cw: MDNI// raw pnv // crying during sex// pool sex
An: This chapter is in Hollis' pov I need us to really understand why he decided to becomes readers trick, and obviously there's a smut treat. Hit my inbox lmk how we feel after, okay.....
Hollis POV-
These last couple of weeks getting to know y/n had been like I'd been gifted a new set of lungs. Finally breathing for the first time in a long time.
Actually breathing.
I could wake up in the morning and not immediately feel the weight of everything waiting for me. I could exist for a few hours without thinking about the next deadline, the next show, the next song the label was going to tell me wasn't good enough.
I could just enjoy being alive.
It was strange, considering the circumstances.
Nothing about the way y/n and I had ended up together was ordinary. I could tell the guys had their doubts about us in the beginning, but I couldn't blame them. From the outside looking in, whatever this was probably looked insane.
Maybe it was.
But then they started spending time around her. They saw the way she laughed. The way she talked to people. The way she could walk into a room and somehow make me forget that anyone else was in it.
Eventually, they understood.
They understood why I was willing to give her whatever she wanted, why I didn't even think twice about it.
For me, being around her was enough to make the rest of my life feel distant. Manageable.
The first time I saw her, she walked into that bar like she had no idea what she was doing to everyone in the room. Or maybe she knew. Maybe that was the thing about her: she didn't care about the effect she had on people.
There was something so quietly confident about her that it completely wrecked me. I remember watching her walk toward the bar, her hips swaying side to side in that tight dress, enhancing every curve on her body, and almost immediately, a melody started playing in my head.
I hadn't written it down. I didn't need to. It was just there.
The bartender looked at her. Then the guy sitting three stools down. Then another.
Every man in the place seemed to notice her.
She was the prize.
That was the first thought that came to me.
But then I looked closer. Beneath all of that confident exterior of hers, I could see something else.
Weight.
Something she was carrying.
I didn't know what it was. I still didn't. But I remember the exact second she took the first sip of her drink, and I watched her shoulders relax.
All I could think was that I wanted to take that from her.
Whatever it was.
Whatever weighed her down.
I wanted to make her forget it existed.
The melody followed me home that night. It wouldn't leave me alone. Even after I dropped her off, it hummed in the back of my mind for days until eventually I managed to twist it into something real.
A beat.
A song.
Something I could actually hold onto.
And suddenly, I was writing again.
Before her, I'd been stuck. Genuinely stuck.
Music had always been something that came easy for me. Effortless. I could sit down and make five songs in a day if I was in the right headspace. I'd spent my entire life surrounded by it.
But somewhere along the way, I'd stopped loving it.
Star Tour had drained me. The pressure had drained me. The constant expectation that I should always be creating, always be better, always be something more than I was had finally caught up with me.
Every time I'd open my laptop, I would just stare at the screen.
Nothing.
Absolute silence.
That had never happened to me before.
The thing that had once been the easiest part of my life had started feeling like a job.
Ironic, because this had always been the dream, but the dream wasn't supposed to feel like this.
The label wanted new shit. They wanted me to change my sound. They wanted something different, but not too different that it would push back the audience.
They wanted me to be myself, but only the version of myself they could sell.
And then there was the internet.
The endless opinions about "2hollis," like I was a character on their screens and not a real person.
People who didn't know me telling me who I was.
People who hated me for things I'd done.
People who hated me for things I hadn't.
After a while, I started wondering what the point of all of this was.
I wasn't inspired.
I wasn't excited.
I was just tired.
Depressed.
I could feel myself disappearing slowly, piece by piece, and somehow I was expected to stand onstage every night and pretend I was enjoying every second of it.
Then there was her.
Just the sight had pulled something out of me that I thought I'd lost.
Since the day I met her, every thought of her became something else.
A lyric.
A melody.
A beat.
I couldn't stop.
Before her, I couldn't force a song out of myself. Now I was damn near finished with an entire album.
An entire album.
And everyone noticed.
My mom noticed first. She looked at me before I left for a long moment before smiling.
"I'm happy I'm getting my boy back."
I hadn't known how much I needed to hear that until she said it.
Because maybe she was right.
Maybe y/n had given me something that I'd lost back.
Or maybe she'd just made me forget what it felt like to be empty.
Either way, I didn't care.
If people thought I was crazy for wanting to spoil her, they could think whatever they wanted.
I wanted her comfortable.
I wanted her free from worry.
Free from doubt.
Free from the things that made her shoulders tense before she even realized they were doing it.
If I could give her a life where she never had to carry anything heavy again, I'd do it.
I'd give her anything.
An entire country if that's what she wanted.
None of it would matter.
Because the truth was, I didn't spoil her because I wanted something from her. I did it because watching her smile made me feel something I hadn't felt in years.
Peace.
That was why I brought her to Aruba.
I wanted to see her happy.
I wanted to give her these experiences she hadn't had before but that she deserved.
I wanted to watch her laugh until she forgot everything else existed.
Her laugh was music to me, better than anything I'd ever produced or written.
I couldn't get enough.
I was completely present when I was with her.
Every second.
Every look.
Every touch.
But the second I was away from her, I started chasing the feeling again.
How she made my chest tighten when she was with me.
I'd think about her.
Then I'd write.
I'd write about the way she looked at me. The way she smiled. The way she made me feel like maybe I wasn't as broken as I'd convinced myself I was.
Trying to recreate the way she made me feel through music.
She had me under some kind of hypnosis.
My entire life had started revolving around her axis.
I didn't mind.
Not even a little.
If anything, I was starting to wonder how I'd ever lived without her.
And maybe that was the problem.
Because this whole time we'd been on vacation, I still hadn't had enough of her.
Even when she was beside me, I wanted her closer.
I've been starting to feel that only once I'm under her skin would I be close enough to her.
Right now, I was sitting outside of our room, pretending to work while I watched her swim in the swim-up pool.
Pretending was the important word.
I'd been staring at the same thing on my laptop for at least twenty minutes. I couldn't tell you what it said or what I was supposed to be doing because I couldn't stop watching her.
That was enough to destroy my concentration.
She swam toward the edge, resting her arms against the stone.
"Hollis."
I looked up from my screen, offering a slow, innocent, "Mhmm?"
"I said no working. So stop."
I laughed, finally closing the laptop and throwing my hands up in defense.
"Okay. I'm done. No need to worry."
She looked pleased with herself.
And there it was again, my chest tightening just looking at her.
That feeling I couldn't explain.
She was treading water in a red bikini, playfully kicking her feet, her skin covered in droplets of water under the dim, warm light.
Her hair was clipped up out of the way, but a few wet strands had already escaped.
The tiny straps of her bikini top were doing their absolute best, but it was barely enough.
Fuck.
As if I could ever focus with her looking like that.
I felt my dick strain against my shorts at the mere sight of her.
She looked up at me through wet lashes, batting her eyes like she was trying to ask me for a favor.
And right in this moment, whatever she wants, she gets.
A plane.
A house.
Anything.
"Come on," she said, a slow smile pulling at her lips. "Get in with me. Keep me company."
"Yes, ma'am," I said without wasting any time.
I made my way toward the pool, descending the steps into the warm water.
She walked closer to me, her smile lighting up the quiet patio.
I extended my arms, pulling her into a hug, and she immediately wrapped her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist.
I wrapped my arms around her back, holding her securely as I walked us deeper into the pool.
She laid her head against my chest, the quiet of our surroundings filled only by the soft splashing of the water.
"I missed you," she whispered.
I laughed softly.
"Missed me? I've been with you this whole time."
"Yeah," she responded, "sitting up there working."
"I wasn't really working too hard," I rebutted. "I kept catching myself looking at you."
She lifted her head up and looked at me, a little flash of sass in her eyes.
"Am I doing my job? You feeling very inspired?"
Hearing that subtle edge of jealousy in her voice reassured me.
I loved hearing her get possessive of my work, other women, even sharing my time with anyone but her.
I loved that she cared.
That she hated time away from me just as I did with her.
"You're doing amazing, baby. Remember when I told you I was working on something new for you?"
She smiled, playfully tapping her chin.
"Mmmm, I remember something like that."
"Well, I'm almost done now, at least with the rough draft. I want you to listen to it when we get back home."
Her expression shifted.
She surprised me by pressing a finger gently against my lips.
"Shhhh. Don't talk about going home."
I couldn't help the small smile turning up my mouth.
"And what do you wanna talk about, baby?"
She didn't answer with words.
She just leaned in and kissed me.
And everything else in the world stopped.
The kiss was slow, deep, and passionate, feeling like both of us wanted to stretch out time so it would never end.
My hands moved from her waist, cupping the full shape of her ass beneath the water.
I could feel her slight smile against my lips, and it nearly broke me.
She was so fucking perfect it made me feel worthless.
Cherishing every touch, every kiss, I felt like I didn't deserve this.
I was completely at her mercy, folding underneath her until my back hit the smooth wall of the pool.
Her body moved against mine, and the way she felt under my hands, all of it rushed straight to my dick as she grinded herself against me.
I could hear the soft, needy moans coming from her throat.
If I didn't control myself, I was going to cum right then and there.
She broke apart from my lips and worked her way down to my neck.
I couldn't help the low whimper that tore out of me as she sucked violently against my skin.
I felt her hand reach down slowly, her long nails scratching down my abs until she reached the band of my shorts.
My breath hitched from anticipation as I felt her hands wrap around my dick.
I threw my head back.
"Hard already?" she whispered, teasing me.
As if she could expect me not to be.
Her hand stroked up and down my shaft, slow and deliberate, while her kisses on my neck never faltered.
A position I could have only dreamed of, getting to be entirely under her spell like this.
She lifted her opposite hand to cup my face, forcing me to look at her, bringing me closer to her, her eyes reflecting the moonlight.
"I want you, Hollis. All of you."
I stared at her, my heart hammering.
Obviously, I'd wanted her since the very first second I saw her in that bar.
But with our arrangement, I'd never wanted her to feel like sex was a part of the deal.
Because it was never about that for me.
Like, really, it wasn't.
I looked into her eyes, swallowing hard.
"Are you sure? I don't want you to do anything just because you feel like you have to."
"I'm so serious, Hollis, please—"
Her hand stroked me again, making my hips twitch up against her touch.
"I want you so bad."
She placed my tip between her thighs, rubbing it against her barely clothed slit.
I felt myself throbbing against her while soft whimpers escaped from me.
I grabbed her face, pulling her into another hard, desperate kiss.
Realizing she needed me just as badly as I needed her.
I brought her onto my lap, slipping her thin bikini bottoms to the side.
I lifted her up slightly, rubbing my wet tip against her entrance.
"Fuck," she whispered against my mouth.
Her lips stayed parted on mine, her breath mingling with mine, her wet folds resting right on my tip.
The anticipation of getting to feel her wrapped around me was absolute torture, but I wanted to take in every fraction of a second.
I lined myself up with her as she grabbed onto my neck, slowly lowering herself down onto me.
Her lips brushed my ear as we both let out a ragged cry into the night air.
She started to ride me, the water splashing wildly around us as she moved.
"Look at me," I groaned.
She did without hesitation, her eyes locked onto mine.
The way she wrapped around me felt like she was made for me, like my body was engineered specifically to fit inside hers. She took me so good.
While she rode me, I reached down between us, rubbing my thumb against her clit.
I wanted her to feel as much overwhelming pleasure as I did getting to watch her take me like this.
Her nails dug into my back as I reached up over her bathing suit, unfastening the ties of her top and bottom, letting the fabric fall away into the water.
I wanted to see all of her.
The entire world had fallen away. It was just the two of us.
Everything I had done, everything I had built, was for this moment.
She rested her forehead against mine as she began to ride me even harder.
The sensation of sliding her up and down my cock, how dripping wet she was, the wet sound of her ass clapping against my thighs with every thrust it was driving me completely crazy.
In all of this, her face was flushed, her hair falling wild from the clip.
She was perfect.
I couldn't get enough of hearing my name fall from her lips like a prayer.
Intoxicating.
She was crafted by god in an image of perfection, and looking at her, it made my chest ache with that physical pain again.
I didn't feel like I deserved her or that I should be allowed to enjoy her like this, but she let me.
And I was so happy she let me.
The way her skin melted against mine made it feel like we were merging into the same person.
This wasn't just sex.
It was an exchange between souls.
She gripped my hair, pulling it slightly as she rode me faster, taking control.
A heavy groan tore from my chest.
"You're so beautiful on top of me like this, angel."
A breathy smile broke across her face.
I wanted to memorize everything.
The way she looked at me.
The sound of my name in her mouth.
The feeling of her hands on me.
Everything.
Because some stupid, terrified part of me was already afraid of the day I'd wake up and realize I'd imagined all of this.
That she'd disappear.
That I'd be right back where I'd started.
Alone.
Empty.
I could feel my peak rushing up on me the harder she rode me, and I desperately tried to fight it, wanting this feeling to last forever.
I brought her lips to meet mine one more time, this kiss different from the first.
My tongue rolled over hers, deepening the kiss in any way I could.
I just wanted her to be closer to me.
I'm begging for it.
It was what I needed most in this world.
Her.
I couldn't get enough of her.
She'd walked into my life and made everything feel worth doing again.
She'd given me music back.
She'd given me laughter back.
She'd given me myself back.
And somewhere along the way, without me even realizing it, she'd become something more than that.
Something I didn't know how to live without.
The mix of raw physical pleasure and sheer emotional desperation built up in my throat.
I had spent so much of my life believing happiness was temporary, something I would mostly find in music, but she was holding me like she wasn't planning on going anywhere.
All of it the love, the fear, the gratitude became too much to hold inside.
I felt hot tears slip down my cheeks.
I could feel myself unraveling physically and emotionally with her touch.
She pulled back slightly, her eyes scanning my face under the moonlight.
Admiring her all I could say was
"baby.. I'm gonna cum," I choked out. My throat tight.
She rested her forehead against mine, breathless. Her thumbs wiping my tears
"you're crying… " her voice was filled concerned
I looked at her, my voice cracking.
"Just let me."
I could feel the connection of her understanding me, understanding I needed this.
I needed her.
With those words, y/n picked up her speed, riding me with everything she had.
I couldn't control myself as the tears continuously flowed freely.
This closeness, this level of vulnerability, had me completely beside myself.
"Cum in me, Hollis," she panted against my lips.
That was all it took for me to lose every shred of control.
I submitted completely to her request, groaning her name into the dark as I spilled deep inside her.
I pulled her flush against my chest in a tight hug, refusing to pull out.
Her arms wrapped around me, feeling like we could somehow make this moment permanent; as long as we didn’t let each other go, nothing could ever change.
In this moment, just us.
Wanting her.
Needing her.
Loving her.
"I love you."
The words came out before I could stop them.
Quiet.
Broken.
Completely honest.
She lifted her head and looked down at me, a radiant, soft smile spreading across her face.
"I love you too."
She pecked my lips gently, and I swear to God I felt something inside me settle.
A broken piece of me had finally found its home.
I held her close against my chest, listening to the water lap against the pool walls.
I'd spent weeks thinking she was the reason I could breathe again.
Now I was beginning to understand the problem.
Somewhere along the way, I'd stopped knowing how to breathe without her.
and once we reached the coast you said, "end of the line", we finally reach the edge, after all this time
you and hollis finally hit california, the coast, and for a brief moment, everything seems right. until it doesn't.
tags: roadtrip, smut (p in v), fingering, oral sex (male receiving), slightly angst with resolution, happy ending.
w/c: 8.8k
a/n: i don't even know what to say it took me a while to figure out how to wrap things up with this one. i thought about so many possible ways to end it, but this one seemed like the right one. also, thank you to everyone who took the time to read through the whole thing and show love, it really got me excited about writing all eight chapters. hope you like this one!!!<2
this is the 8th and final part of a series, consider reading the previous parts for context: ﴾ part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, previous part ﴿
The road south slowly dissolved the deep green and blue of the valley into something else entirely. Only an hour in and the landscape had already shifted — wider, flatter, golden in the late afternoon light. You didn't know if it was the thrill or the anxiety of finally getting somewhere, but you couldn't stay still. Your feet were up on the dashboard, the sun warm through the glass on your ankles. The windows were down and the wind pulled at your short hair in a way you were still getting used to. You had his gun in your hand, turning it over idly like a toy.
"Careful," he said. You smirked. "I mean it."
"What? You taught me how to use this thing."
"I taught you how to use the revolver. That's something else."
"It's pretty, this one," you said, the pistol sitting differently in your grip than you expected — heavier, unfamiliar.
"And expensive," he said, and you opened your mouth.
"You're worried I'll break it? Not that I'll hurt myself?"
"Both, actually."
"Don't worry about your little toy," you said, and he laughed at the undertone of it.
You let it rest in your palm and traced the lines of it absently with one finger. The road hummed beneath you. The wind through the open window. You felt light in a way you hadn't in a while — maybe longer than you could account for.
"It's weird, isn't it?" you said.
"Seeing you with the gun?" He glanced briefly your way and you smiled.
"No." You set the gun carefully in your lap and shifted in your seat — swinging your legs off the dashboard, turning sideways, sliding your feet across the console onto his thigh. "Being on the road for the last time."
He went quiet. One hand left the wheel and settled over your ankle, gently. "Will you miss it?"
You considered. Your feet moved absently on his thigh, and then you felt him shift — his body going slightly still. It gave you an immediate idea.
"I don't know," you murmured, still looking at the gun in your hand, playing perfectly innocent as you dragged your feet slowly upward. "I definitely missed being just us."
"Did you?" His voice had already changed — lower, careful.
You pressed higher, deliberately, the arch of your foot moving over him. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," you said, eyes on the gun, the picture of innocence.
"You're going to make me crash," he said. His hand tightened around your ankle — not stopping you, just gripping.
"I doubt it. You're such a good driver, Holli." Your toes kept moving. "You want me to stop?"
"I didn't say that."
You felt him responding beneath your foot, growing harder slowly, and it made you bite down on your lip. You traced his length through the fabric, feeling him fully hard now.
"Want me to do something about that?" you asked.
He glanced at you, amused, unhurried. "Be a good girl for me."
"Always," you said, smiling.
You shifted onto your knees on the seat and leaned over the console. You looked up at his face briefly before bending toward his lap, working his zipper open and pulling his jeans down enough. His cock was already hard, pulsing once in your grip when you took hold of it. You felt a specific pride about that — that this was your doing, that his body answered you this readily.
You kissed him first — slow, open-mouthed kisses along his head, down his length, dragging him across your lips and cheek like you were taking your time with something you wanted to. Because you were.
His hand came to your back, unhurried, no pressure. Letting you work.
You took him into your mouth in slow, deliberate strokes — head moving up and down, saliva trailing down his length. What wouldn't fit in your mouth you worked with your hand, the two moving together until you found a rhythm that drew his breathing uneven above you.
"Fuck, baby," he groaned.
The sound of it made you want to give him more. You sank down further, taking him until he hit the back of your throat, thick and stretching you wide. Then his hand came to the back of your head and pressed down — holding you there for a few seconds, your eyes going wet, your throat working around him. When he finally released you, you came up gasping, mouth slick, a mess of saliva down his length.
You didn't stop. You caught your breath while your hand kept moving and then took him back in, chasing the rhythm he'd set with his hand. His praise came low and steady above you — how good you were, how well you took him, words that did something to you that went beyond the physical.
You felt him growing unsteady — his hips shifting forward, searching for more depth, losing the composed ease he'd maintained. You went faster, worked him harder, and when he finally came it was straight to the back of your throat, thick and sudden enough to make you choke. You held him there anyway, kept sucking until the last of it, until he had nothing left to give.
You sat up slowly, still on your knees, and looked at him. His eyes cut sideways to you — worn out, warm.
His hand came to your face. "Let me see."
You parted your lips slightly. He smiled — that particular smile.
"Swallow."
You did. Grinning, he ran his thumb across your cheek, and pulled you in for a brief kiss. “That's my girl,” before his eyes went back to the road.
You laughed softly at his words, settling back into your seat, watching him buckle his pants one-handed. Eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, that particular easy posture that made him look effortlessly good. You could still feel him. Could still taste him. It always did something to you, pleasing him — it stayed with you afterward in a way you'd stopped trying to explain.
You turned to the window to stop thinking about it, focusing on an abandoned house sitting alone in the desert, and that was when his hand landed flat on your thigh. Familiar now, his touch. Hollis was always touching you — you'd learned that. But then his hand began to move, long fingers sliding up your inner thigh, not just resting but gripping lightly, moving higher until he reached the seam of your shorts. You glanced at him. He looked completely absent, eyes still on the road. His hand kept moving, finding the fabric between your legs, pressing over it.
You spread your legs slightly without deciding to. He smiled, faint and knowing, still not looking at you.
You'd ask what he was doing but the question died before you'd voice it — it was obvious what he was doing, obvious from the slow firm pressure of his fingers working you through the fabric. You hummed low, your hips shifting to meet him.
Then he moved higher — and you almost made a sound at the loss — his palm sliding up under your shirt, over your stomach, until he had your breast in his hand. He groped you unhurriedly, thumb circling your nipple, and you watched his face beside you — resting, composed, one hand on the wheel and the other on you like this was nothing, like he was just passing the time.
When he came back down it was to your waistband. One hand, one motion, and your shorts were open. You thought he'd want them off but he just slid his hand inside, under the fabric of your panties, and found you directly.
"Fuck," he said, and laughed. "You're soaking."
He wasn't even looking at you. Your face went warm immediately.
Two fingers pressed over your clit and you sighed — a long, low sound you couldn't contain. He started moving in slow circles, so casual about it, so unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
"Is it good, honey?" he asked.
"Mhm." It was all you could manage. "So good."
"Wish I could taste you right now," he said, and his voice alone was doing things to you. "Is this because you sucked me?"
It took you a moment to find language. His fingers kept moving, gentle and steady, getting the most out of the least. "Yes," you said, the word dissolving into something closer to a moan.
He pulled his hand free without warning and you looked at him like he'd done something unforgivable. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, licked them clean, taking his time, then glanced at you.
"Take your shorts off," he said. "I'm not done with you."
You pulled them down — shorts and underwear both — and he looked at you properly for a beat, eyes moving down your body and back to the road. His hand returned to your inner thigh, gripping, spreading you wider. Then his fingers were back on you, the same slow rhythm, those circles on your clit that he'd learned made you lose your mind, before he moved lower and slid two fingers inside you. Easy, you were so wet. He pressed into you deliberately — not just moving but finding the places that made your back arch, stroking you in a way that made your hands go immediately to his forearm just to hold onto something.
"That good?" he asked.
You nodded, dumbly, completely.
He went faster. Harder. The sounds his fingers were making of you competed with the engine and won, wet and unmistakable, and you didn't care. You were past caring. You called his name when you came — the word dissolving into something that barely held its shape — and gripped his arm with both hands while the heat of it moved through you in long waves. He kept going through it, kept working you, and you whined at the overstimulation, folding yourself toward him.
"Hollis," you managed. Still shaking. "That's... that's too much."
"Is it?" he asked. Unmoved.
He slid his fingers out — and then instead of stopping he spread his palm across you, rubbing everywhere at once, your arousal spread through his whole hand. His thumb found your clit and pressed, more direct this time, in a way that made your hips jerk and your legs try to close around him.
"Don't do that, angel," he said, casual as a warning. You forced your legs back open for him.
Like you were something he was idly playing with while he drove. Like you were just something to do with his hands. That thought alone tipped you over a second time, your whole body shuddering through it, and you were begging him to stop before it finished, genuinely, incoherently begging.
He pulled over a few miles up — the shoulder of an empty road, scrubland on either side, the sun still bright and indifferent. You considered climbing into his lap and then he was out of the car, walking around to your door, opening it.
You should have felt something about being on the side of a highway in broad daylight in the state you were in. You didn't. He'd made you too stupid with his fingers for shame to find much purchase. He bent you over the edge of the seat, one hand gripping the roof of the car, one hand at your hip, and when he pushed inside you the sound you made was completely beyond your control.
You kept glancing at the empty road. The very empty road.
"Worried someone will see you, honey?" His voice came from directly above you. "Yeah. They'll see you being my little slut."
You clenched around him, the combination of his voice and the exposure and the desperate overstimulated state of your body building into something you couldn't hold. When you came this time it was closer to collapse — you would have gone down entirely if his arm hadn't come around you. He kept moving through it, kept stroking into you deeply while your body gripped him, chasing his own edge. You felt when he got there — the pace going ragged, the grip on your hip tightening past comfort, his weight leaning into you before he spilled inside you with a sound low in his chest, pumping through it until there was nothing left.
He pulled out. You were still braced against the car, still breathing. You felt his hand at your ass cheeks, spreading them apart, and looked back at him over your shoulder — too spent to manage a proper expression.
"I fucking love this," he said. Watching his cum dripping out ofyou.
When you understood what he was looking at your face went completely red. He caught it — caught the blush and the wide eyes — and leaned forward and kissed your forehead.
"My pretty girl." His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back to him, and for a moment you almost forgot you were half undressed on the side of the road.
You got back in the car, still pulling yourself together. "You okay?" He asked, hand to your chin, tilting your face toward him, thumb brushing lightly. You smiled, held his wrist, and nodded.
Only then did he pull back onto the road.
You didn't fully recognize the landscape or track where you were — just hours and miles of the same desert stretching flat on both sides, the sun burning without apology, not even a gas station or a diner in sight for long stretches. Peaceful though, in the particular way of things that ask nothing of you. A low song played on the stereo, something with chords and what might have been a banjo, and you watched the road unspool and let it take you.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
You woke to the car slowing into a parking lot. You opened your eyes and adjusted — desert to town, nothing to light and people and a main street with actual buildings. A groundbreaking change.
"Where are we?" you asked, still groggy, turning to find Hollis already reaching into the back for a bag.
"Lone Pine," he said. "California."
If you'd been more awake you might have reacted properly. Instead you blinked at the windshield, taking it in while he got out. You followed, still dazed, and stood in the warm evening air of the first California town you'd ever been in, and let the information settle.
It still looked like most towns you'd passed through — a main street, a motel, the brown hills close on either side — but it was California. Finally.
Hollis came back with a key in his hand and a tired look that softened when he saw you standing there. He held out the key. You took it, and you both walked to what would be the last stop of the trip.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
"I know this isn't what you pictured," he said later, holding you under the shower, one hand at your waist, his thumb tracing slow patterns on your wet skin.
"What do you mean?" Your hands were on his chest, his stomach.
"Baby, you didn't think I'd bring you all this way to stay somewhere like this, did you?" He chuckled. "I was just tired. Stopped at the first town I saw."
"Oh." You half-opened your mouth and he laughed.
"There's a place a couple of hours from here. I rented something for us there. A coast town, just northwest of LA. Thought it would be a good place to start, somewhere calm." He kissed your lips briefly. "We'll get there tomorrow."
The thought of it — a coast town, and him having planned it, having thought ahead to something specific and right for you — undid you completely. You kissed him with everything you had, thrilled and warm and jumping almost into his arms, and he laughed through the kiss and pulled you in tight.
The bath was mostly washing each other, until the small stupid tease Hollis started escalated — him not letting you finish getting dressed, annoying you for the pure entertainment of it, until you shoved him onto the bed and he fell without any resistance whatsoever.
"You're not even going to fight me?" You came on top of him, straddling him. He smirked, entirely unbothered. "You said you were tired and now you're doing this."
"Couldn't resist." Completely shameless. "You look so good when you're mad."
He reached for your hips and you caught both his wrists, pinned them to the mattress above his head. He laughed under you, eyes gleaming — like this was exactly where he wanted to be and he'd gotten here on purpose.
"You're so annoying," you said.
"Yeah?" That smirk.
So you started moving — slow rolls of your hips above his, deliberate, watching his face. "Is this your way of punishing me, baby?"
"This is my way of getting what I want," you said, face close to his.
You felt him hardening beneath you through the fabric, and your breath changed without permission. His arms shifted under your grip and you pressed down harder to keep them there, which made him smile wider.
"You like being in control, my angel?"
You nodded, slowly, feeling yourself getting wet against him. You whimpered under your breath and he caught it.
"So needy," he said softly. And somehow even pinned beneath you, arms locked, he had that look — the one that said he had you completely figured out and was very comfortable there. It should have been annoying. It felt stupidly good instead.
He let you set the pace. Let you take the lead and sink down onto him and feel every inch of it. He let his arms free only when you eased your grip, and only touched you once you'd silently asked him to. Mouth to mouth, you riding him slowly, his hands patient on your skin in a way they weren't always — not rough, not light, something in between. Like he was paying attention to everything at once.
When he finally flipped you he did it without force — just pressed you into the mattress with his weight, steady and sure, and you went willingly. You held him, felt his body shake once above you, heard his breath fail him at the edges. You took his face in your hands at some point, brushed the damp hair from his forehead.
"You're so beautiful," you said quietly.
It was the first time you'd said it out loud like that, plainly, and you watched something happen in his expression — a flicker of something unguarded, almost surprised, like he genuinely didn't know what to do with it. So you kissed him before he had to figure it out. Took whatever that was into your mouth and held it there.
It ended with you in his arms, too spent to sustain a single further thought. You assumed he'd sleep through the night but you woke in the dark to his silhouette at the window.
He was sitting in the frame of it, smoking, one knee up, the city's quiet outside around him. You lay still and watched without meaning to — the cigar going small drag by drag until it was done. He didn't come back to bed. So eventually you got up and crossed to him and hugged him sideways, wordlessly, your head finding his shoulder.
His arm came around you.
"Thought you were tired," you said.
"I was." He was looking outside. "Can't sleep though."
"Why?"
"Nervous, I guess." He said it easily, like it wasn't hard to admit. "About getting there. About actually settling somewhere."
You looked up at him. He glanced down, caught your eyes.
"Don't get me wrong," he said, a small laugh in his voice. "I can't wait. We've waited long enough. It's just — "
"I know." You rested your chin against his chest. "I'll miss this too. Real life will be different."
"Real life?" He raised his brows. "Honey, this is real life."
"I know, I just mean... We'll be like... regular people. I don't know how to explain it."
He laughed softly and kissed your forehead. "If you miss it too much we can rent a motel on the edge of town every couple of weeks. Just for the feeling."
You laughed and shook your head. "No. I'm done with motels. I want a big bed and clean sheets that smell like something good."
He smiled — wide and open. "You'll have that, honey." He leaned down and kissed your lips, unhurried. Then he pulled back and looked at you for maybe too long, too carefully.
"Thank you," he said. "I'll never forget any of this."
You didn't know exactly what he meant by it. But the thank you was so genuine, so unguarded, that something in your chest tightened around it. For just a moment it felt like something else — like a weight being set down, like a door closing softly. Like a goodbye.
But it wasn't. You wouldn't let it be anything other than what it was meant to be.
You stayed at the window with him until the cold came in and he finally carried you back to bed.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
You both lost the hours to morning. When you woke you had barely an hour before checkout. You snuggled into Hollis, tried to rouse him, and he did what he always did — pulled you tighter without opening his eyes. It took another half hour before either of you actually got up, and then you moved the way you always had. Bags, checkout, car. For what turned out to be the very last time.
Two more hours and the landscape shifted completely — desert giving way to palm trees, the mountains disappearing, and that particular day the sky was so clear there was nothing above the town but blue. It was different from anything you'd passed through. But what caught your attention, what held it completely, was the ocean — the white sand meeting the water — and you might have kept staring indefinitely if Hollis hadn't pulled the car to a stop on the wide avenue leading to the beach.
"End of the line," he said, stepping out.
It was a small building, two or three floors, white walls with blue trim. An older woman waited at the entrance — the landlord, you learned quickly. She wasn't unfriendly, just brisk. She handed over the keys, told you what you needed to know, and left you to it. You went upstairs — one flight, a short hallway, four doors along it — and you were just taking it in when Hollis's arms came under you and lifted you completely off the ground. You nearly screamed.
"What are you doing?" you said, laughing, arm dropping around his shoulders.
"Isn't it tradition? Carrying your girl over the threshold?"
"That's for newlyweds," you said, still laughing.
"Same thing," he said, and shrugged, and you laughed harder.
"We're not married."
He furrowed his brows in theatrical shock. "Of course we are." He stopped in front of the door. "Honey, I thought you'd accepted a long time ago that you're my wife."
Clumsily he opened the door and your eyes moved over the whole room the moment the door opened and Hollis set you down slowly. It wasn't large or fancy, but something filled your chest immediately. The first thing you noticed was the light — white walls, a huge window in the living room — and you walked toward it without deciding to. The ocean was visible from there, wide and vast and real.
"So," Hollis said from somewhere behind you. "Do you like it?"
"It's better than anything I imagined." You turned and smiled at him — fully, openly. He had a small, contained smile on his face. Something behind it that sat heavier than the moment asked for, though you chose to read it as nerves. "I love it. Really."
"That's good, my angel." He crossed to you, hand to your cheek, caressing lightly. "This is your home now."
Something tightened in your chest. "Our home," you said. And then you just hugged him — tucked your face into his chest without ceremony — and he held you back, one arm around you, the other hand resting on your head, fingers moving through your hair.
He showed you the bedroom after that, and you ate together for the first time in the flat, something ordered in, sitting on the floor because there was nowhere else yet. And just after eating, glancing outside again, you said it casually.
"I've never seen the ocean."
"You what?" He stopped what he was doing. "Never?"
"I told you. I never left Oklahoma."
"Well." He stepped closer and extended his hand. "Come on."
"What?" You frowned, already smiling.
"You're seeing the ocean, honey."
You took his hand.
On the way there all you could think about was how impossible it was — the beach just across the street, the sand warm under your bare feet the moment you took your shoes off. Hollis left his shoes and his hoodie behind and held your hand all the way to the waterline.
You didn't want to go in at first. But Hollis always had a way of getting you to fold when he looked at you with that wide smile, the one that reached all the way up, and so you went. The waves hit you before you were ready — crashing into your body, soaking your dress, catching in your hair. Something about the way the water pushed at you and pulled back, like it had opinions, was unsettling in exactly the right way. The further in you went the closer you stayed to him. His hair had gone a tone darker with water, long strands gone thin against his shoulders, and in the afternoon light he looked like something that had no business being real. You tasted salt water when he kissed you, right there, in the middle of the ocean.
You left the beach with sand in your boots and your dress stuck to your skin. Hollis's jeans hung low from the weight of the water and he complained the whole walk back as though this had been anyone's idea but his own.
But you went back home. To your home. You took turns in the shower and then went out to find somewhere to eat — a small restaurant down the street, nothing remarkable, just the two of you at a table with the evening outside the window.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The following days felt like nothing you'd ever felt before. The stillness fit. The lazy mornings had their own rhythm. Even the smallest things — going grocery shopping for the first time, learning that Hollis hated cucumbers and would eat citrus fruit at any hour, watching him frown at prices in the produce aisle — these were things you noticed without meaning to, pinned carefully somewhere in your mind.
A few nights in, almost asleep, you felt him shift closer. His hand warm and large on your stomach.
"Y/n?" Your name. Unusual.
"Mhm?" You didn't open your eyes.
"Can't sleep." Small and tired, rough at the edges. You felt him press his face to your collar, a kiss against your skin.
"Is something wrong?" Your arms found his shoulders, your fingers moving into his hair.
A silence that went on too long. His arms tightened slightly. "No. Just can't sleep."
You hummed and held him and kept moving your fingers through his hair until your own eyes closed. He was still wrapped around you in the morning. You chose to take that as something.
But it was the beginning of something you hadn't quite named yet. The restless nights. Waking to find him smoking in the kitchen. Opening your eyes to him sitting up against the headboard, not looking at anything in particular. Once you came home from running laundry and found him on his phone in the kitchen, and you were just about to tell him something about a neighbor you'd passed on the stairs when you caught the last thread of his voice.
"I fucking told you, I can't— " He went quiet the moment you came through the door. "I gotta go."
He hung up, set the phone down, turned to you like nothing had happened. You asked. He said it was nothing. It hadn't sounded like nothing — there was a rawness to his voice in those last seconds that you didn't recognize, something stripped of the composure he usually kept.
You couldn't say these moments were constant in the days that followed. But they were there. And you should have handled it better when it finally came to a head. One night you let your insecurity speak too loudly — asked if he still didn't trust you enough to tell you things, accused him of not wanting this to work as much as you did. And if there was one thing that got to Hollis, it was being accused. The fight stretched through dinner, both of you eating in silence at the kitchen counter. You wanted to cry the entire time but didn't let yourself.
It resolved the way things between you always resolved. By bedtime you got out of the shower and lay down without looking at him, turned onto your side. Within moments his arms came around you from behind — his chest against your back, his mouth close to your neck.
"Don't go to sleep mad at me," he said, barely above a whisper. "I love you. I want this to work more than anything."
You were still angry. You were still aware that something was off. You turned in his arms and pressed your face against his chest rather than looking at him. He held you tighter.
"Stop hiding things from me," you said. "Please."
His breath caught. The hand in your hair went still. "I will," he said. But his voice wasn't certain, and you filed that away somewhere you didn't look at directly.
The next evening he moved differently — carefully. You thought at first it was about the fight. He took you to the pier, bought ice cream, walked beside you in the evening light pointing out things he noticed. Later he cooked pasta, told you it was something he was an expert in, and it was actually good, and he wore a smug expression about it that you found entirely insufferable and completely charming. You laughed at the table together and the fight felt like something from a different week.
It wasn't about the fight. You understood that only the next morning.
You woke and his side of the bed was empty, which happened sometimes, so you didn't think about it. You went to the kitchen and put the coffee on. You looked out the window at the ocean and reached for a mug and that was when you saw it — on the counter, a small piece of paper that hadn't been there the night before.
You picked it up just out of curiosity.
Something came up. I gotta solve some stuff. I tried my best not to let it reach us and the last thing I wanted to do was leave you now that we got here.
Trust me. That's all I ask.
I left money for you and the rent is three months paid. I love you. I'll come back, my angel.
For a full minute you stood there and felt nothing. Then you reduced it to a joke — a mean silly bit he'd started and would end any second. You went to the bedroom. His things were gone. A few pairs of clothes left behind. The gun was nowhere. The knife was nowhere.
Your legs stopped working properly. You sat on the edge of the bed with a shirt he left behind in your hands and stayed there for a good hour.
Then you stopped sitting. You threw things. Smashed the plant by the window. Made a wreck of the room and cut your foot on the mess and some reflex in your muscle memory thought Hollis is going to scold you for that and you hated the thought. You hated that he wasn't there to have it.
You wanted to fight him. Wanted him right there so you could say mean things you didn't mean and watch him get pissed off and try to prove you wrong. You missed two nights ago when you were arguing. You missed it so badly it was physical.
Prove me wrong, you cried, quietly, to no one.
You read the note again. Looked for something in it that wasn't there.
Trust me — I'll come back.
Trust me — I'll come back.
Trust me — I'll come back.
Trust me — I'll come back.
You tried his old number. Somewhere along the way you'd known he would have changed it. The call went nowhere.
That was all you had.
For a week you held onto it. Checked the words against themselves like they were proof of something, like they came with a deadline attached. He'd come back. He'd said it. He would. He didn't come back after the first week. He didn't come back after the second. By the third week, lying in bed most of the day and going out only for instant noodles, your body had started to protest the stillness. You had to live. He'd left money, but money ran. There was rent. There was survival. There was, underneath everything, the specific loyalty or devotion or whatever it was that said: if he comes back, you have to be here, whole.
You applied everywhere — a general store, an electronics repair place, a dental receptionist position. You got the diner. Serving tables wasn't bad. The days filled. You made friends with another waitress — Lisa—, and with the boy from the kitchen — Josh. One evening coming home you found a ginger kitten on the side of the road and took him in and named her Ginger, which was obvious but felt right, and she became a kind of company. You spent your days pretending to be a regular girl and came home to a hauntingly quiet flat with only a cat at your feet.
