#singer x reader

The last note hangs in the air longer than it should.

Joe lets it ring out, fingers still pressed to the strings of his red guitar, the sound vibrating through the venue before slowly dissolving into silence. For a brief moment, he doesn’t move at all as if the entire room is holding its breath with him.

Then the crowd explodes.

Cheers crash over the stage, lights flashing, voices screaming his name, the kind of noise that feels physical, that rattles your ribs and settles deep in your chest. Warm gold, red and deep blue lights wash over everything, and for a second it feels unreal, like the world has tilted slightly off its axis.

Joe lifts his head, smiling, breathless. He says a few thank-yous to the city, to the crowd, to the night that’s clearly coming to an end…

But the crowd doesn’t let him leave. The chants start almost immediately. Clapping, stomping, voices rising together like a wave.

“Encore!”

“Djo!”

“Chateau!”

You’re still pressed against the barricade in the front row, hands wrapped tight around the cold metal, chest rising too fast. The show has lasted slightly more than two hours, your body exhausted in the best way, ears ringing, heart full and sore all at once.

You’ve been here the entire night. Every song. Every pause. Every breath between lyrics, every quiet joke he’s shared with the audience.

The Another Bite Tour has felt like something you’ve been carrying with you for months, city to city, videos replayed, lyrics memorized until they settled somewhere in your heart. And now it’s all ending, and you don’t know why that thought alone makes your eyes burn.

Joe smiles at the crowd, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back slightly, damp with sweat, his shirt clinging to him. He looks almost surprised by how loud the room still is.

He lifts a hand, laughing softly into the mic. “Alright,” he says, breathless. “You asked real nice.” The cheering swells again.

He reaches for the red guitar, settling it more comfortably against his body and then his gaze drifts, slow and searching, across the front rows.

And then it stops. On you. His eyes find yours.

It’s impossible, really. A sea of faces, phones raised high, lights flashing everywhere. And yet you feel it instantly, the moment his attention settles on you and doesn’t move away. His expression shifts, just slightly. Softer, curious even.

You don’t realize your eyes watery, vision blurs and you blink hard, somewhat embarrassed, ducking your head a little. Just quiet tears, the kind that slip out when you’re overwhelmed, happy, sad, and don’t know how else to hold everything in.

Joe’s expression changes to something more focused. Like recognition. Because he does recognize you.

Different cities. Same face. Almost same place near the barricade, close to the stage. The same quiet intensity, singing every word like it means something personal. He noticed you earlier tonight too, caught your eye once, then again. And now here you are, shaking slightly, trying not to be seen.

He doesn’t say anything yet. He adjusts the guitar strap, steps back toward the mic.

“This one’s for you,” he says simply, naming the city.

The opening notes of “Chateau (Feel Alright)” spill out, warm and familiar, wrapping around the room like a memory you didn’t realize you missed this badly.

Your breath catches. The song hits harder live, fuller. The lights soften into gold and amber, and Joe’s voice carries that ache, that trying-to-feel-alright feeling, straight through your chest.

You sing along quietly, tears gathering again, not from sadness but from how deeply this music lives in you. How much do you understand and relate to his songs. You really do love it. You really do love this.

Joe glances around and then at you again.

Every time he sings the word feel, it’s like he’s grounding himself, and somehow grounding you too. Like the whole room is swaying together, suspended in something fragile and gentle.

By the final chorus, you’re not really crying anymore, just overwhelmed, shoulders curled inward, feeling small beneath the weight of it all.

Joe sees. When he sings the last line, his eyes close, brows drawn together in something tired and tender all at once.

The song doesn’t end immediately.

The outro stretches on, guitar ringing, drums slow and steady. Joe steps back from the mic, letting the sound breathe. Then he slips the guitar strap over his shoulder. Carefully, deliberately, he sets the red guitar down behind him on the stage floor, leaning it against the amp.

The music fades and crowd erupts. And Joe looks straight at you. A small smile curves at the corner of his mouth. He lifts his hand, pointing gently, not teasing, not demanding, but inviting.

“Hey,” he says into the mic, voice calm and warm. “You.”

Two fingers curl inward in a soft, unmistakable motion meant only for you.

Your heart stops. You glance around, stunned. The people beside you scream. Someone touches your arm. Security is already moving.

Joe crouches at the edge of the stage, lowering himself closer as the noise swells.

Your heart stumbles as security guides you forward, hands steady and careful, helping you over the barrier and up toward the stage.

When you finally reach the top, Joe reaches out instinctively, taking your hand to steady you. The cameraman walks around you.

His grip is warm and real. He helps you up the last step, fingers tightening slightly, and for a moment you forget how to breathe, the lights, the band behind you, the impossible number of people watching.

“Hey,” he says again, quieter this time.

