ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤread at your own risk — mdni ₊ ⊹

패션 mymasterlist ; aboutme, — archives

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤしなもん ㅤㅤㅤㅤbunbroke — all rights reserved! ೀ ˚

pairing: professionalbiker!james x fem!reader

summary: how come you didn't realize you were talking to the worlds best motorcycle racer?!

other notes: sfw! funny! fluff! bikerjames! (2k) - request!

You first heard him before you saw him.

It wasn’t subtle.

It cut through the entire street like something tearing open the air.

A deep, controlled roar of an engine that didn’t sound like traffic.

Not a bus.

Not a delivery bike.

Not anything ordinary.

Something… expensive.

Something angry.

Something that clearly didn’t care about the fact that it was nearly midnight in your neighborhood.

You pulled your curtains aside with a tired blink.

Seoul nights were usually quiet where you lived.

Residential, tucked away from the busier districts, the kind of place where you could hear your neighbors turning on their showers and microwaves.

So the sound didn’t belong.

You squinted down.

A group had gathered in the middle of the street.

Lights.

Cameras.

A truck with equipment.

And motorcycles.

At least three of them.

All black.

All polished.

All ridiculously loud.

“…What the hell?” you muttered.

One of the bikes revved again, louder this time, and you flinched slightly.

You grabbed your hoodie off the back of a chair and shoved your arms through it without thinking.

Curiosity won.

It always did.

You stepped outside in slippers and pajamas.

Not even good pajamas.

The “I was absolutely not planning on being perceived by society today” kind.

The night air was cool against your face.

And immediately—

Immediately—

You regretted everything.

Because there were people everywhere.

A whole production setup.

A giant reflective light panel.

Camera rigs.

And in the middle of it all—

Him.

Helmet off.

Leaning casually against a black racing motorcycle like he had been carved there specifically for aesthetic purposes.

Leather suit half-unzipped at the collar.

Gloves hanging loosely from one hand.

Hair damp with sweat or effort or both, pushed back in a way that somehow looked deliberate even if it wasn’t.

And then—

Of course—

He looked up.

Right at you.

You froze.

He tilted his head slightly.

Like he was curious.

Like you were the interesting thing here.

Which was insane.

Because clearly—

Clearly he was the center of whatever this was.

You blinked slowly.

“…What.”

One of the crew members said something into a headset.

He pushed off the bike.

And started walking toward you.

Oh no.

No no no.

This was not the plan.

You were supposed to go back inside.

Pretend you didn’t see anything.

Forget the entire thing.

But he was already in front of you now.

Standing way too close for someone who had just been on a motorcycle that sounded like it could wake the dead.

He looked down at you.

Then at your slippers.

Then at your pajamas.

Then back at your face.

And smiled.

Oh.

Oh, you were in trouble.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

Like he wasn’t currently standing in the middle of a professional shoot.

Like he wasn’t surrounded by cameras.

Like he wasn’t the reason half the street was blocked off.

You squinted at him.

“Am I okay?”

“Yes.”

You gestured vaguely behind him.

“Is that okay?”

He glanced back.

Then back at you.

“…Depends on what ‘that’ is.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then—

“Oh my god,” you said slowly. “You’re the one making the noise.”

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then laughed.

Actually laughed.

Head tipping back slightly.

Shoulders shaking.

It wasn’t mocking.

It wasn’t mean.

It was—

Surprised.

Like you were the funniest thing he’d encountered all day.

“I’m the one making the noise?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“You came down here in pajamas to tell me that?”

You looked down at yourself.

Oh.

Right.

You were in pajamas.

Fantastic.

You crossed your arms defensively.

“I thought a building was collapsing.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded.

“Your bike sounds like war.”

“That’s... also fair.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He was too relaxed.

Too amused.

Too—

Handsome.

Annoyingly so.

“Can you move this... whole thing?” you asked, brows furrowed lightly. “People are trying to sleep.”

He tilted his head.

“People?”

“I live here.”

His expression shifted slightly.

“Oh.”

Then, softer—

“…Sorry about that.”

You paused.

That was not the answer you expected.

He didn’t sound sarcastic.

Or defensive.

He actually sounded… sincere.

Which immediately made you less prepared.

You cleared your throat.

“Are you like… filming something?”

He glanced back at the crew.

Then nodded.

“Yeah.” Simple.

“For what?”

“A brand.”

You stared.

“Of motorcycles?”

A pause. Then he smiled again.

“…Something like that.”

You squinted harder.

“You’re very vague.”

“I try.”

“You’re failing.”

He laughed again.

And something about it made your stomach feel weird.

Not bad weird.

Just… unfamiliar.

You sighed.

“Okay well. Try not to wake up the entire city next time.”

He nodded seriously.

“I’ll consider it.”

“You should do more than consider it.”

“I will strongly consider it.”

You groaned.

He smiled wider.

And then—

You turned around and went back inside.

Very proud.

Very firm.

Very unaware that you had just yelled at one of the most famous motorcycle racers in the world.

The next morning, you woke up to silence.

Beautiful silence.

Peaceful silence.

Not engine-from-hell noise.

You made coffee, finished some paperwork, went out for a run.

You forgot the entire thing.

Completely.

Gone.

Two days later, you tried to leave your apartment.

That’s when you saw him again.

Except—

Not on a bike.

Not in leather.

Not surrounded by a crew.

He was sitting at the café across the street.

Wearing a cap.

Sunglasses.

A mask.

A hoodie pulled all the way up.

He looked like he was trying extremely hard to disappear.

He was also holding a coffee.

With a straw.

Yes. A straw.

You paused.

Stared.

Looked away, tried to act like you weren't curious.

