ᵏᵃʸˡᵃʰ @bl66dee - Tumblr Blog

Jul 10

—fragile

2hollis x fem!reader

warnings/tags: friends to lovers, loving sex, night drives, porn with plot, soft dom!hollis, pet names, making out, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, praising, tension, confessions, fluff, aftercare.

synopsis: after Hollis works on music, he decides to take you on a late night drive in which you two blur the lines between friendship and romance

w/c: 15.6k

The speakers hummed low, some half-finished track looping while Hollis sat cross-legged on the floor, laptop balanced on his lap, twisting a gold ring around his finger. His sweatshirt was falling off one shoulder, hair a little messy, like he’d forgotten about time again, lost in some sound he couldn’t quite grab.

You were stretched across the couch behind him, one leg dangling off the edge, watching him more than the screen.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you said, chin resting on your arm.

He didn’t look up. “What thing.”

“That thing where you zone out and make the same two-second loop play for, like, an hour.”

Hollis huffed a laugh through his nose. “I’m thinking.”

“You’re spiraling.”

“Same thing.”

You smiled. “You want me to lie and say it’s fire?”

He turned his head, eyes slow and sleepy and just a little smug. “I want you to admit you think I’m hot when I’m in producer mode.”

Your heart fluttered, stupid and immediate.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re literally wearing one sock.”

“And still pulling,” he said, stretching like a cat. “Tragic.”

You threw a pillow at the back of his head. He caught it without even turning around.

“God, you’re annoying,” you mumbled.

He looked over his shoulder now, eyes catching yours. “Yeah, but you’re still here.”

Your stomach did that thing again. The little flip. The traitorous one.

He turned back to the screen and hit play again, same loop, softer now. You let the silence fill in around you. Comfortable. Familiar. Almost dangerous.

“y/n,” he said after a minute, like it’d just occurred to him.

You hummed.

“Do you wanna go get food?”

You blinked. “Right now?”

“Yeah.” He glanced up again. “Like, something greasy and bad for us. You wanna?”

You stretched, the couch creaking beneath you. “Is this your polite way of saying you’re sick of my critiques?”

He smiled, lazy and familiar. “It’s my polite way of saying I want fries and you’re the only one I wanna eat them with.”

That part he said like a joke. But it lingered anyway.

You sighed, swinging your legs off the side of the couch. “Alright. Let me find my shoes.”

He nodded, already getting up, his necklaces clinking as he put his shoes on stuffed his phone and keys into his pockets.

Outside, the air was thick and warm. That kind of late-summer night that hums with stillness, the sky hazy and glowing orange from streetlights. You walked side by side down the cracked driveway, past the mailbox you’d both hit your shins on a hundred times. His shoulder brushed yours lightly, not on purpose, not not on purpose.

You reached the car, and without a word, Hollis stepped ahead and pulled open the passenger door for you.

You blinked at him. “Since when are you chivalrous?”

He shrugged. “Since you started letting me drive you around at 2 a.m.”

You climbed in, trying not to smile. He shut the door gently behind you, then walked around to his side.

Once he was in, he turned the key, and the car rumbled to life. Low music spilled through the speakers, the chill playlist he always played during night drives.

You leaned your head against the window. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said, pulling out of the driveway. “Whatever’s open at 2am.”

The city lights blurred past, soft and sleepy. You watched his hands on the wheel—long fingers tapping a rhythm, maybe the one he was working on. The car smelled like his cologne and a little like weed and something else that was just… him. Clean shirt, fresh air, whatever soap he stole from you last week.

Neither of you said much. But the silence was good. Whole. The kind that felt like knowing someone too well to need to fill the air.

“You ever think about moving?” he asked quietly, a few minutes in.

You turned toward him. “From here?”

“Just in general,” he said, eyes on the road. “Packing everything up. Starting over somewhere dumb. Montana or something.”

You smiled. “You’d die in Montana.”

“Probably,” he said. “Life is too still there.”

You turned your head back to the window, breathing in the quiet. “Sometimes, yeah. I think about it.”

He glanced at you quickly. “Where would you go?”

You didn’t answer right away. “Somewhere with a view. And good food.”

Hollis nodded, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly on the console.

“I’d come visit,” he said.

You looked at him, soft. “Would you?”

He glanced back at you again, just a flicker, but his voice was sure. “Obviously.”

And then, quiet again. The song filled the space between you. The lyrics were something about dreaming, something about being young. The world outside felt far away. Like this car, this drive, this moment was its own orbit.

You didn’t say it out loud, but part of you wanted to stay driving forever. Just like this. Him beside you, city slipping past like a dream, something warm settling low in your chest.

You weren’t flirting.

Not really.

But something was changing anyway.

The golden arches blinked into view like some greasy, holy beacon at the end of the block.

Hollis pointed. “There. That’s it. That’s the spot.”

You snorted. “We’re seriously getting McDonald’s?”

“Don’t act like you’re above it,” he said, already flicking his turn signal. “You know damn well you’re gonna steal half my fries.”

You grinned, leaning back as he pulled into the drive-thru. “Only if you get the big size.”

“I always get the big size,” he muttered, squinting at the glowing menu.

“I want a McFlurry.”

He glanced over at you, smiling like he couldn’t help it. “Of course you do.”

Once he paid, the smell of salt and oil filled the car. You both laughed when he had to awkwardly juggle the tray of food through the window, drinks sloshing dangerously close to the edge.

“I don’t wanna eat in the car,” you said, licking ice cream from your spoon as he pulled back onto the street. “It’s too cozy. I’ll pass out.”

“Then we’re going to the roof.”

You looked over. “What roof?”

“The one I always go to,” he said, already heading east, merging onto a back road near the hills. “It’s got the best view of the city. And no one’s ever there.”

You blinked. “Wait—are you about to take me to your secret spot?”

“It’s a privilege,” he said solemnly. “Don’t abuse it.”

Fifteen minutes later, the tires bumped over cracked concrete as he drove to the top floor of a half-empty parking garage.

He parked near the edge and cut the engine.

For a second, neither of you moved. The world outside buzzed low and steady. Down below, LA shimmered in waves—headlights and taillights, blinking windows, neon signs stretching into the distance like a pulse.

You opened your door, hopping out onto the warm concrete. The breeze was soft and just a little sticky. Hollis joined you on the hood of the car, placing the tray between you.

“Okay,” he said, handing you your McFlurry, “don’t drop that.”

You sat cross-legged, dipping your spoon lazily into the swirl, stealing one of his fries every few bites. The city lit up below like it was performing just for you. Up here, it felt like you were floating.

“Why do you come here?” you asked after a while.

Hollis leaned back on his elbows, eyes on the skyline. “I don’t know. Helps me think. Reminds me there’s more than just… the studio. My room. Deadlines.”

You nodded, licking salt from your thumb. “Yeah. I get that.”

He looked over at you then, not quite smiling, but soft.

The kind of look that stayed.

You blinked, looked away, suddenly aware of how quiet everything had gone again. Just the sound of the wind and some distant sirens far below.

You reached for another fry, but he beat you to it—offering one between his fingers.

You paused.

He raised an eyebrow.

You took it, with your mouth, between your teeth, brushing your lips against his fingertips without thinking.

His hand stilled.

Your heart stuttered.

Neither of you said anything.

You just went back to your food, cheeks warm, trying not to replay that tiny moment in your head too many times.

Trying not to notice the way his foot had started tapping against yours hanging off the top of the car.

Or how, every now and then, he glanced at you like he was still deciding something.

“The city looks beautiful from up here,” you said softly, your gaze trailing across the horizon, lights blinking in the smoggy distance, shadows stretching between high-rises and neon strips.

“Mhm.” Hollis didn’t look away from you. “It does.”

You glanced at him.

He was still leaning back on his elbows, legs stretched out, head tilted your way—eyes soft, a little unreadable in the low light.

You felt your pulse flicker. “I meant the skyline,” you said, teasing lightly, trying to steady your voice.

“Right,” he said, but his mouth twitched. “Me too.”

You smiled despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re annoying.”

He shrugged. “You sat on my car.”

“You invited me.”

“And you said yes.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, and he just grinned, biting into his burger like he hadn’t just said something slightly charged. Slightly dangerous.

Like you weren’t already feeling too warm under your shirt.

A breeze moved across the top of the garage, lifting your hair, and you tucked it behind your ear with one hand, your knee brushing his thigh. He didn’t move.

“You ever bring anyone else here?” you asked suddenly, voice low. You didn’t know why the question came out the way it did—half-casual, half-curious.

Hollis glanced over at you, chewing slowly. Swallowed.

“No.”

That one word felt heavier than it should’ve. You looked down at your food and played with it for a moment.

“Oh.”

He sat up a little straighter, picking at a napkin. “Not because I didn’t want to.”

Your heart skipped.

“I just never thought of it until you,” he added. Then, almost sheepish: “Guess that sounds kinda—”

“No,” you said quickly. “I get it.”

You didn’t realize you were staring until he met your eyes again, and held them.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. It was… full.

