#☆ shy!reader

[sturnioz]

the girls pilates instructor cancels their class so they do an at home workout in the garden of the frat and bun is in a cute little baby pink set and she’s not even five minutes in til chris is at the upstairs window clicking his fingers hollering her up PLEASE

real cos she's abt to have some well needed girly time doing pilates with her best friends and chris is not letting her. like he can see that set, he can see her ass and he wants it on him in seconds. i fear he'd rip it. like hes just making a hole in it, hes not taking it off.

[sturnioz]

https://x.com/moodkink/status/1900614082807689308?s=46

(P!Link)

bun & chris while he smokes😵‍💫😵‍💫

╰› P!LINK.

oh absolutely. one arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her glued to his lap as he pumps into her and smokes. she's just a whiney, drooly mess, feeling so full and stuffed mhm

[sturnioz]

fratboy!chris defo the type to get high asf then take buns hand and put it on his hard dick and say "y'feel that" n bun gets all flustered n shi

oh.. and hes all slurring and drawling like "y'feel that? gonna put it in y'mouth, or what?"

[sturnioz]

i feel like bun, bee and kitty does pilates or some sort of workout and right after pilates they go to the frat house just to hang around with smoothies in their hands

and i fear their asses are going to immediately get dragged upstairs into the bedrooms cos of their outfits

[sturnioz]

bun and chris if he wasn’t against having fun and anything to do with couple-y shit 👿

dont do this to me ma'am.... dont do this to me.

[sturnioz]

꒰ STURNIOZ KINKTOBER '24 ꒱ !

fratboy!chris takes shy!reader to a haunted house at a carnival where she ends up in his arms for more reasons that one.

you weren't a brave person.

you could barely even watch a scary movie without shivering in fear, so why did chris think it was a good idea to drag you to a haunted house? the carnival was pretty, you admit to that, and the smell of popcorn made your mouth water, but the haunted houses that loomed before you ominously made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

it was the scare actors that loitered outside that made it worse for you too; clad in ripped costumes and scarily accurate makeup, their sinister grins and contact eyes making your stomach churn. they stalked the crowd, creeping up behind people to hear their screams of terror.

you feel a knot tighten in your chest, a mix of dread and embarrassment as you cling to your friend's arm, desperately hiding your face in her shoulder as you near closer and closer towards the house.

but then, much to your dismay, nate swoops in and hoists her over his shoulder, laughing as he dashed into the haunted house with her giggling through screams. you stand frozen outside the entrance, your heart pounding in your ears as you help up the queue.

there's no way you're going in there. no way. not a chance.

"move, kid," chris's voice slices through your thoughts, his hand gripping your bicep as he pulls you into the dark abyss of the haunted house before you could even protest.

as the door slams shut behind you, darkness envelopes you immediately, and you can hear every little sound around you ��� the shuffling of feet, the low growls echoing in the shadows. you instinctively press yourself against chris' side, gripping his sweatshirt like a lifeline.

"get off me... actin' like a fuckin'—" he grumbles under his breath, but you can barely register his words as you're far too busy wishing you could disappear, your pulse quickening with every creak of the floorboards and every sinister whisper that seems to swirl around you.

with each hesitant step deeper into the haunted house, your anxiety spikes, the flickering lights above your heads casting eerie shadows that dance on the walls, and you can feel the presence of scare actors lurking just out of sight, ready to pounce.

you fight the urge to scream, your mind racing with thoughts of escape, but you grip chris tighter, shoving your face into his arm to block out the terrifying sights around you.

"it's not even scary, kid. it's pathetic," chris says disinterestedly, his tone dripping with disdain, clearly unfazed by everything. "just bein' all dramatic 'n shit.. you crybaby."

"i'm not even crying," you shoot back to defend yourself, a pout forming on your lips as you peek out from behind his arm to glare at him weakly. "and it is sca—"

before you can finish, someone leaps out of the shadows with a high=pitched shriek, black hair covering their face and warms outstretched towards you, sending a jolt of pure fear coursing through you.

you scream, throwing yourself against chris' chest, burying your face into his sweater as you cling to his waist, refusing to let go.

you can feel him snort, and it only makes your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. "ah... don't worry, kid. m'gonna keep you alll safe," his voice drips with condescension, and you hate how much it bothers you when he pats the top of your head mockingly.

he continues to walk forward, awkwardly shuffling with you still clinging tightly, determined not to let go or even glance at where you're going. every sound—every scream from the actors—makes you jump and whine, and you can't help but feel they're doing an excellent fucking job at their terrifying roles.

yet, you refuse to spare them a look as chris twists and turns through the dim hallways, ignoring the sounds of his frustrated grunts every time you press yourself against him at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"kid, you gotta stop movin'," he whispers in your ear, but you barely listen, desperate to get out and leave the haunted house as you jump again when another sudden noise startles you,, accidentally rubbing up against him. "shit. you doin' this on purpose or somethin'? you tryin' to piss me off? makin' me fuckin; hard in haunted house — jesus."

"i hate it in here," you whine pathetically, your voice trembling, completely oblivious to how your constant jumping and the way you cling to him is clearly affecting him. "i wanna go. i wanna leave."

"don't be a baby," chris scoffs, watching as you bury your face deeper into his chest. he clicks his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head in disbelief. "this is stupid. you're not even lookin' at them; you're just hidin', and you're still scared?"

when you don't reply, chris scoffs again, rolling his eyes. despite his irritation, he awkwardly shuffles forward again, using one arm to wrap around your shoulders as he navigates through the twisting hallways, the sounds of horrors beginning to fade away.

suddenly, you hear him push open a door, and you stumble slightly as he guides you inside, still clinging to him for dear life. "a'ight, let go of me, kid s'just me 'n you in here."

hesitant, you remain pressed against him, but gradually loosen your grip and take a step back, eyebrows furrowing as you glance around the room, realising you're in a staff room of some sort — dimly lit and cluttered with props.

"are we.. supposed to be in here?"

"obviously not," chris scoffs, his tone dripping with sarcasm. he then tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as a smirk slowly spreads across his lips. "y'know... you're really livin' up to your nickname, bun... all scared 'n shit, makin' me look after you."

the teasing in his voice makes your face grow hot, a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling inside you. you glare at him, but the effect is lost as you feel the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

"i don't like scary stuff," you admit, your tone a little pathetic, which only makes you frown.

"didn't think it was that bad," chris drawls, taking a step closer, almost corning you against the wall which makes a flutter of nerves tickle your belly. "though, i think you rubbin' against me was on purpose, bun.. you tryin' to start somethin'?"

"what?" you blink, mouth open and closing repeatedly. "n-no, i just.. i was scared!"

"uh-huh," chris nods slowly, his smirk widening as he fully corners you against the wall, his hands resting on your hips, making your breath hitch. "you uh, you sure about that? 'cos it felt like you wanted somethin' from me."

the proximity is overwhelming, and you can feel the heat radiating off of him. your heart races rapidly against your chest, "i..."

chris leans in slightly, his breath brushing across your face, sending a shiver down your spine. "you what?"

you swallow hard, trying to form a coherent response, but all you can think about is how close he is, how his hands feel on your hips. "i just... i didn't mean.."

"didn't mean to what?" he presses again, voice low and teasing, smirk never wavering. "didn't mean to get scared? or didn't mean to get me hard?"

you can't help but squirm under his gaze, "both?"

chirs hums at that, his hands sliding down to your ass, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as his hips grind against yours, letting you feel the hard bulge straining against his jeans, and a whimper escapes your throat as you squirm again under his grip.

his hands move again, slipping underneath your skirt to cup your pussy, and he gives you a mocking smile as his fingers press against the damp patch on your panties. "really?"

you don't respond to that, not even sure how to come up with one to explain your sudden arousal as he slowly pushes the fabric to the side and sliding two fingers deep inside your pussy, causing you to cry out at the intrusion, immediately covering your mouth to muffle your noises.

