bl3upi3

[bl3upi3]

Between the Lines

A/N: Not proofread. Thank you all for your support! I might even consider writing some smut to thank you.

Word count: 2870

Summary: You’ve been Hollis’s stylist and close friend for five years, building a bond with him and his friends, including Roman. During a trip to Japan, a live stream sparks intense flirtation and hidden desires between you, Hollis, and Roman. The playful teasing turns into something deeper, leading to a charged atmosphere that blurs the lines between friendship and attraction.

You’ve been friends with Hollis for about five years now. Actually, you’ve been his stylist that entire time. He’s always loved your fashion sense and your creative eye, and he liked having you around even when it wasn’t for work. Over time, you met his friends and naturally became part of the group’s daily life. Everyone came to rely on you to coordinate outfits for tours, press interviews, and any public appearance.

The funny thing is, you never actually studied fashion, nor had you styled anyone before. You met Hollis at a party your parents were hosting. The two of you were the same age and also the only young people there so you spent the night talking. He complimented your style, and you showed him your Instagram, where you posted your daily outfits. That’s when he told you, “You should style me one day.” By “one day,” he meant the following week for a photoshoot.

People loved the looks you put together for him. Even his agent told you that you should stick around.

And you did. From that day on, you never really left his side. You grew close to Roman, too, he and Hollis were polar opposites, but in a way that somehow worked. You started styling Roman occasionally, along with Nate and Conceal, though your style always aligned more naturally with Hollis and Roman.

Over the years, it all started to feel second nature. Fittings in hotel rooms, last-minute thrift runs in unfamiliar cities, late nights spent hunched over mood boards and half-drunk iced coffees. You learned on the job, no formal training, no textbook rules, just instinct and vibe. And somehow, that was enough.

Sometimes you wondered why Hollis never hired a “real” stylist. But then he’d look at himself in the mirror, twist at the hem of a shirt you’d altered by hand, and say something like, “Only you get it.” That was enough, too.

The bond between the two of you was quiet but constant. You weren’t just someone he worked with, you were someone he trusted. There were nights when he’d come over just to sit on your couch, the low hum of music playing while you sketched or scrolled through runway archives. Other times, he’d call you from some venue’s green room just to double-check which shoes went better with his look even though you’d already packed the outfit yourself.

Roman became a familiar presence too, always teasing, always lounging somewhere with a smug grin and a sarcastic comment. But he looked out for you, in his own way. He noticed when you were tired, when you hadn’t eaten, when you were carrying more weight than usual literally or emotionally.

Nate and Conceal took a bit longer to warm up, but once they saw that you weren’t just passing through, they let you in. Late-night diner stops after shows, inside jokes that only made sense on tour, birthday parties in cramped hotel rooms it all became part of your normal.

One day, Hollis had a show in Japan for his world tour, and naturally, the team decided to stretch the trip into a short vacation. It wasn’t often you all got time off, let alone in a place like Tokyo, so when the schedule opened up for a few free days, everyone jumped at the chance.

You visited Japan like a pack of chaotic tourists. Roman insisted on trying every convenience store snack, rating them dramatically like it was a YouTube concept. Nate somehow got lost in Shibuya Crossing for fifteen minutes and swore the crowd “swallowed” him. Conceal refused to leave Harajuku without buying three pairs of sunglasses and a pair of platform boots “for the bit.”

You took pictures of everything. Hollis made fun of you at first “Do you really need ten photos of the same vending machine?” but then you caught him taking candid shots of you trying on jackets in a vintage store. He didn’t say anything about it, but you noticed he set one of them as his lock screen later. The boys even vlogged your trip.

The night after the show, everyone stumbled back into the hotel exhausted, sweaty, starving, and ready to pass out wherever they landed. You, on the other hand, were wide awake.

Your body was still buzzing from the adrenaline of the concert, the travel, the energy of Tokyo itself. On top of that, you’d forgotten your sleeping pills, which meant you were stuck scrolling through your phone in the dim glow of your hotel room, the city lights bleeding through the curtains.

You posted a photo to your story of Hollis mid-performance in the outfit you had pieced together over three frantic days and two time zones. The response was instant. DMs, fire emojis, reposts, and a dozen messages begging you to go live and talk about the look.

At first, you hesitated. It felt weird, being the one in front of the camera instead of behind the scenes. But then again, you’d styled one of the biggest artists in the world. People were curious. And part of you… liked that.

So you went live. Just for a few minutes, you told yourself.

You propped your phone on the nightstand, the hotel lamp casting a soft glow over your face. You didn’t bother with a full setup, no ring light, no makeup, just you in an oversized tee and a messy bun, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

Within a minute, your live had around a hundred viewers. A mix of your own followers and some of Hollis’s fans flooded the comments with excited messages.

“FINALLY we’ve been waiting for this!!”

“Y/N YOU ATE WITH THAT FIT.”

“How did you come up with the idea for the pants???”

You smiled, a little shy but warming up quickly.

“So, the outfit,” you started, glancing at the chat. “I wanted something that honored the location but still felt very Hollis. So I pulled inspiration from Japanese silhouettes, specifically old school kimono shapes but made it street. Kind of a balance between soft drape and sharp structure…”

You went on, talking through the layering, the textiles, even the stitching on the jacket you’d customized at 2 a.m. the night before the flight. You were mid-sentence explaining the intentional color clash when a comment caught your eye.

@rommulas: She’s lying. I made the outfit.

You blinked, trying not to laugh. “Okay, no you didn’t,” you said directly into the camera. “Roman couldn’t style a sock drawer.”

More laughing emojis flooded in.

Then another message popped up:

@2Hollis: She stole the idea from a napkin sketch I made in a ramen shop.

You groaned and covered your face with one hand. “I should’ve known you two were awake.”

@rommulas: Stylists these days smh.

@2Hollis: Gatekeeping my vision is crazy.

@rommulas: She’s literally plagiarizing.

“Y’all are so unserious,” you muttered, laughing now as the chat lit up with people losing their minds over Hollis and Roman showing up.

“They’re lying. Neither of them even knew what I was doing until ten minutes before the show when I forced them to change shirts.”

@2Hollis: Bold of you to assume I was ever wearing a shirt.

@rommulas: Don’t expose us like that on live.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “Anyway, back to the actual fashion part…”

You cleared your throat, trying to push aside the feeling of being flustered. "Alright, alright, let’s get back to it,” you muttered, wiping the grin off your face as you read the comments scrolling faster than you could keep up.

“Y/N, show us your closet!”

“Do you live in Tokyo now?”

“Are you and Hollis a thing??”

You rolled your eyes. “You guys really don’t stop, do you?” Just as you started to turn back to the camera, there was a knock at the door.

A quick glance at the screen still blowing up with comments. You stood up, phone still propped on the nightstand. “Hold on a second,” you said before heading to the door.

“Y/N, open the door,” Roman’s voice called through the wood, muffled but amused.

You stared at the live, eyes widening. “No way.”

The chat exploded instantly.

“OMG THEY’RE COMING UP”

“Y/N RUN”

“She’s about to get bullied live”

You opened the door.

Roman walked in first, hoodie up, hair a mess, grinning like a troublemaker. Hollis followed behind, tall enough that he had to duck a little under the doorframe. His silver hair was damp from a shower, sticking up in uneven strands, and he wore black sweats and a loose tee. He looked every bit the kind of man who knew he was trouble.

“Are you live right now?” Roman asked, already flopping onto the edge of your bed like he owned it.

You pointed at him, glaring. “Do not—”

Too late. He leaned into the camera, eyes wide and dramatic. “Chat! She’s been LYING to you.”

Hollis lingered by the wall at first, arms crossed, watching you with that lazy amusement he always carried. Then, without asking, he walked over and grabbed one of your pillows, tossing it behind his head as he sat on the other side of your bed.

The comments were going feral.

“WE’RE WITNESSING HISTORY”

“HOLLIS IN HER ROOM??!?”

“ROMAN’S TAKING OVER THE LIVE HELP”

“Okay, everyone calm down,” you said, trying to control the chaos. “I was explaining how I came up with tonight’s outfit before these two decided to break in.”

“Break in?” Roman scoffed. “This is a group project. We came to supervise.”

Hollis finally leaned toward the camera, his deep voice sliding into the live like velvet. “Don’t believe her. She’s acting shy now but she’s been bullying me for five years.”

“I have not!” you laughed, swatting at him, but he only grinned wider.

Chat lost its mind.

“SHE TOUCHED HIM”

“WHY IS HE LOOKING AT HER LIKE THAT”

“Y/N AND HOLLIS FLIRTING IN 4K”

Roman peeked over your shoulder at the comments and started reading them out loud. “’Why is Hollis sitting on her bed like that’… great question, chat. Why are you sitting like that, bro?”

Hollis smirked and leaned back on his hands, stretching his long frame like he owned the space. His gaze slid to you. “Comfortable spot. Don’t mind sharing, do you?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on the phone. “Ignore them, chat. They’re children.”

“You love us,” Roman said, leaning on your shoulder dramatically.

“You tolerate us,” Hollis corrected smoothly, his eyes lingering on you a moment too long, and the live noticed.

The comments were unreadable now, hearts and ship names flooding the screen.

You exhaled, feigning annoyance, but couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto your lips. “This was supposed to be a professional live. I was giving fashion tips.”

Roman laughed, reaching for your phone. “It’s better now. Chat, rate her stylist skills 1 to 10.”

Hollis tilted his head, that familiar teasing edge in his voice. “I give her a nine.”

You arched a brow. “Nine?”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping for your ears only and his hand on your knee where no one could see.

“Yeah,” Hollis murmured, his voice low, as he leaned in just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. His fingers brushed against your knee, a casual touch that sent a jolt up your spine. “But I think I could be convinced to give her a ten… under the right circumstances.”

Roman, who had been busy reading the chat aloud, suddenly stopped. “Alright, we need to wrap this up before Y/N gets herself into more trouble,” he said with a grin, his voice heavy with sarcasm, though his eyes lingered on you a little too long.

The live chat was spiraling out of control. Comments were flooding in faster than you could read them, all centered around the same topic.

“Y/N AND HOLLIS ARE OFFICIALLY A THING!!!”

“Roman, are you cool with this or what??”

“Y/N LOOKING LIKE SHE’S ABOUT TO KISS HOLLIS”

You felt your face heat up, and you quickly shot a glance at the screen. The chat was full of hearts, fire emojis, and ship names. This was getting out of hand.

“Alright, alright,” you said, trying to keep your composure, but you could feel the tension in the air, thick and almost suffocating. You glanced at Hollis, his smirk so close to a grin that you were certain it was purposeful. And then there was Roman, practically sitting on your lap, his head tilted in that annoying but somehow endearing way he had when he was watching you unravel.

You cleared your throat and spoke directly into the camera, trying to focus. “That’s enough of the teasing for one night. I’m ending this live before we start trending for all the wrong reasons.”

Roman gave a dramatic groan. “Aww, come on, Y/N! You’re killing the vibe.”

“You’re the one who started it,” you shot back, feeling the heat in your chest rise.