The crowd is deafening, so he leans toward your ear, shielding it with his hand.

“I’ve seen you before,” he murmurs. “You’ve been coming to the shows. What’s your name?”

You tell him, breath shaking. His eyes soften, like he’s committing it to memory.

“You always stand right here,” he adds gently, trying to make you feel less nervous, he smiling. “I remembered you.”

Your fingers tighten around his. Maybe it’s your face, or the way you listen, or something you don’t even know you carry, but somehow, he saw you.

“You okay?” he asks, genuine.

You nod softly smiling.

He squeezes your hand once. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

Then he turns you slightly so your back faces the audience, his body angled protectively in front of you.

And just like that, with the lights warm on your skin and his presence steady, you breathe again, practically not noticing the cameras around you.

He steps closer, lowering his voice as he says your name, careful and gentle.

“It’s the final night of the tour,” he says. “The crew’s capturing everything, photos, video, little moments for the archives. I wanted to choose someone from the crowd.”

His gaze stays on you, steady. You nod and he smiles, reassuring. Music begins again behind you, soft guitar, a hint of piano. Cameras flash. Phones lift higher.

You stand side by side at first. Then Joe’s arm slides around your waist, firm but gentle, pulling you closer. You turn into him without hesitation, arms wrapping around his torso. His let out a chuckle and his other hand finds yours, fingers tracing slowly before lacing together.

The crowd loses its mind.

His scent surrounds you, clean, warm, something like wood and waterfalls and tenderness. It feels safe, almost unreal.

You sway together gently, like the song belongs to the two of you. Joe rests his head lightly against yours, arms tightening just enough to ground you.

When the music fades, the crowd screams more loudly. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then Joe leans in, shielding your ear again.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he says softly. “I believe in you. You’re amazing.”

These words are exactly what you have wanted to hear for so long, but who would have thought that it was Joe who would say them, as if he knew what was going on in your head, your soul and what you were facing in life.

You whisper, breathless, “Thank you.” He laughs softly, noticing the tears, and turns to the mic. “I really hope those are happy tears.” The crowd erupts.

Joe turns back to you, hands rising to your face, thumbs brushing gently beneath your eyes as he wipes the tears away slow, careful, very focused and sincere, like time doesn’t exist.

He cups your face and presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

The venue explodes. And Joe laughs.

You laugh, cry, breathe all at once.

You hug one last time, he leans in first, resting his head on top of yours, arms wrapped around you tight. When you separate, he nods, eyes looking toward the side of the backstage, hinting at you to go behind the scenes. You nod back with a smile.

He lets go of your hand slowly, holding on as long as he can. Your fingers linger together until the last possible second.

Behind you, the crowd is stunned. Joe turns back to the mic, smiling wide.

“You were loud tonight,” he screams, naming the city. “Thank you.”

Lights explode into color. The show ends. And then, to the sounds of a happy crowd, almost running, he disappears backstage right after you.

If you thought Daniela Avanzini was protective before you got pregnant, you would be frightened at the beast she had become after you got pregnant. Dani was, well, to put it kindly, a monster. You hadn’t even birthed the baby yet, and she was easily the scariest person you had met. Not to you—never to you—but to quite literally everyone else that lived and breathed on planet Earth. When your daughter was born, she was guaranteed to be even worse, and you dreaded to think of her becoming even more extreme than she was now. 

Your sweet Dani had turned into a podcast-listening, spreadsheet-making, baby-stuff-buying mess. The second you’d decided you were ready for a baby and made an appointment for an egg transfer and insemination, Daniela put on every video and podcast she could find about everything to do with lesbian pregnancy, egg transfers, artificial insemination, and, of course, the actual pregnancy itself. When the positive sign eventually popped up after seven tries, Daniela (who had been unbelievably defeated at nothing working) was the happiest woman to walk the Earth. She jumped so high and squealed so hard, you were sure the windows would shatter and she would fly up into space. She was all over you after that, kissing you senseless and taking you to bed as she celebrated, never letting you do any of the work, insisting that she needed to “treat her pregnant wife.” Who were you to complain? You lay back and took it with pleasure. 

The first couple of weeks were spent with you being utterly spoiled, and after the first ultrasound confirmed the pregnancy, you assumed Dani would calm down, that the celebratory period was over. (She was appalled when you told her that.) It did not, in fact, end. It actually got worse. She insisted that every single day of the pregnancy needed to be celebrated. You loved her to death, and you couldn’t stand the way her face dropped when she thought she upset you, so you allowed her to continue with her dramatics. 