"nah, don't worry about that..." chris purrs, pumping his fingers in and out of your spongy walls, curling his fingers and rubbing against the sweet spot with each stroke. "we're in a haunted house, bun... scream."

your hips buck against his hand, gummy walls clenching around his fingers, letting out a choked sob when he adds a third, stretching you out.

"thaaats it," chris nods, licking at his lips as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles. "make all the noises f'me. wanna hear you." chris other hand unbuckles his belt, freeing his cock and removing his fingers from your cunt to rub the tip through your soaked folds, coating himself in your arousal. "deep breath, bun. remember?"

you nod repeatedly, sucking in a deep breath as chris eases himself into your pussy, burying himself to the hilt with one deep thrust. your nails dig into his shoulders as chris' head drops down to yours, teeth grazing your skin as he pulls almost all the way out before driving back in, setting a pace as he pounds into you.

the wall rattles behind you, props cluttering to the ground in a mess, but you don't pay it any mind as you moan loudly in his ears, tears of pleasure prickling at the corners of your eyes as your mind reels.

"please, chris," you whimper out his name, not knowing if you're begging for him to slow down or pleading for him to never stop as you grip his shoulders tighter, blubbering as your vision blurs. "please."

chris chuckles in your ears, his hand slipping behind the back of your knee to pull your leg up around his waist, pressing his cock into you deeper, his pelvis rubbing against your clit for extra stimulation.

"s'what i thought, bun," he murmurs quietly, teeth tugging at your earlobe as he drives his cock repeatedly into your pussy. "always a fuckin' mess on my cock."

© STURNIOZ

[sturnioz]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© STURNIOZ

[sturnioz]

wait pls blurb of bun grinding on chris’ lap when she’s on her period. i do it with my bf 10/10 honestly

your face scrunches up, focussing on the gentle roll of your hips over the bulge in chris’ boxers, trying your best to relieve the cramps that settle in the pit of your tummy.

chris leans back against his headboard, one hand holding a joint between his fingers while the other hand rests on your plump bottom, squeezing the covered flesh as he bucks up against your panty-clad pussy.

the friction against your sensitive clit sends jolts of pleasure through you, momentarily distracting you from the subtle agony of your cramps—muffled moans escaping your lips as you ground your hips faster.

“there we go…” chris drawls, taking a hit of his joint as he watches you move through hooded lids, his lips curling into a smirk as smoke blows out in long tendrils. “feels good, yeah? none of that whinin’ ‘n complainin’ anymore. all you needed was to rub that greedy pussy against me—”

“stop…” you whine softly, your cheeks burning in embarrassment at his words as your head drops down, lips parting with a gasp as you watch yourself roll against him—seeing his cock strain in his boxers, the tip nudging against your clit with each movement.

“stop?” chris hums as he immediately grabs your ass in a tight grip, stopping all movements. your eyes widen as they flit up to meet his gaze, filled with desperation and need. “want to stop, bun?”

“n-no.. no—that’s not what i meant!” you ramble, your hands gliding up his chest to grab at his shirt, fisting the material as you shake your head repeatedly. “please.. please let me move.”

“say it again, bun,” chris smirks, putting his joint in a ashtray resting on his bedside table before his other hand grabs your hip, pressing his thumb to your flesh. “beg me.”

divider credits. @issysh3ll

[sturnioz]

─────── ꒰ THE FRAT WEDDING SERIES ꒱ SPECIAL.

the fake frat wedding event between shy!reader and fratboy!chris, written in fratboy!chris' perspective─a peek inside his mind.

tw. mentions of cocaine.

shy!reader's perspective. ╰› ꒰ part one ꒱ ꒰ part two ꒱ ꒰ part three ꒱ ꒰ part four ꒱

chris doesn't want to wake up, but the loud voices echoing through the frat house left him no choice, pulling him out of sleep and into a sour mood. he can hear some of his frat brothers leaving their rooms, slamming doors behind them and running down the stairs, their footsteps pounding against the floorboards.

it's enough to give chris a headache and make his jaw clench.

for a moment, he considers burying his head under his pillow, hoping to smother the noise. but now that he's awake—and extremely pissed off—there's no going back.

sleep isn't an option for him anymore.

grumbling under his breath, he forces himself out of bed, his muscles aching with stiffness from a restless night, and his body feels heavy as he shuffles toward his bathroom. he runs a hand through his tangled, messy hair, and he stares at his reflection in the mirror.

dark circles hang under his empty eyes, and his grouchy expression somehow looks even worse this morning. nightmares, he thinks. fucking nightmares.

he goes through his morning routine quickly, brushing his teeth and splashing cold water on his face in a half-hearted attempt to get rid of the grogginess. he opens the cabinet above the sink and grabs an orange pill bottle from the shelf, and with ease, he pops open the lid and shakes it until a single pill falls into his palm.

the sight of the nearly empty bottle makes him scowl, and he makes a mental note to ask matt to take him to the drugstore to stock up. but for now, he tosses the pill into his mouth and leans over the sink, drinking straight from the tap to wash it down.

chris leaves the bathroom and trudges out of his room, letting out a tired yawn as he heads downstairs. he threads his fingers lazily through his hair, rubbing at his face with a groggy sigh as the sound of frat brothers snickering in the living room irks his nerves.

he ignores them, making a beeline for the kitchen, but as he steps in, he stops abruptly. his gaze lands on you, and his tired eyes narrow slightly.

"didn't know you were comin' over," he grumbles tiredly, his attention shifting to the tupperware container in front of you, filled with veggies and cubes of chicken. "what? don't have food at your place? gotta be all greedy 'n eat ours?"

you glance up at him and respond softly, "nate made it for me," there's a pause in the conversation before you ask, "what event are you hosting this weekend?"

chris furrows his brows, your sudden question catching him off guard. "nothin'—we don't have one," he replies flatly, unbothered.

without hesitation, he reaches over you to steal a piece of chicken from the tupperware, popping it into his mouth and chewing lazily. he doesn't bother to say anything else as he turns away and heads for the fridge.

opening the door, he rummages through the shelves until he spots the juice bottle he shoved in the back the night before. he unscrews the cap and takes a few gulps, the cold drink refreshing him just enough to keep him functioning for now.

as he drinks, he hears you mutter something under your breath.

"but they're planning something in there..."

chris slowly turns to look at you over the juice bottle he's currently holding near his mouth, his brows knitting together like you've just said something utterly ridiculous. which, to him, you have.

planning something? the frat isn't hosting any big event this weekend, it's just a regular party—he's positive.

"the fuck you talkin' about?" he asks, his tone flat, his eyes hard as he stares at you. before you can answer, nate bursts into the kitchen, interrupting you both as he slings an arm around chris' bare shoulder.

chris stiffens at the unwanted contact, his irritation spiking as his glare sharpens, hardly biting back a harsh remark when nate grins and starts talking, wanting him to follow.

chris doesn't move at first, his jaw tightening as he shoots nate a withering look before he reluctantly trails behind, keeping a few steps behind you. but he stops in his tracks when the three of you step into the living room, his eyes sweeping over the room.

the frat brothers are all huddled together, grinning like idiots. he notices kitty and bee are here too, but he stays quiet, his tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek as he leans against the doorframe, watching everything unfold.

nate grabs a hate from the coffee table and shakes it in front of you, ordering you to pull out a folded piece of paper. chris' brows furrow, his annoyance growing even more when nate grabs a second hat and strides toward him, shaking it in front of his face to prompt him to pick next.

chris stares blankly before refusing, "no."

nate clicks his tongue against his teeth, clearly unimpressed with him, but chris doesn't care. he doesn't move, doesn't even say another word as nate turns to bee to ask her to pick from the hat instead.

his patience is wearing thin.

what the fuck is going on?

chris stays quiet as nate starts counting down, and his eyes flick to you as you begin to unfold your slip of paper, the confused look that spreads across your face making his brows furrow in suspicion.

he tilts his head slightly, trying to read your expression, and then he sees it—your name, scrawled across the paper messily as you hold it up for everyone to see.

his confusion deepens when bee unfolds her slip next, revealing his own name written across it. chris' gaze hardens, slowly shifting between the two slips of paper.

something feels off.

