#chris sturniolo prompt

[darksturnz]

NIGHTS LIKE THIS

CONTENTS:・teeth rotting fluff-heavy plot (imo) ・star!reader ・mild language ・sleeping in the same bed・artist!chris ・substance use + more WC: 2.3k

i highly highly recommend listening to this on repeat, as that’s what i did :,) promise it sets the mood. + heavily dedicated to my literal star @55sturn

The roof of Chris’s 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 night—the 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.

“I’m telling you,” Star said, voice animated as her finger traced a constellation, “if aliens exist, there’s no way they’re not watching us right now. We’re like, prime reality TV for them. Chaos, drama, stupidity—it’s got everything.”

Chris exhaled a slow stream of smoke, not bothering to look up. “Pretty sure aliens have better taste than watching us fail at life.” His tone was dry, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but wouldn’t let himself.

Star glanced over at him, her lips twitching into a smirk. “You’re such an optimist, Chris.”

“Realist,” 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. “Still. If they’re watching us, I bet they’re rooting for us, y’know? Like… even when life’s a mess, people find these little moments of peace. Kinda like this.”

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 couldn’t stop rambling about—it was… annoying, maybe, how effortlessly she made the night feel less heavy. But not in a bad way.

“Maybe,” 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.

“You’re extra quiet tonight,” she said, nudging his shoulder. “What’s on your mind? Or are you just too high to function?”

Chris rolled his eyes, taking another drag. “Maybe I like the quiet, Kid. You ever think about that?”

“Nope,” she replied easily, grinning. “You’d be miserable without me, admit it.”

“Sure,” he said, deadpan, though the corners of his mouth twitched again.

Eventually, Star sat up, wobbling slightly as she eyed the trellis below. “Alright, we should head down before I fall asleep up here. You’re 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.”

Chris snorted. “They’d probably get your name wrong, too.”

Star nudged him with her elbow. “Go first. You’re the guy. Don’t guys like… live for this macho stuff? Protecting damsels in distress n’all that?”

Chris rolled his eyes. “You’re about as distressed as a cat on catnip.”

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.

“See?” he called up. “s’fine. Just don’t be an idiot about it.”

Star pulled a face. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Captain Supportive.”

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.

“Chris!”

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. “Oh my god, I told you this thing was a death trap! Are you okay? Did I—”

“Shut up,” 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 sharper—the warmth of her body against his, the way her breath hitched slightly, the glint of stars in her wide eyes.

Her voice softened. “Chris…”

He didn’t move, didn’t 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 then—

“Chris?”

Lila’s small, groggy voice shattered the moment. They froze, heads snapping toward the trailer’s 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, “What are you doing up, Lila?”

“I had a bad dream,” she mumbled, sniffling.

Chris sighed, climbing to his feet and brushing off the dirt. “Alright, c’mon,” he said, jerking his head toward the trailer. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

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.

“You coming?” he asked, nodding toward the trailer.

“Yeah,” 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 couldn’t stop thinking about the moment on the ground—the way his eyes had locked with hers, the way her heart had flipped in her chest. It was ridiculous, really. Chris was… Chris. Gruff, blunt, emotionally unavailable Chris. And yet, her cheeks still felt warm when she thought about how close they’d been.

“You’re staring,” 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. “I’m not staring. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Right,” he drawled, finally glancing over at her. “Because you’re the picture of subtlety.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” she shot back, turning to face him fully now. “You’ve been sneaking looks at me all night. What, do I have something on my face?”

Chris raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable as he leaned back against the couch. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just paranoid.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge if he was messing with her. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he replied smoothly, grabbing the remote and flipping to the next episode.

Star crossed her arms, leaning back with a huff. “I could’ve stayed home.”

Chris turned to her, the ghost of a smirk still lingering. “You wouldn’t have. You like it here too much.”

Her mouth opened to argue, but no words came out. Because he wasn’t wrong. For all his snark and the peeling wallpaper of his trailer, Chris’s place felt… safe.

“Whatever,” 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.

“What…what was that earlier,” he said, not looking at her.

Star stiffened, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “What was what earlier?”

His jaw shifted, like he was debating whether to say it. Finally, he turned his head to meet her gaze, his expression unreadable. “You almost kissed me.”

Her face burned. “I—what? No, I didn’t!”

Chris arched an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You sure about that?”

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.

“Well, if I did,” she said, trying to sound casual, “you almost…did it back.”

He didn’t 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, Lila’s small voice rang out again.

“Chris? Can I have water?”

Chris sighed, breaking eye contact as he stood up. “Yeah, I got it,” 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.

“Chris,” she said after a long pause, her voice quieter now.

He glanced at her, chewing lazily. “Yeah?”

She hesitated, her fingers twisting in the hem of her hoodie. “Never mind.”

Chris studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned back, grabbing the remote again. “You’re weird,” 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 couldn’t 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 hadn’t 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.

“Star,” 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 whirlwind—her 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. “You really can’t hang, can you?” he muttered under his breath, though his voice lacked any real bite.

Star whimpered lightly but didn’t 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 wasn’t used to, an unfamiliar warmth blooming low in his stomach.

“Damn it, Kid,” 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 didn’t 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 she’d 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 rule—his 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 returned—the 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 didn’t 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 him—something unspoken—decided it didn’t need to come back.

AUTHORS NOTE: i love him. i literally LOVE him. my sweet angel boy. that’s all.

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips

[eph3merall]

dealer!chris x innocent!bff!reader <3

—

"yeah, s'okay mum," your voice is soft in the quiet of chris' room, lounging on his bed with your legs tucked to the side of you. a blanket lays over your legs, nodding your head softly when your mom says something back.

chris is pretending to not care. he's pretending to not listen in to your quiet voice, thumb mindlessly scrolling through his instagram. posts from his best friends, from his brothers, some posts from the chick he hooked up with a week ago. with a double tap on the post, he left her a like and commented a few heart eye emojis.

"no, 'm at a friends house," a pleasant call from your mom had you smiling—eyes crinkling at the corners and lips curling up. she's asked about school and how you've been in general, if you're up to anything. the topic of your living space came up and she questioned if you've been socializing more lately.

"no not maya's— i'm not even friends with her any– no it isn't lilah either.. mom," you're sighing as the sound of your mother's exasperated voice fills your ear. she keeps on listing off names, multiple of which you've forgotten or haven't spoken to in years.

you sit up a little, shoulders slumping gently as you flick your eyes towards chris. the back of his chair is facing you so you can't see what he's doing—but you hear the subtle click of a lighter and soon smoke is drifting up into the air.

"his name is chris. y'know. the guy i told you about? his brother nick introduced us—yes.. nick has brothers," you keep talking. chris listens. he doesn't catch every word though, having ended up zoning out for a second or getting caught up in his texts or something on his phone.

his chair creaks as he gets up from it, blunt in hand as he eyes you on his bed. you two lock eye contact before you just sigh at the sound of your mother rambling. "no, no he's a good guy. we're friends, mum, stop. yeah, no—okay, i gotta go. i'll call you soon."

you're blinking rapidly and sighing once you hang up, relaxing back against chris' headboard. he couldn't help but snort at your words, 'a good guy.' yeah, alright. he brings the blunt back up to his lips as he stalks towards you, taking a seat on the edge of his bed and reaching for a pair of shoes.

smoke filters out of his lips as he glances back to you and gives you a knowing look. "what's up w'you? lookin' all.. upset or somethin'. were y'not happy to talk to your mom or..?" his brows furrow slightly and he just blinks at you as you shrug a shoulder.

"she just kept questioning me about you. like, she kept asking me if we were dating. and like, it's annoying you know?" chris just snorts and turns his head back, sliding his shoes on and lacing them up. he was gonna head out to meet up with matt and nate, go to a party to make some money or something.

"didn't tell your mum i was a drug dealer, huh? big bad chris isn't a good influence on sweet lil—" you're shoving his shoulder playfully and shaking your head as a grunt sounds from him. settling back onto his bed, the image of him finally catches up to you as you see him in a pair of blazers and a hat fixed on top of his head.

"where are you going? thought we were gonna watch a movie or something," your brows furrow in confusion, staring up at him through your lashes. chris glanced back at you for one second before looking away quickly, letting the blunt hang out of his mouth in between his lips. fuck you for being so cute.

"yeah, i know. sorry baby, matt n' nate invited me to go to some house party," your cheeks involuntarily heat up at the pet name, even if you know he just lets it slip sometimes and it isn't anything special. rings of smoke waft up into the air as chris speaks, your nose scrunching at the smell as you frown in disappointment.

"oh," was all you managed for a second. you were kind of looking forward to finally getting to hang out with your best friend. alone. only for him to blow you off and say he's going somewhere. chris is at house parties almost every day every single week, why can't he just spare one extra day for his best friend?

at least, you hope he sees you as his best friend.

"well, can i go w'you?" the words are out of your mouth before you register what you said. horrible idea, actually. you hate parties. the loud music and sweaty bodies were always too much, and your parents always told you to stay away from people who did drugs or got wasted every day. and people at parties did that, a lot.

chris just blinks at you slowly, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. until he just nods and shrugs a shoulder, hand reaching up to grasp the blunt to take another huff.

"if y'wanna.. sure. hurry up n' put your shoes on, don't got all day kid."

