synopsis, When you find out that the guy you've been talking to has been on the opps' side the entire time, it leads to a petty fight. However, Sean comes to save the day.
author's note, in honour of civil war's 10 years, i present to you this smau. lmk which team yall were in 😛
tutor!james x fem!reader - texts with James as your tutor
<2
notes: crack, fluff, suggestive scenes, I started writing this like right after the roommate one james you’re very loved over here <222
wrds: 0.6k
Sliding denim shorts up your legs, two long beeps sound from outside your house. The same two beeps that come from the grey 2010 Corolla that picks you up when you’re too lazy to walk to the library. “Hold on!” you yell out of your cracked window, before tumbling out of your room, slipping on shoes and running out of the house into his car. The ride was close to silent. You’re not exactly certain what changed the atmosphere in the day you haven’t seen each other, but something was different. The slight eye contact when he presses his hand on the head of your seat to look back at cars made both of you tense. It’s not like you didn’t notice he was attractive. The difference is that before he was just that hot guy in school that you recognised was hot and moved on with your day. Now, this is the hot guy that’s willingly going to prom with you.. in a sense.
And that all settled in when James stepped out of the mall changing room in an all black suit, right hand in his jacket’s pocket, adjusting his maroon pocket square. “This good?” He asked lazily, running the hand formerly in his pocket through his hair. You stand there for a second, either taking it all in or zoning out.
“Uhh yeah.. yeah no yeah! You look fine let’s go.” You rushed him to pay and leave, opting to the store next door for your dress.
Your turn was a mess. The dress store was crowded with open aisles of gowns, squeezing through the walkway. All of the dresses looked the same. Boned bodices with mesh taught around the upper body. You were getting tired of looking, noticeably tired.
“Just give me this—“ You groan, reaching into James’ suit to retrieve his pocket square. He barely reacted to this, somewhat used to it. You straighten your arm with the fabric in your hand, rotating around the store to find something that matches. Until your eyes land on a maroon dress, tight at the chest, waist, and thighs, then turning out at the end. You sigh in relief as you walk over, plucking it off the rack and throwing it over your shoulder. As you make your way to the counter to pay, a voice stops you.
“Don’t you wanna try that on?” James asks as he looks up from his phone. You had a moment of stagnancy before turning around and going to the changing room.
The dress was just your size, hugging at your hips. But, the zipper was in the back.
“James, come in here.” You glance behind you to call out. Silence answers back, before hazardous footsteps sound to the door, two knocks following behind. You open it immediately, hand flat on your chest holding the dress up. “Zip me up,” you murmur, before turning around. James hesitated before resting his thumb on the dimple of your back, the rest of his hand curled around your hip. Pale pink laced underwear peak through the bottom of the zipper. He zips it up halfway, stopping as he looked into the mirror in front of you to see you staring back at him. Your gazes broke quickly, him pausing before zipping you all the way. You looked up into the mirror, staring back at yourself. His hand was still resting on your hip. “Good?” He asked, sliding his hand off of you. You turned to the side and twisted your body about before deciding. “Yep, let’s go.”
IN WHICH — Martin is secretly dating his producer, and when she looks too good, he can't help himself.
idol!martin x producer!reader
୨⎯ contains: secret relationship • romance • fluff • minimal cursing • kissing • almost being caught • martin is just... idk • reader is a tiny tiny bit grumpy ⎯୧
wc. 734
j's corner ˚ · . lowk wrote this in 30 mins... enjoy
Martin's in the recording booth, his head bopping up and down to the melody playing. You two had just composed a new beat together and wanted to use it as a sample for their new comeback.
The beat played quietly through the headphone that sat atop of his head. He looks over towards you, a small smirk present on his face. You look to him, eyes rolling once you see the smirk. That look always means something, usually it's one of mischief.
"Come in here." He speaks into the microphone hanging in front of him.
"Why?" You throw back, pressing on the red button that allows him to hear you through the noise cancellation in the booth.
"'Cause, I need your help." He whispers, voice dropping the smallest bit to something more deep.
Your cheeks flush the smallest bit before you push yourself off the rolling chair and step towards the booth. You open the door and walk to Martin. He immediately wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.
See, the thing is, no one knew about Martin and you. Being the co-producer for CORTIS, you knew to keep a professional attitude. Though, Martin had found a way to slide through those barriers. With reluctance, you melted into his grasp and rested your head down on him.
Martin slides the headphones off his head and down onto his neck instead, this way he could hear you better.
"You look so pretty today," He whispers and you slap his arm, telling him to shut up.
"You're so annoying, the boys will be coming in here in literally ten minutes." You grumble.
Martin laughs at that and reaches to your chin, tilting your head up so his eyes can meet yours properly. His eyes drift down to your lips and his face sobers.
"No, Martin, not now." You scold him as his gaze comes back up to your eyes.
"Just one, c'mon, I couldn't earlier because we were too busy on the new song." His lips form a small pout, and you can't pretend you don't want this too anymore.
You huff, "Fine. But just one!"
Martin immediately shoots forward, connecting your lips with eager. The kiss is soft, one with an underlying emotion fizzing between both of your lips. His mouth quickens against yours and you start to pull back.
"Not yet," he whispers against your mouth as he pulls you back in.
You soften, letting the kiss take you in and bask in his presence. Your hand comes up and cups his cheek. His one hand that was on your shoulder drifts down to your waist while the other leaves your chin.
After a moment, you feel his hand leave your waist too. You then feel a tune playing and pressure on both sides of your head. The realization dawns when you recognize the beat to be the one that you had just finished working on.
He hums quietly into your mouth when he feels your kiss falter for a second as you lose focus from being distracted. After what feels like only a minute, he pulls back, chuckling after you chase his lips.
"Thought you didn't want to kiss?" He teases.
"Shut up.." You mumble back, hiding your face in his neck.
Martin lets out another laugh, but then quickly steps back when he sees the door handle of the studio room twisting.
"Shit, they're here" He mumbles.
Your eyes widen and hands lift up to yank the headphones off. You step back as well just as the other four boys enter the room. James brows furrow when he sees you and Martin in the booth by yourselves.
Martin steps out of the booth and you follow. Seonghyeon and Keonho crash down onto the couch and Juhoon stands with James, giving us weird looks.
"Just came in early to help create the beat." Martin explains as both boys suspicious nod.
You and Martin both make eye contact after the boys walk away, he leans down and whisper in your ear, "What they don't know won't hurt them."
You smirk and start explaining the parts to the boys. In the corner of your eye you see Martin standing with them, but he's wiping some light pink gloss from his lips as he stares right at you.
You blush, wondering how many times you'll see the action moving forward since secret studio kisses have now been added to your relationship.
SYNOPSIS — in which you won’t stop texting the gc about the fine senior that left.
pairing bsf!cortis x reader
warnings purely crack smau,cursing, reader is into James(“into” is an understatement), Keonho is a menace, reader is embarrassing
notes ! This was requested and I’m so happy that a platonic Cortis,crack smau was what an anon wanted cus cortis give bsf vibes smmm😭. Also this is only part 1, I literally did the whole thing but tumblr only allows 30 images so I’m gonna have to split it up!feel free to request what you want next!
syn: the nerd you like is completely oblivious to the fact that you like him. so, you do what any sane (?) person would do. you make a list of 10 ways to bag this nerd and make him your nerd.
playlist: apple cider by beabadoobee / the kamisama kiss intro by hanae / cupids chokehold by gym class hereos
iro's notes: HEAVILY inspired by @satolune's twenty ways to make a nerd yours !! give it a read this is so fucking cute :( and again thank u sm moon for letting me use ur idea for my own spin off 🙈 u my goat THANK U THANK U THANK YOUUUU, all creds 2 her!!!
Eom Seonghyeon. He sat next to you in physics and math. At first glance, he looked like every other campus pretty boy. Which sounds corny, but there really wasn't any other way to describe him. He was pretty. He was tall. He was loud, with the kind of smile that spread before you even realized you were smiling back.
Everyone knew him.
Not because he was particularly popular, though he was. It was because he was friendly. Ridiculously so. Walking across campus with Seonghyeon meant adding at least five extra minutes to wherever you were going. Every few steps, someone would wave him over. A classmate, someone who he gave his notes to or someone from the football club you'd never met.
