honey 🫧

☄︎ Warnings: face sitting ☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x Allie Hayes ☄︎ Rating/Genre: Mature (🔞). Smut. ☄︎ Words: 597 ☄︎ Summary: You ride your gf's face

💭: for @jalenspuckbunny, happy birthday mai!

Original request here. 〣 Off Campus Masterlist here.〣 Allie Masterlist here.

“You’ll let me take care of you, won’t you?” Allie asked.

You could only nod in response, mind-blown and body still twitching from the last two times she’s ‘taken care of you’ tonight. Not matter how much you begged for it, she had barely let you touch her, the focus was entirely on you tonight.

Pairing: Garret Graham x reader

Warnings: angst, minor mention of a bad relationship, fractured view of love/relationships, minor arguing, not rlly edited, use of Y/N, reader being dumb

Word count: 6872

・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・゜

The arrangement had always been simple.

That was what you told yourself whenever Garrett’s name lit up your phone at one in the morning, bright and brief as a match struck in the dark. Simple was a word you held close, a smooth stone in your pocket, something solid to curl your fingers around whenever life threatened to become too much.

No expectations.

No promises.

No asking where either of you had been before you arrived, or where you would go when the sun came up.

Just two people who knew how to find each other in the dark.

You had built your life around that kind of simplicity. Around exits. Around keeping every door unlocked and every window cracked open enough to climb through if the room became too warm, too close, too full of words that could not be taken back.

Love, to you, had once been a house.

It had been warm at first. It had been painted in soft colours and filled with music. It had smelled like coffee in the morning and someone else’s shirt draped over the back of a chair. You had believed, for a while, that you were safe there. That the walls would hold. That the person beside you had meant every gentle thing he had ever said.

Then one day, without warning, the house had burned.

Not all at once. Not in some dramatic blaze where flames licked the sky and everyone ran screaming into the street. It had burned slowly. Quietly. A cigarette left smouldering beneath the floorboards. A lie tucked beneath a pillow. A hand that stopped reaching for hers. A voice that became colder, sharper, unfamiliar.

By the time you understood what was happening, you were already standing in the ashes.

So you stopped building houses.

You started renting rooms instead.

Garrett understood that.

Or at least, you thought he did.

He had never asked you for more than you could give. Never looked at you with those soft, hopeful eyes that made you feel like a thief before you had even done anything wrong. He did not send flowers. He did not call just to hear your voice. He did not ask what you were doing on a Sunday afternoon or whether you had eaten or if you had made it home safe.

At first, that had been the reason you liked him.

Later, it became the reason you could not stop thinking about him.

Garrett was beautiful in the careless way storms were beautiful.

There was nothing gentle about him from a distance. He had sharp cheekbones, a mouth that always looked like it was one second away from either a smirk or a fight, and eyes so dark they seemed to swallow light instead of reflecting it. He carried himself like someone who had learned early that the world would take whatever softness it found, so he had hidden beneath his hockey jerseys, sarcasm, and the kind of silence that made people nervous.

He was not sweet.

He was not easy.

He was not yours.

And that was supposed to make everything perfect.

You lay across your bed one Thursday evening, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned slow circles above you. The room was dim, washed in the pale blue-grey of approaching night. Your phone rested against your stomach, screen glowing in your hand.

You had already typed the message.

You up?

Two words.

Nothing more.

Nothing that could be misunderstood.

Nothing that could be used against you.

Her thumb hovered over the send button for a moment before you pressed it.

The message went through immediately.

Delivered.

You waited.

At first, you did not think much of it. Garrett was probably busy. Working. Drinking with friends. Sleeping. Ignoring the world in the way he often did, as though everyone around him was a television show he had lost interest in watching.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Then thirty.

Your phone stayed silent.

You told yourself you did not care.

You rolled onto your side and opened another app. Scrolled through photos you had already seen. Watched videos without hearing them. Liked a post from someone you barely knew. Checked your messages again.

Nothing.

By the time an hour had passed, something hot and ugly had begun to curl in your chest.

Not sadness.

Never sadness.

Anger was easier.

Anger had teeth. Sadness only had open hands.

“Fine,” you muttered to the empty room.

Your voice sounded too loud.

“Whatever.”

You tossed your phone onto the bed beside you and sat up.

It was not like Garrett owed you anything. That was the point. You were not together. You were not dating. There was no rule that said he had to answer you, no agreement that said he had to come running whenever you called.

You had known what you were from the beginning.

A good time.

A familiar body.

A number you could text when loneliness became too loud.

That was all.

Still, when you checked your phone again ten minutes later and saw nothing, it felt like someone had pressed a thumb into a bruise you had forgotten you had.

By midnight, you had made a decision.

If Garrett was done, then Garrett was done.

You would not chase him.

You would not ask questions.

You would not become the kind of girl who stared at her phone waiting for someone to decide whether you were worth answering.

There were plenty of people in the world.

Plenty of boys with easy smiles and empty promises.

Plenty of ways to make yourself forget.

・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・゜

The party was at a frat house on the edge of campus, the kind of place that always seemed half-finished. The paint was peeling from the porch railings. The backyard was mostly dirt. Someone had hung fairy lights from the trees, but half of them had burned out, leaving the rest to flicker weakly like dying stars.

Music shook the walls.

The front door was open.

The air smelled like cheap alcohol, sweat, smoke, and summer.

You arrived with your friends wearing a dress that clung to your like spilled ink. Your hair fell over your shoulders in loose waves, and you had painted your lips a deep red because sometimes armour came in the shape of lipstick.

You did not ask if Garrett was there.

You did not look for him.

You did not care.

At least that was what you told yourself as you stepped inside.

The house was packed. Bodies moved around you in blurred colours. Someone shouted from the kitchen. Someone laughed too loudly in the hallway. A couple kissed against the wall near the stairs, their hands tangled in each other’s clothes like they were trying to hold on before the world ended.

You took a drink from someone you knew and swallowed half of it in one go.

It burned all the way down.

Good.

You wanted to feel something sharp.

Something that could cut through the strange heaviness in your chest.

Your friends disappeared into the crowd one by one. Someone dragged someone else toward the dance floor. Someone went looking for the bathroom. Someone found a guy they had been talking to online for weeks.

You stayed near the kitchen for a while, pretending you were not scanning the room.

Pretending you were not waiting for a certain dark head of hair.

Pretending you did not care whether Garrett had come.

Then you saw him.

He stood near the back wall, one shoulder resting against it, a drink loose in his hand. He wore black jeans and a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His jaw was tense. His expression was unreadable.

But he was there.

He had seen you.

You knew it before your eyes even met.

There was a weight to being watched by Garrett. It was not like being looked at by anyone else. Other people’s attention slid across your skin. His settled beneath it. It felt like a hand at the small of your back. Like a warning. Like a question.

You looked at him.

For one second, the noise around them seemed to fade.

He did not smile.

He did not wave.

He did not walk over.

He just stared.

The anger in your chest flared bright and clean.

Fine.

If he wanted to ignore you, then you would show him exactly how little it mattered.

A guy approached you near the kitchen island not long after.

He was tall, blond, and smiling in the easy, uncomplicated way that made him immediately harmless. His name was Ethan, or Evan, or maybe something else beginning with E. You did not ask twice.

He complimented your dress.

You laughed.

He offered to get you another drink.

You let him.

When he leaned closer to speak over the music, you tilted your head toward him. When he touched your arm, you did not move away. When he asked if you wanted to dance, you looked past him for only a second.

Garrett was still against the wall.

Still watching.

So you smiled at the stranger.

“Sure,” you said.

The dance floor was a sea of movement.

You let yourself disappear into it.

The music was loud enough to drown thought. The bass thudded through the floor and into your bones. The lights flashed across faces and bodies, turning everyone into fragments of colour and shadow.

The stranger danced close.

You let him.

His hands settled at your waist.

You let them.

He smelled like cologne and beer. He smiled down at you as though you were the only person in the room. He said something you could not hear, and you laughed anyway.

Every few seconds, you looked over his shoulder.

Garrett had not moved.

But his face had changed.

His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle jump beneath his skin. His fingers curled around his drink. His eyes were fixed on you with an intensity that made something in your stomach twist.

Good, you thought.

Let him look.

Let him see.

Let him understand that you were not waiting around for him.

The stranger leaned down.

You met him halfway.

His mouth touched yours, soft and unfamiliar.

For a moment, you tried to lose yourself in it.

Tried to make it mean something.

Tried to turn it into a distraction.

But the kiss felt wrong.

Not bad.

Just wrong.

Like wearing someone else’s coat. Like sleeping in a bed that did not smell like home. Like hearing a song played in the wrong key.

Still, you kissed him again.

And that was when Garrett moved.

The stranger barely had time to pull back before Garrett was there.

One moment, you were standing beneath the pulsing lights with a stranger’s hands on your waist.

The next, Garrett had shoved the guy backward.

Not hard enough to send him flying.

Hard enough to make the message clear.

“What the hell?” the stranger snapped.

Garrett did not look at him.

His eyes were on you.

“Come with me.”

You stared at him. “What?”

“Now.” His voice was low, rough around the edges.

The stranger stepped forward. “Dude, she’s fine.”

Garrett turned his head slowly.

The look he gave him was enough.

The guy raised his hands. “Whatever, man.”

Then Garrett grabbed your wrist.

Not painfully.

But firmly.

Like he was afraid that if he let go, you would disappear.

He dragged you through the crowd, past the kitchen, past the hallway, past the stairs. You stumbled after him in your heels, anger rising with every step.

“Garrett,” you hissed. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He did not answer.

He pushed open the back door and pulled you outside.

The night air hit you like cold water.

The backyard was quieter than the house, though the music still rattled the windows behind them. Fairy lights hung above the fence, trembling in the breeze. Somewhere beyond the trees, a dog barked once and then went silent.

Garrett finally let go of your wrist.

You yanked your hand back. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded.

He ran a hand through his hair.

His eyes were wild.

“You were making out with him.”

She blinked.

Then you laughed.

It was not a happy sound.

“Yeah,” you said. “I was.”

Garrett’s mouth tightened.

“You don’t even know him.”

“And?”

“And he could be anyone.”

“So could you.”

The words landed between them.

Garrett looked like you had slapped him.

You folded your arms over your chest.

“You ignored me all day,” you said. “What did you expect? You think I’m just going to sit around waiting for you to decide when you feel like answering?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

She stared at him.

“You literally didn’t respond.”

“I know.”

“That is ignoring someone, Garrett.”

He looked away.

For the first time since you had known him, he looked uncertain.

It unsettled you more than his anger had.

“I saw your message,” he said quietly.

“Okay?”

“And I didn’t know what to say.”

You let out a short, humourless laugh. “You could’ve said yes. Or no. Or busy. Or literally anything.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Garrett was silent.

The music from inside changed songs. The bass deepened, rolling through the ground beneath their feet like distant thunder.

You waited.

When he finally looked at you again, something in his expression had shifted.

The anger was still there.

But beneath it was something worse.

Something softer.

Something terrified.

“Because I’m into you,” he said.

The world seemed to stop.

You stared at him.

For a second, you thought you had heard him wrong.

“What?”

Garrett swallowed.

His throat moved.

“I’m into you,” he repeated. “More than I’m supposed to be.”

