i love reading, music, movies, and spending way too much time reading fan fics. some of my favorite artists are nettspend, 2hollis, nate sib, drake, latto, olivia rodrigo, beyoncé, addison rae, tate mcrae, bella kay, and feng. ♫
favorite creators: slushy noobz, jordan huxhold, peyton king, max norman, quinn blackwell, and larry.
favorite shows: family guy, the office, it’s always sunny in philadelphia, south park, gossip girl, and not suitable for work.
favorite movies: grown ups, all three hangover movies, to all the boys i’ve loved before, 10 things i hate about you, mean girls, scary movie, and little women.
all my reposts are my recs!
i’m hoping to start writing more on here, so please send requests!! ♡
currently writing for: ✧ nettspend ✧ 2hollis ✧ jordan huxhold ✧ vinnie hacker
but honestly i’ll write for almost anybody, so don’t be afraid to ask <3
a/n - it’s 4 fucking am. i don’t know when to fucking stop
wtv hope you guys enjoy
the shop always smelled like green soap, black ink, and cigarettes.
not because anyone actually smoked inside anymore.
roman just carried the smell around with him.
you’d been sitting in the cracked leather chair by the front counter for almost an hour, legs crossed. one of the springs in the chair squeaked whenever you shifted as you lazily flipped through one of roman’s sketchbooks he always left lying around.
page after page.
animals, rendered with delicate precision.
landscapes, bleeding with memories of trips you’d taken together.
your profile drawn mid-laugh during that summer barbecue when you’d spilled soda down your shirt. your eyes captured perfectly beneath a dim streetlight at two in the morning outside a gas station. even just your hand wrapped around a coffee cup on some random tuesday morning he’d apparently memorized without ever saying a word.
then came cars, always muscle cars.
wildflowers pressed carefully between paper-thin sheets.
guns.
then you again.
this time sleeping, curled up on his couch last winter beneath three blankets because he kept turning the thermostat down “for art reasons.”
you just snorted, trying not to think too hard about how he knew where every freckle sat across your face.
or how he somehow remembered the exact way your nose crinkled whenever you laughed.
still flipping through the sketchbook, you found yourself reading all the little notes he’d scribbled in the margins.
one page simply read:
don’t text your ex.
underneath it, in different handwriting:
call angel.
you bit your lip.
he always called you that.
even when he was mad because you’d scared him.
even when he’d driven all the way to your apartment just to hug you after having a bad day.
roman’s voice drifted from the back room.
you snapped back into reality.
“hey, angel… whatcha doing?”
he stepped through the curtain, wiping black ink from his gloves.
you looked over at him, taking in his features.
his hair was pulled into a messy bun.
his shirt hung half unbuttoned.
his jeans rested low on his hips.
fuck.
he was your best friend, for christ’s sake.
why did you care what he looked like?
why did it make you so flustered that he’d drawn you so many times?
“looking through your sketches.”
you answered while still staring at him with wide, curious eyes.
“how long you been here?”
his gaze swept over you once.
“uhhh…” you glanced down at your phone. “about an hour or so…?”
roman’s eyes widened.
“an hour? angel, why didn’t you come say hi?” he smiled that stupid crooked smile he’d had since he was sixteen.
you shrugged, suddenly feeling like a scolded puppy.
“i was just waiting till you could do my tattoo” you smiled
roman's smile softened, that quiet warmth he only ever showed you lighting up his whole face. he took a step closer, still wiping ink off his fingers onto the hem of his shirt, like he always did.
"your tattoo," he repeated, voice low and teasing. "right. you're getting one today."
he leaned against the counter beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touched his biceps.
you swallowed hard, fuck.
the shop clock ticked softly behind him, a metronome counting down to something neither of you were naming yet.
his eyes flicked back to the sketchbook in your lap, the page open with you asleep on his couch, and for half a second? his expression did this thing. Like guilt wrapped in tenderness wrapped in something too fragile to name.
then it was gone.
"alright angel," roman said suddenly, pushing upright again with sudden energy; the kind artists get when they’re about to create something important. "c'mon back."
you followed roman into the back part of the store into his personal little studio that had a nice chair and didn’t smell like cigarettes
“take your shirt off.” he says setting up the tattoo station
the studio was quiet, bathed in soft amber light from the desk lamp roman always used, warm and focused, like a spotlight on something sacred.
you peeled off your oversized band tee without hesitation. it slid down your arms easily, revealing smooth skin dotted with old freckles and the faint outline of a shoulder strap tan line.
roman didn’t look right away, not immediately. he busied himself sterilizing tools: wiping surfaces with alcohol swabs, adjusting his machine’s settings. his back was to you as he worked, his messy bun slightly loosened now, and for a second it felt almost normal.
then he turned around.
and stopped.
just... stopped breathing for half a beat too long when his eyes landed on you standing there in just your bra and low-rise jeans, the dim light catching every curve like it had been painted just to highlight you today specifically somehow, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you naked before,
i mean you two were bathed together when you were little
and he’s seen you in a bikini plenty of times.
so why was this different
his jaw flexed once before he cleared his throat quietly
“uh your.. uh.. your bra too.”
you nodded and unhooked the clasp on your back, sliding the lacy fabric down your shoulders.
roman watched every move you made,
how your hands moved, how you slid the fabric down trusting him go see you bare and naked.
he swallowed when your bra fell into your hands
he stared at your boobs for about 15 seconds before he realized he zoned out
the silence stretched, thick and electric, like the air before a storm. roman’s breath hitched again. just slightly. a tiny crack in his usual cool demeanor.
he wasn’t looking away fast enough, not to be polite, not to play it casual, but he wasn’t staring either. it was somewhere in between: frozen awareness, the kind where your brain short-circuits because holy shit she’s real, and this is happening right now.
you stood there completely bare from the waist up, skin pale with that one freckle just above your collarbone you always forgot about and roman?
roman suddenly remembered how much he liked drawing you last winter when you were asleep on his couch wrapped in blankets… but now seeing it all live?
it punched him right through every defense he ever built around affection that didn't come with words or explanations.
his fingers twitched at his sides as if unsure what they were supposed to do first: reach for gloves? adjust lighting? or maybe just... touch? but then reality snapped back into place, the professional artist mode kicking in like armor
you laid down in the chair pressing your front against the cold thin fabric that covered the leather chair, the cold hit your skin instantly, sharp and startling after the warmth of being clothed. you exhaled through your nose, shifting slightly as the thin fabric clung to your bare stomach.
roman finally moved.
he grabbed a folded black towel from the counter and gently draped it over you, not all the way covering you, just enough so that only his hands would touch exposed skin during prep. a small boundary. a quiet gesture of care.
the second you lifted your arms to tie your hair up, the towel slipped slightly, just enough for a sliver of bare skin to show along your side.
roman froze mid-reach, stencil paper crumpled in his gloved hand,
his cock hardened his jeans.
his breath caught again, harder this time, and suddenly all that careful professionalism? gone. shattered like glass underfoot.
in one swift motion, he pulled his gloves off and dropped the paper onto the table and closed the distance between you two before either of you could think about it twice.
he crouched beside the chair first, not kissing yet, but cupping your face with one warm hand as if asking permission without words
“stand up and turn around.” he said with a low stern voice
your pulse jumped at the command, low, steady, different, not angry or bossy like how he’d talk to clients who complained about pricing. this was roman, but a version of him you'd never really seen before.
you hesitated for only a heartbeat before sliding off the chair. the towel dropped completely as you turned around.
the studio air felt charged now, thick with something unspoken that had been building quietly between sketchbook pages and shared late-night drives home from diners
roman stood slowly behind you, close enough that his body heat reached your bare back
then his hands were on your hips, firm and careful, he guided you forward gently until both palms rested flat against the cool leather table. roman’s hands slid up your sides, slow, deliberate,
fingers tracing the curve of your ribs, the dip of your waist.
he didn’t speak again. didn’t need to.
every touch was quiet but loud in meaning, the way his thumbs brushed over old scars you never talked about, how one hand came around to rest just beneath your breast without pressure… like he was memorizing you by feel this time instead of through sketches, his hips grinding into your ass
then his lips found the back of your neck, a soft kiss first. just a whisper against skin.
another at the base where hair met shoulder
and then another lower, down along that sensitive spot between spine and muscle, and suddenly it wasn't just affection anymore
you shudder under his touch,
“r-roman? w-what are you doing?”
your voice came out breathless,
smaller than usual, like you’d forgotten how to speak in full sentences.
roman didn’t answer right away.
instead, he pressed another kiss, this time slower, more intentional, right where your neck met your shoulder. a spot that always made you shiver when anyone brushed it… and he knew. he knew things about you without ever being told
then his hands tightened slightly on your waist before sliding around front
one arm wrapped low across your stomach not pulling yet,but holding. Possessive? no… not quite. protective maybe? like he was anchoring himself to something real
and then his lips found the shell of your ear
“do you trust me angel?”
his voice was a whisper, rough, warm, trembling just slightly at the edges like he wasn’t as steady as he wanted to seem.
you nodded.
the quiet click of the button popping open echoed in the small studio.
roman’s fingers moved carefully, slow, like he was giving you every chance to say stop. to pull away. to laugh it off and go back to being just friends who tattoo each other and share fries after midnight
but you didn’t move.
you stayed still, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it, and when his hands hooked into the waistband of your jeans, easing them down over your hips with deliberate gentleness…
a shiver ran through your whole body
not from cold
from this, from Roman touching you like this for real now instead of just drawing how soft your skin looked in lamplight
the sound of his belt clinking against the metal table leg broke the silence, soft, metallic.
roman didn’t rush. he kicked off his boots first, then shed everything else in one smooth motion, jeans pooling at his ankles, boxers following with quiet vulnerability
he pulled your panties down the a rough yank, he was trying to go slow but the way your ass hit the head of his cock made him groan
the groan ripped out of him, raw, involuntary, like he hadn’t meant to make a sound at all.
it was heat, it was pressure. the sudden contact sending electric shocks straight through his nerves because you were bare now too, and your skin against his…
roman’s hands flew back to your hips instantly, gripping hard, holding like you might vanish if he didn’t anchor himself
“come on angel, bend over, i wanna fuck you from the back”
his voice was low, urgent, and needy, it sent a jolt straight through you.
it wasn’t the roman who sketched quietly or argued about art theory. this his was a different version: rough at the edges, breathing unevenly like he’d been holding his breath for years
you obeyed without hesitation, turning fully toward the table now and bending forward slowly until your tits pressed into cool leather
the position exposed everything, the curve of your back, how perfectly round your ass looked under dim light, and before you could even steady yourself…
roman pushed into her with a hard thrust, it was deep, unrelenting and sudden, like he’d been waiting forever and couldn’t stand another second of not being inside you.
a gasp tore from your lips, not pain, but surprise, the stretch overwhelming in its intensity because roman wasn't small, the way your pussy clenched around him, tight, hot, perfect, made roman’s breath hitch in his throat.
a guttural sound escaped him this time, not quite a groan, not quite a curse, just pure animal reaction as his hips jerked forward on instinct
he didn’t pull out. didn’t slow down.
instead? he pushed deeper with another hard thrust, the chair creaking slightly beneath you both, and one of his hands slid up your spine before fisting gently into the hair at the nape of your neck
he pulled hard to make you moan
he said “i wanna hear you angel, i wanna hear everything i make you feel while im pounding into this tiny pussy”
the sharp tug on your hair arched your back perfectly, exposing every curve, tilting your head just right so his lips could find the sensitive spot behind your ear
and then he pounded.
no more hesitation. no softness now, just raw need unleashed after years of pretending this wasn’t simmering between sketchbook pages and late-night drives home
each thrust was deep, deliberate, his hips snapping forward with controlled force, and when you moaned? high-pitched and breathy like it slipped out without permission?
roman’s grip tightened in satisfaction
“again,” he growled against the shell of your ear. “louder.”
your moans came easier after that, spilling out in little gasps and broken whimpers with every hard thrust, because roman wasn’t playing nice.
when the next moan slipped free, a soft, desperate "oh god" he rewarded it by biting gently at your shoulder before driving into you even harder
roman’s other hand slid down from your hip to where your bodies joined, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves through slick heat
you gasped hard
“ro-roman, fuck, roman please”
the way you said his name broken, pleading, sent a shockwave straight through him.
roman’s thumb pressed firmer against your clit, rubbing slow circles at first, testing how sensitive you were, and when your whole body jerked and another gasp tore out of you?
he smiled wide
mean, cocky
so his thumb got bolder, faster circles now, firm and relentless,as his thrusts picked up pace
“you gonne come angel? you want me to let you come?” his voice came out rough and hard
you nodded fast
“please ro-roman, pl-please..”
the please shattered whatever last thread of control Roman had left.
his voice went dominant in a way you’d never heard before, all gravel and heat, and he didn’t make you beg twice
“come then,” he ordered, low and commanding right against your ear. “right now.”
and just like that, his thumb pressed down harder on your clit while his hips snapped forward with punishing force
no buildup. no warning.
just release.
your orgasm crashed over you instantly
a white-hot wave tearing through every nerve, and the sound? a choked cry mixed with his name as your body clenched around him wildly
roman didn’t pause.
the second your orgasm hit, he moved strong arms spinning you around before lifting you onto the chair like it weighed nothing
then he was on his knees in front of you, fast, hungry, and without hesitation, his mouth found your center
his tongue dragged through slick heat with a slow precision that made your back arch off the seat. no teasing at first. just pure devotion, licking deep and thorough like this was something sacred
meanwhile?
his hand wrapped around his own cock, the thick length still glistening from being inside you, and started pumping slowly… matching each stroke to another long swipe of his tongue
roman’s mouth was relentless, hot, wet, perfect, and the contrast between his soft tongue and your oversensitive nerves made every lick send jolts up your spine
you gripped his hair tight, not pushing, just holding, as if you needed an anchor in a world that had suddenly tilted
and god… he looked good like this. on his knees for you, eyes half-lidded with desire but focused only on pleasuring you further even though he was hard as steel and stroking himself slowly beside it all
his thumb brushed over the head of his cock absently, teasing more than anything, and when a low groan rumbled from him through where he still had lips sealed to your skin?
the vibration from his groan traveled straight through you, electric, and your thighs tensed around his head instinctively
roman didn’t pull back though.
no, he doubled down, sucking gently now where he’d just licked, before swirling his tongue in slow circles over that hypersensitive bundle of nerves
his free hand slid up your thigh, the one draped over his shoulder, and squeezed lightly. a grounding touch.
his other hand worked himself faster now, not desperate, but with increasing urgency like the taste and feel of you was driving him wild too
the room filled with quiet sounds, your shaky breathing, the slick noise of his mouth on you, the soft slap of his hand jerking himself off
roman was lost in it.
completely gone. All artist focus turned into pure, need, for your taste, for your reactions, for how tight and warm you’d been around him moments ago
he sucked hard on your clit and the second he sucked your entire body locked up
“fuck! roman ro, please im gonna come”
it was too much. too good. the orgasm you’d just had barely minutes ago still humming through your nerves, and now this? roman’s mouth on you like that?
you screamed his name, half-sob, half-moan, and your hips jerked forward off the chair
he held your clit between his lips and kept sucking, relentless as a storm, while two fingers suddenly slipped inside you without warning
and then? he curled them
the moment his fingers curled inside you, just right, hitting that spot, your vision whited out
a second orgasm ripped through you like lightning, fiercer than the first because it was unexpected and roman caused it
your back arched violently off the chair as your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t stopnot even when a broken sob tore from your throat
he kept sucking. kept curling those fingers.
pushing you higher. deeper. overwhelming every sense until all you could do was gasp and tremble under him
roman only stopped when he felt your body go completely limp,the kind of exhaustion that comes after being wrecked by pleasure
he slowly pulled his fingers out, then lifted his head to look at you
your chest rose and fell rapidly. your eyes were glassy. hair a mess from gripping it. lips parted. roman pressed one soft kiss to your inner thigh, gentle this time. before standing up fully again
his cock was still hard as ever though… throbbing with need after all that teasing himself while focusing on you
roman’s jaw clenched as he looked down at you, completely undone, breathless, his.
he was still painfully hard. the blood rushing south hadn’t cooled one bit, if anything, watching you come apart like that made him needier
but instead of climbing back on top right away…
he grabbed a clean rag from the counter and dampened it with water before kneeling again not to touch himself or demand anything but to gently wipe your thighs.
tender in a way only roman could be after being so rough
then he kissed your forehead softly
“you okay angel?”
he tucked his dick back into his boxers, completely ignoring his needs to take care of you
you nodded with heavy eyes
“i’ll be okay romey”
he kissed your forehead, and pulled your panties back up your legs
“you just lay there and i’ll get started on your tattoo okay? i’ll go slow”
he gave you a slow kiss on the lips
you laid back down on your stomach, closing your eyes for a few minutes before roman starts on your tattoo.
he whispers into your ear constantly
“i love you angel”
“you’re okay”
“you’re so pretty”
it felt right letting your bestfriend, take care of you.
