you knew it was a bad idea the second your phone had lit up with chris’s contact.
your boyfriend had just left minutes prior, grabbing his keys and telling you he was going to pick up some food with friends. you assumed chris would be with him, so when the message popped up, “he gone yet?” you stared at it longer than you usually would have, eyes flickering toward the door like your boyfriend might suddenly come back in and catch you, before replying. “yeah.”
a few minutes passed before another text popped up on your lock screen, you pick up your phone seeing chris’s contact, “open the door.” you hesitated before you got up from your spot on the couch, setting your phone down on the coffee table as you slowly walked toward the front door, feet padding softly against the hardwood floors.
you open the door, eyes settling on chris, jacket and the red baseball hat he always wore wet from the rain that was softly falling. you stared at him, eyes suspiciously trailing behind him, looking for any sign of your boyfriend before he spoke up. “relax, he’s not here. now, you gonna let me in or what?” your eyes meet his again, moving aside and opening the door wider, you speak, “i thought you were gonna be with him?” chris stepped inside, walking directly for the kitchen like it was his second nature. “told him i was busy and told my girlfriend i was with him.” chris replied, throwing his hat on the counter as he grabbed a soda from the fridge, walking over to the couch.
you closed the door as you walked back over to the couch, sitting down beside him. “what did you want.” you asked, looking at him again. chris looked at you, a small smile forming on his face. “you know what i came here for.” your eyes trail down slowly, watching as chris palms the growing bulge in his pants. “it’s not like he’s gonna be back any time soon..” chris trails off, hands reaching for his belt, undoing the loops. you glance back at the door, before you look back at chris. “just head, nothing more.” chris chuckled lowly, leaning back against the cushions, belt clasp fully open now. “yeah, that’s what you always say.” you roll your eyes, “i’m serious this time, and this is the last time.” you say getting off the couch settling between his legs on the floor. “mhm” he responds quietly as he moves to tug his jeans and boxers down in one motion. he hisses as his cock meets the cold air of the room, his hand instinctively guides your head forward. your lips wrap around him softly, hands settling on his thighs for support.
every noise outside makes you flinch, as you work your mouth up and down his length. your phone buzzes on the coffee table next to you, the noise makes you jump, immediately pulling your mouth off of him. before you could grab it chris is reaching over you picking up your phone. he sucks in a breath annoyed as he reads the message, eyebrows furrowing. “he’s ten minutes away.” he says, you stand up quickly, stomach dropping. “ten minutes?!” you repeat. chris is already leaning down in front of you pulling up his jeans, clasping his belt buckle. “yeah, ten minutes.” he responds, irritation evident in his tone. you stare at him as he sits there, running his fingers through his hair, no urgency in his movements. “well are you gonna leave?!” you ask voice raising slightly. chris looks up at you before replying, “yeah, yeah, i’m goin.” he says as he stands up, walking toward the door slowly. “chris, hurry up.” you say as you follow him across the room. he looks back at you rolling his eyes, as he cracks the door open peeking outside before pulling it open fully, stepping outside. as he closes the door the silence of the apartment suddenly feels heavier, heart thumping in your chest. minutes pass before you see the headlights of your boyfriends car through the living room windows. you look around anxiously as you hear his foot steps approaching the front door, eyes landing on the red cap sitting on the counter. your heart jumps to your throat, dread washing over you.
the door creaks open and your head snaps over to your boyfriend standing holding a bag of take out in his hand, hair and clothes damp from the rain. he smiles at you as he closes the door, walking over setting the bag down on the coffee table. you notice how his eyes take notice to the half empty can of pepsi sitting on the table. “thought you didn’t like pepsi?” he says eyes flickering to yours, your mouth opens and closes, you want to speak but words won’t come out. his eyebrows furrow as he stares at you, “relax, was just teasing.” he says peeling off his jacket and taking out the containers of food, sitting on the couch—right where chris was sat moments prior. you force out an awkward laugh, “thought i’d try it again i guess..” you trail off, eyes going anywhere but him. he hums absentmindedly, too focused on opening his container of food to notice how stiff you sat beside him. “chris bailed on us again tonight, like the fifth time this month.” your heart nearly jumps out your chest. “yeah?” you say trying to sound normal. “yeah,” he says grabbing the remote “said he was busy.”