After the third month you paid rent yourself. You came home with your wallet lighter and found the note in your pocket — still there, worn at the folds now — and read it again the way you'd been reading it whenever his absence got heavier.
Whatever he'd gone to do, it had exceeded the time. Three months paid and no sign. Of course he knew you could take care of yourself. But what sat differently in your chest was the fear that it wasn't that he didn't want to come back. That he couldn't. That somewhere out there something had gone wrong in a way that was bigger than a note on a kitchen counter could account for. That scared you more than being left behind ever had.
That couldn't be it. You still felt him.
Months in, his absence in the bed still registered every night. Months in, every morning at the window with coffee, the strip of ocean visible between the buildings, you still remembered that afternoon — the waves hitting you before you were ready, his hair gone dark with water, the salt taste of him when he kissed you in the middle of it. Sometimes you felt the anticipation of him, that particular alertness your body had learned, and reached for it and found nothing. The shape of him in the flat, in your days, was like learning to walk around furniture that had been moved. You kept finding the absence where the presence used to be.
Was it hope that kept you? The note in the nightstand drawer, the scapular at your throat that you touched without thinking throughout the day?
No. It was more than hope. Walking home from work one evening you passed a church — nothing like the one back home, shaped differently, a different kind of quiet — and you stopped and looked at the cross and thought of his hands on you in the back room of a church in Collinsville all those months ago and understood what it actually was.
It was Faith. And Faith hurts. Faith meant sacrifice. Faith was giving without expectation of anything except your own salvation.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
When your birthday came it sat heavier than it should have. You tried to move through it normally. Your friend from the diner found out and made a thing of it, insisted you come out, and you resisted until you didn't. You went to a bar and drank more than you should have. It was fun at the start — genuinely, for a few hours — until a man across the room turned a certain way and your mind placed Hollis there for a fraction of a second before reality corrected it.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Josh said from beside you.
You laughed it off. Said you thought you saw someone you knew. They didn't push. You drank more than you should have after that and Lisa drove you home, and you sat on the outside steps of the building and said things you only half-remembered in the morning.
"You said something about a man," Lisa told you at lunch the next day. "About him leaving. About how unfair it was."
"Did I?" you said, your head aching.
"Who is he? I thought you were here alone."
"I am," you said, and took a bite of your sandwich. "He was... He's just— " The words stopped. What even was he now? Eight months away. "It's complicated."
"Complicated ex?" She shrugged. "Been there. You can tell me."
And for the first time you talked about him. You said his name out loud to someone after so long and it felt like speaking about a person who existed in a different tense. You didn't tell her everything. Just how you met, how you left everything behind, how you'd ended up here.
"We planned to come here for a while. When we got here, he had to leave."
"Commitment issues?"
"No— I don't— " Your voice faltered. "It's not that simple."
"Men often can't handle something real when they're finally standing in front of it. They run."
"Hollis isn't like that." The defense came out before you'd decided on it. Was it true? You didn't know. "Whatever his reasons were... It's not like that."
You saw on Lisa’s face, she found it strange that you defended him. You found it strange too, in a distant way.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
One morning, feeding Ginger and waiting for the coffee, you looked at the ocean long enough to do the arithmetic. You'd been missing him for longer than you'd actually been with him. The trip had lasted barely over a month. You'd been waiting for six.
That afternoon, taking the trash out, you ran into Josh in the alley behind the diner. You exchanged a few words and turned to go back inside.
"Hey," he said. "I've been meaning to ask, how would you feel about going out sometime?”
“Well, that’d be cool,” you smiled. “I promise not to drink too much this time, and I’ll tell Lisa–”
“No, I mean just the two of us."
You stopped. Looked at him properly. He was decent-looking, genuinely sweet, actually funny. You had never once considered it. A date. The instant thought felt wrong in a way you couldn't entirely defend.
"I can't," you said. Then, because you saw his expression: "I'm sorry. It's complicated."
"Lisa said you were single," he said, easy, no pressure. "I just thought—"
"I am. It's just... complicated."
"Well, if you ever figure this out," he said, with a smile that didn't push, "give me a heads up." And you smiled back with something sitting uneasily in your chest.
Half a year of nothing. And you still couldn't allow yourself.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
You functioned. You went out sometimes with Lisa and Josh and found that you could laugh genuinely, that a whole hour could pass without him surfacing. But you came home every evening to the flat, and Ginger would be waiting, and the quiet would settle, and you'd think about the one week you'd had here with him. Imagine coming home to him. Imagine him eventually tolerating the cat, probably pretending not to like him. You'd smile and then correct yourself. Because he wouldn't be there when you opened the door. Ginger purred at your feet and waited for her dinner and that was what you had.
By the eighth month his shape inside you had settled into something that lived alongside the ordinary rather than interrupting it. It still surfaced — his hoodie in the wardrobe, his belt on the shelf, the note now soft with refolding in the nightstand drawer. A stranger on the street with a certain posture. A slow, unhurried voice in a crowd that made you turn. But you'd learned to let these pass through without pulling on them. Like living with a ghost you'd learned to carry — to dismiss, to keep private, to disguise when it shook you more than usual.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
It was late afternoon, slow hour at the diner. You were at the register, cashing orders, offering the smile you'd learned to produce automatically. Josh was visible through the order window and you'd been laughing about something stupid with him when a customer stepped up to the counter.
You were still looking down at the register.
"Excuse me." A single word, a single vibration, and the back of your neck went cold. You went completely still. "I was wondering if you sell cigarettes here."
You looked up.
It felt like the mind playing its trick again — the one it had been playing for eight months, placing him in strangers, correcting itself. You waited for the correction.
It didn't come.
He looked different. More settled in his face somehow, older in a way that eight months could account for. His hair was darker, shorter, sitting just at his shoulders. He looked like he’s been a life you had no part in it. He was wearing sunglasses that he took off when you stared too long.
"Hey," Josh said behind you, "the customer is talking to you, dumbass."
You stepped slightly forward. "We do," you said, slowly, still not trusting it. And then, because your body remembered before your mind caught up: "Marlboro Red?"
He smirked. The particular smirk that had always meant he was pleased with you for something.
"Yeah," he said. Low, open.
You turned and got the pack. Held the smile back. Rang it through. He paid and neither of you moved after that — just looked at each other across the counter while the diner went on around you.
"When do you finish?" he asked.
"Five," you said.
"I'll be in the parking lot." He nodded once, took the cigarettes with a slight hesitation, and walked out in those slow unhurried strides you'd spent eight months hearing in your memory.
You felt it everywhere — the rush, the reality of it, the fact that he had just been standing there. That he was just outside. You looked at the clock. Barely three o’clock. You wouldn’t wait any longer, you waited enough. You looked at Lisa across the room.
"Can you cover for me?" You caught her by both shoulders before she could ask anything. "I know. I'm sorry. He's here. Hollis is here."
She blinked. Once. Twice.
"Go on," she said. And as you were already moving toward the door you heard her say behind you, loud enough: "Kick his fucking ass."
You weren't sure what you were going to do, really. You weren't sure about anything except that you had waited long enough and you were not waiting until five o'clock.
The parking lot. The afternoon light. And there he was — leaning against the hood of a car you didn't recognize, arms crossed, already watching the door like he'd known which way you'd come out.
Your stride didn't slow. In your head you had things to say, real things, eight months of things. You were going to reach him and shove his chest and make him hear all of it.
And then you were in front of him, and he was looking down at you with his hair framing the face you had been so afraid of forgetting, and he was smiling — but it was the sad kind, the kind that meant he could see your face and your face was doing something you hadn't felt it do in a long time.
You were crying. Warm tears down your cheeks, already, without having decided to.
"Why did it take you so long?" Your voice came out small. Like a question asked by a child who just wants to be comforted.
"I'm sorry, my angel." He tossed the cigarette. His hands came to your face, his thumbs moving across your cheeks. "I'm so sorry."
You found his chest the way you had before— like the reflex had never gone anywhere, like your body had simply been waiting for the object it was calibrated for. His arms came around you immediately, long and certain and familiar, and he pressed his face into your hair and breathed you in and made a small low sound that told you he had been waiting too, in whatever way waiting looked like from his side of the eight months.
Neither of you spoke. You didn't need to. You didn't want to. Whatever he had to tell you, it could wait. Whatever you'd been carrying, it could wait. You just needed to feel him. You just needed to know you still had him.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Getting home with him was strange, to say the least. You'd pictured it so many nights that the real version felt like a slightly off copy of something you'd never actually been able to prepare for. After the hug and the tears in the parking lot you went back inside and finished your shift. He stayed in the lot the entire time. When you came out he asked, very politely, if he could drive you home — said he needed to talk — and you couldn't say no. Lisa offered him a deadly look. Josh just stared.
The first thing you heard when you opened the door was Ginger, meowing and then purring at your feet before freezing at the sight of Hollis behind you. She hissed once and disappeared into the living room.
"Warm welcome from—" he waited.
"Ginger," you answered, dropping your keys on the kitchen counter.
You stood there a moment, your back still to him, fighting the urge to turn around too quickly. Just registering that he was actually there. You heard his breath and a part of you wanted him to take you in his arms and make you skip the hard part — but he didn't.
"Look," he started with a deep breath.
"I don't want you to excuse yourself," you turned. Heart pounding.
"I wasn't," he said and you frowned. "I was going to ask you if I'm still welcome here. Back into your life."
He looked at you so helplessly. Some type of stray puppy look you didn't even know he was capable of. You almost wanted to hiss at him like Ginger did and just run. But no, you stayed put. Hand on the counter.
"This time—" you started. "I need to know everything. I need you to tell me. Where have you been? What were you doing all this time?”
He stopped like he was gathering courage, then glanced at the living room. "Can we sit?"
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
From the initial weight of sitting down together you could already tell it wouldn't be a quick conversation. It would be a long night. You sat a few inches apart on the couch, still in your uniform, playing with your own fingers because you needed something to do with your hands.
"You can start," you said, when it became clear he was taking too long. You looked up and found him already watching you. "Where were you?"
"I've been on the run." His eyes stayed on yours. "For the first three months after I left you, I was running. And then, when I tried to get back here, they caught me."
"Running from who? Who caught you?"
He sighed. You could see the tension in his body, the particular stillness of someone gathering themselves. He looked away, focused on nothing specific. "I did bad things. Before I met you. Back in Chicago." A pause. "I'd like to say it was my father making me, but it wasn't. I learned how to do things; how to do things to people. and for a while I enjoyed the power it gave me."
His hands spread flat over his knees. His eyes dropped.
"What kind of things?" He looked at you briefly when you asked, then away again. "Hollis. You can tell me."
"I used people. I hurt people. I turned into this asshole who'd follow my father's word around like it gave me some kind of right." He stopped. "It started when I killed someone."
The silence after that had weight.
He didn't look at you but you kept looking at him, trying to read whatever was moving through him, and what you could see was how uncomfortable he was — not defensive, not deflecting, just genuinely sitting in what it cost him to say it out loud. He exhaled slowly. "He was a nobody. Some guy who'd argued with me at a party over nothing, and I just— I snapped. I beat him badly enough that he ended up brain dead in a hospital. His mother was standing there pointing at me, her son in that bed because of me, and afterward all my father said was that I was a man. That I'd stood up for myself."
He laughed, dry and bitter, still looking at the floor. "I wish I could say it made me more sensible. It didn't. After that everything went further in the wrong direction. I learned to be exactly what my father wanted. And the exact thing that made my mother look at me like I was a stranger." He went quiet for a moment. "When she left, I sank deeper into his business. Hurting people stopped being incidental. It was the job. And I was good at it."
You didn't ask what the job was specifically. You didn't need to. You took the shape of it and let it sit.
"What made you leave?" you asked.
"You know I'm not a man of God." He smiled faintly. "But maybe something like that. Something like a miracle. My father got me in the wrong mood one day and I punched him in the face. That fucking pussy had his men beat me half to death; to teach me a lesson, he said." He laughed again, the same humorless sound. "So I paid him back. I fucked up one of his deals and stole from him. Planned that shit for months, had people backing me. That was the whole plan. Hit and run." A pause. "Until I found you."
You were quiet for a moment. "If you had money, why did we— Why were we robbing people on the road?"
"I'd sent it ahead to a contact in California, to dismiss them." He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It didn't work. He followed me here. His people. That's why I left you. So they wouldn't find you."
He stopped talking. A full minute passed before he stood and crossed to the window. You watched him light a cigarette, take a long drag, and stand there with his back half turned, looking out at the dark stretch where the ocean was.
"Robert told me to go to the police," he said eventually. "Stop running and just go."
"Robert knew about all of this?" You sat forward.
"Who do you think helped me plan it? He had his own reasons to want my father finished." He glanced back at you. "If my father's people caught me they'd probably kill me. So I turned myself in. The Feds offered a deal — I give them everything I had on him and they'd reduce my sentence. The lawyer explained it in about ten thousand words and I retained maybe half of it." He shrugged.
"And you didn't think to call me once."
"You heard everything I just told you and that's what you're focused on?" His voice lifted slightly.
"Well, yes!" You stood. "Because I was here. For all this time. Not knowing if you were alive. Not knowing anything. I thought all kinds of stuff, Hollis— "
"I was afraid if I mentioned you they'd want to question you. I was afraid they'd dig up what we did on the road and it would come back on you. I didn't want to expose you to any of it." He said it with the particular restlessness of someone replaying a decision they've already turned over too many times.
You stared at him. Arms crossed, jaw tight. "You’re so stupid," you said, looking away and then back. "So genuinely, completely stupid."
"I am," he said, pulling another drag. "I know I put you through enough. I didn't want to make it worse."
"Don't— " You took a step toward him without meaning to, pointing at him. "Don't you ever do that again. Don't you hide things from me to protect me. I am not a child, Hollis."
"I know you're not, I just— "
"No excuses."
"Fine." He raised both hands, a ghost of amusement crossing his face despite everything. "I won't do it again. But does that mean you're taking me back?"
You stopped walking. Pressed your lips together. You looked at him — cataloguing the differences and recognizing everything underneath them. The darker hair making him look older. The broader set of his shoulders. But the way he looked at you, that hadn't changed at all — that particular combination of hoping and knowing, like you were the most extraordinary thing in the room and also the thing he was most certain of.
"I should say no." You took another step toward him. "I should kick you out and make you sleep in the car."
"You should, honey." Hearing it after so long did something immediate to your stomach. He was fighting a smile, like he already knew.
"But I won't."
"Why won't you?" He tilted his head, letting the smile come.
"Because I waited for you." Your voice caught without warning, the emotion surfacing before you'd decided to let it. You were close to him now — close enough to look up at him properly, close enough that an arm's length would have been enough. "Like a fool."
"You're no fool, my angel." He reached for your cheek slowly, tilted your face up, and you let him. "That's because you're too good. Too good to be real. Too good to be mine, and yet you chose it, and I take you gladly." You bit the inside of your cheek not to cry again, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "I'll take whatever you have to give me, if you're still willing to be mine."
You reached for his forearm. Held it. Not to stop him — just to finally touch him. You turned your face into his hand and closed your eyes.
Your answer had been ready since the diner. Since before that, honestly. Since the note on the counter and the months that followed and every night you'd spent holding onto something that was mostly memory and a piece of paper and the weight of a scapular at your throat.
"I thought we already agreed on this," you said, opening your eyes. "When we swore on blood."
"Honey." His other hand found your waist, pulling you in until you felt the full length of him against you. "We agreed long before that."
He leaned down, face coming toward yours. Your hands pressed flat against his chest. "Tell me you're mine," he whispered, right before his mouth reached you.
"I'm yours," you said. "All yours."
Your eyes closed as he kissed you — slowly, carefully, like you were something he was still making sure was real. His hand at your waist, brushing up under your shirt to the skin beneath. His other hand holding your face like it mattered that he could feel you were there. You kissed him back the way it felt — like it ached, like you'd been holding it in your body for eight months waiting to give it somewhere to go.
He lifted you easily and you held on, arms and legs finding their places around him like muscle memory, and he carried you to the bedroom.
Time seemed to move differently. Every touch revealed how long it had been — how much had been accumulated and held — and yet neither of you hurried any of it. Not while he undressed you from the uniform, not while you pulled his shirt over his head and reached for his skin. Every touch a deliberate choice. Every kiss something chosen.
It was like learning him again. A second first time, except this time you weren't nervous about who he might be, because you knew exactly who he was — enough to know you were part of him. You found new things on him: a scar on his left side above the ribs, another on his forearm, one on his shoulder. He let you touch each of them and watched your face while you did, careful and quiet.
When he finally laid you down and lined himself up and slid inside you, inch by inch, unhurried, it felt like exactly what it was — coming back to something that had always been yours. He held your face in both hands because he needed to watch you. And you looked back at him and cried quietly, held him tight, because you could, because this was the man you knew better now than ever before, and for that same reason you loved him more than you had before, and you couldn't stand a single centimeter of distance between you.
The night stretched into hours of an unhurried, sloppy fuck that neither of you seemed to want to end. And when it did, it ended with you talking nonsense at each other in the dark just because you could, just because you had each other back and that made even nonsense feel like something worth saying.
When you finally curled into him, head on his chest, he felt you tracing the scar above his ribs.
"You can ask," he said, laughing softly.
"How did you get it?"
"A spoon someone had sharpened into a knife. A fight I wasn't even involved in." His voice was easy about it, like it was a story about someone else.
You lifted your head and looked at him. He glanced down at you for a moment before pressing his lips to your forehead.
"It's alright," he said, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it. "I'm fine now."
You exhaled slowly and lay back against him.
He fell asleep not long after — deeply, easily, the way he hadn't in those last restless nights before he'd gone. You watched him. He looked peaceful in the way you'd always noticed, so completely unguarded, like sleep was the one territory where nothing could reach him. You thought about what he'd been living through while you were pretending to be a regular person at a diner counter, and felt the ache of it move through you and settle.
You reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead.
Then you hid your face in his collar. He smelled exactly the same. That particular warmth of his skin, that scent that had become so familiar you'd stopped noticing it, and then had spent months trying not to forget.
In his sleep his arm found your waist. Pulled you in.
"I love you," he murmured, half under.
"I love you," you said back. Barely a sound.
He hummed. The way he had a thousand times. The way that meant I know without needing to say it.
You closed your eyes.
Outside, the ocean carried your blood in unison. The whole road was now behind you — every mile of it, every motel and gas station and state line, every robbery and argument and almost-goodbye. All of it leading to whatever this was. This quiet, long-awaited beginning.
y’all can hate me for this take but i really think if hollis would’ve stuck with the blond long hair he could’ve gotten REALLY big and even more popular, like world star type of famous.
don’t get me wrong i love him and i think he is genuinely so fucking talented, one of the best artists of our generation and shouldn’t be reduced to his looks!! but i guess at least all the weird people left now who were simply thirsting over him 😭
Tags: Violence and criminal activity, dark romance, jealousy-fueled sex.
Fem!reader × Criminal Hollis.
Legendary Lovers.
The atmosphere in the subsoil always smells like a heavy mix of expensive tobacco, cheap alcohol, and poorly cleaned gunpowder. It is the type of bar where half the patrons have a price on their heads and the other half are looking for a way to collect it. But tonight, no one dares to look too closely.
Because the two of you are here.
You are in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, moving to the slow, heavy rhythm of the music blaring from the worn-out speakers. You don't care about the crowd parting in your path, clearing space for you as if you were royalty in a ruined palace. You are wearing that dress Hollis helped you pick out, and the ring he stole for you gleams under the pink and blue neon lights every time you raise your hands. You are dancing alone, but your eyes never leave the back table. The VIP table.
That is where he is.
Hollis sits with a calmness that borders on an insult, legs crossed and a feline smirk on his face while a local dealer, twice his size, breaks into a cold sweat trying to negotiate the terms of a weapons shipment. On either side, his most loyal men watch in silence, but they aren't even necessary. Everyone knows who Hollis is, and everyone knows who you are.
Three years. For three damn years, the federal police, rival gangs, and half the underworld have been trying to catch you. Three years in which you have burned bridges, bypassed barricades, and escaped shootouts without a single major scratch. To the rest of the city, you are an urban myth, a living legend of criminals with supernatural luck. To you, luck only has one name: Hollis.
The dealer makes the mistake of raising his voice slightly, slamming the table. Instantly, the music seems to cut out in your head. You stop dead in the middle of the dance floor. Your eyes narrow, and your hand instinctively drops to the side of your thigh, where the cold metal of your concealed weapon gives you a warm welcome.
But before you take a step, Hollis raises a hand. He doesn't look at the man. He looks at you.
Through the tobacco smoke and neon light, his eyes lock onto yours. The cold, murderous gaze he was directing at the dealer dissolves in a fraction of a second, replaced by that private, genuine warmth that only you know. He gives you a faint, almost imperceptible half-smirk and nods just once. Everything is under control, gorgeous. Keep dancing.
The air returns to your lungs. You relax, return the smile with a hint of mockery, and keep moving, knowing that as long as you are together in that room, you are fucking untouchable.
Hollis looks back at the dealer, but his tone of voice has dropped three octaves, becoming dangerously soft.
"Let's make this quick, pal," Hollis says, leaning his elbows on the table and tilting in toward the man. "My girl is getting bored on the dance floor, and the last time she got bored, we had to burn down an entire police station to keep her entertained. And trust me... I don't feel like wasting gas today."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The roar of the car engine cuts through the night like a blade.
You are sunk into the passenger seat, your back pressed against the black leather and your lungs still exhaling the pure adrenaline you just stole from the bar. The city flashes past the window, turned into a blur of distorted streetlight beams. Behind, far behind, are the screams, the echo of the gunshots, and the body of that miserable fool who thought he could raise his voice to Hollis in front of you.
You look to your left. Hollis has both hands firmly on the wheel, weaving through the traffic of the main avenue with surgical precision. His jaw is clenched and a tiny speck of fresh blood splatters his left cheek, but there is no fear in his eyes. Only fire. The guy tried to play smart at the VIP table, Hollis did what he had to do, and now the night is completely theirs.
Suddenly, a clean, wild laugh escapes your lips. You can't help it. It is the euphoria of knowing that you won again, that the world tried to bite you and you ripped its teeth out first.
Hollis glances at you for a second. Hearing your laughter, the tension in his face breaks completely. A huge smile of pure complicity forms on his lips, and he starts laughing too. It is that shared laugh that only the two of you understand, the laugh of two kids who just pulled a massive prank and know nobody is going to catch them.
"I told you, gorgeous," he says, his voice a bit raspy from the exertion and adrenaline. "I told you it wasn't worth wasting gas on that idiot. One bullet did the trick."
"You went too fast, you cut off my music," you complain playfully, your eyes shining with pure amusement.
You unbuckle your seatbelt, ignoring the danger of the speed, and slide across the seat until you are dangerously close to him. You lean against his side, invading his space with total freedom, because you know your presence never distracts him; on the contrary, it makes him feel invincible.
You drape a hand over his shoulder, feeling the tight muscles of his back beneath his jacket, and let your head rest in the nook of his shoulder. Hollis doesn't pull away; he drops one of his hands from the steering wheel for a second to squeeze your thigh affectionately before taking back control of the car.
You begin to leave a line of slow, soft kisses on his neck, right where his pulse is racing a mile a minute. You feel the heat of his skin, the smell of gunpowder, and his expensive cologne. With every kiss, Hollis lets out a low sigh, a mix of a laugh and a shudder.
"Hey... you're going to make us crash," he murmurs in a teasing tone, though he makes no attempt to push you away. On the contrary, he tilts his head back slightly to give you more room, blindly trusting his reflexes and his luck.
"If we crash, we crash together," you answer against his skin, right before gently biting his earlobe.
He laughs again, slamming his foot down on the accelerator. The car flies down the dark highway, leaving the chaos behind. You have each other, you have a bag of loot in the back, and the whole fucking night ahead of you. You are young, you are in love, and damn it, the whole world is way too small for you.
The car brakes in the dark alley behind the abandoned warehouse. The engine dies, and finally, the silence of the night wraps around you. Hollis gets out first, alert, his hand inside his jacket, making sure the shadows of the place are just that: shadows. When he gives you the signal, you step out of the car carrying the bag with the night's loot.
You walk up the creaking metal stairs to the top-floor security door. Hollis steps forward and, out of pure habit ingrained in his body, curls his knuckles and knocks on the metal surface.
Knock, knock.
Two sharp hits. Your code. A tired but warm smile appears on your face upon hearing it; it means the danger stays outside and you are finally home.
Crossing the threshold, the atmosphere changes completely. The hideout isn't a cold or neglected place. You have taken care of transforming it into your own personal sanctuary: soft sheets, warm lights, and small pastel pink accents that soften the gray concrete walls, creating a sweet oasis in the middle of all their violent world.
You leave the bag on the table without looking at it; the money doesn't matter at all right now. You turn around, and Hollis has already taken off his jacket. He looks tired, but the moment your eyes lock with his, he sighs and opens his arms.
You don't need him to tell you twice. You slam into his chest, and his arms wrap around you instantly, squeezing you against him as if he feared you might vanish. Hollis buries his face in your hair, breathing in your scent, while your hands slide up to his neck, tangling in his hair. You stay like that for a few seconds, in absolute silence, letting your heartbeats synchronize and the adrenaline fully evaporate.
When he pulls back a little, Hollis takes your face in both hands. His palms are warm, his fingers brushing your cheeks with a gentleness that no one in the subsoil would believe capable of coming from the man who pulled a trigger half an hour ago.
"Let me look at you," he murmurs softly, scanning your face with genuine concern. "Are you okay? Did you get scared at the bar?"
"I'm perfect, Hollis. I told you, I'm invincible with you," you answer, giving him a half-sweet, half-mischievous smile.
He smirks, relieved, and presses his forehead against yours.
"Don't joke about that. You are the only thing that matters keeping safe in this life."
Hollis lowers his hands to your shoulders and carefully slides down the straps of your dress, helping you shed the uncomfortable party clothes to change into something softer. There is no rush; it is pure protective instinct. He brings a small, damp towel and, with infinite patience, cleans the tiny drop of someone else's blood that splattered your cheek during the chaos, kissing the clean spot right after.
You end up tangled together in bed, in the middle of the soft blankets. You are resting on his chest, and he has one arm around you, using his other hand to distractedly trace the edges of the ring on your finger. Your fingers entwine, and the jewel glints under the dim light of the floor lamp.
"If things ever get ugly..." you start to say, breaking the silence with a passing thought.
Hollis interrupts you, turning slightly to look you dead in the eyes. His gaze is serious, solemn, filled with absolute devotion.
"If one runs, we both run," he says, repeating the vow that holds their world together. "Always, gorgeous. I promise you."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The new bar is a cauldron of smoke, flashing neon lights, and music that thumps right in your chest. In the middle of the dance floor, the atmosphere is thick and sweaty, but for you, as always, the world narrows down to a single fixed point at the back of the place: the silhouette of Hollis in the shadows of a booth, glass in hand, his gaze locked onto you like a hawk.
The new guy has no idea what he just walked into. He only saw your beautiful face on the dance floor and assumed the night was won. He approaches brazenly, closing the distance until his chest presses against your back, swaying to the rhythm of the music with a stupid confidence. His hands search for your waist, bold, claiming a space that does not belong to him.
Anyone else would have reacted with a punch or a cold warning, but you don't move. You don't pull away.
Instead, you let the stranger get a little closer, arching your back subtly while keeping your eyes fixed on the darkness at the back. You feel a rush of adrenaline surge down your spine, a scorching heat that has nothing to do with the man touching you, but with the reaction you are provoking from across the room.
From his table, Hollis's posture shifts. He is no longer relaxed. His jaw tightens so hard that the muscle twitches, and the knuckles wrapping around his glass turn completely white. The fury in his eyes is palpable, a dark, possessive fire that promises violence.
You lose your breath at the intensity of that gaze. Seeing him lose control like that, knowing you unleash the demon with just a bit of provocation, sparks an addictive adrenaline that burns you from the inside. You know the guy behind you is playing with fire, and Hollis is just a second away from standing up and reminding the whole bar who you belong to.
Hollis can't take it anymore.
You saw how he set his glass down on the table with a sharp thud, never taking his eyes off you for even a millisecond. He stands up with that dangerous elegance that defines him, pulling back the chair soundlessly, like a predator that has already locked onto its prey. The tension in the air becomes so thick you can almost taste it.
The guy behind you, completely oblivious to the social suicide he is about to commit, whispers something in your ear with an arrogant smirk. He feels like he already has you. His hands slip a little lower down your hips, and just when you are about to say something, the fun is cut short instantly.
A gloved, firm hand slams against the stranger's shoulder, spinning him around with a brutal force that sends him stumbling.
"You're in my space," Hollis's voice says. It is low, calm, but it carries that switchblade edge that makes anyone's blood run cold.
The man blinks, trying to process the shift in environment, but before he can articulate a single word of complaint, Hollis has already stepped forward, completely invading his personal space. There are no shouts, no unnecessary scene; just the physical presence of Hollis, which seems to swallow all the light in the room and eclipse the new guy.
Hollis locks him in a glare so heavily loaded with violent promises that the guy instinctively takes a step back, losing all his bravery in a second. He looks at Hollis, looks at you, and finally understands the silent message hanging in the air: leave if you want to keep breathing. Without a word, the stranger turns around and loses himself in the crowd on the dance floor, disappearing as fast as he arrived.
Then, Hollis turns to you.
The anger and jealousy are still throbbing in his dark eyes, but now they are directed entirely at you. He takes a step forward, cornering you against the very spot where you were dancing a moment ago, forcing you to look up to hold his gaze. He catches your waist with a possessive grip, his fingers digging into your skin with a silent demand that steals your breath.
"You like playing with fire, don't you?" he whispered in your ear, his warm breath brushing your neck while his lips barely graze your skin, making you shiver. "But remember who you get burned by."
The thick air of the bar is left behind as Hollis drags you forcefully toward the dark, damp alley. The music thumps like a distant echo, but the only thing you hear is your own racing breath and his low growl. He shoves you against the brick wall, trapping you between his firm body and the cold stone. His eyes burn with a blind fury, a mix of desire and a territorial rage that sends goosebumps across your skin. Hollis grips your jaw firmly, forcing you to look right at him, while his other hand drops roughly to your waist, squeezing your flesh as if he wanted to leave a permanent mark.
"Did you have fun, Y/n? Did you like feeling his hands on you while I watched you from afar?" His voice isn't warm; it is heavily cold, and hearing him like this only makes your legs shake with anticipation. "Don't play like that again. You're mine, and I'm going to remind you of that the only way you understand."
Without giving you time to reply, Hollis grabs your arm with relentless force, making you stride along toward the car parked in the shadows. The sound of your heels against the pavement seems to beat out the rhythm of your own anxiety. Upon arriving, he opens the back seat door with a sharp jerk and throws you into the seat, immediately leaning over you to trap you.
"You're not going to rest tonight, Y/n. I'm going to punish every move you made in front of that idiot."
You feel a shiver run down your spine; Hollis's rage excites you as much as it scares you, and a part of you wants him to lose control completely. "Do it then, Hollis. Show me that nobody else can touch me like you," you challenged him, your voice cracking with adrenaline. You could feel your chest rising and falling frantically; you could almost swear the pounding of your heart was echoing against your ribs.
He didn't waste a second. He moved over you in the narrow seat, his heavy body crushing yours against the cold leather. His hands, rough and urgent, tore the fabric of your clothes with a violence that made you let out a sharp whimper.
"You're going to beg me to stop, but I won't until your body only knows how to utter my name." He buried his face in your neck to bite the sensitive skin, claiming his territory with an animal urgency.
The metallic clatter of the belt being ripped away echoed in the shadows, a sound of pure impatience. You could barely distinguish his features in the dark, but his intention was crystal clear. He positioned himself between your thighs, a massive and dominant presence, and without a second of hesitation, he claimed you. A careless thrust that forced you to arch your back as you felt his length slide in, filling you so absolutely that you could barely remember how to breathe.
You felt his thickness stretching your walls to the limit, an invasion so deep and heavy it left you breathless, while the whole car began to shake violently under the frenzied, uncontrolled rhythm of his thrusts. "You're my bitch, you get that? Only my bitch," he spat in your ear, enjoying the way your body trembled at the magnitude of his member that seemed to have no end, marking every inch of your inside with a force almost painful that made you lose your sense of reality.
Your eyes blurred with hot tears that began to roll down your cheeks, not from pain, but from a sensory overload that overwhelmed you. You sobbed desperately, digging your nails into his back, knowing that would directly leave marks on him for a long time. "Hollis.... please..."
"Yeah, cry... you need to understand that you don't play around with me like that," his voice now was a rough vibration that dug into your ears, but crying only fueled his own pleasure. His hands moved to your breasts, squeezing them lightly before positioning his thumbs over your nipples and starting to massage them while maintaining that rhythm that made the car rock.
The heat inside the car became suffocating; the windows had quickly fogged up from the thick atmosphere of sweat and desire. You feel the lack of oxygen, and the pleasure is so intense that your mind begins to blur, bringing you to the brink of passing out while he claims you over and over again.
Hollis's rhythm became erratic and clumsy, a dance of pure collision that made the vehicle's metal creak. Suddenly, he leans down and captures your mouth with a ravenous urgency, driving his tongue into yours with an invasive depth. You could taste the intoxicating flavor of expensive whiskey and the bitter trace of tobacco wrapping around you, a taste that drives you crazy and steals your last breath.
"Don't you dare close your eyes..." he ordered between the wet, desperate kisses.
The pleasure is too much, a jolt that hits you without warning. Your body loses control and you begin to experience involuntary spasms, your inner walls tightening around him as if they never wanted him to leave. You are on the edge of the abyss, vibrating under his weight while the world fades into pure ecstasy.
Your eyes lock onto his, defiant and clouded by euphoria, as the orgasm shakes you with a violence that leaves you speechless, leaving only heavy gasps.
Hollis, still with ragged breath and eyes bloodshot with desire, didn't stop immediately. He watched you with a fierce possessiveness while he kept thrusting with heavy, final strokes, seeking his own climax. After one last groan of satisfaction, he collapsed over you, letting his heat envelop you as the car regained its calm after the storm. Your thighs could only tremble at the sensation he left behind after pulling out of you. You were barely beginning to stabilize your ragged breathing when you heard his voice again. "I love you, but this time, I didn't like how you played," he murmured with his heavy, warm breath against your ear.
"I'm sorry... but you know, I only love you, and I belong to you. Forever," you whispered against his ear, remembering the promise you had made to always belong to each other.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
There are no wide warehouses left to dance in, no long nights to lose control. Now life is reduced to the back seat of the car, to transient motels smelling of humidity, and to the constant paranoia of checking the rearview mirror. You don't stay in the same place for even two days straight. You start to notice the toll: the lack of sleep in the dark circles under the crew's eyes, the guns that are never left unloaded on the table, and that deathly silence that settles in every time you walk into a room.
Nobody tells you anything. You ask and they answer with evasions, with forced smiles meant to convince you that everything is under control. But you know them too well.
The truth explodes in your face one dawn, in a semi-abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere.
You get up soundlessly, looking for a glass of water, when you hear the murmur of low voices coming from the kitchen. You press yourself against the wall, holding your breath, and look through the crack of the door.
There are Hollis and his two most loyal men, barely lit by the flickering light of an old lamp. On the table there is no loot, but maps full of red crossings and police frequencies static-ing on a portable radio.
"The north is completely blocked," one of the men says, his voice broken with exhaustion. "Yesterday three patrols passed close to the perimeter. They're breathing down our necks, Hollis. We're out of safe hideouts."
"The police already have everyone's faces, but the two of theirs are on the front page," the other chimes in, pointing to a bundle of papers. "If they catch us with them..."
"Shut up," Hollis cuts him off. His voice is incredibly low, but it carries a firmness that turns your blood to ice. His back is to you, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands lean on the table, bearing a massive weight. "I know perfectly well what position we're in."
"Hollis, we have to be realistic. Our luck has run out. The next move could be the last. We have to tell her, she needs to know that—"
"I said no," Hollis sentenced, and this time he turns in profile. His face reflects something you've never seen in him before. There is no trace of the confident man who laughed at the sirens. There is a silent acceptance, a tragic maturity in his eyes. "She still believes we'll get out of this. And as long as I breathe, she's going to keep believing it. Don't strip away her faith. Ready the weapons for tomorrow. We're going to play our last card."
Your heart does a flip in your chest. The air escapes your lungs as you take a step back into the dark, your back pressed against the cold wall. For the first time, the invincibility you believed in so much begins to crack.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The thunder of gunshots and the screech of tires still echo in your head as the car skids inside the last warehouse. The space is massive, cold, and dusty, barely lit by the beams of light filtering through the broken roof. At the back, covered by an old tarp, the second vehicle is glimpsed: their last, desperate escape route.
The engine of the car they arrived in agonizes with thick smoke. Hollis is the first to get out, his movements fast but strangely precise. His face is smeared with soot and blood, but his eyes, when they land on you, are completely clear of fear. There is only an unyielding resolution in them.
You get out stumbling, your hands shaking and your heart hammering against your ribs at a frantic pace. The adrenaline isn't fun anymore; now it burns, it tastes like pure panic.
"We have to move the tarp!" you exclaim, your voice breaking with urgency as you try to run toward the other car. "If we go out through the back, we can lose them on the highway. Hollis, move, there's no time!"
But he doesn't move toward the car. He moves toward you.
He catches you by the shoulders with a firm grip, forcing you to halt your steps. The cold of the warehouse disappears before the warmth of his hands, but the way he looks at you freezes your blood. There is no rush in his eyes, only a devastating calm.
"Listen to me," he tells you, and his voice sounds so soft it contrasts violently with the sirens already heard in the distance, closing in on the perimeter. "Listen to me closely. This whole life... was worth it because you were in it."
The ground seems to vanish beneath your feet. The phrase hits you like a physical impact.
"No. No, don't say that," you protest, panic turning into blind helplessness. You try to wrench yourself from his grip, pushing him toward the vehicle. "Let's go. We said we'd run together. That's the promise, Hollis! If one runs, we both run!"
"We can't both get out," he answers. His hand goes up to your cheek, a quick touch, almost imperceptible, but so loaded with a desperate adoration it breaks your soul. "There's no luck left for both of us."
"I'm not leaving you!" you scream at him, tears blurring your vision as you claw at his jacket with clenched fists, refusing to let go. The helplessness chokes you; you're capable of facing any army, but not the idea of a world where he isn't there. "We go together or we stay together! Hollis, please!"
Hollis doesn't answer. He just looks at you for one more second, as if he wanted to engrave every line of your face under the dying light of the warehouse. It is a silent goodbye, a farewell he doesn't want to voice.
Then, he takes a step back and makes a single, firm nod toward the darkness behind you.
Before you can react, two pairs of robust arms pin you from behind. They are his most loyal men, the same ones who have shared loot and scars with you. Their grips are firm, unyielding.
"No! Let me go! Let me go with him!" you begin to struggle with all your might, kicking and striking backward. The desperation overflows you, turning into tearing screams that bounce off the sheet-metal walls of the warehouse. You curse them, you order them to let you go, but they don't give in.
You look at the men's faces and see the pain in their expressions; they don't want to do it either, their eyes are fixed on Hollis, waiting in vain for him to change his mind, to give them a different order. But Hollis remains steady, turning his back on the external danger to keep his eyes set solely on you.
They drag you toward the hidden car while your feet barely touch the ground. The distance between Hollis and you begins to widen. You see him standing in the middle of the warehouse, holding his gun, ready to take what's coming and win every second you need to flee.
