#actress!reader

I was sitting on my couch watching some ridiculous reality tv show with a light pink blanket on me and my dog lying beside me.

I just got back from filming a new movie in South Carolina and I am extremely exhausted.

My phone buzzed just as my eyes were about to close. It was from my best friend, Wilma.

Wilma <3

Have you seen this video???

“Who’s your celebrity crush?” Somebody asks.

Will sits there for a second.

“Y/n l/n.”

The guy laughs. “Hopefully she’s watching this.”

Will’s face turns red as he starts laughing.

He’s cute.

Very cute actually.

What’s his name?

Wilma <3

Will Smith he plays hockey for San Jose 😏

That’s perfect. San Jose is only 30 minutes away from me.

I look up tickets for their next home game.

January 6, 7:00pm.

I order two tickets, one for me and Wilma, because I don’t want to go alone.

The next day I go out to look for his jersey.

As I find it, which was pretty easy.

“$200!” I whispered.

I sigh, “The things I do.”

That night me and Wilma go out for dinner at a nice restaurant.

“So did you get his jersey?” Wilma asks.

“Yea.”

“He’s gonna flip.”

“What are you going to wear for the game tomorrow?”

“I have a San Jose shirt.”

Game day finally comes and I’m nervous but excited.

I grab the jersey from the back of my chair and put it on with a pair of jeans and black heeled boots.

While spraying my perfume my phones buzzes.

Wilma <3

I’m here

I let out a sigh and grab my purse before I walk out the door.

The arena is buzzing with fans and music blasting in my ears.

Me and Wilma get some food and drinks. We settle down in our seats and start eating.

Just as I finish I feel someone tap my shoulder.

“Hi I was wondering if I could get a photo with you?” A, most likely, teenage girl asks.

“Of course.” I smile

She gets her phone out a takes a selfie of us.

“Thank you so much.” She says smiling.

“Of course sweetheart.”

A few minutes later the teams come out for warmups and the camera immediately lands on Will.

Wilma bumps her shoulder into mine. My face turns red as I start smiling.

His blonde hair sticking out from under his helmet, his blue eyes has a little shimmer in them as he smiles at whatever his teammate said to him.

The arena suddenly erupts I look up and realize I’m on the jumbotron. I smile and send a wave towards it.

“Hopefully Will saw that.” Wilma said.

I shake my head but the grin is still on my face.

The Sharks won 5-4 Will scored a goal and had two assists.

Wilma drops me off at my apartment and I take a shower and put on comfortable clothes.

I open Instagram and immediately see the picture I took with the girl and a couple of me from far away. With the caption:

Y/n l/n wearing Will Smiths jersey 🤨

she must’ve seen the interview 😭😭

lowkey could see them together

they would be the most attractive couple

A few minutes later of scrolling through the comments I get a notification.

_willsmith2 sent you a message.

My hands freeze.

Oh my god.

I open it.

Saw you at my game. Looked good in my jersey.

I smile as my fingers start typing.

Thanks. Wore it for a certain someone.

Hopefully it was for me.

Of course it was.

I take a screenshot and send it to Wilma.

Wilma <3

OH MY GOD!!!

Wilma <3

HES IN LOVE WITH YOU!!!!

Will sends me another text.

Do you wanna meet up tomorrow at a cafe?

“But, uh, it’s—” Drew tried to continue, but his brain suddenly felt fuzzy as y/n turned to the side with a sway of her hips. He found himself watching, lips slightly parted as he was practically turned away from the interviewer, focus completely diverted towards his beautiful wife. The interviewer laughed, Drew’s focus immediately snapping back towards the interviewer (well, mostly, he kept stealing glances over his shoulder every couple of seconds).

“I— sorry, what was the question?” Drew said, running his hand along his jaw as he chuckled.

“A little distracted?” The interviewer teased, causing Drew’s cheeks to blush bright red.

“Yeah,” Drew grinned. “But I mean, can you blame me? That’s my beautiful wife!”

when he first called her “wife”...

“Good afternoon, Mr Starkey, we’re so happy to have you here.” The waiter nodded towards Drew as the two of them settled into their seats. The restaurant was absolutely beautiful, with crisp, linen tablecloths and glittering chandeliers hanging around the elegant dining room. They didn’t often go out to dinners like this, but after Drew was able to snag a highly sought after reservation for their anniversary, y/n was quite excited.

“And, Mrs Starkey, we’re—” The waiter continued, causing to choke on the sip of (likely expensive) champagne she’d just taken. Across the table, Drew’s eyes widened slightly.

“I’m sorry, are you alright, miss?” The waiter leaned in, a look of concern on his face as y/n coughed. She waived him off, her coughing slowly abiding.

“Yes, sorry.” Y/n cleared her throat. “Just… went down the wrong pipe.”

Drew tried to hide his smirk as he caught her eye.

“Well, alright.” The waiter straightened. “As I was saying, Mrs Starkey, we’ve very glad to have you here tonight.”

“Well, thank you.” Drew grinned up at the waiter. “My wife and I are happy to be here this evening.”

Y/n let out a small, involuntary gasp she hadn't even realized she’d been holding. The waiter flashed the two of them one last practiced smile before leaving the table.

“‘My wife’?” Y/n asked with a quirk of her brow.

“Well, you’re gonna be one day.” Drew shrugged, a mischievous grin on his face as he took a sip of champagne. Y/n let out a chuckle, shaking her head as she felt her cheeks warm.

“Might as well get used to it.” Drew added with a wink.

when he got drunk and wouldn’t stop talking about her…

“No, dude, but for real…” Drew slurred, his arm draped around JD’s shoulders, who looked simultaneously terrified and amused. It was well past midnight, and after a night full of drinking with the rest of the OBX cast in Croatia, Drew was— for a lack of better words— absolutely sloshed.

“She is, like, soooo pretty.” Drew continued, a wide smile spreading across his flushed cheeks.

“Who is?” Madison teased with a giggle. Drew’s eyes widened, his mouth falling agape.

“MY WIFE!” Drew shouted, throwing his hands up dramatically. JD flinched, trying his best to stifle his laughter as Drew looked around with an exasperated look on his face.

“Look at— where is my phone, I need to show you a picture of her.” Drew slurred before he began patting at his pockets before finally fumbling his phone out.

“Drew, we know what y/n looks like.” JD chuckled as Drew shoved his lockscreen— a picture of him, y/n, and Charleston smiling on the beach— in his face.

“No, you don’t understand!” Drew said. “She is so pretty and funny a– and talented and cool and—”

“Ok, Starkey, I think we get it, you love your wife.” Carlacia laughed as she took a sip of her drink. Drew let out a long sigh as she sunk back into his seat, a lovesick expression on his face as he smiled.

“She’s just the best… I wish she was here.” Drew murmured to himself.

when he refused to call her anything other than “wife”...

