#spliffdrive

pairing bf!hollis && gf!reader. 🪽,,

⤷ summary : sentle gex w/ hollis

⤷ warnings : smut, fluff, praise kink, established relationship, sub!reader, soft!dom!hollis

a/n : i suck at being consistent but this is prob the best i’ve written in a minute, dm reqs pls ^^^

The rain outside made the apartment hum — soft percussion against the windows, the faint amber glow of streetlights pooling over the couch where Hollis had you caged in with his arms. You could feel the warmth of him even before he touched you.

“Y/n,” he murmured, voice low, the syllables dragging in that familiar, lazy drawl that always made your stomach flutter. “You’ve been lookin’ at me like that all night.”

You tried to play innocent, but his fingers were already tracing slow, confident paths down your arm. The small smile he gave you was maddeningly gentle — the kind that made you melt even before he said another word.

“C’mere.”

You didn’t realize how much you wanted to be kissed until you were. Hollis’s mouth met yours with deliberate patience, coaxing rather than taking, all warmth and restraint that made your heartbeat trip. His other hand tilted your chin just so, the pad of his thumb pressing under your jaw as if to remind you who was leading the rhythm.

“That’s it,” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “Just like that, baby. You always listen so well.”

The praise made your breath stutter — it always did. He knew exactly what it did to you. His tone softened further, brushing the words against your lips. “You’re doin’ so good for me, you know that?”

You could only nod. Hollis chuckled under his breath, eyes shining with that mix of affection and quiet authority that made your chest ache.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“I know,” you whispered.

His smile widened — that crooked, devastating thing that had undone you since the beginning.

The night blurred after that — rain, skin, laughter — all dissolving into a soft haze where his praise was the only thing you could really hear. The world outside faded, leaving only the warmth of his voice and the steady, grounding weight of his hands.

When it was over, Hollis pulled you close, your back against his chest, his lips pressing a kiss to your temple.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered into your hair. “Mine.”

pairing dealer!hollis && clientele!reader. 🪽,,

⤷ summary : you and your drug dealer finally decide to do something about the feelings you both have for each other

⤷ warnings : drug usage, confessions, smut, fluff at the end

a/n : tried something new, sorry if this is horrible

The sound of tires crunching over gravel made you look up from your phone. The headlights washed over your apartment’s parking lot, spotlighting you for a second before dimming as the car came to a slow stop.

Hollis.

Same black car. Same casually slouched posture in the driver’s seat. Same crooked smile when your eyes met.

You shoved your phone in your hoodie pocket and walked toward the car, heart thudding a little too hard in your chest for what was supposed to be a casual drop-off. Again.

He leaned over, popped the passenger door, and nodded toward the seat. “Get in. It’s cold.”

“It’s October,” you said, climbing in anyway. He shrugged

The car filled with the scent of him—cologne, weed, and something distinctly Hollis that made you want to lean closer. You didn’t. Not yet.

“So…” he reached into the center console and pulled out a small bag, placing it gently in your hand. “Your usual.”

Your fingers brushed his, and it lingered longer than it needed to. Your breath hitched. He noticed.

“You good?” he asked, voice a little rougher now, eyes not quite leaving yours.

“Yeah. Just…” You looked down at the bag, then tucked it away. “Long day.”

“You wanna smoke a little?” he offered casually, but the tone didn’t match the words. It was softer. Tentative. “I rolled already. No pressure.”

You hesitated.

You’d done this a dozen times. The quiet tension. The lingering looks. The jokes that felt like more. The way he always waited until you went back inside before driving off.

But tonight felt different.

“Yeah,” you said. “Sure.”

He lit the blunt and took a hit, his fingers steady but his eyes flicking to you. When he passed it, your hands touched again. Warm. Familiar. You brought it to your lips and inhaled, the smoke curling in your lungs, loosening something tight in your chest.

Minutes passed. The car filled with haze. So did the air between you two.

“You ever think about…” he started, then trailed off.

You turned to him, eyebrow raised. “About what?”

He leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed for a second. “Us.”

The word hung there, suspended like smoke.

You blinked. “Yeah,” you admitted. Quiet, honest. “More than I should.”

His eyes snapped open. Dark. Wanting.

“Same.”

Silence. But not the uncomfortable kind. It crackled, like a fuse had been lit and neither of you knew how long until it reached the end.

Then he leaned in.

Slow. Testing.

You met him halfway.

