k

19 she/her

[sweet2sin]

hi! i’m kat and i love cats and boyliife

idk what else to really put here LMAO

MASTERLIST

conceal:

Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your

[voidatelier]

VOID

toxic!hollis x fem!reader smutshot ! mdni

about: after a devastating breakup, the last person you expect to obsess over is your ex boyfriend's best friend. hollis knows exactly what he is: a bad decision. he tells you from the very beginning that he won't love you, won't stay and will only leave you emptier than before. but sometimes being wanted feels better than being lonely.

this fic is heavily inspired by ♪ fill the void — the weeknd ♪

authors note: there was an itch i desperately needed to scratch. enjoy my angels, i love u <333

-

"i’m so sorry, y/n. but i’ve felt this way for months. i just didn’t know how to tell you… that i’m not in love with you anymore."

his words still echoed through your head.

your boyfriend - no, your ex boyfriend - had spent months pretending there was still love left. pretending there was still an us while lying awake beside you every night, wondering when and how he was finally going to tell you it was over. all those futures you’ve imagined suddenly reduced to dust. gray. meaningless. dead.

-

you’d gotten lucky and found a place of your own pretty quickly. not big but modern. large windows. a small kitchen. enough room to hide away and somehow get over the last three years. at least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

all you had left to do was pick up the rest of your things from your old apartment and then that was it.

and now you were standing in front of your old front door. the nameplate still carried both your last names and immediately your eyes started burning again.

fuck. why did it have to end like this? why couldn’t you be happy for once? he’d been made for you. so loving. so beautiful. so... him.

but you’d become boring to him. like a toy that suddenly loses its appeal the second a new one appears. he didn’t have someone new tho… right?

with trembling fingers you pressed the doorbell and heard the familiar shrill sound from the other side. the mailman. pizza deliveries. your parents. his parents. you’d opened this door for all of them before. and now you were standing on the other side of it. it felt so wrong.

you heard footsteps. a second later your ex was standing in front of you. "hi y/n." - "...hi" you tried to smile. the kind of smile that said:

i’m handling this breakup great. you mean just as little to me as i clearly meant to you. 

lie. a huge lie. the hole in your chest felt enormous. almost a void.

"come in. i put your stuff together on the dining table." he stepped aside. "oh, perfect. thank you." you walked into what used to be your home.

"nice to see you y/n." a deep voice suddenly spoke from the couch. flat. unbothered. it could only be one person. you glanced toward the sound and immediately rolled your eyes.

hollis.

your ex boyfriend’s best friend sat exactly the way he always did: sprawled across the couch like he owned the place. one arm stretched across the backrest. legs spread. black hoodie. golden rings. those messy blond hair strands. completely unbearable. his eyes drifted over you for a second before returning to his phone like he couldn’t care less.

your blood instantly started boiling. god. him. of course he was here. ever since you and your ex had gotten together, hollis had somehow always been around. sitting on the couch. showing up uninvited. dragging him out to bars. bringing different girls to parties so often that you'd stopped trying to remember their names.

he was everything you hated. superficial. arrogant. the kind of guy who treated relationships like temporary entertainment until something newer walked into the room. and somehow your ex adored him.

the two of them had always made absolutely no sense to you. your ex had been kind. thoughtful. the type of person who remembered how you took your coffee and texted you when you got home safely. hollis was... hollis.

all sharp smiles and pretty words. the type of guy who could make you feel insulted without ever technically saying anything insulting. sometimes you wondered what they even talked about when they were alone. and now, standing here after getting your heart ripped out, an ugly thought suddenly pushed its way into your head.

what if he'd had something to do with it? what if all those nights out together had turned into conversations about you? what if hollis had been the one sitting in his ear, telling him he was too young to settle down? that he could do better. that he was wasting his twenties. that his girlfriend had become boring.

your stomach twisted. maybe that wasn't fair. maybe it wasn't true. but looking at hollis sprawled across the couch like he owned the place, it felt true enough.

"hollis, hi." you immediately looked away before something passive aggressive slipped out by accident. instead, you started gathering your things from the dining table. a few books. some clothes. all the random pieces of your life that had somehow remained behind because they belonged to the apartment. until now.

you swung the heavy bag over your shoulder. "i think that's everything. thanks for putting it all together." your ex gave you a small smile. there was guilt in it. he knew you too well. knew every little expression on your face. knew exactly when you were pretending to be okay. and right now he knew you were hurting.

"do you wanna stay for a drink?" his gaze dropped briefly to the bag hanging from your shoulder. "or should i help you carry that to your car?" you shook your head before he could finish. "let's not make this any weirder than it already is." for a moment he just looked at you. then he nodded. "alright." a second later he pulled you into a brief hug. "take care, y/n."

fuck. no. don't cry. don't cry. don't cry. his cologne. his warmth. his arms around you. your heart shattered for what felt like the thousandth time this week. because this was it.

this wasn't one of those fights where you'd both cool off and find your way back to each other. this wasn't temporary. this was the end.

and somehow you already missed him while he was still standing right in front of you. the realization hit like a punch to the ribs.

this might be the last time he ever holds you like this. the last hug while still loving him. the last time you'd be allowed to pretend, even for a second, that everything was okay.

your eyes started burning immediately. shit. you pulled back before he could notice, quickly brushing a tear from your cheek.

"yeah," you managed quietly. "you too." then you grabbed your bag and headed for the door. he wasn't going to see how badly this was destroying you. and hollis definitely wasn't going to see you cry.

-

"come on, you can’t keep hiding forever." your best friend sounded playfully annoyed through the phone. you grinned despite yourself as you absentmindedly continued putting things away around your apartment.

"oh yes i can. and i fully intend to." - "nope. absolutely not. you’re coming out with us tonight babe. you need a distraction." you rolled your eyes. "i have zero desire to go out and i don’t need a distraction."

a brief sigh came from the other end of the line. understanding, but still annoyed. "okay. i’ll send you our location anyway and if you change your mind, you can join us whenever. seriously. whenever."

you nodded to yourself. "yeah okay. thanks. but i really think i’m spending tonight at home." you nervously bit down on your lower lip. "that’s okay babe. take care of yourself. i’ll come over tomorrow and we can get food together or something?"

that sounded better. "...i’d like that." a small giggle. "then i’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow." - "have fun tonight. tell everyone i said hi or whatever." - "i will! love you." your lips curved slightly upward. "love you too." another giggle. a dramatic kissing sound into the phone. then the call ended.

it was sweet. really sweet. the way your best friend kept trying to drag you back into the world. trying to fight your sadness for you when you couldn’t quite manage it yourself.

but a party wasn’t going to fix this. the music. the crowd. the sticky heat inside some packed club. the alcohol. it sounded less like a distraction and more like a complete disaster waiting to happen. and honestly? you already had enough problems.

-

the evening arrived faster than expected. you'd spent most of the afternoon unpacking the last pieces of your life from cardboard boxes. books onto shelves. clothes into drawers. little things that made the apartment feel slightly less empty.

it didn't work. the place still felt unfamiliar. like you were just borrowing someone else's life for a while. eventually exhaustion caught up with you. you changed into an oversized shirt, brushed your teeth and crawled into bed far earlier than you normally would have. maybe sleep would help. maybe if you slept long enough, tomorrow would hurt less.

-

the apartment was quiet. too quiet. for a few minutes you simply stared at the ceiling. then you rolled onto your side. the side you'd always slept on. the side facing him. your stomach twisted. because there was no him anymore. no warm body beside you. no familiar breathing. no sleepy "goodnight" mumbled into the darkness. nothing. just cold sheets.

you squeezed your eyes shut. instantly your brain betrayed you. movie nights. lazy sunday mornings. his hand finding yours beneath restaurant tables. his laugh. his smile. the way he'd pull you closer in his sleep without even waking up. every memory felt sharp enough to cut. you opened your eyes again. fuck.

before you could stop it, a tear rolled down your cheek. then another. and another. suddenly you were crying. really crying. the ugly kind. the kind that made your chest hurt. the kind that left you gasping for air between breaths.

because he wasn't coming back. because tomorrow morning you'd wake up alone. and the morning after that. and the one after that too. no text messages. no good mornings. no sleepy kisses. just you.

the realization hit all over again and you buried your face in the pillow as a sob escaped your throat. god. this hurt. it hurt so much.

by the time the crying finally slowed, your eyes felt swollen and your head was pounding.

the room suddenly felt too small. too quiet. too full of him. you reached for your phone. you'd been lying here for almost an hour. sleep wasn't happening.

another glance toward the empty side of the bed. that did it. you sat up immediately. you couldn't stay here. not right now. not with your thoughts.

with a groan you pushed yourself out of bed and headed toward the kitchen. maybe getting out for a few minutes wouldn't magically fix anything but sitting here crying yourself to sleep clearly wasn't working either.

you opened the fridge. and immediately regretted it. an open jar of olives, a few soft drinks. absolutely nothing that qualified as an actual meal. you stared at the shelves for a moment before letting out a hollow laugh. right.

when had you last gone grocery shopping? when had you last eaten anything that wasn't purely out of obligation? your stomach twisted unpleasantly.

suddenly it hit you that you'd barely eaten all day. maybe not even yesterday either. no wonder you felt like shit. exhausted. dizzy. emotionally unstable enough to cry over an empty side of a bed.

your eyes drifted toward the clock on the microwave. 11:39 pm. too late for the grocery store. great. for a second you considered giving up and going back to bed. but the thought of lying there alone with your thoughts made your chest tighten immediately. no. absolutely not.

the gas station around the corner was still open. they always had sandwiches. snacks. random overpriced food. and honestly? a ten minute walk sounded a lot more appealing than another hour spent staring at the ceiling. so you threw on a loose jacket over your crop top, slipped into your slippers, grabbed your wallet and keys and headed for the door.

-

it was 11:53 pm when you arrived. neon lights. questionable people hanging around the pumps. and the brightly lit building itself, glowing against the darkness like a tiny island of artificial life. at least something still had color these days.

the automatic doors slid open. you stepped inside. the familiar chime above the entrance rang softly and the cashier briefly glanced up before returning to whatever show was playing on his phone.

you wandered through the aisles without much purpose. a sandwich. a bottle of water. some random snacks. not because you were hungry. just because you knew you should probably eat something. your body felt like it was running on fumes.

eventually you found yourself standing in front of the candy shelves. and just like that, your heart broke all over again. your fingers tightened around the basket.

movie night snacks. his favorite chocolate. the sour candy he'd always steal from you. stupid little things that suddenly felt impossible to look at. every shelf seemed filled with reminders. every brightly colored package carried some stupid memory attached to it. him.

the person you no longer knew anything about. what he was doing. how he was feeling. whether he regretted any of it. whether he missed you at all. or if he'd already moved on.

a tear slipped down your cheek. you quickly wiped it away. god. pull yourself together. you grabbed the first chocolate bar within reach and turned around. straight into someone. a solid chest. warm. broad. the impact wasn't hard, but enough to make you stumble.

"fuck, sorry." the apology left your mouth automatically. then you looked up. and immediately wished you hadn't. oh, for fuck's sake.

hollis. of course it was hollis.

because apparently the universe had decided this night wasn't humiliating enough yet. he stood there with his hood pulled loosely over his head. messy blond strands spilled out beneath it. his black eyeliner had smudged slightly throughout the day, framing his eyes in a way that somehow looked intentional. gold chains rested against pale skin. rings decorated nearly every finger. expensive cologne lingered around him. dark. annoyingly good.

he looked less like a normal person and more like some kind of beautiful warning sign. the type of man every mother warned their daughter about. the type of man girls ignored that warning for anyway. which was probably why there was always some new girl laughing at his jokes before the previous one had even disappeared.

his eyes drifted over you. slowly. taking everything in. the swollen eyes. the tear stains. the oversized jacket. the sweatpants. the slippers. humiliation immediately crawled up your spine. not him. literally anyone but him.

a slow grin appeared on his face. there it was. that look. the one that made you want to commit a felony. "damn." his gaze lingered on your face. "as i can see you're handling the breakup really well." your jaw tightened instantly. "go fuck yourself." he laughed. "there she is." you hated him. genuinely. deeply. with your entire soul.

his gaze dropped briefly to the collection of random snacks in your basket before returning to your face. "midnight gas station run?" - "what gave it away?" the grin widened. "the fact you're standing in a gas station at midnight."

you rolled your eyes and tried stepping around him. only for something to slip from your hands. the strawberry chocolate bar hit the floor. the sound was stupidly small. but somehow it was enough.

your vision blurred immediately. seriously? you squeezed your eyes shut. not here. not now. not in front of him. but the lump in your throat was already growing. your chest tightening all over again.

it wasn't about the chocolate bar. it wasn't about the gas station. it wasn't even about hollis. it was everything. the apartment, the empty bed, the breakup. the fact that you couldn't even buy snacks without crying anymore.

a shaky breath left your lips. shit. you immediately looked away. humiliating. fucking humiliating. for a second neither of you moved. then hollis bent down and picked up the chocolate bar. when he straightened again his expression looked different. still hollis. but different. less amused.

he held the bar out to you. you took it with trembling fingers. "thanks." your voice sounded awful. you hated that he heard it. you hated that he saw it. you hated that of all people it had to be him.

he looked at you, then exhaled slowly through his nose. "fuck." you laughed bitterly. "yeah. thanks." - "that's not what i meant." another tear slipped down your cheek. you wiped it away immediately. then another. and another. great. now you were crying in a gas station.

hollis stared at you for a second. then muttered something under his breath. "come here." you blinked. what?

before you could even process the words, a hand settled against your shoulder. gentle. guiding. and suddenly you were standing against his chest. your entire body froze. because... what? what the fuck? this was hollis. hollis.

his arms settled around you almost automatically. like he wasn't even thinking about it. safe. which made absolutely no sense. you could smell his cologne again. feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing. for a second you should've pulled away. you knew that.

instead your eyes squeezed shut. because you were exhausted. because everything hurt. because fighting him suddenly felt harder than letting it happen.

"hey." his voice was quieter now. you hated that it sounded nice. "it's okay." another sob caught in your throat. his hand moved once across your back. slow. "i know." your face burned. this was a nightmare. a weird fever dream. or maybe you'd finally lost your mind. because somehow he was comforting you. and worse: it was working.

after a moment he rested his chin lightly against the top of your head. he was annoyingly tall. "i'm driving you home." you frowned immediately and pulled back just enough to look up at him. "what?" - "i'm driving you home." - "i can walk." - "i know." - "it's ten minutes." - "i know." - "then why-"

his eyes rolled. "because i'm not letting you walk home like this." you opened your mouth. closed it again. he glanced toward the windows. toward the darkness outside. then back at you. "it's midnight." his gaze flicked toward your swollen eyes. "and you're a mess." - "wow." - "you know what i mean. and your ex would kill me if he found out i let you walk home crying at midnight."

you stared at him. still confused. still suspicious. still convinced this was somehow a prank. but mostly just tired. so unbelievably tired. the thought of walking home alone suddenly sounded a lot worse than getting into a car with hollis. which was probably the strangest thing that had happened all week.

-

five minutes later you were sitting in hollis' car. somehow. which was ridiculous. if someone had told you yesterday that you'd spend your friday night crying into hollis' hoodie before letting him drive you home, you would've laughed in their face.

now you sat in the passenger seat of a car that probably cost more than your entire apartment. neither of you spoke much. the city lights drifted past the windows while soft music played somewhere in the background.

every now and then you caught yourself glancing around the interior. black leather. expensive. spotless. very hollis.

your gaze drifted toward the back seat and immediately you regretted it. because now your brain was doing that thing again. how many girls had laid back there? how many names had he forgotten the next morning? how many had thought they were special?

beside you, hollis rested one hand lazily on the steering wheel. completely relaxed. like tonight had been the most normal thing in the world. the silence wasn't awkward. somehow it was worse. because neither of you acknowledged what had happened. and before you could get trapped in your thoughts again, the car slowed. you blinked. already?

your apartment building stood right in front of you. the drive had passed far quicker than expected. hollis shifted the car into park. "made it." there he was again. the hollis you knew. dry. unbothered. as if he hadn't been holding you twenty minutes ago.

you looked down at your hands. "thanks." he gave a small nod. "try eating something." your eyes lifted. "seriously." - "okay mom." the corner of his mouth twitched. and just like that, the moment was over. no emotional goodbye. no more conversation. no weird lingering look.

you grabbed your things and climbed out of the car. when you looked back once before entering the building, his headlights were already disappearing down the street.

-

"he did not." your best friend stared at you in disbelief from across the table, chopsticks frozen halfway to her mouth. "he did." you shrugged. "i don't know why either."

as promised, she'd come over today and the two of you had ordered chinese food. most of the afternoon had been spent gossiping, laughing and talking about literally anything except your breakup.

but eventually you'd told her about last night. about the gas station. about hollis. and unfortunately, the whole thing had stayed in your head a lot longer than it should have. mostly because it made absolutely no sense. hollis had never been nice to you before.

"if you ask me?" your best friend pointed her chopsticks at you. "he wants to fuck you." you nearly dropped your fork. "what?" - "i'm serious." - "no." - "yes." - "absolutely not." she rolled her eyes. "y/n, the man is an idiot with an ego the size of a continent." - "he's also my ex's best friend." - "and?" - "and he's not gonna risk that."

your best friend laughed. "you think a guy like hollis spends his evenings thinking about consequences?" - "he doesn't even like me." - "oh please." she leaned back in her chair. "the guy barely waits five minutes after you're single before comforting you in a gas station and driving you home." - "i was crying." - "exactly." - "people comfort crying people."

your bestie just stared at you. "not hollis." okay. fair. you opened your mouth. closed it again. because annoyingly enough, she had a point.

"i don't know." you stabbed your noodles a little too aggressively. "it doesn't matter anyway." your best friend sighed. "okay." she pointed her chopsticks at you again.

"before we change the subject, i need you to promise me something." you immediately narrowed your eyes. "that's never a good start." - "promise me you won't get involved with him." you nearly laughed. "what?" - "i'm serious, y/n."

the amusement had disappeared from her face. "you're heartbroken. you're vulnerable. and hollis is..." she grimaced. "...a player." she leaned forward slightly. "that man is emotional poison." you rolled your eyes.

"nothing is going to happen." - "good." - "seriously." - "good." her expression softened. "you need to heal." the words landed a little heavier than expected. "you don't need some arrogant asshole distracting you from that."

for a moment, you looked down at your food. then nodded. "nothing's gonna happen." your best friend seemed satisfied with that. thankfully, there was plenty of gossip from last night's party to distract her with before she could interrogate you any further.

-

it was already dark outside by the time you said goodbye to your best friend. she pulled you into a long, tight hug. "text me if anything's wrong, okay?" you nodded. "and don't let some fuckboy drive you home again." you laughed. "yes ma'am." she pointed a finger at you. "i'm serious." - "i know." finally, she blew you a dramatic kiss. "goodnight!" - "goodnight."

a second later the door closed. and just like that you were alone again. the silence settled almost immediately. heavy. your chest tightened. there it was again. that awful feeling. the anxiety. the emptiness. something gnawing at you from the inside out.

you needed a distraction. immediately. so you grabbed your phone and collapsed onto the couch. your eyes briefly drifted toward the takeout containers still sitting on the coffee table. you should probably clean those up. eventually.

after getting comfortable beneath the blanket, you opened instagram and started scrolling through your feed. one post, then another and another. until a red notification suddenly appeared. a new like. you frowned. what? your last post was weeks old. curious you tapped the notification and immediately felt your pulse quicken.

2hollis liked your post.

you blinked. then again. your thumb immediately tapped his profile. no, it was definitely him. and the post he'd liked was almost six weeks old. how the hell had he even found it? probably an accident.

instagram did weird things sometimes. maybe he'd been scrolling. maybe he hadn't even meant to like it. but... he'd never interacted with any of your posts before. not once.

and before you could stop yourself, your thoughts were already spiraling. his name on your screen. his voice. the feeling of his arms around you. your best friend's words immediately echoed through your head. he just wants to fuck you. you groaned and dropped your head back against the couch. "absolutely not." because that was ridiculous.

hollis could have whoever he wanted. there always seemed to be some new girl ending up in his bed. some new girl convinced she'd be the exception. some new girl waiting for a text that probably never came. why would he suddenly be interested in you?

and yet his attention lingered in your mind far longer than it should have. because as much as you hated admitting it, his presence last night had felt good. comforting. safe.

and hollis was many things. but safe wasn't supposed to be one of them. it didn't help that he looked the way he did either. the messy blond hair. the dark eyes. the stupid jewelry. the kind of face people wrote songs about and made terrible decisions for. you hated that too.

hated that he was hotter than you'd ever willingly admit out loud. hated that your best friend might actually have a point. the more you thought about it, the more one thing became painfully obvious.

every time your mind drifted toward hollis, it drifted away from the breakup. not completely. just enough. enough to breathe. enough to survive another evening. the ache in your chest softened. the memories grew quieter. and for a little while your ex stopped being the center of every thought. it felt wrong. but it was addictive. like replacing one problem with another.

what you didn't know was that people like hollis were very good at staying in someone's head once they'd gotten there. and judging by the fact that you were lying on your couch thinking about him instead of your ex, he already had one foot in the door.

-

the next few days weren't any better. even tho you hadn't seen him again and he hadn't appeared on your instagram since, somehow he was still there. in your head. which only made everything worse.

because there was nothing between you. nothing real. no flirting. no messages. nothing that should've justified how often your thoughts drifted back to him. and yet they did.

maybe because your heart was still searching for something to hold onto. something steady. something safe. and as much as you hated admitting it, the way he'd looked at you that night had stayed with you. the way he'd wrapped his arms around you without hesitation. the way he'd simply decided you weren't walking home alone. like it wasn't even a question.

it had gotten under your skin more than you wanted to admit. those thoughts remained yours tho. buried deep where nobody else could see them. there was no way in hell you were telling anyone that barely a week after your breakup, you were thinking about your ex boyfriend's best friend. even in your own head, it sounded awful. wrong.

you kept trying to convince yourself it wasn't a crush. that you were simply confused. vulnerable. lonely. but every time you opened instagram, there was that tiny flicker of hope. maybe another like. maybe a message. something that proved you hadn't imagined it all. something that proved the comfort you'd felt that night had been real.

but there was nothing. and the days blurred together. grief. missing your old life. missing the person you'd thought you'd spend years with. long nights. too much thinking. and somewhere underneath all of it a growing curiosity toward something you knew you shouldn't want.

something forbidden. and maybe that was exactly why it was so hard to ignore, because once you'd had a taste of the distraction you couldn't stop wanting more. 

-

talking about distractions, your best friend had finally managed to convince you to come to a party. one of her neighbors was throwing a house party. parents away. rich parents. huge house. cool people. free drinks. at least that was how she'd sold it to you.

and after far more convincing than should've been necessary, you'd eventually agreed. partly because sitting alone in your apartment clearly wasn't helping. and partly because you desperately needed something to get a certain blond idiot out of your head.

so now the two of you sat in the back of an uber, dressed up for the first time in what felt like forever. your best friend was busy touching up her lipstick while you watched the neighborhood pass by through the window. expensive. that was the first thing that came to mind. large gates. luxury cars. houses that looked more like small mansions.

"damn." you raised an eyebrow. "these people have money." your best friend laughed. "who knows? maybe tonight you'll meet your dream man." you already didn't like where this was going. "a rich one," she continued. "then the old one will be forgotten in no time."

you shot her a look. she immediately winced. "right. too soon." - "way too soon." - "sorry, babe." her voice softened instantly. and just like that, the conversation died. thankfully. because thinking about him still hurt. more than you wanted to admit.

a few minutes later, the uber pulled up in front of a massive white house. your eyes widened slightly. "holy shit." - "i know." your best friend practically bounced in her seat. after thanking the driver the two of you climbed out.

she clapped her hands together excitedly. "i'm so happy you're finally coming out again." a grin spread across her face. "i missed this." you smiled. "first stop?" she held up an imaginary glass. "drinks." - "drinks." and with that the two of you headed inside.

an hour later, you were actually having fun. which felt strange. almost wrong. but good. you'd said hello to friends. met a few strangers. found the drinks. found the dance floor.

and for the first time in days your thoughts weren't constantly circling the same things. outside, people gathered around tall tables beneath strings of lights. a huge pool reflected the glow from the house. inside, the music was loud enough to shake the floorboards. whoever had gotten control of the aux deserved an award. every song somehow hit.

after a few drinks, everyone was singing along. dancing. performing like they were on stage. it was exactly what you needed. then the front door opened. again. probably for the hundredth time that evening. your eyes drifted toward it automatically. just another group of strangers. that's what you expected. instead, your entire body went still.

fuck. hollis. and standing right beside him, your ex.

suddenly the music didn't feel quite as loud anymore. the two of them stepped inside together. apparently they knew the host. she immediately threw her arms around hollis. then around your ex. you honestly couldn't decide which part bothered you more.

"hey." your best friend was suddenly beside you. "you okay?" her gaze followed yours. immediately understanding. "oh my god." she grimaced. "the deluxe package." you grabbed your drink and raised it toward her. maybe it was the alcohol. maybe it was pride. maybe both.

"fuck them." your best friend immediately clinked her glass against yours. "that's my girl." she seemed genuinely relieved. like she thought you were finally moving on. unfortunately she celebrated a little too early.

because the second she looked away, your eyes wandered back toward the entrance. and immediately found his. hollis had already spotted you. his gaze locked onto yours from across the room. dark. unreadable. the kind of look that made your pulse spike for reasons you'd rather not examine too closely.

for a second, neither of you looked away. then your ex noticed you too. unlike hollis, he smiled. warm. familiar. and gave you a small wave. you lifted your hand automatically. waving back. pretending everything was normal. pretending your heart wasn't doing weird things inside your chest.

when your eyes drifted back to hollis, you found exactly nothing. he'd already turned away. one arm casually draped around the host's shoulders while she laughed at something he'd said. of course. of fucking course. that was the moment you decided to stop looking. because whatever this thing was? it was starting to feel a lot like selfdestruction. 

-

a few hours and a few drinks later, the party was still going strong. you and your best friend were laughing about the dumbest things. old stories. inside jokes. random conversations with random people.

shots appeared out of nowhere and somehow everyone kept ending up with one in their hand. the vibe was good. it should've felt easy. carefree. except your eyes kept searching for him. which was ridiculous.

because if you were looking for anyone, it should've been your ex. but it wasn't. every time your gaze wandered across the room, it searched for somebody else entirely. and it drove you insane.

because whenever you found him there was always some girl nearby. laughing. touching his arm. leaning into him. and whenever you couldn't find him your imagination became even worse. where was he? who was he with? what was he doing?

then you'd force yourself back into whatever conversation was happening around you and take another sip. that had been the entire evening. and the worst part? not once had he looked your way. not once.

the thing at the gas station. the car ride. the hug. it suddenly felt like something you'd imagined. like it had never happened at all. eventually, you gave up. a heaviness settled in your chest. another loss. stupid. because this wasn't even real. nothing had happened between you. nothing existed. and somehow it still hurt.

"i'll be right back." you forced a smile at your best friend. she was halfway through another shot and grinned immediately. "hurry back." she pointed dramatically toward the living room. "our song is coming on!" you laughed weakly. "i will." then you disappeared into the hallway.

the second you were alone, the tears started burning behind your eyes. fuck. the alcohol made everything worse. harder to ignore. by the time you reached the bathroom, your vision was already blurry. you slipped inside and locked the door behind you. immediately. then you crossed the room and braced both hands against the sink. your head dropped forward. and everything finally broke.

the breakup. your ex. hollis. the loneliness. all of it. sobs shook through your chest. mascara stained your cheeks. your hands trembled against the porcelain. it hurt. god, it hurt. and somewhere outside those walls, the two people responsible for most of it were simply living their lives. as if nothing had happened.

eventually a knock sounded against the door. once. then again. your eyes squeezed shut. somehow, before you'd even moved, a part of you already knew. ridiculous. impossible. and yet you knew. you quickly wiped your face. attempted to look normal. failed miserably. then unlocked the door. the second it opened, you froze.

hollis.

those dark eyes found yours instantly. and just like that every plan to squeeze past him and pretend you were fine disappeared. for a moment neither of you spoke. his gaze moved slowly across your face. your red eyes. ruined makeup. swollen lips. every piece of evidence.

before you could react he gently pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. it clicked shut behind him. your heart stumbled. immediately you retreated toward the sink again. distance. you needed distance. your eyes fixed on the floor.

"there you are." his voice was quiet. you didn't answer. "was starting to miss those looks." your head snapped up. what? something flickered across his face. amusement.

"don't look so surprised." he leaned against the door. "they weren't exactly subtle."heat rushed into your face. "i don't know what you're talking about." - "sure." his gaze lingered on you. "those eyes were practically on fire."

your stomach dropped. he had noticed. every single time. slowly he pushed away from the door. one step, then another. until suddenly he was standing far too close. you hated how quickly your pulse reacted. hated how easily he affected you.

hollis looked down at you for a moment and whatever he saw made something soften briefly in his expression. "poor thing." the words were barely above a murmur. his fingers brushed against your cheek, wiping away a streak of ruined mascara. his touch felt unreal. and just like that every rational thought disappeared.

the second your eyes met his, hollis knew.  he'd been right. exactly right. there you stood in front of him like a wounded lamb. sweet. innocent. desperate for something to hold onto. and he was prepared to give you everything. everything except love.

the corner of your mouth lifted slightly. his grin softened. "what?" you shook your head. the alcohol had made you far too honest. your heart felt strangely safe. seen. before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

"i missed you." his eyebrows lifted. "really?" one hand came up to cup your cheek. the other rested beside you against the sink, fingertips brushing your hip. you let out a disbelieving laugh. "fuck, hollis..." you searched his face. "what are you doing here?" - "wanted to see how you were doing." your smile faded. "after ignoring me the entire night?"

that familiar ache returned to your chest. your eyes shimmered again as you looked up at him. without saying anything, his thumb brushed another tear from your cheek. "i'm here now."

somehow, the fact that he'd arrived with your ex had completely disappeared from your mind. all you saw was him. you studied his face. impossibly beautiful. impossibly close. god... his presence felt so good.

"but you'll leave again." - "and then?" your hands rested against his chest, fingertips absentmindedly tracing the fabric of his shirt. "then i'm alone again."

a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. he hadn't expected to have you wrapped around his finger this quickly. but there you were. looking up at him exactly the way he'd imagined.

"you were alone before me too, angel." your expression faltered. more tears gathered in your eyes. "what do you mean?" - "you said you missed me." he tilted his head slightly. "for that to be true..." his thumb slowly brushed across your cheek. "...you would've had to have me first." his gaze never left yours. "and you never did."

it felt like a knife straight through your chest. then another. and another. your knees almost gave out beneath you. before you could lose your balance, both of his hands settled firmly on your hips, holding you upright. his eyes dropped to your lips. yours followed. only for a second. then back to his eyes. uncertainty. desperation. yes. no.

before you could decide, he closed the distance. your back met the edge of the sink. your arms instinctively slipped around his neck. his lips found yours. certain. like he was leading the kiss instead of asking for it. a quiet groan escaped him as he deepened it.

then suddenly his hands lifted you with effortless ease, setting you onto the bathroom counter. he stepped between your legs without breaking the kiss. your mind went completely blank. everything disappeared.

it felt less like kissing someone and more like taking a drug. the rush that spread through your body was unreal. when he finally pulled away, you blinked at him in silence. whatever he'd said before, you'd already forgotten.

he noticed the confusion on your face immediately. one hand returned to your cheek. "i know you're using me to fill the void inside you." his voice was quiet. "and i know how good it feels." you frowned. "what?" - "but when this wears off..." his thumb brushed gently across your skin. "...it's only going to hurt more."

he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead. one last stroke across your cheek. then he stepped back. and left.

you remained sitting there in complete silence. unable to tell whether your chest was burning from the high of his kiss, or from the cruel truth he hadn't even tried to soften.

and that was where it all started going downhill. when your best friend had found you again a few minutes later, she'd never suspected a thing. she'd been too busy dragging you back onto the dance floor. too drunk to notice the mascara still smudged beneath your eyes. too happy to see you smiling again.

she'd assumed you'd simply cried over your ex. you never corrected her. because how were you supposed to explain any of it? you barely understood it yourself.

-

the days that followed became strangely quiet. there wasn't another like. no message. no accidental run-in. nothing.

hollis disappeared as suddenly as he'd appeared. and somehow that only made him louder. he was everywhere.

in your thoughts. in every song that reminded you of that stupid bathroom. in every moment you caught yourself reaching for your phone without even realizing why.

the breakup slowly slipped further into the background. it was still there. still hurting. but it no longer occupied every waking second. something else had taken its place. or rather, someone.

you kept replaying the kiss until parts of it no longer felt real. his hand against your cheek. his voice. i know you're using me to fill the void inside you. you'd gone over those words a hundred different ways. trying to decide whether they'd been cruel or kind. somehow they managed to be both.

every evening followed the same routine. dinner. shower. bed. then your phone. not because you expected anything. because you hoped. a notification. a like. his name. anything. 

there was never anything. and that almost felt worse. because now your own mind was doing his work for him. every night, the urge grew a little stronger. just text him. what's the worst that could happen?

your thumb would hover over his profile. then pull away again. no. your best friend's voice echoed through your head. he's emotional poison. she was right. somewhere underneath all the longing, you knew she was right.

hollis wasn't safe. he wasn't comfort. he wasn't healing. he was a distraction that felt dangerously close to becoming an addiction. and every day, saying no became just a little harder.

-

you managed to resist it. for days. every night, you'd talk yourself out of it. put your phone down. tell yourself you'd feel stupid in the morning. remind yourself that your best friend had been right. that he wasn't good for you. that whatever this was, it wasn't going to end well. and every night, somehow, you'd survive it. until tonight.

tonight something inside you finally gave out. you were sitting on the floor beside your bed again. knees pulled against your chest. tears running freely down your face. your breathing uneven. your heart aching so badly it almost felt physical. the apartment was silent. so painfully silent.

the loneliness wrapped itself around you until it became hard to tell where it ended and where you began. there it was again. the void. darker than ever. and for the first time you couldn't find your own way out of it.

before you could stop yourself, your hand reached for your phone. your vision was blurred from crying. somehow you still opened instagram. somehow your thumb found his profile without thinking. somehow you were already staring at your empty chat. your fingers moved before your head could catch up.

you: i need to see you

his reply came almost instantly. so fast it made your stomach turn. as if he'd been expecting this. expecting you to break.

