Hey! I saw you want request for draw gestures. If so I can ask then Johnny Mactavish in Abby clothes from kpop demon hunters, and maybe an kpop pose? XD
If you're okay with this ask.
Hi! I can imagine Johnny wearing Abby's clothes against his will lol (like Price ordering him to dress up for some disguise?), but in my headcanon he would refuse to dance or show off like kpop idols unless the team's in danger. The 'macho man' deeply seated in his mind refuses to do so, which makes it really funny to watch him having inner conflict.
synopsis: As a camerawoman, it's your job to capture content for AMPERS&ONE. Instead, you somehow capture evidence that one of the members, Brian, is utterly head-over-heels in love with you.
pairing: brian x camerawoman!reader
word count: 2,551 words
content: fluff, reader in denial, brian gets slightly injured, awkward flirting
authors note: he was so cute in the behind-the-scenes for god I just had to write something! likeee that first pic with him on the metal grate oh my goodness he's adorable (♡ω♡ )
playlist: You Are In Love - Taylor Swift, Over The Moon - AMPERS&ONE, Love, Maybe - MeloMance, Every Breath You Take - The Police, Let Me Love You - DAY6, I.L.Y. - The Rose
please consider liking and reblogging if you enjoyed this fic!
When you joined AMPERS&ONE's content team, you were determined to not get attached to anyone to make your job easier. Due to the fast-paced industry, the staff come and go constantly, evident as the last person with your current position was only in the team for three months. Professional boundaries exist for a reason, you never know when you'll have to leave. So you take the rule seriously. You show up, film what needs filming, hand in your footage, and go home without ever hanging out with the other staff or idols. A simple, foolproof routine.
Except Brian keeps making it difficult for you.
At first, he's just much easier to work with than other idols. When you're filming behind-the-scenes content, some members get awkward around the camera. Others try too hard to look candid, but Brian somehow knows exactly how to act natural. Whenever you're assigned to AMPERS&ONE, the editors are satisfied with your work because the footage always comes back usable.
The problem is that over time, he starts giving those reactions specifically to you.
Not the camera.
You. Only you.
And the thing is, he wasn't exactly subtle about it. After six months of work, the entire film crew has noticed how Brian would always help you carry equipment, how he would offer you food before he even eats, even going so far to give you his own hand warmers when filming during winter. Despite the teasing you've slowly gotten from your coworkers, you've decided to stick to your rule. No getting attached. So you leave immediately after every shoot, blatantly reject the younger editor who offered to take you out to dinner, and most importantly, distance yourself from Brian as much as possible.
However, this is proven difficult when the two-day filming of their comeback music video begins. You find yourself at the set quite early on the first day of filming, your breath fogging up from the cold weather. As usual, the setup takes up around two hours of the day, so the crew was instructed to arrive at the first location at four in the morning. A few members arrive at around 6:30, and the filming starts with Siyun and Kamden, then Jiho and Mackiah a few hours later.
The director calls for a break after filming a dance break portion at the second location, and you hurriedly head to the group's waiting room to ask the members questions for content. You find Kamden and film him quickly, then head to the corridor to eat lunch. However, your phone pings in your pocket and you sigh in annoyance as you see a message from one of the editors.
Hi! Would it be possible for you to film Brian as well since you're near their break room already? Please ask him which of the other member's parts he'd like to have. Thank you and have a good break!
Good break, my ass. There's twenty minutes before the next portion of filming and you haven't even touched your already cold sandwich. So much for trying to avoid Brian. You sheepishly head back into their waiting room and find him eating lunch beside Jiho while scrolling on his phone. Hesitantly, you clear your throat and pull your camera out.
“Sorry, I was instructed to film you for a bit. I was instructed to ask you which of the member's parts you'd want to have instead of your own,” you mutter as you uncap the lens cover. As usual, he grins up at you eagerly, immediately setting down his phone and chopsticks.
“Sure! That's all you need?”
You nod gratefully and set up the camera properly. The moment you start recording, he stares straight at the lens like he's in love with it, talking enthusiastically about how he’d like Seungmo's part. You have no choice but to cut him off after five minutes of talking, thanking him for his willingness to provide good content for Andears. As you turn to leave, a hand shoots out to gently grasp your shoulder. You turn to face Brian, slightly irritated that your break time is ticking away far too quickly, but your glare immediately softens when you see a plastic bag with a bento and coffee in his free hand.
