Jan 18
me & you time part 3
nate sib childhood friends text fic
tags: @romansbbg @antihumangirl @holli-wanna-b-a-st2r @thottieonline @angelverse222
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Switzerland
seen from Estonia
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from United States
me & you time part 3
nate sib childhood friends text fic
tags: @romansbbg @antihumangirl @holli-wanna-b-a-st2r @thottieonline @angelverse222
me & you time part 2
nate sib childhood friends text fic
taglist: (comment to be added) @angelverse222
me & you time - part one
nate sib childhood best friend text fic
la white hoes part 10
nate sib text fic
tags: @swaggotsnoticeswaggots @grabonthereins @sh3lov3dyou @sayitagain22 @angelverse222
an: final part of this series, starting a new one tmrw so stay tuned :) sorry this one is so short but the next one is even better
la white hoes part 9
nate sib text fic
tags: @swaggotsnoticeswaggots @grabonthereins @sh3lov3dyou @sayitagain22 @angelverse222
feeling lucky
Song · 2008 · Duration 3:19
wc: 2786
tags: drinking, lots of drinking, unprotected sex, wall sex, public sex
las vegas. 2025.
roman ushers the rest of his group into a booth of the hotel bar. hollis sits down besides roman, eyes trailing around the sights. the lights are overwhelming, there are too many people around, and he really just wants to sleep at this point of the day.
nate is mid conversation about the crowd that day, what he liked and what he didn’t like. that’s when you appear.black leather bra. matching miniskirt. a smile that looks like it’s been sharpened on purpose. “what can i get y’all to drink?”
you had a sweet voice, one that broke through his endless thoughts about the moment. he goes to speak but roman is already cutting in, voice as flirtatious as hollis has ever heard it. “i’ll have a tequila.”
you arch a brow. “brave.”
roman laughs too loud. you don’t flinch.
you turn to hollis. really look at him. he forgets what he was going to say. “uh,” he manages. “a beer?”
when you come back, you set the glasses down like punctuation. roman’s tequila, neat and mean. nate vodka. hollis’s drink is amber and unfamiliar and dangerous-looking.
“trust me,” you say.
he does. eyes trained on your ass as he takes the first drink.
it burns in a way that feels intentional. he coughs. you grin like that was the point, watching.
you linger longer than you’re supposed to. half leaning against the booth, bracelets clicking every time you move. another girl shoots you a look from behind the bar. you mouth two minutes. she rolls her eyes.
hollis learns things about you in fragments. you hate this song. you love the one before it. you’ve been on your feet since noon. you can tell when someone’s lying by how fast they order their second drink. you learn he played earlier. you just say, “figured.”
roman disappears first. then nate. suddenly it’s just the two of you and a table full of empty glasses. the world narrows. at some point he’s started buying you drinks. ordering two for himself and sliding you the extra.
you’re drunk. he’s worse.
your shift technically ends an hour ago. you ignore that. you sway when you stand. the room tilts sideways, friendly and cruel all at once. you reach for the booth, miss it. hollis’s hand is there, steady and warm.
“whoa,” he says.
“i’m fine,” you insist, smiling like you’re trying to convince yourself too.
you don’t let go of his hand right away.
“you can crash in my room” he says, already moving. it’s not a question.
the elevator mirrors are brutal. you fix your lipstick with your finger, smear it a little. hollis looks everywhere except your mouth. the doors open onto a quiet hallway that feels like it doesn’t belong to the same night.
halfway down, you kick off your heels and carry them by the straps. “hate these,” you say. “love the idea of them.”
he laughs, soft, like he’s afraid of being heard.
at his door, he fumbles with the key, muttering apologies to no one. you lean against the wall, suddenly aware of everything: the buzz in your head, the quiet in your chest, the fact that you are very drunk and very far from the bar.
the door finally opens.
inside, the room glows with vegas light leaking through the curtains. unreal. like a set. you drop your shoes by the desk and sit on the edge of the bed like you’ve done this a hundred times, even though you haven’t.
he offers you water. you shake your head. “later.”
he pops open the bottle of wine on the dresser, taking a drink. you reach out but he tuts, “not for you. you’re too drunk. for me.” you whine.
you fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. the room spins just enough to feel good.