2hollis: i know

your chest tightened. not i miss you. not i need to see you too. somehow that hurt. and yet the thought of not seeing him hurt even more.

you: now

a few seconds passed.

2hollis: this is a really bad idea

2hollis: come here. or do you want me to come to you?

you didn't even hesitate.

you: come to me please

three little dots appeared almost immediately.

2hollis: don't ask me for things you're not ready for

your thumb hovered above the keyboard for only a second.

you: i know what i want

this time his answer came without delay.

2hollis: omw

suddenly your pulse was pounding in your ears. your heart felt like it was about to burst. you'd invited danger itself into your apartment. late at night. you'd broken the promise you'd made to your best friend. because in just a few minutes he'd be standing in your doorway.

you hurried around the apartment, trying to make it look at least somewhat presentable. then you disappeared into the bathroom. a quick shower. lingerie. loose clothes thrown over the top. casual. effortless. at least that was the goal.

in reality your messages had already given you away. hollis could probably see straight through you now. you were glass.

before the panic had the chance to fully settle in, there was already a knock at the door.

your breath caught. so this was real. behind that door stood the beginning of your end. you knew that with terrifying certainty. and somehow he felt like a drug anyway. his name alone had become something dangerously close to a spell.

you walked to the door and pulled it open. there he was. towering over you. one arm resting casually against the frame. his attention fixed entirely on you. too attentive. too intense.

those dark eyes stripped you bare before either of you had spoken a single word. suddenly you had no idea what to say. every part of you was screaming for him. "hi... y/n." his voice was low. calm. exactly the way you remembered it. hearing your name in his voice made something inside you melt all over again.

"thanks for coming." he smiled faintly. "you invited me." then he stepped past you into the apartment. "i knew this was how it'd end."

he shrugged his jacket off and tossed it over one of your dining chairs before slowly looking around your apartment. his eyes weren't admiring the place. they were evaluating it. deciding where he wanted you first. by the time they found you again, he'd already chosen.

"do you... want something to drink?" the question sounded awkward the second it left your mouth. you both knew that wasn't why he was here. the silence between you already carried the truth. you just weren't brave enough to acknowledge it yet. every step toward him felt like another step toward your own destruction.

hollis settled onto your couch as if he'd done it a hundred times before. then he looked up at you. slowly he patted his thigh. "you know i don't want a drink." you swallowed. then walked over. the moment you reached him, his hands settled firmly on your hips and pulled you onto his lap.

instinctively, your arms slipped around his neck. you needed this. needed him. your lips instinctively searched for his. but just before they met he leaned back. leaving the smallest distance between you.

"you know i'm going to break you." his voice was quiet. honest. a shiver immediately ran through your body. "yes, i know this is a bad idea." he nodded once.

his lips hovered just in front of yours. barely brushing them whenever he spoke. "and you know i'm never going to return your feelings." your eyes immediately filled again. your chest tightened. but none of it surprised you. you'd known that from the beginning.

"...yeah." your voice was barely audible. "i know." his hands slid from your hips to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until there was almost no space left between you. "then close the distance." his eyes never left yours. "and i'll give you everything you need to fill the void... for tonight."

you blinked. he'd laid every card on the table. there were no lies. no false promises. no pretending. he'd given you the choice. whether you wanted to accept the price.

but you needed him. so so badly. every part of you was screaming. your heartbeat thundered through your body. his fingers dug firmly into your waist. and finally you closed the distance, knowingly signing the most painful contract of your life.

he immediately pulled you against him, kissing you so deeply, so consuming, his tongue slipping into your mouth right away, tangling with yours. his hands slid beneath your shirt, pulling it over your head. his eyes lingered on the black lace bra hugging your body, your hardened nipples visible beneath the fabric and his gaze darkened even more.

"fuck, y/n." his lips brushed your collarbone before traveling lower. one arm kept you securely on his lap while his other hand tugged your bra down just enough for him to wrap his lips around your nipple. a quiet moan escaped you and he looked up at you with pure hunger in his eyes.

"so fucking beautiful." the sight did something to him. beneath you, you felt him getting hard and it drove you insane. the craving. the need. you wanted him so badly. your hands clung to his broad shoulders as you slowly started grinding against him, chasing every bit of friction.

it was intoxicating. the first time you heard a moan leave his lips. he sounded so fucking good and all you wanted was to hear it again. he enjoyed every second of it, leaning back slightly to watch you. both of his hands rested on your hips, guiding the way you moved against him. you felt so desired. so seen. he knew exactly how to make you feel good.

"enough." his voice came out low. he grabbed you and stood up with ease. your hands disappeared into his hair, your swollen lips leaving dark marks along his neck, making sure that, for however long this lasted, he was yours.

once you reached the bedroom, he laid you gently onto the bed. he kissed you deeply one more time before straightening up, his movements suddenly becoming agonizingly slow.

"how many times have you thought about this, hm?" the sound of his voice alone made you melt. "it's even better than it was in my fantasies." a knowing smile spread across his lips. "take your clothes off for me, angel." it wasn't a request. it was an order.

there wasn't much left to take off anyway and within seconds you were lying naked in front of him on the bed. exactly the way he wanted you. his eyes roamed over your body with undisguised hunger. "you make it so fucking hard to resist you."

you reached for him but he gently pushed you back against the mattress. "touch yourself for me, baby. i'll give you everything you've been fantasizing about." and fuck, you wanted to. you needed to. the ache between your legs had become unbearable.

as your fingers slowly began circling your clit, his found the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head with practiced ease. more and more of his skin came into view. defined muscles. pale skin. those gold chains resting against his chest. the sight of his bare torso alone made your pussy clench and he noticed. 

"fuuuck..." he breathed out, his voice low, clearly fighting the urge to pounce on you right then and there. your fingers moved faster. your eyes dropped to the v-line disappearing beneath his pants, then followed his hands as they reached for his belt.

he unbuckled it. slowly. too slowly. he was teasing you and he had every bit of your attention, exactly the way he wanted. then he undid his pants and pushed them down together with his boxers. your lips parted. his hand wrapped around his fully hard cock. he was big, veiny, already throbbing at the sight of you.

everything about him was even better than your fantasies had ever been. slowly, he climbed back onto the bed and hovered over you. the ends of his hair brushed against your sensitive skin as he propped himself up on his strong arms beside you. his eyes locked with yours. pure longing. "i'm gonna make you feel so good now." his voice was barely above a whisper. "do you want that?"

you cupped his face in your hands and nodded. "yes. please... please hollis." one of his hands drifted lower but instead of taking what he wanted right away, he did something you hadn't expected.

he slowly brushed the tip of his cock over your clit, coating himself with your arousal before dragging it through your folds. a soft moan escaped you. he kissed you at the same time. slowly, gently, almost lovingly.

"you sound so pretty, angel. let me hear you." his voice was like honey. again and again, he stroked over your clit, making the ache to have him inside you grow stronger with every pass. then a small grin spread across his face. he grabbed your hips, and before you knew it, you were sitting on top of him, looking down into his eyes.

"i'm all yours, baby. take whatever you want. i'll give you everything." goosebumps spread across your skin. the way he looked up at you was so intense. his cock rested between your thighs while his hands traced over your body with impossible care, as if there were real love behind every touch. you almost believed it. if he hadn't warned you beforehand.

you kissed him again, desperate to memorize every part of him, while wrapping your hand around his cock and slowly lowering yourself onto him. a brief sting. you gasped softly and his hands immediately settled on your hips, steadying you, guiding you down inch by inch. a deep groan slipped from his lips.

once he was fully inside you, you stayed there for a moment, not moving yet. instead, you kissed him desperately, taking in his lips, his face, the way his eyes never left yours, trying to memorize everything, because tomorrow none of it would be yours anymore.

then you finally began to move. having him inside you felt heavenly. every slow motion sent another wave through your body and you were already tightening around him. a few more whispered words, a few more gentle touches, and you knew you'd completely fall apart.

he covered your body in kisses, worshipping every inch of you and little by little you felt yourself losing your mind.

his hands rested on your hips before one slowly slid up to your throat, wrapping around it just enough. not out of violence, but out of control. even though you were the one on top, he was still the one holding all the power. a moan slipped from your lips.

"oh... you like that?" another breathless sound escaped you. "fuck. yeah. i thought so." he felt the way you tightened around him, how the sight of him alone was enough to make your knees weak.

while you rode him, his hands slowly found your wrists. he guided them behind him until they rested against the headboard and you held on instinctively. his lips brushed your ear. "you're gonna cum for me now, angel."

one hand slipped between your legs to your clit while the other stayed firm on your hip. "stay just like that." you obeyed, not moving at all. then he started thrusting up into you from beneath. hard. harder. faster. his fingers moved perfectly in time with every thrust.

"does that feel good baby?" - "fuck... fuck... yes, hollis. yes." he didn't let up. he kept pounding into you, making every sensation stronger until it felt like heaven. closer. closer. fuck. so much closer. your moans became desperate, needy.

"cum with me, baby." his voice was strained now too. he was just as close. your arms began to give out, your whole body trembling and that was exactly when he pushed you over the edge.

your head fell against his shoulder as your orgasm crashed through you and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly. "that's it... let go, baby. fuck."

a moment later he came too, buried deep inside you. his cock twitched as he held you against his chest, impossibly close. he pressed a kiss to your shoulder while both of you struggled to catch your breath.

"the way you fuck..." he murmured in that rough, exhausted voice, "i almost fell in love." the words reached you through the haze. almost. they still stung. but you didn't care.

you cupped his face and kissed him again. in that moment, everything felt so real. the emptiness inside you disappeared for just a little while. you'd never felt so alive. never so in love. never so wanted.

he smiled up at you, tired and soft, before gently laying you down beside him. he pulled you into his strong arms while your breathing slowly settled. but little by little, reality found its way back. you traced your fingers gently along his arm.

"are you staying the night?" he kissed your shoulder. "of course, angel." he pulled you even closer before whispering against your skin, "but when you wake up... i'll be gone." and there it was. the truth.

the bitter truth that it had all been an illusion. you suddenly became afraid of falling asleep too soon, because every passing minute meant less time with him. and even while you were still lying safely in his arms, you had never felt lonelier.

he'd been right. he'd even warned you. but he'd chosen you. he wanted you. he had chosen you... to fill your void.

-

didn't proofread this at all i'm tired af but i really wanted to post it <3

taglist: @doit4hollis @hollisedd @swagonometryfr @2bun22 @jjscoquette @pastfixated @yallnotogso @s2diee @natesibsdih @jiselleqiyoku @evangelicgirll @sayitagain22 @obscureleoasian @sweet2sin @angelverse222 @mimiandpeepee @holli22star @elodieswan @sleezycope @planetariumgal @sosickandawake @222cellmate @glitterandviolence13 @sexyevilkitten @glitterfilledarteries @keeperofcrush @222foryou222 @ratspo3 @concealismybias @2angellinh @sophi-ii @swaggotsnoticeswaggots @greensprvalley @lighteditvns @angelsluvme222 @vlnt2kiss @girl2bad @l0v3rgrr1 @luvvconceal @qiyokuliife @2bluntss @notblockingnobody @2-cliche @romansbbg @peterpangirl777 @cherryscrumbles @fearlesslyinnerguerilla @angelrazor6000 @3vi3evie @justkori222

[bl3upi3]

Blades & Bass | BONUS Part6

Part5

Summary: After a text breakup, you and Gunner, reunite at the AMAs. A tense confrontation leads you both back to a hotel room, where a painful conversation about your incompatible lives dissolves into intense, emotionally charged, and rough makeup sex

A/N: This is the final chapter, and I'm finally letting go of Blades & Bass. I absolutely loved writing this fic, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it! Also, this chapter is not proofread, and there’s a REALLY LONG SMUT ahead.

{Taglist}

TW: MDNI, Porn with Plot, Oral Sex, P in V, Angst, Make-up Sex, Begging, Praise , Dirty Talk, Leg-Locking (tell me if i forgot some)

═════════════════════

It had been a few days since the Met Gala, and your boyfriend had already warned you that he’d be incredibly busy prepping for Rolling Loud.

Now, the day of the festival had finally arrived, and you still hadn't heard a single word from him. You couldn't be there with him in Orlando because you were stuck in New York shooting some campaigns.

On the night of his set, you decided to tune into the livestream. Even if you couldn't talk to him directly, you figured it would still be nice to watch him perform.

Looking at the screen, the crowd was absolutely massive and deafening; you had never seen so many people gathered in one place. It was in that exact moment that it truly hit you just how big of an artist he really was. 

He had dyed his hair red, just like he told you he would, but your heart pinched the moment you saw a girl all over him on stage.

You knew they were background dancers, that they were literally paid to be there and you usually weren't the jealous type. But after not talking to him for days, suddenly seeing him being so touchy with a girl shaking her ass right against him made you feel some type of way. 

You didn't know why, but it made you feel incredibly sad. Maybe it was because it reminded you of how you two first started talking, how completely incompatible your two worlds actually were, and how much you missed out on by never being in the same city.

It made you realize just how much effort this relationship took, and how much more it was going to require in the future. You just knew you didn't want to live like this for the rest of your life.

You watched him for a few more minutes before closing your laptop and heading to bed. Sleep wouldn't come, though. Tossing and turning in the dark, you finally poured your heart out in a text message and hit send at three in the morning.

Y/N: i really didn't wanna do this over text but i've just been staring at the ceiling for hours and i need to get this out. watching your rolling loud set tonight just hit me so crazy. you looked amazing and im so proud of you fr, but seeing you up there just reminded me of how completely different our worlds actually are. having zero news from you for days just to tune into the live and see you like that... it just made me realize how much this distance is actually hurting me. i feel like we're constantly playing catch up and trying to force two lives together that just don’t fit. the effort this takes is so heavy, and honestly gunner, i don’t think i want to live my life like this. i don't want to always be the one waiting in a different city while you’re living in a whole other universe. i love you so much and i meant everything i said in the car the other night, but i don't think we can do this anymore. we need to break up. please don't call me, i just really need some space to breathe right now. goodnight.

__________________________________________

You knew he wasn’t going to let you go that easily. He called you a hundred times, but you never picked up. Eventually, your manager got so tired of seeing his name pop up on your screen every time you were in a photoshoot or on the ice that she took matters into her own hands and blocked his number.

You didn't even realize it at the time, since you were way too busy training and doing everything you could to keep your mind occupied.

To top it all off, it was just announced that you would be hosting the American Music Awards in Las Vegas this year. Your life had changed so drastically over the past few months; you weren’t just an Olympic gold medalist anymore. 

__________________________________________

@rapteatv

Are Nettspend and Y/N Over?! 💔 Over the Weekend, the Former "It-Couple" Arrived Separately at the AMAs and Completely Ignored Each Other All Night

Fans are convinced that rapper Nettspend and Olympic gold medalist Y/N have officially called it quits after a very tense night at the American Music Awards in Las Vegas.

While Y/N was booked as a host for the evening, Nettspend was also in attendance, but the two did not walk the red carpet together. Throughout the entire event, eyewitnesses noted that the pair didn't interact once, completely avoiding each other in the crowd and backstage. This comes as a massive shock to fans who last saw them looking incredibly close during the Met Gala after-party season.

Comments

↳ yeah it’s over... nett looked so down the whole night and she didn’t even look in his direction while she was on stage hosting 

↳ did anyone see him in the crowd while she was presenting? he literally looked like his dog died omg they definitely broke up 

↳ she deleted the pics of them on her page too yall... yeah it’s confirmed bye 💔

↳ wait bc he looked so miserable on the red carpet too?? like he did NOT want to be there at all. 

↳ they are 100% broken up. nett didn't even smile once when the camera panned to him during her opening monologue 💀 

↳ the silence is deafening. usually he’s posting her on his story or something 

__________________________________________

Leaving the AMAs, you walked out to your van. Suddenly, someone shouted your name. You turned around and saw Gunner running after you.

"Y/N, wait!"

"Leave me alone, Gunner," you said.

"Wtf do you think you're doing?" he asked, catching up to you.

"I told you to leave me alone in that text, didn't I?"

"Yeah, without letting me talk," Gunner said, shaking his head. "I called you the last few weeks. Every day, every hour, but you blocked my number."

"I didn't block your number," you replied, looking around. "And be quieter, I don't want to cause a scene."

"Yes, you did," he insisted. "I keep ending up on your voicemail."

"Just get in the van," you whispered, pulling open the door. "I don't want people seeing us like this."

Gunner didn’t argue. He climbed in right behind you, and he slammed the door shut, telling the driver to head straight to your hotel. The interior of the van went quiet, save for the hum of the engine as it pulled away from the venue.

"I didn't block you, Gunner. Seriously," you said, turning to face him in the dim light. "I haven't even looked at my phone like that. My manager must have done it because you were blowing it up while I was working."

Gunner let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his red hair. "I don't care who did it, Y/N. You broke up with me over a text message while I was in the middle of a festival. You think I was just gonna let that go?"

"What did you want me to do?" you asked, your voice dropping. "I sat there watching your live. You hadn't texted me in days, and then I see you on stage with girls all over you. It just made me realize how messy this all is. Our lives don't fit."

"That was a performance," he said, turning his head to look at you, his eyes dark. "You know how this shit works. It doesn't mean anything. The only person I wanted to be with was you, but you didn't even give me a chance to explain before you completely cut me off."

"It's not about the girls, Gunner. It's not even about the performance," you said, shaking your head as you looked out the window at the passing Las Vegas lights. "I know what background dancers are. It’s the fact that I had to find out what you were doing by turning on a livestream. You vanished for three days. It made me realize that when we're apart, I don't exist in your world, and you don't exist in mine."

"That's not true," he muttered, his voice cracking slightly.

You turned back to look at him, and the words died in your throat.

Gunner was staring down at his hands, his broad shoulders tense, but his chest was heaving. In the dim light of the van, you saw a tear slip down his cheek, catching the glare of the streetlamps outside. Then another one followed.

He didn't try to wipe them away. He just sat there, the tough, stoic persona he held for the rest of the world completely shattering right in front of you.

"I was just overwhelmed, Y/N," he choked out, his voice thick and trembling as he finally looked up at you, his eyes completely bloodshot. "The festival, the album prep, the label pushing me... I locked myself away because my head was spinning. I wasn't trying to ignore you. I was just trying to survive the week so I could get back to you."

He let out a shaky breath, a ragged sob escaping his throat as he reached out, his hand trembling as he gripped your wrist.

"Please don't do this," he whispered, the tears now streaming down his face. "I can't do this without you. Don't leave me."

You looked down at his hand gripping your wrist, your own chest aching as you watched him cry. You had never seen him like this. It broke your heart, but it didn't change the reality of the situation.

"Gunner, look at us," you said softly, your voice breaking as you gently pulled your hand away from his grip. "We’re already falling apart, and it’s only been a few months. If we keep doing this, we’ll never be happy."

He wiped his eyes quickly, shaking his head in denial. "We can fix it. I’ll change things. I’ll text more, I’ll call you every hour, I don't care-"

"It's not just about texting, and you can't just stop doing your job," you interrupted, a tear finally escaping your own eye. "Your career is exploding right now. Mine is too. We both have to give 100% to our work, which means we have nothing left to give to each other. We're just going to keep hurting, waiting for the next text, getting insecure, and crying in the back of cars."

You looked out the window as the van finally pulled up to the entrance of your hotel.

"I love you enough to know that we’re just going to destroy each other if we keep trying to force this," you whispered, turning back to him one last time. "We both deserve to be happy, Gunner. But we're never going to find that happiness together."

"I'm not saying I don't want you in my life forever," you said, your voice softening as you looked at his tear-stained face. "But right now? With everything going on? We just can't be together. We need to focus on ourselves."

"I don't care about right now, Y/N," he said, his voice raw as he shook his head stubbornly. "I can't just let you go. I'm not gonna sit back and just watch you become some stranger I used to know. I can't do it."

The van came to a complete stop in the hotel's private underground parking garage. The driver cut the engine, leaving the two of you in a heavy, suffocating silence.

You looked at Gunner, whose eyes were still red and desperate. You couldn't just leave him crying here, and you didn't want to cause a scene in the lobby if he followed you.

"Fine," you sighed, rubbing your temples. "You can come up. You can stay for an hour or two so we can actually finish this conversation properly. But that's it."

He nodded quickly, wiping his face again as he followed you out of the vehicle. You both kept your heads down, slipping into the private elevator that led straight to your suite. Neither of you said a word until the heavy oak door of your room clicked shut behind you.

You tossed your purse onto the entryway table and kicked off your heels, finally letting out a breath you felt like you’d been holding since the AMAs started. Gunner stood near the edge of the living area, looking completely out of place.

"You really think we’ll never work?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he broke the silence.

"I think we're trying to build a house in a hurricane, Gun," you said, turning to face him. "How are we supposed to be a normal couple when we barely see each other?"

"We don't have to be a normal couple," Gunner said, his voice dropping an octave, thick with desperation. Before you could even reply, he crossed the room and dropped heavily to his knees right in front of you.

Your breath hitched. You froze, staring down at him.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, burying his face into the fabric of your outfit. His shoulders shook as he held onto you like you were his only lifeline. "Please, Y/N. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll fly to New York every single weekend, I don’t care if I don’t sleep. Just don't give up on me. I'm begging you."

Looking down at him, a sudden, conflicting rush of heat flooded your veins. There was something intensely overwhelming about seeing him like this. This was the same guy who just an hour ago had thousands of people screaming his name, the guy who acted completely untouchable under the festival lights and now he was on his knees, completely at your mercy, begging just to keep you.

The sheer vulnerability of it, mixed with the lingering adrenaline from the night, made your stomach flip in a completely different way. Your heart was pounding, and a heavy, familiar ache started to settle between your thighs.

Gunner tilted his head back, looking up at you through his long eyelashes. His eyes were still wet, but as he felt the shift in your posture, his gaze darkened. He noticed the way your breathing had turned shallow, the way your fingers twitched against your sides.

"Y/N..." he whispered, his hands slowly sliding up from your thighs to your hips, his grip tightening as he pulled your body closer to his face.

"You’re too good for me, I know it," Gunner murmured, his voice a low, raspy purr against your skin that sent a sharp shiver straight down your spine. His hands stayed firmly gripped on your hips, anchoring you to him. "You're a gold medalist, you're the biggest thing in the world right now, and I’m just... I'm nothing without you, Y/N."

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your bare thigh, just below the hem of your outfit, making your knees instantly go weak. You had to rest your hands on his shoulders just to keep your balance.

"Look at you," he whispered, tilting his head up to look at you with complete, unfiltered devotion. "You look so beautiful tonight. You ran that whole show. Everyone in that venue was looking at you, but now you're here with me. Please tell me I still have you."

He began to trail slow, agonizingly hot kisses up your thigh, his thumbs tracing tight, deliberate circles into your hips. Every word out of his mouth was laced with raw desperation, but the way his touch grew entirely confident told you exactly what he was doing. He knew the effect he had on you. He could hear your breath catching, could feel the slight tremble in your legs.

"You're perfect," he praised, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper as his lips brushed against the soft skin of your inner thigh. "Every single part of you. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you just let me stay. Let me remind you how much you mean to me, Y/N. Please."

Your fingers tangled in his red hair, tugging slightly as a soft gasp escaped your lips. The contrast of his tear-stained face and the dark, heavy hunger in his eyes was completely overwhelming, completely erasing any thoughts of the distance, the texts, or the breakup. All you could focus on was the intense heat pooling between your legs and the way he looked up at you like you were his entire world.

He didn't waste another second. Slipping your clothes out of the way, Gunner guided you back until you were pressed against the edge of the entryway table. He stayed on his knees, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift your legs onto his shoulders, opening you up completely to him.

When his tongue first made contact, a sharp, involuntary gasp left your throat, your fingers instantly gripping the edge of the wood behind you. He was relentless, using the same fierce, obsessive energy he gave everything else in his life to completely unhinge you. He swirled his tongue around your sweet spot, pacing himself perfectly, knowing exactly how to make your hips twitch in desperation.

"I hate you," you choked out, your head tossing back as a wave of intense pleasure rushed through you. "Gunner, I swear to God, I hate you so much for doing this right now."

He paused for a fraction of a second, looking up at you with a dark, completely shameless smirk on his face, his lips wet and glistening. "I know you do, baby," he murmured. "You hate how much you need me. You hate that no one else can make you feel like this."

He dipped his tongue back down, tracing a long, wet line all the way up before focusing entirely on your clit, sucking it into his mouth. You let out a loud moan, completely forgetting about the hotel walls or the fight you had just had.

"Look at you, crying about a breakup but soaking wet for me," he muttered against your skin, turning his praise dirty as he felt your body begin to tremble. "You're so good for me, Y/N. Tell me it's mine. Tell me this pretty little pussy belongs to me and no one else."

"Gunner, please..." you whined, your toes curling as his fingers suddenly slid inside you, matching the fast, wicked rhythm of his tongue.

"Say it, baby," he growled, searching your face as his thumb worked your clit, pushing you right to the absolute edge. "Tell me you're not going anywhere."

"Fuck you," you gasped out instead, your voice breaking as you shook your head. You gripped his shoulders, trying to push him away or force him closer, you didn't even know which but you refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing those words. "Fuck you, Gunner."

The moment the words left your mouth, his tongue stopped completely. He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his fingers staying still inside you, holding you completely hostage right on the edge of a cliff.

The sudden loss of friction made you whine out loud, your hips instinctively twitching forward to look for his mouth, but he didn't budge. His eyes were entirely dark now, the vulnerability from before replaced by a stubborn, dangerous heat.

"What did you just say to me?" he asked.

"I'm not saying it," you breathed, glare matching his despite how badly your legs were shaking. "You don't get to just cry and then command me. Put your mouth back down there."

"No," he growled, a frustrated, angry smirk tugging at his lips as he tightened his grip on your thighs, locking you in place. He was getting mad now, too, the tension between you two snapping into pure aggression. "You think you run everything? If I don't get what I want, Y/N, you definitely aren't getting what you want."

"Gunner, I swear to God, I am right there," you yelled out, your hands bunching into the fabric of his shirt. "Don't do this."

"Then tell me," he challenged, leaning in close until his hot breath fanned against your wet skin, teasing you without actually touching you. "Tell me you're mine and you're not leaving. Otherwise, we can just sit here like this all night."

You stared down at him, your chest heaving, absolutely furious at how easily he could manipulate your body against your own will. The contrast was maddening, just minutes ago he was weeping at your feet, and now he was using the sheer weight of your own arousal to back you into a corner.

"You are an asshole," you choked out, tears of pure frustration pricking the corners of your eyes. Your hips gave a pathetic, involuntary twitch, practically begging for the friction he was withholding.

"I don't care," Gunner muttered, his jaw clenched as he stared right back up at you. His fingers inside you twitched just enough to make you gasp, but he held back from giving you any real relief. "Say it, Y/N. I’m not playing with you."

The tension in the room was suffocating. You wanted to push him off, to scream at him to get out of your hotel room and out of your life, but the ache between your thighs was entirely consuming. Every instinct in your body was screaming at you to just give in to get what you needed.

"Fine!" you cried out, your fingers digging so hard into his shoulders that your nails left red marks through his shirt. "I'm yours! Fuck, Gunner, I'm yours, okay? Just please-"

The victory in his eyes was instant and feral.

"Good girl," he growled against your skin.

He didn't make you wait another second. Gunner buried his face back between your legs, his tongue striking against your clit with a hard, heavy rhythm that made your vision instantly blur. At the same time, his fingers started driving inside you with a rough, punishing speed, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

You completely lost control. A loud, unrefined scream tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, your entire body seizing up as you clamped tightly around his fingers. Gunner didn't stop, swallowing your moans and driving you deeper into the climax until your legs were shaking so badly they could barely stay on his shoulders.

Gunner finally pulled his mouth away, panting heavily as he looked up at you. His lips were shiny, and his face was flushed from the heat of the moment. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a dark, satisfied grin spreading across his face.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growled, his voice incredibly deep and rough. "I swear to God, I've never tasted pussy so good in my entire life. You're so fucking sweet."

Hearing those words out of his mouth while your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of the orgasm sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to your stomach. You didn't want to talk anymore. You didn't want to think about the distance, the drama, or tomorrow. You just needed him inside you.

Reaching down, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him up. He stumbled up from his knees, his eyes locked onto yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Bed. Now," you breathed against his lips.

Gunner didn't hesitate. He hooked his arms under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off the entryway table. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, burying your face in his neck as he carried you down the short hallway into the bedroom. He tossed you onto the plush mattress, immediately following you down, but before he could pin you beneath him, you rolled him over.

You pushed against his chest, forcing him onto his back. Gunner let out a low, gravelly laugh, his hands instantly finding your hips as you straddled his waist.

"Oh, so you're taking control now?" he teased, his dark eyes scanning your face, full of arrogant satisfaction.

"Shut up," you muttered.

You quickly reached down to rid him of the rest of his clothes, your hands shaking with impatience. Gunner watched you, his jaw clenched, his thumbs digging into your hips as he lifted his hips to help you. When he was completely bare beneath you, his length was thick and waiting, pressing hard against your thigh.

You didn't make him wait. Shifting your weight, you aligned yourself and slowly lowered your hips, taking him all in at once.

A loud, ragged groan tore from the back of Gunner's throat, his eyes throwing back as his head hit the pillows. "Fuck, Y/N... you're so tight," he gasped, his grip tightening on your hips until his knuckles turned white.

You threw your head back, a breathless sigh escaping your lips as you filled yourself with him. Once you settled against his hips, you began to move, lifting yourself up and sliding back down in a slow, agonizingly perfect rhythm.

Gunner’s hands guided your movements, his fingers bruising your skin as he pushed your hips down harder, meeting every single one of your strokes with a heavy, upward thrust. The anger from your fight turned into pure, unadulterated friction, the bed squeaking against the wall as you rode him in the dim light of the hotel room.

You leaned forward, your hair falling around your face like a curtain as you looked down at him. The power dynamic had completely flipped.

Before he could pull you down into a kiss, you brought your hand up to his neck. Your fingers wrapped firmly around his throat, squeezing just enough to cut off his breath.

Gunner’s eyes flew wide open, a sharp gasp catching in his chest. But instead of pushing your hand away, his grip on your hips tightened. A dark, wicked grin spread across his face, his chest heaving under you as he leaned up into the pressure. He absolutely loved it.

"Look at you," you whispered, your voice dropping into a mean, mocking tone as you kept riding him, your pace turning hard and relentless. "You're pathetic, Gunner. A second ago you were literally crying on your knees, begging me like a dog."

Gunner let out a choked, raspy laugh, his throat vibrating right against your palm. "Yeah? Tell me more, baby," he wheezed out, his eyes locked onto yours, completely unbothered by the insults. If anything, it was turning him on even more.

"You think you can just show up and fix everything with your mouth?" you sneered, slamming your hips down against his, making him groan loudly. "You’re so fucking selfish. You think the whole world revolves around you and your music, but right now you're just a joke."

"I am," he choked out, playing along completely, his hands sliding up your torso to rest over your heart. He let out another breathless laugh, his white teeth flashing in the dim light. "I'm your joke, Y/N. Do whatever you want to me."

"Shut up," you snapped, tightening your grip on his neck for a second before letting go, leaving the faint pink imprint of your fingers on his skin.

The sudden release of air made him gasp, his head tossing back onto the pillow as you kept up the punishing rhythm. Even when you were being mean, even when you were letting out all your anger on him, Gunner just lay there taking it with a smug, obsessed smile, entirely content as long as you were riding him and calling him yours.

As you continued to drive down against him, Gunner’s gaze stayed locked onto yours, heavy and completely entranced. He brought his hand up, tracing his fingers over your jaw before sliding two fingers straight between your parted lips.

"Bite down," he rasped, his voice rough and breathless.

You didn't hesitate, clamping your teeth down onto his fingers as you kept up the relentless rhythm. The taste of him mixed with the friction between your thighs sent a shuddering wave of heat straight to your core. He watched your eyes flutter, a satisfied chuckle vibrating in his chest as you sucked on his fingers, entirely caught up in the control you thought you had over him.

But in a split second, the dynamic shattered again.

Gunner suddenly gripped your waist with force and twisted his body. Before you could even register what was happening, you were flipped onto your back, the mattress absorbing your weight as he pinned you beneath him. The sudden shift left you breathless, your hands instinctively coming up to push at his chest.

"My turn," he muttered, his eyes dark and completely feral.

Before you could open your mouth to complain, his large hand came up, wrapping firmly around your throat. He didn't squeeze hard enough to hurt, but the heavy, authoritative pressure instantly cut off your speech, forcing your head back into the pillow.

"You had your fun talking shit, Y/N," he growled, a wicked, dominant smirk flashing across his face. "Now shut up and take it."

You glared up at him, your chest heaving as you tried to twist out from under him, your lips parting to yell at him but the words died in your throat. Gunner lifted your legs, pinning them high against his chest, and drove himself inside you in one deep, punishing stroke.

A broken gasp left your lips against the pressure of his hand. The sheer depth of the movement was overwhelming, hitting your sweet spot so perfectly that your brain short-circuited. Any anger, any desire to fight back or complain, completely evaporated.

He didn't give you a second to recover. Gunner began to fuck you with a fast, heavy, relentless pace that had the headboard slamming against the wall. Every time you tried to gather your breath to say something, he hit the perfect angle, sending a jolt of pure pleasure straight up your spine that turned your complaints into high-pitched, helpless whines.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed against your ear, his hand maintaining just enough pressure on your neck to keep you completely pinned. "Can't say a fucking word now, can you?"

The friction between you was blinding, the heat in the room rising until neither of you could think straight. Gunner’s pace turned frantic, his breath hitching as his body tightened completely over yours. You could feel the contractions starting deep inside you, the tension building to a point that felt almost unbearable.

"Y/N... I’m gonna go," he gasped out, his voice raw as he tried to shift his weight back. "I need to pull out, baby, let me-"

"No," you whined, completely lost to the pleasure.

Before he could slide out, you threw your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together behind his back with all your strength. As an athlete, your grip was ironclad. Gunner let out a ragged groan, trying to pull away, but you arched your hips up to meet him, burying him as deep inside you as possible.

