âWe are still together. Youâre just trying to pull out because youâre scared.â âWhat do I have to be scared about?â âYou tell me, y/lnâ
PAIRING : olderboyfriend!james x f!reader
SYPNOSIS : In which⌠reader is insecure about her relationship with James regarding her age, personality, even appearance at some point, that it makes pull away. Of course, James notices.
GENRE : fluff, angst, hurt/comfort
WARNINGS : cursing, insecure reader, use of petnames, age gap(2 years), sharing a bed, crying, arguing, mentions of not eating, use of y/n like once
WC : 3239
AUTHOR'S NOTE : This is proofread, I worry that itâs not as well-written as I think it is, but please feel free to critique my writing so I can improve. First James fanfic yayyy. Also I love Danielle and I miss her, she is only mentioned for the sake of the fanfic bcs I couldnât think of anybody elseđĽš
âšâËâ§ď¸ľâżâŕ¨á°ŕ§ââżď¸ľâ§Ëââš
You and James met when you were only sixteen, he was eighteen. You met him through your younger brother Martin who was always meeting new people, and making new friendships. You seriously donât know how James puts up with your brotherâs shit.
Of course, James fell in love with you at first sight. He was fascinated with you, the way you spoke with such calmness, the way you moved around so silently but so noticeable at the same time, the way you handled difficult situations. To put it in a few words, from the moment he saw you, he knew he would do anything to get you all to himself.
A few months after you turned seventeen. He asked you out on a date. You went to this beautiful elegant restaurant, that was just out of town, with dim lighting, warm laughter coming from every direction and delicious food. He brought you a bouquet of your favourite flowers, paid for the check, and drove you home. The night ended with his lips on yours, one hand on your waist and the other on your chin deepening the kiss, until you both pulled away giggling.
After a few more dates, while you were sitting together at the park bench, late at night, eating snacks and gossiping together, he asked you out. Obviously you said yes.
Now, it has been about one and a half years from the moment you two started dating. Everythingâs been great so far, never ending dates, nonstop laughter, stolen glances, soft kisses, late night conversations. You even decided to move in together, your parents trusting that decision, knowing James and how sweet and responsible he is. You wouldnât change it for anything. But sometimes you do have your doubts and insecurities, sometimes as in almost all the time.
You know James loves you, you really do, but sometimes the overthinking gets too much. Heâs handsome and attractive, often grabbing the attention of other women, his age. You know the age gap between you too is not even big, but you canât help but wonder if sometimes he would prefer someone his age or older. Itâs stupid, pathetic even, but itâs not your fault that you think that way.
There have been multiple times when you caught other girls staring at him, some even coming up to talk to him, knowing damn well you were there, but still choosing to ignore the fact and think that they have a chance. James obviously doesnât give them the satisfaction, but that doesnât stop you from thinking he will leave you any second for someone better.
Have you voiced these concerns with him? No. Will you ever? You donât know, youâre afraid of his reaction if you ever did speak up, you know he wouldnât yell at you or maybe not even be mad, but still.
âšâËâ§ď¸ľâżâŕ¨á°ŕ§ââżď¸ľâ§Ëââš
Sitting on Jamesâ lap, head on his shoulder and phone in your hands, youâre scrolling on TikTok, not even paying attention to the videos that pop up, your stomach rumbles.
You hungry mhm? You wanna order take out or go out for dinner? His hands rubbing the sides of your waist, he speaks ever so softly, like heâs scared that raising his voice even a little, in such a quiet, intimate moment, will startle you.
You look at the time on your phone, it reads 7:46PM. You pull back from him, hands going from behind his neck to his chest as you stare at him. Well, itâs still quite early so I have time to get ready, can we go out?
Of course love. Do you know where you wanna go to? He says, looking at your face for any sign that you would change your mind.
Maybe that one restaurant downtown, where they have different cuisines? We could try Italian today.
Sure thing, go get ready, Iâll make sure there are tables left so I can make a reservation. He smiles and taps your side, gesturing for you to get up.
After about 25 minutes of putting on makeup and finding what clothes to wear, youâre finally ready. You decided to wear a short flowy dress in your favourite color. As youâre putting on your heels, you hear a gasp behind you and look up. James is just standing there, with his black suit, staring at you with bright eyes and a big smile.
Youâre absolutely gorgeous.
James⌠You giggle as you walk over to him, the heels clicking on the white marble floor. You place your right hand on his cheek and your left hand on his chest.
His hands go to your waist immediately by habit as he squeezes it and leans in. The moment he kisses you, your body fills with an unexplainable feeling, like itâs the first time all over again, on that bright starry night when he kissed you on your doorstep for the first time.
After pulling away he raises his hand to you so you can grab it and when you do, you two walk out of the door.
Once you enter, the restaurant is buzzing with people. You notice everything, the different faces, different clothes and many many different types of food from countries and cultures all over the world. You breath out a sigh, this is your favourite place where different cultures and people connect, the idea of this is really sweet.
He pulls your chair so you can sit down and walks over to his chair. The waitress appears after just a moment to take your orders. You notice she is smiling a little too much at your boyfriend and not really paying attention to anything else, making small talk with him, not even asking you about your order.
After you two eat, James signals for the check while the same waitress comes up. The moment she leaves the check on the table she turns around, but before doing so, she winks at your boyfriend? What the fuck is her problem?
You turn to look at him and see that his expression has turned into a frown before you see the phone number written on the end of the paper. Ugh, the audacity. He stands up, leaving the paper on the table and walks over to the front to pay before you both leave.
You stay silent the whole way back to the car.
Baby? You donât answer.
Sweetheart, are you okay? Concern in his voice as he steps closer to you, about to hold your hand. You raise your arms in the air.
Of course Iâm okay, everything is okay, nothing is going on. You nervously laugh. Iâm just tired, letâs go home.
Hey are you sure- He reaches for your shoulder.
Please, yufan. You donât even spare him a glance. He gives up trying to figure you out, for now.
In the car, youâre only staring out the window, he tries to communicate with you but you just shrug your shoulders and answer with short, dry answers. Tears are threatening to fall off your eyes, but you hold back, not wanting James to see that side of you.
After you reach home, he tries to talk to you multiple times but you donât answer him as you would normally do, he has realized by now that this has something to do with that waitress at the restaurant. Fuck, was that lady stupid?
Even when you go to sleep and he tries to speak with you, you donât budge, but you still let him hug you as your eyes slowly close and you drift away.
âšâËâ§ď¸ľâżâŕ¨á°ŕ§ââżď¸ľâ§Ëââš
The next morning when you wake up, your hands reach his side of the bed out of instinct, but to your surprise, he is nowhere to be found. You immediately open your eyes and sit up before youâre blinded by the rays of sunlight, hitting your eyes through the shades. You can hear sounds coming from the kitchen and as you get up and start walking towards the door, a sweet smell hits your nose.
Entering the room, youâre met with the sight of Jamesâ back, his hands moving a pan and holding a spatula, cooking pancakes.
Morning baby. You say as you wrap your hands around his waist and snuggle your face on his back, breathing in his scent. You hadnât forgotten about yesterday, obviously, but you didnât want him to worry again like the night before, where he wouldnât stop asking if you were alright.
He flinches a little bit, startled because he didnât hear you coming. Hey there, I made you pancakes. He scrambles to prepare them and turns to you, holding two full plates in his hands. He places a quick peck on your lips and walks over to the table, setting breakfast down.
As you both sit down, he turns to look at you. Hey um⌠He pauses. Are you okay? You glance at him and notice his furrowed brows.
Mhm, why wouldnât I be. You hum, munching on food while moving your fork around. I donât know⌠I guess, you seemed a little off last night. Well I wasnât off, it was probably just in your head. Enunciating the words, as you speak. Yea right. He chuckles, but the laugh is not quite reaching his eyes.
Hyeon and Keonho are throwing a party at their place today, do you wanna go? He mentions, scrolling at his phone.
I donât think so, but if you want to go then you can, Iâll just stay at home.
Are you sure?
Mhm.
Completely sure?
Yea.
Okay then.
You didnât want him to go without you, but you werenât really in the mood to go. Negative thoughts trying to flood your mind already, but you push them away, for now.
When the time came for him to leave, you said your goodbyes, a few kisses here and there, as you rushed him out the door. But after about 30 minutes of staring at the wall in silence, you grab your phone.
Opening instagram, you notice many stories from people you know as you press each and one of them. The last one being the cherry on top, a selfie of the boys but thereâs James in the background talking with someone, someone blurry. You zoom in and-
You would notice that curly hair anywhere, Danielle Marsh. Dani has been trying to grab your boyfriendâs attention for ages now, always flirting with him, talking with him etc. She is older than you, his age, she is more mature, more pretty, has a more beautiful figure.
Overthinking takes over your mind and body as your phone falls out of your hand and onto the couch. Tears blur your vision, as your breathing becomes uneven. You should have gone to that party, you should have never let him go alone. Youâre not even sure that if you were there, this wouldnât happen, because really, even though youâre jealous and anxious, you never act on it or do anything to stop it.
You hate this side of you. Insecure and vulnerable. Sometimes you seriously wish that you would be Jamesâ age, or have a more mature personality. Itâs not that you donât trust him, itâs the fact that you donât trust others around him. You wish that you would be one of those women that are not insecure in their relationship, because itâs like youâre trying to self-sabotage.
