One Nice Bug Per Day
AnasAbdin
★
Andulka
Mike Driver
RMH
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
shark vs the universe
Kaledo Art
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
No title available
Not today Justin
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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Discoholic 🪩
🪼
art blog(derogatory)
Product Placement
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@spliffdrive
welcome 222 spliffdrive
| 𝑔𝒾𝑔𝒾 𝜗𝜚
she/her, nineteen, 444, silver jewelry, deep literature, 2hollis, boyliife, nettspend, david lynch, tarot readings, ladybugs, lotus flowers, moodboards, snow strippers, dean blunt, aphex twin
masterlist taglist
never just the deal.
pairing dealer!hollis && clientele!reader. 🪽,,
⤷ summary : you text your dealer late at night for a fix…and maybe something more
⤷ warnings : slight smut, drug usage, unprotected sex
a/n : long time no see
The text is simple.
you up?
It’s always simple with you.
No emojis, no extra words, just enough for him to know exactly what you mean.
Hollis replies in under a minute.
for you? always. need a drop?
You stare at the screen for a second longer than you should. Your room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of your phone, the quiet hum of the night pressing in through the windows.
yeah. same as usual.
Three dots.
be there in ten.
He’s early.
He’s always early for you.
The familiar low rumble of his car outside your house makes your chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with what you texted him for. You grab your hoodie, slip your shoes on without thinking, and head down before you can second guess it.
The passenger door unlocks the second you step outside.
You slide in, the scent hitting you immediately. Smoke, something sweet, him.
“Hey,” he says, casual, like you didn’t just drag him out in the middle of the night.
“Hi.”
There’s a beat.
Too quiet. Too familiar.
His hand reaches into the center console, pulling out what you asked for, but he doesn’t hand it to you right away. Instead, he glances over, eyes dragging slow across your face like he’s taking inventory.
“You look tired,” he murmurs.
You huff a quiet laugh. “You always say that.”
“‘Cause you always are when you call me this late.”
He finally passes it to you, your fingers brushing. Neither of you pull away right away.
That’s the thing about you and Hollis.
It’s never just the deal.
It hasn’t been for a long time.
You don’t remember who leans in first.
Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him.
It doesn’t matter.
It never does.
His hand finds your jaw, steady, familiar, thumb brushing just under your lip before he kisses you. Slow at first, like he’s checking if this is what you want tonight.
It is.
It always is.
“Missed you,” he mutters against your mouth, quieter than usual, like it slipped out on accident.
You smile a little, breath catching. “You saw me two days ago.”
“Yeah,” he says, leaning back just enough to look at you, “and?”
Your laugh is softer this time.
His hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer across the center console, the space between you disappearing like it was never there to begin with. It’s messy, a little awkward with the gear shift digging into your side, but neither of you care.
You never care.
The windows fog slowly, the world outside fading into nothing but shadows and streetlights.
His voice stays low, close to your ear, words that aren’t meant for anyone else, half teasing, half something warmer, something you try not to name.
“You only hit me up when you need something,” he says.
You tilt your head, brushing your nose against his. “You complaining?”
“Nah,” he breathes, a small smirk pulling at his mouth. “Just think you could stand to want me a little more.”
You don’t answer that.
Instead, you kiss him again, slower this time, deeper, your hands curling into his hoodie like you’re anchoring yourself.
Because the truth is you do.
You just don’t say it.
After, the car is quiet again.
Not awkward.
Never awkward.
You’re tucked into the passenger seat now, hoodie pulled tighter around you, his jacket draped over your lap without you asking.
Hollis lights something, takes a slow inhale, then passes it to you without looking. Routine. Easy.
“Drink some water when you go back up,” he says after a minute.
You glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You always say that.”
“Yeah,” he shrugs, eyes still on the windshield, “and you never listen.”
You bump your knee against his.
“I do sometimes.”
He finally looks over, softer now, the edge gone from his expression.
“Text me when you’re inside.”
“Why?”
“So I know you didn’t pass out in the hallway or something.”
You roll your eyes, but your chest warms anyway. “I’m not that bad.”
“Mhm,” he hums, unconvinced.
There’s a pause.
You don’t move to get out yet.
Neither does he.
His fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel before he glances at you again, quieter this time.
“You good?”
It’s not about the pickup.
It’s never just about that.
You nod, softer now. “Yeah.”
Another beat.
Then, because it’s easier than saying anything real, you lean over and kiss him one more time, quick, but lingering enough to mean something.
“I’ll text you,” you murmur.
“Better,” he replies.
You do.
And he stays parked outside until you do.
never just the deal.
pairing dealer!hollis && clientele!reader. 🪽,,
⤷ summary : you text your dealer late at night for a fix…and maybe something more
⤷ warnings : slight smut, drug usage, unprotected sex
a/n : long time no see
The text is simple.
you up?
It’s always simple with you.
No emojis, no extra words, just enough for him to know exactly what you mean.
Hollis replies in under a minute.
for you? always. need a drop?
You stare at the screen for a second longer than you should. Your room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of your phone, the quiet hum of the night pressing in through the windows.
yeah. same as usual.
Three dots.
be there in ten.
He’s early.
He’s always early for you.
The familiar low rumble of his car outside your house makes your chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with what you texted him for. You grab your hoodie, slip your shoes on without thinking, and head down before you can second guess it.
The passenger door unlocks the second you step outside.
You slide in, the scent hitting you immediately. Smoke, something sweet, him.