That was the breaking point. Gunner’s head fell into the crook of your neck as his body shuddered violently, spilling himself inside you. At the exact same moment, your own orgasm crashed over you in intense, heavy waves. You cried out, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back as your walls clamped tightly around him, pulling every last drop out of him.

For a long minute, the only sound in the room was the heavy, synchronized panting of both your chests. Gunner collapsed against you, his forehead resting against yours, his skin slick with sweat.

Slowly, the fog of adrenaline began to clear, leaving behind the quiet, heavy reality of the two of you tangled together in a Vegas hotel room.

Gunner leaned up slightly, his eyes soft and completely vulnerable again as he looked down at you. He reached up, gently brushing a stray piece of hair away from your damp forehead. Then, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

"I love you," he whispered against your mouth, his voice thick with emotion. "I swear to God, Y/N, I love you so much."

You looked up at him, your chest aching with that familiar, painful warmth. Despite the distance, the fights, and how messy your worlds were, looking at him right now made everything else fade away.

"I love you too," you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for another kiss.

{Masterlist}

Taglist! @jjscoquette @luvvrafey @sophi-ii @kingoveverything @theyluvcece00 @ssidekickk @angelbbyunicorn @missmodelsexxx @aeshiue @sweet2sin @girl2bad @whoooisnanaa @supersecretgirly @ibelieveinfairyz @whitetiger2crush2 @lovemehardcoreangel @romansbbg

[luvvconceal]

𝐆𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓-𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓

nettspend x fem reader

contains: smut, oral (m & f receiving) teasing,(p in v) crying

a/n: xav & che otw i promise (geeked… idk when i’ll drop)

you’re at your boyfriends apartment in nothing but a black thong, his favorite pair of underwear on you. your hair is done and makeup is off the way Gunner likes it.

when his keys jiggle in the doorway, you leap off the couch and wait excitedly as he opens the door. when he sees you, he stops and quickly closes the door.

“ma,” he says. “holy shit.”

you giggle. “i wanted to surprise you.”

he sets his stuff down, taking off his jacket.

you move towards him, and he kisses you on the forehead. “baby, Xavier is gonna be here soon.” he smacks your ass.

you press your bare self against him, and he smiles. “you don’t like me naked?”

“i fucking love you naked. but i don’t want Xavier to see what’s mine.” he takes you by the hand and guides you to his room where you’ve had sex all over; his bed, his dresser, his floor, up against his closet, sometimes the sight of Gunners bed in the sunlight makes you wet between your legs when you start to reminisce.

Gunner goes to his dresser and yanks open a drawer. your nipples are hard just by looking at him. when he turns to you, he notices and smiles. with a t-shirt in his hand, he walks towards you, pins your hips against the nearest wall, and kisses you slowly, like he’s been starving for a taste of you all day.

“put this on mami,” he says.

you deflate. your hopes of having sex with him vanish in a blink of an eye. you put on his t-shirt on, which falls around your upper thighs, then say, “is this okay?”

your body lights up at the feel of his clothes against your skin. he’s hard in his pants and presses into you with his hand against your ass. you make out slowly and deliberately, like you have all the time in the world.

eventually, Gunner pulls you from the wall and waddles you over to his bed where you collapse. the bed springs creak under your weight. he climbs over you, never breaking eye contact. you slide your hands down from his chest to his stomach and undo his belt, yanking it off.

Gunner twists a strand of your hair around his finger. “you’re so pretty, baby”

you feel warm from your toes up to your face. he still has that effect on you. you undo his pants and start yanking his bottoms down. he’s already slightly hard when you see him. Gunner watches while you wrap your hand around his base and kitty-lick his tip. he shudders. you lick him all up his sides before putting his tip in your mouth and vacuuming him.

he groans and pulls your hair. stroking his thumb back and forth against your cheek. under his breath, he repeats, “you’re so fucking pretty.” louder he says, “i like you in my clothes. wear them more often, yeah?”

you nod, still sucking him off. you use the tip of your tongue to tease the tip of his dick until his hips buck forward. “okay, alright. alright, ma.” he tilts his head back, shutting his eyes.

you pull away, your jaw slightly sore, and watch as Gunner touches himself. he reaches down between your legs and spreads your thighs open. “open for me,” he says.

you lean back on your forearms and open yourself up to him. he smiles at the sight of your pussy. he touches himself again as he gets down on his knees on the floor before you.

Gunner blows cool air onto your pussy, which always makes your thighs clench. he chuckles under his breath then presses his hands against your thighs to keep them apart. he looks up at you as he comes down and sucks your clit. then he opens his mouth around your entrance and presses his tongue flat against it. he teases you with the tip of his tongue before he slides in.

your knees come up to your chest while he gets in as deep as he can. with his thumb, he massages your clit until you’re dizzy.

you let out groans and whimpers. your thighs clench against either side of Gunners head as he keeps going, sucking, kissing tonguing, and massaging your pussy.

hs pushes your legs open again and holds them apart. he pushes them back so your knees come up again. “Gunnn,” you whine.

the euphoric rumbling inside of you is becoming unbearable.

he moans into your pussy in response but keeps going, like he’s eating his favorite meal on death row.

“Gu-Gunner. i can’t, i can’t.”

he comes up. “you can’t?”

you clutch his wrist. panicked, you tell him, “i’m so wet. i’m, so, so wet, i’m about to cum.”

he grins. “lie back.” he gets himself ready by jerking off, although eating you out has already made him really hard. you love watching him jerk himself off. it’s the face he makes, really concentrated and passionate, that turns you on.

you lie back, and Gunner climbs onto the bed.

he presses one hand against your inner thigh as he guides himself into you with the other. because he made you so wet already, he slips right in.

you moan and relax into the bed at the feel of him. “mmm, you feel so good.”

he kisses up your chest, around your hardened, tightly nipples over the fabric of his shirt. slowly, he lifts himself up and starts to gently roll himself into you. he takes him time, being slow and deliberate with each stroke. he watches your expressions as you feel him stretch you out.

you shudder.

Gunner pushes your hair away from around your neck and kisses you there. he starts off gentle, and then his kisses get deeper and meaner the lower he goes. he grunts in your ear and goes a little faster, a little harder.

“you’re gonna make me cum really hard.” he says.

you let out a whimpering breath, at the rush of his words up your body. you dig your nails into his back and wrap your legs tighter around his waist so he can’t go anywhere. “fuck me.”

he goes faster, so your skin claps together in the otherwise silent room. his breath is heavy in your ear and makes your rib cage tingle. his fingers get caught in your hair, and he makes a fist and pulls. you whimper again. Gunner kisses your mouth, teases you with his tongue. underneath you, the bed springs creak with every thrust. he goes even faster, until the headboard starts rattling against the wall.

Gunner pants as he watches himself move in and out of you. he squeezes your thigh.

"can i cum on you?"

you nod, let out a little whimper as he gets in deep and struggles to hold out a little longer. he rolls his hips into you, and you cry out. he watches your face while he massages your clit.

"cum for me, mami. cum for me."

you wrap yourself around him tighter and cry into his ear. Gunner pants into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe, then dips his head and kisses you right where you like it. he touches you between your legs until you're clenched around him and shake from holding back.

"let it go, baby," he whispers.

you let go, your legs shaking uncontrollably around him, and gunner curses under his breath. he keeps the same pace until you finish then goes faster, ignoring the cries of your overwhelming pleasure. then he pulls out and quickly pushes his T-shirt up to finish on your stomach and chest.

when he finishes, he rests on top of you to catch his breath. you like to stay like that, covered in both of your sweat and filth, until he unvelcroes himself from you and kisses you on the mouth. "when you come over, always put on my T-shirt, okay?"

you nod.

comment to be added to taglist

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•2hollis x fem!reader x rommulas

you were at your friend hollis’ house for a little gathering with some friends. it was really late and almost everyone had left except roman and you. hollis walked in, holding a bottle of champagne above his head.

“can we handle one more?” he asked, smirking as he sat on the floor next to you and roman. you were laid on your side, a little tipsy. roman had smoked and was kinda high. hollis was high too, with some alcohol in his system.

roman stared at you, biting his lip.

“she cannot handle another.” he scoffed.

hollis agreed.

“yeah… no more for you y/n.” he added.

you were laid flat on your back.

“i’m hot.” you groaned, taking off your cardigan, leaving you in your sequin covered tank top.

hollis’ eyes flicked to your chest as roman’s did too.

you smirked.

“you men have no self control.” you slurred, shutting your eyes as you laid back down, resting your hands on your stomach.

“we do. you’re just pretty y/n.” roman murmured.

“he’s right.” hollis added.

you opened your eyes and sat up, leaning back on your elbows.

both of them were staring at you, hunger evident in their eyes. a sense of need.

you knew exactly what they were thinking.

you shook your head.

“no, no way.” you said, laughing nervously. “whatever you both have in your drunk and high minds, forget about it.”

roman sat up, coming closer to you.

“come on, don’t tell me you have never thought about it before.” he mumbled, brushing his hair out of his face.

hollis stared at you intensely.

“we won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with y/n, but think about how good you’d look between us.” hollis said, leaning on his arm.

“and how good you’d feel..” roman added, biting back a grin.

your cheeks flushed pink as butterflies flooded your stomach. you felt tension growing in your lower abdomen.

“i’ve always wondered what a threesome would be like.” you said, standing up slowly.

“i guess we’ll find out..” hollis said, smirking at you as he stood up and took you by the hand. he led you and roman to his room and shut the door behind him, dimming the lights shortly after.

hollis sat on the bed, pulling you between his legs. roman came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your neck softly. hollis held your hands and looked you in the eyes, grounding you.

“if anything gets too much y/n, tell us. it’s only okay if you’re enjoying it.” hollis whispered, his voice sincere and calming.

you nodded.

hollis leaned back on the bed, pulling you on top of him. he kissed you gently, holding your hips. roman came up behind you, starting to undress you. pulling your skirt down, and helping your vest over your head.

hollis pulled away, looking at roman.

“do you wanna start?” he asked him.

roman looked at you first. your eyes were wide. not sure on what to do. you had little sexual experience, especially not in a threesome.

“what do you want to do y/n?” roman asked, taking your hand into his. he sat next you on the bed, waiting for an answer.

“i don’t know.” you muttered, looking at them both.

hollis nodded, leaning against the headboard.

“come here.” he whispered, pulling you onto his lap, your back leaning against his chest. roman crawled over to you, touching your body gently. trailing his hands from your neck to your thighs.

“let me get you started.” roman whispered, leaning down onto his stomach and settling between your legs. he made eye contact with you before slowly pulling your pants off. “you’re beautiful.” he said, looking down at you.

you relaxed back into hollis’ arms, his arms wrapped around your waist. he kissed your neck softly as roman began giving you head. you moaned quietly, squirming a little. hollis held you still, reaching behind you to unclip your bra. he tossed it to the side, pressing your back against his chest to look at them.

“so pretty…” hollis murmured, bringing his palms up to cup your breasts softly. you held onto hollis’ arms and roman did magic on you with his tongue. your head falling back in pleasure, moaning loudly. roman pulled away, kissing your thighs and then up your stomach to your breasts. he lingered there before kissing your collarbones and neck, finally reaching your mouth.

“you taste so good..” he sighed, kissing your passionately with tongue. he pulled back, gripping your jaw gently and lifting your face to kiss hollis.

hollis leaned down to kiss you, his hips moving upward slightly as he tasted you on your mouth.

“mmh” you moaned.

hollis stopped kissing you, he laid you down on the bed infront of him. he pulled his boxers down, his length springing free. he was big. really big.

your eyes widened. “hollis… i don’t know if i can take-“

“shhhh..” he said, leaning down to kiss you softly.

“i’ll make it work..” he whispered, sitting back up. “do you trust me?”

you nodded, opening your legs for him.

he smiled.

“good girl.”

roman brought a pillow up behind you to support you. he stroked your hair out of your face, reaching to hold one of your hands. hollis reached to hold the other, lining himself up with you.

“you ready?” he asked.

“yeah.” you whined, desperate for him.

he slowly pushed himself into you. you let out a loud moan. hollis smirked.

“that’s it y/n. let me hear you.” you groaned, as he held one of your legs up against his chest to thrust into you deeper.

you moaned louder, unable to hold back.

roman leaned down to kiss you, swallowing your moans. he reached down, finding your clit and circling it softly.

“mmh.. does that feel good, sweet girl?” he said, looking into your eyes.

“so good..” you moaned.

hollis continued his deep strokes in and out of you, causing your legs to shake a little. your face was getting red, and a little puffy.

“i’m close” you whined.

“you’re taking him so well, pretty.” roman praised, stroking his fingers over your knuckles.

hollis pulled out of you slowly.

“you wanna finish her off?” hollis asked, moving so roman could finish the job.

roman wasted no time, he moved to where hollis was originally and flipped you around, coming up behind you and slowly inserting himself into you.

you leaned down onto the bed, moaning loudly. roman was big, maybe a little less than hollis but still big. hollis came and sat in front of you, watching as roman fucked you. he pushed your hair out of your face. roman was close, his head flinging back with pleasure. you moaned loudly.

roman was getting rougher. it felt so good, but you weren’t there yet.

roman groaned, pulling out of you and cumming on your back. he came down next to you on the bed, panting slightly.

“you felt so good, y/n. i couldn’t hold back..” he kissed you gently.

you smiled softly, holding his face carefully as hollis hands rested on your waist. roman excused himself to clean up, as hollis looked over at you. both of you still unfinished.

he helped you straddle him, his member still erect, glistening with precum. he helped you lower yourself onto him. you both moaned.

you started moving, up and down and grinding slightly. he held your waist, guiding your movements. you moaned as he kissed you gently, one hand remaining on your waist and the other behind your neck. his hips bucked into you, right until you leaked all over him, your body going jittery.

he pulled out, pumping himself a couple times to finish and laid his head back. his cum covering his hand, he let you suck it. his fingers swirled around your mouth, pulling them out and watching the liquid stretch. roman walked in, smirking. you laid down on the bed next to hollis, roman crawled over to you to clean you up. hollis went to the bathroom to clean himself up as roman wiped you up.

“how you feeling baby?” he asked, looking into your eyes with compassion.

“tired.” you replied, yawning.

“i can imagine.” he said, stroking your cheeks softly.

hollis walked in, face a little red. he came and laid next to you.

“you tired?” he asked.

“mhmm” you said, moving so hollis could slip in behind you.

his hands cradled you from behind and roman laid on top of you, his hand resting your chest and the other lazy at your side.

“that was good.” you whispered, starting to fall asleep.

“i knew you’d like it.” roman mumbled, smirk evident in his voice.

“we should do it again sometime.” hollis added before drifting off to sleep with you, roman falling not far behind.

—————————————————————

a/n: this is another one of my old fics.. but enjoy if you are unacquainted ;)

[luvr2gurl]

LIKE A PIECE OF CANDY

gunner eating candy turns you on just a little too much, what’s he gonna do abt it?

cw: smut, fingers in v, jerking off, LIGHT pet play (like one mention) candy, mouths tasting like candy, mentions of xav, masturbation, sub! gunner, dom? reader, weed, spanking, NOT PROOFREAD SO SORRY IF ITS BAD

“Fuck ma, this weed is strong as hell…” Gunner mumbles, spreading his legs out and passing you the blunt. “Yeah? I’m not feeling much…” you chuckle, knowing that your totally greened out. “Hand me those gummy worms, I’m hungry as hell.”

You toss him the opened bag of gummy worms, then you take another hit. “No, no.. I can’t have you too high… you won’t be able to do nothing, ma.” He laughs, twirling the candy in his mouth. He licks at the gummy, sucking the sour sugar off.

You feel some heat grow in between your legs, fuck, your really fucking wet from gunner eating a gummy worm. What the fuck.

“Gunner, I’m gonna go take a piss, I’ll be back.” He nods, flipping on the tv.

You enter the bathroom, locking the door and slamming yourself against it. The image of gunner licking your clit instead of that gummy worm is all you can think about. His tongue dipping in and out of your pussy, sliding around your clit as you beg him for more.

You slide your hand into your pants, letting a little moan slip out. “F-fuck.” You mutter, rubbing your clit in tiny circles. “Gunner..” You get impatient, pumping your pussy with your fingers.

“So- fucking, clos-“ and right as the words leave your lips…

“Yo gunner, what’s up?” No, no it couldn’t be. Xavier, fucking Xavier has to show up right now. Your hand in your pants, trying to get into gunners.

Footsteps. Shit. Footsteps. “Yo ma! You good in there?!” Gunner shouts? Knocking on the door. “Yea- yea I’m good Gunner.” He walks away, shouting with xav.

“Yo, ma, what’s up?” He smirks at xav. “Ain’t she stunnin’? My girl, all mine xav, don’t even think about any shit.” He smirks, xav laughing. “I gotchu..”

“Gunner? Can we talk? Like in private.? Please?” Gunner smirks, nodding and patting xav on the back before leading you up the glass staircase.

“You know I heard you.” He mutters, closing the bedroom door. Your lips quiver, “gunner, I’m so sorr-“ he grabs your waist, pulling you closer to him. “No saying sorry, I want you to tell me what I do to you. Let the whole house hear.”

You gulp, panties getting wetter, mouth dryer. “You make my pussy clench around nothing, you make me moan in my sleep, you make me want to be devoured and cherished at the same time. Gunner, I fucking need you.”

He grabs onto the sheets, whimpering. "Fuck..." he mutters. Almost primally, you reach your hand to grip onto his crotch, palming his hardening cock. You feel your panties get wetter, stickier, as you feel his cock twitching under your power. "Yeah ma, that's the shit you do to me, cmon, gimme more."

You rub your palm up and down onto him, digging your hand in and out. "Take it, that's what you do to me." "fuckkkkkkkk," He whimpers, using his free hand to grip onto your hair.

You slide your hand into his pants, going past his boxers, flicking your fingers at his skin. You tap your fingers on his v-line, trailing down to his twitching cock. "m-mmph- fuckkkk- ma, please."

"Are you gonna be a good boy?" You trail your hand lower, your fingertips tapping the head of his cock. "Yes, yes, ma, please, I'll be so good for you."

"Mhm... Good boy, so good for mommy... Do you think good mutts deserve rewards?" He moans, gripping and pulling your hair, "please..."

You grip your hand around the head of his cock, rubbing the pink-ish tip in circles. "fuck, I'm coming, fuck, fuck!" His breath shortens, and his cum oozes onto his thighs and crotch.

"I gotta return the favor ma," He mumbles, still coming down from the orgasam. You chuckle, getting on your knees, on the bed, your ass right in front of him. Like a trophy, a reward for his patience; and now he gets to ruin it.

His hand reaches up and comes down to make a "smack" on your ass. "There we go baby, nine more..." His hands raise and put 3 more firm slaps on your ass. "two, three, four..." You moan, eyes rolling back. "Five, six, seven." He smacks your ass, slow, hard, deliberately. "Eight... Nine... Ten..."

"Here we go, baby... Such a good girl for me. You ready?" You moan, spreading your knees. He reaches his hand in between your pussy lips, shoving his fingers in. "There you go, take it. Won't take you long to cum will it?"

"Gunner, fuck!" He chuckles, pumping in and out, quicker and quicker. Your vision blurs, your ears ring. "Oh my-"

"So good, good job, ma. Gonna text Xav, he'll be worried as hell. Go hop in the shower, I'll be there to join you.."

THANK YOU FOR READINGGG COMMMENT AND REBLOG N EVERYTHING I NEED ME SOME GOOD ENGAGEMENT!! DM FOR TAGLIST!!

taglist: @chesspend

[romansbbg]

say please

bf!nettspend x gf!fem!reader

b.g. : you find yourself unable to contain yourself after your boyfriend gunner dyes his hair.

w.c. : 3.8k

contains smut

my masterlist - my taglist

✧༺•༻✧

the late hours of thursday night blurs into friday sometime around the georgia state line.

gunner, my boyfriend, just finished one of his tour stops in atlanta and he plays at rolling loud tomorrow - or today, i guess.

the tour bus smells like his cologne mixed with weed and the slightest bit of sweat. the highway lights outside blend together as they shine across the tinted windows every couple of seconds.

gunner's somehow still awake.

i don't know how he does this - perform his heart out and still stay up hours afterwards.

i glance up from where i'm curled in the corner booth of the couch and catch him standing near the kitchenette, digging through the mini fridge.

he's changed out of his sweat-soiled clothes from earlier into a simple pair of gray sweats. they hang low on his hips. his chain still adorns his neck, catching the light from outside every so often.

"whatcha looking for, gun?" i ask him softly.

he continues looking through the mini fridge.

"jus something to drink," he tells me.

"i got some water over here if you want it. it's cold," i offer.

he shuts the fridge, turning around to come back over to me. i hand the almost full water bottle to him.

"thanks, ma," he says, grabbing the bottle and taking a large gulp from it.

he sets it back down on a ledge before crashing down next to me.

"you excited for tomorrow, baby?" i ask.

he cuddles into my side, his head nestling into my chest. i see a lazy grin appear on his face.

"hell yeah. it's gonna be the best rolling loud yet," he tells me.

i smile at his response. he obviously is excited by these types of things, but he doesn't always show his full emotions. but i'm happy that he's happy.

i run my fingers through his mostly blonde hair, his ends black and his darker blonde roots beginning to grow in. i softly massage and scratch at his head.

"mhm," i hum. "you nervous at all?"

he thinks about it for a second.

"not really. i'm jus hype for the whole festival," he replies.

"hmm," i hum in response.

he pulls his phone out, beginning to scroll on some social media app.

i lay on the couch with him on top of me, massaging his head until i end up falling asleep.

by the time i properly wake up the next morning, sunlight pours into the bus windows.

and he's gone.

i don't really think much of it. festival days are always chaos.

he must've placed a blanket on me though, because i don't remember having one last night.

i check my phone and see a few texts from him.

gunner

hey ma they wanted me to to leave early for the festival n shi but i'll see u later right?

y/n

hi i just saw this && yes i'll see u later!! lmk when ur coming back

he hearts my message.

i get myself ready for the day, missing his presence while doing so.

it's been a few hours and i still haven't heard from or seen him.

"have you seen him yet?" i ask one of his stylists that stepped onto the bus to grab something.

she almost grins in a way that i don't know what to make of it. almost like she knows something i don't.

"he's been busy all morning."

real helpful.

gunner starts sending me some texts around noon.

gunner

hey baby u alive?

y/n

barely i miss u

gunner

ur dramatic and i miss u too i'll see u soon

i text him a little while after that..

y/n

where are you like actually

the typing bubble appears.

then disappears.

then appears again.

gunner

getting ready for 2nite

y/n

cryptic ass

gunner

you'll survive bby

annoying.

the entire day passes like that.

tiny texts between long stretches of silence.

he doesn't go on until 8:30 so i really don't know why i haven't seen him at all.

i don't think he's doing something that i would consider bad, he's probably just going through his planned set for tonight.

maybe he'll decide to change things up from his tour, i don't know.

i decide to go out and enjoy myself at some sets before he has to go on.

the festival grounds get more crowded by the hour. the bass vibrates so heavily beneath my feet as people swarm the stages under the brutal florida heat.

another few hours passes and i'm slightly worn out from being within the huge crowds watching the musicians perform.

i get a text from gunner.

gunner

u can come backstage now they jus told me

y/n

kk im omw

and so i find my way towards the stage he's playing on tonight, flashing my pass to the security guards, then trying to find him.

i see some members of his team; his stylists, managers, other random people who help out with him; but i don't see him yet.

where could he possibly be?

i'm sitting on some couch talking with his manager before noticing a figure that looks like him. they're facing away and has the same build and stature.

they're wearing a white jacket. white jeans. suspiciously familiar checkered vans. a white beanie.

but what isn't familiar to me is the ends of red hair poking from underneath the beanie.

that can't be gunner - right?

i squint my eyes, taking another look at the person.

their hand falls to their side and i notice some very familiar tattoos.

what the fuck.

am i imagining this?

but then i see the person now turn slightly to the side, and the facial features confirm it as him.

my mouth actually falls open.

it's almost like he feels me staring because he glances over his shoulder.

and immediately grins, showing off his silver grills.

his annoyingly smug but sexy grin.

"there you are, girl," he says, walking over to me.

i stand up from the couch, taking a step closer to him.

i can't take my eyes off the bit of red hair that's visible.

"what did you do?" i ask, shock evident in my voice.

"what?" he asks innocently.

"your hair," i say, reaching out to touch the ends of it. "it's red."

gunners smirk widens. "it is."

i look at him like he's crazy.

"when did you have the time to do this?" i ask.

"this morning," he tells me. "that's why i left early."

i keep looking at his hair.

"yeah, i've made that connection now."

i pull the white beanie off his head, seeing his full head of hair actually dyed red.

the red doesn't even look bad. not at all. i'm just so surprised that he did this.

"oh my gosh, baby, why didn't you tell me anything?" i ask him, running my fingers along the roots of his freshly dyed hair.

"wanted to surprise you. did it work?" he grins.

i smile, still shocked.

"yeah," i laugh. "it did. but did you have to disappear all day for this?" i ask.

"for this?" he repeats, faking offense. "this is art, ma."

i laugh, continuing to feel his hair.

"i gotta go on soon, girl," he tells me.

"i know.. i'm just," i exhale slightly, "still so shocked."

he grins at that.

i hand him back his beanie.

"you staying side stage?" he asks as he puts his beanie back on his head.

i nod. "obviously."

"good."

he leans down closer to me, a mix of cologne and something minty on his breath washing over me, and kisses my forehead.

"i'll see you after, ma."

i smile.

thousands of people erupt into cheers and hollers the second he walks out.

i barely even register the beginning of his set because all i can focus on is him. well more specifically, his red hair.

the beanie doesn't last long, fully revealing his new hair to the crowd.

as per usual, he gradually strips himself of his jacket and shirt.

it started to rain somewhere in the middle of all of this, the rainwater mixing with his sweat to soak his hair and skin. his freshly red hair sticks to the sides of his face. the water dripping down his torso is enough to make me even forget where i am right now.

and it seems like he knows that.

he's only glanced at me a few times, but he constantly runs a hand through his hair, tilting his head just right while the cameras are on him. his smug grin feels way too intentional not to be.

at one time in specific, after basically rubbing up on himself, he looks over at me, finding my eyes instantly. his stupid smirk widens and i roll my eyes dramatically at that. he just laughs into the mic before turning his attention back toward the crowd.

when gunner finishes his set, he immediately comes over to me. his body is damp and he's out of breath.

all he does is flash me a metal capped smile.

"you did great, baby," i praise, smiling at him.

"yeah?" he grins harder.

"mhm, the rain made it so much better," i tell him.

his hand briefly slides along my waist as he reaches somewhere behind me to grab a water bottle from someone nearby.

"yeah, it was fucking sick," he enthuses, downing the bottled beverage.

after backstage clears out a little, the two of us end up wandering through the festival grounds while some of his team trails behind us.

the florida air is still hot even this late at night.

people recognize him instantly, even with his glasses on.

they ask for photos, many complimenting his career as well as his new red hair. some also ask me for photos.

he stays cool about all of it, one hand loosely hooked around my wrist half the time so we don't get separated in the crowds.

but his touches linger in a more.. suggestive way than usual.

aside from his thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles against the inside of my wrist, his large hands consistently find my waist and my lower back. they stay there longer than needed.

..which is all slowly driving me insane.

we stop near another stage for a while, standing off to the side while someone performs on stage.

i'm not even paying attention to the music anymore.

not when gunner keeps leaning down close to my ear every time talks so i can hear him over the noise.

not when, as he does this, his lips dust the lobes of my ears and the sides of my face.

not when i can feel the burning heat from his body every time someone in the crowd bumps into me and he instinctively pulls me even closer to him.

"you can't take your eyes off my hair, ma?" he suddenly asks.

"no, i can't," i look at him. "it's so different, baby. but i like it. like a lot."

he chuckles. "thanks."

gunner takes both of his hands and place them on my waist, squeezing my skin there.

i grin up at him.

he knows exactly what he's doing to me.

another hour or two passes like that.

at some point gunner switches from his hype post-performance energy into something a little more quieter.

not tired.

but a bit more calmer.

and definitely more touchy.

it's now midnight and considering he performed earlier, he was pretty beat.

so we decided to go back to our hotel room we booked for the weekend.

gunner looks down at me.

"you tired?"

"a little," i reply.

his eyes move across my face for a second before he reaches his hand up and adjusts one of my necklaces.

the parking lots outside the festival are still chaotic when we finally leave.

music echoes faintly from distant stages while groups of people wander through the humid night toward hotels, ubers, and afterparties.

gunner keeps close beside me the entire walk.

one hand low against my back. it's both protective and possessive.

by the time we reach the black SUV waiting for us, exhaustion finally starts settling into my bones.

and somehow the tension between us hasn't gone away all night.

if anything, it's gotten worse.

gunner sits in the seat beside me, stretching his arm across the back of my seat behind me.

his head tilts back against the leather for a second, eyes closing briefly.

i admire him like this for a moment before looking out the windows as we drive towards our hotel.

sometime during the drive, his hand settles on my thigh.

his thumb taps a few times against my skin, his fingers squeezing me slightly before he pulls away like nothing happened.

annoying.

by the time we finally pull up to the hotel, it's even later now.

his manager already gave us our key cards so we swiftly make our way through the lobby towards the elevator, going inside.

gunner stands beside me with his head leaning back against the mirrored wall, eyes half closed with exhaustion.

or maybe something else.

i can feel him looking at me.

"what?" i ask quietly after a second.

his eyes slowly move across my face before settling on mine again.

"you've been looking at me crazy all night."

i let out a small laugh. "am i not allowed to look at my boyfriend?"

his lips twitch into a grin.

"never said that."

as the elevator begins to move, i rest my body against the wall beside him, still looking at him.

his hair is messy from the humidity and rain, red strands going every which way.

i reach over and push a few strands back.

gunner's eyes stay on mine the entire time.

"still can't believe you did this," i murmur.

"you like it that much?"

"mhm."

my fingers slide through the wet strands near the side of his head.

then he steps closer.

close enough that his chain brushes lightly against my arm.

his hand settles on my waist again, his fingers brushing back and forth against me.

"the red hair really got you like this?" he asks teasingly.

i laugh. "you performing in the rain half naked probably helped too."

his eyes darken at this as he smiles.

then the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

we stay where we are for a second more.

he leans down closer to my ear.

"c'mon, ma," he says quietly. "before i stop bein patient."

a smug grin tugs at his mouth before he steps back, letting his hand fall from my waist only long enough for us to walk down the hallway toward our room.

gunner unlocks the hotel room door and pushes it open for me first.

the room it dimly lit, the orlando city lights spilling in through the massive windows.

i see our bags placed on the side of the room. he must've had someone arranged to bring them here before we arrived.

i hear gunner lock the door behind me.

i turn around, watching him slowly stalk toward me.

his hands take ahold of my waist one again.

"you looked so pretty side stage tonight," he compliments.

i blink, smiling bashfully.

"yeah?"

"mhm," his fingers tighten against my skin. "would've watched you the whole time if i could."

i grin.

he then leans into me and kisses my lips.

it quickly gets heated, almost like a switch was flicked on.

our tongues colliding in symphony as he pulls me even closer, pressing our bodies together.

i bring my hands up to get tangled in his hair. i tug on it slightly which earns me a moan from him.

he starts walking me backwards until the back of my legs hits the bed.

he pushes me to sit down and our lips disconnect.

"fuck, ma," he exhales.

he's already taking off his jacket and kicking off his shoes.

he pulls at my tiny top.

"take this off for me."

my hands reach for the bottom of my shirt, quickly pulling it over my head. i'm left in my lacy bra and my skirt.

i see him borderline lick his lips at this.

gunner leans in for another kiss, leaning on both palms placed on either side of me. it turns rougher almost instantly. he kisses me like he's desperate.

he gently bites at my lip and starts to pull at my skirt as i slip my shoes off my feet.

his hands grip my thighs, puling me closer to the edge of the bed until i'm right against him. his fingers slide higher up on my legs, close to where i need him most.

his red locks are damp between my fingers. i tug at his hair again and he lets out another low sound against my lips.

"fuck," he mutters, eyes half-lidded as he looks down at me. "you keep doing that-"

i grin slightly, doing it again on purpose.

his jaw tightens.

"you're bad tonight," he says.

"learned from you," i reply.

he laughs once under his breath before kissing me harder.

his cold chain brushes against my skin while he leans further over me, one hand planted next to me while the other grips my thigh.

"been driving me crazy all night," he quietly admits, somewhat out of breath.

i look up at him. "you disappeared all day and came back looking like this. what did you expect?"

his smirk returns.

"you obsessed with me?"

i roll my eyes, but my hands slide from his hair down along his chest anyway.

"you're so cocky," i murmur.

"and you still can't stop touching me."

can't say he's wrong.

gunner kisses down my neck briefly before pulling back just enough to look at me sitting beneath him.

his gaze drags over me. his expression noticeably darkens.

"yeah," he says quietly to himself. "you look too fuckin' pretty right now."

i grin at him.

"go sit by the headboard," he tells me.

i softly bite my lip, pushing myself back until my back is resting against the pillows by the headboard.

i watch as he stands there, taking his gucci belt off with one hand and throwing it to the side. he crawls towards me.

our lips connect once again as he hovers over me.

his kisses migrate off my lips to my jaw, then my neck. he litters wet kisses across my collarbone, slightly pushing me to sit up as he snakes his arm around to unclasp my bra. he pulls it off of me, tossing it somewhere in the room.

his lips trail to my breasts, pressing a few kisses there before sliding his lips down my torso.

his fingers toy with the side of my panties as he lightly bites and sucks a mark into my inner thigh, the contrast of his cold grills chilling against my warm skin. his pretty blue eyes look up into mine as he does this.

his hands separate my thighs further.

"gunner.." i breath out.

"hmm?"

his lips and fingers dance around everywhere but the spot i actually need him.

"c'mon.." i whine.

"what?" he grins at me from between my thighs.

i close my eyes, resting my head back on the pillow behind me for a second.

"i need you, baby.." i mewl.

"yeah?" he smirks, his tone cocky. "where do you need me, ma?" he says, fake innocence in his voice.

i whimper. "don't make me say it."

his smirk shows his silver covered teeth.

"at least say please, then."

i almost roll my eyes.

"please, gunner.." i reluctantly say.

he grins up at me. "see? wasn't that hard."

gunner then takes ahold of the sides of my panties, pulling them off of me.