The words hung in the air between them, fragile and dangerous.

You felt your chest tighten.

No.

No, no, no.

This was not what you did.

This was not the deal.

You were not supposed to say things like that.

You were not supposed to stand in backyards under dying fairy lights and look at each other like something was breaking.

You shook your head. “Dude,” you said, stepping back. “We don’t do relationships.”

“I know.”

“That’s the whole point of us.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you saying this?”

“Because I couldn’t watch you with him.”

You're breath caught.

Garrett looked furious with himself.

“I saw you kissing him and I just—” He stopped, dragging a hand down his face. “I couldn’t stand it.”

Your heart began to beat too fast.

You hated it.

You hated the way his words reached inside you.

You hated the way part of you wanted to believe him.

You hated the way another part of you wanted to run.

“You don’t get to do that,” you said.

Garrett frowned. “Do what?”

“You don’t get to ignore me and then show up acting like you own me because I’m talking to someone else.”

“I don’t think I own you.”

“You dragged me outside.”

“Because I was jealous.”

“Exactly.”

“I know.”

“You know?” you snapped. “That’s your defence?”

“No.” His voice cracked slightly. “It’s the truth.”

You looked away.

The fairy lights above them blurred.

You blinked hard.

This was dangerous.

This was how it started.

A confession.

A promise.

A moment that felt too honest to be false.

You had fallen for honesty once before.

You had trusted someone who had looked at you like you were everything.

You had believed in forever.

And forever had turned out to be a knife.

“You can’t be into me,” you said quietly.

Garrett’s face fell.

“Why?”

“Because we agreed.”

“That doesn’t mean I can control it.”

“Yes, it does.” Your voice rose. “That’s literally why we agreed to this. No feelings. No relationships. No bullshit.”

“I didn’t plan it.”

“Then you should’ve stopped.”

His eyes flashed. “Stopped what?”

“Seeing me.”

The words hurt as soon as they left your mouth.

Garrett went still.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The wind moved through the trees. Somewhere inside, people laughed. The party continued as though the world had not shifted beneath your feet.

Garrett looked at you with something close to disbelief.

“You think I haven’t tried?”

She frowned. “What?”

“I’ve tried to stop.” His voice was quiet now. “I’ve tried not answering. I’ve tried staying away. I’ve tried telling myself it’s just sex, just fun, just whatever the hell we said it was.”

He laughed once, bitterly.

“But then you text me, and I’m there. Every time. Because it’s you.”

Your throat tightened.

You wanted to say something cruel.

Something sharp enough to cut the moment apart.

Something that would put the walls back where they belonged.

Instead, you stood there, frozen.

Garrett stepped closer.

Not close enough to touch you but close enough that you could feel the heat of him in the cold night air.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this,” he said. “I don’t do relationships either. I don’t do feelings. I don’t do any of it. But you—” He stopped.

His voice dropped.

“You make me want things I don’t know how to have.”

You felt something inside your crack.

It was small.

Almost silent.

But you felt it.

The first fracture in the wall you had spent years building.

You hated him for it.

You hated yourself more.

“Then maybe this isn’t working anymore,” you said.

Garrett’s expression changed.

“What?”

“If that’s how you really feel,” you continued, forcing the words out before you could stop them, “then maybe we should call it off.”

The silence afterward was unbearable.

Garrett stared at you.

His face was unreadable.

But his eyes were not.

His eyes looked wounded.

For one terrible second, you almost took it back.

Almost reached for him.

Almost told him you were scared too.

Then his expression hardened.

“Fine,” he said.

The word was a slammed door.

You swallowed.

“Fine.”

Garrett nodded once.

He looked like he wanted to say something else.

Like there were a thousand words trapped behind his teeth.

But he did not say them.

He turned and walked back toward the house.

You watched him go.

You stood alone in the backyard beneath the flickering lights, your arms wrapped around yourself, your heart beating like it had nowhere left to run.

Inside, the music kept playing.

Inside, people kept dancing.

Inside, the world kept moving.

But you felt as though you had just stepped off the edge of something very high.

And you had no idea whether you were falling.

Or whether you had already hit the ground.

・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・゜

You woke with the kind of ache that did not belong to your body.

It sat beneath your ribs, heavy and unfamiliar, as though someone had placed a stone inside your chest while you slept. Sunlight spilled through the gap in your curtains in thin, pale strips, turning the dust in the air to drifting gold. Your room was quiet. Too quiet.

Your phone lay face down on the bedside table.

You knew there would be no message.

Still, you reached for it.

The screen was empty.

No name.

No missed call.

No stupid, half-hearted text from Garrett pretending that the night before had not happened.

Your thumb hovered over his contact for a long time.

Then you locked your phone and dropped it back onto the bed.

Fine.

That was what you had said.

Fine.

The word had tasted like blood in your mouth.

For the first few days, you told herself that nothing had changed.

You went to class. You met your friends for drinks. You laughed at jokes you barely heard. You wore dresses that made strangers look twice. You danced with people whose names you forgot before the night was over.

You did everything you had done before Garrett.

But everything felt wrong.

It was not dramatic at first.

It was small things.

The silence after a party, when you would usually check your phone and find some message from him asking where you were.

The drive home, when every streetlight seemed to remind her of the way Garrett had once leaned across the passenger seat to kiss you at a red light.

The cold side of your bed.

The empty space beside you on the couch.

The way your phone stayed silent when you were bored, lonely, tired, angry, drunk, or pretending you were none of those things.

Garrett had not been a constant in your life.

That was the problem.

He had been a habit.

And habits were harder to break than promises.

At night, you would lie awake and stare at the ceiling.

You would tell yourself you missed the convenience.

The familiarity.

The way he knew how you took your coffee, even though you had never told him. The way he always reached for your hand in the car without looking, like it belonged there. The way he pretended not to care when you stole his hoodies, but always left one behind anyway.

It was not him.

It could not be him.

You did not miss Garrett.

You missed having someone.

That was all.

You repeated it until the words became dull.

Until they sounded almost believable.

Across town, Garrett was doing worse.

The hockey house had never been quiet. It was always full of noise: skates thudding against the floor near the front door, someone yelling at a video game from the living room, music spilling from bedrooms, the low hum of the washing machine constantly fighting a losing battle against the smell of sweat, takeout, and hockey gear.

He lived there with three roommates, all of them teammates, all of them used to Garrett being sharp-tongued, restless, and impossible to read. Usually, the chaos suited him. It gave him somewhere to hide. In a house full of noise, no one noticed when he went quiet.

But lately, even the noise could not reach him.

The dishes sat in the sink longer than they should have. His laundry stayed piled in the chair by his bed. The mini-fridge in his room held little more than beer, leftover takeout, and a bottle of hot sauce he had bought months ago and never used.

His roommates filled the house around him, but Garrett felt alone anyway.

They asked him what was wrong. They threw jokes at him from across the kitchen. They invited him out, shoved beers into his hands, and tried to drag him into whatever stupid argument they were having that night.

He brushed them off every time.

Because the truth was harder to say than he expected.

The quiet was not the problem.

You were..

You were in every corner of the hockey house, even though you had never lived there. You were in the chipped mug you always used because you said coffee tasted better out of ugly cups. You were in the playlist he could no longer listen to without remembering the way you sang the wrong lyrics on purpose. You were in the small scratch on his bathroom mirror from the night you had dropped your hair clip and laughed so hard you nearly cried.

He had not realised how much of you had seeped into his life until you were gone.

You were everywhere.

And you were nowhere.

Garrett tried to distract himself.

He went out with his friends.

He drank too much.

He let people flirt with him.

A girl with silver hair kissed him outside a bar one Friday night, her hands sliding beneath the collar of his shirt. She was pretty. She smelled like vanilla and cigarettes. Under any other circumstances, Garrett might have taken her home.

Instead, he pulled away.

She frowned. “You okay?”

Garrett looked at her.

Then he looked past her, down the street, where the lights blurred in the rain.

“No,” he said.

It was the first honest thing he had said in weeks.

His friends noticed.

Of course they did.

Garrett had never been subtle when he was upset. He became quieter. Sharper. More likely to snap at people for things that did not matter.

One night, he sat in a booth at their usual bar, turning a glass between his hands.

His friend Mason watched him for a while before speaking.

“You look like shit.”

Garrett did not look up.

“Thanks.”

“I mean it. You look like someone ran over your dog.”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“Then someone ran over your emotional support hoodie.”

Garrett glared at him.

Logan smiled slightly before his expression softened. “It’s Y/N, isn’t it?”

Garrett’s hand stilled around his glass.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he leaned back against the booth and looked toward the ceiling.

“Yeah.”

Logan let out a low whistle.

“Damn.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“You’re thinking a lot.”

“I’m always thinking a lot.”

“You’re thinking stupid things.”

Logan laughed.

Garrett did not.

The laughter faded.

Logan studied him.

“You really like her?”

Garrett looked down at the drink in front of him.

The ice had melted.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Loganraised an eyebrow.

“Bullshit.”

Garrett’s jaw tightened.

“I do.”

The words were quiet.

But saying them out loud felt like tearing open something he had spent weeks trying to stitch shut.

“I really fucking do.”

Logan’s expression changed.

The teasing disappeared.

“Then why did you let her go?”

Garrett laughed once, without humour.

“Because she told me to.”

“And you just agreed?”

“She said we should call it off.”

“Yeah, but you’re Garrett. You argue with parking meters. You once fought with a vending machine because it stole your money.”

“It did steal my money.”

“You could have fought for her.”

Garrett looked away.

His voice dropped.

“She looked scared.”

Logan went quiet.

Garrett stared at the rain sliding down the window.

“I know her,” he said. “Or at least, I know enough. She acts like nothing gets to her, but it does. Everything does. She just hides it better than anyone I’ve ever met.” He swallowed. “When I told her how I felt, she looked at me like I had handed her a weapon.”

Logan did not interrupt.

Garrett rubbed a hand over his face.

“I couldn’t make her stay,” he said. “I couldn’t be another person who made her feel trapped.”

The truth sat between them.

Heavy.

Unmovable.

Logan looked at him for a long moment. Then he said, “You know, being scared doesn’t always mean someone wants to leave.”

Garrett did not answer.

Because he knew.

That was the problem.

He knew you had been scared.

And he had let fear speak louder than everything else.

Days became weeks.

Summer began to lean toward autumn. The air cooled at night. Leaves gathered in gutters. The sky turned the colour of bruises before rain.

You kept telling yourself you were fine.

You were not.

Your friends began to notice before you did.

You stopped staying out until sunrise.

You stopped dancing on tables.

You stopped answering texts from strangers.

You stopped laughing with your whole body.

It was not that you became sad exactly.

Sadness was too obvious.

You became distant.

Like someone had turned the volume down on your life.

You would sit with your friends and watch them talk, their words floating around you like balloons you could not reach. You would smile when you were supposed to. You would nod at the right moments. But you felt like you were standing behind glass.

One afternoon, your friend Lena found you sitting on the floor of your bedroom with a pile of clothes around you.

“What are you doing?” Lena asked from the doorway.

You looked up.

“Cleaning.”

“You hate cleaning.”

“I know.”