—

@ferdzom @st7rnioioss @sturniolosarethebest

©eph3merall 2024

[loveebot]

teddy!reader

unique (understatement). always has soft skin. lip smackers. knee high socks. ultra mini uggs. weird patterns. likes all colors but in more dull tones. thrifting. love language; acts of service (even though the act is usually messed up due to her clumsiness, it’s the thought that counts). crochets her own clothes. frecklesss. works at the library. people describe her and her outfits as: outlandish. small tattoos. “ballad of a homeschooled girl” by olivia rodrigo. insanely awkward. always has her hair in eccentric hairstyles w/ funky hair accessories. homemade jewelry. oversized everything. loves records.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ۪ㅤ— ㅤ۫ㅤ๑ㅤ ۟ㅤ ˗ˋˏ 🧸 ㅤ‧₊ ♱

w/ matt — deadass perfection. you crochet him sweaters all the time and he’s constantly driving you to thrift stores. he’s really good at calming you down when you feel insecure about what people say to you. and he’s really good at other things too. bonus : he was your first everything ‘cause no one else made you feel as good about yourself as he did.

w/ chris — you guys are actually too cute. he loves your strange fashion sense and you love how he doesn’t care what people think of him and how he acts a fool. your weird personalities match perfectly. you especially love it when he visits you while you’re working at the library. when he fucks you in the very, very back, warning you to stay quiet.

w/ nate — he’s insanely obsessed with you. his favorite thing about you is how you’re constantly making him gifts, even though they don’t always come out as planned. like messy cakes or goofy looking hats. and after every gift, you receive a nice dicking down, which you are very grateful for.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ .⁺ ⸝⸝

just me acknowledging that this is 100% inspired by multiple other writers on this app, specifically, starfxkr, princessbrunette (love her sm) and donatellawritings, and if any of the writers who use these type of !readers see this and feel that my interpretation is too close to theirs and they want me to take this down, i will.

󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀ׁ⠀ㅤ © ㅤ 𝓵𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖾𝖻𝗈𝗍 ︎︎︎︎ ︎︎︎︎ . ⠀ ୭ৎ ㅤ 󠀠󠀠󠀠𓊇ྀི

[sluts4matt]

CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO

SMUT 💦

FLUFF 🩵

ANGST 🌧️

SUGGESTIVE 💧

AUTHORS FAVORITE 🦋

distraction 💦

jealous 💦

attitude adjustment 💦

silent treatment 💦

first hit 💦💧🦋

desperate 💦

sick day 🩵

back of the bus💦

coming soon...

coming soon...

[chrissturnsfav]

⋆.˚✮ singer!reader shows rapper!chris how much she liked his lyrics about her

it’s late—too late, really—but that’s when chris does his best work. the soft glow of led lights lines the walls, bouncing off his chain and casting a blue sheen over his focused face. chris leans back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, watching the track play on the monitor in front of him. a faint bassline thumps through the speakers, followed by his smooth, rhythmic flow.

next to him on a chair, you lounge with your legs crossed, your baby pink nails tapping rhythmically on your thigh as you listen closely.

you've been known for your own music—sugary pop with catchy hooks and infectious beats. tonight, though, you're there just for him, in his oversized hoodie and sparkly pink slides, your hair pulled up in a high ponytail.

there’s a hunger in his voice as he raps that wasn’t there before, something raw. the verses hit hard, the lyrics sharper than usual. you can tell he’s put more of himself into this one.

then, a certain line drops—one that catches you completely off guard. his voice lowers just a bit, smooth but unmistakably suggestive, "keep ya tits around cause they nice t'look at", you feel a flush creep up your neck, unable to hide your reaction, as the implication lands squarely between you two.

soon enough, the track ends, the beat fading into silence. chris raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the look on your face. “didn’t think you’d catch that line, huh?” he says, smirking a little.

a faint smile tugs at your glossy lips, “oh, i caught it,” you say, folding your arms with a sly grin. “got a lot of nerve talking about me like that on a track.”

he chuckles, pushing his chair away from the desk and crossing the short distance between you two. “yeah? thought y'might like it,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave.

you try to keep it cool, rolling your eyes, but the tension is thick, and he can tell you’re a little thrown. he leans in, one hand resting on the back of the chair beside you, the chair he's sitting in now between your legs.

“didn’t mean t'shock you,” he teases, his face close to yours now. “but i meant it. got pretty tits ma," chris grins, running his tongue over his teeth like he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

"i really liked it. really bold of you," you say back quietly, his nose brushing against your own and you feel yourself rushing with desire already with a small smirk on your plump lips.

"mm, yeah?" he taunts, his hand moving to rest on your upper thigh, "wanna show me how much y'liked that?"

your smirk grows and you nod your head, bringing your face closer to chris' to brush your lips against his. "i do," you mutter, your voice hoarse with arousal.

"get on those knees f'me then," he says demandingly, his blue eyes glimmering with lust as his dick grows beneath his jeans.

you waste no time in doing what he says, pushing yourself off the chair to get on your knees in front of chris. he smirks wickedly down at you as you look up at him with wide doe eyes, sparkling beneath the blue led lights.

he runs his tongue across his bottom lip, one of his hands slowly gripping your jaw while his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, "gonna jus' stare up at me or y'gonna do sum'n?" he mumbles.

you smirk up at him softly, shifting your eyes to his lap as you undo his belt before unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans.

chris lifts his hips up for you, allowing you to pull his boxers and jeans down to a necessary spot just enough to free his rock hardness out that's already dripping with precum.

you look up at him seductively, one of his hands moving behind your head and massaging your soft hair with a smirk of anticipation on his lips.

you spit in your hand, wrapping it around his base and he exhales in arousal. you then lick a long stripe from his base to the tip, your dirty eye contact with him never ceasing.

"yeah, keep those pretty eyes on me ma," he mumbles, his voice raspy with desire as you nod.

you wrap your lips into an 'o' shape, taking just his tip into your mouth before swirling your tongue around it. chris grunts lowly, gripping your hair tightly as you kitty lick his sensitive tip.

you use your other hand to slowly move your hand up and down him, seeing chris get impatient at your painfully slow pace. he grunts as he speaks, "c'mon, jus’ take it. show me how much y'loved that verse mama."

his fingers tangle your through hair, gripping hard at the back as he pushes you further down on his cock. you gag a little when he hits the back of your throat so quickly.

you give into his impatient attitude, starting to quickly move your head up and down on him, your tongue swirling all around his lengthy, hot dick as drool seeps past your plush lips.

“yeaaah there ya go baby, jus' like that, my fuckin' filthy girl," he mutters, continuing to push your head.

you gag on him again, coughing around him and he chuckles darkly through breathless pants, his grip around your hair loosening a bit to let you catch your breath, "c'mooon you can take it. you loved the song so much didn't ya? show me ma, c'mon i know you can."

you nod, flickering your eyes pricked with tears up to his face and he smirks, biting his bottom lip when you move your head again. your lips are stretched around his girthy cock, drool pooling at his base and dribbled onto your chin as you continue.

your hand moves at an ungodly pace, jerking whatever couldn't fit in your mouth as you continue to suck his cock like it's the best popsicle you've ever tasted.

chris' smirk deepens at this as he groans, biting his bottom lip and gripping your hair tightly again at the immense pleasure, "look at you, so pretty. always a fuckin' droolin' mess on my cock," he grunts. "now, lemme see those pretty tits i was talkin' 'bout."

you use your other hand to pull the hoodie up, bunching it at your neck while chris' free hand moves to squeeze your plump tit with a hiss of pleasure as your mouth continues moving vigorously up and down his wet dick.

"there they are, such pretty tits my girl's got, so pretty 'n perfect," chris groans, his hips involuntarily thrusting up into your mouth again which you gag at, making him moan quietly.

his fingers pinch at your nipple, making you moan around his cock. the vibration sends a shiver through his body as he grunts, beginning to push your head down again as he grows close.

"jesus—fuck m'so close, keep goin' f'me...my good girl, takin' my cock like that," chris groans, hissing in pleasure through deep pants. his hips begin thrusting up into your mouth as you gag and moan around him.

he moans under his breath, breathing heavily as he squeezes your tit hard, fingers tangled in your hair, "yeah, jus' like that, doin' so good, lookin' so pretty wit' those lips wrapped around my cock."

chris' thrusts into your mouth grow erratic when the knot in his stomach tightens, leaving you whimpering and gasping around him. drool drips down your chin, bubbling around your lips as you repeatedly gag, "shit," he grunts.

with one final thrust into your stretched out mouth, his warm cum shoots inside. his eyes roll back, his grip on your hair and boob tight as he throws his head back with a low grunt.

chris pants, coming down from the high before you pull your mouth off of him and catch your breath, wiping your messy mouth with the back of your hand with his load still on your tongue.

he nods at you, "open," he says between breaths. you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show his hot and white seed on it.

chris smirks, humming out a soft chuckle before he speaks, "mhm, now swallow it."

you close your mouth and he watches your throat bob as you swallow every drop. he nods in satisfaction, his smirk deepening before he pats your cheek, "good girl."

you smirk cheekily as you stand up and watch him pull his boxers and jeans back up, "did that answer your question?" you say with a giggle.

chris scoffs, standing up from the chair and rebuckling his belt while he smirks at you, "do i even need t'answer that?”

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: chris rapping in the new video made me go feral. like he sounded so good i'm being dead honest. kinda feel like it could've been better cuz i got a lil lazy lol butttt i hope you guys loved thissss!!

thank you for reading!! <3

@chrissturnsfav ™

[sturnioz]

shy!reader tries to take charge in bed — but fratboy!chris can only entertain the idea for so long before he proves who is really in charge. requested by. @mercurydarlingg

chris watches intently as you slowly lower yourself onto him, his gaze locked on where his cock eases into your tight pussy, and a low groan escapes his lips, your walls stretching deliciously around him.

he lays back comfortably on the bed, hands behind his head, gazing at you between strands of tousled hair as you try your best to get comfortable above him, already regretting asking to ride him — but you wanted to prove to him that you could do it.

your bounces are a little uncoordinated, and there's an uncomfortable strain in your thighs and hips that makes your movements falter, causing him to snicker at you. you ignore him, determined, and you manage to find a suitable rhythm for you to follow with, whining as you feel his cock prod at your sweet spot.

