Pete Dunne x Reader
Pairing: Pete Dunne x Reader
A/N: This wasn’t requested or anything but I think Pete is a real hottie and I thought of this so here it is. Not gonna write the accent, you guys can imagine it. Hope you like it!
Word Count: 2,210 (I’m sorry, I just loved writing this)
Pete Dunne was an asshole. A temperamental, angry, downright unstoppable bruiserweight asshole with a motivation that was sometimes terrifying. He was rough around the edges, strong, tough, manly. An intimidating figure to say the least. Maybe that’s why no one but Trent and Tyler ever really talked to him. Maybe it was why he didn’t talk to anyone either.
And then there was you.
And before you, Pete had never known anyone like you.
You were small, happy, kind, sweet. Always smiling, always willing to lend an ear when anyone needed to talk. He hadn’t met you before that night when they’d had a match in London, and since he hadn’t slept at all the night before, Tyler had told Pete that he desperately needed to put on some makeup, and Pete would be damned before he put the shit on himself.
So, when he was sure everyone else had already been done, and then another 20 minutes for good measure, Pete trudged towards the makeup rooms, praying to whoever the fuck was listening that no one would see the big bad bruiser getting his manly makeup done.
But, luckily for him, like always, the makeup artists had high tailed themselves out, something that made him sneer. Each night as soon as the roster was done, the hair and makeup squadron literally disappeared, heading to their homes or the bars, out to have their own lives.
But, when he stepped across the threshold of the empty makeup room, he found that it wasn’t so empty.
A girl sat on the stool next to a vanity, holding what looked to be a stage jacket, and sewing it. She was singing to herself, something about good guys hiding away, and he examined her, not saying anything.
She was short. Much shorter than him, definitely not over 5’3”. She looked to be of average weight, and her (h/l) (h/c) hair was hanging over her face, not letting him see much of her face.
She had one leg crossed over the other, the jacket resting on top, and he noticed the long-sleeved T-shirt with a bear on it, and he couldn’t help but smile at the fact she was wearing his merch.
She was still singing to herself, and when she picked up the jacket to apparently examine it, she nearly fell off the stool when she saw him.
“Jesus Christ!” She gasped, catching herself next to the stool and standing. He cocked his head, hearing her obvious American accent, and he pushed himself off the doorframe and into the room a few steps.
The girl was gathering her composure, her cheeks flaming red with embarrassment.
She set the jacket on the stool and brushed her yoga pants off, finally looking at him.
“Whatcha need? Don’t think I’ve ever seen the Pete Dunne in the makeup room.”
Anyone else, Pete would’ve broken their jaw, man or woman, but this girl, he smiled.
Her voice reminded him of a harp. The twang in her voice made him want to hear more. She had (e/c) eyes. He liked them.
“Yeah, yeah,” He said, allowing himself to smirk at her, and the smile she gave him back made his chest feel warm.
What the hell? Why wasn’t he being an asshole? What was wrong with him?
“I’m guessing you want me to cover up the bags under your eyes?”
He nodded, “Tyler said it’s pretty bad.”
She nodded, “He didn’t lie. Come sit down over here, I’ll have you all fixed up in no time. You want your hair done too?”
Before Pete could sneer and make a nasty comment, he heard his own voice, “Do you think it needs done? I didn’t look at it before I left the hotel.”
She shook her head, “Personally I think your hair always looks great, so no, I don’t think so.”
He smiled, “Thanks.”
She clicked the lights of the vanity on, making Pete blink, but he quickly turned his head to focus on the girl again, “You new, love?”
Love? What the fuck was wrong with him?
She blushed, “Yeah, is it that easy to tell?”
He shrugged, “Most of them just leave once they’re done doing the makeup for everybody. Usually leave the rookies here in case anyone needs touchups.”
She smiled softly, “Well, I stay here because I choose to, honestly. I don’t know how they can all leave, I love to watch the matches. But, since I volunteer to stay here, I kinda get elected to do touchups as well.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her as she started to dig through her makeup case, “Isn’t that a lotta work to do by yourself?”
She nodded, “Yeah, but you know what they say. If you love your job, you’ll never work a day in your life.”
“So you like it?”
“Oh yeah,” He could see her eyes light up as she started to apply makeup to his cheeks, “It’s wonderful to be here doing all these amazing people’s makeup for the whole world to see on TV, isn’t it amazing?” She gushed, and he almost smiled, almost.
He shrugged, “It’s a crazy ride.”
She nodded, “I’ll say.”
“What were you sewing?” He asked, looking over at the jacket.
“Oh, just one of my jackets, I-“ She stopped for a second, but before he could look at her, she caught herself, “Fell. Fell in the parking lot.”
He had a feeling she wasn’t telling the truth, but being as he’d only just met her, he understood why she wouldn’t be being totally honest with him. Especially since he was so intimidating.
“I’m a big fan,” she mumbled, breaking the silence, and he nodded, looking at her to smirk.
“Thank you love, glad you like me.”
He saw her blush, and allowed himself to smile toothlessly as she finished him.
“Well,” She said, putting the makeup down, “You’re all done, if you’d like to sneak out of the room again.”
He stood, brushing himself off and looking at himself in the mirror before looking back at her, “Thank you….I’m so sorry love I didn’t get your name,” he said, almost sheepishly.
Sheepish? Get yourself together Pete, Jesus Christ.
