you’re so active rn idec it’s not fics i’m just happy we are so back🙂↕️
ooo baby idk if id call this active LMAO but not driving myself sick to please 100+ people w every post & scrolling on this app a total of 45 mins this entire week has made it tolerable i suppose 😛
Summary: Y/n is stuck surviving in an abusive marriage. After moving to a new town, she’s now more isolated than ever. Or maybe not…Matt’s never been one to socialize with strangers, but something made him go up to her. Call it instinct.
CW: 18+ mature. ADAM. Angst mostly, lots of plot & world building! Mentions of a physical altercations, unwanted touch, possessive behavior, living functions (dog pooping & Y/n relating lol), isolation, dependence, weddings, alludes to sex (waiting till marriage is mentioned), rushed intimacy (NO ACTUAL SMUT), and did I mention Adam?
── Series Masterlist
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟖 : "The Sexy Bride."
Something didn’t feel the same as it used to. I couldn’t name it. In my bones there was a new ache of excitement.
A slight discomfort was apparent. I think the soreness of my muscles must be releasing tension. It’s different, partially uncomfortable…but I don’t mind it. At all.
My husband was still nowhere to be found.
The house felt lighter, not empty. Although his shadow still lingered on his side of the bed, his fingerprints still etched on the kitchen cabinet knobs, and the walls seemed to echo with the noises that usually got drowned in his voice.
“Well, aren’t you pretty…” I hum, looking out the window to see a blue bird perched on the outside sill.
The little creature’s wings flutter, head tilting with curiosity almost as if to mimic me. A laugh rumbles through my chest. I let out a hefty breath, leaning back into the reclined with a resting smile.
A reminiscent lingering of sweet, sugary cereal made my tea taste slightly bitter this morning. I don’t mind. It seems like a good balance, if anything.
Lashes brimming my eyes tangle together, tickling against one another as I let out another sigh. Warm liquid glides down my throat, gravity grounding me rather than challenging my strength to hold myself up while standing tall.
“Oh my…” I whisper to myself.
The lady is back. The one I traumatized with multiple ill painted scenes of my husband and I during our new time in this neighborhood.
Her steps seem to move faster, her calm facade dropping. She seems anxious. Especially when her dog wanders onto the front lawn of the house, presuming a position to perform natural functions.
In other terms, she seems utterly horrified as her dog starts shitting diarrhea onto the spotless grass.
I can’t help but laugh at first. However, the humor dies as I watch her try to tug the dog by the leash, only for the brown liquid to smear through the strands of green.
She shrieks, pausing with ears so red they might as well be on fire. “Hey! No! Stop! Stop! Stop!”
My feet move before I can overthink it. I open the front door, the sound catching her attention as if a gun had just released a bullet in her direction.
“I’m so sorry, I—ugh! Come on! Stop right this instant!” She snaps.
She thinks I’m my husband. Ugh. “Ma’am,” I sigh, trying to hold a friendly smile on my face despite the disappointing realization. “It’s okay. It’s a dog, you can’t control that. Don’t worry too much, please,” I insist, rubbing my hands up and down my arms as I hug myself.
Did she really think I was going to yell? For something beyond her control?
Is that how I come across?
“Oh…okay. I’m still very sorry. And embarrassed.” She adds.
My brows furrow before my cheekbones rise, the corners of my lips disappearing as I grin. “Well, I’m embarrassed too, if it makes you feel any better. I can’t believe you thought I’d be upset over something so normal.”
The dog makes eye contact with me. Still shitting, still struggling to hold position comfortably. I laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, sparing the dog a sympathetic smile before turning my gaze back to the woman.
Believe me, dog…I’ve been there. Take your time.
“Really? Your, um…your husband said if this ever happened he’d—well, nevermind, dear. I’m just glad you’re so nice.”
My brows crease, a look of distaste shrinking over my face as I connect the reason as to why this woman was so horrified in the first place. Adam.
He must have said something.
All because he couldn’t handle anything less than perfection, even when things beyond control happened like they always do.
Huh. I never thought of it in those terms. They resonate eerily well though. Especially with the last turnover that made him disappear for this long.
It all flipped sideways when I forgot wine. One thing from an entire dinner and suddenly none of my efforts mattered.
Or when I ironed his shirt and missed one spot. It wasn’t because I didn’t care enough to remember, it was because one inch of fabric wasn’t perfect. And perfect was his standards for everything.
That’s…unreasonable…right?
No one can live up to perfection. That’s part of being human. Maybe that’s why I’m so…’awful’ all the time. Because, in his eyes, I’m not perfect. I make mistakes, I forget things, I…I do things like a normal human-being.
I mean, he’s allowed to fuck up. Why can’t I?
He put dishes in the dishwasher upside down for years even though I corrected him so many times. Instead of throwing a fit or fixing it, I just told him he could leave his dishes in the sink. It was easier to do more work rather than face the fact that he doesn’t really…listen. At least not to me.
Abuse wasn’t the term for this. It couldn't be. He didn’t batter me black and blue everyday and bring me to the brink of death. But…he had left marks before. He’d done things regardless of my input to my own body.
But if I so much as thought about shoving past him…oh, that would be trouble.
He loves me. He’s supposed to love me, he’s my husband. Although…I can’t remember the last time anything felt like actual love instead of just relief.
I can’t even remember the last time I wanted to tell him I loved him without the reeling instinct of obligation.
Wow. How did we get here?
Reality settles in with a numbing feeling, one that settles like cotton over my eyes. I gnaw so hard on my lip that the stinging pain pulls me back to the sight in front of me—the woman struggling to bend down and grab the gross goop of an upset stomach from her dog.
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s supposed to rain later, it’ll just wash it away.”
My words hang in the air differently. The shift in my voice is apparent, the subtle tone of dissonance vibrating like a distant melody through my skull.
The lady straightens herself. “Thank you, darling,” her eyes squint with appreciation, then with worry. “Are you alright? I…I don’t want to make any assumptions, but I hear some yellin’ when I walk past and some, um…not so great things—”
“I’m fine.”
Even I don’t believe the rushed words flowing out of my mouth. I didn’t even think before I said them, I was running purely off instinct—defending my husband before I processed anything for myself.
“Okay,” she nods, slow and hesitant, as if she’s scared that disagreeing with me will make me shun her. “But, I do worry. I’m an old lady, as you can see,” she laughs, making a half smile tug on my lips, “I’ve…been through a lot. My first husband was…something…not…just…if you need anything, I’m here. I understand.”
I nod, swallow the lump in my throat that seems to bulge beneath my skin. “Oh, okay, I…”
It’s not that bad.
It’s not that bad.
It…it’s just….
“Listen, I’m the green house right down the street on the corner. It’s the one with all the gnomes in the lawn. If you need anything—and I mean anything, come over. I rarely ever leave the house…and I could really use the company too.”
I lick over my teeth, my mouth suddenly feeling too dry. “Thank you…”
She starts walking, the dog finally preppy enough to trot along forward. “Anytime darlin’ just…don’t be like me…”
My eyes stay patiently on her as she spares a friendly smile.
“Don’t wait until it’s bad enough to get help.”
—
One thought echoed, simple and plain: It was already too late, wasn’t it?
Physical violence had been introduced long ago, that wasn’t new. What was new was how…frequent it was becoming. How normal. I almost expected it more than anything at this point.
I couldn’t even seem to get a job interview for some shitty part time job with him. How would I even go about making money to survive without him?
