𝐎𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝 ─୨ৎ─ Chris Sturniolo
warnings ~ smut, p n v, mirror sex, rough sex, oral (both receiving)
pairing ~ enemies to lovers, frat boy!chris and exbsf!reader
୨ৎ - frat boy!chris sees you at his house party. and after a useless fuss, he follows you in the bathroom..
the music was too loud. not in the “wow, this party is poppin’” way, but in the “if one more remix of travis scott echoes through this drywall I’m going to physically combust” way. the air reeked of cheap beer, someone’s overly confident cologne, and a hint of weed that was probably coming from upstairs. classic frat house cocktail.
you weren’t even supposed to be here. “just stop by,” your friend, bertie, had said. “it’ll be fun.” and yet here you were—squished on a stained couch between two strangers making out like extras in a bad teen drama, scrolling through your phone just to avoid eye contact with anyone too drunk to be decent.
and of course he was here.
chris sturniolo, in all his frat boy glory. backwards hat, red solo cup glued to his hand, the kind of smirk that made girls forget he was kind of a dick most of the time. you caught sight of him across the room, surrounded by a group of guys who probably peaked in high school, laughing at some joke he definitely made about someone else’s outfit. typical.
he hadn’t seen you yet. or maybe he had and just didn’t care. either option felt equally annoying.
not because you wanted to. but because if you stared too long, someone might catch you doing it—he might catch you doing it—and the last thing you needed tonight was to be another blip on chris’s radar. or worse, another snapchat story.
you kept your eyes glued to your phone screen, pretending like you were texting someone—anyone. but of course, you could feel it when he got closer. the room didn’t go silent or anything dramatic like that, but your stomach still flipped like it knew before your brain did.
he leaned on the wall next to the couch with that same cocky smirk you remembered—casual and annoying and way too sure of himself.
“didn’t expect to see you here,” he said. like he hadn’t already spotted you ten minutes ago. like he didn’t look at you the same way he used to when things were—complicated.
you didn’t look up. “didn’t expect to still be hearing your voice.”
that made him laugh. he shifted his cup between his hands, eyebrows raised. “still got that sharp mouth, huh?”
you finally glanced over, unimpressed. “still got that ego?”
“i mean—” he shrugged, smug— “one of us has to make up for your lack of personality.”
you sat up straighter, scoffing. “you’re literally just a walking cliché, Chris.”
“okay, and you’re—what? better than all this?” he gestured to the crowd, the noise, the chaos. “you’re still here. still pretending you don’t love the attention.”
your jaw clenched. “you think I came here to see you?”
“didn’t say that,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “but you brought me up first.”
that stung. because it was true. and he knew it. of course he knew it.
you stood up abruptly, brushing past him. “you’re actually so full of yourself it’s embarrassing.”
chris didn’t move out of the way. he didn’t even blink.
“you talk a lot of shit for someone who claims to not like attention.”
you paused, back half-turned, pulse racing. you hated how good he was at this. hated the way he looked at her like he was already ten steps ahead. like he was daring you to say something else.
you just rolled your eyes, muttered, “i need a break from this,” and started walking.
and of course—of course—he followed.
the upstairs bathroom was grimy and dim, but quiet enough. you locked the door behind you with a sigh, leaning over the sink, trying to breathe.
your eyes narrowed. “occupied.”
you didn’t even have to ask. that voice was too fucking familiar.
chris didn’t. “come on. let me in.”
you hesitated longer than you should’ve, but still unlocked the door. he slid in without missing a beat, locking it behind him like it was his house.
“what do you want?” you asked, arms crossed.
he leaned against the sink like this was casual. “just figured if I waited long enough, i’d catch you alone.”
“oh, that’s definitely not creepy.”
“creepy, but effective,” he said with a smirk. “worked, didn’t it?”
you stared at him, jaw tight. “you seriously think you can act like a dick all night and still get your way?”
chris took a step forward. “you tell me.”
he was close now. close enough to smell his cologne, to see the glint in his eye. your back hit the counter, breath caught halfway between a curse and something you didn’t want to admit.
“one kiss,” he said, voice low. “let me prove it.”
your swallowed. “prove what?”
“that you still want me.”
you hated how your heart jumped at that—hated how right he probably was.
you didn’t answer. instead, you grabbed his hoodie.
the kiss was messy, hot, too much and somehow not enough. his hands found your waist like they’d never left it, and when his fingers slid under your shirt, you didn’t stop him.
because somewhere between the arguing and the lock clicking behind him—
you’d already decided not to fight it.
chris kissed you like he’d been waiting all fucking night for it—hands gripping your waist, mouth hot and hungry against yours. his tongue slid past your lips without asking, like he already knew he’d get what he wanted.
you pulled at his hoodie until he shrugged it off, tossing it behind him without looking. he didn’t stop kissing you as his hands slid under your shirt, fingers brushing up your sides and tugging your bra up just enough to get his hands on your tits.
“Fuck,” he mumbled against your mouth, thumbs brushing over your nipples. “You still feel so good.”
you bit your lip, breath catching. “you say that like you’ve had me before.”
chris smirked. “not yet.”
his lips dropped to your neck, sucking a mark into your skin while his hands went lower—unbuttoning your jeans and dragging them down your thighs like he couldn’t get them off fast enough. you kicked them off, heart racing as he dropped to his knees in front of you, eyes already locked on your cunt like he was starving.
“no panties?” he asked, almost laughing.