She beamed up at him, “(Y/N),”
He quirked his eyebrow, “(Y/N) from America, the makeup artist who Pete Dunne allowed to come near him.”
She giggled, “Yeah, I guess I am aren’t I.”
He nodded, “Hey, (Y/N), mind if I take your number?”
She beamed and blushed a little, “Of course, here ya go,”
And then, in all her American glory, she plucked a red lipstick from the box, wrote her number on his arm, and then plopped the makeup back in the box, and disappeared out of the makeup room, and Pete was left looking at his inner arm, wondering what it was about this girl who made him smile instead of wanting to kill her.
The months went on, and Pete Dunne grew more and more close to the American baby doll he liked to think of as the Beauty to his beast. He learned more about her each night they were together. He came to see her after the makeup was done, and he went to see her after every match. He offered her rides back to her home most nights, but she always refused, taking cabs.
The months grew colder, but Pete’s heart was doing a complete 180 from what the temperature was doing outside.
He was falling for this sweet little American, and he knew it. He was sighing to himself one night, walking down the hallway towards her makeup room like always. He found himself smiling, looking forward to seeing her. She would most likely be sewing his jacket for him, singing some American rock song to herself and she would grin when she saw him, waving and her eyes would twinkle like they always did. And he would walk over to her makeup chair and sit down to talk to her about anything and everything.
He pushed the makeup room door open, but she wasn’t where he expected her to be. Not where she normally was. Instead, she was in her chair, the lights of her vanity turned on. She was facing the mirror, doing her makeup, and he knew something was wrong.
(Y/N) never wore makeup, despite the irony of it.
He didn’t move, not wanting to alert her of his presence, and he squinted, looking closer. It was nearly unnoticeable, but he could see it. He noticed everything about you, he prided himself on it.
She had a black eye.
“What the fuck is that?!” He exclaimed, making her whirl around, and he could see her gulp. She dropped the makeup and brush she was holding as Pete stalked towards her.
He grabbed her chin, gently but firmly, making her look up at him, but she didn’t meet his eyes.
He sneered, pissed, “Take it off. Take it all off. I want to see it.”
She gulped, and he released her, looking at her expectantly as she slowly pulled out a makeup remover and slowly, almost robotically removed all her makeup.
It seemed like it took ages, and Pete just stood there, arms crossed fuming.
He knew she had a boyfriend, but god forbid Pete find her scumbag boyfriend now, the devil wouldn’t hurt him as bad as Pete would.
She stood in front of him now, wiped clean, and he looked at her.
She froze, looking at him in terror, but he still glared.
She relented, slowly, painfully slowly pulling off her shirt to stand before him in a sports bra.
He dropped his arms, and started to look at her, starting at her waist and going up from there.
Her ribs were horribly bruised, and there were older ones on her back. Her arms had fingerprints old and new. He moved up to her neck, where a handprint was, and her black eye was swollen.
He met her eyes, “What.” He bit out, mentally punching himself for snarling when she flinched.
“Of course I’m fucking shaking (Y/N) why the fuck wouldn’t I be!?” He snarled, his arms throwing outwards, but he froze when she dropped to her knees, protecting her head.
How had he never noticed before? The way she jerked when he touched her, the way she always seemed terrified when he was angry.
Pete stood for a moment, taking it all in, before he sunk to his knees too.
He pulled her into him gently, trying not to hurt her as she sobbed into her hands, “I-I-I’m so sorry Pete I’m so sorry…I never meant for this to happen he just…I’m so s-so scared please don’t yell.”
Pete felt his heart actually break a little bit, as he squeezed her harder, she wrapped her arms around his neck sobbing into his chest, and he kissed the top of her head.
“(Y/N), Love, listen to me.”
She sniffled, “Y-y-yeah?”
“Listen, Baby, you’re gonna come stay with me, okay? That’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna let me drive you to that fucking scum bag’s apartment, and I am going to go inside and get as much of your shit as I can get, and we will go back to my house, okay?”
“Don’t be daft, (Y/N). You will never, and I mean never ever see that fucking disgusting human being again, do you understand me?”
“Y-Y-Yes Pete I understand…wh-why are you doing this for m-m-me though?”
Pete gripped her chin gently, making her look up at him, but only for a second because her eyes shut again when he pressed his lips to hers.
His lips were soft but firm and gentle but she could feel him holding himself back. She ran her hands down his huge biceps before snaking around his waist and he tangled his hands in her hair, sighing into the kiss. She tasted like strawberries and butterscotch and home, and he couldn’t get enough of it. She smelled like she always did, butterscotch and pumpkin.
“God,” He whispered between kisses when they kept taking breaths, “You,” Kiss, “Are,” Kiss, “So,” Kiss, “Perfect.”
She whimpered into the kiss, pressing her body against his, and he splayed one hand on the small of her back, and rested the other against her cheek, kissing and kissing and kissing. She was his drug. If he wasn’t hooked before, he was now.
Finally, though it wasn’t enough, they parted, and panting, Pete rested his forehead against hers, “I love you, (Y/N), I love you. I’ve loved you since you did my makeup all those months again. I love you. Let me take care of you, please. Let me be better than he was. Let me be yours.”
“Oh Pete,” she murmured, kissing him again, “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for so long…please rescue me. I love you.”
And Pete kissed her again, and his heart felt warm inside.
Maybe he wasn’t such an asshole after all.