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isa notes: @opiuons this is our wedding gift. i hope you like it. and i hope you like me enough to let me into your bedroom after. no pressure though. (pressure)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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this is a continuation of this fic, can be read separately too!!
summary; camping already ruined his chances and at home it only gets worse as he stays clingy, sulky, and constantly blocked from you. what should’ve been a private reunion turns into a group hangout.. every time
warnings; lowkey cock blocked ohyul, he’s suffering, kisses, petnames, woojin has a gf, the other 3 being little menaces
wc; 3,8k - requested 1 2 3
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ohyul was one more interruption away from becoming a supervillain,
he swears he’ll turn absolutely mental
the camping trip already ruined his mood more than he likes to admit,
first, your period started the week before the trip, which meant the entire week beforehand consisted of him dramatically throwing himself across your bed whining about how “the universe is against him”
then during the actual trip, the idiots he called friends stole all the beds before he could even blink,
which meant instead of sleeping beside his beloved girlfriend like a normal happy man, he originally got stuck sharing a bungalow with woojin and his girlfriend,
but of course, him being him, he squeezed himself next to you in your one person bed..
one problem somewhat solved,
the last morning, everyone was sitting outside together,
“i actually hate all of you,” ohyul muttered for probably the 15th time that weekend,
“you’ve said that already,” ryul replied lazily from his camping chair,
“because i mean it every time,”
louis gasped dramatically, “love changed him,”
“shut up,”
you can’t lie, ohyul looked genuinely miserable,
especially because every single time you came near him, his entire personality somehow malfunctioned,
the soft shorts you slept in? your sleepy voice?
let alone the way you’d casually sit in his lap for warmth without realizing what it did to him,
and the worst part?
he couldn’t even do anything about it,
every time he tried getting you alone, one of the boys magically appeared like a demon summoned directly from hell,
at one point the night before, you’d disappeared to grab something from the car while everyone else sat around the fire,
ohyul immediately stood up,
“where’re you going?” woojin asked suspiciously,
“none of your business,”
ryul narrowed his eyes slowly, “he’s hunting,”
“i’m not hunting,”
“yup he’s definitely hunting,”
ohyul ignored them and walked toward the parked cars anyway, spotting you leaning into the trunk searching through bags,
his entire expression softened immediately, “baby,”
you looked over with a smile, “hi?”
the second you looked at him like that, all sleepy and pretty in his hoodie, he genuinely felt insane, that’s how easy it is to get him going at this point,
“you disappeared,” he muttered as he was walking closer,
“i needed my charger,”
he only hummed in response,
his hands immediately settled on your waist, pulling you closer against him while he buried his face in your neck dramatically,
“i miss you,”
you laughed softly, “i’ve been sitting next to you this whole night,”
“yes with at least 3 feet in between,”
“you’re being dramatic my guy,”
“i can’t help it,”
his lips brushed slowly against your neck and you immediately felt him grin when your breath caught a little,
“ohyul..”
“what?” he murmured innocently,
“someone’s gonna see,”
“don’t care,”
except apparently the universe cared deeply,
because suddenly,
“OH MY GOD!!”
both of you froze,
louis stood near the picnic tables pointing at you both dramatically,
“HE FOUND HER!!”
ohyul closed his eyes slowly,
and ryul nearly fell out of his chair laughing,
“called it,” he wheezed, absolutely losing it,
“i hate these guys,” ohyul muttered for probably the 100th time that night
the ride home was even worse..
and.. painfully quiet on ohyul’s side,
the rest of the boys were loud as hell in the backseat, arguing over whose fault it was that they got lost trying to find the convenience store at 2 in the morning,
but ohyul barely said a word the entire drive,
one hand on the steering wheel, the other tapping impatiently against his thigh while he stared straight ahead,
every now and then he’d glance over at you,
and every single time you caught him looking, he’d just sigh dramatically and look away again,
sulking and suffering in silence..
and visibly annoyed every time someone in the backseat made you laugh harder than him,
“you’re still upset?” you teased softly,
“i’m not upset,”
“you haven’t smiled in an hour,”
“there’s nothing to smile about in my life,”
from the backseat, woojin leaned forward, his head popping up in between your seats,
“hyung’s just mad because he hasn’t gotten any action all week,”
ohyul almost swerved the car, “i’m going to leave you on the highway if you don’t shut up,”
“SEE?” woojin yelled, “he’s sexually frustrated,”
you buried your face in your hands laughing while ryul absolutely lost it beside him,
“he’s been suffering,” ryul said dramatically,
and to be fair, in ohyul’s eyes he did suffer,
a lot,
the entire camping trip had been a disaster, every single second he thought he’d finally got alone time with you, one of the boys magically appeared out of nowhere like a curse,
and at this point he was starting to believe they were doing it on purpose
after dropping you home so you could shower and unpack properly, ohyul returned to the apartment with the others,
he unpacked in silence, showered in silence and still suffered in silence,
and when he was finally done, he came out of his room wearing a fresh hoodie and new determination,
“i’m going to y/n’s,”
louis immediately looked up from the couch, “..why?”
ohyul stared at him blankly, “..because she’s my girlfriend?”
“ohhh right,” louis nodded slowly before gasping dramatically, “WAIT! noona said we’re getting ice cream later,”
woojin popped out of his room so fast it was actually scary, “ice cream?!”
ohyul’s eye twitched, “you guys are not coming,”
“why not?” woojin frowned,
“because i want alone time with my girlfriend for once?”
“noona promised us ice cream,”
“no she didn’t,”
“she did,”
ohyul stared at the ceiling for strength (unsuccessful btw)
“bro,” he said calmly, “i’ll tell you once and for all,”
ryul somehow appeared in the living room too, looking way too intrigued already,
ohyul pointed at himself, “yn is my girlfriend,”
“yeah?”
“which means i would like to spend time with her,”
“okay?”
“alone,”
the room went quiet,
then ryul suddenly snorted, “you need to be a bit more convincing to stop these guys from getting their ice cream,”
“you’ve literally seen her all weekend!” ohyul defended himself,
louis shrugged his shoulders, already walking to the door to put on his shoes, “so did you bro,”
ohyul groaned in defeat, clearly not winning this fight right now..
the second they arrived at your apartment, the boys immediately stole all your attention,
again,
woojin was showing you some of the pics he took of your little trip, louis was raiding your kitchen as always and ryul kept making eye contact with ohyul just to smirk knowingly,
and from the couch, ohyul looked like he was going internally crazy,
his hood up, arms crossed and pouting so hard it was almost impressive,
you couldn’t even hide your smile anymore as you stood up and walked over to him,
“baby?”
“mm,”
“why do you look so sad,”
“because apparently your apartment is a daycare,”
you laughed before sitting beside him and the second you did, his arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you directly into his lap,
“can these kids not entertain themselves for even 5 minutes,”
“they’re your friends,”
“don’t remind me,” he sighed, hugging you tighter,
and just like the saying goes; “speak of the devil” louis popped up next to the couch,
“yoo noona can i have these?”
he was holding up a bag of chips he found somewhere in your cabinet,
you nodded your head to which the younger guy immediately ripped open the bag,
ohyul just buried his face in your neck with the most exhausted groan imaginable,
“i swear they’re doing this on purpose,”
“probably,” you giggled,
“i’m serious,” his voice dropped lower near your ear, “i haven’t had you to myself properly for like 2 weeks,”
your stomach tightened immediately,
because there it was again,
that tone,
the one that made your brain short circuit instantly,
you shifted slightly in his lap and immediately felt his hands tighten around your waist,
“..don’t do that,” he muttered,
your cheeks warmed a little, “do what?”
“you know exactly what,”
but before you could answer-
“NOONAAA where’re the spoons?”
ohyul physically dropped his head against the back of the couch,
“i’m in hell,”
later that night, while louis and woojin argued over ice cream flavors and ryul laughed at them from the kitchen, ohyul finally grabbed your hand,
“come here,”
you followed him down the hallway already smiling because of how suspiciously fast he was moving,
the second your bedroom door shut behind you, he exhaled deeply,
“finally,”
before you could tease him again, he grabbed your waist and backed you gently against the door,
his forehead dropped against yours,
“do you know how insane you’ve been making me all week?”
your breath caught slightly as you giggled softly, “ohyul,”
his hands slid slowly beneath your oversized shirt, warm against your skin,
not rushing but definitely needier than ever,
desperate to finally touch you without someone yelling your name every three seconds,
“camping trip from hell,” he muttered against your lips,
you laughed softly, “poor baby,”
his eyes darkened instantly, “don’t call me that right now,”
“why?”
“because i’m trying very hard to behave,”
your stomach flipped,
he kissed you slowly then, finally properly, all the frustration from the past week melting into it immediately,
his hands gripping your waist tighter, your fingers sliding into his hair,
the kiss deepening almost instantly once he realized nobody was interrupting,
for once that weekend,
“missed this,” he murmured against your mouth,
“mhm?”
“missed you,”
your heart melted a little at the softness in his voice until suddenly-
the bedroom door burst open,
“NOONA WHERE’S THE-oh-“ louis froze,
ohyul didn’t even turn around immediately, he just closed his eyes,
and the silence was terrifying,
“..you have 5 seconds,” he said calmly,
“i’ll go but-,”
“..4
“ok bye,”
the door slammed shut again,
“this isn’t funny anymore,” he muttered,
but you just started laughing so hard you nearly collapsed against him and ohyul just stared at the ceiling like a man being tested by god,
“i’m moving out,”
“this is my house tho,”
“then i’m building a cabin in the woods,”
“after this camping experience? i doubt it,”
“..good point,”
you smiled before cupping his face gently, “c’mere,”
he melted immediately the second you kissed him again, like genuinely melted,
the kiss deepened almost immediately,
slow at first but then impatient, his frustration from the entire weekend was practically melting into it,
one hand sliding into your hair while he kissed you harder, finally finally getting you to himself for longer than 5 seconds,
until-
“Y/NNNNN!”
woojin’s voice echoed through the entire apartment,
ohyul pulled away so suddenly he almost looked offended,
“oh my god,” he whispered in disbelief, “can i have one moment???? please????”
ohyul was genuinely starting to believe the universe hated him personally,
because of work the next morning, he couldn’t stay the night,
but you guys said to hang out after his schedules and finally after a long long long day he finally made his way to your place,
he was determined, again, but like genuinely determined,
hoodie thrown on without a second thought, hair messy from rushing over,
and immediately kissing you the second you opened the door,
finally,
finally!!
he had you alone,
…or so he thought??
“missed you,” he mumbled against your lips, already walking you backward into the apartment,
“ohyul-“
“don’t start,”
“i wasn’t gonna say anything,”
“good,”
his hands settled on your waist while he kissed you again, slower this time, like he was trying to make up for every interrupted moment from the past week,
you could literally feel how needy he was,
the way he kept pulling you closer,
the way he sighed quietly every time you touched him back,
the way his patience was visibly hanging by a thread,
“do you know how hard it’s been,” he muttered against your mouth, “having you this close all week and not getting you to myself once,”
your stomach flipped a little at the tone of his voice,
“ohyul..”
“i’m serious,” his forehead dropped against yours dramatically,
you laughed softly, “you’re so dramatic,”
“because you’re pretty and it’s ruining my life,”
before you could answer, the front door suddenly unlocked,
and both of you froze in your movements,
ohyul blinked slowly, mentally already accepting yet another defeat..
“..wha-“
the door opened and ryul walked in carrying a convenience store bag,
“oh sick you guys started without me,”
ohyul looked genuinely heartbroken, also confused but definitely more heartbroken,
“why do you have a key?”
“you gave me one,”
“give it back,”
“nah,”
you were trying so hard not to laugh while ohyul stared at ryul like he was plotting murder,
“bro,” ryul said smirking a little too amused, “why’re you looking at me like that,”
“because every bad thing in my life somehow traces back to you,”
“ouch?”
ryul shuffled his way into your home, putting his stuff down like he was coming home after a long day and plopped onto your couch comfortably,
“continue tho, don’t let me stop you,” he smirked,
“GET OUT?!”
an hour later, ryul was still there,
which wasn’t necessarily a rare thing but in this very moment it’s making everything 100x worse for ohyul,
“can you pass me the remote?”
“yooo look at this video,”
“do you think louis would survive in the woods,”
ohyul was losing his mind, more and more,
he was sprawled dramatically across your bed while you sat beside him folding laundry, and every few minutes he’d grab your waist and yank you closer like a warning shot,
“baby,” you laughed,
“what,”
“you’re pouting again,”
“because your other boyfriend won’t leave,”
and from the living room, ryul yelled,
“I HEARD THAT!”
and ohyul yelled back instantly,
“GOOD!”
you were giggling again when ohyul suddenly grabbed your chin gently and turned your face toward him,
“stop laughing at me,”
“or what,” you shot back,
his eyes darkened immediately, and there it was again, that tension, that frustration, that look that made your stomach tighten every single time,
“careful,” he muttered,
your breath caught a little, because this time he didn’t look playful,
he looked desperate like he was one interruption away from completely snapping,
he leaned closer, “i want you and i’m going insane i swear my balls are more blue than the sky has ever been,”
you giggled softly, nudging his chest slightly,
but before you can even say anything..
“YNNN-“
ohyul dropped his head onto your shoulder with a long, defeated groan,
and you burst into laughter instantly,
“i’m actually cursed,” he mumbled into your neck,
ryul appeared in the doorway eating chips,
“woojins coming with his gf, you guys wanna watch a movie?”
ohyul looked up slowly, “i want to watch you leave,”
“like i care,” ryul shot back, smirking amused,
“can’t you guys hang out at home?”
“louis is studying all night,”
“we’re busy too, go find somewhere else to play,”
“getting your dick wet and doing homework is 2 different things,”
you were literally crying laughing at this point while ohyul dragged you down onto the bed with him out of pure frustration,
not even caring that ryul was still standing in the door way, snacking chips,
“can we get 5 minutes,” he muttered into your neck,
ryul looked between the two of you for a second before grinning slowly,
“ohyul’s actually losing his mind,”
“bro get out,”
but instead of leaving, ryul took another handful of chips,
and your boyfriend looked seconds away from crashing out,
“why are you still standing there,”
“because this is funny,”
“nothing about my suffering is funny,”
“even your eye is twitching,”
“because i haven’t been alone with my gf in 12 years,”
you were still laughing into ohyul’s shoulder while his arms tightened stubbornly around your waist,
“you’re being dramatic again,”
“i’m being oppressed,” he corrected,
ryul nearly dropped the chip he was eating from laughing,“you’re insane,”
ohyul finally looked up from your neck just to glare at him,
“you know what? actually yes, because every time i touch my girlfriend one of you appears like a the fucking plague,”
“that sounds personal,”
“it is personal,”
you smiled amusing as ohyul buried his face into your neck again with another miserable groan,
“i miss my girlfriend,”
“i’m literally right here,”
“yes and mr chipmunk is still here too,”
“ohyul-“ you laughed,
“baby i’m serious,” he looked up finally, eyes narrowed in genuine frustration, “i have been patient all week?!”
ryul snorted loudly, “that’s debatable,”
“shut up,”
“honestly,” ryul said thoughtfully, “i kinda get it,”
ohyul blinked suspiciously, “what?”
“if i was you i’d also be acting mentally unstable,”
ohyul immediately sat up straighter, “see? thank you,”
“but the difference is i’d have self control,”
ohyul snapped his tongue, “ok first of all, fuck you,”
“second of all,” ryul continued, “you’ve been acting like a starving victorian man,”
you hid your face in ohyul’s shoulder laughing while he looked ready to pass away from irritation, like genuine frustration he had never experienced before,
before ohyul could continue threatening violence, another voice suddenly echoed from the front door,
“NOONAAA WE BROUGHT SNACKS-“
ohyul’s entire body went still,
then slowly.. very slowly..
he rolled onto his back on your bed and stared blankly at the ceiling,
“..i give up,”
you laugh softly, hitting his shoulder playfully as woojin wandered into your room holding grocery bags while his girlfriend trailed behind him laughing already,
“oh wow,” she laughed after seeing ohyul’s expression, “he looks horrible,”
“because your bf ruined my life,” ohyul stated, pointing at woojin, as his arms instinctively moved back around your waist,
“seriously tho,” ryul said between laughs, “this might actually be a historical moment,”
ohyul looked up from where he was clinging to you, “what now,”
“i think this is the longest you’ve gone without getting laid since i met you,”
the room went silent for half a second, before everyone bursts out into laughter,
ohyul’s eyes widened, “why would you say that out loud,”
“because it’s true,”
woojin gasped dramatically from the doorway, “wait he’s right,”
“don’t encourage him,” his gf laughed as she hit his shoulder,
“hyung disappears to noona’s house at least 4 nights a week,”
“woojin,” his girlfriend nudged him again, still laughing,
“and now look at you,” ryul shook his head sadly, yet with the biggest smile on his face, “surviving off forehead kisses,”
you were literally wheezing at this point while ohyul buried his face into your shoulder again,
“baby,” he mumbled miserably, “they’re bullying me,”
“because you’re making it easy,” you laughed,
“i’m feeling vulnerable,”
“you announced your balls were blue 10 minutes ago,”
“AND NOBODY CARED?!”
ryul almost fell over laughing, “holy shit,”
ohyul looked up immediately, “actually no, that’s exactly the issue,”
“ohyul!” you slapped his chest while laughing harder,
“what? i’m expressing myself,”
“you’re disgusting,”
“your boyfriend’s struggling,”
woojin pointed accusingly, “hyung’s definitely setting personal records tho,”
“that’s enough from you, stop talking,” ohyul shoots at him,
“seriously tho,” ryul continued, way too entertained, “you’ve been acting insane all week,”
ohyul narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “define insane,”
“you almost fought louis because she fixed his hoodie,”
“because he leaned too close,” ohyul stated like it was a known fact,
“you stared at her for 10 minutes while she was eating,”
ohyul rolled his eyes, “so what, i can look at what’s mine,”
“oh my god,” you laughed,
“baby you don’t understand.” he grabbed your thigh dramatically, “you’ve been looking way too pretty lately, i’m going through something,”
“he says that like it’s our problem,” woojin muttered,
“it became your problem when you kept interrupting me,”
“hyung you get interrupted once and start acting like a divorced father,”
“once?” ohyul repeated in disbelief, “ONCE?”
he sat up straighter suddenly, pointing around the room aggressively, “literally every single time i touch my girlfriend one of you appears,”
ryul was crying laughing by now, “you sound traumatized,”
“because i am?”
you smiled helplessly while rubbing soothing circles over ohyul’s arm, which unfortunately only made him worse,
his entire expression softened immediately while he looked down at you,
and woojin gagged loudly,
ohyul rolled his eyes before pulling you fully into his lap again, refusing to let go now that he finally had you close,
“he’s also been extra clingy these days tho,” ryul pointed out, clearly not finished teasing yet,
“and sexually frustrated,” woojin added,
ohyul pointed at him immediately,
“ok you know what? if everybody’s gonna keep bringing it up, then yes, yes i am,”
the room exploded into laughter,
“look at him admitting defeat,” woojin wheezed,
“i’m not admitting defeat, i’m being honest,”
“he’s reached acceptance,” ryul added,
ohyul looked at you with the saddest expression imaginable, his eyes big and the pout on his lips bigger than ever,
“i miss when privacy existed,”
you laughed softly before kissing his cheek, “i know,”
“do you?”
“yes,”
“because i feel like a prisoner,”
“nah you’re just touch starved,” ryul corrected,
and without another word, ohyul just threw a pillow directly at his face
a little later,
eventually, somehow, everyone just ..stayed?
woojin climbed onto your bed completely uninvited, getting comfortable against the pillows like he paid rent there,
ryul stole your blanket?
your room slowly turned into a disaster zone of snacks, pillows, arguing, and way too many people,
and somewhere during all the chaos,
ohyul finally gave up,
completely,
he sat against your headboard with you tucked against his chest while the others argued over what movie to watch,
one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, visibly defeated tho,
“look,” ryul whispered dramatically to woojin, “he’s entered the final stage,”
“acceptance,” woojin sighed out proudly,
“bro lost the fight,”
and surprisingly,
ohyul didn’t even react this time, just stared blankly ahead while slowly eating your chips,
you tilted your head back slightly to look at him, “..you ok?”
he sighed deeply,
“no,”
you laughed softly, “still upset?”
“baby there are currently 3 other people in your bedroom,”
“and?”
“i came here with dreams,”
woojin nearly choked laughing,
ohyul looked genuinely exhausted now, “i don’t even wanna have sex anymore,”
the room went silent and ryul gasped dramatically,
“you guys ruined romance for me,” ohyul added, dragging a hand through his hair,
“that’s so sad,” woojin said through laughter,
ohyul tightened his arms around you stubbornly,
you smiled, biting back a laugh, before turning slightly in his arms to kiss him softly,
immediately his entire attitude changed again, melting within seconds and the boys collectively groaned,
“disgusting,”
“someone turn the lights off,”
ohyul pulled away slowly, glaring at all of them,
“none of you are seeing heaven,”
“worth it,” ryul shrugged,”
and honestly?
despite all the whining and complaining and fake threats,
ohyul stayed exactly where he was the rest of the night,
holding you against his chest while his friends took over your room completely,
still sulky,
still needy,
still dramatically mourning the death of his alone time,
but every few minutes he’d press another quiet kiss against your shoulder or your cheek and mumble under his breath about how pretty you were,
like he physically couldn’t help himself,
because let’s be real..
he never reached that final stage of ‘acceptance’
he’s just waiting..
and counting down the minutes he finally gets you to himself,
Summary: You and Jaehyun were constantly shipped together and Ni-ki, your secret boyfriend, absolutely hated it. After a long day of jealousy and chaos at Inkigayo, all he wanted was you.
