#2hollis x reader

perv!hollis who shares everything with you. his lips wrap around the same spot on the cigarette you were smoking earlier, and you’re often sharing the same drink. he doesn’t care about backwash. it’s pretty romantic if your saliva contaminates the next swig of the drink he takes. it’s like an indirect kiss when you take a sip after him, your lips on the same spot his were previously on the bottle or cup or whatever.

perv!hollis who is so helpful. he’s been watching you try on outfits for the past hour, assisting you in finding the best one for an event. he hasn’t glanced at his phone once. he’s too preoccupied with watching the fabric of each dress you try on cling to your curves, and when you strip down to your underwear out of frustration if you don’t like an outfit. he tries giving you input, but it’s all the same “wow, that looks amazing on you, baby.”

perv!hollis who’s favourite part is when you ask him to zip it up because it’s an excuse to touch you. he’s looming over as he stands behind you, tugging the zipper up with ease. his large hands rest on your hips, trailing up your sides as he admires you in the mirror. “i think this is the one,” he whispers, his warm hands squeezing your hips as he pulls you back into him.

perv!hollis who tries to convince you to sit on his lap any chance he gets. it’s movie night, and you’re both hanging out with friends, why don't you sit on his lap? it’s more comfortable than the floor anyway. on a trip and the car’s crowded, you should save some space and take a seat on his lap instead.

perv!hollis who bites his lip, holding in the moans that threaten to spill when you stir in his lap. his cock hardens in his pants, and he can feel your warm cunt through the layers of clothing. he’s surprised you haven’t freaked out yet, calling him a pervert and telling him to fuck off. he realizes too late you’re doing it on purpose each time you ‘accidentally’ grind against him. he can’t even tell you to stop moving without risking a whine slipping out and drawing attention to you two.

perv!hollis who jerks off to your pictures on instagram. he finds himself scrolling through your account when he misses you or when he’s horny. porn doesn’t cut it because even though he might find a pornstar that looks like you, it isn’t you, so he opens up instagram and finds an isolated picture of you instead. when he finishes, the post-nut clarity hits, and he’s filled with guilt. he tells himself it’s the last time, but it’s a lie. he’s going to be fisting his leaky dick to the innocent images of you the moment he feels a little bit pent up, or when you post a new pic.

perv!hollis who’s cock you struggle to take because he’s so big. he’s not even all the way in when his tip kisses the back of your throat. you have to wrap your hand around the length of him you can’t take. he’s enamoured at the sight of tears slipping down your cheeks and the wet gags that emit since he insists you take more of him, knowing you can’t. he’s mean, fucking into your mouth and bullying his cock further down your throat because selfishly he wants to cum, and ‘cause he thinks it’s hot when you’re practically choking around him, drool slipping down your chin and your glassy eyes staring up at him.

perv!hollis who smirks when you tell him “it’s too much,” but he’s only halfway inside you. your poor pussy is filled to the brim with him, leaking all over. even with him eating you out like a starved man and working you open with his long fingers, you’re still whining he’s too big. his cock pulses when you whimper about how “you can’t”, but you can, and you have multiple times. you’re a mess on his dick, the only words you can manage are how fucking huge he is, and that he’s splitting you in half.

perv!hollis who presses down on your lower tummy, asking, “can you feel me here, pretty girl?” when he finally stuffs you full of all of him. you gasp out a whiny “yes” as his thick cock stretches you out. everything about hollis was huge. from his dick, to his large palm, moving from your belly to grip your face, squishing your cheeks as he forces you to hold eye contact with him as he ruts desperately into you.

perv!hollis who’s pull out game is weak as fuck. without fail, hollis manages to finish inside you when you tell him not to. “i won’t come inside you this time,” he says—an empty promise. in the heat of the moment, it’s difficult to slip out of you, not when your cunt is convincing him otherwise. he tells you it’s an accident every time. he doesn’t mean to fill your pussy to the brim with his cum. he swears it’s a mistake anyone could make, but he makes sure he’s buried deep inside you when his orgasm nears. “i’m sorry, baby. i didn’t mean to. you feel so fucking good i can’t help myself,” he apologizes even though he never made an effort in pulling out in the first place.

perv hollis...

“You always dip from the crowd like that?” he asked, voice casual. You shrugged. “You’re the one who left first.”

“Didn’t think you’d follow me.”

You gave him a look. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He laughed, soft and easy. “Dunno. Thought maybe you were too cool for hallway conversations.”

You smirked. “Only with certain people.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilted his head slightly, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’m honored then.”

You shrugged one shoulder, teasing but careful. “Guess you are.”

He nudged the back of his head against the wall, gaze sliding over you for a second too long before dropping to his cup.

“So what’re we doing?” he asked lightly.

You blinked. “Right now?”

“Yeah.” He looked up, lips parted like he was holding back a laugh. “You just gonna stare at me all night or—”

“You’re the one who brought me in here.”

“Okay, true,” he said, grinning. “But you stayed.”

“I always stay.”

The second you said it, you wished you hadn’t. Not like that.

His expression shifted, just a little. His grip on his cup adjusted. The air pulled tight.

You looked down. He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

Then, gently, he said, “Hey.”

You glanced back up.

His eyes were softer now, almost warm. “You good?”

Your chest fluttered. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” he said, mock-serious.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile crept back. “I was just—never mind.”

He leaned in a little, not touching, not even that close. Just… less far. “Nah, tell me.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Was just thinking this is nice. Being here. With you.”

For a second, it was like everything went still. Even the music behind you dipped lower.

Then—

“I’m outta tequila,” he said suddenly, glancing at his cup like it had done something wrong.

You blinked. “Tragic.”

He smiled, small and crooked. “Want me to grab you something?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Cool.” He hesitated, then added, “Stay put, yeah?”

You nodded. “Where else would I go?”

He took a step back, then another. Still looking at you like he was trying to memorize something. Then he said it.

“You look good tonight, by the way.”

You blinked. Heart stuttered.

Before you could ask if he meant it—if that was actually what he said he turned, heading down the hallway.

And just as he reached the light—

That girl showed up.

Crop top, glossy lip, arm already reaching toward him.

He slowed, not stopping. Said something you couldn’t hear.

But he didn’t pull away.

And you? You stayed right where you were, back to the wall, throat tight, telling yourself it didn’t mean anything.

Except it did.

You didn’t mean to look.

You shouldn’t have looked.

But the second she stepped into the hallway light—glossy and glittering and way too confident—your eyes found them like it was instinct.

She touched his arm first.

Just a light reach, all casual smiles and tilted head. The kind of touch girls used when they knew it wouldn’t be brushed off.

Hollis didn’t move away.

He said something low, easy. You couldn’t hear it from where you were, but he smiled, and it was that smile. The lazy, tilted one he gave when he didn’t want to hurt someone’s feelings. Or when he didn’t know what else to do.

She leaned in closer.

You blinked, pulse fluttering weird in your throat. It didn’t mean anything. You knew that. This was his party. People talked. It wasn’t like—

Her fingers brushed the front of his shirt.

Your chest went tight.

Hollis shifted back a step. Not much. Just enough to set his cup down on the hallway table, hands free now, chain bracelet catching the light. He ran one hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

And she laughed.

You didn’t even know what she was laughing at. You didn’t care. You hated it. It made your skin prickle, like the hallway was suddenly too hot. Like maybe you were the one who didn’t belong there after all.

You hadn’t moved. You were still right where he left you leaning against the wall like something out of place. Like a piece of unused furniture.

He still hadn’t looked back.

You swallowed hard, dragging your gaze away. The silence buzzed louder than the music now. Your fingers curled against your side, nails pressing into your palm just to feel something.

God, you were so stupid.

This was exactly why you’d never let yourself fall. Why you’d kept it light, kept it friendly. One wrong move and everything cracked open.

You could leave. You should leave.

But still, you stayed.

And when you finally looked again, she was still there.

So was he.

But his head had turned. His eyes had flicked up past her shoulder, toward where you were.

Right at you.

Just for a second.

And then?

He looked away.

You didn’t even remember deciding to leave.

One minute you were still in the hallway, your back against the wall, his voice still echoing in your ears like it meant something and then suddenly you were moving. Pushing through the bodies, slipping past people without even looking at their faces.

You didn’t know where your friends were. Roman, Nate, Conceal—who cared.

You just had to get away from that. From him. From the way he looked at you like you were something he wanted, just to turn around and let her touch him like it didn’t mean shit.

You made it outside. The air was cooler, rough against your face. Smokey. Someone was passing a joint and the music was lower out here, but your thoughts were still screaming.

You didn’t ask what was in the cup they handed you. You took it, downed it. Bitter. Whatever. You wanted to feel anything else. You wanted to stop thinking about his laugh. His eyes. The way his breath had hitched when he said your name like it mattered.

You told yourself it was fine.

It’s not like you were together. It’s not like he owed you anything. You never said anything. You let it stay in that weird maybe-space where everything meant something and nothing at all.

Still.

You could feel your face burning, your throat tight. You blinked up at the sky, trying to cool it down, trying to level out.

Didn’t work.

You laughed. It came out too loud. You covered it with another sip, then another. Someone offered you a hit. You took it. Didn’t even hesitate. You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to care.

But you did.

God, you did.

You could still feel the way he looked at you in that hallway like he was trying to memorize your mouth.

“You always sneak people into hallways at your own party?”

“Just you.”

His expression softening and him saying “You look good tonight, by the way.”

And then… that girl.

Her hands on his chest. Her voice probably all syrupy and sweet and familiar. His smile, crooked and soft. The kind of smile that used to feel like it was just for you. Even though he gave you a slightly different one. 

You pressed your cup to your lips again. You could barely hear the music anymore. Just your own pulse, hammering behind your ribs.

You stayed there, staring out at the backyard like it had answers. You swayed a little. Felt light-headed. Didn’t care.

Maybe if you drank enough, smoked enough, blurred the edges just right you could stop playing back the look in his eyes.

Or maybe you’d still feel it anyway.

The way it held on just a second too long.

Like he knew.

Like he wanted to say something.

Like you almost could’ve been everything.

Almost.