They keep dragging you, forcing you into the back seat of the other car. Through the dirty glass, you see him for the last time. He's no longer looking at the red and blue lights starting to illuminate the entrance. He's looking only at you. There is no arrogant smirk, there is no fear. His lips move in an inaudible whisper that the roar from outside won't let you hear, but that you understand perfectly:
"Live."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Time doesn't heal; it only wears away. Almost two years have passed since the thunder of gunshots in that warehouse became the last sound linking your old existence to the earth. You don't know if Hollis died that night or if he's locked up in some maximum-security prison; the volley of bullets you heard while the car accelerated into the dark is the only answer the past left you.
Now you answer to a name that doesn't belong to you. Your reflection in the mirror shows hair of another color, a muted style of dress, and a submissive posture, specifically designed to dissolve you into the crowd. You have buried the woman you used to be.
You live in a gray city, in a secluded apartment where the silence is almost a condemnation. But the past is a persistent predator. Every time a siren wails far off on the avenue, your body reacts before your mind: your muscles tighten, your breath catches, and panic instantly drags you back to the warehouse, to the smoke, to his gaze. The nightmares give you no truce; you wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, desperately reaching for a warmth that is no longer there, feeling the lacerating emptiness in your chest.
The only real thing, the only thing tying you to the truth of what you were, is the ring he stole for you. You don't wear it, but you keep it like a cursed treasure at the bottom of a drawer, hidden among your clothes. Sometimes you hold it against your chest, closing your eyes, trying to remember the touch of the metal when your hands entwined with his.
One rainy night, while the usual paranoia keeps you awake staring at the shadows on the ceiling, a sound breaks the monotony of the apartment.
Knock. Knock.
Two sharp hits. Firm.
You freeze in the middle of the bed. Your heart gives a jolt so violent it hurts your chest. It's the code. His code. Two knocks meant "it's me." For two years, no one has knocked on your door that way. Panic and a shred of an irrational, painful hope pull you to your feet. You approach the door with trembling steps, holding your breath, ready to encounter a ghost.
You fling the door open.
The air escapes your lungs. It's not him. In the hallway lit by a flickering bulb, drenched by the rain and with a face marked by the exhaustion of those who live on the run, stands Nate. One of Hollis's most faithful men. The very one who dragged you to the car that night while you screamed until your throat tore.
You step aside instinctively, staring at him with wide eyes. Nate walks in without a word, dripping water onto the wooden floor, and closes the door behind him. The silence between you is thick, heavy with two years of unanswered questions. You tremble, unable to articulate a word, fearing he has come to confirm the worst of your nightmares.
Nate takes off his wet cap, looks you straight in the eyes with a mix of respect and restrained relief, and utters the two words that tear down your whole world of isolation:
Three weeks since that night in his car. Three weeks of you being different in a way people around you were starting to notice. You'd been less outspoken — which already said a lot. You'd been complaining less, texting the group chat less and less, and most of all, any time Ally mentioned him, you went impossibly quiet. Before, you always had something sharp to say. He's so stupid. Do you really put up with that? Oh, please, he acts like he's fourteen. Now Ally would be telling you and Cathy about his dismissals, the way his mood would shift without warning, and you just nodded and let Cathy do the talking.
"What's wrong with you?" Cathy asked one movie night after Ally left — to be with Hollis. "She handed you a whole meal to trash that motherfucker and you just sat there."
"I don't know," you shrugged, sipping your Coke. "Would it even make a difference? It's their business, after all."
It wasn't. You hated that he was still treating her poorly even after what he'd done. Wasn't he supposed to be trying to make up for his mistake? But if anything, that night didn't seem to have cost him a thing.
You'd avoided every possible chance to see him. Until now. It was Ally's birthday, and of course — of course — her perfect, loving boyfriend was throwing her a party. To make matters worse, you ran late and had to go alone, since Cathy had left earlier with her boyfriend. On the way, you stopped at a store near his house to buy drinks. You bought as much as you could carry. One thing you were certain of: you needed to be properly drunk to get through the night.
"Hey, ain't you Ally's friend?" A voice came from behind you in line. You turned — a boy, tall, long dark hair, dark smudges ringing his eyes, pretty as fuck. You frowned; he was familiar, but you couldn't quite place him.
"Yeah, that'd be me," you said, still wary.
"You're going to her party, right? Me too. I'm Roman." He smiled — a friendly, easy smile. So pretty.
"Yeah, whoa, what are the chances," you laughed, a little awkward.
"You driving?"
"No, Hollis' house is close enough," you said, still smiling too stiffly.
"In that case, I can drive you."
You weren't about to say no. You ended up in his car — some sports car, drenched in cologne like he'd sprayed it directly onto the seats, or maybe it was just him. Either way, nauseating and pleasing all at once. He was easy to talk to, went on mostly about how he recognized you from somewhere, something about a party, and you prayed desperately it wasn't the party you were thinking of.
You arrived together to a house already packed with people. Familiar faces everywhere — Ally's friends, probably some of Hollis'. You were just beginning to scan the room for your people when you felt a hand settle on your lower back.
"Let's put these in the kitchen, come on," Roman said, and you let him lead you.
You played clueless, pretending you hadn't been to Hollis' house plenty of times before. To your surprise, they were all in the kitchen: Ally, Cathy, her boyfriend, and, of course, Hollis. The room went briefly quiet before the round of greetings. Your girls complained about how long you'd taken; Roman dapped Hollis and nodded to Cathy's boyfriend; and then there was that strange half-second where you almost moved to greet Hollis and caught yourself. His gaze passed over you — brief, but heavy enough that you had to look away.
"Are you two animals or something?" Ally said, and her noticing made your face burn.
"What?" you played dumb.
She elbowed Hollis in the stomach. "Can you two at least say hello to each other?"
He chuckled; easy, unbothered; and you kept staring, trying to smooth the panic off your face. Then you caught yourself. "Oh my God, he won't die because I didn't save a special hello for him. But fine. Hello, Hollis."
You looked at him with flat annoyance, gave a small wave. He laughed again. Light. Knowing. Infuriatingly knowing. "Long time no see, y/n."
You ignored him, slipping past him and Ally toward the balcony with the bottles. And then — stupidly, or maybe it wasn't an accident at all — you caught your foot on his boots. His hand shot out fast, steadying you by the elbows. Your instinct was to shove him off, and you almost did — your hand was already pressed flat to his stomach — but you caught yourself mid-motion. For a half second you felt his muscles tighten under your fingertips before you yanked your hand back.
"Watch out," he said, low.
You didn't answer. Just kept moving. Face burning, hoping no one noticed how strange that was. How strange you felt. How horrible. You pulled yourself a shot of vodka. Then turned it into two, back to back.
"Hey, easy," came Roman's voice from behind you, that slow, deliberate pitch to it, like he pulled every word out at his own pace. "Vodka's not exactly my drink of choice, but I'll join you."
He held out a small glass and you poured him a shot. "Yeah? And what is your drink of choice?"
"Anything sweet," he said, then turned the glass up.
You grinned at that. "Pussy." He grinned back. A quiet beat of eye contact before you were both interrupted.
"Hey man, I really need to talk to you about this—" Hollis' voice, unmistakable. His hand landing on Roman's shoulder, pulling him away from you like it was nothing.
You watched. Like he'd calculated it. Like even that was designed to get under your skin.
☆
Hours later, you'd had as much to drink as you could manage, and most of your people were spread across Hollis' couch. You were perched on the armrest, right beside Roman — not because you'd planned anything, but because somewhere between his third drink and yours you'd fallen into a real conversation about his days as a tattoo artist, and he'd finally slipped free from Hollis long enough to find you in the corner of the room.
Hollis, on the other hand, was in the armchair across the room, Ally curled over one of his knees, and you couldn't help but notice the way his hand moved absently along her thigh — those long fingers loaded with rings, the knuckles catching the light. A detail you registered without meaning to. He was deep in conversation, all the way across the room, and yet his eyes kept finding you, steady and deliberate, like he was trying to read your lips, tracking every word you exchanged with his friend.
At some point it became suffocating. You excused yourself from Roman and slipped upstairs to the bathroom. The one you knew. The one you'd used back when you used to come here for an entirely different reason.
You weren't sure how long you stood there staring at your reflection, replaying the weight of Hollis' eyes on you. Worse, replaying his eyes on you while his hands were on your best friend. The way he'd leaned in to whisper something in her ear, making her laugh, while his gaze stayed fixed across the room — on you. And viscerally worst of all was the fact that you'd been collecting all of it. Cataloguing every detail like you were building a case in your chest, piecing something together that you didn't want to name.
The knock pulled you back. "You shouldn't be up here," came his voice. "I think I made it clear the guest bathroom is downstairs—"
He went quiet when he opened the door and he found you there. His eyes didn't widen the way someone's do when they're caught off guard. Instead, he smiled — amused.
"I'm heading downstairs," you said, and didn't move. He was filling the doorway.
"I noticed you disappeared, so I figured you got tired of playing the supportive friend," he said, stepping inside. The door closed behind him.
"Only when you get tired of playing the loving boyfriend." You held his gaze.
"Is that what you want?" He raised his eyebrows. "For me to break your friend's heart?"
The bathroom was spacious, but not spacious enough with him in it. He leaned against the door, carefree in a way that made you more nervous.
"That's not what I meant."
"And yet." He tilted his head, cynical, and it landed harder than it should have, because you knew he wasn't entirely wrong — you had indulged in something you had no claim to, and you couldn't fault him for breaking her heart when you'd been helping him do it.
"Yeah, fine, Hollis. You got me. Congrats." You stepped forward and reached for the door handle beside him. He didn't move. Up close, you could see the tension in his jaw as he looked down at you.
"You trying to get back at me through Roman?" he asked. You frowned immediately.
"The fuck?"
"Don't play dumb. Throwing yourself at him like that."
"What does that even mean?" you exhaled in disbelief.
"Yeah, I got with your friend, so you get with mine. That your game?"
"Oh my God, you're unbelievable." You laughed, genuinely this time. You let go of the door handle, looked away, because you couldn't take him seriously enough to hold eye contact.
"Not my business." He shrugged. "Thing is, I'd have to stay well clear of you. I'm not enough of a piece of shit to mess around with my friend's girl."
That was enough. You felt the prickling at the back of your neck, the irritation crawling over your face. You shoved him, hard, driving him back against the door. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" You kept pushing at his chest. "I told you to stay away from me after that night. I told you not to talk to me, not to even—"
He caught your wrists. "Fine, enough, enough." You kept fighting his grip, your whole face burning, and when you finally went still it was only because your arms gave out — not because the fury did, especially not with him watching you like that, like you were something that entertained him. "You done?"
You yanked your wrists free. Looked at the door. "Could you just…" A breath. "Let me out?"
"Sure." He stepped aside. The door was right there and you were already reaching for the handle when—
"Holli? Is that you?"
Ally.
His hand covered your mouth before you could make a sound. His other arm pressed the door shut. "Yeah?" he answered, voice even.
His palm covered half your face, and whether on purpose or not, he pulled you flush against his chest.
"Everything okay?" she asked, tentative. "You just disappeared from the living room."
"Course, baby," he said. "I'm just… taking a piss."
You almost commented on how disgusting that was. Instead you drove an elbow into his stomach and he grunted. "What was that?"
"Nothing." He turned you against his arm, freeing your mouth, cupping your face instead, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers. You glared, daring. "Just— can you give me a minute, baby?"
"Oh." She sounded embarrassed. "Sorry. I'll be downstairs. I need to find y/n anyway, she's been so weird tonight."
When she said your name, he looked at you with a slow, private grin. Like that pleased him. "She's always weird. Honestly, I don't know why you keep her around."
Your mouth fell open, and like he'd predicted your move exactly, his hand was back over your lips, his body pinning you harder to the door. It had to be on purpose.
"Don't say it like that," Ally said softly, that small, sweet voice she probably saved just for him, while he held you against the door with open amusement, and it did something ugly and warm low in your stomach.
You bit his hand. Hard. He let out a low, pained sound. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'll be down in a minute." You were half-smiling now, despite yourself. "I just... had a bit too much to drink. Don't worry."
"'K…" she said. Then silence. Silence that stretched, and for some reason he didn't let go.
Then, slowly, his palm left your mouth. Your teeth released him. But his hand stayed, sliding to your jaw. His thumb moved across your face — your chin, your lower lip — drawing a slow line along it until your lips parted. He pressed down gently, and it was like he had you held there by some pull you hadn't even realized. He eased your mouth open, his thumb pressing past your lips, sinking deeper, and as if it were your only instinct, your lips closed around him. You sucked slowly, eyes locked on his. His own lips parted as he watched, like it affected him too.
He withdrew slowly, his hand sliding down to your throat, holding you steady. Maybe it was the drinking, but he seemed to move in slow motion, and you watched as he leaned down and brought his face close to yours with a particular care. He stopped just millimeters from your mouth. You weren't sure if you closed your eyes and simply surrendered, or kept them open just to keep watch.
"Be good," he said. And in the same breath that it irritated you, it worked something open in you — before his lips covered yours.
It settled you instantly. Your eyes fell shut, your body melting into it, chin lifting to feel more of him, mouth opening to let him in. He tasted like beer, warm against your tongue, and you wanted him frantic, careless, but he stayed maddeningly slow, lips parting and closing over yours in a quiet, unhurried rhythm, before breaking away all at once.
He stayed close, and when you tried to lean in for more, the hand at your throat kept you where you were. You wanted to beg. You didn't. You pressed your lips together and instead let your hands travel down his body — chest, stomach, waistband — and when you began to palm his length through his jeans, he watched you do it without blinking. He was already half-hard, and when you squeezed, he moaned low in his throat. He kissed you again, his other hand sliding down your body, under your shirt, cupping your tits and squeezing. You sighed against his mouth.
You had his belt undone fast, jeans and boxers shoved down just enough to wrap your hand fully around him. You'd rather die than admit it, but you loved the size of him — loved that your hand couldn't close all the way around, loved the weight of him, thick and heavy against your palm, the head already slick. It made your mouth water. Made you soaked.
He broke the kiss to look down at your hand working him. "Ain't you a little slut?" He was smiling, but his voice had gone thin. You smiled back, played innocent while you squeezed and he swore at you. Like you were still competing, he tightened his grip on your throat, and you slapped his chest in return, and he pressed himself further into you.
"You fucking pussy," you said against his mouth. He smiled. "You think because you're—"
He kissed you — hard, tongue first, no warning, devouring and savoring you at once. You moaned into it and nearly cried out when he lifted you clean off the ground, arms hooked under your thighs. You let go of him to grab his shoulders instead.
"Can't stop talking, can you?" he said.
His hands slid up under your skirt, fingers pressing against you through your panties, slow and deliberate, dragging over the soaked fabric until you had to bite down on the needy little sound climbing your throat. "Big mouth for someone soaking wet for me."
"Big mouth for someone who just won't fuck me already."
He exhaled. Then the pressure of his fingers was gone, instead his hand pulled your panties aside, and you felt the blunt, swollen head of him line up against you. You bit back another moan as he pushed in — all at once, deep, stretching you around him in one slow, brutal slide.
"Fuck, I hate you," you whimpered, face buried in his neck, arms locking around him, clenching down instinctively.
"How the fuck are you this tight," he breathed against your ear, voice wrecked.
He held you steady a moment before he started moving — lifting and lowering you on him, using your body like it was made to be handled this way. The thought alone shorted something out in your brain. Something so twisted in the collision of your hatred and want tangled so tightly you couldn't tell which one was making your skin burn.
Both of you fought your sounds as hard as you could, even as every thrust made you want to cry out. And like punishment for every wrong thing you'd done, a knock came at the door.
One of Hollis' hands immediately left your body. He closed it around the door handle in a grip like iron. Your whole body locked up. You pulled back to look at him, wide-eyed. "It's occupied. Bathroom's downstairs."
"You're still up here, baby?" Ally. Again. Hollis pinned you with a look — half glare, half silent order to shut the fuck up.
"Yeah," he said, steadying his voice.
"What's going on? Are you feeling sick?" Her voice was so genuinely worried it settled in you like lead.
And then, like he really was that much of a devil, he started moving again — slow, deliberate thrusts, your back to the door, your eyes wide, mouth clamped shut.
"Kind of," he said, with the faint trace of a grin. "I think I really overdid it tonight."
"Oh," she said, softly. "Do you need help? I can… I can take care of you."
The handle turned. He tightened his grip, forcing it still. Your body clenched around him on instinct and he mouthed a silent curse at the ceiling. "No, no—" A hard thrust punished you for it, deep enough to steal the air from your lungs, and you clapped a hand over your own mouth before anything could escape.
"You sure?" she asked. "I feel bad being down there having fun while you're up here alone."
"Princess, don't miss your own party for me," he said, voice fraying at the edges as he kept moving, unhurried, relentless. "I'll get better soon, promise."
A muffled hum through the door. He kept his pace, deep and even, and you dug your nails into his shoulders to keep quiet.
"It's my birthday, Holli," she said. she said, and her voice cracked — just a little. Just enough to make you feel sick.
You felt the weight shift against the door — she was leaning on it, unknowingly resting against the same wood where her boyfriend had you split open around him.
"Jesus..." A beat, and his patience thinned out, sharp all at once. "What am I supposed to do if I'm not feeling well? Just go enjoy your party."
Silence on the other side. Longer than it should have been. "...Okay. Sorry." Small. Like she was used to swallowing that tone from him and apologizing for the inconvenience of asking. Then, softer, like the edge in his voice hadn't touched her the way it touched you: "I'll be down there.” A pause “I love you."
God. You weren't sure if it was the guilt or the exact angle of him pressing into that spot low in your belly, but something thick and heavy rolled through you all at once. You buried your face in his shoulder. "Love you too, babe." His voice, flat, certain, saying it to her while balls deep inside you. You bit down into his skin, hard enough to leave a mark.
It landed in you worse than anything else that night. She'd just been shrugged off, half-scolded through a door, and she still gave him that. His hand found your breast anyway, squeezing like he needed somewhere to put everything he wasn't allowed to say out loud, and you hated that some ugly, quiet part of you felt something close to relief — that whatever this thinning patience was, it wasn't only reserved for you.
When the silence from the other side held long enough, you found your rhythm again. Still muffling everything. Still helplessly asking for more.
Eventually he set you down, slow, and pulled out of you. Still handling you with ease, he turned you toward the sink, pushed you forward until you bent over the counter, palms flat on the cold marble, your back already arching toward him on instinct.
"How do you feel?" He watched you through the mirror, fingers dragging through your folds, spreading the slick mess of you, and then he pushed back inside — rough enough that your mouth fell open silently. "Look at yourself, baby."
One hand gripped your hip. The other came up to your chin, tilting your face toward the mirror. He began to move again — hard, deep, your body jolting forward with every stroke.
"Don't call me that," you managed between moans.
"What? Baby?" He was watching you in the mirror too, eyes gone dark. "What should I call you then? Slut?"
His fingers found your mouth — two of them, pressing past your lips, pulling them open. Pathetically, you let them in. You grabbed his forearm, fighting the sounds crawling up your throat. He smiled.
"Yeah. There she is. My pretty little slut."
You wished you could answer that. Wished you could hold yourself together. But he kept driving into you, kept dragging heat through your whole body, kept pulling arousal out of you like he owned the key to it. So you just nodded, mouth working around his fingers, dumb and overwhelmed.
His hand left your hip and found your clit, working it in perfect sync with his cock. It was only a matter of time. Your whole body started to shake and you bit down on his fingers still in your mouth as the first wave broke through you. You clenched around him so tight he groaned in your ear, face dropping to your hair, nose pressed to it like he was breathing you in as he fucked you through it.
While you were still coming down, he pulled out. Your legs barely held you, and a single low word from him had you sinking to your knees without thinking. You took his cock in your hand, head swimming, and stroked him fast while your tongue worked over the tip — best way you could — until he came across your lips, your chin, your cheek, the flat of your tongue. Thick and warm; you could feel it drip down your chin.
"God," he breathed, looking down at you like you'd done something miraculous.
It took a moment to register. To get back to your senses. "Why the fuck did you—" You got to your feet, still a little unsteady, still feeling his absence inside you, though you'd rather have died than say so. "On my face."
And in your mouth too. You could taste him. You licked your lips clean without meaning to, and when you looked up he was watching with quiet amusement.
"This is entirely on you. I just told you to get on your knees," he said. You glared. "Hold on."
He reached for a tissue. You watched him in silence as he held your face still and cleaned you up, careful about it, thorough. He was probably focused on what he was doing — but his eyes kept drifting over your whole face, slow and unhurried, and it made you feel exposed in a way you hadn't expected. Couldn't prepare for.
When he was done, he didn't let go. He kept looking. Hand still cradling your face. And for some reason, you kept looking back.
"You should… go," you said first. You closed your fingers around his wrist, a quiet suggestion. He didn't move.
"Yeah," he said, in no rush. "You okay?"
You nodded. Held his gaze. A long beat before he finally let you go. You thought about saying something — something cutting, something to reclaim the distance. You couldn't. Because this time it wasn't a desperate mistake in a back alley. You'd wanted it. You'd done it while your best friend stood on the other side of a door and told him she loved him.
Hollis left, and the sound of the door pulling shut behind him dropped the full weight of it onto your chest. You couldn't look at yourself in the mirror now. Funny — minutes ago, while he was fucking you, you'd had no trouble at all.
Leaving that bathroom felt like one of those dreams where you're naked in front of the whole school. Like every person you passed knew exactly what kind of person you were. And when you got back to the living room and Ally met you with that bright, unbothered smile, you wanted to turn yourself inside out. She lifted herself from Hollis' lap, came straight to you and hugged you sideways, said she'd been worried you'd slipped out without saying goodbye.
Cathy, on the other hand, watched you like something was visibly wrong and she was the only one sharp enough to see it. Hollis you didn't look at. Not once, for the rest of the night.
You sang happy birthday to Ally. You all gathered as the other guests filtered out, until only a small handful of people remained. Hollis you still didn't look at.
It was Roman who offered to drive you home when you said you were leaving. He waited while you got your things, and that was when you glanced at Hollis again — brief, less than a second — and there was no grin on his face. No amusement. Just his eyes on you, unreadable.
"You're seriously my lifesaver tonight," you said to Roman, your hand grazing his arm lightly.
And then, as though you were committed to running yourself all the way into the ground, you ended up in his apartment. Naked in his sheets, hopelessly replaying Hollis in that bathroom. Not because Roman hadn't been good to you — but because even so, something was missing, some particular charge that hadn't been there, and for once that thought didn't spiral into self-loathing. Didn't become about what a terrible friend you were. It became something simpler, and somehow worse: that if the chance came again, you would do it. Without question. You would do it all over again.
in the same universe as across and pretty much a part two, but this can likely be read without it
tags: collegeboy!hollis, younger reader (18+ tho just to clarify), movie date, public sex, exhibitionism, oral (m receiving), p in v, spanking, punishments, bdsm dynamics, creampies, reader squirts for the first time lolz, very pwp
w/c: 1.8k
a/n: sooo this is filth yay. anons asked for more overly freaked out fics + more of across hollis so i am here to deliver as usual no screenshotting/talking about this fic outside of tumblr thank You
You always felt that the back of the movie theater was the best. You had the whole screen on display, nobody’s head covering it, and it was usually deserted.
You stood at the concessions, putting butter into your popcorn. Hollis was still at the register, ordering an Icee.
“You ready to go? It’s about to start.” He walked up to you after.
“I was waiting for you. You’re quite indecisive with your drink choices, you know. I’ve noticed that.”
“I’m indecisive with a lot of things.”
Squinting to see the seat numbers in the dark, you followed Hollis up the stairs of the theater. There weren’t too many people around for the movie you were seeing, likely because of how late it was at.
All the way in the back, just a little left from the middle. You had the perfect seats. He sat down and you followed suit.
Luckily, the commercials were almost over. Hollis, on another movie date of yours, told you how much he hated sitting through them and just wanted the movie to start. You told him how you didn’t mind them, but usually ended up eating half of your popcorn during them. Which is what happened this time as well.
When the lights dimmed more and the movie started, you realized nobody was in the back row this time.
You looked over at Hollis. His eyes were glued to the screen. This particular movie was his choice, after all. A stupid idea ran through your head. You bit your lip and put your hand on his thigh.
His eyes met yours immediately. You couldn’t see him the best in the dark, but the screen gave off enough light for him to see your mischievous expression.
He let out air from his nose, smiling and looking back at the screen. Your hands traveled closer to his crotch. He didn’t seem to mind your touch at all. You heard his breath hitch when you moved your body towards him and began to touch him through his pants.
Something about the risk of getting caught made you want to do it more and more. If any of the people in the theater currently turned around, they’d be able to see you both like this.
You looked up at Hollis. He was looking down at you with his lips parted. You put your finger to your mouth, quietly shushing him before beginning to unzip his fly.
You heard him let out a breathy laugh, failing to hold it back at how bold you were being. You grabbed his cock right out of his underwear and put your mouth on it.
His big hand rested on your lower back as you leaned over the seats. His cock quickly hardened in your mouth. You circled your tongue around his tip. You held back your gag reflex as much as you could sinking down, fitting more of him inside of your throat. Your fingers stroked what couldn’t fit.
The tips of his fingers dipped into your shorts just a bit. He played with the material of your thong. He hissed above you when you sucked down hard. “Get up here.”
You hummed in confusion, not hearing or understanding what he said at first. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and gently pulled you off. “Sit on me.” He spoke in a harsh whisper.
You obeyed him and moved to straddle him on the seat. He fiddled with the buttons of your shorts, too horny to properly unbutton them. “Take these off.”
You looked at him, unsure of stripping naked. It would be pretty hard to cover yourself quickly if someone caught the two of you.
He raised his eyebrows. “You’ll suck me off, but this is too far?” He ran his hands up your shirt. “Come on, baby.”
With your face red as ever, you fully unbuttoned your shorts and took them off in front of him. You wore his favorite color thong today. His fingers reached out and caressed your crotch through the fabric.
You straddled him once more and put the fabric to the side, angling his hard cock below. You squeezed your mouth shut as you sank down. It felt even better than usual.
“Sucking my dick and now this. I didn’t even have to ask much. You did it all by yourself.” He whispered near your ear. You made a sound that was louder than you anticipated and covered your mouth at the speed of light. You heard a low chuckle in your ear that went straight to your crotch. “Can’t be loud. Don’t want people to hear…unless you do. You want them to hear you?”
You whimpered and your legs shook. You were slamming yourself down at a fast pace, eager to cum. It made a wet sound that you hope wasn’t echoing off the theater walls.
His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you down faster. He seemed eager as well.
You moved your hips in circles. “Please cum inside…I want it…”
“Yeah? Want my cum in you?”
“Yes, cum in me. Please, please—”
Trying to keep the sounds down to a minimum, you guys breathed heavily into each other's ears as you reached climax. You squeezed down hard around him, jolting in pleasure. He bit down on your neck as ropes of white painted your walls.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
“Ow!”
Hollis’ hand hit your asscheek hard, leaving a red mark. He had you over his knee on the bed.
“Remember, count them or I start over. You have to be punished,” Spank. “for being so shameless. You couldn’t even wait until we were home.”
“Ahh! One.”
After the fifteenth spank, it started feeling oddly good to be punished by him. You bit your lip in between spanks, anticipating each one.
He looked over at your face, his eyes narrowing. His fingers went under your ass and swiped across your naked lower half. “You’re wet…this is supposed to be a punishment, you know. Wow, my pants are soaked.” You could hear the smirk in his voice without even looking. Spank.
“‘m sorry…ah! Sixteen..”
He rubbed the red spot on your cheek. “Think you’ve been punished enough?”
You looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Yes.”
“Mm, I think you still need to be punished more. Not like this, though. Get up.” He tapped your thighs. You sat on the bed. He crouched down and got his box of toys out, taking out a tie. “Put your hands by the headboard.”
You got on your knees on the bed and put your hands together. He tied them up to the headboard.
You felt his hand spread your cheek apart. He got a good look at your ass and pussy. “So pretty, baby. Listen. You can’t cum unless I say so.” He leaned over your body and grabbed your chin to look at him. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
He smiled, the warm smile he always had no matter the situation. It looked so innocent compared to the actual situation you were in.
You heard the unzipping of his pants behind you. You keened in pleasure when he entered you, filling you up completely all at once. Your back arched when he started focusing on the spot that always made your body weak.
In that moment, you felt the ball of the vibrator he usually used on you right on your clit. You didn’t know when he got that out, but he was moving inside and rubbing it in circles on the outside.
You felt yourself get close already. “Mmn…no—”
“No? No what?”
“‘s too much. I’ll cum.”
Hearing that, Hollis turned the vibrator up a setting. You shrieked and subconsciously ran away from it, moving your body away from it. He grabbed your waist, pushing you back onto the sensation while still fucking you deep.
You groaned through bitten lips, your eyes rolling back and your lower half shaking.
“It’s a punishment for a reason, honey. You can’t handle it? Hmm?” He said, mocking sympathy.
“I can’t hold it back. Can I cum?”
“Nope.”
You whined and pouted, looking back at him with tears in your eyes. “So mean…”
“I know, I’m just the worst.” He turned the setting up.
“Fuck.” You cursed through gritted teeth, hanging your head trying your hardest not to let go yet. You squeezed down on his cock, earning a groan from behind you.
“Keep doing that. Make me cum and maybe I’ll let you.”
You took note of the ‘maybe.’ You pushed back on his thrusts, trying your hardest to make him orgasm now.
In doing so, you felt yourself get closer as well. An idea ran through your head that maybe you could cum without him noticing. It was futile, though. You quickly learned your orgasm this time was different. You felt like something was gonna come out. It scared you. A lot.
“Hollis…I think something’s coming—” A tear fell down your face, already embarrassed for the outcome of all this stimulation. You could barely say it out loud.
He went faster after hearing that. “Shit.” His left hand gripped your asscheek. He stuttered to a stop and groaned, finally cumming inside. He pulled out, and spread your cheek, watching the white liquid trickle out.
“Hollis, please…” You began to beg.
“Go ahead.” He rubbed the vibrator fast against your clit. His hand pressed against your lower stomach.
The feeling from before grew more intense. It was bigger than your usual orgasm. You shrieked loudly and finally came, squirting all over his bed. “I’m sorry…!” You apologized profusely during it. It felt so good, despite the deep embarrassment you felt.
When you came down from it, you looked down below in disbelief. You dirtied his bed. More tears rolled down your cheeks. “Why are you apologizing?” He grabbed your chin again.
“Because I…I…” It was too embarrassing to say.
“You came. You never squirted before?”
You shook your head. “But…it felt like—”
“It’s squirting. It’s normal. It happens when you feel really good.” His thumb wiped your tears from your face. “My good girl. You did so well.” He kissed your forehead and then moved to untie your hands. You collapsed onto the bed after. He laid on the bed with you, moving the hair out of your face to look at you.
You had calmed down now, knowing that Hollis wasn’t throwing you out of his house for being gross. He didn’t seem to think it was gross. On the contrary, he pulled you closer to him, his eyes full of adoration.
“I will have to throw these sheets in the wash though.”
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
You stayed for longer than you intended to at Hollis’ place. You lost track of time talking and cuddling with him. Aftercare was one of the best parts of whenever you hung out with him. His soft and gentle touch after all of that never failed to give you butterflies.
Hollis drove you home, and you hoped to God everyone in your house was still asleep. You looked an entire mess and you could barely walk. Somehow, he still found you beautiful.
You kissed him through the car window when you got out. He watched you climb back into your bedroom window, making sure you got in. You waved at him with a smile, giving him the cue to leave.
a/n: softest fluffiest part i've ever written, a whole chapter without any of them committing any criminal act!!!!!!that's a first. and with this one, we only have one last chapter left</3
this is the 7th part of a series, consider reading the previous parts for context: ﴾ part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, previous part ﴿
Gardnerville was a very small town before the valley. You'd been watching the landscape change for the last hour — something out of an old western, the kind your father used to watch on television on Sunday afternoons, John Wayne and endless ochre horizons.
"Are we staying here tonight?" you asked after the waitress came back with your orders and stepped away.
"No, we're not very far now. Just stopped because you said you were hungry." He looked out the window. The main street — the only street — was nearly empty even at just past noon.
"Mhm," you hummed, quieter, looking back at him.
"You okay?" His eyes came to you.
The truth was that since he'd told you about the footage, your mind had been running a quiet, constant battle between reasoning and something closer to panic. And for some reason it was your hair that kept bringing you back to it — you kept threading your fingers through it without meaning to, thinking about the profile shot, the side of your face, your long hair identifiable on some grainy security feed being run on a news segment somewhere.
"Yeah," you said. "Just nervous. First time meeting a friend of yours."
He smiled at that, nodded. "Don't worry. He's going to love you. His wife too."
His wife. You thought it and didn't say it. It was hard to picture any friend of Hollis already married and living somewhere this remote.
After you finished eating he asked again if you were alright and whether you needed anything else from town — the way he said it carrying the implication that you wouldn't be coming back for a while.
After you said no you were back on the road — maybe for the last time in a while.
You watched the valley open around you — snowy mountains behind you now, a wide flat green stretching ahead, livestock visible in the distance, ranches and properties passing every few miles. A peaceful landscape settling under the dim gold of dusk, peaceful enough that your eyes grew heavy. You had your head resting against the window, nearly under, when the road shifted to gravel and dirt and the change woke you. You raised your head. Wood-post gates ahead. Fencing either side, a barn, a granary, and further up the dirt track, a house with a porch light on.
"Thought you were asleep," Hollis said. He looked tired — he'd been driving since the car theft, since the casino. "We're here, honey."
He parked in front of the house and got out like it was nothing. You followed him, nerves crawling up the back of your neck. There was a couple on the front porch and the moment they saw Hollis a wide smile broke across the man's face. The woman beside him smiled too — quietly, warmly, the specific fondness of someone who hasn't seen a person in too long.
Hollis went straight to the bags, which left you to walk up to the porch ahead of him. Both of them were older than you'd expected — late thirties or forties, you'd guess. You couldn't place it. You couldn't place any of it — how Hollis knew ranch people in Nevada, how a boy from Chicago had ended up with friends like this.
The man came down the porch steps before you could introduce yourself and pulled you into a hug that surprised you completely.
"You must be y/n," he said, warm, easy. "I'm Robert. That's my wife Janice." He gestured to the woman behind him. "Make yourself at home. I'll give him a hand with the bags."
He was already moving toward the truck before you could respond. You watched him go, then turned toward Janice, who was watching you with a smile.
You noticed the slight curve of her stomach as you approached, her hand resting on it in that particular absent way. She looked at you and Hollis stepping out of the truck with an expression so genuinely fond it caught you off guard.
You were almost at the top of the steps when she spoke first.
"So you're y/n!" Her whole face lit up. "Oh, Hol talked so much about you."
"He did?" It came out before you could stop it.
"Of course he did! You're the whole reason he finally came to visit after all this time." Her arm came around your shoulders. "Come inside. Let me get you some tea. Leave them with the bags."
She steered you through the door and you followed her to the kitchen, which smelled like something that had been cooking low and slow all day. She was an easy talker. Questions arriving one after another without pressure, your age, about your hometown, genuine surprise when she learned you'd come all the way from Oklahoma. She told you about her kids briefly — already in bed, she'd introduce you properly in the morning — and about the property, and about how long they'd been out here, and you mostly listened and let it wash over you, the strangeness of being inside somewhere, somewhere with a kitchen and a family and a dog that came and pressed its nose to your knee and then wandered off again.
When Hollis and her husband came through the door Janice's whole face shifted — that specific tenderness, the kind you don't see often.
"Hol!" She stood. "You look so good. Could use some extra pounds though, have you been eating properly?"
She crossed to him and took his face in both hands, squeezing his cheeks lightly. He wrinkled his nose.
"It all went to his height apparently," her husband said from behind him, laughing. You laughed too.
You watched the three of them together — the way they moved around each other, the ease of it, the particular quality of her fussing at him and him tolerating it — and thought: this doesn't look like friends. This looks like something else. An aunt and uncle. A nephew who doesn't visit enough.
Hollis excused himself not long after, genuinely tired. You followed him.
"They're very sweet," you said, changing into something comfortable — which that night meant his shirt.
"Glad you liked them." He watched you from the bed, back against the headboard.
"Janice asked me a million questions while you two were getting the bags." You crossed to him and he pulled you into him before you'd fully decided to sit. "Robert, that's his name?"
"That's his name," he said.
"I know this wasn't exactly the plan," he started.
"I'm happy we're together," you said, before he could finish. Simply. Meaning it.
He looked at you for a long moment — studying you, the way he sometimes did when he was deciding something. "Me too," he said finally, quietly. "I'm happy, honey."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Next morning you woke before him. He was still deep under, his face tucked against your hair, the weight of his arm across your waist. You lay there listening to his breathing, to the birds outside, to voices somewhere below. When you finally tried to slip out from under him he tightened his grip and pulled you back.
"Wait," he said, sleep thick in his voice.
"Everyone's up already." You giggled when he buried his face further against your neck.
"Not us." He kissed your shoulder.
It took some time. Hollis being constitutionally opposed to getting up before he was ready, and you not being entirely convincing in your objections.
The table was already set when you two made it downstairs. Janice greeted you both warmly. Three kids sat waiting — two older boys and a small girl. You settled beside the girl. Hollis went around the table to the seat across from you, stopping on the way to mess up the older boy's hair.
"Look how big you are," he said.
The boy groaned and shoved him, both of them laughing. Hollis sat down between the younger two. "I don't know these ones yet," he said, gesturing at the smaller kids.
"Oh, right! Let me introduce 'em to y/n too" Janice sat. "That's Bob" — the older boy — "that's Timmy, and that's Betty." She pointed to each in turn. "And the one on the way is either Noah or Ada, we haven't decided."
"You two don't have a TV or something?" Hollis said, reaching for the waffles.
"Hollis," you said.
He laughed. Janice laughed too.
"I see you only got taller." Robert appeared in the kitchen doorway, walked up behind Hollis, and slapped the back of his head lightly. You covered your smile as Hollis frowned.
Breakfast was light in a way you hadn't felt in a long time — maybe since before you left Collinsville, maybe longer. The way these people moved around each other, teased each other, made space for each other at the table without thinking about it — it was so unlike the family dynamic you'd grown up knowing. And more than that, you felt included. Every time Hollis said your name in a story, every time they caught your eye to share something embarrassing about him, every time Janice refilled your cup without asking — it accumulated into something you didn't quite have a name for yet.
Afterward, Robert took you both around the property while he ran his morning routine. A small amount of animals — chickens, cows, sheep in the barn. You'd never fed a newborn calf before and spent a full ten minutes doing it while Robert watched with an amused expression. When he brought you to the horses you'd never seen Hollis's eyes go quite the way they did — lit up and immediate, moving straight to a white horse at the far end of the stable, talking to it in a low soft voice you'd rarely heard him use on anything.
"They look like twins," you said to Robert, nodding between the horse and Hollis — both tall, both with long pale hair, both carrying themselves like they were aware of it.
Robert laughed. "Good to know I'm not the only one who thinks so."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
It didn't take long to fall into the rhythm of the place. Within a couple of days it felt almost as if you and Hollis had always been here.
Janice was the sweetest — she reminded you a little of Donna, that same motherly warmth, except Janice had a dry wit underneath it that would catch you off guard and pull a laugh out of you before you'd seen it coming. You did your best to be useful. You started with small things — offering to help cook, washing dishes, sweeping — the kind of help anyone could accept without feeling obligated. But Janice didn't just accept it. She drew you in like you'd been there for years, teaching you her recipes, the small tricks she'd developed over time, things done a particular way for reasons she'd explain and you'd try to remember. Things your own mother had never had the patience to pass on.
You weren't quite there yet, though.
One evening Janice stepped out and left you alone with the stew you'd been following step by step, and you almost turned it into something unrecognizable. Not entirely your fault.