He was also the biggest nerd you knew. The first time you sat next to him was in math. You zoned out looking at a problem. He slowly leaned in closer to your sheet as he held his hand out. You glanced at him confused. He simply pointed at your pencil.
“You know how to solve this?”
He simply nodded before tapping the pencil on the sheet. “Use the power rule here.” He said as he drew an arrow on your sheet. “You're taking the derivative, not the integral.” He scribbled his words down beside the arrow, marking it with a little star on top. For the rest of the class, he explained your concepts better than the teacher.
After that day, you sat next to him during math and physics. And he seemed to not mind at all.
You tapped his shoulder, “Seonghyeon, what do I do now?”
He glanced at your sheet, “take the horizontal and vertical components separately, it’s easier.”
Amidst solving, you realised you never asked him if it's ok for you to sit beside him. “Seonghyeon?”
“Hm?”
“Is it okay if I sit beside you?”
He chuckled, “You always sit beside me, why ask now?”
You glanced at him before looking back down at your notebook. “In case you sat with someone else.”
“Nah, I don’t have many friends.”
You scoffed, “Seriously?”
He tilted his head, glancing at you for a second, “Not as many as you think.”
“You say hi to like 50 people everyday.”
“Just because I’m friendly with them doesn’t mean I'm close to them.”
For someone so smart, he was incredibly dense and utterly oblivious to the fact that you liked him. He never noticed how you saved a seat for him. Never noticed the extra pen you carried for him because he always threw his pens into his bag—always struggling to pick it up from the bottom of his book-filled bag. Maybe he noticed, maybe he just thought you were being nice. Either way, it was starting to drive you insane.
So you did what any perfectly rational person would do.
You made a list. A list to make this nerd, your nerd.
It wasn’t supposed to be serious. Just something stupid you’d tell your friend every night.
You: Seonghyeon really likes hot vanilla latte. So cute right?
Iroha: Girl it’s a vanilla latte, the fuck are you on?
And slowly, the list grew. Grew into something that looked like this:
1) Asking him to explain something, not because you don’t know. But because of the way he lights up.
Seonghyeon was a nerd. That much had already been established. Apart from patiently walking you through calculus and physics every other day, you'd noticed something else while walking to the cafeteria together. You randomly asked, “Why does plastic turn white when bent?”
He stopped walking. Like actually stopped walking. You turned around only to find him staring at you with a big smile on his face. You couldn't help but smile back. Your eyebrows furrowed, “What?”
“I’m glad you asked.”
For the remaining 20 minutes of recess, you were being schooled on polymers and how light reflects differently on different types of polymers.
2) Have his favourite acai toppings memorised.
Seonghyeon insited that toppings on acai didn't matter.
“They all taste the same”
They didn't.
Because every single time his bowl came with blueberries, strawberries and banana, there'd be the tiniest smile on his face before he took the first bite. So it became routine for you to stop by the nearest cafe. Always grabbing him an acai bowl without being told to do so.
3) Always tell him how helpful the little notes he scribbles on your notebook.
Seonghyeon has a habit of noting down stuff besides problems he doesn't get or messes up. He has a system. When it’s something trivial—a common mistake like the humble ‘z’ turning into a 2 mid-equation. It got starred once.
★ watch your handwriting. Don’t rush
The number of stars increased as the mistake revolved around something he didn’t understand. The maximum being 3. Two stars for when it was a concept he didn’t grasp initially and 3 for something he needed to go through all over again.
So whenever something he taught you was on the exam. Majorly the whole exam. You’d run up to him, jumping excitedly as you said, “Your little notes helped!”
Sometimes during classes he’d lean over to see what you’re doing and smile despite himself whenever he saw you follow his system. And with how much he helps you, you gave him a nickname. Calling him professor whenever you need his help.
4) Text him something stupid and let him overthink it.
Seonghyeon may be the most outgoing, loud and friendly person you have ever met. But when friendships carry more than saying-hi-in-the-corridor value to him, he overthinks all of his actions.
Once around 3 a.m you texted him, would u still send me notes if i was a worm?
You were left on seen for 20 minutes. Not because he ignored you, but because he drafted 5 messages before finally sending you one which was still, insanely unhinged.
Another time, you asked him if fishes ever get thirsty
Not only did he reply 20 minutes later, he also called you up immediately after. You spent the whole night listening to him research about this. It’s safe to say, if anyone ever asks him this again—they’ll receive his infamous nerd-out sessions.
5) Compliment him, not his looks.
Seonghyeon’s gorgeous, no surprise there. Walking around campus with him meant girls turning their heads in attempts to seek just one more glance at him. Needless to say, he too knew he was handsome. He was told so multiple times daily. By a random woman on the bus, by his friends, even teachers.
So why would you compliment his features like everyone else?
Instead, you complimented the way he thought.
You watched as he solved a sum for you. He scooted his chair closer, leaning in as he went on and on about various ways to go about this sum. Frankly, you weren’t listening. You rested your head on the table, spacing out staring at him.
‘You could always evaluate the limit first. Oh! You can also–” his eyes landed on you. You were staring up at him. Your eyes never leaving his face. Heat crept to his neck, his ears visibly red. “What?”
You hummed, slowly sitting straight. “How do you think like this?”
He blinked, “What do you mean?”
“You seem to solve complex questions so easily. It’s crazy how you think this way you know.”
Watching him go quiet and be all flustered in a way he never is was something you could never get tired of.
6) Taking care of him when he forgets to.
Exam season always hit him too hard. He had a title to carry. People always expected Seonghyeons name to be on top of the grade listings. During exam season, he’d always sleep less, eat less and stress a lot more than he should.
You’d watch him spend 12 hours straight in the library. No breaks. Not even to drink water. So, you always stopped by with takeout. Sitting beside him as you sweeped his notebooks and ipad to the side. Slamming the bag of food on the table.
“Eat.”
“But I haven’t—”
“Eat.”
You never gave him an option.
7) Always steal his jackets in the winter.
You always ‘forgot’ to carry something to throw on in the winter. The cool breeze hits you and Seonghyeon the second you both step out the campus. Involuntarily, both your hands start rubbing your arms, trying to warm yourself up. Seonghyeon’s gaze lingers on you for a while, before he takes a layer off.
He wraps his jacket around you, “Here.”
“Hyeon, you don’t have to it’s okay.” You say, taking the jacket off of your back. You extend your hand forward, ‘You’ll get cold.”
He simply pushes your hand back as he starts walking. “I have a sweater on, all you’re wearing is a tank top.” You run, catching up to him. “What kind of idiot wears a tank top in the winters?”
You whine, “The library has heaters!”
Before giving him his jacket back, you made sure to spray an excessive amount of your perfume on it. Just enough that anyone standing a little too close would wonder why Eom Seonghyeon smelled like a girl instead of laundry detergent. And when he threw his jacket on while roaming with his friends. He was bombarded with questions.
“Why do you smell like a girl?” Juhoon asked.
James leaned in closer to Seonghyeon, sniffing the jacket thoroughly. “You smell like Yn.”
To which Seonghyeon didn’t respond, but his flushed face said it all.
8) Let him talk about his family and actually listen.
Seonghyeon was an older brother. Which explained why he acted more like a second parent than a sibling half the time. He worried too much, overthought everything and somehow always found himself asking you what to do whenever it involved his younger sister. "I don't know what to tell her," he'd sighed one afternoon, resting his chin in his palm. "That guy's not serious about her."
You looked up from your notes. "Make a pros and cons list with her."
He blinked. "...A pros and cons list?"
"You like lists."
A laugh escaped him. "Fair enough."
About a week later, he walked into class looking noticeably lighter. You barely got the chance to say good morning before asking, "Something good happen?"
"My sister finally broke up with him."
"Oh." You smiled to yourself before returning to your notes. "I'm glad."
He ended up talking about it for the rest of lunch. A month later, the two of you were studying in the library when you looked up from your laptop. "Have you figured out what you're getting your parents for their anniversary?"
His pencil stopped moving. "...You remembered that?"
You frowned. "You told me."
"I know, but..." He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly avoiding your gaze. "You actually remembered."
You only smiled before pushing your physics worksheet towards him. "So, are you going to help me with this question or not?"
He let out a quiet laugh, still smiling to himself as he reached for your pencil.
9) Let him see you sad.