Hollis stretched his arm behind you, leaning back with a lazy, almost predatory smile. “Can’t blame her for wanting to cut it short,” he teased, his eyes flicking to yours, a playful glint there. “She knows the chemistry is too much for the internet to handle.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes, but your heart was beating a little too fast for it to be entirely out of annoyance. The three of you had a way of being close that felt a little too… intimate sometimes. You weren't sure if it was the playful banter, the unspoken flirtation, or the fact that being around them both made everything feel sharper, more electric.

“I’m ending the live,” you said again, this time with more finality in your voice, before reaching over to grab your phone.

Roman pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re no fun.”

Before you could click off, Hollis leaned forward, his face just inches from yours. “You don’t have to end it just because we’re here, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “If you want to keep the show going, we can make it interesting.”

Your pulse quickened, and you knew you had to end this—before the tension between the three of you turned into something else entirely. You quickly pressed the “end live” button, not daring to look at either of them, feeling a mixture of relief and a strange, undeniable desire.

The moment the stream cut, the room went eerily quiet.

Roman, now leaning back casually, finally broke the silence. “Well, that was fun,” he said, glancing at you. “But I think you owe us a little more than just a quick ‘thanks for watching.’”

Hollis, still not looking away from you, added, “Yeah, I think we deserve a reward for being such good company.”

You looked between the two of them, feeling the space between you close in. The playful teasing was now tinged with something else, something hotter, more charged than before.

“Y’all are impossible,” you said, your voice betraying the unease you felt, but it wasn’t just frustration. It was anticipation.

Roman grinned like a cat who’d just found a mouse to play with, and Hollis, with his usual cocky grin, made it clear that he wasn’t going to let you off that easily.

“Maybe we’ll be more ‘manageable’ if you give us a little… attention,” Roman teased, his voice thick with meaning.

And suddenly, it wasn’t just the three of you in the room. It was the weight of everything unsaid, every glance, every touch, every flirtation over the years that had built up to this one, charged moment.

You couldn’t help but wonder just how much longer you’d be able to deny what was slowly unraveling in the quiet space between you, Hollis, and Roman. The sexual tension that had been simmering was about to boil over, and you weren’t sure who, if anyone, would be the first to break.

But in that moment, all you could think was: You needed to get out of this room.

“I need a drink,” you muttered, standing up quickly and heading for the door.

Roman’s voice followed you. “We’ll join you,” he called. “Can’t have you drinking alone.”

But Hollis didn’t move, his eyes locking onto yours with a look that was much too intense, a look that made your heart beat a little too fast.

“You can’t run away from this, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You froze at the door, but before you could say anything, Roman walked past you, almost casually brushing against your side. “Come on, let's go get a drink before she explodes from all the tension.”

Hollis stayed behind, still watching you like he was waiting for something. You swallowed hard and turned, facing the two of them.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But no more flirting. You both owe me for this disaster.”

Roman chuckled, “Too bad, Y/N. It’s kind of our thing.”

With that, you all made your way out of the room, the air between the three of you thicker than before, and the night suddenly feeling like it could go in any direction.

[bl3upi3]

here's a definition from google

"A Social Media AU (SMAU), also known as a social media alternate universe or socmed AU, is a fanwork that reimagines characters from a fandom within the context of social media platforms like Twitter, Instagram, or Snapchat. These works typically involve creating fake social media profiles for characters and using posts, tweets, direct messages, and other social media formats to tell a story or develop character interactions."

looking through #socialmediaau on here will give you a better idea of it ♡

Oh thank you I’m will try !

[bl3upi3]

NON-freaks dni. This is a freaks only zone

[bl3upi3]

hiii! can you do a fic about Rommulas and childhood best friend y/n! something like him getting jealous about her and Hollis getting closer, resulting in him admitting his feelings for her😌 ty, i luv ur fics!

After All This Time

A/N: Not proofread, also loved the idea, hope you like this !

Word count : 3,100

Summary: You and Roman have been best friends forever, but as you grew up, everything started to shift. When you get closer to his friend Hollis, Roman finally confesses what he’s been hiding all along.

You’ve been friends with Roman since childhood, always together, everywhere. Your moms were best friends, so it was only natural the two of you got along too, especially since you were the same age. Growing up with Roman as your best friend was like having a second shadow constant, comforting and sometimes annoying. He was your partner-in-crime, your confidant, the one person who always had your back no matter what.

He knew all your secrets. He was there for every scraped knee, every awkward crush, every fight with your parents. And you were there for him too, when he failed his driver’s test, when he lost his dog, even when he had his first heartbreak.

You still remember sneaking out of your houses in the middle of the night just to meet at the playground down the street and skate under the yellow streetlights, pretending the cracked pavement was your private stage. Some nights, you barely spoke, just rolled in silence, side by side, like you didn’t need words to feel close. Other times, you’d talk for hours, sharing stupid dreams and deep fears, making promises you both knew you’d break but swore on anyway.

But then puberty happened.

And things started to shift. Roman got taller, his voice got deeper, and suddenly all the girls were into him. He stopped telling you everything, started hanging out with a new group of friends. He still talked to you, but it felt… different.

The easy comfort between you started to fray at the edges. Conversations became shorter. The late-night calls turned into unread messages. He wasn’t mean, just… distant. Like he was drifting into a version of himself you didn’t recognize yet and maybe didn’t belong to.

You didn’t say anything. You just waited, thinking it was a phase. That he’d come back around like he always did.

And for a second, it felt like maybe he was.

It was a Saturday, and you were sleeping over at his place like you used to when you were kids. Popcorn, old movies, blankets thrown across the couch, it almost felt normal again. Familiar. He laughed at something stupid you said, threw a pillow at your face, and for the first time in months, you saw a flicker of the old Roman.

Then, just as you were settling into that comfort, he said, “Hey, some of the guys are hanging out at Hollis’s place tonight. You should come.”

You blinked. Roman never invited you to those things, not with his new friends. And you weren’t sure if it was a pity offer or a peace offering. But still, you said yes.

You didn’t know it then, but that night would change everything.

You threw on one of Roman’s oversized hoodies, tied your hair up, and followed him out into the cool evening air. You skated to the place, coasting behind him in comfortable silence.

That Hollis kid? He was rich. Like really rich. The house was this big white two-story thing with a wraparound porch and way too many lights. His parents had to be business people or something there was no other explanation.

When you walked in, you were greeted by a bunch of shirtless boys sprawled across the living room like they owned the place. A blond kid with long hair was sitting at a laptop, locked in on something. Later, you’d find out that was Hollis the one Roman kept talking about.

Another guy was on the couch, head bobbing to the music Hollis was playing, a joint between his fingers. That was Ryan. Next to him was Nate, lounging like he’d lived there his whole life.

Surprisingly, the guys were actually nice.

“Roman talks a lot about you,” Nate said with a smirk, looking at you as you sat on the far end of the couch.

You glanced at Roman, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t meet your eyes. Just took a sip from his drink and shrugged like it was nothing.

“He does?” you asked, pretending to sound casual, even though your chest tightened a little.

“Yeah,” Ryan chimed in, his voice low and amused. “Said you skate better than him.”

You snorted. “That’s not hard.”

That made them laugh. Even Hollis, who finally looked up from whatever was on his laptop. He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking over you with curiosity.

“You’re that Y/N?” he asked.

“That depends,” you replied, leaning forward. “What did he say?”

Hollis grinned, and it was unfair how good it looked on him. “Mostly that you’re annoying.”

Roman finally looked at you then, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Because you are.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. The room relaxed after that. You relaxed.

After that, you started hanging out with them regularly. Your bond with Roman wasn’t the same anymore, but you found other friends. The guys actually treated you like one of them, like you belonged. For years, you followed them everywhere, shows, house parties, late-night drives to nowhere.

Hollis’s career started taking off, and Nate’s too. Along with their friend Jona, they launched a vlog series called Boy Life just them doing stupid, chaotic stuff, being loud, being real. And people loved it.

They filmed everything, skating tricks gone wrong, dumb pranks, afterparty footage, road trips that turned into mini documentaries. And you were there, always somewhere in the background. Sometimes behind the camera. Sometimes in front of it, whether you meant to be or not.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. You were just tagging along. Crashing on couches, eating dollar pizza, getting sunburned at music festivals. You weren’t trying to be a part of the spotlight.

But people noticed you.

Comments started popping up under the vlogs.

“Who’s the girl?”

“Is that Roman’s girlfriend?”

“Hollis and her got chemistry fr.”

You laughed it off. Roman didn’t.

The more you appeared, the weirder he got. Not in a loud, obvious way, Roman wasn’t like that. It was more in the way his energy shifted. How he started inviting you out less. How his texts got shorter again. How he never said anything directly, but his silence said plenty.

And through it all, Hollis kept watching you. Not in a creepy obvious way, he was too smooth for that. But his eyes always seemed to find you in a crowd. Like he was checking in. Like he was thinking things he wasn’t saying.

At first, it was harmless. A smirk when you made fun of Ryan’s hair. A “ladies first” when you climbed into the van last. A pat on the head that lingered a little too long.

It started with texts.

Hollis

yo, send me that pic u took of nate’s dumbass eating pavement

You

Which one? I got like five angles lmao

Hollis

the one where his soul left his body XD

A few days later:

Hollis

you always stay this quiet when you’re high or you just hate us?

You

just you

Hollis

lmao harsh. i’ll win u over eventually.

You didn’t mean to flirt back. Not really.

But Hollis had this way of sliding into your comfort zone without asking for permission. He never pushed, he just showed up. In your DMs. In your space. In your thoughts, way more often than you were ready to admit.

And Roman noticed.

He never said anything, but you caught it in the way his jaw tightened when he saw you smiling at your phone. Or how he always seemed to sit between you and Hollis when you were all hanging out.

At first, you thought you were imagining it.

But then came the night at Ryan’s.

It wasn’t a party, just a casual hang. A few drinks, shitty pizza, and someone’s playlist looping in the background. Everyone was spread out across the living room, half-watching a movie, half-scrolling on their phones.

You were curled up in a blanket on the floor, head resting back against the couch, laughing at something Nate said something dumb. Hollis was sitting beside you, one leg stretched out, the other bent with his arm resting on his knee. He handed you his drink absentmindedly, and you took a sip without thinking.

Roman was across the room, perched on the arm of the loveseat, one knee bouncing like it always did when he was irritated. You didn’t catch it at first, too wrapped up in whatever stupid inside joke Hollis was whispering in your ear, too busy trying not to laugh so hard you spilled the drink.

But when you looked up, Roman was watching.

Not just watching, he was staring. Eyes locked on you and Hollis, unmoving. His jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch from across the room. And for the first time in a long time, the air between you felt sharp.

You sat up slowly, suddenly aware of how close you were to Hollis, how your knee was resting against his, how his hand was still draped behind your back like it belonged there.

You shifted your weight, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, as if that would undo the intimacy Roman had just witnessed. Hollis didn’t move, he just gave you a sideways glance, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

“Y/N,” Roman said, his voice low but hard.

