tags: p in v, lap dance, spanking, hair pulling, choking, sucking toes, creampie, awkward tension, demanding hollis, blowjob, swallowing
💎 💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎💎
The VIP room was quiet except for your ragged breathing and the distant thump of the club songs fading into the chatter of the miscellaneous patrons and dancers in the main room. The air hung heavy with the thick, musky scent of sex… sweat, arousal, and the sharp, spicy edge of Hollis’s cologne clinging to your skin. Your body still trembled from the intensity, thighs slick and sticky as Hollis tucked himself back into his jeans, his gaze dark and satisfied while watching his cum begin to leak down your inner thigh in warm, slow trails. He handed you his phone without a blink. “Put your number in. Text me the second you’re off work. Don’t make me wait.”
You nodded shyly, fingers trembling slightly as you typed under his watchful, intense stare. Something about his effortless authority made your usual boldness slip away. He’d just ruined you in the best way, and the lingering ache between your legs already had you craving more.
You finished your shift at 3 a.m., bone-tired but still buzzing with residual heat. The locker room smelled of baby wipes, perfume, and crumpled bills as you changed quickly. The cool night air hit your flushed skin as you slid into the driver’s seat of your car, the leather cool against your thighs. The second the door shut, sealing you in quiet, you grabbed your phone.
You: Hey, it’s Y/N. Just got off.
Hollis: Good girl. Knew you’d text right away. How much you make tonight?
You: Around $850. Not bad for a weeknight.
Hollis: Cute. I could give you way more than that if you earn it. I take care of what’s mine.
You: Yours?
Hollis: Yeah. You’re coming on tour with me. Bus leaves in 2 days. Pack light.
You: I can’t. I have work.
Hollis: Already handled it with your boss. Paid him enough that he’s not expecting you back for a couple months. You’re with me now.
You: You’re serious?
Hollis: I don’t joke about what I want. Be ready.
The conversation kept going late into the night, his messages confident and direct. He teased you about how soaked you’d been for him, told you exactly how he planned to have you again, and reminded you that good behavior got rewarded. You fell asleep with your phone warm in your hand, equal parts nervous and thrilled, the faint ache between your legs a constant reminder.
**
Two days later, you were stepping onto the tour bus. The vehicle hummed with low energy… the low rumble of the engine, the scent of leather seats, fast food, and faint cologne from the guys. Crew moved around, a few laughing in the front lounge. Hollis nodded at his friends, then grabbed your hand firmly, his grip warm and possessive, and pulled you straight to the back room. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the noise and leaving only the muffled vibration of the bus starting to move.
“I know you’re technically off work for the next couple months,” he said, voice low and commanding as he dropped onto the small couch, legs spread wide in that entitled way. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not gonna work for me. Strip. Then give me a dance.”
You weren’t used to this… performing privately like this, outside the club’s atmosphere and paid audience. The bus hummed beneath your feet, the faint scent of diesel and clean sheets mixing in the air. But the way he looked at you left no room for refusal. You peeled off your clothes slowly under his heavy gaze, the cool air raising goosebumps on your exposed skin. Almost completely bare, except for your heels and underwear, you stepped between his knees, heart pounding.
The bus rumbled softly as it pulled out onto the road. You started moving to the low beat leaking from a distant speaker in the front lounge, hips rolling fluidly, the faint vibration of the tires adding a rhythmic pulse. You turned, arching your back deeply and pressing your ass against his lap, grinding in slow, deliberate circles. The rough denim of his jeans dragged against your barely covered, sensitive pussy, sending sparks of heat through you. You glanced over your shoulder, catching his darkening eyes and the way his jaw tightened.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, hands resting on your hips but not guiding yet… letting you work. The warmth of his palms seeped into your skin. “That’s it. Movin’ just like you did on that pole.”
You spun to face him, straddling his lap and rolling your body against his in a sensual wave. Your breasts brushed his chest with every motion, nipples hardening from the contact. One hand trailed down your own stomach, teasing between your legs before sliding back up, drawing a low groan from him. His breathing grew heavier, chest rising and falling. You felt him hardening beneath you, the thick, insistent outline of his cock pressing hot and heavy against your core through his jeans.
“Shit, you’re good at this,” he said, voice rough with growing arousal. “Most girls get shy one-on-one. Not you. Keep going—show me why I picked you.”
You dropped lower, ass bouncing lightly against his thighs in a rhythmic twerk that made your cheeks ripple, then rose again, dragging your slick pussy along the hard bulge in his jeans with deliberate pressure. His hands finally tightened on your waist, fingers digging in possessively. “Yeah… just like that. You already got me hard as fuck. Keep earning it.”
The dance grew filthier, sweat beginning to slick your skin as you pressed your tits together, bouncing them inches from his face while grinding harder, the wet heat between your thighs soaking into his jeans. His cock throbbed visibly beneath you, straining against the fabric. “You feel that?” he asked, cocky smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s what you do to me. Most girls don’t get me this worked up this fast.”
By the end you were panting, skin flushed and slick with sweat, pussy aching and dripping from the power play. He wasn’t making another move, so you tried to reach for your clothes, but he stopped you with a firm hand on your wrist, grip unyielding.
“Nah. Not yet.” In one smooth motion he threw you onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. The fabric of your bra and panties tore easily under his strong hands with a sharp rip. “I’ll buy you more. Don’t worry about it.”
He was on you immediately, rough and unrelenting, the bus’s steady vibration adding a constant, throbbing undertone. He flipped you onto all fours, the cool air contrasting with your heated skin. His hand cracked across your ass with a sharp, resounding smack that echoed in the small room, the sting blooming hot and sharp across your cheek. “Arch that back,” he ordered. You obeyed instantly, pushing your ass higher, presenting yourself to him. He thrust in deep in one powerful stroke, stretching your slick walls around his thick cock, the sudden fullness forcing a loud moan from your throat.
“Fuck—yes,” you moaned, gripping the sheets tightly, the fabric bunching under your fingers.
“That’s right. Take this big dick.” He set a punishing pace, hips snapping against you with wet, obscene sounds that filled the room, his balls slapping rhythmically against your clit. One hand fisted your hair, yanking your head back firmly, the pull sending tingles across your scalp. “So fucking tight. You love this, don’t you? Being manhandled by me.”
His other hand wrapped around your throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make your head spin deliciously, the pressure heightening every sensation as he pounded deeper. The mix of roughness and his arrogant confidence turned you on more than you wanted to admit… your pussy clenching greedily around him with every thrust. He spanked you again and again, harder each time, the sharp impacts leaving your ass warm and tingling.
He switched positions fluidly, pulling out with a wet sound and flipping you onto your back. He pushed your legs wide apart, exposing you completely, then lifted one foot to his mouth. While pounding into you in deep, steady, relentless strokes… his cock dragging perfectly against your G-spot with every thrust, he sucked on your toes, tongue swirling hot and wet around them while keeping his eyes on yours, the filthy sensation making your eyes roll back. The contrast of his dominant thrusts and the intimate, degrading act pushed you closer and closer to the edge, your moans growing louder and more desperate.
“Look at me,” he growled, releasing your foot to choke you lightly again, his hand firm around your throat as he stared down at you with that cocky intensity. “You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you gasped, obeying instantly, voice breathy and wrecked.
He smirked, clearly pleased with your submission. Another hard, grinding thrust hit your G-spot perfectly, sending you spiraling. You came hard, clenching violently around his thick length, waves of pleasure crashing through you as your body shook and your juices coated him. But he didn’t stop… flipping you again onto your stomach, fucking you from behind with even more force, the slap of skin on skin loud and rhythmic, until he finally buried himself deep to the hilt and came with a low, satisfied groan, flooding you with hot, thick spurts that you felt pulsing inside.
You laid naked and breathless on the bed, body marked with handprints, sweat-slicked and glowing, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. The room smelled overwhelmingly of sex now. Hollis reached for his jeans, pulled out a thick stack of hundreds, and threw it over you. The bills fluttered down across your tits, stomach, and thighs in a cool cascade… easily a thousand dollars landing softly on your heated skin.
He chuckled, low and satisfied, eyes tracing the sight. “Keep behaving and you’ll make more than you ever did at that shitty club in no time. Good girl.”