Not because you want comfort, but because you want him to know that it’s okay for him to be vulnerable around you too. You'd spent months watching him carry everyone else's worries on his shoulders. His sister's problems, exam stress, group projects, friends asking him for help every five minutes. Yet somehow, whenever you asked him how he was doing, his answer was always the same. "I'm okay."
You wondered if anyone had ever shown him that he didn't always have to be.
The chemistry exam had gone horribly. Not just badly, horribly.
By the time you got to the library, you'd already convinced yourself you'd failed. Your calculus worksheet sat open in front of you, but you'd been staring at the same question for nearly ten minutes, pencil unmoving. "You've been on that derivative for a while."
You looked up. Seonghyeon stood beside your chair, backpack slung over one shoulder. "I'm just... kinda sad about the chemistry exam." You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Nothing else."
He studied your face for a second before nodding. "Wait here."
"Huh?"
He was already gone. A few minutes later, he came back carrying your favourite chocolate and quietly placed it on top of your notebook. "You forgot to eat."
You blinked. "...Chocolate?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I figured it'd help."
Your fingers curled around it. "You didn't have to."
"Don't worry about the chemistry test." He smiled, the same reassuring smile he'd worn the first day he'd taught you the power rule. "You're smart. It's one exam."
Before you could answer, he reached over and gently patted your head. Your heart practically stopped. "You really didn't have to do all this."
"I wanted to." He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You always look after me." His smile softened. "Let me return the favour."
For someone who spent so much time taking care of everyone else...It was nice to know someone wanted to take care of him, too.
10) Make the first move cus u a girlboss.
Because he won't, not because he doesn't want to. He's just spent so long convincing himself he was imagining it that he'd rather die than risk getting it wrong. It was almost two in the morning by the time the two of you finally gave up. The calculus question you'd spent nearly forty minutes arguing over turned out to be wrong in the answer key. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I refuse to believe I lost sleep over a typo."
It was only fair the two of you walked across the street to the convenience store. Energy drinks for him. Chocolate milk for you. Maybe something sweet to make up for how tired you both were. Halfway through paying, rain hammered against the windows. By the time you stepped outside, it had turned into a downpour. "...Fuck." You looked over. "I don't have an umbrella."
You lifted your drink. "Me neither."
Neither of you moved. The tiny awning barely covered the entrance, rain splashing onto your shoes every time the wind picked up. Cars drove past, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. You tilted your head back. "The moon's pretty tonight."
Seonghyeon followed your gaze before laughing quietly. "You can only see part of it because the sunlight's hitting—"
You stopped listening. For the first time since you'd met him, you stopped listening. Instead, you watched the way his eyes lit up whenever he explained something. The way his hands moved without him realizing. The tiny crease between his brows whenever he was trying to find the right words.
Cute.
God.
He was so unbelievably cute.
Before your brain could catch up, your hand had already reached for the front of his jacket. He blinked, sentence dying halfway through. "Hm?"
You stepped closer. Close enough to see the few raindrops that got caught in his hair because of the air blowing the drops. Close enough that his breathing faltered.
"Seonghyeon."
"...Yeah?"
You looked up at him. "Can I kiss you?"
His ears turned pink, he didn't say anything for a while. He just stared. And then, a tiny nod.
You smiled. "Use your words."
"...Yes."
You rose onto your tiptoes, one hand still clutching the front of his jacket, and kissed him. His hand caressed your cheek. The kiss was slow and gentle, the type of kiss that blurred out the sounds of everything happening in a distance.
When you pulled away, Seonghyeon hadn't moved an inch. He simply stood there, eyes wide, face completely red. You couldn't help laughing. "Got nothing to say?"
He blinked, then covered his face with one hand. "Hold on. I can't think."
martin treats you gently in ways that don't draw attention to themselves. he'd quietly move you to the inside of the sidewalk, switch drinks with you if yours didn't taste the way you expected, or pull your sleeves over your hands whenever they slipped up your wrists. by the time you notice, he's already doing something else.
whenever you stop to admire something, he never rushes you. he'd simply wait beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, listening as though your excitement is the most important part of his day.
JAMES
james believes princess treatment means making you laugh before anything else. no matter how stressful the day had been, he'd somehow find a way to pull a smile out of you, insisting that seeing you laugh was worth embarrassing himself for.
he loves taking candid photos of you not the posed ones ⎯ the moments where you're laughing halfway through a sentence or looking at something with that sparkle in your eyes.
JUHOON
juhoon rarely asks if you need help because he's already notices before you'd do. he'd quietly untangle your necklace, refill your water while you're distracted, or remember exactly where you left off whenever you forgot the story you were telling.
he has this habit of handing the nicer looking piece without thinking. the crispier fry, the prettier pastry, the slice with more toppings. only when someone points it out does he realize he's been doing it all along.
SEONGHYEON
seonghyeon has never been shy about loving you. he'd naturally reach for your hand whenever the two of you walked together, pull you into his side whenever you stood close enough, or absentmindedly play with your fingers while the two of you talked. to him affection has never been something worth holding back ⎯ it simply comes out as naturally as breathing.
he'd always find some excuses to have you close. whether it's resting his chin on your shoulder while you scroll through you phone or quietly wrapping an arm around you waist just because he can, he'd smile as if being near you is his favorite place to be.
KEONHO
keonho somehow has the ability to make you forget whatever had been bothering you. he'd drag you into the most random conversations, convince you to stop by a convenience store at midnight or challenge you to weird games until you were laughing so hard you'd forgotten why you were upset in the first place.
he'd act like the biggest kid whenever the two of you were together, yet somehow become surprisingly reliable the moment it mattered. before you even realized you needed help, he'd already be standing beside you with a quiet, "i've got it."
synopsis: you had initially thought martin edwards was your typical rockstar, collecting girls like they were trophies on a daily, but you soon realised how wrong you were.
To be a rockstar's girlfriend you needed to be many things: prepared for the intruding eyes of the public, ready for the endless girls throwing themselves at your boyfriend's feet, but most of all—if you wanted him completely obsessed—you needed to be cooler than him.
For a star like Martin Edwards, that was a tall order. Lead singer of his band, his face plastered across every magazine, his voice the anthem of a generation. He'd never publicly acknowledged a relationship, never shown interest in anyone. The endless fangirls bordering on stalkers made him paranoid—he'd rather be alone than risk letting a stranger in. He'd built his career on being untouchable, the kind of guy who left girls crying in their bedrooms, not the other way around.
Paris Fashion Week wasn't his scene at all. He'd almost skipped it, told his manager to shove the invitation somewhere unpleasant, but something pulled him there, a restless itch he couldn't explain, a feeling that he'd miss something important if he didn't go.
He came decked in black: scuffed combat boots, leather trousers that hugged his thighs, a faded CORTIS tour tee from two years ago. He looked bored, slouched in his front-row seat like he'd rather be anywhere else, fingers drumming against his knee as models glided by in designer gowns and sky-high heels. The music was too polished, the lights too bright, the whole affair too clean for his taste. He was about to get up and leave when you emerged.
You walked the runway like you owned it, wearing stunning floor-length gown in champagne silk that caught every light, a slit that went dangerously high, heels so sharp they could kill a man. You didn't smile, didn't wave, instead you moved like you were born for this, shoulders back, chin high, utterly untouchable.
His jaw went slack and his drumming fingers stilled. For the first time in years, Martin Edwards was speechless. His mind was hollow, entirely empty of any rational thought that would have been screaming at him to snap out of it before his reputation of being untouchable is completely destroyed. Instead there was one simple line repeating like a mantra.
He needed you. He needed you more than he'd ever needed anything.
You didn't look at him once. Your gaze swept over the front row like they were furniture, as though he was just another piece of decor, and that only made it worse.
At the end of the runway, you turned. For a split second, your eyes met his. You lifted one eyebrow by just a fraction—a flicker of curiosity, a silent question—before your expression smoothed back to perfect neutrality and you were gone, disappearing behind the velvet curtains.
He didn't even remember the rest of the show. He sat there like a statue, his mind replaying that single moment in an endless loop.
What he didn't know was that it had all been photographed. By morning, his slack-jawed, lovesick stare was splashed across every tabloid and newspaper in the country.
