warnings: SMUT, male masturbation, public setting, sexual thoughts of an ex/pining over his last relationship, releasing in pants 😳. okay wait sad themes actually, AND ANGST??
a/n: don’t get too excited guys i just saw this photo in my camera roll when clearing it out and i thought “you know what, i’ll finally write the idea before deleting this”. i’m SO terribly sorry i haven’t posted, i’ve unfortunately lost interest in watching the sturniolos 💔 hope you enjoy ahaha… i’m highkey just coming up with it as i write it (can you tell by the warnings)
ALSOO this makeup reminds me of the clowns from the circus tour (please tell me you guys know the band “take that”) and when they put on the clown makeup to “what is love”
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“the park would be nice,” he thought earlier on. he needed to clear his head of you.
he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. he doesn’t know why he’s back to thinking of you again. of what you two could’ve been. maybe it’s his missed call, or maybe it’s the wet dream he had last night.
and he only now thinks, as he sits on the park bench with the laughter of children from afar, that bringing himself to one of your old favourite spots to watch the sunrise on cold mornings, to feed the hungry birds and to pluck a fresh flower from the field wasn’t the best distraction. deep down he knew that his heart led him here just to drown in you. to listen to the birds who sing your songs. to remember that you wanted two kids and a cottage-like kitchen.
he feels a dull ache. it’s not too specific, it could be his heart? but it’s when he can see your smile in his mind that dull ache heightens. when your lips touch his and your hands rub his skin, or you’re taking off your clothes for him, all for him, and that’s when the throb strikes again from his cock.
that’s when he starts thinking of what he can do. he’s never seen someone jerk off to someone else in such an emotional way, let alone in public. isn’t it disgusting to picture your smile and innocence when pumping his cock with his fist?
his hand has already slipped under the black denim of his jeans. he’s just barely grazing his tip with his finger, being ever so delicate as if it were your hand instead.
he swallows at the people in the distance walking past. all he could see was their walking figures, but they could approach him at any time, and he doesn’t know if he’d be able to stop when he’s oh so close to spilling.
he hears your soft tone in his ear as a guide, he can almost feel your breath too. “i love you so much. you can do this-“ your lulling tone keeps him in a trance. he feels locked away from the world around him in the best way possible.
but his thoughts are rushing. he feels love, hate for himself, guilt, lust, desperation, and guilt. your sweet nothings shift to fit his darkened thoughts. your words become bitter by the second, and the closer he gets to letting go.
“oh, are you gonna cum? yeah…you got this baby. let go. throw away the kids we could’ve had and the life we could’ve spent together.” his breath stops in shock, but he’s so fucking close. his eyes begin to water at the overwhelming senses.
“no- no no no… i’m so sorry baby- fuck- i’m so fucking sorry i’ll stop right n-“
“don’t stop. drag your hand up your dick. i’d love to see your cum spill.” he whimpers at your words. what he’d envisioned had twisted into something evil. something manipulative. something just to make him feel like his life is over.
he can’t speak. he can’t swallow. he tries. he can only whimper. it’s so real that he can no longer convince himself that you’re not actually there. when your hand grabs his face and pulls it to yours as you speak.
“let go baby- let it all go. all your stresses, all your worries, i still have mine. from the day you left me, to the day i left this place. do you even know where i am?” he interrupts your words of shame with a groan full of everything he’s got left in him, his hot semen spilling into his briefs and through to his jeans. he pants. he looks to the spot next to him on the bench, but there’s no trace of you.
he’d been seeing someone recently about the frequent visions of you after your passing, but none of which he’d had before had ever felt so real. in fact, it wasn’t even fake. he knows that you were there, in some way, when his hand feels a warmth on the spot next to his, as if he was never alone on this bench.
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a/n: i just realised this is the first time i’m posting a fic with a taglist more than 3 people
He knows...
Chris X f! Reader
Mature | Explicit | MDNI
Matt is your boyfriend and he'd been neglecting you the past few months until a glimmer of light leads you to a dangerous solution to a dilemma you've been enduring.
The pre-dawn chill seeped through the oversized hoodie you’d thrown on, the thick fabric a poor shield against the deep, silent cold of the mountain cabin. You’d woken with a start, your mind already churning with the ghosts of the night before—Chris’s whispered words, the desperate, silent union, the hollow ache when he left. Sleep was impossible. The kitchen was a cavern of shadows, the only light the soft blue glow of the microwave clock. You moved by rote, grinding beans, the sound obscenely loud in the stillness, waiting for the kettle to whistle its thin, piercing song. You poured the steaming water over the grounds, the rich, bitter scent a small comfort.
Cradling the warm mug, you slipped out the front door onto the wide, wooden patio. The world was monochrome, etched in shades of grey and deep blue. A mist hovered over the lake, and the sky to the east was just beginning to bleed a faint, watery gold. You sank into one of the deep Adirondack chairs, pulling your knees up, letting the heat of the ceramic seep into your palms. For a few precious minutes, there was only the quiet, the gradual lightening of the sky, and the simple, animal comfort of the coffee.
The door behind you opened with a soft sigh of hinges.
You didn’t need to look. You knew the sound of his footsteps, the weight of his presence. Matt. He didn’t speak. He just lowered himself into the chair beside yours, a respectful foot of space between you. He had a mug of his own, steam curling into the cold air. He stared out at the lake, his profile solemn in the developing light. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was loaded, heavy with everything unsaid. You both watched as the sun breached the distant tree line, painting the mist in hues of rose and amber. It was beautiful, and it felt like a funeral.
