guess what? I've gotten motivated to work on two things, and to the delight of some (I think), I've decided to upload both: Joker James AND Twilight James, though Twilight James is going to take a little while (and yes, I'll probably upload it in October or early October) since I had to clean my laptop and once again, I lost so many docs 😭💔.
HOWEVER, for those of you who follow me on Instagram (follow me if you want 😛😛) already know that I have 2 awesome ideas (shout out to Spiderman BND and my baby @hyuneskkami for this idea after giggling and ranting about spidey), and we are going to have ANOTHER VOTE for a future James fic 🎉🎉🥳🎉🥳
And before someone says why not Martin, I'm already working on one series with him and James plus his long fic is also coming, so I don't want to get mixed up (border:carnival my beloved). So, here are the ideas:
Re-build my Juhoon Spiderman au and tie it with James Venom (it will be two chapters and hast heavy angst on the middle)
Reader spidey who has a crush on her classmate James (but she doesn't know that he's Winter Soldier until they have to fight) aka Civil War inspired
ᢉ𐭩 in which, you’re left incredibly unemployed after getting fired from your third job this summer. instead of going through the grueling process of unreliable employment websites, you decide to give babysitting a try. coincidentally ahn keonho manages to land himself in a position where his mom hires a babysitter to watch over him and his younger sister for two very long weeks. just how is keonho going to survive two weeks with a babysitter… who actually turns out to be… his crush from school?
pairing babysitter!reader x ahn keonho
general smau, strangers to lovers except keonho has an insufferable crush on reader, humor (i hope), three parts at the most
casting ot5 cortis, hanni from newjeans, and kenshin from close your eyes
author note 𝜗𝜚 first week of school already killing me😭😭😭get me outta here. also thank you guys so freaking much for 100 followers what the hecky. all love 💖🩷💞🥰🥰🥰😊🫰
( HAUTE COUTURE ) ──── fashion designer!james ✶ 𝑓!rdr 𓂃 smut fingering mirror sex (a lil) mdni ◜◡◝
you stand on the little raised platform in the middle of james’s atelier, late light turning the whole room gold and hazy. the rose-silk slip he pinned on you is so thin it feels like warm breath against your skin.
it clings to your breasts, rides high on your thighs, and every tiny shift makes the fabric whisper.
james hasn’t touched his sketchbook in twenty minutes.
he’s just staring.
“turn for me,” he says, voice low and velvet.
you turn. slow.
he steps in close. closer than he should. his fingers brush the small of your back, adjusting a pin that was already perfect. the touch stays. warm. heavy. you feel the heat of his chest almost pressed to you.
“you’re perfect like this,” he murmurs against your shoulder. “too perfect. it’s becoming a problem.”
his hands slide down, smoothing the silk over your hips, then higher. thumbs graze the soft undersides of your breasts. the fabric is so delicate it almost isn’t there. you shiver. he feels it.
one hand slips under the hem. palm gliding up the warm skin of your inner thigh. slow. worshipful. like he’s still draping fabric… only this time the fabric is you.
“i design for you,” he breathes. “every single piece. but lately all i can think about is taking it off and keeping you like this.”
his fingers find the heat between your legs and stroke once—feather-light—then again, firmer, parting your soft folds. a little sound slips out of you. your knees wobble. he steadies you with an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him so you can feel how hard he is.
“james—”
“shh. just let me.” his lips brush your ear. “you feel better than silk. softer. wetter. i keep telling myself it’s just a fitting…”
two fingers push inside you, slow and deep. you feel every inch of them stretching you open. his thumb circles your clit in lazy, perfect little strokes that make your hips twitch. the silk slip is bunched at your waist now. you’re dripping onto his hand, shiny and pink in the mirror across the room.
he watches you the whole time.
“but it’s not work anymore,” he whispers, voice gone rough and sweet. “i dream about you in my clothes. then i dream about you out of them. then i dream about spreading you open on my cutting table and fucking you until you can’t walk straight.”
he curls his fingers and you come with a soft, high cry, clenching around him, thighs shaking. he holds you through it, murmuring praise against your neck—pretty, perfect, mine—while his fingers keep moving, slow and deep, dragging the orgasm out until you’re trembling and oversensitive.
then he turns you to face him.
the slip is a mess—half off one shoulder, wrinkled and damp. he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth designing. without a word he lifts you, sets you on the wide cutting table, and gently pushes your thighs apart.
“lie back for me.”
you do. the wood is cool against your back. he leans down and drags his tongue through your folds in one long, slow lick, tasting everything he just made. you gasp. he hums like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth.
he licks you open, soft and filthy, tongue fucking into you while two fingers stretch you wider. the wet sounds fill the quiet atelier.
he sucks your clit between his lips and flicks it with the tip of his tongue until your back arches and you’re coming again, soft little sobs spilling out of you, thighs shaking around his head.
only then does he stand.
he undoes his trousers just enough. the head of his cock is flushed and leaking. he strokes it once, slicking himself with your wetness, then lines up and sinks into you in one long, slow thrust.
you feel every thick inch stretching you open. he bottoms out and stays there, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.
“fuck… look at you,” he whispers. “taking me so pretty. so warm. so wet. i could stay inside you forever.”
he starts to move. deep, rolling thrusts that drag against every sensitive place inside you. the table creaks softly.
the silk slip is shoved up under your breasts now, your nipples tight and flushed. he leans down and takes one into his mouth, sucking gently while he fucks you, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper.
“that’s it… let me hear you,” he coos, soft and filthy. “my beautiful muse. made for my cock. made for my hands. made for me.”
he hooks your knees over his elbows and folds you deeper, driving into you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. every thrust punches soft little moans out of you. he watches your face the whole time, eyes dark and soft and completely gone.
