erica ⋆˙⟡

synopsis: hollis gets a lower stomach tattoo from roman and both are awfully distracted throughout the ordeal…

tags: unspoken homosexual dynamic, homoerotic friendship, unconventional tattoo session, no sex but HEAVY sexual tension, playful flirting

author's note: Not much to say here. I wonder what it would be like to get a tattoo from Roman..? I'd get too distracted

wc: 2478

taglist: @romansbbg @peterpangirl777 (ask to be added)

The bell on the door jingles as it opens, and Hollis ducks his head as to not bump it on the top of the doorway as he enters the tattoo parlor. He's finally decided to get a tattoo— well, two tattoos, 2 stars above his groin, one on each side, just below his stomach. The idea is that they'll peek over his waistband when he's performing. However, to his surprise, a familiar face sits behind the receptionist desk…

"Roman?" Hollis's voice raises in surprise. "Oh—" Roman begins, fixing his posture and stretching, hands grasping his knees. "What are the chances you picked today to come in.." "I thought you were done with tattooing." "I was. But my old mentor got super sick; I'm assuming if you were booked with her she would have mentioned it?" "Well, yeah, she didn't tell me you'd be replacing her though.." "Well, tough shit, do you want a tattoo or not?"

Hollis awkwardly sits in the tattooing chair, suddenly extremely nervous. He's never actually seen Roman do a tattoo before, only sketches on paper. He isn't sure if he is ready for the level of intimacy that came with getting a tattoo in the area he'd chosen. Not that he didn't trust Roman— but he was prepared for a stranger, someone who wouldn't think twice about tracing into his body, not someone who'd come far too close too many times over the course of their rocky friendship. He swallows.

"You comfortable with the design?" "Yeah." "Whereabouts is it gonna be?" "Uh, just…" he looks down at his v-line. Fuck. "…Just below my stomach on both sides." Roman turns and his eyes dart down to Hollis's v-line, which flusters him. He stares for a second too long before turning back around, preparing the equipment to sketch out and trace it onto the skin. "You're gonna have to lose the tank top and probably take the jeans off as well." "Can I just pull them down a bit..?" Roman's eyebrow cocks. "Sure, if it makes you feel better."

Hollis unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down just a little.. God, this is too much. He's never been so close to confronting this strange intimacy between him and Roman, and it was too late to back out now. He'd just have to hope nothing embarrassing would happen. At least he's not hard. Yet.

Roman brings a trolley and wheeled chair over to the side of the chair, adjusts Hollis's seat so he can reach better, and rummages through a prep kit and grabs a razor. "Imma have to shave it and disinfect it first," he states, a thin glob of shaving cream now on his fingertips. Hollis clenches his jaw. Roman spreads it thin, across his lower stomach, and he intakes a sharp breath from the cooling sensation. Roman notices, but doesn't react, taking the plastic guard off of the razor. He leans in, forearm resting on Hollis's thigh, left hand pulling his skin taught, and gently drags the razor over Hollis's skin. It glides effortlessly. "Dude, you need to breathe." Hollis didn't realise he was holding his breath and instantly gasped. Fuck, I AM holding my breath. And he noticed. After his entire lower abdomen had been shaved, Roman puts the razor back on the trolley and wipes the excess cream off of Hollis with a damp cloth. Hollis watches Roman's hands carefully. He was being very gentle. He's not hard yet. He wipes the area down with some disinfectant, slides a pair of black gloves on, and now Hollis is ready to be tattooed on.

Roman prepares the stencil and comes back over to Hollis's side. He hovers the paper over him, carefully choosing a spot to place it. "It's kinda like a tramp stamp, isn't it?" "Yeah… kinda." "You've always been that flashy type, haven't you, Holl?" Hollis chuckles. How ironic, considering he has the confidence level of a wet dog in his current situation. Roman is right, the point of this tattoo is to show off to all of his fans, to be risque and sexy. Just like his entire artist persona. But its very clear that brave and flashy side of Hollis is nowhere to be seen right now.

"How's this look?" Roman removes the stencil paper, and Hollis eyes the purple lines. The placement is pretty much perfect. The vision is coming together— he nods. "Yep. Should be good." "Alright," Roman tosses the paper aside, "you should know that that area is super sensitive when it comes to tattoo needles. Just tell me if you feel sick or are about to faint." "Okay, I should be fine," Hollis lies his head back. "You have no idea how often I've heard that and it wasn't the case," Roman chuckles.

