mdni 18+ nsfw
warnings/tags: f!reader, p-in-v, unprotected, implied intoxication, car sex, and prolly terrible spanish (sry! mi gente latino in advance!) </3 , :(
summary: so the way i'm not that into roman but I just think this little blurb is so befitting of his look and vibe and like i'd totally let him be my shitty sneaky-link who wouldn't care if I got hit by a truck right after I left his whip tht we just hooked up in but hey at-least he notices u while high off his ass.
sneaky!link roman who u pass by like a stranger in the club, no eye contact, no flicker of recognition, absolutely nothing, only for him to text u like five mins later all “didn’t know u pulled up” while ur fixing ur makeup in the bathroom.
“did,” u type back nonchalantly, and he drops a pin for you to come meet him down the block. you scoff. what a dick. not even gonna pick u up at a closer place — he’s that discreet. or maybe, just unchivalrous.
the instant u get into your familiar seat, his hand’s already sliding over ur thigh, body already leaning over the center console to give u a messy kiss if you could even call it that. it’s more like a collision, the way his tongue presses eagerly against urs, licking at it all nasty nd’ wet like he’s starved for you, making up for every second apart. his fingers curl a little tighter, gripping the meat of ur thighs like he's afraid you'll dissolve in his hands like a dream if he lets go.
“no hey, how was ur night?” u pull off and say first and foremost, half‑grinning against his mouth. “c’mon, mi reina, you know ur night doesn't really start till you're here with me.” he flirts cornily, and aware of it as he flashes you a shit-eating grin before closing the gap to peck your lips again.
u roll ur eyes, though it’s hard not to smile. for somebody so silent inside the club, him being this unabashed was almost funny. you both knew he was a piece of shit slut with a god complex, but he had this dumb charm that you both knew worked every damn time on every damn one.
“keep talkin’ like that and I might have to steal you away from all your little fangirls in the club. fuck u in here all night.” u tease and kiss him again slow, tasting the cigs and pricey champagne on his lips.
you’re still kissing when he laces his fingers through yours, holding it all sweet and absentminded. your stupid heart flutters at the softness of it — him gripping your hand while you kiss like you’re something real, his big hand swallowing yours whole — but then, without breaking the hold, he leans back and gently tugs you with him, guiding you over his lap as he reclines the seat a little.
it’s smooth, fluid, natural. your chest presses to his like it was always the plan. you huff a tiny laugh. of course, classic roman, and you keep kissing him back, chasing that brief flash of warmth he always incites within you by accident — the one that makes you fantasize it’s only ever him nd' you — just for him to remind you in the next breath that it could never be. still, you let him move you, settle you easy atop him half because you want to and half because the way he’s still holding your hand makes it feel mind-numbingly sweet. he doesn’t let go even once you’re straddling him, fingers still laced with yours while his other hand settles on your hip 2 keep u upright and steady, all-the-while rubbing slow, absent circles against ur skin like it's second nature.
his piercing eyes hoard and crowd your conscience as he dissects you, all eagle-eyed and unrelenting. you try not to lose the staring contest or he’ll know you’re entirely nervous, but that gets especially hard when he brushes your hair from your face and cups your jaw, tilting your chin up and breathing out low and sure, “why you look so scared of me, huh?”
you blink incredulously. “scared of u?”
he shrugs, caressing your cheek lightly. “think u are, maybe.”
“and why’s that?” you ask fake oblivious, resting your hand on his shoulder to keep yourself up.
“i mean… just look at you, that look in ur eyes,” he says, grinning, tugging gently at your bottom lip with his thumb as he speaks. you shake your head slowly, a wordless prompt for him to keep going as u fight your betraying tongues urges, itching to swipe at it. “you like me. you actually do, but you keep actin’ like you don’t,” he states, voice assured nd' confident like he’s reciting a fact already proven 1000 times over. his gaze lingers in a way that calls for challenge, too close, too intimate for comfort, and ur heart races stupid fast, searching for rescue before this gets too honest.
you huff out a small laugh, trying to play it off. “you’re overthinkin’ again. trynna convince urself so bad you started believin’ it.” then
you giggle under your breath after as he throws his head back with a low laugh, groaning exhaustedly of trying to get you to just say it, both of you locked in that same old battle of who can care less. ur the only girl he can’t play too easy, even if he still makes something in you spark, annoyingly enough.
“u look super good,” he tells you quietly, the descend in his voice making it sound like a sudden, heavy realization.
his hands begin to wander, his palms sliding up your thighs to hike ur skirt around ur waist. there’s a slow, practiced ease to the way his fingers slip beneath the fabric, sliding ur panties to the side. he’s effortlessly claiming his access, but as his eyes lock onto yours, his expression and the low inflection of his voice give him away—he is utterly, earnestly undone by how good u look.
you laugh under ur breath, trying to keep ur energy light and playful so you don't fall into whatever spell he's trying to place you under—there's a genuine adoration in his eyes right now that isn't just the typical look he gets when he's horny, and it's a little too effective.
“that’s the best you got to makeup for skipping foreplay?”
"who said I was trynna do that?" he smirks, tongue pressing briefly against his cheek like he’s fighting back a laugh. u can already see he's looking for the next stupid thing to say. "maybe i'm just trynna compliment the sexiest girl I saw in the club tonight. jus' happy she's boutta let me beat her pussy up." he gloats, and u smack him playfully, giggling despite his vulgarity.
“ur gross, ro”
"for you," he says, his voice dropping into that smooth, cocky tone he always uses when he knows he's flattering u, playing into the gentleman act just to soften u up for what's comin' next. he spits on his fingers nastily, slicking them up and spreading it all over ur cunt to make sure he slides in smooth.
“I’m being forreal tho,” he affirms, the words slipping out before he can stop them, eyss clouding with lust. “u look so fuckin’ sexy, shitttt,” he breathes out as he presses his cockhead into u, feeding it to u slow, deep, and nice.
“I know you are, Ro, I wasn’t doubting you.” you say confidently, a little detached as u turn atop his lap, pulling his overhead mirror down and checking your reflection. he moves u up and down, bouncing ur body atop him and rolling ur hips over his shamefully hard cock every couple strokes in. “ur ruinin’ my lipgloss tho, u piece of shit.” you gripe under your breath, wiping away the smudge at the corner of your mouth. “does it at least taste good?”
he kisses the side of your jaw, voice rough around a grin. “might be my favorite one.”
“good to hear, I paid a pretty penny for this. dior.” you deadpan, keeping up the act of nonchalance, and notice through the mirror how his eyes, already sharp, turn piercing—furious with an intention, a goal, like he’s tired of being tested. his fingers start toying with ur clit, rubbing on u with the rough pads of his middle and pointer @ the exact right tempo and rhythm — circle, circle, up, then down. the change is so abrupt it drags a sound from you before you can bite it back and your energy instant alters. in little to no time, ur riding him vigorously, might be shaking and potentially breaking this expensive ass car, and he's fucking up into u, holding u back in a hug-like embrace as u cling onto him desperate for an anchor, completely falling apart as his fingers make quick work of u. the way you clench around him is like ur seriously trynna trap him here like you'd joked.
"missed this, mi cielo," he breathes against your neck, his voice sounding entirely too heavy and honest.
his thumbs, basing your hips, burrow in deep enough that you already know you'll have his fingerprints bruised into your skin by tomorrow. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, sucking hard at the sensitive skin right above your collarbone, his teeth grazing u just enough to make u gasp. it’s aggressive, but the way he's clinging to u—like he’s trying to swallow u whole—makes it feel less like a hookup and way too much like love.
as if reading your mind, he pulls back to kiss you on the lips, slowing the grind of his hips just to feel you out, let the kiss really sink in, and it's overwhelmingly good. the sudden shift from wreckless to intense passion melts whatever control u had left. you wrap your legs tighter around him and start bouncing down on him, riding his dick even harder to make him lose his mind too. his hands grip your waist for dear life as u take over the pace, the heavy shocks of your bodies colliding making the whole car shake on its tires.
and yeah. that’s how u end up not making it out of the car.
author note:
babe the way u guys have been BEGGING in my inbox 4 some rommulas and I never thought i'd do it but randomly got so inspired just bc he has that asshole look and like boom here we are now am I rite???
i have synesthesia for people like for example whenever i think of eren jaeger personified all i think about is 2hollis like i can’t stop associating them together 😟😟😟
guys I know i've been MIA but I'm literally cooking up the CRAZIEST cheater!Hollis fic ever and plot twist...you're not the cheated, you're the cheatee and it's angsty, it's spice and everything nice like FUCKKKK i'm so excited to drop it omg
i promise you there's nothing worse than fancying somebody niche likeeeeee ur lit out here in-love asfk and there's no fics and ur too lazy to be the trailblazer
⛧ Hollis was a piece of shit, all your friends thought so. But you couldn’t help but stay so hopelessly in love with him despite all of the red flags.
tags: dark hair!hollis, toxic!hollis, he's just kinda Sucks idk how many words to use to describe it. loser (derogatory), smut + angst, cheating, loss of virginity, oral (m + f receiving, some gagging), p in v, reader needs to stand up
warnings: drug use (weed, molly)
w/c: 8.6k
a/n: this was written by somebody that hasn’t even touched a crumb of a drug before so i apologize if anything is inaccurate lmfao its fanfic its bound to be a little unrealistic so. as usual no screenshotting/talking about this fic outside of tumblr ♡
It all started from a game of truth or dare between you and your best friend, Alice.
You frequently had sleepovers together. When boredom struck, you’d pass the time by doing truth or dare.
“Truth or dare.”
“Truth.” You replied.
“Who do you have a crush on right now? You can skip it if it’s no one.”
“...Skip.” You answered tentatively. You did have a crush on someone. But it was so one-sided at the moment, it didn't count. It probably shouldn't. You’d reply to his Instagram stories sometimes, but he’d do nothing but like the messages at most.
Alice’s eyes narrowed. “That was an uncertain skip. You’re hiding something, I knew it.”
“What? No.”
“You like a guy. Who is it? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” Alice scooted up closer to you on your bed, giggling.
“I already know yours, it’s Ben.”
“Yeah, so tell me yours! C’mon.”
You sighed and got your phone out. Alice waited eagerly in front of you. His profile was right at the top with a new story. You clicked on it and went to his profile. You reluctantly turned your phone around and showed her.
“Him?” She exclaimed, in a slightly judgy tone. Her eyes traveled from the screen to your face. The corner of her mouth stretched.
You turned your phone back over. “I knew you’d judge me!”
“I’m not, I’m not! It’s just…if you like it, I love it.” You hit her on the leg playfully. “Hey! I didn’t say anything!” She put her hands up. “Sooo, you gonna try to get with him?”
“I wish. It’s just a pipe dream, really.” You shrugged.
“Have you tried? He doesn’t even have that many followers, he’s not a celebrity.”
“Yeah. The most I’ve gotten was a liked message.”
Alice’s eyes widened and she scoffed. “Okay, no way he’s ignoring you. You’re hot as hell. What have you been saying?”
You held your phone closer to your chest. “I don’t wanna show you.”
“Yeah, your game is definitely horrible. Give it.”
“No!” You whined, giggling when she grasped at you.
“Come on! I’m not gonna judge you, I wanna help.”
You rolled your eyes and handed the phone to her. She scrolled to your DMs, going to the one you had with Instagram user 2hollis. It was just like you said, a bunch of story replies with the occasional like. And not one good pick up line. It seemed like you weren’t even trying to be more than friends, if even that.
“Girl. You’re not even trying. What is this? ‘Nice car?’” She bursted out laughing.
“I’m not cut out for this life like you are, I can’t just go into people’s DMs telling them they're hot!”
“You literally could. What's his story now?” Alice clicked on the circle around his profile picture. It was a mirror selfie. His dark hair was slightly over his face. He had all black on, sagging with a silver belt and Supreme underwear peaking slightly. “Perfect.” She turned the phone over showing you, biting her lip.
Your eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you didn’t like him, what's that face for?”
“I’m gonna get you in there.” She began typing, a mischievous look on her face.
“Oh God, Alice at least tell me what you’re typing before you–”
“And sent.” She smirked. You grabbed the phone out of her hands to look at what she had replied to his story with.
You: you’re hot as fuck tbh
You nearly melted into the bed from embarrassment. “Alice, you’re going to get me blocked.”
“Oh stop overreacting, men love this. It’s not even that forward, I’ve said worse. You’ll thank me later when he replies.” Alice smiled, rubbing your leg in reassurance.
