melody

description: While you and your date continue socializing at the party, the reader may have had a little too much to drink. Hamzah can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. Were you doing this to get a rise out of him? He decides to pull you aside for a “chat”. Will this talk lead the two of you back to the office, or the bedroom?

contains: drunk reader, arguing... smut! (y'all begged for it)

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!! college work is starting to catch up to me and this corporate baddie gotta secure those internships you already knowwwww. but anyways... this is my first time attempting a smut fic, lmk how i did ;)

—

Hamzah is starting to feel something fester inside him.

Jealously?

Definitely. But It was deeper than that.

Seeing you walk around with this man that you barely knew was really starting to get on his nerves. But on the other hand, seeing you so unattainable in his eyes was really starting to turn him on.

Hamzah couldn’t stop watching you. His eyes tracked every movement, the way you laughed, the way you held yourself with such ease, the way the man you were talking to clearly tried to impress you. He could see the way your lips curled into a smile, how your body language was open and playful, and the sharp pang of jealousy gnawed at him.

But it wasn’t just jealousy. It was something deeper.

Something possessive.

You were really letting go tonight, you were drinking and laughing,

god, he loved your laugh.

He shifted uncomfortably, feeling his pulse quicken as he tried to focus on the conversation in front of him, but his mind kept drifting back to you. To the way your laughter cut through the noise of the party, how it seemed to make the world pause for a moment.

He didn't understand why you were acting like you didn't know him. Hell, he knew you better than anyone else in this room. But tonight… tonight, you were different.

You weren't his, but damn, the thought of someone else getting close to you-touching you-made his jaw clench.

Hamzah couldn't keep pretending like it didn’t bother him; continue standing off to the side as he watched you float around the room with that guy.

What are you gonna do about it?

There was no way in hell he was going to let anyone else have her.

His footsteps were determined as he walked toward you, the sudden urge to claim you overwhelming. The man you were talking to barely noticed Hamzah's approach, still too caught up in trying to impress you.

But Hamzah did.

He stepped right in, cutting into the conversation with a calm, yet forceful presence. His voice was low, deliberate, as he addressed the man. "You don’t mind if I steal her away for a second, do you?"

Hamzah’s hand found your arm, fingers curling around it a little more forcefully than necessary as he led you a few paces away from the crowd, away from Tucker.

You wobbled slightly, the alcohol making everything feel a little hazy. You had more than you should have—hell, you weren’t even sure what you were feeling anymore, but the way Hamzah’s touch lingered, the way he was looking at you, made your head spin. The world felt dizzy and disjointed as you tried to focus on him, blinking as if you were trying to clear the fog.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence settling heavily between you like a secret neither of you was brave enough to voice. But Hamzah’s eyes were hot on yours, almost possessive in the way they studied you. The alcohol coursing through you made it hard to keep your focus, but you could still feel the pull of his gaze. It was suffocating.

"What’s up with you?" Hamzah asked, his voice gravelly, but something darker in it, like a storm waiting to break.

You squinted at him, the words not fully making sense in your drunken state, but you still managed to raise an eyebrow. "What’s it to you?" you slurred, feeling bold, almost defiant, even though you knew you weren’t entirely in control of yourself.

Hamzah’s anger faded slightly, replaced with something more intense. "You win, I saw you with him," he said, his voice still low, but now there was a possessive edge that made your pulse quicken. "You’ve been talking to him all night. Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?."

You tried to focus, but everything felt fuzzy. You weren't sure what to say, so you just shrugged, a little too dismissive for your own good. "I’m just having fun," you muttered, the words slipping out more freely than they should’ve. "What’s your problem?"

Hamzah closed the space between you with one fluid movement, his body heat radiating off of him, and for a moment, everything around you faded. The party noise, the laughter, the people—it was all background noise now, and it was just him.

He took another step closer, the intensity in his gaze growing. "You know what my problem is," he said, his voice low, almost a growl. He wasn’t asking anymore. "I don’t like seeing you with him. Not when I know you don’t belong to him."

You blinked, his words making your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t fully explain. "I’m… not yours," you muttered, but your words didn’t hold the conviction you’d hoped for. You weren’t even sure if they made sense, but the alcohol in your system made it hard to remember why you were fighting so hard.

Hamzah smirked, his lips curling with a knowing edge. "You keep saying that," he whispered, his voice just for you, "but I know the truth. You want me here, don’t you?"

You tilted your head back, trying to process what he was saying. The words came out before you could stop them, the alcohol in your system stripping you of any filters. "Maybe I do," you murmured, your voice thick, half-confused, half-sure of something else, something you shouldn’t want.

Hamzah’s smile widened, but it wasn’t playful anymore. It was dangerous, possessive, and hungry. "I thought so," he said softly, his hand moving to rest just above your waist, pulling you even closer, as though daring you to back away.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind too clouded to make sense of anything. You could feel his warmth, the weight of his presence all around you, and suddenly, you weren’t sure what you were even resisting anymore.

Hamzah leaned in, his breath brushing against your ear, and his voice was a whisper you couldn’t escape. "Let’s see if you still feel that way tomorrow."

Hamzah barely made it a step past you before he felt the tug on his wrist—light, shaky, but firm enough to stop him. He turned, looking down at you, your fingers curled around his skin, holding on like you needed him to stay.

"Wait," you mumbled, your voice softer now, less sure. Your head felt heavy, the alcohol making everything blur together, but you knew one thing for certain—you didn’t want him to leave.

Hamzah exhaled, his jaw tightening as he turned fully toward you. "Y/n, you’re drunk," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was something else there, something hesitant.

You looked up at him, your eyes glassy, unfocused, but raw with something real. "I—" You swallowed hard, words tangling in your throat. "You—you're always there. Always looking. Always… pulling me back when I try to push you away."

Hamzah’s brows furrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he watched you struggle through your words.

"And I—" Your grip on his wrist weakened slightly. "I don't know what to do with that. With you." A shaky laugh left your lips, but it held no humor, just a quiet, painful sort of truth. "It drives me crazy, Hamzah. You drive me crazy."

Hamzah felt something twist deep in his chest, something dangerously close to unraveling.

Your fingers slipped from his wrist, your body swaying unsteadily, and before he could say anything, before he could even process what you had just admitted—you were collapsing.

"Y/n—" He caught you before you could hit the ground, his arms wrapping around you instinctively, holding you against him. His heart kicked up in his chest as he adjusted his grip, one hand supporting the back of your head while the other steadied your waist.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, scanning your face. Your lashes fluttered, your breaths shallow, but you were still there—just barely. The weight of you against him sent a rush of something through him, something fierce and protective.

For a moment, he just looked at you. The usual sharpness in your eyes was gone, replaced by something soft, vulnerable. Your lips were slightly parted, your breathing slow, and as he brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers barely grazing your skin, he realized something.

You were so pretty.

Not in the way he always told himself before—not in that passing, fleeting way he pretended didn’t affect him. But in a way that made his chest ache, in a way that made him want to hold onto you a little longer than he should.

He exhaled sharply, shaking himself out of it. "You really had to do this now, huh?" he murmured, his tone softer than he meant it to be.

Before he could even think about what to do next, a familiar voice broke through the moment.

"You need help?"

Hamzah looked up to see Tucker standing there, watching with mild concern.

Hamzah’s grip on you tightened slightly. "I got her," he said flatly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Tucker hesitated. "Are you sure? I don’t mind—"

"I said I got her." Hamzah’s tone was sharper this time, a silent warning in his eyes. "I know where she lives. I’ll take her home."

Tucker held up his hands in surrender, taking a step back. "Alright, man. Just making sure she’s good."

Hamzah didn’t bother responding. He adjusted his hold on you, lifting you just enough to steady you against him. The thought of anyone else taking care of you, of anyone else knowing the small, familiar details about you that he did, didn’t sit right with him.

This wasn’t just an obligation or responsibility from a random fling.

This was you.

And Hamzah wasn’t letting anyone else take you from him.

---

Hamzah pushed open the door to your apartment, his grip on you steady as he led you inside. The room was dimly lit, the faint glow from the streetlights outside casting long shadows across the walls. He knew this space well—too well. The countless times he'd been here, sitting on that couch, watching you pace around while you talked business, pretending he wasn’t watching you in a way he shouldn’t have been.

Now, you were barely standing, still leaning heavily against him as he guided you toward the couch. "Alright, you’re home," he muttered, carefully lowering you onto the cushions. His hands lingered just a second longer than necessary before he forced himself to step back. "Get some sleep, Y/n."

He turned toward the door, ready to leave before this got any more complicated.

But before he could take another step, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist—again.

