#bambam imagines | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spacequokka · 2 months ago

Text

Nobody But You

Pairing: Crown Prince! BamBam x Reader Genre: Royalty AU, Fluff Rating: M (sorry children) Summary: You're paid to kill the young king and learn your contract wasn't exclusive. So naturally, you switch teams. Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: language (it's me after all), violence, blood, minor character deaths

A/N: Well, this one ran away from me. The urge to write for Assassin's Creed found me again but oops wrong fandom? I hope you enjoyed my little royalty au with Got7! <3

It isn't often that you go against a paid contract. You're good at what you do and it's easy money. Good money. So when you were approached for a high-profile kill, you anticipated all the ways you'd spend the money afterward. It was more than enough to take a vacation, maybe even retire and start life anew following your dreams.

Sure, it was at the expense of the newly crowned King, but it was a lot of money. And you happened to like money.

The night was crisp with a chill that quickly settled in your bones. Your breath lingered in the air as a cloud with each soft exhale. At three in the morning, the castle grounds were as still as death. Nothing moved and no one made a sound. You leaned against the cool stone wall of the castle, heart racing with excitement. The moonlight cast an eerie glow over everything, illuminating the path ahead. A week of recon suggested the job would be simple--slip in through the hidden entrance, go up to his chambers and quietly end his life. The guards on duty would likely be asleep, but you had tranquilizer darts just in case. Sneak back out and come morning you'd collect your paycheck after the body was discovered by his maids.

So then, why did you hear whispers and rustling noises ahead of you?

Peeking around the corner, you spotted a couple of figures creeping along the wall using the shrubs as cover. They were dressed in dark cloaks, not so quietly discussing their plans.

"That idiot has no idea what's coming," one sneered.

Exhibit A on why you needed to vet your employers before taking a contract. The desperate ones with money to throw away tended to hire one too many people for the job. You would think your reputation and immaculate record would be all the reassurance needed that the job would get done. But no. Being a woman seemed to wash away all of those accolades.

Unfortunately, besides being skilled and competent, you were also extremely petty. No one steals your contract or the cash associated with it. If anyone was killing the King, it would be you or no one at all.

You unsheathed your dagger, eyes set on a new prey. The night might be a bust, but you wouldn't go home without taking your anger out on those responsible. An unseen leaf gave away your approach seconds before you drove your blade up to the hilt through one of their backs.

"What the hell?" The other one looked on in horror for a solid second before thinking to draw his own weapon. He moved too slow. You shoved his dying friend forward and off your blade, striking quickly with a slash across his throat. The resulting blood splatter spiked your ire up another notch. You should've known better. Now you needed a bath, too. With a huff, you cleaned your blade off on one of their cloaks and went to sheath it when you heard a shout followed by the sounds of a fight.

Nope. Don't do it. Don't go in there and get involved. Go home, shower, get in bed and try again tomorrow.

Ugh, but what if he doesn't live to see tomorrow?

You stomped your foot and groaned, stepping over the bodies and through the hidden entrance.

Inside the castle was consumed in chaos. Royal guards and knights were engaged in battle with all sorts of mercenaries and assassins, most of which you knew personally. Just how many people were hired to kill the King?!

"Arrrgh!" Some poor, misguided guard saw you and took it upon himself to deal with you. He would've stood a chance had he not announced his intent with his little war cry, allowing you to dodge his sword and clip his feet. He lost his balance and fell into the wall beside you, knocking himself out in the process. Because of course, he would. Surely the King would have better, daresay smarter, fighters defending him, right?

Right?

You wanted to kick your own ass as you picked up the guard's sword. There'd be no sleeping tonight if you didn't make sure your target would make it through the night. It wouldn't be too hard to make it up to his room, check on him, then disappear amidst the chaos. Just a peek, that's it. Nothing more.

You headed for the corridor leading to his chambers and cursed when you saw another person in black tiptoeing through the dimly lit hall. Just what in the Julius Caesar hell was going on around here? The idiot didn't even notice you following him, too busy avoiding being seen by the guards rushing about in search of intruders. 'Amateurs.'

To top it off, there were no guards stationed by the king's bedroom door! You'd thought of Julius Ceasar as a joke earlier but the situation was closer to that than you'd imagined. The man hadn't been on the throne for more than a few days and already someone had gone through so much trouble to ensure it wouldn't be longer than that.

Just as the man reached the door, you made your move. "Not so fast," you hissed in his ear. He yelped as he turned to face you only to have your sword shoved into his chest. Flailing wildly, he fell back against the door with enough force to break the hinges, falling through the doorway.

The king and the assailant he was fighting off both stopped for a moment to look at you.

"Another one?!" BamBam shouted at the same you groaned.

"You've got to be kidding me. Did he hire everyone in the damned kingdom?" You yanked the sword out of the body as you stepped into the room. "I'm trying not to take this personally, but it's beginning to be insulting."

"Is that you, _____?" The attacker kicked BamBam away using his foot on his chest. "He's my kill. Get out of here."

You rolled your eyes. "Have you not seen the state of things outside? Everyone's here to kill him." You gave the King an apologetic smile. Grimace? "No offense, Your Majesty. Nothing personal."

"None taken, I suppose." When he tried to get to his feet, the man lunged at him again with his weapon poised to drive through BamBam's chest. You moved swiftly, tackling him and grabbing the dagger. Someone yelled out--it wasn't you--as the struggle resumed, this time with you driving your elbow into the man's ribs, weakening his hold.

The minute he realized you had the upper hand, he used his free hand to grab your throat and squeezed with all his might. Being the brute he was, his grip was incredible. The urge to let go of your weapons in favor of yanking on his hand was strong, but you knew it'd be the last thing you'd do if you did. Your grip on his dagger weakened as you became light-headed, air and time running out.

There was shuffling that sounded far away to your ears before a heavy book dropped down on the man's face making him jerk and let go of his weapon. It was the break you needed, as you turned the dagger in your hand and jabbed it through his ribs and up into his chest. He cried out with a wet cough, blood coating his lips as his hand left your throat. You drew in a deep breath, making your vision blur as you rolled off him, but not before driving your dagger into his heart.

"Holy shit!" There was what sounded like a stampede at the doorway before two men appeared at the King's side, helping him up to his feet and away from you and the dead assassin. "Your Majesty, are you hurt?"

"Nothing more than a few bruises, Eunwoo." He forced a laugh. "Thanks to her."

This was the opposite of being unseen. You groaned as you rolled over, blinking to force your vision to clear while breathing deeply. The quicker you pulled yourself together, the quicker you could escape before the guards tried to deal with you.

"No doubt she's here to collect on the bounty on your head as well. Take her to the dungeon--"

"No! Wait, Mingyu. She saved me!" BamBam pulled away from his knights. "She put herself in harm's way to keep him from killing me."

"Because she can't claim money for someone else's work." Mingyu looked at you, mouth set in a sneer. "She didn't do it out of the kindness of her heart, Your Majesty."

Yeah, this wasn't looking good for you. Using the sturdy oak dresser as a crutch, you pulled yourself to your feet. "Don't mind me. I'm just gonna go home and hopefully sleep off this nightmare." You touched your throat delicately and tried to clear your throat. "I'll be on my way."

One of the knights cut off your path to the door, hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. "Not so fast. You heard him. You're not going anywhere."

"For heaven's sake, will you two listen to me?" BamBam pushed his way over to you and stood between you three. "She saved my life! I owe her for that, no matter the reason she's here." He turned to you, eyes going to your throat. He reached for you and you flinched but when you didn't move to stop him, his fingers traced the marks left behind from the struggle. "Your beautiful skin..."

You shrugged and gave him a shy smile. "I've had worse. It'll heal."

His gaze flicked up to yours and he bit his lip. "Are you really here to kill me too?"

"Was. I don't like competition."

"Wait," Mingyu looked at you with an expression you couldn't decipher. "You took out more than just these two?" He pointed at the two dead bodies.

Your mouth opened and closed as you contemplated admitting to more crimes right there in the King's face. When you didn't answer, BamBam tapped your cheek to bring your attention back to him. "How much were you promised?"

"Um," you licked your lips and wished you had your weapon on you. That other knight looked jumpy. "One hundred thousand."

BamBam nodded as the curious look in his eyes morphed into something dangerous as the wheels in his head turned. "I'll triple that if you agree to be my bodyguard."

"Your Majesty!"

"That's insane!"

You gulped and he noticed seeing as his hands were still on your neck and cheek. Why hadn't he let go? Why was he still so close? "I don't think your men will let that fly."

"Your fate is not up to them. Clearly, I need more skilled fighters on my side if I'm to remain on the throne. And it wouldn't hurt to have such a deadly, beautiful woman at my side. So what do you say?"

#got7writerscollective #kvanity #lapydiariesnet #got7 royalty au #got7 drabbles #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #bambam x reader #bambam x you #bambam imagines #bambam scenarios #bambam drabbles #bambam royalty au #got7 x reader #got7 x you #got7 suspense #bambam suspense #rating: m

77 notes · View notes

kathaelipwse · 29 days ago

Text

"You Can’t Hide From Us"

Pairing: Jackson x GN!Reader x BamBam

Genre: FWB! Sick Comfort

Synopsis: The reader has been avoiding Jackson and BamBam, trying to hide how sick they are. But the boys find them anyway—and they’re not happy about it. Cue clingy, domestic fluff as they take care of their stubborn FWB.

Requested: Yes

Word count: 2.0k

You should have known they’d come looking for you.

Jackson and BamBam weren’t exactly the type to respect boundaries—not with you, at least. Being their friends-with-benefits (emphasis on the friends part) meant they were all up in your business, whether you liked it or not.

So the fact that you had been ignoring their texts and calls for the past few days? Yeah. That wasn’t going to fly.

Still, you tried.

You locked your doors, silenced your phone, and buried yourself under layers of blankets in your dimly lit apartment, fighting off the fever that had settled deep in your bones. Every movement felt sluggish, your head pounding with the force of a thousand drumbeats. But no way in hell were you going to call them.

You didn’t need them to worry.

You didn’t need them to see you like this.

Unfortunately for you, Jackson and BamBam didn’t need an invitation to break into your life—literally.

The knock at your front door was loud and insistent.

"Honey! Open up!" BamBam’s voice rang through the silence of your apartment.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing them away.

Another knock. Harder this time.

Jackson’s voice, firmer, laced with suspicion: "We know you’re in there. Stop ignoring us."

You groaned, curling deeper into your blanket cocoon. Maybe if you stayed silent, they’d just—

Click.

Your front door swung open, the cons of giving them your apartment keys.

Shit.

You peeked out from under your blanket just as the two men stepped inside, their expressions shifting from annoyed to concerned the moment they saw you.

"Oh, hell no," BamBam muttered, his usual teasing lilt replaced with something softer.

Jackson crossed the room in three long strides, his eyes narrowing as he took in your pale skin, glassy eyes, and the way you shivered despite the warmth of your apartment.

Without a word, he crouched down beside you, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. His lips immediately pressed into a tight line.

"You’re burning up," he said, voice dangerously low.

You tried to shrug weakly, but BamBam was already climbing onto the couch beside you, poking at your cheek. "How could you hide this from us?!"

"I—" Your throat burned as you tried to speak, and you coughed into your sleeve instead.

"No. Nope. Shut up." Jackson stood, hands on his hips like an angry mother. "We’re not doing this. You’re sick, and you thought it was a good idea to suffer alone?"

