— note that this is a SAFE blog for people that aren't comfortable with '+18' writings!! which means i WON'T be taking requests for smut for any of the groups above.
If you see this, please help me report this account. This Twitter account is posting NSFW videos about Cortis, including Keonho and Seonghyeon, who are both 17. I need you to please report this account to Hybe. Here's the link to report it.
괜찮아, 너의 세상은 지금의 너 그대로, 소중하고 또 소중해서 whoa, stay here with me. 어른스럽게 웃어넘긴 뒤에, 어린애같이 울 때에도: 우린 참 닮았어 함께해, 너의 모습 그대로 어른 아이처럼
synopsis : cortis and the types of girls they are (for), part 2
cw : please read at your own discretion. not quite dd:dne but pretty heavy. reader is female. talk of mental health, mentions of trauma, burnout, swearing, a lil bit of crying, defo self indulgent and lots of frustration. man idk reader is just burnt out that’s all u need to know.
note : CRASHING THE FUCK OUTTTT I THOUGHT DEPRESSION WAS SUPPOSED TO GET BETTER NOT WORSE??? fuck my big back fuckass chungus life.
GUYS I AM IN NO WAY ROMANTICIZING ANY OF THIS, if you feel like nobody cares or nobody loves you WELL GUESS WHAT. I DO !! my dms and inbox are always open if u wanna talk 🤍 stay safe my loves
wc : idk idc
navi ; part one
zhao james is for the ones who cry themselves to sleep at night
the ones who feel like there’s no genuine reason for their sadness, the ones who feel the melancholy creeping up on them, the ones who can’t seem to get anything done. james is for the ones whose emotions come and go with the seasons, the ones who feel hopeless, the ones who wish they could experience the highs of life and escape the lows. the ones who feel the familiar ache in their heart, the ones who hurt in silence, the ones who wish the could just be okay for once.
—
he sits next to you, and links his pinky with yours.
james doesn’t need to ask, he already knows.
and so the two of you sit in comfortable silence.
he offers you his shoulder, and you place your head gently on it.
james’ presence reminds you that everything will be okay. maybe not now, maybe not for a while.
but you won’t give up hope, because even if you do, james will be there to help you back up on your feet.
kim juhoon is for the ones who have a hard time letting others in
the ones who are scared to accept even a ghost of compassion, because they’ve been hurt too many times to ever trust again. the ones who yearn for something they feel they can never have, because they can’t go through that, not again. juhoon is for those who want to take it all back, go back to when they were young and naïve and didn’t have to fucking deal with this horrid feeling of paranoia around people they should be able to trust, to love…but they can’t. and it fucking sucks.
—
“i’m sorry,” you say.
for not being able to trust you, for being scared to love you, for all the things i wish i could tell you.
for being broken, for not being what you deserve.
“don’t be sorry.”
juhoon leaves a gentle kiss on your head, and you think you might shatter right then and there.
there are no warning signs blaring in your head around him, just comfort.
you think you feel your heart start to cry.
martin edwards is for the ones who got attached too easily
martin is for the ones who are clingy, the ones who hold on tight because they’re too afraid to lose someone else. the ones who are scared of losing someone that’s right in front of them, the ones who wish they could stop people from leaving. the ones who let people into their heart too easily, the ones who never seem to learn, the ones who get hurt over and over again, because they can’t help but give away their heart in hopes of being loved in return.
—
“mars?”
you hear a hum of response.
“am i too clingy?” you tense, waiting for his response, waiting for the familiar sting of rejection.
“why would you think that?” martin turns from his work to look at you, frowning.
you purse your lips and shrug.
he gets up to sit next to you, and offers you a hug silently. you accept, and feel him kiss your forehead.
“i don’t think that,” he whispers. “i don’t think that at all.”
you smile sadly, and hug him tighter.
eom seonghyeon is for the ones who love quietly
for those who give all of their love, only to receive little to none in return. and yes, it hurts like hell once you realize that when all is said and done, everyone is more important to everyone and nobody cares quite as much about you as they do the next person. seonghyeon is for the ones who are so fucking lonely even when they’re surrounded by people they love the most. the ones who hurt inside, but don’t show it; the ones who can’t bring themselves to speak up, the ones who wish they were someone else’s everything. seonghyeon is for the floater friends, the ones who aren’t alone but lonely anyway.
—
your phone buzzes, and you open your eyes in disbelief. the caller id is a number that’s vaguely familiar but at the same time you’re sure you’ve never seen before.
your gut instinct tells you to decline, but loneliness gets the best of you and you answer anyway.
