
Star eventually lays back, resting her head in Madisonâs lap as she stared up at the sky. âDid you know the light from those stars is already dead?â she murmured. âItâs just⊠echoes.â
Madison nods softly, âmhm, youâve mentioned it only a few timesâ she says playfully as her fingers brushed through Starâs hair, her gaze lingering on the curve of her lips as Star continued to ramble about constellations. The warmth of the moment settled over them like a blanket, and Madison felt her chest tighten.
She leaned down slightly, her breath catching as her lips hovered before pressing a soft kiss to Starâs cheek.
Star blinked, her gaze shifting to Madison with a soft, confused smile. âWhat was that for?â
Madison shrugged, trying to hide her blush. âI dunno. You just looked like you needed one.â
Starâs smile lingered, but she didnât press. Instead, she settled back into Madisonâs lap, her voice soft as she pointed out another constellation.
Madisonâs heart raced, but for now, she let herself enjoy the moment, the quiet realization settling over her like the stars above.
The quiet of the church garden wrapped around them, the distant hum of voices from the courtyard blending into the symphony of crickets and rustling leaves. Madisonâs fingers twitched slightly as they brushed against Starâs hair, her heartbeat loud and uneven in her chest.
Star lay still in Madisonâs lap, her body relaxed, but her gaze flickered with life as she stared at the stars above. Her lips parted slightly, and she let out a breathy laugh that seemed to echo in the stillness.
âWhatâs so funny?â Madison asked, her voice soft and curious, her hand pausing mid-stroke through Starâs hair.
âI dunno,â Star admitted, turning her head slightly to meet Madisonâs eyes. The motion caused her cheek to rest against Madisonâs leg, the warmth of her skin seeping through the fabric of Madisonâs skirt. âI just⊠it feels nice, yâknow? Being out here, quiet. With you.â
Madison nodded slowly, her eyes lingering on Starâs face as her own cheeks started to heat up. âYeah,â she murmured. âIt does.â
Star shifted slightly, her expression softening as she turned back to the sky. âSometimes, I think about what itâd be like to just⊠float up there,â she said, her voice dreamy and distant. âLike, if you could just let go of everything and let the stars pull you in. Itâd probably be cold as hell, but at least you wouldnât have to think so much.â
Madisonâs chest tightened, a faint ache blooming there. She didnât say anything at first, just let her fingers trail absently along the ends of Starâs hair, her thoughts swirling. She hated how much Star carried, how heavy her life seemed to weigh on her, and yet⊠she admired her for still being here, for still smiling and laughing even when it hurt.
âYou donât have to do it alone, you know,â Madison said quietly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Star blinked, her brows furrowing slightly as she glanced back up at Madison. âDo what alone?â
âEverything,â Madison replied, her voice trembling just enough to betray her nerves. She cleared her throat, her fingers stilling in Starâs hair. âI just mean⊠I donât know. Youâre always dealing with so muchâyour dad, Chris, your momâand you act like youâve got it all under control, but you donât have to. Iâm here, Star. Iâm always here.â
Starâs lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, she sat up slowly, her gaze searching Madisonâs face. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the air between them heavy with unspoken things.
âMadisonâŠâ Star began, her voice hesitant, but then she stopped, biting her lip. She looked down, her fingers picking at the hem of her cardigan. âI donât even know how to let people help. Every time I try, it feels like I just mess it up.â
âYou donât mess anything up,â Madison said firmly, her voice steadier now. âYouâre just⊠you. And thatâs enough. Thatâs always enough.â
Star looked up at her again, her eyes wide and glistening in the dim light. For a second, Madison thought she might cry, but then Star let out a shaky laugh, her shoulders relaxing.
âYouâre so cheesy,â Star said, but her tone was soft, almost affectionate. âIf this is your way of getting me to come to all of these stupid things, itâs working.â
Madison laughed, the sound light and genuine, and the tension between them seemed to ease. Star leaned back, her head finding its way to Madisonâs lap once more, and Madison let out a small breath of relief. Her fingers resumed their gentle path through Starâs hair, and Star closed her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
The courtyard was emptier now, most of the families having left while a few stragglers lingered near the dessert table. Madison and Star walked side by side, their arms brushing occasionally as they made their way back toward the main event. Madisonâs cheeks still burned faintly from the kiss on Starâs cheek, but Star didnât seem to noticeâor if she did, she wasnât saying anything.
âYouâre lucky this thing wasnât a total drag,â Star said, her voice light. âI mean, sure, the cupcakes tasted like sadness, but I guess the company was alright.â
Madison rolled her eyes, but she couldnât stop the smile that spread across her face. âGlad I could make your night bearable.â
âBarely,â Star teased, nudging Madisonâs arm with her elbow. But her smile softened, and for a moment, she looked at Madison with an expression that made Madisonâs heart stutter.
âThanks,â Star said quietly. âFor, yâknow⊠everything.â
Madisonâs throat tightened, and she nodded, unable to trust her voice. She wanted to say somethingâsomething meaningful, something that would let Star know just how much she meant to herâbut the words stayed stuck, tangled in the mess of her feelings.