You opened your mouth—to lie, to downplay it, to make an excuse—but BamBam wasn’t having it.

With zero hesitation, he wrapped himself around you, effectively trapping you under his weight. "Guess what? You’re stuck with us now."

"Get off me, you menace," you croaked, but your voice was too weak to sound threatening.

Jackson, unimpressed, simply bent down and—without warning—scooped you up into his arms.

"Jackson—!" you wheezed, but he was already carrying you to your bedroom.

BamBam followed, dramatically clutching his chest. "You should’ve told us, babe. We would've come over days ago."

Jackson set you down gently, pulling the covers up to your chin before sitting on the edge of your bed, arms crossed. "From now on, if you’re sick, you call us. Got it?"

BamBam leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours with an exaggerated pout. "Got it, baby?"

You scowled, but the warmth of their presence—their concern, their ridiculous yet oddly comforting energy—was already breaking through the feverish haze in your mind.

"Fine," you muttered.

BamBam grinned.

Jackson sighed in relief.

And just like that, you lost your right to be left alone.

Jackson took the kitchen.

You heard him rummaging through your cabinets, muttering about "Where the hell is their ginger?" and "I swear, if they don’t have soup ingredients, I’m buying groceries and force-feeding them."

BamBam took the job of “emotional support.”

Which really meant he was laying next to you, playing with your hair, and dramatically sighing every few minutes.

"You really thought you could avoid us?" He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his teasing tone softer than usual. "You think we wouldn’t notice?"

Your throat was too sore to argue, so you just nudged him weakly with your elbow.

He gasped, clutching his chest. "They still have the energy to bully me. They must be getting better."

You would’ve rolled your eyes if they weren’t so heavy.

Twenty minutes later, Jackson returned with a bowl of homemade soup.

You stared at it. "That looks… suspicious."

BamBam, peering over your shoulder, snorted. "Did you poison them?"

Jackson shot him a deadpan look before turning back to you. "Shut up and eat."

You took a tentative sip. It was… actually decent? Maybe a little strong on the ginger, but warm and comforting nonetheless.

"Okay, it’s not bad," you admitted.

Jackson smirked, smug as ever. "Told you."

BamBam, meanwhile, tried a spoonful and fake gagged. "Ugh, what is this? Medicine?"

Jackson shoved him. "It’s soup, dumbass. Go eat instant ramen if you don’t appreciate my cooking."

Despite the teasing, the room felt soft—warmer than it had been all day.

Hours later, when your fever had lowered slightly, you found yourself half-asleep between them.

Jackson was seated against the headboard, his fingers lazily running up and down your arm. BamBam was curled into your side, one hand still tangled in your hair.

It was… comfortable. Too comfortable.

Maybe that’s why the words slipped out before you could stop them.

"Didn’t want to bother you guys."

Jackson stilled, his fingers pausing for just a second before resuming their slow, soothing motion. "You’re not a bother."

BamBam shifted, his face now dangerously close to yours, voice soft in a way you weren’t used to. "You know that, right?"

Your chest tightened—but this time, it wasn’t because of the fever.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, Jackson sighed, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead.

BamBam nuzzled closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

And just like that, your defenses crumbled completely.

Maybe you were too tired to keep pretending. Maybe you didn’t want to anymore.

Either way, you let your eyes flutter shut, breathing in the scent of them—cologne, warmth, something unmistakably Jackson and BamBam.

And as sleep finally pulled you under, you missed the way they glanced at each other over your head.

Missed the way BamBam murmured, "Dude, we’re screwed."

And Jackson, running a hand through his hair, exhaling softly: "Yeah… we like them too much, don’t we?"

---

170 notes · View notes

natalicss · 2 months ago

Text

this is me asking the universe, aka tumblr writers, to feed me more got7 x reader i have an obsession

i’m a simple woman, alright? i am easy to please i swear…i love the one-shots, i love the fake texts, i love the social media au, im eating it all up

k but pls more mark fics i beg-

#mark tuan x reader #jackson wang x reader #jayb x reader #jinyoung x reader #bambam x reader #youngjae x reader #yugyeom x reader #got7 x reader #got7 headcanons #got7 imagines #kpop fluff #kpop x reader #got7 #kpop

174 notes · View notes

chugging-antiseptic-dye · 3 months ago

Text

got7 as supermarket cashiers:

jaebeom: glares at the customers if they distract him while working. is never at the checkout counter cause he has to do the manager's job as well

mark: works at his own pace and time. give discounts to customers if they have a cute pet

jackson: knows the names of all the regular customers. WILL nag them to take better care of themselves

jinyoung: gets pocket money from all the aunties and grandmothers that come to the store. rub's that in everyone's face.

youngjae: has headphones in his ears 24/7. gets nervous when he has to check out a long line

bambam: 'borrows' gum and makeup samples from the store. leaves the cash register open to bother yugyeom

yugyeom: cries once a week when customers (or jinyoung) yell at him for being slow

219 notes · View notes

yoonia · 11 days ago

Text

lost boys: threadbare hearts — masterlist

— subtitle | Odes for The Brokenhearted

— premise | A collection of short stories about seven boys who are unfortunate in love, and how they walk down the path of redemption in search of healing, finding new meanings in life and love.

— series ratings & full warnings | +18 / M for Mature; stories included in this series will involve multiple explicit scenes, with graphic depiction of mature scenes, alcohol consumption, stories mentioning or depicting infidelity and past trauma, mentions of failed relationships; more appropriate warnings will be added in each story once they are released.

— note: stories may not be posted in chronological order. all fics written by @yoonia

— title: Love Is Banned | pairings: Jaebum/Jay B (GOT7) x female reader | genre: pwp (porn with very little plot), post break-up!au, brother’s best friend!au

— summary | Heartbroken beyond repair, you escape to your brother’s place hours away from home, desperate to avoid the Valentine’s Day soiree happening around you—only to find yourself trapped in the middle of his love-filled house party. Seeking solitude, you are surprised to find the perfect source of comfort from the last person you had ever expected to meet tonight.

— read here | teaser

— title: If You Let Me | pairings: Mark Tuan (GOT7) x female reader | genre: single parent!Mark, exes to lovers!au, brother’s best friend!au

— summary | Years have passed, and you thought you had moved on. But when he returns with a child, everything you worked so hard to bury resurfaces. Avoiding him was the plan, but that becomes impossible when he makes you an offer you can’t refuse. And as if resisting him wasn’t hard enough, his son quickly wins you over with his charm and innocence. And the boy also seems to be determined to piece his father’s broken heart back together… through you.

— read here | teaser

— title: We Go Down Together | pairings: Jackson Wang (GOT7) x female reader | genre: pwp (porn with very little plot), friends with benefits!au

— summary | You've shared moments of pleasure—both pure and carnal—always perfectly in sync, even if those moments never last long enough. You've told yourself this is enough, that all you want is a night in his arms, not a place in his heart. But what if he wants more? What if, between the fleeting nights and the spaces between your busy lives, he’s longing for something deeper than just desire?

— read here | teaser

— title: The Perfect Mistake | pairings: Jinyoung (GOT7) x female reader | genre: best friend’s brother!au, forbidden love!au, rom-com

— summary | One-night stands are nothing new to you—avoiding messy relationships has always been your way of steering clear of trouble. But waking up next to your best friend’s older brother after a drunken night? That’s a complication you never saw coming. One that might be even harder to escape.

— read here | teaser

— title: You Are | pairings: Youngjae (GOT7) x female reader | genre: best friends to lovers!au, unrequited first love!au, mutual pining

— summary | Youngjae has long given up on love—or at least the hope of having his feelings returned. Being your best friend is enough, even if it means hiding the gaping void in his heart shaped by your presence. But he isn’t the only one keeping secrets. And when the truth finally comes to light, he may have to face the possibility that his dream of being yours was never meant to be.

— read here | teaser

— title: Crash Into Me | pairings: Bambam (GOT7) x female reader | genre: strangers to lovers!au, runaway bride, rom-com

— summary | Spending his free weekend at his estranged cousin’s wedding was the last thing Bambam wanted to do. He had no real expectations coming to the ceremony—aside from enduring nosy relatives and enjoying a few drinks. But he certainly didn’t expect to be accused of kidnapping the bride while trying to slip away from the disaster that the ceremony had become.

— read here | teaser

— title: The Way We Lie | pairings: Yugyeom (GOT7) x female reader | genre: roommates to lovers!au, fake dating!au, rom-com

— summary | Moving to a new city feels like a fresh start—especially when you stumble upon an online ad that turns out to be a total jackpot. A spacious yet affordable two-bedroom apartment, a charming roommate who's both a goofball and a great cook—what more could you ask for? But things take a turn when a stalker ex-girlfriend and your conservative parents come into the picture, leaving you with only one way out; a little white lie that blurs the line between pretend and reality.

— read here | teaser

— series tracklist | listen to story playlist here

— masterlist | wip | divider credit | ko-fi | patreon

Note: If you’re interested to be tagged/notified on any of the stories included in this series, please leave your blog username/url in the replies down below! Or you can enter through the taglist form here. Please make sure that your url is searchable and your blog is public so I can tag you.

#misc: fic masterlist #series: lost boys #got7 scenarios #kvanity #ksmutsociety #got7 smut #got7 imagines #got7 angst #got7 fanfic #jay b scenarios #jackson scenarios #mark tuan scenarios #jinyoung scenarios #bambam scenarios #youngjae scenarios #yugyeom scenarios

80 notes · View notes

maskedcrawford · 21 days ago

Text

Connection

Jackson Wang x Reader

Summary: It's been 10 years since you and Jackson seen each other, what happens when you both get cast in a K-Drama playing friends to lovers?

A/N: My first Jackson Wang fic! Thank you to my darling Anon who requested this! I hope I portrayed him correctly. Let me know if this wasn't what you wanted.

Requests are OPEN

You’re sitting in the makeup chair, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the first scene of the day.

“Oh, man it’s nice to meet you,” you hear a familiar voice say and your eyes snap open to look over at none other than Jackson Wang. Your jaw slightly drops as the makeup lady is trying to finish your lips. She puts the finishing touches on and you hop out of the chair walking over to him.

“Jackson?” your voice is unsure. He looks over at you and his eyes grow wide.

“Oh my god! Y/n?” he walks over and embraces you in a huge bear hug. You giggle as your return his embrace.

“It’s been what, 10 years?” he asks as he looks you up and down.

“You look beautiful as ever,” you blush slightly at his compliment.

“Yeah, it’s been a long time, you look great.” You once him over as well, really appreciating what you see.

“So wait, what are you doing here?”

“I’m playing the lead male role,” he runs his hands through his hair nonchalantly.

“No way! You’re my costar?” you smile wide and he raises his brows.

“I guess so,” he laughs.

“All right, you two. Let’s get you here, and y/n you’ll be at the bar, here.” The director moves you and steps out of the frame. The scene begins and you sip on your drink, looking around with your legs crossed. Jackson walks over slyly slipping into the seat beside you. You glance his way, getting a nice view of his side profile. He looks over at you and on cue you turn your head.

“And cut!” you hear. You feel his eyes on you, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him directly right now, fearing he’ll realize the blush you’re carrying upon your cheeks isn’t fake.

“And action!” You sigh with a drop of your shoulders.

“My name’s Minho,” the blonde says as he walks in your line of sight. You look him up and down dramatically before taking another sip.