You sighed, smiling back. “Well, anyway. Truth or dare?”
⋆☽₊˚.𓋹.˚₊☾⋆
You usually woke up before Alice on your sleepovers. You don’t know how she consistently slept so long when your body refused to let you wake up any later than seven in the morning.
You rolled over to where your charged phone was and looked at the screen. You did a brief scroll through your notifications half asleep, until two of them woke you right up. Hollis had liked Alice’s message that she sent for you, and finally replied for the first time. You didn’t even read it, you wanted to tell her first.
When she woke up, you grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “He replied.” You giggled.
“Where’s my ‘thank you’?” She smirked, putting her glasses on. “What did he say?”
You unlocked your phone and looked at the DM.
2hollis: haha thanks
2hollis: you live in LA?
Your jaw dropped and you turned your phone, showing it to her. She squinted at the screen and then nodded.
“Yep. You’re in. He’s trying to act nonchalant, but he’s totally into you.”
“What do I say??”
“Uh, obviously you live in LA. Just reply! You got this. He likes you, he wouldn’t have replied if he didn’t.”
You: yeah i do :)
Alice looked at you as you typed that reply. “What’d you say?”
“I said I did.”
“Hmm, okay. Not bad. But just know, I gotta leave in a few hours so I won’t be here to review all of your responses in real time. Just be yourself.” She said, getting up from the bed and grabbing her bag to change into regular clothes.
⋆☽₊˚.𓋹.˚₊☾⋆
Hollis didn’t reply to you until much longer. Hours went by until it was night time, and his name finally popped up on your notification screen.
You guys texted back and forth for an hour or so. You tried not to think too hard about your responses, but luckily he never seemed to be icked out by any of them.
It was all a blur, because by the end of your conversation you didn’t realize you just agreed to come over to his house sometime to hang out.
He had asked you if you smoked and you said yes. The truth was that you don’t, you’ve never touched the stuff, but you were open to trying it. You also wanted to seem cooler to him. A little white lie couldn’t hurt too much.
He had called you cute, which nearly made you run around your room. You couldn’t believe he liked you back. You couldn’t believe he was even single when he was that attractive.
A month later, you were waiting by your front window for his car to pull up. You felt nervous now, like you were making a mistake. Going to some guy’s house that you’ve only talked to on Instagram who lowkey looks like a walking red flag.
It was too late to back out because you heard his car approaching. You walked out of the front door. His car was a truck that had a slight dent in it, like another car had lightly collided with it. You saw him smile at you in the window as you walked up to the door.
When you opened it, you were immediately met with the sound of heavy metal, the smell of weed, and Hollis quickly trying to clean the seat off, as it was covered with empty bottles and a Wendy’s bag.
“Sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t do this shit earlier.” He threw the trash onto the seat in the back. “There you go.” He smiled.
You chuckled nervously and got in. You placed your feet on the part of the car floor that didn’t have stuff on it. “Hi.” You closed the door, smiling at him. You didn’t think much of the state of his car, you were too distracted by how fucking hot he was in person.
He had his necklaces on that you saw in every one of his selfies. A dangly cross earring on one side. A black shirt with a graphic of a band you didn’t know on it. Sagged pants. Some acne that you recall never noticing in his pictures, but he was still attractive with it. Even hotter, even.
“Hey.” He responded. “Sorry I took long to come, my roommates wouldn’t get the fuck out. You look good.”
You looked down at your outfit. It wasn’t anything too fancy, but you did make sure to dress a little provocatively to impress him. “Thanks. So do you.”
He kept one hand on the wheel as he drove to his house. You anxiously twiddled with your thumbs in the passenger seat, not knowing what to say really.
“I like your car.” You said after a while.
Hollis chuckled. “Thanks. It was my dad’s.”
Man, it was awkward. But to be fair, there wasn’t much to talk about right now. You tried to make conversation anyway. “Do you live with your dad?”
“I used to. I moved out to live with a couple of friends a year ago. He drove me nuts. Love him, though.”
“I get that. My mom’s barely home anyway, so it feels like I have the place to myself. But whenever she is home, you can tell. The energy immediately plummets.”
Hollis let out a hearty laugh at that. It was the first time you ever heard him truly laugh, it surprised you. “I feel you. Well, here we are.”
Hollis parked in front of his house, a seemingly one story home. You both got out of the car and you followed behind him.
He opened the door for you. It was a pretty run of the mill house, you could tell his roommates were likely all boys.
“We’ll just be in the basement. It’s my room, basically.” You followed him down the stairs.
The basement had a worn down couch, a TV with DVDs surrounding it, a computer set up with a small keyboard next to it, and a coffee table with a bong on it, an ash tray, remotes, and a candle.
You assumed he slept in whatever room the door in the back led to, because you didn’t see a bed. Another door led to what you assumed was the bathroom.
“Make yourself at home. Sorry it’s so messy, I told one of my roommates to help me clean but it doesn’t look like he did anything at all.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair and pursing his lips.
“It’s fine. It’s not that bad.” You smiled, sitting down on the couch after Hollis threw the plastic bag and miscellaneous clothing on it to the side. “I like your, uh, poster.” You pointed to a band poster with a bunch of cool drawings on it and tour dates.
“You know that band?” He smirked in disbelief.
“No. But it looks cool.”
He chuckled. “You’re cute. Maybe I’ll show you a song later. But uh…” He sat down next to you. “I wanna get high first.”
“Yeah, no, me too. Was wondering when you were gonna ask.” You laughed, mentally cringing at the way you were trying so hard to act like a total stoner.
“Aight, I’ll let you go first.” He stood up to grab a lighter. You mentally panicked as you didn’t exactly know what you were supposed to be doing right now.
He handed you the lighter and put a bud of weed into the bowl of the bong. You picked it up and fiddled with it, feeling his eyes burning into you the whole time.
“You don’t know how to use it, do you?”
“Was it obvious?” You grimaced.
He chuckled and grabbed it. “You’re supposed to put the light here, not there. Look.” He took the bong from you and handled it like it came natural to him. He sucked on the mouth piece and inhaled. “Just do that.” He said, pulling off.
You grabbed it from him and mimicked his movements. You couldn’t hold back your short coughing fit and he snickered. “That’s…strong.”
“Yeah? It’s good stuff. I promise.”
It didn’t take long for you to get high. You were sitting on the couch zoning out while he went to get you guys some snacks when it hit all at once.
When you guys initially texted, you mentioned a movie that you hadn’t seen before. Hollis was flabbergasted, and invited you to watch it at his house. That’s how you ended up in this situation.
“You good?” He asked, walking back into the room with a bowl of popcorn and two bottles of soda.
“Yeah.” You nodded, being broken out of your trance.
He sat down next to you and grabbed the remote to turn the movie on. “Cannot believe you’ve never seen this before.”
“Is it scary?”
He looked at your slightly worried face and smirked. “Nah. Don’t worry. Nothing that’s gonna blow your high. It’s chill.”
The night did end up pretty chill. You guys watched the movie and giggled together at the funny parts. After getting high for the first time, you understood why people do this a lot. It was fun. You were giggly and were a little touchy with him. He didn't seem to mind when you laid your head onto his shoulder.
He was touchy too. You didn’t even notice his hand on your side while practically snuggled up into him on the couch. It was kind of a lot, for a boy you’ve only met in person now. But whatever, he was the hottest guy ever and you needed the excitement in your life.
After the movie ended, Hollis put on a random show just to have in the background while you guys talked. You didn’t notice it before, but he was way closer to you now.
And his eyes kept traveling down to your lips.
He brought his hand up to put your hair behind your ear.
You looked at him in his eyes. The direct eye contact between you two and the tension that could’ve been cut with a knife was making you nervous. In a good way.
He boldly leaned in and pressed your lips together. His eyes were wide open when he pulled away, making sure he didn’t just fuck everything up.
It didn’t take long for you to lean back in, clashing your lips together. After months of crushing on him, you couldn’t believe this was real. You guys made out for what felt like hours, but it really wasn’t very long.
He pulled off and grabbed your hand, pulling you off the couch. “Come on.”
You followed him into what looked like his room. You were too distracted with continuing to make out with him on his bed to really look around and see what was in there. You couldn't tell if it was from the adrenaline or the weed, but you also weren’t freaking out at the fact that you were about to lose your virginity.
It would be fine, you thought. You were no stranger to penetration due to the toys you had at home. Your friends always raved about sex, always acting like it was the best thing ever. Now seemed like a good opportunity to find out why.
It finally hit you that this was real when you felt his erection against your stomach while he grinded against you. You put your hands on his back and felt your mind melt with his tongue in your mouth. It had been so long since you’ve done something like this, and it felt so good you wondered how you went so long without doing it again.
Hollis leaned away for a moment to take his shirt off and you had to resist the urge to audibly moan. He was so pale, but it was incredibly attractive.
You followed suit, sitting up on your elbows and taking your shirt and your bra off. Your face went red at him staring at your chest.
You went ahead and took your skirt off too, leaving you in just your panties. “Fuck, you’re hot.” He said, his hand traveling down to your crotch, rubbing you as he kissed you again.
You began playing with the belt of his pants, trying to get him in his underwear too.
Your hands caressed his boner through his boxers. He was definitely big. He moaned softly above you. You dipped your fingers in his waistband and pulled his boxers down. His cock sprung out, fully hard.
You bit your lip and started to stroke him, looking up at him shyly. You could tell he wanted you to suck him off, but you’ve never given a blowjob before. Not a successful one, at least.
Nevertheless, you put your mouth on his tip and rubbed what wasn’t in it. Hollis' hand rested on your head, staring you with his lips slightly parted.
Your eyebrows furrowed when he tapped on your head for you to get off. “Not good?” You pursed your lips, still stroking him.
“Nah, it’s good. Just lay down.”
Your heart pounded in anticipation as you watched him pull out a condom from his bedside drawer. He opened it with his teeth and slid it onto himself.
His fingers wrapped around the waistband of your panties and pulled them off. Without a word, he inched a finger inside and you gasped softly. Your eyes shut, getting shy at the fact that he was watching all of your reactions. You bit back a loud moan when he inserted another finger.
When he figured you were pretty turned on already, he took them out and got between your legs.
You took a deep breath, mentally preparing for it. When you felt the tip at your entrance you couldn’t believe how big it felt. He slowly started to push in and you whimpered loudly.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” He hissed. “You good?”
“Mmhm.” You nodded, biting your lip. It hurt just a bit. The real thing was way different than a dildo.
He put his hands on the sides of your body and started to push in more, faster than before. You gripped his left arm and couldn’t help but cry out at the stretch. “Nngh—ow.”
“You sure you’re alright?” His head turned to look you in the eye.
“Yes, keep going...” You were determined to handle it, and you did. You let out a huge breath you were holding when he was finally all inside. “You’re…really big.”
Hollis laughed breathlessly and started to move inside of you.
The uncontrollable noises you were making made you want to cover your whole face in embarrassment. But then you’d miss it all.
The view of him over you. His dark hair falling around his face. His necklace swinging everytime he moved his hips.
His cock was so deep in you. The pleasure mixed with the pain rendered you speechless. You couldn’t do anything but moan and take all of what he was giving you.
“Mm…more.” You uttered quietly.
“What’d you say?” He asked.
“More.”
Hollis started fucking you harder and faster. You heard the headboard of his bed hit the wall with each thrust. “Shit. S’fucking good.” He muttered under his breath.
He took his hand off the bed to grope your breast, playing with the bud of your nipple. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer.
You felt your orgasm approach rapidly, the familiar warm feeling in your stomach growing. Hollis seemed close too, his thrusts were getting sloppy and his moans got louder.
“I’m cumming.” You whimpered near his ear. “I’m gonna cum, oh fuck—”
Your eyes rolled back slightly as it hit you. Your back arched and your mouth hung open.
Hollis came shortly after a few hard thrusts, shooting into the condom.
He collapsed onto your chest after, exhausted. You felt your eyelids get heavy.
You remember him saying something to you. You weren’t sure what it was, maybe about how you could stay the night. You had already dozed off.
⋆☽₊˚.𓋹.˚₊☾⋆
When you woke up, you were extremely confused until you remembered what had happened.
Hollis had tucked you into his bed. You looked over beside you, and he was sleeping soundly.
He had a digital clock in his room. 1:32 AM.
It all came back to you. You really had sex for the first time last night. You blushed remembering how you had acted in front of him.
You got up from the bed and found your clothes on the ground. You opened the door to his room very slowly, trying not to wake him up. All of your things were still on and beside the couch.
