neo-novaa

[neo-novaa]

can i be added to the taglisttt???

yes of course :3

[neo-novaa]

okay a little neo life update!! gonna be moving back to school soon which means i'm probably gonna be more inactive than usual :< i'm rllyyy trying to get a full fic posted before classes start next week, please yell at me in my inbox to help get me motivated (if u want....no pressure...)

love u guys so much stay freaky

[neo-novaa]

thinking about bf!hollis sending you videos while he's on tour...ᥫ᭡

“i miss you so fuckin’ much…” his voice is crisp, lips close to the mic of his phone as hollis angles the camera south. his slender fingers pump his cock, pale skin stark against the flushed red tip. he’s barely got his boxers off, the waistband sitting at the peak of his thighs. with every stroke his breath is getting more ragged, more pitchy — he’s struggling to keep his phone in place.

he’s holding back, keeping a slow pace, fighting the urge to buck his hips and start fucking into his own hand. hollis swipes a thumb over his tip to collect the precum, trying lubricate his hand. it’s wildly unsuccessful, and you can hear the rough skin-on-skin as he keeps jerking himself raw. 

“wish you could be here to touch me — fuck,” he’s going faster now, bated breath ringing in your ears. “i wish i could feel your hands all over my body, makin’ me feel so good, like it’s your fuckin’ job — like you were born to take me.” you swear you can see his dick twitch, and you can hear how worked up he’s getting from his own words. heavy breaths have turned to pitchy moans, his fingers working at his sensitive, aching tip. there’s so much pre coming out, glistening in the dim lighting of his bedside lamp.

hollis fails to silence himself, moaning loud with every stroke, quietly pleaing under every breath. “you don’t even know what you do to me, got me so worked up just thinkin’ about you baby.” his hips jerk up to meet his fist, tip flushing a deeper red, skin rubbing raw with how fast he’s jerking off. 

“i can’t wait to see you again,” hollis starts, words hitting like a punch as he keeps trying to hold back his noise. “i wanna spend hours opening you up. make you come on my fingers, on my tongue—” he moans loud at the thought, hips twitching and hand pumping faster. “i’m gonna fuck you so good…gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t take it any more, then i’ll keep going.” 

his words are becoming more strained, and the fist around his cock is gripping tight, working soley on his tip. the moans he lets out are boardering on pornographic, high-pitched and desperate between each breath. you can tell he’s getting close — you catch it before he says anything.

“fuck, ‘m gonna come baby — shit. wish you could be here to take all of it, every last drop.” his legs spread and his knees buckle, hips rising from the mattress. his moans come out strangled and labored, and he’s repeating, “yes, yes, please—” over and over until he tips over that edge.

hollis comes with a deep groan, your name on his lips as thick ropes of cum coat his abdomen. his breathing becoming erratic as he bites back the whimpers of overstimulation, stroking himself through his orgasm. when he finally comes down, he teases you about needing to “clean up the mess you made,” you can hear the faint whisper of “i fuckin’ love you.” before the video ends.

taglist ᝰ.ᐟ | @777lifeline @hollisangel @s7nburn @tempified @bexszlut @ddlydevotion @ilovenettspend @cryptxicdoll @teenagesoldiers

[neo-novaa]

thinking about bf!hollis sending you videos while he's on tour...ᥫ᭡

“i miss you so fuckin’ much…” his voice is crisp, lips close to the mic of his phone as hollis angles the camera south. his slender fingers pump his cock, pale skin stark against the flushed red tip. he’s barely got his boxers off, the waistband sitting at the peak of his thighs. with every stroke his breath is getting more ragged, more pitchy — he’s struggling to keep his phone in place.

he’s holding back, keeping a slow pace, fighting the urge to buck his hips and start fucking into his own hand. hollis swipes a thumb over his tip to collect the precum, trying lubricate his hand. it’s wildly unsuccessful, and you can hear the rough skin-on-skin as he keeps jerking himself raw. 

“wish you could be here to touch me — fuck,” he’s going faster now, bated breath ringing in your ears. “i wish i could feel your hands all over my body, makin’ me feel so good, like it’s your fuckin’ job — like you were born to take me.” you swear you can see his dick twitch, and you can hear how worked up he’s getting from his own words. heavy breaths have turned to pitchy moans, his fingers working at his sensitive, aching tip. there’s so much pre coming out, glistening in the dim lighting of his bedside lamp.

hollis fails to silence himself, moaning loud with every stroke, quietly pleaing under every breath. “you don’t even know what you do to me, got me so worked up just thinkin’ about you baby.” his hips jerk up to meet his fist, tip flushing a deeper red, skin rubbing raw with how fast he’s jerking off. 