“You probably haven't eaten yet,” he says while giving you a shy smile.
You immediately break eye contact, staring at the necklace he's wearing instead. “They gave the staff sandwiches, you don't have to give me food-”
“Take it. Or at least the coffee, it's still warm. Please, you've been working for hours. It's cold out and a sandwich isn't enough to give you energy.”
You open your mouth to protest but Brian stops you by shoving the plastic bag into your hands. You thank him quietly and rush out of their break room to finally eat. The plastic bag crinkles loudly as you place it down, prying open the bento box to find piping-hot miso soup, stir-fried beef, and a heaping pile of rice. You scarf down the food as quickly as possible then head back to the set to set up for the next scenes.
An hour later, you set up the camera under the platform for the scene where Siyun has to hit Brian with a prop brick. You watch from the monitor as the music cues and Siyun whacks Brian at the side of his head, the prop brick barely crumbling. Once the director yells cut, Brian stumbles to his feet and walks back to the waiting room, the white debris from the brick still stuck to his hair. You find yourself trailing after him without thinking, too worried to keep distancing yourself. You find him sitting down, a blanket wrapped around him as he winces while brushing the debris away.
You hesitantly walk up to him, trying your best to act unfazed by the pain he's in, muttering softer than you usually sound.
“Are you…okay? Do you need a medic?”
Unsurprisingly, Brian offers a small grin. Despite clearly being in pain, he's prioritizing your feelings, trying to assure you that he's okay. You almost believe him as he speaks in a deep, soothing voice, a voice you’ve always found to be comforting.
“I'm okay. I guess Siyun didn’t realize the prop was that hard. We were both expecting it to crumble immediately, but it was pretty solid. I swear I didn’t get a concussion though, don’t worry.”
You sigh softly, slightly annoyed that he’s trying to pretend that he’s okay. “Sure you don’t need a medic? Or anything else?”
Oh, no. You realize that you’ve worded that badly when Brian lets out a tiny smirk.
“Anything else, huh? Hmm…then I think I deserve a kiss for this. It did hurt a lot, you know.”
A scowl immediately reappears on your face, your earlier concern vanishing. “Absolutely not,” you snapped, trying your best to hide the heat rising up into your cheeks.
Brian laughs at this, a warm, resonant sound that fills the room as his eyes crinkle softly. You realize that you can feel your heartbeat thrumming against your chest, a warm, giddy solace spreading through your body despite the biting cold. The realization jolts you back into reality, and you immediately back away, taking on a professional tone again. You’ve gotten far too close this time. Too dangerous.
You manage to sputter out an excuse to leave, the restraint in your voice evident. “I'll get a medic to check on you. Don't move around too much.”
You scramble out of the room, ignoring the intense desire to hear him laugh again. But as you call over one of the medics, you realize that you can't get that smile out of your head. That angelic, unforgettable smile that somehow never fails to make you feel safe.
The next day, you arrive early at the third set. It's considerably colder than yesterday, but the morning sunlight is somewhat warm enough to keep you from shivering while preparing your camera. The director puts you on standby for the morning, since most of the scenes are simple enough for a few staff to handle. Instead, you find yourself watching from the sidelines as Siyun, Mackiah, and Jiho go through their parts with ease.
By the time the director calls for a lunch break at 1PM, almost everyone is quivering from the winter. You’ve forgotten to wear thicker clothing before leaving the house due to sleepiness, so you head to one of the warmer waiting rooms to eat the food they’ve provided for the staff. The door creaks open after a while and you look up, expecting another staff member, but smile politely as Seungmo enters, holding a paper bag.
“Sorry for intruding,” Seungmo says quietly, “but Brian-hyung told me to find you. He couldn’t give this to you because he’s getting his makeup done so he told me to give it instead.”
You thank Seungmo courteously as he hands the warm paper bag over and leaves quickly. The moment he’s gone, you pry the bag open and find a canister of seaweed soup along with the expensive lunch you know they provide for idols. You find a sticky note on the side of the soup canister after pulling it out, handwriting hastily scribbled but undeniably Brian’s.