You didn’t even notice Nate until he tapped the back of your hand.

“Yo,” he said gently, like he’d been trying to get your attention for a minute. “You good?”

You blinked at him. Realized your drink was almost spilling over the rim of the solo cup in your hand, tilted too far as you swayed. You righted it clumsily, then looked up.

They were all out here now. Someone had brought a bottle. Conceal was sitting near the firepit, looking up at the sky giggling like he wasn’t high out of his mind. Roman looked half-asleep, or maybe just bored, arms crossed, his jacket slipping off one shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. It came out too fast, too flat. Definitely not convincing.

Nate gave you that look, the one where his mouth quirks like he wants to believe you but absolutely doesn’t. “You don’t look fine.”

“I’m vibing,” you said. Shrugged. Took another sip, even though you couldn’t really taste anything anymore.

Your whole body felt too light. Like you weren’t fully in it.

You looked past Nate’s shoulder and your eyes caught him.

Hollis.

He was standing just inside the sliding glass door, the girl still attached to his arm like she lived there. She had her mouth near his ear, saying something. You couldn’t hear it, but he laughed. Tipped his head back, all pretty teeth and tired eyes.

You froze.

That laugh. You knew that laugh. It used to be yours.

Your stomach twisted, your mouth suddenly dry despite how much you’d just drank. You dropped your gaze, but your brain didn’t stop replaying it; her hand on his chest. His smile. The way he didn’t move away.

“Hey,” Roman said, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “You’re staring.”

You swallowed hard. “I wasn’t.”

You looked down at your shoes. Tried to focus on the way your boots dug into the grass. On the warmth spreading up your neck that wasn’t from the liquor.

“I’m chill,” you said again. “I’m so chill.”

Roman snorted. “You’re lit.”

You crack a smile, but it doesn’t quite hold.

“You’re lit,” Roman said again, like it explained everything.

You let the corners of your mouth pull up, barely. “That obvious?”

“Just a little,” Nate said, sitting closer now. “Like… your whole soul left your body for a sec.”

“I’m still here,” you said, though you weren’t totally sure that was true.

Conceal let out a loud, happy sigh from across the yard. “The stars are insane right now.”

“Bro, you’re looking at a streetlamp,” Roman muttered.

“That’s not a streetlamp,” Conceal said dreamily. “That’s God.”

Nate snorted. You almost laughed too— almost. But then you glanced back toward the house, and your stomach did that traitor’s twist again. The girl was gone now. Just Hollis, leaning against a doorframe, drink in hand, staring out into the dark like he was waiting for something to happen.

He looked beautiful. Effortless. Like he always did when you weren’t supposed to be looking.

You dropped your eyes fast.

Nate noticed.

He didn’t say anything at first—just stretched his legs out in front of him and tapped the rim of his cup, like he was thinking through what to say.

Then: “You know he wasn’t into that, right?”

You looked up. “What?”

“The girl. Inside.”

“I don’t care,” you lied.

Roman raised a brow. “Okay.”

“I don’t.”

Nate looked at you again—really looked. “You know how I can tell you’re lying?”

You didn’t answer.

“Because you care so much you’re trying to drink your feelings off the planet.”

Your chest tightened. You pressed your cup against your lips and didn’t sip.

“He didn’t even want to be in that conversation,” Nate continued, quieter now. “He was nodding, but not really hearing her. He kept checking the yard. Looking out here.”

Roman hummed. “He always looks for you first.”

“Stop,” you said, too fast.

“We’re just saying,” Nate said. “It’s not one-sided.”

You shook your head. “You don’t know that.”

Roman scoffed. “Come on. You think we don’t see the way he watches you?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“Every time you walk in a room, he straightens up,” Nate said. “He changes.”

“It’s not that deep,” you said quietly.

“Maybe not to you,” Roman said. “But to him?”

You looked down again, tracing the edge of your cup with your thumb.

Then Nate leaned in, like he was about to tell you something he wasn’t sure he should say.

“Hey. You know he probably likes you, right?”

It landed like a drop in still water. Small, but impossible to ignore.

You blinked. “What?”

“Deadass,” Roman said, like it was obvious. “We’re not just talking shit.”

You didn’t know what to say. It felt dangerous, hearing it out loud. Real.

“I mean,” Nate went on, “we’re not him. We can’t say it with, like, proof. But we see the way he is around you. It’s different.”

You tried to laugh. “He’s like that with everyone.”

“No,” Roman said. “He’s not.”

“He gives you his charger,” Nate offered. “That’s intimate.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re reaching.”

“He also said you looked like a dream one time,” Roman added. “That wasn’t a reach. That was out loud. I was there.”

You flushed. “He was probably high.”

“He wasn’t,” Roman said, serious now. “He wasn’t even on anything that night, Just sat next to you for, like, two hours pretending to scroll.

You stared at the firepit. At Conceal, still humming to himself in another universe. At Nate’s hand resting casually next to yours. 

“He doesn’t even like sitting still,” Nate added. “Unless it’s with you.”

You shook your head slowly. “That doesn’t mean—”

“Bro,” Roman cut in. “He gave you his hoodie like twice. And not even in a ‘here, take it’ way. Like motherfucker just put it on you and walked away.”

Nate nodded, grinning. “He said it ‘looked better on you anyway.’”

You blinked. You remembered that. The weight of it on your shoulders. The smell. But you’d told yourself he was just being friendly, cold, tired. Literally anything but what your heart wanted it to be.

“And you know he keeps that tiger keychain on his backpack now?” Nate said. “He hated it when Conceal gave it to him. Called it ‘corny.’ But then you said it was cute and suddenly he’s a fan.”

Roman laughed. “He called it a ‘sentimental object’ the other day.”

You snorted, unable to help it. “You guys are delusional.”

“Okay,” Nate said, leaning back on his elbows, casual. “But when you wore your hair up that one day, he stared so long I had to ask him if he was still breathing.”

“He tripped walking down the stairs,” Roman added. “I mean literally missed a step.”

You looked between them, heat rising in your face. “You’re making this up.”

“We don’t have to,” Nate said. “He’s so obvious it’s painful.”

“He only dry texts almost everyone else,” Roman said. “You? Paragraphs. Actual conversation.”

“And he laughs at all your jokes,” Nate said, matter-of-fact. “Even the ones that bomb.”

“Especially the ones that bomb,” Roman said, cracking a grin.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Why wouldn’t he just say something?”

Nate shrugged. “That’s Hollis. He’d rather light himself on fire than admit he caught feelings first.”

Roman nodded. “He probably thinks he’s being subtle. He’s not.”

You looked toward the sliding glass door again.

He wasn’t there anymore. Just the faint reflection of string lights in the glass, and your own face staring back—flushed, breath shallow, heart starting to beat just a little louder.

“You think he’s waiting for me to say it?” you asked.

Nate didn’t even hesitate. “I think he’s been hoping for that since the first night you sat next to him and didn’t look away.”

You huffed a laugh and looked down again, but this time, your smile didn’t fade. You sat with it for a second. That word “probably” echoed weird in your head. Like it didn’t land all the way, just floated there. Buzzing next to everything else.

The smoke in your lungs hadn’t really cleared. You could still feel it sitting heavy in your chest, mixing with the alcohol in your bloodstream and the noise in your head. Everything felt a little warped, edges too soft, light too sharp. Like you were watching the party through a window instead of actually living it.

You pushed yourself up slowly. The grass shifted under your boots. “Thanks,” you muttered, not really sure what you were thanking them for. Just… the honesty maybe.

Nate gave you a little nod.

“We’re always right here,” he said.

Conceal, still slumped back in the chair, blinked slow like a cat. “She’s moving like she’s dreaming.”

You glanced at him, the tiniest smile tugging at your mouth. 

You turned toward the house. Everything swayed for a second, not in a scary way—just like gravity forgot what it was doing.

Inside, the warmth hit harder than you expected. It smelled like too many bodies and leftover smoke. People drifted around like ghosts. The music had dulled to a heartbeat in the walls.

You weaved through them, silent. The house felt too full and too empty all at once. You weren’t even sure where you were going, just knew you didn’t want to be watched.

You ended up in a room near the back. The lights were off, but the curtains were open, moonlight pouring across the bed.

You closed the door behind you and sat down, slow, like the bed might disappear if you moved too fast.

Your head buzzed like static. Thoughts flashing in and out, unfinished. You couldn’t latch onto anything for more than a few seconds. Just… sensations. Warm palms. The sound of a laugh you used to know too well. The word probably again, echoing like a dare.

You pulled your knees up. Rested your forehead there.

You weren’t gonna cry. Not here. Not like this.

You just needed the room to stop breathing before you could. The room kept shifting under you.

Not like spinning. More like melting. Like the walls were leaning in just a little too far, and the bed dipped weird when you moved, like it was breathing with you. You pressed your forehead harder against your knees and tried to stay still.

Your skin felt too loud. Like every inch of you was buzzing. Not painful, just… alert. Overaware. Like your body knew something your brain didn’t.

You couldn’t stop thinking about outside.

The way Nate looked at you.

Roman’s voice, flat but certain: “He wasn’t even on anything.”

“He probably likes you.”

You hated that “probably.”

You loved it.

You needed it to be true.

You didn’t believe it for a second.

Your heart beat in your throat. Way too fast.

God, maybe you were gonna puke. No. Cry.

No—just sit here forever, probably.

You laid back flat on the bed. The ceiling looked unreal. Like someone drew it and forgot to finish shading it in.

You stared at it. Tried to count your breaths. Lost track at two.

Closed your eyes.

His face was there instantly.

Not how he looked tonight, detached, lit by someone else’s glow, but how he used to look at you. At your mouth when you talked too fast. At your hands when you explained things with them. That small, private smile like you were saying something only he could hear.

You remembered the way he’d give you his hoodie when you didn’t even ask. The time he took off his chain and handed it to you without a word because you kept playing with it. The way he’d laugh at your jokes before you finished them.

You tried to tell yourself none of it meant anything. People are just nice. Boys like him flirt like that with everyone.

But Roman’s voice kept echoing.

“He wasn’t high.”

