#hollis fic

[pixelsonyourlips]

Tie Me Up

2hollis x reader

synopsis: a songfic (does anyone even write them anymore?) about rigging. that's it.

word count: 1.3k

tags n warnings: mediocre lyric translation, smut (nothing crazy), open ending, lowk a servicedom!hollis idk what happened there

a/n: sooo... i wrote this on christmas eve on a whim and it's really short for me (glances at the 37k 2hollis fic i need to edit). the song? translated bc i'm not about to out the contry i live in lol. anyway enjoy, i'll catch you guys in the next one.

I've been thinking about you for a long time

I want to let you in

Hollis had been orbiting you for months now. Every gig, every afterparty, every event. He was there, eyes glinting with mischief and something else that made molten desire course through your veins. Slowly but surely he was wearing you down, and that? That both terrified and excited you to an unknown degree.

Could you come today?

Come, when I invite you to dinner

The invitation sat in your inbox. How did he get your number? You weren’t sure. “Tonight. 8 o’clock, sharp. Wear something nice.” There was a location pin included and it pointed to a goddamn 5-star restaurant. Of course you were going, no question about it.  

You do it the way I like it

Let's continue until four in the morning

When you had arrived to the restaurant, the look he gave you made sure you knew he wanted to eat you for the main course or at the least, for dessert. It was a game of chicken, every bite felt like a foreplay to something. Heat pooling into your gut as he was basically sucking on a piece of steak, smirking, claiming to just ‘taste all the flavors.’ When the main course was finished, he didn’t even let you speak as he ordered “Molten chocolate, cream and berries to-go, please”.

Now you were at his apartment. In his bed to be exact and he was tying you up with a silk rope and promises of a long night to come. Not in a million years would you have guessed him to be a rigger, but the moment he pulled the rope out of his toybox, your legs almost gave out.

This will be filmed

And we'll use a flash

But we'll put it behind locks

So the internet cannot freak out

This freak of a man was filming you. The camera flashing as he took photos of you tied up in the bed, in the most intricate ways. For his personal collection he said. You could only wonder how many other girls he had in that portfolio of his. You tried to open your mouth to ask what he’d do with the photos, but he showed two of his fingers in your mouth (another picture), shushing you. “Don’t worry, for my eyes only,” he said. 

I want you to know this

You're the only one I breathe for

I want you to know this

You'll get everything from me and more

You’d give him every last bit of you if he asked. The way he was practically worshipping your body as he licked off the chocolate and cream, it made you ascend to realities you were sure people called heaven. The way his tongue slid off your breast, teeth slightly grazing your nipple in the process. The way he asked you to open your mouth so he dangle a single chocolate-dipped strawberry above it, watching your struggle against the ropes, trying to eat it, making you beg for it.

Tie me to your wrists

Hold me tight

It hurts me, yeah, it hurts me

Tie me to the railings

The bonds are tight against your skin, he has you spread open in front of him. At this point you have no idea how long you’ve been like this. Only the ache from your limbs tells you it must have been hours at this point. But it feels so fucking good, somewhere during the stimulus traveling to your brain, it morphs into pleasure. You feel the wetness from your sopping pussy drip on his sheets.

Commit so that

If you're mine, then I'm yours

Come to me, I'll give you instructions

What you do, I decide

Hollis has always been a go-and-get-it type of person. It’s evident in the way he technically method acted himself into fame. Taking control is important to him, doesn’t matter if it’s the career decisions he makes or the girls he has in his bed. 

When he saw you all those months ago, he just knew he had to have you. There was that something about you that caught his eye. By the end of that first sighting he had already decided on which rope and pose he would use for you.

An ice cube in your mouth, cold shivers on your skin

My mind is tilting

He stands at the end of the bed, looking at his creation. 

You are laying on your back, hands decorated and tied to the bedposts, the rope that ties your hands also connects to a harness on your chest, made from the very same bundle of rope. He had you kneeling first, tying your thighs to your calves and spreading your legs so your pussy is exposed. Those ropes he tied to the end of the bed. At first he wanted you to be suspended upright but changed his mind at the last second. So now you are bent backwards, spine arched and legs cramping. 

He watches you shiver as he drags ice cubes across your body. Coaxing moans out from your mouth every once in a while, when the ice cube hits your clit.

You're a good girl, I'll tie you up and keep you there

I look into your eyes as I slide down and kiss your groin

You are being so good for him. Hollis knows, he once again, picked a good one. Taking everything without whining even though he sees how much you struggle to keep the position he has you tied in. 

Hollis looks into your eyes as he kisses his way down to your core. Licking and sucking gently, rewarding you. Your moans of pleasure are like fucking music to his ears. “Good fucking girl,” he groans when you come on this tongue.

I'll always take you, I want you

Trust me, I'm open to you

Baby, I want you to enjoy it

He has waited for this so long and now he finally has you. All he wants is to make you feel as good as possible.

This world is crazy, millions of problems

And performance pressure

Too much bass, but in my arms, baby, you can forget everything

It’s not as good as the night at Hollis’ apartment. But the way he tied your hands with shitty soundcables, is nothing short of a miracle. You were pressed against a wall in a club backroom, your heart beating to the rhythm of the bass. The cold concrete scratches your cheek as Hollis fucks you into the wall. 

After the night you spent together, he stopped showing up to the events you were at or maybe he went under your radar. It’s like he got what he wanted, won his game. You had been stupid enough to try and go find him to continue where you left off. 

However, he had already a new prey he was watching. Jealousy in your chest flared like an angry dragon, when you saw the same glint in his eyes, watching some promoter dance in the middle of the floor. The confrontation had ended with Hollis dragging you to the back by your hair. 

He’s so close to you, it’s intoxicating. 

He comes in you with a groan and a bite against your shoulder. Yanking you panties up and pulling the release on the cables, he leaves. You just sank down the wall, wondering what the hell is happening.

[a voicemail left to Hollis’ phone months later]

“Uh, I'm just so alone

I'm lying in my bed

And thinking about you and me

And that one thing we did, do you remember?