The chatter in the room dulled like someone had turned the volume down just a notch. You glanced up, already knowing what was coming.

“Can we go?” he asked, standing up.

You blinked. “Go? It’s barely midnight.”

He shrugged, but it wasn’t casual. It was tense. “I’m tired.”

You hesitated. Then, for some reason you still don’t understand, you nodded. Maybe out of habit. Maybe out of guilt.

You stood, gave a quick wave to the guys, mumbled a half-assed “later,” and followed Roman out into the night.

The second the car doors shut, you felt it.

That silence.

Not the comfortable kind you used to share when skating side by side at midnight. This one was sharp, suffocating. Roman’s knuckles were white around the steering wheel, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stared out the passenger window, watching the streetlights blur past. But the tension? It was crawling up your spine.

And finally, he cracked.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

You turned to him slowly, already exhausted. “Get what?”

He let out a bitter laugh, one that didn’t match the Roman you knew. “You and Hollis.”

You blinked. “Again with this shit?”

“You were basically sitting in his lap, Y/N.”

Your head snapped toward him. “I was leaning on the couch. He handed me a drink, not his dick.”

He hit the brakes a little harder than necessary at a red light, the car jolting just enough to match the conversation.

“You really think I don’t see what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on!” Your voice shot up before you could stop it. “Jesus, Roman, what do you want me to say?”

“That you don’t like him.”

The words landed heavy. You stared at him, his profile lit only by the red of the stoplight.

“That you’re not into him,” he added, voice quieter now. “That you’re not gonna fuck up everything we’ve ever had for some guy who barely knows you.”

You blinked, stunned. “Are you serious right now?”

The light turned green, but he didn’t move right away.

“You don’t get to act jealous, Roman,” you said, voice shaking with anger now. “You don’t get to pick and choose when I matter to you.”

He finally hit the gas, hard. The tires squealed.

“That’s not what this is—”

“Bullshit.” You turned your whole body toward him. “You pushed me away for months. You left me out of everything. And now, because he sees me? Now I matter again?”

He gripped the wheel tighter. His eyes stayed on the road, but you saw it, the twitch in his jaw, the way his throat bobbed like he was swallowing everything he couldn’t say.

“You had your chance, Roman,” you said, softer this time, like the truth hurt your throat to admit. “You had years. And you did nothing.”

He pulled into his driveway and slammed the car into park, the whole thing jerking.

And then, quietly, like it took everything in him, he whispered, “You’re still mine.”

You stared at him.

And your heart cracked a little.

“No,” you whispered back. “I’m not.”

You opened the door and stepped out without looking back, the cold air hitting your face like a slap.

You didn’t even wait for him. Just walked straight up to the house, your steps fast and quiet, keys already out of your pocket like muscle memory. You knew the drill, sneak in, shoes off, don’t wake anyone.

But Roman was right behind you.

You could hear him breathing hard, like he’d run to catch up. He didn’t say a word as you slipped inside, the front door clicking shut behind him.

The house was silent, dark, except for the faint blue glow of the kitchen nightlight.

You didn’t stop. You headed straight for his room, the carpet muffling your angry steps. When you reached the door, you pushed it open and went in without asking, just like always. Except nothing about this felt like always.

You threw your hoodie onto the edge of the bed and turned around just as he shut the door behind you.

The soft click of it latching was deafening.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed, keeping your voice low. “Dragging me out of there like that?”

He stepped forward, not close, but not far either. “You didn’t have to come.”

You let out a sharp breath. “Don’t pull that shit. You know I would’ve stayed if you told me to. You always expect me to read your damn mind.”

He scoffed, voice just above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have to spell it out, Y/N. You know what that looked like.”

You crossed your arms. “Oh my god, Roman. It looked like I was enjoying myself. God forbid.”

“You looked like you were into him.”

Your chest rose and fell faster now. “And what if I was?”

That stunned him for a second. His jaw clenched. His voice dropped even lower. “Then I guess I’m already too fucking late.”

You blinked. The room suddenly felt too small. Too still.

Roman rubbed a hand over his face, pacing once before stopping in front of his bed. “You think I don’t notice everything? The way you laugh when he talks to you. How you always text him back faster than me. How you light up when he’s around. I see it.”

You swallowed, throat tight. “Then maybe you should’ve said something sooner.”

“I couldn’t,” he snapped, then immediately lowered his voice. “I couldn’t, okay? Because if I told you what I really felt, and you didn’t feel it back… I would’ve lost you for good.”

Silence. Then your voice, barely audible: “And what do you feel?”

He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time tonight. His next words came out ragged, barely a breath:

“I’m in love with you.”

Your heart stopped.

He stepped forward again, this time slow, deliberate, like he was scared he’d break something.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen. Since you showed up at my house with two Slurpees after my dog died and didn’t say anything, you just sat with me. Since you got into that fight with Alyssa in gym class because she called me a loser. Since we skated in the rain and you let me hold your hand like it didn’t mean anything when it meant everything to me.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Roman ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I didn’t know how to deal with it. You were always just… there. In every part of my life. And then Hollis shows up, and suddenly you’re looking at him the way I’ve looked at you for years and it fucking killed me.”

You felt your whole chest tighten. Like your lungs forgot how to work.

“I didn’t push you away because I stopped caring,” he whispered. “I pushed you away because I was scared I cared too much.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you hated how much sense it made. Hated how part of you had waited, hoped to hear this.

But still, you said, “Then why now? Why only say this now, when someone else started paying attention to me?”

His eyes locked onto yours.

“Because now I know what it feels like to lose you. And I can’t do it again.”

You stared at him, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Say something,” he whispered.

You didn’t know what to say.

So instead…

you took a step closer.

Your bare feet brushed against the carpet as you stepped closer, until there was barely any space between you. Roman’s breath caught but he didn’t move. He just looked at you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked.

The room felt impossibly quiet. Too quiet for everything screaming inside your chest.

You raised your hand, slow and unsure, and touched the side of his face. His skin was warm. His jaw tensed under your fingers, but he didn’t pull away. He leaned into it.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

His voice cracked, barely a sound: “I’m in love with you.”

And then you kissed him.

You didn’t even think about it your body just moved. Like the years of silence, of almosts and maybes, had finally caught up to this one second. His lips met yours in a way that felt both brand-new and long overdue. Like coming home to something you never knew you left.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t perfect. It was desperate and messy and real.

His hands were in your hair. Yours were fisted in his hoodie. You stumbled back against the bed, laughing through the kiss when you nearly tripped, and he kissed you harder like he’d waited a lifetime to do it.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, foreheads pressed together, his eyes searched yours like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“You’re still annoying,” he murmured, lips brushing yours.

You smiled. “You’re still a jealous idiot.”

He grinned.

And you both knew, without saying a word…

Everything had just changed.

Forever.

[bl3upi3]

See You Soon

A/N: Not proofread, but I’ve been wanting to write a long-distance one-shot for a while. Requests are open if you have any ideas!

Word count : 2,943

Summary: After a random Minecraft tweet catches the attention of rising music star 2Hollis, you never expected a flirty reply to turn into months of late-night calls, care packages, and falling in love from a distance. One year later, after months of slow-burn connection, he books a flight to finally meet you in person and everything changes.

You’ve been dating Hollis for a year now. It’s always been a bit of a weird situation, it was long-distance from the start, since he’s constantly busy with his career and you were still finishing up at your local university. Meeting him in the first place had been a total surprise.

It started with a dumb tweet actually, something stupid you posted late at night about Minecraft villagers sounding like tired dads. You didn’t expect anyone to see it, let alone someone like him. But then he replied. Not just a like or a retweet, a full reply. Sarcastic, funny, and way too specific for someone who wasn’t deep into the game.

You didn’t even realize who he was at first. His username didn’t have the usual blue check. It wasn’t until you clicked on his profile out of curiosity that you saw the link to his music and froze.

It was that Hollis.

You figured it was a one-off interaction. But then he followed you. Then DMed you. You talked on and off for months, it wasn’t really your priority, but he was actually nice. Chill. Funny. You two bonded over video games and skating. You told him you wished you’d learned how to skate when you were younger. At this point, you were a full-blown adult who barely knew how to stand on a board, let alone do anything else. He said that if he could, he’d teach you himself.

Even after eight months of talking, you still hadn’t fully processed that you were actually chatting with the 2Hollis. Not until he FaceTimed you for your birthday. You’d mentioned the date once, in passing, and didn’t think he’d remember but he did.

You were lying on your bed, wrapped in an old hoodie, scrolling aimlessly when your phone buzzed. Unknown number. FaceTime.

You stared at the screen, confused. Then it clicked. Your heart did this weird little skip. You sat up, hesitated for a second, then hit accept.

And there he was.

At first, all you saw was the ceiling of what looked like a studio. Then his face appeared, a little too close to the camera, slightly blurry, clearly not prepared for this call either.

“Happy birthday,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just blinked at the screen, trying to connect the face you’d seen in a million edited music videos with the guy who’d sent you memes at 3 a.m. about villagers and skeleton mobs.

“What?” you finally muttered, breath caught halfway between a laugh and a panic attack.

“I said happy birthday, dummy,” he repeated, teasing.

He looked tired, not in a bad way. His hoodie was half zipped, hair messy, eyes soft. No lights, only red LEDs. Just him, holding the phone with one hand and a cupcake in the other.

You snorted. “Is that… for me?”

He lifted the tiny cupcake closer to the camera. It had a crooked little candle stuck in the center. “Yeah. Don’t get too emotional, it’s store-bought.”

You laughed, really laughed, the kind that made your cheeks hurt and your chest feel lighter than it had in weeks.

He grinned at the sound, like he’d earned something. You didn’t know it yet, but he’d remember that exact moment later. The way your eyes squinted when you smiled. The way your voice cracked a little when you tried not to laugh too hard.

You thought the call would last ten minutes, tops. He had a session to get back to. You were supposed to be writing a paper. But somehow, three hours passed. Just like that.

You talked about your day, the annoying professor who still called roll like it was high school, how you spilled coffee on your notes that morning. He asked questions, real ones. Like he actually cared. You told him about your final exams coming up, about how burnt out you were but too stubborn to quit. He told you he got that. That he used to stay up all night editing his tracks with cheap headphones and half a clue what he was doing. That even now, with all the success, he sometimes felt like he was just winging it.

Then, he got quieter. He talked about the future, not just music, but what he wanted, even if he wasn’t totally sure how to say it out loud. He said he didn’t think he could do this forever. That the industry felt like a maze sometimes. That part of him just wanted peace. Maybe a place outside the city. Maybe someone to build stuff with.

You didn’t say much. You just listened. And he let you.

At some point, your battery dipped below 5%, but you didn’t care. Neither of you brought it up. It was like neither of you wanted to be the first to hang up.

You ended up falling asleep with the phone still in your hand, his voice the last thing you heard low, warm, halfway through a sentence you never got to finish.

The next morning, there was a message waiting for you.

“Didn’t wanna hang up first. Sleep well, birthday girl.”

