2hollis x fem!interviewer!reader smutshot
content info: mdni, power imbalance, oral (m receiving), p in v, choking, degradation, no aftercare, toxic dynamics
the message flashes way too bright on your screen, and with your boss, you know there’s no such thing as 'later.' when she calls, you go. no hesitation.
you landed your dream position at your favorite magazine. a full six week internship. actual journalism. fashion, celebrities, everything you’ve been obsessed with for years. you still remember losing your mind when you got the acceptance email, rereading it like ten times just to make sure it was real.
so yeah, you’re already up, already moving. you step into the elevator, quickly fixing your outfit in the reflection of the metal walls, smoothing your hands over the fabric like that’s somehow gonna calm your nerves. it doesn’t.
by the time the doors open, your heart’s already beating faster. you walk straight to her office, knock three times against the glass door. "come in." her voice is sharp. immediate. you push the door open.
she’s sitting behind this ridiculously expensive desk, dark wood, marble details, scattered notes, and the two things she never seems to be without: coffee and cigarettes. honestly, you’re convinced she runs on nothing else.
"sit." she doesn’t even look up properly, just gestures toward the black leather chair in front of her. you sit. your heart is racing now. fast enough to make your chest feel tight. you don’t know what you did wrong, but it has to be something. it always feels like that with her.
"how can i help you? what do you need me to-" - "i have a job for you." she cuts you off instantly. "someone your age fits this better." you lean forward a little, nerves mixing with curiosity. "yeah, of course, i’d love to, i can-"
she clicks her pen once. expensive, of course. sets it down. then she leans in, elbows resting on the desk, eyes locking onto yours. "you’re going to do an interview. with a celebrity."
your heart skips. oh my god. "which one?" your voice comes out softer than you wanted. a little shaky. "he’s an artist who’s getting a lot of attention right now. this interview matters a lot." she tilts her head slightly, one eyebrow lifting. "and i’m trusting you to do it right."
there it is. the unspoken part. don’t mess this up. or you’re gone.
"okay, yeah. of course." you nod quickly. "i’ll do my best. can i ask who it is? just so i can prepare properly?" she doesn’t answer right away. just watches you for a second. then, flat, like it’s nothing:
everything in you goes still. your heart drops straight into your stomach. your face feels hot and cold at the same time, and your palms instantly start to sweat.
no way. not the same hollis that shows up on your fyp every single night. not the one you’ve stayed up way too late watching, scrolling, replaying clips like you’re not completely obsessed.
not the one you’ve read about over and over again. those fics you told yourself were "just for fun", even though your thoughts lingered a little too long after. how are you supposed to look him in the eye? after everything you’ve read. imagined.
"i can rely on you, right?" your boss asks, voice sharper now. "yeah… yeah, of course." you nod, way too fast. trying to sound composed, professional, like you’re not internally spiraling so hard you can barely think straight.
"good." she gives you a tight, almost forced smile. then drops a stack of papers right in front of you. "everything you need is in there. the interview is tomorrow."
your stomach drops again. if your body wasn’t already flooded with stress, it definitely is now. tomorrow you’re supposed to sit across from him. ask questions. act normal. like he isn’t-
"thank you. i won’t disappoint you." she leans back in her chair, already done with the conversation, gesturing toward the door. "i’m looking forward to it."
you let yourself fall onto the beige couch, the stack of papers slipping slightly in your hands as you sink into it. your office, well, your office for the next six weeks, is small, but the huge windows make it feel bigger, brighter. it’s quiet here. safe. your little space to work, to breathe.
you flip the first page. a list of questions. okay, good. relief settles in instantly. at least you don’t have to come up with anything yourself. no risk of saying the wrong thing, no overthinking every word. you just have to read them out. easy, right?
the first few questions are fine. normal. safe.
how did you get into making music?
what do you enjoy most about being on tour?
you exhale slowly, shoulders dropping just a little. okay. maybe it’s not that bad. you turn the page, and your vision almost goes black for a second. you stare at the paper, blinking like the words might rearrange themselves if you give it a second. they don’t. for a moment, you genuinely wonder if you’re going to survive tomorrow.
are you currently in a relationship, or do you prefer to keep that part of your life private?
your lips press together. next.
hooking up with fans, yes or no?
you often use moans as a sound element in your songs. would you say that’s intentional? maybe even something for your fans?"
heat rushes to your face. no fucking way. next.
are you really as dominant and intense as the way you’re portrayed in tiktok edits?
you freeze. completely. how are you supposed to ask him that? how are you supposed to look him in the eyes, say those words out loud, and act like you’re not completely losing it?
he’s going to think it’s too much. he’s going to think it’s weird. especially coming from you: two years younger, sitting across from him, asking questions that sound like your search history.
you swallow hard and snap the pages shut, pressing them down against your lap. okay. whatever. this is what you wanted, right? journalism. this career. this life. and if this is the test at the very beginning… then fine. you’ll pass it. no matter what it takes. because if you can get through this, every door you’ve been dreaming of will start to open for you.