“Mhm,” you nod, “I’m Yejin,” you give him a dazzling smile. Jackson notices the way it reaches your eyes; he returns the gesture.

“Would you like to dance?” he offers his hand out to you and, as scripted, you set the drink down and take his hand.

“Are you from here?” he quirks a brow.

“I live over in Busan,” you say as you both hit the dance floor. The music is fast paced, you turn your back to his chest and he talks in your ear.

“So what are you doing all the way out here?” his tone is playful and you bring your bottom lip between your teeth for real

“I wanted a change of scenery,” you pause and turn to face him with your arms around his neck. Jackson’s eyes grow wide as this wasn’t scripted, but keeps his hands around your waist.

“And I found a nice one,” you wink and he smirks.

“And cut! Nice improv y/n,” the director compliments. You and Jackson are still wrapped up together for a moment too long before you realize it’s time to change the scene.

“Hey, how about we grab lunch together today? My treat,” Jackson asks.

“Sure, it’d be nice to catch up.” You give him a genuine smile before parting ways temporarily. He has a solo scene, one where his character must act like he see’s yours everywhere before calling her, and you watch him closely. You both make eye contact a few times when he’s supposed to be ‘seeing’ you. You offer him an encouraging smile to keep going and he does, very professionally.

“All right, let’s break for lunch!” the director announces after the scene gets a few takes. Jackson rushes over to you.

“I’ll meet you back here?” he offers and you smile with a nod. You both get changed into more normal attire before meeting back up at the mentioned spot.

“You wanna head out the back?” you both go to walk out the front door, with a security guard to your front and back, and per usual the k media is outside waiting. You hear a flurry of voices and cameras, and Jackson instinctively takes your hand, wading through the crowd with you so you don’t get lost or overwhelmed. You both slide into the waiting car.

“You ok?” he asks once you’re both settled. You nod.

“I’m good, you’d think I’d be used to it by now,” you half laugh.

“It never really gets easier, just something you grow to understand is part of it,” he mentions. Once again you nod in response.

“So you and GOT7?” you nudge his side playfully and he smiles wide.

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck suddenly feeling flustered with how close you guys are.

“I know you’re excited to perform with them again. I mean Python? Such a banger,” you compliment and he looks at you surprised.

“Wait, you’ve listened to it?”

“Of course, just because we lost touch doesn’t mean I stopped rooting for you.” His eyes flash with genuine gratitude.

“I’ll always support you. I mean, we both debuted around the same time J, what’s the world coming to if you can’t support your friends?”

“I honestly thought you had forgotten about me,” he says sheepishly.

“How could I ever forget about the guy who basically saved me from getting cake all over my brand new stage outfit at our first after show bash?” You both chuckle at the memory.

“That was a great party,” he reminisces.

“And they time,” he starts with a laugh, “Where we were on that variety show,” you both start to laugh uncontrollably.

“The one where you had to constantly repeat everything for me a little slower because I couldn’t understand him,” you chime in. You both are in fits of laughter when the car stops outside the restaurant.

Over lunch the two of you talk about past memories, your current lives and plans for the future.

“So, what’s this I hear about a girlfriend?” you ask as you take a bite of your food.

“What girlfriend?” He does the same.

“So, it’s a rumor then, good to know,”

“Why is that good?” His voice is teasing and you can all ready tell where this is going. Back when you two debuted you and Jackson were always teased like you had a crush on each other. Multiple times there were rumors that you two dated but the most that happened was a soft slow kiss between you two one night after a little too much to drink when celebrating a great show. It was chalked up to a drunken mistake, to Jackson at least, but it still replayed in your head more often than you’d like to admit.

“No, I mean,” you sigh with an embarrassed smile on your face as you hide it with your hands.

“What you mean is, you can’t stop thinking about that passionate kiss we shared that night,” he says in a dramatic tone, trying to lighten the mood of the moment.

“Oh, so you still think about it?” you tease and he tosses his head back in laughter, trying to hide the blush on his face.

“I missed you,” he says after a moment, “A lot.” He glances up from his plate.

“I missed you too, Jax.” You both go silent for a beat, but before the tension can get too awkward, he looks at his watch.

“We should get back,” he stands up and puts the cash on the table for the waiter. You turn to grab your wallet.

“I said it was my treat,” he tuts. And you slowly stop rummaging through your bag.

“I don’t expect you to pay,” you say as he takes your hand again and leads you out.

“And I don’t expect my lady to pay,” you both freeze for a beat before he looks back at you.

“I meant a lady, not-not my lady,” he tries to laugh off.

“No, I think you meant my,” you tease and you both walk out the door. Once again, you are led through a small army of paparazzi, Jackson’s grip on your hand is solid, not too tight, but secure.

You both get back in the car and are driving back to the studio.

“I really didn’t mean my,” he tries to defend.

“Whatever you say,” you tease once again and he smiles while shaking his head. You take a minute to really soak up the moment, to make it a clear memory. You both ride silently back to the studio where the rest of the day’s filming is set to begin.

The director approaches you both as soon as you walk back on set, so quickly Jackson hadn’t even had time to let go of your hand from helping you inside.

“We’re going to have you guys film the first kiss scene, so get to make up.” He informs you and you and Jackson share a look, one of uncertainty.

After you both get your makeup done you are both back on set with a rainy feel, they really were going for dramatic.

“And action!”

“Wait, I forgot my line!” You jog over to a woman holding the script and you review for a quick moment before nodding and going back.

“Minho!” you call over the sound of the fake rain as he walks off. He’s meant to be frustrated. Jackson looks back at you.

“What,” he shouts over the noise. His face is cold, angry. You run up to him like you’re scripted to do and smash your lips against his. He hesitates like he’s meant to. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, the cold water falling on both of you to dramatize the scene.

He puts his hands on your waist, his fingers slightly digging in. He kisses you back with passion, with need and desire; for a moment it’s not fake for either of you.

“Cut! Let’s run that again, I want multiple angles.” The director says as you two separate and stare at each other for a moment. The cameras move around you and you’re placed back in your original spot. Jackson’s face is blank. Meanwhile yours is flustered.

“Action!” is called again and you run through the motions once more. This happens a few times, each time you Jackson pull apart something flashes across his face that you can’t read. One last time the scene is done and Jackson makes a bold decision.

As your lips land on his he puts one hand behind your head and the other around your waist, and he takes his tongue, separating your willing lips to explore your mouth. You gasp quietly.

“Cut! That’ll do it! Let’s move on!” the director shouts. You both pull away slowly and stand there amidst the commotion around you. You stare into each others eyes for a long moment before you’re suddenly pulled away from him. The rest of the day you shoot a scene where you’re constantly replaying the kiss in your head, and if you were honest that didn’t take much acting. The kiss replayed during takes and in between. You couldn’t look at Jackson during the scene or you’d blush.

The worst part? You couldn’t hardly sleep that night without dreaming of it. You knew there would be other scenes where you two kissed but for some reason you hadn’t expected it to leave this much of an impression. The next few months are spent filming, and as a result, you and Jackson both rekindle your friendship.

Over the next few weeks, you and Jackson rekindle that lost friendship and tonight you’re at his house as this is one of the biggest episodes in the show. You’re both sitting on his couch when the scene comes on. Both of you get really still and focus on the tv. The episode ends with the kiss and you both groan.

“Talk about a cliff hanger,” you giggle. You expect Jackson to agree but he’s sitting there, his head thrown back and his eyes closed.

“J, you ok?” He scoffs with a half laugh.

“Yeah, I,” he takes a deep breath.

“Actually, no I’m really not.” You set the bowl of popcorn down on the table and turn to face him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he mumbles with a hand combing through his hair. He doesn’t meet your gaze, rather he looks at the floor, as if something far more interesting could be down there.

“About,” you ask trailing off.

“It,” he shrugs.

“The kiss.” His tone is low, shame filled almost.

“And I’m sorry, you’re my friend, but it’s the truth,” he rubs his face, still not able to look you in the eye. You don’t have any kind of expression nor do you say anything.

“Y/n?” he asks timidly.

“Yeah,” you breathe processing the information he just laid at your feet.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” he starts but you cut him off.

“I can’t stop thinking about it either,” you admit and his eyes snap up from the floor to yours. You both look at each other in silence for a brief moment before Jackson moves closer to you, hesitantly, like he’ll jump at the slightest unction of any discontent from you. He glances at your lips. You notice his hesitation and close the gap between you. Your lips interlock in a passionate kiss that sends electricity through your body and your heart races.

His hands find your waist and he gently tugs you to him. You slide on to his lap and straddle his waist as your hands find his face to cup it. You break apart, only for the reason of needing air. You both smile and rests your foreheads together, his hands holding you as if he let you go, you’d disappear.

“Remind me not to let you go,” he laughs quietly and presses another sweet kiss to your lips.

If you enjoyed, consider buying me a coffee

Masterlist

59 notes · View notes

thealternateuniverse · 1 month ago

Text

You belong with Me

Bambam x reader

Masterlist

Warnings: Smut(?) if it counts as one

-------

"Y/N, I have a lunch with—"

"JYP, yeah, I already made the reservation. You'll be at the private lounge."

"What about the budget proposals for—"

"Done. Color-coded and on your desk."

"And don’t forget the contract for—"

"Stray Kids? Called Jinyoung. He’s drafting it, but he says you still owe him dinner."

Bambam leans back in his chair, eyeing you with exaggerated suspicion. "Are you secretly reading my mind? Or do you have little spies running around?"

You smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

He exhales, shaking his head. "I swear, if you ever leave, I’m screwed."

"Good thing I enjoy watching you suffer, then."

He chuckles before rubbing his temples. "No, but seriously, I don’t know what I’d do without you."

You mentally pat yourself on the back. Being Bambam’s secretary is a full-time commitment. If you had to describe it, you’re Donna Paulsen, and he’s Harvey Specter. The man doesn’t understand the concept of a break, and keeping up with him isn’t for the weak.

"No problem, Bam. I gotchu."

Just as you turn to head back to your desk, he suddenly remembers something.

"Oh, wait. I think you deserve this."

He lifts a small white envelope, waving it between his fingers.

You narrow your eyes. "What’s that? A bonus? A thank-you note? A restraining order?"

"Trip to Thailand." He grins. "All expenses paid. A whole week. You're welcome."

You blink. "You just said you don’t know what you’d do without me, and now you’re sending me away? Make it make sense."

Bambam leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Oh, don’t worry, I’ll suffer. But this way, when you come back, you’ll be well-rested and even more efficient. It’s a win-win."

You cross your arms. "Or… I could just stay there permanently and leave you to drown in your own mess."

He gasps dramatically. "You wouldn’t dare!"

You smirk. "Try me."

He laughs, shaking his head. "Nah, you love me too much to leave."

You roll your eyes, heart skipping a beat, but take the envelope anyway.

You hold up the envelope, inspecting it like it might be a prank. "There’s no catch? No secret work waiting for me in Thailand?"

Bambam smirks. "No catch. Just my way of showing appreciation. And maybe ensuring you don’t quit on me."

You narrow your eyes. "Mm-hmm. That part sounds more like the real reason."

He gasps, placing a hand on his chest. "Wow. Can’t a guy be generous without being accused of ulterior motives?"

You tap the envelope against your palm. "Not when that guy is you."

Bambam chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "Fine, fine. I admit, it’s a little bit of both. But mostly, I figured you deserved a break before you burn out and start plotting my demise."