“cum for me again,” he breathes. “cum on my cock. let me feel it.”
his thumb finds your clit and rubs tight little circles. the dual sensation rips through you. you come hard, clenching around him, crying out his name.
the way you flutter and squeeze pulls him over the edge. he buries himself to the hilt and spills inside you with a broken groan, pulsing deep, filling you until you feel it starting to leak out around his cock.
he stays inside you for a long moment, breathing hard, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your eyelids.
then—slowly—he pulls out.
you feel the warm trickle of him running down your thigh. he watches it, eyes heavy-lidded, almost reverent. instead of cleaning you up, he reaches for a scrap of the same rose silk he was using earlier.
he gently wipes you, but only enough to keep it from dripping onto the floor. then he takes the half-ruined slip, eases it back down over your body, and carefully pins it closed again—right over the mess he left inside you.
his fingers linger on the pins.
“there,” he murmurs, voice soft and wrecked and sweet. “now you’re wearing me. every time you move today you’ll feel it. every time the silk shifts you’ll remember exactly who put it there.”
he helps you stand on unsteady legs, smooths your hair, and presses one last gentle kiss to your forehead.
“go home like this,” he whispers against your skin. “walk around knowing you’re still full of me. and tomorrow… come back. i have a new design i want to try on you.”
his smile is quiet. dangerous. completely devoted.
“and this time i won’t even pretend it’s about the clothes.”
🧵 sorry if this was shorter! a old draft of mines i had to post before working on the requests. hope ya’ll still enjoying <333
summary: martin will never forget the seemingly homeless girl stranded in the streets of the isles bleeding out in front of his dad's cave, what once was a stranger, then a friend, somehow turning into something more and disappear in his life. he wonders when will he see you again?
˚.🦴 ᵎᵎ descendants au • hades as martin's villain parent • sleeping beauty as y/n's parent • runaway princess vibes • fam issues • skinship • exclusively told in martin's pov (3rdpov) • light flirting • almost kisses • kinda sad — 3.6k w.c
notes: heavily recommend reading this with bills by enhpen also this work is not canon-compliant, some things i js pulled outta my ass and lowk my least favorite work so far but whatever i hope u guys still like it
Martin is the only son of Hades, the king of the underworld. Though no one knew who his mother was, he liked to assume that, because of the power his father had left, he was born of a miraculous incident, just as Athena was born from Zeus's forehead or Aphrodite from seafoam.
Everybody on the Isle knows just about his mysterious birth, as his father had.
They all had no idea.
When in rage, his hair turns into bright flames of blue like his father's; he could control his ember if only it hadn't been for the magic barrier. But he didn't know what kind of person he was outside of that.
Outside of being the offspring of a god, he could only think of himself as a trickster and a businessman of sorts.
"Well, I wouldn't say that you're a businessman," James quirked as he tossed Martin his pouch full of coins. The older boy, whom Martin liked to consider his brother, had just confirmed his transaction of buying materials from him.
James had paid for him to buy a bag of metal scraps and a working soldering kit. Martin didn't know what he was up to, nor could he predict what he was about to do. James was a demigod, son of Eris, goddess of chaos and discord.
Erin resided deep in the depths of the forest when she used to reside between the heavens and the earth. Now that she has decided to have James with a mortal, she is forever bound to the Isle, just like all of the villains.
But unlike Hades, Eris was more respected than feared. It wasn't so much about power, however; it was more about who showed face better than the other.
So naturally, James received more favoritism.
For someone with all those privileges, he was still stuck with Martin like glue.
"Says the guy paying me after he ordered me like a henchman to get his stuff," Martin bristled after pocketing his pay in his pants. "Talk to me after you've stopped taking in street rats from time to time." James teased while slapping his shoulder, "For free too, that's barely a business," he added slyly before Martin rolled his eyes,
"Get lost, I gotta head back," he murmured to him before James gave him a nod of his head. He turned around and left Martin on his own with a wave of his hand, humming a merry tune as he went.
Martin began walking back to the narrow alleyways of the Isle, navigating through conniving vendors from time to time.
The Isle of the Lost was home to the most notorious villains, meaning it was a breeding ground for corruption and deception. This led to the state of the whole island: wet, cemented roads, the smell of something rotting, and smoke always in the air, complemented by the sea breezes from time to time. This was why Hades found it too unpleasant for his liking, because unlike the Underworld, where there was order and an actual structure present, in the Isle, there were only leaders and followers who didn't plan to commit to a structure.
Hence why Hades is often asleep or out, somewhere where Martin can't reach him.
He learned to suck it up and hold down the fort for his father, which is precisely why he had this habit of taking in strangers who needed help getting by.
Or as James liked to call them, street rats.
"What are you doing here?" Martin asked, authority marking his voice, looking down at a girl who was half-conscious beside the entrance of his own home. Like everyone on the island, she was clad in maroon leather with studs and spikes on her shoulders, with a hood on, covering most of her face.
The stranger tilts her head upwards before leaning against the wall to stand up shakily.
She was shuddering against the graffitied wall, and only then did he notice how she was hunched over slightly, clutching her stomach, the leather staining with a deeper shade of red and an obvious punctured hole from a knife.
His eyes widened in alarm as he shoved his hand inside his pockets to fumble for his keys. He unlocked the padlock to the gate and grabbed her arm to hoist it around his shoulder, assisting her inside.
Martin heard her shallow breaths, which terrified him to no end as he quickened his pace to drag her to the makeshift blue couch.
Once she was dropped onto the couch, her hood fell backwards, revealing her distinct features and some bruises on her skin. Her face was scrunched up in pain as she grabbed the wound that was still left untouched underneath her layers of clothing.
"Take off your jacket; we need to treat it or else you're going to die," he warned as he turned to one of his dad's stashes behind the couch to search for a first-aid kit he remembered seeing.
The girl let out soft grunts of disapproval as Martin stood over her, the chipped box- a sad excuse for a first-aid kit in his grasp. He leaned over, making sure to catch her already weak gaze. "Hey, I'm trying to help you, not hurt you," he assured carefully before she frowned at him, stubbornly but reluctantly shrugging off her jacket, tossing it to the side to lift her shirt.