“Hey,” he says, casual, like you didn’t just drag him out in the middle of the night.
“Hi.”
There’s a beat.
Too quiet. Too familiar.
His hand reaches into the center console, pulling out what you asked for, but he doesn’t hand it to you right away. Instead, he glances over, eyes dragging slow across your face like he’s taking inventory.
“You look tired,” he murmurs.
You huff a quiet laugh. “You always say that.”
“‘Cause you always are when you call me this late.”
He finally passes it to you, your fingers brushing. Neither of you pull away right away.
That’s the thing about you and Hollis.
It’s never just the deal.
It hasn’t been for a long time.
You don’t remember who leans in first.
Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him.
It doesn’t matter.
It never does.
His hand finds your jaw, steady, familiar, thumb brushing just under your lip before he kisses you. Slow at first, like he’s checking if this is what you want tonight.
It is.
It always is.
“Missed you,” he mutters against your mouth, quieter than usual, like it slipped out on accident.
You smile a little, breath catching. “You saw me two days ago.”
“Yeah,” he says, leaning back just enough to look at you, “and?”
Your laugh is softer this time.
His hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer across the center console, the space between you disappearing like it was never there to begin with. It’s messy, a little awkward with the gear shift digging into your side, but neither of you care.
You never care.
The windows fog slowly, the world outside fading into nothing but shadows and streetlights.
His voice stays low, close to your ear, words that aren’t meant for anyone else, half teasing, half something warmer, something you try not to name.
“You only hit me up when you need something,” he says.
You tilt your head, brushing your nose against his. “You complaining?”
“Nah,” he breathes, a small smirk pulling at his mouth. “Just think you could stand to want me a little more.”
You don’t answer that.
Instead, you kiss him again, slower this time, deeper, your hands curling into his hoodie like you’re anchoring yourself.
Because the truth is you do.
You just don’t say it.
After, the car is quiet again.
Not awkward.
Never awkward.
You’re tucked into the passenger seat now, hoodie pulled tighter around you, his jacket draped over your lap without you asking.
Hollis lights something, takes a slow inhale, then passes it to you without looking. Routine. Easy.
“Drink some water when you go back up,” he says after a minute.
You glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You always say that.”
“Yeah,” he shrugs, eyes still on the windshield, “and you never listen.”
You bump your knee against his.
“I do sometimes.”
He finally looks over, softer now, the edge gone from his expression.
“Text me when you’re inside.”
“Why?”
“So I know you didn’t pass out in the hallway or something.”
You roll your eyes, but your chest warms anyway. “I’m not that bad.”
“Mhm,” he hums, unconvinced.
There’s a pause.
You don’t move to get out yet.
Neither does he.
His fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel before he glances at you again, quieter this time.
“You good?”
It’s not about the pickup.
It’s never just about that.
You nod, softer now. “Yeah.”
Another beat.
Then, because it’s easier than saying anything real, you lean over and kiss him one more time, quick, but lingering enough to mean something.
“I’ll text you,” you murmur.
“Better,” he replies.
You do.
And he stays parked outside until you do.
where’d all the conllis writers go
someone make a twilight inspired hollis fic now
ella woolsey blue angel sticker in my phone case 🫰🫰
what are some of ur fav fics??
oh ive been waiting for this one
---------------------------------------------------------
obviously @pastfixated 's prophet
anything swag my bby @swagonometryfr but i loveeee rumors
@jjscoquette my angel i love her + i love the weed man
@myliifeisamess drive you insane is amazing
anything by @2bun22 is insanely good
beautiful angel princess @yallnotogso my best friends homie is the one for me is insanely good
@2romllis fanned out is amazing i need another update yesterday.
untitled but this one by @killcel is amazing i need more
@spliffdrive 's off the clock, stay, and unscheduled all peak
hallway crush to lovers by @bbysopouty i love
@romansbbg texts with conceal i need another update
kiss me thru the phone by @2lilaclace one of my og mutuals i love her
@voidatelier 's unintended is my most frequent reread
groupie status by @222gyaru is amazing
---------------------------------------------------------
so sorry if i missed anyone!! this isnt in any order i just went through my following to find these
also sorry if u didnt want to be tagged <2
can we all just make up and kiss please guys 🙂😊😊
unscheduled.
pairing dealer!hollis && clientele!reader. 🪽,,
⤷ summary : your drug dealer surprises you for valentine’s day
⤷ warnings : smut, dirty talk, drug usage, pet names, oral (both receiving), high sex, praise kink, aftercare
a/n : a valentine’s day special cause i’m bored and horny
The doorbell rings just as the last streaks of sunset fade beyond your living room window. Valentine’s Day. You’d already decided it would pass quietly—maybe a playlist humming low in the background, maybe a bath, nothing special. No plans. No surprises.
Then you glance toward the porch.
And your breath catches.
Hollis stands beneath the porch light, snow dusting the shoulders of his worn jacket. One hand grips an enormous bouquet of lilacs wrapped in paper. The other is shoved into his pocket like he’s trying to look casual—but the tension in his jaw gives him away.
Your heart stumbles.
You open the door before doubt can creep in.
“Hollis?” Your voice is softer than you mean it to be.
His eyes lift to yours, dark and steady. The faintest curve touches his mouth—more vulnerable than cocky. “Hi, baby.” The name slips out instinctively, warm and low. “Thought you’d be home.”
You glance at the bouquet again, almost disbelieving. “You brought me flowers?”