The kiss was soft at first—tentative, like you were both afraid you’d imagined all of it. But then your hand slid into his hair, and he groaned against your mouth, and that was it.

It deepened. Got messy. His hands found your waist, pulling you into his lap. You straddled him easily, lips never leaving his, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He pulled back for a second, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” you whispered, already pulling your hoodie over your head. “I want you.”

And that was all it took.

Clothes tangled. Windows fogged. The blunt forgotten in the ashtray. The world narrowed to the heat between you, to gasps and hands and moaned names, and the quiet confession he breathed against your neck just before everything tipped over.

Later, when you were both a mess of limbs and lazy kisses, still curled up in the passenger seat, Hollis tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and looked at you like you were something he never thought he’d get to touch.

“You know this isn’t just a one-time thing, right?” he said, voice low.

You giggled, brushing your fingers over his jaw.

pairing dealer!hollis && clientele!reader. 🪽,,

⤷ summary : your drug dealer surprises you for valentine’s day

⤷ warnings : smut, dirty talk, drug usage, pet names, oral (both receiving), high sex, praise kink, aftercare

a/n : a valentine’s day special cause i’m bored and horny

The doorbell rings just as the last streaks of sunset fade beyond your living room window. Valentine’s Day. You’d already decided it would pass quietly—maybe a playlist humming low in the background, maybe a bath, nothing special. No plans. No surprises.

Then you glance toward the porch.

And your breath catches.

Hollis stands beneath the porch light, snow dusting the shoulders of his worn jacket. One hand grips an enormous bouquet of lilacs wrapped in paper. The other is shoved into his pocket like he’s trying to look casual—but the tension in his jaw gives him away.

Your heart stumbles.

You open the door before doubt can creep in.

“Hollis?” Your voice is softer than you mean it to be.

His eyes lift to yours, dark and steady. The faintest curve touches his mouth—more vulnerable than cocky. “Hi, baby.” The name slips out instinctively, warm and low. “Thought you’d be home.”

You glance at the bouquet again, almost disbelieving. “You brought me flowers?”

He shrugs, but it’s forced. “Yeah. Figured someone should.” His ears are faintly pink from the cold—or maybe something else. “You gonna make me stand out here all night?”

You step aside immediately.

He moves past you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. The scent of him follows—clean soap, linen, and that faint herbal note that always seems stitched into his skin. He toes off his boots near the door without being asked, like he belongs here.

When he turns back, he holds the bouquet out properly this time.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

The paper rustles in your hands as you take them. They were beautiful, carefully trimmed. Your chest tightens unexpectedly.

“I didn’t think…” You hesitate. “I mean, we’re not exactly—”

“Not what?” His voice lowers as he steps closer. “The kind of people who do this?” His gaze softens. “Maybe not. But you’re not just anyone.”

The air between you feels heavier now. Honest.

“Today’s supposed to be about saying the stuff you don’t usually say,” he adds quietly. “So here I am.”

You really look at him then. No guarded expression. No detached dealer smirk. Just Hollis. Eyes a little tired, watching you like he’s bracing for your reaction.

You set the bouquet aside on the entry table, then close the distance between you.

Your hands slide up the open front of his jacket, fingers curling lightly into the fabric.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

And then you kiss him.

Slow at first—just a brush of lips, testing. He exhales against you, something soft breaking loose in his chest. When you deepen it, his hand finds your waist instinctively, steady and warm, and he steps forward until your back meets the wall.

He kisses you like he’s been holding it in all day—like the flowers weren’t the only thing he brought with him tonight.

The kiss turns hungry fast. His hands slide under your shirt, fingertips making their way up your ribs, thumbs brushing the sides of your breasts until you're arching. "Missed you," he mutters between kisses. "Been thinkin' about this all fuckin' week."

You tug at his jacket. "Bedroom. Now."

He scoops you up like you weigh nothing, carrying you down the hall while continue kissing him like the world might disappear if you stop.

He lowers you onto the bed carefully, like something fragile, then straightens to peel off his jacket. It hits the floor in a soft thud before he nudges the bedroom door shut with his foot. The room is washed in low light, just the bedside lamp casting amber shadows and the faint shimmer of city glow through the blinds. But it’s enough to catch the way his gaze darkens when it settles on you.

“Stay right there,” he murmurs.

He steps into the hallway briefly and comes back with a small ziplock bag he must’ve tucked into his jacket earlier.

You tilt your head. “You planned this, huh?”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “With you? I don’t show up unprepared.” He sits on the edge of the bed and pats his thigh. “C’mere, angel.”