Hamzah barely had time to process it before you moved, your body pressing up against his, backing him up until his spine met the cool surface of the wall. His breath caught as you looked up at him, your eyes heavy-lidded but burning with something unmistakable.

Then, without hesitation, you kissed him.

It was sudden, fierce, and desperate, your hands pressing against his chest as you tilted your head, molding your lips against his like you’d been waiting for this moment just as long as he had.

Hamzah’s hands instinctively came up to your waist, gripping you tightly, but after a beat, he forced himself to pull back, his breathing unsteady. "Y/n," he exhaled, his forehead resting against yours. "You’re not in the right head space for this."

Your response was immediate, unwavering. You looked him dead in the eyes, the fog of alcohol nowhere to be found in your sharp, deliberate gaze.

"I’ve never been more sober," you murmured.

Something inside Hamzah snapped.

With a low curse under his breath, he grabbed you by the waist, lifting you clean off the ground as your legs instinctively wrapped around him. Your lips met again in a clash of heat and urgency, his hands gripping you tightly as he carried you toward the bedroom.

The back of your knees hit the mattress as he laid you down, hovering over you as his mouth found yours again, deeper this time, hungrier. His hands roamed, exploring the curves he’d only dared to touch in his imagination.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him closer, your bodies pressed together in a feverish rhythm. The friction between you sent shivers down your spine, the heat pooling low in your stomach as he ground against you, his breath heavy in your ear.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips, his voice strained, his self-control hanging by a thread.

You pulled him down harder, your nails digging into his back. "Don’t you dare."

That was all he needed.

Hamzah groaned as he kissed you again, deep and consuming, his body moving against yours in a slow, torturous rhythm. The tension that had been building for months—years, maybe—was finally unraveling, neither of you willing to stop, neither of you willing to pretend anymore.

He trailed kisses down your jaw, his breath warm against your skin as he moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck, down to your collarbone. His hands gripped your waist, holding you steady beneath him as he took his time, savoring every reaction you gave him.

"You're unreal," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with want.

You shivered as he continued downward, his lips ghosting over the exposed skin of your stomach, his fingers digging into your hips as if grounding himself. The anticipation sent heat pooling in your core, every slow, deliberate touch making your breath hitch.

Tonight, there were no boundaries. No rules. No one to remind the two of you that Hamzah is currently kissing down the body of his manager and how widely inappropriate that is.

Hamzah knew this was dangerous. Knew this was the kind of mistake that couldn't be undone. But with the way you were looking at him—like he was the only thing you wanted—none of it seemed to matter.

His lips continued their slow descent, dragging over the soft skin of your stomach, lingering just long enough to make you shiver. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady beneath him, his breath warm against you.

Despite him starting to become self-aware of his current actions, as Hamzah looked up at you, drinking in the way your chest rose and fell, the heat in your gaze matching his own, he knew there was no stopping now.

---

We Listen, And We Don’t Judge (Until We Do)

a/n: I love this idea! Thank you so much for the request, I hope you enjoy <3

---

You adjust the camera, making sure the frame is just right before hitting the record. "Hey guys! I'm sure from the video title you could tell what we're playing... "We Listen, And We Don’t Judge!" you announce with a bright smile. "I had to jump on the trend, and today, I have a special guest…"

Hamzah raises a hand awkwardly, clearing his throat. "Hey, everyone… uh, yeah. I’m here. To listen. And not judge."

You and Hamzah sat on the couch of your apartment as the boy shifted uncomfortably next to you. While you had both planned to have a chill night in, Y/n convinced him to make a video on her TikTok account before they went out to get the food. Little did he know, she had something up her sleeve.

You grin mischievously. "Perfect. Let's get into it."

"We listen, and we don't judge," you both say in unison, humor lacing your tone as Hamzah gives you a quizzing look.

The first ‘confession’ pops into your mind as you say aloud. "I only pretend to like my best friend’s boyfriend, but I actually think he’s the worst person ever.’"

Hamzah tilts his head. "Wow, that’s rough... so are you just trying to be supportive?"

You bite your lip, trying to hold back a smirk. "Yeah… but, that's just how I feel you know?"

Hamzah frowns slightly. "What do you mean?"

You shrug. "You know… sometimes people just tolerate others."

He chuckles uncertainly. "You don’t mean… me, right?"

You quickly move on, continuing on to the next lie, "Okay, next one—‘I only pretend to laugh at my friend's jokes because I don't want to hurt their feelings, but honestly, they’re not funny at all.’"

Hamzah shifts beside you, his jaw tightening. "That’s… kinda mean Y/n. I mean, you should just be real."

You glance at him. "Yeah. I guess I kinda just do it to not hurt their feelings."

His face falls, just a little. "Wait. You pretend to laugh at my jokes?"

You clear your throat, pretending to move on again. "Okay, next one! ‘I once told someone I loved them, but I didn’t mean it. I just didn’t want to be alone.’"

The room goes eerily silent. Hamzah looks at you, really looks at you, and his expression darkens. "...What?"

You try to laugh it off. "I mean, haven’t we all said things we didn’t fully mean?"

Hamzah leans back, his face unreadable now. "Wow. I—uh. I don’t know what to say to that."

For the first time, guilt creeps in. His usual easygoing nature is gone, replaced by something guarded. You press your lips together, suddenly regretting pushing it this far.

"Hamzah, I—" You became acutely aware of the awkward tension. "It’s a prank."

He blinks. "What?"

You force a nervous chuckle. "It’s a prank! None of these are real. I made them all up. I just wanted to see how you'd react."

Hamzah stares at you for a long moment before shaking his head. "Right. A prank."

You reach for his arm, but he pulls back slightly. Not dramatically—just enough that you feel it.

You winced. "Hamzah, I swear, I didn’t mean any of that. It was just for the video."

He runs a hand down his face and exhales. "Yeah, okay. Whatever."

You frown. "Are you mad?"

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze. "No, just… I don’t know. You really sold it, I guess."

Your stomach twists. "Hamzah, come on. You know I’d never say anything like that for real."

He finally looks at you, eyes softer but still a little distant. "Yeah. I know. But it still kinda sucked to hear."

You swallow hard, guilt settling deep in your chest. "I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, okay? No more pranks like this."

He offers a small, tired smile. "Yeah. That’d be nice."

You turn back to the camera with significantly less enthusiasm. "Alright, guys, uh… maybe don’t emotionally damage your friends for content."

Hamzah forces a chuckle, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Solid advice."

You stop recording, but the following silence is heavier than you expected.

After a moment, you sigh and scoot closer to him. "Hamzah, I really am sorry. I didn’t think it would hit you like that."

He stays quiet for a beat before finally meeting your gaze. "It just… made me wonder, you know? What if you actually felt that way about me?"

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "I don’t. Not even a little bit. You’re my favorite person. I’d never fake anything with you."

His lips twitch into a small smile, more real this time. "Your favorite person? Even with my terrible jokes?"

You laugh. "Especially with your terrible jokes."

He finally relaxes, shaking his head. "Alright. I forgive you. But you owe me—big time."

You grin. "Deal. I’ll buy you dinner and let you pick the movie tonight."

Hamzah sighs dramatically. "Fine. But I’m not picking a movie, we're watching all of "XO Kitty" tonight.

You lay your head back on the couch dramatically. "Ugh... I did that to myself, didn’t I?"

He chuckles, this time a real one, "Yeah. But I’ll allow it."

---

Banned

a/n: my first request and I am here to deliver- enjoy <3

---

The light of the camera beamed down on Hamzah like an interrogation lamp. His jaw clenched as he stared at the blinking red record button.

Off-camera, hidden just out of view, Y/n perched behind him on the couch, one leg tucked under her and the other resting against his side. Her presence was silent but very much felt—especially with the way her hand had wrapped firmly around the back of his neck, fingers pressing just enough to make him sit up straighter.

Hamzah inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way she lazily traced patterns against his skin. “I hate this app, man,” he muttered under his breath.

Y/n leaned in just enough for him to hear her. “You love me more though, right?”

Hamzah clenched his jaw. “Unfortunately.”

Her nails dragged slightly down his neck, making him tense. “Then say it.”

He shot a glare at the phone, lips pressed into a thin line. This was humiliating. The end of an era. His comment section had been a lawless wasteland of chaos and unhinged admiration, and now… he was about to rip that all away.

All because his wonderful girlfriend didn’t appreciate thousands of strangers thirsting over him.

Hamzah exhaled sharply through his nose, staring into the camera like it personally offended him. “I need y’all to stop commenting ‘raw, next question’ under all my videos.” His voice was flat, deadpan. A man defeated.

Y/n hummed from behind him, fingers tightening slightly. “Why?”

