cakeart12

she/her, ’06, stay coer , james biased ( that fine shyt is only 🤏1y 8d older than me)

[reinxoxz]

ˎˊ˗TRUE LOVE WAITS ᯓ★ - Ahn Keonho smau 💿🎧

Synopsis ➛⋆˚࿔ - what happens when you accidentally take ahn keonho's airpods, same guy who happens to share the same music taste as yours

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ a/n ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ y/n and Keonho attend the same school, young and stupid love, keonho implied to have a crush on y/n way before the incident, feat (martin, seonghyeon, Ian)

#🐈 : hey so it actually only has to make sense to me and I don't feel like explaining it to anyone else🔘

[lemongularly]

SOLD AGAIN?

running a curated thrift isn’t easy work, especially when ur co admin is the human anatomy of a fashion freak and keeps bagging clothes that are meant to be sold. but maybe you’ll let it slide this time when you see a familiar user trying to buy some clothes

pairings; ex!martinedwards x petty!reader. reader kinda hateful as hell😭😭😭

part 1, part 2,part 3

🏷️: @lunaryoongie @decadentcollectionpersona @wheresangel @hyuneskkami @hyeonverse @yvalrik @myuekii @taelvvrzz

[hyuneskkami]

𓂃﹙𝓟𝐋𝐎𝐓 𝓣𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓 — PART2﹚─── ﹕☆ ៹ 𝓜𝐄𝐏 𝓔𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 . . . 合 ★

❛ 𝓢𝐘𝐍. ❜ the chronicles of idiot!martin 𝔁 idiot!student council vp!reader where he finally sees her letter and texts her back.

❛ 𝓦𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒+𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. ❜ second icon on the top of the fic is unedited btw 😹 i wonder if any of yall remember seeing it on mar 26 on his replies 😭 ⠀·⠀⠀poorly edited pictures (i tried to make it realistic and failed bru leave me alone) ⠀·⠀⠀swearing ⠀·⠀⠀ft. maki (&team), niki (enha), won&iroha (illit) ⠀·⠀⠀yayay 2nd and final part :p

❛ 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄. ❜ THIS MF 😂 i’m so sure this has actually happened to him at least once irl bro

❛ 𝓢𝐂. ❜ 25.

☆ part 1 part 2 !

⌣ ﹒ ୨ৎ ﹕tl 1. @jjuhyeons @miisoluvsdeer @its-vante @angelyseo @sailuvsu @sevvycoer @chbq2 @miseulsoup @bananabread785 @sstrawbxrry @pbananalover @griinspire @lcvehyeon @stxrrymarsz @ilovegojosatoru13 @lunaryoongie @aphantassia @teacuplps @marsgirltyshi @qngelical @thesvxntyb @mxddi3-the-mnm-lover @nic-andhisfics @yatta-exe @sw4gprinc3ss @casszzzii @whitefang1919 @hollyoongs @haezki @enhaha94 @lurvno @mercilessasylumoracle @mershyjershy @eunjjx @one-chance-pls @r0ckst4rjk @letterstohyeon @yaksokhay @rixieisfreaky @simpqueen2025 @hiitzstar @sese-blurbs @seonghwaswifeuuuu @wonllitz @fromsaltandsea @mwaeom @inadazeee @frizzyyo @toomanyfanficsbruh @eoduuung

[coconhovr]

BLONDE HAIR 𑣲 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─── after james dyed his hair blonde, you couldn’t stop playing with his hair because how radiant he looks

★ bf ! james × fem!reader

word count ── 3k

˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING BECAUSE JAMES HAIR LOOKS SO FREAKING GOOD 😍😍😍 IM GONNA TRY TO BE MORE ACTIVE ON TUMBLR ONCE SUMMER STARTS BUT IM BEYOND EXCITED FOR MY BREAK TO START 𖧧 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The apartment was steeped in a rare, unhurried tranquility. Not silence, true silence had never existed in James’s presence. He was far too animated for that, forever filling empty spaces with stories, ridiculous observations, and endless streams of commentary that somehow never grew tiresome.

this was something softer. Something infinitely more intimate. The sort of quiet that descended after a demanding day had finally loosened its grip. The sort that settled comfortably between two people who no longer felt obligated to entertain one another because their mere presence was enough.

Outside, the city continued its restless rhythm, but within the confines of the apartment, time appeared to slow.

Golden sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting elongated ribbons of amber across the hardwood floors. The living room glowed beneath the warmth of the setting sun, every surface bathed in shades of honey and gold. Somewhere in the background, the television droned on mindlessly, its voices blending into nothing more than ambient noise.

Neither of you paid it any attention. Your focus had long since drifted elsewhere. Specifically, to the man sprawled across your lap, and, more importantly, his hair.

His newly dyed blond hair. You were beginning to suspect that your fascination had evolved into a full-fledged obsession.

For nearly an hour, your fingers had remained tangled within the silken strands, repeatedly threading through them as though you were attempting to commit their texture to memory. Every pass revealed another variation of color beneath the evening light.

Some sections gleamed like molten gold. Others resembled pale champagne. Occasionally, when he shifted beneath the sunlight, the strands shimmered with almost platinum undertones.

It was unfair, completely and utterly unfair.

James had always been attractive. That much had never been up for debate. Yet somehow this new hair color transformed him into something devastatingly beautiful.

The contrast was breathtaking. The pale blond framed his features with startling precision, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones while simultaneously softening the overall look. His dark eyelashes appeared even longer against the lighter shade. His eyes seemed brighter, more expressive, every glance carrying an intensity that left your pulse stuttering unexpectedly. It should have been illegal.

Across your lap, James looked entirely content.

One arm rested lazily over his stomach while the other dangled uselessly off the couch. His head was comfortably nestled against your thigh, using you as a pillow without a trace of shame.

Not that you minded. If anything, you secretly adored moments like this.

The version of James that the public rarely saw. Not the charismatic idol, not the performer who commanded stages and captivated arenas.

Just James. Sleepy, comfortable, safe. His eyes remained half-lidded with exhaustion, yet he continued speaking, determined to finish whatever story had captured his attention.

“…I still remember going up to the office jokingly if there is a chance i could dye my hair blonde,” he mumbled, voice roughened by fatigue, “the visual team told me blonde wouldn’t suit me.”

Your fingers swept through his q bangs again. A habit you could no longer control. A distracted hum escaped your lips.

James’s eyes fluttered shut momentarily beneath your touch. “So I informed them they were incorrect.”

The corner of your mouth twitched upward. “Hm?”

“I was very persuasive.” His tone carried the utmost confidence.

You looked down at him with obvious skepticism. “Very persuasive?”

“Extremely persuasive.” The smugness in his voice was immediate.

You laughed softly. “How exactly did you persuade them?”

One eye cracked open. A grin spread lazily across his face, the kind that always preceded trouble. “I annoyed them until they gave up, it was going on for three weeks.”

The laugh that burst from you was immediate. “Three weeks!?”

James frowned. “They were being stubborn as fuck.”

“It’s that serious?”

His expression transformed into exaggerated offense. “I’ll have you know that it was a carefully constructed argument.”

“You harassed them for three weeks.”

“It was a carefully constructed three weeks.”

Your laughter grew louder, and instantly, his smile widened. That happened every time, without fail.

No matter how exhausted he was, no matter how terrible his mood had been beforehand, your laughter seemed to illuminate something inside him. Like a flower turning toward sunlight, like a reflex he couldn’t suppress.

The realization made warmth bloom beneath your ribs. You glanced down at him again.

A mistake, because James chose that exact moment to look up. 

The setting sun caught in his blond hair, igniting the strands like spun gold. His features softened beneath the warm glow. The sharp planes of his face became almost ethereal.

Beautiful.

There truly wasn’t another word for it.

Beautiful.

His eyelashes cast delicate shadows against his cheeks. His lips curved lazily as he watched you. His eyes, dark and impossibly expressive, reflected the fading sunlight in a way that made them appear almost liquid.

For a moment, you forgot what he had been saying entirely. Forgot the television, forgot the apartment, forgot everything

Alll you could see was him, and God—He was breathtaking. Not in the polished, magazine-cover way that millions of fans admired. Not in the carefully styled, professionally photographed way people discussed online.

This was different. This was the kind of beauty that emerged during quiet evenings and lazy conversations. The kind found in sleepy smiles and messy bangs. The kind revealed only to those fortunate enough to witness it. The kind that made your chest ache with an overwhelming surge of affection.

James blinked slowly, then smiled. A small smile, entirely unaware of the effect he had on you, or perhaps completely aware. With James, it was honestly impossible to tell.

A dramatic sigh escaped you before you could stop it. The sound wasn’t particularly loud, yet James noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

Somehow, after all this time together, he had developed an almost supernatural awareness when it came to you. A shift in your posture, a subtle change in expression, the faintest alteration in your tone—nothing ever escaped him.

His eyes fluttered open slightly. Concern immediately surfaced across his features. “What’s wrong?”

You absentmindedly twirled a strand of blond hair around your finger. “Nothing.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “You tired?”

“I’m not, don’t worry about me.”

“You sighed like a Victorian woman standing beside a rain-covered window while contemplating a forbidden romance.”

A laugh nearly escaped you. You managed to suppress it… Barely. Instead, you rolled your eyes toward the ceiling. “That’s oddly specific.”

James slowly pushed himself up on one elbow, his expression growing increasingly suspicious. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I can stare at my boyfriend.”

“Not like that.” A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

“Like what?” You studied him for another second.

The soft blond strands fell effortlessly across his forehead. The fading sunlight illuminated them from behind, creating a halo of gold around his head.

Honestly? He looked ridiculous—Ridiculously beautiful.

You exhaled slowly. “You just look really good.”

James blinked. “Oh.”

There was a brief pause. “Like…” You narrowed your eyes. “Like really hot.”

The transformation was immediate. His entire face brightened, the sleepiness vanished. A grin spread across his lips, slow and devastatingly pleased. “Keep talking.”

You immediately reached forward and poked his cheek. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Baby.”

“No.”

His grin only widened. “Sweetheart.”

Your resolve weakened instantly.

Dangerous. That was the only word capable of describing James when he used that voice. Low, warm, affectionate. The kind of voice that felt like being wrapped in your favorite blanket, the voice specifically engineered to dismantle your dignity.

His eyes sparkled mischievously. He knew exactly what effect he had, the menace. “Look at you” he cooed.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not that innocent.”

You groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Unfortunately, he sounded entirely confident, because he was entirely correct.

You returned your attention to his hair before he could become any more insufferable. The strands slipped effortlessly between your fingers. Silky, featherlight, far softer than you had anticipated.

Every time you touched it, you became increasingly convinced that blonde had been the best decision he had ever made.

Well… Maybe second best. The first had been dating you, obviously.

Without realizing it, you began absentmindedly playing with the ends again. Twisting a small section around your finger, letting it unravel. Repeating the motionagain, and again.

The sunlight transformed individual strands into ribbons of gold. You were fascinated, completely captivated. Eventually, a quiet chuckle broke the silence.

“You really like it, huh?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I love it.”

James gasped dramatically, his hand flew to his chest. “More than me?”

You immediately looked horrified. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

His jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

You burst into laughter.

James stared at you in mock betrayal before finally reaching for your hand. His fingers intertwined with yours effortlessly. The way every physical interaction between the two of you had become.

“Good answer,” he murmured. Despite his teasing, his thumb brushed across your knuckles with unmistakable fondness. The gesture sent warmth flooding through your chest.

For a while, neither of you felt compelled to fill the room with conversation. The silence that settled between you wasn’t awkward nor empty.

The apartment seemed enveloped in a tranquil stillness. The television continued playing in the background, though neither of you registered a 

single word.