There, on her bare stomach, was a nasty stab wound, the blood staining the rest of the areas on her stomach, as well as her undershirt. He examined it carefully, observing how much blood spilled out, and realized that the wound didn't reach an organ, thankfully.
He opened the kit and set it down beside her. "I'm just going to clean the wound and then patch you up, okay? You're lucky," Martin told her as she hissed when a dab of the cotton ball with disinfectant made contact with the open wound.
"Make it quick," she demanded.
Martin scoffed, "I'm already doing this for free, and then you make demands? Remember, your life's on the line," he spat back, ultimately making her shut up.
"Well, I didn't fucking ask you to take me in," she continued to argue, and anger rose within Martin as he began to roll out the bandages. "You can't die on my dad's turf; he will get the piss for it. It's gonna be a mess," he rebutted, voice getting louder because of his irritation.
"Oh, really, then who is your dad? Some kind of king of junkies?" she dared to tease with a weak laugh before Martin felt his own anger prickle with heat against his neck. He glared at the stranger before him, her eyes, with maliciousness, shifting into fear.
"Your hair-"
"Turning blue? Yeah, it's because you're pissing me off," he growled as he intentionally tightened the bandage around her torso before tying it up. She groaned sharply, legs thrashing at the sudden pain.
"You're Hades', aren't you?" she asked, letting her shirt fall onto the bandaged wound, clutching it gently as she sat up properly, as Martin cleaned up, the things cluttering against the box indicating his irritation.
"My name is Martin," he muttered before returning the first-aid kit to the stash behind the couch.
"I'm Y/N," she said as he continued to move around the room, held up by wooden beams that made anyone uneasy. "I didn't ask," he bristled before throwing her a blanket,
"Rest up and get out when you feel better; can't have some idiot bleeding out on my porch again," he snarled, before she mustered the courage to stand up in time to grab his wrist.
"Wait, please, I'm sorry, okay?"
Martin's head turned, eyes narrowing at her before she shook out of her grasp. "I don't care," he hissed before walking into another hallway leading to his bedroom.
Letting her in, Martin found out, was a huge mistake. The stupidest mistake in his entire life.
Because of his upbringing, his deadbeat of a dad and the absence of any familial connection really made evil feel like it wasn't worth being. He was tall enough to be intimidating, and he could, if he wanted to, but it didn't bring him anyone in life unless you counted James.
Martin was lonely, which made him resort to a forbidden act that villain kids shouldn't do: being kind.
Since the age of fifteen, he'd let strangers into his home, made them comfortable, and kept them company until they were ready to make something of themselves.
His dad would never know anyway; he was only home about twice a month.
It was all to rid that nasty silence in the air and that ugly bug in his ear that told him that it was going to be this quiet in this corrupted island, and he was stuck here forever because some prissy prince and princesses can't fathom the fact that evil is to be chosen, not something innate like how loneliness seemed in his life.
"Your hair turns blue because it's the godly powers you have inside of you trying to compensate for the fact that it can't materialize into a physical manifestation of your strength," Y/n mentioned as she tore a piece of bread, giving it to a half-asleep, half-irritated Martin on the couch.
It was the second day when Martin had officially started to warm up to her cool yet caring nature. She had been so determined to be forgiven the other day that she promised to bring breakfast as payment for her stay in his home.
Martin took a bite of the stale piece of bread. "I know that, but how do you?" he asked, his words muffled because of his mouth full of bread. You shrugged. "I read," you told him.
He frowned, swallowing the food. "Libraries don't exist here," he pointed out.
"Books are everywhere," you pointed out with a cheeky grin. "Okay, so you steal books?" Martin asked curiously. "No, I steal in general," she corrected proudly before he scoffed,
"No wonder you got stabbed; you're a weirdo," he murmured before getting slapped on the face jokingly. "Name one person who doesn't pickpocket on the Isle?" she said with a laugh,
She did that a lot, hitting his shoulder, punching his stomach jokingly, and knowing that he could never fight back. That was what made her so special among everyone he took in. His heart ran a few miles before he could manage to get a word out; she laughed at every joke he'd say, and she was interested in the life of being a deadbeat's son who was formerly king to hell.
He remembered feeling sympathetic towards everyone he had helped, but Y/n was different. Maybe it was because she was pretty, how her hair would fall to one side of her shoulder when she would tilt her head at him, or how she would always cover her mouth as she giggled.
For someone so homeless, she seemed so proper.
Martin observed how she had this posture, with her back straight and her chin upwards.
"Can you stop that?" he asked politely as her head darted towards his direction. They were both sitting on the couch, legs propped up on the small seating, Martin seated on one end of the couch and Y/n on the other.
This was the fifth day of her stay in Hades' cave. Martin would say they'd shared enough pleasant conversations to admit that she was now a friend, not to the extent he could share his innermost, darkest secrets with.
"Stop what?" she asked cluelessly. "Acting like a shitty princess," Martin spat bitterly before she crossed her arms. "Shut up, flame head, you're just jealous 'cause I look prettier than you," she teased, sticking her tongue out.
Martin raised a brow. "Flame head?" he repeated. Y/n nodded with a teasing smile. "You got a nickname for me?" he teased, nudging his socked toe towards her face as she grimaced before pushing it away with her hand, making a gagging sound. Right after, her leg stretched out to tickle his side with her toe, but unfortunately, her success wasn't guaranteed at the start because of how short her legs were compared to his.
"Wow, you suck at this," he teased before throwing his head back to laugh. "You're annoying," Y/n pouted before he cooed mockingly, "Hurt much?" he playfully joked.
Martin pulled his legs towards himself to hug them with both arms, giving her room to do the same. She scooted towards him and stopped until their shoulders touched.