Lena stepped inside and leaned against the wall. “You’ve been weird.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Thank you.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Lena crossed her arms. “You haven’t been yourself.”

You looked back down at the clothes in front of you.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you haven’t hooked up with anyone in, like, three weeks.”

You frowned. “That is not a personality trait.”

“It kind of is for you.”

“Rude.”

“It means you haven’t been sleeping. You keep forgetting what people say to you. You showed up to brunch in mismatched shoes last Sunday.”

You blinked.

“I did?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

Lena sighed. “Is this about Garrett?”

Your hands stopped moving.

The room seemed to narrow around you.

“No.”

Lena did not look convinced. “Y/N.”

“It’s not.”

“Then why do you look like someone kicked your favourite puppy every time someone says his name?”

You laughed, but it came out thin. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I’m just tired.”

“You’re lying.”

You looked at your friend.

For a second, you wanted to tell her everything.

About the backyard.

About Garrett’s face when he said he was into you.

About the way you had pushed him away before he could hurt you.

About how every day since then had felt like carrying around a song you could not stop hearing.

But the words stuck in your throat.

“I’m fine,” you said.

Lena sighed again.

The sound was full of patience and frustration.

“Okay,” she said softly. “But you don’t have to be.”

You looked away.

Because that was the thing.

You did not know how to be anything else.

The party happened on a Saturday.

It was at a friend-of-a-friend’s apartment downtown, high enough above the street that the city looked soft from the balcony. From up there, the traffic lights were tiny red and green stars. Cars moved below like veins of light. The skyline stretched into the distance, dark and glittering.

You almost did not go.

You had stood in front of your mirror for twenty minutes, staring at yourself in a black top and jeans, wondering why the thought of being around people felt exhausting.

Usually, parties made you feel alive.

They were noise and movement and possibility. They were proof that the world was still full of doors you could walk through. New faces. New stories. New ways to avoid thinking too hard.

But lately, every party felt like a room full of ghosts.

Still, Lena had dragged you out.

“You need to get out of the house,” she had said.

“I went out yesterday.”

“You went to the grocery store.”

“It counts.”

“It does not.”

So you went.

You stood in the apartment for a while, drink in hand, smiling at people you knew. Someone offered you a shot. You declined. Someone asked if you wanted to dance. You said no.

That alone should have been enough to make everyone concerned.

You did not say no to dancing.

Not unless something was wrong.

Eventually, you found a spot on the couch near the balcony doors.

Your friend Noah sat beside you, nursing a drink and watching the party with the detached amusement of someone who had already decided he was too sober for everyone around him.

Noah had always been observant.

It was annoying.

He noticed when people were lying before they had even finished speaking. He noticed when someone had changed their hair, their perfume, their mood. He noticed when you were trying too hard.

Which was why you should have known he would notice this.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Music drifted through the apartment, slower than the kind you usually liked. People moved around you in clusters. Laughter rose and fell. The balcony door opened and shut as people stepped outside to smoke.

You stared into your drink.

Noah stared at you.

Finally, he said, “You know sitting down at a party is a red flag for you, right?”

You glanced at him.

“What?”

“You. Sitting. At a party.”

“I sit.”

“No, you perch. There’s a difference.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m tired.”

“You’ve been tired for weeks.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You’ve been avoiding everyone.”

“I’m literally here.”

“You’re physically here. Your soul is somewhere in a sad indie movie.”

You gave him a look.

Noah took a sip of his drink.

Then he said, more gently, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You keep saying that like repetition makes it true.”

You looked away.

The city lights outside the balcony shimmered through the glass.

For some reason, they made you think of Garrett.

Of sitting in his car at two in the morning, watching streetlights slide across his face. Of his hand on the steering wheel. Of the way he would glance at you when he thought you were asleep.

Your chest tightened.

“I’m just homesick or something,” she said.

Noah stared at you.

Then he laughed.

Not cruelly.

Just once.

“You’re not homesick.”

You frowned.

“I could be.”

“You have lived in Massachusetts your whole life.”

“I could be homesick for a different version of my home.”

Noah considered that.

“Okay, that was annoyingly poetic.”

“Thank you.”

“But no.”

You sighed.

“Can we drop it?”

“No.”

“Noah.”

“You’re not homesick.”

You looked at him.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear.

“You’re homesick for him.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

For a second, you could not breathe.

The room around you blurred.

The music became distant.

Your fingers tightened around your glass.

“No,” you whispered.

Noah’s expression softened.

“Yes.”

“I don’t—”

“You do.”

“I don’t miss him.”

“Then why do you look for him every time you walk into a room?”

You froze.

“Why do you check your phone every five minutes? Why do you keep pretending you’re tired when you’re actually just sad? Why haven’t you been with anyone else since you two ended things?” Noah watched you carefully.

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

Noah looked toward the crowd.

Then back at you.

“You don’t miss the hookups,” he said. “You miss Garrett.”

Your heart began to pound.

You wanted to deny it.

You wanted to laugh.

You wanted to stand up and walk away and bury the truth somewhere it could not find you.

But something inside you had already shifted.

It was as though a door had opened in a room you had forgotten existed and behind it was every moment you had been trying not to think about.

Garrett laughing in your kitchen.

Garrett kissing your forehead when he thought you were asleep.

Garrett waiting outside your apartment because you had mentioned, once, that you did not like walking home alone at night.

Garrett remembering your favourite song.

Garrett looking at you in the backyard like you were something precious and terrifying.

Garrett saying, “You make me want things I don’t know how to have.”

Your eyes stung.

You looked down quickly.

Noah did not say anything.

He did not need to.

Because you knew.

You knew now.

You had been missing him.

Not the convenience.

Not the habit.

Him.

The sharp edges.

The silence.

The way he understood you without asking you to explain every broken part.

The way he had looked at you like you were worth being scared for.

You lifted your head and there he was, across the room.

Garrett stood near the kitchen counter, a drink in his hand, his shoulders tense beneath a dark jacket. He looked different than he had weeks ago.

Tired.

Maybe.

Or maybe you were only seeing him properly for the first time.

His hair was messier than usual. His eyes were shadowed. His mouth was set in that familiar line, the one that always made him look like he was holding back a thousand things.

But he was looking at you.

He had been looking at you.

The second your eyes met, neither of you moved.

The party continued around you.

Someone shouted from the balcony.

Someone dropped a glass.

Someone started laughing.

But you heard none of it.

All you could see was Garrett.

All you could feel was the distance between the two of you.

It was not far.

Just a room.

Just a few bodies.

Just a handful of steps.

But it felt like an ocean.

Garrett’s expression changed.

Not much.

Just enough.

His eyes softened.

His fingers tightened around his drink.

You stood.

Noah watched her.

“Go,” he said.

You did not think.

Thinking had ruined enough already.

You set your drink down on the table and moved through the crowd.

At first, you walked.

Then faster.

Then you were almost running.

People stepped aside. Someone called your name. You did not stop.

Garrett’s eyes widened as you reached him.

For one breathless second, neither of you spoke.

You stood in front of him, your heart crashing against your ribs.

He looked at you like you were a dream he did not trust himself to touch.

“Hi,” he said.

The word nearly broke you.

“Hi.”

His gaze searched your face.

“You okay?”

You let out a shaky laugh.

“No.”

Garrett’s expression tightened.

“What happened?”

“I’m an idiot.”

He blinked.

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“Y/N—”

“No, listen.” Your voice trembled, you hated that it trembled. But you kept going. “I was scared.”

Garrett went still.

“I know,” he said quietly.

“No, you don’t.” you swallowed. “I was scared because you said you liked me. And I wanted to hear it so badly, but I didn’t know what to do with it.”

His eyes did not leave yours.

You took a breath.

“I thought if I let myself care about you, then I would lose myself again. I thought I would end up back where I was before. I thought I would get hurt, and I just—” Your voice broke.

Garrett set his drink down.

He stepped closer.

Not touching you.

Waiting.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

“I know.”

“I wasn’t trying to trap you.”

“I know.”

“I just didn’t know how to pretend anymore.”

You looked at him.

The room around you had faded into nothing.

“I don’t want you to pretend,” you whispered.

Garrett’s breath caught.

You felt it.

Felt the moment something changed.

“I miss you,” you said.

His eyes closed briefly.

When he opened them, they were bright.

“I miss you too.”

“I miss everything. I miss you texting me dumb things at three in the morning. I miss you stealing my fries. I miss your stupid hoodie. I miss you acting like you don’t care when you obviously do.”

Garrett’s mouth twitched. “I do care.”

“I know.”

“And I’m sorry.”

You blinked. “For what?”

“For agreeing so quickly.” His voice was low. “For letting you walk away.”

You shook your head. “You were giving me space.”

“I was scared too.”

That surprised you.

Garrett looked down.

“I thought if I pushed too hard, you’d hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“I know that now.”

You took a step closer.

The space between you disappeared.

Garrett looked at you like he was still waiting for you to run.

So you reached for him.

Your hand found his.

His fingers curled around yours immediately like they had been waiting.

Like they knew the shape of your hand by heart.

“I don’t know how to do this,” You admitted.

Garrett’s thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Neither do I.”

“What if it goes bad?”

“It might.”

The honesty of it made you laugh softly.

Garrett smiled.

A real smile.

Small, but real.

“What if I freak out?” you asked.

“Then we talk about it.”

“What if I push you away?”

“Then I’ll remind you that I’m still here.”

Your eyes stung again.

Garrett lifted his free hand and brushed a strand of hair from your face.

The touch was gentle.

Almost reverent.

“You don’t have to promise me forever,” he said. “I don’t need that.”

You looked at him.

“I just want a chance,” he continued. “A real one.”

The room was still loud.

The lights were still too bright.

People were still moving around them.

But you felt strangely calm like the storm inside you had finally found somewhere to rest.

You nodded one. “Okay.”

Garrett searched your face. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

His smile widened.

Then, slowly, carefully, he leaned down and kissed you.

It was not like the kiss at the party weeks ago.

It was not desperate.

It was not angry.

It was not meant to prove anything.

It was soft.

Warm.

A beginning.

You kissed him back with both hands curled into the front of his shirt.

Around you, the party continued.

Someone cheered.

Someone laughed.

Noah, somewhere behind you, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Finally.”

But you did not care.

For once, you did not need an exit.

For once, you did not need to keep one foot outside the door.

Garrett’s hand settled at your waist, his forehead resting against yours.

“You sure?” he whispered.

You looked into his eyes.

You were still scared.

Maybe you always would be.

Love was still a house that had once burned down but perhaps that did not mean you could never build another. Perhaps this time, you would build it differently with stronger walls and windows that opened.

With someone who knew how to stay.

“I’m sure,” you said.

─── ⟢ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : when sevika casually hands you her card with a gruff, "get whatever you want," you assume there's a limit somewhere. there isn't. suddenly you're being dragged through boutique after boutique, gifted tailored clothes, sparkling jewelry, and every little thing you've ever glanced at for more than two seconds. she insists it's "just money," but you can't help wondering why she's so determined to spoil you. somewhere between shopping bags, late-night dinners, and quiet moments where her rough hand finds yours, you realize the most valuable thing she's giving you isn't something money can buy.