"s'good," chris quips, a smirk on his face. "could uh.. could go faster, if y'can."

"stop it." you huff with a whine, tearing your gaze away from his face as you hear him snort, trying to focus on the feeling of him being inside you as you bounce faster, ignoring the searing pain in your knees.

you're almost tempted to give up and to sulkily ask chris to fuck you, but your eyebrows raise in surprise when you hear a muffled noise come from chris — bringing your attention to his face to see his eyebrows pinched together and eyes closed, tongue peeking out the corner of his lips as you squeeze your walls squeeze around him.

an odd surge of confidence washes over you, feeling a little proud of yourself for making him react in such a way as you lean forwards, pressing your palms to his shoulders to pin him to the bed.

the sudden shift catches chris off guard, a surprised grunt escaping him as he's weakly held beneath you, his eyes snapping open to meet yours. "the fuck you think you're doin'?"

"just... just let me try," you pant softly.

"a'ight.." chris murmurs, nodding slowly. "a'ight, kid. y'wanna pretend you're in charge? gimme the best y'got, yeah? show me."

your hips roll faster above him at that, your clit brushing against his pelvis, causing your pussy to clamp around him at the stimulation and a moan to fleet past your lips.

chris watches you, letting you take control for a moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath, watching how each roll of your hips drives his cock deeper within you.

you gasp softly, fingernails digging into his pinned shoulders, your eyelids fluttering as your toes curl in pleasure.

chris grits his teeth as your movements grow more confident by the second, his eyes following you bouncing on top of him before he snaps, his hands finding your hips to flip you over, causing you to yelp at the sudden change in positions, staring up at him in surprise.

you let out a loud whine as he slips back inside you, although your noises are cut off when chris suddenly shoves two fingers into your mouth.

"shut up," chris whispers huskily, pushing his fingers deeper into your mouth as he laughs. "think you can control me? ha... y'had your fuckin' fun."

you gargle around his fingers as chris starts to move inside you, setting a punishing pace, each powerful thrust rocking your entire body. your wails are muffled, tears of pleasure prickling the corners of your eyes as chris grips the back of your knee with his other hand, pushing it up to your chest to allow him to fuck you deeper.

"just let me try," he mocks your words from earlier, a scoff leaving his lips as he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "yeah right.. now look at you — droolin' around my fuckin' fingers n’ takin’ my cock."

© STURNIOZ

[sturnswrites]

protective!matt and innocent!reader see each other for the first time since high school …

You hadn’t expected him to look like this.

The office is sleek and imposing—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pulse of New York, deep charcoal tones, and marble accents that scream precision. It’s exactly what you’d expect from a man like Matt Sturniolo. But none of it is as commanding as him.

When he looks up from the paperwork on his desk, the first thing you notice is the way his piercing blue eyes meet yours, steady and sharp, sending a ripple through your chest. You remember those eyes, even after all these years, but they seem different now—hardened, more focused. They hold the weight of someone who doesn’t let anyone too close.

“You’re here,” he says simply, as though he doubted you’d actually show up.

You nod, clutching your sketchpad tighter against your chest. “Of course. I wasn’t going to back out of a project like this.”

His gaze softens just a touch, but his expression remains unreadable. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t trust you to handle it.”

Those words settle deep in your stomach, warm and unexpected. Matt had hired you—sought you out specifically for this project, despite being surrounded by some of the best designers in the city. He’d told you in his email that he admired your work, that your eye for creating spaces that “felt like people” was exactly what his office needed.

But standing here, in his presence, you can’t help but feel out of place.

“It’s been a while,” you manage, your voice quieter than you’d like as your gaze darts away from his.

“Years,” he agrees, standing from behind the desk. He moves with the kind of confidence that fills a room effortlessly—broad shoulders, rolled-up sleeves revealing strong forearms, and a no-nonsense air about him that makes your pulse stutter. Yet, there’s a familiarity to him, too, like he’s still the boy you passed in the halls of your Boston high school.

“Boston feels like a lifetime ago,” you add softly, not knowing what else to say.

Matt tilts his head slightly, the hint of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “You haven’t changed as much as you think.”

Your cheeks heat at the way he’s looking at you, like he’s remembering something only he knows—something that feels too heavy for the quiet moment stretching between you. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment,” you joke, trying to keep the mood light as you scan the pristine office.

“It is,” he replies, his voice low but sure. “You’ve always had a way of seeing things differently. That’s why you’re here.”

That catches you off guard, and you glance back at him to find his eyes still fixed on you, holding your gaze like he’s daring you to look away. There’s something in them—something protective, almost possessive—that wasn’t there before.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, your voice almost lost in the cavernous room.

Matt nods, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers. “Let’s see what you’ve got in mind, then.”

The words are professional enough, but the way he says them—steady, low, and just a little too soft—makes your heart skip. You busy yourself pulling out your sketchpad, desperate for something to distract you from the weight of his attention.

As you start explaining your ideas, your voice finds confidence in the familiarity of your work. You talk about softening the harsh lines of the space, adding warmth and texture to make the office feel less like a fortress and more like him.

Matt listens intently, never once interrupting. His eyes follow you as you move around the room, gesturing to where you’d add natural light, plants, subtle artwork that tells a story. It’s only when you glance back at him that you catch it—the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“You’ve thought this through,” he says finally, his voice softer than before.

“I don’t take projects lightly,” you respond, standing taller despite the flutter in your chest. “Especially not ones like this.”

For a beat, the silence hangs between you—thick, charged, and laced with something you can’t quite name. It’s the energy of two people who know each other but don’t, who share a history but have yet to bridge the gap the years have created.

“You haven’t changed,” he repeats quietly, his eyes lingering on you a moment too long.

“And you have,” you counter, surprising even yourself with the boldness in your voice. “But not as much as you think.”

That earns you a faint, knowing smirk, and the glint in his blue eyes shifts—something softer, something real.

As you turn back to your sketches, you feel him watching you still. The tension is palpable, humming just beneath the surface, like an unspoken understanding that this project—this reunion—will be more complicated than either of you are willing to admit.

But Matt hired you for a reason. He trusted you. And for now, that has to be enough to steady the chaos he so effortlessly brings into your carefully curated world.

----------------------------------------------------------------

[loverboysturn]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ starcrossed!chris meets starcrossed!reader for the first time

chris knows he shouldn’t be here.

he shouldn’t be on this side of town, yet here he is, wearing a pair of red devil horns climbing over a garden gate to get into the halloween party everyone on his side of town had been whispering about for weeks, he had lost nick and matt the moment that the three of them had arrived, but he didn't mind, he was in and nothing else mattered right now.

he brushes himself off and makes his way inside, ready to push through the crowd when he scans the room looking for his brothers, his eyes shift to the staircase, finding you standing at the top, when your eyes lock with the stranger's neither of you can seem to look away.

you’re dressed as an angel, a vision in white with a pair of wings and a glowing halo placed perfectly on top of your head and chris can’t help but smile to himself at the contrast between your chosen costumes as he’s stood there in an all black outfit with a pair of cheap devil horns that nick had picked up for him, awkwardly placed on his head.

an angel and a devil, it somehow feels like the perfect match.

your best friend stands to the side of you talking into your ear, completely unaware of the exchange unfolding beside her between you and chris, while you stand completely still, gaze still fixed on his.

you pull away from her, taking a step towards the stairs, the eye contact never breaking between the two of you, his eyes fixated on you as if it's just you two in the room, when you reach the bottom of the stairs, you pause for a second standing directly infront of him.

his eyes flicker over you, a grin forming on his lips as he looks you up and down in your costume, “an angel, huh? guess even the devil can’t keep from crossing paths with an angel tonight"

“maybe it’s fate” you reply.

“fate?” he raises an eyebrow, intrigued to which you nod at him,

“yeah, the devil and an angel… a match made in heaven, don’t ya think?”

chris chuckles, his smile widening as he steps closer to you. “a match made in heaven…i guess we’ll just have to find out won’t we?”

as chris is stood there, his eyes still locked on yours, he spots nick and matt in the corner of his eye across the large room weaving through the crowds, he tears his eyes away from yours to take a look at his brothers but as he does, he feels your body slip away from beneath him.

he watches you for a moment longer, frozen in place for a second, but just before you disappear completely into the crowd, you turn back to look at him one last time, something unspoken between you both, your gaze promising that if it’s meant to be like you said, your paths will cross again.

nick’s voice soon snaps chris back to reality “you’re quiet” glancing back and forth between the two of you as you now completely slip into the crowd “never seen you this distracted before”

chris hesitates for a moment, then mutters under his breath, “yeah, neither have i”

note: i spent too long on this and have read it soooo many times that i am now incredibly nervous to actually post it but pleaaaase let me know your thoughts (pls be nice!)

the whole starcrossed!chris & starcrossed!reader universe can all be found here

[strnilolover]

⭑Vampire!Matt Texting Human!Reader For The First Time After She Gives Him Her Number .ᐟ

Warning! i have never made these before so if this is absolute shit, i am so sorry. I figured this would be a good way to show kind of how they started to hang out more. 🥹

© strnilolover

[leixwhite02]

leila’s kinktober 2024 list

hello loves <33 !! i know it’s the first of september buttt all this month i will be writing kinktober story’s so i can start posting them this october.

here is the prompt list in order, as i post these i will link them to their prompts so this is where you will find all the posts!

these prompts will be with multiple different characters like rafe cameron billy loomis/stu macher and multiple many more.

enjoy you sexy motherfuckers ❤️‍🔥

kinktober list oct 2024

1. lingerie

2. first time

3. degradation

4. praise kink

5. spanking

6. corruption

7. hate/angry sex

8. face fucking

9. thigh riding

10. breeding kink

11. formal wear

12. daddy kink

13. oral fixation

14. semi-public sex

15. shower sex

16. choking

17. cockwarming

18. Somnophilia

19. biting/scratching

20. cuddlefuck

21. spit kink

22. pillow princess

23. sensory deprivation

24. praise

25. finger sucking

26. strip tease

27. double penetration

28. bondage

29. morning sex

30. caught masturbating

31. reverse cowgirl

[mattsnight]

Holiday writing challenges

Kinktober 24’

No Nut November 24’

Smutmas 24’

[darksturnz]

COMFORT IN THE CHAOS

CONTENTS:・emotional distress-heavy plot ・star!reader ・mild language ・sleeping in the same bed・artist!chris ・piercing discussion (self-piercing mentioned) ・fluff/found family vibes :3 + more WC: 11.5k

You’re 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. It’s the kind of silence that makes you feel like you’re the only one alive here.