Nothing beyond this moment seemed particularly important. Not schedules, not responsibilities, not tomorrow. Just this, just him.

Without warning, James shifted. The movement was subtle, he simply gravitated closer, as though some invisible force continuously drew him toward you.

His cheek found its place against your stomach, nestling there comfortably. One arm slid around your waist.

The action carried such natural familiarity that it made your chest ache. There had once been a time when physical affection felt deliberate. When reaching for each other required thought. When holding hands still caused nervous butterflies.

Now it was effortless, an ingrained habit, a language all its own. James sought you the same way flowers sought sunlight. Without hesitation, conscious intent.

Simply because it felt right. Your fingers immediately slipped back into his hair. No thought preceded the gesture, no decision was necessary.

It happened automatically. A reflex cultivated through countless evenings spent exactly like this. Your fingertips threaded through the silky blond strands, gently combing them back from his forehead.

The texture remained almost absurdly soft. The color still fascinated you. Each golden strand gleamed beneath the fading sunlight like spun silk. 

The moment your nails lightly scratched against his scalp, James visibly relaxed. A quiet sigh escaped him, his shoulders loosened. The tension he’d been carrying throughout the day gradually melted away beneath your touch.

“That’s nice.” His voice emerged low and drowsy. Softened by exhaustion, the words were nearly slurred together.

Your lips curved upward. “Is it?”

A sleepy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah...” The response came immediately, as though there had never been another possible answer.

You laughed quietly. The sound was swallowed by the warm atmosphere surrounding you both.

God, he was tired.

You could hear it.

His energy had slowly diminished throughout the evening, leaving behind a version of James few people were fortunate enough to witness.

The exhaustion stripped away every carefully maintained layer. What remained was simply him. The James the world rarely saw.

The public knew the dazzling idol who effortlessly commanded attention whenever he stepped onto a stage.

They knew the confident performer whose charisma seemed limitless beneath flashing lights and roaring crowds, the polished celebrity who appeared in interviews, magazine covers, and promotional videos. But they didn’t know this James.

They didn’t know the one who became impossibly clingy whenever he was sleepy. The one who searched for your hand beneath restaurant tables without even realizing he was doing it, who refused to sleep until he heard your voice after particularly difficult days, who stole your hoodies, sweaters, blankets, and occasionally entire pillows before insisting they had somehow become his property.

The one who sent you three-minute voice notes at absurd hours of the night because a random thought had entered his head and apparently couldn’t wait until morning, the one currently sprawled across your lap.

The realization washed over you with startling force. You had fallen in love with him countless times before. In crowded airports, in late-night phone calls, in quiet mornings, in fleeting glances.

Yet somehow, your heart continued discovering new reasons, as though loving him was an endless process rather than a destination.

The affection swelling within your chest felt almost overwhelming, warm enough to ache, gentle enough to make your throat tighten unexpectedly.

Your thumb brushed across his forehead. The pad of your thumb skimmed his skin before sweeping a few loose strands away from his face.

Immediately, James leaned into the touch without hesitation, like a cat seeking warmth from a familiar hand.

The sight nearly destroyed you. There was something indescribably precious about being loved so openly.

You looked down at him. The soft blond hair scattered across your lap. The relaxed features no longer sharpened by cameras or stage makeup, the faint rise and fall of his chest, the contentment written into every line of his expression.

His eyelashes rested against his cheeks. His lips remained slightly parted. His entire body seemed to radiate comfort, and suddenly, the realization struck again.

God.

You loved him, not because he was talented, or because he was admired, not even because he was beautiful, though he undeniably was.

You loved him because he was James, because he laughed too loudly, or he talked too much when he was excited, especially when he trusted you with every version of himself.

The thought settled warmly inside your chest, and as your fingers continued gliding through his blond hair, you found yourself smiling.

Several minutes drifted by in comfortable serenity before James finally stirred. One eye slowly cracked open.

The movement was sluggish, weighed down by lingering exhaustion, yet the instant his gaze landed on you, a familiar look of amusement surfaced.

“There you are.”

You blinked. “There who is?”

“The person who’s been staring at me for the last ten minutes.”

A smile immediately threatened to betray you. “Maybe.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Maybe?”

“I was just zoning out.”

James huffed a laugh through his nose. “You absolutely were staring though.”

“Was i? I can’t even remember.”

His expression became increasingly incredulous. “Don’t play dumb now, doll.”

You offered your most innocent smile, the one that never fooled him. James stared at you for several seconds. Then, without warning, he reached upward and pinched your cheek.

You immediately swatted his hand away. “Ow.”

“You deserved that.”

“For what!?”

“You were being suspicious.”

Your jaw dropped. “Suspicious for admiring my boyfriend?”

“See?”

“See what?”

“You were staring.”

You groaned. “Just talking to talk.”

James laughed, the sound reverberated softly throughout the room. The kind of laugh that seemed capable of dissolving stress simply by existing.

Your chest tightened unexpectedly, because the truth was embarrassingly simple.

James noticed the subtle alteration in your expression almost instantly. 

At this point, you were thoroughly convinced that your boyfriend possessed some sort of unfair advantage when it came to reading you. After years of memorizing your habits, studying your mannerisms, and paying attention to details most people overlooked, he could decipher your emotions with alarming accuracy.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he studied you from where he rested against your lap. “You know you’re pretty, right?”

Your heart completely betrayed you. The words struck with embarrassing effectiveness. Warmth flooded your face instantly.

Then he leaned closer, not enough to invade your space. Just enough for you to notice every detail. The faint mole near his cheek, the curve of his smile, the pale blond strands falling carelessly across his forehead, the warmth hidden within his dark eyes, the affection that lived there so openly.

Your breath caught immediately.

His thumb brushed against your cheek, the touch was featherlight, tender, affectionate. “So cute.”

You rolled your eyes. “You say that like I’m a puppy.”

“Maybe you are.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I mean...” His smile deepened. “You’re very cute puppy.”

Before you could retaliate, he leaned forward. A soft kiss landed against your cheek.

You blinked. Then another landed beside the first, then another, and another.

Each one accompanied by increasing levels of satisfaction, like he was accomplishing a very important mission.

The ridiculousness of the situation eventually became too much. A laugh escaped you. Soon you were laughing so hard your shoulders shook.

“James.”

“Hm?” He didn’t stop. Another kiss, then another.

Your laughter only grew. “What exactly are you doing?”

James finally pulled back. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, the expression was so sincere that you almost laughed again. “Showing affection.”

“Really? Cause ever since you dyed your hair blonde, you gotten more clingy.”

“I’d say the same about you.”

The confidence was infuriating, the smile accompanying it was even worse. Warm sunlight illuminated his blond hair, transforming the pale strands into molten gold. Combined with the ridiculous grin currently stretching across his face, the effect was devastating.

You hated how attractive he looked, you hated it even more because he knew it.

Then, without another word, he rested his forehead against yours. Immediately, the distance separating you vanished.

Suddenly, your entire world narrowed to the person sitting directly in front of you. The warmth radiating from his skin, the faint scent of shampoo lingering in his blond hair, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the comforting pressure of his hand resting securely against your waist.

Everything felt impossibly close, neither of you spoke, there was no need. The silence felt intimate rather than empty. Comfortable rather than awkward, a sanctuary constructed from countless shared moments. The kind of peace people spent entire lifetimes searching for.

You simply sat there, gazing at one another while evening sunlight painted everything gold. His eyes drifted over your features as though committing them to memory.

The tenderness in his expression nearly undid you, and then, as if drawn forward by instinct alone, James smiled.

Your fingers automatically slid through his blond hair once more, then, completely unashamed, he settled more comfortably against you.

And judging by the triumphant smile lingering on his face, he planned to use your very obvious obsession against you for the foreseeable future.

[bananagirl222]

The Sweetest Tobacco

Martin x Reader ⋮ oneshot ⋮ bananagirl masterlist

Desc - you and your best friend Martin share a cigarette but you both know that you want to be more than friends so one thing leads to another and your lips aren’t only touching your cigarette

Tags - Martin is super down bad / fluff / kissing / underage smoking / vape mentioned / I don’t condone smoking / cigarettes are bad for you / I haven’t smoked in a year so sorry if it’s inaccurate / friends to lovers / situationship / short / not proof read

Taglist .☘︎ ݁- @miseulsoup @coconhovr @marsgirltyshi @rickyshensgirlfriend @ykvdani @umizoomiz @saffy26jade @r0ckst4rjk @donttapdatglass @pbananalover @zzzeeetttaaa @hyeonverse @beatbymarzz @nolongeryoungbutbeautiful @im2swagalicious @ratyrozz @inadazeee @taelvvrzz @one-chance-pls @gigithegoat @tmrwsuns @hyuneskkami @meeoowchi @cassiiopeias @anniyahhh @acaibowl37

“Yinnieee can I bum off you again my vape lowkey burnt out,” Martin chuckled holding his blue razz vape in his hand like it was a dead mouse.

“Those are ass anyways, here,” you kindly gifted him the cigarette from your lips, your pink tinted lipstick staining the orange paper. You watched as his fingers took a hold of your bitter sweet nicotine putting it to his own lips, the lipstick mark matching the print of his lips. You watched as he breathed in the nicotine, the end of the cigarette burning a bright orange. His eyes squinting slightly. Martin then pulls the cigarette away and lets the smoke linger in his lungs before breathing out a wonky grey circle, you laugh lightly at his failed attempt at a smoke ring.

“Cute,” you take back your cigarette and put it to your lips, his eyes immediately go straight to your mouth, his jaw tightening. He has never wanted to be a cigarette so badly, the indirect kiss wasn’t enough for him anymore, it was like he was craving you just as much as he was craving the nicotine on your lips.

“I still think my blue razz is better” Martin chuckled trying to defect his thoughts away from your beautiful lips.

“Yeah good luck getting popcorn lungs in two years time from all that battery acid,” you tap your cigarette on the concrete you were sitting on, your feet dangling off the ledge of the seawall watching the ashes fall into the dark water below.

“Oh fuck off at least mine smells nicer unlike you, you smell like my grandma,” Martin was lying, he loved the smell of cigarettes mixed with your perfume. One time you let him borrow a shirt and it smelled exactly like you, the bitter scent of cigarettes, the sweet floral smell of your perfume and fruity lotion, it truly was the perfect mix. He was caught constantly sniffing the shirt throughout the day by Juhoon, it was humiliating.

“Oh shut up, you’ve never complained when you borrowed my clothes,” you scoffed handing him back your cigarette and he swiftly took it back.

“Hey, I don’t mind, I just drench myself in cologne.”

“Yeah, do you know how fucking long that takes to come out? I swear some of my shirts still smell like Jean Paul Gaultier,” you mocked the brand in a bad French accent.

“Hey! You always compliment my smell,” he blew the smoke in the opposite direction of you before facing back to you frowning trying to hide his smile caused by your cute fake accent.

“Ugh whatever! It’s still annoying.. People notice you know.” That comment couldn’t help but make him feel possessive. Knowing people could smell him on you gave him a sense of pride, it made him think that you were his in a way. Martin started to imagine guys avoiding their chance to hit on you because they smelled a man on your clothes, he loved it.

“Oh yeah? Am I scaring the boys off?” Martin smirked nudging your arm softly, you scoffed again rolling your eyes and taking back your half smoked cigarette tapping it again on the concrete.

“Yeah a little,” you breathed in the nicotine again.

“Good,” he gained some sense of confidence all of a sudden from the feeling of possessiveness in his chest.

“What? You want me all to your self?” You asked in a lower voice with a small smirk. You leaned a little closer to him as you breathed out the grey smoke.

