saint

##blogger ##fics ##boyliife ##vie

🪽 music lover, avid reader, film watcher, fashion obsessed.

⋆˚࿔ currently rewatching the virgin suicides, elephant, hot summer nights, me and you and everyone we know.

part 卌

gunner shepardson(nettspend) x fem!reader

word count: ~ 454

author's note: soooo this one is a little short but i swear i didn’t forget abt this lol. i’ve been thinking abt rewriting the other parts too bc they’re kinda sloppy and i feel like i could write them sm better now but i wanted to get this part out first soooo… lmk what u guys think :p also we’re just gonna pretend he had a eu tour for bafk okay don’t question it. this part is a little corny imo but whateverrr i hope u guys like it

the apartment feels different after that.

quieter.

not because anything changed.

just because you keep expecting your phone to buzz.

it does.

a few times.

you don't look.

—

the first day passes slowly.

you clean.

do laundry that probably could've waited another week.

reorganize the bookshelf in your living room even though it was already organized.

anything to keep your hands busy.

anything to keep your mind somewhere else.

his name stays buried beneath your notifications.

you don't open them.

—

the second day is easier.

or maybe you've just gotten better at pretending.

you leave the apartment.

pick up groceries.

stop by a bookstore.

buy a book you'll probably never finish.

make dinner.

watch half a movie.

fall asleep with the tv still playing.

you still don't answer him.

—

by the third day, the internet has already moved on.

mostly.

your feed is full of airport pictures.

tour clips.

fans waiting outside hotels.

videos of crowds screaming every word somewhere in europe.

paris.

then london.

then amsterdam.

you stop trying to keep up.

he looks fine.

normal.

like nothing happened.

you tell yourself that's a good thing.

distance is probably what both of you need.

—

thursday morning starts the same as every other one.

tea.

an oversized hoodie.

music playing quietly from the speaker in your kitchen.

you're halfway through watering a plant by the window when someone knocks.

you weren't expecting anyone.

another knock.

you set the watering can down and walk over.

through the peephole—

a delivery driver.

you open the door.

"y/n?"

"....yeah."

"delivery."

he hands you a bouquet wrapped in brown paper.

"have a good one."

"...thanks."

the door closes.

you stand there for a second.

flowers still in your hands.

they're simple.

white and pale pink.

a cream ribbon tied around the stems.

there's a small envelope tucked inside.

your stomach drops.

you already know.

you slide the card out.

don't be mad forever.

— g

you read it once.

then again.

it's so...

him.

you carry the bouquet into the kitchen.

find an old glass vase.

fill it with water.

set them by the window.

they make the apartment feel less empty.

you hate that they do.

—

the flowers stay there.

every morning.

every night.

you tell yourself you're going to move them.

you never do.

they slowly become part of the apartment.

part of the routine.

every few days you change the water.

trim the stems.

try not to think too hard about why.

—

four days later—

you're curled up on the couch with a book resting open in your lap.

you've read the same page three times.

your phone lights up.

you stare at his name for a second.

then open it.

┃ gunner: u still mad?

gunner shepardson(nettspend) x fem!influencer!reader

summary: he has spent three months trying to take you out; seeing him in person might finally change your mind.

word count: ~412

gunner is, if nothing else, incredibly persistent.

your instagram request folder is practically a timeline of his attempts to get your attention. it’s been that way for the past three months—ever since you posted that grwm in an oversized vintage tee, and somehow, from that point on, he ended up everywhere.

if you checked your phone right now, he’d probably be sitting at the very top.

him.slut (replied to your story: a close-up selfie showing off your new lip gloss.)

u look good

a minute later.

u in la still?

and then, because he never really knows when to quit

lemme take u out

i’m deadass too

you almost never answer.

sometimes you’ll double-tap the messages just so he knows you saw them.

sometimes you leave them sitting there unopened for hours before eventually tapping in, reading every word, and backing right back out.

it doesn’t matter.

a day later, he’s replying to another story.

him.slut (replied to your story: a mirror selfie.)

this the one

every new post earns another reaction. another reply. another excuse to start a conversation that never really gets off the ground.

you’d think he’d get the hint eventually.

he doesn’t.

if anything, he just gets more patient.

the funniest part, though, is seeing him in person.

last weekend at an archive pop-up in la, he was posted against a wall with his hands shoved in the pockets of an oversized zip-up, talking to somebody you didn’t recognize. the second you walked in, his attention drifted.

he looked over once.

then again.

and before you knew it, he was making his way across the room.

“finally caught you,” he says, stopping in front of you with the smallest grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

you raise an eyebrow.

“caught me?”

“yeah.” he shrugs. “thought you was gonna keep hiding behind instagram forever.”

you let out a laugh, shaking your head.

“i’m not hiding.”

“could’ve fooled me.”

he tilts his head toward you just enough to be heard over the music.

“so…” he says. “you ever gonna let me take you out?”

you roll your eyes, taking another sip of your drink.

“…you don’t give up, do you?”

“nah.”

he smiles.

“not really.”

and for the first time in three months, you’re actually considering answering those dms.

hollis frazier-herndon x fem!singer!reader

summary: you thought you were done with him, that you’d moved on, but seeing him still hits different. turns out, some feelings don’t just fade away

word count: 1182

authors note: this is my first time writing something like this, so please let me know what you think especially if it’s corny, be honest. i’m also gonna try posting more regularly… no promises though but nonetheless profitez bien, mes angels.

the bass from the main stage hums through the dressing room walls, vibrating under your feet. you sit at the mirror, fixing your hair one last time while the usual pre-show chaos swirls around you — stylists brushing past, walkie chatter in the background, the electric hum of the crowd waiting beyond the curtain.

you’re co-headlining tonight with him. your ex. the one you’ve spent months trying not to think about, even though his name is printed right next to yours outside.

“hey.”

you hear him before you see him. leaning in the doorway, calm like he owns the space, like he always does.

“what do you want?” you ask, keeping your eyes on the mirror.

“my jacket’s stuck.” he steps in, letting the door swing closed behind him. “you always knew how to fix these.”

you exhale and finally turn. leather jacket, white tee, dark jeans, that silver chain you gave him years ago. familiar in a way that makes your chest tighten.

“you have people for that,” you say.

“they’re busy.” he moves closer. you catch the faint scent of his cologne. “we have time.”

you stand and cross the room. your fingers find the zipper caught in the teeth. you work it loose, aware of how close he is, the warmth radiating off him.

“you know,” he says quietly, “roman told me some interesting things last weekend.”

your fingers stilled for just a moment before continuing their work “oh yeah?”

“mhm, said you got pretty drunk at his party and spent about twenty minutes talking about me. about how much you miss me. about how no one else has ever—"

"roman is a liar and a shit-stirrer." you laugh, the sound sounding a little too bright, too forced. "i didn't say any of that."

"no?" he leans a little closer, close enough that you can practically feel the weight of his gaze "because he was pretty specific. said you told him i was the best you ever had. that you think about me when you—"

"ookay, that's enough." you finally yanked the zipper free and stepped back. "your jacket is fixed. we're done here."

he doesn’t move. instead, he grins—subtle, like he’s already won something you haven’t admitted out loud yet—before leaning in closer, close enough that his breath brushes your ear.

“i know you want me,” he murmurs. “i see it every time you look at me.”

a shiver slips down your spine, and you hate that it does. hate that he notices things like that. hate that he’s not wrong enough.

“you’re delusional,” you say, but it comes out softer than you meant, a little uneven. “we’re on in fifteen. go"

“then we have time.”

his mouth was on yours before you could protest, and the kiss was hungry and demanding, nothing like the gentle boy you had dated all those months ago. this was a man who knew what he wanted, and he wanted you. you should have pushed him away. you should have slapped him or stormed out or done anything other than kiss him back with equal desperation.

"fuck," you gasped when he pulled back, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt.

"tell me to stop," he said, his forehead pressed against yours. "tell me you don't want this, and i'll walk out that door right now."

you couldn't. may god help you, you couldn't.

his hands found your waist, spinning you around and walking you backward until your hips hit the vanity table. he lifted you effortlessly, setting you on the surface and stepping between your parted thighs. the mirror behind you rattled with the impact.

"hollis—" you started, but he cut you off with another kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your head spin.

“do you want this?" he murmured against your lips, his hands sliding up under the hem of your top. his thumbs traced circles on your bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

you nodded, your eyes half-closed.

"use your words," he commanded softly. "tell me what you want."

"i want this," you breathed. "i want you."

he smiled—and then his hands were everywhere, tugging at your clothes, sliding beneath fabric to find bare skin. you fumbled with his belt, desperate and clumsy, until he batted your hands away and handled it himself.

"look at you," he said, his voice dropping to a low rasp. "so desperate for me. all that pretending you didn't care, and here you are, dripping wet and shaking for my cock."

"shut up and fuck me," you snapped, but there was no real venom in it.

he laughed, the sound sending another wave of heat through you. "since you asked so nicely."

he pulled you to the edge of the vanity, and you felt him position himself at your entrance. then he was pushing inside, and you gasped at the stretch, your body opening to accommodate him after so long without. he stilled for a moment, letting you adjust.

"still okay?" he asked, and something in his voice softened.

"yes. don't stop."

he started to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. the vanity shook beneath you two, makeup bottles rattling and threatening to topple over. you bit down on your lip to keep from crying out, but he reached up and pulled your lip free with his thumb.

"i want to hear you," he said. "let me hear those pretty sounds you make."

his pace increased, and you stopped trying to be quiet. moans spilled from your lips, punctuated by gasps of his name. the sound of skin against skin mixed with the muffled bass still thumping through the walls, creating a rhythm that was almost intoxicating.

"god, you feel incredible," he groaned against your neck. "so tight. so fucking wet for me."

his hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles that made your vision blur. you could feel the pressure building low in your lower abdomen, coiling tighter with every thrust.

"hollis, i'm—"

"i know. cum for me. let go."

the orgasm crashed through you like a wave, your whole body trembling as you clung to his shoulders. he followed moments later, burying himself deep with a groan as he spilled inside you.

you stayed like that for a moment, both breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours. then he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips—softer than any of the ones before.

"you okay?" he asked quietly.

you nodded, not trusting your voice.

a sharp knock on the door made you both jump.

hollis pulled back, already tucking himself back into his jeans with practiced efficiency. he gave you a quick grin that made it hard to decide whether to pull him back in or shove him off.