“The way he talks about you—”

You pressed your knuckles into your eyes.

Everything behind your eyelids turned violet and gold and green like fireworks going off underwater.

You weren’t even sure what you wanted anymore.

Just for it to make sense.

For it to stop hurting.

For your chest to stop feeling like it was filling with warm static and fog and grief.

The high made it all worse. Or maybe it just peeled everything back.

No distractions. No jokes. Just raw. Loud. Real.

And you were stuck in it now. Floating.

You rolled onto your side, curled up, and told yourself:

Just five minutes.

Just ride it out.

Just breathe.

But your thoughts didn’t slow down.

They just circled.

And he was in every single one of them.

The buzzing started faint.

At first you thought it was part of the high. Just another layer of vibration under your skin, like the bedframe humming or your heart thumping too loud. But then it happened again short, insistent, too rhythmic to be imagined.

Your phone.

You turned your head. It was facedown on the mattress beside you, lighting up every few seconds like a warning.

You reached for it slowly, like you didn’t fully trust your limbs. Your fingers felt floaty. Detached. You flipped it over, eyes half-lidded, and blinked to make the name come into focus.

It was him.

Hollis.

Just his name on your screen—twice now. One text. One missed call.

Your breath hitched.

The buzzing wouldn’t stop. Your phone kept lighting up where it lay beside you on the bed, screen flashing with missed texts, but the soft whirr in your head made it impossible to focus on any of them. Everything felt a little too loud and too far away at the same time. You were curled up against the headboard, knees pulled into your chest, white off-the-shoulder top slipping lower on one side, fishnets slightly torn at the thigh. You hadn’t even bothered to take off your boots.

Your fingers absently toyed with one of the studs on your belt. Your skin felt electric. Your thoughts spun and then folded in on themselves. The high was way too strong.

The door creaked open.

“Hey…” a quiet voice.

You looked up slow, bleary and there he was.

Hollis.

He stepped halfway into the room like he hadn’t fully decided if he was allowed to be there. His white shirt clung to him just enough to show the shape of his chest when he breathed in, but his jeans hung loose on his hips, belt buckle slightly off-center. You saw the glint of his cross necklace swing as he shifted. He scratched at the back of his neck with his ringed hand, eyes darting around the room before they landed on you.

“Oh—uh, sorry,” he said quickly. “Didn’t know where you were, I wanted to find you.”

You shook your head slowly, still not speaking. He took a tentative step forward, then another.

“You alright?” he asked, voice soft but uncertain.

You didn’t answer.

He stopped near the foot of the bed, squinting a little. You could tell he was trying to read your face, but you were too deep in it. You stared past him, trying to ground yourself. The way his bracelets clicked together when he shifted his weight. The soft crease in his shirt where he’d tugged it nervously.

“You… don’t look okay,” he said, quieter now. “You—damn. You’re really high, huh?”

You nodded, the smallest movement.

“I smoked too much,” you murmured. “I didn’t mean to.”

He ran a hand through his hair, like he didn’t know what to do with his body.

“I can take you home,” he said finally, softer than before. “If you want.”

You blinked at him. Tried to swallow. The room swayed a little when you shifted your weight.

“…Yeah,” you said. “I wanna go home.”

Hollis gave one quick nod and moved to your side. You didn’t even realize you’d started swaying until his hand touched your back. Just enough pressure to keep you steady.

He didn’t speak when you leaned into him. Just exhaled slowly through his nose and guided you gently out of the room.

The hallway felt miles long.

You tried not to think about the way his body brushed yours every few steps. The way he slightly swayed just as you did. The way his palm stayed steady and warm on your lower back. The way he smelled like tequila and cologne and something smokier underneath—like firewood or weed.

You were too cross-faded to look at him properly. Too overwhelmed by the sound of his breath, the press of his side against yours, the way every touch felt heavier than it should.

He didn’t say anything—just let you lean on him. Let you drift in that floaty, flickering space between too much and not enough. You were walking, barely, but it felt more like falling.

The stairs felt like they went on forever.

Downstairs, the living room buzzed with lights and static and laughter layered over bass. Someone spilled something. Someone was singing off-key. A haze of smoke curled at the ceiling like it was part of the architecture.

Nate looked up from the couch as you appeared with Hollis still at your side.

“She good?” he called, half-laughing, half-concerned.

“She’s leaving,” Hollis said, voice just a little slurred. Not careless—just loose. “We all are.”

“What?” Roman turned, blinking. He had one arm under Conceal, who was slipping sideways in his hoodie. “Wait—he’s—dude, he can’t even stand.”

“I’m standing right now,” Conceal mumbled.

“You’re leaning on me,” Roman muttered.

Hollis didn’t even pause. Just curled his arm tighter around you, like that settled it.

“She doesn’t wanna be here anymore,” he said, more to you than to them. “So we’re not here anymore.”

You didn’t even respond, just leaned heavier into his side, eyes glazed and faraway, letting your fingers twist in the frayed hem of his shirt like it was a tether.

“Bro, you’re not even—” Roman started again, but then stopped. Looked at your face. Looked at Hollis’s. Something in his jaw shifted.

“I’m getting the car,” Nate cut in. He was already fishing his keys from his back pocket, jaw tight, the only one who hadn’t fully drowned in the night.

Roman exhaled. “Fine. We’re all going?”

“We’re all going,” Hollis echoed softly, already walking you toward the door.

You let him guide you down the porch steps, one careful hand steadying you, but you kept your face turned away, gaze fixed on the curb where Nate’s headlights had just flared. The night air bit your skin through the thin fabric of your outfit, and somewhere behind you, Conceal was still humming something tuneless to himself, way off-key.

Hollis didn’t try to talk. Just walked beside you, his grip gentle but persistent like he was afraid if he let go, you’d evaporate.

Nate was already pulling the car around by the curb—bless him, totally stone-faced, dealing with everyone like this was normal. Conceal was dragging his feet like a ghost and half-singing something from the back porch.

You didn’t say a word as you slid into the backseat straight to the window. Cool glass. Night air. You felt light and heavy at the same time. Crossfaded and overstimulated. Half-pissed, half-gone. Eyes a little too glassy. Everything smelled like sweat, firewood, weed and someone’s cheap perfume.

Hollis flopped in beside you, loose and warm, smelling like the party. His jeans brushed your thigh. You didn’t move.

Conceal got in after him and let the door slam shut. The whole car shuddered. Nate started driving. Roman was already in the passenger seat, cracking his knuckles and scrolling through someone’s story.

For a few seconds, no one said anything.

Then Hollis tilted his head toward you, voice low and syrupy. “You mad at me?”

You didn’t answer.

He rubbed his face, leaned back with a sigh, then forward again. “Okay, but like—I wasn’t into her. At all.”

You kept your eyes on the streetlights whipping past.

“She was talkin’ to herself,” he muttered. “I didn’t even know she was touchin’ me ‘til it was already happening.”

Conceal coughed a laugh. “Bro looked like he was being held hostage.”

“She called you Holland, didn’t she?” Roman added, turning halfway around. “Like fully committed to the bit.”

Nate didn’t take his eyes off the road. “y/n, I saw the whole thing. Man looked like he was tryin’ to leave the whole time.”

You gave them all a look but didn’t say anything. Just crossed your arms and leaned a little closer to the window.

“She was loud,” Hollis added, his voice quieter now, slurred at the edges. “Like she talked like a TikTok shop ad.”

“She talked like someone who’s never had to fight for her life,” Conceal muttered.

Roman nodded solemnly. “No survival instinct.”

“Okay, but like I didn’t do anything,” Hollis mumbled. His head fell back against the seat with a soft thud. “I didn’t want her. I was just stuck.”

You glanced at him. He looked tired. Flushed. Eyes heavy, shirt collar wrinkled, necklaces tangled a little at his throat. There was a smudge of something on his cheek—maybe the eyeliner or eyeshadow that you helped him with earlier.

“I kept thinkin’ about where you went,” he said, eyes half-closed. “I was tryna find you.”

You didn’t respond. He looked high. 

The guys didn’t say anything either.

The car hummed through the dark, streetlights flickering across Hollis’s face in slow pulses. His knee stayed pressed to yours the whole time. You didn’t pull away. But you didn’t move closer either.

He didn’t press it. Just leaned his head back, one hand resting on his thigh, the other hanging loose between his knees, and breathed out like maybe he already said too much. You kept your head turned toward the window, but your eyes didn’t leave him.

He looked like the night had wrung him out, like whatever high he’d chased had left him soft and open and just a little out of sync with himself. His legs were spread lazily, the denim at his knees creased and bunched from sitting. His fingers twitched now and then, restless, dragging over the hem of his shirt like he wasn’t fully aware he was doing it.

The side of his neck was flushed pink, collarbone just barely visible under the loose, stretched fabric of his tee. His hair had fallen into his face again, but he didn’t push it back this time. He just sat there. Breathing like the air was too thick.

You stared at the little smudge near his eye. The kohl rubbed halfway off, it made him look a little more off it.

He shifted slightly, his knee bumping yours again. Still didn’t move.

From the passenger seat, Roman yawned, loud, theatrical, arms stretched toward the roof of the car. “Man, we should’ve just left you both alone in the kitchen and let this whole thing explode earlier.”

Conceal snorted, low and sleepy. “Yeah, would’ve saved us the rerun in the car.”

Hollis didn’t look at them. He just blinked slow, let out a little breath, and tilted his face toward you, not quite looking, but facing you like he was hoping you’d turn.

You didn’t. But your eyes flicked to him again, slow and warm and unreadable.

“I didn’t wanna be near her,” he said again, this time quieter, almost more to himself. “Not when I didn’t know where you went.”

You watched the line of his jaw shift, clench, then relax.

“You keep saying that,” you said, voice low.

He nodded, like he didn’t expect it to be enough. Like he knew he didn’t have anything better to offer. “’Cause it’s true.”

The silence stretched again, and this time, it wasn’t awkward. Just thick. Charged. The kind that made your heartbeat feel louder in your ears.

Nate adjusted the volume on the speaker, and a new song slid in, dreamy synths and soft drums. Something woozy, underwater. It filled the space where words should’ve gone.