“WIFE!” Drew shouted from the kitchen of the small, Grecian cottage the two of them were staying in. The doors leading out to the patio were wide open, allowing for the fresh, sea salt air to gently blow through the house.

“What?” Y/n chuckled as she turned around from the lounger she was sitting on. She peered over her sunglasses at Drew as he stood in the kitchen. He was wearing his swimtrunks, his tanned skin and gold chain glittering in the sunlight, and had a cheeky grin on his face as he looked at her, very much pleased with himself.

“Do you want another spritz, wife?” Drew asked, holding up a bottle of Aperol.

“Sure, Drewseph.” Y/n giggled, rolling her eyes playfully. Drew winked at her before pouring out two big glasses adorned with orange slices. Y/n laughed again before turning back to the book resting in her lap. Her skin was warm under the sun, her eyes continually darting from the words on her page to the way her diamond ring glittered in the sunlight. Even after a week of saying “I do”, y/n still found herself in complete disbelief over the fact that she was married.

“Here you are, wife.” Drew sang as he walked out onto the patio, a glass full of refreshing orange spritz in each hand. Y/n felt her cheeks warm, shaking her head bashfully before taking one of the glasses. Drew leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of y/n’s head before sinking down into the lounger next to y/n. The two of them had spent the majority of their honeymoon (well, whenever they weren’t in the bedroom, that was) outside soaking up the sun and basking in each other's presence for the first time as a married couple.

“Thank you, Starkey.” Y/n teased before taking a long sip of her drink and turning back to her book. Drew watched her, a grin on his face. After a while, y/n felt his eyes on her and turned to look over at him.

“What?” Y/n giggled, quirking a brow.

“Just looking at my beautiful wife.” Drew murmured, reaching out to brush a piece of y/n’s hair out of her face. Y/n felt her cheeks warm under Drew’s intense gaze.

“Are you gonna call me that forever now?” Y/n chuckled.

“You’re gonna be my wife forever, yeah?” Drew asked, reaching out to grasp y/n’s hand.

“Of course.” Y/n said, squeezing Drew’s hand gently.

“Then I’m always gonna call you my beautiful—” Drew pressed a kiss to y/n’s hand, “smart—” another kiss further up her arm, “talented—” another kiss further upwards, “and perfect wife.”

He pressed a long kiss to y/n’s lips. She melted into him, a hand moving to smooth along his broad chest. Drew pulled back slightly, his blue eyes raking over y/n’s face.

“If that’s alright with you, wife?” Drew murmured, his hand brushing against the skin that rested just under the band of y/n’s bikini top

“That’s more than alright, husband.” Y/n said.

When he opens the door, you smile—because of course you do.

He’s in a button down, sleeves rolled and collar loose, looking relaxed but sharp. Like someone who always knows where he’s going to end up by the end of the night. His hair’s neat. His smile’s warm. Everything about him says steady.

He greets you like it’s the most normal thing in the world. A hand at the small of your back. A kiss to your temple. The scent of something expensive still clinging to his skin.

Inside, the lights are low. Soft. The place smells like cologne and something expensive. There’s music—crackly, old-fashioned, just loud enough to feel intentional. There’s wine breathing on the counter. Plates already set out on the table. You’re so consumed by taking in the apartment that you hardly even notice that there’s not even food. 

Ben doesn’t ask if you’re hungry. Doesn’t ask anything, really.

He just turns toward the hallway, slow and sure, and glances back at you with that same unshakable calm.

“Bedroom’s through here, sweetheart.”

Not a question. Not a command. Just something said with the kind of confidence that’s impossible to challenge.

And you follow—of course you do. He’s probably just giving me a tour, you reason, he wants me to know his space.

Because he’s been nothing but perfect. Because he’s never once made you feel unsafe. Because that voice of his could talk you into anything.

You don’t even realize until later that he never looked to see if you were behind him.

He already knew you would be.

The bedroom’s warm—dimly lit, quiet. Nothing about it feels overt or pornographic. Not yet. Just soft shadows, crisp sheets, and him standing by the bed like this is simply the next part of the evening.

He turns, slow and loose, and crooks two fingers at you with that same easy calm that’s lulled you from the start. “C’mere.”

You smile before you even move. A little laugh slips out of you—nervous, pleased—and you step closer.

He brushes your hair off your shoulder, trails the backs of his fingers down your arm like he’s smoothing out static.

“Y’know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I’ve really been enjoying all this time we’ve been spendin’ together.”

You duck your head, grinning. “Yeah?” you say, light and breathy. “Me too. It’s been… really nice.”

His mouth twitches like he knew you’d say that.

“You’re just—” he chuckles softly, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe his luck. “You’re a real rare thing. Classy. Sweet. Soft.”

You laugh again, quieter this time. “You make me sound like a collectible.”

He hums, amused, thumb rubbing slow circles over your knuckles. “Hell, baby,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve met a girl like you in decades.”

Your chest warms at that. You preen without even meaning to, shoulders relaxing as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Well… I don’t know about that,” you say, smiling. “I’m not that special.”

His gaze sharpens—fond, intent. 

“Yeah,” he says gently. “You are.”

He steps closer, crowding your space just enough to make your breath hitch. Taller. Broader. Older. But still careful, still gentle in that way that makes you feel precious instead of cornered.

“And when you told me you’d never been with anyone…” His mouth brushes your temple. “Well. That just about drove me insane.”

You laugh, flustered, cheeks heating. “Ben—” you start, embarrassed. “It’s not like it’s a big deal.”

You feel him smile against your skin.

“It is to me,” he says quietly.

You still just a little, heart fluttering, and he feels it immediately.

“Hey,” he murmurs, soothing. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart.”

His fingers skim the hem of your blouse, slow enough that it almost tickles. You suck in a breath, half‑laughing again.

“You’re making it sound so serious,” you say softly.

“It is,” he replies, just as soft. “Doesn’t mean it has to be scary.”

He kisses just below your ear, lingering.

“But if you’re gonna give it up to someone,” he adds, voice dropping, “oughta be someone who knows what the fuck he’s doin’, don’t you think?”

Your laugh comes out smaller this time. You nod without quite realizing you are. “I guess,” you murmur, shy but smiling. “You do seem… very confident.”

That does it. He smiles—slow, satisfied.

“That’s my girl.”

Then his fingers are unbuttoning your top, methodical and practiced, brushing every inch of skin he reveals with open reverence. You let him, body buzzing, head light, enjoying the attention too much to question it.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs again, mouth warm against your collarbone. “I’ll be real good to you.”

And somehow, that makes everything feel inevitable.

It’s not until he has you stripped naked on your hands and knees on the mattress—his own knee nudging your legs apart, his hands gripping your hips like a man who’s waited for this—that something shifts.