"hollis! y/n! you're on in ten!" his manager's voice called through the wood. "get your asses to the wings, like, yesterday!"

"you better hurry up, wouldn't want to keep our fans waiting."

gunner shepardson(nettspend) x fem!reader

part iiii

summary: after a tense morning and even messier live interview, what was said and—what wasn't—starts to matter more than either of them expected. when he tries to smooth it over, you finally stop meeting him halfway.

word count: ~1,900–2,200 words.

authors note: hi so, i know i said this part would be longer + more interesting, but i just need to get this out now so bear with me. also if anything feels off or a little corny lmk im still figuring the tone out.

i also forgot some ppl on the last taglist, im sorry!! if you want to be added to the taglist, don’t be afraid to comment or message me.

anyway as always, feedback is always welcome and actually needed so don’t be shy but nonetheless profitez bien, mes angels.

p.s, ntm on the photos i got lazy again, i’ll change it later

you don’t move right away.

you’re still standing in the same spot, phone in your hand, staring at nothing in particular.

ten minutes.

that’s what he said.

you glance around your apartment again.

it’s not messy.

it just isn’t how you left it.

small things.

a glass on the table. a hoodie draped over the chair. your bag half open on the floor.

stuff you didn’t notice before.

now it’s all you can see.

—

the knock comes faster than you expect.

not aggressive.

just—

there.

you freeze for half a second.

then move.

slow, like it’ll change who’s on the other side.

you already know.

you stop at the door anyway, leaning slightly to check through the peephole.

and yeah.

of course.

it's him.

hood up, head slightly down, phone in his hand like he almost texted and didn’t.

you close your eyes for a second.

just a second.

then unlock the door.

—

you don’t swing it open.

just enough.

he looks up immediately.

“hey.”

you don’t answer that.

just step back and let him in.

he hesitates for half a second—like he’s checking if you’re actually letting him—then walks past you.

the door clicks shut behind him.

quiet again.

—

“you weren’t gonna answer?” he asks, glancing around like he hasn’t been here a hundred times before.

you shrug, already moving toward the kitchen.

“i did.”

“after i called you three times.”

“you survived.”

he huffs a quiet breath at that, following you.

“you always do that.”

“you always say that,” you shoot back, grabbing your phone off the counter like you need something to do with your hands.

he stops on the other side of it.

watching you.

“you’re acting like i didn’t come over,” he says.

you glance up at him.

“you said you would.”

“and i did.”

“okay?”

that lands a little flatter than he expects.

you can tell.

—

he leans forward slightly, hands resting on the counter.

“why you acting like that.”

you let out a small breath, not quite a laugh.

“like what?”

“like—” he stops, searching for it. “like i did something crazy.”

you look at him for a second.

really look.

then—

“you didn’t do anything,” you say.

and that—

that’s worse.

his expression shifts.

“what’s that supposed to mean.”

you shrug again.

“exactly what i said.”

he shakes his head, a short exhale leaving him.

“nah, don’t do that.”

“do what.”

“that,” he says, pointing slightly at you. “make it sound like nothing when you’re clearly—”

“when i’m clearly what?” you cut in.

he stops.

you wait.

he doesn’t finish it.

—

you lean back against the counter, arms crossing loosely.

“you don’t care,” you say, like you’re just stating it.

he frowns.

“that’s not true.”

you tilt your head slightly.

“then why does it look like that.”

“because it was on camera,” he says, quicker now. “you think i’m about to sit there and—what—say everything?”

“you didn’t have to say everything,” you reply. “you could’ve said something.”

“i did.”

you almost smile.

but not in a nice way.

“no, you didn’t.”

he exhales, running a hand over his face.

“you’re making it bigger than it was.”

“am i?” you say, quieter now.

that makes him pause.

“you saw it,” you add. “you saw what they’re saying.”

he doesn’t answer right away.

which is an answer enough.

you nod slightly.

“exactly.”

“i don’t care what they’re saying,” he says.

you look at him.

“that’s the problem.”

that hits.

you can see it.

“so you want me to what,” he says, a little sharper now. “go online and argue with everybody?”

“no,” you say. “but you could act like it matters.”

“it does matter.”

“not enough.”

silence.

tight again.

but different this time.

less back-and-forth

more… sitting in it.

—

he moves first.

stepping around the counter instead of staying across from you.

closer now.

you don’t move.

you just watch him.

“you think i don’t care about you?” he says, quieter.

you don’t answer.

he’s right in front of you now.

close enough that it shifts the air a little.

“you really think that?” he presses.

you hold his gaze for a second.

then—

“i think you make it easy to think that.”

he exhales slowly.

nods once.

like he doesn’t like it, but he gets it.

“aight,” he says quietly.

another step closer.

his hands settle lightly at your waist.

not forceful.

just there.

giving you time to move if you want to.

you don’t.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters.

it’s not loud.

not dramatic.

just—

close.

you feel it more than you hear it.

he leans in slightly, pressing a soft kiss just below your ear.

another.

slower this time.

“i’m sorry,” again, quieter.

you close your eyes for a second.

your hands rest against the counter behind you, but you don’t push him away.

don’t pull him closer either.

“you’re annoying,” you murmur.

there’s no bite to it.

he huffs a small breath against your skin.

“i know.”

another kiss.

lingering a little longer.

his grip tightens slightly at your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

you exhale slowly.

and that’s the shift.

the one you were holding back.

—

your hand moves without really thinking, resting lightly against his arm.

not stopping him.

not encouraging.

just there.

—

his phone buzzes.

once.

he ignores it.

—

again.

he exhales against your neck, annoyed this time.

“don’t,” you say quietly.

he pauses.

then pulls back just enough to check it.

his expression changes almost immediately.

“what.”

he glances at you, then back at his phone.

“i got an interview,” he says. “i forgot.”

you blink.

“…you’re serious?”

“in like an hour,” he adds, already running a hand through his hair.

you stare at him.

then let out a short laugh.

“of course you do.”

“i actually forgot,” he says, half defensive, half distracted now.

“mm,” you hum.

you push yourself off the counter slightly, creating just a little space between you.

“are you gonna say something there?”

he looks at you.

“about what.”

you give him a look.

he knows exactly what.

“i don’t know,” he says. “depends what they ask.”

you nod slowly.

not impressed.

“right.”

he frowns slightly.

“what.”

“nothing.”

“no, say it.”

you hold his gaze for a second.

then—

“just don’t act like it’s nothing again.”

quiet.

but clear.

—

he studies your face for a second.

longer than before.

then nods once.

“aight.”

you don’t respond.

but you don’t look away either.

—

his phone buzzes again.

more insistent this time.

he glances down at it, then back at you.

“i gotta go.”

you shrug slightly.

“then go.”

but it doesn’t sound like earlier.

he hesitates.

like he wants to say something else.

doesn’t.

instead, he leans in quickly, pressing one last kiss just below your jaw.

softer this time.

less rushed.

—

“i’ll fix it,” he mutters.

you don’t say anything.

—

you just watch him as he pulls back, grabs his phone, and heads for the door.

the door barely shuts before your phone buzzes.

you don’t move right away.

just stand there for a second, staring at the space he left behind like it’s supposed to settle into something.

it doesn’t.

—

buzz.

you exhale, finally grabbing your phone.

—

gunner:

i’ll make it up to you

another one.

gunner:

promise

—

you stare at it.

your thumb hovers.

you don’t answer.

—

buzz.

gunner:

you watching the interview?

—

you frown slightly.

you weren’t planning to.

—

who’s interviewing you

—

send.

—

typing…

—

gunner:

streamline

live one

—

your stomach drops a little.

of course it is.

—

you open youtube before you can think too much about it.

it’s already scheduled.

“LIVE IN 2 MINUTES”

his name in the title.

capitalized like it means more than it should.

—

you click it.

sit down on your couch

arms crossed loosely like you’re not about to watch something that might annoy you.

—

the stream starts.

comments moving too fast to read.

host already smiling like she knows something everyone else doesn’t.

“we’re live—okay. today’s guest, you already know him—”

you roll your eyes slightly.

—

then him.

same hoodie.

same everything.

just… cleaner.

more put together.

like the last twenty minutes didn’t happen.

—

“you okay?” the host asks, half joking.

gunner nods, relaxed.

“always.”

you scoff quietly.

—

it starts normal.

music.

tour.

numbers.

stuff you don’t care about.

you half-listen, half don’t.

—

then—

“okay,” the host says, leaning forward slightly. “we have to talk about what’s going around right now.”

your grip on your phone tightens just a little.

—

gunner doesn’t react right away.

just leans back slightly.

“what’s going around.”

the host laughs.

“don’t do that. you know what i’m talking about.”

comments start moving faster.

you can see the words even if you don’t read them fully.

the video

the girl

last night

—

“there’s a clip,” the host continues, “you outside your car, arguing with—people are saying your ex?”

a pause.

small.

barely noticeable.

unless you’re looking for it.

you are.

—

gunner shrugs.

“people say a lot.”

your expression stills.

—

the host grins like she expected that.

“so it’s not what it looks like?”

gunner lets out a quiet breath, like it’s not a big deal.

“it’s just… old shit,” he says. “nothing serious.”

—

you blink.

once.

slow.

—

“old shit?” the host repeats, eyebrows lifting.

“yeah,” gunner says. “we don’t even be on that.”

—

that one lands.

harder than it should.

—

the host leans in more.

instigating.

“so you guys aren't talking? not dealing with each other?”

gunner shakes his head slightly.

“nah.”

quick.

easy.

—

you let out a short laugh.

no humor in it.

just—

disbelief.

—

the comments are moving even faster now.

you don’t read them.

you don’t need to.

—

“so what was that then?” the host presses. “because it didn’t look like nothing.”

gunner smiles slightly.

that same one.

the one that smooths things over.

“it wasn’t nothing,” he says. “just not what people think.”

—

you stare at the screen.

waiting.

—

he doesn’t say anything else.

—

the host watches him for a second.

then laughs.

“okayyy. so we're keeping it mysterious.”

gunner shrugs.

“ain’t no mystery.”

—

you close your eyes for a second.

then open them again.

still watching.

even though you don’t want to be.

you don’t look away from the screen.

not yet.

—

“so no girl?” the host says, like it’s a joke but not really.

gunner shakes his head, easy.

“nah.”

—

you’re about to click off.

you should.

—

but the host leans forward again.

“like at all? nobody in the picture right now?”

there’s a pause.

small.

just enough.

—

gunner shrugs.