You pretend to think. "Oh, I started plotting that months ago."

He winks. "And yet, I’m still alive. Must be the charm."

You roll your eyes. "More like my patience. Which, by the way, has a limit."

Bambam tilts his head. "And what happens when you hit that limit?"

You smirk. "Guess we’ll find out when I get back from Thailand."

Bambam dramatically shudders. "Should I be scared?"

"Always."

He laughs, shaking his head. "See? This is why I’m sending you away. You need some beach therapy before you actually murder me."

You sigh, slipping the envelope into your bag. "Fine. I’ll take the trip. But if I come back and find out you’ve made a mess of everything—"

Bambam grins. "Relax, I’ll be on my best behavior."

You snort. "That’s a lie."

He shrugs. "Yeah, but you won’t be here to witness it, so does it really matter?"

You shake your head, turning to leave. "Unbelievable."

Just as you reach the door, Bambam calls after you. "Wait!"

You turn back. "What now?"

He grins. "You’re still working tomorrow, right?"

You let out a dramatic sigh. "See? This is why I don’t trust you."

He chuckles, completely unapologetic. "Hey, just making sure. Enjoy your trip, assistant of the year."

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the small smile on your lips as you walk out.

--------------------

If your feet could talk, they’d be cursing you right now. Your heels felt like medieval torture devices, and your jaw ached from the forced smile you’d been wearing all night. When—please—would this damn party end?

And, of course, your boss was nowhere to be found. You’d spent the last hour weaving through the sea of socialites and champagne flutes, hoping to track him down so you could finally leave. You had a flight to catch tomorrow—destination: Thailand.

Bambam’s family’s annual charity ball was in full swing, a grand, glittering event that you had somehow managed to plan on top of your already impossible workload. And while you’d smiled and nodded through countless conversations, your mind was elsewhere.

You were dreading tomorrow. Not the trip itself—no, that was the one silver lining. You just couldn’t wait to escape for a while. To get away from all of this.

Spotting a familiar face, you grabbed the nearest (and hopefully sober) person. "Gyeom, have you seen your brother?"

Yugyeom blinked at you, swaying slightly. "Oh, he’s probably… somewhere… drunk."

You sighed. "That’s not helpful, Gyeom."

He grinned lazily. "Helpful is overrated. Besides, you know how these things go. Jackson got us all started, and once Jackson gets started—"

"—All of you lose all sense of responsibility. Yeah, yeah, I know."

Yugyeom patted your shoulder with the enthusiasm of someone who no longer had full control of his limbs. "Just… let him be. He’s having fun. You should too!"

You gave him a deadpan look. "I would love to, but unlike you, I actually have to leave in the morning. Flight. Early. Remember?"

He frowned. "Oh, right. You’re ditching us."

"Not ditching. Temporarily escaping before I commit workplace homicide."

Yugyeom laughed. "Fair. But if you’re looking for him, maybe check the balcony? He likes to hide when he’s had too much to drink."

You groaned but nodded. "Thanks, Gyeom. Try not to pass out in a fountain, yeah?"

He grinned. "No promises."

With a sigh, you turned toward the balcony, bracing yourself for whatever state Bambam was in.

You found the others—Jackson, Key, Mingyu, Ten, and Minghao—already deep into the party.

"Y/N… not even tipsy yet?" Jackson greeted, handing you a shot of Hennessy.

You glanced at the glass, debating. You were trying to avoid alcohol tonight—hangovers and early flights don’t mix—but one drink wouldn’t kill you.

"Nope. I’m ditching everyone tomorrow, and I gotta do it sober. Have you seen Bambam?"

"Oh, your boss? Yeah, he’s drunk off his ass. Went to the bathroom a few seconds ago—probably to throw up or negotiate with gravity."

Fantastic. Your feet were already killing you, and now you had to go find him again.

"Great. If he comes back, tell him I already left. And if anything goes missing this week, don’t bother looking for me until my plane lands back here."

The guys exchanged knowing looks, shaking their heads. They were used to your and Bambam’s chaotic boss-secretary dynamic. And you were dead serious about your DND mode.

"Well, enjoy Thailand," Mingyu said. "Just don’t enjoy it so much you forget to come back. Bambam will lose his shit. Hell, he’s probably losing it now."

Mingyu nodded toward the far end of the room. There stood Bambam, trying (and failing) to look composed. His stance wobbled slightly, and his half-lidded eyes gave him away. He was deep in conversation with Sandara Park, probably saying his goodbyes. She looked like she was about to leave.

"And… that’s my cue. Gotta vanish before he fully processes what’s happening."

After bidding the boys farewell, you made your way toward Bambam, who looked about three seconds from face-planting.

"Bam…" you called.

"Y/N!" he slurred, flashing a wide grin.

He excused himself from Sandara and turned toward you—only to stumble. You sighed, already predicting how this night would end.

"Hey, I’m leaving. Flight tomorrow, remember?"

Bambam groaned, pouting dramatically while still gripping his glass of Bombay.

"I regret giving you that damn ticket."

You smirked, arms crossing as you took in his state. His tie was crooked, three buttons undone, and his entire face was flushed red.

"And you should go home before you regret this hangover tomorrow."

Except… judging by the way he was looking at you—half-lidded, unbothered, borderline not comprehending. He didn’t argue. Instead, he placed his glass down on the nearest table. You pulled out your phone to call his driver.

"Come on, let’s walk out of here and at least pretend you’re sober. Your ride’s waiting outside."

Feigning casualness, you clung to his arm, guiding him as he insisted on stopping every few steps to say goodbye to people. By the time you finally reached the car, his legs gave out.

"Oh, for fu—Bambam!" you hissed, barely catching him before he hit the ground.

He was dead weight. Completely out.

"My god. This is not part of my job. Get it together! I haven't even left yet."

With no other option, you climbed into the car, directing his driver to drop your boss to his apartment

In the backseat, he was fully knocked out, snoring lightly.

Just another night dealing with your menace of a boss.

With the help of his driver, you somehow managed to haul Bambam’s deadweight up to his apartment on the 31st floor. By the time you got him through the door without breaking your backs, you were officially over it.

"Oh my god, I can’t wait to go to Thailand," you muttered under your breath as you tucked him into bed.

You should’ve left right then. But instead, you found yourself rummaging through his cabinets, searching for Tylenol or Advil—because knowing him, he’d wake up tomorrow hating his entire existence. You placed the pills and a bottle of water on his bedside table before turning back to him.

"Bam…" you tapped him gently, checking if he was conscious.

His right eye cracked open, barely.

"At least take off your coat and tie," you sighed.

He groaned, rubbing his face before sluggishly sitting up. With his eyes still shut, he half-heartedly peeled off his coat and tugged at his tie. When he finally got them off, he handed them to you—except, at the last second, he let them slip right through his fingers and onto the floor.

You exhaled sharply. "I swear to god, Bambam—"

Before you could finish, he caught your wrist, tugging you toward him. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard.

His grip was loose, but his voice was quiet—almost pleading.

"I wish I could tell you this when I am sober but.......I so badly need you. Don't leave, please?"

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your pulse thudding so hard you swore your eyeballs were about to pop out of their sockets. What in Merlin's beard was happening to your boss? You mentally noted to check the batch number on that Bombay—maybe it had expired or something.

"Uhh… you technically gave me the ticket," you pointed out, trying to sound casual, even though your insides were screaming.

You carefully tried to slide your arm out of his grip, but instead of letting go, Bambam pulled you closer. His head slumped against your stomach, his warmth seeping through your clothes.

You froze.

Your boss was drunk. You were not. And… what the hell was this?

For a split second, you questioned whether you were the drunk one, but no—your mind was painfully clear. And yet, here he was, clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

"Right…" he muttered, his voice rough.

You stood there awkwardly, weighing your options. Should you push him off? Knock him out so he could go back to sleep? Pretend this never happened?

"And I need to leave now because I have a flight tomorrow," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "Don't miss me too much. It's just a week."

The words felt hollow as soon as you said them. You realized, too late, that it probably fed into whatever drunken fantasy Bambam had in his hazy, alcohol-laced mind. You saw his eyes flicker up to you, dark and heavy with something unspoken.

Your stomach did a flip. This wasn’t just some playful drunken nonsense, you thought. The room suddenly felt too small, the air thick with something neither of you could deny.

Bambam lifted his head, the vulnerability in his gaze cutting through the alcohol haze. "You don’t know what it’s like... being around you all the time. I’ve been... Trying to act..... Normal.....But you…mm" His words faltered as he inched closer, his hand now resting on your waist.

Your mind screamed at you to walk away, to snap back into your usual role, to remind him of who you were: his secretary, his subordinate, not someone he could...

But before you could finish that thought, Bambam was pressing his lips to yours. Your body froze at first, but the heat of it, the intensity of the kiss, was too much to ignore.

You could feel the tension snap, like a dam breaking. And despite every single logical reason to pull back, you didn’t. You kissed him back, feeling the desperation in the way his hands gripped your back, as if he were trying to pull you into his soul itself.

His lips were warm, insistent, carrying the weight of something he had been holding back for too long. He wasn’t just drunk; there was intention in the way he pulled you closer, his hands sliding over your waist, fingers pressing into your lower back as if to keep you from disappearing.

You melted against him before you could think twice, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

“Bam…” you whispered against his lips, unsure if it was a plea to stop or to keep going.

But he didn’t stop. His lips traveled down, grazing your jawline before pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Your breath hitched, and your fingers instinctively tangled into his shirt, gripping the fabric as he pulled you flush against him.

“I think I'm going insane,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low, heavy with something deeper than just drunken words. “And you drive me insane, do you know that?”

Your heart pounded as he trailed his hands up your sides, his touch firm yet careful, as if memorizing every inch of you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this was a bad idea. You knew this would change things. But right now, with his lips claiming yours again, with his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, none of it mattered.

You barely registered him guiding you toward the bed until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He sat first, pulling you down with him, his hands never leaving your body. His fingers traced slow, teasing patterns down your spine, sending shivers through you.

“Don't be thinking too much,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

You didn’t get the chance to respond because the next thing you knew, he was flipping the both of you over, pressing you into the mattress with his body caging you in. His eyes, dark and clouded with desire, locked onto yours as he leaned down, his breath fanning against your lips.

Your clothes were suddenly everywhere Scattered across the room in a blur of heat and hands. You weren’t even sure when or how they came off. Maybe you had been too distracted, lost in the feeling of his lips against yours, the way his hands explored your body with an intoxicating mix of urgency and reverence.

Oh my god. He’s your boss.

You’re about to fuck with your boss.

A fleeting moment of hesitation hit you, but then you glanced at him—his dark, hooded eyes watching you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, his pouty lips swollen from kissing you, his breath uneven.

You made your decision.

"You know what? Hell yeah."

This time, you were the one pulling him down, crashing your lips against his as you worked to remove the last of his clothes.

And damn.

You had seen Bambam in expensive suits, silk shirts, and designer fits, but seeing him like this, bare, raw, unfiltered—was something else entirely.

He was toned, every muscle defined beneath your fingertips, his frame lean yet strong. And his tattoos? You took your time tracing the ink with your fingers, your lips following the patterns across his skin.

Bambam let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against you as he hovered over you. "Didn’t know you liked my tattoos this much," he teased, though his voice was rough with want.

You met his gaze, smirking as you ran a hand down his chest. "Didn’t know you were hiding all this under your overpriced shirts," you shot back.

