he’s literally fried stfu
Chris’s way of apologizing to birdie
Twelve hours.
Birdie had managed to ignore him for exactly twelve hours, forty two minutes, and—she checked her lock screen again—sixteen seconds. It was a personal record. Usually the "toxic itch" to have the last word got the better of her by hour three, but calling Christopher a narcissistic prick to his face in the middle of the courtyard had provided a lasting high. She had expected a barrage of texts. She’d expected his low, terrifyingly calm voice to be vibrating through her voicemail.
Instead? Silence.
The silence was worse. It felt like he was winning the "who cares less" game, a sport they both played at a professional level. She took a long drag of her vape, the cherry-flavored cloud hovering in the stale air of her dorm room, and stared at the door as if she could set it on fire with her mind.
Then, a knock.
Birdie scrambled, kicking a pile of laundry under her bed and checking her reflection in the mirror. She made sure her eyeliner looked just smeared enough to suggest she’d been out having fun, not rotting in bed staring at a gray text bubble. She threw the door open, her sharpest insult locked and loaded.
"Look Christopher. I told you—"
She stopped. It wasn’t Chris. It was a guy in a neon vest holding a crinkled brown paper bag. "Delivery for... Birdie?" the guy asked, looking confused by the name.
"That's me" she muttered, her ego taking a literal bruising as she handed over a tip.
She slammed the door and dumped the bag on her desk. Inside were three bags of the specific sour strips she liked, the ones in the blue packaging that were always sold out at the campus bodega. Taped to the back of the last bag was a heavy, cream-colored cardstock note. The handwriting was neat, slanted, and infuriatingly composed.
> eat these and stop being dramatic. i'll be over at eight. >
No capital letters. No "sorry." Just a command and a deadline.
"Asshole" she whispered, already tearing the first bag open with her teeth. The sour sugar hit her tongue, and she hated how much better it made her feel.
She spent the next hour intentionally not getting ready. She didn't change her clothes, she just put on a darker lip gloss and sat on her windowsill dangling one leg off the edge, scrolling through her phone.
At exactly 8:00 PM, there was no knock. The door simply opened.
Chris walked in, his jaw set in that familiar, rigid line. He was wearing a black hoodie, smelling of expensive cologne and a hint of smoke. He didn't say anything at first. He just looked at the empty bag of sour strips on her desk, then looked at her. "You're late" Birdie snapped, even though he was perfectly on time. "And I'm still mad at you."
Chris leaned against her doorframe, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't even look angry. He just had that smirk, the one that said he’d already won.
"You're not mad" he said, his voice a low, smooth vibration that made the hair on her arms stand up. "You're just hungry. And you've been staring at the door for the last twenty minutes waiting for me to walk through it."
"I was not."
"Birdie." He stepped closer, invading her space until she had to tilt her head back to look at him. He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his voice dropping an octave. "Your jaw clenches when you lie. It’s embarrassing." He reached out, his thumb brushing a stray grain of sour sugar from the corner of her lip. He didn't pull away. He just watched her waiting for her to snap, waiting for the "bitchy" comeback he secretly lived for.
Birdie felt her heart hammer against her ribs. She hated him. She really did. She hated his ego, his calm, and the way he knew exactly which blue bag to buy to get back into her room.
She took a slow, deliberate breath and blew a puff of cherry scented vapor directly into his face.
"You're still a narcissistic prick Christopher."
The corner of his mouth twitched, the closest thing to a real smile he ever gave. "Maybe. But I'm the only one who knows you like the blue bags better than the red ones. Get your shoes on. We're leaving."
"I didn't say I was going anywhere with you."
"You didn't have to" he murmured, already turning toward the door, knowing damn well she was already reaching for her boots. "I'll be in the car. Try not to keep me waiting. It’s bad for the vibe."
these bitches always talkin bout “the vibe”🤦♂️
how FRAT!CHRIS AND BIRDIE!READER met
The frat house smelled like cheap tequila, sweat, and enough cologne to choke someone out. You followed your best friend Maya through the sea of red solo cups, dodging a guy who was trying (and failing) to do a handstand on a couch. "I’m telling you, he’s not a dealer" Maya shouted over the bass of a 2010s throwback remix. "He just bought too much and needs to offload some of the 'top shelf' stuff to pay his dues. He’s a total dick though. just be cool."
