:꒱♡ THINGS WE LIVE FOR 𓏲 ࣪˖༄ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓂃 . . . a bsf!chris && bsf!reader series 𓏲 ࣪˖♡
╰⪼ a flowing, tooth-achingly sweet story where two people find themselves utterly and irrevocably drawn towards each other, only that it's one of them pulling the strings
˚₊ · »-♡→ :꒱ 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈 presents . . . chris stumbling across bubbles’ beloved journal, fingertips itching with the need to flip through the pages, and as soon as he dives into it, he finds the only way to make her his.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ╰⪼ 𝓣𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ::: ꒱♡
ㅤㅤㅤ ₊ · »-♡→ enough with the chatter . . .
July 4th was always a full day for you and your family. Since your house had the perfect capacity to fit all the loved people you wanted to share a nice dinner with, your family hosted everyone— including friends, work colleagues, neighbours and, of course, the Sturniolos.
People that you could barely call friends, because they were more than that to you. They were family.
While you're busy setting the table, making sure the cuttlery is all silver, every plate has that rosey-white pattern, tissues folded elegantly on top of them, and the tablecloth is even, eyes searching for any crease like a hawk, you almost forget about the succulent turkey that was resting in the oven, on the verge of being completely burnt.
Lucky for you, Chris was always floating around your range of action, making sure you don't stumble across any mishap.
Not just in that exact moment— he has been there. He was both the shoulder you cried onto and the one who made your tummy hurt from laughing too much, cracking jokes even in not-so suitable moments. Stupidly childish remarks that made his brothers roll their eyes in annoyment and your cheeks hurt from smiling cheekily.
He carefully puts on the kitchen gloves, taking out the luscious delight and setting it on the table. You thank him with your eyes, shoulders slumping slightly at your clumsiness. He flashes you a bright smile, silently encouraging you. Looking over the room, he glanced over all the decorations you couldn't hold yourself back from putting up everywhere.
"Don't you get tired of pimping this place up every year?" he says with a low chuckle, hands on his hips.
His eyes landed on a small teddy bear that was perched up on the stair's railing, holding proudly an american flag, drawing from Chris a small chuckle and a shake of his head.
You just roll your eyes and smile softly at his lack of 'holiday spirit'.
"You don't get it," you say while you adjusted the fairy lights framing the window. "My inner child beams at the sight of this."
He watches you from behind, eyes lighting up when they land on the silk bow that wrapped beautifully around your shimmery hair. A trademark accessory that you wore since he firstly met you— and that was a while ago.
"I guess some habits just won't go away, huh?" he says lowly, eyes still lingering on the frail material.
Your conversation is suddenly interrupted by a colorful sound, a contagious laugh that you could only recognize as Nick's, signaling that the rest of the guests have arrived.
Halfway through the night, you were already munching up on the strawberry flavored cupcakes, promising yourself that it's the last one everytime you finished one.
"Woah, easy, Bubs, 's not a contest," Chris says, smiling cheekily, handing you a tissue to wipe the pink icing that was now covering your bottom lip.
You stop your feast, all wide-eyed and confused.
"I was just kidding Bubs, eat as much as you want" he says softer, quieter, with a look in which you could read both concern and regret.
He knew that deep down, even if you turned into this amazingly wonderful woman, you're still you. Still quietly insecure, anxious, panicked. Still sensitive and sweet.
It was just a silly joke— he'd never stop you from eating. Or make you feel guilty about it.
You give him a shy smile, continuing to take small bites from your cupcake.
As he hands you the tissue, he can't help but think about the other ways to wipe it off— maybe run his thumb over your puffy lip and then press his finger flat on his tongue. Only the mere thought makes his tastebuds flood with sweetness— both from your peach flavored lip gloss and the icing of the cupcake.
But he can’t help his mind from drifting off to the delicious fantasy of kissing you softly, lingering on your plump lip, the sweet essence invading his mouth, mind and practically his whole being.
He's immediately pulled out of his trance when a loud thump is heard from outside, signaling the fireworks that the whole neighbourhood have started to put off, keeping the tradition alive.
Your ears prickled instantly, heart racing with excitement as you hurry outside, eyes focused on the lit up sky. You reach for your camera, only to realize it wasn't there.
"Hey, Chris, can you check if my camera's upstairs please?" you ask him, eyes wide and pleading as Chris instantly nodded, spinning on his heels and disappearing up the stairs in seconds.
He checks the other rooms and bathrooms "just in case" before entering your room— that has never failed to surprise him. Walls painted a bright baby pink, clothes scattered all around the floor and millions of photos and posters studding the shelves. Your room was perfectly representing you. Sweet as sugar, but messy as your clothes-covered floor.
He searches in the drawers, pink and yellow sticky notes stucking themselves on his fingers, and moves countless picture frames but still no camera.
He goes for your dressing room, tangling himself in fuzzy cardigans and floral dresses, dead set on finding your polaroid camera— a camera that he gifted you. He couldn't help but puff a little bit with pride, happy that you kept everything he got you.