You found your phone and sent a text to Alice.
You: are you awake?
You closed your phone, pacing around the coffee table. You suddenly just wanted to get out of here. Hollis was great. You had a fun time, but you kinda just wanted to go home.
You frantically pressed the down volume button when your notification sound chimed loudly, telling you that Alice had responded.
Alice: yeah, why?
You: can you pick me up
Alice: where are you
You sent your location.
Alice: Omw girl ♡
You made sure to walk back to his room and shut the door. You took one last look at him. He was truly beautiful, the light from the moon shining in through his window onto his skin.
But you missed your bed, really. And just wanted to go home.
You walked upstairs to the front door when Alice texted that she had made it to your location.
She had a worried face as you walked to her car.
“Hey.” Alice greeted you softly.
“Hi.” You responded, putting your seatbelt on and putting your bag to the ground of the car.
“So…how was he?” She asked, starting to drive away from his house.
“A fucking dream.” You sighed. “And uh…”
“And…?”
“We did it. And it was my first time.”
Alice almost slammed the breaks when she heard you say that. “Are you serious?”
You looked at her with a guilty expression, nodding.
“Wait, so this whole time you were a virgin? I thought you just didn’t like hooking up.”
“I don’t.”
Alice scoffed. “You kinda just did. How long were you guys talking for, like a month?”
You sighed heavily. “I know, I know. I just…really like him. I do.”
“It’s okay, I’m not judging. Really. I’ve done worse in the first five hours of knowing somebody.” She chuckled. “Do you feel okay about it though? Why didn’t you stay?”
“I don’t know. Just wanted to go home. I wanted to be in my bed.” You shrugged. “And I just felt a little scared. I like him a lot but I don’t know if I was ready for the amount of awkwardness in the morning.”
“Totally get that.”
Almost home, you realized you didn’t really leave a note or anything explaining why you had left. You opened your phone and began typing a message to him.
You: im sorry, i had to leave because of a family emergency! just wanted to let you know. yesterday was amazing, thank you for inviting me
You: i really like you, hollis
You felt reluctant to say any more. It was still so early, you didn’t wanna drop a bomb and say you loved him. Your fingertips hovered above the keyboard, resisting the urge to ask him to date. You wanted it so badly, but you didn’t wanna scare him away so early.
For the rest of the ride you listened to your friend's story about a guy she got with after knowing him for five hours. Her life was way more eventful than yours, that’s for sure.
⋆☽₊˚.𓋹.˚₊☾⋆
You knew that Hollis took time to reply sometimes. But you never expected that he would ghost you for two entire weeks.
The weird part about it was that he wasn’t active on socials either. It was like he had disappeared completely.
You sobbed into your pillow. Did it all mean nothing to him? That night felt so special to you. It was. And now he was gone, like the stereotypical guy leaving after he’d gotten what he wanted.
You cried to your friends on a joint facetime call. Alice was there, and so was your other friend Olivia.
“I don’t want to double text. I’d look so desperate. But I’m just so—”
“He’s a fucking asshole. I don’t wanna say I told you so, but any guy that looks like that is a red flag by default.” Alice shook her head and tsked.
“If it makes you feel better, my first time ghosted me too.” Olivia chimed in. “They’re all the same.”
“Ugh. I should’ve waited, really. Why did I do that?” You facepalmed. “I’m so stupid.”
“Hey, look on the bright side. You got it over with.” Alice tried to comfort you. “There’s so many other dudes out there. I could hook you up with someone new.”
You sighed and put your head in your hands. You didn’t want somebody else, you wanted Hollis. The memories of that night still played in your mind everyday.
The next day, you went with Alice and Olivia to the nearest outlet mall to cheer you up. You cherished your friends. They always pulled you out of darkness.
As you smiled and walked around with them, going in and out of stores, in the back of your mind was still him. But this distracted you for a while. Your friends bought you the cutest dress and shoes.
You sat with them in the food court. They were talking about something, and you were silently listening, not having much to add to the conversation. You people-watched, staring at the people walking by and sipping your drink.
Your heart dropped when you saw a familiar backside. The sagging pants, the black shirt, the dark hair. No way. You froze, your eyes widening.
But then, the figure turned around, and you saw a face that was very much not Hollis’. You let out a sigh of relief, but also of disappointment.
“What are you looking at?” Olivia asked, raising an eyebrow at you and looking in your direction.
“Oh, nothing.” You blinked, being sent out of your trance.
Alice looked at you knowingly. It was written all over your face. “Welp. You guys ready to go?”
⋆☽₊˚.𓋹.˚₊☾⋆
Alice’s house was close enough for you to walk home. You had your wired earbuds in, listening to whatever your shuffled liked songs had for you. It was about dinner time, so you thought about what you were going to have when you got home.
You felt a lot better after spending time with your friends. It made you felt like you could finally move on from him. It happened. There’s nothing much to do about it now. All you can do is move forward.
You thought about taking up Alice on her offer to hook you up with someone else. After that night, you kind of understood why your friends liked doing that stuff.
You took your phone out and clicked on your photo app, looking at the pictures you and your friends took today. You were almost to your house.
When you put your phone back in your pocket and looked up, a truck was in front of your house. A very familiar looking truck. A man was leaning against it, smoking a cigarette.
Your heart skipped a beat. It was Hollis, waiting for you right outside of your house.
You walked up, your eyes full of shock staring at him. “Hollis?”
“Hey.” He smiled.
“Wh…where have you been?” You asked, louder than you intended.
“Busy.” He took a hit of his cigarette, looking down at you. His face looked the same as you remembered, but he looked tired. Like he’d been up for days.
You started blabbering what you’ve been wanting to say to him for weeks. “I’m sorry for leaving that night. And I’m sorry if my text put you off, I didn’t mean to scare you—”
“I like you too.” He interrupted.
“What…?”
He got closer to you and grabbed your cheek. He leaned in and kissed you. “Said I like you.”
Your face was red. You had craved his kiss so much, it felt like your knees were going to give out now that you finally got it again.
“Wanna get in?” He asked, pointing his head towards the truck.
“And go where?”
“Does it matter?” Your breath hitched. He got into his truck and opened the passenger door. “You coming?”
You got in with a quickness. All you wanted to do was be with him. It didn’t matter, really. You closed the door, and he drove away from your house.
The silence was deafening at first. All you could hear was the sound of the car and his radio, playing a song softly.
“So uh…how are you?”
“I’m good.”
“Why did you disappear?” You ripped the bandaid off. “I missed you…” You added, muttering under your breath.
“I had some things I had to attend to.” He blew out smoke. “I’m here now, alright? Just chill.” He parked in front of a building. “One sec. Stay here.”
You followed his request and stayed in the car. He walked up to the door, and you saw him talking to a man in the doorway.
The man quickly gave him a bag of something and waved goodbye to him. Hollis came back to the car.
“Who was that?” You asked.
“My dealer.” He answered, starting to drive again after he put the bag in his pocket.
“What did you, uh, get?”
He looked at you and smirked. “Secret. I’ll show you when we get home.”
‘When we get home?’ So he was taking you to his house. You figured that’s where you were going.
When you got to his house, his roommates weren't there again. It was just the two of you. He led you down to the basement.
“Just sit down, alright? I’ll be right back.” He set his bag down and went into his room.
You sat down on the couch. The basement was the same as you remembered it. Questions ran through your mind as you sat there in silence. You were glad that he still liked you, but was confused why he even ghosted you in the first place. When he walked back out you couldn’t help but speak up. “What is this?”
“What?”
“Well, you didn’t hit me up for two weeks. I thought you were gone for good, then you show up at my house like barely any time passed. I’m just confused.” You couldn’t get your words out without tearing up just a bit. “Do you want to be with me or not?”
“I do.” The corner of his mouth curled up. “Wouldn’t have come if I didn’t.”
You pursed your lips, looking at him with uncertainty. You sighed, and he walked closer to sit down on the couch and bring you into a hug. You wrapped your arms around him.
“Now, what do you like on your pizza, usually?”
“Pepperoni.” You answered, smiling at him.
Hollis ordered the pizza and you sat there on the couch, deciding to not press the issue any further. You really were glad that he was back anyway. Maybe he would tell you sometime later.
While waiting for your pizza to come, he showed you the band on the poster that you had complimented before.
“I really like this.” You said after the song ended. “What’s the band called again?”
“Lifelover.”
“I got something for us. Give me a second.” He got up and went into his room. When he came back, he was holding a baggie of something.
“What’s that?” You asked. Looking closer, it was a bag full of small circular, colorful pills.
“You don’t know what this is?” He chuckled.
You recognized it from a TV show you had watched. “Oh, I don’t really…do that stuff—”
“C’mon, it’s not that bad. It’s just molly. You don’t wanna?”
You pursed your lips. You’ve only smoked weed once and you thought that was crazy.
“It’s not bad, I promise. Just makes you feel really good.”
Your face was still full of worry. He sighed and clicked his tongue in annoyance, and you panicked. “Wait, I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”
“Good choice.” He grinned and started opening the bag, handing you one of the pills.
“How do I know when it kicks in?” You held the pill in your hand.
“You’ll know. C’mon, let’s do it together.”
“Okay.” You giggled. It was exciting.
You both swallowed it at the same time on the count of three. “Not so bad was it?”
Forty minutes into the movie you were watching, you glanced over at him. “Woah, your pupils are huge.” You laughed dopily.
“Look who’s talking. How you feelin’?”
“I feel…happy.”
“Happy?”
You nodded, leaning into him playfully. The contact of you touching him felt electric. You fully snuggled into him.
He grabbed your chin and pulled your faces together. You audibly moaned into his mouth. Just kissing felt amazing.
You moved onto his lap and fully made out with him on the couch. His hands groped your bottom and you started to grind against him.
You felt him get hard under you. He panted when you started focusing on dry humping him through his pants.
You wanted him in your mouth again. You got down on the floor in between his knees, and started to unzip his pants. He put his hand on your head, caressing it with his thumb.
His cock sprung out, fully hard. You gave it a few strokes and smiled up at him. “Happy to see me?”
He giggled. “Maaaybe.”
“I think you are…mm—” You put your mouth on his tip, circling your tongue on it.
Hollis moaned lowly. You felt him push your head down just a bit.
The last time you did this, you were too scared to try and fit it in your mouth. This time, you let him guide you further down.
“Just swallow it, let it go down—fuuuck.”
You whined and gagged a bit. You looked up to see his mouth being parted and his hair covered parts of his face. His eyes were focused on you, currently with his dick in your throat.
You pulled off immediately when you gagged hard. A string of saliva connected you to his cock.
“You can go deeper.” He spoke softly.
“That’s the best I can do.” You trailed your tongue up and down his shaft.
“Just try it again, baby.” You let him grab the back of your head and guide it back on. Your eyes teared up just a bit, but you were determined to satisfy him. All of his reactions went immediately to your crotch.
He bucked his hips up just a bit, fitting his entire cock in your throat. “Shit.” He muttered under his breath. His head leaned back in pleasure.
You gagged again and pulled off, coughing. A tear fell down your cheek. “Was that good?”
“Yeah…wanna get up here and lay down for me?”
You obeyed him, climbing back into the couch. He laid you down and surprised you by getting in between your legs, putting them on his shoulders. He took your panties and skirt off, leaving you in just the tank top you had on.
You giggled and broke eye contact. He was staring at you and rubbing your clit with his thumb. He then leaned down and put his mouth on your pussy, immediately causing you to cry out in pleasure.
He flicked his tongue over your clit and you whined loudly, grasping at the couch behind you. You could see your own face, but it felt so warm it had to be red as ever right now.
“Look at me.” He said, muffled into your crotch.
You glanced down at him. His eyes watched how you squirmed and jolted with each lick.
Your entire body felt good. Soon though, the familiar warm feeling in your tummy began to grow rapidly. Hollis' skilled tongue didn’t stop. He moved your clit in circles with it, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
“Oh, I’m cummi—ah!” Your lower half thrashed and Hollis’ big hand rested on your stomach.
The orgasm felt ten times more intense on the drug he had given you. Your head spinned as you regained your breath laying on the couch.
Hollis couldn’t help but kiss you again. You wrapped your arms around him, smashing your lips together in ecstasy.
You felt his boner rubbing against your stomach. “Put it in me.” You whispered beside his ear.
“Yeah? You want this?” He grabbed his cock by the base, slapping it against your stomach, near your pussy but not quite yet.
“Yes, please.” You begged, looking at him with puppy eyes.