By the time they got back to Madisonâs house, Star was yawning, her eyelids heavy as she kicked off her boots and flopped onto Madisonâs bed without a second thought. Madison smiled softly, watching as Star burrowed into the blankets, her messy hair fanning out around her. Comet hopped up onto the bed and curled up near Starâs neck, purring contentedly.
Madison changed into her pajamas quietly, her thoughts a whirl of emotions she didnât know how to process. When she finally slid into bed beside Star, careful not to disturb her, she lay there staring at the ceiling, her heart racing.
Starâs breathing was soft and even, her presence warm and steady beside Madison. It was both comforting and overwhelming, and Madison couldnât help but glance over at her, her gaze lingering on the curve of Starâs lips.
The thought came unbidden, sharp and undeniable, and Madisonâs chest ached with the weight of it. She didnât know what to do with the feeling, didnât know if she even could do anything with it. It was terrifying and wonderful all at once. But as she turned her gaze back to the ceiling and closed her eyes, she let herself hold onto it, just for tonight.
I love her.
AUTHORS NOTE: sorry for ignoring all your askâŠas you can see there was a reason whyđ
đ
đ
ANYWAYS WOO GAY MADISON WOO
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#Spotify#âdarksturnz#đ .âźstar!reader.áê±#đ .âźbambi!madison.áê±#đ .âźartist!chris.áê±#madison beer angst#madison beer#madison beer fanfic#madison beer fluff#madison beer au#madison beer smut#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo blurb#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo angst#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo
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DRAWINGS AND APOLOGIES
CONTENTS:ă»soft angst/fluff-heavy plot (??) ă»star!reader ă»mild language ă»some fruity activityă»artist!chris ă»bambi!madison + more WC: 2.1K (not proof read)
play this song. on repeat !
The faint smell of nail polish filled Madisonâs living room, the kind of chemical sweetness that mixed oddly well with the lavender candle flickering on the coffee table. Star sat cross-legged on the floor, her hoodie sleeves pushed up as she tried to carefully paint Madisonâs nails a deep plum color. Comet, however, had other plans. The fluffy cat had sprawled across Madisonâs lap, purring loud enough to rival the ambient playlist humming in the background.
âHold still,â Star muttered, furrowing her brows as she hovered the brush over Madisonâs thumb.
âI would if your son wasnât crushing me,â Madison teased, scratching Cometâs chin.
Star rolled her eyes. âDonât act like you donât love the chunksâ
Madison grinned, holding up her hand for inspection. âseriously, not to body shame but heâs huge now! He wasnât this big in that picture you posted.â
Star snorted. âYeah, heâs been eating like a starved Victorian child who just discovered McDonaldâs for the first time.â She capped the polish and leaned back against the couch. âAnd heâs been rotting in bed with me all day. Weâre both a little pathetic.â
The comment came out casually, but Madisonâs eyes flicked up, watching Star closely. âRotting, huh?â she asked, keeping her voice light. âVery Girl, Interrupted of you.â
Star snorted and shrugged, fiddling with the bottle of nail polish. âIâm very Winona Ryder, we know this already. Lifeâs just been⊠a lot, I guess.â
Madison shifted slightly, gently moving Comet off her lap and onto the couch beside her. âWhatâs been a lot?â she asked, dipping her fingers into the nail polish remover as if she wasnât paying too much attention.
Star hesitated, the words stuck in her throat. But Madisonâs quiet presence, her calm patience, made it easier to start. âMy dadâs beenâŠâ She trailed off, her voice tightening. âHeâs just been worse lately. Everythingâs my fault, yâknow? The house isnât clean enough. Iâm not enough. He justââ Her breath hitched, and she shook her head.
Madison didnât interrupt, just nodded slightly, her hands folded in her lap.
âAnd Chris,â Star added, her voice quieter now. âHe was such an asshole. Like, I get itâheâs stressed. He has so much going on. But it felt like everything he said was aimed right where itâd hurt the most, like he was just⊠unloading all his shit on me.â
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her hoodie, and her words spilled out faster now. âAnd the worst part is, Iâm not even mad at him. I justââ She swallowed hard, her eyes shining. âI care about him so much, it makes me feel stupid. Itâs like I canât stop caring even when I know I should.â
Madison stayed quiet, her expression softening as she leaned closer.
âAnd I miss my mom.â Starâs voice cracked, and the first tear fell before she could stop it. âI miss her so much. I just⊠I wish things were different. I wish she was here.â
The tears came faster now, slipping silently down her cheeks. Comet, sensing her distress, immediately leapt down from the couch and climbed onto Starâs chest. He curled up there, his warm, heavy weight grounding her as he began purring softly.
Madison slid down to the floor beside Star, leaning against her. âDo you remember that time your mom took us to the pool?â she said, her voice soft and steady.
Star blinked, looking over at her.
