“and how strange it is to be haunted by someone who is still alive.”
tags: toxic!hollis x reader, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), squirting && much more, it’s just very freaky haha
click here to read the intro to this story
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you can’t forget him. no matter how hard you try. your thoughts keep circling back to him, again and again, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
only when you step into your apartment that night, the same night he dropped you off in front of your complex, you realize something. you didn’t exchange contact details. no phone number. no social media. nothing. he now knows where you live. but you? all you know is his name. and his birthday.
so you google. hollis, los angeles, january 5.
and to your surprise, you find him. his picture pops up, and instantly that same flutter spreads through your stomach, the same one you felt a week ago when he smiled at you for the first time in that bowling alley.
your fingers move slowly across your phone screen. “musician,” you mumble to yourself, clicking on his instagram account. he really is unbelievably good-looking. fuck.
god, you want to message him. but isn’t that weird? he doesn’t exactly have a small following either. the last thing you want is for him to think you’re just some random fangirl. still, you scroll. his music is good. not what you usually listen to, but good. he seems to spend a lot of time with the guys. and his comments are filled with girls practically worshipping him.
you sigh. you’re just about to toss your phone onto your bed in frustration when it happens. your thumb slips. it accidentally hits the like button. fuck.
for a second you just stare at the screen. the red heart glows back at you like it’s mocking you. no no no no. maybe he won’t notice. maybe he gets hundreds of notifications. maybe yours will drown in them. you hold your breath as if that could somehow undo what just happened. should you unlike it? but that’s worse. isn’t it? you imagine him looking at his phone. seeing your name. who is that? oh. bowling girl.
you squeeze your eyes shut and fall back onto your bed, your phone still clutched to your chest. why are you like this?
you wait. and wait. nothing happens. you unlock your phone again. still nothing. no notification. no message. of course not. what did you expect? that he’d instantly text you? hey bowling girl, thanks for stalking my instagram? you groan softly into your pillow.
and then… your phone buzzes. your entire body goes rigid. slowly, like you’re defusing a bomb, you lift the screen in front of your face.
2hollis started following you.
your stomach drops. then flips. what. you stare at the notification. read it again. and again. and again. this is worse. this is so much worse. because now he’s looking at your profile.
you open your page in panic. what is even on there? you scroll frantically. photos from parties. mirror selfies. a blurry sunset. that one picture of you in that tiny black dress you really like. oh god.
your phone buzzes again. this time it’s a dm.
your heart is beating so loud you’re convinced your neighbors can hear it. you open it.
2hollis: bowling practice going well?
you let out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. you stare at the message, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. don’t respond too fast. that looks desperate. but don’t wait too long either.
why is this so hard? you type. delete. type again. delete again.
y/n_l/n: getting better ig haven’t dropped a ball in at least 24h
you stare at it. too dry? cringe? before you can overthink it any further, you hit send. immediately your pulse spikes again.
he replies almost instantly.
three dots appear again. your heart climbs into your throat.
2hollis: was wondering when you’d find me lol
your breath catches. what does that mean?
you reread it five times. was wondering when you’d find me. so he expected this? he wanted you to look him up? did he purposely not ask for your number? your fingers tremble slightly as you type back.
2hollis: you didn’t think i’d just leave it at that, did you?
you swallow. what exactly is “that”? the bowling alley? the ride? the comment about your jeans? your mind flashes back to him leaning out of the car window. the way he said your name. the way his hand felt on your lower back. you stare at the screen, heat creeping up your neck.
y/n_l/n: leave what at what exactly? :)
a minute passes. two. you start spiraling again. maybe that was too much. too confrontational. too…
2hollis: i don’t usually let interesting girls disappear like that
interesting. not cute. not hot. interesting.
you don’t know where this version of you is coming from. maybe it’s the distance of a screen. maybe it’s the fact that he can’t see your hands shaking. he replies slower this time.
2hollis: idk you look like you’re always thinking about something you’re not saying
your breath stops. how could he possibly know that? you stare at the message until it blurs.
you type before you lose your nerve.
the three dots appear almost instantly.
your stomach flips again. good?