You slowly head to your shared bed, body feeling weak but still pushing through. You lay down and cover yourself with the blanket, whole body shaking with desperate cries as they gradually quiet down into sniffles and eventually you fall asleep.
When James returns home, he notices the heavy silence immediately, something is wrong. He puts down his car keys and wallet and searches for you. When he doesnât find you on the couch, only your phone, he walks over to the bedroom as he approaches you and kneels down in front of your face.
âWas she⌠crying?â He stares at your tear-stained cheeks, as he softly nudges your shoulder to wake you up.
Baby, wake up. Please wake up sweetheart.
Softly and slowly opening your eyes, you feel Jamesâ hand caressing your hair as he presses a kiss on your forehead.
What happened baby, were you crying? The moment you hear that sentence, you turn your face away from him and wipe your cheeks.
I wasnât crying, nothing happened. You sit up and slide out of the covers.
But- Nothing happened, James! Your voice rises as you stand up and head to the living room.
You are clearly not okay so why donât you talk to me? What are you keeping to yourself that you wonât tell me? Heâs yelling now too, his voice is not laced with anger, but with confusion.
Now pacing around the living room, you hesitate to speak, your thoughts scattered all over the place, not knowing where to start from. James is just staring at you, waiting for your answer.
You know what Yufan? I saw an instagram story, why were you talking with Danielle? Danielle? Heâs even more confused now.
Danielle Marsh, you were clearly having more than a friendly conversation with her and she was touching your shoulder!
Okay love, I think youâre confused, thereâs obviously nothing going on with me and Danielle, I donât even think she has any interest in me, and I donât even like her like that.
No James, she obviously has a crush on you, just like that waitress at the restaurant, and every other girl that as so much stares at you when weâre out together. You yell, your voice shaking.
What? You know thatâs not true and even if it was, I donât have any interest in other women! Youâre the only girl that I want in my life.
Yea right. You shrug, tears brimming your eyes. Why donât you believe me? I just⌠I canât okay? Maybe this whole thing is not right, maybe we shouldnât be together.
What? He yells, you finally look at his face, really look at him, heâs on the verge of crying. Youâve never seen him like this.
Maybe IâŚ, Iâm sorry. You grab your jacket, sobs escaping your chest as you open the door. Y/n please- You look at him one last time with red eyes, heâs shaking with the fear of losing you. You close the door and leave. Where are you going? You donât know. Do you regret your decision? Yes, but maybe itâs for the better, maybe youâve been holding him back all this time.
âšâËâ§ď¸ľâżâŕ¨á°ŕ§ââżď¸ľâ§Ëââš
Itâs been three days, three whole days since you two last spoke. He doesnât know where you are and he is scared that something happened to you. James tried calling you multiple times, but you never pick up, you donât even read his texts. He even tried getting to you through Martin, but even Martin doesnât know what youâre doing, which is really concerning, considering heâs your brother and all.
You though, havenât gotten out of bed almost all day, your eyes are tired from crying and your body is weak from not eating. Youâre at your familyâs home, not really speaking to anyone. You miss him so much but you canât do anything about it, it was your decision after all. Should you consider this a break, or a break-up? You donât exactly know, he hasnât stopped reaching out but youâre too scared to speak with him after the way you left things.
You gasp as you realize, youâre still sharing your location with him. Oh no, you scramble to pick up your phone and turn it off but suddenly-
Y/n, sweetie! Someone is at the door for you! You hear your motherâs voice from downstairs.
No thereâs no way⌠You muster up the strength and get up, anxiety all over your body as you run down the stairs, rushing towards the door. You open it and James is standing there. He gasps once he takes in the sight of you, a dark color settling underneath your eyes, oily hair, trembling fingers. You look so weak, so vulnerable. He immediately hugs you tight, you try to push him but itâs no use, youâre too exhausted.
Y/n please, letâs go home and talk, please. He pleads, voice breaking while he kisses your head all over and he places his hands on your cheeks and looks at you before leaning down and placing a kiss on your nose.
You never thought you would actually do this, but here you are. Your back is leaning on the couch while he closes the door behind him, turns to you and walks over. When heâs finally infront of you, he drops to his knees and looks down.
Please⌠He sighs, tears falling down from his eyes onto his lap, his hands holding your knee and thigh for support. Please talk to me, donât push yourself away from me.
Your knees almost give out at the sight, your right hand caressing his hair. Oh baby, Iâm so sorry. Itâs just thatâŚ
He looks up at you with yearning eyes, waiting for you to finally open up to him. You hold your breath before speaking again. Iâm so jealous and insecure all the time. There are so many better girls than me, flirting with you, that sometimes I think youâve made the wrong choice. Iâm not that pretty, or smart, or mature and I fear Iâm holding you back from an even better relationship with someone else. You pause. Someone who deserves you.
You were speaking so fast that you almost choked from the lack of breath. He slowly gets up and hugs you. Oh love. He sighs deeply, hands coming up to caress your cheeks, as he pulls away and looks into your eyes. I have loved you from the moment I laid my eyes on you. Youâre so perfect in my eyes, even if you donât see it. I donât consider anyone to be more smart or more beautiful than you. And donât even think of worrying that I donât find you mature enough, even if youâre not that mature, I donât need you to be, I just want you the way you are.
I love you so much, you donât even know. I wouldnât want to be with anyone else in this lifetime or in another. I want to take care of you, help you with your problems, but I canât do that if you donât help me see the burdens you carry. I need to you to be open with me. Donât be afraid to speak up ever, please.
I love you just the way you are, and I wouldnât change you for anything.
He leans in and kisses you so sweetly, so in love. Youâre so stunned that it takes a moment for you to kiss him back, but when you finally do, you wrap your arms around his neck and cry into the kiss. He places his hand behind your neck and pulls you impossibly closer, deepening the kiss, not wanting to let you go just yet. When you pull away, he pulls you into his embrace. You feel his breath on your neck and the warmth radiating from his body is comforting in some way.
I love you yufan, Iâm sorry I acted that way. You whisper in his ear.
. â ŕźâ§âË Âˇ Summary âââ An intense making out with your boyfriend James on the dormâs sofa is a bold choice. But who are we to judge?
. â ŕźâ§âË¡ Content âââ established relationship ¡ idol au ¡ fluff ¡ reader has braids cause I said so ¡ lap sitting ¡ dry humping ¡ long ass making out ¡ skinship ¡ kissing (obvi) ¡ 2.0k wc
The coffee had gone lukewarm in your hands, but you did not really mind. James had finished his hours ago and left the mug on the floor near the TV, forgotten against the baseboard. You were both sunk deep into his couch, that oversized grey sectional that swallowed people whole, legs tangled under a blanket that smelled like his detergent and the faint trace of the vanilla candle he had lit earlier and promptly ignored.
You had been there since ten, still in your stuff from the gym, your small braids pulled back from your face with a soft band, a few loose ones framing your temples where they had dried weird from your washday. James looked even more undone. Sweatpants riding low on his hips, an old faded tee from some predebut photoshoot, hair still messy from sleep. He looked normal. Not like the guy you had watched on that music show last week, all sharp angles and stage makeup. Just James.
He had the remote but was not really using it. Some autoplay garbage ran on the TV, travel vlogs bleeding into clips of people falling off skateboards, whatever the algorithm decided to serve. Every so often he would laugh, this low huff that vibrated through the couch cushions, and his foot would nudge yours under the blanket like he was checking you were still there.
"You are not even watching," he said, nodding at your phone. You were scrolling through nothing, some food blog you would never cook from.
"I am. That guy just broke his tailbone."
"That was three videos ago."
"Multitasking girlfriend right?."
He smiled, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes, and stretched. His shirt rode up enough to show his stomach. He did not fix it. He never did. His hand landed on your knee when he settled back down, casual as breathing, thumb rubbing back and forth over the fabric of your leggings. Warm. Distracting.
The afternoon light came through the blinds in stripes, cutting across his shoulders. He looked soft in it, touchable. You felt yourself leaning in before you even decided to, drawn by the smell of his soap and the way he was looking at you, all soft focus and intent.
He noticed. He always noticed. His hand slid up your thigh, not grabby, just present, grounding. "Come here," he said, voice gone quiet and rough.
That was when your brain caught up. You glanced at the door, solid and locked but still, and felt your shoulders tense. "Wait."
He stopped immediately, hand stilling on your leg. "What?"
"What about the others??"
James blinked, confused for a second, then his face cleared into something gentler. "Theyâre at the studio. They are all at the studio. Training until six. I told you."
"I know, but..." You sat up a little, the blanket slipping to your waist. "What if one of âem forgets something? You know they always do. Keonho came back last Tuesday..."
"At four," James interrupted, soft but firm. He sat up too, turning to face you properly, his hand moving to your waist instead. "It was Tuesday at four, yeah, but that was a vocal lesson day. Today is choreography. They do not break from dancing. The choreographer would beat their asses if one of them even thought of leaving."
You bit your lip, still looking at the door. "And the manager?"
"He always calls first." James reached out, his fingers finding your chin, turning you back to look at him. "You know that. He calls. He waits. He complains. He is not gonna just kick the door down." He waited, thumb brushing your jaw. "We are good. I promise."
He was looking at you with that expression, the one that made you feel silly for worrying but also safe for admitting it. His thumb traced your cheekbone, back and forth, patient.
"You sure about that?" you asked, quieter.
"Positive." He leaned in, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the small scar above his eyebrow from some predebut accident he never fully explained. "It is just us. For like three more hours. Just us."