You shift closer, settling between his knees without breaking eye contact. His palms land on your hips—steady, warm, grounding—as he prepares everything with the kind of ease that comes from muscle memory.

He brings the flame to it and inhales slowly, deliberately, his gaze fixed on you the entire time. Smoke lingers behind his eyes before he leans in, fingers sliding gently along your jaw to tilt your face up. He exhales into your mouth, unhurried. Your lips barely brush in the exchange, the moment intimate and close, breath shared in a soft cloud between you.

You both pull back at the same time, exhaling together, a quiet smile tugs at your mouth. His mirrors it.

The next pull is yours. By the third pass, warmth begins to unfurl through your body, easing tension from your shoulders down to your fingertips. The room shifts subtly, edges blur, lights turn softer. His hands feel heavier now, warmer where they rest against you, fingers tracing idle patterns that linger just a second longer than before.

Everything narrows until it’s only this. The dim light, his steady breathing, the quiet hum in your chest.

He sets the piece aside carefully, then slides his hands around you and draws you fully into his lap, guiding you so you’re straddling him.

“Look at you," he murmurs, hands sliding up your thighs. "So fuckin' pretty"

He peels your shirt off, thumbs circling your nipples until they're peaked and aching.

You thread your fingers through his hair, hips rocking instinctively against the hard length straining his jeans. "Hollis—please—"

He flips you onto your back with easy strength, crawling down your body. "Gonna take my time with you tonight, sweetheart. No rush."

He hooks his fingers in your waistband and drags your panties down. When you're bare, he spreads your thighs wide, eyes dark with hunger. "Fuck, look at you. Already so wet for me."

He doesn't tease long—leans in and licks your entrance excruciatingly slow. You cry out, hips jerking. He groans against you like you're the best thing he's ever tasted, then finally seals his mouth over your clit.

The high makes every sensation bloom—his tongue swirling, two thick fingers sliding inside, curling just right. "That's it," he praises against your skin. "Ride my face, baby. Use me. Such a good girl, taste so sweet."

You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, crying his name while stars burst behind your eyes.

He doesn't stop until you're whimpering from overstimulation, then kisses his way back up your body, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"Your turn," you breathe, pushing at his chest until he's on his back.

You strip him slowly. shirt, jeans, boxers, until he's bare beneath you; cock heavy and leaking against his stomach.

You wrap your hand around him, stroking slow.

He hisses, hand fisting the sheets. "Fuck—baby—"

You take him deep, hollowing your cheeks, tongue swirling. He praises you the whole time—"Look at you, takin' me so well. You're gonna drive me insane." Until his hips twitch and he pulls you off with a shaky laugh. "Not yet. Want to be inside you,”

He rolls you under him, then he's nudging at your entrance, slow, stretching you inch by inch until he's buried deep.

You both moan.

"Feel that?" he rasps, starting a slow grind. "That's all you, sweetheart. Fuckin’ made for me."

The rhythm builds—deep, rolling thrusts that hit every sensitive spot. The high makes it feel endless, every slide amplified, every brush of skin electric. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle until tears start rolling down your cheeks.

"Look at me," he growls. "Wanna see your face when you come again. That's it—fuck. Good girl. Come for me, baby. Let me feel it."

You shatter around him, nails digging into his back, crying out. He follows right after—hips stuttering, low groan rumbling through his chest as he finishes inside of you.

He collapses half on top of you, both of you panting, slick with sweat. For a long minute there's only the sound of your breathing and the faint sound of rain coming from outside.

Eventually he pulls out carefully and disappears to the bathroom. He comes back with a warm washcloth, cleans you gently, presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, your stomach, your chest, until there isn’t an inch of your body his lips haven’t met.

"Stay," you whisper when he starts to move away.

He stills, then smiles—soft, real. "Wasn't goin' anywhere, sweetheart."

He climbs back in, pulls you against his chest, tucks your head under his chin. One hand strokes lazy circles on your back while the other finds yours, lacing your fingers together.

pairing dealer!hollis && clientele!reader. 🪽,,

⤷ summary : after three days of silence and craving, you show up at Hollis’s place for the first time, only to realize the two of you have already crossed a line you can’t come back from.

⤷ warnings : drug usage, smut, daddy kink, unprotected sex, power dynamic, mild emotional vulnerability, pet names

a/n : dealer hollis dealer hollis dealer hollis dealer hollis dealer hollis dealer hollis dealer hollis dealer hollis dealer hollis

It’d been three days since the night in his car.