His grin widened, but there was something darker, more intense behind it. "Guess we’re both learning new things tonight," he murmured before his lips found yours again, stealing your breath, stealing your thoughts, until all that was left between you was heat and hunger.

And for the rest of the night, nothing else mattered.

----------

Bambam woke up to a pounding headache and a dry throat, his body heavy with the aftermath of too much alcohol. Groaning, he blinked against the morning light filtering through the curtains, his mind still hazy from the night before.

And then—flashes.

Soft lips. Warm hands. His name whispered like a secret.

His eyes snapped open.

What the hell?

Did he… have a wet dream about Y/N? His secretary?

He winced as the throbbing in his head doubled, rubbing his temples as he sat up. His first instinct was to reach for his phone, but instead, his fingers brushed against something on his bedside table—a bottle of water, pain relievers, and a note.

Confused, he picked up the note and read it.

I contacted the restaurant for your recovery food before leaving.

A slow grin crept onto his face despite the headache.

Of course. Y/N.

Always one step ahead, making sure his life didn’t fall apart—even after a night of getting wasted. He popped the meds into his mouth, washing them down with a long gulp of water before finally grabbing his phone.

No messages.

He scrolled. Refreshed. Still nothing.

Huh. So she was serious about the DND mode.

He leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. This would be the longest time they’d been apart since she started working for him. She was always there scheduling his meetings, handling his messes, reading his moods before he even had to say anything. And now? A whole damn week without her.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

This was his experiment, wasn’t it? Sending her to Thailand to see if he could function without her.

So why did it feel like he was already failing?

And more importantly… why did that dream feel so damn real?

---------------------------------

Thailand was a waking nightmare.

You had to put on your glasses—twice—just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating, you gave up the contacts for now. Every street corner, every billboard, every bus stop, every goddamn souvenir shop… Bambam’s face was everywhere. Smirking, posing, looking effortlessly cool.

It was like sleep paralysis, except you were painfully awake.

Even on vacation, you couldn’t escape him. You practically hid behind your shades and sweats on the way to airport because you were dead tired and slept the whole day on your first day here.

And it wasn’t just his face plastered all over Bangkok that haunted you. No. It was the ghost of that night. The heat of his touch still lingered on your skin, the memory of his lips burned into your mind like a brand. And the worst part? You ran. You got up, got dressed, and bolted from his apartment like your life depended on it, leaving nothing behind but the aftermath of a mistake you weren’t ready to face.

Now here you were, stomping down the bustling streets of Thailand, spiraling.

Using your DND mode as a pathetic excuse not to text or call him about that night.

Of course. It was a one-night stand. No big deal. He probably didn’t even remember it was you.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. How the hell did it come to this?

I mean… okay. Bambam was objectively attractive. He was rich, charming, and effortlessly cool, the kind of man women threw themselves at without a second thought. He was Jackson Wang’s brother, for crying out loud! The whole world wanted him.

But you?

You were his secretary. His friend. His personal damage control. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Just what the fuck!” you blurted out, stomping your foot in the middle of the street.

Passersby turned to stare.

You forced an awkward smile before speed-walking away like a lunatic.

This was a disaster. A catastrophe. A career-ending mistake. How the hell were you supposed to look him in the eye after this? How were you supposed to work for him like nothing happened?

You exhaled sharply.

The only solution was to draft your resignation letter the second you got back.

Because there was no way you could survive this.

“Is my brother giving you a hard time?”

Your jaw practically unhinged.

Mark Tuan.

Standing right in front of you, looking effortlessly cool like he owned Thailand.

Why the hell was he everywhere too? Was this some kind of twisted prank?

You let out a deep sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple. “Mark. Seriously?”

He smirked, clearly amused by your suffering. Unlike his usual polished, business-ready look, today he was dressed down, in casual, comfortable, blending in like any other tourist. Almost. There was still something about his presence that screamed power. He might’ve swapped his suit for a hoodie, but he still carried himself like someone who could buy this entire city if he felt like it.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, folding your arms.

“Business,” he answered simply. “Flying out tonight, though.”

You groaned dramatically, looking at him with the kind of silent desperation usually reserved for someone pleading for their life. Forget that he was technically your boss too, he was Bambam’s brother. Which meant he might be the only person right now who could truly understand your current suffering without getting into details.

Mark tilted his head, watching you for a beat before gesturing ahead. “Come on. I know a good restaurant.”

You didn’t argue.

You just followed him, hoping a good meal could somehow fix your life.

--------------

Bambam thought he had everything under control.

He figured the week without Y/N would be a welcome change. A chance to prove he could function without her.

But it was turning into a nightmare.

He felt restless, checking his phone every few minutes. He would scroll through messages, emails, but mostly—he’d just open Instagram, scrolling mindlessly, hoping to see one of Y/N’s posts, a story, anything.

Every time he saw something from the temporary secretary filling in for Y/N, it was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t right. They weren’t Y/N.

He found himself disappointed, irritated even, at the way the new assistant didn’t handle things quite the way Y/N did. The calm efficiency. The way she could anticipate his every need before he even voiced it. He missed her presence more than he wanted to admit, and every task, every email, felt... off.

It was a slow, quiet torture.

But there was something deeper gnawing at him. Something that wouldn’t leave his mind.

The memory of that night kept creeping back.

He kept replaying the blurry flashes in his head—the blackouts, the haze, the heat of her skin. At first, he thought it was a vivid dream. But the more he thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be real right?

He couldn’t have slept with her?

Y/N was his secretary. His friend. She was off-limits.

But as the days dragged on, he couldn’t shake it. The fragments of the night—her lips on his, the way she felt in his arms, the soft murmur of her voice, the way her name tasted on his tongue. It all felt too real, too intimate to just be some drunken fantasy.

He kept thinking, wondering if he’d made it up in a drunken stupor. Maybe it was just a wild dream that his mind fabricated. But no—there was too much detail. Too much... intensity.

It was bothering him more than he expected.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples, frustrated. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this. Y/N was supposed to be out of sight, out of mind for the week.

Her absence made everything feel like it was missing its rhythm. Missing its pulse.

Still, every time his phone buzzed with another update from the substitute secretary, or when he walked into his office without her sitting at her desk, his chest tightened. He kept expecting Y/N to just be there, to fill the silence, to make things feel like normal.

Bambam sighed, tossing his phone down on the desk. His mind raced, and for the first time in a long while, he felt... uneasy.

"Fuck this."

He grabbed his coat, adjusting his tie as he prepared to leave his office. He was done, frustrated, and in need of a change. Maybe a flight to Thailand would clear his head. But then—he froze, hand mid-air, suddenly realizing something.

"At least take off your coat and tie," the voice in his head snapped, and for a moment, he cursed himself for not catching it earlier.

“You drive me insane.”

"You know what? Hell yeah."

A chill ran down his spine as he stood there, the realization hitting him like a freight train.

"Oh shit..." The dreams he’d dismissed, the ones that had haunted him for months, were suddenly real.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He grabbed his phone in a hurry, leaving his office, half-walking, half-running toward the elevator, panic mounting with each step. He needed answers.

When he finally got outside, his driver was already waiting for him. Bambam climbed into the back of the car, still processing the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his head.

"Sir," the driver greeted him, "Mr. Kim, how did I get home after the charity ball?"

Bambam turned his head to look at him, hoping for a shred of clarity. He couldn’t quite remember, and his brothers? Yeah, they were too drunk to even care.

"Uh... Ms. Y/L/N and I brought you home." The driver hesitated, unsure of himself, clearly caught off guard by the question.

"And did you drop her off after?"

The driver shook his head.

"Ms. Y/L/N texted me. She booked an Uber."

"What time was it?"

"It was already 4:30."

"Fuck!"

Everything clicked. The puzzle pieces were finally falling into place, and guilt washed over him like a tidal wave. That explains the no texts or any messages. That explains everything. He hadn’t remembered the night before... how could he not remember?

He had to go to Thailand. Why he needed to see Y/N? To explain? To apologize? Hell, he wasn’t even sure why, he just had to see her.

His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. He checked it, Mark’s story on Instagram. A photo of his secretary—eating, no less. A stolen shot.

The caption:

"You deserve a treat for making everything easy."

Bambam’s blood ran cold.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

His heart pounded. Mark was in Thailand? And he was eating with his secretary? With Y/N?!!!

He wanted to scream. Yell. Destroy something. Anything to get the frustration out.

"Mr. Kim, can you bring me to the airport, please?"

His driver nodded, clearly sensing the tension. Bambam didn’t care anymore. He just needed to get there. Even if it means suffering and dreading in economy class. So he booked the earliest flight he can get to Thailand.

Bambam’s plane touched down in Thailand. His heart pounded in his chest. What the hell am I doing? His mind screamed, but his feet moved on their own, carrying him through the crowded terminal.

He had to get it together for being impulsive

He had no idea what he was going to say to Y/N, no clue how to even start the conversation.

"Separation anxiety hit me so hard, I almost wrote you a love letter. Be grateful I just showed up instead."

"Y/N, I was lonely and confused when I got drunk, and then I thought… you could fix that. So, hi!"

But all he knew was that he couldn’t let things be like this. He couldn’t leave things unresolved. Hell, he's still even wearing his office clothes and doesn't have anything but his phone and wallet.

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone buzzing again.

Mark’s story.

Another picture of Y/N, laughing at something in front of her. The caption read, "Glad I could make this trip easier for you." And there she was, looking... happy. With Mark.

The gnawing feeling inside him tightened.

Why, in the hell, Mark was in Thailand with his secretary. And they are together all night?

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. No more questions. He had to face what had happened—everything.

As he left the airport and entered a cab, his phone buzzed again, this time with a message from .....Y/N... Finally! After 2 days!!

'I'll be sending my resignation.'

Bambam froze, feeling like his world stopped. What the fuck?!

why does it seems like he couldn't catch a break.

----

You sighed, staring at your phone after finally sending a text to your boss—for the first time in two days.

Having Mark around made everything feel a little lighter, like a much-needed reset. He wasn’t prying or pushing for answers. He simply asked about work, about him, and you responded with the usual: your daily routine, the way Bambam was a perfectionist to a fault, how insufferable he could be when making decisions.

And then, maybe because the boba tea was too good or because your thoughts had been eating at you for days, you said something incredibly stupid.

"Let’s say, hypothetically, Mark, you have a friend. You two are close. Then you slept together."

Mark choked—actually choked—on his drink, coughing as he wiped his mouth. "Okay? I need the whole context before I die here."

You hesitated, but the words were already out. Might as well commit.

"You’re both drunk. Or, well… one of you is drunk to the point of forgetting. And the other? Sober. The next morning, the drunk one doesn’t remember, and the sober one runs away and pretends it never happened. What would you do?"

Silence.

The moment the question fully registered, you wanted to slap yourself. Why—why—why would you ask Mark of all people? The brother of the guy you slept with.

Mark, to his credit, didn’t look completely suspicious. Just… amused.

"Okay… hypothetically? Nothing."

Your brows furrowed. Not the answer you were expecting.

"You look disappointed." Mark tilted his head, giving you a knowing look. "But really, if I don’t remember, I go about my life as usual. Unless memories hit me like a ton of bricks, then…" He trailed off, as if considering something deeply.

"Then?" you prompted, unable to stop yourself.

Mark smirked, sipping his drink. "Depends. If I find her really attractive… I might continue what we started."