"I'm always cool" you shot back. "And I eat dicks for breakfast. Wait fuck that came out wrong."
Maya led you to a back room where the music was muffled. Sitting on a old ass couch (that was definitely stolen) was Chris. He had a backwards cap on, a heavy silver chain, and a thick blunt tucked behind his ear like a pencil. He didn't even look up as you approached. He was busy meticulously rolling another blunt on a coffee table littered with wraps and Xbox controllers.
"Maya your late as hell." Chris said, his voice a low, raspy gravel.
"The line for the bathroom was a mile long dude. This is my friend" Maya said, gesturing to you. Chris finally flicked his eyes up. He scanned you for approximately two seconds before his lip curled into a smirk. "Does she speak or is she just here to provide moral support for your bad financial decisions?"
You crossed your arms unimpressed. "I speak. I also have eyes and I can see you’re using way too much spit on that wrap. It’s gross."
Chris stopped mid lick, his eyes widening slightly. He let out a dry, condescending chuckle. "Oh, we got a critic. Listen sweetheart I’ve been rolling since you were playing with barbies. Sit down and be quiet before you hurt that pretty head of yours"
"I'd rather stand. I don't want to catch whatever's growing on that chair" you snapped back. Maya winced, looking between the two of you. Chris actually put the blunt down, leaning back with a look of genuine amusement.
"You’ve got a big mouth for someone who looks like they’d tip over in a strong breeze" he said, looking over your frame. He watched as you tilted your head to the side, chirping back a retort about his receding hairline (which wasn't even receding, but you knew it would sting). "You're like a little bird" Chris said suddenly, a grin breaking through his asshole persona. "Just chirpin away. You never shut up do you?"
"And you're like a brick" you countered. "Dense, useless, and I'd love to throw you through a window."
Chris let out a loud, barking laugh that actually sounded kind of attractive much to your internal annoyance. He reached for the blunt behind his ear and lit it, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke intentionally in your general direction.
"Alright Birdie" he said, the name sticking instantly. "Since you’re so concerned about my technique why don't you come over here and show me how it’s done? or are you all talk?" "Give me that" you said, stepping forward and snatching the supplies out of his hands.
"Whoa okay. Aggressive. I like it," he muttered, watching your hands work. "Maya your friend's a bitch. Keep her around."
"I'm right here asshole" you reminded him, tucking the edge of the wrap perfectly.
"I know you are Birdie" he smirked, leaning closer until you could smell the weed and expensive laundry detergent on him. "I'm looking right at you."
this is ass but i just wanted to get how they met out the way
FRAT!CHRIS AND BIRDIE!READER
frat!chris •unapologetically an asshole. a smirk that says he knows something you don't (he doesn't, he's just high). He doesn't yell because he thinks raising his voice is “doing to much”. Instead, he speaks in a low, terrifyingly calm voice that annoys the fuck out of birdie. "I saw you laughing at that guy's joke. It was embarrassing. For you, not him. Don't do it again”. "i bought your favorite snacks. not because i care, they were just on sale and i knew you’d whine if i didn't have them”.
birdie!reader • Chris is being a dick, she’s being a bitch right back. usually with a drink in one hand and a vape in the other. claims to hate Chris’s ego but secretly feeds it.loves the rush of their toxic back andforth. will purposely mention a "cute guy" in her psych class just to watch Chris's jaw clench. "stop double texting me. it’s embarrassing. i’ll reply when i’m bored enough to talk to you”. "chris. chris. christopher. i want those sour strips. the ones in the blue bag. if you don't bring them i’m going to cry and it’ll be your fault for ruining the vibe."
(reader does NOT have faceclaim.)
frat!chris and birdie!reader works will be here ⤵︎
had a nice frat chris au i was working up. blame tumblr for the MOTHERFUCKING CONTENT LABEL REVIEW ON EVERYTHING. for it not being posted
edit: TUh anyways frat au here
chris sturniolo smut
18 PLUS ONLY THIS IS VERY EXPLICIT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
he flicked ur clih for 55 hours 55 days
