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LACY, OH LACY

𓍢ִ໋🎧ྀི♬⋆.˚♪ idol!james x fem!reader

˖ ִֶָ🍇་༘ now playing ‘lacy’- Olivia Rodrigo

synopsis: james used to feel like yours—back when CORTIS was just starting and everything was simple. But as the group rises and his world expands, you find yourself fading into the background, surrounded by people who seem to fit his new life better. Watching him from a distance, admiration turns into quiet insecurity, and you’re left wondering if you’re losing him—or if you were ever meant to keep him at all.

content warnings: insecurity, self-doubt, jealousy and comparison, fear of being replaced / left behind, emotional angst.

word count: 2,363

The first time you watched James perform, there were barely fifty people in the room, the kind of crowd that didn’t feel like a crowd at all but more like a gathering of strangers who just happened to be standing in the same place. The stage lights were too harsh, buzzing faintly overhead, washing everything in a dull glow that didn’t quite match the energy he carried, and yet he stood there like it didn’t matter—like none of it mattered—because even then, even before the name CORTIS meant anything to anyone, James moved like he was already destined for something bigger, something louder, something that would swallow rooms like this whole.

You remember the way he glanced at you.

Not in a dramatic way, not something anyone else would have noticed, but something small and fleeting and impossibly intentional, like he had picked you out of the blur of faces and decided, for just a second, that you were worth holding onto.

Back then, it felt like a secret.

Back then, it felt like you were part of something that hadn’t been discovered yet.

────୨ৎ────

CORTIS grows faster than anyone expects, and at first it feels exciting, like watching something you love finally be seen for what it is, like the world is catching up to what you already knew all along, and you tell yourself that nothing really changes because James is still James, still the same boy who texts you at ungodly hours complaining about rehearsals or asking what you’re doing even when he already knows the answer, still the same person who looks at you like you’re something steady in the middle of everything that isn’t.

But growth doesn’t happen quietly.

It stretches things.

It pulls them apart.

And somewhere between the sold-out venues and the screaming fans pressed against barricades, something begins to shift in a way you can’t quite name, only feel, like a subtle imbalance that keeps getting harder to ignore.

You start noticing the way people look at him.

Not just look, but cling—their eyes following every movement, every smile, every small gesture like it means something more than it should, like they’ve built entire versions of him in their heads and decided they belong to them.

And maybe that would be fine.

Maybe you could live with that.

If it didn’t make you question where you fit in all of it.

────୨ৎ────

It happens slowly at first.

The distance.

The quiet.

The way you start answering his texts a little later than usual, telling yourself you’re just busy, that it doesn’t mean anything, that you’re allowed to have your own space, even though deep down you know it’s not about space at all but about something heavier, something harder to admit.

Because every time you watch him now, standing under lights that actually suit him this time, surrounded by noise that feels endless, you feel like you’re watching from further away than you used to, like there’s an invisible line you’re not supposed to cross anymore.

And the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t have time to care.

That thought lingers longer than you’d like.

────୨ৎ────

There’s one performance in particular that you can’t seem to shake.

You don’t even know why it sticks with you the way it does, because objectively nothing about it is different from any other show, but something about the way the crowd moves, the way the energy builds, the way his name echoes over and over again like it belongs to everyone else now—it all settles uncomfortably in your chest.

You’re standing off to the side, not backstage but not fully in the crowd either, caught in that awkward middle space that feels more symbolic than anything, and that’s when you see her.

She’s right at the front.

Close enough to the stage that the lights catch her perfectly, illuminating her in a way that feels almost deliberate, like she was meant to be seen, and she’s holding a sign that’s clearly handmade but still somehow perfect, neat lettering, soft colours, something that stands out just enough to draw attention without looking like it’s trying too hard.

And he notices.

Of course he notices.

James glances down mid-performance, just for a second, and something about the way his expression shifts—subtle, barely there—makes your stomach twist in a way you don’t understand.