His mouth is on you before you can even process it—hot, messy, filthy—and you cry out, twisting in the sheets, your face already flushed and slick with sweat. He groans into you like he’s starved for it.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, “look at this sweet little pussy.”

You whimper. You’ve never heard him talk like that about you before. Not even close.

“So fucking wet for me,” he says, thumb spreading you open while he presses his mouth right back to you, licking deep like it’s his.

You try to speak—maybe a gasp of his name, maybe something uncertain—but the only thing that comes out is a moan, helpless and broken.

He hums against you, pleased. “Told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

Then his fingers slide into your mouth—two of them, sudden and deep, pressing down on your tongue until you start to gag around them. 

“Deep breaths, sweetheart,” he drawls, the thumb of his same hand stroking the skin of your jaw.

He doesn’t rush it. Just holds you there, feeling you accommodate him, until your breathing shakily around his fingers, eyes watering, and your lips tentatively begin to close around them

“There you go,” he murmurs, pleased. “Knew you’d figure it out.”

You make a small, helpless sound around his fingers and he laughs quietly, fond.

“Easy,” he coos. “You’re doin’ just fine.”

He pulls his fingers out slowly, slick with your saliva, and before you can even process the loss, his hand slides around your front to rest in between your breasts. He presses you up, his chest to your spine, mouth close to your ear.

His other hand comes around to your jaw, thumb settling at the hinge, tilting your face just enough.

“Open,” he says softly. Not a command—an expectation.

You do.

He spits into your mouth—unhurried, deliberate—watching it land like he’s savoring the moment. His thumb strokes your cheek, grounding, approving.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “That’s it.”

You gasp, overwhelmed, and he keeps his hand there, steady, making sure you don’t pull away.

“Swallow,” he adds gently. “C’mon now, be good, sweetheart.”

You do, because of course you do.

He smiles against your ear, satisfied.

“See?” he says quietly, guiding you back down to rest your weight on your palms. “Nothin’ to it. You just needed someone to show you.”

You don’t know why your thighs are shaking so hard. You don’t know when he started spanking you, either—sharp, rhythmic cracks to the side of your ass between long, indulgent licks of your pussy—but it’s blurring, all of it. His mouth, his fingers, his voice.

“Why…?” You ask breathlessly, your voice is soft and high pitched and whiny. You’re not even sure what you’re asking about at this point, everything that’s happened since your clothes came off has felt odd and overwhelming and other worldly in the weirdest, best way. 

“Because this,” he says between licks, “is what people do when they love each other so very much.”

Another slap. You jolt, whine, clench around nothing.

“And you do love me, don’t cha? I’m so good to you, sweetheart.”

You’re nodding, babbling, your voice wrecked.

“Yes—yes, I love you—”

You don’t even know if you mean it. You think you do, you’ve thought about it an awful thought recently. Ben was like your dream guy–well, you thought he was. You’d even imagined this moment, but you don’t think your imagination ever could have come up with something so… dirty like this is. You thought your first time would be sweet and soft, maybe that it’d even hurt a little bit. There’s nothing sweet or soft about what’s happening right now.

His hand slides up your back, palm splayed between your shoulders, pinning you down.

“Yeah, you do,” he murmurs. “That’s why you’re lettin’ me do all this nasty shit to you.”

You should be humiliated. Heck, you should be alarmed—but you’re not. 

Because this is still Ben. 

Because his voice is still calm. His hands are still sure. And somewhere in the blur of praise and filth, you believe him.

“That’s my perfect girl,” he says, mouthing over the back of your neck like he’s claiming you. “Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you. But fuck if you’re not made for this.”

You whine, gasping into the sheets.

“No wonder you never let anyone else get a taste,” he growls, lining himself up behind you now. “You’ve been waiting for me, huh? You knew I’d take such good care of you, no other limp dicked haircut could come close.”

And by the time he’s fucking into you—deep, rough, like he owns every inch of you—you’re so far gone you’d believe anything he tells you.

Even when he says:

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong about this, baby,” he murmurs, breathing heavy at your ear as he drives into you again, rougher now that he’s close. You can almost here the smirk in his voice when he speaks, “this is what true love looks like, afterall.”

Your whole body’s shaking, every nerve lit up and pulled tight. You’re gasping his name, fingers clawing at the sheets as the pressure coils and snaps all at once. It hits you hard—too much, too fast—and you cry out, hips jerking back against him as you come undone around his cock.

“That’s it, baby” he groans, feeling you clamp down, losing whatever control he had left. “Fuck—just like that.”

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t slow down. Just fucks you through it, chasing his own end with short, brutal thrusts until his breath stutters and breaks.

“Fuckin’ christ—” he growls, voice wrecked as he spills inside you, pressing deep and staying there, holding you open while it hits him in waves.

For a second, neither of you moves. Just heat and weight and the sound of both of you trying to breathe.

Eventually, he pulls out slow, deliberately, and groans like he’s never felt anything better.

You’re practically limp beneath him, face-down and trembling, your thighs still twitching, breath all hiccupy and uneven. There’s slick everywhere—your inner thighs, the sheets, his lower stomach and dick and thighs—and he just watches his cum drip out of you like it’s the best part of his night.

“Fuckin’ look at that,” he murmurs, dragging two fingers through the mess, rubbing it in with a low whistle. “You made such a pretty mess for me, sweetheart.”

You whimper into the comforter.

Ben laughs—soft, pleased, wrecked in the best way—and slaps your ass once, light, just to feel the bounce.

“Goddamn,” he mutters again, sitting back on his heels. “Didn’t think you’d let me take it that far, to be honest.”

You shift onto your side, stunned, your cheek hot against the cool comforter. “What the hell just happened…?” you breath softly, but your voice is raspy and cracks at the end.

“Hey,” he says, suddenly closer. His palm lands warm against your face, thumb at your jaw, turning your head so he can see you fully. “You alright?”

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, a little slack-jawed. You nod, but it’s faint—a dazed little gesture that barely gets halfway.

Ben coos. Actually coos.

“Aw, there she is. Still in there.”

His thumb strokes over your cheek, his hand big and solid under your chin, holding your face like it’s something delicate.

“You did so good, baby” he says, voice dropping low. “Y’ didn’t cry. Didn’t have to ask me to stop. Just laid there like a good girl and let me take care of you.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead—slow and heavy, like he means it—before flopping back on the bed beside you with a satisfied groan. His cigarettes are already waiting on the nightstand. He lights it in one motion, takes a drag, and exhales toward the ceiling, totally at ease.

“You want one?” he asks, holding it out to you.

You blink again. “I… I don’t smoke.”

“You didn’t fuck either, ‘til tonight,” he says easily, sliding the cigarette back between his lips. “You’re on a roll, why stop now?”