─── ⟢ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : service top!inexperienced!sevika and experienced!reader lesbian sex bratty!reader sugar mommy!sevika 20 year age gap (reader is 24) sevika has her prosthetic arm, sevika only has a soft spot for reader use of pet names (sweetheart, darlin', bunny, etc) femme!reader reader is in love with sevika sevika is a big softie minors do not interact please !!

glamorous, luxurious, and rich girl are queued on the record player . listen in order for context.

⌗ pairing — dean di laurentis x fem!reader

⌗ warnings — smut with no plot, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, dean being a man starved for your pussyyyyy. no seriously i mean this man cannot get enough of you. use of the word ‘cunt’ (my writing, not dean saying it or anything). not proofread! (0.8k words)

⌗ authors note — i hope you guys like this! please let me know your thoughts, reblogs and comments are so helpful and motivating! requests are open for dean as of now <3

the air was thick with smell of sweat and your arousal. dean’s large hands were holding your hips down harshly as his tongue lapped relentlessly at your aching cunt. he had been at this for thirty minutes and there was no sign of him stopping anytime soon. you’d already came twice, but dean didn’t care, he wanted more. the man couldn’t get enough of you. the way you tasted, the way you smelt… fuck, it drove him mad.

“dean…” you whimpered, your fingers sliding into the mop of blonde hair. his nose nudged your pelvis as he sucked your clit into his mouth, a groan escaping his lips and vibrating your core. “that’s it, baby. just let me take care of my girl.” dean mumbled against your clit, tongue messily and lazily licking at your hole. the sounds that filled the room were absolute filth. dean forced your hips deeper into the mattress, holding you in place so he could properly devour you without you trying squirm around too much.

“‘s too much…” you whined, your hand fisting in his hair, your back arching off the mattress. you were sticky with sweat, breath still shaky from previous orgasms. dean’s blue eyes met yours from where he was between your thighs, his mouth still latched onto you. his brows furrowed. “too much? sweetheart, i’m just getting started.” just getting started? was he crazy? what part of this was just — but your thought process was cut short when dean’s tongue plunged inside you. your eyes rolled back, your jaw falling slack.

“there it is.” dean grinned, sucking sweetly at your clit while his tongue thrust in and out of you, your pussy quivering around him. “just let me eat, ‘m hungry.” he murmured, closing his eyes. his cheeks, chin, and lips were drenched with you, your arousal dripping down his chin. “dean, stop.” you gasped, but you didn’t really mean it. the pleasure was just too much for you to handle. “didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to disrupt someone’s meal?” dean groaned between your thighs. his massive, muscular arms wrapping around your thighs, practically gluing you to him.

he’d make you cum several more times before deciding he was finally done and let you relax. but don’t get too comfortable because just a few hours later, he’s wanting more. “please, baby.” his bottom lip stuck out in a pout, giving you his best puppy dog eyes. you hated when he did that, you literally couldn’t tell him no. and god, he looked so hot like that too. he’d smile triumphantly, grabbing your thighs as he laid down on his back, this time bringing you to him so that you’re straddling his face.

his large hands gripping your hips would gently guide you to lower your hips, bringing your already soaked pussy directly to his mouth. dean looked up at you, knowing that seeing him like this between your thighs drove you crazy. your eyes fluttered shut, breath hitching as deans warm mouth covers your cunt. your stomach tensed from the immediate pleasure, hands finding his hair to hold on.

“you taste so good, princess. like heaven.” dean moaned between your legs. fuck, he was too good at this. your hips started rocking against his mouth, your entire body warm and fuzzy with pleasure. “fuck yeah, ride my face, baby.” dean groaned against your pussy, his tongue circling your clit as his fingers spread your lips open further. his hands slid up to your tummy, just wanting to feel your skin beneath his palms. his hands eventually moved up to your breasts, his fingers finding your nipples, pinching and rolling the hard peaks, the pleasure making you buck your hips against his face. “couldn’t believe you made me wait this long to eat again.” dean practically pouted between your legs. made him… wait?! it had only been a few hours since the last time he ate you out, this man was fucking insatiable.

“i know, you poor baby.” you moaned, your head falling back as his tongue flicked against your clit over and over again. his hand landed a sharp smack to your ass, causing you to yelp. the sting of the slap melted into pleasure, your hips twitching against his face. “don’t talk back to me; don’t act like you don’t love this. you love knowing how obsessed i am with you and the way you taste.” and it was true. you loved knowing how obsessed dean was with you and eating your pussy.

within minutes, your vision was blurring, your toes curling as you desperately fucked dean’s face, chasing your orgasm over the edge. a loud cry of pleasure ripped from your throat as you came hard, dean greedily swallowing every last drop of you. you rolled off his face, dropping down onto the bed completely spent and breathing heavily as you attempted to recover. “you did so good for me, baby.” dean praised softly, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “i’m already thinking about my breakfast in the morning.” he smirked. fuck me.

summary: when dean di laurentis gets signed up for a literature class as a joke gone too far, the last thing he expects is to be paired with the girl who actually reads for fun; the same girl who's spent the last two years convinced he's as shallow as everyone says he is. But Pride and Prejudice has a way of getting under people's skin, and first impressions were never meant to last.

⤷ dean di laurentis x englishmajor!reader

series masterlist

The beat up Penguin Classics edition of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice sat cracked open in your lap, its imperfect beauty spilling out of the pages that formed it. While someone may have only seen an ugly cracked spine, folded edges and pages that were slowly turning yellow, you knew better.

You knew things that rested under the surface, such as how its annotated margins, scribbled over in different colored pens, were what sparked your love for literature when the book was lent to you by your grandfather. Or how the dried flower you had been using as a bookmark for over half a decade was the only thing that reminded you of the fact that despite time passed, important memories were never forgotten. 

Dr. Macaulay, the class’ professor, had announced on the subject’s portal that every student was obligated to show up to class five minutes early and get their books out, as she wanted to observe the group of students right after entering. 

Although you should’ve utilized the extra five minutes to organise all of the annotating supplies that lay on your desk, your gaze was transfixed on the novel in front of you. Tearing your eyes away from it felt like punishment, like a consequence for a bad action. You read and reread Darcy’s confession hoping, one day, a man would show the same level of affection towards you. It was a silly childhood dream, one that you’d been imagining ever since you read it for the first time, and a dream you’d carry in your heart forever. The class whispered a silent promise, you were not the only one dreaming, and that was why you’d been so eager to register for it.

There were fifteen students in the class, including you, who were already seated and had their copies of Pride and Prejudice opened on their desks. Dr. Macaulay came into the room, pulling up the sleeves of her fitted shirt. Her charcoal pinstripe trousers reminded you of the ones your aunt used to wear to Christmas dinners, and you could’ve sworn you’d seen the brown leather boots she was wearing at a store last week.

“Hello, class. My name is Dr. Macaulay and welcome to Courtship and the English novel. As I’m sure you all understood from the message I posted, this course examines Elizabeth’s prejudice and Darcy’s pride not as separate flaws, but rather–”

Her opening statement was interrupted by someone shutting the door, and the sound of footsteps reverberating around the classroom. You turned your head to see the person, presumably a student, who had entered the room, and your jaw practically fell to the floor. 

The new student was Dean Di Laurentis, the blond campus playboy. You’d heard all about him and his reputation, how he addressed himself as “Six Flags” and avoided committed relationships as if they were a pest. How he partied more than he studied, and how hockey and alcohol were practically his only personality traits. 

“By all means, barge into the classroom late. Are you willing to sit down and let us continue, or will you just stand there for the entirety of the lesson, Mr. Di Laurentis?” she deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest. 

In unison, the class erupted into a fit of chuckles disguised as coughs, which the professor didn’t condemn by any means. Dean’s eyes widened, and he made his way over to a seat that was three spaces away from you. When he finally sat down, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes in frustration. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The Wednesday before registration day

Loud music echoed through the walls, the smell of cheap alcohol and weed surfacing as the house’s highlighted scent. Bodies occupied every inch of the hockey house, except for the space between the beer pong table and the circle of people that surrounded its players. 

“There is no way you’ll beat me at beer pong, Logan,” Dean assured, shaking his head.

Logan moved from where he’d previously been talking to Dean to an end of the beer pong table. “You’re very full of yourself for someone so drunk, D. I’m sure you won’t want to take a swing at me in your current state.”

“I’m not very full of myself, I’m adequately full of myself. And to prove that to you, I wanna start a wager,” Dean told Logan as he stepped towards the opposite end of the table.

New red cups were being placed in front of them, their glossy texture complementing that of the alcohol bottles and contrasting the matte finish of people’s clothes. For inexperienced freshmen, the environment would most certainly be overwhelming, sweat and cologne sticking to the walls. 

“A wager, huh? What would it be, exactly?”

“The loser gets his elective chosen for him by the winner, Tucker and Garrett.”

Before the game even began, a sorority girl from the circle who had made out with Dean at the start of the party went up to Dean and kissed him. Logan raised his brows, perplexed by the sudden action, and Dean’s only response was ‘Six flags, baby’.

The bet ended up favoring Logan due to Dean’s pathetic coordination, acquired through numerous shots of mixed vodka and tequila, which led to him being the group’s prey. While looking for electives, Garrett spotted a name that made him audibly laugh out loud. 

“Guys, look at this one. Courtship and the English novel,” he said while pointing at the screen.

Tucker looked down at the screen, and a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Shit, this is perfect”

“I guess Daddy Dean has finally found his newest course,” Logan announced, unable to refrain from smiling. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“As I was saying before I was interrupted, this class explores how pride and prejudice function, not as isolated flaws that pertain to a single character, but rather as a dynamic– how first impressions, once set in stone, resist revision and how growth for one of our two main characters is only possible through the other,” Dr. Macaulay explained, scanning the classroom. 

“What you may not know, is that the entirety of this class’ grade is determined by a term-long project, in which you’ll have to examine how your assigned character is changed by your partner’s and argue what caused the shift while showing textual evidence. You’ll have to hand in a co-written essay a month before you present your answers in front of the class. Any questions?” 

“Do we get to pick the pairs, or will you make them?” a red haired girl, who sat in the second row, asked.

Dr. Macaulay scribbled unknown words on a sheet of paper before turning her attention to the students again. “I’ve made them just now. When I call out your name, you’ll have to sit next to your partners, and I’ll assign each of you a character,” she responded.

She named pairs one by one, and your fear grew every time she didn’t mention your name or Dean’s. You’d been incapable of holding back from glancing at him a few times, his blond hair shining under the light of the lecture hall. 

“Di Laurentis, you’re with her,” Dr. Macaulay stated, pointing at you. “She’s been my best student since freshman year, and probably the only one who’ll tame you. You’re on Darcy and Elizabeth”

When the words rolled from her tongue, your whole body tensed. Turning your head to look at the boy, you sighed in defeat. 

Fuck.

VACATIONFLING!HOLLIS X RICHGIRL!READER

cw: strangers to lovers, vacation fling, unprotected sex, choking, biting, oral (m rec), rough sex, floor sex, shower sex, scratching, making hollis bleed swag summer masterlist taglist

PART ONE.

☀︎༄.°

The private plane had arrived later than expected, throwing off what was supposed to be a smooth arrival and turning it into a rushed, slightly chaotic scramble through the small island airport.