Hamzah rolls his eyes to the ceiling, inhaling like he’s gathering every ounce of patience in his body. “Because I’m in a relationship, and I believe in the fundamental principles of commitment and the mutual respect that forms a relationship.” You could hear the smirk growing in his voice, “I’m also being forced to say this.”

Y/n’s grip grew tighter as Hamzah audibly winced. Hamzah looked away from the camera to fein an innocent look. “Isn’t there one more thing?” Y/n hummed as she ran her nails down Hamzah’s neck causing a soft shiver to roll down his spine. His facade cracked for a split second before he cleared his throat, forcing a nonchalant expression.

“You sure you’re not just making things up now?” he teased, though his voice betrayed him.

Y/n smirked, tilting her head. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Hamzah sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine,” he muttered before turning back to the camera, knowing there was no escaping this one.

“Also… I’m in love with my girlfriend.” Hamzah stops the video and stares at the screen like it holds the weight of his dignity.

"I hope your happy." were his final words as his thumb hovers over the ‘Post’ button before finally pressing on what felt like a nuclear launch button.

Y/n plants a quick kiss on his cheek, hands now playing with the curls on his neck. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“There goes my single-guy persona,” he mutters, watching the screen like it might explode.

Y/n chuckles, fingers still lazily twisting his curls. “Oh please, like anyone believed that in the first place.”

Hamzah exhales dramatically, letting his head fall back against the couch. “Let me have my delusions in peace.”

“Not a chance,” Y/n grins, stealing another kiss. This time, her mouth meeting his. “You’re officially off the market—better get used to it.”

Hamzah rolls his eyes, but the small, helpless smile tugging at his lips betrays him. Despite his complaints, he knew there was no one else he’d rather ruin his so-called persona for.

---

Description: Y/n is the manager for Slushy Noobz. After several months of subtle advances, Y/n figured she may have to take extreme measures to keep things professional. But will this star Hamzah away, or make him even more invested?

a/n: You guys asked for a part two and I am here to deliver. Enjoy!

---

While her job came with many challenges, avoiding her feelings for her employer was the biggest one.

Y/n had always prided themselves on maintaining professionalism. As the manager of Hamzah, one of the internet's biggest growing sensations, they had to. Hamzah was more than just a client—he was a whole new brand. As their manager, Y/n's job was to keep him on track, organize deals, and ensure his content reached the right audience. What they weren’t supposed to do was develop feelings for him.

And yet, here they were, sitting in his apartment after another late-night brainstorming session, watching as he laughed at his own terrible joke. If anyone were to see them right now, Y/n was sure they would be able to tell how she secretly felt just by the way she looked at him. His voice was warm, his presence magnetic. Y/N knew that staying professional was the right thing to do, but it was getting harder with every lingering glance, every accidental touch, and every moment that stretched just a little too long.

Hamzah, on the other hand, had no idea how Y/N managed to keep their composure. He’d been crushing on her for months—maybe even longer—but he never dared to say anything. She was his manager, and he respected her too much to complicate their dynamic. Still, he caught the way their eyes softened when he spoke, how her lips parted slightly when he leaned in too close, how her breath hitched when he touched her hand just a second longer than necessary.

“You know,” he started, leaning back against the couch, arms resting along the top as he turned to face them. “It's so easy to talk to you about video ideas and stuff.”

Y/N let out a small chuckle, shaking their head. “That’s my job, Hamzah.”

“No, but it’s more than that.” His voice became more serious as he started to fidget with his hoodie strings. “You look out for me, not just as a creator but as a person.”

Y/n swallowed hard. She could feel the weight of his gaze as her eyes stayed fixed on the laptop in front of her. The unspoken tension humming between them like an electric current. “That’s what managers do,” she replied, but even to their own ears, it sounded weak.

Hamzah tilted his head slightly, studying them. “Is that all?”

Y/N hesitated. They wanted to provide him with a solid answer. She needed to. But the truth was right there, simmering between them, undeniable. Still, she forced a smile and stood up, brushing imaginary lint off her black slacks. “We should wrap this up. You’ve got a big shoot tomorrow.”

Hamzah sighed, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips as he stood too. “Right. Always professional.” He watched them gather their things, the moment slipping through his fingers. But as they reached the door, he took a step closer, lowering his voice. “One day, Y/n, I’m gonna make you admit there’s something here.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the doorknob, but they didn’t turn it right away. Instead, they took a steady breath before glancing back at him with a small, knowing smile. “Goodnight, Hamzah.”

And with that, they walked away, leaving him staring after them—frustrated, intrigued, and more determined than ever.

---

A week later, Hamzah arrived back at the bar he and their team had agreed on. They were hosting a work party celebrating the following year's accomplishments. Was it odd that he felt strangely excited? It wasn’t that he particularly enjoyed these kinds of events, but he knew Y/n would be there, and any excuse to see them outside of work was enough to get him out of the house.

As he entered the building, he was met with many welcomes and congrats, but there was only one person he was searching the dimly lit room for. Unfortunately, Hamzah's excitement was short-lived.

He finally spotted her.

Y/n... standing at the bar, laughing at something some guy had whispered in her ear. The man, tall and effortlessly charming, had his hand resting on the small of their back.

Hamzah clenched his jaw. He couldn't help as his fingers curled into fists at his sides as a wave of jealousy surged through him.

He tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter. That Y/n was free to date whoever she wanted. But when she glanced over and met his eyes, something in her expression flickered- guilt? Hesitation? It was gone in an instant, replaced with a polite smile, as if they hadn’t spent months caught in unspoken tension while you stood with a guy you didn't even know.

He exhaled sharply, forcing a smirk as he grabbed a drink from the passing server. If Y/n wanted to play this game, fine. But he wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

---

The night dragged on, and Hamzah found himself watching Y/n more than he should have. Every laugh, every subtle touch between them and the stranger grated on his nerves. Finally, he had enough.

He strode over, heart hammering in his chest, and slid in between Y/N and the man with a casual confidence that betrayed his frustration. “Hey,” he greeted, flashing a smile that unknowingly gave Y/n butterflies. “Didn’t know we were bringing plus ones tonight.”

Y/N tensed for a fraction of a second before recovering. “Hamzah, this is Tucker. Tucker, this is Hamzah- one of my clients.”

"One of my clients"? The words stung more than he expected.

Tucker extended a hand, oblivious to the underlying tension. “Nice to meet you, man. Y/n’s told me a lot about you.”

Hamzah took the offered handshake but didn’t miss how Y/n shifted uncomfortably. “All good things, I hope,” he said smoothly, but his eyes never left Y/n’s.

Tucker chuckled. “Of course. You’re kind of a big deal.”

Hamzah smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So I’ve been told.” He turned back to Y/n, lowering his voice just enough so Tucker wouldn’t hear. “Didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered with something unreadable. “It’s new.”

Hamzah nodded slowly, then took a step closer, just enough to make Y/n inhale sharply. “Hope he knows what he’s getting into.”

Y/n’s lips parted slightly, but before they could respond, Tucker placed a hand on their shoulder. “Hey, Y/n, want to dance?”

Hamzah held their gaze, daring them to answer. For a moment, it felt like a silent battle. Then, finally, Y/n turned to Tucker with a small smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Hamzah watched them walk away, jaw tight. Fine. If Y/n wanted to pretend like nothing was there, he could play along. But he wasn’t giving up.

At least... not yet.

---

Summary: Y/n is the manager for Slushy Noobz. She loves being apart of such an entertaining team. Being the manager came with a lot of responsibility. However, she was finding it hard to stay professional when Hamzah was around.

a/n: i hope this concept reaches the corporate baddies, enjoy <3

—-

The room buzzed with focused energy as everyone prepped for Hamzah and Martin’s big boxing match. Y/n stood at the edge of the practice room, clipboard in hand, eyes fixed on the monitor as she tracked every play with precision. Managing Slushy Noobz with their growing and dedicated fanbase was both a privilege and a challenge—one of those challenges being the guy currently making a beeline straight for her.

Hamzah.

She exhaled sharply, looking away and pretending to be engrossed in her notes. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go bother someone else.

No such luck.

“You look stressed,” Hamzah said as he stopped next to her, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. “That’s probably because you know the viewers are gonna be bored after I sweep this match.”

Y/n sighed, giving him a side glance. “Or because I know you and Martin are going to be running around bald soon," you said shaking your head, "there goes your TikTok edits.

Hamzah smirked. “That too.”

She had to bite back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned slightly against the desk, glancing at her clipboard. “You actually writing useful stuff, or just pretending to look busy so no one bothers you?”

She huffed. “I don’t pretend to work—I actually do my job.”

He knew this, he just liked to push your buttons.