The windows fogged just slightly at the edges. Your knees were still touching. Neither of you looked away.

The music softened even more, like it knew not to interrupt.

“I’m so dead,” Roman murmured from the passenger seat, voice gravelly. “I’m not even gonna make it up my stairs.”

Conceal yawned into his hoodie. “Let’s just go to Hollis’ .”

Nobody argued.

Not even Nate, who only sighed through his nose and nodded, turning the wheel like the decision had already been made. “Say less.”

You didn’t say anything either.

But you didn’t need to.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t crashed there before. After late-night studio sessions, after group hangs that bled into morning. His place had always been the safe landing spot. The gravity center. Dimly lit, smelling faintly like incense and something citrusy-clean. That one lamp in the corner. His record player. The couch you’d accidentally fallen asleep on more than once.

You just glanced at Hollis—barely—and caught him doing the same.

He didn’t speak, just held the eye contact for a beat too long before looking down at his lap. His hand twitched like he was going to reach for something, maybe you, but didn’t.

Instead, his knee stayed firm against yours. Yes. Continuing with that heavy-lidded, electric quiet. You weren’t just looking at him, you were absorbing every inch like you’re afraid you’ll forget how he looks if you blink.

The silence held, heavy as breath.

You let yourself look at him this time. Really look.

Hollis’s head was tilted slightly toward the window, but his eyes, half-lidded and glassy, were still angled your way. Like he was pretending not to look, too. His lashes were longer than they should’ve been. His skin flushed, not just from the heat of the car, but something deeper. Softer. The kind of flush that came after a second drink, or after saying something you weren’t sure was safe.

The eyeliner under both eyes had smudged. A faint black shadow bleeding toward his cheekbone. His lips were parted, just barely, like he was mid-thought or mid-breath. You thought you could still see the faint crease where a cigarette had rested earlier between them.

There was ash on his shirt. Or maybe it was lint. You didn’t care. You didn’t stop looking.

His necklaces had tangled, silver cross caught against the gold cross, glinting every time the car passed under another streetlight. The collar of his shirt was pushed a little off-center, exposing the soft dip of his collarbone,

He looked ruined in a quiet way.

Not messy. Just… undone.

His fingers twitched where they rested near his thigh. Not drumming. Not fidgeting. Just there, like he was holding something invisible. Like he was trying not to reach.

Your knees stayed pressed together.

You hadn’t moved in miles.

He blinked slow, like the air was thick, like it took effort. And then his lips parted again.

But he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

Another streetlight passed. His face flickered a golden glow, then disappeared again.

The music drifted on in the background, still low. Still dreamy.

And you kept looking at him like you were memorizing.

Because maybe you were.

The car slowed.

Gravel crackled under the tires as Nate eased up the driveway, the soft glow of the porch light blinking on like it had been expecting you. It cast everything in that sleepy, amber hue, the railings, the cracked pavement, the dust in the California air like it was part of the atmosphere.

The engine shut off, and for a moment, nobody moved.

Roman finally groaned and shoved his door open, stumbling out with a stretch that made his shirt ride up. Conceal followed, hoodie half over his face, already muttering something about crashing in the guest room. Nate grabbed his phone charger from the center console, sighing through his nose.

You reached for the door handle a beat later, slower, limbs a little syrupy, and pushed the door open. The air outside felt colder than it should’ve. You blinked at the shift in gravity as your feet hit the ground.

And then the sidewalk tilted.

Not actually, but it felt like it did.

Your ankle wobbled, balance slipping fast. The ground surged up toward.

But a hand grabbed your arm. Firm. Warm.

You stumbled forward right into Hollis’ chest.

“Whoa—whoa, hey,” he said, low and a little slurred, but steady. Both arms wrapped around you automatically. His shirt smelled like citrus, weed, maybe lemon, and whatever detergent he used. His chin nearly bumped your forehead.

You froze. So did he.

His hands didn’t drop right away. One lingered lightly against your back, the other still curled around your forearm like he wasn’t entirely convinced you wouldn’t fall again.

And he looked down at you, eyes glassy, half-lidded, a little red-rimmed, but focused. On you. Only you.

“You good?” he asked, quieter now. Like it was just the two of you. Voice thick. Rough. That whipped concern bleeding through even under the haze.

You nodded.

Didn’t say anything.

Couldn’t, really.

He still didn’t let go for a second too long. Then, finally, slowly, his hands dropped. His fingers brushed your skin as they did, like he hadn’t meant to but wasn’t sorry.

You steadied yourself, heart tapping fast in your chest. He watched you the whole time.

The others were already inside. Nate held the door open with one foot, not looking back.

But Hollis did.

Still half-turned toward you, like catching you had shifted something. Like maybe he was scared to let it drop again.

You didn’t move for a second.

Just stood there, your arm still tingling where his hand had been. His chest was close, too close for your brain to work properly. The porch light cast a soft halo over his hair, catching on the curve of his jaw, the slight sheen on his cheekbone. You could still feel the weight of his grip in your waist, like your body didn’t want to forget it.

He didn’t say anything, just waited for you to find your balance. Then, quietly, “C’mon.”

The front door shut behind you with a low thud, and everything inside the house felt dim and warm and a little sideways.

Roman was already pulling off his jacket mid-yawn, stumbling half-blind toward the hallway. Conceal didn’t even look up, just wandered in the same direction, hoodie half-on, mumbling something like, I’m claiming the left bed or I’ll start throwing elbows. Nate trailed behind, 

bottle of water in hand. No questions asked. No discussion needed.

They all filed into the usual room, the one with the two beds, threadbare comforters, and lopsided blinds. Their default crash site.

You hung back, still by the entryway, gripping the edge of the counter like the ground was made of ocean.

You were pretty drunk, that dizzy-soft feeling in between mixed with the high, not full float, just enough to make everything feel a little slower. Floaty. Muffled. Like your heartbeat echoed too loud in your chest.

You didn’t move. You were holding your phone and you forgot why.

“Hey,” came a low voice behind you.

You turned, slow, drowsy, and Hollis was there.

Leaning against the wall like he couldn’t quite stand straight. Hands in the pockets of those baggy jeans. Bleached hair messy, lips parted slightly like he’d just licked them. His eyes were low and glossy, half-lidded, but trained on you with laser focus.

“You good?” he asked.

You blinked, processing the question through a fog. Nodded. Then shrugged. “‘M not gonna take the couch.”

It came out quieter than you meant it to. Maybe a little breathier. He tilted his head like he was trying to read more than what you’d said.

“You want my room?”

You blinked again.

“I mean… you can have it,” he added. “I don’t care. You shouldn’t have to sleep out here like—.”

You cracked a tired smile. “Where would you sleep?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I dunno. Floor. Hammock. Your feet.”

You scoffed. “Hammock?”

His eyes lit just barely. “You know I got one. It’s real.”

You took another slow breath. The room tilted just slightly. You hadn’t realized how close he was until he shifted, his knee bumping lightly against yours, like the car all over again. He didn’t move away.

“I’m not kicking you out of your bed,” you said, voice lazy with warmth.

He squinted a little, like your words were running through his brain on a delay. Then he shook his head.

“Nah,” he said, softer. “I just… I want you to be good. Sleep good. That’s all.”

There was a weird tension in his jaw when he said it. Not bad tension. Just… effort. Like he meant it a little too much and didn’t wanna show it.

You didn’t say anything right away. You were too busy staring.

The way his lashes cast little shadows under the hallway light. The way his chains caught in the collar of his shirt. The faint crease in his brow like he was thinking too hard. He looked tired, and also high, but there was something else behind it. That softness again. The one that made everything in you warm up.

“Okay,” you said finally, like it wasn’t a big deal.

But it was.

And you both knew it.

He blinked slow. Like he hadn’t expected you to say yes. Or maybe he had, maybe he hoped you would, but now that you had, he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

He scratched at his neck again, then turned on his heel and nodded for you to follow. You trailed behind, your socks sliding a little on the hardwood, your fishnets brushing your inner thighs.

The house was so quiet now, the only sounds the creak of the floorboards and the low whir of the fridge in the kitchen. Everything smelled like incense, sandalwood and something citrusy, like his room always did. You realized your body was moving mostly on autopilot, swayed half by gravity, half by how warm your skin still felt from his voice, his eyes.

He pushed open his bedroom door with one hand, holding it just wide enough for you to slip past.

He shut the door gently, almost too gently, like he didn’t want to startle you. He didn’t speak at first. The overhead light was off, just the lamp by the bed glowing amber and soft, catching the angles of his face as he toed off his boots.

You just stood there. Arms crossed.

“I wasn’t even doing anything,” he mumbled after a second, more to himself than to you. “They were just messing around. You know how they get.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He finally looked at you, eyes a little red, glassy. His voice slower, softer than usual. “What?”

You didn’t answer.

“You’re mad.”

You gave him a look. “No shit.”

He let out a breath and dragged a hand through his hair, stumbling just a little from the effort. Crossfaded almost just as much as you, clearly, but still trying to seem chill.

“I already told them it wasn’t like that,” he said. “That girl… whatever her name was. I wasn’t into her. I didn’t even know she was there until she started laughing like— like in my ear.”

“Cool,” you said flatly. “So you let her stay there anyway?”

His jaw tensed. “No, I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I was looking for you, literally the whole time. You disappeared.”

You looked away.

The room was suddenly too still. The tension between you hung like a thick rope.

“I noticed right after you left,” he added, quieter now. “Roman was like, ‘Bro, you fucked up,’ and I didn’t even know what he meant.”

He paused, watching your face. You didn’t give him much.

“But then I saw like you were compleatly gone.”

Still nothing.

He stepped a little closer.

“I didn’t want her touching me,” he said, voice low and rough. “I didn’t want anyone touching me except you.”

Your eyes flicked back to him—fast, but he caught it.

The look on his face shifted slightly. “You think I’m lying, y/n?”

You shrugged. “I think you like the attention.”

“I don’t,” he said immediately.

You gave him a look like sure you don’t.

“I like yours.” he added.

That made you pause.

The silence after that was heavy buzzing like your ears were ringing.