That was the night everything changed. After that, things between you got more serious. He started FaceTiming you whenever he could, before shows, after interviews, sometimes even in the middle of events just to show you around. It was sweet, getting little glimpses of a world so far from your small city.

Then the texts started getting flirtier. Subtle at first. Jokes that lingered a little longer, compliments that felt a bit more intentional. And slowly, it started to feel like something more.

The shift was gradual. One day you were teasing him about his obsession with Red Bull, the next he was sending you mirror selfies captioned “Rate the fit, or just pretend you miss me already.” You played it cool, obviously but your stomach flipped every time his name popped up on your screen.

You’d never dated someone like him before. Not just the fame, but the way he paid attention. Like the tiniest things you said actually stayed with him. Like he was taking mental notes just to surprise you later.

One night, after a particularly brutal exam, you got home to a package at your door. Inside: a hoodie from your favorite show, a bag of those weird chips you couldn’t stop talking about, and a hand-written note that just said:

“In case today sucked. Call me if you feel like pretending it didn’t.”

That was the first night you told him you liked him.

Like, really liked him.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just kind of blinked at you through the screen. Then he smiled. Soft, almost shy.

“I was starting to think I’d have to move to your city just to prove I wasn’t messing around.”

And from there, everything started moving faster. More late-night calls. More “I wish you were here” texts. More versions of you and him that started to feel less like a maybe and more like a plan.

It wasn’t official yet, no labels, no big talk but the way he said your name started to feel different. Like it meant something. Like you meant something.

And then, one night, you were on the phone, half-asleep, the screen dimmed and your voice low. You’d been talking about the stupidest things cereal brands, childhood cartoons, the weird kid in your class who wore flip-flops year-round and somewhere between a yawn and a pause, he said it.

“You know I’m not seeing anyone else, right?”

You blinked, sat up a little.

“What?”

He rubbed his face, like he wasn’t sure if he’d meant to say it out loud.

“I mean… I don’t know what this is exactly, but it’s not casual for me. Not just… fun. Not anymore.”

Your chest tightened. Not in a bad way, just in that overwhelming, oh-god-this-is-real way.

You were quiet for a second, long enough that he started to shift awkwardly on his end of the call.

“I’m not either,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Seeing anyone else. I mean. It’s not just fun for me, either.”

His whole expression changed. Softer. Relieved. Like he’d been holding his breath for hours without realizing.

“Cool,” he said, eyes flicking away from the camera for a second. “That’s… cool.”

After that, he started calling you his girl. Casually, at first. In texts. In the way he’d say “You’d hate this place, my girl doesn’t even like crowds.” But hearing it, feeling claimed in that gentle, stupid, sweet way made your stomach twist every time.

Then one afternoon, a couple weeks later, it happened.

“What’s your address?”

You stared at your phone, confused.

“Why?”

“Because I booked a flight.”

“Hollis. What do you mean?”

“I’m coming to see you. Like… for real.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just sat there on your bed, staring at the message, your heart thudding so hard it felt like it echoed in your teeth.

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“When?”

“Friday.”

It was Tuesday.

You hadn’t even brushed your hair that day. You were still in sweats, still half-recovering from your last round of exams, and now the boy you’d been falling in love with, slowly, stupidly, digitally, was going to be standing in front of you in less than three days.

You almost threw up. Then you almost cried. Then you called him.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” you asked as soon as he picked up, no hello, no intro.

“Because I didn’t want to give you time to back out.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re such a dick.”

“Maybe. But I’m your dick now, remember?”

You buried your face in your hands, cheeks burning. “I hate you.”

“You’re gonna love me by Friday.”

You didn’t sleep much that week. Every time your phone buzzed, you jumped. You started noticing how messy your room looked, how uneven your nails were, how you didn’t own anything remotely cool to wear around a real-life superstar. Not that he’d care, but still.

Friday came faster than you thought.

You kept checking the time like that would slow it down. Your hands shook when you did your makeup. You changed outfits four times, then ended up in the first one anyway.

You got to the airport early, way too early. You paced near arrivals, trying not to check your phone every two seconds even though you knew exactly when he landed. Your leg bounced nonstop. You kept looking toward the automatic doors like a dog waiting for its owner.

You didn’t know how to act at first, your feet stayed rooted to the floor, your mind suddenly blank. You were kind of shy, frozen, like your body hadn’t caught up with what was happening.

But Hollis didn’t hesitate. The second he saw that hesitation in your eyes, the half-step back, the nervous grip on your sleeve, he smiled and pulled you straight into him.

His arms wrapped around you like it was second nature, like he’d done it a thousand times already in his head.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, voice muffled by your hair. “Don’t do that nervous thing. It’s just me.”

You exhaled against his chest. That was the first time you really let yourself feel it, the warmth of him, the weight of him, the reality of him. He held you like he wasn’t in a rush to let go.

When you finally stepped back, he kept one hand at your waist, just resting there, grounding you. His other hand reached up to brush your cheek.

“You’re shorter than I expected,” he said, teasing but gentle.

“You’re taller,” you shot back, blinking up at him.

“Damn. You got jokes in person too.”

You smiled. “I’m funnier in 4D.”

He laughed. Neither of you really knew what to say after that. It was that weird limbo between we already know each other and we’re meeting for the first time.

So you just stood there for a second, looking at him, letting your brain catch up to your heart.

“Ready to get out of here?” you asked finally.

“Only if you’re the one driving,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a grin.

You shook your head. “You’re insane if you think I’m letting a sleep-deprived singer who just got off a five-hour flight take the wheel.”

“Fair,” he said, falling into step beside you. “But I still call aux.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers brushed his as you walked, and when his hand found yours without hesitation, you didn’t let go.

Hollis stayed for three days. He wanted you to show him around your town, your favorite coffee shop, the park near your apartment, even your campus. A few people recognized him as you walked together, especially near the university. You instinctively kept a bit of distance, unsure how to act. You weren’t ready for his fans to know about you.

You’d seen how they reacted online every time he so much as looked at a woman. The thought of them finding your account, tearing you apart, turning you into some meme, it scared you more than you wanted to admit.

Still, he didn’t seem to care. He wanted to do everything with you, pay for every activity, take you on little dates like you were the only person that mattered. Movie theatres, late-night dinners, long conversations back at your place with your legs tangled under the blanket.

He didn’t rush anything. Just made space for you, like he’d always been part of your routine.

The last night of his trip, you stayed up way too late again.

You were both curled up on the couch, an old movie playing in the background neither of you were really watching. His hoodie was draped over your shoulders, still warm from his body, and your legs were tangled under the throw blanket like they’d always belonged there.

You were leaning into him, your head resting just under his jaw, when he tilted his face toward yours, voice low.

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m sleepy,” you lied.

“Mm.” He shifted slightly, his fingers brushing a slow line along the inside of your arm. “Nah. That’s your ‘I’m overthinking something’ silence.”

You hated how well he read you.

“I just… don’t want this to end,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers lacing through yours slowly. Deliberate.

“It doesn’t have to,” he said. “Not really.”

You turned your head toward him, your eyes meeting his in the dim, flickering light from the TV. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yeah. But I’m still yours.”

Your heart was a mess in your chest.

He leaned in a little closer, his voice lower now, softer. “You know I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

“I noticed,” you whispered, trying and failing to sound unimpressed.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, your lips barely parting.

He traced a fingertip along your jaw. “You want me to?”

You swallowed, your pulse thudding somewhere near your throat. “Yeah.”

“Say it.”

You hesitated, breath shaky. “I want you to kiss me.”

His lips ghosted over yours, not quite a kiss, just a test. A tease. His hand cradled the side of your face like you were something fragile, sacred.

And then he kissed you. Slow. Deep. Like he was trying to memorize it. Like he already knew it wouldn’t be enough.

Your fingers fisted the fabric of his hoodie. His thumb slid across your cheekbone.

He pulled back just a little, just enough to breathe, to look at you like he wasn’t sure how the hell he’d gone so long without doing that.

“That was worth the wait,” he murmured.

You smiled, dazed. “Yeah?”

He nodded, brushing his nose against yours. “Yeah.”

Neither of you moved for a long moment. It wasn’t just the kiss it was everything behind it. All the calls. All the teasing. The random memes at midnight, the shared silences, the way he remembered things you didn’t even realize you’d told him.

You finally leaned your forehead against his, your voice soft. “You’re gonna forget what I look like the second you’re on the plane.”

He frowned. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He shifted a little, sitting up just enough to pull you fully into his lap, your legs on either side of him now. His hands rested on your hips.

“I’m not forgetting any of this,” he said. “You’re not… some side thing. You know that, right?”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t look away either.

“I’m gonna leave,” he continued, “and it’s gonna suck. But I’m gonna text you before I even get on the plane. And I’m gonna FaceTime you the second I land. And I’m gonna keep showing up. As much as I can. Until I can do it for real.”

“For real?” you echoed.

“As in… permanently. Not a visit. Not just three days. You and me, no lag. No screens. I want that. Eventually.”

Your heart twisted, in the best way possible.

And you knew deep down he meant it.

So you kissed him again. Not because it was the dramatic thing to do, but because you couldn’t not.

And later, when he finally did leave, when you stood at the gate and watched him disappear past security, your chest ached.

But it didn’t feel like goodbye.

It felt like see-you-soon.

Because you had something.

Something real. Something rare.

Something that started with a stupid Minecraft tweet and ended here.

And you were only just getting started.

[bl3upi3]

Got any one-shot requests for 2Hollis, Rommulas, or Nettspend? I’m looking for some inspo.

[bl3upi3]

Can I request nettspend x reader where they have a rap beef but then hash it out and collab and start being cute on ig (reader is more of a producer than a lyricist so they make him a beat :3)

It’s Not a Collab

Summary: You’re a rising underground producer with one viral hit and a lot to prove. Nettspend is a loudmouthed rapper who made the mistake of dragging your name and your beats through the mud. What started as a petty war turned into a viral feud, fan-fueled chaos, and one unexpected collab offer. You hate him. He kind of loves that.

Word count: 2013

A/N: Not proofread. I think I could’ve done better. It feels a bit rushed, but I wanted to leave room for a possible part 2. Hope the person who requested it likes it!

You’ve been producing music since high school, starting out with your friends just messing around, making random tracks and beats for fun. You blew up one summer after making a XavierSobased-type beat and he actually reached out to work with you. You and Xavier ended up doing three songs together, and one of them even went viral on TikTok. You weren’t exactly famous, though. Aside from working with Xavier, you hadn’t really done any big or successful projects.

You weren’t exactly chasing clout, but that little burst of attention had people in your DMs, rappers, wannabes, and a few producers trying to leech off the hype. Most of them were unserious.

One day, while you were scrolling through TikTok, you came across an interview with Nettspend. You knew who he was, he was a good friend of Xavier. Xavier had mentioned him before, even said he’d probably sound great on one of your beats.

In the video, Nettspend was sitting in front of a plain white background, answering questions from someone off-camera about the underground scene and different rappers. Then came a question that made your heart stop for a second.

“What do you think about your friend Xaviersobased working with a producer who got discovered on TikTok?”