Your mouth went dry.

He chuckled at your reaction. "And if I wasn’t particularly interested… I’d just ghost or pretend it never happened. Simple."

Your lips parted slightly, forming a small "oh."

So, either Bambam doesn’t remember.

Or… he remembers and doesn’t particularly care.

Your stomach twisted at the thought.

"I see," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Mark studied you, his curiosity sharpening. "So… who’s this troubled friend of yours?"

You tensed.

The way he was looking at you—really looking—made you feel exposed, like if you lingered for even a second too long, he’d know. He’d see right through you.

Your phone buzzed.

You glanced down, checking your Instagram notifications—Mark tagged you in his stories.

You tapped it open, only to cringe at the stolen shots he’d posted. Oh my god. Did you really look that horrible when eating?

"Mark, seriously? You could’ve at least picked better photos and captions."

Mark grinned, unbothered. "The more dramatic, the better." He shook his head like it was obvious.

You tilted yours, confused. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Before he could answer, he glanced at his watch. "Oh, it’s already 4:30 PM. Cinderella’s gotta get back to the hotel."

You rolled your eyes at the nickname for himself but stood up nonetheless. "Well… thanks for today, I guess. Let’s just hope I don’t get flooded with hate DMs from your fans."

Mark smirked. "You won’t. They know better than to mess with the best secretary."

You chuckled, shaking your head. Best secretary, huh? Bambam would never.

Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I won’t be able to walk you back, though. Didn’t realize the time—I have a flight to catch."

Something about the way he said it made you pause. Maybe it was the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something more but wasn’t going to.

"Oh. Right. Safe flight, then."

You and Mark exchanged goodbyes before you turned and started walking back to your hotel. It was only a fifteen-minute stroll—just enough time to clear your head.

The evening air was thick with humidity, clinging to your skin as you navigated the lively streets of Thailand. Your thoughts drifted back to your conversation with Mark, to his hypothetical answers that felt a little too real.

But the moment you stepped into the hotel lobby, all of that vanished.

Your jaw dropped. "What the—"

Standing near the entrance, dressed in his office clothes, was Bambam.

His tie was loosened, the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, and he was holding his coat in one hand—probably because of the humid weather. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it all day. And his eyes—dark, unreadable—locked onto yours the second you walked in.

"Took you long enough." His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it.

You blinked, still processing. "What… what are you doing here?"

He scoffed. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe chasing my secretary across countries because she conveniently told me she is sending her resignation."

Your stomach flipped.

Oh, shit.

Your jaw remained unhinged, mind racing as you took in the sight of him—standing there, still dressed in his office clothes, not even bothering to change into something travel-friendly.

Bambam was always stylish. Always put together. But right now? He looked… wrecked. Like he had been through hell just to get here.

And then it hit you.

He flew all the way here, in a damn suit, because he thought you were quitting as his secretary.

You exhaled sharply, dropping your gaze before forcing yourself to meet his eyes again. His expression was unreadable, but there was something there—something Longing?

Your throat tightened. But you had already made your decision.

"I quit because I can't work with you anymore."

You braced yourself for his reaction. For the sharp retort, the mocking smirk.

Instead, his jaw clenched.

"If this is about what happened that night, then fuck it—"

He took a step closer.

Your breath caught.

Your eyes widened as he reached for you, his fingers grazing your cheek with an almost possessive touch.

"Two fucking days." His voice was low, heated. "Two fucking days, and I gave you space. But that’s enough. You can quit being my damn secretary, but you’re not running away from me."

Your heart pounded. "But… I thoug—"

"I wasn’t sure if it was real at first." His forehead nearly touched yours now, his warmth seeping into your skin. "I thought you were just serious about your DND mode. But how dare you think I’d pretend it never happened while I was going crazy for the past two days?"

You scoffed, trying to put some distance between you, but he didn’t let you.

"That’s rich, Bambam." You forced a laugh, but it came out weak. "You didn’t even text me. Didn’t even call."

His fingers tightened slightly on your cheek before he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. "Because I was trying to respect your damn space."

You swallowed. "And then you just decided to chase me to another country?"

His lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes still burned. "I panicked."

You blinked. "You? Panicked?"

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. And it fucking sucked."

For the first time, he looked genuinely exhausted. Like he had been running on pure adrenaline just to get here.

"Bam, you—"

"Why did you leave?" He cut you off, voice softer this time. "Was it because you thought I’d just forget about it? That I wouldn’t care?"

You didn’t answer.

Because yes.

And the silence must have been enough of a response, because his expression darkened.

"That’s bullshit." He shook his head, laughing under his breath. "You really think I’d let you go that easily?"

Your stomach flipped. "I didn’t know what else to think."

"Then let me make it clear." He took your hand, pressing it against his chest—right over his racing heartbeat. "I fucking remember. Everything."

Your lips parted, words failing you.

"And I’m not letting you run from me again."

"I…" Your voice trailed off, words failing you as you instinctively tried to pull your hand away.

But he didn’t let go.

Bambam’s grip wasn’t tight—just firm enough to keep you there, as if letting go meant losing you all over again. His exhaustion was evident, his usual sharp gaze softened by jet lag and whatever insanity had driven him to chase you down here.

He sighed, shaking his head. "At least let me hug you. Damn, I missed you."

You swallowed hard before nodding.

The moment his arms wrapped around you, you felt his body relax against yours, his weight pressing into you as if he’d finally let himself breathe.

"Come on. You need to rest." You murmured, patting his back lightly.

Bambam groaned. "Badly. My back hurts from that goddamn economy seat. No legroom, nothing."

Your eyes widened in horror. "Wait—you flew economy?"

He nodded tiredly, rubbing his temple. "Yeah. Worst decision of my life."

You gasped, covering your mouth. "You mean to tell me… you flew all the way here… in economy… with no luggage? Just yourself?"

Bambam blinked at you, deadpan. Then he exhaled dramatically. "Baby… see how down bad I am."

You stared at him, still struggling to process how everything had escalated so fast.

It was one night.

One reckless, alcohol-fueled night.

And suddenly, he was chasing you across the world, sleep-deprived, professing—well, whatever the hell this was.

You didn’t know how things changed so fast, but one thing was certain: you’d figure it out soon enough.

Just… after he got some damn sleep.

----

Bambam jolted awake from his nap, his heart pounding when he realized no one was beside him. Panic set in for a split second—had Y/N left him again? He had dozed off in her hotel room, finally getting some rest after battling jet lag. Earlier, he had bombarded his brother, Mark, with texts, frustrated after waiting four hours in the damn hotel lobby. Mark had enjoyed Y/N’s company a little too much for Bambam’s liking—even posting her on his story just to spite him. And worst of all, it worked.

"You’re awake. You should get more sleep."

Y/N’s voice pulled him from his thoughts as she set down the paper bags she brought—probably food.

"I thought you left me again."

He caught the way her smile faltered.

"You should eat first, Bam."

Bambam sighed, running a hand through his hair as he sat up, still groggy from sleep. His heart hadn’t quite settled yet. The panic from waking up alone still lingered in his chest.

"Bam?" Y/N repeated, her voice softer this time as she unpacked the food, carefully avoiding his gaze.

He didn’t argue. Taking the food, he quietly started his meal while Y/N sat across from him, absentmindedly poking at her dessert as she watched him. The silence between them was thick—almost expectant.

As soon as he finished, he wiped his mouth and leaned back. "You can start asking."

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard. She hadn't expected him to cut straight to the chase. Scrambling to gather her thoughts, she hesitated, searching for the right words.

"Why?"

She looked at him, confusion evident in her eyes, waiting—expecting an answer.

Why?

That same question had been running through his mind the entire way here. When did it even start? He wasn’t sure. Had he just grown too dependent on her as his secretary, mistaking it for something more? Or had there been affection all along—buried beneath layers of denial—conveniently masked as a simple boss-secretary relationship?

Bambam exhaled, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the table as he struggled to piece together his own emotions.

"You know, I used to think I just needed you. That’s it. You had my back, you knew exactly what I wanted before I even said a word—hell, sometimes before I even thought of it. I figured that’s what made you so damn important to me. You were dependable, irreplaceable, my right hand. But… turns out, I’m an idiot."

Bambam chuckled, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. His gaze flickered to you, lingering like he was seeing you for the first time—or maybe, just finally admitting what had been in front of him all along.

"Because needing you? That’s the bare minimum of what I feel."

"I love watching you work, you know? The way your brows furrow when you’re deep in something—concentrated, unbothered by the chaos I bring. How you line up everything I need like clockwork, like it’s second nature to you. How you remember my coffee order down to the last damn detail, and somehow, it always tastes better when it’s from you."

"And it’s not just that. It’s how good you look when you’re serious—like you belong right next to me, running this whole damn empire together. How perfect we are together, wherever we go. How your eyes light up over the smallest things—ice cream, desserts—even after back-to-back meetings that should have drained the life out of you. How you love seafood. How you only accept real carbonara, not that cream-drenched imposter dish."

"How you wince when a trainee messes up, like you feel secondhand embarrassment. How you laugh at my jokes—like, genuinely laugh—not just because I’m the boss, but because you actually enjoy my stupid humor."

"And then there was last night. That charity ball. That dress. You looked… ethereal. Like some untouchable goddess. Too bad I got drunk, huh? Too bad I was too much of a coward to admit all this before we ended up in… whatever the hell this situation is now."

He stepped closer, voice quieter but firm, his usual confidence laced with something deeper.

"It's shitty that it had to happen before I figured it out together but I don't regret it. And I know one thing for sure. I don’t just need you, Y/N. I want you. All of you. Every little thing about you that makes you you. And if I’ve already messed this up, well… tell me now. Otherwise, I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever."

#bambam #aghase #choi youngjae #got7 fanfic #igot7 #got7 #jayb #kim yugyeom #mark tuan #got7 x reader #got7 bambam #python #got7 mark #got7 x you #kpop #kpop icons #kpop imagines

57 notes · View notes

smtown-tourist · 2 months ago

Text

You know, I gotta say, the fact that GOT7 has yet to do a 7 Deadly Sins inspired comeback feels like a crime

#got7 #mark #jay b #jackson #jinyoung #youngjae #bambam #yugyeom #ot7 #seven deadly sins #a crime truly #seven members and seven sins #i can just picture the music video #imagine each member made to represent a different sin with makeup and costumes and sets to match #picking who would be which sin is the difficult part #these are my personal choices #mark = sloth; jay b = wrath; jackson = lust; jinyoung = pride; youngjae = greed; bambam = gluttony; yugyeom = envy #my choices are based on what i think each member would look best representing looks and acting wise #they are in no way a reflection of the members’ actual characters and personalities #i do think some of them could be interchangeable which is what makes it hard to choose which sin for which member #but can’t you just picture it!!! how epic that would be!!!#and the title song could be called Sinful or Deadly or something along those lines #i’m just imaging something like the If You Do MV where each member acted out how they would handle a breakup #and the dancing/performance parts would be very chic and sexy monotoned in color #they could TOTALLY pull it off and it would so fit the kind of concepts they like to do

36 notes · View notes

consume-cs · 19 days ago

Text

free fall (03) ◯○ soft launch with bambam

• • 🏷️ flashing lights

soft launch. bambam. got7 content. these photos are not mine.

xoxo girl🤍…

#got7 reactions #got7 imagines #got7 bambam #got7 scenarios #got7 #got7 headcanons #got7 x reader #bambam #bambam imagines #bambam headcanons #bambam reactions #got7 drabbles #soft launch #couple

23 notes · View notes

multiphandomunnies · 1 year ago

Text

got7

reactions

girlfriend hugging them in their sleep

deserted island au

high school au

gf is a demon

s.o is shy with skinship

s.o is self conscious

imagines

mark

jackson

thank you

bf! jackson

trying again

single dad au

jaebum

it’s not too late

get over here

not now (*M*)

carnation

bf! jaebum

christmas special

i want to do these things with you

jinyoung

youngjae

bambam

christmas special

yugyeom

bf! yugyeom

let’s go out

124 notes · View notes

kathaelipwse · 27 days ago

Text

"You Can’t Hide From Us" (Part 2)

Pairing: Jackson x GN!Reader x BamBam

Genre: FWB! Sick Comfort

Synopsis: After recovering from the illness, you find yourself caught between Jackson and Bambam’s playful yet possessive jealousy. What starts as harmless teasing over who gets more of your attention quickly escalates into a heated battle of affection.