Something in your chest unclenched. You nodded, small and sure.
He smiled again, real and relieved, and closed the distance. His mouth found yours soft, unhurried, the kind of kiss that started like a question and got answered yes. His hand at your waist pulled you closer, easy, and you went, shifting up onto your knees so you could lean into him better. The blanket got messed up, kicked aside somewhere to the floor, but neither of you cared.
He tasted like the mint gum he had been chewing earlier, sweet and sharp. One of his hands came up to cup the back of your neck, fingers threading through your braids at the nape, not pulling, just holding, learning the shape of them. The other stayed at your hip, thumb tracing circles that you felt through your whole body.
When you pulled back to breathe, he did not let you go far. His forehead rested against yours, eyes half open. "Better?" he whispered.
"Yeah."
"Good." He kissed your nose, then your cheek, then your mouth again, deeper this time, less careful. You felt him smile against your lips when you sighed, embarrassed at the sound, but he just pulled you closer, his hands guiding you until you were fully in his lap, your knees settling on either side of his thighs.
He leaned back into the corner of the couch, taking you with him, his hands moving to your waist to settle you against him. The position brought you chest to chest, close enough that you could feel his heartbeat through his thin shirt. He looked up at you for a moment, really looked, his eyes tracing your face like he was memorizing it. Then he tilted his chin up and brought you down to meet him.
This kiss was different. Hungrier. His mouth moved against yours with purpose, firm and demanding, his tongue sliding past your lips to taste you deeper. His hand slid up your back under your hoodie, palm hot and flat against your skin, while the other cradled your jaw, angling you where he wanted you.Â
He kissed you like he was starving, tilting his head to get closer, pulling back only to breathe before diving back in, his teeth catching your lower lip and tugging gently before soothing the spot with his tongue.
You gasped against his mouth, your hands finding the front of his shirt and fisting in the fabric, pulling him closer. He made a low sound in his throat, something between a groan and approval, and his hand at your waist tightened, fingers pressing into your hip. Your braids fell forward around your faces, creating a curtain, and he pushed them back with one hand, his fingers getting tangled in them, gripping slightly as he deepened the kiss.
"James," you breathed when he moved to your jaw, his mouth hot and open against your skin.
"Right here," he murmured against your throat, his voice rough, vibrating against your pulse. He kissed the spot hard enough to bruise, then soothed it with his tongue, his other hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you flush against him. You felt him everywhere, the heat of him through his clothes, the solid muscle of his chest, the way his hips shifted under yours, seeking friction.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide, his mouth swollen and wet. "You good?" he asked, but his hand was already moving again, sliding up your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your hoodie.
"Yeah," you managed, your voice sounding strange to your own ears. "You?"
Instead of answering, he kissed you again, harder this time, his hand at your back pulling you down so you were pressed fully against him, chest to chest, hip to hip. His tongue swept through your mouth, tasting, claiming, and you met him with equal hunger, your fingers threading into his hair and pulling slightly. He groaned against your mouth, the sound sending heat pooling low in your stomach, and his hips bucked up slightly, seeking pressure.
"Fuck," he breathed against your lips, his hand at your thigh gripping tighter, his fingers digging in just enough to mark. "You feel so..."
He did not finish the sentence. He kissed you again, deeper, his hand sliding up to tangle fully in your braids, gentle with the tension but firm, holding you where he wanted you. His other hand roamed, tracing your spine, your side, the curve of your hip, then sliding back up under your hoodie to touch skin.
You shivered at the contact, his palm warm and slightly calloused against your ribs, and he swallowed the sound you made, his tongue stroking against yours in a rhythm that matched the slow rock of your hips.
The couch creaked beneath you, loud in the quiet apartment, but neither of you stopped. You were too far gone, lost in the heat of his mouth, the way his hands moved over you like he could not get enough, the way his body rose to meet yours with every downward press of your hips. His breathing was ragged against your mouth, his chest heaving against yours, and you could feel his heart hammering, fast and hard.
He broke the kiss to drag his mouth down your jaw, your throat, sucking at the skin there hard enough to make you gasp, his hand at your waist holding you steady while the other gripped your hip, guiding your movements. "Tell me," he demanded softly, his voice rough against your skin.
"Yeah?"
"If you want to stop." He looked up at you, his eyes dark, serious despite the flush on his cheeks, the way his hair stuck up where you had pulled it. "Tell me. I will stop."
You shook your head, your braids brushing your shoulders, and rolled your hips down against him deliberately. He hissed out a breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, his grip tightening. "Do not stop," you whispered.
He opened his eyes, looked at you for a long moment, then surged up to kiss you again, his mouth claiming yours with an intensity that made your head spin. His hands moved to frame your face, holding you still for his kiss, his tongue stroking deep, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones.
You felt every point of contact, the warmth of his skin under his shirt, the solidness of his thighs under yours, the hard line of him pressing against you through his sweatpants, the way his fingers trembled slightly against your jaw.
He kissed you like he was trying to consume you, like the afternoon was not enough, like he needed more. And you gave it, your hands fisting in his shirt, your body moving against his, lost in the heat and the weight of him, the taste of mint and coffee and James.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, chests heaving, his forehead pressed against yours, his hands still framing your face. "You okay?" he asked, voice rough, wrecked.
You nodded, your lips feeling swollen, your body thrumming. "Yeah, how about you?."
He made a soft noise, something like satisfaction, and pulled you down against him, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close, his face buried in your neck. You felt his heartbeat against your chest, fast and steady, his breathing hot against your skin.
The afternoon sun moved across the floor, striping the coffee table. Neither of you moved to fix the blanket. James's hand traced slow patterns at your lower back, though his fingers still trembled slightly, his body tense beneath you like he was holding himself back.
"Was it good?" he asked again, muffled against your collarbone.
You nodded, your chin brushing his hair, and carded your fingers through the mess you had made of it. "Do I have to answer?"
He held you there, tight and warm, and you both listened to the quiet, waiting for nothing, expecting no one.
ࡠ° ⢠` ěĽëŠ´: Martin acts all tough and swaggy around everyone else, but the second he's with you? He's all pouty, clingy, asking for kisses, and refusing to let go.
đ,đđđ / đđ,đđđ âś đđ¨đ˛đđŤđ˘đđ§đ!đŚđđŤđđ˘đ§ Ă đ!đŤđđđđđŤ â swag in public. clingy loser in private.
đđ¨đ§đđđ§đ : sweetness overload . public displays of affection . martin being a golden retriever disguised as the school's most intimidating senior . everyone suffering except the happy couple . lots of giggling . lots of hugging . lots of "one more minute." . cavities.
đ/đ§ : first martin fic kinda nervous ... i haven't written a story in a while and i genuinely missed it. we're finally back tho YIPPEE!! i hope you guys enjoy sweet boy <3 kisses >á´<
⍠playing ... Sweet Boy â MÍaÍlÍcÍoÍlÍmÍ ÍTÍoÍdÍdÍ Í
âď¸ đĽđđđđđŤđŹ đđŤđ¨đŚ đđĽđ¨ : the song has absolutely nothing to do with this fic (â âĽâ ďšâ âĽâ ) i literally looked at the title and said, "yup, martin."
` đź đ° đđĽđ¨'đŹ đ˛đđŠ forever yearning to have a boyfriend like martin cause I'll never have someone like him
A sharp yawn escaped your lips just as the final bell echoed through the school hallways.
The once quiet corridors immediately filled with students rushing out of their classrooms, conversations blending together into a familiar afternoon buzz. Lockers slammed shut one after another, teachers reminded everyone about Monday's assignments, and somewhere down the hall someone had already started playing music from a portable speaker.
You shoved your notebook into your bag with a tired sigh.
It had been one of those weeks.
Too many quizzes.
Too many assignments.
Too little sleep.
All you wanted now was to go home, shower, and spend the rest of the evening doing absolutely nothing.
You slipped your backpack over one shoulder before making your way outside, weaving through the crowd until you reached the school gates.
The warm afternoon breeze greeted you immediately.
Without really thinking about it, your eyes searched the crowd.
And there he was.
Martin.
He was standing a few meters away with one hand buried inside the pocket of his hoodie, lazily scrolling through his phone while waiting for his friends to finish talking. His expression was the same as alwaysâcalm, unreadable, almost bored. A few underclassmen walked past him, immediately lowering their voices the second they noticed him.
You couldn't help smiling.
People always reacted like that.
Nobody had actually seen Martin get angry before, but somehow he'd earned the reputation of being one of the most intimidating seniors in school.
Maybe it was the way he rarely smiled.
Maybe it was because he answered everything with a lazy "yeah" or "nah."
Or maybe it was because he always looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Whatever the reason was...
They couldn't have been more wrong.
Martin looked up from his phone.
The second his eyes found yours, something softened almost instantly.
The bored expression disappeared.
The corners of his lips lifted into the tiniest smile.
Then, without another thought, he started walking toward you.
Well...
Walking wasn't exactly the right word.
More like dragging his feet dramatically across the pavement.
By the time he reached you, he had already opened his arms.
"Babyyyy."
The word came out as one long whine before he wrapped both arms around your waist without the slightest bit of embarrassment.
You laughed, nearly losing your balance.
"Martin."
"Hm?"
"It's literally been six hours."
"I know."
He buried his face against your shoulder anyway.
"That's a long time."
You let out another laugh, gently poking his side.
"You saw me this morning."