You’re quiet for a while until something crosses your mind and you can’t help but ask, “… is it always like that? Like, for everyone?” You muse absentmindedly, your eyes soft and unfocused

“Yeah, if you’re lucky and find someone who knows shit about sex.” He shrugs, giving your cheek a playful tap. “And you, sweetheart, are the luckiest girl in the fucking world for finding me. You should start buying lotto tickets.”

You laugh—sort of—but it’s more breath than sound. Your whole body still feels like it’s floating. Heavy and light at the same time. He watches you like he knows exactly what you’re feeling.

Then he reaches for the drawer in the nightstand and grabs a small orange pill bottle, rattling it with one hand.

“You need something to help take the edge off?”

Your head lifts, barely. “Something to take the edge off what?” You narrow your eyes at him in confusion.

“Klonopin,” he says slow, clearly amused. “Takes the edge off the comedown. Smoothes it all out, makes everything feel like glitter.”

You blink at him, still trying to catch up. “I don’t do drugs.”

“I know you don’t, sweetheart, but that’s what everyone says at first,” he says, all grin and no shame. “Doesn’t mean you won’t.”

He tosses the bottle back onto the nightstand and picks up a glass of whiskey you hadn’t even noticed was there before—not that you’d exactly had a lot of time to take in his end table decor.

“Last offer,” he winked, “you want a drink?”

You sigh—this you could do—and reach for it, but your hand’s wobbly, so he guides it to your lips and watches while you take two slow sips. Then he pulls it away and downs the rest himself, smirking as he wipes his mouth.

“Atta girl, baby”

He leans back, one arm behind his head, the other reaching out to tug you into his chest like it’s automatic. You go without resistance. You’re too loose and warm and entirely out of your depth.

“You know,” he drawls, bringing his cigarette back to his lips, “I’ve been on my best fuckin’ behavior for you,” he says, smoke curling from his mouth as he speaks. “Since day one.”

You hum, dizzy and relaxed, letting your fingers trace lightly along the edge of his ribs.

“Didn’t lay a hand on you,” he continues. “Barely even let myself flirt. Made myself real fuckin’ tolerable.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then another to your neck.

“You think that was easy for me?”

You don’t answer, and you don’t need to. You’re curled into him, pliant and trusting, and he knows he’s got you. 

“Worth it, though,” he mutters against your skin. “You’re so much better than I thought you’d be.”

“Thanks? I think?” You say confused, even more so when he just laughs.

His hand slides down to your hip, not to start anything—just to touch. To feel the body he just wrecked.

He’s still stroking your hip when he shifts, rolls you closer like he’s just getting comfortable. His voice, when he speaks, is soft again—warm and low and perfect, like all that filth never happened.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, kissing your temple, “we look fuckin’ great together.”

You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted like you’re still trying to remember how to breathe.

“Can’t wait to show you off,” he adds, smiling like he means it. “Red carpets. Cameras. America’s fuckin’ sweetheart and her soldier.”

Your cheeks heat, even now. You laugh, breathless and a little shy. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

There’s a pause. His thumb brushes the swell of your cheekbone.

“So what do you say, sweetheart?” His voice is warm again—sweet, almost bashful, like he didn’t just fuck you into the mattress. “You wanna be my girl? Officially?”

Your lashes flutter. It sounds so simple when he says it. So earnest.

Like you didn’t give him everything already.

You nod slowly, lips parted on a dazed little smile. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Okay.”

Ben grins—beams, really—like he just won the goddamn lottery. His hand squeezes your hip, thumb brushing the dip of your waist like he’s grounding himself in the moment.

“That's perfect, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “Knew you would.”

He lets the silence stretch a beat, just long enough for your pulse to settle, your breath to come back, for the ache in your thighs to really bloom.

Then, all easy charm and casual affection, he cuddles you even closer and asks—

“You still hungry?”

You blink, slowly. He’s already reaching for another cigarette from the nightstand like this is totally normal. Like this is just a regular Tuesday.

“Figured we could go out instead, maybe get some steaks,” he says, like it’s nothing. “There’s this little place up the block—old-school joint, real butter-heavy, they know me. You’ll love it.”

You can’t even process it. You’re still leaking him onto his sheets, still raw and sticky and half-drunk on the sound of his voice.

But his tone is light.

"After all, I did ask my girl over for dinner," he winks, "can't let you starve. 'Specially not after how brave you were for me tonight, sweetheart."

His smile is easy. And the way he’s looking at you—like you’re already his everything, like this is routine—makes your stomach flip in that dangerous, fluttery way.

You nod again, slow and dreamy.

“Steaks sound great,” you whisper.

He kisses your forehead and smiles.

And just like that, he’s got you all over again.

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The flashes of the paparazzi cameras came in rapid bursts—sharp and relentless, much like the corners of the track he was so familiar with. But unlike the adrenaline of a race, the weight of expectation tonight settled far heavier on his shoulders than ever before.

Oscar was the quiet one—the calm, reserved McLaren driver who rarely made headlines outside the track. In stark contrast, his teammate was loud, charming, and unapologetically extroverted—the kind of personality that drew fans and critics in equal measure. Lately, the latter group had grown louder, branding Lando a “playboy” for reasons Oscar never cared to dissect.

Drama had never been Oscar’s brand. He was the steady hand, the focused mind, the last person anyone would expect to stir the media into a frenzy.

So when he stepped onto the F1 75 event carpet with a well-known actress on his arm—someone with a turbulent history involving the current world champion—the world paused. For a split second, even the cameras hesitated. Then the chaos erupted: flashes exploded, questions flew, and voices rose in a desperate bid to make sense of the unexpected.

His hand rested gently on the small of her back, the silk of her white dress soft beneath his rough, calloused fingers. Subtle, comforting circles traced against her spine—his silent message to her that he was here, steady and unshaken. She looked poised, even radiant—she had likely faced this kind of attention more times than he had taken to the grid.

But he knew this wasn’t just another appearance for her.

Because they would be here.

Because the past had a way of resurfacing.

And because no one—not the media, not the fans, not even the critics—had expected her to return to this world after the scandal that shattered her once-golden image.

“Are you alright?”

Oscar blinked, dragging his gaze away from the blinding barrage of camera flashes. His smile softened as it landed on the woman beside him—her lips curved in quiet encouragement, her eyes glimmering with concern that reached deep into him, melting away the stiffness in his posture. His hand shifted from the small of her back to wrap securely around her waist, drawing her closer as he leaned down and whispered with a teasing lilt, “Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

She laughed—a full, uninhibited sound that echoed like music across the cold marble of the entrance. Her head tilted back, eyes crinkling at the corners, catching the lights of the flashing cameras and reflecting them like a million tiny stars. Oscar, the ever-composed Aussie driver, would usually be wary of such attention. In any other moment, he would’ve steered her quickly into the venue, avoiding the scrutiny. But here and now, watching her laugh so freely, he forgot everything but her.