“i’m focused right now,” he says. “not really on that.”

a half-smile.

“keep it simple.”

—

that does it.

you exit the stream immediately.

—

"not really on that?” you repeat under your breath.

like saying it out loud will make it make more sense.

it doesn’t.

—

you set your phone down.

but it doesn’t help.

minutes pass.

you don’t keep track.

you just move around your apartment, doing nothing and everything at the same time.

fixing things that don’t need fixing.

touching the same objects twice.

trying to shake the feeling off.

you can’t.

—

your phone buzzes.

you don’t look.

—

again.

—

you exhale sharply, grabbing it.

—

gunner:

you good?

—

you laugh.

actually laugh this time.

—

another message.

—

gunner:

you watched it?

—

you stare at the screen.

your jaw tightens.

—

you don’t answer.

—

your phone starts ringing.

his name.

again.

—

you let it ring longer this time.

long enough to prove a point.

not long enough to ignore it completely.

—

you answer.

—

“what?” you say.

your voice is sharper now.

no effort to hide it.

—

“why you sound like that,” he says immediately.

you blink.

once.

slow.

“like what.”

“you know what,” he says. “what’s wrong.”

you let out a short breath.

“what’s wrong?”

you repeat it like you don’t believe he asked that.

—

“yeah,” he says. “what—”

“you just went on live and said you’re not dealing with anyone,” you cut in.

—

a pause.

—

“that’s not what i said,” he replies.

you laugh.

“that’s literally what you said.”

“i said i’m focused right now,” he says. “you twisting it.”

you shake your head.

“no, you said enough for people to think that.”

“i didn’t lie,” he repeats.

“you basically did,” you shoot back.

—

silence hits for a second.

—

“so what you want me to say,” he says, frustration creeping in again. “that we—what—”

he stops himself.

too late.

—

“that we what?” you press.

he exhales.

hard.

“you know what i mean.”

“no,” you say. “say it.”

—

another pause.

he doesn’t.

—

you nod to yourself.

even though he can’t see it.

“exactly.”

—

“you’re dragging it,” he mutters.

that sets you off.

—

“i’m dragging it?” you say, louder now. “you’re the one who went on there and acted like i’m just—nothing.”

“i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to.”

—

your voice drops slightly.

quieter.

but way more serious.

—

“you keep doing that,” you add. “you say just enough so you’re not wrong, but not enough to actually stand on anything.”

—

that lands.

you can tell.

—

he doesn’t respond right away.

and for once—

he doesn’t have something quick to say.

—

“…i told you i’d fix it,” he says finally.

you close your eyes for a second.

there it is again.

—

“how?” you ask.

“by saying the same thing twice?”

—

he exhales.

“you don’t get it.”

you laugh, quieter now.

“no, i do.”

a beat.

—

“i just don’t like it.”

—

silence.

longer this time.

not tense.

just heavy.

—

“so what now,” he asks.

you don’t answer right away.

you glance around your apartment again.

the same light. the same space.

it suddenly feels… smaller.

—

“i don’t know,” you say finally.

—

he exhales on the other end.

“so that’s it?”

you frown slightly.

“what does that even mean.”

“like—what are we doing,” he says. “you just gonna be mad or—”

“i’m not doing this again,” you cut in.

not loud.

just firm.

—

a pause.

—

“i told you what it was,” you add. “you heard me.”

“yeah, and i said i’d fix it,” he says, frustration slipping back in. “you just not listening.”

you shake your head.

“no, you’re just saying the same thing.”

—

silence.

tight.

—

he starts to say something

“so what you want me to—”

you pull the phone away slightly, already over it.

—

“i have to go,” you say.

it’s quick.

not an excuse.

not explained.

—

he pauses.

“…what?”

you don’t answer that.

—

“go where?” he asks.

—

“i said i have to go.”

—

“you serious right now?” he says.

there’s something under it now.

annoyance.

something else.

—

you don’t respond.

—

“so you just gon hang up?” he presses.

that almost makes you laugh.

almost.

—

“i’ll talk to you later,” you say.

but it doesn’t sound like a promise.

—

“nah, don’t do that—”

—

you hang up.

—

silence.

immediate.

clean.

—

you stare at your phone for a second.

then lock it.

hollis frazier-herndon x fem!reader

summary: a party full of people, and somehow she still feels like the only one he doesn’t see.

word count: ~1,050 words

authors note: i’ve never really done a text fic before, so that’s why the timestamps are a bit all over the place. there’s an image limit too, so i had to use a gif just ignore that. anyway feedback is always welcome and actually needed so pls don’t be shy, but nonetheless profitez bien, mes angels

the music is too loud. it’s in your chest, your ribs, your teeth.

you’ve been standing off to the side all night, watching him get passed around between people—friends, industry, the same three girls who keep laughing a little too hard at everything he says.

his friends are somewhere behind him, hyping him up, talking over each other about the show, numbers, how crazy the crowd was. someone’s got a hand on his shoulder, someone else is pulling him into another conversation.

he doesn’t look for you once.

you wait longer than you should.

then you don’t.

you grab his sleeve. not gentle.

“can you come here?”

he turns, already half distracted. “right now?”

“yes. right now.”

he sighs, says something to them—“i’ll be back”—like he means it, like he always means it.

you pull him into the bathroom, shut the door, and the noise dulls just enough to hear yourself think.

“what is your problem?” he says first, low, irritated.

you blink. “my problem?”

“yeah, you’ve been acting weird all night.”

you let out a short laugh, like you can’t believe that’s what he got from this. “i’ve been acting weird?”

“yeah,” he shrugs, already defensive. “you’re being off.”

“you’ve ignored me for three hours.”

“i have not ignored you.”

“you literally haven’t spoken to me unless i came up to you first.”

“because i’m busy,” he snaps, like it should be obvious. “this is my afterparty.”

“i know what it is,” you cut in, voice tightening. “i’m here, aren’t i”

voices bleed through the door—

“that show was insane—”

“nah he actually went crazy tonight—”

“bro the crowd—”

you stare at him. he glances at the door for half a second.

that’s all it takes.

“you care more about them than me.”

his head turns back fast. “that’s not true.”

“then why does it feel like it?”

“because you’re overreacting,” he says immediately.

there it is.

you shake your head, stepping back like the word actually hit you. “i’m not overreacting. i’m telling you what’s happening.”

“no, you’re making it into something it’s not.”

“it is something,” you press, voice rising before you can stop it. “you haven’t looked at me all night.”

“i’ve been talking to people—”

“to everyone,” you cut him off. “except me.”

he runs a hand over his face, frustrated now. “what do you want me to do? stand there and babysit you?”

your stomach drops. “babysit me?”

“that’s not what i—”

“no, say it again,” you push, stepping closer. “because that’s what you think this is? me asking you to acknowledge me is babysitting?

“you’re twisting it—”

“i’m not twisting anything,” you snap. “you’re just finally saying it out loud.”

there’s a knock on the door. laughter right after.

“yo, hollis—where you at?”

he looks at it again.

again.

you let out a breath, shaking your head. “every time.”

“what?”

“every time something else is happening, you check out,” you say, quieter now but worse. “like i’m the interruption.”

“you are interrupting,” he says before he can stop himself.

silence.

you stare at him.

“wow.”

he exhales hard. “that’s not what i meant.”

“no, it is,” you say, voice going flat. “that’s exactly what you meant.”

more noise outside. louder. closer.

“hollis, come on—”

“we need you out here—”

“bro where’d he go—”

he closes his eyes for a second.

you watch it happen.

the choice.

“you’ve been different,” you say. “all night. all week, honestly.”

he doesn’t respond.

“you don’t even act like i’m yours anymore.”

that one lands. you see it. but he still doesn’t fix it.

“i can’t do this right now,” he says finally, quieter, but firm.

you let out a small, humorless laugh. “of course you can’t.”

“not here,” he adds, like that makes it better.

“when, then?” you ask immediately. “because it’s never ‘right now’ with you. it’s always later.”

he doesn’t answer.

you nod slowly. “yeah. okay.”

another knock.

“yo—seriously, where are you?”

he looks at the door.

then back at you.

but it’s already decided.

“we’ll talk later,” he says.

you don’t even react this time.

“yeah,” you mumble. “sure.”

he hesitates for half a second.

then he leaves.

the door opens—noise floods in, voices, laughter, his name, all of it swallowing him back up—

and then it shuts.

you stand there, staring at nothing, the bass still shaking the walls.

you don’t stay.

not after that.

you open the bathroom door and the noise hits you all over again—music, people, voices spilling into each other, his name somewhere in the middle of it.

he’s already back where you left him.

like nothing happened.

his friends are around him again, someone’s got an arm slung over his shoulder, a girl leaning in close, saying something that makes him laugh.

you pause.

just for a second.

waiting—

for him to look up,

to notice,

to realize you’re there.

he doesn’t.

so you leave.

the door shuts behind you and it’s quiet for the first time all night.

no one follows.

you don’t text him.

not when you get home.

not when you change.

not when you’re lying in bed staring at your ceiling, the silence louder than the music was.

you let it sit.

if he notices, he notices.

he doesn’t.

not that night.

not the next morning.

it’s early afternoon when your phone finally lights up.

his name.

you stare at it longer than you should before opening it.

you leave it.

his last message sitting there, unanswered.

“i don’t know”

read.

you lock your phone like that’s the end of it.

like you’re done.

you’re not.

because ten minutes later—

your phone lights up again.

hollis frazier-herndon x fem!reader

summary: hollis lives in a midwestern town where nothing really changes, until he sees a girl standing at the edge of a field no one else seems to notice. the more he tries to hold onto the moment, the less he's sure if she was ever really there at all.

word count: ~661

authors note: another little blurb, a bit different this time. i don’t know, i just wanted to try something new, anyway feedback is always welcome and actually needed so pls don’t be shy, but nonetheless profitez bien, mes angels

nothing here feels important while it’s happening. that’s kind of the point.

hollis lives in a place that doesn’t really end or begin.

it just keeps going in the same shape. backroads that fold into themselves.

power lines stretching like they’re holding the sky in place out of obligation.

gas station lights flickering like they’re arguing with the night and losing.

it’s blue-collar in a way that doesn’t announce itself.

worn jackets. dirty hands. things fixed instead of replaced.

people who don’t say much because saying it out loud wouldn’t change anything anyway.

he wakes up late. same floor. same jacket. same air that smells like cold metal, old smoke, and something you can’t quite call industrial but know isn’t natural either.

school is noise without direction.

lockers slamming like punctuation nobody agreed on. conversations that never really land anywhere.

afterwards it’s always the edge of town. where the pavement gives up and becomes gravel and then becomes nothing.

someone’s always got something they shouldn’t—something to pass, something to hide, something to do with their hands so they don’t have to think about the fact that nothing changes here.

that’s where he first sees you.

not like a moment. not like an entrance.

more like you were already part of the landscape and he just finally looked long enough to notice.

you’re standing at the start of the field where everything turns overgrown too fast to feel normal. corn too tall for the season. air too still for how far out you are. a white dress that doesn’t move the way fabric should in windless heat.

you don’t look like you’re waiting.

you don’t look like you’re lost.

you look like you belong to something older than the field and don’t care if anyone understands that.

hollis doesn’t say anything at first. nobody else is even looking in your direction.

his friends are behind him, half-laughing about something that doesn’t matter enough to repeat. one of them has a shovel resting against his shoulder like it’s just another accessory to a normal afternoon.

hollis looks back at them once, then at you again.

