Miss Universe Pageant - Blog Posts

Sash Sabotage (Miss Universe!Reader x Chris Sturniolo)

Word count: 1.5k Content: Suggestive (a little), fluff Status: "just friends" IDEA IS MY OWN

The air backstage was a mix of expensive perfume, hairspray, and high-stakes nerves. You were seconds away from stepping onto the stage for the next segment of the Miss Universe competition, wearing a breathtaking, crystal-studded gown that had been perfectly fitted. Every detail had been perfected—except for one very, very annoying problem. Your sash had decided to betray you.

"Chris!" You hissed, gripping the oversized white and gold sash that read Italy in elegant lettering. It was supposed to lay flawlessly across your body, but instead, one of the ends had come loose from the discreet pin securing it to your dress, leaving it to dangle awkwardly against your hip.

"It’s falling off! I can’t go out there like this!"

Chris, who had absolutely no business being in the backstage area but had somehow charmed his way in (or more likely, snuck past security) was standing there looking like the only guy in a sea of hairspray and sequins.

"Alright, lemme see," he said, stepping in way too close, fingers already reaching for the delicate fabric.

"Fix it," you whispered, panic rising in your throat. "Like, now."

Chrisnever the problem solver (and by problem solver, you meant troublemaker), nodded with all the confidence of a man who had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

"Easy. I got this."

And that’s when everything went to hell.

Instead of properly adjusting the pin, Chris accidentally tugged on the sash too hard, sending the entire thing slipping further down your body. You gasped, feeling the fabric pull at the delicate fastenings of your dress.

"Oh shit—hold on," Chris muttered, catching the sash before it could fall completely. His fingers scrambled against the fabric, and in his attempt to fix it, his knuckles brushed right against the side of your thigh, then a little higher, and then...

"Chris!" you yelped, gripping his wrist. "What are you even?!"

"I'm trying to pin this damn thing! Stay still!"

But before you could get him to stop, you both heard the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.

Your biggest competition in the pageant, Celeste, stood a few feet away, arms crossed, a slow smirk stretching across her face.

"Well, well, well," she said, her voice dripping with fake politeness. "What exactly are you two doing back here?"

Your eyes widened in horror.Chris was still standing way too close, one hand gripping your sash and the other suspiciously low on your hip. From an outside perspective—and definitely from Celeste's point of view, it looked like he was either getting handsy or trying to undress you backstage.

"This isn’t..." You started, but Celeste cut you off with a knowing laugh.

"Oh, don’t mind me. You two can continue... whatever this is," she said, waving a manicured hand at you. "Just know that the cameras are everywhere."

Chris, instead of stepping back like a normal person, only made it worse.

"Ayo that sounds kinda accusatory. We got a problem, Miss Runner-Up?"Celeste's eyes flared at the dig, and you smacked Chris on the chest.

"Shut up," you hissed. "You’re making it worse."

Celeste hummed, tapping her chin in mock thought. "I don’t know… maybe the judges would find it interesting that one of the contestants is getting a little too friendly with an audience member before walking on stage."

Chris straightened up finally backing away, but the damage was done. The smirk on Celeste's face told you everything...she wanted this rumor to spread.

You groaned, yanking Chris by the wrist and dragging him toward a less crowded corner of the backstage area.

"Fix it. Now. Before I lose my mind."Chris let out a low whistle, giving you his signature lopsided grin. "Damn, didn’t know getting caught in a scandal was part of the pageant experience. Kinda fun, though."

You smacked his arm. "Shut up and fix my sash before I strangle you with it."

Finally, after a few more disastrous attempts (which included stabbing himself with the pin, almost ripping the sash completely, and more accidental hand placements that would definitely be misinterpreted), Chris managed to get it secured.

You let out a breath of relief, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Alright, not bad," you admitted. "Now, let’s just pray nobody makes this a thing."

Chris leaned against the wall, watching as you got ready to step onto the stage. "Oh nah this is definitely gonna be a thing."

He gestured toward the nearby crew members, who were very obviously whispering and sneaking glances at you two.

You closed your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for the onslaught of online speculation that would undoubtedly follow. "I hate you."Chris just smirked. "Uh huh. Now go win that crown, princess."

You shot him a glare before stepping onto the stage, already bracing yourself for the chaos that awaited once the internet got a hold of this.As soon as you stepped onto the stage, the flashing lights and roaring applause should have drowned out every thought in your head.

You were trained for this—poised, graceful, every step deliberate. But all you could think about was Chris’s voice in your ear minutes ago, that stupid smirk on his face, and the way Celeste had looked at you like she had just won the competition without even stepping on stage.

You kept your smile intact, but your mind raced. Is this really going to be a thing?

The answer came quicker than you expected.

The second the segment ended, and you returned backstage, one of the other contestants, Sofi, practically pounced on you.

"Oh my God," she whisper-yelled, grabbing your arm. "What is going on with you and that guy?"

Your stomach dropped. "What?"

"You and Chris Sturniolo," she clarified, eyes wide with amusement. "People are talking. Someone caught a video of you two backstage, and it looks really—" She waved her hands, searching for the word. "Intimate."

Your jaw clenched. "It wasn't intimate."

Sofia wiggled her brows. "Tell that to the internet."

Your phone buzzed in your dressing room like it had personally committed a crime. Every notification—Twitter, Instagram, TikTok—was already blowing up with mentions, tagged posts, and blurry backstage footage.

ohhhh THIS is why Chris Sturniolo is at Miss Universe?? 👀

lmao they thought they were being sneaky??? babe the cameras are literally everywhere.

nah but the way he’s all up in her space like be honest…they been a thing???

You groaned, dropping your phone onto the vanity with a loud thud. Chris had officially turned your Miss Universe experience into a full-blown tabloid scandal.

And the worst part? You had a live press conference in less than an hour.

The press room was packed—journalists from every major entertainment outlet ready to dissect every moment of the competition so far. But you could already tell they weren’t just here for the usual pageant talk. The first question, from some gossip columnist in a bright pink blazer, confirmed your worst fear.

"So, Miss Italy," she started, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "Can you tell us a little bit about the… moment you shared backstage with Chris Sturniolo earlier tonight?"

The mic in your hand suddenly felt twenty pounds heavier. You forced a polite smile. "Oh, that? It was nothing. Just a wardrobe mishap, and he happened to be helping me fix it."

Another reporter cut in before you could breathe. "A very hands-on fix, no?"

The whole room chuckled, and you wanted to disintegrate.

"It was all taken out of context," you said carefully, keeping your tone light, casual. "Chris is a friend. That’s all."

As if summoned by your very words, your phone buzzed in your lap with a text from the menace himself.

Chris: damn, ‘a friend’? just a friend?

Chris: ur breakin my heart ma

You clenched your jaw, resisting the urge to scream.

The press conference finally moved on, and you made it through without further disaster, but the damage had been done. By the time you left the venue, the internet was already on fire.

And of course Chris was waiting for you outside.

Leaning against the car like he had zero responsibility for the media frenzy he just caused.

"You have no idea how much I wanna kill you right now," you greeted, shoving past him toward the passenger seat.

Chris chuckled, following you in. "C’mon, it’s kinda funny."

"You mean career-ruining?"

"Nah," he shrugged. "This is just free promo. People are obsessed with you now. I did you a favor.

"You turned to glare at him, but the smug, self-satisfied grin on his face made it impossible to take him seriously. "I hate you," you muttered for the second time that night.

Chris just leaned back, throwing an arm over the seat, his voice dripping with amusement.

"Love...hate...same thing."

And unfortunately, judging by the way your heart betrayed you in that moment—you weren’t entirely sure he was wrong.