Y/n liked doing that too, staying close to him like there wasn't any more room in the couch, or in the whole Isle for that matter. Some folks stayed a day or two, then left. It had been five days, and her wound should've healed by now, so the way that she remained in his home was a question he hadn't got the answer to.
"Why do you stay here?" Martin asked her softly. She raised a brow at him; his sincerity was undetected. "I don't have anywhere to go, and I don't have anyone to change my bandages." Y/n replied in a soft voice, struggling to keep a giggle from bubbling out of her mouth. "What's so funny?" he asked amusedly, not being able to hide his teeth.
"Nothing," she mumbled, eyes lingering on his, mirroring his smile. Martin remembered the way she was so close to his lips that he could feel her warmth on his mouth. For a king's son, he didn't possess all of the courage to take the chance and kiss her.
Instead, Martin let out a breath nervously; "You're so beautiful," he murmured before Y/n pulled away with a giggle. Like the whole situation was a joke. Martin, who wasn't even held affectionately as a child, wouldn't have it any other way.
It wasn't until the seventh day of her stay that she started to become less joyous and more somber.
"I'm gonna leave tomorrow," Y/n informed him with a monotonous voice as she sat on the couch while Martin was tinkering with an old television box to hopefully plug it back to life.
Martin nodded as he alternated between tools and methods to taper with the cords and whatnot. "Alright, that's good. Where would you stay?" he asked.
Y/n shrugged, "Somewhere." That was when Martin lifted his head to pay attention to her. Unlike the previous days, she seemed small, shoulders hunched and her fingers twiddling with each other. "You okay? I ain't forcing you to leave if that's what you're worried about." He assured her.
Martin hated to admit at the moment that he did feel a twinge of concern once he saw her face contorted into a horrified expression. "I have to go home," she whispered, rubbing her arms with her own hands. "I'm sorry, I can't stay," Martin frowned at her as he stood up to wipe his hands on his jeans.
"You told me you were kicked out?" he clarified. "Yeah, I was. I just have to get my stuff and then get out there on my own, Martin," she told him, her voice exhausted. "I can't let you go back there if you're getting in trouble with your parents anyway and risk the chance of you getting hurt-"
Y/n stood up abruptly, "Martin, I said I'm going home, and that's final. I'll come back if I have to, I don't need you protecting me all the time!" she shouted, the loudness of her voice shocked Martin to leave his jaw slack.
"Y/n, I'm not fighting with you here, I'm just-"
She didn't let Martin finish, her feet carrying her outside of his cave, and he wouldn't see her until that evening. Martin didn't know where she had gone; he had no idea where she could've been, but he just knew that he had to wait for her to come back. After all, she did say she was leaving tomorrow, and not that day.
He was holding on to a sliver of hope that she would return, and at midnight, she did.
"Martin, I'm sorry," she spoke softly, under the illusion that he was fast asleep on the couch, waiting for her like some kind of husband caught in crossfire with a rogue wife. In the dark of his own eyes, pretending to sleep, breathing as steadily as he could; he could feel her hands caress his face softly, just like he wished she would every day.
"I wasn't honest with you, and I'm afraid I never will. I'm so sorry... but I have to leave," she whispered, almost like she was holding back tears. "I wish I could be with you every day," Y/n admitted.
"But I just... can't,"
With that, he felt her soft lips kiss his cheek, and a series of footsteps walking away in the distance as he finally allowed himself to open his eyes. Questions more than answers, confusion and doubt never shrouded his mind the way it has now. Martin felt like there was something to be read between the lines of her goodbye; it was like she had left a clue for him to figure out.
He spent days asking anyone who had known her by name. Everyone asked about a last name, but then he remembered she didn't even give him one, because he hardly ever cared about formalities, especially since he'd never felt so comfortable and at peace with someone else before.
No one knew her, and he was starting to think that Y/n was but a figment of his imagination. How sad that would be, that his own loneliness conjured up a whole person just to make him feel better?
It wasn't until the next week that he had the opportunity to visit James in his home again, committed to finding Y/n still. It was his last resort.
James lived in a cottage with his mom, and sure enough, they had a functioning TV; it had to be slapped to work a couple of times, but whatever they had, they made use of it.
"What do you mean, Y/n Beast?!" Martin shouted as James rolled his eyes lazily at him, hair sticking out sideways after a bad dye job of turning it into platinum blonde the other night. "The only daughter of the enemy, my dude, for the last time, yes! That's her name-" James argued as Martin scoffed as he shook his head in denial, sitting down on James' couch.
"No, no way- she came to my house, and she was bleeding?! That would mean she got injured-" he rambled anxiously before James clicked his tongue, "Or someone tried to assassinate her on the Isle because everyone knows what she looks like!" James suggested less enthusiastically.
He looked down at his disastrous friend in his frenzied state to only sigh sharply, grabbing the remote from the clutter-filled counters to turn on the TV. "Don't believe me? It's her coronation today; why don't we watch?" he teased with an annoying tone.
The electronic device flickered to life, presenting a picturesque view of the girl that he nursed in his home because of a stab wound, now in full makeup, clad in a navy blue gown. Behind her was the castle, and her parents, Belle and the Beast.
She was smiling at the camera, just like how she had smiled at him a few days ago. "No," he could only mutter, feeling shame, anger, and sadness boiling in his chest.
To make matters worse, wrapped around her was the shoulder of another prince, whose name he did not know.
James, at the side of the TV, had only shrugged, "Man, if you're gonna whine about this shit, please get out, I gotta clean the house before mom comes back," he murmured to him before giving him a pat on the shoulder, "I'm sorry dude," he said solemnly before Martin got up, muttering his thanks before quietly leaving the house.
As he walked home, he pieced everything together on his own: how Y/n got herself hurt and managed to be nursed back to health, and, as a bonus, some quality time in the slums her parents made. Not to mention, she got to spend time with the son of one of the feared villains of the Isle.
