Summary: After a text breakup, you and Gunner, reunite at the AMAs. A tense confrontation leads you both back to a hotel room, where a painful conversation about your incompatible lives dissolves into intense, emotionally charged, and rough makeup sex
A/N: This is the final chapter, and I'm finally letting go of Blades & Bass. I absolutely loved writing this fic, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it! Also, this chapter is not proofread, and there’s a REALLY LONG SMUT ahead.
{Taglist}
TW: MDNI, Porn with Plot, Oral Sex, P in V, Angst, Make-up Sex, Begging, Praise , Dirty Talk, Leg-Locking (tell me if i forgot some)
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It had been a few days since the Met Gala, and your boyfriend had already warned you that he’d be incredibly busy prepping for Rolling Loud.
Now, the day of the festival had finally arrived, and you still hadn't heard a single word from him. You couldn't be there with him in Orlando because you were stuck in New York shooting some campaigns.
On the night of his set, you decided to tune into the livestream. Even if you couldn't talk to him directly, you figured it would still be nice to watch him perform.
Looking at the screen, the crowd was absolutely massive and deafening; you had never seen so many people gathered in one place. It was in that exact moment that it truly hit you just how big of an artist he really was.
He had dyed his hair red, just like he told you he would, but your heart pinched the moment you saw a girl all over him on stage.
You knew they were background dancers, that they were literally paid to be there and you usually weren't the jealous type. But after not talking to him for days, suddenly seeing him being so touchy with a girl shaking her ass right against him made you feel some type of way.
You didn't know why, but it made you feel incredibly sad. Maybe it was because it reminded you of how you two first started talking, how completely incompatible your two worlds actually were, and how much you missed out on by never being in the same city.
It made you realize just how much effort this relationship took, and how much more it was going to require in the future. You just knew you didn't want to live like this for the rest of your life.
You watched him for a few more minutes before closing your laptop and heading to bed. Sleep wouldn't come, though. Tossing and turning in the dark, you finally poured your heart out in a text message and hit send at three in the morning.
Y/N: i really didn't wanna do this over text but i've just been staring at the ceiling for hours and i need to get this out.
watching your rolling loud set tonight just hit me so crazy. you looked amazing and im so proud of you fr, but seeing you up there just reminded me of how completely different our worlds actually are. having zero news from you for days just to tune into the live and see you like that... it just made me realize how much this distance is actually hurting me.
i feel like we're constantly playing catch up and trying to force two lives together that just don’t fit. the effort this takes is so heavy, and honestly gunner, i don’t think i want to live my life like this. i don't want to always be the one waiting in a different city while you’re living in a whole other universe.
i love you so much and i meant everything i said in the car the other night, but i don't think we can do this anymore. we need to break up. please don't call me, i just really need some space to breathe right now. goodnight.
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You knew he wasn’t going to let you go that easily. He called you a hundred times, but you never picked up. Eventually, your manager got so tired of seeing his name pop up on your screen every time you were in a photoshoot or on the ice that she took matters into her own hands and blocked his number.
You didn't even realize it at the time, since you were way too busy training and doing everything you could to keep your mind occupied.
To top it all off, it was just announced that you would be hosting the American Music Awards in Las Vegas this year. Your life had changed so drastically over the past few months; you weren’t just an Olympic gold medalist anymore.
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@rapteatv
Are Nettspend and Y/N Over?! 💔 Over the Weekend, the Former "It-Couple" Arrived Separately at the AMAs and Completely Ignored Each Other All Night
Fans are convinced that rapper Nettspend and Olympic gold medalist Y/N have officially called it quits after a very tense night at the American Music Awards in Las Vegas.
While Y/N was booked as a host for the evening, Nettspend was also in attendance, but the two did not walk the red carpet together. Throughout the entire event, eyewitnesses noted that the pair didn't interact once, completely avoiding each other in the crowd and backstage. This comes as a massive shock to fans who last saw them looking incredibly close during the Met Gala after-party season.
Comments
↳ yeah it’s over... nett looked so down the whole night and she didn’t even look in his direction while she was on stage hosting
↳ did anyone see him in the crowd while she was presenting? he literally looked like his dog died omg they definitely broke up
↳ she deleted the pics of them on her page too yall... yeah it’s confirmed bye 💔
↳ wait bc he looked so miserable on the red carpet too?? like he did NOT want to be there at all.
↳ they are 100% broken up. nett didn't even smile once when the camera panned to him during her opening monologue 💀
↳ the silence is deafening. usually he’s posting her on his story or something
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Leaving the AMAs, you walked out to your van. Suddenly, someone shouted your name. You turned around and saw Gunner running after you.
"Y/N, wait!"
"Leave me alone, Gunner," you said.
"Wtf do you think you're doing?" he asked, catching up to you.
"I told you to leave me alone in that text, didn't I?"
"Yeah, without letting me talk," Gunner said, shaking his head. "I called you the last few weeks. Every day, every hour, but you blocked my number."
"I didn't block your number," you replied, looking around. "And be quieter, I don't want to cause a scene."
"Yes, you did," he insisted. "I keep ending up on your voicemail."
"Just get in the van," you whispered, pulling open the door. "I don't want people seeing us like this."
Gunner didn’t argue. He climbed in right behind you, and he slammed the door shut, telling the driver to head straight to your hotel. The interior of the van went quiet, save for the hum of the engine as it pulled away from the venue.
"I didn't block you, Gunner. Seriously," you said, turning to face him in the dim light. "I haven't even looked at my phone like that. My manager must have done it because you were blowing it up while I was working."
Gunner let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his red hair. "I don't care who did it, Y/N. You broke up with me over a text message while I was in the middle of a festival. You think I was just gonna let that go?"
"What did you want me to do?" you asked, your voice dropping. "I sat there watching your live. You hadn't texted me in days, and then I see you on stage with girls all over you. It just made me realize how messy this all is. Our lives don't fit."
"That was a performance," he said, turning his head to look at you, his eyes dark. "You know how this shit works. It doesn't mean anything. The only person I wanted to be with was you, but you didn't even give me a chance to explain before you completely cut me off."
"It's not about the girls, Gunner. It's not even about the performance," you said, shaking your head as you looked out the window at the passing Las Vegas lights. "I know what background dancers are. It’s the fact that I had to find out what you were doing by turning on a livestream. You vanished for three days. It made me realize that when we're apart, I don't exist in your world, and you don't exist in mine."
"That's not true," he muttered, his voice cracking slightly.
You turned back to look at him, and the words died in your throat.
Gunner was staring down at his hands, his broad shoulders tense, but his chest was heaving. In the dim light of the van, you saw a tear slip down his cheek, catching the glare of the streetlamps outside. Then another one followed.
He didn't try to wipe them away. He just sat there, the tough, stoic persona he held for the rest of the world completely shattering right in front of you.
"I was just overwhelmed, Y/N," he choked out, his voice thick and trembling as he finally looked up at you, his eyes completely bloodshot. "The festival, the album prep, the label pushing me... I locked myself away because my head was spinning. I wasn't trying to ignore you. I was just trying to survive the week so I could get back to you."
He let out a shaky breath, a ragged sob escaping his throat as he reached out, his hand trembling as he gripped your wrist.
"Please don't do this," he whispered, the tears now streaming down his face. "I can't do this without you. Don't leave me."
You looked down at his hand gripping your wrist, your own chest aching as you watched him cry. You had never seen him like this. It broke your heart, but it didn't change the reality of the situation.
"Gunner, look at us," you said softly, your voice breaking as you gently pulled your hand away from his grip. "We’re already falling apart, and it’s only been a few months. If we keep doing this, we’ll never be happy."
He wiped his eyes quickly, shaking his head in denial. "We can fix it. I’ll change things. I’ll text more, I’ll call you every hour, I don't care-"
"It's not just about texting, and you can't just stop doing your job," you interrupted, a tear finally escaping your own eye. "Your career is exploding right now. Mine is too. We both have to give 100% to our work, which means we have nothing left to give to each other. We're just going to keep hurting, waiting for the next text, getting insecure, and crying in the back of cars."
You looked out the window as the van finally pulled up to the entrance of your hotel.
"I love you enough to know that we’re just going to destroy each other if we keep trying to force this," you whispered, turning back to him one last time. "We both deserve to be happy, Gunner. But we're never going to find that happiness together."
"I'm not saying I don't want you in my life forever," you said, your voice softening as you looked at his tear-stained face. "But right now? With everything going on? We just can't be together. We need to focus on ourselves."
"I don't care about right now, Y/N," he said, his voice raw as he shook his head stubbornly. "I can't just let you go. I'm not gonna sit back and just watch you become some stranger I used to know. I can't do it."
The van came to a complete stop in the hotel's private underground parking garage. The driver cut the engine, leaving the two of you in a heavy, suffocating silence.
You looked at Gunner, whose eyes were still red and desperate. You couldn't just leave him crying here, and you didn't want to cause a scene in the lobby if he followed you.
"Fine," you sighed, rubbing your temples. "You can come up. You can stay for an hour or two so we can actually finish this conversation properly. But that's it."
He nodded quickly, wiping his face again as he followed you out of the vehicle. You both kept your heads down, slipping into the private elevator that led straight to your suite. Neither of you said a word until the heavy oak door of your room clicked shut behind you.
You tossed your purse onto the entryway table and kicked off your heels, finally letting out a breath you felt like you’d been holding since the AMAs started. Gunner stood near the edge of the living area, looking completely out of place.
"You really think we’ll never work?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he broke the silence.
"I think we're trying to build a house in a hurricane, Gun," you said, turning to face him. "How are we supposed to be a normal couple when we barely see each other?"
"We don't have to be a normal couple," Gunner said, his voice dropping an octave, thick with desperation. Before you could even reply, he crossed the room and dropped heavily to his knees right in front of you.
Your breath hitched. You froze, staring down at him.
He wrapped his arms around your thighs, burying his face into the fabric of your outfit. His shoulders shook as he held onto you like you were his only lifeline. "Please, Y/N. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll fly to New York every single weekend, I don’t care if I don’t sleep. Just don't give up on me. I'm begging you."
Looking down at him, a sudden, conflicting rush of heat flooded your veins. There was something intensely overwhelming about seeing him like this. This was the same guy who just an hour ago had thousands of people screaming his name, the guy who acted completely untouchable under the festival lights and now he was on his knees, completely at your mercy, begging just to keep you.
The sheer vulnerability of it, mixed with the lingering adrenaline from the night, made your stomach flip in a completely different way. Your heart was pounding, and a heavy, familiar ache started to settle between your thighs.
Gunner tilted his head back, looking up at you through his long eyelashes. His eyes were still wet, but as he felt the shift in your posture, his gaze darkened. He noticed the way your breathing had turned shallow, the way your fingers twitched against your sides.
"Y/N..." he whispered, his hands slowly sliding up from your thighs to your hips, his grip tightening as he pulled your body closer to his face.
"You’re too good for me, I know it," Gunner murmured, his voice a low, raspy purr against your skin that sent a sharp shiver straight down your spine. His hands stayed firmly gripped on your hips, anchoring you to him. "You're a gold medalist, you're the biggest thing in the world right now, and I’m just... I'm nothing without you, Y/N."
He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your bare thigh, just below the hem of your outfit, making your knees instantly go weak. You had to rest your hands on his shoulders just to keep your balance.
"Look at you," he whispered, tilting his head up to look at you with complete, unfiltered devotion. "You look so beautiful tonight. You ran that whole show. Everyone in that venue was looking at you, but now you're here with me. Please tell me I still have you."
He began to trail slow, agonizingly hot kisses up your thigh, his thumbs tracing tight, deliberate circles into your hips. Every word out of his mouth was laced with raw desperation, but the way his touch grew entirely confident told you exactly what he was doing. He knew the effect he had on you. He could hear your breath catching, could feel the slight tremble in your legs.
"You're perfect," he praised, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper as his lips brushed against the soft skin of your inner thigh. "Every single part of you. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you just let me stay. Let me remind you how much you mean to me, Y/N. Please."
Your fingers tangled in his red hair, tugging slightly as a soft gasp escaped your lips. The contrast of his tear-stained face and the dark, heavy hunger in his eyes was completely overwhelming, completely erasing any thoughts of the distance, the texts, or the breakup. All you could focus on was the intense heat pooling between your legs and the way he looked up at you like you were his entire world.
He didn't waste another second. Slipping your clothes out of the way, Gunner guided you back until you were pressed against the edge of the entryway table. He stayed on his knees, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift your legs onto his shoulders, opening you up completely to him.
When his tongue first made contact, a sharp, involuntary gasp left your throat, your fingers instantly gripping the edge of the wood behind you. He was relentless, using the same fierce, obsessive energy he gave everything else in his life to completely unhinge you. He swirled his tongue around your sweet spot, pacing himself perfectly, knowing exactly how to make your hips twitch in desperation.
"I hate you," you choked out, your head tossing back as a wave of intense pleasure rushed through you. "Gunner, I swear to God, I hate you so much for doing this right now."
He paused for a fraction of a second, looking up at you with a dark, completely shameless smirk on his face, his lips wet and glistening. "I know you do, baby," he murmured. "You hate how much you need me. You hate that no one else can make you feel like this."
He dipped his tongue back down, tracing a long, wet line all the way up before focusing entirely on your clit, sucking it into his mouth. You let out a loud moan, completely forgetting about the hotel walls or the fight you had just had.
"Look at you, crying about a breakup but soaking wet for me," he muttered against your skin, turning his praise dirty as he felt your body begin to tremble. "You're so good for me, Y/N. Tell me it's mine. Tell me this pretty little pussy belongs to me and no one else."
"Gunner, please..." you whined, your toes curling as his fingers suddenly slid inside you, matching the fast, wicked rhythm of his tongue.
"Say it, baby," he growled, searching your face as his thumb worked your clit, pushing you right to the absolute edge. "Tell me you're not going anywhere."
"Fuck you," you gasped out instead, your voice breaking as you shook your head. You gripped his shoulders, trying to push him away or force him closer, you didn't even know which but you refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing those words. "Fuck you, Gunner."
The moment the words left your mouth, his tongue stopped completely. He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his fingers staying still inside you, holding you completely hostage right on the edge of a cliff.
The sudden loss of friction made you whine out loud, your hips instinctively twitching forward to look for his mouth, but he didn't budge. His eyes were entirely dark now, the vulnerability from before replaced by a stubborn, dangerous heat.