It shouldn’t matter.

It’s nothing.

It’s part of his job.

But it lingers.

The way he smiles.

The way the crowd reacts.

The way you suddenly feel like you’re watching something you’re no longer part of.

────୨ৎ────

You don’t stay after that show.

Not like you usually do.

You don’t wait backstage, don’t linger by the doors, don’t let yourself be pulled into the familiar routine that used to feel so natural, because something in you resists it now, something that whispers that maybe you shouldn’t be there, that maybe you don’t belong in that space the way you used to.

So you leave.

Quietly.

Without telling him.

────୨ৎ────

The first time he texts you that night, you stare at your phone longer than necessary, the screen lighting up your face in the dark as his name sits there, familiar and heavy all at once.

where did you go?

It’s such a simple question.

It shouldn’t feel like pressure.

But it does.

You type a response, delete it, type another, hesitate, and then eventually settle on something short, something safe.

just went home. was tired.

The reply comes almost instantly.

you didn’t even say bye

You swallow.

didn’t wanna bother you

There’s a pause after that.

Longer this time.

And when he finally responds, it’s different.

you never bother me

You don’t answer.

Not right away.

And somehow, that becomes a pattern.

────୨ৎ────

Days turn into weeks in a way that feels both slow and too fast at the same time, like you’re aware of every moment passing but still unable to stop it from slipping through your fingers, and the distance between you and James grows in small, almost unnoticeable increments that only feel obvious when you look back and realise how much has changed.

You stop showing up to every performance.

Then you stop showing up altogether.

You tell yourself it’s temporary.

That you just need time.

But time doesn’t fix the way your thoughts spiral late at night, replaying moments that probably don’t mean anything but feel like everything.

You think about the way he looked at that girl.

You think about the way everyone looks at him now.

You think about how easy it would be for him to find someone who fits better into his life as it is now—someone who understands the chaos, the attention, the constant movement, someone who doesn’t feel out of place standing in the spaces he belongs in.

And the more you think about it, the more you start to believe it.

────୨ৎ────

He notices eventually.

Of course he does.

James has always been observant in ways that feel almost unfair, like he sees through things you try to hide without even trying, and this is no different.

Your phone buzzes one evening, his name lighting up the screen again, but this time the message is different.

James: are you avoiding me?

You stare at it for a long time.

Because you could lie.

You could say no.

You could brush it off like you’ve been doing.

But something about the way he asked—so direct, so certain—makes that impossible.

you: no

It’s a weak answer.

You both know it.

His reply comes quickly.

James: then what is it

You don’t answer.

Not for hours.

And when you finally do, it’s not really an answer at all.

You: just busy

This time, he doesn’t respond.

And for some reason, that feels worse.

────୨ৎ────

When you finally see him again, it’s not planned.

It never is.

You’re walking past the studio, not intending to go in, just passing through, telling yourself you don’t need to be there, that you’ve already put enough distance between you and that part of your life to make it easier to breathe, but then the door opens before you can leave and suddenly he’s there.

Standing right in front of you.

Close enough that there’s no pretending you didn’t see him.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, filled with everything you haven’t said over the past few weeks.

“You’ve been disappearing,” James says finally, his voice quieter than you expect, but there’s something under it—something tense, something restrained.

You force a small shrug, looking anywhere but at him. “I’ve just been busy.”

“That’s not true.”

The certainty in his tone makes your chest tighten.

You glance at him then, just briefly, and immediately regret it because he looks… different.

Not physically.

But there’s something in his expression you’re not used to seeing directed at you—frustration, maybe, or hurt, or something that sits uncomfortably between the two.

“Why are you pulling away?” he asks.

The question lands heavier than anything else he could have said.

Because you don’t have a good answer.

Because the real answer sounds pathetic when you try to form it into words.

“I’m not,” you say anyway, even though it comes out weaker than you intend.

James lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath, running a hand through his hair in a way that tells you he’s trying to stay calm, trying not to push too hard even though he clearly wants to.

“You stopped coming to shows,” he says. “You barely text back. You leave without saying anything. That’s not nothing.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

“I just thought…” You hesitate, the words catching before they can fully form. “You don’t really need me there anymore.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you wish you could take them back.

But it’s too late.

James goes still.

Completely still.

Like he’s trying to process what you just said and can’t quite believe it.

“Don’t need you?” he repeats, slower this time, like he’s testing the words.

You look away again, unable to hold his gaze. “You have so many people around you now. Fans, staff… people who actually fit into your life.”

“And you don’t?” he asks, sharper now.

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know how to.

Because part of you already believes the worst version of that truth.

The silence stretches again, heavier this time, until James steps closer, closing the distance you’ve been trying so hard to create.

“That’s what you think?” he says, his voice softer now but no less intense. “That you don’t fit into my life anymore?”

Your chest feels tight, like it’s hard to breathe properly. “It feels like that.”

“Because of what?” he presses. “Because I looked at a fan during a show?”

Your head snaps up at that, startled.

“I see everything,” he says quietly. “Even when you think I don’t.”

Your face burns slightly, a mix of embarrassment and something else you don’t want to name.

“It’s not just that,” you admit, your voice smaller now. “It’s… everything.”

“Then tell me,” he says. “Because right now, it just feels like you decided to leave before I even got a chance to understand why.

That hits harder than anything else.

Because it’s not entirely wrong.

“I just didn’t want to be the person you outgrow,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

The air between you stills.

James’ expression shifts instantly, something softer replacing the tension, something almost hurt in a way you didn’t expect.

“Outgrow you?” he repeats.

You nod slightly, your gaze dropping. “Your world is bigger now. It makes sense that… you’d find people who belong in it more than I do.”

For a second, he doesn’t say anything.

And that silence is terrifying.

But then—

“You really believe that?” he asks, quieter now.

You don’t answer.

You don’t need to.

He exhales slowly, like he’s trying to gather his thoughts, trying to say this in a way that you’ll actually hear.

“You think all those people out there mean more to me than you?” he says. “That just because they’re louder, or more visible, or easier to fit into this life, that they replace what you are to me?”

Your chest tightens.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He steps closer again, his presence overwhelming in the best and worst way all at once.

“I look at fans because it’s my job,” he continues, his voice steady but firm. “I smile, I interact—that’s part of everything now. But it’s not real in the way this is.”

His hand finds yours before you can react, warm and certain, like he’s grounding you in something you didn’t realise you were losing.

“You were there before any of this,” he says. “Before the crowds, before the attention, before anyone cared. You don’t just become replaceable because things got bigger.”

Your fingers tighten around his instinctively.

“I thought if I stayed, I’d just end up watching you choose something better,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly despite your efforts to keep it steady.

James’ grip on your hand tightens.

“I already chose,” he says.

You blink, your breath catching.

“You,” he adds, like it’s obvious, like it always has been.

The words settle somewhere deep in your chest, unraveling something that’s been knotted for weeks.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he continues, softer now. “And neither are you. Not unless you decide to leave again.”

Guilt flickers through you at that, sharp and uncomfortable.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he cuts in gently. “But don’t shut me out like that again.”

You nod, the movement small but certain.

“I won’t,” you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

And this time, you mean it.

Because as he stands there in front of you, still the same despite everything that’s changed around him, it finally feels clear again.

You were never as far away as you thought.

You just forgot where you stood.

And now, with his hand still wrapped around yours, steady and unyielding, it feels like something you won’t forget again.