Y/n came into his life and made him feel sorry for her. To the point that, because of how lonely he was, he let her caress him, let her take care of him, and they were in this bubble of happiness and comfort. Or at least, Martin believed that.
He didn't know anything about her, anyway.
He didn't know that she was a princess all along.
Martin didn't know that all of her sob stories about living in a controlling home were true; he didn't know if the way she laughed at his jokes was true, and finally, he didn't know if that night when she had kissed his cheek had meant anything at all to her.
At this point, Martin wished Y/n were a figment of his imagination. He wished that she wasn't real at all so that at least then, he could only blame himself for what had happened.
Thus, the greatest punishment of all that had to be Y/n laughed in the void of Hades' cave, and it would echo throughout the dirt walls, and his son's mind would hear it forever; a warning that he was forever alone, and only one girl had managed to suppress his loneliness, for the first and the last time.
Synopsis: Keonho comes home from a chaotic airport day completely exhausted, finding comfort in your arms.
Wc: 900
Warnings: slight angst ig
A/n: pls send thru requests!!!
-
The airport doors had barely opened before the noise hit them.
"KEONHO!" "JAMES! OVER HERE!" "LOOK THIS WAY!"
Camera shutters clicked so fast they blended into one continuous sound. Phones were shoved into the members' faces from every direction, people calling their names over each other until it became impossible to tell who was saying what.
Their security team tried to make a path. Nobody listened. Keonho adjusted the strap of his backpack as someone bumped into his shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling into Seonghyeon.
Before he could regain his footing, another person squeezed between the security guards, holding a phone inches from his face. "Keonho! Wave!"
Another shove. Another camera. Another voice yelling his name. He couldn't even see where they were walking anymore.
James glanced back, immediately noticing Keonho falling behind. "You good?"
Keonho nodded automatically. "Yeah." He wasn't.
The airport was always busy. He knew that. It came with the job. But today was more intense.
There were too many people. Too much shouting. Too many hands brushing against him as everyone tried to get closer.
Every few seconds someone was pushing from behind, making the entire crowd surge forward.
His shoulders were tense. His jaw was clenched. He couldn't hear what his managers were saying over the screaming.
By the time they finally reached the vans, Keonho let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding.
The door shut. Silence. Well, almost. No screaming anymore. Just everyone breathing.
Martin leaned his head back against the seat with a groan. "That was insane."
"No kidding," James muttered.
Juhoon looked across at Keonho. "Are you okay?"
Keonho stared out the window. "Fine." But even he didn't believe it.
~
Cortis' arrival back at Incheon Airport had gone viral within minutes.
Every major entertainment account was reposting the same clips. Videos of security struggling to keep fans back, people pushing through the crowd, phones being shoved inches from the members' faces.
The hashtag had climbed to the top of the trending page before you'd even left the house. You sat in the passenger seat scrolling through article after article, each one somehow worse than the last.
You sighed quietly, clicking into another video. The footage was shaky, filmed from somewhere inside the crowd. Security guards were trying to form a barrier around the members, but people kept surging forward, yelling their names over one another. It was so loud you could barely hear anything except screaming.
Your stomach sank when Keonho came into frame. He looked completely overwhelmed. His shoulders were tense, his expression blank as people bumped into him from every direction.
At one point someone shoved past security, forcing him to stumble into Seonghyeon before James reached over to steady him.
You immediately paused the video. "I can't believe people act like this."
Your mom glanced over from the driver's seat before returning her eyes to the road. "Was it that bad?"
You gave a small nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Worse than I expected."
After a moment, you handed her your phone while the car was stopped at a red light.
She watched the short clip, her face falling almost instantly. "Oh, sweetheart..." she murmured, handing the phone back. "That's awful."
She shook her head in disbelief as the traffic started moving again. "They work incredibly hard, fly halfway across the world, and then they have to deal with this the moment they land. I think people forget that they're just kids."
You looked back down at your phone, scrolling through hundreds of comments. Some people were calling out the behaviour, while others were somehow defending it. More videos kept appearing every time you refreshed your feed.
One clip showed Juhoon being separated from the others for a few seconds. Another showed Martin asking people to move back. Then there was another angle of Keonho.
Your heart ached. "He looked like he got the worst of it," you said quietly. "He already told me he was exhausted before they even flew home."
Your mom nodded sympathetically. "I remember you saying he'd hardly been sleeping because of their schedule."
"Yeah." You stared out the window for a second before glancing back at the screen. "He kept telling me he couldn't wait to come home and finally rest."
Instead, he'd been met with hundreds of people screaming in his face. Neither of you spoke for a minute as your mum drove through the streets of Seoul.
Eventually she reached over and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm sure seeing you will make today a little easier."
A small smile tugged at your lips. "I hope so."
Knowing Keonho, he'd probably tell everyone he was fine. He always did.
But you knew him well enough to recognise the difference between tired and emotionally drained, and from the look on his face in those videos, he'd come home carrying far more than just jet lag.
~
The dorm was unusually quiet by the time they finally got back.
A last-minute stop at the company had delayed them by almost two hours, and whatever energy the members had managed to hold onto after the flight had long since disappeared.
The front door clicked shut behind them as they filtered inside one by one, dropping bags by the entrance and slipping off their shoes without much conversation.
The silence was almost jarring after the chaos of the airport. No cameras. No shouting. No one pushing into them every few seconds. Just the safety and comfort of home.
Their manager had gone straight back to their dorm from the airport. He looked up from the kitchen when he heard the door.
"You're finally back," he said with a weak smile, knowing the boys' energy levels were very much down.
A few tired greetings were mumbled in response as Juhoon and James disappeared towards their room, Seonghyeon stretched his stiff shoulders, and Martin let out a sigh that sounded like he'd been holding it in all day.
Their manager's eyes found Keonho, who was still standing near the entrance with his backpack hanging heavily from one shoulder.
