── .✦ 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰!
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Today's Document

Kaledo Art
Claire Keane
almost home
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

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todays bird

Discoholic 🪩

titsay

if i look back, i am lost
Show & Tell
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Andulka
ojovivo
taylor price
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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@percsinmysoda
── .✦ 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰!
i’m so fucking excited i don’t think you guys understand
AIN'T SWEET — Bf!nettspend x Gf!reader
information: After too many bad fan interactions Gunner is left pissed off and decides he needs to let off some steam. (terrible description ntm on me) cw: Smut!, angry nett, rough sex, yelling/arguing (not at eachother), masterlist taglist
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You could tell from the moment you woke up next to Gunner that something had already been bothering him in that suffocating kind of frustration that clung to him when sleep hadn’t been enough and everything around him had started to feel like it was pressing in too harshly.
It was in the way he moved through the morning without really speaking unless he had to, in the way his jaw stayed set like he was holding something back even when nothing was being said, and in the way his eyes carried that tired, sharpened edge that meant he had already been pushed too far too many times and was now just trying to survive the rest of it without snapping in front of everyone.
The mix of back-to-back shows, managers constantly on his ass, expectations stacking higher and higher with every city, every interview, every performance, and the lack of sleep that had been catching up to him for days had finally started to settle into his bones, and even though he was trying — genuinely trying — to keep himself composed, you could see the cracks forming in the smallest details.
Even on stage, under the flashing lights and roaring crowd, where he was usually untouchable, completely in his element as if nothing else in the world could reach him there, you could still see it if you were paying close enough attention, the way his movements carried just a fraction more force than usual, the way his expressions flickered between performance and irritation when something in the crowd didn’t sit right with him, the way he kept pushing forward anyway because stopping wasn’t an option when people had paid to see him, when real fans were screaming his lyrics back at him like it meant something to them.
The crowd tonight already hadn't been particularly good, not because they weren’t loud, but because something about the energy had been off from the beginning, with two fights breaking out earlier in the set that had pulled security into motion and disrupted everything long enough for the flow of the show to fracture, and then an attempted stage rush that had forced everything to halt in a way that left a bitter taste hanging over the rest of the performance, but still Gunner kept going.
For almost half an hour, things had settled into something close to normal, and from your spot behind the barricade you had finally started to let yourself relax again, watching him move across the stage with that familiar intensity that made it look like he was built for this, smiling faintly to yourself as you followed the way he moved, until it felt like the night might actually hold itself together after all.
And then it happened so fast it almost didn’t feel real at first, a sudden motion from the front of the barricade, a flick of plastic, and a split-second later a full splash of water flying through the air and hitting him directly across the front of his shirt, soaking through the white fabric immediately so that it clung to him and he completely stopped in place.
He took one step back, slow and controlled, like he was forcing himself not to react too quickly, and then his head lifted, eyes scanning the front row before dragging toward backstage where he made a single sharp motion with his hand that cut through everything like a blade, and when he spoke into the mic his voice was so controlled it almost felt worse than if he had yelled.
“Yo,” he said, and the entire venue seemed to tighten around the sound of it, “cut the fuckin’ music.”
The change was immediate, almost violent in how fast the sound disappeared, the production dropping out so suddenly that all that was left was the distant roar of confusion and scattered boos from the crowd, and in that sudden silence Gunner stood still for half a second longer before stepping forward again, his eyes locking onto the exact section where it had come from as if he had already memorized the face of whoever had done it.
“You,” he said, pointing directly at the guy still holding the half-empty bottle, his voice low and sharp as he tilted his head slightly, the kind of movement that carried nothing but disbelief and anger, “you think that shit sweet?”
Whatever the guy said back was lost in the noise of the crowd, but it was enough to make something in Gunner’s expression shift instantly, the calm snapping into something far more volatile as he let out a short, humorless laugh through his nose and shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, before he suddenly moved forward and without hesitation jumped down off the stage.
Your stomach dropped the second he did it, because even though you knew him well enough to understand that he rarely backed down from disrespect, there was still something about the speed of it, the certainty in the way he moved, that made your chest tighten as he landed infront of the barricade, immediately surrounded by security but still pushing forward like they weren’t even there.
“You think he gonna hit him?” one of his friends asked from behind you, voice low with uncertainty, but you didn’t answer right away because your eyes were locked on Gunner and the way his entire body looked like it was vibrating with contained anger that was just barely being held together.
“I don’t…” you started, then hesitated as he got closer, the air around him visibly shifting as people instinctively stepped back, “I don’t think so.”
But even as you said it, it didn’t fully sound true.
Because watching him get disrespected like that, after everything he had been dealing with lately, after every fan interaction that had crossed a line and every night he had forced himself to keep going anyway, made something in your own chest burn hot and protective in a way you didn’t even fully know how to process.
He stopped right in front of the guy then, close enough that there was barely any space left between them, the mic still in his hand as he leaned forward just slightly, eyes narrowed with something sharp and dangerous that didn’t need volume to feel loud.
“You tryna fucking apologize now, pussy?” he said, voice cutting clean through the air as he gestured slightly with his free hand, his expression twisted in disgust, “you thought that shit was sweet?”
The guy started talking, hands moving too fast, trying to explain, trying to fix something that had already broken the second he decided to throw that water, but Gunner didn’t even give him the satisfaction of finishing, instead scoffing into the mic like the entire thing was beneath him, rolling his eyes hard before stepping back with a final shake of his head.