"congrats, bun 'n chris..." he hears nate say, his voice dripping with amusement. "you're gettin' married."

chris tenses up as the room erupts into laughter and hollers. his jaw locks, his eyes widen, and a strange, unbearable ringing fills his ears, drowning out the noise. his chest tightens as his head snaps toward matt, who's already looking at him. matt's expression is calm, almost reassuring, subtly telling him that it's okay and to calm down.

but chris isn't okay.

he's far from calm.

his eyes dart back to nate, and his glare sharpens into something deadly, his nostrils flaring. his clammy palms ball into tight fists at his side, his body rigid. he notices your lips are moving too, but he can't hear a fucking word you say.

it's like the world around him has muted itself, leaving only the thoughts racing in his mind at a hundred miles per second.

finally, something snaps into place, and he finds his voice.

“m’not gettin’ married.” he growls, his tone low but firm as his body coils in tight, ready to snap. “you’re out of your fuckin’ mind.”

“you’re actin’ as if this is real, bro,” a frat brother pipes up, his tone light and amused, which only makes chris’ anger simmer hotter. “s’all fun ‘n games. it's a chance to get fucked up. and it’s part of the rules... if you get picked to do somethin’…. you gotta do it.”

“especially when your name got picked out of a hat,” nate chimes in next, his grin widening across his face.

chris' heart thumps wildly in his chest, his pulse pounding as his head slowly swivels to look back at nate. his nostrils flare again, and he takes a step forward, his hand outstretched and tone demanding.

"let me see the hat."

nate’s grin doesn’t falter as he quickly pulls the hat away, holding it just out of chris’ reach, and chris' scowl deepens, his frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface as he tries to grab it again.

the sound of the frat brothers’ laughter keeps ringing in his ears, making his face grow hot with anger. chris lunges for the hat again, but nate is too fast, keeping it just out of reach, and chris can feel the overwhelming heat of embarrassment and rage crawling up his neck.

something is up, chris thinks. something is wrong.

"let me see the hat," he snaps again, his voice harsh and commanding. but nate only laughs, shaking his head, his grin never faltering.

but before chris can snap completely, another frat brother calls out his name, reminding him that he needs to prep the stash for the party. that makes chris stop, and he pulls his focus away from everything around him as he exhales through his nose.

money is important, he reminds himself, his thoughts shifting abruptly. just focus on your money. forget this bullshit.

without another word, he turns on his heel, leaving the others behind as he heads toward his room. his hands still tremble faintly, his chest still tight, but he forces himself to push it all down.

one thing at a time.

the party’s coming, and he has work to do.

whether nate is playing some stupid game or not, chris doesn’t care—at least, that’s what he tells himself.

as he climbs the stairs, the ringing in his ears fades, replaced by the single thought that keeps him moving:

forget it.

just get through the weekend.

the weekend comes faster than chris expects, and now he's just a few hours away from fake marrying you for the sake of some stupid frat tradition. he doesn't understand why you and him were picked for this, and it pisses him off even more that no one considered matt and kitty—or nate and bee—actual couples who could've done this instead.

but no. it had to be him.

it always had to be him.

standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom, chris exhales sharply, his stress and annoyance already gnawing at him as his fingers fumble with his tie and the stiff collar of his suit, the fabric feeling foreign and suffocating against his neck.

the suit is an old one—something he bought for prom back in high school but never actually wore. he thought he'd trashed it years ago as he vividly remembers the moment he shoved it into the garbage back home.

apparently his mom had other plans.

she must've fished it out, washed it thoroughly, and stashed it away in case he 'needed it someday'. he didn't think he would fucking need it for some fake, stupid wedding.

yet, here he is.

chris exhales again, this time more forcefully, as he tries—and fails—to tie the damn fucking tie. every time he loops it, pulls it, or adjusts it, it comes undone—mocking him like everything else today.

he glares at his reflection, considering to just ditch the suit altogether. a sweatshirt and jeans would do just fine, even some of the other frat brothers aren't even bothering to dress up properly... so why should he?

a few of them are in hoodies, ripped jeans, denim shorts and even crop tops, while others are wearing suits with goofy props purely for some dramatic effect.

the only reason he hasn't ripped the tie off and thrown it across the room is because of the screen on his phone, propped up against a few cologne bottles on the sink, showcasing a series of texts from justin who gives him step-by-step instructions on how to tie the tie properly

chris' eyes flick down to the latest message, and he grits his teeth, following the instructions as best as he can. his fingers are trembling too much, his patience wearing thin, and his irritation only grows stronger with every failed attempt.

justin had to do this too, chris remembers that. he remembers him talking about it years ago—the same frat, the same stupid tradition. justin had to fake marry some sorority chick he was best friends with.

chris remembers seeing the photos. he remembers laughing back then at how silly it all looked. he remembers smiling back then at how justin managed to make it fun.

but chris isn't laughing now.

he isn't even smiling now.

chris glances back at his reflection, and the tie still isn't right—the knot slightly crooked—but fuck, he doesn't even care anymore. he's done. he grabs his phone, typing a quick reply to justin as he walks into his room, tossing the phone onto his bed as he runs his fingers through his hair.

he looks ridiculous. he feels ridiculous. and the worst part is, it's not even about the suit, or the tie. it's about him. it's about the whirlwind of emotions crashing through him right now: uncomfortable, stupid, humiliated, mocked.

it's emotions he hasn't felt in a long time—emotions he doesn't know how to handle anymore, not without cutting up a line or two, letting the burn numb his throat, and sinking into that blissful silence where his mind finally shuts the fuck up.

but now? there's no escape. the tie feels like it's suffocating him, the stiff fabric digging into his neck and he tugs at it, his fingers curling around the knot as if loosening it will somehow loosen the tightness in his chest.

why is this happening? why the fuck is this happening?

chris' mind spins as he glares at his reflection in the mirror that's in his room, his jaw tightening. did someone put his name in the hat more than once? nah. surely not. they wouldn't do that to him. they couldn't do that to him.

he bites down on the inside of his cheek, his thoughts racing. maybe it's just his shitty luck. he always has shitty luck—it's nothing new. that's not a surprise. but still, this feels different.

chris exhales sharply though his nose, a low growl of frustration rumbling in his throat as his reflection stares back at him, mocking him again.

he feels like a joke.

chris yanks at his tie again, loosening it even more so it hangs around his neck. he doesn't care anymore. he doesn't even know why he's still wearing the fucking thing.

he stares at himself for another moment, his teeth gritted, his hands twitching at his sides. maybe it is the tie, he tries telling himself. maybe it is the suit... maybe it's the fact that no matter how much he tries to act like he doesn't give a fuck, he does.

too much.

and that sets him off.

his movements are sharp—almost frantic—as he pulls open his drawers and grabs a worn metal tin box covered in peeling stickers, his fingers fumbling as he thumbs it open, revealing his stash inside.

he rifles through it quickly, pocketing a few baggies for later, but his focus is locked on one thing—the white powder-filled baggie sitting at the bottom.

he pours some of the powder onto the surface of his dresser before he grabs his wallet and pulls out a credit card, the edge of the card scraping against the wood as he works quickly, cutting the powder into one precise, clean line.

without thinking, without even hesitating, he plugs one nostril and leans down, inhaling sharply.

the burn hits immediately, sharp and familiar as it shoots up his nose. chris tilts his head back with a quiet groan as the grainy sensation settles in the back of his throat. it's not pleasant—not really—but that doesn't matter. what matters it the lump that forms, sliding down his throat.

that's it. that's the deal sealed.

he stays like that for a second, his head tilted back, his chest rising and falling as the feeling starts working its way through him slowly. his pulse picks up, his mind clouds over, and the tension in his shoulders begins to release.

he's fine now.