âShe jumped in fully clothed because you were too scared to go in,â Madison continued with a small smile. âAnd then she made a huge splash on purpose so weâd all get soaked. I thought the lifeguard was gonna kill her.â
A shaky laugh escaped Starâs lips. âI remember. She had to drive us home in her wet jeans.â
âAnd then there was the time she tried to help us bake cookies,â Madison added, her own laughter bubbling up. âBut we didnât read the directions, so we added like three tablespoons of salt instead of sugar. She ate one anyway and said it was the best cookie sheâd ever had.â
Star laughed again, the sound soft and bittersweet. âShe was such a liar.â
âShe really was,â Madison agreed, nudging Starâs shoulder gently.
The laughter faded, but Star felt a little lighter. She wiped her face with her sleeve, looking over at Madison with a sad smile. âI think I might miss him,â she mumbled.
Madison shook her head, smiling knowingly. âReally? Youâve only been a little bit obvious with the whole Bella Swan vibe youâve got going on.â
Starâs eyes widened, and then she burst into laughter, hitting Madisonâs arm lightly. âOkay!â
âIâm just saying,â Madison teased.
âWell, now I need to binge Twilight,â Star said, still laughing.
Madison grinned. âSay no more.â
They quickly set up for a movie night, grabbing blankets, snacks, and, of course, Comet. Star curled up on the couch, a sense of ease washing over her for the first time in weeks.
Chris sat at the dinner table, staring down at his sketchpad. The drawing was finished, the lines crisp and deliberate, but he couldnât bring himself to stop fidgeting with it. His pencil tapped against the table in a steady rhythm.
âCan you stop?â Lila mumbled from the couch, her eyes glued to the TV. âYouâre beinâ annoying.â
Chris sighed softly, glancing over at her. âWhatâre yâwatchinâ, bug?â
âSnoopy in Space,â she said, barely looking at him.
Chris raised an eyebrow. âIsnât Snoopy from, like, when Mom was a kid?â
Lila giggled. âStar said youâd be a hater about it. Thatâs why we only watch it together.â
Chrisâs stomach dropped at the mention of Star. He hummed in response, his fingers tightening around the pencil.
âI miss Star,â Lila said quietly.
Chris looked over at her, struggling to find the words. âI know, bug,â he said finally, his voice soft. âSâbedtime though, câmon.â
Lila pouted but didnât argue when she caught the exhaustion in his eyes. She grabbed her bunny and walked over to him, wrapping her small arms around his neck. âGoodnight, Chris.â She kissed his cheek and padded off toward her room.
Chris blinked, stunned for a moment, before following her. He caught her just as she climbed into bed. âWhat was that about?â he asked.
âWhat?â
âYou just tried to put yourself to bed. Since whenâre yâtoo good for my tucking-in?â
Lila shrugged. âI didnât wanna bother you.â
Chrisâs chest ached, but he forced a smile. âKid, you could never bother me. Iâm tuckinâ you in âtil youâre 50, alright?â
Lila rolled her eyes with a giggle as Chris flopped onto her bed, tickling her sides until she squealed.
When the giggles subsided, Chris looked at her seriously. âYou know how much I love you?â
She nodded.
âYou know how much Ma loves you?â
Another nod.
âIs Star mad at us âcause Mommaâs not here?â
Chrisâs heart clenched. He shook his head. âNo, bug. Sheâs not mad at you or Momma. I was just an idiot and said some mean things I didnât mean.â
Lila scowled. âWhat? Why! Go say sorry!â
Chris shrugged softly. âSâ not that simple.â
âYes, it is!â Lila said, her small voice fierce. âYou just say what you say to meââIâm sorry letâs get feel better ice creamââ duh.â
Chris shook his head. âIt unfortunately doesnât work like that, kiddo.â
Lila yawned, snuggling deeper into her blanket. âYouâre just beinâ a scaredy-cat.â
Chris kissed her forehead, tucking her in tightly. â yeah, Goodnight, bug.â
Lila was sound asleep in her room, her bunny clutched tightly to her chest, the soft rise and fall of her breathing the only reminder that someone else was there. Chris sat at the dining table, staring down at the sketchpad in front of him.
The drawing was delicate but deliberateâa blend of shadow and light. The background was dark, with faint, swirling shapes blending into the shadows, but the stars stood out, scattered across the page in sharp, bright white. It wasnât anything obvious, but it felt like it captured something he couldnât put into words: the feeling of being adrift, of wanting to reach for something but not being sure if it was still there.
Heâd started it thinking about Lila, about Evelyn, about how everything in his life felt like it was slipping out of his control. But somewhere in the hours heâd worked on it, his thoughts had drifted to Star. To the tears in her eyes, the way her voice had broken as she tried to reach him. To the silence that had stretched between them in the days since, heavier than he wanted to admit.
Chris folded the corner of the paper, unfolding it again, his jaw tight. He couldnât shake the memory of her faceâhurt, but not angry. Just sad. Like she was already bracing for him to walk away.
Finally, he stood up, grabbing his jacket and the drawing. He glanced into Lilaâs room one more time, making sure she was still fast asleep, before slipping out of the trailer as quietly as he could.
Chris reached her trailer faster than he thought he would. It was cold, his breath visible in the night air, but he barely noticed. He stood at the door for a moment, staring at the chipped paint and the flickering porch light. His hand hovered over the door before he knocked, sharp and quick.