“i can’t wait to see you again,” hollis starts, words hitting like a punch as he keeps trying to hold back his noise. “i wanna spend hours opening you up. make you come on my fingers, on my tongue—” he moans loud at the thought, hips twitching and hand pumping faster. “i’m gonna fuck you so good…gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t take it any more, then i’ll keep going.” 

his words are becoming more strained, and the fist around his cock is gripping tight, working soley on his tip. the moans he lets out are boardering on pornographic, high-pitched and desperate between each breath. you can tell he’s getting close — you catch it before he says anything.

“fuck, ‘m gonna come baby — shit. wish you could be here to take all of it, every last drop.” his legs spread and his knees buckle, hips rising from the mattress. his moans come out strangled and labored, and he’s repeating, “yes, yes, please—” over and over until he tips over that edge.

hollis comes with a deep groan, your name on his lips as thick ropes of cum coat his abdomen. his breathing becomes erratic as he bites back the whimpers of overstimulation, stroking himself through his orgasm. when he finally comes down, he teases you about needing to “clean up the mess you made,” you can hear the faint whisper of “i fuckin’ love you.” before the video ends.

taglist ᝰ.ᐟ | @777lifeline @hollisangel @s7nburn @tempified @bexszlut @ddlydevotion @ilovenettspend @cryptxicdoll @teenagesoldiers

[neo-novaa]

this picture of 2 and conceal....#thinking

[neo-novaa]

conceal antihumanform i was unfamiliar with your game,.....

[neo-novaa]

this picture is soooo bf hollis who sends u “fit checks” when he’s on tour but every “fit” is him half-naked and trying to get u all hot and bothered

[neo-novaa]

── real love

summary: The fans think you’re dating. Why not give them what they want? It’s just publicity…until it isn’t.

• 2hollis/fem!reader

tags: smut (18+), fake dating, dom!hollis, orgasm denial/edging, overstim, friends to lovers, you’re both oblivious to each other’s feelings

wc: 4k

──

It starts with a post. Classic 21st century love story.

You tinker around on Bandlab, crank out an earworm that’s been nagging at you. Then one night you’re wasted and the liquid courage (or stupidity, rather) gets you to post the snippet on your Instagram, shaky camerawork and all.

In your hungover state, the weak rays of sun feel like they’re incinerating your optic nerve. You groan. Fumble for your phone. The screen flickers on to display more notifications than you’ve ever seen in your life. Jesus, what happened?

The top comment stands out to you.

@ 2hollis: shits dope.

You click the profile.

Shit.

He’s gorgeous.

And he makes hyperpop, just your taste. Yeah. That’s what you noticed first. Not…that.

You swipe to see a message from him, taunting you. Tempting and terrifying.

@ 2hollis: saw ur video and i love ur vision. want help finishing that song?

Your fingers work faster than your mind. Yes, of course.

God, you were in trouble.

He calls you while you’re dancing around the kitchen and dreaming up some vocals. He convinces you to get Ableton and smooth talks you through the price tag. He knows how to talk the talk, but he walks the walk.

Layer, splice, blend. You drop the EP, quit your job. It’s all surreal. He calls you at inopportune times to talk music and derives inspiration from the most fascinating things.

“I wish I could pick apart your brain,” you find yourself saying, as he’s tapping on a colander for a track he’s working on.

“Consider your wish granted,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

The next day, you find Hollis in your apartment. He teases you for your kitchen dancing while bouncing around between every track edit.

“How’s this?” he asks, as you’re supposed to be working. Not a single monitor is still awake. “Do you think people will like it?” Hollis makes a V with his fingers and sticks his tongue through the crevice.

You groan. He wiggles his tongue for good measure. And her, you can’t tear your eyes away, and he knows.

Hollis has a shit-eating grin that makes you want to kiss it off him and punch him simultaneously. “How about this?” He flicks his tongue in a new motion—tight circles, rather than long lathes through the air. It makes your tummy do flips in ways you don’t want to think about.

“It’s…” and your heart whines when he pushes his hair back behind his ears. He draws his tongue along his teeth, eyes never leaving yours, before sticking it out cartoonishly.

“Yeah, that’ll really get the crowd going,” you deadpan. He laughs.