He was talking about you.

Nettspend didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head a little, raised an eyebrow, and gave this dry half-smile like he was deciding whether to be messy or diplomatic.

“I mean… it’s cute,” he said finally, voice flat. “Xavier does charity work sometimes.”

Your jaw dropped.

The interviewer laughed, and Nettspend didn’t even crack a grin to show he was joking. Just looked dead into the camera like he meant it. You stared at the screen, chest tight, heat crawling up your neck. A million comebacks flooded your brain, but none of them mattered because by the time the clip ended, your blood was already boiling.

You didn’t post anything. Not right away. You didn’t want to look pressed. But you were pressed. So you did what you knew how to do best.

In the days that followed, you started working on a new beat. You didn’t like Nett at first, you knew how self-centered he was, always acting like he was better than everyone else. You even based the beat on one of his own tracks, flipping the vibe and twisting it into something darker. You sampled a few of his vocals too, just to be petty. Then you titled it “Charity Work” and dropped it.

It didn’t take long for people to connect the dots. Within an hour, “Charity Work” was all over TikTok. Duets, stitches, edits, everyone had an opinion. Some thought it was genius, others called it shady. A few diehard Nettspend fans tried to come for you in the comments, but your followers clapped back harder.

And then, Nettspend noticed.

He tweeted: “Y’all funny. Sampling me like I’m dead.”

No @, no mention. But you knew who it was for.

You liked the tweet. That’s all. No words. Just a like.

That like must’ve touched a nerve, because a few hours later, Nettspend started tweeting wild.

“She be better off posting her body than her bad beats. Can’t EQ for shit.”

“Y’all hyping a TikTok producer like she’s Mozart just 'cause she’s got titties?”

At first, you laughed. Then you didn’t.

It wasn’t just about music anymore he was taking shots at you as a woman, as a producer, as someone who hadn’t come up the "right" way.

You posted a screenshot of a message you’d sent him months ago, back when Xavier had first suggested a collab. It was short and polite: “Hey! Xavier said we might vibe on something, lmk if you’re ever down.” Left on read.

Then you added a caption:“He been ignoring me since before I made him relevant y’all do the math.” Boom. 20k likes in an hour.

Now it was war. Nettspend posted an Instagram story with a photo of your beat file, claiming he could make it “better in 30 minutes on his phone.” You responded by uploading a remix of his beat, but way cleaner, with tighter transitions and again, people noticed.

Someone on Twitter made a thread: “This beef between Nettspend and Y/N is lowkey the best underground drama of the year.”

You responded: “He mad I made him sound better than he actually is.”

After that, nothing. No tweets, no subs, no responses. He went on with his life, and you went on with yours.

“Charity Work” kept blowing up, even after the drama died down. People online started calling it Y/N ft. Nettspend, like it was a real collab. New listeners didn’t even know it came out of a beef, they just liked the sound.

Your face was more recognizable now. You started getting invited to festivals over the summer. Still, you knew the chances of running into Nettspend were high. You moved in the same scene, worked in the same underground lane. You were both known for the same vibe.

Between sets, a few media outlets stopped you to shoot quick interviews or content for TikTok. During one of them, while you were talking to a festival media team, the interviewer suddenly leaned in with a smile and asked:

“Y/N, how does it feel to reunite with Nettspend? Especially after all the drama from a few months ago?”

You blinked. Reunite?

People were still talking about that?

You gave a small laugh and said, “I mean… I don’t really care. I’m just here to enjoy the performers—maybe see if Nett’s improved.”

Then you smiled politely, turned away, and dipped.

Eventually, it was time for his performance. You’d seen him arrive earlier, paparazzi all over him, cameras flashing. He tried to play it cool, all nonchalant, but you could tell he was doing his best to avoid crossing paths with you.

When he hit the stage, the crowd went wild. People screamed his name like he was headlining the whole festival. You watched from the VIP section, a little elevated above the rest of the audience, just observing.

Then, you heard it, the start of your mix.

The beat dropped, and the crowd fell quiet for a split second, confused. Then a video of you flashed on the big screen. A clip from your earlier interview.

“So Y/N wants to see if I got better,” he said into the mic, voice echoing over the field. Then he pointed right at you from across the venue. The cameras cut to a live POV of you, your face projected across the screen.

“Enjoy the show,” he added with a smirk, before launching into his verse, rapping over your beat.

Your cheeks burned, part frustration, part pure embarrassment. You didn’t know how to react. Everyone was watching, waiting to see if you’d laugh it off or storm out. You stayed still. Calm on the outside. Boiling on the inside.

He was rapping like he owned the moment, like he didn’t spend a months acting like you weren’t worth a single collab. Now he was up there performing your beat, turning it into a stage stunt. Playing the villain.

And the worst part?

The crowd ate it up.

You stood there, jaw tight, trying to decide if you should leave or pretend it didn’t bother you. Then, you felt someone tap your shoulder. One of the event coordinators, face wide with excitement.

“He just changed the set last minute. Said he wanted to open with that track for the drama. Honestly? It’s working. They love it.”

Great.

Later, backstage, you ducked into one of the trailers to cool off. You weren’t even supposed to be working this festival, just attending, but somehow you were still getting dragged into his mess. Again.

Your phone was vibrating nonstop, notifications from TikTok, Twitter, Instagram. The interview clip. The reaction shot. His callout. It was all over the place.

And then, another message popped up.

@nettspend: “You good? ”

You stared at the screen, completely deadpan. You good? After all that?

You didn’t answer. Just closed your phone, leaned back, and let the noise roll around you like static.

You’d been dragged into his show once. It wasn’t happening again. If he wanted to use your beat to get a crowd reaction, fine. But next time?

He could try doing it without your name in his mouth.

You ignored his message.

At least, you tried to.

The next day, clips from the festival were everywhere. “Nettspend confronts Y/N live on stage,” “Underground’s messiest beef hits new level,” “The beat that started a war.” People were eating it up, remixing the moment into edits, fancams, reaction videos. Some even started tagging you both under posts like you were their favorite chaotic duo.

Two days later, you got tagged in a post from Nettspend. A black-and-white still of the stage, the screen behind him frozen on your face mid-reaction. His caption?

“She looked mad… but the beat was fire.”

Comments full of “they should just collab already.”

Later that night, a Dropbox link landed in your inbox.

Subject: “Bet you won’t.”

Inside: a rough vocal demo. Just him and a mic. No beat. Just a challenge.

You listened.

And to your absolute horror you liked it. Not the words, not the smug tone, but the potential. It was raw, full of ego and bite, but weirdly magnetic. Something about it clung to your brain like an earworm. He’d left room for a drop, for layers, for... you.

You stared at your laptop.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

But your fingers were already moving.

You didn’t tell anyone. You just stayed up late, tweaking 808s, slicing his breath, bending the vocal into something sharper, deeper. Then you layered your signature sound over it, clean, cinematic, a little aggressive. You exported it. Saved the file name as “ghost.wav.”

The next morning, you sent it back.

No words. Just the beat.

Ten minutes later, he replied: “Oh. So you do like me.”

You stared at your screen, half a laugh stuck in your throat.

You typed: “No. I just like shutting you up.”

His reply came back too fast.

“Then pull up and shut me up in person.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. Typical. You could already hear his smug tone through the screen.

“You asking me to collab or catch a fade?” you shot back.

“Both. Depends how good the beat is.”

You weren’t smiling. You definitely weren’t. Except you were. A little.

Three days later, you showed up at the studio he sent the address to. You told yourself it was for business. Strictly work.

The second you walked in, he looked up from the soundboard, chewing gum and lounging like he didn’t just spend the last few months being your public enemy number one.

“Wow,” he said, slow, cocky. “You’re shorter than I thought.”

“And you talk more online than you do in your tracks,” you snapped back, dropping your bag next to the desk.

His grin widened.

You hated that you didn’t hate how it looked on him.

The tension was stupid. You sat down beside him, cracked open your laptop, and didn’t look at him as you plugged in.

“So?” he said. “You gonna produce, or just look mad and cute the whole time?”

You gave him a cold glance, fingers flying across your keyboard.

“You want a beat or a black eye?”

“Surprise me.”

And that was how it started. The worst session you ever had with someone. And somehow also the best.

He threw out ideas like challenges. You clapped back with production that made his jaw go tight. Every sound he laid down, you pushed harder. Somehow, the energy turned electric.

At one point, he stood behind you, leaning over your shoulder to hear a section you were tweaking. You pretended not to notice how close he was.

“You like the tension drop here?” you asked, eyes still on the screen.

“I like when you’re bossy,” he said, deadpan.

Your hand froze on the trackpad.

“Don’t get comfortable,” you said. “This isn’t a date.”

He chuckled low, like he knew something you didn’t.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “But it’s sounding a lot like foreplay.”

You turned to face him, ready to say something, anything but his face was so close to yours you forgot what.

He looked smug.

You looked annoyed.

The air looked like it was about to explode.

You turned back to your screen.

“Shut up and record.”

And he did.

[bl3upi3]

i litr just realised that i used to read ur one piece fanfics while i had a hyper fixation on it and now as i have one on 2hollis ur writing fics about him as well😭🙏🏻 i luv ur work btw <2

Daaaamn b ur an og 🤣 (love u <3)

[bl3upi3]

Loop of the Year

This one-shot is part of a series. You don’t need to read the rest to enjoy it, but you can check it out here if you want.

A/N: Not proofread. Also, not sure about writing smut, it feels kind of off writing about a real person. But let me know what you think.

Word count : 3,020

Summary: After a viral collab and a magnetic onstage performance, you and rising artist 2Hollis find yourselves pulled into a whirlwind of attention, rumors, and undeniable chemistry. When the internet begins shipping you two, it’s all noise… until it's not. A chance run-in at a Rick Owens afterparty reignites the spark, leading to a night of unreleased tracks, honest conversations, and a kiss that changes everything.

You and Hollis finished the song, but neither of you really talked about the collab afterward. You’d been in the studio with him on and off for a few weeks, but your schedule stayed packed so you never had much time to hang out with him or his friends, even though you both clearly wanted to.

You kept in touch mostly through Instagram. He’d reply to your stories or like your posts, little things here and there.

Then he left for a European tour. When he came back, he hit you up saying he wanted to perform your collab live. At first, you were skeptical. But he reassured you the song was fire, and he was convinced it was going to blow up. You liked performing your music, but you didn’t really know Hollis’s fanbase or how they’d react to you.

A few days later, you found yourself backstage at a small but packed venue in Silver Lake, the kind of place where the crowd screams every lyric like a personal prayer. The setlist was taped to the floor. Your name was sharpied in next to his, halfway through the set.

You watched from the side as Hollis took the stage, energy magnetic, voice steady. He made it look effortless. The crowd knew every word, arms up, bodies swaying. You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this kind of intensity.

When it was time, he looked toward you through the stage lights and nodded.

“Special guest tonight,” he said into the mic, half-smiling. “You’ve probably seen her face in a campaign. Maybe heard her voice on something weird and beautiful. Either way, she’s here. And this next one… this one’s ours.”