He stepped even closer, standing right in front of you now. Not touching you, but close enough that you could feel his body heat under the scent of weed and cheap tequila.

“Look,” he said, voice hushed, like he couldn’t say it louder even if he wanted to. “I don’t know how to do this shit right. Especially with you. I get nervous, and I try to act cool, and it always comes out stupid.”

You blinked slowly.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he said, and this time, it sounded real. Like an actual apology. “You looked sad. And mad. And I didn’t know how to fix it.”

Your throat was tight.

He was still watching you like he was trying to memorize your face.

“I just keep hoping… I don’t know. That you’ll forgive me long enough to maybe… stay.”

You blinked again.

“Tonight,” he added, softer. “Just— stay. Please. Don’t be mad.”

You didn’t move for a long moment.

 But then you kicked your boots off where his were.

Hollis exhaled, like he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.

You didn’t say yes.

You didn’t have to.

The lamp flickered as you stepped toward the bed.

But you paused when he gently caught your wrist.

“Wait,” Hollis murmured, eyes a little glassy, voice rough. “You should shower first. You’ll feel better.”

You hesitated, heart knocking in your chest. He wasn’t wrong—you felt sticky with sweat and smoke and the heaviness of the night.

“I’ll find you something to wear,” he added, already turning toward the small dresser in the corner of the room. You watched him dig through it, muttering to himself until he emerged with a folded shirt and a pair of boxers. “This okay?”

You nodded.

The bathroom light clicked on, harsh and fluorescent compared to the low amber of the bedroom. You stepped inside, and just before the door shut behind you, you caught Hollis dragging a hand through his hair like he needed to steady himself.

The water was hot and a little too steamy, but it scrubbed away the chill, the fog, the smoke still clinging to your skin. You breathed in, let it rinse over your shoulders. Tried not to think about the way he’d looked at you—like he really didn’t want anyone else.

When you stepped out, the clothes were soft and worn-in, his scent still clinging to them: that vaguely citrus-clean smell, incense, something boyish and warm underneath it all. The shirt was too big, boxers even bigger, but they fit in that cozy way.

You opened the door, towel still draped around your shoulders, hair damp. Hollis looked up from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. His eyes dragged over you, slow and unreadable, but he didn’t say anything.

“Your turn,” you said quietly.

He nodded, brushing past you with a low “Thanks,” fingers accidentally grazing your arm as he went. Your skin sparked.

You sat on the bed in the dim light, still high enough to feel like everything was dreamlike and a little slow. The sound of the shower starting again only made it worse, you could also hear the other guys laughing across the house over some reel Nate showed them, better.

You didn’t know how long he was in there. Five minutes? Ten? You were curled on your side by the time the door creaked again, the bathroom light spilling out for a second before vanishing.

He stood there in the doorway, damp hair curling at his neck. He wore clean clothes too, sweats, a plain white t shirt, but the glow in the room made him look an ethereal golden. Soft.

You looked up.

His eyes met yours.

He swallowed. “You okay?”

You nodded.

He moved to the bed slowly, carefully, like he didn’t want to spook you. When he sat, he didn’t lay down right away, just rested back on his hands and looked at the ceiling like he needed to say something but couldn’t figure out how.

You didn’t say anything either.

The silence curled around you again, thick and electric. You could still feel the alcohol in your bloodstream, the weed in your lungs. But under it was something softer. Clearer. Like you were seeing each other for the first time after months of pretending not to look.

He finally turned toward you again, face unreadable. “Your staying here?”

You didn’t respond.

“Right?” he said softer, almost barley audible. 

You lifted the edge of the blanket and moved over a little.

He blinked.

Then nodded once.

He slid under the covers beside you, careful again, like you were glass. But you weren’t not tonight. You felt fragile and angry and somehow still desperate for him.

For this.

He shifted onto his side to face you, the bedsheets rustling between you. Your noses were maybe six inches apart.

You both just lay there. Breathing.

“I know you don’t believe me,” he said finally, voice low, careful. “But I didn’t want her.”

Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t say anything.

“I was looking for you. The whole night. And then you were just… gone.”

You stared at the ceiling.

“I messed up,” he added. “And I’m not good at saying shit right, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.”

You blinked slowly.

“I felt you leave,” he said. “Like actually. Like it changed the air or some shit.”

That made your eyes cut toward him—just barely, but he saw it.

His voice stayed quiet, like he was afraid to scare you off. “It’s not fun without you. The attention, the parties, the noise. None of it feels right unless you’re there, y/n.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you muttered.

He gave a weak huff. “Yeah. Probably. I get that way around you.”

That stung a little, because you knew it was true. He was different with you. Softer. Weirder. Realer.

“You looked so mad,” he said. “Like you didn’t even wanna look at me.”

You turned your face toward him fully now. 

“I didn’t,” you admitted. “I still kind of don’t.”

He nodded like he deserved that. “Fair.”

Another long silence.

“I’m trying,” he said, so quiet you almost missed it. “I don’t always know how, but I’m trying.”

You were staring at his mouth now. The words sat there. Soft. Honest. Scared.

“Why?” you asked, and your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.

His brows knit slightly, his eyes flickered down at your lips and he shook his head a little. “Why what?”

“Why are you trying?” You swallowed hard. “Why does it matter?”

Hollis stared at you for a long moment. So long you almost pulled the question back.

But then he said, “Because it’s you.”

The breath caught in your throat.

“I like you, y/n,” he whispered, voice almost shaking. “Like… I like you. And it scares the shit out of me.”

You blinked.

“Because I mess things up,” he said. “And I don’t wanna mess this up.”

The lamp buzzed faintly. A car passed outside. The bed creaked slightly as one of you shifted closer—you weren’t sure who. The air between you had thickened, dense with something unspoken and magnetic. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips, and you swore the room had gotten smaller. Or maybe just quieter.

Hollis was watching your face like it held every answer he’d ever wanted.

“I don’t wanna mess this up,” he said again, softer now, like it was a secret.

You blinked at him, breath caught somewhere in your throat. You were pretty sure your heart had stopped beating.

Under the blanket, his hand brushed yours, just barely.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

Instead, you turned your palm up.

He laced his fingers through yours slowly, deliberately, like it meant something. Like it was something.

You didn’t speak. You just looked at him, eyes wide, cheeks warm, breath unsteady.

His head dipped a little closer.

Then stopped.

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” he whispered.

You swallowed, still cloudy at the edges in slow, syrupy waves. “You’re not.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then, even quieter:

“Can I kiss you?”

That’s when your breath caught for real.

Your heart skipped and crashed all at once. Your skin flushed, heat blooming everywhere. You nodded before you could even say anything.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Please.”

That was all it took.

He shifted just enough to see your face, brushing your hair back gently, tucking it behind your ear like he’d been dying to do it all night. His hand was trembling a little. So was yours.

He leaned in the rest of the way, brushing your nose with his, eyes fluttering shut, and then finally his lips found yours.

His breath touched your lips first, warm and unsteady—then the faintest brush of his mouth, so gentle it didn’t even feel real His lips ghosted over yours again, not quite kissing, not quite pulling back. Like he wanted to memorize the shape of the moment before it fully happened. The space between you hummed, charged and soft and fragile. It started slow. Like he didn’t want to scare you off. A soft press, then a pause. Then deeper. Warmer.

Not rushed. Not greedy. Just there. Long and warm and careful, like he wanted to pour all the words he couldn’t say into that single moment. His lips moved slowly with yours, testing, matching your rhythm, like he was trying to listen with his mouth. 

Your whole body melted toward him.

You felt his hand tighten gently around yours under the blanket, fingers tangled like a promise. His other hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, as if to anchor you both. Like he needed to feel your heartbeat.

You tasted the faint trace of something sweet from earlier, maybe chocolate or the soda, maybe just him. Your nose bumped his, and he smiled into the kiss, so soft you barely felt it, just the curve of his lips tugging against yours for a second.

Neither of you rushed. Neither of you needed to.

He kissed you like it wasn’t about the kiss at all. Like it was about every other moment that had led up to this one. Every almost. Every glance. Every time he’d stayed a little too close.

When you finally pulled apart, it wasn’t even really apart. Just a breath’s worth of space between your mouths.

Your forehead pressed lightly to his.

His fingers still wrapped around yours.

You could still feel the warmth of his lips.

And when you opened your eyes, his were already on you.

Like you were the only thing that mattered.

Like he didn’t want to look anywhere else. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

His gaze dropped to your mouth again. You felt it, like a brushstroke.

And then, so softly you barely caught it, he whispered, “I wanna kiss you again.”

Your breath hitched again.

And you nodded. Just once.

And that was all it took.

His lips found yours again, slower this time, deeper. Like he was savoring it. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the sound you made when his hand slid up to cup the side of your face.

You kissed him back, leaning in, your fingers tightening in his.

This time there was more urgency, quiet, careful, but undeniable. Like you both had been holding your breath all night and were finally starting to let go.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His nose brushed yours again. His hand slipped from your cheek to the nape of your neck, pulling you just a little closer, and you let him.

Your mouths moved together like you’d done this a hundred times, or like you’d been waiting to for too long.

A soft noise escaped you—more of a sigh than a moan—and Hollis swallowed it with his mouth, kissing you like it undid him a little. Like it made him brave and stupid and grateful, all at once.

You didn’t even realize your leg had slipped between his until his breath hitched. But he didn’t stop. Didn’t pull back.

His lips moved slower, then deeper, like he was learning you. Testing the edge of what you’d give him.

You gave it.

You parted your lips for him, just a little, and he kissed you like a question first. Tentative. Waiting.

But then his tongue brushed gently against yours, and your whole body went warm.

You sighed into his mouth, and that sound made him press in closer, like he couldn’t help it. His hand slipped from your neck to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, holding you steady as his tongue slid over yours again, this time slower, more sure.

You kissed him like you were falling.

He kissed you like he wanted to catch you.

When you finally pulled back to breathe, your lips stayed close, hovering, brushing. Your forehead still resting against his, your lashes fluttering as you tried to calm your heart.