WC: 2k
Ft: Minju of ILLIT and Jaehyun of BoyNextDoor
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The new comeback had left a strong impression, and the songs were steadily climbing the charts. SIN:VANISH. The promotions had only just started, yet the excitement surrounding them was already everywhere.
Now came the interviews at Inkigayo.
Ni-ki stood there in his awesome drip— as Jake would call it…fixing the sleeves of his outfit while waiting for the cameras to start rolling. Around him stood all his members, chatting amongst themselves while staff rushed around the set making final adjustments.
And standing directly in front of them was none other than his secret girlfriend.
Y/n. You, your group member Minju, and Boynextdoor’s Jaehyun were today’s MCs. Not just today, the next ten days belonged to the three of you.
The three MCs were dressed according to a special theme. Princes and princesses. Which meant Jaehyun ended up wearing a charming prince-inspired outfit complete with elegant details and polished accessories, while you and Minju wore gorgeous gowns that looked straight out of some fairytale storybook.
It was cute. Too cute.
Because unfortunately for Ni-ki, this was practically feeding the public exactly what they wanted. You and Jaehyun had been shipped together since the beginning. And not casually either. Everywhere online, fans constantly pushed the narrative.
“ILLIT’S Y/N AND BOYNEXTDOOR’S JAEHYUN.” The most shipped 5th gen “couple.” Ni-ki hated that title. No the word hate wasn’t even enough. He absolutely despised it.
Because who exactly would enjoy seeing their girlfriend constantly paired with another guy? Especially when said guy was standing suspiciously close right now. Ni-ki slightly rolled his eyes.
Across from him, the three MCs were quietly snickering over something. Jaehyun said something else. Minju laughed immediately. Then you laughed too.
Great.
Jake, unfortunately, noticed everything. “Bro,” Jake muttered quietly without moving his lips.
“Hm?” He hummed pretty bored.
“You look jealous.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m literally just existing hyung.”
Jake blinked and then smirked ‘’You know its all for the publicity, don’t let it get to you.’’ He said patting Ni-ki on the back
Ni-ki let out a sigh, except this time it came out slightly louder than he intended. Almost immediately, you turned around at the sound. Your eyes met his for only a second before a small smile appeared on your face. It wasn’t dramatic or obvious—just a tiny smile that most people wouldn’t notice. But Ni-ki did. Without thinking, he smiled back.
Things had been difficult lately. Ever since the comeback started, schedules had completely taken over. Between practices, recordings, music shows, content filming, and endless rehearsals, meeting each other had become nearly impossible. And with your own comeback approaching in a few months, your schedule wasn’t exactly becoming lighter either. Moments like this—brief eye contact from across a stage—had somehow become the closest thing to spending time together.
Thankfully, the interview itself started off well. The atmosphere was light and chaotic in the best way possible. Jungwon’s random antics somehow made everyone laugh without even trying, while Jay continued confidently delivering terrible dad jokes that somehow became funnier because of how seriously he told them. Jaehyun’s loud laugh practically echoed around the set, keeping the energy high enough that even the staff behind the cameras were smiling.
As the segment continued, the MCs announced a short dance challenge. Music for Big Girls Don’t Cry started playing as everyone quickly shifted positions to make room.
You carefully stepped backward to give the members space, adjusting your dress slightly while moving. That was when disaster struck.
Your heel got caught in the layers of your gown.
For a split second, your heart dropped. You stumbled backward, immediately losing your balance as panic flashed through your mind.
Oh no.
I’m actually about to fall on live broadcast.
Before you could fully process what was happening, a hand quickly grabbed your arm while another steadied your waist.
Jaehyun.
He had caught you before you hit the ground. You blinked rapidly before letting out an awkward laugh, trying to recover from the embarrassment while standing properly again.
“Ahh, I thought I was going to bang my head,” you laughed nervously. “Thank you, Jaehyun oppa.” Jaehyun simply laughed it off like it was nothing.
“Be careful,” he said casually before lightly patting your head.
Unfortunately, across the stage, Ni-ki’s expression changed almost instantly.
The small smile from earlier disappeared. His jaw tightened. His eyes shifted away as if suddenly becoming very interested in literally anything else happening around him.
Jake noticed first.
Mostly because he had spent the last twenty minutes watching Ni-ki lose internal battles. Sunghoon noticed second. Then Jungwon.
Even the members who were trying not to look eventually noticed that something had changed.
Minju noticed too. Standing beside you, she slowly glanced toward Ni-ki before looking back at you.
“Uh...” she quietly leaned closer.
“Hm?”
“Seems like you got somebody mad,” Minju whispered quietly beside you. Your expression faltered for a moment.
Right. You almost forgot. Well—not forgot. More like temporarily ignored.
Because Ni-ki absolutely hated the fact that you and Jaehyun were constantly shipped together. Not disliked. Not found annoying.
Hated.
And today definitely wasn’t helping. Matching prince and princess outfits, standing together for hours, Jaehyun catching you on live broadcast…..it practicaly sounded like the beginning of another thousand edits online.
You internally groaned.
Great.
Still, there wasn’t much you could do about it now. So somehow, despite the awkwardness lingering in your mind, the interview continued.
You smiled when cameras pointed at you. Laughed when everyone else laughed, answered questions and did your job.
Although every now and then, your eyes drifted toward Ni-ki. And every time, he seemed to look away first. Eventually, after what felt like forever, the recording finally ended. The moment cameras stopped rolling, everyone visibly relaxed. You exhaled quietly before turning toward Jaehyun.
“Thank you so much for helping me earlier,” you said awkwardly while rubbing the back of your neck. “That could’ve been really embarrassing.” Jaehyun simply smiled.
“It’s nothing,” he replied casually. “At least you didn’t actually fall.”
You laughed softly.
“True.”
After saying your goodbyes, you and Minju headed toward the changing rooms. The moment the door closed behind you, Minju turned dramatically.
“Oh my god.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“Did you SEE his face drop?”
You immediately knew who she meant.
“Minju—”
“No because seriously,” she continued while changing. “I didn’t know he was the jealous kind. You never told me.”
“He isn’t usually like this…”
“He looked like he was fighting for survival.”
You buried your face in your hands.
“Please stop.”
Minju only laughed while bumping her shoulder against yours.
“You two are ridiculous.”
By the time both of you finished changing and finally headed back to the dorms, exhaustion had fully settled into your body. Today had been long. You and Minju entered the dorm quietly.
“We’re back,” Minju announced.
The other girls greeted you from various places around the living room while continuing whatever they had been doing. You greeted them back before stretching slightly.
“I’m going to my room.”
“Good luck,” Iroha suddenly said.
You frowned.
“With what?”
She only gave you a look. Confused, you walked toward your room. You opened the door. Then froze.
Because laying on your bed Was Ni-ki. Or rather Riki.
He was sprawled across your blankets wearing a hoodie, your Nintendo Switch in his hands. Your Nintendo Switch. His cheeks looked slightly puffed. His mouth formed a pout. His eyebrows were furrowed together.
You walked toward your closet, opening the door and grabbing your pajamas before turning back toward him.
“Ki, I’m going to shower,” you announced. Nothing. Not even a glance. He remained focused on your Nintendo Switch with his little pout still present. You almost smiled.
Gosh, he looks cute.
Walking over, you gently pinched his cheeks. Immediately, he swatted your hand away. You had to physically stop yourself from laughing.
“Okay, okay,” you mumbled while backing away.
You finally headed into the bathroom.
The warm shower helped wash away some of the exhaustion from the day. Afterward came skincare, brushing your hair, changing into comfortable clothes—the usual routine that somehow always felt longer after busy schedules.
By the time you returned to your room, Ni-ki hadn’t moved much. Still on your bed holding your Switch and still dramatically upset.
You stared for a moment. Then decided. Without warning, you practically jumped onto the bed.
“Ah—”
The mattress bounced. Ni-ki groaned immediately as your weight landed partly on top of him.
“Y/n…”
Now laying across him, you reached up and cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to finally look at you.
“Hi,” you said softly.
He scrunched his nose. You immediately laughed. God. He was adorable. Before he could look away again, you leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose.
Then his forehead. Then one cheek. Then the other.
“Stop,” he groaned.
You ignored him. Another kiss.
“Stop.”
One more.
“I’m still mad.”
You finally moved away from laying on top of him and instead slid beside him, immediately grabbing his arm and pulling it around yourself while settling into his side. He didn’t fight it.Which already told you enough.
“It wasn’t my fault, Ki,” you mumbled quietly. He stayed silent. You looked up at him.
“Was I supposed to fall?”
“No.”
“Was I supposed to hit my head?”
“No.”
“Then?”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“You thanked him.”
You blinked.
“…Because he caught me.”
“Okay, whatever,” he muttered.
The words sounded dismissive. The pout on his face, however, was still very much visible. You tried not to smile. Your hands naturally found their way around his neck as you moved closer.
“You know Jaehyun oppa has a girlfriend, right?” Ni-ki blinked.
“Heh?” You nodded.
“Since when?”
You watched as he finally placed your Nintendo Switch aside, suddenly looking much more interested in the conversation. You laughed quietly.
“Yeah. Plus, he’s basically like a big brother to me.”
His expression softened slightly. You continued quietly.
“I can’t control the media, Ki.”
Your fingers gently played with the strings of his hoodie.
“I’m sorry.” For a moment, he stayed quiet. Then he sighed.
“I’m sorry too.”
You looked up.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he continued. “I was just so pissed.” The way he admitted it so honestly made you giggle.
“You were very dramatic.”
“I was not.”
“You looked like you were having an internal battle.” His eyes widened.
“Who told you that?”
“Minju.”
“I’m never speaking to her again.”
You laughed again. The tension from earlier had completely disappeared now. Slowly, you leaned forward. Your lips softly met his. Immediately, his hand moved toyour waist. Then the kiss deepened slightly. Then somehow positions changed.
You blinked. Now Ni-ki was hovering above you, arms caging you in against the mattress while you stared up at him.
“You’re clingy today,” you whispered.
“You made me suffer.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Drama queen.”
He ignored the comment and leaned down again. Then—
The door suddenly burst open.
“Yo, what do you both wanna eat—”
Wonhee froze. Silence. Then Wonhee slowly blinked. Then looked between both of you.
“Oh.”
Another pause.
“Ohhh.”
She nodded slowly.
“I see.”
Neither of you moved.
“You both are eating each other.”
“WONHEE—” you shouted immediately.
“Understood,” she said dramatically while turning around.
“Enjoy your meal.”
SLAM. The door closed.
“Why did we adopt her as our child again?” Ni-ki asked.
His face was still dangerously close to yours, his lips hovering just above yours as if the interruption from earlier had only been a minor inconvenience. You stared at him.
“Are you crazy?” you whispered.
He blinked.
“We adopted Iroha, not Wonhee.”
You lightly smacked his arm. He only smiled.
“Yeah, yeah. Same thing.”
“It is absolutely not the same thing.”
“To me it is.”
You opened your mouth to argue again. Then—
“IROHA!” Both of you froze. A voice echoed dramatically from outside your bedroom.
“I THINK YOU’RE GETTING A SIBLING!” Your eyes widened instantly.
“Oh my god.” Ni-ki immediately buried his face into your shoulder because he was trying and failing not to laugh.
📬 ❤︎ james 𝔁 6th member!gf!reader ─── ৻ꪆ getting ready for an awards show with his help.
❤︎ warnings+tags ─── ৻ꪆ fluff⠀·⠀ rest of cortis (4/5) as menaces ⠀·⠀⠀ james is so 💞💞 ⠀·⠀⠀ hyeon has a gf who’s mentioned a lot because i love her 😁 ( @jjuhyeons )
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ merry goatmas guys wassup 💞 here’s another short james drabble because i physically can’t stop writing for him now 😭
❤︎ wc ─── ৻ꪆ 3.2k
𝄞 𓏸 my cortispilledmasterlist »﹙合﹚
❝ tracklist ❞ ─── same key—riize ❦ same dream, same mind, same night—svt ❦ comedy—gen hoshino ❦ glue song—beabadoobee
award show dressing rooms always felt strangely artificial—too bright, too cold, too full of people moving with purpose.
every surface reflected something; mirrors lined entire walls, ring lights glowed from every corner, garment racks crowded with designer pieces stood shoved against one side of the room, and extension cords snaked across the floor like hazards waiting for some idiot boys from your group to trip over them. which, statistically speaking, was only a matter of time.
the room hummed with activity. stylists moved quickly between members, carrying steaming irons and garment bags and little trays full of jewellery. makeup artists hovered with brushes in hand, dabbing away shine before it could even appear. managers checked schedules every few minutes despite everyone already knowing exactly where they were supposed to be.
somewhere in the corner, a hair stylist was desperately trying to flatten a stubborn section of keonho’s hair.
“if you touch it again,” she warned, pointing a comb at him, “i’m actually going to cry.”
“that’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”
“ahn keonho.”
“okay, sorry.”
five seconds later, he touched it again. the stylist sighed so deeply, she sounded like she was ready to end it all.
across the room, martin was somehow the only person sitting still, which honestly, should’ve been concerning. a different stylist knelt in front of him, carefully fastening the cuffs of his jacket while another stood behind him making microscopic adjustments to the shoulders. unlike everybody else, he wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t scrolling through his phone, wasn’t bothering anyone. he was simply sitting there with his hands folded in his lap, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“see?” he announced the moment he noticed you looking. “look at this. i’m being cooperative. i’m sitting still. i’m listening to instructions. if we’re being honest, i think i’m probably the easiest member here to work with.”
three stylists burst out laughing immediately.
“martin,” one of them said.
“what?”
“don’t lie in front of witnesses.”
“i’m not lying.”
“you got told off twice before noon.”
“those were isolated incidents.”
“you lost your in-ear monitor.”
“temporarily.”
“you put it in the fridge.”
his expression didn’t change. “allegedly.”
the room erupted. “allegedly?” juhoon repeated from across the room. “we all watched you do it.”
“did you?”
“yes.”
“every single one of us watched you walk into the kitchen, open the fridge, place the in-ear next to a bottle of orange juice and leave.”
martin considered that. “well.”
“well?” you echoed, amused.
“there’s no way of knowing what my intentions were.”
“your intentions?” seonghyeon laughed. “what possible intentions could you have had?”
“perhaps… i was conducting an experiment.”
“on what?”
“temperature.”
“temperature of what?”
“the in-ear.”
“why?”
martin spread his hands. “that’s exactly the kind of closed-minded attitude that prevents scientific progress.”
a nearby makeup artist had to actually turn away because she was laughing too hard.
“martin,” you called out flatly.
he looked over.
“yes?”
“i saw you put it in there.”
“ah.”
“yeah.”
“right.” for a brief moment, he looked genuinely thoughtful, and then he sighed. “that’s unfortunate.”
the room erupted again. even coco, one of the managers who usually maintained the expression of somebody permanently exhausted by idols, laughed under her breath.
martin, meanwhile, looked deeply offended that nobody was taking him seriously. “i don’t know why everyone finds this so funny.”
“because you’re ridiculous,” keonho replied.
“that’s a subjective term.”
“no,” juhoon said. “i think that’s probably one of the few objective truths left in the world.”
while martin continued defending himself, seonghyeon sat curled into an oversized armchair in the corner of the room, one leg thrown over the armrest and his phone balanced weirdly against a water bottle. facetime was open. his girlfriend sunny’s face occupied most of the screen.
“why does it look so stressful there?” she asked.
the camera shifted slightly as seonghyeon gestured vaguely around the room.
“because it is stressful.”
“you look stressed.”
“i’m not stressed.”
“you literally sighed halfway through that sentence.”
“that’s just how i breathe.”
sunny stared at him. “that’s concerning.”
“thank you, baby.”
“that wasn’t a compliment.”
“i choose to receive it as one.”
“that’s not how compliments work.”
“well, it should be.”
you laughed from your chair, causing sunny to immediately point towards the screen. “see? yn gets it.”
“absolutely not,” you said. “sunny, i need you to know that every time i see you willingly continue this relationship, i gain a new level of admiration for you as a person.”
“thank you.”
“don’t encourage this behaviour,” seonghyeon whined.
“no, seriously,” you continued. “you’ve been dating him for how long now?”
“long enough.”
“exactly. that’s resilience.”
“i deserve an award.”
“you deserve several.”
“and financial compensation.”
“also that.”
sunny nodded solemnly. “thank you for understanding me.”
“finally,” you sighed dramatically. “somebody in this group who speaks sense.”
“betrayal.” seonghyeon placed a hand over his chest. “public betrayal.”
“very public,” sunny agreed.
“in front of all these people.”
“i know.”
“there are witnesses.”
“there are.”
“i’ll never recover from this.”
sunny didn’t even look up from her screen. “you’ll survive.”
“maybe.”
“probably.”
“that’s not reassuring.”
around them, the room continued moving at full speed. a stylist hurried past carrying a tray lined with jewellery for the night’s styling concept— colourful stones set into silver, catching the light every time she moved.
at the exact same moment, juhoon abruptly stood up from his chair.
“wait, hold on, because nobody answered my question about—”
“juhoon.”
he froze instantly. the stylist stopped walking. both of them stared at each other.
“careful,” she said slowly.
juhoon’s eyes dropped to the tray, and then widened. “oh.”
“yes, oh.”
“sorry.”
“if you bump into me and break anything on this tray, you’re paying for it.”
“understood.”
“personally.”
“understood.”
“with your own money.”
juhoon sat back down immediately. “understood.”
the stylist continued walking. the entire room applauded sarcastically.
“look at him learning.”
“character development.”
“we love to see some growth.”
for a while, things settled into something… resembling organised chaos. the constant hum of conversation blended together with the sounds of preparation, while steam hissed softly from an iron somewhere behind you. hangers clicked together as outfits were moved from rack to rack, and brushes swept across skin, while hair dryers buzzed briefly before falling silent again. staff crossed paths so often they seemed to move around one another instinctively, weaving through cables, chairs and members without ever colliding.
every now and then somebody would laugh. somebody would complain. somebody would get told to stop moving.
it felt less like preparing for one of the biggest award shows of the year and more like a particularly chaotic family gathering with a much larger budget.
you barely noticed how much time had passed until one of the stylists finally approached with a smile.
“your dress is ready.”
immediately, several people sprang into action.
“careful with the hem.”
“watch your step.”
“lift the skirt slightly.”
“mind the jewellery.”
before you could even properly respond, two stylists had already guided you behind a changing partition.
the world on the other side became slightly quieter—not silent. you could still hear the boys talking, you could still hear martin attempting to explain why refrigerators were scientifically important. but it felt more distant; more contained.
the dress itself hung waiting beneath bright vanity lights.
and for a second, everybody stopped talking.
one stylist carefully helped you into it. another adjusted the fabric at your shoulders. someone crouched to straighten the hem. somebody else stepped back every few seconds just to check how it fell from a distance.
award show styling always felt strangely intimate. dozens of tiny details that nobody watching from home would ever consciously notice—a wrinkle smoothed flat before it could form, a loose thread removed, a clasp hidden beneath fabric, an earring turned by a few millimetres until it sat perfectly. tiny things, almost invisible things, and yet somehow they mattered.
when the final adjustments were finished, the dress settled properly into place.
deep purple. the colour was richer than you’d expected—dark enough that the shadows made it appear almost black, but every movement caught flashes of purple beneath the surface like polished stone submerged beneath water. the fabric shimmered softly whenever you turned, not enough to look flashy, but just enough to catch the eye.
one stylist took a step backwards first, then another. her expression immediately brightened. “oh, wow.”
another stylist looked up from where she was adjusting a bracelet, then smiled too. “you look absolutely stunning.”
“seriously,” somebody else agreed. “the colour is perfect on you.”
heat crept into your cheeks despite yourself. “thank you.”
“no, really,” one of them said. “just wait until the boys see this.”
you immediately groaned, which only made them laugh harder. “that’s exactly what i’m worried about.”
“smart.”
“very smart.”
because if there was one thing worse than five members of cortis together—it was the five members of cortis spotting an opportunity to be annoying. and unfortunately for you, this dress was absolutely an opportunity.
a few moments later, once most of the dress was sorted and the stylists left you alone, you reached back. the zip sat awkwardly halfway up your back.
you thought for a moment. “james?” you called out quietly.
even through the partition, you could practically hear the grin spreading across half the room.
“ah,” martin said immediately. “there it is. i was wondering when we’d get to this part of the evening.”
“every single formal event,” keonho agreed. “every single one. it doesn’t matter if we’re at an award show, a press conference, a year-end festival or the actual royal wedding. at some point, she’s going to go, ‘james?’ in that exact tone and suddenly he’s gone.”
“i think it’s a biological response at this point,” juhoon added thoughtfully, nodding seriously. “i don’t even think he decides to do it anymore, like, his body just moves automatically.”
“you lot realise i can hear you, right?” you called.
“oh, don’t bring sunny into this,” keonho groaned.
“no, because listen,” seonghyeon continued, already laughing. “i was on facetime with her earlier and she literally said, ‘if yn asks james for help with anything tonight, watch how fast he gets up.’ and i said she was exaggerating.”
“because she was,” james defended.
“you crossed the room in under two seconds.”
“i did not.”
“you absolutely did.”