The whispers of criticism waiting online, the haunting pieces of her past, the quiet insecurities that clung to him like shadows—all of it dissolved the instant she leaned into him, instinctively seeking his warmth as a cold gust teased at her hair. He welcomed the closeness, pressing a soft kiss to her temple in a gesture no camera could cheapen.

“Let’s go inside,” he murmured, his arm loosening around her waist only to slip his hand into hers. Her fingers fit against his with practiced ease, the kind that comes only from months spent in secrecy—shared meals under dim lights, whispered conversations behind closed doors, fleeting touches exchanged like promises.

The world saw her now—the poise, the grace, the way she smiled up at him like he was the very air she breathed.

But only he had seen the broken pieces beneath.

Only he had held her through the nights she couldn’t sleep.

Only he knew the shape of the wounds left behind by the man who now stood at the pinnacle of the sport.

And tonight, for the first time, they were stepping into the light. Together.

Sinking into the plush mattress of the hotel room felt like heaven to Oscar. After hours beneath the hot glare of camera flashes and the overwhelming buzz of voices and attention, the stillness was a balm. He didn’t mind the fans—he loved them, truly—but this, the quiet, the dim light, the comforting weight of a smaller body curling instinctively into his side… this was where he felt most at home.

He looked down, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he took her in. She had showered too, her face now free of the makeup, glamour, and practiced poise that the world always demanded of her. In this room, she wasn’t the headline-grabbing actress or the woman people whispered about in scandal-heavy tones. She was just his. The woman he loved—not despite everything the world had said, but because of everything she was beneath it.

“What are you doing, baby?” he asked, brow slightly furrowed as he noticed her focused on her phone. It was rare. When they were together like this, their phones usually stayed untouched, traded for quiet conversations, kisses, and the rhythm of shared silence.

She hummed in response, glancing up at him with a mischievous grin. Without a word, she turned the phone toward him. Oscar matched her smile, but as his eyes scanned the screen, his expression shifted to one of surprise—quickly softened by amusement.

He raised a brow. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice low and curious, one hand moving to lazily twirl the ends of her hair—something he always found himself doing when she was near and he was at peace.

“I wouldn’t have come today if I wasn’t,” she replied, voice gentle, sure. Then, she leaned up and kissed the edge of his jaw—slow, grounding—before asking the same question back, eyes gleaming with something deeper than simple mischief.

Oscar chuckled, the sound warm in the quiet room, before flipping them over in one smooth motion. Her surprised squeal was followed by laughter, the kind that came from deep inside—the kind only she could coax out of him. She swatted at his shoulder in playful protest as he hovered over her, the shadows dancing across the contours of his face.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She smiled into it, her breath mixing with his.

Reaching for her phone, he glanced at the screen again—her Instagram app open, a carefully chosen photo of them from the event tonight waiting to go live. His thumb hovered over the ‘post’ icon. For a second, he hesitated—not out of doubt, but reverence.

He looked back at her, wordless.

She met his gaze, her smile answering questions he hadn’t even asked.

And without another moment’s pause, he pressed ‘post.’

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cookies.and.creammm that’s my man ✨

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oscarpiastri my pretty girl ✨

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cookies.and.creammm my fast driver 🎀

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The Drama. 

By your side sits Robert Pattinson as you’re across from the two hosts. 

Smiles wide and relaxed as you answer their questions.

Talking about the film and what audiences can expect. The romantic comedy themes while it delves into something a bit more intricate and darker than one might expect. 

All leading to the little intricate details of your own outfits as part of the press tour. Making Princess swoon at the dresses. 

“And why’re you so happy this morning?” Perlah asks as she stops by her side, eyes flicking to glance at what had captured her friend's attention. “Really, a morning show?” 

Princess says your name, as though it were the only explanation necessary for her delighted state. 

“C’mon Perlah, surely you’ve heard of her,” Donnie interjects, “My wife has been raving on about this movie because of her.” 

“Isn’t it just a rom com about a wedding?” Perlah raises a brow. 

Princess lightly slaps her arm, “It is going to be so much more than that. Not only is it a rom com but it is a rom com staring Robert Pattinson and Y/N L/N. She always adds so much depth to the characters she portrays.” 

As others catch wind of the conversation a small group begins to form as they watch. 

Her eyes drift back on screen. 

“And so with the way you two have been acting you have fans in a frenzy over whether you two are secretly together?” 

“The wedding themes certainly do nothing to quell the rumours, do they?” Robert quips, sending you a knowing glance. This was definitely not the first time you had to field this question. But each time you hoped it would be the last. 

Sitting a bit straighter. “Look, Robert is a great guy I’ll give you that. But he already has an amazingly stunning and wonderful partner, Suki. Who I adore, and if anything I’d be trying to get with her,” you replied. 

“Fair. So this isn’t your typical showmance. Perhaps you can tell us whether anyone else might have wedding bells ringing in your ears?” they continue to probe. 

You internalise the sigh and roll of your eyes that you want to let out. As a graceful smile slips onto your face instead. 

“Fans noticed on your recent couch session with Graham Norton that you seemed pretty cosy with the up and coming singer, Sombr. Any thoughts about that?” 

You can practically feel Robert stifling a laugh beside you. 

At some point the hounding questions into your dating life had become a running joke between you two. Feeling certain that he had made a bingo chart of all the possible people that talk show hosts and journalists might theorise you to be dating. 

They roll a clip of the very show they were referencing. 

With you wedged between guests on the iconic red couch. Supposedly very cosy beside the music guest, Sombr. As you all chat and smile, making your own little anecdotes. Laughing at Graham’s jokes. Adding your own praises for the talented artist, confessing that you at the time were listening to Dime on repeat. 

The hosts send you a pointed look with grins upon their faces as though they had struck gold, “Perhaps you’d like to talk about this?”

“He is a talented singer and I enjoy his music. But I want to make it clear that I’m really not interested in dating at the moment. So you won’t be finding me on the dating scene anytime soon,” you reply, ending with a light laugh and shake of your head. 

Could no one think to ask you of anything other than your love life? It was slowly becoming a drain on your energy. 

….If only they knew. 

That your heart was taken. Kept by the gentle, nurturing hands of a certain young man you had met years ago, in a little town called Broken Bow….

Dana looks at the screen, trying to get a gauge on what has her nurses so distracted, “Why are they asking her all these questions about her love life. Shouldn’t they just be asking her about the movie?” she asked with a deadpanned look. 

“We just want to know that she’s being loved! She’s such a lovely person. If she’s not in love then there’s no hope for any of us,” Javadi explains with a slight dramatic edge to her words, while Princess nods in agreement. 

“Oh she’s definitely on my hall pass list,” Santos nods. 

Whitaker brows furrow at her words, “Hall pass list?” 

Santos clicks her tongue. “You know a list of celebrities that you’d sleep with if given the chance, even if you’re in a relationship. I know your dating life is dry huckleberry, but surely you’ve heard of the list?” 