The air inside the terminal was warm and humid, clinging to your skin the moment you stepped inside, and between waiting on luggage and navigating through scattered groups of arriving tourists, your patience had already worn thin before you even made it outside.

By the time you and your best friend Kate finally made it to the car waiting outside, you were both exhausted in a way that felt disproportionate to how little you had actually done. The driver greeted you politely, already reaching for your bags, while you slid into the backseat with a tired groan and let your head fall against the leather seat.

Kate followed right after you, immediately kicking off her shoes and leaning her head back with a long exhale.

“I swear,” you muttered, staring out the tinted window as the airport lights faded behind you, “if I hear one more person say ‘welcome to paradise,’ I’m going to lose it.”

Kate let out a quiet laugh beside you, closing her eyes as if she might fall asleep right there.

The car pulled away smoothly, and almost immediately, the landscape outside began to change. The airport buildings disappeared behind clusters of palm trees, and suddenly the road opened up into something quieter, more remote, as if the world itself was slowing down around you.

The Maldives at night looked almost unreal.

Tall palm trees lined the roads, their leaves swaying gently in the warm breeze, while soft golden lights wrapped around their trunks and hung from branches like floating lanterns. Every so often, glimpses of the ocean appeared between the trees, reflecting faint ribbons of moonlight across its surface.

Even through your exhaustion, you couldn’t ignore how beautiful it was.

The tension in your shoulders loosened slightly as the air conditioning cooled your skin, and you shifted just enough to rest more comfortably against the seat.

“I might forgive the airport for ruining my life,” you said finally, watching the scenery pass by.

Kate hummed in agreement without opening her eyes.

The drive to the resort didn’t take long, but it felt long enough for your body to start drifting somewhere between awake and not quite asleep. Soft music played quietly through the car speakers, blending with the sound of tires against smooth pavement and the city around you.

By the time the driver slowed to a stop, your phone read just past midnight.

The moment the car door opened, warm night air spilled inside, wrapping around you instantly. You stepped out slowly, followed by Kate, and both of you paused without even saying anything.

The resort in front of you didn’t look real at first.

It stretched out like something from a dream, with glowing pathways lined in soft amber lights and tall palm trees framing every direction you looked. Lanterns in shades of gold, pink, and soft blue hung from branches, reflecting off infinity pools that blurred seamlessly into the ocean beyond.

Your suitcases were wheeled behind you as a staff member led the way down a stone pathway surrounded by tropical plants and softly lit gardens.

Your rooms were side by side, each with a small private porch that faced out toward the water.

The moment your bags were set down inside, you and Kate collapsed onto the outdoor chairs like your bodies had finally given up pretending to function.

Kate stretched her arms out dramatically, letting her head fall back.

“I think I’ve reached maximum exhaustion,” she said.

You let out a tired laugh, leaning back in your chair.

“That was, like, three hours of travel,” you replied.

Kate opened one eye to look at you. “And?”

You smiled slightly, shaking your head.

After a few seconds of comfortable silence, Kate turned her head toward you. “Are you going to bed?”

You considered it for a moment, glancing toward your room where the soft lighting spilled out through the open door. Your body was definitely tired, but your mind wasn’t ready to settle yet. There was still too much energy left in you, too much restlessness from the long day.

“I think I’m going to get a drink first,” you said finally.

Kate nodded immediately, like she had expected that answer.

“Okay, I’m going to pass out then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You stood up, smiling faintly. “Goodnight.”

After Kate disappeared into her room, the resort fell into a quieter rhythm around you. The distant sound of the ocean became more noticeable, no longer competing with conversation or movement, just steady and constant like background music.

You stayed outside for a few more seconds, leaning against the porch railing and letting the warm air settle against your skin.

Eventually, you pushed yourself up and stepped back inside your room.

The space was dimly lit and calm, designed in soft neutral tones. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one wall, showing nothing but ocean and night sky beyond them. The bed sat perfectly made, almost untouched.

For a moment, you just stood there, letting it sink in.

Then you headed straight for the shower.

By the time you stepped out, your skin felt lighter, your hair damp and loose around your shoulders, and your mind clearer than it had been all day.

You moved slowly as you got ready, pulling on a pair of small black shorts and a matching halter top. You added your black wedge sandals at the end, glancing at yourself in the mirror without much thought.

When you finally stepped outside again, the resort had grown even quieter.

The pathways were nearly empty now, lit by soft golden lights that reflected faintly on the stone beneath your feet. Somewhere in the distance, music played low and slow from the bar area, mixing with the sound of the ocean in a way that made everything feel slightly unreal.

The closer you got to the bar, the more the atmosphere shifted. It was still calm, still intimate, but there was a subtle hum of life now, the occasional laugh carried by the breeze, the faint clink of glasses, the soft glow of warm light spilling out into the open air.

And then you saw him.

At first, it was just the shape of someone sitting alone at the bar, angled slightly away from you. He looked relaxed in a way that felt like he belonged exactly where he was.

His long blond hair caught the light whenever he shifted slightly, and even from a distance, there was something about the way he carried himself that made you notice him before you even understood why.

You hesitated for half a second without realizing it.

Then you walked over and took a seat a few stools away from him, close enough to notice him but not close enough to acknowledge him directly.

You ordered your drink from the bartender without looking in his direction, even though you were aware of him in a way that felt mildly irritating.

When your drink arrived, you wrapped your fingers around the glass and took a slow sip, letting your attention drift outward toward the dark horizon beyond the bar instead of to your side.

Still, you could feel him there.

And eventually, the silence between you shifted.

“You from L.A.?”

His voice was calm, smooth, and far too confident for someone you hadn’t even spoken to yet.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you took another sip of your drink, letting the question sit in the air for a moment longer than necessary before you finally turned your head toward him.

He was already looking at you.

Up close, he was even more noticeable than you expected. Not in an overwhelming way, but in a way that made it slightly difficult to look away once you had started paying attention. His posture was relaxed, one arm resting casually against the bar, as if he had all the time in the world.

You tilted your head slightly.

“How’d you guess?” you asked, your tone calm but lightly amused.

His eyes moved over you for a brief second before meeting yours again.

“You’ve got that rich girl L.A. vibe,” he said simply.

You let out a quiet laugh through your nose.

“Rich girl L.A. vibe?”

He nodded once, like he was completely serious.

“It’s hard to miss.”

You turned slightly in your seat now, giving him your full attention, even though you told yourself it was just out of curiosity.

“And what exactly does that mean?” you asked.

He leaned back slightly, studying you for a moment like he was deciding how honest he wanted to be.

“It means you look like you’re used to people paying attention to you,” he said.

That answer made something pause in your chest, subtle enough that you almost ignored it.

Most people would have said something obvious. Spoiled. Princess. Maybe even stuck up if they were trying to be rude.

But this wasn’t that.

This felt more observant than judgmental.

You looked away first, taking another sip of your drink like it was suddenly more interesting than the conversation.

“Bold assumption,” you said lightly.

“I’m usually right,” he replied.

That made you smile despite yourself.

“Dangerous trait,” you said.

“For who?” he asked.

You glanced back at him again.

“Depends,” you said. “On how wrong you are.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, like he enjoyed that answer more than he expected to.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The ocean behind the bar moved slowly in the background, the sound of waves filling the silence in a way that didn’t feel awkward. It felt like the silence was part of the conversation rather than a pause in it.

Then he finally spoke again.

“I’m Hollis,” he said.

You looked at him properly for the first time without pretending you weren’t.

And this time, you didn’t look away immediately.

“Don’t get cocky, Hollis,” you replied.

His smile widened slightly, like he had been waiting for that exact reaction.

He shifted slightly on his stool so he was angled more toward you now, not invading your space, but no longer pretending he was just casually existing beside you either.

The change was subtle, but noticeable enough that the conversation no longer felt like two strangers sitting near each other at a bar.

“You always this welcoming to people who introduce themselves?” he asked.

You took another sip of your drink before answering, letting the question hang in the air just long enough to make it clear you weren’t going to be rushed.

“Only the overly confident ones,” you said calmly.

He hummed, like he was considering that answer more seriously than it deserved.

“So I’m special,” he said.

You glanced at him over the rim of your glass.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t deny it either,” he replied easily.

That earned him a quiet laugh from you, despite the fact that you were very aware of how quickly this conversation was slipping into something more comfortable than it probably should have been.

The bartender passed behind you both, wiping down the counter, but neither of you really acknowledged anything outside the space forming between your stools.

“I’m Y/n,” you said finally, as if deciding he had waited long enough to earn it.

Hollis repeated your name under his breath almost immediately, slower this time, like he was testing how it sounded in his own voice.

“Y/n,” he said again, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That fits.”

You raised an eyebrow slightly. “Fits what exactly?”

He shrugged, leaning back a little as if the answer was obvious but he was choosing to enjoy making you ask.

You let out a small breath of amusement, shaking your head slightly.

“You say things like that a lot, don’t you?” you asked.

“Like what?”

“Vague things that sound like they mean more than they actually do.”

He looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment. “I think I just say what I notice,” he replied.

You studied him then, more carefully than before, as if that answer had moved him from “random guy at a bar” to something slightly harder to categorize.

The conversation should have felt like it was winding down at some point, like most interactions with strangers usually did. But instead, it kept unfolding, each answer leading into another question neither of you seemed in a rush to avoid.

At some point, you realized your drink was nearly gone.

You glanced down at the glass, slightly surprised you hadn’t noticed yourself finishing it.

“I should probably head back soon,” you said, mostly to yourself.

Hollis followed your gaze briefly, then looked back at you.

“Already?” he asked.

“It’s late,” you replied.

“That’s not really an answer,” he said.

You smiled slightly, setting your glass down.

“It is when you’re tired.”

He leaned forward a little, resting his forearms on the bar now, studying you in a way that felt less like flirting and more like he was trying to figure out whether you were serious.

“You don’t seem that tired,” he said.

“I hide it well,” you replied.

“Or you’re just not done yet,” he said.

That made you pause.

Not because it was profound, but because of how easily he said it, like he wasn’t trying to convince you of anything, just stating what he thought was true.

You tilted your head slightly.

“You don’t even know me,” you said.

“No,” he agreed calmly. “But I’m getting there.”

The way he said it wasn’t forceful or suggestive in an obvious way. It sounded more like a simple observation of time passing, like he fully expected that if you stayed here long enough, that statement would naturally become true.

That should have been irritating.

Instead, it stayed with you.

The bartender passed by again, and you hesitated for a moment before making a decision.

“Another drink?” he offered.

You opened your mouth to decline again, but Hollis spoke before you could.

“Let her have one more,” he said casually.

You turned to look at him immediately.

“I can speak for myself,” you said.

“I know,” he replied, completely unbothered. “But I also know you’re not actually leaving yet.”

That made your expression shift slightly, a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“You’re very confident for someone who just met me,” you said.

He smiled. “I’m observant, remember?”

You stared at him for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to the bar with a faint shake of your head.

“Fine,” you said. “One more.”

Hollis leaned back again like that outcome had been obvious from the start, while you tried not to think too hard about how easily you’d stayed.

And how little you actually wanted the night to end yet.

The bartender nodded and turned away to prepare your drink, leaving a brief stretch of quiet space between you and Hollis.

He didn’t rush to fill it immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his seat again, resting one arm loosely against the counter as if he was perfectly content sitting there without speaking.