“You look happy tonight,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “I do?”

“Yeah.”

His voice dropped the slightest bit, low and warm. “You look really—at ease. It’s nice.”

Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came out.

He leaned back again, head tilted toward the stars. “Or maybe it’s just the food. Could be the food.”

You let out a breath of a laugh, and he glanced sideways, clearly proud of himself.

But your heart was still doing that fluttery thing.

Still skipping beats like it knew something you didn’t.

Or maybe—something you weren’t ready to say yet. You leaned back on your palms again, mirroring him. The metal roof of the car was still warm beneath you, and the smell of grease and summer air curled between you.

The city stretched out in front, gold and blue and endless.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

Then—

“It’s kinda crazy,” Hollis said quietly, eyes on the skyline.

You glanced over. “What is?”

“That we get to just… be here. Existing. Like this.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “You good?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

You watched his profile, his long hair messy from the wind, his lashes casting soft shadows, the curve of his mouth caught somewhere between a smirk and something more honest.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

Just shifted a little, fingers absently brushing the roof beside your hand.

You didn’t move.

Your heart caught the rhythm again—fluttering, anxious, stupidly hopeful.

Hollis finally spoke, low:

“Sometimes I feel like there’s this… line. You know? Between things. And once you cross it, everything changes.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t look at you. Just kept watching the city, lips parted slightly. “But sometimes I think maybe I already crossed it without realizing.”

Your pinkies touched.

Barely.

Just a whisper of contact.

You felt it everywhere.

You swallowed, pulse loud in your ears. “And what if… what if it’s not just you?”

That made him turn.

Slowly. Carefully.

His eyes found yours in the dark.

Your pinkies still touching. Neither of you moving.

You weren’t sure if he was going to say something or lean in or laugh it off like he always did—but then his fingers shifted again, brushing yours, more intentional this time.

A slow drag of skin.

You both looked back at the skyline too quickly.

Pretending nothing happened.

Pretending everything hadn’t just happened.

“City’s pretty tonight,” you mumbled.

He smiled, quiet, crooked, soft. “Yeah. It is.”

But he wasn’t looking at the city anymore.

You could feel it, the weight of his gaze. It made your skin feel too warm, like you’d been sitting too close to a fire.

You pretended to keep watching the skyline, swinging your feet a little against the side of the car. “You’re staring,” you said, trying for light, teasing.

“Maybe,” he said, like he wasn’t even going to try denying it.

That single word twisted something in your chest.

You glanced at him then, catching the way he quickly looked away, down at his hands, at the fry carton between you. But his mouth was still tilted up in that small smile.

Your knee brushed his.

Neither of you moved it.

“You always get this… look when you’re thinking about something,” you said.

He chuckled under his breath. “Yeah? What look?”

“This one,” you murmured, reaching out before you thought too hard about it, tapping your fingertip lightly against his temple.

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment you swore he was leaning the tiniest bit closer—just enough for your arm to brush his when you pulled your hand back.

“You’re braver than you think,” he said quietly.

That caught you off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, but it was the kind of shrug that meant he knew exactly what it meant and wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction.

The space between you felt like it was vibrating now, tiny points of contact, the soft night air, the city lights blurring into something dreamlike.

You both looked forward again.

His pinky nudged yours, slow enough that it could’ve been an accident.

It wasn’t.

“You cold?” he asked suddenly.

“A little.” you said, you weren’t really that cold, just feeling everything made your body run a weird clammy cold, but also a soft warmth.

Without a word, he hopped down into the car, grabbed his jacket, got back up on the car, and dropped it over your shoulders.

It was warm. It smelled like him. And you didn’t give it back. You slid your arms through the sleeves slowly, like you weren’t about to point out that the cuffs were way too long on you. The hem hung almost to your thighs. It was ridiculous. It was perfect.

Hollis leaned back on his palms again, watching you tug the zipper up halfway. “Looks better on you,” he said casually, but there was something in his eyes that made it not casual at all.

You raised a brow, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingered. “You say that about all your hoodies?”

“Just the ones I want back,” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped.

He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. You weren’t sure if it was an excuse to keep his hands busy or if he just needed something to do with the silence between you.

He lit one with a flick of his lighter, the glow briefly catching in his hair. His lips parted as he inhaled, and for a second you were hyperaware of the sound of the night; distant traffic, the faint hum of a streetlight, your own pulse in your ears.

“You want?” he asked, holding it out between two fingers.

You hesitated — not because you’d never smoked with him before, but because of how close he’d be when you took it.

Still, you leaned in. Your fingers brushed his as you took it, warm and rough against your skin for just a moment too long.

He didn’t look away.

You brought it to your lips, inhaling slowly, feeling the faint warmth where his mouth had been on the filter. Your pulse jumped, and you swore you could still smell his cologne through the faint burn of the smoke.

When you passed it back, your fingers grazed his again. It felt deliberate now.

Neither of you acknowledged it. Not out loud.

He shifted on the hood, leaning back a little so you both faced the skyline, knees almost touching. You tucked his jacket closer around you, and the movement brushed your arm against his. It stayed there.

He took another drag, exhaling toward the night air. Then, without looking at you, he held it out again. Not between you — but closer, so your palm almost had to rest against his to take it.

Your hands met this time. His knuckles bumped yours, lingering, and you felt the smallest twitch of his fingers like he’d thought about hooking one around yours but changed his mind at the last second.

The city hummed below, but all you could hear was the sound of him breathing.

When you gave the cigarette back, you didn’t pull your hand away immediately. He didn’t either.

Instead, your fingers seemed to… settle. Not laced, not fully holding — just resting in each other’s space. Skin to skin, warm and hesitant.

You glanced over at him. His jaw was tense, eyes still on the skyline, but you caught the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Finally, his pinky moved, barely, brushing against yours in a slow, testing drag.

You exhaled a laugh under your breath, turning back to the city so he wouldn’t see the way your smile had gotten away from you.

And still… neither of you moved your hand.

You were both perched on the hood of his car, legs stretched out toward the edge of the parking garage. You hadn’t realized one of you had subconsciously moved closer since your hips sat just close enough that the denim of his jeans brushed the side of your thigh every time either of you shifted.

The cigarette burned low between your fingers, and you lifted it to your lips without thinking.

He glanced at you then — really glanced, slow and heavy, watching the way you inhaled, watching the way you held it there.

Before you could pull it away, he leaned in.

One hand came up, fingers curling delicately around the filter. His touch was feather-light, brushing the corner of your mouth, the pad of his thumb grazing your bottom lip as he took it from you.

You froze.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been this close, but, it felt different now. He didn’t look away.

The heat of his skin lingered on your mouth even as he brought the cigarette to his own lips, eyes flicking down to your face in a way that made your chest tighten.

When he exhaled, the smoke drifted between you, curling in the air before disappearing. Neither of you moved back.

His knee nudged yours, casual but deliberate, like a question.

Your answer was the way your pinky brushed over his again, slower this time, not an accident.

He smiled, small and sharp, like he’d been waiting for that.

And the city kept glittering below, completely unaware of the way your pulse was pounding loud enough to drown out the noise.

“You always do that,” Hollis murmured after a moment, his voice low, almost lost to the hum of the streets far below.

Your head tilted toward him. “Do what?”

“That thing,” he said, eyes still on the skyline. “Like you’re… here, but not all the way. Like you’re somewhere else in your head.”

You swallowed, unsure if you should laugh it off or tell him the truth. “Maybe I am,” you admitted quietly. “It’s… easier sometimes.”

He nodded slowly, like he understood. “Yeah. I get that.”

There was a pause, not uncomfortable, just thick with everything neither of you had said yet. His fingers shifted under yours, curling slightly, testing the space between.

You didn’t move away.

Instead, you let your palm turn into his, slow and uncertain, until his hand closed around yours completely. Warm. Steady. Your face was probably completely red and your whole body was tingling from the combination of the nicotine and Hollis holding your hand.

Your eyes flicked up to his face. He wasn’t smiling now, not teasing, not smirking — just looking at you like he was letting you see something he didn’t usually show.

“You don’t… let a lot of people close, do you, y/n?” he asked softly.

The question hit somewhere deep. You shook your head. “Not really.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, one slow, almost absent-minded stroke. “Guess I should feel special then.”

Your laugh came out quieter than you meant, but your grip didn’t loosen. “Maybe you should.”

And there you stayed — hands locked, knees pressed together on the hood of the car, while the night stretched out around you, the city buzzing below like it was holding your secret.

He broke the stare first, but only to glance down at the cigarette burning between his fingers.

“You want the rest?” he asked, voice quiet, almost too casual.

Before you could answer, he shifted, leaning just enough that the space between you felt like it collapsed in on itself. One of his boots scuffed against the roof of the car, the denim of his jeans creasing as he braced his weight.

And then he was holding it out — not at arm’s length, but close. Close enough that you could feel the faint heat of his body, the scent of smoke and his cologne mixing in the air between you.

Your gaze flicked from the cigarette to him, and your brain promptly forgot how to function.