**
The bus arrived at the first venue. You filed off with the group into the bustling backstage area, the air buzzing with equipment hums and distant crowd noise from the long line wrapped around the block. Hollis grabbed your hand and led you up to the balcony. “You haven’t earned side stage yet. You’ll sit here with some of my friends for now.”
You nodded, expecting familiar faces from the bus. Later, as the show neared, you climbed to your spot with a strong drink in hand, the plastic cup cool and condensation-slick against your palm. Three other girls were already there, chatting and laughing, their nauseating perfume mixing in the air. They turned when you approached.
One smirked. “Oh, you must be a new one. Let me guess—stripper he met at the club and just had to have? Am I right?”
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you nodded. “Yeah… something like that.”
Another giggled. “How’d you get here? Did he send a driver, or did you drive yourself?”
You shook your head. “Actually, I’m staying on the tour bus with Hollis.”
Their expressions shifted to stunned silence, then forced smiles. “Wait, seriously? On the bus?” one asked, jealousy clear in her tone. “None of us ever got that.”
The conversation stayed awkward. “So… how long you been talking to him?” another asked, eyes narrowing slightly. You kept answers short, feeling their curious and envious stares. They clearly weren’t thrilled about the new girl getting special treatment.
The lights dropped and the show started. The crowd’s roar was deafening, a wall of sound that vibrated through your chest. Hollis exploded onto the stage… raw energy, sharp lyrics, commanding presence under the bright lights and pulsing bass. You’d only seen clips before. Live, he was magnetic, owning every inch of the stage as sweat glistened on his skin and the fans screamed.
During one specific song… you think it was called whiplash, he looked straight up toward the balcony and winked. The girls beside you squealed, assuming it was for them. You knew better. That wink was yours.
After the show, your phone buzzed.
Hollis: Hang back a bit. Gotta meet some fans and sign shit. Then come to the bus.
You waited, then said quick, tense goodbyes to the groupies. Their jealousy was obvious as you headed out alone.
By the time you reached the bus, Hollis was stepping out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, water droplets tracing glistening paths down his exposed chest and abs, the scent of fresh soap cutting through the air.
“How’d you like sitting with my friends?” he asked, smirking as he toweled his hair roughly.
You shrugged. “They seemed… surprised I’m on the bus with you. And a little jealous.”
He laughed lightly. “They’re just girls who come around sometimes. You’re different. You’re actually here. Don’t overthink it.”
The air thickened again. “Get on your knees,” he demanded.
Like in a trance, you sank down instantly onto the carpeted floor. He dropped the towel, revealing his hardening cock, and sat on the edge of the couch. “Go on. It’s not gonna suck itself.”
You leaned in, taking him into your mouth slowly at first… tongue swirling around the smooth, flushed head, tasting the clean skin fresh from the shower with a faint hint of soap. You worked deeper, hollowing your cheeks and sucking with wet, rhythmic pressure, hand stroking the thick base you couldn’t fit. The salty-musk flavor of him grew stronger as he hardened fully on your tongue.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he groaned, one hand resting lightly on your head, fingers threading through your hair. “Look at you. So eager.” You bobbed faster, taking him to the back of your throat, gagging slightly but pushing through, saliva dripping down your chin as you worked him sloppily. His hips twitched involuntarily, cock throbbing hot and heavy against your tongue, veins pulsing.
“You like that?” you asked breathlessly during a brief pause, looking up at him with watery eyes, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock.
“You know I fucking like that,” he replied, voice rough with arousal, hips bucking subtly. “Keep going. Just like that—fuck.”
He grew more vocal as you worked him… deep groans and curses filling the room, his abs tensing visibly, hand tightening in your hair to guide your rhythm. His cock twitched wildly on your tongue, growing even harder. “Shit—gonna cum. Swallow it all.”
He erupted down your throat with a deep, guttural groan, pulsing hard in thick, hot spurts that you swallowed eagerly around him. You didn’t pull away until he relaxed, every drop taken as he smirked down at you with that cocky satisfaction. “Good girl. You’re learning fast.”
—————————————————————————
OKAYYYY seriously i’m lowkey experiencing some writers block with this one so PLZZZ do not hesitate to drop some ideas in my inbox!!! okay luv u <333
[...] your blood all on my blood, we said no going back.
2hollisxfemale!reader
rather than the chilling nights and the restless days, the desert weighs heavier than expected. fear turns to homesickness, leading to a midnight phone call, an unsolved fight, and a sealed vow
tags: roadtrip, angst with resolution, smut (p in v), oral sex (f receiving), depictions of self-inflicted minor injury (blood oath, voluntary, consensual, non-graphic), depictions of anxiety and spiraling thoughts, religious themes.
a/n: FINALLY HERE!!! and a slightly bigger chapter due to the wait + another movie reference, this time a personal fav 'Natural Born Killers' (1994). although this is a series, i think you can read this part on its own, but for context there's a part 1, part 2 and part 3.
Half a mile south of the railroad trestle, on the straight stretch between nowhere and Winslow, you found yourself standing in the parking lot of a sideroad motel. A neon sign flickered above you, throwing pale light across the pavement. Your mind was still spinning from the nightmare; this time you couldn't reach for Hollis, couldn't press yourself against him to make it stop, because in the dream it was him. He'd gone through a double door and you'd heard gunshots and he never came back out.
You'd woken up with your phone already in your hand. A childish, desperate wish to call home had flooded you, and before you could bring any sense to it you'd dialed your mother's number and slipped out into the night.
It was so late you didn't think she'd pick up. One ring, two, three and then: "Hello?"
You opened your mouth. You squeezed the phone in your hand. Your voice never came.
"Y/n? Is that you?"
The worry in her voice was immediate and specific, the kind only a mother carries, and you had to cover your mouth so the sound of you sobbing wouldn't travel through the speaker.
"Baby, where are you? We've been so worried, we... "
You hung up.
And then you really cried — properly crumbled, right there in the parking lot, bracing yourself against the wall of the motel and pressing the back of your hand to your mouth so you wouldn't be loud enough to wake anyone. The cold night air came in around you, the breeze picking up, the temperature dropping in that particular desert way that felt personal. Your nose went red, your cheeks ached with it. You stood there until the worst of it passed and then you tried to put yourself back together — wiped your face, steadied your breathing, told yourself it was just a nightmare, just a phone call, just the middle of the night.
By the time you slipped back into the room you thought you'd managed it. Careful with the door, light on your feet, everything slow and quiet.
But Hollis was awake.
He was leaning against the window with a cigar between his fingers, the dim orange glow of it the only light in the room besides the neon bleeding through the curtains. His expression was tired in a way that went beyond the hour.
You couldn't bring yourself to say anything first. So he did.
"Who were you calling?"
"Nobody," you said, not looking at him. You took off your coat slowly, your blood loud in your ears, something like shame moving through you.
He took a drag, exhaled slowly. "So now you're hiding things from me." It wasn't quite a question. There was a faint, dry humor in it that didn't reach his eyes. "Should I be worried?"
You stood there for a moment looking at him — the hollows of his cheeks as he smoked, his long fingers around the cigar, the dark circles under his eyes, the half-empty glass of bourbon on the nightstand. He was tired. You were tired. The room smelled like alcohol and like the particular dragging feeling of too many nights in too many rooms like this one.
"I called home," you said. Low. Ashamed of it.
A full minute passed before he said anything. "Home. You mean... "
"My mom. I don't know why, I just... " Your voice was still unsteady, the knot in your throat threatening to come back.
He took a final drag and stubbed the cigar out on the window ledge, tossed it outside. "I thought you wanted to leave all that behind."
"I did. I do." You looked at your hands. "Things have just been so... "
"So?"
"Weird." You looked up at him.
"You've certainly been weird," he said, and it landed immediately — the offhand quality of it, the way it reduced something real to a behavioral observation. It stung more than it should have. “I've been doing my best to make you feel comfortable. To keep you safe.”
"Have you?" The words came out before you could stop them.
His brows pulled together. "Have I not?"
You took a breath. "We barely talk."
"What?" The offense in his voice was immediate. "We talk."