"you're so wet, ma.." he almost moans as he notices my slick heat.

he presses an open-mouthed kiss to my pussy before starting off with small licks and nibbles.

"yes, gunner," i breath.

each of his hands wrap around my upper thighs, holding me in place as he works on me. he spreads my legs wide open, his hold strong enough where i couldn't fight it if i tried.

gunner quickly starts eating me out with more urgency. his tongue licks large stripes down my folds, making my back arch at the feeling.

he doesn't take his grills off, so the crisp metal almost makes me jolt every time it touches me.

"you taste so fucking good," he hums against me, only taking the smallest break before getting back to work.

his nose nudges at my clit while he sticks his tongue inside of me.

the pressure begins to build in my stomach.

he's too damn good at this.

"oh shit, gun," i loudly moan out.

i try to move my legs but his grasp on me doesn't allow me to. i loop my ankle around to press on his back, holding him where he is.

i reach down to tangle my fingers in his hair, the head of red hair between my legs a completely different sight from any other time we've done this.

i play with and pull at his hair while he eats me out, his moans vibrating and sending shocks down my spine.

i don't think i'll last much longer - not when he's trying this hard.

he then wraps his lips around my clit and begins sucking. my back instantly arches off the bed.

"oh my gosh, right there, baby," i mewl out.

my grip tightens in his hair and i press his head closer to me.

i throw my head back against the pillows and he pulls off me for the slightest second.

"don't take your eyes off me, ma," he says quietly.

but it's enough to make me listen to him.

so i lift my head up, looking at him through my half closed eyes.

i continue to let out more moans and lewd obscenities.

gunner doesn't stop his attack on my bud, and if anything has doubled down on it.

"i'm so close, baby," i whine.

i notice his hips slowly grinding into the bed underneath him in an attempt to relieve some pressure.

he eats me out more determinedly, not giving up this pace he's set.

i pull even more at his hair at this, my ankle and calf pushing harder into his back.

"i'm gonna cum, baby," i loudly exclaim.

he doesn't break eye contact with me as he carries on with his oral attack.

i let out a small whimper, before a final loud moan escapes from my mouth as i cum.

he eats me through it, slowing down only the slightest bit.

once he's milked me for all i've got, he pulls his mouth off me, planting a gentle kiss on my hip bone.

i try to catch my breath, my chest heaving up and down.

"you're so perfect, ma," he mutters, lifting himself up to hover over me once more.

i smile as he pecks my lips, the taste of myself on his mouth.

✧༺•༻✧

a/n : i wanted to post this last night but i was being lazy and didn't actually start writing until 1am :// but i hope u guys enjoy 😈 because ik i did 😈😈 red hair nett js does something to meeee idk its unexplainable 🤤 he looks tew good!!! anyway lmk what u guys think about this!! feel free to send me comments, questions, suggestions, or anything thru my inbox or private messages!! i'm still taking reqs but they're not at the top of my priorities regarding my fics atm!! likes/reblogs are greatly appreciated <2 love y'all!!

lmk if you want to be tagged in all future nettspend fics!

@thankyouforrain @fawnyboibeauty @sweet2sin @swagonometryfr @myliifeisamess @kingoveverything @missmodelsexx @lovemehardcoreangel @luvvconceal @2romllis @trynabespiffy @leaawannabeastar @mariiaazz @radxdgal @evangelicgirll @k1ssmeimt0xic @bonnixxi @vanillasmoochs

[doit4hollis]

WATER PRESSURE 💦

hollis x reader smutshot

tags: p in v, clitoral stimulation, creampie, dirty talk, shower sex

💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧

It had been a long day. Work unfortunately kicked your ass more than the usual. Your feet were aching and your head was pounding with stress. All you wanted was a shower to wash the shit day away. You stepped into the house and headed straight to the bathroom. You got to the door to hear water already running.

You slowly opened the door and crept inside, seeing Hollis was already in the shower. He had dimmed the lights to a soft, golden glow from the vanity bulbs, casting long shadows that danced across the white tiles. The air was already humid, heavy with the faint scent of your shared shampoo… something clean and woody, like sandalwood and citrus. He stood under the wide rainfall showerhead, letting the hot water cascade over his tall frame. Streams poured down his broad shoulders, tracing the defined lines of his chest and abs, soaking his long hair until it clung flat to his forehead and the nape of his neck. Droplets clung to his eyelashes, making his eyes look even darker, more intense, as he watched you with that slow, knowing smile.

You slipped out of your clothes and stepped into the shower behind him, the glass door sealing shut with a soft click that cut you both off from the world. The moment the hot spray hit your skin, a shiver ran through you, not from cold, but from the sudden, enveloping heat. It was almost too much at first, the temperature bordering on scalding, turning your skin pink and sensitive. Hollis turned slowly, water sliding off his body as he reached for you. His large hands found your waist, fingers splaying wide, pulling you flush against him until your breasts pressed into his chest and your hips aligned perfectly.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the steam. His breath was warm against your wet skin as he leaned down, lips brushing your forehead, then your temple, then the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Missed you. You’re so pretty.”

You melted into his embrace, arms sliding around his neck, fingers threading through his soaked hair. The water made everything gloriously slick; his skin like warm silk under your palms as you traced the ridges of his spine, the subtle flare of his hips, the firm curve of his ass. He kissed you then, slow and reverent, his mouth tasting faintly of mint. His tongue explored yours with lazy affection, savoring every brush and swirl, while his hands roamed your sides with tender care. Thumbs stroked the undersides of your breasts, circling closer but never quite touching your nipples, teasing the anticipation higher.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, the words soft and sincere, almost swallowed by the steady roar of the shower. “So fucking much it hurts sometimes.”

You whispered it back, voice breathy, “Love you too, Holli.” He smiled into the kiss, deepening it until your knees felt weak. The loving ritual unfolded unhurriedly. He reached for the shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into his palm, and worked it into your hair with strong, gentle fingers. The lather smelled fresh and herbal, bubbles sliding down your neck and shoulders as he massaged your scalp in slow circles, drawing out soft sighs and moans from you. You returned the favor, lathering his chest with body wash, your soapy hands gliding over every inch of him… across his pecs, down the taut planes of his stomach, following the V line of his hips. His cock was already half-hard, twitching under your touch as you cleaned him there too, stroking lightly with slick, sudsy fingers.

Every touch was pure worship. He rinsed you carefully, the hot water washing away the suds in warm rivulets that felt like caresses. You kissed his collarbone, tasting the clean salt of his skin mixed with the soap. He held you close, rocking you gently under the spray, the loving closeness wrapping around you both like the steam itself.

But the heat between you was building, inevitable and electric. His hands grew bolder, sliding down to grip your ass firmly, kneading the soft flesh and pulling you harder against him. You felt him thicken fully against your thigh… hot, heavy, the thick length pulsing with need. His breath hitched, the tender kisses turning sharper, more urgent.

“Fuck… you feel so good pressed up against me,” he breathed, voice dropping into that gravelly tone that always sent heat pooling low in your belly. The loving softness was cracking, giving way to raw hunger.

He backed you against the cool tile wall, the sudden chill against your overheated skin making you gasp sharply. One hand braced beside your head while the other dipped between your legs, fingers parting your folds with ease. You were already soaked, and not just from the shower. Your slick arousal coating his fingertips as he teased your entrance, circling your clit with deliberate slowness.

“Already so wet for me, huh?” he teased, eyes dark with lust as he watched your face contort in pleasure. “My fuckin baby… dripping just from kissin’ me.”

He circled your clit faster now, two fingers pressing with perfect pressure, while his mouth claimed yours in a deeper, filthier kiss. You reached down, wrapping your hand around his cock. He was rock hard, the skin velvet-soft, veins throbbing under your palm as you stroked him from base to tip. Precum beaded at the head, mixing with the shower water as you twisted your wrist just the way he liked.

“Hollis…” you whimpered, hips grinding against his hand.

He growled, low and filthy. “Yeah? You want it now, baby? Want me to fuck you right here?”

Without waiting for an answer, he spun you around, pressing your front to the slick tile. The water streamed down your back in hot sheets. He kicked your legs apart wider, his hand fisting gently in your wet hair to tug your head back, exposing the line of your neck. His teeth grazed your shoulder, then bit down hard, sucking a dark mark into your skin while his thick cock rubbed teasingly between your ass cheeks, hot and insistent.

“Been thinking about bending you over all damn day,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Fucking that pretty pussy til’ you can’t stand anymore.”

He reached up and detached the handheld showerhead, the flexible hose giving him control. With a twist, he changed the setting from gentle rainfall to a strong, focused jet. “Hold still for me,” he commanded softly, voice dark with promise.

He angled the powerful stream directly between your spread legs, the warm, pressurized water blasting straight onto your swollen clit. The sensation hit like lightning… intense, rhythmic pulses hammering against your most sensitive spot with relentless force. It felt like a thousand tiny, vibrations combined with the burning heat of the water, making your clit throb and swell instantly. You cried out loudly, hips jerking forward involuntarily as the pressure built an almost unbearable pleasure deep in your core. Your thighs trembled, knees threatening to buckle from the overwhelming stimulation.

“That feel good, baby?” Hollis groaned, his free hand steadying your hip while he kept the showerhead perfectly aimed. He moved it in slow, teasing circles, varying the angle so the jet sometimes hit directly on your clit, sometimes glancing along your folds or pulsing against your entrance. The water pressure was merciless, forcing sharp, electric jolts through your body with every pulse. Steam rose thicker around you, the air filled with the wet slap of water and your broken moans. “Ohhhh baby you’re shaking… so fuckin sensitive. You love when I use the shower on that pretty clit, don’t you? You could only nod and moan, words rendered useless as the overwhelming pleasure took over.

The dirty words sent another wave of heat crashing through you. He pressed the showerhead closer, intensifying the force until your vision blurred and your moans turned into desperate cries. Your clit pulsed wildly under the assault, the pressure pushing you right to the edge of orgasm, but he pulled it away at the last second, leaving you whining and empty, hips bucking uselessly into the air.

“Not yet, pretty.” he chuckled darkly, hanging the showerhead so it still sprayed hot against the tile nearby, adding to the chaotic sensory overload. “I wanna feel you cum around my cock.”

He lined himself up, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance. In one smooth, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, stretching your walls with a delicious burn that quickly melted into pure ecstasy. You both moaned at the feeling… him so thick, so hot, filling you completely. The water continued to pound down on your joined bodies as he started moving, hips snapping forward in deep, measured strokes at first, letting you feel every inch as he dragged along your inner walls.

“Goddamn, always so tight for me,” he panted, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks, the other reaching around to rub your still pulsing clit in firm, rough circles. “So wet and perfect… squeezing around me like you never want me to leave.”

He built the rhythm gradually, fucking you harder, faster, the wet slap of his hips against your ass echoing loudly over the roar of the shower. Each thrust drove him deeper, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with devastating accuracy. The showerhead’s residual spray mixed with your arousal, making everything even slicker, messier. He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, biting your neck as he whispered filthy praises right in your ear.

“That’s it, baby… taking every fucking inch. Feel how deep I am? Gonna fuck you til’ all that stress leaves that pretty little head.”

You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter. He reached for the showerhead again, angling the pulsing jet back onto your clit while he kept pounding into you from behind. The dual sensation was devastating… the relentless water pressure hammering your clit combined with his thick cock stretching and filling you. Your moans turned incoherent, legs shaking violently as the orgasm crashed through like a tidal wave.

He fucked you through it, never slowing, drawing out your climax until you were screaming his name, walls clenching rhythmically around him. But he didn’t stop. He pulled out briefly, spun you to face him, and lifted one of your legs high, hooking it over his arm. He thrust back in at a new angle, even deeper, the water cascading over your breasts and down your stomach as he drove up into you with powerful, grinding strokes.

“Again,” he demanded, voice rough and breathless. “Cum for me again. I can’t get enough of how pretty you look when you cum on my dick.”

He pressed the showerhead between your bodies, the jet finding your clit once more. The pressure was almost too much now… overstimulating and hypersensitive… but the pleasure was mind-melting. He fucked you harder, hips snapping with raw need, sweat and water mixing on your skin. His free hand pinched and rolled your nipples, adding sparks of sensation. Filthy words poured from him nonstop: how good you felt, how he loved watching you take him, how he was going to fill you up until you were leaking his cum for hours.

Your second orgasm hit even harder, ripping through you with a sharp cry. Only then did he let go, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. His cock pulsed hot and deep inside you as he came, flooding you with thick ropes of cum, the sensation pushing you into a final, shuddering aftershock.

For a few minutes afterward, you both stayed locked together under the now cool spray, breathing ragged, bodies trembling. Hollis’s grip softened into gentle caresses. He grabbed you carefully, pulling you into his chest, kissing you with that same deep, loving warmth from the beginning… slow, sweet, grounding.

“Love you,” he whispered against your lips, forehead resting against yours, water still trickling down your faces. “Always, baby.”

—————————————————————————

I FUCKING LOVEEEEE HOW THIS TURNED OUT OMFGGGG!!! btw, if u haven’t gooned with the shower head ur missing out TRUST me. also lmk if u want to be added to my permanent taglist plz ;)

taglist: @voidatelier @2bun22 @sweet2sin @222foryou222 @obscureleoasian @punkarchangel @7thstrunner @luvvconceal @romansbbg @2bluntss @swaggotsnoticeswaggots @kingoveverything @whitetiger2crush2 @zorixchi @ibelieveinfairyz @2lilaclace @mazzydabazzy

[doit4hollis]

ONE HAND 🏎️

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

hollis X reader smutshot

used his new song “pussy” for influence hehehe. sorry this is so short

tags: dangerous speeding, dirty talk, fingering

—————————————————————————————————————

“Make you cum one hand, Odell”

Hollis couldn’t bare the feeling of boredom. He lived for the dangerous shit. The type of shit that would make most people hold their breath and pray to the gods above. One of his favorites was driving fast. Too fast.

You gripped the oh-shit handle above the door like it was the only thing tethering you to earth. The Porsche 911 screamed down the empty highway at 130 mph, the engine a low, feral growl that vibrated through the leather seats and straight into your bones. Hollis’s new track, “Pussy,” thumped from the speakers, his voice distorted and cocky, layered over a filthy bassline that matched the pulse hammering between your legs. The speed made the world blur into streaks of black and white, the dotted lines on the road whipping past so fast they looked like morse code.

He glanced over at you, one hand still loose on the wheel, the other hovering just above your thigh. His smirk was pure sin. “Baby, you’re white-knuckling it. I got you. I always got you. Trust me.” His voice was low, rough with that signature drawl, cutting through the roar of the wind and the music. “Want me to help you forget how fast we’re going? Spread those pretty legs for me. Let me feel how wet you are.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, a sick mixture of fear and excitement. Part of you screamed this is insane, but the bigger, filthier part of you… the one that lived for his chaos, won out. You sank back into the seat, thighs parting slowly, the cool air from the AC hitting your soaked core as you hooked your fingers into your shorts and panties, yanking them to the side. Exposure. Vulnerability. The thrill of it made you clench around nothing.

“Fuck, that’s my good girl,” he praised, eyes flicking back to the road just long enough to keep the car steady. His free hand slid over, fingertips ice cold from the AC on the steering wheel, tracing the slick seam of your pussy with agonizing slowness. “Already dripping for me? Shit, princess. You love this, don’t you? My hand on your cunt while I’m doing 130.”

You whimpered, hips twitching toward his touch despite the fear still coiled tight in your stomach. He didn’t tease for long. Two thick fingers pressed inside you in one smooth thrust, stretching you open with that perfect, familiar burn. The car hit a slight bump in the road and his fingers sank deeper, curling hard against your most sensitive spot. You cried out, the sound swallowed by the engine’s roar.

“Easy, baby. Breathe,” he murmured, voice dropping into that filthy register he saved just for you. His thumb found your clit, circling it in tight, relentless strokes while his fingers pumped in and out, slow at first, then faster, matching the relentless beat of the song still blasting. “Feel that? That’s me owning this pussy at a hundred and thirty miles an hour. You’re clenching so fucking tight around my fingers. So good for me.”

The speed made everything sharper. Every thrust of his hand sent vibrations through your core that mixed with the low rumble of the Porsche. The leather seat stuck to the backs of your thighs, your arousal coating his knuckles and dripping down onto the seat. The danger was electric… knowing one wrong move, one deer in the road, and it was all over. But like a pro, his touch was steady, confident, like he was born for this exact brand of recklessness.

“Look at you,” he growled, glancing over again, dark eyes gleaming under the passing streetlights. “Spreading your legs like a good little slut while I finger fuck you on the highway. You’re soaked, baby. I can hear it over the engine…those wet little sounds every time I push in. You gonna cum on my fingers for me? Right here, right now?”

Your head fell back against the headrest, mouth open in a silent moan as he started thrusting even faster, deeper. The pressure built fast, brutal, the pad of his thumb grinding perfect circles on your swollen clit. The car surged forward as he accelerated just a little more… testing you, pushing you, and you shattered.

“That’s it, baby. Cum. Cum all over my hand while we’re flying. Let me feel you squeeze me. Fuck, yeah, just like that. Good fucking girl.” His voice was ragged, filthy encouragement pouring out of him as your walls clamped down hard around his fingers, thighs trembling, vision whiting out at the edges. The orgasm ripped through you like the wind outside the car. Violent, unstoppable, leaving you gasping and shaking in the passenger seat.

He didn’t pull his hand away until the last aftershock faded, dragging his slick fingers up your thigh and bringing them to his mouth. He sucked them clean with a low groan, eyes locked on the road like nothing had happened.

“See? Told you I’d help you relax,” he said, voice dripping with smug satisfaction as he finally eased off the gas, the speedometer dropping back toward something resembling legal. “Now sit pretty. We’re almost home… and I’m nowhere near done with you tonight.”

taglist: @voidatelier @sweet2sin @222foryou222 @obscureleoasian @punkarchangel @7thstrunner @luvvconceal @romansbbg @2bluntss @swaggotsnoticeswaggots @kingoveverything @whitetiger2crush2 @zorixchi @ibelieveinfairyz @2lilaclace @mazzydabazzy

[y-yasminn]

SOUND CHECK - 002

nettspend x fem!singer!reader

smau + text fic ++ not proofread

summary: he’s heard enough about you to want you opening his show and enough to want you too.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

the morning of

y/nusername

🎵 Succubus - Ken Carson

liked by _nettspend, alysaxliu, quenblackwell, and 273k others

y/nusername my favorite hobby is getting ready

user: gosh she’s so fucking sexy

↳ user: too bad her music is shitty

↳ user: 900k monthly listeners btw

user: clean up in aisle MY PANTS 😂😂😂😂😂

meretmanon: sonny angels

❤️ by creator

↳ y/nusername: let’s go hunting tg ❤️

user: her boobs look hella fake are they?

↳ y/nusername: 👎👎

user: zahide won this trend

↳ user: HOLY SHIT PEOPLE STILL DRAG THIS SHITTY ASS JOKE??

rommulas: sister

↳ y/nusername: brother

↳ user: OMG ARE THEY ACC RELATED

↳ user: no you newgen it’s an inside joke

user: i hope they never media train her 🥹

↳ user: don’t think she cares enough

user: is nett tapping this?

↳ user: or maybe MAYBE he js likes her as an artist or maybe a friend

↳ user: nettspend is one lucky man

view all comments

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

a/n: tumblr was being a little bitch and making my life harder but hope you guys enjoy, also looking back at it netts outfit is casual so pretend it’s not ❤️reblogs are appreciated. if you guys have any date idea reqs feel free to tell me bc i need some 😭😭

taglist: @bri22cool44youu @sweet2sin @shaunagooner @jjscoquette

[vxmpirekiss]

TAKE IT SLOW

fem reader! x conceal (ryan)

fic info: you and your boyfriend ryan have been dating for a while now. everything about the relationship was sensational, you couldn’t ask for more. that was until you wanted to take things further, and of course he couldn’t let you down. (not proof-read)

tags: loss of virginity, fingering, name calling (soft names), soft sex, protection, aftercare

notes: hello everyone! back once again :3 hope you guys aren’t getting annoyed by me just yet lol. i got requested to do another conceal fic so here you all are. i’ve been making shorter fics cs i haven’t really had any new ideas but i hope you enjoy! thanks <2

when you and your boyfriend first got together everything changed. you knew he would become a huge part of your life and change you in every way, not a bad change, a change that you knew would bring more life to you. you and ryan had got together almost a year ago. you guys had met at some party and off the hook you knew he was the one for you. you always spent time together even if that meant going on dates, or just laying in bed watching a movie before you guys fell asleep tangled up in the heat of each others bodies. unlike other couples the two of you never really talked about sex. yes there were times where you guys were making out and it got slightly heated but you never seen it in that way, that was until the night he came home from his tour.

you were laying down in bed playing some movie on the tv. you weren’t really playing attention to what you were watching, it was sort of just there for background. the sound of chirping crickets came outside your window as a nice breeze whooshed in. you had been wrapped nice and cozy in your blanket while you scrolled on your phone. it hadn’t been too late but the exhaustion from the day was slowly dawning on you. your eyes felt heavy and you were about to doze off to sleep until you felt your phone vibrate. it was a text from you boyfriend.

-☏

ryan ෆ: ‘hi angel. i’m on my way home, they let me off tour early. can’t wait to see you. be there soon.’

was this some sort of prank? could your boyfriend really be coming home? before he left he explained to you that his tour would last at least several months, with the news being brought up you were slightly heartbroken. you knew you would miss him every second of the day, that’s why this was so unbelievable. sitting up in your bed your thumbs gazed over the text box. you wrote out a message and sent it right away.

‘seriously? i’m so excited to see you. i can’t wait. ❦︎’

about 15 minutes went by as you laid in your bed. a few weeks ago you had bought a cute little nightgown and you knew it was perfect to greet your boyfriend once again. laying down in the comfort of your bed you waited. that was until you suddenly hear a loud knock on the door downstairs. your heart started to race. it hadn’t been so long since you last saw him, it almost felt nerve-wracking. you got up from your bed and headed downstairs. reaching the door you opened it ever so slightly. standing there, he was. standing there looking perfect as always, the scent of fresh cologne slightly stinging your nose. you looked up at him and smiled. your heart jumped. leaping onto him you hugged him tightly not wanting to let go. ‘ryan i missed you so much. i love you.’ you felt as if you were in some disney romance movie. the feeling made your stomach feel all sweet. he placed a kiss to your forehead and pulled you back looking down at you then kissing your forehead once again. ‘god. it’s been so long. you look so beautiful baby, missed you so much.’

you two had finally made it inside as you were now in your bed. the buzz of the tv was playing the background as the crickets kept chirping. the second he got through the door he didn’t want to let you go, and neither did you. if you let him go you were afraid he might leave again, leaving you with a sense of emptiness in your heart. and you knew he didn’t want to leave you, but you still felt alone without him. ignoring all the overthinking you let his hands caress you as you cherished every last minute you had with him. he placed kissing all over you making sure you knew how much he missed you. he’d always be the type to show how much he loved you, he knew the right things to do and the ways to make you feel special, but something felt different about the way he was treating you tonight. you knew there was more to it, a sense of heat to the sensation. pulling away from the kiss you looked at him. he had a look in his eye that made your heart jump. ‘angel, i love you a lot.’ he spoke, his voice husk. you knew. you knew from the moment he walked through the door this night would be different, a night you wouldn’t forget, you didn’t want the night to end but you were nervous.

your heart thumped as your ears buzzed. it seemed like everything around you was spinning and ryan could see this look on you. ‘hey hey, if you aren’t ready yet we don’t have too.’ the thing you loved about ryan was he always made sure you were ok. he promised he would always take care of you, and he kept that promise. ‘ryan. i’m ready, just take it slow.’ you spoke softly.

the sound of heavy breathing echoed through the room. he kept kissing all around your body making sure to worship every part. he was on top of you now kissing your neck. pulling away from you he backed up slightly placing his hands on your knees. ‘you sure about this?’ looking up at him deeply in the eyes you blinked. you knew if you wanted to back out lash minute he’d let you, but you wanted this. you were ready. you nodded at him. he nodded back at you and slowly spread your legs. he kept one hand placed on your knee as the other one dragged down slowly to lift up your nightgown. you could feel the tension picking up as your heart started beating quicker. he hovered his fingers above your clothed cunt as he waited for your consent. ‘g-go ahead. be gentle.’ biting down on your lip you watched his fingers pull down your panties. from the previous moves you had already been wet. he glared down at your cunt and groaned quietly. he placed a kiss to the top of your knee then slowly brought his fingers to your cunt. as you bit down on your lip you moaned then covered your mouth. ‘hey hey, i wanna hear you. don’t be shy.’ he took your hand off your mouth and held it with his free hand. you looked down at him between your thighs as your heart raced. he slowly stuck one of his fingers inside and moved in and out slowly.

you couldn’t believe the sensation. you felt like you could explode any moment. he picked up his pace with his fingers as he moved in and out of you. his eyes stuck to your cunt the whole time, it was kind of embarrassing. little moans and groans came out your mouth ever so often. you felt as if you were ready for step two. you pushed back on his hand to motion for him to pull out. pulling his fingers out he looked at you with concern. ‘you okay? want me to stop?’ his eyes pierced yours as you shook your head no. ‘ryan. i’m ready, w-want you now.’ you called up to him and placed a deep kiss on his lips. he kissed you back, wrapping his hand around your neck pulling you in deeper.

you could basically hear your heart in your ears. you watched as he ripped open the condom and rolled it onto himself. he was pretty big which made your mind go blank. crawling on top of you he placed one more kiss to your lips and looked down at you deep in the eyes. ‘baby. if you really don’t want this we don’t have too.’ his hand cradled the side of your face as you looked up at him wrapping your arms around his neck. ‘ryan i promise. we can do this. go slow.’ all you could feel was the tip of his length slowly pushing inside. the both of you gasped as the stretch made you clench around him. he looked down at you placing a kiss to your forehead and comforting you. ‘you okay?’ he asked. ‘m-mhm. i’m good.’

his warm hands wrapped around your waist he slowly started to move once again. you felt every inch press against the perfect spot. your moans echoed in the room as you squeezed tightly around him. he looked you deep in the eyes and place a kiss to your lips once again, pulling away then biting down on his lip as he watched where the both of you connected. your eyes flung shut as you tossed your head back from the sensation. gripping onto the sheets tightly you wrapped your legs around his waist bringing him closer. ‘s-shit baby. y-you fuck- keep squeezing me like that i might come right here.’ small tears prickled from your eyes as you started coming down from your high. he brought his hand down to your cunt and rubbed small circles onto your clit. your stomach turned hot and your mind went blank. you thought you saw stars. keeping up with his pace and hitting that spot you knew you were close. the odd feeling of your stomach being warm and twisted finally came upon you. he lifted your leg to a knee position, one leg on his shoulder, the other still on his waist. with this knee position you felt every inch inside of you. your cunt felt weak, you threw your head back as your eyes lolled in the back of your head. ‘shit- angel. cmon’ you got this. cum for me.’ holding onto your leg he placed a kiss right on the heel of your foot. he took his other hand to lift up your head slightly, forcing you to watch where the two of you connected.

with the scene right in front of your eyes, watching him go in and out. his pink brushed tip disappearing into your wet cunt. you watched in awe as your stomach grew hotter. he rubbed down on your clit once again helping you come down from your high. gripping onto the sheets tighter you arched your back off the bed as you felt yourself coming undone. white cream splattered all over his dick as you moaned loudly and your legs shook. he kissed your foot once again then threw his head back as he filled the condom himself. he pulled out then stood there out of breath watching you. you felt like you could pass out right there, noticing he fell to the bed next to you. the warmth of his body soon covered yours as you felt him cradle you softly. he placed a kiss to your temple and held you close. you did great my pretty.’ you smiled at him, not speaking, just taking in the warmth of his body and listening to his breathing. the air was quiet, the two of you fell asleep in the comfort of your bed.

taglist: @punkceal @sweet2sin



[luvr2gurl]

more loser! hollis headcannons <3

• LOVEEEEES making out, not down to fuck? He’ll make out with you until you are.

• gets really cocky during sex, like he knows it’s good, really good. As you gasp and moan he’ll just go “cmon ma, tell me how good it is. I know, I know…” as he thrusts harder.

• knows exactly what you enjoy, he even had a list. “Likes to be manhandled, but don’t hit her, just be rough. eat her out, go deep.”

• WILL NOT do anything in public, but behind the closed bathroom stall, he’ll beg for a quickie. “Just five, five minutes, please…”

• huge #nerd, he loves Pokémon, Minecraft, and anything with a card and a shiny color.

• love language is 100% quality time. would die to curl up and watch a horror movie in your arms.

• adding onto that, he would love to tease you when your scared. “Scared, baby? I can help you. Come here…”

• would fuck the attitude out of you, the moment you misbehave. Screaming at him because you don’t feel good? He’ll make you feel better real fast.

• oddly smart about female anatomy. “your tummy hurts because you have cramps, baby? Did you know that sexual intercourse fucks with the nerves and makes it feel better?

• he was definitely right, ovulation pain isn’t fun. But ovulation sex is.

• kisses after sex? Yes. Yes. Yes.

[pastelxxhaze]

cheater hollis x fem!reader pt 2 click here for part one

author note: lack of writing motivation has been killing me but i had to finish what I started😛. forgive the shitty lazy ending plz! also this is way more slutty than the last part LOL didn't even think that was possible. content warnings: sad hollis again (I promise it'll break u), unprotected sex (p-in-v), rough sex, biting, choking, restraint, impact play, oral (f.rec), intoxication, semi-public, reader is such a bird for him, hickeys, biting, licking in a very depraved way, and kind of sub!hollis.

It’d been a few long weeks since you ditched your luxury condo in the hills — the one you’d shared with Hollis — and moved back to your old place in Echo Park with your friends, the spot you lived before everything unraveled; before you were swept off your naive feet by Hollis, your prince charming and toruter at once.

If you could even really call it “yours.” The girl who once lived in that space felt so achingly distant from you now — she’d been free, ambitious, full of life, burning toward something real. And now? You? You were nothing like what she’d imagined in her dreams. Maybe more in her nightmares. To her, you’d look insane, pathetic, a sellout — some stupid, love-sick girl with no self‑worth, relevant not for her ethic, but just for being the girlfriend of some famous, cheating, lying‑ass LA rapper.

Back at your shitty old apartment, the cracked walls, the crappy air‑conditioning, the single window that always stuck halfway open, all of it reminded you of who you were before him, and the apparent dichotomy was suffocating. You were ashamed of yourself for missing him, and the more pathetic you felt about it, the harder it was to get it off your mind and also reconcile it with the fact you missed him like he had died.

You hadn’t taken much when you left — just the little bag you’d packed before the confrontation. Enough to get by for two weeks, long enough for things to cool off, for him to hate you the way you needed him to.

Your plan was full of holes; no matter what you did, what you said, how hard you tried to detach, he couldn't seem to let you go, so there wasn't much you could do besides go ghost.

You remember when you first started dating and things felt so dream-like and perfect, cliché as fuck, star-gazing on a vast field side by side high on shrooms in the middle of nowhere, telling each other there was nothing you could ever imagine fighting about, let alone hating each other over. The latter part was true, you guessed. You remember you even said that if you guys ever broke up, you’d definitely want him to stay a close friend. So young, dumb, and stupidly in-love, you think now, reflecting on how much about you he had changed in just two years.

Ghosting the love of your life definitely wasn’t the cleanest exit, but it was the only one he’d let you have. You’d anticipated his every move correctly. After you guys fucked that night, he stayed awake afterward throwing one of his pathetic and signature tantrums, arms wrapped around your waist tight, head tucked into your chest like a manchild, hot tears soaking your tits he begged, voice splintering, “Don’t leave me, baby, please.”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” you’d lied flat-out, eyes leaden, voice a soft exhausted rasp, hand circling slow along his back to force his calm. “M’ so tired, I just wanna sleep.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ will,” Hollis rasped back, shaking his head against you, fighting another sob. “I know it. I can feel it.”

You sighed, bone-drained. “Holli, my arms are around you,” you soothed, the earnestness frayed thin by fatigue. “You’d feel me if I tried to move, okay? C’mon, let’s sleep. I’m so tired, you know I waited up for you all night.”

“You don’t forgive me.” He pulled back just enough to bore into your eyes, lip quivering, eyes red-rimmed and crooked in that shattered way that used to gut you, although now just a dull, festering annoyance that served as residue of his denial. He couldn’t keep making a mess of your heart, soul, love, and devotion, then pleading insanity. That hadn’t been what was running through your mind necessarily when he’d searched your eyes, but your soulmate had rightfully inferred it, blurting out, “You’re not even lookin’ at me the fuckin’ same right now,” tears carving fresh tracks down his swollen face.

“I’m just tired, Holl,” you whispered, barely audible, all you could really say. “Yeah, of me.” He nuzzled harder into your chest, clinging like this desperate fusion could erase his latest betrayal.

You blinked slow through the fog, accusation landing frustratingly. “No, Hollis, like actually, I’m genuinely sleepy, love. It’s four in the morning.” The words came out airy, detached, your insides washed pale by exhaustion and your body on autopilot with one hand in his hair, the other tracing endless back-circles, not to soothe him, but to keep yourself at the fight of getting him to settle into sleep. You prop yourself upright as he folds deeper into you, shaking against your skin with those tiny, stubborn tremors he can’t kill, all pure fear. His fingers knot white in your shirt like loosening them might make you evaporate. His face mashes into your skin, burrowing for permanence; if dissolution were possible, he’d have melted straight into you.

“M’sorry I’m such a fuckup,” he breathed wet and warped against you, sealing it with a desperate kiss to your chest. Then he cracked wide, unravelling completely. “I’m so bad to you. I hate myself, for real. Don’t deserve my career, don’t deserve you, don’t deserve shit. All these people scream my name like I’m some god, but I’m nothing. Imma mess. I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” he choked out, breath hitching painful, ragged. “Shoulda never pulled you into this. Shoulda let you run day one. I just—” He sucked in a breath that sounded like it burned, “I love you so much I couldn’t. I couldn’t, I can’t let you go, baby. I love you, I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” you profess back, and unfortunately and probably forever meant it. Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing slow under his eye before you pull him up into a kiss. It starts soft, almost careful, the kind of tired sweetness that happens when there’s nothing left to fight about. You know it, he knows it. All his friends who’re there every time he cheats on you, your friends who roll their eyes every time you vent about your drama, the entire world who’ve suspected his bullshit know it — you’re absolutely powerless against your love for Hollis, just as he is for you.

