#james x reader

[castlejames]

false angel, wrong god

a special smut series featuring james x female reader where religious/blasphemous/hierophilia is the main theme and most likely with dubcon undertone. don't read if you're a minor or uncomfortable with such themes!

*fallen rosary

* neon lights

[castlejames]

neon lights: zhao james

☆*⁀‧₊˚ religious theme, corruption kink, subtle religious guilt, forced proximity, innocence kink, dubcon undertone, emotional vulnerability, implied virginity loss, mdni

escaping from the convent while still in your religious habit because you didn't manage to pack your things makes you look like a nun ready to persuade the whole city to repent. it is your first time ever stepping your foot in the city where the sky is replaced with neon fluorescent light and the sounds of birds humming and church bells ringing are substituted with upbeat and energetic songs. the heavy rain, most likely a punishment from god to you for leaving the holy place, soaks you. with a trembling body, you sit with crossed arms in the corner, leaning your body against the concrete.

this city was never made for you. or at least that's what he thought. for the first time ever in his life, he never saw someone in a religious habit sit near the club. realizing you were shaking due to the cold, he walks closer to you.

"what are you doing here? aren't you supposed to be at the church or something?"

the unknown man asked. his voice was mixed with the sound of thunder but you could hear him clearly. his look is contrasting with yours. his hair looks steady from the pomade, and his lips are pale pink in an unnatural way. probably faded lipstick from drinking. his collarbone is full of glitter, and so are his eyelids and cheekbones. he has a tie wrapped under his yellow cardigan that pairs with leather pants. and you obviously never see anyone, especially men, wearing such things.

"i ran away."

"huh? from where?"

"the convent, as you can see."

"why?"

"it's a long story."

and that meeting led both of you to chill at his rental room. it was obviously bigger than your previous room in the convent, though it only fit for one person. single bed. a single wardrobe and a vanity and one small bathroom. that previous guy whose name you finally know mentioned that he works as a dancer in the club nearby and is still saving money to afford a better place. and that's when you spilled to him the reason you left the convent. he replied with nothing but just nodded in understanding. he is known as james.

the air is filled with awkwardness. even worse, your soaked clothes started to drip and stain his floor.

"i don't have any clothes that fit you except this tee."

james told you as he hands you his old tee that is twice your size. you were hesitant, but you had no choice. you take the tee and go to the bathroom. you quickly undress and take a quick shower. using the unused and clean towel on the shelf, you dry and wipe yourself. you take the tee james gave and you smell it. he says that was his old tee yet his cologne still sticks on it. maybe, he wore it sometimes. you thought.

you wear the tee. it feels comfortable and refreshing, especially after hours you've been in that habit. the tee fits you just nice except it's a little bit bigger. and you just realized you don't pick anything and you have no undergarments. you doomed.

"just for this one night, and it's okay."

you told yourself. anxiety eats you up automatically the moment you unlock the bathroom door. never in your life have you been in the same room with a man. the bad thoughts conquering your mind make you genuinely want to die. to your surprise, james already standing in front of the door when you unlocked it, causing you to stumble on the sink. he was casually wrapped in a towel.

"i'm sorry. did i scare you?

one of his eyebrow lifts. he was weirded out due to your reaction as if you had just seen a ghost. you shook your head and rushedly left the bathroom. and you sit on the cold floor, back leaning against the wall, trying your best to sleep. james peeks at you before he locks the door. noticing you were on the floor, he told you to sleep on the bed.

"what about you then?"

"i'm going to sleep there too."

"oh."

"don't worry. i won't touch you, god's child."

"—unless you want me to."

a force chuckle escapes from your lips. once he locks the door, you climb on his bed and awkwardly position yourself. the air was chilly and colder than usual, so you don't think the thin blanket is enough to warm you up. this cold weather also makes it hard to fall asleep. knowing you're going to share a bed with james makes it even harder.

james settles up everything before he joins you on the bed. you pretend to sleep with your eye closed but his weight on the bed keeps making you awake. you fidget with your small cross necklace, praying that you can sleep in peace tonight.

"it's too fucking cold. i can't sleep."

james uttered. you want to reply but you refuse to let him know.

"so that's actually my blanket. everything here is mine. so can you let me be in the blanket too?"

you really doomed but you act to your fullest to be cool with it. it takes him less than a second to be in the same blanket with you once you nod your head. the tension is gradually increasing that you feel your heart about to burst.

and james feels the same way too. except he feels worse. the sight of you in his oversized tee, the scent of his old cologne stuck to your skin, and the way he can feel your figure slightly brushed against his chest and thighs makes him go crazy. he feels insane, though he has seen thousands of women almost naked in the club. but nothing comes close to whatever he feels with you now. maybe the thought of you being pure and a child's god leads him to feel that way. the image of you in the habit was vivid in his mind. seeing you in his tee, on his bed, makes him feel dirty.

and he doesn't want you to know that.

with a deep breath, he turns his body and back facing you. the tension and the cold rise at the same time. you can't sleep in this kind of air.

slowly, you face and turn to his body. you carefully tap james's shoulder, causing him to face you. now both of you are so close that you can feel his nose tip slightly brushed against yours. his heart is almost racing to the moon at the sight of your face being so close to him. he swore he would actually pull you and crash your lips against his but he didn't.