"About real things. Not the road, or an itinerary. About ourselves. About you, about me." You were keeping your voice low and even, trying to. "I feel like I overshare and you just... take."
"What does that even mean?"
Again. You just had to start over. Your fingers were twitching, you intertwined one hand with the other. “Do you ever think about how it's going to be? After this. When we actually get somewhere."
"You mean California." He said it flatly.
"Yes."
"Sometimes." He shrugged.
You sighed. Defeated. Again, he gave nothing away. You let your gaze drop. You turned and walked to the bed and sat on the edge of it and took off your shoes without looking at him.
"What is it?" His voice came from behind you, quieter now.
"I'm tired," you said.
"No you're not." His weight settled on the mattress beside you. His hand found your arm, his fingers warm against your skin, and you looked at him despite yourself. "You've been doing this a lot lately. Spacing out. Keeping things back."
The irony of it.
"I just feel like it's useless," you said. "Whatever I say. It won't matter."
"Of course it'll matter." He tried a small smile. You didn't follow him and it died at the corner of his mouth.
The more you looked at him, the more you felt the familiar division of it. On one side, you had the nights he'd held you so tight you forgot to be afraid. His hand finding yours without being asked. His laugh, his soft words, even the way he simply said your name. And then the other side of it, the times you'd tried to reach him and found a closed door, the secrets you knew he was keeping, the morning you'd brought up your concerns over the robberies and watched him smile like you were being endearing rather than serious.
You took a breath. "I just feel like sometimes I don't know what I actually am to you. Like you don't trust me enough to let me in." You paused. "Sometimes I feel like I'm just… convenient."
A silence opened up. His brows lifted slightly, something between surprise and the beginning of offense moving across his face. "Convenient."
"I don't mean like... "
He cut you off, his voice dropping into that low register. "Say exactly what you mean."
You could have stopped there. You could have softened it, walked it back, found a safer word. But he was looking at you with that stillness that could go either way, and something in you was tired of finding safer words. "Sometimes I feel like I’m only good for one thing. To keep you company but that’s it. Some sort of fuck toy.”
The room went very quiet.
He looked at you for a long moment. Then he did something that was almost worse than anger — he laughed. Short, humorless, dry, the sound of someone who's been handed something they didn't expect and doesn't know where to put it. "Right," he said. "Is that it?"
"That's not... "
"No, I get it." He stood up and it made something twist in your chest. "You're unhappy. You've been unhappy. And apparently I'm the reason." He brushed his hair back, frustrated.
"I didn't say that," you said, and your voice came out smaller than you wanted. "I'm trying to talk to you. That's the whole point, I'm trying to... "
"And what do you want me to say?" He looked at you then, and there was something genuinely tired in it, not cruel, which was almost harder to take. "What answer am I supposed to give you that fixes this?"
"I don't need you to fix anything. I just need you to… " you stopped. Felt the thing you actually meant sitting right there, the real thing underneath all of it. "I need you to listen to me. Not just… want me."
He stood there a moment, staring at the wall. You waited for him to turn around, to come back to bed, to say something that would undo the last five minutes. Instead he reached for his jacket, picked up the keys, and with his back still to you: "I'm going out."
You barely got "Don't... " out before the door closed.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The silence he left behind had a shape to it. It sat in the room like a third person, filling up the corners, pressing against the walls.
You didn't move for a while. Just sat on the edge of the bed with your hands in your lap and let the quiet settle over you. The AC hummed, and beneath it all you could hear the echo of his voice, that offended tone, the way his expression had shuttered closed. Then, because you needed something to do with yourself, you reached for your bag and started going through it — reorganizing what was already organized, checking products you already knew were empty. It gave your hands something to do. It didn't give your mind anything.
You checked the window. His car was still in the lot. You turned the TV on and sat in front of it and watched nothing. Some late-night show with a host whose mouth kept moving, whose audience kept laughing at things you couldn't hear as anything but noise. You turned it off. The silence came back.
You went to the window again. Still there. The car, solid and still under the parking lot light. You pressed your forehead to the glass and watched it for a while.
The spiral started slowly and then all at once. First you blamed yourself — you'd pushed too hard, said it wrong, should have found a better word than the one you chose. Then you blamed him — he'd walked out, avoided the matter, and that was on him, not you. Then your parents, somehow, because they'd taught you that wanting things was dangerous and you'd gone and proved them right. Then yourself again, because where else did it always end up.
And then, somewhere past the second hour, you found yourself at the window again. Something in your chest came apart slowly with the thought of him just leaving. Not coming back, like in your dream. Disappearing from your life as easily and suddenly as he'd entered it. The thought planted itself and grew fast, and what grew out of it was this: if he left, what would you have left of yourself? On all those nights you'd stayed awake considering leaving him, it had never once occurred to you that he might do the same. That he might already be thinking it.
Somewhere between Oklahoma and Utah and all the nowhere in between, he had become the whole architecture of your days, and you hadn't noticed it happening until right now, standing at a motel window at two in the morning in the dark, watching his car in the lot as if it was the only string of hope that he’d come back.
You sat down on the floor with your back against the bed and you prayed, which felt stupid and desperate and true all at once. You prayed the way you hadn't since you were a child, not the rote verse-recitation of Sunday mornings but something raw and shapeless, more like begging than prayer. Please bring him back. Please let him come back. And then, somewhere in the middle of it, you became aware of what you were doing — you were on the floor of a motel room, asking God to bring back the man you'd run away with, the man who robbed gas stations and carried a gun and had walked out two hours ago because you'd told him the truth about how you felt. You thought about what the preacher would say. You thought about your mother's face. But underneath the absurdity of it all, beneath the desperation, you also thought: I would do it again. Every single part of it. I would do it all again.
Sleep was finally beginning to pull at you, your body giving up on the vigil your mind refused to abandon, when you heard the door.
Hollis came in quietly, moving with the careful deliberateness of someone trying not to be obvious about how unsteady they were. You sat up from the floor and got to your feet before he'd fully made it through the door. He passed through the glow of the bedside lamp and you saw it — and before a single word formed in your mind your body reacted first, something dropping in your chest, something that was equal parts relief and a new, different kind of dread. The bruise sat high on his cheekbone, the skin around it already swollen and darkening at the edges.
He was right there and still seemed somewhere else entirely, eyes on the ceiling as he dropped onto the bed, oblivious or pretending to be.
"What happened to your face?" Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.
"Nothing."
"Hollis." He groaned.
"Some guy at the bar thought I was looking at his girl." He almost smirked, then winced at the movement. "Not that it was worth looking at.”
You rolled your eyes at him.
"So you got into a fight." You exhaled. "Were you carrying?"
"The fuck?" He turned to look at you. "You think I'd shoot someone over a bar fight?"
"I don't know. You're drunk."
"I'm fine."
"You've been drinking a lot lately." You kept your voice careful, low. "More than usual."
"I'm fine," he said again, back to the ceiling.
"And the other thing." You kept going, quieter. He went still in a way that told you he knew exactly what you meant. "I saw you. A few nights ago, at the gas station. I was going to say something and then I… I didn't. But I saw."
"It's nothing." His jaw tightened. Not angry exactly. More like a door shutting, smooth and final. "It takes the edge off. That's all."
"But..."
"I'm fine, y/n." His eyes found yours — not soft, not reassuring the way they usually were. A line drawn clearly in the space between you. A subject closed. "Go to sleep."
"What? I can't just... " Your brows pulled together and everything you'd been holding for the past three hours rushed up at once. "You were gone for hours, and you come back looking like that, and you just want me to go to sleep?"
"Yes."
The dryness of it stung somewhere deep. Your breath caught. "I was scared," you said, and hated how small your voice was. "I didn't know if you were coming back."
Something moved across his face. That sharp, closed-off expression faltered — just for a second, just barely. He opened his mouth and closed it again. You felt the tears coming and couldn't keep fighting them, so you just turned away, rolled onto your side, pulled your knees up, and squeezed your eyes shut.
His weight shifted on the bed. For a long while he said nothing, and you thought he might just let sleep take him, leave the whole thing unfinished until morning. But then his voice reached you, low and careful.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"You left," you said, barely above a whisper.