you phone buzzes besides you, you freeze head snapping toward it seeing chris’s contact pop up. before you could grab your phone, moving it out of your boyfriends sight he’s already speaking. “chris’s texting you..?” he asks mouth full of fries. “yeah, probably just about you or something..” you say nervously, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your voice caught in your throat. he stares at you before his gaze drifts past you and to the counter, landing right on the red baseball cap.
dealer!chris who… always checks the peephole twice before letting his girlfriend into his apartment, but the second the door opens he melts, pulls her in by the waist, and kisses her like she’s the only safe thing in his entire life
dealer!chris who… keeps her completely out of his business. not because he doesn’t trust her, but because he refuses to let the world he’s in ever touch her.
“You don’t get your hands dirty, baby. That’s the rule.”
dealer!chris who… tucks his gun away whenever she comes over because he hates her seeing anything that makes him look dangerous, even though she already knows he’d never hurt her.
dealer!chris who… saves every spare dollar in a box under his bed because he’s secretly planning for a future where he doesn’t have to run the streets anymore. a future that has her in it.
dealer!chris who… has that low, rough voice when he’s angry, but the second she touches his arm it softens instantly, like she’s the only person who knows where the switch is.
dealer!chris who… sleeps better when she’s in his bed, one hand always resting on her hip like he’s making sure she’s really there.
dealer!chris who… would go absolutely feral if anyone disrespected her—calm face, tense jaw, eyes turning cold enough to freeze the entire room.
dealer!chris who… gets nervous when she’s mad at him, not because he’s scared of yelling, but because he’s terrified of losing the only good thing in his life.
dealer!chris who… always puts his jacket around her, not caring that it smells like smoke and the street, because he doesn’t want her even a little bit cold.
dealer!chris who… has a soft spot for her touch—like, she’ll brush a curl away from his forehead and he’ll close his eyes for a second like he’s praying.
dealer!chris who… never lets her walk home alone, even if it means showing up at 3 a.m.
“I don’t care what time it is. You call me. I’ll get you.”
dealer!chris who… gets jealous but in a quiet way, jaw clenching, eyes following her, hand sliding around her waist just a little tighter.
dealer!chris who… hates fighting with her so much that he’ll show up at her door with flowers from the gas station and that boyish smile that only she gets to see.
dealer!chris who… tells her he’s “fine” after a bad night but winces when she touches his ribs. she just gives him that look, and he finally lets her clean him up.
dealer!chris who… looks at her like she’s sunlight—like he’s standing in a world made of shadows and she’s the only way out. grumpy x sunshine in its finest.
𝓒𝐇𝐑𝐈$. ─── #IHeartMilfs. sex playlist on repeat. hates condoms. isn’t the brightest in the bunch. joints > blunts. likes to get messy. hangovers for days. smellin’ like dior sauvage. ♰. secretly loves him some glokk40. bros over hoes. #AShark !
fratbro!chris who will fuck anything with legs.
fratbro!chris who is overly easy.
fratbro!chris who definitely plots over the freshman but will never admit it out loud.
fratbro!chris who wants to play for the lacrosse team but doesn’t have the grades for it.
fratbro!chris who doesn’t plan to settle for a relationship for a long time. he’s young and wants to live his life to the fullest.
fratbro!chris who loves his tequila.
fratbro!chris who keeps a pair of his favorite fuck’s panties for memories.
fratbro!chris whose weakness is girls in bikinis.
fratbro!chris who is obviously skilled in beer pong and will always bet on a kiss from a pretty girl in the corner if he wins.
fratbro!chris who has more collared shirts than A’s on his transcript.
fratbro!chris who loooooves drunk sex.
fratbro!chris who will never speak about the threesome with matt and his girlfriend.
fratbro!chris who has fucked every girl in the sorority.
fratbro!chris who loses his lighter every second of the day and when he successfully borrows one from one of his frat bro’s, he’s losing that, too.