Oh my god”

Tie me to your wrists

Hold me tight

So I don't hurt, yeah, I hurt

Tie me to the railings

Commit so that

If you're mine, then I'm yours

And all you can think about, during those long hours of night, is the feeling of that rope against your skin and the ghost of Hollis’ touch.

[osxprincesa]

I want you to need me

Part two

Tags: Finn x Hollis, mlm, childhood bsfs to lovers, slow burn, internalized homophobia, arguing, angst, jealousy

Part one Intro Backstory

Taglist: @2bun22 @2hornii @luvvconceal @natesbimbobambi @missmodelsexx @swagonometryfr @qiyokuliife @supersecretgirly @velvryz @natesibsdih @15blondedd @m1ndless-thoughtsss @kingoveverything @glittercitybag @holilove @kik1stuff @maracops @gabisohot @ibelieveinfairyz @sweet2sin @antiunicornform @chrysanthemumbunny @7thstrunner @baddestbitchtoeverlive @gnariii @2deliicate

Go to this post to be added to/removed from taglist

Á/N: thank you @2bun22 for being my eco friendly ChatGPT and helping me write this

My masterlist

[glitterslushi]

ok it’s time to get to work 😭

[bbysopouty]

Tour Bus of Pure Hate and Degradation

hollis × fem!reader brat vs brat A/N: this is NOT enemies-to-lovers, this is enemies-to-enemies-who-hate-fuck. cw: cursing, intense degradation both ways, public humiliation, leaked nudes, visible boners on camera, choking mentions, hate-sex

### THE ANNOUNCEMENT roman drops the official tour graphic. your name sits right under boyliife: “special guest / vibe curator / chaos agent”

the internet explodes: “THE PEOPLE’S PRINCESS IS COMING ON TOUR WITH BOYLIIFE???” hollis reposts with the caption: “great. now i have to deal with this bitch for 3 months.”

you quote tweet instantly: “don’t worry @2hollis i’ll bring noise-canceling headphones so i don’t have to hear your trash mixes ♡”

the war is public before the first bus even rolls.

### PARIS – DAY 1 You step off the bus in micro prada sunglasses and a latex mini skirt that should be illegal. The entire crew screams your name. Fans outside the gate lose their minds.

Hollis walks past you like you’re a lamppost.

you (sunshine voice): “morning, sunshine. love the resting bitch face, really selling the brand.”

hollis (not looking): “go be beloved somewhere else, princess.”

you: “aw, someone’s mad the fans like me more than his last single.”

He finally turns. Eyes pitch black.

hollis: “keep talking shit and see how fast i kick you off this tour.”

You step into his space, voice sugar-sweet poison.

you: “try it, baby. i dare you.”

nate from ten feet away, already eating popcorn: “i’m getting popcorn this is better than the superbowl.”

### FIRST SOLD-OUT SHOW You’re side-stage in the tiniest black lace top known to man, screaming every lyric, stealing the entire crowd like it’s your show.

Hollis keeps glancing over mid-performance. He fucks up his own lyrics twice.

After the show he corners you backstage, still sweaty, veins popping, breathing like he ran a mile.

hollis: “you trying to ruin my set, you little brat?”

you (slow smile): “no baby, i’m trying to remind the crowd who they actually came for.”

He steps closer, voice lethal.

hollis: “keep acting like you run shit and i’ll bend you over the amp right now, sweetheart.”

you (tilt your head): “i’d love to see you try, control freak.”

His hand twitches like he’s two seconds from grabbing your throat. You’re both breathing hard, hating how bad you want it.

nate walks in, sees the standoff, backs out slowly without a word.

### COPENHAGEN – backstage hallway You’re doing a fit check tiktok. Hollis walks past, shoulder-checks you so hard you almost drop your phone.

you: “jesus, watch where you’re going, daddy issues.”

hollis: “watch where you’re standing, attention whore.”

you: “i’d rather die than take directions from someone whose last hook sounds like a dying cat getting fucked by a lawnmower.”

He grabs your phone, holds it above his head.

hollis: “say sorry.”

you: “sorry your dick’s smaller than your career prospects.”

He drops the phone straight into a random crew guy’s coffee.

### BERLIN – hotel breakfast You’re eating cereal with the boys. Hollis sits down across from you like it’s personal.

you: “table’s full, go sit with your personality.”

hollis: “i would, but it’s currently busy being more interesting than you.”

roman (exhausted): “can y’all just try to get along? for two fucking seconds?”

you & hollis in perfect unison: “no.”

### AMSTERDAM – the unforgivable sin You change the final 15 seconds of his set closer to a 2019 soundcloud demo he made when he was 15. absolute garbage. The entire crowd hears it. The internet loses its mind laughing.

Backstage, Hollis is vibrating with rage.

That night, while you’re asleep on the bus, he posts to his 8-million-follower close friends: blurry, grainy nude from 2019 — you barely legal, mirror pic you sent an ex you completely forgot existed. caption: “since she wants to play dirty, here’s a throwback of the people’s princess before she discovered filters ♡”

You wake up to 47,000 new followers and your phone exploding.

You storm to the back lounge at 130 decibels.

you: “you leaked a nude of me when i was seventeen, you disgusting fucking creep?”

hollis (smirking): “just 18, actually. calm down.”

you: “i will end your bloodline.”

You grab his phone, AirDrop the worst photo of him asleep drooling (2023) to every crew member with the caption “small dick energy personified.”

Roman physically separates you before homicide occurs.

### MILAN – group interview Tiny couch. Forced to sit next to each other.

interviewer: “you two have insane chemistry online, what’s it like on tour?”

both of you fake-smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

you: “he’s… passionate.”

hollis: “she’s… tolerable on good days.”

They ask about the leaked nude drama.

you (sugary): “ancient history. we’ve moved on.”

hollis (under breath, mic catches it): “moved on to riding my last nerve.”

Interview ends. You stand, lean down to his ear, loud enough for the boom mic:

you: “keep pretending you hate me while you’re hard in those sweats, you pathetic little bitch.”

You walk away.

Camera zooms.

Grey sweats. Very, very obviously hard.

nate from across the room zooms in and texts the gc: “bro is bricked up on camera i’m deceased”

Hollis spends the rest of the day with a hoodie tied around his waist like a middle-schooler.