Silence stretched. A long minute of it, just his breathing in the dark. "I needed air."
You could feel two things simultaneously — the warmth and the withholding. Him trying to reach you and holding back at the same time, both happening in the same quiet sentence.
You turned to face him. He was close enough that you could see every detail of the bruise, the precise edges of the swelling. You reached up and touched it carefully, just the fingertips, and something in your chest ached with it — this specific ache of tenderness for someone who frustrates you, which you were starting to understand was just what caring about a person felt like when they were this difficult to reach.
His eyes found yours in the dark, steady and unguarded in a way they rarely were, and something in you went still. Like a shared secret between the two of you just by looking at each other.
"I'm afraid," he said, so quietly you almost missed it.
It caught you completely off guard. He never seemed afraid, or concerned, or conflicted by anything. “Of what?”
“That you wanna leave me,” He closed his eyes briefly, and that small gesture told you more than the words did — how much it had cost him to say it. "When you called your mom. When you said what you said."
"I didn't mean it like that," you said quickly. "I really didn't.”
“I know what you meant,” his eyes opened again. “I hear you. I do.”
You nodded. You needed to believe him. Whatever this night had been — the nightmare, the parking lot, the phone call, the argument, the waiting — it had made one thing clear that you hadn't known how to say before tonight: you couldn't do this without him. You didn't want to.
Sometime deep in the night, when sleep had almost taken you, you felt his hand find yours. His palm settling over yours, his fingers fitting between yours with a naturalness that felt like it had always been there. He drew a slow, shapeless pattern on the back of your hand, and it was enough. It pulled you under.
It wasn’t a resolution, nothing was solved but he was right there, like you prayed.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The argument dissolved into the next morning as a thin line of tension between you. Hollis pretended nothing had happened, woke up to the same routine as always — packing the bags, loading the car, checking out of the motel, taking the road. The only difference was the way he moved around you, careful and measured, like you were some kind of wounded animal that might run or bite back if he came too close too fast.
On the road, the landscape did something you hadn't expected. Down the heart of Arizona the terrain had been shifting for days — the green thinning out, the soil going pale orange, the horizon filling with flat-topped rock formations that had no equivalent back in Oklahoma. But this morning, watching it move past the window with your chin resting on your hand, it landed differently. You understood, in a way that was physical rather than intellectual, how far you actually were. Not just from Collinsville. The canyons sat in the distance, enormous and indifferent, and you looked at them and felt something release in your chest. Something that had been held for a long time.
Hollis drove. The radio played low. You didn't say anything and neither did he, and it was the good kind of quiet.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The town was larger than the usual stops — still small, but it had an actual main street with actual stores, people moving along the sidewalks without any particular urgency.
"We have a few hours," Hollis said, cutting the engine.
Something in his tone gave it away. This was intentional. Time — actual time, in an actual place, with nowhere to be for a few hours. You understood what he was offering without him having to say it, and you didn't make anything of it, just got out of the car.
You walked side by side down the main street, your eyes moving over the shop windows. At one you slowed without meaning to. A light blue dress on a mannequin, simple and pretty, the kind of thing you'd have saved up for back home and probably never bought. You were still looking at it when you registered that Hollis had already stepped inside. You followed.
"Pick whatever you want," you looked up to him for a moment wondering if he meant it, he didn't look back; just walked around and you knew it was his way to say he meant it.
You started carefully — the dress, then a soft blouse on the rack beside it that you held up and liked immediately. Then a pair of shorts that actually fit right, fitted rather than the loose practical things you'd been making do with. And then, on a circular rack near the back, a short skirt — rounded, full, the kind that moved when you turned. You held it against yourself and looked in the small mirror propped against the wall and felt something you hadn't felt in a while, something girlish and uncomplicated. You put it in the basket without deliberating.
When you found yourself at the lingerie section you glanced back. Hollis was far enough away. You took your time here, more than anywhere else — not rushing, not grabbing the first things you touched. You chose carefully, things that made you feel like something different than your usual self. Something lacy, something soft, something in a color you liked. You wanted to look nice for him. The thought made your cheeks warm.
At the hair products display you spent too long reading labels, deliberating, until a hand reached past you and placed two bottles in your basket without ceremony. You looked up.
"How did you know?" you asked, half smiling.
"You've been complaining about your hair for a week." He was already moving away. "Still looks nice though."
You turned before he could see you smile.
At the perfume counter you found one you actually liked — sweet without being heavy, something that reminded you of wildflowers opening in early spring back home, back when spring meant something good. You turned the bottle over and checked the price and put it back.
Hollis stepped closer. He took your wrist gently — the one where you'd sprayed it — and brought the inside of your wrist to his nose. He held it there for a moment and you felt the touch of his fingers in such a careful way, the specific tenderness of a person handling something they don't want to damage. After last night, after everything, it landed somewhere deep.
"Did you like it?"
You nodded.
"Then take it."
"It's too expensive."
"Take it."
You took it. And you didn't argue, and he didn't make anything of it, and that small unremarkable exchange felt like something being quietly tended to between you. Not fixed. Just tended.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
He paid for everything and carried the bags and you walked down to a diner a few blocks along the main street. You sat across from each other at a window table, the afternoon light coming in sideways, and the silence between you was the comfortable kind — not empty, just unhurried. Hollis wasn't tense anymore. Just present.
The waitress was blonde with a lip piercing and a smile that reached her eyes without any effort. She took your orders and you couldn't help smiling back at her, the ease of it catching you slightly off guard.
When she came back later she leaned in a little, friendly and genuinely enthusiastic. She suddenly pointed to your bags. "Are those from the store on the corner?"
"I think so, yeah," you said.
"I've been meaning to get over there for weeks. They're so good." She glanced at Hollis briefly, unbothered, then back to you. "You two just passing through?"
"Just for today," you said, since Hollis wasn't going to.
"Then you have to go to the hot spring before you leave." She said it directly to you, like she'd already clocked who'd appreciate it. "Twenty minutes out, past the edge of town, most people don't even know it's there. Best thing in a hundred miles, I promise."
"We'd love to," you said, and meant it.
She talked about it with the enthusiasm of someone sharing something genuinely precious, and then, because she wanted you to actually find it, she pulled out her order pad and drew directions on a napkin — a small map with a bent tree and a large rock and an X, the handwriting looping and confident. It made you laugh. You folded it carefully and put it in your pocket.
When she was gone the feeling settled over you slowly. How long it had been since you'd had a conversation like that — easy, unguarded, with someone who had no reason to be anything other than what she was. You hadn't had many friends back home. But you'd had this — the casual warmth of ordinary contact, a stranger who smiled at you like you were just a person in a diner — and you hadn't known how much you missed it until just now. You sat with that for a moment, not sadly exactly, just feeling it.
You looked at Hollis. He was watching you with that quiet attention he sometimes had, not quite a smile, and you wondered briefly how long he'd been looking.
"Can we go?"
"Go where?" He'd barely been listening.
"The hot spring." You couldn't keep all the excitement out of your voice.
He considered it in the unhurried way he considered things. Then: "Sure, honey."
Honey. Something filled your chest that didn't have a clean name. You looked out the window and let it stay there.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
On the walk back to the car you glanced across the street and slowed without meaning to.
A white wooden church, modest, a verse on the sign out front in the font churches always used. People were coming out into the afternoon light — families mostly, dressed carefully, children pulling at their parents' hands. A woman stopped on the steps to fix her daughter's collar, the girl squirming and the mother patient and the whole small scene so familiar it made something tighten briefly behind your sternum. A family you recognized the shape of, even if it had never felt like yours. The distance between that life and the one you were living settled over you for just a moment — not as loss, not as longing, but as fact. Clear and specific and surprisingly bearable.
You thought, briefly, of the motel room floor. Of begging. Of I would do it all again.
When you came back to yourself Hollis had stopped a few steps ahead. He said nothing. He just turned and held out his hand.
You quickened your steps and took it. He laced his fingers through yours and held on all the way back to the car, warm and steady, and you held back just as firmly, and neither of you said a word about any of it.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
On the drive out you tried reading him the napkin directions and kept losing the thread of the girl's handwriting, which made him laugh — properly, from somewhere unguarded — and then made you laugh at yourself, and for a stretch of desert road you were both laughing at nothing much and it felt like the first fully clean moment you'd had in days.