“actually,” martin interrupted, looking up from where two stylists were adjusting the sleeves of his jacket, “i think he might’ve broken a personal record. one second he was sitting down, the next he was halfway to her partition. it was genuinely impressive.”
“can somebody send him in before i start throwing shoes at you all?” you asked.
“see?” keonho pointed dramatically. “listen to that. she says one thing and suddenly we’re all background characters.”
“we’ve always been background characters.”
“that’s true.”
“painfully true.”
by the time james finally stepped behind the partition, the dressing room had dissolved into laughter again.
the difference between inside and outside the partition felt oddly noticeable—not quieter exactly. the room beyond was still alive with movement and noise; stylists carrying armfuls of clothing, managers checking schedules again, makeup artists calling members back into chairs for last-minute touch-ups. through the gap in the partition, you could still see people weaving between garment racks and lighting equipment, hear somebody arguing about cufflinks and another stylist asking who had stolen her hairspray.
james’ attention landed on you almost immediately, and then stayed there.
your deep purple dress caught the light differently every time you moved. for a moment, he just stared.
you caught it instantly. “what?”
“nothing.”
“james.”
“nothing.”
“you’re literally staring at me.”
“i know.”
“that wasn’t very subtle.”
“i wasn’t trying to be subtle.”
you rolled your eyes despite feeling warmth creep up your neck. “that’s a dangerous thing to admit.”
“well, it’s difficult to focus on subtlety when you look like that.”
the answer came so naturally that it took both of you a second to process it. your expression softened, and so did james’.
outside the partition, somebody made a dramatic gagging noise.
“absolutely disgusting,” juhoon announced loudly.
“i haven’t even seen anything and i already know it’s disgusting,” keonho supported.
“do you think they’re being sweet in there?” martin asked.
“i think they’re being nauseating,” seonghyeon chimed in. “i also think sunny owes me money.”
“what?”
“she bet me this would happen.”
the room exploded again.
“oh my god, she actually made bets?”
“she’s been around us too long.”
“she’s becoming one of us.”
“that’s beautifully terrifying!”
“sunny, if you’re somehow listening to this conversation, i’m terribly disappointed in you,” keonho announced towards seonghyeon’s phone.
her faint voice crackled through the speaker. “hi.”
meanwhile, behind the partition, james had finally finished pulling the zip all the way up. he stood behind you as you both faced the mirror. slowly, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.
“i love you,” he whispered into your ear.
“you’re getting lipstick on my skin,” you pointed out. “love you too.” you glanced down at his hands still holding you gently, then up at him. “you’re not letting go?”
“no,” he said simply. his hands lingered for a moment at your waist before he stepped back slightly, eyes catching on something else in the mirror.
you followed his gaze: his tie. your dress. they were both the exact same shade of purple. the exact same—not close enough to be a coincidence, not similar enough to be accidental.
you slowly looked up. james suddenly became very interested in a random spot on the wall.
“james.”
“yeah?”
“would you like to explain this?”
“explain what?”
“the tie.”
“what about it?”
“the fact that it’s literally the same colour as my dress.”
james considered this for a moment.
“well.”
“james.”
“in my defence, i thought it’d be subtle.”
you stared at him.
outside, martin suddenly yelled, “he admitted it?”
“wait, he actually admitted it?” keonho echoed.
“how did you hear that?” james shouted at them.
“because you said it at normal speaking volume!”
“we have ears!”
“unfortunately!”
they finally fell silent under the instructions of their personal stylists and your manager, coco, who could be really scary when she wanted to.
you looked at james properly this time, hands rising to fix his crooked tie and wrinkled collar. you gently fixed it, ignoring the weight of his gaze on you.
you finally smoothed down his collar, and stood up slightly on your toes to leave a kiss on his jaw.
his fingers tightened around your waist. “yn.”
“james,” you said in the same tone, moving to press another kiss to his neck, right above his collar.
you adjusted his sleeve next—some invisible flaw only you seemed able to see—and he watched you do it like it was more important than anything happening outside.
“you’re nervous,” you said after a beat.
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
“…okay, maybe a little.”
you nodded. “thought so.”
“how can you tell?”
you tilted your head slightly. “you keep checking if i’m still here.”
his expression softened, like he didn’t realise he was doing it until you said it out loud. “i don’t like when you disappear into rooms like this,” he admitted quietly.
your voice dropped too, without you thinking about it. “i’m literally right here.”
“i know.” his thumb brushed lightly against your wrist once, like he was grounding himself. “but it still feels like there’s too much happening around you.”
you didn’t answer immediately. instead, you stepped a little closer—enough that the fabric of your dress shifted against his suit jacket, enough that the noise of the dressing room felt even further away than before.
you reached up without thinking and fixed a stray strand of hair near his temple. his breath caught slightly at the motion, subtle enough that anyone else would’ve missed it.
“you’re doing that thing again,” you murmured.
“what thing?”
“looking at me like i’ve done something impressive.”
a faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “you have.”
“existing in a dress is not impressive,” you said dryly.
“it is when it’s you.”
you stared at him for half a second longer than you meant to, and then, very quietly, you leaned forward and pressed your forehead briefly against his. it wasn’t dramatic or performative, just a small, grounding touch. like you were both reminding yourselves that this was real, and not something happening at a distance.
his hand moved to the back of your neck instinctively, holding you there for a moment longer than necessary.
“we should go back out soon,” you said, though you didn’t move.
“we will.”
“they’re going to be unbearable.”
“they already are.”
that made you smile properly. you pulled back slowly, but his hand stayed at your waist for an extra second before he finally let go.
and just before you stepped away fully, he leaned in slightly and said, low enough that only you could hear. “you look really good tonight. not just the dress.”
you rolled your eyes, but your voice was softer when you answered. “you’re biased.”
“completely.”
“dangerously so.”
he nodded once, like he accepted that as a fact he had no intention of correcting.
suddenly, the partition flew open before either of you could recover.
all four members stood there immediately, not even pretending to have been doing something else. just standing there, watching you both scramble away from each other and running hands down your clothes.
juhoon pretended not to notice your smudged lipstick stains on james’ neck, and those of james’ on your shoulder.
martin looked between your dress and james’ tie, then back again. then, he slowly nodded. “you know what? fair enough.”
everyone turned towards him.
“that’s all you’re saying?” keonho asked.
“yeah. honestly, fair enough. if i looked like that and my girl looked like that, i’d coordinate colours too,” he shrugged.
“that’s the most supportive thing you’ve ever said,” juhoon told him earnestly.
“i’m growing as a person.”
“no, you’re not.”
seonghyeon was already typing furiously on his phone. “sunny says, and i quote, ‘they look like the main characters and the rest of you look like their chud backup dancers.’”
“what?” martin screeched.
“that’s so rude,” keonho gasped dramatically.
“backup dancers?” juhoon repeated.
“after everything we’ve been through together?” martin continued his monologue that nobody gave a fuck about.
“sunny apologises for nothing,” seonghyeon reported.
“of course she doesn’t.”
by then, even the staff were laughing.
one stylist was leaning against a garment rack trying to compose herself while another one looked seconds away from giving up on maintaining professionalism altogether. the room was loud and crowded and completely chaotic.
and somehow, standing there amongst the noise, with james beside you adjusting the strap of your dress one last time and four members arguing dramatically about whether they had just been demoted to backup dancers by seonghyeon’s girlfriend, it felt strangely perfect—not polished, not elegant, and certainly not professional.
just six best friends getting ready for one of the biggest nights of the year exactly the way they always did—by making far too much noise, embarrassing each other relentlessly, and turning what should have been a glamorous awards-show preparation into complete and utter chaos.
you and james have been friends wayyy before his debut—actually, before his trainee days. your parents knew each other from work, so whenever they’d hang out, you two would play at the tiny playground nearby. ever since then, you’ve been glued at the hip.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ❪ click⠀﹢⠀more ❫
even when james became a trainee, you guys texted every day, met up whenever you could, and stayed close. to this day, you both refuse to admit you’re anything more than “just friends.” the members never let you live it down though. every time you two do something couple-y, they always say “just friends don’t do that.”
it was keonho’s idea to do slideshow night after he saw it online. it’s where you make slideshows about whatever you'd like and present them.
you made a whole presentation on why ___ is the best food. james did his favorite music artists and why. seonghyeon argued why martin should be drafted into the nba, and keonho passionately defended why spiderman is the best superhero.
then it was martin’s turn. he cleared his throat, looked straight at you and james, and announced his title: “top 5 things ‘just friends’ don’t do.”
the second the words left his mouth, everyone turned to stare at you two.
“seriously,” james said, smiling but clearly annoyed.
“you don’t want me to present?” martin asked, smiling.
you spoke before james could. “no, go ahead.”
#1: "friends never have to say they’re just friends."
he wasn’t wrong. every time family or strangers saw you two together, they’d glance between you and go, “so… are you guys, like, you know?”
you’d both immediately respond, “nooo, we’re just friends.” james would nod, “mhm, childhood friends, actually.”
martin let out a little laugh to himself before flipping to the next slide.
#2: "friends don’t sleep in the same bed together."
you and james had only done that once… or twice… or a few times… it doesn’t matter. your ac was broken at your apartment, so he let you crash at his dorm. just sleep. obviously.
before moving on, martin pointed at james. “this one’s specifically for you.”
#3: "friends don’t spend their whole entire bank account on the other friend."
you weren’t fully sold on this one. you’ve known each other since you were kids—spending money on each other felt normal. like that time james bought you a chanel bag with all the cute chains and a vivienne westwood necklace to match his the second he got his first idol paycheck. nothing crazy:)
#4: "best friends don’t touch as much as y’all."
another fair point. you hug a lot. he sometimes rests his head on your shoulder from behind. it’s not like you’ve ever sat on his lap or anything… 👀👀
the fifth slide wasn’t even a real point.
#5: "just say you guys want each other bad at this point." martin threw his hands up dramatically.
you and james shared a glance.
“we’re just friends though,” james said.
you agreed. everyone in the room groaned.
“bro, c’mon mannn,” seonghyeon complained.
james just smiled, clearly done with their nonsense. “i’m tired anyway, i’m heading to bed.”
“it’s only 12pm,” keonho said. martin nodded in agreement.
“yeah well i’m older than you guys. i need my sleep.”
as james walked out, keonho called after him, “grandpa!” and the rest of them cracked up.
you followed a little after. the second you left the room, the members all looked at each other holding in their laughter.
you walked into james’ room. he was pulling out clothes, about to shower.
“you good?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“yeah, i’m good. you?”
“yeah, i’m fine.”
“sorry if martin’s slideshow made you uncomfortable.”
“no, it was fine. i actually liked it. it was funny.”
he smiled, glancing back at you while digging through his drawers for sleep pants. “mmm, yeah. some parts were funny.”
you flopped down on his bed, way too comfortable for someone who’s only been in it “a few” times.
“sooooooo,” you dragged out.
“soooooo?” james mocked, turning around.
“hypothetically… if we weren’t ‘just friends,’ would you mind that?”
he fully turned to face you, sleep pants in hand. “why do you ask?”
“well… i just feel like we act more like a couple than friends.”
“oh yeah?” he said, stepping closer.
“yeah.”
he paused for a second, then asked, a little unsure, “do you wanna be my girlfriend?”
you were caught off guard. “uhh… i mean, yeah.”
“really?” james looked genuinely surprised.
“mhm.”
he did a tiny silent celebratory dance. then he walked over, peppered your whole face with kisses, and planted one short, sweet kiss on your lips while you smiled. no hesitation at all—which was kinda shocking for someone who “never” kissed their best friend before 👀
“i’ll be right back, gotta grab something from the kitchen.”
“okay,” you smiled.
james opened the door and found all the members with their ears pressed against it, trying (and failing) to look casual.
he laughed under his breath. before he could say anything, keonho blurted, “you two dating now?”
james smiled and nodded. the members immediately started cheering and hyping him up like he’d just won the lottery. he threw his hands in the air, grinning like a dumbass who finally got the thing he’d been wanting for years—which tbh wasn’t that far from the truth.
wang yixiang ✶ unprotected sex creampie a hint of breeding kink cervix fucking headlock reader is in a subspace dumbification begging dirty talk minor daddy kink pronebone
› notes . no but this one... had me thinking and drooling and screaming like bro i need this ok not even funny anymore.
nicholas gripped your hips with bruising force, pinning you flat against the mattress in a deep pronebone.
your chest was smushed against the sheets, your ass hiked high in the air, offering him a perfect, unobstructed view of your soaking wet heat. he didn’t wast a second, driving his thick cock forward in one heavy, relentless thrust that buried him to the hilt.
the impact knocked the breath out of you, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as he bottomed out, hitting your cervix with a blunt, satisfying thud. he didn’t pull back far, keeping the friction constant, sliding out just enough to tease the entrance before slamming back in, over and over.
“that’s it, baby,” nicholas whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble right against your ear. “just take it all. you’re such a good little slut for me, aren’t you? just a mindless fucking hole.”
the intensity of the penetration was overwhelming. every deep, rhythmic plunge sent sparks through your brain, scrubbing away every coherent thought. you felt your mind slipping, the world narrowing down to the sensation of his cock stretching you open and the heat of his body pressing against your back.
you weren’t thinking about anything anymore—no worries, no words, just the raw, primal need for more.
your jaw slackened, and a thin string of drool escaped the corner of your mouth, wetting the pillowcase as your eyes glazed over in a state of pure, erotic stupor.
“look at you, angel,” he groaned, his breath hot on your neck. “totally gone. just a dumb, dripping mess for me. you don’t need to think, sweetheart. just feel how deep i am.”
desperate for more contact, you reached back, grabbing his muscular arm and pulling it forward, guiding it around your neck to lock you in a tight headlock. the pressure against your throat only heightened the arousal, making your head swim.
the moment your arm locked his in place, nicholas reacted with a surge of aggression. he gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your skin, and began to fuck you with a renewed intensity.
he hammered into you, each thrust faster and harder than the last, the sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass echoing through the room.
you were completely undone, your face pressed against his bulging bicep. as he drove deep, your head lolled, and you began to drool directly onto his skin, the moisture slicking his arm. you couldn’t form full sentences, your brain turned to mush by the sheer pleasure of the friction.
“nicho… oh god—weno…” you moaned, your voice broken and breathless. you leaned into the headlock, whispering frantically against his skin, “it’s so good… so deep… please, please, just keep fucking me…”
he let out a guttural growl, his pace becoming frantic. he was drilling into you now, hitting that sweet spot with every single plunge, driving you further and further into a mindless haze of pleasure.
you were nothing but a shaking, drooling mess beneath him, completely conquered by the depth of his cock and the weight of his praise.
nicholas’ breathing had turned into a ragged, animalistic snarls, his entire body trembling with the effort of the friction. he felt your walls clamping down on him, milking him with every desperate twitch of your muscles.
he let out a loud, guttural roar, his hips locking forward one last time, burying his cock as deep as it could possibly go, pinning you flat against the bed.
the sensation was explosive. you felt the hot, thick jets of his cum erupting deep inside you, pulsing against your cervix in heavy waves. the sheer volume of his load filled you up, the warmth spreading through your womb, making you cry out in a high, broken wail.
you were shaking, your brain completely fried, your eyes rolled back as the orgasm ripped through you, leaving you twitching and mindless.
but as the initial peak subsided, the hunger didn’t leave. you were still in that drooling, vacant state, your mind replaced by a primal, aching void that only he could fill. even as he started to soften slightly, you gripped his arm tighter, pulling his bicep back against your cheek, your voice a needy, incoherent whimper.
“more… please, weno… don’t stop… fuck me more,” you sobbed, your hips grinding back against him, begging for the friction to return.
nicholas groaned, the sound vibrating through your spine. he was still half-hard, his cock swimming in the slick mixture of your juices and his own seed. he didn’t pull out, gripping your hips again, his fingers bruising your skin, and began to slide back into motion.
the sound was wet and squelching, the excess cum acting as a lubricant as he started to drive into you again, slower at first, then building back up to a punishing pace.
“you’re such a greedy angel, aren’t you,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. “i just filled you to the brim, and you still want more? you just want to be my little breeding sow, don’t you?”
the word breeding snapped something inside you. you let out a whimpering moan, your head lolling as you drooled onto his arm again, your voice a desperate, breathless whisper.
“yes.. please… i want your babies… fill me up, weno… please make me pregnant… wanna carry your babies…”
the request drove him wild.
the thought of claiming you permanently, of planting his seed deep inside your womb until you were swollen with his child, sent a fresh surge of hardness back into his cock. he shifted his grip, grabbing your hair to pull your head back, exposing your throat while he hammered into you with a possessive rhythm.
“you want my babies now, angel?” he growled, his thrusts becoming frantic and deep again, slapping your ass with a loud, rhythmic crack. “gonna pump so much cum into you that you’ll be leaking for days. gonna make sure you’re knocked up, angel. you’re going to carry my brat, and you’re gonna love every second of being my bred-out toy.”
you were completely gone, a shaking, sobbing mess of pleasure. every time he bottomed out, you felt remaining cum being pushed deeper into you, the thought of impregnation making your pussy clench around him in tight, rhythmic spasms.
you begged him, your words slurred and broken, “fill me… please, nicho… give me your babies…”
he didn’t stop, drilling into you with a relentless intensity, determined to leave you completely saturated and claimed, fucking you into a state of total, blissful oblivion.
“don’t worry, angel… daddy’s gonna make sure he put his babies into you…” he growled into your neck, planting a quick peck against the soft skin.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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⌗alittlebitlouder — after his friends question his ability to please you he goes out of his way to prove them wrong ..
( nicholas x fem!reader ) • warnings. fingering , exhibition??. unprotected sex , dirty talk , reader is a screamer ..yeah 𓄵 word count. 848 { back to library }
( request ). Hiii I hope you’re doing amazing!! Can I request Nico X introvert gf who is more on the quiet side. The members don’t believe Nico on how loud she gets when the two are intimate. They tease him even saying things like how he’s probably not pleasing her right. The teasing keeps going on until he eventually proves them wrong one night
( yeni’s notes ). yall deserve it .. for my rants about love island
he was in the middle of a conversation with maki when you got up from his lap where you were sitting quietly. “you okay?” he held your hand, rubbing your knuckles softly.
“i’m fine.” you said , “just gonna take a break.”
he nodded letting you walk into his bedroom , he knew sometimes you just wanted to be alone , you were more on the quiet side and he respected that. “where is she going?”
“to my room it was getting a bit loud in here for her.” he said like it was normal , because it was for him — he could already see his friends' faces curling up in evil smiles , he rolled his eyes. “don’t fucking start.”
“can i just ask a question?” maki asked , lowering his voice so you couldn’t hear. “is she also that quiet in bed?”
“it’s none of your business… but no she isn’t.”
“bullshit.” fuma said. “i’ve never heard you two , and these walls are thin as hell.”
“is she quiet because you aren’t doing it right?” k raised his eyebrows in a teasing manner , nicholas shook his head. “trust me , i know what i’m doing and she is very much satisfied.”
not letting his friends who were now mocking him get to him ; because he knew it wasn’t true — if anything it was best you were quiet when you were in the dorm , because if only they knew how loud you could get.
“nicho.” you laughed as he jumped on to the bed later that night , the dorm quiet as everyone retreated to their own bedrooms. “stop it.”
“come here baby.” he pulled you into his lap , holding your waist as you straddled his legs. “so pretty.”
you smiled , pushing at his shoulders. “stop it.” but you didn’t move , you suddenly got serious. “did i make your friends uncomfortable earlier?” you ask. “just up and leaving like that , it was just getting loud.”
“they understand pretty , you like to be alone.” he reached up, kissing your collarbones. “and i don’t care what they think , it’s my favorite thing about you.” he said.
“that’s stupid.”
he flipped you over; you yelped , before laughing , slapping his shoulders. “it really is , that means i don’t have to share you anyone , we can just stay here.” he kissed your neck , holding your thigh around his waist.
“alone.”
grinding his hips into yours , his bulge heavy against your cunt. “nicho.” you whispered , trying not to moan out of fear for his members. “yo-your members.”
“it’s okay baby.” he kept grinding his hips. “they can’t hear you.” he said , pulling your panties down; spreading your legs open , your dripping cunt on display.
“th-they might— ah!” a moan caught in your throat as he pressed down on your clit. “nicho.” he rubbed figure 8’s on your bud.
“come on baby, you can be louder, can't you pretty?” his finger teasing your entrance. “let me hear those pretty sounds.” he coaxed your moans out of you , curling his fingers inside of you.
“or do you need my cock to make you scream?”
holding your leg up , using his other hand to rubbing his thick cock against your folds. “so fucking wet baby.” teasing you with his cock. “want you to be loud okay?”
before you could protest , he was pushing his cock into you. “nicho!” you shouted , he smirked; his hips moving with purpose , with such vigor — like he was trying to get you to moan loud.
“st-stop.” you tried to cover your mouth , but he held your hand down at your waist as he continued to pound into you. “nicho fuck.”
“thats it baby.” he grunted. “so loud fa me, let everyone hear how much you love my cock.” his cock kissing your cervix , you were a mess , unable to conceal your moans. “you gonna cum.”