He lets out a sigh with a small roll of his eyes. 

“I told you, I have a girlfriend. We’re just doing long distance at the moment,” he said vaguely. 

Santos folded her arms, “and I told you, I think you only use that as an excuse to dodge going out”

By all accounts his dating life was dry. 

Throughout the months that he’d been living with her. Santos had not once seen him go out on a date. 

At least none that she knew of. 

To the point where everyone in the ER was fairly certain that the farmboy was most definitely single. 

Even if he claimed to have a girlfriend. For all they knew it was simply a ruse to keep people off his back. 

But there was little proof to show he was in a relationship. 

…Little did anyone know. 

That the very woman they were just fawning over. 

Was the woman that held his heart in her hands. 

His very own sweetheart. 

A secret to the world. But simply each other’s peace and comfort. With nothing to prove. 

“Why are we all standing here? We’ve got patients to see, people to check,” Robby clapped his hands, ushering everyone to move. 

Snapping Whitaker out of his daze. 

Away from his thoughts that drifted to you, and the memory of your hand intertwined within his. 

Of the days when you had both first met almost 4 years ago. 

Of that Summer where the sprawling fields seemed to glow a bit brighter. 

Where the leaves felt more lush and the sky appeared more blue, as the air was laden thick with a sweetness. 

How as the sun dipped down in the sky it felt like the cicadas were singing in tune with his heart. Lying in the fields side by side as you gazed up at the stars. As you confessed the dreams tightly knitted within your souls. 

Words of hope filtering between you both. 

He was there by chance. 

Having returned home for part of the Summer break. As his nieces and nephews clung to him. Whilst he helped his family on the farm. Falling back into a rhythm, one he had come to miss while away studying. 

But there was a distance. 

Silences that stretched too long. 

A gap that just never seemed to bridge between him and his family. 

Always feeling a little misplaced among them. 

As though peering from the outside in, made to feel different from. 

He supposed that as the first to go to college. Let alone the first to study to become a doctor in his family. That the strain between him and his brothers would only worsen with each time he left to study. 

With his parents left to feel unsure about his endeavours. Having never known this pathway before. 

But Dennis’ ambitions didn’t waver. 

Or at least he never showed his hesitations to his family. 

Despite feeling out of place, he loved them.

And then he met you. 

And he realised how much brighter the world could be. How much deeper his love could go. How much acceptance a person could feel. 

Within your embrace you had given him a feeling of home he had never quite felt before. A sense of belonging washing over him as he stood by your side. 

And it all began when his nieces and nephews had insisted on taking him to the movie set filming not far from the town of Broken Bow. 

How they just had to see it. Eyes gleaming with curiosity. 

It was very rare that a film crew would make its way to the rural town. 

So rare that it had become a sort of spectacle amongst the town. 

Some with intrigue and others simply waiting for the ‘city folk’ to leave them in peace. 

From what Dennis had gathered it was a relatively small film. Not quite a superhero blockbuster. No starlets from vogue or actors from the covers of people’s choice. 

He truly wasn’t sure what the movie was about. 

Just that it was using the sprawling fields of Broken Bow, and the water ways up north as the backdrop. 

And that it had made the younger kids of the town flock towards it just to catch a glimpse of the sets. 

It was on this little trip, that he had bumped into you. 

You were sneaking his nieces and nephews some snacks from the cast trailer, you smiled and answered their endless questions. Crouching to reach their height, nodding at their enthusiasm. 

While Dennis trailed after them ready to apologise for their energetic behaviour. 

Only for his words to be caught in his throat at the sight of you. 

You had this presence. 

Unpretentious. 

Patient. 

Charming. 

It had bewitched him entirely. 

And it seemed you had noticed. Giggling softly as you stood before him. Waving a hand in front of his eyes pulling him out of his trance.  

Sticking a hand out you introduced yourself, as he shook your hand softly, but with an eagerness he couldn’t conceal. 

You flashed him a smile. Bright and kindly. 

Refreshed by his honest nature. 

So unlike the people you met daily back in New York. 

So unlike the guys that had looked upon you as though you were only there as decoration. Those men that had leered at you, never knowing when to take no as an answer. Or simply too self centred to even listen to a single word you said. 

His willingness to listen, his attentive nature and humbleness made you drift towards his company. 

That first meeting eventually spurred on into him showing you around town. Finding time to spend it with you. Days exploring what Broken Bow had to offer. From early morning sunrises, to sitting side by side watching as the Summer sun set in the sky, burnt oranges illuminating the fields. 

You had savoured every moment together. 

Together you found a balance. 

In a world where all anyone had ever done was speak over you both. As they questioned your dreams, hopes and ambitions. You two had created a space for one another. 

A space that allowed you both to breathe. 

You made him feel as though he could come out of his shell, to peel back the layers of himself as he revealed his innermost thoughts. 

The doubts he had never once voiced before. 

How he loved what he was working towards. And how that didn’t stop the fears which settled alongside his ambitions. 

All while you held his hand. 

Steady and true. With an open ear and open heart. 

You had made him feel wanted. 

And he had made you feel safe. 

Seen. 

Desired. 

From the moment he kissed you. 

Under the expansive twinkling lights of the stars, on a balmy evening where the cicadas rang out. While your fingers entangled with the soft curls of his hair, as he pulled you softly against himself, arms wrapped around you.  

In this town where very little happened. 

With less than 4000 people. 

You had found a person, a beautiful young man, who had made your heart feel full. Who had you seeing stars as he kissed you sweetly. 

Then all too soon, the Summer was coming to an end. 

Your movie had started to wrap up, and Dennis was due to return to college. 

All too soon your world was starting to feel like it was crashing down on you. Not wanting this to end. Not wanting this romance to be a fleeting moment in your life. A passing memory. 

So you had intertwined your pinky finger with his, however childish or naive it was, you had made him promise to keep in touch. 

To make this last. 

In response he placed a soft gentle kiss upon your intertwined fingers. Before pulling you into his arms as he hugged you tightly. 

“Promise that when you become some superstar doctor you won’t leave me behind,” you had whispered softly. 

As he murmured in response, with just as much conviction, “I would never. I could never leave you behind. I love you.” 

Pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek with a grin, eyes full of love, “If anything, you’re going to be the superstar, with the world at your fingertips” 

“Maybe someday…” you smile softly, in admiration of his belief in you. 

Sighing in his arms. “I love you. And I’ll always be happy with you, kind, sweet, you.” 

You make the long distance work. 

With you in New York, while Dennis continued his studies. You persisted in your relationship. 

Through rough patches and rocky roads. You always came through for each other. 

From late nights spent talking endlessly on the phone. To being just a simple presence on the other side of the call, as you went over lines and he poured over his medical notes. 

With weekend trips interspersed throughout, whether that was you visiting him or him visiting you in the city. 