the next morning. you barely slept. every time you tried to drift off, your mind dragged you right back to the same thought: you’re going to see him. and trying to fall asleep with tiktok didn’t help either. every time his face showed up on your fyp. or worse, glimpses of his sweaty abs, the layered gold chains resting against his skin. your whole body went on edge. it felt like something was constantly buzzing under your skin, so sleep wasn’t even an option.
you thought about calling your best friend. hovering over her contact for a second, thumb paused. but you don’t. not yet. because you know how that would go. she’d scream, freak out, hype you up until your heart gives out and you’re already on edge as it is. you don’t need someone amplifying it. you don’t need to panic more than you already are.
you manage a quick breakfast, if you can even call it that. you push food around your plate more than you actually eat, your stomach too tight, too full of nerves to handle anything real. so instead, you focus on getting ready.
this is a video interview. which means everything has to be perfect. your hair. your makeup. your outfit. your scent. if you’re already getting the chance to see hollis in person, you might as well show up as the best version of yourself.
not that you’re expecting anything. he’s way out of your league. but still. maybe there’s that tiny, irrational part of you, the one that’s been online a little too long, that thinks it might matter.
so you take your time with it, way more than usual, standing in front of the mirror longer than you should, adjusting little things over and over again like it’s actually going to make a difference. because somehow, the real challenge isn’t the questions. it’s him.
sitting across from him. on that couch. trying to look like you belong there. because how are you supposed to feel like you’re on the same level as someone like him?
you catch yourself hoping, that he’ll show up in eyeliner today. that he’ll wear that wig: the blonde one, soft waves, bangs falling just right over his eyes.
your thoughts spiral before you can stop them. what is he going to look like? what is he going to smell like? what does his voice actually sound like in real life? what if you have to get close to him? what if he looks even better in person? what if-
you blink, glancing at the time. shit. you lost track. the last ten minutes are chaos. you’re rushing around your apartment, grabbing your things, checking everything twice and still feeling like you forgot something. your phone: 6%. great. you don’t even have time to care. somehow, you make it… barely.
but you’re there. right on time, stepping into your office just as the workday begins, your breath still slightly uneven, your heart nowhere near calm. but you’re ready.
you’re standing on set in the studio, holding your coffee cup tightly with both hands like it might steady you. it doesn’t. your hands are still shaking as you linger off to the side, watching the tech team finish setting everything up.
the set clean. minimal. two light colored couches facing each other, a white backdrop, two black mics placed perfectly at sitting height. three cameras positioned around the room. one straight on, capturing both of you. one just for you. one just for him. your stomach drops. god.
your eyes fix on the spot where he’s going to be sitting in less than an hour. you tighten your grip around the cup, holding onto it like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. it still doesn’t feel real that he’ll be sitting there, listening to you, probably looking at you.
fuck. his attention is going to be on you. professionally, obviously. even if there’s a part of you that doesn’t just want his attention to stay professional.
"so, nervous?" the cameraman asks casually, still adjusting something on his tripod, completely unaware of how hard that question actually hits. "i’m okay." you smile back, way too composed. "i’m prepared."
he nods like that’s exactly what he expected, gives the set one last look, then claps his hands once. "alright, we’re set. we’ll be right there during recording, just monitoring audio and cameras." - "right, okay." you nod slightly. "so you can just focus on the interview." he adds, already stepping back. you watch him walk off, then exhale quietly.
okay, calm down. apparently, hollis isn’t the center of everyone’s world. the cameraman just proved that. he’s just a person. just a guy. this will be fine.
the last few minutes drag on, stretching out far longer than they should. too much time. too much space to think. and you feel it getting worse, the nerves.
they’re not just there anymore. they’re everywhere. crawling under your skin, sitting heavy in your chest, making your fingers restless, your thoughts loud and messy and completely unusable. you can’t sit still. you can’t breathe properly. thinking straight? not happening.
your boss said she’d handle everything. she’d greet him, deal with his team, do all the professional stuff, and then bring him in when everything’s ready.
earlier, you saw a black suv pull up from the window upstairs. there was a tall guy stepping out, oversized black sunglasses, a cigarette burned almost down between his fingers. a smaller woman stood just ahead of him, probably his manager. he was wearing a hoodie, but the wind caught a loose blonde strand, just for a second. which means: he’s already here. somewhere in the building.
your stomach drops so hard it almost hurts. he’s here. like, actually here. not on your phone. not behind a screen. not in edits, not in fics, not in your head. real. in the same building as you.
you panic-check your questions one more time, eyes scanning the page without really taking anything in. in the reflection of the window, you try to fix your hair again, smoothing it down with slightly shaky hands. you move as quietly as you can. straining, almost, just to catch a hint of his voice somewhere in the distance. something to prepare you. something to soften the impact, so he doesn’t just hit you out of nowhere.
the door opens. and your heart just stops. "alright, everyone, we’re here. let’s get into position." your boss calls out, all bright energy as she walks in. you barely register her. because right behind her you see him -
oh my god. oh my god.oh. my. god. you freeze. completely. your brain just blanks. what the fuck.