“Good for you.” He nodded approvingly. “That’s one of us.”

Y/n finally looking up at him. “You’re impossible.”

Hamzah grinned, then tilted his head slightly. “By the way, you've been acting real serious whenever I’m around recently. What’s up with that?”

He was onto her. This wasn't entirely untrue, Y/n had slowly started avoiding Hamzah as her feelings became harder to ignore. This made her feel slightly guilty, but it was the measures she had to take to keep her job.

“Because I have responsibilities?” she shot back while keeping her eyes fixated on the computer in front of her.

He made a face. “Yeah, yeah. Or maybe you just don’t know how to act around me.”

Your eyes finally met his as your mouth opened—then closed. He said it so casually like he was commenting on the weather.

"He's just joking", you told yourself

His dark humourous eyes bore into yours as he patiently waited for a response. Before she could formulate a response, Martin called out, “Yo, Y/n! Can you come over here for a sec!”

Y/n took the escape without hesitation. “Duty calls,” she muttered, turning on her heel.

Hamzah watched her get up before he called after her. “Miss you already!”

As she ignored him, she couldn't help but replay that last comment over and over again in her head.

"Or maybe you just don’t know how to act around me."

She didn’t need to dignify that with a response. Mostly because he wasn’t wrong.

---

That evening, you were finishing up an email to a potential sponsor. (There were hundreds of them.) Y/n had just clicked send when Hamzah dropped into the seat next to her.

“So,” he said, resting his elbow on the table. “You avoid me all day just to end up being the last one here. Interesting.”

She groaned. “I did not avoid you.”

“You literally left mid-conversation.”

“Because I had work to do!”

He took a slow sip of his protein shake, eyeing her over the rim. “Uh-huh.”

She scowled. “Not everything is about you, Hamzah.”

“Big talk, considering I’m basically the headliner of this team.”

Y/n let out an exasperated laugh. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned. “And yet, your working for me.”

She rolled her eyes, focusing on her computer, but Hamzah’s voice cut through again—quieter this time.

“For real, though,” he said, “I mess with you a lot, but you know I actually mean it when I say you’re good at what you do, right?”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “…Thanks?”

“Don’t get weird about it.” He went back to scrolling on his phone like he hadn’t just said something out of character.

She shook her head, smiling despite herself.

Hamzah might be blunt. He might be insufferable.

But damn it, he was also kind of impossible to ignore.

---

Hamzah x (fem)reader

Description: It's the reader's birthday and she decided to host a "rager". Her friends are skeptical as she's never been interested in hosting parties. Little do they know, it was all planned with the hope that one person in particular would make an appearance.

a/n: I'm sure you can tell from my profile pic that I'm a huge Charli fan lol. This idea came to me as I was playing this album on repeat. Hope y'all enjoy <3

---

The bass thumped against the walls, the thick air overbearing with the smell of spilled drinks and hot bodies. You had never been one for house parties—especially not the kind filled with strangers you barely knew. But this made the party all that much more appealing right? Tonight was different.

Tonight was a gamble.

Your friends had raised their eyebrows when you’d proposed the idea. "Since when do you throw parties?" Taylor had asked, skepticism lacing her tone. You’d only shrugged, feigning nonchalance, while anticipation clawed at your ribs. You have just recently moved into a new apartment with lots of space, so this could be your chance to show it off. While everyone else thought this was just a random burst of spontaneity, you knew better.

You’d planned every detail of this night with one hope in mind:

that Hamzah would show up.

Hamzah had been your friend for years— at least, that was how you would describe him. You weren't even sure if he felt the same way anymore. Your friendship teetering on the edge of something more but never quite crossing that line. That was until one night you had said a few more words then you should have.

---

It had been late, just the two of you lingering in the glow of streetlights after the rest of your friends had gone home. He always walked you home.

His arms rested in his pockets as he looked down at you smiling while you recited a story you found hilarious.

"Can you believe that? She went that far all for some guy. I can't even imagine."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I mean, people do crazy things for the people they like."

You laughed, a little breathless, but his smile made your heart skip. It was like there was a quiet understanding between the two of you, a connection that lingered in the spaces between your words.

As we arrived at my apartment, something in the city air made me feel a bit too confident. Suddenly, words tumbled from your lips before you could stop it. "Honestly, I can only imagine going that far if he was someone like you."

Too much.

Hamzah stopped dead in his tracks, mouth agape with wide eyes.

You had let your guard slip.

He hadn’t responded right away. His gaze had flickered, searching yours, his lips parting as if to say something—anything—but nothing came. The silence stretched too long, thick and suffocating, until finally, he had only managed a quiet, "I should go."

___

That was the last you had heard from him in weeks. You were too embarrassed to phone him or go by his house and apologize for making the situation so weird.

You tried not to scan the crowd too obviously, though your heart shot up each time the front door creaked open. Friends mingled, and people you barely knew were making out in corners. Almost everyone was enjoying themselves, dancing in dim lighting without a care in the world. Someone had taken control of the playlist, swapping your mix of what you liked to call, "gay club music" with Nettspend.

Still, no Hamzah.

You were starting to lose hope.

You went outside in an attempt to cool off. The view was the highlight of your new place. The city lights shined brightly as you looked down imagining what the rest of the world was doing tonight.

What he was doing.

Your head turned to see the steam rolling off the newly integrated pool on your balcony. Beside the view, it was your favorite part of the apartment, and one of the main reasons you fought so hard to secure this place. You looked back through the door you came from.

No one seemed to notice you were even gone.

You slowly removed the short dress you were wearing. As you kicked it to the side, you plunged into the warm water.

The warmth of the water wrapped around you, contrasting against the crisp night air. You let yourself float, eyes closed, taking in the sacred peacefulness. You felt your heart start to ache. You weren’t sure if it was the remnants of disappointment or the burn of anticipation that you couldn’t quite shake.

When you finally broke the surface, slicking your hair back and blinking against the city lights, your breath caught in your throat.

Hamzah was there.

Sitting by the edge of the pool, laying back on his arms, watching you with an unreadable expression. His dark eyes bore into yours with an expression almost unreadable The golden glow of the city cast soft shadows across his face, making the moment feel almost unreal.

You suddenly became acutely aware of your lack of clothes.

Your stomach twisted as embarrassment crept up your spine. You opened your mouth to speak, to explain, to maybe make a joke and defuse the tension, but nothing came out. He beat you to it.

“You always do this,” he said in a deep but quiet voice.

Your brows knitted together. “Do what?”

“Run away.”

You swallowed hard, shifting in the water as you hugged your arms around yourself. “I thought you were avoiding me.”

Hamzah let out a breath, shaking his head. “I wasn’t. I just… I needed to think.”

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure what to say to that. The air between you buzzed with an unspoken weight, the memory of your last encounter hanging between you like a feeling you couldn't shake.

Then, in the silence, he said it.

“I like you.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I’ve liked you for a while,” he continued, his voice softer now, like he wasn’t entirely sure how to say it. “And I freaked out when you got close because I didn’t know if you felt the same.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too quickly. The warmth of the pool did nothing to ease the chill spreading through your veins—not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of his words.

You started to move towards him.

Reaching for the ledge, you pushed yourself up slightly, just enough to get the bottom half of his clothes wet.

The space between you dissolves into nothing. Your fingers found his jaw, your fingers finally meeting at the side of his mouth before leaning in.

The moment his lips met yours, it was like everything clicked into place.

Your mouths moved against each other in fever as if you were both making up for lost time. Which you definitley were.

In one swift movement, he pulled you out of the water completely so that your drenched body was straddling his. The tension that had been lingering for weeks melted in the heat of the kiss. He tasted like the city night and something inherently him—something you had been wanting for longer than you cared to admit. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing into the slick fabric of your bra, grounding you in the reality of it all.

When you finally pulled away, foreheads touching, his breath mingling with yours, you couldn’t help but smile.

"So..." Hamzah said out of breath, "Who’s the lucky guest of honor?”

You shrugged, ignoring the way your pulse betrayed you. “Dunno. Just… felt like celebrating.”

He chuckled at this, something dark in his eyes shined as he leaned in close enough for only me to hear.

“Happy birthday, then,” he murmured, voice softer now.

Maybe—just maybe—the gamble had paid off.

---

You and Hamzah are in a secret relationship. While you guys kept each other a secret to protect one another, was it really what you both wanted?

Contains: fem reader, angst, confused reader, lack of communication, arguing, happy ending <3

a/n: I appreciate all the love I've received for my most recent works. Hope you guys enjoy this one, it's definitely my best yet.

---

From an outside perspective, there was nothing out of the ordinary about this situation. Just two couples out on a double date. Me, Mandy, Martin, and Hamzah grabbing dinner at our usual pizza spot. Nothing suspicious. Nothing complicated. Just friends catching up.