"What are you doing?" Arms came around your waist from behind. You were already frowning at the pot.
"Stew," you said, voice tight with worry. "Or something like it. I'm not sure anymore."
"The smell's good." Hollis rested his chin on your shoulder. "But is it supposed to look like that?"
You laughed despite yourself and smacked his arm. "No," you said, somewhere between a whine and a laugh. "Hers was all colorful and... I don't know what went wrong."
"We'll sort it out." He unwrapped his arms from you, took the wooden spoon gently from your hand, and poured a small amount of the sauce onto his palm to taste. "It's not bad. Really."
He said it while visibly trying not to smile. You saw the corners of his mouth going.
"You're terrible," you said, pushing him lightly. He laughed.
"I'm being supportive."
"That's not supportive." You whined. "I'm a disaster."
He stepped closer, arms coming back around you, walking you gently toward the counter until you were up against it. Then he lifted you onto it in one easy motion, positioning himself in front of you.
"I don't mind," he said, smiling. "I could learn to cook. Or we could just order in every night."
He leaned in, hand at your waist, mouth finding yours. For a moment you forgot entirely where you were — forgot the stew, forgot the kitchen — until his fingers found the hem of your skirt, and then the smell of something burning brought you back abruptly.
"Hey." You pulled back, already sliding off the counter, pushing past him to get to the stove. "Look what you did."
"Me?" He followed, watching you turn off the burner.
"You." You looked at what remained of the stew and then looked at him, and he was already laughing, which made you laugh despite yourself. "I hate you, I really do."
That night you made him stand beside you while you confessed to Janice what had happened to her recipe. You were thoroughly flustered the entire time. She laughed — gently, genuinely — and only stopped long enough to turn and scold Hollis when he joined in.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
He moved differently around the property. When he wasn't with you, you'd find him following Robert around — dealing with the animals, doing repair work, chopping wood, fixing a section of fence that had come loose. It was a completely new version of him. Something domestic in a way you didn't usually get to see. You wouldn't have admitted it easily but it was attractive, watching him work with his sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, the particular focus he had when he was doing something physical. It also looked completely wrong on him in a way you found quietly hilarious — this city boy now covered in dirt and carrying fence posts like he'd been doing it for years.
One late afternoon you were standing on the porch when he came back from the fields. Mud on his jeans, on his hands, streaked across his white tank top in ways that suggested a genuine disaster had occurred somewhere on the property.
"What happened to you?" You held back your smile.
"There was a leak. I helped fix it." He said it simply, walking toward you in slow, unhurried steps.
"Right. Country boy."
"You mocking me, ma'am?"
He reached the porch and grabbed you before you could respond — pulling you clean off the step and into his arms. You grabbed his shoulders on instinct and held on, and it took you a moment but you did eventually register that his mud-covered hands were now on your white summer dress.
"My dress," you said, laughing. Not really caring.
"I can get used to it." He kissed your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. Your legs found their way around his waist without you deciding to, and his hands settled under your thighs, holding you there.
"Me too," you said quietly, looking at him. Your fingers moved lightly over the back of his neck. "This feels like a home."
"It does." His eyes were soft looking at you, softer than the fading light. "Do you miss home?"
You shook your head and smiled. "I said it feels like a home." You kissed him briefly. "Nothing like mine."
He held your gaze for a beat too long — processing it, storing it somewhere, giving it more weight than you'd necessarily intended. Then he kissed you again, and carried you back toward the porch until you made him put you down before anyone could see.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
"When I was helping Robert with the leak," Hollis said, stepping back into the bedroom after his shower, "we passed by a pond. Really nice spot. We should go."
You were sitting up in bed waiting for him. "Mhm. When?"
"Tomorrow." He dropped down beside you, hair wet. "We don't have much on tomorrow anyway. It's Sunday and Robert said he's taking Janice and the kids to church."
"What is it with you washing your hair at night?" You reached for the towel on the nightstand. "Come here."
He had that small mischievous smile as he shifted and laid his head in your lap, letting you do what you could with the towel. "So?"
"I like the pond idea." You pouted a little. It was exactly the kind of thing that excited you and he knew it.
"Then it's a date, honey." He smiled up at you.
It always did something to you when he settled into you like that. His whole frame took up most of the available space, which made the way he curled into you so naturally all the more disarming. It melted you in a way you'd stopped being embarrassed about.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The pond wasn't far from the main house — just beyond the property line, a fence to hop and a few minutes of walking through tall grass and trees. But it was, as promised, nice. A clearing in the green, sunlight coming down through the canopy and catching the water like a spotlight. A wide flat rock sat beside the bank like it had been placed there deliberately.
Hollis dropped the bag you'd packed and pulled his shirt off. This time you didn't wait for him to call you in. You were far enough from anywhere that it didn't matter, so you stepped forward and undressed completely — your dress first, then everything underneath — and walked into the water without looking back.
You knew his eyes were on you when you glanced over your shoulder. He was standing at the bank, slightly stilled, before reaching for his zipper.
"You coming?" you asked.
He moved quickly after that, finishing undressing — fully, the same as you — and you laughed to yourself at the symmetry of it. You dove in before he reached the water, surfacing a few feet away, and when you looked back he was smiling in that particular way that meant he was already plotting something.
It stayed light for a while. Genuinely light, the kind of easy that had been rare on the road — him making stupid observations about the fish he could see near the bottom, you splashing water at him when he got too comfortable, stolen kisses that tasted like pond water, both of you laughing at nothing in particular. You couldn't track how long it went on. You stopped trying.
At some point you climbed out and sat on the flat rock, letting the sun work at drying you, and watched him from the bank.
He stayed in the water a little longer, floating on his back, eyes closed, face tilted toward the sun. You watched the way the light caught the edges of him—the line of his jaw, the rise of his chest, the way his hair fanned out in the water like something from a painting. He looked peaceful.
When he finally opened his eyes he found you so quickly, like he already knew where you'd be before even looking at you, something shifted in his expression. Not surprise — something like recognition.
He moved toward you unhurried and you couldn't help but notice the mess he made of your heart whenever he walked your way. Handsome in every sense of the word. Water ran off him as he came out of the pond, and you watched the way it traced the lines of his shoulders, his arms, the narrow dip of his waist. He didn't rush. He took his time, letting you watch.
When he reached you, he didn't sit. He stood over you, blocking most of the sunlight with the width of his shoulders. His skin was still wet, cool when his hand came up to your face, water dripping down your neck, your chest. You didn't move. Just looked up at him.
"Watching me?" He braced one arm on the rock above your head and gently cradled your face with the other, tilting you back so your head rested in the crook of his forearm.
"I couldn't help it," you said, the flush already moving up your cheeks.
"My perverted angel." He smiled — nothing innocent about it — and the look alone made you feel instantly warm.
His hand moved from your face to your neck, and when he held you there, gently, his thumb at your pulse, he finally kissed you. You reached for him immediately — his shoulder, then his arm, loving the way his muscles shifted under your touch. His hand moved further down, finding your chest unhurriedly, like he was simply feeling you. He squeezed lightly, then teased your nipple, and the sigh that escaped you was involuntary. He pulled back just far enough to watch your face when it happened, smiling at what he found there.
When his hand trailed lower still, a shiver moved through you — partly the cold of his fingers against your warm skin, partly anticipation. You spread your legs for him at the exact moment his hand found your inner thigh, before he'd asked you to.
He teased — his thumb brushing over you lightly, sliding between your folds without quite touching where you needed it, doing just enough to make you wet and no more.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, his face close to yours.
His fingers finally did what you were aching for — slow, circular pressure on your clit, unhurried, deliberately gentle. You gasped and whimpered and he watched your face like it fascinated him.
"Holli." His name came out as a plea, your nails pressing lightly into his shoulder.
"Tell me, my angel." His voice was tender at the center and rough at the edges, the particular combination that got to you every time.
"I need you," you whined.
"Do you?" He whispered. "Do you really need me?"
You didn't get to answer. Two fingers slid inside you and your response became a nod, wordless and helpless.
He worked them slowly at first — almost torturously slow, curling slightly, finding the places that made your back arch and your legs try to close around his hand. When he picked up the pace, stroking deeper and harder, the sounds of the pond and the wind and the birds gave way entirely to the sound of your voice and the wet noise of his fingers moving inside you. It only compounded when his thumb found your clit at the same time, and you grabbed his forearm with both hands just to hold onto something.
You couldn't look away from him. His hazel eyes had you completely, wouldn't let you go.
You were already shaking, your orgasm building through you, your toes curling against the sun-warm rock — when he said it.
"I love you."
Quiet and calm, watching your face as you came undone beneath him.
You didn't answer. He kissed you before you could, slowing his fingers through your edge, then drawing them out of you gently. The need that followed was immediate — your hand trailing down his chest, his stomach, finding his cock and wrapping around him. You stroked him slowly as you kissed, messy and open-mouthed, both of you making sounds against each other.
Then he was between your legs, filling you in one long slow push. He kept that same unhurried pace — kept his hand firm at your jaw, keeping your eyes on his, not letting you escape his gaze for even a second. Every stroke deliberate. Every throb of him inside you pulling his words back to the surface.
You pushed him back and straddled him. He sat up, arms coming around you immediately, hands gripping your ass as you rolled your hips over him. You brushed the hair from his face, took his face in both hands, looked at him — and almost said out loud how beautiful he was. Instead, breathless, so sensitive you felt like you might come apart entirely, you said it.
"I love you." Your voice broke slightly on it, more feeling than volume. "I love you so much."
It came out like something that had been held too long. Hollis smiled — really smiled, the kind that reached all the way up — kissed your lips and panted against your mouth. His large hands pressed into your skin and pulled you into a faster rhythm, and you went willingly, chasing it together until he came undone beneath you with a low, drawn-out sound, face pressing into your chest, arms pulling you in so tightly you felt it in your ribs. He spilled inside you, warm and familiar, and you held his head against you while both of you caught your breath — his face buried between your breasts, your fingers in his hair, the water running beside you and the afternoon light warm on your backs.
"Say it again," he said. "Please."
He looked up. You held his face in your hands, thumbs moving over his cheekbones.
"I love you, Hollis."
He looked at you for a moment like he was taking it in properly. Then he pulled you close again, a low, quiet laugh against your skin. "I fucking love you.”
The aftermath was slow and suspended — both of you back in the water eventually, you wrapped around him while he carried you through it, neither of you in any hurry to go anywhere at all.
The silence was interrupted by casual conversation, you casually saying how you didn't get to go to places like this back home while Hollis added how he used to sneak out as a teenager to go diving in a dam in Chicago.
"When I was a kid, there was this dam near my house. Wide one, deep as fuck. I used to sneak out some times and go there with my friends."
You lifted your head to look at him. His eyes were on the water, distant, like he was seeing something you couldn't.
"What did you do there?"
"Jumped off the cliffs. Swam. Smoked. Just..." He shrugged. "Felt alive, I guess. It was the only place I could feel like myself."
"How old were you?"
"Fifteen, sixteen." A small smile tugged at his mouth. "We thought we were untouchable. Like nothing could happen to us."
"Did anything ever happen?"
He laughed, low. "One time, my friend jumped and hit the water wrong. He was fine, but we thought he was dead for a solid minute. Scared the shit out of us. Didn't stop us from going back the next day though."
You smiled against his skin. "Sounds like you."
"Like me?"
"Reckless. In the best way possible.”
"Yeah. Guess I haven't changed that much.”
You traced your fingers along his collarbone. The water moved around you both, slow and unhurried. “I mean, I wouldn't jump out of a cliff but this here was pretty fun, wasn't it?” You said and he laughed lightly.
“I don't need to jump off cliffs anymore. I'm gonna tell you a secret.” You looked, waiting and his gaze found yours. “I've been feeling alive ever since I saw you at that gas station.”
“Ever since?” You asked, not fully buying it, but his gaze was unwavering. It gave you certainty.
“Every single day after that.”
You kissed him — not urgent, not demanding. Something slower. Something that said I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.
On the walk back, his hand in yours, you thought about the irony of it — that the pond had been where you finally said it out loud to each other. You'd sworn on blood. You'd crossed state lines and shared a bed every night for these past weeks. But you'd never said those words until today, in a clearing by the water on a farm in Nevada, miles from anywhere either of you had started.
Maybe the road had been too relentless for it. Maybe you actually needed to stop somewhere long enough, to be still enough, for it to find its way out.
It got you thinking about what love even was. Whether it lived in the calm — in the quiet moments only the two of you would ever know about. In a glance sideways on a long stretch of highway. A motel stop at dusk. His warm hand finding yours before you'd thought to reach for it. His body beside yours every night, a constant you'd stopped questioning. You were sure, thinking about it now, that you'd loved him for longer than today. But what bound you was more than love, or at least more than the word. You could call it devotion. You could call it despair. You could call it an aching need that overflowed you when you weren't managing it. But it was simpler than all of that. It was life. Life had brought you together. And as drastically as it sounded, you thought that only the far opposite of life could bring you apart.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
A few days later you were watching the kids in the living room while Janice rested. They were lovely, mostly — except for Timmy, who had a particular talent for finding things that shouldn't be broken and testing their limits. Currently it was his sister's doll. You managed that with patience, explaining carefully while the older boy mocked him from the couch, which made Timmy cry, which required a separate round of managing. You handled it. Somehow.
"You're actually good with them," Janice said, appearing in the doorway with two cups of coffee. "Did you have younger siblings?"
"Not really." You took the cup she offered. "But they're easy. Especially Timmy."
You winked at the boy and he beamed at you from the floor, entirely recovered.
"Do you want kids?" Janice asked.
You nearly choked. "No. I mean. Not now."
She laughed and patted your shoulder. "Relax. You two are very young. But who knows?"
"No." You widened your eyes. "No, no. There's no way."
You laughed nervously. Though somewhere underneath the laughter was the quiet, unwelcome awareness of how many times you hadn't thought about that, and the dread that followed.
Janice leaned in, her eyes catching the pendant at your chest. She reached out and held it lightly between her fingers. "I see he gave you his mother's scapular."
"His mother's?" The conversation shifted entirely. "Do you know her?"
"If I know her?" She laughed quietly. Then, leaning closer, lowering her voice: "I was her college best friend. I was there the day she found out she was pregnant with that boy."
You stared at her.
"He didn't tell you that," she said. Less a question than a realization.
"He just said Robert was a friend. That's why we were coming here."
"That dumbass." She groaned softly. "Okay. I'm going to tell you this because that boy cannot use his words to save his life. Robert was his father's business partner, until things got out of hand. We left Chicago a few years ago. Bob was only five."
"I'm sorry," you said, not entirely sure what else to say.
"Don't be. We made a life here. Away from all of it. We're happier here than we ever were there. And honestly— " She looked at you steadily. "I'm glad Hollis got out too. I couldn't have watched him turn into one of them."
There was something in her voice that wasn't just resentment. It was relief, old and deep, the kind that comes from having worried about something for a long time and finally being told it turned out alright. You sat with it quietly, and felt the itch of every question you now had no idea how to ask.
That night in bed, Hollis was telling you something about the property — something that had happened with one of the horses, you thought — when he stopped mid-sentence. You'd drifted without meaning to, your eyes somewhere past him, your hands around the scapular.
He watched you for a moment. You didn't notice.
"Y/n," he said.
"Sorry." You looked up at him. He was standing by the bed, watching you with that particular stillness that meant he was worried and trying not to show it. "I'm sorry."
"What is it?"
You sighed. Looked down at the pendant in your hands, then back at him.
"I was talking to Janice today." You kept your voice slow, careful. "She told me this was your mother's."
"It was," he said. Dry, simple.
"She told me. About her and Robert. That they were friends with your parents." You looked at him. Waited.
He crossed to the bed and sat on the edge of it, back to you. The silence stretched.
"If you don't want to talk about it— "
"It's alright." He said it to the wall in front of him. "I'm just not used to it. But yeah. They were friends. I grew up knowing them."
You moved closer, reached for his shoulder, hesitated briefly before pressing it lightly. Then you wrapped your arms around him from behind. His hand came to rest over yours where it lay against his stomach. He exhaled slowly.
"So," you said, quietly. "It's like meeting your family."
He laughed, but there was something bitter at the edge of it. "Might as well be. Robert's more of a father to me than my actual father has ever been."
It broke something loose in your chest — not just because of what he said, but because you recognized it. You knew what it was to feel that way about a parent, and you hadn't wished that on him. You kissed his shoulder. His neck. Rested your face against him.
"Everyone's escaping that man." His voice came low, rough at the edges.
"And your mom?" You felt brave enough to ask before you could stop yourself.
"She left him. Two years ago." His hand tightened over yours. "Left everything, actually. I don't blame her. A bad life, a worse husband, and a troubled kid. I would've done the same."
"Hey— "
"It's okay." He lifted your hand, pressed his lips to your knuckles. "I really don't blame her. I left because I didn't want to become what I was becoming. That's all." A pause. "You'll meet her one day. She's... She's something else, honestly. Really esoteric, super artsy. But she's sweet. You'd like her."
You laughed softly at how he said it. "Do you think she'll like me?"
"Who wouldn't like you?" He said it simply, like it wasn't even a real question. "She'll adore you."
You felt the warmth creep up your neck. "Stop it."
You tried to pull back and he caught your wrist, turning in one easy motion and pulling you into his lap. His hand found your face — that warm, steady hold that always made you look at him properly, whether you meant to or not.
"You're the most charming person I know," he said. "Anyone who doesn't love you immediately is out of their mind."
You didn't have anything to say to that. You just kissed him, and felt your heart ache with it — with how open he'd been tonight, how tender underneath all of it. You could see it clearly, for the first time without any fear attached.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Routine was starting to grow on you. Waking up in the same bed every morning, lazy mornings that stretched without obligation, talking about the day before falling asleep — you loved all of it. For a while you almost forgot why you were here. While things were this peaceful, this quiet, it was easy to let the rest of it recede.
Until you caught Hollis and Robert talking in low voices somewhere on the property, and they went quiet the moment you came close enough to hear. Or you walked into a room and the conversation stopped. It bothered you — not because you needed to know, but because it made you feel like a child being kept from the adult table.
Once it happened while you were standing with Janice, and she frowned at them — mainly at Robert. "You could both be less obvious about it," she said, and went back to what she was doing.
Which raised its own set of questions. She knew. How much did she know, and why were you always the last to have any of it?
One evening you were gathering laundry for the next morning — you and Hollis had been taking turns, and this was yours — while he lay in bed with his phone. A rare enough sight that you noticed it. He seemed focused, so you tried to start a conversation. He gave you half his attention at best.
You dropped the laundry basket onto the mattress.
He looked up, eyebrows raised. "What's that for?"
"I'm trying to talk to you," you said.
"I'm sorry, honey. I'm just dealing with something." His eyes went back to the screen.
"What? What are you dealing with?"
He looked at you again, more carefully this time. "Our way out of here."
"Is that what you and Robert keep whispering about?"
"Among other things."
"And what does he know about us?"
"A lot."
"What about Janice? And why do I know nothing about any of it?" The annoyance in your voice was clear, and you weren't trying to hide it.
He sighed and set the phone down. "Come here."
It took you a moment, but you went. He did what you knew he'd do — hands at your hips, pulling you in until you were standing between his legs, his eyes coming up to find yours. Your hands settled on his shoulders on their own, and he smiled faintly.
"They know why we're here," he said, his thumb moving slowly along your waist beneath your shirt. "They know about the footage, half the things we've been doing. But there are other things — things that go back to Chicago. Things that don't involve you entirely. Not yet."
"Then tell me," you said quietly, threading your fingers slowly into his hair. "We're— I mean— we're something, aren't we?"
"Baby, we're way more than something." He laughed softly. "And I want to tell you everything. I just— I don't want to put this on you right now. Don't wanna worry you."
"I'm already worried, Holli." Your brows pulled together.
He took your hand from his shoulder and pressed his lips to your knuckles. "Do you trust me?" You nodded. "Then let me fix this. The things from Chicago, they don't touch you. Not for now. Let me sort it out, and when we actually get to start our lives, you'll know all of it. I promise. We'll have all the time in the world."
He kissed your hand again, and eventually you folded into him — your face tucked against his collar, his arms coming around you, warm and steady.
"Do you want me to do the laundry tomorrow?" he asked after a long, quiet while.
You laughed against his neck. Nodded.
"I'll do it, pretty girl."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The next morning you woke earlier than usual. Hollis's side of the bed was already cold — you could hear the shower running, and then stopping, and then nothing. A line of pale light slipped through the gap in the bathroom door.
You dragged yourself up, still half-asleep, and pushed the door open.
He was standing at the mirror, towel wrapped around his hips, hair wet, body still drying. If you'd been any more awake it would have been a sight worth stopping for.
"Morning, honey," he said, glancing at you.
"Why are you up so early?" You pressed the back of your hand to your eyes, trying to bring the room into focus. The pale bathroom light wasn't helping.
He turned slightly, cupped your face in one hand, and pressed his lips to the top of your head. "Going to town later with Rob. Figured I'd finish my chores first."
"Very dedicated of you," you murmured, looking up at him. He'd turned back to the mirror, studying his face with a particular expression.
"What do you think about this?" He gestured vaguely at his jaw.
You squinted. It took a moment — you'd never seen it before, not once during the whole trip. He'd always taken a razor to his face before anything had the chance to grow. But now there were faint lines of a mustache beginning, the suggestion of a goatee, and along his jaw a sparse, barely-there growth that had clearly been quietly happening while you weren't looking.
"Oh," you said, stepping closer to see him properly in the mirror. "I didn't even know you could grow a beard."
He laughed. "What do you mean? I'm offended!"
"I'm sorry!" You laughed too, at your own surprise. "You just... You always shave before it gets anywhere." You looked at him in the glass. "You're still handsome, honey." You rested your head lightly on his shoulder.
"Well." He shrugged. "Better get rid of it."
He reached for the shaving foam on the sink and the thought arrived so quickly and clearly that you just said it before it had fully formed.
"Can I do it?"
He turned to look at you. "Shave me?"
You nodded. He grinned, confused and amused in equal measure.
"Do you know how?"
"How hard can it be?" You took the foam from his hand, looked at it, looked at his face, and smiled. Already committed.
"Sure, honey." He was smiling too now, settling into the idea. "Go on."
"Sit there." You pointed to the edge of the bathtub and he obeyed without argument, lowering himself down, long legs spread wide, looking up at you with that particular expression — amused on the surface, something else underneath.
You stood in the space between his knees and got to work — spraying foam into your palm, working it across his jaw, his chin, his neck, above his upper lip. Careful and focused. His eyes stayed on your face the whole time. You'd have felt self-conscious once, under that gaze, but somewhere along the way that had changed. His attention still made your heart do something, but the urge to escape it was gone. It just felt like him.
"Don't move," you said, picking up the razor.
"Wasn't planning on it," he said, the smile still there.
You hesitated briefly before the first stroke and then started. Slow, short strokes, rinsing between each one. You were frowning slightly without meaning to, brows drawn together in concentration.
"You can press a little harder, honey," he said.
"Quiet." You didn't look up.
He laughed softly. You felt it through the hand steadying his jaw. "I said don't move."
"Alright, alright."
His hands found your hips. Not pulling you anywhere, not pressing — just resting there, warm through the fabric of your shirt, like they'd landed out of habit. You noticed and kept working. You were holding your breath somewhere in the middle of it and didn't realize until you let it out. His eyes hadn't left your face. Under the pale bathroom light they looked brighter than usual, that specific hazel that you'd learned to read before you'd learned it was something you were doing.
When you finished you took the towel and wiped away the remaining foam, turning his face gently to check both sides. Even. Clean. You reached up to the cabinet without letting him stand and found a lotion, which you applied slowly across his jaw and cheeks.
He watched with a knowing smile. "What are you doing?"
"You should moisturize after shaving." You kept your voice matter-of-fact.
"Yeah?" His smile was all teasing now, entirely unbothered by the skincare advice.
He pulled you closer — arms wrapping slowly around your body, his chin lifting toward your chest as he looked up at you. You hugged him back, fingers threading into his still-damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew he liked.
"Thank you," he said, after a moment. Quieter now. "I'm not used to it. Being taken care of."
You pouted. Your face went warm. "I like taking care of you."
"I know," he said. He caught your hand, pressed his lips to it, then stood — pulling you with him, both of you nearly stumbling in the narrow bathroom, and you laughed. He laughed too, steadying you both, his arms still around you.
"You're so good to me," he said, low. "So fucking good."
You pulled him down by the neck, closing the small distance until your noses touched, foreheads together, eyes level.
"I love you," you said.
"I love you." He smiled before he kissed you — warm, unhurried, the kind of kiss that took the rest of your breath without trying to.
He carried you back to bed, and the early morning became something slower and quieter, his body moving over yours lazy and unhurried, both of you still half in sleep, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Later, Hollis went to town with Robert — something about the car — and you stayed with Janice. The usual rhythm. You'd just come back to the house from feeding the chickens when you found her on the porch, scissors in hand, trimming Timmy's hair.
"You do that yourself?" you asked.
"Easier than driving to the hairdresser every two weeks for a trim. I cut my own too." She didn't look up, focused on the back of Timmy's neck.
You watched her work, and without deciding to, your hands went to your own hair. You couldn't remember ever cutting more than a few inches off it. It had been long your whole life, as long as you could picture yourself.
And then — quietly, the way realizations sometimes came — you thought about the security footage. Your profile. Your hair. The one detail that maybe could make you identifiable even in a blurry image. A new life could come with new hair.
"After Timmy," you said, "would you cut mine?"
Janice looked up, a flicker of surprise giving way to enthusiasm. She hesitated when you told her how much — just above the shoulders, significantly shorter than anything you'd ever had. But she didn't talk you out of it. You sat down, and as the long strands of dark hair fell to the porch floorboards you felt the specific strangeness of watching something you'd carried for years disappear in sections. The chills moved through you. So did something that felt almost like relief.
When you looked in the mirror and brushed the new length back, you felt like someone else. Not unrecognizable — just new. The bangs Janice had cut, the layers, the way it all framed your face differently. Someone new and also still you.
"It looks so good," Janice said from behind your shoulder. "You look so girly."
You smiled at that. You felt it.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Hollis came back late in the afternoon. You were in the kitchen putting together a snack for you and the kids when you heard him come through.
"Honey, Jan said you were in he— " He stopped.
You glanced back. "How was town?"
"The— " He stopped again, whatever he'd been about to say dissolving entirely. "You look— that's just— "
You felt a flicker of nerves. He was looking at you with that particular stillness, eyes moving over your face like he was processing something and hadn't finished yet.
"God, you look beautiful." He crossed the kitchen in a few strides and took your face in both hands — you felt small in the best way. "Did you just— "
"Do you like it?" You looked up at him, your face warm under his hands and his attention.
"So much." He leaned down and kissed you, brief and certain. "Didn't know you could get any prettier."
"Shut up," you laughed.
He kissed you again and pulled you in with one arm around your waist.
"That's seriously gross." Bob's voice from the table.
You pulled back, laughing. Bob and Timmy were both making faces of theatrical disgust.
"Y'all too nosy," Hollis said.
"Y'all disgusting!" Bob announced.
"Disgusting?" Hollis's voice went playful and low. "Nah, little buddy. You're done now."
He went after Bob, who scrambled off his chair and started running laps around the table. Timmy was already screaming catch him, catch him with tremendous investment. You stood by the counter laughing as the chase moved through the kitchen, into the living room, and out the front door — where Hollis eventually caught up with Bob and they both went down in a heap on the grass, and then Timmy was crying because he'd tripped over his own feet following them, and Hollis spent the next five minutes quietly negotiating with him not to tell Robert, apparently offering bribes you couldn't quite hear but could absolutely imagine.
You watched from the doorway, the afternoon light warm on the porch, and thought: this is what it looks like. Whatever it was they were building toward. This exact thing, right here.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Later that night you were lying on top of him in bed, his hand moving slowly through your hair — a light, absent caress that made your already worn-out body feel even lighter. Then his hand came to your forehead and he started brushing your new bangs back and forth across your face, back and forth, like he was experimenting with them. You laughed and pushed his hand away gently.
"What are you doing?" you asked, smiling.
"I don't know. It's different." His hand moved to your cheek instead.
"Good different?"
"Definitely." He petted your head the way you'd pet a cat and you smiled despite yourself. "It makes your eyes look bigger."
"What?" You laughed. "Is that a compliment?"
"Of course it is. You look like a doll." He pulled you in and kissed you briefly. "My pretty doll."
You didn't know how he always knew exactly what to say, but it got you blushing and tucking your face into his neck before sleep took you both under.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
It was early morning — still dim, the light just beginning to come through — and you were in the barn with Grace, the newborn calf you'd been feeding since the first day. Her mother wasn't producing enough milk, and you'd taken over the bottle without anyone asking you to. She knew you now. When you came in calling her name she made small sounds of excitement that you found entirely disproportionate and completely wonderful.
"I see you two have gotten close," a voice said from the entrance.
Robert, leaning against the doorframe with his coffee.
"I'm basically her second mother," you said, still petting her forehead.
"You really are." He laughed. "You finished with her?"
"Just saying goodbye."
"Could you give me a hand with something?"
You ended up outside holding a fence post steady while he hammered it in, the morning cool and quiet around you.
"I think you know by now," he said between strikes, "but I've known Hollis since he was about this high." He lifted one hand to his waist. You laughed, thinking of the height of the man currently asleep in your shared room. "What was he like?"
"Impossible." He said it with the particular warmth of someone who'd loved a difficult person. "You know Timmy? Make it ten times worse. He used to follow me everywhere, asking questions like I'd have every answer. Wouldn't stop talking."
"That's genuinely hard to picture," you said.
"He'd tell you his whole life story if you asked only for his name." Robert laughed to himself. "Until he grew up and learned to keep things in. And then he kept too much in. You know how it is."
"Yeah," you said quietly. "He still does."
"He learned it for his own protection." Robert paused, setting the hammer down for a moment. "I can't imagine how things got after I left."
"He holds you in a high place, sir," you said.
"God, don't call me sir. Rob, Bob, anything else." You laughed. "But listen. I'm glad he found you. When he told me he was leaving Chicago with nothing but a car it scared the hell out of me. Then he told me he'd brought you along and that scared me even more." He laughed at that, something fond in it. "I gave him hell for it, honestly. But I think you might be the best thing that happened to that boy on this trip."
"I don't know," you said. "Sometimes I feel like I've made things harder for him. He says the opposite, but— "
"You drive him crazy, he told me that too." You looked at him, surprised. "But you make him feel. And that's something I was genuinely worried his father had taken out of him."
That landed somewhere deep. Not just the words but the weight of who was saying them — someone who'd known him as a child, someone Hollis trusted with things he didn't give anyone else. Knowing he'd talked about you. Knowing someone this important to him had looked at you and approved.
"You're making her do manual labor, old man?" Hollis's voice came from behind you.
"She's being helpful," Robert said, his tone shifting easily into something playful. "Unlike you."
"Give me that, honey." Hollis reached for the fence post and you started to say you could finish, then just nodded and stepped aside, watching the two of them take over like you hadn't been there at all, and feeling entirely at peace with that.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
A few days later you were coming back from the barn when you noticed Hollis out in the field with the white horse he'd taken to immediately, embarrassingly, on the first day. He was standing close to the animal, one hand on his neck, his face near his, talking to him in a low voice. You stood watching them for a moment before he noticed you and waved you over.
"You really like him," you said when you reached him.
"Her," he corrected, glancing at you. "Her name's June."
"Sorry." You smiled. "Hi, June. You're very pretty. You look just like my Hollis."
You said it softly to the horse, who turned her large head toward you at the sound of your voice. You reached up carefully and scratched at her neck. She shook her mane and you felt the muscles beneath your hand shift and twitch, which made you laugh.
"She likes you," Hollis said.
"How can you tell?"
"She didn't bite you." He said smiling. You laughed.
"Have you ever ridden a horse?" he asked.
"A long time ago. When I was little."
"Do you want to?"
You thought about it for a moment — but he was looking at you with that particular open smile, the one that made him look younger, and you already knew where this was going.
He helped you up on her first, bareback, his hands firm at your waist, lifting you with ease. You settled onto June's warm back, the muscles beneath you shifting as she adjusted to your weight. You grabbed a handful of her mane, steadying yourself, and felt the sun on your shoulders, the breeze catching your hair.
Then he mounted behind you — one smooth motion, the kind of ease that came from practice. His weight settled behind you, and you felt the solid warmth of his chest press against your back, his thighs bracketing yours.
"Alright?" His voice was close to your ear, low and warm.
"Yeah," you said, breathing out.
His arms came around you, both hands finding June's mane, his wrists grazing your sides. You loosened your grip on the mane, let your body settle into the motion of the horse beneath you. His arms were loose around you, not holding you in place but just there, bracketing you.
June started forward, a slow, easy walk that rocked you gently.
"Doesn't it bother her?"
"She's strong," he said. You could hear the smile. "You said she looks like me, but honestly she's more like you."
"How?"
"Stubborn. But sweet about it." The horse picked up a slow, steady pace and you moved with her, adjusting. "One time I was brushing her mane and she got annoyed and pulled away, so I stopped. Left her alone. And the second I walked off she followed me halfway across the field like a lost puppy."
"That's not what I do," you said, looking back at him.
"Sure, honey." He squeezed you lightly against him.
You leaned back into him anyway, just enough to keep the contact, and he let you. You passed through the open gate and out into the field, the valley spreading ahead of you, green bathed in the low gold of late afternoon.
"This is nice," you said quietly.
"Better than the car?"
"So much better." You exhaled slowly.
His laugh moved through his chest and into your back.
"We're leaving in a few days," he said, his voice shifting into something quieter.
"California?" you asked.
"Yeah. Finally." Something in his voice had weight to it — not reluctance exactly, but heaviness. Like the word had more in it than he was letting out.
"I'll miss this," you said after a moment. "I'll miss them." A pause. "But I'm ready to actually get somewhere."
He hummed. And for a while there was nothing but the sound of June's hooves moving through the grass, the wind passing low through the field, and his breath steady at the back of your neck.
Later that evening you sat on the front porch and watched the valley turn blue and then dark. You lost yourself in thought without noticing the temperature drop, and by the time you came back to yourself your fingertips were cold.
The front door opened behind you. You looked back and found Hollis in the frame of it, the inside light behind him, his silhouette filling the doorway.
"Dinner's ready," he said.
You didn't answer right away. He looked past you, out toward the valley. And then, like he'd understood exactly why you were sitting there without needing it explained, he came out and sat beside you. He stayed quiet for a long while, the same as you, watching the dark settle over the flatland and the mountains beyond it. You rested your head on his shoulder. He was steady in a way nothing else had ever been.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The remaining days passed faster than you expected. Janice kept you close, always finding reasons to pull you into the kitchen or onto the porch, always starting conversations that drifted naturally toward something that felt less like small talk and more like advice she was offering sideways — about Robert, about their early years, about how things weren't always easy and how that was part of it. She mentioned once that Los Angeles was only seven hours from Gardnerville, that she sometimes thought about making the drive down with the kids. It was a small thing and she said it casually, but you heard what she was doing. Not only had you grown attached to this family — the feeling was mutual, and she wanted you to know it.
The hardest part was the morning of the departure.
Janice made a full breakfast — said you had a long drive and needed to be fed. Hollis pointed out there were restaurants on the road and she swatted him. It was all warmly comic and a little melancholic, the particular feeling of a last morning somewhere you weren't ready to leave.
Then Timmy overheard.
In all the weeks you'd known him, through all the tantrums and the broken toys and the crying jags over completely invented injustices, you had never seen him like this. His small round eyes went watery almost immediately. You thought at first it was Hollis he was upset about — but then you felt a small hand close around the hem of your skirt, and a small head press against your hip, and you understood he was trying, in his quiet way, to simply keep you there.
When it was time to actually leave, he wouldn't let go. When you shifted he started to cry — silently, the way children cried when they were trying not to be seen doing it.
"Oh, Timmy," you said softly, reaching down to smooth his blond hair.
"Don't go," he said, small and shy, barely audible.
"Honey, the car's— " Hollis stopped. He'd looked down and found Timmy at your skirt. You could see the amusement starting at the corner of his mouth and you gave him a look that said don't you dare and he held it back with visible effort.
He crouched down in front of the boy instead, one hand on his shoulder, eye level. Timmy looked away, his face going from sad to sulky and betrayed.
"You're taking her away," he said.
"I'm not— " Hollis almost laughed and caught himself. "I mean, we have to go home. But we'll come back."
"You don't know that. I heard Mama saying you were going to a whole other country."
"Another state, you fool," Hollis said, and you pushed his arm lightly. He grinned. "I'll bring her back. I promise. Like I promised you that chocolate and I delivered, didn't I?"
Timmy considered this with a small pout, working through the logic of it. Then he looked from Hollis to you.
"Don't forget about me," he said, smaller again, a different register than the one he used with Hollis.
You crouched and pulled him into a proper hug. "I promise I won't."
"Hey," Hollis murmured behind you, "where's that voice when you talk to me?"
You pushed him without looking.
The rest of the goodbyes were easier, as goodbyes went. Janice held you longer than anyone, whispering thank you against your ear and telling you that you were family now, that whatever you needed she'd be there. Robert was more contained in the way he always was — a long embrace, a few quiet words to Hollis that you didn't catch. Bob and Hollis bickered for a while the way they always had and then Bob gave you a shy, sideways hug like he wasn't entirely sure how. Betty was cheerfully oblivious to the whole departure, which was its own kind of mercy — her small wave and uncomplicated smile lightening something that might otherwise have been heavier than you could manage.
You left in a different car than the one you'd arrived in. The stolen truck was gone — you figured that was what the trip to town with Robert had been for. This time you didn't watch the farm disappear in the mirror. You looked at each of their faces one last time, properly, and then turned to face the road ahead.
Your eyes kept drifting to the driver's seat. Not checking on him — just out of habit. A habit you'd caught yourself in since the very first time he'd driven you anywhere. You noticed, not for the first time, that his roots had grown in darker, the blond giving way to his natural hair. You'd noticed before but neverf quite registered. This time you just reached over and took his hand where it rested on his thigh. He looked down at it, then at you, and brought it to his lips without a word.
cw: rough sex, dual penetration, slight knife play, degarding, power dynamic, dom Aemond, dom Hollis, Eiffel Tower, pnv, face fucking etc??? MDNI
Prince Hollis x fem servant reader x Prince Aemond
an: ik i've never written something like this, but i've been so obsessed with Aemond and Hollis is so Targaryen likeee so i lowkey wrote ts for me and void but i hope u guys like nonetheless 👾👾
BG: Set in the HOTD AU, Vezof is Hollis' dragon Vezof is knight in high valaryian
wc: 3K+
129 AC
Prince Aegon has recently been crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms. The announcement sent shockwaves through the kingdom, but more specifically, your family.
Your father had worked loyally under King Viserys for years, and he knew that Rhaenyra was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. On the day of Aegon's coronation, your father fled King’s Landing to join Queen Rhaenyra on Dragonstone, leaving you, your mother, and your sisters behind in the capital. Aegon spared your lives on one condition: you had to swear undying loyalty to him. You did, though the words tasted like ash in your mouth. Your lives depended on the lie.
You watched helplessly as the Hightowers placed the usurper on the throne. The children Alicent had with Viserys were now seen as the supreme royal family: King Aegon, the oldest of his younger brothers, Aemond and Hollis, and their sister Queen Helaena.
Alicent was a mere child when she had the boys, so they were raised by the castle staff, causing them to grow up utterly spoiled.
The younger brothers, Aemond and Hollis, were as thick as thieves. Aemond was known throughout the realm as vile, a terrifying figure with a sapphire gem instead of an eye and a leather eye patch to cover it.