He leans in, closer now, tattoo machine in hand, and starts to lightly trace the first line. Hollis instantly feels it— like a match igniting, sparks fly from his lower abdomen throughout his nerves all the way to the ends of his feet and fingers. He squeezes his eyes shut and balls his hands into fists. "Bit of a burn, right?" Roman whispers, the warmth of his voice cascading off of Hollis's body. "Yep," he mumbles through gritted teeth. "You okay?" "Yep."

To distract himself, Hollis tries to focus instead on the other sensations on his body instead of the pain. He can feel Roman's left hand pulling his skin taught— index, middle, and ring giving the most pressure. He can feel the side of Roman's right palm pressing against his stomach as he drags the machine over the stencil, delicately, with care. He can even feel the light breezes of air from Roman exhaling through his nose brush over his exposed skin.

Hollis opens his eyes. Roman has a deeply focused look on his face, eyes following the needle, eyebrows furrowed. Suddenly he feels weak, and not because of the needle. He feels this odd sense of admiration that exceeds normal levels; like he was looking at an angel of sorts, tending to his wound. His heart rate rises. "You alright?" Roman asks again, eyes not moving, but he pauses his movement. "Yes, I'm okay," Hollis mumbles. Roman gets back to work. It's true, the pain isn't distracting anymore. In its stead, he is hyperanalysing Roman's behavior, and it leads to his thoughts derailing. Roman was so close, and has his hands on him— for a split second, Hollis imagines the needle pain as instead insicions from sharp bite marks. His heart rises to his throat. Roman's dark eyes staring up at him as his sharp canines pierce through his skin. His bloodflow changes. He balls his fists so hard his knuckles turn white. "I'm telling you, I can stop if you're uncomfortable," Roman mumbles. "I'm not." "Then quit shuffling." It's extremely humiliating, and difficult, for Hollis to try and delay his growing boner, escpecially now that he can't move. He can't even remember how to breathe properly. With Roman so close, he was deathly afraid of his cover being blown. His tight jeans were once again, his greatest enemy.

Roman continues to work quietly. He notices every jolt and sharp breath from Hollis, and until now, chalks it up to the initial pain of a newbie's first tattoo. But Roman knows body language. This isn't pain. Maybe discomfort? But mild discomfort doesn't cause this sort of breathlessness and shifting, and tightly balled fists. Is Hollis turned on right now? His mind clouds, and he fights to keep out the visuals, as this is one of the only things he can't fuck up. He isn't just tattooing his best friend but a brand; an object, a sex symbol. He needs to get this right. Hollis is so distracting. He needs to stop huffing like that, and relax a little on the tensing. Roman adjusts his right arm, placing it a little onto his thigh, and Hollis grunts quietly. What the fuck, he thinks, but before the next thought forms, he feels an unmistakeable pulse beneath his forearm. He's resting his forearm on Hollis's dick, and it's actively pumping blood like an anxious heart. His lip curls. Huh… How interesting.

Hollis's breath hitches, trying not to release any more noise from the pressure of Roman's arm on his dick, and also the undeniable mood change that suddenly warmed the room. For a couple minutes, the only things making any sort of noise in the room are the low hum of the ink machine and the dull ticking of the clock mounted on the wall. Roman breaks the silence;

"Someone really likes getting tattooed, huh?", he murmurs lowly. Hollis's body heats rapidly. He gulps nervously. "It's not so much the tattoo, but… who's doing it." Roman doesn't look up. "Is that right?" "Yeah…" "You're doing really well, Holl." "Stop it." He knows what he's doing. He's grinning. Hollis's voice is wavering. His dick is pressing against Roman's arm, desperate for more. "You're so good at taking it." "Seriously, shut up." "Holl.." Roman tilts his head and the two make eye contact. "Can you cut it out?" "You're the one who got hard in my tattoo chair." "It isn't your tattoo chair.." "…It is today. And you're in it, and your dick is pressing against my arm while I'm trying to give you a tattoo." Hollis's cheeks flush and shame washes over him. "… I'm so sorry. I'm really embarrassed." "It's okay, Holl. I just get to have fun with you until it goes away." "I'm not sure if it will now, jackass…:" Roman turns back to look at the ink. "We'll see."

