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bl3upi3 · 12 days ago

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Something About Hollis

Check out part 2

Summary: While in New York for a Miu Miu campaign, rising artist Y/N shares a spontaneous beat on her Instagram story catching the attention of underground favorite 2Hollis. What starts as a simple DM turns into an unexpected late-night call.

A/N: Short 2Hollis one-shot. Not sure if I’m gonna turn it into a full fic or a series yet.

You’ve been a music artist on the scene for about two years now, blowing up thanks to TikTok. You’ve been making music for as long as you can remember, starting with the basics like piano and guitar. But when you discovered the underground scene, you wanted your music to be more creative, more experimental. You had some monthly listeners, but you really blew up about a year ago after that feature with Jane Remover.

Jane found you and your music really interesting. Your lyrics were meaningful, and your art felt genuinely beautiful. She discovered you by chance, stumbling across one of your TikToks and reached out wanting to collaborate. It changed everything for you: more recognition, more listeners, and now a solid fanbase.

Recently, you opened for one of Charli XCX’s concerts, and that’s when everything really changed. You had to get a real manager because so many companies and artists wanted to collaborate with you. It was overwhelming at first. You still played in underground clubs sometimes, even for free it was a strategic move, keeping your roots while navigating the industry.

One day, while you're in New York City for a Miu Miu shoot for their latest campaign, you post a messy beat on your Instagram story, just something to entertain your fans while you wait for the makeup artist to finish. Out of curiosity, you start checking the replies for feedback. That’s when you notice a DM from a verified account: “this goes stupid. u tryna build on it?” You check the @ it’s from 2Hollis. You pause, squint at the name, and realize you’ve seen it before in some TikTok comment section.

Isn’t that the guy all the girls have been talking about lately? Something like, “my white tiger” type shit? you think to yourself.

You turn to the makeup artist.

“Do you know 2Hollis?” you ask.

She pauses, brush in hand, then raises her eyebrows.

“Obviously. Who doesn’t? He’s like, TikTok’s favorite sadboy.”

You hum, glancing back at the DM. You didn’t expect him to reach out.

You tap out a reply without overthinking it: “yeah sure. u got something in mind?”

You lock your phone and lean back in the chair as the makeup artist starts on your eyeliner. But your mind’s somewhere else now half curious, half suspicious. You’ve seen artists reach out before just to ride a wave. But something about the way he worded it felt casual, unbothered. Like he wasn’t chasing anything.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes again.

“i got this loop i’ve been sitting on. think you’d sound crazy on it. can i send?”

You unlock your phone again, typing back: “send it.”

Not even thirty seconds later, there’s a Dropbox link sitting in your inbox. You throw your AirPods in and press play, eyes half-lidded as the track builds. It’s glitchy, dark, and oddly soft around the edges like it's falling apart on purpose. The drums stutter in weird places, the synths warped just enough to feel like a memory.

Huh. He’s good.

You listen to it again. And again. By the third play, you’ve already opened your voice notes app and started humming something over the chorus.

You don’t even bother being formal. You shoot him a voice memo: “okay wait. this is actually sick. let me sketch something out tonight.”

You expect him to leave you on seen or at least take a while to respond. Instead, it’s instant: “bet. i’m around if you wanna hop on a call.”

Call? You stare at your phone like it’s got a second head. No one calls anymore. Especially not for music stuff not unless they’re old school or serious.

You stare at the message, thumb hovering over your screen. A call? In the middle of a Miu Miu campaign shoot? Not happening.

“i’m not available right now but tonight if that’s okay w you,” you reply.

“yeah cool. i’ll be around.”

You put your phone face-down on the vanity and exhale. The makeup artist’s almost done now, dusting shimmer along your cheekbones like she’s painting armor. But your head’s buzzing not with fashion, not with flashing cameras, but with that loop.