Looked back.

Still there.

Still sipping.

Still aggressively incognito.

“…well shit.” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone passing by.

You crossed the street cautiously.

He looked up the second you approached.

And even behind the disguise—

You could tell he recognized you instantly.

Because his shoulders went slightly still.

Then—

“…Hi,” he said.

You blinked.

“…Hi?”

A pause.

Then you pointed. Like, the whole of him, head to toe.

“…Why are you dressed like a suspicious side character?”

He coughed.

Into his straw, actually.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I'm really not.”

“You have a full disguise on.”

“...I like anonymity.” He shrugged lightly, playing it off.

“You’re drinking iced coffee through a straw indoors.”

“That’s normal.”

“It is not normal.”

He looked offended.

“I can’t drink iced coffee through a straw?”

“You’re literally hiding from society.” It felt like a personal challenge to get him to explain now.

“I am not hiding.”

“You are emotionally hiding.”

He stared at you.

Then slowly lowered his coffee.

“…You’re very observant.”

“I’m very correct.”

A pause.

Then he laughed under his breath.

Soft.

Different from last time.

Quieter.

More personal.

“Sit,” he said.

You hesitated.

“…Why?”

“Because I owe you coffee.”

You blinked.

“…You do?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

“For almost getting yelled at in pajamas.”

You froze.

“…Oh my god.”

His head tilted slightly.

“…What?”

“You were there.”

“Yes.”

“Oh you are the bike guy!”

He went very still.

Then—

“…Bike guy?”

“You know what I mean.”

He stared at you.

Slowly.

“…You didn’t know who I was?”

You stood there, looking at him. "You came all the way over here from the other side of the street just because?"

You nodded lightly, without even noticing so.

Silence.

Then—

He laughed.

Properly this time.

Longer.

Like he couldn’t stop.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You yelled at me.” He pulled down his mask a bit, letting it rest on his chin.

“You deserved it.”

“I was working.”

“You were terrorizing my neighborhood.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows propped on the coffee table as he looked at you throught his sun glasses.

Still laughing.

“You told me I sounded like war.”

“I stand by that.”

He shook his head.

Still smiling.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re loud.”

“Fair.”

A pause.

Then he gestured to the chair.

“Sit.”

This time you did.

Slowly.

Suspiciously.

He pushed a coffee toward you.

You blinked.

“…I didn’t order that.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I felt bad.”

“You didn’t have to feel bad.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

He paused.

Then leaned back slightly.

Like he was considering something.

Like he was deciding how honest to be.

“…Because you looked like you meant it,” he said finally.

You blinked.

“…Meant what?”

“When you told me to stop.”

Silence.

That felt heavier than it should have.

You looked at him properly now.

Really looked.

Without the helmet.

Without the noise.

Without the chaos.

Just him.

And suddenly—

You noticed things you hadn’t before.

The way he sat like he was always slightly aware of exits.

The way his hands fidgeted when he wasn’t holding anything.

The way he would always be holding a tiny smile on his face.

Controlled.

Sharp.

Professional.

“…So,” you said slowly. “You actually work with motorcycles.”

He nodded along.

“Yes.”

“As in… professionally.”

“Mhm”

“As in that wasn’t just a hobby thing.”

“No.”

You leaned back slightly.

“…Oh.”

He tilted his head.

“You okay?”

“I yelled at you.”

“Yes.”

“In pajamas.”

“Oh definitely.”

“In front of cameras.”

“Seems like your memory functions all right.”

You covered your face with your hands.

“…Kill me.”

“What?”

“Please.”

“No.”

A pause. A genuine smile.

Then softer—

“I’m not telling anyone.”

You peeked through your fingers.

“…Why?”

He shrugged slightly.

“Because you didn’t know.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It is for me.”

You lowered your hands slowly.

“…Who are you?”

A beat.

Then he hesitated.

Just slightly.

Just then, he removed his sunglasses.

Then finally—

Took off his cap.

And looked at you properly.

“…Chao Yufan,” he said.

Pause.

Then—

“James is just what people call me overseas.”

Silence.

You stared.

“…I’m sorry, what?”

He gave you a small, almost shy smile.

“I race professionally.”

“…Like internationally?”

“Yes.”

“…Like famous internationally?”

“…Yep.”

You slowly sank into your chair.

“…I yelled at a famous person.”

He nodded.

“Exactly what you did.”

“In pajamas.”

“Yes...”

“In public.”

“Yeah.” He sighed in a huffed laugh.

You exhaled slowly.

“…I’m never recovering from this.”

He smiled.

But softer now.

Not teasing.

Just warm.

“I think you’ll be fine.”

You looked at him.

“…I told you your bike sounded like war.”

“And I still invited you for coffee.”

You blinked.

“…Why?”

He leaned slightly forward.

Resting his elbows on the table, yet this time, he stared directly at you. Gentle gaze, warm smile. Dangerously attractive.

And somehow—

He didn’t look like a racer.

Or a celebrity.

Or anything loud at all.

Just a guy who was quietly looking at you.

“Because,” he said simply, “you were the first person in a long time who didn’t care who I was.”

A pause. Then—

“…You just told me I was annoying.”

“I can also say you are pretty.” He raised his brows in a teasing manner.

Your face went warm instantly.

“Oh my god.”

He smiled again.

Smaller this time.