A few excrutiating minutes go past as Roman continues to work on outlining the star on the side of his groin. Hollis waits in agony, waiting for some sort of tease, or encouragement, or praise. But Roman ignores the pulsing elephant in the room and continues to work as if it isn't there at all. "…When does this 'fun' begin?"— he really didn't want to mention it, out of fear of looking desperate, but he couldn't take it anymore. "I was waiting to see how long you'd stay hard," Roman mutters, "I was thinking, like, maybe I could feel you go soft and then rile you up all over again. But nothing's happening." Hollis lets out a shaky exhale. "What the fuck… Actually. Like what's wrong with you?" Roman chuckles. "Not my fault you're enjoying this." "And you aren't?" He goes quiet. "This isn't about me." "You're hard in that chair, aren't you?" Hollis whispers. Roman clenches his jaw. "…and how does that concern you?" "I bet you're trying so hard to stay focused on my tattoo, and not me," he continues, "I know my body turns heads." "Sure it does, Holl." "Don't act all nonchalant now, Rom." He chuckles. "You're funny." "Yeah?" "Yeah."

Roman's dick is rock hard and pressing against his jeans; he's just better at hiding the discomfort. It's also less visible as it's beneath the tattooing chair. Truth be told, Hollis's body did catch his eyes, frequently. With a creative mind like his own, it's no surprise that his mind would occasionally wonder, and he'd imagine how it would feel to run his acrylic claws down Hollis's long torso, how he would look beneath or on top of him, how it would be to touch his biceps as they tense while he flexes the muscles. He is vehemently distracted. But he can't. Fuck. This. Up. What a fun game they were playing.

"Hollis, you have to tell me before you move," Roman scolds as Hollis shifts beneath him slightly. "Sorry," he murmurs playfully. He was adjusting his hips, now it was a perfect angle to… "… Are you grinding on my fucking arm?" "It isn't impacting the tattoo, is it?" Hollis whimpers between shaky breaths. Roman's mind collapses. "You're fucking ridiculous," he utters, his right hand beginning to shake. "Cut it out. I can't afford to fuck this up." "I don't think you will, Rom," Hollis coos, "you're such a good tattooist." He grits his teeth and bites back a whine from his dick angrily pressing against his jeans. "That's right, angel, keep going." Angel is new. Roman can't hold back this moan, and the hot breath it releases against his skin makes Hollis shudder. "Fuck you." "Hm?" "You're awful." "You're so fucking good."

Roman's knee starts to bounce uncontrollably. He has to turn the machine off and pull away. He can't. But he doesn't. He continues to work. He loves this game. A little too much for his own good. "I stand by what I said, earlier," Roman says, trying as hard as he can to formulate a sentance as Hollis grinds on his arm, "that you're doing so good for a tattoo virgin." "Am I?" "You are," he praises, "you take the pain so easily. I've never seen anything like it." "I can't feel the pain anymore, my entire body is on fire," Hollis moans, and Roman's body shivers. "You don't understand how badly I need…" "Need what, Holl?" "I don't even.. know…" he whines. "But you need it too, don't you?" "Mm.." Roman hums, closing off the final line of the star. "You could say that."

He lifts the machine and turns it off, taking a sterile rag and wiping the excess ink and blood off of the new tattoo. "I'm gonna put some soothing cream on this and wrap it up," Roman states, his earlier lust now masked in his voice, "and we can finish this another time." He stands, and goes over to the cabinets. "… Huh?" Hollis sounds almost hurt, "We're stopping here?" "I didn't know you needed it that bad." "Fuck you," he grunts almost angrily. "Don't talk to me like that." Roman pouts. "It's for your health." He stays quiet.

Roman comes back with the soothing cream and spreads it over the tattoo, the cooling sensation making Hollis wince. "You're doing so good…" "I'm mad at you now. Stop." "Please, just be good for the last step," Roman begs, making eye contact, which causes Hollis to weaken. He's too easy.

After sealing the tattoo, Roman stands. "You're gonna wanna keep this covered, wash it and put lotion on it, and do not pick at it. It will fall off on its own." "Can I get up?" "Yeah."

Hollis brings himself to his feet and immediately starts closing the distance between him and Roman. Roman holds his breath. The toe of Hollis's boot crosses over Roman's. They touch foreheads, and Hollis holds Roman's hips and gently brings their bodies together, and their crotches press together. Their dicks throb in unison, and they moan quietly for a couple seconds, panting for air. Then, he steps back.

"… I'll see you later." Hollis smirks and eyes him up and down. "Matter of fact, I'll book you in for tomorrow."

⌕ bun is thinking of . . . braiding gunners hair ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

cw .ᐟ weed, foul language, established relationship

wc .ᐟ 1k

a sharp hiss cut through the room, followed by the sharp snap of the rubber band in your hand. “sssshit, ma, you gotta pull that hard?” gunner whined from where he sat cross-legged between your thighs on the floor of your shared apartment’s living room. some south park rerun flickered across the tv behind him, casting blue light over the side of his face while the dialogue droned on as white noise.

you rolled your eyes at his bratty attitude, fingers already going back to parting through his thin ass hair. you’d told him like five times already to quit moving around, but he kept twitching every few seconds like he had ants crawling up his jeans. with how much he kept jerking his head away every time you tried to section his hair, he was lucky the rubber band snapping his scalp was the worst thing happening to him.