#james cortis #james zhao #zhao yufan #zhao james #james x reader #zhao james x reader #zhao james x you #cortis #cortis x y/n #cortis x you #zhao yufan x reader #zhao yufan x you #zhao yufan x y/n #cortis james #james imagines #james scenarios #james oneshot

LACY, OH LACY

𓍢ִ໋🎧ྀི♬⋆.˚♪ idol!james x fem!reader

˖ ִֶָ🍇་༘ now playing ‘lacy’- Olivia Rodrigo

content warnings: insecurity, self-doubt, jealousy and comparison, fear of being replaced / left behind, emotional angst.

word count: 2,363

You remember the way he glanced at you.

Back then, it felt like a secret.

Back then, it felt like you were part of something that hadn’t been discovered yet.

────୨ৎ────

But growth doesn’t happen quietly.

It stretches things.

It pulls them apart.

You start noticing the way people look at him.

And maybe that would be fine.

Maybe you could live with that.

If it didn’t make you question where you fit in all of it.

────୨ৎ────

It happens slowly at first.

The distance.

The quiet.

And the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t have time to care.

That thought lingers longer than you’d like.

────୨ৎ────

There’s one performance in particular that you can’t seem to shake.

You’re standing off to the side, not backstage but not fully in the crowd either, caught in that awkward middle space that feels more symbolic than anything, and that’s when you see her.

She’s right at the front.

And he notices.

Of course he notices.

James glances down mid-performance, just for a second, and something about the way his expression shifts—subtle, barely there—makes your stomach twist in a way you don’t understand.

It shouldn’t matter.

It’s nothing.

It’s part of his job.

But it lingers.

The way he smiles.

The way the crowd reacts.

The way you suddenly feel like you’re watching something you’re no longer part of.

────୨ৎ────

You don’t stay after that show.

Not like you usually do.

So you leave.

Quietly.

Without telling him.

────୨ৎ────

The first time he texts you that night, you stare at your phone longer than necessary, the screen lighting up your face in the dark as his name sits there, familiar and heavy all at once.

where did you go?

It’s such a simple question.

It shouldn’t feel like pressure.

But it does.

You type a response, delete it, type another, hesitate, and then eventually settle on something short, something safe.

just went home. was tired.

The reply comes almost instantly.

you didn’t even say bye

You swallow.

didn’t wanna bother you

There’s a pause after that.

Longer this time.

And when he finally responds, it’s different.

you never bother me

You don’t answer.

Not right away.

And somehow, that becomes a pattern.

────୨ৎ────

You stop showing up to every performance.

Then you stop showing up altogether.

You tell yourself it’s temporary.

That you just need time.

But time doesn’t fix the way your thoughts spiral late at night, replaying moments that probably don’t mean anything but feel like everything.

You think about the way he looked at that girl.

You think about the way everyone looks at him now.

And the more you think about it, the more you start to believe it.

────୨ৎ────

He notices eventually.

Of course he does.

James has always been observant in ways that feel almost unfair, like he sees through things you try to hide without even trying, and this is no different.

Your phone buzzes one evening, his name lighting up the screen again, but this time the message is different.

James: are you avoiding me?

You stare at it for a long time.

Because you could lie.

You could say no.

You could brush it off like you’ve been doing.

But something about the way he asked—so direct, so certain—makes that impossible.

you: no

It’s a weak answer.

You both know it.

His reply comes quickly.

James: then what is it

You don’t answer.

Not for hours.

And when you finally do, it’s not really an answer at all.

You: just busy

This time, he doesn’t respond.

And for some reason, that feels worse.

────୨ৎ────

When you finally see him again, it’s not planned.

It never is.

Standing right in front of you.

Close enough that there’s no pretending you didn’t see him.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, filled with everything you haven’t said over the past few weeks.

“You’ve been disappearing,” James says finally, his voice quieter than you expect, but there’s something under it—something tense, something restrained.

You force a small shrug, looking anywhere but at him. “I’ve just been busy.”

“That’s not true.”

The certainty in his tone makes your chest tighten.

You glance at him then, just briefly, and immediately regret it because he looks… different.

Not physically.