Like he liked that reaction. Like he liked you more than you could tell.

small wip for you guys!! it feels irreal that i'm reaching such a high number of followers tbh... thank you!! 💐 of course, feel free to suggest more topics on the comments down below, or anonymously on my ask section! ^^ i'll properly release it when i reach the 100 followers, and will keep editing it until completely done! :)

OMGG THAT'S SUCH A HUGE COMPLIMENT!!! ❤🙏🏼

You have no idea how long it took me to actually get his personality right somehow, since he is always either quiet or acting goofy... anyways, thank you!! Keeps me motivated to know you guys enjoy my work :)

pairing: james!cortis x fem!user

summary: when fear convinces you to let go of the person you love most, James refuses to let three months of silence be the thing that breaks you apart.

other notes: angstintofluff! breakup! relationshipissues! sfw! (1.9k) - request!

The thought hadn't arrived all at once.

It hadn't hit you like some dramatic realization where everything suddenly made sense.

It had started small.

Almost forgettable.

A comment section under a video.

A headline written to stir people up.

An article twisting ordinary things into something bigger because apparently normal wasn't interesting enough anymore.

You'd ignored it at first.

Then another one appeared.

And another.

Then schedules got bigger.

Cameras got closer.

People got louder.

And suddenly that tiny thought that had once sat quietly in the back of your mind had grown teeth.

Now it lived there.

Now it sat heavy in your chest and curled around your ribs every time you looked at him.

You sat curled up on the couch, staring at your phone without really seeing it.

Across the apartment James moved around the kitchen comfortably, like he always did.

Like the world wasn't ending.

Like your chest wasn't slowly collapsing inward.

He stood by the counter in grey sweatpants and one of his oversized hoodies, sleeves pushed carelessly to his elbows. His hair was messy from earlier practice, soft strands falling into his eyes every few seconds before he absentmindedly pushed them away.

He was making coffee.

Humming quietly to himself.

Just... humming.

You watched him pour milk into the cup with this ridiculous amount of concentration, eyebrows furrowing like he was solving something important.

Normal.

He looked so painfully normal.

And somehow that hurt.

Because while your brain had been spiraling for weeks, James was still James.

Still warm.

Still soft.

Still smiling at absolutely nothing.

You looked down at your hands.

Your fingers had twisted together so tightly your knuckles were pale.

"James."

"Hm?"

His response came automatically.

Still facing the counter.

Still stirring his coffee.

You swallowed.

"I need to talk to you."

The spoon stopped moving.

Immediately.

Not because of the words.

Because of your voice.

James turned around slowly.

For a second his eyebrows pulled together.

Then he set the mug down without even taking a sip.

No hesitation.

No hold on a second.

Nothing.

Just straight to you.

He sat beside you on the couch, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

One of his hands found yours immediately.

Not gripping.

Not forcing.

Just holding them gently between both of his, thumb brushing softly across your skin like he already knew something was wrong.

"What happened?"

You stared at your lap.

Nothing happened.

That was the problem.

Nothing happened yet.

Your throat suddenly felt dry.

"I've been thinking."

"...Okay."

His voice stayed soft.

Patient.

Waiting.

"I think..."

The words suddenly felt enormous.

Like they physically wouldn't fit through your throat.

Your chest tightened.

"I think maybe we should stop."

Silence.

James didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Didn't even breathe for a second.

You could feel him staring.

"...Stop what?"

Your eyes squeezed shut briefly.

"Us."

The word barely came out.

Small.

Fragile.

Like saying it quietly would somehow hurt less.

James blinked once.

Twice.

Then let out this tiny breath of laughter.

Not because he thought it was funny.

Because confusion had hit him before anything else.

"That's not funny, love."

"I'm not joking."

The smile disappeared immediately.

You watched it happen.

Actually watched it disappear.

His eyes searched your face slowly.

Looking for something.

Anything.

A smile.

A joke.

Some tiny sign that said got you.

But there wasn't one.

And the moment he realized that—

"Oh."

Just that.

Oh.

His voice had gone quiet.

The room suddenly felt too warm.

Too small.

Too full of things neither of you wanted to say.

"...Why?"

You had prepared for this.

You had.

Days and days of explanations.

Logical explanations.

Responsible explanations.

Things that sounded mature and selfless and right.

But suddenly every single one felt stupid.

Because James was sitting in front of you looking at you like someone had just pulled the floor out from underneath him.

"Because your career—"

"My what?"

"James, listen—"

"No."

He sat up straighter immediately.

His hand slipped from yours.

And somehow that hurt more than anything.

"No, explain that."

You stared.

"If this gets out—"

"If what gets out?"

"Us."

"Okay?"

"People talk. People get weird and your career matters and I don't want you getting hurt because of me—"

"Because of you?"

His eyebrows pulled together so quickly it almost looked painful.

He looked genuinely lost.

Not angry.

Not yet.

Just confused.

Like your words weren't making sense inside his head.

"Why now?" he asked quietly.

"It has been like this for a long time."

"I'm trying to protect you."

"Protect me?"

"You know what I mean."

"No."

His voice cracked.

Actually cracked.

"No, I really don't."

You looked away immediately.

Because looking at him suddenly hurt.

Because his face hurt.

Because James looked at you like you'd reached into his chest and handed his own heart back to him.

"You've worked years for this."

"So did you."

"This isn't about me."

"It is."

You shook your head.

"It isn't."

"It literally is."

His voice got louder.

Not yelling.

James almost never yelled.

But hurt sat beneath every word now.

Sharp and shaking.

"You think I care more about headlines than you?"

"James—"

"You think I'd look at you and go yeah okay, never mind?"

"No, but—"

"Then why?"

Your eyes burned.

Because you knew why.

You knew.

Because loving James meant wanting him safe.

Even if safe meant away from you.

Even if it meant hurting yourself first.

"I don't want to be the reason things become harder."

James stared at you.

Long enough that the silence started hurting too.

Then quietly—

"So your solution is leaving me first."