“then sit still,” you muttered, giving the section in your hand another tug just to hear him complain under his breath again. sure enough he huffed but didn’t move from where he’d been resting his temple against the warm skin of your inner thigh, tongue peeking past rosy lips as he carefully packed the pink sparkly bowl, the words ‘sativa slut’ printed on the side in gold font (yours, obviously) with the result of his repeated efforts of grinding his own bud.

he finally got the lighter to catch after a few stubborn tries, brows drawn together in that soft, concentrated way you always pretended not to find endearing. the bowl cracked to life under the flame, pink rhinestones blinking stupidly pretty in the low bedroom light like they knew they were being watched. like they knew they were yours.

he took a slow pull, shoulders dropping the second it hit, all that tension melting out of him in real time while your fingers kept working through his hair. section by section, careful, patient, like you had nowhere else to be. your nails skimmed his scalp every so often just to feel the way he reacted, quiet hums, little shifts closer into your touch.

“don’t make it uneven,” he muttered around the exhale, voice roughened into something soft and lazy. he tipped his head back against your stomach anyway, like he trusted you more than his own complaint. the braid already hung over his shoulder, a little messy from how often he kept moving for “one more hit,” like you weren’t literally mid-assembly.

“i told your ass to stay still, green,” you murmured, teeth catching on a micro band as you pulled it from your lips, fingers nudging his head back into place with gentle insistence. he rolled his eyes at the use of his middlename like it didn’t make something warm flicker behind them, but he still went still for you, sighing dramatically as you smoothed another section down.

“yes, ma’am,” he said quietly, too sweet to be serious. then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he tilted the pink princess bowl toward you without even looking at your face. “here, babe.”

you paused mid-braid. he didn’t move this time. just waited, patient in that absentminded way of his, thumb still resting against the lighter like he forgot he was holding anything at all. his bracelets clicked softly when he adjusted his grip, rhinestones catching on the shift of light as you finally reached for it.

when your fingers brushed his, he didn’t let go right away. just lingered there a second too long, like he liked the contact more than he was willing to admit, before letting his hand fall back into his lap with a lazy exhale.

you settled back into the pillows, braid half-finished over his shoulder, the bowl warm in your hand from him. it still carried that faint mix of burnt flower and your lip balm on the rim, the same lip balm he’d swiped from your purse thinking you hadn’t noticed. behind you, he leaned back again, compliant this time, letting you have your space. his fingers traced slow, idle patterns against your thigh while he watched you bring it to your lips like it was something holy.

he always looked at you like that. like you were the only thing happening in the room, the only thing worthy and deserving of his undivided attention at all times. you flicked the lighter, shielding the flame with your hand, and inhaled. the ember bloomed orange in the glass reflection, and his gaze followed it, slow, heavy-lidded, softened in a way that made your chest tighten a little without warning.

he didn’t look away when you exhaled either. just tracked the smoke as it curled from your mouth in thin, drifting lines, like it belonged to him as much as it did to you.

“pretty,” he murmured, barely audible.

you scoffed softly through the haze, but he was already sitting up a little, chin resting against your thigh now like gravity had decided that was his place. “c’mere,” he added, quieter this time, hand finding your wrist with an easy familiarity that made it impossible to argue.

you leaned in. this time, when you took the hit, you didn’t just hold it in. you tilted forward, close enough that he could feel your breath before you let it go, slow, deliberate, right into his mouth. he inhaled instinctively, eyes fluttering shut like it hit him somewhere deeper than it should’ve. his hand slid from your wrist to your neck like it already knew the path, thumb resting there for a second before he gently pulled you in.

the kiss came easy.

lazy, unhurried, like neither of you had anywhere else to be. the only thing that mattered was the feeling of his lips against yours, and the faint taste of mint. smoke lingered between you in soft, fading warmth, caught in the space where your mouths met again, slower this time, like he was trying to memorize the shape of it.

somewhere in the mess of it, the lighter slipped from your hand into the comforter and neither of you noticed. when you finally broke apart, he stayed close, forehead resting against yours, smiling like he’d won the lottery.