The sound echoed in the stillness, and for a second, he thought she might not be home. Then the door opened abruptly, but it wasnât Star standing there. It was Danny, his expression hard and irritated.
âShe ainât here,â Danny said flatly, his words clipped. Before Chris could get a word in, the door slammed shut.
Chris stood there, frozen, his mind racing. He thought about leaving, about heading back to his own trailer and letting the silence win again. But instead, he pulled the drawing from under his jacket and reached into his pocket for a pen. The stars stared back at him as he scribbled on the back of the paper, the letters quick and messy but clear:Â Can we talk?
He folded the drawing carefully and walked to the side of the trailer where he knew her room was. The window was cracked open slightly, the tapestry hung over it swaying gently in the breeze. He slid the paper through the gap, hoping it would land somewhere visible, before stepping back. He stood there for a moment longer, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, then turned and walked back toward his trailer.
Breaking Dawn: Part 1 played on the TV, the overly dramatic music swelling as Bella stared broodingly out the window. Madison couldnât help but snort. âOkay, but who actually stares out the window like that?â she said, shaking her head.
Star, sprawled out on the couch with Comet curled up at her feet, grinned. âItâs iconic, Madison. Donât question the art.â
Madison rolled her eyes, but her smile didnât fade. She wasnât really paying attention to the movieânot when Star looked so relaxed, her face lit up with laughter for the first time in weeks. Every time Star laughed, something warm bloomed in Madisonâs chest, her heart beating just a little faster than usual.
She tried to focus on the TV, but her gaze kept drifting back to Star. The way her hair fell over her shoulder, the way her lips curved when she smiled, the way she absentmindedly scratched behind Cometâs ears. It wasnât the first time Madison had noticed these things, but it was the first time she let herself admit what they meant.
Star shifted, leaning over to grab a handful of popcorn, and then settled back down, her head resting in Madisonâs lap. Madison froze for a second, her breath catching, before she gently rested a hand on Starâs hair, letting her fingers trace soft patterns. Her heartbeat quickened, but she kept her movements steady, careful not to let Star notice.
The room felt warmer now, the flickering light from the TV casting soft shadows across Starâs face. Madison barely heard the dialogue on the screen, too focused on the way Starâs breathing slowed, her body relaxing completely.
For now, she didnât say anything. She just brushed a strand of hair out of Starâs face and let her fingers linger there a moment too long, hoping Star couldnât feel how her hands trembled ever so slightly. She studied the curve of her face, the way the faintest smile lingered on her lips even in the quiet. Madison felt a soft ache in her chestânot painful, but full, as if her heart had grown just a little too big for her ribs. The moment felt fragile, suspended between comfort and something else entirely, but Madison didnât dare break it.
AUTHORS NOTE: TWILIGHT MENTIONđžđž
TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl @sturnslutz @sturniqlo @st4rsturns
#âdarksturnz#đ .âźstar!reader.áê±#đ .âźartist!chris.áê±#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo blurb#chris sturniolo smut#christopher sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo angst#christopher sturniolo#madison beer angst#madison beer fluff#madison beer smut#madison beer au#madison beer fanfic#madison beer#Spotify
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ââââââââ â” star!reader x artist!chris instagram posts.
st444rgrl
ᯀ Genesisă»Grimes ᯀ
liked by madisonbeer, christophersturniolo, natedoe and 376 others
st444rgrl đžË àŒ àłâ.Ë. đ„ christophersturniolo
madisonbeer IS THAT A CAT? âł st444rgrl u have 2 come meet comet :(
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christophersturniolo
ᯀ Genesisă»Grimes ᯀ
liked by natedoe, st444rgrl, sammcgrath and 826 others.
christophersturniolođ„đ« đ„ st444rgrl
st444rgrl dude the songâŠcopy đž ?? liked by author
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AUTHORS NOTE: these r my favvvv to do
TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl @sturnslutz
#âdarksturnz#đ .âźstar!reader.áê±#đ .âźartist!chris.áê±#chris sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x reader#insta au#smau#sturniolo triplets smut#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#christopher sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo blurb#christopher sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo angst#christopher sturniolo x reader#christmas
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HANDS THAT SHAKE
CONTENTS:ă»angst-heavyish plot ă»star!reader ă»mild language ă»mentions of blood (one time)ă»artist!chris is meană»drug dealing ă»parent-child conflict + more WC: 2.1k. masterlist: here
recommended to listen on repeat. a song a dear friend of mine showed me! itâs very star + chris core.
The cough started smallâquiet, barely noticeable. But over the last few days, it had grown louder, harsher, and wetter. Chris had ignored it at first, telling himself Evelyn always bounced back. But tonight was different. Tonight, when she pulled her hand away from her mouth, there was blood on her fingers.
âShit,â Chris muttered under his breath, his pulse quickening. Lila sat cross-legged on the couch, her tiny hands clutching a crayon, oblivious to the chaos brewing in the room.
Chris rushed to grab his keys, his voice tense as he crouched down in front of his sister. âLila, listen to me. I gotta take Ma to the hospital. Starâs gonna come over for a bit, okay?â
âWhy? Is Mommy okay?â Lilaâs voice trembled, her wide, tear-filled eyes already brimming with fear.