“Get the fuck outta here.”
And just like that, he turned away.
Still angry, still tense, still carrying that heavy, suffocating energy like it had nowhere to go, and as he started walking toward the end of the barricade, he spotted you instantly and something in his expression shifted just slightly, not softer exactly, but focused, like you were the only thing in the room that wasn’t irritating him.
He walked straight toward you, fast enough that people moved out of his way without thinking, the red of his hair falling slightly into his eyes as he shook his head like he was trying to physically shake off the situation, and when he passed you he didn’t stop, but he motioned for you to follow him with a sharp tilt of his head that left no room for question.
You followed immediately, heart still racing as you tried to speak.
“Gun—”
“I can’t right now, ma,” he cut in instantly, dragging both hands over his face as he walked, his voice rough and tight with restraint, like he was holding himself together by a thread.
“He’s a fucking loser for that shit,” you said anyway, stepping closer behind him as he pushed through the backstage entrance, “but don’t let it ruin your show.”
That made him stop only long enough to drop heavily onto the couch, his head falling back as he exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes shut like he was trying to block out everything that had just happened, the anger didn’t disappear, it just sat there under his skin, restless and burning.
You moved toward him carefully, sitting yourself in his lap without hesitation, one leg sliding over him as you settled in close enough to ground him, and when your arms wrapped around his shoulders you could feel how tense he still was beneath you, like his body hadn’t decided yet whether it wanted to calm down or keep fighting, and you pressed soft, steady kisses along his neck in an attempt to pull him back from the edge of it.
“You don’t have to continue the show,” you murmured against his skin.
He nodded once, but even that felt strained, like his mind was still somewhere else entirely, and one of his hands slid under your shirt, not in any rushed or heated way, but in a grounding, almost absent motion as his palm moved slowly up and down your back like he needed something real to hold onto before he did something reckless.
“You should still do a quick meet and greet though,” you added after a moment, quieter now, “it’s behind a barricade.”
A long, heavy groan left him at that, his head tipping slightly as if the idea alone was exhausting, and he shook his head once without even opening his eyes.
“Ion wanna.”
You looked at him then, really looked at him, at the way his chest still rose a little too sharply with leftover adrenaline, at the frustration still carved into the lines of his face, at the way he was trying so hard not to let the night completely ruin him, and after a beat, his eyes met yours.
There was a pause, thick and loaded.
Then he exhaled.
“Fine.”
The word came out low, reluctant, but final, and even as he said it, he was already shifting, already pulling himself back into motion, still angry, still tense, still not fully over what had just happened as he stood and looked down at you for a second longer than necessary.
The quick meet and greet had been set up behind a reinforced barricade, something meant to be “safe” and controlled, but even as the crowd started forming outside, screaming and pressing forward with phones already raised, it didn’t feel controlled at all.
You stayed close, watching him as he exhaled once through his nose, rolling his shoulders back slightly like he was physically forcing himself to reset, and when he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your lips before stepping forward, it wasn’t soft in the usual way, it was like he needed something familiar before he went back into the noise.
Then he was out there.
And instantly, the crowd shifted.
Phones went up higher, voices rose louder, people screaming his name in overlapping waves that blurred together into something almost deafening, and Gunner, still visibly tense, forced himself into the role anyway, grabbing the first phone offered to him and snapping a picture without much emotion, his face set in a way that made it clear he was present but not entirely there.
You watched from a few steps back as he moved down the line, repeating the motions, signing things, nodding slightly when he had to, but never fully loosening, never fully slipping back into the easy charm he usually had, because tonight had already worn him too thin for anything to feel effortless anymore.
And then it happened again.
A hand reached too far past the barricade.
A girl leaned in, smiling too widely, like she thought she was entitled to more than she was getting, her hand had found his face, fingers brushing along his jaw like she had known him for years, like there was no line there at all, and then she slid her hand messily into his hair.
Everything stopped in you before you even moved.
It wasn’t even a thought.
You stepped forward so quickly it almost felt like your body moved before your mind could catch up, the sound of your own voice cutting through the noise sharper than you expected.
“What the actual fuck?”
Security reacted at the same time, hands moving to slow you down, but you were already pushing forward, eyes locked on the girl as Gunner’s entire expression shifted into something disgusted and immediate, his head jerking back slightly as he pulled away from her touch.
“Yo—what the fuck is your problem?” he snapped, stepping back fast and pushing the girls arm away from him, his jaw tightening as he wiped his cheek once with the back of his hand like he was trying to erase the contact, “don’t fucking touch me.”
The girl looked startled now, suddenly smaller under the weight of his reaction, but you didn’t care about that part, not when your chest was still tight with anger, not when you could still feel how casually she had crossed a line like it meant nothing.
“Go touch someone else’s man, bitch,” you said before you could stop yourself, voice sharp with irritation as you pointed vaguely in her direction while security finally stepped fully between you and her.
Gunner turned immediately at the sound of your voice, his hand coming out instinctively to your waist before you could move any further forward, pulling you back just slightly like he was redirecting you out of instinct more than anything else, his grip firm.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, still visibly annoyed, still shaking off what had just happened, “just—come on.”
You were still looking at her as he guided you backward, still breathing a little too fast from the spike of anger, and you didn’t even realize how tightly he had pulled you into his side until he started walking, his arm locked around your waist in a way that wasn’t gentle as much as it was protective, like he was already done with the entire interaction and wanted distance from everything immediately.