"Still."
"You've been hugging me for..." You glanced at your watch dramatically. "...about fifteen seconds."
"Mhm."
"...Are you planning on letting go?"
"No."
"You've got guitar practice."
"I know."
"You'll be late."
"I know."
"...Martin."
"I know."
"So?"
"So..." He finally looked up at you, resting his chin on your shoulder instead. "Can I stay like this for another minute?"
His eyes met yours.
Those stupid puppy eyes.
You sighed dramatically.
"I hate when you do that."
"What?"
"The face."
"What face?"
"The one that makes me feel guilty."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You absolutely do."
He smiled.
Not the tiny polite smile everyone else got.
Not the awkward smile teachers somehow managed to pull out of him.
A real one.
Bright enough that it made your chest feel warm.
"...Okay," you mumbled.
"You can hug me for another minute."
His smile somehow got even bigger.
"I knew you loved me."
"I never said that."
"You didn't have to."
"You are unbelievably confident."
"You make me confident."
You rolled your eyes, trying very hard not to smile.
"...That was smooth."
"I know."
"...Don't get used to it."
"I already am."
A loud whistle suddenly echoed from somewhere behind him.
"Ew."
Martin didn't even flinch.
Another voice joined in almost immediately.
"Can you two do this somewhere else? Some of us are trying to walk."
Martin lazily turned his head just enough to see his friends standing a few feet away.
Seonghyeon was tryingâand failingânot to laugh.
Keonho looked like he'd witnessed the most embarrassing thing imaginable.
"You've been standing there for like two minutes," Keonho complained. "Move."
Martin looked at him blankly.
"No."
"You have practice."
"No."
"The teacher's literally waiting."
"No."
Keonho stared at him for a long second.
Then he looked at you.
"...Can you tell your boyfriend he's insufferable?"
You smiled innocently.
"I've been trying."
Martin immediately hugged you tighter.
"I'm being attacked."
"You deserve it."
"No, I don't."
"You absolutely do."
"I came here to love my girlfriend."
"You've been doing that for five minutes."
"I need more."
Keonho physically gagged.
"Oh my God."
Seonghyeon shook his head with a quiet laugh.
"I keep forgetting he acts like this around you."
You tilted your head.
"...Like what?"
"Like..." He searched for the right word before pointing at Martin, who was still clinging to you without shame.
"...That."
Martin frowned.
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing."
"There better not be."
"You literally looked like you were about to cry because she said you had to go to practice."
"I wasn't crying."
"You were pouting."
"I wasn't."
"You absolutely were."
Martin looked at you.
"...Was I pouting?"
You bit the inside of your cheek.
"...Maybe a little."
"A little?"
"Mhm."
He gasped dramatically.
"You betrayed me."
"I answered honestly."
"I thought we were a team."
"We are."
"So why'd you expose me?"
"Because it was funny."
"...Wow."
You laughed again, reaching up to fix a few strands of his messy hair that had fallen over his eyes during all the dramatic hugging.
The moment your fingers brushed against his forehead, Martin went completely still.
His eyes never left yours.
"What?"
He smiled softly.
"...Nothing."
"You keep saying that."
"I just like when you do that."
"Do what?"
"This."
He gently took your hand before pressing it against his cheek for a second.
Your heart nearly gave out.
"Martin..."
"Hm?"
"...Your friends are literally watching."
"I know."
"Aren't you embarrassed?"
He looked genuinely confused.
"Why would I be?"
"Because they're staring."
"They'll survive."
Keonho sighed loudly from behind him.
"I won't."
"I'm losing years off my life."
Seonghyeon chuckled.
"I told you."
"Told me what?"
"That he'd forget we existed the second he saw her."
Martin finally looked over his shoulder.
"Oh."
"...You guys are still here?"
Keonho blinked.
"...Still here?"
"I forgot."
"You forgot your own friends?"
Martin shrugged casually.
"I was busy."
"Doing what?"
He looked back at you before answering as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"...Looking at my girlfriend."
Keonho stared at him in complete disbelief.
"I actually can't stand you."
"You'll live."
"I hope guitar practice is miserable."
"It won't be."
"I hope you break a string."
Martin immediately frowned.
"...That's too far."
"You deserve it."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do."
You couldn't stop laughing.
Every single day it was the same thing.
The quiet, "too cool to care" Martin everyone knew somehow disappeared the second you were around.
And honestly...
You didn't think anyone would believe you if you told them.
Keonho looked like he was one sarcastic comment away from walking home by himself.
"I've seen enough," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can we please leave before they start kissing in front of the school?"
"We're not kissing," you said, laughing.
Martin looked down at you.
"...Can we?"
Your eyes widened.
"...Martin."
"What?"
"...No."
"Oh."
He sounded genuinely disappointed.
From somewhere behind the group came a snort.
James had just walked out of the school building with his backpack slung over one shoulder, headphones hanging around his neck. He took one look at Martin practically glued to your side before bursting into laughter.
"There he goes."
Juhoon appeared beside him a second later, carrying two guitar cases.
"I knew we'd find him exactly like this."
James pointed dramatically at Martin.
"This is the guy people are scared of?"
Martin didn't even spare him a glance.
"I'm busy."
"You've been busy for ten minutes."
"I'm still busy."
James turned to you with the most serious expression imaginable.
"Does he...ever let go?"
You looked down at Martin's hand, still intertwined with yours.
"...Not really."
James slowly nodded.
"Wow."
"I know."
"He even texts me during lunch asking where you are."
Martin finally looked up.
"I do not."
"You literally sent me 'Have you seen my girlfriend?'"
"Because you were in the library."
"You thought I kidnapped her?"
"I didn't know."
James threw both hands into the air.
"See?!"
Juhoon laughed quietly before adjusting the guitar case on his shoulder.
"I still think my favorite was when he almost skipped rehearsal because she caught a cold."
Martin frowned.
"She was sick."
"It was a runny nose," Juhoon corrected.
"You were acting like she had six months left to live," James added.
Martin looked completely unashamed.
"She sneezed."
"...Everybody sneezes."
"She sneezed twice."
James stared at him.
"...You're unbelievable."
Martin simply shrugged.
"I care."
"I know you care," James replied. "I'm saying you care too much."
Martin tilted his head.
"I don't think that's possible."
Keonho immediately pointed at him.
"That sentence right there."
"Exactly!" James agreed.
Juhoon couldn't stop smiling.
"You know what's funny?"
"What?" you asked.
"The entire first semester..." He looked at you before chuckling to himself. "Martin swore he'd never date anyone."
James laughed.
"Oh my God, I forgot."
"You what?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
Juhoon nodded.
"He kept saying relationships were distracting."
"'Too much effort,'" James quoted dramatically.
"'Waste of time,'" Keonho added.
"'I'm never becoming one of those clingy couples,'" Juhoon finished.
The three of them slowly turned toward Martin.
Who was...
Still holding your hand.
Still standing close enough that your shoulders touched.
Still absentmindedly tracing little circles across the back of your hand with his thumb.
James couldn't hold it in anymore.
"You lasted, what...?"
He pretended to think.
"...Two weeks?"
Martin sighed.
"I changed my mind."
"You changed your entire personality."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
James looked at you.
"Please tell me he wasn't this clingy when you first started dating."
You smiled.
"...Actually..."
Martin suddenly looked nervous.
"...Don't."
You glanced at him.
"You sure?"
He already knew where this was going.
"...Babyyyy."
"Nope."
James' eyes lit up immediately.
"Oh, this is gonna be good."
You tried not to laugh.
"The first time we held hands..."
Martin covered his face with one hand.
"...Please."
"...He wouldn't let go."
James gasped dramatically.
"No way."
"Even after I got on my bus."
Juhoon blinked.
"...Seriously?"
"He literally walked beside the bus window while we were waiting for it to leave."
Keonho bent over laughing.
"I REMEMBER THAT!"
"You do?" James asked.
"I thought he was saying goodbye normally."
Keonho pointed at Martin.
"He stood there looking like someone had just divorced him."
Martin groaned.
"It wasn't that bad."
"It was worse," Juhoon laughed.
"You looked like a lost puppy."
James wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.
"This is beautiful."
"It's embarrassing," Martin corrected.
"It is," James agreed. "For you."
Martin finally looked at you, cheeks faintly pink.
"...You're all making fun of me."
You smiled sweetly.
"A little."
"I thought you were on my side."
"I am."
"Then defend me."
"Hm..."
You pretended to think for a moment before smiling again.
"...No."
James immediately high-fived you.
"I like her."
"I liked her first," Martin mumbled.
"You don't own her."
"I know."
"...But she's my girlfriend."
The words came out so naturally that everyone went quiet for a second.
Martin didn't even seem to notice.
He just smiled to himself, giving your hand another gentle squeeze as if saying it out loud was enough to make him happy all over again.
James looked between the two of you before dramatically clutching his chest.
"I can't do this anymore."
Juhoon laughed.
"What now?"
"I'm happy for them."
"That's a good thing."
"No, it's making me feel lonely."
Keonho nodded in agreement.
"I've been third-wheeling these two since they started dating."
James sighed.
"One day..."
He pointed toward the sky.
"...I'll find someone who looks at me the way Martin looks at her."
Juhoon glanced at Martin, who was already looking at you again with that same soft expression.
James x idol!Reader smau, where you and James are each others celebrity crush and itâs revealed when you post on the wrong account (ft. many other idols)
a/n: this fic is purely for fun, donât be creepy towards james or any other celebrities !! also Zena from Rescene is used as the reader insert and reader is implied to be a year younger than James.