“Maybe I do, I don’t really like sharing,” Martin leaned closer following your body language, clearly not backing down this time. Usually when the two of you flirt someone always retreats before it gets too far. But tonight the two of you had some confidence.

“Oh so am I yours?” You tilled your head and leaned your body weight on your hand behind his back, your forgotten cigarette between your fingers.

“Mmm I like to think so, and I can tell you think so too,” he whispered hiding the tremble in his throat at your close proximity.

“You surely are confident Edwards,” you hummed softly, your eyes looking down to his lips then to his eyes.

“You can say that,” He shrugged with a smug look on his face.

“You’re so cute” you muttered before catching your lips onto his, his shoulders immediately relaxed and his eyes fluttered shut, you can feel his bottom lip tremble softly onto yours, oh he wanted this badly.

“Yin,” he muttered between soft kisses. His hand led up to the side of your neck, his thumb in front of your ear pressed to your cheek, his other fingers in your hair. You felt yourself gravitating towards him, your chest pressed against him making him rest his opposite hand on your waist stroking your back and giving small squeezes to your hips.

You pull away from the kiss and pull the cigarette to your lips once more, you breathed in a lung full of smoke before blowing it into his mouth, to your satisfaction, Martin gladly breathed in your second hand smoke. You leave one last weak kiss to his lips before looking back to the ocean in front of them.

Martin hazily looked to where you did and sighs out the rest of the smoke before looking back to you. “I love you, so fucking much.”

You face him and smile, “I love you too.” You laughed, shaking your head at his sudden yet not surprising confession.

[ptolemaeiia]

IRREPLACEABLE YOU ⚡︎

脷 .ᐟ IRREPLACEABLE U. in which, you’re irreplaceable to him, tattoos from your spine that drop down to your ankles, he’s learned them all under his fingertips. OR a drabble about James’ obsession with your tattoos.

❛ 赵雨凡 𝑥 fem!reader ❜ 𓈒𓈒 based on an anon request

⚠︎ none, fluff, skinship, cutesy.

𓏸 1k~ ╱ 𝓶. list

🀢🀣🀦🀤

James was obsessed with your tattoos.

It wasn’t the kind of obsession that was hot and loud, or that he necessarily had to share to the rest of the world, no he was too gentle for that.

It was quieter, reverent, the way his fingers would drift across your skin like he was reading braille only he could understand.

Every line, every curve, every delicate stroke of ink had been memorized under his fingertips.

You were a little older than him, also under HYBE, which meant the company had eventually relented on the tattoos, because loosing their most successful idol over tattoos wasn’t in their interest.

Chinese characters ran down the backs of your arms in elegant script -phrases about resilience you’d chosen years ago. A long, flowing spine tattoo followed the elegant line of your back in blooming details that shifted with every movement. And just above the curve of your hips sat a cluster of lotus flowers, pale pink and green, rising from stylized water -symbols of purity and perseverance that always made him smile softly when he saw them.

He couldn’t help but watch them.

Even now, as you sat cross-legged on the couch in his practice room after hours, wearing one of his oversized hoodies, James couldn’t focus on the lyrics he was supposed to be revising.

His eyes kept drifting to where the hem of the hoodie rode up, revealing the delicate edges of those lotus petals.

“You’re staring again,” you teased, not looking up from your phone.

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, setting his notebook aside.

He crawled closer, gentle hands sliding under the fabric to rest on your lower back. His thumbs traced the lotus outlines with feather-light touches, following the stems as if they might bloom under his warmth. “They’re part of my girl. How am I supposed to look away?”

You laughed softly, leaning into his chest. James pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck, right where the spine tattoo began its long descent.

“I wrote about them again,” he admitted, a little shy. His voice was low, warm against your skin. “In the bridge of the new track. Manager-nim said it was ‘poetic.’ I think he’d have a heart attack if he knew I was writing about my girlfriend’s tattoos.”

You turned in his arms, cupping his face. “James.”

He smiled, that soft, boyish smile that made your heart stutter. “You’re irreplaceable to me, you know that?“

His fingers continued their familiar path -down your spine, over the characters on your arms, all the way to your ankles when you stretched out beside him. He knew them by heart now. He could trace every detail in the dark.

Later, when the song dropped and fans speculated about the poetic imagery, only you would catch the secret in his lyrics. Only you would know that every time James stepped on stage and sang those lines, he was thinking of lotus flowers blooming on your lower back, of ink that told your story, and of the girl who wore it all so beautifully.

James would always get nervous before big showcases.

The moment the stylists finished with his hair, he’d reach for your wrist and gently pull it into his lap. His thumb would trace the elegant characters inked there over and over in slow, soothing circles until his breathing steadied, eyes soft as he’d lift your wrist to press a tiny kiss to the ink.

No matter how many staff members were rushing around, that small ritual was just for the two of you.

Your boyfriend would always get shy whenever he caught himself staring at your lotus flowers.

If you wore low-rise pants or cropped tops around the dorm, his eyes would drift to the cluster of pale pink lotuses on your lower back. He couldn’t help it.

You’d tease him and he’d blush, mumbling, “They’re just so pretty on you,” before pulling you close so he could run his fingers over the petals.

He’d rest his chin on your shoulder and sigh happily, completely content to stay like that for hours.

And every night when he came home to you, he’d pull you close, press his lips to your tattoos like quiet promises, and whisper the same thing against your skin:

“These are beautiful. But you, my sweet girl? You’re everything.”

© ptolemaea4a

taglist : @jakeycakeys @justpassingdontworry @crypticscarrift @ja4hyvn @taelvvrzz @heejakexx68 @kienhawon @jinniepilled @eczlipse @wxnizz @sonyui @seokiify @seonghwaswifeuuuu @beomchuu2 @iuuuugdh @cupcakeangel9 @2166v @meyesthethird @yuudaiinhs @kieangelic @jjamiesmess @boundlesstroopersurvivor @kpopsmutty69 @yufanmeal @lcvemonth @2bamgyu @sourcandyfish @bananabread785 @heedear @viciousdarlings @sinmiedoalamor @jjuhoonn @inadazeee @ilovegojosatoru13 @kkyunho @hyeonverse @ascxan @sanguinosis @yeeyeehaw22

[lowkeonho]

⪩⪨ weirdo but im real tho ! 

⌕ keonho

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯   keonho (grounded) attempts to communicate with seonghyeon (not grounded) via student gmail. a few wrong numbers entered leads to him flirting with y/n (stranger) through an email thread! what could go wrong hahaha (a lot)

ᝰ.ᐟ  nonidol!keonho x fem!reader | friendgroup!cortis | jju and y/n are.. connected 🤔

ᝰ.ᐟ  smau mini series! fluff, humor, cussing

ᝰ.ᐟ  01 02 03 ❤️

ᝰ.ᐟ a/n: i apologize if the gmail format is unbearable dw they eventually rotate to ig 😅😅 pt 2 soon!!!!

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 yawnmi writes:

dumbest and funniest idea ive ever had ever 🤔 was supposed to be a one shot but i genuinely hit flow state STAY TUNED comment to be on taglist (series or perma) 👀👀👀👀👀

perma tl 🐻 @wonsoire

[lowkeonho]

⪩⪨ JUST ONE CHANCE !

⌕ ahn keonho

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 keonho pining for his best friend’s older sister and embarrassing himself in the process. he’s a little crazy, but very cute!

ᝰ.ᐟ keonho x femreader

ᝰ.ᐟ smau, humor, fluff

ᝰ.ᐟ ft. loser!keonho , bestfriend!seonghyeon , nonidol!cortis

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 yawnmi writes:

first post! i hope you guys enjoy! likes and reblogs are always appreciated 💕

[sinningsinister]

CURLS CURLS CURLS ── 김주훈

𐔌주훈 𐦯 ── kim juhoon x fem!reader ; lovers

va händer¿? ── maybe there was something in the air, maybe something had landed in your coffee, but when did juhoon's hair get this curly? moreover, has he ever been prettier? how on earth will you survive this. ── wc 700

sin talking listen to me how about we ignore that I haven't posted anything for a month and a half ..... gets frickity fracking writer's block the second I go on break TT

fuck him.

fuck him and his stupid hair.

fuck his whole bloodline for crying out loud, they're the culprit for giving him such mind-bogglingly beautiful hair. no, no, we're set on his hair being stupid.

"do you think two each'll be enough?" he asks with his usual mundaneness as he looks down at the tray, which has four oreos and two cups of coffee neatly set on it. he says it with such a laughably casual nature, as if he isn't actively trying to sabotage your sanity.

he looks up from the array of snacks and meets your eyes, the eyes that are already looking at his. JUHOON says your name, wanting to catch the attention that he already has.

he chuckles at your unchanged frown. "what's up with you?"

oblivious. of course, he is. is this some sort of sick game he's trying to play? some cruel joke he's pulling? you sigh in hopeless despair, because yeah, you kind of pity yourself right now.

"are you doing this on purpose?" you accuse, brows furrowed, eyes squinted, one hand on your hip and the other leaning on the kitchen counter.

he scoffs a laugh, not out of mischief, but out of shock. JUHOON'S taken aback by your blunt allegation. and through his laughter and not-so-serious smile, you look dead-serious. "doing what on purpose?" he inquires, with the same smile as he puts down the cookie packet.

you take the tiniest step forward, but you close the distance between you by miles. it's meant to intimidate, whatever that'd do for your cause, but all it does is give you a waft of the new hair mousse he's using, and it's all oak and vanilla in your senses. it makes you smile, much to your dismay, as JUHOON starts laughing at your failing tough-guy exterior.

"your hair's curly," you state, nearly whispering, because now you feel a little silly, with this beautiful giggling at how stupidly seriously you're taking this.

"is that a problem?" JUHOON pries. he's the one who takes a step forward this time, and he has the guts to make contact, letting his hand graze your own.

you can't handle the eyes, his hand, and that hair. you evert your eyes elsewhere, anywhere, but that merely eggs him on. he nearly awes, taking the moment to glide that same hand to your side.

he leans down the slightest, planting a kiss on the top of your head, and then landing a peck on your cheek. he wraps his arms around you. your arms take a slow trip to land around his neck as he stays chuckling into your neck in between the occasional kiss.

as you stand there with your dignity sacrificed, you take in the moment. you're standing in your boyfriend's kitchen, the boyfriend that is currently holding you close and giving you all the attention in the world. his kitchen is cozy and filled with the warm light of the setting sun. the room smells of bitter coffee that the two of you managed to burn, and JUHOON'S intoxicating hair products. all you hear is his breathing and sade playing from his speaker, lying on the counter.

suddenly it all hits you; how lucky you feel. it's integrated in the space between you two, in his soft and firm hugs and gorgeous curls. the curls you're running your hands through, the curls that're caressing your neck, the curls you'd never want to lose.