Your heart stopped.

Because somehow—

Somehow he'd said everything you couldn't.

In one sentence.

And you couldn't answer.

Because he was right.

Three months later, you walked out of the studio at almost midnight, exhausted.

Your entire body ached.

Hours of practice had settled deep into your muscles, heavy and dull, and all you could think about was getting home, showering, and disappearing under your blankets for the next twelve hours.

The hallway outside the studio was quiet.

Too quiet.

You were halfway through pulling your phone from your pocket when your steps slowed.

Then stopped completely.

Your heart stuttered.

James sat against the wall outside.

On the floor.

Again.

His legs were stretched out carelessly in front of him, one knee bent slightly. His phone rested loosely in his hand, screen dark, like he'd stopped looking at it a while ago.

His head leaned back against the wall.

Eyes closed.

Like he'd been waiting.

Like he'd been waiting for a long time.

You just stared.

Because for a second your brain didn't process it.

Because after three months of not seeing him—

Your heart still recognized him before anything else did.

"...James."

His eyes opened slowly.

Not startled.

Not confused.

Just tired.

They found you immediately.

"Hm?"

Your chest tightened.

Because he said it so normally.

So casually.

Like this wasn't strange.

Like you hadn't spent three months pretending not to miss him.

"...Why are you here?"

James blinked once.

Then looked at you like the answer should've been obvious.

"You were taking long."

Silence.

You stared at him.

Actually stared at him.

Because what kind of answer was that?

What did he mean you were taking long?

"...James."

"Yeah?"

"We're not together."

Something changed on his face.

Just for a second.

A tiny flicker.

Small enough that anyone else would've missed it.

But you didn't.

His eyes dropped immediately.

His jaw tightened.

And suddenly he wasn't looking at you anymore.

"...I know."

The words hit harder than you expected.

Because he didn't sound angry.

Didn't sound bitter.

Didn't sound upset.

He just sounded...

Tired.

Tired in that horrible quiet way that only comes after you've been hurting for too long.

He stood slowly, brushing his hands against his sweatpants.

"I know."

The silence after that felt enormous.

Cold air slipped through the hallway.

Somewhere far away a door shut.

Neither of you moved.

Then quietly—

"I tried."

His eyes stayed on the floor.

His fingers curled slightly at his sides.

"I actually tried."

Your chest tightened immediately.

Because his voice sounded small.

Smaller than you'd ever heard it.

"I tried giving you space."

He laughed softly.

And it hurt.

God, it hurt.

Because there wasn't anything happy in it.

It was the kind of laugh people let out when they're trying really hard not to feel something.

"But every time something happened..."

He swallowed.

His eyes lifted toward you.

"And every time something good happened—"

His mouth twitched slightly.

"Or something stupid happened—"

A tiny breath left him.

"I still wanted to tell you first."

Your throat tightened.

Because suddenly you remembered the messages.

The dog wearing tiny shoes.

The ugly pancakes.

Random videos.

Little things.

So many little things.

You'd thought he was just being James.

But standing here now—

You realized those things had never been random.

They had been pieces of his day.

Pieces of himself.

Still reaching for you.

"And every day I kept thinking..."

He looked away again.

Swallowed hard.

"How are you doing this?"

Silence.

"How are you acting like this doesn't hurt?"

Your eyes burned instantly.

Because his eyes looked a little red now.

Because James was standing there trying so hard to act okay.

Trying to smile.

Trying to stand normally.

Trying to be the same James he'd always been.

But his shoulders looked heavier.

And despite everything—

Despite three months.

Despite the breakup.

Despite you pushing him away—

He'd still been sitting outside waiting for you.

Waiting.

For you.

"...James."

"You don't have to protect me from being with you."

His voice was quiet.

Steady.

Certain.

"You don't get to decide I love you less than all of this."

And that—

That broke something.

Because suddenly all the fear you'd been carrying around for months felt unbearable.

Heavy.

Stupid.

You'd spent so long trying to hold everything together that you hadn't realized how exhausted you were.

You didn't even think.

Your body moved before your brain did.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

For one tiny second—

He froze.

Like he couldn't believe it.

Like he was scared if he moved too fast you'd disappear.

Then his arms locked around you immediately.

Hard.

Like he'd spent months holding himself back.

Like he'd been waiting for permission.

His face buried itself into your shoulder instantly and you felt him breathe out against you—

A shaky breath.

One that sounded suspiciously close to breaking.

His hands slipped underneath your hoodie, flattening against your back just to hold you closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Like even that wasn't enough.

You felt them shaking.

Very slightly.

"...So."

His voice came out muffled against your shoulder.

Small.

"...Are we still doing this breakup thing?"

A wet laugh escaped you.

"No."

Silence.

Then—

"...Okay good."

Another pause.

His arms tightened.

"...Because I hated it."

You laughed through your tears.

"Yeah?"

"Three months."

He finally pulled back enough to look at you.

His eyes were still a little red.

Lashes damp.

Hair falling into his face.

"Three months is too long."

Then he immediately buried his face into your neck again.

Like he physically couldn't help himself.

"I thought I was dying."

And for the first time in three months—

You held him back without letting go.