"can you hug me? it's beyond cold. i can't sleep."

your words break the silence. you don't know how those words run smoothly from your mouth but you didn't form any single thought after or before you said that. you're desperate for warmth. you're desperate for a place that you can finally call as a safe space.

and you believe, god made you meet him for a reason. he is your new safe space.

without saying anything, james immediately pulled you into his embrace. he hugs you tightly as he runs his fingers in your hair after. you glued your face to his chest. he gently caresses your back. the thought of corrupting you flashes inside of his head when he is just trying to give you the warmth you need. he bites his lower lip, warning himself to stay sane.

but it makes it harder when you're the one who is asking for him to touch you more.

"your touch comforts me. i need more."

he thought you were out of your head until you were the one who reached for his hand and put it on your bare thighs. you never felt such good feelings in the convent before.

"tell me, what else do you need?"

james muttered near your lips. his breath, his lips subtly brushed against yours.

"don't make me run away from you. keep me, and don't call me god's anymore."

your words send blood to james's dick. he didn't even need to think a lot about your offer. his gentle caressing on your thighs turns rough with his fingernails digging into your skin, leading you to hiss a little. his fingers swiftly travel to your core. his thumb plays with your fold before his middle finger finds your clit and rubs it in a circular motion with his thumb next as he slowly thrusts his middle finger inside you. a soft moan escapes from your lips and that's enough for james to leak precum. you're inexperienced, so you just clench on james's singlet, legs shaking and awkwardly spread for james to fit his fingers more inside you.

"oh fuck, you're such a good girl. fuck. you're genuinely a good girl. letting a man like me own you, huh?"

james told as he continued thrusting his fingers. fingers. it was slow but loud enough to echo in your ears. his words sound degrading, but he praised you and called you a good girl, so what does that mean?

you clench james's singlet tighter. you look up to him in between your heavy lids. in the dim light, he still can see your reaction. he swears to god, you know how to break him. with your lips slightly parted, james roughly crashes his lips on yours. his tongue then explores inside your mouth. he doesn't care if you don't know how to kiss; he just needs to be your one and only place where you need to be on your knees soon. he promised to take care of you more than god does.

[quokkaine]

▐ ⧽ 🏺 ──────── bringing to the table my hyperfixation on ancient history and the "immortality as punishment" trope in a James x reader fanfic. What. Was. That.

!! AH, for context because I'm going to end up repeating this a few times, Anathema is NOT a proper name and neither and OC. This fanfic does not feature an OC (exception of the deities, some backgrounders, and reader's family at first part). The word Anathema is a Greek term and means the same thing as "to be/that was expelled," it's a title and an indicator of the reader's condition in the context of the work. Apart from that, the reader is identified as "you" or "[name]" in the rest of the work. Some creatures from Greek mythology have been reinterpreted in a way that makes narrative sense here.

For those allergies: Contains a lot of historical and cultural context, not proofread and bad english, no word-count, non-linear timeline, sloooooow burning, angst, religious themes, PTSD (js mentioned), Greek gods pyo, "in another life, maybe?" aah plot.

© coral writes

──────── 2026, Paris, France.

The hotel lobby is spacious and brightly lit in an orange hue, despite the cloudy morning outside. "Can I help you?" the young woman at reception asks, with a rehearsed smile.

You returns a similar smile, "I came to see a friend, Martin Edwards Park, twelfth floor." Pretends to be checking something in your shoulder bag while peeking at the receptionist checking the guests on the computer, managing to get the exact room number. "1203," you say, to lend an air of legitimacy to the other woman. Hoping it works.

The woman returns to you slowly, in a restrained tone, "He's not here at the moment." Thank Olympus.

"Perfect." You reply, heading for the elevator and ignoring how her voice rises as she complains that "you can't do that!"

The elevator doors close before the receptionist could stop you, so she cames back the lobby, picking the phone to call the security guards.

You don't get rattled by that, you select the floor in the elevator. You know that before the guards answer, the woman will have already forgotten why she called in the first place. And then she'll apologize nervously, hanging up the phone and sinking into the leather chair.

It's not a lie that you know Martin; you talked to him yesterday afternoon at what had become your favorite bakery over the past few years, Jacque's.

You had done a little shoplifting earlier — or rather, explored the clothes, hidden in the fitting room, ripped off the tags, and left without caring about the traces. Whatever was left behind wouldn't serve much more than an echo for the imagination of the staff, who, exhausted from their own lives, wouldn't care. — And now you were skimming some tips from the tables before sneaking over to the pastry counter, ready to place your order with the waiter, a middle-aged man whose smile reminded you a little of your father, if he had smiled more in life.

"Where are you from, cherie?" the man, Vincent, asked in a flumbing english as he always did whenever he heard your accent.

You smiled, "De partout" From everywhere, you answered in a pretty good french, and he is now surprised as was in the first and in the twenty fifth time. He souldn't. Anything can be learned when you have time, and thats what you have enough. "But my parents are turkish."

"Turke? Ah, I would never guessed" A male voice emerges to your left, followed by a soft laugh. He is tall, but young. His hair is a light shade, somewhat curly, and his skin a bit tanned. He leans on the counter asking for a latte and some pastries to go with the help of Google Translate and a bit of miming, making you and Vincent laugh with him. Vincent leave you two, preparing your orders. You watch it, curious.

The other boy eyes keep following you. And you have to agree him, you don't look like someone from there. From nowhere, actually. It's not your fault, is just a consequence of your condition. In any case, well, like Constantinople, Anatolia no longer exist, neither the bizantines. You can't call yourself from this place anymore.