âSheâs gonna be fine,â Chris lied, brushing her curls away from her face. âJust sit tight, alright? Iâll be back.â
He dialed Star as he helped Evelyn into the car, his words rushed and uneven.
Star arrived moments later, heart hammering in her chest at the urgency in Chrisâs voice. Lila clung to her hand the second she walked in, her tiny body trembling.
âDo you wanna color?â Star asked softly, sitting beside her on the couch.
Lila shook her head, her lip quivering. âWhenâs my Mommy coming home?â
Starâs throat tightened. âSoon,â she said, forcing a smile. âShe just needs the doctors to check on her.â
But the hours dragged on, and when Chris finally returned, his face was pale and drawn. He barely glanced at Star as he scooped Lila into his arms and muttered, âThanks,â before disappearing into the trailer.
Evelyn was hospitalized again, and Lila hadnât stopped crying since. Chris looked like a ghostâdark circles under his eyes, his movements stiff with tension. Star stopped by to check on them, bringing soup for Lila and snacks she hoped Chris might eat.
âSheâs just upset,â Star said gently, placing the soup on the counter after Lila had run to her room. âShe doesnât understand whatâs going on, be patient with her.â
Chris slammed the cabinet door shut, the sound making her flinch. âYou donât get it,â he snapped, his voice sharp. âYou donât know what the fuck Iâm dealinâ with, Star. Stop actinâ like you do.â
Star froze, her chest tightening. âIâm not trying to act like anything, Chris. I justââ
âJust what?â he interrupted, his voice rising. âYou think showinâ up with soup is gonna fix all this? News-Fucking-Flash: it doesnât.â
Her throat burned, but she swallowed the lump forming there. âYouâre just stressed,â she said softly. âYou donât mean it.â
His laugh was bitter. âDonât tell me what I mean. You donât know shit about me.â
Star blinked back tears, grabbing her bag. âIâm sorry,â she whispered, her voice cracking as she turned to leave.Â
Star had tried to apologize a few days later but Chris ignored her, acting like she didnât exist. The weight of his coldness pressed down on her chest, making the air in her trailer feel heavier than usual.
She sat on the couch, staring blankly at the TV when she heard the door slam.
âStar!â Dannyâs voice thundered from the kitchen.
She quickly got up and retreated to her room, but seconds later, he barged in, the smell of beer clinging to him like a second skin.
âYou think youâre too good to clean up your fuckinâ mess?â he barked, his eyes wild.
âWhat mess?â Star asked, her voice trembling.
âThe dishes in the sink, your goddamn catâs shit all over the floor! This place looks like a fuckinâ dump.â
âSorry-..Iâll clean it,â she stammered, trying to keep her voice calm.
âYouâre always âgonna do somethinâ.â You donât do shit, Star. You just sit around in your dark little cave, feelinâ sorry for yourself.â
Star bit the inside of her cheek, her hands shaking as she tried not to react.
âAll youâre good for is runninâ away,â he sneered. âThinkinâ the world owes you somethinâ just âcause your mommy died.â
Her stomach twisted painfully, tears pricking her eyes.
âYou think youâre special? Youâre not. Youâre just like herâa fuckinâ quitter. Only difference is, sheâs dead now, and itâs your goddamn fault.â
Starâs knees buckled as the words hit her like a physical blow.
âYouâre so fuckinâ stupid,â Danny continued, his voice dripping with venom. âDunno why that bitch thought one little essay was gonna save you. Look at herâdead now. Didnât save shit, did it?â
The tears spilled over, silent and hot, as Star stormed past him, slamming the door behind her. The cold air bit at her exposed skin as Star ran, her breath fogging in the icy night. Her lungs burned, but she didnât stop. She needed to move, to outrun the sound of his voice, the sting of his words. It always got like that, to the point where he was just speaking to hear his own insults, they never really related to whatever he was initially upset about. It felt like he just want a reason to let it outâ someone to let it pour onto.
The streets of Pine View were empty, the world quiet except for the pounding of her heart and the slap of her sneakers against the pavement.
When she finally slowed, her breath came in ragged gasps. She hugged herself against the chill, her tears drying on her cheeks. Starâs footsteps slowed as she approached the convenience store. The flickering neon sign buzzed faintly in the cold night air, casting an eerie glow over the parking lot. She froze when she saw Chrisâs car parked at the edge, tucked into the shadows.
Her breath hitched as the driverâs side door opened, and Chris stepped out, his hood pulled low over his face. Another figure approached himâtaller, their hood up, movements quick and deliberate.
Starâs stomach twisted as she watched Chris pull something from his pocket: a small plastic bag. The other guy handed him a wad of cash before stuffing the bag into his own jacket and walking off without a word.
Chris lingered for a moment, shoving the cash into his pocket. As he turned back toward his car, his eyes landed on her. His body tensed, his gaze narrowing as he scanned the area around her.
âThe fuckâre you doinâ out here?â His voice was low but sharp, cutting through the quiet like a knife.