Then you see her.

She’s small—probably no more than six—and she’s making a beeline straight for you. Loose curls of brown hair bounce against her shoulders, the kind that’s already starting to frizz in the sticky air, and her greenish-brown eyes look determined. You recognize her before she’s even close: Chris’s sister. Lila.

She’s clutching something to her chest, tiny fingers wrapped tight around it. As she stops in front of you, she presses her lips together, like she’s sizing you up.

“Uh… hey,” you say, because what else do you say to a kid who comes up to you unprompted? “You lost or something?”

She shakes her head solemnly. “You’re Star.”

It’s not a question.

You blink, a little caught off guard. “Yeah. That’s me.”

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 someone—probably Chris—tried to fix it but gave up halfway through. The poor thing’s been through hell.

“This is Bunny,” Lila says. “He’s tired.”

You tilt your head, amusement flickering across your face. “Same.”

Lila’s smile is shy but pleased, like you’ve 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 don’t 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 Bunny’s paw as she leans back like she’s been planning to hang out with you all day.

“You’re not supposed to talk to strangers, you know,” you tell her, nudging a pebble with your boot.

“You’re not a stranger,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah? Who told you that?”

“Chris.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, surprised. Chris talks about me?

You’re about to ask what he said when you hear it—the 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.

“Lila,” he calls again, his voice edged with something rougher than worry, and she perks up like nothing’s wrong at all.

“Over here!” she chirps, waving one small arm above her head.

Chris’s gaze snaps to her—and then to you. He freezes mid-step, his shoulders stiffening as he takes in the scene: Lila sitting cross-legged beside you like you’re 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.

“Lila,” he mutters, striding over and crouching down in front of her. “You can’t just run off like that. I told you to stay inside.”

“I wasn’t far,” she insists, all innocence. “You were sleeping.”

Chris shoots you a look like this is somehow your fault. You hold up your hands in surrender, amused. “Hey, don’t look at me. She found me.”

He doesn’t answer, just exhales sharply as he runs a hand through his hair. “Come on,” he says quietly to Lila, his voice softer now. “Let’s go.”

Lila pouts, clinging to Bunny. “But I like Star.”

Chris’s ears go pink, and he shoots you a glare like you’re going to make this worse somehow. You smirk, leaning back against your palms. “I didn’t kidnap her, you know.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still smoking around her,” 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. “Happy?”

He doesn’t answer, just mumbles something under his breath as he grabs Lila’s hand. She stares up at him, unimpressed. “Chris, you’re being weird.”

“You’re being weird,” he mutters back, then freezes, realizing how stupid that sounds. He shifts uncomfortably, eyes flicking to you like he’s hoping the ground will swallow him whole.

You grin. “You guys make a good team.”

Chris glares, but it doesn’t hold much weight. He just looks tired, embarrassed, and maybe a little grateful that you didn’t make this into a thing. “Let’s go, Lila,” he mutters again, tugging her hand gently.

“Bye, Star!” Lila calls as they turn away, her curls bouncing again. “Say bye, Chris.”

Chris doesn’t say anything—he 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 don’t wave. You don’t 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 there’s no one in the room. But there is someone in the room—him. Sitting in his stained recliner with a half-empty beer can on the armrest, his voice a low, slurred hum of irritation that’s been building for the last ten minutes.

“Where the hell were you all day?” he spits, his words slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to corner you with each one.

You stand by the counter, jaw tight, arms crossed over your chest. “Around.”

“Around?” He laughs—short and humorless—and smacks the arm of the chair with his palm. “What’s that mean, huh? You think you can just disappear whenever you feel like it?”

“It means it’s none of your business,” 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. “Don’t start with me, Y/N. Not tonight. I work my assoff to keep a roof over your head, and you—”

“You sit around drinking all day,” you interrupt, your voice cracking slightly. “That’s not working your ass off, and we both know it.”

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 stands—slow and deliberate—and you feel your heart slam against your ribs.

“You’re lucky you’ve got a roof at all,” he growls, the words low but thick with anger. “You think anyone else would put up with you? Huh? Look at yourself. You’re a goddamn mess.”

The words hit you harder than they should, and you can’t stand to hear another one. “Screw this,” you mutter, grabbing your jacket off the back of a chair and shoving your feet into your boots.

“Where are you going?” he barks, but you’re already at the door.

“Out.”

“You come back in this house when I say—”

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 don’t know where you’re going—just 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 father’s voice—mess, lucky, roof—words you didn’t want to hear but couldn’t shut out.

You don’t stop walking until you see the faint orange glow of a joint flickering in the darkness.

At first, you think it’s nothing—just another shadow against the trailers—but 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 sweat’s soaked through. A red bandana—darkened with its own share of stains—hangs 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 doesn’t look up, not at first—too focused on whatever’s under the hood. But there’s 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 you’re 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, “You lost or something?”

His voice is rough, gruff in the way it always is, but tonight there’s a softness under it—like he doesn’t have the energy to put up too much of a front.

“No,” you answer, shoving your hands deeper into your jacket pockets. “Just… walking.”

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 doesn’t ask any questions, though. Chris doesn’t ask questions.

“You look like shit,” he says finally, blunt as ever, but there’s no malice in it.

“So do you,” 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. “Fair enough.”

The two of you fall quiet again, the only sounds the faint hum of crickets and the soft ticking of the car’s engine as it cools. Chris turns back toward the hood, wiping his hands on the bandana before tucking it into his pocket again.

“Your car broken?” you ask after a moment, just to fill the silence.

“Always is,” he replies, glancing over his shoulder at you. His eyes still hold that tired, distant look, like he hasn’t really slept in days. “Gotta keep it running somehow.”

You nod, even though you don’t really know what else to say. He seems fine with the silence, though. Chris always does.

“Where’s Lila?” you ask softly, surprising yourself with the question.

“Inside,” he says, his voice losing some of its edge. “Sleeping.”

“She’s cute,” you offer. “She told me about Bunny.”

That earns you something—a short, rough chuckle as he runs a hand through his hair, smearing a little grease into the curls. “Yeah, she would.”

You watch him for a moment longer, his silhouette outlined against the dim light. He doesn’t look at you again, but you can tell he knows you’re still there, lingering like you’re not ready to go back yet.

“You’re out late,” he says suddenly, though his tone is careful, like he’s not trying to pry.

“So are you.”

He snorts, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t have much of a choice.”

There’s something in the way he says it—a 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 you’re both stuck here in this trailer park, leaning on broken cars and broken homes just to make it through the night.

“You want me to go?” you ask, though you don’t really want him to say yes.

Chris doesn’t answer right away. He takes another slow drag from his joint, staring at something in the distance before finally shaking his head. “Nah. You’re good.”

You nod, sinking down to sit on the edge of the gravel, your knees pulled up to your chest. You don’t talk. He doesn’t either. But the silence feels different now—not 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 works—lean, tense muscles moving under skin smudged with oil and sweat.

“Pass me the—” he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at you. “Shit. The socket wrench. Small one.”

You blink, staring at the scattered mess of tools in the box next to you like they’re written in another language. “Uh… sure.”

Grabbing the first thing that seems like it might work, you hold it up for inspection. Chris barely glances before shaking his head. “No. Not that. The other one. Looks like a ratchet.”

“A ratchet?” you echo, scowling at him. “I don’t know what that means.”

He sighs, muttering something under his breath before jerking his chin at the toolbox. “Silver handle. Little head. Spins.”

You frown down at the tools again, narrowing your eyes as if that’ll help. After a few seconds of trial and error, you grab one and hold it up like you’ve won a prize. “This?”

Chris finally looks up, his dark blue gaze sweeping over it before nodding once. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

You toss it to him underhand, and he catches it without breaking stride, sliding back under the hood like the conversation never happened.

“That was a total guess,” you admit, smirking a little to yourself. “I’m basically a mechanic now.”

“You’d be a shitty mechanic,” he mutters, but there’s the faintest trace of amusement in his voice.

You rest your chin on your knees, watching as he works. There’s something about the way he moves—steady, deliberate—that makes you feel calmer just sitting there. It’s like every motion has a purpose, every clink of the tools against the metal a reminder that he knows what he’s doing. You don’t see much of that in Pine View—people who actually dosomething instead of just saying they will.