Mandy waved kindly as she saw me approach their group. Martin stood next to her seemingly making a joke to Hamzah as he stood there with his hands in his pockets wearing a neutral expression on his face. That was, until he saw me arrive.

A familiar feeling of excitement filled my stomach at the look on Hamzah’s face. I wanted to run up to him and throw my arms around him while greeting him with a kiss. He would smile down at me as his left hand placed itself in my back jean pocket.

Except, of course, Martin and Mandy were the only couple actually together. 

I guess you could say me and Hamzah were together too. We basically lived at each other's apartments, always leaving clothes in each other's space. I would wake up to Hamzah’s messy curls aghast on the pillow next to mine. I would plant his face with kisses as he grabbed my waist and pulled me on top of him.  

We were together, but in a, “we don’t want to put a label on it” kind of way. No commitments, no pressure—just what we wanted.

I wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

For me, it was about not wanting anything serious right now. I wanted to protect my relationship with Hamzah, what we had was different than anything I had experienced with boyfriends in the past.

For Hamzah, it had more to do with his online image— he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable with their fans' inevitable perceptions of you if you two were to date. I joked that he was just playing up the “I’m available” act for his followers. He would always roll his eyes but I’m sure this was part of it.

If people found out we were together, it’d ruin the whole thing. Which is why I had to be extra careful. Even around our best friends.

So imagine my horror when, halfway through dinner, Martin suddenly narrows his eyes at me.

“Hey… isn’t that Hamzah’s sweater?”

The table goes silent and my stomach drops.

I freeze with my pizza halfway to my mouth, my brain scrambling for a response. The oversized grey hoodie I’m wearing is definitely Hamzah’s— the words “nap queen” in black letters I envisioned on my chest made me want to laugh and bury my head in my hands at the same time. I didn’t even think about it when I threw it on before leaving.

It even smelled like him.

I set my pizza down trying to brush it off, “Am I not allowed to wear your guys merch anymore? Y’all should be grateful.” I say acting offended.

Mandy’s eyes flick between me and Hamzah, who—thank god—keeps his expression cool, shoveling food into his mouth as he nodded his head at my response..

Martin, however, is still staring. “I swear that one is yours though, isn’t it Hamzah? It has the exact same material as the one you wear. ”

I let out a short laugh, trying to play it off. “I’m not sure why because this one is mine.” My voice started to shake

Pull it together.

“It looks exactly like Hamzah’s,” Martin insists. He turns to Mandy. “Doesn’t it?”

Mandy shrugs, sipping her drink. “A lot of those hoodies look the same.”

Hamzah finally speaks, his voice casual but just a little too fast. “Yeah, man, it’s just a hoodie. All those hoodies look the same, part of the reason we sold so many.”

Martin still looks unconvinced, but he lets it go, turning his attention back to his food. My entire body is tense, and across the table, I can feel Hamzah suppressing a smirk.

Under the table, his finger interlocks with mine, a slow, deliberate touch that sends a jolt up my spine. I flick my eyes toward him, and there’s something smug in his gaze—something knowing.

I roll my eyes at him, trying to ignore the way my face feels hot.

That was too close.

But the truth is, I kind of love the risk. I love the way we sneak glances at each other when no one’s looking, the way my body reacts when he’s just close enough to touch but doesn’t. I love the late nights, the whispered conversations, the fact that we’re both holding onto something we’re pretending we don’t want to name.

God I wanted him bad.

---

The party was loud—too loud. Music pulsed through the walls, and the mix of voices, laughter, and the occasional clatter of a drink being set down filled the air. Mandy and Martin were off in their own little world, and I had lost track of most people in the crowd.

Hamzah settled next to me "How're you doing?" he asked, leaning down to meet my ears while looking out into the sea of people.

I sighed in response, "Alright, I guess..." I snapped my head to meet Hamzah's dark eyes, "...Can we go home soon?" I asked sticking out my bottom lip. He chuckled before leaning down once more.

"Come with me," he murmured, his voice just low enough for only me to hear.

I barely had time to react before his fingers brushed against my wrist—just a ghost of a touch, but enough to send a jolt through me. Before I knew it, I was being pulled down the hall, away from the noise, away from prying eyes.

He didn’t stop until we were inside an empty room, the door clicking shut behind us. The sudden quiet made my pulse hammer in my ears.

"Wait, what if someone sees?" I whispered, even though I was far too gone to start moving away from him.

Hamzah exhaled, leaning back against the door with a sly look covering his face. His eyes were dark, and the dim lighting cast sharp shadows on his face. "I don't care," he said.

That was a lie. He did care. We both did. That was the whole reason we were keeping this secret.

And yet… here we were.

The tension thickened in the air between us, something unspoken crackling like a wire about to snap. Hamzah's jaw tightened, his fingers twitching at his sides before he finally gave in, stepping closer.

I barely had time to breathe before his hands cupped my face, his touch gentle despite the desperation in his eyes. This was the last look I could register before his lips were on mine.

A slow, deep kiss started, stealing the air from my lungs, and making my heart stutter.

I wanted this. God, I wanted this.

But before I could get too carried away, I thought of where we could have been. Kissing in the middle of a crowd, unwavering concerns about what others around us thought. His hand in mine not hidden beneath a table, but revealed proudly.

The weight of it—the secret, the hiding, the way we only allowed ourselves these moments in the dark—it was all too much.

A sharp pang in my chest pulled me back to reality. Before I could stop myself, I tore away, my breath ragged.

“Hamzah, I—” My voice broke, my hands shaking as I stepped back. “I can’t keep doing this.”

His brows furrowed, his hands hovering in the empty space between us like he wanted to pull me back but knew he shouldn’t. “What do you mean... what's wrong?”

I forced a swallow, blinking hard. “Being with you in secret... it just hurts too much.” My voice was barely above a whisper, but the way Hamzah flinched made it clear he heard every word.

His lips parted, like he was about to say something, but I couldn’t stand there and let him try to fix it with more whispered reassurances, more stolen touches that would only leave me aching for something real.

Before he could even get a word out, I was already out the door.

I pushed past the crowd, the music and chatter barely registering. My chest was tight, my pulse racing. I needed air.

I needed to get out of here.

The cold night air hit me as I stepped outside, but it didn't stop me. As I started to come to terms with what just happened, tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill. I sucked in a sharp breath, hugging my arms around myself, trying to shake the feeling of Hamzah’s hands still lingering on my skin.

Then, I heard determined footsteps tracking behind me.

“Wait.”

Hamzah’s voice.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to turn around. But then his hand caught mine, stopping me in my tracks.

I exhaled shakily as he moved in front of me, his brows furrowed, his expression torn between frustration and desperation. Whatever it was caused your whole body to shudder.

“I don’t want to hide anymore,” he said, his voice rough, his grip tightening just slightly, “Not if it means losing you.”

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering. “What about your whole ‘single guy’ thing? What about—”

“Screw all that,” he cut me off, shaking his head. “None of it matters if it means I can’t be with you. I don’t care who knows.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of me.

I searched his face, looking for hesitation, for doubt. But there was none. Just him—bare, vulnerable, real.

A shaky laugh left my lips, part disbelief, part relief. “Are you sure about this?”

Hamzah let out a soft chuckle, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from my face before resting gently against my cheek. “Yeah, I mean it.” His thumb traced my skin, slow and reverent. “I want you. For real.”

I didn’t need any more convincing.

This time, when I reached out and kissed him, I wasn’t thinking about the consequences. About who was watching or who would care. What came next and what the future held.

From now on, we came first.

---

hamzah x reader

summary: Moving in with Hamzah was supposed to be temporary, a kind gesture from a good friend… but the ease of unspoken understanding turned a short stay into a home. How long can you keep up this mundane routine until someone cracks?

(fluff to angst, reader gets jealous, confusing realationship, happy ending)

a/n: let me know if you guys have any prompts, I would love some inspo <3

———

"Do you want any coffee Hamzah?"

It was 7:42 to be exact. Y/n was in the kitchen wearing a baggy sweater and brandy shorts. Her mismatched socks were the staple to the outfit as she held one of Hamzah's mugs, offering to fill it.

Hamzah laid his head back on the couch dramatically, "Yes, and don't be shy with the amount." Y/n rolled her eyes at this before following through with his instructions. He was sitting in grey sweatpants and a grey hoodie as he edited a video he needed to get done before Martin came over later that day. Y/n walked over to him with his requested mug full of coffee outstretched as she sat on the couch next to him. He caught her peering over his shoulder.

"Yall must save a lot of money not paying for editors."