### BARCELONA – rooftop, 4 a.m. You’re smoking with conceal. Hollis storms up.

hollis: “you told the opener i cry after sex?”

you: “i said you cry during sex. there’s a difference.”

He grabs your wrist, drags you away from everyone.

hollis: “i fucking hate you.”

you: “feeling’s mutual, you walking venereal disease.”

He shoves you against the wall.

hollis: “one day i’m gonna fuck that attitude right out of you until you’re begging.”

you: “one day i’m gonna ride your face until you’re crying for air, then i’ll leave you hard and walk away. we’ll see who begs first.”

You’re both breathing like you ran a marathon. He’s inches from kissing you.

roman appears out of thin air: “for the love of god, either fuck or kill each other, but pick one, we’re all exhausted.”

### MADRID – final night, the elevator Last show of tour. Everyone drunk, emotional.

You and Hollis end up in the elevator alone.

Doors close.

Silence for three floors.

you: “i still hate you.”

hollis: “i still want to ruin you.”

you: “same time tomorrow?”

He slams the stop button, grabs your throat, slams you against the wall so hard the metal dents. Kisses you like he’s trying to win the war with his tongue.

You bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.

He groans, grinds against you.

you: “this doesn’t mean i like you.”

hollis: “this doesn’t mean i won’t leak another nude if you piss me off again.”

you: “touché, asshole.”

The elevator starts moving again. You fix each other’s clothes like nothing happened.

[bbysopouty]

hallway crush → lovers

— part three: panic in c-sharp

a/n: entering friend-zone?

WC: 2.2k

intro - part 1 - part 2 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6

after the project ends, everything snaps back to how it was before: you and hollis are just two people who share the same oxygen in the hallways and nothing else.

you go back to stealing glances across lockers. he goes back to pretending he doesn’t notice. nova still drags you to class by your sleeve whenever you freeze mid-step. the only proof anything ever happened is the two texts sitting in your phone like evidence in a murder trial.

unknown number: got up safe?

you: yup! I’m home, lucki’s already asleep lol. thank you again for the ride and the food, i really appreciate it 🙇🏻‍♀️ have a good night!

you reread them every night until your phone dies. you hate how polite you sound. you hate that you used the bowing emoji. you hate that you’re back to being the hallway ghost.

friday, third period history. you’re zoning out, drawing Lucki in the margins of your notes when your phone buzzes.

brianna posted a story: neon flyer, tomorrow night, some warehouse downtown. nova immediately forwards it with seventeen screaming emojis and the words we HAVE to go.

you are not a party person. not even a little. you love music, you love dancing, but only when it’s you and Nova in her bedroom with the LED lights on red and the volume loud enough to rattle your ribcage. the idea of bodies packed together, drunk strangers touching you, bass that feels like a heart attack; it makes your skin crawl before you even leave the house.

but nova has been patient with how distant you’ve been lately.

you owe her.

and hollis will probably be there. (Don’t think about that. Don’t.)

you tell yourself you’ll just step outside when it gets too much. you’ll be fine.

saturday night you stand in front of your mirror forever. nothing feels right. everything feels like a costume that doesn’t fit. you keep thinking about the outfit Brianna posted on her story; tiny, glittery, perfect. You end up in baggy black cargo pants, a baby tee you cropped yourself last year, and the biggest hoodie you own (your mom’s old one that still smells faintly like her vanilla perfume and hospital soap). you look like you’re going to a gas station at 2 a.m., not a party. whatever.

nova honks twice. you paint on a smile and slide into her passenger seat.

the warehouse is already choking when you arrive. strobe lights slice through artificial fog, the DJ booth is a glowing island in the middle of a sea of bodies, tables lining the walls are covered in half-empty bottles and bowls of stale bar nuts. It smells like vodka, sweat, and twelve different Victoria’s Secret body sprays at war.

an hour in, nova has vanished into a group of juniors you vaguely recognize. you’re posted up by a concrete pillar pretending to text, which is code for trying not to have a meltdown.

then you see him.

hollis is leaning against the far wall, hood up, phone in one hand, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else. brianna is glued to his side, talking a mile a minute, acrylics wrapped around his forearm like she’s afraid he’ll float away. every time she laughs she throws her head back so her hair swishes. he barely reacts. just keeps scrolling.

you didn’t expect him to look… overwhelmed. you figured he’d be in the middle of the floor, drink in hand, girls orbiting him like he’s gravity. Instead he looks exactly how you feel: counting down the seconds until escape is socially acceptable.

the song changes to one you and Nova used to scream in her car last summer. she appears out of nowhere, arms flailing.

“Omg y/n come ON this is our song!!”

she grabs your wrist before you can say no and yanks you into the crowd.

you try. you really do. you smile with all your teeth, you sway, you let the bass vibrate in your chest like maybe it’ll fix you. but the bodies keep pressing closer, someone’s elbow digs into your ribs, a stranger’s sweaty arm slides across your neck, the lights are too bright and then too dark and then too bright again. The air is thick and hot and suddenly there’s no oxygen left on planet earth.

your heartbeat is in your ears louder than the music. your skin feels too small. you’re going to throw up or pass out or both, right here in front of everyone.

you need out.

you shove through the crowd, mumbling sorry sorry sorry even though no one can hear you, lungs burning. the fire-escape door is a red EXIT sign glowing like salvation. you slam the bar and stumble outside.

cold air hits you like a slap. you gulp it down, drop onto the metal stairs, and fold forward until your forehead touches your knees.

breathe. just breathe.

you’re still shaking when the door creaks again.

you don’t have to look up to know who it is. you’d know the sound of his footsteps anywhere now.

hollis doesn’t say anything at first. just lowers himself onto the step beside you; close enough that you can feel the heat coming off him, far enough that you’re not touching. his rings clink softly against the railing as he braces his elbows on his knees.

minutes pass. or seconds. time feels broken.

“you alright?” his voice is quiet, rough from the noise inside.

you nod too fast. “yeah. just; needed air.”

he doesn’t call you a liar, but he doesn’t believe you either. you can tell by the way he exhales through his nose and glances sideways at you.