It’s not like I could go to my parents for help. They were all the way across the country and I wasn’t even sure if they knew my recent phone number. Well, new as in years ago. Before we had moved from our hometown for the first time.
God, that was really years ago.
They definitely don’t wanna hear from their ghost of a daughter who’s never reached out unless she needs something. That would be crass.
I just…don’t know what to do.
Reversing all the damage in our marriage isn’t an option. No matter what conversation we have, I still know what his hands feel like in the worst ways. I didn’t associate his touch with love anymore, I didn’t acknowledge the mere thought of him with love anymore.
It was all resentment. Or at least that’s what the most pronounced emotion was ringing though my head.
I mean, look around.
This life…this house…this everything—it’s all him, what he’s wanted, what works best for him. He didn’t care enough to treat me with a decent amount of respect, he didn’t even consider me when thinking about his goals.
He just…assumes.
I’m just a toy to him, a built-in maid. And I let it get that way. I left my dreams and aspirations in the dust because I was so in love, so infatuated with the idea of our relationship rather than chasing the feeling of freedom.
“Well would you look at that…” I huff, staring down at the grocery list in front of me. A bunch of ingredients for his favourite meals, for his preferences.
When’s the last time I chose anything for myself?
When’s the last time I actually chose my own needs over his in any capacity?
I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t recall a single time since we got married.
Hell, the first night didn’t even go great. It went…awful.
I always thought my wedding day would make me feel like a princess. I dreamed of the dress, the flowers, the family—and I got that, but…it wasn’t what I imagined….
– flashback to their wedding night years ago –
Oh. My. Gosh.
This was it. My big day—the day.
I can’t believe it…I’m here, this is happening, with a man who loves me. How lucky am I?
“Deep breaths, just take deeep breaths,” my dad laughs, patting my shoulder soothingly as we stare at the closed chapel doors. His arm is holding mine, linked in a formal display.
I’m about to walk down the aisle. I can hear the soft music start to play. I know I need to take the first step—the first step into my new life, married to a man I love, building my own story instead of living in other people’s.
“Okay…I…I’m ready,” I say, my voice wavering with anxiety or excitement, I can’t differentiate the two anymore.
The doors part, a gap of an opening widening. I see smiles, pairs of so many eyes, and…and then I see him—Adam.
He’s staring at me with so much love I get dizzy. All the soft coos and gasps as I pass shrink to silence as I look back at him.
This is it. This is my moment.
I’m a bride. I look so beautiful I can barely process it and it’s just…magic.
I feel like I’m dreaming.
The aisle is shorter than I remember while first checking out this venue. My feet are numb, my hands are shaky, and something inside of my chest is swelling warmly.
“You’re…” Adam stares up and down. His eyes mesmerize as he takes it all in.
Beautiful, he’s gonna say.
Gorgeous.
Ethereal.
Everything.
I’m biting my lip, gnawing with anticipation as he speaks. It’s a regular pace of his words, but right now I’m thinking a million thoughts per second, this entire scene something I’ve dreamt of a thousand times.
Taking a shriveled breath, I reach to grab his hands as my father lets me go. My nimble fingers shakily glide into his grip, his hands pressing with a reassuring squeeze.
“You’re…gonna be my wife.” He finally finishes.
Something withers inside my chest. It’s like a song taking a turn towards dreary notes instead of a light melody.
He’s not even in the moment, he’s focused on the outcome.
It shouldn’t hurt as bad as it does, but something…sinks. My chest decompresses with a heavy breath, my eyes dimming as I blink into reality.
Looking around, I see just how many eyes are staring at me. I gulp. This doesn’t feel the same as it did just a second ago.
I want to run. Bolt right off the altar and never look back.
But that’s just nerves…
Right?
—
Nearly ten hours later, the feeling still hadn’t faded. The darker the sky became, the more I needed the moon.
The evening had dwindled down cheerfully. People talked, danced, ate, drank…and I stood there, feeling like I was stuck in a cage within my own mind watching a beautiful moment that wasn’t entirely mine anymore.
Adam’s arm was possessively draped around me all night. The new title of ‘wife’ was the only compliment I had received from him all day.
Well, until now.
The wedding dress had been peeled from my body. He didn’t bother taking out my hair, just kept letting his hands roam over places I’d never let him touch before.
Afterall, I was firm on waiting till marriage to have sex.
Intimacy wasn’t just a fun hobby to me, it was vulnerable…emotionally connecting. I wasn’t willing to do that with anyone until I knew it meant they were staying forever.
I wouldn’t be one of those dumb girls who got their hearts broken over guys who never truly cared. I wasn’t stupid…
But right now, I kinda feel stupid.
In one of the most vulnerable experiences of my life, I could feel discomfort in all forms. My head hurt from all the pins, the makeup on my face felt heavy, my feet ached from standing all night, and my body was just exhausted from everything about the day finally catching up.
“I’ve wait so long for this, fuck…you’re so sexy,” Adam whispers along my skin, his hands hot and greedy as he gropes up and down my sides.
It’s the first compliment he’s given to me today.
Even though there’s a wedding dress on the floor and heavy rings on my finger…it doesn’t feel how I thought it would. It was supposed to be…I don’t know…comfortable? Secure?
Instead, the feeling of anxious knots makes me nauseous. I find my mind floating to another headspace as his hands roam too quickly, too aggressively…
It doesn’t feel like passion. It feels like impatience.
And suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like anything at all.
– flashback over–
I don’t remember a compliment after that day, not one that I appreciated, at least. Sexy was his usual term of endearment. I hated that.
Being sexy wasn’t the reason I wanted to be touched. Being loved was.
I stare down at the grocery list once again, my eyes drifting to my shaky hand. The silver and diamonds on my ring finger makes my chest tighten. It’s uncomfortable how much the bands seem to weigh down.
I wonder what it would feel like…to just…
Sliding off the jewelry, I take a deep breath.
It feels odd. Almost as if I’m naked. But it doesn't feel like something's missing, it feels…relieving.
God, I need some air. Quick.
The dining chair screeches against the wooden floor. I bolt out the front entrance of the house with a desperation for fresh air.
“Geez,” I breathe out, my eyes fluttering shut as I take slow, even breaths.
Why?
Why did I stay at the altar?
Why did I not listen to my gut?
Why…why did I not trust my instinct?
.
.
.
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Paige’s Notes: So sorry for being slow updating...I'm a busy gal, but I'm trying my best! Thank you for reading & being patient!
ALSO...what did we think about the wedding flashback...or who the 'strange' lady is...(hint: she's very...important...) LMK in the comments/reblogs/or even in my inbox!
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it was a wednesday like any other, and you had decided to go along with chris to his shift at the garage. you were sitting on his workbench with your feet kicked up, leaning against the wall next to it, as he stood hunched over the engine of a car nearby.
the other guys that worked in the garage frequently passed by, and now a few of them had stopped to speak to you and chris while they had a free moment.
they were mostly speaking to you, though. they often went on about how much they appreciated your presence at the garage, but now it was starting to veer into unfamiliar territory for you, with continued comments on how charming and cute you were, how they wanted to see your face around here more often.
you knew it was harmless teasing, that they'd never try to make a pass at you in earnest, especially not with chris watching. but it still made you slightly flustered, so you reached up to twirl a piece of your hair between your fingers, a habit you had had since childhood that always calmed you down. you occasionally glanced over at chris, trying to hint for him to join in the conversation so you didn't feel like so much of the attention was focused on you.
what you didn't notice was the way chris was watching you, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed as they flitted between your hand playing with your hair and your doe eyes as you looked up at the guys. you lifted your knees up a little, giving chris a direct view of your panties beneath your dress, and he had no doubt the others could catch a glimpse, too. but what pissed him off most was the way you kept looking back at him, as if making sure he was seeing this bullshit.
after a minute or so more, he spat out the toothpick he was idly chewing on and dragged you by your wrist to get up off the table.
you barely had time to realise you were on your feet before chris was tugging you out the garage entrance and down the street to nancy's house.