Nine months later, it had become normal. Daniela Avanzini was wifezilla and momzilla all in one, and while it was part of life for you, it didn’t stop horrifying your friends. Yoonchae was utterly disturbed and terrified whenever she visited. Megan made fun of Daniela endlessly (and had her life threatened by Daniela just as much). Manon was a giggle-fest every time you saw her. Lara couldn’t help making jokes that got her the stink-eye from Dani. And Sophia was…. Sophia. Worried as ever. At first, Soph thought there was something wrong with you or the baby, something you and Dani weren’t telling the group, and she checked up on you daily. When she realized you and the baby were perfectly fine, she became worried about Daniela. When she realized Daniela was just insane, she worried about your mental well-being next, seeing as you were being smothered. 

Pregnancy had brought you closer to Sophia. You’d been close with all of the girls before that, but pregnancy simply made you and Sophia bond. She was your shoulder to cry on when hormones got the best of you (if you cried in front of Daniela, she would panic, so Sophia was your only choice), she was the one you vented to when Daniela drove you crazy, and she was the one who saw past the excitement of the baby and instead, checked on you. You loved the others—there was no question about that, and there never would be—but they were either not interested in babies, were too wrapped up in the joy of a baby on the way, or simply laughed too much to be relied on for support. (Manon.) Sophia became your lifeline, in a way. 

In your sixteenth week, your baby kicked for the very first time. 

You were standing in the closet, getting dressed for the day, when you let out a soft gasp. Daniela dropped the shirt she was holding and rushed over to you in nothing but a bra and pants. “Amor. What’s wrong?” 

Placing a hand on your belly, you said, “I think she just kicked.” 

Daniela’s eyes widened enough to rival a Disney character, and she gasped so loud it actually sounded fake. She leaned down to press her lips against your stomach after eagerly pulling your shirt up. “Hi hermosa,” she whispered against your skin. It tickled a bit, causing you to giggle. 

“Dani, stop,” you laughed. “That tickles.” 

She looked up at you with mischief in her eyes and proceeded to press the most dramatic, over-the-top, loud kiss against the skin just below your navel. Laughter bubbled from your lips as you grabbed her hands, which were resting on your hips, and pulled them to force her to stand. She was grinning happily now, grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into a deep kiss. 

“This,” she whispered when she pulled away, “is heaven.” 

You blushed, and she continued, “You, me, our reinita in your belly. It’s so perfect, amor.” 

“I love you, Dani.” Your words came out as more of a prayer than a statement, and she kissed you senseless once more, her hand warmly splayed over your stomach, where you proceeded to feel little flutter-like movements in your abdomen. 

After your baby kicked that first time, Daniela began writing down every single time the baby kicked in one massive spreadsheet. The girls laughed when you told them, thinking you were kidding, but when your face stayed serious, they truly couldn’t believe how obsessed Dani had become. She wrote down the date and exact time of each little kick, no matter how insignificant, and made you promise to write down whenever you felt one and she wasn’t with you. She swore it was something you’d need. You told her you didn’t need to count kicks so strictly unless something was wrong with the baby, but she shut you down and said you’d need it. Period. No questions. You shrugged after that. 

And the shopping? Well, let’s just say the credit card bills had been higher than they ever had been. 

The moment you could go shopping after finding out you were pregnant (and the morning sickness subsided), Daniela was buying every outfit or toy she could find for the baby—some of it even being for ages that your child wouldn’t be reaching for quite some time. Your doctor warned Daniela not to get too attached, as there was no guarantee that the pregnancy would stick, but Dani did not listen—thank you very much—and even months later, she swore up and down that you didn’t lose the baby because Daniela bought so much stuff that she “wished the baby into staying” and the baby “knew that she had physical objects” so it made it real. Megan tried to tell her that it made no logical sense, but Daniela kicked her out of the house after that. 

Basically, you were still a couple of weeks out from your due date, and the baby had more clothes, objects, and nicer furniture than you did. The nursery was completely set up with a gorgeous white wood crib against the far wall, even though you told Daniela that for the first few weeks, the baby would sleep in a bassinet in your shared bedroom. It was decorated beautifully, you had to admit, with pastel rainbows everywhere and little stickers on the wall above her crib in the shapes of candy hearts with her name spelled out in them—Kora. The kid had more toys than she needed, most of which she wouldn’t even be able to use until at least six months. And the clothes were a scary, scary sight. She had clothes to last her all the way until kindergarten, probably. It was utterly ridiculous and insane and illogical, and you loved Daniela so much that it hurt. 

She was crazy and dramatic, and her joy shining on every feature of her face made everything fine. She could annoy you with spreadsheets and clothes and presents, and you would melt the moment she smiled because she was the best thing to ever happen to you. There was no one else you’d rather bring a baby into the world with, and you thanked the stars every day that they’d led Daniela to you and given you such a beautiful life. You and baby Kora were the luckiest girls in the world to have someone who loved you both so much that she would move mountains and break her back to make you smile. 