We’re both working late today, so please eat well. You need energy, so at least have the soup to stay warm. Be safe.
The same, comforting warmth from yesterday envelops you yet again as your cheeks heat up. He’s been thinking about you even if you haven’t seen each other today.
He’s worried about you.
Only you.
The thought fills you with giddiness as you happily eat the lunch he’s provided you. You’re halfway through the meal when you freeze. The realization that he’s gotten through you, that you’ve been thinking about him hits you.
You’ve gotten attached. Not to a staff member, but to an idol. A man who’s supposed to be unattainable. You realize that you can’t help thinking about the way he’s been looking at you for the past few months, the affection in his gaze from across the various sets you’ve both been to, the memory of his smile permanently fixed in your mind.
Brian is completely, utterly, head-over-heels in love with you. And now, you’ve realized that you feel the same.
After the lunch break, you head to the arena set to help prepare the cameras and lighting again. You watch from one of the monitors as they complete their group dance scenes, then one of the staff hands over the responsibility of the camera rig to you for Seungmo and Brian’s solo parts.
Seungmo’s part flies by quite quickly, only needing one take, then you adjust the angle again while waiting for Brian to prepare for his part. You watch through the camera as their manager shows him what to do, but you can’t help but snicker when he makes direct eye contact with you, grinning widely.
The last scene, a group dance with Kyrell in the middle wraps up the shoot at around 2AM. The director instructs everyone to start packing up immediately, and you forget about Brian for a while, too cold to think about anything else. As you quietly start walking away from the set and pull out your phone to get a ride home, you hear a familiar voice behind you.
“Wait, you’re leaving already?”
You turn around, a stupidly happy expression on your face, then remember that you’re supposed to be distancing yourself and stop, awkwardly clearing your throat instead.
“Ah, yeah. It’s cold and it’s late, so I’m heading straight home. Thank you for the lunch earlier, by the way. You really didn’t have to.”
Brian freezes like he hadn’t expected you to thank him.
“Oh, right. The lunch. That was nothing.”
His hands disappear into his puffer jacket as another chilling gust of wind blows across the now-empty set. The rest of the staff have already left, and Kamden, who was with Brian earlier, is nowhere to be seen. For a moment, neither of you say anything, then you glance away first.
“Well, I should probably get going-”
“Did I do something wrong?”
The remorseful tone in his voice stops you in your tracks. You immediately turn back to face him in confusion.
“What?”
Brian looks around nervously. It's strange seeing him like this. On camera he's confident, playful. Right now he looks like he's about to throw up.
"The past few weeks." He laughs weakly. "You've been avoiding me."
Your stomach drops quickly.
"I swear I wasn't-"
"You were."
His voice isn't accusing. If anything, he sounds guilty. You open your mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. He’s right. You’ve been avoiding him. The smile he gives you is small and despondent.
"I knew it."
"No, Brian, it's not-"
"It is, though."
"Brian, wait-"
"I’m sorry if I creeped you out or something."
The words come out in a rush, like he’s barely thinking before he speaks.
“I just really wanted to impress you but I heard that you aren’t interested in dating, so I’ve been trying my best to get on your good side so we could be friends first. I thought I’d have a chance if we became friends before I tried to make you fall in love with me. Wait, this is all coming out wrong. I just…like you. A lot. I didn't mean to make this so awkward.”
A horrified laugh escapes his lips as you gape at him in surprise, watching as his ears turn red. For several seconds, you can only stare at him. Every excuse you'd made for his actions. Every time you'd convinced yourself you were imagining things. The lunches he’d always give you, the constant offers to help carry things, the way he'd always look for you first whenever they arrived on set. All of it suddenly made sense.
You laugh, completely surprised at the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into. His expression falls immediately.
"Oh. I’m sorry."
"Brian- wait, no." You step forward before he can retreat. "No, no, that's not why I'm laughing. Listen to me for a second, will you?"
Brian looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole as he snaps back weakly. "Then why are you laughing?"
You cover your face as you feel your cheeks heat up quickly.
"I thought I was imagining everything. I thought you were just trying to be polite, okay? And I wasn’t avoiding you because you creeped me out. I was avoiding you because I like you too."