After a while, he asks again. “Need the pliers.”

You hand him the needle-nose pliers without hesitation this time, earning you a glance from under his sweat-damp curls. “Quicker that time.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, but there’s 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 metal—something oddly familiar and grounding.

“Why’d you start working on cars?” 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. “Didn’t have a choice,” he says simply, leaning back to check something under the hood. “Car broke, no money to fix it. You figure it out or you walk everywhere.”

“You get good at it?”

“Good enough.”

You nod like that makes perfect sense. Because it does. Pine View is full of people who have to figure it out—or don’t.

“Star.”

You blink at the sound of your name, glancing up. Chris’s hand is out, palm open. “Flathead screwdriver.”

You reach into the box again, grabbing what you think is right and handing it over. This time, Chris doesn’t even look—just 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 joint’s 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.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you say quietly, your voice cutting through the silence.

Chris glances down at you, dark blue eyes still holding that perpetual tiredness, though there’s something else too—something less sharp. “No.”

“That’s okay,” you reply, pulling your knees closer to your chest. “I talk enough for both of us.”

His mouth twitches like he might smile, but he doesn’t. 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.

“You should get inside,” he says eventually, his voice softer than before. “It’s late.”

“Yeah.” You don’t move.

Chris doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t 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 don’t 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 he’s 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. “You wanna come inside?”

You look up, surprised. “What?”

He shrugs, not quite meeting your gaze as he wipes his hands down the front of his oil-streaked shirt. “It’s not much, but I need to check on Lila, and you shouldn’t be out here alone. Place gets sketchy this time of night.”

That makes you laugh, a sharp sound that echoes a little too loudly in the quiet. “I grew up here, Chris. I think I can handle it.”

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, jaw tightening, “I don’t like it.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, something flickering through you—annoyance, curiosity, maybe a bit of both. “Why do you care?”

He pauses for a beat, shoving the stained bandana back into his pocket. “I just do.”

It’s simple. Final. Like he doesn’t 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. “You don’t gotta stay out here.”

You hesitate, glancing back toward your trailer—toward him—and suddenly, being out here alone doesn’t feel so great. You hate that Chris might be right.

“It’s not that bad,” you mumble, half-hearted, because you’ve said it so many times before that it’s practically a reflex.

Chris just stares at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes steady. There’s something about him that makes you feel like you can’t lie to yourself tonight—not with him standing there, oil-slicked and sweaty, watching you like he’s already decided you’re coming inside whether you argue or not.

“Fine,” you say finally, pushing yourself to your feet. “But if your place smells like feet and motor oil, I’m leaving.”

Chris’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to smirk. “I’ll survive.”

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 you—especially him. But you don’t hate it. Not tonight.

Chris doesn’t look back as he walks, but he doesn’t 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.

“Watch your step,” 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 familiar—laundry detergent, maybe—and something else beneath it: motor oil and faint smoke, a scent you’re starting to associate with him. It’s not a mess, exactly, but it’s not neat either. A stack of Lila’s 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 Lila’s small sneakers, abandoned like she kicked it off mid-run.

Chris steps in behind you, pulling the door shut softly. “Like I said, it’s not much.”

“It’s fine,” 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. “Sit if you want. I’ll be quick.”

You hover awkwardly for a second before perching on the edge of the couch cushion. It’s softer than it looks. You glance down at the drawings scattered across the coffee table—crayon 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 quiet—gentler than you’d expect.

“Lila?” A beat. “You good?”

There’s 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 doesn’t seem to notice.

“She’s still out,” he says, like he needs to explain himself. “Sleeps through anything.”

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.

“Sorry,” he mutters, though you’re not sure what for. “About earlier. I didn’t mean to—” He stops himself, frowning slightly before shaking his head. “Forget it.”

You look at him, watching the way he slouches into the chair like he’s just done. Done with the day, done with the car, done with everything. You shrug, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “It’s fine. You didn’t do anything.”

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 he’s about to say something, but doesn’t.

Instead, the two of you just sit there, the silence stretching out again—but it’s not the heavy, tense kind that makes you want to bolt. It’s different. Quieter. Settled. You find yourself relaxing into the couch without realizing it, the weight of the night finally easing off your shoulders.

“Why were you out there?” he asks eventually, his voice low but even.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Earlier,” he says, not looking at you. “In the dark, walking around by yourself.”

Your stomach twists slightly, the fight with your dad flashing through your mind like a bruise you’re not ready to touch. You pick at the loose threads in the cushion beneath your hand. “Just… needed air.”

Chris doesn’t push. He just nods slowly, like he gets it—like he’s been there before. “Yeah.”

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 this—like the walls are closing in, like there’s nowhere to go but out.

“Thanks,” you say quietly.

Chris looks at you, brow furrowing slightly. “For what?”

You shrug, looking down at your hands. “Not letting me sit out there.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, but you can feel his gaze linger on you. “Yeah. Sure.”

You look up, and for a second, you swear he’s about to smile—but then he blinks, the moment slipping away, and he stands up abruptly. “I’ll get you something to drink. You want water or…?”

“Water’s fine.”

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 you’ve slipped sideways into someone else’s night, someone else’s 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 he’s about to say something, but instead, he just sighs and drags a hand through his curls again—only smearing more grease into them.

“You’ve got…” You motion vaguely to your head. “Oil. Everywhere.”

Chris snorts under his breath and wipes at it with his wrist, only making it worse. “Yeah, well. Comes with the job.” He tilts his head slightly, shooting you a dry look. “You offerin’ t’fix it?”

You grin faintly. “Nah. Not much of a stylist.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Silence stretches again, but it’s different this time—less 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 he’s trying to take one decent breath after a long day.

“Lila likes you,” he says suddenly, eyes still closed.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“She said so,” he mutters, cracking one eye open to glance at you. “Said you were ‘cool.’ And that Bunny likes you too.”

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 can’t help but feel a flicker of warmth in your chest. “Well, Bunny’s got good taste.”

Chris huffs a quiet laugh, though it’s more air than sound. “Yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

“I won’t.” You sip from the glass, watching him carefully. There’s something about the way he talks about Lila—soft, careful, like he knows how fragile she is. “You take care of her a lot?”

Chris doesn’t answer right away. He stares at a spot on the floor like he’s deciding what to say. “Yeah. Someone’s gotta.”

It’s simple, but there’s so much weight behind it—like those three words carry everything he doesn’t say. Because Mom can’t. Because it’s just us. Because no one else will. You don’t press, though. You don’t need to.

“I get it,” you say softly, though you’re not sure if you’re talking about him or yourself.

Chris looks at you then, really looks, like he’s seeing you in a different light. His blue eyes are darker in the dim room, but there’s something softer in them too, something quieter. He doesn’t say anything, just nods faintly before pushing himself to his feet.

“Lila’ll freak if you wake her up,” he mutters, moving toward the hallway. “I’ll grab you a blanket or something.”

You sit up straighter, blinking. “Wait—what?”

He pauses, turning back with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not walking back. Not this late.”

“I can handle it,” you argue, though the idea of going back to your trailer, to him, makes your stomach twist.

Chris doesn’t budge. “It’s fine. Couch isn’t great, but it’s better than walking through this dump alone.” He hesitates, frowning slightly before adding, “It’s just a couch. Don’t get weird about it.”

You don’t know why that makes you feel so seen—like he already knew you’d argue, like he already knew you wouldn’t 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 that’s been built here in pieces.

“Fine,” you mumble, leaning back into the cushions like you’re totally unaffected. “But if you snore, I’m out.”

Chris rolls his eyes as he turns toward the back room. “You won’t hear me.”

You don’t 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 doesn’t feel like a trap. It feels… still.

And you think maybe, just maybe, you won’t 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 it’s been shoved into a closet for months. He tosses it onto the couch beside you with a quick, almost sheepish motion.

“Here,” he mutters. “Best I’ve got.”

You grab it before it slides onto the floor, and as soon as you do, you catch the smell—familiar in a way you can’t 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 you’re holding something you shouldn’t, something that feels too close.

“You good?” Chris asks, pausing halfway to the hallway.

You look up quickly, masking whatever you were feeling. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

Chris doesn’t press. He just nods, running a hand through his curls again and grimacing when his fingers catch on something sticky—probably more oil. “I’m gonna shower. Don’t break anything.”

“I’ll try not to,” 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 dad’s 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 Chris’s space, it all feels distant—like the anger’s been stripped from it, leaving only exhaustion behind.

Your eyes drift to the coffee table again—Lila’s 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 water’s still running—Chris is still in the shower—and 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. There’s 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 Chris’s sharp, blocky handwriting. Some of them are grocery lists.

Milk, cereal, ramen. Lila likes those gummy worms.

You don’t realize you’re smiling until you catch yourself, your lips twitching faintly as you step back. Something about it feels real—this life he’s 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. He’s still in there.

Your curiosity pulls you to the corner of the living room, where a few of Chris’s 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.

It’s a charcoal drawing—a 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 skull—this time paired with thorny vines, curling around its hollow eye sockets. There’s 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 feels—like you’ve seen something you weren’t supposed to. Like you’ve been let in, just a little, to a world Chris doesn’t show anyone.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door creaks open, and Chris’s footsteps shuffle back down the hallway. You glance over to see him in a clean shirt—this one black and loose—his 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.

“You didn’t snoop, did you?” he asks, but there’s no real bite to it—just the same dry, tired Chris.

“Nope,” you say quickly, looking at the TV like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

He eyes you for a moment, like he doesn’t quite believe you, but then he shakes his head and drops back into his chair with a groan. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You don’t 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 doesn’t 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 don’t mind. The quiet feels easier now, softer somehow.