Requested: Yes

Word count: 2.0k

I felt like the other request could be added to the same fic, as a continuation, as it was a same dynamic :)) Enjoyyy!!

It started with something so small.

A casual afternoon, the three of you sprawled out in your apartment, lazily enjoying each other’s company after a long week. The sick spell that had previously knocked you down was long gone, leaving behind only warmth and the familiar comfort of Jackson and Bambam hovering around you like overly affectionate guard dogs. But today, something was… different.

It began when Jackson pulled you into his lap, arms winding around your waist as he nuzzled into your neck. "You spent all morning with Bambam," he murmured against your skin, voice carrying the slightest edge of accusation. "You didn’t even cuddle me once."

Bambam, lounging on the other side of the couch, let out an exaggerated scoff. "Oh, please. You had them all last night! They fell asleep on your chest!" He threw a pillow at Jackson’s head. "Quit being so greedy."

Jackson caught the pillow effortlessly, but his grip around you tightened possessively. "Greedy? I’m just making up for lost time. They’re mine too, you know."

The air between them shifted—just a little. Playful, but thick with something more, something that made your breath catch as you felt Jackson’s fingers press into your hip. Bambam’s eyes darkened as he leaned forward, draping an arm over the back of the couch, tilting his head at you.

"Yeah? Well, if they’re yours, then what does that make them to me?" Bambam’s voice was deceptively sweet, but the sharp glint in his gaze made your stomach twist. "Because I don’t remember agreeing to share."

Jackson’s grip flexed, his jaw tightening. "You don’t get to play the jealous card when you hog them whenever I’m not looking."

"Hog them?" Bambam laughed, but it lacked his usual lightness. "Don’t be mad just because they like spending time with me more."

Oh. Oh.

There it was—the shift from playful to something deeper, something that sent a shiver down your spine. The tension between them was palpable now, both men staring each other down while you sat in the middle, helplessly caught in their battle of possessiveness.

You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead. "Guys, seriously?"

Neither of them acknowledged you, their gazes locked as Jackson scoffed. "Right. That’s why they’re sitting in my lap right now."

Bambam smirked. "Oh, that just means they’re comfortable. Doesn’t mean they’d pick you over me."

You groaned. "I am literally right here."

"No, no, let’s settle this," Jackson said, voice lower now, his fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt. "If you had to choose—"

"Don’t even finish that sentence, Jackson Wang."

He had the audacity to pout, but before he could argue, Bambam suddenly stood up, clapping his hands. "Fine. If they won’t pick, we’ll just have to prove who deserves their attention more."

Your stomach dropped. "I don’t like where this is going."

Bambam ignored you, already grabbing his keys. "Give me twenty minutes."

Jackson narrowed his eyes. "What the hell are you up to?"

"Oh, you’ll see."

And with that, he was gone.

You stared after him, then turned back to Jackson, who still had his arms wrapped securely around you. "Should I be worried?"

Jackson hummed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Nah. Whatever he’s planning, I’ll just do it better."

You sighed. "You two are ridiculous."

"You love it."

You wanted to argue, but his lips brushed against your skin again, and, well… maybe you did love it. Just a little.

---

Twenty minutes later, Bambam returned—triumphant, grinning, holding a beautifully wrapped box of your favorite chocolates. "For you, baby," he cooed, pressing the box into your hands with a wink. "Because I actually pay attention to what you like."

Jackson immediately scoffed, standing up with you still in his arms before setting you on your feet. "That’s cute. Really. But—" He grabbed something from behind the counter, turning back with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. "—I think they deserve something a little more romantic."

Your mouth fell open as you looked between them, each holding out their offerings, smugly challenging each other through you.

"You’ve got to be kidding me."

Bambam’s smirk widened. "Go on, baby. Pick."

Jackson tilted his head. "Yeah. Who do you think deserves your love more?"

Oh, they were really pushing it now.

You took a deep breath, slowly setting both the chocolates and the flowers down on the counter before turning to glare at them. "Alright, that’s enough. Both of you, sit down."

Jackson raised a brow. "Are we in trouble?"

"Yes."

Bambam pouted. "Damn."

Still, they listened, perching on the couch like scolded puppies while you crossed your arms. "I don’t know what kind of dumb competition this is, but let me make one thing clear: I love both of you. Equally. So whatever this little fight is? Stop it. Now."

Silence. Then—

"But I—"

"No."

"Well, technically—"

"Bambam, I swear to God—"

They both sighed, exchanging glances before Jackson finally gave in, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, alright. We get it."

Bambam leaned back, arms crossed. "Yeah, yeah. Love us both. No favorites. Blah blah."

You narrowed your eyes. "Do I need to kiss you both to make my point?"

Jackson perked up. "I mean—"

You groaned, shoving their shoulders as they laughed, finally letting the tension ease into something softer, something warm. And as they pulled you back onto the couch, cuddling you between them, you realized—

Maybe their jealousy wasn’t so bad after all.

---

105 notes · View notes

chaosandcandies · 1 month ago

Text

almost, always - ch 3

Warnings (only for this chapter) - social anxiety hinted, insecurity, alcohol mentioned, swearing Pairings - idol!bangchan x female!bsf(oc) Read chapter one and two here!

Chapter Three: Happy Birthday, I’m Dying Inside!

IN THE END, Hanuel showed up. She was late — last-minute nerves had her pacing her room for too long. But eventually, she slipped into a dusty blue knit dress and brown boots, forcing herself onto the subway. Now, standing outside the door, her fingers twisted in her bag strap as doubt crept back in, louder than ever.

Her heart pounded. Loud. Too loud. She felt every beat echo in her chest, spreading to her fingertips and toes. The music thrummed through the floor, amplifying the vibrations in her body until it felt like she might dissolve.

She shouldn’t have come.

She hadn’t even told Chan she was coming. Felix had convinced her to keep it a secret after Chan caught wind of the party plans. Let yourself be the last surprise, Felix had said over the phone. It’ll be funny.

But what if it wasn’t? What if Chan didn’t laugh? What if he felt like she was intruding — shoving her way into his life uninvited?

Hanuel forced herself to take a breath, but it did little to calm her down. The thought gnawed at her as she lingered outside the door, fingers trembling against the hem of her dress.

She could hear muffled laughter spilling from inside — voices overlapping, music thrumming through the walls. Every sound made her chest tighten.

Maybe she should leave. She had already called Chan in the morning, wishing him a happy birthday. She could text Felix, say she wasn’t feeling well, and slip back into the subway like she was never here.

Her heart jumped when the door suddenly opened.

Minho stood in the doorway, blinking at her. His usual sharp expression softened into something unreadable, eyes flicking over her like he was piecing together a puzzle.

“Oh,” he said, stepping aside without a word. He didn't question why she was hovering outside the door and Hanuel was grateful for it.

She bowed, mumbling a barely audible thank you as she slipped inside. The apartment buzzed with life, the members and others whom she didn't recognise packed into the clusters, too busy in their jokes and teasing to notice her.

Hanuel quickly pressed herself against the nearest wall, fingers twisting the strap of her bag as she scanned the room for Chan.

She spotted him almost immediately.

He was in the kitchen, laughing with Felix and Hyunjin, a paper crown perched crookedly on his head. He looked so at ease — so happy.

Her stomach twisted.

Maybe he didn’t need her here. Maybe he hadn’t needed her for a long time.

But then Chan turned, and his eyes landed on her like a magnet snapping into place. His laughter cut off mid-breath, the surprise on his face so stark that even Hyunjin stopped talking to glance between them.

“Hanuel?” Chan’s voice carried over the noise, and suddenly, she wished she really had left.

His eyes were wide, disbelief flickering across his face. He blinked, like he wasn’t sure she was real. Her body went rigid, feet glued to the floor. She opened her mouth to explain herself, to apologize — but nothing came out.

Chan, still staring, handed his drink to Hyunjin without looking. He weaved through the crowd, brushing past people like they weren’t even there, until he stopped right in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice gentler this time. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“I…Felix invited me.” She swallowed, throat tight and then she forced herself to smile, “Happy Birthday, Snapback.”

Chan’s face softened at the mention of the old nickname, a slow grin spreading across his lips. “You should’ve told me,” he said, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. “I would’ve come to get you.”

Her pulse hammered painfully. She couldn’t tell if he was upset or not — if he really meant what he said, or if he was just being polite. She hated how her brain twisted his words, pulling them apart to find problems where there probably weren’t any.

“I...I thought you might not want me here,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Chan frowned, brows furrowing. “Why would you think that?”

Before she could answer, a loud voice cut through the noise.

“HANNI-BEE?!”

She barely had time to brace herself before she was engulfed in a crushing hug, the ridiculous nickname making her suddenly nostalgic.

“Bambam?” she croaked, her voice muffled against his jacket.

He pulled back, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “I knew I saw you!” He shook her shoulders with playful force. “You disappeared! Why didn’t you tell me you were still hanging out with this loser?” He jerked a thumb toward Chan.

“I — I wasn’t,” she stammered, heat rushing to her cheeks. “I mean, not really, I —”

“JACKSON, LOOK!” Bambam shouted over his shoulder. “SHE’S ALIVE!”

Jackson materialized out of nowhere, eyes wide with surprise before morphing into a mischievous smirk. “I thought you were a ghost or something,” he teased, ruffling her hair. “Haven’t seen you in forever.”

Her hands trembled as she tried to laugh it off, overwhelmed by the sudden attention. She pressed her fingers into her palms, grounding herself, but her chest still tightened like a vice.

Chan stood beside her, watching her carefully, but not carefully enough to see. He didn’t notice how her smile strained, or how her fingers twitched from squeezing her hands too hard.

He didn’t notice how badly she wanted to run.

“I — it’s nice to see you guys,” Hanuel said, her voice wobbling like a loose thread.

“You’re shaking,” Jackson observed, not unkindly, but blunt enough to make her flinch.

Chan elbowed him. “Hyung.”

“What? She is.”

“I’m fine,” Hanuel blurted, voice too sharp, too quick. She felt her pulse throb in her throat, the weight of their attention pressing down on her. Her chest constricted, lungs working overtime as she tried to breathe through the panic creeping up her spine.

She hated how obvious it felt — how she could feel her anxiety bleeding through the cracks, no matter how tightly she tried to patch herself up.

“I should get a drink,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, she slipped away, weaving through the crowd like a ghost. The noise blurred into static, voices warping as her heart pounded louder, faster.

