skater/fuckboy!hollis x reader
tags: p in v, oral (both receiving,) spanking, degradation, unreciprocated feelings, hollis is just basically a piece of shit lol
It was a sticky Saturday night in early spring, the kind where the air still carried the faint chill of winter but the humidity promised summer was creeping in. You hadn’t wanted to come out. Not really. The skate park was the last place you felt like being. It was loud, chaotic, full of loud voices and the constant scrape of wheels on concrete. But your best friend had begged, her eyes wide and hopeful because her crush was supposedly out there grinding rails and showing off. You couldn’t say no to her, even if it meant dragging yourself along like a reluctant sidekick.
The two of you arrived just as the sun dipped low, painting the ramps in warm oranges and pinks. A decent crowd had gathered around a battered wooden picnic table near the edge of the park, some drinking cheap beer from cans, others passing around a joint, laughter rising above the rhythmic clatter of skateboards. You blended in easily enough, introducing yourselves with quick smiles and casual waves. The conversation flowed loosely: who landed what trick, who ate shit on the big ramp, whose ex was being dramatic again.
One of the girls, tall, with dyed black hair and a nose ring leaned forward, exhaling smoke as she spoke. “Hollis is out there again. God, he’s such an asshole… but he’s beautiful. Like, unfairly beautiful.”
Your brows furrowed. Hollis? You scanned the park, eyes drifting over the scattered skaters until they landed on him. It had to be him.
He moved like liquid confidence. Shaggy dirty blonde hair peeked out from under a worn black backwards hat, catching the dying light in golden strands. His face was all sharp angles. Prominent cheekbones, a razor-sharp jawline, and those plump, pink lips that looked like they were made of pillows. A loose black tank top clung to his lean, sculpted torso, the fabric shifting with every fluid motion as he carved up and down the ramps. Baggy, dirt streaked jeans hung low on his hips, revealing the faint lines of his V line whenever he bent or twisted. Every trick he landed looked effortless, like gravity owed him a favor. He had that rare kind of presence… cool without trying, dangerous without saying a word.
Your friend noticed immediately, nudging your side with a knowing grin. “Liking what you’re seeing, huh?”
You rolled your eyes, forcing a scoff as you tore your gaze away. “Oh, shut up. I can already tell he’s a dick. Hard pass.”
But it was a lie, and a weak one at that. Deep down, something electric had sparked in your chest the second your eyes found him. He looked like trouble wrapped in pretty packaging. Untouchable, magnetic, the kind of boy who left girls wrecked and wanting more. You hated how badly you already wanted a taste.
The crowd thinned out as the sky darkened, but you and your friend stayed a little longer, perched on the edge of the table. Someone passed around cigarettes, and you lit one, the smoke curling lazily into the night air while conversation drifted from music to local drama to nothing in particular. The warm buzz of nicotine and low laughter made the evening feel almost comfortable.
Then a tap on your shoulder.
“Yo, girl. You got a cig I can bum? Smoked my last one like an hour ago.”
The voice was low, smooth, laced with that effortless drawl. You turned, heart jolting when you met his eyes.
Up close, he was even more devastating. Those beautiful hazel eyes locked onto yours with lazy intensity. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his collarbones, and the gold chain around his neck caught the faint glow of the distant streetlights. He smelled like cigarette smoke, sweat, and something faintly woody. Probably whatever cheap cologne he’d sprayed on earlier.
“Yeah, give me a sec,” you managed, keeping your voice steady as you rummaged through your purse. Your fingers closed around the pack, but in your haste, your wallet slipped out and hit the ground.
Before you could react, he bent down smoothly and picked it up. His thumb brushed over the clear front pocket where your ID sat. He glanced at it, then back at you, the corner of his mouth ticking up.
“Y/n,” he read aloud, voice dripping with approval. “Pretty name. I like it.” He straightened, handing the wallet back but keeping the cigarette you offered. “I’m Hollis.”
He slid the cig between those plush lips, lit it with a quick flick of a lighter, and took a slow drag. Then, without warning, he leaned in slightly and exhaled the smoke right toward your face. Intimate, teasing, borderline rude. “Thanks for the cig, ma.”
He turned to walk away, but stopped after only a few steps. Glancing back over his shoulder, he asked, “Hey… you got a Snapchat?”
You answered way too fast, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Yeah. It’s yourusername.”
He nodded once, pulling out his phone. “Bet. I’ll add you. I fuck with your vibe.”
And just like that, he was gone, skating back toward the ramps like he hadn’t just tilted your entire night off its axis.
You felt exhilarated. Nervous. Stupidly excited. He was clearly a fuckboy, every instinct screamed it. I mean he asked for your Snapchat for crying out loud. But honestly? You could use some fun. Your life had felt too safe, too predictable lately. A little chaos sounded dangerously appealing.