“ye-yes.”
holding your waist , pounding into you , he fucked deep inside you. “-fuck- cum for me .” he grunted , toying with your clit , rubbing it with his thumb , your legs shook. “cum all over my cock , be loud.”
his name fell from your lips like a chant as you came , you covered your face as he continued fucking you , his peak hitting. “oh fuck.” he cursed , his warm load filling you up.
he finally slipped out of you , rubbing your sore thighs. “nicho.” you whined. “they probably heard us.”
he smirked , his body falling next to yours. “it’s okay baby i doubt they hated it.” he said. “you sounded so pretty.” he kissed your temples , pulling your body into his , comforting you. “i’ll make sure they won’t say anything to embarrass you , i swear.”
the next morning he slipped out of the room where you were sleeping soundly making his way into the kitchen where he was met with a few annoyed faces. “are you fucking serious?”
he shrugged. “you asked if she was loud.” he continued on to the fridge for water. “i just showed you.”
“oh fuck off you didn’t say she was that loud , it was the most i’ve ever heard her talk.” fuma said , sleep still in his eyes. “i thought your damn door was open.” his chest swelled with pride. “asshole.”
“don’t question my abilities on how to keep my girl satisfied.” he said making his way back to you.
📬 ❤︎ brother’s best friend!james 𝔁 f!reader ─── ৻ꪆ situationship turned boyfriend james
❤︎ warnings+tags ─── ৻ꪆ i’ve never been in a situationship bro leave me alone if you find sumn wrong in the fic idc idcccc ⠀·⠀⠀forbidden romance like it’s not ‘my family will have your head if you love me’ but more of an ‘i’m the last person you should be seen with’ </3 ⠀·⠀⠀don’t question why there’s always a party or hangout all the time shhhhh ⠀·⠀⠀reader is riki’s sister (riki = niki (enha) or maki (&team) or taki (&team), any of them work, your wish!) ⠀·⠀⠀15+ for making out & drunk encounters but that’s about it ⠀·⠀⠀slightly graphic description of injuries in the end
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ proofread by the best proofreader ever aka my wife aka sunny ( @jjuhyeons ) I LOVE YOU SO MUCHHH BABY THANK YOU FOR PROOFREADING AND MAKING THIS FIC BETTER 🖤 ⠀·⠀⠀and HAPPIEST BDAY EVER TO COERBLR’S FAV GRANDMA @hollyoongs 🥹🥹 i hope this james fic makes for a good birthday gift for you, my lovely resident james stan 🩵 (also thank you & ivy for implanting twilight!james in my mind (even tho that’s unrelated to this fic) bc everytime i see someone convert to that agenda, i think of you <3)
❤︎ wc ─── ৻ꪆ 8k
𝄞 𓏸 my cortispilledmasterlist »﹙合﹚
somewhere in the living room, one of the partygoers shoved another. it had started small with just raised voices and all, until a glass hit the floor and shattered loud enough to cut through all the other noise.
“fuck,” someone laughed nervously.
you leaned against the wall, sipping from your cup as a small crowd began to form around the scene. it wasn’t your first time seeing this happen at one of these parties.
but then you saw him. james.
he wasn’t shouting, which was the weird part. his jaw was tight in a way that resembled control, and his eyes were sharp like everything had been decided before the first punch even landed.
it happened fast—a shove, a swing, a yell, and the dull sound of impact.
a few people tried to pull them apart but james barely budged, knuckles already reddening like he’d done this a thousand times before.
you watched for a second longer than you should have. not because you were shocked, but because it was… him.
he moved as if everything was calculated, yet also reckless—as if he didn’t care whether or not he walked away with blood on his knuckles.
eventually, his friend, jaehyun, pushed through the crowd and swore loudly as he dragged him back.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?” jaehyun snapped.
james scoffed, wiping at his lip with the sleeve of his shirt. there was a smear of red, but he didn’t really look like he cared.
“i’m fine.”
his eyes met yours for half a second. he didn’t react, but looked at you like you were a part of the background—just like the music, the lights, and everything else in the room. and then he looked away.
you took a slow sip of your drink, scoffing to yourself.
of course.
he was just your brother’s friend. why did you care?
☆
two weeks later, you found yourself at yet another party.
the music was too loud, bodies pressed against one another; a lost earring here, a random drink left alone there. you were standing in the kitchen, the only moderately empty place left in your house—where your twin brother, riki, was hosting the party.
you held a red cup, like at every stereotypical university party, laughing a little drunkenly at something the guy in front of you said. you couldn’t remember his name—shota? seob? something with an ‘s’, you remembered that much.
he wasn’t pushy, but genuinely nice. maybe someone you’d like to be friends with, under different circumstances.
“—and yeah, that’s why i strongly feel that transformers is the best franchise that paramount has ever put out,” he said. you nodded along thoughtfully because you didn’t really know anything about transformers anyway.
suddenly, a warm hand wrapped around your wrist firmly.
“hey—!” you blinked, turning around.
it was him.
james, your brother’s closest friend.
without sparing the other guy a glance, just nodding politely, he pulled you away like it was a common occurrence. “come on.”
you stumbled slightly behind him, laughing slowly. “james, wait, wait—”
he only stopped when you were both out on the balcony, cool breeze ruffling your hair.
he didn’t let go of your wrist.
“what was that?” you asked, teasing. you leaned against the railing, looking at the skyline.
you don’t notice his jaw tighten. “you don’t know him.”
“i was talking to him. kinda how it works.”
“he was hitting on you.”
“people… do that at parties, yeah,” you said slowly, confused. why did he care anyway?
annoyance flashed across his face, something else simmering underneath. “you drank too much.”
you narrowed your eyes at him. “did i?”
“yeah.”
“wait,” you paused, gasping suddenly. “you look like him!”
he looked at you in confusion as you stepped closer to him, making him go still.
“...what?”
“my brother’s best friend. you look exactly like him!” you grinned crookedly with hazy eyes locked on his face.
“i am him. you said my name just a while ago,” he stared at you.
you paused for a second, thinking. “no.”
“no?”
“he’s meaner,” you explained, as if the difference was obvious. you reached up to poke his cheek, as if you were testing a theory. “and like… prettier.”
“oh, he’s pretty?” he echoed, his breath catching.“yes,” you said seriously. “annoyingly pretty. very unfair.”
a beat. neither of you moved as your breaths mixed in the space between your bodies. the music from the party faded into the background as the air shifted.
the hand that was still around your wrist loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. “you should sit down. you’re drunk as fuck.”
“you should stop whisking me away from nice guys,” you glared at him, but there was no real bite to your words.
“he wasn’t nice.”
you tilted your head, looking at his pretty eyes. “why do you sound jealous?”
“i’m not. jealous, i mean.”
you leaned into him conspiratorially. “you’re a terrible liar,” you whispered.
he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. “you’re drunk, yn.”
“i’m fine. see. one, two three,” you counted on your fingers. “i can see fine. i’m barely drunk. i’m not even slurring my words!” you said proudly.
a comfortable silence wrapped around you before he spoke again. quieter, this time.
“i don’t like people looking at you like that,” he said slowly, as if saying it louder meant it would become terrifyingly real.
“like what?” your smile faltered.
“like i wasn’t already there.” his eyes met yours, determined not to look away.
the words weighed on your heart as you blinked rapidly, trying to process the heart-shaped sirens going off in your brain.
“that doesn’t even make sense,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him.
“it does.”
“no, it doesn’t,” you looked right at him. “you’re… you.”
he huffed out something between a scoff and a humourless laugh. “good argument. a great one.”
“i’m serious,” you pouted. “you don’t count.”
his expression shifts, eyes hooded. “i don’t… count?”
“yeah. you can’t. you’re, like,” you gestured vaguely with your hands, slightly sobering up, “permanent. like furniture. or… wait—no. like, background music. you’re always just there.”
“furniture,” he echoed flatly.
“important furniture,” you corrected him, holding up a finger.
he stared at you, jaw tightening. “right.”
“why do you look like that?” you furrowed your eyebrows.
“like what?”
“like i insulted you or something.”
“you did.”
“i didn’t!” you protested, moving closer to him. “i said you’re important.” you invaded his space without thinking.
“by comparing me to a damn chair.”
“a good chair! an important chair,” you nodded solemnly.
he let out a short laugh that sounded more amused and fond than exasperated. he shook his head. “you’re so… impossible.”
“yeah? but you like me sooo much,” you grinned, swaying slightly on your feet.
he stilled as the mood shifted yet again. “yeah.” he paused, his voice dropping lower so you couldn’t fully hear him. “that’s kind of the problem.”
you looked up at him again, staring at him like he was a complex mathematical equation, waiting to be solved.
god, you loved math.
“you are pretty,” you decided.
“okay, you need some water,” he smiled fondly at you, eyes crinkling.
“no, listen.” you reached to brush your fingers against his jaw slowly. “has anyone ever told you that? because i feel like they should. you’re really really pretty.”
the tips of his ears began to turn red slowly. he inhaled sharply at the physical contact.
“you’re drunk,” he repeated his previous words, but they sounded weaker this time.
“maybe,” you mumbled. you stepped even closer, leaving barely any distance between the two of you. “but i’m also very right.”
he looked down at you—really looked. and whatever he saw in your eyes finally made him start saying what he wanted to.
“don’t say stuff you won’t remember tomorrow,” he said seriously.
“why wouldn’t i remember?” you frowned.
“because,” he took a deep breath. “because you shouldn’t.”
“that’s stupid,” you shrugged.
“yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow. “why?”
“i think i’d wanna remember you,” you muttered, your cold fingers still resting against his jaw, absentmindedly tracing circles. “this.”
it was like your words finally unlocked a hidden part of him. his hand came up, hesitating for just a second near your waist like he should maybe stop, but he pulled you in instead.
the kiss wasn’t quick, nor was it rushed.
it was careful at first, like he was wondering if it was real. if you’d pull away. if maybe he should. neither of you did.
you leaned into him, as if it were the most natural thing ever. as if you’d done this a thousand times before. like you fit perfectly together.
“yn, god.”
your hand slipped from his jaw to the back of his neck—grounding you, or him, or both. he groaned into your mouth. it made the ‘careful’ bit disappear.
“james.”
months, no, years of something unspoken finally slipped through your lips into the small space you shared on that cold balcony. the kiss lasted so long, you forgot about everything else. the party. the random nice guy inside. the fact that you were kissing your brother’s best friend. and the fact that it was a terrible idea.
the lack of oxygen to your brain only made it more memorable. his other hand rested against your cheek, caressing you softly.
his eyes opened suddenly, and he pulled away as quickly as everything had started.
“…fuck,” he whispered.
you blinked up at him, still slightly dazed, buzzing from the aftermath of… him.
“…hi,” you said softly.
he stared at you. “you’re drunk,” he said for the third time that night, sounding like he was trying to convince himself.
“jus’ a little,” you hummed. he dragged a hand over his face.
“i shouldn’t have—”
“you kissed me,” you interrupted, like you were documenting it.
“i shouldn’t have,” he repeated.
“but you did,” you pressed.
he exhaled sharply, trying to compose himself. “yeah, i did.”
“i liked it,” you muttered softly.
his eyes widened. “stop. don’t—don’t say that. not unless—”
“unless what?”
“unless you mean it. when you’re sober.”
“what if i do?”
he doesn’t reply to you. he can’t.
“stay here,” he guided you towards a chair on the balcony, hand on your lower back. “i’ll get you some water.”
you watched the back of his head as he slid the door close behind him slowly.
☆
the next morning felt wrong in every way possible. not in a the-world-is-ending kind of way, but just… weirdly off. you woke up with a dull headache and a faint memory of cold air, and muffled music, and—oh.
oh.
you shot up in your bed, rising so fast your head spun. the balcony. the kiss. him. james.
you flopped back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged you.
“okay,” you whispered to yourself even though nobody was in the room. “okay. cool. okay. that happened.”
and then, your brain began trying to protect you: maybe it didn’t mean anything. you were drunk. he was just there. being… him.
you clung to your thoughts like a lifeline because the alternative was… worse.
you don’t see him for two days after that.
which was very out of character for him, because he’s almost always at your house to hang out with your brother.
riki didn’t even notice anything. you pretended to scroll casually on your phone while asking him the question that had been plaguing your thoughts for the past two nights. “where’s james been?”
“busy,” your brother shrugged. “why?”
“no reason.” you tried to ignore the way your heart drops to your stomach. “just haven’t seen him around much these days.”
on the third day, he showed up. you heard his voice before you saw him—the voice that had repeated ‘you’re drunk’ a billion times that night, as if that changed anything. suddenly, you went stiff. every one of your nerve endings stood on high alert.
“—told mr. lee we’ll submit it later,” he was busy saying, walking into the living room like nothing happened. like nothing changed.
you stood frozen in the kitchen doorway.
he looked up and found your eyes, and for half a second, he paused. a tiny pause. it was barely there, but you noticed anyway. of course you did.
“hey,” he said, calm and collected.
“hi,” you replied, even more so.
without missing a beat, riki said, “she was asking about you.”
you shot him a glare. “i was not.”
“sure,” he smirked, not looking up from his phone the whole time.
you risked another glance at james, but he was already looking away.
and that’s how it began.
not with a fight; not because of any jealousy.
with avoidance.
he stopped sitting next to you after that. he stopped teasing you like he used to, before… that night. he stopped looking at you for more than just half a second at a time, as if your face personally offended him.
and you? you pretended it didn’t bother you. you talked to other boys when he was around—some of your brother’s other friends. you laughed a little louder on purpose.
you acted like you hadn’t memorised the way his voice sounded when he said your name that night.
whatever.
the next weekend, there was another party; someone’s birthday. it was a smaller group of people this time.
you considered not showing up, but you refused to be the one that avoided him.
so you went. but you didn’t look for him.
well, not obviously, anyway.
you were mid-conversation with a guy—a nice one again— when you felt it. the feeling of someone watching you. your eyes flitted across the room and met james’. he was already looking.
his eyes momentarily flickered to the guy you’d been talking to, and then back to you again. something unreadable flashed across his face, and then he looked away.
like it didn’t matter. like you didn’t matter.
well, fine then. if he wanted to act like that, you could too.
so, you stayed, and laughed, and smiled at all the right times, letting the conversation flow with this random nice guy for longer than you normally would.
you didn’t miss the way james’ jaw clenched and unclenched from across the room. even from so far away, you could see it.
he finally snapped about fifteen minutes later. you hadn’t even seen him approach you. you just felt his body behind yours.
“can i talk to you?” he asked. he sounded so polite, though there was clearly no room for argument. whoever you’d been talking to looked between the two of you, hesitating before taking the very obvious cue that he was no longer needed, and walked away.
and just like that, you were being pulled away again. déjà vu. except this time, you weren’t drunk, and neither was he.
“what the fuck is your problem, james?” you asked the second you were out of earshot of most of the party.
“my problem?” he repeated.
“yes! your damn problem,” you snapped. “you can’t just ignore me for a week and just—do this.”
“i wasn’t ignoring you.”
“you absolutely were.”
“i was giving you space.”
“i didn’t ask for any,” you said finally. he ran a rough hand over his face.
“you were drunk,” he said. that seemed to be the only sentence he knew to speak around you.
“what are you trying to say, james?”
“it shouldn’t have happened, yn.”
that stung a lot more than you expected. great. “...right. of course.”
“wait—that’s—that’s not what i meant,” he sighed.
“it kind of exactly is,” you let out a humourless laugh, crossing your arms. “relax,” you added sharply. “you don’t have to worry. i won’t accidentally kiss you again.”
his eyes changed. “that’s not—”
“then what is it?” you cut in before he could pull more words right out of his ass again. “because from where i’m standing, it looks a lot like you regret it.”
instead of saying anything, he just stood there. like a fucking statue. and that hurt more than anything he could’ve said.
“got it,” you sighed, turning to leave.
his hand caught your wrist. again.
“you think i regret that?” he said in a low voice.
“don’t you?” you said, without turning back to look at him.
he didn’t say anything for a second. until—
“no.”
your breath stilled. “then what?” you asked, exasperated.
his grip tightened slightly, holding onto the last thread of something he didn’t fully comprehend yet.
“you’re his sister.”
there it was. the unspoken rule. the line he assumed he couldn’t cross.
“so?” you challenged him, finally turning back to look at him. “i was that before, too.”
“yeah, but i used to know how to handle that.”
“and now?”
“i don’t.”
his eyes dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before coming back up to meet your eyes.
you swallowed. “that sounds like a you problem.”
“it is.”
“then stop making it mine.” you pulled your wrist out of his grip harshly and turned to walk away.
that was the worst part: the part where everything was so so real that you couldn’t ignore it, and also too complicated to fix.
☆
the conversation loomed over your head for a while. you thought about all the ‘almost’ moments you’d had in the past, the late night glances that lasted a little too long to be ‘just friendly’.
until one night, while you’re sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone mindlessly.
your brother’s friends had come over, but everybody had either clocked out in his room or went back home. except him.
he walked into the living room, and stopped when he saw you. you looked up to meet his eyes.
“we should probably talk,” he said.
you hummed in agreement. “yeah. probably.”
he sat a little farther away from you this time—not too close, but not too far either.
“i meant what i said, you know?” he started. you raised your eyebrows. “about… about not regretting it. i don’t.” you didn’t respond yet. you didn’t know how to. “i just… i didn’t expect it to matter this much.”
you finally looked at him. ”it mattered to me, too,” you confessed. “a lot.”
he smiled. “figured.”you mirrored his sad smile. “great, we’re both miserable. love that for us. nice. people would looove having us at their parties,” you joked. he let out a quiet laugh. and for a moment, you didn’t say anything.
“i don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” he said softly.
“then don’t.”
“it’s not that simple, yn.”
“it never is.”
he waited a beat, organising his thoughts to produce a coherent sentence. “do you want it to… happen again?”
your heart backflipped in your chest. you held his gaze. “yeah,” you said, nodding. no alcohol or hesitation this time—just the raw truth.
something in his eyes finally settled. like a decision that had been pending for too long was finally made.
he shifted closer to you, nodd. “then we figure it out,” he said.
“even if it’s messy?”
“it already is.”
you couldn’t argue with him on that.
the corners of your lips tugged upwards without your knowledge. “okay.”
he nodded, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding for so long.
“come here,” he whispered, opening his arms.
you closed the distance, shuffling closer to him. he pulled you into his lap.
you leaned closer, determined to not let him get away this time.
and he didn’t.
for a second, he just looked at you, like he was checking if this was real; if you were real. like he was committing the moment you were sharing to memory before it even happened.
his hand came up slowly, not rushed or impulsive, settling against your cheek.
“you sure?” he murmured in a low voice.
“stop asking,” you said while nodding. and that was all it took.
he kissed you with intention this time, not hesitation. softer at first, as if he was pacing himself, like he knew how easy it would be to lose control when he was with you. his thumb brushed your cheek.
“you’re beautiful,” he muttered against your lips.
you kissed him back just as deliberately, closing the few millimetres of space he was trying to leave between you. your fingers slid into his hair, and the small breath he let out felt like a reward.
“you’re prettier,” you laughed, pulling back before leaning in again.
the kiss deepened naturally, a sort of push and pull—a song and dance, if you will—like something that had been simmering long enough. every time he pulled back a bit, you followed, not letting him retreat into his head this time.
his other hand found your waist, gripping tightly, trying to ground himself.
“you’re so—” he cut himself off, pressing his forehead against yours like he needed a second.
“what?” you whispered, breath uneven.
he shook his head, beginning to laugh. “nothing, just—”
you didn’t let him finish. you kissed him again, softer, but firmer in intention.
his hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, resting there familiarly before pulling you closer like he’d finally decided to stop holding back.
“you’re not furniture,” you said against his mouth, not pulling away entirely.
“good. i’d be a terrible chair,” he laughed. your lips touched every time one of you spoke.
“yeah, you would.”
his eyes flicked between yours. neither of you moved away.
and for the first time since that night on the balcony, it didn’t feel like something that kept slipping through your fingers—it felt like something you were both finally holding onto.
☆
the first time it happened, it was almost accidental. your brother was in the next room, yelling at someone on his phone—probably his friend, heeseung, who forgot to turn up to their band practice again—while you were in the kitchen, looking for some snacks.
you heard footsteps behind you. “you’re avoiding me again.”
“i’m in the kitchen,” you said dryly. “that’s just me existing, jamie.”
he huffed at your response. “you’ve been weird all day.”
“so have you,” you pointed out.
he waited a beat before spreading his arms out. “c’mere.”
you turned this time. “why?”
“because i said so.”
“that’s not a good reason.” but you stepped closer anyway.
he glanced at the doorway, looking for any sign of riki, and then back at you. “you’re doing that thing again.”
“what thing?” you murmured.
“acting like you don’t know what this is. what we are.”
you tilted your head slightly with a teasing smile. “maybe i don’t.”
“liar,” he said quietly, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer.
he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth, just shy of your lips. the barely-there kiss still managed to knock the breath out of you.
and just like that, he stepped back—as if nothing happened. as if he didn’t just steal away your ability to think straight.
“what—” you started.
“your brother’s coming,” he muttered.
and right then, riki walked in. “oi, did you find anything to eat?”
you jumped, grabbing a random packet. “chips.”
he didn’t even question it. but when you glanced up, james was leaning against the counter, completely normal. like his hands weren’t on you two seconds ago. like he hadn’t just kissed you.
that’s kind of how it became a thing. your relationship didn’t have a definitive ‘start’ or anything. it wasn’t official or defined, just stolen.
it started with texts; nothing too obvious.
‘alive?’ he texted.
‘on the brink of death,’ you texted back.
‘dramatic ass.’
‘you like it.’
‘i do.’ and then he double texts, like men these days didn’t erase that concept. ‘meet me at our balcony.’
your heart did a stupid little flip, and the heart-shaped sirens in your brain went off like they did the first night everything started.
you met him there that night—same cold air. same spot. different energy between you.