"chris, what's going on?" you asked, entirely baffled and pulling back in an attempt to resist his driving pace.
he charged on in silence. once you were home, he dragged you past the living room where nancy was sitting in front of the blaring tv, completely oblivious to the fact that you had even entered the house. chris brought you straight down into the basement.
he locked the door behind you and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. his silence was getting unnerving, so you took the opportunity to try and get some answers out of him.
“chris, are you upset with me? i don't understand what's—”
“come here.” his voice was calm, too calm for his behaviour moments earlier, and it only served to make you extremely uneasy as you stepped forward to stand in front of him.
you let out a yelp of surprise as chris gripped your hips and bent you over his lap in one swift motion.
"think you're funny, huh?" chris drawled as he flipped your dress up to expose your ass. "flirtin’ with the guys in front of me like i'm fucking blind? showin’ them your fucking panties like a little slut?"
you immediately felt your cheeks burning. was that really how it looked? could chris not tell how flustered you were, how you were silently praying for him to intervene?
your thoughts were interrupted by a harsh smack. you screamed, mostly from the sudden shock, and tried to squirm away, but chris pressed his free hand on the small of your back to keep you down.
"who do you think i am, huh?" another smack.
"chris, i swear i wasn't—"
you were cut off by another smack. chris laughed, but there was no humour behind it. "nah, way too late for excuses now. gotta take what's comin', doll."
you had no choice but to stifle your screams and protests as chris continued with your punishment, spanking you with a firm palm until your butt was raw and throbbing. he squeezed and rubbed the tender skin every now and again in a half-hearted attempt to soothe you.
you didn’t know how to react — you knew chris was trying to punish you, to teach you a lesson, and even though you knew you were innocent, you couldn’t ignore some part of you that… enjoyed it? no, that couldn’t be. enjoyed wasn’t the right word. it just had you whining and squirming beneath him, your pussy twitching and aching for a redirection of his attention. that was all.
once chris was satisfied with his work, he tugged your panties down to your mid thighs and spread your legs slightly, giving him just enough space to drag his fingers through your soaked folds.
"she's wet for me, baby. don't tell me you liked gettin' put in your place like that."
you couldn't speak, only letting out small gasps as chris continued gathering your slick on his fingers.
"filthy girl." he gave one last smack, this time to your pussy, causing you to gasp and jolt forwards.
chris pushed you off his lap, leaving you standing in front of him all sore and confused, your legs trembling. he mocked your bewildered expression. "what? don't tell me you thought you were getting something out of this? thought i'd be takin' care of you after all that?"
you couldn't fight the tears that started to well in your eyes. "chris, please... i promise i wasn't flirting— i just didn't know how to react… wanted you to say something…"
you tried to bend to his level and wrap your arms around his shoulders, only to be pushed back by a firm hand. you gasped as his coldness, and now you really couldn't hold back your tears.
he hated to admit it, but seeing you sob before him was really tugging on chris's heartstrings. he couldn't watch you for too long before sighing in resignation and patting his thigh. "come sit."
you immediately stepped forward and perched yourself on his knee, hiding your face in his neck as you continued to sniffle and whimper. chris let out an exaggerated sigh and rubbed a slow hand up and down your back. "what are you crying for? y'really wanna get off that badly?"
when he felt you nod against his neck, he continued. "go on, then."
it took you a second to realise what chris wanted you to do, but as soon as you connected the dots, you started to rut your bare pussy against his thigh, relishing the feeling of the rough denim of his jeans against your skin.
soon your little cries turned to moans, and you were gripping on to chris's shoulders for support as you picked up the pace.
chris had his chin resting on your shoulder and his hand planted on your back under the guise of offering you comfort, but really he was watching the movements of your ass as you shifted back and forth on his thigh. the way your dress was hiked around your waist was giving him the perfect view of you, and he started to grope at fleshy fistfuls of your ass, suddenly finding himself feeling greedy and desperate to have his hands on you. he could feel his cock hardening in his jeans.
you were far too preoccupied to notice any of that, pressing yourself down harder on his thigh, rocking your hips with increasing speed until you reached your peak, soaking his jeans with the evidence of your pleasure as your loud, desperate whines filled his ears.
chris could feel the liquid of your release seep through to his thigh. he let out a guttural groan and spanked your ass one last time as he felt his cum spilling out into his boxers. untouched.
he gasped as the hot, sticky ropes soaked his underwear. this had never happened to him before. you sat up to see his flushed cheeks and gaping mouth, his chest rising and falling erratically fast.
part 17, in which . . . preachersdaughter!reader and dealer!chris settle into their new life. masterlist here.
you had been in california for two weeks now. after a few nights hopping between motels around the area, chris managed to find somewhere more permanent for the two of you to stay, and that was in the basement of an eighty-year-old woman named nancy. chris had found her via a sign taped to her front window that read:
BASEMENT FOR RENT. DON’T NEED IT ANYMORE.
the sign had clearly been there for a while, considering its faded yellow colour and the way oil from the blutac had seeped into the paper. nonetheless, you needed a more long-term place to stay, so you pushed your fears aside and moved in with chris underneath the house of a woman you had known for no more than a day. what could possibly go wrong?
it was certainly nothing glamorous; just a double bed, a floor lamp, and an old floral couch. the only form of decoration in the room was a crucifix above the bed, the wood ancient and nailed haphazardly into the wall’s panelling, but it gave you a bittersweet feeling of home, a sort of comfort.
nancy was no nicer than she needed to be — a stocky woman, half deaf, who spoke mainly in monosyllables for purely misanthropic purposes. it was clear she wouldn’t be baking cookies and knitting for you and chris anytime soon, but she was reasonable in her demands and kept mostly to herself, so you couldn’t complain.
chris had taken up work at a garage near nancy’s house, which paid well enough. it was agreed that once he made a few more connections, he’d start finding parties to attend, and eventually start dealing at said parties. you also wanted to find work, you just weren’t sure what you wanted to do yet.
chris’s job at the garage was nothing spectacular, but it paid for your rent and food and allowed him to keep playing around with cars, so he was satisfied enough. you liked to accompany him sometimes, just to sit atop his work bench with a book, glancing up every now and again to admire the sight of him — his hair pushed back by a bandana, the oil and grease staining his hands and clothes, the sweat beading on his skin as his muscles flexed and tensed with exertion. he liked knowing you were checking him out.
the other guys at the garage were sweet, too. they liked having a female presence around, someone to distract them from their constant bickering and cursing, and you liked observing their easy rapport and close-knit bond.
one day, while chris was at work, you decided to take a walk around town to familiarise yourself a little more with your surroundings. the town felt perfect for your needs, near enough to the city to feel diverse and totally unlike oak ridge, but remote enough to not feel too overwhelming and chaotic.
you couldn’t contain the excitement that took over you when you stumbled across a library tucked away in the corner of a busy street. it couldn't have been more different from the ancient abandoned library in oak ridge. the atmosphere inside was like another world, somehow freeing but cosy at the same time with its large windows and dome ceiling, and the busy shelves amongst which you could easily imagine yourself losing all track of time.
you were walking rather irresponsibly with your round eyes glued to the fancy light fixtures on the ceiling, when you felt yourself collide full-on with another body, sending a pile of books tumbling to the floor. you turned to see a rather frazzled-looking librarian, sighing as she stared at the books around her feet.