// CAST: fb!chris x sg!reader
// ADVISORIES: use of y/n, swearing, use of princess, mentions of drinking and partying, smoking, talks of sex, splash of blood, secrets, bad parent relationship, not affiliated with NPC and IFC, fake Greek orgs, not a representation of Greek life.
// RUNTIME: 5.1k
// CONTINUITY: 📀 MY OWN WORST ENEMY
─── ★ ───
[ 12:36 AM // SIGMA DELTA FRATERNITY ]
It was a long two weeks for you between work week, recruitment, and move-in. You were prepared for all of it, of course. You knew what you were taking on with your role as Chapter President when you were elected last spring.
But actually living through it was a different story.
You spent most of those two weeks hyping your chapter up to make sure everyone had good spirits for the PNMs coming in. On top of that, your chapter volunteered to help people move in, trying to squeeze those volunteer shifts in outside of recruitment training.
Recruitment itself was a whole, different beast, but you all pulled through and ended up successful.
Parties were always a huge risk during the fall quarter. Everything could be turned into a hazing allegation. It was the oldest and oddest rule in the Panhellenic Book.
Yet, here you were, trying to dodge out of the way of any camera flashes that went off, rushing to the other side of the room when you saw anyone that may have looked like any of the New Members from any of the sororities. Otherwise, standards would be on your ass.
‘That could be considered hazing’, the advisors would say, even if all you were doing was breathing the same air as the New Members at a party.
It was the same tango you did every year since becoming initiated. The stress of it was more amplified now that you were the main representative of your chapter.
Even so, the Panhellenic girls all deserved to let loose after those two hell weeks. And nobody would miss the annual Sig Delt welcome week party.
It was basically a Bruin tradition. Sig Delt’s welcome party was the kickoff to the school year. Missing it would feel like being a set a whole year behind in your degree.
But you weren’t just trying to avoid the New Members at this welcome week party. You were also hiding from Grant. There wasn’t anything necessarily wrong with Grant. He was your friend. And that’s all he was to you.
You two hooked up a few times during spring quarter and it was completely casual.
To you.
Till he started dropping hints that he didn’t want to be just casual. You were already out of your limit, hooking up with the same guy more than once. You only really stuck with him because there were only a few weeks left of the quarter, then once summer came, you’d just move on to the next.
But when you set your last bag of things down in your room your first week back at school, Grant was already texting and asking when he could see you again.
Your replies were vague, hiding behind the excuse of recruitment training, recruitment itself, and just all of welcome week.
But there was no hiding from him at this party. Grant was a Sig Delt himself.
The stress of all the dodging and hiding was starting to get to you. You also hadn’t properly let loose since recruitment ended. And there was only ever one, terrible habit of a solution to your stress. One that you promised your dad you had quit and kept hidden from everyone in your life.
You excused yourself from your friends, ducking expertly through the crowd. You’d done this so many times since starting college, it was practically a skill, how easily you could squeeze through body-to-body crowds.
You kept one hand cupped over your eyes, shielding them from any New Members you may accidentally lock eyes with as you made your way outside.
You knew you were outside when you breathed in the faint smell of weed and only the reverberations of the music could be heard. The backyard—or what could classify as one on University grounds—was always much more chill than the inside. Small groups of people gathered throughout the grass, passing a joint, discussing the possibilities that came with a new school year.
But you didn’t come out here to observe the freshmen trying to exchange information with people they just met seconds ago— which were easy enough to spot because they were wearing their best outfit, kitten heels, or ridiculous looking button ups to a Frat Party.
Your legs kept moving till you reached the small cluster of shrubs and trees that sat perfectly between Sig Delt’s and Kappa Delta Theta’s yards.
Legally, it sat more towards Sig Delt’s side. Unfortunately, you knew that because you used this place as a sanctuary for your bad habit. If you were ever caught doing it even a toe on your own property line, you would be stripped of your letters. So you triple checked that this area belonged to Sig Delt when you first discovered it before coming out here to hide from your responsibilities.