You and your friend headed home not long after. The second you stepped through your front door, you beelined for the shower, desperate to wash off the night air and the faint smell of cigarette smoke clinging to your hair. Hot water cascaded over you as you lathered shampoo into your scalp, mind replaying the way Hollis had looked at you, the way his voice had wrapped around your name like it already belonged to him.
Your phone buzzed loudly on the bathroom counter.
You leaned out of the curtain, water dripping onto the tile, and saw the notification:
hollisfrazierherndon added you as a friend.
Heart racing, you added him back instantly.
Not even thirty seconds later, another notification came through.
It was a selfie. Hollis lying in bed, shirtless, that gold chain resting against his toned chest. His shaggy hair was messier now, falling into his eyes. Those plump lips were curved in a cocky little smirk. The caption read:
You bit your lip, a thrill shooting through you. Feeling bold, maybe too bold, you angled your phone carefully and took a risky snap: chest-up in the shower, soap suds sliding down your skin, your breasts just barely out of frame. You puckered your lips into a playful kissy face and typed:
He opened it immediately. The response came fast. Another photo, this time angled lower. His abs were on full display, hand blatantly palming the obvious bulge in his grey sweatpants. Caption:
You giggled, the sound echoing off the shower walls. God, he was already hot and bothered. The power felt intoxicating.
Emboldened, you took it further. This time you cupped one soapy breast with your hand, fingers strategically covering your nipple, the shot teasing and explicit. Caption:
You sent your address in the next snap, along with a few more flirty back and forths. Your pulse thundered in your ears the entire time.
By the time you stepped out of the shower, you’d shaved everything smooth, thrown on light makeup, and brushed your hair until it fell in soft waves. You slipped into your sexiest loungewear, a tiny black camisole that hugged your curves and barely there shorts that showed off your legs and ass. Your heart hammered as you waited.
You practically sprinted to the door, nerves evaporating into pure, electric excitement. When you swung it open, Hollis stood there in all his glory. Still in that backwards hat, tank top slightly rumpled, baggy jeans hanging low. His eyes dragged over your body slowly, appreciatively, a hungry smirk spreading across his face.
“Damn, ma,” he said, voice already rough with want as he stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him. “Those snaps didn’t do you justice. Look at you… all dressed up like a little present for me.”
His hand found your waist instantly, fingers digging in possessively as he pulled you flush against his chest. No awkward small talk. No hesitation.
He leaned in, breath hot against your ear. “You really invited a stranger over after a few snaps? Naughty girl.”
Then his mouth was on yours. Rough, demanding, claiming. He tasted like cigarettes and mint, and he kissed like he owned you already. One big hand shoved under your camisole, roughly palming your breast, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth. The other hand gripped your ass, squeezing so tightly you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow.
“Bedroom. Now,” he growled against your lips.
He didn’t wait for you to lead. He simply lifted you off the ground like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you down the hallway. The second your back hit the mattress he was on you, yanking your camisole over your head and ripping your shorts down your legs in one harsh motion.
“Fuck, look at this body,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. He stripped fast. Tank top gone, jeans and boxers shoved down, revealing his thick, hard cock already leaking at the tip. He stroked himself once, eyes dark as he stared down at your naked form. “Legs open. Wider.”
He climbed between your thighs, spat on his cock, lined up, and slammed into you in one brutal thrust. The stretch burned deliciously. You cried out, back arching.
“Shit, you’re so fucking tight.” he groaned, hips already snapping forward hard and fast. No warm up. No gentleness. Just raw, punishing rhythm. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. “Take this dick, Y/n. That’s it… scream for me, you fuckin slut.”
The filthy words made your pussy clench around him. He fucked you like he hated you and needed you at the same time. Deep, relentless strokes that had the headboard slamming against the wall. Sweat already beading on his chest, his gold chain swinging with every brutal thrust.
He suddenly pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up so you were face-down, ass-up. He slapped your ass hard, the crack echoing, before driving back in even deeper.
“Arch that back. Yeah, just like that. Look at this fat ass bouncing on my cock.” His hand fisted your hair, yanking your head back as he railed you. Another sharp slap. “You love being used like this, don’t you?”
“I love it,” you moaned, voice breaking. “Fuck! Hollis…”
He reached around and rubbed your clit roughly, forcing your first orgasm out of you so fast your thighs shook. You came hard, crying out his name, but he didn’t slow down. He just growled, “Good girl,” and kept pounding through it.
Next he pulled you up, swung a leg over, and positioned you into 69. His thick cock slid straight down your throat while his mouth devoured your dripping pussy, tongue fucking into you, sucking your clit hard, two fingers curling viciously inside you. You gagged and drooled around him, choking as he fucked your face, hips thrusting shallowly while he ate you like a starving man. You came again embarrassingly fast, soaking his tongue. He moaned into your cunt at the taste.