Hollis was cut from the same cloth. While he didn't indulge in the same level of overt cruelty as Aemond, he was always right in the middle of the mess, thriving in the chaos. Hollis walked the castle corridors with a distinct, effortless cockiness, a heavy sword resting at his hip that he rarely ever had to use.
Watching the princes walk with their heads held high made you sick. When they demanded your service, there were never any pleases or thank yous, only sharp commands. But what you hated the most was how much you liked it.
It was impossible to look past the striking Valyrian features, the confidence they walked with being one of the few that could ride the winged beast, their icy-blonde hair, the flawless statures, even the way their low laughs would rumble deep in their chests. They were men devoid of morality, but the whispers throughout the Red Keep murmured that where they lacked in virtue, they more than made up for it in the chambers.
Before your father was branded a traitor, your family held a high noble ranking. You grew up at court, learning what it took to be a noblewoman until you could be betrothed to a husband of equal or greater standing.
But once your father fled, Aegon stripped your family of their titles, demoting you all to servants. Because you had grown up alongside the royal children, Aegon spared your lives, but only this once. As the oldest daughter, you were made to serve Queen Helaena hand and foot. Fortunately, Helaena was not cruel like her brothers. She was gentle, treating you more like the childhood friend you used to be rather than a servant.
After finishing preparing the Queen for bed, you quietly stepped out of her chambers. Just as you went to close the heavy door, the echo of Prince Hollis and Aemond’s laughter rounded the corner. It was around midnight when they would come back from dragon riding or whatever whore house they could find. You tried to slip away unnoticed into the shadows, but a voice cut through the dim hallway
"Y/N, stop," Prince Hollis called out.
You turned around slowly, forcing a sarcastic, practiced smile onto your face as you dipped into a low bow. "Princes."
"Running from me now, are you?" Hollis asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Never," you responded smoothly.
Aemond chimed in, his single eye scanning you up and down. "You know, you were much more of a sight before you had to wear rags instead of silks."
"Well, we can thank your brother for that, can't we?" you replied, the sarcasm slipping through.
Hollis took a step closer, his expression tightening. "Watch how you speak of the King. Must I remind you, heads have rolled for much less."
He stepped directly into your space, locking his eyes onto yours. With every stride he took, it felt as though the air was being sucked right out of the corridor. He reached out, his gloved hand catching your chin, tilting your face up. "It would be a shame to see you dead before I got a chance to have you in my chambers."
You scoffed, your voice stern and unyielding. " Prince or not, I’d rather die than lay with you."
Hollis slowly dropped his hand from your chin, exchanging a look with Aemond before they both burst into a pit of dark laughter.
"Did you even believe that?" Aemond mocked.
Hollis leaned in even closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Remember all those years ago how desperately you wanted to take a ride on Vezof. How you went on and on about seeing the seven kingdoms from the sky." He paused, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Now that we're older, I’m starting to think you just wanted to ride the dragon rider."
You leaned back, staring at him, your heart hammering against your ribs.
Hollis just smirked, thoroughly amused by your reaction. "You're dismissed. Head back to your quarters. I’ll see you on the morrow"
*****************
Aegon had taken to forcing you to serve the Small Council meetings from time to time. The same Small council your father used to work in before Viserys' death. Aegon claimed it was ironic, a delicious punishment to watch your father’s daughter serve the very men plotting against him. He was a petty cunt, and every idea he had for you was designed entirely to belittle you.
The air inside the chamber was suffocating as they planned for the impending threat of war. A massive map of the Seven Kingdoms was rolled out across the table, pinned down by heavy brass markers. King Aegon sat at the head of the table, swirling his goblet for the seventh time in the last thirty minutes, silently demanding a refill. Although as drunk as could be.
To the rest of the council, you were practically invisible. But the brothers always took an interest in you. While Aegon sought only to torture you, Hollis and Aemond clearly had an entirely different game in mind.
Aemond kept his focus entirely on the map, tracking every word Ser Criston Cole said regarding troop movements through the Riverlands. Hollis, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, his legs spread wide under the table, his eyes tracking your every move. The rhythmic, impatient tapping of his boots against the stone floor only stopped when he spoke.
"Y/N. More wine. Now."
You stepped between their chairs to pour Hollis's wine first. Your hands were steady, but as the dark liquid filled his cup, you felt Hollis’s gloved hand slide onto the back of your thigh, hidden entirely by the drape of the heavy tablecloth. The leather was cool, but his grip was firm, ruthlessly squeezing the rough fabric of your servant's dress. The feeling was intoxicatingly familiar, exactly what you had kept replaying over and over in your head as you lay awake in bed last night.
You gasped quietly, the sound catching in your throat.
"Is something amiss, Y/N?" Aemond asked smoothly, his deep voice cutting through his mother’s frantic talking. He hadn't even looked up from the map, but his hand had already left his lap. His bare fingers, warm and calloused from swordplay, slid up the front of your skirt, brushing against your bare knee.
"Nothing at all, Prince Aemond," you said, forcing your voice to sound strong while your heart did the exact opposite, hammering so loudly against your ribs you were certain the whole room could hear it.
You tried to step back, but Hollis’s grip tightened, anchoring you firmly in place between him and Aemond. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his free hand, looking up at you with pure, unadulterated mischief in his eyes.
"More wine, please," Hollis murmured, his voice a low, teasing drawl. Under the table, his hand slid higher, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
At the same time, Aemond’s fingers crept further up your skirt, his touch agonizingly slow, a deliberate contrast to his brother's bold grip. You felt trapped between fire and ice. The sheer audacity of it doing this while the Queen Mother argued about the fate of the realm just three feet away sent a wild shudder through your entire body. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the silver pitcher.
"We need the Baratheons," Alicent’s voice rang out from the other end of the table. "Aemond, have you sent the ravens to Storm's End?"
"I am preparing the terms myself, Mother," Aemond replied seamlessly. He didn't miss a beat. His voice remained steady and authoritative, completely betraying the fact that his fingers were currently sliding beneath the edge of your undergarments.
You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted copper, a sudden rush of heat spewing into your cheeks as you let out a trembling breath through your nose. You looked down at Hollis, silently pleading with him, but he only smirked, thoroughly enjoying your torment. He leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing your hip, and whispered so low only you and his brother could hear.
"You look so beautiful when you're trying not to scream, sweetheart."
Aemond’s thumb found your center, applying a sudden, precise pressure that made your knees instantly buckle. If Hollis hadn't been holding your hip under the table, you would have dropped the pitcher right then and there. A quiet, breathless whimper escaped your lips.
"Aegon," Alicent snapped, noticing the sudden pause in the room's energy. "Are you paying attention?"
"Yes, Mother dragons, war, blood," Aegon groaned, waving his hand dismissively. He glanced down the table, his eyes lingering on you for a split second. "Are you clumsy today, girl? You're shaking. Fill my cup and get out."
"Yes, Your Grace," you choked out.
Hollis finally released his grip, his hand giving you a parting, possessive smack on your thigh, while Aemond slowly withdrew his hand, his fingers lingering on your skin until the last possible second.
Your legs felt like water as you stumbled away toward the King's chair, risking a glance back. Aemond was finally looking at you, his sapphire eye catching your attention, enamoured by how it could portray that he was dark and satisfied.
While Hollis lifted his wine cup to his lips, watching you over the rim with a promise of exactly what was to come. You walked over to Aegon to pour more wine into his cup, but before you could, you saw Hollis's foot shoot out.
You tripped over his boot, losing your balance entirely. The silver pitcher flew from your hands, spilling the dark wine all over Prince Aegon, the floor, and a large portion of the crucial war map.
Aegon screeched, calling you every vile name under the sun. He violently pushed his chair back from the table, wiping at his soaked doublets, and turned to the room in a blind rage. "Get out! Everyone get out!" He pointed a shaking, angry finger at you, then turned his gaze to Aemond and Hollis. "Make sure she cleans up every single drop of this mess."
"With pleasure," Hollis murmured.
You watched in mounting panic as Aegon, Alicent, and the rest of the council hurried out, leaving the heavy oak doors to slam shut. The sudden silence in the room was deafening. You looked at the two remaining princes, a sudden realization washing over you. It felt like a setup.
"You heard the King. Be good and clean it up," Hollis said. He didn't wait for you to move; he stepped forward and firmly pushed you down onto your knees, forcing you to look up at him.
You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. "You tripped me on purpose, didn’t you?"
Aemond laughed darkly as he closed the distance, stepping up right behind you. "Took us a little while to realize we didn't like what you said." Without warning, Aemond reached down and grabbed a handful of your hair, twirling it tightly around his hand.
A sharp yelp escaped your throat at the sudden pull.
Hollis slowly pulled his leather gloves off, dropping them onto the table. His bare hand caressed your face roughly, his fingers digging into your jaw before his thumb hooked over your bottom lip, tugging it down and forcing his thumb into your mouth.
An involuntary moan escaped you. Your body completely betrayed you, softening under his touch despite the anger burning in your chest.
Aemond gripped your hair tighter, letting out a low, amused laugh from behind you. "Hollis, what did she say to you last night in the corridor?"
Hollis swirled his thumb against your tongue, his eyes darkening as he looked down at you. "She said she would rather die than let me touch her, if I remember correctly."
"Is that so?" Aemond hummed, his breath brushing the back of your neck. "It certainly didn't look that way during the council meeting, did it?"
"Not at all," Hollis agreed, wearing a wicked smirk. He slowly pulled his thumb from your mouth, leaving your lips slick, just as Aemond released his tight grip on your hair, giving you a firm push that sent you sprawling onto your hands and knees.
Hollis looked down at you as his britches hit the floor. Your eyes went wide, welted with hot tears that threatened to spill over. The overwhelming reality of the moment crashed over you the biting cold of the stone floor against your bare knees, the rough drag of your servant's dress as Aemond lifted it from behind.
A moment like this could have only been dreamed of in your darkest, most forbidden thoughts, taken ruthlessly in the Small Council chamber by the dragon-rider princes.
Hollis knelt down directly in front of you. "Open," he commanded. You obeyed without a second thought. "Stick out your tongue."
You followed his instructions perfectly. He slapped the tip of his length against your tongue once, twice, three times, leaving it slick with his precum, before pushing himself deep into your mouth without warning. He was so thick it immediately began to crowd the back of your throat, choking out any sound you could make. Low, satisfied moans began to fill the empty chamber, echoing off the high stone walls.
While your vision was entirely filled with Hollis, you could feel every inch of Aemond behind you. His length rubbed heavily against your lower back. You wanted it so badly, your blood roaring with anticipation, but you couldn't voice your desperation with Hollis completely occupying your mouth. His hands tangled tightly into your hair, anchoring you. The sight of him looking down at you proved the Targaryens were made in the image of the gods; his icy-blonde hair fell messily across his face, framing an expression of pure, arrogant beauty.
While distracted, Aemond slipped two fingers inside you. His movements were agonizingly slow, a deliberate, torturous contrast to Hollis’s aggressive, heavy rhythm. You clenched tightly around his fingers as he began to run tormenting circles around your clit. The feeling of both of them together was driving you insane, the sheer sensory overload making your head spin.
Hollis suddenly slowed his pace, pulling out of your mouth just enough to pump himself with his hand. The moment your lips were free, the only word you could desperately find the strength to utter was a breathless, "Please."
Aemond leaned over your shoulder, his breath hot against your ear as he rubbed his heavy length directly against your aching clit. "If you want it so bad, let's hear you beg for it."
Hollis gripped your jaw firmly, forcing your tear-filled eyes to lock onto his. "Let us hear that smart mouth of yours now"
The friction of Aemond against your entrance was driving you past the point of sanity. You didn't care how pathetic, how utterly degraded you looked on the floor. You kept going, whimpering out, "Please, my princes..."
Hollis's eyes narrowed. "No. I don’t like that."
"Your Graces... please," you cried out, completely unraveled.
Hollis let go of your face, his hand reaching for the table where his dagger lay. With a terrifying slowness, he placed the cold, sharp edge of the Valyrian steel blade right beneath your chin, tilting your head back. You felt Aemond’s weight shift slightly behind you as he lined himself up with your entrance.
"So revolted by us," Aemond mocked darkly from behind, his voice dripping with satisfaction, "but look how much you leak for me."
With one heavy, unyielding drive, Aemond thrust all the way inside you, giving you exactly what you had begged for. Hollis's dagger remained pressed firmly against your throat. The lethal sharpness of the blade was already leaving a faint, stinging scratch against your skin, but the intoxicating mix of terror and absolute pleasure was too good. You couldn't care less if the prince decided to take your life right here on the council floor.
Seeing you completely at their mercy, weeping and trembling under the blade, made Hollis feel how needy you were. He let out a dark, breathless smile. Aemond didn't hold back anymore, his thrusts turning violent and deep, pounding you into the stone. You stared up at Hollis, your mouth open, silently craving the feel of him again. The inherent, cruel violence of their Targaryen nature wasn't lost in a moment like this; while you were terrified, it was freeing.
Hollis gripped your hair once more, pulling your head back, and shoved himself straight back into your mouth.
The chamber filled with the heavy, echoing sound of both princes groaning as they ruthlessly used your body for their pleasure. It didn't matter to you. You craved it; you loved every single agonizing second of it. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, a visible mark of your submission that only seemed to amuse the princes further. They never slowed their relentless pace, driving you higher and higher until they both reached their limits.
Hollis choked you with one final, deep thrust as his seed filled your mouth. "Swallow. All of it," he growled. You swallowed without hesitation.
Seconds later, Aemond let out a low growl, his warmth spilling deep inside you as he shuddered against your back.
The moment Aemond finally pulled out of you, your knees gave out entirely. You collapsed onto the cold stone, completely spent, your vision swimming with stars. Hollis leaned over your trembling form, gently pulling the tangled strands of hair out of your face. He pressed a surprisingly soft, lingering kiss to your swollen lips, smiling darkly against your mouth.
From the reflection in the glass wall you could see your pupils still dilated. Beyond it, the city stretched out below, the desert wrapping around the lights and buildings, beautifully guarding — or locking — it in. But you focused on one particular thing in the glass: his reflection, collapsed in bed, lying on his stomach, his long arms and wide back taking up almost the whole king-size mattress as he sprawled out.
After a while he shifted, his hand patting your side of the bed. You watched from the window as he raised his head, found the empty space, then found you.
He got up without a word. Still naked, hair everywhere, face soft with sleep, he crossed the room and came up behind you — arms circling you from behind, one long exhale into your hair before his chin settled on top of your head. His hand came to your neck, gentle, his fingers finding the scapular cord and threading through it slowly, like he was making sure it was still there.
"Can't sleep?" You shook your head, silent. "We're almost there."
There used to mean California. Now it meant his friend's house. You hummed under your breath, your hand slipping out from the sheet wrapped around you to find his.
"Pretty decent view, isn't it?" He said it knowing you'd gone quiet, the way he always tried to coax you back out one way or another. You laughed lightly at that. "What?"
"Yes. It's beautiful up here, Hollis." You rubbed his knuckles, let your head rest against his hand. "I'm alright. If that's what you're checking."
He laughed, light. "Thought you were on a bad trip for a second."
"Oh, that— " Your voice dropped. "It's almost gone. My eyes just feel a little funny now."
He squeezed you tighter, kissed the top of your head. Your eyes drifted back to the city lights and he held you there in silence.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
A few nights before, you'd been passing through a town — a really small one, neon signs bleeding into dusk, a gas station with a broken pump, and a fair that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. You noticed the ferris wheel first — a rusted skeleton lit up above everything — then the tents, the people drifting between them, the monotonous carnival music. You must have been staring too hard, because you barely noticed when Hollis stopped the car.
"What?" You glanced at him.
"Want to take a look?" he asked.
"No, we don't have to— " A smile pulled at his mouth and stopped you.
"You were looking at it like a kid at a toy store window." He laughed. "Come on. We don't have a schedule."
His hand found yours the second you stepped out, fingers lacing through yours, warm, so familiar now it felt like a reflex. What wasn't familiar was the setting — for the first time in longer than you could remember, the two of you were just moving, just looking, no rush, nowhere to get to and nothing to run from. You could still tell he was watching, alert in the way he's been lately, but he was trying to be light for you, you could see that. Whatever you showed even a flicker of interest in, he steered you toward. He bought tickets and you ended up competing at a ring toss — he won, mostly because you missed the last bottle, and you were still accusing him of cheating when he handed over your prize. Your sulky face disappeared the moment you saw what it was: a small cat keychain.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱
While you waited in line for the ferris wheel, he went to get you ice cream. You watched the crowd drift by, and when you looked back at him there was a girl beside him in line, obvious about it — all smiles, leaning in to say something while she touched his arm. He was reserved in his own way, took a step back from her, but it still got under your skin. You were sulking by the time he made it back with the ice cream.
"What?" He locked onto your face instantly.
"Nothing." You just took the cone and pretended otherwise.
You stayed sulky all the way onto the ferris wheel. But it didn't last long. The thing made a rusted groaning sound the moment it started moving, and you laughed despite yourself.
"This thing might fall apart any minute," he said, and you laughed harder. "And you laugh?"
"How romantic would that be?" You bumped his shoulder. He caught your hand.
"Fucking romantic, honey." You felt his kiss land on top of your head.
You rested against his shoulder as the wheel climbed toward the top, where it stopped, suspended, for a couple of minutes. The noise from the ground barely reached you up there. Just his breathing. Just the shadow of the endless dark desert stretching out around everything.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱
The night ended with Hollis furious at a shooting gallery. He'd wanted the biggest prize on the wall and burned through every ticket missing almost everything, walking away with a bracelet, a balloon, and a ragged little doll instead of the giant stuffed horse he'd had his eye on.
"Holli, it's fine," you said, fighting back laughter.
"The fuck it is." He glared at the kid running the booth. "This shit's rigged."
"Sir, it's a skill game," the kid said, unbothered.
You nearly lost it at that. Hollis's brows pulled together, properly irritated now. You walked a few steps away, him still muttering.
"Skill game my ass. We'll see about that." He stopped, handed you the balloon and the doll. "Wait here, honey."
You didn't know what that meant until you watched him scan the area, then duck behind one of the booths. A minute later he came out with a fistful of tickets stuffed in his pocket. He walked straight back to the shooting booth and tried again and again — and this time walked away grinning, the giant stuffed horse tucked under one arm.
"For you," he said, clearly proud of himself, handing it over. You took it, wrapping your arms around something nearly half your size.
"For me or for you?" you asked, low.
"For you. Obviously." It made you laugh.
On your way out he stopped a kid — a boy walking away from one of the booths with a sour look on his face — and reached into his pocket. You watched him hand over every ticket he had left. It was a lot.
"Great example you're setting, giving kids stolen tickets," you said when he came back, draping his arm over your shoulders.
"Gotta learn early," he said, laughing, and you laughed with him.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱
You didn't stay in town that night. Back on the road, the pale desert swallowing the little lit-up town behind you, you hugged the horse to your chest, head against the window, listening to Hollis's playlist. Music wasn't something you talked about much, but you'd started learning his taste through the nights you fell asleep to it. He had a strange, wide range — one night it was old country, or hard rock from the eighties, the kind your father used to play back home, then he'd switch to rap, humming the lyrics low under his breath in a way that always got to you, then something stranger still, something that sounded almost like noise. The one time you asked, he told you it was called witch house. It sounded haunting, honestly, but you'd gotten used to it — almost physical, the kind of thing that settled into your body. Sometimes you caught yourself humming along to the rhythm of it without meaning to.
By the time you saw tall buildings ahead, you were barely squinting your eyes open. The city looked familiar, the way things seen only in movies sometimes do — unreal, blinding with light even though it was nearly daybreak. Hollis caught you staring as you surfaced from a deep sleep.
He drove through the outskirts — past gas stations, motels, bars, signs advertising things you didn't dare ask about — until the streets opened onto a scene unlike anything you'd passed through before. After the small towns and mid-sized cities along the way, this one was the loudest, the most colorful. Every building seemed to be competing for your attention, not so much inviting as demanding. Neon, palm trees, and further out, the silvery reflection of what looked like a river running alongside the main avenue, catching the first rays of sun.
"Is this Vegas?" you asked, passing a casino sign.
"Not quite." He laughed. "Vegas is a bit further north. We're not going through there. Too crowded."
You just nodded and he went on.
"But we could have some fun here." He slowed the car. "I mean, if you want. I was thinking— "
There was something in his voice that sounded almost like a kid afraid to ask for too much. You glanced over and only then noticed how genuinely excited he looked, watching the buildings and signs, his eyes practically lit up. You held back a laugh.
"I think it'd be fun," you said, smiling.
His whole face brightened. Within minutes he was pulling into the parking lot of a hotel, and you frowned as he started grabbing your bags like it was just another stop.
"We're staying at a hotel?"
"We deserve a little comfort." He was grinning.
It was a tall building with a massive red billboard out front, white lettering announcing GAMBLING HALL + HOTEL. You followed him through the entrance and let him handle check-in while you took in the place — the lobby mirrored the city outside, too much color, too much noise, too much light. You learned there was a pool, a show room, a casino floor, and so many other corners of the place that you nearly missed him calling your name the first time.
You ended up on one of the highest floors — whether on purpose or because it was the only room left, you didn't know, but you were grateful either way. The second you stepped in and caught sight of the floor-to-ceiling window facing the river, you ran for it, barely glancing at the rest of the room, straight to the balcony.
"This is so beautiful, Hollis." You looked back to find him dropping your bags by the door.
"It is." He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you, eyes on the view too. Warm, easy.
"Did you see there's a pool? And some kind of show house?"
"We've got the whole day. Maybe the next one, if you want." He squeezed you tighter. His voice was tired — you remembered how little he'd slept, hours behind the wheel.
"Want to rest?" You turned in his arms, looking up. His exhausted hazel eyes looked back at you gently. He cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek.
"Just a quick nap," he said. "Wake me up, okay? We're going out later."
He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, completely worn out, blond hair falling across his face, expression gone slack and peaceful. Only then did you really look at the room — simple, white walls, white sheets, red carpet. Large and far more comfortable than most places you'd stayed. It smelled faintly cheap, but clean.
We're going out later. The thought alone gave you butterflies.
You showered, ran through your usual routine — if it could even be called that — and dug through your bag for the clothes you'd been saving. You slipped into the white lace lingerie you'd bought, blushing a little at yourself in the mirror; you didn't usually wear anything like it, and it made you feel good and a little ridiculous at once. Same with the skirt — short enough that you stared at your reflection longer than you meant to. You were halfway through buttoning your blouse when you felt his gaze land on you from behind.
You caught him in the mirror, eyes dragging over your whole body, openly, even half-asleep. You froze, just stood there and watched him watch you.
"You're staring."
"Obviously." It made you laugh — you weren't sure if it was nerves or because it really was funny. You adjusted the skirt, suddenly aware of how exposed it felt, more so under his eyes.
"Is it too much?" you asked. "I don't even know if it fits right."
"It fits perfectly." Still staring, completely unbothered by it.
"Stop being a creep," you said, fighting your own laughter.
"Just let me look at you." He smirked.
He showered while you waited on the bed, flipping through channels without committing to anything. He came out in all black, shirt half-unbuttoned the way he always wore it, gold chain at his throat, effortlessly the most striking thing in the room, as always. You nearly sighed out loud.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The night began on the casino floor — a maze of noise and light. Slot machines chimed in endless overlapping rhythms, their colors bouncing off the low ceiling like something out of a fever dream. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and something sweet underneath it, cheap perfume and spilled alcohol. Hollis took it all in like his own personal amusement park.
"Pick a machine," he said, hand finding yours.
"Mhm." You scanned the row and picked one at random, pulling him along.
It was funny watching him lose twenty dollars to it. Then another twenty. Then another.
"Bad luck," you said, holding back a laugh.
"I'm warming up." He pulled the lever again. Another loss. You giggled.
"Having fun?"
"You're warming up, baby," you said, and he glanced at you — half annoyed, half amused.
"C'mere." He pulled you onto his lap, easy as that. "You're my lucky charm."
You rolled your eyes even as your cheeks burned. "Go on, try it."
He fed the machine another twenty and let you pull the lever yourself. The reels spun, landed on matching symbols, and the whole machine lit up, buzzing.
You'd won.
"Did I win?" You were already grinning. His arm tightened around you.
"You sure did, honey." He kissed your shoulder. "That's my girl."
"I beat you at your own game."
"Beginner's luck."
"You're a sore loser, baby."
"Is that a challenge?" He smirked, leaning in, eyes dropping to your mouth.
"Maybe," you said, close enough now that you felt the word land between you.
He kissed you, quick and hard enough to make you laugh against his mouth.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Between drinks and machines, small wins and bigger losses, you wandered through the tables — roulette, blackjack, something else you couldn't name. But Hollis's attention had already locked onto the poker room. Green felt tables, players stacked around them.
"Wanna play?" You squeezed his hand.
"I mean." He glanced away, then back. "A little game wouldn't hurt."
You laughed, already catching something sharp in his eyes that told you it wouldn't stay little. He found a table — an old woman, a man in a cowboy hat, someone with dark circles under his eyes and an office shirt, and a kid who looked almost too young to be sitting there. You stood beside him, hand on his shoulder. He kissed it before sitting, and from that point you barely existed to him — he locked in immediately, more serious than you'd seen him over anything all night, nothing like the easy laughing loser from the slot machines.
You didn't really follow the game beyond the basics — bluffing, calling, folding — but you noticed when he lost the first hand by the sigh he let out, and the second by the curse that followed. You just rubbed his shoulder.
"Holli, maybe we should— "
"One more, honey. Promise." He kissed your hand and you sighed.
On the third hand he pushed every chip he had into the center. You didn't need to understand the game to know what that meant. Players dropped one by one — the old woman, the man in the office shirt — until it was just Hollis and the cowboy. The cowboy bet. Hollis called. The cards turned over and you stared at them without understanding a thing, until Hollis's face split into a wide grin.
"Sorry, partner," he said to the cowboy, already standing. He turned, grabbed your waist, lifted you clean off the floor, and kissed you.
"You won," you said against his mouth.
"We won, pretty girl." Another kiss. "You're my lucky charm."
But the cowboy wasn't having it. His hand came down on the table hard enough to rattle the chips. "You rat."
Hollis raised an eyebrow and turned back to him, you still in the circle of his arm. "Excuse me?"
"I saw you. You palmed that last card." The cowboy was on his feet now, face going red beneath the brim of his hat. "You think I don't know a cheat when I see one?"
"Buddy, I really don't know what to tell you." Hollis was grinning — lazy, completely unbothered. "Maybe just take the loss."
He started to turn back to you. The cowboy came around the table, stepping closer, his eyes flicking between you and Hollis, working himself up to something.
"I'm calling security, or — " He moved past you, closing in on Hollis, and something in you just snapped.
"Back off!" You shoved his chest without thinking. "He didn't cheat and you are far too grown to be acting like this over a card game."
The cowboy's face went a deeper shade of red. He took a step toward you — not threatening exactly, but close enough that the space between you shrank considerably.
You didn't flinch.
Then Hollis's hand found yours — fingers lacing through quickly and surely — and he was already pulling you away from the table.
"Time to go," he said, grinning.
You barely had time to register it before he was dragging you through the crowd, weaving between tables and slot machines, laughing low under his breath. You stumbled after him half-running, half-laughing, your hand warm in his.
"What — " you started, breathless.
"We're not giving him time to call security," he said, glancing back at you with that grin. "Don't look back. Just keep moving."
You didn't look back. You just held on and ran with him.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Outside, after collecting your winnings at the counter — a fair thick stack of bills — the night air hit you both, cool and electric. You were still laughing, breathless, hands on your knees.
"Did you see his face?" you managed.
Hollis was leaning against the casino wall, chest still heaving. "I did. Thought he'd pop a blood vessel."
"And you didn't even cheat." You straightened up and looked at him. He laughed — head tipping back. "What — but I was watching you the whole time!"
"What can I say, baby? I have my tricks." His arm came around your waist and he pulled you into him. You pressed against his chest, still catching your breath. "Also, he was a terrible loser."
"So are you!" You tapped his chest.
"That's different. I'm charming when I lose." A small, self-satisfied smile. He was right, but you weren't giving him that so easily.
"You're insufferable when you lose," you said, voice lower now.
The dim neon of the side alley was intimate in that particular way that made it far too easy to get lost in his gaze. You were already there before you'd decided to be. "You're something else, you know that?"
His hand came to your face, thumb tracing your chin. "What? Why?"
"Standing up like that." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Didn't even think twice, honey."
"He was being a jerk," you said, eyes already drifting to his mouth.
"You just— " He exhaled, like he'd been holding something in. "I liked that. I like when you're brave."
He kissed you there in the alley, hand gripping you tighter, and you felt the adrenaline in both of you winding slowly down through the press of his lips. "My little devil," he murmured against your mouth. "Picking fights with cowboys."
You laughed against him, kissed him again. And again. Until you both had to stop, out of breath, out of patience for being anywhere other than back at that hotel room.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
You walked the length of the riverwalk, past boats docked along the shore, past palm trees lined up like sentries. The water sat dark and silver, the mountains beyond it black against a starry sky. It still felt unreal.
The avenue opened onto a plaza, even brighter than the rest of the city. In the middle sat a fountain — as large and tacky as everything else in town, its lights changing from green to red to gold, colors bleeding out across the water in slow, repeating waves.
You thought you were just passing through, but Hollis slowed his steps and you followed his lead. "Hold on," he said, stopping completely, and you watched him reach into the inside pocket of his jacket and produce a small golden chain — a scapular, you realized quickly. He held it out to you and you took it, turning the small felt square over in your hand. The image pressed into it was the Sorrowful Mother, worn but still clear. You looked from the pendant up to him.
"Hollis, this is beautiful." Your voice came out low. "Where did you get this?"
"I've had it for a while," he said. His eyes were uncertain in a way you didn't often see — almost nervous. "Do you like it?"
"I love it." You smiled, a little shy, a little guarded with it. "So much."
Something left his chest then, like he'd been holding his breath long enough. He smiled back at you — gentle, soft. "Let me put it on you, then."
He stepped behind you, brushing your hair over your shoulder to fasten the clasp at the back of your neck. You felt his knuckles graze your skin, and then the small golden pendant settled against your chest.
You turned back to face him. His eyes dropped to it immediately, one hand pulling you closer while the other touched the pendant lightly, his long fingers brushing your skin. You covered his hand with yours.
"It looks right on you," he said.
There was something in his expression you couldn't quite place — not just the look he usually kept for you, but something underneath it, something older and less easy to read. It made you certain, without him saying so, that this wasn't something he'd produced on a whim.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
By the time you reached the hotel room, the alcohol was still doing funny things to you — tingling fingertips, a faint dizziness — but the sighs escaping your mouth and the heat spreading through your body were entirely Hollis's doing. His grip on your face, his other hand sliding down to grab your ass in that particular firm way that made you gasp against his mouth.
He unbuttoned your blouse as you worked at his shirt, mouths meeting and parting in the rush of it. Once he'd gotten your shirt off and stepped back to finish with his own, his gaze dropped to your body, catching sight of the lingerie underneath. He didn't comment — just stepped back in, hand trailing under your chin, down your neck, across your collarbone, your chest rising and falling under his touch. He toyed with the edge of your bra, then cupped your breast properly, thumb rubbing over your nipple through the thin lace. You had to press your lips together to keep quiet.
"You're trying to drive me crazy tonight." He kissed your face while his hand kept working, then your neck, then lower. You held onto his shoulders, scratching lightly along the muscle of his arms.
In one quick motion he lifted you off your feet, and a small surprised sound escaped you.
"I've got something for us," he said, carrying you to the bed. "Just a little treat."
You looked at him, confused, while he laid you down. Once you were beneath him he reached into his back pocket and produced a small plastic bag — something colorful and small inside, like little candies.
"What's this?"
"Molly." The name was familiar. You sort of knew what it was, just not exactly. He caught the look on your face. "Just something I want to try with you."
"Have you done it before? Is it safe? What does it actually do?" Your eyes kept flicking between the bag and his face. He laughed, hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing lightly.
"Yes, yes, and it just makes everything feel... better." He kissed your face, pulled a small laugh out of you. "But if you don't want to— "
"I do." Simple. "There's not really anything I wouldn't try with you."
He smiled — that wide smile, something like pride underneath it, and something else beneath that. "My girl."
He placed the small pill on your tongue, then took one himself. At first you didn't feel much of anything — your senses already overwhelmed by his mouth on your skin, kissing down your body, lifting your skirt, his face disappearing between your thighs. And then, right as he was working you with his mouth, it hit.
Like a flash of light filtering through everything you were thinking. The air seemed to ripple, faintly, like steam — the city lights through the window suddenly more vivid, more present than they had any right to be. When you looked at Hollis he seemed to glow, gold catching in his hair, his skin almost luminous. You blinked, trying to take him in properly, and when he looked up at you his eyes felt like something you could fall into. His tongue still moving against you, his hands holding you steady — every sensation arrived in waves you could feel all the way through your body.
"Fuck," you whispered, and caught the shape of his smile.
"You seeing it too, baby?" He paused, fingers taking over, slow circles over your nub. "We're glowing."
The rest of the night blurred into color and light and feeling — too much feeling, all of it at once. You felt him everywhere, under your skin even before he slid into you, and when he finally did it set you alight instantly. Neither of you talked much, and when you did you couldn't always tell if you'd actually said it out loud or just thought it loudly enough to feel like speech. Your body kept asking for him and he kept giving you everything he had.
It was restless in a way that didn't seem to want to end — even after you came, even after he finished inside you the first time and pulled you into his arms, neither of you was anywhere close to stopping. The heat of it stretched on for what felt like hours, slowly softening into something quieter and more intimate — his breath against yours, your hips rolling slow over him, his hands tight at your waist like he was trying to press himself into your skin.
By the time he finished the last time, you were both bare, you sitting up over him, holding his face in both hands, looking at him so directly it felt like a kind of conversation neither of you needed words for. Like you'd both silently agreed you'd reached some edge together and didn't need to go further tonight.
He smiled, lay back, pulled you down with him. Still inside you, both of you pulsing in time, you kissed him slow and messy for what felt like a long while, and somewhere in there you must have stopped and just settled into each other, because that's how you ended up — tangled together, quiet. Hollis fell asleep easily, the way he always did, but you stayed awake watching him for a while. Watching the light seem to drain slowly out of him, like something dimming. You looked down at your own skin and found it didn't glow the way his had, but every place he'd touched seemed to catch a faint shimmer, fading slowly the longer you watched it.
That's how you ended up at the window eventually, sheet wrapped around you, looking out at the city lights and the river beyond them.
"You really doing okay?" he asked.
"Yeah." A light laugh. "Maybe better than I've ever been."
You left the city that afternoon. There was still so much you hadn't seen, so many places that seemed to be calling you back — but something in you had settled. Like you'd reached some kind of peak that night, and there was nothing left this place could give you that would top it. You watched it shrink in the rearview, another small, glowing reflection behind you.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
You'd been noticing the strange sound Donna's car had been making ever since you left the hotel. Loud and repetitive, like the engine was whining at something. Hollis had noticed too, even if he pretended otherwise. Sometimes the car would shudder almost to a stop before catching itself again, and you'd look over at him and he'd keep his eyes on the road, expression neutral, performing calm.
The thing was, you were in the actual middle of nowhere. Nevada was emptier than any state you'd driven through — tall cornfields on either side of the highway, barely a car passing in either direction. Just miles and miles of forgotten road. According to the signs you still had hours before reaching anything, and the engine had been making that sound for two of them already.
It was no surprise, really, when it gave one final shuddering scream and the truck rolled to a stop on the shoulder.
You watched Hollis get out and lift the hood. Smoke came curling out and you heard his muffled "old piece of shit" before he kicked the front of the truck once, hard, then stood there with his back to you, staring at nothing in particular.
You got out and came to stand beside him.
"Hey." You reached for his arm. He didn't look at you. "Overheated again?"
"No. Not this time." He finally looked over. "This thing's done."
You stood next to him, staring at the dead engine the way you'd both stared at things that had no solution. Your phone showed no signal. No houses in sight. And after Utah, you weren't particularly eager to accept a stranger's hospitality.
A car passed, slowed briefly to look at you both, then accelerated away. Something lit up in your mind.
"Hollis— "
"Yeah, I know." He cut you off, frowning at the horizon. "I'm thinking, honey."
"I already thought," you said. He looked at you. "We need a car."
His brows pulled together at the obvious.
"We could steal one."
"What?"
"Ask for help," you said, "and then steal the car of whatever unlucky person stops for us."
He stared at you like you'd said something in another language. "Do you think anyone's going to stop for two people in the middle of nowhere? You're naive, honey."
"Who said two people?"
He frowned harder.
You laid it out for him. He'd hide in the cornfield — far enough in to be invisible, close enough to move fast. You'd wait by the car alone, flag someone down, play confused and helpless. When whoever stopped came around to check the engine, or whenever the moment was right, Hollis would step out with the gun and take the keys.
"So you'd be the bait," he said flatly.
"Essentially."
"No."
"Why not?!"
"Because it's risky," he said, like it was obvious. "And what happened to laying low? I thought we agreed."
"I don't know why we're laying low because you won't tell me." He opened his mouth and you kept going. "You said you'd explain in time. Fine. But since I still don't know the reason, this sounds like a pretty good option to me."
He looked flustered, which you privately enjoyed. He was losing the argument and he knew it.
"You really want to steal a car," he said. Less a question than a surrender.
You nodded. He sighed, brushed his hair back, and went to the truck to get his gun and his knife. You watched him come back, both in hand, and stop in front of you — close, looking down at you with that particular expression that meant he was choosing to trust you while still thinking it was a bad idea.
"Anything that puts you at risk will make things escalate very quickly," he said.
"I know." You held his gaze. "I trust you."
Something in his expression softened against his will. "My little devil," he murmured, leaning down to steal a quick kiss from your lips before tucking the gun at his waist and disappearing into the tall corn.
Three cars passed without slowing while you stood at the roadside with your hand raised. The fourth you almost missed — you were turning away in frustration when you heard an engine slow behind you and turned to find a large black pickup, a man inside leaning across the passenger seat to look at you through the window.
"Not really." You put your hand on the hood of Donna's truck. "My car just died on me. Or broke. I'm honestly not sure."
You did your best to sound clueless, which wasn't difficult. What was harder was ignoring the way his eyes moved over you when he first stepped out — a quick, assessing scan that you felt even if you didn't acknowledge it. He was apparently in his thirties, short, broad-shouldered, a wedding ring catching the light on his left hand.
He asked questions about the car — the sounds it had been making, the fuel, when it had last been serviced. You answered vaguely, which fit the role well enough.
"You coming from Arizona?" He glanced at the plate. "Not to be forward, but what's a girl like you doing traveling alone out here?"
You just wanted him to open the hood, give his back to the cornfield. But he leaned against the truck instead, looking at you with a settled, easy smile.
"Family emergency," you said. "Grandma's not well."
"What a devoted granddaughter." He smiled, leaning slightly closer, and you shifted back on instinct. "I'll be honest with you, I don't know much about engines. But I can give you a lift somewhere if you need it— "
The wind blew your face in a gust, pulling your hair across your face, and you reached up to push it away — but he got there first. His hand came to your cheek, fingers brushing the strands back slowly, unhurried, like it was a perfectly ordinary thing to do.
You went still.
The click of a gun being cocked cut through everything.
"Do not move," Hollis said from somewhere behind the man. The man started to turn. "I said don't."
"Hey, man, calm— "
He didn't finish. Hollis hit him — the butt of the pistol catching the side of his forehead in a sharp, heavy strike — and the man went down, barely catching himself on his knees before crumpling further. Blood ran immediately, red spreading across the side of his face, and his hand came up to cover it.
"Do you know this guy?" the guy asked you, voice shaking, eyes finding you.