“you see that?” he asks.

“see what?” his friend says without turning fully.

hollis gestures toward the field.

his friend squints, annoyed more than curious. “there’s nothing there.”

no hesitation.

no second thought.

just fact.

but you’re still there.

and when hollis looks back again, you turn your head.

slow. like the air is heavier where you are and it takes effort to move through it.

your eyes pass over him like he’s not the point of anything, like noticing him is incidental. not kind. not unkind. just unnecessary.

then you start walking.

not toward anything he can identify. not away from anything either. just continuing, like standing still was never meant to last.

and the strange part is how quickly the world tries to correct itself after that. like it doesn’t want to admit anything was added to the frame.

his friends are still talking. same rhythm. same volume. same nothing.

“what are you even looking at?” one of them asks eventually.

hollis opens his mouth, then closes it again.

because saying it out loud feels like it would make it smaller.

or worse—make it disappear faster.

“nothing,” he says.

and it lands easier than the truth would have.

later, on the walk back, nobody brings it up again. like the world agreed to drop it.

like it never had to decide whether you were real.

that night, hollis tries to remember you the way you looked standing still.

but the more he focuses, the less the memory behaves.

not your face.

not your shape.

just the space you occupied—like the air around you was slightly out of sync with everything else.

and it leaves him with the quiet thought he can’t quite name yet:

that in a place like this, things don’t usually vanish.

they just wait for you to stop paying attention before they change shape.

hollis frazier-herndon x erewhon!fem!worker

summary: a guy keeps showing up at your job without ever actually ordering anything, just excuses and too much time spent at your counter.

word count: ~920 words

authors note: tbf i don’t even really like erewhon but this little blurb is soso cute, anyway feedback is always welcome and actually needed so pls don’t be shy, but nonetheless profitez bien, mes angels

you work the tonic bar at erewhon.

it’s not as bad as people think. the drinks are overpriced, yeah, but the job’s easy enough. you blend, you pour, you smile, you call out names that sound like they came from pinterest boards.

and sometimes celebrities come in.

not too big of a deal. they usually grab something expensive, take a few pictures, maybe tip, maybe not. in and out.

you don’t really care anymore.

—

until him.

—

you don’t recognize him at first.

just another guy walking in like he knows people are looking at him. blonde hair tied back, something dark and sheer layered over his frame like he doesn’t care if it draws attention.

it does.

someone stops him near the entrance. quick picture, quick smile.

then he’s walking toward the tonic bar.

toward you.

—

you almost mess up an order.

it’s subtle, but you notice it. the way your hand pauses mid-reach, the way you double-check the label like you suddenly forgot how to read.

he notices too.

“busy?” he asks.

his voice is calm. a little amused.

you don’t look up right away. “always.”

“good,” he says. “means you’re good at it.”

—

you glance at him then.

just for a second.

he’s already looking at you.

—

“what can i get you?” you ask, professional.

he leans slightly against the counter, like he’s not in a rush.

“don’t know yet.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you came up here without knowing what you want?”

“i had an idea,” he says. “just forgot it when i got here.”

—

you don’t smile.

but you almost do.

—

you start wiping down the counter instead, waiting.

he doesn’t leave.

—

“what’s your name?” he asks.

you say it without thinking.

he repeats it back, slower.

“that’s cute.”

you blink at him. “you say that to everyone?”

“no.”

he tilts his head slightly. “just you.”

—

you finally let yourself smile, just a little.

“you still haven’t ordered.”

“right.”

a pause.

“so what would you pick?”

—

you tell him something random. something overpriced. something people only order because it looks good on camera.

he nods like it matters.

“sounds fine,” he says.

you wait for confirmation.

he doesn’t give it.

—

“so is that a yes?” you ask.

“not really,” he says. “i just wanted to stand here a little longer.”

you stare at him for a second.

“that’s not how this works.”

“it is today.”

—

he doesn’t move.

you sigh, but it’s not annoyed.

“you’re wasting my time.”

“you don’t look that busy.”

“i am.”

“then i’ll be quick.”

he leans in slightly.

not too much.

just enough.

“you’ve got really pretty eyes,” he says.

—

you pause.

recover.

“you don’t even know me.”

“i do,” he says. “you just don’t know i do yet.”

"oookay then,"

you turn to grab a cup.

“anything else?”

“no.”

—

and then he leaves.

—

no drink.

no receipt.

nothing.

—

you stand there a second longer than you should.

then go back to work.

like it didn’t happen.

but it does happen again.

and again.

—

until it stops feeling like chance.

—

“you don’t even like this place,” you say one afternoon when he shows up again.

he leans on the counter like he owns the time.

“i like it fine.”

“you’ve never ordered anything.”

“i’m not really here for that.”

—

you glance at him. “then what are you here for.”

he doesn’t answer right away.

just looks at you like the question was always obvious.

—

“whatever you’re making,” he says.

—

you shake your head slightly.

“that’s still not an order.”

“doesn’t need to be.”

—

you study him for a second.

then turn back to the blender.

“you’re weird,” you say.

—

he shrugs.

“you know you like it.”

nerd!nate subbiondo x sorority!plug!fem!reader

summary: a college party starts like any other—loud, crowded, easy to get lost in—but shifts when two people keep finding themselves in quieter spaces than the rest of the night. what begins as routine turns into something harder to ignore, even if neither of them says it out loud.

word count: ~4,238

authors note: soso i really really like this one and i hope you guys do too & im going to start writing for hollis very very soon btw, as always, feedback is always welcome and actually needed so don’t be shy but nonetheless profitez bien, mes angels.

you pace around the living room for the third time in ten minutes.

it’s already set up.

lights strung across the ceiling, bottles lined up on the counter, speakers tested twice, pong table ready—everything exactly how delta gamma parties are supposed to look.

loud. easy. full.

you told your president you’d host tonight.

now you kind of wish you didn’t.

your eyes flick back to the bottles.

then to your bag sitting half-zipped on the counter.

you hesitate for a second.

how much of your supply are you actually about to let random people touch… for free?

you exhale, quick, shaking the thought off like it doesn’t matter.

it’ll work itself out.

it always does.

—

your room is quieter.

music low, something soft playing off your speaker while you sit at your vanity, fixing your makeup like it’s any other night.

it almost feels normal.

almost.

the door opens without a knock.

you glance up in the mirror.

nate.

he lingers in the doorway like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be there.

which—he kind of isn’t.

but he always shows up anyway.

you’ve known him for a while now.

statistics class. a few rows ahead. always answering questions no one else understands.

quiet. smart. keeps to himself.

the first time he talked to you was at a sigma nu party—voice low, awkward, asking if what he heard was true.

that you sold.

he could barely get the words out.

you remember laughing a little.

not in a mean way. just—

he didn’t look like someone who’d be asking you that.

but he came back.

again and again.

always the same thing.

always quick. quiet. no small talk unless you start it.

—

he shifts slightly in the doorway now, like he’s debating stepping in or not.

someone must’ve let him up.

your sisters all think he’s your boyfriend.

you’ve never corrected them.

well maybe once or twice

it’s easier that way.

you turn in your chair, giving him a quick once-over.

gray zip-up hoodie. unzipped just enough to show there’s nothing underneath.

jeans. simple.

he looks like he threw it on without thinking.

his hair falls into his face while he rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking up to you for a second before dropping again.

you lean back against your vanity, arms loosely crossed.

“you’re early,” you say.

he shrugs a little.

“you said before it starts.”

his voice is low. careful.

like he doesn’t want anyone else hearing, even though it’s just you.

you watch him for a second.

he still hasn’t fully stepped into the room.

“door’s not gonna bite you,” you add.

that gets him to move, finally stepping inside and closing it behind him.

quiet again.

“i’m here for my usual,” he says, glancing at you like you might say no. “you said i could swing by.”

you tilt your head slightly, studying him.

he looks the same as always.

a little tense.

a little out of place.

but still here.

you push off the vanity slowly.

“yeah,” you say. “i remember.

you walk toward him, close enough to notice the way he shifts slightly, like he’s not used to being that close to you.

or maybe he is.

he just acts like he isn’t.

you stop just a little too close to him.

not enough to be obvious.

just enough that he notices.

he straightens slightly, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

you do.

you notice everything.

“your usual,” you repeat, like you’re thinking about it.

“you ever switch it up or…?”

he huffs quietly, almost defensive. “it works.”

you glance up at him, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“right. wouldn’t wanna take risks.”

he shifts again, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i mean—no, i just—”

he stops, like he hears himself.

you let the silence sit for a second.

just to make it worse.

“you just what?” you press, softer now.

his eyes flick to yours for half a second, then away.

“nothing.”

you hum like you don’t believe him.

“you’re bad at this, you know that?”

that gets a reaction.

his brows pull slightly. “at what?”

you tilt your head, stepping around him slowly, like you’re circling the conversation instead of answering it.

“talking to me.”

he lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh but not really.

“i’m talking to you right now.”

“barely,” you say.

you walk back.

you reach your vanity again, opening a drawer like you’re not paying attention anymore—even though you are.

he watches you.

you can feel it.

“you only talk when you need something.”

you glance at him through the mirror.

“kinda rude.”

he shakes his head slightly. “that’s not—”

he stops again.

you wait.

he doesn’t finish.

you smile to yourself, pulling something out but not turning around yet.

“so you do talk more?” you say, casual. “or is this all i get?”

he exhales, this time actually letting out a small laugh.