Later that night, when the shoot's wrapped and your heels are finally off, you're sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed with your laptop open and mic set up beside you. You press record and start sketching layering in harmonies, mumbling half-finished lyrics that don’t make sense yet but feel right.

There’s something easy about the track. Like it’s pulling something out of you you didn’t realize was there.

At 11:12 PM, you send him a rough snippet. Nothing too polished just enough to show you’re taking it seriously.

Not even five minutes later, your phone rings.

You hesitate for a second, then swipe to answer.

“Yo,” his voice comes through, low and a little grainy. Background noise filters in too, someone laughing, the faint hum of music, the unmistakable sound of a lighter flicking.

“Hey,” you say, settling back into your pillows.“Didn’t expect you to actually call this fast.”

“Didn’t expect you to actually send something this good,” he shoots back, smooth but not in a fake way. “You sound fire on it already.”

You hear another voice in the background deeper, louder.

“Tell her it’s the loop of the year!” someone yells, clearly not knowing or caring that you’re on the line.

Hollis sighs. “Ignore him. That’s Roman. He thinks everything I make is ‘loop of the year.’”

You smirk. “Right. You got a whole committee back there or something?”

Another voice chimes in, this one cooler, more deadpan. “Nah, just a couple of degenerates with good ears. You’re talking to Conceal, by the way.”

“Hi… Conceal,” you say, unsure if you're supposed to know him.

Hollis cuts back in. “Anyway. I meant to say I’ve actually been keeping an eye on your stuff for a while.”

That catches you off guard. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Think the first thing I heard was that Jane track. Someone had posted a clip of it on Twitter. Then I checked your page and you were just… making weird, beautiful shit. Real different. It stuck with me.”

You pause, fingers brushing over the edge of your laptop. There’s a lot of fake praise in the industry. Hollow compliments dressed in lowercase cool. But he doesn’t sound like he’s selling you anything.

“I figured you probably had no idea who I was,” he adds, and there’s a little laugh in his voice now. “Which, honestly, kinda made me want to reach out more.”

“I’d heard of you,” you admit. “TikTok girls were thirsting over you.”

You hear Roman immediately burst out laughing in the background. “Let’s goooo! She clocked you, bro.”

Hollis groans. “Please. Don’t feed into that.”

“You are kind of infamous,” you tease, letting the corner of your mouth curve into a smirk. “Some of those edits are crazy. Like…”

“Jesus Christ,” Hollis mutters. “I swear I just breathe and someone turns it into a fan cam.”

“Sounds exhausting,” you say, not entirely sarcastic.

“It is,” he replies. Then softer, “But the music’s what matters. Everything else is noise.”

There’s a small silence between you, like a low tide pulling back.

You glance at the track still open on your laptop. “Well, for what it’s worth… I get it. That loop? It’s not just cool. It feels like something. Like you meant it.”

For a second, you think he won’t respond. Then: “I did.”

In the background, Conceal says, way too casually, “This whole phone call feels like a slow-burn A24 scene.”

You laugh out loud, sharp and real. “Okay, who are you guys?”

“Artists,” Roman replies. “Annoying ones. But artists.”

You lean back into your pillows again, voice softer now. “Cool. Well… I’m glad you reached out.”

“Me too,” Hollis says. Then: “You free tomorrow?”

“No,” you say, stretching your legs out on the bed. “I’m kind of busy with that whole Fashion Week stuff.”

“Ohhh, Fashion Week,” Roman says, dragging it out like a tease. “She’s fancy.”

“So you also a model?” Hollis asks, voice curious but not mocking.

You roll your eyes, even though no one can see it. “Not exactly. Brands just like putting me in weird clothes and calling it a vision.”

“Sounds like modeling,” Conceal mutters.

You shrug. “I guess. I just show up, wear the fits, smile like I know what I’m doing, and pray I don’t trip on the runway.”

“That’s real artistry,” Roman deadpans.

You laugh. “Yeah, I’m basically couture’s clown.”