2hollis: i like a challenge :)
and there it is. that shift. that subtle tightening in the air. suddenly this isn’t just a harmless dm. this isn’t just bowling girl and birthday cake. this feels like something else. something that could tip in a direction you’re not sure you’re ready for again.
you lean back against your headboard, staring at his profile picture in the corner of the chat. black eyeliner. blond hair. you should be careful. you know you should.
y/n_l/n: careful you might lose
and the second you press send, you realize something terrifying. you actually don’t want him to.
you’ve been texting nonstop. well. not nonstop. but enough. enough that his name at the top of your screen feels familiar now. enough that you wake up and instinctively check if he texted. enough that your stomach does that small, involuntary flip every time your phone lights up.
he’s different over text than you expected. he asks questions you don’t see coming. he sends voice notes sometimes, low and calm, like he knows exactly what that does to you. and now you’re standing in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection, because you agreed to meet him tonight.
“it’s just a drink,” you mumble to yourself. but it’s not just a drink. it’s the first time you’ll see him again since that night. you change outfits three times. you finally settle on black. of course you do. some low rise jeans. a black tiny top with a print of a band you like to listen to. a slightly oversized jacket. subtle makeup but heavier eyeliner than usual. you tell yourself it’s not on purpose. not at all.
your pulse spikes instantly. you look out the window of your apartment. and there he is. leaning against his car. for a second, you just stand there and stare. is this a mistake? you grab your bag. you lock the door behind you. you take the elevator down and try to slow your breathing. you don’t want to look flustered. you don’t want him to know what he does to you.
the building door opens. cold air hits your face. he looks up. and the second his eyes land on you, he smiles. not the polite smile from the bowling alley. not the teasing grin. something slower and more deliberate.
“hey,” he says, pushing off the car.
“hey,” you reply, praying your voice doesn’t shake.
for a moment, neither of you move. he steps closer. and suddenly you’re very aware again of how tall he is. how close. how his cologne mixes with the air.
“you look good,” he says softly and your stomach tightens.
he tilts his head slightly, studying you in that way that makes you feel like you’re being read. your heart skips. he smirks.
you hesitate for a second.
“you said you trust me, remember?”
did you? you must have. you hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary.
“i do,” you say quietly. and that might be the first real lie of the night.
he opens the door for you again. same stupid, charming gesture. you slide into the passenger seat, trying not to think about the last time you were here. he gets in. starts the engine. music fills the silence. you glance at him.
“so where are you taking me?”
he looks straight ahead, one hand on the steering wheel.
“there’s this bar in silver lake. good drinks. no one annoying.”
you nod. the city lights blur past outside the window of his porsche. la is beautiful. and you’re excited. but you shouldn’t be this excited. you barely know him. and yet, sitting next to him like this, it feels inevitable. like this was always going to happen.
he pulls up in front of a small bar with tinted windows and a dim neon sign. he turns off the engine. silence settles between you for a second.
“you nervous?” he asks without looking at you.
he finally turns his head and smiles like he knows that’s not true.
“good,” he says softly. “because i am.”
your eyes widen slightly.
“i don't know. i don’t usually get nervous.”
you open the car door before you can overthink it. cool air hits your skin again. he walks around the car to meet you. for a second, you’re just standing there. close. very close. the bar door opens behind you, music spilling out. but neither of you move. his hand brushes lightly against yours. not fully and not intentionally. and your entire body reacts. he notices. of course he does. his eyes darken slightly.
you wake up too early. sunlight slips through the blinds in thin lines across your ceiling. your head doesn’t hurt. you didn’t drink that much. it’s not alcohol that kept you awake. it’s him. you replay the night in fragments.
the bar was dark. low ceilings. red lights that made everything look softer than it actually was. he ordered for you without asking what you wanted. you almost protested but the drink was good. a lot stronger than what you usually have though.
he doesn’t talk too much, that’s what you noticed. he asks questions instead. lets you speak. watches you when you do. you remember the way his knee brushed against yours under the small table. once. twice. then it just stayed there. neither of you moved it.
you told him about your small town. about la feeling unreal to you sometimes.
you roll onto your side, staring at your phone on the nightstand. no message yet. why does that disappoint you? you close your eyes and it comes back to you; the moment outside the bar. his car parked under a flickering streetlight. you were standing too close again. he looked at you the same way he had the night he drove you home.