"What did you just say to me?" he asked.
"I'm not saying it," you breathed, glare matching his despite how badly your legs were shaking. "You don't get to just cry and then command me. Put your mouth back down there."
"No," he growled, a frustrated, angry smirk tugging at his lips as he tightened his grip on your thighs, locking you in place. He was getting mad now, too, the tension between you two snapping into pure aggression. "You think you run everything? If I don't get what I want, Y/N, you definitely aren't getting what you want."
"Gunner, I swear to God, I am right there," you yelled out, your hands bunching into the fabric of his shirt. "Don't do this."
"Then tell me," he challenged, leaning in close until his hot breath fanned against your wet skin, teasing you without actually touching you. "Tell me you're mine and you're not leaving. Otherwise, we can just sit here like this all night."
You stared down at him, your chest heaving, absolutely furious at how easily he could manipulate your body against your own will. The contrast was maddening, just minutes ago he was weeping at your feet, and now he was using the sheer weight of your own arousal to back you into a corner.
"You are an asshole," you choked out, tears of pure frustration pricking the corners of your eyes. Your hips gave a pathetic, involuntary twitch, practically begging for the friction he was withholding.
"I don't care," Gunner muttered, his jaw clenched as he stared right back up at you. His fingers inside you twitched just enough to make you gasp, but he held back from giving you any real relief. "Say it, Y/N. I’m not playing with you."
The tension in the room was suffocating. You wanted to push him off, to scream at him to get out of your hotel room and out of your life, but the ache between your thighs was entirely consuming. Every instinct in your body was screaming at you to just give in to get what you needed.
"Fine!" you cried out, your fingers digging so hard into his shoulders that your nails left red marks through his shirt. "I'm yours! Fuck, Gunner, I'm yours, okay? Just please-"
The victory in his eyes was instant and feral.
"Good girl," he growled against your skin.
He didn't make you wait another second. Gunner buried his face back between your legs, his tongue striking against your clit with a hard, heavy rhythm that made your vision instantly blur. At the same time, his fingers started driving inside you with a rough, punishing speed, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.
You completely lost control. A loud, unrefined scream tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, your entire body seizing up as you clamped tightly around his fingers. Gunner didn't stop, swallowing your moans and driving you deeper into the climax until your legs were shaking so badly they could barely stay on his shoulders.
Gunner finally pulled his mouth away, panting heavily as he looked up at you. His lips were shiny, and his face was flushed from the heat of the moment. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a dark, satisfied grin spreading across his face.
"Fuck, Y/N," he growled, his voice incredibly deep and rough. "I swear to God, I've never tasted pussy so good in my entire life. You're so fucking sweet."
Hearing those words out of his mouth while your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of the orgasm sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to your stomach. You didn't want to talk anymore. You didn't want to think about the distance, the drama, or tomorrow. You just needed him inside you.
Reaching down, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him up. He stumbled up from his knees, his eyes locked onto yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
"Bed. Now," you breathed against his lips.
Gunner didn't hesitate. He hooked his arms under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off the entryway table. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, burying your face in his neck as he carried you down the short hallway into the bedroom. He tossed you onto the plush mattress, immediately following you down, but before he could pin you beneath him, you rolled him over.
You pushed against his chest, forcing him onto his back. Gunner let out a low, gravelly laugh, his hands instantly finding your hips as you straddled his waist.
"Oh, so you're taking control now?" he teased, his dark eyes scanning your face, full of arrogant satisfaction.
"Shut up," you muttered.
You quickly reached down to rid him of the rest of his clothes, your hands shaking with impatience. Gunner watched you, his jaw clenched, his thumbs digging into your hips as he lifted his hips to help you. When he was completely bare beneath you, his length was thick and waiting, pressing hard against your thigh.
You didn't make him wait. Shifting your weight, you aligned yourself and slowly lowered your hips, taking him all in at once.
A loud, ragged groan tore from the back of Gunner's throat, his eyes throwing back as his head hit the pillows. "Fuck, Y/N... you're so tight," he gasped, his grip tightening on your hips until his knuckles turned white.
You threw your head back, a breathless sigh escaping your lips as you filled yourself with him. Once you settled against his hips, you began to move, lifting yourself up and sliding back down in a slow, agonizingly perfect rhythm.
Gunner’s hands guided your movements, his fingers bruising your skin as he pushed your hips down harder, meeting every single one of your strokes with a heavy, upward thrust. The anger from your fight turned into pure, unadulterated friction, the bed squeaking against the wall as you rode him in the dim light of the hotel room.
You leaned forward, your hair falling around your face like a curtain as you looked down at him. The power dynamic had completely flipped.
Before he could pull you down into a kiss, you brought your hand up to his neck. Your fingers wrapped firmly around his throat, squeezing just enough to cut off his breath.
Gunner’s eyes flew wide open, a sharp gasp catching in his chest. But instead of pushing your hand away, his grip on your hips tightened. A dark, wicked grin spread across his face, his chest heaving under you as he leaned up into the pressure. He absolutely loved it.
"Look at you," you whispered, your voice dropping into a mean, mocking tone as you kept riding him, your pace turning hard and relentless. "You're pathetic, Gunner. A second ago you were literally crying on your knees, begging me like a dog."
Gunner let out a choked, raspy laugh, his throat vibrating right against your palm. "Yeah? Tell me more, baby," he wheezed out, his eyes locked onto yours, completely unbothered by the insults. If anything, it was turning him on even more.
"You think you can just show up and fix everything with your mouth?" you sneered, slamming your hips down against his, making him groan loudly. "You’re so fucking selfish. You think the whole world revolves around you and your music, but right now you're just a joke."
"I am," he choked out, playing along completely, his hands sliding up your torso to rest over your heart. He let out another breathless laugh, his white teeth flashing in the dim light. "I'm your joke, Y/N. Do whatever you want to me."
"Shut up," you snapped, tightening your grip on his neck for a second before letting go, leaving the faint pink imprint of your fingers on his skin.
The sudden release of air made him gasp, his head tossing back onto the pillow as you kept up the punishing rhythm. Even when you were being mean, even when you were letting out all your anger on him, Gunner just lay there taking it with a smug, obsessed smile, entirely content as long as you were riding him and calling him yours.
As you continued to drive down against him, Gunner’s gaze stayed locked onto yours, heavy and completely entranced. He brought his hand up, tracing his fingers over your jaw before sliding two fingers straight between your parted lips.
"Bite down," he rasped, his voice rough and breathless.
You didn't hesitate, clamping your teeth down onto his fingers as you kept up the relentless rhythm. The taste of him mixed with the friction between your thighs sent a shuddering wave of heat straight to your core. He watched your eyes flutter, a satisfied chuckle vibrating in his chest as you sucked on his fingers, entirely caught up in the control you thought you had over him.
But in a split second, the dynamic shattered again.
Gunner suddenly gripped your waist with force and twisted his body. Before you could even register what was happening, you were flipped onto your back, the mattress absorbing your weight as he pinned you beneath him. The sudden shift left you breathless, your hands instinctively coming up to push at his chest.
"My turn," he muttered, his eyes dark and completely feral.
Before you could open your mouth to complain, his large hand came up, wrapping firmly around your throat. He didn't squeeze hard enough to hurt, but the heavy, authoritative pressure instantly cut off your speech, forcing your head back into the pillow.
"You had your fun talking shit, Y/N," he growled, a wicked, dominant smirk flashing across his face. "Now shut up and take it."
You glared up at him, your chest heaving as you tried to twist out from under him, your lips parting to yell at him but the words died in your throat. Gunner lifted your legs, pinning them high against his chest, and drove himself inside you in one deep, punishing stroke.
A broken gasp left your lips against the pressure of his hand. The sheer depth of the movement was overwhelming, hitting your sweet spot so perfectly that your brain short-circuited. Any anger, any desire to fight back or complain, completely evaporated.
He didn't give you a second to recover. Gunner began to fuck you with a fast, heavy, relentless pace that had the headboard slamming against the wall. Every time you tried to gather your breath to say something, he hit the perfect angle, sending a jolt of pure pleasure straight up your spine that turned your complaints into high-pitched, helpless whines.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," he whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed against your ear, his hand maintaining just enough pressure on your neck to keep you completely pinned. "Can't say a fucking word now, can you?"
The friction between you was blinding, the heat in the room rising until neither of you could think straight. Gunner’s pace turned frantic, his breath hitching as his body tightened completely over yours. You could feel the contractions starting deep inside you, the tension building to a point that felt almost unbearable.
"Y/N... I’m gonna go," he gasped out, his voice raw as he tried to shift his weight back. "I need to pull out, baby, let me-"
"No," you whined, completely lost to the pleasure.
Before he could slide out, you threw your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together behind his back with all your strength. As an athlete, your grip was ironclad. Gunner let out a ragged groan, trying to pull away, but you arched your hips up to meet him, burying him as deep inside you as possible.
That was the breaking point. Gunner’s head fell into the crook of your neck as his body shuddered violently, spilling himself inside you. At the exact same moment, your own orgasm crashed over you in intense, heavy waves. You cried out, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back as your walls clamped tightly around him, pulling every last drop out of him.
For a long minute, the only sound in the room was the heavy, synchronized panting of both your chests. Gunner collapsed against you, his forehead resting against yours, his skin slick with sweat.
Slowly, the fog of adrenaline began to clear, leaving behind the quiet, heavy reality of the two of you tangled together in a Vegas hotel room.
Gunner leaned up slightly, his eyes soft and completely vulnerable again as he looked down at you. He reached up, gently brushing a stray piece of hair away from your damp forehead. Then, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
"I love you," he whispered against your mouth, his voice thick with emotion. "I swear to God, Y/N, I love you so much."
You looked up at him, your chest aching with that familiar, painful warmth. Despite the distance, the fights, and how messy your worlds were, looking at him right now made everything else fade away.
"I love you too," you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for another kiss.
tw 4 entrie series: obsessed!nettspend x model!reader, reader is unattached and uninterested, nett is golden retriever coded lowkey, weed mentions, mentions of eating disorders, thats all for now!
smut, oral (f receiving), slight orgasm denial if you squint rlly hard..let me know if i missed any :3 not proofread
gunner had only had you inside of his apartment for twenty minutes and you were already half naked, legs spread open with him between them.
you glanced down at him, only really being able to see his mop of blonde and black hair as he kissed down each of your legs. starting at your inner thigh and slowly making his was down to your ankle on each leg.
he went back up your legs, his focus now on your inner thighs as he slowly went back and forth between each leg kissing sloppily. “gunner come on, don’t have time for this.” you gripped his hair, pulling his face into your pussy causing him to grunt against you. the pain of you pulling his hair turning him on even more than he already was.
gunner finally started working his tongue against you, sucking and licking against just the right spot. consistently finding your clit, in response you moaned out loudly and pulled his hair tighter.
his blue eyes rose up your body, meeting yours as he pulled back slightly and inserted a finger into your hole, pumping in and out a few times. “you like that y/n?” his voice deep with lust. you nodded, too focused on the pleasure to speak.
he pulled completely away causing you to whine, tears prickling your eyes from how close you were to an orgasm. “i asked if you liked it y/n.”
you rolled your eyes “obviously i fucking like it gunner, dont piss me off right now.” gunner laughed at you in response “don’t get pissy ma, i just wanted to know i’m doing good.” he didn’t give you time to respond before he dropped back down and started eating you out again.
he sucked and licked harder and sloppier than before quickly pushing you to your orgasm. he held your legs open as you went stiff, making sure to lick up every last drop.
finally he pulled back, smiling up at you his lips glistening slightly with your juices as you tried to collect your breath. “your legs are shaking, you know that right?”
a stank look took over your face “shut the hell up gunner. or i’ll never let you breathe near me again.”
he licked his lips, the taste of you still on them
contains: situationship w/nate,drunk!ryan,smut,hair pulling,oral (p in v) (f receiving)
a/n: don’t come for me..
pt1
Nate pulls you closer by the back of your neck with his warm mouth yours. you breathe in his familiar scent, feeling his strong shoulders under your hands, tasting him on your tongue. he reaches for under your shirt to squeeze one of your breasts, which he likes to do every time you make out. it’s his way of letting you know he wants to go further, he always wants to go further.
he makes a noise in your mouth and rubs his thumb over your hardened nipple when his bedroom door bangs open. both of you, red lipped and wide eyed, whip your heads over to watch Ryan stumble in, wreaking of hard liquor.
“Ryan,” Nate says, breathless, “man, what are you doing here?”
he looks between both, pressing against the wall to keep himself upright. “i wanna do it again.”
you suck in a breath and glance at your boyfriend. Nate shakes his head, confused. “do what?”
Ryan looks at you then back at Nate.
like it’s hard to figure out, Nate still doesn’t get it.
“i wanna have sex,” Ryan says. he stumbles towards you.
Nate stands up. “Ryan. you’re drunk as fuck, man i don’t think you-“
“i don’t care.”
“you’re drunk, you can’t have sex-“
“i don’t care,” Ryan snaps. he yanks his arm away when Nate reaches for him.
“you’re not thinking straight, man.”
Ryan stares at you with taut lips like he’s waiting for you to have sex with him again. that’s the only reason he’s here, for you. “you should lie down.”
he smiles. “you on top?”
“Ryan,” Nate snaps. looking at him, he practically froths at the mouth. you’ve never seen him pissed like this, and especially not with Ryan, who’s usally mad at Nate and Hollis. “you make another comment like that, you’re leaving.”
but Ryan flops down on the bed beside you, lying back with his hands on his stomach.
you imagine him sliding his hands down, undoing his jeans, and waiting for you to do the rest. but he’s drunk. you can’t.
but then he does. Ryan does exactly what you hoped, and you watch him fumble with the button and rip open his jeans.
he looks at you with a dreamy twinkle in his eyes, and it wakes something up in you. you move onto your side, and your mouth clash like magnets being pulled together.
“yo!” Nate shouts. he pulls at your shoulder, but you shrug him off, throwing your leg over both of Ryan’s, climbing into his lap.
“what the hell are you doing?”
you gasp for breath then go back under.
you and Ryan grapple with each others clothes but take none off. he pulls the collar of your shirt so hard, it digs into the side of your neck. then, just like Nate, Ryan slides his hand up your shirt, pressing his warm palm on your rib cage.