___________________ ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ ___________________
@ y/nonprobation posted!!
𝄞 -wet dreams by artemas- 𝄞
y/nonprobation: roman gave me a tattoo ᥫ᭡
liked by rommulas, mazzyjoya, vanillamace, quenblackwell, 2hollis, and 289k others.
♥︎289k 💬 30k
rommulas: hi angel (❤️ by creator)
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation: hi lol
user235: holy gorgeous (❤️ by creator)
rommulasupdates: roman looks so joyful 😭
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation: he looks like the gay little monkey at the apple store 🩵🩵
vanillamace: oh wesley i’m drippin 🤤 (❤️ by creator)
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation: 😭😭😭😭😭 i love u
mazzyjoya: UGGGHHHHH LOOK AT MY GORGEOUS ANGEL (❤️ by creator)
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation: MY BABYYYY MAZZY
2hollis: bro what is that picture of roman 😭😭😭😭😭
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation : 🤫🤫🧏♀️🧏♀️
╰┈➤ rommulas: she’s trying to make me look like a chud
╰┈➤ y/nonprobation: (to rommulas) bru i don’t gotta try
MY BOYFRIENDS A CRIMINAL! — Bf!nettspend x Gf!reader
information: After Gunners live, he drives recklessly to impress you and it ends up with him up in trouble with the cops. cw: illegal activities, intoxication, speeding, kissing masterlist taglist
Gunner tossed his phone onto the console next to him, the screen going black after he abruptly cut the live stream. He had spent the last twenty minutes carefully angling the camera, successfully keeping you completely out of the frame.
Now that the audience was gone, the quiet of the car settled between you. A slow, wicked smirk spread across his face as he looked over.
“Alright, ma,” he drawled, his voice low and vibrating with mischief. “You ready to see how fast this baby can actually go?”
You let out a soft laugh, your chest tight with a mix of anticipation and the heavy, strong smoke lingering in the air. The haze slightly clouded your vision, making the streetlights outside bleed into long, neon streaks.
You knew this was incredibly stupid. You knew it was dangerous. But looking at the relaxed grip he had on the wheel and the fierce, protective spark in his eyes, you knew you trusted him with your life.
You leaned back and nodded, a quiet challenge in your voice. “Floor it.”
Gunner’s eyes darkened. He slowly licked his bottom lip, giving you one last lingering look to make sure you were serious before turning his attention back to the dark stretch of asphalt ahead.
He slammed his foot down on the gas.
The engine roared to life, a powerful, guttural sound that vibrated straight through the floorboards and into your bones. The sudden acceleration threw your body hard against the leather seat. A breathless chain of laughs escaped your throat as the world outside became a dizzying blur.
Gunner glanced over at you, his smirk widening into a genuine grin as he drank in the sound of your laughter.
He started weaving through the light traffic, making sharp, aggressive turns and swerving around slower cars. He was chasing the high-pitched squeals and gasps that left your lips, feeding off your energy.
The music blaring from the speakers pulsed through the car, the heavy bass matching the frantic rhythm of your heart and only heightening the rush in your veins.
At one point, you let your head fall back and closed your eyes. With the weed heavy in your bloodstream, the sensation of speed morphed; it didn't feel like you were driving anymore. It felt like you were strapped into a rocket ship, hurtling through space.
Suddenly, the car swerved violently. Gunner took a sharp turn, and the passenger-side wheels clipped the curb hard enough to make the whole vehicle bounce.
Your eyes flew open, your fingers instantly digging into the leather seat. You whipped your head toward him.
Gunner let out a throaty snort, completely unbothered. “We good, ma. Just a little—”
Before he could finish the sentence, the sharp, wailing shriek of a siren cut through the music.
Your heart instantly dropped into your stomach, the adrenaline rush turning ice-cold. Both of your heads turned slowly toward each other, the high evaporating in a split second.
“Fuck,” Gunner muttered, the single word hanging heavily in the smokey air as flashing red and blue lights illuminated the back windshield, casting harsh, rhythmic shadows over his face.
Hesitantly, Gunner began to slow the car down, pulling toward the shoulder.
“You know you could have lost them,” you whispered, your voice tight as you watched the patrol car close the distance behind you.
He shook his head, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “You want me to get booked for a felony chase, ma?”
You bit the edge of your thumb, taking a deep, shaky breath to settle the sudden fluttering in your chest. The police cruiser pulled up close behind, its headlights blinding in your side mirrors.
Feeling your anxiety, Gunner reached across the console. His bigger, warm hand closed over yours, squeezing tightly. “Hey. I got you. You ain't do nothing wrong, ma.”
You squeezed back, looking at his profile. “I’m not worried about me,” you said softly.
His bottom lip twitched upward in a faint, grateful smile, but he shook his head, signaling you to drop it and stay calm.
The heavy thud of a car door closing echoed from behind. A male officer approached the driver’s side, his flashlight beam cutting through the smoke-filled cabin. He tapped aggressively on the glass, signaling for Gunner to roll the window down.
Gunner complied, letting the window slide down with a slow, agonizing crawl.
“Do you know what I’m pulling you over for, son?” the officer asked, leaning down slightly.
Gunner didn't say a word. He just shrugged, his expression a mask of pure indifference.
The sheer audacity of it made you have to press your lips together to bite back a laugh.
“You were going 150 in an 80,” the officer pressed, his tone hardening as he stared down at him. “Does that sound familiar?”
Gunner huffed, looking straight ahead. “Doesn't ring a bell.”
You immediately turned your head toward the passenger window, half-amused by his stubbornness and half-annoyed that he was actively digging a deeper hole.
“License and registration,” the officer demanded, clearly done with the attitude.
You turned back to Gunner. He was already looking at you, a silent, brief look of warning passing through his eyes before he faced the cop again.
“See, I don't got my physical license on me,” Gunner said, his tone entirely too casual. “I got my permit, though.”
The officer’s fingers tapped a harsh, irritated rhythm against the doorframe. “You gotta be real fucking dumb to be driving around like that without a license on you.”
The condescending tone rubbed you entirely the wrong way. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned slightly toward the driver's side. “And you gotta be a real asshole to talk to someone like that.”
The officer paused, slowly ducking his head lower to peer across the seat and look at you properly. “What’d you say, sweetheart?” his voice dripped with patronizing authority.
Before he could get a proper look at you, Gunner shifted his weight, intentionally blocking the officer’s view of the passenger seat. “She ain't a part of this. Just give me the ticket, man.”
The officer stared at Gunner for a long, tense moment. He looked back over his shoulder at his partner, who was waiting by the cruiser, then turned back and tapped the heavy plastic of his flashlight against the door.
“Step out of the car for me,” the officer commanded. “We’re doing a vehicle search.”
Gunner let his head fall back against the headrest, a heavy, frustrated groan escaping his chest. “I don't got no weapons, man,” he tried to reason, his voice dropping into a tired, pleading drone.
“Based from the smell coming out of this car, you’re not only driving underage, but you’re doing it under the influence,” the officer countered, his hand already dropping to the handle. He popped the door open. “Step out of the car.”
Before the cop could even think about reaching in to grab him, Gunner swung his legs out and stood up, towering over the officer for a brief second before complying. The officer kept a firm grip on his shoulder, guiding Gunner back toward the cruiser and leaving him under the watchful eye of his partner.
A moment later, the driver’s side door of your car opened again, and the first cop reached across to unlock your door. He walked over, opened it, and gave you a firm, commanding nod. “You too, sweetheart. Out.”
You stepped onto the gravel, the cool night air hitting your skin and sending a sudden shiver through you. The officer guided you over to the front hood of the patrol car where Gunner was already waiting. You leaned your lower back against the warm metal, trying to look as unbothered as possible.
The second cop stepped up to question the two of you, pulling out a small notepad. Every question he threw your way was met with short, drippingly sarcastic answers. Your heart was pounding, but the lingering high gave you a shield of pure attitude.
“Where were you two heading in such a hurry?” the cop muttered, pen poised.
“Your mothers house,” you muttered under your breath, keeping your face completely blank.
Beside you, Gunner’s shoulder shook. He let out a sudden, sharp cough to mask the laugh bubbling up in his throat.
The officer stopped writing, his jaw tightening as he slowly pinched the bridge of his nose. The silence stretched, the cop's temper visibly running shorter and shorter the more you spoke. Finally, with a heavy, irritated sigh, he snapped his notebook shut. “Stay right here. Don’t move.”
He turned on his heel and walked back toward Gunner’s car to help with the search.
What felt like hours dragged by in agonizing, slow-motion minutes. The hum of the highway in the distance and the rhythmic, blinding flash of the cruiser’s lights became a dull, hypnotic blur. Beside you, Gunner’s foot tapped a rapid, frantic rhythm against the dirt. The attitude he’d carried earlier was slowly chipping away, the obvious anxiety of a looming arrest running hot through his veins.
Finally, the searching officer walked slowly back toward the hood of the patrol car. His eyes were narrowed, squinting at the two of you as if trying to read a secret written across your faces. He stopped right in front of you, looking between your tense expressions.
“Your car is clean,” the officer announced, though his tone was heavy with suspicion. He knew something was off, but his hands were tied. “Wait here.”
He turned and began walking back toward the driver’s side of his cruiser to run Gunner's information one last time.
The second the cop’s back was turned, Gunner’s eyes widened, and he whipped his head toward you in sheer, utter disbelief. He knew exactly what had been in that glove box.
You caught his frantic gaze and shot him a subtle wink.
“How did you...” he started to whisper, his voice cracking slightly.
You raised a single finger to your lips, giving him a warning look to hush.
A breathless, unbelieving huff of a laugh escaped Gunner’s lips. The tension in his shoulders melted away, replaced by a gaze so raw and full of adoration it made your chest ache. A slow, helpless smirk spread across his face.
“God, I love you,” he murmured, his voice thick with a mixture of relief and genuine awe.
You couldn't help but smile back, the warmth spreading through you — but the moment was brutally cut short.
The officer returned from his cruiser, and this time, the metallic clink of steel handcuffs dangled from his fingers. Before either of you could react, the officer stepped up, grabbed Gunner’s arm, and forcefully pulled his hands behind his back.
“Yo, what the fuck?!” Gunner yelled, his body tensing as he tried to pull away.
Your smile instantly vanished. You took a sharp step forward, your hands clenching. “What are you doing? You said the car was clean!”
“You’re currently being detained for reckless driving and operating a vehicle without a license,” the officer told him coldly, his knee pressing into Gunner's lower back to keep him still as he clicked the heavy metal cuffs around his wrists. “We’ll take you back to the station, and you can make a phone call from there.”
“That's bullshit!” you exclaimed, step for step matching the officer as he began to lead Gunner away.
The officer didn't even look at you, offering only a dismissive shrug. “Sorry, sweetheart. But don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be back home soon.”
The officer nudged Gunner forward, guiding him toward the rear door of the patrol car. Gunner groaned, his shoulders twisting awkwardly against the tight cuffs.
“Hol’ up, hol’ up,” Gunner grunted, digged his heels into the gravel and fighting back against the officer's forward momentum. He couldn't turn around fully, but his head was whipped back, his eyes locked onto yours with a sudden, desperate intensity.
You followed close behind, still cursing out the officer, your heart hammering against your ribs.
“Get in the car, kid,” the officer warned, his hand reaching for the top of Gunner's head to guide him into the cramped backseat.
“Let me kiss her first,” Gunner demanded, his voice cracking with a sudden, fierce urgency.
The officer paused. He looked at Gunner, looked at you, and let out a long, exhausted groan. He took his hands off Gunner's shoulders and took a step back, raising his hands in a gesture that said make it quick.
Gunner didn't waste a single second. He took a heavy step toward you, his chest nearly flush against yours.
With his hands bound behind his back, you instantly stepped into his space. You cupped his face between your hands, your fingers tangling in the soft, messy strands of his long, pinkish hair. You pulled him down, connecting your lips in a deep, chaotic, and desperately messy kiss.
Gunner let out a low, ragged groan into your mouth, his body subconsciously straining against the handcuffs as he tried to wrap his arms around you. The taste of him — smoky, sweet, and entirely familiar — flooded your senses. His tongue slid hungrily against yours, drinking you in as if he were trying to memorize the feeling to carry him through the night.
Before you were ready, a heavy hand clamped onto Gunner’s shoulder, pulling him back.
Your lips parted with a soft, reluctant pop, your mouth pouting slightly at the sudden loss of warmth. You immediately took another step forward, chasing him to press one last, lingering peck to his lips before the officer firmly guided him down and forced him into the back of the car. The heavy door slammed shut with a definitive, chilling thud.
The officer turned back to you, dusting off his hands. “You can drive the car?”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded softly. “Yes.”
“Take it straight home. Go the speed limit. Don’t let me catch you around here again,” he ordered, before walking around to the driver's side and sliding into the cruiser.
You stood frozen on the shoulder of the dark road, crossing your arms tightly across your chest against the sudden chill. Through the heavily tinted glass of the patrol car’s rear window, your eyes locked onto Gunner’s.
Even through the dark glass, you could see the faint, incorrigible smirk on his face. He blew you a playful kiss, followed by a slow, reassuring wink.
The cruiser pulled out, its tires kicking up a small cloud of dust as it drove off into the night, the red and blue lights finally dying down to a distant, receding glow.
And just like that, you were standing completely alone on the quiet, empty street.
You let out a long, shaky breath you felt like you’d been holding for hours, the adrenaline finally beginning to fade. You walked back over to Gunner’s car, hopped into the driver’s seat, and shut the door, sealing yourself inside the warm, familiar cabin.
Reaching down, you slipped your hand down the front of your top and pulled the heavy, tightly wrapped baggie of weed out from where you’d tucked it safely inside your bra.