His eyes were darker up close, catching the glow from the city lights below. His lashes were stupidly long — unfairly long — and his hair had fallen a little forward, brushing the side of his cheekbone. You could see the faint smudge of ink from earlier on one of his knuckles, the silver cross at his neck glinting faintly as he breathed.

He didn’t hand it to you straight away. Instead, he brought it toward your mouth himself, fingers steady — and when they grazed your lips to pass it over, you swore your whole body stuttered.

Your pulse was so loud it felt like it might drown out the hum of the city.

“You gonna take it,” he murmured, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth, “or just stare at me like that?”

You blinked, trying to ignore the fact that he’d just caught you doing exactly that, and leaned in that last inch to take it.

The filter brushed your lips, your lips took it, still warm from where his had been seconds ago, and for a heartbeat it felt like you weren’t breathing at all.

He didn’t move back right away. His hand lingered where it had been, his gaze fixed on you with a weight that made your stomach flip.

Then, just when you thought he might actually close that gap, he looked away. Sat back like nothing had happened.

And you hated how much you already missed the space he’d filled.

The cigarette burned lower in your other hand, the orange tip flaring with each inhale. You took one last drag, slow, and leaned forward to crush it out against the rough patch of metal just beside you. The cold air bit your fingertips where his warmth wasn’t.

When you sat back, his hand was still there. Still holding yours like it was nothing, like it was the most natural thing in the world, except every inch of you was acutely aware of it.

His palm was warm. Fingers long, rough in the places you knew came from strings and pens and whatever else he did when no one was looking.

“You’re different up here,” he said suddenly, eyes on you instead of the city.

You tried to laugh it off. “Up here?”

“Yeah.” His voice had gone softer. “Like… quieter. But not in a bad way.”

Something in his tone made you look at him fully, and that’s when you realized just how close he’d stayed. His thigh brushed yours when he shifted. The streetlights below cut over his face, catching the line of his jaw, the tiny flicker of a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re looking at me like you’ve known me forever,” you said before you could stop yourself.

His thumb moved against yours, slow, deliberate.

“Maybe I have,” he murmured, not breaking eye contact. “Maybe I’ve just been paying attention.”

And God, you could feel it — the spike of heat in your chest, the way your fingers curled tighter around his without thinking, the part of you that was so certain if you leaned in even a little more, you’d finally find out what his mouth felt like against yours.

The air went still. Even the city noise felt like it had faded, leaving only the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the faint brush of his breathing.

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

Your knees were touching now, his barely shifting against yours like it was an accident, except you could see in his eyes that it wasn’t. They were dark, intent, glinting under the rooftop light in a way that made you feel pinned without him even touching you more than he already was.

Then he tilted his head; just slightly. Enough to make the space between you feel smaller, charged, like the world had narrowed to the half-inch between your faces.

You felt his thumb drag once more over your knuckles, slow and warm, before it stilled completely.

And then —

He exhaled, the faintest trace of smoke still clinging to his breath, brushing across your lips.

Your stomach flipped so hard it almost hurt.

It was too much, too close, too loud in your chest — and for a split second, you swore he was going to close that last bit of distance. His gaze even dropped, just for a fraction, toward your mouth.

His hand was still tangled with yours, thumb brushing slow over the back of it like he was memorizing the texture of your skin.

When he reached up with his free hand, it was gentle, almost hesitant, fingertips grazing along your cheekbone, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch lingered just long enough for your breath to catch.

“Can I?” His voice was low, rough like it was costing him something to ask, but his mouth tilted in the faintest ghost of a smile, teasing, testing, daring you to say yes.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you just nodded.

He leaned in, so close your noses brushed, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from his lips without them actually touching. Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct, only for him to pause there, the barest whisper away, let the seconds stretch, his breath mingling with yours.

Your heart was pounding like it wanted out of your chest.

And then — finally — he closed that last fraction of space, just a soft press at first, careful and tentative, like he was afraid you might pull away.

Your breath caught, your free hand finding the side of his shirt, fingertips curling in the fabric as if anchoring yourself. His palm slid from your cheek to the line of your jaw, thumb brushing gently under it, tilting your face the tiniest bit so he could deepen the kiss by a hair’s width — not rushing, just letting it unfold.

You could feel him smile faintly against your lips, a nervous, almost disbelieving curve that made your chest ache. His fingers flexed around yours, holding tighter, and his other hand splayed warm and steady at the small of your back, drawing you that much closer until there was barely any space left between you.

The kiss stayed unhurried — a slow, sweet exchange like the two of you were memorizing the shape of each other’s mouths. He lingered between each soft press, breathing you in, and every tiny shift made the world around you dissolve into the heat of his closeness.

When you finally eased apart, just enough to look at each other, his forehead stayed against yours, like neither of you trusted the air between you not to vanish if you let it grow too wide. Breath mingled in the faint space that remained, each exhale brushing your lips as if the kiss hadn’t quite ended, just shifted into something slower, quieter.

His thumb kept tracing the curve of your jaw, feather-light, almost absentminded — except you knew nothing about the way he touched you was thoughtless. His other hand had slid lower, splayed across your back, fingers flexing slightly like he was grounding himself in the shape of you.

Up this close, you could hear the small, uneven hitch of his breathing, could feel the way his chest pressed to yours in a stuttered rhythm. His voice came soft, almost shy, but with that crooked smile you could hear even without seeing it.

“…Been thinking about that for way too long,” he murmured, and you felt the warmth of his words against your mouth before you even processed them.

You laughed — not because it was funny, but because it was impossible to hold all the ache and relief in your chest without letting some of it spill out. The sound seemed to pull him closer again, his nose brushing yours, lips ghosting over yours in that testing, tentative way, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed more but couldn’t resist asking.

And when you didn’t pull away — when your hand slid up the back of his neck, fingertips tangling in the soft hair there, you felt the faintest shiver run through him, like every inch of him was learning you in real time. His lips pressed in again, deeper this time, but not rough, slow, savoring, like he was testing how much of you he could hold in one breath.

His free hand found your waist, palm warm through his jacket and your shirt, grounding you as his thumb traced slow, unconscious circles. It wasn’t hurried; if anything, it was almost painfully deliberate. His lips lingered between kisses, brushing yours like he was memorizing the shape before leaning in again. The sound of his breathing, uneven but quiet, seemed impossibly loud in the stillness around you.

When he finally drew back, it wasn’t because he wanted to. His forehead rested against yours for one last suspended beat, his fingers still curled in your jaw as if reluctant to let the moment drop. You stayed like that for another breath, maybe two, until the cold night air finally reminded you that time was still moving.

Hollis’s eyes lingered on yours a second longer, then he cleared his throat softly, pulling his hand away in slow reluctance. He hopped down from the car first, offering you a hand , steady, warm, to help you down, like the last few minutes hadn’t already made your knees weak.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” He said quietly.

Neither of you said much as you climbed back into the car. The slam of your doors felt too loud after what just happened.

The drive started quiet, the hum of the engine and the soft rattle of the tires filling the space between you. You caught him glancing over once, maybe twice, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes yet because if you did, you were sure you’d forget how to breathe again.

You sat there, jacket still around your shoulders, heart replaying every second on a loop. The way his fingers curled around your jaw. The way his lips felt, careful and sure all at once. The way you could still taste him faintly, like a secret you weren’t ready to say out loud.

He reached for the volume knob, turning it just high enough to fill the quiet. “You’re really quiet,” he said, glancing at you with that half-smile like he was trying to gauge if he’d ruined something or started something.

You shrugged, but it was too casual to be believable. “Just… thinking.”

His eyes lingered for a second before returning to the road. “About?”

You looked out the window, letting the lights of LA blur past. “You know.”

He didn’t push. Just smiled, the kind that said yeah, he knew — and kept driving, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against his knee.

By the time you pulled up outside his place, your thoughts were still a mess. Your skin still buzzed with every ghost of his touch. And when he looked over before cutting the engine, that same charged quiet hung in the air, he kind that said tonight wasn’t over.

place was warm, quiet, smelling faintly of sage and something sharp like cologne that lingered in the air.

You leaned against the counter, trying to look casual, but your arms folded in front of you felt more like a shield than anything.

Hollis dropped his keys in the dish by the door and glanced at you, like he could already see straight through the act. He moved slowly toward you, the quiet thrum of confidence in every step.

“You always do that,” he said, voice low, not teasing so much as amused.

Your brow furrowed. “Do what?”

“That little shrug. Like you’re brushing something off when you’re not.” He stopped in front of you, close enough that the counter edge pressed into your lower back. “It’s kinda obvious, you know.”

Your throat went dry. “You think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”

His smile widened — not smug, just soft, warm, like he liked watching you try to challenge him. He braced one hand on the counter beside you, leaning in just enough that you had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes.

“I don’t need to figure you out,” he murmured. “I just… pay attention.”

Your chest tightened. The way he said it — quiet, certain, it made your stomach flip. You tried to look away, but he tilted his head, catching your gaze again.