"ROCKSTAR RAVENOUS! Martin Edwards' Heart Snatched by Parisian Mystery Muse!" Screamed the front page of The Sun, complete with a grainy photo of his stunned face. "WHO IS THE SIREN IN HEELS?" Demanded the Daily Mail. Even the fashion magazines got in on it: Vogue ran a two-page spread speculating about the mysterious model who'd made the ‘Prince of Darkness’ lose his cool, complete with freeze-frames of that one eyebrow raise.
Martin sat in his hotel room the next evening staring at his own exposed face on every newsstand. The mask he'd worn for years—the untouchable, brooding rockstar—was gone. Everyone had seen him unravel in real time.
A slow grin spread across his face as he scanned the endless pages.
Good. Now you’d know exactly who was coming for you.
Two weeks later, you arrived back in New York following the event, doing everything in your power to try to forget the weird rockstar who stared at you like you'd personally ruined his life. You were in your penthouse apartment, a copy of Paper magazine with his lovesick face plastered across it on your marble coffee table. Your agent had been calling nonstop, thrilled about the publicity, already scheming about how to leverage it for your next campaign.
Your phone suddenly began ringing and you almost ignored it entirely, tired of the constant need for people to speak to you, but something pushed you to pick up.
"Hello?"
A low voice, rough and amused, crackled through the receiver. "That was a hell of a walk. Almost made me forget my own name."
You instantly froze. You knew that voice—you’d heard it enough times on the radio, on MTV, blasting from cars in traffic. The voice of a generation, the voice of every teenage girl's bedroom wall.
"Martin Edwards," you said flatly, sinking onto your velvet chaise. "How the hell did you get my number?"
"You're a model," he replied, like that explainef everything. "I'm a rockstar. I have people."
"You have stalkers, you mean."
He laughed a genuine, surprised sound, not the polished chuckle he typically gives interviews. "Yeah, maybe. But I'm not a stalker, I'm just..." He paused and you bit your lip slightly, unsure on why the silence made you nervous. "Determined."
You should have hung up and slammed the phone down and called your doorman to make sure no one gets past the lobby. You knew exactly what this was: a rockstar with a new fixation, chasing the next shiny thing, bored of groupies and looking for a challenge.
"Listen, rockstar," you said, your voice dropping to something cold and sharp. "I don't do groupies, I don't do fans, and I definitely don't do men who think they can just call me up because they saw me on a runway."
Silence came from his end. Then, quietly: "I don't want a fan. I want you."
"You don't know me."
"Then let me."
You chewed your lip, staring at your reflection in the dark window of your apartment—the skyline glittered before you, the city that never sleeps hummed twenty floors below. You've dated musicians before and it's always a disaster: the cheating, the lies, the constant parade of women throwing themselves at them. Martin Edwards was the biggest of them all. A tabloid regular; a walking red flag in scuffed boots and leather.
Though there was a rawness in his voice that caught you off guard and made you pause.
"I'm busy," you answeref, though the slight smile you were attempting to suppress suggested differently.
"Friday. 8pm. I'll send a car."
"I didn't say yes."
"You didn't say no."
You hung up before he could say anything else, but you made sure to write his number down on a scrap of paper incase he ever called again. Just in case.
Friday night arrived and you put on a silk black slip dress with barely there straps. The stretch of fabric falling just above your knee and you added strappy heels that made your legs look endless, folowed by a delicate necklace before you styled your hair loose and glossy.
You looked in the mirror and reminded yourself that you didn’t care what rockstar Martin Edwards thought of you, he was the same as every other male musician that latched onto women for a few weeks before getting bored.
You smoothed down the dress one last time, adjusting the thin straps on your shoulders before grabbing a small clutch, slipping your phone inside and taking a breath.
The town car waited outside your building, sleek and black, a driver holding the door open like this was completely normal. You slid into the leather backseat and watched the city blur past as he drove you downtown.
The jazz bar was hidden in the Village, tucked away behind an unmarked door you would have walked right past if the driver hadn't pointed it out. Inside, it was all exposed brick and dim amber light, a saxophone player in the corner crooning something slow and sad. The place was intimate, almost empty, a few couples scattered at tables alongside a bartender polishing glasses.
And there he was.
Martin Edwards sat in a corner booth, dressed down in a simple black sweater and dark jeans, his hair pushed back from his face. His fingers tapped against the tabletop in a restless rhythm, and when he saw you approach, he stood up so fast he nearly knocked over his drink.
"You came," he said, genuine surprise in his voice.
"You sent a car. It seemed rude to waste gas."
He grinned at your words. "I'll take it."
You slid into the booth across from him, crossing your legs, the slit of your dress falling open just slightly.
"So," you said, leaning back. "What's your angle?"
"No angle."
"Bullshit."
He laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have an angle. I just saw you on that runway and couldn't stop thinking about you. That's it. That's the whole thing."
"You haven’t even asked for my name."
"I already know it's Y/N."
You tilted your head, studying him. He wasn't performing for you—not the way he performed on stage, not the way he performed in interviews. He was just here, nervous but trying.
"Okay," you said slowly. "One drink. If you bore me I'm gone."
"Deal."
You ended up staying until the bar closed. He didn't bore you. Instead he made you laugh whilst looking at you like you were the only person in the room, and when he walked you to your door at 3am, he didn't try to come in. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, memorising every detail of you with a slight smirk residing on his lips.
"Same time next week?" He asked, tilting his head just a fraction.
You should have said no and walked inside and forgotten this ever happened. Instead, you smiled. "Maybe."
Safe to say, Martin Edwards was a hard man to shake.
He had a way of appearing when you least expected him: a bouquet of peonies delivered to your apartment the morning after your first date, a handwritten note slipped under your door alongside it that revealed far more emotional depth than a rockstar of his realm should technically possess. He called you at odd hours from the road, his voice rough and tired, just to hear you say goodnight. He sent you playlists filled with unreleased songs he'd recorded himself that were burned onto discs, his voice cracking over stolen lyrics he'd rewritten just for you.
He was relentless, and worse, he was charming.
It started small with a dinner here and a walk there. He took you to dive bars and rooftop restaurants, to galleries and late-night diners. He never brought you to anything flashy, never paraded you around like a trophy. He kept you hidden, protected, his own private secret in a world that wanted to consume him.
You let him do it all because despite every instinct screaming at you to run, to protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak of dating a rockstar, Martin Edwards made it impossible to resist.
He remembered everything—your coffee order, your favourite movie, the way you liked your eggs in the morning. He learned the exact pressure of his hand on your lower back that made you shiver when he guided you through crowds. He learned the exact rhythm of your breathing when you fell asleep on his chest.
He was careful with you in a way you hadn't expected.
And slowly, without even realising it, you fell.
Within two months of knowing you Martin was already inviting you backstage to his shows, keeping you hidden and protected from the intruding crowd. It was at one of these shows when he had pulled you behind a pillar, the rest of the world becoming nonexistent as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you tightly against him, his forehead dropping to uour shoulder.
You hesitated for a moment before reaching your hand up and letting your fingers sift through his strands, the sigh of relief he let out showing you were doing the right thing.
The two of you remained in that position much longer than what was considered normal, though neither of you cared, too swept up in the moment.
Eventually you heard him say something, his words muffled against your jacket.
“What?” You asked softly, a small smile resting on your lips. He lifted his head up, his hair standing up in multiple directions from all your ruffling, and he very much did not look like the hardcore rockstar many of his fans saw him to be.
"I said," he murmured, his voice rough, "I think I'm in trouble."
You raised an eyebrow. "What kind of trouble?"
"The kind where I can't stop thinking about you." He reached up, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear as you felt your cheeks redden just slightly at the gesture. "The kind where I don't want to be on stage unless I know you're watching. The kind where I wake up and the first thing I do is reach for you, even when you're not there."
Your heart stuttered in your chest, your gaze softening at his words. "Martin—"
"I know it's fast. I know we've only known each other two months. I know you probably think I'm just some rockstar who gets bored easily and moves on to the next thing." He let out a breath, his forehead dropping back to your shoulder. "But you're not the next thing, you're the only thing for me."
You stood there, frozen, his body pressed against yours, his words echoing in your head. Two months was nothing, barely enough time to know someone properly and let alone fall for them.
But you already knew him. You knew the way he took his coffee, that he hummed when he was concentrating, even how his eyes lit up when he talked about a new song he was writing. You knew the shadows under his eyes when he hadn't slept, that his fingers tapped against every surface like he was always composing something. You knew he looked at you like you were something precious he was terrified of losing.