Hamzah scoffed, "I wish, this is literally a video requesting more editors."

Y/n hummed in response as she sipped her own coffee. She enjoyed these moments in the morning before the both of them went off with their own days. Ever since Y/n had moved in, both of them had easily adapted to one another's presence. She feared it might have been awkward at first being that the situation was not ideal to begin with.

The friends that Y/n had originally left the States with got homesick almost immediately before packing their bags not even a month into their residency.

"Why didn't you go with them?" Hamzah questioned at dinner the night they left.

Y/n sighed out a long breath she had been holding ever since she arrived. "I wasn't to go back... my internship doesn't end until the summer and, I don't know," She muttered as she started picking at her plate "I feel as though I have unfinished business here." She looked up from her plate to meet Hamzah's dark eyes. She cleared her throat, "I'm not too sure what that is though." Hamzah hummed softly as he leaned back in his chair, "Well... I know we haven't known each other long, but if you need somewhere to stay, I have an open room available. You can rent it out for as long as you need."

Y/n didn't know what to say. Well, actually she did, because she moved in the next day with no hesitation whatsoever.

The had just reached 7:50 as she and Hamzah still sat on the couch quietly. As Y/n was reading through a book she just bought and Hamzah was still on his computer, she started to become acutely aware of her knee touching the top of Hamzah's leg. As she sat there rereading the same paragraph for the sixth time, unable to focus, Hamzah finally broke the silence.

"What should we get for dinner tonight?"

---

Y/n heard the door handle shake as the familiar sound of keys rattled.

"Hamzah must be home" Y/n thought to herself.

Y/n had been bed rotting all afternoon, it was Saturday and she had the day off from work. She was planning to ask Hamzah what his plans were for the afternoon, and whether they should stay in or go out tonight.

Hamzah walked in... but as she turned her head to greet him, she was meet with another face as well.

A girl.

Y/n sat up slightly, her back still resting against the headboard as she took in the unfamiliar presence beside Hamzah. The girl was pretty—long dark hair, bright eyes, and a warm smile that seemed perfectly in place as she stepped inside, toeing off her shoes like she’d been here before.

"Hey, Y/n," Hamzah greeted casually, setting his keys on the entryway table. "This is Layla."

Layla.

Y/n blinked, her grip tightening slightly on the blanket draped over her legs.

"Hi," Layla chirped, offering a friendly wave.

"Hey," Y/n replied, keeping her voice neutral as she gave a small nod.

She looked at Hamzah, expecting an explanation, but he was already walking into the kitchen like nothing was out of the ordinary. Layla followed behind, leaving Y/n to process the shift in atmosphere alone.

She hadn’t known Hamzah was seeing anyone.

Not that it should matter.

But the unspoken comfort of their routines, their quiet mornings and shared dinners—it all suddenly felt less… permanent. Less theirs.

Pulling herself out of her thoughts, she pushed the blanket off her lap and stood, making her way toward the kitchen.

Y/n cleared her throat.

"So... how do you two know each other?" she asked, keeping her tone light as she leaned against the counter.

Hamzah, busy pouring himself a glass of water, barely looked up. "We met through a mutual friend. Layla just moved here recently."

"Yeah, I’m still getting settled," Layla added, smiling. "Hamzah’s been showing me around."

Y/n couldn't help but notice how close she was standing next to him and how she leaned into him as she continued to speak.

"God could she be any less obvious"

Y/n nodded slowly, feeling something settle—something she couldn't quite name.

"Oh, cool. Well, welcome."

Layla beamed, and Hamzah finally glanced at Y/n, his expression unreadable.

"Anyway," he said, setting his glass down. "What were you up to today?"

Y/n shrugged. "Nothing much. I was gonna ask if you wanted to do something later, but—" she gestured between him and Layla, "looks like you’ve got plans."

Hamzah hesitated, as if he were about to say something, but Layla spoke first.

"We were just grabbing coffee, actually. Nothing big."

"Right."

Hamzah shifted his weight. "We can still do something later if you want."

Y/n smiled, small and easy. "Nah, it’s cool. Enjoy your coffee."

And with that, she turned on her heel, walking back toward her room before she could let herself overthink why she suddenly felt like an outsider in her own home.

—-

These visits become much more frequent in the following month.

Y/n tried not to think much of it.

"They're just friends." She reminded herself a little too often. But something about the way he would laugh at her jokes like she was the funniest person ever. Or even look at her with a captivating expression when he listened to a story she was telling.

I didn't sit right with you.

When Y/n walked out of her room to see Layla pouring herself a cup of water in Hamzah's mug she swore she started to see red.

"Hey y/n," She looked down at the mug she was using, "Hamzah was begging me to get him some water, he's such a baby." she chuckled.

Before Y/n could even get a word out, Layla disappeared back to the room she came from. Hamzah's office.

The worst of it came on a random Thursday night.

Y/n had been exhausted from work, the kind of exhaustion that made her want to curl up on the couch with a movie, maybe convince Hamzah to order takeout and stay in.

But when she walked in, Layla was already there, sitting comfortably on the couch next to Hamzah, her legs tucked under her as she scrolled through something on his phone.

Y/n froze in the doorway.

Hamzah glanced up and grinned. "Oh, you’re home."

Home.

She didn’t feel like it.

Layla looked up, smiling too. "We were just picking a movie. You wanna join?"

Y/n swallowed. She felt ridiculous—like a child being edged out of their own friend group.

But maybe that’s exactly what was happening.

"No," she said after a beat. "I’m just gonna head to my room."

Hamzah frowned. "You sure?"

Y/n forced a smile. "Yeah. You guys enjoy."

And then she walked away before she could let him see the crack forming in her composure.

Before she could let herself admit that it wasn’t just frustration she was feeling.

It was jealousy.

It was something deeper, something she hadn’t dared to name before.

And now, she was too afraid to.

--

Y/n stared at the half-packed suitcase on her bed, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts she hadn’t yet made sense of.

Y/n shoved another sweater into her suitcase with more force than necessary, her chest tightening with every sharp movement. The apartment, once her safe space, now felt suffocating. Every corner of it held memories—shared laughs over burnt pancakes, lazy Sunday mornings with coffee, the quiet comfort of existing alongside Hamzah without needing to say much at all.

But lately, it felt like she was the only one holding onto those things.

Maybe it was the way Layla seemed to slip so effortlessly into his world.

Or maybe it was how Y/n suddenly felt like she was watching from the outside, no longer a part of whatever they had built.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair before zipping up the suitcase. She hadn’t fully decided where she was going yet—maybe a friend’s place, maybe a short-term rental—but she knew she couldn’t stay here anymore.

She had just grabbed her phone when the knock came.

"Y/n?"

Hamzah’s voice was cautious, like he already knew.

She exhaled before opening the door.

His eyes immediately flickered to the suitcase. His brows furrowed. "What’s this?"

She crossed her arms. "I think it’s time I moved out."

His expression flickered—confusion first, then something else. Something closer to panic.

"What?" he scoffed. "You’re joking."

Y/n shook her head, suddenly finding it hard to hold his gaze. "It’s just... things feel different now, Hamzah. I don’t want to overstay my welcome."

"Overstay your—" He let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Y/n, this isn’t just some arrangement. You live here."

"Yeah, and maybe I shouldn’t anymore," she said softly.

A tense silence settled between them. Hamzah was looking at her like he was searching for the right thing to say.

"Is this about Layla?" he finally asked.

Y/n hesitated, struggling to find the right words. "It’s about a lot of things."

Hamzah ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. "You’re really doing this?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I think it’s for the best."

"Don’t do that," he said suddenly causing Y/n to look up at him.

His face was laced with anger and confusion. His fists balled at his side as he started to breath heavily.

He shook his head. "Don’t act like this doesn’t matter."

"To who, Hamzah?" she challenged, dropping her arms in frustration. "Because from where I’m standing, I don’t matter anymore. Layla’s here all the time, and suddenly, I’m just—what? Some extra person taking up space in your home? In your life?"

Hamzah paused as if that statement struck a chord with him.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration radiating off him. "That’s not true, and you know it."

"Do I?" Y/n’s voice cracked despite herself. "Because I feel like I’ve been watching you replace me right in front of my face."

The words hung between them,

heavy,

suffocating.

Hamzah exhaled sharply, stepping closer. "You really think I could replace you?"

Y/n clenched her jaw, looking away. "Doesn’t feel like I have a place here anymore."

Something in Hamzah’s expression shifted, his anger giving way to something raw, something desperate.

Hamzah took another step forward, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

"I need you here." He said suddenly, as his dark eyes searched yours for some sort of decoding of his confession.

Despite feeling her breath caught in her throat, she forced herself to stand her ground. "Then why does it feel like I’ve been pushed aside?"

