. ݁₊ ⊹ ˖ 𝑱𝑼𝑺𝑻 𝑼𝑺 . ݁₊ ⊹ ˖
۶ৎ 𓂃 . . . genre. slow burn, friends-to-lovers
۶ৎ 𓂃 . . . pairing. freshlove!chris x model!reader
۶ৎ 𓂃 . . . content warnings. none!! pure fluff, and bf material chris
wc. 1.3k
not really proofread.ᐟ
The first time you met Chris Sturniolo, you never thought you'd end up here—sitting in the passenger seat of his car, your heart racing like it was trying to match the beat of the song playing softly through the speakers. His fingers tapped against the wheel, his other hand lazily playing with the rings on his fingers, a habit you had started to notice whenever he was deep in thought.
You met him months ago, completely by chance. A mutual friend had asked if you’d be interested in modeling for Chris’s clothing brand, and without thinking much of it, you agreed. You expected a quick photoshoot, some polite small talk, and that would be it. But the moment you walked onto the set, Chris had this energy—this effortless, magnetic pull that made it impossible not to notice him. He was directing the shoot with a quiet intensity, adjusting the lighting, making sure everything was perfect. And when he finally turned to you, offering a lopsided smile and an easy, “Hey, thanks for doing this,” something inside you shifted.
At first, it was just casual conversations between shots.
“Okay, tilt your head a little—no, not that much. You look like you just saw a UFO.”
You squint at him. “How do you know I haven’t?”
Chris lowers the camera. “Wait… have you?”
You smirk. “I guess you’ll never know.”
Now, any time something weird happens, Chris just gives you a serious look and whispers, “It’s the aliens, isn’t it?”
Then came the lingering glances,
As Chris adjusts the camera, he glances up at you through the viewfinder. He tells himself it’s just to check the angles, but his eyes linger a second too long. You’re fixing the sleeve of the hoodie, completely unaware at first, but when you glance up and catch him staring, his lips part slightly—like he’s about to say something but thinks better of it. He quickly looks back at the camera, clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah. That’s perfect. Hold that pose.” But you notice the way his fingers fumble slightly with the settings.
the inside jokes,
At one of your first shoots, you raided the snack table, stuffing multiple granola bars into your bag. Chris caught you and was shocked by your lack of shame.
“Wow. Not even gonna be subtle about it?” he teased.
“A girl’s gotta be prepared,” you shrugged.
Ever since then, any time you grab food, Chris squints at you suspiciously and says, “Stealing more granola bars, are we?” even when there aren’t any around.
the way he’d go out of his way to make sure you were comfortable.
If he noticed you shivering in the studio, he’d nudge his jacket toward you without a word.
If you weren’t sure what to order at a restaurant, he’d casually say, “You can just steal some of mine if you don’t like yours.”
He’d make sure the music playing during shoots was something you liked. “Wait, you like this song? Okay, your music taste just got, like, ten times cooler.”
“You good? Need a break?” he’d ask between shots, handing you a water bottle before you could even realize you needed it.
Before you knew it, he was texting you after shoots and inviting you to late-night drives.
He has a unique way of making you laugh until your stomach hurts. Picture this: during a photoshoot for his brand, he randomly starts making goofy faces in between takes, completely breaking character. He'd make these exaggerated impressions of the photographer, acting like they're all serious, and then slip into a high-pitched voice, like he's narrating the shoot, and say something totally ridiculous like, "Now, we shall capture the essence of... a pineapple in a leather jacket."
Another time, you were just hanging out, and Chris would tell a story about how he tried to bake cookies, but the dough turned into a "giant blob of sadness" because he mixed up the sugar with salt. His dramatic reenactment of the disaster—pretending the dough was trying to escape and “screaming” at him—had you both basically crying, you covering your face with your hands. When you finally look back up at him, he isn’t laughing—he’s just smiling at you, like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. His gaze is soft but intense, and his expression holds something deeper than just amusement. You feel your cheeks heat up, but you can’t bring yourself to look away.
You spent countless nights just driving around with him, music blasting through the speakers, windows down, the summer air tangling your hair as he stole glances at you. Some nights, you’d end up parked at some overlook, watching the city lights flicker below as he talked about his dreams, his fears, his love for creating things that mattered. Other times, you’d stay in, sprawled across his couch, scrolling through your phones in comfortable silence before getting lost in deep conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning.
He’d show up at your place unannounced, iced coffee in hand, claiming he just “happened to be in the neighborhood.” He’d pull you into impromptu photoshoots, insisting you try on the latest pieces for his brand, only to dissolve into laughter when you’d strike the most ridiculous poses just to make him crack a smile.
It was easy. Natural. And yet, every time he looked at you, really looked at you, there was something heavier in his eyes—something he wasn’t saying.
Until now.
“You ever think about how crazy this is?” he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet night air. The streetlights cast golden streaks onto his face, illuminating the slight smirk tugging at his lips.
You tilted your head, a teasing smile forming. “How crazy what is?”
He exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head. “Us. This. You and me.” His eyes flickered to you for a second before focusing back on the road. “We were just friends, and now… I don’t know. You feel like the only thing I think about.”
Your breath hitched, his words sinking into your chest like an anchor. “Chris…”
“I know love now,” he interrupted, his voice softer this time. “Like, I thought I understood it before. But you? You make me feel it. It’s like some crazy high, and I don’t know if I should be terrified or grateful.”
You reached for his hand, tracing the ridges of his knuckles before intertwining your fingers with his. “Maybe it’s both.”
He turned to look at you then, really look at you, as if trying to memorize the moment. The weight of it settled between you, the air thick with unspoken confessions and the hum of something neither of you wanted to name just yet.
But you both knew.
Love wasn’t just a word anymore—it was him. It was this. It was the way he looked at you like you were something he never wanted to lose.
Chris swallowed hard, shifting in his seat before letting out a nervous laugh. “Okay, this might be the worst timing ever since I just sort of confessed my love for you, but I just need to ask.” He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Will you be my girlfriend?”
Your heart nearly stopped. You blinked at him, caught somewhere between shock and overwhelming happiness. “Chris… are you serious?”
He grinned, the kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Dead serious. I don’t want this to just be some ‘thing’ we don’t talk about. I want you to be mine, officially.”
Tears pricked at your eyes, but you laughed, shaking your head at how perfect this moment was. “Yes, Chris. Of course.”
His breath of relief was instant, and before you could say anything else, he pulled your hand up to his lips, pressing the softest kiss to your knuckles. “Good,” he murmured, a smile playing at his lips. “Because I wasn’t gonna take no for an answer.”
And just like that, everything felt exactly the way it was supposed to be.
taglist. comment and reblog if you want to be on it!!
credits.
ִ ࣪𖤐 . . . dividers. @bernardsbendystraws
ִ ࣪𖤐 . . . layout inspo. @flouvela
ִ ࣪𖤐 . . . inspo. 'I know love' by tate mcrae
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