“you okay?” he asks.
“yeah,” you say, smiling up at him. honest. loose. “just drunk.”
“me too.” he grins, downing more of the wine.
you hum, turning on your hip and looking him up and down. he’s hot, so hot that you’re frustrated. “i don’t usually do this but…”
“me neither.” he admits with a small laugh. he sits down on the bed next to you, so properly tipsy at this point that the room is starting so spin. one thing is undeniable, how hot you are.
you lean in with no hesitation, melting into his lips.
you gasp as he yanks the fabric up over your hips, exposing your thighs to the cool air. no time for niceties; his fingers hook into your panties and tear them aside, the rip echoing in the haze.
“fuck, you're soaked,” he growls, voice slurred but hungry, and before you can respond, he's shoving two fingers inside you, pumping hard and fast. your body arches, nails digging into his shoulders, the burn of alcohol making every thrust feel amplified, messy.
he doesn't wait, doesn't ask. his belt clinks open, pants shoved down just enough, and then his cock is there—thick, hard, pressing against your entrance. you wrap your legs around him, pulling him in, and he slams forward, burying himself to the hilt in one drunken thrust.
the stretch is brutal, perfect, your walls clenching around him as he starts rutting into you like he can't get deep enough. sweat slicks your skin, mixing with the spilled drinks from earlier, making everything slippery and chaotic.
“god, yes,” you moan, head thrown back, the headboard banging against the wall with each snap of his hips. he's everywhere—hands gripping your ass, lifting you to meet him harder, his mouth sucking bruises into your collarbone.
you claw at his back, leaving red trails, the pain spurring him on. he pulls out almost all the way, then drives back in, the wet slap of flesh filling the room, your juices coating his shaft, dripping down your thighs.
you roll your hips up, meeting his frenzy, the bed creaking under the assault. he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, the other sliding between you to rub rough circles over your clit. it's too much, the pressure building fast in the drunken blur, your body trembling as you come undone, crying out his name (“hollis, hollis”) waves crashing through you, squeezing him tight.
he doesn't stop, pounding through your orgasm, chasing his own. “shit, i'm gonna—” he grunts, and then he's spilling inside you, hot pulses filling you up, his body shuddering against yours.
he collapses half on top of you, both panting, sticky and spent, the room spinning from the booze and the high.
minutes pass in the afterglow, his head on your chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. then, out of nowhere, in that slurry voice, he lifts his head, eyes glassy but earnest. “fuck- you’re so fucking perfect. you should like fucking… marry me.” he says, like it's the most natural thing after this wild night. 'right now, in this crazy city. be mine.'
your heart stutters, but the whiskey whispers yes, and so do you. “yeah,” you breathe, pulling him close. “let's do it. why the fuck not.”
the words hang there, ridiculous and holy and wrong in the way that feels right at three in the morning.
he laughs first, breathless, like he can’t believe he said it. then he doesn’t take it back.
instead, he kisses your collarbone, soft now, reverent. “i’m serious,” he mumbles. “i don’t ever say shit like that.”
you sit up a little, the room smelling of sex. the air feels thinner. louder. like vegas itself.
“hollis,” you say, testing his name in your mouth. it tastes dangerous. “you don’t even know my last name.”
he squints, thinking hard, like this is the one flaw in an otherwise flawless plan. “we’ll learn it,” he says. “after.”
you laugh too loud, too bright. and it cracks something open in your chest. the idea settles in, heavy and electric. not forever. just now. just this version of yourselves, sticky and drunk and unreal.
“okay,” you say again, because saying no feels harder. “okay.”
he’s suddenly all motion, scrambling off the bed, nearly tripping. grabbing his phone. “there’s, like… there’s chapels everywhere here. my friend's sister did it once. or twice.”
you watch him pace, barefoot, blond hair wild, talking to himself and to you at the same time. it should be embarrassing. it isn’t. it feels like jumping off something tall and trusting the air.
you pull back on your skirt with his shirt from the floor.
“are you gonna regret this?” you ask, half-joking, half-not.
he stops. looks at you. really looks. his face goes soft in a way that feels dangerous.