Then you felt it, his nose nuzzling gently along your cheek, his breath warm against your skin. His lips found your jaw, then lower.

You didn’t stop him.

Didn’t want to.

His mouth grazed the line just beneath your ear, and your breath caught. He smiled against your skin, just barely.

“Okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, already tilting your head for him.

He kissed the side of your neck like he was still asking. Slow. Soft. Warm.

Then again, a little lower. Your fingers curled tighter in his shirt.

When his tongue flicked briefly against the hollow of your throat, you swore you felt the earth tilt.

You didn’t say a word.

But your body said yes, yes, yes.

And Hollis heard every part of it. His mouth dragged slow and warm along your neck, pausing just under your ear. His breath fanned out across your skin, and then, his teeth. A soft bite, followed by the gentle drag of his lips, and then another kiss, deeper this time.

You gasped. A soft moan slipped from your throat before you could stop it, your body trembling, and your hand flew up to your mouth, covering it instinctively. Hollis froze.

Then lifted his head, just barely, just enough to look at you.

Your fingers still hovered over your lips, eyes wide, breath shaky.

A slow, crooked smile touched his face. “No,” he whispered, voice low and velvet-rough. “Don’t do that.”

You tried to look away. Tried to stay quiet.

He leaned closer again, forehead brushing yours. His thumb found your chin, the tip of his nose bumping yours.

“y/n.”

Your name, like a confession. A command. A plea.

You looked at him, his eyes dark, mouth parted, chest rising too fast.

“I wanna hear you,” he said softly. “Don’t hide it.”

“But what if they hear us?” You ask, voice slightly shaking.

“They won’t. Promise.” He held your hand that was previously covering your mouth tight. Lacing your fingers together. 

You nodded then his mouth was back on your neck, hot, open kisses, another teasing nip, and when you moaned this time, there was no stopping it.

It spilled out of you, soft and breathy and unfiltered, and Hollis groaned like he was the one coming undone.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he muttered against your skin, kissing lower, messier. “You sound so good…”

You felt dizzy. Warm. Like you were burning from the inside out.

He kissed you again, your lips this time. Slow. Deep. His tongue brushing yours in soft, languid waves that made your fingers curl in the sheets. Hollis pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed, both of you flushed and half-smiling, like neither could believe this was actually happening. His hand slid along your hip, palm anchoring there like he needed to feel you grounded beneath him.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, voice thick with want but careful, so careful.

You nodded, already chasing his mouth again, but he still hesitated.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmured against your lips.

You swallowed, heart thudding. “Yes,” you whispered. “It’s okay. I want this.”

That was all it took.

He moved slowly, shifting his weight until he was hovering over you completely, one knee sliding between your legs as his body slotted against yours. His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, warm fingers trailing up your sides, over your ribs, the dip of your waist, His touch was reverent, almost trembling.

You gasped when his palms reached higher, thumbs brushing just beneath your chest, not groping, just feeling, learning. Your shirt rode up slightly, but he didn’t rush anything. His eyes flicked down to where his hands touched your bare skin, then back up to your face.

“You’re driving me insane,” he murmured, and kissed you again, deeper this time.

You whimpered softly into his mouth, your hips shifting beneath his. His hands paused for just a moment, like he needed to steady himself, then one slid up, slow and tentative, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt. His touch was warm against your bare skin, trailing up your side, higher, until—

His thumb brushed the curve of your breast.

He stilled instantly.

His forehead leaned into yours, his breath uneven. “Can I?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. “Touch you like this?”

You nodded, heat flooding your face. “Yeah,” you breathed. “I want you to.”

He exhaled softly, almost like he was relieved, and kissed you again, tender, savoring. His hand moved with more confidence now, cupping you carefully, like he didn’t want to overwhelm you. His thumb grazed over your nipple, slow and light, and your back arched instinctively beneath him.

A soft, high moan slipped out of you before you could stop it. Your heart nearly gave out right there.

He kissed you again, slow and deep, tongue brushing yours in lazy, dizzying waves. His free hand rested at your waist, grounding you, while the other teased and explored in slow, reverent circles. Every movement was careful, like he wanted you to feel worshiped.

Then his lips left yours and trailed down your jaw to your neck, soft, wet kisses, followed by the tiniest nip that made your breath stutter.

You whimpered, hips tilting up toward him without thinking.

He groaned softly against your throat, and the sound made your whole body shiver.

“y/n,” he breathed, like he couldn’t believe you were real. His thumb brushed over your nipple, just once, and you gasped, a soft sound escaping before you could stop it.

He groaned low in his throat, head dipping to your neck again. “You’re driving me crazy, baby,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You barely had time to respond, your body moved on instinct, hips rolling gently up into his without you meaning to.

The contact made you both freeze for a split second.

Then he exhaled sharply, lips parting against your skin. “Fuck.”

His hands flexed against you, both palms sliding up now to fully cradle your chest, massaging gently, like he couldn’t get enough of the way you felt in his hands. His thumbs moved in slow, teasing circles, and your hips rolled again—unconscious, needy.

He felt it.

He felt everything.

“y/n,” he murmured, mouth brushing your jaw now. “Do you want this?”

Your answer came as a whisper, breathless and sure. “Yes.”

His lips crashed softly back to yours, hungry but controlled, like he’d been holding himself back all this time, and your permission finally let him fall. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. His voice was so low it barely made it out. 

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough. Your hands found his jaw, your thumbs brushing his flushed cheeks. “Yes, Hollis. Please. I want you to see me.”

His breath caught, sharp, pained, reverent. He kissed you once more, softer now, and eased your shirt over your head, his hands gliding along your sides like he needed to feel every inch of skin.

He dropped the shirt behind him, but didn’t look away from you. Couldn’t.

His hands froze for a beat, like he needed a second just to take you in. Then he exhaled, shaky and full of awe, and leaned in to kiss just above your heart. His palms slid over your bare waist, your ribs, your stomach, like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice slightly raspy. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You leaned in, your forehead brushing his, breath mingling. “Then let me.” You shifted, rocked against the hard line of him, and the groan he let out was guttural.

“You feel like everything,” he gasped. “Everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You whimpered at that, nails grazing the back of his neck. “You’ve been driving me crazy, Hollis. For so long. Every time you looked at me like that… touched me like you didn’t mean to…”

“I meant it,” he said, almost too quickly. “I meant every second.”

Your lips brushed his jaw, then his throat. “Then show me.”

“y/n,” he whispered into your skin. “You’re perfect.”

Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly. “You don’t have to be careful with me,” you breathed. “I want all of it. I want you.”

Then, his mouth was on you again, open and wet and worshipful, trailing from your collarbone down to your sternum, tongue dragging slowly over your skin. When your hips rolled forward against his hardness again, he groaned against your chest.

“Fuck—please—do that again,” he begged. “Just keep moving like that. I’ll do anything.”

You smiled, eyes half-lidded, and rocked your hips again, slower this time, deliberate.

“You like that?” you whispered, teasing and breathless.

He groaned. “You’re mine,” he said, like a prayer and a curse. “Finally. Fucking finally.”

You almost moaned at that feeling yourself getting wetter, you reached for the hem of his shirt, voice soft and shaking. “C— Can I take this off?”

His mouth curled. “Yeah?” he responded, already lifting his arms for you, gaze never leaving your face. “Take it off.”

You peeled it off inch by inch, and when it finally dropped to the floor, your breath caught. 

His skin was pale but warm, glowing under the dim bedroom light. His chest rose and fell fast, like he was holding back something sharp and deep. His chains caught the light when he leaned down again.

“I can’t believe this is real, your real,” he breathed.

You kissed the corner of his mouth, then up his jaw, lips trembling. “It is.”

His mouth found yours again, hot, open, claiming,

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded quickly, voice barely there. “Yeah. Just… a little nervous.”

His expression melted into something warm, almost reverent. “That’s okay,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “I got you baby, we’ll go slow. I want slow.”

“Me too,” you breathed. “Just don’t stop.”

His lips touched your neck first, so softly it tickled. Then again, firmer. Then he nibbled, teeth dragging across your skin, his breath hot and ragged. You gasped.

“Hollis—”

He groaned softly. “You sound so fucking pretty y/n,” he murmured, his voice rasping against your throat.

Another kiss. Then a bite, lower this time. Not rough, but enough to leave something. A mark. A memory.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, right into the curve of your neck. “You know that, right?”

Your whole body fluttered beneath him. “I—I know. I want to be.”

That made him pause. Look at you.

“Say it again.”

You swallowed. “I want to be yours.”

His mouth curved in a slow, dangerous smile before he dropped another love bite right below your collarbone, then kissed over it like an apology.

Then his mouth kept moving, down your chest, your ribs, the soft skin of your stomach, kissing, nuzzling, biting just enough to make your breath catch. Your fingers found his hair, threading through the long, soft strands.

He looked up at you once, breathless and flushed, chains swaying gently beneath him.

“Still good?” he asked, his voice low and wrecked.

You nodded, whispering, “I’ve never felt this good.”

His hands slid down your sides until they rested at the waistband of your boxers, his boxers he gave to you to wear. He waited. Silent.

You lifted your hips for him.

“Please.”

He didn’t say anything, just pressed a kiss to your navel, then eased the boxers down inch by inch, When they were off, you were left in nothing but your panties, wetness soaking through, legs parted slightly beneath him, skin flushed and glowing.

He sat back a little to look at you, his hands still resting on your thighs. His voice dropped, husky and low:

“Fucking angel.”

Then, slowly, agonizingly slow, he leaned in and started kissing your hips, your lower stomach, the soft place just above the waistband, leaving little bites and open-mouthed kisses, like he couldn’t get enough.

You squirmed gently under him, voice breaking into a whisper: “Hollis-”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, mouthing just above the waistband. “I know, y/n, I’ve got you.”

And he didn’t stop kissing you.

He looked up at you then, hair falling across his cheekbones, his dark eyes glinting softly in the lamplight.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered.

You hadn’t realized it until he said it, but your whole body was trembling, chest rising fast, fingers curled tight in the sheets beside you, other hand in his hair. 

“I want you so bad it’s making me stupid,” you admitted, voice fragile and bare.