Then, he spoke. His voice was calm, quiet, utterly devoid of accusation. It was worse.
“Since when?”
Two simple words. Your blood turned to ice. Your fingers locked around the mug, the heat suddenly scalding. You couldn’t breathe. You forced yourself to turn your head, to look at him. His eyes weren’t on the sunrise anymore. They were on you, tired, sad, but clear. He knew.
“W-what do you mean?” The question was a weak, transparent lie, your voice thin and stringy in the vast quiet.
He didn’t flinch. He took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving yours. “I saw him go in and out of your room last night.” A pause. “I’m not mad. At all. But I just want to know.”
Your mouth opened. Nothing came out. A dry, clicking sound. The confession was a boulder in your throat. You looked down at your lap, at the dark liquid swirling in your cup.
“Before or after we broke up?” he asked again. His tone was so terribly gentle.
The boulder dislodged. The words were a whisper, carried away on the cold morning breeze. “Before.” You swallowed, the sound painfully loud. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Matt.”
He let out a long, slow breath, a plume of white in the air. He nodded, just once, as if a final puzzle piece had clicked into place. “I knew it. I had a feeling.” He looked back at the lake, his jaw working. “I don’t wanna say it’s okay, ‘cause it’s not. But he’s my brother.” He finally turned back to you, his eyes earnest, pleading in a way that shattered you. “Just make sure you won’t hurt him.” A heavier pause, the weight of an ending in it. “But… us two. Try your best to stay away from me.”
He stood up then, the chair groaning softly. He didn’t look at you again. He just walked back inside, the door closing with a soft, definitive click.
You sat there, frozen. The magnificent sunrise now felt like a mockery. Your eyes burned, a hot pressure building behind them. No. Not here. You bolted up, your coffee forgotten, cooling rapidly on the wide arm of the chair. You fled inside, down the hall, and back into the guest room, shutting the door and leaning against it as your chest hitched. Then the tears came, silent, shuddering sobs that wracked your whole body. You slid down the door to the floor, then crawled into the bed, burying your face in the pillow that still carried the faint, masculine scent of Chris. The guilt was a physical sickness, a rot in your gut. You cried until you were empty, until exhaustion pulled you back down into a fitful, dreamless sleep.
You woke to movement, to the bed dipping, to a solid, warm presence molding itself against your back. A strong arm slid around your waist, pulling you snugly into a hard chest. Lips nuzzled the sensitive skin behind your ear, then pressed a soft kiss to your neck. You sighed, the sound ragged from crying, and instinctively pressed back into him, seeking his heat, his solidity.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Chris’s voice was a low, sleep-roughened murmur directly in your ear. “It’s noontime now. Aren’t you hungry at all?”
You just moaned, pushing yourself more firmly against him, your backside snug against his hips. You felt the immediate, hardening response there, and a weak spark of something other than misery flickered in your core.
He held you tighter. “Matt talked to me,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “He knows.”
Your eyes flew open. You turned in his arms, facing him. His dark eyes were serious, searching your face, which you knew was probably blotchy and swollen. You told him, in a shaky whisper, about the patio, the sunrise, the quiet devastation in Matt’s questions.
Chris listened, his expression grim. He brushed a thumb over your damp cheek. “He confronted me. Earlier today. In the garage.” He let out a short breath. “I told him everything. From the first night.”
Your heart seized. “Everything?”
“Yeah. No point in half-truths.” He cupped your face. “He had a right to know the whole shitty story.”
“Are you… are you okay? Are you guys okay?”
Chris’s gaze grew distant for a second. “I’m not sure. He didn’t yell. Just listened. Then he said…” Chris’s jaw tightened. “He said to make sure I don’t hurt you.” A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. “Typical Matt. Even now.”
A fresh wave of guilt and a strange, protective warmth for Matt warred inside you. You buried your face in Chris’s chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, his chin resting on top of your head. You stayed like that for a long time, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the only anchor in the turbulent sea of consequences.
A sharp, perfunctory knock on the door made you both jump.
Before either of you could respond, the door opened. Nick stood there, already dressed, his sharp eyes taking in the scene—you wrapped in Chris’s arms, in bed, in the middle of the day. His expression was unreadable, a mask of cool assessment. He didn’t come in. He just looked from Chris to you, his gaze lingering on your tear-streaked face.
“Just make sure it’s worth it,” he said, his voice flat. Then he turned and walked away, leaving the door ajar.
The day unfolded with a surreal, forced normalcy. Mary Lou, blissfully unaware, orchestrated a cheerful brunch. The triplets were there, bantering, but the undercurrents were seismic. Matt was polite but distant, his eyes avoiding yours and Chris’s. Chris was quiet. Not sullen, but withdrawn, his usual intense energy banked to embers. He answered when spoken to, smiled at his mom’s jokes, but you could feel the tension coiled in his large frame, see it in the way his knuckles whitened around his coffee mug.
In the afternoon, Mary Lou announced a trip to a nearby combined flea and farmers’ market. “A lovely way to spend the afternoon! Get some fresh air, find some treasures!”
You saw your escape. “I think I’ll sit this one out,” you said, mustering an apologetic smile. “I have a bit of a headache. I just need some quiet.”