( IN LOVE WITH A WHITE BOY ) PART ONE ââââ when your suspicions ab your situationship's sidehoe is regrettably confirmed, your hb's luckily there to comfort you. as friends, of course đ´âď¸
# INCLUDES . . . . MARTINÂ EDWARDSÂ ĂÂ FEM!READER ft. HIROTA RIKI ( fluff, angst a bit, humorrr ) && SITUATIONSHIP!RIKI HB!MARTIN morally grey characters kinda flirtyyy martin's hb!seonghyeon (you'll see đ) martins nawwwt slick martins a villain #needthat maki's toxic asf but at least bicep đ´đ
( đaikai. ) part two soon guys, this idea been rotting in my brain for a bit đđ inspired by my fyp AGAIN omfg why is she so messyyyy ++ WE GOING DOUBLE WHAMMY ON THE WASIANS IN THIS ONE LMFAOOOOO đ¤Łâď¸
READ PART ONE PART TWO
DISCLAIMER ; NONE OF THE CHRACTERS ARE IN COMMITTED RELATIONSHIPS AND I DONT CONDONE CHEATING
pairing : supportive bf! james x overachiever! burnt out gf! fem reader
content warning : mdni, 18+ content, unprotected sex, this fic is basically for all the burnout girlies there (like me)
word count : 2,217 words 12,510 characters
there was nothing james couldn't handle, except your peak season of uni.
midterms, especially when they overlapped with club activities, were always his biggest nightmare. everything seemed to pile up at once, leaving you buried under deadlines and responsibilities. and that worried him. you'd forget to eat properly, barely get enough sleep, and slowly shut everyone out whenever things got tough. james knew you hated being seen vulnerable, so instead of asking for help, you'd keep everything to yourself and carry the weight alone.
he was from the art and music department, so he couldn't fully understand what it was like to take a stem program. but he didn't need to experience it himself to know how difficult it was for you.
during those weeks, you'd only facetime him whenever everything became too much. you'd cry to him, but you'd never let him come over. whenever he planned a date to help take your mind off things, you'd immediately decline, saying you had meetings to attend or exams to review for.
and the only thing he could do was send food to your apartment. sometimes you'd thank him, but other times, when he finally got to see you again, he'd find the unopened containers still sitting on your counter, untouched for days.
without you noticing, james had somehow managed to steal your spare key. from then on, he'd quietly let himself into your apartment every now and then, always bringing food or making sure you'd at least taken a break. you appreciated it more than you let on.
but one night, he walked in at the worst possible time. you had just realized you'd made a major mistake while planning the club event, one that caused everything to be pushed back. papers were scattered all over the floor as you frantically searched through them, your hands shaking, your breathing uneven. the pressure finally became too much, and before you knew it, you were crying.
the front door clicked open.
"baby?" james called softly.
he stepped inside, only to freeze at the sight of you standing in the middle of the apartment, surrounded by papers, your face stained with tears as you desperately tried to pull yourself back together.
"babe... james! what the hell are you doing here right now?" you snapped, hastily wiping at your tears. james froze by the doorway, a plastic bag of your favorite snacks dangling from one hand. the small smile he'd walked in with disappeared the second he saw the state you were in.
"i..." he looked between the papers scattered across the floor and your trembling hands. "i just wanted to check on you."
"you can't just come in whenever you want!" you raised your voice, frustration spilling over. "i'm busy!"
his grip on the bag tightened. "i know. i just thought maybe you hadn't eaten yet."
"i don't care about food right now!" the words came out harsher than you intended. james didn't argue back. he simply stood there, worry written all over his face, still clutching the snacks he'd bought just for you.
the moment the words left your mouth, you covered your face as another sob escaped you. you quickly turned your back to him not wanting him to see you like this. you already felt terrible over the mistake you'd made and now you felt even worse for taking it out on your sweetest boyfriend who only wanted to take care of you.
james' chest tightened, seeing you break down like this never got any easier. without saying a word, he carefully set the bag of snacks on the counter before walking over to you. he gently wrapped an arm around your waist, effortlessly lifting you up into his embrace despite your weak protests, then carried you to the bed and sat you down.
you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with every quiet sob as james brushed your hair away from your face, his hand slowly stroking the top of your head.
"it's okay," he whispered. "i'll pick these up, okay?"
his eyes drifted to the papers scattered across the floor before returning to you.
"now tell me what happened."
james held you close from behind, spooning you beneath the blankets. his arms were wrapped so tightly around you that you almost felt suffocated, but deep down, it felt like he was trying to shield you from every bit of pain you were carrying. every now and then, he'd press the softest kisses against your forehead, your temple, your tear-stained cheeks, silently reminding you that he was there.
between shaky breaths, you told him everything. the mistake that delayed the club event, how guilty you felt for overlooking something so avoidable, the pressure of leading your team, and the constant stress of balancing it all with your classes.
and james listened without interrupting, gently rubbing circles against your arm.
"you can talk to your team about it," he murmured. "ask for their help. you don't have to do everything by yourself, y/n."
he kissed your cheek again before pulling you impossibly closer.
"and you already studied for your chemistry exam weeks ago." another kiss. "please don't overthink the results, okay?"
his hand found yours beneath the blanket, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"you've been carrying everyone else for so long. let someone carry you for a little while."
"but i'm the leader," you protested quietly. "if they make a mistake, it's my mistake too."
james let out a small sigh, resting his forehead against the back of your head.
"being the leader doesn't mean you have to carry everything alone," he said softly. "you're allowed to lean on people too, y/n. your team isn't there to watch you shoulder everything. they're there because they want to help."
james' voice was barely above a whisper as he brushed another kiss against your damp cheek.
"i really think that's something you need to work on. you always convince yourself that asking for help is a burden, but it's not."
he rested his chin on your shoulder, holding you just as tightly as before.
"let your team be there for you." another kiss. "let your friends be there for you."
his hand intertwined with yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"...and let me be here for you, hmm? you don't always have to be the strong one. you deserve someone to lean on too."
he shifted, his movements fluid and deliberate as he carefully rolled you beneath him, propping himself up on his elbows so he wouldn't crush you. in the dim light of your bedside lamp, his eyes were impossibly soft, filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
james lowered his head, but not to your lips. instead, he pressed his mouth gently to the corner of your eye, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of your tears. he moved to your other eye, repeating the gesture, his breath warm against your cooling skin.Â
"you can't seem to stop crying about it, baby..." he mutters, his voice a low, intimate rumble against your ear.Â
his thumb gently sweeps away a fresh tear from the corner of your eye, tracing the damp path it leaves down your temple. "i really wish i could strip all the pain away from you, baby." his voice cracks slightly on the last word, a rare glimpse of his own helplessness in the face of your suffering.
his lips brush against the sensitive shell of your ear, and then he nips at the soft lobe, a sharp, grounding sensation that makes you gasp. "but right now..." he pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark and intense, roaming over every tear-streaked inch of your face. "you look so pretty and beautiful crying. how is that possible?"
there's a genuine awe in his voice, a fascinated reverence. his eyes trace the swollen, pink curve of your lips, the way your lashes clump together in dark spikes, the flushed, blotchy patches on your cheeks that he finds inexplicably endearing.
james kisses you like he's trying to memorize the taste.Â
it's slow, almost lazy, his lips a soft, firm pressure against yours. he doesn't rush, just takes his time, his tongue sweeping in to taste you with such intensity that steals your breath. much less of a kiss and more deliberate claiming.
he makes quick work of your shorts, yanking them down your legs and sending them flying across the room. he doesn't even bother with your sweater, too desperate to feel your skin. his mouth never leaves yours as he shoves his own sweats down just enough to free himself. with one hand gripping your hip, he lines himself up and presses the hot, bare tip of his cock against your dry core, a guttural groan vibrating in his chest.
you could feel him ripping you open, the sharp, unprepared stretch making a raw cry catch in your throat. you were still unaroused, every thrust was a fresh burning friction that made more tears spill over, hot and useless.Â
he distracted you with messy desperate kisses, his words a low and frantic murmur against your lips. "shh, baby, it's okay, i've got you," he panted, the promises sounding hollow even to his own ears. "just let me in, just let me take care of you, it'll all be okay, i promise..."
you knew words were never enough to soothe the worries clawing at your chest right now. you didn't need empty promises, someone telling you things they weren't sure of. but the desperation in james, the frantic way he was moving, like he was trying to fuck that feeling right out of you... it was doing something else.Â
it was oddly comforting.
his dry thrusts made you wince, each one a sharp unwelcome friction, but he was so desperate to make you wet. his hand snaked between your bodies, his fingers fumbling and urgent as he rubbed against your clit. it was almost clumsy in its haste, but the sheer need in his touch was undeniable. james was trying so hard to fix this, to make you feel good, to make you feel anything other than stress.Â
and in that frantic, clumsy effort, you felt a sliver of his own anxiety, a mirror to your own. it was the most honest thing he'd done for you.