“I saw you bolt,” he says. “looked like you were drowning.”

your face burns. Great. he witnessed the whole pathetic thing.

“I get it,” he adds before you can die of embarrassment. “happens to me too sometimes.”

you finally look at him. his hood is still up, shadows cutting across his face, but his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them. not nonchalant. not smirking. Just… tired.

“you hate parties too?” you ask, voice small.

he huffs a laugh that has no business being that attractive. “love the music. hate the rest.”

you nod like that makes perfect sense. because it does.

another silence, but it’s not the choking kind. it’s almost… peaceful. city sounds float up from the street below; distant sirens, someone laughing too loud, tires screeching. the bass from inside is a dull heartbeat through the door.

he pulls out a pack of Marlboro Reds, taps one out, offers it to you without looking.

you dont really ever smoke marlboro, you lowkey think theyre gross (camel white lover), but your hands are shaking so bad you take it anyway.

he flicks his lighter—silver Zippo, of course—and cups the flame for you. you inhale, let the smoke leave your lungs slowly. relax.

you pass the cig back and forth.

you pull your knees tighter to your chest. “brianna’s probably looking for you.”

he shrugs. “she’ll live.”

You risk another glance. He’s staring at the skyline like it personally owes him money.

“i thought you’d be in the middle of all that,” you admit.

he turns his head. “you thought I’d be what, shotgun-ing beers and grinding on strangers?”

the way he says it; deadpan, one eyebrow raised; makes you snort before you can stop yourself.

“maybe,” you mumble.

he shakes his head, small smirk tugging at his mouth. “not my scene.”

you pick at a loose thread on your hoodie sleeve. “then why come?”

“same reason you did, probably.” He pauses. “someone asked.”

nova. brianna. same difference.

you both fall quiet again. your breathing has finally evened out. the cold metal seeps through your pants, grounding you.

after one last drag he puts the ciggerette out on the stairs.

he shifts, just barely, and the sleeve of his hoodie brushes your arm. Static electricity sparks where you touch; so light you might’ve imagined it.

“you don’t have to go back in,” he says suddenly.

“I know.”

“I mean; you could just… not. If you don’t want.”

you blink at him. “you trying to ditch with me?”

that gets you the tiniest real smile you’ve ever seen on him. it’s gone in a second, but it was there.

“maybe.”

your heart does something stupid

“c’mon. i can’t listen to this bass anymore.”

he offers his hand. you take it. he still doesn’t let go until you’re both down the fire escape and on solid ground.

his Audi’s parked half on the curb under a flickering streetlight. he opens the passenger door out of habit now, apparently. you slide in. the car smells like him—clove, leather, cold night air.

he starts the engine but doesn’t pull off. just sits there, fingers drumming on the wheel.

“you eat yet?” he asks.

you shake your head.

“there’s a twenty-four-hour McDonald’s five minutes away. you down?”

your stomach growls loud enough to answer for you. he smirks, pulls out.

the drive is quiet except for the lo-fi playlist he puts on low. you watch the city blur past—neon signs bleeding into puddles, homeless guys pushing carts, a club line still wrapped around the block at 1:47 a.m.

his phone lights up again on the console. brianna’s contact photo (a mirror selfie of them from homecoming last year, her lips on his cheek) flashes over and over.

you pretend you don’t see it.

at the drive-thru he doesn’t even ask what do you want, just orders:

“yeah uh, two large fries, two Oreo McFlurries, and a ten-piece, spicy.”

He glances at you. “you like spicy?”

You nod. He adds another ten-piece without blinking.

when they hand him the bag he passes it straight to you like you’re the designated holder. the McFlurries are already sweating in the cup holders.

he parks in the back of the lot under a busted light—far enough from the building that no employees can see inside the tinted windows, close enough that the Wi-Fi still reaches.

you both recline the seats a little. he eats fries one-handed, other arm stretched along the back of your seat without touching you.

his phone is going insane now. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

brianna ❤️:babe where are you hello??

hollis answer me

everyone’s asking where you went

this isn’t funny

he finally picks it up, thumbs flying.

you catch the message before he locks the screen again.

hollis: i’m good.

lost my charger

then he powers the whole phone off and tosses it into the backseat like it insulted his mother.

you take a bite of McFlurry to hide your face.

“she’s gonna be pissed,” you mumble around the spoon.

he shrugs, licks Oreo off his thumb. “she doesn’t get that we’re not together anymore. keeps forgetting.”

it’s barely above a whisper—like he didn’t mean to say it out loud—but you hear every syllable.

your heart does something traitorous and happy about it. which immediately makes you feel like actual garbage, because brianna is… brianna. and you’re eating stolen nuggets in a parking lot with her not-ex-boyfriend at 2 a.m.

you hate how good it feels.

he notices you’ve gone quiet. “you good?”

“yeah,” you lie. “just—brain’s loud.”

he nods like that’s the most relatable thing anyone’s ever said. reaches over, turns the music up a notch. some slowed + reverb version of “Something in the Way” fills the car.

you eat in silence for a while. the kind of silence that doesn’t need filling.

at one point your spoon scrapes the bottom of the cup too loud. he glances over, smirks.

“want the rest of mine?” he offers his half-finished McFlurry like it’s nothing.

you shake your head, cheeks burning. “i’m good.”

he shrugs, keeps eating.

when the food’s gone he balls up the bag, tosses it in the back with his dead phone. then he just… sits there. seat reclined, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it owes him rent money.

you mirror him without thinking. the car feels like a mile wide and also too small at the same time.

“you don’t have to take me home yet,” you whisper. “If you don’t want.”

he turns his head on the headrest, looks at you for a long second.

“didn’t plan on it.”

the way he says it—so casual, so certain—makes your ribs feel too tight.

so you stay.

2:37 a.m. turns into 3:12 a.m. turns into 3:58 a.m. you talk about nothing and everything: lucki’s separation anxiety, the way his mom texts him from Aspen like he’s supposed to care, how you both hate the smell of peach vapes, the fact that the McFlurry machine is never actually broken, they just lie.

st some point you kick your shoes off and tuck your feet under you.

he doesn’t comment.

when the sky starts turning that gross gray-blue color that means the world’s about to wake up, he finally starts the car.

the drive back to your building is quiet again, but softer now. When he parks in the same flickering spot as last time, he leaves the engine running.

you unbuckle, hesitate.