He shrugs, but it’s forced. “Yeah. Figured someone should.” His ears are faintly pink from the cold—or maybe something else. “You gonna make me stand out here all night?”
You step aside immediately.
He moves past you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. The scent of him follows—clean soap, linen, and that faint herbal note that always seems stitched into his skin. He toes off his boots near the door without being asked, like he belongs here.
When he turns back, he holds the bouquet out properly this time.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”
The paper rustles in your hands as you take them. They were beautiful, carefully trimmed. Your chest tightens unexpectedly.
“I didn’t think…” You hesitate. “I mean, we’re not exactly—”
“Not what?” His voice lowers as he steps closer. “The kind of people who do this?” His gaze softens. “Maybe not. But you’re not just anyone.”
The air between you feels heavier now. Honest.
“Today’s supposed to be about saying the stuff you don’t usually say,” he adds quietly. “So here I am.”
You really look at him then. No guarded expression. No detached dealer smirk. Just Hollis. Eyes a little tired, watching you like he’s bracing for your reaction.
You set the bouquet aside on the entry table, then close the distance between you.
Your hands slide up the open front of his jacket, fingers curling lightly into the fabric.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
And then you kiss him.
Slow at first—just a brush of lips, testing. He exhales against you, something soft breaking loose in his chest. When you deepen it, his hand finds your waist instinctively, steady and warm, and he steps forward until your back meets the wall.
He kisses you like he’s been holding it in all day—like the flowers weren’t the only thing he brought with him tonight.
The kiss turns hungry fast. His hands slide under your shirt, fingertips making their way up your ribs, thumbs brushing the sides of your breasts until you're arching. "Missed you," he mutters between kisses. "Been thinkin' about this all fuckin' week."
You tug at his jacket. "Bedroom. Now."
He scoops you up like you weigh nothing, carrying you down the hall while continue kissing him like the world might disappear if you stop.
He lowers you onto the bed carefully, like something fragile, then straightens to peel off his jacket. It hits the floor in a soft thud before he nudges the bedroom door shut with his foot. The room is washed in low light, just the bedside lamp casting amber shadows and the faint shimmer of city glow through the blinds. But it’s enough to catch the way his gaze darkens when it settles on you.
“Stay right there,” he murmurs.
He steps into the hallway briefly and comes back with a small ziplock bag he must’ve tucked into his jacket earlier.
You tilt your head. “You planned this, huh?”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “With you? I don’t show up unprepared.” He sits on the edge of the bed and pats his thigh. “C’mere, angel.”
You shift closer, settling between his knees without breaking eye contact. His palms land on your hips—steady, warm, grounding—as he prepares everything with the kind of ease that comes from muscle memory.
He brings the flame to it and inhales slowly, deliberately, his gaze fixed on you the entire time. Smoke lingers behind his eyes before he leans in, fingers sliding gently along your jaw to tilt your face up. He exhales into your mouth, unhurried. Your lips barely brush in the exchange, the moment intimate and close, breath shared in a soft cloud between you.
You both pull back at the same time, exhaling together, a quiet smile tugs at your mouth. His mirrors it.
The next pull is yours. By the third pass, warmth begins to unfurl through your body, easing tension from your shoulders down to your fingertips. The room shifts subtly, edges blur, lights turn softer. His hands feel heavier now, warmer where they rest against you, fingers tracing idle patterns that linger just a second longer than before.
Everything narrows until it’s only this. The dim light, his steady breathing, the quiet hum in your chest.
He sets the piece aside carefully, then slides his hands around you and draws you fully into his lap, guiding you so you’re straddling him.
“Look at you," he murmurs, hands sliding up your thighs. "So fuckin' pretty"
He peels your shirt off, thumbs circling your nipples until they're peaked and aching.
You thread your fingers through his hair, hips rocking instinctively against the hard length straining his jeans. "Hollis—please—"
He flips you onto your back with easy strength, crawling down your body. "Gonna take my time with you tonight, sweetheart. No rush."
He hooks his fingers in your waistband and drags your panties down. When you're bare, he spreads your thighs wide, eyes dark with hunger. "Fuck, look at you. Already so wet for me."
He doesn't tease long—leans in and licks your entrance excruciatingly slow. You cry out, hips jerking. He groans against you like you're the best thing he's ever tasted, then finally seals his mouth over your clit.
The high makes every sensation bloom—his tongue swirling, two thick fingers sliding inside, curling just right. "That's it," he praises against your skin. "Ride my face, baby. Use me. Such a good girl, taste so sweet."
You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, crying his name while stars burst behind your eyes.
He doesn't stop until you're whimpering from overstimulation, then kisses his way back up your body, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
"Your turn," you breathe, pushing at his chest until he's on his back.
You strip him slowly. shirt, jeans, boxers, until he's bare beneath you; cock heavy and leaking against his stomach.
You wrap your hand around him, stroking slow.
He hisses, hand fisting the sheets. "Fuck—baby—"
You take him deep, hollowing your cheeks, tongue swirling. He praises you the whole time—"Look at you, takin' me so well. You're gonna drive me insane." Until his hips twitch and he pulls you off with a shaky laugh. "Not yet. Want to be inside you,”
He rolls you under him, then he's nudging at your entrance, slow, stretching you inch by inch until he's buried deep.
You both moan.
"Feel that?" he rasps, starting a slow grind. "That's all you, sweetheart. Fuckin’ made for me."