You looked down at it, a small, breathless laugh escaping your lips as you started the engine.
cw: fanum x black!reader, slightttt chubby!reader, masturbation [f receiving], pussy eating, raw p in v, toe suckinggg oops exposed, just nasty nasty nasty, dirtay talkin, BIG BOY vibe
an: i’m actually so sick for this nigga i wanna tackle him every time i see him on my screen
you swear you were trying to be patient.
he’d been streaming nonstop this week—events, collabs, a few marathon nights with kai and duke, content deadlines piling up.
and you? you just came off your damn period, hallelu!! howeverrr, it bad been awhile since any action came your way. you were kind of a mess hormones flaring. ovulating. needy.
the everything was making you throb recently. his voice from down the hall. his cologne lingering on the hoodie you were curled up in. the memory of the last time he really touched you.
so you figure… fuck it. just a quick one. you’re grown for fucks sake. you’re a big girl…. you can take care of yourself.
you crawl into his bed, grabbing your phone, nothing on but his hoodie and some panties. you click on twitter, dim the brightness, and slide a hand into your panties — already slick from the two seconds your boyfriend came in to grab his damn headset.
you not gonna go crazy or anything. just a lil relief before he’s done yelling “LOCK THE FUCK IN, CHAT” down the hallway.
but sadly, you don’t even hear the footsteps. and you definitely don’t notice the door swinging open until it’s wayyyy too late.
SLAM.
“YO—baby, you seen my—”, he stops in his tracks. you freeze too. your hand? still between your thighs, phone hanging in the other, just low enough for the screen to be visible.
he stands frozen in the doorway, jaw hanging down like fuckin bugs bunny, eyes locked on your soft brown legs spread across the sheets, hoodie bunched around your hips, panties pushed to the side, glistening pussy on display. you could hear his durag drop.
you blink, lips parted, no clue what the fuck hes about to say, “…bae—”. and then he just smirks. slow. wicked. walks in with a smugness about him and locking the door with a click.
“ooohhh, reallyyyy?”
you scramble upright. too shocked to know whether to apologize or stand on it, “waittttt—i didn’t know you was gonna—”
he creeps closer to the bed, pulling off his headset and tossing it on the chair without so much as a glance. “you was just gon’ start without me, ma?”
you swallow, mouth suddenly dryer than a bitch, a little scared of the look in his eye “i—i didn’t— bae—”
“didn’t what?” he’s muchhh closer now, his big frame dwarfing you over the bed. “didn’t think it mattered? didn’t mean to be laid out in my hoodie, tryna bust a nut like i don’t live here?”
you try to speak, but he’s already grabbing your ankle, and dragging you down the mattress until your ass is at the very edge of the bed.
hes yanking your legs apart, eyes dropping to your bare, slick folds. he can feel the heat coming off you from where hes standing, and its got his heart beating fast as fuck. he groans with his whole chest.
“mm-mm,” he shaking his head, tsking, quickly pulling your panties off the rest of the way. “now I gotta top whatever had you wilin'.”
he kneels. grabs one leg, and drapes it over his shoulder almost too easily. he spits on your pussy like it’s his. then that mf dives TF in, tongue first, and you basically scream — LOUD.
his mouth is so hot, tongue swirling so slow, deep, then fast as hell, like he’s making up for every hour you waited. like he’s fuckin offended you didn’t call for him.
he’s groaning into it. slurping. playin with his food. sucking your clit like a damn vacuum. his hand slips under your hoodie and grabs your soft belly, holding you down while you twitch and shake — moaning like you're possessed.
“mhmm. you ain’t need that video,” he murmurs against your folds. “you needed me.” you groan at that, arching into his mouth, "fuck— i didddd."
you cum so hard you almost lift fully off the mattress, both hands on his braids, pillowy thighs squeezing tight around his head.
but of course he doesn’t stop. he rides your orgasm out with his mouth still locked on you like glue, slurping up every drop, licking your clit like its for him, only letting up when you’re whining and pushing at his forehead.
he stands, grinning. licking his lips, like he only does when the food was too good, pulling his shirt off. “i told yo ass to wait for me.”
you dont even respond, too dazed. legs trembling. still clutching the sheets. then he flips you over, with a strength you ain't even know he has. you're face down. ass all the way up.
your — his — hoodie still on, all twisted at the waist. panties probably slung on his monitor. he drops his sweats justttt enough. you feel his belly brush your back first, that thick, heavy weight of him grinding up against your ass.
“still wet?” he mutters, dragging the head of his dick between your folds. “yeahhh, why wouldn't yo ass be..” he chuckles, sliding in slow and DEEP.
you can't help but sob into the pillow, feeling so stuffed. he moans behind you. “shit… pussy too good. hits the spot.”
his thrusts are heavy, full-body type, all his weight behind them, shaking the bed frame. his hands grip your waist, then slide down to your ass like he can't help it—grabbing, smacking, massaging between thrusts.
you feel his belly slap against your ass with every stroke, shoved up the bed with the force of a fully grown man.
“you needed this dick that bad, huh?” he pants. “couldn’t wait? had to fuck ya’self while i’m right down the hall like i ain’t been dreaming about this pussy all day?”
you try to answer but all you get out is “i— fuckkkkk— m' myGod—”
he pulls you up by the back of the hoodie, and holds you against his chest while still stroking deep into you from behind, his belly clapping up against your booty. he got one hand massaging your tit under the hoodie, rolling your stiff nipple in between his scorching hot hands. the other is around your throat, lips kissing at your jaw.
“y’know i gotchu, right?” he breathes. “anytime. any fucking place.” all the sudden you're completely empty, flipping onto your back. throwin' both legs up on his shoulders. hes folding you in half. “yeah— gotta remind you who this pussy belong to.”
he starts stroking even deeper now. slow but fucking brutal. you’re clawing at the sheets, crying, his belly pressing into yours like a bumper with every thrust, the bed audibly creaking beneath y'all.
he leans down and sucks at your pebbled buds like he needs them,. then hes leaning back up to wrap his lips around your toes. nasty. loud. sloppy. “unnhh— bae—please—i can’t—” completely unable to get more than a few words out around the punching of his dick reaching a place you could never.
“you got it mami—" he moans, pace picking up, practically chasing your pussy up the bed, “yeah— you got it—”. you cum again. he grins like a mad man. blown pupils locked on your face.
“you gon’ try that shit again, ma?” he asks, breathless. “you gon’ lay up in my bed with your hand in your panties while i’m two rooms over?”
you shake your head, still trembling. he laughs, softly nodding his head. “yeah… s' what i fuckin' thought.”. then he's leaning over to put your toes in his mouth some more. nasty. loud. sloppy.
hes slurping like he ain't just had your legs shaking from the deepest dick you’ve ever taken. his eyes flick up while your manicured toes flex against his tongue. you groan, breathless watching his tongue slip in between them.
“oh— i got you moanin’ from that?” he grins against your foot. “you such a nasty girl for me.” he laughs, his free hand smoothing over your sensitive nipples and down over your supple tummy.
you whimper, face flushed, breath ragged. “baby… i swear to God i can’t—”
he laughs. like you actually cracked a joke. “ma,” he pants, tongue still flicking at the tip of your toe, “you ain’t done. not yet at least.”
he drops your legs and slides out. you bite back a sob at the loss of him inside you. but before you can catch your breath—he flips you again. face smushed into the sheets. again.
he grabs a handful of all that ass, spreads you open with both hands, and spits. nasty and thick. it drips right down your folds— you can feel it— right over your clit, and he rubs it in with two thick fingers. slowly. teasing. like he knows hes doing it justtt right.
“wanted it so bad you fuckin' started without me,” he mutters, low. dangerous. “so now i'ma give it to you until you forget what the fuck you was even watchin’.”
he's sliding back in. and fucks you like it’s what he actually came upstairs to do. no build-up, no restraint. just deep, hungry, punishing strokes. clap. clap. clap.
your pussy's queefing around him, your face pressed into the sheets, drooling, tears wetting the pillow. he grabs your arms and pins them behind your back with one hand, the other pressing on the small of your back to arch you deeper.
“you feel that?” he growls. “feel how deep i'm in you? that’s exactly what you was missin’, huh?”. you cry into the mattress, hiccuping from the pressure, cramping somewhere you can't identify.
“say it.” he breathes, drilling you harder.
“i—i needed it, bae, i swear—”
“you need me,” he snarls, leaning down, teeth brushing your ear. “not no video. not no toys. me.” his hands are everywhere, squeezing at your booty, at your tits, tweaking your nipples, running down your back.
you nod frantically. “i need you—i do—”
he grabs your throat from behind, pulls you up again, his body flushed to your back, his stomach heavy and hot against you. he reaches around and starts rubbing your clit again, panting, mouthing at your shoulder.
its not soft. not teasing. its the most purposeful pressure you've ever felt. “you gon’ cum on this dick again,” he breathes, voice hot over your ear. “and you not gon’ stop til i tell you to.”. your moans fall the fuck apart. you’re begging now. pleading with him. that tight coil in your stomach threatening to snap again.
and it does. quick as fuck. you scream his name as you cum so hard your body jerks in his grip. seizing up, legs trembling, whole body wracked.
and his ass still doesn’t pull out. he strokes you through it. rubs you through it, so much pressure on your poor overstimulated clit. your hands scramble for some part of him—anything—to hold onto.
“shit…” he moans, slowing his harsh thrusts just enough to let your brain reboot. “you came so hard you almost ran from me.”
you try to speak. can’t get a word out, still so full, so you just sigh. he grins. “yeah… keep tryna do this shit without me... see how that works out.” he chokes out still fucking thrusting, like his life depends on it. then finally—finally— he cums with a deep, broken growl.
he slams in one last time, buried so deep you swear you feel it in your chest, his belly fitted into the deep arch in your back. you catch your breath as you feel the warmth fill you, and drip out so thick. he leans over, lips brushing your shoulder. still twitching inside you.
# WARNINGS! implied reader is chubby. second person pov, use of y/n. possible ooc caleb. reader comparing self to other girls. messy writing. english isn’t my first language; grammar/writing errors. bad summary.
# SUMMARY! you and caleb are coupled up together. you’ve gotten comfortable around the villa, but recently you’ve been feeling different. you think no one has noticed but caleb has. and he is going to try his best to make you feel better.
# AUTHOR’S NOTE! my first love island story <3 and request, thank to all who requested!! i’ll be getting to your requests soon, it’s just my laptop broke and i’m not used to writing on my phone 😭 the pictures don’t really have anything to do with the story, i just need them for my format. please request more (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
you wake up next to caleb, hearing the loud intercom voice you’ve been hearing for three weeks wake you up again. you immediately cover your eyes with your hands, not wanting to get up yet. the sheets are warm, and caleb’s arm is already around you like he never let go in his sleep. you quietly groan as you hear the other islanders start waking up too, drawers opening, someone laughing down the beds. caleb shifts beside you and rubs your arm with his thumb, slow and sleepy. “y/n it’s time to get up,” he says in that soft voice, like he’s smiling even with his eyes barely open. “i don’t want to,” you complain, still blocking the light. he makes a tiny sound like a laugh and scoots closer. “c’mon. i’ll carry you to the beauty room if you’d like.” your stomach flips, nerves hitting fast. the image of being picked up flashes in your head, old and uncomfortable, and you sit up way too quickly. caleb’s eyes open more, alarmed for a second, but he doesn’t ask right away. he just rubs your back, steady. “it’s okay,” you say quickly, smoothing your hair down even though it’s already falling in messy waves from being curled around him all night.
“i’ll get up.” caleb nods, like he’s choosing not to make you explain anything at seven in the morning. “alright then,” he says. “what would you like for breakfast?” you swing your legs off the bed and feel the cool floor under your feet. “uuhm… something light. no pancakes today.” you try to make it sound casual, like it’s just a craving thing. caleb stands too, stretching a little, shirt riding up for a second before he fixes it. “okay,” he says easily. “i’ll add more fruit then. you want coffee or tea?” you both leave the bedroom and step into the hallway. most of the islanders are still in their beds, but you and caleb are always the first ones out. the villa smells faintly like sunscreen and the ocean. “green tea is fine,” you say, and you manage a small smile. “okay, perfect. i’ll start on it now.” caleb walks with you until the staircase that leads up to the beauty room. you stop at the bottom step and look up at him. “thank you so much, see you in a bit.” you kiss his cheek and hug him, and he kisses you back, quick and sweet, like he can’t help it. his hands settle at your waist for a second, grounding. “drink water,” he murmurs, and then he’s holding out your water bottle he’s been carrying it the whole time. you blink, taking it. “you’re insane,” you tease softly. “i’m prepared,” he corrects, and he walks away toward the kitchen.
you head upstairs, water bottle clutched in your hand like a little comfort object. when you walk into the beauty room, it’s still empty. you exhale without realizing you were holding your breath and take your usual unassigned seat. the counters are spotless, mirrors lit bright, the closets lined up like little display cases. lately, you’ve been feeling nervous around the girls. you find yourself looking at them and how perfect they are, how easy they seem in their own skin, like they never have to second-guess a strap or an angle or a camera. you rub your face with your hands, a little rough, trying to wake yourself up and wipe the thoughts away before they get too loud.
trinity walks in smiling and sees you first. “you okay girl?” she asks, tossing her hair back like it’s nothing. you drop your hands and smile. “yeah of course, just still waking up,” you say, even though you can feel that small twist in your stomach already. trinity nods, then heads to her assigned closet. “c’mon, pick out your swimsuit. you can borrow one of mine,” she says, pulling out options like she’s shopping in her own store. the girls start entering the room in little waves, voices building, drawers being opened, someone’s lip gloss snapping shut. “you want this one?” trinity asks, holding up a white halter bikini with an open-front top and side-tie bottoms. it looks… pretty. it also looks like it might show less than some of the others, and that makes you feel relieved and guilty at the same time. you nod. “thank you, trin,” you say, taking it carefully like it’s delicate. she smiles like you just accepted a compliment.
you head toward the bathroom. “you’re not gonna change in here?” aniya asks as she’s already changing into her swimsuit. “uh, i wanna wash my face. i might as well change there,” you say, trying not to sound suspicious. the girls nod in unison, not really thinking twice. the girls bathroom is private, no cameras, and as soon as the door closes, the quiet hits. you change quickly, peeling off your pajamas and slipping into the bikini. you look up at the mirror automatically. your eyes flick over your body, and you frown before you can stop yourself. you look away fast, like you got caught doing something wrong. “stop,” you whisper, then turn the faucet on. you wash your face with your cleanser, the cold water helping a little, the routine giving you something to do with your hands. you pat your skin dry and practice a neutral expression in the mirror, you’re usually good at containing your fascia expressions.
you walk back into the beauty room and sit down, finishing your skincare. the girls are mostly changed now, already in their seats. you’re about to start on your makeup but someone knocks on the door and the girls call out, “come in!”
it’s caleb.
your face brightens without you even trying, like your body knows him before your brain can spiral. caleb walks in carrying a plate and a mug, careful not to bump anyone. he sets everything beside your mirror on the table, and it’s arranged in a convenient way. “morning,” he says softly. “the tea is very hot. i put a little teenie bit of sugar in it, just so it isn’t bitter.” he points at the plate. “toasted bread with avocado, your eggs just the way you like them. i also got the good fruit. and i remembered you like the fruit cut, not whole.” your throat tightens a little at that, at the tiny detail. he rubs your back while you sit there, like he’s checking in without making it obvious. “thank you, caleb,” you say, looking up at him. “i really appreciate it.” he smiles and leans in for a kiss. the girls immediately “awww,” and you both blush, you laughing into his mouth a little because it’s embarrassing and sweet at the same time. “caleb does not play about the breakfast,” kayda says, grinning. “he’s always the first one to bring it.” you and caleb laugh. “i’m gonna make myself breakfast,” caleb says. “c’mon down in a bit, yeah?” you nod. “yeah.” he squeezes your shoulder gently before he leaves, and you let out a deep sigh you didn’t even realize you were holding.
you finish getting ready, styling your hair while your tea cools. aniya is putting on body oil next to you, shimmering like she’s made of sunlight. you glance a few times, trying not to. aniya catches you anyway. “you want some baby?” she asks, closing the oil but still rubbing it into her skin. you nod with a small smile. “yeah, please.” she passes it to you, and the bottle is warm from her hands. you rub a little on your shoulders and collarbones, trying to be normal about it.
when you leave the beauty room, two of the other girls walk with you. you’re holding your water bottle in one hand and your plate in the other, tea carefully balanced on top. you move slowly, making sure nothing spills, because spilling would feel like one more thing to be embarrassed about. you head toward the kitchen where caleb is still making his breakfast. you sit on the far left side of the island, not wanting to take up too much space. you can see caleb finishing up his plate, talking softly with the other guys, laughing at something you didn’t hear. you sip your tea and look out at the pool, the water bright, calm, and still.