You were sleeping soundly in bed when it happened. 

The blanket wrapped around you was your absolute favorite, and Daniela’s hoodie was the only thing you were wearing because it smelled like her and it was the only thing you were still comfortable in. Her chest was pressed against your back, and her arms were around your waist when you shot up with a gasp, suddenly feeling like your body was being split down the middle. 

Daniela jumped up next to you, rubbing the skin on your abdomen lovingly. “Mi vida, what’s wrong?” 

“I think she’s coming,” you managed to get out in between grimaces and hisses. 

Daniela was the picture of serenity and happiness as she calmly got up and grabbed the suitcase by your bedroom door along with the car keys. “Let’s go, amor. I’m ready.” 

“The producer said it’s distracting,” the helper muttered.

“Good,” she replied instantly. “Then he’ll know exactly where I am when something goes wrong. Which it will. It always does.”

She shoved a laminated pass into someone’s hand without looking, gestured vaguely toward a hallway where two caterers were arguing about table placement, and pivoted quickly—only to walk straight into someone solid enough to stop her momentum entirely.

Her clipboard nearly slipped from her hands.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, stepping back and brushing her hair out of her face before she properly looked at the person she had collided with.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed casually compared to the glitter and urgency around him. But what stood out most was that he was calm. Unreasonably calm. The kind of calm that didn’t belong in a hallway where three people were currently yelling about missing boots.

She studied him for a second, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Are you lost?”

Benito blinked once.

Lost.

“No,” he said slowly, his accent thick and unhurried. “I work here.”

“Okay… doing what?” she asked immediately, glancing past him as if checking whether someone was chasing him.

“Music.”

She nodded vaguely, unimpressed by the vagueness. “Right. That narrows it down. Instrument? Tech? Backup?”

“Stage,” he replied.

“Stage what?” she pressed, tilting her head slightly like she was solving a puzzle.

He only looked at her, amused.

She sighed, shifting her clipboard to her other arm. “Alright, mysterious. Just make sure you’re where you need to be because they are losing their minds in there.”

She gestured toward the direction of the stage, where distant bass from rehearsal could be felt vibrating faintly through the floor, before turning away as if that concluded their interaction. But then she stopped mid-step, something clearly resurfacing in her mind, and she pivoted back toward him with unexpected intensity.

“Have you ever bought something because someone online said it would change your life and then it absolutely did not?” she asked abruptly.

He paused, thrown off by the shift. “What?”

“Like skincare. Or one of those ridiculous kitchen gadgets. I bought this heated eyelash curler last week because some girl swore it was revolutionary, and I swear to you it just burned my eyelid. Not severely,” she added quickly, as if that mattered, “but enough to make me rethink my choices.”

He looked at her carefully now, the corner of his mouth lifting despite himself. “You burn your eyelid often?”

“It was minor,” she said defensively, waving her hand. “And that’s the problem. I usually do product reviews, right? Sometimes brands send stuff, but I actually prefer buying my own because it feels more honest. But then I spend my own money and regret it. It’s a cycle. A financially irresponsible cycle.”

“You make reviews?” he asked, curiosity slipping into his voice.

She shrugged, a little embarrassed now that she’d said it out loud. “Yeah. Nothing serious. I don’t really go online like that. I just film, edit in ridiculous ways, upload, and log out. I barely get views. It’s more for me than anyone else.”

“You don’t go online?” he repeated slowly.

She looked almost offended. “No. It’s exhausting. Everyone arguing about everything. I use my phone for pictures, emails, and editing. That’s it. I don’t scroll.”

He stared at her a little longer than necessary.

“You don’t scroll,” he repeated.

“Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “I like peace.”

Somewhere down the corridor, someone shouted, “¡Benito!”

She barely reacted, too busy adjusting the stack of passes under her arm.

“Anyway,” she continued, unaware of the way his attention had sharpened, “I think if I stop listening to influencers and just trust my gut, I’ll save money. But then something shiny appears and I fold immediately. It’s tragic.”

“How many views?” he asked casually.

She scrunched her nose. “Embarrassing amount.”

“How many?”

“Under a thousand,” she admitted quietly, then straightened as if bracing for judgment. “But I don’t care. It’s fun. I edit them like dramatic documentaries. I once added fake explosions behind a mascara wand. It was art.”

He laughed softly, unable to stop himself.

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “You’re funny.”

“I’m stressed,” she corrected.

Another voice called his name again, louder this time.

“BENITO!”

She turned her head slightly. “Who is Benito and why are they panicking?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

She looked back at him, studying his face. “Aren’t you supposed to be working too?”

A slow smile spread across his face then, lazy and knowing.

“Yeah,” he said. “I should.”