Brian's mouth actually falls open.
"...What? You like me?”
You immediately regret confessing because now he's smiling. God, you loved that smile.
"Brian."
"You like me."
"Stop repeating it."
"You like me."
You smack his arm playfully and he laughs even louder, pulling you closer. For a second, the two of you just stand there, grinning like idiots in the middle of an empty, freezing parking lot at two in the morning. Then Brian clears his throat awkwardly before speaking.
“So…are you free this Friday?”
The smile that spreads across his face when you nod is worth every second of torment in the winter. And for the first time all night, you don't feel cold at all.
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Warnings: fluff, bbg Seungmo and I low-key started running out of ideas
~Master List~
Kamden:
Kammy gives the vibes of always holding your hand in public especially in crowded areas. Like my guy will not risk one of y’all getting lost.
Brian:
I feel that Brian would be the kind of person who likes to play with your rings or bracelets. (The fact that he’s my ult bias but gets the shortest section)
Jiho:
I feel like a common Jiho head canon is that he's really romantic. With hand holding that plays out in my head like he’s the kind of guy to like rub his thumb over the back of your hand.
Siyun:
In my mind Siyun dislikes any physical touch in public. But in the safety of home he would like placing his hand on the back of your hand like he doesn’t like intertwining fingers because he likes being able to remove his hand at any time. (I hope this makes sense)
Kyrell:
I feel like Kyrell would be similar to Kamden in like always holding your hand. But an added note for Ky is that if you paint your nails he'll always compliment a new colour or set.
Mackiah:
Kiah is the type of guy to see so many things and want to go check them out. In the process of this he ends up nearly ripping your arm off multiple times.
Seungmo:
In my mind I feel like Seungmo grabs your arm instead of your hand like we all know he’s very much a diva and requires princess treatment.
Summary: You and Wumuti have been friends forever. That won’t ever change
Genre: Fluff, Friends to lovers, Any and all pronoun usage for Wumuti, reader is fem and bi, Wumuti’s sexuality is not labeled, reader’s race isn’t mentioned but she is BLACK
A/N: I’M BACK. I’M NOT DEAD YALL. I’ve just been busy being a person and stuff. There are more XLOV fics on the way I swear‼️‼️Props to my mutual who had to constantly reread this, you’re the best 🫶.
Wumuti has always had two homes.
Tap-tap-tap
The first home he was born into, bonded by forgotten memories, blood, and shared last names that made her part of that family. They could never change that.
Tap-tap-tap
His second home was with you.
Tap-tap—
“Hi, Muti.”
The swift swing of your opening door left her momentarily like a deer in headlights; however, hearing your familiar tone turned their startled, wide eyes and rigid posture to a cheeky, resting smile and drooped shoulders, as if he had come home from a long day.
“Hello. May I come in?”
In your affable, taciturn manner, you take a small step away from the door, leaving the house open for Wumuti to come back like she always did.
Wumuti breathes a contented sigh, taking a moment to look around your apartment. Welcome home. They snicker a bit, not maliciously, but fondly at how you could always stay the same.
The old black couch you would always sleep on because you refused to have him sleep in anything but your bed; eventually, she made you stop because they felt too bad about stealing your bed every time he came over. She sleeps better with you nearby, anyway.
The black metal coffee table and minuscule kitchen that you used to make ramen when Wumuti was eliminated from Boy’s planet.
Wumuti remembers walking to your house in the cold night air, their beat-up dance practice shoes and trembling fist tapping on your door. You gently opened it, looking up knowingly at him; no words were said as Wumuti sat down, and you locked the door, shuffling to your kitchen. Wumuti remembers the sound of boiling water and the clattering of cabinets; the cracking of eggs and the clunk of your knife hitting your cutting board as you prepared everything.
She remembers the soft thump of a porcelain bowl hitting the table and the spicy stew reaching their nostrils; he remembers looking up with glassy eyes at you as you passed her chopsticks and some water; with firm eyes, you said softly, as if speaking to a small, scared doe: “Eat.”
That made them burst into tears.
The same untouched cat tree, because your cat only ever considered resting on your feet or your chest.
Everything was the same; the only things that you ever changed were your candles and the books on your coffee table; suddenly, a faint scrape of heels hitting rug taps Wumuti out of her recollection.
