pairing dealer!hollis && clientele!reader. 🪽,,
⤷ summary : you and your drug dealer finally decide to do something about the feelings you both have for each other
⤷ warnings : drug usage, confessions, smut, fluff at the end
a/n : tried something new, sorry if this is horrible
The sound of tires crunching over gravel made you look up from your phone. The headlights washed over your apartment’s parking lot, spotlighting you for a second before dimming as the car came to a slow stop.
Same black car. Same casually slouched posture in the driver’s seat. Same crooked smile when your eyes met.
You shoved your phone in your hoodie pocket and walked toward the car, heart thudding a little too hard in your chest for what was supposed to be a casual drop-off. Again.
He leaned over, popped the passenger door, and nodded toward the seat. “Get in. It’s cold.”
“It’s October,” you said, climbing in anyway. He shrugged
The car filled with the scent of him—cologne, weed, and something distinctly Hollis that made you want to lean closer. You didn’t. Not yet.
“So…” he reached into the center console and pulled out a small bag, placing it gently in your hand. “Your usual.”
Your fingers brushed his, and it lingered longer than it needed to. Your breath hitched. He noticed.
“You good?” he asked, voice a little rougher now, eyes not quite leaving yours.
“Yeah. Just…” You looked down at the bag, then tucked it away. “Long day.”
“You wanna smoke a little?” he offered casually, but the tone didn’t match the words. It was softer. Tentative. “I rolled already. No pressure.”
You’d done this a dozen times. The quiet tension. The lingering looks. The jokes that felt like more. The way he always waited until you went back inside before driving off.
But tonight felt different.
“Yeah,” you said. “Sure.”
He lit the blunt and took a hit, his fingers steady but his eyes flicking to you. When he passed it, your hands touched again. Warm. Familiar. You brought it to your lips and inhaled, the smoke curling in your lungs, loosening something tight in your chest.
Minutes passed. The car filled with haze. So did the air between you two.
“You ever think about…” he started, then trailed off.
You turned to him, eyebrow raised. “About what?”
He leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed for a second. “Us.”
The word hung there, suspended like smoke.
You blinked. “Yeah,” you admitted. Quiet, honest. “More than I should.”
His eyes snapped open. Dark. Wanting.
Silence. But not the uncomfortable kind. It crackled, like a fuse had been lit and neither of you knew how long until it reached the end.
The kiss was soft at first—tentative, like you were both afraid you’d imagined all of it. But then your hand slid into his hair, and he groaned against your mouth, and that was it.
It deepened. Got messy. His hands found your waist, pulling you into his lap. You straddled him easily, lips never leaving his, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt.
He pulled back for a second, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours.
“I want this,” you whispered, already pulling your hoodie over your head. “I want you.”
And that was all it took.
Clothes tangled. Windows fogged. The blunt forgotten in the ashtray. The world narrowed to the heat between you, to gasps and hands and moaned names, and the quiet confession he breathed against your neck just before everything tipped over.
Later, when you were both a mess of limbs and lazy kisses, still curled up in the passenger seat, Hollis tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and looked at you like you were something he never thought he’d get to touch.
“You know this isn’t just a one-time thing, right?” he said, voice low.
You giggled, brushing your fingers over his jaw.
He kissed you again, slower this time. Like a promise.
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