The rhythm builds—deep, rolling thrusts that hit every sensitive spot. The high makes it feel endless, every slide amplified, every brush of skin electric. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle until tears start rolling down your cheeks.
"Look at me," he growls. "Wanna see your face when you come again. That's it—fuck. Good girl. Come for me, baby. Let me feel it."
You shatter around him, nails digging into his back, crying out. He follows right after—hips stuttering, low groan rumbling through his chest as he finishes inside of you.
He collapses half on top of you, both of you panting, slick with sweat. For a long minute there's only the sound of your breathing and the faint sound of rain.
Eventually he pulls out carefully and disappears to the bathroom. He comes back with a warm washcloth, cleans you gently, presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, your stomach, your chest, until there isn’t an inch of your body his lips haven’t met.
"Stay," you whisper when he starts to move away.
He stills, then smiles—soft, real. "Wasn't goin' anywhere, sweetheart."
He climbs back in, pulls you against his chest, tucks your head under his chin. One hand strokes lazy circles on your back while the other finds yours, lacing your fingers together.
He kisses your forehead. "Get some sleep, pretty girl. I'll be right here when you wake up."
unscheduled.
pairing dealer!hollis && clientele!reader. 🪽,,
⤷ summary : your drug dealer surprises you for valentine’s day
⤷ warnings : smut, dirty talk, drug usage, pet names, oral (both receiving), high sex, praise kink, aftercare
a/n : a valentine’s day special cause i’m bored and horny
The doorbell rings just as the last streaks of sunset fade beyond your living room window. Valentine’s Day. You’d already decided it would pass quietly—maybe a playlist humming low in the background, maybe a bath, nothing special. No plans. No surprises.
Then you glance toward the porch.
And your breath catches.
Hollis stands beneath the porch light, snow dusting the shoulders of his worn jacket. One hand grips an enormous bouquet of lilacs wrapped in paper. The other is shoved into his pocket like he’s trying to look casual—but the tension in his jaw gives him away.
Your heart stumbles.
You open the door before doubt can creep in.
“Hollis?” Your voice is softer than you mean it to be.
His eyes lift to yours, dark and steady. The faintest curve touches his mouth—more vulnerable than cocky. “Hi, baby.” The name slips out instinctively, warm and low. “Thought you’d be home.”
You glance at the bouquet again, almost disbelieving. “You brought me flowers?”
He shrugs, but it’s forced. “Yeah. Figured someone should.” His ears are faintly pink from the cold—or maybe something else. “You gonna make me stand out here all night?”
You step aside immediately.
He moves past you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. The scent of him follows—clean soap, linen, and that faint herbal note that always seems stitched into his skin. He toes off his boots near the door without being asked, like he belongs here.
When he turns back, he holds the bouquet out properly this time.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”
The paper rustles in your hands as you take them. They were beautiful, carefully trimmed. Your chest tightens unexpectedly.
“I didn’t think…” You hesitate. “I mean, we’re not exactly—”
“Not what?” His voice lowers as he steps closer. “The kind of people who do this?” His gaze softens. “Maybe not. But you’re not just anyone.”
The air between you feels heavier now. Honest.
“Today’s supposed to be about saying the stuff you don’t usually say,” he adds quietly. “So here I am.”
You really look at him then. No guarded expression. No detached dealer smirk. Just Hollis. Eyes a little tired, watching you like he’s bracing for your reaction.
You set the bouquet aside on the entry table, then close the distance between you.
Your hands slide up the open front of his jacket, fingers curling lightly into the fabric.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
And then you kiss him.
Slow at first—just a brush of lips, testing. He exhales against you, something soft breaking loose in his chest. When you deepen it, his hand finds your waist instinctively, steady and warm, and he steps forward until your back meets the wall.
He kisses you like he’s been holding it in all day—like the flowers weren’t the only thing he brought with him tonight.
The kiss turns hungry fast. His hands slide under your shirt, fingertips making their way up your ribs, thumbs brushing the sides of your breasts until you're arching. "Missed you," he mutters between kisses. "Been thinkin' about this all fuckin' week."
You tug at his jacket. "Bedroom. Now."
He scoops you up like you weigh nothing, carrying you down the hall while continue kissing him like the world might disappear if you stop.
He lowers you onto the bed carefully, like something fragile, then straightens to peel off his jacket. It hits the floor in a soft thud before he nudges the bedroom door shut with his foot. The room is washed in low light, just the bedside lamp casting amber shadows and the faint shimmer of city glow through the blinds. But it’s enough to catch the way his gaze darkens when it settles on you.
“Stay right there,” he murmurs.
He steps into the hallway briefly and comes back with a small ziplock bag he must’ve tucked into his jacket earlier.
You tilt your head. “You planned this, huh?”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “With you? I don’t show up unprepared.” He sits on the edge of the bed and pats his thigh. “C’mere, angel.”
You shift closer, settling between his knees without breaking eye contact. His palms land on your hips—steady, warm, grounding—as he prepares everything with the kind of ease that comes from muscle memory.
He brings the flame to it and inhales slowly, deliberately, his gaze fixed on you the entire time. Smoke lingers behind his eyes before he leans in, fingers sliding gently along your jaw to tilt your face up. He exhales into your mouth, unhurried. Your lips barely brush in the exchange, the moment intimate and close, breath shared in a soft cloud between you.
You both pull back at the same time, exhaling together, a quiet smile tugs at your mouth. His mirrors it.