“you keep summoning me like this,” you rolled your eyes teasingly.
“you keep coming,” he countered. you nodded your head as if to say ‘valid’.
he stepped closer, without hesitation this time.
“you’re not drunk,” he said with a tone of finality.
“i’m aware,” you hummed.
“and you still came.”
“also aware,” you smiled, glancing up at him.
“good.” his expression shifts to unveil something softer.
he kissed you gently, surely. like you’d both decided that this was something you wouldn’t be pretending away anymore.
your fingers curled into his hoodie, pulling him closer without thinking.
he exhaled slowly against your lips, one of his hands sliding to your waist, the action dangerously familiar.
when you pulled away from him, you were smiling. “this is a bad idea.”
“yeah,” he agreed. but neither of you moved away anyway.
☆
after that, it got harder, but easier at the same time: harder, because you had to act normal around your brother and the others. easier, because you didn’t want to stop.
you started noticing little things; the way he always sat in places from where he could see you. the way his foot nudged yours under the table when no one was looking during dinners with your families. the way he passed you things and let his fingers linger just a second too long. the way he looked at you, like a secret only the two of you understood.
one night, however, it almost went wrong. your brother was right there. some of your mutual friends came over to watch a movie.
you were tucked into the corner, with james beside you. too close. your brother sat on the other end of the small couch, completely oblivious.
your hand rested between your bodies on a pillow. slowly, james’ fingers brushed against yours. you froze, not daring to look at him or at your hands, as his pinky hooked around yours. it was the smallest thing in the world, but somehow the loudest too.
your heart was pounding so hard, you were sure riki could hear it. instead, he just laughed at something on the screen, before getting up to get some snacks.
you pulled your hand back. “are you insane, yufan?” you glared at him, using his government name you rarely did.
“you didn’t let go, did you?” he grinned.
“that’s not the point,” you muttered.
“it kind of is,” he shot back.
“we’re going to get caught,” you emphasised.
“not if you stop overreacting,” he said coolly.
“i’m not, i’m being realistic. huge difference.”
he leaned closer, dropping his voice lower. “you look cute when you panic.”
you shoved his shoulder away with mock annoyance, rolling your eyes at him. “you’re so annoying.”
“you like me,”
“unfortunately,” you bit back without missing a beat. he grinned, but it wasn’t all teasing.
sometimes, it was quieter than that; like the nights you were too tired to play secret games.
james had stayed for a sleepover, but riki had clocked out long ago.
you sat on the floor with your back against the couch.
some cheesy drama was playing faintly on the tv, but neither you nor james were looking at it.
he sat beside you—close, but without touching.
“do you ever think about what happens?” you whispered.
“what?”
“when we get caught.”
“…i do, but,” he shrugged. “it hasn’t stopped me yet.”
you glanced at him. “it probably should…”
“probably,” he paused. his voice turned gentler. “do you want to stop?”
“no,” you didn’t even hesitate.
“okay.”
you realised that it really was that simple all along; no pressure or dramatic confession. just… choosing each other, even if it didn’t completely make sense yet.
one night, after another one of your secret encounters, your forehead rested against his. your breaths came out in uneven pants.
“we… this doesn’t feel all that secret anymore,” you whispered.
his thumb brushed against your waist, tracing shapes into your skin. “yeah.” he swallowed.
“is that… a bad thing?”
he looked at you, like really looked at you then. like he was trying to find the last missing piece of a puzzle that was meant to be solved long ago.
finally, he spoke. “i don’t think i want it to be.”
your heart skipped a beat. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
you smiled, just a little bit. “sounds like a problem.”
he laughed quietly. “kinda.”
but he didn’t pull away; rather, he pulled you closer. and that’s when whatever you had with each other began to shift from something secret to… something you knew wouldn’t stay hidden for much longer.
☆
you knew you should’ve been more careful. you knew. so did james. but apparently knowing something and actually doing it were two different things.
it happened on a relatively normal day: riki was yelling at a game while smashing the controller in his hand. you sat on the couch, with james next to you. he was too close—not touching, of course, but so close that you could feel him beside you.
it was late, and all three of you were tired. your guard was down—mistake number one.
“oi, yn, get me some water,” riki called out without looking away from the screen.
“get it yourself,” you groaned. “loser.”
“i’m in the middle of a match,” he argued. “dipshit.”
“sounds like a you problem to me.”
“just go!”
you rolled your eyes, getting up anyway. “unbelievable,” you muttered to yourself. “fuckface.”
as you passed james, his hand nudged yours subtly. quick enough that your brother couldn’t see it. you glanced down, but he wasn’t even looking at you. his fingers, however, brushed yours again, and he murmured. “bring me some too.”
you scoffed lightly. “get it yourself.”
he hummed. “mm… or maybe you could just be nice.”
you didn’t respond, but you returned to the room with two glasses anyway.
mistake number two.
riki grabbed his glass without a second glance. “finally.”
but james looked straight at you. “thanks,” he said simply. it sounded so casual, so normal, but it wasn’t. because his fingers brushed yours when he took it, and lingered for just a second too long.
you should’ve pulled away faster—but you didn’t.
and that’s when it happened: riki noticed.
“james, man, what are you—” he cut himself off mid-sentence. you both froze, looking up.
riki was staring. not confused or amused or anything; just staring at you both. at your hands, which were still too close. at the way you both pulled back your hands a second too late.
“…what was that?” he asked calmly. too calmly.
you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. you didn’t know how to explain to your brother that you were with his best friend.
“nothing,” james exhaled.
wrong answer.
riki let out a short laugh that sounded borderline dangerous. “yeah?” he set his controller down and stood up. his eyes shifted between the two of you. “because that didn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me.”
“it wasn’t—” you started, but you didn’t know what you were going to say anyway. so you stopped.
a thick blanket of silence wrapped around the room.
“…how long?” he asked finally.
you blinked at him. “what?”
“how long,” he repeated. “has whatever this is been going on?”
you glanced at riki. but he wasn’t looking at you. he was looking at james.
“it’s not—” you started.
“don’t lie to me, by the way,” he snapped. you flinched at his tone.
“i’m not lying,” you tried weakly.
“then explain it.”
you couldn’t—not without spilling everything.
“it’s recent,” james said finally. your head snapped towards him. those were his choice of words?
riki scoffed. “define ‘recent’.”
“a few weeks.”
“a few weeks?” your brother repeated incredulously. “you’ve been sneaking around for weeks? great!”
“it wasn’t like that, man—”
“then what was it like?” riki ran a hand roughly through his hair. “fuck.”
nobody answered. there wasn’t a simple version of… this, to explain.
riki began pacing, trying not to lose it. “are you being serious right now?” he looked right at james. “out of everyone,” he paused. “her?” he pointed to you.
“i’m right here,” you muttered as something twisted in your chest.
“i know you’re right here, yn! that’s the problem!” he snapped.
“don’t talk about me like i’m not a part of this!” you snapped back at him.
“oh, you’re very much a part of this. which is why i want to know what the hell you’re thinking.”
“i’m thinking i don’t need your permission.”
“yes, you do—when it’s him!”
“why?”
because he’s my best friend!”
“and i’m your sister, not your fucking property, riki!”
he finally shut up. he looked between you and james again. frustration flashed across his face, morphing into hurt.
“you didn’t even tell me,” he said quietly. it would’ve been less worse if he was plain angry instead.
“i was going to,” you said unconvincingly. he scoffed.
“when?”
you didn’t have an answer, so you didn’t say anything. he let out a bitter laugh.
“unbelievable.” be turned to james. “you—what, you thought this was a good idea?”
“no,” james said honestly, meeting riki’s gaze.
“…no?”
“no, i knew it wasn’t.”
“then why—”
“because i like her.”
he said it so simply, without hesitating or backing down. your heart stopped.
riki just… stared at him. “…you what?” he asked, as if trying to process it.
“i like her,” james repeated. “it wasn’t planned. it just—it just happened.”
riki’s eyes turned towards you. “you?”
you swallowed. “yeah. i like him too.”
that was it: the rubicon. the point of no return.
your brother exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding it in all this while. his eyes flickered between the two of you again, trying to figure out what to do with this—with you.
“this isn’t some problem to fix, riki,” you said.
“this is messed up,” he muttered as if he didn’t hear you.
“why exactly—?”
“because!”
“that’s not a reason, riki.”
“it is when it’s my best friend and my sister!” he paused. his voice dropped a little. “is this… serious?”
you inhaled. “yeah.”
james didn’t interrupt—didn’t correct you or downplay it. and that mattered.
your brother noticed, of course.
“right,” he sighed and rubbed his face. “great. perfect. love this.” he paced again before stopping, and pointing at james. “if you hurt her, we’re done.” he turned to you. “you let him hurt you? i’m still blaming him.”
you almost laughed, despite… everything considered. “i need to lie down,” he muttered, walking to his room. “don’t talk to me.” he paused at the door before closing it. “this is so messed up.”
you finally exhaled as you watched him disappear into his room.
“well… that went horribly,” you commented, flopping onto the couch.
james let out a short laugh. “could’ve been worse.”
you turned to fave him. “how?”
“he didn’t punch me.”
“give it time.”
he grinned slightly, breaking the tension just a little—but it settled again; not as a secret or something hidden but… as something real. finally out in the open.
messy and complicated, but real.
“you really just said that, huh?” you mumbled after a second or two.
“said what?”
“that you like me.”
“i do,” he shrugged, like it was a fact.
the heart-shaped sirens went off again. “idiot.”
“yeah?”
he leaned his head against the couch, sitting down on the cold ground.
“yeah.”
you slid down from the couch to join him. you leaned your head on his shoulder, humming.
“we’re dead,” you said.
“probably.”
you nudged his shoulder and poked his side. “so worth it.”
☆
the first time you went somewhere that wasn’t your house, or your balcony, or somewhere hidden… it felt strange.
“this is so stupid,” you muttered, but the smile on your face betrayed your words.
“you were the one who suggested it,” james pointed out, handing you a stack of arcade tokens.
“i didn’t think you’d agree!” you shrugged.
“you asked. of course i’d say yes.”
you paused mid-step, looking back at him. “sounds like a bad habit.”
“probably,” he hummed. “but it’s working out great so far.” he grinned at you.
the arcade was loud—not in an overwhelming way, but in a chaotic sense. bright neon lights flashed as machined beeped loudly, and children ran back and forth.
“all right,” you clapped your hands together. “prepare to lose.”
“in what, exactly?” he raised an eyebrow with curiosity.
“everything.”
“you’re so cheeky,” he muttered, laughing to himself. “confident little shit.”
“i’m a correct little shit,” you retorted, grinning at him as you dragged him to a game. it was a basketball shooting one. “three rounds. loser buys food.”
“deal.”
you won the first round 57-12.
and the second: 61-12.
and the third: 68-12.
“oh my god,” you doubled over, laughing at him with tears forming in your eyes. “you’re genuinely so consistently bad at this!”
“i was adjusting!” he argued.
“to what, failure?”
he scoffed and shook his head as you clutched his sleeve for balance while laughing your heart out.
“you’re insufferable when you win, you know that?” he rolled his eyes playfully.
“and you’re broke, you know that?” you wiggled your eyebrows at him teasingly. “food!” you ordered.
he rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue—just bought you your usual order that he knew by heart.
later, you wound up at one of those claw machines—the ones everybody knew were rigged, but tried to win anyway.
“don’t do it,” he warned you.
“james, i can feel it in my bones,” you insisted, already inserting some coins. “this is my moment.”
“you said that for the last three games.”
“this one’s different!”
it wasn’t.
you failed—at least four times.
“ok, wait,” you narrowed your eyes, leaning closer to the glass. your face was stuck to the glass, fogging up where your warm breath touched it. “this one’s rigged.”
“yeahhh, definitely not a skill issue,” he said seriously.
“shut up!”
after your seventh attempt, he gently pushed you aside when you were mid-sigh. “move.”
“oh?” you scoffed. “you think you can do better?”
“watch,” he rolled his eyes playfully.
you were praying on his downfall, in all honesty—mostly because you had an ego right now, but he got it in two tries.
“shut up,” you groaned. “unfair.”
he handed you a small plushie with a shrug. “skill.” he reinforced as you mocked him and rolled your eyes. “i told you, skill.”
you looked up at him and thanked him softly. “thanks yu.”
he froze for a second at your tone before recovering quickly. “uh yeah, obviously.” he cleared his throat loudly.
you hugged the soft toy a little closer than necessary, your eyes never leaving his. and for once, neither of you made a joke.
☆
it was much later that month when everything shifted again.
you were in your room, doom-scrolling your day away again, when you heard the front door creek open louder than it usually did. hushed voices followed—not your brother’s.
your heart stopped beating for a whole second when you stepped out into the hallway and saw him. james.
your breath caught. he looked wrong.
his lip was split—the skin was pulled tight and angry, already darkening into a scarily deep bruise that spread out in uneven rays of purple and blue. a thin trickle of dried blood stuck stubbornly to the corner of his mouth, and it cracked slightly every time his jaw shifted. you were scared it might reopen if he spoke too much.
his cheek was swollen and the skin was puffed and tender-looking, like even touching it would make it worse. it was still red, as if the impact of the blow still lingered there.
“what happened?” you asked worriedly, but it came out sharper than you’d intended.
his knuckles were so much worse up close—scraped raw with the skin broken in patches as faint drops of blood clung there before slipping down into the creases of his fingers. dirt stuck to his wounds, shining darkly against the red—like he hadn’t really bothered to clean them… or maybe he didn’t get the time to.
he looked up at you, and his eyes softened. “hey,” he said like it was a normal tuesday. as if he hadn’t shown up looking half-dead just now.
“what happened?” you repeated, even quieter this time.
riki glanced between you both and frowned. “some fight. stupid one. i told him to just come in and sit,” he muttered.
“i’m fine,” james added quickly. nobody bought his lie.
he held himself with a certain stiffness, not obvious at first glance, but it was there. if you looked long enough. and you always looked long enough when it came to james.
his shoulders were set too carefully—too practiced. his posture was a little too rigid to pass off as ‘fine’, because he looked like every movement had to be calculated and measured. even the smallest shift made him flinch and caused a near-invisible hitch in his breath. it wasn’t dramatic pain, not loud or attention-seeking, but the quiet kind that seeped deeply into the muscle and bone while making it known in subtle ways like the way he hesitated to move before he did—bracing himself for it to get worse, if he moved wrongly.
wordlessly, you turned and walked towards the bathroom, gesturing at james to follow. he hesitated for a second before walking in behind you.
you motioned for him to sit before you grabbed the first aid kit. he sat as comfortably as a beat up person could, spreading his legs a little bit. you still didn’t say anything to him.
you only looked at him, when you stood in the space between his legs. that’s when your eyes filled without warning. his expression quickly shifted from guarded to worry.
“hey, hey,” he started immediately softly. “pretty girl, don’t—”
you blinked and sniffled but it couldn’t be helped; a tear slipped down anyway.
“fuck you,” you whispered.
“please don’t cry,” he muttered. he reached up slowly and brushed his thumb under your eye to catch your tears.
“you’re hurt,” you pointed out painfully obviously.
“i’ve been worse.”
“that’s not really comforting.”
he huffed out a small laugh, but it faded just as fast as it came when he saw another tear slip down your cheek.
“i didn’t want you to see me like this,” he admitted under the quiet night.
your hands paused mid-motion as the cotton pad hovered just above his scraped knuckles. a thin smear of yellow antiseptic glowed under the dim light, and for a second, you forgot what you were even doing. his voice an edge to it.
“why?”
he didn’t answer right away, hesitating, and his hand tensed just a little slightly in yours. he curled into himself like he was bracing for another hit.
you dipped the cotton back into the bottle of antiseptic, giving him some time, before pressing it to his skin. he flinched at the cool sting, but didn’t pull away.
“because,” his haw tightened as if he regretted starting to talk at all. “i thought you’d think it was… ugly.”
your chest tightened at his words that sat wrong. the word sounded heavy and misplaced, belonging nowhere near him.
you softened your touch and gaze equally without even realising it. you carefully turned his hand to check the other side. small cuts under along his fingers were faintly bruising beneath the skin.
“james,” you said softly. you cleaned each of his fingers methodically, slowly, as if being gentle with him now could undo what had happened before.
he swallowed and fixed his eyes over your shoulder and looked at anything except your face.
“i stopped getting into fights,” he continued. almost like he couldn’t stop now. he spoke more rushed and quieter like they’d been on his tongue for too long. “after… you. after i realised that i liked you, and i just… i just didn’t want you to look at me like that.”
you reached for a clean cloth, nodding your head as you listened to him, letting him talk. your throat burned.
you wiped away the excess antiseptic from his knuckles before dabbing them dry. your fingers lingered for a second longer as you traced the faint swell of the bruises.
“it wasn’t my fault this time,” he added, sounding a little frustrated now. the tension crawled back into his voice. “it just happened. wrong place, wrong time.”
you nodded, and set the cloth aside. you shifted closer and brought your hand up to brush your thumb against his jaw. you slowly guided him to finally look at you.
“you’re not ugly,” you whispered, because words seemed to loud for the moment. “you could never be ugly to me.”
he froze completely, unmoving in front of you. even his breaths paused, as if your words were a sweater that got hooked to a sharp edge in his heart.
you didn’t look away—not when his eyes searched yours like he almost didn’t believe you; not when his expression softened in a vulnerable way.
instead, you reached for a cotton bud, dipped it carefully before bringing it up to the cut on the side of his lip. your touch turned more careful, more slower, like you were afraid of hurting him more than he already was.
he inhaled sharply as the antiseptic stung his lip, and instinctively tightened his hand against your wrist before relaxing just as quickly.
“sorry,” you mumbled. your thumb brushed lightly beneath his lips as if it would soothe the sting. you silently worked, cleaning up his wound and wiping away the last few traces of blood as your other hand steadied his chin.
when you were done, you pulled back a little to finally check his entire face: there was still a little bit of redness and swelling, but everything looked much cleaner and softer now.
“does it hurt?” you asked.
“a bit,” he shrugged in the way he did when he tried to look nonchalant, but failed. you frowned slightly, lightly tapping the edge of his cut to check if it would bleed again.
you hummed to yourself, hands dropping slowly. neither of you moved away from the other.
a silence—full of everything that had just been said and everything that hadn’t—settled between you.
“people say you should kiss injuries better, right?” you said softly.
he blinked before letting out a quiet laugh. “yeah?”
you nodded shyly even though you were the one who said it. “yeah.”
“i hurt my lip,” he said coyly, tilting his head. you huffed.
“unbelievable,” you said while fighting off a smile.
“just saying,” he shrugged. “medical advice.” a smile tugged at his lips that mirrored yours.
you leaned in closer anyway, kissing him gently—carefully, like you were still scared to hurt him; like you were trying to fix it all.
when you pulled back, his hand came up to rest on your cheek.
“you were crying,” he said in a tone that made you think he couldn’t get over it.
“you were bleeding, fucker,” you shot back.
“still am.”
“dramatic ass.”
“learnt from the best,” he shot finger-guns at you, like a guy from a decade ago would’ve done. you rolled your eyes, letting out a small laugh, which faded soon.
“i really really hate seeing you like that,” you admitted.
he studied your face for half a minute—your slightly puffy eyes, red nose, dried tear streaks across your cheeks, and your lips that still trembled a little.
“i love you,” he said, softer than anything he’d ever said before.
the words hung in the air as your good old heart-shaped sirens returned.
“you—” you blinked once. twice. thrice, for good measure. “you do?”
he smiled slowly. “yeah.” something in your chest unravelled completely.
“i love you,” you said in a single breath.
he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he pulled you closer to press a kiss to your forehead.
“you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that, pretty girl?” he muttered.
“you literally just got into a fight,” you whispered back.
“and this still feels more dangerous,” he huffed softly.
you smiled before pecking the corner of his lips. “good.”
and when he kissed you properly again, it felt certain. not like a secret, not like something that ‘shouldn’t be happening’.
like something you both finally stopped being afraid of, and something that was completely yours.
❤︎ an ─── ৻ꪆ watch me reread this bro it’s my own comfort fic atp ⠀·⠀⠀long ass fic btw we cheered · guys this fic is literally sunny’s and my (?) child, we’ve been preggers with this amazing baby for like 2.5-ish months 😓
📬 ❤︎ james 𝔁 sixth member!gf!reader ─── ৻ꪆ visiting france for paris fashion week as cortis.
❤︎ warnings+tags ─── ৻ꪆ kissing, my ass french from high school bc that’s all i remember and i don’t trust google translate sooo if there’s any mistakes, pls correct me <3, all six of them are ambassadors for plot purposes (maknaes+jju for dior, prodz+yn for ysl), mild swearing, nicknames (!!!!!!)
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ pretty boys pmo. anyway, enjoy 😁 (also, no coloured text for a while bc i wrote this otw to 🇸🇬 (if any of you 👀 are from sg 👀 hmu for good spots to eat and hangout pls 👀) and i also don’t have my laptop to edit 😭 but wtv. james fic deserves to be posted no matter what 🫶) also this is canon bc i am NEVERRR paying extra for stuff i can haggle for i’ve learn enough french for THAT at least 😽
❤︎ wc ─── ৻ꪆ 4.8k
𝄞 𓏸 my cortispilledmasterlist »﹙合﹚
❝ tracklist ❞ ─── taste—skz ❦ guilty—taemin ❦ back for more—txt ❦ darling—d.o ❦ love lee—akmu ❦ snooza—sza
the energy in the french taxi was exactly what you’d expect from packing six idols into an oversised van: chaotic, loud, and entirely unbothered by the jet lag.
martin was pressed against the window, trying to take aesthetic 0.5x photos of the passing parisian streets but mostly just capturing juhoon’s reflective forehead. keonho and seonghyeon were locked in an intense, whispered debate about whether french mcdonald’s tasted superior to korean mcdonald’s, while james had his arm draped casually over the back of your seat, his thumb lightly tracing patterns on your shoulder.