She crossed her arms and lifted her chin just slightly. “Well go on. I’m the stage manager.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You are?”

“Assistant,” she corrected quickly, though her tone suggested that was a technicality. “But basically.”

He laughed, low and warm, before stepping backward toward the stage entrance.

“Go do your music thing,” she added dismissively.

The beat dropped before he even reached the curtain.

The sound that followed was not cheering. It was something bigger, louder, almost violent in its intensity. The floor vibrated under her sneakers as the stadium erupted in synchronized chanting.

“Bad Bunny! Bad Bunny! Bad Bunny!”

She froze.

Assistants rushed past her, suddenly hyper-focused, one shoving a microphone into his hand, another adjusting his jacket, someone else fixing his in-ears with frantic precision.

Her mind lagged behind what her eyes were processing.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Their eyes met.

He winked.

And then he stepped into the blinding white lights.

The scream from the crowd was deafening, the kind of noise that swallowed thought.

She slowly turned to the nearest lighting technician and grabbed his sleeve without breaking her stare from the stage.

“That’s… him?”

The technician stared at her like she had just asked if the sky was optional.

“That’s Bad Bunny.”

She blinked.

“…The bunny guy?”

The technician made a choking noise somewhere between disbelief and pity.

On stage, Benito moved differently now. Larger. Magnetic. Commanding the space as if the air bent toward him willingly. The same man who had just asked about mascara and eyelash curlers.

Her stomach dropped.

“I told him to go do his music thing,” she whispered to herself, horror settling in gradually instead of all at once.

On stage, in the middle of thousands of screaming voices, he glanced toward the wings. And even from that distance, he found the bright pink shirt immediately.

His smile shifted.

It wasn’t cocky this time.

It was curious.

Backstage, she covered her face with both hands and let out a mortified groan.

“I’m quitting,” she muttered.

But she didn’t move.

CLICK. benito switched on the radio in the car, it now hummed a soft spanish tune. he quietly mumbled the lyrics while he pulled into your local mcdonald’s.

usually the singer wasn’t one to go for fast-food, but it was late at night and you both were hungry.

he arrived in a slow roll at the ordering machine. “hello?” benito spoke in a thick accent. his body was leaning out the window in order to provide a greater volume for the worker.

a small tap came through and suddenly, “hello! what can i get for you today?” a young girl called out. she sounded overly cheery for the egregious hour which it was.

you softly giggled to yourself as benito carefully studied the menu, the foods seemed gross for his taste. “umm . . . may i please get a . . . regular hamburger . . . ?” anyone would be able to tell his confusion at all the colorful options.

the girl’s voice crackled over the intercom once more, “yes you may! would you like anything else?”

swiftly, he turned around to face you. “¿qué quieres?” he asked.

instead, you pushed yourself towards the window to talk to the girl directly, “yes please!” you nearly shouted. benito’s warm hand laid over your back rubbing comforting circles up and down.

after you ordered, you sunk back into your seat. “¡puedo pagar! ¡desde que lo hiciste la última vez!” you kindly offered.

in return, benito shot you an offended look. “cariño, soy tu novio, es mi trabajo pagar por ti.” he repeated the same monologue he told you whenever you offered to pay. you thought he was just too sweet.

you stayed silent in response. letting your eyes drift off into the trafficked streets of los angeles. benito grabbed ahold of your palm and interlaced your fingers smoothly.

as he arrived at the purchasing window, the same teenage girl peeked her head out. the shy expression she wore was abruptly replaced with one of shock. “sandy!” she called for her coworker.

“oh my god. are you bad bunny?” she inquired with her mouth widely agape.

“oh uh . . . yeah!” he answered with a laugh. you changed your focus to his sheepish expression. you then moved your free hand to cover your lips, containing a giggle.

“can i get like a photo? oh right, paying! um, you know what? don’t even bother you can like . . . just take the food.” she stuttered out her words. you could tell she was nervous.

instead of covering up your grin, you let out a small laugh at her actions. squeezing benito’s hand.

he also chuckled softly, “no! let me pay, please!” he extended his credit-card out for her to take, smiling kindly at her.

“oh well . . . okay!” she grabbed the credit card and turned towards her machine. she entered a couple codes and then swiped the card which was greeted with an approving beep.

“could i . . . get a photo?” she repeated

“yes! yes you can!” you suddenly chimed in, scooching in closer to your boyfriend. he wrapped an arm protectively over your shoulder, letting his hand rest on your forearm, bringing you closer.

she brought her phone out and the two of you smiled brightly. “thank you! for like . . . everything” she giggled nervously.

her coworker brought out your food as you both exchanged gratitudes. benito waited until the window slid shut before pulling away slowly, the bag of food crinkling softly in his lap.