"Okay," he said, still smiling, "the big bent tree next to the large rock. I've got it."
And there it was, exactly as described. The bent tree. The absurdly large rock. And beside them, a chain-link fence with a no trespassing sign rusted at the corners from years of sun and indifference.
You stopped. Hollis kept walking.
"Hey." You fell into step beside him, watching him scan the fence for the loose section. "Won't we get in trouble?"
He looked back at you with an expression of such patient, almost gentle reasonableness that you felt the answer coming before he said it. "My angel, we've done considerably worse shit than jumping a fence."
Which was entirely true. The foolishness of the worry landed on you and you smiled despite yourself — that was what he did, made you feel like the caution was the strange choice, dissolved your hesitation with that particular easy humor, and you loved it and resented it in equal measure and he knew both things.
He lifted the fence. You ducked under. He followed, and you walked the short trail through low scrub until the spring opened up in front of you.
It was smaller than you'd imagined and more beautiful — a natural pool set in smooth worn rock, the water still and steaming faintly in the dry afternoon air, surrounded by sparse desert vegetation gone gold at the edges. The silence out here was different from road silence — fuller, somehow, the absence of engine noise replaced by something older. A bird somewhere. The faint sound of water moving against rock. You stood and took it in.
You were still taking it in when Hollis stepped past you and started undressing. You watched him without quite meaning to — his shirt coming off, the afternoon light doing what it always did to him, the lean definition of his shoulders and arms, that particular physical ease he had in his body that you'd never stopped finding slightly astonishing. He was so effortlessly, almost unreasonably beautiful.
You became aware you were staring when he caught you. Said nothing. Just the faint curve of a smile before he turned toward the water.
"Come on," he said.
You undressed to your underwear and followed. He looked at your body before he looked at your face — the way he always did, unhurried and unashamed, like he was taking stock of something he was glad to have — and you felt it everywhere.
The water closed around you and you made a sound that surprised you — involuntary, something genuinely released, a breath you'd been holding since the motel room two nights ago finally let go. Warm and pressured in a strange, good way, the kind of warm that goes all the way through.
"It feels so nice," you said, walking until it reached your chest. "And weird."
Hollis laughed, moving further out until the water was at his shoulders. You stopped where you were — past that point and it would cover your head entirely — and he registered it without being asked, reaching back and taking your hand, drawing you toward him slowly, one arm keeping you afloat while your hands found his shoulders on instinct. His other hand found your thigh under the water, guiding your legs around his waist until you were anchored against him and the water was taking your weight and his arms were doing the rest.
"I got you," he said, looking at you from so close you could see yourself in his eyes. "And yeah, it sure does feel nice."
His forehead came to rest against yours.
The silence out here was so complete. Just the water and the bird somewhere and his breathing close to your face.
His thumb moved against your skin in those slow shapeless patterns, the ones he drew without seeming to notice, and you felt your body settle into him the way it had learned to.
"Thank you," you whispered.
"Don't thank me." The thumb kept moving. "Things will be better. I promise you."
"Hollis, you don't have to... "
"I want to." His hand moved to your face, careful and deliberate. "I don't know where the hell I'd be if you hadn't come all this way with me. I mean it." A pause — not searching for words exactly, more like deciding how many to give. "I know I'm hard to deal with, but I need you with me. And I need you happy.”
You stayed still. Just received it. Let it land in the full weight of what it was — the most he'd given you voluntarily, the closest thing to an opening he'd offered since Utah, maybe since the beginning. You felt it move through you and didn't rush past it.
Then you kissed him. More urgency than you intended, something close to desperate underneath it, almost a plea. He felt it. He pulled you in with both arms and kissed you back with the same weight, and the water held you both, and maybe the three words your heart had been saying found their way through anyway — through his hands and your mouth and the way you held on — without either of you having to say them out loud.
Maybe he heard them anyway.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
"I need a shower," you announced as you stepped into the motel room. Hours of road behind you and you could still feel the water from the hot spring on your skin, in your hair, that mineral warmth that had seeped into everything.
You were already heading toward the bathroom when you felt his arms come around you from behind. "We have a problem," he said, his voice low above your ear, "because I also need a shower."
The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, your lower belly turning over in that way it always did. "You want to go first?" You knew exactly what he meant. You played dumb anyway.
"Nah." His mouth curved against your neck. "I think we fit just fine in that bathroom."
He walked you there with his arms still around you and you laughed at how completely unashamed he was about it. He undressed you both unhurriedly, taking his time, and as he did he kissed your body — your shoulder, the curve of your neck — and you heard it, low and almost to himself: you're gorgeous.
You would have told him to shut up, except he pulled you into his arms and carried you into the shower before you could.
The hot water came down over both of you. His lips found your neck, your shoulder, moving slow and deliberate. He turned you in his arms, your back to him, and kept going — kissing down your spine, your lower back, until he reached your ass and grabbed you without restraint, both hands, groping and squeezing and kissing your skin. It felt so natural that your body answered before you decided to — you curved back into him, and he lowered his face, and when you felt his tongue it undid you completely.
You pressed both hands flat to the tiles. He parted you and dragged his tongue all the way through, circling your clit, sucking lightly in a way that turned you into a mess of small helpless sounds. The water ran hot down your back and you couldn't think past what his mouth was doing to you.
"Holli," you begged, trying to look back at him, getting nowhere. Your hips wavered, some instinct to escape the overwhelming sensation, and he responded by gripping you harder with one hand and bringing the other down across your ass — heavy, deliberate, the sting of it blooming through you. You cried out his name.
"Fuck, I need you so bad."
He pulled away and gave you less than a minute to catch your breath before he turned you in his arms. His hands gripped your waist, large and certain, and he leaned down to kiss you. He tasted like you, and that alone made you whimper against his mouth. Your hand traveled from his stomach downward, loving the way his muscles tensed under your fingertips the closer you got, and when you wrapped your hand around his cock his breath caught between your lips. You stroked him slowly and pulled back just far enough to look at his face — those hazel eyes on you, gleaming, like you were the only thing he needed.
No words. He gripped your thigh and lifted it to his waist, lowering himself to fit between your legs. That feeling — the anticipation of being stretched open by him, filled completely in that aching, overwhelming way — always got you weak before it even started. You grabbed his shoulders as he began to move. Slow, deliberate thrusts, like he was memorizing the feel of you. When you tried to hide your face against his chest he caught you by the jaw and held you there, made you look at him. He didn't kiss you. Didn't say anything. Just watched you come apart because of him — your whimpers, your moans, landing against his mouth as he breathed them in and gave his own back.
It was too much. The eye contact, the slow pace he held for longer than was fair, the way his hands moved over your body like he owned it and knew it and wanted it all at the same time. The specific torture of being taken slowly when every part of you was demanding more.
When he finally shifted and let himself go faster it felt like release — like something that had been pulled taut finally giving way. Your nails dragged across his arms as he drove into you harder, deeper. He kissed you then, urgent and sloppy and completely without restraint, and beneath his mouth your body broke apart in waves of spasms that left you shaking and loud — entirely his.
You clenched around him, holding him tight inside you as he kept going, relentless, until he lost himself too — his rhythm faltering, his grip going almost painful. He pulled out and as he moved to finish himself you got there first, wrapping both hands around him, and he pulled you in with one arm, caging you against him as you worked him fast and firm. His fingers pressed into your skin hard enough to mark. You didn't mind. You felt him spill across your fingers with a low, wrecked sound above your ear.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
A few days later, further west, you were nearly asleep in the passenger seat when Hollis pulled the car over on a bridge and cut the engine.
You came awake slowly, squeezing your eyes against the light, and then the view registered.
A bridge between two canyons. Below, impossibly far below, a thin thread of river catching the light. The landscape was orange and rust and faded green, the sky a pale clear blue above it all, and the whole thing looked so much like a painting that you stood there for a while just letting it be what it was, not trying to do anything with it.
Only when you turned to look at him did you notice he'd already been looking at you.
"We came so far," you said.