The next pull is yours. By the third pass, warmth begins to unfurl through your body, easing tension from your shoulders down to your fingertips. The room shifts subtly, edges blur, lights turn softer. His hands feel heavier now, warmer where they rest against you, fingers tracing idle patterns that linger just a second longer than before.
Everything narrows until it’s only this. The dim light, his steady breathing, the quiet hum in your chest.
He sets the piece aside carefully, then slides his hands around you and draws you fully into his lap, guiding you so you’re straddling him.
“Look at you," he murmurs, hands sliding up your thighs. "So fuckin' pretty"
He peels your shirt off, thumbs circling your nipples until they're peaked and aching.
You thread your fingers through his hair, hips rocking instinctively against the hard length straining his jeans. "Hollis—please—"
He flips you onto your back with easy strength, crawling down your body. "Gonna take my time with you tonight, sweetheart. No rush."
He hooks his fingers in your waistband and drags your panties down. When you're bare, he spreads your thighs wide, eyes dark with hunger. "Fuck, look at you. Already so wet for me."
He doesn't tease long—leans in and licks your entrance excruciatingly slow. You cry out, hips jerking. He groans against you like you're the best thing he's ever tasted, then finally seals his mouth over your clit.
The high makes every sensation bloom—his tongue swirling, two thick fingers sliding inside, curling just right. "That's it," he praises against your skin. "Ride my face, baby. Use me. Such a good girl, taste so sweet."
You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, crying his name while stars burst behind your eyes.
He doesn't stop until you're whimpering from overstimulation, then kisses his way back up your body, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
"Your turn," you breathe, pushing at his chest until he's on his back.
You strip him slowly. shirt, jeans, boxers, until he's bare beneath you; cock heavy and leaking against his stomach.
You wrap your hand around him, stroking slow.
He hisses, hand fisting the sheets. "Fuck—baby—"
You take him deep, hollowing your cheeks, tongue swirling. He praises you the whole time—"Look at you, takin' me so well. You're gonna drive me insane." Until his hips twitch and he pulls you off with a shaky laugh. "Not yet. Want to be inside you,”
He rolls you under him, then he's nudging at your entrance, slow, stretching you inch by inch until he's buried deep.
You both moan.
"Feel that?" he rasps, starting a slow grind. "That's all you, sweetheart. Fuckin’ made for me."
The rhythm builds—deep, rolling thrusts that hit every sensitive spot. The high makes it feel endless, every slide amplified, every brush of skin electric. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle until tears start rolling down your cheeks.
"Look at me," he growls. "Wanna see your face when you come again. That's it—fuck. Good girl. Come for me, baby. Let me feel it."
You shatter around him, nails digging into his back, crying out. He follows right after—hips stuttering, low groan rumbling through his chest as he finishes inside of you.
He collapses half on top of you, both of you panting, slick with sweat. For a long minute there's only the sound of your breathing and the faint sound of rain coming from outside.
Eventually he pulls out carefully and disappears to the bathroom. He comes back with a warm washcloth, cleans you gently, presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, your stomach, your chest, until there isn’t an inch of your body his lips haven’t met.
"Stay," you whisper when he starts to move away.
He stills, then smiles—soft, real. "Wasn't goin' anywhere, sweetheart."
He climbs back in, pulls you against his chest, tucks your head under his chin. One hand strokes lazy circles on your back while the other finds yours, lacing your fingers together.
He kisses your forehead. "Get some sleep, pretty girl. I'll be right here when you wake up."
for some reason tumblr won’t let me post a response but whoever said this thank you and ily 🥹🫶🫶
safe.
pairing bf!hollis && gf!reader. 🪽,,
⤷ summary : no matter how bad it gets, hollis could never bear to leave you.
⤷ warnings : emotional vulnerability, established relationship, fluff
a/n : here damn
you don’t realize you’re doing it at first—the waiting. the quiet counting of seconds after you say something too honest, too heavy. you brace for the shift. the distance. the way people usually pull back when you show them the parts of you that ache.
hollis doesn’t.
he’s on the couch beside you, knee pressed into yours, thumb tracing slow circles into your palm like it’s muscle memory. the room is soft with lamplight and the low hum of nothing in particular. you’ve been staring at the same spot on the wall for a while now, words stuck in your throat, heart doing that thing where it beats too loud.
“hey,” he says gently. “you still with me, baby?”
you nod, but it’s small. uncertain.
you tell him anyway. about the fear that creeps in late at night. about how you’re always waiting for the moment he realizes loving you is work. that maybe one day he’ll wake up tired of it.
there it is. the thing you never say out loud.
your chest feels hollow after. exposed.
you wait.
hollis shifts closer instead of away. wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulls you into him like it’s instinct. like there was never another option.
“sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing his lips into your hair. “is that really what you think?”
you shrug. you don’t trust your voice.
he tilts your chin up so you have to look at him. his eyes are soft in that way that always ruins you—steady, warm, sure.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “not when you’re quiet. not when you’re scared. not when you think you’re too much.”
you blink hard.
his thumb brushes under your eye, slow and careful. “especially not then.”
something in you loosens. not all at once—just enough to breathe.
you curl into his chest, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. he smells like clean laundry and something familiar that feels like home now. his heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, proof. reassurance.
he kisses your temple. then your forehead. then the corner of your mouth.