When he was almost on the verge of giving up, he spots the weathered journal that you've been keeping since middle school. The frayed edges and cracked leather made it look shabby, the worn spine barely holding the pages together, but he knew better than that.
That tattered leather-bound notebook kept the answers to all of his questions, although he never dared to dive into your privacy and crash every wall you've built around yourself.
But something got into him, whispering sultry in his ear, urging him to just grab it. Get his questions finally answered so he can either try harder to get ‘closer’ to you or get his heart to finally move on. He finally reaches for the dog-earned notebook and flips the yellowed pages rapidly.
His vision is blurry, mind anything but focused. Everything he could think about is how disappointed you'd be in him if you caught him in the act. How invasive it is for him to just set your privacy aside to his benefit.
But there's another voice at the back of his head that starts to get louder and stronger.
"She's your best friend of all times. You already know her better than anyone. So, is reading her journal worth criticized? It's just a peek."
Right when the lump in his throat eased, guilt becoming less bitter on his tongue, he hears the faint sound of footsteps, startling him out of his trance. He sets the journal back on the top shelf, trying to act all innocent. But his heart starts galloping in his chest, on the verge of exploding, when a small note left the notebook, flying almost lazily and landing right at his feet.
Grabbing it quickly and getting out of your closet, he sprints right to the door, almost flying to the stairs, guilt building up at the back of his head, tightening his chest.
When he sees you at the bottom of the stairs, he gives you a strained smile, the small piece of paper burning in his back pocket, and if he concentrated more, he swore he could hear it screaming.
You hold up the pink device, a little grin present on your face. “Found it!” you smile cheekily, running to the back yard to take photos of everyone. He nods and gulps harshly, trying his best to stop his hands from sweating and shaking.
You both get out of the house, the warm breeze brushing through your fingers and startling your skin. The soft wind and the deaf sounds of fireworks on the background combine sweetly, morphing into a soft lullaby as Chris watched every move you made from the corner of his eye.
The way your eyes turned a little glossy, lips parted slightly as you looked up in the colorful sky, the fireworks painting your face in faded shades of golden-red stripes. It bathed your features in delicious light, making it hard for Chris not to tuck you close to his chest and trace the faint outlines of the shadows scattered across your face.
He bites his lip, forcing himself to peel his eyes off of you, but to no avail— you were drawn into his mind. His fingers itched again for the skimpy piece of paper tucked in his jeans.
A small, sheepish smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he remembered the ace he hid in… well… in his back pocket.
Once Chris finds himself hidden behind his bedroom door, surrounded by silence and safety, he just then feels fully prepared to pull the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and inspect its contents. His mind floated involuntary to the first time he felt his heart skip a bit in your presence. When his hands were too sweaty and his breath too rough, all caused by your simple presence— well, not exactly simple. To him you were anything but ‘simple’.
You were fireworks and joy. And you made him feel that way since your first high school dance together. It was a stupid winter-coded party that was a tradition in your school, but to you it meant more than that. It meant that you were growing up and, somehow, you were celebrating it.
He vaguely remembers no one invited you— something unbelieveable to him— and you were literally heartbroken. Your confidence was six feet underground.
He found you curled up into a ball in your room, fuzzy blanket shielding you away from everything. You couldn't even look up at him, embarrassment welling up in your gut.
But he took your trembling hands in his, coaxed you back into reality— the reality where you were the girl any boy could wish for— and after he chased your tears away, he took you to that silly dance.
His felt his heart swelling at the sight of you. A perfect, silk, pink dress that hugged your body in the most fascinating ways. He was amazed by your striking appearence, but he felt something else tingling at his heart. Something blooming. He was proud.
Not even an hour before, you were a wreck. Hair all disheveled and teary sniffles. And then you were absolutely glowing.
That night was engraved in his mind. He made you forget about any insignificant insecurity you made up in that little head of yours. The kind of memory that pulled him in a constant state of daydreaming. He thought that he was the only one who felt that way, that you were just clueless to everything.
Little did he know that in the depths of your journal, that night was hidden like a treasure, poured with glittery-pink ink and silly doodles.
You told yourself that the dance was a ‘first time’ and it had to be noted down. For the sake of your ‘continuously growing maturity’
But your poor heart knew better.
You denied the smoldering heat that swinged in your chest— maybe out of naivety, or maybe out of restraint. Till last, it was Chris.
Everyone knew his biggest fear: commitment.
You were indeed the person who he was the closest to, but would he really face his worst fright and then put his heart on a tray, all vulnerable?
Would he really take such risk?
The question sits unanswered in your mind, but if it ever got a chance to get past your lips, he wouldn't hesitate a second.
Yes, the answer is yes. He would.
He tried not to get ahead of himself, repeating ‘It’s not such a big deal’ continuously in his head, but curiosity was still itching at the back of his skull and it was only one way to scratch it down.