You decide look him back, he smiles "I'm Martin." waiting your turn, giving his last name to fill the silent between you two. You smirked "Anathema" is now leaving your mouth. While you wishing could give other name, even another fake one, just anything better than that. But it can't happend. Martin repeats, absorbing the name. And it doesn't sound so cruel in his voice. "Cool."

You really thought had gotten used to answering by that name, when there was no better one to describe your situation, but its just and awkward silent padrinho now.

Another wisp of laughter escapes his lips and you think there's something familiar about the boy next to you. But it might just be your projection: in the wrong light, attraction can pass for recognition.

He continues weaving the conversation while waiting for orders, asking if you're on vacation (in a way, yes. An eternal one.) or on business—business, what do you do? you're so young. Oh, actually, he laughed... He was some kind of relatively famous musician. So that's what was familiar to him.

You shrugged off the explanation, you'd never heard him before, he didn't seem offended, even if he had been, it wouldn't matter much. You've hung out with artists from all eras, you're not the type to be swayed by someone's status—you ask where he's staying and his face lights up when you lie that you're there too. "We should hang out sometime."

You agree, trying not to show the note of disappointment rising in your throat at that. It's been a long time, and yet, sometimes it hurts to hear about The Future. That thing everyone has, except you. It doesn't hurt deeply, just the constant discomfort, like touching a phantom limb.

Martin's phone rings twice during your conversation; you suggest he answer it, but he just grimaces at the number and says he can do it later. That it's not who he wants to hear from right now.

When he receives the orders, he thanks Vincent.

You pay with the stolen tips, but it must have made a mistake, or the price has gone up in recent weeks. In this economy, who's to say? Vincent seems hurt by your discomfort and says it's okay, but Martin intervenes, covering the small difference between the prices along with his order. You thank him, making him feel awkward.

The phone rings a fourth time, and he leaves cursing under his breath towards the door with some bags in his arms. He turns to you one last time, as if saying goodbye. You joke so that he doesn't forget your outing, more a kind of prayer than a joke, "I'll not" he swears.

But it's no use. You know that the moment the glass door closes between you, the second and he takes the phone to ear and momently turns away because of the furious tone on the other end of the line, something has abandoned his posture.

A kind of shadow passes over his face, taking away whatever he had in mind about you.

He's never coming back.

Sometimes, your mind wanders to an imagined future where the encounter happened. With Martin, or with anyone throughout the centuries, it's a unproductive habit, true, but you still can't shake it. You reach room 1203, forcing the lock open.

No need to worry about alarms or security; it snaps back into place as soon as you open the door.

A blessing, or just a reminder that when you became Anathema, you became forever incapable of destroying anything.

"To correct such a deviation, it's not enough to just kill her. It would be safer if she had never existed in the first place."

The room is pleasant and spacious in shades of beige, with more than one bed. Which means you were very lucky the other individual isn't here at the moment either. You don't care much, steal a bathrobe from the service cart, and disappear into the bathroom.

──────── 954 a.C, Anatolia, Bizantine Imperium (The Silk Route).

"Mom, tell [Name] she's being unbearable."

Tewem complained, limping around the kitchen. "Mom, tell Tewem he's being a machild," you retorted, abandoning your help with the food to shoo Tewem away with a flannel handkerchief.

"Tell each other," your mother complained, exhausted.

No one there but you approved of your trip. Honestly, not out of a lack of trust in you, but because of the context in which that trust needed to be applied. Your father and Tewem had always traveled together as importers of fabric to the capitals, trading silk and cashmere with other travelers. The trouble had started on their last trip; they were attacked by smugglers and almost lost all the purchased goods. Tewem now had a dislocated knee as a souvenir of the day and an incredibly consistent bad temper since his late heroism.

It wasn't the smart choice to throw your daughter into the merchant business, at least not at the time and given the risks. But the business was going from bad to worse, there were no more employees available, and the right-hand man was now throwing a tantrum against his older sister replacing him or not.

"I just said he should be more grateful to have someone to cover for him this time." You hissed, directing all your energy into pulling the ropes of the well. It was late afternoon, and Ramah, Silas's daughter, was with you. Ramah, who since you were girls, had never thought of leaving Trebizond, never dreamed of new villages or the port of Constantinople, or any place at all because she doesn't trust changes that go beyond the four seasons.

"Give him a break," is your friend's pearl of wisdom, with a sweet and genuine smile. "Working is the way he knows how to show he cares about you." You manage a tired smile, wanting to say that, well, he could start finding other ways. Starting with clearing the table and fetching the chickens when they escape. But she knows that arguing with Ramah won't help, not with her being as passionate about Tewem and as simply traditional as the rest of the community.

You shrug. "I just wanted someone to be a little happy about this." Ramah rests a water jug ​​on her head and another on her arm. "But I am." She frowns. The young woman laughs. "Seriously! You're going to see places and tell me about the foreigners. I heard there are pirates in Cha'ang."

"I think pirates usually stay on the water," you pondered.

"Let me dream a little," Ramá retorted, feigning hurt. "Not everyone is a geographer like you." You begin reciting the places on the route according to your father's descriptions, since Tewem's are rarely helpful. You two return to the village still laughing at stories of what awaits you on the other continent.