For a second he just breathes you in. Then he kisses you back harder, needier, like he’s starving for it, like he thinks if he holds on tight enough he might somehow stop the clock that’s already ticking down to when you walk away. His hand bunches in your shirt again, mouth desperate against yours, nipping and sucking and devouring.

“Anything,” he broke the aggressive kiss and whispered against your lips before grabbing for you again, “in this whole fucking world. Anything.” You lay still and let him find solace in your body once again, too exhausted to resist. He kissed you harsh and needy, hands wandering over you rightfully like his plaything: squeezing hard into your waist, raking down your thighs, the nape of your neck.

At some point, at your lazy reciprocation, he bit down sharper with a whine caught in his throat, and you surged up, matching his energy as you kissed him back just as rough because you had no idea when you’d get the chance to do that again. It felt good to hurt each other like this—an allegorical battle waged in teeth and tongue. When he finally pulled away, he was breathing like he’d run a mile. His hands were still clamped around you, eyes wild, hungry, and inspecting.

When his inspection locked onto your eyes and saw the distance still carved there, he shattered, voice cracking as he begged unchangingly, “Stay. Please. We can fix this, don't do this to us.” Words tumbled out, promises and pleas you’d heard before, but you knew then nothing you said or did would bridge the chasm. He was drowning in fear, blind to reason.

What finally steadied him wasn’t an answer, however. It was the story.

You started talking about how you guys met. The timing. The stupid coincidences that were too specific to be considered coincidence at all. The way everything lined up too perfectly to ignore—like it had been mapped out before either of you existed. Your memories of the same places, your shared dreams, your shared headaches that subsequently resulted in the uncanny ability to feel distress in the heart of the other, even across distance.

He stilled for it, breaths leveling, grip slackening. Fate alone sedated him—proof your love wasn’t accidental, tribulations powerless against what the universe-stitched together, decreeing it forever.

You vowed to stay. Two hours later, his lashes tear-crusted, hand limp from clutching, you kissed him goodbye feather-soft, then left straight into an Uber headed to Echo Park.

The girls were used to your issues with Hollis and out of nothing but love for you, they took you back in every time. However, this was the worst they’d seen you. Or, worse yet, not seen you. You holed up, depressed and checked out in your room alone for days. They barely caught glimpses — the bathroom door cracking open, the shuffle of your slippers down the hall at 2 a.m., the sound of your shower running long past reasonable.

It wasn’t the dramatics this time. There was no rant, no crash out, no loud sobbing from your bedroom with sad music, no long all-nighter living room spiral sesh about how he ruined you but you’d still pick up if he called. It was just silence. Being depressed made time move strangely—too fast and not at all. Before you knew it, a week had slipped by since you’d left home, locked yourself in your old bedroom, and sold your soul by separating from your love with the purpose of filling the void he’d left behind. You hadn’t checked your calls, emails, or texts.

At first, they had to drag you out. Request a room key from the front desk and shoulder your door open, type shit. Your friends practically pried you off the mattress, shoved you into the shower, and did your makeup for you while you stared through the mirror like you were watching someone else’s life. You went out because they begged. You stayed sober. Cried in the Uber home. Repeat.

A month later, you went out because you didn’t want to think.

You opposed his lifestyle, but he had ruined you intrinsically, and just like him and the effects of his brokenness, you sought to erase your self-loathing under the same neon lights and fast, reckless lifestyle. It all just suffocated you at first—the being home, same thoughts of doom and despair every day, hollow heart. So alone, you went out to a sweaty, overstimulating nightclub and got super high out of your mind, dancing the pain away. If you were going to rot, you decided, might as well do it in full glam.

So when your friend told you, bitch, it’s my birthday, get up and get ready, you didn’t argue. You slid on the tiniest skirt you packed, lined your lips with precision, popped something just to feel a little lighter, and rolled out with your girls just like the old times.

Only this time, it wasn’t freedom to be young and turnt. It was escape, and birds of a feather, as the saying went, indeed flocked together.

By the time you girls got to the exclusive, high-end club, the bass was shaking the floor and your head was pleasantly floaty. Lights blurred, bodies pressed close, and your friend screamed into your ear about bottle service and how tonight, we’re not crying over any bumass fucking rapper.

“I’m not even thinking about him,” you lied, taking another shot, cheering and wooing. You thought about him every moment of every hour of everyday.

You were already rolling, already warm and buzzing at the edges, and you knew better than to let his name drift too close while you were high on X — shit could turn fast. The numbing and euphoric effects were exactly proportionate to the inverse if the wrong thing ticked you off, which is why it hadn’t always been your drug of choice.

But nothing about you had been you as of late, so you decided against your better judgment and under the guise of your day one’s birthday to let yourself pop a little.

You were on the dance floor when the air shifted.

You didn’t see him first—you felt him. That weird, stupid, psychic ache in your chest that always showed up before your eyes caught up. Then you turned, and there he was near the back section: Hollis in a black tee and chains that caught every flash of the lights, surrounded by Nate, Roman, Jonah, Ryan, Finn, and a couple more guys, the whole crew posted up like a live photograph, fits all curated and aesthetics all matching, untouchable.

He saw you almost at the exact same second.

Your stomach dropped so hard you toppled over a smidgen. You straightened up and forced yourself to keep moving, hips still rolling against your friend, hands in the air like nothing happened.

His expression didn’t change much — just that little twitch at the corner of his mouth, eyes narrowing the tiniest bit like he couldn’t believe you were really there, twerking on a girl at the club — he had turned a good girl into something so bad.

Everyone thought you broke up. The blogs had been eating off that headline for weeks, and neither of you had said a word. All of his pictures of you were still up, he still liked and commented his weird little comments like “sweet bby ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･” under pics of you that your modelling agency got around to posting late, followed you on every platform without a single archive, and you never publicly reciprocated which was unusual since you always reposted his stuff: pictures, tour dates, anything and everything, but at the same time your social media never changed, all evidence of the fact leading fans to believe you probably just weren’t on your phone, not wanting to jump to conclusions about their favourite couple.

Now you were in the same room again, pretending you didn’t feel the other’s stare like a hand around your throat. “Do not look at him,” your friend yelled in your ear, noticing the way your gaze kept slipping. “He’s not real tonight. You hear me? He’s a fucking hallucination.”

“I’m fine,” you said, laughing too hard, too brittle. “Told you, I’m over it.” So you proved it.

You danced with whoever came up behind you. Let unfamiliar hands settle at your waist. Threw your head back and laughed at jokes you barely heard. Every time you spun toward the VIP section, you caught Hollis watching, jaw tight, eyes dark, Roman saying something in his ear that he clearly wasn’t listening to.

Your high, once soft and warm, started turning jagged.

By midnight, you’d talked to more men than you had in the last year. None of them registered. They were props, scenery, background noise to drown out the fact that Hollis was ten feet away acting like you were a stranger. Eventually you lost sight of him in the crowd. Good, you told yourself. Out of sight, out of mind, out of rage. Except the rage didn’t follow him when he left your visual terrain. It stayed. Sat heavy in your ribs, low and hot, like something coiled.

You ordered another drink, threw it back too fast, and let the burn drag down your throat, hoping it would cauterize whatever was lighting up inside you. You let the room tilt, lights smear into each other, and you let the bass pulse straight through your bones compliantly until you saw him again.

Near the bar, half‑turned away from you, leaning down to hear some girl talk. She was pretty in that easy L.A. way — glossy hair, tiny top, wrist resting lightly on his forearm as she said something into his ear. He smiled at her. Actually smiled. It looked a little polite, but you didn’t care. Your high shattered.

One second you’re staring, vision tunneled, jaw locked, and the next you’re cutting through the crowd, drink sloshing over your hand, not apologizing when you shoulder clubgoers. The bass is thunder in your chest, heartbeat keeping pace with it, sweat slick on your spine, every emotion both feelable and perceivable amplified by the molly blooming hot in your bloodstream.

There’s no middle ground. No rational thought buffering it—just an anger so deep it feels supernatural, inhuman. It’s like you’re possessed. You don’t even really know why you’re this mad—only that you’re going to say something. Hollis spots you the second you’re close enough to be dangerous. His whole body goes rigid, the smile slipping off his face mid-sentence. The girl beside him turns too, eyes flicking over you in that quick, sizing-up way.

You stop right in front of them, too close, chest heaving. “Wow,” you say, laughing once, sharp and mirthless. “Real classy, Hollis. You’re just gonna do this bullshit in my face now, right?” Your words trip over each other, a little slurred, a little too loud. People nearby glance over. You don’t care.

He scratches at the back of his head, posture going stiff and defensive, broad shoulders squaring at your cornering. “Yo, what are you—” he starts, but you caught him off, gaze snapping to the girl. “You.” You point at her, finger just shy of her cheek. “How do you know him?”

She freezes, shrugging and eyes going wide. “We’re just talking,” she says slowly, hands lifting like she’s trying to show she’s unarmed. “We’re friends.”

You bark out a laugh, ugly and disbelieving. “Friends. That’s cute.” You tilt your head, staring right through her. “Is this your first time meeting him? Or are you one of his little whores who lets him fuck for clout?”

Her face twists, head cocking back appalled. “Excuse me?”

“Answer the fucking question, then you're excused. Are you one of his fucking prostitutes with no self-respect?” you bite out, stepping closer, the smell of her perfume making you nauseous. “Did he tell you he still lives with his girlfriend? Or did he forget that part again?” You were talking absolutely crazy, words slurring at the edges from all the liquor burning through your veins, but the rage kept you razor-sharp, coherent enough to eviscerate with fury being the only sober thing left in you.

The girl glances at Hollis, lost. “What is she talking about?”

“Don't talk to him, hooker ass bitch,” you snap, seething and your voice all venom. You shoulder-check forward, stepping into her line of sight which just so happens is right in front of Hollis, cutting off her view entirely. The height difference hits you all at once—his frame towering close enough that his body heat radiates through your skin, that familiar cologne wrapping around you like a chokehold, stirring up the rage already boiling in your gut. It pisses you off even more, how it still does something to you, how it twists the knife deeper.

“Alright, alright, c'mon, that’s enough,” Hollis mutters, voice low, reaching for your shoulder, firm but gentle to pull you away.

You yank it back, defiant. “Don’t touch me.” you glare up at him.

People are definitely staring now. You can feel the attention, the phones lifting, the red light of cameras blinking at the edge of your vision, but it all blurs behind the hot rush in your head. “You really couldn’t even wait?” you spit at him quietly. “Couldn’t give it, what, a month? You’re already out here lining up the next bitch while half my shit is still in your closet?”

“Yo, chill,” the girl snaps now, irritation beating out her fear. “You’re not gonna stand in my face and call me that. I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t need to know me,” you fire back, pointing at her again. “You need to know him. That he lies. That he destroys. That he che—”

“Stop,” Hollis grits out, stepping between you and her, chest almost brushing yours. Up close, you can see the muscle in his jaw ticking, the way his eyes keep cutting sideways to the slowly forming semi‑circle of people recording. “You’re off your ass. You don’t wanna do this here.”

“No?” you challenge, tilting your head. “When were you planning on doing it, then, hm? Letting everybody know the truth about how we’ve been. In some thot’s DMs again? On live? On a second fucking account you told me was just for your friends?” you spat in his face bitterly, in your drunk mind, the two of you the only people in the room.

His hand closes around your wrist, grip sterner and firmer this time. “I said, that’s enough.” He’ss not usually so dominant, but he’s straight up freaking, the exposure making him fear being outed for his fuck-ups by anybody close enough to hear you over the music.

You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go, fingers wrapping tight, heat searing into your skin. It sends a different kind of fire through you—anger, yes, but also that old, hated familiarity that melts your icy heart a little. “Let go of me,” you warn, trying to kick that feeling, expression serious and grave. “I swear to God, Hollis, I will scream this whole place down.”

“You already are,” he bites back, eyes flashing disciplinarily. “Come here.”

Before you can protest again, he’s turning, steering you away from the bar, away from the girl, away from the cluster of phones. You dig your heels in, stumbling, fighting his grip, free hand pushing at his chest to no avail. He’s buffed up since you last saw him, more broader, taller, and charged against your wildness. “What, you embarrassed now?” you shout after the girl and whoever’s still close enough to hear. “You embarrassed your little side thing found out you’re a lying—”

“Shut up,” he mutters low, stilling steadfast, fighting to pull you in front of him and cupping his hand over your mouth once he manages to pin you there, muffling your fight into hot breaths against his wide palm. You struggle, trying to speak around his fingers, nip at the flat of his palm, acting out pure feral spite as he bear-hugs you close, draping his full frame over yours like a shield, chest to your back, arms locked tight to hide your outrage from prying eyes and flashing phones. With how tall he is, even if somebody were to glance your way, it’s not really like anyone can tell what he’s doing beneath all the lights. He scans the room for anybody watching, shaking his head while he presses you deeper into the shadows, strong-arming you into moving.

“Not a fuckin' joke, you're acting crazy. I'm not playing around with you, bro.” he growls low, voice roughened with exasperation. He drags you past bodies and tables until you’re near a darker hallway leading toward the bathrooms and staff doors.

You twist hard, trying to wrench free. “Get off me!” you muffle against his hand, which he only releases when he's sure the distance is appropriate, hand immediately sliding to your shoulder to hold you steady. He pins you before you can bolt, palm flattening against the wall by your head, his body crowding into yours, boxing you in without actually touching more than your wrist and hip. The music is muffled here, but your pulse is still thunder in your ears.

“Calm. Down,” he says, each word clipped, breath hot, eyes searching your face like he’s looking for the version of you that used to just melt when he got this close. “You’re wilding. They’re recording you, you hear me? Look at me.”

You refuse, staring over his shoulder, chest heaving, vision glassy from the mix of high, alcohol, and rage. You tug again at his hold, but his fingers only tighten.

“Hollis, let me go, stop fucking touching me,” you grit out, voice breaking now. “Let me go. I was actually having a decent night for once.” you add, as though you didn't start the whole shitshow.

He swallows, the anger in his face shifting into something more pained, more panicked. “Yeah? You think I wasn’t watching you?” he says hoarsely. “Dancing on every dude in here like I’m dead?”

You snap your gaze to his, eyes blazing. “You are dead to me.”

“Then why’re you over here screaming at some random girl about me?” he demands. “Why're you shaking like that—like I scare you, like what I do to you freaks you out?”

“Because you’re disgusting,” you retort quick, hating how your eyes burn. “Because you do this every time. You swear you love me, and then I look up and you’re smiling in some girl’s face like I never existed.”

His head dips closer, forehead almost touching yours, the air between you two hot and voltaic. “I’m not doing anything with her,” he grinds out, like he’s finally bleeding something he kept buried. “You think I’m gonna touch anybody after you walked out on me like that? I can’t even fucking sleep without you, and you think I’m—”

“I think you’re exactly who you showed me you are.” You cut him off, voice small yet simultaneously all sharp and vicious. He doesn't bother retorting. He just stares down into your eyes convictedly, breathing hard, the messy noise of the club bleeding faintly in from outside the hallway. His thumb strokes once, unconsciously, against the inside of your wrist, like his body forgets you’re fighting him.

“Let me go,” you repeat, quieter this time. “I’m not gonna ruin my friend’s birthday because you’re still a whore.”

His mouth twitches, but not with anger; more like the words hit him where it hurts. Instead of snapping back at you, however, he stays quiet. And his thumb just brushes your wrist again, soft, automatic, feather like, like he can’t help it, like he can't stop himself from wanting you. You hate how your skin still reacts, how it prickles visibly with goosebumps under his touch even when you’re spitting venom.

“You really think I’d do that shit right here?” he rasps, body pressing closer, still caging you against the wall. “After everything? You think I’m that much of a piece of shit?”

You laugh, brittle and mean, shoving at his chest with your free hand. He barely budges. “I know you are. You’ve shown me enough times. Paris. Miami. That festival last summer. Pick one, Hollis.”

His face twists, pain flashing raw before defensiveness hardens it over in a flash. “That was different—I was fucked up, I fucked up, yeah, but I always came back to you. Always told you everything after, didn’t I?”

He was right, but it didn't help his case when he'd been lying to you more lately, ducking shit, hiding tracks like you weren't his. You said nothing, refusing to let him off the hook again. “I tell you all this shit because I don’t wanna fucking be this way. I love you so fucking much. I don’t wanna hurt you, baby, I don’t, I love you more than fuckin’ anything, my own life, I just wanna hurt myself and I drag you down with me ‘cause you’re in me, you’re me, you’re my fucking soul, I—”

You seethed at his percieved manipulation, shaking your head appalledly. “You’re such a fucking liar, Hollis, you literally let me find out from a live. From friends. And now you’re doing it here, where I can see it, in-front of all these people?” You scoff bitterly at him even having the effrontery to talk to you still like that isn’t the most evil, twisted way to find out you got cheated on again. In a room full of people who knew you were together, his friends. “Just let go of me, bro. I swear to god.” you push at him, not earning even a budge.

His other hand lifts slow, hesitant, cupping your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll bolt or perhaps bite. His eyes search yours, desperate, thumb stroking just under your eye where mascara’s all smeared. He knows he’s selfish—your high, fucked-up just like him, but he can’t help himself. His chest rises and falls like he’s holding himself together by a thread and you’ve got shears ready to sever his anchor. “Baby… do you still love me?”

The question hits like a gut punch. You jerk your head away, but he tracks your head moving away, cradling your face to stay in his view gentle but insistent, keeping you pinned in that gaze. “Don’t fucking call me that. Don’t touch me like that.”

“Tell me,” he pleads, cadence of his voice breaking thin now, forehead dipping closer. “Just say it. Do you still—”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” you snap, slapping his hand away, trying to push him off you, chest heaving. He moves all but an inch, stubborn and persistent, and you quickly feel your high crashing harder than ever, your own mind turning traitor under the drugs, flooding you with unwanted images of the hickies on his neck the morning after he “fell asleep at the studio,” the text history of him and that random makeup artist on his tour, the most recent clip on the live, his confession to you over the phone in Miami, his location at a strip-club in Paris, and the festival—whatever unspeakable shit went down there that you still can’t bring yourself to internalize. Suddenly everything’s too loud, too bright, and you feel stupid tears burning hot behind your eyes.

“You don’t get to ask me that. Not after you’ve fucked half of L.A. and come home smelling like them. I’m done being your idiot.” you shove him off to no avail, trynna flee his grip before he can see you cry.

He’s burning, fueled by letting you go once and very evidently not willing to make the same mistake twice. “I’m not—” He cuts off, frustration boiling over, his hand dropping to your shoulder instead, gripping like he’s anchoring his naughty kid who's misbehaving in public. “I haven’t touched anybody since you left. I swear. I can’t even look at them without seeing your empty side of the bed. You think I want this? You think I’m good? Could talk to a million fucking girls, but none of them will ever mess with my head as much as you do.”

He crooks your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes so you can see the truth written there. “I’ve thought about you every day. Every fuckin’ hour, every minute. There’s been nothing else, nobody else.”

You find yourself softening at the gentle admission, but the sting behind your eyes warns you’re seconds from crying, and like the ticking time bomb you are, you need to find a safe space to self implode. Unfortunately, last time you cried in front of Hollis, it ended up just so happening that he then got to fuck you, so instead, you shove him again, weaker this time, your voice wobbling as you manage, barely holding the water works all back, “Then why are you always talking to them? Smiling? Acting like the world’s your playground? Let me go, Hollis. I’m serious.”

He shakes his head fast, eyes glassed and worried, body tensing just enough you feel it where he’s pressed close, preparing for battle to keep you here with him. “Can’t. Not like this. You’re fucked up, princess, you’re shaking—”

“Yeah, because of  you,” you snap, finally wrenching your wrist free, but he steps in tighter, completely on your ass intercepting your every move, hands hovering just above yours, scared to fully let go.

Before he can say more, voices cut through the hallway, familiar, unforeign. Your friends round the corner, eyes widening at the scene: you wild-eyed and disheveled against the wall, Hollis looming over you, physically impeding your escape. You know they already think you’re a dumb bitch for Hollis and that he treats you like shit, but having them live see it is different. You panic, ducking under his arm, cheeks burning. “Guys, I’m fine—let’s just go, I’m sorry—”

“Nah, fuck you mean ‘let’s go’? You’re wasted and high as fuck, drawing all this attention to yourself. You can’t be out here like this no more,” Hollis snaps firmly, reaching for you again, tone resolute and already decided, unintentionally gloating that old authority over you right in front of your friends, undercut with raw desperation and real worry flickering in his eyes.

Your friend—the birthday girl—steps forward, eyes narrowing at him. “Back the fuck off her, Hollis. Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Fucking look at her.”

“Yeah,” the other chimes in, grabbing your arm protectively. “She doesn’t wanna talk to you. Let her go.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you guys think, man, I know my girlfriend. She doesn’t even wanna fucking be here. Partying isn’t girl help her feel better,” he argues knowingly, voice cracking raw whilst trying to save you, shoving past them like they’re in his way.

He’s right, you think, stomach twisting guilty as your friends bristle. The birthday girl scoffs. “Don’t speak for her, Hollis. You don’t get to play hero now after all the shit you've done to her.”

He’s always been polite to them before, quiet nods, respectful distance, but tonight’s frayed every edge. “She’s my fucking girlfriend. You don’t get to—”

“Watch us.”

Your friends tug you back toward the dance floor, arms linked tight around you like they're shielding you from a bomb. “Fuck him,” birthday girl exclaims, loud enough you know he might still hear. “You're not doing this tonight. More shots, now,” she orders.

You nod, numb, letting them pull you through the crowd. The hallway confrontation clings to you like a spell was cast with every word he'd uttered, every action he'd deployed—his hand on your cheek, that broken do you still love me, the way your body betrayed you by leaning in just a fraction before you caught yourself. Your high's curdled into something sour, heavy, the lights too harsh now, the bass rattling your ribs like punishment.

They shove drinks into your hands. You down them fast, one after another, chasing the blur. "I'm good," you keep lying, keep up your facade and even find yourself forcing a laugh as some guy tries to dance up on you. Your friends cheer, thinking you're bouncing back. But every swallow tastes like ash.

Hollis's voice loops in your head—she's my girl—and suddenly the club feels like a cage. You spot him across the room, back with his crew now, staring at the floor while Nate claps his shoulder too hard all hang in there buddy. He looks wrecked. You look away, but it doesn't help.

The depression crashes back harder than before, bone-deep and immediate. All that armor you built through the party girl nights, the spite-dancing, the ''I'm fine's'' crumbles. You want your shitty apartment. You want silence. You do want your old self back. But mostly, fuck, you just want him. His hands. His apologies. The way he breaks and begs like you're the only thing holding his pieces together. It's pathetic. You're pathetic. But the ache wins.

You slip away from your friends mid-song, mumbling something about the bathroom. They don't notice, too busy hyping the birthday girl. Your legs carry you on autopilot, past the VIP ropes, down the dim hallway again. You don't know if he's watching. Don't care.

The bathroom door's cracked open. You push in, lock it shaky, and lean over the sink. Mirror-you looks like hell: mascara tracks, lip gloss smudged, eyes wild and wet. You splash water on your face, but it doesn't wash away the ugly because it's all coming from the inside. Your phone buzzes in your hand—you think it's texts from friends checking to ensure you're not with him, which you plan to ignore, but that weird pull of the universe makes you check it before you silence it and of-course, it's him. The universe always bends to the will of you two and your bad romance.

Hollis: bathroom? talk to me. please baby.

Your stomach flips. You shouldn't.

you: yeah

You go to delete it, but your thumb hovers, brain spinning a messy pros-cons spiral. Delete and you're free to go home, forget this night, pretend the ache isn't winning. Or answer, dig the hole deeper, make another bad choice because you're already too far gone. Hollis was right out there—he saw through your fake fun, knew you were crumbling, unlike your friends who dragged you anyway. Nobody really cares but him, and that freaks you out most, the thinking automatically yielding in his favor, and once again, you do the only thing you know how to do: escape. Before you can turn to exit, though, the door rattles. Someone's trying the handle.

"It's occupied," you call, as if assuming it's a stranger might reverse the cruel fate of the universe. "It's me," he responds, low and urgent, the only person who, as you'd always known, truly cared for you. "Open up."

You freeze. Part of you screams to ignore him, flush the toilet for noise, wait him out. But the depression whispers louder—let him fix it. just this once. Your hand moves before your brain catches up, unlocking the door.

He slips in fast, locking it behind him, filling the limited space, leaving no room to breathe anything but just him: his sweat-slicked skin, expensive cologne, chains glinting n jinglin soft, and his eyes bloodshot and locked on you like you're about to die. "Fuck," he breathes, hands coming up slow, cupping your face again. You flinch but don't pull away. "You okay?"

"No," you whisper, hating the tears spilling over. "This is so fucked up."

"I know." His thumbs swipe your cheeks, gentle, desperate. He steps closer, forehead pressing to yours fully this time, breath shaky. "Missed you so bad. Every night. Can't do this without you."

You clock it instantly, the way he’s talking like he’s already won you back, like the bathroom door unlocking was the final checkmate. “You’re still talking to girls,” you mumble, voice breaking, but your hands fist his shirt anyway, pulling him in. “You’re still… you. And you’re never gonna change.”

"Not like that." He kisses your temple, your jaw, needy little presses. "They're nothing. Swear. Just you. Always you. Only you." His hands slide down, gripping your hips, lifting you onto the sink edge easy, like old habit. Your legs part on instinct, wrapping around his waist.

He steps in between them. He kisses down your neck, slow and hungry, his soft, plush lips dragging hot, open-mouthed pecks down your throat, making up for every second you spent away. He does it like he needs it—so desperate and shameful in his longing that his tongue flicks out to taste the salt of your skin. He licks again and again like a depraved dog, just to be sure you’re real, then he full-on makes out with your neck, right against your pulse, sucking deep and slow, lathing over the sensitive skin with his tongue, and nibbling just enough to sting you and keep you jumping in his arms. He paints angry, deep red blooms in his wake, and his attention is decadent, almost reverent. Your head spins, the crossover of the drugs and the pleasure melting your brain to mush, everything euphoria as you feel that month-long burden of heaviness in your chest dissipate like it never existed, fading with every slow drag of his mouth, a feeling better than any drug in and of itself.

He kisses you deep, hard, and desperate, blonde hair falling messy into your eyes, and he's all you see occupying your entire visual field. You see the way his eyebrows arch in a needy, frantic pose as he nips at your lips, all-the-while rubbing at you a little harder and filthier, feeling the hot slick soaking through your little panties already.

He pulls back, looking down at his fingers working you over, angling your jaw gently to follow him. His jaw hangs slack at the sight — his fingers sparkle, drenched by your essence, and you're so wet for him your slick literally soaks through your panties, glistening on his fingers despite the barrier. He moans aloud, high and whiny in that down bad way, wrecked at the sight, before rushing out, "Want you forever. Want you to marry me, have our kids, wanna put you in a pretty lil house with a white fence somewhere quiet." He sucks harder at your neck, teeth grazing just enough to sting sweet. When you don't respond, too sacked out by the pleasure, head tipping back, he rubs your clit a little faster and rougher, pressing insistent circles that make your thighs quake. "Don't you want that? Hm?"

You nod, arms wrapping around his neck to get reins of yourself, but he doesn't let you destabilize his infiltration of your functioning brain. "Then take me back," he begs, hand on your throat forcing you to look into his eyes, pupils blown wide, pleading with you with his entire soul. "Fuck everything, fuck all that shit I did, fuck all the girls, fuck everybody but us—just take me back and we could have it all." He chokes it out, voice the most desperate thing you've ever heard as he whispers it hot-breathed in your ear.

"I need more, please, please please," you gasp out airlessly, his question pounding the air from your lungs, head spinning hazy with lust, ignoring his pleas. Your mouths crash back together in a messy, desperate makeout, tongues tangling sloppy, teeth clashing, then he's dropping to his knees fast, hands gripping your thighs. His long fingers hook into your fishnets at the top, ripping them open with a sharp tear right at the crotch, the sound echoing loud in the tiny space, leaving jagged edges frayed against your skin. He shoves your panties aside roughly, then his mouth's on you with no warning, tongue diving straight into your soaked heat, lapping filthy through your folds and sucking on your clit like there's no tomorrow for you guys because, well, there might not be so long as you didn't answer him.

Your legs instantly quake and clasp around his head. The sound is straight-up obscene, loud wet slurps of him drinking up your wetness, breathing your clit into his mouth like a vacuum seal, but he holds you open firm, eyes transfixed on yours intently as he devours you slow then increasingly frantic with the motivation of a man who knows this might be his last chance to fuck you back into his life, his eyes fluttering closed in bliss while muffled moans hum against your core.

“Hollisssss,” you cry out, high as fuck, every nerve beating in ecstasy as it hits ten times harder, too good, too much— “oh my gosh, too, too f-f—” your words shatter into nothing, obliterated by the electric high ripping through you, and he won’t fucking stop. His tongue rips flat and broad through your folds like he’s starving, then he shakes his head side to side, nasty and unchained, trying to grind that rough vibration right into your clit, smear your slick all over his face and lips ‘til he’s soaked in you. In-fact, he's so slutted out for you his hand ditches your legs to shove his hair back, clearing the way while he tears your pussy up ruthlessly, slurping every drop like a brainless animal. He’s such a shameless slut for you and it’s got you gushing even more slick straight into his greedy mouth.

You cling to composure just for him amid the haze, but he’s insatiable, forcing your legs even wider ‘til you’re splayed utterly exposed, then driving two fingers deep into your pussy, stretching your walls apart deliberately so he can thrust his tongue inside and fuck you senseless while his thumb circles your clit without mercy. You’re unraveling completely. You try to squirm away, thighs trembling, but he’s strong and holds you in place, forcing you to take every devastating pump of his tongue.

"Stop, wait stop, I need your.. I need you to fuck me, I wanna cum around your dick so badly, Holli, it's been so long." you rush out. You don't need to tell him twice. He's up and over you in seconds, chin properly coated slick with your arousal, cock heavy and poking stiff against your thigh, even through his jeans.

You waste no time, fumbling his belt open with shaky fingers, and guiding him straight in. You grip his thick cock at the base, feeding your dripping, greedy pussy every fat inch it wills, one hand clawing his back to shove him in hastier and deeper, no condom, no barrier, just his raw, rigid dick, and you don’t stop ‘til his cockhead’s kissing your cervix, balls-deep buried in your drenched hole. He bottoms out real fuckin’ deep with a broken groan, stilling for only a second before his hips get to snapping brutal, fucking you full with all his length.

“Still so fuckin’ tight,” he grunts like it’s ripped straight from his gut, “didn’t give my pussy away, did you? My good princess, knew you wouldn’t.” He fucks you onto his dick harder, bringing your hips flush to ram into his as he presses forward fucking into you deeper ‘til a thick white foamy ring forms right at where you’re joined, both of you staring mesmerized at the slippery cream coating his shaft.

“I should’ve,” you gasp out, half-teasing through the haze, clenching around him just to feel him twitch. “Maybe it woulda taught you a fuckin’ lesson. I let you get away with too much.”

“You know better,” he chirps back gravelly, tongue swiping at his bottom lip as he angles his hips to grind brutal against your g-spot, cockhead battering that spongy spot till your vision glosses over, but you fight through it. "Nobody could fuck you like this. Couldn't stretch this tight little pussy open like me. Nobody could love you how I do."  His hand clamps yours urgent, slamming it down to your swollen clit, grinding it there while he ravages you harder, claiming every inch of your body.

“Rub that pussy for me, baby. Wanna watch you touch yourself like you did without me there to fuck you.” Your skirt’s bunched around your waist like a dirty belt, ruined and soaked, and you do, fingers slathering fast through your dripping mess, other hand mauling your nipple rushedly through your shirt, pinching and twisting ‘til it stings. It all hits so fucking good you’re drooling like a braindead slut, spit dribbling down your chin messy, high as balls, and he’s fiending pathetic, leaning in to catch your slobber and slurp it up sloppy off your quivering lips. You whimper out, fucked out of your brain, and he groans ragged, forgetting everything and only focused on the depraved filth at hand. “Stick that tongue out f’me, princess,” he commands you, his cock pulsing wild and leaking pre inside your clenchin’ hole just from the nasty show. You do, and he laps at it desperate, licking at your tongue like he had your pussy while you shatter to pieces. There’s something so raw in how you guys fuck: your usually composed girl, but this is the longest you’ve kept yourself away, and you feel him take out all the pent-up agony it caused within him on you, devouring your body like some creep.

You cum embarrassingly fast not too long after, walls fluttering wild around him, a sharp cry tearing free and your back arching sharp off the mirror it rests against, but he doesn’t give you a second, flipping you over the counter face-down rough like you’re dead weight before you can catch your breath, too turned on by your little show to wait.

He fucks into you purely for his own pleasure now, yanking your top down fully, letting your heavy tits spill out bouncing wild with his vigor, his teeth sinking into your shoulder blade hard enough to scar while he pounds into you from behind, hips crashing brutal against your ass cheeks and sending jiggling ripples through the soft flesh with every rough slam. “Fuck, baby, been dyin’ without you,” he rasps broken, whispering gravelly-voiced sweet nothings, “can’t breathe right, can’t think—shit, you left me empty, tore my fuckin’ soul out.” He slaps the jiggling flesh red-raw with sharp, stinging smacks that echo off the tiles, the pain blooming hot and sweet under your skin. You can’t even form words in response. You babble nonsense, mouth slack, drool pooling, as he smacks your ass again and again punishingly, each crack drawing a broken whimper from your throat. He looks wrecked, face twisted in pained ecstasy, breath stained with sharp booze you taste on his tongue when he licks sloppy at your neck—you figure the alcohol’s fucking him up, making it hard to get to his orgasm, but fuck, the way he’s trying so desperate, hips slamming frantic, brows pulled into the center of his forehead, and lip tucked between his teeth, is way too hot.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he groans out jaggedly, completely absorbed by your pleasure. “So wet for me, fuck.” He shuts up and both of you listen to the sound of him fucking you—a nasty sloshing gush of your creamy pussy, each brutal thrust forcing out obscene wet plops of your slick that splatter loud onto the floor below, your arousal puddling filthily at your feet. Shame twists his face, gut-churning humiliation in having to beg like this just to tip himself over the edge, brows knit tight and jaw clenched so hard it trembles, every muscle straining in pained desperation like he’s fighting for air. He’s begging now, voice cracking pathetic, “Tell me I’m worthless, baby, please, fuck.”