“y/n, what the fuck?”
but when you don’t respond, Nate takes matters info his own hands and pulls your face so he can kiss you. and you let him, while Ryan watches, eager and seething with jealousy. his fingers start to unbutton your top, and you smile because Nate has no idea. the way his simple touch does so much for you, it drives you crazy.
ever since last time with Ryan, sex with Nate has been vanilla. bland. boring. not what it was before but not any different either.
secretly, you’ve been waiting for this to happen, waiting to see Ryan again. you’ve been needing a sign that it really happened, it wasn’t a crazy dream you had one night about your boyfriend and his best friend.
and Nate certainly hasn’t wanted to discuss it. he let Ryan have sex with you once.
even drunk, Ryan is a better kisser. you like the way he takes his time with you, savoring your taste, the way he works his tongue around your mouth. but his fervor is running out, quickly. whatever momentum he built up on the way here is going. going, going gone.
Ryan flops back on the bed and shuts his eyes. you’re disappointed but happy to catch your breath. and then it hits you when you look back at Nate you just passionately made out with Ryan in front of your boyfriend.
Nate kisses you, and it’s not nearly as fun as when Ryan kisses you. but you lean into it, kissing him back harder, until you hear Ryan snoring next to you. both of you look at him, look at each other, and keep kissing.
you don’t want to anymore, and you pull back, but Nate grabs you again and tries to kiss you.
“Nate,” you say. “Nate, i don’t want-“
“what? you don’t want what?” his chest rises and falls.
“i just… it’d be weird.” you glance at Ryan.
“are you joking? you had sex with both of us, but you don’t want to do anything with him here? he shakes his head, sitting down.
there’s an unspoken riff between the two of you, a crack that forms, small at first, hardly discernible.
it's hard to swallow, physically and mentally. you still haven't spoken to your boyfriend it’s been two days, the longest you've gone without talking to him since you started dating. and here you are in Ryan’s drive with your engine running, still, in case you change your mind. but you're more eager to get out and knock on the door than you are to leave.
you ring the doorbell, and it echoes all through the house. you step back and play with your fingers as you wait, staring at your reflection in the glass door. you look as nervous as you feel. you hope Ryan doesn't notice.
luckily, Ryan answers. he's the only one home. when he sees you, he smiles.
"Nate isn't here."
"i'm not looking for Nate."
"so, what are you doing here?"
"i... i wanted to talk to you." your hands shake. you toy with them to try and hide it.
Ryan lets you in. it's quiet and void of life. he leads you into the foyer then turns and crosses his arms. "about what?"
but Ryan knows why you're here. even after his embarrassing display at Nate's, you have unfinished business with him you want to take care of. he waits for you to say exactly that.
It doesn't come easily. you stumble over your words, try to choose them correctly. "i, um... you know, with Nate-- i haven't talked to him. in a couple of days. since, you know..."
Ryan makes you say it.
"since you showed up at his place the other night."
Ryan nods, slowly. "and?"
damn him. "and I've been thinking about what happened. about what we did."
for a moment, Ryan's stomach drops. he expects it to be bad news for him.
something along the lines of, "we can't do that again," or, "that can never happen again." some lame excuse, something Nate put into your head because he's a selfish, insecure asshole.
"i can't stop thinking about it," you say.
"and i know you were drunk, but--"
"you wanted to hook up."
you pause, and then you nod.
"yeah," he says, stretching his arms, "i was pissed at myself for falling asleep."
"you were drunk."
"and horny."
you think about it for a moment. "so you went to Nate’s?"
Ryan’s face goes red. you laugh, but he doesn't seem to be amused one bit. he says,
"i knew you were there. that's why i went."
"okay."
and then you both stand there, staring at each other, you with a smile, Ryan with a bored expression, the foyer table between you.
"you came here to tell me that you wanted to hook up the other night?" he says.
again, you play with your fingers. "i came here to..."
and, again, Ryan makes you say it.
"i don't want to have sex with Nate."
a smile slowly spreads across his face. "you broke up with him."
you feel worse, like a dead weight has just dropped inside you. "not exactly."
he raises an eyebrow.
here you are feeling ashamed in front of Ryan. no one could be more guilty than Ryan. "you don't feel bad?" you say. "he's your best friend."
Ryan gives a laugh. "no. i asked him, he said okay, you and i both liked it with each other, and now you'd rather have sex with me--there's no fault there on my end."
you scoff. you shake your head. Ryan grabs a bottle of pills from a cabinet in the bathroom and pops two in his mouth then swallows them dry, which you think is psychotic.
"i still have a headache," he says. "so. what did you come here for again?" he pretends to be confused. it pisses you off.
"never mind," you say, and you whirl around, start for the door, when Ryan grabs your arm and stops you.
his grip loosens, and his voice lowers. "i'll have sex with you if you want me to."
your cheeks flame. it should be offensive, what he said. instead, you lean towards him, offer yourself up to him.
Ryan wants to hear it first. he's wanted this moment for too long. "what do you want?"
"i want to have sex."
"with me."
you nod.
he raises his brows.
"with you."
he waits.
"i want to.. have sex with you."
he grins, and you hate him for a moment.
he grabs your face and kisses you right there in the foyer, you melt like chocolate. he's warm, still coming down from an outrageous hangover, as he takes your hand, and you walk upstairs to his room.
just you and Ryan. finally alone. no annoying Nate to get in the way, to make things bumpy and claustrophobic. Ryan can't wait to touch you, for you to be all his, even if you decide to go back to Nate right after. he'll settle for this for now. he really does regret being so drunk the other night that he missed an opportunity to touch you.
he barely remembers making out, but he knows it was good, he could feel it afterwards on his lips.
this is what he's been wanting. he wants to take his time with you.
"do you feel okay?" you ask.
"yeah, fine."
"i mean, your head. your hangover--"
"i'm fine." he's not going to miss out on having sex with you because of a headache.
"are you sure you wanna do this? cause, you know, we don't have to."
"i know." but it's like an itch. your body craves his. you can't leave here without it.
Ryan presses his hand on your ribcage, and his warmth seeps through your shirt. you put your hand over his. "you did that the other night. when we were kissing."
he dips his head and kisses you, and it's like you're picking up right where you left off from last time. Nate isn't here now, like a gnat in your ear, whining and bitching---he's been so annoying lately.
Ryan pulls you to the bed, and he sits. you climb into his lap and resume kissing. his hands tangle in your hair, and both of you laugh under your breaths. you roll your hips against him and whimper.
his hand is nearly the size of your stomach as he grabs it, and you lean back. "God, you're so sexy." he sinks his mouth into your neck, leaving a hickey there.
"Nate is going to be pissed," you say, smiling.
"who gives a fuck?" he sucks harder then makes another, more obvious one, towards the front of your neck.
Ryan hopes Nate sees all these hickies.
knows that Ryan has stolen his girl right from under him.
"you're a shitty best friend," you say.
"we're not that close."
you giggle, and Ryan pulls you down so you're on the bed. he crawls over you, pulls at your hair. "you're a shitty girlfriend."
"technically, we're not dating."
he's forgotten that Nate said they aren't exclusive.
Ryan lights up. he pulls you down by the leg, which makes you squeal, and tugs at your pants.
"off, take them off," you say, and you lift your hips from the bed so Ryan can yank them down. underwear, too.
then his bottoms, both of your tops. Ryan sneaks a glance at your breasts but looks back up as though he remembers he can't check you out, you're someone else's.
you place his hand on your breast. "touch me," you say.
he stands by the side of the bed and pulls you so you're right on the edge, lying down and completely open to him. you're his doll, and you want him to use you.
"please," you whimper.
Ryan turns you around so you're flat on your stomach, and he pulls your hips up against him. he jerks himself off before he guides himself into you. he takes his time, which is torture. "relax," he says. but it's hard to when it feels this good and this wrong.
he closes his eyes, focuses on the feeling of you clenched around him as he moves faster. "ah, i love this," he groans and leans over you, "i love that you're all mine."
he feels up your stomach, grabs your breasts. you back into him, slowly, and wiggle, and he nearly breaks.
"i'm not all yours," you say.
"yes, you are," he says into your skin. "i'm not sharing you with Nate anymore."
"what?"
he pulls out, turns you over, and you flop back onto the bed. he crawls over you, draws his lips across your jawline, up your ear.
"Ryan, what does that mean?"
"it means, you either have sex with him or with me. but not both."
you panic. "Nate and i aren't exclusive."
"doesn't matter."
"but, then why does it-"
"because i don't want you having sex with him.
it's the perfect response. but it's not right. "i don't know..."
"i thought you weren't exclusive."
having sex with Ryan is one thing, but to actually leave Nate for Ryan? you've been close with Nate for a while now, so used to latching onto him at parties. you imagine walking through parties with Ryan, and the image of him comes easily. you beside him, not so much. only because he's the life of the party. you're so used to the side kick, you're scared you're not a match for the main character.
"we're not..." you don't have strong feelings for Nate, but it's hard to think of letting him go, just like that.
Ryan kisses down your neck. he pulls your legs around his waist so he's pressed up against you. he's confident you're his. why would you settle for mediocre when you could have him?
"just say okay."
"okay."
he kisses down your stomach then positions himself at your entrance again and slowly pushes inside. when he's all the way in, he holds onto your hips and starts moving. for now, you can be Ryan's. later, you can deal with Nate and whatever consequences that occur.
you moan, stretching your arms above your head, and Ryan goes faster. he gets off on watching you writhe and squirm. he lifts your hips up further to get a better angle.
but he wants to be closer and crawls on top of your body, digs deeper inside you and grunts. he wants you to feel how bad he wants to keep you.
"what will you do if i go back to him?" you say.
"fucking lose my mind." he pushes into you, hard, and shivers. "please don't. please."
it's going to be impossible to face Nate after this. but maybe this is what you want.
Ryan goes faster,up your clit, which pulls out a moan from deep within you. "oh, God, you make it so good."
"i make it easy, huh?"
"yes."
he pulls out and quickly puts his mouth around you, sucking. your feet jump into the air and come back down on Ryan's back.
his shoulders dig into the backs of your thighs as he forces himself inside you.
your back arches. Ryan pushes in harder, getting his face in it. when you moan, he moans back, and the vibration sends a current running through your body.
he stops, panting. "i wanted to know what you taste like."
"mmm."
he crawls over you and kisses your mouth.
your tongue gets buzzed off the sweet flavor of yourself. you laugh into Ryan's mouth and feel him smile. he pushes himself back into you and rolls in deep. you wrap your legs around him to keep him close, as close as possible. and then he curses under his breath, sets himself up, and pounds into you.
you make noises loud enough for the whole house to hear, but nobody is. Ryan gets off on it, trying to get you to be louder and louder. when he decided he wanted to fuck you, he knew it would be good---not as good as this.
his dick throbs inside of you. if he let go, he'd cum in a second, and it's getting closer and closer to where he can't control it, but he doesn't want to slow down because this pace makes you feel good.
you gasp and clutch onto him, any part of him you can reach. "i'm close. i'm close i'm close.
"okay, baby, ready?" Ryan needs you to cum soon because he's too close. "please, baby, please."
and it takes over you. it starts down between your legs, makes your back arch, your breasts tingle, your toes curl. you just barely hear Ryan's grunts as he pulls out of you and spills himself all over your stomach. both of you let out audible sighs when you finish, and Ryan leans over you, defeated.
Ryan nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, says into your hair, "so, what do you think, huh?"
"about what?"
"leaving Nate for me."
you stare at him for a long time, and he stares back, waiting. you kiss him. "i think I can do that."
tags: fluff, slow burn, strangers to lovers, mutual pining, miscommunication.
in which y/n and hollis always seem to run into each other at erewhon ( no specified timeline)
wc: 1.6k
You had told yourself that it was convenient. It was not particularly convenient— it was forty minutes from your apartment, as it had always been— but you told yourself that, and you kept telling yourself that when you made it a part of your schedule to come on Friday evening with a reliability that your bank account was beginning to notice.
He wasn’t there the first Friday you came on purpose.
You bought a twenty-dollar juice and felt like a complete and total idiot.
He was there the second Friday.
You almost walked into him coming around the corner. He caught your arm, just briefly, to stop you colliding— his hand on your sleeve, gone almost before you could register the feeling— and you both stepped back.
“Sorry,” you spoke up.
“My fault,” he said, which it wasn’t.
You stood in the too-narrow aisle and looked at each other as the store move around you, soft and slow, someone’s feet landing against the tile.
“I was going to get a smoothie,” you said.
“Yeah,” he said. He paused. “i’ll walk over.”
It wasn’t exactly an offer. It wasn’t a question. It was just a. statement of what was going to happen, delivered so quietly that you almost missed the significance of it.
You walked to the smoothie bar. Waiting in line— he stood directly beside you.
You talked— not a lot , not the way people talk when they’re trying to impress each other, but in the low, unhurried way of people who are comfortable with silence and not quite comfortable with each other yet. He asked what you did for work. You told him film, interiors, and sometimes portraits. He listened like he was taking in what you were saying, not just waiting for his turn to talk.
You asked what he did.
He looked at you sideways. “Music.”
“What kind?”
There was a beat of silence. “Come to a show,” he said, “and decide for yourself.”
Your smoothies came up. You both reached for yours at the same time— your hands didn’t touch but they almost did, you stepped back saying something about liking that answer, and he looked at you with those level, considering eyes and said nothing, which somehow said everything.
You left separately. He went first. You watched him walk through the glass doors into the cool evening, hands in his pockets, unhurried.
You drank your smoothie— phone in hand, looking up his name.
The whole ride home you listened to his music. Then you pulled into the parking garage and kept listening.
You hadn’t outrightly said yes to the show.
But you also hadn’t told him no.
── .✦
You went to the show.
Told yourself it was for research. You were a photographer; you attended shows all the time; this was professional interest, cultural curiosity, nothing with a specific name.
The venue was medium sized, packed to the brim, and loud in the way that rattles your skeletal system. You stood near the side because because that was the safest option— and that’s where you always stood; camera bag on your shoulder, and when the lights went low you felt the shift in the room the way you always did— that collective inhale, the moment before.
He was different on stage.
Not unrecognizable— still that same stillness, that same quality of taking up as much space as he needed— but expanded somehow, like a frequency you hadn’t been able to fully hear before was suddenly audible. You lifted your camera and started snapping pictures without a second thought, the way you did when something was captivating.
Afterward the crowd pressed and shifted, you were moving toward the exit when someone touched your shoulder.