Savouring each second within his grasp. 

He is there for all your big milestones. Supporting you every step of the way. 

Words of encouragement drip from him like an endless fountain, even as your belief wavers. He never fails to make you believe in yourself. 

And when that movie you had filmed all those months ago in Broken Bow finally gets released. 

It became a hit. 

As doors that were once closed now fly open for you. Stepping into spaces you had once dreamed about. Had once told Dennis all about. 

You become a rising star. 

He makes note of each big moment in your career. Filing them away for you to one day reminisce over. From magazine clippings, to interviews documented in the papers, to snapshots of you on talk shows, and photos from your press tours. 

He is proud of each and every development in your career. 

Just as proud as you are of him. Unwavering in your support of his work. You are the loudest to cheer as he graduates. With the widest smile spread across your face as he beams back at you. 

You both felt extremely lucky to have each other by your sides. Cheering each other on. 

You exchange letters. As he sends you love notes and pressed flowers. And you send him thoughtful gifts, new pens, stationary and books as he studies diligently. 

You once asked him why he sent you love notes. Rather than simple texts or messages.  

Without even missing a beat he had told you it felt more intimate. It felt special. Knowing that somewhere, hours away from him, in a different city, you would be there holding his words in your hands. 

The very proof of his love for you. 

Beating strong. Despite the distance. 

Soon your fame grows more and more. 

To the point where you have to be a little more conscious of what you say. Of where you go. Of how you’re seen. 

As people grasped onto anything they could. Pulling theories out of thin air. Making edits of you alongside whoever else they deemed you should date. From costars to even passing figures in your life. 

There was a huge focus on your personal life from your fans, to speculative journalists. All narrowing in on your love life. 

The last thing you had wanted to do was put Dennis in an uncomfortable position. 

In a position where he would be flooded with attention and pressure he shouldn’t be under, just because of your career. You wanted to preserve his privacy. 

And selfishly you wanted to keep him to yourself. 

A little slice of paradise all for yourself to enjoy and bask in. He had loved you long before you were famous. Loving you deeply, to the point where it felt there was no end to his love. 

And he knew you loved him just as fiercely. 

Never feeling unsure in his position in your heart. Knowing that at the end of every day he was yours, just as you were his to care for. 

As he kept you to himself, a little secret that didn’t need to be shouted out to the world. Not needing approval or attention. All he wanted, no, needed was you. 

“Hey love,” your words carried over the phone. Lying awake in bed as you stared up at the ceiling, the phone settled on your pillow as it was on loudspeaker. 

Dennis’ soft voice echoes around your room, laced with a tiredness, “Hi sweetheart, what’re you up to?” 

“Nothing much, just wanted to hear your voice” 

A smile spreads across his face at your words, while you hear a faint typing come through the phone, “Are you studying?” 

“Yeah, just writing up some notes from the day. Things I want to remember from next time”

“Don’t let me keep you then–” 

“-No. No. It’s ok, I missed your voice too,” he cut you off, almost panicked that you would hang up. Following up quietly, “Tell me about your day, how did filming go today?” 

And so you rambled on, in the peaceful hours of the evening. As he talks about his own day and all he’d done. Until soon you fall asleep from the sound of his voice. Soothed by him. 

With every word of affection you had spilled to him. 

From even the most mundane of things. He felt loved by you. 

You had pulled him out of the shadows of his comfort zone and made him believe in himself, to become bolder. Confidence growing within him. 

If only just to match your energy at times. 

With more and more people chasing after you to star in their next film, their next show, project, or even stage play. 

You gained more autonomy over your career. No longer having to say yes to everything. Now more able to be selective with your choices. 

And with that flexibility you had also warranted yourself some time to visit Dennis, all the way in Pittsburgh. 

Coming off the tail end of your press tour, having flown all across the country. Even going to London for further events, all in order to promote your film. Brushing shoulders with the stars of Hollywood, as cameras flashed in your face. Figure drenched in finely tailored looks, purposeful and pristine, all to convey the story of your film. 

You were more than ready to have a little break. 

To simply hold Dennis in your arms once more. Having craved him from the moment you let go of him last. 

Too impatient to wait. 

You leave the airport to travel straight to PTMC. Not wanting to wait a moment longer.

No longer decked in designer clothes. 

Just dressed casually, with an effortless grace. 

You make your way through the crowded waiting room, while everyone focuses on themselves. Unaware of who you are. Doing your very best to keep it that way. 

You come up to the window, you spoke softly with a kindness in your eyes, “Hi, I’m here to visit Dennis Whitaker” 

The woman nodded, “Is he expecting you?”

“No, I’m just an old friend stopping by to say hi,” you explained a little vaguely. Hands twisting a little from nerves. 

“Oh, I can take her, Lupe,” A woman spoke up from behind as Lupe nodded in agreement. 

Smiling, as you get brought through the doors, met by the woman from before. 

“I’m Cassie,” she greeted you. 

“N/N,” you stated your nickname. You didn’t need to make it too easy to recognise you. 

“So you’re an old friend of Whitaker’s?” she asked. Observing you, you seemed familiar. 

Like a face she couldn’t quite place. Despite the normality of your clothing or your casualness. There was a touch of something more than emanated from you. 

“Yeah, I’m actually his girlfriend.” You confessed. 

Her eyes widen a fraction, “So you are real” 

Furrowing your brows at her words, “You didn’t think I was?” 

“We hadn’t seen a photo of you before, so a few of us weren’t sure what to think of it,” she shrugged. “Not that I was one of them, but a few of the others mentioned it” 

“Well I am definitely real,” you smiled. Understanding the assumption. 

And then you stop in place, eyes locking onto the very man that made your heart skip a beat. Watching as he walks away from a patient’s bedside, as he looks up. 

Eyes meeting yours from across the room. 

And the biggest smile splits across his face. Tired eyes lighting up at the sight of you. As though the very presence of you had revitalised him. 

Pace quickening, almost tripping over his own feet, hands tugging off the latex gloves tossing them away, as you walk just as briskly to meet him in the middle. 

All thoughts fading from your mind. Simply just wanting to feel his touch. 

Barely inches from each other, eyes locked, cheeks hurting from the way your lips are pulled into a wide smile. Genuine as it does nothing to hide your glee. 

“Hi love,” your hand reaches up to cup his jaw, thumb gently caressing his cheek. 

Leaning into your hold, he closes his eyes at the touch of your hand. “Hey sweetheart”

Biting your lip as you admire him now, how his scrubs fitted him. Hair tussled from the day, curling slightly at the edges. Honey brown strands that you reach for. Soft as you pull him towards you. 

Lips catching his, feeling the plushness of his lips, the slight chapped texture as it melds against yours. 

You hum in contentment. Before pulling away to simply tuck your head against his shoulder. 

“I missed you,” you whispered. 