“you don’t have to disappear to be loved,” he whispers. “you don’t have to make yourself smaller for me.”
you let yourself sink into him, let the weight you’ve been carrying rest somewhere safe.
for once, you stop waiting for the leaving.
because he stays.
because he always does.
safe.
pairing bf!hollis && gf!reader. 🪽,,
⤷ summary : no matter how bad it gets, hollis could never bear to leave you.
⤷ warnings : emotional vulnerability, established relationship, fluff
a/n : here damn
you don’t realize you’re doing it at first—the waiting. the quiet counting of seconds after you say something too honest, too heavy. you brace for the shift. the distance. the way people usually pull back when you show them the parts of you that ache.
hollis doesn’t.
he’s on the couch beside you, knee pressed into yours, thumb tracing slow circles into your palm like it’s muscle memory. the room is soft with lamplight and the low hum of nothing in particular. you’ve been staring at the same spot on the wall for a while now, words stuck in your throat, heart doing that thing where it beats too loud.
“hey,” he says gently. “you still with me, baby?”
you nod, but it’s small. uncertain.
you tell him anyway. about the fear that creeps in late at night. about how you’re always waiting for the moment he realizes loving you is work. that maybe one day he’ll wake up tired of it.
there it is. the thing you never say out loud.
your chest feels hollow after. exposed.
you wait.
hollis shifts closer instead of away. wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulls you into him like it’s instinct. like there was never another option.
“sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing his lips into your hair. “is that really what you think?”
you shrug. you don’t trust your voice.
he tilts your chin up so you have to look at him. his eyes are soft in that way that always ruins you—steady, warm, sure.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “not when you’re quiet. not when you’re scared. not when you think you’re too much.”
you blink hard.
his thumb brushes under your eye, slow and careful. “especially not then.”
something in you loosens. not all at once—just enough to breathe.
you curl into his chest, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. he smells like clean laundry and something familiar that feels like home now. his heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, proof. reassurance.
he kisses your temple. then your forehead. then the corner of your mouth.
“you don’t have to disappear to be loved,” he whispers. “you don’t have to make yourself smaller for me.”
you let yourself sink into him, let the weight you’ve been carrying rest somewhere safe.
for once, you stop waiting for the leaving.
because he stays.
because he always does.
still you.
pairing childhood!bsf!roman && reader. 🪽,,
⤷ summary : you meet your childhood best friend unannounced after not seeing him for years
⤷ warnings : friends to lovers, crying, angst if you squint, smut, fluff
a/n : ik this may not look that long but it sucked the life out of me, hope yall enjoy 🫰🫰
You and Roman learned the shape of each other early.
It started with scraped knees and shared headphones on the back steps of your childhood home, the summer air buzzing with cicadas while he mixed the same three beats over and over again. He’d grin at you like he’d discovered fire every time it finally sounded right, eyes bright.
“Listen,” he’d say, leaning closer, shoulder knocking into yours. “I swear it’s better this time.”
You always listened. You always stayed.
Everyone knew Roman was going somewhere. He had that restless energy, like the world was too small for him and he was itching to push at its edges. When his music career started taking off, it felt inevitable—exciting, terrifying, unreal. You hugged him at his send-off party and told him you were proud, voice steady even as your chest ached.
“I’ll call,” he promised, arms tight around you. “All the time.”
And for a while, he did.
Late-night calls turned into rushed texts. Rushed texts turned into likes on posts you pretended not to read into. Then—quiet. Not dramatic. Not cruel. Just… gone, swallowed by tours and studios and a life that didn’t seem to have room for the kid who used to sit on your roof with you and talk about forever like it was a given.
You told yourself you were happy for him. You told yourself you were fine.
Years passed anyway.
You don’t expect to see him again like this.
It’s a casual night, nothing special—someone’s birthday, cheap drinks, familiar faces. You’re halfway through a conversation you’re barely paying attention to when the room subtly shifts. The air changes. Your stomach drops before your brain can catch up.
You look up.
Roman is standing just inside the doorway.
For a moment, it feels like the years fold in on themselves. He looks different—older, broader, more confident in the way he carries himself—but there’s something unmistakably him in the way his shoulders tense as he scans the room.
Then his eyes land on you.
Everything stops.
His mouth parts slightly, like he’s forgotten how to breathe. The noise around you fades into a dull hum. You’re acutely aware of your pulse, of the way your hands feel suddenly too empty.
“You,” he says, like the word has been lodged in his chest for years.
You force a smile. “Wow. Guess fame didn’t kill you.”
He lets out a shaky laugh, relief flickering across his face. “Guess not.”
There’s an awkward beat. He looks like he wants to say a hundred things and none at all.
“Can we talk?” he asks quietly. “Like—later? Somewhere quieter?”
You hesitate. Your heart is already doing dangerous things.
“Okay,” you say anyway.
Later comes in fragments. Stolen glances across the room. Roman hovering close but not touching. You can feel his attention like a physical thing, warm and heavy.
When you finally step outside together, the night air hits you like a reset. The porch light casts him in soft gold, and you hate how familiar it feels.
He rubs his hands together, nervous.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get to see you again,” he admits.
You huff softly. “Funny. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.”
Silence stretches, thick with everything unsaid.
“I fucked up,” he says finally. “I know that doesn’t fix anything. I just—I need you to know I never stopped missing you.”
You cross your arms, more to hold yourself together than anything. “You vanished, Roman. You don’t get to miss me quietly.”
“I know.” His voice cracks. “I was scared. Every time I thought about calling, I’d remember how badly I’d hurt you. And the longer I waited, the worse it got.”