You turned.
It was his security— telling you to follow them.
He’d just got done taking pictures.
When you made it to where he was he walked up to you, he was closer than the venue’s noise level required. He looked at you with an expression that was more open than any you’d seen yet, something running underneath it that he hadn’t let you see before.
“You came,” he said.
“Yea, I did,” you said back.
A pause. The crowd moved around you.
“And?” he said.
You looked at him. The base was still in your chest, humming. The photos were already in your camera, real, exposed, and undeniable.
“Hmm. I think I need to hear it again,” you said, “just to be sure.”
His mouth did the thing again. The almost-smile. Slower this time, more deliberate, like he’d decided to let it happen.
“I can arrange that,” he said.
Neither of you moved.
The crowd thinned around you and you stayed in the noise of the dimmed light and the thin gravity of something beginning, something that had already begun weeks ago in an LA grocery store, in the space between eye contact and words that were both said and not said.
His hand found the side of your camera bag and he adjusted the strap— just slightly, where it had been digging into your shoulder— without asking, or making it a big deal.
You let him.
“Come on,” he said. “I know somewhere we can get food that doesn’t cost twenty-two dollars.”
You laughed. A real one, surprised out of you— semi loud.
He looked at you like that sound was something he’d been waiting for.
You followed him out into the Los Angeles night, the city was loud, bright, and indifferent. You were thinking about how you’d started all of this because you needed more oat milk, and how nothing about it felt like an accident anymore.
── .✦
The diner was in Silver Lake, a booth by the window, vinyl seats, coffee that tasted like it had been sitting all morning, and a laminated menu. It cost eleven dollars total. You didn’t say anything about that but you both knew.
You sat across from each other. This was the first time you’d been across from each other— every other time you had been side by side, looking at the same shelf, standing at the same smoothie bar— the same stage. Facing him directly was different. You had nowhere to divert your eyes except directly at him.
“You shot the whole set,” he said. Non accusatory.
“I always shoot when something is worth shooting.”
He looked at you steadily. “Can I see them?”
“When I developed them.”
“Film.”
“Film,” you confirmed.
He wrapped both hands around his cup. His hands were careful-looking, steady. You noticed things like that— it was the photographer in you, or so you told yourself.
“Why film?” he asked.
You thought about it in a real way, not the rehearsal way you answered at openings and in artist statements. “Because you can’t see it right away,” you said. “You have to wait. And when you finally do see it, it’s either there or it isn’t. No adjusting. No fixing it in post.” You paused, “I like that it’s a commitment.”
He was quiet for a moment. “You like that you can’t take it back.”
You stared at him for a moment. That wasn’t quite what you'd said, but it was closer to what you meant.
“Yeah,” you said.
He nodded slowly, like he was turning that over. The diner hummed around you. Someone’s pancakes arrived two booths over. Outside, a car drove past with its windows down, music blasting— then gone.
“What are the interiors for?” he asked. “The project.”
“A book, maybe. Or just for me . I don't know yet.” You pick at the paper placement in front of you. “ I've been shooting the same kinds of rooms for two— almost three years. Spaces that feel empty. Not abandoned— just. momentarily empty.”
He was watching you with that full, unbothered attention.
“Like something’s about to happen,” he said.
“Or just finished,” you said.
There was a momentary pause. Something moved across his face, quiet and sudden.
“I’d like to see them,” he said. “The interiors. Not just the show ones.”
“Okay,” you said. You didn’t say it lightly.
He knew it wasn’t light. You could tell by the way he received it— not fully acknowledging it, just a small nod, showing you that it mattered and he understood.
You guys stayed until the diner got quiet and the coffee got cold— the server filled you guys’ cups twice before out of what seemed like pure and genuine sympathy. You talked about LA the way people take about any city they have a complicated relationship with— not quite with complaint, or love, but something more honest. He’d grown up around music and distance. You’d grown up somewhere flat and quiet— leaving at the first given opportunity.
“Do you miss it?” he asked. “Where you’re from.”
“Sometimes. The quiet.” You looked out the window at the streetlights. “LA is always awake. And loud.”
“Yeah,” he said, and you got the sense he understood that specifically, not just generally.
He paid before you could argue. You let him, and he didn’t make it a gesture, which you appreciated.
Outside it was cool, that particular cool that catches you off guard in May. You stood on the sidewalk and he stood next to you— neither one of you guys made an effort to head towards your cars.
“I’m over there,” you said, eventually. Gesturing.
“i’m down here,” he said.
Silence.
“The photos,” he said. “When you develo—.”
You cut him off.
“i’ll let you know.”
He stared at you for a moment, that intense gaze that you still couldn’t read completely and were beginning to think you weren’t supposed to— that it was something you’d have to accumulate slowly, over time, light light on film.
“Good night y/n,” he said.
“Good night hollis,” you said back.
You walked to your car. Not looking back, but you heard him head in the other direction, staying aware of his surroundings— while you stayed aware of the sound of his footsteps until you could no longer hear them anymore.
You sat in the dark car for a moment before you started it.
knock, knock, knock, i walk towards the door really excited for a well needed change. opening the door im greated with addison, kat, shiloh and tazmin, "y/n!" addi immediately gets me into a bear hug making me feel safe "hi addie" i say muffled whispering feeling myselg again in her arms for a moment.
i snap back to reality, my whole life ive seen like as butterflies and rainbows but being with my ex made me realise that life hurts people every day. it breaks people down from the inside until they're just a shred of their old self. "you okay sweetheart?" kat whispers into my ear trying to not embarass me infront of everyone. looking her in the eyes i see her soft genuine eyes i nod ignoring the lump in my throat.
i walk towards the bathroom next to my room everyone following behind me "piercer said he'll be here in thirty" addison says smiling at me "anyways why so spontaneous." she continues. i look at her and shrug "desperately needed a change i guess" i sit on the toilet seat grabbing the hair dye and bleach and setting it on my lap.
"if my hair fries off im suing you guys fyi" i mention, "good thing i brought weed" shiloh grins reaching into her purse to bring out multiple perfectly rolled blunts, "got a pink one just for you too babe" i giggle reaching out to get her in a big bear hug.
twenty minutes later the bathroom is filled with smoke and five smiley girls. "i still can't believe that happened" taz gets out in giggles. i stand up to say "so are we gonna bleach my hair or what" just to be met with a bunch of yeahs.
knock knock "wait that must be the piercer" addi gives me a creepy smile, "you ready babe?" taz looks at me as we all walk towards the door. "fuck yeah" i laugh out sounding like an absolute mad woman.
a bunch of piercings, bleach, and hair dye later.
looking at myself in the mirror i feel like a different person, i cant even see my old self. feeling like i need to cry i smile at my friends and the piercer that i got along with and thank them. the high was still there, smoking more as the dye was processing, then when washing out the dye, then when getting pierced.
if i told myself a month ago i'd be smoking back to back i would of called you crazy, being a social smoker was who i was, not smoking multiple times a day. the change wasnt just in my apperance, but also in my character. i was a whole new person.
"you look beautiful" the piercer who i learnt whos name was kaden looking at him i smile and whisper "thank you" i look at my friends who are looking at me with eyes. i scoff to myself hiding it as a cough. "right we all need to go get water, keep her company" kat giggles winking at me.
"righttt" i drag out. "tell me if im over stepping here but, can i get your number" i look at him scratch the back of his head looking really nervous. finding this gesture cute i reply "sure" i giggle still extremely high giving him my phone.
fawns notes ⌖
filler chapter! hollis next chapter guys i swear also you'll find out what colour and which piercings next chapter >_<
୨﹒˖˚──﹕luckys note ; aaaaa hello this is the final part of the fic woooo!!! im gonna be so honest rn... im so done w this fic i couldnt wait for it to end cuz that took me way too long and i lowkey had no more ideas on what to even do with it at one point 😭 i hope everyone who read it had enjoyed!!! more fics is also in the works!! hollis one shot and a hollis and roman possible smau 🤤
୨﹒˖˚──﹕wc ; 9.3k
୨﹒˖˚── part seven
· · ──────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────── · ·
The next morning you wake slowly. For a few seconds, you’re still somewhere between sleep and consciousness, warm and comfortable beneath the blankets. The room is quiet.
Then you feel it. The weight of an arm draped across your waist. Warmth pressed against your back. A steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.
Suddenly everything comes rushing back. Roman is here. He's right next to you.
Your eyes open immediately. For a moment, you don’t move. You simply lie there, staring at the faint outline of your bedroom wall while your heart stumbles somewhere inside your chest. He’s still here.
The realization settles over you slowly. Not a dream. Not a memory. Not something you imagined because you missed him too much.
He’s actually here. He's lying in your bed, sound asleep next to you. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, his arm still wrapped around your waist possessively even in sleep.
A smile tugs at your lips before you can stop it. Carefully, trying not to wake him, you shift onto your back.
The movement is small but Roman immediately reacts anyway. His arm tightens slightly around your waist.
Even asleep, he reaches for you. The thought does something dangerous to your heart.
You turn your head slowly and for the first time, you get to see him like this. Not surrounded by music and shadows and cigarette smoke and flashing lights, not on stage, searching for your face in the crowd even if he's only seen you once. Not teasing you or challenging you. Not hiding behind that infuriating smile.
The early morning darkness softens every sharp edge of him. His hair is a mess, even worse than usual. A few dark strands have fallen across his forehead and for once he isn’t immediately brushing them away.
His face looks younger somehow. The permanent tension that always seems to settle somewhere in his shoulders has disappeared completely. His expression is peaceful.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen him peaceful before. The realization makes your chest ache unexpectedly. Because everyone always sees the same version of him.
He's confident, cocky and mysterious. The boy your mother is convinced will ruin your life. The boy everyone assumes has everything figured out.
But lying here now, asleep beside you, he looks nothing like that. He just looks tired. Vulnerable.
You study him quietly, taking your time. Almost like you're memorizing him. Memorizing this. Because for the first time since meeting him, there isn’t anywhere else either of you needs to be.
Your eyes drift downward. His hoodie is gone. You remember that vaguely. Somewhere during the night it ended up abandoned on your bedroom floor. Now he’s wearing only a dark t-shirt that’s slightly wrinkled from sleep.
One of his hands remains loosely curled against your waist beneath the blankets. His fingers twitch occasionally.
You don’t know how long you spend simply watching him.
Five minutes. Or maybe it was ten. Maybe longer.
The room remains silent around you.You can pretend just for a little longer, that this is how the rest of your life is gonna be like. Asleep in your bed with him by your side.
You reach out before you can stop yourself. Your fingers hover briefly near his face then gently brush one of the dark strands of hair away from his forehead.
The movement is careful. Roman doesn’t wake. But something in his expression shifts slightly. His eyebrows relax and his breathing deepens.
Your chest tightens. God, you are completely gone for him. The realization arrives so suddenly it nearly steals your breath.
This is not a just a crush. Not infatuation. Not whatever excuse you’ve been feeding yourself for months. Its something much bigger.
You love him.
The thought settles heavily inside your chest. And for the first time, you don’t try to run from it. You don’t argue with it. You don’t tell yourself you’re confused.
Because after everything that happened, the lies, the fights with your parents, the distance...
The way missing him physically hurt. There isn’t much left to deny. You love him. That thought alone is extremely terrifying.
Your eyes sting unexpectedly. You blink quickly. The last thing you need is to start crying while Roman is asleep beside you. That would be embarrassing.
A small smile pulls at your mouth. You can already hear what he’d say. Probably something annoyingly sweet that would only make things worse.
You glance back at him. Still asleep. Still peaceful. Still completely unaware of the crisis happening inside your head.
Your gaze drifts toward the window. The curtains remain slightly open. Beyond them, the sky is changing.
The darkness is beginning to thin. A faint gray-blue glow spreads across the horizon.
You stare at the growing light for a long moment. The knot in your chest tightens instantly. Roman needs to leave.
The fact that your mother already suspects everything makes you even more terrified. The fact that if she finds him here it's gonna be the end of you. Of both of you, actually. You squeeze your eyes shut briefly and exhale heavily. You don’t even want to imagine it.
When you open them again, the room somehow feels different. The spell from last night is breaking. Morning is coming and with it, consequences.
You look back at Roman. He's somehow still asleep and still holding tightly onto you.
Part of you wants to let him sleep. Just for another five minutes. Because the second he leaves, everything becomes complicated again.
The fights. The conversations. The questions. All of it comes rushing back.
Reluctantly, you reach up and brush your fingers gently against his shoulder. “Roman.”
Nothing. You almost smile.
You nudge him again. “Roman.”
A quiet groan. Okay, that's progress.
His face scrunches slightly before he buries it further into the pillow. You actually laugh. The sound is quiet, soft.
Roman opens one eye immediately. His gaze lands on you and for a moment, he's confused. Sleepy. Completely unfocused.
For a second he just stares. Then recognition slowly returns. “Oh.” He whispers like he's starting to remember. Even half asleep, the first thing he does is smile when he sees you.
“Morning.” His voice is rough from sleep. Lower.
Your stomach flips violently. You hate him. You really do.
“Morning.” You whisper back.
Roman closes his eyes again as if he’s decided being awake was a terrible mistake.
“Roman.” You nudge him again but he just squeezes his eyes harder, burying his face into your neck.
“No.” He mumbles over your skin, leaving a soft kiss into the crook of your neck.
You laugh again. “Roman, come on.”
“No.” He whines and his arm tightens around your waist.
“You can’t go back to sleep.”
“Watch me.”
“Roman.”
“Five more minutes.” He mumbles again.
“That’s not how this works.” You reply.
“Feels like it should be.”
You roll your eyes despite smiling.
Roman finally opens both eyes. His gaze drifts toward the window. The second he notices the sky, his expression changes. Reality catches up to him too.
“Ah, right.” He exhales a deep breath.
“Yeah.”
Roman stares at the ceiling for a moment. Then lets out a long sigh. “I hate mornings.”
“I do too.”
Roman turns his head toward you again. The humor fades slightly from his expression, something softer taking its place.
For a second neither of you says anything. You simply look at each other. And suddenly the fact that he has to leave feels unbearable.
Roman reaches up slowly. His knuckles brush lightly against your cheek. “Hey.”
Your throat tightens immediately. “Hey.”
His gaze searches your face like he's studying you. Like he’s trying to memorize something.
“You’re thinking too much.” He says quietly.