“You’re nervous,” he murmured, not mocking, not teasing — just stating it like a truth. His eyes dropped briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “That’s cute.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m not—”

He tilted his head, cutting you off with a look.

“You are.” Then, softer: “And you don’t need to be. Not with me.”

Your pulse jumped. His confidence was magnetic, steady in a way that made your nerves feel almost sweet, like part of the electricity between you.

When his hand finally lifted, he moved slow — deliberate. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips trailing down just long enough to skim your jaw.

Your breath caught.

“See?” he whispered, lips curving just slightly. “Nothing to be scared of.”

The quiet between you stretched, thick, electric. His knuckles brushed lightly against your arm, sending a shiver racing down your spine and butterflies blooming throughout your body. He leaned in closer, voice dropping until it was barely more than a breath.

“Yeah, you’re nervous,” he murmured again, that low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “But it doesn’t make me want you any less.”

The words sank in like fire. Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

He noticed. Of course he did. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. “I can feel it.”

Your pulse hammered in your throat. You swallowed hard, trying to muster something like composure. “You’re… really confident, huh?”

His grin broke wider, softer again. “Only when I’m sure.”

His hand hovered near your jaw, waiting, his thumb grazing the air like he was asking without asking. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, heat simmering low in his voice. “And I will.”

The air stretched thin between you, his words still echoing in your head, your pulse refusing to settle. His eyes held yours, steady, unflinching, like there was nothing else in the world worth looking at.

For a moment, he just studied you — the rise and fall of your breath, the way your lips parted slightly, the nervous flicker in your gaze.

He moved then, closing the space between you almost, his body aligning with yours until your back pressed into the counter. The edge bit into your hips, grounding you against the flood of sensation as his presence surrounded you.

You could feel the steady rhythm of his breath against your cheek, the slight tremor in your own hands, the way your heartbeat thundered against the press of his chest. The air stretched thin between you, the silence thrumming with every unspoken thought. His thumb rested just under your jaw now, steady, patient, like he could wait forever for your answer.

His eyes searched yours, not just hungry, but intent, like he was memorizing. Then, softly, with a weight that made your chest ache, he said your name. “y/n.”

The sound of it on his lips sent a shiver through you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and it wasn’t rushed or performative. It was steady, low, like a truth he’d been carrying for a while. His gaze dropped briefly, sweeping over your face, then back to your eyes. “You know that, right?”

Heat rose in your cheeks, and your voice tangled in your throat. “I… I don’t-”

He tilted his head slightly, closing the last inch between your bodies. His other hand braced against the counter by your hip, caging you in without pressure. “You don’t have to say it. I see it. Every time.”

The words left you breathless.

You wanted to say something back, to ask what every time meant — every time you laughed? Every time you walked into a room? Every time you looked at him longer than you meant to? — but your voice refused to work.

His confidence made it harder to think, his body moving closer until you could feel the heat radiating off him, his chest nearly brushing yours.

“That kiss,” he said finally, voice dropping even lower, the words grazing the space between you, “on top of my car…” He trailed off, his lips curving slightly, but his eyes stayed on yours. “I don’t know what it’s supposed to mean yet.”

You let out a shaky breath, the truth spilling before you could catch it. “Me neither.”

His hand traced from your jaw to your cheek, featherlight, grounding. He nodded once, slow, as though your honesty was exactly what he wanted.

“That’s okay.” He leaned in closer, his breath brushing your skin. “We don’t have to know yet.”

Your pulse thundered. His body language was bold, sure — but there was a softness in the way he lingered, giving you every chance to pull away.

Instead, you found yourself tilting your chin up, your fingers tightening slightly against the counter behind you just to stay steady.

The tension coiled tight, almost unbearable, every inch of him telling you what he wanted without saying it outright.

And for the first time, you wondered if maybe the nervousness wasn’t a weakness, but exactly what drew him closer.

His thumb shifted, dragging gently across your bottom lip — the lightest touch, but enough to make your breath hitch. His gaze locked on your mouth for a fraction of a second before lifting back to your eyes.

“y/n,” he said again, softer this time, like the name itself was fragile. He leaned in just slightly, close enough that his breath brushed your skin. “Can I kiss you again?”

The question pulled the air from your lungs. It wasn’t a tease, wasn’t a game — it was raw, steady, and it made your heart stutter.

You nodded before you could think better of it. “Yeah.”

The corner of his mouth curved — not cocky, just relieved. And then he moved. Slowly. Deliberately. His forehead brushed yours for a second, his thumb still resting against your lip as if to remind you he was right there, not rushing, not demanding.

When his mouth finally met yours, it was nothing like the spark in the garage. This one was careful. Tender. His lips pressed to yours with a weight that felt like both a question and an answer. He kissed you like he wanted to memorize it, like he wanted you to feel every ounce of restraint and desire tangled in him.

Your fingers tightened on the counter, but his free hand found your hip, anchoring you gently, pulling you the smallest bit closer.

The kiss deepened when you leaned in, when your hand brushed his chest — and he exhaled against your mouth, the sound low, almost like he’d been holding it in all night.

By the time he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were darker, searching. “See?” His voice was rough, low. “That’s not an accident.”

Your breath hitched as his mouth found yours again, this time with less restraint. The careful edges dissolved, giving way to something hotter, hungrier. His hand slid from your hip around to your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left to hide in.

You made a soft sound into his mouth — surprise, want, nerves tangled together, and that was all it took for him to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushed yours, deliberate, coaxing you to meet him there.

Your fingers found his shirt, curling into the fabric like you needed something to hold onto, and when you tugged, he let out a soft laugh against your lips - breathless, unsteady.

"That's it," he murmured, kissing you harder now, coaxing you to give him all of it.

When you finally gave into it, letting yourself melt against him, he made a sound low in his chest, like he’d been waiting for that moment. His palm flattened against your spine, guiding you forward until you were almost arching into him.

Then, with a smooth shift of strength, he hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you onto the counter like it was nothing. You gasped, laughing breathlessly against his lips, but your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, anchoring him to you.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured against your mouth, teeth catching lightly on your bottom lip before kissing it again, harder this time.

You couldn’t think, only feel. Your hands found their way up his neck, into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your skin. He pressed closer, hips slotting between your legs as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your neck.

Your head tilted back, giving him space, and his teeth grazed your skin just enough to make you shiver. His hand slid up your side, slow and sure, settling just beneath your ribs as though he needed to hold you steady while he completely unraveled you.

“y/n,” he breathed against your throat, voice low and reverent. “God, you’re beautiful.”

His lips moved against your throat, soft at first — then deeper, hungrier, like he couldn’t stop himself. Each kiss dragged heat lower through your body until your nerves weren’t nerves anymore, just sparks that kept catching fire.

You let out a shaky breath, but when his hand slid up your side, fingers tracing every line of your waist, every curve of your ribs, your breath turned into a gasp. He wasn’t rushing. He was mapping you, memorizing you, like every inch of your body had been drawn just for him.

Your hands found his jaw, tugging him back up until his mouth met yours again, desperate and hot. No hesitation now. The kiss was full, open, messy with want. His tongue tangled with yours, deepening each pass until you were dizzy, until you were clinging to him with everything you had.

He pressed forward, deeper between your thighs, the hard counter beneath you only grounding the way he consumed you. Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him flush against you, and his groan vibrated straight through your chest.

“y/n,” he rasped against your mouth, voice rough, his thumb brushing up beneath your shirt as though he couldn’t help himself. “You’re—” another kiss, wet and lingering, “—gonna make me insane.”

Your laugh was breathless, breaking into a moan when his hand slid higher, splaying against your ribs, his thumb brushing the side of your breast before retreating to drag down your waist again, teasing, exploring, testing how far he could go.

You arched into him, your own nervousness gone, replaced with pure heat. Your fingers slid under his shirt, tracing up the hard planes of his stomach and chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead against yours, both of you breathing hard. His eyes burned into you, dark and full of something raw. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, but his hands never stilled, roaming your sides, your thighs, your back like he couldn’t let go.

And you shook your head quickly, tugging him back into another kiss, whispering against his lips, “Don’t stop.”

His mouth claimed yours again, slower this time, deeper, like he was savoring the way you melted for him. His hand skimmed up your stomach, warm and steady, slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt until his palm spread over your bare skin.

You gasped into his mouth when his fingers curved higher, grazing the underside of your breast. The sound made him pause — not to stop, but to look at you, to catch the way your lips parted, the way your eyes were already heavy with heat. His thumb brushed over your skin once, twice, coaxing, teasing, waiting for you to push him away.

You didn’t. You arched into him instead.

That was all it took. His breath hitched as his hand cupped you fully now, fingers spreading, his thumb dragging slowly over your nipple until your gasp broke into a soft moan against his lips. The sound made him groan, low and rough, his mouth finding your neck again, sucking lightly as his hand kneaded, massaging you like he was learning every reaction you had.

“You sound so good,” he whispered into your skin, his voice wrecked, his other hand gripping your hip tight, anchoring you in place as he pressed himself harder between your thighs. “You like that, don’t you?”