Hamzah shook his head. "You don’t get it, do you?" His voice was strained like he was barely holding himself together. "I wasn’t replacing you. I was trying to-" He stopped himself, running a frustrated hand through his hair before looking back at her, eyes burning with something she couldn’t name.

"Trying to what?" she challenged, hating the way her voice wavered.

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Trying to ignore it. Trying to pretend like I don’t look for you first when I walk through the door. That I don’t feel off when you’re not here. That I don’t-" His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides.

Y/n swallowed hard, her heart pounding. It was her turn to take a step towards him. "That you don’t what, Hamzah?"

And then suddenly, she didn’t have to ask.

Because Hamzah was right there, closing the space between them in a heartbeat. His hands came up to cradle her face, rough and warm and desperate

His lips crashed against hers.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.

It was laced with frustration and longing and everything unspoken between them, unraveled all at once.

Y/n gasped into the kiss, her fingers gripping the front of his hoodie, holding onto him like he might slip away. Like she might slip away if she let herself think too much.

Hamzah’s hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he didn’t. The heat of it, the weight of it, settled deep in Y/n’s chest, breaking down every wall she had built to keep herself from feeling this.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, hands still clinging onto each other.

"Stay," Hamzah whispered, his voice raw, like a confession.

Y/n’s heart stuttered in her chest.

And for the first time in weeks, she didn’t want to leave.

--

a/n: I hope yall liked this one!!!!! I had been sitting on this idea for a while now, anywayssss pls lmk what u think

hamzah x reader

summary: The reader's friend has been trying make a move at Hamzah ever since she started seeing his online personality. While the reader tries to be a supportive friend, her feelings seem to be getting in the way of things. What if he feels the same?

this came to me in a dream, hope y'all enjoy

---

"Oh my god I can't do this"

It had been like this for almost an hour now.

You and your friend Holly were in the bathroom of Mandy and Martin's apartment. Music echoed in the background as Y/n leaned against the bathroom door tapping her foot as she started to get impatient.

"Seriously girl, just go talk to him. It's really not that deep, you're making it harder than it needs to be."

Y/n didn't care if she was being blunt it was what her friend needed to hear. She had always prided herself on being a good friend. Always offering to be the DD. Always listening to the boy's problems no matter how often she recommended the friend should just break up with him. So after Holly begged her to try and hook her up with Hamzah, the answer would obviously be yes. Why wouldn't it be? Being straightforward and honest came easy, so why did she feel she was holding something back.

She gripped the door handle once more, "Just follow my lead, it's all gonna work out."

Holly let out a sigh of relief, "Seriously Y/n.. what would I do without you."

Y/n flashed her a reassuring smile before turning with a more serious expression flashed her face. Y/n knew that this was Holly's first time actually meeting Hamzah, but it definitely wasn't hers.

Hamzah had been talking to Y/n over Instagram DM's for months now. From casual replies to story posts to sending each other random memes, it was easy to determine they would get along once they finally met each other at a party.

It was almost intimidating how well they got along, Y/n admired all the effort he put into his channel and how well he managed it all. Turns out, thousands of girls felt the same way.

With Holly's hand in yours, you searched for a familiar face through the crowd until you ran into Mandy.

She turned around looking surprised, "There you are! I've been searching everywhere for you two." Mandy pointed behind her, the boys have been so obsessed with that karaoke machine, I should have never purchased it."

Y/n looked past Mandy to see Hamzah and Martin singing karaoke together as if it were a competition on who could make the most noise. Hamzah wore a pink colored shirt that fit him a little too good with a hat that allowed his dark curls to peak through.

"That's a inappropriate way to describe your friend" she thought silently.

Y/n thanked Mandy before walking up to the boys with microphones. As she approached them she could feel a slight tug on her arm as she turned around to meet Holly's worried expression.

"Don't worry" she mouthed as she continued her way over to the duo. Her heart seemed to beat harder as she reached out to touch the arm of curly-haired boy. Probably due to him being the subject of the night.

As he turned to look at you, Hamzah's face practically lite up at the sight of your face.

"Y/n! Where have you been?" He reached down and hugged you with his one free hand and still held the microphone in the other. "I kept asking Mandy about where you ran off to." Y/n chuckled into the embrace. "I wasn't even gone that long,"

"Felt like ages." He muttered. Y/n tried not to think about how just one arm completely wrapped around her waist and how his fingers dug into her hips just right.

Holly cleared her throat.

"Shoot" She almost forgot why she was here.

Y/n released Hamzah with a jolt as she stepped to the side to introduce her friend, "I wanted you to meet Holly. Holly this is Hamzah, Hamzah this is Holly."

"You said that already" Holly said softly.

"Did I? Well... you get my point." Y/n looked back to Hamzah to see him he was staring back at her almost in disbelief.

Hamzah blinked, as if suddenly snapping out of a daze. His usual easygoing smirk returned, and he turned to Holly with a friendly nod.

"Hey, nice to meet you," he said, extending his hand.

Holly hesitated for a second before shaking it, her grip noticeably stiff. Y/n could feel the tension rolling off her friend, and she silently begged Holly to just relax. This was what she wanted, right?

"You too," Holly replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Y/n talks about you a lot."

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. Did she really? Before she could gauge Hamzah’s reaction, he chuckled, looking between the two girls.

"All good things, I hope?"

Y/n forced a laugh, ignoring the way her palms suddenly felt clammy. "Mostly," she teased, hoping to lighten the mood. "Except for the part where you butcher every song you sing."

Hamzah gasped dramatically. "Excuse you, I was putting on a performance. It’s about passion, not pitch."

Martin, who had been silently watching the exchange with an amused grin, finally spoke up. "Man, you’re gonna pretend like you weren’t just screaming into the mic?"

Hamzah shrugged. "I was creating a vibe."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but she was grateful for the slight shift in energy. She glanced at Holly, who still looked nervous but was at least smiling now. That was progress.

"Speaking of vibes," Hamzah said, tilting his head. "You’re acting different tonight."

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. "Different how?"

His eyes searched hers, as if trying to figure something out. "I dunno," he admitted. "Just... different."

Holly laughed, breaking the moment. "Probably because she’s been hyping me up for this conversation all night."

Hamzah raised an eyebrow. "This conversation?"

Y/n winced. So much for being subtle.

"She thinks you and Holly would make a great match," Martin chimed in, completely oblivious to the way Y/n’s stomach twisted at hearing it said out loud.

For a split second, something flickered in Hamzah’s expression—too fast for Y/n to catch. Then, he smiled. "Oh yeah?"

Holly nodded quickly. "I mean, yeah. You seem cool. And I think we’d get along?"

It came out more like a question than a statement, and Y/n resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. She wanted to help, but something about this whole situation felt... off.

Hamzah glanced at Y/n again before turning back to Holly. "Well, I appreciate the intro," he said smoothly. "But I gotta admit, I didn’t expect this."

Y/n frowned. "Expect what?"

He hesitated, then grinned. "You playing matchmaker."

Her stomach dropped. There was something in the way he said it, something that made her feel like she had completely miscalculated. Before she could respond, Hamzah lifted his mic again.

"Anyway," he said, turning to Martin. "We got a song to finish."

And just like that, the moment was over.

Y/n watched as he walked away, laughing as Martin passed him the next song choice. Holly exhaled beside her.

"That wasn’t terrible," she murmured.

Y/n nodded numbly, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had just shifted. And she wasn’t sure if she liked it.

--

The night continued as if nothing had happened. Holly chatted away, occasionally stealing glances at Hamzah, and Y/n did her best to stay present in the conversation. But her mind was elsewhere.

She kept replaying Hamzah’s words in her head. You playing matchmaker.

Why did it sound like there was something more behind them?

After a while, Holly got up to get another drink, and Martin was too busy butchering the lyrics to some 2000s throwback to notice the way Y/n was zoning out.

That’s when she felt someone slide into the seat beside her.

"Hey," Hamzah said, voice lower than usual.

Y/n turned to him with a surprised look plastered on her face. "...Hey."

He exhaled, drumming his fingers on the table. "So... Holly, huh?"

Y/n forced a smile. "Yeah. She’s great, right?"

Hamzah tilted his head, studying her. "She seems nice."

There was something careful about his tone, something measured. Y/n suddenly felt exposed, like he could see right through her.

"You don’t seem convinced," she pointed out.

He let out a soft chuckle. "It’s not that." He paused, then shook his head. "I just—I need to ask you something."

Y/n’s stomach tightened. "Okay?"

Hamzah leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you trying so hard to set me up with someone else?"

Her breath hitched. Feeling as though she had just been accused of murder. "What?"