ㅤㅤㅤangst *︎ suggestive ⁠♡ fluff ೀ personal favourites ★

⤷ james - cortis

professional biker... (2k words) ೀ ★ - lastest fic! 𝄞

falling apart... (1.9k words) * ೀ hibernating... (1.6k words) ೀ ★ american star headcanons... (820 words) ೀ lazy love... (1.4k) ೀ ★ fashionable couple... (1.7k) ೀ ★ new years... (1.6k) ೀ *︎ ★ loverboy headcanons... (562 words) ೀ stay... (1.6k) ೀ *︎ ★ better than them? ... (1.4k) ೀ *︎ ★

pairing: boyfriend!james x fem!user summary : trying to start your morning but your boyfriend simply wants to hibernate... with you of course.

other notes : fluff! domestic romance! touchyJames! sleepyboyfriend! physical affection! comfort! (1.6k)

The pale morning light had already started slipping through the curtains long before either of you actually woke up, thin streaks of gold stretching lazily across the bed and warming the edges of the blankets. The room was quiet in that soft way only early mornings seemed to be—no phones buzzing, no schedules waiting, no voices coming from another room. Just slow breathing, warm sheets, and the comfortable stillness of a day that hadn't started asking anything from either of you yet.

You had woken up first.

Not fully, not immediately, but enough to become aware of warmth around you.

A lot of warmth.

...James was practically attached to you.

At some point during the night, he had apparently decided that simply sleeping beside you wasn't enough, because now one arm was wrapped tightly around your waist while the other had somehow ended up trapped beneath your neck, pulling you close enough that there was barely any space left between you at all. One of his legs had tangled with yours too, as if somewhere in his half-asleep brain he'd subconsciously decided you weren't allowed to escape.

You shifted just slightly beneath the blankets.

Immediately, his arms tightened.

Not painfully, just enough. Enough to tell you he noticed.

You turned your head a little and looked at him.

His face was pressed against your shoulder, hair completely messy and falling over his forehead, lashes resting softly against his cheeks. He looked younger when he slept somehow—softer around the edges, more relaxed, like every bit of tension he carried around during busy days had finally decided to leave him alone for a few hours.

And despite the fact that he looked very asleep...

"...James."

Nothing. You tried again anyways.

"...James."

Still nothing.

You narrowed your eyes.

"You're awake."

A few seconds passed, then, very slowly, you felt his face press even closer against your neck.

"...No."

His voice came out rough and sleepy, words slightly slurred from exhaustion. You stared, an inebitable smile forming on your lips. "...You're literally talking."

"...Mhm."

"...James."

"...Mhm."

"...You're awake."

There was silence for a moment.

Then his nose brushed lightly against your shoulder as he shifted closer somehow—which honestly should not have even been physically possible considering he was already attached to you.

"...Don't know what you're talking about." He grumbled lightly against your nape, leaving a light kiss there.

You let out a quiet laugh immediately.

Because his voice still sounded completely buried in sleep, low and soft and warm in a way that almost made your chest ache.

You tried moving again. Just a little.

Immediately—

"No."

You blinked.

"...Huh?"

"No." He growled softly, his arm lightly pullying you closer, pressing your back against his wide chest.

This time his answer came faster. More awake.

You looked down at him.

James still had his eyes closed. Still looked asleep somehow. Except now his eyebrows had furrowed slightly like he was personally offended by the concept of movement.

"Where are you going?" he asked quietly, voice gruff against your shoulder.

"I wasn't going anywhere."

"...Mhm."

"...I wasn't."

His eyes opened then, barely.

Just enough for him to look up at you through messy hair and heavy eyelids.

He stared for a few seconds.

Then blinked slowly.

Then stared again.

You almost laughed.

Because James always took forever to wake up properly.

It wasn't like one second he was asleep and the next he was completely awake.

No way.

Waking up for James was a process.

A very long process.

You could practically see his brain loading.

He looked at you like he was trying to remember something important.

Then his expression softened almost instantly.

Oh.

You.

His face changed so subtly, but you caught it anyway.

The tiny shift around his eyes.

The faintest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, so lazy and soft.

And then, without warning, he buried his face directly into your neck again.

"...James!" You yelped softly.

"What."

His voice was muffled, yet you felt him smile against your skin.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"...You're crushing me."

"No I'm not."

"You are."

"...No."

You stared at the ceiling.

He was unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.

Because despite arguing with you, despite denying every accusation with complete confidence, his arms remained wrapped tightly around you.

Like he was unconsciously pulling you closer every few seconds.

Like his body had decided that if he held you tightly enough, morning wouldn't happen.

You felt his fingers move slightly against your side, slow and absentminded, tracing tiny patterns through the fabric of your shirt without him seeming to realize he was doing it.

Quiet.

Comfortable.

Sleepy.

You were then somehow able to turn around in his arms so you could face him. He looked so peaceful, so handsome it hurted. You then reached up and gently pushed his hair away from his forehead.

A light hum leaving his lips.

"...You're falling asleep."

"Mhm."

"...You just woke up."

"Mhm."

"...James."

This time he opened one eye. Just one.

"...What."

You looked at him for a second. Then smiled.

"Good morning."

For a moment he simply stared at you. Both eyes now though.

Still sleepy.

Still not fully awake.

Then his expression melted completely. Really melted. Like every bit of stubbornness left him at once.

"...Morning."

His voice was so quiet you almost missed it.

Then he shifted upward slightly, moving slowly beneath the blankets until his face was closer to yours.

You thought he was going to say something.

Instead—

A tiny kiss against your cheek.

Then another near your jaw.

Then another.

You blinked.

"...James."

Another kiss.

"...James."

One near the corner of your mouth this time.

"...Babe."

"Mhm."

"...You're very clingy in the morning."

Silence.

"...Only because you're warm."

You narrowed your eyes immediately.

"So if I wasn't warm—"

"No."

He answered way too fast.

Actually way too fast.

Then his eyes opened a little wider as if he'd finally realized what he said.

You stared.

He stared back.

A few seconds passed.

Then James hid his face in the crook of your neck, kissing lightly.