“she was shaking,” you teased, nudging him.

he glanced over at you, smiling in that shy way he only ever did when it was just the two of you. “i think you were more excited than her.”

you gasped. “please. i see you every day.”

“exactly,” he replied, squeezing your hand again.

fame followed him everywhere with cameras, questions, flashing lights around every corner. but right now it was just the low hum of the radio, greasy paper bags, and your intertwined fingers resting on the center console.

he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“we should never go back there again." he murmured. you agreed with a small laugh through your bite of food.

and somehow, even in a mcdonald’s parking lot, it felt perfect.

─────────── ୨୧ ────────────

You and Calum had been dating for a few months, and his world tour was just a couple of weeks away. Now more than ever, you had to keep your relationship with the bassist from 5 Seconds of Summer a secret.

You both knew there was a significant age difference, but everything had gone smoothly. Calum had never disrespected you and felt at ease around you, as if he could let his guard down. The thing is, the media and the fans don't give a fuck, like, "Why would a twenty-year-old unknown girl be with a world-famous singer older than her? Interest, pure interest and superficiality". And Calum knew it, that's why he avoided mentioning you and was always careful not to be seen together in public. Despite this inability, he had written at least six songs for you, songs he would never show to the rest of his team, songs that would never be released, songs that were about you through his eyes. He truly loved you, so he would never let that be ruined.

Today as always, you got up early to get ready. This time, you put on a white dress with a second layer of tulle, then added a jacket and brown leather boots.

You were going to visit Calum, but in somewhere private. Didn't want to draw attention to yourself, so you took a friend's car to the hotel where he was staying that summer.

The morning felt pretty quiet in LA. The sunlight warmed your skin slightly from the car window. After about thirty minutes you were in front of the hotel; it was a large complex, from the outside it looked with white stone structures, but inside the lobby was elegant and every centimeter seemed planned to perfección. You admired for a moment the ambient lighting, the fountain with plants near the reception, the large polished marble columns and the floor that reflected everything.

Calum was leaning against one of the columns in the elegant lobby, wearing a white shirt and dark soccer shorts. His gaze was fixed on his phone until he noticed your presence, when he saw you, something inside him ignited.

The man sat up and walked calmly toward you.

"I was waiting for you." Calum stopped about half a meter away, his voice deep and a little husky, which you were used to by now.

"Sorry if I took so long, I wanted to make sure everything went well." You laughed nervously, every time you saw him, you felt butterflies in your stomach. Maybe it sounded a little childish, but you were serious about Calum.

"It's okay, you're here now... I actually wish you had been here last night. I would have taken you to the dinner with the band. Everyone brought their partners; it was a formal event, but I think you would have enjoyed it." He moved closer and put his arm around your shoulders to lead you to the elevator.

"Do you think they wouldn't have cared?" You gently raised your gaze to him.

"They already know you, it's just that they don't know about us." Once in the elevator, he pressed the button for the 13th floor

Everything fell silent, but it wasn't awkward, it was comforting. Just being together in a room without anyone to bother you.

You soon reached Calum's room because at that time of day, the hotel was like a haunted mansion—completely silent and empty. Inside, there was a bathroom, the kitchen, and finally the main bedroom, all connected by a hallway illuminated with soft lights.

"The room is over there," he gestured vaguely ahead, not minding you being in his space so you could go wherever you wanted. He gave you a gentle pat on the shoulder and went towards the kitchen.

You walked cautiously down the hallway decorated with paintings, and when you reached the end you stopped at the door, it was ajar.

Unlike the hallway, in the room sunlight filtered through the window. Calum's room was comfortable and spacious, his suitcase was next to the closet and the sheets on the bed were a little messy. You dropped your backpack to the side of the door.

And then, without realizing it, Calum grabbed your hips from behind and lifted you up, he started shaking you, just to tease you a little.

"C-a-l-u-m" Your voice came out dejected, like when you speak in front of a fan, because he didn't stop moving you.

In the end, Calum threw you on the bed. It wasn't meant to be rough, but you fell face-first onto the sheets. You could hear his laughter loud and clear, and you couldn't help but laugh too. It was stupid, but it hadn't been seen in a while, it was justified to act like idiots in love.

After a moment you sat up and tried to fix your hair, kinda embarrassed but also trying to calm down the laughter.

He calmly lay down on the bed right after you.

"You can take off your shoes and jacket, but leave them in the closet" said, settling between the sheets.

You took off your boots and jacket, they fell to the ground.

"I promise to fix it later." You lay down next to him.

"I'm only asking one thing of you, and look how you're repaying me." His tone wasn't even a complaint, he was calm and his gaze was fixed on you.

Calum raised his hand to gently stroke your head.