“hello?”
“hey, it’s seonghyeon!”
you frown in confusion.
“how did you get my number?”
“we had a group project together that one time, remember?”
the conversation takes a turn from there, and you find yourself smiling by the end of it. it feels good, to talk to someone who sees you.
a single tear falls onto your lap, followed by another. but this time they’re happy.
“you okay?” seonghyeon asks, clearly worried.
“yeah, i’m good,” you say, surprised that you actually mean it this time.
ahn keonho is for the ones who push themselves over their limit
keonho is for the overachievers, the ones who give their blood and sweat and tears. the ones who were labeled as gifted and feel like frauds. the ones who burn out quickly, the ones who push themselves to their limits, the ones who are so fucking goddamn tired but they can’t fucking stop. the ones who pass out only to wake up a few hours later, the ones who fall asleep at their desks, the ones who feel the exhaustion in their eyes and their heads their mind and know that no amount of caffeine can fix it.
—
“you need to take a break.”
you wave a hand haphazardly in his direction, ignoring him.
“yah, quit ignoring me, you know i’m right.”
you let out a groan of frustration, and spin around to meet an equally frustrated keonho.
“keonho, i need to get this done, you know that.”
“and i also know that you’re exhausted. you won’t get anything done if you’re running out of steam.”
you sigh, and after a moment of contemplation, walk over to join him on the couch.
“don’t fucking say it.”
“i wasn’t going to!”
✿ 𝟏𝟒𝟓 ── james! cortis x 𝑓! rea⠀ ⠀ football ⠀ 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳 ⠀honey scent ⠀ singing school . kiss.. word count : 2,545
reblog for SMOOCHES ´ ᵕ `
why the glee club?
the performing arts club where all of the campus losers are found in after school hours. they're the laughing stock of the whole school—theater kids, nerds, just losers in general.
so, for james yufan—the quarterback of the school's football team—to join the glee club is completely unheard of.. like, ever. even though he's going to join, it's not like he's doing it willingly—no, he lost a bet with his teammates and the punishment was to enroll in the club for however long their coach decides.
as the football player nears the choir classroom, he lets out a deep sigh when the sounds of singing and chatter grow even louder with every step he takes to the classroom door.
the honey-brown boy enters the classroom, his lips pursed in a tight-lipped smile. he notices how everyone is looking at him with puzzled yet defensive stares because why on earth would the school's quarterback be here?
james locks eyes with you—the school's annoying overachiever—while you're belting in quite an obnoxious yet talented way. he can feel a wave of humiliation crashing over him while he walks up to the glee club's director, letting out a resentful sigh.
"..hi, uh, i was interested in joining this club."
yeah, right.
the director blinks at him—once, twice—like she’s trying to make sure he’s not some sort of mirage conjured by fluorescent lighting and desperation. “you’re… serious?” she asks carefully, voice lilting with disbelief wrapped in cautious optimism.
james exhales through his nose, shoulders stiff beneath his letterman jacket. “do i look like i’m joking?”
then, from somewhere in the room, a poorly concealed snort.
your voice doesn’t stop—not even for a second. you’re still singing, unwavering, crystalline and loud in a way that feels almost intentional now. like you’re proving something. like you’re challenging him.
his jaw tightens.
“alright—” the director says, clapping her hands together as if sealing his fate. “everyone, this is james yu-fan. he’ll be joining us starting today.”
a chorus of murmurs ripples through the room—skeptical, amused, vaguely hostile. james shifts his weight, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. he’s taken worse scrutiny under stadium lights, but this—this feels different. sharper. more personal.
because here, he’s not admired.
he’s out of place, from a bunch of nerds.
“why don’t you say more about yourself?” the director prompts.
james drags a hand through his brown hair, already regretting every decision that led him here. “i play football.” then, with less conviction, “...and i guess i’m in this now.”
a stifled laugh escaped from a girls mouth.
you.
he looks over, irritation flickering behind his eyes, only to find you watching him openly now, arms crossed, expression edged with something between curiosity and judgment. your earlier singing has stopped, but the echo of it lingers in the room, like it refuses to let him forget.
“riveting,” you mutter, just loud enough.
his lips press into a thin line. “hm? got something to say?”
“just thinking,” you tilt your head slightly, gaze sweeping over him like you’re assessing a performance that’s already disappointing, “this is either going to be a disaster… or really entertaining.”
a few people laugh. traitors.
james scoffs, glaring now. so sassy. “trust me, i’m not planning to stay any longer than i have to.”