He unfolds the little note. The colorful doodles stand out, a smile unconsciously creeping up his lips. He firstly checks the date, exhaling in relief when he realizes it was written a lot of time ago, which increased the chances of you not finding out that he stole it from you.
He sees the title written in your neat, cursive handwriting, and his heart beams with excitement. He didn’t just found a random note of yours— no, no, he won the lottery. He hit the jackpot.
‘Things that are worth living for.’ he read out loud, voice thick with pure joy, sounding like a little kid that was gifted a new toy.
He quickly goes to his desk and re-writes everything down, trying to keep his handwriting at least decent, just to make sure that if he ever lost the original one, he’d have a spare.
He goes through every single sentence attentively, curious. Questions were spiraling in his mind: ‘What made her to write all these?’
‘Would she truly appreciate if anyone did all these things?’
‘What if she even forgot about this and I’m just an idiot?’
But it was no chance you’d forget something so important. For some people, that is just a childish journal and that list is full of silly daydreams, but to you, is where your heart is poured.
His brows fly up his hairline when he gets to the end of the list one. Heat creeps up his cheeks at only the thought of that, not so sure anymore that he’ll be able to fulfill every wish of yours. But he can’t deny that the thought is truly exciting.
He re-reads the note over and over again, holding it tight between his fingers everywhere he went: when he took a warm bath, when he changed into his pajamas, when he brushed his teeth and when he tucked himself into bed, reading it until his eyelids closed shut, sleep settling down in his body.
But even though he let himself swallowed by a steady sleep, a quiet promise lingered in the air, perching itself at the top of his mind and making a goal out of it. He was dead set on fulfilling everything wrote on the crumpled sheet— the last one not entirely excluded— proving you that he is willing make your life worth living.
He’d show you that there are people out there who would sacrifice their time to make your own more enjoyable, even if that meant effort and patience.
In the morning, Chris wakes up as light as a feather, feeling like he got all of his questions answered and all of his problems fixed.
He sings to himself throughout the whole morning, humming quietly and swaying his head to the soft rhythm. He carries himself flowingly, like a flower petal floating in the wind, his whole body beaming with joy. It was almsot concerning how much that little note eased the tumultuous inner conflict he carried when it came to you.
Right before he got in the car with his brothers, he slipped his hand in the pocket of his worn-out jeans and pulled out the note once more, reading his new 'tasks' again.
He was determined to dive into his plan today, given the fact that you're all going to spend the day together.
When Matt parked the car outside your house, the colorful decoration still framing the lovely porch you succesfully convinced your dad to paint in sage green shades coming into sight, Chris felt his heart reaching his gut, emotion getting the better of him. You peek through the ajar front door, opening it widely when you see the triplets' car.
A cheeky smile etches itself on your glossy, pink lips when you step down the porch, feeling a rush of excitement when you see the boys. Chris gets out of the car and sprints towards you, arms streched widely, a childish smile tugging at his lips. Your poor heart turns into utter mush at the sight.
It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was enough for your body to fill up with sparkling fondness.
When he finally reaches you, he envelops you in a clinging hug, spinning you around like you weighted nothing. You melt into the embrace, letting his warmth swirl around you. "Missed me much?" you say through giggles as he holds you so tight you were shocked you could still be able to breathe.
You squeal in surprise, sneaking your arms around Chris' neck, his fresh scent invading your senses.
When he finally sets you on the ground, making sure you're not dizzy, he ruffles your hair and chuckles at your scrunched up nose.
"What has gotten into you?" you say, trying to catch your breath from Chris' attack. "Nothing," he shakes his head, shrugging like it was the most casual thing— but that teasing grin was present on his face.
"What now? I can't hug my favorite girl?" he asks, giving your shoulder an inoffensive nudge.
A trepid swarm runs through your stomach as you hear his words, a feeling that you could only describe as odd, unfamiliar. The brunette smiles brightly at you, treating the whole situation like every casual interaction between you two— but his grin falters.
A slight glint blooms in your round eyes, catching his attention, making them strikingly shiny, like a deer in the headlights. He clings to the sight, checking it as his new favorite view.
A tension knots itself in the air, like a tight thread that snakes around you both to draw you flushed. But it's not the kind of pressure that sits still on your shoulders, burdening them with heaviness. Not the type that felt like a plague, but rather as a swarm of butterflies that left feverish tingles in its path.
Not the kind that encages your heart— the kind that sets it free.
You try to push it down, digg it at the bottom of your mind, but it quickly found itself a way out. Smiling warmly, you decide to focus your attention on the other two boys that were walking towards you, still dazzled by the whole interaction with Chris.
But he kept his eyes on you, lingering and observant, not letting the pink hue that beautifully painted your cheeks slip his attention. He bit his lip, heart swelling with hope and confidence at only the tought of him carrying out the plan.
And with that, he could check the first task as done.
whaaaat do you say guys???🥹
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