It was a small detail, but it made him feel less like someone trying to impress you and more like someone who had no problem simply existing in the same moment as you.

You found yourself noticing that more than you expected.

“You always this calm?” you asked after a moment, glancing at him from the side.

He looked at you like the question amused him slightly.

“I don’t think I’m calm,” he said.

“What do you think you are then?” you asked.

He considered that for a second, eyes drifting briefly toward the ocean before returning to you.

“Patient,” he said finally.

That answer made you smile without meaning to.

“You’ve known me for like twenty minutes,” you said.

“I know,” he replied easily. “But I’m not in a rush.”

The bartender placed your drink in front of you, and you thanked him quietly before wrapping your fingers around the glass again. The cold condensation immediately grounded you, giving you something to focus on besides the conversation sitting beside you.

Still, Hollis’s words lingered in the back of your mind in a way you didn’t fully acknowledge.

You took a slow sip before speaking again.

“You’re from here?” you asked.

He shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Just staying here for a bit.”

“Vacation?” you asked.

“Something like that,” he replied.

You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. Instead, he just watched you for a second, like he was deciding whether or not to give more.

You tilted your head slightly.

“That’s very vague,” you said.

He smiled faintly.

“I know.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh through your nose.

“You’re kind of annoying,” you said, though there was no real edge to it.

“I’ve been told that too,” he replied.

“I believe it,” you said.

He nodded like that was fair.

The bar had grown even quieter now. A few stools down, someone laughed softly at something their friend said, and beyond that, the ocean rolled in steady, distant waves.

You found yourself glancing toward it for a second longer than you intended.

You finished your drink slower this time, setting the glass down with a quiet tap against the counter.

“I should go,” you said again, though it sounded less certain than before.

Hollis glanced at your empty glass, then back at you.

“You said that already,” he reminded you.

“I mean it this time,” you replied.

He nodded like he accepted that, though he didn’t move right away.

Instead, he just looked at you for a second longer, then finally he spoke.

“Let me walk you back,” he said.

The words were simple. Casual. Almost expected.

You should have said no immediately.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you hesitated just long enough for the silence to shift slightly between you.

“I can walk myself back,” you said finally.

“I’m sure you can,” he replied. “I still want to.”

That answer made you look at him more carefully.

There was no push in his voice. No insistence. Just certainty without pressure, like it wasn’t about whether you needed it, but whether he wanted to do it.

After a beat, you sighed softly and slid off the stool.

“Fine,” you said. “But don’t make it weird.”

A faint grin returned to his face immediately.

“No promises,” he said, standing as well.

He stepped slightly to the side, giving you space to lead, but then paused as if remembering something, and extended his hand.

And for reasons you didn’t fully feel like analyzing, you took it.

Hollis didn’t say anything immediately after you took his hand again. He simply adjusted his pace to match yours, and together you stepped away from the bar, leaving behind the warm glow of the counter and the low hum of conversation that had filled the space only moments before.

The night outside felt different the moment you left the open-air bar.

It was quieter in a way that made everything feel more personal. The resort pathways were lit by soft golden lights embedded into the ground, casting faint reflections across the stone and sand as you walked. Palm trees lined the paths on either side, their leaves shifting slowly in the warm breeze that carried the scent of saltwater and tropical flowers.

You were suddenly more aware of the fact that it was late.

Not because you were tired.

But because it was just the two of you now.

Hollis walked beside you without pulling ahead or falling behind. His hand still held yours loosely, not tightly enough to feel restrictive, but not absent enough to forget either.

“So,” he said after a few moments, his voice quieter now that the bar was behind you, “you always this selective with strangers, or did I get lucky?”

You glanced at him briefly before looking ahead again, letting your steps stay steady.

“I’m not selective,” you replied. “I’m just not easily entertained.”

That earned a small laugh from him, low and amused.

“Yeah,” he said, “I noticed.”

You shot him a quick sideways look.

“You noticed a lot for someone I met an hour ago.”

“Noticed enough,” he corrected.

The answer made you roll your eyes slightly, though the smile you were trying to hide didn’t fully cooperate.

The path curved gently, leading you on the path ahead and the glow of your villa area started to come into view. The resort felt even quieter here, almost private, like the rest of the world had been left behind somewhere near the bar.

The closer you got, the more the night seemed to settle around you, like it was gently reminding you that the moment was nearing its end.

You slowed as you reached your door.

Hollis slowed with you.

Neither of you let go immediately.

There was a pause that felt longer than it should have, like both of you were acknowledging without saying it that something about the night had shifted.

Finally, his hand slowly loosened first, like he was giving the moment back to you instead of taking it away.

You let your hand fall naturally to your side, though you were suddenly more aware of the absence than you expected to be.

“Well,” you said, glancing at your door, then back at him, “this is me.”

“I figured,” he replied.

There was a faint smile on his face, but it was quieter now. Less playful than before, more thoughtful in a way you couldn’t quite place.

“You should sleep,” he added.

You raised an eyebrow slightly. “That’s very considerate of you.”

“It’s observational,” he said, repeating the earlier word.

That made you smile despite yourself.

“Goodnight, Hollis,” you said.

He nodded once. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

You turned toward your door, but paused just before stepping inside. For a moment, you weren’t entirely sure why you stopped.

You just looked back.

Hollis was still standing there, not moving away immediately, not rushing the moment. Just watching for a second longer, as if making sure you actually went inside before leaving.

And somehow, that detail stayed with you longer than anything he had said all night.

Then you stepped inside and closed the door gently behind you.

The room was quiet when you entered, the soft hum of the air conditioning filling the space almost instantly. But even with the silence, your thoughts didn’t settle the way they usually did.

Because the night didn’t feel like it had ended the way nights normally do.

It felt like it had simply paused.

You exhaled slowly, almost like you were trying to reset yourself, and finally moved further into the room. You kicked off your wedges near the bed and let yourself fall back onto it for a moment without changing, staring up at the ceiling as if it might offer some kind of explanation for why a conversation you had planned to be meaningless now felt like it wasn’t.

It was annoying, really.

Eventually, you got up and changed properly for bed, though your movements were slower than before. When you finally slipped under the sheets, the room went quiet again in that heavy, uninterrupted way that only late nights can create.

You expected sleep to come easily after the travel and the long day.

It didn’t.

Instead, your mind replayed small fragments of the night in pieces you didn’t fully control. The sound of his voice saying your name. The way he looked at you when he wasn’t trying to make a joke. The brief weight of his hand in yours as you walked through the resort like the world around you didn’t matter.

Eventually, sleep found you anyway, though it didn’t feel like a decision.

☀︎༄.°

The sun against your face woke you slowly from your sleep, warm and gentle in a way that made it hard to fully separate dream from reality at first. You shifted in bed with a soft yawn, blinking a few times before you finally sat up and rubbed your face, still half-dazed as the morning settled in.

A loud knock came from your door.

It was sharp enough to cut through the haze, and the moment it did, the memories from the night before rushed back into you all at once. The bar. The walk. Hollis. Your thoughts paused for a second as you sat there, staring forward like your mind needed a moment to catch up to itself.

The knock came again, louder this time.

You got up quickly and crossed the room, opening the door to find Kate already standing there, fully dressed and far too awake for someone who had also just arrived at a resort after travel.

“Y/n!” she said immediately, stepping inside without waiting. “How long were you up last night? Go get ready right now.”

You sighed softly but didn’t argue, moving aside as she walked in like she belonged there. She immediately went to the speaker and turned on music, filling the room with sound that made everything feel less quiet, less like your thoughts had room to linger.

☀︎༄.°

The morning unfolded around you as you got ready, Kate talking nonstop in the background while you slowly shifted into the day. The resort outside was already bright and alive when you finally stepped out, sunlight reflecting off the water and stone paths, everything looking too perfect to feel entirely real.

It didn’t take long before you saw him.

Hollis was by the pool with a few friends, laughing and talking so relaxed and effortlessly in a way that didn’t try to pull attention but still somehow held it. And the second his eyes found yours, everything around him seemed to fade out just slightly, like the rest of the world had been pushed back without either of you moving.

Kate noticed immediately beside you.

“Y/n,” she said slowly, leaning in with a knowing look. “Who is that hot blond man that is staring at you?”

You broke eye contact first, turning slightly toward her as if that would reset your thoughts.

You lifted your drink and shrugged. “Some guy I met at the bar last night.”

Her reaction was instant, her eyes widening. “Is that why you went to bed late?”

You groaned lightly, shaking your head. “He was talking to me for a bit, then he walked me back to my room. That’s it. Nothing crazy happened.”

Kate looked at you like she didn’t believe a single word of that version of events.

“You totally want something to happen though,” she said.

Your head snapped toward her immediately. “As if. I met him less than twenty-four hours ago, Kate.”

She rolled her eyes like that detail didn’t matter at all. “We’re not in L.A. The rules don’t count here.”

That made you pause for half a second longer than you meant to.

Your gaze drifted back toward the pool before you could stop it.

Hollis was in the water now.

Shirtless.

You watched him for a moment longer than necessary, your fingers lightly resting against your glass as your attention stayed fixed without you fully admitting it. Then, as if he felt it, he glanced up and shot you a wink.

You looked away immediately, turning back to Kate like nothing had happened, though your expression didn’t fully match your voice.

“Do you really think so?” you asked quietly.

Kate didn’t even hesitate. “You know what makes a vacation better? A hot man to fuck during it.”

You groaned and leaned your head back slightly. “Fuck, you’re right.”

The realization settled between you both for a moment, and then you both burst into laughter, like the idea itself was ridiculous even though neither of you fully treated it like a joke.

☀︎༄.°

The rest of the day passed easily.

A trip to the beach, a massage, a few drinks that made everything feel softer and slower, and constant moments where your eyes kept drifting back to Hollis without you meaning them to. Sometimes he was closer, sometimes farther, but he always felt present in a way that didn’t fully leave your awareness.

By the time the sun began to set again, the resort had shifted into evening.

You were back in your room now, standing in front of the mirror as you touched up your makeup, deepening it slightly for the night. You changed into a mini black lace two-piece that felt simple but intentional, like it belonged to the version of you that existed after sunset rather than during the day.

A knock came at your patio doors.

When you opened the blinds, Hollis was standing there.

He had changed too, now wearing a silk black button-up that hung slightly open at the top. He looked at you for a moment without speaking, his gaze moving over you slowly, taking his time, before he let out a quiet breath through his nose.

“You look gorgeous,” he said.

You didn’t hesitate. “I know, Hollis.”

His mouth twitched slightly, like he was amused but trying not to show it too much.

“You’re a brat, you know that?” he said.

You leaned lightly against the doorframe, completely steady as you looked up at him.

“Get used to it,” you replied.

Then he stepped closer, not fully inside, but close enough that the space between you shifted.

“You barely know me, Y/n,” he said quietly.

The way he said your name lingered a little longer this time.

Then he added, just as calmly, “You like that, don’t you? You don’t know a goddamn thing about me — yet you still want to keep me around.”

You let out a soft laugh, controlled but sharp enough to respond.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Wanting to use you for a week and wanting to keep you around are two different things.”

That made him pause slightly.

Just long enough to register it.