Your head tipped back against the cabinet, eyes fluttering shut as another moan slipped out, louder this time, needier. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

He chuckled softly against your throat, his lips brushing your skin as his hand rolled over your chest again, deliberate, slow enough to make you ache. “Yeah,” he murmured, almost smug, but breathless too, “I know you like that.”

And when his thumb circled over your nipple again, gentler then firmer, your back arched off the counter, your moan spilling out without restraint. He swallowed it in another kiss, deep and messy, his tongue sweeping yours as if he wanted every single sound you made inside his mouth.

Your body felt like fire under his hands, every touch making you tremble, every kiss dragging you deeper into him. You weren’t nervous anymore — you were gone, lost in the heat of him, in the way he touched you like he’d been dying to, like he couldn’t believe you were finally letting him. His hands roamed with abandon now, mapping every inch of you like he’d been starving for this, like the last kiss in the garage had only cracked open a door he couldn’t close anymore. His tongue tangled with yours, desperate and greedy, while his hand still worked under your shirt, massaging, teasing, coaxing every moan from your lips.

The counter dug into your thighs, sharp and unyielding, but you barely noticed it, how could you? When his body was pressed so tight against yours, when every drag of his thumb over your hip had your back bowing into him like it was instinct? His mouth left a heated trail along your jaw, teeth grazing before he latched onto the delicate skin of your throat. You gasped, breath catching, his name spilling out before you could bite it back.

That sound, his name, needy and raw on your tongue, broke something loose in him. His lips stilled against your neck, a low groan humming from his chest. He pulled back just far enough to look at you, eyes dark, lips parted like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Fuck—” he whispered, forehead resting against yours.

Your heart stuttered. Words tangled uselessly on your tongue, but he didn’t give you time to untangle them. His arms swept under you, lifting you off the counter as though you weighed nothing. You gasped, arms flying around his neck, legs locking tight around his waist. His chest was solid beneath your palms, heat radiating through his shirt as he carried you with a certainty that made your head spin.

He kissed you the whole way down the hall, messy, desperate, like he couldn’t stand the thought of breaking contact. Every step jarred you closer against him, every tug of his hair pulled another sound out of you he swallowed like oxygen.

“You sure?” he murmured against your lips, pausing at the bedroom door just long enough for you to breathe out a yes that was more plea than promise.

And then you were on his bed, the cool give of his sheets shocking against your overheated skin. He set you down so carefully, as though the same hands that had just gripped you with hunger couldn’t bear to be anything but gentle now.

He hovered above you, braced on his arms, hair falling forward, chest rising and falling as though he’d just run miles. His mouth was swollen from your kisses, damp with you, his gaze locked unflinchingly to yours.

For a beat, neither of you moved. The air thickened with the weight of what you’d just crossed into something irreversible, something you’d both been circling for so long. His hunger was still there, burning behind his eyes, but beneath it was something deeper, steadier, almost reverent.

Then his thumb traced your bottom lip again, teasing, his voice dropping to that low, velvety whisper that had your stomach flipping. “You want more, don’t you?”

Your breath caught. You did, god, you did—but the way he was looking at you, the heat and confidence rolling off him, it had you trembling. Your voice came out softer, needier than you meant it to: “Yes.”

His smirk was devastating, his thumb still dragging along your lip like he could coax the word out of you again. “Say it,” he murmured, leaning closer, his nose brushing yours. “Beg for me.”

Your heart pounded, your body buzzing, and when his hand skimmed down your side again, teasing the curve of your waist, your ribs, your hip, every nerve in you lit up. You tilted your head back against the pillow, breathless, heat curling low in your stomach.

“Hollis…” Your voice cracked on his name, already pleading. “Please.”

He groaned, low and satisfied, before finally claiming your mouth again, deeper than before, pressing you into the mattress with his weight. His hands were everywhere; gripping, tracing, kneading, as if he couldn’t get enough of you, as if this was everything he’d been waiting for.

His mouth was on yours again, but slower now, more deliberate, like he wanted to savor every inch of you, like he was proving he could take his time and still unravel you completely. His hand slid beneath your shirt again, warm palm teasing up your stomach, fingers grazing the underside of your chest before pulling back just enough to make you whimper.

That sound made him smile against your lips. He kissed you once more, softer this time, then pulled back just enough to look at you. His thumb traced over your lip like before, but now it lingered, dragging gently as his voice dropped to a low rumble.

“Can I?” he whispered, tugging lightly at the hem of your shirt.

Your chest rose and fell against his, and you nodded, already breathless. “Yeah,” you whispered back.

His hands were slow, careful, lifting your shirt over your head. The fabric slid across your skin, leaving a ghost of warmth in its wake, and when it was gone, he sat back just for a moment, staring. His lips parted, chest rising and falling a little too fast, eyes dragging over you like he had never seen you before—like every inch of you was new and impossible to look away from.

“You’re… fuck, you’re beautiful, Y/N,” he murmured, voice thick, almost reverent. His hand came up, brushing along your cheek. You swore his thumb trembled as it traced across your skin, like even touching you felt fragile, like it might shatter him if he wasn’t careful.

Your heart thudded hard in your chest, nervousness burning away under the intensity of his gaze, replaced with something hotter, heavier. You reached up, tugging at the hem of his shirt, your voice almost pleading. “You too.”

He gave a shaky laugh, shaking his head a little like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening, but he lifted the shirt over his head in one smooth motion. The second it was gone, you froze—not because it was the first time, but because it wasn’t. You’d seen him shirtless countless times before: lazy afternoons by the pool, late nights sprawled on the couch, summer heat making clothes optional. But not like this. Not with the air humming between you, not when every small detail suddenly mattered.

Your eyes traced the sharp lines of his chest, the faint slope of his collarbones, the scattered constellations of tiny moles across his skin you had never really looked at before. The light hit his ribs in a way that carved shadows across him, and you followed the dip of his stomach, the way his breath made him rise and fall beneath your gaze.

He stilled under your attention, eyes soft but heavy, like he was memorizing you at the same time. His gaze swept over you with the same quiet awe, taking his time, cataloging details like he’d never forgive himself if he forgot a single one. And for a moment, it wasn’t just hunger burning between you—it was wonder, quiet and sharp, that this was real.

Without thinking, your hand lifted, fingertips brushing lightly over his chest, following the curve of his shoulder, dragging down across his ribs just to feel him, to prove he was really there. His breath caught at your touch, but he didn’t stop you—instead, his hand came up to cover yours, pressing it flat to his chest so you could feel the thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

It was fast. Almost as fast as yours.

Hollis hovered above you, shirt gone, and his chest pressed warm against yours as his mouth claimed yours again, deeper, hungrier. His weight on you made you melt into the mattress, your body arching up to meet him instinctively.

Your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned into your mouth — that low sound vibrating through his chest against yours. He kissed you harder, like that noise had snapped something in him, and then his hand slid firmly up your ribs until his palm was cupping your breast through your bra. He kneaded softly, thumb brushing over the peak, and your moan spilled against his lips before you could stop it.

He smiled at the sound, broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “God, I love that.” Then, with his eyes locked on yours, he tugged lightly at the straps. “Can I?”

You nodded so quickly it almost made him chuckle, but the look in his eyes was anything but playful, it was molten. Slow, deliberate, he slipped the straps down your arms, unhooking you with practiced ease, and then tossed your bra aside.

The air hit your skin for a second before his body covered you again, bare chest pressing into yours. The heat, the skin-to-skin, the way you could feel his heartbeat hammering just as wildly as yours, it left you dizzy. He pressed deeper against you, groaning into your neck as if the contact alone was intoxicating.

His hands roamed everywhere; tracing your waist, sliding up your sides, mapping every inch of you like he wanted to memorize the landscape of your body. One hand cupped your chest again, thumb circling slowly as his mouth trailed kisses along your jaw, down your throat, making you shiver and moan beneath him.

When you writhed under him, desperate for more, his free hand caught your wrist and pinned it gently above your head, holding you still. His eyes burned down into you, teasing smirk curling on his lips. “Patience, y/n,” he whispered, low and commanding, before dipping down to capture your lips again.

Your free hand slid down his back, nails dragging lightly along his spine, making him shudder. You felt his body tighten above you, his hips pressing heavier into yours like he couldn’t help himself.

And then his hand drifted lower. From your ribs to your stomach, slow and steady, until his fingers hooked teasingly at the waistband of your jeans. He paused there, rubbing lazy circles just under your belly button, so close but not giving in yet.

His breath was hot against your lips as he murmured, “Tell me you want it.”

Your chest rose and fell sharply, every nerve ending buzzing under his touch.

His gaze stayed locked on yours as his hand slipped under your waistband, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor the moment almost as much as he wanted to ruin you. His lips parted slightly, breath catching when his fingers grazed lower, brushing over the heat of you through the thin fabric still in the way. His pupils were blown wide, hungry, but there was a softness in his expression too, awe, like he couldn’t believe he finally had you here like this.

You gasped, hips arching up against his hand before you could even stop yourself, and he smirked faintly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So eager,” he whispered, voice thick, low, right against your ear.