“You got no fucking right to touch people you don’t know,” you snapped over your shoulder one last time before fully turning away, your voice echoing slightly as the crowd noise swallowed it up.
Gunner didn’t say anything for a moment.
He just kept walking.
Faster now.
Like the entire night had finally hit its limit.
His jaw was still tight when you finally reached the backstage exit, his hand rubbing once over his face again like he was trying to physically push the frustration out of his system, and even though he wasn’t speaking, you could feel how much it was still sitting with him, how the anger hadn’t disappeared, just changed shape.
“I fucking hate that shit so much,” he muttered finally, voice rough and low, more to himself than to you, his shoulders rising and falling slightly as he exhaled hard through his nose, “like what the fuck is wrong with people.”
“I know,” you said quietly, reaching up to press your hand gently against his cheek as you both walked toward the bus, grounding him in a way that slowed him down just slightly, “I know, baby.”
He scoffed under his breath, shaking his head again.
“Pulling my fucking hair and touching my face like it’s cute,” he continued, voice sharper now, anger flaring again in small bursts, “like I’m not a person or some shit.”
“I shouldn’t have told you to do the meet and greet,” you added quickly, guilt slipping in under your voice as you reached the bus door, “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t answer that part.
Not directly.
He just pushed the door open and gestured slightly with his hand for you to go first, tapping your butt as you stepped inside, and the second the door closed behind you both, the noise from outside disappeared so completely it made the silence inside feel heavier than it should have.
The air in the bus was still and thick.
Carrying everything he hadn’t fully let go of yet.
Gunner stood there for a second, just looking at you, breathing a little heavier than usual, eyes still sharp with leftover frustration, before he finally spoke again, voice low and controlled but still carrying that edge that hadn’t gone anywhere all night.
“Take your shirt off.”
Your body stills for a second — a flicker of surprise lighting in you, but the tension shifts into something more familiar, something you’ve been craving.
Your hands grip the bottom of your shirt and tug it over your head, the fabric catching on your hair before you toss it aside. He watches you, his eyes dark and fixed, and the air between you thickens.
He steps forward until you feel his breath ghost across your face. His eyes lock onto yours, daring you to look away. You don’t. His hand reaches around behind you, fingers brushing your spine as he unclips your bra. The straps slide down your shoulders, and the lace falls to the floor.
His gaze drops to your chest, watching the way it rises and falls — quick and desperate patterns. He lets out a slow breath, then grabs your hips and spins you around. His palm is hot through the thin fabric of your pants as he walks you forward, his body pressed close behind you.
The tour bus hums beneath your feet. He nudges open the door to the private room at the back and once inside he closes the door behind him with a soft click, sealing you both in.
You lay back on the couch, the fabric cool against your bare skin. He stands there for a moment, his breathing rough and uncontrolled, his chest rising and falling. His eyes travel from your face down to your thighs, lingering where your panties still cling to your hips. Then he moves slowly until he’s standing tall above you, his figure covering the light.
His hands unbuckle his jeans. The sound of the zipper is loud in the quiet. He steps out of them, kicking them aside. You follow his lead, wiggling out of your pants, leaving you almost completely naked in front of him. He discards his shirt, and for a second you let yourself stare — the hard lines of his torso, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way his boxers strain against his cock.
He kneels on the couch, his thighs bracketing yours, and reaches down to cup your face. His thumb traces your cheekbone, and his voice drops low.
“I respect the fuck outta you, ma, and I want you to remember that.”
Your eyebrows furrow. “Why are you telling me that right now?”
The smallest smirk crosses his face. “Because you might forget that fact in a second.”
Before you can ask, he pulls himself over you, his weight settling against your body. His fingers slide under your panties, tracing through your folds. You whimper softly, your hips twitching into his touch. He doesn’t rush. He circles your clit slowly, watching your face as your lips part and your eyes flutter shut.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
You force your eyes open. He holds your gaze as his fingers dip lower, gathering your wetness. Then, with a quick, sharp motion, he tears your panties off — the sound of ripping fabric sharp in the quiet.
He pushes his boxers down, and his cock springs free. He slaps it against your clit, once, twice, and you jolt, a moan catching in your throat.
“Please,” you whine, the word ragged.
He grabs you from under your thighs, lifting your hips slightly. You feel the head of his cock press against your entrance, teasing, not pushing. He holds there, letting you feel the pressure.
“Please what?” he asks, his voice rough.
“Please fuck me.”
He doesn’t make you wait. In one hard thrust, he buries himself deep inside your pussy. Your gasp turns into a loud moan as he gives you no time to adjust — his hips already slamming against yours, his rhythm brutal and unrelenting. Your eyes start tearing up immediately.
The stretch burns, the pleasure drowns it.
“Oh fuck!” Your eyes roll back, your fingers digging into the couch.
Gunner grunts, his breaths hot against your neck as he fucks into you. He sits up and picks your legs up, pressing your thighs together, and swings them both over his left shoulder.
The new angle drives him deeper, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white. He holds your legs tight enough to bruise, his grip firm and possessive, as he continues fucking you senseless.
Your vision blurs. Sobs leave your throat from the overwhelming pleasure, the way he fills you completely, the way his cock pulses inside you with every thrust.
“I can’t! It’s too much, baby,” you cry out, your head snapping forward before falling back against the couch.
“Take it, ma. You got it.”
His words push you closer. The knot in your stomach grows agonizing. Your breathing becomes ragged, your chest heaving as he fucks you, the soreness spreading through your thighs and hips, only adding to the sensation of his cock pumping deep inside you.