“Nah,” Hollis says, and his tone shifts just slightly. “You’re kind of everywhere right now. Music, fashion, all of it. But it doesn’t feel… fake. You still sound like yourself.”

That hits unexpectedly deep. You blink, caught off guard by how sincere it sounds.

“Thanks,” you say, quieter. “I try.”

There’s a pause, like the air just got a little thicker.

“Alright,” Hollis says, breaking it gently, “then we’ll figure it out. When you’re done being New York’s most stylish menace, pull up to the studio. No pressure.”

You smile to yourself, biting your lip a little. “Yeah. I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

“Cool,” he says. “Sleep well, superstar.”

The call ends, but your phone stays in your hand a moment longer.

#fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #2hollis #rommulas #conceal #222 #2hollis x reader #2hollis fic #2hollis fluff

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bl3upi3 · 11 days ago

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Loop of the Year

This one-shot is part of a series. You don’t need to read the rest to enjoy it, but you can check it out here if you want.

A/N: Not proofread. Also, not sure about writing smut, it feels kind of off writing about a real person. But let me know what you think.

Word count : 3,020

Summary: After a viral collab and a magnetic onstage performance, you and rising artist 2Hollis find yourselves pulled into a whirlwind of attention, rumors, and undeniable chemistry. When the internet begins shipping you two, it’s all noise… until it's not. A chance run-in at a Rick Owens afterparty reignites the spark, leading to a night of unreleased tracks, honest conversations, and a kiss that changes everything.

You and Hollis finished the song, but neither of you really talked about the collab afterward. You’d been in the studio with him on and off for a few weeks, but your schedule stayed packed so you never had much time to hang out with him or his friends, even though you both clearly wanted to.

You kept in touch mostly through Instagram. He’d reply to your stories or like your posts, little things here and there.

Then he left for a European tour. When he came back, he hit you up saying he wanted to perform your collab live. At first, you were skeptical. But he reassured you the song was fire, and he was convinced it was going to blow up. You liked performing your music, but you didn’t really know Hollis’s fanbase or how they’d react to you.

A few days later, you found yourself backstage at a small but packed venue in Silver Lake, the kind of place where the crowd screams every lyric like a personal prayer. The setlist was taped to the floor. Your name was sharpied in next to his, halfway through the set.

You watched from the side as Hollis took the stage, energy magnetic, voice steady. He made it look effortless. The crowd knew every word, arms up, bodies swaying. You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this kind of intensity.

When it was time, he looked toward you through the stage lights and nodded.

“Special guest tonight,” he said into the mic, half-smiling. “You’ve probably seen her face in a campaign. Maybe heard her voice on something weird and beautiful. Either way, she’s here. And this next one… this one’s ours.”

The cheers were louder than you expected.

You stepped onto the stage, heart thudding. The lights were blinding, the heat immediate. But the second the beat dropped, your nerves melted. The loop hit, the crowd moved, and you sank into the pocket of the song like you’d been performing it forever.

You and Hollis traded verses, chemistry sharp and easy. Every look, every movement between you felt amplified, caught in the flash of someone’s camera, the scream of a fan. When your hook came in, the crowd started singing with you—stumbling on the words, but trying. That was the part that got you.

By the time the track faded out, you were breathless and grinning. Hollis pulled you into a loose one-armed hug, mic still in hand.

“Give it up,” he said, voice echoing through the room, “for someone I’ve been waiting too damn long to do this with.”

After that night, videos from the concert went viral. The song wasn’t even out yet, and people were already begging you to drop it on Spotify. You saw some really sweet tweets people calling it a breath of fresh air, saying it felt like the collab of the year.

Of course, some of his fanbase and yours were annoying. Some claimed you were ruining his career; others said he was just riding the wave of your current hype.

You were at the beach, hanging out with your manager, when she showed you some tweets people shipping you and Hollis, or posting wild theories about how you two were secretly dating. Some even said that was the only reason he’d done such a “trash collab” with you.