You laugh weakly. “I always think too much.”
“Yeah, you do.” Roman’s thumb brushes your cheek. “But you’re doing it more than usual.”
Because if you say what you’re actually thinking, you’ll probably cry. And neither of you needs that at five in the morning.
You shake your head slightly. “It’s nothing.”
“Liar.”
Your smile trembles. Roman notices immediately like he always does.
His expression softens. “Come here.”
You’re already right beside him. But you move closer anyway. As close to him as you physically can.
Roman pulls you against his chest immediately. You bury your face against his shoulder. His arms tighten around you. For a long moment, neither of you says anything. Just holding on to each other, trying to steal a few extra minutes from the morning.
Eventually Roman exhales softly above your head. “We should probably move.”
You groan immediately. “No.”
A quiet laugh vibrates through his chest. “That’s what I said.”
“Then let’s not.” You murmur.
“I don’t think your parents would appreciate that.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. You hate that.
Roman presses a kiss into your hair. Then another. And another. Each one somehow making it harder to let him go.
When you finally pull back, neither of you looks particularly happy about it.
Roman sits up slowly, running a hand through his already disastrous hair.
You watch him.
He turns back to you. “What?”
“Nothing.” You shake your head softly.
“You’re staring again.”
“I like to look at you.” You say before you can think.
Roman grins. “You're cute.”
Your chest aches because somehow everything already feels like goodbye and you hate it. You hate how quickly one night can disappear.
Roman stands eventually. Retrieves his hoodie and his pants from the floor. He pulls them on quickly, along with his boots.
And just like that, pieces of the version everyone else knows begin returning. The confident posture. The teasing smile. But you know what’s underneath it.
Roman notices your expression. His face softens immediately. “Hey.” He calls out to you.
You look up. He steps closer, tilting your chin upward gently. “I’m not disappearing.”
The words hit harder than they should. Because that’s exactly what you’re afraid of. Roman sees it written all over your face.
“I’ll text you.”
You nod.
“I’ll call you.”
Another nod.
A faint smile touches his mouth. “And maybe next time I’ll use the front door.”
A surprised laugh escapes you. “Good luck with that.”
“Yeah.” Roman winces dramatically. “Actually, maybe the tree is safer.”
For the first time all morning, you genuinely laugh.
The sound makes him smile too. Then the moment quiets again. The sky outside grows lighter. Time is finally catching up to both of you.
Roman glances toward the window. Then back at you. Neither of you moves. Neither of you wants to.
Finally, he leans down and kisses you. Slow. Warm. Filled with promise. A promise that this isn't the last time.
When he pulls away, his forehead rests briefly against yours. “Text me.”
“I will.” You nod softly.
“You better.” He warns.
“I will.” You repeat again.
Roman studies your face for one last second. Then reluctantly steps toward the window. And suddenly the peace begins slipping away with him.
· · ──────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────── · ·
The second Roman disappears from view, the silence feels different. He hasn’t been gone for more than a few seconds. Yet somehow the room already feels emptier. You remain standing by the window long after he’s disappeared behind the neighboring houses, your fingers curled tightly around the frame.
The morning air is cool against your skin. The sky continues brightening slowly. The world waking up around you. But all you can think about is the fact that Roman was here. Actually here. Not a dream. Not a fantasy. Not another late-night phone call. He stood in your room. Sat on your bed. Held you.
The realization sends a strange mixture of warmth and panic through your chest. Eventually you force yourself to close the window. The soft click seems impossibly loud.
You freeze immediately. Listening. Waiting. Nothing. The house remains silent. No footsteps. No voices. No sound from downstairs. Still, your pulse refuses to slow. You turn around slowly. And immediately regret it.
Because now you’re looking directly at the evidence. The blankets are tangled. The pillows are a disaster. Your room looks nothing like it usually does. Nothing like the careful, orderly space you’ve spent years maintaining.
For a moment you simply stand there staring. The sight makes your stomach flip. The room feels different now. Not physically. Emotionally.
Like something shifted during the night. Like it isn’t entirely yours anymore. Your gaze drifts toward the floor. Roman’s presence lingers everywhere. Not in obvious ways. Just small ones.
You can still picture him sitting on the edge of your bed. Still hear his voice. Still feel his arms around you. Heat immediately floods your face. “Oh my God.” You press both hands against your cheeks.
The memories arrive far too easily. You bury your face in your hands. This is impossible. How are you supposed to go downstairs and act normal after this? How are you supposed to look your mother in the eye?
Your stomach twists violently. The answer comes instantly. You’re not. You are absolutely not going to be normal. Not today. Not for the foreseeable future.
With a groan, you begin fixing the bed. Or at least attempting to. The process takes significantly longer than it should because every few seconds you find yourself staring blankly into space. Thinking. Remembering. Overthinking.
You smooth the blankets. Then smooth them again. Then once more for good measure. By the time you’re finished, the bed looks almost normal.
You stare at it suspiciously. Would your mother notice? Probably. Your mother notices everything. The thought immediately restarts the panic. You glance toward the bedroom door. Still silence.
Every minute that passes without confrontation only gives your imagination more time to work. Maybe she heard something. Maybe she woke up. Maybe she checked your room. Maybe...
You stop yourself for a moment. If she’d checked your room, the police would probably be involved by now. That thought almost makes you laugh. Instead, anxiety continues growing steadily inside your chest.
You move around your room searching for anything else that looks suspicious. A pointless task. You’re not actually looking for evidence. You're looking for something to stop your thoughts from spiraling.
But the longer you spend cleaning, the more questions begin crowding your mind.
Did anyone hear the window?
Did the tree make noise?
Did Roman trip over something outside?
Did a neighbor see him?
Did your father wake up?
Did your mother wake up?
The question settles heavily in your chest. Because deep down, you already know the answer. Probably. Your mother has always been a light sleeper. Always. You remember countless nights growing up where she somehow heard things nobody else noticed.
A creaking floorboard. A cabinet closing. The television left on downstairs. She notices everything. And Roman climbing through your window isn’t exactly subtle.
You sink onto the edge of your bed. Suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline from the night has finally started wearing off. Leaving anxiety in its place.
You glance toward your phone. A new message waits on the screen. Roman.
Your chest immediately tightens. You don't open it yet.
Despite everything, you smile. Then another message. This time you open it.
Roman:
you dont regret anything we
did last night?
The simple question hurts more than it should. You stare at it. Your thumbs hover over the screen. Eventually you type back.
You:
ask me again after
breakfast
The response arrives almost instantly.
Roman:
please dont say that
You hesitate. Then, you answer.
You:
sorry, i'm just scared
Three dots appear. Disappear. Then reappear. Finally, he replies.
Roman:
text me after
no matter what happens
Your chest aches. You stare at the message for several seconds before typing back.
You:
i will <3
You lock the phone immediately afterward. Because if you don’t, you’ll keep staring at it. And right now you need to focus. Or at least attempt to. With a sigh, you push yourself off the bed. The shower helps. A little. The hot water gives you something else to think about for a few minutes. Something other than Roman. Something other than your parents. Something other than the possibility that your life is about to implode before breakfast. But the relief doesn’t last.
The second you shut off the water, reality returns. Waiting patiently. You dry your hair. Get dressed. Brush your teeth. Complete every step of your morning routine with painstaking precision. Anything to delay going downstairs. Anything to postpone the inevitable.
Eventually, however, you run out of excuses. Your room is clean. You’re dressed. Your hair is dry. There is literally nothing left to do. The realization makes your stomach sink. Because now all that’s left is facing them.
You stand in front of your bedroom door for a long moment. Listening. The house is awake now. You can hear movement downstairs. Cabinets opening. Footsteps. The familiar sounds of morning.
Which somehow makes everything worse. Because nothing feels normal anymore. Not after last night. Not after Roman.
You swallow hard. Your hand settles on the doorknob. For a second, you consider staying upstairs forever. A tempting option. Unfortunately unrealistic. Eventually you take a deep breath, open the door and step into the hallway.
Immediately, your pulse begins hammering. Each stair creaks beneath your feet, every step bringing you closer. Closer to your mother. Closer to your father. Closer to whatever conversation is waiting downstairs.
The smell of coffee reaches you before the kitchen does. Your stomach twists. The closer you get, the harder it becomes to breathe normally. Because now you can hear them. Talking quietly.
The sound abruptly stops the moment you reach the bottom step. Complete silence. Your heart nearly stops. And suddenly you know. Maybe not everything. Maybe not exactly what happened. But enough. They know enough.
The realization settles heavily in your chest as you stand frozen at the end of the hallway. For one brief second, you consider turning around. Going back upstairs. Jumping out the window yourself. Anything.
But it’s too late now. You’re already here. So you force yourself forward toward the kitchen. Toward your parents. Toward whatever comes next.
You force yourself to keep walking. One step. Then another. The kitchen comes into view.
Your mother is sitting at the table with a mug of coffee between her hands. Your father sits across from her, reading something on his phone.
Neither of them looks up immediately. That should make you feel better. Instead, it makes your stomach twist harder. Because it feels deliberate. Like they’re waiting.
You step into the room. “Morning.”
Your voice sounds strange. Too bright. Too careful.
Your mother finally looks up. “Morning, sweetheart.”
Normal. She's completely normal. Which is somehow terrifying.
You move toward the counter, trying not to rush. Trying not to look guilty. Trying not to look like there was a boy climbing out of your bedroom window less than two hours ago.
The coffee machine suddenly seems incredibly fascinating. You focus on that. Anything but them.
“Did you sleep okay?” Your father asks casually.
You nearly drop your mug. The question is innocent. Probably. Yet your pulse immediately spikes.
“Yeah.” The lie comes too quickly. Too automatically. You hate that. “Why?” You add.
Your father shrugs. “No reason.”
You nod. The silence returns.
You pour yourself coffee. Your hands are shaking slightly. You pray nobody notices. They definitely notice. You sit down. The chair scrapes against the floor. The sound feels obnoxiously loud.
Your mother takes another sip of her coffee. Still watching you.
You stare into your mug. Maybe if you don’t make eye contact this entire conversation will somehow end. A stupid plan. But it’s the only one you’ve got.
“You look tired.” She comments.
Your stomach immediately drops. You force a laugh. “Thanks.”
Your mother doesn’t smile. “You do.”
The knot in your chest tightens. “I didn’t sleep much.”
The second the words leave your mouth, you regret them. Because now you’ve admitted something. And your mother catches it instantly.
“No?” She asks, but it feels more like she already knows.
You shake your head. “No.”
A pause. Then, she continues. “Neither did I.”
Your fingers tighten around your mug. There it is. The first crack. The first warning.
Your father slowly lowers his phone. Not dramatically. Not angrily. Just enough to let you know he’s paying attention now too.
You suddenly wish Roman had stayed. Which is insane. Because if Roman were here, you’d probably pass out from sheer panic.
Your mother sets her mug down carefully. The sound is soft. “I woke up around three.”
You stare at the table. Every muscle in your body locks.
“Oh.” That's all you manage to say.
Another pause. Longer this time.
“I thought I heard something.”
Your heartbeat pounds against your ribs.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
“I don’t know...” Your mother continues. “Maybe I imagined it.”
You nod immediately. “Probably.” The answer comes too fast. Way too fast.
Your mother’s eyebrows lift slightly. Just slightly. “You think so?”
Your throat feels dry. “Well…” You shrug. Trying to look casual. Trying and failing. “It’s an old house.”
Your mother studies you. The silence stretches. Your father says nothing. Which somehow makes everything worse. Because he’s listening. Waiting for you to confess. You can feel it.
“I got up to check.” Your mother says eventually.
Your heart stops. You stare at her. Unable to help yourself. And she notices. A tiny flicker crosses her face. Not satisfaction. Recognition. Like she’s finally seeing exactly what she expected to see.
“I looked outside.”
Your stomach twists violently. “Mom-”
“You know what I saw?”
The room suddenly feels too small. You shake your head.
Your mother leans back slightly. Her eyes never leave yours. “The tree outside your window.”
Your pulse beats in your ears. “The tree?”
“Yes.”
You force yourself to breathe.
Your mother tilts her head slightly. “The branch was broken.”
Your chest tightens. Roman. The branch. The branch he’d joked about.
“I don’t know how that happened.” She says. The words are calm. “But it wasn’t broken yesterday.”
Nobody speaks. Nobody moves. You can’t even look at your father. You know if you do, it’ll make everything worse.
Your mother sighs softly. Not angry. Not yet. Just tired.
“So...” You whisper, unable to form a single coherent thought.
“So...” She repeats. “Is there something you want to tell us?”
There it is. The opportunity. The same one she’s been giving you for months. Tell the truth. You know that’s what she wants. You know it. And yet the familiar instinct rises immediately. Protect yourself. Lie. Protect Roman. “It’s probably just-”
You stop. The words die in your throat. Your mother’s expression changes instantly. Not because of what you said. Because of what you didn’t. Because she saw you stop. Saw you hesitate. Saw you decide.
For a moment, nobody speaks. The kitchen is silent except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Your heart feels like it’s trying to break through your ribs. You could still lie. You could tell her it was an animal. The wind. Anything.
She wouldn’t believe you but you could try. Instead, you stare down at your hands. And for the first time since meeting Roman, you’re tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of sneaking. Tired of being afraid.
The words come quietly. “Roman was here.”
Silence. Complete silence. You can’t look up. Instead, you stare at the table. At your coffee. At literally anything except your parents.
The world feels frozen. Then you hear your mother exhale. A long, slow breath. When you finally force yourself to look up, her eyes are closed. Not angry. Not shocked. Just exhausted. Like she’d already known. Like hearing it out loud only confirmed what she’d been dreading.
Beside her, your father rubs a hand over his face. Nobody yells. Nobody explodes. And somehow that hurts more.
Your mother opens her eyes. “You let him into this house.” Not a question. A statement.
You nod.
Her gaze holds yours. “And he climbed through your window.”
Another nod. A long silence follows. Then your father speaks for the first time. His voice is calm. Dangerously calm. “How long has this been going on?”
Your stomach twists. Because you know this conversation is only beginning. And for the first time, there are no more lies left to hide behind.
You swallow hard. The question hangs in the air between you. Simple. Direct.
Your father’s gaze remains fixed on you. Not angry. Just waiting for the truth.
You stare down at your hands resting in your lap. They look small suddenly. You hate how badly they’re shaking.
“How long has this been going on?” Your father repeats.