he runs a hand down his face, exhaling a long, shaky breath. his reflection stares back at him, but this time, it feels more distant—less suffocating. the suit still looks ridiculous, the tie still hangs crooked around his neck, but it doesn’t matter because he's fine.

he keeps telling himself that as he grabs the tin box, shoving it back into the drawer and slamming it shut.

it’s fine.

everything is fine.

he’s fine.

chris doesn't know how long it's been since the event started. he's spent most of his time surrounded by familiar faces, collecting money as he sells his stash into hands of other frat brothers and partygoers.

he's joined in a few conversations here and there, humouring people with idle smirks and half-hearted chuckles. most of the time though, he's rolling his eyes at the outfits people are wearing at the party: fancy suits and dresses are mixed in with mishap clothing, and some are even wearing costumes.

at one point, he spots a frat brother waddling around the decorated garden in a hot dog costume.

and then he saw nick.

for a moment, chris thinks the coke has finally fried his brain when he sees his brother standing near in a snazzy suit and a camera draped around his neck.

nick—who practically refuses to set foot in the frat house, who's turned down every invite to events—is here. chris almost does a double take, blinking hard like nick might vanish if he looks away.

but no, it was really him.

he's spoken with both nick and matt now. they had found him earlier, hanging around the edge of the crowd and stayed long enough to exchange a few words. nick had seemed ecstatic, tossing out a couple of jokes while matt stood nearby, arms crossed, taking it all in with that quiet, observant look on his face as he watches chris.

they both pretty much told him the same thing: just enjoy the night. relax for once.

relax.

chris scoffed at the advice, and matt even tried fixing his crooked tie, but chris flicked his hand away with a sharp; "fuck off, man. m'fine." nick didn't even bother trying—just gave him one of those knowing looks before walking off to do whatever.

now they're both gone.

matt's probably off somewhere with kitty, and nick? nick's likely tracking you down. he's always had a soft spot for you, chris knows that much. but nick and matt being gone means chris is back to being surrounded by other people—people who don't really matter to him, people whose faces blur together as the night drags on.

chris hasn't spoken to you yet, though he's seen you around. he catches glimpses of you standing on the sidelines, keeping to yourself in that white babydoll dress. you look small, fragile, watching everything around you like a deer caught in headlights.

his gaze lingers on you longer than he means to, but tears it away once nate and nick have accompanied you. part of chris wonders what you're thinking, if you hate this as much as he does, if you want to leave as much as he does.

he will never ask though, he doesn't even know if he wants to.

but for now, he'll keep his distance—until the time comes.

and fuck, that time comes fast as the night drags on.

he doesn't bother excusing himself from the people he's been in conversation with for the past hour. he just pushes through the crowd, shoving his way toward you—who, of course, is now surrounded by all your shared friends and brothers.

"can we get this shit over with?" he snaps immediately asks as he stands next to you, his fingers tugging at his tie again, feeling like it's constricting his throat despite it already hanging loose.

no one responds, which doesn't surprise him. then he hears you hum something—soft and unsure—and it makes something in him snap again.

"m'serious. lets get this shit over with before i fuckin' lose it."

that seems to work, because you're nodding your head to agree with him, and the group finally starts moving. nate, of course, can't resist making a joking remark, but chris shoots him a glare so sharp it shuts him up.

the group walks toward the makeshift ceremony setup, and the others scatter to find their seats—and odd collections of mismatched chairs, bar stools, bean bags, whatever.

chris makes his way to the altar and scoffs, his lip pulling into a grimace as he sees the empty beer cans, red solo cups, and... is that toilet paper? draped across in a half-assed attempt.

he stands stiffly at the altar, refusing to look at you when two frat brothers walk you down the makeshift aisle. he doesn't look up when he catches glimpses of phones aimed at you both either, recording everything.

the sound of drunken giggling, laughter, and hushed whispers fills his ears, and it makes his skin crawl.

chris barely pays attention to the frat brother playing the role of the officiant, slurring his way through a speech filled with jokes that make the crowd howl with laughter. but chris isn't laughing. neither are you.

this is uncomfortable.

when it's time for the 'vows', chris feels his stomach twist, and his grits his teeth, already dreading what's coming as the frat brother coaxes you into speaking first.

you take it seriously. too seriously for him to handle.

you talk about being there for him, about being his friend when he needs one. you even try to sprinkle in little jokes of your own—soft, harmless ones that are meant to make the crowd laugh. and they do. they laugh again and again and again.

chris feels mocked.

his jaw tightens, his shoulders stiffening up as he stares at nick and matt in the crowd. they're giving him small smiles, subtly nods, reassuring glances, but the laughter from everyone else feels sharp, cutting through him like needles.

he hates it. he feels stupid. he feels humiliated. he feels awful.

why are you doing this? why are you talking about him like that? are you trying to make them laugh at him?

his blood boils, coke pulsing through his veins, making his thoughts race in angry erratic loops: this is on purpose, this is on purpose, this is on—

"bun," he speaks when it's his turn, his tone dripping with sarcasm as his jaw clenches tight. he has to fix this. he has to take everyone's attention away from the humiliation clawing at him. he can feel the heat rising in his chest, the anger bubbling under his skin.

relax. make it funny. disract them.

"i vow to keep uh... keep fuckin' you. keep makin' you scream my name."

the reaction is immediate.

the crowd erupts into cheers, hollering and howling with laughter so loud it drowns out every other thought in his head. the weight on his chest feels lighter now, the suffocating embarrassment replaced by a familiar rush of control.

chris doesn't stop there.

he rolls his shoulders back, loosening up as he keeps going, each word filthier and more explicit than the last. he talks about everything—every little thing that's obvious about your situationship, every detail that will make the crowd laugh harder and louder.

and it works.

it works because now they're laughing with him instead of at him.

chris finally finishes his speech, and he exhales slowly, finally able to relax—or at least pretend to—as the noise washes over him.

the frat brother officiant stumbles through some more slurred words, something chris doesn't even bother trying to comprehend. he feels the cold glass of a vodka bottle shoved into his clammy hands, nearly fumbling it, and the movement of a plastic tiara being placed on your head catches his eye.

he glances at you briefly. just for a second—and then you're moving.

you're pushing through the crowd as they stagger up to the altar. you're moving fast—too fast—you don't stop, and you don't look back. you're gone so quick that you're nothing but a blur in chris' vision.

chris doesn't focus on it too much. he doesn't let himself focus on it as he's too overwhelmed by the crowd swarming him now, their laughter and slurred congratulations for this fake bullshit.

hands reach out to pat his back, to clap him on the shoulder, to ruffle his hair... chris hates it.

the noise, the touches, the smiles—all of it. it's suffocating. he decides to shove his way through the crowd, muttering for everyone to 'get the fuck off him' as they try to stumble into his way.

he doesn't want them right now.

what he wants are his brothers.

chris' eyes scan around, searching for matt and nick. they've always been his anchor, the only ones who can ground him when he feels like this—overwhelmed, irritated, and on the verge of losing his shit.

but they're not here.

he spots them moving away, slipping through the garden in a hurry and heading toward the frat house. they don't even glance in his direction, and that makes chris falter, his steps slowing as his eyebrows knit together.

why aren't they coming to him?

it's close to the end of the event when matt and nick finally bother to show up, but chris doesn't even look at them: not when matt pulls out one of the garden chairs to sit beside him, not when nick plants himself directly in front of him, tapping his foot against the ground.

chris sits slouched in his own chair, a joint dangling between his fingers, the other hand flipping through a wad of cash from the stash he sold tonight.

they money keeps him focus, gives him something to do—or at least something to stop that feeling that's been sitting in his chest all night.

"are you serious, chris?" nick's voice cuts through the silence, unable to control himself. "like, are you fucking dumb?"

"what?" chris murmurs disinterestedly, still counting the rest of the money before rolling it up neatly and pocketing it. only then does he glance up at nick through the haze of smoke, taking a slow drag from his joint, exhaling a cloud in his brother's direction.