He nodded. Looked back out at the canyon. "There's no going back." He said it quietly, and you weren't entirely sure whether it was meant for you or for himself.
"I wouldn't want to go back," you said, and the ease of it surprised you — how naturally it came out, and how true it felt once it was in the air.
"Me neither." His voice was calm, genuine, no performance in it. He was quiet for a moment, and then: "I want to make it physical."
You looked at him, half smiling, uncertain. "What do you mean?"
"Do you trust me?"
You nodded before you'd even finished deciding to. "I do."
"Give me your knife."
You still didn't fully understand, but you didn't question it. You reached down and pulled the knife from your boot and handed it to him. He opened his palm and looked at you, and you opened yours too — and somewhere in that exchange, in the seriousness of his face and the way he held your gaze, you understood what was happening. A cold shiver moved through you, not of fear exactly, but of weight. The specific feeling of something that matters.
"No regrets?" he asked. A smile was beginning at the corner of his mouth.
"No regrets," you said back.
You watched him draw the blade across his open palm — a clean line, dark red surfacing immediately, welling at the edges of the cut. "Your hand." He asked and you offered your open palm. He did the same to you, the sting of it sharp and startling, deeper than you expected, and you exhaled slowly through it as he kept going until your wound matched his.
When his hand covered yours the warmth of it was different from any warmth you'd felt before — your blood and his meeting at the joint of your palms, the ache of it still present but secondary now to the pressure of his hand holding yours. You squeezed back. He leaned down and you rose up to meet him and you kissed with a smile still on your lips that you couldn't quite lose, and he didn't say anything, and neither did you, and it felt like the biggest thing you'd ever agreed to. More than leaving Collinsville, more than the road, more than any of it.
When he pulled back from the kiss he turned you both toward the railing, your joined hands extended out over the edge. You looked down — the canyon dropping away below you, the thin thread of river catching the light so far down it looked like something drawn rather than real. And you watched as your blood ran together down your wrist, down your fingers, and fell — one drop, then another — all that distance down into the water below.
"We'll be living in all the oceans now, honey," he said.
You looked up at him. He was still watching the river, something unhurried in his expression. You felt the ache in your palm and the warmth of his hand around yours and the wind coming up through the canyon, and your heart was so full you didn't know what to do with it.
a/n: AAAA ITS BEEN AAAGES i’ve missed everyone and im so fucking sorry for being inactive !! i know this isn’t what people wanted but i found this sat in my notes app half finished and i thought maybe i could finish this and atleast it would be something new since its deadass been so fucking long since ive given you guys anything, again im sorry! i’m so unmotivated & i know i have so many fics that needs part 2s and stuff but im STILL so unmotivated, i keep saying ill be back soon but ill be so honest i dont think it’ll be soon, maybe it’ll be never at this point 😹, life’s been weird as fuck recently so i’ve got a lot of inspo for new fics, from real experiences.. 👀. anyway rommulas is teasing an album, hollis is playing in our faces with his album but once he drops life will be great again. you can very clearly tell where i started to rush things because i just wanted to get something done & post because i keep promising stuff and then going ghost 💔😅😅 and i wont be doing the taglist because i dont want to hype people up thinking its another part of practice papers. also if anyone has any good ways to revise/study idk what americans call it PLEASE hmu because ive got exams NEXT WEEK and i mayyy or may not be cooked, anyway i hope u guys enjoy this one it’s been a hot minute <2 IM SEEING HOLLIS IN 67 DAYS 😱
not proofread i’m lazy
wc: 3.6k
hollis invited you & a couple of his close friends to play basketball at the court near his house. obviously you said yes. whenever he asks to play basketball, you always sit on the grass with your girl friends & gossip, while watching the boys get all sweaty and frustrated, taking a friendly game of basketball a bit more seriously than they should.
you’re running late already, hollis is outside & you hear him impatiently honking the horn of his orange lambo. you scurry around, trying to find any clothes to put on, any at all. you find a tiny black skirt, and for some reason, you think it would be perfect to play basketball in. you just promise yourself you won’t go on the court. you put some thin tights on but bring some socks in your bag just incase it gets too hot. you put on a white tank top aswell. you look in the mirror, brush your hair hurriedly, grab a hair tie, shove it into your bag, then finally sprint down the stairs and go outside, meeting hollis.
you can instantly feel his gaze on you, no surprise. you’re dressed like a slut to play basketball in a local court. he rolls his window down and whistles.
‘where are you off to then?’ hollis’ eyes widen and he lifts his sunglasses up, resting them on his head.
‘to play basketball of course.’ you tease. you jog around hollis’ car and make it to the passengers seat.
you open the door and slowly sit into his car, the seats in his lambo are practically on the floor. you put your seatbelt on and scurry around in your seat, trying to find a place to put your bag. you end up just putting it on the floor by your feet. in the process of you moving around, your tiny skirt rides up your thighs, very nearly exposing your underwear. of course it’s a thong. you have tights on, but they’re very sheer & thin. hollis is obviously staring like the perv he is. you finally look up at hollis and he fixes his gaze quickly, just not quick enough. you don’t say anything, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s stared at your body before.
‘you ready?’ hollis clears his throat.
‘yeah.’ you nod. ‘are we picking up the others?’
‘nah, the rest are already there. i was outside your house earlier but you were still fucking sleeping and wouldn’t answer your phone.’
‘i knew i heard beeping, i thought i was just dreaming it.’ you giggle.
hollis rolls his eyes and smiles to himself.
after a short & quiet ride, you make it to the court. hollis parks but doesn’t step out the car. he looks over at you, then down at your thighs again, then your face again. you look at him too, none of you say anything. you notice his lips part very slightly, not sure if he wants to go in for a kiss or if he wants to say anything, but before anything can happen, roman tosses a basketball at the car windshield. you both flinch and stare out the window, hollis finally jumps out of the car.
‘what the fuck ro? you could’ve cracked the whole window!’ hollis shouts, rubbing the window before throwing the basketball at roman.
‘ow! it’s a basketball not a rock!’ roman giggles for a second but then rubs his hip, right where the basketball hit him.
you shake your head and laugh to yourself, also a bit confused with what would’ve happened between you & hollis in that car if roman didn’t ruin it. you & hollis have always been close friends, you go to all his after parties, most of his shows, and you’re always celebrating his milestones like they’re your own. you never really thought of hollis like that, it was mostly roman that you were crushing on. but hollis’ gaze? there was tension in the air this time. like it meant more than just checking you out. it was closer to an eyefuck than just an admiration.
you finally spot your girls and jump out of the car, slamming the door behind you a bit harder than you should’ve. hollis turns his head rapidly, as if you crashed it into a tree or something.
‘watch it.’ hollis glares.
you smile shyly and scurry over to your friends. you hug all of them before they step back and take your outfit in.
‘girl you look so good!’ one exclaims.
‘are you not hot in those tights?’ another asks while tugging on them.
‘yeah i am actually, but i’ve got socks and shorts in my bag so i might go to the bathroom and change them.’ you reply, pointing to your handbag.
‘yeah girl, go change now before you overheat.’
you take the girls’ advice and strut over to the bathroom. you click the door shut behind you and take your tights off, already feeling the cold air hit your bare legs refreshingly. you take the socks out of your tiny hand bag and you dig through it, looking for the shorts which you thought you packed, you didn’t. you take everything out of your bag, praying your shorts are just hidden under something, but nope. they’re not in there. you groan loudly and zone out, staring into your empty bag. do you put the tights back on? do you put the socks on and hope your skirt doesn’t blow up? do you ask if any of your girls have spare shorts?
after a good 10 minutes of staring into space, someone knocks gently on the door.
‘yo, hollis told me to check on you but he didn’t wanna do it himself because he thought it would seem creepy, he also didn’t want me to tell you that part, so don’t tell him i told you.. anyway, you okay?’ romans words seem sincere, like he actually cares.
you shake your head, waking yourself back up.
‘yeah, i’m okay. i’ll be out in a few.’ you reply, projecting your voice louder than you should’ve. you hear roman back off the door, so you decide you’ll just put the socks on and pray no wind picks up in the meantime. and make sure you stay off the basketball court. you fold your tights and put them into your bag, zipping it up and placing it back on your shoulder. you brush through your hair with your fingers, try pull your skirt down as much as you can, but it’s still one wrong move and your whole ass is out. you tut and finally step out of the bathroom. and you’re met with roman. he’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
‘you’re still here?’ you ask, you swore you heard him walk off.