“i really like how you styled your hair today, y/n,” you hear a voice say in front of you. you blink, realizing you zoned out. caleb is now sitting across from you, his plate in front of him, fork in hand. “ah, thank you,” you say, smiling. “hopefully it doesn’t get ruined before the afternoon.” “you’ve barely touched your food?” caleb asks, eyebrows raised, eyes dropping to your plate. heat crawls up your neck. “yeah, sorry. i was a little busy getting ready,” you say quickly, and you poke at a piece of fruit like proof. “but the tea’s really good. what did you make?” caleb glances at his plate. “pancakes with eggs and fruit. just simple.” then he looks back at you, and his voice drops a little. “you sure you’re okay?” you nod too fast. “yeah. i’m okay.” caleb doesn’t call you out. he just reaches across the counter and taps the edge of your plate with his fingertips. “eat a little for me,” he says softly, like it’s not a command, like it’s a favor. “two bites. and if you’re done, you’re done.” your chest tightens at how gentle he’s being. you nod, picking up a piece of toast. you take a bite. then another. caleb’s shoulders ease like he’s been holding tension you didn’t see. “good bite,” he murmurs, and he smiles at you like you did something brave.
but the rest of the day, the feeling doesn’t go away.
and the next day, it’s worse.
you wake up and the intercom is just as loud, but you feel smaller. you don’t ask for pancakes. you don’t even consider it. you tell yourself you’re just not hungry, that it’s the heat, that it’s nerves. you put on more clothes than usual. a long crotchet skirt cover-up with a bikini that gave the most coverage. you keep adjusting straps, pulling fabric up, tugging it down, like your hands can’t relax. at breakfast, you pick at your food. you leave more than you eat. caleb watches but doesn’t embarrass you about it, just slides your water closer and says, “sip,” like it’s a little message between you.
after breakfast, in the beauty room, the girls are loud and bright again. the girls decided to touch up their makeup and outfits since everyone did a cute yoga class, directed by you, aniya, and trinity. you smile when they smile. you laugh when they laugh. you wait until the last possible to do your touch ups. and when you do, you’re checking your bikini, the ‘safe option’. you thought it would make you feel safer because it’s less revealing than some others, but when it’s on your body, under these lights, in front of all these mirrors, you feel exposed anyway.
the girls slowly file out, one by one, grabbing sunglasses and lip gloss and water bottles, calling out quick “see you outside!”s. you answer, “yeah, i’ll be right there.” then the door clicks shut, and suddenly it’s just you and the mirrors.
you stand there for a second too long. the air conditioner hums. there’s a smear of powder on one counter. a hair tie left behind. you step closer to your mirror. you stare at your reflection, and your brain starts doing that thing where it lists everything it thinks you should fix. your stomach twists. your eyes sting. “don’t,” you whisper, but your voice shakes. tears slip out anyway, fast and hot. you wipe them quickly, like you can erase them before anyone sees, but the more you wipe, the more your skin turns pink, and then you look even more like you’ve been crying. you press your palms against the counter, breathing shallow. “get it together,” you whisper, blinking hard. “just go outside.”
there’s a soft knock at the door. you freeze like you got caught. “y/n?” caleb’s voice, gentle, careful. your heart drops. you wipe your cheeks again, turning your face away from the mirror. “yeah,” you call out, trying to sound normal. “come in.” the door opens slowly, and caleb steps inside. his hair still a little messy like he ran his hands through it. he takes one look at you and stops. his face changes immediately, softness sliding in like he knows without you saying anything. you force a smile and busy your hands with nothing, reaching for a makeup wipe you don’t need. “hey,” you say too brightly. “i was just— i’m coming.”
caleb closes the door behind him quietly. “you don’t have to pretend with me,” he says. your throat tightens. “i’m not pretending,” you whisper, but your voice cracks. caleb walks over slow, like he’s approaching a scared animal, like he’s trying not to startle you. you laugh once, broken. “i’m fine. i’m literally fine.” caleb reaches out and gently takes the makeup wipe from your fingers, sets it down, and then he’s right in front of you. “hey,” he murmurs. you try to blink the tears back but it’s too late, they spill again, and you turn your head like hiding your face will make it less embarrassing. caleb’s hand slides to your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye. “look at me,” he says softly, like a request. you shake your head. “caleb, i’m being stupid.” “you’re not,” he says, firmer now, still kind. “you’re hurting.”
your shoulders shake once, and that’s all it takes. you cover your face with your hands, the same way you did this morning, except now it’s not the sunlight you’re blocking. caleb steps closer and wraps his arms around you, careful, warm, holding you like he’s anchoring you back to earth. “i got you,” he whispers into your hair. “i got you.” you breathe in and smell his cologne and sunscreen, and the familiar scent makes something in you collapse. you let out a quiet sob you hate yourself for, but caleb doesn’t flinch. his hands rub your back in slow circles. “talk to me,” he says. “what’s been going on?”
you pull back just enough to breathe, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. “i don’t know,” you say, voice small. “i just… i look at the other girls and i feel—” you swallow hard. “i feel like i’m not doing this right. like i’m not… villa pretty. i’m not confident like them. i keep trying and i still feel like the weird one.” caleb’s eyes soften even more. he cups your face with both hands, thumbs resting right under your cheekbones like he’s holding something precious. “listen to me,” he says quietly. “i’m here, and i’m choosing you. every day.” your lip trembles. “but i’ve been—” you gesture vaguely, ashamed. “i haven’t been eating, and i keep covering up, and i keep— i don’t even know when it started.” caleb nods like he’s been noticing, like he’s been worried, like he’s relieved you’re saying it out loud. “i noticed,” he admits gently. “and i didn’t want to push. i didn’t want to make you feel worse.” he leans his forehead against yours. “but i don’t want you shrinking yourself for this place. i don’t want you skipping meals. not because you think you have to compete. you don’t.” you close your eyes, tears slipping again. “i’m scared,” you whisper. “of looking stupid. of being the girl everyone pities. of being the one who’s not enough.”
caleb’s hands slide to your shoulders, steadying you. “you wanna know what i see?” he asks. you don’t answer at first. you don’t trust compliments when you feel like this. caleb waits until you open your eyes. “i see someone kind,” he says. “i see someone real. i see someone i want to wake up next to.” your breath catches. caleb’s mouth curves into a small smile, like he’s trying to give you something lighter to hold onto. “and i see someone who’s gonna take a deep breath with me right now.” you sniff and nod, and caleb breathes in slowly, guiding you without making it a whole thing. you follow. in. out. your shoulders drop a fraction.
“okay,” caleb whispers, brushing a kiss to your cheek, right where your tears were. then the other cheek. “you don’t have to be like anybody else in here.” he wipes under your eye gently with his thumb. “you just have to be you. and you already are.” you swallow, blinking, trying to steady. “i don’t feel like it.” “that’s okay,” he says. “we can go out there anyway.” he reaches behind you, picking up your cover-up from the chair and holding it out without telling you what to do. “wear it or don’t. but either way, you’re coming with me.” you take it, fingers brushing his. then you step into him again, wrapping your arms around his waist like you need the proof that he’s real. caleb holds you back, tight enough to mean it. “i’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “and i’m not going anywhere.” you close your eyes, breathing him in, letting the words settle. “okay,” you whisper, voice still shaky but steadier than before. “okay. let’s go.”
caleb keeps his hand in yours as you both leave the beauty room, like he’s making sure you don’t slip back into your head the second the door opens. the hallway feels brighter than it should, and you blink a few times like you’re adjusting to being perceived again. “you good?” he asks quietly, thumb rubbing your knuckles. you nod, even though your stomach is still fluttering. “yeah. i’m good.” caleb hums like he hears the part you didn’t say. he leans in, lips brushing your temple for half a second, quick and private. “okay. i’m proud of you.” your chest tightens, but in a different way.
outside, the villa is already loud. islanders talking to each other about anything and everything. the pool water flashes in the sun like it’s showing off, just like it was this morning. the girls are clustered on the loungers, all shiny shoulders and easy laughter. you feel your body automatically want to fold in, to disappear. your fingers tighten around your cover-up, and caleb notices. “hey,” he says, stepping in front of you for just a beat. “look at me.” you lift your eyes. caleb’s expression is soft but sure. “you’re with me, alright?” he asks. “and you’re safe.” you swallow. “okay.” he nods once like that settles it, then walks with you toward the loungers.
“there they are!” kayda calls, waving. “finally, y/n!” trinity grins, scooting over to make room. you try to smile like it doesn’t feel like walking onto a stage. “i’m here,” you say, voice light. you sit down carefully, smoothing your cover-up over your thighs. caleb drops next you and immediately starts fanning you with his hand like it’s the most dramatic thing ever. “caleb,” you whisper, half laughing. “stop.” “it’s hot,” he says, dead serious, like he’s protecting you from the sun personally. “i’m doing my job.” you roll your eyes, but your shoulders loosen a little. trinity laughs. “he’s ridiculous.” “i know,” you murmur, and your mouth tilts up for real this time.
for a while, it’s okay. you sip your water. you listen more than you talk. caleb tosses you tiny comments under his breath, little observations that make you snort, like “why is he walking like that” and “i swear i saw that bug was here yesterday.” when the girls start talking about outfits for later, you feel that familiar pinch in your chest again, but caleb’s foot bumps yours gently, like a reminder to stay here. you nod to yourself, small.
when it’s time for lunch, everyone drifts inside in messy groups. the producers had let you all fend for yourself for lunch. you hang back a second on the couch, pretending to adjust your cover-up, pretending you didn’t get tired just from holding yourself together. caleb slows with you. “you hungry?” he asks. you open your mouth to say no automatically, and caleb’s eyebrows lift, just a little. not judgment. just… a quiet check-in. you exhale. “maybe. a little.” caleb smiles like you just handed him something important. “okay,” he says. “let’s get you something small.” you nod. “okay.” he takes your water bottle again without asking and grabs your hand, like it’s part of his routine, and he walks you into the kitchen.
the kitchen is chaos in the way it always is. plates clinking, fridge opening and closing, someone hovering around the toaster. caleb guides you to a spot at the counter and stands close enough that you can feel him without having to look at him. “sit,” he says, and it’s gentle, not bossy. you sit. he opens the fridge and starts pulling things out like he’s done it a hundred times. yogurt. berries. a little honey. he finds the smallest bowl on purpose. you notice, and your throat tightens again.
“is this okay?” he asks, sliding it toward you like it’s an offering. “yeah,” you whisper. you pick up the spoon. your hand shakes a little, and you hate that it does. caleb sees it anyway. he leans down beside you, voice low. “you don’t have to finish it,” he says. “just try.” you nod, taking a bite. it’s cold and sweet. it doesn’t feel like too much. caleb’s shoulders ease like he can finally breathe. “good,” he murmurs, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, quick and soft, like he can’t help it.
the rest of the afternoon passes in pieces. you laugh a little more. you still go quiet sometimes, still feel the comparisons flicker, but caleb keeps you anchored in small ways. he puts sunscreen on your shoulders without making it weird, rubbing it in slowly, like it’s just natural. he hands you your sunglasses before you even ask. he tells you when your lip gloss smudges, then wipes it gently with his thumb like he’s fixing something precious. you keep catching yourself thinking, maybe i can do this. maybe i can be here.
that night, when the villa finally quiets down, you’re back in bed with caleb, the air cool, the lights dim. you’re turned toward him, knees tucked up, your fingers tracing absent little shapes on his forearm. caleb watches you like he’s waiting for you to speak first. “thank you,” you whisper. caleb’s brows pinch. “for what?” you stare at his arm, voice small. “for… not making me feel dumb.” caleb’s expression softens immediately. he shifts closer, pulling you into his chest. “you could never be dumb to me,” he says, like it’s a fact. you close your eyes, your cheek pressed to his skin. “i don’t want to be like this,” you admit, barely audible. caleb’s hand rubs your back, slow. “then we’ll take it one day at a time,” he says. “you don’t have to fix everything tonight.” you swallow, nodding against him. “okay.” “and tomorrow,” caleb adds, voice quiet, “i’m making pancakes.” you pull back slightly, blinking at him. “caleb—” he smiles, mischievous now. “mini pancakes,” he corrects. “with extra fruit cut the way you like.” your lips twitch. “you’re so annoying.” “mhm,” he hums, kissing the tip of your nose. “but you’re gonna eat.” you let out a soft laugh, the kind that feels like relief. “maybe,” you say. caleb raises his brows. you sigh dramatically. “okay. i’ll try.” caleb’s smile turns gentle again. “that’s all i’m asking,” he whispers. then he holds you closer, like he’s keeping you safe from the mirrors, from the cameras, from your own thoughts, just for tonight.
the bass is loud enough that you can hear it before roman even turns onto ryan’s street.
cars line both sides of the road, music pours out of the open windows, and people are already hanging around the front yard.
“told you we’d be late,” you mumble, checking your reflection in the passenger mirror one last time.
roman shrugs. “we’re not late. they lucky we showing up.”
you roll your eyes. “i basically forced everyone to come to the party.”
“exactly. they should be thanking you.”
you laugh, shaking your head as the two of you get out of the car.
the second you step onto the driveway, someone yells, “they’re here”
ryan walks over with a red cup in his hand, already smiling. “look who finally decided to show up.”
“aw, missed us” roman asks.
ryan pretends to think about it for a second. “now that you say it, not really.”
“okay, rude.”
ryan grins before pulling roman into one of those quick dap ups.
after talking outside for a few minutes, the three of you head inside.
jade and mila are curled up on the couch, laughing so hard jade has tears running down her face.
ella’s sitting on the armrest, trying to tell a story while nate keeps interrupting her every five seconds.
“that is not what happened,” ella says, shoving his shoulder.
“it literally is,” nate argues.
“you weren’t even there.”
you laugh as you walk over.
“what’d we miss”
mila points across the room. “ryan tried to do a backflip off the pool table earlier.”
“and” you say.
“he landed on the floor.” jade snorts.
you glance over at ryan, trying not to laugh.
“i’m alive, aren’t i” he says.
“you laid there for like twenty seconds,” nate adds. “i thought we had to call an ambulance.”
“you laughed before you checked on me,” ryan says.
“obviously.”
everyone laughs.
you turn toward the kitchen.
hollis is leaning against the wall with a cigarette between his fingers, talking to a couple people you don’t recognize. he notices you almost immediately.
you catch his eye and lift your hand, motioning for him to come over.
he nods once before stepping away from the conversation.
“be right back.”
he makes his way through the crowd, weaving between groups of people and sidestepping someone dancing with a drink balanced way too close to the edge.
“finally,” he says once he reaches you.
“finally” you repeat.
“thought roman got lost.”
roman looks over from where he’s standing with ryan.
“ryan has lived here forever. how would i possibly get lost”
“because you always do,” nate calls from the couch.
“one time.”
“every time,” hollis corrects.
roman points at him. “you’re actually my biggest hater.”
“someone has to keep you humble.”
you laugh, watching the two of them stare at each other before roman lets out a dramatic sigh.
“whatever.”