You leap at the opportunity to demean him even though he’s fucking you so good you can’t speak, words spilling brokenly through your sobs of pleasure. “Y–you’re w–worthless… you’re such a fucking loser, you’re so fucked up in the head, f–fuck, I could— I could r–replace you—right now—” a gasp tears through the words, “f–fuck— with any guy— anyone— I wanted to— in here…”

He whimper-groans high and pathetic, hips pistoning brutal like a jackhammer, confused turn-on flashing wild in his eyes at how your words only make him harder, make him sink into you impossibly deeper.

“I wanna be good for you, baby, I wanna be a good boy for you, fuck. I wanna be yours,” he chokes out, voice keening high and watery like tears are pricking at the edges, mind so fucking gone at why the hell this shit turns him on so bad, confusion swirling hot in his head as your pussy drags the filthy words from his chest, ripping them raw while his hips stutter frantic.

“I’m sorry for cheatin’, for bein’ such a piece of shit again, I’ll make it right, swear. Take me back, please,” he begs desperate into your ear, apologies tumbling out broken. He locks you in a headlock, arm swelling around your throat, puffing up his bicep as his breath tingles hotly in your ear. “Love you so much, baby, love you—wanna cum for you so bad, wanna fill this pussy up n’ watch my load leakin’ down your thighs all night on that dancefloor.” Tears stream down your face from pure blinding pleasure, vision sparking white, and you grab the counter edge desperate to steady yourself, but he snatches your wrists, pinnin’ ‘em behind your back in one iron grip, like he’s arrestin’ you, which in a way he kind of is with his body n’ words.

“Why’d you dance with those other guys? Why’d you leave me?” he presses, pounding into you like a madman. You don’t answer, eyes rolled back absolutely braindead from pleasure, moaning nonstop, “yes yes yes like that, right there”—and he’s all aware of your dick-delirious state, thriving on it. “Promise me. Say you’re mine forever.”

"I'm yours," you sob out, wrecked.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you, fuck, I love you."

"No other guys—say it."

“Just youuuu, fuck, fuck—” He yanks you up to face the mirror fully, forcing you to watch your heavy tits bounce obscene as he slams balls-deep into your leaking pussy from behind, the sight straight vulgar porn—they jolt hypnotically, nipples hard and peaked, with every brutal thrust shaking your whole body. He hooks one of your legs high up on the counter, spreading your thighs wide so your ass cheeks part lewdly, letting him plunge even deeper, your dripping folds clinging to his shaft on every pull-out. He lets you go and you falter back onto his chest, head thrown back against his shoulder, neck arched as you both stare into the mirror at him wrecking you wild—his face contorted hot as hell, brows pinched tight, mouth slack in agonized bliss, panting out heavy and ragged. You’re teetering on the edge, legs trembling like you’ll collapse any second, fingers tangled fierce in his hair yanking hard while he props your limp body up with both arms wrapped iron-tight around your waist, teeth sinking deep into your neck the whole damn time, hair a sweaty tangled wreck, your free hand clawing the sink edge desperately for any grip. You bite his forearm hard enough to draw blood on a better day when he reaches around, fingers circling your overspent clit ruthless. He bites your neck harder, sucking bruises into the marks, promising broken. “Never lettin’ you go again. Love you, baby, swear.” It’s harsh and soft all at once, his free hand stroking your side tender even as he chokes you tighter, thrusts turning erratic. You cum again clenching around him, sobbing his name, and he follows with a muffled groan into your shoulder, spilling hot and deep, hips stuttering.

Pleasure overloads you completely, your brain short-circuiting into blacked-out bliss as the waves of pleasure crash endless, too much for your brain to handle in one night, body going limp in his arms while he sticks in you deep, greedily making you take every last drop that pumps hot and thick, floods out messy around his cock.

You pass out for a little heavy minute, limp and sunken like you’re lost someplace deep, world faded black, and Hollis shakes you awake gentle, panic flickering in his eyes and thumb stroking your tear-streaked cheek. “Baby? Hey, c’mon—fuck, you okay?”

You blink hazy, wrecked and boneless. "I needa go home... now."

He texts his assistant quick for the valet, then Nate for a scarf to hide the evidence. Nate pops thru the bathroom door seconds later, dangling his black silk one with a smirk. “You guys are wild as fuck,” he laughs, eyeing the chaos before dipping.

Hollis fusses over you tender, wetting a paper towel to wipe the slick and cum smearing your thighs, trying to fix the shredded fishnets best he can, jagged rips barely covered, pulling your skirt down and top up crookedly. The valet pulls up his sleek orange lambo right at the back exit, engine purring low.

You wrap Nate’s scarf ‘round your face tight, covering the hickeys bloomin’ purple on your neck, smudged mascara running like warpaint, lipstick smeared messily, hair a blown-out nest. Paparazzi swarm the alley anyway, flashes blinding and their shouts bombarding, speculating on if you’re the girlfriend they’re used to or another random girl. They shout at you asking about the breakup and you flip them off behind the scarf, griping muffled, “Fuck off.”

Hollis holds you tight against his side, arm banded possessive around your waist guiding you to the car. He opens the door, helping you slide in, but shifts away to get in himself at the worst possible moment. You fumble immediately as he exits your proximity, dropping the scarf in your drunk haze, bending deep to snatch it off the ground, legs involuntarily parting and skirt teasing up your upper thighs. Flashes explode and assuredly catch everything: the wide rip of your shredded fishnet, the discreet glaze of his cum trickling slow down your inner thigh, hickeys everywhere like a roadmap of ruin, mascara streaks, drunk sway, hair wild.

By morning, it's everywhere and pure internet meme gold. "Messy girl icon fr," trending in your fan spaces with grainy edits of you bending over to grab Nate's scarf, eyes squinting against the flash and your thighs mysteriously glistening slick under the strobes, captions like "One way to kill breakup rumors 💀 that's my queen" n "pussy so good she left the function early, they were DEFINITELY fuckin before this."

Your head throbs against your skull, phone blown up with notis from your social media and calls from your friends from last night. You scroll through the voicemails, post-storm calm washing over you like quiet after chaos.

“Girl, are you seriously with Hollis right now? You went home with that cheating asshole? You’re a bitch if you did after everything. We’re so mad at you.”

You text back neutral, unfazed, knowing she’s mad but figuring a good gift might smooth it over. “We got you a Chanel purse,” you lie coolly, already picturing the store as your first stop for your newest public outing as a couple, arm-in-arm for the cameras. It reminds you of that one time in Mexico, when he fucked some girl entertainer on the resort’s beach and booked the whole girls’ trip after, groveling with paid-in-full villas and endless apologies ‘til you let him crawl back in. The girls weren’t too mad at that kind of apology back then, so you’re not all that worried now. You’re more shy about trending as a meme, an icon, paparazzi shots everywhere, TikToks about “cum thigh queen,” a poster-girl “messy girl” aesthetic, your ripped fishnets and cum-streaked thighs the internet’s new obsession, but you glance over at Hollis sleeping, his makeup still smudged like warpaint, chest rising slow and steady, and it hits you soft: he’s the only person you need in this world. You’re happy. You’ll take all the pain if it absolves the depression. You’ll parade the streets with evidence of his ruin—hickeys, cum, shame—and also secretly carry his sins like an honor, if you want to or if you don't. Those girls he fucks? They're nothing to him anyway. At the end of the day, you're the only one that means something to his heart. You are his willing victim, his happy prisoner.

And when he wakes up a few minutes later, it’s like he already knows. He smiles at you soft, eyes glinting with that haunted devotion, like he’s staring straight through your soul and claiming it all over again. “Welcome home. Been waitin’ for you to come back where you belong.”

author note: y/n is so very much feminism's worse fear! thanks for reading guys pls comment ily all sm and wanna talk to u and laugh at ur funny thoughts MWAH until next time - lizzy

[pastelxxhaze]

cheater hollis x fem!reader pt 2 click here for part one

author note: lack of writing motivation has been killing me but i had to finish what I started😛. forgive the shitty lazy ending plz! also this is way more slutty than the last part LOL didn't even think that was possible. content warnings: sad hollis again (I promise it'll break u), unprotected sex (p-in-v), rough sex, biting, choking, restraint, impact play, oral (f.rec), intoxication, semi-public, reader is such a bird for him, hickeys, biting, licking in a very depraved way, and kind of sub!hollis.

It’d been a few long weeks since you ditched your luxury condo in the hills — the one you’d shared with Hollis — and moved back to your old place in Echo Park with your friends, the spot you lived before everything unraveled; before you were swept off your naive feet by Hollis, your prince charming and toruter at once.

If you could even really call it “yours.” The girl who once lived in that space felt so achingly distant from you now — she’d been free, ambitious, full of life, burning toward something real. And now? You? You were nothing like what she’d imagined in her dreams. Maybe more in her nightmares. To her, you’d look insane, pathetic, a sellout — some stupid, love-sick girl with no self‑worth, relevant not for her ethic, but just for being the girlfriend of some famous, cheating, lying‑ass LA rapper.

Back at your shitty old apartment, the cracked walls, the crappy air‑conditioning, the single window that always stuck halfway open, all of it reminded you of who you were before him, and the apparent dichotomy was suffocating. You were ashamed of yourself for missing him, and the more pathetic you felt about it, the harder it was to get it off your mind and also reconcile it with the fact you missed him like he had died.

You hadn’t taken much when you left — just the little bag you’d packed before the confrontation. Enough to get by for two weeks, long enough for things to cool off, for him to hate you the way you needed him to.

Your plan was full of holes; no matter what you did, what you said, how hard you tried to detach, he couldn't seem to let you go, so there wasn't much you could do besides go ghost.

You remember when you first started dating and things felt so dream-like and perfect, cliché as fuck, star-gazing on a vast field side by side high on shrooms in the middle of nowhere, telling each other there was nothing you could ever imagine fighting about, let alone hating each other over. The latter part was true, you guessed. You remember you even said that if you guys ever broke up, you’d definitely want him to stay a close friend. So young, dumb, and stupidly in-love, you think now, reflecting on how much about you he had changed in just two years.

Ghosting the love of your life definitely wasn’t the cleanest exit, but it was the only one he’d let you have. You’d anticipated his every move correctly. After you guys fucked that night, he stayed awake afterward throwing one of his pathetic and signature tantrums, arms wrapped around your waist tight, head tucked into your chest like a manchild, hot tears soaking your tits he begged, voice splintering, “Don’t leave me, baby, please.”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” you’d lied flat-out, eyes leaden, voice a soft exhausted rasp, hand circling slow along his back to force his calm. “M’ so tired, I just wanna sleep.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ will,” Hollis rasped back, shaking his head against you, fighting another sob. “I know it. I can feel it.”

You sighed, bone-drained. “Holli, my arms are around you,” you soothed, the earnestness frayed thin by fatigue. “You’d feel me if I tried to move, okay? C’mon, let’s sleep. I’m so tired, you know I waited up for you all night.”

“You don’t forgive me.” He pulled back just enough to bore into your eyes, lip quivering, eyes red-rimmed and crooked in that shattered way that used to gut you, although now just a dull, festering annoyance that served as residue of his denial. He couldn’t keep making a mess of your heart, soul, love, and devotion, then pleading insanity. That hadn’t been what was running through your mind necessarily when he’d searched your eyes, but your soulmate had rightfully inferred it, blurting out, “You’re not even lookin’ at me the fuckin’ same right now,” tears carving fresh tracks down his swollen face.

“I’m just tired, Holl,” you whispered, barely audible, all you could really say. “Yeah, of me.” He nuzzled harder into your chest, clinging like this desperate fusion could erase his latest betrayal.

You blinked slow through the fog, accusation landing frustratingly. “No, Hollis, like actually, I’m genuinely sleepy, love. It’s four in the morning.” The words came out airy, detached, your insides washed pale by exhaustion and your body on autopilot with one hand in his hair, the other tracing endless back-circles, not to soothe him, but to keep yourself at the fight of getting him to settle into sleep. You prop yourself upright as he folds deeper into you, shaking against your skin with those tiny, stubborn tremors he can’t kill, all pure fear. His fingers knot white in your shirt like loosening them might make you evaporate. His face mashes into your skin, burrowing for permanence; if dissolution were possible, he’d have melted straight into you.

“M’sorry I’m such a fuckup,” he breathed wet and warped against you, sealing it with a desperate kiss to your chest. Then he cracked wide, unravelling completely. “I’m so bad to you. I hate myself, for real. Don’t deserve my career, don’t deserve you, don’t deserve shit. All these people scream my name like I’m some god, but I’m nothing. Imma mess. I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” he choked out, breath hitching painful, ragged. “Shoulda never pulled you into this. Shoulda let you run day one. I just—” He sucked in a breath that sounded like it burned, “I love you so much I couldn’t. I couldn’t, I can’t let you go, baby. I love you, I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” you profess back, and unfortunately and probably forever meant it. Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing slow under his eye before you pull him up into a kiss. It starts soft, almost careful, the kind of tired sweetness that happens when there’s nothing left to fight about. You know it, he knows it. All his friends who’re there every time he cheats on you, your friends who roll their eyes every time you vent about your drama, the entire world who’ve suspected his bullshit know it — you’re absolutely powerless against your love for Hollis, just as he is for you.

For a second he just breathes you in. Then he kisses you back harder, needier, like he’s starving for it, like he thinks if he holds on tight enough he might somehow stop the clock that’s already ticking down to when you walk away. His hand bunches in your shirt again, mouth desperate against yours, nipping and sucking and devouring.

“Anything,” he broke the aggressive kiss and whispered against your lips before grabbing for you again, “in this whole fucking world. Anything.” You lay still and let him find solace in your body once again, too exhausted to resist. He kissed you harsh and needy, hands wandering over you rightfully like his plaything: squeezing hard into your waist, raking down your thighs, the nape of your neck.

At some point, at your lazy reciprocation, he bit down sharper with a whine caught in his throat, and you surged up, matching his energy as you kissed him back just as rough because you had no idea when you’d get the chance to do that again. It felt good to hurt each other like this—an allegorical battle waged in teeth and tongue. When he finally pulled away, he was breathing like he’d run a mile. His hands were still clamped around you, eyes wild, hungry, and inspecting.

When his inspection locked onto your eyes and saw the distance still carved there, he shattered, voice cracking as he begged unchangingly, “Stay. Please. We can fix this, don't do this to us.” Words tumbled out, promises and pleas you’d heard before, but you knew then nothing you said or did would bridge the chasm. He was drowning in fear, blind to reason.

What finally steadied him wasn’t an answer, however. It was the story.

You started talking about how you guys met. The timing. The stupid coincidences that were too specific to be considered coincidence at all. The way everything lined up too perfectly to ignore—like it had been mapped out before either of you existed. Your memories of the same places, your shared dreams, your shared headaches that subsequently resulted in the uncanny ability to feel distress in the heart of the other, even across distance.

He stilled for it, breaths leveling, grip slackening. Fate alone sedated him—proof your love wasn’t accidental, tribulations powerless against what the universe-stitched together, decreeing it forever.

You vowed to stay. Two hours later, his lashes tear-crusted, hand limp from clutching, you kissed him goodbye feather-soft, then left straight into an Uber headed to Echo Park.

The girls were used to your issues with Hollis and out of nothing but love for you, they took you back in every time. However, this was the worst they’d seen you. Or, worse yet, not seen you. You holed up, depressed and checked out in your room alone for days. They barely caught glimpses — the bathroom door cracking open, the shuffle of your slippers down the hall at 2 a.m., the sound of your shower running long past reasonable.

It wasn’t the dramatics this time. There was no rant, no crash out, no loud sobbing from your bedroom with sad music, no long all-nighter living room spiral sesh about how he ruined you but you’d still pick up if he called. It was just silence. Being depressed made time move strangely—too fast and not at all. Before you knew it, a week had slipped by since you’d left home, locked yourself in your old bedroom, and sold your soul by separating from your love with the purpose of filling the void he’d left behind. You hadn’t checked your calls, emails, or texts.

At first, they had to drag you out. Request a room key from the front desk and shoulder your door open, type shit. Your friends practically pried you off the mattress, shoved you into the shower, and did your makeup for you while you stared through the mirror like you were watching someone else’s life. You went out because they begged. You stayed sober. Cried in the Uber home. Repeat.

A month later, you went out because you didn’t want to think.

You opposed his lifestyle, but he had ruined you intrinsically, and just like him and the effects of his brokenness, you sought to erase your self-loathing under the same neon lights and fast, reckless lifestyle. It all just suffocated you at first—the being home, same thoughts of doom and despair every day, hollow heart. So alone, you went out to a sweaty, overstimulating nightclub and got super high out of your mind, dancing the pain away. If you were going to rot, you decided, might as well do it in full glam.

So when your friend told you, bitch, it’s my birthday, get up and get ready, you didn’t argue. You slid on the tiniest skirt you packed, lined your lips with precision, popped something just to feel a little lighter, and rolled out with your girls just like the old times.

Only this time, it wasn’t freedom to be young and turnt. It was escape, and birds of a feather, as the saying went, indeed flocked together.

By the time you girls got to the exclusive, high-end club, the bass was shaking the floor and your head was pleasantly floaty. Lights blurred, bodies pressed close, and your friend screamed into your ear about bottle service and how tonight, we’re not crying over any bumass fucking rapper.

“I’m not even thinking about him,” you lied, taking another shot, cheering and wooing. You thought about him every moment of every hour of everyday.

You were already rolling, already warm and buzzing at the edges, and you knew better than to let his name drift too close while you were high on X — shit could turn fast. The numbing and euphoric effects were exactly proportionate to the inverse if the wrong thing ticked you off, which is why it hadn’t always been your drug of choice.

But nothing about you had been you as of late, so you decided against your better judgment and under the guise of your day one’s birthday to let yourself pop a little.

You were on the dance floor when the air shifted.

You didn’t see him first—you felt him. That weird, stupid, psychic ache in your chest that always showed up before your eyes caught up. Then you turned, and there he was near the back section: Hollis in a black tee and chains that caught every flash of the lights, surrounded by Nate, Roman, Jonah, Ryan, Finn, and a couple more guys, the whole crew posted up like a live photograph, fits all curated and aesthetics all matching, untouchable.

He saw you almost at the exact same second.

Your stomach dropped so hard you toppled over a smidgen. You straightened up and forced yourself to keep moving, hips still rolling against your friend, hands in the air like nothing happened.

His expression didn’t change much — just that little twitch at the corner of his mouth, eyes narrowing the tiniest bit like he couldn’t believe you were really there, twerking on a girl at the club — he had turned a good girl into something so bad.

Everyone thought you broke up. The blogs had been eating off that headline for weeks, and neither of you had said a word. All of his pictures of you were still up, he still liked and commented his weird little comments like “sweet bby ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･” under pics of you that your modelling agency got around to posting late, followed you on every platform without a single archive, and you never publicly reciprocated which was unusual since you always reposted his stuff: pictures, tour dates, anything and everything, but at the same time your social media never changed, all evidence of the fact leading fans to believe you probably just weren’t on your phone, not wanting to jump to conclusions about their favourite couple.

Now you were in the same room again, pretending you didn’t feel the other’s stare like a hand around your throat. “Do not look at him,” your friend yelled in your ear, noticing the way your gaze kept slipping. “He’s not real tonight. You hear me? He’s a fucking hallucination.”

“I’m fine,” you said, laughing too hard, too brittle. “Told you, I’m over it.” So you proved it.

You danced with whoever came up behind you. Let unfamiliar hands settle at your waist. Threw your head back and laughed at jokes you barely heard. Every time you spun toward the VIP section, you caught Hollis watching, jaw tight, eyes dark, Roman saying something in his ear that he clearly wasn’t listening to.

Your high, once soft and warm, started turning jagged.

By midnight, you’d talked to more men than you had in the last year. None of them registered. They were props, scenery, background noise to drown out the fact that Hollis was ten feet away acting like you were a stranger. Eventually you lost sight of him in the crowd. Good, you told yourself. Out of sight, out of mind, out of rage. Except the rage didn’t follow him when he left your visual terrain. It stayed. Sat heavy in your ribs, low and hot, like something coiled.

You ordered another drink, threw it back too fast, and let the burn drag down your throat, hoping it would cauterize whatever was lighting up inside you. You let the room tilt, lights smear into each other, and you let the bass pulse straight through your bones compliantly until you saw him again.

Near the bar, half‑turned away from you, leaning down to hear some girl talk. She was pretty in that easy L.A. way — glossy hair, tiny top, wrist resting lightly on his forearm as she said something into his ear. He smiled at her. Actually smiled. It looked a little polite, but you didn’t care. Your high shattered.

One second you’re staring, vision tunneled, jaw locked, and the next you’re cutting through the crowd, drink sloshing over your hand, not apologizing when you shoulder clubgoers. The bass is thunder in your chest, heartbeat keeping pace with it, sweat slick on your spine, every emotion both feelable and perceivable amplified by the molly blooming hot in your bloodstream.

There’s no middle ground. No rational thought buffering it—just an anger so deep it feels supernatural, inhuman. It’s like you’re possessed. You don’t even really know why you’re this mad—only that you’re going to say something. Hollis spots you the second you’re close enough to be dangerous. His whole body goes rigid, the smile slipping off his face mid-sentence. The girl beside him turns too, eyes flicking over you in that quick, sizing-up way.

You stop right in front of them, too close, chest heaving. “Wow,” you say, laughing once, sharp and mirthless. “Real classy, Hollis. You’re just gonna do this bullshit in my face now, right?” Your words trip over each other, a little slurred, a little too loud. People nearby glance over. You don’t care.

He scratches at the back of his head, posture going stiff and defensive, broad shoulders squaring at your cornering. “Yo, what are you—” he starts, but you caught him off, gaze snapping to the girl. “You.” You point at her, finger just shy of her cheek. “How do you know him?”

She freezes, shrugging and eyes going wide. “We’re just talking,” she says slowly, hands lifting like she’s trying to show she’s unarmed. “We’re friends.”

You bark out a laugh, ugly and disbelieving. “Friends. That’s cute.” You tilt your head, staring right through her. “Is this your first time meeting him? Or are you one of his little whores who lets him fuck for clout?”

Her face twists, head cocking back appalled. “Excuse me?”

“Answer the fucking question, then you're excused. Are you one of his fucking prostitutes with no self-respect?” you bite out, stepping closer, the smell of her perfume making you nauseous. “Did he tell you he still lives with his girlfriend? Or did he forget that part again?” You were talking absolutely crazy, words slurring at the edges from all the liquor burning through your veins, but the rage kept you razor-sharp, coherent enough to eviscerate with fury being the only sober thing left in you.

The girl glances at Hollis, lost. “What is she talking about?”

“Don't talk to him, hooker ass bitch,” you snap, seething and your voice all venom. You shoulder-check forward, stepping into her line of sight which just so happens is right in front of Hollis, cutting off her view entirely. The height difference hits you all at once—his frame towering close enough that his body heat radiates through your skin, that familiar cologne wrapping around you like a chokehold, stirring up the rage already boiling in your gut. It pisses you off even more, how it still does something to you, how it twists the knife deeper.

“Alright, alright, c'mon, that’s enough,” Hollis mutters, voice low, reaching for your shoulder, firm but gentle to pull you away.

You yank it back, defiant. “Don’t touch me.” you glare up at him.

People are definitely staring now. You can feel the attention, the phones lifting, the red light of cameras blinking at the edge of your vision, but it all blurs behind the hot rush in your head. “You really couldn’t even wait?” you spit at him quietly. “Couldn’t give it, what, a month? You’re already out here lining up the next bitch while half my shit is still in your closet?”

“Yo, chill,” the girl snaps now, irritation beating out her fear. “You’re not gonna stand in my face and call me that. I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t need to know me,” you fire back, pointing at her again. “You need to know him. That he lies. That he destroys. That he che—”

“Stop,” Hollis grits out, stepping between you and her, chest almost brushing yours. Up close, you can see the muscle in his jaw ticking, the way his eyes keep cutting sideways to the slowly forming semi‑circle of people recording. “You’re off your ass. You don’t wanna do this here.”

“No?” you challenge, tilting your head. “When were you planning on doing it, then, hm? Letting everybody know the truth about how we’ve been. In some thot’s DMs again? On live? On a second fucking account you told me was just for your friends?” you spat in his face bitterly, in your drunk mind, the two of you the only people in the room.

His hand closes around your wrist, grip sterner and firmer this time. “I said, that’s enough.” He’ss not usually so dominant, but he’s straight up freaking, the exposure making him fear being outed for his fuck-ups by anybody close enough to hear you over the music.

You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go, fingers wrapping tight, heat searing into your skin. It sends a different kind of fire through you—anger, yes, but also that old, hated familiarity that melts your icy heart a little. “Let go of me,” you warn, trying to kick that feeling, expression serious and grave. “I swear to God, Hollis, I will scream this whole place down.”

“You already are,” he bites back, eyes flashing disciplinarily. “Come here.”

Before you can protest again, he’s turning, steering you away from the bar, away from the girl, away from the cluster of phones. You dig your heels in, stumbling, fighting his grip, free hand pushing at his chest to no avail. He’s buffed up since you last saw him, more broader, taller, and charged against your wildness. “What, you embarrassed now?” you shout after the girl and whoever’s still close enough to hear. “You embarrassed your little side thing found out you’re a lying—”

“Shut up,” he mutters low, stilling steadfast, fighting to pull you in front of him and cupping his hand over your mouth once he manages to pin you there, muffling your fight into hot breaths against his wide palm. You struggle, trying to speak around his fingers, nip at the flat of his palm, acting out pure feral spite as he bear-hugs you close, draping his full frame over yours like a shield, chest to your back, arms locked tight to hide your outrage from prying eyes and flashing phones. With how tall he is, even if somebody were to glance your way, it’s not really like anyone can tell what he’s doing beneath all the lights. He scans the room for anybody watching, shaking his head while he presses you deeper into the shadows, strong-arming you into moving.

“Not a fuckin' joke, you're acting crazy. I'm not playing around with you, bro.” he growls low, voice roughened with exasperation. He drags you past bodies and tables until you’re near a darker hallway leading toward the bathrooms and staff doors.

You twist hard, trying to wrench free. “Get off me!” you muffle against his hand, which he only releases when he's sure the distance is appropriate, hand immediately sliding to your shoulder to hold you steady. He pins you before you can bolt, palm flattening against the wall by your head, his body crowding into yours, boxing you in without actually touching more than your wrist and hip. The music is muffled here, but your pulse is still thunder in your ears.

“Calm. Down,” he says, each word clipped, breath hot, eyes searching your face like he’s looking for the version of you that used to just melt when he got this close. “You’re wilding. They’re recording you, you hear me? Look at me.”

You refuse, staring over his shoulder, chest heaving, vision glassy from the mix of high, alcohol, and rage. You tug again at his hold, but his fingers only tighten.

“Hollis, let me go, stop fucking touching me,” you grit out, voice breaking now. “Let me go. I was actually having a decent night for once.” you add, as though you didn't start the whole shitshow.

He swallows, the anger in his face shifting into something more pained, more panicked. “Yeah? You think I wasn’t watching you?” he says hoarsely. “Dancing on every dude in here like I’m dead?”

You snap your gaze to his, eyes blazing. “You are dead to me.”

“Then why’re you over here screaming at some random girl about me?” he demands. “Why're you shaking like that—like I scare you, like what I do to you freaks you out?”

“Because you’re disgusting,” you retort quick, hating how your eyes burn. “Because you do this every time. You swear you love me, and then I look up and you’re smiling in some girl’s face like I never existed.”

His head dips closer, forehead almost touching yours, the air between you two hot and voltaic. “I’m not doing anything with her,” he grinds out, like he’s finally bleeding something he kept buried. “You think I’m gonna touch anybody after you walked out on me like that? I can’t even fucking sleep without you, and you think I’m—”

“I think you’re exactly who you showed me you are.” You cut him off, voice small yet simultaneously all sharp and vicious. He doesn't bother retorting. He just stares down into your eyes convictedly, breathing hard, the messy noise of the club bleeding faintly in from outside the hallway. His thumb strokes once, unconsciously, against the inside of your wrist, like his body forgets you’re fighting him.

“Let me go,” you repeat, quieter this time. “I’m not gonna ruin my friend’s birthday because you’re still a whore.”

His mouth twitches, but not with anger; more like the words hit him where it hurts. Instead of snapping back at you, however, he stays quiet. And his thumb just brushes your wrist again, soft, automatic, feather like, like he can’t help it, like he can't stop himself from wanting you. You hate how your skin still reacts, how it prickles visibly with goosebumps under his touch even when you’re spitting venom.

“You really think I’d do that shit right here?” he rasps, body pressing closer, still caging you against the wall. “After everything? You think I’m that much of a piece of shit?”

You laugh, brittle and mean, shoving at his chest with your free hand. He barely budges. “I know you are. You’ve shown me enough times. Paris. Miami. That festival last summer. Pick one, Hollis.”

His face twists, pain flashing raw before defensiveness hardens it over in a flash. “That was different—I was fucked up, I fucked up, yeah, but I always came back to you. Always told you everything after, didn’t I?”

He was right, but it didn't help his case when he'd been lying to you more lately, ducking shit, hiding tracks like you weren't his. You said nothing, refusing to let him off the hook again. “I tell you all this shit because I don’t wanna fucking be this way. I love you so fucking much. I don’t wanna hurt you, baby, I don’t, I love you more than fuckin’ anything, my own life, I just wanna hurt myself and I drag you down with me ‘cause you’re in me, you’re me, you’re my fucking soul, I—”

You seethed at his percieved manipulation, shaking your head appalledly. “You’re such a fucking liar, Hollis, you literally let me find out from a live. From friends. And now you’re doing it here, where I can see it, in-front of all these people?” You scoff bitterly at him even having the effrontery to talk to you still like that isn’t the most evil, twisted way to find out you got cheated on again. In a room full of people who knew you were together, his friends. “Just let go of me, bro. I swear to god.” you push at him, not earning even a budge.

His other hand lifts slow, hesitant, cupping your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll bolt or perhaps bite. His eyes search yours, desperate, thumb stroking just under your eye where mascara’s all smeared. He knows he’s selfish—your high, fucked-up just like him, but he can’t help himself. His chest rises and falls like he’s holding himself together by a thread and you’ve got shears ready to sever his anchor. “Baby… do you still love me?”

The question hits like a gut punch. You jerk your head away, but he tracks your head moving away, cradling your face to stay in his view gentle but insistent, keeping you pinned in that gaze. “Don’t fucking call me that. Don’t touch me like that.”

“Tell me,” he pleads, cadence of his voice breaking thin now, forehead dipping closer. “Just say it. Do you still—”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” you snap, slapping his hand away, trying to push him off you, chest heaving. He moves all but an inch, stubborn and persistent, and you quickly feel your high crashing harder than ever, your own mind turning traitor under the drugs, flooding you with unwanted images of the hickies on his neck the morning after he “fell asleep at the studio,” the text history of him and that random makeup artist on his tour, the most recent clip on the live, his confession to you over the phone in Miami, his location at a strip-club in Paris, and the festival—whatever unspeakable shit went down there that you still can’t bring yourself to internalize. Suddenly everything’s too loud, too bright, and you feel stupid tears burning hot behind your eyes.

“You don’t get to ask me that. Not after you’ve fucked half of L.A. and come home smelling like them. I’m done being your idiot.” you shove him off to no avail, trynna flee his grip before he can see you cry.

He’s burning, fueled by letting you go once and very evidently not willing to make the same mistake twice. “I’m not—” He cuts off, frustration boiling over, his hand dropping to your shoulder instead, gripping like he’s anchoring his naughty kid who's misbehaving in public. “I haven’t touched anybody since you left. I swear. I can’t even look at them without seeing your empty side of the bed. You think I want this? You think I’m good? Could talk to a million fucking girls, but none of them will ever mess with my head as much as you do.”

He crooks your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes so you can see the truth written there. “I’ve thought about you every day. Every fuckin’ hour, every minute. There’s been nothing else, nobody else.”

You find yourself softening at the gentle admission, but the sting behind your eyes warns you’re seconds from crying, and like the ticking time bomb you are, you need to find a safe space to self implode. Unfortunately, last time you cried in front of Hollis, it ended up just so happening that he then got to fuck you, so instead, you shove him again, weaker this time, your voice wobbling as you manage, barely holding the water works all back, “Then why are you always talking to them? Smiling? Acting like the world’s your playground? Let me go, Hollis. I’m serious.”

He shakes his head fast, eyes glassed and worried, body tensing just enough you feel it where he’s pressed close, preparing for battle to keep you here with him. “Can’t. Not like this. You’re fucked up, princess, you’re shaking—”

“Yeah, because of  you,” you snap, finally wrenching your wrist free, but he steps in tighter, completely on your ass intercepting your every move, hands hovering just above yours, scared to fully let go.

Before he can say more, voices cut through the hallway, familiar, unforeign. Your friends round the corner, eyes widening at the scene: you wild-eyed and disheveled against the wall, Hollis looming over you, physically impeding your escape. You know they already think you’re a dumb bitch for Hollis and that he treats you like shit, but having them live see it is different. You panic, ducking under his arm, cheeks burning. “Guys, I’m fine—let’s just go, I’m sorry—”

“Nah, fuck you mean ‘let’s go’? You’re wasted and high as fuck, drawing all this attention to yourself. You can’t be out here like this no more,” Hollis snaps firmly, reaching for you again, tone resolute and already decided, unintentionally gloating that old authority over you right in front of your friends, undercut with raw desperation and real worry flickering in his eyes.

Your friend—the birthday girl—steps forward, eyes narrowing at him. “Back the fuck off her, Hollis. Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Fucking look at her.”

“Yeah,” the other chimes in, grabbing your arm protectively. “She doesn’t wanna talk to you. Let her go.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you guys think, man, I know my girlfriend. She doesn’t even wanna fucking be here. Partying isn’t girl help her feel better,” he argues knowingly, voice cracking raw whilst trying to save you, shoving past them like they’re in his way.

He’s right, you think, stomach twisting guilty as your friends bristle. The birthday girl scoffs. “Don’t speak for her, Hollis. You don’t get to play hero now after all the shit you've done to her.”