"...Take it back." He muttered softly.

You started laughing. Actually laughing now.

His ears had gone slightly pink.

"...No."

"I take it back."

"You can't just take it back." you teased him, hearing him whine softly.

"...Shut up."

You tightened your arms around him instead.

And for a moment he went still. Completely still.

Then slowly—very slowly—you felt him relax against you.

All his weight settling comfortably.

No pretending to be asleep anymore.

No complaints. Just warmth.

Then after a few quiet seconds, you felt his fingers gently squeeze your side once.

"...Five more minutes," he mumbled softly.

A pause. Then, quieter:

"...Actually ten."

Another pause.

"...Maybe forever."

And somehow, wrapped up in his arms while morning light spilled lazily across the bed and James held onto you like letting go would be the worst thing in the world—

forever didn't sound all that unreasonable.

pairing: yourboyfriend!james x americansinger!reader - request! headcanons of your thai boyfriend who's obssesed with you and your culture! 🎤⭐

other notes: sfw! fluff! americangirlfriend! culturaldifferences! (820 words)

yourboyfriend!james who... learned random American slang exclusively from you and uses it horribly. Absolutely horribly. He’ll say something confidently, watch you stare at him in complete silence, and immediately go, “…I said that wrong, didn’t I?”

yourboyfriend!james who... watches your performances while pretending he’s “just checking the choreography” then ends up sitting way too close to the screen.

“James.”

“Hm?”

“Like it that much?”

“I'm just…I was looking.” He'd stutter.

yourboyfriend!james who... gets fascinated by the difference between your worlds. Different interviews, different award shows, different promotions, different cultures—and sometimes he’ll ask the most random questions in the middle of the night.

“So wait.”

“…Hm?”

“Are crumble cookies THAT good?”

You'd just laugh at his spontaniousness.

yourboyfriend!james who... absolutely watches compilations of your performances and sends them to you like you’ve never seen them before.

look

look at 2:14

that was cool

you looked cool

actually really cool

yourboyfriend!james who... acts will always sing along when your songs come on in public and then acts offended when people record him.

yourboyfriend!james who... secretly likes hearing you sing around the apartment way more than hearing polished studio versions.

Not because they’re better.

Just because one is for everyone, and the other feels like it’s only for him.

yourboyfriend!james who... complains dramatically whenever schedules force you apart.

“Three weeks?”

“…James.”

“Three weeks?”

“You said that already.”

“No because three weeks is too long.”

yourboyfriend!james who... learns your songs without meaning to. Entire lyrics too.

Then one day you’re singing absentmindedly and suddenly hear him continue the next line from another room.

Silence.

“…James.”

Silence.

“…James.”

“…No?”

“You know the lyrics.”

“No I don’t.”

“You literally just sang them.”

“…Coincidence.”

yourboyfriend!james who... gets slightly offended when interviewers ask if he listens to your music.

Slightly.

Just enough to blink and go:

“…Yeah?”

Like obviously? “Everyone does.” He'd proudly state.

yourboyfriend!james who... absolutely loves when you drag him into normal American things he didn’t grow up with because he gets weirdly invested.

Like suddenly taking pancake ranking very seriously.

Or arguing over sauces.

Or becoming convinced that one specific snack is life-changing.

yourboyfriend!james who... never really treats you like the singer when you’re together.

Not because he isn’t proud of you.

But because after stages and cameras and millions of people looking at you all day, he’ll still just look over from the couch and go:

“…Come here.”

Like before anything else—

you’re still just you.

extra !!! — ୨ৎ

yourboyfriend!james who... still insists the two of you are “good friends” during interviews with a completely straight face, only to immediately text you afterward: i deserve an award for that performance btw...

yourboyfriend!james who... complains about time zones constantly. Not in a sad way either. Just dramatically. “This is ridiculous,” he’d mumble while staring at his phone. “Why are you tomorrow and I’m today?”

yourboyfriend!james who... calls you after schedules and immediately starts talking before even saying hello, because apparently his brain has been saving thoughts all day. You’ll pick up and hear: “Okay wait—you know what happened?”

yourboyfriend!james who... accidentally appears in the background of one of your videos once because he forgot cameras existed, walking by with messy hair and food in his hand before slowly walking backwards out of frame after realizing, eyes wide and glasses low on his nose.

yourboyfriend!james who... waits outside your recording room because “you were taking long,” only for you to walk out and find him sitting on the floor against the wall scrolling through his phone.

“Babe.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you on the floor?”

He’d look up at you like you’re the weird one.

“I got tired of standing up.”

“Yeah okay, you do know chairs exist, right?” He'd glance around to see multiple empty chairs right infront of the recording room, lightly scratching his nape, “…Right.”

yourboyfriend!james who... becomes weirdly attentive whenever you’re tired during promotions or any work in general. Not overly serious, just quietly appearing beside you with food, water bottles, or his jacket around your shoulders before acting like it wasn’t a thing.

yourboyfriend!james who... has a habit of standing very close to you in private without noticing. You’ll be making coffee, checking your phone, looking for something in the kitchen, and suddenly he’s there beside you.

Not saying anything.

Just existing.

“James.”

“Hm?”

“Do you need something?”

A pause.

“…No.”

Then he stays there anyway.

yourboyfriend!james who... finds it funny that fans think he’s smooth.

Because in reality he’ll spend an entire day acting normal, then look at you randomly and go:

“…You looked really pretty today.”

And when you stare at him because where did that even come from?

He suddenly looks away.

“…Forget I said that.”

Too late.