“that’s what i thought,” hollis says with a smirk.
nate walks over carrying a bowl of chips. “are y’all just gonna stand here beefing with each other all night”
“probably,” you answer.
“good,” jade says. “it’s entertaining.”
nate nods in agreement. “i got five bucks on hollis winning.”
“winning what” roman asks.
“the argument.”
“there isn’t even a competition.”
“exactly,” nate says. “that’s why i’m betting on hollis.”
roman shakes his head. “i’m surrounded by haters.”
“you’ll live,” ryan says, patting him on the shoulder.
roman looks over at you with the most offended expression he can manage.
“you gonna defend me or what”
you smile and step closer to him. “maybe.”
“maybe”
“depends.”
“on what”
you reach over and fix the collar of his shirt before slipping your hand into his.
“on whether you admit hollis has a point.”
roman groans dramatically. “seriously”
“i’m so serious.”
he looks around the room, hoping someone will back him up.
instead, everyone starts laughing.
“unbelievable,” he mutters, lacing his fingers with yours anyway.
“you still here with me” you tease.
he smiles, giving your hand a small squeeze.
“yeah,” he says. “kinda stuck with you now.”
“good.”
“good.”
ryan watches the two of you for a second before making a face.
“alright, that’s enough. y’all are being cute in my house.”
“jade right there by the way.” roman tells him
the room fills with laughter as roman pulls you a little closer to him, your hand still locked in his while the party carries on around you.
roman leans down so only you can hear him.
“hey.”
“yes”
he smiles, his thumb brushing over your hand.
“i love you. be my girlfriend”
you blink, caught off guard.
a smile spreads across your face.
“i love you too, and yes.”
he lets out a quiet laugh, presses a quick kiss to your forehead, and slips his hand back into yours before anyone notices.
you’d never thought roman would tell you he loved you, let alone ask you to be his girlfriend.
and it all started from you seeing him around and him seeing you around.
· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · · · · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·
An; thank you to everyone who enjoyed this story and was in my taglist😇 this was my first fic i’m kinda sad i ended it UGH but i’m doing a new one!
authors note; im gonna start the story off slow, im really new to this stuff so please be patient with me as i work it all out!! also do u guys care if i show a different y/n face each chapter or would you guys rather it be hidden or the same faceclaim each time??? im so anxious posting this so pls be nice and feedback is appreaciated too :)
WHO IS Y/N L/N <- check this first
february 27th, 2026 (gucci primavera show)
katseyeupdates
Y/N walked in the GUCCI primavera 2026 show, she modeled alongside her friends fakemink and alex consani as well as other musical artists, models and influencers like gabriette, nettspend, kate moss and vivian wilson. she was later seen laughing and drinking with esdeekid, rico ace and fakemink after watching esdeekids gucci afterparty set.
liked by katseyelvr, and 2M others
ot5katseyefan her walk was so bad omg
↳ katseyeforever for her first ever fashion show she did so good
↳ lararajj sybau
liked by creator
↳ ot5katseyefan OMG LARA I LOVE YOU
y/nsclit she had the best look
y/npegsnett do you think nettspend and y/n met??
liked by creator
katseyelvrr i wish i saw that afterparty
random67 cant believe she walked with THE kate moss!!
feburary 28th 2026 (day after gucci primavera show)
GUCCI
LOOK 44
liked by yourusername, KATSEYE, esdeekid and 41M others
yourusername thank you so much gucci ❤️
liked by creator
KATSEYE our gorgeous girl making us so proud
liked by creator
meretmanon dare i say best look
addisonraee to die 4
fakemink 😵💫
GUCCI
LOOK 27
liked by nettspend_, alex consani, asaprocky and 39M others
nettspend_ 😍
liked by creator
xaviersobased how yo manager get u this gig?!
↳ djrennessy ???
↳ xaviersobaseed watch out ima replace yo ass
nettsbaby omfg his so fine
↳ nettsbbymama sybau gtfo
GUCCI
LOOK 12
liked by fakemink, yourusername, demna and 36M others
a/n: softest fluffiest part i've ever written, a whole chapter without any of them committing any criminal act!!!!!!that's a first. and with this one, we only have one last chapter left</3
this is the 7th part of a series, consider reading the previous parts for context: ﴾ part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, previous part ﴿
Gardnerville was a very small town before the valley. You'd been watching the landscape change for the last hour — something out of an old western, the kind your father used to watch on television on Sunday afternoons, John Wayne and endless ochre horizons.
"Are we staying here tonight?" you asked after the waitress came back with your orders and stepped away.
"No, we're not very far now. Just stopped because you said you were hungry." He looked out the window. The main street — the only street — was nearly empty even at just past noon.
"Mhm," you hummed, quieter, looking back at him.
"You okay?" His eyes came to you.
The truth was that since he'd told you about the footage, your mind had been running a quiet, constant battle between reasoning and something closer to panic. And for some reason it was your hair that kept bringing you back to it — you kept threading your fingers through it without meaning to, thinking about the profile shot, the side of your face, your long hair identifiable on some grainy security feed being run on a news segment somewhere.
"Yeah," you said. "Just nervous. First time meeting a friend of yours."
He smiled at that, nodded. "Don't worry. He's going to love you. His wife too."
His wife. You thought it and didn't say it. It was hard to picture any friend of Hollis already married and living somewhere this remote.
After you finished eating he asked again if you were alright and whether you needed anything else from town — the way he said it carrying the implication that you wouldn't be coming back for a while.
After you said no you were back on the road — maybe for the last time in a while.
You watched the valley open around you — snowy mountains behind you now, a wide flat green stretching ahead, livestock visible in the distance, ranches and properties passing every few miles. A peaceful landscape settling under the dim gold of dusk, peaceful enough that your eyes grew heavy. You had your head resting against the window, nearly under, when the road shifted to gravel and dirt and the change woke you. You raised your head. Wood-post gates ahead. Fencing either side, a barn, a granary, and further up the dirt track, a house with a porch light on.
"Thought you were asleep," Hollis said. He looked tired — he'd been driving since the car theft, since the casino. "We're here, honey."
He parked in front of the house and got out like it was nothing. You followed him, nerves crawling up the back of your neck. There was a couple on the front porch and the moment they saw Hollis a wide smile broke across the man's face. The woman beside him smiled too — quietly, warmly, the specific fondness of someone who hasn't seen a person in too long.
Hollis went straight to the bags, which left you to walk up to the porch ahead of him. Both of them were older than you'd expected — late thirties or forties, you'd guess. You couldn't place it. You couldn't place any of it — how Hollis knew ranch people in Nevada, how a boy from Chicago had ended up with friends like this.
The man came down the porch steps before you could introduce yourself and pulled you into a hug that surprised you completely.
"You must be y/n," he said, warm, easy. "I'm Robert. That's my wife Janice." He gestured to the woman behind him. "Make yourself at home. I'll give him a hand with the bags."
He was already moving toward the truck before you could respond. You watched him go, then turned toward Janice, who was watching you with a smile.
You noticed the slight curve of her stomach as you approached, her hand resting on it in that particular absent way. She looked at you and Hollis stepping out of the truck with an expression so genuinely fond it caught you off guard.
You were almost at the top of the steps when she spoke first.
"So you're y/n!" Her whole face lit up. "Oh, Hol talked so much about you."
"He did?" It came out before you could stop it.
"Of course he did! You're the whole reason he finally came to visit after all this time." Her arm came around your shoulders. "Come inside. Let me get you some tea. Leave them with the bags."
She steered you through the door and you followed her to the kitchen, which smelled like something that had been cooking low and slow all day. She was an easy talker. Questions arriving one after another without pressure, your age, about your hometown, genuine surprise when she learned you'd come all the way from Oklahoma. She told you about her kids briefly — already in bed, she'd introduce you properly in the morning — and about the property, and about how long they'd been out here, and you mostly listened and let it wash over you, the strangeness of being inside somewhere, somewhere with a kitchen and a family and a dog that came and pressed its nose to your knee and then wandered off again.
When Hollis and her husband came through the door Janice's whole face shifted — that specific tenderness, the kind you don't see often.
"Hol!" She stood. "You look so good. Could use some extra pounds though, have you been eating properly?"
She crossed to him and took his face in both hands, squeezing his cheeks lightly. He wrinkled his nose.
"It all went to his height apparently," her husband said from behind him, laughing. You laughed too.
You watched the three of them together — the way they moved around each other, the ease of it, the particular quality of her fussing at him and him tolerating it — and thought: this doesn't look like friends. This looks like something else. An aunt and uncle. A nephew who doesn't visit enough.
Hollis excused himself not long after, genuinely tired. You followed him.
"They're very sweet," you said, changing into something comfortable — which that night meant his shirt.
"Glad you liked them." He watched you from the bed, back against the headboard.
"Janice asked me a million questions while you two were getting the bags." You crossed to him and he pulled you into him before you'd fully decided to sit. "Robert, that's his name?"
"That's his name," he said.
"I know this wasn't exactly the plan," he started.
"I'm happy we're together," you said, before he could finish. Simply. Meaning it.
He looked at you for a long moment — studying you, the way he sometimes did when he was deciding something. "Me too," he said finally, quietly. "I'm happy, honey."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Next morning you woke before him. He was still deep under, his face tucked against your hair, the weight of his arm across your waist. You lay there listening to his breathing, to the birds outside, to voices somewhere below. When you finally tried to slip out from under him he tightened his grip and pulled you back.
"Wait," he said, sleep thick in his voice.
"Everyone's up already." You giggled when he buried his face further against your neck.
"Not us." He kissed your shoulder.
It took some time. Hollis being constitutionally opposed to getting up before he was ready, and you not being entirely convincing in your objections.
The table was already set when you two made it downstairs. Janice greeted you both warmly. Three kids sat waiting — two older boys and a small girl. You settled beside the girl. Hollis went around the table to the seat across from you, stopping on the way to mess up the older boy's hair.
"Look how big you are," he said.
The boy groaned and shoved him, both of them laughing. Hollis sat down between the younger two. "I don't know these ones yet," he said, gesturing at the smaller kids.
"Oh, right! Let me introduce 'em to y/n too" Janice sat. "That's Bob" — the older boy — "that's Timmy, and that's Betty." She pointed to each in turn. "And the one on the way is either Noah or Ada, we haven't decided."
"You two don't have a TV or something?" Hollis said, reaching for the waffles.
"Hollis," you said.
He laughed. Janice laughed too.
"I see you only got taller." Robert appeared in the kitchen doorway, walked up behind Hollis, and slapped the back of his head lightly. You covered your smile as Hollis frowned.
Breakfast was light in a way you hadn't felt in a long time — maybe since before you left Collinsville, maybe longer. The way these people moved around each other, teased each other, made space for each other at the table without thinking about it — it was so unlike the family dynamic you'd grown up knowing. And more than that, you felt included. Every time Hollis said your name in a story, every time they caught your eye to share something embarrassing about him, every time Janice refilled your cup without asking — it accumulated into something you didn't quite have a name for yet.
Afterward, Robert took you both around the property while he ran his morning routine. A small amount of animals — chickens, cows, sheep in the barn. You'd never fed a newborn calf before and spent a full ten minutes doing it while Robert watched with an amused expression. When he brought you to the horses you'd never seen Hollis's eyes go quite the way they did — lit up and immediate, moving straight to a white horse at the far end of the stable, talking to it in a low soft voice you'd rarely heard him use on anything.
"They look like twins," you said to Robert, nodding between the horse and Hollis — both tall, both with long pale hair, both carrying themselves like they were aware of it.
Robert laughed. "Good to know I'm not the only one who thinks so."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
It didn't take long to fall into the rhythm of the place. Within a couple of days it felt almost as if you and Hollis had always been here.
Janice was the sweetest — she reminded you a little of Donna, that same motherly warmth, except Janice had a dry wit underneath it that would catch you off guard and pull a laugh out of you before you'd seen it coming. You did your best to be useful. You started with small things — offering to help cook, washing dishes, sweeping — the kind of help anyone could accept without feeling obligated. But Janice didn't just accept it. She drew you in like you'd been there for years, teaching you her recipes, the small tricks she'd developed over time, things done a particular way for reasons she'd explain and you'd try to remember. Things your own mother had never had the patience to pass on.
You weren't quite there yet, though.
One evening Janice stepped out and left you alone with the stew you'd been following step by step, and you almost turned it into something unrecognizable. Not entirely your fault.
"What are you doing?" Arms came around your waist from behind. You were already frowning at the pot.
"Stew," you said, voice tight with worry. "Or something like it. I'm not sure anymore."
"The smell's good." Hollis rested his chin on your shoulder. "But is it supposed to look like that?"
You laughed despite yourself and smacked his arm. "No," you said, somewhere between a whine and a laugh. "Hers was all colorful and... I don't know what went wrong."
"We'll sort it out." He unwrapped his arms from you, took the wooden spoon gently from your hand, and poured a small amount of the sauce onto his palm to taste. "It's not bad. Really."
He said it while visibly trying not to smile. You saw the corners of his mouth going.
"You're terrible," you said, pushing him lightly. He laughed.
"I'm being supportive."
"That's not supportive." You whined. "I'm a disaster."
He stepped closer, arms coming back around you, walking you gently toward the counter until you were up against it. Then he lifted you onto it in one easy motion, positioning himself in front of you.
"I don't mind," he said, smiling. "I could learn to cook. Or we could just order in every night."
He leaned in, hand at your waist, mouth finding yours. For a moment you forgot entirely where you were — forgot the stew, forgot the kitchen — until his fingers found the hem of your skirt, and then the smell of something burning brought you back abruptly.
"Hey." You pulled back, already sliding off the counter, pushing past him to get to the stove. "Look what you did."
"Me?" He followed, watching you turn off the burner.
"You." You looked at what remained of the stew and then looked at him, and he was already laughing, which made you laugh despite yourself. "I hate you, I really do."
That night you made him stand beside you while you confessed to Janice what had happened to her recipe. You were thoroughly flustered the entire time. She laughed — gently, genuinely — and only stopped long enough to turn and scold Hollis when he joined in.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
He moved differently around the property. When he wasn't with you, you'd find him following Robert around — dealing with the animals, doing repair work, chopping wood, fixing a section of fence that had come loose. It was a completely new version of him. Something domestic in a way you didn't usually get to see. You wouldn't have admitted it easily but it was attractive, watching him work with his sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, the particular focus he had when he was doing something physical. It also looked completely wrong on him in a way you found quietly hilarious — this city boy now covered in dirt and carrying fence posts like he'd been doing it for years.
One late afternoon you were standing on the porch when he came back from the fields. Mud on his jeans, on his hands, streaked across his white tank top in ways that suggested a genuine disaster had occurred somewhere on the property.
"What happened to you?" You held back your smile.
"There was a leak. I helped fix it." He said it simply, walking toward you in slow, unhurried steps.
"Right. Country boy."
"You mocking me, ma'am?"
He reached the porch and grabbed you before you could respond — pulling you clean off the step and into his arms. You grabbed his shoulders on instinct and held on, and it took you a moment but you did eventually register that his mud-covered hands were now on your white summer dress.
"My dress," you said, laughing. Not really caring.
"I can get used to it." He kissed your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. Your legs found their way around his waist without you deciding to, and his hands settled under your thighs, holding you there.
"Me too," you said quietly, looking at him. Your fingers moved lightly over the back of his neck. "This feels like a home."
"It does." His eyes were soft looking at you, softer than the fading light. "Do you miss home?"
You shook your head and smiled. "I said it feels like a home." You kissed him briefly. "Nothing like mine."
He held your gaze for a beat too long — processing it, storing it somewhere, giving it more weight than you'd necessarily intended. Then he kissed you again, and carried you back toward the porch until you made him put you down before anyone could see.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
"When I was helping Robert with the leak," Hollis said, stepping back into the bedroom after his shower, "we passed by a pond. Really nice spot. We should go."