Then he slid past the last barrier, fingers dipping inside your panties, finally touching you where you ached for him. His expression shifted instantly, jaw tightening, eyes fluttering closed for a beat before they opened back to yours. “Baby, you’re so wet for me,” he almost moaned, his forehead dropping briefly to yours as if the sensation overwhelmed him too.

Your whole body trembled at his words, heat pooling deeper as his fingers traced teasingly over your folds, dragging through the slickness he’d already drawn out of you. Every movement was slow at first, maddening, like he was determined to explore every inch of how you felt under his hand.

The way he looked at you — intense, reverent, like you were the only thing that had ever mattered — made you moan his name, breathy and desperate. He kissed you hard then, swallowing the sound, while his fingers circled your clit with featherlight pressure that sent shocks of pleasure shooting through you.

You clutched at his back, nails digging into his skin, legs spreading wider instinctively to give him more space. His smirk deepened against your mouth, and he murmured, “That’s it… let me feel how bad you want me.”

His fingers pressed more firmly now, sliding lower to tease your entrance, gathering how wet you were before dipping inside just enough to make you gasp. His expression was wrecked already, brows furrowed, lips parted, like the sight of you squirming under him was undoing every shred of his self-control.

His fingers slowed, easing out of you so he could look at you properly, you whined at the loss. His chest was rising and falling heavy, hair falling loose around his face, long strands of bleach blond with the darker roots spilling in, catching against his cheekbones in the dim light. The silver cross and gold chain around his neck dangled forward as he leaned over you, brushing against your bare chest, cool against overheated skin.

“Baby…” he murmured, thumb brushing across your hipbone, eyes drinking you in. His voice was rough, reverent. “Can I take these off?” He tugged lightly at the waistband of your pants, waiting.

You nodded, breath shaky.

That boyish grin ghosted his lips again, soft but firm, and he whispered, “Good girl.” He kissed you sweetly once, then slowly, carefully peeled your pants down your legs. The pace was deliberate, gentle, not greedy, like he wanted you to feel safe, seen, worshiped with every touch. When they were gone, leaving you in just your underwear, he sat back on his knees for a moment, gaze trailing over you in a way that made your whole body flush.

“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes locking with yours again. “You’re unreal.”

His hands slid up your thighs, warm palms grazing over goosebumps until they landed on your hips. He leaned forward, long hair brushing your skin as he kissed down your jaw, your throat, slow and soft, then sucked gently at the base of your neck, leaving a blooming mark. His lips traveled lower, hot against your collarbone.

His mouth opened, his tongue dragging against your skin as he sucked just enough to leave faint marks. His teeth grazed lightly making you whimper before soothing the sting with another kiss, moving slowly down the line of your throat. You gasped when his lips found that spot just below your ear, and he smiled against your skin, leaving another love bite there.

"Gonna mark you up," he murmured, voice a hot whisper. "Wanna make sure you remember this... remember me."

“I wouldn’t forget.” You responded with a breathless, wrecked voice, cracking slightly.

He huffed, almost as if his breath hitched T your words. His mouth kept traveling — down your collarbone, over the swell of your chest. Each kiss was slower, more deliberate, his tongue tracing little paths, his teeth nipping just enough to make you squirm before he soothed it with a warm opened mouthed kiss. His hands mapped your body too, fingers gliding up your sides, tracing your ribs, holding your waist like he wanted to memorize every curve.

“Tell me what you want, princess,” he murmured against your skin, voice low, teasing but tender. His mouth kept moving — down the center of your chest, across your ribs, over the soft skin of your stomach. Each kiss lingered, each love bite carefully placed like he was mapping you out, claiming and cherishing all at once. His chains slid across your body with every movement, cool metal making you shiver as his warm mouth chased it.

You could feel the weight of him hovering over you, only his pants left, his hard length straining against the denim as he shifted closer. One of his hands cradled your side, thumb brushing your ribs like he was memorizing every curve.

“Tell me,” he said again, lifting his head just enough for you to see the dark, blown look in his eyes, long hair framing his face. “Tell me what you need from me, and I’ll give it to you.”

Your lips parted, breath catching when his mouth lingered against your stomach. You wanted to tell him, to say it outright, but the words tangled on your tongue — too much heat, too much want.

“I– I just-” Your voice cracked, fingers curling tight into his hair, desperate to hold onto something. His long blond strands slipped between your knuckles, roots dark and soft at the base.

Hollis lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, his smile crooked, knowing. “Can’t get it out, huh?” His voice was low, velvet, teasing. “I know, baby. I know what you need.”

His hands pressed firmly on your thighs, sliding them open a little more as he shifted down the bed. The cool metal of his chains dragged over your bare stomach, the sensation making you arch. He kissed your hipbone, slow and reverent, then dragged his lips lower, closer to the last barrier of thin fabric.

“You’ve been my girl from the start,” he murmured against your skin looking up at you, voice soft but hungry. “You think I don’t know when you’re begging without saying a word?”

His mouth hovered right above your heat, hot breath searing through the thin fabric of your underwear, and you let out a needy whimper you couldn’t hold back. His grin spread, sharp and sweet all at once.

“That’s it. Just like that,” he whispered, pressing a kiss over the damp spot that betrayed you. “So wet for me already, baby.” His voice dropped, reverent again. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

His fingers slipped under the waistband of your underwear, pausing only to glance up, making sure — and when you gave the slightest nod, he slid them down slow, kissing the inside of your thighs as he revealed more of you. He looked in awe as if you were the most beautiful thing in the world as he looked at you bare, his mouth slightly parted. He tossed your panties aside, then settled between your legs, hands gripping your hips to hold you still.

And then, finally, he leaned in, lips soft and deliberate as he began to taste you, tongue sliding against your folds with slow, teasing strokes like he had all the time in the world.

Your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your throat. Fingers tangled tighter in his hair as his chains brushed your thighs, his long blond strands falling against your skin, his mouth working you over with a mix of gentleness and hunger that made you shake.

“Fuck—Hollis—” you gasped, breathless, already unraveling.

Your fingers tangled deep in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against you — the vibration shooting straight through your core making you shake the slightest bit. His tongue moved slow, deliberate, circling you in ways that had your whole body trembling.

You could feel yourself building, that sharp feeling of butterflies in your lower belly, and you couldn’t help the broken whimper that slipped out. “Hollis, please—”

He pulled back just barely, lips wet, chin glistening, strands of his blond hair sticking to his cheek. The sight alone nearly undid you. His smile was playful, but his eyes — dark, hungry, soft just for you.

“Not yet, baby,” he murmured, dragging one slow kiss up the inside of your thigh before returning right where you needed him. “You’re not finishing ‘til I’m inside you. I need you to feel me, need you too bad for that.”

He dove back in, mouth open and tongue working you with messy, wet strokes that had your hips jerking, but every time he felt you start to climb too high, he eased off, shifting the rhythm. Enough to keep you breathless, begging, but not enough to let you fall apart.

“Fuck—” You arched against the sheets, nails scraping over his scalp as if you could force him to give you what you wanted. “Your so hot mmph— makin’ me crazy—”

He looked up at you, hair wild from your grip, lips glistening, and gave you that grin that said he knew exactly what he was doing. “Good,” he rasped, voice rough with his own need. His hips shifted against the mattress, and you could see the outline of his hardness straining through his jeans. “Been dreaming about this too long to let it end fast.”

He licked you again, slower this time, deliberately dragging it out. His hands slid up, squeezing your hips, thumbs pressing deep into your skin as he held you open for him, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. Your thighs were shaking, your chest rising and falling so fast it felt impossible to catch your breath. His tongue was still working you, deliberate and slow, but every time you teetered right on that edge, he’d ease back—leaving you whimpering, gasping, clawing at his hair.

“Hollis—Baby— please,” you choked out, voice breaking, every syllable ragged with need.

He finally pulled away, mouth shining, breathing heavy like he’d been starving and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His hair was a mess from your fingers, blond strands falling into his flushed face, roots dark with sweat. He kissed the inside of your thigh, then another higher, then up over your stomach, each one softer than the last.

“Baby…” his voice was hoarse, low. “You have no idea how bad I want you.” His lips brushed your ribcage, your collarbone, your throat—each kiss pulling a shiver from you. “You’re perfect. So fuckin’ perfect for me.”

Your hands shook as you reached for his belt, fumbling a little. He caught your hands, steadying them, pulling them up to his lips and pressing a kiss into your knuckles. “Slow down, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Together, you slid his pants down with his boxers, the faint metallic clink of his chain caught in the low light as he moved, and then he was bare above you. He let out the faintest groan when he kicked them aside, a sound that made your stomach twist with heat. Relief softened his face for just a second, but the moment his eyes landed on you again, everything sharpened-dark, heavy, hungry.

You couldn't help the small, broken sound that left you when you saw him-hard, flushed, thick in a way that made your thighs press together instinctively. Your chest rose and fell too quickly, the thought slipping unbidden:

How am I supposed to take all of that?