Way too late. "No way I'd ever forget that." You'd tease him, watching him do funny faces in response, like you just cringed the living shit out of him.

pairing: boyfriend!james x fem!user◞

summary: after a long day, all you expect is a quiet evening with James on the couch—but somewhere between lazy touches, lingering glances, and words that feel too soft to ignore, the space between you starts disappearing.◞

other notes: fluff! domestic romance! touchy James! soft intimacy! physical affection! slow-burn...kindda? kissing! comfort! (1.4k)◞

The apartment is quiet in that late-evening way after work, where everything feels slightly softer than usual, like even the air has decided to slow down and linger. Somewhere outside, distant city noise filters through the window, but inside, it’s just warm lighting, half-finished conversations, and the faint sound of something playing on the TV that neither of you are really watching.

James had arrived earlier than expected.

Not dramatically early—just enough to make it feel like the rest of your evening had shifted towards an end, and thankfully so. It had been a long day for the both of you.

He’s sitting next to you on the couch now, one leg tucked up underneath him, shoulder pressed lazily against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. At first, he’d been talking—small comments, nothing important, the kind of casual chatter that always comes easiest to him when he’s tired—but at some point, his voice had started to slow, and now the words between you have thinned into comfortable silence.

You don’t notice the shift at first.

At least not until his hand moves.

It starts with something simple—his fingers brushing lightly against your wrist where your hand rests on the couch. A small, absentminded touch, like he’s not even fully aware he’s doing it. Then it happens again, a little more deliberate this time, his thumb tracing slowly over your skin in a way that feels less like accident and more like habit forming in real time.

Your eyes find him in the dark, yet he doesn't look at you inmmediately.

Instead, he just keeps watching whatever’s on the screen, expression relaxed, almost lazy, like everything is normal, and it is.

But his hand is still there.

Still holding yours now.

Not tightly. Just enough to make something tighten inside your stomach in the best way possible.

“You’re quiet today,” he says eventually, voice low, quiet.

“You’re the one not talking,” you reply softly.

That finally gets him to look at you. And when he does, it’s like he pauses for half a second too long, nothing exaggerated, more like he forgot what he was going to say. His gaze then drops briefly to your mouth and back to your eyes.

Then he hums under his breath like he’s thinking.

“I am talking,” he says.

“You’re barely talking.”

“I’m conserving energy.”

That makes you laugh a little, and something in his expression shifts—small, almost invisible, but there. Like that sound does something to him, and it probably does.

He shifts closer without warning, not sudden.

Just… inevitable.

Until there’s barely any space left between you.

His shoulder presses into yours a little more firmly now, his hand still holding yours, but looser, like he’s decided he doesn’t need to pretend he’s being casual about it anymore.

“You always do that,” you say quietly.

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re not paying attention,” you answer, eyes narrowing slightly, though your voice isn’t serious.

James tilts his head a little, smiling lazily at you.

“I am paying attention.”

“Really?” You tease lightly, no real bite behind your words, earning a soft hum from him.

A pause.

“If it's not the TV then what is it?” You push a bit, watching him raise his eyebrows in amusement. "You." He simply answered, like there was no doubt behind.

Like they weren’t meant to be turned into anything bigger than they are.

Your breath catches a little anyway, and you look away first, which you immediately regret because now his hand is shifting again—this time sliding more properly into yours, fingers threading in slowly like he’s testing how it feels, how you react.

Like he’s deciding wheter he likes it or not.

He does it so casually it almost doesn’t feel real, almost.

Except then he leans in just slightly, his shoulder nudging yours again, and his voice drops a little lower, persistent and lingering in a way that makes you feel dizzy.

“Why are you looking away?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m just—”

You stop, because he’s closer now than he was a second ago, and you can feel it properly. The warmth of him, the steadiness of his breathing, the way he’s looking at you like he’s not in a rush to move away.

Like he doesn’t want to.

Just then, his thumb brushes over your knuckles once.

Slow. Absentminded. Intimate in a way that doesn’t ask for permission because it assumes it’s already been given. “James,” you say quietly, but it comes out softer than you mean it to.

“Mm?”

He’s not teasing now.

Not joking.

Just there. Waiting, probably.

You don’t finish the sentence.

You don’t know how to anyways.

Instead, he shifts again—closer this time—and his free hand comes up gently, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with a kind of focus that makes your chest feel tight in a way you can’t fully explain.

For a second, he just looks at you. Really looks. Like if trying to memorise every single feature of yours, like he hadn't already.

Then he exhales quietly, almost like he’s decided something without saying it out loud.

And just then, he leans in. It’s not rushed. Not forceful.

Just slow enough that you have time to realize what’s happening before it actually happens.

His lips meet yours softly at first—careful, almost testing.

Like he’s checking if this is still okay. If you’re still there, if you want this as much as he does.

But when you don’t pull away, something in him relaxes, and the kiss shifts—becoming a little more certain, a little more lingering, like he’s stopped pretending he’s not been thinking about this for the whole day.

His hand tightens slightly in yours, and that solely makes you smile against his lips, receiving a soft hum from him in response.

When he pulls back, it’s only barely. Forehead still near yours. Breathing a little faster now, ragged in an intimate way.

A faint trace of something unreadable in his expression—something soft and faintly dazed, like he’s annoyed at how much he liked that.

“…You’re distracting,” he mutters.

You blink. Unware of his words for a second too long, like if you were trying to still process the kiss.

“I didn’t do anything.”

That earns the smallest hint of a smile from him.

“You exist,” he says simply.

A pause. Then, quieter:

“That’s kind of the problem.”

You laugh under your breath, and this time he doesn’t pretend not to notice.

Instead, he leans in again—slower this time, more certain—and presses another kiss to you, this one lingering just a little longer, like he’s decided there’s no reason to rush away from it.