"Oh, by the way," he said, nodding towards the hallway. "Y/n's here."
Keonho looked up, blinking as though it took his brain a second to process the words. "She is?"
"She's been waiting in your room."
For a brief moment, he'd completely forgotten. Between the endless flight, the suffocating crowd at the airport and the unexpected stop at the company, the last two hours had blurred together.
He'd been running on autopilot ever since they'd landed.
The reminder hit him like a breath of fresh air. Without another word, he gave a small nod.
His duffel bag slipped from his shoulder and landed softly beside the front door, leaving only his backpack still hanging from one shoulder as he turned and made his way down the hallway.
~
The bedroom door clicked open. You looked up from where you'd been sitting cross-legged on his bed, your phone forgotten in your hands the second you saw him standing in the doorway.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Your smile appeared almost instinctively. "Hi."
Keonho looked exhausted. His hair was slightly messy from hours of travelling, his hoodie hung loosely off his frame and the backpack on his shoulder looked as though it weighed a hundred kilos.
But it wasn't any of that that made your heart ache. It was his face.
The usual softness in his eyes was gone, replaced with a distant, worn-out look that you'd only seen a handful of times before. Without thinking, you stood and crossed the room.
"Come here," you murmured, reaching him in only a few steps. The moment your arms slipped around his neck, his composure cracked.
His backpack slid from his shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud that neither of you paid any attention to. His arms wrapped around your waist almost desperately, pulling you flush against him with enough force to make you stumble a little before finding your balance.
His face disappeared into the crook of your neck. You immediately tightened your hold around him.
One hand threaded gently through the hair at the back of his head while the other settled between his shoulder blades, slowly rubbing up and down.
Neither of you spoke. You simply stood there in the middle of the room, holding each other. He wasn't usually this clingy. Affectionate, yes.
Always reaching for your hand or resting an arm around your shoulders whenever he could. But this wasn't about affection. It was relief.
You could feel how tense he was beneath your hands. His shoulders were stiff, every muscle in his back drawn tight enough that even your gentle touch couldn't immediately relax them.
"It's okay," you whispered. "I'm here."
He let out a slow breath that fanned against your neck before his grip tightened just a little more. "I missed you," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.
Your heart squeezed. "I missed you too."
You stayed like that for another few moments, gently combing your fingers through his hair until you felt his breathing begin to slow.
Only then did you lean back enough to see him properly. Your hands came up to cup his face, thumbs brushing softly over his cheeks.
"Hey." His eyes finally lifted to meet yours. There was no smile. Just pure exhaustion.
You searched his face for a moment before quietly asking, "Are you okay?"
You already knew he wasn't. Still, you wanted him to know he didn't have to pretend with you.
His gaze dropped for a second. "No."
The honesty in that single word made your chest tighten. Keonho wasn't someone who admitted when he was struggling.
If anyone else had asked, he would've smiled, shrugged and said he was just tired. But not with you. With you, he didn't have to put on a brave face.
You brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead before pressing a lingering kiss there.
"I'm so sorry," you whispered. Another kiss landed on his temple. Then the corner of his cheek. Finally, you leaned in and pressed your lips softly against his.
It wasn't hurried or passionate. Just gentle and comforting. When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his. "I'm here," you murmured.
His eyes fluttered shut as your hand found his back again, slowly tracing soothing circles between his shoulders. Little by little, you felt the tension begin to ease beneath your fingertips.
Not completely, just enough for him to finally breathe. You offered him a small smile. "Come here."
Keeping one hand intertwined with his, you guided him towards the bed. He followed without a word, letting you lead him as though he didn't have the energy to think anymore.
Once he sat down on the edge of the mattress, he immediately reached for your hand again, his fingers weaving through yours before you could even let go. You couldn't help but smile.
"I'm not going anywhere," you softly say, your thumb brushing over his knuckles.
You stepped between his knees and gently guided him forward until his forehead rested against your stomach. His arms wrapped around your waist almost instinctively, and you smiled to yourself as your fingers disappeared into his hair again.
Neither of you needed to say anything else. The silence was exactly what he'd been searching for all day.
SYNOPSIS: If sunshine could take a human form, you would be it. You lit up every room you walked in with a smile as bright as the stars, but even the brightest stars burn away sometimes. Juhoon was quiet, didn’t speak unless spoken to, kept to himself, and studied like it was his day job. So, what happens when the quiet kid notices you fading away before anyone else?
PAIRINGS: classmate!juhoon x fem!reader
WARNINGS: fluff, slight skinship, use of y/n, slight angst, emotional burnout mentioned
W/C: ~1.7k
A/N: my first piece of work is finally here!! i spend sooo much time trying to come up with ideas for this and even rewrote the entire end plot for this. i put off finishing this for so long but i finally forced myself to finish it. i really hope you enjoy:))
NOTE: this piece of work is not proofread and definitely a little rushed (sorry!) it's loosely based on real events and feelings that i experienced in high school. i also apologize for the typing mistake in the banner :) please take care of yourself and reach out if you’re struggling. you are loved!
PLAYLIST: Cupid - Sam Cooke ⋆ ݁♫ . The Only Exception - Paramore
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
At some point in time, school becomes less of a fun getaway and more of an excruciatingly painful experience—especially high school.
Everyone changes, and usually not for the better. People get rebellious, people get stupid, people get mean. It turns hallways from what was once a peaceful environment to a battlefield where you spend 90% of your time trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfires of harsh words and mean glares.
But you?
You haven’t changed. You didn’t get rebellious, didn’t get stupid, or mean, or turn your back on lifelong friends. If anything, you got nicer. You smiled at anyone and everyone you passed in the halls, held doors for people, gave quick compliments and praises to quiet kids and people you knew definitely hated you deep down, but it didn’t matter, you were a ray of sunshine in a building full of thundering clouds and there was nothing that would ever change that about you.