He caught the flicker of hesitation in your eyes before you could look away. His jaw flexed, but instead of teasing, he leaned closer until his forehead brushed yours, his breath hot and steady as it ghosted aross your lips.

"Look at you," he whispered, voice rough like gravel, chest pressed to yours so you felt every beat of his racing heart. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb stroking lightly over your cheek, and his other hand held firm at your hip, keeping you grounded, keeping you safe.

"You're perfect, baby. You don't have to worry. I'll take care of you-l'll make sure you feel every inch of me, nice and slow."

The reassurance in his tone melted the knot in your chest. He wasn't rushing, wasn't pushing. He was looking at you like you were something fragile and priceless, like the thought of hurting you could never exist.

Your lashes fluttered, breath catching. The need in you twisted hotter, sharper, no longer tangled with fear. "Look at you," you echoed back, your voice shaking but heavy with want.

Your hands slid up his arms, fingers clutching at his shoulders as though to anchor yourself to him. "I want it—I want you."

His lips curved, a faint, breathless smile like you had just given him the world. "Then let me take care of you," he murmured, kissing your temple before trailing lower, lips brushing along your jaw, your throat, each word spoken against your skin, his hand slid down, palm splayed wide over your hip, pressing you gently into the sheets, “You'll take me so good. I'll help you. Just trust me."

He kissed you again, messy, needy, full of the same passion he’d been holding back, and pressed against you, letting you feel just how hard he was. You whimpered into his mouth, and he swallowed it whole.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his lips still ghosting yours like he couldn’t stand to leave them. His voice came low, ragged, almost breaking on the words.

“Tell me you’re ready for me, baby. I’ll give you everything. Every bit of me is yours.”

His chain brushed against your bare chest as he hovered over you, warm metal dragging against your skin with every shallow breath. His mouth found yours again, deep and slow, like he was already inside you in his head—like he was pouring himself into the kiss the way he wanted to pour into you. His hips pressed down, his hardness sliding against your heat, making you gasp and cling tighter, nails digging into his shoulders.

You whimpered into his mouth, overwhelmed, and he pulled back just enough to look at you—reallylook. His eyes were dark and blown wide, his breath uneven. Strands of blond hair fell into his face, the sweat at his temples catching the low light.

Before he could move, you lifted a hand and brushed it back, tucking the damp locks behind his ear so you could see him clearly. He stilled under your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a second like the simple gesture undid him.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whispered, though your own voice shook.

His chest rose sharp against yours, and when his eyes opened again, they burned into you like you’d just split him open. He leaned down, kissing your palm where it lingered by his cheek, his chain dragging down your skin as his whole body pressed closer.

“You feel that, baby?” His voice was rough, nearly a growl. “Been holding back for you… been so fucking patient…” He rocked into you just enough to make your body jolt, heat flaring everywhere at once. His lips brushed your ear when he whispered, wrecked and needy:

“…don’t think I can anymore.”

Your hands found his shoulders, fingers digging in, pulling him closer. You could feel his muscles tight beneath your palms, his whole body strung with restraint. “Please, Hollis,” you whispered, stumbling over your words, “I—I need you, I can’t—”

He groaned, like your voice alone broke something in him. One hand stayed at your side, holding your hip firm, steadying you. “y/n,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then back to your lips in a needy crash.

And then—finally—he shifted his hips down, steadying himself with one hand braced by your head, the other gripping your thigh and easing it higher around his waist. He lined himself up with a care that made your heart stutter, slow and deliberate, his tip pressing hot against you. His eyes never left yours.

“Look at me,” he breathed, and his voice shook like he was holding back a flood.

The first push in stole both your breaths. His jaw went slack, a guttural groan tearing out of him as his head tipped back for just a second. The sound vibrated against your chest when he collapsed forward again, desperate to keep your eyes locked.

You gasped, lips parting on a soft cry at the stretch—sharp at first, too much and not enough all at once. Your thighs trembled where they clung around his hips. His chain dragged against your bare chest as he pressed down, chest flush to yours, and the heat of him sank deeper, inch by inch, filling you so slow it felt unbearable.

“Shh, baby, I’ve got you,” he murmured against your mouth, kissing you between ragged breaths. His words fell like promises between every trembling push. “So perfect… taking me so good… that’s it, my girl.”

“Fuck-” he whispered, chain dragging across your bare chest as he pressed down closer, chest to chest now, skin burning together. Inch by inch he sank deeper, his breathing ragged, your nails biting into his shoulders.

Overwhelming. Too much. Not enough. The heat of him filled you, slow and perfect, until you felt like you couldn’t take another inch—yet your body begged for it.

His expression twisted as he watched you take him. His lips found yours, swallowing the sound you made, kissing you through the stretch, through the trembling ache that felt like the only thing you’d ever need.

His face was half bliss, half awe, like he couldn’t believe you were real, like you were undoing him just by letting him in.

He kissed you through your whimpers, swallowing every sound. “So tight, baby. All mine.” His voice broke on the words, rough with need.

His forehead pressed to yours, sweat damp in his hair where it brushed your cheek. He held there, inside of you, trying not to lose it, his chain glinting in the dim light as his chest rose hard and fast against you.

When he finally bottomed out, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours. Both of you were shaking, breath catching against each other’s mouths. His hair fell forward, brushing your cheeks, and you reached up instinctively to push it back so you could see him—really see him.

“You feel like heaven,” he rasped, voice nothing but reverence. His hand slid up your side, cradling your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like you might vanish if he didn’t anchor you. His hips gave the faintest, trembling push deeper, and he groaned, whispering like he couldn’t breathe without the words—

“…fuck, baby, you were made for me.”

When he finally seated himself deep inside, both of you went still. The room felt suspended, heavy with nothing but ragged breaths and the pounding of your hearts. His forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping from his temple, his hair brushing your cheek. He kissed you once—soft, shaky—like he needed it to hold on.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered, his voice husky but tender. His thumb stroked along your jaw, grounding you, his chest rising and falling against yours. “You’ve got me. Just feel me.”

The stretch made your body tremble, your nails digging into his shoulders, but you nodded anyway, lips brushing his as you breathed out a broken, “Feels so good.”

That was all it took to undo him. His eyes fluttered, his mouth falling open on a curse, and then—slowly, so carefully—he drew back just an inch. The drag made you gasp, the emptiness sharp, before he eased forward again, sliding back into that unbearable heat.

His groan was low, guttural, chest pressed tight to yours as if he couldn’t stand to be anywhere but flush against you. “Fuck—baby, you’re perfect. So tight around me. Made for me.”

He kissed you through it, messy and needy, his chain dragging against your chest with every slow grind. His hips rocked in shallow pulls and pushes, each one measured, as though he wanted you to feel every inch of him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, words spilling ragged between kisses, between gasps. “Taking me so good. You’re so beautiful like this—fuck, I can’t stop looking at you.”

Your whimpers only seemed to unravel him more. He cupped your face with one trembling hand, forcing your eyes back to his when they tried to flutter shut. “Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you fall apart for me.”

The pace stayed slow, grinding, his restraint fraying but still anchored in the way he murmured to you—praise tumbling out like he couldn’t help himself. “You’re mine. All mine. My perfect girl.”

And when you gasped his name, body arching into him, he pressed his lips to your ear, voice breaking with raw honesty. “You don’t know what you do to me—I’d give you everything.”

The slow, careful drag of his hips started to falter, his breathing turning ragged against your mouth. He tried—he really tried—to keep it gentle, every pull and push drawn out like a promise. But the way you clenched around him, the way your nails raked down his back, the way your voice broke on a whimper of his name—he was unraveling fast.

“Fuck—baby…” His voice cracked, forehead pressing harder to yours, sweat dripping from his hair onto your cheek. “You feel too good—I can’t—”

The next thrust was deeper, rougher, pulling a sharp cry from you. He kissed it from your lips, desperate, swallowing every sound you made as his hips rocked harder into yours. His chain dragged across your chest with every motion, a constant reminder of how close he was, how completely he covered you.

“I’m still with you,” he whispered hot against your mouth, even as his thrusts grew needier, sharper. “Just hold onto me—I’ll take care of you.”

Your body arched, trembling beneath him, and he groaned like the sound alone could undo him. “That’s it, baby. God, you’re perfect. Every inch of you.”

His hand slid down to your thigh, hitching your leg higher around his waist, opening you up more for him. The angle made you gasp, and he stilled just for a heartbeat, kissing you softer, whispering, “You like that? Tell me you like that.”

“Yes—oh my god, yes,” you choked out, and the way his expression twisted—pure bliss, pure devotion—was almost too much to bear.

“That’s my girl,” he breathed, his pace quickening, his hips grinding deeper. “Taking me so fucking good. Made for me.”

Every thrust now was needier than the last, his control slipping, his voice rough and reverent all at once. “Gonna give you everything baby— fuck.”

Your fingers clawed into his shoulders, clutching him like you’d fall apart if you let go. “Hollis—” your voice broke, shaky, desperate, “don’t stop—keep going—right there.”