"Do not speak to her." Another hit, same spot, harder. The man folded forward, groaning.
"I don't have any money— "
"I don't want your money." Hollis's voice was commanding in the way you'd heard before, but there was something underneath it now — sharper, less controlled. "I want your car keys."
Hollis came around to stand in front of him, mask already down, gun now pointed at you — you almost rolled your eyes at his little act. The man's hands shook as he held the keys out.
"Did you like her?" Hollis asked, taking them.
"I was just helping her, she was alone— "
"She was alone." He pointed the gun at the guy again "And that's how you help a girl on her own?"
Another strike. The man's head snapped sideways. He was crying now, quietly, both hands pressed to the asphalt.
"Please, I have a family— "
You'd been frozen, genuinely caught off guard by the degree of it, watching with wide eyes as Hollis kept going, kept hitting, kept threatening in that low controlled voice that somehow made it worse than shouting would have. The man kept glancing at you, and you almost felt it — his genuine belief that you were a victim in this, that you needed saving, which was its own complicated thing to sit with.
"If you look at her one more time," Hollis said, and you could hear the smile in it, "you won't go back to your family."
He hit him again. And again. The man was nearly fully forward now, barely holding himself up.
"Just take me," you said, stepping forward and catching Hollis' arm.
He turned slowly. His left hand was stained with the man's blood, and you felt it warm against your skin when he reached up and took your face in it, tilting your chin up. His eyes scanned yours for a moment through the mask.
"Want me to take you," he said, low, "or want me to stop hurting him?"
"Hey, let her— " The man started, and without looking away from you Hollis hit him again, almost absently.
"I want you to take me," you said. Your hand came to his wrist, steadying him there. Your other hand found the bottom of his mask and lifted it just below his nose.
He understood. He leaned down and kissed you — not urgent, not tender, something harder than both, like he was making a point with his mouth, releasing something through it. His blood-stained hand gripped your jaw. You felt his tongue against yours and your whole body answered it before you could decide anything.
When he pulled back you were both out of breath, a thin thread still connecting you. He was smiling.
Then he looked back at the man. You thought he was done. You thought.
He crouched to eye level, gun to the man's chin. "Don't worry. I'll be taking good care of her."
The man opened his mouth and Hollis's fist connected with his stomach. He coughed, folded completely, hands flat on the asphalt. Hollis straightened, nudged him aside with his boot, and turned to you.
"To the car," he said, handing you the keys.
You went. One last glance at the man on the ground. Hollis retrieved your bags from Donna's truck, then came around and placed the stuffed horse in your lap the moment he got in, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You held it against your chest. The same man who'd spent twenty minutes raging at a carnival shooting booth trying to win this thing for you. The same man who'd just done what you'd watched him do on the side of a Nevada highway. The contradiction wasn't something that surprised you anymore — wasn't something that scared you. It had settled into you somewhere along the way, sitting in your chest with a kind of terrible familiarity. That was the man you'd been helplessly falling for. Both of him.
Miles of silence. The afternoon sun burning hard through the windshield, bright and relentless. Hollis didn't put music on, which he always did.
"You didn't have to be that aggressive," you said finally.
"What?" He glanced over briefly.
"All that blood. All that— " You gestured. "It was unnecessary."
"You didn't have to be that friendly either," he said. "All that good girl shit."
"You're not serious right now."
"Dead serious."
"It was the plan, Hollis. I was the bait." Your voice pitched slightly. "That's what we agreed."
"Even baited me, apparently," he muttered.
"Oh, clearly. Which explains why you had to go full kidnapper with the gun to my face — did that make you feel powerful? Did it turn you on?"
His jaw tightened. You watched it happen and felt entirely inclined to keep going.
"You were deadass jealous," you said, the laugh escaping before you could stop it. "Of a man we were robbing."
"I was protecting you." Flat, unmoored.
"Protecting me from what? I was fine, I was— "
"From being recognized." He cut across you, quieter. "If he thinks you're a victim, you won't be linked to— " His voice stopped.
"Linked to what?" Silence. "Hollis."
"We've been seen." He kept his eyes on the road. "My old car, the one we left at Donna's. And you. An outside security camera. It caught your back getting into the car. Your hair. The side of your face. That's why I panicked. That's why we're not going to California yet."
You went quiet. Looked at him for a moment too long while you tried to process it — your image on a news segment somewhere, blurry and partial and real.
"That's why we're laying low," you said, barely above a whisper.
"Yes."
You stared ahead. Your arms tightened around the horse. You weren't sure you'd wanted to know — the ignorance of five minutes ago had been infinitely more comfortable than this. "They know who I am?"
"Not really, honey." His voice had shifted, gone gentler. "They said they're tracking the car and you're unidentified. The footage is poor quality. I'm just being careful."
You nodded. Said nothing else. The silence stretched into evening, the road unreeling in front of you, neither of you reaching for music or words to fill it.
"You know what?" he said eventually.
You looked at him.
"I was fucking jealous."
You hadn't expected that. You waited.
"I wanted to break every finger he touched you with," he said.
"Well." You exhaled slowly. "I'm proud of your restraint. You only broke a few ribs. Maybe gave him a concussion."
He laughed at that — light, genuine — and you joined him, the absurdity of it landing on both of you at the same time, fitting somehow, making the unreal make sense the way it had started to do lately. You felt it again — that specific relief of not being alone in whatever this was. Of having someone to share even the things that had no name.
The private plane had arrived later than expected, throwing off what was supposed to be a smooth arrival and turning it into a rushed, slightly chaotic scramble through the small island airport.
The air inside the terminal was warm and humid, clinging to your skin the moment you stepped inside, and between waiting on luggage and navigating through scattered groups of arriving tourists, your patience had already worn thin before you even made it outside.
By the time you and your best friend Kate finally made it to the car waiting outside, you were both exhausted in a way that felt disproportionate to how little you had actually done. The driver greeted you politely, already reaching for your bags, while you slid into the backseat with a tired groan and let your head fall against the leather seat.
Kate followed right after you, immediately kicking off her shoes and leaning her head back with a long exhale.
“I swear,” you muttered, staring out the tinted window as the airport lights faded behind you, “if I hear one more person say ‘welcome to paradise,’ I’m going to lose it.”
Kate let out a quiet laugh beside you, closing her eyes as if she might fall asleep right there.
The car pulled away smoothly, and almost immediately, the landscape outside began to change. The airport buildings disappeared behind clusters of palm trees, and suddenly the road opened up into something quieter, more remote, as if the world itself was slowing down around you.
The Maldives at night looked almost unreal.
Tall palm trees lined the roads, their leaves swaying gently in the warm breeze, while soft golden lights wrapped around their trunks and hung from branches like floating lanterns. Every so often, glimpses of the ocean appeared between the trees, reflecting faint ribbons of moonlight across its surface.
Even through your exhaustion, you couldn’t ignore how beautiful it was.
The tension in your shoulders loosened slightly as the air conditioning cooled your skin, and you shifted just enough to rest more comfortably against the seat.
“I might forgive the airport for ruining my life,” you said finally, watching the scenery pass by.
Kate hummed in agreement without opening her eyes.
The drive to the resort didn’t take long, but it felt long enough for your body to start drifting somewhere between awake and not quite asleep. Soft music played quietly through the car speakers, blending with the sound of tires against smooth pavement and the city around you.
By the time the driver slowed to a stop, your phone read just past midnight.
The moment the car door opened, warm night air spilled inside, wrapping around you instantly. You stepped out slowly, followed by Kate, and both of you paused without even saying anything.
The resort in front of you didn’t look real at first.
It stretched out like something from a dream, with glowing pathways lined in soft amber lights and tall palm trees framing every direction you looked. Lanterns in shades of gold, pink, and soft blue hung from branches, reflecting off infinity pools that blurred seamlessly into the ocean beyond.
Your suitcases were wheeled behind you as a staff member led the way down a stone pathway surrounded by tropical plants and softly lit gardens.
Your rooms were side by side, each with a small private porch that faced out toward the water.
The moment your bags were set down inside, you and Kate collapsed onto the outdoor chairs like your bodies had finally given up pretending to function.
Kate stretched her arms out dramatically, letting her head fall back.
“I think I’ve reached maximum exhaustion,” she said.
You let out a tired laugh, leaning back in your chair.
“That was, like, three hours of travel,” you replied.
Kate opened one eye to look at you. “And?”
You smiled slightly, shaking your head.
After a few seconds of comfortable silence, Kate turned her head toward you. “Are you going to bed?”
You considered it for a moment, glancing toward your room where the soft lighting spilled out through the open door. Your body was definitely tired, but your mind wasn’t ready to settle yet. There was still too much energy left in you, too much restlessness from the long day.
“I think I’m going to get a drink first,” you said finally.
Kate nodded immediately, like she had expected that answer.
“Okay, I’m going to pass out then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You stood up, smiling faintly. “Goodnight.”
After Kate disappeared into her room, the resort fell into a quieter rhythm around you. The distant sound of the ocean became more noticeable, no longer competing with conversation or movement, just steady and constant like background music.
You stayed outside for a few more seconds, leaning against the porch railing and letting the warm air settle against your skin.
Eventually, you pushed yourself up and stepped back inside your room.
The space was dimly lit and calm, designed in soft neutral tones. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one wall, showing nothing but ocean and night sky beyond them. The bed sat perfectly made, almost untouched.
For a moment, you just stood there, letting it sink in.
Then you headed straight for the shower.
By the time you stepped out, your skin felt lighter, your hair damp and loose around your shoulders, and your mind clearer than it had been all day.
You moved slowly as you got ready, pulling on a pair of small black shorts and a matching halter top. You added your black wedge sandals at the end, glancing at yourself in the mirror without much thought.
When you finally stepped outside again, the resort had grown even quieter.
The pathways were nearly empty now, lit by soft golden lights that reflected faintly on the stone beneath your feet. Somewhere in the distance, music played low and slow from the bar area, mixing with the sound of the ocean in a way that made everything feel slightly unreal.
The closer you got to the bar, the more the atmosphere shifted. It was still calm, still intimate, but there was a subtle hum of life now, the occasional laugh carried by the breeze, the faint clink of glasses, the soft glow of warm light spilling out into the open air.
And then you saw him.
At first, it was just the shape of someone sitting alone at the bar, angled slightly away from you. He looked relaxed in a way that felt like he belonged exactly where he was.
His long blond hair caught the light whenever he shifted slightly, and even from a distance, there was something about the way he carried himself that made you notice him before you even understood why.
You hesitated for half a second without realizing it.
Then you walked over and took a seat a few stools away from him, close enough to notice him but not close enough to acknowledge him directly.
You ordered your drink from the bartender without looking in his direction, even though you were aware of him in a way that felt mildly irritating.
When your drink arrived, you wrapped your fingers around the glass and took a slow sip, letting your attention drift outward toward the dark horizon beyond the bar instead of to your side.
Still, you could feel him there.
And eventually, the silence between you shifted.
“You from L.A.?”
His voice was calm, smooth, and far too confident for someone you hadn’t even spoken to yet.
You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you took another sip of your drink, letting the question sit in the air for a moment longer than necessary before you finally turned your head toward him.
He was already looking at you.
Up close, he was even more noticeable than you expected. Not in an overwhelming way, but in a way that made it slightly difficult to look away once you had started paying attention. His posture was relaxed, one arm resting casually against the bar, as if he had all the time in the world.
You tilted your head slightly.
“How’d you guess?” you asked, your tone calm but lightly amused.
His eyes moved over you for a brief second before meeting yours again.
“You’ve got that rich girl L.A. vibe,” he said simply.
You let out a quiet laugh through your nose.
“Rich girl L.A. vibe?”
He nodded once, like he was completely serious.
“It’s hard to miss.”
You turned slightly in your seat now, giving him your full attention, even though you told yourself it was just out of curiosity.
“And what exactly does that mean?” you asked.
He leaned back slightly, studying you for a moment like he was deciding how honest he wanted to be.
“It means you look like you’re used to people paying attention to you,” he said.
That answer made something pause in your chest, subtle enough that you almost ignored it.
Most people would have said something obvious. Spoiled. Princess. Maybe even stuck up if they were trying to be rude.
But this wasn’t that.
This felt more observant than judgmental.
You looked away first, taking another sip of your drink like it was suddenly more interesting than the conversation.
“Bold assumption,” you said lightly.
“I’m usually right,” he replied.
That made you smile despite yourself.
“Dangerous trait,” you said.
“For who?” he asked.
You glanced back at him again.
“Depends,” you said. “On how wrong you are.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips, like he enjoyed that answer more than he expected to.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The ocean behind the bar moved slowly in the background, the sound of waves filling the silence in a way that didn’t feel awkward. It felt like the silence was part of the conversation rather than a pause in it.
Then he finally spoke again.
“I’m Hollis,” he said.
You looked at him properly for the first time without pretending you weren’t.
And this time, you didn’t look away immediately.
“Don’t get cocky, Hollis,” you replied.
His smile widened slightly, like he had been waiting for that exact reaction.
He shifted slightly on his stool so he was angled more toward you now, not invading your space, but no longer pretending he was just casually existing beside you either.
The change was subtle, but noticeable enough that the conversation no longer felt like two strangers sitting near each other at a bar.
“You always this welcoming to people who introduce themselves?” he asked.
You took another sip of your drink before answering, letting the question hang in the air just long enough to make it clear you weren’t going to be rushed.
“Only the overly confident ones,” you said calmly.
He hummed, like he was considering that answer more seriously than it deserved.
“So I’m special,” he said.
You glanced at him over the rim of your glass.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you didn’t deny it either,” he replied easily.
That earned him a quiet laugh from you, despite the fact that you were very aware of how quickly this conversation was slipping into something more comfortable than it probably should have been.
The bartender passed behind you both, wiping down the counter, but neither of you really acknowledged anything outside the space forming between your stools.
“I’m Y/n,” you said finally, as if deciding he had waited long enough to earn it.
Hollis repeated your name under his breath almost immediately, slower this time, like he was testing how it sounded in his own voice.
“Y/n,” he said again, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That fits.”
You raised an eyebrow slightly. “Fits what exactly?”
He shrugged, leaning back a little as if the answer was obvious but he was choosing to enjoy making you ask.
You let out a small breath of amusement, shaking your head slightly.
“You say things like that a lot, don’t you?” you asked.
“Like what?”
“Vague things that sound like they mean more than they actually do.”
He looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment. “I think I just say what I notice,” he replied.
You studied him then, more carefully than before, as if that answer had moved him from “random guy at a bar” to something slightly harder to categorize.
The conversation should have felt like it was winding down at some point, like most interactions with strangers usually did. But instead, it kept unfolding, each answer leading into another question neither of you seemed in a rush to avoid.
At some point, you realized your drink was nearly gone.
You glanced down at the glass, slightly surprised you hadn’t noticed yourself finishing it.
“I should probably head back soon,” you said, mostly to yourself.
Hollis followed your gaze briefly, then looked back at you.
“Already?” he asked.
“It’s late,” you replied.
“That’s not really an answer,” he said.
You smiled slightly, setting your glass down.
“It is when you’re tired.”
He leaned forward a little, resting his forearms on the bar now, studying you in a way that felt less like flirting and more like he was trying to figure out whether you were serious.
“You don’t seem that tired,” he said.
“I hide it well,” you replied.
“Or you’re just not done yet,” he said.
That made you pause.
Not because it was profound, but because of how easily he said it, like he wasn’t trying to convince you of anything, just stating what he thought was true.
You tilted your head slightly.
“You don’t even know me,” you said.
“No,” he agreed calmly. “But I’m getting there.”
The way he said it wasn’t forceful or suggestive in an obvious way. It sounded more like a simple observation of time passing, like he fully expected that if you stayed here long enough, that statement would naturally become true.
That should have been irritating.
Instead, it stayed with you.
The bartender passed by again, and you hesitated for a moment before making a decision.
“Another drink?” he offered.
You opened your mouth to decline again, but Hollis spoke before you could.
“Let her have one more,” he said casually.
You turned to look at him immediately.
“I can speak for myself,” you said.
“I know,” he replied, completely unbothered. “But I also know you’re not actually leaving yet.”
That made your expression shift slightly, a mix of disbelief and amusement.
“You’re very confident for someone who just met me,” you said.
He smiled. “I’m observant, remember?”
You stared at him for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to the bar with a faint shake of your head.
“Fine,” you said. “One more.”
Hollis leaned back again like that outcome had been obvious from the start, while you tried not to think too hard about how easily you’d stayed.
And how little you actually wanted the night to end yet.
The bartender nodded and turned away to prepare your drink, leaving a brief stretch of quiet space between you and Hollis.
He didn’t rush to fill it immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his seat again, resting one arm loosely against the counter as if he was perfectly content sitting there without speaking.
It was a small detail, but it made him feel less like someone trying to impress you and more like someone who had no problem simply existing in the same moment as you.
You found yourself noticing that more than you expected.
“You always this calm?” you asked after a moment, glancing at him from the side.
He looked at you like the question amused him slightly.
“I don’t think I’m calm,” he said.
“What do you think you are then?” you asked.
He considered that for a second, eyes drifting briefly toward the ocean before returning to you.
“Patient,” he said finally.
That answer made you smile without meaning to.
“You’ve known me for like twenty minutes,” you said.
“I know,” he replied easily. “But I’m not in a rush.”
The bartender placed your drink in front of you, and you thanked him quietly before wrapping your fingers around the glass again. The cold condensation immediately grounded you, giving you something to focus on besides the conversation sitting beside you.
Still, Hollis’s words lingered in the back of your mind in a way you didn’t fully acknowledge.
You took a slow sip before speaking again.
“You’re from here?” you asked.
He shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Just staying here for a bit.”
“Vacation?” you asked.
“Something like that,” he replied.
You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. Instead, he just watched you for a second, like he was deciding whether or not to give more.
You tilted your head slightly.
“That’s very vague,” you said.
He smiled faintly.
“I know.”
You exhaled a quiet laugh through your nose.
“You’re kind of annoying,” you said, though there was no real edge to it.
“I’ve been told that too,” he replied.
“I believe it,” you said.
He nodded like that was fair.
The bar had grown even quieter now. A few stools down, someone laughed softly at something their friend said, and beyond that, the ocean rolled in steady, distant waves.
You found yourself glancing toward it for a second longer than you intended.
You finished your drink slower this time, setting the glass down with a quiet tap against the counter.
“I should go,” you said again, though it sounded less certain than before.
Hollis glanced at your empty glass, then back at you.
“You said that already,” he reminded you.
“I mean it this time,” you replied.
He nodded like he accepted that, though he didn’t move right away.
Instead, he just looked at you for a second longer, then finally he spoke.
“Let me walk you back,” he said.
The words were simple. Casual. Almost expected.
You should have said no immediately.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you hesitated just long enough for the silence to shift slightly between you.
“I can walk myself back,” you said finally.
“I’m sure you can,” he replied. “I still want to.”
That answer made you look at him more carefully.
There was no push in his voice. No insistence. Just certainty without pressure, like it wasn’t about whether you needed it, but whether he wanted to do it.
After a beat, you sighed softly and slid off the stool.
“Fine,” you said. “But don’t make it weird.”
A faint grin returned to his face immediately.
“No promises,” he said, standing as well.
He stepped slightly to the side, giving you space to lead, but then paused as if remembering something, and extended his hand.
And for reasons you didn’t fully feel like analyzing, you took it.
Hollis didn’t say anything immediately after you took his hand again. He simply adjusted his pace to match yours, and together you stepped away from the bar, leaving behind the warm glow of the counter and the low hum of conversation that had filled the space only moments before.
The night outside felt different the moment you left the open-air bar.
It was quieter in a way that made everything feel more personal. The resort pathways were lit by soft golden lights embedded into the ground, casting faint reflections across the stone and sand as you walked. Palm trees lined the paths on either side, their leaves shifting slowly in the warm breeze that carried the scent of saltwater and tropical flowers.
You were suddenly more aware of the fact that it was late.
Not because you were tired.
But because it was just the two of you now.
Hollis walked beside you without pulling ahead or falling behind. His hand still held yours loosely, not tightly enough to feel restrictive, but not absent enough to forget either.
“So,” he said after a few moments, his voice quieter now that the bar was behind you, “you always this selective with strangers, or did I get lucky?”
You glanced at him briefly before looking ahead again, letting your steps stay steady.
“I’m not selective,” you replied. “I’m just not easily entertained.”
That earned a small laugh from him, low and amused.
“Yeah,” he said, “I noticed.”
You shot him a quick sideways look.
“You noticed a lot for someone I met an hour ago.”
“Noticed enough,” he corrected.
The answer made you roll your eyes slightly, though the smile you were trying to hide didn’t fully cooperate.
The path curved gently, leading you on the path ahead and the glow of your villa area started to come into view. The resort felt even quieter here, almost private, like the rest of the world had been left behind somewhere near the bar.
The closer you got, the more the night seemed to settle around you, like it was gently reminding you that the moment was nearing its end.
You slowed as you reached your door.
Hollis slowed with you.
Neither of you let go immediately.
There was a pause that felt longer than it should have, like both of you were acknowledging without saying it that something about the night had shifted.
Finally, his hand slowly loosened first, like he was giving the moment back to you instead of taking it away.
You let your hand fall naturally to your side, though you were suddenly more aware of the absence than you expected to be.
“Well,” you said, glancing at your door, then back at him, “this is me.”
“I figured,” he replied.
There was a faint smile on his face, but it was quieter now. Less playful than before, more thoughtful in a way you couldn’t quite place.
“You should sleep,” he added.
You raised an eyebrow slightly. “That’s very considerate of you.”
“It’s observational,” he said, repeating the earlier word.
That made you smile despite yourself.
“Goodnight, Hollis,” you said.
He nodded once. “Goodnight, Y/n.”
You turned toward your door, but paused just before stepping inside. For a moment, you weren’t entirely sure why you stopped.
You just looked back.
Hollis was still standing there, not moving away immediately, not rushing the moment. Just watching for a second longer, as if making sure you actually went inside before leaving.
And somehow, that detail stayed with you longer than anything he had said all night.
Then you stepped inside and closed the door gently behind you.
The room was quiet when you entered, the soft hum of the air conditioning filling the space almost instantly. But even with the silence, your thoughts didn’t settle the way they usually did.
Because the night didn’t feel like it had ended the way nights normally do.
It felt like it had simply paused.
You exhaled slowly, almost like you were trying to reset yourself, and finally moved further into the room. You kicked off your wedges near the bed and let yourself fall back onto it for a moment without changing, staring up at the ceiling as if it might offer some kind of explanation for why a conversation you had planned to be meaningless now felt like it wasn’t.
It was annoying, really.
Eventually, you got up and changed properly for bed, though your movements were slower than before. When you finally slipped under the sheets, the room went quiet again in that heavy, uninterrupted way that only late nights can create.
You expected sleep to come easily after the travel and the long day.
It didn’t.
Instead, your mind replayed small fragments of the night in pieces you didn’t fully control. The sound of his voice saying your name. The way he looked at you when he wasn’t trying to make a joke. The brief weight of his hand in yours as you walked through the resort like the world around you didn’t matter.
Eventually, sleep found you anyway, though it didn’t feel like a decision.
☀︎༄.°
The sun against your face woke you slowly from your sleep, warm and gentle in a way that made it hard to fully separate dream from reality at first. You shifted in bed with a soft yawn, blinking a few times before you finally sat up and rubbed your face, still half-dazed as the morning settled in.
A loud knock came from your door.
It was sharp enough to cut through the haze, and the moment it did, the memories from the night before rushed back into you all at once. The bar. The walk. Hollis. Your thoughts paused for a second as you sat there, staring forward like your mind needed a moment to catch up to itself.
The knock came again, louder this time.
You got up quickly and crossed the room, opening the door to find Kate already standing there, fully dressed and far too awake for someone who had also just arrived at a resort after travel.
“Y/n!” she said immediately, stepping inside without waiting. “How long were you up last night? Go get ready right now.”
You sighed softly but didn’t argue, moving aside as she walked in like she belonged there. She immediately went to the speaker and turned on music, filling the room with sound that made everything feel less quiet, less like your thoughts had room to linger.
☀︎༄.°
The morning unfolded around you as you got ready, Kate talking nonstop in the background while you slowly shifted into the day. The resort outside was already bright and alive when you finally stepped out, sunlight reflecting off the water and stone paths, everything looking too perfect to feel entirely real.
It didn’t take long before you saw him.
Hollis was by the pool with a few friends, laughing and talking so relaxed and effortlessly in a way that didn’t try to pull attention but still somehow held it. And the second his eyes found yours, everything around him seemed to fade out just slightly, like the rest of the world had been pushed back without either of you moving.
Kate noticed immediately beside you.
“Y/n,” she said slowly, leaning in with a knowing look. “Who is that hot blond man that is staring at you?”
You broke eye contact first, turning slightly toward her as if that would reset your thoughts.
You lifted your drink and shrugged. “Some guy I met at the bar last night.”
Her reaction was instant, her eyes widening. “Is that why you went to bed late?”
You groaned lightly, shaking your head. “He was talking to me for a bit, then he walked me back to my room. That’s it. Nothing crazy happened.”
Kate looked at you like she didn’t believe a single word of that version of events.
“You totally want something to happen though,” she said.
Your head snapped toward her immediately. “As if. I met him less than twenty-four hours ago, Kate.”
She rolled her eyes like that detail didn’t matter at all. “We’re not in L.A. The rules don’t count here.”
That made you pause for half a second longer than you meant to.
Your gaze drifted back toward the pool before you could stop it.
Hollis was in the water now.
Shirtless.
You watched him for a moment longer than necessary, your fingers lightly resting against your glass as your attention stayed fixed without you fully admitting it. Then, as if he felt it, he glanced up and shot you a wink.
You looked away immediately, turning back to Kate like nothing had happened, though your expression didn’t fully match your voice.
“Do you really think so?” you asked quietly.
Kate didn’t even hesitate. “You know what makes a vacation better? A hot man to fuck during it.”
You groaned and leaned your head back slightly. “Fuck, you’re right.”
The realization settled between you both for a moment, and then you both burst into laughter, like the idea itself was ridiculous even though neither of you fully treated it like a joke.
☀︎༄.°
The rest of the day passed easily.
A trip to the beach, a massage, a few drinks that made everything feel softer and slower, and constant moments where your eyes kept drifting back to Hollis without you meaning them to. Sometimes he was closer, sometimes farther, but he always felt present in a way that didn’t fully leave your awareness.
By the time the sun began to set again, the resort had shifted into evening.
You were back in your room now, standing in front of the mirror as you touched up your makeup, deepening it slightly for the night. You changed into a mini black lace two-piece that felt simple but intentional, like it belonged to the version of you that existed after sunset rather than during the day.
A knock came at your patio doors.
When you opened the blinds, Hollis was standing there.
He had changed too, now wearing a silk black button-up that hung slightly open at the top. He looked at you for a moment without speaking, his gaze moving over you slowly, taking his time, before he let out a quiet breath through his nose.
“You look gorgeous,” he said.
You didn’t hesitate. “I know, Hollis.”
His mouth twitched slightly, like he was amused but trying not to show it too much.
“You’re a brat, you know that?” he said.
You leaned lightly against the doorframe, completely steady as you looked up at him.
“Get used to it,” you replied.
Then he stepped closer, not fully inside, but close enough that the space between you shifted.
“You barely know me, Y/n,” he said quietly.
The way he said your name lingered a little longer this time.
Then he added, just as calmly, “You like that, don’t you? You don’t know a goddamn thing about me — yet you still want to keep me around.”
You let out a soft laugh, controlled but sharp enough to respond.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Wanting to use you for a week and wanting to keep you around are two different things.”
That made him pause slightly.
Just long enough to register it.
Then he scoffed lightly, though it didn’t carry frustration.
“Brat,” he said again.
You fake-pouted slightly. “That hurt your feelings?”
He extended his hand again. “Come. Don’t fight me.”
You hesitated only briefly before taking it.
And the second your fingers met his again, it felt exactly like before.
He led you out of your room without another word, and the resort outside had fully shifted into evening.
You walked beside him naturally, your steps falling into his without effort.
After a moment, you glanced up at him.
“Dinner is going to close soon,” you said.
He didn’t look at you when he answered. “I got something better than dinner for you, girl.”
You turned your head slightly to look at him as you walked, trying to read his expression, but Hollis wasn’t looking at you. His focus stayed forward, completely unbothered, as if whatever he had planned was already settled in his mind and you were simply following the direction it was going.
The words should have sounded vague. They should have made you slow down, question him, maybe even push back.
Instead, something in the way he said it made your attention sharpen.
Your eyes widened just slightly before you caught yourself, and you suppressed the reaction quickly, letting it turn instead into something closer to a smirk you didn’t fully admit to.
“Oh yeah?” you said, your voice lighter now, but with a shift in energy that even you couldn’t ignore.
That small change was enough.
Your steps subtly quickened behind him without you needing to think about it, like your body had already decided to follow before your mind fully signed off on it.
Hollis noticed, of course.
Not in a way that made him stop or look back, but in the faintest shift of his hand around yours, his grip tightening just slightly as he guided you forward through the resort.
You didn’t ask where he was taking you.
Not yet.
The confidence in his pace made it feel unnecessary.
Eventually, he led you to a different section of the resort. The buildings here were similar in design to yours, but quieter, more tucked away, with fewer people passing through and less sound drifting between the walkways. It felt like a mirrored version of where you had come from, just more isolated.
He stopped in front of one of the rooms.
His hand didn’t leave yours as he reached forward, unlocking the door and stepping inside first, pulling you in with him without hesitation. The moment you crossed the threshold, the outside noise softened instantly, replaced by the quiet, enclosed calm of the room.
It looked almost identical to yours.
Clean, minimal, dimly lit in a way that made everything feel slower the second you were inside.
Hollis didn’t say anything for a beat.
He simply stepped further in with you, then reached back toward the door.
With one smooth motion, he flipped the “Do Not Disturb” sign.
The small click of the lock followed right after.
And only then did he turn slightly back toward you, still holding your hand, like nothing about the situation needed to be explained out loud.
He slid his hand away from yours and settled it firmly on your waist, drawing you in until his body pressed flush against you. Then he pulled back, circling around to the mini fridge.
He grabbed a chilled bottle of champagne and two glasses, pouring without a word. You moved closer as he handed you a glass. You both drank in silence, the bubbles sharp on your tongue while heat coiled low in your belly.
He set his glass down and stepped in again, fingers gripping your chin to tilt your face up. “Tell me, y/n… have you been a good girl today, or a bad girl?”
Your lips parted, but his hold tightened. “Don’t lie.”
You swallowed hard. “Bad,” you whispered.
“Louder.”
“Bad. I’ve been a bad girl.”
He exhaled through his nose, thumb stroking your cheek before he walked you backward until the bed pressed against your thighs. “Do you know what happens to bad girls?”
You shook your head.
“Do you want to find out?”
The smile that curved your mouth was answer enough. His palm settled on top of your head and pushed down. “On your knees.”
You dropped to the wooden floor, the impact sending a small jolt through your legs. You rubbed your cheek against the growing bulge in his pants, earning a low curse from him.
He unbuckled and shoved his pants down, then you hooked your fingers into his boxers and dragged them off slowly, revealing the sharp cut of his hips. His cock sprang free and slapped lightly against your face. You whined at the weight of it.
Both hands wrapped around his shaft, but he clicked his tongue. “Top off. I want to see those pretty tits.”
You stripped from the waist up without hesitation, then looked up at him as you took his cock into your mouth. He groaned, hips twitching as your tongue pressed along the underside.
You worked him deeper, gagging when the head hit the back of your throat, spit running down your chin. You pulled off with a gasp, then licked a slow circle around the tip before sucking it back between your lips, hands stroking the rest of his length.
“Just like that,” he growled. “Fuck.”
His thighs tensed. He pulled out of your mouth and stepped back. You wiped the mix of spit and precum from your lips with two fingers and sucked them clean. He shook his head, eyes dark.
Lay back," he ordered.
"On the floor?"
He gave a single nod. "Good girls get fucked on beds. Bad girls get pounded on the floor. Understand?"
You swallowed. "I understand."
You eased down onto the cold wooden planks, the chill racing up your spine. He moved over you, eyes locked on yours, then yanked your skirt down in one motion and ripped your panties away. The sudden exposure pulled a sharp gasp from your throat. He only smiled, sweet and dangerous.
Reaching behind you, he grabbed a condom from the drawer, tore it open, and rolled it down his rigid cock. His gaze searched your face for any hesitation. Finding none, he leaned in and kissed you, both of you humming into it. His mouth trailed along your jaw, down your neck, and to your ear while his cock slid along your wet folds.
"You’ve been bad," he murmured, "but you’re going to take every inch like a good girl."
You whimpered. "Okay…"
"Louder."
"Okay!"
He thrust in halfway. Your breath caught, then broke into a whimper. "You good?" he asked.
You nodded.
"Halfway, baby."
Your eyes widened. He chuckled, then pushed the rest of the way in, slow and deliberate. A long, broken moan tore from your throat. He cursed under his breath and held still, buried deep.
"So fucking tight," he groaned. "So warm."
Your fingers slid into his long golden hair and dragged his mouth back to yours.
Hollis's chest pressed down onto yours, his weight pinning you to the cold floor. His hips rolled, driving his cock in and out in slow, deliberate strokes that let you feel every inch stretching you open. Once your body loosened around him, his pace shifted. He slammed into you harder, each thrust jolting your spine against the wood.
You cried out, the sound raw. Hollis sank his teeth into the side of your neck, biting down until you whined. The sharp sting blended with the deep ache of his cock pounding you, fogging your thoughts.
He fucked you faster, his hips snapping forward without mercy. Your nails raked across his back, leaving red lines that welled with blood. A droplet slid down his arm. You gasped at the sight.
"F-fuck," you moaned.
His rhythm never faltered. "Still being a bad girl?"
"I'm sorry!" you choked out.
He scoffed. One hand slid up your chest, thumb circling and pinching your nipples until they stiffened under his touch. His palm continued upward and wrapped around your throat.
His fingers tightened, cutting off your air just enough to make your pulse hammer. You gasped, eyes wide, as he drove into you even harder. His cock hammered that spot inside you that made your vision spark.
"Right there—fuck, Hollis, right there!"
His grip on your neck clamped down harder. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes.
"Cum on my cock while I choke you out, baby. You like that?"
You nodded frantically, voice breaking. "I love it!"
He groaned, his thrusts turning erratic. "Not just a bad girl—you're a fucking slut. My fucking slut."
You nodded again, mindless, pleasure cresting until your stomach clenched tight. Your head tipped back and a loud moan tore from your throat. Your pussy spasmed around him, squeezing and pulsing as you soaked his cock and the floor beneath you. Hollis buried himself to the hilt, groaning as he emptied into the condom, his body shuddering against yours.
You slump against the cool tile floor, your chest heaving as your eyes flutter shut, trying to catch your breath. The air in the room feels thick, charged with the lingering electricity of what just happened. Hollis slowly releases his grip on your throat, his fingers leaving faint, fading imprints on your skin.
Without a word, he immediately leans down, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the exact spot his hand just vacated, as if apologizing with his lips.
"Was that okay?" he murmurs softly, his breath warm against your collarbone.
You nod weakly, your fingers finding their way back into his damp hair, tugging him slightly closer. Hollis lets out a low breath and allows himself to fully relax against you for a second, his heavy frame a comforting weight.
He kisses his way up your jawline, trailing fire along your skin until he reaches your lips for one more slow, bruising kiss before abruptly rising from the floor.
"Hollis, what are you doing—"
Your question is cut short as his strong arms slide under your knees and back, scooping you up into his chest in one fluid motion. A sharp ache ripples through your overstimulated body, causing you to wince and bury your face in his neck, but you willingly ignore the soreness as he carries you down the short hallway and into the bathroom.
He sets you down on the edge of the marble counter. Your legs feel like jelly, and you have to grip the edge of the sink just to keep yourself upright while he reaches into the shower to turn the water on. The hiss of pipes echoes in the space, and steam quickly begins to fog up the mirror. Within seconds, Hollis turns back to you. You instinctively wrap your legs tightly around his waist as he lifts you again, stepping over the threshold and into the big glass shower.
The blast of warm water cascades over your shoulders, immediately soaking your hair and washing away the tight tension in your muscles. Hollis sways you slowly in his hold under the downpour, letting the spray rinse the evidence of your intense connection down the drain.
"I want you again," you whisper against his ear, your lips brushing his wet skin, emboldened by the heat of the shower.
Hollis pauses his swaying, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. "You’re sore," he tells you, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and concern.
You shake your head stubbornly against his shoulder. "I’m serious, Hollis." You pull back, wiping the water from your eyes so you can look him dead in the face.
"You won’t be able to walk properly tomorrow," he warns, a wicked smirk finally tugging at the corners of his mouth.
You match his look with a challenge of your own. "Good thing I don’t have anywhere to be."
He stares at you for a long, heavy beat, his dark eyes darkening further under the pulsing water. Carefully, he lets your legs slide down his body until your feet touch the wet tile floor. Your knees give out slightly from the sudden weight, and he catches your waist, chuckling softly as you stabilize yourself.
He gently guides your hips, prompting you to bend forward. You press both palms flat against the slick glass door for support, your fingers sliding slightly against the condensation.
He steps flush against your back, his thighs pressing into the backs of yours. You feel him — already completely hard again — teasing your entrance, the blunt head of his length frictioning against you.
"Fuck, let me go get another condom," he mutters against your neck, his hands sliding off your hips as he makes a move to step out of the streaming water.
Before he can step away, you reach back blindly and catch his forearm, your grip tight. When he stops and looks down at you through the steam, you look over your shoulder and simply shake your head. Hollis raises a single, questioning eyebrow, a silent question passing between you, but he doesn't argue.
Pressing his chest hard against your back again, he traps you against the glass. He guides the tip to your opening, and with the heavy cascade of water acting as a natural lubricant, he pushes forward. He slips all the way inside you in one smooth, agonizingly deep stroke.
A breathless, echoing moan escapes your lips as he bottoms out, your forehead resting against the cool glass door. His movements are heavy and deliberate, slower than before but packed with a grueling intensity.
His large hands grip your hips, fingers digging in to anchor you as he pulls back and drives in again. He watches with hooded eyes how your body reacts, the water making your skin glisten with every deep, rhythmic thrust. He leans forward, pressing his lips to the curve of your spine, and the shift in his weight drives him even deeper inside you.
Your moans slip out in rapid succession, bouncing off the tiled walls. At this point, you don't care how loud you're being. Sensing your undoing, Hollis's pace begins to quicken, his thrusts becoming sharper, harder.
His right hand slides down from your hip, slipping between your thighs until his fingers find your swollen clit. Pulling your upper body back until your spine is flush against his chest, he traps you in his embrace while his fingers begin to rub the sensitive nub in tight, urgent circles. Your legs begin to shake uncontrollably under the dual stimulation, the overwhelming friction inside and out turning your body to jello.
"Oh—shit!" you whimper, your fingers clawing at him as the tight coil in your stomach tightens to a breaking point.
"I’m gonna cum, baby. I need you to cum for me," Hollis growls in your ear, his breathing ragged, his chest heaving violently against your back.
Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your gaze rolling back until your eyes lock onto his. He watches you with a fierce, possessive intensity, his hips and fingers working in perfect, cruel synchronization.
"Such a good girl for me," he praises, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.
You moan loudly, refusing to break eye contact for even a fraction of a second as your walls suddenly clench, your body completely coming undone and convulsing around him in a violent orgasm.
The sensation triggers him instantly. He fucks you hard through the tight pulses of your release before quickly pulling out, painting your lower back with his own warm release just as the water washes it away.