You adjust the blanket in your lap, the familiar smell still lingering. It’s strange—almost comforting—but it makes your chest ache a little, like it knows something about you that you don’t want to admit.

Chris catches you staring at the window. “What, you scared of the dark now?”

You glance at him, rolling your eyes. “No.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You open your mouth to fire something back, but when you see him leaning back like that, his arms hanging loosely over the chair’s sides, you lose your edge. There’s no malice in his words—just something dry and unbothered, like he’s filling the silence out of habit.

“What’s your deal with this place anyway?” you ask suddenly, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “You hate it or what?”

Chris doesn’t answer right away. He tips his head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling like the answer’s written somewhere in the shadows there. “What do you think?”

“I think you don’t say much of anything,” you shoot back, though there’s no bite to it.

He huffs softly through his nose, his mouth twitching like he might smirk. “What’s there to say? It’s a dump. Same as everywhere else.”

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. “Does Lila know that?”

Chris’s jaw tenses slightly, but he doesn’t look at you. “No.”

“Good,” you say simply, leaning back into the couch. “Because she seems pretty happy here.”

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 he’s trying to figure out why you’re saying any of this. Then he shakes his head, muttering, “You’re weird.”

“Thanks,” 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. “Don’t make it sound like some big secret, alright? Lila thinks it’s good here because I want her to think that. That’s all.”

You don’t respond right away. The weight behind his words settles between you both, and you realize there’s nothing easy about what he’s carrying—not the trailer, not Lila, not the quiet resentment that simmers behind everything he does.

“Doesn’t mean you’re wrong,” you say finally, surprising even yourself.

Chris looks at you again, brow furrowing slightly. “About what?”

“That it’s a dump,” you say simply, shrugging. “But sometimes dumps are all you’ve got.”

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. “Yeah.”

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 doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you. But you don’t 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 don’t feel like you need to go anywhere.

The stillness stretches, not heavy, but weighted—like it knows it belongs there. Chris leans further into the recliner, his head tipped back and his breathing even, almost like he’s teetering on the edge of sleep. You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting there, only that the world outside feels far away. Even the sound of your father’s 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. He’s got that same kind of tired look he always carries, like sleep doesn’t come easy, but here, in the quiet of his own space, it doesn’t seem to bother him as much.

And you don’t 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. It’s not just the smell that’s familiar anymore—it’s the feeling. A kind of warmth that comes from something lived in, something that’s been through its share of wear and tear but hasn’t fallen apart yet. It makes you feel strangely safe, even if you don’t want to admit it. Even if you haven’t felt that way in a long time.

From across the room, Chris’s voice cuts through the quiet, low and slightly groggy. “You’re staring.”

You blink, jolted back to the moment. Chris doesn’t move much—his head still leans against the back of the recliner—but one blue eye cracks open, catching you in the act.

“Was not,” you mutter, defensive but not sharp.

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow, that familiar hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re a shitty liar.”

“You’ve said that already,” you fire back, but there’s no real heat in it.

Chris just snorts softly, letting his eyes slip shut again. For a moment, you think he’s going to drift off completely, the slow rhythm of his breathing filling the silence. Then he speaks again, quieter this time.

“You don’t have to stay, you know.”

You glance at him, frowning slightly. “Hm?”

His voice stays even, but there’s something softer underneath. “Here. I’m not… I didn’t mean to keep you or anything.”

“M’fine,” you say quickly, because you are. Or maybe you just don’t want to leave. “It’s better than…” You stop yourself, biting back the words better than home.

Chris doesn’t press you. He never does. Instead, he shifts slightly in the recliner, turning his head toward you without opening his eyes. “Suit yourself.”

Another beat of quiet settles, and you let your eyes drift back to the coffee table, where one of Lila’s crayon drawings peeks out from the pile. It’s not much—just a bright yellow sun with wobbly beams stretching out from the center—but it feels important somehow. Like it’s holding something together.

“You take care of her,” you say softly, surprising yourself.

Chris hums faintly, like he’s not sure if it’s a question or not. “Yeah.”

“You’re good at it,” you add, even softer.

Chris doesn’t respond right away, but when he does, his voice is quieter than you’ve heard it all night. “Not really.”

You don’t argue, but you don’t agree either. Because you see it—the way Lila lights up when she’s around him, the way her drawings seem to fill the space he doesn’t talk about. It’s the kind of care you don’t see in most people, the kind that doesn’t get shown off but sits there, constant and steady.

Chris doesn’t say anything else, and you don’t 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. Chris’s breathing evens out too, slower now, like he’s 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 he’s finally out—but then he jerks awake slightly, his eyes flickering open as he shifts in his seat. He sits up straighter, blinking at you like he’s trying to shake off the drowsiness.

“You good?” he mutters, his voice rougher now, thicker with sleep.

“Yeah,” you say quickly, adjusting the blanket over your lap. “I’m fine.”

He studies you for a second, his blue eyes narrowed slightly like he doesn’t quite believe you. You glance away, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, but it doesn’t help. You know what he’s looking at—your face, the way it’s probably giving you away, showing everything you don’t want to admit.

Chris leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That couch isn’t great,” he says quietly, nodding toward the lumpy cushions beneath you. “You’re not used to it.”

“It’s fine,” you say again, sharper this time, even though the ache in your chest isn’t from the couch at all. It’s from everything else—the fight, the words, the way your own home feels like a warzone every time you walk through the door. But you can’t say that. Not to him.

Chris doesn’t 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.

“Take the bed,” he says simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You blink up at him, startled. “What?”

“The bed,” he repeats, like it’s obvious. “It’s better than this. You’ll sleep better.”

“I’m not taking your bed,” you shoot back, frowning at him. “You’re already letting me crash here. I’m not—”

“Star,” he cuts you off, his voice calm but firm. “S’fine. I don’t sleep much anyway.”

“That’s not the point,” you argue, but the look he gives you stops you mid-sentence. It’s not harsh or annoyed—it’s steady, like he’s already decided and there’s no point in fighting him.

“I’m not doing it for me,” he says quietly, his blue eyes holding yours. “You’re not fine, and we both know it.”

You feel your chest tighten at his words, and for a second, you can’t look at him. He doesn’t 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.

“It’s not the couch,” you mumble, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Chris exhales slowly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I know.”

You look up at him, surprised. He shrugs, leaning back against the edge of the recliner. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m just saying… if it helps, take the bed. I’ll stay out here.”

His words hang in the air, heavy but not suffocating. You know he means it—there’s no pity in his voice, no expectation, just an offering. A way to let you breathe, even if it’s only for a night.

After a long pause, you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Chris nods too, his expression unreadable but softer somehow. He gestures toward the hallway again. “Door on the right. Sheets are clean.”

You stand, still clutching the blanket around your shoulders, and glance back at him before heading toward the hall. He’s already moving back toward the couch, grabbing another blanket off the back of the recliner as he settles in.

“Chris,” you say softly, pausing in the doorway.

He looks up, his gaze steady but tired. “What?”

“Thanks,” you say, your voice cracking just enough for him to notice.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just nods once before leaning back into the couch. “Yeah. Get some sleep.”

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 Chris—cologne, smoke, and something earthy you can’t quite place—lingers on the sheets. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s 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 don’t quite deserve the comfort of it.

Your eyes wander around the room, taking it in. It’s simple, like the rest of the trailer—just a dresser against the far wall, a few scattered shirts peeking out from an open drawer. There’s 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. “Chris.”

He stirs, his arm dropping slightly so his eyes—half-lidded and groggy—meet yours. “What?” he mutters, his voice low and thick with sleep.

“You don’t have to sleep out here,” you say quickly, before you lose your nerve. “I mean—you can come back. To the bed. Just… separate blankets or whatever.”

He blinks at you, his brows furrowing slightly as he pushes himself up onto one elbow. “What?”

“I feel bad,” you admit, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s your bed. You shouldn’t have to give it up.”

Chris stares at you for a moment, like he’s trying to process what you’re saying, before shaking his head slightly. “S’fine, Star. I told you—”

“I know what you told me,” you interrupt, frowning at him. “But you look just as wrecked as I feel, so stop being stubborn and come back there. I’m not gonna bite.”

That earns you a faint snort, though his face is still guarded. “You sure about this?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, trying to play it cool even though your chest feels tight again. “It’s just one night. You don’t have to sleep on that deathtrap.”

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. “Separate blankets,” he mutters, his voice dry but not unkind.

“Obviously,” 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 doesn’t 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.

“Thanks,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chris doesn’t look at you, but his voice is low and steady when he replies. “Yeah. Go to sleep, Star.”

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 Chris’s 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 he’s finally out.

You don’t 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 you—it 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 what’s wrong. It takes a second for him to register it—why 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.

She’s 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 leg—barely covered by her own blanket—has 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.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, careful not to move too much.

He’s not sure how this happened—how she ended up here, draped over him like it’s 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 she’s done. But another part—the part he’s trying hard to ignore—can’t bring himself to disturb her. She looks… peaceful. More peaceful than he’s ever seen her.

Chris glances toward the door, half-hoping for some kind of escape route, but there’s 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 distracting—too 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. She’s asleep. She doesn’t know.

He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to will himself back to calm, but it’s 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. “Shit.”

Chris leans his head back against the pillow, his body still stiff beneath her weight. He doesn’t move, just lets his tired gaze drift down to her face. There’s something almost strange about seeing her like this—so quiet, so still, so… unguarded. It’s a far cry from the sharp edges and quick comebacks he’s come to expect.