You slipped into the small space behind the shrubs, bending down to where you knew you had marked your hiding spot with a painted rock. You dug between the tree roots and grabbed the small sack that held your pack of Marlboro Golds LSS and your lighter.
You stayed crouched as you pulled out the lighter and the pack of cigarettes, making sure you stayed hidden from view. The shame that would fill you if you were ever caught by your friends or anyone you cared about would be enough for you to move out of the state.
Smoking wasn’t seen as something sinister. Plenty of your friends do it.
However, it was sinister to you because it reminded you too much of your absent mother—how badly you wanted to be nothing like her—and of the look of disappointment on your dad’s face when he found out every scandal you had gotten yourself into in high school.
That was the main reason why it was so taboo to you.
The other was that you had to keep up this act, that you have your shit together. That you weren't that girl from high school anymore, or the girl who got away from her hometown. You were your sorority president now, organized and put together. Completely separate from your high school self.
You cursed under your breath when you flipped open the top of the cigarette box and found nothing inside. The irritation that followed was almost enough to make your skin itch.
What the fuck were you supposed to do now?
You couldn't think about it for too long, jolting to attention when you heard the leaves of a nearby shrub rustle. You didn’t have any time to try and hide your contraband. Only being able to shove it into the black Guess tank top you had on. Someone with a lower IQ than you would’ve found a better hiding spot, but you were panicked.
The rustling was followed by the sound of an exasperated girl, stumbling through and out of the small clearing, not even glancing your way.
You stayed silent, hoping the shadows kept you hidden as you watched her form retreat. Your hands, pulling and clutching at the grass blades while your heart beat in your ears.
“What are we hiding from?” You had no time to relax when a familiar voice drawled right next to you.
You jumped again, this time falling flat on your ass as you whipped your head towards the owner of the voice.
“Bro, what the fuck?”
Chris was crouched beside you, thumb pressed to swollen, raw lips and failing to muffle his laughter.
You and Chris knew each other of course.
You had spent countless hours having to work together since joining your executive boards sophomore year. Your chapters were very close, holding a lot of events together, and the obvious, you were neighbors. He was also one of Grant’s closest friends, forcing the two of you to have more interactions than you’d like.
That didn’t mean you considered him your friend though.
He was immensely hard to work with, multiple of your emails and texts going unanswered about mixers and philanthropy events. When he did respond, you were the one who ended up shouldering most of the work anyway. On top of that, you found him extremely cocky. He carried himself like he was above everything—and everyone—around him.
Your latest interaction with him had been just last week during the UCLA Greek Officer Retreat. The FSL advisors were guiding you all in teamwork and greek traditions activities, Chris spent the entire time acting like he was too cool to participate and had better places to be. He barely contributed to any of the activities or discussions, and you were trying to coax him into participating. It eventually escalated into an argument before your friends had to step in and separate the two of you.
So seeing him right now, while you were already on edge, damn near killed whatever good mood you had left.
He smirked, not offering to help you up. You stayed seated on your ass anyway, afraid too much movement would send the cigs and lighter tumbling out of your top.
“Well?” he asked again, “Who are we hiding from?”
He kept his thumb on his lip, the faint sheen of blood and saliva glistening pink against his skin. His backwards hat slightly askew, like someone had been trying to grip their fingers in his hair.
It didn’t take a fucking genious to string together the glimpse of events you just got and figure out what the fuck had gone down.
Your lip curled with disgust. “Were you tryna fuck back here?”
He guffawed, swiping the blood from his lip and dropping his hand. Your stomach clenched, wishing he would stay fucking quiet before he gave away your hiding spot.
“No, Y/N.” He emphasized your name, mostly to piss you off. “Just makin’ out. But she was fucking drunk and went in too much with the teeth so I told her I wasn’t feelin’ it. She got pissed and stormed off.” He recalled the events like it was just another fucking Tuesday for him.
You wanted to ask him how he knew about the tiny clearing back here. It felt a bit like he was invading your home. You thought you were the only person who knew about this place, which is why it felt safe for you to come out here and smoke. You figured that nobody would find out or come looking.