"think you took it too far, man," matt speaks up, his tone quieter, a sigh slipping through his words as he rolls his tongue across his teeth. "bun's really—"

"think?" nick cuts him off, his voice rising slightly. "you think he took it too far? he did take it too far. why would you even say something like that during the vows, chris? all that shit about bun—"

"dude, keep your voice down," matt hisses, nudging nick's calf with his shoe. his eyes flick toward the last partygoers that stumble across the lawn, planning to call ubers or to walk in groups back to wherever they're staying. "nick's got a point, though. that shit you said about bun—"

"what about me?"

chris' voice cuts through the air, sharp and loud enough to silence the both of them as he looks between his brothers, his shoulders stiff and squared as those familiar but disgusting wave of emotions slowly start returning.

"what.. what about me?" he repeats, his tone faltering just a little which makes him grimace, and he takes another hit of his joint, hoping to calm himself down.

matt and nick exchange glances, but neither of them say anything, and that makes chris shift uncomfortably in his seat. he hunches forward, pressing his elbows into his knees to keep him grounded.

"you don't..." he starts, but the words catch in his throat. he scowls and looks away from both of them, exhaling another cloud of smoke. "didn't even fuckin' bother earlier. just left me—didn't even fuckin' look at me."

his voice cracks slightly at the end, and it pisses him off more than anything. he clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth as he stares at the ground, refusing to meet their eyes.

matt lets out a deep sigh as he leans back in his chair, rubbing at his jaw. "it wasn't like that, kid. we weren't—"

"don't wanna wear it," chris mutters bitterly, cutting matt off mid-sentence. his leg bounces restlessly now, unable to hold it down with his elbow, but it only makes the movement more erratic, jostling up and down as if it has a mind of its own. "do... do you even know how..."

his voice falters, trailing off as he struggles to get his words out once again. his jaw tightens, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. his free hand twitches, fingers curling and uncurling like he's fighting to keep control.

"i... i'm uncomfortable."

that seems to grab nick and matt's attention instantly, and they both exchange a glance, their eyes wide with surprise. neither of them expected those to be the next words coming out of his mouth—especially not out here in the open.

"okay..." matt hums softly, his tone measured and careful now, like he's trying not to spook a wild animal. "what made you feel uncomfortable?"

chris can't help but scoff, his walls slowly starting to rise again, brick by brick. he prods his tongue against the inside of his cheek, "this stupid fuckin' event. i don't... don't—fuck."

abruptly, chris shoves himself out of the chair, standing tall. he drags his fingers through his tousled hair before rubbing his face with both hands, his shoulders tense and hunched.

he doesn't even notice—or care—that his joint has slipped from his fingers, now lying forgotten in the grass beneath his shoes.

matt stays seated, his worried gaze fixed on chris like he's trying to figure out how to help like he always does. nick, on the other hand, hesitates for a moment before reaching out a hand, intending to place it on chris' shoulder.

chris steps away before nick can touch him, his movements quick, creating space between them both.

he doesn't want to be touched.

not now.

"i... i understand frat traditions, 'kay? i get it. m'not stupid," chris starts again, his voice rough, his words tumbling out as his mouth feels dry and his tongue heavy. "if you get picked, you gotta do whatever bullshit is goin' on. i know how it works. but—but this...? s'fucked up. i should've been allowed to say no—you should've said somethin'..."

his eyes dart between nick and matt, but the silence they give him only makes the air feeling heavier. chris takes a shaky breath, trying not to focus too hard on the way they're staring at him—like they're waiting for him to crack.

"but nah," he continues, his voice bitter. "i had to get picked. my—my luck had to fuck me over, right? only pull my name out of a stupid fuckin' hat."

chris doesn't notice the guilty looks that nick and matt wear, their eyes flicking toward each other like they're silently deciding who should speak first. his mind is too loud, too chaotic to really paying attention to anything as he fumbles for his pockets, his hands desperate for something to ground him again.

but when his fingers come up empty, the realisation hits him like a punch to the gut.

he's out.

he sold the last bag.

fuck.

"hey," nick finally speaks up, his voice soft but strained, like he's bracing himself for some sort of impact. he scratches the back of his neck, his discomfort clear as he shifts awkwardly on his feet. "we... we need to tell you something about the hat—"

"i don't wanna hear it," chris interrupts, cutting him off with the same words he'd thrown at them earlier. he doesn't want to talk anymore. he's done. he's already too angry, too annoyed, his emotions are haywire.

he needs to go.

without another word, chris turns on his heel and stalks off, not bothering to tell nick goodbye or to tell matt he'll see him back at the frat. he doesn't owe them that—not right now.

his hands twitch at his sides as he pushes through the cluster of frat bothers still lingering around the entrance, his eyes staying locked on the ground with his jaw clenched so tight that it physically hurts him.

some of the guys call out his name—trying to talk or whatever else—but chris doesn't care. he doesn't even look back. he just keeps walking, keeps shoving past everyone until he's inside and climbing the stairs step by step.

all he wants is to lock himself in his room, strip off his suffocating clothing and crash. he doesn't want to deal with anyone's bullshit—not tonight.

but when he opens the door to his room, he stops.

you're standing at his dresser, your back to him, pulling out a shirt like it's the most normal thing in the world. (it is, but he's too far gone from the cocaine and his emotions). you're quiet, focused, not even sparing him a glance—just like matt and nick.

and chris can't help it.

he snaps.

"what is it?" chris barks, his eyebrows furrowing as he yanks the tie around his neck as you glance at him over your shoulder. but you still don't say anything, still so quiet. "huh? what is it?"

"what are you—"

"you've been weird with me all night, kid," he cuts you off sharply, managing to get that fucking tie off his neck before he hurls it onto the unmade bed. "think i didn't notice you pullin' some runaway bride bullshit?"

"you're not funny," you mutter under your breath, voice barely audible, but he hears it, and he scoffs.

"m'not tryin' to be," he shoots back, fingers moving to unbutton his shirt, feeling his heart thud heavily in his chest beneath his fingertips. chris is still on edge, his emotions running wild from everything that's happened. "you gonna tell me what the fuck is goin' on? or you just gonna keep sulkin' all night?"

chris watches as you turn slowly to face him, and for a moment, he actually tries to read your expression, to figure out why you've been acting so off—why you ran away earlier. but all he sees is that kicked puppy look on your face when you're upset.

it makes him want to scowl.

"you really don't know?"

chris pushes back immediately. "know what?"

"forget it."

he watches in disbelief as you turn your back to him, and his heartbeat grows louder, drumming in his ears as his frustration threatens to boil over completely.

maybe it's the coke he did earlier still swimming around in his system—or maybe it's something else entirely—but chris doesn't have it in him to just let it go. not right now.

he wants to fucking know.

"nah, don't pull that shit," he says as he shakes his head, his tone a lot sharper than it was before. "if you've got a problem, just fuckin' say it."

"okay," you snap at him, and chris deadpans at you, not expecting you to sound like that. "you... you humiliated me, chris. in front of everyone, you made me look like—like some joke... i—i get it, okay? this whole thing was supposed to be stupid and fun, and i know you hated doing it, but you didn't have to say all that stuff... you didn't have to make it so public and so embarrassing for me. it wasn't funny. it just... it made me feel awful."

chris blinks, catching one word quick.

humiliated.

he hears it loud and clear at first, but the other words start to sink in too, one by one, drawing his attention instead. the things he said about the two of you hooking up... that's why you're being weird? because of something so blatantly obvious to everyone around them both?

chris wants to laugh. he genuinely wants to laugh at how ridiculous this all sounds to him, but he doesn't. he exhales through his nose instead, keeping himself steady.

"you're takin' this way too personally, kid. everyone knows the fuckin' shit we do, yeah? everyone knows we're hooking up so i dunno why you're makin' it such a big deal," he ends up saying instead, unapologetic. because it's true. "it's not that deep."