“guys, wait,” you said, leaning forward to tap the driver’s shoulder. you pulled up a pin on your maps. “excusez-moi, monsieur, est-ce qu’on pourrait s’arrêter ici, s’il vous plaît?” (excuse me, sir, could we stop here, please?)
the driver blinked, surprised, but nodded with a warm “bien sûr, mademoiselle,” pulling the van up to the curb of a quiet, picturesque side street.
“what are we doing?” juhoon asked, blinking at the charming, ivy-draped storefront.
“brunch,” you announced, sliding out of the van. “an online friend of mine swore this place has the best pastries in the city. since we’ll be separated for fittings tomorrow, we eat together today.”
the cafe was tiny, smelling heavily of espresso, melted butter, and fresh baking. because it was tucked away from the main tourist hubs, it was relatively quiet. you led the boys to a long wooden table in the back. when the young waitress walked over with a notepad, the boys collectively froze, suddenly realising none of them actually spoke french. martin opened his mouth to try some english, but you beat him to it.
you looked up at the waitress who seemed to be younger than you. “bonjour! nous aimerions commander, s’il te plaît. pour commencer, un panier de viennoiseries, trois cafés au lait, deux expressos, et un thé vert.”
you slid seamlessly into fluent, melodic french, customising the boys’ orders from memory—making sure keonho got his extra shot of espresso and juhoon’s pastry didn’t have nuts.
the waitress’ eyes lit up, a brilliant smile instantly breaking across her face. she practically beamed, replying to you in rapid, delighted french, gesturing with her hands, clearly charmed by your perfect accent and polite demeanor. you laughed softly at something she said, nodding as you finished up the order. “merci beaucoup!”
when you turned back to the table, the boys were staring at you like you’d just grown a second head.
“woah,” seonghyeon muttered, lowering his menu. “since when do you speak french like a local?”
“five years in middle and high school, dude. i graduated unlike you guys, you know,” you said playfully, flipping your hair. while the others were busy hyping you up and digging into the bread basket that arrived moments later, james hadn’t said a single word. you looked over at him—he was leaning back in his chair, his jaw slightly slack, staring at you with an expression that was pure, unfiltered adoration. his eyes were dark, a tiny, helpless smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
you leaned in close to his ear. “earth to james. you’re staring.”
“can you blame me?” he whispered back, his voice suddenly dropping an octave as he leaned into your space. “french? seriously? you’re trying to kill me before fashion week even starts. that was genuinely so hot.”
you bit your lip to hide a smile, your heart doing a familiar flutter. even though you’d been dating for a while now, the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the room—never failed to make your stomach flip.
while the two of you shared quiet, stolen glances, the rest of the table devolved into standard teenage boy antics. martin and juhoon were trying to see who could catch a piece of croissant in their mouth from across the table—juhoon missed, and it hit keonho in the eye—while seonghyeon was busy recording a vlog, narrating the “elegance of paris” while holding up a half-eaten pain au chocolat like a trophy.
once brunch was done, the cafe owner kindly let you all slip out through the private back exit to avoid the few paparazzi who had caught wind of your location at the front.
the back alleyway, however, was a literal goldmine. it was a classic, sunlit parisian stone lane, completely empty and dripping with old-money aesthetic.
“photoshoot time,” martin declared, immediately whipping out his phone.
everyone took turns posing against the rustic brick walls. the dior boys—juhoon, keonho, and seonghyeon—were already serving model poses, looking effortless.
but then james stepped up, and your breath hitched. because of the afternoon warmth, he had shed his heavy jacket. he was currently standing in a tight white tank top, an olive green flannel thrown over it entirely unbuttoned, hanging loosely off his broad shoulders. he shifted his weight, hands dipping into his loose-fitting cargo pants—and the slight movement caused the distinct waistband of his calvin klein boxers to peek out just above his waistline.
he caught you staring, giving you a lazy, devastating smirk as the sunlight hit his jawline.
“oh my god, you’re crazy,” you muttered under your breath, instantly raising your phone. “stay right there. bitch, do not move.” you went into full photographer mode, completely losing your mind behind the camera. “james, look down. now look at me. yeah, just like that. wow, okay, the lighting is actually insane. fuck off, pretty boy.”
he leaned back against a green metal doorway, tilting his head up, looking incredibly relaxed, effortless, and ridiculously attractive. you took shot after shot, your fingers flying across the screen. you knew the fans would absolutely lose their minds if they ever saw these.
you lowered the phone for a second, looking at the preview, then glared at him playfully. you stepped closer, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “if you post these to let coers see, i’m not kissing you for a whole day. i mean it.”
james let out a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. he didn’t hesitate even for a fraction of a second. “yes, princess,” he murmured.
before you could even process the nickname, he reached out, caught you by the waist, and pulled you flush against his chest. in broad daylight, right there in the middle of the alleyway, he tilted your chin up and planted a firm, lingering kiss right on your lips.
“oh, come on!” martin groaned loudly from behind you.
“my eyes! i am a dior ambassador, i shouldn’t have to witness this cruelty!” juhoon yelled, dramatically covering his face.
keonho and seonghyeon were loudly fake-gagging, leaning against each other for support and making exaggerated retching noises.
you flushed red, pulling back and swatting james’ chest, though you couldn’t stop the grin on your face. thank god no one else was around—your relationship was the biggest secret in the industry, kept strictly between the six of you. if anyone else had been in that alley, the internet would have broken, but with your members, it was just another tuesday of them pretending to be disgusted by your affection.
eventually, you all piled back into a new taxi, laughing and teasing each other the whole way to the hotel.
when you finally arrived at the luxury suite, the atmosphere shifted from chaotic teens to high-fashion professionals.
waiting in the center of the living area were two massive, elegant clothing racks, strictly divided. on one side stood the sleek, sharp, and rebellious tailoring of ysl. on the other, the structured, elegant, and timeless silhouettes of dior.
you, james, and martin walked toward the ysl rack, while juhoon, keonho, and seonghyeon gathered around the dior pieces. the staff had left the garment bags unzipped, revealing the custom pieces chosen for the upcoming shows.
you ran a hand down the sleek, cool fabric of your outfit, and your jaw completely dropped. “damn…”
“wait, hold on,” martin said, peeking over your shoulder at the rack before looking down at his own garment bag. “are you and james... matching?”
you pulled the protective layer fully down, and a collective gasp went up from the other side of the room.
it was stunning. the staff had gone for a sharp, high-contrast black and metallic silver color palette for the two of you. your outfit was the definition of a breathtaking masterpiece that perfectly balanced edgy rock-and-roll rebellion with elegance. it clung in all the right places, featuring shimmering silver hardware accents that caught the hotel suite’s chandelier light, paired with a silhouette so sleek it felt almost dangerous.
right next to it hung james’ look. it was equally jaw-dropping: a beautifully tailored, razor-sharp black blazer with subtle metallic silver threading woven seamlessly into the fabric, designed to be worn over a sheer, dark silk shirt that left just enough to the imagination. together, the two outfits looked like they belonged in a museum, or a power-couple editorial.
“alright, personal cortis fashion show starts now,” keonho announced, grabbing his suit and heading toward one of the luxury bathrooms.
james and you grabbed your respective garment bags and headed toward the changing area in the main room, where heavy, floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains had been set up for privacy.
“don’t peek,” you teased, sliding behind your curtain.
“wouldn’t dream of it, my love,” james’ deep voice echoed from behind the curtain right next to yours.
for the next ten minutes, the suite was filled with the rustle of expensive fabric, the zipping of boots, and the occasional grunt from juhoon trying to figure out a complicated belt. you stepped into your shoes, adjusted the silver details of your dress, and took a deep breath. looking in the mirror, you looked completely transformed.
you wrapped your hand around the velvet curtain and pulled it open, stepping out into the center of the spacious suite at the exact same moment james parted his.
and right there, time completely stopped.
the background noise of the other boys faded into pure silence. you just stood there, frozen, staring at him. james looked... unreal. the sharp tailoring of the silver-threaded blazer emphasized his broad shoulders perfectly, and the subtle glimpse of skin beneath the dark silk shirt was devastating. he looked like a literal prince of the night—he reminded you of cardan greenbriar, a faerie from one of your favourite books.
but if you were staring, james was completely melting. his eyes locked onto you, tracing the line of your dress, his breath hitching audibly. the lazy, confident smirk he usually wore was completely gone, replaced by a look of pure, breathless awe. for a solid ten seconds, neither of you moved. you just drowned in each other’s gaze, the sheer intensity of the look making your knees go weak.
slowly, as if pulled by an invisible magnetic force, you both started walking toward each other, meeting right in the center of the grand suite.
“you look…” james started, his voice thick and rough, but he couldn’t even finish the sentence. he didn’t need to. the look in his eyes said everything.
“you don’t look too bad yourself,” you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs.
he didn’t waste another second. he reached out, his large hand wrapping firmly around your waist, his fingers digging into the expensive fabric of your dress as he pulled you closer. he leaned down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that instantly made your head spin.
it wasn’t like the quick, stolen kiss in the alleyway. this was slow, heavy, and all-consuming. your hands flew up to his chest, clutching at the lapels of his blazer, pulling him even closer as the kiss deepened and the world completely dissolved. you tilted your head, losing yourself in the rhythm of his lips, your senses overwhelmed by the faint scent of his cologne and the warmth of his skin. he shifted his grip, his other hand coming up to cup your jawline, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.
you lost track of how long you were standing there, completely wrapped up in each other, getting closer and closer until there was absolutely no space left between you.
whoosh. the sound of velvet rings sliding across a metal pole echoed through the room. martin stepped out from his changing curtain, completely dressed in his custom ysl look, adjusting his cuffs. “hey guys, do you think this jacket is too—”
he stopped dead in his tracks. he stared at the two of you—tangling together, completely ignoring the rest of the world, thoroughly making out in high-fashion matching outfits.
martin didn’t say a single word. he didn’t even sigh. with an expression of pure, unadulterated exhaustion, he slowly reached back out, grabbed his curtain, and pulled it shut again, disappearing back into his little velvet cave to question his life choices.
you felt the vibration of a chuckle rumble in james’ chest against yours, but he didn’t care. he literally did not give a single shit about martin walking in. instead of pulling away, he just leaned into the kiss even more, his lips pressing softer, sweeter against yours, grounding you in the moment.
he finally broke the kiss just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily. his hands stayed firmly anchored on your waist, refusing to let you go.
“we are going to ruin everyone’s career at the show tomorrow,” he murmured against your lips, a low, breathy smile in his voice as his thumbs stroked your hips. “but right now? i don’t ever want to let you out of this room.”
it took an embarrassing amount of willpower to finally break away, especially with martin still aggressively clearing his throat from behind his curtain.
reluctantly, you both changed back into your regular, comfortable clothes—oversized hoodies, relaxed jeans, and soft beanies. the glamour was packed away into bags, but the lingering warmth between you and james remained. while the rest of the boys decided to crash on the giant suite beds to finally let the jet lag win, you and james slipped out of the hotel, completely under the radar.
you caught a metro down to a bustling, sprawling marché aux puces, a massive, historic parisian flea market that felt a million miles away from the sterile luxury of fashion week. it was a vibrant labyrinth of crowded stalls, overflowing with vintage clothes, antique books, and handmade trinkets.
you stopped at a small, rustic stall overflowing with silver bracelets, beaded necklaces, and beautiful rings. the vendor, an older man with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, gave you a look that clearly screamed ‘clueless tourists.’ he threw out an incredibly inflated price for a delicate silver bracelet you were eyeing.
james pulled out his wallet, already prepared to pay whatever, but you gently tapped his hand down.
you turned to the vendor, a sharp, playful glint in your eyes. slouching your posture just a bit, you dropped the polite, textbook french you had used at brunch and dove straight into the fast, slang-heavy, informal street french you’d picked up from listening to local podcasts and rap music.
“ah non, oula, c’est grave cher là, monsieur,” you said, throwing around casual fillers with an effortless, local cadence. “franchement, le truc est beau, mais ça vaut pas tout ça. faites-moi un petit prix, s’il vous plaît? on est entre nous.” (no, wow, that’s very expensive. honestly, it’s pretty, but it’s not worth all that. give me a little discount, please? just between us.)
the vendor’s eyebrows shot up as he let out a hearty laugh, thoroughly amused and impressed by the sudden shift from a quiet foreign girl to someone speaking like a born-and-raised parisian youth. he quickly countered with a much lower, realistic price, nodding in respect.
beside you, james was looking at you like you had just performed magic. he was completely amazed for absolutely no reason, a massive, dorky grin spreading across his face.
“what?” you whispered, handing the vendor the cash.
“nothing,” james murmured, wrapping an arm securely around your shoulder and pulling you against his side as you stepped back into the dense flow of the market crowd. “you’re just ridiculous. where did you even learn to talk like that? you sounded like you were about to start a rap battle.”
“it’s all about the vibe, jamie,” you teased, proudly slipping the new bracelet onto your wrist.
the market was getting tighter, packed with locals and tourists shuffling past each other in tight spaces. james became hyper-aware of everyone around you. his grip on your waist tightened, his large frame acting like a protective shield as he guided you through the swell of people, making sure no one bumped into you.
suddenly, a distracted local carrying a large wooden crate turned a corner blindly, on a direct collision course to slam right into your shoulder.
james noticed it a split second before you did. with his ridiculous lightning-fast reflexes, his hand shot up to your upper arm, and he yanked you toward him. the sudden pull sent you spinning right off your feet, stumbling forward until you crashed directly into his solid chest. his arms instantly locked around your waist to steady you, holding you close against him.
you gasped softly, your hands instinctively gripping his hoodie. you looked up, your eyes meeting his.
right there, in the middle of the crowded parisian market, everything slowed down to an absolute crawl. the shouting of vendors and the bustle of the crowd completely muted into background static. to make it almost comically perfect, a street musician just a few stalls down began playing a slow, deeply romantic jazz melody on a saxophone, the rich notes drifting through the warm afternoon air.
james looked down at you, his eyes dark and intensely focused on yours. he didn’t let go of your waist. instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, his breathing shallow.
“you okay?” he whispered, his voice rough.
“yeah,” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs for a completely different reason now. “thanks to you.”
you knew it was incredibly risky. there were hundreds of people around. if a single person recognized either of you, or if someone took a clear photo, the internet would go into a total meltdown by dinner time. but looking up at him, surrounded by the golden sunlight and the swell of jazz music, you suddenly realised you didn’t give a shit. just for a few seconds, you wanted to be normal.
you leaned up on your tiptoes, closing the remaining distance between you. james didn’t hesitate—he met you halfway, his lips pressing against yours in a soft, deeply sweet, and unhurried kiss. it felt entirely different from the one in the hotel suite; this was tender, open, and completely content. he held you tight against him, completely unbothered by the world spinning around you.
after a few seconds of the uninterrupted kiss, a loud “oh là là!” echoed from a nearby fruit stall, followed by a chorus of cheerful whoops, whistles, and appreciative clapping from a few locals who love nothing more than public displays of romance.
the sudden noise made you break away slightly. you buried your face into the crook of james’ neck, a bright, bubbly laugh escaping your lips. he let out a low, breathless chuckle of his own, his chest vibrating against yours as he pressed a final, lingering kiss into your hair, hiding his own huge smile against your forehead.
“see?” james whispered playfully, his arms still wrapped tight around you as you both slowly started walking again. “the french love us. we’re fine.”
with your hand firmly slipped into his coat pocket—your fingers intertwined beneath the heavy fabric—the walk back to the hotel turned into a slow, sun-drenched detour through the winding backstreets of paris.
you couldn’t help yourself—every time a unique storefront caught your eye, you pulled james along, ducking into random little shops. in a vintage bookstore that smelled of aged paper and leather, you picked up a beautifully weathered postcard from the 1960s. at a tiny pâtisserie, you bought a box of colorful macarons, immediately feeding a raspberry one to james, who smiled around the pastry, his thumb wiping a stray crumb from the corner of your mouth.
then, you stumbled upon a small, open-air flower stall. it was an explosion of color against the grey stone: buckets of deep red roses, pale eucalyptus, and bright yellow mimosas lining the pavement.
“wait here,” you told him, pulling your hand from his pocket.
you walked up to the older woman running the stall, looking over the selection before pointing to a small, perfectly wrapped bundle of small white flowers and dark green leaves. “bonjour madame! c’est combien pour les petites fleurs blanches, s’il vous plaît?” (hello mam, how much for the small white flowers, please?)
when she gave you the price, you didn’t even try to haggle this time. you just smiled, handed her the euros, and took the bouquet. turning back around, you walked straight up to james and thrust the flowers into his chest.
he blinked, completely caught off guard. his hands instinctively wrapped around the stems, looking down at the bouquet and then up at you, a soft, boyish flush creeping up his neck. “are these... for me?”
“boys deserve flowers too, jamie,” you said matter-of-factly, adjusting his beanie. “plus, they match your aesthetic.”
the look on his face was like pure, melted honey. he tucked the bouquet securely under his arm like it was the most precious thing he owned, his hand immediately finding yours again, gripping it a little tighter than before.
a few doors down, you stopped at one final stall—a cluttered, charming display of vintage silver accessories and old metal keychains. you spotted a heavy, intricately carved silver ring that looked exactly like something james would wear on his index finger.
you picked it up, immediately stepping up to the vendor to start negotiation round two. james slid in right behind you, anchoring himself to your back. he wrapped his arms loosely around your waist from behind, holding his new bouquet in one hand while his chin hovered just above your jacket.
“excusez-moi, monsieur,” you began, slipping right back into that effortless, rapid-fire street french. “elle est super sympa la bague, mais le prix est un peu abusé, non? faites-moi un prix d’ami et je la prends tout de suite.” (excuse me, sir. the ring is very nice, but the price is a bit much, right? give me a friend's price and i’ll take it right now.)
the vendor paused, looking at you over his glasses, a slow smirk forming on his face as he prepared to counter-offer.
hearing the absolute confidence dripping from your voice, james couldn’t take it anymore. he buried his face into the crook of your neck, dropping his forehead right onto your shoulder. you could feel the deep, quiet vibration of his laughter echoing through his chest against your back. he shook his head slightly, hiding his face as he laughed quietly, utterly overwhelmed by how incredibly cool his girlfriend was.
“what’s so funny?” you murmured, tilting your head back slightly against his cheek while waiting for the vendor’s reply.
“nothing,” he whispered against your jacket, his voice thick with a mixture of disbelief and pure adoration. “you’re just... unreal. i’m literally just standing here holding a bouquet of flowers while my girl runs the streets.”
you smiled, casually tossing a few euros onto the counter as the vendor gave in with a defeated, amused chuckle, handing over the ring.
you turned around in james’ embrace, slipping the silver ring onto his finger before looking up at him. “told you. it’s all about the vibe, mon ange.” (my angel.)
he looked down at the ring, then at the flowers, and finally at you. he let out another soft laugh, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss right to the tip of your nose. “come on, princess. let’s get back before the guys eat the entire hotel’s worth of good without us.”
by the time you both snuck back into the hotel suite, the quiet sanctuary you had left behind was entirely gone. the door had barely clicked shut before you were met with the sight of juhoon and keonho aggressively playing rock-paper-scissors over who got the last order of french fries from the massive room-service spread in the center of the living room. seonghyeon was stretched out on the couch, half-asleep with a luxury fashion magazine draped over his face, while martin was sitting cross-legged on the floor, intensely editing the photos you had taken of him earlier in the alleyway.
“look who finally decided to return from their romantic getaway,” martin muttered without looking up from his phone, his thumb sliding a contrast filter back and forth. “did you guys get lost, or did you just forget you have a group?”
“we brought pastries,” you announced, holding up the box of macarons like an offering of peace. instantly, the atmosphere changed. keonho abandoned the rock-paper-scissors match, lunging across the suite to snatch the box from your hands.
“i knew you were my favorite member for a reason. if team dior starves tomorrow, it’s on ysl’s hands.”
james chuckled, dropping the bags of vintage keychains and trinkets you’d bought onto the side table. he carefully placed the small bouquet of white flowers into an empty glass bottle he’d filled with water from the bathroom, setting it right on his nightstand.
“wait,” juhoon said, squinting across the room as he chewed on a raspberry macaron. “james, did you buy yourself flowers?”
“no,” james said smoothly, not a single hint of embarrassment in his voice as he adjusted the stems so they sat perfectly. “my girlfriend bought them for me. got a problem?”
juhoon blinked, looking at the tough, broad-shouldered rapper who was currently hovering over a delicate bunch of blossoms like a proud gardener. “you know what? no. i’m not even going to comment. you two are disgustingly whipped.”