“So, what would the client like for today?”
He playfully scoffs, tongue hitting their inner cheek as she pulls the seat across from you; you don’t pay any mind to him or her small smirk as you lean over to plug in your curing lamps and gently roll your nail trolley closer to you. Wumuti hums for a small moment, mulling your dry words around their mind as if to savor them for a moment longer. You’ve always had a lovely voice.
“You choose.”
They say as he elegantly stretches her fingers across to you like a queen waiting for her valorous lover to greet her properly; you pause for a moment, looking down at Wumuti’s long, fair fingers contrasting the black leather of your armrest, then to their face with a blank look.
“Are you serious?”
Wumuti smiles teasingly, his teeth lightly showing through her pink-glossed lips as they stare at you tenderly.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
You sigh faintly; there’s no sense of annoyance in your tone, only a vague, insecure reluctance as you roll back your long sleeves.
“Alright.”
The faint, low buzzing from your nail drill grazing Wumuti’s delicate fingers flows into the soft rhythmic bass playing through your phone speaker; she absently hums as he gently gazes at you. You looked like a vision to them. Your curls were pinned back messily with the black cat hair clip they had bought you on a whim; your work makeup laid carefully on your face even after hours. Wumuti grins tenderly; he’s always considered you an inspiration. From the moment you stepped into Wumuti’s life, you had captivated her.
“Hold still.”
Wumuti takes a deep breath, closing his eyes in an attempt to clear their fretful mind. The classroom feels so muggy, even with the winter air. She hears your chair scrape and your frustrated hums as you shift closer. Your delicate fingers feel achingly warm against their cheek as you apply your eyeliner to him. Your smooth, even breath tingle his burning skin, causing her eyelashes to shake faintly. They hear the low wrinkles of your school uniform desperately trying to escape from your body; however, she never feels the fabric touch his blazing skin. Never does Wumuti feel your plush chest or soft curves graze their stinging body. Never do your lips accidentally graze his from your proximity. That’s all it is; close, but never close enough. Feeling, but never touching. Wanting, wanting so much that it hollows you out from the inside, but never getting fully.
“Done.”
“Jesus, Lucifer, can you stop that?” You huff as your cat curls against your face. Wumuti chuckles softly. Without fail, you captivated them. With your narrowed black eyes sharpened from your pointed liner and perched gelled brows knitted into focus as your glossed lips scrunched in mild frustration; You’re more captivating than before. Everything about you has improved since then, especially your makeup.
Wumuti’s eyes flutter open, looking at your handiwork; it’s amateurish at best. The dark liner is messy and unintentionally dramatic on him. It doesn’t even fit the shape of his hooded eyes.
“I love it.”
I love you.
She unsteadily breathes out, as if telling a dangerous secret. I love you. You grab their face softly in your hands, turning him at all different angles. With your equally amateurish liner framing your face, Wumuti feels like mirror images of one another. They’ve been made in your image, by your hand. I love you. Your cold, soft fingers light a fire throughout her body as you smile proudly with a matter-of-fact, “It looks good.”
He smiles along with you. She remembers that day fondly; it stays behind the back of their mind when he paints her lips a cherry pink or when the cool, black liner kisses their fair eyes. Anyone who asks how Wumuti learned to do his makeup hears your name. You’ve always been my inspiration.
Her sweet reminiscing is cracked open with your soft utterance of “Your debut’s going well.”
Wumuti’s lip curled into a small smirk, clearly satisfied with their work and your acknowledgement; Wumuti considered his mission to impress you at every moment. I want your attention.
“It is.”
You hum lightly, pushing back her cuticles with practiced ease.
“I’m happy for you.”
Wumuti feels themselves go pink with a dull warmth; suddenly, your hand touching his tingles like a spicy stew, comfortable, but vaguely painful. Wumuti's smirk turns into a bashful smile.
“Thank you.”
He hears the clattering of your nail supplies as you place them back into their cups. You pull your Polish rack closer with a disinterested look, but Wumuti knows you’re just thinking. After careful consideration, you decide on a dark red color, packaged in black.
“No need to thank me. You deserve it.”