“you still never finished my hair.” he murmured against your lips. you rolled your eyes, shoving his face away playfully, “shut up.”

navi. ← | ⦸

an: something a little different 0-0 i’ve never smoked weed b4 or packed a bowl so if this is like ass pls don’t say anything LMAOOOO anyways i’ve been brainrotting over nettpigtails so i wrote this at 8am, i think im gonna make a perm taglist moving forward…so everyone tagged on here issss going to be apart of that (you have no choice) and i’ll do my best to add people per request!!!

Off limits

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2hollis x reader smutshot, might make this a series idkkkk

tags: best friends brother, drinking, drunk sex, p in v, fingering, swallowing, reader is 18 and hollis is 20 btw

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You’d known Hollis for what felt like forever, ever since you and his little sister, Katie, became inseparable in middle school. Back then he was just “Katie’s weird older brother,” the quiet kid who locked himself in his room blasting beats through cheap headphones and playing Minecraft while the two of you painted your nails and gossiped on the living room floor. He was fourteen when you first really noticed him in that way. Tall for his age, messy blonde hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and a half smile that made your stomach flip even though you didn’t understand why. You were twelve, still convinced boys were gross, but something about the way he’d lean in the doorway, arms crossed, and tease, “You two fools gonna scream and giggle about boys all night or what?” stuck with you.

The first real crack in your heart happened sophomore year of high school. Katie had dragged you to one of his early basement shows, him and a couple of friends freestyling over a beat he’d made on ableton. The room was sweaty and loud, red solo cups everywhere, the air thick with the sharp scent of cheap beer and weed smoke. When Hollis stepped up to the mic and started rapping, you basically entered into a trance. You were standing right in front, heart pounding to the heavy bass vibrating through the floor, and for a second his eyes locked on yours. After the set he found you in the corner, handed you a lukewarm soda that tasted too sweet on your tongue, and said, “Didn’t think you’d show up, kid. Thanks for not making fun of me.”

You were fifteen by then, and that tiny moment of gratitude from the boy who never seemed to need anyone lodged itself somewhere deep.

Junior year was when the crush turned into something you couldn’t ignore. You’d crashed at their house after a bad breakup. Hollis came home late from recording, the faint smell of his cologne and cigarette smoke clinging to his hoodie as he sat down beside you on the basement couch. He could tell you were cold so he handed you his hoodie, and let you ramble until your voice gave out, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles…warm, slightly calloused. When you finally quieted, he murmured, “Whoever made you cry doesn’t deserve the way you light up when you talk about the things you love. Don’t forget that.”

You went to bed that night still wearing his hoodie, the fabric soft against your skin and carrying the faint scent of his cologne mixed with smoke, heart hammering so hard you thought Katie would hear it from under the blanket.

There were a hundred smaller moments after that. Him letting you ride shotgun in his beat up civic, the leather seats warm from the sun, while he tested new tracks and asked your opinion like it actually mattered; the way he’d ruffle your hair when he passed you in the hallway and call you “trouble” in that low, gravelly voice that sent shivers down your spine; the night he found you studying on the back porch at 2 a.m. because Katie had passed out before quizzing you, the cool night air raising goosebumps on your arms, and he sat with you in silence, sharing earbuds, his shoulder warm and solid against yours. You never told a soul. Katie was your best friend. Hollis was off limits. End of story.

Until tonight.

Katie’s parents are out of town, so the basement was yours. String lights casting a warm amber glow, bass from the speaker thumping low and heavy through your chest. The air smells like spilled vodka, sweet rum, and the faint fruity tang of Katie’s disposable vape. You and Katie have been at it for two hours: beer pong, kings cup, never have I ever. You’re both giggly and loose, the kind of tipsy where the world feels warm and wavy. You’re wearing Katie’s oversized T-shirt, soft cotton brushing your thighs, and tiny sleep shorts, legs tucked under you on the couch, when heavy footsteps come down the stairs.

Hollis appears in the doorway, hoodie half-zipped, gray sweats riding low on his hips, hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. The faint scent of weed and his usual cologne drifts ahead of him. He’s twenty now, broader in the shoulders, a more pronounced jawline, and taller if that’s even possible. “You guys sound like you’re having more fun than me upstairs,” he says, voice gravelly and low. “Room for one more?”

Katie rolls her eyes so hard it’s almost comical. “Go away, Hollis. This is girls night.”

He leans against the doorframe, smirking. “I’m bored as hell and I hear my own name in your drunk stories. C’mon, let me play. I’ll even drink the nasty shit so y’all don’t have to.”

