Blooming Feelings.
ChrisMD x Reader.
The wildflower field stretched as far as the eye could see, a sea of yellow, white, and violet swaying gently in the afternoon breeze. The golden sunlight filtered through the clouds, casting a warm glow over everything, making the petals look almost ethereal.
Chris walked beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, kicking at the stray flowers every now and then. The usual playful banter between you had been replaced by a rare, peaceful silence. No football, no cameras, no chaotic energy—just the two of you, completely alone in a world of color and quiet.
“This is nice,” he admitted, exhaling deeply. “Peaceful.”
You grinned, nudging him with your shoulder. “I didn’t think you knew how to be peaceful.”
He scoffed. “Oi, I’m not that bad.”
“You literally tried to nutmeg me with a rock ten minutes ago.”
Chris grinned, completely unapologetic. “That’s called keeping things interesting.”
You rolled your eyes, but before you could retort, your legs started to ache from all the walking. Chris must have noticed because he slowed down and gestured toward a particularly soft-looking patch of grass surrounded by daisies and buttercups.
“Let’s sit,” he suggested, already making his way over.
You followed, plopping down with a satisfied sigh. The grass was soft beneath you, the flowers tall enough to hide you both from view. You leaned back on your hands, tilting your face toward the sun, soaking in the warmth.
For a few minutes, neither of you spoke.
Then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Chris doing something unexpected.
He was picking flowers.
You frowned, watching as he carefully selected the best ones—some daisies, some buttercups, a few vibrant violets. At first, you thought he was just fidgeting, but then… he started twisting them together.
Your eyebrows furrowed.
“…Are you making a flower crown?”
Chris barely glanced up, his fingers still working skillfully as he smirked. “Yeah?”
“You—” You stared at him in disbelief. “You know how to make a flower crown?”
His smirk grew as he looped another flower into the braid. “Oh, you’d be shocked.”
You blinked, completely caught off guard. “Since when do you have secret romantic skills?”
Chris chuckled, shaking his head as he carefully finished his creation. “Since forever. I’ve got layers, you know.”
And then, with a look of pure satisfaction, he leaned forward and gently placed the crown on your head.
His fingers brushed through your hair as he adjusted the flowers, making sure they sat just right. His touch was featherlight, deliberate, and for a moment, all you could focus on was how warm his hands felt against your skin.
Your chest tightened.
“That’s… actually really sweet,” you admitted, your voice softer than before.
Chris tilted his head, his usual cocky smirk giving way to something more genuine. “Didn’t think I had it in me, did you?”
You shook your head. “Not at all.”
His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Maybe I should prove you wrong more often.”
And before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you.
It started slow—soft, like he was savoring the moment, like he was testing the waters. His lips were warm, his breath fanning over your skin as he tilted his head slightly, deepening it.
You melted into him.
One of your hands instinctively found his shirt, your fingers gripping the fabric as his hand slid to your waist, pulling you in like he couldn’t stand the distance between you. His touch was firm but careful, like he was holding back, like he was waiting for you to pull away.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you tilted your head up, meeting him with the same intensity, the same quiet desperation. That was all the encouragement he needed.
His grip tightened.
Chris suddenly pushed forward, gently easing you onto your back in the grass, the flower crown slipping slightly as the wildflowers surrounded you. The scent of daisies and fresh earth filled the air, mixing with the warmth of his skin as he hovered over you, his body pressing into yours in the best way possible.
Your breath hitched as his lips moved against yours more urgently now, the teasing restraint from earlier completely gone. His hands slid up your sides, fingers grazing under the hem of your shirt—not far, just enough to make your entire body shiver.
You pulled him closer.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and he let out a low sound against your lips—one you’d never heard before, one that sent a dangerous heat spreading through you.
Chris kissed you like he needed to. Like the world could have ended right then and there, and this was the last thing he ever wanted to do. His lips moved hungrily, his breath coming out in soft pants between kisses as he pressed even closer, deeper, his weight sinking into you.
It was overwhelming. In the best way possible.
His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, slow and teasing, and your stomach tightened at the feeling. He smirked against your lips, like he could feel the effect he had on you, like he was absolutely thriving on it.
You tugged him back down, lips crashing together again, this time with more heat, more urgency. His hands roamed over your waist, your back, his fingers tracing slow, dizzying patterns against your skin.
And then—
He suddenly pulled back, just a fraction, resting his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged. His eyes were dark, intense, flickering between your lips and your eyes like he was debating whether to ruin you entirely or hold himself back.
You swallowed hard.
Chris let out a soft chuckle, his breath still warm against your skin.
“You look good in flowers,” he murmured.
Your heart stuttered.
“You look good when you’re not talking,” you shot back, though your voice lacked any bite.
He smirked. “Rude.”
You grinned, tugging him down for another kiss—slower this time, just because you could.
And as the sunlight filtered through the flowers, casting golden light over his face, lips swollen and breath heavy, you realized something.
You really didn’t mind being proven wrong like this.
Not at all.