“It was so fucking hot watching you yell at that girl,” he groans, his eyes shutting momentarily as he loses himself in the feel of you.
You hum, your mind too blurred for words. You nod, your head lolling, absolutely dumb from the way he fucks into you.
“You the only girl I ever want touching me. Only girl I’d ever want like this.”
He leans down and kisses you — but first he pushes your legs down toward your chest, folding you nearly in half. You scream out, a high, broken sound, before his lips crash onto yours. His tongue slides into your mouth, tasting you. He places your legs down, and they immediately wrap around his hips, pulling him deeper.
His hips roll against yours — slower now, but harder. Each thrust grinds against your clit, and your mouth falls open, your throat dry from moaning. You can barely breathe.
“You gonna cum for me?” he asks, his voice strained.
You nod fast, desperate. “Yes, Gun. Please.”
He chuckles softly, his speed picking up again. Your eyes roll back. His hand finds your lower abdomen, and he presses down hard, adding pressure to the ache building inside you. You scream again, your throat raw, your voice cracking.
“You fucking love this cock, don’t you?”
You whimper, your words coming out in a broken whisper. “So much.”
The knot in your stomach tightens to the max. You feel your legs start to shake around his hips, your toes curling. “I—I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, and then the coil snaps.
Your body shakes violently. Your ears ring. You feel yourself release around him and you cry out, your fingers clawing at his back as waves of pleasure crash through you. Your pussy clenches around his cock, milking him.
“Oh fuck,” he groans, his hips stuttering. He drives into you one last time, burying himself deep, and you feel his cock pulse as he comes inside you — hot ropes filling you.
He falls against you, his weight heavy and welcome. Sweat slickens both your bodies, your skin sticking together as you catch your breath. Your heart pounds against his chest, matching his.
“Holy shit, Gun,” you laugh softly, the sound breathless.
He chuckles into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your damp skin. “I know.”
You cover your face with one hand, embarrassed by how thoroughly he wrecked you. He kisses your cheek softly, then your jaw, then your lips — gentle now, tender.
“You did so good for me, baby.”
Your fingers lace gently through his damp hair. You feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, slowing, calming. A smile tugs at your lips.
“You should get mad more often.”
He rolls his eyes humorously, lifting his head to look at you. His gaze is soft, fond. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・ @unicornfairysparkle69 @2bun22 @jjscoquette @missmodelsexx @sophi-ii @qiyokuliife @sacrfcialambbb @angelverse222 @honeyperched @2romllis @natesibsdih @luvvconceal @ratspo3 @2krush22 @sweet2sin @sippingonsin @romansbbg @envious3 @aeshiue @lattetwirll @voidatelier @kingoveverything @carnivalllz @theyluvcece00 @whitetiger2crush2 @radxdgal @chxseatl @bunnyearmuffs888 @angelbbyunicorn @doit4hollis @sayim-pretty @sparklejumprope88 @2horsey @2alt @swthngs @fakeeminkk @curaheehee @boopsnoopp @percsinmysoda
is anyone willing to write pet play for hollis.
lowk freaking out over this rn
i’m walking down the aisle to the instrumental of promise by 2hollis. 
You gon keep on playing eye tag or is you gon come holla at cha boy
⌕ bun is thinking of . . . braiding gunners hair ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆
cw .ᐟ weed, foul language, established relationship
wc .ᐟ 1k
a sharp hiss cut through the room, followed by the sharp snap of the rubber band in your hand. “sssshit, ma, you gotta pull that hard?” gunner whined from where he sat cross-legged between your thighs on the floor of your shared apartment’s living room. some south park rerun flickered across the tv behind him, casting blue light over the side of his face while the dialogue droned on as white noise.
you rolled your eyes at his bratty attitude, fingers already going back to parting through his thin ass hair. you’d told him like five times already to quit moving around, but he kept twitching every few seconds like he had ants crawling up his jeans. with how much he kept jerking his head away every time you tried to section his hair, he was lucky the rubber band snapping his scalp was the worst thing happening to him.
“then sit still,” you muttered, giving the section in your hand another tug just to hear him complain under his breath again. sure enough he huffed but didn’t move from where he’d been resting his temple against the warm skin of your inner thigh, tongue peeking past rosy lips as he carefully packed the pink sparkly bowl, the words ‘sativa slut’ printed on the side in gold font (yours, obviously) with the result of his repeated efforts of grinding his own bud.
he finally got the lighter to catch after a few stubborn tries, brows drawn together in that soft, concentrated way you always pretended not to find endearing. the bowl cracked to life under the flame, pink rhinestones blinking stupidly pretty in the low bedroom light like they knew they were being watched. like they knew they were yours.
he took a slow pull, shoulders dropping the second it hit, all that tension melting out of him in real time while your fingers kept working through his hair. section by section, careful, patient, like you had nowhere else to be. your nails skimmed his scalp every so often just to feel the way he reacted, quiet hums, little shifts closer into your touch.
“don’t make it uneven,” he muttered around the exhale, voice roughened into something soft and lazy. he tipped his head back against your stomach anyway, like he trusted you more than his own complaint. the braid already hung over his shoulder, a little messy from how often he kept moving for “one more hit,” like you weren’t literally mid-assembly.
“i told your ass to stay still, green,” you murmured, teeth catching on a micro band as you pulled it from your lips, fingers nudging his head back into place with gentle insistence. he rolled his eyes at the use of his middlename like it didn’t make something warm flicker behind them, but he still went still for you, sighing dramatically as you smoothed another section down.