“maybe,” he says. “but not tonight.”
the elevator ride is quiet and hysterical all at once. you lean into him, forehead against his shoulder. he smells like sweat and soap and something electric. he keeps whispering, “this is insane,” like a prayer.
the chapel is small and too bright and smells like carpet cleaner. a bored woman with perfect eyeliner doesn’t blink when you tell her what you want. she’s seen worse. she’s seen everything.
“rings?” she asks.
you look at each other.
he pulls an expensive silver band off his pinky. you offer a cheap chain necklace. the woman shrugs. “works.”
she flips a laminated booklet open, pages sticking together, and gestures for you to stand closer. the chapel lights buzz overhead, too bright, too sober. everything smells like cleaner and old flowers and bad decisions.
you sway a little. hollis grabs your elbow, misses, laughs, steadies you anyway.
“hi,” he whispers, like he just noticed you again.
“hi,” you say back, and it feels huge.
the woman starts talking. vows. legal language. words that should mean something. they slide right off you. hollis squeezes your hand too hard, then apologizes, then does it again. you’re giggling for no reason. your head is floating somewhere above your body.
“do you—” the woman begins.
“yes,” hollis blurts, way too fast.
she sighs. “sir, i haven’t finished.”
“sorry,” he says, grinning, eyes glassy. he leans toward you. “i just—yeah.”
you nod along to questions you don’t fully hear. at one point you think you’re supposed to repeat something and instead you say, “fuck,” softly, reverently. the woman doesn’t react.
hollis tries to slide the ring on your finger and drops it. it clinks against the floor. all three of you stare at it.
“five second rule,” you say, crouching badly to pick it up. you almost fall over. hollis laughs so hard he has to hold onto the podium.
when you finally get it on, it’s cold and loose and wrong and perfect. he presses the necklace chain into your palm and you fumble with it, fingers useless, eventually just looping it around his finger twice and declaring it done.
“that good?” you ask.
“beautiful,” he says, absolutely serious.
the woman clears her throat. “by the power vested in me by the state of nevada—”
hollis hiccups.
“i now pronounce you—”
you lean into hollis. he leans into you. you’re both holding each other up.
“—married.”
there’s a beat. silence. then hollis laughs again, wild and shocked, like someone just told him a secret about himself.
“holy shit,” he says. “we did it.”
you clap once. “we did it.”
he kisses you, sloppy and unbalanced, almost missing your mouth. you don’t care. someone, maybe the woman, maybe a ghost, takes a photo. the flash goes off too close, burns white behind your eyes.
“sign here,” the woman says, sliding papers toward you.
hollis squints at the clipboard like it’s written in another language. you scribble something that might be your name. it definitely isn’t legible.
“congratulations,” she says, already done with you.
outside, the neon hits harder. louder. hollis spins you once, too fast. you stumble into his chest, laughing, breathless, married and drunk and untethered. he pushes you against the white brick wall of the chapel, kissing you again.
“fuck– fuck–” he mutters against your lips, picking your leg up and wrapping it around his waist. someone could easily catch you two but you were both too gone to notice.
his hand slips under your skirt, slipping between your folds instantly. still wet, some of his cum from before still leaking between them.
“we’re gonna have to be quiet baby.” he whispers in your ear, pulling his pants down just enough that his cock can slip out.
“keep me quiet then.” you respond, crashing your lips against his as his cock re-enters you. there’s less of a stretch than before, still slick when the remnants from before. you bite down on his lip as he starts to move.
your arms move up to his shoulders, nails scratching up his back. his hand reaches under your dress to cup at your ass, greedily spreading the cheeks and playing with the flesh.
his thrusts start slow, deliberate, each one pushing his thick cock deeper into your soaked pussy, the slick mix of your arousal and his earlier load making obscene wet sounds that echo faintly against the brick.
the neon lights flicker overhead, casting erratic glows across his flushed face as he grinds against you, his hips snapping forward with growing urgency. you clench around him, your walls fluttering from the overstimulation, but it only spurs him on—he groans low into your mouth, swallowing your whimpers as his tongue invades, tasting the liquor on your breath.
the risk hangs heavy in the air; distant laughter from wedding guests spills out from the chapel doors, footsteps crunching on gravel nearby. hollis’s grip tightens on your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he spreads you wider, angling his cock to hit that spot inside that makes your vision blur.