But you’d rather he spared the details about how he stumbled upon it. The explanation probably involved a lot of explicit details that you’d spend the rest of the night scrubbing from your brain.
“Oh, lovely. A secret hookup spot. How romantic.” You said sarcastically. The last fucking thing you wanted tonight was to deal with Chris Sturniolo any longer than absolutely necessary, but clearly, he hadn't gotten the memo.
Chris only grinned, his eyes roaming over your face as he took in the tension written across your features.
“Now I told you what I was doing back here.” His eyes dropped from your face, lower. “Tit…” He paused, making your heart jump.
Was this fucking pervert staring at your tits right now?
You instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, only for him to swipe the Marlboros from the top of your shirt, his fingers catching the corner of the flattened pack.
Shit. Maybe you hadn’t tucked them in all the way.
“For tat,” he finished, waving the empty box between his fingers.
You lunged forward to try and snatch the pack from his hand, not caring if your lighter slipped out as well. “Give that back!” You hissed, keeping your voice down.
He reacted quickly, holding it just out of your reach, while expertly keeping his crouched position.
Damn hockey players and their athleticism and shit.
“Marlboro’s huh? Didn’t know you were into this shit, Y/N.” He taunted, “Does Grant know that his little girlfriend isn’t all pristine and perfect?”
Your blood turned hot at Chris calling you Grant’s ‘little girlfriend’. It made you want to gag, actually. You weren’t sure whether the reaction was anger or fear. You had always been afraid of ending up like your parents. And being someone's girlfriend felt like an avenue straight to that fate.
You sat back, giving up on trying to get the pack back. It was empty anyway, it wasn’t doing you good anymore. Besides, he was doing you a favor. It was out of your possession now, nobody would be able to trace it back to you now that it was in his hands.
You picked up your BIC lighter where it had fallen in the grass, fingers fidgeting with the trigger. “I’m not his fucking girlfriend.”
Chris finally leaned back, sitting on the ground and angling himself towards you. He pocketed the empty pack before pulling out his own, tapping two cigarettes out and offering one to you.
“Here. You clearly need it if you’re sneaking all the way back here for one.”
You eyed his outstretched hand like it was poison. Cordiality between you two only happened when pigs flew. Actually, more like when pigs in blankets flew.
He let out a quiet scoff. “Don’t worry ‘bout anyone finding out. I promise to not tell.”
You decided to take it from him, offering him the lighter first. You don’t know where in your right fucking mind you decided to have a smoke with Chris.
This was your biggest secret, you’d been hiding it—successfully—from everyone for the past three years. And the first fucking person to know, out of 50,000 people on this campus, was Christopher Sturniolo. You reminded yourself to curse the heavens later when your hands weren’t shaking from the anticipation of finally having your go-to stress relief.
It wasn’t like either of you were drunk either. So you couldn’t even blame this odd behavior on that. Which just made the whole thing feel even more trippy.
That was one of the downsides of being presidents of your chapters. Getting completely obliterated was a rare occasion. The stress of something happening and you needed to respond immediately was always sitting heavy in the back of your mind.
Chris didn’t hand you your lighter back, instead, he leaned in and lit the cigarette for you. His clean, citrusy scent invaded your space as he clicked the trigger, the flame flickering to life. You weren't sure if he was mindlessly doing it, or if it was on purpose. He thoroughly enjoyed pissing you off for whatever reason.
“So you and Grant break up then?” He asked, tossing the lighter into your lap and retreating from your space before you could even bitch about how close he was to your face.
You took a long, satisfying pull from the cigarette, letting the earthy taste of tobacco settle into your lungs. It felt like your stress was a wildfire and the smoke was a blanket, smothering the flames. Which was such an oxymoron, but it was how you felt.
You pulled the cig away from your lips, balancing it between your pointer and middle fingers. Your eyes stayed trained on your scuffed up and muddied converse. They were going on year three of college parties with you, you’re surprised they’ve even held up.
‘Frat Shoes’, people would call them. But you and your sorority sisters had renamed them to ‘Froes’, adding it to the list of your inside jokes.