“oh my god, i’m so sorry!” you immediately rushed to crouch and collect the books.
“totally fine. people get distracted here all the time.” she gave you a warm smile and joined you on the floor until you both had all the books in hand. as you stood back up, you took the opportunity to get a proper look at her. she couldn’t have been much older than you, her brunette curls framing her round face, lit up by her cheery smile.
“i’m susie. i, uh, i work here.” she paused and gestured to the lanyard around her neck. “i haven't seen you around before.”
you spent the next few minutes introducting yourself and detailing the events that brought you across the country to this woman you had just met. something about her made you want to confide in her, and the two of you soon fell into easy conversation after that. you ended up following her around the library for a while, chatting as she shelved and sorted books.
you returned to the library the next day, and the next few days after that. it became somewhat of a routine for you to come and talk to susie while chris was at work, and as the two of you got to know each other more, you noticed how she increasingly sighed and complained about the constantly short staff in the library, all while giving you side eyes and coughing conspicuously.
you picked up the hint, and, not long later, the job. it pretty much fell into your lap, what with susie being the only one on the interviewer team, and it wasn't much of a departure from the way you had been helping out at the library in the past few weeks anyway.
chris was delighted when you told him you had finally found work. you were both laying on your bed in nancy's basement, and you wish you could’ve captured his expression, all excited and proud.
“look at you, my busy lady. maybe i won't have to start dealing after all. think we should be able to cover rent with extra now.”
he didn't miss the slight pout on your face at that, and he raised an eyebrow. “what?”
“i don't know, just… you really don't think you'll start dealing again?” you asked.
“that a problem?”
“it was kinda…”
“what?”
“hot?”
chris raised an eyebrow as a slow smile appeared on his face. “oh, i see.”
you scoffed and laid on your side, turning your back to him. “never mind.”
“nah, nah,” he laughed softly and pulled you back by your shoulder. “what’s hot about it? c’mon, you can’t just leave me on that.”
you glanced at his hand on your shoulder and sighed in resignation. “like, your hands, i guess.”
“oh yeah? what about ‘em?”
“just… i dunno. the way they look when you’re rolling and counting money and stuff. it’s whatever.”
“oh, doll, you’re killin’ me here. you like my hands that much?” he laughed and climbed on top of you, dragging his hands up and down your sides, squeezing softly at your waist.
you couldn’t do much but pout and nod.
“yeah… sit up f’me, angel. want you to watch something.” chris guided you to lean back on your elbows so you could have a clear view as he unbuttoned your denim shorts painstakingly slow. you whined and reached down to try and take them off yourself, but chris tutted and gripped your wrists in one hand.
“c’mon, baby. gonna show me how much you like my hands, yeah?”
Holding a human heart in your hands while looking your mom dead in the eye. Filming ICE & running off to post on your tiktok with thousands of followers so people see them arresting a fucking ER nurse. Comforting a family through the death of a loved one. fuck yeah javadi belongs in the ER
⿻﹕𐔌 𝙀𝙋𝙄𝙎𝙊𝘿𝙀 17: stray!reader & gas station!matt from the new americana au
content warnings: angst, descriptions of heroin use, mentions of needles, overdose, medical emergency, hospitalization, some very slight comfort, panic, worry, fear.
word count: 2.1k
author's note: im back from my brief hiatus 😅 sorry for the angst heavy writing?? hopefully im not in my flop era after being gone for a bit. p.s. this is nawt proofread
The first two weeks of summer were like a reset you didn’t know you needed. You spent a lot of quality time with your siblings and volunteered at the trailer park summer camp on your days off. You focused on everything you needed to, no distractions.
Your savings were adding up and it felt like you could finally breathe. You had already spoken to the leasing office at the trailer park and you knew you’d be able to put a deposit down on a trailer very soon.
You hadn’t heard from your parents and you selfishly felt like it was a relief. This wasn’t something new. Your dad went months without contacting you, so you didn’t bat an eye when your mom stopped coming back to the motel. In fact, you liked it better that way.
Now, you’re back at the motel after dropping off the kids at camp and running to the bank. You start your cleaning shift soon, so you want to tidy up your own room beforehand. Your door is already unlocked, which surprises you. It was a busy morning so you wouldn’t be surprised if you forgot to lock it.
You push the door open but the light is already on. You're startled at what you see. Your mom is slumped over in your bed with a needle still stuck in her arm, just above a loosened rubber tourniquet. Her hair is matted and it looks like she hasn’t showered in days. Her mouth is agape, but she’s breathing.
“Mom?” She doesn’t respond. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen her like this, but it has been a while.
“MOM.” You call her louder. Drool runs down her chin when you push her head back against the headboard. A low mumble escapes her mouth as she stirs slightly. She tries to open her eyes, but the drug in her system keeps her practically nonresponsive. She uses enough energy to lift her head up, but it slumps back down to its original position.
This isn’t what you need right now. Things had been going so well. You let out a big huff and start playing caretaker. You search the drawer in your bedside table for gloves and scour the bed for the needle cap. You expertly pull the needle out of your mother’s arm and cap it, like you’ve done dozens of times before. It’s tossed into the garbage bin as you head to the bathroom to grab some antiseptic wipes and a bandaid. All the while, she remains zombie-like and in a daze. You clean your mom’s arm up and let her lay in bed for a little while longer.
You can’t wait for her to come down from her high so you can give her a piece of your mind. For now, you have to get back to your new routine. You shower and clean up around the room. When the time comes to head out for your shift, you check on your mom one last time.
“Hey, I’m leaving. Clean yourself up before I’m back. The kids don’t need to see you like this,” you tell her. Enough time has passed for her to be able to respond to you, but when you look at her, she hasn’t moved an inch.
“Hey.” You shake her slightly, but her body is limp.
“Mom.” You stick a finger under her nose but you don’t feel any warm air coming out.
“Mom!” Panic starts to set in. You put your ear up against her chest but don’t hear a heartbeat.
“No, no, no, no…” You look in the drawer. Where the fuck is the narcan? You used to have it ready to go, but you can’t find it. You stumble through the room searching. In the bathroom you find the narcan and administer it up her nose with shaky hands.
You fiddle with your phone to dial 911. When they answer the call, you tell them she’s not breathing and that she’s shot up heroin. You don’t know if she’s had any other drugs, but you let them know you gave her narcan. They say to stay on the phone while you try CPR.
One, two, three, four, breath.
One, two, three, four, breath.
One, two, three, four, breath.
Check for a heartbeat.
Nothing.
The paramedics finally arrive and you hang up the phone. They rush into the room. They check for a pulse and try CPR. They put her on a stretcher and wheel her out of the room.
Your own heartbeat now thumps prominently in your ears. A nice paramedic lady asks you questions you have a hard time answering, but you try your best. They tell you they’re taking her to the hospital. You ask if she’s going to be okay and the lady honestly says she doesn’t know.
After everyone’s gone the room feels too silent. You sit on the kid’s bed, looking at the room around you. It tells the story of chaos. Drawers are open with contents spewed out while the empty narcan lays on the floor. The bed is a mess of tossed sheets and wrappers from whatever the paramedics gave to your mom and things are knocked over from when they wheeled the stretcher in.