“i had a good time,” he said.
a pause. then his hand found your waist this time. steady. you felt your breath change.
“come back with me,” he said quietly.
your heart had started racing immediately. not because you didn’t want to. because you did. you already pictured it multiple times. his apartment. his room. his hands. him fucking you in all positions you could imagine.
he tilted his head slightly. not annoyed. just curious.
he stepped closer anyway. not touching you more. just closing the space between your bodies.
“you think i’m trying to play you or something?” he asked, almost amused.
you forced yourself to hold his gaze.
“i think you’re used to getting what you want.”
“and i don’t want to be easy.”
there it was. you expected him to laugh. or roll his eyes. or push harder. he didn’t.
“who said anything about easy?” he murmured. his thumb brushed along your hip slowly and your body reacted instantly. heat pooling low in your stomach.
“you’re shaking, dear,” he said softly.
you hate that he’s right. he leaned down slightly. close enough that you could feel his breath near your mouth.
“just come over,” he said. quieter now. “we don’t have to do anything.”
you almost laughed at that. almost. your hand came up and rested lightly against his chest, grounding yourself.
“that’s not true,” you said. a beat. “you’d try.”
he didn’t deny it. instead he smiled again. slow.
your stomach flipped. this is how it happens, you thought. you could say yes. you almost did. instead, you leaned up and kissed him. quick at first. just to shut him up. but the second your lips touched his, everything shifted. his hand tightened slightly at your waist. not rough. firm. he kissed you back like he’d been waiting for it. your fingers curled into his shirt. he deepened it slowly. and when you responded, when you parted your lips without thinking, he let out the faintest breath against your mouth. you felt it everywhere.
this is a mistake. such a mistake.
“see?” he murmured. “not that hard.”
this made you step back immediately.
“i’m going home,” you said.
his expression didn’t change much. just that faint narrowing of his eyes.
okay? you expected more resistance. or him telling you, he’s gonna drop you off, just the way he insisted on when you first met. but nothing.
instead, he reached out and brushed his thumb gently across your bottom lip.
“text me when you get home.”
your heart stuttered. you nodded. you walked away before you could change your mind. you didn’t look back. but you felt him watching.
you open your eyes again in your bed. your lips still feel swollen. your body still remembers the way he held you. you stood your ground. you did. so why does it feel like he still won?
your phone buzzes and your heart jumps. you reach for it too quickly.
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from that night on, everything began to spiral. at least that’s what it feels like when you look at it now. not because hollis pulled away. but because he didn’t. he kept texting you. regularly. consistently. almost reassuringly.
good morning. how was work. eat something. send me a pic.
he asked to see you often. not demanding anything, just casually.
you said no a few times and he never reacted negatively.
one evening he texted you around 8:30.
2hollis: come over wanna show you something
you stared at the screen.
2hollis: my studio. haven’t shown you yet.
2hollis: promise i’ll behave.
you laughed and told yourself it was fine. it was just his studio. you wanted to see where he worked anyway. you wanted to understand him better. that’s what you told yourself.
he ordered you an uber that dropped you off at his apartment. you’ve seen it on photos he’s sent to you. but tonight it looked darker than usually. and quieter too.
you rang the doorbell. "frazier-herndon." he opened the door and greeted you with a kiss on the cheek this time. soft and gentle like nothing had ever been tense between you. he had his hair in two low ponytails and wore a black snapback backwards. god, he looked hot.
"welcome, dear." he took your hand and lead you. the studio was a small room at the end of the hallway. dim lights. speakers. cables everywhere. a mic in the corner. he played you something unreleased. stood close behind you while it played. not touching though. just close enough that you could feel the warmth of him.
“what do you think?” he murmured near your ear.
you turned your head slightly. he’s too close.
after that, it was easy. he poured drinks and you sat on his huge white comfy couch. legs tucked under you. the movie he put on playing in the background, neither of you really watching. his hand found your thigh halfway through as if it had always belonged there. you didn’t move it. you leaned into him instead. the alcohol made everything easier for you.
the lights were low. his voice was low. you remember laughing at something he said. you remember his fingers tracing slow circles on your skin. you remember thinking you should probably leave soon.
his lips found yours. slow. he gave you time to stop him but you didn’t want to. your body needed him. you needed him. his hand slid from your thigh to your waist. then lower. pausing. waiting.