She barely made it to the kitchen before her legs gave out, and she sank onto a stool, fingers digging into her knees.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

She counted her breaths, grounding herself against the cool surface of the counter. She pressed her palms flat, willing the tremors in her fingers to stop, to quiet the storm raging beneath her skin.

“Hanuel?”

Her heart stuttered.

She turned, and there he was — Han Jisung, standing by the fridge with a half-empty soda can in his hand. His eyes widened when he saw her, blinking as if he wasn’t sure she was real.

“You...you actually came,” Han said, voice dipping into something softer, more surprised than she expected.

“I...yeah,” Hanuel mumbled, ducking her head. She gripped the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Han echoed, stepping closer. “Why are you sorry?”

For being here. For crashing the party. For acting like I still belong in Chan’s life.

But she couldn’t say any of that, so she just shook her head, biting down on the words before they could spill out and ruin everything.

Han watched her, eyes sharp in a way that made her feel exposed. He wasn’t as loud as the others, not as showy, but his gaze was heavy, like he saw too much.

“Are you...okay?” he asked, tilting his head.

Hanuel tensed, heat rushing to her face. “I’m fine,” she said, too quickly, her voice too thin.

Han didn’t buy it. He set his drink down and leaned against the counter, keeping enough distance so she wouldn’t feel cornered but close enough that she couldn’t escape the weight of his attention.

“Chan’s happy you’re here,” Han said after a moment, tapping his fingers against the counter. “He hasn’t stopped talking about how much he misses you.”

Her chest tightened.

“I doubt that,” she muttered.

Han blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“It’s been years,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator. “I’m just...intruding.”

Han stared at her like she’d just said the sky was green. “Intruding?” he repeated, disbelief coloring his voice. “Dude, you’re like, his favorite person. He never shuts up about you.”

Hanuel froze.

“That’s not true,” she said, her throat closing up.

“It is,” Han insisted, shrugging like it was obvious. “He talks about you all the time — like, all the time. Honestly, I thought you guys texted every day or something.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut.

Because they didn’t text every day. They barely texted at all. And the more Han spoke, the more she realized how much she’d missed — how far apart she and Chan had drifted, even if he still talked about her like she hadn’t left. And no one was to blame except for her.

Hanuel swallowed the lump in her throat, her pulse hammering against her ribs.

“I should get back to the party,” she said abruptly, stepping back.

Han straightened. “Wait —”

But she was already slipping out of the kitchen, her vision blurring as her chest caved in.

She needed air.

She needed out.

But Jackson blocked her way before she could run anywhere. "Come on now," he teased, an easy grin spreading across his face, "where are you off to now? Don't tell me you're avoiding us now."

"What? No!" The lies escaped from Hanuel's lips easily, "I just wanted a drink. It's been so long."

"It really has been, hasn't it?" Bambam chimed in, "You were gone so suddenly. Like, poof! I thought you moved to another country or joined a secret agency."

Hanuel laughed, the sound slipping out before she could catch it. “I didn’t,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I just...stayed out of the way.”

“Stayed out of the way?” Jackson repeated, looking genuinely offended. “Since when do you stay out of the way? You used to pick fights with vending machines when they didn’t work.”

Bambam snorted. “Didn’t you punch one?”

“I didn’t punch it,” Hanuel muttered, heat crawling up her neck. “I just...tapped it. Forcefully.”

Jackson doubled over laughing. “Forcefully? You fucking dented the thing!”

Bambam wiped fake tears from his eyes. “And then threatened to sue JYP for emotional distress.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Hanuel whined, burying her face in her hands.

“Or when you kicked a trash can because you were losing in Mario Kart?” Jackson wheezed, clutching his stomach.

“In my defense,” Hanuel said, voice muffled, “it was rigged.”

“Or when you chased Chan around that park with a slipper as you swore at him?” Bambam added, barely able to breathe through his laughter.

“That was his fault,” she snapped, peeking out from behind her fingers. “He stole my ice cream!”

Jackson wiped his eyes, still cackling. “Man, you were fucking wild. I kinda miss it.”

Bambam nodded, smiling fondly. “Yeah. You were scary, but fun scary.”

Hanuel’s chest loosened, the weight of anxiety lifting just a little. She didn’t know when she’d stopped being that person — the one who yelled too loud, laughed too hard, and stormed through life like a hurricane. But standing there, hearing the ridiculous stories spill out like they’d just happened yesterday, made her feel like she hadn’t lost that version of herself completely.

“You guys make me sound like a menace,” she muttered, but her lips curled up in a small smile.

“You were a menace,” Bambam grinned. “And we loved it.”

“Wait, who was scary?” Felix’s voice chimed in, and they turned to see him approaching with Hyunjin trailing behind, curiosity plastered across both their faces.

“Hanuel,” Bambam grinned, pointing at her like he was exposing a criminal. “She used to terrorize everyone.”

Felix gasped, eyes wide with playful shock. “You? No way.”

Hanuel covered her face again. “This is character assassination.”

“It’s true!” Jackson said, wrapping an arm around Felix’s shoulders. “She nearly broke a vending machine because it wouldn’t give her chips.”

Hyunjin snorted, “Honestly? Respect.”

Felix giggled, his sunshine-like laughter infectious. “I can’t imagine you like that.”

Hanuel peeked out from her hands, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “That’s because I’ve mellowed out,” she mumbled. “I’m peaceful now.”

Bambam and Jackson immediately burst into laughter again, doubling over like it was the funniest thing they’d heard all night.

“Peaceful?” Bambam wheezed. “Stop with the bullshit. You threw your shoe at Chan!”

“I was sixteen!”

Felix wiped his eyes, still giggling, while Hyunjin looked at her with newfound admiration. “You’re kinda my hero,” he said, and Hanuel couldn’t help but laugh, finally feeling the last remnants of anxiety unravel.

For the first time that night, she felt like she belonged — not because she was quiet and careful, but because these people had already seen her chaos and accepted her anyway.

And maybe she hadn’t lost herself completely, after all.

Felix nudged her arm, eyes still sparkling. “You should hang out with us more. Maybe you can help me scare Chan for revenge.”

Hanuel raised a brow. “Revenge for what?”

“He stole my last brownie,” Felix said, voice heavy with betrayal.

Hyunjin nodded solemnly. “It was tragic. Felix almost cried.”

“I did cry,” Felix admitted, clutching his chest like he was still grieving.

Hanuel chuckled, the warmth in her chest spreading. “I guess I can come out of retirement for that.”

Jackson threw an arm around her shoulders. “That’s the spirit! Wild Hanuel is back!”

Before she could protest, more footsteps echoed down the hall, and Seungmin and I.N appeared, both bowls filled with chips and candies.

“Oh, hey,” Seungmin said, blinking at the group. “We were wondering where everyone went.”

I.N tilted his head, glancing at Hanuel and then bowed. He then turned to the group to ask, "What are you talking about?"

“Hanuel-ssi's adventures.” Hyunjin grinned, gesturing toward her like she was some kind of legend. “She was a vending machine warrior.”

Hanuel groaned, but Seungmin just nodded like it made perfect sense. “Cool.” He offered her some chips. “Want some?”

She took it, unsure what to do with the sudden kindness. “Thanks?”

Before the awkward silence could settle, Han appeared at the end of the hall, panting like he’d run a whole marathon. “Why are all of you missing?”

Felix smirked. “Talking how wild Hanuel used to be.”

Han’s eyes widened as he registered her presence. “Oh,” he said, voice small.

“Oh?” Hyunjin echoed, “That’s all you’ve got?”

Han cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh, thought you left already.”

“I almost did,” Hanuel admitted, “But Jackson and Bambam tackled me.”

“Emotionally tackled,” Jackson corrected.

Han smiled, something softer settling in his expression. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Just as Hanuel started to feel like she could relax, Chan’s voice cut through the chatter, loud and bright. “Oh, there you guys are! I was looking for you.”

The group turned, and Hanuel’s heart sank when she saw the girl standing beside him. Leah. She recognized her from the last time she’d visited the JYPE building — Chan had mentioned she was a stylist for Stray Kids, an Australian who’d moved to Korea to work in the industry.

“This is Leah,” Chan introduced, grinning as he gestured to her. “I don’t think you guys have officially met.”

Leah waved, her smile friendly but a little hesitant. “Hi!” she chirped in accented Korean, her pronunciation a bit clumsy.

Hanuel tried to smile back, her throat tightening. “Hi.”

Leah attempted to continue the conversation, switching to English, but Hanuel couldn’t catch more than a few words. She nodded along, pretending to understand, her chest growing heavier with each second.

She felt small. Invisible. Like a shadow standing at the edge of the circle.

She glanced at Chan, hoping he’d notice her discomfort, but he was too busy laughing at something Leah had said. The more Chan beamed at Leah’s words, the smaller Hanuel felt.

Hanuel pressed her nails into her palm, grounding herself, fighting the creeping ache of inadequacy.

Because, really, why would he notice?

Leah was beautiful. Sun-kissed blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders, eyes a vivid shade of blue that sparkled with curiosity. She had that easy confidence people carried when they belonged, her smile wide and infectious, even when her Korean words stumbled. Even in a simple cropped sweater and cargo pants people couldn't help but pay attention to her. There was a lightness to her, an aura of warmth that made people gravitate toward her, even as she fiddled nervously with her rings when she wasn’t sure what to say.

She was everything Hanuel wanted to be and more.

Fortunately for her, Minho arrived, arms crossed, surveying the group like he already knew they were up to something. “There you are,” he said, arching a brow. “It’s time to cut the cake.”

Right on cue, Changbin strolled in, holding a cake with way too many candles, his face smug. “I got the cake. Nobody touch it — it’s a masterpiece.”

The group dissolved into laughter, trailing back to the kitchen as they broke into the birthday song. Chan giggled through the whole thing, his dimples deepening as he cut the first slice, and for a fleeting moment, Hanuel wished she could freeze time — keep this exact feeling and let everything else fade away.

But her eyes lingered on Leah, standing right beside him, singing loudly and beaming at him like he was her whole world. They fit so easily together, like two pieces of a puzzle, and it made something inside Hanuel twist.

Still, she forced a smile, pretending she got her whole life together.

Wassup? This chapter was exhausting and I hope I did well in potraying Hanuel's perspective. I get how annoying the slowburn kinda gets but I don't really wanna rush things, given how much work Hanuel character's need. Social anxiety isn't something you can deal with so quickly and that isn't the message I'm tryna send. So yeah, bear with me, lmfao. If anything makes you uncomfortable or you're relating with Hanuel's self doubts on any level, leave me a message and I don't mind listening to yall if you don't have anyone else. Sometimes you just need someone to lend an ear. Moving on, I loved introducing Bambam and Jackson and I love their dynamic. I just love the whole of Got7 and I'm so glad they finally CAME BACK! Okies, I'll stop rambling lmfao. Sorry, it's late here and I just wanna sleep but then at the same time I'm too excited to sleep because I wanna continue writing (my writers block finally lifted after so long lmfao) Anywhoo, don't be a ghost! Leave likes and comments. Reblogs helps a lot too <3 Stay safe and I'll come w ch 4 soon! Here's a meme to entertain you till then lmfao

This is funny because I literally have my Maths final exam tmrw and here I am pRocAstiNatinG. Okies, I'll finally leave yall. ~Candy \(￣︶￣*\))

44 notes · View notes