You rolled your eyes, half-laughing. “People are insane.”

Your manager handed you her phone. “Insane, but viral. Engagement’s through the roof.”

You scrolled through the tweets some funny, some mean, some weirdly invested. A clip of you and Hollis on stage had already hit a million views. The way he looked at you mid-verse? Yeah, people were running with it.

You tossed the phone onto your towel. “We were literally just performing.”

“Yeah,” she said, squinting at the sun. “But you looked good together. And in this industry, looking good together sells.”

You stared out at the waves, the weight of her words settling in your chest. You hadn’t talked to Hollis since the show. Not really. A couple likes. One “we did that” text. Nothing deep.

But that night on stage wasn’t the last time you and Hollis saw each other and you both knew it.

A new Rick Owens store had just opened in L.A., and both of you were on the guest list. An afterparty was being thrown at a bar not too far from the venue, packed with other artists and influencers.

You showed up with your manager, already a bit tipsy from the champagne flutes passed around at the event. The music was loud, the lighting moody, and everyone was dressed like they were trying not to look like they were trying.

You spotted Hollis across the room almost immediately. He looked good better than he should in that dim light, dressed down in all black, casually leaning against the bar beside Roman and another guy you didn’t recognize, who you later found out was Nate.

He hadn’t seen you yet. Or maybe he had and was just taking his time. Either way, you didn’t move toward him. You stayed where you were, finishing your drink, your manager deep in a conversation with someone from a label.

Eventually, your manager slipped away to say hi to someone from Vogue, and you wandered over to the bar, partly out of curiosity, partly because you were feeling just bold enough to.

Hollis noticed you this time. He turned before you even made it halfway, his eyes locking on you like he’d been expecting it.

He said something to Roman, who smirked and looked at you two like he already knew how the night was going to play out.

“You clean up nice,” Roman called over his drink, eyes dragging down your outfit and back up again. “Didn’t know Rick did angel-core.”

You raised a brow. “Didn’t know you spoke runway.”

“I don’t,” he grinned, licking the rim of his glass. “But I know pretty when I see it.”

Hollis chuckled, shaking his head. “Ignore him. He gets flirty when the lighting’s moody.”

“And the company’s good,” Roman added.

You slid in between the two of them at the bar, ordering something with ginger and lime, feeling the way both their eyes lingered a little too long but not long enough to call out.

“So,” Hollis said, tone casual but his gaze anything but, “you’re just gonna come in here and act like you didn’t blow the roof off last week?”

You laughed. “I think you were the one doing the heavy lifting.”

“Nah,” Roman cut in, sipping his drink. “It was the way you two were looking at each other on stage. Whole room felt it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Were you taking notes?”

“Something like that,” he shrugged. “Just wondering if the chemistry’s part of the performance… or a preview.”

Hollis shot him a look, amused but pointed. Roman just raised both hands like don’t mind me.

You tried to keep a straight face, but your smile betrayed you. “Y’all always like this?”

“Only around people we like,” Hollis said, low.

You held his gaze. “Flattering.”

“True,” he said. “But also true.”

Your drink arrived, cold glass brushing your fingertips. You took a sip, letting the citrus bite pull you back to earth.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked, glancing between them. “Just stand around here flirting with me all night?”

Roman leaned in slightly. “Is that a problem?”

You smirked. “Didn’t say it was.”

Hollis chuckled, eyes never fully leaving yours. “Well, if we’re not just here to flirt, what is the plan?”

You took another sip, letting the silence stretch just enough. “Actually,” you said, setting the glass down, “I’ve been working on something.”

That caught his attention. He tilted his head slightly. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “New project. Real different from what I’ve done before. Rough edges, still weird, but cleaner. Still figuring it out.”

Roman leaned on the bar, clearly eavesdropping. “When you say different, you mean like… industry-approved different or ‘my label hates this but I’m obsessed with it’ different?”

“The second one,” you said with a laugh. “Definitely the second one.”