“shhhh, that's it,” he breathes, his voice rough and commanding, even as his own control frays.
he pulls back just enough to watch your face twist in pleasure, then slams in hard, the force jolting your back against the rough white bricks.
you arch into him, your leg locked around his waist pulling him impossibly closer, nails raking red trails down his back through his shirt. his free hand snakes up, shoving the neckline of your shirt aside to expose one breast, his mouth latching onto the hardened nipple. he’s too drunk to care if anyone could see. he sucks hard, teeth grazing the sensitive peak, while his cock pistons relentlessly, stretching you full with every plunge. cum from before squelches out around his shaft, dripping down your thigh.
“god, you're so fucking tight still,” he growls against your skin, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before claiming your lips again.
his pace quickens, hips bucking erratically now, chasing release as your pussy milks him greedily. you feel the coil tightening low in your belly, the drunkenness amplifying every sensation.
he pounds into you faster, it becomes sloppier and messier. his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. your leg begins to shake, him having to hold on to you tighter to keep you up.
the pressure builds until it snaps. you shatter around him first, your orgasm ripping through you in waves, pussy spasming and gushing over his cock. he follows seconds later, burying himself to the hilt as he cums, hot spurts flooding you, overflowing and trickling down your legs.
he pulls out, tucking himself back in his pants. the cum is dripping down your legs, it’s obvious for anyone that could see it. he gives an embarrassed laugh, shy about what just happened.
“we should go back inside.” he says breathlessly, watching as you use your hand to clean yourself up. you nod and grab his hand, giggling as he leads you back to his hotel room.
you don’t wake up together that morning. you had to get to work early
but you don’t disappear either.
it starts small. stupid, even.
hollis finds your number scribbled in his phone under “wife???” with three question marks. he stares at it for a full minute before texting:
hey. this is hollis. vegas hollis. sorry if this is weird.
you reply ten minutes later:
kind of insane actually. thought i hallucinated you.
that makes him laugh out loud on the bus, earning a look from roman.
the annulment window comes and goes because neither of you rushes it. paperwork gets delayed. management freaks out quietly. nothing explodes. everything just… exists.
you call each other at odd hours. hotel rooms. smoke breaks. parking lots. you talk about nothing. you talk about everything except the chapel. when you finally do talk about it, it’s casual.
“we could undo it,” you say.
“yeah,” he says. “we could.”
LA WHITE HOES - part 8
this part contains written smut before the texts :)
wc: 1953
tags: @swaggotsnoticeswaggots @grabonthereins @sh3lov3dyou @sayitagain22 @angelverse222
the afterparty was exactly how you expected, copy and paste instagram model types fiending after a glimpse at hollis, loud music that all sounded a bit too similar, and as many drinks as you could possibly want.
you search through the sea of faces, looking for hollis. he’s not hard to find, as your best friend said. he’s tall and obvious and… alone.
he spots you before you reach him, his face breaking into something genuine and familiar. “there she is,” he says, like he was half-expecting you to vanish before he could confirm it was really you. “you survive the crowd?”
“barely,” you say. “i forgot how loud these things get.”
he laughs, leaning back against the bar. “you should’ve seen the one in nashville. felt like my brain was rattling around in my skull.”
“tour’s been insane,” he says. “we did this titanic museum thing in tennessee. have you ever been to one of those?”
you blink. “yeah, nate told me about it.”
“it was awesome,” he nods, animated now. “like, full recreations, the staircase, the fake iceberg, the whole thing. nate was weirdly into it despite complaining the whole time.”
you smile despite yourself. “that tracks.”
“i went with him,” hollis continues, casual, “and my girl. she was obsessed. kept making jokes about who’d survive.”
something clicks in your chest, sharp and cold.
his girl.
your mind flashes unhelpfully to the instagram story. the angle. the hair. the way the girl had leaned in like she belonged there. shit. it was probably just hollis’ girl in that damn picture. not nate’s.
you swallow. “yeah?”
hollis nods, totally oblivious to the shift in you. “yeah. she’s cool. met her on the road. kind of just… happened.”
you force your voice steady, hiding the sudden guilt. “sounds… nice.”
there’s a beat. hollis studies you more closely now.