“no.. no, we know,” you reply easily, uncowed. “you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
“i would.”
“then leave.”
it’s immediate—the way the room stills, the way something sharp settles between you both.
james’ eyes narrow. “can’t.”
“why not?” you pursue your rosy lips a bit, he looks embarrassed.
he hesitates. just for a second.
“…long story.”
you hum, unconvinced, but let it drop—for now. “well, if you’re stuck here,” you gesture vaguely around the room, “you might as well try not to embarrass yourself.”
his brows lift. “i don’t embarrass myself.”
“everyone does,” you say, almost pleasantly. “especially here.”
the director claps again before he can fire back. “alright! let’s get started. james, you can sit in for now—observe, get a feel for things.”
observe. great.
he drops into an empty chair near the back, slouching slightly, arms still crossed like armor. his gaze drifts—over mismatched sheet music, over animated conversations, over the chaotic, unpolished energy that fills the room.
and then, inevitably, back to you.
you’re already mid-discussion with someone, gesturing emphatically, completely unbothered by his presence now. like he’s already faded into the background.
it irritates him more than it should.
rehearsal starts again soon after—piano keys ringing out, voices layering in uneven harmony that somehow… works. james watches, initially detached, counting down the minutes in his head.
you start singing again, showing off as the leader you are.
and it’s. annoying, yeah. loud, a little too much, like you’re trying to outshine everyone else in the room.
..it’s also good. your chill, he thinks.
technically precise, emotionally charged in a way that makes the air feel heavier, like it’s pressing against his chest. your voice cuts through everything else, commanding attention whether he wants to give it or not.
his fingers tap absently against his arm.
he hates that he notices.
hates it even more when he doesn’t look away.
by the time the harmony ends, he realizes something unsettling—this might not be as easy to endure as he thought.
it might not be entirely unbearable.
rehearsal should end there. it usually does—messy applause, chatter, chairs scraping against tile—but something lingers tonight. maybe it’s the way the last note still hums faintly in the air, or the way no one moves right away, like they’re waiting for something else to happen.
you’re already looking at him.
not in that sharp, critical way from before, but something quieter now. more measured. like you’re trying to figure him out instead of dismissing him entirely.
it makes his chest feel… strange. he doesn like that.
“wha?” he mutters, pushing himself up from the chair.
you don’t answer immediately. you just tilt your head, studying him in that unnervingly thorough way of yours before stepping closer—close enough that he catches the faint scent of something soft and clean, like laundry dried in sunlight.
“you were listening, soo intently.” you say finally.
he pouts lightly. “i was stuck.”
“no,” you shake your head, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips, “you were listening. there’s a difference, apparently. one that he doesn’t bother arguing against—because, annoyingly, you’re not wrong.
“so what if i was?” he shrugs, though his voice is quieter now, less defensive. “doesn’t mean i liked it.”
“you didn’t not like it either.”
your eyes catch the light—bright, a little smug, but not unkind. it throws him off more than your earlier attitude ever did.
“you always talk this much?” he asks. “kind of annoying.”
“that’s mean, you seem worthy of attention.”
“…and i am?”
you step a fraction closer, shrugging.“i haven’t decided yet.”
it’s subtle—the shift. the way the space between you narrows, the way the noise of the room fades into something distant and irrelevant. people are still moving around, packing up, laughing—but it all feels muffled, like you’re both standing in the center of something quieter.
he needs water.
“well,” he exhales, forcing a smirk, “don’t take too long. i won’t be here forever.”
“right,” you murmur, softer now. “the guy who doesn’t want to be here.”
he expects the usual bite in your tone, the teasing edge—but it’s missing. replaced with something… else. among the outcasts here, maybe you admire him.
and for some reason, that bothers him more.
“i don’t,” he says, but it comes out less certain than before.
“then prove it.”
his brows knit. “what?”
“audition,” you say simply. “right now.”
“i don’t sing.”
“everyone sings in glee club.”
“not me.” he lastly retorts, then swallows it up.
“you can,” you say, voice quieter now, almost coaxing. “you just don’t want to.” your gaze drops, briefly, to his lips—just for a second—but he notices. of course he does.
the room feels warmer.
“why do you care?” he asks, low.
“…because,” you start, then stop, like you’re searching for a reason that doesn’t give too much away. “because i think you’d surprise people. like you do on the field.”
“i don’t need to impress anyone here.”