"you don't get it. i.. i know that people know. i'm not stupid. but it doesn't mean—you can't just—we—" he hears you take a big breathe in between your rambling speech. "you can't just talk about me like that in front of everyone... even if they already know, even if they assume stuff.. it's still humiliating to hear you say it in front of them."

there's that word again.

humiliating.

chris doesn't know why, but this time the word definitely sticks. it claws its way into his chest, pressing down on his ribs until it gets harder to breathe.

humiliated.

you were humiliated.

just like him.

the realisation hits him harder than he expects, and he doesn't know what the fuck to say. it's not like chris to feel guilty or hurt anymore—but the weight of that ten-letter word doesn't loosen its grip. it stays with him, pushing and pulling at his chest, making him feel so raw and exposed in a way he doesn't know how to handle.

he doesn't say anything. he just looks at you, his hands still at the half-unbuttoned shirt on his chest, the silence stretching between you both.

and for once, chris doesn't know what to do.

he takes a long moment to collect himself, his thoughts racing too fast for him to catch. he tilts his head back slightly, as if the angle might somehow help oxygen flow back into his lungs a little easier.

he doesn't want to do this.

but he has to.

he has to.

he knows how it feels.

he has to.

"i.." he starts, but the words stick in his throat, foreign and heavy. he feels nauseous, his stomach twisting into tight knots, but he forces himself to continue. "i'm... i'm sorry, 'kay?"

the apology feels clumsy and awkward on his tongue—like it doesn't belong there. he notices the silence that follows, and it makes his skin crawl as he slowly glances at you, his eyes meeting yours for just a second before flicking away again.

he feels awkward. he feels exposed.

he feels humiliated.

that fucking word—that feeling—he hates it.

"i didn't mean..." he trails off, shoulders tensing up as the words catch again. he swallows hard, the lump in his throat almost choking him. "didn't mean t'make you embarrassed, s'all."

he can't bring himself to say that other word. he can't even think it without his chest feeling tight.

and he can't even look at you either, his gaze staying locked on the wall. he feels so fucking uncomfortable, like he's crawling out of his own skin. this isn't him—this hasn't been him in a long time.

"thank you for apologising..."

your voice is soft, but he doesn't response. he can't. the idea of answering—of dragging on this moment any further, makes his chest ache and stomach twist even more. instead, a strangled noise escapes his throat, low and guttural, and he turns away from you.

his back is to you now, his trembling fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. he finally gets it off, tossing the fabric carelessly onto the chair in his room. he moves to his belt next, desperate to free himself from the stuffy clothing that clings to him like second skin.

when he's stripped down to just his boxers, he slumps into his bed without another word. his body feels heavy and drained, but his mind is still plainfully active: thoughts swirling and crashing into each other.

he bures his face into the pillow, trying to block it all out and to stop that fucking nauseating feeling—he wants to forget.

humiliation.

that word claws at him, refusing to let go.

he wish it never existed.

divider credits. @issysh3ll

© STURNIOZ

[sturnioz]

i feel like chris gets almost taken aback when bun is the one initiating heavy…

like i can just picture her a little tipsy bc kitty said she deserved the break for acing her finals or something and she’s giving chris the eyes and he’s like tf…. but he just lets her go to see what the hell she does and she’s like caressing him every chance she gets and he’ll catch her squeezing her thighs or rubbing her legs tg when he glares at her for touching him…..

like she wants him BAAAAAAAAD and for once he doesn’t know what to do w all of that so when they’re finally in bed he cums way faster than normal bc she’s not being shy at all for once… like it’s her who is grabbing his hand n bringing it over her panties so he can feel how warm and wet she is for him and he’s all like “shit, bun…” immediately hard as a rock

she’s whining and softly touching herself while he’s taking his clothes off bc she’s so impatient n he can’t believe this is the same shy girl he’s been fucking for all these weeks/months .. WHEW give it to me now !

oh ok. oh.

chris is in his own world as he does his usual business for the night: sliding pills of varying colours into waiting hands, passing pre-rolls, and thumbing through dollar bills. he counts silently, each number ticking off in his hand, making sure he's been paid in full.

he's already in a foul mood, so the thought of possibility being underpaid might actually make him crash out.

he doesn't even notice you at first. not until you flop down beside him, the movement jarring enough to grab a little bit of his attention.

but his body stiffens when he feels your chin brush against his shoulder, and he leans back sharply, narrowing his eyes as he takes in your expression—lips parted in a sluggish smile, and that obvious tipsy glaze in your eyes.

chris opens his mouth to speak, ready to lay into you and snap at you for drinking too much (and for accepting kitty's drinks), but he stops himself, his brows knitting together as he notices the way you're looking at him.

your eyes are half-lidded and glossy, wispy lashes flattering as if you're fighting to keep them open. a quiet giggle escapes your lips as your hand drifts to rest on his thigh, and it lingers there, warm and heavy, before your fingers squeeze gently.

chris grunts, low and annoyed, his jaw tightening. he glares down at your hand, then back up to meet your eyes, but he doesn't push you away.

not yet.

you don't seem to care or notice, which is rare for chris to witness, and you inch closer, your body tilting toward him as you continue to squeeze his thigh.

you're too close—too fucking close for him and he hates it.

and yet, he still doesn't stop you.

maybe it's his curiosity preventing him from doing so. maybe it's because he's never seen you like this before, so needy with your touches, and he even catches the way you rub your thighs together as he continues glaring at you for touching him. (are you liking him glare at you? what the fuck?)

whatever it is, he stays still, his body tense and his glare unwavering, watching you carefully is if waiting for you to cross some line for him to shut you down and put you in your place.

chris doesn't really know what to make of all of this, and that alone is enough to piss him off.

it when the party is over and you're both finally alone in his room that he's about to snap, to scold you for real this time for being all touchy feeling with him unprovoked, but the words get caught in the back of his throat as he hears you whine and grab his hand.

he goes to yank himself out of your grip until you guide his hand beneath your skirt to press over your panties, and fuck, he feels it—how warm and wet the fabric is, sticky with your arousal.

his jaw is locked, and he watches with wide eyes as you mewl drunkenly, rolling your hips over his hand with a slur of his name, needy and desperate.

"shit, bun..." chris murmurs softly, completely taken aback, and he feels his cock chub up in his jeans, straining so painfully against the material that he needs to take them off.

he's already yanking your underwear down and throwing you on the bed ready for him, and he takes off his clothing, piece by piece, fumbling with the button on his jeans as he catches you touching yourself—slipping your fingers through your glistening puffy folds to circle your hole, grinding your clit against your palm.

"what the fuck..." he can't help but curse at the sight, struggling to believe that this is the shy girl he's been fucking all this time.

he's used to that shy girl—the one that gets too shy and whiney to part her legs for him to shove his head in between for a taste, the one that struggles to meet his eyes sometimes unless he demands for it, the one that always waits for him to make the first move to initiate sex.

for the first time in a long time, chris is embarrassed.

not because of the way you're reacting, no, despite being confused as fuck, he finds it a little hot, seeing you being so desperate and in need of him without him having to make you use your words.

it's because of his performance.

he's always prided himself in holding back, and even when he does cum fast, it's always at a reasonable time.

but to slip his cock inside of you, to bury himself to the hilt of your gushing cunt from behind and to hear the squelch between your thighs along with the noises you make, and the way you rut yourself back against him, he cums.

so quick.

so fast.

filling you up with long, rapid spurts.

chris stills above you, his eyes comically wide, his fingers twisting in the pillows as his gaze drifts down your back to your ass that ripples against him with your own needy thrusts, completely unknowing, too lost in your own desperate need.

he sees the creamy rings forming around his base, his own cum dripping down his balls and making a mess on the sheets below.

what. the. fuck.

divider credits. @issysh3ll

[sturnioz]

fratboy!chris having an explicit polaroid photo of shy!reader without her face in it (just her ass in a thong or something) in his wallet and it falls out when he’s going to count money or something and she sees it and forgets that it’s her so she gets all pouty about it and he’s like “that’s literally fuckin you kid - in those pretty black panties that i bought you? from that night you were begging f’me to keep going until you couldn’t even speak? yeaaaaaaah - that’s you”

you're exhausted, your eyelids heavy from the frat party that just wrapped up, the sounds of laughter and thumping music still ringing in your ears.