That did something to him.

His eyes darkened, jaw flexing, and he leaned back in slowly, hands smoothing up your thighs with such care it made your stomach flip.

“I’ve got you,” he said again, gentler this time. “I’m gonna take care of you. You just keep talking to me, okay baby?”

You nodded, your hips twitching when his fingers skimmed the very edge of your panties, barely touching, teasing. You moaned as he dipped his head lower, pressing an open-mouthed kiss right over the fabric, warm and wet and dizzying.

“Hollis—oh my god—”

He groaned softly, like just the sound of your voice was enough to ruin him.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmured, mouthing over you again, tongue pressing through the damp fabric, slow and exploratory.

Your back arched.

“I can’t—” you moaned again. “I’ve never—no one’s ever touched me like this.”

He kissed your inner thigh, then right back over your center. Messy. Slow. Loving.

“That’s ‘cause they’re not me.”

His fingers gently trailed up the backs of your thighs, slipping under and around the fabric, but not pulling it off yet, just tracing where your skin was softest. His touch made your legs shake again.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s how I know you want this.”

“I want you,” you said instantly, desperate. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

He moaned into you, kissing you again through the panties, this time firmer, a long, slow drag of his mouth right where you needed it most.

Your breath stuttered. “Please, Hollis—please don’t tease—”

He smiled against you, a soft huff of a laugh. “This isn’t teasing. Not yet.”

Your hips bucked slightly, and one of his hands came up to gently press your stomach down, grounding you.

“Easy, y/n. Let me go slow,” he said, voice like silk and sin. “I’m not rushing this. I’ve waited too long to see you like this, falling apart just for me.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he kissed your hip again, your thigh, the delicate spot beside your center. His fingers finally dipped beneath the waistband, not pulling, just tracing, his fingertips brushing warmth and wet. Gasped as you traced your wetness.

“You’re soaked, baby.”

You nodded, breathless.

“Can I taste you?”

Your eyes fluttered open. “Yes,” you gasped. “Please. Hollis—please—”

He groaned low in his throat, finally hooking his fingers into the sides of your panties—and slowly, so achingly slow, began to slide them down.

His eyes never left yours as the fabric dragged over your hips, your thighs, your knees. He tossed them aside, gaze dark,

His eyes dragged over every inch of you—spread out for him, flushed and trembling, barely able to keep still. He looked like he was worshipping. Like he’d never seen anything so holy.

“You don’t even know what you look like right now,” he murmured, dragging his palm slow across your bare stomach. “You’re perfect. Every inch of you.”

He leaned in and kissed your inner thigh again, slow, open-mouthed, lingering, then brought his fingers down, finally sliding through your folds, bare and soft and slick.

You gasped, hips jolting at the contact.

“Fuck,” he whispered, watching his fingers glide through the wetness. “So wet for me already. You’re dripping.”

You whimpered, trying to press into his hand. “Please,” you breathed. “Hollis—”

He brought his face up, hovering just over your center, lips parted, but not touching yet.

“You want me to touch you right here?” he asked, voice dark and low. One finger barely brushed your clit—just a ghost of pressure.

You choked on a moan. “Yes. Please.”

He smiled, just barely.

“Good girl.”

And then he pressed down.

You arched instantly, a sound escaping your lips that didn’t even sound like your own. His touch was firm but slow, rubbing in soft, deliberate circles, building pressure exactly where you needed it most.

“Fuck, y/n,” he said,  eyes locked on your face. “You’re so sensitive. Look at how you react to me.”

you gasped. “Feels so good—”

“That’s right.” His voice was hot and steady, even as your legs began to shake again. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back from me.”

Your hips bucked, and he held you down again with his free hand, gently but firmly.

“Keep those pretty thighs open,” he said, teasing your clit a little faster now, his fingers coated in your slick. “You’re doing so fucking good for me.” You moaned, eyes glassy, “I love how messy you get,” he whispered, dipping his head again and kissing your thigh while his fingers never stopped moving. “So desperate. So pretty. All mine.”

“Please,” you begged. You didn’t even know what for anymore. You just needed more. All of him. Now.

“I know, baby. I know what you need,” he said, voice velvet-dark.

And then—he eased one finger inside you.

You cried out, hips stuttering, grabbing for his arm, his hair, anything you could hold.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his mouth against your stomach now, kissing up toward your ribs. “That’s it. Let me open you up a little, yeah? Just relax.”

He was slow with it, sliding his finger in deep, curling it ever so slightly while his thumb kept steady pressure on your clit. The sensation had you gasping, legs tensing, your whole body trying to keep up with how good it felt.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, now up near your chest, kissing along your collarbone. “You’re so tight. Fuck. You feel like heaven.”

“Hollis—oh my god—don’t stop—”

I won’t,” he murmured, lips brushing the base of your throat. “Not gonna stop until you can’t even remember your own name.”

He kissed lower again, slow and warm, tracing the curve of your ribs like he was mapping a constellation only he could read. His hands stayed steady, one spread low across your stomach to anchor you, the other still working between your thighs, two fingers stroking, curling, slow and deep, never rushing.

You weren’t close yet. Not even near it.

But everything felt so good.

Too good.

The kind of good that made your whole body hum, that melted your bones and made your toes curl just from the rhythm of it. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Could barely remember what you were saying, just that you were saying it to him.

And then he looked up at you.

Your eyes fluttered shut under the heat of it all, but his voice cut through, low, steady, breathless.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he said. “I wanna see you feel this.”

You gasped, lashes fluttering back open—and there he was, between your legs, gaze pinned to yours like it meant everything.

His mouth curved.

“There she is,” he murmured. “Look at me, y/n. I’ve got you.”

He didn’t even have his mouth on you yet and you were already falling apart—a writhing, breathless mess beneath his hands, every nerve lit up and aching for more.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered, watching your face shift with every movement of his fingers. “So fucking sweet for me.”

You moaned again, helpless, needy, your hips lifting to chase the friction he gave.

He leaned in and kissed your ribs again, messy, slow, tongue dragging just enough to make you squirm. Then lower, mouth hovering just above where you needed him most, so close the heat of his breath made your thighs shake.

“You’re not close yet, are you?” he said softly, teasing but sweet, like he loved how much you were falling for this. “Let me take you there.”

Your lips parted, trying to answer, but all that came out was his name, broken, reverent.

“Hollis—please—”

He smiled against your skin, eyes burning into yours.

“You don’t have to beg yet,” he whispered. “But god, I love when you do.”

Then he kissed your inner thigh again, just to hear the sound you made.

“Angel,” he murmured, voice velvet-smooth. “You’re trembling.”

You whined when he slid his fingers out of you, hips arching toward his mouth.

“Patience, princess,” he said with a little smile, dragging his tongue just a breath away from your center. “I’m gonna take my time with you. Make you feel every second of it.”

Your hands fisted in the sheets. “Please, Hollis—I need you—”

His eyes flicked up, hungry. “Say it again.”

You bit your lip, flushed and breathless. “I need you. Please, baby—just your mouth, please—”

He groaned at that. “Fuck, that’s it. You sound so beautiful when you beg.”

Then, finally, he ducked lower and kissed you there. Soft. Warm. Just once.

Your whole body jolted.

“Oh my god—”

“You like that, angel?” he whispered, pressing another kiss. “Want me to keep going?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes—don’t stop—please—”

He moaned into you, and this time, his tongue slid flat up your core, slow and deep, like he was savoring you. Then again. And again. Each stroke dragged a new sound from your lips.

“You taste so good,” he groaned. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever had.”

He licked you again, slower now, and when your hips twitched, he gripped your thighs tighter, holding you down.

“Stay still for me, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You whimpered, hands tugging to his hair.

His tongue circled your clit just right, then sucked, lightly, teasing. You cried out, back arching off the bed, hands yanking at his hair.

“That’s it, angel,” he murmured against you, his voice thick and ruined. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear it.”

Then he dove back in, tongue flattening against you, slow and heavy, dragging a moan straight from your core.

Each lick sent sparks flying down your spine. He moved with a rhythm that was deliberate, almost cruel in how slow it was, like he wanted you to fall apart slowly, inch by inch.

You tried to shift your hips up again, chasing his mouth, but his hands locked tighter around your thighs.

“Uh-uh, baby,” he said, eyes blazing up at you. “You stay right there. I’m not done with you yet.”

He kissed your clit. Licked it once. Again.

And then he started flicking his tongue in tight, fast little circles, focused, relentless, perfect.

Your breath caught. “Hollis—fuck—fuck—”

He groaned, low and deep, the vibration making your legs shake.

“You like that, princess?” he rasped, barely pulling back. “You want more?”

“Yes—please, baby, don’t stop—please—”

“I’m not stopping,” he growled. “Not until you come for me. I want it messy. I want you shaking.”

You whimpered, toes curling, body wound so tight it felt like you’d snap.

He alternated now; firm, flat licks that made your thighs quake, then soft, wet kisses to your clit that made you sob his name.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered. “So sweet. So fucking perfect. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes—yes—Hollis, I’m yours—”

“Yeah, you are,” he breathed, and his voice—god, his voice—was low and wrecked, thick with want. “Mine to touch, mine to taste… mine to make fall apart.”

Then he moaned into you, he could feel you pulsing, trembling just for him, and he sucked your clit, slow and deep, while his tongue pressed in tight and stayed.

You almost screamed.

Your hands pulled his hair, your hips arching up without permission, desperate, wild, almost scared by how good it felt.

But he caught your hips in his hands, strong and unyielding, and pinned you back down.

“Stay still,” he rasped, voice rough and command-slick. “Let me make you come, baby. Let me feel you lose it.”

You moaned something incoherent, barely human, barely breathing when he suddenly slipped a finger inside of you hitting you just right.

“Eyes on me,” he growled. “Look at me while I make you fall apart, y/n.”

Your head lolled back, already too far gone.

But then you felt his free hand sliding up your sides, slow and sure, until one hand was gently cupping your jaw.

He dragged your face back toward him, firm, steady, and his eyes locked to yours with that impossible stare.

“Let me see you,” he whispered. “I want to watch you come.”