“you’re doing that on purpose.”

you turn now, leaning back against the vanity again.

“doing what?”

he looks at you like you already know.

you do.

he hesitates, then—

“making it weird.”

you grin slightly. “i think you’re doing that yourself.”

that lands.

he looks down for a second, shaking his head under his breath.

“i’m just here to—”

“get your usual,” you finish for him.

he nods, relieved you didn’t drag that out longer.

you take a step closer again, holding it out—but not giving it to him yet.

“you know,” you say, quieter now, “you’re a lot less nervous than the first time.”

his eyes flick up.

“i wasn’t nervous.”

you raise a brow.

he pauses.

“…okay, maybe a little.”

you let out a soft laugh.

“you could barely look at me.”

“you were talking loud,” he mutters. “about prices.”

“ohh,” you nod slowly. “so that’s what it was.”

he doesn’t answer.

he just looks at you like he knows you’re not gonna let it go.

he notices that too.

of course he does.

“you’re still kinda bad at eye contact, though,” you add lightly.

he scoffs under his breath, but there’s a hint of a smile now.

“i’m fine.”

“yeah?” you lean in just slightly. “look at me then.”

he does.

for a second.

two.

then looks away again.

you smile, satisfied.

“thought so.”

—

you let the silence sit for a second.

not awkward.

just… stretched.

he’s still holding your gaze for half a beat longer this time before it drops again, like he caught himself.

you don’t say anything about it.

just watch him.

then you glance down at what’s still in your hand.

“you always this impatient?” you ask lightly.

he looks at it, then back at you. “you’re the one holding it.”

“yeah,” you shrug. “and you’re still here.”

that almost gets a smile out of him.

almost.

you step a little closer again, closing the space just enough to make it noticeable.

this time you don’t pull it back.

you hold it out.

he reaches for it, slower than before.

like he’s thinking about it now.

your fingers brush his —soft, quick—

but you don’t let go right away.

just a second too long.

long enough for him to notice.

long enough for him to hesitate.

then you let go.

he clears his throat quietly, looking down at it for a second like he needs something to focus on.

“thanks,” he mutters.

“mhm.”

he tucks it away, movements a little more careful than they need to be.

like he’s buying himself time.

you tilt your head slightly.

“you gonna leave right after?” you ask.

he pauses.

just for a second.

“i mean… i don’t have to.”

you nod slowly, like you expected that answer.

“there’s a party,” you say, gesturing vaguely toward downstairs. “in case you didn’t notice.”

he huffs a quiet breath. “kinda hard not to.”

“you could stay,” you add, casual. “if you want.”

you don’t look at him right away when you say it.

like it doesn’t matter.

like you’re just throwing it out there.

it hangs for a second.

he shifts his weight slightly.

“i don’t really—” he starts, then stops.

you glance at him. “don’t really what?”

“parties,” he says. “not really my thing.”

you nod once, like you get it.

you do.

but still—

“you came to one when you met me.”

he looks at you again.

“…yeah.”

“and you survived,” you add.

that pulls a small smile from him, quick but real

“you don’t have to stay long,” you say. “just… don’t disappear right away.”

the wording is light.

but it lands heavier than that.

he notices.

you can tell.

there’s a pause.

then he nods once.

“i’ll stay. for a bit.”

you smile, small.

like that’s enough.

“good.”

from downstairs, the music gets louder.

voices starting to build.

the party’s actually starting now.

you glance toward the door, then back at him.

“try not to look so out of place,” you add, teasing again.

he shakes his head, a quiet laugh slipping out.

“no promises.”

“figured.”

you move past him toward the door, brushing his shoulder lightly as you go.

you don’t look back.

but you know he’s still standing there for a second before following.

—

by the time you get downstairs, the party’s already started.

not slow, not easing into it—

just loud.

music heavy, bass shaking through the floor, people packed into the living room like it’s been going for hours already.

you barely pause.

this part is easy for you.

someone grabs your arm the second you step off the last stair.

“you finally came down,” one of your sisters laughs, already a little gone, red cup in hand.

you smile, quick, slipping right into it.

“had to make an entrance.”

she laughs again, pulling you into a quick side hug before getting distracted by something else.

you’re already moving.

talking, smiling, grabbing a drink without really thinking about it.

it’s automatic.

like you never left.

—

nate doesn’t follow as easily.

he lingers near the bottom of the stairs at first, taking everything in like it’s too much all at once.

which it probably is.

people brush past him without noticing, music too loud for anything to feel grounded.

he stays off to the side.

hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly tense.

watching.

mostly watching you.

—

you catch it eventually.

not right away.

but after a few minutes—mid-conversation, laughing at something someone says—you glance across the room and there he is.

exactly where you left him.

you excuse yourself without thinking too hard about it.

slipping through people, past bodies and noise, until you’re standing in front of him again.

“you look uncomfortable,” you say.

he lets out a quiet breath, like he’s been holding it.

“i told you this wasn’t my thing.”

“yeah,” you nod.

he glances at you.

“…yeah.”

you tilt your head slightly, studying him.

“c’mon,” you say, grabbing his wrist before he can react.

he stiffens for half a second—just surprised—but doesn’t pull away.

you lead him further into the room.

“you can’t just stand in the corner all night. that’s weird.”

“this is already weird,” he mutters.

you laugh lightly.

“you’ll be fine.”

—

it doesn’t take long for people to notice.

it never does.

especially when you’re the one pulling him through the crowd.

a couple of your sisters glance over, exchanging looks you don’t miss.

one of them leans toward another, whispering something with a small smile.

you ignore it.

mostly.

until—

“wait,” someone says as you pass. “is that your boyfriend?”

you don’t stop walking.

“no.”

too quick.

too easy.

but it doesn’t matter.

they’re already smiling like they don’t believe you.

—

you finally stop near the kitchen, letting go of his wrist.

he looks at you.

then at the people around you.

then back at you.

“they think i’m your boyfriend,” he says.

you shrug, reaching for a drink on the counter.

“they think a lot of things.”

he watches you for a second.

“do you correct them?”

you take a sip, then glance at him.

“sometimes.”

there’s a beat.

you just set your cup down, leaning back against the counter like this is nothing.

like this is normal.

he shifts slightly closer, still not fully relaxed but less stiff than before.

“you do this every weekend?” he asks.

“pretty much.”

he nods slowly, taking it in again—but this time it’s different.

less overwhelmed.

more… curious.

his eyes flick back to you.

“you look like you belong here.”

you raise a brow.

“i do.”

he nods again.

“…yeah.”

there’s something in the way he says it.

not teasing.

not awkward.

just honest.

and it sits there for a second longer than anything else has tonight.

it doesn’t take long for it to get too much.

the music gets louder.

people closer.

you get pulled into conversations, handed another drink, then another—laughing, moving, slipping further into it like it’s second nature.

nate doesn’t.

he stays near you at first.

then a little behind.

then off to the side again.

you don’t notice right away.

—

until you turn to say something and he’s not there.

you scan the room once.

twice.

then you spot him near the hallway, shoulders tight, already halfway out of the crowd like he’s been trying to leave without making it obvious.

you sigh quietly to yourself, setting your cup down.

“hold on,” you say to no one in particular, already moving.

—

you catch up to him just as he reaches the back door.

“you’re disappearing already?” you say.

he glances at you, a little caught.

“i was just—getting some air.”

“mm,” you hum, not fully buying it.

you push the door open before he can say anything else.

cool air hits instantly.

quieter out here. not silent, but enough that you can actually think.

you step onto the porch, leaning lightly against the railing.

he follows, closing the door behind him.

for a second, neither of you says anything.

you can still hear the music through the walls, muffled now, distant.

he exhales, running a hand through his hair.

“sorry,” he mutters. “it’s just a lot.”

you glance at him.

he looks more like himself out here.

less tense. less… out of place.

“you don’t have to apologize,” you say. “i dragged you into it.”

“you didn’t drag me,” he says. “i said i’d stay.”

“yeah,” you tilt your head slightly. “you did.”

a small pause.

you watch him for a second.

then, like it just crosses your mind—

“you haven’t paid me yet.”

he looks at you, blinking once.

“…seriously?”

you shrug, lips curving slightly.

“what? business is business.”

he lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“you waited this long to say that?”

“i was busy,” you say. “hosting.”

he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

“how much was it again?”

you don’t answer right away.

just watch him for a second longer than necessary.

“you don’t remember?” you ask.

he pauses, glancing up at you.

“…i do. i just wanted to make sure you didn’t change it.”

you smile a little at that.

“i don’t do that.”

“you literally just said ‘business is business,’” he points out.

“yeah,” you nod. “not bad business.”

that gets another small laugh out of him.

quieter this time.

he looks back down at his phone, unlocking it.

you push off the railing slightly, stepping closer—not all the way, just enough.

“it’s the same,” you say finally.

he nods, typing it in.

you watch the screen light reflect off his face for a second before your phone buzzes in your hand.

you don’t check it right away.

just look at him.

“you always this serious about it?” he asks.

“about getting paid?” you say. “yeah.”

he glances up again.

“figured.”

you check your phone now. the payment’s there.

“good,” you say, slipping it back into your pocket.

another pause.

but this one feels different.

less transactional.

more… lingering.

you lean back against the railing again.

“you okay now?” you ask.

he nods once. “yeah. it’s better out here.”

you look toward the door, then back at him.

“you don’t have to go back in,” you say.

he studies your face for a second.

“you do,” he says.

you shrug slightly. “i always do.”

that sits between you.

quiet.

the music thumps faintly behind the door.

people, noise, everything waiting on the other side.

but neither of you moves yet.

the door swings open behind you.

music spills out louder for a second, voices overlapping.

“there you are,” one of your sisters says, already halfway through a sentence before she even fully sees who you’re with.

her eyes flick between you and nate.

pause.

a small smile.

“oh,” she says, dragging it out slightly. “my bad.”

you don’t move away from him.

don’t explain.

she looks between you again, clearly reading into it.

“we need you inside,” she adds, like she suddenly remembers. “someone’s asking for you. like—really asking.”

you sigh softly, glancing toward the door, then back at nate.

the moment’s gone now.

or at least… paused.

“of course i'll be in soon,” you say.

she just grins and slips back inside, leaving the door half open before it swings shut again.

quieter.

but not the same as before.

you look back at him.

you glance at nate.

“give me a minute,” you say, already stepping back.

he nods. “yeah.”

you pause mid-step, looking at him again.