Ramah doesn't dream of leaving the village, but around you, she tends to be an irresponsible listener to her words. Tewem meets you on the path, limping between you, hiding his face in the red scarf that wraps his hair, disguising a small smile when he asks what the girls are talking about.

Quite serious, he nods upon hearing about the Silk Road pirates and addresses you: "I believe you have a good chance against the pirates."

"Oh, really?"

He nods in a complimentary tone, and adds, "They'll see your ugly face and if you row back, they'll think you're a sea monster." You raise your fist to hit his shoulder, but he quickly hides behind Ramah, who lets out a small cry of surprise.

Years from now, you will revisit these moments under another name.

And you will lament them, searching for signs, wondering if you somehow cursed yourself that day when you decided to answer a calling that wasn't yours. You will wonder if, had Tewem insisted on going even injured, he would have suffered the same consequences as you or not. In even more time, you will conclude that no matter how much you delve into your past, you won't be able to decide what goes on in the minds of the gods. What is premeditated and what is a course correction, or if there is even a course to be corrected and the deities are not just sadists looking for mortals to torture as a pastime.

Centuries from now, but not today.

Today you just enjoy the ride home, the feeling of the setting sun's warmth on your back and the smell of burning wood entering your nostrils.

──────── 2026, Paris, France.

James wakes up with a date on the tip of his tongue, again.

May 18, 1916. What happened that day?

He doesn't know, or can't remember. It's become a habit that surprises him, and being surprised by it has also become a habit in itself.

When James was four or five years old, he watched a war movie on broadcast television for the first time and spent an entire week pointing out historical errors that a child shouldn't notice.

His parents were very surprised and proud, and then very worried.

The teachers swore they didn't know where he got it from, since it wasn't a subject taught in elementary school, and in general he didn't show interest in history classes. To make matters worse, his facts were never "verifiable"—they were routine things—for a class about Yuan Shikai, "Shikai wasn't that brave, you know? He was afraid of thunder. He'd tremble all over at the slightest drizzle."—too specific, too strange. He had a very strong imagination, probably ADHD too, but nothing a hobby couldn't fix. He liked attention. That's how they convinced themselves.

His parents said, "The busier you are, the less you'll think about these things," and he believed them. They presented him with a pile of hobbies.

They were all wrong. Hockey didn't stop James from seeing himself in the winter of 1754, crossing a frozen lake. Dancing didn't prevent him from hearing the orchestras of the last century resonating within him. Tiredness didn't rid him of his dreams.

He learned to stifle the impulse to correct others, to direct the arrow against himself. To force his brain to be silent, to steer it in another direction. Always busy with something trivial, instead of searching for answers that didn't exist.

He rests his head against the car window, watching the streets of Paris on his way back to the hotel after a tiring photoshoot for QG.

May 18, 1916. Something happened in Paris.

He resists the urge to Google the date, certain that, as he's given in so many times, he won't find anything to prove he's not crazy.

He pats his thigh, taking a deep breath, but his hands still tingle. Martin glances at him sideways, looking up from his phone. "You alright, man?" He nods, saying he's just tired. The car makes another turn.

May 18, 1916. May 18, 1916. May 18... "What do you know here?" James asks, feigning casualness.

"I know that bakery is a rip-off," Martin points to a pastry shop whose neon sign reads "Jacque's." "They ripped me off for a coffee and a chocolate croissant." James manages a smile, but it's so forced it looks like a sigh.

"No, like, about here before." He tries hard not to sound frantic. "Like, the history of this place... nothing?"

Martin looks thoughtful for about twelve seconds before making a face at him. "You know I dropped out of school, right?"

James gives up. The hotel entrance appears, two streets and a traffic light later.

He gets in the elevator before Martin, who wants to go find the other boys to go to the hotel pool or something.

He selects the floor with his head buzzing, thinking about ordering more whiskey from room service.

May 18, 1916.

The doors open, revealing a dark, dimly lit carpeted hallway, completely empty except for a woman in a red and black robe who is leaving her room to receive a tub of chocolate chip ice cream from one of the chambermaids.

He doesn't notice the room number until the employee walks away and approaches the elevator he leaves, apologizing softly and finally looking up at her.

The woman before his eyes, his intruder, who seems so, no, much more shocked than he is. On May 18, 1916, a very similar encounter took place, but it wasn't a fancy hotel. It was a dilapidated hovel, crumbling from the recent bombing of Vernum. A place where soldiers went to exchange information between spies and sex workers: which was a kind of espionage in itself. He wasn't one of the spies; he was an employee of the Chinese Labour Corps, taken from his homeland to serve as a pawn in a conflict that wasn't his, because the chinese governors wanted an alliance with France for the sake of territory.

Because he was, once again, a pawn in the power game of another god. The date rises all the way back up his throat, now full of memory and meaningless. It rises followed by something choked, twisted like a laugh.

But there's nothing funny about the situation, only disbelief. "God fucking damn." James can't tell which of the two is saying it.