he walks into the room like it already belongs to him, barely looking at anyone, he doesn’t need to. he already knows every eye’s on him. and honestly, it makes sense.
he’s taller than you thought. way taller. the kind of presence that fills the doorway without even trying. his outfit looks flawless, like every piece was chosen with intent. and the second he steps into the room, it shifts, his scent settling in with him. something expensive, layered with a faint trace of smoke.
your eyes lock on him and they don’t move. can’t move. the oversized black sunglasses sit low on his nose, hiding his eyes and for some reason, that makes it worse. the not knowing. is he wearing eyeliner? does he look exactly like-
your gaze drops and your heart literally stutters. the hair. no fucking way. it’s the wig. the wig. soft blonde waves, falling perfectly over his shoulders, the bangs just brushing his eyes like it’s styled specifically to ruin you.
and his face: sharp. unreal. exactly like the photos but worse somehow, because it’s real now. his lips are full, slightly parted like he’s about to say something and you’re already overthinking it. and then he smiles. directly at you.
your stomach flips so violently you have to physically lock your knees to not move. wait. why is he looking at you. why is he smiling at you. why is he walking toward you. oh my god he’s coming over.
you stand up way too fast. shit. you’re standing. why are you standing. your brain is lagging behind your body completely. he gets closer, reaches up, slides the sunglasses off and suddenly you see his hazel eyes. to your disadvantage, they’re lined in black. your weakness.
and there’s something in his gaze. self-assured. not soft, not gentle. distant in a way that feels intentional. like he’s used to being looked at, but even more used to doing the looking.
to doing the choosing. his eyes settle on you, slow, taking their time like there’s nothing to rush for. like you’re already right where he wants you. and the way he looks down at you, it’s not just a glance.
it lingers. measured. almost testing. it sends something sharp through you, something low and unfamiliar, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. you feel it drop in your chest. heavy. this is so much worse than you imagined. so much worse.
"hi," he says easily, voice low, holding his hand out like this is normal. you look down at it, and it’s big. pale. veins faintly visible beneath the skin, a few gold rings catching the light when he moves his fingers just slightly. exactly how your favorite tumblr authors would describe it in their fics when he’s choking y-
"i’m hollis." and just like that, he pulls you out of your thoughts. you try to function. you really do. you lift your hand, place it in his and the second your skin touches his, something in you falters.
you’re shaking. you can feel it, even if you try to hide it. your hand looks small in his, almost disappearing when his fingers close around it. his grip isn’t tight. but it’s steady. his skin softer than you expected. warmer, too.
he looks down at your joined hands, then back up into your eyes and that’s enough. it tells him everything he needs to know. the nerves. the tension. the way you’re trying to hold it together. he’s seen that look before. countless times. that same soft, almost hesitant gaze: innocent on the surface, but not really. he knows it. knows exactly what it means. he’s seen it in fans who looked at him like they wanted more than just a picture and now it’s in your eyes, too.
and just like that he’s interested. so instead of letting go right away, he lingers. just a second longer. his thumb moves. barely. a slow, almost absent stroke over the back of your hand. testing. your breath catches instantly. and he notices. of course he does. there’s a small change in his expression - an arrogant, knowing hint of a smile as he finally lets go. yeah. he’s trouble.
"y/n," you manage, your voice way softer than you planned. "nice to meet you." you sound like a different person. he looks at you for a second longer than necessary. "i like that name." your heart literally stumbles over itself. you don’t even know what to do with that.
before you can spiral further, your boss steps in, saving you and making it worse at the same time. "alright, you two, looks like you’re getting along perfectly," she says, all fake brightness. "i‘ll leave you to it. have a great interview."
she looks at you, gives you a quick wink. "you’ve got this. i’m excited to see the result." you force a smile. it feels wrong on your face. "thank you." hollis turns to her, all effortless charm, like he does this every day. "thanks for having me," he says smoothly. "really appreciate it." - "of course," she replies. "our pleasure." and then she’s gone.
while the crew makes the final adjustments, lights shifting, cameras locking in, your mics being angled just right, there’s still a makeup artist standing in front of each of you, doing the last touchups. thank god.
it gives you a few more seconds to exist without having to talk to him. to get used to the fact that he’s right there. real. not a screen. not something you can just scroll past.
but then they’re done. they step away. and suddenly it’s quiet. you’re sitting there, across from him, waiting. your hands grip your notes a little tighter as you pretend to go over them again, eyes scanning words you’re not actually reading. your thoughts are too loud for that. your heart is beating way too fast.
and him? completely calm. of course. you don’t look up. you don’t want to. you don’t want to accidentally meet his eyes, don’t want to trigger anything before this even starts.
then you hear it. fabric shifting. you look up before you can stop yourself. he’s taking off his jacket. unrushed. he knows you’re watching. he sets it beside him, then leans back and his arm moves, stretching out along the backrest. a little too slow. a little too deliberate. your eyes follow it. you hate that they do.