Pressing a soft kiss to your head he smiled, “Missed you too”

It felt as though the movement all around you had come to a halt. 

The eyes of his colleagues peering at him. At the little moment of bliss that had unfolded before their eyes. 

“What the fuck?” Santos’ words sliced through the air. 

Confusion crossing the features of many around the room. 

Dennis’ eyes snap open from the words. A sheepish grin forming on his face, as heat rises to his cheeks. His hand intertwined with yours. “C’mon let’s go somewhere a little more private”

Teasingly you quip, “I just got here and already you want to get me alone, what would your mother say”

Your words only make his blush deepen, as he shakes his head at your accusations whilst you giggle lightly. 

Your arm coiling around his, as he guides you to the breakroom. Only to be trailed after by his coworkers. 

“You’re not getting away that easily, huckleberry.” Santos notes as she follows after him, while Javadi and Princess follows suit. 

“Was that Y/N?” Mel asks Langdon while they stand at a nurses station. Watching as you and Dennis pass by.

Eyes flicking up to follow her pointed finger, Langdon’s own eyes widen a fraction, “Good for Whitaker,” he offers. 

How he had managed to snag you was beyond Langdon’s imagination. 

“Hey where’s everyone going? We’ve still got hand offs to go through,” Robby calls out with a raised brow, as Dana settles in beside him. 

“Whitaker’s girlfriend came in,” Mohan replied. As she herself begins following everyone else. 

“And?” 

“And she’s the Y/N, as in the very famous actress everyone pines over,” Donnie whispers to them. Not wanting to alert the patients. 

“And you know this, how?” Dana asks amusedly. 

He purses his lips, “I told you my wife is a big fan. Do you think she’d be open to giving me an autograph? I just know my wife would flip if I got that for her”

“You might have to get in line, seems like everyone wants to meet Whitaker’s girlfriend,” Abbot slides into the conversation, jabbing a finger towards the growing crowd outside the breakroom. 

“Don’t tell me you know who that is too?” Robby sends him an arched brow. 

Shrugging, “She’s in some pretty cool films. The kid’s got game to pull her”

“Yeah, or he’s been bestowed some incredibly good luck,” Ellis adds as she leans against the bench. 

“Good for him,” Dana replies.

“And good for me, means I win the bet,” Shen grins widely. With a cheeky glint in his eye. 

They all scoff a laugh at his words. Shaking their heads at his unseriousness. 

Santos stands before you both. 

As you’re seated in the breakroom, his hand still entwined with yours, softly caressing the back of yours with his thumb. While you lean your head on his shoulder. Relishing being able to be by his side. 

Javadi and Princess by her side as they observe the both of them. 

A lovesick look adorned on both your faces. Glowing from happiness. 

“Explain” 

It made no sense. 

How was Dennis Whitaker.  

Huckleberry. 

Her roommate. 

Dating one of the most famous actresses at this point in time? 

It made no sense at all. 

Minds racing from thoughts at how this could be. 

How the very person who was just on TV, supposedly in a secret relationship with whoever the media speculated about from high profile actors to heartthrob musicians. 

Was in fact, dating her colleague, her roommate, her friend?

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you ask sweetly, “Do you want me to explain, or do you?”

“I like the way you tell it, sweetheart,” he murmured back. Enamoured by your presence. 

Turning back to the crowd forming before you. 

“I love him, and he loves me, simple as that”

Princess interjects, “That is in no way simple.”

“C’mon we have to know more, I mean this is Whitaker we’re talking about,” Javadi states. 

While Dennis’ brows furrow slightly at the insinuation. Only for it to melt as you only snuggle closer into Dennis’ side. “We’ve been together for 3 years now–”

“-almost 4,” he murmurs. 

Nodding, “Almost 4,” looking back at them, “There’s really not much else to say” 

“Why him?”

“Why not?” you retort. “Have you seen Dennis, this man has been working on a farm since he was a boy. He is ripped with a heart of gold beneath those scrubs”

Dennis rolls his eyes at your words. With a small chuckle escaping his lips. Feeling flushed by your compliments. 

Turning to gaze at him. “Besides, he’s only ever loved me for me. Not for anything else.” 

“I love you too,” he replied gently. Those words he never held back in telling you. 

Turning to each other you hear his friends comment, “These two are way too cute to be real” 

“Surely she’s under some sort of spell,” Santos states, looking to you, “Hey blink three times if you need help”

Laughing, you reply, “I promise this is real and not just some weird stunt.” 

Grinning as you add, “Dennis might’ve also mentioned some sort of list and me being on it”

Santos’ eyes widen as she shoots Dennis a scalding look of betrayal. 

“I’m flattered. But unfortunately I’m happily taken” 

“Well that solves that question,” Princess shrugs. 

“So who do you think won the bet?-” 

“Make it rain, make it rain, make it rain~” The tune of Shen singing out enters the room. 

“Yeah, I wonder who,” Santos replies sarcastically. 

Finally left alone you bury your head into his neck, as he holds you firmly against him. “Your friends seem nice”

“I think they were just a bit caught off guard”

“Were you surprised?” you asked. 

“Most definitely,” he maneuvers slightly to press kisses upon your cheeks until they are pressed firmly against your lips. 

Letting out a sigh of content, pulling apart just barely. 

“How long do I have you this time?”

“Two weeks until I need to get back,” you say sadly. 

Nodding, with a sad smile, “Well, let’s enjoy it while it lasts.” 

Loving Dennis wasn’t difficult. 

Being loved by him was easy. 

But being kept apart. That was a hurdle you never quite seemed to get used to. 

Just waiting for the day when you could simply go back to your very own home, together. 

But for now, you’d wade through the struggles of long distance. You’d dodge the prying eyes of the media. 

However that didn’t mean you had to hide it from Dennis’ friends. 

Slowly letting more and more people into your little bubble. 

Even if they were completely baffled by how. 

It was endearingly sweet to witness.

The way you were both completely besotted by each other. 

Content to simply bask in each other's embrace. 

As the chaos and noise of the world faded away.

Being brought back to that moment beneath the starry night skies and chirping cicadas. 

Where Dennis had first kissed you all those years ago. 

A moment you’d cherish forever. 

Keeping it tucked within the memory of your heart. 

Alongside so many other memories by his side. 

Hoping to make many more. 

And Dennis was all in.  

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought about this little story. This was a really fun idea to explore. (I may have gone overboard with fluff but whatever. I also used The Drama and put the reader in place of Zendaya, she just felt like the right vibe to emulate) Feel free to send in other requests if you have something in mind 😊

Also vaguely inspired by the song Bewitched by Laufey Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 Feel free to find my Dennis Whitaker x Former Army Medic!Reader Tread Lightly Series here Feel free to find my Dr Robby x Wayne!Reader Rinse & Repeat Series Masterlist here 🩺 Or check out my overall Masterlist here