You were sitting up in bed waiting for him. "Mhm. When?"
"Tomorrow." He dropped down beside you, hair wet. "We don't have much on tomorrow anyway. It's Sunday and Robert said he's taking Janice and the kids to church."
"What is it with you washing your hair at night?" You reached for the towel on the nightstand. "Come here."
He had that small mischievous smile as he shifted and laid his head in your lap, letting you do what you could with the towel. "So?"
"I like the pond idea." You pouted a little. It was exactly the kind of thing that excited you and he knew it.
"Then it's a date, honey." He smiled up at you.
It always did something to you when he settled into you like that. His whole frame took up most of the available space, which made the way he curled into you so naturally all the more disarming. It melted you in a way you'd stopped being embarrassed about.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The pond wasn't far from the main house — just beyond the property line, a fence to hop and a few minutes of walking through tall grass and trees. But it was, as promised, nice. A clearing in the green, sunlight coming down through the canopy and catching the water like a spotlight. A wide flat rock sat beside the bank like it had been placed there deliberately.
Hollis dropped the bag you'd packed and pulled his shirt off. This time you didn't wait for him to call you in. You were far enough from anywhere that it didn't matter, so you stepped forward and undressed completely — your dress first, then everything underneath — and walked into the water without looking back.
You knew his eyes were on you when you glanced over your shoulder. He was standing at the bank, slightly stilled, before reaching for his zipper.
"You coming?" you asked.
He moved quickly after that, finishing undressing — fully, the same as you — and you laughed to yourself at the symmetry of it. You dove in before he reached the water, surfacing a few feet away, and when you looked back he was smiling in that particular way that meant he was already plotting something.
It stayed light for a while. Genuinely light, the kind of easy that had been rare on the road — him making stupid observations about the fish he could see near the bottom, you splashing water at him when he got too comfortable, stolen kisses that tasted like pond water, both of you laughing at nothing in particular. You couldn't track how long it went on. You stopped trying.
At some point you climbed out and sat on the flat rock, letting the sun work at drying you, and watched him from the bank.
He stayed in the water a little longer, floating on his back, eyes closed, face tilted toward the sun. You watched the way the light caught the edges of him—the line of his jaw, the rise of his chest, the way his hair fanned out in the water like something from a painting. He looked peaceful.
When he finally opened his eyes he found you so quickly, like he already knew where you'd be before even looking at you, something shifted in his expression. Not surprise — something like recognition.
He moved toward you unhurried and you couldn't help but notice the mess he made of your heart whenever he walked your way. Handsome in every sense of the word. Water ran off him as he came out of the pond, and you watched the way it traced the lines of his shoulders, his arms, the narrow dip of his waist. He didn't rush. He took his time, letting you watch.
When he reached you, he didn't sit. He stood over you, blocking most of the sunlight with the width of his shoulders. His skin was still wet, cool when his hand came up to your face, water dripping down your neck, your chest. You didn't move. Just looked up at him.
"Watching me?" He braced one arm on the rock above your head and gently cradled your face with the other, tilting you back so your head rested in the crook of his forearm.
"I couldn't help it," you said, the flush already moving up your cheeks.
"My perverted angel." He smiled — nothing innocent about it — and the look alone made you feel instantly warm.
His hand moved from your face to your neck, and when he held you there, gently, his thumb at your pulse, he finally kissed you. You reached for him immediately — his shoulder, then his arm, loving the way his muscles shifted under your touch. His hand moved further down, finding your chest unhurriedly, like he was simply feeling you. He squeezed lightly, then teased your nipple, and the sigh that escaped you was involuntary. He pulled back just far enough to watch your face when it happened, smiling at what he found there.
When his hand trailed lower still, a shiver moved through you — partly the cold of his fingers against your warm skin, partly anticipation. You spread your legs for him at the exact moment his hand found your inner thigh, before he'd asked you to.
He teased — his thumb brushing over you lightly, sliding between your folds without quite touching where you needed it, doing just enough to make you wet and no more.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, his face close to yours.
His fingers finally did what you were aching for — slow, circular pressure on your clit, unhurried, deliberately gentle. You gasped and whimpered and he watched your face like it fascinated him.
"Holli." His name came out as a plea, your nails pressing lightly into his shoulder.
"Tell me, my angel." His voice was tender at the center and rough at the edges, the particular combination that got to you every time.
"I need you," you whined.
"Do you?" He whispered. "Do you really need me?"
You didn't get to answer. Two fingers slid inside you and your response became a nod, wordless and helpless.
He worked them slowly at first — almost torturously slow, curling slightly, finding the places that made your back arch and your legs try to close around his hand. When he picked up the pace, stroking deeper and harder, the sounds of the pond and the wind and the birds gave way entirely to the sound of your voice and the wet noise of his fingers moving inside you. It only compounded when his thumb found your clit at the same time, and you grabbed his forearm with both hands just to hold onto something.
You couldn't look away from him. His hazel eyes had you completely, wouldn't let you go.
You were already shaking, your orgasm building through you, your toes curling against the sun-warm rock — when he said it.
"I love you."
Quiet and calm, watching your face as you came undone beneath him.
You didn't answer. He kissed you before you could, slowing his fingers through your edge, then drawing them out of you gently. The need that followed was immediate — your hand trailing down his chest, his stomach, finding his cock and wrapping around him. You stroked him slowly as you kissed, messy and open-mouthed, both of you making sounds against each other.
Then he was between your legs, filling you in one long slow push. He kept that same unhurried pace — kept his hand firm at your jaw, keeping your eyes on his, not letting you escape his gaze for even a second. Every stroke deliberate. Every throb of him inside you pulling his words back to the surface.
You pushed him back and straddled him. He sat up, arms coming around you immediately, hands gripping your ass as you rolled your hips over him. You brushed the hair from his face, took his face in both hands, looked at him — and almost said out loud how beautiful he was. Instead, breathless, so sensitive you felt like you might come apart entirely, you said it.
"I love you." Your voice broke slightly on it, more feeling than volume. "I love you so much."
It came out like something that had been held too long. Hollis smiled — really smiled, the kind that reached all the way up — kissed your lips and panted against your mouth. His large hands pressed into your skin and pulled you into a faster rhythm, and you went willingly, chasing it together until he came undone beneath you with a low, drawn-out sound, face pressing into your chest, arms pulling you in so tightly you felt it in your ribs. He spilled inside you, warm and familiar, and you held his head against you while both of you caught your breath — his face buried between your breasts, your fingers in his hair, the water running beside you and the afternoon light warm on your backs.
"Say it again," he said. "Please."
He looked up. You held his face in your hands, thumbs moving over his cheekbones.
"I love you, Hollis."
He looked at you for a moment like he was taking it in properly. Then he pulled you close again, a low, quiet laugh against your skin. "I fucking love you.”
The aftermath was slow and suspended — both of you back in the water eventually, you wrapped around him while he carried you through it, neither of you in any hurry to go anywhere at all.
The silence was interrupted by casual conversation, you casually saying how you didn't get to go to places like this back home while Hollis added how he used to sneak out as a teenager to go diving in a dam in Chicago.
"When I was a kid, there was this dam near my house. Wide one, deep as fuck. I used to sneak out some times and go there with my friends."
You lifted your head to look at him. His eyes were on the water, distant, like he was seeing something you couldn't.
"What did you do there?"
"Jumped off the cliffs. Swam. Smoked. Just..." He shrugged. "Felt alive, I guess. It was the only place I could feel like myself."
"How old were you?"
"Fifteen, sixteen." A small smile tugged at his mouth. "We thought we were untouchable. Like nothing could happen to us."
"Did anything ever happen?"
He laughed, low. "One time, my friend jumped and hit the water wrong. He was fine, but we thought he was dead for a solid minute. Scared the shit out of us. Didn't stop us from going back the next day though."
You smiled against his skin. "Sounds like you."
"Like me?"
"Reckless. In the best way possible.”
"Yeah. Guess I haven't changed that much.”
You traced your fingers along his collarbone. The water moved around you both, slow and unhurried. “I mean, I wouldn't jump out of a cliff but this here was pretty fun, wasn't it?” You said and he laughed lightly.
“I don't need to jump off cliffs anymore. I'm gonna tell you a secret.” You looked, waiting and his gaze found yours. “I've been feeling alive ever since I saw you at that gas station.”
“Ever since?” You asked, not fully buying it, but his gaze was unwavering. It gave you certainty.
“Every single day after that.”
You kissed him — not urgent, not demanding. Something slower. Something that said I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.
On the walk back, his hand in yours, you thought about the irony of it — that the pond had been where you finally said it out loud to each other. You'd sworn on blood. You'd crossed state lines and shared a bed every night for these past weeks. But you'd never said those words until today, in a clearing by the water on a farm in Nevada, miles from anywhere either of you had started.
Maybe the road had been too relentless for it. Maybe you actually needed to stop somewhere long enough, to be still enough, for it to find its way out.
It got you thinking about what love even was. Whether it lived in the calm — in the quiet moments only the two of you would ever know about. In a glance sideways on a long stretch of highway. A motel stop at dusk. His warm hand finding yours before you'd thought to reach for it. His body beside yours every night, a constant you'd stopped questioning. You were sure, thinking about it now, that you'd loved him for longer than today. But what bound you was more than love, or at least more than the word. You could call it devotion. You could call it despair. You could call it an aching need that overflowed you when you weren't managing it. But it was simpler than all of that. It was life. Life had brought you together. And as drastically as it sounded, you thought that only the far opposite of life could bring you apart.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
A few days later you were watching the kids in the living room while Janice rested. They were lovely, mostly — except for Timmy, who had a particular talent for finding things that shouldn't be broken and testing their limits. Currently it was his sister's doll. You managed that with patience, explaining carefully while the older boy mocked him from the couch, which made Timmy cry, which required a separate round of managing. You handled it. Somehow.
"You're actually good with them," Janice said, appearing in the doorway with two cups of coffee. "Did you have younger siblings?"
"Not really." You took the cup she offered. "But they're easy. Especially Timmy."
You winked at the boy and he beamed at you from the floor, entirely recovered.
"Do you want kids?" Janice asked.
You nearly choked. "No. I mean. Not now."
She laughed and patted your shoulder. "Relax. You two are very young. But who knows?"
"No." You widened your eyes. "No, no. There's no way."
You laughed nervously. Though somewhere underneath the laughter was the quiet, unwelcome awareness of how many times you hadn't thought about that, and the dread that followed.
Janice leaned in, her eyes catching the pendant at your chest. She reached out and held it lightly between her fingers. "I see he gave you his mother's scapular."
"His mother's?" The conversation shifted entirely. "Do you know her?"
"If I know her?" She laughed quietly. Then, leaning closer, lowering her voice: "I was her college best friend. I was there the day she found out she was pregnant with that boy."
You stared at her.
"He didn't tell you that," she said. Less a question than a realization.
"He just said Robert was a friend. That's why we were coming here."
"That dumbass." She groaned softly. "Okay. I'm going to tell you this because that boy cannot use his words to save his life. Robert was his father's business partner, until things got out of hand. We left Chicago a few years ago. Bob was only five."
"I'm sorry," you said, not entirely sure what else to say.
"Don't be. We made a life here. Away from all of it. We're happier here than we ever were there. And honestly— " She looked at you steadily. "I'm glad Hollis got out too. I couldn't have watched him turn into one of them."
There was something in her voice that wasn't just resentment. It was relief, old and deep, the kind that comes from having worried about something for a long time and finally being told it turned out alright. You sat with it quietly, and felt the itch of every question you now had no idea how to ask.
That night in bed, Hollis was telling you something about the property — something that had happened with one of the horses, you thought — when he stopped mid-sentence. You'd drifted without meaning to, your eyes somewhere past him, your hands around the scapular.
He watched you for a moment. You didn't notice.
"Y/n," he said.
"Sorry." You looked up at him. He was standing by the bed, watching you with that particular stillness that meant he was worried and trying not to show it. "I'm sorry."
"What is it?"
You sighed. Looked down at the pendant in your hands, then back at him.
"I was talking to Janice today." You kept your voice slow, careful. "She told me this was your mother's."
"It was," he said. Dry, simple.
"She told me. About her and Robert. That they were friends with your parents." You looked at him. Waited.
He crossed to the bed and sat on the edge of it, back to you. The silence stretched.
"If you don't want to talk about it— "
"It's alright." He said it to the wall in front of him. "I'm just not used to it. But yeah. They were friends. I grew up knowing them."
You moved closer, reached for his shoulder, hesitated briefly before pressing it lightly. Then you wrapped your arms around him from behind. His hand came to rest over yours where it lay against his stomach. He exhaled slowly.
"So," you said, quietly. "It's like meeting your family."
He laughed, but there was something bitter at the edge of it. "Might as well be. Robert's more of a father to me than my actual father has ever been."
It broke something loose in your chest — not just because of what he said, but because you recognized it. You knew what it was to feel that way about a parent, and you hadn't wished that on him. You kissed his shoulder. His neck. Rested your face against him.
"Everyone's escaping that man." His voice came low, rough at the edges.
"And your mom?" You felt brave enough to ask before you could stop yourself.
"She left him. Two years ago." His hand tightened over yours. "Left everything, actually. I don't blame her. A bad life, a worse husband, and a troubled kid. I would've done the same."
"Hey— "
"It's okay." He lifted your hand, pressed his lips to your knuckles. "I really don't blame her. I left because I didn't want to become what I was becoming. That's all." A pause. "You'll meet her one day. She's... She's something else, honestly. Really esoteric, super artsy. But she's sweet. You'd like her."
You laughed softly at how he said it. "Do you think she'll like me?"
"Who wouldn't like you?" He said it simply, like it wasn't even a real question. "She'll adore you."
You felt the warmth creep up your neck. "Stop it."
You tried to pull back and he caught your wrist, turning in one easy motion and pulling you into his lap. His hand found your face — that warm, steady hold that always made you look at him properly, whether you meant to or not.
"You're the most charming person I know," he said. "Anyone who doesn't love you immediately is out of their mind."
You didn't have anything to say to that. You just kissed him, and felt your heart ache with it — with how open he'd been tonight, how tender underneath all of it. You could see it clearly, for the first time without any fear attached.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Routine was starting to grow on you. Waking up in the same bed every morning, lazy mornings that stretched without obligation, talking about the day before falling asleep — you loved all of it. For a while you almost forgot why you were here. While things were this peaceful, this quiet, it was easy to let the rest of it recede.
Until you caught Hollis and Robert talking in low voices somewhere on the property, and they went quiet the moment you came close enough to hear. Or you walked into a room and the conversation stopped. It bothered you — not because you needed to know, but because it made you feel like a child being kept from the adult table.
Once it happened while you were standing with Janice, and she frowned at them — mainly at Robert. "You could both be less obvious about it," she said, and went back to what she was doing.
Which raised its own set of questions. She knew. How much did she know, and why were you always the last to have any of it?
One evening you were gathering laundry for the next morning — you and Hollis had been taking turns, and this was yours — while he lay in bed with his phone. A rare enough sight that you noticed it. He seemed focused, so you tried to start a conversation. He gave you half his attention at best.
You dropped the laundry basket onto the mattress.
He looked up, eyebrows raised. "What's that for?"
"I'm trying to talk to you," you said.
"I'm sorry, honey. I'm just dealing with something." His eyes went back to the screen.
"What? What are you dealing with?"
He looked at you again, more carefully this time. "Our way out of here."
"Is that what you and Robert keep whispering about?"
"Among other things."
"And what does he know about us?"