You feel tears burn behind your eyes and hate it. “I watched you live your dream,” you whisper. “And I was proud of you. I just didn’t know I’d have to lose you to do it.”
Roman steps closer, slow, like he’s approaching something fragile. “I lost myself without you.”
That does it.
The tears spill over, and before you can stop them, he’s there—hands warm on your arms, grounding.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he says hoarsely. “I can’t pretend you’re not the person I come home to in my head every night.”
You look up at him through tears. “Roman…”
“I love you,” he blurts. “I think I always have. I just didn’t know how to choose you and my music at the same time.”
Your breath stutters. The words land heavy and electric.
“You should’ve let me choose with you,” you whisper.
“I know.” His thumb brushes a tear from your cheek. “I’m asking now.”
You don’t answer with words.
You kiss him.
It’s tentative at first, like you’re both afraid this might be a mistake—or a dream. Then Roman exhales, a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh, and kisses you back like he’s been starving.
His hands cup your face, reverent, trembling. He kisses you deeper, slower, pouring years of longing into the press of his mouth against yours. You cling to him, fingers curling into his jacket, grounding yourself in the fact that he’s real. He’s here.
When you pull back, you’re both breathless.
“Come with me,” he murmurs. “Please.”
Inside his childhood bedroom, everything feels surreal. The posters, the familiar smell, the too-small bed. Roman closes the door softly, like this moment could shatter if he’s careless.
He turns to you, eyes dark, searching your face. “Tell me if this is too much.”
You step closer, pressing your forehead to his.
That’s all it takes.
He kisses you again, slower this time, hands exploring your sides, your back, like he’s reacquainting himself with every inch. You feel his restraint, the way he keeps checking in—soft murmurs, questioning touches.
“Is this okay?” “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
You answer by tugging him closer.
Clothes come off gradually, reverently. Roman kisses every inch of skin he uncovers, like he’s memorizing you all over again. When you finally lie back on his bed, he hovers above you, eyes wide with awe.
“I’ve thought about this,” he admits quietly. “About you. More times than I can count.”
“So have I,” you breathe.
The night unfolds slowly, intensely. Touches turn needy, desperate. He takes his time, making sure you feel wanted, cherished, chosen. Every gasp you make feels like redemption to him. Every whispered Roman feels like forgiveness.
When he finally joins you, it’s overwhelming—years of tension snapping at once. He moves carefully at first, forehead pressed to yours, murmuring your name like a prayer. The rhythm builds naturally, bodies fitting together like they always should have.
You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure crests. Roman follows soon after, breath ragged, holding you like he might never let go again.
Afterward, he collapses beside you, pulling you into his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear.
“I’m not running anymore,” he says quietly. “If you’ll have me.”
You smile, exhausted and full and safe. “I’m right here.”
He presses a kiss to your hair, arms tightening around you.
For the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel like something you’re losing.
It feels like something you’re choosing—together.
still you.
pairing childhood!bsf!roman && reader. 🪽,,
⤷ summary : you meet your childhood best friend unannounced after not seeing him for years
⤷ warnings : friends to lovers, crying, angst if you squint, smut, fluff
a/n : ik this may not look that long but it sucked the life out of me, hope yall enjoy 🫰🫰
You and Roman learned the shape of each other early.
It started with scraped knees and shared headphones on the back steps of your childhood home, the summer air buzzing with cicadas while he mixed the same three beats over and over again. He’d grin at you like he’d discovered fire every time it finally sounded right, eyes bright.
“Listen,” he’d say, leaning closer, shoulder knocking into yours. “I swear it’s better this time.”
You always listened. You always stayed.
Everyone knew Roman was going somewhere. He had that restless energy, like the world was too small for him and he was itching to push at its edges. When his music career started taking off, it felt inevitable—exciting, terrifying, unreal. You hugged him at his send-off party and told him you were proud, voice steady even as your chest ached.
“I’ll call,” he promised, arms tight around you. “All the time.”
And for a while, he did.
Late-night calls turned into rushed texts. Rushed texts turned into likes on posts you pretended not to read into. Then—quiet. Not dramatic. Not cruel. Just… gone, swallowed by tours and studios and a life that didn’t seem to have room for the kid who used to sit on your roof with you and talk about forever like it was a given.
You told yourself you were happy for him. You told yourself you were fine.
Years passed anyway.
You don’t expect to see him again like this.
It’s a casual night, nothing special—someone’s birthday, cheap drinks, familiar faces. You’re halfway through a conversation you’re barely paying attention to when the room subtly shifts. The air changes. Your stomach drops before your brain can catch up.
You look up.
Roman is standing just inside the doorway.
For a moment, it feels like the years fold in on themselves. He looks different—older, broader, more confident in the way he carries himself—but there’s something unmistakably him in the way his shoulders tense as he scans the room.
Then his eyes land on you.
Everything stops.
His mouth parts slightly, like he’s forgotten how to breathe. The noise around you fades into a dull hum. You’re acutely aware of your pulse, of the way your hands feel suddenly too empty.
“You,” he says, like the word has been lodged in his chest for years.
You force a smile. “Wow. Guess fame didn’t kill you.”
He lets out a shaky laugh, relief flickering across his face. “Guess not.”
There’s an awkward beat. He looks like he wants to say a hundred things and none at all.
“Can we talk?” he asks quietly. “Like—later? Somewhere quieter?”
You hesitate. Your heart is already doing dangerous things.
“Okay,” you say anyway.