“thanks,” you say. “for… everything. the fire escape. the nuggets. the—” you gesture vaguely at the whole night.

he shrugs, but his mouth does that almost-smile thing. “anytime.”

you’re halfway out the door when he adds, voice low,

“text me when you’re inside, yeah?”

your heart tries to file a noise complaint.

you nod, throat too full of things you can’t say.

the elevator smells like weed and leftover chinese food again. lucki greets you at the door like you’ve been gone for years. you face-plant into bed still wearing your hoodie and someone else’s clove smoke in your hair.

@drippy2oup @sleazeiess @ifhesbutterimahotknife @watercolorskyy @fatalfairie @hollisbabymama @akemimi @eegoism @angelxcyy @romansbbg @karukimi

(im speed running ts hope yall proud)

[bbysopouty]

hallway crush → lovers — part seven: Dead air

intro • part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 4 • part 5 • part 6 • part 8 a/n: this one hurts. like actually. grab tissues or a dog or something. cw: angst WC: 1.1k

You disappear.

Not dramatically—no big fight, no goodbye text, no explanation. You just stop existing where anyone can reach you.

Your phone stays on Do Not Disturb for fourteen days straight. The only proof you’re alive is Lucki’s morning bark echoing through the courtyard at 6:47 a.m. every day when your mom takes him out before her shift.

At school you become a ghost in your own skin. Headphones in (volume off), hood up, eyes on the floor. You learn every crack in the hallway tiles because looking up means risking eye contact with anyone.

You eat lunch in the far stall of the second-floor girls’ bathroom, door locked, knees pulled to your chest, scrolling through nothing while Brianna’s voice floats in from the sinks—laughing, bright, victorious.

Nova tries for the first week. She corners you at your locker, voice cracking: “You’re seriously just gonna ghost me now? After everything?” You stare at her shoes and whisper, “I’m sorry,” so quietly she has to lean in to hear it. Then you walk away before she can answer.

By the second week she stops trying.

Hollis texts every single day.

Day 1 hollis: shorty u good? hollis: lucki miss me yet?

Day 3 hollis: u sick or something? lmk if u need notes

Day 5 hollis: courtyard’s too quiet

Day 8 hollis: did i do something? just tell me

Day 11 hollis: i’m not gonna keep blowing up your phone if u don’t want me to. just say the word

Day 13 hollis: alright.

He stops after that.

You read every message with the screen brightness so high it hurts your eyes. You type replies you never send.

draft #1: brianna told me you only hang out with me because you feel bad for me draft #2: i’m not trying to steal anyone’s boyfriend i swear draft #3: i’m just embarrassed draft #4: i miss you so much it’s actually killing me

You delete them all.

Brianna is glowing. She posts Hollis on her story almost daily now—his arm around her shoulders in the parking lot, her lips on his cheek in some neon-lit mirror selfie, captions like “missed my baby” and “told y’all we just needed time ♡”.

You zoom in on every photo like a masochist. He never smiles in any of them. Not really.

You start believing her words were prophecy. He feels bad for you. He always goes back. You were never anything more than charity.

The comments are full of people saying they knew it, that they’re endgame, that some girls just need to learn their place.

You read them in bed at 2 a.m. with the sound off and tears sliding sideways into your pillow.

You start believing it.

Of course he went back. Of course he was just being nice. Of course you were delusional.

You’re the girl with the peeling gel manicure and the messy apartment and the dog that costs more to feed than your mom makes in a week. He’s the boy with the Audi and the SoundCloud plays and the ex-girlfriend who looks like she stepped out of a Vogue editorial.

You were never on the same planet.

You were just… passing through his atmosphere for a minute.

The third week is when it gets really bad.

You stop sleeping. You run on Red Bull and the fear that if you close your eyes you’ll see Brianna’s perfect smile or Hollis’s last text or Nova’s hurt face.

You lose seven pounds because eating feels like choking. Your mom notices, asks if you’re okay. You lie so smoothly it scares you.

At school you don’t even pretend anymore. You walk in at the last possible second, leave the second the bell rings. Teachers stop calling on you because you just stare at your desk like it owes you money.

You see Hollis exactly three times.

First time: he’s leaning against Brianna’s white Mercedes in the parking lot, her arms around his neck, laughing at something he said. He looks bored. You duck behind a minivan before he can spot you.

Second time: he’s at his locker alone, hood up, spinning a ring around his thumb like he used to do when he was waiting for you in the courtyard. You take the long way to class even though it makes you late.

Third time: you’re in the courtyard at lunch—first time in weeks—because you forgot your headphones and the bathroom was occupied. You’re sitting on the far bench biting your nails and picking at the skin around it.

Hollis walks past the glass doors. He stops. Looks right at you.

You freeze.

For one second it feels like the old days—like he’s about to push the door open and sit next to you and call you shorty and everything will be okay again.

Then Brianna appears behind him, loops her arm through his, says something you can’t hear.

He lets her pull him away. Doesn’t look back.

You go home that day and throw up.

Nova never looks at you anymore. You pass her in the hall and it’s like you’re both already dead to each other.

Brianna floats through the school like she’s on a victory tour. She “accidentally” bumps your shoulder hard enough to knock your books out of your arms one day. “Oops, sorry babe, didn’t see you there,” she smiles, stepping over your stuff without breaking stride.

You pick everything up with shaking hands and don’t cry until you’re locked in a bathroom stall.

That night you sit on your bedroom floor with Lucki’s head in your lap and open Instagram for the first time in weeks.

Brianna posted a story twenty minutes ago. It’s a mirror selfie of her and Hollis in his car. Her lips are on his jaw. His hand is on her thigh. Caption: “told y’all he’s mine ♡”

You zoom in on his face.

He’s staring straight ahead. Eyes blank. Mouth flat.

He looks like someone turned the color off.

You lock your phone, crawl into bed fully clothed, and cry so hard you give yourself a nosebleed.