his arm stretches far enough that his fingers hover close to your couch. not touching. just there. a few centimeters. close enough to feel it. he knows how tense you already are, how hyperaware you’ve become of every little movement. and the way he’s sitting almost feels like he’s about to touch you. but he doesn’t. your body reacts anyway, heat creeping low in your stomach, your thighs pressing together slightly without you even noticing at first.
he clears his throat. and your gaze snaps to him instantly. there. he has you. "so," he starts, voice calm, like this is his set, his interview. "your boss said you’re an intern?" great. straight to it. you swallow. "yeah. my boss said someone your age fits better."
his eyebrow lifts immediately. amused. "fits better." he repeats. then he looks at you. slowly. from top to bottom. not rushed. not subtle. like he’s taking you in, piece by piece. his expression stays unreadable. distant. but his gaze burns.
and for a second, you wonder if you’re imagining things. you have to be. he wouldn’t look at you like that. wouldn’t tease you like that. wouldn’t play with you like that… right?
"i mean… for the interview." you add quickly, panic slipping in. "professionally." you repeat, wanting to make sure you’re not overstepping, wanting to keep it safe, appropriate.
he leans back, completely unbothered. "yeah, i got that," he says, a faint grin pulling at his lips. his hand drifts down into his lap. slow. your eyes follow. he knows. he wants them there. wants you to think of him like that. to feed those thoughts. for a second, you don’t move. then it hits you and you look away immediately.
"or what were you thinking?" he adds, voice quieter now. teasing. pointed. heat rushes to your face. you stare down at your notes, trying to recover, trying to think. oh my god. get it together.
he already has you figured out. you’re easy to read. easy to throw off. and he clearly enjoys it. you don’t say anything. you can’t. your thoughts are nowhere near appropriate for this situation.
"i’m kidding." his voice cuts through it. you exhale, only now realizing you were holding your breath. "i’m sure you’ll do fine." there’s something in the way he says it. not reassuring. more like he already knows exactly how this is going to go. he gives you a quick wink. your grip tightens around your cue cards.
"y/n, we’re ready." the cameraman’s voice snaps you out of it completely. relief hits instantly. finally. you straighten, forcing yourself to focus, pushing everything else down. this is it. no more thinking. let’s do this.
the small red light on the camera flicks on. recording. you straighten slightly, your posture shifting, your expression softening into something composed, practiced. professional.
"hey everyone," you start, voice steady, almost surprisingly so. "welcome back to another interview. i’m y/n, and today i have someone you’ve been asking for a lot. so we finally made it happen." a small pause, just enough to breathe. you turn your head toward him, offering a light smile. "2hollis!"
he’s already looking at the camera. and just like that he’s different. the tension from before? gone. the quiet, almost inappropriate edge from before disappears beneath something smoother. whatever was happening between you just minutes ago gets tucked away so easily it almost feels like you imagined it.
he sits a little more upright now, shoulders relaxed but controlled, hands resting loosely in front of him. camera-ready. "hi." he says, easy, polite. "thanks for having me." his tone is lighter. cleaner. almost… harmless?
you blink for a second, adjusting. okay. you can work with this. you glance briefly at your cards, then back up.
"so, first of all, did you get here okay? the traffic wasn’t too bad?" simple. safe. he nods once. "yeah, it was good. pretty smooth actually." - "good," you smile, a little more relaxed now. "we’re glad." it flows. easier than you expected.
the next few questions follow naturally. how he’s been, how the last few weeks have looked for him, how he’s balancing everything with the attention he’s been getting lately. he answers openly. not too long, not too short. he’s good at this. you can tell.
he knows exactly how to speak, how to present himself, how to keep it interesting without giving too much away. and the more he talks the more your body slowly unclenches. your shoulders drop. your voice steadies even more. you start listening instead of overthinking. reacting instead of rehearsing. for a moment, it almost feels normal. like he’s just a random person. someone you’re interviewing. someone you can handle.
and sitting across from him doesn’t feel as overwhelming anymore. the earlier tension fades into the background, blurred by the rhythm of the conversation, by his calm answers, by the way everything suddenly feels structured and safe. you almost forget, almost, what he was like just a few minutes ago. and how easily he got under your skin.
it keeps going like that. easy questions. easy answers. a rhythm you can follow without thinking too much. until you turn the next card and freeze. your fingers pause for just a fraction too long, heat rushes to your face instantly. shit.
you try to play it off, eyes quickly scanning the line again like it might suddenly change into something more normal. it doesn’t. and across from you he notices. of course he does.
he leans back slightly in his seat, shoulders relaxing further, one arm slipping back over the rest behind him again. watching. waiting. there’s a faint shift in his expression. interest. he already knows.
whatever you’re about to ask next, it’s not surface level. it’s going somewhere more private. and he’s ready for it. more than that, he’s into it. he watches you for a second longer, like he’s waiting to see how far you’ll go. he’s willing to play along.
your mind starts racing. how are you supposed to ask him that? you can’t just sit there. you can’t let silence happen. so you do it. you look up, force your voice steady:
"are you currently in a relationship, or do you prefer to keep that part of your life private?" clean. professional. he reacts immediately. a small breath out, almost amused. "oh, we’re getting a little more private now." he says, tone light.