And you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were already in too deep.
"Martin," you said softly, your fingers finding their way back to his hair, threading through the dark strands. "Look at me."
He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, and he looked nervous. Martin Edwards, the man who commanded thousands of screaming fans night after night, looked nervous.
"I'm not going anywhere," you said quietly. "You're not going to lose me."
His breath caught. "You mean that?"
"I mean it."
He stared at you for a long moment, searching your eyes for something: doubt, hesitation, a lie; he found none.
He slowly moved forward and his lips brushed against yours so softly you could barely feel them, and you realised in that moment he was afraid you'd pull away.
You did nothing of the sort and instead leaned into him, your fingers curling in his hair, pulling him closer. His arms tightened around your waist, and you felt the tension drain from his body as he melted into you.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps whilst his eyes remained closed.
"Y/N," he whispered, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.
"I'm here," you said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
He opened his eyes, and the look in them made your heart ache. It was raw and open and completely unguarded.
"I've never—" He stopped, shaking his head. "I've never felt like this before. I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know how to do this."
"Neither do I," you admitted. "But we can figure it out together."
He smiled then, his grin reaching his eyes and making him look younger and lighter than how he appeared on the many magazines you absolutely did not keep hidden in your bedside table. "Together?"
"Together."
He kissed you again, softer this time—if that were even possible, as though he was sealing a promise. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones, and you felt like the only person in the world.
When he pulled back, he was grinning. "I'm going to be so annoying now, you know that, right? The whole band is going to hate me. I'm not going to shut up about you."
You laughed, shoving his chest lightly. "You're already annoying."
"True." He pulled you back into his arms, burying his face in your hair. "But now I'm annoying and in love."
You could only smile against his shoulder at that, closing your eyes and letting the feel of him engulf your entire being.
From then on, Martin was yours and you were his, as hard as it was when you were constantly on opposite sides of the world. The distance was brutal: weeks apart, time zones that made calls nearly impossible, schedules that never seemed to align, but Martin made it work. He called you every night, no matter where he was or what time it was. He sent you handwritten letters filled with lyrics he'd scribbled in the margins of hotel notepads. He showed up at your apartment unannounced, exhausted and rumpled, just to hold you for a few hours before catching another flight.
You did the same for him. You flew across oceans to watch him perform, sitting in the shadows of the crowd, hidden beneath caps and sunglasses, just to see him do what he loved. You called him when you couldn't sleep, when the loneliness of your hotel room became too much and everything made you think of him.
It wasn't easy—there were nights you cried, overwhelmed by the distance, the secrecy, and the weight of loving someone the world wasn't supposed to know about, and there were nights Martin called you, his voice rough and raw, confessing how much he missed you followed by how much he hated being so far away.
But you always found your way back to each other, and every time you did, it was like no time had passed at all.
The public eventually found out, and it was entirely inevitable, to be completely honest. You'd been as careful as two people in the public eye could be, but you weren't as invisible or untouchable as you had thought. Eventually the paparazzi, relentless and all-seeing, caught a glimpse of what you'd been trying so hard to protect.
It started with a photo: the two of you in a hotel lobby in London, his hand intertwined with yours, your head tilted back in laughter as he whispered something in your ear. It was grainy, taken from too far away, but it was unmistakably the two of you.
The next morning, the image was everywhere.
"ROCKSTAR'S SECRET LOVE AFFAIR EXPOSED!" was printed on every newspaper in the country. Your face was plastered across every newsstand, every television screen, every gossip column. Your agent's phone rang off the hook for hours on end; stranngers on the street recognised you, whispering behind their hands, pointing and staring like you were a spectacle.
You'd known this day would come, you’d prepared for it, even braced yourself for it, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer weight of it: the invasion, the scrutiny, the sudden loss of privacy that came with being publicly linked to Martin Edwards.
You sat atop his bed in a London hotel room, the many magazines spread out in front of you as you sifted through one, your fingers tracing the grainy image of the two of you in the lobby. Your own face stared back at you, frozen in a moment of laughter, his hand wrapped around yours. It felt strange, seeing yourself reduced to a headline and a piece of gossip for strangers to consume without a care in the world about you as an actual person.
You heard the bathroom door creak open behind you, the air shifting as Martin emerged with his pyjamas sitting loose on his frame and his hair still damp, curling slightly at the ends. He crossed the room in a few quiet steps, and before you could look up, his hands were on the magazine, gently pulling it from your grasp.
"Hey—" you started to protest, but he tossed it aside, not caring where it landed.
Then he climbed onto the bed, his weight settling over you as he lay on top of you, his body pressing yours into the mattress. He was warm and solid, still smelling like soap and steam, and you let out a breathless laugh as you tried to shove at his shoulders.
"Martin, you're too heavy," you complained, but you were giggling, your hands flattening against his chest. "Get off."
He didn't move. Instead, he buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "No," he murmured, the word muffled. "I'm staying here forever. This is my new home."
"Your new home is crushing me."
"Good, you're not going anywhere."
You laughed again, your fingers finding their way into his damp hair, threading through the damp strands. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm in love," he corrected, lifting his head just enough to look at you, his lips just grazing your chin. His eyes were soft and searching your own. "And I'm not letting a bunch of magazines ruin that."
Your smile faded slightly, the weight of everything pressing down on you again. "Martin—"
"I know," he said quietly, cutting you off. "I know it's a lot. I know they're going to be everywhere now. I know they're going to try to tear us apart." He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "But I don't care about any of it, all I care about is you."
You stared at him, your heart swelling. "You really mean that?"
"I really mean it." He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I love you, Y/N, and I'm not going to let anyone take that away from us."
You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, and he let out a soft sigh of relief against your skin. The magazines lay forgotten on the floor, their headlines screaming about secrets and scandals, but neither of you paid them any attention.
In that moment, there was only the two of you.
"You're still crushing me," you murmured after a moment, a smile tugging at your lips.
He laughed, rolling off you just enough to pull you into his side, his arm wrapping around your waist. "Better?"
"Better."
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you felt the tension in his body slowly ease.
Eventually, the fans and press got used to seeing the two of you together.
It took time: months of grainy photos and speculative articles, of whispers and pointed fingers and strangers dissecting your every move. But slowly, inevitably, the novelty began to fade. You weren't a mystery anymore, you were just Martin Edwards' girlfriend, and he was just your boyfriend, and the two of you were simply... together.
The tabloids still covered you, of course, they always would, but the tone shifted. The invasive headlines gave way to something almost affectionate. The speculation about breakups and cheating scandals was replaced by stories about your red carpet appearances, your joint holidays, the way Martin looked at you during interviews.
"CORTIS Frontman and Model Girlfriend: The Coolest Couple in Rock?" —NME
"Martin Edwards and Y/N Y/L/N: How They Became Music's Most Stylish Pair" —Vogue
"Rockstar Romance: Why Martin and Y/N Are Relationship Goals" —Rolling Stone
You'd laugh every time you saw a new headline, shoving the magazine in Martin's face. "Did you see this? We're 'relationship goals.'"
He'd grin, pulling you into his lap. "They're not wrong."
You'd roll your eyes, but you'd be smiling. "You have such a big ego."
"You love it."
And you did. You really did.
The fans embraced you too. At first, there had been the inevitable backlash: jealous comments, cruel speculation, girls who swore you weren't good enough for him. But you weathered it, never engaging, never stooping to their level. You showed up to shows, stood quietly by his side, and let your actions speak for themselves.
Slowly, the fans came around. They saw the way Martin looked at you like you'd hung the moon, and how you supported him by showing up even when you didn't have to. They saw the small moments: him holding your hand backstage, you fixing his collar before he went on stage, the private smiles you exchanged across crowded rooms.
Soon, you weren't just Martin Edwards' girlfriend. You were the girl who'd tamed the rockstar. The one who could walk a runway in couture and still stand in the pit at one of his shows despite the rowdy crowd. The one who never looked fazed, never seemed rattled, never let the cameras get to her.
You'd become a style icon in your own right, your red carpet looks dissected and praised. You'd become a fixture at award shows, a staple of magazine covers, a name that stood on its own. And through it all, Martin was right beside you, his hand always finding yours, his eyes always seeking you out in a crowd.