Starâs mouth opened, but no words came out. She felt rooted to the spot, the weight of what sheâd just seen pressing down on her chest. âIâ I needed to get out,â she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Chris stepped closer, his brows furrowed. âAt this hour? Alone?â His eyes darted around again, his suspicion obvious.
âI couldnât stay there,â she said, her throat tightening. âWhat about you? What are you doing?â
He let out a short, bitter laugh, the sound grating. âNothinâ? Canât leave my house without permission now or what!.â
Star shook her head, âChris, please donât lie to me. You donât have to. Iâm not stupidâI saw what you just did.â
His jaw clenched, and he looked away, running a hand over his face. âYou didnât see shit,â he muttered, his voice low. âJusâ drop it.â
â Mânot dropping it,â she said, her voice growing steadier even as her chest ached. âIf itâs about money, I canâI can get a job. I can help. You donât have toââ
âHelp me?â He cut her off with a sour laugh, his tone biting. âYou wanna help me, Star?â He stepped closer, his eyes dark and cold. âYou canât even fuckinâ help yourself. You get yelled at, and all logic flys out that pretty little head of yours and you run around this god forsaken town in the middle of the night like your invencibleâ youâre not.â
The words slammed into her, her breath catching as tears welled in her eyes. âThatâs notââ she started, but her voice faltered.
âWhat is it then? Yâthink you can fix shit? Yâcanât even handle your own life without fallinâ apart. stop actinâ like you got all the answers.â
The lump in her throat grew, and her vision blurred with tears. âIâm not trying toââ
He interrupted again, his voice cold and final. âYou donât care about me. You just wanna feel better about yourself. Thatâs all this is.â
Her chest tightened, the air around her feeling colder, sharper. The words hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Her tears spilled over, silent and hot, as she stared at him, her lips trembling.
Chrisâs expression shifted for a split secondâjust enough for her to catch the flicker of regret in his eyes. But it wasnât enough.
Without another word, she turned and ran, her breath hitching painfully as the tears blurred the world around her. She didnât look back.
Chris stood there for a moment, his hands shoved into his pockets, watching her disappear into the night. His chest felt heavy, the weight of his own words pressing down on him like lead.
âFuckinâ idiot,â he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. But instead of chasing after her, he turned back to his car, forcing himself to ignore the gnawing guilt in his gut.
Starâs legs burned as she stumbled up Madisonâs porch steps, her breath coming in broken gasps. Her tears blurred her vision, making the small porch light above Madisonâs door shimmer like a halo. She barely had the strength to lift her arm and knock, her hand trembling as she hit the wood.
The door opened almost instantly, and there stood Madison, her warm brown eyes widening as she took in the sight before her. Star was shaking, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her hoodie soaked with sweat and clinging to her skin.
âStar?â Madisonâs voice was soft but filled with alarm. She reached out, gently pulling Star inside before she could say anything.
The warmth of the house hit her like a wave, but it wasnât enough to stop the shivering. Star stood frozen, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Madisonâs hands were steady as they gripped her shoulders, her voice calm and soothing.
âHey, itâs okay,â Madison said softly. âYouâre safe. Youâre okay.â
Star shook her head, a broken sob escaping her lips. The dam burst, and the tears came fast and hard, her body trembling as she collapsed into Madisonâs arms.
Madison didnât hesitate. She wrapped her arms around Star, holding her tightly as she sobbed into her shoulder. âsâokay,â she whispered, her voice low and steady. âIâve got you. You gotta breathe.â
Star clung to her, her fingers gripping the back of Madisonâs shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright. The sobs came in waves, shaking her entire body, her breath hitching painfully as she tried to calm down.
Madison guided her to the couch, sitting her down gently before disappearing for a moment. When she returned, she had a blanket and a glass of water.
âHere,â she said softly, draping the blanket over Starâs shoulders and sitting beside her. âTake your time. No rush.â
Star took the water with trembling hands, managing a small sip before setting it down on the coffee table. The blanket smelled like lavender, warm and familiar, and she pulled it tighter around herself.
Madison sat close but didnât press. She simply placed a hand on Starâs knee, her thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing rhythm.
When the sobs finally subsided into quiet sniffles, Star found her voice, though it was barely a whisper. â Mâsorry.â
Madison frowned, her brows knitting together. âFor what?â
Star shook her head, her voice breaking. âFor showing up like this. For crying all over you. I justâŠÂ I didnât know where else to go.â
âStar,â Madison said softly, her tone firm but kind. She shifted closer, her hand still resting on Starâs knee. âYou donât have to apologize. Not to me. You can always come here, okay? Always.â
Starâs lip trembled, her eyes filling with tears again, but this time they didnât spill over. She nodded, her throat tight as she whispered, âThank you.â
Madison gave her a small, reassuring smile, her hand moving to gently rub Starâs back. âYouâre okay now,â she said. âWhatever it is, weâll figure it out. Youâre not alone, never are with me.â
And finally Star felt a sliver of relief, It didnât fix the ache in her chest, didnât erase the weight of her fatherâs words or Chrisâs cruelty. But in Madisonâs small living room, wrapped in a lavender-scented blanket and the warmth of her best friendâs kindness, she felt wanted.