“still not easy?” he murmured against your mouth.
“you’re so annoying,” you whispered back.
he stood and lifted you up.
“come on, love." hollis carried you to his bedroom and put you down on his bed. he turned the small lights on and observed you for a second. then he moved towards you, carefully, like he knew you were fragile. he kissed you like he had all the time in the world. and maybe he did. because you were the one whose pulse was racing. not his. and you were the one thinking about consequences. he was calm.
“you’re overthinking again,” he murmured softly at one point, brushing your hair back.
“i’m not,” you lied, shaking your head.
he kissed you again. deeper this time. and when you stopped hesitating, when you finally stopped holding yourself back, he didn’t look surprised at all. he looked satisfied. not in a triumphant way. just satisfied. like he knew this would happen eventually.
you reached for his tank top without even thinking about it. your fingers curled into the fabric, tugging lightly at first, then more urgently. you needed it gone. you needed the space between you to disappear. you needed him closer. as close as he could possibly get.
he understood immediately. there was no teasing. no slow commentary. he pulled the tank top over his head in one smooth motion and tossed it somewhere behind him without breaking eye contact.
for a second, you just looked at him. the dim light from the small lamps traced the lines of his body, highlighting the tension in his shoulders, the definition of his chest, the way his muscles shifted subtly when he moved. you had never seen someone like him this close before. not like this.
he caught the way your gaze lingered. the way your mouth had fallen slightly open without you noticing. you were lying on your back, breath uneven, looking up at him as he hovered above you, kneeling between your legs, one hand resting beside your head.
“what?” he murmured, almost amused.
you didn’t answer. you couldn’t.
he leaned down and kissed you again, his hands slid to your wrists and he pinned them gently but firmly into the mattress. then his fingers released you only to move lower, hooking into the hem of your shirt. he lifted it over your head leaving you in nothing but the lace bra you had chosen earlier that evening. the one you told yourself was ridiculous. pointless. he wouldn’t see it anyway, you had thought while standing in front of your mirror. and yet here you were. bare beneath him.
he took a moment to look at you. your skin felt too sensitive under his gaze.
“just relax, okay?” he murmured, voice low and controlled.
you nodded. but your thoughts were racing. you had imagined this too many times to count. imagined his hands, his mouth, him. every night since that first bowling alley smile. and now it wasn’t imagination. you were in his bed. his sheets were real beneath your back. his breath was warm against your skin.
he leaned down again, pressing slow kisses along your neck, down to your collarbone. lower. over the curve of your chest. unhurried. as if he had nothing but time. your body arched instinctively beneath him. he continued downward, lips tracing over your stomach, the heat of his mouth leaving a trail that made it impossible to think clearly. he stopped just above the waistband of your pants, fingers resting there for a second as if asking without words.
then he undid the buttons. slowly. the fabric slid down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. the air in the room suddenly felt cooler against your skin. he sat back slightly, taking you in.
“you’re beautiful y/n,” he whispered and it sounded almost like he was saying it to himself.
his fingers hook under your black lace panties.
“will you take them off for me, love?”
without hesitation, you lift your hips and slide them down. hollis helps you, his movements slow and deliberate. but instead of tossing them to the floor where the rest of your clothes lie scattered, he brings them up to his face. your breath catches. he inhales slowly.
they’re warm. damp with your arousal. heat rushes to your cheeks instantly, your face burning as you realize what he’s doing.
“so wet for me already, y/n,” he murmurs.
then he folds the lace carefully and slips it into the pocket of the pants he’s still wearing.
your thighs press together instinctively. partly because you feel exposed, partly to ease the tension building between your legs. it’s overwhelming. almost too much. he notices.
“will you let me make you feel good, baby?” his voice is low, steady.
and that’s all it takes. he gently parts your legs again, guiding them open with firm hands. he leans down slowly, placing a soft kiss against your most sensitive spot. the sudden contact makes you flinch, your breath catching in your throat. then his tongue begins to move against you, tease you. your fingers twist into the sheets beneath you. your head falls back. the sensation spreads through your body, warm and consuming. it feels unreal. like floating. like heaven. you feel yourself getting closer.