"A lot."
"What about Janice? And why do I know nothing about any of it?" The annoyance in your voice was clear, and you weren't trying to hide it.
He sighed and set the phone down. "Come here."
It took you a moment, but you went. He did what you knew he'd do — hands at your hips, pulling you in until you were standing between his legs, his eyes coming up to find yours. Your hands settled on his shoulders on their own, and he smiled faintly.
"They know why we're here," he said, his thumb moving slowly along your waist beneath your shirt. "They know about the footage, half the things we've been doing. But there are other things — things that go back to Chicago. Things that don't involve you entirely. Not yet."
"Then tell me," you said quietly, threading your fingers slowly into his hair. "We're— I mean— we're something, aren't we?"
"Baby, we're way more than something." He laughed softly. "And I want to tell you everything. I just— I don't want to put this on you right now. Don't wanna worry you."
"I'm already worried, Holli." Your brows pulled together.
He took your hand from his shoulder and pressed his lips to your knuckles. "Do you trust me?" You nodded. "Then let me fix this. The things from Chicago, they don't touch you. Not for now. Let me sort it out, and when we actually get to start our lives, you'll know all of it. I promise. We'll have all the time in the world."
He kissed your hand again, and eventually you folded into him — your face tucked against his collar, his arms coming around you, warm and steady.
"Do you want me to do the laundry tomorrow?" he asked after a long, quiet while.
You laughed against his neck. Nodded.
"I'll do it, pretty girl."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The next morning you woke earlier than usual. Hollis's side of the bed was already cold — you could hear the shower running, and then stopping, and then nothing. A line of pale light slipped through the gap in the bathroom door.
You dragged yourself up, still half-asleep, and pushed the door open.
He was standing at the mirror, towel wrapped around his hips, hair wet, body still drying. If you'd been any more awake it would have been a sight worth stopping for.
"Morning, honey," he said, glancing at you.
"Why are you up so early?" You pressed the back of your hand to your eyes, trying to bring the room into focus. The pale bathroom light wasn't helping.
He turned slightly, cupped your face in one hand, and pressed his lips to the top of your head. "Going to town later with Rob. Figured I'd finish my chores first."
"Very dedicated of you," you murmured, looking up at him. He'd turned back to the mirror, studying his face with a particular expression.
"What do you think about this?" He gestured vaguely at his jaw.
You squinted. It took a moment — you'd never seen it before, not once during the whole trip. He'd always taken a razor to his face before anything had the chance to grow. But now there were faint lines of a mustache beginning, the suggestion of a goatee, and along his jaw a sparse, barely-there growth that had clearly been quietly happening while you weren't looking.
"Oh," you said, stepping closer to see him properly in the mirror. "I didn't even know you could grow a beard."
He laughed. "What do you mean? I'm offended!"
"I'm sorry!" You laughed too, at your own surprise. "You just... You always shave before it gets anywhere." You looked at him in the glass. "You're still handsome, honey." You rested your head lightly on his shoulder.
"Well." He shrugged. "Better get rid of it."
He reached for the shaving foam on the sink and the thought arrived so quickly and clearly that you just said it before it had fully formed.
"Can I do it?"
He turned to look at you. "Shave me?"
You nodded. He grinned, confused and amused in equal measure.
"Do you know how?"
"How hard can it be?" You took the foam from his hand, looked at it, looked at his face, and smiled. Already committed.
"Sure, honey." He was smiling too now, settling into the idea. "Go on."
"Sit there." You pointed to the edge of the bathtub and he obeyed without argument, lowering himself down, long legs spread wide, looking up at you with that particular expression — amused on the surface, something else underneath.
You stood in the space between his knees and got to work — spraying foam into your palm, working it across his jaw, his chin, his neck, above his upper lip. Careful and focused. His eyes stayed on your face the whole time. You'd have felt self-conscious once, under that gaze, but somewhere along the way that had changed. His attention still made your heart do something, but the urge to escape it was gone. It just felt like him.
"Don't move," you said, picking up the razor.
"Wasn't planning on it," he said, the smile still there.
You hesitated briefly before the first stroke and then started. Slow, short strokes, rinsing between each one. You were frowning slightly without meaning to, brows drawn together in concentration.
"You can press a little harder, honey," he said.
"Quiet." You didn't look up.
He laughed softly. You felt it through the hand steadying his jaw. "I said don't move."
"Alright, alright."
His hands found your hips. Not pulling you anywhere, not pressing — just resting there, warm through the fabric of your shirt, like they'd landed out of habit. You noticed and kept working. You were holding your breath somewhere in the middle of it and didn't realize until you let it out. His eyes hadn't left your face. Under the pale bathroom light they looked brighter than usual, that specific hazel that you'd learned to read before you'd learned it was something you were doing.
When you finished you took the towel and wiped away the remaining foam, turning his face gently to check both sides. Even. Clean. You reached up to the cabinet without letting him stand and found a lotion, which you applied slowly across his jaw and cheeks.
He watched with a knowing smile. "What are you doing?"
"You should moisturize after shaving." You kept your voice matter-of-fact.
"Yeah?" His smile was all teasing now, entirely unbothered by the skincare advice.
He pulled you closer — arms wrapping slowly around your body, his chin lifting toward your chest as he looked up at you. You hugged him back, fingers threading into his still-damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew he liked.
"Thank you," he said, after a moment. Quieter now. "I'm not used to it. Being taken care of."
You pouted. Your face went warm. "I like taking care of you."
"I know," he said. He caught your hand, pressed his lips to it, then stood — pulling you with him, both of you nearly stumbling in the narrow bathroom, and you laughed. He laughed too, steadying you both, his arms still around you.
"You're so good to me," he said, low. "So fucking good."
You pulled him down by the neck, closing the small distance until your noses touched, foreheads together, eyes level.
"I love you," you said.
"I love you." He smiled before he kissed you — warm, unhurried, the kind of kiss that took the rest of your breath without trying to.
He carried you back to bed, and the early morning became something slower and quieter, his body moving over yours lazy and unhurried, both of you still half in sleep, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Later, Hollis went to town with Robert — something about the car — and you stayed with Janice. The usual rhythm. You'd just come back to the house from feeding the chickens when you found her on the porch, scissors in hand, trimming Timmy's hair.
"You do that yourself?" you asked.
"Easier than driving to the hairdresser every two weeks for a trim. I cut my own too." She didn't look up, focused on the back of Timmy's neck.
You watched her work, and without deciding to, your hands went to your own hair. You couldn't remember ever cutting more than a few inches off it. It had been long your whole life, as long as you could picture yourself.
And then — quietly, the way realizations sometimes came — you thought about the security footage. Your profile. Your hair. The one detail that maybe could make you identifiable even in a blurry image. A new life could come with new hair.
"After Timmy," you said, "would you cut mine?"
Janice looked up, a flicker of surprise giving way to enthusiasm. She hesitated when you told her how much — just above the shoulders, significantly shorter than anything you'd ever had. But she didn't talk you out of it. You sat down, and as the long strands of dark hair fell to the porch floorboards you felt the specific strangeness of watching something you'd carried for years disappear in sections. The chills moved through you. So did something that felt almost like relief.
When you looked in the mirror and brushed the new length back, you felt like someone else. Not unrecognizable — just new. The bangs Janice had cut, the layers, the way it all framed your face differently. Someone new and also still you.
"It looks so good," Janice said from behind your shoulder. "You look so girly."
You smiled at that. You felt it.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Hollis came back late in the afternoon. You were in the kitchen putting together a snack for you and the kids when you heard him come through.
"Honey, Jan said you were in he— " He stopped.
You glanced back. "How was town?"
"The— " He stopped again, whatever he'd been about to say dissolving entirely. "You look— that's just— "
You felt a flicker of nerves. He was looking at you with that particular stillness, eyes moving over your face like he was processing something and hadn't finished yet.
"God, you look beautiful." He crossed the kitchen in a few strides and took your face in both hands — you felt small in the best way. "Did you just— "
"Do you like it?" You looked up at him, your face warm under his hands and his attention.
"So much." He leaned down and kissed you, brief and certain. "Didn't know you could get any prettier."
"Shut up," you laughed.
He kissed you again and pulled you in with one arm around your waist.
"That's seriously gross." Bob's voice from the table.
You pulled back, laughing. Bob and Timmy were both making faces of theatrical disgust.
"Y'all too nosy," Hollis said.
"Y'all disgusting!" Bob announced.
"Disgusting?" Hollis's voice went playful and low. "Nah, little buddy. You're done now."
He went after Bob, who scrambled off his chair and started running laps around the table. Timmy was already screaming catch him, catch him with tremendous investment. You stood by the counter laughing as the chase moved through the kitchen, into the living room, and out the front door — where Hollis eventually caught up with Bob and they both went down in a heap on the grass, and then Timmy was crying because he'd tripped over his own feet following them, and Hollis spent the next five minutes quietly negotiating with him not to tell Robert, apparently offering bribes you couldn't quite hear but could absolutely imagine.
You watched from the doorway, the afternoon light warm on the porch, and thought: this is what it looks like. Whatever it was they were building toward. This exact thing, right here.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
Later that night you were lying on top of him in bed, his hand moving slowly through your hair — a light, absent caress that made your already worn-out body feel even lighter. Then his hand came to your forehead and he started brushing your new bangs back and forth across your face, back and forth, like he was experimenting with them. You laughed and pushed his hand away gently.
"What are you doing?" you asked, smiling.
"I don't know. It's different." His hand moved to your cheek instead.
"Good different?"
"Definitely." He petted your head the way you'd pet a cat and you smiled despite yourself. "It makes your eyes look bigger."
"What?" You laughed. "Is that a compliment?"
"Of course it is. You look like a doll." He pulled you in and kissed you briefly. "My pretty doll."
You didn't know how he always knew exactly what to say, but it got you blushing and tucking your face into his neck before sleep took you both under.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
It was early morning — still dim, the light just beginning to come through — and you were in the barn with Grace, the newborn calf you'd been feeding since the first day. Her mother wasn't producing enough milk, and you'd taken over the bottle without anyone asking you to. She knew you now. When you came in calling her name she made small sounds of excitement that you found entirely disproportionate and completely wonderful.
"I see you two have gotten close," a voice said from the entrance.
Robert, leaning against the doorframe with his coffee.
"I'm basically her second mother," you said, still petting her forehead.
"You really are." He laughed. "You finished with her?"
"Just saying goodbye."
"Could you give me a hand with something?"
You ended up outside holding a fence post steady while he hammered it in, the morning cool and quiet around you.
"I think you know by now," he said between strikes, "but I've known Hollis since he was about this high." He lifted one hand to his waist. You laughed, thinking of the height of the man currently asleep in your shared room. "What was he like?"
"Impossible." He said it with the particular warmth of someone who'd loved a difficult person. "You know Timmy? Make it ten times worse. He used to follow me everywhere, asking questions like I'd have every answer. Wouldn't stop talking."
"That's genuinely hard to picture," you said.
"He'd tell you his whole life story if you asked only for his name." Robert laughed to himself. "Until he grew up and learned to keep things in. And then he kept too much in. You know how it is."
"Yeah," you said quietly. "He still does."
"He learned it for his own protection." Robert paused, setting the hammer down for a moment. "I can't imagine how things got after I left."
"He holds you in a high place, sir," you said.
"God, don't call me sir. Rob, Bob, anything else." You laughed. "But listen. I'm glad he found you. When he told me he was leaving Chicago with nothing but a car it scared the hell out of me. Then he told me he'd brought you along and that scared me even more." He laughed at that, something fond in it. "I gave him hell for it, honestly. But I think you might be the best thing that happened to that boy on this trip."
"I don't know," you said. "Sometimes I feel like I've made things harder for him. He says the opposite, but— "
"You drive him crazy, he told me that too." You looked at him, surprised. "But you make him feel. And that's something I was genuinely worried his father had taken out of him."
That landed somewhere deep. Not just the words but the weight of who was saying them — someone who'd known him as a child, someone Hollis trusted with things he didn't give anyone else. Knowing he'd talked about you. Knowing someone this important to him had looked at you and approved.
"You're making her do manual labor, old man?" Hollis's voice came from behind you.
"She's being helpful," Robert said, his tone shifting easily into something playful. "Unlike you."
"Give me that, honey." Hollis reached for the fence post and you started to say you could finish, then just nodded and stepped aside, watching the two of them take over like you hadn't been there at all, and feeling entirely at peace with that.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
A few days later you were coming back from the barn when you noticed Hollis out in the field with the white horse he'd taken to immediately, embarrassingly, on the first day. He was standing close to the animal, one hand on his neck, his face near his, talking to him in a low voice. You stood watching them for a moment before he noticed you and waved you over.
"You really like him," you said when you reached him.
"Her," he corrected, glancing at you. "Her name's June."
"Sorry." You smiled. "Hi, June. You're very pretty. You look just like my Hollis."
You said it softly to the horse, who turned her large head toward you at the sound of your voice. You reached up carefully and scratched at her neck. She shook her mane and you felt the muscles beneath your hand shift and twitch, which made you laugh.
"She likes you," Hollis said.
"How can you tell?"
"She didn't bite you." He said smiling. You laughed.
"Have you ever ridden a horse?" he asked.
"A long time ago. When I was little."
"Do you want to?"
You thought about it for a moment — but he was looking at you with that particular open smile, the one that made him look younger, and you already knew where this was going.
He helped you up on her first, bareback, his hands firm at your waist, lifting you with ease. You settled onto June's warm back, the muscles beneath you shifting as she adjusted to your weight. You grabbed a handful of her mane, steadying yourself, and felt the sun on your shoulders, the breeze catching your hair.
Then he mounted behind you — one smooth motion, the kind of ease that came from practice. His weight settled behind you, and you felt the solid warmth of his chest press against your back, his thighs bracketing yours.
"Alright?" His voice was close to your ear, low and warm.
"Yeah," you said, breathing out.
His arms came around you, both hands finding June's mane, his wrists grazing your sides. You loosened your grip on the mane, let your body settle into the motion of the horse beneath you. His arms were loose around you, not holding you in place but just there, bracketing you.
June started forward, a slow, easy walk that rocked you gently.
"Doesn't it bother her?"
"She's strong," he said. You could hear the smile. "You said she looks like me, but honestly she's more like you."
"How?"
"Stubborn. But sweet about it." The horse picked up a slow, steady pace and you moved with her, adjusting. "One time I was brushing her mane and she got annoyed and pulled away, so I stopped. Left her alone. And the second I walked off she followed me halfway across the field like a lost puppy."
"That's not what I do," you said, looking back at him.
"Sure, honey." He squeezed you lightly against him.
You leaned back into him anyway, just enough to keep the contact, and he let you. You passed through the open gate and out into the field, the valley spreading ahead of you, green bathed in the low gold of late afternoon.
"This is nice," you said quietly.
"Better than the car?"
"So much better." You exhaled slowly.
His laugh moved through his chest and into your back.
"We're leaving in a few days," he said, his voice shifting into something quieter.
"California?" you asked.
"Yeah. Finally." Something in his voice had weight to it — not reluctance exactly, but heaviness. Like the word had more in it than he was letting out.
"I'll miss this," you said after a moment. "I'll miss them." A pause. "But I'm ready to actually get somewhere."
He hummed. And for a while there was nothing but the sound of June's hooves moving through the grass, the wind passing low through the field, and his breath steady at the back of your neck.
Later that evening you sat on the front porch and watched the valley turn blue and then dark. You lost yourself in thought without noticing the temperature drop, and by the time you came back to yourself your fingertips were cold.
The front door opened behind you. You looked back and found Hollis in the frame of it, the inside light behind him, his silhouette filling the doorway.