“don’t disappear.”

he huffs out a quiet laugh this time, shaking his head.

“i won’t.”

“okay. good.”

you hold his gaze for a second.

then turn, pushing the door open and stepping back into the noise.

it takes longer than a second.

of course it does.

someone stops you the second you walk in.

then someone else.

music louder again, lights too bright, everything pulling you back into it like you never left.

you move through it automatically—talking, nodding, laughing when you’re supposed to—

but your attention isn’t fully there anymore.

not really.

—

when you finally slip back outside, the air feels different.

quieter again.

you spot him right away.

same place.

exactly where you left him.

you walk back over, slower this time.

“see,” you say lightly, “you didn’t disappear.”

he glances at you.

“told you.”

you lean back against the railing again, closer this time without thinking about it.

“you doing okay out here on your own?” you ask.

“yeah,” he says. “it’s better.”

you nod, watching him for a second longer than necessary.

then—

“you don’t act like this with everyone, right?” he asks.

you tilt your head. “like what?”

he gestures vaguely between you. “this.”

you smile slightly.

“you don’t act like this with everyone either.”

that shuts him up for a second.

you both know it’s true.

the space between you feels smaller now.

not physically.

just… different.

like something’s about to happen or be said.

he shifts slightly closer without realizing it.

“you’re kinda—” he starts.

and then stops.

you wait.

he doesn’t finish.

“kinda what?” you ask, softer.

he shakes his head, looking away again. “nothing.”

you smile a little.

“you do that a lot.”

“yeah,” he mutters. “i know.”

another pause.

longer this time.

you could say something.

you don’t.

neither does he.

and it just—

hangs there.

right on the edge of something.

you look at him for a second longer.

then exhale, glancing away.

“you wanna just—”

you stop, like you’re deciding how to say it.

“we could go upstairs,” you add, more casual now. “it’s quieter.”

a small pause.

you nod toward the house. “my room.”

he looks at you.

really looks this time.

like he knows that’s not just about it being quieter.

“…yeah,” he says.

not hesitant.

just… quieter than before.

you nod once, like that settles it.

“okay.”

you push off the railing, brushing past him lightly as you reach for the door.

“c’mon.”

you push the door open, the noise hitting you again for a split second before you slip back inside.

he’s right next to you this time.

closer than before.

you don’t stop in the living room.

don’t get pulled into anything.

you just move.

past people, past voices calling your name, past hands reaching out—

“wait—where are you going?” someone laughs, grabbing at your arm for a second.

“upstairs,” you say, already pulling away. “i’ll be back.”

you don’t wait for a response.

you can feel him keeping up next to you, not saying anything, just following.

—

your room is the same as before.

quiet.

dim.

like the party doesn’t exist.

you shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a second like you’re letting the silence settle.

he lingers a few steps in.

same spot as earlier.

like he hasn’t decided what to do with himself yet.

you glance at him, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“you can sit,” you say.

he nods slightly, moving this time—sitting at the edge of your bed, hands resting loosely like he’s trying not to touch anything.

you push off the door, crossing the room.

sitting back at your vanity.

“relax,” you add. “it’s not that serious.”

“i am relaxed,” he says.

you raise a brow.

he exhales, glancing away.

“…i’m trying to be.”

that makes you smile a little more.

you sit up and move around your room like it’s routine—because it is.

drawer. bag. lighter.

everything where you left it.

he watches you.

again.

you can feel it without looking.

“you always this quiet?” you ask, not turning around yet.

“you always ask that many questions?” he shoots back.

you glance at him over your shoulder, a hint of a grin.

“only when people don’t talk.”

he shakes his head slightly, but there’s something softer in it now.

less tense.

you finally turn fully, stepping closer.

“you don’t have to act weird in here,” you say. “it’s just me.”

he looks at you.

“i’m not acting weird.”

“you are,” you say simply.

a small pause.

then—

“…okay, maybe a little.”

you laugh under your breath.

“thought so.”

you sit down beside him, not too close at first.

just enough.

“better than outside?” you ask.

he nods once.

“yeah.”

his voice is quieter again.

not shut off.

just… lower.

like he doesn’t feel the need to compete with anything in here.

you lean back slightly on your hands, looking at him instead of the room now.

“you almost left,” you say.

he glances at you.

“…i didn’t.”

“mm,” you hum. “but you were going to.”

he doesn’t answer right away.

then—

“it was a lot,” he says.

you nod.

“i know.”

a small pause.

“you didn’t have to stay,” you add.

he looks at you again.

“…i wanted to.”

that lands.

you don’t react right away.

just hold his gaze for a second longer than usual.

“yeah?” you say, quieter now.

he nods.

“yeah.”

the room feels smaller again.

like outside.

but different.

more contained.

you shift slightly closer without really thinking about it.

“you’re not as boring as i thought,” you say.

he lets out a quiet laugh. “you thought i was boring?”

“you sit in the front of a stats class,” you shrug. “what was i supposed to think?”

“that i’m smart,” he says.

you smile a little. “that too.”

he shakes his head, looking down for a second.

then back at you.

“you’re not what i thought either.”

you tilt your head.

“what did you think?”

he hesitates.

of course he does.

you wait.

“…different,” he says finally.

you smile slightly.

“that’s not an answer.”

you watch him.

it’s the only one i’ve got.”

—

silence settles again.

but it’s not empty.

it’s full in a way that makes everything feel slower.

you shift slightly closer again without really meaning to.

or maybe you do.

it’s hard to tell anymore.

his gaze drops for a second—just briefly—then comes back up.

like he noticed something he wasn’t supposed to.

you don’t move away.

you don’t move at all, actually.

“you’re doing that thing again,” you say quietly.

“what thing?”

your voice softens a little.

“thinking too much.”

that gets something out of him—not a laugh, not exactly—but a small breath that almost is.

he leans in a fraction.

not enough to be obvious.

enough that it changes the air between you.

you notice it immediately.

you don’t stop it.

he doesn’t either.

for a second, neither of you speaks.

just the space closing slowly, like it was always going to.

his eyes flick to your mouth.

just once.

then back up.

you notice that too.

and for a second—just a second you think he might actually—

laughter. footsteps. someone calling your name.

the moment snaps in half almost immediately.

you both pull back slightly at the same time without acknowledging it.

like nothing happened.

like it wasn’t there.

a beat passes.

he looks away first.

you stand up slowly.

“i should go check that,” you say, like your voice didn’t just change. “i’ll be right back.”

he nods once.

“yeah.”

another pause.

he stays seated.

you don’t look back too long.

but you can feel it still sitting there when you leave the room.

he stays seated after the door closes.

quiet settles back in, but it doesn’t feel the same anymore.

he exhales through his nose, almost a laugh.

rubs his palms once against his jeans.

“…yes.”

his hand tightens into a fist for a second before relaxing again.

part iii

gunner shepardson(nettspend) x fem!reader

summary: a leaked clip of you and gunner spreads online, and suddenly a private moment isn’t private anymore. the next morning feels off in a way you can’t ignore.

what follows is a tense exchange that blurs what was real, what was said, and what everyone else thinks they saw.

word count: 1,931

authors note: hi guys, i really enjoyed writing this part. unfortunately, it’s kind of a filler chapter, so it’s a bit short, but i promise part four will be much more interesting and longer, so don’t hate me. also, if you want to be added to the taglist, don’t be afraid to comment or message me!! anyway hope you all enjoy this little continuation of soulmates. as always, feedback is always welcome and actually needed so don’t be shy but nonetheless profitez bien, mes angels.

p.s, ik these photos kinda suck it’s because i got lazy, i’ll change it later

morning feels quieter.

too quiet.

your room’s still dim, curtains barely letting anything in—the kind of light that makes everything feel slower than it should.

your phone’s already in your hand before you’re fully awake.

you don’t remember grabbing it.

you just did.

your notifications are worse now.

way worse.

you stare at the number for a second.

then open it anyway.

—

@popwatchdaily: so there’s a clip circulating from outside last night’s venue showing rapper nettspend and a supposed ex in what looks like a pretty heated argument

video is silent. car is parked for a few minutes. no audio context, just visible tension, heavy gestures, and a vibe people are already running wild with

later footage appears to show the passenger door opening a few blocks down, with her getting out and walking off alone while he drives away shortly after

attached: 2 videos

—

you click it.

the video loads.

no sound.

just the two of you.

him in the driver’s seat.

you standing outside the car, saying something no one can hear.

your own face looks unfamiliar like that.

sharper.

colder.

not how it felt.

you exit.

scroll.

big mistake.

—

she look like she arguing w herself

didn’t he say they don’t even fw each other anymore???

why she walk off like that 😭

he better than me i would’ve left sooner

that’s embarrassing ngl

she doing too much

you frown.

“…do i walk funny?” you mutter.

like they can hear you.

you scroll.

—

they def still hooked on each other

this giving toxic exes

he could do sm better

lol she look crazy

you pause.

read that one again.

then keep scrolling anyway.

like it’s gonna get better.

it doesn’t.

—

your messages are worse.

people you barely talk to.

random numbers.

IS THIS YOU??

omg are you okay

girl what happened 😭

be so fr rn

—

you don’t answer any of them.

you open the video again.

watch it.

pause.

zoom in like that’ll change something.

it doesn’t.

you sigh, dragging a hand over your face.

“this is so—”

you don’t even finish it.

your phone buzzes again.

different this time.

not a notification.

a text.

you pause.

then open it.

—

gunner: you good?

—

you stare at it.

that’s it?

no “hey.”

no “about last night.”

just—

you good

you let out a small breath.

half disbelief.

half something else.

“of course,” you mutter.

you type something.

yeah im fine

you stare at it.

delete.

type again.

did you see—

delete.

your thumb hovers.

you read his message again.

like last night didn’t happen.

like none of it stuck.

you drop your phone back onto the bed.

turn over.

pull the pillow over your head.

like that’ll block it out.

—

your phone buzzes again.

probably him.

you don’t grab it.

—

you last maybe a minute.

then you sit up.

run a hand through your hair.

exhale.

“god, im hungry.”

your voice sounds rough.

you don’t even care.

—

the loft is quiet.

too clean.

too open.

sunlight’s starting to come through now, hitting the floor in long strips that make everything feel exposed.

you walk into the kitchen, opening cabinets without really looking.

nothing good.

of course.

you settle for something easy.

bare minimum.

cereal.

leaning against the counter while you eat like you’re not really there.

your phone buzzes again.

you glance at it this time.

same name.

you sigh.

pick it up.