“I don’t care about the crowd. I care about you,” he says, equally as serious. You’re fiddling with a glass but he’s dead still and you can’t tell which or neither of you mean what you say.

“What do you mean?”

Tentatively, Hollis clasps his hands together. “I care about what you think,” he says simply, leaning back on the couch.

You still. He’s a breath away from you, the soft humming of the overheating laptop the sole thing grounding you. His cologne settles over you, heady and irresistible and so characteristically him.

“I care about you too,” you say, after far too long of a pause.

The next few months pass in a blur. Write, produce, meet Hollis, perform your first shows, nearly double down laughing when you see him headbanging in the front row.

One quiet night, he rises to his feet and paces around the room. The distance does little to quiet your nerves. You start the track again and his soft laugh blends into the ambience, the plucky arps tinkling from the screen.

Pause. “That was nice.”

Hollis looks over at you. “Yeah, that intro sounds great.”

“No, I…I like how your laugh sounds with the track. It’s soft. A nice contrast to the punchier sound we have going on.”

“Add it.”

You blink. “Well, I can’t force you to laugh again, that’d be fake.”

Hollis has a shit-eating grin. Oh, no. Never a good sign. He strides over to the couch in quick steps and stands in front of you.

“Yes?”

Before you can react, his hands are attacking your sides, tickling you until you wheeze and kick against his hold. “Stop, dude!” You’ve fallen over into your back, squirming violently while he cages you with his arms.

He pulls his hands back. Turns the mic on. “Sorry. Your turn.”

You reach up and return the favor twice as hard. He flails around unceremoniously while you get at the backs of his knees, sides, anywhere you can get at. He seizes and falls back against the couch, before sneaking a hand up to poke you as hard as he can in the stomach—giving him the opening to flip you back beneath him. By the end, you have a solid sample, and his arms and knees are bridging either side of you.

“Hi.” It’s barely a whisper, but your lungs are in a twist.

“Hi,” you reply simply. And look away, forcing a fake cough.

Hollis pries himself off you, settling down besides you once more. “Let’s add that in.”

You concentrate intently on the music for the rest of the time. Neither of you mentions what happened again.

A few weeks later, and your first official album is released. You wait with baited breath, pacing around your apartment, watching as the feedback comes in. Take a walk outside and meander aimlessly for an hour. Run all your errands half-heartedly, half-frenzied, and take your bike out instead of driving. It’s good, it’s my art, it doesn’t matter what they think. I’m proud of it. Hollis is, too. Fuck, not Hollis again. You need to stop thinking about him. God, you wonder what he’s up to.

You take a deep breath as you open the front door, cracking open your laptop.

There’s a million notifs staring back at you, and all of them are about Hollis. The fans are going crazy.

IS THAT 2HOLLIS’S LAUGH, someone comments. With a lot of traction. People are dissecting your lyrics, pointing out how they hint at a secret romance, while others say that you might just be friends. It’s not any different that him and Rommulas making shit together, one person says.

Most of the feedback is praise. Much of it is also asking about you and Hollis. You open Twitter, against your better judgment, to see what the people there have to say.

Trending in the sidebar: 2hollis girlfriend.

Well, shit.

Within a few days, your number of listeners has skyrocketed, as does Hollis’s. Rumors sell, you suppose.

Hollis calls you that night, giggling. “Did you see what they’re saying online?”

“Yeah. They think we’re dating.”

He goes silent for a moment. “You know, it wouldn’t be bad for publicity. Not saying I’m using you, or don’t care about you, but like. People like to talk.”

Your heart skips a beat. You force the feeling down. “Sure,” you say hesitantly.

“You sure?” His voice is cautious, a lilt of reassurance embedded within. “We don’t have to. Just thought it’d be fun. Keep ‘em guessing without confirming anything.”

You agree more confidently this time. Hollis giggles. The two of you awkwardly lay ground rules and agree to keep your relationship publicly undefined, so it doesn’t get too weird.

“See you around…girlfriend.”

“See you around, boyfriend.” And you hang up.

The stuffy, summer heat clings to your skin as you wait backstage at Lollapalooza. You take a shot out of Hollis’s flask, waiting for your queue.

The lights dim. The chatter in the audience quiets slightly. “This next song was one of my favorites to produce, and I am so happy to have made it with this person. They’re very special to me, and I’m so glad we met.”

Hollis flicks his eyes over to you. “Give it up for them!” You run on stage. He sweeps you into a hug, twirling you in the air before setting you down. The crowd goes wild.