Mary Lou fussed immediately. “Oh, you poor thing! Of course, dear. You rest up. We’ll bring you back something wonderful!”
Matt gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Nick’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but he said nothing. Chris’s gaze met yours, a question in the dark depths. You gave a tiny shake of your head. Not now.
You watched from the window as they piled into two cars and drove off, the sound of the engines fading into the mountain silence. The sudden quiet of the big cabin was profound, ringing in your ears. The tension of the day, the confrontation, the guilt, the oppressive weight of all the secrets and judgments—it all sat on your shoulders, a leaden cloak. You needed to shed it.
The master bathroom was a sanctuary of creamy tile and old-fashioned fixtures. You turned the taps on the deep, claw-foot tub, pouring in a generous capful of lavender-scented bubble bath from a fancy bottle on the ledge. The air filled with the soothing, herbal scent. Steam rose, fogging the mirror. You stripped off the hoodie and the soft sleep clothes underneath, letting them pool on the floor. You tested the water with your toes, then sank into the glorious, scalding heat with a groan that was pure relief. The water enveloped you, the bubbles forming a fragrant, opaque mound. You leaned back, closed your eyes, and for the first time all day, willed your mind to go blank.
You didn’t hear his approach over the gentle lap of water. The first you knew was the soft click of the bathroom door closing.
Your eyes snapped open. Chris stood there, leaning against the doorframe, having already toed off his shoes. He’d changed into a soft, faded grey t-shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants. His dark eyes were no longer withdrawn; they burned with a focused, hungry intensity as they traveled over the mound of bubbles, finding the shape of your body beneath.
“I told them I forgot my wallet,” he said, his voice a low thrum that vibrated in the steamy air. “Turned back after a mile.”
You didn’t speak. You just watched as he pulled the t-shirt over his head, revealing the familiar, glorious expanse of his chest and abdomen, the muscles shifting under smooth skin. The sweatpants followed, pushed down his hips and stepped out of. He stood naked before you, half erect, his body a masterpiece of taut muscle and bold intention in the misty light.
He walked to the tub, his steps silent on the tile. Without a word, he placed one foot, then the other, into the water opposite you. The tub was large, but not that large. His body displaced water, sending a warm wave over your breasts as he slowly, deliberately lowered himself, facing you. His knees bumped yours under the water. The bubbles shifted, parting around his torso, revealing the hard planes of his stomach, the dark trail of hair leading down to where his cock stood thick and eager between you, just beneath the water’s surface.
The quiet was absolute, broken only by the soft drip of a tap and the sound of your breathing. The sensual intimacy of it was a thousand times more potent than the frantic, silent coupling of the night before. Here, there was no rush, no fear of being overheard. Just heat, and steam, and the naked truth of your bodies.
He reached for you, his hands finding your calves under the water. His touch was electric. His palms slid slowly up your shins, over your knees, his thumbs tracing the sensitive inner skin of your thighs. The water made every movement silken, effortless. His gaze held yours, a dark promise.
“Come here,” he murmured, not a command, but a deep, wanting request.
You moved, water sloshing gently as you rose to your knees. The bubbles slid from your shoulders, your breasts. You saw his eyes darken, his breath catching as your body emerged from the froth. You straddled his lap, the hot water rising to your waist. The thick head of his cock nudged against your inner thigh, then your stomach, leaving a hot, slick trail.
He leaned forward, his hands coming up to cradle your face. He kissed you, and it was nothing like the hungry, desperate kisses from before. This was slow, deep, exploratory. A tasting. His tongue swept into your mouth, languid and possessive, and you met it with your own, a slow dance. The taste of coffee was gone, replaced by something clean, uniquely him. Your hands came up to his shoulders, feeling the powerful muscles shift under damp skin.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw, to your neck. He nipped lightly at the pulse point, then soothed it with his tongue. His hands slid down from your face, over your slick shoulders, and finally, his palms covered your breasts. A low, appreciative groan vibrated from his chest into yours. He filled his hands with you, his thumbs circling your nipples, already pebbled tight from the heat and his attention. The water made his touch feel different—slippery, all-encompassing. He lowered his head, his mouth closing over one peak. The sensation was exquisite; the hot water, the hotter suction of his mouth, the soft abrasion of his tongue. You arched into him, a soft sigh escaping you. He lavished the same attention on the other breast, worshipping them with a focused, unhurried reverence that made your head swim.
His hands slid down your soap-slick back, over the curve of your hips, gripping you firmly. He guided you, his eyes finding yours again. The question was clear, burning in the dark depths.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “Here?”
In answer, you reached down between your bodies, under the water. Your fingers wrapped around him, feeling the hard, silken length, the potent throb of his pulse there. You guided him to your entrance, the broad head nudging against your sensitive folds, already swollen and eager from his touch.
“Yes,” you breathed. “Here.”
You sank down onto him.
The feeling was unbelievable. The hot water enveloped you both, easing the way, making the slide of him into you impossibly smooth, a seamless, liquid joining. There was no burn, only a relentless, perfect fullness as he sheathed himself inside you to the hilt. The water supported you, buoyant, allowing you to take all of him without strain. A gasp, part shock, part profound pleasure, tore from your throat. His own breath left him in a harsh, shaky exhalation, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
You were joined completely, your bodies fused in the warm, secret heart of the water. For a moment, neither of you moved. You just felt. The intimate clasp of your body around his, the way he stretched and filled you so perfectly, the shared heat that was greater than the water’s. You could feel every inch of him, every subtle pulse and throb.