Wumuti feels herself grow a bit fuzzy from your statement. Your praise always slipped out easily and smoothly like a truth that had always been hidden. The room fills with the sound of light strings and velvet vocals as you carefully brush product onto his peach-tinted fingers. Wumuti feels so warm as they breathe out anxiously, unrecognized by your measured concentration on her nails, “You know…”
You give a slight hum, egging them to continue as you blow small, sharp gusts onto his wet nails. The feeling of your cool breath burns her numbingly hot skin. It’s hot.
“You could work for us…Make press-ons and designs without having to deal with your regular job, along with doing our nails.”
You swiftly answer with a firm, “No.” as you plop the polish back onto your cart.
Wumuti scoffs, tongue hitting their cheek and lips going playful tight; he pushes back with a whiny, “Why not? You don’t like it anyway.”
You gently guide her still hand to the lamp, placing each finger softly underneath, as if each were made of stained glass. As if they were the most precious thing to you. As you start the lamp, UV lights molifying the dark polish, you straightly respond, “Money’s better there.”
He smirked, her eyes narrowing playfully sharply, like he did whenever they didn’t get her way. You pay him no mind as you continue with his other hand.
Wumuti sinks lazily into your couch, lightly squeezing and grazing your intertwined hands with her new nails. The faint scrap of their pointed black tips leaving invisible lines on your pointed knuckles preoccupies his mind as your cat purs and rubs at your lap. The voices on the variety show mingle together into one low buzzing noise as Wumuti watches the show from your sunken eyes; little white boxes forever skirting around the black pool that surrounds them. Her lips part cautiously, should they ask? He always hates the answer. No one is ever good enough for you.
“So…”
Your head turns sluggishly, eyes half-opened with a mild curiosity. She squeezes your hand a bit tighter, feeling your heart beat slow underneath their veins.
“How’s that guy you’re seeing?”
You lean back with a faint breath, your eyes resting for a moment as the low TV glow paints you faintly blue, and you reply, “Not seeing him anymore.”
Wumuti leans on your slumped shoulder, eyes lidded; he wonders if you can feel her lashes tap your neck. Your skin feels so warm underneath their chin as his lips border on your neck. Have you always been this warm, or is it her? You’re so close yet still far. Stray hairs fall onto your nape, tickling their nose as his breathing creeps to match yours; the smallest movement would have her lips caressing your skin. You’re too good for men. They breathe out a small, “Oh.” as your words reach his ears. You’re too good for anyone. Beneath her long lashes, their eyes monopolize the small, dotted crow near your ear. How beautiful, he thinks, gripping your hands together at your side. My skin burns. Your hand feels so small in hers. It’s so hot. Their eyes shut as the room grows hotter, pushing out a, “It didn’t work out with him?”
He hears the faint squeak of your couch as your head moves in a small nod, you yawn, “Liking everyone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Wumuti nuzzles more into your shoulder, watching your chest rise and fall with each breath. Those lovers aren’t anything. The show becomes lower in her ears as they obsess over your deep, languid breaths; They don’t know the deep itch, the burn. The tip of his ears feel red as she squeezes your hand harder. No one is good enough for you. Your eyes open up lazily, and the room feels as muggy as the old classroom—no one except me. Wumuti watches your lips part leisurely as you hum out a “How about you? Any new guys?”
Their nose feels numbingly itchy from your hair, but he won’t move. Everything burns. Everything feels like sparks underneath her veins. You’re so small, but everything about you makes the room burn; it almost hurts. It feels like the devil sits on their tongue as he whispers out, “I like everyone…especially you.”
Your lips stretch into a lazy smile as you look down at her, muttering out a faint, “Yeah?”
Wumuti leans their head up, feeling your sleepy eyes gaze at him as she replies, “Yeah.”
Their tongue feels heavy.
You give a small, languid laugh as Wumuti leans up further and further. So close. He can see your eyelashes kiss your cheeks. So close. She traces the curve of your cupid’s bow as they feel your breath relax under his skin. So close. She can feel how perfectly your nose slots against theirs. Close. Your forehead lightly bumps his as you lean into her. Closer. The TV glow paints you both a faint pink. Come closer. They close his eyes, her lips flickering alight. Close the distance. They feel your lips against his.