You open your mouth. Close it and try again. “I don’t know.”
The answer sounds weak. Pathetic.
Your father’s brow furrows slightly. “You don’t know?”
“I mean…” You struggle to find the words. “I don’t know when it became this.”
Your mother doesn’t look away. Neither does your father. The silence stretches so you force yourself to continue. “At first we were just talking, texting.”
Your mother’s jaw tightens immediately. You notice. You keep going anyway. “We called each other almost every night.”
“He'd text me. I'd ignore him for a bit. But I couldn't ignore him for long. I tried, but I couldn't.”
Your mother’s eyes close briefly. Like she’s already heard enough. But when she opens them again, she’s still listening. “So all those times you said you were talking to Marie?”
You look away. “Some of them.”
Your mother lets out a short laugh. Not because anything is funny. Because she’s hurt. And that sound makes guilt crash into your chest.
“Mom...”
“Some of them.” The words come back to you quietly. She nods to herself. “Okay.”
The disappointment in her voice hurts far more than anger ever could.
Your father leans back in his chair. His expression unreadable.
This is the first time you deliberately kept something from your parents. You don’t even remember why it happened the way it did. It all happened gradually. One small lie becoming another. Then another. Until suddenly entire pieces of your life existed outside this house.
“I don’t know why all of this happened. I'm sorry.” You whisper. And for once, it’s the truth.
Nobody speaks. The kitchen feels unbearably quiet. Your mother stares at the table. At her coffee. At anything except you.
Finally she asks. “Did you ever intend to tell us?”
The question nearly breaks your heart. Because the answer should be yes. It should be. But every time you imagined the conversation, you imagined exactly this.
The disappointment. The judgment. The fear. You imagined losing him. And every time, you chose silence instead. Your hesitation answers for you.
Your mother’s face crumples slightly. Only for a second. But you see it. And suddenly the guilt becomes unbearable.
“Mom.”
She shakes her head. “No.” Her voice is quiet. Dangerously quiet. “I just want you to answer.”
You stare at her. At the woman who has spent your entire life protecting you. Worrying about you. Loving you. Even when she drives you absolutely insane.
And suddenly you realize she’s not asking about Roman. Not really. She’s asking whether you trusted her. Whether she mattered enough to tell. Whether she’d already lost her daughter before she realized it.
Tears sting your eyes. “I wanted to.” The words come out broken. “I really did.”
Your mother’s eyes lift to yours. “But?”
You inhale shakily. “But I knew what you’d say.”
The room goes still. Your mother blinks as if she isn’t sure she heard you correctly. “What does that mean?”
Your chest tightens. Because you’ve never said this out loud before. Never. Not to her. Not to anyone. “I knew you’d hate him.”
Your mother’s expression changes immediately. Hurt flashes across her face. Then frustration. Then something else. Something deeper.
“I don’t hate him.”
“You didn’t even know him.” The words escape before you can stop them.
The second they do, regret follows. But it’s too late. Your mother’s eyes widen. The air feels heavier instantly.
Your father shifts slightly in his seat, watching both of you carefully. Your mother lets out a slow breath. Then another, trying to stay calm. You can see it. Trying very, very hard.
“You are right.” The admission surprises you. “I don’t know him.” Her voice trembles slightly.
“But do you know what I do know?”
You don’t answer.
Your mother stands abruptly. Not angry. She's restless. She begins pacing slowly across the kitchen. And somehow that’s worse than yelling. Much worse.
“Every time you left this house I worried.” Her voice grows stronger. “You’d tell me you were with Marie.”
She turns toward you. “You’d tell me you were studying or reading with her at the café. You’d tell me you were shopping.” She takes a few steps, walking closer to you. “And the whole time I knew something wasn’t right.”
Your throat tightens. “Mom-”
“No.” For the first time, her voice cracks. Not with anger. With emotion and that immediately silences you.
Her eyes are glossy now. Bright with tears she clearly doesn’t want you to see. “Do you have any idea how scared I’ve been?”
The question lands like a punch. Your chest aches. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”
“I know that.” The answer comes instantly. That’s what hurts. She knows you weren’t trying to hurt her. And somehow everyone ended up hurt anyway.
Your mother laughs weakly, wiping at her eyes. “I kept telling myself it was a phase. That once we talked to you about it, it would stop.”
Your stomach drops.
“I kept telling myself you’d come talk to me.” Another tear slips free. She doesn’t bother hiding it. “I kept waiting.”
The room is silent. You can’t breathe properly. Because suddenly you aren’t seeing your mother as an obstacle. Or the person standing between you and Roman. You’re seeing someone terrified of losing her daughter. And that’s infinitely harder.
“I didn’t know how.” The confession escapes before you can stop it.
Your mother freezes. You stare at the floor.
“I didn’t know how to tell you.” The words keep coming now, months of fear finally spilling out. “Because I knew you had already planned everything out for me. The church, the college, my whole life... You had it all planned out for me. And every time his name came up…” Your voice shakes. “You’d already decided he wasn't what you wanted.”
Your mother’s face falls. You continue anyway.
“I knew what you’d think. I knew you’d tell me to stay away from him.” Your vision blurs. “And maybe I should have listened.” The words hurt to say. Because part of you still wonders. Part of you still hears her warnings. Still hears every awful possibility.
Your mother watches you carefully now. Listening. Maybe for the first time in months. “I was scared too.”
The admission makes her blink. You laugh weakly through tears. “I still am.” Your voice breaks. “Do you think I don’t know this could go wrong?”
The tears finally spill over. “I know.” You wipe them away angrily. “I know people leave.”
Your mother goes completely still.
“I know all of that.” Your voice drops. “But I care for him him anyway.”
The words settle over the kitchen. The silence around the table is intense.
Your mother’s eyes close slowly. Like she’s absorbing the impact.
Your father looks away first. Toward the window. Toward the morning sunlight. Anywhere but you.
Nobody speaks for several seconds.
Then your mother opens her eyes again. And when she looks at you now, something has changed. Not approval. Not acceptance. Understanding. Or maybe the beginning of it.
“Do you love him?” The question comes softly. As though she’s giving you one last chance to reconsider.
You don’t reconsider, just blurt out. “Yes.”
The answer is immediate. Certain.
Your mother’s shoulders drop. Like something inside her finally settles. Not happily. Not peacefully. It just settles. Because now she knows the full truth.
You love him. This isn’t a crush. It isn’t rebellion. It isn’t a phase. And she can see that. Your father finally exhales. Long and slow. Then he speaks. The first time in several minutes.
“Did he stay here all night?”
You nearly die. “Dad.”
His expression doesn’t change. “It’s a reasonable question.”
Your face burns. Your mother pinches the bridge of her nose, clearly regretting every life choice that brought her to this moment.
You stare at the table mortified.
Eventually, you answer. “Yes.” The answer is barely audible.
Your father nods once. “Did he treat you respectfully?”
The question catches you completely off guard. You look up. So does your mother. Your father remains calm.
You blink. Then nod without any hesitation. “Yes.”
Your father notices. So does your mother. The certainty in your voice. The lack of doubt. The complete absence of hesitation.
Something passes between them. A look. A conversation neither of them says out loud. Then silence returns.
For a long moment, nobody speaks. Until finally your father folds his hands together and looks directly at you. “Then I think it’s time we meet him.”
The room freezes. Your brain actually stops working. “What?”
Your father doesn’t look away. “If he’s important enough for you to protect him this much...”
You close your eyes. Oh God.
“If he’s important enough for all of this.” He gestures vaguely. Months of lies. Arguments. Heartbreak. Everything. “Then I would rather meet him than keep imagining the worst.”
Your mother stares at him, clearly surprised.
You are too.
Your father looks toward her. Then back at you. “We don’t have to like him.” Your stomach twists. “But we should at least know who he is.”
The kitchen goes quiet again. Your mother remains standing. Thinking. Processing.
Finally she exhales, long and slow then looks directly at you. “I still don’t approve of how any of this happened.”
Your heart sinks slightly.
“But.” The word stops you. Your mother swallows. Her voice softer now. More vulnerable than you’ve heard in years. “But I am tired of hating someone I’ve never met.”
Your breath catches. She looks away briefly. Then back. “If he means that much to you.”
A pause.
“If he really cares about you.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Bring him here.”
And suddenly everything changes. Because for the first time since meeting Roman there might actually be a future that doesn’t involve hiding.
The words hang in the air.
Bring him here.
For a moment, you’re convinced you’ve imagined them. Your mother’s expression remains serious. Your father’s too. Neither of them takes it back.
You stare. “What?” Your voice comes out smaller than intended.
Your mother sighs. The kind of sigh that sounds like it comes from somewhere deep inside her. “I said bring him here.”
Your stomach twists violently. Because a few minutes ago, that was exactly what you wanted.
Now? Now it sounds horrifying. Roman. Here. In this kitchen. Sitting across from your parents. Answering questions. Talking to your father. Looking your mother in the eye. The image is so absurd that you almost laugh.
Instead, panic immediately begins building in your chest. Your father notices this time.
"It's funny..." He comments.
“What?” You look at him, confused.
“You weren’t this nervous when he was climbing into your bedroom.” He jabs.
“Dad.” Heat floods your entire face.
Your mother immediately closes her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
Your father lifts both hands. “I’m just saying.”
You want to disappear. Immediately. Preferably forever.
Unfortunately, nobody seems interested in helping with that. The room falls quiet again. This time the silence feels different. Not quite as tense. It's still uncomfortable. But different.
Your mother finally sits back down, looking exhausted. The conversation has clearly taken something out of her. You notice it now. The dark circles beneath her eyes. The way she keeps rubbing her temple. The fatigue hidden beneath weeks of worry. And suddenly the guilt returns.
You stare down at your hands. “Mom.”
Her gaze lifts immediately, softer than before. You swallow hard.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out broken. Because they’re not just about Roman. They’re about everything. The lies. The sneaking around. The arguments. The nights she spent worrying. All of it.
Your mother’s face crumples slightly. Just for a second. Then she looks away. Toward the window. Anywhere but you. And somehow that hurts. Because your mother has always been strong. Seeing her look fragile feels wrong. Like seeing something you’re not supposed to see.
“You know...” She says quietly. “I kept thinking this would end.”
Your chest tightens.
She laughs softly. Without humor. “I thought eventually you’d come to your senses.”
You almost smile. Not because it’s funny. Because it sounds exactly like her. Your mother shakes her head. “I thought one day you’d wake up and realize I was right.”
A long pause. Then she speaks again. “Instead, you fell in love with him.”
The words settle heavily between you. Your eyes immediately sting. Your mother notices. And for the first time all morning, she reaches across the table. Her hand settles over yours. Warm. Familiar. Comforting. The way it used to when you were little. The contact nearly breaks you. Because you’ve spent so long fighting her. Defending yourself. Defending Roman. That somewhere along the way, you forgot how much you missed simply talking to her.
Your mother squeezes your hand. “You are still my daughter.”
Your throat closes instantly. Tears blur your vision. “I know.”
“Do you?” The question is gentle. Not accusing.
You look down. Unable to answer immediately. Because honestly? For a while there, you weren’t sure. Every conversation became an argument. Every concern felt like criticism. Every warning felt like judgment. Somewhere along the way, the distance between you grew so large neither of you knew how to cross it.
Your mother squeezes your hand again. And suddenly you realize she’s been feeling it too. The distance. The loss. The fear.
“I’m sorry...” You whisper again.
This time she doesn’t tell you it’s okay. Because it wasn’t. Instead, she nods slowly. Accepting it. Accepting the apology. Accepting the hurt. Accepting all of it.
Beside you, your father shifts in his chair. The sound breaks the moment. Everyone seems grateful for it. Even your mother. She pulls her hand back. Wipes discreetly beneath one eye. And immediately regains some of her composure.
Your father clears his throat. “So.”
The single word makes your stomach drop. Your mother gives him a warning look. He ignores it.
“So.” He repeats. “Tell me about him.”
Your heart nearly stops. “What?”
Your father looks genuinely confused. “If he’s coming over, I should probably know something.”
You blink. Several times. Trying to process the fact that this conversation is apparently happening.
Your mother folds her arms. Watching and listening.
You suddenly feel weirdly protective. Which is ridiculous. Roman is perfectly capable of defending himself. Probably too capable. Yet the thought of them judging him still makes your chest tighten.
Your father notices your hesitation. “What?”
“Nothing.” You shake your head quickly.
“Then talk.”
You stare at him. He stares back. The silence stretches. Eventually you sigh. “His name is Roman.”
Your father immediately deadpans. “Right. Now something that we haven't already heard.”
Your mother actually laughs. A small sound. But enough. The room immediately feels lighter.
You groan. “Dad.”
“I’m trying.”
“You are not.”
“I absolutely am.”
Your mother shakes her head. A smile threatening her mouth despite herself. You stare at both of them. And suddenly everything feels surreal.
An hour ago you were preparing for the worst. Now your father is making jokes. Life is ridiculous.
“So.” Your mother speaks this time. Gentler. “What do you like about him?”
The question catches you completely off guard. You blink. “What?”
“What do you like about him?” She repeats.
Your mouth opens. Then closes. Because the answer should be easy. Shouldn’t it?
But suddenly every reason feels too personal. Too vulnerable. Too difficult to explain.
Your parents wait patiently. You stare down at the table. Thinking. “He listens.”
The words come quietly. Your mother’s expression softens immediately. You continue.
“He remembers things. Little things.”
A soft exhale escapes you. “He makes me laugh.”
Your father nods slowly.
You smile faintly despite yourself. “And when everything gets complicated…” Your throat tightens. “He stays.”
Silence. Nobody jokes this time. Nobody interrupts. The honesty settles over the room.
Your mother looks down briefly. Then back up. And something in her expression changes. Not approval. Not acceptance. But understanding. For the first time, she isn’t seeing Roman as some faceless threat. She’s seeing the person her daughter fell in love with.
And that’s different. Very different.
Eventually your father stands. Stretching slightly. The conversation has clearly exhausted everyone. Especially you. He grabs his coffee mug. Heads toward the sink. Then pauses halfway there.
Without turning around, he says. “Invite him for dinner.”
Your heart immediately jumps.
Your mother looks surprised. “So soon?”
Your father shrugs. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly.”
Your pulse pounds.
Dinner. An actual dinner. With Roman. And your parents.
The thought is somehow more terrifying than him climbing through your window.