“yes, ma’am,” he said quietly, too sweet to be serious. then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he tilted the pink princess bowl toward you without even looking at your face. “here, babe.”
you paused mid-braid. he didn’t move this time. just waited, patient in that absentminded way of his, thumb still resting against the lighter like he forgot he was holding anything at all. his bracelets clicked softly when he adjusted his grip, rhinestones catching on the shift of light as you finally reached for it.
when your fingers brushed his, he didn’t let go right away. just lingered there a second too long, like he liked the contact more than he was willing to admit, before letting his hand fall back into his lap with a lazy exhale.
you settled back into the pillows, braid half-finished over his shoulder, the bowl warm in your hand from him. it still carried that faint mix of burnt flower and your lip balm on the rim, the same lip balm he’d swiped from your purse thinking you hadn’t noticed. behind you, he leaned back again, compliant this time, letting you have your space. his fingers traced slow, idle patterns against your thigh while he watched you bring it to your lips like it was something holy.
he always looked at you like that. like you were the only thing happening in the room, the only thing worthy and deserving of his undivided attention at all times. you flicked the lighter, shielding the flame with your hand, and inhaled. the ember bloomed orange in the glass reflection, and his gaze followed it, slow, heavy-lidded, softened in a way that made your chest tighten a little without warning.
he didn’t look away when you exhaled either. just tracked the smoke as it curled from your mouth in thin, drifting lines, like it belonged to him as much as it did to you.
“pretty,” he murmured, barely audible.
you scoffed softly through the haze, but he was already sitting up a little, chin resting against your thigh now like gravity had decided that was his place. “c’mere,” he added, quieter this time, hand finding your wrist with an easy familiarity that made it impossible to argue.
you leaned in. this time, when you took the hit, you didn’t just hold it in. you tilted forward, close enough that he could feel your breath before you let it go, slow, deliberate, right into his mouth. he inhaled instinctively, eyes fluttering shut like it hit him somewhere deeper than it should’ve. his hand slid from your wrist to your neck like it already knew the path, thumb resting there for a second before he gently pulled you in.
the kiss came easy.
lazy, unhurried, like neither of you had anywhere else to be. the only thing that mattered was the feeling of his lips against yours, and the faint taste of mint. smoke lingered between you in soft, fading warmth, caught in the space where your mouths met again, slower this time, like he was trying to memorize the shape of it.
somewhere in the mess of it, the lighter slipped from your hand into the comforter and neither of you noticed. when you finally broke apart, he stayed close, forehead resting against yours, smiling like he’d won the lottery.
“you still never finished my hair.” he murmured against your lips. you rolled your eyes, shoving his face away playfully, “shut up.”
navi. ← | ⦸
an: something a little different 0-0 i’ve never smoked weed b4 or packed a bowl so if this is like ass pls don’t say anything LMAOOOO anyways i’ve been brainrotting over nettpigtails so i wrote this at 8am, i think im gonna make a perm taglist moving forward…so everyone tagged on here issss going to be apart of that (you have no choice) and i’ll do my best to add people per request!!!
taglist: @jjscoquette @swagonometryfr @hollisedd @natesibsdih @princesspiaa @angelbbyunicorn @luvvconceal @kingoveverything @missmodelsexx @qiyokuliife @sweet2sin @takiimuncher @yallnotogso @unicornfairysparkle69 @2alt @honeyperched
ONLY ONCE IM UNDER YOUR SKIN WILL I FEEL CLOSE ENOUGH TO YOU
@22dyanara22 whatchu think u doing coming for @yallnotogso . MIND U you reheated my other oomfs nachos so wtf r you talking about?
Off limits
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2hollis x reader smutshot, might make this a series idkkkk
tags: best friends brother, drinking, drunk sex, p in v, fingering, swallowing, reader is 18 and hollis is 20 btw
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You’d known Hollis for what felt like forever, ever since you and his little sister, Katie, became inseparable in middle school. Back then he was just “Katie’s weird older brother,” the quiet kid who locked himself in his room blasting beats through cheap headphones and playing Minecraft while the two of you painted your nails and gossiped on the living room floor. He was fourteen when you first really noticed him in that way. Tall for his age, messy blonde hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and a half smile that made your stomach flip even though you didn’t understand why. You were twelve, still convinced boys were gross, but something about the way he’d lean in the doorway, arms crossed, and tease, “You two fools gonna scream and giggle about boys all night or what?” stuck with you.
The first real crack in your heart happened sophomore year of high school. Katie had dragged you to one of his early basement shows, him and a couple of friends freestyling over a beat he’d made on ableton. The room was sweaty and loud, red solo cups everywhere, the air thick with the sharp scent of cheap beer and weed smoke. When Hollis stepped up to the mic and started rapping, you basically entered into a trance. You were standing right in front, heart pounding to the heavy bass vibrating through the floor, and for a second his eyes locked on yours. After the set he found you in the corner, handed you a lukewarm soda that tasted too sweet on your tongue, and said, “Didn’t think you’d show up, kid. Thanks for not making fun of me.”
You were fifteen by then, and that tiny moment of gratitude from the boy who never seemed to need anyone lodged itself somewhere deep.
Junior year was when the crush turned into something you couldn’t ignore. You’d crashed at their house after a bad breakup. Hollis came home late from recording, the faint smell of his cologne and cigarette smoke clinging to his hoodie as he sat down beside you on the basement couch. He could tell you were cold so he handed you his hoodie, and let you ramble until your voice gave out, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles…warm, slightly calloused. When you finally quieted, he murmured, “Whoever made you cry doesn’t deserve the way you light up when you talk about the things you love. Don’t forget that.”