Eventually, the water runs a little cooler. You both finish washing up, the quiet routine filled with soft touches, before wrapping yourselves in plush towels and stepping back out into the cool air of the bedroom.
"I should probably head back to my room," you say, a sudden wave of hesitation washing over you as you look at his large bed.
Hollis stops mid-stride, his brows furrowing into a deep frown. "What? You’re not going anywhere tonight."
Your heartbeat picks up a frantic, happy rhythm, a small, involuntary smile taking over your face. "You want me to stay?"
He rolls his eyes playfully at the question, suddenly lunging forward. You let out a genuine shriek of surprise as he scoops you up once more, tossing you gently onto the mattress. The springs squeak loudly beneath your weight, and before you can even sit up, he climbs on top of you, pinning your legs with his thighs.
"Of course I want you to stay," he murmurs, his expression softening as he looks down at you.
You giggle, reaching up to frame his face, but your laughter is cut short as his lips crash onto yours in a deep, lazy kiss.
BANG. BANG.
A sharp, aggressive knock suddenly echoes from the front door, cutting through the quiet room. You both freeze instantly, your breath catching in your throats. Hollis stays suspended over you, his eyes wide. Another heavy knock sounds, louder this time. Neither of you dares to breathe, let alone move.
Then, a muffled, incredibly pissed-off voice cuts straight through the wood: "Can you keep it fucking down? You already woke like three of us up!"
The sound of heavy, furious footsteps immediately follows, fading down the hallway as the angry woman marches back to her own room.
For a second, the room is dead silent. Then, you clamp both hands tightly over your mouth, a breathless laugh of pure, panicked disbelief bubbling out of you. Hollis lets out a sharp snort, his shoulders shaking, and within seconds, the tension breaks. You both burst into a quiet, hysterical laughing fit, buried against each other to muffle the sound.
Once the giggles finally die down into tired sighs, you both kick off the damp towels and crawl under the heavy covers. Hollis pulls you flush against his chest, your bare bodies tangling together under the sheets, finally settling in for the rest of the night.
☆ On a day where the both of you don’t work, you spend it having a lazy day in at Hollis’ house.
disclaimer: read diewithme and starfall before this! and probably some of the other oneshots for better context but its not required
tags: midwest!hollis, domestic vibes, taking a bath together, slightly weird and offputting/pervert mw hollis returns, couch sex, creampie, p in v, lowkey footjob? very brief lol, fluff and smut
w/c: 2k
a/n: i miss mw hollis so here’s a smutty domestic one shot lmao. as usual no talking/screenshotting this fic outside of tumblr thank u
Like most days, you woke up in Hollis’ bed next to him. Opening your eyes, his naked chest came into your vision.
Without thinking, you poked his nipple. His face stirred, and he made a sound. You giggled and continued to poke his pecs.
You gasped when his eyes opened suddenly.
“Handsy.” He said, grabbing your wrist and smirking.
“I woke you?”
“Wasn’t that your intention?” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and checked his phone. “No work today for the both of us.” He showed his phone to you, showing that it was Tuesday, 10 AM.
“That means we get to laze around all day.” You leaned in to give him a quick kiss. “Where is Kitty?” Kitty, who was usually on the bed with you both somewhere, was nowhere to be found.
Hollis stretched and groaned, sitting up and noticing the door slightly opened. “Probably somewhere knocking shit over.”
“I’m going to take a bath, I think.” You said after finishing the brunch Hollis made you. You were in the kitchen, putting the dishes in the sink.
Hollis looked at you from the couch. “Oh, I was about to go in. But you can go first.”
“Why don’t you just join me?” You suggested, getting a towel out of the drawer below the bathroom sink.
Hollis snickered. “Will I even fit?”
“Won’t know if you don’t try.” You smiled slyly, taking your shirt off in front of him. His eyes stayed glued to your body, especially when your bare breasts fell out of the shirt. “Coming?” You walked into the bathroom.
He shook himself out of his trance. “Yeah.” He got up from the couch to follow you.
You continued undressing yourself, sliding your panties off. You started running the water, finding a middle ground between extremely hot, what you preferred, and warm, what he preferred.
Hollis was undressing himself behind you. You looked behind yourself to find him completely naked.
Something in you compelled you to get closer to him. His eyes focused on yours. His face was red despite seeing you so many times like this.
“No funny ideas.” You smirked, poking his soft penis. It was surrounded by a small tuft of hair. “Okay? It’s just a bath.”
He swallowed hard, and his adam’s apple bobbed. He wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you closer.
“Hmm? What’s gotten into you?” You purred, hugging him back.
He pressed a wet kiss onto your lips. “Just lovin’ you.” He went in again for a longer kiss.
“The water….is going to overflow.” You broke from the kiss to check the bath. “It’s done. You get in first.”
Hollis followed your request and sat down. He really did take up most of the bathtub.
“I’ll have to sit in your lap, I think.”
“Go ahead.” He replied softly. He didn’t seem mad about that at all.
You stepped in between his legs and sunk down. Some of the water fell out of the side of the tub.
“There we go. We both fit.” You grinned. His hands wrapped around your waist. You felt his soft dick poking you from behind. The mischievous side of you really wanted to tease him. “Want to wash my back first? I’ll try and do yours after.”
“Lean forward just a bit.”
You did so. Hollis put some soap on your back. It felt a little cold, so you shivered.
“You okay?” He giggled. “Cute.”
He lathered the soap on your entire back, gently massaging you. “Is there any place you want me to scratch or massage?”
“My upper back feels tense.”
“Up here?” He applied some pressure by the lower end of your neck.
“Yes. Ah…that’s good.” You moaned softly.
He continued rubbing your back with soap. He used the back scrubber as well, but stayed gentle with it.
“You can be rougher…”
“This good?” He scrubbed with more force.
“Yes. Thank you…” You hummed in relaxation.
When he was done, he put the back scrubber to the side and started lathering with soap again. His hands cupped your breasts.
“Hey!” You giggled.
“What? I’m just bathing you…” He lathered your breasts with soap.
“You’re being a pervert. I feel you down there, you know!”
“No you don’t.”
His dick was slightly twitching with interest. It was hard not to, with the love of his life in front of him like this.
“Well, it’s my turn now.” The water splashed as you suddenly got up from his lap. You stood outside of the tub, your body dripping with water and soap. His eyes didn’t leave your body. “Make your back face me.”
Hollis lovingly rolled his eyes and turned his back to you. You squirted a bit of soap on your hands and did the same thing he did to you, to him.
“Any spots need massaging?”
“My lower back.”
You focused on his lower back. “Jeez, it’s tense down here. You can always ask for massages, you know.”
“You’re always sleepin’ whenever I want them…”
“Well, ask when I’m not sleep.” You got back in the tub, facing him this time. His eyes darted from the bottom of your body to the top. “Eyes up here.” You pointed to your eyes.
“They are.” He smiled guiltily.
You pinched his nipple.
“Hey— who’s the pervert now?” He started tickling your sides.
“That’s not fair!” You choked out between uncontrollable giggles.
⋆｡°✩
You both dried yourself off in his room. He had a section in his drawer that was just your clothes. You had brought some from your parents house, since you spent most of your time there. It was more convenient that way.
“I think most of the water ended up on the floor.”
“And whose fault is that, huh?” You walked up to him, still naked, but now dry. He kissed you once more, holding your lower back. You pulled back from him once his touches started to intensify.
“You are such a tease.” He said as you walked over to his drawer, putting on clothes.
“We’re gonna miss our show if you don’t hurry up and get dressed.” You threw a shirt at him.
The whirr of the AC working overtime and the TV were the only sounds in the living room.
You both sat on the couch. Hollis was on one side and you were on the other. You had your legs laid across it, with your feet in his lap.
His eyes were glued to the screen. He liked this show more than you did. You found it slightly amusing, but you preferred to watch his cute facial expressions. You wanted to see them more and more.
That’s when an idea went through your head. You slowly, as to do it without him noticing, angled your right foot to his crotch. He had basketball shorts on, it was easy to find it.
Surprisingly enough, the sensation of his cock being touched like this through his shorts didn’t show on his face yet. So you went further with a smirk on your face.
You used your foot to rub him through the shorts. You bit your lip when you felt it twitch.
Hollis silently looked down. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” You continued rubbing him.
“Stop that.” He giggled.
“Or what?”
His hand wrapped around your ankle. You thought for a second he wanted you to stop, but he began rutting against it slightly.
“Weirdo…” You teased.
“I’m weird? Look what you’re doing…”
He seemed really pent up. Probably from seeing your body earlier, you thought. His breath sped up as you went faster. A small wet spot formed on the outside.
A smile crept on your face and you suddenly pulled your foot off.
“Wh…fuck. Why…” He caught his breath, being so close to the edge and being denied of it.
“You want to cum in your pants instead of me?” He turned to see you undressing your bottom already. You spread your legs on the couch, revealing yourself to him. “Come on.”
He desperately climbed in between them. He dropped his shorts at the speed of light, jerking himself off a bit before rubbing the outside of your pussy with his tip.
“Put it in already.”
“I’m not gonna last long…” He let out a big sigh he was holding as it slipped in, warm wetness engulfing his length.
You felt him enter you. After teasing him the whole morning, it felt good to finally let him in.
He set a quick pace immediately, and you took it all, wrapping your legs around his lower half and scratching at his back.
“Mm, yeah. Fuck me…” You whined near his ear.
“Stop talking…” His thrusts slowed a bit.
“Why? Gonna cum?” You squeezed around him on purpose. He winced, trying not to cum.
“Yes.” He gave you a sloppy kiss in between words. “You feel so fucking good. I’ll never get tired of this. Shit.” He let out a breathy laugh, going in for another kiss.
You moaned into his mouth when he started rubbing your clit with his thumb. You almost felt like you were going to fall off the couch with how rough and desperate the sex was.
Hollis groaned loudly and his hips stuttered. Ropes of white landed in your pussy, and not a drop landed outside of it. “That’s… what you get for teasing me all day.” He kissed your forehead.
You raised your eyebrows and turned the both of you over so you were now straddling him. He winced when you started moving on top of him at the same fast pace from before.
“Come on, I just came—”
“I’m not there yet. You’re not getting soft…” You giggled. “Must not mind it.”
Hollis was being louder now. He whined with overstimulation below you as you rode him fast, chasing your orgasm. His head leaned back on the couch, and you could see his neck. His cum, still inside, made a wet sound that turned you on even more.
Your legs started to shake and you squeezed around him when it was close. He looked so fucked out below you, it sent you over the edge. You rubbed yourself until you came hard on his cock.
You leaned down to give him a sloppy kiss. You rested on his chest after, completely exhausted.
⋆｡°✩
“I’m cooking tonight.” You declared, getting up from the couch and going to the kitchen.
“Oh God. Okay.”
“What’s that reaction?!” You spun around, furrowed your brows.
He bursted out laughing. “I’m just kidding. But the last time you cooked, you nearly set the house on fire.”
“That was technically your fault. You kept distracting me!” You laughed, walking over to playfully hit him on the arm before going back to the kitchen and looking for a pan.
“What’s on the menu today, Miss Chef?”
“Extra cheesy fettuccine alfredo.” You said in a terrible italian accent.
The light rain from before turned into a thunderstorm by the time you were done cooking. You sat at the breakfast bar with him and watched his facial expression as he tried your dish.
“Is it good?” You asked, grimacing a bit.
“Oh, wow.” He took another bite. “This is great.”
You lit up. “It’s good?”
“Yeah. Really good, actually. Good job, babe.” He grinned, ruffling your hair. "I love you."
"I love you, too." You smiled, overcome with happiness that he liked it. You took a bite from your plate. It really was delicious, you almost didn’t know how you just cooked it without messing up once. The both of you ate in comfortable silence, listening to the rain hitting the roof of the house.
Kitty walked underneath your chair, tickling your foot with her tail. She was on the way to also have a meal, eating out of her bowl.
You leaned your head on his shoulder. You wondered just how many days you would spend with him like this, in this house. You talked about moving out with him and getting your own place, but something about this home was special. So many memories had here between the both of you.
You felt a bit sleepy after eating all of your food and listening to the rain. You ended the night in Hollis’ arms again, just like that morning.
in the midst of trying to make sense of what you lived through with hollis, you dig into his case and finally read the book he gave you. — his journal.
a/n: this is a short extra just to add to hollis' backstory and his case. it was something i almost added to the first part but i concluded it was better to end where it did for impact hehe
How do you grieve someone you never met in life? How does the human brain make sense of losing someone who was already long gone? That was the question you'd been living inside of. And you'd been living inside it alone — because there was no therapist, no detective, no local preacher your mom called to come pray over you who could believe it for even a second.
To the therapist, you'd had a psychotic episode brought on by years of isolation and limited human contact. To the police, you'd been impressionable — a lonely teenager who'd fixated on an article or an old newspaper clipping from a history class. To the preacher, you'd simply lost your way. None of them could explain how you'd ended up asleep on the floorboards directly above where Hollis had been buried for thirty years. None of them could explain the fabric clutched in your hand, or why it hadn't decomposed — cotton took five years maximum, you'd looked it up.
You searched for explanations everywhere. The Catholic church. Spiritism. Folk beliefs, old texts, anything that called itself supernatural. Nothing made sense of what you'd lived. Nothing came close.
But you had lived it. With him. You didn't doubt that for a second. You remembered his cold touch. His lips. The particular smell of him, like pine and something older. His smile, his voice, that laugh. Those things were too specific, too real to have come from nowhere.
What you barely remembered was that night itself — or anything beyond Hollis. After falling asleep on his chest, your memories came in fragments: the lights, your mother's voice, the glimpse of rotted fabric beneath the floorboards. That was all. That, and the quiet fuss that followed — the careful conversations, the concerned looks, the people who talked about it in lowered voices. Thankfully few knew of your involvement. But you. You knew, and that was already hard enough.
You kept everything of him close — every memory, every story, every word he'd spoken in the dark. And of course, the book that you found out to be a journal.
Before you let yourself open it, you tried to find him another way.
You buried yourself in the public library, spent long hours at the internet café searching his name. Online there wasn't much beyond the recent news — the discovery, the identification, the brief coverage that faded within a week. So you turned to the archives, sat for hours at the microfilm reader scrolling through columns from 1969 and 1970 and finally 1975, until you'd pieced together everything the newspapers had chosen to say about him.
November 2, 1969
BOY MISSING AFTER HALLOWEEN NIGHT INCIDENT
By ×××××××××
Authorities are searching for 17-year-old Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon, who was reported missing by his mother on the night of October 31.
According to police reports, Herndon’s mother arrived at a neighbor's house shortly before midnight, accompanied by her younger son. She was reportedly hysterical and claimed her son had attacked her husband with a knife.
"When we arrived at the residence, there was no one home," said Officer Daniel Reeves of the Lakewood Police Department. "The house appeared to be in disarray. There were signs of a struggle, but no sign of the boy or the husband."
The husband, Arthur Crane, 42, could not be located. Mrs. Frazier and her son were taken to the station for questioning.
Neighbors reported hearing shouting and screaming from the residence earlier that evening.
"I heard a woman screaming," said Helen Porter, who lives two doors down. "I was going to call the police, but then everything went quiet. I thought maybe it was just kids fooling around. It was Halloween, after all."
Anyone with information regarding the whereabouts of Hollis Frazier-Herndon is asked to contact the Lakewood Police Department.
✄┈┈┈┈
November 15, 1969
MISSING BOY'S STEPFATHER LOCATED
By ×××××××××
Arthur Crane, 42, the stepfather of missing 17-year-old Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon, has been located at a motel near the state line.
Crane was taken into custody for questioning but was released the following day. He claims he left the residence on the night of October 31 following a confrontation with his stepson.
"The boy threatened me with a knife," Crane told investigators. "I left for my own safety. I had no idea he'd run off."
When asked about the injuries his wife sustained that night, Crane claimed she "fell" while trying to break up the fight.
Mrs. Frazier has filed for divorce and is seeking full custody of her younger son. Authorities have not named Crane as a suspect but confirm he remains a "person of interest" in the investigation.
✄┈┈┈┈
December 10, 1969
SEARCH FOR MISSING BOY CONTINUES
By ×××××××××
Despite extensive searches of the Lakewood Forest area and surrounding regions, there is still no sign of Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon, who has been missing since Halloween night.
Authorities have conducted multiple ground searches and canvassed the area, but no trace of the boy has been found.
"Without a body, we can't confirm what happened," said Officer Reeves. "We're treating this as a missing persons case, but we're also investigating other possibilities."
Mrs. Frazier, 36, has publicly pleaded for her son's return.
"I just want him to come home," she told reporters. "Whatever happened that night, I just want him safe."
The search is ongoing.
✄┈┈┈┈
February 15, 1970
NEIGHBORS SPEAK OUT IN MISSING BOY CASE
By ×××××××××
As the search for Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon enters its fourth month, neighbors are coming forward with accounts of the family's troubled home life.
"I've heard shouting from that house for as long as they've lived there," said Margaret Hensley, a neighbor of three years. "Arthur Crane had a temper. Everyone knew it."
The family moved to the neighborhood in 1966. According to multiple sources, the relationship between Hollis and his stepfather was strained from the beginning.
"Arthur never treated the boy right," Hensley said. "He was always yelling at him, putting him down. And Hollis was so protective of his little brother. He'd take his brother to the park almost every day, just to get him out of the house."
Another neighbor, Robert Blake, recalled seeing Hollis with his brother the day before Halloween.
"He was pushing his brother on the swings," Blake said. "He seemed like a good kid. Quiet, but good. It's a tragedy what happened."
Despite the growing public pressure, police maintain they are continuing their investigation.
"We're aware of the neighbors' accounts," said Officer Reeves. "We're following every lead. But without evidence, we can't move forward."
✄┈┈┈┈
October 31, 1970
ONE YEAR LATER: THE DISAPPEARANCE OF HOLLIS FRAZIER-HERNDON
By ×××××××××
It has been exactly one year since Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon vanished from his home on Halloween night. Despite extensive efforts, his whereabouts remain unknown.
Arthur Crane remains the primary focus of public scrutiny. While he has not been formally charged, rumors about his involvement continue to circulate throughout the community.
"I know what people say," Crane told reporters in a brief statement. "But I didn't do anything. The boy ran away. He was always a troubled kid."
Mrs. Frazier and her youngest son have relocated to another state. She declined to comment.
The case, once front-page news, has faded from the headlines. There is no new evidence. No new leads. Just the same questions, repeating.
✄┈┈┈┈
November 5, 1975
CASE CLOSED: MISSING BOY PRESUMED RUNAWAY
By ×××××××××
After six years, the case of Hollis Parker Frazier-Herndon — the 17-year-old who vanished from his home on Halloween night, 1969 — has been officially closed.
The Lakewood Police Department announced this week that the case has been classified as an unresolved disappearance. In the absence of new evidence, the boy is presumed to have run away from home.
Arthur Crane, who was investigated for several years, was never charged. The case against him was ultimately dropped due to insufficient evidence.
"Unfortunately, without a body or any physical evidence, we were unable to move forward with criminal charges," said Officer Daniel Reeves. "The investigation will remain open if new evidence comes to light, but for now, we are closing the file."
The decision has been met with frustration from members of the community.
"I don't understand how they can just stop looking," said Margaret Hensley, a neighbor at the time of the disappearance. "That boy didn't run away. Something happened to him. And everyone knows it."
The family of Hollis Frazier-Herndon could not be reached for comment.
The case of Hollis Frazier-Herndon is now officially inactive.
✄┈┈┈┈
It was harder than you expected, reading about him like a name in a side column. Harder than you expected to sit with the image of all those years passing without anyone finding him, without anyone knowing. That wasn't Hollis — not the one you knew. He wasn't that victim, wasn't defined by what he'd suffered. He was the boy who'd pushed you on a rusted swing and walked into a tree branch because he was too busy being smug about it. He was the one who'd told you about a pig-keeper who learned how to be brave.
Reading about him like that only made you miss him more.
So you finally opened the journal.
It changed you completely. It was like having him back — like sitting down to another conversation each time you turned a page, hearing his voice in every line. He wrote about his books — you finally got the title, the one he'd been telling you about all along, 'The Chronicles of Prydain' series by Lloyd Alexander — and about the things he loved and the stupid things he'd done. His friends had names now: Zachary, Bob, Tom. You read about his first high school sweetheart, the reckless things he'd pulled just to feel something. He had been so full of life. Between those entries, woven through everything, were the other pages — the ones about his stepfather, the abuse, the constant low-grade fear for his mother, the way he'd positioned himself between his brother and everything that wanted to hurt them.
You tried to read slowly. The ache of him made that impossible.
You turned pages until you reached October 31, 1969, and then you stopped.
You sat with those pages for a full month before you could read them.
October 31, 1969𓂃✍︎
It's Halloween. I finally got my costume finished. Took a while — I asked Zach's mom to make the blouse and I did most of the armor myself. I also helped my little brother with his. He wanted to be a ghost. Lame.
So much for Halloween night. Of course he'd ruin it. I can't stand him anymore. I really can't. I hate his guts, and I swear if it wasn't for Mom I would've done something by now. That pig. He's disgusting, and last night he threatened me again — said one of these days he'd teach me a lesson. Thing is, Mom always gets between us before I can do anything. She sees my brother crying, he's twelve years old, he doesn't deserve to see this, so I just take him outside. I always just take him. But I swear. One of these days. Earlier today when he laughed at my costume I almost had enough. Almost.
He didn't write anything more that day. The pages that followed had no date.
I don't know how long I've been sleeping here. I used to come to this cabin with my dad when I was little. I don't know how I got back here. I don't know how long I've been here. I keep waiting for my mom. I keep waiting for anyone. There's nothing. Just the woods.
𓂃✍︎
It seems like I can't leave. I walk and walk and it's just fog and trees. I hear voices sometimes, hear animals, but it's always daylight here. It never rains. There's no wind. I feel no hunger. No thirst.
I think I'm dead.
𓂃✍︎
Today I heard kids playing nearby. Just like I used to when I was little. It's less lonely like that.
I wonder what my mom is doing now. How grown is my brother. I wonder how much time has passed. I wonder if that pig is already dead.
𓂃✍︎
Today I heard the kids again. Some girl was screaming with her friends. They give her a hard time — she's always the one crying.
Something tightened in your chest.
Today I saw a figure for the first time. Just a shadow, but I'm sure it was someone.
𓂃✍︎
It happened so fast. I followed the little girl when she started running and she wasn't looking where she was going. I called out to her but she didn't hear me. Then her friend screamed and it was already too late. She fell through the ice. I stayed, hoping she'd be alright. I reached for her hand but I couldn't grab her — I couldn't do anything. They found her quick enough. I was relieved. She's fine, I think. I hope so.
I wish someone would find me too.
The remaining pages were blank. White, one after another. But something told you to keep turning, and in the very last page you found it.
I don't remember much of my living life anymore. I remember my mom's voice. My brother's face. Four years ago when I got out of the woods for the first time I didn't know it would go like this. I wandered the streets and tried to talk to people but no one could see me. I thought that seemed about right. I'm not really here. I might as well not be real.
But then she saw me. She saw me and she frowned at me.
I recognized her right away — the girl from the lake. The one I'd have liked to save.
She kept me feeling alive these past years. I didn't even know I had it in me to leave the woods, but whenever I saw her standing in her yard I just did. And every Halloween I got to live a little more.
I got so caught up in it I forgot this diary entirely. I don't know why I'm writing now. It'll probably be the last time, old diary. And the last she'll see of me.
Her mom saw me today. Or saw the lack of me beside her. And only then did I realize the path I'd been leading her down. Whatever happens after this Halloween, I won't come back.
And then, after that — same handwriting, but looser, like it had been written quickly, without thinking, like it couldn't wait:
October 31𓂃✍︎
I just can't be the kind of person who disappears on you. I didn't have it in me. I saw you standing at the lake and I went after you. Once I promised I'd always come running, and I did. Easy as that. I'm writing this while you sleep on my chest.
I hope when you wake up and read this you understand.
Whatever that was — it changed me. I'm forever grateful for it. I love you, I truly do.
Keep making me proud, my princess.
Tears ran down your face without stopping. Not an ugly cry — something quieter than that, something that had joy threaded through it even as it hollowed you out. Relief, and underneath the relief, something you were still learning the shape of.
You looked out your window at the tree line for a long time.
He wasn't there. You could feel it — the woods standing empty in a way they hadn't been in four years, quiet in a way that had nothing to do with silence and everything to do with absence. Someone had found him. That was what he'd needed. He'd sailed away at last, into wherever the west led, into somewhere new.
They say the freezing water feels like thousands of knives piercing through you, but the only thing you remembered about the accident was the sound of water blurring your ears and the voices of your friends screaming from the surface, sounding like waves far, far away.
Life moved slow when you barely had friends. It felt even lonelier to be alone on Halloween — watching people outside in costumes, kids with their parents, other teenagers who, unlike you, had somewhere they wanted to be.
Your mom had been insisting you go out for quite a while. She wanted you to make friends, she wanted you to be like other kids, she wanted so many things from you. And she'd somehow managed to get one of your old friends — daughter of one of her closest friends — to invite you to a Halloween party.
The whole way there felt awkward. A few quick words about how much time had passed, a few quick words about the old days, and then just the radio. The party was at some house in the neighborhood, not very far from yours. At least you could hang around for a while and leave.
The drinks weren't entertaining, and neither were the people. Some boy tried to kiss you and you shoved him away on instinct. That was the sign. That's what you intended to do — leave — until you saw him outside, sitting on the sidewalk, dressed as some kind of medieval peasant. Honey-blond hair in a bob, turning a stick between his fingers. Pathetic, like you, you thought. And maybe you stared too long, because he frowned at you and you frowned back before looking away.
You kept walking until you heard footsteps behind you. You walked faster. A quick glance back — it was that boy. You stopped and turned. Bad idea, if he was a creep.
"What's wrong with you?" you said.
"Hey, easy. Just wanna talk," he said, stepping closer.
"What?"
"I like the costume," he said, pointing at your clothes. You weren't in costume.
"I'm not in costume," you said, looking down at your plain black shirt and jeans.
"I know, it's called a joke," he said, tilting his head, his hair falling slightly across his face. You turned your back on him and started walking again. "What do you think about my clothes?"
Of course he'd catch up. Quick steps from you, long strides from him.
"It's cool," you shrugged. "What's it supposed to be? An extra from Game of Thrones?"
"Don't know what that is, but no," he said, still walking, and you looked his way in confusion. "I'm just a knight. But I don't have my armor right now."
"A knight without his armor? What happened to your armor?" you chuckled.
"Don't know. I think I lost it somewhere tonight," he said, unhurried.
You said nothing else, but he kept walking beside you. Every time you glanced at him he was staring somewhere else — the lights in the city, cars passing by. He actually almost walked into a tree branch because he was too busy looking at everything else entirely. It made you laugh to yourself.
"You're already going home?" he asked, looking at you now.
"Yeah, I'm tired," you said, eyes on your steps.
"But it's so early," he said, almost like a kid insisting. You chuckled.
"It's past ten," you said, and heard him laugh.
"What are you, eight?" you said, looking at him with offense.
"Come on, that party sucked, but it's still Halloween."
"Okay, what's your idea?"
"We can just... walk around. Talk." He seemed a bit flushed, looking at you but not quite meeting your eyes. You felt flustered by it too. Then his face lit up with something. "I know a place! Come on."
He raised his hand, almost reached to hold yours, then stopped, a little embarrassed. He just shook his head and walked on ahead.
For a full second you thought about turning back, going home. But something about that boy didn't make you feel awkward like most people did. Maybe because he was weirder.
On the way there you passed the few remaining parents with their kids still going door to door for candy. Drunk teenagers, laughing too loud, looking at you in that way that made you want to disappear into the sidewalk. The boy seemed oblivious to all of it. He just walked ahead, taking everything in with a kind of childlike wonder that should have seemed strange, but it didn't. He'd comment on the costumes, laugh to himself at things you didn't catch. Once, a kid dropped his basket near you and he immediately crouched down to help gather everything up. You followed. The kid laughed at a funny face he made. The parent looked up to say thank you — and looked only at you. Hollis was right there, crouched beside the kid, but the parent's eyes didn't flicker toward him once.
"He was a bit rude, wasn't he?" you said, glancing back.
"I don't think so. You just look more friendly," he said, casually.
You did not look friendly at all.
You ended up in an old park — very old, rusted, weeds pushing up through everything. He looked caught off guard by the sight of it.
"You brought me to an abandoned park? You trying to kill me or something?" You were joking, but you were actually a little weirded out.
"I'm sorry, I don't remember it being so old," he said, walking in anyway. You followed.
He sat at one of the swings, holding the rusted chains, and you took the one beside him. Your legs barely moved the seat. He swung back and forth on his long legs like he had nowhere else to be.
"I'm Hollis," he said out of nowhere, after a few seconds of quiet.
"Oh," you laughed, only now realizing you hadn't thought to ask his name. "I'm y/n."
"Can I ask you something, y/n?" You nodded. "Why did you go to that party?"
"Do I seem so out of place?" you said, half smiling.
"To be honest, a little," he said, smiling too, and you laughed.
"That's fair. I went 'cause my mom wanted me to go out a bit," you sighed, looking at your feet. "She's afraid I'm too closed off."
"You? But you followed a stranger into the middle of nowhere. You're anything but closed off," he said, and he seemed to mean it, which made you laugh.
"I don't know what it is about you, but this—" you pointed between the two of you. "It's not usual."
"So I guess your mom should thank me," he smiled. It was a sweet smile, the kind that softened his whole face. You had to smile back.
You stayed there longer than made sense, watching the empty street ahead. Hollis talked easily about everything and nothing — he could find a subject in anything. He talked about this series of books that he liked, medieval fantasy of course, said he'd lost his favorite one a few days ago. When you asked what the series was about, his eyes almost gleamed.
"So there was this boy who wanted to be a hero..." He turned to you, grabbing the chain of his swing. "He was just a pig-keeper at first. He lived on a farm with an enchanter and a pig who could see the future."
"A pig who could see the future?" You chuckled, and he smiled.
"It's better than it sounds, trust me."
"Tell me more, then."
His excitement was hard to contain, a smile curving his lips as he dove back in. "His name's Taran. He hated being a pig-keeper. He wanted the glory of a warrior, wanted to be as big as the knights they sang about in the old songs. But no one believed in him — they told him he was just a pig-keeper."
"That's sad," you said, already hooked.
"It's not sad. It's the beginning. He doesn't know what he'll become yet."
Hollis told it with so much detail that you found yourself building the story in your head — the setting, the boy's restless eyes — and somewhere along the way you started to picture Hollis in him.
"He went after his pig in the forest one day. She'd escaped, and he thought if he brought her back safely he could prove himself as more than a pig-keeper."
"Does he catch her?" you asked.
"Yes, but then he loses her again. And he meets this princess named Eilonwy. She's the most annoying girl he's ever met, talks too much."
"How romantic."
Hollis grinned. "They hate each other at first, until she saves him three times in one week and he starts thinking she might not be so bad."
"Is that your idea of a love story?" you said, playful, and Hollis rolled his eyes.
"It's not a love story, silly. It's a story about someone who thought he needed to prove himself to be worthy of something, but didn't see that he was already loved without any title or glory. His big story is right there and he doesn't see it, isn't that crazy?"
"Oh." Something about it landed differently, and you looked away.
"I'm sorry, was I rude?" He leaned closer, searching your face carefully.
"No, just... my mom says something like that. That I don't try hard enough. That because I'm scared of everything I keep letting the people around me down, not living my life. She doesn't understand that I can't just—"
Your voice died. The silence stretched on until Hollis broke it. "You don't have to say it."
His voice was careful — gentle in a way that felt strange coming from someone you'd known for two hours. But when you looked up, his eyes were on you, really on you, like he was trying to read something you weren't saying out loud.
"I fell through ice and almost drowned when I was twelve. In the lake in the forest behind my house. We were all playing around and I didn't hear my friend telling me to stop. I kept going until—"
He watched you in silence, his eyes widening a little, but when you finished there was no pity in his gaze. He just looked at you, then looked down.
"The crazy thing is I don't remember the moment. I don't remember the feeling. Just the sound, and the light above my head going dim." You smiled sadly. "And even though I can't remember it, I still feel uneasy anywhere that's not my house. For the first six months I didn't leave at all."
He didn't say I'm sorry. For a while he just sat there — quiet, present. You almost thanked him for it.
"I feel the opposite of you." His voice had shifted, quieter, heavier. "I'd rather be anywhere that's not my house." His brows knitted together, like he was remembering something he didn't want to. "But I know that feeling you're talking about. The uneasy thing. Like it's itching under your skin, right?"
You nodded. You wanted to ask him why, how he knew it. But you didn't. You sat with the moment in silence.
"Anyway," he said, shrugging the heavy mood off. "One day, Taran gets a sword. Beautiful. Everything he ever wanted."
"And does that make him a hero?"
"No. The sword shatters the first time he tries to use it," he said, smiling sadly.
He kept going — the friends Taran made, the things he saw and learned, the enemies he faced. The hours passed like minutes, and you were still following every word even as sleepiness settled over you.
Out of nowhere he stood up. "It's getting late. I'll walk you home."
"Hey, you didn't finish! Does he get to be a hero?"
"That's a story for another time."
"You can't just—"
He cut you off with a smile. "I can. Come find me next year and I'll finish it."
"Next year? Why so long? How do I know you'll even be here?"
"'Cause I'm promising you," he said, easy. "Next year. Same place, same time."
And you believed him. Even though you'd known him for only a few hours. Even though most of your conversation had been about a fantasy book you'd never heard of. There was something about him you couldn't quite explain or question.
You got home late, and your mother met you at the door with a smile — the smile of someone finally seeing something work.
"You know most mothers would hate knowing their daughter was out this late with a boy?"
"A boy? What boy?"
"The boy who walked me home," you said, still smiling. You were sure she'd seen him — he'd been standing right there while you said goodbye.
"Oh, dammit, I missed that!" She pretended to be devastated and you rolled your eyes. "What's his name?"
"Hollis," you said, with a stupid smile that earned you another dozen comments.
𓇢𓆸
For a while after that you hoped you'd run into him around town. A whole year felt too long — it seemed impossible that he could just vanish. So you started going out a bit more: walking your dog around the neighborhood by yourself, it was quite a big step for you. You even agreed to finish a homework assignment at one of your classmates' houses. But the months went by with no sign of him anywhere. You passed the old park sometimes, just in case. Nothing.
When October of the next year arrived, you were on the edge of your seat. It was barely night when you left the house without even telling your mom — though she already knew you were going out. You got to the park with your heart hammering against your ribs, breath heavy, flushed from how fast you'd run there.
He was sitting on the same rusted swing. Same rough tunic, same honey-blond hair falling to the sides of his face. He looked up when he heard you coming, and that smile — that easy smile — spread across his face like no time had passed at all.
"You look different," he said, tilting his head.
"I do not."
"You do. Did you grow this year?"
"I'm sixteen, Hollis. People grow."
"Mm." He squinted at you, pretending to study you carefully. "Just a little bit, though. You still look short to me."
You rolled your eyes and sat in the swing beside him. The old chains groaned under your weight. You swung back and forth lightly, staring at your sneakers, then scanned him without quite meaning to. He caught you looking and just looked back, unbothered.
"You're one to talk," you said. "You look exactly the same."
It was odd, having him there after spending twelve months replaying that night and searching for him everywhere he wasn't. He smiled like he knew it.
"Want me to push you?" he said, out of nowhere — a pattern you were starting to notice, the way his ideas arrived without warning.
"What? No!" But he was already standing behind you.
"Come on, it'll be fun," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "You scared?"
"Yes! This thing's going to collapse, it's ancient!"
He just laughed. He gave the chains a tentative tug. "See? Sturdy."
"You're going to kill me."
"Then at least we'll die together. Romantic, right?"
You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already pushing. The swing lurched forward, chains screeching in protest, and you gripped the rusted metal so hard your knuckles went white.
"Hollis!"
"Relax! It's not that high!"
"I can feel it swaying—"
"You're fine." His voice was warm, amused. "I've got you."
He pushed you a few more times, gently, until your grip on the chains loosened. The cold air rushed past your face, and for a moment — just a moment — you felt light. Like you could fly right off and keep going. At the top of each arc the whole city seemed to fall away beneath you, small and far and harmless.
Then he let you slow, and you came to a stop.
"See?" He settled back onto his own swing, long legs stretched out in front of him. "Didn't die."
"Hate you," you muttered. But you were smiling.
He laughed. That sound — you'd missed it without noticing.
The silence settled between you, comfortable. You watched dead leaves skitter past in the breeze, feeling the chill sink into your skin. You looked at him again, you couldn't help it. He was staring ahead, and something about his gaze was heavy — like he was carrying a weight he didn't let show, which seemed at odds with how easy he made everything feel.
"Why haven't I seen you all year?" you asked, and his gaze shifted to you. Whatever had been heavy in it softened into something else.
"You wanted to see me?" He grinned.
"Stop," you frowned. "I'm being serious."
"Me too," he said, resting the side of his head against the chain, looking at you sideways. "If you want to see me, you can just say so."
"I do — I mean, I did." You stumbled on your words but held his gaze.
"It's hard 'cause I'm not around all the time," he said, glancing away briefly.
"You're not? Do you live nearby? Do you have relatives in town or something?" The curiosity came out more openly than you intended. He chuckled.
"Something like that," he said. He paused, almost like he was deciding something. "I saw you once or twice, you know. Walking with your dog. Near the forest."
"You did?" You almost screamed it. "Why didn't you come talk to me?"
"Didn't want to scare you," he said simply.
"You wouldn't scare me!" Your face twisted in confusion.
"You sure about that?" He made a face so ridiculous it made you laugh. "Next time I'll just crawl out of the woods to say hello."
"Stop being weird," you laughed. "What were you even doing in the woods?"
"I like to hike. Wander around in there. It's nice this time of year."
"It's not nice, it's dark and weird."
"I'll show you someday," he said.
"No you won't," you said quickly. "I don't go into the woods. I don't like it."
His face shifted, like he'd only just then remembered your story. He hummed, nodded, looked at you a little longer than was comfortable — long enough that you didn't know what to do with your hands.
"You promised me a story!" you said quickly, like that could rescue you.
"Of course!" His whole face opened up. "Where did we leave off? Right, you wanted to know if he became a hero." You nodded eagerly. "Not yet!"
You pouted, and he laughed. Hollis went on with Taran's story, telling you this part was from the second book, and this one was darker. Something about a cauldron and an army of undead soldiers that couldn't be killed, couldn't be stopped. Taran gathered allies and tried everything, and every attempt failed. You found yourself gripping the chains again without noticing.
"So he discovers the only way to destroy the cauldron is to sacrifice himself," Hollis said. "Literally throw himself into it. That's the only way to end it."
"And what did he do?"
"He was going to do it," Hollis said. "He'd already decided."
"Oh no—"
"But wait." He held up a finger. "One of Taran's biggest rivals, this arrogant, selfish prince named Ellidyr, gets there first. Climbs into the cauldron himself. Dies so the realm would be safe."
You were quiet for a moment. "That's... actually I think that might be the most noble thing in the whole story. Sacrificing yourself for people you love, even when you've never let anyone see that you love them."
"Do you think so?" Something shifted in his expression, his eyes a little unsettled. "I think it's just natural. He would've done it regardless."
"He didn't have to, though," you said. "And that's what makes him a hero."
His gaze drifted down to his hand resting in his lap. That heavy look again, the one that had nothing to do with his usual self.
"What?" you said.
"Nothing." His voice came out lower than usual. He looked back at you. "Just thinking. Some people don't get to be heroes in the way they wanted to be."
"But they're still heroes," you said, softer.
"Yeah." His smile grew, something in it loosening. "You're right."
You felt quietly proud that you'd eased whatever had been sitting on him.