"james, please... it hurts," you whined, your voice small and tight.
his rhythm didn't falter. "i know it hurts, pretty," he panted against your neck, his breath hot and frantic. "but you have to overcome it. it's the only thing that will help you overcome this..." his mind clearly miles away, tangled up in your problems and not pertaining the tearing pain in your walls. he was trying to fuck you into a solution, to burn out your anxiety with a fire of his own making.Â
after a few more rough thrusts, the tearing pain begins to lessen, replaced by a slick, building heat that spreads through your core. a soft gasp escapes your lips as your body finally starts to feel the pleasure. you cling to james soooo much, your nails digging into the firm muscle of his back, the discomfort melts away and it starts to feel amazing. each roll of his hips sends a new wave of pleasure through you, and you arch into him, meeting his desperate rhythm with your own newfound need.
"james!" you gasp, the sound sharp and breathless. it earns a deep, guttural groan from him, his hips stuttering for a beat before he slams into you even harder.
"fuck, moan like that.â he growls, his voice a low, predatory rumble against your ear. "makes me wanna fill you up with my cum."
"nooo james..." you whined, breath hitching as he drove deeper, "p-pull out."
but he was already shaking his head against your neck, hips stuttering with how close he was. your hands pushed at his shoulders but there was no real force behind it, fingers curling instead of shoving. "whyyy nottt?" he groans, voice wrecked, "just... fuck, just feel it. itâs gonna make you feel so goodâŚ"
"wait," you gasp, but you're clinging to him now, legs locked, meeting his thrusts with your own.
"iâm-!â
too late. james buries himself to the hilt with a broken, guttural sound, his dick pulsing hot and thick cum inside you. the sudden fullness sends you over the edge too, whimpering his name as your orgasm crashes through you, melting every tense muscle into liquid heat.
james collapses on top of you, both of you trembling, sweat-slicked and breathing hard. after a moment, he shifts his weight but doesn't pull out, staying nestled there while he brushes damp hair from your face.
"one more round, please baby?" james breathes against your jaw, still buried deep and throbbing. you can feel the mess he already made, cum smearing everywhere each time either of you shifts.Â
his hips give this tiny, involuntary roll and you feel it.
the way his cum pools around where he's stretching you, making everything filthy and wet and sooo messy.
âc'mon," james whines, voice all gravel and need, "let me fuck the shit outta you, so you wonât feel soo terrible anymoreâŚâ
@kiswritting | his no. 1 slave
dear readers, can u believe that author-nim hadn't had a bf before? (she is a perverted virgin) but im js so obsessed with this james bf agenda
pairing sleepy!bf!martin x gf!reader (est. relationship)
contains fluff fluff fluff, skinship/kissing, one ss | wc: 1.2k
ânah, i usually donât sleep when im working on musicâ
in which you join martins livestream just to tease him, but the night somehow ends with you in his arms.
a/n: hii.. itâs been a while since i even opened this app.. hence why this is a draft from like over a month ago i think?? but im still very much obsessed w martins weverse streams.. heâs sooo bf. enjoy!! ⤡ masterlist
âm.j. edwards started a livestreamâ
martin has been working nonstop this comeback, so you barely ever get to see him.
and the only thing that keeps yourself from not missing him too much are his weverse streams.
whenever that notification pops up your heart gets all tingly, knowing youâre going to be staring at your phone for the next hour, knowing youâre about to admire him through a screen.
even though it kills you not being able to feel his warmth, his arms around yours, his eyes fixating on you, whenever you look in his direction â you try to make the best out of it.
watching martin work on his own music, seeing him so passionate about creating, made all the hours youâve spend missing him worthwhile.
still, somehow during every stream, you try to sneakily get his attention.
this time, you decided to text martin out of nowhere, while heâs actively reading out comments just to see how he would react when seeing your name pop up on his lockscreen.
you click send on your message.
and his phone lights up almost immediately.
you examine martins next moves thoroughlyâ his eyes move over to his screen, he takes a quick look and after realization hits a smile starts to form on the corner of his mouth instantly.
as he skims through your text, you could tell he was debating wether or not to respond.
he kept pretending to read what his fans were saying, but you noticed his mind wandering, still contemplating.
his tongue poking his cheeks, trying to hold back a smile.
martin coughs hesitantly, wanting to return to his previous conversation regarding someoneâs comment.
but he caves in, as soon as you send another message.
he grabs his phone, and moves his chair slightly away from frame.
you were wondering what he could possible be doing off screen for so long, 'cause you havenât received a text back yet.
instead you received a notification from paypal.
as you guys were texting, the chat moved rapidly trying to figure out what martin was doing off screen and also telling him to go back to playing unreleased demos.
when he moved back into frame, he was cheesing noticeably.
you watch him run his fingers through his hair, adjusting himself on the chair, trying to keep his composure.
so you existed the livestream, and opened the uber app instead.
even on the drive over here, you continued watching his live, unable to keep your eyes off of him for just more than a second.
as you were walking into the building, you texted martin to let him know that you arrived.
and out of curiosity, you join his stream once again, simply wanting to see how heâd end the live.
his eyes lit up as soon as he read your message and a slight grin appeared on his face. he was still trying to keep it lowkey, but failed miserably.
âyou look tired. go to bed martinâ he says reading out someoneâs comment.
âwell, if you say so.â he replies to the comment while yawning.
he did look extremely tired, but to be fair you cant remember the last time he didnât.
during every facetime call, he blinks intensely trying to stay awake or he even just shuts his eyes for a while before opening them again, without even noticing that heâd fallen asleep. so you just act like youâre the one whoâs tired and end the call, solely for his sake.
he would never admit to being overworked, he tells you itâs part of the job, he just has to adjust. but you canât help but worry.
he continues, âit is getting late. shouldnât yâall be sleeping as well?
⌠okay well, iâll go now, love you coer. stay healthy and rest well.âhe adds, blowing the viewers a small kiss before leaving.
and just like that, the livestream ended.
you waited a few seconds before knocking on his door, just to be sure.
while still sitting in his chair, he opened door.
greeting you with a soft smile, which on one hand showed how happy he was to see you, but on the other hand also showed his lack of sleep.
as you take a step into his studio, you position yourself infront of him, which caused your knees to brush against his chair. tilting your head downward, as you run one hand through his hair.
âaw, sleepy martin.â you say lightheartedly, as you move the hand from his hair down, to softly cup the side of his face.
his face slowly melts into your touch, resting it on your hand, while you gently rub your thumb over his cheeks.
âcome here.â you say, while tugging at his sleeves, wanting to move you both to the couch.
youâve never seen him this quiet. youâre usually used to him throwing himself at you and bombarding you with kisses and his thoughts.
but right now his voice is barely above a whisper when mumbling, âcanât, i havenât finished the song yet.â
you raise your eyebrows slightly. âhey, you wanted me here, so spend time with me.â
he chuckles quietly, as you drag him to the couch.
after he sat down next to you, he instinctively put his hand around your shoulder before pulling your legs over his.
so you put your head on his chest.
you stayed in that positionâ in that silence for a while, letting him rest as he absentmindedly played with your hair. occasionally drawing circles on your legs with his fingers.
ây/n.â he blurts out suddenly.
âhm?â you look up at him and are met with him already gazing at you.
his eyes had a twinkle in them, a twinkle that was fairly familiar to you.
the corner of his mouth lifted, smirking. you knew that certain smirk of his all too well.
his gaze moved from your eyes down to your mouth.
your hand came up automatically to brush through his hair, as well as tilting his head closer to you.
his lips met yours. slowly and softly.
quiet sighs escaping him, as you start fiddling with the hair on his neck.
despite his colds hands sliding around your waist, his touch still felt warm.
but you could feel how tired he was.
his lips lingered longer than usual.
his breaths were quieter than usual.
his fingers were loose instead of firm.
instead of gripping onto you, so that this moment wouldnât end, it felt like you were slowly slipping away.
so, you pull away.
âwhatâs wrong?â martin asks concernedly.
âyouâre too tired. i feel bad.â
âiâm never too tired to kiss you.â
you furrow your eyebrows in doubt. âyou didnât even hold me the right way.â
he sighs, âiâll lock in now. i promise.â and his eyes dipped back to your lips.
you giggle lightly in response, before he pulls you back in.
he moved his hands to your hips, and your breathing went choppy as his got deeper. it was nothing like the previous kiss.
he gave you a wideopen mouth kiss, angling his head perfectly to make it feel heavier.
the rest of the night continued exactly like that. you in his arms, kissing and smiling at each other inbetween breaths.
content : smut, 18+ content, somno, sad stuff, angsty, mention of miscarraiges
word count : 1,898 words 10,569 characters
james and you had been already married for two years now, but your home was still painfully quiet. it wasn't because the two of you didn't want children, it was quite the opposite, you two really wanted to have one for so long now. you two spent the last two years trying, holding onto hope every month, only to have it ripped away twice. the two miscarriages had taken more from you than either of you knew how to put into words. after the second one, the grief settled heavier, it followed you everywhere.Â
a year ago, you left your corporate job, unable to keep pretending everything was fine while your world had quietly fallen apart. james never blamed you, never. if anything, he blamed himself for never knowing how to make the pain disappear.
around the same time, his career began taking off. he was promoted to partner at the law firm he'd spent years working toward, but the title came with endless hours, late nights, and a workload that seemed to grow by the day. the rhythm the two of you once had slowly disappeared without either of you noticing.