You moved closer. "I've been thinking that maybe we should go out today, there's a new bar near downtown. No one would see us there."

"That's a good idea, I was thinking of taking you to the fair at the pier," he admitted with a little embarrassment, you knew he was a fan of rides and games.

You burst out laughing again. "I mean, the fair doesn't sound bad either, it's been ages since I've been to one, but I want to see you."

"I hate these kinds of conversations," but from his stupid expression you knew Calum was just playing. "Who cares where we go tonight, the day is ours."

His hand went down to your jaw and he held your face. He looked at you with those dark eyes as if you were exactly what he needed to breathe, the dim light through the blinds illuminated his face, and suddenly the silence seemed perfect, tense but perfect.

You got closer and closer, maybe because you were concentrating, but the movement was almost imperceptible. For a moment you were almost going to kiss him, but everything stopped in an instant.

"I'm leaving next Saturday. Maybe I'll be back here in October." It was just a small movement, but you noticed it; he moved his head away.

You remained silent, but your disappointment was clear. It was a conversation you two had been avoiding, you'd already argued many times about how difficult it was to maintain a long-distance relationship. You knew he'd be traveling for almost a year.

You got up and sat on the edge of the bed Calum also got up; he didn't really want to push you away.

"...in which cities will you be?" You said, disconnected, formulating plans.

He called you by your name, you know it was serious. "I won't be in America until June, I don't..."

"I'll buy the ticket anyway or..." You sounded almost desperate, but you stopped for a second and looked him in the eyes. "Could you... take me with you...?" You hesitated a lot, maybe you were just afraid of the answer.

Calum's gaze softened, he moved closer to you, almost eliminating all space between you.

"Hey." His voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes fixed on you, wanting to be as gentle as possible. "I'd take you with me, but there's a price to pay, and I'm not just talking about money. The press will tear you apart if they see you with me. Even if that doesn't happen… I don't want my fans to hate you, I just-" He brought his hand closer to your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. "Do you really want that?"

"I don't give a shit what people think about us, Calum. I just want to be with you. I had to wait months to see you here in LA and I also had to wait to see you in New York, and every fucking moment only lasts a second because you always have to leave." You pushed his hand away.

"Baby, please..." Instead of pulling away, he cupped your face in his hands. "You know I love you, but I'm not going to put you in that situation."

"But I'm asking you," you said with a certain tone of desperation. "I swear I can take it"

Calum exhaled and thought about it for a moment. The tour would last a long time and was risky for many reasons. He didn't want to hide you, but he knew better than anyone that privacy was an essential part of his relationship with you and that once he revealed it publicly, there would be no going back.

But then he just imagined you taking pictures of yourself in Paris with him, eating at some restaurant in Berlin or South Korea, enjoying the trip together, and occasionally putting work aside to go on dates with you. The mere thought of it made him want to take the risk.

"Fine, then you'll come with me..." He still didn't break the intimacy of the moment. "But if anyone hurts you, or says anything bad about you, I'll bring you back immediately."

"I'm going to be okay, Calum." Your hand brushed against his arm.

"I know." He whispered to you as he moved closer, still trying to understand your point of view, but he didn't want to argue anymore—he just wanted to enjoy every second by your side.

His lips found their way to yours. It was soft at first, but then his hand slid down to your neck and the kiss grew more intense. Calum grabbed your thighs and pulled you onto his lap to bring you closer to him. His hands moved up to your waist, pressing against it as he kissed you.

Both fell onto the sheets, he wrapped his arms around you, the kisses hadn't stopped but had become gentler, a sign of affection. Calum hugged you from behind while stroking the back of your neck with his nose.

At that moment everything seemed distant, you feel like you could stay like that with him forever and neither of you would complain.

You turned around, facing Calum. You looked at him for a second; your eyes were filled with something you couldn't explain. You wanted to kiss him, or maybe scream with excitement, or just hit yourself to calm down.

"How long has it been?" It came out almost as a sigh.

"How long ago what?" A small smile formed on his face, he knew what you meant, but he just remained silent.

"Since the last time we saw each other like this" You moved closer, your breath brushing against Calum's neck. "I missed you so much"

- you meet when he’s at the beginning of his music career so 2022-23

- you were at a bar where there were open mic nights and he performed

- you fell in love with his voice and you thought he was really cute ☺️

- you usually wouldn’t be the one to approach but the few drinks you had in you acted like liquid confidence

- you sought him out and find him with his friends

- you said he was good and got talking and accidentally blurted that you thought he was cute

- you were so embarrassed at yourself because that’s something sixteen-year-old you would do not twenty two-year-old you would do

- he just laughed and said he thought you were cute too

- offered to buy you a drink and you ended up going home together 🤭

- when you woke up, you immediately left because you forgot you had planned to meet up with a friend