“so,” he says, deliberately casual, “how’s your boyfriend?”
you shrug, remembering the lie you gave nate. “he’s out of town.”
hollis’s eyebrows lift, just slightly. something brightens behind his eyes, like a switch flipping on. “oh,” he says. “is he.”
“yeah,” you repeat. “work thing.”
he grins, already pushing off the bar. “come with me.”
“hollis—”
too late. he’s guiding you through the crowd, hand light at your elbow, weaving like he knows exactly where he’s going. and then you see him.
nate.
he’s standing near a table littered with empty glasses, laughing at something someone says, hair a mess, sleeves pushed up. he looks too good, in that effortless way that makes your stomach drop.
he sees you and stills. not dramatically—just enough that you notice. hollis claps a hand on his shoulder.
“look who i found,” hollis says, pleased with himself.
nate’s eyes flick to hollis, then back to you. something unreadable passes over his face before he schools it into a soft smile.
“hey,” he says.
“hey.”
it’s awkward. it’s loaded. it’s everything you didn’t say to each other before he left.
nate gestures to the bar. “what are you drinking?”
you tell him. he gets it without another word, careful, attentive in a way that makes your chest ache. when he hands it to you, your fingers brush. it feels louder than the music.
“i’m sorry,” he says quietly, once hollis has drifted a few feet away, pretending very badly not to be listening. “for leaving like that. tour got crazy fast. i didn’t mean to disappear on you.”
“i should’ve called more,” he adds. “i think i didn’t want to admit how hard it was.”
you look up at him then. “what was?”
“leaving,” he says simply. “you.”
the music swells. the party keeps moving around you. hollis watches from a distance, satisfied, like this is exactly how he meant for the night to go.
nate lingers beside you, shoulder angled in, voice lowered so only you can hear him.
“do you want to get out of here?” he asks. not rushed. not cocky. careful, like he’s offering you an exit and a beginning at the same time.
you glance past him— at hollis, who pretends not to watch, at the crowd that keeps pressing in, at the night that feels too loud to hold anything honest.
“where?” you ask, even though you already know.
he hesitates, then: “my place. if that’s okay. you don’t have to. i just—” a breath. “i don’t want to keep shouting apologies over this shitty music.”
he takes your purse from the chair, holds it out for you. it’s such a small thing that it almost knocks the wind out of you.
outside, the sky is dark and the air is warm. the noise drops away. nate walks close but not touching, like he’s relearning your shape in real time. his car waits at the curb, lights blinking patiently.
the drive is quiet, city sliding by in soft streaks. you notice how he signals every turn, how his hand tightens on the wheel when he’s thinking. you notice how you’re holding your breath.
“i wanted to bring you over here… before,” he says, like he’s confessing something mild and monumental at once.
“before what?”
“before all of it,” he shrugs. “before it got complicated.”
you hum.
his house is understated. not flashy. warm light in the windows. you step inside and it smells like coffee and clean laundry and something woody you can’t place. records line the wall. all his equipment is on the dining room table.
“sorry,” he says, suddenly shy. “it’s a mess.”
it isn’t. it’s him.
he watches you like he’s waiting to see if you’ll stay.
“i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says again, softer now, as if the house has asked him to be honest. “i didn’t know how to balance it. i still don’t. but i want to learn.”
you turn to face him. he’s closer than you expect, eyes steady, searching. the room hums with everything you haven’t said.
“i don’t need perfect,” you say. “i need present.”
he nods. “i can do that.”
for a moment, neither of you moves. then he gestures toward the couch. “sit with me?”
you do.
the night stretches. the city fades. and for the first time, in this quiet house you’ve never seen before, it feels like the story might finally slow down enough to tell the truth.
you pause, remembering that you have work tomorrow morning. a sigh. “i can’t stay long.”
he nods, breath baited. “i want to see you again.”