on camera, he plays it perfectly. "i’d say i prefer to keep that private. at least until i’m sure about something." he shrugs slightly, casual. "just makes more sense that way."
you nod, relieved. okay. that was fine. you can do this. you glance down again. next question. your stomach drops again. hooking up with fans, yes or no? oh my god. for a split second, you consider skipping it. you don’t. you can’t. you look up again, your voice just a little tighter this time:
"hooking up with fans… yes or no?" this time he doesn’t react immediately. no smile, no comment, just a brief stretch of silence. his eyes stay on you. and it’s not neutral.
he’s not really thinking about the question at all. he’s thinking about you. about the way your voice tightened just now. the way your fingers are holding those cards a little too stiff. the way you won’t fully meet his eyes anymore, like you already know this crossed a line somewhere.
would he hook up with a fan? maybe. but would he hook up with you? his gaze dips for just a second, then back up again, something unreadable settling behind it. yeah. he would. not because you asked. not because of the question. just because you’re sitting there trying so hard to stay professional while it’s so obvious you’re a little too into him. and that alone makes it tempting.
he blinks, posture adjusting just slightly. back to camera. back to control. "i mean," he starts, tone still calm, but different now. more deliberate. "i’m happy to answer that…" a small pause. his eyes flick to you for just a second. "… just maybe not on a video interview." your heart drops. oh my god.
"for something like the magazine, tho? sure," he continues smoothly, slipping right back into that composed, camera-ready version of himself. "i’m happy to get into that, just not on video." a small shrug, controlled. "some things are better written than clipped and posted everywhere."
your chest tightens, panic creeping in fast. those questions aren’t optional. your boss made that very clear. this interview matters. and if you skip them? if you come back without answers? you already know how that ends.
his eyes flick to you for a second. "if you’ve got more questions in that direction, we can do that off-camera." your thoughts trip over each other. off-camera. okay. okay that works. it has to. "yeah... yeah, of course." you nod immediately. too fast. "i’m so sorry, i didn’t-" you stumble slightly over your words, cheeks burning. "i didn’t mean to make it uncomfortable or anything, i just-" stop talking. think. you need a solution. now.
"i have, um, i have an office here," you add quickly, the words rushing out before you can second guess them. "we could... do that there? if that’s okay?" you sound unsure. careful. like you’re not entirely aware of what you just offered. but you don’t take it back. and him? he just nods.
"yeah, that sounds good." a small smile, easy, harmless on camera. but there’s something sitting underneath it. something sharper. like this is exactly what he wanted. not the cameras. not the controlled setting.
you, already a little overwhelmed, trying to stay professional while giving him exactly the kind of situation he doesn’t have to fake anything in. and he doesn’t say it. doesn’t show it. but you can feel it shift. that same tension from before is back. stronger now. and suddenly you’re not sure if this just solved your problem. or created a much bigger one.
you film for a few more minutes. a couple harmless questions, something to close it off clean. then the outro. the red light switches off. done.
the camera team seems satisfied, nodding to each other as they start packing up. you thank them quickly, still a little breathless from holding it together the entire time. hollis does the same, of course. effortless. charming. like he didn’t just shift the entire atmosphere in the room whenever he felt like it.
and then it’s just you two, on your way to your office. "here, left," you say quietly, your voice softer again now that the cameras are gone. he follows right behind you, close enough that you can feel it without looking. you step into the elevator first, pressing the button with slightly shaky fingers. the glass doors slide shut. and suddenly it’s just you and him.
your pulse spikes instantly. the space feels smaller now. too close. you lean back against one side, trying to ground yourself, clutching your cards, your phone, your coffee cup like they’re the only things keeping you steady.
across from you, hollis leans against the opposite wall. arms loosely crossed. watching you. his gaze drops slightly. takes you in without saying anything. then he breaks the silence. "you’re actually doing really good, by the way." his voice is low.
praise. it lands exactly how he wants it to. your cheeks flush immediately, heat rushing up your neck. he sees it.
"oh... thanks," you say, a little breathy. "i mean... yeah, you’re lowkey easy to talk to. it was just kinda weird at first." you trail off, unsure. he smiles. easy. human. and it works. your shoulders loosen just a little.
"i get that," he says. "you should’ve seen my first interviews." a quiet exhale, almost amused. "you get used to it tho. but for your first one? you’re killing it." you smile, a little more relaxed.
a small pause. then you glance down at your cards, nerves creeping back in. "and, uh, sorry in advance for what’s coming next." you lift them slightly. "those questions aren’t even mine, they made me ask them." for a split second, something flickers in his expression.
shame. that would’ve made it easier. if you came up with them yourself, he’d know for sure where your head’s at. what you’re thinking about when you look at him like that. confirmation. but he doesn’t need it. not when your body’s already giving you away.