Three days of replaying the way he’d touched you, the way he’d looked at you like you were something he’d been craving for too long.

Three days of Hollis blowing up your phone more than usual.

And tonight, he wasn’t picking you up outside your apartment.

He’d told you to come over.

His place—somewhere he’d never invited you before.

You stood at his front door, knuckles hovering before you finally knocked. You heard movement inside, a low curse, then the door swung open.

Hollis leaned on the frame, hoodie halfway on like he’d rushed to answer. His eyes dragged over you, slow and hungry.

“Hey,” you said softly.

That crooked smile hit you hard.

“C’mon in, sweetheart.”

You stepped inside. His place smelled like incense, weed, and laundry detergent. Not messy, just lived-in. A couch with a blanket tossed over it, soft lighting, music humming low.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he teased, shutting the door behind you.

“You literally gave me your address.”

“Still.” He shrugged. “Wanted to see if you’d choose me when it wasn’t a pickup.”

Your chest tightened in a stupid, warm way.

“I chose you,” you said.

His jaw flexed—like that did something to him.

“Good,” he murmured. “Really fuckin’ good.”

He walked past you into the living room, dropping onto the couch and patting the spot next to him. There was already a tray laid out—weed, grinder, papers, lighter. That familiar ritual.

“Sit with me,” he said, voice low.

You sank beside him, close enough that your knees brushed. His thigh pressed against yours deliberately.

“Missed you,” Hollis said casually as he started grinding. Too casually. Like he didn’t want you to hear how real it was.

“Three days,” you said with a tiny smile. “You survived.”

He glanced up at you, eyes darkening. “Barely.”

He finished rolling and handed you the blunt, his fingers brushing your wrist. “First hit’s yours.”

You brought it to your lips, inhaled slow. Hollis watched shamelessly, eyes half-lidded, tongue brushing the inside of his cheek.

“Good girl,” he murmured when you exhaled perfectly.

Your breath hitched.

He grinned when he heard it.

The high settled warm in your chest, loosening your shoulders. Hollis took the blunt from you, hit it once, then set it in the ashtray.

“Aren’t you gonna finish?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

You frowned lightly. “Why not?”

Hollis slid a hand up your thigh, fingers spreading slow, deliberate heat in their wake.

“I wanna feel every second of you,” he said quietly. “And I don’t wanna be even a little distracted.”

You swallowed hard. “Hollis…”

Before you knew it, your knees braced against the couch as you swung over him, settling onto his thighs. His hands gripped your hips instantly, possessively, tugging you closer.

“Look at you,” he said, voice rough. “Pretty little thing can’t stay away, huh?”

Your arms looped around his neck, your forehead brushing his. “Neither can you.”

He huffed a laugh, low and fond.

“Yeah. You got me fucked up.”

His lips found your throat, kissing slow, tasting your skin. His hands slid under your shirt, warm palms tracing your waist, your ribs, up to your chest. You gasped when his thumbs brushed your nipples through your bra.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your collarbone. “Daddy’s got you.”

Your whole body went tight at the word.

He felt it. Smirked against your skin.

“Yeah? That do it for you, baby?”

You nodded, breath shaky. “Yes…”

“Use your words,” he said, gripping your hips harder. “Tell me.”

“Yes, daddy.”

He exhaled sharply like you’d punched the air out of him.

“Fuck, sweetheart…”

His hand wrapped in your hair, guiding your mouth back to his. The kiss was deeper than the ones in his car—slow but claiming, like he’d been starving and finally let himself eat.

When he broke away, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice came out low, wrecked.

“Gonna take such good care of you tonight,” he murmured. “You want that?”

You nodded quickly.

Hollis groaned—actually groaned—and lifted you effortlessly, laying you back on the couch, climbing over you without breaking eye contact.

His hands slid down your body, slow, hungry, reverent—

He pushed into you slow but deep, stretching you, filling you inch by inch until you were gasping and clutching at him.

“That’s it,” he rasped, forehead dropping to yours. “Take all of it. Good fucking girl.”

Your breath broke.

He started moving—slow at first, grinding deep, letting you feel every inch. The couch creaked, your nails dragged down his back through his hoodie, his breath hitched against your cheek.

“You feel unreal,” he groaned. “Fuck—been thinking about this since that night in the car.”

His pace quickened, hips snapping into you harder, deeper, your body bouncing with each thrust.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in closer, your back arching off the couch.

“Hollis—I’m close—”

His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit instantly.