“not them.”
your eyes lift to meet his again. “me, i am the head of here too.”
james exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair, gaze dropping to the floor before flicking back up to your pretty, dumb face. “…fine,” he mutters.
your lips part slightly. “fine?”
“don’t make a big deal out of it,” he adds quickly, already regretting this. “i’m just—trying it. once. just for you, yn.”
you don’t smile right away. but something soft blooms in your expression—something warmer, almost disarming. you had a crush on him for a while.
“okay,” you say gently. “just once.”
the director perks up instantly when she hears, scrambling to the piano with barely concealed excitement. the room settles again, attention shifting, curiosity buzzing.
james steps forward, heart thudding harder than it ever does before a game.
this is stupid.
this is so stupid.
but he glances at you for approval and reassurance all at once. and you’re watching him like he’s already done something worth noticing.
it steadies him. just enough.
“whenever you’re ready,” the director prompts.
he inhales. the first note is rough—hesitant, unfamiliar on his tongue. and when he tries again; it’s better and real.
his voice is lower than expected, a little textured, like it hasn’t been used this way before. it doesn’t soar like yours—but it *grounds* the song, gives it something solid to lean on.
something that makes people stop whispering.
⟡
but staying for full five months of the duration of the glee club, wasn’t the plan for james.
it was supposed to be a joke—something temporary, something he could endure with clenched teeth and a half-hearted attitude until his coach decided he’d suffered enough. he wanted to play along with it. but time, apparently, has a way of softening edges you didn’t realize were sharp to begin with.
and james changes, he’s not the stereotype of a brooding jock that thinks everything is nerdy. just because he didn’t like it.
not all at once. not in some dramatic, obvious way that people can point at and say there—that’s when it happened. it’s quieter than that. slower. something that settles into him without permission.
it starts with staying a little longer after rehearsals.
then with learning harmonies without being asked.
then with noticing when you’re not there before he even realizes he’s looking for you.
by the third week, he stops sitting in the back. by the second month, he knows everyone’s names. by the third, he’s laughing—actually laughing—at things that would’ve made him roll his eyes before.
and by the fifth—he’s not counting down the days anymore. or the time to get out of here.
he feels accepted and not rejected. his mother loved the idea of him finding new interests anyway.. instead of football, football.. football. there’s no hesitation now. no reluctant sigh as his hand presses against the door. he just… comes in, like he belongs there, like the space has shaped itself around him.
and the two you… have gotten pretty close; outside the club and inside.
today is game day, and his nerves are going.
the stadium lights are too bright, spilling over everything in sharp white beams that make the night feel unreal, like something staged just for moments like this. the crowd is loud—restless, alive—and it hums beneath your skin as you sit in the stands, fingers curled around the edge of your seat, trying not to look for him.
of course you do.
and there he is—james—helmet tucked under his arm, honey-brown hair damp, jersey clinging slightly as he moves across the field like he belongs to it. he always has. but now you see more than that. you see the quiet parts too. the way his voice lowers just for you. the way his eyes soften when they find yours. it makes something in your chest ache in a way you don’t try to fix.
“glee club, to the field!” to present them and to stir school spirit in here.
the call snaps everything into motion, and suddenly you’re being pulled along with the others, heart quickening—not from nerves, but anticipation. the team lingers nearby as you all step into formation, and it happens instantly—james looks up, like he felt you before he saw you.
his gaze locks onto yours without hesitation.
you try not to smile, you fail to suppress that pretty smile.
the music starts, bright and full, something meant to stir the crowd, to make them clap along. you fall into it easily, voice steady, practiced—but your focus drifts.
it’s like you can feel his stare.
even as you sing, even as the performance carries forward, his attention doesn’t waver. it feels familiar. like the choir room. like late afternoons where the world narrowed down to just the two of you
the final note rises, holds, and falls away—and before the applause fully lands, james is already moving. toward you. someone calls after him, confused, but he doesn’t stop. not this time. not anymore.
you barely get a second to breathe before he’s in front of you, close enough that the noise cancels. “you were good,” he says, like it matters more than anything else happening here.
you let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “you’ve seen me before.”
“not like that,” he replies, voice softer now, steadier in a way that makes your chest tighten. “not when i’m out here… and you’re there.”
you glance past him, the field still alive with motion. “your game—”
“don’t care,” he cuts in, immediate, certain. “not right now.”
your breath falters.
there’s something in the way he’s looking at you—like he’s already crossed a line in his head, like he’s done waiting for the right moment because this is the moment. and to the reason why his nerves are going.