Guilt sinks into your bones. Your immediate feelings when you saw her were that of annoyance and burden. You didn’t even realize your mom was in danger until it was too late. Instead, you let her lay there in a puddle of her own drool until she stopped breathing and now, you don’t know if she’s going to be okay. You sink down to the floor and wrap your arms around your knees.
Your brain spirals with questions. What do I tell Jeff about my shift? What do I tell the kids? Should I tell the kids? Should I go see her in the hospital now? Should I wait for an update? The emotional whiplash makes you feel sick to your stomach. The world is crumbling around you and for once, you don’t know what to do.
You could call Scout, or you could call her mom, but they’re both working the summer camp. It takes you a moment to realize there’s only one person you actually want to call.
Matt.
You hold your phone, feeling the weight of it in your hands. It had been over two weeks since you spoke to him. He had sent you one last text before he stopped reaching out.
Let me know if you want to talk. If not, I’ll leave you alone.
You never responded.
Now, his contact pops up and you hover over the call button. You chew on your lip before pushing the call button, and wait for it to ring on the other line. It only takes one ring.
“Stray?”
The sound of his voice is just the medicine you need.
“Matt?” Your voice shakes more than you’d like. “Can you come over? I…I need help.” You sniffle. The last few words feel foreign on your tongue.
“I’m on my way, stray girl. Don’t worry,” he says, then hangs up the phone.
There’s a knock on the door a little while later. When you open the door, Matt wears worry all over his face.
“Matt,” you say softly, rushing to hold him in a tight embrace. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, trying hard not to cry. He allows it, hugging you back, with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. He walks you backwards into the room and shuts the door behind him.
You two stay like that for a while. The emotions overtake you and you begin to cry quietly into his chest. He doesn’t say anything. Instead he rubs your back in slow soothing circles, allowing you to let it all out.
When you stop crying, you pull your face away. It’s hard to look at him. Very few people have ever seen you cry, but something about him calmed every nerve in your body. When you finally lock eyes, Matt cups your face and brushes your tears away with his thumbs before planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.
“What’s wrong?” He asks.
“It’s my mom,” you sniffle. “She was here when I got back and she was drugged out of her mind. I didn’t realize how bad it was until she stopped breathing.” Tears begin to fill your eyes again. “I had to call 911 and they took her to the hospital. I don’t know if she’s gonna make it or if she’s gonna be okay.” By this point you’re sobbing, unable to hold back again. “I have work soon and the kids are at camp and I don’t know what to do.”
He pulls you back into a tight hug. “Everything’s going to be okay, stray. I’m gonna make it all better,” He coos as he runs his fingers through your hair. Matt gives you all the time you need to calm down.
Afterwards, he has you sit on the kid’s bed while he gets you tissues, cleans up the room and grabs your purse. The room looks like nothing ever happened as the two of you leave. Matt has you wait in his truck while he tells Jeff you can’t work today. The drives to the trailer park, but parks a little further away so the kids don’t see you. He tells Linda and Scout the situation and they promise to keep the kids as long as you need. The next stop is the hospital, where you two sit in the waiting room for any updates.
“It’s my fault she’s here,” you say out loud into the empty waiting room.
“Stray, that’s not true.” Matt says. “You didn’t stick that needle in her arm, she did.”
“I know, but I should have noticed something was wrong earlier,” You feel tears coming back. You slam the back of your head against the wall in frustration.
“Hey, listen to me,” Matt says, looking you in the eye as he grabs your hands in his.
“Your parent’s decisions are not your burden. You do the best you can with the cards you’re dealt. None of this is your fault.”
Before you can respond, two police officers walk into the room. They want to ask you a few questions about what happened. You explain the situation for what feels like the fifteenth time, but it’s not as hard with Matt by your side.
“Do any children live at the residence?”
“Yes, my two siblings.”
Did the kids have access to these drugs?”
“No”
“Who is their guardian?”
“My mom and dad.”
“Where’s your father?”
“I don’t know.”
The cops shake their heads and you can just tell they’re judging you.
“Miss, we find it concerning that there are children living in a motel who are being exposed to drugs. One of their guardians is not in the picture and the other is in the hospital. We’re going to have to forward this information to CPS.”
No. Not that, anything but that.
“Officer, I’m the one that takes care of them. Please believe me when I say they don’t have access to drugs,” you try to convince them.
“It’s out of our hands now, we have to forward this information when we feel like children are in danger. If you want to get ahead of the situation, get a better place to live and get sole custody of those kids.” They walk away after giving you the only helpful piece of information you’ve gotten all day.
Worry starts to boil over in your system. You can’t let CPS take your siblings. They’d get put into foster care and who knows where they’d end up. There’s no way in hell you’d let that happen.
You cover your face with your hands, resting your elbows on your knees. You’re overwhelmed with thoughts and you feel emotionally drained. Matt rubs circles on your back again, trying to comfort you. You lean on his shoulder, feeling defeated.
“We’ll make it happen. I promise. Those kids aren’t going anywhere,” Matt assures you.
A nurse walks into the waiting room next. “Miss, I have an update about your mother.”
You stand up and Matt follows. “Is she okay?”
“She’s stable, but still unconscious. We have to run some more tests. The lack of oxygen to her brain after her heart stopped poses some concerns. We’ll update you as soon as we have more news. For now, you should go home.”
After she leaves, you find yourself clinging onto Matt again, exhausted and mentally drained. He rests his chin on the top of your head as he hugs you back. “I’m gonna make everything okay, stray. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” He nuzzles into you know. “I’ll take care of you.”
*This is the DCC story that was requested! Enjoy :) Part 2 coming soon*
The smell of The Star stuck with you: not just hairspray, but expensive turf, stale 6:00 AM coffee, and the bundle of nerves.
By the final week of Training Camp, your body looked like a bruised peach. And it definitely felt like it.
Your big toes stayed taped, each step a reminder that without it, you would feel a pain unimaginable. Your hamstrings burned, stretched so thin it hurt to straighten your legs. You were 'thin-skinned,' as Kelli would say—every comment cut deep, every mistake felt fatal. To keep going, you forced yourself to focus on one thing at a time—one kick, one eight-count—reminding yourself with each breath that you survived yesterday and could survive today.
When criticism stung, you wrote down the words in a notebook each night, circling what you could fix. In between practices, you closed your eyes and imagined the sound of home, letting it steady your heart just enough before you got up and tried again.
"You're staring at the wall again," Chris’s voice came through your phone speakers.
You slumped on the apartment floor, frozen peas on your knee. Across the country in LA, Chris spun in his chair on FaceTime. The two of you kept this routine, regardless of the time zones.
"I'm just tired, Chris. My brain is dead. I keep forgetting the transition into the kickline, and if I do that tomorrow, I'm done. I'll be packing my car by noon."
"You won't," Chris said firmly. He stopped spinning and leaned toward the camera, his face filling the screen. "I’ve watched you do that dance in my bedroom while I was playing video games only about a hundred times. You know it."
"I miss you," you whispered, the honesty painful. "Everything here is so... polished. Everyone is so perfect. I just want to sit on the couch and hear you, Matt, and Nick scream at each other about how someone ate the last donut."
Chris’s expression eased, a rare flash of genuine sadness moving across his face. "Trust me, the screaming hasn't stopped. Matt almost threw a remote at Nick ten minutes ago because he wouldn't stop humming. It’s annoying. You’re missing nothing."
He checked something off-camera. "Listen, I gotta go. Nick’s yelling for me to help with the Friday video. Call me tomorrow after you get your results? I’ll be there to give you the loudest 'I told you so' ever."