As he kissed you once more, you felt him push his cock inside of your entrance. You moaned into his mouth and wrapped your legs around him. He immediately started to thrust, fast.
“Ah fuck. Missed this, you’re so damn tight.”
In response, you squeezed around him and he groaned. It didn’t take long for him to cum, he was already so riled up. He came on your belly, and fell into your chest when he was done.
After moments of silence, only interrupted by both of your guys’ heavy breathing, you spoke up again. “Hollis?”
“Yeah?”
“Promise you won’t leave again.” Your eyes begged him. “Please.”
He gazed into yours. “As long as you promise not to leave me again.” He scooted up and caressed your hair. “Hm?”
“I won't, I'll stay.” You blurted out.
“And don’t lie to me, either.”
You swallowed, and did nothing but nod. You don’t know how, but he knew you weren’t being as honest that night when you texted him that you left. His face intimidated you slightly. It was blank, until his lips curled into a smile.
The moment was killed when suddenly a man you’ve never seen before came down into the basement. “Oh, fuck!” He yelled. You shrieked and covered yourself.
“Can you fucking knock, or something?” Hollis yelled back. “Jesus, Finn!”
The man covered his eyes and turned around. “Knock on what, why are you fucking her on the couch? Jeez, let me know when your dick isn’t out.” He went back up the stairs.
Hollis sighed in frustration and smiled when he heard you giggling beneath him. “That’s definitely not how I intended for you to meet him for the first time.”
⋆☽₊˚.𓋹.˚₊☾⋆
Over the next few months, it was like the beginning of your relationship foreshadowed the rest of it. You wanted to believe that the way he acted so cold at the start was just random. It seemed that way at first.
Alice was pissed when you told her he had come back. She never hid her dislike for him, but tolerated his existence because you really liked him. She just didn’t want you to get hurt.
You learned a lot more about him as time went by. His roommates were similar to him; stoners that sagged their pants and listened to metal. He told you about how he grew up, how his mother wasn’t in the picture due to her passing away when he was young. He told you about his hobbies. He liked playing video games with his roommates, going on hikes in the woods, and producing music. And smoking weed along with some other drugs.
He reassured you all the time that his drug use was just recreational, nothing outside of party ones. That was true for the most part. You never really got the hype of smoking weed until you did it with him.
His behavior as a boyfriend was the most conflicting shit ever. He barely acted like one, not bothering to publicly claim you as much. But for some reason, he was still so insecure and controlling over you, constantly fearing that you were going to leave him.
One day, you had one of your many arguments because he thought the outfit you wore to come to his house while his roommates were there was too provocative.
“What are you wearing?” He had brought you downstairs to talk for a moment.
“Huh?” Your happy expression to see him quickly turned into a confused one.
“What, you gettin’ bored of me so you’re trying to fuck my roommates too?” He spat, gesturing to your outfit.
“What are you talking about Hollis?” Your eyes filled with tears almost immediately. “I wore this for you…”
He sighed and grabbed his jacket off of the floor. “Put this on, then come up.” He handed it to you, going back up the stairs.
You remember wiping your tears with the sleeve of his black jacket. He was tall, so it fit you like a dress, covering basically your entire outfit.
Your friends hated him, and it seemed like he hated them right back. That was glaringly obvious when he wouldn’t let you go out with them to a club.
“It’s just a girl’s night out…”
He sighed. “You’re always goin’ somewhere with them.” He snuggled into you, not letting you get up from the bed. “And to that club of all places…it’s full of horny dudes.”
The more you tried to convince him to let you go, the more his face fell. You hated that face. It never failed to scare you. You eventually agreed to stay home.
You texted your friends the news.
You: hey guys, i’m sorry for the late notice but my stomach is hurting real bad tonight so i dont think imma make it 😔 ill be at the next one!
Olivia: it’s ur bf again isn’t it
Alice: read my mind 💀
You sighed. They already knew. You continued the lie anyway.
You: no it’s the fact that i’ve been in and out of the bathroom for the last hour
You: sorry for that tmi but 💀 im being fr im sorry
Hollis looked at you while you were typing to your friends. “You text ‘em?”
You closed your phone and put it down. “Yeah.”
He motioned for you to lay down in his arms again. Thinking about it now, you were not really feeling that up to going tonight anyway. This wasn’t the first time he had prevented you from leaving, though. It was like he got offended by you wanting to have fun with somebody other than him.
Ironically enough, his fear that he would leave you was projection. You made the mistake of going through his phone and found out that he was texting another girl. At first you didn’t panic, thinking that maybe she was just a friend or an acquaintance he had a conversion with. But the tone in his texts didn’t lie, and neither did the nude photo she had sent him.
The look on his face when you confronted him about it angered you even more. “Do you not have anything to say? Why the fuck would you do this?”
He looked at you with a blank face. Like he wasn’t even phased about being confronted about it.
“You told me weeks ago that I was just overreacting about how she interacted with you. I guess that was a lie.” You looked closer at his blank face. The whites of his eyes were slightly red. “Are…are you high right now?”
He smiled and blew air out of his nose. He had been caught.
“God. You’re always accusing me of cheating for the dumbest fucking reasons and you do this. Unbelievable.” You picked up your bag. “I’m done, Hollis. I’m done with this.”
“No, baby, come back.” He stood up, following you as you walked quickly out of the basement and up the stairs. “I’m sorry!” You could hear a hint of laughter in his voice. It stung so bad. He was barely taking this seriously.
You turned to get one last look at him in front of the door. “What?”
“I love you. I’m sorry.”
You got a good look at his face. It was so cold, he said those words but it didn’t feel like it had any sincerity behind it. You shook your head at him and without a word, left out of the door.
⋆☽₊˚.𓋹.˚₊☾⋆
“And then he said, ‘I love you. I’m sorry.’” You recounted the situation to Alice, who was currently pacing around your room. You were on your bed laying down, looking through one of your magazines.
“There’s no way you believe him, right?” She seemed more angry than you were.
You shrugged. It had been days since that happened and you didn’t talk to him at all or go to his house. He didn’t attempt to text you either.
“(Y/n). People who love their girlfriends don’t talk to other girls and certainly don’t receive pictures of their tits.” Alice scoffed. “You need to leave him for good. I’m serious.”
You pursed your lips. She’s right. It should be the obvious decision. But something kept you to him.
It wasn’t always bad. When your relationship was good, it was really good. Those random moments where his soft side came out with you never failed to give you butterflies. The sex was part of it as well, admittedly so. After your first time, all you wanted was more.
But the negative parts were so bad. He could be so mean sometimes. You wanted to believe he wasn’t intending to make you so sad on purpose, but the impact mattered more than the intent.
Alice noticed the way you kept glancing at your phone, like you were waiting for him to text you.
“That’s not love. Okay?” Alice sat down on the bed and grabbed your cheeks, forcing you to look at her. “Now, what color do you want me to paint your nails?”
⋆☽₊˚.𓋹.˚₊☾⋆
You were more depressed than ever being apart from him. You really shouldn’t be, he completely disrespected your relationship and didn’t even pretend to feel an ounce of guilt in front of you. But you did miss him.
You missed his touch. Whenever you were sad, he would cuddle you and put on one of your favorite shows to cheer you up.
Now you were laying on your bed, watching that same show but without him.
Earlier, you tried to touch yourself because you were kind of pent up and just bored, but that didn’t work out because all that came through your mind was Hollis.
Him not texting you at all after you had left should’ve given you the hint. But part of you still hung on to him, as much as you hated to admit it.
You buried your face in your pillow. You had already cried so much, no tears came out.
After days of wallowing in sorrow, you vowed to get over it. He was not good for you at all. Alice was right, it wasn’t love.
⋆☽₊˚.𓋹.˚₊☾⋆
While taking a nap in your room one day, the horn of a car began to bleed into your dream. You couldn’t remember what you were dreaming about, because what awaited you when you woke up was far more distracting.
The horn kept playing outside of your dream. You rubbed your eyes, squinting at your window as you got up from your bed to see where and what it was coming from.
Lo and behold, Hollis was there. Sitting in his car. He got out of it when he saw you in the window and waved for you to come down.
You stared at him in disbelief. The sheer audacity he had was something else. He put his hand in his pockets and stared at you back.
You opened the window and yelled down. “What?”
“Come down, (y/n).”
“Why should I?” You shouted back. You noticed he was holding something behind him.
He brought his arm around, revealing a bouquet of flowers. Specifically, the exact flower you had told him was your favorite before.
You let out a sigh that pained you. You closed the window again, and walked downstairs to where he was.
He was waiting there with the bouquet with flowers still in hand. You walked up to him with your lips in a straight line.
“Missed you.” He said, a small smile creeping upon his face.
“Do you think It’s this easy?” You blurted out. His eyebrows raised. “You think I’m just gonna come back, after y-you treated me like that?” Your eyes welled with tears. You couldn’t help it, everytime you were angry you cried too.
He walked up to you and wrapped his arms around you. Your eyes widened. You didn’t do anything to get him off of you. You just stood there with your hands at your sides.
“I’m sorry, (y/n). Okay? I love you.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth? Why would you even—” You shook your head as you looked up at him.
“That girl is nothing to me. I love you.” He rubbed the back of your head. Just like he always did. It sent a chill up your back, you didn’t know in a good or bad way. “And I’m not high this time, either.”
You couldn’t help but laugh through your tears at that.
“I just want to be with you, (y/n). Only you. Not any other girl. I was fuckin’ stupid for even entertaining her. I blocked her, I won’t do that shit again. I mean it.” He kept his eyes on you. “Will you forgive me?”
You let out a shaky sigh. You really wanted to believe him. You wanted all of the problems to just go away and go back to all of those great moments with him. You didn’t want to throw it all away.
So you believed him. You hugged him back. He kissed the top of your head. “I love you, too.” You whispered, loud enough that he could hear.
You pulled away to look at him. He was smiling down at you. He wiped the tears out of your eyes, leaned down and put his mouth on yours.
The smile he showed you before the kiss stung slightly. It felt like he just knew he had you under his finger, no matter what he did.
You were lying to yourself if you said you didn’t completely melt under his touch. You had missed it dearly.
“Get in.” He said, walking towards the car door.
You followed him without a word.
He told you that he had a reservation at one of your favorite restaurants. You were hungry anyway, so you agreed to come with him.
He promised to you that he would never do this again. As much as you wanted to believe him, deep down you knew he wasn’t gonna keep the promise.
You knew, and yet you went with him, holding onto hope that the cycle of toxicity in your relationship wouldn’t continue. Deep down you knew it probably would.
cheater hollis x fem!reader pt 2
click here for part one
author note: lack of writing motivation has been killing me but i had to finish what I started😛. forgive the shitty lazy ending plz! also this is way more slutty than the last part LOL didn't even think that was possible.
content warnings: sad hollis again (I promise it'll break u), unprotected sex (p-in-v), rough sex, biting, choking, restraint, impact play, oral (f.rec), intoxication, semi-public, reader is such a bird for him, hickeys, biting, licking in a very depraved way, and kind of sub!hollis.
It’d been a few long weeks since you ditched your luxury condo in the hills — the one you’d shared with Hollis — and moved back to your old place in Echo Park with your friends, the spot you lived before everything unraveled; before you were swept off your naive feet by Hollis, your prince charming and toruter at once.
If you could even really call it “yours.” The girl who once lived in that space felt so achingly distant from you now — she’d been free, ambitious, full of life, burning toward something real. And now? You? You were nothing like what she’d imagined in her dreams. Maybe more in her nightmares. To her, you’d look insane, pathetic, a sellout — some stupid, love-sick girl with no self‑worth, relevant not for her ethic, but just for being the girlfriend of some famous, cheating, lying‑ass LA rapper.
Back at your shitty old apartment, the cracked walls, the crappy air‑conditioning, the single window that always stuck halfway open, all of it reminded you of who you were before him, and the apparent dichotomy was suffocating. You were ashamed of yourself for missing him, and the more pathetic you felt about it, the harder it was to get it off your mind and also reconcile it with the fact you missed him like he had died.
You hadn’t taken much when you left — just the little bag you’d packed before the confrontation. Enough to get by for two weeks, long enough for things to cool off, for him to hate you the way you needed him to.
Your plan was full of holes; no matter what you did, what you said, how hard you tried to detach, he couldn't seem to let you go, so there wasn't much you could do besides go ghost.