Your father finally looks back. A faint smile touching his face. “Besides.”
You already know this isn’t going to be good.
“If he survived the tree, he can survive me.”
You bury your face in your hands.
Your mother laughs.
For a moment, nobody says anything. The laughter fades. The kitchen grows quiet again. But it isn’t the same silence as before. It isn’t waiting for someone to say the wrong thing. The kind of silence that comes after something difficult has finally been said.
You sit there staring at the table, trying to process everything that just happened.
Your mother stands first, gathering the empty mugs from the table. The familiar motion feels strangely comforting. Normal. Like every other morning you’ve spent in this kitchen. Except nothing about this morning is normal.
You watch her carry the dishes toward the sink.
“Mom.” You call out to her quietly.
She pauses and looks over her shoulder.
You immediately lose whatever confidence you thought you had and your stomach twists. Your hands tighten together beneath the table.
Your mother waits.
You swallow. “Are you still angry?” The question slips out before you can stop it.
The room grows still again. Your father stops moving too.
Your mother’s face softens instantly. She sets the mug down carefully before turning toward you completely.
For a moment she simply studies you. And suddenly you feel younger. Not like the girl who spent the night with Roman. Not like the girl who lied for months. Just her daughter.
Your mother’s expression grows sad. And somehow that’s infinitely harder. “I was angry.”The words come quietly.
You nod. You already knew that.
“I was hurt.”
Another nod. You knew that too.
Your mother crosses her arms loosely, looking down for a second before meeting your eyes again. “I think part of me still is.”
Your chest tightens. But before you can say anything, she continues. “That doesn’t mean I stopped loving you.”
The words hit harder than expected. Your vision blurs again.
“Sweetheart.” She whispers to you softly.
Your throat closes. Because suddenly you realize how scared you’ve been too.
Not just of losing Roman. Of losing this. Your family. Your mother’s trust. Your father’s respect. Somewhere deep down, a part of you had convinced yourself that if the truth ever came out, everything would break.
And yet here you are. Still sitting at the same kitchen table. Still loved. Still theirs.
Your mother walks back toward you slowly. Then rests a hand against your shoulder. The gesture is simple. Familiar. “You don’t have to keep choosing between us.”
Your breath catches. Immediately.
Your mother sighs. “So stop acting like you do.”
The lump in your throat becomes painful. Because she’s right. In a way, you’ve been treating it like a choice.
Roman or your parents. Love or family. Freedom or loyalty.
When maybe it never had to be that simple.
Your mother squeezes your shoulder once. Then lets go. You watch her move back toward the counter. Neither of you speaks for a moment.
Then your father clears his throat. You immediately know he’s about to make things worse. You can feel it. “I still have questions.”
You close your eyes. Your mother groans. “Please don’t.”
“I have legitimate concerns.”
“You always have legitimate concerns.” She says.
“I do.”
Your father looks toward you. Completely serious. “Did he really climb that tree?”
Heat floods your face for the hundredth time this morning. “Dad.”
“I’m asking.”
“Why?” Your mother asks this time.
“Because that thing is at least twenty feet tall.”
Your mother presses her hand over her eyes. “Oh my God.”
Your father shrugs. “What? That’s impressive.”
You stare. Speechless.
Your father notices. “What?”
“You are impossible.” You roll your eyes.
He nods. “My question is fair.”
For the first time all morning, you laugh. A real laugh. Not forced.
The sound surprises even you. Your mother smiles faintly. And suddenly the tension that’s been living in this house for weeks eases slightly.
Not gone. Not completely. But enough to imagine something beyond constant fighting.
Your phone vibrates suddenly against the table. The sound makes your stomach drop.
Your parents both look down. You freeze because you already know who it is.
Roman. Of course it’s Roman. Probably wondering if you’ve survived breakfast.
Your father notices your expression first. Then the phone. Then your expression again.
A slow smile appears. “Oh, that’s definitely him.”
You want to disappear. Instantly. Your mother raises an eyebrow. Your face burns. Neither of them needs confirmation. The silence confirms it for you.
Your father gestures toward the phone. “Well?”
You stare.
“Answer him.” He gestures towards the phone.
You blink, certain you’ve misheard. “What?”
“Answer him.” Your father looks genuinely confused. “He’s probably wondering if we’re burying you in the backyard.”
Your mother actually snorts. You stare at both of them. Completely speechless. This cannot be real. There is absolutely no way this conversation is happening.
Your phone vibrates again. Another message. Slowly, carefully, you pick it up.
Roman’s name fills the screen.
Roman:
everything okay?
pls keep me updated baby
A small smile pulls at your mouth. The reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. Your mother sees it. And something in her expression shifts. Just slightly. Because she sees it. The thing she’s been fighting against for months.
You type back quickly.
You:
i'm alive
His response arrives almost instantly.
Roman:
i was starting to get worried
Your heart immediately betrays you. The smile appears before you can stop it. And this time your mother definitely sees. She exchanges a look with your father. One of those silent parent conversations that somehow contain entire paragraphs.
Your stomach flips. “What?” You ask suspiciously.
Your father shakes his head. “Nothing.” Which means absolutely something.
Your mother sighs softly. Then looks at you. Really looks at you. For a long moment. “Invite him over on Sunday. After we're done with church.”
Your breath catches. “What?”
“Sunday.” Your mother’s voice remains calm. “Sunday at 7. I want him here for dinner.”
You stare for a bit before nodding. "Okay." You stutter for a second. "Okay, yes. I will." You say hurriedly. "I'll let him know."
· · ──────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────── · ·
Sunday arrives much faster than you expect. The entire week passes in a blur of nerves. Roman pretends he isn’t nervous. Which would be far more convincing if he hadn’t called you three separate times on Saturday asking what your father likes, what your mother likes, whether he should wear a button down shirt, and if bringing flowers would seem desperate.
“You are panicking.” You tell him over the phone.
“I’m not panicking.” He says through the speaker way too fast.
“You called me four times.”
“Three.” He corrects.
You pinch the bridge of your nose, smiling. “Roman.”
A beat of silence. Then, quieter, he says. “Okay, maybe a little.”
You spend most of the call laughing. Because somehow the boy who climbed a tree in the middle of the night without hesitation is terrified of sitting at a dinner table.
By Sunday afternoon, you’re nervous too. The house feels different. Your mother keeps rearranging things that don’t need rearranging. Your father insists he’s perfectly calm despite spending suspiciously long amounts of time reading in the living room.
Nobody says much. Everyone is waiting. Including you. Especially you.
When the doorbell finally rings, your heart nearly stops. You freeze. From the kitchen, your mother looks up. Your father lowers his newspaper. The entire house seems to hold its breath. And suddenly this feels far more terrifying than sneaking around ever did.
“Well?” Your father says.
You stare at him. He raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning on making him stand outside all night?”
Heat floods your face. You move toward the front door, your pulse hammering. The second you open it, Roman is standing there.
And for a moment, you almost laugh. Because he’s clearly scared. Dark button-down shirt. Dark jeans.
Hair actually styled for once.
And in one hand he's holding flowers.
You stare.
Roman immediately notices. “What?”
“Flowers?” You raise an eyebrow.
His face instantly reddens. “I'm trying to be polite.”
Your smile grows. “You are.”
“Good.”
There's a quick pause between you before he speaks again. “I almost turned around three times.”
You laugh. The sound helps. His shoulders loosen slightly. Only slightly. Then his eyes find yours fully. And something soft settles over his expression. The familiar look that always makes your chest ache.
“You okay?” He asks.
You nod. “Are you?”
“No.”
The honesty makes you laugh again. Roman exhales. Then glances past you toward the house, immediately looking concerned.
“How bad is it?”
You step closer, lowering your voice. “My mother likes flowers.”
Roman visibly relaxes. “A point for me.”
“My father is harder to please.”
Roman sighs dramatically. “I knew it.”
The sound of footsteps behind you makes both of you turn. Your father appears in the hallway.
Roman straightens so quickly it’s almost painful to watch. You bite the inside of your cheek. Your father notices. His expression remains completely neutral. Which somehow makes everything worse for Roman, at least.
“Good evening, sir.” The words come out of his mouth so formal you nearly choke.
Your father studies him. Then the flowers. Then him again.
“Good evening, Roman.”
Roman blinks, unsure of what to say or do in this moment.
“These are for you. Well, I mean for your wife but-.” Roman mumbles before stopping himself. You chuckle quietly.
Your father nods once. Then steps aside. “Come in.”
The relief on Roman’s face is almost comical.
Dinner starts awkwardly. Painfully awkwardly. Everyone tries. Nobody quite succeeds. Your mother thanks him for the flowers. Roman thanks her for dinner. Your father asks about his work. Roman answers.
Then everyone runs out of safe topics at the same time. The silence that follows is brutal. You want to disappear. Fortunately, Roman recovers first. He starts talking about work. Then about Hollis. Then somehow a story involving a broken bicycle and an angry neighbor.
To your complete shock, your mother laughs. Actually laughs. Roman immediately looks stunned. As though he hadn’t expected that outcome. Neither had you.
The evening slowly becomes easier after that. Not perfect. Just easier. Your parents ask questions. Real questions. Not interrogations. Questions.
Roman answers honestly. Never trying too hard. Never pretending to be someone else. And maybe that’s what changes things. Because your parents have spent months imagining some version of him.
A dangerous version. A careless version. A version that never actually existed. Now they’re finally meeting the real one. The one who remembers his best friend's coffee order. The one who calls his grandmother every Sunday. The one who gets nervous. The one who worries. The one who loves you.
The biggest moment happens during dessert. The conversation drifts. Then your father asks it.
"Roman." Your father simply says. The room quiets. Roman immediately looks up.
Your father folds his hands together, looking directly at him.
“Why my daughter?” You stop breathing. Your mother looks down at her plate. Roman goes completely still.
For a second, nobody says anything. You want to rescue him. To answer for him. To stop this. Then Roman looks toward you briefly.
And when he speaks, his voice is quiet. Steady.
“Because she’s different.”
Silence. Complete silence.
Your heart forgets how to function. Roman continues before anyone can react. “She’s kind. She cares about people.”
He pauses briefly before continuing. “She’s stubborn.”
You immediately glare at him.
Roman almost smiles. “Very stubborn.”
Your father hides a laugh behind his hand.
Roman’s gaze returns to yours. And suddenly it feels like you’re the only two people in the room. “She makes everything better.”
The words hit you like a punch. For the first time all night, nobody has a response.
Not your father. Not your mother. Not even you.
The conversation eventually moves on. But something changes after that. The tension softens. The walls lower.
By the time dinner ends, the atmosphere feels entirely different from when it began. Your mother hugs you before starting the dishes. Something she hasn’t done in weeks.
Your father walks Roman to the front door. You nearly die watching it. Certain this is where the interrogation finally happens.
Instead, your father pauses beside him. “Drive safe.”
That’s it. Just two words.
But you see Roman’s expression. The slight surprise. The understanding.
Roman nods. “I will.”
A moment later you’re following him outside. The evening air is cool. The sky dark. The porch light glows warmly behind you.
For a while neither of you says anything. You just stand there, letting the night settle around you.
Finally Roman exhales. “I think your father threatened me three different ways.”
You laugh immediately. “He likes you.”
Roman looks horrified. “That’s what liking me looks like?”
“Pretty much.” You shrug.
“I dont even want to know what hating me would look like.”
You laugh again. And suddenly all the tension from the week disappears. Roman shakes his head, looking back toward the house.
The light glowing through the windows. Your parents are still inside.
“They’re not what I expected.”
You smile softly. “They’d say the same thing about you.”
Roman glances toward you. Something gentle appearing in his expression. “I'd hope so.”
The silence that follows feels comfortable. Easy. Not the painful silences you’ve become used to. Just peace.
Roman reaches for your hand like he’s done a hundred times before.
This time you don’t have to look over your shoulder. You don’t have to hide. You don’t have to let go. Your fingers lace together.
The realization settles between you both. You can see it happen. The understanding. The relief.
All the sneaking around. All the lies. All the fear. For the first time, it’s over.
Roman squeezes your hand. “You know.”
You look up. “What?”
A grin appears. “Climbing through the window was much easier than this.”
You groan immediately. “You're stupid.”
“You like me though.” He smiles.
"Oh, shut up." You smile back at him.
His thumb brushes lightly against your hand. “We’re okay now, right?”
The question comes quietly. Not because he’s unsure about you. Because he’s unsure about everything else. The future. Your family. The road ahead.
You look at him. Really look at him. And suddenly all the fear that once surrounded him feels distant. Like something from another life.
You smile. “We’re okay.”
The words settle softly between you. Roman steps closer. His forehead rests briefly against yours. The porch light glows warmly behind you. Somewhere inside the house, your parents are probably discussing him.
Marie is undoubtedly waiting for updates. Tomorrow will bring new problems. New worries. New uncertainties. But for the first time in a very long time, none of it feels frightening.
Roman squeezes your hand once. You squeeze back. And together, you take the first step forward. The future still unwritten.
But finally, you don't have to keep it hidden. Finally, you have nothing to worry about.
⸝⸝ i care too much all the time—love so hard, it makes me cry
pairing: nettspend x fakemink’s childhood friend!reader
themes/warnings: foul language, one sided beef, slow burn(ish), miscommunication
in which a misunderstanding leads fakeminks childhood friend y/n, an upcoming indie artist, into a compromising relationship with nettspend, a fast-rising underground rapper
♫ fleetwood mac · only over you - 2016 remaster
♥︎ 12.3K ☰ 1677 ↺ 82 ⌯⌲ 3.3K
liked by mazzyjoya, pasabist, and others
valent1neg1rl: richmond i’m in you! 🐇🕰️
view all 1677 comments
021406girl: the prettiest ♡ ♥︎ by author
ellawoolseyy: fav girl ♥︎ by author
bafk666666: VA grim reaper paid you a visit
natesibsdih: can i get a free ticket to the mass show…
nettspendnation: omg nettspend was at your show tonight!!!
angelbbyunicorn: can you pls pls pls do loose tie for a surprise song
⤷ valent1neg1rl: of course!! which show are you going to?