The press called you the coolest couple, the most stylish pair, the relationship goals of a generation, but to you, it was simpler than that. You were just two people who'd found each other in the chaos, and had held on dearly when everything tried to pull you apart.
✚ Rapper!Martin x fan!Reader ⋮ pt1 ⋮ bananagirl masterlist
desc - you’ve been a fan of martins music since before he was on all streaming platforms, since before he was doing live performances and headlining for famous artists. But you never knew that sliding into a his DMs would lead you to suddenly being his girlfriend but here you are!
Note - this was originally a oneshot but since it got hella popular I wanna milk the clout and also I didn’t add cheese ball so I wanted to continue I hope this doesn’t flop I will be very sad and very embarrassed
📬 ❤︎ martin 𝔁 f!reader ─── ৻ꪆ you use your dms with your blocked friend as your notes app (and even talk about your hallway crush) until somebody replies and it’s… not your friend.
❤︎ warnings+tags ─── ৻ꪆ crack (idk why i wrote this, i was so bored 😭)
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ the quality isn’t great bc it didn’t let me download bruhhh so i had to ss it instead ☹️
PAIRING : (zhao) chao yufan / james!bsf x fem!reader
GENRE : fluff ; comedy ; smau ; oneshot
CONTENTS : minor profanity ; y/n is implied to be 17 y/o (09 liner) ; mentions of piercings
SYNOPSIS : what starts as y/n trying to convince james to be her guardian so she can get another piercing ends up with both of them getting matching piercings
@/goyangireels : heres a little short oneshot of james! i figured i should continue to be more active in order to keep the blog more alive 😽. i got my helix for the first time two weeks ago and i was doing js fine, but i kept hitting it yesterday so now its swelling 😓i'm rlly hoping i don't get a piercing bump
@/goyangireels : my dumbass deleted the og so here's a re upload 😪
I’M NOT A PARK ANYMORE, I TOOK MY WIFE’S NAME … ❤︎ park sunghoon
01 02 03 ─── bored of your life, you go on tinder and match with a hot guy named park sunghoon, who in his bio, states that he’s “date to marry.” but he offers you a deal: fake a marriage with him to annoy his obnoxious family and he’ll pay you for it.
or you’re in a fake marriage with sunghoon and he takes your last name to piss his relatives off. oh and did i tell you that he’s lowkey obsessed with you? even though he’s just your “fake husband.”
starring husband!sunghoon x wife!reader ₊˚⊹♡ genre smau, romcom, strangers to lovers, fake marriage au, obsessed!hoon, opposite of slowburn 𑣲⋆ warnings use of y/n, profanity, suggestive jokes /•᷅•᷄\੭
( ℰ🪽 ) —— first enha smau >< hope u guys like it :P likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated <3 btw i have never used tinder so i js edited shi .. also there's a videocall part that'll take a few seconds to load.. also pls their texts gets funnier, its still pt1!
( 🪽 ) —— TY FOR READING! worked on this baby for a WHILE... finally posting it FAHH. do comment if u wanna be tagged in the next part :P i'll try my best to post the next part asap (as i literally have 3 ongoing smaus rn..)
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 . . . your crush went private on everything, so that just means one thing. start a fake cupcake business to stalk him obviously
• ﹙PRÉCIS﹚, ✿21𝓈 ㅤㅤ ⸻ crush hyeon & 𝒻. rea 𓂃 Ⓢmau ࣪ ˖ reader is plotting 𝄞 ⸝⸝ ⟢ 、blind leading blind 𓏏 >﹏<
💬 𓈒 ℬambi notes : hahaha hi guys Breaking my small little no Posting break lols…….. isn’t my best work but ykw we persevere 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 also peep the new layout yes yes yes anyways oki on everyones life ima b more active hahaha 😅😅👀👀👋👋
Desc - Mexico is officially eliminated from the World Cup and you are rightly angry about it and now instead of comforting you your boyfriend is teasing you and putting it in your face that they lost since you did that to him when Mexico won against South Korea
Note - GUYS IM SO MAD fuck da baby fuck miyo fuck England fuck oasis fuck Keonho fuck Cortis Mexico freaking lost someone shoot me…
RULE #1: NEVER TRUST THE LOVE INTEREST, chao james.
synopsis, There were certain rules to survive a horror/slasher movie, as given by your best friends Seonghyeon and Keonho.
Never trust the love interest.
Never say 'I'll be right back.'
Never run up the stairs.
The other rules, you could follow. But how could you not trust your ever-loving boyfriend, James?
genre, thriller/slasher, mystery.
warnings, violence, blood, death, angst, mentions of drugs and alcohol, no consumption, not proofread?
Pestilence. That's what fear was according to you. You feared nothing. Part of the reason was because Chao James was your boyfriend.
James was notorious for having an odd reputation. People feared him, even though he hadn't done anything to induce people into fearing him. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing— he stood up for the weak. But his reputation for his short temper was enough to keep people at bay when needed.
With you, however, James was always gentle. He never outstepped any boundaries, never made you fear him like the others. In your head, James was the perfect man for you. You would never reprimand him, never cause him harm. Not because you feared him, but because he would never give you a reason to.
Your town was located in a little space at the edge of a lake. It was small, not known unless you're a frequent visitor. For many people, it was a comfortable space away from the chaos of the world.
For you, it was just a place holding you back. A place burying your true potential alongside the dark secrets of its past in its very soil. You didn't exactly hate the place, you just knew you were destined for more.
James felt nothing towards the town. He had always claimed to not remember anything from his childhood, so the element of nostalgia was never there. He didn't see a future in the town either. He just stayed, for the sake of going with the flow, going with the norm.
He held a strong image of caring, wanting to bring a change. Maybe, deep down he really did care. Or maybe it was all a facade, to cover for the man who he truly was. The man who reeked of suspicion, around whom death lingered like a strong scent.
It was unfathomable to him how these capricious people could live under the same sky as him. He was tired of giving— give, give, give, but never get anything in return. It ran in his blood, his meek mother gave all her kindness to the world, only for it to reciprocate with cruelty. He gave it all to the town, only for it to reciprocate with cruelty. Then why should he care about the world? About the town? About the blood curdling screams of Minji? Damn them all.
He would sneer the first time— the disappearance and then tragic murder of your classmate. It would make no sense to anyone— why on Earth would anyone want to kill sweet old Minji?
With each passing week, death would linger closer. A classmate, then a neighbour, then someone you were well acquainted with. You weren't scared, you had James.
Teenagers have a weird way of coping. You'd reason it was the result of growing up too fast, but no one took anything seriously. It didn't take long before the town murders became a joke, a legend. You remained wondering how someone could be so innately cruel, how casually could they take someone's life.
“It's like a classic slasher movie. Y’know, ‘Friday The 13th’, ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’, ‘Halloween’— that sort of stuff.” Martin said, more like explained with keen interest. You nodded along as if you cared.
“Whatever it is, we all need to be on high alert. It's bad enough that our school hasn't been shut down yet.” Juhoon sighed.
“Exactly. No one is following that bullshit curfew, they know it too. It's like they want us to die and get rid of our town.” Keonho rolled his eyes. You heard them all, as you gnawed at the skin of your lower lip. James, who was sitting beside you with an arm draped over your shoulders, tapped your cheek twice to refrain you from doing so.
“You guys think it's someone from our college?” You tilted your head, resting it on James' shoulder.
“Duh. You would think it's an adult, but have you looked at the kids in our area? They're batshit crazy.” Seonghyeon huffed. Martin nodded in tacit agreement.
“I know. Saw someone vandalize Minji’s locker last week.” Keonho mumbled, his focus shifting to the gates of the college.
“What? That's awful!” You furrowed your eyebrows. The incoherent chatter of the students around filled the few seconds of silence.
“There's a party tonight. At Suho’s.” Juhoon broke the silence. James, who had been uncharacteristically silent all the while, finally spoke.
“Is he out of his mind?” He looked up at Juhoon, who was leaning against a tree, squinting his eyes to focus on him. His fingers mindlessly coiled your hair around them. It was oddly comforting.
“Apparently. He has invited the whole damn town.” Martin let out a humourless laugh, his voice lacking vigor.