Slowly, you began to move. It was a gentle, rocking rhythm, aided by the water’s lift. You rose up, feeling him almost slip out, then sank back down, taking him deep. The friction was slick, delirious. Water sloshed softly against the porcelain sides, a rhythmic accompaniment to your joining. His hands gripped your hips, not steering, just holding, feeling you move on him.
“Look at me,” he rasped.
You lifted your head from where it had fallen against his neck. Your eyes met. The raw, open desire in his gaze stole your breath. This was more than sex; it was a claiming, a communion in the quiet steam. He watched you as you rode him, his dark eyes drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every parting of your lips.
His own hips began to meet your downward strokes, a subtle upward thrust that drove him even deeper. The pace remained slow, a sensual, drawn-out torture of pleasure. One of his hands left your hip, sliding through the water and bubbles to find the place where your bodies joined. His fingers brushed through your curls, then found your clit, swollen and needy. He circled it with a wet, knowing fingertip.
A sharp, broken cry left you. The dual sensations—the deep, full penetration and the precise, electric stimulation on that bundle of nerves—were overwhelming. Your internal muscles clenched around him involuntarily.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice a rough caress. “Feel it. Feel me.”
The water magnified everything. The sound of your ragged breaths, the wet, slick sounds of movement, the feel of his skin sliding against yours. He leaned in, capturing your mouth again, swallowing your whimpers. His tongue mimicked the rhythm of his hips, plunging deep.
You were climbing fast, the coil of pleasure winding unbearably tight in your lower belly. The bath, the solitude, the intensity of his gaze—it stripped away every defense, every thought of guilt or consequence. There was only this, him, the building pressure.
“Chris… I’m…”
“I know,” he gritted out, his own control fraying. His thrusts became more urgent, though still measured, the water churning around you. His finger worked your clit in relentless circles. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”
It was the deep, possessive rumble of his voice that did it. The orgasm crashed over you not with a silent scream, but with a deep, guttural moan you couldn’t suppress. Your body convulsed, clamping down on his invading length with rhythmic, pulsing waves of pure ecstasy. The pleasure was liquid fire, spreading from your core through every limb, making you shudder and tremble against him.
Feeling you clench and spasm around him shattered his restraint. With a low, animal groan, he drove up into you one last, fierce time and held, his body locking tight. You felt the hot, distinct pulse of his release deep inside you, a flood of intimacy that mingled with the bathwater, marking you in the most primal way. He shuddered through it, his face buried in the curve of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your damp skin.
For long minutes, you remained locked together, panting, the aftershocks of your climaxes gently rippling through the water. The bubbles had mostly dissolved, leaving the water clear and warm around your intertwined bodies. He softened inside you, but made no move to pull away. His arms came around you, holding you close, your chests pressed together, your heartbeat slowly syncing.
He nuzzled your ear, his lips brushing the shell. “We’re going to prune,” he murmured, a low, satisfied chuckle in his voice.
You laughed weakly, a breathy sound. You didn’t care. You never wanted to move.
⿻﹕𐔌 𝙀𝙋𝙄𝙎𝙊𝘿𝙀 14: stray!reader & gas station!matt from the new americana au
content warnings: starts off as fluff, mentions of alcohol, mentions of child abuse, mentions of trauma, angst, hints of homophobia, crying, pls lmk if I left anything out.
word count: 1.6k
author's note: this feels short to me for some reason? sorry this took a million years. sorry if it sucks! and sorry if you hate the ending 😭 this is not proofread.
“I wanna ride in the front!” your brother shouts, while you all head out the motel room. “No, I do!” your sister says.
You laugh and shake your head. “Matt’s riding in the front,” you remind them as you lock the door.
Matt walks from his parked truck to the three of you. He grabs the overnight bags out of your hands before you even ask.
“She’s right,” Matt shrugs. The kids pout, but listen and pile into the back of your new car. He throws the bags in your trunk and gets in the passenger seat.
“Does this car go really fast?” your sister asks from the back while you toy with the radio. You look for the local classic rock station and let it play in the background.
“Mhm, Matt tested it yesterday,” you tell her.
“That’s so cool,” your brother awes.
The sun is slowly setting as you pull into the trailer park. The smell of barbequed meat and smoke greet you through the car vents while you look for a place to park. It’s hard to find a spot because there are so many people here. It’s the same every year. As school ends and summer begins, the bonfire repesents a sense of newfound freedom for everyone at the park. Kids run free with no responsibilities and adults get some respite from their blue collar jobs.
Eventually you find a spot in the dirt at the edge of the park, near the bonfire. It’s barely getting lit, so you know you’ve arrived at the perfect time. You get out of the car and unload the kid’s bags, sending them on their way towards their friend’s trailer. They’ve been looking forward to this sleepover for days.
You turn to Matt after the kids are gone. “I don’t think I’ve even said hi to you yet,” you say with a huff.
He cocks a half smirk. “Hi,” he murmurs, stepping closer to you. It makes your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t really expect.
“Honey, oh look at you!” You hear someone call to you. As you turn, you see Scout’s mom walking towards you. You meet her halfway, hugging her tightly.
“It’s so good to see you,” you greet. She hugs you back then pulls away to get a good look of you.