His eyes linger on her lips, parted just enough for her soft, even breaths to brush against his chest. That’s when he notices them—two new piercings he definitely didn’t 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 piercing—vertical, 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 time—or the nerve—to 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 doesn’t even realize he’s 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 isn’t sure how long he’s out before the door bursts open with a bang, jolting him awake.

“Chris! Waffles! I want—”

Lila’s 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 him—and the very smug expression on Lila’s face standing in the doorway.

“Lila,” he groans, his voice rough with sleep, “what the hell?”

“Chris!” she shrieks again, pointing dramatically at the bed. “What are you doing?”

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.

“Lila, get out!” 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. “What the—Chris?”

“It wasn’t me!” Chris blurts, his voice defensive as he throws his hands up. “You were—you just—”

Lila is practically bouncing on her toes now, her squeals turning into giggles as she clutches Bunny to her chest. “You two were cuddling!”

“We were not,” Chris says firmly, glaring at her as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Go wait in the kitchen, Lila.”

“But you were sleeping together!” she insists, her giggles growing louder.

Star groans, burying her face in her hands. “Oh my God.”

Chris pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “I swear to God, Lila, if you don’t—”

“Waffles!” 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, who’s still wrapped tightly in her blanket, her face buried in her hands. Her hair’s a mess, sticking up at odd angles, and there’s a red crease on her cheek from the pillow—or, more likely, his chest.

“You good?” he asks after a beat, his voice low and gruff.

Star groans into her hands. “Absolutely not.”

He huffs out a dry laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Could’ve been worse.”

She finally peeks out from behind her hands, glaring at him. “Worse than your little sister catching us in the world’s most awkward position and making it sound ten times worse? Sure. Let me know when that happens.”

Chris smirks faintly, leaning back against the edge of the dresser. “She’s six. She’ll forget about it by lunchtime.”

“You sure about that?” Star mutters, pulling the blanket tighter around herself like it’ll somehow shield her from the sheer embarrassment radiating through her body.

“Not even a little,” he admits, shrugging. “But it’s not like she’s gonna tell anyone. What’s she gonna do, run to the neighbors?”

Star lets out a dry laugh, finally dropping her hands to her lap. “I don’t even care about that. I just—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Forget it.”

Chris doesn’t press, but his tired gaze lingers on her for a moment longer, studying the way her shoulders are still hunched under the blanket. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you know.”

She snorts softly, brushing her messy hair back from her face. “I think your sister would disagree.”

“Lila’s six,” he says again, pushing himself off the dresser. “She also thinks Bunny’s alive. Not exactly a credible source.”

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.

“Come on,” he mutters. “You might as well eat something before she makes this worse.”

Star looks up at him, her eyebrows raising. “She’s gonna make it worse?”

“Oh, I definitely lied,” Chris says, smirking faintly. “This’ll be all she talks about for days.”

She groans, throwing the blanket off and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Chris doesn’t 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 wasn’t supposed to be.

When they reach the kitchen, Lila’s already at the table, Bunny perched on the edge like he’s part of the conversation. She grins at them as they walk in, her greenish-brown eyes sparkling with barely-contained glee.

“You guys were cuddling,” she announces again, just in case anyone forgot.

Chris groans, opening a cabinet to grab the waffle mix. “Drop it, Lila.”

“But it was so cute,” she insists, swinging her legs under the table. “Like you were best friends or something.”

“Drop it,” 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. “You’re relentless, kid.”

Lila shrugs, flashing her a cheeky grin. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Chris snorts as he measures the mix into a bowl. “Don’t let it go to your head, Star.”

“Too late,” 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. She’s already telling you about Bunny’s “big adventures” this week—apparently, he had to “save the day” when her friend’s toy broke at school—and 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 doesn’t say much, just glances over his shoulder every so often to make sure neither of you are about to set something on fire.

“Star,” Lila says suddenly, leaning forward and propping her chin on her hands. “Do you like waffles?”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply, glancing at Chris. “Who doesn’t?”

“Right?” Lila says, throwing her hands up like it’s a universal truth. “Chris makes the best waffles.”

You snort softly, raising an eyebrow at him. “Does he now?”

Chris rolls his eyes, pulling a plate from the cabinet. “They’re frozen, Star. Let’s not get crazy.”

“Yeah, but you put the good stuff on them,” Lila insists, beaming as she watches him grab a jar of Nutella. “That’s what makes them the best.”

Chris sighs but doesn’t 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 who’s clearly done this routine a hundred times before. When he’s finished, he pours a cup of strawberry milk and sets everything on the table in front of Lila.

“Here,” he mutters, sliding the plate and cup over. “Knock yourself out.”

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.

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“Nutella? Bananas? Strawberry milk?” you say, motioning to Lila’s plate like it’s some kind of luxury breakfast. “You’re gonna have her bouncing off the walls.”

Chris shrugs, his smirk growing. “Almond moms would probably kill me, but I don’t have the energy to fight a six-year-old over food. Besides,” he adds, nodding toward Lila, ��she’d win.”

Lila grins, her cheeks already sticky with Nutella. “I’m unstoppable!”

You laugh, shaking your head as Chris grabs another pair of waffles from the toaster and slaps them onto a plate. This time, he doesn’t bother with the toppings, just slides the plain ones across the table toward you.

“Sorry,” he says, smirking as he sets a butter knife down beside you. “You don’t rate the deluxe version.”

“Gee, thanks,” 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 story—this 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.

It’s loud and chaotic, but as you sit there, listening to Lila’s endless chatter and the faint clatter of Chris cleaning up at the counter, you realize it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels warm. Familiar. Like maybe this is what mornings are supposed to be.

Lila clings to your arm like she’s physically trying to anchor you to the trailer. Her curls are wild from the morning’s chaos, and there’s still a faint smudge of Nutella at the corner of her mouth as she pouts up at you.

“Don’t go!” she whines, her voice teetering on the edge of dramatic. “You just got here!”

“I’ve been here all night, kid,” you say with a small laugh, gently prying her fingers off your sleeve. “I’ve gotta go. I’ve got plans.”

“But Bunny likes you!” she insists, holding up her stuffed rabbit like it’s a compelling argument. “He says you should stay.”

Chris, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, rolls his eyes. “Bunny doesn’t pay rent, Lila. He doesn’t get a vote.”

Lila glares at him but turns back to you, her greenish-brown eyes wide with determination. “Stay for just a little longer? Please?”

You crouch down to her level, your hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “I wish I could, but my friend Madison’s waiting for me. I promised her.”

Lila’s 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. “Star’s gotta go, Lila. You’ll see her again.”

“You promise?” she asks, turning to look at him, her voice suddenly softer.

Chris’s gaze flicks to you briefly before nodding. “Yeah. She’ll come back.”

You stand, glancing at him, and there’s something unspoken in the way he meets your eyes. He doesn’t say it, but you can tell he means it—that he expects you to follow through.

“Of course I will,” you say, ruffling Lila’s curls. “Who else is gonna hear about Bunny’s next big adventure?”

That earns you a small, reluctant smile from Lila, though she still looks a little heartbroken. “Okay,” she mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chris straightens up from the doorframe, opening the door and nodding toward the gravel outside. “I’ll walk you out.”

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. “She’s dramatic, in case you didn’t notice.”

“She’s sweet,” you counter, glancing back at the trailer. “You’re lucky to have her.”

His jaw tenses slightly, but he nods, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Yeah. I know.”

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.

“You’re not gonna get all sappy, are you?” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Chris smirks faintly, his tired eyes narrowing slightly. “Not a chance.”

You grin, pulling your jacket tighter around you as you take a step toward the road. “See you around, Chris.”

He nods, leaning back against the porch railing. “Yeah. Take it easy.”

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 Madison’s.

AUTHORS NOTE: can you tell i have some time on my hands today…

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams

[eph3merall]

dealer!chris x innocent!bff!reader hcs 🦌

dealer!chris . . . who always has a part of his mind thinking about you. what are you up to? classes? work? friends? hangouts? he'll text you and pretend to not care much, but deep down he just doesn't want to admit how much he worries over this girl who is just his friend.

innocent!bff!reader . . . loves and adores all things autumn. her clothes are fall staples that include lots of denim and earthy tones. so whenever she's hanging out with chris and sees something to add to her closet or keep as a trinket or decoration, she'll look up to chris with pretty lil' eyes and how could he deny her? sometimes he'll purposefully look away and shove her away from the store because she keeps burning a hole through his pocket.

dealer!chris . . . despises situations where innocent!bff!reader roped into his 'job'. there are shady people buying some strong shit from him, and he knows matt would also screw him over if innocent!bff!reader got harmed because of him. matt sees you as a best friend, someone he needs to protect because his brother is a little fucking stupid sometimes. dealer!chris always tries avoiding problems when it seems as if you're gonna get involved with any of his deals.

innocent!bff!reader . . . who's had a boyfriend or two before. she's just never had sex, and once she told chris he was laughing at her and giggling with his eyes all red. 'fuckin'... you're jokin', right kid?' and when she tells chris she's dated less than five people he's laughing harder. gosh, what an asshole.

dealer!chris . . . always carries a lighter with a printed cat photo on it that innocent!bff!reader glued/taped onto it. keeps a picture of her in his wallet as well—a polaroid of her awhile back in the winter, running into the horizon as snow fell around her frame. he could hear the giggles she made just by looking at the photo.

innocent!bff!reader . . . who has severe nosebleeds once every few months or so. it'll get so bad to the point she's crying because she thinks she's gonna die—with chris grumbling all annoyed with his hand fisting her hair so it doesnt get caked in blood. sometimes hes high and just stares at times while she yells at him to get her a hairtie or to grab ahold of most of her hair.