Katie glances at you, confused as she catches the way your cheeks are already flushed deeper than the alcohol can explain, and sighs. “Fine. But if you ruin the vibe, you’re out of here.”

He drops onto the couch right beside you, close enough that his thigh presses warm and solid against yours through the thin fabric of your shorts. Heat shoots straight up your spine. You’re tipsy enough that the contact feels electric, dangerous. The game shifts back to never have I ever, and the three of you trade stupid confessions until it’s Hollis’s turn. He swirls the drink in his cup, the ice clinking softly, eyes flicking to you for half a second too long.

“Never have I ever,” he says slowly, voice low and teasing, “had a crush on my best friend’s brother.”

The basement goes dead quiet.

Katie’s head snaps toward you in a flash, eyes wide, mouth open in a perfect O of betrayal and shock. Your pulse is hammering in your ears, the alcohol burning hot through your veins like liquid courage. You hold his stare, roll your eyes like it’s nothing, and slowly lower one finger.

“Dude,” you say, voice steadier than you feel, “Fuck you. Is it that obvious?”

Hollis’s smirk deepens into something darker, a low chuckle rumbling out of his chest that makes your stomach clench. Katie stares between the two of you, face cycling from confusion to fury. “Wait….what the actual fuck? Have you two been-? You respond in a panic. “Katie no! I swear! We haven’t been hooking up, I promise.” She doesn’t even register what you said. She shoots up, knocking her cup over with a wet splash. “Fuck this. I’m going to sleep. Don’t wake me up.” She storms up the stairs, door slamming hard enough to rattle the string lights and send a vibration through the floor. But honestly, you’re too drunk to care.

You should feel guilty. You should chase after her. Instead you stay rooted to the couch, heart racing, as Hollis turns to you with that same smirk still playing on his lips. “Guess it’s just us now.”

You keep drinking, the shots burning down your throat with sharp, fiery heat, then straight from the bottle, laughter turning sloppy and loud. The rum tastes sweeter now, warmer. Every brush of his arm against yours sends sparks skittering across your skin, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the boozy air. When the room starts to tilt pleasantly, he leans in, breath warm and rum scented against your ear. “Come upstairs with me. I wanna show you something. New track I finished last night. I need your honest opinion.”

You don’t even hesitate. “Yeah. Okay, sounds good.”

His room is exactly how you remember it. Posters on the wall curling at the edges, clothes scattered on the floor, the faint smell of weed and laundry detergent lingering in the air. You sit on the edge of his unmade bed, the sheets cool and slightly rumpled against the backs of your thighs, knees pressed together while he cues up the song. The beat drops first: dark, pulsing, almost menacing, vibrating through the mattress beneath you. Then his voice layers in… raw, intimate, talking about shrooms and gauntlets and swords and shit. It’s called “Shedim.” It’s fucking good. Really good.

When it ends you’re breathless, pulse still throbbing in your ears. “Hollis… that’s insane. The way the hook sneaks in like that? It’s addictive. You’re gonna blow up with this one.”

He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks actually flushing pink under the low lamp light. “Yeah? You’re not just saying that?”

You shake your head, grinning. “I’d tell you if it sucked. Promise.”

He sets the laptop aside and comes to sit beside you on the bed, closer than before. The mattress dips under his weight, his thigh pressing hot against yours again. “You really liked it?”

“I loved it, dude.”

He exhales, eyes dropping to your mouth for a second. “What if I told you that I’ve been eyeing you myself for the last few months?”

Your breath catches so hard your lungs actually stutter. The room spins a little, not just from the alcohol. “You’re lying.”

He laughs softly, but there’s no joke in it. “Nah. Dead serious. Watching you laugh at Katie’s dumb jokes, stealing my hoodies when you think I’m not looking, the way you bite your lip when you’re focused on a song… I kept telling myself it was nothing. She’d kill me. You’re her best friend. But fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You stare at him, hands suddenly numb and tingling in your lap. “You’re really telling the truth?”

“Yeahhhh,” he drags the word out, voice husky. “Just haven’t acted on it because I don’t want my sister to kill me. But at this point I think it’s gotten impossible to ignore.”

The words hang between you, heavy and sweet. You talk. Halting, tipsy confessions spilling out, voices low and slurred. How long you’ve wanted him. How you’ve replayed every accidental touch. How you thought you’d die keeping it secret. He listens like every word is a verse he’s memorizing, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your knee, leaving trails of warmth.

Then he leans in and kisses you.

It’s soft at first, just a quick press of lips, testing. You both pull back an inch, eyes locked, pupils blown wide with the same raw hunger. The second kiss is anything but soft.