“i need you inside of me,” you breathe out between heavy breaths, the words slipping from your mouth before you can stop them. you push yourself up slightly on your elbows, looking down at him. his hair is messy now, falling into his eyes, his lips still covered in your wetness. he looks almost unreal between your legs.
hollis straightens immediately, rising to his full height. he pushes his grey pants down slowly, letting them fall to the floor. your eyes follow the movement without shame, without hesitation. his huge cock sprang out, all veiny and thick, his tip glistening with pre cum. desire settles deep in your stomach, undeniable. you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything this intensely before.
he steps closer, positioning himself between your thighs again. but instead of pushing in right away, he drags himself slowly along your folds, teasing, circling your clit with the tip of his throbbing dick.
“stop teasing me,” you whisper, the frustration in your voice surprising even you. “please… just fuck me.”
he lets out a low chuckle, eyes dark as they lock onto yours.
“so eager, baby?” he murmurs, almost amused. “are you on birth control?”
his gaze doesn’t waver from yours, and the intensity of it alone is almost enough to undo you. for a moment, it feels like you could cum just from the way he’s watching you.
“i’m not on the pill…” you admit, hoping he wouldn’t back away from you now. but instead he gave you a look you couldn’t really read.
“alright, love, i’ll pull out, yeah?"
you nod your head frantically, hoping that he would now finally break the distance between you.
“breathe,” he murmurs against your mouth.
you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until you exhale shakily. your fingers curl into his shoulders, pulling him closer, your body arching toward him. he moves with controlled patience, never losing that calm composure that drives you insane. when he finally shifts forward, when the distance between you disappears, the sensation makes you gasp softly. it’s overwhelming for a second. intense. his forehead rests against yours.
and then he moves. slow at first, giving you time to adjust to his length, time to settle into the feeling. your hands slide down his back, holding onto him as the rhythm builds gradually. he watches you the entire time, reading every expression, every reaction. the world narrows to the sound of your breathing, the warmth of his skin against yours, the way his name slips from your lips without you meaning for it to.
he shifts suddenly, reaching for one of the pillows and sliding it beneath your hips. the angle changes instantly. the sensation changes with it. your breath catches. and then he moves again.
this time it hits differently. deeper. exactly where it makes your body unravel. your hands fly to his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin as your head falls back against the sheets.no one has ever made you feel this.
the pleasure builds too fast, too intense, leaving you breathless. your moans spill into the room without restraint, filling the space between you. you’re not controlling anything anymore. not your sounds. not your reactions. not the way your body responds to him. it’s overwhelming.
the wave crashes through you so suddenly you gasp, your entire body tightening before releasing all at once. you come all over his cock pumping in and out of you and you squirt for the first time ever, all over his linen sheets. heat floods through you, unfamiliar and powerful, leaving you trembling beneath him. the sensation is different from anything you’ve felt before. bigger. messier. out of control.
you cry out, face burning as realization hits. what just happened?
for a second, hollis stills. he looks down at you, eyes widening slightly, not in shock, but kinda in fascination.
“did you just…?” he begins, breath uneven. “was that-?”
your cheeks burn even hotter.
“i’m sorry-” you manage, embarrassed by how little control you had over your own body.
“don’t apologize,” he interrupts softly, “that was so fucking hot.”
he leans down and kisses you again, but his rhythm returns quickly, more urgent this time. his movements grow sharper, less patient, as if your reaction only pushed him further.
it doesn’t take long. he pulls out and cums all over your stomach, covering you in his white liquid. when he finally pulls away, breath heavy, you feel the last of the tension leave him. he exhales, eyes still on you, taking in the sight of your flushed skin, your trembling body, the aftermath written across you.
you lie there for a moment, dazed, heart racing. hollis grabs a tissue from his nightstand and helps you clean yourself up.
then you lay next to him staring at the ceiling, your skin still incredibly warm. your thoughts way louder than before. he traced lazy patterns on your arm.
“see?” he murmured quietly.
you turned your head to look at him.
your chest tightened. you wanted to leave. out of a sudden you felt exposed. you felt bad for giving in. not able to resist him. you get out of bed and gather your clothes. hollis doesn’t stop you.
when you were putting your clothes back on in his bathroom, you looked at yourself in the mirror. you looked the same. but something felt different. in you. he had been patient. he had been kind. he had given you space. and he had gotten exactly what he wanted.
when you stepped back into his bedroom, he was already on his phone. just briefly. then he looked up. smiled. soft again.