“they were uncomfortable.”
he looked up at you with a grin. “you’re gonna kill me.”
you opened your mouth to tease him, but his tongue was already on you—slow and flat, licking one long stripe from your entrance to your clit. you gasped, grabbing the edge of the sink behind you as your knees buckled.
chris groaned like he meant it, wrapping his arms around your thighs to pull you closer and burying his face between your legs. his tongue flicked over your clit again and again, fast and messy, and when he sucked on it just right, you moaned his name without meaning to.
he pulled back just enough to speak, lips slick. “still think I’m just a cocky asshole?”
your fingers curled in his hair and shoved him back where you needed him. he laughed low in his throat and went to work—tongue fucking you, moaning against you like it got him off, like eating your pussy was the only reason he came to this party in the first place.
he stood up too slowly, wiping his mouth like he hadn’t just made you cum with just his tongue. his hair was a mess, eyes dark and smug.
“i’m not done with you,” he muttered, spinning you around.
your hands caught the sink. the mirror was fogged, your reflection flushed and breathless. before you could say anything, chris pressed against your back, pulling your shirt off and dragging his cock along your ass through his sweats.
“look at yourself,” he said, voice low in your ear. “you see how fucked out you already look?”
you did. lips swollen, eyes heavy, legs still shaking.
chris shoved his pants down just enough to free his cock, already hard. he ran the tip through your slick, smirking.
“you wanted this, didn’t you?” he said.
he pushed in slow, stretching you open. your head dropped, but chris grabbed your chin and forced your gaze back up.
“no,” he said, thrusting deeper. “eyes on the fucking mirror.”
he started moving—slow at first, then fast and brutal, each thrust slamming you into the sink. his grip was bruising, and his voice was filth in your ear.
“god, you feel so fucking good. you see how you’re taking it? how perfect your pussy looks wrapped around me?”
your legs trembled. his hand slid up to your throat, not squeezing, just holding.
“eyes on the mirror, babe. You’re not gonna miss this.”
you could barely keep up—his pace relentless, every thrust hitting that spot inside you. your tits bounced in the reflection, his eyes locked on you like he was watching something he owned.
“you like this,” he hissed. “getting fucked in some disgusting frat house bathroom with your face in the mirror, moaning for me like you don’t hate my guts.”
“fuck, look at you,” he growled. “you’re gonna come just from this, huh?”
you were. clenching around him, vision blurring.
“say it,” he grunted. “say you love it. say you fucking love me fucking you like this.”
“i love it—i love it, chris, fuck—”
his fingers rubbed your clit, working you through it while he fucked you harder. your orgasm hit fast and hard, knocking the breath out of you.
chris cursed, hips stuttering.
“i’m gonna come—fuck, gonna fill you up, don’t care—”
and he did, thick and deep, groaning your name as he came hard inside you, holding you there until he was done.
his forehead rested on your shoulder, both of you catching your breath, still facing the mirror.
Then he laughed—low, satisfied.
“Bet you’ll never look at this sink the same again.”
you were both still catching your breath when chris finally pulled out, groaning as he did. you winced at the sensation—sore in that very specific way—and leaned forward on the sink, hair falling in your face.
chris gently tugged your waistband back up, fingers lingering as he fixed your jeans for you. like he hadn’t just been railing you into the mirror three minutes ago.
“you good?” he asked, voice lower now. not cocky. just… checking.
you nodded, blinking slowly at your reflection. “think I lost, like, three brain cells.”
you rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away when he pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder. he grabbed some paper towels, dampened one under the shitty sink faucet, and turned you gently to face him.
“c’mere,” he said, dabbing at your inner thigh with more care than he probably showed most things in his life. “jesus. we’re disgusting.”
“you’re disgusting,” you corrected.
he grinned. “but effective.”
he tossed the towel, leaning back against the counter with that look again—smug, satisfied, and just barely flushed. you caught your reflection again: mascara smudged, lips puffy, hair a mess.
“i look wrecked,” you muttered.
chris tilted his head. “you look hot.”
you took a slow step toward him, eyes dropping to his still half-hard cock, glistening at the tip.
“you didn’t even put it away,” you said.
he raised a brow. “didn’t hear you complaining.”
you didn’t respond—not with words. instead, you sank to your knees, licking your lips.
chris froze. “wait, wait—what’re you—”
you grabbed him at the base, slow and intentional, then looked up at him through your lashes.
“thought I’d return the favor.”
his jaw slackened. “oh, fuck me.”
you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, still wet with you, and sucked gently—just enough to make his legs twitch. he grabbed the edge of the counter behind him like he suddenly needed help staying upright.
your tongue swirled over the tip, tasting yourself, teasing him with short, wet licks before taking more of him in—inch by inch—until he hissed out a sharp breath.
“you don’t have to do this,” he managed.
you pulled back, eyes meeting his. “I want to.”
chris swore under his breath, head tipping back against the mirror.
“that mouth’s gonna be the death of me.”
you hummed in response, sinking down again, bobbing your head just enough to make his thighs tense. his hand slid into your hair, but he didn’t force—he just held.
“fuck, baby,” he muttered, voice all wrecked now. “keep going just like that. gonna cum again for you. shit—”
because it was your choice.
and because watching chris sturniolo fall apart above you, shirtless and breathless in a frat house bathroom?
that was almost better than the first round.
chris came, you stood, wiping your mouth, trying to breathe normal again. he looked like he might actually slide down the wall and die.
“holy shit,” he whispered. “you’re—dangerous.”
“better hope I don’t show up at the next party.”
his eyes were already dark again.
“oh, I fucking hope you do.”
an: i fucking ENJOYED writing this. frat boy chris lives in my head rent free. if u ladybugs want part 2…say the word 👀. also requests are always open, it’s just going to take a while. i’m still new and setting everything up. please be patient with me!!
also, i made my own dividers to match the fic!! i will make a list of dividers when i get this blog really going. if you take inspo from this, please tag me!! i’d love to see your work!!