“Come for me,” he ordered, voice ragged. “Come on daddy’s cock.”

You shattered.

Your orgasm crashed over you, your body shaking, your cry muffled against his mouth. Hollis cursed, thrust once, twice, then shoved deep and spilled inside you with a groan that sounded like it broke him open.

He collapsed onto you, breathing hard, lips brushing your neck.

“Shit,” he whispered, smiling against your skin. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You laughed breathlessly, your fingers sliding through his hair.

He lifted his head, kissed you slow, soft, tender.

pairing bf!hollis && gf!reader. 🪽,,

⤷ summary : your boyfriend takes your virginity

⤷ warnings : gentle intimacy, established relationship, soft!dom!hollis, praise, fluff, aftercare

a/n : 500 follower special thank u guys sm 🫰

Hollis is careful with you in a way that makes your chest ache.

Not rushed. Not clumsy. Just steady hands and a voice that never wavers as he guides you back against the bed, his thumb brushing along your jaw like he’s memorizing the feel of you. He leans his forehead to yours, breathing you in.

“Hey,” he murmurs, soft smile just for you. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. You know that, right?”

You nod, nerves buzzing under your skin, and he notices immediately. His hands still, grounding. Protective.

“You’re doing so good already,” he says, low and warm. “Look at you. So brave.”

Every kiss he presses is unhurried, reverent. Like he’s asking permission without words. When his hand laces with yours, he squeezes once, reassuring, and you squeeze back.

Hollis keeps checking in—quiet questions, gentle praise—until your shoulders finally relax and your breath matches his. When the moment comes, he stays close, murmuring encouragement, telling you exactly how proud he is of you, how much he cares.

“You’re safe with me,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. Always.”

The world narrows to warmth and closeness and the sound of his voice saying your name like it’s something precious. When everything fades to soft quiet, he doesn’t let go.

After, Hollis pulls you against his chest, wrapping you up like he’s afraid the night might steal you away. He presses kisses into your hair, your temple, your shoulder—slow, affectionate.

“You okay?” he asks gently.

When you nod, he smiles, thumb tracing lazy shapes on your arm. “Good. I’m right here. You did amazing.”

pairing bf!nate && gf!reader. 🪽,,

⤷ summary : a quiet, unresolved argument between you and Nate turns into vulnerable closeness.

⤷ warnings : slight smut, praise kink, emotional vulnerability, established relationship, fluff, aftercare

a/n : first nate fic ever hope you guys like

The argument settles in like a storm that never quite breaks.

It’s in the way Nate doesn’t look at you right away, the way your words come out too careful, like stepping around broken glass. Something important sits between you—unspoken, heavy, familiar in the way only long relationships can be. You’ve fought before. You’ve survived worse. But this one feels tender, like it’s brushing up against old fears neither of you likes to name.

“You don’t have to shut me out,” you say quietly.

His jaw tightens. For a moment, you think he might pull away. Instead, he exhales, long and shaky, and steps closer. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the tension humming under his skin.

“I’m not,” he says, but his voice gives him away.

The silence stretches, thick with emotion—until it snaps.

Not into anger, but into need.

His hands find you like muscle memory, steady and sure, as if he’s grounding both of you at once. When he presses his forehead to yours, his voice drops, softer than the argument ever was. “God, you mean everything to me,” he murmurs, like it’s a confession. “You know that, right?”

Whatever walls you’d built crumble at the sound of it.

The heat between you isn’t rushed. It’s intentional. Nate takes his time, praising you in that low, reverent way that makes your chest ache—telling you how good you feel, how much he wants you, how perfect you are for him. Each word feels like reassurance stitched into your skin, soothing the parts of you that were hurting before.

You cling to him, not just for balance, but because you need him to feel it too—that you’re here, that you choose him even when it’s hard. When he whispers your name like it’s something sacred, the argument fades into nothing but a distant echo.

Afterward, the world slows.

Nate doesn’t let you drift away. He stays close, brushing your hair back, checking in with soft questions and even softer touches. He presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your shoulder, grounding, affectionate, real.

“You okay?” he asks, thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin.

You nod, emotion tight in your throat. “Yeah.”

He pulls you into his chest, wrapping you up like he’s guarding something precious. “Good,” he says quietly. “I’ve got you. Always.”

He brings you water, tucks a blanket around you both, keeps murmuring praise like it’s instinct—like he needs you to hear it even now. The vulnerability lingers, but it’s safe here, held carefully between the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms.