“you want me to call you an uber home?"
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hollis didn’t become distant. that would have been easier to recognize for you. easier to see through. instead, he stayed exactly the same. when he felt like it. he still asked about your day. still sent you snippets of songs he was working on. still told you he liked the way you think. and that’s what made it confusing for you.
because you had crossed a line. you broke your own rule. you had given him access to you in a way that felt too early. but he treated it like a natural progression, not a victory, not a conquest. just the next logical step.
he didn’t chase you harder after that. he didn’t disappear either. he remained steady and slowly, you adjusted your rhythm to his.
he would ask to see you and you would rearrange your evenings without even noticing you were doing it. he never demanded it. never guilted you. he would simply say, “are you busy?” and somehow you’d feel compelled to explain your entire schedule. when you said you had plans, he’d answer with “another time,” in that neutral tone that carried no disappointment, no pressure. and yet the next time he asked, you were more likely to say yes to him.
you started spending more nights at his place than yours. he allowed you to sleep in his bed. it wasn’t planned. it just happened. he’d fall asleep with his arm draped over your waist and you’d wake up before him, lying still so you wouldn’t disturb the illusion of intimacy he created. he looked peaceful when he slept. almost innocent. and that made it easier to ignore the tight feeling in your chest.
he never defined what you were and he never had to.
when you were out together, he would rest his hand on the small of your back in a way that felt protective. he would pull you slightly closer if someone looked at you too long. once, at a bar, he leaned down and brushed his lips against your neck while talking to someone else, like it was absentminded. like he wasn’t aware of what that did to you. people would assume you were his girlfriend. he never corrected them but he also never confirmed it.
when your friends asked, you found yourself hesitating before answering. “it’s nothing serious,” you’d say. and the moment you said it, it would sting.
sometimes he texted other people in front of you. not hiding it. not flaunting it. just casually. sometimes you’d catch a name you didn’t recognize lighting up his screen. sometimes he’d flip the phone face down without comment. if you asked who it was, he’d answer simply. “just someone from the studio.” and you’d nod like that was enough for you.
you told yourself you weren’t jealous. you told yourself you didn’t have the right to be.
but the real shift happened in smaller ways.
he began to comment on you more subtly. not your body. not in obvious ways. your reactions. your tone. your moods.
“you get quiet when you’re thinking too much.”
“you look better when you wear your hair down.”
“why are you always such a crybaby, y/n.”
once, you didn’t answer his texts for an entire afternoon on purpose. you wanted to see if he would react. if he would double text. if he would show impatience. he didn’t. he waited. and then at 9:32 p.m., you got a message.
as if nothing had happened. as if you hadn’t been staring at your screen all day waiting for a reaction.
when you saw him that night, he kissed you the same way. held you the same way. nothing in his expression suggested he had even noticed the game you tried to play. that’s when you started realizing something uncomfortable. he wasn’t reacting to you. you were reacting to him.
there were moments, though, where he let the mask slip just enough to keep you hooked.
one night, lying in his bed, you asked him quietly, “do you ever think about where this is going?”
he didn’t look at you immediately. he kept his eyes on the ceiling.
“why does it have to go somewhere?” he replied calmly.
you didn’t know how to answer that.
another time, you joked about him being a player. you expected him to laugh it off. instead, he looked at you steadily and said, “i don’t want to promise things i can’t give to you y/n.”
and it sounded like he meant it. it also sounded like a warning.
the toxicity began to swallow you. it felt like you were slowly giving up pieces of yourself in exchange for small moments of reassurance. the way he’d text you “miss you” after not seeing you for two days.
the way he’d pull you into his chest when you were about to leave. the way he’d whisper your name like it meant something, more than it probably did to him.
you were aware. you saw how carefully he maintained control over you. how he never raised his voice. never got angry. never begged. he didn’t need to. he made you feel chosen without ever choosing you. and somewhere between his certainty and your restless wanting, the spiral tightened.
a/n: ughh i love toxic!hollis so much guys :( let me know what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist.
taglist: @voidatelier @22crush22 @coolglitterbanana-blog
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