The cheers were louder than you expected.

You stepped onto the stage, heart thudding. The lights were blinding, the heat immediate. But the second the beat dropped, your nerves melted. The loop hit, the crowd moved, and you sank into the pocket of the song like you’d been performing it forever.

You and Hollis traded verses, chemistry sharp and easy. Every look, every movement between you felt amplified, caught in the flash of someone’s camera, the scream of a fan. When your hook came in, the crowd started singing with you—stumbling on the words, but trying. That was the part that got you.

By the time the track faded out, you were breathless and grinning. Hollis pulled you into a loose one-armed hug, mic still in hand.

“Give it up,” he said, voice echoing through the room, “for someone I’ve been waiting too damn long to do this with.”

After that night, videos from the concert went viral. The song wasn’t even out yet, and people were already begging you to drop it on Spotify. You saw some really sweet tweets people calling it a breath of fresh air, saying it felt like the collab of the year.

Of course, some of his fanbase and yours were annoying. Some claimed you were ruining his career; others said he was just riding the wave of your current hype. 

You were at the beach, hanging out with your manager, when she showed you some tweets people shipping you and Hollis, or posting wild theories about how you two were secretly dating. Some even said that was the only reason he’d done such a “trash collab” with you.

You rolled your eyes, half-laughing. “People are insane.”

Your manager handed you her phone. “Insane, but viral. Engagement’s through the roof.”

You scrolled through the tweets some funny, some mean, some weirdly invested. A clip of you and Hollis on stage had already hit a million views. The way he looked at you mid-verse? Yeah, people were running with it.

You tossed the phone onto your towel. “We were literally just performing.”

“Yeah,” she said, squinting at the sun. “But you looked good together. And in this industry, looking good together sells.”

You stared out at the waves, the weight of her words settling in your chest. You hadn’t talked to Hollis since the show. Not really. A couple likes. One “we did that” text. Nothing deep.

But that night on stage wasn’t the last time you and Hollis saw each other and you both knew it.

A new Rick Owens store had just opened in L.A., and both of you were on the guest list. An afterparty was being thrown at a bar not too far from the venue, packed with other artists and influencers.

You showed up with your manager, already a bit tipsy from the champagne flutes passed around at the event. The music was loud, the lighting moody, and everyone was dressed like they were trying not to look like they were trying.

You spotted Hollis across the room almost immediately. He looked good better than he should in that dim light, dressed down in all black, casually leaning against the bar beside Roman and another guy you didn’t recognize, who you later found out was Nate.

He hadn’t seen you yet. Or maybe he had and was just taking his time. Either way, you didn’t move toward him. You stayed where you were, finishing your drink, your manager deep in a conversation with someone from a label.

Eventually, your manager slipped away to say hi to someone from Vogue, and you wandered over to the bar, partly out of curiosity, partly because you were feeling just bold enough to.

Hollis noticed you this time. He turned before you even made it halfway, his eyes locking on you like he’d been expecting it.

He said something to Roman, who smirked and looked at you two like he already knew how the night was going to play out.

“You clean up nice,” Roman called over his drink, eyes dragging down your outfit and back up again. “Didn’t know Rick did angel-core.”

You raised a brow. “Didn’t know you spoke runway.”

“I don’t,” he grinned, licking the rim of his glass. “But I know pretty when I see it.”

Hollis chuckled, shaking his head. “Ignore him. He gets flirty when the lighting’s moody.”

“And the company’s good,” Roman added.

You slid in between the two of them at the bar, ordering something with ginger and lime, feeling the way both their eyes lingered a little too long but not long enough to call out.

“So,” Hollis said, tone casual but his gaze anything but, “you’re just gonna come in here and act like you didn’t blow the roof off last week?”

You laughed. “I think you were the one doing the heavy lifting.”

“Nah,” Roman cut in, sipping his drink. “It was the way you two were looking at each other on stage. Whole room felt it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Were you taking notes?”

“Something like that,” he shrugged. “Just wondering if the chemistry’s part of the performance… or a preview.”

Hollis shot him a look, amused but pointed. Roman just raised both hands like don’t mind me.

You tried to keep a straight face, but your smile betrayed you. “Y’all always like this?”

“Only around people we like,” Hollis said, low.

You held his gaze. “Flattering.”

“True,” he said. “But also true.”

Your drink arrived, cold glass brushing your fingertips. You took a sip, letting the citrus bite pull you back to earth.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked, glancing between them. “Just stand around here flirting with me all night?”

Roman leaned in slightly. “Is that a problem?”

You smirked. “Didn’t say it was.”

Hollis chuckled, eyes never fully leaving yours. “Well, if we’re not just here to flirt, what is the plan?”

You took another sip, letting the silence stretch just enough. “Actually,” you said, setting the glass down, “I’ve been working on something.”

That caught his attention. He tilted his head slightly. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “New project. Real different from what I’ve done before. Rough edges, still weird, but cleaner. Still figuring it out.”

Roman leaned on the bar, clearly eavesdropping. “When you say different, you mean like… industry-approved different or ‘my label hates this but I’m obsessed with it’ different?”

“The second one,” you said with a laugh. “Definitely the second one.”

Hollis’s grin widened. “Now I’m interested.”

“I’ve got some demos,” you offered, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “Nothing finished, just sketches.”

Hollis didn’t miss a beat. “Then let’s bounce.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how simple he made it sound. “What, now?”

“Unless you’re scared I’ll hate it,” he said, teasing but not unkind.

You narrowed your eyes. “Bold of you to assume I care what you think.”

He smirked. “You do.”

You paused, watching him. Then shrugged. “Fine. My place’s closer anyway.”

Roman raised his glass in mock salute. “Y’all have fun. I’ll tell Nate you eloped.”

You shook your head, setting your glass on the bar. “Thanks, Roman. Truly a man of grace.”

“Tell Hollis to behave,” he called after you both as you turned toward the exit.

“He won’t,” you shot back over your shoulder.

Hollis followed, a step behind, his hand grazing the small of your back

Twenty minutes later, you were back at your apartment. The city was quiet outside your windows, soft orange haze bleeding through your curtains. You kicked off your boots at the door, Hollis trailing behind you in that relaxed way he always had like he was already at home.

Your laptop was still on the coffee table, next to a pair of headphones and a half-used notebook.

“You want the aux or should I drive?” you asked, already crouching to plug in the cable.

“Play me what you hear,” Hollis said, sinking into your couch like he’d been there before.

You queued up a folder labeled “???” and hit play.

The first track that filled the room was haunting glitchy vocals, layered texturess. It didn’t ask to be liked. It just existed, unapologetic.

You watched him as he listened. Eyes closed. Head tilted slightly. No words, just focus.

When the song faded, he opened his eyes slowly. “Run that back.”

You did. Then another. Then another.

By the time the third track ended, he was sitting forward, elbows on knees.

“You’re doing something different here,” he said. “Like… no one’s in this lane. This is your own shit.”

That made you pause, heart skipping slightly.

You cleared your throat. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”

He looked over at you, the space between you now feeling charged all over again.

“You know we should make more, right?” he asked. “Not just one track. I mean real shit. A full thing. You and me.”

You met his gaze, pulse humming beneath your skin. “I’ve thought about it.”

“Think harder,” he said, voice lower now. “Cause if you’re down, I’m in.”

The track still played softly in the background, the room dim except for the glow from your screen. You thought about what your manager said, about how the dating rumors were good for marketing, how looking good together sells.

But you didn’t want that. You didn’t want something real, something honest, to be reduced to optics. This connection between you and Hollis it wasn’t just about appearances.

“I’d love to,” you said, easing down beside him on the couch. “But I don’t want people thinking we’re dating.”

Hollis turned toward you slightly, his expression unreadable, one brow raised. “Is that a bad thing?”

You met his eyes, heart skipping for just a second. “It is if that’s the only reason people pay attention.”

He leaned back, letting out a low breath. “I’m not trying to make a PR move, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You looked at him, studying his face in the soft light. “So why me, then? Why even reach out back then?”

He didn’t blink. “Because you’re good. Really good. I don’t work with people just because they look cool in a feed. You hear different. You feel different. That’s rare.”

Your breath caught in your throat not just at the words, but at how sincerely he said them. 

“And if I happen to like how you look at me when you’re singing…” he added, voice dropping slightly, “that’s just extra.”

You didn’t say anything. Just looked at him. Let the silence stretch, warm and charged.

He leaned in a little, close enough for you to feel the shift in his energy. “Unless you’re the one worried people will get the wrong idea.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, voice softer now.

“Good,” he murmured, eyes on your lips. “Because I don’t really care what they think.”

The air between you tightened. The music in the background faded into something slower, as if the universe was in on the moment.

Your legs were barely touching on the couch, but it felt electric. One small move, and you’d be in his space completely.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

“Tell me to stop,” he said low, eyes still locked on yours.

But you didn’t.

He leaned in, his hand gently cupping your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your cheekbone. And then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t soft.

It was all tension released at once, the kind that had been building since the studio, since that first message, since the way he looked at you on stage like you were the only thing that mattered in the room.

You kissed him back.

Harder than you meant to, but not more than you wanted to.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. Your fingers tangled in the hem of his hoodie, anchoring yourself against the gravity of it all.

He pulled away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was rough, uneven. “Been wanting to do that since the first take.”

You let out a quiet laugh, dazed. “Took you long enough.”

His mouth brushed yours again—this time slower, more deliberate. “You kept disappearing.”

“You didn’t chase me.”

“I’m here now,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Aren’t I?”

Your hands slid under the edge of his hoodie, fingers meeting warm skin. He stilled for a second, then moved back in, his kiss deeper now, hungrier. His body angled toward yours as you both shifted, the couch suddenly too small for the space you needed.

Your knees bumped against his thigh, and you didn’t pull away. If anything, you leaned in more, your body reacting before your brain could catch up. His hands moved to your waist, slow and sure, like he was memorizing how you fit into his space.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low and thick with restraint, though his fingers didn’t stop tracing circles against your hip.

You nodded once, then leaned in until your lips brushed his again, barely there. “You asking ‘cause you care… or ‘cause you want me to say stop?”

His breath caught. “I’m asking,” he murmured, his mouth grazing your jaw, “so I can say I warned you.”

That made you smile smug, charged, your pulse in your ears. “Cute. You think I need a warning.”

He chuckled against your skin, and the sound of it went straight through you. His mouth found the spot beneath your ear again, soft this time, and you tipped your head instinctively.

Then you shifted, just enough to straddle his lap.

His hands stilled at your sides. “Oh,” he said, blinking up at you. “We’re doing this?”

You raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Thought you didn’t care what people think.”

“I don’t,” he said, voice dropping again, “but I care what you want.”

You bit your lip, considering it for a beat too long. “Right now?” Your hands slid up his chest. “I want you to stop being so sweet and kiss me like you mean it.”

He didn’t hesitate after that.

One arm locked around your waist, the other threading into your hair as he pulled you down, lips meeting yours with heat that said finally. Your hips shifted without thinking, just enough to feel the tension building between you. 