as the last stragglers begin to drunkenly shuffle out the door, you find yourself slumping against chris' side, your cheek pressed to his shoulder, barely keeping your eyes open as you tiredly blink, watching him count his money.

his eyebrows furrow tightly, his tongue poking out between his lips in concentration — the rustling of cash filling the air, mingling with the sounds of frat brothers dragging their feet across creaky floorboards. some collect empty beer bottles and scattered plastic cups that litter the ground, while others grumble and moan about going to bed, opting to clean up the mess in the morning.

you bring your tired gaze back to chris' hands when you feel him shift. he reaches into his jeans, pulling out his wallet to shove the crumpled dollar bills inside, but suddenly, something slips out and flutters to the floor, catching your attention.

your head lifts off his shoulder, feeling a lot more awake now as you lean down to inspect the polaroid picture that has fallen. your heart sinks as you see the image — a picture of a woman's ass, clad in a black lacy thong.

the sight makes your stomach twist and a frown spreads across your face, instinctively creating a distance between you, shifting away from him.

chris' head turns at your sudden movement, his eyebrow raising as he bends to retrieve the polaroid. "why you givin' me that face?"

"why do you have something like that?" the words escape your lips before you can stop them, and you hate how hurt your voice sounds.

the sight of him holding a picture like that in his wallet twists something deep inside you. who is she? is she someone you know? someone you don't know? why is that in his wallet?

so many questions flood your mind, and you feel your throat tighten as chris suddenly snorts, giving you an incredulous look.

"that... that's literally fuckin' you, kid. are you dumb?" chris tells you, and you immediately recoil, shock washes over you, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "i bought you these fuckin' panties — made you wear 'em the other night when you were beggin' f'me, remember?"

heat rushes to your face as the realisation sinks in, a mix of embarrassment and shyness flooding through your system, causing you to turn away from him to stare at the ground, unable to meet his gaze.

"yeaaaaaah... you remember," his knuckles knock lightly against your warm cheek, a touch that intensifies your flustered state. "that's you."

[sturnioz]

shy!reader gets too wasted at a frat party, and fratboy!chris has to deal with her.

you're unable to count on your fingers how many shots you've taken tonight.

with your body slumped against the wall, feeling like you're melting, and a giddy smile that stretches across your face, the sweet, fruity flavour of a previous drink lingering on your tongue—you know you've had far too much.

you can't stop laughing, the sound bubbling up from your throat as the warmth of the alcohol pulses through your veins, making the room spin. the party swirls around you—loud music, overlapping voices, and flashing lights all blend together in a dizzying blur to you.

your legs feel like jelly, shaky and unsteady beneath you, and each attempt you make to stand on your own sends you wobbling, and you can't help but giggle at your own clumsiness.

you curl your hand around bee's wrist as she drunkenly babbles on, her words a jumble that you really struggle to understand—something about nate, maybe? you have no idea. instead, you just blink slowly at her, your lashes fluttering against your warm cheeks as the giddy smile remains stuck on your face.

but your eyebrows shoot up as you peer over her shoulder, spotting chris standing in a small circle with familiar faces, handing out small baggies filled with whatever substance of the night. instantly, you push yourself off the wall, unsteady on your feet, and wobble toward him, accidentally bumping into a few people who shoot you nasty glares—glares that you blissfully ignore, too focussed on reaching chris.

when you finally make it to him, your feet betray you, losing your balance as you crash into his back with force. he lets out a huff, the unexpected weight causing him to lurch forward before his head whips around, a sharp scowl on his face and his body tensing beneath your touch when your arms slip around his waist, clinging to him to keep yourself upright.

"what the fuck?"

"m'sorr — hiccup — sorrrry." you drawl, your words slurring together as you struggle to focus on his gaze, the annoyance flickering in his eyes making you giggle, which only seems to fuel him further.

"are you.. are you fuckin' drunk right now?" he grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him as you cling tighter to his waist, laughter bubbling up as you sway slightly, your body feeling loose. "you serious, kid?"

you blink up at him with wide, unfocussed eyes, opening your mouth to respond, but it all comes out as a slurred jumbled mess, completely incoherent to chris' ears as his glare deepens.

your uncontrollable giggles echo around you at his serious facial expression, and you can see him clenching his jaw, clearly annoyed not just by your sudden drunken state but by interrupting him.

he presses, "m'tryin' to work here, kid. you — you understand that?"

"wan... wanted see — hiccup — y-you," you manage to say, your bottom lip forming into a fake pout as you tug at his waist for stability, your knees buckling as you slump against him. "meany."

chris scoffs in disbelief, his hand falling from your jaw to grip your arm, steadying you as you sway side to side, your head spinning. "think this is funny? can't have you fuckin' around while i'm tryin' to do my shit."

an incoherent whine of his name falls from your lips as you lean further against him, feeling the warmth of his body, which brings you a strange comfort. your chin rests against his chest, and you look up at him with wide eyes.

his tongue prods against his cheek in annoyance as he rolls his eyes, shaking his head and scoffing as he feels you sway again. then, something snaps in him, and with a sudden motion, he bends his knees slightly, hands hooking behind your thighs as he lifts you off the ground.

the abrupt positions sends a rush of dizziness through you, a surprised noise escaping your lips as you lock your legs around his waist, your arms sliding around his neck as you cling to him tightly.

you goofily grin and wave at the small circle of people who stare wide-eyed at you both as chris carries you away, his hands securely under your ass, keeping you held up.

"move. move." you hear him make demands as he pushes through the crowd, and you raise your head, trying to see where you're going, but another wave of dizziness and nausea hits you, causing you to murmur nonsense under your breath.

you tighten your arms around his neck, your cheek resting on his shoulder, lips brushing against his ear as you continue you chatter, unaware of chris arching his head away from your mouth.

"can you not?" chris grumbles, adjusting you in his arms as he navigates through the crowd, his firm grip as he walks up the staircase, each step jostling you slightly which only intensifies what you're feeling—but you can't help giggle once again, the thought of being carried away all too funny in your fuzzy head.

as chris reaches the top of the stairs, you hear a frustrated huff escape his lips as he walks to the end of the hall, pushing open his bedroom door—the music and voices from the party below fading in your ears.

once inside and standing at the end of the bed, chris loosens his grip, and you flop down comically onto the mattress, a mix of a giggle and a groan leaving you as you bounce slightly, stretching out your arms and relishing in the comforting blankets.

chris stands over you, his arms crossed and an incredulous expression on his face. "what were you drinkin', huh? how much did you have? 'cos last time i saw you, you were fine. now look at you—a fuckin' mess."

you squint at him, trying to focus your thoughts to remember. "ooone... twoo.. mmph... three—"

"yeah, yeah, shut up," he shakes his head dismissively, rubbing a hand over his face before removing his hat, running his fingers through his hair. "y'know you're gonna wake up feelin' like shit tomorrow, right? 'n i'm gonna laugh, kid. y'hear me? i'm gonna laugh at you."

you smile up at him giddily, tilting your head to the side as you giggle, "least you will be laughing."

"don't piss me off."

divider credits. @issysh3ll

© STURNIOZ

[sturnioz]

ok you def don’t have to answer or go along with this idea but… imagine like bun and kitty and whoever are all having a convo about faking orgasms and chris is there not really contributing just barely listening and kitty asks bun if she’s ever faked one and she just kinda timidly shrugs and tries to change the topic. well that catches his attention and later when they’re alone chris asks if she’s ever faked with him and she just sorta shrugs again. then he makes it his mission to make her cum as many times as possible.