He’s always been polite to them before, quiet nods, respectful distance, but tonight’s frayed every edge. “She’s my fucking girlfriend. You don’t get to—”

“Watch us.”

Your friends tug you back toward the dance floor, arms linked tight around you like they're shielding you from a bomb. “Fuck him,” birthday girl exclaims, loud enough you know he might still hear. “You're not doing this tonight. More shots, now,” she orders.

You nod, numb, letting them pull you through the crowd. The hallway confrontation clings to you like a spell was cast with every word he'd uttered, every action he'd deployed—his hand on your cheek, that broken do you still love me, the way your body betrayed you by leaning in just a fraction before you caught yourself. Your high's curdled into something sour, heavy, the lights too harsh now, the bass rattling your ribs like punishment.

They shove drinks into your hands. You down them fast, one after another, chasing the blur. "I'm good," you keep lying, keep up your facade and even find yourself forcing a laugh as some guy tries to dance up on you. Your friends cheer, thinking you're bouncing back. But every swallow tastes like ash.

Hollis's voice loops in your head—she's my girl—and suddenly the club feels like a cage. You spot him across the room, back with his crew now, staring at the floor while Nate claps his shoulder too hard all hang in there buddy. He looks wrecked. You look away, but it doesn't help.

The depression crashes back harder than before, bone-deep and immediate. All that armor you built through the party girl nights, the spite-dancing, the ''I'm fine's'' crumbles. You want your shitty apartment. You want silence. You do want your old self back. But mostly, fuck, you just want him. His hands. His apologies. The way he breaks and begs like you're the only thing holding his pieces together. It's pathetic. You're pathetic. But the ache wins.

You slip away from your friends mid-song, mumbling something about the bathroom. They don't notice, too busy hyping the birthday girl. Your legs carry you on autopilot, past the VIP ropes, down the dim hallway again. You don't know if he's watching. Don't care.

The bathroom door's cracked open. You push in, lock it shaky, and lean over the sink. Mirror-you looks like hell: mascara tracks, lip gloss smudged, eyes wild and wet. You splash water on your face, but it doesn't wash away the ugly because it's all coming from the inside. Your phone buzzes in your hand—you think it's texts from friends checking to ensure you're not with him, which you plan to ignore, but that weird pull of the universe makes you check it before you silence it and of-course, it's him. The universe always bends to the will of you two and your bad romance.

Hollis: bathroom? talk to me. please baby.

Your stomach flips. You shouldn't.

you: yeah

You go to delete it, but your thumb hovers, brain spinning a messy pros-cons spiral. Delete and you're free to go home, forget this night, pretend the ache isn't winning. Or answer, dig the hole deeper, make another bad choice because you're already too far gone. Hollis was right out there—he saw through your fake fun, knew you were crumbling, unlike your friends who dragged you anyway. Nobody really cares but him, and that freaks you out most, the thinking automatically yielding in his favor, and once again, you do the only thing you know how to do: escape. Before you can turn to exit, though, the door rattles. Someone's trying the handle.

"It's occupied," you call, as if assuming it's a stranger might reverse the cruel fate of the universe. "It's me," he responds, low and urgent, the only person who, as you'd always known, truly cared for you. "Open up."

You freeze. Part of you screams to ignore him, flush the toilet for noise, wait him out. But the depression whispers louder—let him fix it. just this once. Your hand moves before your brain catches up, unlocking the door.

He slips in fast, locking it behind him, filling the limited space, leaving no room to breathe anything but just him: his sweat-slicked skin, expensive cologne, chains glinting n jinglin soft, and his eyes bloodshot and locked on you like you're about to die. "Fuck," he breathes, hands coming up slow, cupping your face again. You flinch but don't pull away. "You okay?"

"No," you whisper, hating the tears spilling over. "This is so fucked up."

"I know." His thumbs swipe your cheeks, gentle, desperate. He steps closer, forehead pressing to yours fully this time, breath shaky. "Missed you so bad. Every night. Can't do this without you."

You clock it instantly, the way he’s talking like he’s already won you back, like the bathroom door unlocking was the final checkmate. “You’re still talking to girls,” you mumble, voice breaking, but your hands fist his shirt anyway, pulling him in. “You’re still… you. And you’re never gonna change.”

"Not like that." He kisses your temple, your jaw, needy little presses. "They're nothing. Swear. Just you. Always you. Only you." His hands slide down, gripping your hips, lifting you onto the sink edge easy, like old habit. Your legs part on instinct, wrapping around his waist.

He steps in between them. He kisses down your neck, slow and hungry, his soft, plush lips dragging hot, open-mouthed pecks down your throat, making up for every second you spent away. He does it like he needs it—so desperate and shameful in his longing that his tongue flicks out to taste the salt of your skin. He licks again and again like a depraved dog, just to be sure you’re real, then he full-on makes out with your neck, right against your pulse, sucking deep and slow, lathing over the sensitive skin with his tongue, and nibbling just enough to sting you and keep you jumping in his arms. He paints angry, deep red blooms in his wake, and his attention is decadent, almost reverent. Your head spins, the crossover of the drugs and the pleasure melting your brain to mush, everything euphoria as you feel that month-long burden of heaviness in your chest dissipate like it never existed, fading with every slow drag of his mouth, a feeling better than any drug in and of itself.

He kisses you deep, hard, and desperate, blonde hair falling messy into your eyes, and he's all you see occupying your entire visual field. You see the way his eyebrows arch in a needy, frantic pose as he nips at your lips, all-the-while rubbing at you a little harder and filthier, feeling the hot slick soaking through your little panties already.

He pulls back, looking down at his fingers working you over, angling your jaw gently to follow him. His jaw hangs slack at the sight — his fingers sparkle, drenched by your essence, and you're so wet for him your slick literally soaks through your panties, glistening on his fingers despite the barrier. He moans aloud, high and whiny in that down bad way, wrecked at the sight, before rushing out, "Want you forever. Want you to marry me, have our kids, wanna put you in a pretty lil house with a white fence somewhere quiet." He sucks harder at your neck, teeth grazing just enough to sting sweet. When you don't respond, too sacked out by the pleasure, head tipping back, he rubs your clit a little faster and rougher, pressing insistent circles that make your thighs quake. "Don't you want that? Hm?"

You nod, arms wrapping around his neck to get reins of yourself, but he doesn't let you destabilize his infiltration of your functioning brain. "Then take me back," he begs, hand on your throat forcing you to look into his eyes, pupils blown wide, pleading with you with his entire soul. "Fuck everything, fuck all that shit I did, fuck all the girls, fuck everybody but us—just take me back and we could have it all." He chokes it out, voice the most desperate thing you've ever heard as he whispers it hot-breathed in your ear.

"I need more, please, please please," you gasp out airlessly, his question pounding the air from your lungs, head spinning hazy with lust, ignoring his pleas. Your mouths crash back together in a messy, desperate makeout, tongues tangling sloppy, teeth clashing, then he's dropping to his knees fast, hands gripping your thighs. His long fingers hook into your fishnets at the top, ripping them open with a sharp tear right at the crotch, the sound echoing loud in the tiny space, leaving jagged edges frayed against your skin. He shoves your panties aside roughly, then his mouth's on you with no warning, tongue diving straight into your soaked heat, lapping filthy through your folds and sucking on your clit like there's no tomorrow for you guys because, well, there might not be so long as you didn't answer him.

Your legs instantly quake and clasp around his head. The sound is straight-up obscene, loud wet slurps of him drinking up your wetness, breathing your clit into his mouth like a vacuum seal, but he holds you open firm, eyes transfixed on yours intently as he devours you slow then increasingly frantic with the motivation of a man who knows this might be his last chance to fuck you back into his life, his eyes fluttering closed in bliss while muffled moans hum against your core.

“Hollisssss,” you cry out, high as fuck, every nerve beating in ecstasy as it hits ten times harder, too good, too much— “oh my gosh, too, too f-f—” your words shatter into nothing, obliterated by the electric high ripping through you, and he won’t fucking stop. His tongue rips flat and broad through your folds like he’s starving, then he shakes his head side to side, nasty and unchained, trying to grind that rough vibration right into your clit, smear your slick all over his face and lips ‘til he’s soaked in you. In-fact, he's so slutted out for you his hand ditches your legs to shove his hair back, clearing the way while he tears your pussy up ruthlessly, slurping every drop like a brainless animal. He’s such a shameless slut for you and it’s got you gushing even more slick straight into his greedy mouth.

You cling to composure just for him amid the haze, but he’s insatiable, forcing your legs even wider ‘til you’re splayed utterly exposed, then driving two fingers deep into your pussy, stretching your walls apart deliberately so he can thrust his tongue inside and fuck you senseless while his thumb circles your clit without mercy. You’re unraveling completely. You try to squirm away, thighs trembling, but he’s strong and holds you in place, forcing you to take every devastating pump of his tongue.

"Stop, wait stop, I need your.. I need you to fuck me, I wanna cum around your dick so badly, Holli, it's been so long." you rush out. You don't need to tell him twice. He's up and over you in seconds, chin properly coated slick with your arousal, cock heavy and poking stiff against your thigh, even through his jeans.

You waste no time, fumbling his belt open with shaky fingers, and guiding him straight in. You grip his thick cock at the base, feeding your dripping, greedy pussy every fat inch it wills, one hand clawing his back to shove him in hastier and deeper, no condom, no barrier, just his raw, rigid dick, and you don’t stop ‘til his cockhead’s kissing your cervix, balls-deep buried in your drenched hole. He bottoms out real fuckin’ deep with a broken groan, stilling for only a second before his hips get to snapping brutal, fucking you full with all his length.

“Still so fuckin’ tight,” he grunts like it’s ripped straight from his gut, “didn’t give my pussy away, did you? My good princess, knew you wouldn’t.” He fucks you onto his dick harder, bringing your hips flush to ram into his as he presses forward fucking into you deeper ‘til a thick white foamy ring forms right at where you’re joined, both of you staring mesmerized at the slippery cream coating his shaft.

“I should’ve,” you gasp out, half-teasing through the haze, clenching around him just to feel him twitch. “Maybe it woulda taught you a fuckin’ lesson. I let you get away with too much.”

“You know better,” he chirps back gravelly, tongue swiping at his bottom lip as he angles his hips to grind brutal against your g-spot, cockhead battering that spongy spot till your vision glosses over, but you fight through it. "Nobody could fuck you like this. Couldn't stretch this tight little pussy open like me. Nobody could love you how I do."  His hand clamps yours urgent, slamming it down to your swollen clit, grinding it there while he ravages you harder, claiming every inch of your body.

“Rub that pussy for me, baby. Wanna watch you touch yourself like you did without me there to fuck you.” Your skirt’s bunched around your waist like a dirty belt, ruined and soaked, and you do, fingers slathering fast through your dripping mess, other hand mauling your nipple rushedly through your shirt, pinching and twisting ‘til it stings. It all hits so fucking good you’re drooling like a braindead slut, spit dribbling down your chin messy, high as balls, and he’s fiending pathetic, leaning in to catch your slobber and slurp it up sloppy off your quivering lips. You whimper out, fucked out of your brain, and he groans ragged, forgetting everything and only focused on the depraved filth at hand. “Stick that tongue out f’me, princess,” he commands you, his cock pulsing wild and leaking pre inside your clenchin’ hole just from the nasty show. You do, and he laps at it desperate, licking at your tongue like he had your pussy while you shatter to pieces. There’s something so raw in how you guys fuck: your usually composed girl, but this is the longest you’ve kept yourself away, and you feel him take out all the pent-up agony it caused within him on you, devouring your body like some creep.

You cum embarrassingly fast not too long after, walls fluttering wild around him, a sharp cry tearing free and your back arching sharp off the mirror it rests against, but he doesn’t give you a second, flipping you over the counter face-down rough like you’re dead weight before you can catch your breath, too turned on by your little show to wait.

He fucks into you purely for his own pleasure now, yanking your top down fully, letting your heavy tits spill out bouncing wild with his vigor, his teeth sinking into your shoulder blade hard enough to scar while he pounds into you from behind, hips crashing brutal against your ass cheeks and sending jiggling ripples through the soft flesh with every rough slam. “Fuck, baby, been dyin’ without you,” he rasps broken, whispering gravelly-voiced sweet nothings, “can’t breathe right, can’t think—shit, you left me empty, tore my fuckin’ soul out.” He slaps the jiggling flesh red-raw with sharp, stinging smacks that echo off the tiles, the pain blooming hot and sweet under your skin. You can’t even form words in response. You babble nonsense, mouth slack, drool pooling, as he smacks your ass again and again punishingly, each crack drawing a broken whimper from your throat. He looks wrecked, face twisted in pained ecstasy, breath stained with sharp booze you taste on his tongue when he licks sloppy at your neck—you figure the alcohol’s fucking him up, making it hard to get to his orgasm, but fuck, the way he’s trying so desperate, hips slamming frantic, brows pulled into the center of his forehead, and lip tucked between his teeth, is way too hot.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he groans out jaggedly, completely absorbed by your pleasure. “So wet for me, fuck.” He shuts up and both of you listen to the sound of him fucking you—a nasty sloshing gush of your creamy pussy, each brutal thrust forcing out obscene wet plops of your slick that splatter loud onto the floor below, your arousal puddling filthily at your feet. Shame twists his face, gut-churning humiliation in having to beg like this just to tip himself over the edge, brows knit tight and jaw clenched so hard it trembles, every muscle straining in pained desperation like he’s fighting for air. He’s begging now, voice cracking pathetic, “Tell me I’m worthless, baby, please, fuck.”

You leap at the opportunity to demean him even though he’s fucking you so good you can’t speak, words spilling brokenly through your sobs of pleasure. “Y–you’re w–worthless… you’re such a fucking loser, you’re so fucked up in the head, f–fuck, I could— I could r–replace you—right now—” a gasp tears through the words, “f–fuck— with any guy— anyone— I wanted to— in here…”

He whimper-groans high and pathetic, hips pistoning brutal like a jackhammer, confused turn-on flashing wild in his eyes at how your words only make him harder, make him sink into you impossibly deeper.

“I wanna be good for you, baby, I wanna be a good boy for you, fuck. I wanna be yours,” he chokes out, voice keening high and watery like tears are pricking at the edges, mind so fucking gone at why the hell this shit turns him on so bad, confusion swirling hot in his head as your pussy drags the filthy words from his chest, ripping them raw while his hips stutter frantic.

“I’m sorry for cheatin’, for bein’ such a piece of shit again, I’ll make it right, swear. Take me back, please,” he begs desperate into your ear, apologies tumbling out broken. He locks you in a headlock, arm swelling around your throat, puffing up his bicep as his breath tingles hotly in your ear. “Love you so much, baby, love you—wanna cum for you so bad, wanna fill this pussy up n’ watch my load leakin’ down your thighs all night on that dancefloor.” Tears stream down your face from pure blinding pleasure, vision sparking white, and you grab the counter edge desperate to steady yourself, but he snatches your wrists, pinnin’ ‘em behind your back in one iron grip, like he’s arrestin’ you, which in a way he kind of is with his body n’ words.

“Why’d you dance with those other guys? Why’d you leave me?” he presses, pounding into you like a madman. You don’t answer, eyes rolled back absolutely braindead from pleasure, moaning nonstop, “yes yes yes like that, right there”—and he’s all aware of your dick-delirious state, thriving on it. “Promise me. Say you’re mine forever.”

"I'm yours," you sob out, wrecked.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you, fuck, I love you."

"No other guys—say it."

“Just youuuu, fuck, fuck—” He yanks you up to face the mirror fully, forcing you to watch your heavy tits bounce obscene as he slams balls-deep into your leaking pussy from behind, the sight straight vulgar porn—they jolt hypnotically, nipples hard and peaked, with every brutal thrust shaking your whole body. He hooks one of your legs high up on the counter, spreading your thighs wide so your ass cheeks part lewdly, letting him plunge even deeper, your dripping folds clinging to his shaft on every pull-out. He lets you go and you falter back onto his chest, head thrown back against his shoulder, neck arched as you both stare into the mirror at him wrecking you wild—his face contorted hot as hell, brows pinched tight, mouth slack in agonized bliss, panting out heavy and ragged. You’re teetering on the edge, legs trembling like you’ll collapse any second, fingers tangled fierce in his hair yanking hard while he props your limp body up with both arms wrapped iron-tight around your waist, teeth sinking deep into your neck the whole damn time, hair a sweaty tangled wreck, your free hand clawing the sink edge desperately for any grip. You bite his forearm hard enough to draw blood on a better day when he reaches around, fingers circling your overspent clit ruthless. He bites your neck harder, sucking bruises into the marks, promising broken. “Never lettin’ you go again. Love you, baby, swear.” It’s harsh and soft all at once, his free hand stroking your side tender even as he chokes you tighter, thrusts turning erratic. You cum again clenching around him, sobbing his name, and he follows with a muffled groan into your shoulder, spilling hot and deep, hips stuttering.

Pleasure overloads you completely, your brain short-circuiting into blacked-out bliss as the waves of pleasure crash endless, too much for your brain to handle in one night, body going limp in his arms while he sticks in you deep, greedily making you take every last drop that pumps hot and thick, floods out messy around his cock.

You pass out for a little heavy minute, limp and sunken like you’re lost someplace deep, world faded black, and Hollis shakes you awake gentle, panic flickering in his eyes and thumb stroking your tear-streaked cheek. “Baby? Hey, c’mon—fuck, you okay?”

You blink hazy, wrecked and boneless. "I needa go home... now."

He texts his assistant quick for the valet, then Nate for a scarf to hide the evidence. Nate pops thru the bathroom door seconds later, dangling his black silk one with a smirk. “You guys are wild as fuck,” he laughs, eyeing the chaos before dipping.

Hollis fusses over you tender, wetting a paper towel to wipe the slick and cum smearing your thighs, trying to fix the shredded fishnets best he can, jagged rips barely covered, pulling your skirt down and top up crookedly. The valet pulls up his sleek orange lambo right at the back exit, engine purring low.

You wrap Nate’s scarf ‘round your face tight, covering the hickeys bloomin’ purple on your neck, smudged mascara running like warpaint, lipstick smeared messily, hair a blown-out nest. Paparazzi swarm the alley anyway, flashes blinding and their shouts bombarding, speculating on if you’re the girlfriend they’re used to or another random girl. They shout at you asking about the breakup and you flip them off behind the scarf, griping muffled, “Fuck off.”

Hollis holds you tight against his side, arm banded possessive around your waist guiding you to the car. He opens the door, helping you slide in, but shifts away to get in himself at the worst possible moment. You fumble immediately as he exits your proximity, dropping the scarf in your drunk haze, bending deep to snatch it off the ground, legs involuntarily parting and skirt teasing up your upper thighs. Flashes explode and assuredly catch everything: the wide rip of your shredded fishnet, the discreet glaze of his cum trickling slow down your inner thigh, hickeys everywhere like a roadmap of ruin, mascara streaks, drunk sway, hair wild.

By morning, it's everywhere and pure internet meme gold. "Messy girl icon fr," trending in your fan spaces with grainy edits of you bending over to grab Nate's scarf, eyes squinting against the flash and your thighs mysteriously glistening slick under the strobes, captions like "One way to kill breakup rumors 💀 that's my queen" n "pussy so good she left the function early, they were DEFINITELY fuckin before this."

Your head throbs against your skull, phone blown up with notis from your social media and calls from your friends from last night. You scroll through the voicemails, post-storm calm washing over you like quiet after chaos.

“Girl, are you seriously with Hollis right now? You went home with that cheating asshole? You’re a bitch if you did after everything. We’re so mad at you.”

You text back neutral, unfazed, knowing she’s mad but figuring a good gift might smooth it over. “We got you a Chanel purse,” you lie coolly, already picturing the store as your first stop for your newest public outing as a couple, arm-in-arm for the cameras. It reminds you of that one time in Mexico, when he fucked some girl entertainer on the resort’s beach and booked the whole girls’ trip after, groveling with paid-in-full villas and endless apologies ‘til you let him crawl back in. The girls weren’t too mad at that kind of apology back then, so you’re not all that worried now. You’re more shy about trending as a meme, an icon, paparazzi shots everywhere, TikToks about “cum thigh queen,” a poster-girl “messy girl” aesthetic, your ripped fishnets and cum-streaked thighs the internet’s new obsession, but you glance over at Hollis sleeping, his makeup still smudged like warpaint, chest rising slow and steady, and it hits you soft: he’s the only person you need in this world. You’re happy. You’ll take all the pain if it absolves the depression. You’ll parade the streets with evidence of his ruin—hickeys, cum, shame—and also secretly carry his sins like an honor, if you want to or if you don't. Those girls he fucks? They're nothing to him anyway. At the end of the day, you're the only one that means something to his heart. You are his willing victim, his happy prisoner.

And when he wakes up a few minutes later, it’s like he already knows. He smiles at you soft, eyes glinting with that haunted devotion, like he’s staring straight through your soul and claiming it all over again. “Welcome home. Been waitin’ for you to come back where you belong.”

author note: y/n is so very much feminism's worse fear! thanks for reading guys pls comment ily all sm and wanna talk to u and laugh at ur funny thoughts MWAH until next time - lizzy

[pastelxxhaze]

cheater hollis x fem!reader pt 2 click here for part one

author note: lack of writing motivation has been killing me but i had to finish what I started😛. forgive the shitty lazy ending plz! also this is way more slutty than the last part LOL didn't even think that was possible. content warnings: sad hollis again (I promise it'll break u), unprotected sex (p-in-v), rough sex, biting, choking, restraint, impact play, oral (f.rec), intoxication, semi-public, reader is such a bird for him, hickeys, biting, licking in a very depraved way, and kind of sub!hollis.

It’d been a few long weeks since you ditched your luxury condo in the hills — the one you’d shared with Hollis — and moved back to your old place in Echo Park with your friends, the spot you lived before everything unraveled; before you were swept off your naive feet by Hollis, your prince charming and toruter at once.

If you could even really call it “yours.” The girl who once lived in that space felt so achingly distant from you now — she’d been free, ambitious, full of life, burning toward something real. And now? You? You were nothing like what she’d imagined in her dreams. Maybe more in her nightmares. To her, you’d look insane, pathetic, a sellout — some stupid, love-sick girl with no self‑worth, relevant not for her ethic, but just for being the girlfriend of some famous, cheating, lying‑ass LA rapper.

Back at your shitty old apartment, the cracked walls, the crappy air‑conditioning, the single window that always stuck halfway open, all of it reminded you of who you were before him, and the apparent dichotomy was suffocating. You were ashamed of yourself for missing him, and the more pathetic you felt about it, the harder it was to get it off your mind and also reconcile it with the fact you missed him like he had died.

You hadn’t taken much when you left — just the little bag you’d packed before the confrontation. Enough to get by for two weeks, long enough for things to cool off, for him to hate you the way you needed him to.

Your plan was full of holes; no matter what you did, what you said, how hard you tried to detach, he couldn't seem to let you go, so there wasn't much you could do besides go ghost.

You remember when you first started dating and things felt so dream-like and perfect, cliché as fuck, star-gazing on a vast field side by side high on shrooms in the middle of nowhere, telling each other there was nothing you could ever imagine fighting about, let alone hating each other over. The latter part was true, you guessed. You remember you even said that if you guys ever broke up, you’d definitely want him to stay a close friend. So young, dumb, and stupidly in-love, you think now, reflecting on how much about you he had changed in just two years.

Ghosting the love of your life definitely wasn’t the cleanest exit, but it was the only one he’d let you have. You’d anticipated his every move correctly. After you guys fucked that night, he stayed awake afterward throwing one of his pathetic and signature tantrums, arms wrapped around your waist tight, head tucked into your chest like a manchild, hot tears soaking your tits he begged, voice splintering, “Don’t leave me, baby, please.”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” you’d lied flat-out, eyes leaden, voice a soft exhausted rasp, hand circling slow along his back to force his calm. “M’ so tired, I just wanna sleep.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ will,” Hollis rasped back, shaking his head against you, fighting another sob. “I know it. I can feel it.”

You sighed, bone-drained. “Holli, my arms are around you,” you soothed, the earnestness frayed thin by fatigue. “You’d feel me if I tried to move, okay? C’mon, let’s sleep. I’m so tired, you know I waited up for you all night.”

“You don’t forgive me.” He pulled back just enough to bore into your eyes, lip quivering, eyes red-rimmed and crooked in that shattered way that used to gut you, although now just a dull, festering annoyance that served as residue of his denial. He couldn’t keep making a mess of your heart, soul, love, and devotion, then pleading insanity. That hadn’t been what was running through your mind necessarily when he’d searched your eyes, but your soulmate had rightfully inferred it, blurting out, “You’re not even lookin’ at me the fuckin’ same right now,” tears carving fresh tracks down his swollen face.

“I’m just tired, Holl,” you whispered, barely audible, all you could really say. “Yeah, of me.” He nuzzled harder into your chest, clinging like this desperate fusion could erase his latest betrayal.

You blinked slow through the fog, accusation landing frustratingly. “No, Hollis, like actually, I’m genuinely sleepy, love. It’s four in the morning.” The words came out airy, detached, your insides washed pale by exhaustion and your body on autopilot with one hand in his hair, the other tracing endless back-circles, not to soothe him, but to keep yourself at the fight of getting him to settle into sleep. You prop yourself upright as he folds deeper into you, shaking against your skin with those tiny, stubborn tremors he can’t kill, all pure fear. His fingers knot white in your shirt like loosening them might make you evaporate. His face mashes into your skin, burrowing for permanence; if dissolution were possible, he’d have melted straight into you.

“M’sorry I’m such a fuckup,” he breathed wet and warped against you, sealing it with a desperate kiss to your chest. Then he cracked wide, unravelling completely. “I’m so bad to you. I hate myself, for real. Don’t deserve my career, don’t deserve you, don’t deserve shit. All these people scream my name like I’m some god, but I’m nothing. Imma mess. I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” he choked out, breath hitching painful, ragged. “Shoulda never pulled you into this. Shoulda let you run day one. I just—” He sucked in a breath that sounded like it burned, “I love you so much I couldn’t. I couldn’t, I can’t let you go, baby. I love you, I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” you profess back, and unfortunately and probably forever meant it. Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing slow under his eye before you pull him up into a kiss. It starts soft, almost careful, the kind of tired sweetness that happens when there’s nothing left to fight about. You know it, he knows it. All his friends who’re there every time he cheats on you, your friends who roll their eyes every time you vent about your drama, the entire world who’ve suspected his bullshit know it — you’re absolutely powerless against your love for Hollis, just as he is for you.

For a second he just breathes you in. Then he kisses you back harder, needier, like he’s starving for it, like he thinks if he holds on tight enough he might somehow stop the clock that’s already ticking down to when you walk away. His hand bunches in your shirt again, mouth desperate against yours, nipping and sucking and devouring.

“Anything,” he broke the aggressive kiss and whispered against your lips before grabbing for you again, “in this whole fucking world. Anything.” You lay still and let him find solace in your body once again, too exhausted to resist. He kissed you harsh and needy, hands wandering over you rightfully like his plaything: squeezing hard into your waist, raking down your thighs, the nape of your neck.

At some point, at your lazy reciprocation, he bit down sharper with a whine caught in his throat, and you surged up, matching his energy as you kissed him back just as rough because you had no idea when you’d get the chance to do that again. It felt good to hurt each other like this—an allegorical battle waged in teeth and tongue. When he finally pulled away, he was breathing like he’d run a mile. His hands were still clamped around you, eyes wild, hungry, and inspecting.

When his inspection locked onto your eyes and saw the distance still carved there, he shattered, voice cracking as he begged unchangingly, “Stay. Please. We can fix this, don't do this to us.” Words tumbled out, promises and pleas you’d heard before, but you knew then nothing you said or did would bridge the chasm. He was drowning in fear, blind to reason.

What finally steadied him wasn’t an answer, however. It was the story.

You started talking about how you guys met. The timing. The stupid coincidences that were too specific to be considered coincidence at all. The way everything lined up too perfectly to ignore—like it had been mapped out before either of you existed. Your memories of the same places, your shared dreams, your shared headaches that subsequently resulted in the uncanny ability to feel distress in the heart of the other, even across distance.

He stilled for it, breaths leveling, grip slackening. Fate alone sedated him—proof your love wasn’t accidental, tribulations powerless against what the universe-stitched together, decreeing it forever.

You vowed to stay. Two hours later, his lashes tear-crusted, hand limp from clutching, you kissed him goodbye feather-soft, then left straight into an Uber headed to Echo Park.

The girls were used to your issues with Hollis and out of nothing but love for you, they took you back in every time. However, this was the worst they’d seen you. Or, worse yet, not seen you. You holed up, depressed and checked out in your room alone for days. They barely caught glimpses — the bathroom door cracking open, the shuffle of your slippers down the hall at 2 a.m., the sound of your shower running long past reasonable.

It wasn’t the dramatics this time. There was no rant, no crash out, no loud sobbing from your bedroom with sad music, no long all-nighter living room spiral sesh about how he ruined you but you’d still pick up if he called. It was just silence. Being depressed made time move strangely—too fast and not at all. Before you knew it, a week had slipped by since you’d left home, locked yourself in your old bedroom, and sold your soul by separating from your love with the purpose of filling the void he’d left behind. You hadn’t checked your calls, emails, or texts.

At first, they had to drag you out. Request a room key from the front desk and shoulder your door open, type shit. Your friends practically pried you off the mattress, shoved you into the shower, and did your makeup for you while you stared through the mirror like you were watching someone else’s life. You went out because they begged. You stayed sober. Cried in the Uber home. Repeat.

A month later, you went out because you didn’t want to think.

You opposed his lifestyle, but he had ruined you intrinsically, and just like him and the effects of his brokenness, you sought to erase your self-loathing under the same neon lights and fast, reckless lifestyle. It all just suffocated you at first—the being home, same thoughts of doom and despair every day, hollow heart. So alone, you went out to a sweaty, overstimulating nightclub and got super high out of your mind, dancing the pain away. If you were going to rot, you decided, might as well do it in full glam.

So when your friend told you, bitch, it’s my birthday, get up and get ready, you didn’t argue. You slid on the tiniest skirt you packed, lined your lips with precision, popped something just to feel a little lighter, and rolled out with your girls just like the old times.

Only this time, it wasn’t freedom to be young and turnt. It was escape, and birds of a feather, as the saying went, indeed flocked together.

By the time you girls got to the exclusive, high-end club, the bass was shaking the floor and your head was pleasantly floaty. Lights blurred, bodies pressed close, and your friend screamed into your ear about bottle service and how tonight, we’re not crying over any bumass fucking rapper.

“I’m not even thinking about him,” you lied, taking another shot, cheering and wooing. You thought about him every moment of every hour of everyday.

You were already rolling, already warm and buzzing at the edges, and you knew better than to let his name drift too close while you were high on X — shit could turn fast. The numbing and euphoric effects were exactly proportionate to the inverse if the wrong thing ticked you off, which is why it hadn’t always been your drug of choice.

But nothing about you had been you as of late, so you decided against your better judgment and under the guise of your day one’s birthday to let yourself pop a little.

You were on the dance floor when the air shifted.

You didn’t see him first—you felt him. That weird, stupid, psychic ache in your chest that always showed up before your eyes caught up. Then you turned, and there he was near the back section: Hollis in a black tee and chains that caught every flash of the lights, surrounded by Nate, Roman, Jonah, Ryan, Finn, and a couple more guys, the whole crew posted up like a live photograph, fits all curated and aesthetics all matching, untouchable.

He saw you almost at the exact same second.

Your stomach dropped so hard you toppled over a smidgen. You straightened up and forced yourself to keep moving, hips still rolling against your friend, hands in the air like nothing happened.

His expression didn’t change much — just that little twitch at the corner of his mouth, eyes narrowing the tiniest bit like he couldn’t believe you were really there, twerking on a girl at the club — he had turned a good girl into something so bad.

Everyone thought you broke up. The blogs had been eating off that headline for weeks, and neither of you had said a word. All of his pictures of you were still up, he still liked and commented his weird little comments like “sweet bby ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･” under pics of you that your modelling agency got around to posting late, followed you on every platform without a single archive, and you never publicly reciprocated which was unusual since you always reposted his stuff: pictures, tour dates, anything and everything, but at the same time your social media never changed, all evidence of the fact leading fans to believe you probably just weren’t on your phone, not wanting to jump to conclusions about their favourite couple.

Now you were in the same room again, pretending you didn’t feel the other’s stare like a hand around your throat. “Do not look at him,” your friend yelled in your ear, noticing the way your gaze kept slipping. “He’s not real tonight. You hear me? He’s a fucking hallucination.”

“I’m fine,” you said, laughing too hard, too brittle. “Told you, I’m over it.” So you proved it.

You danced with whoever came up behind you. Let unfamiliar hands settle at your waist. Threw your head back and laughed at jokes you barely heard. Every time you spun toward the VIP section, you caught Hollis watching, jaw tight, eyes dark, Roman saying something in his ear that he clearly wasn’t listening to.

Your high, once soft and warm, started turning jagged.

By midnight, you’d talked to more men than you had in the last year. None of them registered. They were props, scenery, background noise to drown out the fact that Hollis was ten feet away acting like you were a stranger. Eventually you lost sight of him in the crowd. Good, you told yourself. Out of sight, out of mind, out of rage. Except the rage didn’t follow him when he left your visual terrain. It stayed. Sat heavy in your ribs, low and hot, like something coiled.

You ordered another drink, threw it back too fast, and let the burn drag down your throat, hoping it would cauterize whatever was lighting up inside you. You let the room tilt, lights smear into each other, and you let the bass pulse straight through your bones compliantly until you saw him again.

Near the bar, half‑turned away from you, leaning down to hear some girl talk. She was pretty in that easy L.A. way — glossy hair, tiny top, wrist resting lightly on his forearm as she said something into his ear. He smiled at her. Actually smiled. It looked a little polite, but you didn’t care. Your high shattered.

One second you’re staring, vision tunneled, jaw locked, and the next you’re cutting through the crowd, drink sloshing over your hand, not apologizing when you shoulder clubgoers. The bass is thunder in your chest, heartbeat keeping pace with it, sweat slick on your spine, every emotion both feelable and perceivable amplified by the molly blooming hot in your bloodstream.