‘yeah, hollis was so sure you were crying or something so if you were i didn’t want you to be alone, even if i was out here.’ roman pushes himself off the wall and finally notices your bare legs, he pulls a face.
‘you’re so cute roman. but yea i’m okay, i just took my tights off because i underestimated how hot it was.’
‘you’re gonna play basketball.. in that?.. that’s a fucking belt.’ roman laughs.
‘i always stay off the court anyway.’ you roll your eyes.
‘not always, you always end up playing at least one match then stomp off the court when you can’t throw the ball in the hoop.’
‘whatever. i’ll just stay off today then.’
you & roman make your way back to the court. roman is really sweet, but he is a genuine friend. you always go to him when your petty boyfriends break up with you. he always shows up at your house with flowers & chocolate, reassuring you that he’ll always be here for you. then he’d hold you in his arms while you sob & vent to him about how thought you finally found someone you were gonna have a future with. and he’d listen. every single time.
- ㅤꨄ︎
after a couple minutes, maybe 30, of you giggling with your friends & watching the boys play basketball, hollis comes over the the fence of the court and points to your circle of friends.
‘hey, you coming on?’ hollis grins while holding the ball against the fence.
‘yeah!’ one of the girls shoots up and runs into the court.
2 more follow. it’s just you left on the floor.
hollis’ smile widens. ‘your turn.’
‘i can’t.’ you shake your head.
‘and why’s that? because you chose to dress like a whore when you knew where we were going?’ hollis mumbles, just loud enough for you to hear.
you nod.
hollis laughs, tosses the ball to roman and comes out of the court to come to you.
‘c’mere.’ hollis lifts you up effortlessly over the fence, then placing you flat on your feet. ‘here. we can play now.’
‘no hollis, i really can’t..’ you plead, grabbing onto his arm tightly. he’s completely oblivious to the fact you have nothing on underneath.
‘yeah you can baby, you’ve played basketball before.’ hollis teases & you instantly melt.
‘holli, please. let me sit this one out.’ you’re begging. you can’t take any chances with exposing yourself.
‘oh poor baby. this is your fault. you chose to wore that ridiculous skirt. now i won’t ask you again, we’re playing or you’re not getting a ride home.’
‘fine.’ you give in.
- 🏀
all of you are on the court now, all the other girls are chasing the ball, properly running. you’re sort of stood in the middle, taking small steps every so often, trying to seem like you’re trying. roman throws his hair into a ponytail and jogs over to you.
‘are you sure you’re okay? you’re acting real weird today.’ roman stays jogging on the spot, following the ball with his eyes.
‘yes i promise. it’s just that i can’t play.’
‘sure you can. you want my shirt to wrap around you?’
‘yes please ro, you’re a fucking angel.’
‘i try my best.’ roman pats your back and runs over to his bag. he takes his water bottle out & his shirt. he takes a quick sip and runs back over to you.
‘here.’ roman gets behind you and ties his white wife beater tank around your waist. it fits loosely but covers you nicely.
‘thank you.’ you go in for a hug and he hugs you back.
‘you better actually play now.’ roman teases, he runs back over to hollis & the girls, trying to tackle one of your friends for the ball.
you toss your hair into a high ponytail and finally play the game too. hollis finds this as the perfect opportunity to sneak touches, but disguise them as ‘accidents.’ like whenever you get the ball, he gets behind you and slaps the ball out of your grasp, all while pressing up against you. and you can feel exactly what he wants you to feel. he doesn’t pay attention to any of the others, just you.
after a while, the girls get tired & go back to sitting on the grass. roman goes to fill his water bottle, so that just leaves you and hollis. he took his shirt off earlier because he was hot, you kept throwing secret glances at his body, his sweaty abs, his skinny yet strong arms, and of course, his outlined v-line. that’s your favourite part. you suddenly think, maybe exposing yourself wouldn’t be that bad. you take romans shirt off and throw it on top of his bag. leaving you in your tiny skirt & thong.
‘you’re coming off already? come on one more match.’ hollis pleads, running over to you.
‘i’m not coming off, i just wanted to take this off.’
hollis raises his eyebrow & shrugs his shoulders. ‘okay, let’s play.’
hollis starts with the ball, doing a bunch of tricks & dribbles that no one cares about, then he bounces the ball too high and it goes over the fence. you both glance at eachother before running straight for it. the court is like a cage with no roof, the fence is lowered on one side, so there’s only 2 ways to get in & out. you and hollis take separate ways, yours is closer to the ball. you sprint towards it, before you hear hollis’ heavy breathing behind you, and before you know it, you’re on the floor. hollis pretty much rugby tackled you, all over a basketball. while you’re lay on the floor, you realise your skirt went up. fully. whole ass exposed. you quickly realise and hurriedly fix yourself, but it was too late. hollis already saw. you get up even quicker and act like nothing happened. you try running for the ball since it’s barley 5 steps away, but hollis grabs your arm.
‘you think you can get away with wearing a skirt the size of a belt, without anything on underneath?’ hollis comes closer to your face.
‘i thought i brought my shorts too.’ you mumble, barley loud enough for him to hear.
‘well that ass has done something to me now. and i think it’s only fair if you help me fix it.’ hollis lifts your chin up so you’re looking at him in the eyes. he brings his face closer to yours, you try to close the gap but he pulls away slightly, leaving you chasing. ‘oh no, you won’t get me so easily now, i’ll make you feel the way you’ve been making me feel lately.’
you’ve been dressing more & more slutty recently. not to impress anyone, but for yourself. you like the way short skirts look on your thighs, and the way tiny crop tops make your waist look smaller. hollis has noticed, and it drives him insane. he always imagine what you would feel like, grinding up against him fully clothed, the friction alone would probably make him cum.
hollis takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom. you stare at his back muscles, the sweat glistening off his pale body. you wouldn’t mind hollis using you for a bit, you always catch his dick print when we wears his baggy grey sweats, and fuck, he’s huge.
he pushes you into the bathroom and he follows behind you, clicking the door shut & locking the door. he comes towards you and plants his hand at the back of your head, his fingers getting tangled in your hair. he pushes to towards the sink. you sit on it and pull hollis towards you. he brings his face closer and starts kissing you, deep & slow, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. you kiss him back and gently bite his lower lip, hollis groans into your mouth and his grip tightens around you head. he uses his empty hand to feel you. he holds your neck, then your shoulder, then he goes down to grope your tits, hold your waist, then grab your thighs. he breaks the kiss off and you whine, you still want more of him.
‘this is for me remember, not you. maybe i’ll let you use me however you want another time, just not right now.’ hollis whispers between your lips. he moves down to your neck, plastering rough kisses which turns into him sucking, leaving hickeys all over you, marking you as his.
‘holli- fuck.’ you sigh. hollis bites your neck gently, then he pulls his teeth off you, his eyes meeting yours as he smiles. he brings his lips to yours again, rougher this time. his tongue shoving deep into your mouth & you’re already out of breath. you grasp his neck tightly, trying to pull him off you to get some air but he won’t budge. he lifts you off the sink, not taking his lips off you even for a second, then he props your leg up on the metal trashcan, spectating your legs nicely for him.
hollis finally gets off you and you gasp, desperately trying to suck in as much air as you can. hollis falls to his knees, his eyes not leaving yours. ‘fuck angel, i need you so fucking bad.’ he whines. he finds himself between your legs, you feel him sliding your thong to the side, already inserting a cold finger inside of you.
‘holy fuck-‘ you choke, the sensation instantly taking over your body. ‘holli-‘
hollis doesn’t hold back. you feel his breath on your inner thigh, he kisses you gently while fingering you. your breath hitches before he brings his tongue onto you. your hands meet his tangled blonde curls and you embed your fingers tightly into them, pulling on individual waves which lets out a groan from his needy mouth. ‘gentle. or i’ll stop.’ hollis growls.
he continues differentiating between gentle licks & sucking, the sensation coming over you in waves, but he won’t let you get off just yet. hollis slides a finger into your wet hole while continuing to suck on your swollen clit, your legs are shaking and it’s hard to stay stood up. you’re a whiny mess & you start letting out loud moans, anyone within 10 feet of the bathroom would’ve for sure heard. hollis then suddenly pulls off you, you nearly fall to the floor with how weak you’ve gotten, not even realising how much hollis’ head was supporting you.