You remember when you first started dating and things felt so dream-like and perfect, cliché as fuck, star-gazing on a vast field side by side high on shrooms in the middle of nowhere, telling each other there was nothing you could ever imagine fighting about, let alone hating each other over. The latter part was true, you guessed. You remember you even said that if you guys ever broke up, you’d definitely want him to stay a close friend. So young, dumb, and stupidly in-love, you think now, reflecting on how much about you he had changed in just two years.
Ghosting the love of your life definitely wasn’t the cleanest exit, but it was the only one he’d let you have. You’d anticipated his every move correctly. After you guys fucked that night, he stayed awake afterward throwing one of his pathetic and signature tantrums, arms wrapped around your waist tight, head tucked into your chest like a manchild, hot tears soaking your tits he begged, voice splintering, “Don’t leave me, baby, please.”
“I’m not gonna leave you,” you’d lied flat-out, eyes leaden, voice a soft exhausted rasp, hand circling slow along his back to force his calm. “M’ so tired, I just wanna sleep.”
“Yeah, you fuckin’ will,” Hollis rasped back, shaking his head against you, fighting another sob. “I know it. I can feel it.”
You sighed, bone-drained. “Holli, my arms are around you,” you soothed, the earnestness frayed thin by fatigue. “You’d feel me if I tried to move, okay? C’mon, let’s sleep. I’m so tired, you know I waited up for you all night.”
“You don’t forgive me.” He pulled back just enough to bore into your eyes, lip quivering, eyes red-rimmed and crooked in that shattered way that used to gut you, although now just a dull, festering annoyance that served as residue of his denial. He couldn’t keep making a mess of your heart, soul, love, and devotion, then pleading insanity. That hadn’t been what was running through your mind necessarily when he’d searched your eyes, but your soulmate had rightfully inferred it, blurting out, “You’re not even lookin’ at me the fuckin’ same right now,” tears carving fresh tracks down his swollen face.
“I’m just tired, Holl,” you whispered, barely audible, all you could really say. “Yeah, of me.” He nuzzled harder into your chest, clinging like this desperate fusion could erase his latest betrayal.
You blinked slow through the fog, accusation landing frustratingly. “No, Hollis, like actually, I’m genuinely sleepy, love. It’s four in the morning.” The words came out airy, detached, your insides washed pale by exhaustion and your body on autopilot with one hand in his hair, the other tracing endless back-circles, not to soothe him, but to keep yourself at the fight of getting him to settle into sleep. You prop yourself upright as he folds deeper into you, shaking against your skin with those tiny, stubborn tremors he can’t kill, all pure fear. His fingers knot white in your shirt like loosening them might make you evaporate. His face mashes into your skin, burrowing for permanence; if dissolution were possible, he’d have melted straight into you.
“M’sorry I’m such a fuckup,” he breathed wet and warped against you, sealing it with a desperate kiss to your chest. Then he cracked wide, unravelling completely. “I’m so bad to you. I hate myself, for real. Don’t deserve my career, don’t deserve you, don’t deserve shit. All these people scream my name like I’m some god, but I’m nothing. Imma mess. I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” he choked out, breath hitching painful, ragged. “Shoulda never pulled you into this. Shoulda let you run day one. I just—” He sucked in a breath that sounded like it burned, “I love you so much I couldn’t. I couldn’t, I can’t let you go, baby. I love you, I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too,” you profess back, and unfortunately and probably forever meant it. Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing slow under his eye before you pull him up into a kiss. It starts soft, almost careful, the kind of tired sweetness that happens when there’s nothing left to fight about. You know it, he knows it. All his friends who’re there every time he cheats on you, your friends who roll their eyes every time you vent about your drama, the entire world who’ve suspected his bullshit know it — you’re absolutely powerless against your love for Hollis, just as he is for you.
For a second he just breathes you in. Then he kisses you back harder, needier, like he’s starving for it, like he thinks if he holds on tight enough he might somehow stop the clock that’s already ticking down to when you walk away. His hand bunches in your shirt again, mouth desperate against yours, nipping and sucking and devouring.
“Anything,” he broke the aggressive kiss and whispered against your lips before grabbing for you again, “in this whole fucking world. Anything.” You lay still and let him find solace in your body once again, too exhausted to resist. He kissed you harsh and needy, hands wandering over you rightfully like his plaything: squeezing hard into your waist, raking down your thighs, the nape of your neck.
At some point, at your lazy reciprocation, he bit down sharper with a whine caught in his throat, and you surged up, matching his energy as you kissed him back just as rough because you had no idea when you’d get the chance to do that again. It felt good to hurt each other like this—an allegorical battle waged in teeth and tongue. When he finally pulled away, he was breathing like he’d run a mile. His hands were still clamped around you, eyes wild, hungry, and inspecting.
When his inspection locked onto your eyes and saw the distance still carved there, he shattered, voice cracking as he begged unchangingly, “Stay. Please. We can fix this, don't do this to us.” Words tumbled out, promises and pleas you’d heard before, but you knew then nothing you said or did would bridge the chasm. He was drowning in fear, blind to reason.
What finally steadied him wasn’t an answer, however. It was the story.
You started talking about how you guys met. The timing. The stupid coincidences that were too specific to be considered coincidence at all. The way everything lined up too perfectly to ignore—like it had been mapped out before either of you existed. Your memories of the same places, your shared dreams, your shared headaches that subsequently resulted in the uncanny ability to feel distress in the heart of the other, even across distance.
He stilled for it, breaths leveling, grip slackening. Fate alone sedated him—proof your love wasn’t accidental, tribulations powerless against what the universe-stitched together, decreeing it forever.
You vowed to stay. Two hours later, his lashes tear-crusted, hand limp from clutching, you kissed him goodbye feather-soft, then left straight into an Uber headed to Echo Park.
The girls were used to your issues with Hollis and out of nothing but love for you, they took you back in every time. However, this was the worst they’d seen you. Or, worse yet, not seen you. You holed up, depressed and checked out in your room alone for days. They barely caught glimpses — the bathroom door cracking open, the shuffle of your slippers down the hall at 2 a.m., the sound of your shower running long past reasonable.
It wasn’t the dramatics this time. There was no rant, no crash out, no loud sobbing from your bedroom with sad music, no long all-nighter living room spiral sesh about how he ruined you but you’d still pick up if he called. It was just silence. Being depressed made time move strangely—too fast and not at all. Before you knew it, a week had slipped by since you’d left home, locked yourself in your old bedroom, and sold your soul by separating from your love with the purpose of filling the void he’d left behind. You hadn’t checked your calls, emails, or texts.
At first, they had to drag you out. Request a room key from the front desk and shoulder your door open, type shit. Your friends practically pried you off the mattress, shoved you into the shower, and did your makeup for you while you stared through the mirror like you were watching someone else’s life. You went out because they begged. You stayed sober. Cried in the Uber home. Repeat.
A month later, you went out because you didn’t want to think.
You opposed his lifestyle, but he had ruined you intrinsically, and just like him and the effects of his brokenness, you sought to erase your self-loathing under the same neon lights and fast, reckless lifestyle. It all just suffocated you at first—the being home, same thoughts of doom and despair every day, hollow heart. So alone, you went out to a sweaty, overstimulating nightclub and got super high out of your mind, dancing the pain away. If you were going to rot, you decided, might as well do it in full glam.
So when your friend told you, bitch, it’s my birthday, get up and get ready, you didn’t argue. You slid on the tiniest skirt you packed, lined your lips with precision, popped something just to feel a little lighter, and rolled out with your girls just like the old times.
Only this time, it wasn’t freedom to be young and turnt. It was escape, and birds of a feather, as the saying went, indeed flocked together.
By the time you girls got to the exclusive, high-end club, the bass was shaking the floor and your head was pleasantly floaty. Lights blurred, bodies pressed close, and your friend screamed into your ear about bottle service and how tonight, we’re not crying over any bumass fucking rapper.
“I’m not even thinking about him,” you lied, taking another shot, cheering and wooing. You thought about him every moment of every hour of everyday.
You were already rolling, already warm and buzzing at the edges, and you knew better than to let his name drift too close while you were high on X — shit could turn fast. The numbing and euphoric effects were exactly proportionate to the inverse if the wrong thing ticked you off, which is why it hadn’t always been your drug of choice.
But nothing about you had been you as of late, so you decided against your better judgment and under the guise of your day one’s birthday to let yourself pop a little.
You were on the dance floor when the air shifted.
You didn’t see him first—you felt him. That weird, stupid, psychic ache in your chest that always showed up before your eyes caught up. Then you turned, and there he was near the back section: Hollis in a black tee and chains that caught every flash of the lights, surrounded by Nate, Roman, Jonah, Ryan, Finn, and a couple more guys, the whole crew posted up like a live photograph, fits all curated and aesthetics all matching, untouchable.
He saw you almost at the exact same second.
Your stomach dropped so hard you toppled over a smidgen. You straightened up and forced yourself to keep moving, hips still rolling against your friend, hands in the air like nothing happened.
His expression didn’t change much — just that little twitch at the corner of his mouth, eyes narrowing the tiniest bit like he couldn’t believe you were really there, twerking on a girl at the club — he had turned a good girl into something so bad.
Everyone thought you broke up. The blogs had been eating off that headline for weeks, and neither of you had said a word. All of his pictures of you were still up, he still liked and commented his weird little comments like “sweet bby ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･” under pics of you that your modelling agency got around to posting late, followed you on every platform without a single archive, and you never publicly reciprocated which was unusual since you always reposted his stuff: pictures, tour dates, anything and everything, but at the same time your social media never changed, all evidence of the fact leading fans to believe you probably just weren’t on your phone, not wanting to jump to conclusions about their favourite couple.
Now you were in the same room again, pretending you didn’t feel the other’s stare like a hand around your throat. “Do not look at him,” your friend yelled in your ear, noticing the way your gaze kept slipping. “He’s not real tonight. You hear me? He’s a fucking hallucination.”
“I’m fine,” you said, laughing too hard, too brittle. “Told you, I’m over it.” So you proved it.
You danced with whoever came up behind you. Let unfamiliar hands settle at your waist. Threw your head back and laughed at jokes you barely heard. Every time you spun toward the VIP section, you caught Hollis watching, jaw tight, eyes dark, Roman saying something in his ear that he clearly wasn’t listening to.
Your high, once soft and warm, started turning jagged.
By midnight, you’d talked to more men than you had in the last year. None of them registered. They were props, scenery, background noise to drown out the fact that Hollis was ten feet away acting like you were a stranger. Eventually you lost sight of him in the crowd. Good, you told yourself. Out of sight, out of mind, out of rage. Except the rage didn’t follow him when he left your visual terrain. It stayed. Sat heavy in your ribs, low and hot, like something coiled.
You ordered another drink, threw it back too fast, and let the burn drag down your throat, hoping it would cauterize whatever was lighting up inside you. You let the room tilt, lights smear into each other, and you let the bass pulse straight through your bones compliantly until you saw him again.
Near the bar, half‑turned away from you, leaning down to hear some girl talk. She was pretty in that easy L.A. way — glossy hair, tiny top, wrist resting lightly on his forearm as she said something into his ear. He smiled at her. Actually smiled. It looked a little polite, but you didn’t care. Your high shattered.
One second you’re staring, vision tunneled, jaw locked, and the next you’re cutting through the crowd, drink sloshing over your hand, not apologizing when you shoulder clubgoers. The bass is thunder in your chest, heartbeat keeping pace with it, sweat slick on your spine, every emotion both feelable and perceivable amplified by the molly blooming hot in your bloodstream.
There’s no middle ground. No rational thought buffering it—just an anger so deep it feels supernatural, inhuman. It’s like you’re possessed. You don’t even really know why you’re this mad—only that you’re going to say something. Hollis spots you the second you’re close enough to be dangerous. His whole body goes rigid, the smile slipping off his face mid-sentence. The girl beside him turns too, eyes flicking over you in that quick, sizing-up way.
You stop right in front of them, too close, chest heaving. “Wow,” you say, laughing once, sharp and mirthless. “Real classy, Hollis. You’re just gonna do this bullshit in my face now, right?” Your words trip over each other, a little slurred, a little too loud. People nearby glance over. You don’t care.
He scratches at the back of his head, posture going stiff and defensive, broad shoulders squaring at your cornering. “Yo, what are you—” he starts, but you caught him off, gaze snapping to the girl. “You.” You point at her, finger just shy of her cheek. “How do you know him?”
She freezes, shrugging and eyes going wide. “We’re just talking,” she says slowly, hands lifting like she’s trying to show she’s unarmed. “We’re friends.”