Lucki licks the tears off your face and whines like he understands.

You fall asleep with his paw on your chest and Brianna’s words on loop in your head.

He feels bad for you. He always comes back. You’re going to embarrass yourself.

You dream about the courtyard bench. It’s empty.

You wake up at 3:17 a.m. exactly—the same time Hollis used to be awake working on that Sylvia Plath paragraph months ago.

Your phone lights up on the nightstand.

One new message.

hollis (3:17 a.m.) i still check the courtyard every day like a fucking idiot

You stare at it until the screen goes black.

@drippy2oup @sleazeiess @ifhesbutterimahotknife @watercolorskyy @fatalfairie @hollisbabymama @akemimi @eegoism @angelxcyy @romansbbg @karukimi @@222foryou222 @@sugarcrashbby @pix3lkitten @@2lilaclace @@cashingcheques @@yallnotogso @sw4nmel

[bbysopouty]

hallway crush → lovers

— part six: Cracks

intro • part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 4 • part 5

a/n: nova really revealing her true coloursss

WC: 1.4k

You’re floating for three straight days after the studio hangout. Like actually disgusting. You catch yourself smiling at walls. Lucki keeps side-eyeing you like “who the hell are you and what did you do with my depressed owner.”

Monday you’re in the courtyard at 4:17 exactly, heart doing cartwheels, and Hollis is already there, leaning against the bench spinning Lucki’s leash around two fingers. He straightens the second he sees you, pockets the leash, and does that tiny almost-smile that lives rent-free in your brain now.

Lucki drags you the last five feet and tackles him. Hollis goes down laughing, hoodie riding up, rings flashing in the sun while he wrestles ninety pounds of pure adoration.

“Missed you too, big man.”

You stand there like an idiot watching them, cheeks hurting from smiling.

He finally stands, brushes grass off his jeans, and bumps your shoulder with his. “Thought you ditched me for a sec.”

“Never,” you say before your filter kicks in. He raises an eyebrow, amused. You want the ground to swallow you.

You walk. You talk about nothing. He tells you he finally finished the beat you heard half-done on Saturday and plays you a thirty-second voice memo on his phone. You freak out (quietly, internally) because it’s beautiful and his voice sounds like 3 a.m. secrets. He pretends to be chill about the praise but you catch him spinning one ring faster than usual.

Everything is perfect.

Until Tuesday.

You’re in the hallway between third and fourth, digging in your locker for your chem notebook, when Nova appears like a storm cloud with acrylics.

She doesn’t even say hi.

“So you and Hollis are besties now?”

Her voice is sharp enough to cut glass. You freeze.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb. Brianna saw you two in the courtyard yesterday. Said you looked real cozy.” She crosses her arms. “You didn’t even tell me you hung out alone on Saturday. What the fuck, y/n?”

Your stomach drops.

“It wasn’t— we just listened to music. Lucki was supposed to come but—”

“But you decided to ditch the dog and go to his house alone?” She laughs, but it’s mean. “Real subtle.”

“Nova, come on. You know I—”

“I know you’ve been ditching me for weeks to giggle with Mr. Soundcloud Famous. I know you smile at your phone like a fucking idiot now. I know you used to tell me everything and now you just… don’t.”

People are starting to look. You shrink.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. The people-pleaser disease kicks in hard. “I didn’t mean to make you feel left out. We can hang out tonight, I swear—”

She scoffs. “I don’t need pity plans. Enjoy your new best friend.”

She walks off. Doesn’t look back.

You stand there until the bell rings, throat tight, eyes stinging.

You text her four times that night.

you: nova i’m sorry can we talk pls

you: i miss you

you: i didn’t mean to hurt you

you: please

All delivered. No reply.

Wednesday is worse.

She sits three tables away at lunch. Doesn’t save you a seat. Doesn’t even look over.

You eat alone, poking at fries that taste like cardboard, rereading the texts you sent Hollis last night like a pathetic ritual.

hollis: u good shorty?

you: yeah just tired

hollis: bet. courtyard later?

you: always ♡

You hate how the little heart makes you feel guilty now.

Thursday you finally crack and corner her after last period.

“Nova, please. Talk to me.”

She stops, sighs like you’re the biggest inconvenience on earth.

“What do you want me to say, y/n? That it’s fine you replaced me with the one guy I literally can’t stand? That I’m cool watching you turn into one of those girls who drops everything the second a boy looks at her?”

“That’s not—”

“It is. You don’t even see it. You apologize when people bump into you, but you can’t even text me back half the time now because you’re too busy waiting for him to grace you with a ‘wyd’.”

Your eyes fill. You hate crying in public. You hate that she’s right about some of it.

“I’m not replacing you,” you manage. “You’re my best friend.”

She softens for half a second, then hardens again.

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

She leaves you standing in the hallway blinking back tears while everyone streams past like you’re invisible.

Friday you’re a zombie.

You skip the courtyard. Text Hollis some bullshit excuse about your mom needing you home early. He just sends back:

hollis: all good. text me when u can ♡

The heart feels like a knife.

You spend the whole weekend rotting in bed with Lucki, refreshing Nova’s private story like a masochist (it’s just black screens and sad song lyrics). You re-watch the voice memo Hollis sent you seventeen times and hate yourself for how much it still makes you smile.

Monday you drag yourself to school determined to fix things.

You find Nova by her locker before first period.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt the second she looks at you. “I was a shitty friend. I got caught up and I didn’t see how much I was hurting you and I hate it. Please can we just— can we talk properly? After school? I’ll ditch the courtyard, I’ll ditch everything, just please don’t hate me.”

Your voice cracks on the last part. You’re two seconds from crying in front of half the junior class.

Nova looks at you for a long second. Something flickers across her face—guilt maybe, or just exhaustion.

“I don’t hate you,” she mutters. “I just… miss you. And I don’t trust him.”

“I know.” You swallow. “I miss you more.”

She nods once, small. “After school. My car. We’ll talk.”

Relief floods you so hard your knees feel weak.

“Okay,” you breathe. “Thank you.”

She gives you the tiniest shoulder bump—barely contact, but it’s something—and walks off.