His mouth crashes into yours with bruising force, tongue shoving past your lips like he’s been holding back for years. The kiss is sloppy, wet, desperate, teeth clashing, spit slicking your faces, the taste of liquor and heat flooding your mouth. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, the sound vibrating against your tongue. His hands are everywhere at once. Yanking your T-shirt up and over your head, the cool air hitting your heated skin, then roughly shoving your shorts and panties down your legs. Fabric tears with a sharp rip. His eyes roll back at the sight of you bare, groaning like he’s starving and you’re the meal presented to him.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls against your lips, voice wrecked with lust and liquor. “So goddamn perfect. Been dying to feel this pussy for months.”

Clothes fly, his hoodie yanked off, carrying the warm scent of his skin, sweats and boxers gone in seconds. His cock springs free, thick, heavy, and leaking, the swollen head glistening. The room fills with the faint, musky scent of arousal. He strokes himself, rough, then grabs your thighs, spreading you open wide, the cool air kissing your soaked folds. Without warning he buries two thick fingers inside you, pumping hard and fast, thumb grinding mercilessly on your clit with wet, slick sounds. You cry out, back arching violently off the bed, the sudden stretch burning so good.

“Hollis…fuck!” You scream. Not caring that your best friend/his sister is sleeping in another room.

“That’s it, baby, scream my name,” he snarls, curling his fingers brutally against that spot that makes fireworks explode through your core. “Been thinking about this tight little pussy every night. So wet already, dripping down my hand. Fuck baby, I could just drink you up.”

You’re shaking, hips bucking wildly against his hand, the wet squelch loud and obscene, when he suddenly pulls his fingers out with a lewd pop, lines up his cock, and rubs the head on your clit, making you squirm. “You ready baby?” You nod. He eases into you in one brutal, deep thrust. The stretch is intense… burning, full, perfect. You both moan loud and raw, the sound echoing off the walls.

“Fuuuuck,” he hisses through gritted teeth, bottoming out so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach, the heat of his cock pulsing inside you. “You’re so fucking tight… choking my cock like you were molded for it. Goddamn, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

He doesn’t give you much time to adjust. He starts fucking you hard and fast, hips snapping with punishing force, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and rhythmic, the bed creaking beneath you. The headboard slams against the wall with every thrust. You claw at his back, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood, the sharp sting only fueling him. Sweat beads on his skin, slick and hot where your bodies meet, the salty, musky scent of sex filling the room.

“Hollis- oh my God…Hollis!”

He leans down, biting your neck hard enough to leave marks, sucking bruises into your skin while he rails you, his hot breath panting against your throat. “Tell me,” he pants, voice rough. “Tell me how long you’ve wanted me to fuck you like this.”

“Years,” you sob, drunk and overwhelmed, tears of pleasure leaking from the corners of your eyes, salty on your lips. “I’ve wanted you for years…fuck, Hollis, harder!”

He growls low in his throat and gives you what you ask for, pounding into you so deep and rough your vision blacks out, the pressure building unbearably in your core. “I’ve been falling for you, baby. Not just in a sexual way either. The way you look at me, the way you get my music… fuck, you’re mine now. Say it.”

“I’m yours…fuck…I’m yours, Hollis!”

He flips you onto your stomach without pulling out, yanking your hips up so your ass is in the air, the cool air hitting your exposed skin. He slams back in even deeper, one hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back sharply, the other slapping your ass hard enough to sting and leave a burning handprint. The new angle makes every thrust hit that perfect spot, sending sparks shooting up your spine. Your ass is bouncing back onto him and he can’t help but to whimper at the sight as he watches himself sink into you. You’re moaning uncontrollably, face pressed into the pillow that smells like him, drooling as he fucks your brains out.

“Arch that back… good girl,” he growls, voice strained. “Take this cock like the pretty little secret you are. Been dreamin bout pounding this pussy.”

You’re sobbing his name into the pillow, the wet, filthy sounds of him pounding into your soaked pussy filling the room. “You bout to cum baby? Yeah? Let me feel you cum on this dick.” That’s all it takes for your first orgasm to rip through you like lightning, walls spasming violently around his thick cock, pleasure crashing over you in hot, pulsing waves. You scream his name, voice hoarse and broken.

He doesn’t slow down. He fucks you through it, praising you in a rough, broken voice, sweat dripping from his chest onto your back. “That’s my girl. Cum all over my cock, just like that. Such a good fucking girl for me. So perfect, so wet, gripping me so fucking tight.”