"it makes you really pretty," you sigh into him, too overwhelmed by it all to say something sappier. you feel how his lips mold into a smile against your skin, and that in and of itself makes you smile too. JUHOON leaves the crook of your neck to look you in the eye, to brush a few stray hair strands from your face.

you exhale, smile content. "I just forget how stupidly beautiful you are sometimes."

he laughs, letting your smiles connect in one soft, serene kiss that melts time and space.

maybe it's stupid, perhaps a little silly, but in the simplest ways, he shows you how deep love can really be, even if it is with curly hair.

sin's masterlist ⅋ schedule ; future fics talk to me

TAGLIST 𐔌open 𐦯 ── @feelikecinderella ˖ @one-chance-pls ˖ @inlovewithstraykids ˖ @zhaoyufanholic ˖ @hearts4julie ˖ @h14a ˖ @loveveronica ˖ @im2swagalicious ˖ @jjuhooners ˖ @09zpzkeonnss ˖ @hyeon3y ˖ @immisssworld ˖ @feljxx ˖ @fshiwore ˖ @sxqhan ˖ @vanillakirstein ˖ @hwalllllllelujah ˖ @lunaryoongie ˖ @whlhql ˖ @r0ckst4rjk ˖ @m1rahh ˖ @akarireadss22 ˖ @lcvehyeon ˖ @bellesophiaa ˖ @lovhyeon ˖ @cookispark ˖ @yufanbigfan ˖ @ilovegojosatoru13 ˖ @luvpadron ˖ @jiyeons-closet ˖ @tonowhiny ˖ @seonghwaswifeuuuu ˖ @marsgirltyshi ˖ @miisoluvsdeer ˖ @starryhop ˖ @sonyui ˖ @2bamgyu ˖ @kpopsmutty69

DIVIDER CR @uzmacchiato

© sinningsinister ♪₊˚𝄞 ── ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[cosmiho]

GIRL IN THE STANDS — KIM JUHOON

SYNOPSIS :: Juhoon has spent months allowing the rumours on if he has a girlfriend or not to spread, hoping the endless barrage of confessions he faces daily would eventually stop. One day he decides he’s finally had enough and chooses to put the rumours to rest.

W.C :: 3.6k

CONTAINS :: popular!footballer!juhoon, high school au, established relationship, other girls like jju, secret relationship, angst if you squint, tiny jealousy, fluff, skinship, kissing

PLAYLIST :: Lover is a day - Cuco; Out of my league - Fitz and The Tantrums; Kiss me - Sixpence None The Richer; Cariño - The Marias

The first bell was mere minutes away when the main courtyard of the school turned into an utter circus.

Juhoon noticed this before he even stepped out of the bike shed. A girl he vaguely recognised from the dance department had planted herself directly in his path, flanked by two giggling friends holding a rather tragic handmade sign that read ‘BE MY BF, JUHOON?’ in glitter glue.

He stopped, blinking slowly before he let out an eventual sigh.

"Juhoon!" The girl declared, voice trembling but brave. "I've liked you since the winter recital. Will you go out with me?"

The crowd that materialised from thin air was a testament to his particular brand of fame: part football star, part unreasonably good-looking, all mysterious smiles and sharp jawlines that granted him endless unwanted attention.

"Sorry," he said, not unkindly, but with zero hesitation. "I'm not interested."

Her face crumpled slightly, he spotted the slight tremble of her lips but chose to ignore it, he had been asked out by far too many girls he didn’t even know the names of. To make things worse the crowd erupted and ooooh'd, Juhoon wanting the ground to swallow him whole just so he could escape.

And then—because this was always the follow-up, there was always a follow-up—she pressed further. "Is it because of that rumour? About you and that girl?"

Juhoon's expression didn't change an inch, he remained entirely neutral. He'd been asked this before, dozens of times actually. In classrooms, in hallways, in DMs he never opened.

"There's no rumour," he said carefully, calculated. "There's just me, and I'm not interested."

It wasn't a denial, but it wasn't a confirmation either. It was a door left slightly ajar, and he knew it. He'd learned, over the past few months, that saying too much would only make things worse. Confirming would bring a different kind of attention: the curious, invasive kind that might scare you away, and Juhoon was doing anything in his power to protect you from that.

So he stayed quiet and let people wonder and spin the rumour mill, but his gaze was already drifting, snagged by a flash of recognisable hair and chunky sneakers thudding against the floor near the iron gates.

He spotted you walking onto the school ground, plugged into the earphones you carried around like they were your own child. Your head was down and you were moving through the morning like water through rocks, oblivious and unhurried, having absolutely no idea that a crowd of forty people was watching a girl get rejected over glitter glue by your very own secret boyfriend.

His eyes tracked you as you passed behind the building, feeling something in his chest tighten once you disappeared from his view.

He should stay and let the crowd dissipate naturally, let the dance girl save face, let the rumours simmer without him adding fuel.

Instead, he decided to push through the people encircling him. An elbow here, a muttered apology there. By the time he broke free, he was almost jogging, passing the last few remaining students entering school grounds.

"Y/N!" He called out once he was sure the crowd was outside of sight, though you didn't hear him and kept walking forward.

Of course you didn't. Your world existed behind those headphones, tucked away somewhere he'd somehow wrangled himself into a few months ago. He quickened his pace, closing the distance between you just as you entered the doors to the humanities wing.

He reached out and tugged gently on the cord of your left earbud.

You startled,  a tiny jump that made him want to apologise and laugh at the same time. Your eyes went wide for a split second before they registered who it was, softening immediately.

"Oh." You pulled the other earbud out, placing them into the same pocket as your phone. "Hi, Jju."

"Hey, yourself." He fell into step beside you, matching your pace like it was second nature. His shoulder brushed yours, sending sparks down your arm. "You planning on doing anything after school today?"

You looked up at him, seeing the slight smile resting against his lips that always seemed present when he was watching you.

"Why…?" You dragged out, but you knew all too well what he was about to ask. You'd had the same exchange many times before.

He tilted his head, that smile widening just a fraction. "My game’s at four. Home field. Against Busan."

"You play Busan every month."

"And every month I ask you to come." He shrugged, like it was obvious, though the slighting reddening of his cheeks gave far too much away than he would’ve liked. "And every month you say you'll think about it."

"Maybe this month I will."

He stopped walking and you kept going for two more steps before you realised he wasn't beside you anymore. You turned around, finding him standing frozen in the middle of the hallway, expression caught somewhere between hopeful and terrified.

"Wait," he said. "Really?"

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. The morning light was filtering through the hallway windows, catching the edges of his hair, and he looked so genuinely thrown off that you almost felt bad.

Almost.

"I said maybe," you reminded him, turning back around and continuing toward your classroom. You heard his footsteps rush to catch up and you attempted to suppress the smile crawling onto your lips.

"That's not nothing," he said, falling back into step beside you. "That's closer to a yes than you've ever given me."

"Don't read into it."

"I'm going to read into it so hard."

You laughed despite yourself, a quiet, breathy thing that you tried to hide by looking straight ahead though how could he not notice it? However, in your attempt at indifference you failed to spot the softening of his gaze as he watched you, the smile on his lips mirroring your own. His shoulder brushed yours again, and this time you didn't move away.

"Four o'clock," he said again, like he was making sure you remembered.

"I know you play at four o'clock, Jju."

"Just making sure."

You stopped outside your classroom. The door was still propped open, students filing in, the familiar chaos of first period settling into place. You should have gone in by now, you were already late by hallway standards, but he was still standing there, looking at you like you'd just offered him something precious and something in your chest twisted.

"I'll think about it," you said softly.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "That's all I'm asking for."

Someone suddenly bumped into him from behind—a freshman who immediately turned purple and stammered an apology. Juhoon waved it off without even sparing the boy a glance, his attention not once wandering from your face.

"You should get to class," you finally said, maintaining eye contact despite the flood of heat rushing up your neck.

"I should," he agreed, though neither of you moved.

The bell rang, shrill and insistent. You watched his expression shift from soft to reluctant to something that looked almost like resignation. He wanted to say something—you could see it in the way his jaw worked, the way his lips parted slightly before pressing shut again.

"Go," you said gently, insistently.

He exhaled. "See you at the game?"

"Maybe."

"Y/N."

"I said maybe."

He shook his head, but he was smiling again. "Fine," he said, already backing away. "Maybe. I'll take maybe."

You watched him walk backward down the hallway for a few steps before he finally turned around, running a hand through his hair as he disappeared around the corner.

You stood there for a moment longer than necessary, your hand resting on the doorframe, feeling the ghost of his shoulder against yours. That boy had you completely wrapped around his fingers and you don’t think he even realised it.

The thought was quickly pushed aside as you entered the class, already wishing the day would just pass by faster.

By the time four o'clock rolled around you had already made up your mind.

You stood at the edge of the field, hands tucked into the pocket of your hoodie, watching the crowd filter into the bleachers. The sun was starting its slow descent, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. The air smelled like grass and sweat and the faint sweetness of someone's overpriced coffee from the concession stand.

You entered the bleachers, your eyes trained on the field watching the players warm up.

You didn’t know if he had seen you yet, it was hard to tell from this distance, he was focused, sharp, his dark hair already sticking to his forehead despite the cool evening air. He moved across the field like he owned it, like the grass was an extension of his own body.

Someone bumped into your shoulder.

"Oh, sorry!" A girl with braces and a phone case covered in stickers smiled at you. "Are you here for the game?"

You hesitated for a brief moment. "I know someone on the team."

"Me too!" She grinned, gesturing toward the field. "I'm here for Juhoon. He's so cute, right? Do you think the rumour is true? About him having a girlfriend?"

Your stomach tightened. "I don't know."

"I hope it's not," she said, already turning toward the bleachers. "He never confirms anything, so there's still a chance, right?"

Right, you thought. There's still a chance.

You watched her bounce down the metal steps and settle into the front row—the fanclub row, you realised—spotting the familiar cluster of matching headbands and handmade signs. There were at least fifteen of them today, maybe more. They had a choreographed cheer that they practiced during warm-ups, their voices carrying across the field in a high-pitched chorus.

You found a spot midway up the bleachers that was off to the side: far enough from the fanclub that you wouldn't be lumped in with them, close enough that you could still see your boyfriend’s every movement.

The whistle blew and the game began

Juhoon was everywhere in the first half. He was in the midfield, then on the wing, then tracking back to defend, then sprinting forward again. His jersey was already dark with sweat, but he didn't slow down

The fanclub screamed every time he touched the ball, and you remained completely, and utterly silent.

He had a chance in the fifteenth minute: a loose ball that bounced his way just outside the box. He didn't hesitate, striking it first time, and the crowd held its breath as the ball curved toward the top corner.

The goalkeeper just barely got a hand to it and it deflected wide.

Juhoon swore, loud enough that you could just catch the sound of it from the bleachers. Then he turned and jogged back into position, shaking his head.

But in that moment—just before he turned—his eyes swept the stands.

And found you.

His whole body stilled for half a second and his expression flickered from frustration to something softer. He didn't smile nor wave but his hand came up, just briefly, and touched his chest, right over his heart.

Then he turned and disappeared back into the play.

Beside you, someone gasped. "Did he just—did you see that? Who was he looking at?"

You pulled your hoodie strings tighter and said nothing.

The score reached 1-0 by the second half when Juhoon stole the ball from a Busan midfielder.

It was a beautiful tackle: perfectly timed, perfectly clean. He won possession and burst forward, two defenders closing in on either side. The crowd was on its feet, the fanclub shrieking, the air electric.

He feinted left, went right, and suddenly he was through.

There was only one defender left, and the goalkeeper was rushing out toward him.

Juhoon didn't panic. He waited momentarily, and then he slotted the ball into the bottom corner, so casual it looked effortless.

The net rippled and the stands exploded.

Juhoon was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face in droplets before he looked up at the bleachers, directly to where you were, as though he had memorised exactly where you were positioned in the short second he had noticed your presence.

You had risen up the moment he scored, though your reaction was far less exaggerated than the fanclub that stood before you. Instead, when your eyes locked onto his, you beamed at him, a sight that was so rare to come by in public that Juhoon’s legs almost gave out.

His teammates mobbed him, pulling him into a group hug, ruffling his hair. but over their shoulders, you saw him grinning, that private grin that was just for you. 

Quickly the team recollected themselves and continued the game, Juhoon’s eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer before he ran after them

The final whistle eventually blew indicating the end of the game, and Juhoon’s team ended up winning 3-1. He had scored twice, assisting on the third, and it was, by any measure, a phenomenal performance.