You went to bed that night still wearing his hoodie, the fabric soft against your skin and carrying the faint scent of his cologne mixed with smoke, heart hammering so hard you thought Katie would hear it from under the blanket.
There were a hundred smaller moments after that. Him letting you ride shotgun in his beat up civic, the leather seats warm from the sun, while he tested new tracks and asked your opinion like it actually mattered; the way he’d ruffle your hair when he passed you in the hallway and call you “trouble” in that low, gravelly voice that sent shivers down your spine; the night he found you studying on the back porch at 2 a.m. because Katie had passed out before quizzing you, the cool night air raising goosebumps on your arms, and he sat with you in silence, sharing earbuds, his shoulder warm and solid against yours. You never told a soul. Katie was your best friend. Hollis was off limits. End of story.
Until tonight.
Katie’s parents are out of town, so the basement was yours. String lights casting a warm amber glow, bass from the speaker thumping low and heavy through your chest. The air smells like spilled vodka, sweet rum, and the faint fruity tang of Katie’s disposable vape. You and Katie have been at it for two hours: beer pong, kings cup, never have I ever. You’re both giggly and loose, the kind of tipsy where the world feels warm and wavy. You’re wearing Katie’s oversized T-shirt, soft cotton brushing your thighs, and tiny sleep shorts, legs tucked under you on the couch, when heavy footsteps come down the stairs.
Hollis appears in the doorway, hoodie half-zipped, gray sweats riding low on his hips, hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. The faint scent of weed and his usual cologne drifts ahead of him. He’s twenty now, broader in the shoulders, a more pronounced jawline, and taller if that’s even possible. “You guys sound like you’re having more fun than me upstairs,” he says, voice gravelly and low. “Room for one more?”
Katie rolls her eyes so hard it’s almost comical. “Go away, Hollis. This is girls night.”
He leans against the doorframe, smirking. “I’m bored as hell and I hear my own name in your drunk stories. C’mon, let me play. I’ll even drink the nasty shit so y’all don’t have to.”
Katie glances at you, confused as she catches the way your cheeks are already flushed deeper than the alcohol can explain, and sighs. “Fine. But if you ruin the vibe, you’re out of here.”
He drops onto the couch right beside you, close enough that his thigh presses warm and solid against yours through the thin fabric of your shorts. Heat shoots straight up your spine. You’re tipsy enough that the contact feels electric, dangerous. The game shifts back to never have I ever, and the three of you trade stupid confessions until it’s Hollis’s turn. He swirls the drink in his cup, the ice clinking softly, eyes flicking to you for half a second too long.
“Never have I ever,” he says slowly, voice low and teasing, “had a crush on my best friend’s brother.”
The basement goes dead quiet.
Katie’s head snaps toward you in a flash, eyes wide, mouth open in a perfect O of betrayal and shock. Your pulse is hammering in your ears, the alcohol burning hot through your veins like liquid courage. You hold his stare, roll your eyes like it’s nothing, and slowly lower one finger.
“Dude,” you say, voice steadier than you feel, “Fuck you. Is it that obvious?”
Hollis’s smirk deepens into something darker, a low chuckle rumbling out of his chest that makes your stomach clench. Katie stares between the two of you, face cycling from confusion to fury. “Wait….what the actual fuck? Have you two been-? You respond in a panic. “Katie no! I swear! We haven’t been hooking up, I promise.” She doesn’t even register what you said. She shoots up, knocking her cup over with a wet splash. “Fuck this. I’m going to sleep. Don’t wake me up.” She storms up the stairs, door slamming hard enough to rattle the string lights and send a vibration through the floor. But honestly, you’re too drunk to care.
You should feel guilty. You should chase after her. Instead you stay rooted to the couch, heart racing, as Hollis turns to you with that same smirk still playing on his lips. “Guess it’s just us now.”
You keep drinking, the shots burning down your throat with sharp, fiery heat, then straight from the bottle, laughter turning sloppy and loud. The rum tastes sweeter now, warmer. Every brush of his arm against yours sends sparks skittering across your skin, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the boozy air. When the room starts to tilt pleasantly, he leans in, breath warm and rum scented against your ear. “Come upstairs with me. I wanna show you something. New track I finished last night. I need your honest opinion.”
You don’t even hesitate. “Yeah. Okay, sounds good.”
His room is exactly how you remember it. Posters on the wall curling at the edges, clothes scattered on the floor, the faint smell of weed and laundry detergent lingering in the air. You sit on the edge of his unmade bed, the sheets cool and slightly rumpled against the backs of your thighs, knees pressed together while he cues up the song. The beat drops first: dark, pulsing, almost menacing, vibrating through the mattress beneath you. Then his voice layers in… raw, intimate, talking about shrooms and gauntlets and swords and shit. It’s called “Shedim.” It’s fucking good. Really good.
When it ends you’re breathless, pulse still throbbing in your ears. “Hollis… that’s insane. The way the hook sneaks in like that? It’s addictive. You’re gonna blow up with this one.”
He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks actually flushing pink under the low lamp light. “Yeah? You’re not just saying that?”
You shake your head, grinning. “I’d tell you if it sucked. Promise.”
He sets the laptop aside and comes to sit beside you on the bed, closer than before. The mattress dips under his weight, his thigh pressing hot against yours again. “You really liked it?”