Hollis’s grin widened. “Now I’m interested.”

“I’ve got some demos,” you offered, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “Nothing finished, just sketches.”

Hollis didn’t miss a beat. “Then let’s bounce.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how simple he made it sound. “What, now?”

“Unless you’re scared I’ll hate it,” he said, teasing but not unkind.

You narrowed your eyes. “Bold of you to assume I care what you think.”

He smirked. “You do.”

You paused, watching him. Then shrugged. “Fine. My place’s closer anyway.”

Roman raised his glass in mock salute. “Y’all have fun. I’ll tell Nate you eloped.”

You shook your head, setting your glass on the bar. “Thanks, Roman. Truly a man of grace.”

“Tell Hollis to behave,” he called after you both as you turned toward the exit.

“He won’t,” you shot back over your shoulder.

Hollis followed, a step behind, his hand grazing the small of your back

Twenty minutes later, you were back at your apartment. The city was quiet outside your windows, soft orange haze bleeding through your curtains. You kicked off your boots at the door, Hollis trailing behind you in that relaxed way he always had like he was already at home.

Your laptop was still on the coffee table, next to a pair of headphones and a half-used notebook.

“You want the aux or should I drive?” you asked, already crouching to plug in the cable.

“Play me what you hear,” Hollis said, sinking into your couch like he’d been there before.

You queued up a folder labeled “???” and hit play.

The first track that filled the room was haunting glitchy vocals, layered texturess. It didn’t ask to be liked. It just existed, unapologetic.

You watched him as he listened. Eyes closed. Head tilted slightly. No words, just focus.

When the song faded, he opened his eyes slowly. “Run that back.”

You did. Then another. Then another.

By the time the third track ended, he was sitting forward, elbows on knees.

“You’re doing something different here,” he said. “Like… no one’s in this lane. This is your own shit.”

That made you pause, heart skipping slightly.

You cleared your throat. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”

He looked over at you, the space between you now feeling charged all over again.

“You know we should make more, right?” he asked. “Not just one track. I mean real shit. A full thing. You and me.”

You met his gaze, pulse humming beneath your skin. “I’ve thought about it.”

“Think harder,” he said, voice lower now. “Cause if you’re down, I’m in.”

The track still played softly in the background, the room dim except for the glow from your screen. You thought about what your manager said, about how the dating rumors were good for marketing, how looking good together sells.

But you didn’t want that. You didn’t want something real, something honest, to be reduced to optics. This connection between you and Hollis it wasn’t just about appearances.

“I’d love to,” you said, easing down beside him on the couch. “But I don’t want people thinking we’re dating.”

Hollis turned toward you slightly, his expression unreadable, one brow raised. “Is that a bad thing?”

You met his eyes, heart skipping for just a second. “It is if that’s the only reason people pay attention.”

He leaned back, letting out a low breath. “I’m not trying to make a PR move, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You looked at him, studying his face in the soft light. “So why me, then? Why even reach out back then?”

He didn’t blink. “Because you’re good. Really good. I don’t work with people just because they look cool in a feed. You hear different. You feel different. That’s rare.”

Your breath caught in your throat not just at the words, but at how sincerely he said them.

“And if I happen to like how you look at me when you’re singing…” he added, voice dropping slightly, “that’s just extra.”

You didn’t say anything. Just looked at him. Let the silence stretch, warm and charged.

He leaned in a little, close enough for you to feel the shift in his energy. “Unless you’re the one worried people will get the wrong idea.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, voice softer now.

“Good,” he murmured, eyes on your lips. “Because I don’t really care what they think.”

The air between you tightened. The music in the background faded into something slower, as if the universe was in on the moment.

Your legs were barely touching on the couch, but it felt electric. One small move, and you’d be in his space completely.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

“Tell me to stop,” he said low, eyes still locked on yours.

But you didn’t.

He leaned in, his hand gently cupping your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your cheekbone. And then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t soft.