The crowd filtered out of the bleachers in waves. You waited at the bottom of the stands, pretending to check your phone, pretending you weren't watching the players pack up near the bench.

The fanclub was already there.

You saw them from across the field: a cluster of maybe fifteen girls, all wearing those matching headbands, all pressing forward like moths to a flame. They surrounded the bench area, calling Juhoon's name alongside the names of his many other teammates, waving their phones, jostling for position.

You watched one of them grab his arm before hgently extract himself. Another quickly pushed forward with a water bottle, and a third with a handmade card.

He was smiling  that polite, practiced smile he used for people he didn't know, but his eyes kept drifting, scanning and searching, looking for you.

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, suddenly aware of how far away you were standing. How separate. How invisible.

You wondered what to do. The possibility of going over there and having to push through a stampede of teenage girls just to talk to your boyfriend made you feel sick. But you had also sat through the entire game and wanted to congratulate him on his plays, so leaving was out of the question.

A girl with pigtails grabbed his sleeve. "Juhoon! Is it true you're single? My friend wants to know!"

The other girls giggled, leaning in and waiting to hear his answer. Juhoon's expression didn't change. "I don't talk about that stuff."

"That's not a no!"

"It's not a yes either."

The girls laughed like he'd said something funny. You bit your lip, your hands curling into fists inside your hoodie pocket. You wanted to tell them that he’s yours, that they needed to back off, but the words got stuck in your throat.

Because you'd never said it out loud. Because you'd never claimed him publicly. Because for all these girls knew, the rumour was exactly that: a rumour, a ghost story, a maybe that didn't mean anything.

You couldn't blame them for trying.

Whilst lost in the maze of your thoughts, Juhoon's gaze finally found you.

You saw the exact moment it happened. His polite, practiced smile had flickered like a mask slipping, just for a second. His eyes locked onto yours across the field, and something in his expression shifted. 

The girl with pigtails was still talking. Something about a photo, about waiting all season, about how her friend really liked him. But Juhoon wasn't listening anymore.

He was looking at you, and you were looking right back at him. Neither of you moved for a long, suspended moment. The fanclub chattered around him, entirely oblivious. The rest of the team packed up their bags whilst the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the grass.

Then Juhoon moved, just a shift of weight initially, a turning of shoulders. He gently extracted his arm from the girl's grip, murmured something you couldn't hear, and then he was walking straight toward you.

The fanclub turned, confused, following his gaze. One by one, they spotted you standing by the corner flag in your hoodie and sneakers, hands still buried in your pocket, heart pounding so loud you were sure everyone could hear it.

Whispers rippled through the group, likely questioning who you were and if you were the rumour girl, but you paid attention to none of it, your focus remained entirely on the boy appraoching you.

Juhoon didn't look back. His cleats squelched softly on the grass; his hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead; his cheeks were flushed from the game.

And his eyes—those dark, steady eyes you adored so deeply—were locked on yours, paying no mind to anything else around.

You should say something, you should smile, wave, do something normal. But your voice had abandoned you, and your feet felt nailed to the ground, and all you could do was watch him get closer.

He was ten meters away. Then five. Then—

"You scored," you blurted out, because the silence was too loud and your heart was too fast and you needed to fill the space between you with something. "Jju, you played so good today—"

His hands were on your cheeks before you could finish.

Warm palms with calloused fingers from years of gripping football balls, from hours of practice, from the way he'd been clenching and unclenching his fists all game, waiting. He cupped your face like you were something precious, something breakable, like you might shatter if he didn't hold you carefully enough.

And then he was pulling you toward him.

There was desperation in the way he closed the distance, months of restraint finally snapping. His fingers curled around the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his, and suddenly his lips were on yours.

The world stopped.

The field. The sunset. The fanclub. The whispers. The entire universe condensed into a single point of contact: his mouth against yours, soft and certain and hungry, like he'd been waiting all day for this. 

He kissed you as though he was afraid you'd disappear. Like every time he'd watched you walk away to your classroom, every time he'd bitten his tongue when someone asked about the rumour, every time he'd wanted to reach for your hand in the hallway and stopped himself—it had all been building to this.

His lips slanted over yours, and you felt the sigh he let out, felt the way his shoulders dropped like he'd been holding his breath for weeks and could finally exhale.

Your hands came up automatically, fisting in the fabric of his jersey. The material was damp with sweat beneath your fingers, but you didn't care. 

His nose pressed against your cheek, his breath was warm on your skin, he tasted like the mint gum he always chewed before games, mixed with something saltier, something that was just him, a taste you couldn't name but would recognise anywhere, in any lifetime.

One of his hands slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into the hair at your nape. The other stayed where it was, thumb still stroking gentle, absent arcs against your cheekbone. He wasn't rushing anymore, the desperation had softened into something else: something deeper, something that felt like finally.

Behind you, someone gasped. A phone clattered to the ground. Someone else whispered, oh my god.

You didn't care.

You couldn't care. Not with the way he was kissing you, slow and deliberate now, like he was trying to memorise the shape of your lips and tell you everything he'd never been able to say.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard.

Your eyes fluttered open to find his were still closed, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your breath. His hands were still on you—one in your hair, one on your cheek—and neither of you moved to break the contact.

"Jju," you whispered.

"Took me long enough," he murmured, voice rough.

You let out a shaky laugh. "Took you long enough to what?"

He finally opened his eyes. They were dark, intense, holding yours like he was afraid you'd disappear if he blinked. "To do that," he said. "To stop lying and pretending you're just a rumour."

Behind him, the fanclub stood frozen. Some had their phones out: filming, probably, or taking photos. Others just stood there, mouths open, processing the fact that the boy they had been daydreaming about just kissed a girl in a hoodie by the corner flag.

You should have felt embarrassed, even self-conscious.

But Juhoon was still holding your face, still looking at you like you'd hung the moon, and somehow that made everything else fade away.

"The rumour," you said quietly. "It's not a rumour anymore."

"No," he agreed. "It never was."

You looked at him, seeing how the tension that had previously been in his shoulders now dissipated and left a calmness that only appeared when you were within his reach.

"Juhoon," you whispered.

"Y/N."

"You should probably let go of my face now."

He smiled gently, his thumb tracing your cheek once more as his eyes tracked your features. "Probably."

Instead he pulled you towards him again, this time his lips lingered on your forehead, a soft comfort against the lingering stares of everyone watching the two of you.

Though you could only focus on the boy in front of you, holding you with so much love and care your heart wanted to burst. You didn’t have it in your heart to even pretend to complain about the secret being out now, not if it meant he could love you outwardly like this more often.

[kaikaikoi]

IDIOT OFF COURT! 

otherwise more popularly known as “RAPPERS AINT SHI, MIGHT FW A BALLER” (this was such an unserious name) some banners by @uzmacchiato

©KAIKAIKOI. DO NOT STEAL, TRANSLATE OR REPOST

KIM JUHOON × FEM!READER   

#FEATURING keonho as your annoying younger brother, bball player & brother's best friend!juhoon and a martin who cameos 🤞

( .ggg ✎ 𓂃 FLUFF HUMOR &SOFT ANGST SMAU juhoons a bit of a mess ୨୧ BBALL!AU ˖ ࣪ . =͟͟͞🏀 juhoon & martin are on the school team ꒰. ۫ · mutual pining 𝄢 strangers-to-lovers ‹𝟹 slow burn-ish? coming-of-age if you squint TBA!!!

<. ݁ ٬🩹٬ ࣪﹒ʬʬ!!!> performance anxiety miscommunication slight emotional avoidance burnout #freekimjuhoon TBA!

# AS OF [24.03.2026] THIS FIC IS ONGOING & incomplete! updates are infrequent 🥹

( SYNOPSIS. ) you being secretly thankful for getting knocked off your feet (quite literally...) by a cute bball player was something your brother saw miles away, long before your dizzy mind registered the fall. cute new guy came with a handful of apologies to make it up to your broken phone, and as much you hated to admit— maybe keonho's stupid friends weren't so stupid after all.

a few convos and a new iphone later, you've found yourself growing familiar with the name dinging on your phone; nights after practice, conversations stretching longer before either of you noticing. somewhere between the wins, losses, and every uncomfortable in-between— you realize you've fallen for an idiot off court.

IN OTHER WORDS . . . your brother should’ve known you have a thing for basketball players before asking for a favor near one 😛😛

# DONT FORGET TO CHECK ˖ ࣪ . =͟͟͞🏀 ( 𝓁ock𝑒r r𝑜o𝓂 ta𝓁𝓀. ) FOR EXTRA CONTENT!!!

＃PART ONE

＃PART TWO

⤷ ( BONUS ) INSTA REELS

＃PART THREE

⤷ ( BONUS ) DOWN BAD

＃PART FOUR

＃PART FIVE

# PART SIX

# PART SEVEN

# PART EIGHT

# PART NINE

COMING SOON ↓

# PART TEN

⤷ ( BONUS ) INSTA REELS PT2

# PART ELEVEN

# PART TWELVE

MORE TBA!!!

[tokibelle]

BETWEEN THE TRACKS

PAIRINGS: idol ! james x 6th member lsrfm ! reader GENRE: slow burn,romance, fluff, slice of life, idol au, friends to lovers, secret relationship, comedy WARNINGS: kpop industry pressure, rumors and dating speculations, some emotional moments, long work hours, teasing from members. WC: 4459 words SYNOPSIS: what begins as a songwriting partnership slowly becomes the industry’s worst kept secret. !NOT PROOFREAD!

You finally arrived at the HYBE building, expecting nothing more than another comeback meeting with your group members. It’s probably going to be the usual: discussing concepts, listening to demos, and debating choreography for hours.

You walk through the large glass doors, where a security guard greets you with a polite bow. You return the gesture before making your way across the bright lobby. The sound of conversations and distant music echoes through the building as you step into the elevator and press the button for the upper floor.

The doors begin to close.

You finally made your way to the fourth floor and headed toward the conference room. After taking a deep breath, you push open the door.

Inside, all of your fellow members are already seated around the large conference table. Some are chatting among themselves, while others scroll through their phones as they wait for the meeting to begin. As soon as you step in, a few heads turn in your direction.

“Finally,” Yunjin says with a grin. “We were about to start without you.”

“No, you weren’t,” you laugh, glancing at the clock. “You’re actually early for once.”

“Wow. thanks for the vote of confidence.”

The room fills with quiet laughter as you set your bag down on the table. Coffee cups, notebooks, and concept boards were scattered everywhere, making it obvious that today’s meeting is more important than usual.

Before anyone can continue joking around, the conference door opens again.

The conversation dies down almost instantly as several producers and staff members walk inside.

One of them places a stack of folders on the table before smiling at the group.

“Thank you all for coming. We have something very special planned for this comeback.”

The room falls silent.

The creative director clicks a small remote, and the screen at the front of the conference room lights up with the words.

LE SSERAFIM COMEBACK PROJECT

A few concept photos flash across the screen before changing to a slide labeled production team.

You lean forward in your chair, curious about what could be so different this time.

“For this comeback,” the creative director begins, “we want to create something that feels fresh while still capturing LE SSERAFIM’s identity. Because of that, we’ve decided to bring in additional help for the songwriting and production process.”

The members exchange confused glances.

“Additional help?” Yunjin whispers.

Chaewon shrugs. “Maybe they’re bringing in an outside producer.”

The creative director smiles, clearly enjoying the suspense.

“However, this won’t be a typical collaboration. Rather than simply handing you a finished track, this person will be working alongside one of you throughout the entire production process.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“One of us?”

“Yes,” he replies. “After reviewing everyone’s previous songwriting credits and demo submissions, we’ve decided who would be the best fit.”

The room becomes so quiet that you can hear the soft hum of the projector.