[zaiisacoer]

don’t you worry ‘bout your curly hair..

pairings: bsfcortis! x curlyhaired!reader

synopsis: your bestfriend has never seen you with your natural hair before.

contents: crack, fluff, flirting??, reader is insecure about her hair, mentions of wonhee from illit and sophia from katseye

based on @sunnie-daizey ‘s request!

here you go guys!! as always i take request! masterlist coming soon

[epiphyllum32]

NERD OUT!

nerd james x nerd reader

no thoughts. just nerdy couples who are equally obsessed with each other

tags : smau, fluff, established relationship, slight suggestive

a/n: this is just a brainrot when i keep seeing nerd couples on my feed lol i needa get it out of my mind and turn it into a fic cus im #singleasf

[iconicallyher]

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‎‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‎‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‎‏ JAMES AS YOUR BOYFRIEND!

pairing. james x fem!reader genre. fluff wordcount. 375 warnings. kissing, skinship, pet names, cute boyfie james agenda🥹

riri’s notes. have yall seen the lightstick trailer for cortis yet ?!

( SYNOPSIS ) just my own personal thoughts of how i think james would act as a boyfriend!

like this? find my masterlist here .

cuddling together

james is always, and i mean ALWAYS, finding a way to be touching you. what starts as sitting beside each other somehow ends with his head on your shoulder or his arm around your waist. if you play with his hair, he’s completely done for and won’t move for hours. (yes, even when you complain about losing circulation in your legs because his head has been resting there for hours💔)

affection

he’s constantly showing affection in little ways. a quick forehead kiss, a hand squeeze, or a gentle poke to your cheek (or literally anywhere). he loves reminding you he loves you, even during the most random moments. in my opinion i think quality time is his love language!

texting

your phone is full of random messages from him. sometimes it’s a picture that reminded him of you, and sometimes it’s just “i miss you.” he also sends the most random photos imaginable with absolutely no context. one time you got a picture of seonghyeon’s scalp for no absolute reason.

when you’re sleepy

james becomes a sucker for you when you’re tired. he’ll pull a blanket over you, let you lean against him, and make sure you’re comfortable. if you fall asleep on him, he’s not moving until you wake up. the members have teased him constantly for it, but all he cares about is that you get your rest, no matter how uncomfortable he is! :(

love language

some of his favorite memories with you are the simple ones. like i said earlier, eating together, watching movies, and spending the whole day together doing absolutely nothing is his cup of tea. as long as you’re there, he’s satisfied.

when you’re upset

he notices when something’s wrong almost immediately. james won’t pressure you to talk, but he’ll stay close and support you however you need. whether that’s making you laugh with silly faces or just sitting quietly beside you until you’re ready. (such a sweetheart omg😕)

around the members

the members are used to seeing james attached to you. if you’re in the room, he’s probably sitting beside you. they complain about how cute you both are, but secretly think it’s sweet. keonho is especially emotional about it because he’s happy that james found his person, juhoon isn’t too happy about the kisses in the public space (he stays mad at james, never y/n)

when he misses you

after time apart, james becomes extra clingy; like i wish i could fuse into your skin clingy. he’ll pull you into a long hug the moment he sees you and stay close for the rest of the day. the members don’t even tease him anymore because it’s so predictable. martin: “at first i found it cute, but now it’s just disgustingly sweet.”

pet names

james loves calling you “baby.” it slips out naturally all the time. personally, i headcannon him as the type to use silly pet names too: “pookie”, “cupcake,” but also “sweetheart” when he’s feeling extra affectionate.🥹

falling asleep together

when dating james, expect your personal space to fly out the window and never come back. there’s not one night where you don’t fall asleep without atleast one part of him touching you. when you were sick, james still interlocked toes with you. (he’s dedicated okay? 😭) but the reason behind it is that he sleeps best when he knows you’re right there beside him.

LIGHTLY EDITED.

🏷️: @doliveiraa ‏‏‎‎ @remirarat @ilovetylerthecreater @winterlico @certainstarfishmiracle @cranialberry @wlv-asteria @jongseobclypse @sophiaboww @vanillakirstein @09zpzkeonnss @cutepuppy1845 @jesmightjumptmr @fayewebluv @cookispark @cigarettestown @thatonehjpstan @theramnam @seungmin148wife @hyunles @iseulkm @compersian @cb9711 @channies-fatass @atetheluck @bellesophiaa

[jwimura]

รักนะ – Z. YF

pairing :: james x fem! reader

synopsis :: you have been secretly trying to learn how to communicate better with your boyfriend and in the quiet night where nobody else mattered but you two, you confess to him how you feel.

tags :: 700 w/c, fluff 100x, reader learns thai, james and reader being so in love, literally just cuteness overload, tiny bit suggestive. #typosarenotrealbtw #gaslightingisnotrealeither

a/n: okay I couldn't resist writing something for yufan cos thats literally loml #sueme

──────────────────────

You loved James— correction you love him.

All versions of him tug at your heart in ways you couldn't stop from feeling or wanting.

Playful, ditzy, lovey dovey, chaotic— you slowly found yourself craving more versions of him to learn, unbeknownst to you that your heart stitched each one close to it, the threads woven through softness that you grown to accept despite their clumsiness.

Your devotion stopped at no language nor barrier. You wanted versions of him that only belonged to you, your selfish desires hidden deep in each string.

James was no better, he loved the way you called for him, how you always called him Yufan, always using his real name when nobody was around like it belong to you, like he belonged to you, and he did.

He looked at you like you were a red rose, beautiful in your appearance and vibrant color but thorns adoring you, a layer shielding you from the world's tainted hands but that world did not include him.

"Yufan." You quietly called for your lover.

"Hmm." He absentmindedly responded, engrossed into finishing up his latest report.

You saw it then, his ever so slightly disheveled hair, sunken red eyes, dry lips that he kept licking.