You bark out a laugh, ugly and disbelieving. “Friends. That’s cute.” You tilt your head, staring right through her. “Is this your first time meeting him? Or are you one of his little whores who lets him fuck for clout?”
Her face twists, head cocking back appalled. “Excuse me?”
“Answer the fucking question, then you're excused. Are you one of his fucking prostitutes with no self-respect?” you bite out, stepping closer, the smell of her perfume making you nauseous. “Did he tell you he still lives with his girlfriend? Or did he forget that part again?” You were talking absolutely crazy, words slurring at the edges from all the liquor burning through your veins, but the rage kept you razor-sharp, coherent enough to eviscerate with fury being the only sober thing left in you.
The girl glances at Hollis, lost. “What is she talking about?”
“Don't talk to him, hooker ass bitch,” you snap, seething and your voice all venom. You shoulder-check forward, stepping into her line of sight which just so happens is right in front of Hollis, cutting off her view entirely. The height difference hits you all at once—his frame towering close enough that his body heat radiates through your skin, that familiar cologne wrapping around you like a chokehold, stirring up the rage already boiling in your gut. It pisses you off even more, how it still does something to you, how it twists the knife deeper.
“Alright, alright, c'mon, that’s enough,” Hollis mutters, voice low, reaching for your shoulder, firm but gentle to pull you away.
You yank it back, defiant. “Don’t touch me.” you glare up at him.
People are definitely staring now. You can feel the attention, the phones lifting, the red light of cameras blinking at the edge of your vision, but it all blurs behind the hot rush in your head. “You really couldn’t even wait?” you spit at him quietly. “Couldn’t give it, what, a month? You’re already out here lining up the next bitch while half my shit is still in your closet?”
“Yo, chill,” the girl snaps now, irritation beating out her fear. “You’re not gonna stand in my face and call me that. I don’t even know you.”
“You don’t need to know me,” you fire back, pointing at her again. “You need to know him. That he lies. That he destroys. That he che—”
“Stop,” Hollis grits out, stepping between you and her, chest almost brushing yours. Up close, you can see the muscle in his jaw ticking, the way his eyes keep cutting sideways to the slowly forming semi‑circle of people recording. “You’re off your ass. You don’t wanna do this here.”
“No?” you challenge, tilting your head. “When were you planning on doing it, then, hm? Letting everybody know the truth about how we’ve been. In some thot’s DMs again? On live? On a second fucking account you told me was just for your friends?” you spat in his face bitterly, in your drunk mind, the two of you the only people in the room.
His hand closes around your wrist, grip sterner and firmer this time. “I said, that’s enough.” He’ss not usually so dominant, but he’s straight up freaking, the exposure making him fear being outed for his fuck-ups by anybody close enough to hear you over the music.
You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go, fingers wrapping tight, heat searing into your skin. It sends a different kind of fire through you—anger, yes, but also that old, hated familiarity that melts your icy heart a little. “Let go of me,” you warn, trying to kick that feeling, expression serious and grave. “I swear to God, Hollis, I will scream this whole place down.”
Before you can protest again, he’s turning, steering you away from the bar, away from the girl, away from the cluster of phones. You dig your heels in, stumbling, fighting his grip, free hand pushing at his chest to no avail. He’s buffed up since you last saw him, more broader, taller, and charged against your wildness. “What, you embarrassed now?” you shout after the girl and whoever’s still close enough to hear. “You embarrassed your little side thing found out you’re a lying—”
“Shut up,” he mutters low, stilling steadfast, fighting to pull you in front of him and cupping his hand over your mouth once he manages to pin you there, muffling your fight into hot breaths against his wide palm. You struggle, trying to speak around his fingers, nip at the flat of his palm, acting out pure feral spite as he bear-hugs you close, draping his full frame over yours like a shield, chest to your back, arms locked tight to hide your outrage from prying eyes and flashing phones. With how tall he is, even if somebody were to glance your way, it’s not really like anyone can tell what he’s doing beneath all the lights. He scans the room for anybody watching, shaking his head while he presses you deeper into the shadows, strong-arming you into moving.
“Not a fuckin' joke, you're acting crazy. I'm not playing around with you, bro.” he growls low, voice roughened with exasperation. He drags you past bodies and tables until you’re near a darker hallway leading toward the bathrooms and staff doors.
You twist hard, trying to wrench free. “Get off me!” you muffle against his hand, which he only releases when he's sure the distance is appropriate, hand immediately sliding to your shoulder to hold you steady. He pins you before you can bolt, palm flattening against the wall by your head, his body crowding into yours, boxing you in without actually touching more than your wrist and hip. The music is muffled here, but your pulse is still thunder in your ears.
“Calm. Down,” he says, each word clipped, breath hot, eyes searching your face like he’s looking for the version of you that used to just melt when he got this close. “You’re wilding. They’re recording you, you hear me? Look at me.”
You refuse, staring over his shoulder, chest heaving, vision glassy from the mix of high, alcohol, and rage. You tug again at his hold, but his fingers only tighten.
“Hollis, let me go, stop fucking touching me,” you grit out, voice breaking now. “Let me go. I was actually having a decent night for once.” you add, as though you didn't start the whole shitshow.
He swallows, the anger in his face shifting into something more pained, more panicked. “Yeah? You think I wasn’t watching you?” he says hoarsely. “Dancing on every dude in here like I’m dead?”
You snap your gaze to his, eyes blazing. “You are dead to me.”
“Then why’re you over here screaming at some random girl about me?” he demands. “Why're you shaking like that—like I scare you, like what I do to you freaks you out?”
“Because you’re disgusting,” you retort quick, hating how your eyes burn. “Because you do this every time. You swear you love me, and then I look up and you’re smiling in some girl’s face like I never existed.”
His head dips closer, forehead almost touching yours, the air between you two hot and voltaic. “I’m not doing anything with her,” he grinds out, like he’s finally bleeding something he kept buried. “You think I’m gonna touch anybody after you walked out on me like that? I can’t even fucking sleep without you, and you think I’m—”
“I think you’re exactly who you showed me you are.” You cut him off, voice small yet simultaneously all sharp and vicious. He doesn't bother retorting. He just stares down into your eyes convictedly, breathing hard, the messy noise of the club bleeding faintly in from outside the hallway. His thumb strokes once, unconsciously, against the inside of your wrist, like his body forgets you’re fighting him.
“Let me go,” you repeat, quieter this time. “I’m not gonna ruin my friend’s birthday because you’re still a whore.”
His mouth twitches, but not with anger; more like the words hit him where it hurts. Instead of snapping back at you, however, he stays quiet. And his thumb just brushes your wrist again, soft, automatic, feather like, like he can’t help it, like he can't stop himself from wanting you. You hate how your skin still reacts, how it prickles visibly with goosebumps under his touch even when you’re spitting venom.
“You really think I’d do that shit right here?” he rasps, body pressing closer, still caging you against the wall. “After everything? You think I’m that much of a piece of shit?”
You laugh, brittle and mean, shoving at his chest with your free hand. He barely budges. “I know you are. You’ve shown me enough times. Paris. Miami. That festival last summer. Pick one, Hollis.”
His face twists, pain flashing raw before defensiveness hardens it over in a flash. “That was different—I was fucked up, I fucked up, yeah, but I always came back to you. Always told you everything after, didn’t I?”
He was right, but it didn't help his case when he'd been lying to you more lately, ducking shit, hiding tracks like you weren't his. You said nothing, refusing to let him off the hook again. “I tell you all this shit because I don’t wanna fucking be this way. I love you so fucking much. I don’t wanna hurt you, baby, I don’t, I love you more than fuckin’ anything, my own life, I just wanna hurt myself and I drag you down with me ‘cause you’re in me, you’re me, you’re my fucking soul, I—”
You seethed at his percieved manipulation, shaking your head appalledly. “You’re such a fucking liar, Hollis, you literally let me find out from a live. From friends. And now you’re doing it here, where I can see it, in-front of all these people?” You scoff bitterly at him even having the effrontery to talk to you still like that isn’t the most evil, twisted way to find out you got cheated on again. In a room full of people who knew you were together, his friends. “Just let go of me, bro. I swear to god.” you push at him, not earning even a budge.
His other hand lifts slow, hesitant, cupping your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll bolt or perhaps bite. His eyes search yours, desperate, thumb stroking just under your eye where mascara’s all smeared. He knows he’s selfish—your high, fucked-up just like him, but he can’t help himself. His chest rises and falls like he’s holding himself together by a thread and you’ve got shears ready to sever his anchor. “Baby… do you still love me?”
The question hits like a gut punch. You jerk your head away, but he tracks your head moving away, cradling your face to stay in his view gentle but insistent, keeping you pinned in that gaze. “Don’t fucking call me that. Don’t touch me like that.”
“Tell me,” he pleads, cadence of his voice breaking thin now, forehead dipping closer. “Just say it. Do you still—”
“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” you snap, slapping his hand away, trying to push him off you, chest heaving. He moves all but an inch, stubborn and persistent, and you quickly feel your high crashing harder than ever, your own mind turning traitor under the drugs, flooding you with unwanted images of the hickies on his neck the morning after he “fell asleep at the studio,” the text history of him and that random makeup artist on his tour, the most recent clip on the live, his confession to you over the phone in Miami, his location at a strip-club in Paris, and the festival—whatever unspeakable shit went down there that you still can’t bring yourself to internalize. Suddenly everything’s too loud, too bright, and you feel stupid tears burning hot behind your eyes.
“You don’t get to ask me that. Not after you’ve fucked half of L.A. and come home smelling like them. I’m done being your idiot.” you shove him off to no avail, trynna flee his grip before he can see you cry.
He’s burning, fueled by letting you go once and very evidently not willing to make the same mistake twice. “I’m not—” He cuts off, frustration boiling over, his hand dropping to your shoulder instead, gripping like he’s anchoring his naughty kid who's misbehaving in public. “I haven’t touched anybody since you left. I swear. I can’t even look at them without seeing your empty side of the bed. You think I want this? You think I’m good? Could talk to a million fucking girls, but none of them will ever mess with my head as much as you do.”
He crooks your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes so you can see the truth written there. “I’ve thought about you every day. Every fuckin’ hour, every minute. There’s been nothing else, nobody else.”
You find yourself softening at the gentle admission, but the sting behind your eyes warns you’re seconds from crying, and like the ticking time bomb you are, you need to find a safe space to self implode. Unfortunately, last time you cried in front of Hollis, it ended up just so happening that he then got to fuck you, so instead, you shove him again, weaker this time, your voice wobbling as you manage, barely holding the water works all back, “Then why are you always talking to them? Smiling? Acting like the world’s your playground? Let me go, Hollis. I’m serious.”
He shakes his head fast, eyes glassed and worried, body tensing just enough you feel it where he’s pressed close, preparing for battle to keep you here with him. “Can’t. Not like this. You’re fucked up, princess, you’re shaking—”
“Yeah, because of you,” you snap, finally wrenching your wrist free, but he steps in tighter, completely on your ass intercepting your every move, hands hovering just above yours, scared to fully let go.
Before he can say more, voices cut through the hallway, familiar, unforeign. Your friends round the corner, eyes widening at the scene: you wild-eyed and disheveled against the wall, Hollis looming over you, physically impeding your escape. You know they already think you’re a dumb bitch for Hollis and that he treats you like shit, but having them live see it is different. You panic, ducking under his arm, cheeks burning. “Guys, I’m fine—let’s just go, I’m sorry—”
“Nah, fuck you mean ‘let’s go’? You’re wasted and high as fuck, drawing all this attention to yourself. You can’t be out here like this no more,” Hollis snaps firmly, reaching for you again, tone resolute and already decided, unintentionally gloating that old authority over you right in front of your friends, undercut with raw desperation and real worry flickering in his eyes.
Your friend—the birthday girl—steps forward, eyes narrowing at him. “Back the fuck off her, Hollis. Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Fucking look at her.”
“Yeah,” the other chimes in, grabbing your arm protectively. “She doesn’t wanna talk to you. Let her go.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you guys think, man, I know my girlfriend. She doesn’t even wanna fucking be here. Partying isn’t girl help her feel better,” he argues knowingly, voice cracking raw whilst trying to save you, shoving past them like they’re in his way.
He’s right, you think, stomach twisting guilty as your friends bristle. The birthday girl scoffs. “Don’t speak for her, Hollis. You don’t get to play hero now after all the shit you've done to her.”
He’s always been polite to them before, quiet nods, respectful distance, but tonight’s frayed every edge. “She’s my fucking girlfriend. You don’t get to—”
“Watch us.”