You didn’t think much of it. Whoever it is, you’ll probably just meet them briefly and get back to preparing for the comeback. 

The creative director looks down at his notes before smiling.

“Would you come in, please?”

The conference room door opens.

Every head turns toward the entrance.

A figure steps in.

“Everyone,” the creative director says, “this is James. He’ll be joining the production team for this comeback and working closely with you.”

He looks directly at you.

For a second, neither of you says anything.

Then James gives a small nod.

“Nice to meet you,” James says, offering a polite nod.

You return the gesture. “Nice to meet you too.”

The room is quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that comes when everyone is trying to figure someone out.

The creative director claps his hands once.

“Great. Now that introductions are out of the way, let’s get started.”

James takes the empty seat across from you and places a notebook and laptop on the table. Everything is perfectly organized, from the neatly stacked papers to the pencils resting beside him.

You glance over for only a second before looking back at the presentation.

He seems serious, you think.

“For this comeback,” the creative director continues, clicking to the next slide, “we’re aiming for something powerful but emotional. We want a sound that feels fresh while highlighting the group’s strengths.”

He turns toward you.

“That’s why you’ll be working closely with James throughout the production process. From lyric writing to recording sessions, the two of you will collaborate until the final version is complete.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly.

“The two of us?”

“That’s correct.”

THE NEXT DAY 44 days until the comeback

Your alarm blares at 7:00 a.m.

After hitting snooze twice, you finally drag yourself out of bed and get ready. The morning air is cool as you make your way back to the HYBE building, an iced coffee in one hand and your notebook tucked under your arm.

The lobby is already bustling with staff members and idols rushing between schedules.

You glance down at your phone.

9:56 a.m.

“Four minutes early,” you mumble to yourself.

Following the directions the staff gave you yesterday, you walk down a quiet hallway until you stop in front of a studio door labeled Studio 3.

You hesitate for a second before knocking.

“Come in.”

You push the door open.

James is already there.

His laptop is open, headphones resting around his neck, and several pages of handwritten lyrics are spread neatly across the desk.

He looks up at you.

Then at the clock.

9:57 a.m. 

“You’re early,” he says.

You smile as you set your coffee down on the table.

“I could say the same thing.”

He closes his notebook.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“It means we won’t waste any time.”

You pull out the chair across from him.

20 DAYS LATER 24 days until the comeback

Twenty days of nonstop schedules, recording sessions, and lyric revisions have passed in what feels like the blink of an eye.

Somewhere along the way, the awkward silence between you and James disappeared.

Conversations that once revolved around chord progressions and vocal layering somehow turned into debates over the best late night snacks, childhood stories, and which songs belonged on a road trip playlist.

The studio has become your second home.

Empty coffee cups crowded the desk, crumpled lyric sheets covered the floor, and sticky notes with random ideas were plastered across the computer monitor.

You glance at the clock.

11:48 p.m.

“We’ve been here since nine this morning,” you mumble, stretching your arms above your head.

James doesn’t even look up from his laptop.

“Nine thirty.”

You stare at him.

“You actually corrected me over thirty minutes?”

“Accuracy matters.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

For the first time that night, he lets out a quiet laugh.

You blink.

“Did you just laugh?”

He immediately returns to typing.

“No.”

“You definitely did.”

“You’re hearing things.”

Before you can argue, the studio door swings open.

Martin walks in carrying two paper filled bags with food.

He stops in the doorway and looks between you and James.

Then at the pile of lyric sheets.

Then back at the two of you.

“Wow,” he says. “You guys actually live here now.”

You sigh dramatically.

“Save us.”

Martin sets the bags on the table.

“I brought dinner before one of you forgets that humans need food.”

You immediately reached for a box of chicken.

“You’re my favorite person.”

James quietly takes his own meal.

Martin watches the two of you for a moment, a knowing smile creeping onto his face.

“You know,” he says casually, "I've never seen James spend this much time with anyone.”

James freezes.

“We’re working.”

“Uh-huh.”

Martin turns to you.

“And I've never seen someone willingly listen to him explain audio compression for fifty-five minutes.”

You laugh.

“To be fair, I only understood about ten minutes of it.”

“That’s still ten minutes more than the rest of us.”

James pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Can you stop interrogating my coworker?’

Martin raises his hands in surrender.

“Coworker. Right.”

He looks between the two of you one last time before heading for the door.

“Anyway, don’t stay up too late.”

He pauses, a grin spreading across his face.

“Or do. It’s kind of entertaining watching this slow burn drama happen in real time.”

The door closes.

Silence.

You and James exchange a confused glance.

“What was that supposed to mean?” you ask.

James shakes his head and opens his notebook again.

“Just ignore him.”

You nod, though the compliment lingers in your mind for a moment before you push it aside.

14 DAYS LATER 5 days until the comeback

The HYBE building feels different.

Everyone walks faster.

Staff members rush through the hallways carrying garment bags and camera equipment. Choreographers move from practice room to practice room, producers are running on little more than coffee, and managers are constantly checking their phones.

There are only five days left until the comeback.

Which means there are only five days left for mistakes.

The title track is finished.

The choreography is finalized.

The music video has been filmed.

Now everyone is simply trying to survive the final week.

Meanwhile, in one of the practice rooms, the cortis members are taking a short break.

Martin tosses a water bottle toward James.

He catches it without looking.

“You’ve been smiling a lot lately.”

James twists the cap off.

“I have?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Keonho sits beside Martin.

“I’ve never seen him answer texts this fast.”

Juhoon nods.

“Or volunteer to stay at the company until midnight.”

Seonghyeon looks over from the couch.

“He even fixed his hair before going to Studio 3 yesterday.”

James finally looks up.

“You guys notice everything?”

Martin laughs.

“When it’s this obvious? Yeah.”

James takes another sip of water.

No one speaks.

Then Martin asks,

“So…”

“…”

“…Do you like her?”

The room becomes completely still.

Even Juhoon stops eating.

James stared at the floor for several seconds.

Finally, he exhales.

“…Yeah.”

Four heads snap towards him.

Martin blinks.

“Wait.”

“You actually admitted it?”

James rubs the back of his neck.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“So you DO like her?”

“…Yes.”

Keonho points dramatically.

“I KNEW IT!”

“I told you!” Juhoon says, standing up.

Seonghyeon throws his hands into the air.

“I’ve been saying this for weeks!”

Martin shakes his head, trying not to laugh.

“So our quiet genius has a crush.”

James groans.

“Can we not call it that?”

“What should we call it then?’

“…”

“…” “I like her.”

The room erupts.

“HE SAID IT AGAIN!”

“I owe Martin twenty dollars.”

“I knew those late night studio sessions meant something.”

James bruises his face in his hands.

“You guys are impossible.”

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, the practice room door had been left slightly open.

Yunjin, who had been walking past on her way to grab coffee, froze the moment she heard your name.

She wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.

But now?

There was no absolute chance she was leaving.

She quietly stood outside the door, listening just long enough to hear Martin say,

“So when are you going to tell her?”

James looked at the floor.

“…I don’t know.”

Yunjin’s eyes widened.

She immediately spun around and speed walked down the hallway.

“No way…” Ten minutes later…

Inside LE SSERAFIM’s waiting room, Sakura, Chaewon, Kazuha, and Eunchae, sat in a circle while Yunjin whispered excitedly.

“I’m serious.”

“He admitted it.”

Chaewon blinked.

“He WHAT?”

“He likes her!”

Eunchae covered her mouth.

“I KNEW IT.”

Kazuha smiled.

“So what do we do?”

Yunjin grinned.

“We tell absolutely no one.”

The others nodded.

Then Sakura added,

“…Except each other.”

Just then, the door handle turned.

The room instantly fell silent.

You stepped inside, carrying your notebook and an iced coffee.

You looked around at your members, who were suddenly sitting unusually straight and pretending to look at their phones.

“…Why is everyone so quiet?”

“No reason,” Chaewon answered a little too quickly.

You narrowed your eyes.

“…What are you talking about?”

Yunjin smiled innocently.

“Oh, nothing.”

Eunchae nodded a little too enthusiastically.

“Yep. nothing at all.”

You glanced between all of them.

“…You’re being weird.”

The five of them exchange nervous looks.

None of them noticed the small smile slowly forming on Yunjin’s face.

She had absolutely no intention of keeping this secret for long.

The silence in the room stretched for a few more seconds.

You set your iced coffee on the table and looked around suspiciously.

“…Seriously. What happened when I was gone?”

Sakura was suddenly very interested in fixing the sleeve of her hoodie.

Kazuha stared at the ceiling as if it contained the answer to the universe.

Eunchae picked up her phone and pretended to scroll, though the screen was completely black.

Yunjin bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling.

“Nothing happened.” You crossed your arms.

“You’re lying to me.”

“We’re not.”

“You are.”

Chaewon sighed.

“Can we please act normal?”

Yunjin immediately looked at her.

“You’re telling me to act normal?”

Chaewon shot her a warning look.

“Don’t.”

“…I didn’t say anything.”

“…Don’t.”

You looked between the two of them.

“Okay, now I’m definitely missing something.”

Eunchae quickly stood up.

“Who wants snacks?”

Nobody answered.

“Great! I’ll go get snacks.”

She practically sprinted out of the room.

You blinked.

“…That was weird.”

Sakura nodded a little too quickly.

“Very weird.”

“You’re all weird.”

“We’re tired.”

“No.”

“We’re stressed.”

“No.”

“It’s comeback week.”

“…Still no.”

Yunjin could feel herself losing the battle against her own curiosity.

She leaned closer to Chaewon and whispered,

“How long are we actually going to keep this from her?”

Chaewon whispered back,

“Until we’re sure.”

“Sure of what? He literally said he likes her.”

“Yunjin.”

“What?”

“Volume.”

Yunjin's eyes widened.

She slowly turned toward you.

You were staring at her.

“…Who likes who?”

The room froze.

Chaewon closed her eyes.

Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose.

Kazuha looked like she wanted to disappear into the couch.

Yunjin laughed awkwardly.

“…Nobody.”

“You literally just said, ‘He likes her.’ “

“…Did I?”

“Yes.”

“…I meant…” She looked desperately at the others for help.

None came.

“I meant…the main character in a drama I watched.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“…You don’t watch dramas.”

“I started today.”

“…Today.”

“Today.”

The room fell silent again.

Then, all at once, everyone’s phone buzzed.

Chaewon glanced at the notification.

Manager: meeting in the conference room B. five minutes.

She stood up immediately.

“Let’s go.”

Everyone grabbed their things as quickly as possible.

You followed behind them, still unconvinced.

As you walked out into the hallway, you caught Yunjin and Eunchae exchanging a grin before looking away the moment they noticed you.

You narrowed your eyes.

They’re hiding something.

You just didn’t know that, across the building, James was getting teased by his own members for the exact same reason.

James had barely made it back to the practice room before Martin was waiting for him.

Arms crossed.

Grinning.

Which was never a good sign.

“So,” Martin began.

James didn’t even look up from his phone.

“No.”

“I didn’t even ask anything yet.”

“You were about to.”

“Correct.”

Keonho walked over with a bottle of water and handed it to James.

“Here.”

James accepted it.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

James took one sip.

Keonho smiled.

“Now tell us when you’re asking her out.”

James nearly choked.

“I’m not.”

Juhoon burst into laughter.

“That’s not what you said earlier.”

“I said I liked her.”

“Exactly.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m asking her out.”

Martin leaned against the mirror.

“Then what’s your plan?”

“…” “You do have a plan, right?”

“…No.”

The room erupted.

“HE HAS NO PLAN!”

“I knew it!”

“He’s hopeless.”

Seonghyeon clapped James on the shoulder.