Juhoon was a quiet kid, he kept his head down, didn’t draw attention to himself—just studied and ate lunch alone like that was a completely normal way for a person to spend what was considered the best years of their life—and maybe to him it was. Juhoon never spoke—not unless he was spoken to first and it was honestly depressing. Depressing enough that when you had discovered you were in the same Biology class, you claimed the empty seat next to him and made it your life's mission to befriend him before the school year ended.
The first day of class—the day you beelined it across the room to steal the seat next to Juhoon’s before some stuck up, arrogant jock could—was arguably one of the most interesting days of your life.
You sat down like it was any other day, because it was to you, but not to Juhoon. In his world, this was something from fantasyland, no one sat with Juhoon because they wanted to—except you, apparently. The moment you sat down, he looked up from his notebook like you had just told him the world was ending. He stared at the side of your head, seemingly waiting for an insult or a backhanded compliment of some sort, but it never came, and that confused him even more. His eyes were glued to your side profile, studying the slope of your nose and the way your eyelashes brushed against your skin with every blink, he had completely zoned out, unaware that the teacher at the front of the room had been explaining the first project of the year, the requirements needed to meet the criteria, and who everyone's partners were.
“...And Juhoon.” The teacher—Mrs. Harris—announced softly, reading from her clipboard.
Juhoon froze like had been caught doing something against the rules. His head snapped towards the front of the room, a puzzled expression lacing his features. Mrs. Harris didn’t stop to explain herself because this was high school, if you weren’t paying attention, that was on you. A quiet panic settled in his bones; in all the years he’s been in school, he has never zoned out bad enough that he completely ignored the teacher. As if you could sense his inner turmoil, you looked over at him, taking in his slightly panicked expression and how he stared towards Mrs. Harris like he was wracking his brain for even an inkling of information that subconsciously made its way into his mind during his moment of distraction. He jumped when you tapped his shoulder, looking over at you with a dazed expression. You could tell he hadn’t been paying attention and was now utterly confused, you couldn’t help but laugh slightly at his predicament.
“We’re partners.” You explained softly, but his expression stayed the same. “For the project—were you even listening?”
Juhoon let out an awkward laugh, now finally understanding why Mrs. Harris had called his name. He shook his head softly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Uhh… no, I wasn’t”
You nodded, another laugh slipping past your lips, which in return, pulled another awkward laugh from Juhoon.
Over the next few weeks, you and Juhoon hung out after school and on weekends to work on the project which eventually turned into the two of you completely forgetting about the project and using your “working time” watching movies, talking about music, and going for late night walks. The two of you quickly formed a strong friendship—something Juhoon had never truly experienced before. You always knew what to say to cheer him up, you were effortlessly funny and just a kind person in general; an angel, in his eyes. But even an angel can fall.
It started slow at first: shorter messages, longer duration between replies, less jokes. You didn’t smile as much, didn’t throw compliments at people anymore, you were just… quiet. Eerily quiet.
The light in your eyes didn’t shine bright anymore, your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes they way they used to, and you swapped your carefully curated, bright outfits for hoodies and sweatpants in shades of grey and black. Juhoon knew something was wrong, but everything he asked, you brushed him off, feeding him the same “I’m just tired” line that he knew wasn’t the full truth. He didn’t push though; didn’t force an explanation out of you, didn’t pressure you with questions, just existed beside you, silently reminding you that he was right there whenever you needed him. Then, you stopped answering his texts altogether. It didn’t bother him, he knew you were dealing with something and he respected the fact that you clearly just needed time to yourself but the more time that passed, the more he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something serious had happened. Did he do something wrong? Did he say something to upset you?
He continued to text you almost everyday; gentle reminders that he was still there if you needed to talk followed by “No pressure though!”, short messages reminding you to eat and take care of yourself, links to music he knew you’d love, but they all remained unread.
The first day you sat on the opposite side of the room—instead of next to him—didn’t go unnoticed by Juhoon. He spent the entire class staring at the cold, empty seat next to him. It was hard to believe that just a short month ago, that very seat was occupied by a bubbly and witty girl. He wouldn’t admit it—because that would make it real—but an uneasy feeling settled deep in his bones. He couldn’t pinpoint what the feeling was, exactly, but something about this whole situation felt odd to him.
2 weeks went by with you avoiding Juhoon at school. 14 entire days, 336 hours, 20,160 minutes, and 1,209,600 seconds—not that he was counting or anything.
That same uneasy feeling lingered heavily on Juhoon’s shoulders for those two weeks, so much so that even his parents noticed the tension that surrounded him. He couldn’t handle it anymore, something was clearly wrong and it seemed as though no one cared but him. No one seemed to notice how you didn’t sit in your usual seat, no one seemed to notice how you didn’t talk in class anymore or how you quietly snuck away with your head down when class ended. It angered him, how could no one notice the absence of such a bright person.
Juhoon was determined to get to the bottom of this. So, as soon as the bell rang signaling the end of the day, Juhoon all but ran down the hallway and out the front doors before spotting your familiar slumped figure walking down the sidewalk. You were too deep into your thoughts to hear him run up behind you, but when his hand reached out to grab yours, your head snapped over to look at him.
“Come with me.”
He left no room for arguments and honestly, you were too tired to argue anyway. After a short 10 minute walk, you made it to a beach. You both stood there in silence for what felt like hours before Juhoon finally spoke.
“Where’s my sunshine?”
He said softly, staring ahead at the sun setting over the water. Your breath hitched slightly at his words, you knew he was talking about you but the way he said it completely caught you off guard You looked over at him, your eyebrows furrowing.
“Your– what?”
He finally looked down at you, seeing you properly for the first time since you started avoiding him like he was the plague. You looked drained and not at all like the y/n he knew.
“You, y/n.”
He let out a soft sigh, turning his body towards you fully. He had so many questions but now that he was here in front of you, he didn’t know what to say.