"i faked it, like, once or twice," you hear bee admit to kitty one morning, her voice cutting through the quietness of the kitchen. you glance up from your cereal bowl, spoon halfway to your mouth, blinking at them both with little curiosity as bee continues. "sometimes i can't be bothered, y'know? like, just wrap it up already."

kitty lets out a soft laugh, her fingers curled around a steaming mug of coffee. she takes a sip before she nods in agreement. "it takes me longer to finish, and sometimes matt knows what he's doing but other times? i just need it to be over 'cos i'm not getting anything out of it."

you remain quiet as you watch them, slowly chewing on your cereal, unsure if you should talk or not. the thought of talking about your own sexual experiences makes your cheeks feel hot, and you don't really want to embarrass yourself so early in the morning.

kitty notices your silence, and she raises an eyebrow at you. "what about you, bun? ever faked it?"

the question aimed at you catches you completely off guard, and you almost choke on your cereal. you quickly swallow as your eyes dart toward chris, who's lounging on the couch in the living room.

"uh..." you stammer, struggling to find your words. instead, you opt for the safest response possible—a slow and noncommittal shrug.

kitty grins over the rim of her mug, "is that a yes, or a no?"

your cheeks burn hotter, and you quickly drop your gaze back to your cereal bowl, stirring the milk absently. desperate to change the subject, you quickly ask, "a-are you, um... are you both doing anything later? are you still going to the store?"

"OH!" bee gasps dramatically, smacking her palm against the counter as if you've just reminded her of something. she digs into the pocket of nate's oversized hoodie, pulling out her phone and unlocking it with rapid taps as she rambles about the list of things she needs to get that's in her notes app.

the weight on your chest lifts as the conversations shifts, grateful the attention is no longer on you. kitty joins bee in a discussion about running errands, and you take the opportunity to sneak a quick, cautious glance toward chris.

he's sitting sitting on the couch, manspreading, his face buried in his phone as he scrolls mindlessly. relief washes over you in waves, thankful that he wasn't listening in.

or so you think.

it's when you're in his room, rummaging through clothes in search for something to wear to join kitty and bee on their day, you hear the door click shut behind you.

you glance over your shoulder to see chris leaning against the doorframe, his eyes trained on you. he doesn't say anything at first, he just tosses his lighter onto the desk with a dull thud.

searching for something to wear to join kitty and bee on their day out, that you hear chris walk in, his eyes trained on you as he closes the door behind himself.

"have you?" he finally asks.

your brows knit together as you turn to face him fully, blinking in innocent confusion. "have i what?"

"faked it, kid."

the question hits you like a slap, and your face heats up instantly as the realisation sets in. when you thought he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings... he did hear.

your lips part as you try to come up with something—anything to say—but all that comes out is a jumble of stuttered words that make absolutely no sense. completely incoherent.

finally, you resort to the same answer you gave before—a slow shrug of your shoulders.

chris huffs out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head as he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. his jaw tightens as he keeps his eyes on you, his sharp gaze making pulse quicken.

"right," he mutters, his voice low and unreadable.

it all happens so fast—one moment you’re being stared at, and the next you're pressed against the bed with a sticky mess between your thighs.

you're gripping the bedsheets tightly between trembling fingers, a choked squeal leaving your drooling lips as his hips smack harshly against your ass he he fucks into you brutally, giving you what seems to be your third or fourth or fifth orgasm.

honestly, you have no idea. you've lost count.

"c-chris! mmph—i ca—ah!!" you're unable to form a coherent sentence, your body bouncing against the bed with each thrust, your thighs flailing as his grip on your hips tighten, pulling you back repeatedly against him, driving his cock further into your snug warmth.

"shruggin' your shoulders," he scoffs to himself with a shake of his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth as one of his hand dips around the front of your body, pressing his thumb against your sore, swollen clit. "y'funny if you think you can fake shit with me, bun."

divider credits. @issysh3ll

[sturnioz]

shy!reader saying shes gonna ride fratboy!matt and he thinks his dick but really she js rides his face 🫣🫣🫣

oh god oh god oh yum. note. dont forget this written piece is in the fratboy!matt x shy!reader universe. completely separate !!

"i wanna ride you.." is what you shyly whisper in matt's ear, clinging to his arm as you both lay in bed. your chin is resting on his shoulder, and you're blinking up at him with wispy lashes — a silent plea.

matt raises his eyebrow as he processes your words, and a grin spreads across his face as his hand moves from your waist to his lap, patting his thigh invitingly as he clearly assumes you mean to straddle him and sit on his cock.

your face heats up, your heart pounding at the misinterpretation as you mumble embarrassingly, "not.. not like that. i meant your face.."

it mortifies you how silly you must sound, especially when matt just blinks at you for a moment before he hums, his tongue rolling across his cheek. he shuffles further down the bed without a word, laying on his back with his head propped against the pillow, his eyes staring up at the ceiling before they flit to you.

"c'mon then, bun. hop on."

your cheeks continue to heat up as you awkwardly pull your panties down your legs, laying the dampened material to the side as you hesitantly straddle his chest, moving upwards to position yourself over his mouth.

matt's arms curl around your thighs as you slowly settle down on his face, a gasp fleeting past your lips when you feel his warm breath against your slick folds.

with a shaky exhale, you begin to rock your hips, grinding your pussy against matt's mouth as he parts his lips, allowing your clit to brush against his tongue.

you moan quietly at the feeling, eyebrows knitting together in pleasure even as the embarrassment still lingers within, especially when you meet his gaze from between your thighs — but you start to forget when you feel his tongue flick repeatedly at your clit.

"good girl, bun. keep ridin' like that," you hear him murmur his muffled praises, and you mewl in response, keeping the same steady pace of your hips as matt's arms tighten around you, your inner walls clenching around nothing as you ground your pussy against his working mouth.

your head falls back, another moan slipping as your trembling hands reach down to tangle your fingers in matt's hair, holding him in place and he groans softly, his hands sliding up to cup your ass, squeezing the skin as he pulls you even harder against his face.

"m-matt.." you cry out, your thighs trembling as the pressure builds inside.

"i know, bun. i know.." matt croons, alternating between kisses and kitten licks to your sensitive skin, teetering closer and closer to your pending orgasm. "cum on my face, bun. wanna taste my sweet girl."

[sturnioz]

Maybe I’m crazy but I feel like fratboy!Chris would make shy!reader talk about her day while he fucks her, amused by how much she struggles to keep her thoughts in line

"right, right... 'n then what happened? huh?" chris' hands push at your thighs, spreading them apart further as he thrusts his hips forward, grinding himself against you in a way that makes you gasp loudly when you feel his cock press deeper inside. "tell me."

"i uh, i... i.." you struggle to form a coherent sentence, panting between moans as your hands fist at the sheets, head thrown back against the pillows. "ah.. i... i just.."

your mind is a jumbled mess, unable to focus on what had happened throughout the day as you squirm beneath him, your body jolting with each thrust of his hips. it's hard to conjure up words, especially when you feel his cock slide repeatedly between your gummy walls.

chris grins down at you, tilting his head to the side condescendingly as he sees you struggle, "c'mon. use y'words."

he angles his hips, grinding his pelvis against yours, rubbing against your clit as the tip of his cock hits that spot deep within that causes your legs to tremble and you whine loudly.

"i uh.. i-i stu-studied.." you manage to stammer out, your voice high-pitched and breathless, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten.

"and?" chris prompts, pulling back almost all the way before slamming back in, and a cry tumbles from your lips, your back arching off the bed as the pleasure zips down your spine.

"i.. i don't remember," you whimper, tossing your head side-to-side on the pillow as chris fucks into you, the sounds of your pussy squelching around his cock with each thrust echoes in your ears.

"yeah you do," chris laughs as your walls flutter around him involuntarily, squeezing him. "c'mon... supposed t'be fuckin' smart, kid — now look at you... droolin' over some dick, fuckin' dumb in the head."

you mewl pathetically, "chris..."

"m'not stoppin'," he drawls as his hand slides from your thigh to your sensitive clit, his thumb rubbing slow circles and you writher, choking on your moans. "gonna... gonna keep goin' until you finish tellin' me all about your day. m'feelin' generous."