There’s no middle ground. No rational thought buffering it—just an anger so deep it feels supernatural, inhuman. It’s like you’re possessed. You don’t even really know why you’re this mad—only that you’re going to say something. Hollis spots you the second you’re close enough to be dangerous. His whole body goes rigid, the smile slipping off his face mid-sentence. The girl beside him turns too, eyes flicking over you in that quick, sizing-up way.

You stop right in front of them, too close, chest heaving. “Wow,” you say, laughing once, sharp and mirthless. “Real classy, Hollis. You’re just gonna do this bullshit in my face now, right?” Your words trip over each other, a little slurred, a little too loud. People nearby glance over. You don’t care.

He scratches at the back of his head, posture going stiff and defensive, broad shoulders squaring at your cornering. “Yo, what are you—” he starts, but you caught him off, gaze snapping to the girl. “You.” You point at her, finger just shy of her cheek. “How do you know him?”

She freezes, shrugging and eyes going wide. “We’re just talking,” she says slowly, hands lifting like she’s trying to show she’s unarmed. “We’re friends.”

You bark out a laugh, ugly and disbelieving. “Friends. That’s cute.” You tilt your head, staring right through her. “Is this your first time meeting him? Or are you one of his little whores who lets him fuck for clout?”

Her face twists, head cocking back appalled. “Excuse me?”

“Answer the fucking question, then you're excused. Are you one of his fucking prostitutes with no self-respect?” you bite out, stepping closer, the smell of her perfume making you nauseous. “Did he tell you he still lives with his girlfriend? Or did he forget that part again?” You were talking absolutely crazy, words slurring at the edges from all the liquor burning through your veins, but the rage kept you razor-sharp, coherent enough to eviscerate with fury being the only sober thing left in you.

The girl glances at Hollis, lost. “What is she talking about?”

“Don't talk to him, hooker ass bitch,” you snap, seething and your voice all venom. You shoulder-check forward, stepping into her line of sight which just so happens is right in front of Hollis, cutting off her view entirely. The height difference hits you all at once—his frame towering close enough that his body heat radiates through your skin, that familiar cologne wrapping around you like a chokehold, stirring up the rage already boiling in your gut. It pisses you off even more, how it still does something to you, how it twists the knife deeper.

“Alright, alright, c'mon, that’s enough,” Hollis mutters, voice low, reaching for your shoulder, firm but gentle to pull you away.

You yank it back, defiant. “Don’t touch me.” you glare up at him.

People are definitely staring now. You can feel the attention, the phones lifting, the red light of cameras blinking at the edge of your vision, but it all blurs behind the hot rush in your head. “You really couldn’t even wait?” you spit at him quietly. “Couldn’t give it, what, a month? You’re already out here lining up the next bitch while half my shit is still in your closet?”

“Yo, chill,” the girl snaps now, irritation beating out her fear. “You’re not gonna stand in my face and call me that. I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t need to know me,” you fire back, pointing at her again. “You need to know him. That he lies. That he destroys. That he che—”

“Stop,” Hollis grits out, stepping between you and her, chest almost brushing yours. Up close, you can see the muscle in his jaw ticking, the way his eyes keep cutting sideways to the slowly forming semi‑circle of people recording. “You’re off your ass. You don’t wanna do this here.”

“No?” you challenge, tilting your head. “When were you planning on doing it, then, hm? Letting everybody know the truth about how we’ve been. In some thot’s DMs again? On live? On a second fucking account you told me was just for your friends?” you spat in his face bitterly, in your drunk mind, the two of you the only people in the room.

His hand closes around your wrist, grip sterner and firmer this time. “I said, that’s enough.” He’ss not usually so dominant, but he’s straight up freaking, the exposure making him fear being outed for his fuck-ups by anybody close enough to hear you over the music.

You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go, fingers wrapping tight, heat searing into your skin. It sends a different kind of fire through you—anger, yes, but also that old, hated familiarity that melts your icy heart a little. “Let go of me,” you warn, trying to kick that feeling, expression serious and grave. “I swear to God, Hollis, I will scream this whole place down.”

“You already are,” he bites back, eyes flashing disciplinarily. “Come here.”

Before you can protest again, he’s turning, steering you away from the bar, away from the girl, away from the cluster of phones. You dig your heels in, stumbling, fighting his grip, free hand pushing at his chest to no avail. He’s buffed up since you last saw him, more broader, taller, and charged against your wildness. “What, you embarrassed now?” you shout after the girl and whoever’s still close enough to hear. “You embarrassed your little side thing found out you’re a lying—”

“Shut up,” he mutters low, stilling steadfast, fighting to pull you in front of him and cupping his hand over your mouth once he manages to pin you there, muffling your fight into hot breaths against his wide palm. You struggle, trying to speak around his fingers, nip at the flat of his palm, acting out pure feral spite as he bear-hugs you close, draping his full frame over yours like a shield, chest to your back, arms locked tight to hide your outrage from prying eyes and flashing phones. With how tall he is, even if somebody were to glance your way, it’s not really like anyone can tell what he’s doing beneath all the lights. He scans the room for anybody watching, shaking his head while he presses you deeper into the shadows, strong-arming you into moving.

“Not a fuckin' joke, you're acting crazy. I'm not playing around with you, bro.” he growls low, voice roughened with exasperation. He drags you past bodies and tables until you’re near a darker hallway leading toward the bathrooms and staff doors.

You twist hard, trying to wrench free. “Get off me!” you muffle against his hand, which he only releases when he's sure the distance is appropriate, hand immediately sliding to your shoulder to hold you steady. He pins you before you can bolt, palm flattening against the wall by your head, his body crowding into yours, boxing you in without actually touching more than your wrist and hip. The music is muffled here, but your pulse is still thunder in your ears.

“Calm. Down,” he says, each word clipped, breath hot, eyes searching your face like he’s looking for the version of you that used to just melt when he got this close. “You’re wilding. They’re recording you, you hear me? Look at me.”

You refuse, staring over his shoulder, chest heaving, vision glassy from the mix of high, alcohol, and rage. You tug again at his hold, but his fingers only tighten.

“Hollis, let me go, stop fucking touching me,” you grit out, voice breaking now. “Let me go. I was actually having a decent night for once.” you add, as though you didn't start the whole shitshow.

He swallows, the anger in his face shifting into something more pained, more panicked. “Yeah? You think I wasn’t watching you?” he says hoarsely. “Dancing on every dude in here like I’m dead?”

You snap your gaze to his, eyes blazing. “You are dead to me.”

“Then why’re you over here screaming at some random girl about me?” he demands. “Why're you shaking like that—like I scare you, like what I do to you freaks you out?”

“Because you’re disgusting,” you retort quick, hating how your eyes burn. “Because you do this every time. You swear you love me, and then I look up and you’re smiling in some girl’s face like I never existed.”

His head dips closer, forehead almost touching yours, the air between you two hot and voltaic. “I’m not doing anything with her,” he grinds out, like he’s finally bleeding something he kept buried. “You think I’m gonna touch anybody after you walked out on me like that? I can’t even fucking sleep without you, and you think I’m—”

“I think you’re exactly who you showed me you are.” You cut him off, voice small yet simultaneously all sharp and vicious. He doesn't bother retorting. He just stares down into your eyes convictedly, breathing hard, the messy noise of the club bleeding faintly in from outside the hallway. His thumb strokes once, unconsciously, against the inside of your wrist, like his body forgets you’re fighting him.

“Let me go,” you repeat, quieter this time. “I’m not gonna ruin my friend’s birthday because you’re still a whore.”

His mouth twitches, but not with anger; more like the words hit him where it hurts. Instead of snapping back at you, however, he stays quiet. And his thumb just brushes your wrist again, soft, automatic, feather like, like he can’t help it, like he can't stop himself from wanting you. You hate how your skin still reacts, how it prickles visibly with goosebumps under his touch even when you’re spitting venom.

“You really think I’d do that shit right here?” he rasps, body pressing closer, still caging you against the wall. “After everything? You think I’m that much of a piece of shit?”

You laugh, brittle and mean, shoving at his chest with your free hand. He barely budges. “I know you are. You’ve shown me enough times. Paris. Miami. That festival last summer. Pick one, Hollis.”

His face twists, pain flashing raw before defensiveness hardens it over in a flash. “That was different—I was fucked up, I fucked up, yeah, but I always came back to you. Always told you everything after, didn’t I?”

He was right, but it didn't help his case when he'd been lying to you more lately, ducking shit, hiding tracks like you weren't his. You said nothing, refusing to let him off the hook again. “I tell you all this shit because I don’t wanna fucking be this way. I love you so fucking much. I don’t wanna hurt you, baby, I don’t, I love you more than fuckin’ anything, my own life, I just wanna hurt myself and I drag you down with me ‘cause you’re in me, you’re me, you’re my fucking soul, I—”

You seethed at his percieved manipulation, shaking your head appalledly. “You’re such a fucking liar, Hollis, you literally let me find out from a live. From friends. And now you’re doing it here, where I can see it, in-front of all these people?” You scoff bitterly at him even having the effrontery to talk to you still like that isn’t the most evil, twisted way to find out you got cheated on again. In a room full of people who knew you were together, his friends. “Just let go of me, bro. I swear to god.” you push at him, not earning even a budge.

His other hand lifts slow, hesitant, cupping your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll bolt or perhaps bite. His eyes search yours, desperate, thumb stroking just under your eye where mascara’s all smeared. He knows he’s selfish—your high, fucked-up just like him, but he can’t help himself. His chest rises and falls like he’s holding himself together by a thread and you’ve got shears ready to sever his anchor. “Baby… do you still love me?”

The question hits like a gut punch. You jerk your head away, but he tracks your head moving away, cradling your face to stay in his view gentle but insistent, keeping you pinned in that gaze. “Don’t fucking call me that. Don’t touch me like that.”

“Tell me,” he pleads, cadence of his voice breaking thin now, forehead dipping closer. “Just say it. Do you still—”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” you snap, slapping his hand away, trying to push him off you, chest heaving. He moves all but an inch, stubborn and persistent, and you quickly feel your high crashing harder than ever, your own mind turning traitor under the drugs, flooding you with unwanted images of the hickies on his neck the morning after he “fell asleep at the studio,” the text history of him and that random makeup artist on his tour, the most recent clip on the live, his confession to you over the phone in Miami, his location at a strip-club in Paris, and the festival—whatever unspeakable shit went down there that you still can’t bring yourself to internalize. Suddenly everything’s too loud, too bright, and you feel stupid tears burning hot behind your eyes.

“You don’t get to ask me that. Not after you’ve fucked half of L.A. and come home smelling like them. I’m done being your idiot.” you shove him off to no avail, trynna flee his grip before he can see you cry.

He’s burning, fueled by letting you go once and very evidently not willing to make the same mistake twice. “I’m not—” He cuts off, frustration boiling over, his hand dropping to your shoulder instead, gripping like he’s anchoring his naughty kid who's misbehaving in public. “I haven’t touched anybody since you left. I swear. I can’t even look at them without seeing your empty side of the bed. You think I want this? You think I’m good? Could talk to a million fucking girls, but none of them will ever mess with my head as much as you do.”

He crooks your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes so you can see the truth written there. “I’ve thought about you every day. Every fuckin’ hour, every minute. There’s been nothing else, nobody else.”

You find yourself softening at the gentle admission, but the sting behind your eyes warns you’re seconds from crying, and like the ticking time bomb you are, you need to find a safe space to self implode. Unfortunately, last time you cried in front of Hollis, it ended up just so happening that he then got to fuck you, so instead, you shove him again, weaker this time, your voice wobbling as you manage, barely holding the water works all back, “Then why are you always talking to them? Smiling? Acting like the world’s your playground? Let me go, Hollis. I’m serious.”

He shakes his head fast, eyes glassed and worried, body tensing just enough you feel it where he’s pressed close, preparing for battle to keep you here with him. “Can’t. Not like this. You’re fucked up, princess, you’re shaking—”

“Yeah, because of  you,” you snap, finally wrenching your wrist free, but he steps in tighter, completely on your ass intercepting your every move, hands hovering just above yours, scared to fully let go.

Before he can say more, voices cut through the hallway, familiar, unforeign. Your friends round the corner, eyes widening at the scene: you wild-eyed and disheveled against the wall, Hollis looming over you, physically impeding your escape. You know they already think you’re a dumb bitch for Hollis and that he treats you like shit, but having them live see it is different. You panic, ducking under his arm, cheeks burning. “Guys, I’m fine—let’s just go, I’m sorry—”

“Nah, fuck you mean ‘let’s go’? You’re wasted and high as fuck, drawing all this attention to yourself. You can’t be out here like this no more,” Hollis snaps firmly, reaching for you again, tone resolute and already decided, unintentionally gloating that old authority over you right in front of your friends, undercut with raw desperation and real worry flickering in his eyes.

Your friend—the birthday girl—steps forward, eyes narrowing at him. “Back the fuck off her, Hollis. Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Fucking look at her.”

“Yeah,” the other chimes in, grabbing your arm protectively. “She doesn’t wanna talk to you. Let her go.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you guys think, man, I know my girlfriend. She doesn’t even wanna fucking be here. Partying isn’t girl help her feel better,” he argues knowingly, voice cracking raw whilst trying to save you, shoving past them like they’re in his way.

He’s right, you think, stomach twisting guilty as your friends bristle. The birthday girl scoffs. “Don’t speak for her, Hollis. You don’t get to play hero now after all the shit you've done to her.”

He’s always been polite to them before, quiet nods, respectful distance, but tonight’s frayed every edge. “She’s my fucking girlfriend. You don’t get to—”

“Watch us.”

Your friends tug you back toward the dance floor, arms linked tight around you like they're shielding you from a bomb. “Fuck him,” birthday girl exclaims, loud enough you know he might still hear. “You're not doing this tonight. More shots, now,” she orders.

You nod, numb, letting them pull you through the crowd. The hallway confrontation clings to you like a spell was cast with every word he'd uttered, every action he'd deployed—his hand on your cheek, that broken do you still love me, the way your body betrayed you by leaning in just a fraction before you caught yourself. Your high's curdled into something sour, heavy, the lights too harsh now, the bass rattling your ribs like punishment.

They shove drinks into your hands. You down them fast, one after another, chasing the blur. "I'm good," you keep lying, keep up your facade and even find yourself forcing a laugh as some guy tries to dance up on you. Your friends cheer, thinking you're bouncing back. But every swallow tastes like ash.

Hollis's voice loops in your head—she's my girl—and suddenly the club feels like a cage. You spot him across the room, back with his crew now, staring at the floor while Nate claps his shoulder too hard all hang in there buddy. He looks wrecked. You look away, but it doesn't help.

The depression crashes back harder than before, bone-deep and immediate. All that armor you built through the party girl nights, the spite-dancing, the ''I'm fine's'' crumbles. You want your shitty apartment. You want silence. You do want your old self back. But mostly, fuck, you just want him. His hands. His apologies. The way he breaks and begs like you're the only thing holding his pieces together. It's pathetic. You're pathetic. But the ache wins.

You slip away from your friends mid-song, mumbling something about the bathroom. They don't notice, too busy hyping the birthday girl. Your legs carry you on autopilot, past the VIP ropes, down the dim hallway again. You don't know if he's watching. Don't care.

The bathroom door's cracked open. You push in, lock it shaky, and lean over the sink. Mirror-you looks like hell: mascara tracks, lip gloss smudged, eyes wild and wet. You splash water on your face, but it doesn't wash away the ugly because it's all coming from the inside. Your phone buzzes in your hand—you think it's texts from friends checking to ensure you're not with him, which you plan to ignore, but that weird pull of the universe makes you check it before you silence it and of-course, it's him. The universe always bends to the will of you two and your bad romance.

Hollis: bathroom? talk to me. please baby.

Your stomach flips. You shouldn't.

you: yeah

You go to delete it, but your thumb hovers, brain spinning a messy pros-cons spiral. Delete and you're free to go home, forget this night, pretend the ache isn't winning. Or answer, dig the hole deeper, make another bad choice because you're already too far gone. Hollis was right out there—he saw through your fake fun, knew you were crumbling, unlike your friends who dragged you anyway. Nobody really cares but him, and that freaks you out most, the thinking automatically yielding in his favor, and once again, you do the only thing you know how to do: escape. Before you can turn to exit, though, the door rattles. Someone's trying the handle.

"It's occupied," you call, as if assuming it's a stranger might reverse the cruel fate of the universe. "It's me," he responds, low and urgent, the only person who, as you'd always known, truly cared for you. "Open up."

You freeze. Part of you screams to ignore him, flush the toilet for noise, wait him out. But the depression whispers louder—let him fix it. just this once. Your hand moves before your brain catches up, unlocking the door.

He slips in fast, locking it behind him, filling the limited space, leaving no room to breathe anything but just him: his sweat-slicked skin, expensive cologne, chains glinting n jinglin soft, and his eyes bloodshot and locked on you like you're about to die. "Fuck," he breathes, hands coming up slow, cupping your face again. You flinch but don't pull away. "You okay?"

"No," you whisper, hating the tears spilling over. "This is so fucked up."

"I know." His thumbs swipe your cheeks, gentle, desperate. He steps closer, forehead pressing to yours fully this time, breath shaky. "Missed you so bad. Every night. Can't do this without you."

You clock it instantly, the way he’s talking like he’s already won you back, like the bathroom door unlocking was the final checkmate. “You’re still talking to girls,” you mumble, voice breaking, but your hands fist his shirt anyway, pulling him in. “You’re still… you. And you’re never gonna change.”

"Not like that." He kisses your temple, your jaw, needy little presses. "They're nothing. Swear. Just you. Always you. Only you." His hands slide down, gripping your hips, lifting you onto the sink edge easy, like old habit. Your legs part on instinct, wrapping around his waist.

He steps in between them. He kisses down your neck, slow and hungry, his soft, plush lips dragging hot, open-mouthed pecks down your throat, making up for every second you spent away. He does it like he needs it—so desperate and shameful in his longing that his tongue flicks out to taste the salt of your skin. He licks again and again like a depraved dog, just to be sure you’re real, then he full-on makes out with your neck, right against your pulse, sucking deep and slow, lathing over the sensitive skin with his tongue, and nibbling just enough to sting you and keep you jumping in his arms. He paints angry, deep red blooms in his wake, and his attention is decadent, almost reverent. Your head spins, the crossover of the drugs and the pleasure melting your brain to mush, everything euphoria as you feel that month-long burden of heaviness in your chest dissipate like it never existed, fading with every slow drag of his mouth, a feeling better than any drug in and of itself.

He kisses you deep, hard, and desperate, blonde hair falling messy into your eyes, and he's all you see occupying your entire visual field. You see the way his eyebrows arch in a needy, frantic pose as he nips at your lips, all-the-while rubbing at you a little harder and filthier, feeling the hot slick soaking through your little panties already.

He pulls back, looking down at his fingers working you over, angling your jaw gently to follow him. His jaw hangs slack at the sight — his fingers sparkle, drenched by your essence, and you're so wet for him your slick literally soaks through your panties, glistening on his fingers despite the barrier. He moans aloud, high and whiny in that down bad way, wrecked at the sight, before rushing out, "Want you forever. Want you to marry me, have our kids, wanna put you in a pretty lil house with a white fence somewhere quiet." He sucks harder at your neck, teeth grazing just enough to sting sweet. When you don't respond, too sacked out by the pleasure, head tipping back, he rubs your clit a little faster and rougher, pressing insistent circles that make your thighs quake. "Don't you want that? Hm?"

You nod, arms wrapping around his neck to get reins of yourself, but he doesn't let you destabilize his infiltration of your functioning brain. "Then take me back," he begs, hand on your throat forcing you to look into his eyes, pupils blown wide, pleading with you with his entire soul. "Fuck everything, fuck all that shit I did, fuck all the girls, fuck everybody but us—just take me back and we could have it all." He chokes it out, voice the most desperate thing you've ever heard as he whispers it hot-breathed in your ear.

"I need more, please, please please," you gasp out airlessly, his question pounding the air from your lungs, head spinning hazy with lust, ignoring his pleas. Your mouths crash back together in a messy, desperate makeout, tongues tangling sloppy, teeth clashing, then he's dropping to his knees fast, hands gripping your thighs. His long fingers hook into your fishnets at the top, ripping them open with a sharp tear right at the crotch, the sound echoing loud in the tiny space, leaving jagged edges frayed against your skin. He shoves your panties aside roughly, then his mouth's on you with no warning, tongue diving straight into your soaked heat, lapping filthy through your folds and sucking on your clit like there's no tomorrow for you guys because, well, there might not be so long as you didn't answer him.

Your legs instantly quake and clasp around his head. The sound is straight-up obscene, loud wet slurps of him drinking up your wetness, breathing your clit into his mouth like a vacuum seal, but he holds you open firm, eyes transfixed on yours intently as he devours you slow then increasingly frantic with the motivation of a man who knows this might be his last chance to fuck you back into his life, his eyes fluttering closed in bliss while muffled moans hum against your core.

“Hollisssss,” you cry out, high as fuck, every nerve beating in ecstasy as it hits ten times harder, too good, too much— “oh my gosh, too, too f-f—” your words shatter into nothing, obliterated by the electric high ripping through you, and he won’t fucking stop. His tongue rips flat and broad through your folds like he’s starving, then he shakes his head side to side, nasty and unchained, trying to grind that rough vibration right into your clit, smear your slick all over his face and lips ‘til he’s soaked in you. In-fact, he's so slutted out for you his hand ditches your legs to shove his hair back, clearing the way while he tears your pussy up ruthlessly, slurping every drop like a brainless animal. He’s such a shameless slut for you and it’s got you gushing even more slick straight into his greedy mouth.

You cling to composure just for him amid the haze, but he’s insatiable, forcing your legs even wider ‘til you’re splayed utterly exposed, then driving two fingers deep into your pussy, stretching your walls apart deliberately so he can thrust his tongue inside and fuck you senseless while his thumb circles your clit without mercy. You’re unraveling completely. You try to squirm away, thighs trembling, but he’s strong and holds you in place, forcing you to take every devastating pump of his tongue.

"Stop, wait stop, I need your.. I need you to fuck me, I wanna cum around your dick so badly, Holli, it's been so long." you rush out. You don't need to tell him twice. He's up and over you in seconds, chin properly coated slick with your arousal, cock heavy and poking stiff against your thigh, even through his jeans.

You waste no time, fumbling his belt open with shaky fingers, and guiding him straight in. You grip his thick cock at the base, feeding your dripping, greedy pussy every fat inch it wills, one hand clawing his back to shove him in hastier and deeper, no condom, no barrier, just his raw, rigid dick, and you don’t stop ‘til his cockhead’s kissing your cervix, balls-deep buried in your drenched hole. He bottoms out real fuckin’ deep with a broken groan, stilling for only a second before his hips get to snapping brutal, fucking you full with all his length.

“Still so fuckin’ tight,” he grunts like it’s ripped straight from his gut, “didn’t give my pussy away, did you? My good princess, knew you wouldn’t.” He fucks you onto his dick harder, bringing your hips flush to ram into his as he presses forward fucking into you deeper ‘til a thick white foamy ring forms right at where you’re joined, both of you staring mesmerized at the slippery cream coating his shaft.

“I should’ve,” you gasp out, half-teasing through the haze, clenching around him just to feel him twitch. “Maybe it woulda taught you a fuckin’ lesson. I let you get away with too much.”

“You know better,” he chirps back gravelly, tongue swiping at his bottom lip as he angles his hips to grind brutal against your g-spot, cockhead battering that spongy spot till your vision glosses over, but you fight through it. "Nobody could fuck you like this. Couldn't stretch this tight little pussy open like me. Nobody could love you how I do."  His hand clamps yours urgent, slamming it down to your swollen clit, grinding it there while he ravages you harder, claiming every inch of your body.

“Rub that pussy for me, baby. Wanna watch you touch yourself like you did without me there to fuck you.” Your skirt’s bunched around your waist like a dirty belt, ruined and soaked, and you do, fingers slathering fast through your dripping mess, other hand mauling your nipple rushedly through your shirt, pinching and twisting ‘til it stings. It all hits so fucking good you’re drooling like a braindead slut, spit dribbling down your chin messy, high as balls, and he’s fiending pathetic, leaning in to catch your slobber and slurp it up sloppy off your quivering lips. You whimper out, fucked out of your brain, and he groans ragged, forgetting everything and only focused on the depraved filth at hand. “Stick that tongue out f’me, princess,” he commands you, his cock pulsing wild and leaking pre inside your clenchin’ hole just from the nasty show. You do, and he laps at it desperate, licking at your tongue like he had your pussy while you shatter to pieces. There’s something so raw in how you guys fuck: your usually composed girl, but this is the longest you’ve kept yourself away, and you feel him take out all the pent-up agony it caused within him on you, devouring your body like some creep.

You cum embarrassingly fast not too long after, walls fluttering wild around him, a sharp cry tearing free and your back arching sharp off the mirror it rests against, but he doesn’t give you a second, flipping you over the counter face-down rough like you’re dead weight before you can catch your breath, too turned on by your little show to wait.

He fucks into you purely for his own pleasure now, yanking your top down fully, letting your heavy tits spill out bouncing wild with his vigor, his teeth sinking into your shoulder blade hard enough to scar while he pounds into you from behind, hips crashing brutal against your ass cheeks and sending jiggling ripples through the soft flesh with every rough slam. “Fuck, baby, been dyin’ without you,” he rasps broken, whispering gravelly-voiced sweet nothings, “can’t breathe right, can’t think—shit, you left me empty, tore my fuckin’ soul out.” He slaps the jiggling flesh red-raw with sharp, stinging smacks that echo off the tiles, the pain blooming hot and sweet under your skin. You can’t even form words in response. You babble nonsense, mouth slack, drool pooling, as he smacks your ass again and again punishingly, each crack drawing a broken whimper from your throat. He looks wrecked, face twisted in pained ecstasy, breath stained with sharp booze you taste on his tongue when he licks sloppy at your neck—you figure the alcohol’s fucking him up, making it hard to get to his orgasm, but fuck, the way he’s trying so desperate, hips slamming frantic, brows pulled into the center of his forehead, and lip tucked between his teeth, is way too hot.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he groans out jaggedly, completely absorbed by your pleasure. “So wet for me, fuck.” He shuts up and both of you listen to the sound of him fucking you—a nasty sloshing gush of your creamy pussy, each brutal thrust forcing out obscene wet plops of your slick that splatter loud onto the floor below, your arousal puddling filthily at your feet. Shame twists his face, gut-churning humiliation in having to beg like this just to tip himself over the edge, brows knit tight and jaw clenched so hard it trembles, every muscle straining in pained desperation like he’s fighting for air. He’s begging now, voice cracking pathetic, “Tell me I’m worthless, baby, please, fuck.”

You leap at the opportunity to demean him even though he’s fucking you so good you can’t speak, words spilling brokenly through your sobs of pleasure. “Y–you’re w–worthless… you’re such a fucking loser, you’re so fucked up in the head, f–fuck, I could— I could r–replace you—right now—” a gasp tears through the words, “f–fuck— with any guy— anyone— I wanted to— in here…”

He whimper-groans high and pathetic, hips pistoning brutal like a jackhammer, confused turn-on flashing wild in his eyes at how your words only make him harder, make him sink into you impossibly deeper.

“I wanna be good for you, baby, I wanna be a good boy for you, fuck. I wanna be yours,” he chokes out, voice keening high and watery like tears are pricking at the edges, mind so fucking gone at why the hell this shit turns him on so bad, confusion swirling hot in his head as your pussy drags the filthy words from his chest, ripping them raw while his hips stutter frantic.

“I’m sorry for cheatin’, for bein’ such a piece of shit again, I’ll make it right, swear. Take me back, please,” he begs desperate into your ear, apologies tumbling out broken. He locks you in a headlock, arm swelling around your throat, puffing up his bicep as his breath tingles hotly in your ear. “Love you so much, baby, love you—wanna cum for you so bad, wanna fill this pussy up n’ watch my load leakin’ down your thighs all night on that dancefloor.” Tears stream down your face from pure blinding pleasure, vision sparking white, and you grab the counter edge desperate to steady yourself, but he snatches your wrists, pinnin’ ‘em behind your back in one iron grip, like he’s arrestin’ you, which in a way he kind of is with his body n’ words.

“Why’d you dance with those other guys? Why’d you leave me?” he presses, pounding into you like a madman. You don’t answer, eyes rolled back absolutely braindead from pleasure, moaning nonstop, “yes yes yes like that, right there”—and he’s all aware of your dick-delirious state, thriving on it. “Promise me. Say you’re mine forever.”

"I'm yours," you sob out, wrecked.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you, fuck, I love you."

"No other guys—say it."

“Just youuuu, fuck, fuck—” He yanks you up to face the mirror fully, forcing you to watch your heavy tits bounce obscene as he slams balls-deep into your leaking pussy from behind, the sight straight vulgar porn—they jolt hypnotically, nipples hard and peaked, with every brutal thrust shaking your whole body. He hooks one of your legs high up on the counter, spreading your thighs wide so your ass cheeks part lewdly, letting him plunge even deeper, your dripping folds clinging to his shaft on every pull-out. He lets you go and you falter back onto his chest, head thrown back against his shoulder, neck arched as you both stare into the mirror at him wrecking you wild—his face contorted hot as hell, brows pinched tight, mouth slack in agonized bliss, panting out heavy and ragged. You’re teetering on the edge, legs trembling like you’ll collapse any second, fingers tangled fierce in his hair yanking hard while he props your limp body up with both arms wrapped iron-tight around your waist, teeth sinking deep into your neck the whole damn time, hair a sweaty tangled wreck, your free hand clawing the sink edge desperately for any grip. You bite his forearm hard enough to draw blood on a better day when he reaches around, fingers circling your overspent clit ruthless. He bites your neck harder, sucking bruises into the marks, promising broken. “Never lettin’ you go again. Love you, baby, swear.” It’s harsh and soft all at once, his free hand stroking your side tender even as he chokes you tighter, thrusts turning erratic. You cum again clenching around him, sobbing his name, and he follows with a muffled groan into your shoulder, spilling hot and deep, hips stuttering.

Pleasure overloads you completely, your brain short-circuiting into blacked-out bliss as the waves of pleasure crash endless, too much for your brain to handle in one night, body going limp in his arms while he sticks in you deep, greedily making you take every last drop that pumps hot and thick, floods out messy around his cock.

You pass out for a little heavy minute, limp and sunken like you’re lost someplace deep, world faded black, and Hollis shakes you awake gentle, panic flickering in his eyes and thumb stroking your tear-streaked cheek. “Baby? Hey, c’mon—fuck, you okay?”

You blink hazy, wrecked and boneless. "I needa go home... now."

He texts his assistant quick for the valet, then Nate for a scarf to hide the evidence. Nate pops thru the bathroom door seconds later, dangling his black silk one with a smirk. “You guys are wild as fuck,” he laughs, eyeing the chaos before dipping.

Hollis fusses over you tender, wetting a paper towel to wipe the slick and cum smearing your thighs, trying to fix the shredded fishnets best he can, jagged rips barely covered, pulling your skirt down and top up crookedly. The valet pulls up his sleek orange lambo right at the back exit, engine purring low.

You wrap Nate’s scarf ‘round your face tight, covering the hickeys bloomin’ purple on your neck, smudged mascara running like warpaint, lipstick smeared messily, hair a blown-out nest. Paparazzi swarm the alley anyway, flashes blinding and their shouts bombarding, speculating on if you’re the girlfriend they’re used to or another random girl. They shout at you asking about the breakup and you flip them off behind the scarf, griping muffled, “Fuck off.”

Hollis holds you tight against his side, arm banded possessive around your waist guiding you to the car. He opens the door, helping you slide in, but shifts away to get in himself at the worst possible moment. You fumble immediately as he exits your proximity, dropping the scarf in your drunk haze, bending deep to snatch it off the ground, legs involuntarily parting and skirt teasing up your upper thighs. Flashes explode and assuredly catch everything: the wide rip of your shredded fishnet, the discreet glaze of his cum trickling slow down your inner thigh, hickeys everywhere like a roadmap of ruin, mascara streaks, drunk sway, hair wild.

By morning, it's everywhere and pure internet meme gold. "Messy girl icon fr," trending in your fan spaces with grainy edits of you bending over to grab Nate's scarf, eyes squinting against the flash and your thighs mysteriously glistening slick under the strobes, captions like "One way to kill breakup rumors 💀 that's my queen" n "pussy so good she left the function early, they were DEFINITELY fuckin before this."

Your head throbs against your skull, phone blown up with notis from your social media and calls from your friends from last night. You scroll through the voicemails, post-storm calm washing over you like quiet after chaos.

“Girl, are you seriously with Hollis right now? You went home with that cheating asshole? You’re a bitch if you did after everything. We’re so mad at you.”

You text back neutral, unfazed, knowing she’s mad but figuring a good gift might smooth it over. “We got you a Chanel purse,” you lie coolly, already picturing the store as your first stop for your newest public outing as a couple, arm-in-arm for the cameras. It reminds you of that one time in Mexico, when he fucked some girl entertainer on the resort’s beach and booked the whole girls’ trip after, groveling with paid-in-full villas and endless apologies ‘til you let him crawl back in. The girls weren’t too mad at that kind of apology back then, so you’re not all that worried now. You’re more shy about trending as a meme, an icon, paparazzi shots everywhere, TikToks about “cum thigh queen,” a poster-girl “messy girl” aesthetic, your ripped fishnets and cum-streaked thighs the internet’s new obsession, but you glance over at Hollis sleeping, his makeup still smudged like warpaint, chest rising slow and steady, and it hits you soft: he’s the only person you need in this world. You’re happy. You’ll take all the pain if it absolves the depression. You’ll parade the streets with evidence of his ruin—hickeys, cum, shame—and also secretly carry his sins like an honor, if you want to or if you don't. Those girls he fucks? They're nothing to him anyway. At the end of the day, you're the only one that means something to his heart. You are his willing victim, his happy prisoner.

And when he wakes up a few minutes later, it’s like he already knows. He smiles at you soft, eyes glinting with that haunted devotion, like he’s staring straight through your soul and claiming it all over again. “Welcome home. Been waitin’ for you to come back where you belong.”

author note: y/n is so very much feminism's worse fear! thanks for reading guys pls comment ily all sm and wanna talk to u and laugh at ur funny thoughts MWAH until next time - lizzy

[sweet2sin]

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