You’re so high on hope that you don’t notice Brianna watching the whole thing from the water fountain, arms crossed, glossy lips curled like she just found new ammunition.

Lunch rolls around and you’re actually smiling for the first time all week. You’re halfway through a text to Hollis (something stupid about how Lucki stole an entire rotisserie chicken off the counter last night) when Brianna slides into the seat across from you like she owns the table.

“Hi bestie,” she sing-songs, voice dripping honey and venom. “We need to talk.”

Your stomach drops.

“Um. Okay?”

She leans in, acrylics tapping the table.

“So I heard you and Nova are fighting because you’ve been hanging out with Hollis literally every day.” She tilts her head, fake sympathy on max. “That’s so sad. She’s literally your only friend.”

You flinch.

“It’s not—”

“And I just think it’s kinda weird that you’re, like… trying to steal my boyfriend when you know we’re basically soulmates on a break?”

Your face burns. “He said you guys were done.”

She laughs, loud enough that people look over.

“Ohmygod, did he say that? That’s so cute. That’s just what he says when he needs space. We’ve been doing this since freshman year. He always comes back.” She examines a nail. “I’m literally just trying to save you from looking desperate, babe. Like, he’s being nice because he feels bad for you. You know that, right?”

Every word lands like a slap.

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

She smiles, all teeth. “Anyway, just thought you should know before you embarrass yourself more. Kay?”

She stands, flips her hair, and walks off like she didn’t just set your entire nervous system on fire.

You sit there until the bell rings, staring at your untouched food, Brianna’s words looping in your head on repeat.

He’s being nice because he feels bad for you. He always comes back. You’re going to embarrass yourself.

After school you’re supposed to meet Nova.

Instead you go home, turn your phone off, and cry into Lucki’s neck until he falls asleep snoring on your chest.

Your phone, when you finally turn it back on at 11 p.m., is a war zone.

14 missed calls from Nova.

Texts ranging from “where are you” to “wow okay fuck me I guess.”

And one single text from Hollis, sent at 4:23 p.m.

hollis: courtyard’s boring without u and the big man

hollis: everything good?

You stare at it until the screen blurs.

You don’t answer.

You pull your hoodie over your head, bury your face in Lucki’s fur, and try to figure out how everything got so messed up so fast.

@drippy2oup @sleazeiess @ifhesbutterimahotknife @watercolorskyy @fatalfairie @hollisbabymama @akemimi @eegoism @angelxcyy @romansbbg @karukimi @@222foryou222 @@sugarcrashbby @pix3lkitten @@2lilaclace @@cashingcheques @@yallnotogso @sw4nmel

[bbysopouty]

hallway crush → lovers

— part four: same time tomorrow

intro • part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 5 • part 6

a/n: The courtyard bench is now a daily ritual. Nova is one second away from committing a felony. Brianna is big scary. And im actually using uppercase for once.

WC: 1.7k

The Monday after the McFlurry Incident, you’re at your locker fighting with a jammed zipper when a low voice says,

“Morning, shorty.”

Hollis is leaning against the next locker over, hands in his pockets, looking like he’s been waiting.

You almost drop your chem book.

“Morning,” you manage.

He nods once, knocks on your locker like it’s a secret handshake, and walks off.

That’s it. Eight seconds of interaction and your entire day is ruined (in the best way).

By Wednesday you’re texting like normal humans.

It starts small.

hollis: your dog still hate me?

you: dont think he ever did

he’s obsessed

hollis: bet.

tell him i’m coming for that #1 spot

You smile at your phone so hard Nova notices from across the cafeteria and fake-gags.

Thursday he finds you again between classes.

This time he falls into step beside you.

“You still freaking out about that history test?”

You nod. “I’m gonna bomb it.”

He shrugs. “You’re smart. You’ll be fine.”

You blink at him. He called you smart. Out loud. In public.

You walk the rest of the way to class in stunned silence while he scrolls TikTok and pretends he didn’t just obliterate your brain cells.

Friday is when everything tilts.

You’re hiding in the upstairs bathroom again (Nova’s been hating on Hollis all week, Brianna’s been throwing shade in the form of fake-sweet smiles, and you just want five minutes of peace.

Door swings open.

Brianna and her glitter posse walk in.

She spots you immediately.

“Oh my god, hiii!”

You die inside.

She posts up at the mirror, reapplying gloss like a weapon.

“So random, but have you seen Hollis lately? He’s acting super weird with me. Won’t answer texts for hours, barely looks at me in the halls…” She turns, tilts her head. “You guys talk, right?”

Your throat closes. “Not really. Just a little texting. And the party. And the McDonald’s. And the—

“Not really,” you lie.

She smiles like she doesn’t believe you. “Okayy, just checking! If he says anything about me will you let me know? We’re kinda trying to fix things.”

You nod like a traitor.

She leaves. You grip the sink and text him before your brain can stop you.

you: brianna just ambushed me in the bathroom asked me to tell her if u say anything about her

i panicked and said okay

i’m sorry

He answers in six seconds.

hollis: don’t apologize

i’ve told her it’s over like five times she’s just fishing u

didn’t do shit wrong

you: still feel gross

hollis: u couldn’t be gross if u tried

go eat shorty

You stare at the text until the lunch bell rings.

After school you’re in the lobby wrestling Lucki into his harness when your phone buzzes.

hollis: u home?

you: just walked in the building

gonna walk lucki rn

hollis: look out the courtyard window

You do.

He’s sitting on the bench under the big tree, hood up, spinning a single dog treat between his fingers like he’s nervous.

Lucki spots him first and nearly takes your arm off dragging you outside.

Hollis stands when you get close, immediately crouches to greet Lucki like they’re long-lost brothers.

“Hey, big man.”

Lucki flips onto his back for belly rubs. Traitor.

Hollis looks up at you, a little sheepish.

“I was gonna ask if… maybe I could walk with you guys? Just one lap. If that’s weird I can—”

“Yes,” you blurt. Then quieter: “I mean yeah. That’s fine.”

He smiles. Actually smiles. Not the smirk. A real one.

You hand him the leash like it’s a grenade.

He takes it gently.