"Dinner's ready," he said.
You didn't answer right away. He looked past you, out toward the valley. And then, like he'd understood exactly why you were sitting there without needing it explained, he came out and sat beside you. He stayed quiet for a long while, the same as you, watching the dark settle over the flatland and the mountains beyond it. You rested your head on his shoulder. He was steady in a way nothing else had ever been.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀
The remaining days passed faster than you expected. Janice kept you close, always finding reasons to pull you into the kitchen or onto the porch, always starting conversations that drifted naturally toward something that felt less like small talk and more like advice she was offering sideways — about Robert, about their early years, about how things weren't always easy and how that was part of it. She mentioned once that Los Angeles was only seven hours from Gardnerville, that she sometimes thought about making the drive down with the kids. It was a small thing and she said it casually, but you heard what she was doing. Not only had you grown attached to this family — the feeling was mutual, and she wanted you to know it.
The hardest part was the morning of the departure.
Janice made a full breakfast — said you had a long drive and needed to be fed. Hollis pointed out there were restaurants on the road and she swatted him. It was all warmly comic and a little melancholic, the particular feeling of a last morning somewhere you weren't ready to leave.
Then Timmy overheard.
In all the weeks you'd known him, through all the tantrums and the broken toys and the crying jags over completely invented injustices, you had never seen him like this. His small round eyes went watery almost immediately. You thought at first it was Hollis he was upset about — but then you felt a small hand close around the hem of your skirt, and a small head press against your hip, and you understood he was trying, in his quiet way, to simply keep you there.
When it was time to actually leave, he wouldn't let go. When you shifted he started to cry — silently, the way children cried when they were trying not to be seen doing it.
"Oh, Timmy," you said softly, reaching down to smooth his blond hair.
"Don't go," he said, small and shy, barely audible.
"Honey, the car's— " Hollis stopped. He'd looked down and found Timmy at your skirt. You could see the amusement starting at the corner of his mouth and you gave him a look that said don't you dare and he held it back with visible effort.
He crouched down in front of the boy instead, one hand on his shoulder, eye level. Timmy looked away, his face going from sad to sulky and betrayed.
"You're taking her away," he said.
"I'm not— " Hollis almost laughed and caught himself. "I mean, we have to go home. But we'll come back."
"You don't know that. I heard Mama saying you were going to a whole other country."
"Another state, you fool," Hollis said, and you pushed his arm lightly. He grinned. "I'll bring her back. I promise. Like I promised you that chocolate and I delivered, didn't I?"
Timmy considered this with a small pout, working through the logic of it. Then he looked from Hollis to you.
"Don't forget about me," he said, smaller again, a different register than the one he used with Hollis.
You crouched and pulled him into a proper hug. "I promise I won't."
"Hey," Hollis murmured behind you, "where's that voice when you talk to me?"
You pushed him without looking.
The rest of the goodbyes were easier, as goodbyes went. Janice held you longer than anyone, whispering thank you against your ear and telling you that you were family now, that whatever you needed she'd be there. Robert was more contained in the way he always was — a long embrace, a few quiet words to Hollis that you didn't catch. Bob and Hollis bickered for a while the way they always had and then Bob gave you a shy, sideways hug like he wasn't entirely sure how. Betty was cheerfully oblivious to the whole departure, which was its own kind of mercy — her small wave and uncomplicated smile lightening something that might otherwise have been heavier than you could manage.
You left in a different car than the one you'd arrived in. The stolen truck was gone — you figured that was what the trip to town with Robert had been for. This time you didn't watch the farm disappear in the mirror. You looked at each of their faces one last time, properly, and then turned to face the road ahead.
Your eyes kept drifting to the driver's seat. Not checking on him — just out of habit. A habit you'd caught yourself in since the very first time he'd driven you anywhere. You noticed, not for the first time, that his roots had grown in darker, the blond giving way to his natural hair. You'd noticed before but neverf quite registered. This time you just reached over and took his hand where it rested on his thigh. He looked down at it, then at you, and brought it to his lips without a word.
Vinnie did not notice how much she had taken over his room until he tripped over a plushie trying to get to his desk. At first it had only been her vape, the pink one she carried around like it was a fashion accessory. Then it was her gloss tube rolling off the edge of his desk, and her perfume bottle sitting next to his cologne.
Her hairbrush had taken up permanent space on his dresser and his hoodie pockets were carrying tampons he never remembered grabbing. He did not mind it. He actually liked it. But it was getting really hard to play it cool when his Twitch chat kept asking why his sheets looked like they were stolen from a childhood bedroom.
It was not just the bed either. His mirror had lip gloss kisses on sticky notes stuck to the corner. His laundry basket had three of her socks in it and one little pink pair of lace panties that he kept folding carefully and never gave back.
His closet had a fuzzy pink cardigan shoved into the back behind his boxing hoodie and a pair of slippers that did not belong to him. The worst part was that he never told her to stop. Every time she left something, she did it with a smile, half playful, like she was daring him to say no. And every time she came back, she’d find it exactly where she left it. She never said anything about that either.
She was his secret. The kind he wanted to keep and show off at the same time. He liked being selfish about her. Liked that only he got to see her in his bed, face buried in a Hello Kitty plush, mouth open just a little in sleep, hoodie riding up to expose soft thighs and smooth skin he could barely stop touching. The pink sheets were her idea, and he had not even fought her on it. If she wanted to turn his entire room into a Hello Kitty shrine, he would let her. As long as she stayed in it.
The night had been quiet, the kind of slow where his stream had ended early and he came back to the scent of her vanilla perfume clinging to his pillows. She was already in bed, legs tangled in his blanket, phone forgotten on the floor beside her. One of her wrists was tucked under her cheek. Her body shifted slightly when he stepped closer, but she did not open her eyes.
He stood at the side of the bed for a moment, watching the way her breath rose and fell softly. Her thighs were bare and the hoodie she wore had slipped off one shoulder. There were little lip gloss smudges on his pillowcase, the same light pink as the vape that sat charging beside his phone.
When he finally sat down, she stirred a little, turning toward him in her sleep. His hand reached down without thinking, fingers dragging gently up her thigh. The warmth of her skin made his breath catch. He leaned in, kissing her cheek softly before brushing her hair back from her face. Her eyes fluttered open, half-lidded, sleepy and soft, and he could see that lazy smile tugging at her lips.
“I was waiting for you” she whispered, voice raspy in that way that made his whole body react. She stretched like a cat, hoodie sliding higher on her thighs, plushie still hugged to her chest like she had fallen asleep mid cuddle.
He reached down and tugged it out of her arms, replacing it with himself. She whined a little but let him pull her against his chest. His hand slipped under the hem of her hoodie and found bare skin waiting for him.
“You always fall asleep in my bed like you live here” he said into her hair, voice low and teasing but honest. Her nose scrunched up as she shifted closer, pressing her mouth to his neck before she mumbled something about it feeling like home. He stilled at that.
Something heavy settled in his chest, slow and quiet. She always said things like that without thinking, like she did not know what they meant to him. Like she had no idea how much he wanted to keep her.
His hand moved lower, slipping between her thighs, finding the familiar heat that waited for him there. She gasped, legs twitching slightly as she shifted onto her back. Her hoodie bunched up around her ribs, exposing soft skin and those little pink panties that never stood a chance when he was like this.
Her eyes blinked up at him now, a little clearer, a little more awake, and he could already see the look he loved pulling across her face. The one that was equal parts nervous and needy. She knew what he was doing. She just liked when he made her admit it.
“Tell me” he murmured as he pushed her panties aside. She bit her lip, letting her legs fall open slowly. Her hand reached up and curled into the fabric of his hoodie. His fingers slid against her slick folds and he could feel how warm she already was.
“I missed you” she said softly.
He did not answer. Just smiled and leaned down, kissing her until she melted under his touch. Her lips were sweet, still sticky from whatever gloss she had been wearing earlier. He moved down her body, licking into her thighs, kissing the edge of her underwear before pulling them off completely. She looked up at him with those soft sleepy eyes and a whimper on her breath as he kissed her again, this time on her clit, slow and deliberate. She cried out, hands flying to his hair, pulling him closer like she was afraid he might stop.
He didn’t.
She came hard. Loud. Writhing on pink sheets with her fingers tangled in his hoodie and her voice cracking around his name. The plushie beside her rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a soft thump. Neither of them noticed.
When he finally crawled back up and kissed her, she was already gasping, legs still trembling as she whispered something like please under her breath. He was already hard. His pants were half undone. She reached for him like she always did, with both hands and a whimper that made him want to ruin her.
He pushed into her slowly, watching her eyes roll back as her legs snapped around his waist. Her hands clung to his shoulders and she moaned so loud it went straight to his head. He had fucked her in this bed a dozen times. But something about the way her thighs trembled, the way her nails dug into his skin, the way her little pink vape glowed beside the pillows while she cried into a Hello Kitty plush as he thrusted into her hard and deep, made this one feel different.
He fucked her like he was trying to paint her onto his sheets.
She took every inch with that perfect little whine, whimpering his name between gasps, legs shaking as he bottomed out again and again. Her mouth opened and her eyes fluttered and she kept begging him to slow down but he knew she did not mean it. She just wanted to feel every second of it. She just wanted to be full. And he wanted to give it all to her.
When he came, it was deep and rough, hands gripping her hips as he groaned her name and spilled into her with a final sharp thrust. Her body jerked under him and her nails dragged across his back. She was already leaking by the time he pulled out and she blinked up at him, dazed, glowing, completely undone.
He kissed her forehead and pulled the blanket over them both. She tucked herself against his chest and smiled into his neck.
“You are really gonna let me turn your whole life pink” she whispered.
He laughed and kissed the top of her head.
“You already did” he said.
Then he pulled the plushie off the floor and tucked it behind her head.
Because if she was staying, he wanted her comfortable. And if that meant a bed full of Hello Kitty, pink vapes, strawberry lip gloss, and her soaking his sheets twice a week, then he would take it all.
Pairing: bf!Vinnie x fem!reader
Summary: Making out in Vinnie's bedroom gets interrupted.
Warnings: Language. Petnames. Sexually suggestive? Second Person POV.
A/N: Just a lil blurb to dip my toes in the water.
His tattooed hands course against your lower back as you straddle him, fingers hidden beneath your shirt as the ceiling fan swirls above you. There’s no rush in the way he’s touching you, or in the way he’s kissing you. Vinnie's content with the softness of your tongue and the sweet breaths of pleasure that slip inside his mouth.
“You’re so fuckin’ pretty. You know that, right?” He presses down against your hips, guiding the gentle friction between your clothed bodies.
“Vinnie…” Your skin is warm, tingling with the anticipation of more, but you can’t focus. You lift up, testing the back of your hand against the warmth of your cheeks.
Vinnie scratches at your thighs, his skin just as flushed as yours. “What is it, baby?” Your heart swells at the sight of him and your lower half aches. He looks so perfect underneath you, with half-lidded eyes and perfectly pink lips. “...You okay?”
You shake your head from your thoughts and push a curled strand from his forehead. “Yeah, sorry. I just—” A faint call from behind Vinnie’s closed bedroom door interrupts you. You pout at your boyfriend. “I feel bad, Vinnie. She wants to come in.”
“She’ll be fine.” Vinnie grips your hips once more, delicately urging you with his fingertips. “Let’s keep going.”
Hera continues to cry.
“Vinnie.”
“Hera,” Vinnie warns. “Stop!” Hera meows even louder, scratching against the door wildly. Vinnie tosses his head back against the pillow. “Damnit. Cockblocked by my own cat.”
“Don’t say that.” You drag two fingers against the scruff of his chin before sliding them down to his neck, connecting the distance between his moles. “She loves you.”
“I know,” Vinnie sighs. You and Hera were the two most important girls in his life. He couldn’t tell either of you “no” if he tried. “Can we,” he grabs your ass, “continue this later?”
You gasp at the pressure of his hands and smack his chest. “You’re awful!”
Vinnie smirks, still half-hard. “Yeah?” He bites at his bottom lip and pulls you closer against him, making sure you feel exactly what you’re missing out on. “Tell me how awful I am when I’m—” Hera yowls again and Vinnie rolls his eyes. “Oh my God.”
You can’t help but giggle.
“Okay, okay.” Vinnie relents. “Let me fuckin’ let her in.”
Vinnie warned you about Hera before you even met her.
“She’s a princess. Just so you know.”
You’d laughed at the time, thinking he meant it in a cute way.
He didn’t.
He meant it in the “this cat thinks she owns my soul and will actively try to ruin your life” kind of way.
And he was right.
The first time you came over and sat on his couch, Hera jumped up behind you, stared at your head for a solid five seconds, and smacked your ponytail.
No hesitation. No fear.
Like, how dare you breathe near her couch and her man?
You turned around, blinking. “Did she just…?”
“She’s just saying hi,” Vinnie said casually, sitting beside you like this was normal.
Then Hera slinked across the back of the couch and sat behind Vinnie’s head, tail flicking, staring down at you like a queen assessing a peasant.
You tried to ignore it.
Until she started slowly pawing at his hoodie string. Then his hair. Then his shoulder.
You reached out to pet her.
She hissed.
At you.
Vinnie just smiled and said, “That’s her love language.”
It wasn’t.
After that, things got worse.
You weren’t allowed to cuddle him on the couch without Hera inserting herself literally, climbing onto Vinnie’s chest and wedging between your faces.
You’d be mid-conversation, knees pulled up on his lap, and Hera would leap into the space, plop down, and curl up like you were the third wheel.
She’d purr only when you weren’t touching her.
Rub her face against Vinnie’s hand, then swipe at yours when you reached over.
Once, she pushed your phone off the coffee table while staring you dead in the eyes.
Another time, you woke up to her sitting on your stomach in the dark like a shadow demon. Just staring. No purrs. No blinking.
Vinnie, of course, didn’t believe the full extent of it.
“She’s a sweetheart.”
“She clawed my sock off my foot.”
“She’s just playing.”
“She growled.”
“She’s expressive.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You raised a little villain.”
“She’s perfect.”
He said it while petting her like the most precious being in the world. Hera purred and gave you a smug look like she knew she’d won.
But then there were the cracks.
One night, you were half asleep on Vinnie’s chest while the two of you watched some late night anime rerun. Hera was curled up in her usual corner of the couch, giving you both the silent treatment.
You shifted, pulling the blanket up. Vinnie rubbed your back. You yawned, and his hand moved to your hair.
And Hera meowed.
Once.
Then again. Louder.
Vinnie looked over. “What?”
She meowed a third time, then stood, stomped across the cushions, and planted herself directly between the two of you, purring aggressively while staring at him.
He blinked. “You’re not serious.”
She pushed her head into his chin.
You stared. “Is she trying to…?”
“Shh. She’s asserting dominance.”
You rolled your eyes. “Over me?”
“She says you’ve gotten too comfortable.”
Eventually, a truce formed.
You brought her a treat once those freeze dried chicken ones she apparently considered worthy of her time.
She ate it, then sat on your thigh for exactly six seconds.
That was the day she allowed you into the kingdom. Kind of.
Now, she’ll sometimes curl up at the foot of the bed when you’re over.
But only if she gets there first.
She still gives you side eye when you kiss Vinnie in the kitchen.
Still knocks your things off the counter occasionally.
Still positions herself directly in the middle of the bed like a fluffy little wall.
But now?
If you stretch out your hand slowly… she doesn’t hiss.
She might even brush her cheek against your knuckle.
And sometimes only when she thinks no one’s watching she curls up near your hip and pretends she’s just trying to get warm.
But Vinnie knows.
And he grins every time.
Because Hera might still act like you’re stealing her man…
But even she can’t pretend you don’t belong here anymore.