It was all tension released at once, the kind that had been building since the studio, since that first message, since the way he looked at you on stage like you were the only thing that mattered in the room.

You kissed him back.

Harder than you meant to, but not more than you wanted to.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. Your fingers tangled in the hem of his hoodie, anchoring yourself against the gravity of it all.

He pulled away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was rough, uneven. “Been wanting to do that since the first take.”

You let out a quiet laugh, dazed. “Took you long enough.”

His mouth brushed yours again—this time slower, more deliberate. “You kept disappearing.”

“You didn’t chase me.”

“I’m here now,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Aren’t I?”

Your hands slid under the edge of his hoodie, fingers meeting warm skin. He stilled for a second, then moved back in, his kiss deeper now, hungrier. His body angled toward yours as you both shifted, the couch suddenly too small for the space you needed.

Your knees bumped against his thigh, and you didn’t pull away. If anything, you leaned in more, your body reacting before your brain could catch up. His hands moved to your waist, slow and sure, like he was memorizing how you fit into his space.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low and thick with restraint, though his fingers didn’t stop tracing circles against your hip.

You nodded once, then leaned in until your lips brushed his again, barely there. “You asking ‘cause you care… or ‘cause you want me to say stop?”

His breath caught. “I’m asking,” he murmured, his mouth grazing your jaw, “so I can say I warned you.”

That made you smile smug, charged, your pulse in your ears. “Cute. You think I need a warning.”

He chuckled against your skin, and the sound of it went straight through you. His mouth found the spot beneath your ear again, soft this time, and you tipped your head instinctively.

Then you shifted, just enough to straddle his lap.

His hands stilled at your sides. “Oh,” he said, blinking up at you. “We’re doing this?”

You raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Thought you didn’t care what people think.”

“I don’t,” he said, voice dropping again, “but I care what you want.”

You bit your lip, considering it for a beat too long. “Right now?” Your hands slid up his chest. “I want you to stop being so sweet and kiss me like you mean it.”

He didn’t hesitate after that.

One arm locked around your waist, the other threading into your hair as he pulled you down, lips meeting yours with heat that said finally. Your hips shifted without thinking, just enough to feel the tension building between you.

He pulled back slightly, breath ragged, eyes locked on yours. His thumbs rubbed small circles into your waist like he wasn’t quite ready to let go yet. Like he didn’t want to.

“You keep kissing me like that,” he said, voice rough, “and I’m gonna start writing songs about it.”

You laughed, cheeks flushed. “Pretty sure you already have.”

He smirked but didn’t deny it.

You rested your forehead against his, your voice softer now. “What are we doing, Hollis?”

He breathed in like he was trying to steady himself, like you asking made it real.

“Whatever this is,” he said slowly, “it’s good. I don’t wanna mess it up. And I don’t want it to be just… this.” He motioned vaguely between your bodies. “I want to keep building. With you. On and off the mic.”

You blinked. The heat in your chest shifted still burning, but different now.

Then he added, eyes flicking up to yours again, cautious but hopeful: “I’ve been thinking about the next leg of my tour. And I know your schedule’s wild, but…” He exhaled. “Would you ever want to come with me? Not as, like, my plus-one or whatever. As an artist. We could perform the track. Maybe more. Bring something new to the set.”

Your heart skipped. You weren’t expecting that not tonight, not like this.

You searched his face, trying to read between the lines. But there wasn’t anything hidden there. Just honesty.

You tilted your head, smiling. “Is this your way of saying you want to spend more time with me?”

He grinned, a little crooked. “It’s my way of saying I don’t want to stop this”

Your fingers brushed against the back of his neck. “Lemme think about it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That a maybe?”

“That’s a hell yeah, but I’m pretending to play hard to get.”

He laughed, pulling you back in by the waist. “I’ll take it.”

He kissed you again, all smile and promise, and in that moment, it felt less like a maybe and more like the start of everything.