He pulled back slightly, breath ragged, eyes locked on yours. His thumbs rubbed small circles into your waist like he wasn’t quite ready to let go yet. Like he didn’t want to.

“You keep kissing me like that,” he said, voice rough, “and I’m gonna start writing songs about it.”

You laughed, cheeks flushed. “Pretty sure you already have.”

He smirked but didn’t deny it.

You rested your forehead against his, your voice softer now. “What are we doing, Hollis?”

He breathed in like he was trying to steady himself, like you asking made it real.

“Whatever this is,” he said slowly, “it’s good. I don’t wanna mess it up. And I don’t want it to be just… this.” He motioned vaguely between your bodies. “I want to keep building. With you. On and off the mic.”

You blinked. The heat in your chest shifted still burning, but different now. 

Then he added, eyes flicking up to yours again, cautious but hopeful: “I’ve been thinking about the next leg of my tour. And I know your schedule’s wild, but…” He exhaled. “Would you ever want to come with me? Not as, like, my plus-one or whatever. As an artist. We could perform the track. Maybe more. Bring something new to the set.”

Your heart skipped. You weren’t expecting that not tonight, not like this.

You searched his face, trying to read between the lines. But there wasn’t anything hidden there. Just honesty.

You tilted your head, smiling. “Is this your way of saying you want to spend more time with me?”

He grinned, a little crooked. “It’s my way of saying I don’t want to stop this”

Your fingers brushed against the back of his neck. “Lemme think about it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That a maybe?”

“That’s a hell yeah, but I’m pretending to play hard to get.”

He laughed, pulling you back in by the waist. “I’ll take it.”

He kissed you again, all smile and promise, and in that moment, it felt less like a maybe and more like the start of everything.

[bl3upi3]

Something About Hollis

Check out part 2

Summary: While in New York for a Miu Miu campaign, rising artist Y/N shares a spontaneous beat on her Instagram story catching the attention of underground favorite 2Hollis. What starts as a simple DM turns into an unexpected late-night call.

A/N: Short 2Hollis one-shot. Not sure if I’m gonna turn it into a full fic or a series yet.

You’ve been a music artist on the scene for about two years now, blowing up thanks to TikTok. You’ve been making music for as long as you can remember, starting with the basics like piano and guitar. But when you discovered the underground scene, you wanted your music to be more creative, more experimental. You had some monthly listeners, but you really blew up about a year ago after that feature with Jane Remover.

Jane found you and your music really interesting. Your lyrics were meaningful, and your art felt genuinely beautiful. She discovered you by chance, stumbling across one of your TikToks and reached out wanting to collaborate. It changed everything for you: more recognition, more listeners, and now a solid fanbase.

Recently, you opened for one of Charli XCX’s concerts, and that’s when everything really changed. You had to get a real manager because so many companies and artists wanted to collaborate with you. It was overwhelming at first. You still played in underground clubs sometimes, even for free it was a strategic move, keeping your roots while navigating the industry.

One day, while you're in New York City for a Miu Miu shoot for their latest campaign, you post a messy beat on your Instagram story, just something to entertain your fans while you wait for the makeup artist to finish. Out of curiosity, you start checking the replies for feedback. That’s when you notice a DM from a verified account: “this goes stupid. u tryna build on it?” You check the @ it’s from 2Hollis. You pause, squint at the name, and realize you’ve seen it before in some TikTok comment section.

Isn’t that the guy all the girls have been talking about lately? Something like, “my white tiger” type shit? you think to yourself.

You turn to the makeup artist.

“Do you know 2Hollis?” you ask.

She pauses, brush in hand, then raises her eyebrows.

“Obviously. Who doesn’t? He’s like, TikTok’s favorite sadboy.”

You hum, glancing back at the DM. You didn’t expect him to reach out.

You tap out a reply without overthinking it: “yeah sure. u got something in mind?”

You lock your phone and lean back in the chair as the makeup artist starts on your eyeliner. But your mind’s somewhere else now half curious, half suspicious. You’ve seen artists reach out before just to ride a wave. But something about the way he worded it felt casual, unbothered. Like he wasn’t chasing anything.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes again.

“i got this loop i’ve been sitting on. think you’d sound crazy on it. can i send?”

You unlock your phone again, typing back: “send it.”

Not even thirty seconds later, there’s a Dropbox link sitting in your inbox. You throw your AirPods in and press play, eyes half-lidded as the track builds. It’s glitchy, dark, and oddly soft around the edges like it's falling apart on purpose. The drums stutter in weird places, the synths warped just enough to feel like a memory.

Huh. He’s good.

You listen to it again. And again. By the third play, you’ve already opened your voice notes app and started humming something over the chorus.

You don’t even bother being formal. You shoot him a voice memo: “okay wait. this is actually sick. let me sketch something out tonight.”

You expect him to leave you on seen or at least take a while to respond. Instead, it’s instant: “bet. i’m around if you wanna hop on a call.”

Call? You stare at your phone like it’s got a second head. No one calls anymore. Especially not for music stuff not unless they’re old school or serious.

You stare at the message, thumb hovering over your screen. A call? In the middle of a Miu Miu campaign shoot? Not happening.

“i’m not available right now but tonight if that’s okay w you,” you reply.

“yeah cool. i’ll be around.”

You put your phone face-down on the vanity and exhale. The makeup artist’s almost done now, dusting shimmer along your cheekbones like she’s painting armor. But your head’s buzzing not with fashion, not with flashing cameras, but with that loop. 

Later that night, when the shoot's wrapped and your heels are finally off, you're sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed with your laptop open and mic set up beside you. You press record and start sketching layering in harmonies, mumbling half-finished lyrics that don’t make sense yet but feel right.

There’s something easy about the track. Like it’s pulling something out of you you didn’t realize was there.

At 11:12 PM, you send him a rough snippet. Nothing too polished just enough to show you’re taking it seriously.

Not even five minutes later, your phone rings.

You hesitate for a second, then swipe to answer.

“Yo,” his voice comes through, low and a little grainy. Background noise filters in too, someone laughing, the faint hum of music, the unmistakable sound of a lighter flicking.

“Hey,” you say, settling back into your pillows.“Didn’t expect you to actually call this fast.”

“Didn’t expect you to actually send something this good,” he shoots back, smooth but not in a fake way. “You sound fire on it already.”

You hear another voice in the background deeper, louder.

“Tell her it’s the loop of the year!” someone yells, clearly not knowing or caring that you’re on the line.

Hollis sighs. “Ignore him. That’s Roman. He thinks everything I make is ‘loop of the year.’”

You smirk. “Right. You got a whole committee back there or something?”

Another voice chimes in, this one cooler, more deadpan. “Nah, just a couple of degenerates with good ears. You’re talking to Conceal, by the way.”

“Hi… Conceal,” you say, unsure if you're supposed to know him.

Hollis cuts back in. “Anyway. I meant to say  I’ve actually been keeping an eye on your stuff for a while.”

That catches you off guard. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Think the first thing I heard was that Jane track. Someone had posted a clip of it on Twitter. Then I checked your page and you were just… making weird, beautiful shit. Real different. It stuck with me.”

You pause, fingers brushing over the edge of your laptop. There’s a lot of fake praise in the industry. Hollow compliments dressed in lowercase cool. But he doesn’t sound like he’s selling you anything.

“I figured you probably had no idea who I was,” he adds, and there’s a little laugh in his voice now. “Which, honestly, kinda made me want to reach out more.”

“I’d heard of you,” you admit. “TikTok girls were thirsting over you.”

You hear Roman immediately burst out laughing in the background. “Let’s goooo! She clocked you, bro.”

Hollis groans. “Please. Don’t feed into that.”

“You are kind of infamous,” you tease, letting the corner of your mouth curve into a smirk. “Some of those edits are crazy. Like…”

“Jesus Christ,” Hollis mutters. “I swear I just breathe and someone turns it into a fan cam.”

“Sounds exhausting,” you say, not entirely sarcastic.

“It is,” he replies. Then softer, “But the music’s what matters. Everything else is noise.”

There’s a small silence between you, like a low tide pulling back.

You glance at the track still open on your laptop. “Well, for what it’s worth… I get it. That loop? It’s not just cool. It feels like something. Like you meant it.”

For a second, you think he won’t respond. Then: “I did.”

In the background, Conceal says, way too casually, “This whole phone call feels like a slow-burn A24 scene.”

You laugh out loud, sharp and real. “Okay, who are you guys?”

“Artists,” Roman replies. “Annoying ones. But artists.”

You lean back into your pillows again, voice softer now. “Cool. Well… I’m glad you reached out.”

“Me too,” Hollis says. Then: “You free tomorrow?”

“No,” you say, stretching your legs out on the bed. “I’m kind of busy with that whole Fashion Week stuff.”

“Ohhh, Fashion Week,” Roman says, dragging it out like a tease. “She’s fancy.”

“So you also a model?” Hollis asks, voice curious but not mocking.

You roll your eyes, even though no one can see it. “Not exactly. Brands just like putting me in weird clothes and calling it a vision.”

“Sounds like modeling,” Conceal mutters.

You shrug. “I guess. I just show up, wear the fits, smile like I know what I’m doing, and pray I don’t trip on the runway.”

“That’s real artistry,” Roman deadpans.

You laugh. “Yeah, I’m basically couture’s clown.”

“Nah,” Hollis says, and his tone shifts just slightly. “You’re kind of everywhere right now. Music, fashion, all of it. But it doesn’t feel… fake. You still sound like yourself.”

That hits unexpectedly deep. You blink, caught off guard by how sincere it sounds.

“Thanks,” you say, quieter. “I try.”

There’s a pause, like the air just got a little thicker.

“Alright,” Hollis says, breaking it gently, “then we’ll figure it out. When you’re done being New York’s most stylish menace, pull up to the studio. No pressure.”

You smile to yourself, biting your lip a little. “Yeah. I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

“Cool,” he says. “Sleep well, superstar.”

The call ends, but your phone stays in your hand a moment longer.

[bl3upi3]

Hi my little Gooners!

Mama’s back! I’ve been really busy lately, but I’ve also been reading and writing a lot—mainly in French, since it’s my first language (and I’m honestly terrible at it ).

But I really want to write some 2Hollis/Rommulas/Conceal/Nettspend fanfics (maybe even some smut ).

Do y’all have any ideas?

[bl3upi3]

Serious question, when you read “y/n” do you imagine it with your actual name, a made up name or you just read it like it’s a name ?

Cause for me y/n is a person who’s called “your name” like does it make sense?

[bl3upi3]

Let it cook but I shall serve you a good smut

[bl3upi3]

A Night to Remember | Monkey D. Luffy

Part 1

Summary: After a year, fate brings you back to Luffy. He's mad at you, but not for long.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut, p in v unprotected, mean Luffy ? quicky kinda rushed ? blowjob (I'm bad with warnings)

A/N: Finally posting part 2, sorry for the waiting but I didn’t feel like writing during school. But yeah here we are with a really bad part 2 English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes. (My requests are open if wanted)

Luffy couldn't go a single night without dreaming about you, even though it had been months since your first encounter. You seemed like a haunting presence, always on his mind.