"You heard me." His eyes searched hers, serious now. "Is it because you actually think we’d be good together? Or because you’re trying to convince yourself of something?"

Y/n’s pulse quickened. "That’s not—"

"Because if it’s the second one," he continued, his gaze unwavering, "then I need you to tell me right now."

Y/n swallowed hard. The air around them felt heavier, charged. "Hamzah, I was just trying to—"

"To ignore this?" he interrupted.

She froze.

Hamzah ran a hand through his hair, as if frustrated with himself. "Look, I wasn’t gonna say anything. I thought maybe I was imagining things. But then you tried to push me toward Holly, and all I could think was—why would you do that? Unless you were trying to avoid something."

Y/n’s heart was pounding now.

Before she could react, he reached out, gently taking her hand in his. It wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t rushed. Just quiet, steady.

"Tell me I’m wrong," he said. "Tell me there’s nothing here, and I’ll drop it."

Y/n opened her mouth, but no words came out. Because she couldn’t say it.

"What would Holly think?"

As if he could read her mind Hamzah sighed and spoke again, "Can you please stop thinking about what everyone else wants and just tell me.. what do you want?"

Y/n felt a pang of guilt matched with a sudden urge to jump on top of the boy in front of her.

Hamzah exhaled, his grip tightening just slightly. "Y/n, I like you."

The words settled between them, heavy and undeniable.

She sucked in a sharp breath. "You—"

"I like you," he repeated, softer this time. "Not Holly. Not anyone else. And I think... I think you feel the same way."

Y/n felt like the entire world had just shifted.

Because, for the first time, she couldn’t run from it.

But she was done running.

Y/n placed her hand on the side of Hamzah's face and pulled him in for a kiss that made her forget about every person that could be watching around her.

He matched her vigor as their lips moved against each other with fever. His free hand grabbed at her waist as if it would disappear if he let it go for too long while his other hand softly ran up and down the arm still cupping his face.

Y/n broke the kiss with a shaky breath as she finally spoke, "I like you too."

The moment the words left her lips, something in Hamzah’s expression shifted. Relief. Something deeper.

"You do?" he asked, as if he needed to hear it again to believe it.

Y/n let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah. I do."

A slow, lopsided smile spread across his face. "Then why were you trying to set me up with Holly?"

Y/n groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Because I was just trying to make everyone happy. I thought... I don't know, I thought the two of you might have got along and I figured that was more important than what I wanted."

Hamzah chuckled, tugging her hand away from her face. "You really thought that would work?"

She shrugged, feeling suddenly shy. "It was worth a shot."

He shook his head, amused. "Y/n, I’ve only ever had eyes for you."

She felt her breath hitch at these words.

"From the moment we met," he continued, his voice quieter now, "it’s always been you."

Y/n felt her heart squeeze.

hamzah x reader

description: a few months after breaking up, the reader is determined to get hamzah back. stubbornly she can’t help but find herself drawn back to him. despite acting as though she could care less about the situation; little does he know she’s been plotting their inevitable reconciliation.

took inspiration from this song (i love this album so much it does not deserve the hate)

enjoy <3

—

Y/n didn't know exactly how she got here, but she knew she sure as hell wasn't leaving.

At least not until he got there.

As she leaned against the bar, she felt wandering eyes on her but not the ones she wanted. She had just come back from the office dressed in her usual fitted slacks and button-up. She could see her colleagues socializing a few tables away. It was a special day for them, a birthday or something, but that didn't concern you. What concerned you was the boy in the navy-blue hat who had just walked in.

Y/n and Hamzah had dated for almost a year before their relationship wafted out like a flame in the dead of winter. This being said, the Christmas lights did not add any holiday cheer to the situation. It made sense, both were too stubborn for each other they fought like children over who was right and wrong. Was their relationship destined to end this way?

Y/n had always considered herself a low-maintenance girlfriend. In her past relationship, her boyfriends would even go as far as to say that she put them on the back burner. She always just claimed to not need a lot of attention. She was very self-efficient and liked spending time alone.

That was until she met Hamzah.

This was the first time a man had completely captivated her attention. She loved everything about him. The way he carried himself. The way he laughed. The way the top of his shirts fit his chest and arms. The way his curls peaked out whenever he wore a hat. She couldn't get enough.

She thought he felt the same way, but after she got a new promotion at work and found herself tied back to the office, she noticed Hamzah starting to get weary. This led to Hamzah starting to be distant with you, which for the first time, caused you to side with all of your exes.

"I just don't understand why you're being so dry." Y/n started in a huff; she ran her hands through her hair. As he stood in front of her in a gray hoodie and his hands in his pockets, she wished it wouldn't be out of social standards to just jump his bones right then and there.

He shrugged, "I don't know, that's how I've always been. Why do you care anyway? It's not like you're here half the time."

This constant back and forth grew tiresome by the minute. Both of you decided to call it quits in the most rushed and blunt manner possible. After going months without any communication from the two of you, the truth hung in front of you like a thread waiting to be pulled.

You missed him.

Y/n was too proud to call him and definitely too proud to ask for forgiveness to take her back. So, she resulted in the only resolution she saw as reasonable. Ask Mandy to set up a party with some old friends and secretly invite her.

She swore she was low maintenance. Mandy laughed.

Her face became hot as she saw him enter the bar. She turned away so fast she swore she got whiplash. Fixing her eyes on her half-finished drink she thought of all the names he could call her after seeing her for the first time in months. Although she could do the same, she would much rather skip that part and throw him onto the couch of her apartment.

She needed to get out of her head. She turned back to see where her target had moved to but turns out he had gotten lost in the sea of head crowding the bar. It really was a busy night.

"Maybe Mandy should have picked a weekday to plan this scheduled pursuit." As she thought this she turned to her right and saw him.

He was leaning against the bar with his arms as he was ordering from the already busy bartender.

He was wearing baggy camo pants with a shirt that had a reference on it she probably didn't understand. He always had to explain his references to her. But he always took the time to make sure she understood every single one of them.

God, she missed him.

She must have been staring too hard because suddenly his deep brown eyes had made their way over to hers. They faltered for a moment almost unable to believe what they were seeing. His face hadn't changed from when she had last seen him the night they had left things. She was met with the words exchanged that night and all too fast came to her senses.

This was a mistake.

She turned around and hastily made her way through the crowd of people. Attempting to the door would be much harder now that she had started this war. Her wrist was suddenly caught by a much larger hand and an even greater grip.

She turned meekly to meet the eyes of the boy she once knew so well, the one whose voice still echoed in the quiet corners of her mind. His grip wasn’t forceful, but it was firm—unwilling to let her slip away as easily as she had intended.

“Wait,” he said, his voice rough with something she couldn’t quite place—anger, hurt, desperation? Maybe all three.

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum. “I was just leaving” she said unable to meet his eyes, turning her head back to the door up front suddenly wishing teleportation wasn't a futuristic idea.

His eyes searched hers, and for a moment, the noise around them seemed to fade.

"I've been waiting for you" he finally said. This got her attention. She turned back to see his eyes soft and yearning. "It's been months, but I figured you would have called if you wanted to see me"

"Who says I want to see you now?" She said as she finally pulled her hand out of his grip.

Hamzah rolled his eyes, "I know you better than that Y/N, you set this up, didn't you?"

Y/n looked away crossing her arms "I don't know what you're talking about," she waited for a beat before saying anything more, "but if there was something you wanted to say to me, I would expect you to say it now."

He smiled down at her with a boyish grin, "You still haven't changed" he chuckled to himself.

Before y/n could come up with a response to this, Hamzah had reached out to cup her face in his hands. Her eyes grew wide as his mouth met hers once more.

It was familiar yet different, carrying the weight of all the words left unsaid and the time they had lost. Y/n’s breath hitched as a rush of emotions flooded through her. She had sworn she wouldn’t let this happen again, that she wouldn’t fall into the same cycle, but the warmth of his hands against her skin and the way he kissed her like she was something he had been without for too long made it impossible to say no.

After what felt like both a second and an eternity, she pulled away, her lips tingling, her mind spinning. Hamzah’s forehead rested lightly against hers, his breath fanning across her face.

Y/n looked into his dark eyes, unable to tell if this was a dream or not under all the strobe lights. It sure felt like one.

She looked up at him and grinned ear to ear, "I knew you would come to your senses".

He stared at her for a beat before pushing her away, "What is that supposed to mean?"

She closed the gap one more time pressing her body against his as she draped her arms around his neck, and she kissed his mouth with fever. "Don't ruin it".

He scoffed but didn't break the kiss, "What happened to where we left things before?"

She smirked against his mouth at this before pulling back just enough to whisper in his ear, "You were never not mine."