Then he scoffed lightly, though it didn’t carry frustration.

“Brat,” he said again.

You fake-pouted slightly. “That hurt your feelings?”

He extended his hand again. “Come. Don’t fight me.”

You hesitated only briefly before taking it.

And the second your fingers met his again, it felt exactly like before.

He led you out of your room without another word, and the resort outside had fully shifted into evening.

You walked beside him naturally, your steps falling into his without effort.

After a moment, you glanced up at him.

“Dinner is going to close soon,” you said.

He didn’t look at you when he answered. “I got something better than dinner for you, girl.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him as you walked, trying to read his expression, but Hollis wasn’t looking at you. His focus stayed forward, completely unbothered, as if whatever he had planned was already settled in his mind and you were simply following the direction it was going.

The words should have sounded vague. They should have made you slow down, question him, maybe even push back.

Instead, something in the way he said it made your attention sharpen.

Your eyes widened just slightly before you caught yourself, and you suppressed the reaction quickly, letting it turn instead into something closer to a smirk you didn’t fully admit to.

“Oh yeah?” you said, your voice lighter now, but with a shift in energy that even you couldn’t ignore.

That small change was enough.

Your steps subtly quickened behind him without you needing to think about it, like your body had already decided to follow before your mind fully signed off on it.

Hollis noticed, of course.

Not in a way that made him stop or look back, but in the faintest shift of his hand around yours, his grip tightening just slightly as he guided you forward through the resort.

You didn’t ask where he was taking you.

Not yet.

The confidence in his pace made it feel unnecessary.

Eventually, he led you to a different section of the resort. The buildings here were similar in design to yours, but quieter, more tucked away, with fewer people passing through and less sound drifting between the walkways. It felt like a mirrored version of where you had come from, just more isolated.

He stopped in front of one of the rooms.

His hand didn’t leave yours as he reached forward, unlocking the door and stepping inside first, pulling you in with him without hesitation. The moment you crossed the threshold, the outside noise softened instantly, replaced by the quiet, enclosed calm of the room.

It looked almost identical to yours.

Clean, minimal, dimly lit in a way that made everything feel slower the second you were inside.

Hollis didn’t say anything for a beat.

He simply stepped further in with you, then reached back toward the door.

With one smooth motion, he flipped the “Do Not Disturb” sign.

The small click of the lock followed right after.

And only then did he turn slightly back toward you, still holding your hand, like nothing about the situation needed to be explained out loud.

He slid his hand away from yours and settled it firmly on your waist, drawing you in until his body pressed flush against you. Then he pulled back, circling around to the mini fridge.

He grabbed a chilled bottle of champagne and two glasses, pouring without a word. You moved closer as he handed you a glass. You both drank in silence, the bubbles sharp on your tongue while heat coiled low in your belly.

He set his glass down and stepped in again, fingers gripping your chin to tilt your face up. “Tell me, y/n… have you been a good girl today, or a bad girl?”

Your lips parted, but his hold tightened. “Don’t lie.”

You swallowed hard. “Bad,” you whispered.

“Louder.”

“Bad. I’ve been a bad girl.”

He exhaled through his nose, thumb stroking your cheek before he walked you backward until the bed pressed against your thighs. “Do you know what happens to bad girls?”

You shook your head.

“Do you want to find out?”

The smile that curved your mouth was answer enough. His palm settled on top of your head and pushed down. “On your knees.”

You dropped to the wooden floor, the impact sending a small jolt through your legs. You rubbed your cheek against the growing bulge in his pants, earning a low curse from him.

He unbuckled and shoved his pants down, then you hooked your fingers into his boxers and dragged them off slowly, revealing the sharp cut of his hips. His cock sprang free and slapped lightly against your face. You whined at the weight of it.

Both hands wrapped around his shaft, but he clicked his tongue. “Top off. I want to see those pretty tits.”

You stripped from the waist up without hesitation, then looked up at him as you took his cock into your mouth. He groaned, hips twitching as your tongue pressed along the underside.

You worked him deeper, gagging when the head hit the back of your throat, spit running down your chin. You pulled off with a gasp, then licked a slow circle around the tip before sucking it back between your lips, hands stroking the rest of his length.

“Just like that,” he growled. “Fuck.”

His thighs tensed. He pulled out of your mouth and stepped back. You wiped the mix of spit and precum from your lips with two fingers and sucked them clean. He shook his head, eyes dark.

Lay back," he ordered.

"On the floor?"

He gave a single nod. "Good girls get fucked on beds. Bad girls get pounded on the floor. Understand?"

You swallowed. "I understand."

You eased down onto the cold wooden planks, the chill racing up your spine. He moved over you, eyes locked on yours, then yanked your skirt down in one motion and ripped your panties away. The sudden exposure pulled a sharp gasp from your throat. He only smiled, sweet and dangerous.

Reaching behind you, he grabbed a condom from the drawer, tore it open, and rolled it down his rigid cock. His gaze searched your face for any hesitation. Finding none, he leaned in and kissed you, both of you humming into it. His mouth trailed along your jaw, down your neck, and to your ear while his cock slid along your wet folds.

"You’ve been bad," he murmured, "but you’re going to take every inch like a good girl."

You whimpered. "Okay…"

"Louder."

"Okay!"

He thrust in halfway. Your breath caught, then broke into a whimper. "You good?" he asked.

You nodded.

"Halfway, baby."

Your eyes widened. He chuckled, then pushed the rest of the way in, slow and deliberate. A long, broken moan tore from your throat. He cursed under his breath and held still, buried deep.

"So fucking tight," he groaned. "So warm."

Your fingers slid into his long golden hair and dragged his mouth back to yours.

Hollis's chest pressed down onto yours, his weight pinning you to the cold floor. His hips rolled, driving his cock in and out in slow, deliberate strokes that let you feel every inch stretching you open. Once your body loosened around him, his pace shifted. He slammed into you harder, each thrust jolting your spine against the wood.

You cried out, the sound raw. Hollis sank his teeth into the side of your neck, biting down until you whined. The sharp sting blended with the deep ache of his cock pounding you, fogging your thoughts.

He fucked you faster, his hips snapping forward without mercy. Your nails raked across his back, leaving red lines that welled with blood. A droplet slid down his arm. You gasped at the sight.

"F-fuck," you moaned.

His rhythm never faltered. "Still being a bad girl?"

"I'm sorry!" you choked out.

He scoffed. One hand slid up your chest, thumb circling and pinching your nipples until they stiffened under his touch. His palm continued upward and wrapped around your throat.

His fingers tightened, cutting off your air just enough to make your pulse hammer. You gasped, eyes wide, as he drove into you even harder. His cock hammered that spot inside you that made your vision spark.

"Right there—fuck, Hollis, right there!"

His grip on your neck clamped down harder. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes.

"Cum on my cock while I choke you out, baby. You like that?"

You nodded frantically, voice breaking. "I love it!"

He groaned, his thrusts turning erratic. "Not just a bad girl—you're a fucking slut. My fucking slut."

You nodded again, mindless, pleasure cresting until your stomach clenched tight. Your head tipped back and a loud moan tore from your throat. Your pussy spasmed around him, squeezing and pulsing as you soaked his cock and the floor beneath you. Hollis buried himself to the hilt, groaning as he emptied into the condom, his body shuddering against yours.

You slump against the cool tile floor, your chest heaving as your eyes flutter shut, trying to catch your breath. The air in the room feels thick, charged with the lingering electricity of what just happened. Hollis slowly releases his grip on your throat, his fingers leaving faint, fading imprints on your skin.

Without a word, he immediately leans down, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the exact spot his hand just vacated, as if apologizing with his lips.

"Was that okay?" he murmurs softly, his breath warm against your collarbone.

You nod weakly, your fingers finding their way back into his damp hair, tugging him slightly closer. Hollis lets out a low breath and allows himself to fully relax against you for a second, his heavy frame a comforting weight.

He kisses his way up your jawline, trailing fire along your skin until he reaches your lips for one more slow, bruising kiss before abruptly rising from the floor.

"Hollis, what are you doing—"

Your question is cut short as his strong arms slide under your knees and back, scooping you up into his chest in one fluid motion. A sharp ache ripples through your overstimulated body, causing you to wince and bury your face in his neck, but you willingly ignore the soreness as he carries you down the short hallway and into the bathroom.

He sets you down on the edge of the marble counter. Your legs feel like jelly, and you have to grip the edge of the sink just to keep yourself upright while he reaches into the shower to turn the water on. The hiss of pipes echoes in the space, and steam quickly begins to fog up the mirror. Within seconds, Hollis turns back to you. You instinctively wrap your legs tightly around his waist as he lifts you again, stepping over the threshold and into the big glass shower.

The blast of warm water cascades over your shoulders, immediately soaking your hair and washing away the tight tension in your muscles. Hollis sways you slowly in his hold under the downpour, letting the spray rinse the evidence of your intense connection down the drain.

"I want you again," you whisper against his ear, your lips brushing his wet skin, emboldened by the heat of the shower.

Hollis pauses his swaying, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. "You’re sore," he tells you, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and concern.

You shake your head stubbornly against his shoulder. "I’m serious, Hollis." You pull back, wiping the water from your eyes so you can look him dead in the face.

"You won’t be able to walk properly tomorrow," he warns, a wicked smirk finally tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You match his look with a challenge of your own. "Good thing I don’t have anywhere to be."

He stares at you for a long, heavy beat, his dark eyes darkening further under the pulsing water. Carefully, he lets your legs slide down his body until your feet touch the wet tile floor. Your knees give out slightly from the sudden weight, and he catches your waist, chuckling softly as you stabilize yourself.

He gently guides your hips, prompting you to bend forward. You press both palms flat against the slick glass door for support, your fingers sliding slightly against the condensation.

He steps flush against your back, his thighs pressing into the backs of yours. You feel him — already completely hard again — teasing your entrance, the blunt head of his length frictioning against you.

"Fuck, let me go get another condom," he mutters against your neck, his hands sliding off your hips as he makes a move to step out of the streaming water.

Before he can step away, you reach back blindly and catch his forearm, your grip tight. When he stops and looks down at you through the steam, you look over your shoulder and simply shake your head. Hollis raises a single, questioning eyebrow, a silent question passing between you, but he doesn't argue.

Pressing his chest hard against your back again, he traps you against the glass. He guides the tip to your opening, and with the heavy cascade of water acting as a natural lubricant, he pushes forward. He slips all the way inside you in one smooth, agonizingly deep stroke.

A breathless, echoing moan escapes your lips as he bottoms out, your forehead resting against the cool glass door. His movements are heavy and deliberate, slower than before but packed with a grueling intensity.

His large hands grip your hips, fingers digging in to anchor you as he pulls back and drives in again. He watches with hooded eyes how your body reacts, the water making your skin glisten with every deep, rhythmic thrust. He leans forward, pressing his lips to the curve of your spine, and the shift in his weight drives him even deeper inside you.

Your moans slip out in rapid succession, bouncing off the tiled walls. At this point, you don't care how loud you're being. Sensing your undoing, Hollis's pace begins to quicken, his thrusts becoming sharper, harder.