“We miss you,” she says. You nod, half frowning.
“I know, I should come around more often,” you admit.
Scout’s mom looks behind your shoulder and notices the man standing behind you.
“And this must be Mr. Matt,” she chuckles with a grin, patting his shoulder. “I’ve heard a lot about you from the kids and your brother!”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says in a voice so polite it’s charming.
“It’s a shame Scout and Chris couldn’t be here for the bonfire but I’m so glad you two were able to make it. If you need anything at all, just holler,” she says before turning to go help with the barbeque.
As you turn back around, the heat of the bonfire is now warm on your face. What was once small embers is now large flames. Chairs of all kinds circle the fiery blaze. Some are empty while others are filled with men drinking Budweisers and kids roasting marshmallows.
“Let’s go sit down,” you gesture to Matt. You two sit in a pair of old lawn chairs by the fire. A table off to the side is set up for beer pong and across the way you see a truck bed filled with teenagers laughing and blasting music.
“Everyone looks like they’re having fun,” Matt says, taking in his surroundings.
“Are you?” you ask, genuinely.
He tilts his head, “Yeah,” he says with a high pitch in his voice, “I think I am,” he admits.
You grin. Just then, your sister runs up to you with two burgers on a plate. “Auntie Linda told me to bring these for you,” she says with a smile.
You grab one off the plate. “Thank you so much, little duckling,” you coo, kissing her forehead. She turns to offer the other burger to Matt and he takes it.
“Thanks,” he says.
“D’ya want something to drink?” she asks. “I can get you a beer,” she offers. Matt almost chokes on his burger.
You laugh at how shocked he is. “No thanks, sweetie, I’ll get the drinks myself,” you respond.
“Mkay,” she says before skipping away.
“She was raised in a trailer park,” you chuckle. “She’s been grabbing people beers since she could walk.”
“Well she doesn’t need to grab me one,” Matt says after swallowing his bite. “I’ll go get the drinks,” he adds.
You enjoy the scenery as you wait for Matt to come back with the drinks. When he returns, he hands you a red bull and he sips on a water bottle.
“My favorite?” you jest.
“It was the first thing I saw, so I grabbed it,” he huffs. “Your ex is messing around with pyrotechnics back there by the way,” he says, pointing to the dirt patch just past the trailer park. He sits back down to finish his burger by the fire.
“Oh god, they put Hunter in charge of the fireworks,” you groan. “They must have been desperate this year.”
“Maybe he’ll do us all a favor and blow himself up,” Matt mumbles. You snort before you can stop yourself.
“Matt.”
You give him a look you normally reserve for your siblings when they’re misbehaving. He gives you a sly look back between bites of his burger.
The air starts to chill as the night goes on and your brother brings you a throw blanket to make sure you’re warm enough. Before the fireworks go off, you two decide to go for a walk. As you walk through the trailer park, things seem to settle. Most people are near the bonfire or are sitting waiting for the firework show. All the kids have gone to sleep and the only sound you hear are crickets chirping and the hum of far away voices.
“Thanks for coming,” you tell Matt. His hands are in his pockets as you walk side by side.
“It was nice getting out of the house,” he says.
“Everything okay?”
You keep the question open, not wanting to pry. He chews on his lip for a moment before answering.
“Not really,” he says. You look at him, letting his answer sit in the air between you. Dirt crunches beneath your feet as you continue your walk.
“Wanna talk about it?”
He takes a deep breath. “I think my dad gets worse whenever Chris is in town,” Matt starts. “It’s not Chris’s fault, though. He tries to get him to stop, but it’ll never work.”
“What do you mean worse?”
“The yelling and slamming things and saying fucked up shit,” he adds. “I’m the one he takes it out on when he’s angry. It’s been that way ever since the three of us were kids.”
“Three?”
“Yeah. It used to be my brother Nick who got it the worst. Since he’s been gone, it’s been me who gets it now.” Matt scratches his arm, and hugs himself. He seems cold so you gesture towards him, offering the blanket you still have wrapped around yourself. He shakes his head no.
“What do you mean gone?” you ask, ignoring his denial and draping the blanket so you both fit inside its warmth as you continue walking. He holds the other side of the throw, and your shoulders bump with every step you two take from being so close.
“He left.” Matt takes a deep shaky breath.
“One night, my brother snuck out to meet up with a guy. Dad had been drinking all night and when Nick came home, he caught them kissing. He was so mad he ended up putting Nick in the hospital. Chris tried to stop him but he just didn’t let up. Mom hasn’t been the same since.” Matt’s fist is now clenched at his side.
“But me? I was the fucking coward. I didn’t do anything. Just stood there, watching as my brother was beat by our loser fucking father,” his voice spits out like venom.
“What happened to your dad? Did he go to jail?”
“Just overnight, to sleep off the alcohol. He came home the next day; pretended like nothing ever happened. The only thing that changed was he never drank again. He’s still a piece of shit, though. With or without alcohol.”
“And Nick?”
“He was in the hospital for two weeks recovering. The day he was supposed to be discharged, he was gone. No note, no call. Nothing,” Matt practically whispers. “I miss him a lot. He was the person who understood me more than anyone else in the world.”
A loud boom startles you and you jump. Brilliant light fills the night sky, reflecting off Matt’s tear-filled eyes. He wipes them quickly, so you don’t comment on it.