"it’s fine," he says, calm. "i’ll answer them." a small shrug. "and if something’s too much, i’ll just say it." his eyes stay on you. a second too long. "same goes for you." you barely have time to process it-
the elevator dings. saved. or maybe not. the doors slide open and you step out first, a little too quick, like you need distance, like you need to get out before your thoughts catch up with you. he lets you. of course he does. no pressure.
his gaze drops the second you pass him. intentional. your ass. the way your jeans hug it, the subtle sway in your steps you’re not even aware of. he watches it like it’s something he’s already decided he’s going to touch. like it’s just a matter of time.
his jaw tightens slightly, just enough to give him away if anyone was looking close enough. but no one is. just you. and him. there’s a thought sitting in the back of his mind now, heavier than before.
he wants you. and he knows he’ll get there. he doesn’t need much. just a little more time. and a private space. and you just gave him both.
"there we are," you say lightly, as you push the door open to your office. "make yourself comfortable." you gesture toward the couch. "i just need a second to grab my stuff."
hollis immediately notices the couch and smiles to himself. it’s perfect. and he gives it... what? around 20 minutes until you’re lying there, under him, the same pleading eyes as now, just for a very different reason.
"no rush." he says, easy, like there’s nothing else on his mind as he drops onto the couch, stretching out just a little, taking up more space than necessary.
you busy yourself for a second, gathering your notes, your pen, anything to keep your hands occupied. anything to avoid looking at him too long. then you drag your desk chair over, placing it in front of him. distance. safe.
"we can just do it like this," you say, a little too quickly, gesturing toward the setup. he looks at the chair. then at you. no, he definitely doesn’t want to do it like this.
he shifts on the couch instead, leaning back. "or..." he tilts his head slightly, a faint smile pulling at his lips, "you could just sit here. feels less like an interrogation." he lets out a quiet laugh.
your heart kicks. because you know what he’s doing. and you still don’t say no. of course you don’t. so you move. slowly, like you’re giving yourself time to rethink it, even though you don’t. you sit down beside him, leaving a bit of space between you at first but it disappears instantly.
his warmth is right there. his presence. overwhelming in a way that’s hard to ignore now that there’s nothing buffering it. no cameras. no crew. no distance. just him. you catch his scent again, stronger this time. something warm, expensive, mixed with that faint trace of smoke. it settles around you, distracting in the worst way.
and even though you’re trying really hard to keep it together, you can feel your pulse between your legs now, your nipples slightly hard, your whole body giving you away. your thoughts keep drifting back to the same thing. and the fact that you’re about to ask him even more private questions doesn’t help at all.
"you ready?" you ask. he just nods. his arm’s still stretched along the back of the couch, basically behind you. not touching. just there. too close. he notices the way your pen’s shaking. "for you? always." he says, and there’s no teasing in it this time. it lands heavier. you don’t even know what to do with that, so you just push forward.
"so, hooking up with fans, yes or no?" he lets out a small breath, almost amused. "right. that’s where we left off." you nod. "yeah. so?" he leans in a little, eyes on you now. "how about this," he says, voice lower. "i answer your... kinda personal questions, and you answer mine."
what? well, you need this. you need his answers for your boss. "yeah, okay." you nod, a little too fast. "good." he leans back again, like nothing happened, arm still behind you. "i wouldn’t say i hook up with fans like... random dms or whatever," he shrugs. "but if the vibe’s there?" a pause. "why not." you write it down quickly, trying not to overthink it. he watches your hand. your handwriting.
"my turn." you look up immediately. "yeah?" he holds your gaze for a second. "would you ever hook up with someone you’re interviewing?" your whole body goes hot. what. "i- uh..." you stumble, "probably not? i mean... i want people to feel comfortable. even if i think they’re attractive." fuck. why did you say that. you glance at him, waiting. he just nods. slow. "okay." a small pause. "next."
that’s it? you blink, thrown off, but you keep going. "you often use moans in your songs." you say, forcing yourself to stay focused. "would you say that’s intentional? like, for your fans?" he exhales through his nose, shifting a little closer. you feel it instantly.
"i’d say it’s more of a stylistic thing," he says. "what people read into it is on them." you nod, writing it down, hyper aware of how close he is now. "your turn," you say, trying to sound normal. he doesn’t even think about it. "do you actually listen to my music?" your heart stutters. "like- did you know me before this?"
of course he asks that. you swallow. "yeah, i knew who you were. i just don’t listen to your songs that regularly."
he reads you instantly and smiles. "yeah?" he tilts his head slightly. "you got a favorite?" you nod, a little too fast. "i think… girl is my favorite." of course. the quieter one. you’re my girl. of course you’d want to hear him say that. his voice slightly raspy, low, the way he says come here like it’s just you and him. that’s all he needs to know.
"good choice," he says, almost flat, but his eyes are different now. darker. there’s something in the way he looks at you. his body feels tense next to yours, charged, like he’s holding himself back. just enough. he knows he’s close. close to having you fold. just one more question.