AUTHORS NOTE:i just dk ab this one uhhhdhdjfjjccnnfkeisixkd :,)
TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl @sturnslutz @st4rsturns
#Spotify#âdarksturnz#đ .âźstar!reader.áê±#đ .âźartist!chris.áê±#đ .âźstar!reader x artist!chris .áê±#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo blurb#chris sturniolo smut#christopher sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo angst#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo angst#madison beer angst#madison beer fluff#madison beer#madison beer smut#madison beer au#madison beer fanfic
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THE MOON, THE SUN, THE STARS.
CONTENTS:ă»fluff-heavy plot ă»artist!chris ă»sibling content ă» just really cute shit that makes me want to give him babies? + more WC: 1.7k masterlist: here
Chris sighed dramatically as he surveyed the aftermath of dinner. The kitchen table looked like it had been hit by a tornadoâa tornado fueled by spaghetti noodles, marinara sauce, and the uncontainable energy of a six-year-old. Lila sat in her chair, grinning proudly, her cheeks and even her forehead smeared with streaks of red sauce. Her plate was empty, though a few stray noodles clung to the edge of the table. Her plastic cup was miraculously still upright, the faintest ring of milk around her mouth to prove it.
âChris, I ate it all!â she announced, holding her plate aloft like it was a trophy.
He crouched to her level, crossing his arms. âYeah, but at what cost?â He gestured dramatically to the spaghetti in her hair and the sauce streaked across the chair legs. âYou didnât just eat it;Â youâre wearing it.â
Lila giggled, her laugh bright and unrestrained. âI like spaghetti.â
âClearly,â he said, shaking his head, though his lips quirked into a smile. âAlright, come on, letâs get you cleaned up. Youâre not going to bed smelling like a meatball.â
She squealed as he scooped her up, her little arms wrapping around his neck. Her legs kicked playfully as he carried her toward the bathroom, both of them laughing as he muttered, âYouâre lucky I love you, yâ know that?â
Bathtime was, unsurprisingly, an event in itself. Lila insisted on washing her plastic mermaid toy, splashing water everywhere in the process. Chris tried to keep things under control, but by the time she was clean and wrapped in a fluffy towel, the bathroom floor was soaked, and his shirt had taken a hit too. She emerged victorious, smelling of baby shampoo and lotion, her curls damp and her cheeks still slightly flushed from the warm water.
âYouâre a menace,â Chris muttered as he dried her off, his tone affectionate.
âIâm a mermaid,â Lila corrected, her face lighting up in a smile that made his heart squeeze.
Once she was bundled up, Lila bounded into Chrisâs room, her energy seemingly endless despite the late hour. âCan I wear one of your shirts?â she asked, her eyes wide and hopeful.
Chris didnât even hesitate, opening his drawer and pulling out one of his older band T-shirts. He handed it to her, and she beamed as she slipped it over her head. The shirt was so oversized it reached her ankles, and she twirled in it like it was a princess dress.
âLook!â she said, grinning. âItâs a dress!â
Chris smiled softly, watching her with a mixture of amusement and affection. âYeah, a very rock-and-roll dress.â
She giggled, clearly proud of herself, and spun again before hopping up on the couch, where Frozen was already queued up on the TV.
Lila settled onto the couch, her little legs tucked beneath her, and Chris grabbed a brush from the coffee table. Sitting behind her, he carefully began working through her damp curls. The brush moved slowly, deliberately, as he untangled each knot with surprising gentleness.
âTell me if it hurts,â he murmured, his voice quiet.
At one point, the brush snagged on a particularly stubborn knot, and Lila winced. âOw,â she said softly.Â
Chris froze immediately. âSorry, bug.â he mumbled, concern lacing his tone.
She nodded, her small shoulders relaxing. âsâokay.â
Chris resumed, even slower this time, his fingers occasionally working through the knots before the brush followed. He was meticulous, almost tender, and Lila hummed softly as he worked, a little melody that was both soothing and endearing.
When he finished, she turned to face him, her big eyes shining. âYouâre really good at that.â
Chris chuckled, setting the brush aside. âYeah? Maybe I should quit my day job.â
âWhatâs your day job?â she asked curiously.
âGood question,â he said, leaning back against the couch with a smirk. âGuess Iâll figure it out tomorrow.â
The movie began to play, and Lila immediately became engrossed, her entire body wiggling with excitement when the first song came on. By the time âLet It Goâ started, she was singing at full volume, her little voice filling the room. She turned to Chris with a grin.
âSing with me!â she demanded.
Chris groaned dramatically. âNo way.â
âPlease!â she begged, clasping her hands together like she was pleading for her life.
He sighed heavily, pretending to give in reluctantly, though the truth was he couldnât deny her when she looked at him like that. He joined in, his voice low and slightly off-key, but to Lila, it was perfect. She giggled as he sang, pointing at him. âSee? You know all the words!â
âDonât make it weird,â Chris muttered, his cheeks flushing slightly.
âYou like the movie more than me!â she accused, laughing.