You walk.

Three laps around the courtyard while Lucki sniffs every leaf and Hollis asks about your day like he actually cares about the answer.

When you tell him about Brianna he just sighs.

“She does that. Don’t let her in your head, okay?”

You nod.

He bumps your shoulder with his. “You don’t owe her anything. Or me.”

The sun is setting, everything orange and pink. Lucki flops down in the grass dramatically.

Hollis sits on the bench, pats the spot beside him.

You sit. Close enough your knees almost touch.

He hands the leash back.

“This cool?” he asks. “Me showing up like this?”

You nod too fast. “Yeah. Lucki likes you better anyway.”

He laughs quietly laughs. “He has taste.”

You sit there until the courtyard lights come on and Lucki starts snoring between you.

Eventually you stand.

“I should head up. Mom’s working late and i still got to do some things around the house.”

He nods, stands too.

“Text me when you’re inside?”

You smile. “You don’t have to keep saying that.”

He shrugs. “I know.”

You’re halfway to the door when he calls,

“Hey.”

You turn.

He’s still by the bench, hands in pockets, looking almost shy.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Your heart files for immediate evacuation.

“Yeah,” you say. “Same time tomorrow.”

You ride the elevator up smiling like an idiot.

Your phone buzzes before you even unlock the door.

hollis: night shorty

you: night hollis ♡

It’s been exactly four days since the courtyard turned into your new religion.

Every afternoon at 4:17 p.m. on the dot, you step out of the lobby with Lucki and there he is: Hollis leaning against the brick wall by the courtyard entrance, hood up, one foot kicked back, spinning Lucki’s spare leash around his finger like he’s trying to look chill and failing. He always straightens the second he sees you, like he wasn’t just nervously counting cracks in the pavement.

Lucki launches. You get dragged. Hollis crouches, lets ninety pounds of pure muscle and love tackle him to the grass, and laughs that soft, real laugh that you only ever hear out here.

You still don’t talk about anything deep. Just school, new music he’s working on, the way Lucki tried to fight a pigeon yesterday and lost. Safe things. Easy things.

But you notice everything.

How his laugh is quieter with you, almost shy at the edges. How his eyes crinkle at the corners when you snort at one of his dry-ass jokes. How he actually listens when you ramble about the book you’re reading for AP Lit, nodding like he gives a shit about Sylvia Plath instead of just waiting for his turn to talk.

It feels like friendship is growing in real time, slow and green and terrifyingly fragile, and it’s the best thing that’s happened to you in months.

After a week the courtyard routine leaks into school.

He starts finding you at lunch when Nova’s late (which is every day now, because she’s avoiding the table like it’s radioactive).

He just shows up with his tray, slides into the seat across from you without asking, and steals one of your baby carrots.

“History test still trying to kill you?”

You roll your eyes. “It succeeded. I’m legally dead.”

He grins, mouth full. “Told you you’re smart.”

You hide your face in your hoodie sleeve so he doesn’t see how red you go.

You talk. You actually talk. About stupid stuff, about music, about how the cafeteria mac and cheese tastes like depression and plastic. You laugh at his jokes. He laughs at yours. It’s so normal it’s surreal.

Nova hates it.

She hates walking up to the table and seeing you two leaned in, shoulders almost touching, dying over some dumb TikTok he’s showing you.

She says she’s not mad at you. She says it three separate times, very clearly, very loudly, like if she repeats it enough it’ll become true.

You know it’s bullshit. She’s texting shorter, hugging you less, looking at you like you’re turning into a stranger.

Brianna has stopped pretending to be nice.

She gives you these long, slow once-overs in the hallway now, lip gloss smile gone, eyes flat and cold. You smile back every single one because your mom raised you polite and terrified, then speed-walk away with your heart in your throat.

Friday lunch it happens.

You’re mid-sentence, telling Hollis about the time Lucki ate an entire birthday cake off the kitchen counter, actually crying laughing, when Brianna appears like a Victoria’s Secret demon.

“Babe,” she says, hand curling around his forearm, acrylics digging in just enough to make a point. “Come sit with us. Nate’s asking for you.”

Hollis’s face goes carefully blank. “I’m good here.”

She tugs. “Come onnnn.”

He sighs through his nose, glances at you once, almost apologetic, then lets her pull him up. “Later, shorty,” he mutters.

Brianna doesn’t even look at you as they walk away.

You stare at your tray until the bell rings.

That night you’re rotting in bed, hoodie on inside out, Lucki sprawled across your legs like a heated blanket, half-watching some girl do a GRWM storytime about her situationship. Your brain is soup.

Your phone lights up.

hollis: yooo u asleep?

Your soul leaves your body for a second.

you: nope just rotting with lucki

hollis: cool lol was thinking u wanna come over tomorrow? i could finally show u the studio i won’t shut up about

You sit up so fast Lucki grumbles in protest.

He’s inviting you to his house. Not for a school project. Not because Brianna dragged him. Just… because he wants to.

Your hands are shaking. You stare at the message for two straight minutes like it’s written in another language.

hollis: u there shorty?

You scramble.

you: yesss that would be so cool can’t wait !!

You add the extra exclamation marks so you don’t sound like a robot. Then you immediately regret the exclamation marks because now you sound like a children’s birthday card.

He just sends back a single smirking emoji and then:

hollis: i’ll pick u up @ 3 lucki’s invited too obviously

You stare at your ceiling until 4 a.m. with Lucki snoring on your chest and music in your ears, trying to convince yourself youre gonna just be his friend from now on. no more crushing. no more overthinking.

(you know thats not true)

Tomorrow you’re going to his house.

Tomorrow he’s going to pick you up in that stupid matte-black Audi that smells like clove and leather and him.

Tomorrow you’re going to see the studio he’s been talking about for weeks.

Tomorrow Brianna is probably going to commit arson.

@drippy2oup @sleazeiess @ifhesbutterimahotknife @watercolorskyy @fatalfairie @hollisbabymama @akemimi @eegoism @angelxcyy @romansbbg @karukimi @@222foryou222 @@sugarcrashbby @pix3lkitten @@2lilaclace @@cashingcheques @@yallnotogso