"Okay." I smile softly, " I love you."
"I love you more. Go to sleep. Put the peas back in the freezer."
The next morning merged from the high intensity of a final practice, into high-tension silence. In the locker room, nerves replaced banter. The "Rookies" lined up, waiting to have their names called for office visits.
When your name was called, your stomach sank. Walking that hallway felt like a slow-motion horror movie. The office AC hummed, making it the only sound in the building.
Kelli and Judy sat behind the desk, a stack of headshots between them. Your headshot was on top. There were notes written in red ink in the margins.
"Sit down, [Y/N]," Kelli said. Her voice was unreadable.
You sat down quietly and waited for the inevitable.
The next ten minutes crushed you. Terms such as "memory blips" and "weak projection" stabbed at your pride, each accusation something you couldn't defend. Tears burned, refusing to fall, while your fists clenched in your lap so your shaking wouldn’t show. Fear built in your chest—every breath felt like it might be your last as a DCC.
"However," Judy intervened, leaning forward. "We also saw how the team looks at you. We saw you working late to help the other rookies. And we saw a girl who finally stopped overthinking and started dancing."
Those words landed because you knew exactly when it changed: that night on the turf when everything went wrong, and all the advice crashed together in your mind at once. You heard Kelli say, 'Trust your training.' You remembered Chris telling you to let your muscle memory lead the way.
The next morning, instead of worrying about every possible mistake, you whispered the choreography once, let it go, and chose to just move. For the first time, you let go of needing to be perfect, told yourself it was enough to just dance, and that shift made all the difference.
Maybe it was reckless optimism or just exhaustion, but it worked.
Kelli smiled—a real, warm smile. "So with that, we want to say congratulations. You’re officially a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader."
A sob burst out, ugly and loud. You didn’t care. You thanked them, stumbling from the office, with a silver-wrapped box—your official DCC pin in hand.
After leaving the office, minutes later, you found yourself back on the mezzanine overlooking the practice field. The stadium stood empty, seats a sea of silent silver. Pulling out your phone, your thumb paused over Chris's name.
But before you could call, someone spoke from behind—unmistakably not from the phone.
"I wouldn't call him yet if I were you."
You spun around. And everything froze.
Chris stood by the glass doors—not on a screen, not wearing a hoodie. He wore a black leather jacket, hands deep in his pockets, looking tired and out of place in the fancy facility.
"Chris?" Your voice broke.
“I've been in Texas since six this morning," he admitted, a sheepish, lopsided grin forming across his face.
You didn’t give him a chance to finish—you threw your bag aside and ran, pain flickering away, desperation driving you forward. You hurled yourself at him with so much force he nearly stumbled, arms closing around you with unspoken relief.
He held you, chin over your shoulder. He smelled like the airport, but mostly like his laundry detergent—the scent of home.
"You're here," you sobbed into his chest. "How? The video—"
"The video can wait," Chris muttered, his grip tightening. "You think I was gonna let you find out the biggest news of your life over a phone? I'm not that bad of a boyfriend, [Y/N]."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb swiping a tear away from your cheek. He looked at the silver box in your hand and then back at your face. "So? You're in?"
"I'm in," you choked out. "I'm a DCC."
Chris let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for weeks. He let out a sharp, Boston-bred whistle that echoed through the empty stadium. "LET’S GO! I KNEW IT!"
He lifted you, spinning you in a wild circle as laughter broke through your tears. For the first time in two months, the knot of fear in your chest untangled, replaced by joy so strong it made you weightless.
"Matt and Nick are in the car," Chris said, setting you down but keeping his hands on your waist. "They’re arguing about where to get BBQ, but I told them we aren't leaving until I get to see you in the uniform."
"I don't get the uniform until next week, Chris."
"Whatever. We'll wait to leave then," he grinned, kissing your forehead. "I'm not going back to LA without a picture for my lock screen. Now come on—I’m starving, and you look like you haven't slept since last year. Let’s go celebrate."
As he led you out, his grip steady, the “Rookie” fear finally dissolved. You were more than just a number now. You were a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader, and the one who mattered most had seen you, believed in you, and was there as you arrived.
M yaps: I used to dream of being a DCC, so I loved writing this!
in which . . . dealer!chris feels a little sore from all the driving he's been doing.
this is a preachersdaughter!reader x dealer!chris blurb, and can be read separately from the series.
today was the fourth day of yours and chris’s little roadtrip across the country, and he was exhausted. four days of driving for hours on end with minimal breaks and terrible nights’ sleep had his whole body sore and aching, his muscles crying out for a serious rest.
in spite of that, the trip had been beautiful. the two of you could only afford the cheapest motels in the middle of nowhere, but in the daytime, you allowed yourself time to explore the bigger cities you passed through, and the experience was nothing like you could’ve imagined it to be. the sheer amount of people you encountered who were nothing like the cold, judgemental, all-knowing community of oak ridge, made you feel a swelling sense of hope for the future for you and chris.
when you checked into tonight’s variation of the same shitty motel rooms that defined the journey, chris flopped onto the bed with a heavy groan and rolled over onto his back.
“jesus fuck…” he muttered, covering his face with his hands. when you approached and rubbed his shoulder, he moved his hands away to reveal the discomfort written across his face.
“is it cause of all the driving?” you questioned as you climbed up next to him on the bed. he could just about bring himself to nod in response.
you frowned in concern. it wasn’t often that chris allowed you to see when he was in pain, so you knew you had to do something to help. you sat up on your knees and unbuckled his belt, dropping it to the floor before working at the button of his jeans.
chris let out a tired, breathy laugh. “you already tryin’ to get into my pants, angel?”
“no,” you answered a little too quickly, your cheeks heating. “i’m helping you get into your pajamas.”
with some awkward manoeuvring, you managed to pull his jeans off and get his plaid pajama pants on. chris sighed and tugged his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor next to his other clothes.
you gently pushed him to lay on his stomach and stood on your knees behind him. chris let you guide him without question, sighing softly as he buried his face into the thin pillow beneath him. you heard a subtle gasp escape him as your hands began to work on his tense shoulders, and you could practically feel him starting to melt underneath you.
“that’s real good, baby… uh huh…” he muttered, shoving his face further into the pillow.
you couldn’t fight the shy smile that appeared on your face, that always appeared when chris praised you. his words encouraged you to move further down until you were massaging just below his shoulder blades, and he let out a sharp cry.
“fuck!”
you jolted at the exclamation, and pulled your hands away. “too much?”
“nah, baby… s’good, just hurts…”
chris moaned softly as you continued working at his aching muscles, your hands dipping lower until you were at the small of his back. he felt a little guilty about it, but he could feel his length hardening beneath him at the way your soft hands were working so reverently at his sore muscles, and the way you were sitting perched on the backs of his thighs. what didn’t help matters was the way his cock was getting squeezed so good between his body and the mattress. as your hands rubbed at his lower back, he let out a soft groan and started subtly rutting his hips against the bed, praying you wouldn’t notice.
little did he know, you were too focused on trying to disguise the way you were purposely pressing yourself against the back of his leg. you could feel your underwear soaking through, spurred on by the feeling of chris’s skin under you hands and his quiet groans, and the hard muscle of his thigh was rubbing against your clit in just the right way.
as your hands dipped just below the waistband of his boxers, he inhaled sharply and reached behind him to grab your wrist. the sudden movement made you jump.
“sorry… too much?”
“nah.” chris lifted his head to look back at you. “need you to sit up for me, though.”
you had to hold back a frown as you lifted yourself off his thigh and stood on your knees. chris shifted underneath you so that he was laying on his back, and the smile he offered you was almost innocent.