“Oh, Matt,” you say, hugging to comfort him. You stand together, wrapped in the blanket as he hugs you back. He rests his head on yours while the fireworks go off in the distance.
“I’ve never told anyone else that story,” he says out loud.
⿻﹕𐔌 𝙀𝙋𝙄𝙎𝙊𝘿𝙀 13: stray!reader & gas station!matt from the new americana au
content warnings: is this fluff?
word count: 1.4k
author's note: things are PROGRESSING!! (but I feel like yall will have more questions after this one 😭)
The knock at the door tells you Matt’s here before he can say so. That’s because no one else knocks. Instead, mom usually bangs on the door with a closed fist.
You turn the doorknob and Matt stands in the doorway, not making eye contact with you.
Hm. That’s new. You’re used to him looking at you, even when he hated you.
“Hey,” you greet.
“Hey,” he replies. “Ready for a car inspection?” he asks, eyes finally flicking up to look at you in the face.
“Yep,” you answer. You grab your purse and keys.
After locking up, you two head to the motel office in search of Jeff. He’s sitting behind the front desk, reading the newspaper.
“Hey Jeff, I was wondering if I could inspect the car before making a final decision.”
“Sure thing, kid,” he says, reaching in his back pocket for the keys. “Take it for a spin if you want, too,” he suggests.
He hands them over, then notices Matt standing just behind your shoulder.
“I see you brought in an outside inspector,” Jeff says.
“This is Matt,” you say. He offers him a polite nod.
“Y’know much about cars, son?” Jeff asks.
“Just the basics,” Matt replies. “Dad taught me,” he adds.
Jeff studies him harder. “You look familiar.” His brows knit together. “You one of Ray’s kids?”
There’s the smallest pause, then a low, “Yeah.”
“I’m really sorry about what happened to your br—” Jeff starts, but Matt clears his throat before he can finish his sentence.
“We should probably get going,” Matt says, stepping forward and taking the keys from your hand. “If we’re gonna inspect it and test drive it before the kids get back.” He’s already halfway out the door.
You and Jeff are left in the sudden quiet. Jeff exhales, shaking his head. “Ah, hell. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
You linger by the desk for another moment. “What were you talking about?” you ask quietly.
Jeff’s mouth opens, then closes again. He glances toward the door where Matt disappeared.
“Not my story to tell,” he says, regretfully, lifting the newspaper to read again.
You turn to the door, and head outside. Matt’s already across the lot, crouched by the car. He presses a penny into the tire tread. He even gives one of the tires a short, testing kick.
“Tires are pretty solid,” he says out loud to no one in particular. He circles around the entire car, checking for dents and rust, but he finds none. Then he pops the hood and checks the oil, wiping it on his jeans.
“I can get you a towel, if you want,” you offer.
He shakes his head. “It’s fine.”
Both the coolant and the oil look good. The battery’s in great shape and there’s no holes in any of the hoses. “So far so good,” he says, lowering the hood.
Then he leans over, crawling underneath the car. You sit on the curb, watching him continue his inspection.
“You’re pretty thorough,” you say.
“Standard checks,” he replies. No rust or fluid leaks are found. He rolls back out and stands, brushing dirt off his hands. “Let’s test this thing out.”
You get up from the curb and into the passenger seat. Matt starts the car and checks the heating and air conditioning. The engine has a healthy hum as he flips the headlights on and off. The high beams, blinkers and hazard lights all work fine.
He steps on the brake, checking in the rearview mirror as the lights reflect across the motel office window. The windshield wipers squeak, but they work fine.
Only after checking everything, does he pull out of the parking space and shift into drive. He heads onto a dirt road, leading nowhere.
“You drive much?” he asks, eyes still on the road.
“Only when I stole a lot of cars back in high school,” you say. He looks at you with a confused face.
“I’m kidding, Matt,” you joke.
He huffs as an almost-laugh.
Matt turns onto a rougher patch of road. He purposely drives over a shallow hole and the car withstands the dip.
“Suspension’s fine,” he mutters. Suddenly, he brakes hard and you jolt forward against the seatbelt.
“Jesus, Matt.”
“Brakes are solid,” he says calmly.
The road stretches quietly ahead.
“You excited?” he asks suddenly.
“About the car?” You shrug. “Guess so. It’s gonna make my life a lot easier.”
He nods slowly. “If you do buy it, make sure to get it checked out every now and again,” he says. “Dad used to make me change the oil on his truck every three thousand miles. Didn’t matter if it needed it or not,” he adds.
“He seems like he’d do that,” you say carefully.
He smirks faintly. It’s quiet for a moment before you decide to speak.
“Matt…” you start. “I know a lot about what it’s like to have shitty parents.”
He turns his head toward you, briefly.
“So if you ever wanna talk about anything, I’m here,” you tell him. “No judgement.”
Matt chews on his lower lip without saying anything for a while. “Not today,” he says, plainly. “Some day, but not today.”
You nod your head, shifting in your seat.
He flips the car around at the next available crossroad and pulls the car over. “Your turn to drive,” he says.
You switch sides and start the engine again. You drive all the way back to the motel and pull into the parking lot. You park and shut the engine off. Both you and Matt sit there for a moment.
He looks at you finally. “Car’s in good shape.”
You blink. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nods once. “No leaks. No weird sounds. Transmission’s smooth. Brakes are solid. But...”