“Where are you? You’ve been avoiding me for weeks and I don’t understand why. You don’t answer my texts, you ignore me in school, you disappeared. Did I do something?”
You hadn’t realized how much this affected him. You had been so focused on yourself and wanting to stay out of the spotlight that you hadn’t stopped to think about how Juhoon would feel during all of this. You felt the well up in your eyes and you shook your head. You hated that he thought he was the reason for all of this. As soon as Juhoon saw the tears welling up in your eyes, his expression dropped and he closed the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands and brushing your tears away with the pads of his thumbs.
“I’m so tired of always being happy. I’m sorry.”
It was bound to happen eventually. Being incredibly happy and positive everyday was bound to end in a bad way. Juhoon wasted no time in pulling you into his arms, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other wrapped tightly around your waist. You may be struggling, but he refused to let you go through it alone.
“You don’t have to be sorry, just promise me you’ll come to me if you need someone."
You nodded against his shoulder. Maybe one day you’d go back to being your usually bubbly self, it wouldn’t be overnight, but with Juhoon around, you knew you'd be okay. You clung to him tightly as the sunset bathed hues of orange and pink over you both and you couldn’t help but think that fate was the reason you were partnered with him for that project because you couldn’t imagine life without him now.
not in the soft, romantic way. not in the “he’s just passionate” way.
in the he’ll fuck you until your legs don’t work and then keep going because his cock still hasn’t gone down way.
his sex drive wasn’t human. it never had been. it sat under his skin like a second heartbeat, constant and heavy and hungry. he’d wake up already hard, already leaking, already aching like he’d been edged in his sleep. and you… poor little thing… you tried.
you really did.
you’d climb into his lap all sweet and eager, whispering i can take it, i can take it, only to end up trembling and overstimulated and sobbing into his shoulder twenty minutes later while he was still rolling his hips, still thick and heavy inside you, still murmuring shh, just a little more, you’re doing so good even as your thighs shook and your cunt fluttered weakly around him.
he never got mean about it. that was the worst part. he was so gentle. so soft-spoken. he’d kiss your wet cheeks and stroke your hair and keep fucking you through the overstimulation like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“you’re okay,” he’d whisper, voice low and warm. “just breathe for me. i know it’s a lot. i know.”
but his cock never softened. never even flagged.
so when he showed up one night with a pretty little plate of tiramisu, eyes soft and dark and already a little hungry, you should have known better.
you really should have.
“made it for you,” he said, voice all low and sweet as he set it in front of you. “special recipe. just… eat a little for me? please?”
you did. of course you did. you always did what he asked when he looked at you like that.
the first bite was rich. creamy. coffee and cocoa and that soft, spongy sweetness. you hummed, soft in your throat, and took another. then another.
you didn’t notice the way his eyes stayed locked on your mouth.
you didn’t notice the faint pink flush already creeping up his throat.
twenty minutes later he was on you.
not gentle. not soft.
starving.
he had you bent over the edge of the couch, skirt shoved up around your waist, panties yanked to the side, and he was in, thick and hot and relentless, one hand fisted in your hair and the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.
“fuck— fuck— you taste so fucking sweet—”
his voice was wrecked already. low and rough and desperate. his hips snapped forward like he couldn’t stop, like the aphrodisiac he’d laced into the tiramisu had lit every nerve ending in you on fire and the only thing that would put it out was burying himself as deep as he could go while you burned for him.
you were already crying. pretty little sobs, fingers scrabbling at the cushions, cunt clenching and fluttering around him because he was so much and he wasn’t slowing down—and now you were just as desperate, just as aching, the drug making every drag of his cock feel like too much and not enough at the same time.
“james— james it’s too— ah— i can’t—”
“i know,” he groaned, forehead dropping against your back, still fucking you through it. “i know, baby, i know— just take it— just let me— fuck— you’re so wet for me already—”
he came the first time without warning. hot and thick and deep, flooding you until it spilled out around his cock. didn’t even pause.
just kept going, still hard, still aching, still chasing the next one like the first hadn’t even registered—and you were right there with him, hips twitching back to meet every thrust, soft little ah-ah-ah sounds falling from your lips because the aphrodisiac had turned your whole body into one big, oversensitive nerve.
by the third orgasm he had you on your back, legs folded up against your chest, cock dragging over your swollen clit with every thrust while he kissed the tears off your cheeks.
by the fifth he was whispering apologies against your mouth between desperate, filthy sounds.
“sorry— sorry, i can’t stop— you feel so fucking good— just a little more— just one more—”
you were a mess. hair stuck to your damp cheeks, lipstick smeared, thighs trembling so hard you could barely keep them open. every time he bottomed out you made this soft, broken little ah sound like you were being fucked straight out of your body. the tiramisu had done its job too well—your cunt was dripping, fluttering, greedy, even as you sobbed from how much it was.
and still he didn’t stop.
still that inhuman drive kept him hard and leaking and needy, cock shiny with your mixed slick, hips rolling deep and slow now because even he was starting to shake.
“one more,” he promised, voice wrecked and sweet. “just one more and then i’ll— fuck— then i’ll let you rest—”
he didn’t.
of course he didn’t.
by the time the aphrodisiac finally started to burn off, you were limp and overstimulated and so full of cum it was dripping down your thighs in thick, sticky trails. james was still buried inside you, still twitching, still pressing soft kisses to your throat while he whispered thank you, thank you, you’re so good for me, so perfect.
he stayed hard for another hour after that.
just… holding you. rocking into you slow and lazy whenever the residual ache got too sharp.
and you, ruined and floaty and soft, could only cling to him and whisper back,
“…next time… less…”
james laughed against your skin, low and warm and still a little wrecked.
“no, baby. next time i’m giving you more.”
👡 james the pussy destroyer <333 ya’ll keep filling my indox and dm like james is to your womb <3 love ya’lll !!!