The lights immediately rain down on you as the instrumental starts. His laugh thunders in the speakers, and you recall the moment when it was recorded. The way he looked at you. The way it felt.

Hollis nods at you, and you begin your verse. The mosh pit already tightens up.

The lyrics flow through the crowd in waves, but all you can focus on is his smile. He dances across the stage with you, never not looking at you. Cameras loom in your face from afar, but in that moment, you could care less. It was just your music and him.

“Hey!” he shouts, as the song comes to a close. As the synth dies out, his eyes flutter, half-lidded and searching yours for a sign of confirmation. Screaming floods your ears, but when he inches in, it all goes silent.

The kiss is messy and inelegant and slightly drunken, but when he pulls back, you can feel the longing in his gaze.

“Hollis,” you say, hardly more than a whisper. “I really, really like you.” Before you can reach, his lips crash into yours again, his hands wrapping around your waist.

You’re both breathing heavily when you pull away. He yanks the mic off.

“Good job, girlfriend,” he teases.

Your heart sinks, remembering your agreement. “Yeah, you too. Good luck with the rest of your set.” You walk off, facing away from the crowd as you blink back tears.

As expected, the kiss goes viral. Like, mega-viral. You see clips of it from every angle, in slo-mo, and all the comments talking about the way you guys looked at each other, how love is real and how cute you guys are. You get stopped in the street and asked about it, and per course, you just smile and say nothing about the status of your relationship.

Thoughts of him swimming in your head, you start writing a new song. It’s much more explicit than your other tracks. You start singing your shameful secret out loud, about how you wondered what would’ve happened if no one was there, if his hands had dropped just a little bit lower. If he’d kept kissing you. All the things you wanted him to do to you. All the things you wanted to do with him, the stupid dates, waking up together, being together.

Hollis comes to your apartment to work on his next song, said he needed help with mixing. After deliberating for a bit, you agree.

He sits next to you, stiff as a board. You don’t talk very much, and you especially don’t discuss what happened at the show.

“Hollis?” you say, voice slightly cracking. He peers over at you.

“Yeah?”

You inch ever-so-slightly closer to him, every shift of your body tinged with guilt and longing and fascination. More, you needed more.

He leans in, just a fraction, and you quickly turn your head back to the screen.

“I, uh, wanted your feedback on this song I’ve been working on.” Before you can stop yourself, you open up the track, stashed away in a secret folder.

“Very protected,” he muses. “What are you hiding?”

The track comes to life. You sit there, drowning in dread as all of your secrets come out. He nods along to the beat, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

The laptop goes quiet.

“So yeah. That’s the, uh, that’s what I’ve been working on.”

You steal a glimpse at him and notice him staring.

“Fuck it,” he groans. “I want you.” And longing glances become stolen air, desperate kisses, the two of you falling onto each other. “I want you,” you tell him between kisses, and he only moans in response. Low and gritty and barely veiling desperation, like he was sinking his teeth into Pandora’s box.

“This is such a bad idea,” he groans between kisses. “But I don’t give a damn.” And how could he with the way that your bodies melded together, his kisses showering you like stars. His thumb strokes your cheek, and you swear you understand why astronomers thought the sun was the center of the universe. He’s beautiful. Blinding. His smile is bathed in light, and even with takeout stains on his shirt, nothing could make you as enchanted as him in that moment.

“I can’t stop looking at you,” he confesses. “You’re so beautiful.”

“You are.” You poke his nose.

“No, you.” He grins, closing the distance once more. “Be my girlfriend, for real?”

“Of course.”

Hollis smiles into the kiss, gently planting your hands above your head. His hands travel down your sides, teasing the hem of your shirt before coming back up to cup your face.

“Best girlfriend ever,” he says, pinching your cheeks.

“Best boyfriend ever.”

His lips travel to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses into the skin, before lightly sucking. You whine.

“Mm, you like that?”

He shifts his hips, grinning when you elicit the same response.

“You’re so cute.”

He sucks hard on your skin, and you cry out.

“Wanna hear that pretty sound again.”

He nips at your neck harder this time, causing you to fully arch into him. Your hands trace the line of his abs up his shirt, and he swats your hands away.

“Patience. I want to take my time with you.”

His eyes flit up at you, silently asking for permission as his hands slide up your shirt. You nod.

He kisses up your stomach to your chest, leaving a trail of fire. You rut your hips against his as his mouth latches onto one of your breasts, swirling his tongue around.