‘shut the fuck up, i bet the others can hear how petty you sound right now. and you wouldn’t want that huh?’ hollis teases. he pulls your leg down and bends you over the sink. you hear the sound of his metal belt coming undone. you watch his eyes through the mirror. he’s holding your ass with one hand while he undoes his belt with another. his eyes never leave yours.
his belt falls to the floor and he slides his pants down just down to about his thighs, and his cock springs out of the hole of his boxers. the soft skin of his dick grazes your ass gently, just enough to make you 100 times more desperate.
‘fuck hollis, you’re huge.’ you look behind you and you’re met with a pretty pink tip, a bead of precum already sat on the top. ‘yeah? you want it?’
‘i want it.’
‘show me how bad you want it.’
hollis lines his dick up right against your wet pussy, but he doesn’t push in. you feel his warm tip at your entrance, you’re just waiting for him to slam into you, but he doesn’t move. his eyes are locked on yours through the mirror. ‘go on then, show me.’
you push back into him, ass against his hips. he groans and you whine as his whole length seeps into you, it won’t take much for you to cum. you shift back & forward slowly, setting out a rhythm which definitely starts to set hollis off. he holds your hips, steadying himself as his head rolls back, faint groans & sighs leaving his mouth. ‘fuck- yeah just like that.’ hollis’ grasp tightens around you & he starts rolling his hips into you, taking control now. you grip onto the sink hard & moan even harder.
hollis doesn’t hold back, your moans just grow louder and hollis grows needier. hearing your moans turn him on even more, knowing anyone outside can hear exactly what’s going on makes him go harder, slamming into you completely.
‘you gonna- fuck.’ hollis tries to get a sentence out but he ends up fumbling his words & he turns into a whiny mess himself. ‘you gonna keep- keep teasing me then..? shit..’ he groans.
‘if it- makes you do- do this then yeah.. i am-‘
‘slut’
‘only for you.’
hollis giggles before slamming into you a few more times, then pulling out suddenly and cumming all over your back. ‘fuuuck..’ he moans. his warm load paints you pretty, he grabs your hair up in a ponytail & brings you up to his face, cum sliding from your back onto your ass & thighs. he plants a gentle kiss on your lips & pulls away. ‘you gonna be able to walk? or you need me to carry you to the car.’ your legs tremble and you stare at hollis like he just said the sky is pink. ‘okay, i know the answer.’
hollis slide your thong back into place & he wipes his cum off you using his tank top which was draped over his back pocket. ‘you took me so well baby.’ he fixes your skirt and rubs your back gently. he pulls his own boxers & pants up before picking up his belt and looping it around his pants but he doesn’t buckle it, almost like he wants people to know what happened if they didn’t hear well enough.
he picks you up bridal style and you melt into him, letting yourself go weak. he opens the door, to which roman is stood outside, arms crossed while leaning against the brick wall. ‘that’s my shirt.’ roman points at the tank top which is slung over hollis’ shoulder, drenched in his own cum. ‘you really want it ro?’ hollis teases. he tosses the tank over to roman, he catches it but instantly regrets it, feeling the warm mess he left earlier. romans eyes widen & he throws the shirt at hollis’ face. ‘you’re dirty bro, keep that shit.’
yeah i listened to this audio and it gave me an idea so we shall get on the fucking grind and write!!
this is also me HARD launching nerd!hollis into the spotlight
perverted male vs perverted female WHO WINS
contents of this fic : mommy kink. like seriously. reader straight up watching him jerk off 😬 and like degradation sort of if you squint
-----------------------
you had visited your best friend many times now, so it was normal for her to just leave you at her house while she ran an errand. this time she needed to go to the grocery store. you knew she had a brother, but most of the time you rarely saw him, as he was in his room. probably studying. it was none of your concern, most of the time. most of the time.
you walked up the stairs towards your best friends room, the faint sound of whimpers getting louder as you went up.
''what the fuck...?'' you could very clearly hear the sounds coming from his room. hollis. that was his name. you came close to his door, which was just slightly open, just enough that you could somewhat see him, and hear him. and-holy shit. he was literally jerking off. it almost felt weird to watch this, if it hadn't been for the fact that you could hear him whimpering your name.
''fuck...y/n...'' god, he was so pathetic. you could hear it in his voice. you wanted to see how long you could just stand here, watching him. yet that would be even weirder. so, you opened the door.
''hollis?'' you said, stepping in calmly. he nearly flinched as you came in, turning his head to look right at you. his glasses were fogged up, his widened eyes barely visible.
''f-fuck! don't you knock...?'' you could see him trying to hide his dick as you neared him, to no avail.
''what're you even doing, nerd?'' you scoffed. you came closer, now having full view of just how hard he was.
''no, wait! d-don't...look..'' He muttered, almost whimpering, as you looked straight at his hand which had previously been...well, you knew where.
''oh, i see...'' you drawl out, watching his cheeks heat up. he's obviously not too happy about you barging in like this, yet he doesn't seem to resist as you come closer to him, just enough to hit the legs of his chair.
''hm, what were you watching?'' the question comes more as a statement as you turn to his computer, clicking through various tabs.
''nothing...this is, this is weird. c-can you stop?'' his breathing is heavy as you click on the last one near the homepage of his browser.
''instagram? seriously? looking at some-'' he clamps his hand down on yours. not too hard, luckily. you click.
''oh my...im sorry, im sorry...'' he whispers in the silence as you look at the instagram page. you had posted not even 2 days ago, when you were at your friends house for a pool party. sure, the tankini you wore wasn't showing much, but it definitely seemed good enough to him. the thought of him actually jerking off, to your pictures, may have turned you on.
''I think it's fine, actually...you can keep on going if you want.'' okay, it definitely turned you on. he looks at you, hesitantly putting his hand on his dick again, starting with slow strokes. you sit on his bed, watching him unfold in front of you. his soft groans fill your ears, occasionally replaced by a small whimper.
''hollis, let me help you. mkay?'' you start towards him, eventually coming up behind him.
“oh…okay.” his breathing gets shallow as you wrap a hand around his dick, stroking in short and fast strokes like you had done this before. you can hear him start to whimper again, except this time he tries to supress it. Not that you noticed.
“mmph…f-fuck, yes-mommy-“ you slow down, taking in the fact he just called you that.
“what was that?” you whisper into his ear, just breathy enough to keep him whining like a puppy at your every touch.
“s-sorry…I can’t help it…” he pants, eyes screwed shut as he nears release.
“no, call me that again.” you move faster.
“o-of course! just…please, let me cum. please..mommy..” the phrase almost sends you over the edge, cool wetness spreading across your underwear.
“good boy.” your hand starts moving on his dick again, forcing a pleasured groan out of him as cum spurts out in front of him. you had never thought of making a guy submit to you, especially hollis. you only knew him as your friends nerdy brother, never as that much of a…pervert.
now you knew you and hollis had something in common.
—————————————————-
HI!!!! Lmk if this is good or not
@cherryscrumbles i asked for nerd!hollis ts what i mean 🫰
love how he posted these and mentioned 'the empress' again on his stories.
the empress represents the femininity or feminine energy in your life. one, upright, represents a nurturing, safe, and supportive lover, self-confidence and overflowing creativity. the other, reversed, stands for codependency, an overprotective and controlling lover and loss of self-control as a whole.
FIRST OF ALL the vamp nails are back SECOND OF ALL the lace gloves and make up TIRD OF ALL the chief keef 2023 debut reference BLESSINGS ALL AROUND ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
LITERALLY BLESSINGSSS IF ONLY THEY DIDNT CUT HIS SET 💔💔💔💔 at least we saw some of it bruh
prguitarman
vaporwave
turnnoffyourmind
stormborns
dededos
andulkaphoto
pixelskylines
gummygunk