“For someone who’s good at producing music, you’re terrible at producing romance.”

James rubbed his temples.

“Can we please just talk about something else?”

Martin shook his head.

“Absolutely not.”

“We have choreography practice.”

“And?”

“A comeback in five days.”

“And?”

“We’re busy.”

Martin smiled.

“You know what else is busy?”

James sighed.

“…What?”

“Your brain every time she walks into a room.”

The others immediately started laughing again.

Before James could defend himself, his phone buzzed on the bench beside him.

Everyone’s eyes darted toward the screen.

The notification lit up:

You:

Do you still have the notebook with the revised bridge? I think I left it in Studio 3.

Martin gasped dramatically.

“Don’t touch it.”

James frowned.

“Why?”

“We’re conducting research.”

Keonho folded his arms.

“Let’s see how long it takes you to reply.”

James looked at all of them.

“…You’re joking.”

Juhoon pulled out his phone.

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…” James rolled his eyes and typed a response.

James:

Yeah. I have it. I’ll bring it to you after practice.

He hit send.

Martin looked at the stopwatch on his phone.

“Eight seconds.”

Seonghyeon pretended to write in an invisible notebook.

“Subject exhibits immediate response when contacted by her.”

“Symptoms include smiling, staying late at the studio, and voluntarily carrying her notebooks.”

“Diagnosis?”

Martin nodded seriously.

“Completely gone.”

James buried his face in his hands.

“I’m surrounded by children.”

Martin laughed.

“Yep.”

He glanced at the phone still in James’s hand before adding,

“But if you don’t tell her soon, someone else is going to figure it out first.”

At that exact moment, halfway across the building, Yunjin was sitting beside Chaewon with a suspicious smile.

“You know,” she whispered, "I have a feeling this isn’t going to stay a secret much longer.”

Chaewon followed your gaze as you walked down the hallway toward Studio 3.

Then she looked over at James approaching from the opposite direction, notebook in hand.

The two of you hadn't noticed each other yet.

She quietly sighed.

“Five days until the comeback…”

“…and somehow, I’m more worried about these two than the performance.”

5 DAYS LATER comeback day

The alarm goes off long before the sun rises.

Today is the day.

Months of recording, rehearsals, photoshoots, interviews, and sleepless nights have all led to this very moment.

The waiting room is buzzing with hair stylists, makeup artists, managers, and staff members rushing from one corner to another.

Despite all the noise, you can only think about one thing.

For the past five days, your members have been acting very strange.

Every time you ask what’s going on, they change the subject.

Every.

Single.

Time.

You finish getting your makeup on and walk over to where Yunjin is sitting.

She looks up.

You cross your arms.

“I’m asking one last time.”

She pretends not to know what you’re talking about.

“About what?”

“You know exactly what.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

You sigh.

“Yunjin.”

“Nope.”

“Please.”

“Nope.”

“I’ve been asking for days.”

“Nope.”

“You owe me.”

“Nope.”

You sit beside her.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

She continues scrolling through her phone.

Five second pass.

Ten.

Twenty.

Finally, she locks her phone and looks at you.

“…Promise you won’t freak out.”

Your heart immediately starts racing.

“I promise.”

“And don’t blame me.”

“…Okay?”

“And don’t tell anyone I told you.”

“Yunjin.”

“Fine.”

She takes a deep breath.

“The day you were in Studio 3…”

“…Yeah?”

“I walked past the practice room.”

You blink.

“So?”

“I heard James talking.”

Your expression changes.

“…Talking about what?”

Yunjin lowers her voice.

“He likes you.”

You stare at her. “…What?”

“He admitted it.”

“…”

“…”

“He told all of the members.”

Your mind goes completely blank.

“No.”

“I’m serious.”

“No.”

“He literally said, ‘Yeah, I like her.’ “

You shake your head.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Stop messing with me.”

“I’m not!”

You search her face for any sign that she’s teasing you.

There isn’t one.

Your heartbeat gets louder.

“So…”

“…he actually likes me?”

Yunjin smiles.

“I think he’s liked you for a while.”

You sit there in complete silence.

Everything suddenly makes sense.

The late night conversations.

The extra coffee he always brought you.

The way he’d save you a seat.

The tiny smiles.

The lingering eye contact.

You whisper,

“…I like him too.”

Yunjin’s eyes go wide.

“I KNEW IT.”

Before she can celebrate any further, Chaewon walks over.

“What happened?”

Yunjin points at you dramatically.

“SHE LIKES HIM.”

Chaewon freezes.

Then smiles.

“I knew that too.”

Within seconds, Sakura, Kazuha, and Eunchae gathered around.

The five of them exchange victorious looks.

“We’ve literally been waiting for this.”

Across the building…

James is adjusting his microphone when Martin walks over.

“So.”

James already knows.

“No.”

“You haven’t confessed yet.”

“No.”

“You should.”

“No.”

Keonho joins them.

“You know what today’s for?”

“The comeback.”

“And?”

“…The comeback.”

“And?”

Juhoon laughs.

“What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Martin looks at him like he’s asked the world’s easiest question.

“Then she’ll tell you.”

“And if she does?”

Martin grins.

“Then you’ve wasted enough time already.”

Seonghyeon pats him on the back.

“You write emotional lyrics for millions of people.”

“Sure.”

“But you can’t tell one girl how you feel?”

James had no response.

The members all look at each other.

Martin claps once.

“Alright.”

“Operation Confession.”

Later that evening…

The comeback showcase has ended.

Fans are cheering outside.

Staff members are celebrating.

You step into one of the quieter hallways to catch your breath.

As you’re about to leave, you hear footsteps behind you.

You turn around.

It’s James.

He looks just as nervous as you feel.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then he smiles.

“…Congratulations.”

“You too.”

Another silence.

Finally, James laughs quietly.

“I’m usually good with words.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“But apparently not today.”

You smile.

“Take your time.”

He looks down before meeting your eyes again.

“I like you.”

Your heart nearly stops.

“I know.”

His eyes widened.

“…You know?”

You nod.

“Yunjin told me.”

He covers his face with one hand.

“I’m going to have a conversation with Martin.”

You laugh.

“I should probably have one with Yunjin.”

The tension disappears.

James looks at you again.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“I’ve liked spending time with you.”

“I know.”

“I’ve liked…”

He pauses.

"…You."

You take one small step closer.

“I like you too.”

He blinks.

“…Really?”

“Really.”

For the first time since you’ve met him, James is completely speechless.

You laugh.

“So?”

“So?”

“Aren’t you going to do something?”

He smiles.

“I was hoping you were thinking the same thing.”

The distance between you disappears.

He gently cups your hand.

Then leans in.

The kiss is soft, brief, and almost hesitant.

When you pull away, neither of you can stop smiling.

Unfortunately…

Neither of you notices Martin peeking around the corner.

He quietly backs away.

Pulls out his phone.

And types in the cortis group chat:

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

THREE MONTHS LATER

Keeping the relationship private turns out to be much harder than either of you expected.

Fans notice everything.

Every glance during award shows.

Every smile backstage.

Every wink.

Everytime James unconsciously looks for you in a crowd.

Social media is filled with edits and theories.

“There’s no way they’re just friends.”

“Someone count how many times he looked at her.”“I’m either delusional or they’re dating.”

The compilations only get longer.

Eventually, after discussing it with your company and with each other, you decided that you’d rather tell everyone yourselves than let rumors keep growing.

WEVERSE LIVE

The livestream begins.

The comments fly by faster than either of you can read.

“WHY ARE YOU TWO LIVE TOGETHER?”

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

You glance at James.

He nods.

You take a deep breath.

“There’s something we’ve wanted to tell everyone.”

James smiles.

“We know many of you have noticed our friendship over the past few months.”

You continue,

“And after thinking about it carefully, we wanted you to hear this from us.”

He reaches over and gently takes your hand.

The chat explodes.

“We’re together.”

For a split second, there is silence between the two of you.

Then you both laugh.

You shake your head.

“I guess all those editors were onto something.”

James smiles.

“They noticed before we did.”

The comments flood the screen with hearts, congratulations, and jokes about how the “slow burn finally reached the last chapter.”

And somewhere, watching from another room, Yunjin and Martin high fived each other.

“We told you,” Yunjin says proudly.

Martin grins.

“The fans didn't figure it out.”

“We did.”

[bbygocrazy]

ⓎⓄⓊ, ⓊⓃⒻⓄⓇⓉⓊⓃⒶⓉⒺⓁⓎ

Synopsis: He's always the one taking care of everyone else. Today, for the first time, someone takes care of him.

Warnings: swearing, choatic friend group, eventual adult themes, ian! h2h, ye-on! h2h, kya! kiiikiii, chiquita! babymonster.

word count: 1.9k

Chapter 4: She Stayed

The day started like any other.

Seonghyeon said goodbye to his parents and sister as they left for a cousin's wedding. His mother had spent fifteen minutes trying to convince him to come.

He had midterms.

She had lost.

Unfortunately, so had he.

Mostly because of the fever.

It had started sometime during the night after staying up until three in the morning playing Brawl Stars with Keonho.

Which he had won fair and square.

Keonho's accusations of cheating were completely baseless.

Seonghyeon stared at his reflection while brushing his teeth.

His face looked pale.

His eyes looked tired.

His entire body felt like someone had replaced his bones with wet cement.

He swallowed two fever reducers and decided that counted as solving the problem.

By six in the morning he was already studying.

By seven he had finished breakfast, done the dishes, started the laundry, and cleaned the kitchen.

By seven-thirty he regretted every life decision he had ever made.

Still.

The math teacher was handing out important questions for midterms today.

Missing school wasn't an option.

His only goal for the day was simple.

Do not faint in front of anyone.

⸻

By lunch he was beginning to suspect the universe hated him.

His head felt heavy.

The classroom lights were too bright.

Every sound seemed louder than usual.

Worst of all, Keonho wasn't there.

Apparently some swimming competition was more important than accompanying his best friend through his suffering.

Traitor.

Seonghyeon dropped into his usual seat at lunch and immediately rested his forehead against the table.

Maybe if he stayed still long enough, nobody would talk to him.

The plan lasted approximately thirty seconds.

"Why do you look like that?"

Y/N.

Of course.

Seonghyeon didn't bother lifting his head.

"Like what?"

"Like someone stole your will to live."

"I have midterms."

"Fair."

The conversation should have ended there.

Instead Y/N sat down across from him.

Unfortunately.

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying?"

"No."

"You're lying."

Seonghyeon ignored her.

A few moments later something cold appeared beside his arm.

An acai bowl.

His favorite.

Y/N pushed it toward him.

"I bought too much."

A blatant lie.

Y/N never bought too much of anything.

She guarded food with the dedication of a dragon protecting treasure.

Still.

The gesture was appreciated.

Usually.

Today just looking at it made his stomach twist.

"No thanks."

Silence.

Slowly, very slowly, Seonghyeon felt her staring.

"…No?"

"No."

"You're refusing acai?"

"Yes."

"Voluntarily?"

"Y/N."

"What the hell."

Seonghyeon closed his eyes.

When he opened them again she was still staring.

Not annoyed.

Concerned.

That was worse.

For a second — just a second — he thought about telling her. I feel like I'm dying. My head hasn't stopped pounding since six a.m. I don't think I can sit through fourth period.

He didn't.

He never did.

⸻

The bell rang.

Saved.

Before Y/N could continue interrogating him, Seonghyeon grabbed his bag and left.

Fast.

Or as fast as someone with a fever could manage.

The hallway tilted, just slightly, and he put a hand on the wall until it stopped.

Nobody saw.

That was the important part.

⸻

Y/N caught him after school.

Naturally.

Because life hated him.