“Pretty fuckin’ tits for a pretty girl,” he says, crashing your lips into yours once more. You claw at his back, silently begging him to take his shirt off, and he complies.

“Please, Hollis,” you beg. “Need you.”

“Fuck, I love the way you sound right now.” You’re yanking off each others’ clothes in a mess, hands fumbling with belts and zippers and buttons.

Hollis lines himself up with your entrance, his tip flushed and leaking. You’re so wet that he pushes in with ease, both of you sighing as he bottoms out.

“You feel so good,” he moans, slowly easing in and out. “So fucking good. My pretty girl.” You arch your back into him, whining so loudly he has to clamp a hand over your mouth.

“Shh, don’t want the neighbors to complain,” he says. “Although I wouldn’t mind if they knew how good I was fucking my girl.” He thrusts into you hard, and tears well up in your eyes.

“Please, please,” you beg, muffled by his hand. He groans into your ear, angling his hips in a way that has you seeing stars.

“So pretty,” he gasps, “so, so pretty.” His other hand presses down on your stomach, and you swear you can feel him moving in and out of you. He swears loudly when you clench around him, throwing your legs over his shoulders. The new angle makes you tremble, his pace unrelenting. The stench of sex and sweat and cologne fill your senses, and the sounds you’re making are almost embarrassing.

His hand travels from your stomach to your clit, drawing slow circles with the pad of his thumb. “Feels good, yeah?” You let out a garbled sound that barely sounds human. “You’re doing so good for me, my good girl. My girl.” He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust.

“Yours,” you gasp, mesmerized by the way his brows scrunch up, sweat-slicked hair falling in your face. “All yours, Hollis.” He looks down, breath catching at the ring of white pearling at the base of his dick.

“Look at you,” he says, still mesmerized by the sight. “Look at what a mess you’re making on me.” His thumb moves faster on your clit, experimenting with the pressure until he finds just the one you like. Your tummy clenches, that familiar wave of pleasure amping up in you.

“Can’t help it, can’t, you feel so good, don’t stop.” You’re a rambling, incoherent mess, mascara smudged on your cheeks, hair askew, tits bouncing up and down as he fucks into you.

“You gonna cum?” You nod rapidly, pushing your hips up into his fingers. He retracts his touch, slowly sliding out of you as you squirm and complain.

Hollis shushes you. Smooths your hair. “Not yet, baby. Like I said, I want to take my time with you.”

Slowly, he slides a finger into you, curling it as he lathes his tongue lazily on your clit. You fall back in a sea of breathless whimpers. The ache in your tummy blossoms once more, which does not go unnoticed by him. He retracts his fingers once more, and you sob.

“Please, please, please, Hollis, let me cum, need it so bad. Please.” His face softens as he slowly lowers his lips back to your stomach, kissing his way back down. He wastes no time sucking your clit and swirling his tongue in your hole, groaning louder and louder as your whines intensify. You prop yourself up on your arms, wanting to see him, touch him, feel him, and instantly collapse when you see him rutting into the couch, leaving a wet stain on the fabric.

“Go on, pretty girl. Cum for me.” Your eyes roll back as you fall over the edge, whining his name in incoherent pauses, Hol-lis, oh, Hollis. He kisses your center sweetly before crawling back up.

His face is covered in cum, lashes glistening with wetness. “I need you,” he groans. “I need you so bad.”

He positions himself back at your entrance, and you squirm, the sensitivity from your last orgasm lingering. Hollis kisses your nose, sincerity in his eyes. “Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” You agree.

Hollis sets an unrelenting pace. You squirm and cry under him, the pain morphing into raw, unadulterated pleasure. His breathing becomes unsteady, kissing you sloppily as he nearly keels.

“Fuck, baby, feel so good. I’m gonna cum, let me-” but before he can continue, you wrap your legs around him.

“Cum inside me,” you breathe, crazed and delirious. “Need it so bad, please.”

With a moan so loud it could be considered a scream, Hollis cums, continuing to fuck you until you’re both sobbing and twitching from overstimulation.

He collapses with a grunt. “Heavy,” you complain, and he shakily leaves, returning with a towel and water.

He strokes your face tenderly. “How do you feel?” You give him a weak thumbs up, which he laughs at.

“Me too.”

Soon enough, Hollis releases a surprise track about you. It’s catchy and very his style, but the lyrics exude sweetness.

You smile and comment, shits dope.

[neo-novaa]

twitter found my blog.