"Come here." You didn't ask, you left no room for arguments when you opened your arms from the bed, inviting him into your warmth and James was a weak man, he couldn't find it in himself to say no.

Wordlessly he turned off the PC, his movements sluggish and weighed down by his worries.

He climbed on the bed resting his head on your chest, your heartbeat soothing him.

You smile, carefully brushing his hair away from his face, placing a sweet kiss on his forehead.

"My workaholic baby." You tease, but your words were as soft as your touch, careful to not disturb him.

James lifted his head to look at you, eyes sparkling and big, lips pouting slightly when he inched closer, you both giggle when he tries to kiss you but his glasses get in the way.

You gently take them off, placing them on the nightstand before your hands return to his face.

"Yufan, Rák ná." [love you] you kiss his nose.

"Rák mâak." [love you so much] you whisper kissing his tired eyes next.

James lets out a small gasp, dangerously close to a whimper from the overwhelming feeling of being so loved.

"Rák mâak thêe sùd nai lôok loei." [love you the most in the world] you place another kiss, this time on his lips, short and sweet, a shy smile creeping from the intimacy of it all.

Your confession knocks the air from his lungs, his face and ears all red like your own, the silence wasn't awkward, it was warm.

"You work too hard, my sweet boy." You brush his hair tenderly.

He smiled bashfully, taking in all of your praise.

"Rák mâak gwàa, kon-dii." [love you more, my good girl] he confesses, looking at your eyes like he was telling you his soul belong to you and you only.

His lips molding into your own like he wanted to seal the deal— fuse your souls together for all eternity.

"You're blushingggg." You giggle teasing your boyfriend who was flustered.

Instead of responding with words his hand gently grasps your neck pulling into a passionate and dizzying kiss that stole all your breath till you were just as equally flustered if not more.

A quiet moan escapes your mouth when he bites on your bottom lip sneaking his tongue in, he wanted to drink you in fully, intoxicated by your flavor.

In the rather silent night where nobody was looking, judging, or existing in the moment but you two, you learned a new version of your lover that only belonged to you, the soft one that looked at you with so much raw warmth and sweetness despite the tiredness in his limbs, none of that mattered when your hearts were beating as one.

His selfish desires were no better because he wanted this version of you that laid beneath him all red, pliant, and giggly to be for his eyes alone.

──────────────────────© jwimura | likes and reblogs are appreciated ♡

[hybridlungs]

I HAD TO PLAY RIP OFF SURVIVOR AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY SHIRT (cont.)

james x fem!reader. 2.4k words. fluff. crack.

this will not make much sense if you don't read the opening part!

You run off into the bushes and ponder what the hell you can even do in this situation. James seems like a reliable pick, but you have no idea if he's still got bad blood with you after that fiasco. You don't really want to risk it either. To be fair, though, Jiyu doesn’t work in alliances and Saebi would probably betray you because it'd be funny, so your choices are pretty limited. Maybe Martin?

“Hey,” James suddenly says, and you have to quash your surprise. Since when did he get here? “Do you wanna team up?”

“Sure,” you tell him. “How’s that going to work?”

James hums. “We’ll vote for the same people.”

“Sounds good enough,” you shrug, before Jeff reveals this field of hurdles and boxes. 

Welcome to Picture Perfect. It doesn’t look too bad. You aggressively hit your space bar, click furiously at the boxes, bring them back, and start arranging them into an image. You’re fairly certain that next to you, Saebi is neck-and-neck with you, and you refuse to let her win. Move a box there, rotate another box here, and your screen goes black as soon as you’ve finished.

“Yep,” you say as Jeff congratulates you on your victory. “Thank you Jeff.”

James runs off to the left. You wait a little until everyone’s made tracks for somewhere, then run up to find his default bacon-haired avatar parsing through some bushes.

“You did well,” he says whilst you approach, pausing his task at hand. “Who should we vote for?”

“Jiyu,” you immediately tell him. “Once she starts eliminating people, she never stops, and she knows it.”

James nods. “Does she have any advantages? She used a Safety on me.”

“I doubt it,” you say. “She most definitely did that because she found it funny.”

“Alright then,” James laughs. “I’ll see if I can convince Martin or someone.”

There’s no more time left to dawdle – everyone’s pictured walking up to the elimination area, Jeff begins the ceremony, and as planned, you vote Jiyu. Hopefully James isn’t backstabbing you or anything, because otherwise you will make sure he pays for it.

If anyone has an advantage and you want to play it, now would be the time to do so, Jeff says as per usual.

I would like to use my Safety Advantage on myself, iiMarzzzx declares. Oh boy. That may have just been wasted.

Jeff nods an affirmative and begins reading out the votes. iiMarzzzx. kiyomi-jiyu-chan. iiMarzzzx. kiyomi-jiyu-chan. JjuTheDudeTV. kiyomi-jiyu-chan. xosssaebi.

“Sorry Jiyu,” you say as the last vote is revealed to be for her. “You’re too good. It had to be done.”

“No hard feelings,” Jiyu affirms you, because she’d probably be doing the same in your shoes. Scratch probably – definitely. Her avatar gets up to have the flame of her torch extinguished, and she walks away. You’re ready to get moving again, but everyone still remains stationary?

But it’s not over yet, Jeff gleefully says in lieu of an explanation. Jeff, you legend of a man. Another elimination when you have immunity. Thank you. You’re about to hastily consult James by messaging him, but he speaks. Really, really loudly too. 