it had been months since you'd last been intimate. before everything happened, it wasn't unusual for the two of you to find comfort in each other after long days at work, laughing about difficult clients before collapsing into bed together.Â
you two used to fuck like rabbits after work.Â
now, whenever james reached for your hand or wrapped an arm around your waist, he couldn't ignore the hesitation that lingered beneath your smile. he started wondering if you were forcing yourself for his sake. and the last thing he wanted was for intimacy to become another burden you felt obligated to carry, another reminder of everything you'd lost. so, little by little, he stopped initiating altogether, convincing himself it was kinder this way.Â
james settled into the leather chair of his new corner office, the mahogany desk gleaming under the morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. now being partner, the word still felt foreign on his tongue. his gaze drifted to the framed photo on his deskâyour wedding day. your radiant smile, the way youâd looked at him like he'd hung the moon, and he remembered those early months of marriage. it used to be filled with laughter, moans, the creak of the bedframe against the wall as you both explored each other with the hunger of newlyweds.Â
james would come home from the firm when he was still associate only to find you waiting, sometimes wearing nothing but one of his ties, or sometimes bent over the kitchen counter pretending to organize mail while presenting that perfect ass to him. and you two fucked everywhere. against the front door before it had fully closed, on the living room rug while some sitcom played unheard in the background, in the shower until the hot water ran out. james lost count of how many times he'd bent you over the desk in his house office, your skirt hiked up around your waist as he drove into you, watching your reflections in the darkened computer screen.
the memory itself made james hard, and it made him shift uncomfortably in his tight suit. he definitely missed the taste of your skin, the way youâd arch your back when he found that spot just below your ribs, the sound of his name gasped into his shoulder as youâd cum hard. james even wondered if youâd ever touched yourself anymore, if youâd think of him when you did. the thought was both painful and arousing.
he stood and adjusted himself, walking to the window to look down at the city below. he needed to fix this, needed to find his wife again beneath all the grief and so so much distance. tonight, he decided he'd cancel the dinner with the other senior partners, come home early with flowers and wine, and remind you both of what youâd been before everything went so gloomy.
james stood in the doorway, the bouquet of lilies wilting slightly in his grip, grocery bags heavy against his thighs. the smile he'd been wearing since he cancelled the senior partnersâ dinner faded, because he found the kitchen was spotless, the containers sat lined up on the counter, he set the flowers down next to the note and just stood there for a minute, listening to the refrigerator hum.
the note suggests that you already slept, he can reheat the food in the microwave.
he carried the bags to the kitchen and unpacked them quietly. the steak went into the fridge, the potatoes stayed in their paper bag, and he threw the flowers away because looking at them felt stupid now, embarrassing in a way he couldn't name. itâs been weeks since heâd reach you habitually going to bed first without waiting for him anymore.
the bedroom door was half-open. he could see your shape under the covers, turned away from his side of the bed. your breathing was deep and even, youâd hadn't waited up but itâs not like you knew anyways.Â
james sat on the edge of the mattress, still in his suit, and watched you sleep. you looked peaceful in a way you never were anymore when you were awake, when your eyes were open and tracking everything done wrong without meaning to. james wanted to wake you up, wanted to shake you gently and say i'm still here, we're still here, please look at me. but james didn't.
the mattress dips slightly as he sits on the edge, careful not to wake you. his breath is completely uneven, different from the controlled calm he wears during the day. there's hesitation in it, heâs now he's looking at your face, your hair, the curve of your shoulder under the thin strap of your camisole.
then the sheet moves, james pulls it down slowly, inch by inch, like he's afraid the fabric might rip if he rushes.Â
the cool air touches your calves, your thighs, your hips. his hands find the hem of your camisole, james lifts it over your head, your arms limp and cooperative in your sleep. the material catches on your breasts for a second before sliding free, and it made his breath completely hitch. james sets it aside with the same care he used to handle the sheet.
your underwear comes next, he hooks his fingers in the waistband and draws them down your legs, his knuckles grazing your skin. then his mouth starts at your ankle, lips barely there, just enough to make the hair on your arms stand up. james moves upward, pressing soft kisses to your shin, the inside of your knee, the stretch of your thigh.Â
completely devoted to his wife.
he hovers over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other tracing patterns on your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breast. his lips find your collarbone, your throat, the spot below your ear that used to make you gasp. if only you were awake though.
his dick was so hard and insistent, pressing against your hip through his trousers. james wants to fuck you so bad but he knows that when he'd wake you up it'll be another argument or another breakdown, you turning away, pulling the sheets up, asking him what he's doing. worst, make him stop.
he doesn't even think of considering that.
so he unbuckles his belt and throws it on the bed, it doesn't make too much sound. he frees himself from his boxers and his shirt follows, discarded somewhere in the dark, and then he's naked above you, skin to skin, his cock heavy and hot where it rests against your thigh.
james pushes in slowly, inch by inch, watching your face for any sign or any flicker of your eyelids. you got wet from his fingers and your own traitorous arousal unconsciously. james groans, low in his chest, and buries his face in your neck.
"y/nâŚ" he whispers, not a question, and starts to move.
it's been so long. your body remembers even if you werenât consciously awake, your pussy aching to meet him, your walls sucking his dick deeper. his thrusts at first were steady, relentless, the bed creaking softly beneath you, and every inch of him, the stretch, the fullness, the way he hits that spot that he does so perfectly.
afterall, your husband definitely knows all your sweet spots. he had them memorized and tattooed on his brain.
in the dark you're just body, just warmth, just the arch of your back and the tilt of your hips meeting his. james kept fucking you in your sleep, his weight on top of you and his breath ragged in your ear. âi donât know why the heavens took our kids away, honey. a part of me hates and canât forgive they did that to us. they t-took our babies awayââ
his hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise tomorrow, it could be an evidence for you to realize but he didnât care. âa-and i know, babyâ *moans* i-it makes you s-so sad⌠iâm sad too⌠a-and seeing how sad it made you, i-it kills me.â
he takes what he needs, filling the hollow places grief has carved out, making you feel full even when youâre not aware, even when you know that when he pulls out the emptiness will rush back in twice as deep.Â
âi-i was thinking⌠we can adopt kids? w-would you like that? o-or we can start with a pet d-dog⌠or catâ fuck! your is pussy so goodââ
jamesâs rhythm stutters, loses its control. inside your gummy walls his dick swells, the tension coil tight in his shoulders, his back, his thighs. james cums so hard with a stifled cry, something strangled and raw that sounds like your name or maybe just a prayer, you wouldnât know though, but his hard dick pressing as deep as he can get, holding there while he shakes apart.Â
âf-fuck! fuck!â he pulses inside you, hot and desperate, each throb a confession, an apology, a promise he doesn't have words for. his weight collapses onto you, heavy and real, pinning you to the mattress, and he wrap his arms around you without thinking, holding you while he breathes hard against your collarbone.
for a moment, just a moment, the quiet house doesn't feel so empty anymore. his heartbeat pumps hard through his chest, thumping against yours. you suddenly felt suffocated by the tight embrace, only to find your husband inside you, his sweat on your skin, and the musky smell of his arousal and cum suddenly filling your nose. the room smells like sex and sleep and the faint bitterness of tears. you try to shift, to create space, but his arm tightens, pulling you back against him, and that's when you hear it⌠the small, broken sounds he's making, muffled into your hair.Â
he's crying. your husband, who hasn't cried in front of you since the second miscarriage, who holds everything inside until it poisons him. he flinches and ralizes you're awake. james just pulls you closer, still inside you, still connected, and you wrap your legs around him, your arms around his neck, and you hold each other while the sun comes up, two shattered people trying to remember how to be whole.
alright, i'll be the one to say it. ao3 and tumblr becoming "mainstream" did so much damage to the community and the writers. i have seen loads of videos and posts about:
1. people hating on writers and fics. writing is something we do for free and for fun. if you stumble upon a fanfic that isn't necessarily your cup of tea or you just don't like, scroll. dont read it. literally leave their page. you don't know if this could be the author's first work that they're so excited about, you dont know if the language they're writing in isn't their first language, you dont know that the writer could be a literal teen and loads of other reasons. fanfictions don't HAVE to be perfect. you write what you want to write because we do it for fun and enjoyment and we want to share that to the world. seriously, what is the wrong with that?..
2. x reader consumers getting WAY too entitled. the number of tiktoks i've seen that say "i run a strict program when it comes to reading fanfics." girl you aint running shit. this is FAN FICTION you're reading. F A N F I C T I O N. there is no denying that most fanfiction writes are beyond talented but just because you read one fanfic that exceeds your expectations doesn't give you the right to talk down on others that don't. people have their own personal writing style, their way of doing things and you talking shit on that isn't right.
at the end of the day, we are all humans, reading and writing is what we do and what we're meant to do. and for you to talk shit about a person WRITING is so insane. we are humans. not some robots that you can tell what to do so you can consume it.
i've seen so so many authors take down their fanfics and losing all motivation to write because of a hate comment. DONT LIKE DONT READâźď¸
and to every author reading this, this community values your work and your contribution. we love u and, please, never let anyone's negative words have an effect on you.
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 allâif you wanted him completely obsessedâyou 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 paranoidâhe'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 fractionâa flicker of curiosity, a silent questionâbefore 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 âPrince of Darknessâ 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 yearsâthe untouchable, brooding rockstarâwas gone. Everyone had seen him unravel in real time.
A slow grin spread across his face as he scanned the endless pages.
Good. Now youâd 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.Â
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 voiceâyouâd 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 apartmentâthe 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 didnât 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.Â
"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 havenât even asked for my name."
"I already know it's Y/N."
You tilted your head, studying him. He wasn't performing for youânot 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 everythingâyour 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.Â
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.