“james…” you start, but it doesn’t come out the way you expect.
he just shakes his head slightly, like he doesn’t need words anymore. his hand finds yours—warm, steady, familiar—and then he leans in to your lips.
it isn’t hesitant. it isn’t careful.
it’s bold.
like the noise, the lights, the crowd don’t matter anymore. like he doesn’t care who sees. and his parents and yours in the stands. (gonna have a big talk).
your breath catches, but you don’t move back—you never do with him—and the kiss is soft but soo sure, something that’s been building for months finally settling into something real. and he pulls away.
the world rushes back in all at once—the cheers, the stunned reactions, the shift of something no longer hidden. james exhales, resting his forehead briefly against yours, like he needs just one more second before everything else comes crashing back.
“…guess that’s not a secret anymore,” he murmurs.
you smile, small and a little dazed, but certain “…yeah.”
you feel a rush of embarrassment through you, from how exposed you both look. but it diminishes when you look up at him.
when he’s look at you like that, like you’re so endearing to him. which you are.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ martin randomly decided to break up with you right before one of your concerts—over text. you’re left wondering what went wrong while he’s enjoying his life without you—or that’s what he said. ❝ martin ends your relationship over text with no explanation why.❞ angst ˎˊ˗ inc. 6 sc
note from dani ┆ ⌞ ᝰ.ᐟ ⌝ shorter chapter but just like a louis introduction !! do we think hes lowk making a move or no👀👀👀
deadass and what pisses me off even more is not only is martin a TEENAGE BOY promoting her music out of love, but the fact that even if he wasn't a teenager and was older; DOES NOT excuse jackshit 😭😭😭😭 wdym??
ts got me genuinely sad like I've never felt my heart sink like that for someone 😭😭😭 music means sm to me it's literally my life and what I breathe; I can only imagine what it's like for artists creating it like martin. imagine they react so negatively towards you I'd be devastated 😭😭😭😭
i hate this "we don't owe people niceness" type mindset because holy shit do you not have any respect or decency 💀 people are full of genuine distaste for everything that it leaks out even in interactions not meant to be hostile??? 😭😭 even if u don't fw martin, u can just .... not... answer the goddamn question ..? 😭😭 what was the point now we all mad asf
now idk who jane remover is (i genuinely live under a rock) but saying this is actually weird...hating on a 18 y/o and the boys, is gen weird. she's allowed 2 have opinions, every1s got their own opinion, but common. maybe I'm too woke but ts is lowkey mean and is pissing me off.
nah ur good cus idt too many ppl know who jane remover is considering they have around 700k monthly listeners. and this reaction is SOOOO weird cus if someone listens to ur music and openly says they love it and all u gotta spit to that is hate, kinda tells what kinda person u are. ALSO, seems like they know cortis, ie that theyre teenagers...so spewing hate to a teen who js listens to u is soooo embarrazzingnginginginging to say the least
⋮ ⌗ ┆ martin randomly decided to break up with you right before one of your concerts—over text. you’re left wondering what went wrong while he’s enjoying his life without you—or that’s what he said. ❝ martin ends your relationship over text with no explanation why.❞ angst ˎˊ˗ wc. 258 , 12 sc
note from dani ┆ ⌞ ᝰ.ᐟ ⌝ chap 3 is heree 🥹🥹 also i cant believe i hit 300 its so unreall 💞💞 forgot to mention but y/n is '09 and like july-august 🫰
After the show was a whole blur.
Hundreds of fans wanting autographs, pictures, hearts, and so on. Cameras were flashing, fans were yelling, screaming for your attention that you couldn’t deny—literally.
Yet there was one fan in specific that caught your attention—She wasn’t energetic like the others, no. She looked.. suspicious in a way.
Nothing on her phone that told you that she was a fan, and she wasn’t even holding anything for you to sign. She looked at you—not saying anything, just silently staring. Yet that was enough to make you tense up.
The way that she looked like she knew something that none of the other fans knew about. It was unsettling to say the least. But you forced a smile at her as you carefully passed her, and she only looked at you in return.
That’s when you caught a glimpse of a keychain on her purse—one that said something related to CORTIS. You couldn’t read it properly yet it stood out to you enough either way.
You moved past her area, suddenly more tense than earlier—the simple keychain being more than enough to keep you on edge about her.
Anyways.
After that then you guys had to get in the bus to head to the next city that you guys had a concert in. The moment you and the girls got on the bus, all of you were forced to go to sleep, or at least be quiet so someone could get sleep.
A few minutes after you got settled down, your phone buzzed.