“MARTIN.”

“Damn,” Martin says, not impolitely. “Big voice today.”

“My bad,” James says at a normal volume. “Who you going to vote for?”

You stand up to vote and pick iiMarzzzx from the array of members. Message loud and clear – in both senses of the term.

“Now why would I tell you that,” Martin says amusedly.

“Worth a shot,” James shrugs as everyone sits down again.

Jeff prepares himself. First vote: JjuTheDudeTV. Okay, sure. The second vote is iiMarzzzx. Then XxAbyssalHunterxX. James20051014 after that. xosssaebi. KONOkonoKonoKoNo. At last… iiMarzzzx.

It’s an anticlimactic elimination. Martin tells everyone a polite bye as he leads himself away into the darkness. Sorry about that, Martin. You’d take him a bit more seriously if his avatar wasn’t dressed shoulder to toe in edgy drip circa 2021.

Back at base, you look both ways like you’re crossing a road before putting down your Fake Safety Advantage in some wayward shrubbery. Looks legitimate enough, you suppose. What isn’t very legitimate is that for some reason, James is just trailing you, so now you two just look suspicious.

“What are you doing?” you ask. “Don’t pick that up by the way. It’s fake.”

“I assumed as much,” James says. “I don’t know, what are we doing?”

You stare at his fuckass bacon headed character. “Great question.”

Silence. Strangely enough, it’s just silence – not awkward or anything. Mildly bizarre, but in a good way.

“How about we just sit here until the next challenge?” James eventually decides.

“No,” you say. “We’re too close to The Object. Let’s head back to camp.”

“Alright,” he indulgently tells you, letting you lead the way.

“Do you guys have room for one more,” KONOkonoKonoKoNo abruptly dashes towards you two, walking straight through the bush and into the Fake Safety. “Oh. Never mind.”

It’s a little too late for him to unbox his fun surprise just yet, because Jeff teleports everyone again. This time, it’s King of the Hill. You decide to count yourself out of the running and just whack as many people as you can with your stick. 

James, luckily, proves himself to have considerable dodging power. And considerable hitting power. Your alliance is most definitely not obvious at all to everyone else, considering how no one is being spared from James’ clobbering.

“This is so not fair,” Saebi whines as she gets knocked back down the stairs.

“Sorry,” James kindly says, before dispatching her off to Narnia again. How thoughtful.

“James, can we please call a truce?” Juhoon tentatively makes his way up. “I don’t even care if I don’t win, I’m just tired.”

“Sure,” James kindly says, before granting Juhoon King of the Hill privileges for the last singular second of the challenge. How generous.

In the end, it comes to absolutely no surprise that James wins the game. Not by a small margin, either.

“Good game guys,” James cheerily declares, covertly positioning himself in earshot. Yep. Okay. Yep!

Seonghyeon disappears into the ocean. Keonho immediately makes tracks for wherever the Fake Safety map is guiding him. Juhoon wanders off into the distance. Saebi inconspicuously sidles up next to you.

“Can we vote Keonho?” she asks. “He lowkey pisses me off. Like one of my little cousins.”

“Sure,” you choke back a laugh, because something tells you that James will agree.

“Cool,” she says, and leaves.

“I got that,” James confirms, emerging from his vantage point, “and I agree. He literally eats half my pantry whenever he comes over. Do you know how expensive eggs are?”

Jeff also seems to agree, because everyone’s sent off to the polls. This time, there's something deeply amusing about getting up from your little seat. You select Keonho’s username from the five options and await the tragic, tragic fate waiting for him.

I would like to use my Safety Advantage on myself, JjuTheDudeTV says.

Sure. Up to you. Jeff doesn’t care.

I would like to use my Safety Advantage on myself, KONOkonoKonoKoNo also says.

Jeff takes it for appraisal. You hold your breath. James holds his breath.

This is not a real Safety Advantage, Jeff emotionlessly states.

“Holy shit,” like five people say at once. Including Keonho.

Pretending that he didn’t drop an insane bombshell, Jeff begins to unravel the votes. KONOkonoKonoKoNo. xosssaebi. KONOkonoKonoKoNo. JjuTheDudeTV. JjuTheDudeTV. 

“Surely not,” Saebi gasps.

The last vote is revealed. KONOkonoKonoKoNo. That’s three votes, and that’s enough.

“Oh,” Seonghyeon horrifiedly says as Keonho’s torch is extinguished. “Keonho…”

To make matters worse, Jeff isn’t even done. But it’s not over yet…

“This is genuinely unprecedented,” Juhoon says, shell shocked. “Two double elimination rounds in a row. Are we serious right now?”

“It’ll be very serious once you’re gone,” Saebi sunnily says. You admire her audacity. In fact, you’re convinced by it.

You are now privately chatting with James20051014.

[To James20051014] yourusername: vote juhoon

James20051014: Ok

Ooooohhhhhh. Who’s going to tell him that was not a private message? It ends up being Saebi, who slowly says, “James, why the hell are you just saying ‘ok’ in chat?”

Silence. “I felt like it,” replies James, equally slowly.

“Okay,” she says, suspicion laden in her voice. “Okay.”

This clearly sticks with her, because xosssaebi decides I would like to use my Last Chance. She does not end up winning the ⅙ gamble. Lucky for her, she’s not involved in your targeted slander program. When your avatar goes up to stand, you immediately vote Juhoon. Sorry, not sorry. 