[neo-novaa]

do not join 2hollistwt worst mistake of my LIFE!!!

[neo-novaa]

making my twitter debut rn

[neo-novaa]

wdym there was a twitter space reading 2hollis fanfiction last night.

[neo-novaa]

hey guys…..something is happening….

[neo-novaa]

Hi we missed u just know ur very cool and we hope everything in life works out well for u {*>*} stay awesome twin

aww tysm >.< u are too sweet <2

[neo-novaa]

YESSSS YES YESSS!!!!

hmmm thinking about princess reader sneaking out to meet knight hollis on palace grounds. i wonder what mischief they would get up to in those woods, far beyond what any eyes could see…

WHITE HORSE

summary ; unable to sleep, you sneak out of your chambers to the woods, where you find a lost horse and a wounded knight.

warnings / tags ; knight!hollis x princess!reader au, secret situationship, love triangle, depictions of beatings, gore, blood, and open wounds, somewhat modern dialect in a regal time period, bring back pathetic yearning !!!! not proofread sry

full credit to @qiyokulove for this idea , the genius that you are ♡

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄, you lie painfully awake in your bed. a bed far too big for one body, with a frilly canopy and engraved cherrywood posts. a gold mirror at your vanity was catching the moonlight in your peripheral. you'd told your father, the king, you had preferred silver. it didn't really matter what you thought. the king worked the kingdom's goldsmith nearly to death, creating every decoration you could think of. it was gaudy―your entire room, the entire castle. gold plates, gold thrones, gold bathtubs. all it. sometimes you'd look out your window at night and wish on whatever constellation, it didn't matter, for someone or something to take you away from all this. maybe it was selfish. in fact, it was selfish. you had the perfect life. people bowed to you, prayed to you, worshiped you. but you couldn't justify it. not with your father cutting off his subject's heads for saying the wrong thing and starving peasants so that the royal family can stay fed. and you just watched it all happen from your throne per the order of the king. if you flinched, teared up, made even the slightest expression of empathy....you'd be locked in your chambers for days, sometimes weeks. the very thought of that happening again made your eyes well up and throat taught. you roll over in bed, allowing the tears to trickle along your nose bridge and temple.

suddenly, the sound of heavy galloping in the distance breaks you from your sorrow. you sit up, wiping your tears and approach your window. in the dead of night it's hard to make out, but you see the tail-end of white horse ride past the palace grounds and into the woods. before you could even register what you were doing, you had your cloak on and a lamp lit in your hand. it was calling to you, the outside...and with a sleeping castle, the time was now. in slow, careful steps, you wade through the corridors as distracted guards murmur amongst themselves. the moments that follow are frenzied. your pulse clamors in your ears with the quick shut of a secret backdoor and your boots scuffing against where the gravel of the palace ends and the grass of the outside land begins.

a premature winter burns your lungs with cold air. the clouds of your breath continued to fan back in your face, fleeting with the trail of hoove prints you follow. at some point down the path, a liquid pools in each indentation of the where the horse had been. kneeling, you shine your lamp with one hand, the other collected some of the liquid onto your index finger. black on the mud, but crimson red as it slides down your skin. blood. his blood. the realization hits you first and then approaching cries and whines of the horse are only confirmation. you stand up slow to not spook the lost horse that stands a foot or two away. she cocks her head and whines again, scared.

“shh, it’s okay, it’s okay…it’s me, see?” you put a gentle hand up and peel off the hood of your cloak. she starts to recognize you, walking closer until she rests her head on the back of your shoulder. “where is he, hm? where’s hollis?” you run your hands along the horse’s neck soothingly, noticing her saddle and harness still on. red droplet of blood drip from her white mane, some blood finding its way down her front leg. “that’s not like him to leave you….” now mumbling to yourself, you mount onto the horse with one swift jump and sweep of your leg. taking the reigns in one hand with your lamp illuminating the path with the other, you click your tongue and nudge her to start galloping. the horse neighs, immediately catching speed through the brush and trees, taking you to her rider. eventually, you find him and it’s everything you were hoping it wouldn’t be. he’s without his armor, white button down shirt stained red in several areas as he hobbles to his hut a few yards down the path. at least that’s what you could see before getting off his horse. the second you jump off, you’re sprinting to him, dropping your lamp. it’s worse than you thought. a giant bloody gash leaks down his eyebrow, while three others on his abdomen start to open up. 

panting, he tries to bow but barely makes it halfway. “ah~! your majesty–”

“no, no, no, stop.” you shake your head, lightly pushing him back up. “don’t do that–you don’t have to do that–christ, hollis. who–wh-when…i-” you’re panicked, shaking erratically as his blood starts to get on your hands. for a second, you feel as though you could faint from the sheer amount of blood. “lean on me, h-here. like this. we need to get you inside, you’re losing too much blood.” you have him wrap an arm around you, which is almost pointless given his unnatrually tall stature. he groans, haphazardly following your footsteps as you two head to his hut, his horse following behind. 