You tried to push down the shame that was crawling up your spine. Chris having this piece of information about you reminded you of all those years ago when all of your scandals reached your dad. And it pissed you off that he, of all people, was the first to uncover one of your many secrets.
“We were never together.” smoke slipped from your mouth as you spoke. “Is he fucking telling people that we are?”
He gave a short, amused laugh. “Not exactly. And you don’t really seem like the boyfriend type, considering you haven’t had one the entire time you’ve been here. But you and Grant were going pretty steady.”
You held back a shiver at his words. God, even the words ‘going steady’ was like a threat to you.
You looked over at him, eyes narrowed. “You paying that close attention to who I’m sleeping with?”
He took a drag from his own cigarette before speaking, his lips stretching into a smirk. “More like Grant is my friend, and no details are spared.”
Your cheeks flushed at his confession. You quickly brought your cigarette to your lips, hoping the smoke would mute any thoughts of what Grant could have possibly told Chris in your brain.
“But I can’t lie. I am paying attention to you, though, who wouldn’t?” he added, the words easily rolling off his tongue like he was just talking about the sky being blue.
Coming from anyone else, that would have been a compliment. A confession that would have sent two people straight to making out and rolling around in the grass.
But it was you and Chris, so your heart didn’t exactly do any flips, and the butterflies in your stomach were playing dead. You’d heard comments like that from plenty of people before, and he’d probably said the same thing to plenty of other girls. It was nothing special.
“Yeah, well. We’re not anything.” You sighed, peeking over the edge of the shrubs to check for any approaching bodies. “I’m actually hiding from him right now.”
Although you and Chris would have never been caught dead having any kind of honest conversation, he’d already found out your biggest secret. A little more couldn’t hurt. Besides, your relationship with Chris—if you even had any—was past small talk and straight to bickering. You weren’t strangers, and he obviously thought he knew more about you than the observable facts.
You tapped the ash off the end of your cigarette before continuing. “He keeps dropping not-so-subtle hints that he wants to be more… and I’m not about that. I’m trying to get him off my back without ruining our friendship.”
It was mind-boggling to you how you could be such good friends with Grant all while butting heads with Chris. How could two people be so different and so close?
Grant was actually nice. He made you feel comfortable. He was the guy friend that would place his hand over your drink while you were mindlessly dancing in a bar.
Chris was Chris.
His eyebrows shot up, smoke curling from both his nose and lips.
“Ah, that’s why you seem so on edge.” He nodded toward you before pulling off his cap with his free hand, running a hand through his brown hair before settling it back on his head.
“Have you tried, I don't know, talking to him?”
Your stomach twisted at the suggestion. Having to sit down and talk to someone about where you stood with them already sounded like far too much commitment.
You scoffed.
“Thank you for the advice, Captain Obvious. But I'd rather stick a fucking pencil up my nose than have that 'what are we' bullshit with someone. I just need him to realize I'm not suddenly changing for him.”
Chris grinned, swiping the ash from his cigarette into the grass.
You knew he agreed with you. If there was one thing you knew for sure about Christopher Sturniolo, it was that he felt the same way about commitment as you did. Too many girls on campus had fallen into his bed and lived to tell the tale. And there were a lot of them.
He didn't reply. Instead, a thoughtful look settled over his face as he took one last drag from what was left of his cigarette.
For a moment, you thought the conversation was over. You relaxed a bit, thinking about how you'd finish your cigarette, tuck your lighter back into its hiding spot, head back to the party, and pretend this conversation with Chris had never happened.
“So, this presidency shit is rough, huh?” He broke the silence, shifting the conversation, crushing the cigarette butt beneath his shoe until the ember died.
“Like sleeping on a bed of fucking nails.” You laughed. Now this was awkward. He was trying to make small-talk with you, but, you and Chris never even spared each other those kinds of pleasantries. It was always just bickering about stuff, that’s what you were more comfortable with.
“But you keep your shit together really well,” he observed. “Honestly, I would've never guessed you smoked. And from an advisor standpoint, I wouldn't have a clue about the parties or the hooking up.”