"next," he says, nodding toward your notes. "okay," you murmur, voice a little off now as you glance down. "are you really as dominant and intense as the way you’re portrayed in tiktok edits?"
he grins to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. it’s so easy now. he leans back, legs slightly spread, his gaze dropping to your hands again, then lifting to your eyes. briefly to your slightly parted lips. then back to your eyes. he takes his time. lets the silence between you stretch, heavier with every second. the next sentence decides everything.
you stare at him, almost in disbelief, like you don’t trust yourself to believe he actually just said that. your heartbeat is everywhere, in your chest, your throat, between your legs. you feel hot all over, don’t know where to look, what to say. and the worst part? your panties are already soaked.
you want to say yes so badly it almost hurts. but your mind’s still trying to catch up. what if someone finds out? what if your boss hears about this? what if this ruins everything? what if you just-
hollis moves before you can finish the thought. he gently takes the notes out of your hand, like it’s nothing, sets them down on the table in front of you. just removing the last thing keeping this professional. then his eyes are back on you. sharp. focused.
"i know you want to." he says it low, certain. your breath catches. his gaze drops briefly to his lap, then back up at you.
fuck. he sounds exactly like in that song. exactly like you imagined. and that’s it. whatever was holding you back just snaps.
before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you’re moving. climbing onto his lap, your body reacting faster than your mind ever could. and the second you sit down, you feel it. hard. through his jeans. your breath stutters, your body tensing for a second at how obvious it is, how real this suddenly feels.
his hands come up immediately, gripping your hips, holding you in place like he already knew you’d end up exactly here. his head tilts slightly as he looks up at you, something challenging in his expression. "and?"
your voice shakes, but there’s still a hint of defiance left in you. "i’m just doing this for the interview," you manage. "so i can... answer everything properly." he nods slowly, like he’s humoring you, one hand sliding up to your chin, tilting your face down toward him. "yeah," he murmurs, lips just brushing yours. "keep telling yourself that." and then he kisses you. no hesitation. no asking again. just deciding for you. and you want it exactly like that.
a few minutes later, whatever was left of ´keeping it professional´ is completely gone. he’s over you now, hovering above you, breathing heavier, arms braced on either side of you. his shirt somewhere on the floor, his muscles catching the light perfectly, his jeans already half undone, way too tight by how hard he is for you. and you-
you’re underneath him, your shirt gone too, lost somewhere with his, your bra still on but pushed down, completely useless. his lips are on you, soft but hungry, sucking your nipple, his tongue dragging over it slowly and your whole body lights up. you arch into him without thinking.
his blonde waves fall against your skin, brushing over you, tickling slightly. he looks up at you again, eyes locked on yours while his tongue drags from your chest, up your neck, along your jaw, until he reaches your lips and kisses you again, messy this time. hungry.
he presses his hips down into you, his hardness pushing right against your center through the fabric and you moan straight into his mouth. "i knew from the start you wanted me." he mutters between kisses. then he pulls back just enough to sit up, tugging your bottoms off in one smooth motion, and suddenly you’re just there. completely exposed in front of him.
he takes a second. just looking at you. "so fucking pretty, god." he leans back down, one hand brushing your cheek as he kisses you again, softer for a second, while his other hand slides down between your legs. and he feels it immediately. how wet you are. his dick twitches at that alone.
"shit... didn’t know you wanted me this bad." you grab his hair, pulling slightly, breath shaky. "shut up." he just grins against your lips, cocky, like he loves it, and then his fingers start moving, circling your clit slow at first and you break again, another moan slipping straight into his mouth.
he enjoys the sounds you’re making, the way your body gives you away completely. he can feel how badly you want him to fuck you just from the way you press yourself up against him, the way you grab him, the way you moan. but not yet. he’s not making it that easy for you. you’re gonna have to work for it.
"wanna be good for me, baby?" he asks, still hovering over you, and you nod immediately, hoping he’ll finally take his jeans off and-
instead, he grabs you, shifting you higher on the couch until your head tips back over the edge, hanging slightly. your breath catches. then he stands. walks around you until he’s right in front of you, upside down in your view. you already know what’s coming.
he pulls his jeans down slowly, right in front of you, and your eyes widen the second you see his dick. how hard he is. how big. the tip already glistening. fuck. how are you supposed to-
"you can do it, girl," he murmurs, brushing his hair back before stepping closer. "i’ll make you take it." you swallow, but before you can even think, he’s already there, his hand wrapped around his cock as he drags the tip over your lips.
you open immediately and he pushes in slowly. at first, careful. controlled. then deeper. he slides his hand into your hair, guiding your head slightly forward, angling you just right, and suddenly he’s hitting the back of your throat. it’s a lot.
you choke slightly, trying to adjust, trying to take him, and he pulls back just enough to let you breathe before pushing in again. and again. until there’s a rhythm. until he’s fucking your mouth properly. his head falls back, jaw tense as he starts thrusting into you, deeper, rougher now.