"Stop walking."

"No."

"Seonghyeon."

"No."

"You refused acai."

"I didn't realize that was a crime."

She narrowed her eyes.

"You look awful."

"I always look awful."

"That's actually true."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

They walked another few steps.

Then Seonghyeon's vision tilted.

The ground suddenly seemed much farther away than before.

Before he could properly process what was happening, a hand grabbed his arm.

"Whoa—"

Y/N.

Again.

Unfortunately.

His head dropped forward against her shoulder for a second.

Only a second.

Long enough to register that she smelled like the strawberry shampoo she'd used since middle school, and that her shoulder was a lot smaller than it looked, and that some stupid, fever-addled part of his brain didn't immediately want to lift his head back up.

He lifted it back up.

"You're burning up."

"I'm fine."

"You're literally leaning on me."

"I'm standing."

"Barely."

She didn't let go of his arm.

He noticed that too.

He filed it away with everything else he wasn't going to think about.

⸻

Getting home became an adventure.

A terrible adventure.

Every few minutes they stopped.

Usually beside a trash can.

Usually because Seonghyeon looked like he was about to die.

Each time, Y/N stood beside him without flinching, one hand fisted loosely in the back of his blazer like she thought he might tip over if she let go completely. She didn't say anything while it was happening. She waited until it was over, handed him a tissue from somewhere, and only then started yelling again.

"You absolute idiot."

"Hm."

"You had a fever and still came to school."

"Hm."

"You did chores."

"Hm."

"You studied."

"Hm."

"You are the dumbest person I've ever met."

"Hm."

"Stop agreeing with me."

He almost smiled. The motion cost him more energy than it was worth.

⸻

By the time they reached his house, Seonghyeon was too exhausted to argue.

Y/N shoved him onto the couch.

Not hard.

Just aggressively.

"There."

"I'm home."

"Congratulations."

He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and listened to her moving around — the click of the front door locking, her bag hitting the floor, footsteps toward the kitchen. The sounds were so familiar he could've mapped the house just from them.

He didn't remember the last time someone else's footsteps in his house had sounded like relief.

⸻

Twenty minutes later she had somehow taken control of his entire house.

Seonghyeon wasn't entirely sure how.

One minute she was yelling at him.

The next she was calling Keonho from his phone.

"Come over."

"No."

"What?"

"No."

"Keonho."

"I'm not talking to him."

"Why?"

"He cheated."

"He did not."

"He absolutely did."

Y/N closed her eyes.

Very slowly.

"Keonho."

"No."

Without another word she stood up, walked toward the bathroom where Seonghyeon was currently trying not to throw up, and held the phone toward him.

Silence.

Then the sound of violent retching.

More silence.

Then—

"I'm twenty minutes away."

The call disconnected.

⸻

Keonho arrived exactly nineteen minutes later.

Then proceeded to become the worst caregiver in human history.

"Seonghyeonieee."

"Leave."

"My poor baby."

"Leave."

"My sweet boyfriend."

"Leave."

Keonho carefully sat on the edge of the bed.

"Look how weak he is."

"Keonho."

"Y/N, he's smiling at me."

"He is not."

"He missed me."

"I hate both of you."

Despite everything, Keonho took care of him.

He carried him upstairs.

Checked his temperature.

Forced medicine down his throat.

Refilled water bottles.

Texted the group chat.

Then continued calling him boyfriend for the next hour.

Y/N threatened him with a ladle three separate times.

⸻

The others arrived before evening.

James.

Martin.

Juhoon.

The house immediately became louder.

Unfortunately.

Seonghyeon spent the next few hours being treated like a sick Victorian child.

"Drink water."

"No."

"Drink water."

"No."

"Drink water."

"…Fine."

Martin checked his temperature every twenty minutes.

Juhoon took pictures.

James confiscated the pictures.

Keonho somehow made everything worse.

As usual.

Through all of it, Seonghyeon kept track of one thing without meaning to. Where Y/N was in the room. Whether she'd eaten. Whether she looked tired.

He blamed the fever for that too.

⸻

Around eight, Y/N disappeared.

When she returned an hour later she carried enough food to feed an army.

Immediately every single boy reached for it.

Immediately Y/N smacked their hands away.

"That's for Seonghyeon."

"Just one bite."

"No."

"Y/N."

"No."

"You're being unreasonable."

"Get out."

They listened.

Remarkably fast.

⸻

Eventually the others left.

The house became quiet.

Keonho left after extracting several promises that Seonghyeon would survive until morning.

James stayed.

At Y/N's request.

Just in case.

⸻

Before leaving, Y/N returned upstairs one last time.

The hallway light was off. Only the small lamp on his desk was still on, throwing everything into soft amber and shadow. The house, for the first time all day, was completely quiet — no Keonho, no group chat buzzing, no chaos. Just the low hum of the air conditioning and the sound of Seonghyeon breathing, a little too fast, a little too shallow.

Seonghyeon was sitting against the headboard looking miserable.

Good.

He deserved it.

"You need to eat."

"I already did."

"Eat more."

"I'm full."

"Too bad."

She sat beside him — close, closer than either of them would acknowledge later — and held out another spoonful.

Seonghyeon stared.

"Y/N."

"Open your mouth."

"…"

"Seonghyeon."

He opened his mouth.

Humiliating.

He chewed slowly, watching her in the lamplight. She wasn't looking at him — she was focused on the bowl, on getting the spoon right, on not spilling anything on his blanket. Her hair had come loose from where she'd tied it up earlier. There was a faint crease between her eyebrows, the one she got when she was concentrating on something she actually cared about.

He'd seen that crease a hundred times. Over homework. Over choreography videos on her phone. Never once, until tonight, pointed at him.

It did something strange to his chest. Something he was too tired to name and too sick to argue with.

"One more," she said, already lifting the spoon again.

He let her.

⸻

Afterward she forced him into clean clothes.

Not literally.

But only because he lacked the energy to resist, and she had the decency to wait outside the door until he knocked twice to let her know it was safe to come back in.

She returned with a wet cloth.

The first touch of it against his forehead made him flinch — too cold, after how hot everything felt — and her hand paused.

"Sorry," she muttered. Quieter than her usual volume. Quieter than he'd heard her in years, maybe.

"It's fine."

She kept going. Slower this time.

Across his forehead. Down the side of his face. The back of his neck, where his collar had stuck to his skin with sweat. He kept his eyes closed through most of it, partly because the light hurt and partly because he wasn't sure what his face was doing and didn't trust it not to give something away.

She checked his temperature.

Adjusted his blanket, tucking it in at the side the way his mother used to when he was small, like she'd somehow absorbed the habit just from being in this house so often.

Then she patted his head.

The gesture was so unexpected that Seonghyeon actually froze.

It was such a small thing. She'd done it a hundred times, usually as a joke, usually followed by an insult. This time there was no insult. Just her hand, resting there for a beat longer than necessary, and the quiet.

"Get some sleep."

"I have school tomorrow."

"No."

"Midterms."

"No."

"Review questions."

"No."

"My parents—"

"Will be home tomorrow."

"I should text—"

"Already did."

Seonghyeon blinked.

"You what?"

"I handled it."

"Oh."

"Go to sleep."

He wanted to argue.

Really.

He did.

But his eyes were already heavy, and the room was warm, and for once — for the first time all day — his head had gone completely quiet.

No midterms.

No chores.

No mental list of things that needed doing before tomorrow.

Just the lamp, and the blanket pulled up to his chin, and Y/N's voice, still complaining, still bossy, still there, fading into something soft at the edges as sleep finally pulled him under.

The last thing he was aware of was the mattress shifting slightly as she stood up to leave — and some small, half-conscious part of him wishing, just for a second, that she hadn't.

Then everything went dark.

[loveqnai]

STARGIRL, 6th MEMBER CHRONICLE

synopsis, you are the sixth member of CORTIS— a co-ed group formed under hybe. you were one of the first people to join the band, followed by the others. being the only girl in the group is far worse than you anticipated, but you love it (don't tell them that). [smau + written series]

author's note, i am working on a masterlist TRUST. anyway series yayayayaya

pairing, CORTIS X sixthmember!reader , keonho x reader

0 — da gang's all here

ᝰ.ᐟ y/n — [09 liner] vocalist, dancer and maknae of the group. she is referred to as the 'stargirl' of the group, or perhaps, K-POP's 5th gen. she can rap sometimes too, so she's considered an overall all-rounder. she's also a little down bad for keonho.

ᝰ.ᐟ keonho — [09 liner] he knows she's down bad for him. that's all you need to know.

ᝰ.ᐟ james — [05 liner] oldest member and the unofficial leader of the group. victim #1 of having to endure downbad y/n.

ᝰ.ᐟ martin — [08 liner] leader of the group.

ᝰ.ᐟ seonghyeon — [09 liner] victim #2 of having to endure downbad y/n.

ᝰ.ᐟ juhoon — [08 liner] glue of the group, but also there for the drama.

[eub11ss]

♡ THINKING ABOUT YOU

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤsmau 4 part series!

content: fluff, crack, mutual crushing, football player cortis, captain james, they are all high schoolers, profanity.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpart 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

pairing: football player!james x idol!reader

synopsis: In which, you lose your favourite chapstick in the process of cheering for your crush. Fateful enough, your crush has it. And oh lucky you! he is gonna use every opportunity that comes out of it to make you his, no matter how many obstacles come in the way!

author's note: phew.... im gonna be honest when I started this I genuinely had no idea where I would go with this but here we are <3. This was so fun to make and i plan to make more about james :3

taglist: @coxrtizz @vanilladictator @inadazeee @wonjiseoz

[onetwinkling]

who is this dude ?! pt. 2

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ martin edwards x fem!reader

sypnosis: one dude in ur class has a massive crush on u. thing is, u don't really know how to take it.

warnings: cursing, like a lot of it, and not really the ending we all want

pt. 1

@ onetwinkling 2026

[gawainterlude]

➽─────❥ ✿ Video game lover

pairing : Juhoon x reader

boyfriend!Juhoon who gets ragebaited by tomodachi life

It’s no secret to anyone that your boyfriend Juhoon is a complete video game lover. So when the new tomodachi life : living the dream was announced, you immediately made sure to preordered it so as to give it to him when it got officially released. He thanked you by naming his island after your name.

Now, why won't his mii get married to yours? he has been laying in his bed for hours trying to get the two fictional characters to marrying each other. Still stuck at "sweethearts" step, he's actually not in the mood for playing but got addicted because the interactions between the two of you keeps him company when you're not here.

He did try his best : forcing the two to meet and eventually think about marriage. But he would fail miserably. It took him hours, no, days to finally get the chance, and when he did, his face would turn into a frown when failing the fuck ass mini-games to get them to propose. "This game is such a hassle anyway.." “How do you even get ragebaited by a game such as tomodachi life?”

Juhoon changed positions, even playing while eating just to get this game done with. So imagine his face when he successfully fulfilled his mission, probably the greatest sigh of his life. The adorable cutscenes played as he got a small smile at how his mii looked at yours. At that time, you were laying half asleep beside him, so he showed the nintendo screen to you. It was late at night and really dark in the room. The brightness of his switch was all the way up, you squinted to let your eyes adjust themselves, chuckling at how cute it was. “Oh my, that's so sweet."

"I wanna give them a baby though." he looked at you as he said that and you nodded, "That'd be cute, Jju." he nodded, and so he's gonna spend at least another day playing despite almost deleting it when they didn't wanna get married to one another.

"Oh yeah, I'm surprised you kept playing that game for so long." you pointed out and he shrugged. "It gets frustrating sometimes, sure, but it's a good game." he mumbled and you smiled as he laid his head on your lap and you ran your fingers through his hair.