You shrugged, although your heart was beating in an irregular rhythm now. You turned away, flicking ash from your cigarette.
You were really good at keeping your secrets, never letting them surface, and you planned to keep them buried until they sank all the way to the core of the earth, where they could never be uncovered again.
But Christopher fucking Sturniolo was easily pulling and picking at the corner of your mask, slowly unraveling it. He never seemed like the type to care about the core of anyone’s stories, so it was unnerving for him to be able to pick apart those tiny pieces of you from just a few, not so delightful exchanges with him.
“I've had some practice, I guess. I've learned to be cautious. The rules are so much stricter for us than they are for you. I get gender envy sometimes.”
If you could trade places with a Fraternity man one day, it would be your number one dream come true. Just picture it, being able to post freely on your instagram and hang out with your new members without feeling like you need to censor yourself.
Chris hummed in agreement.
“Yeah. Imagine not being able to throw a rager every weekend and drink in your letters with your chapter. Sounds like hell.”
A dry laugh escaped you. “It’s really not if you’re not all focused on partying your way to being a top house.”
He studied you for a moment, his blue eyes sweeping over your profile.
“And that's exactly where shit is coming back to bite me in the fucking ass,” he said with a breath that sounded more exhausted than amused. He rubbed a hand over his jaw before continuing.
“I got elected president because my brothers thought I could keep all the fun going without any of the consequences. But IFC is cracking the fuck down on us. Our pledge classes haven't been hitting our recruitment goals because we're too focused on being the house with the best parties. Don't get me wrong, it's great, but it doesn't exactly help us from a recruitment standpoint. And if we don't turn it around by the end of the semester, we're getting put on the at-risk list.”
His vulnerability disarmed you a little. How had your night gone from running away from one of his fraternity brothers to sitting behind a cluster of trees with Chris, unloading everything that had been weighing on the two of you tonight?
But you understood where he was coming from. He needed to talk to someone who might actually understand. And who better than another chapter president? Better yet, a sorority president who knew exactly what it was like to live under that kind of scrutiny.
He went quiet for a moment, seeming to think through exactly what he wanted to say next.
“I need to clean up my chapter's image, and you need an escape from Grant.” He glanced over at you. “We should just fuck.”
He said it so casually, without so much as a stumble.
“What?” You coughed around a plume of smoke, your cigarette slipping from your fingers and dying in the grass.
Did you mishear him?
Was this why he'd started unloading all that shit about IFC being on his ass?
“Were you trying to make me fucking feel bad for you so I'd sleep with you?” You jabbed your cigarette into the ground, making sure the ember was dead.
You weren't even surprised. It was so like Chris to pull some shit like this. What pissed you off was that he actually thought it would work on you, knowing the two of you got along like oil and water.
His eyes widened, realizing his words hadn't come out the way he'd intended.
“N-No,” he stuttered for the first time. “That's not what I meant. Fuck.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, his eyes squeezing shut.
“Just hear me out.”
If he didn't spit out whatever the fuck he was trying to say in the next millisecond, he was going to be walking back into that party with your handprint across his cheek.
He took a steadying breath, his shoulders finally relaxing.
“I know you and I don't get along and shit, which is exactly why I think this'll work. We convince Grant we're fucking. He knows I don't do relationships either, so he'll realize you haven't suddenly changed and still don't want any kind of commitment.
“And in return, you help me figure out this whole IFC bullshit. You seem to be running your chapter pretty damn well and keeping your image clean in the process.” He glanced pointedly at the cigarette butts scattered on the ground. “While keeping your contraband buried under a blanket. Clearly, you're doing something right.
“We don't actually have to fuck. Unless, knowing us, we do. Then we both know there aren't any strings attached. And if either of us wants out, we quit.” He finished his ramble with a bit of a hopeful look, something you didn’t see very often with Chris.
He made some great points. Really good points.
It was a good deal. You'd be stupid not to consider it.
But your mind snagged on the thought of only sleeping with Chris whenever you wanted some relief.