But there’s something in his expression you’re not used to seeing directed at you—frustration, maybe, or hurt, or something that sits uncomfortably between the two.

“Why are you pulling away?” he asks.

The question lands heavier than anything else he could have said.

Because you don’t have a good answer.

Because the real answer sounds pathetic when you try to form it into words.

“I’m not,” you say anyway, even though it comes out weaker than you intend.

James lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath, running a hand through his hair in a way that tells you he’s trying to stay calm, trying not to push too hard even though he clearly wants to.

“You stopped coming to shows,” he says. “You barely text back. You leave without saying anything. That’s not nothing.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

“I just thought…” You hesitate, the words catching before they can fully form. “You don’t really need me there anymore.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you wish you could take them back.

But it’s too late.

James goes still.

Completely still.

Like he’s trying to process what you just said and can’t quite believe it.

“Don’t need you?” he repeats, slower this time, like he’s testing the words.

You look away again, unable to hold his gaze. “You have so many people around you now. Fans, staff… people who actually fit into your life.”

“And you don’t?” he asks, sharper now.

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know how to.

Because part of you already believes the worst version of that truth.

The silence stretches again, heavier this time, until James steps closer, closing the distance you’ve been trying so hard to create.

“That’s what you think?” he says, his voice softer now but no less intense. “That you don’t fit into my life anymore?”

Your chest feels tight, like it’s hard to breathe properly. “It feels like that.”

“Because of what?” he presses. “Because I looked at a fan during a show?”

Your head snaps up at that, startled.

“I see everything,” he says quietly. “Even when you think I don’t.”

Your face burns slightly, a mix of embarrassment and something else you don’t want to name.

“It’s not just that,” you admit, your voice smaller now. “It’s… everything.”

“Then tell me,” he says. “Because right now, it just feels like you decided to leave before I even got a chance to understand why.

That hits harder than anything else.

Because it’s not entirely wrong.

“I just didn’t want to be the person you outgrow,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

The air between you stills.

James’ expression shifts instantly, something softer replacing the tension, something almost hurt in a way you didn’t expect.

“Outgrow you?” he repeats.

You nod slightly, your gaze dropping. “Your world is bigger now. It makes sense that… you’d find people who belong in it more than I do.”

For a second, he doesn’t say anything.

And that silence is terrifying.

But then—

“You really believe that?” he asks, quieter now.

You don’t answer.

You don’t need to.

He exhales slowly, like he’s trying to gather his thoughts, trying to say this in a way that you’ll actually hear.

Your chest tightens.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He steps closer again, his presence overwhelming in the best and worst way all at once.

“I look at fans because it’s my job,” he continues, his voice steady but firm. “I smile, I interact—that’s part of everything now. But it’s not real in the way this is.”

His hand finds yours before you can react, warm and certain, like he’s grounding you in something you didn’t realise you were losing.

“You were there before any of this,” he says. “Before the crowds, before the attention, before anyone cared. You don’t just become replaceable because things got bigger.”

Your fingers tighten around his instinctively.

“I thought if I stayed, I’d just end up watching you choose something better,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly despite your efforts to keep it steady.

James’ grip on your hand tightens.

“I already chose,” he says.

You blink, your breath catching.

“You,” he adds, like it’s obvious, like it always has been.

The words settle somewhere deep in your chest, unraveling something that’s been knotted for weeks.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he continues, softer now. “And neither are you. Not unless you decide to leave again.”

Guilt flickers through you at that, sharp and uncomfortable.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he cuts in gently. “But don’t shut me out like that again.”

You nod, the movement small but certain.

“I won’t,” you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

And this time, you mean it.

Because as he stands there in front of you, still the same despite everything that’s changed around him, it finally feels clear again.

You were never as far away as you thought.

You just forgot where you stood.

And now, with his hand still wrapped around yours, steady and unyielding, it feels like something you won’t forget again.

#james cortis

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