Your heart drops. “But what?”
He leans back. “Fifteen hundred’s a little high.” He taps the steering wheel lightly. “For what it is? Twelve hundred’s fair.”
“That low?” You question.
“It’s an older model and Jeff’lll expect you to bargain.”
You look at him.
“Offer twelve. Settle around thirteen if he pushes.”
“You think I should buy it?” You ask.
He holds your gaze for a second. “Yeah,” he says simply. “I do.”
You smile at him happily. ‘Alright! I’ll do it.”
You both climb out of the car. “You coming?” you ask.
He nods once. “Yeah.”
Inside the office, Jeff looks up from behind the counter.
“Well?” he asks. “How’d she run?”
You glance at Matt for half a second, but he waits for you to answer as he leans casually against the wall near the door.
“It runs good,” you say. “Really good.”
Jeff smiles, already satisfied. “Told ya.”
You take a breath. “But.” His smile falters just slightly.
“Fifteen hundred’s a little high for an older model like this one,” you start carefully. “I was thinking more like twelve hundred.”
Jeff leans back in his chair. “Twelve?”
You nod. “It’s a fair price for what it is,” you add. “I’m not saying you’re trying to scam me. I just… think twelve's is fair.”
Jeff studies you for a long moment, then his eyes flick to Matt.
“I got offers higher than that,” he says.
“I’ve got cash right now,” you reply.
He scratches his chin. “Thirteen hundred.”
Your stomach flips and you glance at Matt. He gives the smallest shake of his head. It’s barely noticeable.
“Twelve fifty,” you counter.
Jeff laughs once under his breath. “Kid, you’re ruthless.”
“Twelve fifty,” you repeat.
He studies you again. Longer this time. “Thirteen. And I throw in a full tank.”
You hesitate, but Matt finally speaks. “That’s fair,” he says.
You look back at Jeff. “Thirteen,” you agree.
“You drive a hard bargain,” he mutters as he reaches his hand out to shake yours. “It’s all yours.”
The paperwork won’t be done until tomorrow, so you give Jeff half the cash now and half later. Outside, the sun hits your face and the keys weigh heavy in your hands as you look at them.
“You did it,” Matt says.
You look at him. “Well, you helped.”
He shakes his head once, not wanting to take any credit.
⿻﹕𐔌 𝙀𝙋𝙄𝙎𝙊𝘿𝙀 12: stray!reader & gas station!matt from the new americana au
content warnings: tension leading to fluff?
word count: 1.7k
author's note: you're welcome. thats all ill say.
The tension in the truck is thick. Matt’s driving and you don’t know where he’s going.
“Matt,” you say, hesitantly.
“Not right now, Stray.”
You wrinkle your brow. “Matt, what happened in there?”
Silence. He’s shutting you out and you don’t like it.
“Pull over,” you demand.
“What?” He turns his head, confused. That gets his attention.
“Pull over.” You repeat. You reach for your seatbelt, preparing to unbuckle yourself.
“Alright, alright.” He turns off to the side of the road and parks; pulling the keys from the ignition.
“Let me,” you say, gesturing towards the wheel. It’s clear he’s not in the right headspace to drive. He chews on his lip, debating.
“Fine.” He finally caves, tossing you the keys. He gets out of the car and you scoot to the driver’s side, swapping places. The engine rumbles to life as you shift back into gear.
You don’t push conversation. Matt sits with his elbow on the door, hand massaging his temple. It’s hard to read him, but you know you’ve got to get his mind off of whatever happened at home and you know just the thing.
The first stop is the motel, to grab a few things. As you park you tell Matt to stay in the truck. In the room, you look through a bin of your dad’s old stuff, eyeing the thing you need quickly. You place it in a bag. After locking up, you toss the bag into the back of the truck and head to the gas station, making sure to park on the side.
“What do you want from inside?” you ask, before stepping out of the truck. It’s probably not the best idea for him to go into the gas station on a day he called out of work. He looks at you and shakes his head. Once again, you don’t push.
Those extra shifts at the motel are doing good for you so you finally have a little cash to spend. The gas station door opens with a familiar ring of a bell. Scanning through the aisles you grab some snacks. A redbull, a pepsi and some cool ranch doritos. After you check out, you head back to the truck. You hand the plastic bag full of goodies to Matt as you start the engine again.
It piques his interest and he looks through the bag. “Cool ranch?” he mumbles.
“Mhm, they’re my favorite,” you say. “Haven’t had them in a while,” you add.
“Mine too,” he says quietly.
The hum of the road takes over as you two sit in silence for a while.
“Where are we going?” Matt asks. You can tell he’s already calming down from earlier.
“A spot I used to go to a lot when I was younger,” You turn to smile at him. “I think you’ll like it.”
The scenery outside the window gets more rural as you get closer to your destination. Driving along the back roads of town was one of your favorite things to do when you were younger. Before your siblings were born, your dad would always take the back roads. It was usually because he had no license and there were no cops around, but it was peaceful nonetheless.
Eventually you pull off on a dirt road with a dead end. You’re on the very edge of town, where farmland ends and dirt begins. In front of you, an old barbed wire fence separates you from fields of wheat as far as the eye can see.
“You bring me here to put me out of my misery?” Matt asks, looking around.
You snort before you can stop yourself. “No, we’re just gonna let off some steam. Y’know, relax,” you reply, reminding him of the initial plans for the day. You know it'll at least get his mind off things.