“let them be,” seonghyeon’s voice came muffled from beneath the magazine on his face. “as long as they don’t start making out on the couch while i’m trying to nap, i am choosing peace today.”
you flushed, throwing a spare sofa pillow directly at seonghyeon’s stomach, making him groan and finally sit up. james just laughed, walking over to sit beside you on the edge of the large armchair, his arm immediately finding its usual place around your waist, pulling you securely against his side.
for the next hour, the suite settled into a comfortable, easy warmth. the six of you shared the food, teased martin about his extreme photo-editing dedication, and went over the official schedule for the next morning. tomorrow was the day—the fashion show was set to run from morning to night. the media coverage was going to be insane, the paparazzi would be everywhere, and the pressure to look flawless was heavy.
but sitting there, with james’ thumb softly rubbing comforting circles against your hip while the rest of the boys argued over what movie to put on the hotel tv, the upcoming chaos of fashion week didn’t feel daunting at all.
as the evening wound down and everybody slowly drifted off to their respective rooms to finally get some proper sleep before the big day, james caught your hand, pulling you back for a split second before you could step into your own room.
the hallway of the suite was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“hey,” he whispered, pulling you into his space until your chest tapped against his. he looked down at you, his eyes incredibly soft in the shadows. he reached out, his fingers gently tracing the new silver ring you had bartered for him earlier, before sliding his hand up to cup the side of your neck.
“hey,” you smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “stressed about tomorrow?”
“not at all,” he murmured, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. his breath was warm against your skin. “ as long as i get to look across the front row and see you matching with me, i’m good. tomorrow, the whole world is going to be watching us... but i’ll only be looking at you."
you felt your heart swell, that familiar, breathless flutter taking over your entire chest. you leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips—a quiet promise between the two of you before the madness of the spotlight began.
“goodnight, pretty boy,” you whispered against his mouth.
“goodnight, pretty girl,” he murmured back, giving your waist a final, reassuring squeeze. “see you tomorrow morning.”
“oooooh fucking là là!” the boys screamed while giggling from outside the door, immediately running away to their rooms.
WATCH OUT FOR THE RAGEBAITER COUPLE ! nishimura riki
what makes a relationship strong? for you and your bf, niki, the answer is to troll others instead of arguing with each other. AKA texts with ur fellow ragebaiter who's also ur bf, riki !
starring ragebaiter bf!niki x ragebaiter!reader ୨ৎ genre fluff, romcom/crack one-shot smau, established relationship ੭﹕﹒ warnings profanity, insults, downbadbf!niki
( ℰve🪽 ) —— best type of rela ngl. also, i pulled a niki pc so i wanted to write abt him >< and i hope u guys get the references... + likes, reblogs, & comments r always appreciated, mwah ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡
just bf!ryul spoiling his f!r gf #1304 w req ❤︎ ᴄʜᴇʀʀɪᴇꜱ 4 ᴜ
' he lets you wake him up whenever you want.
"hey woojin," you say to the boy in-front of you, watching him step aside to let you in the dorm.
"hey noona, you look nice!" he says with his typical enthusiasm, wide grin plastered on his face.
"aweh, thank youu!" you stretch out the word and smile back at him as you kick your shoes off to the side, getting compliments from woojin was a form of confidence boost to you after all. "where's ryul?"
you look around the quite dorm, they can't all be sleeping till now.
"he's sleeping in his room, good luck with that noona." he says with a sympathetic smile, making your brows come together in confusion.
"huh? what do you mean?" you tilt your head slightly.
"ryul hyung sleeps like a rock, no one knows how to wake him up." he shrugs as he says and now you're even more confused, hes not that hard to wake up.
'right' you mutter under your breath and bid the younger boy goodbye, bee-lining to his room that you became way too familiar with now.
slowly turning the knob and making your way inside, the room is pitch black but you reach for the lamp switch with practiced ease, turning it on and placing your bag and the rest of your belongings somewhere on his desk, then gently sitting down next to your boyfriend.
you admire how peaceful he looks, eyelashes resting on his cheeks, smooth skin and relaxed eyebrows, you almost feel bad having to wake him up.
your hands come up to his face, softly cradling his jaw in your palm and whispering his name. then you watch him slowly stir, a grunt making its way out of him before he opens his eyes.
that wasn't so hard…?
"hey, baby," his voice hoarse as he calls out, tilting his head to the side to place a peck onto the palm of your hand.
"hi, handsome." you smile at him, leaning down to quickly peck his lips, not expecting him to hold both your arms and manhandling you into laying next to him on the other side of the bed, you yelp and he starts laughing.
"oh, my god, ryul don't do that!" you smacked his shoulder after finally catching your breath, he laughs even harder at that, then simply pecks your cheek and gets up to start his day.
"woojin said you're a heavy sleeper. but you wake up really easily all the time with me though?" you questioned as you saw him head to the bathroom, following him and standing in the doorway.
"i am a heavy sleeper though, i don't know how i wake up so quickly with you." he says, then starts brushing his teeth.
a smile creeps up your face at the declaration, "oh, my god, you loveee me." you tease him and chuckle when he gives you a look.
your little moment was cut short when the door to ryuls room was slammed open with a force way bigger than necessary.
your head snaps to the door and you both see ohyul standing there with woojin right behind him, and all of you stare at each other in confusion.
"how is he awake?" ohyul asks after a beat of silence.
you burst out laughing and stare back at ryul, ready to tease him some more.
"you really do love me, wow." he groans and goes to push the two prying boys out of the room, muttering curses under his breath.
' lets you in the studio when he's working whenever you want.
your phone lights up with a face time call from your boyfriend at an almost ungodly hour, and you know exactly what to expect.
you throw yourself on the bed then slide your fingers over the pickup button, instantly smiling once his face comes in view.
he throws his arms behind his head, leaning his back onto the chair and relaxing into it.
"hey, pretty," his voice rings through your room. your smile widens at that.
"hi!" your eyes roam over his surroundings, confirming your suspicions, "ryul, are you still at the studio?" you frown and he can only shrug in response.
"yeah, wanted to ask if you can come over," he smiles sheepishly at you. "i could just ask my manager to pick you up" he finishes off, looking at you with hopeful eyes.
you think about it for a bit, it's not like you had much to do tonight, or tomorrow for that matter, so who were you to pass on watching your boyfriend work.
you roll your eyes in feign annoyance, "fine, but you're dropping me off."
"now why would i drop you off when you can just stay the night."
what a greedy thing he is.
when you arrive to the studio and push the door open, he greets you with a hug too tight, burying his face in your neck and inhaling like he hasn't seen you in months, you set on the couch behind him, watching him click on his keyboard relentlessly and scribbling things down every now and then.
somehow through the night you shifted from your seated position on the couch to curling up side ways on his lap, and have him show you everything he worked on that night.
and somewhere along these many recently saved files there was an audio file of you two talking and laughing, ending with him whispering the words 'i love you' and your giggles.
this one isn't gonna make it though.
' lets you borrow his clothes all the time
his room was beginning to look like a mess, all because he just couldn't find that one blue beanie with gemstones on it, he's sure he didn't lose it somewhere outside the dorm, so where the hell is it.
his phone rings from somewhere under the pile of accessories on his bed, he rummages for it before answering.
"hello?" he speaks quickly, phone pressed to his ear while looking at the mess of a room, if he takes much more time, jay for sure is gonna be on his ass for it.
"hey, baby," you reply from the other end of the line, and he sighs loudly once he hears your voice, shoulders dropping down "whats wrong, you sound annoyed?"
"i can't find that one beanie, the blue one with gemstones shaped as a star? have you seen it recently?" he asks as he drops himself on the only empty part of the bed.
"wait, turn on face time really quick," you replied with an awfully cheery voice, considering his very sad one.
he turns on face time and sees you setting down on your desk chair, your arm reaching for something behind the phone.
you then come into view and he watches you slip on the earlier mentioned beanie, smiling at him after you finally put it on, and he just gives you his default deadpan face.
"since when do you have that." he asks with a calm voice, and you just shrug at him. his voice sounds more frustrated after that.
"look at my room!" he flips the camera around to show you the view he was in, "it wouldn't have looked like that if i just knew you had it." he deflates and flips the camera back to him.
you just cant help but laugh loudly at his state, blurting out apologies that didn't seem that sincere to him at the moment.
"I'm sorry, i saw it two days ago and i just couldn't help but take it," you explained while laughing, then looking at your reflection on the phone and fixing your appearance.
"don't i look cute though?"
"yeah, very cute actually. i want you to keep it." he says, a lovesick smile replacing the frown that was etched on his face.
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summary; after some exhausting days, ohyul claims full-day cuddling rights, bans everyone from his room, and makes it very clear that ‘five more minutes’ actually means the rest of the day
warnings; fluff, cuddles, kissing, petnames
wc; 2,9k - requested
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the dorm is suspiciously quiet when you step out of the elevator, balancing two paper bags of breakfast and a cardboard tray of coffees in your hands
you shift the strawberry milk carefully between your fingers, literally fighting against gravity to not spill anything,
“if this spills, louis will actually cry,” you mumble to yourself
you type in the passcode and nudge the door open with your hip
“hello?” you call softly, taking off your shoes and kicking them somewhere to the side
and before you can even take two steps in, you hear hurried footsteps
ryul appears first, hair sticking up in every possible direction, hoodie half on, blinking like a confused cat, and his eyes widen when he sees you
“yn,”he says immediately, voice raspy from sleep, “please tell me that’s food,”
louis pops up right behind him, dramatically clutching his chest, “bro i knew true love existed,”
you laugh as you hold up the bags, “breakfast delivery service has arrived!!”
woojin’s door flies open down the hallway at the sound of your voice
“is yn here?” he yells before he even sees you, then he actually sprints down the hall in socks, nearly slipping in the process, “yooo,”
within seconds you’re being carefully relieved of the drinks while louis gently cradles his strawberry milk like it’s a newborn child (it is that serious to him)
“you remembered,” he whispers emotionally, dramatically stirring his cup
“of course i did,” you grin, “i’d figured you could use some nice food after these days”
“bro i’m barely alive,” louis huffs, plopping down on a chair,
“barely?” ryul scoffs, already opening his sandwich, “we are ghosts, we haven’t slept properly since monday”
woojin takes a long sip of coffee and closes his eyes, “this is exactly what i needed, i can feel my soul re-entering my body”
you settle at the kitchen table with them while they excitedly talk over each other about the shoot
“woojin tripped during the rain scene mud scene-“
“it wasn’t a trip, it was a stylistic stumble-“
“-and the director made us redo the group choreo like twelve times-“
you giggle, listening to their chaotic storytelling, making sure they’re actually eating and not just talking
you push napkins toward ryul when he drops crumbs everywhere and you make woojin takes another bite before he gets distracted (again)
“did you all sleep at least a little?” you ask
they exchange a look
“..define sleep,” louis says carefully
you narrow your eyes,
“we slept,” ryul amends, “ohyul didn’t,”
you perk up, “he’s still asleep?”
“completely dead to the world,” woojin says, “we tried. multiple times. he didn’t even flinch,”
ryul nods, “i shook him. nothing. louis played music. nothing”
“i’m pretty sure if the building caught on fire he’d just roll over and go back to sleep,” woojin adds
you smile softly, of course he would
“i’ll go try,” you say, standing up
all three of them exchange identical mischievous looks, still sipping their drinks and munching on their food
“good luck,” louis sings
you laugh to yourself, quietly making your way down the hall to his room, opening the door to your boyfriends room
the curtains are half drawn, soft morning light spilling across the bed where he’s completely buried under the blankets, hair a mess against the pillow
he looks so peaceful it almost makes you feel bad
almost.
you step closer and sit on the edge of the bed, brushing your fingers lightly through his hair
“ohyul, baby,” you murmur, “wake up”
he makes a small noise
not a word, just a sleepy grumble as he shifts slightly
you smile and lean closer, “ohyul.”
he inhales deeply, then frowns faintly and turns his face further into the pillow
you chuckle to yourself, but still try again, stroking his cheek, “come on, everyone’s eating,”
he reaches up blindly, catches your wrist, and gently pushes your hand away before rolling over, back facing you now
you giggle, “rude,” you whisper, trying not to laugh out loud
you crawl a little closer and poke his shoulder, “i know you’re sleepy but i brought breakfast,”
a pause.
“…five more minutes,” he mumbles into the pillow, voice deep and completely wrecked from exhaustion
you sigh dramatically and glance toward the doorway when you hear footsteps approaching
ryul, louis, and woojin are all peeking in, barely containing their laughter at the sight of their leader completely out of it
“we got this,” woojin says, as all 3 of them walk into the room together
and you look over at your bf who is still completely motionless
“what do we do?” louis asks grinning, his strawberry milk still clutched in his hands
“put that down,” woojin says, pointing at the desk while ryul is already climbing onto the edge of the bed
“are we jumping?”
“we’re jumping,”
you can’t help but chuckle at the way they seem to be very sure about their mission without needing a lot of words to confirm their ‘plan’
woojin grins as he positions himself near his legs
“can we?” louis asks, looking at you
you get up from the bed, giggling at the sight of the 3 guys hovering over ohyul’s sleeping body
“it’s your party,” you laugh
“if he gets mad, it’s your fault for not stopping us,” ryul says, pointing his finger at you like a warning sign
“i’ll take the blame,” you reply, holding up your hands in defeat, grinning just as widely as the others
“you’re a real one bro,” louis says, who’s also on the bed by now
woojin counts down, dramatically motioning the counts with his hands for the theatrical effect
and at 3, all 3 of them jump onto the mattress at once
“WAKE UP!”
ohyul jolts violently, letting out the most betrayed noise you’ve ever heard as the entire bed dips under the sudden weight
“YO- WTH,”
louis dramatically flops across his back, “rise and shine, superstar!,”
woojin shakes his shoulder,” it’s been 14 hours!”
ryul pokes his cheek repeatedly, to which ohyul repeatedly slaps his hand away, “we brought company!”
ohyul blinks up at the ceiling in pure confusion before his gaze lands on you
you’re standing close to the edge of his bed, next to his head, laughing at the sight of the human djenga tower happening infront of you
the second his brain registers that it’s you, his expression changes
“yn?” his voice is still thick with sleep
“good morning,” you smile
without hesitation he kicks everyone off his bed, kicking his feet to nudge everyone away, making louis fall off to the ground with woojin stumbling over him
and within seconds he reaches up to you, grabbing your wrist, and pulling you down on top of him,
all in one smooth motion
“everyone out,” he mumbles immediately
the other three gasp dramatically
“bro!” louis states in disbelief
“we woke you up!” ryul protests
ohyul glares at them over your shoulder, hair a complete mess, “thank you. get out,”
woojin snorts, “that’s all?”
“out,” ohyul repeats, as he’s already burying his face in your neck
the three of them collectively groan but shuffle out of the room, louis taking his strawberry milk with him like it’s a consolation prize
“traitor,” ryul mutters before closing the door behind them
and as soon as the door clicks shut behind then, the room falls quiet again
ohyul tightens his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer until you’re practically fused to his chest
“you smell like coffee,” he murmurs against your skin
“because i brought you coffee”
“you’re perfect,” he sighs dramatically
you laugh softly, brushing his hair back, “everyone was already up except for you,”
“i don’t care,” he grumbles, “i deserve this,”
“deserve what?”
he squeezes you tighter. “you,”
you pretend to consider it, “you deserve me?” you laugh
“i do,” he presses a lazy kiss just below your jaw. “therefore, legally, i am allowed to stay here”
“legally?” you chuckle
“very official,” he states
you roll your eyes fondly, but your fingers trace small patterns over his shoulder
he tilts his head up slightly, eyes finally fully open now, soft and warm as they look at you
“i missed you,” he admits quietly
you smile, “it’s been four days,” you tease gently, but your heart melts a little
“four long, tragic days.”
you lean down and press a sweet, soft kiss to his lips
you meant to pull back, leaving it at a quick, small peck but he immediately deepens it, his hand sliding up your back like he’s making sure you don’t disappear
and when you do pull back, he follows for a second before settling back into the pillow with a satisfied hum
“breakfast is getting cold,” you whisper
“i don’t care.”
“coffee?”
“maybe..”
you laugh, “i’ll get it for you but you’ll have to get up,”
he narrows his eyes playfully, “no promises,”
“ohyul,”
he grins lazily, “fine. but you’re staying here with me,”
“i’ll think about it,”
he pulls you down again for one more quick kiss, this one a little more mischievous
“next time,” he murmurs softly against your lips, “you can wake me up without the audience,”
your face warms instantly, “i tried!”
he just laughs, burying his face in your shoulder again, “well, not hard enough,”
you snicker, somehow managing to peel yourself out of his grip
“don’t go,,” he mumbles immediately, eyes still closed as his hands blindly search for you
“i’m getting your coffee,” you laugh, prying his fingers off your hoodie, “i’ll be back in ten seconds,”
he squints one eye open. “you better,” he mutters, flopping back dramatically
you roll your eyes fondly and quickly slip out of the room before he can trap you again
the dorm is a lot calmer now,
the other boys are in the kitchen, actually eating properly for once
ryul is busy scrolling through his phone, louis is still carefully nursing his strawberry milk, and woojin is reheating something in the microwave
“he alive?” woojin asks casually
“kinda,” you grin, grabbing ohyul’s coffee from the counter, “he requested coffee delivery service,”
“of course he did,” louis scoffs mutters, but he’s smiling
and you can’t help but mirror the little grin on his face, accepting a bite of woojin who is holding his hand up for you to try his freshly warmed bread (yum)
at the same time, you check your phone for a second, replying quickly to a missed notification, which didn’t even take 1 whole minute, before you can hear your bf call out your name,
“yn,”
his voice echoes faintly from down the hallway
“oh my god,” ryul snorts under his breath, exchanging amused looks with woojin
“do you have to brew the coffee yourself?” ohyul calls again, louder this time, fully awake now
you try not to laugh as you quickly grab the cup to go back to his room
but before you can answer, woojin cups his hands around his mouth and shouts back toward the hallway,
“she’s not coming back, she wants to stay here,”
there’s a pause
“what?!” ohyul’s voice sounds genuinely offended
louis bursts out laughing
“hyung, you’re boring!” woojin continues teasingly, “she wants to play with us,”
“woojin fuck off,” ohyul yells back, “get your own gf,”
you laugh quietly, putting down your phone before shuffling down the hallway again
“tell him to come eat, before we finish everything,” woojin calls out
you nudge the door open with your foot again and ohyul is exactly how you left him,
except now he’s sprawled across your side of the bed too, like he expanded in your absence
“he’s so annoying,” he says without opening his eyes
you snort, “no he’s not,”
you set the coffee on his nightstand, “sit up,”
he groans like you just asked him to run a marathon
“i don’t want to,”
you grab his shoulders and try to pull him up, but he’s completely dead weight
“ohyul.”
“i’m conserving energy,”
“no you’re lazy,”
you narrow your eyes, then suddenly lean down and press a quick kiss to his cheek, “ok then i’ll go hang out with woojin,” you say jokingly,
and his eyes pop open instantly
“know your limits,”
“sit up,”
he studies you for a second, then sighs like he’s making the greatest sacrifice of his life before he pushes himself up to sit on the edge of his bed
his hair was a mess, and his shirt was slightly twisted
you chuckle under your breath, ruffling his hair slighty, fixing whatever can be fixed
and he allows it this time, though he keeps one hand hooked into your sleeve like you might vanish again.
you hand him the coffee, but instead of taking it right away, he tugs you closer until you stumble forward between his knees
“i’m already done with today,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against your stomach, “can’t we just stay in bed all day,”
you laugh, running your fingers through his bed hair again
he takes a slow sip, and a noise that sounds somewhat like a moana and groan in one leaves his mouth
you stare at him,
“what,” he says innocently, “it’s good,”
“i’m glad,” you laugh
he sits back, leaning against the wall
and he grabs your wrist before you can pull away, tugging you back onto the bed, settling you between his legs so your back rests against his chest
“stay,” he murmurs, wrapping one arm around your waist while holding the coffee with the other
you can feel his chin rest on your shoulder, smiling to yourself as you lean back into him, letting the moment linger
and for a few quiet seconds, it’s just soft breathing and the occasional sip of coffee
after a while, he sets the cup down and turns your face slightly toward him, brushing his thumb over your cheek gently
his thumb traces your cheek slowly, then down to your jaw
“you know,” he says, voice lower now, “there are better ways to wake me up,”
“yeah,” you deadpan, “like your own alarm clock,”
he smiles faintly, “well tbh, anything other than 3 guys jumping on top of you,”
you only giggle and he exhales softly, looking at you with a gaze like he’s finally decided something
and without warning, he shifts
one arm slides securely around your waist, the other hooks behind your back, and suddenly you’re being pulled down with him as he flops back against the mattress
“ohyul-“ you squeak as the bed (his 6 mattresses lol) dips again
he just hums contently, rolling slightly so you’re tucked perfectly against his chest, one of his legs slipping between yours to keep you in place
“day’s over,” he murmurs
“the day just started,” you laugh, lifting your head to look at him
he only hums as you try to push yourself up slightly, but his grip tightens immediately
not rough, just firm, very sure of his decision to not let go
he presses his face into your neck, breathing you in like you’re the only thing grounding him after four exhausting days
“you’re not leaving anymore today,” he mumbles against your skin, his fingers trace slow circles against your waist
and you feel your heart softening immediately, you smile to yourself as you brush your fingers through his hair again
he lifts his head up again, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to remember every small detail
a small smirk creeps up on his lips, before he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips,
not rushed, just deep and intentional, like he’s sealing a promise (to himself for not letting you run away)
and when he pulls back, he doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours,
“i missed you,” he murmurs quietly, almost shy about it despite how confidently he’s holding you
your cheeks warm, but you smile, “i’m here now,”
“you are,” he echoes, more to himself than to you, pulling you even closer as he says it
as if to prove it, he rolls slightly onto his side, bringing you with him, tucking you under his chin completely
one arm wraps around your shoulders, the other drapes securely over your waist, fingers hooked into the fabric of your shirt like an anchor
you can’t help but chuckle at him, and obviously you can’t pass on a little teasing, so you shift in his grip, just a little bit
and he immediately tightens his hold
“don’t even think about it,”
you laugh softly, “what if i need to go to the bathroom?”