He pulls out with a wet, obscene sound, sets you on his lap, and widens your legs so you’re straddling him. “Ride this dick baby. Let me see those tits bounce.”

You sink down onto him slowly, wincing at the sensitivity left behind from your first orgasm. You use all your strength that’s left to start bouncing up and down on his dick, the new position even deeper than before. You catch him staring at you, arms folded above his head, licking his lips, mesmerized by the view above him. “Holy fuck, y/n. You’re fucking perfect.”

He starts moving. “I’m loving the show baby, but I need it harder.” He starts thrusting up into you so animalistic that you can’t help but to grab onto the headboard for leverage. The new angle lets him drive even deeper, his cock kissing your cervix with every savage thrust, his balls slapping against your skin. Sweat drips from your chest onto his mouth and he licks it up with a smirk, eyes never leaving yours. His eyes are wild, pupils blown, lips parted as he stares up at you like you’re the only thing that exists.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice gravelly. “I’ve been crazy about you for months. Couldn’t stop thinking about you even when I knew I shouldn’t. You’re everything, baby… fuck, I’m so gone for you.”

You’re crying now, pleasure bordering on too much, second orgasm building fast, your nails raking down his arms. “Hollis…it feels so good. Don’t stop… please..”

He kisses you messily, tongues tangling, spit everywhere, the taste of rum and salt and desperation flooding your mouth as he rails up into you. He reaches up and uses his thumb to rub fast circles on your clit. “Cum for me again. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock. You’re so pretty when you cum, my beautiful girl.”

Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, back bowing sharply, a broken wail of his name tearing from your throat as your pussy clenches and flutters around him like you’re intentionally flexing. He groans loud and deep, hips stuttering.

“Fuck… gonna cum. Where do you want it?”

“In my mouth,” you beg, voice hoarse and trembling. “I wanna taste you Hollis, please, I need it… I need you.”

He hurriedly lifts you off of his dick, setting you beside him. You quickly get on your knees in front of him, waiting for him to paint your tongue. With a guttural moan of your name he comes undone, pumping himself a few times. Hot, warm cum makes its way into your mouth, dribbling down your chin. “Take it, take every fucking drop, baby. You’re mine. All mine.” You swallow every drop, sticking your tongue out for proof.

He grabs you and throws you on the bed, collapsing on top of you, both of you gasping, trembling, bodies slick with sweat, the heavy scent of sex and rum hanging thick in the air. For a long moment the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the bed as you both come down.

He pulls you into his chest, arms wrapped tight around your spent, trembling body, his skin hot and damp against yours, heartbeat thundering under your ear.

The room is still spinning slowly from the alcohol and the intensity of what just happened. You trace lazy circles on his chest, feeling the sticky sweat cooling on his skin, heart still racing. “What… what is this?” you whisper, voice raw.

Hollis exhales shakily, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his lips warm and slightly chapped. “I don’t know. But it’s not nothing. I meant every word I said while I was inside you. I’ve been catching real feelings for months. Not just on some horny shit, real shit. You make me feel seen in a way nobody else does.”

You bite your lip, the reality of Katie sleeping one floor up crashing back in, a flicker of guilt mixing with the afterglow. “Your sister is going to murder us. Like, actually murder us. She looked so betrayed when I put my finger down.”

He chuckles, but it’s nervous, the vibration rumbling through his chest against your cheek. “Yeah… she will. We can’t tell her yet. Not like this. She’ll freak out, think I took advantage of you or some shit. We keep it quiet for now… sneak around, figure out what we are. I don’t want to lose you the second I get you. And I sure as hell don’t want to lose my sister. But I’m not giving this up. Not after tonight.”

You nod against his chest, the warmth of his skin and the steady thump of his heart making everything feel possible even if it’s terrifying. “Okay. Secret for now. But… we talk about it. No hiding feelings. I’ve waited years for you, I’m not going back to pretending.”

“Deal.” He tilts your chin up with gentle fingers, kissing you slow and sweet, the faint taste of the liquor still lingering on his tongue. “We’ll make it work. You and me. And when the time’s right… we’ll tell her. Together.”

You fall asleep like that, setting an alarm so you can move to Katie’s bed before she can realize you’re gone, tangled in his sheets that now smell like sex and sweat and the two of you, his strong arms wrapped around you, heartbeat steady under your ear, the secret humming between you like the bass line of his new song. For the first time in years, the crush doesn’t feel impossible. It feels like the start of something real and raw and terrifyingly beautiful.

yerrrrr i cranked another one out plz lmk how you feel about this. i feel like i’m really repetitive with my writing :/