And his hand doesn’t let go of yours once.

Not even after.

the way this just boosted my motivation by like 500% 🙏🏼❤

I'm sorry but his vocals here?!?!??!! It's actually insane how even tho he's this young he's already so talented!!!

pairing: martin!cortis x fem!reader

summary: a cozy winter cabin getaway turns chaotic when Martin finds himself utterly rejected by the two resident cats, who inexplicably prefer you instead... (based on one of their youtube videos! iykyk)

other notes: sfw! heaaavy fluff! cuten'funny! (1k)

The cabin had gone quiet for the first time since you had gotten there.

Not silent—never really silent. There was the soft tapping of tree branches against the windows, the distant hum of wind moving through pine trees, the crackling fireplace Martin had insisted on lighting even though the heater worked perfectly fine.

"It's atmosphere," he'd argued. It was winter break for both of you, and with New Year’s just around the corner, the boys had taken a few weeks away from everything—away from the noise, the studios, the packed schedules, and the endless cycle of work that had filled most of the year. Martin, on the other hand, had decided that one of his three weeks off would be spent with you in a secluded cabin deep in the Korean mountains—where everything outside the window was blanketed in white, the kind of quiet, endless landscape that kept pulling your gaze back again and again.

Now he was sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor near the couch, and staring at betrayal in its purest form.

The betrayal had fur.

Younghee (or that was how your boyfriend called her) was curled comfortably in your lap, asleep, tiny paws tucked under herself while you absentmindedly scratched beneath her chin.

The other cat—the grumpy one who had spent the entire day pretending not to care about anyone—was pressed against your side.

Against your side.

Martin looked at them. Then at you. Then back at them. "You've got to be kidding me."

You looked down. "Hm?"

He pointed dramatically.

"They like you."

You blinked. "I think they just—"

"No." He shook his head with complete seriousness. "No, no. Younghee and I have history."

You nearly laughed immediately.

"History?"

Martin leaned back against the couch with a sigh heavy enough to suggest a tragic past romance.

"Younghee..." he said softly, staring at the sleeping cat in your lap. "After all these years."

Younghee did not react.

"I waited for you."

Still nothing.

"We had something special."

You snorted, and Martin ignored you completely.

"I still remember our summer together," he continued sadly. "The memories we shared."

Younghee's ear twitched.

"Oh, now you hear me?" he gasped.

You laughed fully this time, and the movement made Younghee open her eyes sleepily.

Martin immediately sat up.

"Younghee."

His voice had changed entirely.

Gentle. Hopeful.

Like a man seeing his lost love at a train station after twenty years.

Younghee stared at him, then Martin slowly held out a hand.

"Come back to me."

Younghee looked at him for exactly two seconds—

Then turned around and climbed higher into your lap.

Martin froze.

"No."

You were practically wheezing now.

"No, I reject this reality."

He scooted closer.

The second cat looked at him.

Martin looked back carefully.

"...Hey buddy."

No reaction.

"I know we've had our differences."

The cat narrowed its eyes.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot."

Martin extended one finger toward him.

The cat watched.

Watched—

Then got up.

And you could see how Martin's face instantly lit up.

"Oh my god—"

And the cat walked directly past him and climbed onto the couch beside you.

Martin stared after him in silence.

"...I don't think I've ever been humbled this badly."

You reached over and patted his shoulder.

"I'm sorry buddy."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not." You admited with a heavy, mocking sigh.

He looked at you with betrayal now.

"You stole my cats."

"I didn't do anything."

"You walked in here and used your cat witchcraft." He started doing weird magician things with his hands.

You smiled innocently.

"My what?"

"I don't know." He gestured wildly. "Your... aura. Your cat energy."

"My cat energy." Your eyebrows raised lightly.

"Yes." His did too.

You grinned at him, then held out your hand. Martin looked at it suspiciously.

"What?"

"Come here."

He narrowed his eyes but moved closer anyway, resting beside you on the couch.

Immediately, Younghee lifted her head.

Martin noticed.

Slowly—

Very slowly— He smiled. "Oh?"

Younghee climbed out of your lap.

And instantly, Martin's eyes widened.

"No way."

The gorgeous striped cat stepped carefully across the blanket.

Martin looked like he had stopped breathing.

"Younghee..." he whispered.

One step. Two steps. Three—

She walked directly over Martin's legs.

And his smile was becoming unbearable.

Then she settled down in your lap, again.

Martin stared into space. You looked at him. He looked at you.

"...You know what?" he said quietly. "I think some things are just meant to stay in the past."

You laughed so hard you ended up leaning into him, and despite all his dramatic suffering, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders automatically, and eventually, you two were wrapped around an invisible bubble of laughter neither of you could pop.

A few seconds later you felt him rest his head against yours.

Then, very quietly, he whispered towards the cat on your lap, voice rough and desperate.

"Younghee... if you ever miss me..."

You buried your face into his shoulder, your laugh was uncontrolable by now.

"And if you think about our memories..."

The cat yawned sleepily while your boyfriend was pouring his whole love and devotion on his words.

“I’ll always—”

Then suddenly, Younghee stretched a paw out and smacked him directly in the face, leaving it there for a moment before pulling away, watching him with narrow green eyes.

Martin sat there in complete silence.

Then he muttered, barely audible, like he had already given up entirely.

“…This is definitely worse than heartbreak.” “You’ve never had your heart broken, Tin,” you said, side-eyeing him in an unserious way, watching the boy nearly break character. “Can’t be worse than this…”

I’m genuinely thinking about doing a longer fic!! Not sure if it will be james who i'll start with or another member tho 🤷🏻‍♀️