“come here, baby.” he reached out to hold the side of your face, urging you to lean forward so he could pull you into a kiss. he was painfully gentle with it, stroking your hair with his other hand. he pulled away and pressed one more kiss to your cheek before guiding you to sit on his lap again.
“that was the best massage ever, you know. my angel’s got magic hands.”
before you could shyly dismiss the compliment, he frowned and sighed.
“y’know, my shoulders are still pretty sore, though.” he pouted slightly and pointed at the area connecting his neck and shoulders. you wasted no time in reaching forward to massage at the area, pulling a relieved sigh from him.
“yeah, perfect. right there.”
after a couple minutes, he wrapped his hand around one of your wrists and guided it to his chest.
“just a little lower, baby.”
you nodded and gently rubbed at his chest, until he guided your hands to his stomach.
“lower.”
his stomach twitched and rippled beneath you as you traced your hands over it, and chris shifted his hips slightly.
“lower.”
now you were holding his hips, tracing the “v” lines that trailed down into his boxers, and you were growing increasingly flustered. when you looked up at chris, he had a smug grin on his face as he whispered, “lower.”
your hands faltered as you glanced back down at the noticeable tent in his boxers. you looked back at him with burning cheeks, hoping for some semblance of support.
“chris… i don’t know how…”
“oh?” he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and smiled as he took a second to consider you. “want me to show you?”
you nodded, and he wrapped his hand around your wrist, guiding you to rub the bulge in his underwear. as your hand made contact, he let out a shaky groan, and his hips bucked to meet your touch. that helped your confidence, and you started to move your hand independently, rubbing back and forth over the fabric.
“that’s it, baby… shit…” his breathing quickened, and he had to force himself not to grind against your hand. after a couple minutes, he held your wrist again to stop you.
“need you to take ‘em off f’me… can you do that?”
you nodded quickly and hooked your fingers around the waistband of his boxers. as you pulled them down, his cock sprang free and slapped against his stomach, causing you to let out a little yelp of surprise. he laughed softly at your wide eyes.
“need help again?”
you nodded slowly, and he took your hand in his, guiding it to wrap around the base of his cock. you squeezed softly, gazing at it in fascination as it twitched in your grip.
chris's voice was strained as he said, “there you go… we're gonna move it up and down now, okay?”
he guided your hand up his length slowly, encouraging you to squeeze a little tighter as you reached the top. he then pushed your hand back down, up again, down again, until you reached a slow rhythm. he pulled his hand away, letting you continue by yourself.
“doing such a good job, baby.”
you smiled and sat up on your knees, feeling a little more confident now. the pace of your strokes slowly increased until chris’s hips were twitching below you, matching your rhythm.
“atta girl… you know exactly what you’re doin’, huh? fuckin’ natural.”
you smiled at the praise and leaned closer, desperate to give chris more pleasure. “tell me what else i can do.”
“y’wanna do more? okay.” chris grunted softly as he propped himself up on his elbows. “can you switch hands, so it’s your left one on my— yeah, that’s it. now, uh—” chris had to pause and let out a rough exhale as he took in the sight before him, you sitting on your knees in front of him, one hand gripping his cock, your eyes wide, awaiting further instruction. jesus.
“okay. you, uh, you see my tip?” you could hear the strain in his voice, deeper and quieter now.
you looked down at the head of chris’s cock, the skin a flushed red, leaking slightly.
“want you to rub your thumb over it. gently.”
you lifted your free hand and did as he said, swiping at the gathering liquid and spreading it around chris’s tip. he couldn’t hold back the whine that escaped him.
“good girl. can you keep doin’ that for me? gettin’ real close.”
you continued, encouraged by chris’s loud moans as you stroked his twitching cock. it wasn’t long before he was writhing underneath you, demanding that you squeeze him harder, until he was spurting cum all over his stomach and your forearms.
“holy shit…” he let out an exhausted groan and draped his arm over his eyes, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. he could hear you quietly giggling, and he lifted his arm away to find you looking down at the mess on his stomach and thighs with a gleeful beam on your face.
“the fuck is so funny, kid?”
your smile didn’t falter as you looked back up at him. “i did that! i got you to make all that mess!”
“oh, you’re feelin’ proud of yourself, is that it?” he laughed and gripped you by your waist, swiftly pulling you on top of him. you squealed as he squeezed you tight and littered your face with kisses, pushing back on his shoulders to catch your breath.
“did i do a good job?” you questioned, as if there was any doubt.
“the best job.”
“do you feel better now?”
chris nodded and guided you to lie next to him. “so much better. genuinely. thank you, baby.”
“how much better?”
chris narrowed his eyes at you. “you just like hearing me praise you, huh?”
in which . . . dealer!chris feels a little sore from all the driving he's been doing.
this is a preachersdaughter!reader x dealer!chris blurb, and can be read separately from the series.
today was the fourth day of yours and chris’s little roadtrip across the country, and he was exhausted. four days of driving for hours on end with minimal breaks and terrible nights’ sleep had his whole body sore and aching, his muscles crying out for a serious rest.
in spite of that, the trip had been beautiful. the two of you could only afford the cheapest motels in the middle of nowhere, but in the daytime, you allowed yourself time to explore the bigger cities you passed through, and the experience was nothing like you could’ve imagined it to be. the sheer amount of people you encountered who were nothing like the cold, judgemental, all-knowing community of oak ridge, made you feel a swelling sense of hope for the future for you and chris.
when you checked into tonight’s variation of the same shitty motel rooms that defined the journey, chris flopped onto the bed with a heavy groan and rolled over onto his back.
“jesus fuck…” he muttered, covering his face with his hands. when you approached and rubbed his shoulder, he moved his hands away to reveal the discomfort written across his face.
“is it cause of all the driving?” you questioned as you climbed up next to him on the bed. he could just about bring himself to nod in response.
you frowned in concern. it wasn’t often that chris allowed you to see when he was in pain, so you knew you had to do something to help. you sat up on your knees and unbuckled his belt, dropping it to the floor before working at the button of his jeans.
chris let out a tired, breathy laugh. “you already tryin’ to get into my pants, angel?”
“no,” you answered a little too quickly, your cheeks heating. “i’m helping you get into your pajamas.”
with some awkward manoeuvring, you managed to pull his jeans off and get his plaid pajama pants on. chris sighed and tugged his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor next to his other clothes.
you gently pushed him to lay on his stomach and stood on your knees behind him. chris let you guide him without question, sighing softly as he buried his face into the thin pillow beneath him. you heard a subtle gasp escape him as your hands began to work on his tense shoulders, and you could practically feel him starting to melt underneath you.
“that’s real good, baby… uh huh…” he muttered, shoving his face further into the pillow.
you couldn’t fight the shy smile that appeared on your face, that always appeared when chris praised you. his words encouraged you to move further down until you were massaging just below his shoulder blades, and he let out a sharp cry.
“fuck!”
you jolted at the exclamation, and pulled your hands away. “too much?”
“nah, baby… s’good, just hurts…”
chris moaned softly as you continued working at his aching muscles, your hands dipping lower until you were at the small of his back. he felt a little guilty about it, but he could feel his length hardening beneath him at the way your soft hands were working so reverently at his sore muscles, and the way you were sitting perched on the backs of his thighs. what didn’t help matters was the way his cock was getting squeezed so good between his body and the mattress. as your hands rubbed at his lower back, he let out a soft groan and started subtly rutting his hips against the bed, praying you wouldn’t notice.
little did he know, you were too focused on trying to disguise the way you were purposely pressing yourself against the back of his leg. you could feel your underwear soaking through, spurred on by the feeling of chris’s skin under you hands and his quiet groans, and the hard muscle of his thigh was rubbing against your clit in just the right way.
as your hands dipped just below the waistband of his boxers, he inhaled sharply and reached behind him to grab your wrist. the sudden movement made you jump.