That night, when Hollis walked you home, you drifted closer on the sidewalk, shoulders bumping. He didn't say much on the way back, but the silence had no weight to it — it was easy, almost nice. He'd laugh sometimes at nothing in particular, and you'd watch your steps fall into rhythm with his and smile to yourself.
When your house came into sight he slowed his pace. You slowed with him.
"Do you really want to see me?" he said. "I mean... besides tonight."
Your chest tightened before you answered. "I do. If you want to see me too."
"I do. I'll make an effort." He smiled, then looked down, then back up at you. "You just have to miss me really hard and I'll come running."
You raised your pinky at him. "I need to seal it."
"Fair enough." He hooked his pinky around yours, and for just a second you felt the cold of his hand — night-cold, softer than you expected. "It's a deal."
"Deal."
𓇢𓆸
Months passed after that. And you missed him. Missed him really hard, like he said. Missed him at Thanksgiving. Missed him on your birthday. Missed him on Christmas morning, staring out at the cold and feeling the familiar loneliness press in close. Missed him when school started again and things felt suddenly heavier to carry alone.
One of those days, late in the winter, you came home after a long and exhausting afternoon. Some girl had picked on you and you'd panicked, gone completely blank — just stood there staring at her until she gave up and walked away. You'd held yourself together all the way home, gripping the straps of your bag so hard your fingers ached, trying not to cry on the street where anyone could see.
The weight dropped the second you turned onto your block.
There, sitting on the second step of your front porch, head low, hair hiding his face, turning a stick between his fingers — was Hollis.
"Hollis?" you said, and only then did he look up. He raised his head and smiled, and it hit you somewhere you hadn't expected.
He kept his deal — and not just that afternoon, sitting with you in the backyard while the light faded, listening as you talked and talked without quite meaning to. You hadn't realized he was slowly lifting the weight you'd carried all the way home until it was already gone. When it got dark and he said he had to leave, you only then noticed he hadn't told you a single thing about his book.
"You didn't even tell me the story today," you said, walking him to the street.
"That's 'cause you kept talking non-stop, silly." He cracked a smile. "I'll tell you next time. Promise."
"Okay." You pouted.
He stepped closer, looking down at you, hands in his pockets. His eyes moved across your face for just a moment.
"You okay?" he asked, and you nodded slowly. "Next time, you tell her to fuck off. Like I said."
You fought a smile and lost. "Thank you, Hollis."
"Don't need to thank me," he said. His hair fell across his face as he tilted his head down to look at you.
Almost a full minute passed, both of you just looking at each other, before he cleared his throat and stepped back — clearly flustered, just like you. "See you next time, then."
"See you," you said. You watched him walk away in silence, already wondering how long it would be.
𓇢𓆸
It didn't take more than a couple of weeks.
You'd gotten home from school early and, like usual, found yourself thinking about him. You even went to sit on the back porch, watching the snow settle silently over the grass. The quiet was so complete that when you heard footsteps crunching through the snow you flinched.
You looked up. He was coming from the woods — past the old fence at the back of your yard, the one that divided the garden from the tree line. When he caught your eyes he smiled. He jumped the fence in one easy motion and walked over, dropping down beside you on the porch steps like it was the most natural thing.
"Waiting for someone?" he asked.
"Just spending time," you said, trying to keep your composure. He chuckled.
You looked at him. He was the same as always — no flush in his cheeks, no shivering, just a jacket thrown over his shoulders like the cold was a minor inconvenience.
"What were you doing out there?" You glanced toward the tree line.
"I told you. I like the woods." He smiled, and you kept looking.
"It's freezing."
"I don't mind." He shook his head suddenly, like a wet dog, sending snow scattering all over you.
"Oh my god, I hate you." You shoved his shoulder and he laughed — that loud, soft sound you'd grown too fond of.
"I walked all the way here just to be told you hate me?"
"Want a reward?" you asked, feeling the heat crawl up your cheeks despite the cold.
"That'd be nice."
You didn't let yourself think too hard about it. You leaned over and kissed his cheek — quick, soft — and when you pulled back he'd gone completely still. You looked away fast.
"That's good," he said, after a beat.
He picked up a stick from nearby and started drawing shapes in the snow, and you watched him in silence. The awkward mood didn't last long. Your usual rhythm came back quickly — he teased, you got annoyed, he was silly and you were sillier.
𓇢𓆸
The next time took longer. Around spring, almost a month and a half later. Even so, you still found yourself checking — the front porch, the back fence, the tree line — like he might appear at any moment. Like your missing him hard enough might actually work.
That afternoon it happened out of nowhere. You were in the middle of a bad one, arms wrapped around yourself, trying to breathe through the static that filled your chest. Your mom had come and tried to help, and you knew she meant well — she always meant well — but her encouraging words only made the agitation worse somehow, pressing in from the wrong direction. Afterward you stepped outside for air. You sat in the backyard in the grass, knees pulled to your chest, staring at nothing, just trying to breathe.
You barely heard him this time. Your ears were still buzzing. But you felt him settle beside you, and you barely had to glance to know it was him. Something in the way the air shifted when he was near.
You looked up. He wasn't looking at you — arms resting on his knees, eyes somewhere ahead.
"Bad day?" he said.
"You could say that," you said, and he gave a quiet smile.
He reached down and pulled up a handful of weeds from the grass, turning them between his fingers, letting you sit in the silence. You watched his hands.
"I saw you from the woods," he said, after a while. "Felt like I should come check on you."
"You saw me from the woods?"
"Yeah," he said simply, and didn't explain further. He never explained too much, and somehow you always let it go.
For a long moment neither of you spoke. Then, without thinking too far ahead, you rested your head against his shoulder. He went still for a second — just a second — and then relaxed.
You breathed easier. Closed your eyes.
"You know what Taran does in the third book?" he said, his voice low.
"Does it start with him being sad?"
"It starts with Eilonwy being taken away. He has to go find her, but he doesn't know how. He's so scared of losing her that he almost ruins everything."
"Does he save her?"
"Eventually. But first he has to learn that loving someone doesn't mean keeping them safe. It means trusting them."
He didn't say it like he was talking about a book.
"Also," he added, "he meets this prince along the way — Rhun. Clumsy, kind of useless. Taran hates him at first. But then he realizes the prince is brave in his own way. Just not the way Taran wants him to be."
"What does that mean?"
He shrugged. "There's more than one way to be brave."
Your eyes stung. You breathed through it, kept them closed, and when you had it in you said, "You always know what to say."
"I'm just telling you a story, silly," he said, and you laughed softly against his shoulder.
You stayed there longer than you meant to. He didn't move. He didn't rush you. He just let you stay.
𓇢𓆸
The fight with your mom was bad this time. Bad enough that you slammed the door behind you and stood in the yard shaking, her voice still ringing through the walls. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run.
You found yourself at the back of the yard, staring at the forest.
You hated those tall trees. You hated the shadows pooling between them, the way the wind moved through the branches like a whisper you couldn't quite make out. You hated everything about it — the dark, the cold, the way it sat at the edge of your yard like something waiting.
You watched the fence. The forest. You thought about the lake.
You watched the fence again. Then you thought about Hollis.
I saw you from the woods, he'd said once, and now you were standing there practically screaming for him to look.
Then — a blink, a shift — he was there. Coming down through the trees, out of the shadows, stepping right up to the fence. His tall frame leaned over the top rail, both hands resting on the old wood, and he looked at you without saying anything. Just studied your face, like he was trying to read something in it. But more than that, he looked like he was waiting for you.
So you went to him. Quick steps across the grass, and before he could say a word you reached for him — wrapped your arms around him as hard as you could. He hesitated for just a moment, and then his arms came around you, one hand pulling your head against his chest, holding you in a way that had nothing to do with strength and everything to do with steadiness.
His hand moving through your hair was cold. His whole body was cold, even through the fabric of his shirt. But his touch was feather-light, careful — like you were something that could break and he had no intention of letting that happen.
"You're so cold," you whispered.
"I know." His voice was low, words said into the top of your hair.
"Are you okay?" you asked.
That made him laugh — a quiet huff of air against your head. "I should be asking you that."
You held on. And he let you. For a long time he just stood there, still, and let something in you settle that you hadn't even known was unsettled.
Eventually you pulled back. Your cheeks were wet, your eyes red. He looked down at you and smiled — soft, careful.
"Better?" he asked.
You nodded.
He reached up and wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb. His skin was cold. You didn't flinch.
"Did you see me?" you asked. "From the forest?"
"No," he said. "I heard you calling."
"I didn't say anything—"
"Thought I already told you." The corner of his mouth curved. "I'd come running."
You didn't know what that meant. But you didn't ask. Instead you looked past him, at the dark line of trees behind the fence. For the first time in years, they didn't feel quite so scary. Like something in them had stopped waiting and started watching over you instead.
𓇢𓆸
The next Halloween you were filled with something other than excitement. It wasn't just that you'd missed him, though you had. It wasn't just the story, though you wanted that too. It was something else you couldn't quite name, something that had been building in you for a while now, without your permission. You'd spent that time thinking about it — thinking about him — and somewhere in the middle of all that thinking you'd bought yourself a costume. A princess dress, blue, with puffed sleeves that fell in layers to mid-thigh. Cheap, from a discount store. It came with a crown, but when you held it in your hands you set it back down. It didn't feel right.
Like the Halloween before, you were outside the moment night fell. You'd meant to go to the park — that was your place — but when you pushed open the front door he was already there. Tall, blonde, same rough tunic as every year, greeting you with that crooked smile that turned you into something soft.
"Woah," was the first thing he said, eyes dropping to the dress.
"You like my costume?" you said, holding back a smile, giving a small turn.
He was still smiling when your eyes found his again. "I really like it. You're a princess."
"Yeah," you said, half smiling.
"But where's your crown?" He tilted his head, stepping closer.
"Well." You glanced away, your cheeks too warm. "Since you're a knight without his armor, I'm a princess without her crown."
"Now that's romantic!" He pointed at you and you laughed.
"Shut up, let's go to the park—" You moved to walk past him.
"Actually." He stopped you, hands in his pockets, eyes not quite settling on you. "I was thinking we could go somewhere else tonight."
"Oh?" You paused to think. "A diner, maybe? I don't know,"
"Diners will be packed tonight," he said, too quickly, catching himself. "And I'm not really hungry. We could go to the movies instead."
"That'd be great!" Your whole mood shifted. "There's this one I've really been wanting to see—"
And somehow you were the one talking all the way to the cinema. Hollis listened, laughing quietly whenever you got too animated about it. It was a small shift you'd been noticing with him lately — how much more you talked. More than you'd talked to anyone in the five years since the accident.
At the cinema you bought your ticket then went ahead to order snacks while Hollis bought his. He said he wasn't hungry — not even for a Coke.
The theater was almost empty. Not many people choosing a drama on Halloween night, you figured. But Hollis was delighted by it. His eyes moved across the dark room with that familiar wonder, taking everything in, and for a while you found his expressions more interesting than the screen. Something about him looked different in the dark — his skin paler, and when the light from the screen flickered he looked almost unreal, like a photograph with the exposure wrong. In one blink you thought you saw him flicker too, the way the image did — but another blink and he was just himself again, solid and warm beside you.
He caught you staring once and you looked away immediately, face hot. A moment later you felt his body shift closer, and then his fingers resting over yours. What had made you flustered opened slowly into something like comfort. Your head found his shoulder on its own, and whenever he had something to say about the film he'd lean down close, his voice low and soft just above your ear. It did something strange to your stomach.
On the walk home the streets had gone quiet — no more trick-or-treaters, just the two of you moving through the dark. You walked closer than usual, your hands bumping together every few steps, and for a stretch of time you ached for him to just take yours.
"You seemed very impressed," you said, mostly just to have something to say.
"It was a great movie," he said, still sounding lit up by it. You laughed.
"It was also very sad."
"It's been so long since I've been to the cinema," he said, his voice dropping a little.
The walk filled itself with small things — dumb jokes, easy teasing, the kind of conversation that would make you cringe if you heard it from someone else. But you were in it, so you didn't care.
"You're actually so stupid," you said, in exaggerated offense.
"Yet you really like me like that, don't you?" He was walking backwards now, wearing that cocky grin — and then a tree branch caught the back of his head. He swore and ducked forward, and you stopped walking entirely because you were laughing too hard to move.
"Your knight has been injured!"
"My knight is a dumbass!" you managed.
But eventually you stepped closer. He was rubbing the back of his head with a pained expression, and without quite deciding to you rose onto your toes and brought your hands to his hair, fingers moving gently over the spot. Hollis went completely still. You'd never been that close — not unless you were counting the hug, and that had been different.
"Do you need a little kiss to help it heal?" you said, meaning it as a joke. But he didn't laugh. He just looked down at you, serious in a way you weren't prepared for.
"Stop that," you said, and shoved his chest lightly, turning away to escape his gaze. "You look like you have a concussion or something."
He followed a step behind, quieter now, the teasing gone out of him.
When you reached your front door you both stopped at the porch. He stood a few steps down, which put you almost at eye level with him for once.
"Thanks for tonight," you started.
"Wait." He said it quickly, like he'd been holding it. "I've been wanting to tell you something. I found something in the woods."
Your stomach tightened. "What?"
"A cabin. Old, really old. Half falling apart." He was already talking faster, the way he did when something had caught him. "But it's actually pretty amazing. You can see the stars through the holes in the roof, and it's dusty, but it's almost cozy in there. I thought maybe we could go sometime. Like our own place."
He was thrilled about it. You could see it all over him. And you hated that you were about to let him down.
You squeezed your own hands together. "I don't know, Hollis. I don't really like it in there." You glanced away, then back at him. "The woods, I mean."
You felt the old familiar tightening start in your chest. And then he reached out and took both of your hands. His cold fingers wrapped around yours, softening your grip, rubbing slow circles over your knuckles.
"You don't have to," he said quietly. "Not if you don't want to."
You finally looked at him.
"I want to, I just—" You exhaled. "I'm not ready yet."
His touch slid up your arm, slow and steadying, and even through the cold of it you felt your shoulders drop. "You don't have to be ready now. Not tomorrow either. Not next week. You can never be ready and that's fine by me."
"I will be. Someday." You looked at him. "You just have to wait."
"I'm good at waiting," he said, and smiled, and you believed him completely.
You turned your key in your hand, ready to go in, but something kept you standing there. Waiting for him to say goodbye.
"So," he said. "Same time next year?"
"Next year?" You frowned.
"Unless you want to see me before then."
"I do want to see you before then." It came out faster than you meant it to.
That smile. Wide, crooked, too open — the one you'd learned to love without noticing you were learning it.
"Then you just have to miss me really hard," he said, "and I'll come running." He made a little running gesture with his fingers toward you and you laughed.
"I've been missing you really hard for two years now." Your smile faded into something heavier. His did too.
"I know," he said, stepping closer. "That's why I keep coming."
You stood there, both of you suspended in something you didn't have a name for yet. Your eyes stayed on his and you couldn't have moved even if you'd wanted to.
Then he stepped closer again.
"Can I?" he asked.
You nodded, even though you didn't know what you were agreeing to.
His hands came up to your face — those cold fingers covering your warm cheeks, his hair falling forward as he looked down at you. His eyes were hazel-brown in the dim light, and you could see him more clearly than you ever had. His touch was impossibly gentle, soft in a way that made you feel unmoored.
"You're real," you whispered, before you could stop yourself.
"I am," he whispered back.
It was the last thing either of you said. Then his lips were against yours — simple, just that, his mouth fitting to yours, naturally. And even then, he was cold. You felt his hand settle at your waist and pull you in, and you let him because you wanted to. You wanted to be closer.
He pulled back slowly. No smile now — just that heavy look you'd seen on him before, brows slightly knit, studying your face from close up like he was trying to memorize it. Then it softened.
"Good night, princess," he said.
He kissed you once more — brief, barely there — and before you could find any words he turned and walked away. He didn't look back. Just moved along the sidewalk, unhurried, until his silhouette blurred at the edges and the dark swallowed him whole.
𓇢𓆸
You didn't notice it at first. The way your shoulders sat a little looser. The way your voice came out steadier when someone asked you a question in class. The way you could walk down a hallway without counting your steps to the nearest exit.
It started small. A girl in your English class asked to borrow a pen, and you handed it over without your hand shaking. She smiled and said thanks, and the next day she sat beside you at lunch. You talked about the homework. Then about the teacher. Then about nothing in particular.
A few weeks later you were in a group project with three other kids. You spoke. You contributed. You even made a joke, and they laughed — not at you, with you.
You told Hollis about it the next time he appeared on your porch, sitting cross-legged on the top step like he owned the place.
"So you're making friends," he said, and his smile was warm enough to make your chest ache.
"Guess so."
"That's really good." He reached over and nudged your knee with his. "I'm proud of you."
"Don't get sappy."
"I'm not sappy. I'm sincere. There's a difference."
"You're sappy."
"And you're deflecting."
You laughed and shoved his shoulder. He laughed too, and the sound of it settled something in your chest the way it always did.
"They're nice," you said, after a moment. "The kids at school. They're not like the ones before."
His expression shifted. He didn't say anything — just reached over and took your hand. Same cold fingers that you'd stopped noticing the way you once had.
"I'm glad," he said softly. "I'm glad you have them."
"I still think about you more, though."
He smiled. "Good."
𓇢𓆸
It was a Saturday afternoon, your mom at work and the house quiet around you. Hollis was sitting on your bedroom floor, back against the bed frame, looking around with that same childlike wonder he brought everywhere.
"Your room is so—" He gestured vaguely. "You."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's a statement." He picked up a book from the floor and flipped through it. "You have so many things. Books. Clothes. That weird lamp."
"It's not weird, it's vintage."
"It's weird."
"You're weird."
He grinned. "You keep telling me that."
You threw a pillow at him. He caught it — surprised — and then his whole face shifted into something mischievous. He threw it back. It caught you square in the face.
"Okay. That's war."
You grabbed another pillow. He scrambled to his feet laughing, and you chased him around the room until he caught your wrist and pulled you into him. You stumbled forward, hands pressing against his chest, faces inches apart.
The laughter went quiet. His eyes searched yours.
"You're real," you whispered.
"I am," he said.
And then he kissed you — not like the first time, which had been soft and brief and almost shy. This was different. Slower. Deeper. His hands found your waist and pulled you closer, and you let him, your fingers curling into the rough fabric of his tunic, forgetting everything except the cold press of his lips and the way he held you like you were something he didn't want to lose.
You ended up on your bed, tangled together, your head on his chest. You lay there listening — and the silence where a heartbeat should have been stretched on and on.
"I can't hear your heartbeat," you said.
He went still beneath you.
"I've never felt it," you continued, your voice smaller now. "I thought maybe I just couldn't through your clothes, but I'm right here and I still can't."
He didn't answer for a long moment. Then his hand came up to your hair, stroking it slowly.
"I know," he said.
"Is something wrong with you?"
Another silence. Then: "Something like that."
"You can tell me."
He didn't. He just held you closer, and you let him, and you didn't push. You never pushed.
𓇢𓆸
It was a Sunday afternoon, your mom visiting your grandmother, the house empty. You found yourself standing at the back fence, staring into the trees without quite meaning to.
He was there within minutes.
"Are you okay?" His voice was soft.
"I want to see it," you said. "The cabin."
His eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
"I'm ready."
He didn't argue. He just took your hand and led you into the forest.
Your heart hammered the whole way. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves made you flinch. But his hand was in yours — cold, steady — and you held on like he was the only fixed point in the dark.
The cabin was smaller than you'd imagined. Old and half-collapsed, its roof sagging, the door hanging off one hinge. But when he pushed it open and you stepped inside, something shifted.
"It's warm," you said.
He smiled. "I told you."
He showed you around — the main room, bare except for leaves and settling dust; a small kitchen with a rusted stove; and then a back room, somehow still intact. A bed frame stripped to wood. A chair. And scattered across the floor, the remnants of someone's life: a baseball bat, a few books with their covers gone soft with age, scraps of clothing rotted beyond recognition.
"Do you think someone lived here?" he said, his voice casual, but there was something underneath it you couldn't read.
You crouched and picked up one of the books, turning it over in your hands. "Maybe. Maybe someone's kid."
He settled onto the floor, back against the wall, and you sat beside him. Your shoulder touched his.
"This place is special," you said.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "It is."
You leaned your head against his shoulder. He rested his cheek on top of your head.
"Do you ever think about where you'll be in ten years?" you asked.
He didn't answer.
"I used to think I wouldn't be anywhere," you went on. "That I'd just be in my room, still scared of everything. But now—" You paused. "I think I want to be somewhere. With someone."
He turned and pressed his lips to your forehead.
"I want that for you too," he said.
𓇢𓆸
Three days before Halloween, you were on your way out the door when your mom called your name.
"Where are you going?"
"Out with Hollis."
She frowned. She'd heard you mention him before — always casually, like he was just part of the furniture of your life. She'd never questioned it until now.
"Hollis," she repeated. "The boy you've been spending time with?"
"Yes."
"Bring him in. I want to meet him."
Your heart stuttered. "Mom—"
"Bring him in," she said again, and something in her voice was different — harder, quieter, like she'd already decided something.
Hollis was waiting by the fence, hands in his pockets, unhurried as always.
"My mom wants to meet you," you said.
His face went still. "She wants to meet me?"
"Yeah. She's inside."
He shook his head slowly. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not? She'll like you."
"Your mom—" He stopped. His jaw tightened. "Your mom doesn't know me."
"Then let her." You reached for his hand. "Please. It's important to me."
He looked at you for a long moment. Then he nodded.
You led him through the front door, your hand in his. Your mom was standing in the hallway, arms crossed, waiting. You stepped aside.
"Mom, this is Hollis."
Your mom's gaze moved to the space beside you. Her face went still. Then her eyes widened, and something moved across her expression — not confusion, not skepticism. Something older than that. Something like recognition.
"No," she whispered. "Not again."
"What?"
"Not again." Her voice was shaking now. "Please, not again."
"What do you mean, again?" You turned to look at Hollis.
He was gone. The space beside you was empty.
"Hollis?" You spun around. "Hollis—"
"There's no one there." Your mom's voice broke on it. "Sweetheart, there's no one there."
"You're lying—"
"I'm not." She moved toward you, her hand reaching out. "There's no one there. There hasn't been anyone there."
You backed away. The room tilted. Your mom caught you before you hit the ground.
𓇢𓆸
You spent the next two days in your room. Your mom came to check on you every few hours, her face tight and careful. Your dad came home early. They talked in the hallway in lowered voices, words sliding through the gap under your door. Something about you seeing things, a therapist.
You didn't argue. You barely spoke.
Halloween came. Your mom told you you weren't leaving the house. You nodded and said nothing.
When the house finally went quiet, you opened your window and climbed out.
You ran.
The forest was dark, branches reaching, roots catching at your feet. You pushed through, your chest burning, your eyes blurring — because you knew this forest now, you'd been here, and the memory of his hand in yours was enough to keep you moving.
Then the trees opened up and you stopped.
The lake. Still and black and cold, just as it always was, just as it had been every night of the past five years whether you were looking at it or not.
You couldn't move. The sound came back first — water blurring your ears — and then the cold, and then the light above your head going dim.
"Hey."
His voice came from behind you. Soft, familiar. You turned. He was standing at the edge of the trees, his face pale in the moonlight.
"Hey," he said again. "You came."
"Where did you go?" Your voice cracked open. "You just disappeared, you just—"
"I know." He stepped closer. "I'm sorry."
"You left me—"
"I would never leave you." He reached out and pulled you into him, his arms wrapping tight. "I'm here. I'm right here."
You cried into his chest — ugly, shaking sobs you couldn't hold back. He held you through all of it, his hand moving through your hair, his voice low and steady against your ear.
"I'm real," he said. "I'm real."
You pulled back. Your throat was raw. Your cheeks were wet.
"Take me to the cabin," you said. "Please."
𓇢𓆸
The moonlight fell through the holes in the roof in long silver columns, painting the floor in pale light. Hollis crouched near the far wall and straightened up holding something — a small black book, worn at the corners.
"I want you to have this," he said, holding it out.
You reached for it, started to open it — and he laid his hand over yours.
"Promise me you'll only read it after tonight."
You looked at him. He was visibly tense, but his eyes were soft.
"I promise," you said.
He nodded, something loosening in him. "Good."
You lay down on the dusty floor, your head on his chest, his arm around you. His fingers traced slow patterns on your shoulder. You listened to the silence where his heartbeat should have been.
"Tell me the rest of the story," you said.
He was quiet for a moment. Then he began.
"Taran finally becomes a hero. But it's not the ending he expected. He doesn't get the girl. He doesn't get the kingdom. He gets a choice."
"What kind of choice?"
"The High King offers him the crown. Everything he ever wanted; glory, power, a name that would be remembered. And he says no."
You lifted your head. "He says no?"
"He says he's not a king. He says he's just a pig-keeper who learned how to be brave." Hollis's voice was quiet. "He says he'd rather sail away."
"Sail away where?"
"Into the west. Somewhere new." A pause. "He never comes back."
You were still for a moment. "That's a sad ending."
"No," he said, barely above a whisper. "It's a good ending. He did what he had to do. He made his choice. Now he gets to rest."
You looked up at him. His eyes were on the ceiling, somewhere far away.
"Hollis," you said.
He looked at you.
"Are you Taran?"
He smiled — small, sad, and real. "No," he said. "I was just a boy who wanted to be like him."
Was. Something about the word snagged on you, but you were too tired and too afraid to pull at it.
You rested your head back on his chest. His breathing was slow. Steady. Almost too slow.
"Tell me something true," you whispered.
He was quiet for a long time.
"I never found my armor," he said finally. "But I found you. And it fits so much better."
You closed your eyes. His voice was the last thing you heard.
𓇢𓆸
The search teams found her at dawn.
Her mother had called the police when she discovered the empty bedroom. Flashlights moved through the dark between the trees, voices calling her name, until they reached the old cabin at the edge of the forest.
She was curled on the floor of the back room, sleeping soundly. Her face was peaceful — more peaceful than her mother had seen it in years. In her hand she clutched a piece of fabric, rough-spun and faded, the color of something that had once been brown.
Her mother dropped to her knees.
"Where's Hollis?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep when they woke her. "Where did he go?"
"He's not here, sweetheart," her mother said.
"He was right there." She pointed at the floor beside her. "He was right here with me."
One of the officers noticed something. A seam in the floorboards. A board that didn't sit flush with the others. He crouched down and pried it up.
Beneath it, preserved by the cold earth and the silence of years, were the remains of a boy. The clothes had long since rotted away — all but one piece: a scrap of rough-spun fabric, the color of something once white and now faded to almost nothing.
The same fabric she was holding in her hand.
Rusted pieces of metal lay scattered around him. A boy's dream of armor, gone to pieces in the dark.
𓇢𓆸
REMAINS OF BOY DISCOVERED IN ABANDONED CABIN
The remains of a seventeen-year-old boy were discovered early this morning in a derelict cabin at the edge of Lakewood Forest. They have since been identified as those of Hollis Parker Herndon-Frazier, reported missing on Halloween night, 1969.
The case was closed in 1975 after an investigation into the boy's stepfather proved inconclusive. His body was never found.
He was last seen wearing a tunic and costume armor.
i was so distraught when hollisangels didn’t finish the whole pornstar!hollis fic so i came to ask if you can do it, i begggg
» you did so good for daddy… «
pornstar ! hollis x pornstar ! reader
if someone had asked you a few years ago what your dream job was, you probably would’ve said something like fashion journalist, stylist, or designer. but here you were, making your money in porn.
after graduating high school, everything got very difficult for you. los angeles was expensive, you had no money for university, and you couldn’t find a job. you always knew you were hot, a lot of guys told you so, so when you saw a company looking for an actress, you got hooked and applied. a few weeks later, you ended up on your first set.
the first few times you filmed were pretty difficult. you weren’t a virgin, but you weren’t very experienced either. still, the comments under your first video went crazy, asking for more of you. so you became more confident and actually started to have fun.
today, you had another filming day scheduled. you were chilling on set, doing your makeup and applying sparkly body lotion all over your body. you were wearing a pink victoria’s set set with black details and ruffles - your favorite. your hair was open in soft waves falling over your shoulder. you preferred getting to the filming location early so you had enough time to get ready, because you always needed a little alone time to make sure you looked perfect so you could be fully confident in front of the camera.
the company hadn’t told you anything about your co-star yet. they usually didn’t. they only told you he was around your age and that he was uprising, having gained a huge following on porn sites recently, especially female ones. he was famous for something else that was huge…
you hit your vape and scrolled on your phone when the door opened. you lifted your eyes from the screen and they widened. that must’ve been the most attractive guy you had ever seen. he was tall, very tall. his blond hair fell to his shoulders and he wore black sweats and a grey tank top, exposing his muscular arms and broad stature.
the producer came to greet him, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. he was magnetic. they talked for a bit, and then both of them walked over to you. you were still holding your vape and phone in your hands.
“hey y/n, that’s hollis. he’s filming with you today.”
“hi,” hollis said, holding out his hand for you to shake.
it took you a second to snap back to reality, but you took his hand and shook it. he noticed how off guard he had you, and that made him chuckle.
“i saw some of your stuff. you’re pretty good.”
“me? oh… oh, thank you.” you babbled, trying not to act too weird, but you were getting very nervous again - possibly even more than before your first filming session.
“okay, let’s start, guys,” the producer called, and you got up from your seat, hitting your vape one last time.
“alright, so… y/n, i need you to place yourself on the bed, and hollis is going to come in and surprise you while you play with yourself with a dildo. got it?”
you nodded and got on the bed. how were you supposed to pleasure yourself in front of him? how were you supposed to fuck him? god, how badly you wished you could take a shot right now - maybe two - to be braver.
but you knew you needed to function. rent was due in a week, and you really needed the money. so you took the pink silicone dildo, opened your legs to the camera, and started pleasuring yourself through your panties first with your fingers. hollis was standing out of frame, leaning against a wall, watching your every move. you tried to ignore him to stay focused, but your mind kept going crazy, knowing his dick would be inside you soon.
the thought alone made you so wet and aroused that it became easy to pleasure yourself, almost completely forgetting about the camera. you dramatically batted your lashes, letting out your best cute little moans while you started rubbing the dildo against your panties too. you stripped off the panties and started teasing your hole with the toy, gasping when you pushed it in. you pleasured yourself, closing your eyes and enjoying the sensation. it felt so good that you didn’t even notice the director telling Hollis it was his turn to join in.
“baby, didn’t I tell you not to use your toys alone? or only when I allow you to?”
you snapped out of your pleasure-induced trance and opened your eyes, seeing hollis getting on the bed with you.
“didn’t you promise me not to be a bad, bad girl anymore, hm?”
you looked at him, mumbling a theatrical “i’m sorry, daddy.”
hollis chuckled. “guess i need to punish you for being such a dirty little slut, huh? you’d like that, baby?”
you nodded your head very quickly, almost begging him to do so.
the everything happened very fast. he unclasped your bra, exposing you fully. you were left completely naked, only wearing some pleaser heels. hollis took his grey tank top off. his body was so fucking hot. you were so excited he was going to take you.
“will you be good and suck daddy’s cock, yeah?” his sweats and boxers came off in one go, and you couldn’t help but gasp at his size. the other co-stars you’d fucked had big dicks too, but his was on a completely different level. you weren’t even sure you could fit it in your mouth, but you tried.
he had no mercy with you. he gripped your hair and pushed his cock into your mouth, bobbing your head and not caring whether you could breathe. you gagged a few times, and tears filled your eyes. your makeup was fully ruined, mascara running down your pretty face. not even five minutes into filming, and he had you looking completely fucked out. he didn’t loosen his grip on your hair but eventually removed himself from your mouth.
the director cut in. “y/n, you alright?”
you nodded, signaling you were fine.
“you’re huge,” you said to hollis, adding quickly, “but i like it,” hoping he thought you were hot too.
he smirked at you. “i know. sorry if it hurts. tell me if i’m too rough with you and i’ll stop, okay?”
you gave him a smile.
“i love the energy, guys. perfect. let’s continue with the next scene. y/n, now beg him to fuck you and get on all fours, yeah?”
you took a deep breath and got back into your role. “i need you to fuck me, daddy,” you whined theatrically. hollis grabbed you by the hair again, forcing you onto all fours as the director wanted.
“fuck, baby, you’re so fucking wet. let me fuck that pretty little pink pussy of yours.” without any warning, he rammed into you with full force.
you screamed out, a mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming your entire body. hollis’ large hand slapped your ass while he fucked you in an intense rhythm. the camera guy came closer, filming how his cock slid in and out of you. hollis’ hand found your hair again, pulling your head back and forcing you to look at him over your shoulder. he was so beautiful. you couldn’t believe he was fucking you like this. his dick was hitting your g-spot perfectly, and out of nowhere an orgasm overcame you. you were shocked, because usually you always needed clit stimulation. your pussy clenched around him and you let out your most beautiful moans for the camera. you saw the team giving you a thumbs up for your performance, and you didn’t stop.
“yo, i think we need to change scenes. she’s so fucking tight, i don’t know how long i can fuck her like this without cumming myself,” hollis said, slowly pulling out of you.
“okay hol, y/n, get off the bed and kneel in front of him. jerk him off so he can cum on your face, okay?”
you did as told. your eyes met his while you knelt in front of him, and for a brief second you had to remind yourself you were at your job. you couldn’t fall for a rising pornstar. that would only break your heart, right?
you jerked him off, and a few minutes later his cum landed on your face, ruining your makeup even more. he dragged his thumb through it, putting some of it into your mouth.
“mmm, you did so good for daddy…”
a/n: okay i’m obsessed with pornstar ! hollis fuckkkk
୨୧ You loved being a distraction to Hollis in the studio.
tags: situationship/friends with benefits kinda, pwp, p in v, oral (m receiving)
w/c: 1.3k
a/n: so this fic was actually written last year and never posted and i cannot remember why but im posting it now ^_^ mainly bc ive been having some writers block and have been a little inactive n i feel bad so here's a small oneshot for u all <3 as usual no screenshotting/talking about this fic outside of tumblr thank u
Hollis made it very clear that you weren't his girlfriend. He told you that after one of the many times the two of you slept together. You were fine with it really, sometimes putting a label on a relationship complicates and ruins things. He didn’t have time for a relationship right now and wanted to focus on his music and you understood that.
Which is why you were confused that he always let you stay in the studio whenever he was working. You laid on the couch behind him, scrolling on your phone and listening to him attempt to find a perfectly good snare for the beat he was working on.
“Uh…how’s it going?” You asked.
Hollis sighed. “Can’t figure out what would sound good here.”
You closed your phone and got up from the couch, walking over to where he was sitting and looking at the screen. It looked like the cockpit of a plane to be honest, you don’t really know how this producing shit works. You slowly put your hands on his shoulders, sliding down to rest your head on his. “Just go with your gut, maybe.”
“You trying to distract me on purpose?”
“Yeah.” You smirked, playing with his necklace.
“Why?”
“‘Cause…” You boldly pulled his chair out more and sat on his lap.
“What’s up with you?” His eyebrows furrowed and he couldn’t help but smile at you. He took his hands off the computer and wrapped them around your waist. You bit your lip and went in for a kiss. He reciprocated immediately, humming into it.
You felt his hands travel down to your ass and smiled. Your mission of distracting him had been successful. He pulled off when he fully realized the situation. “You wanna do it here?” By doing this, he’d be eating up part of the studio time he had here. It was a public building, anybody could walk in. But he didn’t seem to care and neither did you.
You pulled your shirt off in front of him, your boobs falling out of the shirt. His eyes immediately trailed down to look at them. “You don’t seem too opposed to the idea. Maybe this’ll give you some inspiration.”
You felt Hollis’ big hands on your back. They were warm, they always were. His eyes darted from your breasts, to your lips, and to your face. Without a word, he leaned in to put his mouth on one of your nipples. You let out a soft moan and grasped the back of his head as his tongue circled the nub.
You felt him get hard under you. You could always immediately tell because of how big he was. You grinded slowly against the bulge on his pants. He hummed while sucking your other boob.
When he was done he asked you to go to the couch, wanting to do you there. You got up from his lap and took off your shorts in the process, leaving you in just your panties. Hollis sat down on the couch and you kneeled in front of him between his legs, palming his bulge.
“Such a fuckin’ tease.” He muttered above you.
“Sorry.” You giggled, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. You pulled them down a bit and grabbed his hard cock out of his underwear. Words cannot express how obsessed you were with it. It was so big and perfectly hit every sweet spot inside of you. The stretch felt like heaven.
You put your mouth on the tip and began sucking lightly. You heard him let out a small moan of pleasure above you. It was like music to your ears. He rested his hand on your head as you began to sink down, sucking him properly.
You tried getting him all in your throat. He groaned loud when he was completely encased in your mouth. You gagged a bit and pulled off and smiled at him. He wiped the side of your mouth and you went back to it.
You felt so slutty like this. It was kind of fun. Giving him a blowjob in the studio where anybody could walk in at any second, being almost completely naked while he still had all his clothes on.
You gagged hard when he put his hand on your head and kept his entire cock in your throat. Your eyes teared up just a bit. In any other situation, you would want this to stop, but his face made it all worth it. He looked incredibly hot right now, trying not to cry out in pleasure and let the whole building hear him.
“Fuck.” He said breathlessly. A string of saliva was connected from your mouth to his cock as you pulled off and caught your breath with a few coughs.
“Get up here, babe.” He motioned for you to get on his lap.
You cheerfully climbed up. You slid your panties off, positioned his cock under you and sank down nice and slow. You both moaned in pleasure as you went down. You wrapped your arms around his neck and started bouncing on top of him. He was so deep in you, your legs shook whenever he reached the deepest part.
His big hands wrapped around your waist and guided you down on it. You shrieked a bit, it felt different when he was controlling how deep he was inside.
He suddenly pulled you off of him and motioned for you to get grab the couch and get on all fours. He stood up and got behind you, grabbing his cock and pushing it back in and continuing to fuck you. You gripped the couch and cried out, he was hitting your G spot with such a perfect amount of force. Your back arched.
“Don’t run.” He pushed you back onto his cock, thrusting the whole thing in. “Take all of me. You like that?”
“Nngh, yes.”
“That’s why you came here. Not interested in my music, just wanted this,” His hand traveled to touch your clit. “Is that it?”
“M-mmhm...” You whined as he began rubbing you through the thrusts.
“My lil’ nympho. Always so hungry for it, can never get enough.” He looked down at where you two were connected. “You’re squeezing me so much.”
Your eyes rolled back as your entire body felt nothing but pleasure. He was thrusting extra hard right at your sweet spot and rubbing your clit. You had no choice but stay there and to let him use your body.
“I’m gonna c-cum…” You breathed out, feeling the familiar feeling in your tummy. Your mouth hung opened as you came on his dick and he fucked you through it. It felt like it lasted forever because his pace didn’t falter.
It seemed like he wasn’t even close. You winced a bit from overstimulation, he stopped rubbing you down there and focused on chasing his orgasm. Your moans became rapid as he pounded you faster.
Suddenly, his hand wrapped around your throat and pulled you up so that you were right in front of him, back arched. His grip on your throat tightened just a bit and he continued fucking you. You already felt like you were going to cum again.
You felt him swell in you and you knew he was close. He groaned and pulled out quickly. You heard the lewd sound of him quickly jerking off and he let out a low groan when he finally came. You felt white spurts of cum splatter onto your back.
Completely exhausted, you fell onto the couch. He walked over to get some tissues and wipe you off. “You are such a distraction.” He sighed.
“You love it.”
You don’t know if you were in love with Hollis or in love with the sex. Whatever your relationship was, it made you happy. You nearly dozed off on the couch and he went back to producing, seemingly out of his funk with the beat he was working on.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
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