Sure, you'd done it with Grant. But that had only lasted a month. And Grant was your friend, Chris is far from it. You didn't know how long this thing with Chris would last. And having this kind of fuck-buddy arrangement with him felt like it blurred the line into commitment, making your skin prickle with anxiety.
You brushed the imaginary dirt from your hands, preparing to stand.
“That's a really great idea, Chris. But I don't think I can.” You shook your head. “I'm still willing to help you with your fraternity shit, but why can't I just sleep with another guy? It'd be, like, the same thing.”
He reached out and tugged on your hand, keeping you rooted in place.
“Because Grant isn’t going to hear about you hooking up with someone else unless he’s digging to fucking China for it. You keep your reputation pretty polished, princess.” His charm slipped into place, trying to convince you.
Unfortunately for him, you were immune to it.
“If we’re sleeping together—or if we make him think we are—I’d make sure he hears about it. Like I said, no details are spared.” His mouth twitched with amusement.
You tugged your hand out of his grasp, your skin crawling from his touch.
“Still a great point, but you’re missing the part where I can’t fucking stand you. Grant isn’t going to believe that I’d willingly sleep with you.”
His smile widened, despite you just saying to his face that you don’t want anything to do with him. His ego must’ve been so inflated with every single girl crawling over him that one little jab from you couldn’t even pop it. It was like he was enjoying it.
“And that’s what makes this whole arrangement work. You don't like me, which means you're not exactly going into this with rose-colored glasses on. You're already keeping me at arm's length.”
He shrugged. For whatever odd reason, his words were kind of comforting. He was right—you couldn't stand him, which meant you would never actually develop feelings for him that could leave you crushed and aching.
“You clearly have a problem with commitment from what I've picked up in this conversation, and I'm not exactly looking for that either. We're not going to fall in like... or, worse, love. And when this whole thing is over, we go our separate ways.”
He shook his head, almost laughing at the idea. You didn’t fight back the smile that was slowly forming on your lips. Bonding over getting to easily leave each other was something not many people would ever fathom. But this was like dirty talk to you.
Getting rid of the commitment chasing you in the form of Grant, the possibility of getting sex without having to work for it—not that you’ve ever had to, and then being able to dust it off of your hands like it was nothing after all was said and done? It was like verbal porn, sending a thrill down your spine.
“And if he asks how we ended up fucking, we tell him it was a drunken decision that turned into something easy. We realized we don’t have to keep playing the same stupid game with every hookup—making sure they know there are no strings attached, making sure they don’t expect anything more. We already know the rules.”
His eyes met yours.
“We can just find that in each other.”
You took your time processing his words, letting each of his points settle over every doubt you had.
He would make a really good lawyer if he wanted to. He was annoyingly persuasive.
Maybe this could work.
And unlike an actual fuck-buddy arrangement, you had an out. You had no obligations to Chris, and he had none to you. If you ever wanted to call it quits, there wouldn't be a friendship—or any relationship—left behind to hurt.
You wouldn't end up like your parents.
There would be no heartbreak. No betrayal. No complicated conversations.
Just a simple, “I don't want to do this anymore,” and that would be it.
The two of you could go back to living your separate lives.
“Then let me think about it.” You spoke up after a while.
You tucked your lighter back into the pouch, placing it back into the roots and covering it with your rock.
Everything Chris had thrown at you—the arrangement, the reasoning, the expectations—was something you needed time to process. You needed to quiet the doubts crawling through your mind before you could fully agree.
You didn't want to say yes right away, only to get cold feet a week later. Once people started noticing, once rumors started spreading, there would be no easy way to back out without leaving everyone wondering what the hell happened between you two. Especially since you were known for not liking each other. It would just give people whiplash and allow space for even more rumors to circulate.
“For sure.” He nodded, seeming to understand. He stood up, brushing his shorts off and then offering a hand to help you up.
You took Chris’ hand, letting him pull you to your feet.
But, being the asshole he was, he gripped your hand harder, tugging you towards him till you were chest to chest.
“One more thing.” His mouth curled into a smile, enjoying the fact that he had you cornered. “Nobody can know this is fake.”