His right hand slides down from your hip, slipping between your thighs until his fingers find your swollen clit. Pulling your upper body back until your spine is flush against his chest, he traps you in his embrace while his fingers begin to rub the sensitive nub in tight, urgent circles. Your legs begin to shake uncontrollably under the dual stimulation, the overwhelming friction inside and out turning your body to jello.

"Oh—shit!" you whimper, your fingers clawing at him as the tight coil in your stomach tightens to a breaking point.

"I’m gonna cum, baby. I need you to cum for me," Hollis growls in your ear, his breathing ragged, his chest heaving violently against your back.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your gaze rolling back until your eyes lock onto his. He watches you with a fierce, possessive intensity, his hips and fingers working in perfect, cruel synchronization.

"Such a good girl for me," he praises, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.

You moan loudly, refusing to break eye contact for even a fraction of a second as your walls suddenly clench, your body completely coming undone and convulsing around him in a violent orgasm.

The sensation triggers him instantly. He fucks you hard through the tight pulses of your release before quickly pulling out, painting your lower back with his own warm release just as the water washes it away.

Eventually, the water runs a little cooler. You both finish washing up, the quiet routine filled with soft touches, before wrapping yourselves in plush towels and stepping back out into the cool air of the bedroom.

"I should probably head back to my room," you say, a sudden wave of hesitation washing over you as you look at his large bed.

Hollis stops mid-stride, his brows furrowing into a deep frown. "What? You’re not going anywhere tonight."

Your heartbeat picks up a frantic, happy rhythm, a small, involuntary smile taking over your face. "You want me to stay?"

He rolls his eyes playfully at the question, suddenly lunging forward. You let out a genuine shriek of surprise as he scoops you up once more, tossing you gently onto the mattress. The springs squeak loudly beneath your weight, and before you can even sit up, he climbs on top of you, pinning your legs with his thighs.

"Of course I want you to stay," he murmurs, his expression softening as he looks down at you.

You giggle, reaching up to frame his face, but your laughter is cut short as his lips crash onto yours in a deep, lazy kiss.

BANG. BANG.

A sharp, aggressive knock suddenly echoes from the front door, cutting through the quiet room. You both freeze instantly, your breath catching in your throats. Hollis stays suspended over you, his eyes wide. Another heavy knock sounds, louder this time. Neither of you dares to breathe, let alone move.

Then, a muffled, incredibly pissed-off voice cuts straight through the wood: "Can you keep it fucking down? You already woke like three of us up!"

The sound of heavy, furious footsteps immediately follows, fading down the hallway as the angry woman marches back to her own room.

For a second, the room is dead silent. Then, you clamp both hands tightly over your mouth, a breathless laugh of pure, panicked disbelief bubbling out of you. Hollis lets out a sharp snort, his shoulders shaking, and within seconds, the tension breaks. You both burst into a quiet, hysterical laughing fit, buried against each other to muffle the sound.

Once the giggles finally die down into tired sighs, you both kick off the damp towels and crawl under the heavy covers. Hollis pulls you flush against his chest, your bare bodies tangling together under the sheets, finally settling in for the rest of the night.

☀︎༄.°

FBI!Benjamin ‘Dex’ Poindexter x Reader

a/n: what happens when his north star gets abducted and he gets their case. kinda got into criminal minds again (y’know why) so i had to write this lol, also kinda wanted to write a fic for this idea but i cant cause i’m too busy with all my other stuff :(

cw: Dex being Dex, angst, reader is kidnapped by a (random) serial killer, mentions of torture/death, obsessive/stalker behavior, violence/gore, traumatized!reader, co-dependency.

He was panicking, he could find you, he didn’t see you at your favorite cafe in the morning anymore, you had stopped going to work, and you weren’t in your apartment, he’s looked everywhere and still, nothing. you hadn’t moved away without him knowing, had you? was he so neglectful to have not noticed? no way, he had always made sure to have at least one moment of his day for you and only you, that was the one thing that kept him together, so how could you? how could he have missed it? no no, you wouldn’t just leave everything behind, something must’ve interfered on your life. taken you from him.

Then the case file ended up on his desk, and there you were, your picture, name, and so much information, all of it in the file of potential victims, dread sank into his gut, how could he have let this happen, he should have watched over you more, it’s his fault that this monster has taken you, oh how scared you must be right now, if you were even still alive.

He studied every aspect of the case throughout the night, not letting himself rest until he got it, he had to find you before this killer decided it was your time, you’ve already been gone for 2 days, and according to the suspects MO, you had very little time left. he kept reading file after file, obsessing over every detail, seeing every horrific picture of the previous victims, how they were clearly tortured for the suspects sick gratification, how their skin were carved up while still alive, then gutted like a pig. Dex would not let this happen to you, he couldn’t let this animal leave your corpse in this humiliating pose his imagination had formed.

Finally, he figured it out, the patterns leading him straight to the beast, he called his higher ups despite himself, having fought everything in him to just go and get you out himself, he knew it’d be safer for you if he got the swat with him, so after a single phone call, he got into his gear and drove as fast as he could to the address, getting there just as the rest of the agents did.

He scanned every corner as he made his way through the run down building, gun drawn and ready, his team quietly cleared the area looking for the suspect while he looked for you. making his way down underground to the basement, he found what appeared to be an old-timey bomb shelter hidden behind shelves and boxes, the metal feet of the shelf scraped against the concrete floor as he used his body to push it out of the way. carefully he would open the heavy door, gun still in hand, the pitch black room barely touched by light as he stood in the now opened doorway, and there, finally he found you huddled in a corner, your wrists and ankles zip tied tightly together as you shivered in fear.

Dex was careful with approaching you, his eyes scanned the room to make sure it was secure before putting away his gun, his hands were out where you could see them as he walked toward you, “FBI, i’m special agent Poindexter, you’re safe— i’m here to help” he hesitatingly kept to his script, to disarm himself, make you feel safer before he carefully cut the zip ties, your flesh bruised and raised raw from how tight they were. “he— is he..” you shakily stumble on your words, your eyes darting behind him in paranoia, “we got him, he won’t hurt you again” he spoke with such care in his voice. seeing how weak you were, he took you into his arms and carried you like you were a koala, strong enough to hold you up with one arm as he walked out.

He got you out of the building just as the suspect got cuffed while held to the ground; having tried to flee once they found him. Dex kept a safe distance from the man, he could feel your short breaths hitting his collar, hiding your teary face against his neck as you clung to him like he was your lifeline, you needed him, he was your safety. when in reality, you had saved him from himself more times than he could count by just living, seeing you go about your day was enough to keep him sane, although you wouldn’t know that. you wouldn’t let go of him even as you got to the ambulance, the paramedics needed to check you for any injuries, so Dex gave them a understanding look, before sitting down “are you able to sit? they need to make sure you’re okay” he asked softly, you nodded and got seated, still he held your hand to give you some comfort as they flashed your eyes to check your pupils and felt your neck for any serious injury.

He’d visit you in the hospital, in the guise of being on the clock, and getting information about the case, but really he was just there to see you. he got you a bouquet of your favorite flowers; which you thought was just coincidence, he’d talk to you when you felt up for it, but mostly he’d just sit there watching over you like a guard dog.

You were clearly traumatized by the incident, who wouldn’t have been after such events. but, the law wouldn’t wait for you to heal mentally before they threw you back into reliving those traumatic moments, they had you testify against the man that did this to you, having to look him in the eye as you saw the sick satisfaction they held as you retold the events of what had occurred, reveling in the gruesome details of your torture and fear, you could see how much he loved the fact that you saw his face every time you closed your eyes, that you couldn’t sleep. Dex was in the courtroom glaring bullets into his skull the entire time, but still giving you a comforting look every time you’d glance his way, helping you keep yourself together, not letting the monster see you cry as you got him locked away for life.

Dex became your rock, you’re safe space after that trail, after everything. he became your friend then your lover in only a few months, moving in together, being there for the other whenever one of you would get night terrors or panic attacks, he took care of you, helped you heal while you kept him sane, needing each other just as much. of course how your relationship started was obviously controversial in the eyes of his fellow agents, seeing it as unprofessional, they didn’t know he had already been watching you before the incident, just thinking that he took advantage of your vulnerable state as and excuse to get himself a ‘fuck buddy’, he hated that idea, but, he didn’t let it bother himself too much, shoving the lovey-dovey phone calls in their faces every day to make their soulless rumors crumble in a short while, ignoring the glances his coworkers would give him whenever he’d go home to you, judging him, but he couldn’t care less cause he finally had you, secure in his arms.

₊˚ ᨦ ᨩ blue to all the teams she takes photos off. she loves everything maximalist. her dorm room is full of color and clutter. most call it messy but she calls it controlled chaos. always taking photos of something. easily influenced to help. never had sex let alone a first kiss. overthinker to the max. loves everything miffy and hello kitty. the biggest sweet tooth ever. if you can’t tell, she loves the color blue.

ᨳଓ sports photographer!reader has loved photography since she was a little girl. always taking photos of something even if they weren’t aesthetically pleasing. her skill getting better once she took photography in freshman year of high school.

ᨳଓ sports photographer!reader mostly takes photos of the football and hockey team, occasionally she’ll do basketball but not really.

ᨳଓ sports photographer!reader loves getting little gifts for her friends. she somehow always has a trinket and they always somehow end up in john tucker’s room.

ᨳଓ sports photographer!reader surprisingly is a homebody. yes when she goes out she has a time but she loves staying at home and just catching up on editing photography or doing anything really.

ᨳଓ sports photographer!reader love language is acts of service. mentioned above she just loves to give and give because well spending money on her friends makes her heart happy

ᨳଓ sports photographer!reader hugs feel like home. any of the teams she works with can tell you, her hugs are so warm. a lot of the times people come to her building just for a hug when their day is hard because that’s how warm and comforting they are.

ᨳଓ sports photographer!reader secret passion is hair. she loves braiding and styling her friends hair and she’s surprisingly really fucking good at it. and no one ever takes it down in which she tells them they can but they just shrug and keep it

ᨳଓ sports photographer!reader is best paired with hannah wells, dean di laurentis, garrett graham, & beau maxwell!

stressed-out!gunner x depressed!reader

story information: Y/n escaped a toxic home hoping life in LA would heal her, but her depression followed. She gets by modeling and DJing, keeping people at a distance until she meets Nett one night at her set. After she unknowingly plays his music and admits she likes it, the two quickly connect. As they open up about their shared mental health struggles, their friendship turns into a casual hookup, with both realizing they need someone to lean on. cw: angst, drug usage, depression, careless behaviour, suggestive/sexual content, suicidal thoughts, toxic actions (from both of them), avoidance masterlist taglist

⟵ chapter four ✦ chapter six ⟶

Dean Di Laurentis x Reader (y/n)

Summary: When y/n finds out that her drink has been spiked she has no one to turn to but Dean, her enemy. Dean finding y/n knocking at his door in her barely conscious state brings up clashing feelings.

TW: having a drugged drink at a party

Word Count: 4.8K

masterlist

tw 4 entrie series: obsessed!nettspend x model!reader, reader is unattached and uninterested, nett is golden retriever coded lowkey, weed mentions, mentions of eating disorders, thats all for now!

timeline: three months after previous part!

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nettspend_: my diva ❤️

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yourusername: that’s ms paris hilton 2 you

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———

that’s a wrap :3

taglist!