Your memory clung to him like a persistent specter, visiting his thoughts each night without fail. No matter how many adventures he embarked upon, your image remained a constant presence, an enigmatic ghost that he couldn't shake.

One evening, you and your adventurous crew found yourselves at a bustling waterfront bar. Just as was your customary style, you confidently ordered a round of drinks, setting a lively and infectious tone for the evening. The crew gathered around a large wooden table, laughter and chatter filling the air as you shared stories of your recent exploits. 

However, fate had other plans in store for you. A moment later, you excused yourself from the table and headed towards the restroom. As you walked through the bustling bar, you couldn't help but notice a pair of familiar faces at the bar itself—a fiery orange-haired girl and a boy with vivid green hair, deep in conversation.

Continuing on your path, you soon arrived at a secluded booth where a lone boy sat, his head lowered, a distinctive straw hat atop his head. And then, like a lightning bolt, it hit you.

 As you approached the booth, a strange sense of déjà vu washed over you. The boy with the straw hat remained unaware of your presence, his attention focused on the worn map spread out before him. His face was partly obscured, but his unmistakable trademark hat confirmed your suspicions.

It was Luffy.

Your heart raced as you stood there, grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. A year had passed since your first encounter, and you had often wondered if you'd cross paths with him again. Now, here he was, mere inches away, seemingly oblivious to your presence.

You reached out and gently took the straw hat from his head, placing it on your own. The boy lifted his head to gaze at you. He raised his head to look at you, but didn't say a word. It was almost surreal.

You couldn't believe your eyes. After all this time, you had reunited with him when you thought it might never happen.

"Monkey D Luffy," you whispered, tracing your fingers gently along his face, taking in all his distinct features.

His eyes squinted as he tried to make sense of the situation. Then, it hit him like a tidal wave—the face he could never forget, the face that had haunted his days and nights.

He stared at you, disappointment and disbelief mingling in his expression, shaking his head. He couldn't fathom how, after you had left him, you were now standing before him once more.

“Y/N," Luffy muttered your name, his voice laced with bitterness and hurt. 

Luffy's gaze remained locked onto yours, his eyes a turbulent mix of anger and confusion. The once warm and inviting spark that had ignited between you two was now a smoldering ember of resentment.

"I didn't expect to see you again," Luffy said coldly, his voice lacking the usual enthusiasm. "Especially not here."

You could sense the bitterness in Luffy's words, and your heart sank. The reunion wasn't at all what you had hoped for. You knew you had a lot of explaining to do, but it seemed that Luffy's emotions were too raw for a calm conversation. You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to mend what had been broken.

"Luffy," you began, your voice filled with sincerity, "I know this is unexpected, and I understand if you're angry. But please, let me explain."

You pulled up a chair and sat down across from him, the straw hat still resting on your head. The bar's lively atmosphere seemed to dim around you as you focused on Luffy.

"I never wanted to disappear from your life like I did," you continued, your gaze unwavering. "After that day we met, I had to leave for reasons I couldn't control. It tore me apart, Luffy. I never stopped thinking about you, dreaming about you. You've been a constant presence in my thoughts."

Luffy's anger seemed to waver as he listened to your words. His brows furrowed, but he didn't interrupt.

"I've been searching for you, Luffy," you confessed. "I've traveled across islands and oceans, hoping to find you again. And now, fate has brought us back together."

Luffy's expression softened slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, still regarding you with a mix of emotions.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right away," you continued. "But please know that I never wanted to hurt you. I care about you more than I can express. I want to make things right, to be a part of your adventures again, if you'll have me."

A heavy silence hung between you, broken only by the distant echoes of laughter and music from the bustling bar. Luffy remained silent, his thoughts hidden behind a mask of contemplation. But then, without a word, he stood up, his hand reaching for the hat perched on your head.

Startled, you rose abruptly, calling out his name. "Luffy!" you exclaimed, rushing to your feet and following him as he walked toward a dimly lit corridor.

He paused in the middle of the corridor, his back to the door, which he pushed open as you drew closer. You couldn't decipher his emotions, but you followed him into the room. He stopped, towering over you, his face mere inches from yours.

"Talk to me," you whispered, your voice filled with yearning, your eyes locked onto his, searching for a glimmer of understanding "Please…"

Luffy's gaze shifted to the neckline of your top, and his lips parted just enough for him to inhale sharply. Before you could react, however, he closed the distance, kissing you passionately. Your hands moved automatically, wrapping themselves firmly around his broad shoulders while his arms snaked around your waist. He held you as if you would disappear any second.

Your lips moved against his as your heart pounded fiercely within your chest, unable to resist him. You felt his tongue slowly slip between your lips, and you groaned softly as you lost yourself in the passion  of the kiss, allowing him to guide you. 

Finally, you both came to a stop, panting heavily. For several moments, neither of you said a word. You looked up to meet his piercing stare,  and it sent chills throughout your body as memories flashed in your head—of that night. All the feelings of longing, love, desperation, and desire rushed back like an avalanche, threatening to crush you underneath its weight. You struggled to remain composed, yet Luffy didn't seem to be affected one bit by the intensity of your emotions. 

"You want to make it up to me ?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes burned, pleading you to agree.

 You nodded in reply, knowing full well that whatever he offered, you would follow regardless. ""Tell me how." You breathed shakily, your fingers lightly grazing the side of his face. 

 Luffy gazed into your eyes, his gaze unreadable. "Get on your knees" he demanded.

Despite your reluctance, your feet immediately obeyed his instructions, and you knelt at his feet.  He grabbed hold of your chin, tilting your face upward until your eyes met. His hand lingered on your cheek, brushing a strand of hair away from your eye.

 Your eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly as your breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. Your hands went to the waistband of his shorts, slowly pushing them downwards until they fell to the floor. Your fingertips grazed over his skin, feeling the warmth emanating from beneath.  Luffy's cheeks grew redder with each passing moment, his eyes darkening even further as you stroked his lower half. He tried to keep his seriousness but you knew he wouldn't last  long; soon, he'd be overwhelmed by your touch.

His eyes flickered shut, his breathing growing ragged as  your fingers made their way slowly towards his member.  With your fingers wrapped around his length,  you began to pump slowly, savoring the sensation of his arousal pulsating under your touch.  Luffy moaned quietly , his head falling back as he released a shaky breath. 

The sounds he made caused a pool of heat to form between your legs as you continued to play with him. You were becoming aroused with each pass of your hand. But it wasn't enough you needed to taste him. You ran your tongue along the tip of his cock, earning another low moan from the raven haired man. You took the shaft into your mouth, sucking gently as you continued to pump him.

"Fuck Y/N," Luffy panted.  As he spoke, he gripped your hair tightly. "Keep going."

You complied. You licked his length once more before moving your mouth up and down his erection in small laps, occasionally sucking on his tip and making small noises of pleasure.

Luffy's grip tightened even more. “God, Y/N,” he groaned. “If you keep this up, I'M GONNA COME!”

You smirked and resumed pumping him harder. He was getting close.  You moved your mouth faster and faster, working him harder with every stroke. Finally, your eyes widened when you felt his seed spurting from his tip, filling your mouth.  You swallowed the sticky liquid greedily, swallowing everything, relishing in the feel of him. He growled lowly and pulled you roughly to your feet, placing your front against a table and pressing his chest against your back. 

"Promise me you will never leave again" he whispered against your ear as his hands roamed down your body, caressing and stroking every inch. His words, spoken so tenderly, struck you deeply.

"Promise me," he repeated more forcefully. His breathing quickened, his erection throbbing painfully against your ass. "Never abandon me again."

"I promise," you replied softly before turning you head to kiss him as you lifted your skirt , eager to feel him touching you again.  You let go of the kiss when you felt his knee between your thighs, forcing you to  bend forward. He positioned himself,  his hardness already poking through your folds, and entered you with one swift movement.

 He pressed his lips against your shoulder and buried his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a shuddery sigh. His hands were tangled in your hair as he thrust in and out of you, keeping his pace slow and gentle . His movements were controlled and precise, and you loved it.

You were surprised by his improvement and wondered if he had been with another woman. But the thought didn't last long as he began to move faster, his hips slamming against you in short bursts.

 You clutched the edge of the table, your teeth gritted as you felt your walls tighten around him, causing him to moan loudly against your neck. His pace increased gradually, and you found yourself moaning in response.

You gasped when he hit the spot inside you that had been waiting for months.  Your nails dug into the wood of the table as you squeezed your legs together, your whole body trembling as your climax started to build up. You threw your head back on his shoulder as your orgasm consumed you, taking control of you completely, leaving you vulnerable and weak.

You felt him tense as he released inside you, his hands gripping your hips tightly  as he emptied himself into you.

It took a few moments for your mind to catch up with your senses, and you turned to meet Luffy's intense gaze. His eyes bore into yours, a mixture of concern and affection evident in his expression.

"I'm so-" he began, but you hushed him with a tender kiss, not allowing him to finish his sentence.

"I was angry," he confessed in a soft murmur, his lips still lightly brushing against yours.

"You had every right to be," you reassured him as you reached up to lovingly caress his face.

Luffy chuckled warmly as he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours, his arms remaining securely wrapped around you. You closed your eyes, relishing the closeness and the warmth of the moment. The tension that had gripped both of you just moments ago had dissipated, replaced by an overwhelming sense of connection.

"I can be a real idiot sometimes," Luffy admitted, his voice tinged with remorse. He affectionately nuzzled your cheek, planting gentle kisses along your jawline. "But I promise, I'll make it up to you."

A genuine, loving smile crossed your face, easing the turmoil in Luffy's heart. "It's all my fault; I should have never left you," you replied, your voice laced with guilt and remorse. "You don't have to be perfect, Luffy. I love you, flaws and all."

Taken aback by your heartfelt words, Luffy's face lit up with a wide, joyful grin. "You love me?!"

You nodded, a warm smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "With all my heart, Luffy," you confessed, your eyes reflecting the depth of your emotions.

A/N: Hope you liked it, so sorry again for the waiting. I feel like this part is really bad and messy but still hope you enjoyed it a little. I will probably make a part 3 just to finish this collection. Anyways, don’t hesitate to give other ideas, my requests are open :)

[bl3upi3]

[bl3upi3]

My request are open here are the characters/people I’d like to write about :

One piece

Monkey D.Luffy

Roronoa Zoro

Usopp

Nami

House of Dragons

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

Aegon Targaryen

Jacaerys Velaryon

Daemon Targaryen

Game of Thrones

Daenerys Targaryen

Jon Snow

Theon Greyjoy

Robb Stark

The summer I turned pretty

Jeremiah Fisher

Conrad Fisher

Belly Conklin

Steven Conklin

The walking dead

Rick Grimes

Negan Smith

Daryl Dixon

Euphoria

Nate jacobs

Maddy Perez

Fezco

Irl

2hollis

Rommulas

Conceal

Nettspend

Pedro Pascal