You take the snacks from the bag and hop out of the truck, then you reach into the back to grab what you brought from home. You yank open the tailgate, laying out all your goodies. Chips, soda and red bull lay comfortably on the edge of the tailgate.
“So what are we gonna do?” Matt asks, curiously.
You reach into the bag you brought from home. “You ever use a slingshot before?” You hold it up, proudly. Matt raises an eyebrow.
“Um, no. Can’t say I have.” He grumbles.
You roll your eyes. “Alright, then I’ll show you.”
Along the dead end road lies a pile of empty glass bottles. The pile is always there. High school trailer park kids come to drink here on Saturdays.
You reach for one of the bottles, placing it on top of a wooden post, 20 feet away from you. You grab a rock and nestle it within the sling. Aiming directly at the bottle, you give the slingshot one firm stretch and release. The glass bottle shatters as the rock hits it, dead center.
“Jesus,” Matt mutters. With a sly smirk on your face, you hand him the sling shot.
“Wanna try?” He analyzes the mechanism in his hand, unsure, as you grab another bottle and place it on the wooden post.
“Are we gonna get in trouble for doing this?” He asks, looking around.
“Nah, no one ever comes out here,” you shrug.
He’s still hesitant.
“I’ll show you how,” you say, handing him a rock. He places it in the sling, not drawing it back just yet. You stand behind him, trying to help aim. Your hands reach his shoulders, adjusting them so he can hit his target. They’re a little tense to your touch. When his stance looks good, your hand covers his as he draws the sling back.
“Aim a little lower than you think you should,” you whisper, dangerously close to him now. When he seems ready, you take a step back. He releases the rock and it hits the bottle straight on.
“Holy shit!” He turns to you, shocked and smiling. It's the first time you’ve actually seen him smile.
“Not too bad,” you say, giving him a soft smirk. “Wanna try again?”
He nods and you grab a few bottles, laying them out on five different wooden posts.
“Alright, let’s see what you got,” you say sitting up on the tailgate. You reach for the Red Bull and crack it open, taking a sip.
Matt grabs another rock, aiming at the closest bottle. He hits it slightly off, but it still shatters the glass.
“Not bad,” you say. He takes another rock, aiming for the second bottle.
He misses the bottle, just slightly. “Spoke too soon, I guess,” you joke, tearing open the bag of Doritos. You take a chip and bite into it, as you swing your feet below the tailgate.
“You’re talkin’ a lot of shit, Stray,” he says with his eyebrow raised. “Let’s see if you can hit that one,” he adds, gesturing to the furthest bottle, about 40 feet away.
You place your drink down in the bed of the truck and hand Matt the bag of chips. “Okay,” you say, dusting your hands free of Dorito dust. He hands you the slingshot and you reach for a rock. You stand straight, aiming at the bottle with laser focus. As you pull the sling back and prepare to release, Matt startles you by yelling “BOO!”
The rock goes sideways, completely missing the bottle. You turn to him, with your lips pursed and unamused.
“Cheater,” you accuse.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matt says, taking a chip from the bag.
“Is that so?” you ask. He nods his head.
“Fine then, let’s make a bet,” you suggest. “First one to break the bottle, with no interference wins.”
“And what do we win?” He asks, cracking open his Pepsi bottle.
You shrug. “I dunno yet, but I’ll think of something,” you say.
“Alright,” Matt agrees. He takes the slingshot in his hand and tries to hit the target. It’s a horrible attempt. Both of you try tirelessly to hit the bottle but neither of you are successful.
Matt gives up eventually, choosing instead to finish his soda and the chips. You, on the other hand, are much too stubborn. After about fifteen different tries you almost feel like throwing in the towel. You grab one last rock, stretch the sling and release.
Finally, the bottle explodes into dozens of shards of clear glass. For half a second, everything goes quiet.
Then you let out a sharp laugh in disbelief. “No way.”
Matt’s already off the tailgate, hopping down onto the dirt. “You did it!” he says. He turns toward you, eyes bright in a way you’ve never seen before. He’s not guarded anymore, he’s present.
“I did it!” You grab his arms, jumping up and down in celebration.
It takes a minute for you to compose yourself but you’re left breathless from excitement.
You stop moving when you realize he’s close to you. Close enough that you can see the twinkle in his eye you’ve grown so fond of and the way his mouth is still curved in a half-smile. His hands hover at your sides, not touching just yet.
The world narrows around you both. The wind moves through the wheat field then hits you, swooshing your hair every which way. Matt fixes it, brushing it behind your ear.
You don’t think, you just take another step forward. You tilt your head and lean into him.
He looks at your lips, then back into your eyes. He searches your face, looking for any sign of hesitation but there is none. His breath is warm as your lips touch his. The kiss is soft and tender. His lips taste salty and sweet all at the same time. As your mouth takes his, he freezes for just a moment, then kisses you back. His touch is gentle in the most perfect way.
You pull away first and Matt exhales slowly.
“…wow,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. His voice is rough, but gentle. “Wow.” Neither of you moves for a second.
Then you clear your throat when an awkward energy fills the air around you. “Uh. Guess that means I won the bet.”
He huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “Guess so.”
Matt steps back, giving you space without looking away. “We should probably… clean up and head back,” he says.
“Yeah,” you say, heart still racing. “Yeah. Probably.”
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