“I loved it, dude.”
He exhales, eyes dropping to your mouth for a second. “What if I told you that I’ve been eyeing you myself for the last few months?”
Your breath catches so hard your lungs actually stutter. The room spins a little, not just from the alcohol. “You’re lying.”
He laughs softly, but there’s no joke in it. “Nah. Dead serious. Watching you laugh at Katie’s dumb jokes, stealing my hoodies when you think I’m not looking, the way you bite your lip when you’re focused on a song… I kept telling myself it was nothing. She’d kill me. You’re her best friend. But fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
You stare at him, hands suddenly numb and tingling in your lap. “You’re really telling the truth?”
“Yeahhhh,” he drags the word out, voice husky. “Just haven’t acted on it because I don’t want my sister to kill me. But at this point I think it’s gotten impossible to ignore.”
The words hang between you, heavy and sweet. You talk. Halting, tipsy confessions spilling out, voices low and slurred. How long you’ve wanted him. How you’ve replayed every accidental touch. How you thought you’d die keeping it secret. He listens like every word is a verse he’s memorizing, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your knee, leaving trails of warmth.
Then he leans in and kisses you.
It’s soft at first, just a quick press of lips, testing. You both pull back an inch, eyes locked, pupils blown wide with the same raw hunger. The second kiss is anything but soft.
His mouth crashes into yours with bruising force, tongue shoving past your lips like he’s been holding back for years. The kiss is sloppy, wet, desperate, teeth clashing, spit slicking your faces, the taste of liquor and heat flooding your mouth. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, the sound vibrating against your tongue. His hands are everywhere at once. Yanking your T-shirt up and over your head, the cool air hitting your heated skin, then roughly shoving your shorts and panties down your legs. Fabric tears with a sharp rip. His eyes roll back at the sight of you bare, groaning like he’s starving and you’re the meal presented to him.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growls against your lips, voice wrecked with lust and liquor. “So goddamn perfect. Been dying to feel this pussy for months.”
Clothes fly, his hoodie yanked off, carrying the warm scent of his skin, sweats and boxers gone in seconds. His cock springs free, thick, heavy, and leaking, the swollen head glistening. The room fills with the faint, musky scent of arousal. He strokes himself, rough, then grabs your thighs, spreading you open wide, the cool air kissing your soaked folds. Without warning he buries two thick fingers inside you, pumping hard and fast, thumb grinding mercilessly on your clit with wet, slick sounds. You cry out, back arching violently off the bed, the sudden stretch burning so good.
“Hollis…fuck!” You scream. Not caring that your best friend/his sister is sleeping in another room.
“That’s it, baby, scream my name,” he snarls, curling his fingers brutally against that spot that makes fireworks explode through your core. “Been thinking about this tight little pussy every night. So wet already, dripping down my hand. Fuck baby, I could just drink you up.”
You’re shaking, hips bucking wildly against his hand, the wet squelch loud and obscene, when he suddenly pulls his fingers out with a lewd pop, lines up his cock, and rubs the head on your clit, making you squirm. “You ready baby?” You nod. He eases into you in one brutal, deep thrust. The stretch is intense… burning, full, perfect. You both moan loud and raw, the sound echoing off the walls.
“Fuuuuck,” he hisses through gritted teeth, bottoming out so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach, the heat of his cock pulsing inside you. “You’re so fucking tight… choking my cock like you were molded for it. Goddamn, I’ve wanted this for so long.”
He doesn’t give you much time to adjust. He starts fucking you hard and fast, hips snapping with punishing force, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and rhythmic, the bed creaking beneath you. The headboard slams against the wall with every thrust. You claw at his back, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood, the sharp sting only fueling him. Sweat beads on his skin, slick and hot where your bodies meet, the salty, musky scent of sex filling the room.
“Hollis- oh my God…Hollis!”
He leans down, biting your neck hard enough to leave marks, sucking bruises into your skin while he rails you, his hot breath panting against your throat. “Tell me,” he pants, voice rough. “Tell me how long you’ve wanted me to fuck you like this.”
“Years,” you sob, drunk and overwhelmed, tears of pleasure leaking from the corners of your eyes, salty on your lips. “I’ve wanted you for years…fuck, Hollis, harder!”
He growls low in his throat and gives you what you ask for, pounding into you so deep and rough your vision blacks out, the pressure building unbearably in your core. “I’ve been falling for you, baby. Not just in a sexual way either. The way you look at me, the way you get my music… fuck, you’re mine now. Say it.”
“I’m yours…fuck…I’m yours, Hollis!”
He flips you onto your stomach without pulling out, yanking your hips up so your ass is in the air, the cool air hitting your exposed skin. He slams back in even deeper, one hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back sharply, the other slapping your ass hard enough to sting and leave a burning handprint. The new angle makes every thrust hit that perfect spot, sending sparks shooting up your spine. Your ass is bouncing back onto him and he can’t help but to whimper at the sight as he watches himself sink into you. You’re moaning uncontrollably, face pressed into the pillow that smells like him, drooling as he fucks your brains out.
“Arch that back… good girl,” he growls, voice strained. “Take this cock like the pretty little secret you are. Been dreamin bout pounding this pussy.”
You’re sobbing his name into the pillow, the wet, filthy sounds of him pounding into your soaked pussy filling the room. “You bout to cum baby? Yeah? Let me feel you cum on this dick.” That’s all it takes for your first orgasm to rip through you like lightning, walls spasming violently around his thick cock, pleasure crashing over you in hot, pulsing waves. You scream his name, voice hoarse and broken.