“That probably tops the list of things not to do when there's a fucking serial killer on the lose.” Keonho scoffed. If only you had noticed James stiffening beside you. He schooled his expression back to normal, an act he had perfected with the passage of time.
“There's a list now?” You asked.
“Yeah, slasher film rules. You don't know?” Keonho responded in slight disbelief. You shook your head.
“Let us enlighten you then.” Seonghyeon plopped down on the seat in front of you.
“Rule number four— Never get drunk or do drugs at a party.” He began. You straightened up, a small smile playing at your lips from amusement.
“Rule number three— Never run up the stairs.” Keonho continued for him, holding up a three.
“Rule number two— Never say ‘I’ll be right back’. You probably won't be.”
“And the most important one to be considered, Rule number one— Never trust the love interest.” Seonghyeon concluded, glancing sideways at James. Your face took on a sickly hue. You scoffed at him.
“What are you implying?” You immediately defended James.
“Not implying anything, these are the rules.” Seonghyeon held up his hands in surrender. James let out a laugh from beside you, his voice deep with amusement and something else you couldn't name.
“This is why you don't have a girlfriend, buddy.” He shot back. That eased the tension, as everyone cracked up. James turned his face to you and landed a small peck on your lips, making you smile.
“Yeah, laugh it up. You'll know how right I am when it comes down to it.” Seonghyeon rolled his eyes.
“You're such a nerd.” Martin snickered. “Anyway, who can grow some balls and go to the party with me tonight?”
“Speedrunning your death scene?” You snorted.
“Just say you're a coward and move on.” He smirked. That got you. You weren't scared of anything.
“Fine. I’ll go.” You said proudly. James glanced your way, obviously to protest, but Martin cut him off.
“It'll be fine. There will be a lot of people, we'll just stick together. Besides, the rules say not to drink or do drugs at parties, but nowhere does it say not to go to one.” Martin reasoned.
“You're twisting the rules to your own accord.” Keonho pointed out, receiving a half-hearted shrug in return.
It had never occurred to James that maybe, the heartbeat of the love of his life would rest in the palm of his hands. The thought might have crossed his head, but he always chose to rightfully ignore it. Whatever vengeance he had been seeking had got nothing to do with you. He had planned to invade the party. He had planned on luring his next victim from there. Why would he stop, just because his friends and girlfriend would be at the scene too?
“I’ll go if you go.” He muttered to you, looking at you intently. Part of him hoped that you would say no, but another part of him lived for the thrill of it all. When you said yes, James nodded, agreeing to go as well. Keonho, Seonghyeon and Juhoon gave in soon enough, as Martin clapped victoriously.
‘Beware the Ides of March’ lingered in the air of the party, along with the familiar stench of alcohol and sweat.
Kim Suho’s bungalow stretched to around 20,000 square feet of land. ‘On the Floor’ played in the background, the dim lights making it difficult to navigate through the house.
James’ hand grasped your own, as he pulled you through the crowd. You felt the ground vibrate from the prominent beats of the song. You laughed as James pulled you close to him, the space between the dancing body becoming your own bubble.
‘Brazil, Morocco, London to Ibiza,’
You both sang the lyrics unanimously, jumping in sync along with the others. You had a smile on your face throughout.
‘Straight to LA, New York, Vegas to Africa.’
‘Dance the night away, Live your life and stay young on the floor,’
You put your hands around his neck, as he wrapped his around your waist. You leaned back in his arms as he kept you from falling, letting out a low chuckle as he watched you sing dramatically. He felt something clench in his chest, if he could call it a heart, at the sight.
Someone from the room, probably singing along to the lyrics, would be facing an ironic and sick twist of fate at the hands of James in the matter of a few minutes. Someone, who's probably thinking about being young forever, living the teenage dream.
You noticed the look on his face, a subtle shift from his usual relaxed and playful expression.
“What is it?” You mouthed to him. He shook his head, flashing you his charming smile, as he leaned forward and kissed you.
“You look incredible.” He murmured against your lips. ‘I wish I could be the man you think I am’ are the unsaid words he omits. You smiled, pecking his lips, then cheek before pulling away.
“I’ll go get something to drink. Do you want anything?” You yelled over the music. He shook his head, his eyes roaming over your features as if taking you in for the first time.
“Alright, I’ll be right back.” You said, before pausing just for a second.
‘Rule number two– Never say I’ll be right back.’
You shook your head, muttering something incoherent to yourself that James failed to understand, as you slipped away towards the kitchen.
He watched your departing figure with a sense of longing. How could he long for someone he already had. Maybe it wasn't you he was longing for, rather himself. A version of himself that never existed. The version of himself that truly existed was the one you loathed with all your heart.
The kitchen was empty, save for a couple making out in the corner. You paid them no mind, as you browsed through the drinks. The majority of them were canned alcohol. You almost picked one up, when Seonghyeon's voice rang in your head.
‘Rule number four— Never get drunk or do drugs at a party.’
As nonsensical as the other rules sounded to you, this one was the only one you could register. You sighed, looking around for something else.
“The non-alcoholic ones are in the basement.” The sudden voice made you jump, as you turned towards the source. You let out a sigh of relief when you saw Martin.
“Damn, you're on edge.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Guess Seonghyeon and Keonho got to your head, huh?”
“Yeah… those stupid rules, man.” You rolled your eyes, before they wandered towards the thin basement door.
“Did you go in there?”
“Yeah, I got this from there.” He said, lifting his half empty diet coke, before taking a long sip. “Oh, right. Forgot to tell you— I saw James leaving. I knew he was a coward at heart, trying to be all tough.”
“Wait— he left? What the fuck?” You looked around, seeing no proof of James.
“Yeah. I saw him leave a few minutes ago. Don't think it's safe roaming alone at night. He isn't Batman.” Martin huffed. You wordlessly slipped past him and through the crowd, making your way out of the house. You hadn't even had the chance to see Keonho, Seonghyeon and Juhoon.
“There's no point. Don't waste your energy.” James said slowly, crouching down to Suho’s level.
“I hate your father, y’know? The old bastard thinks he runs the world” He let out a bitter laugh. “I’m only trying to prove to him that he should be more careful of his… belongings.”
Suho whimpered in fear, trying to get away from him. Crimson flowed down his abdomen, where James had impaled him with his weapon, more times than he could count.
“Leave me alone! What the fuck man! You want my money? Take it!” Suho cried. That only made James laugh. He watched as Suho bled a sea of red and begged him for mercy. James cocked his head to the side, as if the language of pleading was foreign to him.
He slowly stood up, stepping over his body as he made his way to the attached door of the garage. He knew that by the time Suho would be reported missing, he would already be dead and gone.
He knew Suho had done him no wrong, but his vindictive soul craved revenge. If not his father, then Suho would pay the price. It was a universal rule in James’ head– if the wealth and power was hereditary, then so was the blame and consequences.
Then again, was James even in the right headspace anymore? Did he even feel his heart beating? Did he even have one? He certainly did, because it stopped for a whole second when he saw you standing there. It was perhaps the only time he had felt his heart beat.
He had hardly registered your trembling figure standing by the door as your mind refused to register what happened in front of your eyes. Your lips trembled in fear, as you took a small step back.
“Shit,” He muttered, before chasing after you as you ran for your life.
Fear was pestilence. But was it deadlier than betrayal at the hands of someone who you thought would never hurt you? You didn't have time to process the answer, as you ran and ran up the stairs. Keonho’s voice echoed in your head.
‘Rule number three– Never run up the stairs.’
You couldn’t care less about the rules. You ran till you found a small room tucked in the corner of the empty hallway.
You shoved yourself inside and locked the door, breathing heavily as you reached for your phone. You called the emergency number, but froze as you heard the dial tone. What were you even supposed to tell them? Could you even speak?
James ran as fast as his feet could take him. He was right on your tail, when you had turned a corner and just disappeared. He let out a frustrated groan.
“Baby, come out please. You know I won’t hurt you. Just let me talk to you.” He said softly, trying to coax you out of your hiding spot. You barely heard him over the hammering of your own heart inside your chest. Your throat was parched from fear, anxiety and absolute terror.
James was someone that had always made you feel safe and secure. You had never fathomed that one day, he would be the one threatening your life. You had frantically whispered about your whereabouts to the dispatcher on the other end, and they had assured you of their quick action. But they were still a few minutes away, and James was breathing right outside your door.