—

gunner: you just not gonna answer?

another message.

right after.

gunner: i’m not on weird shit

you stare at the screen.

you scoff.

you set your phone back down.

take another bite.

try to ignore it.

—

buzz.

again.

you close your eyes for a second.

already annoyed.

you grab it.

—

gunner: did i do something or you just mad

—

you let out a short laugh.

no humor in it.

“oh my god.”

you type.

you’re serious?

pause.

delete.

type again.

you don’t see what the problem is?

you look at it.

then delete it.

your jaw tightens slightly.

you toss your phone onto the counter this time.

—

it buzzes again.

you don’t move.

—

another one.

longer this time before you grab it.

—

gunner: answer me

—

you let out a short breath.

not loud.

just enough.

you unlock your phone.

type.

stop.

delete.

type again.

—

you’re acting like nothing happened

—

you stare at it.

then hit send.

—

it shows delivered.

read.

almost immediately.

—

nothing.

—

you wait.

just for a second.

then set your phone down again.

this time you don’t pick it back up right away.

you just stand there, leaning against the counter, staring at nothing.

—

your phone buzzes.

you don’t reach for it right away.

just stand there for a second longer.

then you grab it.

—

gunner: i didn’t say nothing happened

—

you stare at it.

your expression doesn’t change.

—

gunner: you walked out

—

another one.

—

gunner: what u want me to say

—

you let out a quiet breath.

set your phone down.

pick it back up.

type.

stop.

delete.

type again.

—

you could’ve said anything

—

you hover over it.

then send.

—

read.

almost instantly.

—

typing…

stops.

typing again.

—

gunner: like what

—

you stare at that longer than you should.

because it’s such a simple question.

and somehow—

there’s too many answers.

and none of them at the same time.

you don’t type.

—

gunner: you the one that got out

—

that one lands.

you look away from your phone for a second.

jaw tight.

—

you type.

—

you drove off

—

send.

—

read.

a little slower this time.

—

no typing.

—

a minute passes.

maybe less.

feels longer.

—

your phone buzzes again.

—

gunner: u wanted me to chase you or something

—

you let out a small laugh.

this time there’s something in it.

not funny.

just—

frustrating.

you type faster this time.

don’t overthink it.

—

no

but you didn’t even try

—

send.

—

read.

—

typing…

stops.

typing again.

—

gunner: you always do that

—

you frown slightly.

—

gunner: make it something else

—

that shifts it.

just a little.

you stare at the screen.

thumb hovering again.

—

something else?

you don’t send it.

you already know what he means.

or at least—

you think you do.

—

you lock your phone.

set it down.

this time you actually walk away from it.

a few steps.

not far.

just enough.

—

it buzzes again.

you don’t turn back right away.

but you don’t leave either.

just standing there in your own kitchen.

quiet again.

but not the same quiet as before.

your phone buzzes again.

you don’t turn right away.

just stand there.

then—

you walk back.

slow.

like it doesn’t matter.

you pick it up.

—

gunner: so what now

—

you stare at it.

that question feels bigger than it should.

for a second, you almost don’t answer.

then—

you type.

—

what do you mean

—

send.

—

read.

—

typing…

—

gunner: idk

—

another one.

—

gunner: you mad or we just acting like we don’t talk again

—

you let out a quiet breath.

lean back against the counter.

your fingers hover over the screen.

—

you’re the one who said that

—

send.

—

read.

—

a pause this time.

longer.

then—

typing…

—

gunner: yeah

—

you wait.

—

gunner: doesn’t mean i meant it like that

—

you frown slightly.

—

then how did you mean it

—

send.

—

read.

—

typing…

stops.

typing again.

—

gunner: you know how it is

—

you stare at that.

“no,” you mutter.

you don’t.

or maybe you do.

you just don’t like it.

—

no i don’t

—

send.

—

read.

—

another pause.

—

gunner: i can’t be saying allat on camera

—

you exhale slowly.

look away from your phone for a second.

then back down.

—

so you just say nothing?

—

send.

—

read.

—

typing…

—

gunner: i said enough

—

you let out a short laugh.

there it is.

—

you didn’t say anything

—

send.

—

read.

—

typing…

stops.

—

gunner: you came though

—

that throws you off a little.

your expression shifts.

just slightly.

—

gunner: i asked you to come and you did

—

you don’t answer right away.

—

yeah

—

send.

—

read.

—

typing…

—

gunner: so why u acting like i don’t care

—

you stare at that.

longer than everything else.

your grip on your phone tightens just a little.

—

because you act like you don’t

—

send.

—

read.

—

no typing.

—

a few seconds pass.

then—

your phone starts ringing.

—

his name.

calling.

—

you just look at it.

don’t move.

it rings.

and rings.

and rings.

—

you decline it.

—

immediately—

buzz.

—

gunner: don’t do that

—

another one.

—

gunner: just answer

—

you stare at the screen.

then hit call.

—

it rings once.

twice.

he picks up.

—

“what?” you say.

your voice is flat.

quieter than you expected.

there’s a pause on the other end.

like he didn’t expect you to call back that fast.

then—

“…you good?” he says again.

you close your eyes for a second.

“you already asked me that.”

“yeah,” he says. “you didn’t answer.”

you let out a breath.

leaning your head back against the wall.

“what do you want me to say?”

a pause.

you can hear something faint on his end.

movement.

maybe a door.

“i don’t know,” he says. “you’re acting weird.”

you laugh.

this time it’s clearer.

“i’m acting weird?”

“yeah.”

you shake your head slightly, even though he can’t see it.

“okay.”

silence.

not empty.

just… tight.

he exhales.

“you left.”

you open your eyes.

“you drove off.”

“you got out,” he says.

“because you weren’t saying anything,” you shoot back.

“what was i supposed to say?” he says, a little sharper now. “you were already—”

he cuts himself off.

you catch that.

“already what?” you ask.

he doesn’t answer.

just a quiet exhale.

that’s worse.

you look away, jaw tightening.

“exactly,” you mutter.

“it’s not like that,” he says.

“then what is it like?”

another pause.

longer.

he doesn’t have a quick answer this time.

and you can tell.

“…i don’t know,” he says finally.

honest.

frustrating.

you let out a slow breath.

“right.”

silence again.

you can hear him shift on the other end.

like he’s pacing.

or standing still.

you can’t tell.

“you still at your place?” he asks.

you frown slightly.

“…why?”

“just asking.”

you don’t answer right away.

you already know where that’s going.

he waits.

doesn’t push this time.

just—

waits.

the quiet stretches again.

—

“yeah,” you say finally.

another pause.

then—

“aight,” he says.

like he’s decided something.

“i’m gonna come over.”

your grip tightens slightly on your phone.

“…what?”

“i’m not doing this over text,” he says. “or like this.”

you hesitate.

this is exactly what you didn’t want.

and also—

exactly what you did.

“…gunner—”

“i’ll be there in like ten,” he cuts in.

you go quiet.

because you know that tone.

he’s already moving.

already decided.

“don’t leave,” he adds.

softer.

then—

the line goes dead.

—

you stare at your phone.

for a second.

two.

then you look up.

at your apartment.

the light.

the mess you didn’t notice before.

your reflection faint in the window.

—

“…oh my god,” you mutter.

not dramatic.

just

realizing.

hollis frazier-herndon

tonic bar regular

if you were looking

afterparty

backstage

nathan subbiondo

i think you knew

roman leal

forgive us our impulses

gunner shepardson

soulmates(part i)

soulmates(part ii)

soulmates(part iii)

soulmates(part iiii)

soulmates(part 卌)

eventually

haymitch abernathy

what stays, what burns(part one)

what stays, what burns(part two)

what stays, what burns(part three)

part ii

gunner shepardson(nettspend) x fem!reader

summary: whatever was said clearly didn’t end there. it spills into silence, into distance, into a ride that goes nowhere emotionally even as the car keeps moving. a few blocks later she gets out mid-conversation, and keeps walking like it was already decided.

he drives off anyway.

word count: 1,500–1,800 words

authors note: soooo i wasn’t planning on posting a part two but i kept getting a lot of questions about it, so here we are. also i’ve never really done a taglist before, so if you want to be a part of that just comment or message me and i’ll add you in for future posts anyway hope you all enjoy this little continuation of soulmates. as always, feedback is always welcome and actually needed so don’t be shy but nonetheless profitez bien, mes angels.

p.s, i don't know how to link part one on here so just go to my blog to find it srry

your phone buzzes again.

and again.

and again.

you don’t even have to look to know what it is.

you already saw the post.

the blurry photo. the angle. the replies stacking faster than you can read them.

you still look anyway.

mistake.

who is that with him??

wait isn’t that his ex

which one is this now

she’s so chopped oml

bro pulled up w her again???

you lock your phone.

too fast.

like that’ll stop it.

it doesn’t.

—

the car is quieter than you expected.

not silent—music low, something playing under everything—but quiet enough that you can hear yourself think.

which is worse.

he’s driving.

one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the console, tapping lightly to the beat like nothing’s changed.

like the internet isn’t already picking you apart.

you glance at him.

he hasn’t said anything about it.

not the post.

not the way people were looking when you left.

nothing.

you look back down at your phone.

it lights up again.

you don’t open it this time.

“you good?” he asks, not looking over.

his voice is casual.

too casual.

you hesitate.

“yeah,” you say.

it comes out just as easy.

just as fake.

he hums like he doesn’t fully believe it.

but he doesn’t push.

—

a red light.

the car slows, stops.

for a second, everything feels still.

you glance out the window.

then back at him.

“it’s already everywhere,” you say.

you don’t mean to.

it just comes out.

he glances over this time.

“what is?”

you give him a look.

he already knows.

you can tell he does.

your phone buzzes again in your hand.

you tilt it slightly, not fully showing him, just enough.

he looks.

quick.

then back at the road.

the light’s still red.

“…people talk,” he says.

you let out a quiet breath.

“that’s not just talking.”

he shrugs slightly.

“it’ll die down.”

you almost laugh.

almost.

“you know that’s not true.”

he doesn’t answer that.

because it isn’t.

the light turns green.

he starts driving again.

—

you watch the streetlights pass instead.

one after another.

fast.

blurry.

“you didn’t have to invite me,” you say after a second.

he frowns slightly, glancing over.

“what?”

“to the show,” you clarify. “or… after.”

your voice is quieter now.

less sharp.

“you could’ve just left it how it was.”

he exhales, shaking his head once.