Jeff tallies the votes, and reads them. JjuTheDudeTV. Alright. yourusername. Okay. xosssaebi. Sure. Lastly… JjuTheDudeTV. Bring me your torch. 

Jeff is the destroyer of dreams and hope and joy and whimsy and all the other synonyms. Jeff ruins lives. Jeff puts everyone back at base camp as if nothing happened.

Everyone just assumes positions around the campfire, because advantages are now useless. Instead of emulating the four cardinal directions though, it’s you and James on one side, Saebi to your left, and Seonghyeon to your right.

“Soooo,” Saebi says. “[name], do you wanna go out for ramyeon after this?”

“Sure,” you reply. “The one near Daebang Station?”

The owner there always gives you a million little plates loaded with one side dish each and some barley tea. We love you, Ms Lee. 

“You’re near Daebang Station?” James asks. “We’re all kinda near there too.”

“Oh really,” Saebi excitedly says. “We should all meet up after this.”

“What happened to stranger danger,” you ask, then think better of it. “Wait. Never mind. Martin literally gave us his Instagram with everyone’s faces on it.”

All the skeptical tension immediately dissolves out of Seonghyeon. Damn. You had no idea he was even that stiff. “I forgot about that.”

“You've seen me?” James surprisedly says. 

“Maybe,” you say. “Not sure who’s who, except for Juhoon, Martin, and Seonghyeon.”

“I should be on the last slide of Martin’s pinned,” James says.

“I didn't get that far,” you admit. “I’ll check after this game.”

The game in question turns out to be a bunch of numbered fences and a bunch of shit enclosed by the fences. Bananas have fallen out of this one pen, so they’re kind of just littering the floor. Jeff says you have to count the number of objects, and Jeff’s word is law, so everyone’s running laps up and down to peer at these bags and boxes.

“The first three are seven, three, four,” James kindly informs you as you run past him.

“Thanks,” you say, executing a perfect U-turn. “Five, eight, two.”

“You have to be joking.” Seonghyeon immediately realises what’s happened once James wins the competition. 

“Seonghyeon,” you say, “how do you feel about voting for Saebi?”

“I’m literally right here,” Saebi says. 

“Sure,” Seonghyeon intelligently says. 

“Good, because we would’ve voted for you otherwise,” you tell him. 

The last voting session is almost anxiety-inducing, even though everyone knows what’s going to happen. The first vote reads xosssaebi. Second vote reads xosssaebi. Third reads xosssaebi. Guess what the fourth one reads! If you said xosssaebi, you’d be correct. You didn’t expect her to vote herself out, but okay.

Once Saebi’s off, everyone’s immediately transported to this stage, with stone seating adjacent. It's you, James, and Seonghyeon at the very end. You watch as the jury members pile in, sit down, and watch. Jeff launches into his little speech, but Beni doesn’t care.

“Give us some words,” she demands mid-spiel about survival.

“Please vote for me,” you say.

“Alright. James?”

“Please don't vote for me,” James politely says. “I want her to win.”

“What,” you indignantly say, breaking the silence. “What! That’s literally not how the game works.”

“Well, it is now,” James responds like a smug cat in some warm sunlight. 

“Damn,” Seonghyeon interrupts whatever’s going on. “My bad. Just kick me out already.”

The jury will now make their decision, Jeff informs everyone. 

“Hey,” James tells you. “Even if we lose, I still had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” you say slowly.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you after this,” he continues. 

You laugh at that. “What if I’m atrociously chopped? Will you still want to see me then?”

“I could never think that about you,” he indignantly replies. “No. Never.”

And the winner of Outlaster is… Jeff uncaringly barges in, because he loves ruining moments, XxAbyssalHunterxX. 

“Oh,” you all say. Seonghyeon’s 2018 relic avatar makes its way to Jeff, all fire-and-ice Adidas hoodie and Roblox face Shiny Teeth. 

“We felt bad for Seonghyeon,” Yuha clarifies. “Even more so after… whatever that just was.”

“Thanks,” Seonghyeon says. “I do not feel any better.”

“It’s okay,” James reassures you and not Seonghyeon, like you needed any reassurance in the first place.

“I think you’re stuck with him forever,” Martin bluntly informs you. “That’s just how he is.”

You’re immediately hit with a spike of anxiety, because even if he says he doesn’t care if you’re ugly, what if he’s ugly? Fumbling with your phone, you make your way over to Martin’s profile and flick through his pinned post, as promised about a round ago except you forgot.

And holy shit. He is the prime example of someone you would say in Wavelength for the category beautiful man-ugly man (from right to left) when the 4 is at the very far right. Ohhhh. You have just been speaking to this guy like an old friend, when you probably would look at him on some bus stop advertisement, sigh longingly, and go about your day.

Well. Such is the nature of Roblox. You’re sorry for doubting him.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” you say. “See you then?”

“Yeah,” James immediately responds. “See you.”

“See you too, in case you forgot about me,” Saebi angrily butts in. 

“You too,” you laugh, sending off friend requests to everyone, leaving the game to a cacophony of farewells, and turning off your laptop. You have about five minutes until you have to go, but it feels more like one as you turn your place upside down in search of your transport card.

You’re never doubting Yuha’s ideas ever again. This one makes up for them all.