“Come on, just come out. Look, I have nothing on me. You really think I could hurt you?” He leaned his head against the door. You could hear his voice trembling, laced with concern. Had he said the same to his previous victims?
Dread took over James’ body when he heard your soft sniffles and muffled cries. You were terrified of him. Didn’t he live off that fear? Then why was it eating him alive? Why did his stomach churn?
James had learnt the hard way that trying so hard to avoid pain becomes its own form of pain.
‘You can hold yourself back from the sufferings of the world... but perhaps this very holding back is the one suffering you could avoid.’
Hadn’t the patron saint of alienation said that? In the moment he was breathing in, he thought back to everything he did. He knew no one would pity him. He didn’t need it– their empathy. All he needed was the girl on the other side of the door to hold him, hold him tight and tell him it will all be alright.
His soul bore more abrasions than his skin ever could. His body would palpitate as he would desperately try to get you out. When that wouldn’t work, he would slam the expensive wood down, startling you.
“Listen- put the phone down, just listen to me.” He raised his arms, showing you his weaponless hands.
“See? I’ve got nothing on me sweetheart. Please, just listen to me. Stop crying.” He cooed, holding your face with his bloody hands with such love and gentleness, you could almost pretend that he wasn’t sick in the head.
Your blood, burning hot against your flesh, created a striking contrast to his ice-cold hands. You looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, lips trembling and voice quivering.
“Let me go, please… I won’t tell anyone.” You’d whisper, pleading, begging just like Suho had. James would feel a tug at his heart, he couldn’t comprehend the feeling.
You hadn’t intended on using it– the gun rested in your palm. Perhaps James hadn’t felt the cool metal against his back where you held him shakily. Perhaps he had, waiting for his inevitable end. He reached for the knife nevertheless, he knew you wouldn’t shoot unprovoked.
‘And neither the angels in Heaven above / Nor the demons down under the sea / Can ever dissever my soul from the soul / Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.’
Neither the angels in Heaven above, nor the demons down under the sea could ever dissever his soul from yours. Not even the gun pressed to his abdomen, your shivering hands holding it against him.
“Please James, let me go. Don’t let me hurt you. Please…” You begged again. But James was selfish. He would rather die at the hands of his lover, than at the hands of the system that never cared for him. The dramatics of it all would’ve baffled him in any given situation but the present. His death awaited at the hands of the girl he loved with all of a heart he never had.
The scene was the textbook definition of a contrary prose. You swore to never harm James, he swore to never involve you in his vindictive plans. Yet, there you two stood, weapons in hand.
Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, this was inevitable. Maybe this was James’ karma. Karma dressed in his beloved’s skin.
He raised the knife to strike you, though his muscle would lock up before he could land the blow, because he could never hurt you. He could never have your blood on his hands. It was a mere attempt for you to make your move, as rapacious as it was.
You took the lead, because the man standing in front of you wasn’t the man you had loved. He was someone you loathed, a version of your James you never knew existed. Your life had come crumbling down in the matter of a few minutes.
‘Someone from the room, probably singing along to the lyrics, would be facing an ironic and sick twist of fate at the hands of James in the matter of a few minutes.’ Maybe the person had been the one in his arms the whole time, something James hadn’t known then.
It was something akin to poetic justice, taking from James something he had stolen from others.
BANG.
James and you laid on the prickly green grass, listening to the gentle waves of the river. You stared up at the blue sky. James turned his head to look at you, a small smile playing at his lips.
“Don’t say something cliché,” You felt his gaze on you, as you smiled up at the sky.
“You look beautiful.” He said it anyway. When did he ever listen to you? You smiled nevertheless, finally turning to look at him.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” He propped himself up on his elbow, hovering over you as he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to your cheek, then lips.
“You look good too.” You laughed, shielding your eyes from the sun as you squinted up at him.
“Just good?” He feigned offence, scoffing lightly.
“I’m not good with compliments.”
“I can tell.” He smiled down at you, before kissing you again. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“I love you mos-”
“Shut up.”
BANG.
“Hey, I brought you some snacks.” James said as he quietly closed the door to your room. You were suffering from fever, yes, suffering. James stifled a laugh at how dramatic you were being. You hated being sick, the feeling of your burning throat and throbbing head.
“Thank you.” You spoke nasally. He sat down at the edge of your bed, placing a comforting hand on your knee as he watched you dig through the plastic bag.
“You’re really hungry, huh.” He smiled. You spared him a glance, before browsing through your options again.
“I’m always hungry.”
“Well, good for you for having such an awesome and caring boyfriend, that would drive across town to get you snacks.” He teased you, as he flopped backwards on your legs, tilting his head to still keep you in his line of sight.
“Wow, are you, like, obsessed with me or something?.”
“Is the ocean blue?”
“The ocean’s not actually blue, it’s the reflection-”
“Oh my God, bro.”
BANG.
Euphoria Ball, a rip off version of ‘The Yule Ball’, was a yearly held ball for the seniors. You’d think of it as a tangible escape from the incorporeal nightmare the year had become.
‘Every move you make, every step you take, I’ll be watching you.’
“The song's kind of creepy, no?” James tilted his head as he strained his ears to listen to the wordings of the song, being overlapped by the unintelligible chatter of others.
“Depends on how you perceive it.” You shrugged, your hands finding home around his neck, while his rested on your waist as you two swayed to the rhythm.
“How do you perceive it?” He questioned you with a teasing smile, before he twirled you once.
“I think it’s romantic, wanting to be near your lover at all times. It’s only creepy if both of them aren’t acquainted as lovers.” You said. James only hummed in response, watching you intently.
“What?”
“Nothing. I like your perception on things.” He laughed quietly. You raised an eyebrow at that.
“What’s your perception of me?” He asked next. You rolled your eyes playfully, as if it was the most absurd thing you had heard that day.
“My perception of you? Hmm… I think you’re a very reserved person. You don’t let people in. I think you’re scared of people figuring you out.” You concluded.
“Scared? I don’t think so. I don't think any person can be figured out. Humans are too complex for that.”
“Can we just dance baby?”
“Yeah, let’s just dance.” He laughed heartily, leaning in to kiss you softly.
I'll be watching you/ Every single day/ Every word you say/ Every game you play/ Every night you stay/ I'll be watching you.
BANG.
His body fell limp against yours, before dropping down to the floor. You stood frozen, unflinching. You lowered yourself to the ground, almost robotically. Your hands shook, the weapon no longer in your hands.
James, whose name meant a ‘man in control of his own actions’ had watched his life spiral out of control at his own hands. He didn’t have anyone to blame, but himself. Maybe the cruel world partook in his descent to what he became, but was it really an excuse?
You cradled his head in your lap, as your sobs wrecked your body. You barely registered the red and blue lights outside the small window, barely registered the people storming in the place.
All you registered was how you held your lover’s aching body tightly in your arms, whispering ‘it’s alright’ over and over again, through your loud sobs. Isn’t this what he had longed for? For you to hold him tight, tell him it was alright?
Nothing ever ends poetically.
It ends and we turn it into poetry.
All that blood was never beautiful,
It was always just red.
‘Rule number one– Never trust the love interest.’ Was it meant for you, or him? Guess you’ll never know.
I MET MY BIAS AT A JACKSON WANG PARTY pt 1 idol!james x nonidol!frdr , ft. bsf!ryul (lngshot)
SYN . when your best friend convinces forces you to attend a party, you don't expect to meet your bias in the most inconvenient way possible
✏️ this was inspired by the viral vernon at V8 listening party w his hair down and sum1 commented "meeting your bias in a jackson wang party 2016 wp vibes" and i was like HOLDUPPPP😳😳😳 this ones for all the ogs out there!!
-> part two
NOTE : let's js say cuz it's dark and she was lowk pissed, she didn't recognize him ok :D will post part 2 tmrw cuz like it was supposed to be a oneshot but likee screw tumblr restrictions
IN WHICH… the ive members are taking their cupid concept a little too seriously
PAIRING… idol!keonho x ive member f!reader
AUTHOR’S NOTE… we’re gonna ignore the fact that i haven’t found the motivation to write the last part of starstruck 💞💞 so here’s a little gift in the meantime! i don’t really know which direction i’m gonna take this but we’ll see ig 😭
vaporwave
romaincrisis
2087
dailybridgerton
pixelskylines
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