⤷ ynsbiggestfann186: omg a queen who listens to her fans
natesibsdih: collab with ella woolsey
⤷ natesibsclih: wait this would be fire
natesibsdih: so cute❤️❤️❤️❤️ ♥︎ by author
♫ valent1ne · in twos
♥︎ 3455 ☰ 129 ↺ 57 ⌯⌲ 1.3K
liked by mazzyjoya, petal6spliff, and others
mazznett.com: Mazzy & Nett at @valent1neg1rI’s Richmond show tonight
? hollis was always just your best friend, till he wasn't
? is a slowburn, proceed with patience
you loved hollis. no, it wasn't a weird love. you loved him like a brother. he always took care of you when roman couldn't. sure, roman was a great older brother, but there was times that he forgot you existed.
especially during middle school, when having a girlfriend was the coolest thing to him.
you were sitting in the front of the school, waiting for roman so you guys could walk to school. it already been about 30 minutes since you all got out of school, and you were starting to get worried. but then you heard footsteps behind you.
"finally roman, god what even takes you-" you stop midway, turning around and noticing you aren't talking to roman.
"he's stuck with her again. i'm walking you home" hollis lived 3 blocks away from your house, which he didn't mind walking to make sure you had someone there.
embarrassed, you said nothing and walked with him in silence for a while. you wished your brother missed you as much as you missed him. 7th grade was already hard enough.
"it's okay to be mad, you know that right?" hollis asked you with a sure calm tone, and stared intently at you.
all you can do is nod.
roman wasn't like that anymore, as you are in his car riding to the last day of his senior year. self control playing in the background only making you more emotional. your older brother is leaving you behind.
you already had your license and had plenty of friends. but still, you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from crying in front of him. you didn't want him to worry.
he starts singing with a loud and content voice, and you look to him and smile. he was finally done with school, something that he had hated for his entire life.
when the school came into view, you realized who else was leaving. hollis. the person who yelled at the cheerleaders for laughing at you at tryouts. the person who punched a guy in the eye because he wouldn't take no for an answer. the person that you could text and would answer in one second.
you suddenly feel the pit in your stomach, the feeling of dread and loss. roman parks the car at the front of school and yells while he gets out of the car. you sit there for a second gathering yourself before leaving the car. you look to the right and see hollis, nate, and roman hugging and jumping in a circle.
you leave the parking lot without saying bye, knowing that you couldn't say hi without crying. heading toward the school with both headphones in, playing the demo hollis sent you last night.
everyone at school knew hollis was starting to make music, and you had the privilege of hearing it all. the demos, the beats, the lyrics, all of it. he cared about what you had to say.
this song felt different. there was a repeating guitar throughout the song, there weren't many lyrics yet, but he already had the bridge down.
"you used to take me there,
in the back of the convertible,
you put your fingers in my hair,
next they're in my underwear."
you let the lyrics sit, and you realize that they were probably your favorite yet.
you turn off your phone and walk into the the science classroom you hate. walking in you see all of the amazing people of your junior class, chatting around about the newest pregnancy scare in the school.
you always sit in the front away from everyone. you didn't hate them; you hate the noise they make. all of the false allegations they had on each other to sound cool, it was exhausting.
hollis never cared about what people said about him, and boy, did people talk. they said his music sucked, how they didn't like his long hair, and how they hated the way he didn't care.
? hollis was always just your best friend, till he wasn't
? is a slowburn, proceed with patience
slow.
that was how your day was going. you and hollis haven't spoken since their last day of school, it was now the day before graduation.
the hallways felt louder today, maybe because it was everyone's last day before finals. you were an okay student, i mean you didn't have a 4.0 gpa but you didn't have to do credit recovery.
you were standing by the front doors waiting for your friend, elizabeth, to come with you to nate's graduation party. they all liked liz, so you more than happy to bring her.
"please tell me you're getting ready before we go," liz looks at your face and squishes your cheeks like you're a toddler.
"bro get off of me." you weren't having it; you were still in denial that everyone was leaving.
as you two walk out of the school, liz talks about what you could wear and how excited she was to do your makeup. but all you could think about was the demo, wondering what else he had added.
it seems like all you think about his hollis.
but, no, you love him like a brother. you could never date him, it would be weird with roman.
sure, you have thought about being with hollis. every single aspect of a relationship would be great with him. but that's just a fantasy. hollis has never had a girlfriend by choice, but he has never told you why. you were always too scared to ask him.
snapping out of your thoughts, you open the car door and start the car. liz jumping in and grabbing the aux. you never liked having aux. she starts playing hoes love art by meat computer, and you roll down all of the windows.
the breeze pricked at your arms, giving you goosebumps as you quietly drove to your house.
you hated the way your hair got in your mouth while singing the lyrics, and you loved the way the wind felt against your skin. you approached your house, seeing multiple cars parked on the driveway.
"i'd hope they'd already be gone to get ready for the party." you mumbled as you parked the car.
you and liz grab your stuff and head inside, taking off your shoes at the front. you hear all three of them yelling downstairs in roman's room. gratefully, you both run up to your room to avoid any interactions for now.
liz always loved your hair; it was so dark and healthy. you were kind of her model; she would put you in clothes that she liked to see if they matched you. today, she was especially excited; she was ready to give you a complete makeover. you knew she knew that you thought hollis was cute, but she never made you say anything about it. that's why liz is your best friend.
hollis was tense on his phone. he looked at your post 35 times. every time trying to convince himself that he loved you like a sister. but you looked good, and he knew that.
he saw every thirst comment from the guys in your grade, begging for you to answer them. he felt selfish, like he had been for a very long time with you.
currently in the other room of your house, he was making something with roman and nate. some song that had meaning, but none of them knew. hollis turned off his phone before either of them could notice and played the beat.
it was different from the demo he sent you, this song was way too obvious about his emotions.
sister.wve starts playing on the speakers of roman's studio. the warm, soft drums fill the room, and nate and roman immediately start patting him on the back and praising him. then hollis' voice humms lyrics that they can barely make out. till roman heard a lyric.
"girl i love you like a sister?" roman looks at hollis with a disgusted and unsure look on his face, then spins and looks at nate.
hollis only nods and continues to play the track some more and tweak it out as they both stare at him. roman knew it was about you, but now he was wondering if there were more songs about you that went right past his head.
nate looked at hollis and made sure they made eye contact, signaling to hollis to explain himself.
"i know this shit sounds weird, but it's something that rolled out and felt right," hollis starts staring at roman, "but i don't mean any harm to your sister."
he didn't confirm that the song was about you, nor did he deny.
"i'm releasing it tomorrow, don't make shit weird tonight." that was the last thing hollis said before packing up his laptop and getting out of the house to get ready for nate's party.
but instead of releasing it the next day, hollis decided to release a little early.
An: updating shit you thought would never be updated before. I am referencing the Montreality interview throughout this entire chapter and will be for the whole series ILYYY <3
Purple - reader
Blue- dada holli
JAN 2025-
Hollis finally makes his way back inside after greeting fans. The second he spots you waiting by the backstage exit a grin spreads across his face.
“You waiting for me?”
“Unfortunately,” you reply dryly.
He clutches his chest dramatically. “Damn.”
“Let's go. We have work to do.”
You lead him through the back of the venue toward a black staircase tucked away from the crowd. The lighting is low, just bright enough for the camera setup. As he follows behind you, he looks around.
“Yo, this is scary as fuck. If you weren't so pretty, I'd think you were trying to kill me.”
You glance over your shoulder. “You don't think a pretty girl could kill you?”
He laughs. “If you did, I'd die happy.”
You shove his shoulder lightly. “Sit down before I change my mind.”
Before he drops into place, he looks at you. “Wait, Y/N, before we start, can I spark up?”
“Yeah, go ahead, I don’t mind,” you respond. “I didn’t know you smoked though.”
“Not often,” he says, pulling out a joint from behind his ear. “It’s just something to celebrate after the shows.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a show every day?”
"Yeah…… " he laughs as he puts the joint to his lips, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You wanna join me?”
“Noo hun I don’t smoke,” you reply firmly. “The idea of brain fog kinda freaks me out.”
He pauses, looking at you intently to see if you're actually serious. Then, he lets out a soft chuckle. “First time in a long time I’ve seen anyone decline free weed. I like that. You know what? I’ll follow you. Keep my head on straight.”
He drops into place on the stairs while you set up the camera. After checking the audio levels, you hit record.
“Alright,” you say. “Let's start easy. What was your life like when you were ten?”
Hollis leans back and thinks for a second. “Umm... when I was ten, I had just moved to Los Angeles. I was obsessed with Pokémon. Minecraft. Stuff like that.” He laughs. “I wanted to be a goalkeeper, though, like that was my dream.”
“Aww, that’s so cute. You really wanted to be a goalkeeper?”
“Yeah. I was obsessed with sports. Football, basketball, soccer, baseball. I skated, too.”
“So you liked being outside?”
“Still do.” He points toward the camera. “Everybody should go outside. Touch grass. Get some sunlight. Appreciate being alive.”
Before you can ask the next question, a voice from somewhere in the venue shouts: “You're attractive as fuck, no homo!”
Hollis's face turns red, and he erupts into laughter. He doubles over and shouts back, “It's okay to be homo!”
The crowd somewhere behind the camera cheers. You shake your head and start to quote the Ian bar “Does it matter if 2Hollis likes guys?”
“That shit was completely unprompted,” Hollis chuckles. “I still don't know why he said that till this day.”
“You seem to really enjoy the friendships that the industry has brought you.”
His expression softens immediately. “Probably the best part of all this.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Obviously, fans are amazing. Touring is amazing. But music gave me brothers for life.” He pauses. “People I'll care about forever. Even after I die, type shit.”
His eyes briefly drift toward the venue floor.
“I think it's important to realize your friends are the foundation for everything. None of this works without them.” He nods. “My number one piece of advice? Never switch up on your day ones.”
You smile. “Oh, okay. So you're a friendly guy.”
His eyes narrow playfully. “You like friendly guys?”
“Hate them, actually.”
“Fuck.”
You laugh. “Unlucky.”
“Listen,” he says. “I genuinely think life gets better when you're friendly.”
You gesture for him to continue.
“When I was a kid, I had a horse named Sammy.”
“A horse?”
“Yes, Y/N. A horse.”
You immediately start laughing.
“Trust me, it gets better,” he says, leaning forward excitedly. “It was crazy my neighbor had a horse, too. We'd dress them up in chainmail armor and race them through the mountains.”
“You're lying.”
“I swear to God.”
“You raced armored horses?”
“Yeah. We would gallop all the way up the mountains- -”
“Bye.”
“--pitch black. No saddle. Shirtless.”
You cover your face. “That explains your little obsession with horses.”
“ I'm telling you, that was some of the most fun I've had in my life.” A smile tugs at his lips, and he looks at the camera. “Shout out Sammy. Shout out my neighbor.”
You shake your head. “That sounds insane.”
“It was.” He points at you. “But it only happened because we were friends.”
“Oh?”
“Fun always starts when you're friendly.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You call this being friendly?”
“Being what?”
You gesture between the two of you. “This.”
His smile grows. “Nah.”
“Exactly.”
“You should only be this friendly with me.”
You roll your eyes dramatically. “Moving on.”
He laughs.
“Hollis,” you continue, “do you believe in manifestation?”
“Absolutely.” The answer comes instantly. “One hundred percent.”
“Why?”
“If you love the universe and you love God like, not even God in a religious thing, just God as in everything, if you trust it and you say 'I love you' to it, it'll love you back. It'll give you what you want. I promise you.” He shrugs. “If you approach life with gratitude and trust, things start opening up.”
“You really believe that?”
“Yeah.” He glances at you. “I think belief changes everything.”
“Do you think manifestation changed your life?”
“Definitely.” He nods. “But it starts with believing in yourself.” He looks around the venue. “A lot of this used to feel impossible.”
“The tour?”
“All of it.” His voice grows quieter. “The music. The crowds. Being here.” His eyes find yours. “genuinely even down to being able to enjoy this moment with you. It’s all because I believed, and I love all the shit I do.”
For a second, you forget your next question. You clear your throat. “The way you think is really different from most people our age.”
He smiles. “Thanks.”
“What gives you such a positive outlook?”
“The only thing I want in life is to be happy.” The answer comes without hesitation. “That's it.”
“I like that. It’s easier to be content when your only goal is happiness.”
He taps your shoulder and shouts, “Exactly!”
You laugh.
“Seriously, though. None of this matters if you're miserable.” He gestures around the venue. “You could have money, houses, cars, fame, hoes, whatever.” He shrugs. “If you're not happy, what's the point?”
You nod slowly. “Are you happy right now?”
“Hell yeah.” The answer makes you smile. “I'm on tour. I'm meeting fans.” He glances at you. “I'm talking to a pretty girl.”
You roll your eyes again. “right....”
His laughter echoes through the staircase.
“So,” you continue, refusing to look at him, “do you have any tattoos?”
“Trying to avoid what I said?”
“Nope. Trying to do my job.”
“Funny.” He leans back. “But no. I don't think I'll ever get one.”
“Why?”
“I like being a blank canvas.”
You tilt your head. “Oh, he’s soo different.”
He chuckles. “Nah, for real though. I express myself in so many other ways, I feel like a tattoo is too permanent. I change my mind too often.”
“Inconsistency. That’s a red flag.”
“Inconsistent? No. Red flag? Maybe.”
“What's your biggest red flag?”
His eyes narrow. “Y/N.”
“What?”
“You gotta figure that one out yourself.”
You laugh. “Oh, what? You don't believe in love or something?”
His expression changes. Not dramatically, but just enough.
“No,” he says immediately. “I definitely believe in love.”
You lean forward slightly. “How would you describe it?”
For the first time in the interview, he takes a second to think. When he finally speaks, the joking tone disappears completely.
“Love is when you would do anything for someone, no matter what. You would die for them. You would do anything for them. You give them anything.”
The venue suddenly feels quieter, as if the crowd below has completely withered away.
“All that's on your mind is that person,” his eyes stay fixed somewhere ahead. “If they died, it would break you. You know, that's love. If you can't have that person and it fucks you up, that's when you're in love.”
You swallow hard. He lets out a slow breath, and a heavy silence settles between you. The words flow out of him so effortlessly, completely from the heart. It's beautiful, and you find yourself utterly enamored by him, not because of his looks or his fame, but because of how genuinely he speaks.
He finally looks back at you, a small smile returning to his face. “You know, love is a very complex thing, though. You can't really just define it in one word.”
You stare at him for a moment, then shake your head. “Wow.”
“What?” he asks, rubbing his arm as if he’s suddenly nervous.