“princess, you shouldn’t be here. especially–mmph–this late…with me. if someone noticies your absence–”

“it was him again, wasn’t it? prince smith?” anger bubbles in the pit of your stomach, yet it somehow always made you cry. you hated it. hot, heavy tears drip down your cheeks, catching the air and turning cold. 

he sighs, mustering up the strength to speak again but it’s proving harder than he expected. in a beat of silence, you kick open the door to his hut, sitting him down at the small kitchen. he lulls his head down, blonde locks covering his face. every inhale he takes cause him to groan, clutching as his abdomen. “shh, shh, i’m gonna make it better. hold on…it’s gonna be okay.” frazzled, you rummage around for anything to wrap his wounds with to no avail. “uh–here.” you slip off your cloak and shawl, leaving you in your white nightgown. 

hollis immediately looks down at the ground, avoiding how much skin you’re showing and how he’d only ever seen this in his drunken dreams. “princess, i think you should–nghh–put your cloak back on…i-it’s cold.”

you ignore him, hastily grabbing a bottle of half drunken alcohol from the counter and pulling a chair next to him. “i’m gonna take this off, okay?” you toy with what buttons remain buttoned on his shirt and he nods, keeping his gaze away from you, like if he doesn’t, he’ll be sent away. with trembling hands you take his soiled shirt off, revealing the wounds that are splayed along his chest and abdomen. sweat and blood shimmer across his abs in the soft light of the lamp. you feel strange for a moment–something in your lower stomach lurching. but you disregard it. his wounds are long and deep, intentional in their placement. “a dagger…?” you ask, but it’s more of a statement. 

“and a fist to t-the–mmph–face…your fiance g-got me good…lots of rings on his hands–ah.” 

“i don’t understand…what was his reason this time?” you grab your cloak, dabbing it with some alcohol. 

“he caught me s-staring at you–ah–during supper…it was m-my fault–mmmhhh~” his breath catches in his throat, whimpering at the first sting of alcohol in the open wound.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry…” you coo, taking his reaching hand, intertwining fingers. “i have to keep going, okay?” he nods again, swallowing thickly. continuing your ministrations, you’re able to clean almost all his wounds, leaving the largest one across his chest. 

“i’ll break your hand.” he mumbles, letting go of yours in preparation for what’s to come. he’d accept pain like this a million times over, just as long as you didn’t feel any. 

“i’ll try to be quick, promise.” squinting at the severity of the wound, you brace yourself. it was hard to be precise when your hands wouldn’t keep still. you stalled, barely tilting the bottle, the liquid sliding, but not leaving the spout. you couldn’t do it. you just couldn’t. 

weakly, hollis reaches so his hand ghosts over yours, holding the bottle. “don’t be scared, princess.” he whispers, his voice was like velvet. there it was again–that feeling lower within you. what was it? were you ill? surely, from seeing all this blood…”c-christ !–ah–princess…” hollis mewls, the first drop settling underneath his skin. another drop. worse. much worse. “mmphh–mmph–ah–!” he groans. but when you try to set down the bottle, he forces you to continue pouring. one last drop. that’s when it happened. “oh, fuck–!” he  slammed the bottle down on the table and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the crest of your lower neck. you jumped at the abrupt noise, but are quick to to console him. 

“it’s over, all done…shh, shh, shh…s’okay…i’m here….i’m right here.” gently, you run a hand across the back of his head, weaving your fingers through his long hair. you almost never saw it down. it was always kept tucked away under his helmet. such a shame, you thought. 

“...you really did look so beautiful tonight…” hollis murmurs against the neckline of your nightgown. every couple words, you could feel his lips on your collarbone. his loss of blood seem to temporarily hinder his sensibility from earlier. you didn’t mind. albeit distracting from your attempts at wrapping his wounds with ripped pieces of your shawl.