You gasped, voice breaking. “I—I can’t—Hollis—”

“Yes you can,” he said, mouth right there again, lips brushing your clit like a kiss as he fingered you slowly. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. So perfect. Let me finish what I started.”

And then he went down again.

This time absolutely relentless. Tongue flicking fast, then circling, then pressing flat and slow, dragging sparks all the way up your spine as he fingered you faster adding a second.

You were sobbing his name, every sound raw, every nerve on fire.

“I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

“That’s it,” he growled. “Don’t fight it. Come for me. Be a good girl. Show me.”

You choked on a moan, your whole body shuddering—hips jerking, legs shaking so hard they nearly slipped from his grip.

“Please—Hollis, I’m gonna—”

He groaned and sucked, deep and sure, and that was it.

Your orgasm hit like a wave crashing straight through you, blinding, burning, blissful. Your back arched, hands clawing into the sheets in his hair, mouth wide open but no sound coming out, just pure, overwhelming pleasure.

He kept going. Kept licking through it, slowing down just enough to let you ride it out.

“Good girl,” he whispered, voice hot against you. “There she is. That’s my princess.”

You collapsed, spent and shaking, tears pricking your eyes from how deep it all went.

But he didn’t stop, not right away.

He kissed you again. Gently. Soft, slow strokes of his tongue over your clit now, like he was soothing the storm he just pulled from your body. Fingers pulling out of your hole. You whined at the loss.

He kissed you there again, then again, slower now, softer, like he couldn’t stop himself.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were slick, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. His eyes were dark, a little wild, but underneath it, soft.

He crawled up your body, kissing your stomach, your ribs, your chest like he already knew where to go, chains dragging across your skin— then paused, He hovered over your face, bleached hair falling over his forehead. 

“You okay, beautiful?” he whispered, brushing your hair from your face. “You with me?”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “…barely.”

He smiled, slow and smug, then kissed your jaw.

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.”

His thumb stroked your cheek, then traced the edge of your lower lip. “You should’ve seen yourself,” he whispered. “So fucking pretty falling apart for me like that.”

You whimpered, and he grinned again, dipping in to kiss you—deep, slow, teasing—letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It should’ve been filthy. But it felt like yours.

“You gonna talk to me now?” he asked against your lips, teasing, gentle. “You got all quiet on me, princess.”

“I’m trying to recover,” you mumbled eyes fluttering shut, letting your fingers find his necklaces, letting it ground you.

He laughed quietly, brushing his nose against yours. “Mmm. I’ll allow it.”

Then he kissed your forehead, firm, lingering. His hand slid slowly up your side, just skin and warmth and the kind of touch that didn’t ask for anything.

“You okay?” he asked again, softer this time.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “…Yeah.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping both arms around you like he meant to keep you right there all night. “You did so good,” he said, quiet, words pressed into your hair. “Seriously. I know that was… new.”

You buried your face in his neck, flushed and smiling.

“‘M glad it was you,” you said, muffled.

He went still for a beat. Then you felt him smile into your skin.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

He kissed your shoulder. Then your jaw. Then your temple. Like he couldn’t help himself.

“You’re shaking,” he said, brushing your arm. “Cold?”

You shook your head. “Just… coming down.”

“I got you,” he said instantly.

He sat up just enough to pull the blanket higher, tucking it under your chin like he’d done a hundred times before— but this time, your bare legs were tangled together, and your heart wouldn’t stop fluttering.

“Want me to get a hoodie?” he offered, already reaching for it.

You nodded, and he slipped it gently over your head, tugging the sleeves down your arms like he was dressing something fragile.

He smiled and kissed your knuckles. “Stay here. I’m getting you water.”

“But I’m comfy…”

“I’ll be thirty seconds.” He kissed your cheek before slipping off the bed.

You watched him walk out of the room, And when he came back, he had a cold glass of water. 

“Here,” he said, climbing back in beside you. “Hydrate. Then you can go back to being a puddle.”

You looked at him, heart too full, and took the glass.

He tucked the blanket around your legs again. Let you lean into him. Let the silence fill up with something warm and steady.

And when you looked up at him again, he was already watching you, like he couldn’t believe what he was holding.

Like he wasn’t ever gonna let it go.

Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to. “What?”

He blinked, like you’d caught him. But his thumb still brushed slow over your thigh. “Nothing. Just…” He shook his head, smiling to himself. “I always knew you were gonna ruin me.”

You let out a soft laugh, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “That’s dramatic.”

He tilted his head, resting it against yours. “Maybe. But I don’t feel normal right now. You feel like… everything.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Just curled into him more, feeling the beat of his heart under your cheek.

Then you mumbled, “This is so weird.”

“Yeah,” he said, like a breath. “But not in a bad way.”

You nodded.

He looked down again. “Are you good? Really?”

You lifted your chin a little. “Yeah. Just… full of feelings.”

He grinned softly. “Same.” Then he hesitated. “Do you still wanna stay? Or I can go. I don’t wanna—”

“Stay,” you said immediately. “I mean. If you want to.”

He laughed once, low and real. “I wasn’t looking for an excuse to leave, baby. You could tell me to sleep on the floor and I’d still feel lucky.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You’re not sleeping on the floor. It’s your room.” You said half joking. 

“Oh, thank God.” Hollis said sarcastically.

He shifted down beside you and tugged the blanket up over both of you, one arm sliding underneath you so you could stay tucked against his chest. His chain was cool against your collarbone. You traced the edge of it with your fingers, lazy.

“…Do we tell people?” you whispered eventually.

“Eventually,” he murmured. “But not now. Now is just ours.”

That made you smile. That made you melt.

You let your fingers lace with his.

“…Do you think the other guys heard us?” you mumbled, your voice a little hoarse from earlier. You turned your head slightly, cheek still pressed to his chest.

He paused. You felt him breathe in, felt his smirk against your hair.

“Probably not,” he said, not very convincingly. Then: “I hope.”

You snorted. “You hope?”

“I mean… we are far away from the guest room,” he offered, voice low and amused. “And they were all in bed before… I think.”

You groaned, burying your face in his neck. “God, I cannot make eye contact with Nate in the morning.”

“You’re worried about Nate?” Hollis laughed, then winced. “Okay, yeah. Fair. He already thinks we’re a little fucked up.”

He shifted, curling toward you more fully, tucking your joined hands against his chest. His body was warm, his heartbeat slow and solid beneath your cheek.

“I don’t want this to ruin anything,” you murmured after a beat. “Like, I still wanna send you reels at 2am. I still wanna talk shit with you in the car. I still wanna be your friend.”

He nodded, kissing the top of your head. “You’re not losing any of that. You’re just gaining more. Okay?”

“…Okay.”

You were both quiet for a moment. Just breathing. Just being.

Then, with a lazy grin, he murmured, “Still gonna bully you when you make an ass beat, though.”

You smacked his chest with your free hand. “You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

The words slipped out so easily, like they’d always been there, waiting.

You looked up at him, startled.

His eyes widened a little. “Wait. I didn’t mean—I mean, I did, but not like—“

You smiled, soft and slow. “I know what you meant.”

He relaxed, just a little. Then whispered, “Good.”

You kissed his jaw. Then his cheek. Then his mouth, slow and steady and sure.

“I love you too.” you murmured. It’s not like you haven’t said it before. Just in a different context. 

And he laughed, quiet and breathless, before pulling you close again, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.

“Okay,” he whispered, lips still against your skin. “Okay.”

The room fell back into stillness.

You didn’t need to speak anymore.

Hollis is a HUGE dick. He loves scaring you so much, he loves the way fear creeps into your features. When you two go out to the woods he loves to roughly grab you unexpectedly from behind. “No one would find you.” He whispers in your ear.

Other times he’ll hear you walk into his house, waiting for you to walk up the stairs. You calling out to find him. When you round the corner he grabs you from behind lifting you with his arms around your torso. You kick and scream for a second before realizing it’s Hollis. “Hollis!” You say upset, hitting him in the chest. He just places kisses roughly on your neck. “So hot when you get all scared..”

He definitely suggested cnc to you before. At first you didn't really know if you wanted too... but you decided you'd be ok with it as-long as you had a safe word. He brought you out to the woods, and told you to run, so you did. As you ran you kept looking over your shoulder confused, you didn't see him. Suddenly you feel him grab you from the side, arms wrapped around you. You told him you'd play along, so you did, trying to writhe out of his grip, kicking and pushing. "Stop fucking struggling god dammit." He mutters angrily, pushing you to the forest floor, getting on top of you. You kick and throw your arms, screaming "stop" and "get off me" over and over, but that wasn't the safe word, so he didn't stop. He ripped your shorts off, taking no time to thrust himself inside of you, groaning as he buries deep, you're soaking. "Thought you wanted me to fucking stop?"

Sometimes during sex he really likes to threaten baby trapping you, only really during angry sex. It turns him on… but it also honestly makes him feel better about the argument. He wants you to need him. “Wanna act like you’re gonna fucking leave me… Gonna put a baby in here so you need me.”

He’s definitely a bit manipulative and demeaning… You’ll tell him “Holli you just always scare me.. I don’t like it.” He sighs running a hand over his face. “Babe it’s just me fucking with you c’mon. You gotta stop being so sensitive.” You give him a pout, and he sighs, gently kissing your neck. “It’s just fucking around baby, you always get so sensitive…” He mutters.

He loves knife play… like a lot. He loves holding his pocket knife your throat while he thrusts into you, always making comments like, “I could cut you open.. fuck…” He’s definitely a huge fan of making you scared that he could do just about anything to you.. “C’mon baby beg me not to.” He says, pressing just a bit harder with the knife against your throat. “Holli- Holli don’t please..”

When he’s fucking you he loves when you start to cry, whether it’s out of fear or not, but he especially loves when it’s out of fear. “Awe are you scared baby?” He coos with a faux pout, he knows you’re scared, his gun in your mouth, he just clicked the safety off. “Look at you sobbing… poor baby just so scared..” he mocks. As he keeps going you keep crying and he groans. “Fuck.. Yeah keep crying baby… Look at you… Fuck I’m close.”

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