Your friends tug you back toward the dance floor, arms linked tight around you like they're shielding you from a bomb. “Fuck him,” birthday girl exclaims, loud enough you know he might still hear. “You're not doing this tonight. More shots, now,” she orders.
You nod, numb, letting them pull you through the crowd. The hallway confrontation clings to you like a spell was cast with every word he'd uttered, every action he'd deployed—his hand on your cheek, that broken do you still love me, the way your body betrayed you by leaning in just a fraction before you caught yourself. Your high's curdled into something sour, heavy, the lights too harsh now, the bass rattling your ribs like punishment.
They shove drinks into your hands. You down them fast, one after another, chasing the blur. "I'm good," you keep lying, keep up your facade and even find yourself forcing a laugh as some guy tries to dance up on you. Your friends cheer, thinking you're bouncing back. But every swallow tastes like ash.
Hollis's voice loops in your head—she's my girl—and suddenly the club feels like a cage. You spot him across the room, back with his crew now, staring at the floor while Nate claps his shoulder too hard all hang in there buddy. He looks wrecked. You look away, but it doesn't help.
The depression crashes back harder than before, bone-deep and immediate. All that armor you built through the party girl nights, the spite-dancing, the ''I'm fine's'' crumbles. You want your shitty apartment. You want silence. You do want your old self back. But mostly, fuck, you just want him. His hands. His apologies. The way he breaks and begs like you're the only thing holding his pieces together. It's pathetic. You're pathetic. But the ache wins.
You slip away from your friends mid-song, mumbling something about the bathroom. They don't notice, too busy hyping the birthday girl. Your legs carry you on autopilot, past the VIP ropes, down the dim hallway again. You don't know if he's watching. Don't care.
The bathroom door's cracked open. You push in, lock it shaky, and lean over the sink. Mirror-you looks like hell: mascara tracks, lip gloss smudged, eyes wild and wet. You splash water on your face, but it doesn't wash away the ugly because it's all coming from the inside. Your phone buzzes in your hand—you think it's texts from friends checking to ensure you're not with him, which you plan to ignore, but that weird pull of the universe makes you check it before you silence it and of-course, it's him. The universe always bends to the will of you two and your bad romance.
Hollis: bathroom? talk to me. please baby.
Your stomach flips. You shouldn't.
you: yeah
You go to delete it, but your thumb hovers, brain spinning a messy pros-cons spiral. Delete and you're free to go home, forget this night, pretend the ache isn't winning. Or answer, dig the hole deeper, make another bad choice because you're already too far gone. Hollis was right out there—he saw through your fake fun, knew you were crumbling, unlike your friends who dragged you anyway. Nobody really cares but him, and that freaks you out most, the thinking automatically yielding in his favor, and once again, you do the only thing you know how to do: escape. Before you can turn to exit, though, the door rattles. Someone's trying the handle.
"It's occupied," you call, as if assuming it's a stranger might reverse the cruel fate of the universe. "It's me," he responds, low and urgent, the only person who, as you'd always known, truly cared for you. "Open up."
You freeze. Part of you screams to ignore him, flush the toilet for noise, wait him out. But the depression whispers louder—let him fix it. just this once. Your hand moves before your brain catches up, unlocking the door.
He slips in fast, locking it behind him, filling the limited space, leaving no room to breathe anything but just him: his sweat-slicked skin, expensive cologne, chains glinting n jinglin soft, and his eyes bloodshot and locked on you like you're about to die. "Fuck," he breathes, hands coming up slow, cupping your face again. You flinch but don't pull away. "You okay?"
"No," you whisper, hating the tears spilling over. "This is so fucked up."
"I know." His thumbs swipe your cheeks, gentle, desperate. He steps closer, forehead pressing to yours fully this time, breath shaky. "Missed you so bad. Every night. Can't do this without you."
You clock it instantly, the way he’s talking like he’s already won you back, like the bathroom door unlocking was the final checkmate. “You’re still talking to girls,” you mumble, voice breaking, but your hands fist his shirt anyway, pulling him in. “You’re still… you. And you’re never gonna change.”
"Not like that." He kisses your temple, your jaw, needy little presses. "They're nothing. Swear. Just you. Always you. Only you." His hands slide down, gripping your hips, lifting you onto the sink edge easy, like old habit. Your legs part on instinct, wrapping around his waist.
He steps in between them. He kisses down your neck, slow and hungry, his soft, plush lips dragging hot, open-mouthed pecks down your throat, making up for every second you spent away. He does it like he needs it—so desperate and shameful in his longing that his tongue flicks out to taste the salt of your skin. He licks again and again like a depraved dog, just to be sure you’re real, then he full-on makes out with your neck, right against your pulse, sucking deep and slow, lathing over the sensitive skin with his tongue, and nibbling just enough to sting you and keep you jumping in his arms. He paints angry, deep red blooms in his wake, and his attention is decadent, almost reverent. Your head spins, the crossover of the drugs and the pleasure melting your brain to mush, everything euphoria as you feel that month-long burden of heaviness in your chest dissipate like it never existed, fading with every slow drag of his mouth, a feeling better than any drug in and of itself.
He kisses you deep, hard, and desperate, blonde hair falling messy into your eyes, and he's all you see occupying your entire visual field. You see the way his eyebrows arch in a needy, frantic pose as he nips at your lips, all-the-while rubbing at you a little harder and filthier, feeling the hot slick soaking through your little panties already.
He pulls back, looking down at his fingers working you over, angling your jaw gently to follow him. His jaw hangs slack at the sight — his fingers sparkle, drenched by your essence, and you're so wet for him your slick literally soaks through your panties, glistening on his fingers despite the barrier. He moans aloud, high and whiny in that down bad way, wrecked at the sight, before rushing out, "Want you forever. Want you to marry me, have our kids, wanna put you in a pretty lil house with a white fence somewhere quiet." He sucks harder at your neck, teeth grazing just enough to sting sweet. When you don't respond, too sacked out by the pleasure, head tipping back, he rubs your clit a little faster and rougher, pressing insistent circles that make your thighs quake. "Don't you want that? Hm?"
You nod, arms wrapping around his neck to get reins of yourself, but he doesn't let you destabilize his infiltration of your functioning brain. "Then take me back," he begs, hand on your throat forcing you to look into his eyes, pupils blown wide, pleading with you with his entire soul. "Fuck everything, fuck all that shit I did, fuck all the girls, fuck everybody but us—just take me back and we could have it all." He chokes it out, voice the most desperate thing you've ever heard as he whispers it hot-breathed in your ear.
"I need more, please, please please," you gasp out airlessly, his question pounding the air from your lungs, head spinning hazy with lust, ignoring his pleas. Your mouths crash back together in a messy, desperate makeout, tongues tangling sloppy, teeth clashing, then he's dropping to his knees fast, hands gripping your thighs. His long fingers hook into your fishnets at the top, ripping them open with a sharp tear right at the crotch, the sound echoing loud in the tiny space, leaving jagged edges frayed against your skin. He shoves your panties aside roughly, then his mouth's on you with no warning, tongue diving straight into your soaked heat, lapping filthy through your folds and sucking on your clit like there's no tomorrow for you guys because, well, there might not be so long as you didn't answer him.
Your legs instantly quake and clasp around his head. The sound is straight-up obscene, loud wet slurps of him drinking up your wetness, breathing your clit into his mouth like a vacuum seal, but he holds you open firm, eyes transfixed on yours intently as he devours you slow then increasingly frantic with the motivation of a man who knows this might be his last chance to fuck you back into his life, his eyes fluttering closed in bliss while muffled moans hum against your core.
“Hollisssss,” you cry out, high as fuck, every nerve beating in ecstasy as it hits ten times harder, too good, too much— “oh my gosh, too, too f-f—” your words shatter into nothing, obliterated by the electric high ripping through you, and he won’t fucking stop. His tongue rips flat and broad through your folds like he’s starving, then he shakes his head side to side, nasty and unchained, trying to grind that rough vibration right into your clit, smear your slick all over his face and lips ‘til he’s soaked in you. In-fact, he's so slutted out for you his hand ditches your legs to shove his hair back, clearing the way while he tears your pussy up ruthlessly, slurping every drop like a brainless animal. He’s such a shameless slut for you and it’s got you gushing even more slick straight into his greedy mouth.
You cling to composure just for him amid the haze, but he’s insatiable, forcing your legs even wider ‘til you’re splayed utterly exposed, then driving two fingers deep into your pussy, stretching your walls apart deliberately so he can thrust his tongue inside and fuck you senseless while his thumb circles your clit without mercy. You’re unraveling completely. You try to squirm away, thighs trembling, but he’s strong and holds you in place, forcing you to take every devastating pump of his tongue.
"Stop, wait stop, I need your.. I need you to fuck me, I wanna cum around your dick so badly, Holli, it's been so long." you rush out. You don't need to tell him twice. He's up and over you in seconds, chin properly coated slick with your arousal, cock heavy and poking stiff against your thigh, even through his jeans.
You waste no time, fumbling his belt open with shaky fingers, and guiding him straight in. You grip his thick cock at the base, feeding your dripping, greedy pussy every fat inch it wills, one hand clawing his back to shove him in hastier and deeper, no condom, no barrier, just his raw, rigid dick, and you don’t stop ‘til his cockhead’s kissing your cervix, balls-deep buried in your drenched hole. He bottoms out real fuckin’ deep with a broken groan, stilling for only a second before his hips get to snapping brutal, fucking you full with all his length.
“Still so fuckin’ tight,” he grunts like it’s ripped straight from his gut, “didn’t give my pussy away, did you? My good princess, knew you wouldn’t.” He fucks you onto his dick harder, bringing your hips flush to ram into his as he presses forward fucking into you deeper ‘til a thick white foamy ring forms right at where you’re joined, both of you staring mesmerized at the slippery cream coating his shaft.
“I should’ve,” you gasp out, half-teasing through the haze, clenching around him just to feel him twitch. “Maybe it woulda taught you a fuckin’ lesson. I let you get away with too much.”
“You know better,” he chirps back gravelly, tongue swiping at his bottom lip as he angles his hips to grind brutal against your g-spot, cockhead battering that spongy spot till your vision glosses over, but you fight through it. "Nobody could fuck you like this. Couldn't stretch this tight little pussy open like me. Nobody could love you how I do." His hand clamps yours urgent, slamming it down to your swollen clit, grinding it there while he ravages you harder, claiming every inch of your body.
“Rub that pussy for me, baby. Wanna watch you touch yourself like you did without me there to fuck you.” Your skirt’s bunched around your waist like a dirty belt, ruined and soaked, and you do, fingers slathering fast through your dripping mess, other hand mauling your nipple rushedly through your shirt, pinching and twisting ‘til it stings. It all hits so fucking good you’re drooling like a braindead slut, spit dribbling down your chin messy, high as balls, and he’s fiending pathetic, leaning in to catch your slobber and slurp it up sloppy off your quivering lips. You whimper out, fucked out of your brain, and he groans ragged, forgetting everything and only focused on the depraved filth at hand. “Stick that tongue out f’me, princess,” he commands you, his cock pulsing wild and leaking pre inside your clenchin’ hole just from the nasty show. You do, and he laps at it desperate, licking at your tongue like he had your pussy while you shatter to pieces. There’s something so raw in how you guys fuck: your usually composed girl, but this is the longest you’ve kept yourself away, and you feel him take out all the pent-up agony it caused within him on you, devouring your body like some creep.
You cum embarrassingly fast not too long after, walls fluttering wild around him, a sharp cry tearing free and your back arching sharp off the mirror it rests against, but he doesn’t give you a second, flipping you over the counter face-down rough like you’re dead weight before you can catch your breath, too turned on by your little show to wait.
He fucks into you purely for his own pleasure now, yanking your top down fully, letting your heavy tits spill out bouncing wild with his vigor, his teeth sinking into your shoulder blade hard enough to scar while he pounds into you from behind, hips crashing brutal against your ass cheeks and sending jiggling ripples through the soft flesh with every rough slam. “Fuck, baby, been dyin’ without you,” he rasps broken, whispering gravelly-voiced sweet nothings, “can’t breathe right, can’t think—shit, you left me empty, tore my fuckin’ soul out.” He slaps the jiggling flesh red-raw with sharp, stinging smacks that echo off the tiles, the pain blooming hot and sweet under your skin. You can’t even form words in response. You babble nonsense, mouth slack, drool pooling, as he smacks your ass again and again punishingly, each crack drawing a broken whimper from your throat. He looks wrecked, face twisted in pained ecstasy, breath stained with sharp booze you taste on his tongue when he licks sloppy at your neck—you figure the alcohol’s fucking him up, making it hard to get to his orgasm, but fuck, the way he’s trying so desperate, hips slamming frantic, brows pulled into the center of his forehead, and lip tucked between his teeth, is way too hot.