“sorry… too much?”
“nah.” chris lifted his head to look back at you. “need you to sit up for me, though.”
you had to hold back a frown as you lifted yourself off his thigh and stood on your knees. chris shifted underneath you so that he was laying on his back, and the smile he offered you was almost innocent.
“come here, baby.” he reached out to hold the side of your face, urging you to lean forward so he could pull you into a kiss. he was painfully gentle with it, stroking your hair with his other hand. he pulled away and pressed one more kiss to your cheek before guiding you to sit on his lap again.
“that was the best massage ever, you know. my angel’s got magic hands.”
before you could shyly dismiss the compliment, he frowned and sighed.
“y’know, my shoulders are still pretty sore, though.” he pouted slightly and pointed at the area connecting his neck and shoulders. you wasted no time in reaching forward to massage at the area, pulling a relieved sigh from him.
“yeah, perfect. right there.”
after a couple minutes, he wrapped his hand around one of your wrists and guided it to his chest.
“just a little lower, baby.”
you nodded and gently rubbed at his chest, until he guided your hands to his stomach.
“lower.”
his stomach twitched and rippled beneath you as you traced your hands over it, and chris shifted his hips slightly.
“lower.”
now you were holding his hips, tracing the “v” lines that trailed down into his boxers, and you were growing increasingly flustered. when you looked up at chris, he had a smug grin on his face as he whispered, “lower.”
your hands faltered as you glanced back down at the noticeable tent in his boxers. you looked back at him with burning cheeks, hoping for some semblance of support.
“chris… i don’t know how…”
“oh?” he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and smiled as he took a second to consider you. “want me to show you?”
you nodded, and he wrapped his hand around your wrist, guiding you to rub the bulge in his underwear. as your hand made contact, he let out a shaky groan, and his hips bucked to meet your touch. that helped your confidence, and you started to move your hand independently, rubbing back and forth over the fabric.
“that’s it, baby… shit…” his breathing quickened, and he had to force himself not to grind against your hand. after a couple minutes, he held your wrist again to stop you.
“need you to take ‘em off f’me… can you do that?”
you nodded quickly and hooked your fingers around the waistband of his boxers. as you pulled them down, his cock sprang free and slapped against his stomach, causing you to let out a little yelp of surprise. he laughed softly at your wide eyes.
“need help again?”
you nodded slowly, and he took your hand in his, guiding it to wrap around the base of his cock. you squeezed softly, gazing at it in fascination as it twitched in your grip.
chris's voice was strained as he said, “there you go… we're gonna move it up and down now, okay?”
he guided your hand up his length slowly, encouraging you to squeeze a little tighter as you reached the top. he then pushed your hand back down, up again, down again, until you reached a slow rhythm. he pulled his hand away, letting you continue by yourself.
“doing such a good job, baby.”
you smiled and sat up on your knees, feeling a little more confident now. the pace of your strokes slowly increased until chris’s hips were twitching below you, matching your rhythm.
“atta girl… you know exactly what you’re doin’, huh? fuckin’ natural.”
you smiled at the praise and leaned closer, desperate to give chris more pleasure. “tell me what else i can do.”
“y’wanna do more? okay.” chris grunted softly as he propped himself up on his elbows. “can you switch hands, so it’s your left one on my— yeah, that’s it. now, uh—” chris had to pause and let out a rough exhale as he took in the sight before him, you sitting on your knees in front of him, one hand gripping his cock, your eyes wide, awaiting further instruction. jesus.
“okay. you, uh, you see my tip?” you could hear the strain in his voice, deeper and quieter now.
you looked down at the head of chris’s cock, the skin a flushed red, leaking slightly.
“want you to rub your thumb over it. gently.”
you lifted your free hand and did as he said, swiping at the gathering liquid and spreading it around chris’s tip. he couldn’t hold back the whine that escaped him.
“good girl. can you keep doin’ that for me? gettin’ real close.”
you continued, encouraged by chris’s loud moans as you stroked his twitching cock. it wasn’t long before he was writhing underneath you, demanding that you squeeze him harder, until he was spurting cum all over his stomach and your forearms.
“holy shit…” he let out an exhausted groan and draped his arm over his eyes, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. he could hear you quietly giggling, and he lifted his arm away to find you looking down at the mess on his stomach and thighs with a gleeful beam on your face.
“the fuck is so funny, kid?”
your smile didn’t falter as you looked back up at him. “i did that! i got you to make all that mess!”
“oh, you’re feelin’ proud of yourself, is that it?” he laughed and gripped you by your waist, swiftly pulling you on top of him. you squealed as he squeezed you tight and littered your face with kisses, pushing back on his shoulders to catch your breath.
“did i do a good job?” you questioned, as if there was any doubt.
“the best job.”
“do you feel better now?”
chris nodded and guided you to lie next to him. “so much better. genuinely. thank you, baby.”
“how much better?”
chris narrowed his eyes at you. “you just like hearing me praise you, huh?”
caroline speaks: if these are cringey look AAWAAAAYYYYYYYY. shoutout my wife @poloponies for suggesting some of these ideas to me i love u and ur lovely little mind
Liked by matthew.sturniolo, lady.bug, sagebaby and 917 others
happyvalentine my life lately !
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sagebaby did u get me one of those pins or what ♥︎ by author ⤷ happyvalentine yes!!!! i got u a couple of them :p lady.bug hi cuteness!!!!!!! ♥︎ by author ⤷ happyvalentine hi babygirl!!!!! christophersturniolo Those slippers are sick ♥︎ by author ⤷ happyvalentine bello!!!!! christopherstruniolo Is that Matt lmfao ♥︎ by author ⤷ happyvalentine no idk who that is matthew.sturniolo Okay wtf ♥︎ by author ⤷ happyvalentine ???? matthew.sturniolo I've literally never touched Boots this is such bullshit ♥︎ by author ⤷ happyvalentine that is literally u in the pic??? randomguy01 Whatcha reading?? ⤷ matthew.sturniolo Don't worry about it bro ik you don't know how to read anyways ♥︎ by author
matthew.sturniolo ᯤ Come Back to Earth • Mac Miller
Liked by happyvalentine, christophersturniolo, nicolassturniolo and 1362 others
matthew.sturniolo This and that
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christophersturniolo My bro ♥︎ by author ⤷ matthew.sturniolo Love you man nicolassturniolo So nonchalant ♥︎ by author ⤷ matthew.sturniolo U love me randomgirl01 space looks good on u happyvalentine whats on the puter ♥︎ by author ⤷ matthew.sturniolo I'll explain it to you tn sagebaby did u push valentine down that fucking slide ⤷ matthew.sturniolo No Sage actually she was sitting on it backwards and her dumbass fell herself classmate01 Grind never stops with this guy ♥︎ by author ⤷ matthew.sturniolo Just how it goes bro
caroline speaks: bellloooooo!!!!! had so much fun making these, still on a little break from writing but love adding to my worlds :) the rest of my aus ill be posting tomorrow, can feel a migraine starting so im gonna get ahead of it and take some medication and go to bed !!!! love u all sosososo much
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