“i know, me too. we’ll make it work. i promise.”
he leans in again, placing his big hand on your cheek. “let me claim you before you go back to your boyfriend’s, please.”
his hand finds yours on the cushion between you, fingers threading slow, like he's testing the weight of the promise. the touch sends a spark up your arm, warm and insistent, cutting through the quiet hum of the house. outside, the city's distant pulse fades further, leaving just the two of you in this space—his space, with a faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air, mixed with something woodsy and lived-in.
you shift closer, knee brushing his thigh. the couch dips under the movement, pulling you in. his eyes drop to your mouth, then back up, dark and unguarded. “you okay with this, angel?”
you nod, leaning in, and his free hand cups your jaw, gentle at first, tilting your face to his. the kiss starts soft—lips brushing—but it builds fast, hunger breaking through like a dam cracking. you taste the faint bitterness of his drink from earlier, mixed with the salt of his skin as your mouths open, tongues sliding together in a rhythm that's been waiting too long.
you climb into his lap without thinking, straddling him, the heat of his body pressing up against yours through thin fabric. his hands slide to your hips, gripping firm, pulling you down so your core grinds against the growing hardness in his jeans. a low groan escapes him into your mouth, vibrating through you, and you rock forward, chasing the friction, the ache building low in your belly.
“fuck,” he breathes when you break apart for air, foreheads touching. his fingers dig into your sides, bunching your shirt up, exposing skin to the cool air. you tug at his too, yanking it over his head in one messy motion, revealing the lean lines of his chest, the faint trail of hair leading down. your hands roam, nails scraping lightly over his shoulders, down his arms.
he doesn't waste time—his mouth latches onto your neck, sucking hard enough to mark, teeth grazing as he works lower, pushing your top aside to kiss along your collarbone. you arch into it, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there while your hips keep moving, grinding slow and deliberate against his cock straining through denim. the pressure builds, wet heat soaking your panties, and you whimper when his hand slips under your skirt, fingers finding your thigh, inching higher.
“you feel so good,” he mutters against your skin, voice rough, as his fingers brush the edge of your underwear, teasing the damp fabric. you lift up just enough for him to slide them aside, and then he's there, two fingers pressing into your pussy, slick and easy, curling just right to make your breath hitch. you clench around him, riding his hand while his thumb circles your clit, steady pressure that has you gasping, head falling back.
the couch creaks under you as you move faster, chasing the edge, but it's not enough. you fumble with his belt, popping the button on his jeans, shoving them down with his help. his cock springs free, thick and hard, tip already glistening. you wrap your hand around it, stroking firm from base to head, and he bucks up into your grip, a curse slipping from his lips.
“need you nate,” you say, voice breaking, positioning yourself over him. he nods, hands guiding your hips down, and you sink onto his cock inch by inch, stretching around him, the fullness making you moan loud and unfiltered. he fills you completely, hot and throbbing, and you pause for a second, adjusting, both of you breathing ragged.
you start moving—up and down, slow at first, savoring the drag, the way he hits deep inside. his hands grip your ass, helping the rhythm, pulling you harder onto him with each thrust. the slap of skin on skin mixes with your gasps, his grunts, the crunch of the couch cushion. sweat beads on his chest, and you lean down to lick it off, tasting the salt, while he thrusts up to meet you, harder now, relentless.
it builds like a storm. your clit grinding against his pelvis with every drop, his cock pulsing inside you, fingers bruising your hips. you kiss him messy, all teeth and tongue, and he flips you suddenly, pinning you beneath him on the cushions without pulling out. the new angle lets him drive deeper, pounding into your pussy with short, sharp thrusts that make stars burst behind your eyes.
“come for me,” he growls, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit fast and rough. it's too much. the pressure, the heat, the way he looks at you like you're everything. you shatter around him, walls clenching tight, crying out as waves crash through you, soaking him further.
he follows seconds later, burying himself deep with a final thrust, cock twitching as he cums inside you, hot and spilling. his body slumps over yours, both of you panting, tangled and spent.
you lean against the couch, wiping a bead of sweat from your head. “i want to see you again. i want to make this work.”
la white hoes part 7
nate sib texting fic
tags: @swaggotsnoticeswaggots @grabonthereins @sh3lov3dyou @sayitagain22 @angelverse222
an: next part is the smut finally #yourewelcome