Later comes in fragments. Stolen glances across the room. Roman hovering close but not touching. You can feel his attention like a physical thing, warm and heavy.
When you finally step outside together, the night air hits you like a reset. The porch light casts him in soft gold, and you hate how familiar it feels.
He rubs his hands together, nervous.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get to see you again,” he admits.
You huff softly. “Funny. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.”
Silence stretches, thick with everything unsaid.
“I fucked up,” he says finally. “I know that doesn’t fix anything. I just—I need you to know I never stopped missing you.”
You cross your arms, more to hold yourself together than anything. “You vanished, Roman. You don’t get to miss me quietly.”
“I know.” His voice cracks. “I was scared. Every time I thought about calling, I’d remember how badly I’d hurt you. And the longer I waited, the worse it got.”
You feel tears burn behind your eyes and hate it. “I watched you live your dream,” you whisper. “And I was proud of you. I just didn’t know I’d have to lose you to do it.”
Roman steps closer, slow, like he’s approaching something fragile. “I lost myself without you.”
That does it.
The tears spill over, and before you can stop them, he’s there—hands warm on your arms, grounding.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he says hoarsely. “I can’t pretend you’re not the person I come home to in my head every night.”
You look up at him through tears. “Roman…”
“I love you,” he blurts. “I think I always have. I just didn’t know how to choose you and my music at the same time.”
Your breath stutters. The words land heavy and electric.
“You should’ve let me choose with you,” you whisper.
“I know.” His thumb brushes a tear from your cheek. “I’m asking now.”
You don’t answer with words.
You kiss him.
It’s tentative at first, like you’re both afraid this might be a mistake—or a dream. Then Roman exhales, a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh, and kisses you back like he’s been starving.
His hands cup your face, reverent, trembling. He kisses you deeper, slower, pouring years of longing into the press of his mouth against yours. You cling to him, fingers curling into his jacket, grounding yourself in the fact that he’s real. He’s here.
When you pull back, you’re both breathless.
“Come with me,” he murmurs. “Please.”
Inside his childhood bedroom, everything feels surreal. The posters, the familiar smell, the too-small bed. Roman closes the door softly, like this moment could shatter if he’s careless.
He turns to you, eyes dark, searching your face. “Tell me if this is too much.”
You step closer, pressing your forehead to his.
That’s all it takes.
He kisses you again, slower this time, hands exploring your sides, your back, like he’s reacquainting himself with every inch. You feel his restraint, the way he keeps checking in—soft murmurs, questioning touches.
“Is this okay?” “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
You answer by tugging him closer.
Clothes come off gradually, reverently. Roman kisses every inch of skin he uncovers, like he’s memorizing you all over again. When you finally lie back on his bed, he hovers above you, eyes wide with awe.
“I’ve thought about this,” he admits quietly. “About you. More times than I can count.”
“So have I,” you breathe.
The night unfolds slowly, intensely. Touches turn needy, desperate. He takes his time, making sure you feel wanted, cherished, chosen. Every gasp you make feels like redemption to him. Every whispered Roman feels like forgiveness.
When he finally joins you, it’s overwhelming—years of tension snapping at once. He moves carefully at first, forehead pressed to yours, murmuring your name like a prayer. The rhythm builds naturally, bodies fitting together like they always should have.
You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure crests. Roman follows soon after, breath ragged, holding you like he might never let go again.
Afterward, he collapses beside you, pulling you into his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear.
“I’m not running anymore,” he says quietly. “If you’ll have me.”
You smile, exhausted and full and safe. “I’m right here.”
He presses a kiss to your hair, arms tightening around you.
For the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel like something you’re losing.
It feels like something you’re choosing—together.
👀👀👀roman👀👀👀leal👀👀fic soon……👀👀👀
close enough.
pairing bf!hollis && gf!reader. 🪽,,
⤷ summary : shower sex with hollis
⤷ warnings : suggestive intimacy, established relationship, praise kink, aftercare, fluff
a/n : we are so back
The bathroom is already fogging by the time you step under the spray, warm water slicking down your spine. You hear Hollis behind you before you feel him—bare feet on tile, the quiet click of the door, the way his hands settle on your hips like they’ve memorized you.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low and fond, lips brushing your shoulder. “Been thinking about you all day.”
You lean back into him, letting the water run down your body. His hands slide slowly, deliberately, thumbs tracing shapes that make you melt. He presses a kiss just beneath your ear, another along your jaw, each one unhurried—like he’s got nowhere else to be.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, sincere, almost reverent. “Always are. But right now?” A soft laugh. “You’re wrecking me.”
The praise sinks in warm and heavy, settling in your chest. You turn to face him, foreheads touching, water cascading over both of you. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lip with a tenderness that makes your stomach flip.
“I’ve got you,” Hollis whispers. “Yeah? Just you and me.”
The world narrows to steam and skin and the way he holds you like something precious. He kisses you slow and deep, all warmth and reassurance, until everything else fades and the moment swells—until it’s too much and not enough all at once.
Eventually, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in. “C’mon,” he says softly. “Let me take care of you.”
Later, wrapped in towels and warmth, he sits you down on the edge of the bed, drying your hair with gentle hands. He presses a kiss to your temple, then your knuckles.
“You okay?” he asks, eyes searching yours.
When you nod, he smiles—that easy, boyish grin meant just for you—and pulls you into his chest.
“Good,” he says. “That’s all I wanted.”
everything i fucking post has a content review i’m going to scream