He flipped you onto your back once more, but this time pulled you on top, facing away from him. Reverse cowgirl. “Ride me, slut. Bounce on this dick like you mean it.” His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, slamming you down onto him over and over. Every time you slowed he slapped your ass hard. “Faster. Make that ass clap. Fuck yes… just like that.”
You were a moaning, trembling mess when he suddenly yanked you off, turned you sideways, and pulled you into spooning position. One strong arm hooked under your knee, spreading you wide as he slid back in from behind. He fucked you slow and deep at first, grinding against that perfect spot, then built back up to that savage pace. His mouth was at your ear the whole time, biting your lobe, whispering the dirtiest shit. “This pussy belongs to me now. No one else is gonna fuck you right. You’re my little fucktoy whenever I want, understand?”
You came a third time, sobbing and screaming out his name, and only then did he finally let go. He pulled out at the last second, stroking himself furiously before shooting thick, hot ropes of cum all over your ass and lower back.
For a few seconds he just breathed heavily against your neck.
No kiss. No soft words. No towel. He simply stood up, cum still dripping down your skin, and started pulling on his clothes like you were nothing more than a convenient hole.
You lay there boneless, body aching in the best way, watching him dress in stunned silence.
“Bet,” he muttered, not even looking at you as he laced his shoes. “That was fire. I’ll hit you up.”
And with that, he walked out. You heard the front door clicked shut behind him.
No aftercare. No “you good?” Nothing.
You stayed exactly where he left you. Covered in his cum, thighs trembling, heart racing, for a long time.
He didn’t text. Not the next day. Not the day after.
By day four you were convinced he’d ghosted you. The sex had been mind-blowing, life-altering even, but the silence hurt more than you wanted to admit. You felt used. Cheap. Stupid for letting a stranger fuck you like that on the first night.
Then, on the fifth night, your phone lit up.
Your stomach flipped. You hated how fast your thumbs moved.
He showed up twenty minutes later, fucked you even harder than the first time… doggy on the living room floor this time, then against the kitchen counter, then missionary with your legs over his shoulders until you were screaming and crying from overstimulation. He left again right after, cum leaking down your thighs, without so much as a goodbye.
For months it repeated like clockwork. He’d disappear for days, sometimes a full week. Then a random “you up?” or “send pics” at 1 a.m. You always answered. You always let him in. He’d manhandle you, degrade you, fuck you in every position he wanted. Doggy with your face pressed into the mattress, 69 until you couldn’t breathe anymore, spooning while he choked you from behind, reverse cowgirl while he slapped your ass raw, prone bone until you were screaming obscenities. He was rough, filthy, relentless. He called you his slut, his whore, his personal fucktoy. And every single time the sex was so good it ruined you for anyone else.
You started falling. Hard.
Even though he never stayed. Even though he never cuddled, never asked about your day, never texted just to talk. He only wanted your body, and you kept giving it to him because the high of having him inside you was worth the crash afterward.
You told yourself you could handle it. You were just having fun.
One humid Friday night, months into the toxic loop, he showed up again. You were already soaked by the time he walked through the door. He didn’t waste time, pushed you against the wall, bent you over the couch, then carried you to the bed and fucked you senseless in every position again. By the time he had you on your back, legs spread wide, cock buried impossibly deep inside you, you were a wreck.
He was pounding into you hard, gold chain swinging, sweat dripping from his chest onto yours, when the words slipped out before you could stop them.
“Hollis… what am I to you?”
His thrusts faltered for a split second. Those hazel eyes met yours, surprise and confusion flashing across his face.
“Uhhh… I don’t know, shawty,” he panted, still moving inside you, slower now. “I mean… I have fun with you. You got good pussy. But I don’t want no relationship, ya know? I’m not looking for all that.”
Your chest tightened. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you forced them back and nodded, voice small and shaky.
“Yeah… I understand.” You swallowed hard, then whispered, “Come on… fuck me harder, Holli.”
Something dark and satisfied flashed in his eyes. He gripped your hips tighter and gave you exactly what you asked for, pounding you into the mattress until you both came, loud and messy.
When it was over, he pulled out, wiped his cock on your thigh like it was nothing, and started getting dressed. He opened his mouth. “Thanks for the pussy, talk to you later.”
You lay there in silence, tears finally slipping down your temples as he walked out the door without another word.
He never stayed. He didn’t want you like that.
The ache in your chest was sharper than the ache between your legs.
But the next time he texted, days later, asking if you were free… you still said yes.
Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how many times he left you empty and used, the moment he was deep inside you again, rough hands, dirty mouth, that perfect cock destroying you, you forgot everything else.
You were falling deeper every single time.
And you didn’t know how to stop.
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gonna make this a series hehehe lmk if you wanna be added to the tag list plzzzz :)
taglist: @voidatelier @sweet2sin @swaggotsnoticeswaggots @obscureleoasian @punkarchangel
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blakekathryn
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