âWhat?â 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. "Martinâ"
"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 neverâ" 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 timeâif 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 easyâthere 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, youâd 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.
"Heyâ" 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. "Martinâ"
"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.Â
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?" âNME
"Martin Edwards and Y/N Y/L/N: How They Became Music's Most Stylish Pair" âVogue
"Rockstar Romance: Why Martin and Y/N Are Relationship Goals" âRolling 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.
â ë§í´ ŕ¨ŕ§ âż youâd think that with a six-foot-three stature, martin would be impossible to dodge, but the moment he leans his tall figure down to press his lips to yours, you instinctively turn your head away to look at the wall instead. itâs not that you donât love him, itâs just that heâs been buried in music production for thirty-six hours straight ignoring you which makes you want to tease him a little bit before getting affectionate. martin freezes instantly in that half-bent position, his arms still braced against the armrests of your chair, looking completely blindsided by the sudden rejection. he doesn't get angry, but his dramatic nature takes over as he lets out a heavy, exaggerated sigh against your neck, muttering about how the leader of cortis gets no respect at home. he stays right there, hovering over you like a giant, brooding cloud, refusing to fully pull back until you give him a proper explanation or at least a consoling pat on the back for his bruised ego.
â ě ěě¤ ŕ¨ŕ§ âż james doesn't make a big deal out of things, so when he tilts his chin down for a casual, sweet kiss goodbye and you smoothly turn it into a cheek graze by turning your head, he doesn't blink an eye or drop his signature calm composure. but because he notices absolutely every microscopic shift in your body language, his eyes narrow just a fraction as he pulls back to properly read your face. he stays perfectly quiet for a few seconds, merely studying the way you avoid his direct gaze, before a slow, amused smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. james just finds it entirely comical that you think you can pull a fast one on him after all this time, especially when youâre usually the one clinging to his arm during movie night. instead of forcing the issue or letting you slide out of the room, he casually reaches out to trap your waist with one hand, pulling you a little closer just to tease you about why exactly youâre acting so shy all of a sudden.
â 죟í ŕ¨ŕ§ âż juhoon takes affection very seriously, so the exact second you turn your face away from his approaching kiss, his entire expression drops into something incredibly piteous and genuinely dejected. itâs almost funny how quickly his usual cool aura completely evaporates, leaving him looking like a completely heartbroken puppy whose favourite person just walked right past him without a second glance. he lets his hand drop from your cheek entirely, taking a half-step back as if he needs to re-evaluate the entire state of your relationship based on that one single dodged kiss. you have to quickly explain to him that youâre just wearing fresh, expensive lip gloss that you donât want ruined before your dinner plans, or else heâll spend the next twenty minutes sitting on the edge of the couch in total silence, subtly overthinking everything and casting dramatic, lingering glances your way until you finally give in and give him the attention he craves.
â ěąí ŕ¨ŕ§ âż seonghyeon is so quiet and observant that when you dodge his kiss, he doesn't even ask you why, choosing instead to let out a tiny, soft chuckle under his breath as he casually sticks his hands into his hoodie pockets. heâs so used to living in his own head that he immediately treats your sudden evasiveness like a little puzzle or a game he needs to figure out. he doesn't try to lean in a second time or push your boundaries, but he keeps his sharp, fox-like eyes locked directly onto yours with a knowing, playful glint that makes you feel entirely exposed. heâll just stand there in the middle of the room, blocking your path out of the kitchen with a relaxed posture, quietly waiting you out because he knows you can't survive more than two minutes of his intense staring before you break and tell him exactly whatâs going on.
â ęą´í¸ ŕ¨ŕ§ âż as the youngest, keonho already handles affection with a mix of playful confidence and hidden shyness, so when you abruptly duck beneath his arm to avoid his lips, his immediate reaction is a loud, defensive protest. he completely forgets his composure and lets out a sharp whiny sound, demanding to know what exactly he did wrong to deserve being treated like a total stranger in his own space. heâll follow you directly into the next room, complaining the entire way about how unfair it is that he spent a grueling five-hour dance practice thinking about coming home to you, only to get the absolute cold shoulder the minute he walks through the door. even if you tell him itâs because his skin is freezing from the cold night air outside, keonho will just use that as an excuse to shamelessly wrap his arms completely around your shoulders, deliberately burying his cold face into the crook of your neck until you finally stop laughing and face him properly.
bitch!Seonghyeon x bitch!Reader ⎠1shot ⎠bananagirl masterlist
Desc - you and Seonghyeon are secretly in a âfriends that kissâ relationship but both of you are okay with that, you both agreed to keep it between the two of you and decided not to tell anyone else about your strictly keep it in the room deal because itâll just be complicated considering you both donât want to commit to one another, but a secret part of both of you want to make it public and put a label on it but due to your guysâ own stupidity you both will never admit that.
Tags - Friends who kiss / They are both lowkey bitches / situationship / dry texting / commitmentphobes / sorry this was random and short i blame the two hour car ride
Songs - 1975 - If youâre too shy (Let me know) / Blink-182 - Bored to Death / Lit - Over my head
đŹ seonghyeon x f!reader, fluff, profanity, crack.
w.c: 2.6k~
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 đ 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.Â
âYou know how to solve this?âÂ
He simply nodded before tapping the pencil on the sheet. âUse the power rule here.â He said as he drew an arrow on your sheet. âYou're taking the derivative, not the integral.â 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.Â
After that day, you sat next to him during math and physics. And he seemed to not mind at all.Â
You tapped his shoulder, âSeonghyeon, what do I do now?âÂ
He glanced at your sheet, âtake the horizontal and vertical components separately, itâs easier.â
Amidst solving, you realised you never asked him if it's ok for you to sit beside him. âSeonghyeon?â
âHm?â
âIs it okay if I sit beside you?âÂ
He chuckled, âYou always sit beside me, why ask now?âÂ
You glanced at him before looking back down at your notebook. âIn case you sat with someone else.âÂ
âNah, I donât have many friends.âÂ
You scoffed, âSeriously?â
He tilted his head, glancing at you for a second, âNot as many as you think.âÂ
âYou say hi to like 50 people everyday.â
âJust because Iâm friendly with them doesnât mean I'm close to them.â
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 bagâalways 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 wasnât supposed to be serious. Just something stupid youâd tell your friend every night.Â
You: Seonghyeon really likes hot vanilla latte. So cute right?
Iroha: Girl itâs 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 donât 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, âWhy does plastic turn white when bent?âÂ
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, âWhat?â
âIâm glad you asked.âÂ
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.
 âThey all taste the sameâ
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.Â
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 itâs something trivialâa common mistake like the humble âzâ turning into a 2 mid-equation. It got starred once.Â
â watch your handwriting. Donât rush
The number of stars increased as the mistake revolved around something he didnât understand. The maximum being 3. Two stars for when it was a concept he didnât grasp initially and 3 for something he needed to go through all over again.Â
So whenever something he taught you was on the exam. Majorly the whole exam. Youâd run up to him, jumping excitedly as you said, âYour little notes helped!âÂ
Sometimes during classes heâd lean over to see what youâre 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.Â
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.Â
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. Itâs safe to say, if anyone ever asks him this againâtheyâll receive his infamous nerd-out sessions.
5) Compliment him, not his looks.
Seonghyeonâs 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.Â
So why would you compliment his features like everyone else?Â
Instead, you complimented the way he thought.Â
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 werenât listening. You rested your head on the table, spacing out staring at him.Â
âYou could always evaluate the limit first. Oh! You can alsoââ 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. âWhat?âÂ
You hummed, slowly sitting straight. âHow do you think like this?âÂ
He blinked, âWhat do you mean?âÂ
âYou seem to solve complex questions so easily. Itâs crazy how you think this way you know.âÂ
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, heâd always sleep less, eat less and stress a lot more than he should.Â
Youâd 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.Â
âEat.â
âBut I havenâtââ
âEat.âÂ
You never gave him an option.Â
7) Always steal his jackets in the winter.
You always âforgotâ 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. Seonghyeonâs gaze lingers on you for a while, before he takes a layer off.Â
He wraps his jacket around you, âHere.â
âHyeon, you donât have to itâs okay.â You say, taking the jacket off of your back. You extend your hand forward, âYouâll get cold.âÂ
He simply pushes your hand back as he starts walking. âI have a sweater on, all youâre wearing is a tank top.â You run, catching up to him. âWhat kind of idiot wears a tank top in the winters?âÂ
You whine, âThe library has heaters!âÂ
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.Â
âWhy do you smell like a girl?â Juhoon asked.Â
James leaned in closer to Seonghyeon, sniffing the jacket thoroughly. âYou smell like Yn.â
To which Seonghyeon didnât respond, but his flushed face said it all.Â
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 itâs 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 didnât 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 hittingâ"
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.Â
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."
hear me out: toxic situationship between dealer!martin x popular!reader
reader and martin have a very very veryyyy complicated relationship, from arguments and silent treatments for days to martin climbing into readerâs room at eleven at night and not coming out until the very next day
neither wants to admit that theyâre so so so so much more than friends, but reader needs martin to say it first - her ego is higher than mount everest
martin has issues with seeing reader with someone else, letâs say james is always around to suddenly grab him off your latest boy toy
but his dumbass fucks up by getting close to the nice girl: oof, the new girl whose clueless in what sheâs getting herself into.
reader obviously hates it, like really fucking hates it
amandla
baratheonpilled
origamiaround
izzy806