"fuuuck... baby, you feel so good." he groans, voice low, and your whole body reacts to it, your pussy clenching instantly. your spit’s running down your chin now, your eyes watering, mascara smudging as tears slip down your temples while he uses your mouth exactly how he wants. exactly how he needs. he knew from the start you’d take it like this, you were always going to give him exactly what he wants.
his moans get louder, more frequent, and before you can even process it, he’s back between your legs, a condom held between his teeth as he tears it open, rolling it down over his length. then he’s over you again. his gaze darker now. focused. he needs you just as much as you need him.
"ready for me, baby?" he asks, voice low. you’re still breathless, your chest rising unevenly from before, but you nod eagerly. everything in your body is aching for him now, you feel wetter than ever, like you might actually lose it if he doesn’t give it to you soon.
he lines himself up at your entrance, one hand coming up to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch, your pulse loud in your ears. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he wants you to feel everything. every inch. slowly, he pushes into you. no rush. no stopping.
the stretch burns, your eyes rolling back slightly, your mouth falling open as you look at him, pleading without even realizing it. the last few inches he gives you in one sharp thrust. you gasp, your brows pulling together as your eyes shut. "fuck, hollis-"
he stills for a second, fully inside you, leaning down until his lips brush yours. "yeah, baby," he murmurs. "let me hear you." a soft kiss. and then he snaps.
pulling back and slamming into you again, hard, fast, no rhythm at first, just need. you can’t even process it. your nails dig straight into his back, dragging down, leaving red marks, and he doesn’t slow down. not even a little. he knows you want it like this.
the wet sound of your bodies fills the room, loud, messy, your neck still flushed from where he had his hand on you. "you like it?" he asks between breaths, thrusting into you harder, faster on purpose. you can’t even answer. he grins when he realizes, leaning down to kiss you, rough this time. "i know you do," he mutters against your lips. "i can feel it."
his hand comes up, tilting your head slightly, and then he spits into your mouth. you swallow instantly. and he keeps going. harder.
then he grabs you, stands up with you effortlessly and moves behind the couch, kissing you one more time, intense, before turning you around and bending you over the backrest.
"arch your back for me, baby," he says, voice low, grabbing your shoulder as he pulls you back onto his dick. you gasp. then he lifts one of your legs, placing it over the back of the couch, stepping closer, deeper, deeper than before.
you moan louder, a slight sting running through you. "god, hollis... you’re so fucking big." he leans down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, still fucking you, no mercy in his movements. "i know, baby," he murmurs against your skin. "but you take me so well."
then he’s upright again, gripping your hips tighter, thrusting harder than before. every sound you make is shaky now, your hands gripping the fabric of the couch, your body slightly slick with sweat.
suddenly, his hand is in your hair, rough, pulling your head back toward him, his lips right at your ear. "touch yourself," he says. "make yourself cum on my dick." not a question. a command. and you obey.
your fingers move down, circling your clit, making you tighten around him instantly while he keeps fucking into you, hard, relentless. he groans at the feeling, holding you up against him, his other hand squeezing your breast. "fuck, i can feel you," he breathes. "you’re getting tighter. cum for me, baby." his voice in your ear pushes you over the edge.
you let your head fall back against his shoulder, that familiar heat building low in your stomach, stronger, stronger-
until it hits. your eyes shut tight, his last few thrusts pushing you straight into it, your body trembling, your pussy clenching around him as you collapse forward onto the couch.
he doesn’t stop until you’re completely shaking.
then he pulls out. grabs you, turns you around, pushing you down onto your knees in front of him. he slides the condom off quickly, his hand already wrapped around himself, stroking, his eyes locked on you. his other hand pulls you closer. "tongue out."
you do it instantly. his head falls back as he cums, a low, rough groan leaving his lips as he finishes. his release all over your face.
you stay there for a second. breathing. processing. then he looks down at you, a dark grin pulling at his lips. "yeah... that’s a view."
he helps you up like it’s nothing, sits you back down on the couch, grabs a tissue from your desk and hands it to you. then he just starts getting dressed again. like this was casual. like it didn’t just wreck you. "you good?" he asks, pulling his shirt back on. you nod, still trying to catch your breath. "i... i don’t even-"
he just laughs lightly. "i know. i can be a bit overwhelming." a small shrug. "you handled it well tho. the interview too." you shake your head slightly, still not fully there. while you’re getting dressed again, he grabs your notes, scribbles something down quickly. then checks the time.
"shit. this was supposed to be, what, an hour?" he exhales, grabbing his jacket. "my manager’s probably losing it downstairs." he turns back to you. "anyway. bye, y/n. if you’ve got more questions..." he taps your notes, "you know how to reach me." a wink. then the sunglasses go back on. and just like that he’s gone.
the door closes. you sit there for a second, staring at your notes, your body still buzzing, your thoughts completely scrambled. you got your answers. almost all of them. your eyes drift down to the last question still left unanswered. you exhale softly. then flip the page.
his number. written in messy handwriting. you trace over it absentmindedly, biting your lip slightly. because technically... you could reach out. just to finish the interview. just to get that last answer. you lean back into the couch, still warm from before, your fingers still resting on his number. yeah, you’re definitely finishing this interview. especially if it ends like that again.
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