“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he groans out jaggedly, completely absorbed by your pleasure. “So wet for me, fuck.” He shuts up and both of you listen to the sound of him fucking you—a nasty sloshing gush of your creamy pussy, each brutal thrust forcing out obscene wet plops of your slick that splatter loud onto the floor below, your arousal puddling filthily at your feet. Shame twists his face, gut-churning humiliation in having to beg like this just to tip himself over the edge, brows knit tight and jaw clenched so hard it trembles, every muscle straining in pained desperation like he’s fighting for air. He’s begging now, voice cracking pathetic, “Tell me I’m worthless, baby, please, fuck.”
You leap at the opportunity to demean him even though he’s fucking you so good you can’t speak, words spilling brokenly through your sobs of pleasure. “Y–you’re w–worthless… you’re such a fucking loser, you’re so fucked up in the head, f–fuck, I could— I could r–replace you—right now—” a gasp tears through the words, “f–fuck— with any guy— anyone— I wanted to— in here…”
He whimper-groans high and pathetic, hips pistoning brutal like a jackhammer, confused turn-on flashing wild in his eyes at how your words only make him harder, make him sink into you impossibly deeper.
“I wanna be good for you, baby, I wanna be a good boy for you, fuck. I wanna be yours,” he chokes out, voice keening high and watery like tears are pricking at the edges, mind so fucking gone at why the hell this shit turns him on so bad, confusion swirling hot in his head as your pussy drags the filthy words from his chest, ripping them raw while his hips stutter frantic.
“I’m sorry for cheatin’, for bein’ such a piece of shit again, I’ll make it right, swear. Take me back, please,” he begs desperate into your ear, apologies tumbling out broken. He locks you in a headlock, arm swelling around your throat, puffing up his bicep as his breath tingles hotly in your ear. “Love you so much, baby, love you—wanna cum for you so bad, wanna fill this pussy up n’ watch my load leakin’ down your thighs all night on that dancefloor.” Tears stream down your face from pure blinding pleasure, vision sparking white, and you grab the counter edge desperate to steady yourself, but he snatches your wrists, pinnin’ ‘em behind your back in one iron grip, like he’s arrestin’ you, which in a way he kind of is with his body n’ words.
“Why’d you dance with those other guys? Why’d you leave me?” he presses, pounding into you like a madman. You don’t answer, eyes rolled back absolutely braindead from pleasure, moaning nonstop, “yes yes yes like that, right there”—and he’s all aware of your dick-delirious state, thriving on it. “Promise me. Say you’re mine forever.”
"I'm yours," you sob out, wrecked.
"Tell me you love me."
"I love you, fuck, I love you."
"No other guys—say it."
“Just youuuu, fuck, fuck—” He yanks you up to face the mirror fully, forcing you to watch your heavy tits bounce obscene as he slams balls-deep into your leaking pussy from behind, the sight straight vulgar porn—they jolt hypnotically, nipples hard and peaked, with every brutal thrust shaking your whole body. He hooks one of your legs high up on the counter, spreading your thighs wide so your ass cheeks part lewdly, letting him plunge even deeper, your dripping folds clinging to his shaft on every pull-out. He lets you go and you falter back onto his chest, head thrown back against his shoulder, neck arched as you both stare into the mirror at him wrecking you wild—his face contorted hot as hell, brows pinched tight, mouth slack in agonized bliss, panting out heavy and ragged. You’re teetering on the edge, legs trembling like you’ll collapse any second, fingers tangled fierce in his hair yanking hard while he props your limp body up with both arms wrapped iron-tight around your waist, teeth sinking deep into your neck the whole damn time, hair a sweaty tangled wreck, your free hand clawing the sink edge desperately for any grip. You bite his forearm hard enough to draw blood on a better day when he reaches around, fingers circling your overspent clit ruthless. He bites your neck harder, sucking bruises into the marks, promising broken. “Never lettin’ you go again. Love you, baby, swear.” It’s harsh and soft all at once, his free hand stroking your side tender even as he chokes you tighter, thrusts turning erratic. You cum again clenching around him, sobbing his name, and he follows with a muffled groan into your shoulder, spilling hot and deep, hips stuttering.
Pleasure overloads you completely, your brain short-circuiting into blacked-out bliss as the waves of pleasure crash endless, too much for your brain to handle in one night, body going limp in his arms while he sticks in you deep, greedily making you take every last drop that pumps hot and thick, floods out messy around his cock.
You pass out for a little heavy minute, limp and sunken like you’re lost someplace deep, world faded black, and Hollis shakes you awake gentle, panic flickering in his eyes and thumb stroking your tear-streaked cheek. “Baby? Hey, c’mon—fuck, you okay?”
You blink hazy, wrecked and boneless. "I needa go home... now."
He texts his assistant quick for the valet, then Nate for a scarf to hide the evidence. Nate pops thru the bathroom door seconds later, dangling his black silk one with a smirk. “You guys are wild as fuck,” he laughs, eyeing the chaos before dipping.
Hollis fusses over you tender, wetting a paper towel to wipe the slick and cum smearing your thighs, trying to fix the shredded fishnets best he can, jagged rips barely covered, pulling your skirt down and top up crookedly. The valet pulls up his sleek orange lambo right at the back exit, engine purring low.
You wrap Nate’s scarf ‘round your face tight, covering the hickeys bloomin’ purple on your neck, smudged mascara running like warpaint, lipstick smeared messily, hair a blown-out nest. Paparazzi swarm the alley anyway, flashes blinding and their shouts bombarding, speculating on if you’re the girlfriend they’re used to or another random girl. They shout at you asking about the breakup and you flip them off behind the scarf, griping muffled, “Fuck off.”
Hollis holds you tight against his side, arm banded possessive around your waist guiding you to the car. He opens the door, helping you slide in, but shifts away to get in himself at the worst possible moment. You fumble immediately as he exits your proximity, dropping the scarf in your drunk haze, bending deep to snatch it off the ground, legs involuntarily parting and skirt teasing up your upper thighs. Flashes explode and assuredly catch everything: the wide rip of your shredded fishnet, the discreet glaze of his cum trickling slow down your inner thigh, hickeys everywhere like a roadmap of ruin, mascara streaks, drunk sway, hair wild.
By morning, it's everywhere and pure internet meme gold. "Messy girl icon fr," trending in your fan spaces with grainy edits of you bending over to grab Nate's scarf, eyes squinting against the flash and your thighs mysteriously glistening slick under the strobes, captions like "One way to kill breakup rumors 💀 that's my queen" n "pussy so good she left the function early, they were DEFINITELY fuckin before this."
Your head throbs against your skull, phone blown up with notis from your social media and calls from your friends from last night. You scroll through the voicemails, post-storm calm washing over you like quiet after chaos.
“Girl, are you seriously with Hollis right now? You went home with that cheating asshole? You’re a bitch if you did after everything. We’re so mad at you.”
You text back neutral, unfazed, knowing she’s mad but figuring a good gift might smooth it over. “We got you a Chanel purse,” you lie coolly, already picturing the store as your first stop for your newest public outing as a couple, arm-in-arm for the cameras. It reminds you of that one time in Mexico, when he fucked some girl entertainer on the resort’s beach and booked the whole girls’ trip after, groveling with paid-in-full villas and endless apologies ‘til you let him crawl back in. The girls weren’t too mad at that kind of apology back then, so you’re not all that worried now. You’re more shy about trending as a meme, an icon, paparazzi shots everywhere, TikToks about “cum thigh queen,” a poster-girl “messy girl” aesthetic, your ripped fishnets and cum-streaked thighs the internet’s new obsession, but you glance over at Hollis sleeping, his makeup still smudged like warpaint, chest rising slow and steady, and it hits you soft: he’s the only person you need in this world. You’re happy. You’ll take all the pain if it absolves the depression. You’ll parade the streets with evidence of his ruin—hickeys, cum, shame—and also secretly carry his sins like an honor, if you want to or if you don't. Those girls he fucks? They're nothing to him anyway. At the end of the day, you're the only one that means something to his heart. You are his willing victim, his happy prisoner.
And when he wakes up a few minutes later, it’s like he already knows. He smiles at you soft, eyes glinting with that haunted devotion, like he’s staring straight through your soul and claiming it all over again. “Welcome home. Been waitin’ for you to come back where you belong.”
author note: y/n is so very much feminism's worse fear! thanks for reading guys pls comment ily all sm and wanna talk to u and laugh at ur funny thoughts MWAH until next time - lizzy
corporate wife!caitlin who runs boardrooms like kindgoms and dynastys, little senior associates hanging on her every word, signs million-dollar contracts without blinking, is always reading some behavioral economics book or preparing a market brief for her mornings. she graduated top of her class at Wharton, effortless summa cum laude achieved. her assistant is classically conditioned at the click of her heels in the corridor, coffee already waiting as soon as Caitlin strolls in, hands in her pockets despite the unprofessionalism of it because she’s reached the level where she can be insolent like that — and she exudes authority like the expensive perfume coating her Hermès paris blazer.
“L-Lovely morning, Ms. Clark,” he stammers out. She hums, offhanded, a barely-there nod of acknowledgment, before sinking into her chair and sorting through a forest of contracts, reports, and mail as if she’s pruning her own power, trimming the chaos into order seamless.
you’re the quiet trophy wife who watches her conquer the skyline, champagne glass in hand, head all ditzy with the luxury afforded by her hard work. on her lunch breaks, she picks you up and you guys sit at rooftop bars drinking pale rosé she doesn’t actually sip, because performance is part of the pleasure. she leaves massive tips for no reason, food untouched, and drives a black Aston Martin most days — but when she’s in one of those moods, she’ll take the matte white Porsche, another purposeless indulgence of her liking just cause. she doesn’t need to drive at all, actually — her driver waits on standby whenever she’s at work — but she likes steering herself through traffic, answering hands‑free Bluetooth calls, her voice commanding as traders, analysts, associates, and partners line up like triage, her words the most critical event of their day. with the way she talks on the phone, you’d never assume she’s the same woman who, seconds later, is telling Siri in between calls, “hey Siri, tell "wifey" to wear something distracting. and, uh...pink.”
she takes you shopping for some dumb little thing you saw on TikTok that you want. whenever Cait brings you back home from your little mid-day dates, she’s already mid‑call with some senior exec, voice rich with dominion, biting into business talk that somehow sounds sexier when it rolls off her tongue. “If compliance can’t get that form signed, tell them I’ll sign their resignation instead,” she warns a guy, car rolling smooth against the pavement, engine humming with that quiet luxury, car white leather interior with scent of her perfume stitched into every surface — eyes flicking toward you for just a second. her voice is sharp, stentorian, every word a clean incision: “you had three weeks and I’m still hearing excuses? figure it the hell out, johnson.” yet her hand never leaves your thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles like muscle memory as the other steadies the wheel — composed, terrifyingly calm even as she commands an empire. and there you are, watching her talk to someone who’d kill to please her, sitting right beside her as the only person who ever actually has.
she ends the call mid-sentence of the guy with a click of the steering‑wheel button, finally looking over at you, all steel softening into something sweet & apologetic. “you doing okay, babe? hate to get caught up around you, m’sorry,” she apologizes earnest, leaning over with a press of her lips to your forehead, the scent of vetiver and coffee clinging to her skin. you fucking love your bitchy corporate wife with a soft spot for you and only you. and that bratty little dog you dragged from your fourth‑floor walk‑up to the big glass fortress she put you in the day after you got engaged — the kind of property with floor‑to‑ceiling windows, a pool that blurs into the skyline, and a view so high up you forget the noise of everyone trying to catch up to you guys below. marble stairs, wide‑spaced chrome kitchen gleaming like a showroom, and a big vintage piano neither of you play but is there because likes to see you lean against when she works late from home.
i don't think i'll ever fully be over paige bueckers like yeah i'm not her diehard in love w her fangirl anymore but jeez louise i still get butterflies @ her
i think I have an old blurb but i'm not that into him but sometimes I'm like wait I have this random idea about him so idkkkk girl idk we'll have to see, ig it just depends on my mood atm so I guess im open to ideas for now