dealer!chris . . . who's, again, literally just an asshole to everyone. you're barely an exception. one second he'll be laughing with you and once he's with a buyer or some of his friends, he'll act like you're some dirt on his shoe. plus he's just plain ol' mean. wont take bullshit from anyone, not even his brothers. matt pisses him off more than nick does. but of course, they're his brothers. so he isnt.. that mean.

innocent!bff!reader . . . who grew up sheltered from everything in life. her parents are overprotective and she's their only child—only serving to make them more anxious when she's out. met chris through nick since the two were in a class together. something clicked and they've been hanging out ever since, usually in groups. chris and his friends are nott a good influence on her. but her mother doesn't have to know, does she?

dealer!chris . . . lovess cute coupley things. he just won't ever admit it to anyone he knows, not even his brothers if they ask or jab at him. secretly, he loves it when innocent!bff!reader hugs him tight or brushes her fingers across his skin. but he'll always stick to his go-to response—a scoff and he's pushing her away, muttering some shit like 'god, fuckin'.. annoying as hell always touchin' me.'

innocent!bff!reader . . . tries getting herself off with her fingers for the first time in awhilee since meeting chris because he just makes her feel so weird. all hot and bothered and it's gotten so overwhelming that humping her pillow alone in her dorm room isn't enough, so she's sliding her fingers inside her cunt slowly and mewling all softly in the privacy of her dorm room. she doesn't even realize that she secretly wants chris to see her like this.

dealer!chris . . . fucks with girls left and right. a new chick at each party that he sells some drugs to, and, if they're pretty enough.. he'll let them suck his dick or something. hey, he got to cum down some pretty brunette's throat and got a fat stack of cash? win-win. but when he met innocent!bff! reader... she went to house parties with him sometimes. which resulted in him not getting to fuck a girl's throat-which also resulted in dealer!chris fucking his own fist at night with the thought of you in his head.

—

©eph3merall 2024

[loveebot]

kitty!reader

waterliner always. hates everyone except her man. glossy lips always. lots and lots of jewelry. long acrylics. “carnival” by multi. adidas’ campus 00’s w/ ribbon laces. tooth gems. works at hooters cause she likes the money, but she’s snippy as fuck to the weird customers (the only reason she hasn’t been fired is because she brings in all the men). cheshire cat smile. big headphones. needs a nap at least once a day. lowkey elena gilbert fits (low rise jeans, lace under long sleeves, etc). oral fixation on 10 (it’s usually solved by biting down on/sucking something; both of which can be satisfied by her man).

ㅤㅤ ㅤ۪ㅤ— ㅤ۫ㅤ๑ㅤ ۟ㅤ ˗ˋˏ 🐈‍⬛ ㅤ‧₊ ♱

w/ matt — cute lil “twin bitches” type beat. you guys have similar style and both have crippling anxiety. though, your anxiety is calmed by sucking on his fingers and his is when you give him head…scratches! you guys have lots of matching jewelry. and even though the sex is mind boggling, the aftercare is what really gets you.

w/ chris — y’all make a billion tiktoks together and the fans love it very time. and you guys get into little petty arguments a lottt. you’re a snippy little bitch and he doesn’t like it when you disrespect him. so it usually goes from argument, to silent treatment, then reeaallyy rough sex, and then it always ends up with the two of you cuddling like nothing happened.

w/ nate — you’re not really the dominant one, given you like when your man takes control. but when nate’s younger he’s like this little itty bitty cutie pie who does no wrong. then he grows up and he’s like a big dom angry hockey player. you like both sides of him, but you’re glad to be the submissive one in the relationship. that doesn’t mean you won’t take charge.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ .⁺ ⸝⸝

just me acknowledging that this is 100% inspired by multiple other writers on this app, specifically, starfxkr, princessbrunette (love her sm) and donatellawritings, and if any of the writers who use these type of !readers see this and feel that my interpretation is too close to theirs and they want me to take this down, i will.

󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀ׁ⠀ㅤ © ㅤ 𝓵𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖾𝖻𝗈𝗍 ︎︎︎︎ ︎︎︎︎ . ⠀ ୭ৎ ㅤ 󠀠󠀠󠀠𓊇ྀི

[sluts4matt]

latina!reader

"goddess" by xana. bobbi brown mascara. tight top baggy pants combo. converse and vans. ears twitch when embarrassed. works at a nail salon. lip liner and lip gloss are her best friends. oldest daughter. finds herself saying "que te jodan" a lot. sarcasm is her love language. ma, mamas, princessa. doesn't accept gifts easily. has the 'work like your poor" mentality. lots of gold jewelry. nose rings on both sides. having her nails done is a must. loves visiting mexico.

w/ matt -- loves when you bring him to family events even though he hates big crowds. your family loves him. controlling (but not in a toxic way). he loves when you get angry, because you tend to turn to speaking spanish often. doesn't like being the one to make you angry. soft sex your whole relationship, until that one night you accidently pushed him too much. loves when you sit on his lap while he plays video games.

w/ chris -- seemingly always has some form of attitude towards chris. it's giving enemies to enemies with benefits to lovers. loves when you're sassy because it means he gets to fuck it out of you. loves hearing your accent when you talk. always wanting you to make him authentic mexican food. talkative ray of sunshine bf and quiet thunder cloud gf. always steeling his hoodies. probably has a dozen polaroid photos of you in his drawer.

w/ nate -- hands touching you always. loves giving you jewelry with his initial. being taller than him so the boys clown him for it. having you a mess underneath him but being able to quickly reverse the rolls. your cousins love him. bringing him to family parties. always has a hand on your back when around other guys. loves his boston accent and visiting him in massachusetts. long distance relationship.

fully inspired by @loveebot, saw her doing this on my feed a while back and thought it was such a cool conept. if anyone is offended by this, just message me and i'll take it down. 🫶

[chrissturnsfav]

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris is just too hot

ᰔᩚ requested from @anonymous: need a blurb of her arresting him for being too hot just like sabrina did in the sns tour

the music is swelling around you—fans screaming your name as you skip around the stage. as you flash the audience a sexy smirk at the start of one of your most popular songs, you let the rhythm take over.

as you perform the suggestive song, you can see chris up in the private box, his tall figure leaning against the railing, his eyes locked on you with a cocky smirk on his lips nodding to the beat of your song.

that’s all it takes. the moment you spot him, something lustful shifts inside you. he knows every side of you, even the parts no one else sees. and right now, you can’t resist having a little fun with him.

the song comes to an end, and it's time for the arrest—a fun little game you do with the audience at the end of this song every time you perform it.

they already know what's coming, buzzing with anticipation and cheer. your eyes land on chris once again and you see him chuckling in disbelief, making you giggle through your suggestive smirk.

"uh, guys?" you speak into the microphone, your eyes darting from chris to the crowd repeatedly with the same smirk on your lips.

the audience laughs and yells in response, clearly eager to know who you've picked to be under arrest tonight as you beckon your backup dancers towards you, "guys, come, come here!"

they emerge from the darkness of the stage at your demand, and you huddle into a little circle with them. you turn your head to look back at chris up in the private box, "is it hot in here, or is it just him?" you say seductively into the microphone, pointing up on the private box.

chris shakes his head in amusement, and you can see him chuckling under his breath as all the cameras begin to point at him in the box along with a spotlight.

as the arena fills with siren noises, you look around, acting as if you don't know what's happening. you've mastered this little game, having done it countless times on tour.

the sea of people's screams get louder, clearly not expecting you to do this to chris. "chris, is it?" you giggle into the microphone, your stare at your boyfriend filling with desire.

"thas' me," he shouts back as a bodyguard escorts him down from the box to stand at the bottom of the stage.

"well, chris..." you begin into the microphone, smirking through your suggestive voice as you walk towards him on the stage to which he returns with his own cocky look. "i'm so sorry, but...i'm going to have to place you under arrest for being too hot."

chris stares up at you from the floor, his expression filled with awe but also a playful sense of desire and his eyes widen at your next action.

"wait a second..." you gasp dramatically into the mic, staring down at your sparkly costume as your silver, long skirt drops into a short one. "my clothes are just...falling off my body! good thing it's not cold in here..." you giggle.

the audience erupts into cheer, all eyes on the two of you as chris laughs up at you, holding his wrists out as a backup dancer hands you a pair of hot pink, fluffy handcuffs encrusted in rhinestones.

you take the handcuffs, stepping out of your skirt as chris smirks up at you with his eyes widened eyes and a clearly wicked, needy smirk on his lips.

"chris, baby, will you be my juno boy?" you say into the microphone, leaning down to handcuff chris as the audience screams with cheer, the romantic melody of your next song softly booming throughout the arena.

"y'can arrest me any day, mama," he mumbles back up at you over the music, prodding the inside of his cheek with that same smirk that makes your knees weak.

"ugh, i'll be waiting for you tonight, chris," you say into the microphone, securing the handcuffs with a click.

"i'll be wearing something pretty for you," you smirk, licking your lips at him as you stand back up, turning around and swaying your hips as you walk to the center of the stage.

chris raises his eyebrows at you as you walk away, his tongue sliding across his bottom lip while he watches your ass move in rhythm with each step you take.

as the audience continues to roar with unexpected cheer and screams at your seductive words, chris is escorted back to the private box, knowing one thing for certain.

and that is: he'll be holding you to what you just said after your show is over.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: i hope i explained this properly if you don't know what the "under arrest" game is at sabrina carpenter's concerts LMAO. if not, def look it up on tiktok!

thank you for reading!! <3

@chrissturnsfav ™