“i wanted you there.”

simple.

no hesitation.

you look at him.

“…why?”

he’s quiet for a second.

long enough that you think he’s not gonna answer.

then—

“because you’ve been here,” he says.

you don’t respond.

he keeps going.

“before all of it.”

his grip on the wheel tightens slightly.

“figured you should be here now too.”

that lands heavier than you expect.

you look down at your phone again.

it buzzes.

you ignore it.

“doesn’t really look like that to everyone else,” you mutter.

he huffs quietly.

“since when do you care about that?”

you glance at him.

“since it’s my name too.”

that shuts him up.

for a second.

he nods slightly.

“…yeah.”

the car goes quiet again.

but not the same kind of quiet.

—

your phone buzzes again.

this time, he glances at it.

then at you.

“you gonna keep checking it?” he asks.

you hesitate.

then turn your phone over in your lap.

“no.”

a small pause.

“good,” he says.

you look at him.

“why?”

he shrugs.

“don’t need all that right now.”

you study him for a second.

“…you don’t care?”

he lets out a quiet breath.

“i care,” he says. “just not like that.”

you don’t fully get what he means.

but you don’t ask.

—

another red light.

slower this time.

longer.

you don’t look at your phone.

you look at him instead.

“so what is this then?” you ask.

it’s quiet.

but not light.

not teasing.

he glances over.

really looks at you this time.

like he’s trying to figure out the answer himself.

“…i don’t know,” he says.

honest.

you nod slightly.

“yeah.”

you look down again before you can stop yourself.

your phone lights up in your hand.

another notification.

then another.

you hesitate—

then open it.

just for a second.

you tell yourself that every time.

he notices.

of course he does.

you don’t even realize he’s watching until—

“seriously?” he says.

not loud.

just enough.

you glance up. “what?”

he looks back at the road, jaw tightening slightly.

“you just said you weren’t gonna check it.”

“i’m not,” you say quickly. “i just—”

you stop.

because you are.

he lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head.

“it’s not that deep,” you add, a little sharper now.

“clearly it is,” he mutters.

that hits.

you turn toward him fully.

“why do you care?”

he glances at you.

“i just said—”

“no, i know what you said,” you cut in. “i’m asking why it matters if i check my phone.”

he exhales through his nose, grip tightening slightly on the wheel.

“because you’re sitting here stressing about what random people are saying.”

“they’re not random,” you say. “they know who i am now.”

“so?” he says. “they don’t know you.”

you laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“that doesn’t stop them from talking.”

he shakes his head slightly.

“you’re letting it get to you.”

“because it does get to me,” you snap, then pause like you didn’t mean to raise your voice.

the car goes quiet for a second.

heavy.

he slows down a little.

not dramatically.

just enough.

“i’m not saying it shouldn’t,” he says, quieter now. “just—why are you feeding into it?”

you look at him.

“why are you acting like it doesn’t matter at all?”

he doesn’t answer right away.

and that’s your answer.

you lean back in your seat, looking out the window again.

“…can you just pull over for a second?” you say.

he glances at you. “for what?”

“just—pull over.”

a pause.

then he signals, turning onto a quieter street before stopping along the curb.

the engine stays running.

you don’t move at first.

then you reach for the handle.

he notices.

“what are you doing?” he asks.

you open the door anyway.

cool air hits immediately.

“i think this was a bad idea,” you say.

not loud.

just final.

he looks at you.

actually looks at you now.

“what—coming with me?”

you hesitate.

“…all of it.”

you step out before he can respond.

the door shuts harder than you meant it to.

the car idles behind you.

you don’t walk far.

just a few steps.

arms crossed, phone still in your hand like it started all of this.

for a second—

neither of you says anything.

the street’s quiet.

too quiet after everything.

behind you, the car idles.

you hear him shift.

then—

“fuck,” he mutters.

low.

frustrated.

a hand dragging over his face.

you don’t turn around.

you know he’s looking at you.

you can feel it.

a second passes.

then—

“yo—” he starts.

stops.

like he’s deciding what to say.

“c’mon,” he tries again, a little louder. “don’t do that.”

you don’t move.

that’s what does it.

he exhales sharply, leaning back in his seat.

another second.

then—

“baby, please” he calls, softer this time. “don’t… just walk off like that.”

you still don’t turn.

not fully.

just enough that he knows you heard him.

it’s quiet again.

for a second it almost feels like one of you will fix it.

neither of you does.

his grip tightens on the wheel.

“…whatever,” he mutters.

not to you.

to himself.

the car shifts.

pulls away.

not fast.

not dramatic.

—

you stand there for a second after.

watching the taillights disappear at the end of the street.

your phone buzzes again in your hand.

you don’t look at it this time.

you just turn—

and start walking the other way.

@popwatchdaily: so there’s a clip circulating from outside last night’s venue showing rapper nettspend and a supposed ex in what looks like a pretty heated argument

video is silent. car is parked for a few minutes. no audio context, just visible tension, heavy gestures, and a vibe people are already running wild with

later footage appears to show the passenger door opening a few blocks down, with her getting out and walking off alone while he drives away shortly after

attached: 2 videos

view 3,116,004 replies

churchboy!roman x atheist!fem!reader

summary: a summer job at a church camp puts you back around roman leal, who never really stopped believing in anything you walked away from. a bonfire, a cigarette, and a bad deal turn into a night neither of you fully know how to leave. some things don’t end when you stop talking.

word count: ~874 words

authors note: i honestly don’t know how i feel about this, but i hope you all enjoy it as much as i kind of do. it’s been sitting in my drafts for a while, but i finally decided to post it. as always, feedback is always welcome and actually needed so don’t be shy but nonetheless profitez bien, mes angels.

it was supposed to start as a summer job.

you thought it would be cute—going back to your hometown, working at the little café by the park, something simple, something temporary.

but every place needed applications a month in advance, and by the time you realized that, the only thing left open was the camp.

so now you’re here.

head counselor at a church-run summer camp.

despite being an atheist.

despite your mother holding a position high enough in the church that it feels less like a job and more like a legacy you never agreed to inherit.

it’s stupid.

you don’t belong here.

you don’t really belong anywhere here.

—

you’re not close with the other counselors.

not really.

you keep to yourself, they keep to theirs.

and then there’s roman leal.

same roman leal.

the one who used to be sixteen and way too eager to be good.

the one who snitched on you after catching you smoking behind the gym.

the one who, apparently, still thinks he’s saving people.

he wants to be a pastor.

of course he does.

—

tonight there’s a bonfire for the counselors.

you only go because silence is starting to feel worse than people.

you sit with them, talk about the city, about life outside of here.

one of them listens a little too closely.

like they’re already thinking about leaving.

you notice that.

roman notices you noticing it.

he’s been watching you all night.

not subtle.

not quiet.

just steady.

like you’re something he’s trying not to lose track of.

—

by the time people start drifting off, it’s just the two of you left by the fire.

you don’t plan it.

you just do it.

a cigarette between your lips, lit without ceremony.

you don’t offer it because you’re kind.

you offer it because you know he’ll say no.

he does.

—

“you know smoking isn’t allowed on camp grounds,” he says.

you exhale slowly.

“what are you gonna do? snitch on me again?”

his face changes immediately.

“i wasn’t snitching. i was trying to help you.”

you laugh once, humorless.

“that’s what you called it last time too.”

he ignores that.

he always does.

instead, he leans forward like the conversation is salvageable.

“there’s a group,” he says. “people our age. we meet every thursday at the church basement. it could be good for you—”

you cut him off.

“no.”

simple.

clean.

he doesn’t stop.

he never stops.

“you’ve been away a long time,” he says. “it might help you feel—connected again.”

you stare at him.

then shake your head slightly.

“roman. i don’t want to be connected to that.”

“you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“yes i do.”

you exhale smoke toward him on purpose this time.

he flinches slightly, but doesn’t move away.

“fuck off, roman. i’m not coming.”

there it is.

final.

you think that ends it.

it doesn’t.

“you could at least try to understand—”

“i do understand,” you cut in sharply. “i understand you want to fix people. i understand you think you’re right. i just don’t agree with you.”

he pauses.

like that one actually lands.

the silence between you stretches.

the fire crackles.

the lake behind you moves like it’s listening.

—

then he says it again.

so carefully it almost sounds rehearsed.

“there’s a group. just come once.”

you look at him for a long second.

then you smile a little.

not kind.

not soft.

something sharper.

“i’ll make you a deal.”

his brows lift slightly.

you continue.

“tomorrow morning. during communion. i’ll take part.”

he freezes.

you tilt your head.

“you can serve me. your little ritual. your whole thing.”

his eyes narrow slightly. “and?”

you nod toward the lake.

“and you come in the water with me. right now.”

he hesitates.

then—

he agreed almost immediately. too blinded with his need to revert you back.

“you got yourself a deal.”

—

you put the campfire out as well as the cigarette before walking to the shoreline of the lake. it’s darker now that the fire is gone, but the gracious moon and stars shed their light down to you two.

—

roman’s hand shoots out to stop yours as you start pulling off your shirt.

“what are you doing?” he asks, a little frantic, confused.

“roman,” you say slowly, trying to ignore how his hand feels on your skin, “we are skinny-dipping.”

roman just grumbles as an answer. he should have thought it through but he was blinded by his need to save you. god will forgive him for this.

—

roman doesn’t say anything, turning away from you to unbutton his shorts and take off his shirt. thoughts swirl in his head— not the first time he has seen a girl naked, but the first time he has seen you naked. he kicks off the last of his clothes, sandals, socks, boxers.

turning around, he sees you already knee deep in water.

when you look back at him and give him a waiting look, roman suddenly understands why adam let eve convince him to eat the apple, and why getting kicked out from the garden suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

—

he steps in slower than you.

like the water itself is something he has to earn forgiveness from.

you watch him for a second.

“you look like you’re about to repent,” you say.

“i might be,” he mutters.

you smile faintly and turn away, wading deeper.

“relax,” you say. “it’s just water.”

“it’s not the water,” he replies.

you glance back. “then what is it?”

he looks at you like the answer is obvious and unbearable at the same time.

“…everything else.”

you hum, like you’re deciding whether that matters.

then keep walking.

“you always think everything is about saving someone,” you say.

“it is my job,” he says immediately.

you laugh under your breath. “no one asked you to take that job.”

he follows you deeper.

slower now.

less certain.

and for the first time tonight—

he doesn’t have a verse ready to fix it.