- thank GOD you exchanged numbers the night before so you texted him what happened and said you would love to go on a date

- he agreed and you went out a couple times before he asked you to be his girlfriend ❤️

- said yes obv because who wouldn’t

- he’s cute, can sing, and a gentleman 💐

- you are a chill couple and petty equal with splitting the cheque but this man spoils you as much as he can

- date nights, gifts, flowers randomly, little notes, he has done it all

- you guys more like staying in and ordering takeout than actually going out

- you prefer chinese food and a movie to a fancy dinner in a restaurant

- you both like the comfort of your apartment and you don’t have to tone down the PDA

- you two are a VERY hands on couple (if you couldn’t gather that from the countless songs he’s written about it)

- this can be bad when he’s living with chris and george ‼️

- have been late to reservations and friend dinners too many times (it’s a bad habit, you admit it 😔)

- they don’t even ask where you were anymore, they just know 😉

- even if they didn’t know, the flushed faces and messed up hair gave it away

- they started to make bets on how late you will be

- george and arthurtv are the closest most of the time

- speaking of george and arthur, you are the one who picks and drops off the boys from platform roulette

- you are an actual blessing 🙏

- deserve so much for putting up with them when they’re drunk (and sober too)

- it takes on average 10 minutes to get them all in the car with seatbelts buckled

- arthur keeps trying to kiss you (he gets clingy, more than usual), george is being george but more rowdy, and arthurtv is spacing out and doesn’t know where he is

- but you always get everyone home safe

- you have a specific routine for arthur now to help wrangle him into bed and asleep

- includes a lot of hugging and whining

- he would be picked apart if his friends found out how he acted

- you loved it though

- at the end of the day, you and arthur end up in bed with him being the big spoon (except when he’s drunk, then he prefers little) and his snoring in your ear

- i feel like he would love when you play with his hair and scratch his head

- send him straight to sleep 💤

- you also play with the hair on the back of his neck to help with anxiety

- you’d sometimes do this before shows where he’d get really nervous

- just have to mention you’d have the best concert fits 💅

- arthur gets jealous sometimes

- especially when you use parts of his wardrobe in these outfits and they look better on you

- “well alright then, steal the fuckin’ show why don’t you” 🙄

- he’s obviously joking (is he?)

- you help dress him sometimes too

- and where’s your paycheque??

- you go to all the shows you can

- and you are the loudest in the room ‼️

- this man can always count on you to get the vibe up (though he can do it, no doubt)

- he does this thing where he winks at you during the line “but baby so do you” in late for the reservation and it makes you blush EVERY TIME

- and he knows and he does it because it makes you blush and riles you up

- the first time he did that you were not expecting it

- and let’s just say if you did have a reservation that night, you wouldn’t even be late, you’d miss it 😉

- people find you hilarious together

- lots of funny tiktok’s together

- beg to see more of you after your first few together

- he lets you in a video after awhile 🤭

- comments are just FULL of people fangirling over you

- especially if you are part of a platform roulette

- even just a couple minutes

- act like a mum with a bunch of rowdy young sons

- arthurtv and chris are your sons

- “no, george ━━ don’t do that! chris! arthur frederick come back this instant!”

- get along GREAT with his mum

- have definitely been on the mummy’s boy podcast and vibed with lisa the whole time

- it’s like your boyfriend isn’t even there

- his mum also loves you sooo much ❤️

- have mother-daughter dates with her every week ☕️

- chat shit about her son like the queens you are 👑 (just kidding . . . not really)

- if he really pissed you off you’d tell her

- he can get jealous by the amount of time you spend with his mum and his twin sister

- every holiday you go to his house they immediately steal you away

- they claim they haven’t seen you in forever but arthur calls bullshit (you facetime all the time)

- you are invited to family holidays and gatherings

- act like children together on holidays

- brings out your inner child (and mermaid 🧜‍♀️)

- because you do MAKE him play mermaids

- he says he doesn’t like it but he acts like a seven year old girl with how serious he gets 🙄

- “no, you can’t change your powers again! that’s so unfair!”

- they know you are going to get married someday 💍

- both of your parents are waiting so they can have some grandbabies

- you won’t get actual babies for a while but you do get furbabies

- you are a animal lover ‼️

- cats, dogs, insects, you name it

- you’d have a million animals if you could but arthur had to limit the amount due to you both living with chris and george

- he knows everything about you, even the things you’ve forgotten

- a drink you said you liked a couple weeks ago? it showed up in the fridge

- a chocolate you mentioned liking as a kid? he gets it for you

- and you know damn well he makes sure chris and george don’t eat it

- will hit them in the back of the head if he catches them even thinking about it

- he is the best boyfriend you have ever had ❤️