He doesn’t slow down. He fucks you through it, praising you in a rough, broken voice, sweat dripping from his chest onto your back. “That’s my girl. Cum all over my cock, just like that. Such a good fucking girl for me. So perfect, so wet, gripping me so fucking tight.”
He pulls out with a wet, obscene sound, sets you on his lap, and widens your legs so you’re straddling him. “Ride this dick baby. Let me see those tits bounce.”
You sink down onto him slowly, wincing at the sensitivity left behind from your first orgasm. You use all your strength that’s left to start bouncing up and down on his dick, the new position even deeper than before. You catch him staring at you, arms folded above his head, licking his lips, mesmerized by the view above him. “Holy fuck, y/n. You’re fucking perfect.”
He starts moving. “I’m loving the show baby, but I need it harder.” He starts thrusting up into you so animalistic that you can’t help but to grab onto the headboard for leverage. The new angle lets him drive even deeper, his cock kissing your cervix with every savage thrust, his balls slapping against your skin. Sweat drips from your chest onto his mouth and he licks it up with a smirk, eyes never leaving yours. His eyes are wild, pupils blown, lips parted as he stares up at you like you’re the only thing that exists.
“Look at me,” he demands, voice gravelly. “I’ve been crazy about you for months. Couldn’t stop thinking about you even when I knew I shouldn’t. You’re everything, baby… fuck, I’m so gone for you.”
You’re crying now, pleasure bordering on too much, second orgasm building fast, your nails raking down his arms. “Hollis…it feels so good. Don’t stop… please..”
He kisses you messily, tongues tangling, spit everywhere, the taste of rum and salt and desperation flooding your mouth as he rails up into you. He reaches up and uses his thumb to rub fast circles on your clit. “Cum for me again. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock. You’re so pretty when you cum, my beautiful girl.”
Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, back bowing sharply, a broken wail of his name tearing from your throat as your pussy clenches and flutters around him like you’re intentionally flexing. He groans loud and deep, hips stuttering.
“Fuck… gonna cum. Where do you want it?”
“In my mouth,” you beg, voice hoarse and trembling. “I wanna taste you Hollis, please, I need it… I need you.”
He hurriedly lifts you off of his dick, setting you beside him. You quickly get on your knees in front of him, waiting for him to paint your tongue. With a guttural moan of your name he comes undone, pumping himself a few times. Hot, warm cum makes its way into your mouth, dribbling down your chin. “Take it, take every fucking drop, baby. You’re mine. All mine.” You swallow every drop, sticking your tongue out for proof.
He grabs you and throws you on the bed, collapsing on top of you, both of you gasping, trembling, bodies slick with sweat, the heavy scent of sex and rum hanging thick in the air. For a long moment the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the bed as you both come down.
He pulls you into his chest, arms wrapped tight around your spent, trembling body, his skin hot and damp against yours, heartbeat thundering under your ear.
The room is still spinning slowly from the alcohol and the intensity of what just happened. You trace lazy circles on his chest, feeling the sticky sweat cooling on his skin, heart still racing. “What… what is this?” you whisper, voice raw.
Hollis exhales shakily, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his lips warm and slightly chapped. “I don’t know. But it’s not nothing. I meant every word I said while I was inside you. I’ve been catching real feelings for months. Not just on some horny shit, real shit. You make me feel seen in a way nobody else does.”
You bite your lip, the reality of Katie sleeping one floor up crashing back in, a flicker of guilt mixing with the afterglow. “Your sister is going to murder us. Like, actually murder us. She looked so betrayed when I put my finger down.”
He chuckles, but it’s nervous, the vibration rumbling through his chest against your cheek. “Yeah… she will. We can’t tell her yet. Not like this. She’ll freak out, think I took advantage of you or some shit. We keep it quiet for now… sneak around, figure out what we are. I don’t want to lose you the second I get you. And I sure as hell don’t want to lose my sister. But I’m not giving this up. Not after tonight.”
You nod against his chest, the warmth of his skin and the steady thump of his heart making everything feel possible even if it’s terrifying. “Okay. Secret for now. But… we talk about it. No hiding feelings. I’ve waited years for you, I’m not going back to pretending.”
“Deal.” He tilts your chin up with gentle fingers, kissing you slow and sweet, the faint taste of the liquor still lingering on his tongue. “We’ll make it work. You and me. And when the time’s right… we’ll tell her. Together.”
You fall asleep like that, setting an alarm so you can move to Katie’s bed before she can realize you’re gone, tangled in his sheets that now smell like sex and sweat and the two of you, his strong arms wrapped around you, heartbeat steady under your ear, the secret humming between you like the bass line of his new song. For the first time in years, the crush doesn’t feel impossible. It feels like the start of something real and raw and terrifyingly beautiful.
yerrrrr i cranked another one out plz lmk how you feel about this. i feel like i’m really repetitive with my writing :/
taglist: @sweet2sin @voidatelier @obscureleoasian @punkarchangel
Girliife isn’t real you only think it is because you reduced these successful ass women down to the being an accessory to the men they know. Boyliife is Boyliife because they’re friends and have clearly stated that’s what their group is called. You called the girls Girliife because you found out they are linked to these men it’s fucking ridiculous these girls aren’t even around each other like that it’s misogynistic and disgusting that you guys have just dumbed them down to being nothing but a second part of boyliife