The argument doesn’t disappear. It just loses its power.

pairing dealer!hollis && clientele!reader. 🪽,,

⤷ summary : the morning after

⤷ warnings : fluff, soft intimacy, mutual pining

a/n : dealer!hollis crumbs……………..

You wake up warm.

That’s the first thing you notice—heat pressed along your back, steady and solid, an arm draped over your waist like it belongs there. For a second, you forget where you are. Forget everything.

Then you breathe in.

Smoke. Coffee grounds. Hollis.

Your eyes flutter open slowly. The room is washed in early morning light, pale and quiet. The TV is off now. The world feels paused, like it’s waiting for you to move.

You don’t.

Hollis is still asleep behind you, breathing slow and even. His chin rests near your shoulder, nose brushing your hair every time he exhales. His hand flexes once at your waist, fingers curling like he’s checking that you’re still real.

Your heart does a stupid little flip.

Careful not to wake him, you shift just enough to look at him. His face is softer like this—lashes dark against his cheeks, mouth relaxed instead of always half-curled into that knowing smile. He looks younger. Gentler.

Human.

You’re still staring when his eyes open.

For a split second, there’s confusion. Then recognition. Then something warm settles into his expression that makes your chest ache.

“Morning’,” he murmurs, voice rough and low.

“Morning,” you whisper back.

Neither of you move. His arm tightens slightly, pulling you closer until your back is flush against his chest again. It feels easy. Natural. Like the couch was made for this.

“You sleep okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod. “Yeah. Really good, actually.”

He hums, thumb brushing slow circles against your side through the blanket. Absent. Comforting.

“Good,” he says. “You were out cold.”

You smile. “You didn’t kick me out.”

He snorts softly. “Wasn’t gonna.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward—just full.

“I made coffee,” he adds after a second. “Well. I will make coffee. If you want some.”

“That sounds perfect.”

He doesn’t let go right away. Instead, he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head—barely there, like he’s testing himself. Your breath catches anyway.

When he finally stands, he tugs the blanket around your shoulders, fussing without even realizing it.

“Stay put,” he says. “I got you.”

From the couch, you watch him move around the kitchen—hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair a mess, entirely too domestic for someone who’s supposed to be dangerous. He glances back at you every few seconds, like he needs to make sure you’re still there.

When he hands you a mug, your fingers brush.

Neither of you pull away.

You sit together again, this time upright, knees touching. He listens while you talk—really listens—about nothing important at all. Bad sleep schedules. A stupid story from work. The way the city feels too loud sometimes.

He smiles a lot.

At one point, he laughs quietly and says, “You should just… stay today.”

Your heart stutters. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says easily. “I ain’t busy.”

It feels like an invitation. It feels like hope.

You don’t answer right away—but you don’t say no either.

He notices. His pinky brushes yours, tentative.

Whatever this is, it’s soft. And warm. And real.

pairing bf!hollis && gf!reader. 🪽,,

⤷ summary : shower sex with hollis

⤷ warnings : suggestive intimacy, established relationship, praise kink, aftercare, fluff

a/n : we are so back

The bathroom is already fogging by the time you step under the spray, warm water slicking down your spine. You hear Hollis behind you before you feel him—bare feet on tile, the quiet click of the door, the way his hands settle on your hips like they’ve memorized you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low and fond, lips brushing your shoulder. “Been thinking about you all day.”

You lean back into him, letting the water run down your body. His hands slide slowly, deliberately, thumbs tracing shapes that make you melt. He presses a kiss just beneath your ear, another along your jaw, each one unhurried—like he’s got nowhere else to be.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, sincere, almost reverent. “Always are. But right now?” A soft laugh. “You’re wrecking me.”

The praise sinks in warm and heavy, settling in your chest. You turn to face him, foreheads touching, water cascading over both of you. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lip with a tenderness that makes your stomach flip.

“I’ve got you,” Hollis whispers. “Yeah? Just you and me.”

The world narrows to steam and skin and the way he holds you like something precious. He kisses you slow and deep, all warmth and reassurance, until everything else fades and the moment swells—until it’s too much and not enough all at once.

Eventually, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in. “C’mon,” he says softly. “Let me take care of you.”

Later, wrapped in towels and warmth, he sits you down on the edge of the bed, drying your hair with gentle hands. He presses a kiss to your temple, then your knuckles.

“You okay?” he asks, eyes searching yours.

When you nod, he smiles—that easy, boyish grin meant just for you—and pulls you into his chest.