“That’s it, princess,” he whispered roughly, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your mouth in quick, messy presses. “I’ve got you. Just let it happen. You feel that? How I’m inside you? How good your taking me? That’s all you need.”

And he did. He gave you everything, chasing your need with his own, watching you fall apart beneath him and holding you together all at once.

Your body couldn’t take it anymore—the way his hips drove into yours with that perfect rhythm, the chain at his neck brushing your skin, the raw devotion in his eyes like you were the only thing he’d ever want. The pressure inside you coiled so tight it hurt, stretching thin, and then—finally—it snapped.

Your vision went white. A sharp cry tore from your throat as your whole body seized beneath him, back arching up into his chest. Your legs locked tight around his hips, trembling uncontrollably as wave after wave of ecstasy ripped through you, drowning you in heat and light until you couldn’t breathe.

“That’s it, angel,” Hollis rasped, his voice shaking, awestruck. His pace slowed just enough to guide you through it, still rolling deep inside you, his lips brushing over your cheek, your jaw, your mouth. “So good for me… that’s my girl… let it go. Give it to me, baby.”

You gasped his name like it was the only word you knew, nails clawing into his shoulders, clinging to him like you’d fall apart without him holding you together. The sounds spilling from your lips were raw, broken, shameless, and he swallowed every one, groaning against your mouth like he couldn’t get enough of you.

The way you clenched around him nearly wrecked him. His thrusts faltered, growing rougher, messy, his body shuddering from the strain of holding back. “Fuck—fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—feels so good, baby—so fucking good—” His voice cracked, guttural, right in your ear.

You blinked through the haze, chest heaving like you’d just surfaced from underwater, and caught the way his jaw tightened, the veins in his neck standing out, his face twisted in bliss and restraint. He buried his face in your throat, hips stuttering once, twice—before pulling back with a strangled groan.

He trembled as he tore himself from your body, chest heaving, hand wrapping around himself in desperation. Hovering over you, his hair falling into his flushed face, he groaned deep in his chest as his release hit, spilling hot across your stomach. His whole body shook with it, every muscle straining, his head tipping back like he was lost to you, to this.

For a moment, the room was filled only with your uneven breathing, his broken gasps. He collapsed against you after, bracing on one forearm but keeping his weight light, kissing your shoulder, your temple, your lips, as if he couldn’t get enough.

His hand slid to your waist, rubbing soothing circles, grounding you both back into the quiet glow of the aftermath.

Both of you lay there in the quiet, chests rising and falling in sync, the air heavy with warmth and the lingering scent of sweat and skin. Your body was still trembling, little aftershocks rippling through you as you clung to him. Hollis noticed instantly—he always noticed.

“Hey, hey…” he whispered, pressing a trail of kisses along your damp temple. His voice was rough from groaning your name, but impossibly soft. “You’re okay, angel. Just breathe with me.”

You tried, but your breaths were shallow, shaky, like your body hadn’t caught up with what just happened. He gathered you closer, one hand splayed protectively across your ribs, the other brushing up and down your thigh in soothing strokes. His chains dragged lightly over your skin when he shifted, cool against the heat of your body.

“You’re still shaking,” he murmured, half-concerned, half-awestruck. His lips pressed to your forehead, lingering. “God, you were perfect for me… still so perfect.”

You made a soft sound, barely more than a whisper, and his heart clenched. “I’ll be right back, baby. Just a second.”

He eased out of your arms—reluctantly, like leaving you even for a moment hurt, padded across the room, tugging his jeans back up enough to not trip. He returned quickly, a clean towel and a bottle of water in hand. The care in his expression made your chest ache.

He sat at the edge of the bed and started gently wiping your stomach, where he’d spilled, murmuring apologies even though you hadn’t minded. “Sorry, angel. Gotta take care of you.” His touch was delicate, reverent, like he thought you might break.

When he was done, he tossed the towel aside, uncapped the water, and pressed it to your lips. “Small sips,” he said quietly, watching every little movement, waiting until you nodded.

You leaned back against the pillows, still breathless, and he crawled in beside you, immediately pulling you onto his chest. His fingers threaded through your hair, slow and grounding.

“You with me?” he asked after a moment, voice low but steady.

You nodded against him, too raw for words, and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath this whole time. His lips brushed your hairline, whispering like a vow: “I’ve got you. Always.”

He didn’t let go of you for long. Once he made sure you’d had water, once the towel was discarded and your shaking had settled into softer tremors, Hollis sat back against the headboard, tugging you gently into his lap like you belonged there. And you did—his hand spread warm and steady across your thigh, his other resting against your lower back as though to anchor you.

“You cold?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you. You hadn’t even realized you were shivering again.

“A little,” you admitted, voice still hoarse.

Without another word, he leaned down, snagged his shirt… and jacket he gave to you earlier off the floor, and pulled it over your head himself—slow, careful, like dressing you was some sacred act. The soft cotton hung loose, the hem brushing your thighs. His boxers came next. He helped you step into them, steadying you with strong hands, then tugged you gently back into his arms once you were covered.

“There,” he whispered, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “Looks better on you anyway.”

The playfulness in his tone made your heart jump, but there was something deeper threaded in it too—something raw. You swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the shift, the way the room had quieted into intimacy that wasn’t just physical.

Your nerves tangled in your chest. You’d known him for so long, known every version of Hollis, loud, chaotic, teasing.

But, never like this. Never so open, so vulnerable. The words sat heavy on your tongue, but you couldn’t get them out.

He must’ve felt it, the way you stiffened, because his hand cupped your jaw, coaxing you to meet his eyes. They were soft but searching, like he was waiting for you to let him in.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly. “But I need you to know… that wasn’t just…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “That wasn’t just me messing around. Not with you. Not ever.”

Your chest squeezed so tight you could hardly breathe. “I… I know,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. You wanted to say more, but the nerves burned hot in your throat.

Hollis leaned closer, forehead resting against yours, his breath fanning your lips. “Then just let me take care of you. However you’ll let me.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, tension loosening just a fraction. You didn’t say the words yet—you couldn’t—but the way your hand curled into his shirt, clinging, said enough.

And Hollis smiled against your skin, as if he heard the confession anyway.

Your head rested against his chest, his heartbeat still uneven beneath your ear, when the silence shifted. It wasn’t heavy—just charged, waiting. Hollis’s hand kept tracing lazy lines over your hip, grounding you, but you could feel how tense he was under the calm he was pretending to wear.

Finally, he drew in a slow breath, his voice low and rough, almost a whisper:

“I need to tell you something.”

Your pulse jumped. You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes, and he gave you the smallest, nervous half-smile—the kind that tugged at his mouth before vanishing again.

“I’ve liked you,” he admitted, voice softer now, like he was afraid if he spoke too loud it’d scare the truth away. “Longer than I should’ve. Longer than you probably know.” His thumb brushed your cheek, almost distracted, as though touching you helped him steady himself. “I always thought I was good at hiding it, but…” He let out a quiet laugh. “You ruin me too easy.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment you couldn’t even answer. The words you’d been holding back for so long pressed at your throat.

“I… I thought it was just me,” you whispered, your nerves spilling through in a shaky laugh. “I was so scared of ruining what we had.”

He shook his head instantly, eyes flicking over your face like he couldn’t believe you were real. “You couldn’t ruin it. Not you.” He leaned closer until his forehead rested against yours, his voice sinking even lower. “I kinda… I kinda knew you felt something too. But I didn’t wanna push. Not until you were ready.”

The truth of it sat warm between you, and the fear melted under it. You pressed your hand against his chest, right where his heart raced. “I’m ready,” you said softly.

His exhale came out shaky, almost a shudder, relief and vulnerability breaking across his face all at once. His arms wrapped tighter around you, pulling you against the heat of his chest like he never wanted to let go. His voice, when it came, was low but steady, each word careful, deliberate, like it cost him something to admit.

“I don’t know what we’re gonna become,” he murmured, thumb brushing the damp hair from your cheek. “I don’t even wanna rush it. But I do know…” He leaned in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth in the gentlest ghost of a kiss, reverent. “We should take our time. Do this right.”

The weight of it pressed into your ribs, made your chest ache in the sweetest, most unbearable way. Your throat closed up, tears stinging the corners of your eyes even as your lips curved against his skin. You nodded, voice catching when you whispered back, “Then let’s take our time.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was alive, buzzing, fragile and electric. He held your gaze like he was memorizing you, like he couldn’t believe you were really here in his arms. And when his lips finally found yours again, it wasn’t hungry or desperate. It was slow, certain, tender; like a vow spoken without words, sealed in the press of his mouth to yours.

His forehead rested against yours after, his breath mingling with yours, his chain glinting faintly between you. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered, almost like it slipped out. “How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your heart skipped, your hands sliding up into his hair, pushing the damp strands back from his face just to see him clearly. And in that moment, bare, trembling, wrapped in his shirt and boxers—everything else fell away.

And in that fragile, electric quiet, his lips finally found yours again, not hungry, not rushed, but slow and certain, like a promise.

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