“shh, you don’t have to speak. it’s o–”

“you must forgive me…for the staring….i was trying to memorize your face….it sounds odd, i know…..but i like to see you…even when you’re not here…...if they ever take me away–”

“don’t say that.” you couldn’t bear the thought.

“when you’re his….” he starts and stops. you can feel his jaw clench, as you look down at the engagement ring on your left hand. “he can beat me to a pulp everyday, princess, i don’t care….but, he can’t take the memory of you away from me….i’ll always have that.”

“hollis…” your heart ached at his candor. every word coated in the utmost tenderness. that was the thing about hollis, he always meant what he said to you. 

he’s quiet for some time, recovering from the pain, selfishly resting against your frame. if you could, you’d stay at the table all night for him. you’d let him fall asleep against your chest, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. but you both know that couldn’t happen. only in dreams…

“thank you for returning maud to me.” he finally spoke, lifting his head and sitting back in his chair.

you smiled, peering out the window where his horse laid down to sleep. “she found me out of nowhere, it was incredible.”

“she’s always taken such a liking to you…..i suppose we both have…” he half-grins at the memory of your first time here, meeting maud, going down to the river and almost kissing…that was when it still felt like such a novelty to be together. it was new, exciting. no prince smith. no arranged marriage. no nightly beatings in the stable after dark. the sun was bright and the air was almost hopeful. 

those days are long gone, though. every time was risk. and every time you’d tell him it was the last. and yet….there you were, asleep in his little bed as he held you close. the morning sun peaked through the cracks under the door. an invitation to stay. a warning to go.

taglist ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა | @odessa444 @222eenagesoldier @chectah @neo-novaa @mmjhh1998 @ddlydevotion @sturns-mermaid @777lifeline @tempified

is it obvious i like writing au's better yes or no

[neo-novaa]

writers block has been fucking me in the ass for the past month …i should just deactivate

[neo-novaa]

clingy hollis !!

꒰     clingy       ୨୧          2hollis x femreader     ꒱ 

warnings / tags ; sfw + nsfw allusions, established relationship, i could make a million of these i love bf hollis sm

clingy!hollis who gives you a kiss on the hand and/or forehead when sees and leaves you. this is nonnegotiable, it's become a cute habit of his. "wait, c'mere."

clingy!hollis who always always always has an arm wrapped around your shoulder when you two walk together. he likes to keep you close, especially when making a public appearance ― things can get hectic and people are weird, so he likes to be holding on to you at all times. it also calms him immensely, having you as an anchor of sorts.

clingy!hollis who likes to have you on his lap when he's working on his computer. he'll narrate what he's doing, even though you've watched him make a song a million times. he's just counting on you staying for the millionth time.

clingy!hollis who texts you....a lot.....he'll deny it to any of his friends but he loves giving you little updates via voice note. it could literally be, "hey, baby....just finished the second song with nate....now we're gonna get lunch-uh, lemme know if you want anything....okay, i love you. so much. okay. bye. love you." he even texts you when he's driving, he does not gaf, he's obsessed with you.

clingy!hollis who does in fact have a black&white picture of you in his wallet like it's 1952. it's that serious for him. he'll look at it when he's on tour, missing you :,( he has....other....pictures of you, but those stay in a locked album on his phone.

clingy!hollis who likes resting his head in your lap during movie night. if you play with his hair or rub his back, he's a goner. bonus points if you have acrylics. that shit drives him wild.

clingy!hollis who needs a hand on your thigh while he's driving. he'll rub and squeeze the skin, creeping closer to where you both want him to be. it's almost always the wrong time though and you have to tell him to wait. he can't ― well, he can. he just really doesn't want to.

clingy!hollis who loves spooning, especially after sex. the skin to skin contact is what he craves. it's so intimate for him; whispering in your ear, lips kissing your neck, playing with your hair, holding you as if you're going to vanish into the thin air if he doesn't. if you try to get up, he'll beg―and i mean beg you to stay. "please, baby, don't.....jus' stay....stay, stay, stay, stay....bed's so cold without you....need you...."

clingy!hollis who is the #1 hugger from behind. while you're cooking, on the phone, doing your makeup, etc. he loves you're completely focused on something. he likes distracting you because he is a tease through and though. he'll give you the sluttiest kiss on the neck or pinch your hip just enough for you to turn around and give him the attention he wants.

layout creds to @/sturnsflirt

taglist ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა | @odessa444 @222eenagesoldier @chectah @neo-novaa @mmjhh1998 @ddlydevotion

just a lil smth to get back in the swing of things