âYeah, yeah,â he said, ruffling her hair. âWhatever helps you sleep, kid.â
Halfway through the movie, Lila suddenly sat up, her eyes wide with inspiration. âCan we draw, Iâm bored.â
Chris raised an eyebrow. âRight now?â
âPlease!â she said, bouncing on her knees. âWe can keep the movie on!â
With a sigh, Chris got up and grabbed her watercolors and sketchbook from the corner of the room. He spread them out on the coffee table, setting up a makeshift art station. Lila immediately got to work, splattering colorful blobs across the page with no clear plan in mind.
Chris grabbed his own sketchbook and began sketching a quiet landscapeâa cabin in the woods surrounded by trees, with a starry sky above. Lila peeked over and gasped. âThatâs so good! Can I paint it?â
Chris hesitated, then handed her the sketchbook. âYeah jusâ be careful not to smear the pen.â
She giggled as she carefully added colors to his drawing, her tongue sticking out in concentration. Meanwhile, Chris picked up her chaotic watercolor page, studying the splatters with a thoughtful expression. Slowly, an idea formed.
He began turning the blobs into a galaxy, adding stars, swirling patterns, and two small astronauts: one was Bunny, her old stuffed animal, and the other was Comet, the kitten she and Star had found a few weeks ago. When he finished, he held it up.
âWhat do yâthink?â he asked.
Lilaâs eyes widened, her face lighting up. âSâperfect! Bunny and Comet look so cute! Starâs gonna love it!â
Chris smiled softly. âYeah? I think she will.â
Chris glanced at the clock and sighed. âAlright, Picasso. Time for bed.â
âBut Iâm not tired!â Lila whined, though her eyelids were already drooping.
He scooped her up despite her protests, carrying her to her room and tucking her into bed. Bunny was placed carefully in her arms, and he smoothed the blanket over her small frame. She looked up at him with sleepy eyes.
âCan you tell me a story?â she asked. âThe one about the moon and the sun being in love.â
Chris blinked, caught off guard. âThe what?â
âThe moon and the sun,â she repeated. âStar tells me that story. You donât know it?â
Realization dawned on him. Heâd overheard Star telling her that story during one of their movie nights, her voice soft and soothing. He tried to recall the details but fumbled through the retelling.
âNo, Chris!â Lila said, giggling. âThe moon doesnât chase the sunâthey take turns sharing the sky!â
âAlright, Miss Expert,â Chris said, feigning exasperation. âIf youâre so smart, you tell it.â
Lilaâs small voice filled the room as she began her story, her words slow and deliberate.
âThe sun and the moon love each other so much, but they canât be together all the time,â she said, her voice soft and dreamy. âThe moon is shy, so it stays out at night when everything is quiet, and the sun isââŠ.uhm I think Star said bold, shining during the day when everyone can see it. But they miss each other so much that they leave messages in the sky.â
Chris leaned back in the chair beside her bed, watching her little face as she spoke. Her eyelids fluttered occasionally, heavy with sleep, but she pressed on, determined to finish the story.
âThe stars,â she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, âare the sunâs way of saying âI love youâ to the moon. And the moon like copies the sunâs light to show it loves it back. And sometimes they even get to meet for just a little bit, when the sun goes up or down, and thatâs when the whole sky turns beautiful colors because theyâre so happy to see each other.â
Chris nodded, his throat tightening slightly at the innocent sweetness of her words. âThatâs a pretty good story, bug,â he said softly.
Lila smiled, her face glowing with pride. âStar tells it better,â she admitted, stifling a yawn. âShe says itâs about being there for the people you love, even if youâre far away.â
Chris felt his chest tighten at her words, the subtle weight of them sinking in. âYeah,â he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her forehead. âThat sounds like something Star would say.â
Lilaâs eyes began to close, but she wasnât finished yet. âChris?â she murmured, her voice barely audible.
âYeah, kid?â
âYou and Star are like the sun and the moon,â she said, her words slurring slightly as sleep took over. âYou take care of each other⊠just like they do.â
Chris froze, the weight of her observation hitting him like a ton of bricks. He opened his mouth to respond, but the lump in his throat stopped him. Instead, he watched as she drifted off, her tiny frame curling into the blankets, Bunny tucked tightly under her arm.
For a moment, he just sat there, staring at her peaceful face. She looked so small, so fragile, and yet her words carried so much weight. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
âGoodnight, Lila,â he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. âWeâre gonna be okay. promise.â
He stood slowly, pulling the blanket up a little higher before turning off the small lamp beside her bed. As he left the room, he glanced back one last time, his heart full and heavy all at once.
The house was quiet now, the mess from earlier still scattered across the living room. Chris let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair as he sat down on the couch. He glanced at the galaxy theyâd painted together, the little astronauts floating among the stars. A small smile tugged at his lips.
In that moment, it didnât matter how messy or chaotic life could get. Lilaâs words stayed with him, warm and unshakable:Â You and Star are like the sun and the moon. You take care of each other, just like they do.
And maybe that wasnât such a bad thing.
AUTHORS NOTE: i love them so bad, ): i wanna give him a baby
TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl @sturnslutz
#âdarksturnz#đ .âźstar!reader.áê±#đ .âźartist!chris.áê±#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo blurb#christopher sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo fluff#sturniolo triplets fluff
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