“..we’ll negotiate later”
“ohyul.”
“shh,”
you scoff playfully
“you’re interrupting my peace,” he murmers as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, then another to your temple, then one just behind your ear that makes you shiver a little
he holds you gently against his chest where your head is resting, humming happily
“would you actually ditch me for the others if i stayed in bed all day,” he suddenly asks, and even though his voice sounds ruffled and soft, you can hear the seriousness in his tone
“i might,” you jokingly say
he scoffs, squeezing you again, “i can’t believe you keep choosing louis over me,”
“you’re the one who stays in bed all day,” you argue back, nudging him lightly
“they can keep each other company,”
you nudge him again, giggling breathily as you fully settle in his arms
he nuzzles into your hair, completely relaxed now, like he finally feels safe enough to shut everything else out
and after a quiet moment, his breathing slows just slightly
“if they knock,” he murmurs sleepily, “pretend we’re not here,”
you smile against his chest, “right, because we disappeared into the abyss,”
“exactly,”
“that sounds very believable,”
ohyul sighs dramatically into your shoulder, “it might be for louis,”
and with one last lazy kiss pressed into your hair, ohyul settles back into the pillows, arms locked securely around you-
clearly not planning on letting you escape anytime soon
and clearly not planning on doing anything else than holding you in his arms for the rest of the day
you feel his chest rising and falling softly as his breathing gets more and more quiet, but his arms don’t seem to lose its hold on you
and just like that, you’re officially trapped for the rest of the day, but who are you to complain hihi
Pairing: Kimi Antonelli x Reader (Female Media/PR Member)
Summary: Your secret plan involved Italian lessons, a heartfelt confession, and absolutely no witnesses. Unfortunately, Kimi Antonelli had other ideas.
Word count: 4.5k
Warning: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Secret Crush, Language Learning, Formula 1, Workplace Romance, Slow Burn, Accidental Reveal, Emotional Confession, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Happy Ending.
Laysha's Notes: wrote this in a bit of a rush so please excuse any errors!! based on this request by @fruitsnack09
The first lie you ever told Kimi Antonelli was small and stupid and entirely necessary: you told him you were taking a Tuesday-night pottery class.
"Pottery," he repeated, in that careful, over-enunciated English he used when he wanted to make sure he wasn't misunderstanding you. He was sitting backward on a folding chair in the hospitality unit, forearms crossed over the backrest, still in his under-suit with the sleeves shoved up past his elbows, sweat-damp hair pushed off his forehead from an afternoon of simulator work. "Like bowls?"
"Like bowls," you confirmed, not looking up from the press notes you were pretending to edit.
"You have never once mentioned wanting to make a bowl."
"People contain multitudes, Kimi."
He'd huffed a laugh through his nose, unconvinced but unwilling to push, and gone back to scrolling through telemetry on his phone with the particular scowl he wore when a sector time displeased him. You'd felt the lie sit in your chest like a swallowed stone, sharp-edged and faintly thrilling, and told yourself it would be worth it. It was supposed to be temporary. Six weeks, maybe eight. Enough time to get the basics down, enough time to string together one perfect, devastating sentence, and then you'd never have to lie to him again.
That had been four months ago.
You were not, it turned out, a natural at Italian. You'd assumed arrogantly, in retrospect that spending two years listening to Kimi speak it would somehow make the language seep into your brain by osmosis. It hadn't. The occasional phrase muttered under his breath after a bad session or the rapid-fire conversations he had with his mother on the phone were enough to make you fall a little more in love with the sound of it, but not enough to actually teach it to you. Grammar was an entirely different beast, full of rules that seemed invented solely to make you suffer. Still, night after night, you sat in your car outside team hotels with a language app glowing in your lap, stubbornly working through exercises and repeating phrases under your breath. Because you weren't trying to impress a garage full of people. You were trying to impress one stubborn Italian racing driver.
Ti penso più di quanto dovrei.
I think about you more than I should.
You'd practice it in supermarkets, in airport security lines, in the shower with the water running so the sound wouldn't carry. You practiced it so many times the words stopped meaning anything and became pure muscle memory, the way a swimmer's stroke becomes thoughtless after ten thousand laps until you'd catch yourself mid-sentence and the meaning would come crashing back in, and you'd have to sit very still for a moment and remember how to breathe.
You worked in press and media for Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team, one of the most recognizable names in the paddock, a team built on championship-winning engineering, relentless standards, and an expectation that every detail mattered. You had been there before Kimi arrived as a wide-eyed rookie with a mop of dark curls and a habit of apologizing to the car after a difficult session, as though it could hear him and might forgive him for asking too much of it. You'd watched him grow into the seat over the course of the season, you’ve watched the apologies turn into thoughtful, technical debriefs with his engineers, watched the nervous excitement of a teenager stepping into Formula One settle into something calmer, sharper, and far more dangerous on track. You wrote his quotes. You stood beside him in front of walls of cameras and microphones, feeding him English phrasing under your breath when questions came too quickly or when he searched for the right word, your shoulder a careful two inches from his, close enough that only he could hear you.
Say "we're optimizing the long-run pace," not "we are still figuring out the tires," it sounds more in control.
He always did exactly what you told him. He trusted you with his image the way he trusted his race engineer with his car, completely, without question, which was its own kind of devastating because you knew with total certainty that if you told him right now, in this parking lot, in passable Italian, that you'd been in love with him since the Hungary weekend eighteen months ago when he'd given his media training translator the day off and asked you, badly, hopefully, if you wanted to get dinner he would believe you. He would believe anything you told him. That was the whole problem.
You had said no to that dinner. You'd told yourself it was unprofessional, a media liaison dating a driver, a mess waiting to happen, and you'd believed it for about four months before you stopped believing it and just felt stupid instead.
So: Italian. A plan. A grand, faintly ridiculous, entirely earnest plan, because if you were going to do this if you were finally, after a year and a half of aggressive denial, going to tell him the truth, you wanted to give him something. You wanted the words to cost you something, the way his trust in you had never seemed to cost him anything at all. You wanted to hand him your feelings in the language his mother sang to him, the language he dreamed in, according to his trainer, who'd heard him talking in his sleep on the team plane once and never let him live it down.
You were going to tell Kimi Antonelli you loved him in Italian, on a night you had not yet chosen, in words you had rehearsed roughly four thousand times, and it was going to be perfect.
You should have known better than to plan anything around a man who never did what you expected.
The accident happened on a Thursday, three days before the Monaco round, in the hospitality unit kitchen, over a stupid argument about coffee.
"It is not coffee," Kimi was saying, with the wounded dignity of a man defending something sacred, to Pieter, the team's Dutch chief mechanic, who had just handed him a paper cup from the catering machine. "This is brown water. You have insulted brown water by comparing it to coffee."
"It's free and it's caffeinated, Antonelli, drink it or don't."
"I don't. I refuse. On principle." Kimi set the cup down with the exaggerated care of a man setting down a small bomb, and you, sitting at the counter with your laptop open to a half-finished press release, didn't look up because you'd learned over two years that Kimi's coffee opinions were a bottomless well and engaging with them only deepened it.
Then he turned to his trainer, Sandro, who'd just walked in, and said something fast and low in Italian, clearly assuming you and Pieter were both out of range of comprehension. Something about Pieter's coffee, something uncharitable, something that ended with a word you knew — insopportabile (unbearable) and a short, sharp laugh.
And you laughed too. Before you could stop yourself. A short, involuntary huff of amusement at exactly the right beat, exactly where a person who'd understood the joke would laugh, and not a half-second later, the way someone catching a delayed translation might.
The kitchen went very quiet.
You felt it before you looked up felt the air change, felt Pieter's attention swing toward you with the slow, delighted dawning of a man who has just witnessed something he intends to never let go of, felt Sandro go still by the doorway. And when you finally made yourself look at Kimi, he was staring at you with an expression you had genuinely never seen on his face before, in two years, through podiums and DNFs and the worst sunburn of his life in Abu Dhabi. His mouth was slightly open. His eyebrows were somewhere up near his hairline.
"You understood that," he said. In English. Flatly. As though testing the words for weight.
"I— " Your mind, usually so reliable under pressure, the same mind that could spin a four-car pileup into a measured, professional statement in under ninety seconds, produced absolutely nothing. A vast, ringing silence. "No."
"You laughed."
"I have a— delayed sense of humor. Yeah. I was laughing at something else. Internally."
"At what."
"A meme," you said, with the specific, doomed confidence of someone who has just realized they are going to keep digging this hole until it swallows them. "I thought of a meme."
Pieter made a sound that was very close to a wheeze and had to turn around and pretend to be extremely interested in the coffee machine.
Kimi did not laugh. Kimi was looking at you the way he looked at telemetry data that didn't match what his hands had felt in the car like there was a discrepancy here, a gap between what he'd been told and what had actually happened, and he was not going to rest until he understood why. "Say something in Italian," he said.
"What? No."
"Say— " He cast around, then said, simply, plainly, watching your face with an intensity that made your skin feel two sizes too small, " —come stai oggi."
How are you today. The easiest sentence in the world. A sentence a phrasebook gives you on page one. And you knew, you knew, with the specific dread of someone watching a car slide toward a wall in slow motion, fully aware of the outcome and entirely unable to stop it that the safest thing to do was to look blank. To shrug. To say I have no idea what that means, Kimi, you're being so weird right now.
You did not do the safest thing.
"Bene," you said, before you could catch it. "Un po' stanca, ma bene." Fine. A little tired, but fine.
The kitchen, somehow, got even quieter.
Kimi set his unbearable, unloved coffee down on the counter with great precision, and the look that spread across his face was not triumph, exactly, though there was some of that in it there was also something more complicated, something that made your chest go tight and your face go hot in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment, or not only to do with embarrassment.
"How long," he said.
"Kimi— "
"How long have you been learning Italian."
You looked at Pieter, who had given up all pretense of coffee-machine interest and was now leaning against the counter with the rapt attention of a man watching the best television of his life. You looked at Sandro, who had quietly produced his phone and appeared to be filming, the absolute traitor. You looked anywhere except at Kimi, because you had a horrible suspicion that if you looked at him directly right now, with his hair still damp from the sim and his eyebrows still climbing and that unbearable, searching look on his face, you were simply going to tell him everything, right here, in the hospitality kitchen, with Pieter's ruined coffee going cold on the counter and Sandro's phone recording the whole humiliating spectacle for posterity.
"Four months," you admitted, to the floor.
Another silence. A different kind. You risked a glance up and found Kimi had gone very still, the teasing edge gone out of his expression entirely, replaced by something quieter and more careful.
"Four months," he repeated.
"It's not— it's nothing, it's just a hobby, lots of people learn languages, it's a very normal— "
"Why."
The question landed like a dropped tool, a single clean clattering syllable, and you felt the whole architecture of your careful four-month plan the rehearsed sentence, the chosen-but-not-yet-arrived night, the version of this where you controlled every single variable come apart in your hands like wet paper.
"I have to finish this press release," you said, and closed your laptop, and left the kitchen at a speed that was not quite a run but was making active use of the word quite.
Behind you, you heard Pieter lose it completely, and Sandro say something in rapid Italian that you were fairly sure, despite four months of careful study, you did not want translated.
You did not see Kimi again until media day.
This was, in itself, a small miracle of scheduling and cowardice .you'd buried yourself in logistics work for two days, coordinated three sponsor interviews and a livery reveal and a charity appearance you absolutely did not need to personally oversee, and managed, through sheer force of will, to never once be in a room alone with him. You knew this couldn't last. Media day was your job. You stood beside drivers at media day the way race engineers stood beside pit walls; it was simply where you existed.
He found you at the equipment tent twenty minutes before his first interview slot, while you were untangling a lanyard for the broadcast crew with far more focus than the task required.
"You're avoiding me," he said. Not a question.
"I'm working."
"You're avoiding me while working. It's an impressive skill, actually, I want you to know I'm impressed." He leaned against the equipment table, arms crossed, and you made the mistake of looking up, and found him not laughing at you, not teasing, just watching you with that same quiet, careful attention from the kitchen, like he was trying to read a sector time he didn't trust yet.
"I have your interview schedule," you said, holding up the clipboard like a shield. "Sky Sport at three, then the sponsor— "
"I don't care about the schedule."
"You should, you have four interviews in ninety minutes and the Sky one specifically asked about the gearbox issue from Spa, so I need you to use the line we discussed, the one about the long-term reliability gains, not the— "
"Why didn't you tell me?"
You stopped. The lanyard sat tangled and forgotten in your hands.
"It's not a big deal," you said, which was, you understood even as you said it, the single most transparent lie you had told in a month full of transparent lies.
"You learned my language in secret for four months and it is not a big deal." He wasn't angry. That was the strange part you'd braced for something like hurt or affront, the offense of a man who'd been kept out of a joke at his own expense, and instead what was on his face looked almost careful. Hopeful, in a way he seemed to be actively trying to suppress, the way he suppressed his disappointment after a bad qualifying lap, schooling his features into something neutral before the cameras found him. "People don't do that for fun, cara. People do that for a reason."
The endearment landed somewhere under your ribs and stayed there, glowing faintly, radioactive. He'd called you that before, occasionally, carelessly, the way Italians scattered tenderness into ordinary sentences without seeming to notice they'd done it — but it felt different now, deliberate, aimed.
"I had a reason," you said, before you could stop yourself.
"Tell me."
"I have your interview in eighteen minutes."
"Tell me after."
"Kimi — "
"After," he said again, gently, like it wasn't a request, like it was simply a fact about the shape the rest of the day was going to take, and then Pieter was shouting something about a tire pressure check and Kimi was being pulled away toward the garage, and you stood there with the ruined lanyard in your hands and your heart going much too fast for a Thursday afternoon.
You got through the interviews. You fed him the line about long-term reliability gains, and he delivered it word for word, the way he always did, except twice he glanced over at you between questions with a look that had nothing to do with gearboxes, and you had to physically school your own face into something professional, something that did not say I have known I loved you since Hungary and I have spent four months learning your language so I could tell you properly and I have absolutely no idea what I am supposed to do now that you know I've been lying to you about pottery class.
By the time the sun started dropping orange and low over the paddock, you'd run out of interviews to hide behind.
He found you on the terrace behind the hospitality unit, where the team sometimes ate dinner when the weather cooperated, looking out over the darkening circuit toward the grandstands, empty now except for the cleanup crews moving like slow ghosts under the floodlights. You'd come out here to be alone and think of an explanation that wasn't the truth, and had so far produced nothing.
"There you are," Kimi said, like you'd been the one running from something all day, which, fair, you had.
He sat down next to you on the low concrete wall, close enough that his shoulder nearly touched yours, and for a moment neither of you said anything. Somewhere in the garage behind you, an impact wrench whined and stopped. The smell of rubber and hot tarmac and the particular metallic tang of race weekend hung in the cooling air, the smell you associated, more than any other, with the two years you'd spent standing next to this man and not telling him the truth.
"Sandro deleted the video," Kimi offered, after a while. "I made him. I thought you looked like you wanted to disappear."
"I did want to disappear."
"I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have in front of everyone, it was not fair, I got excited and I didn't think." He turned to look at you properly then, and the playful armor from earlier in the day had dropped away entirely, leaving something younger and more uncertain underneath, an expression you recognized from the very first season, before he learned to wear confidence like a second skin. "Why Italian?"
You looked out at the empty grandstands instead of at him. It was easier.
"Because," you started, and stopped, and started again. "Because you trust me with everything. My English, my line readings, what to say to the cameras and what not to. You never once question it. And I just I wanted to give you something that wasn't about work. Something that was just mine to give. Not professional advice. Not a press strategy." Your hands were doing something complicated and nervous in your lap; you made them stop. "I wanted to tell you something important in the language that actually means something to you. Not the language we use for sponsor calls."
"Tell me what."
The wind moved across the terrace, carrying the smell of someone's cigarette from the far end of the paddock, and you thought about four months of late nights with a phone app glowing blue in the dark, four months of online lessons with a tutor every tuesday, four months of rehearsing a sentence so many times it had stopped sounding like words and become something closer to a held breath, finally, now, about to be let out.
You looked at him. Damp curls, dark eyes, the small scar above his eyebrow from a karting crash at fourteen that he'd told you about on a long flight to Singapore, the steady, open way he was watching you now like nothing in the world mattered more than whatever you said next. Eighteen months since Hungary. Four months of Tuesday nights that weren't pottery class. One ruined surprise, and a man waiting, patiently, for the truth he'd already half-guessed.
"Ti penso più di quanto dovrei," you said.
I think about you more than I should.
The words came out steadier than you expected, four months of repetition finally earning their keep, landing clean and whole in the space between you instead of crumbling apart the way you'd feared they might. Kimi went very still. You watched the sentence travel across his face in real time comprehension, then something brighter and more startled underneath it, like watching the lights come up on a grandstand all at once.
"Say it again," he said. Quietly. In Italian this time. "Dimmelo ancora."
"I think about you more than I should," you said again, in English now, because you needed him to have it both ways, needed there to be no possible margin for translation error in a moment this large. "I have for a long time. Since Hungary, honestly, since you asked me to dinner and I said no because I was scared and stupid about the job thing, and I have regretted saying no probably every single day since, and I started learning Italian because I wanted to tell you properly, I wanted to give you something that took real effort, something that proved I meant it, and then you went and ruined the whole plan by being unbearable about coffee in front of Pieter— "
"I ruined it," Kimi said, and there was real laughter in his voice now, breaking through, bright and disbelieving. "I ruined it."
"You laughed at the coffee and I laughed at the joke and everything fell apart."
"Everything did not fall apart." He reached over, slow, like he was giving you every chance to pull away, and took your hand off your lap, turning it over in his like something he wanted to look at properly. His thumb moved once across your knuckles, light, almost disbelieving. "Everything came together. Badly. With Pieter watching. But together."
"This is not how I planned it."
"No?" His mouth was doing something complicated, fighting a smile and losing. "How did you plan it?"
"Candles," you admitted. "Probably candles. A view. Something with actual atmosphere, instead of— " You gestured vaguely at the terrace, the floodlights, the distant whine of someone's impact wrench starting up again. " —this."
"I like this," Kimi said. "I like that it's true. I would rather have you, badly planned, on a wall behind a garage, than candles and a script." He was still holding your hand, and now he laced his fingers properly through yours, deliberate, an answer offered without being asked for. "I have been waiting eighteen months for you to change your mind about Hungary. I was starting to think I had imagined the whole dinner. That maybe I asked wrong."
"You didn't ask wrong. I was wrong. I was so sure it would be a disaster, mixing the job with this. With wanting you the way I wanted you."
"And now?"
"Now I've spent four months memorizing Italian verb conjugations for you, so I think the disaster has already started and I might as well see it through."
He laughed properly, that bright, surprised sound you'd heard maybe a dozen times in two years, usually reserved for podiums and good qualifying laps, and it did something to your chest, hearing it directed at you instead of a stopwatch. "Ti penso più di quanto dovrei," he said again, testing the words now from his own mouth, watching your face as he said them, "is correct, by the way. Your grammar. Very good. A little formal, but good."
"Four months, Kimi."
"I noticed." He brought your hand up, pressed his mouth briefly to your knuckles, an old-fashioned gesture that should have felt theatrical and instead felt exactly, devastatingly right, here on this wall, with the circuit lights coming up gold against the darkening sky behind him. "Anche io," he said, quiet now, no performance left in it at all. Me too.
"Show-off," you said, though your voice had gone thick. "I worked very hard on that sentence."
"I know. I could tell. It was a good sentence." He was closer now, close enough that you could feel the warmth coming off him in the cooling evening air, close enough that the next thing either of you said wasn't going to be words at all. "Next time," he murmured, "warn me before you confess something. I almost fell off my chair."
"There's not going to be a next time. I only had the one."
"Good," Kimi said. "I only need the one." And then he kissed you careful at first, like he was still checking the data matched what his hands could feel, and then not careful at all, four months and eighteen months and one ruined, perfect surprise collapsing down into the simple, unhurried space between one breath and the next and somewhere behind you, faint and getting fainter, you were fairly sure you heard Pieter, from an open garage door, shout something about finally that you were extremely glad you couldn't quite translate.
Three weeks later, you stood in the same equipment tent, untangling the same kind of lanyard, while Kimi leaned against the table exactly the way he had that first impossible Thursday, except now his hand found the small of your back without either of you remarking on it, an easy, unremarkable fact of how things were.
"Sky Sport at three," you told him, not looking up from the clipboard. "Use the line about long-term reliability."
"Sì, cara," he said, and you felt it land warm under your ribs the way it always did now, no longer radioactive, just true. "Anything else?"
"Don't insult anyone's coffee where Pieter can hear you. We've had enough incidents this season."
"No promises," Kimi said, grinning, and pressed a quick kiss to your temple before Sandro called him toward the garage, and you stood there with the lanyard finally untangled in your hands, watching him go, thinking not for the first time, and not, you suspected, for the lasthat some plans were worth ruining.
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