#big hit

They mention edits. His edits. Your edits. You feel all the blood in your body rush straight to your face. 

You blink once. Twice. “Oh,” you say weakly, “that’s… not supposed to exist anymore.”

Before you know it your vision blurs just enough that you dramatically clutch 

Martin’s arm, whispering, “I’m gonna pass out,” even though you’re very much alive.

Martin freezes. Not in a concerned way—more like his brain is buffering. He looks at you, then at the reporter, then back at you. His lips twitch. That’s when you know it’s over for you.

The reporter keeps talking, completely unaware they’ve just exposed you to the public like this. You’re nodding along, smiling like everything’s fine, while internally planning to disappear forever. 

You try to recover by pretending it’s hilarious, waving it off like, “Oh yeah, that phase,” even though your soul has fully left your body. 

Martin, meanwhile, is biting his lip, shoulders shaking, doing absolutely nothing to help. 

Then he lets out a laugh he absolutely shouldn’t have on camera. He tries to turn it into a cough and fails miserably. 

You glare at him. “You’re supposed to defend me right now.”

As soon as the interview ends and the cameras move on, Martin turns to you with the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “So,” he says, dragging the word out, “you were a fan.”

You groan and hide your face in your hands. 

He laughs harder, leaning over like he might actually fall. “Edits?” he repeats. 

“Multiple edits?” 

You mutter something about it being years ago and a dark time in your life.

He doesn’t let it go. The entire walk away from the carpet, he’s teasing you—asking if you used slow-motion, dramatic music, if you had a favorite clip of him. You threaten to never attend another event with him again.

Later that night, you’re still mortified, curled up somewhere quiet while he scrolls through his phone, still laughing to himself. 

He nudges you and says, “I can’t believe I’m dating my own editor.”

You bury your face in a pillow, muffling a scream, while he keeps laughing and pulls you closer anyway, clearly enjoying every second of your embarrassment. 

You know you’ll never live this down—and judging by his grin, he has no intention of letting you forget it anytime soon.

(this one was heavily inspired by the mckenna grace incident😭)

JAMES

              ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You’d been dating James long enough that silence was comfortable. The kind where you could be curling your hair in the mirror while he lounged on the bed behind you, scrolling on his phone, occasionally glancing up just to watch you. He wasn’t even trying to hide it either. Every time you caught his reflection staring, he’d give you that lazy smile like getting ready together was his favorite part of the night.

You were halfway through deciding whether to change tops for the third time when your phone lit up on the counter. 

Your best friend’s name flashed across the screen, and you answered without thinking, tucking the phone between your shoulder and ear. “Hey—what’s up?”

The shriek that came through the speaker made you flinch. “GUESS WHAT HAPPENED. Remember your old Tumblr account? FROM BEFORE? IT JUST WENT VIRAL.”

Your soul immediately tried to leave your body. “What—what Tumblr account?” you said weakly, already knowing exactly which one she meant. You glanced at James in the mirror, panic blooming when you saw him look up, interested clearly.

Your friend kept going, completely oblivious. “The one with the edits and the fanfics? People are reposting screenshots everywhere—”

“James is gonna freak if he—” you blurted, lunging for your phone to mute her, but you were too late.

James blinked. Once. Then again. 

“Tumblr?” he asked slowly. “What’s Tumblr?”

You laughed too fast. “Nothing. Literally nothing. Ignore her, she’s being dramatic.” You waved a hand like this was normal, like your best friend hadn’t just threatened your entire existence.

James narrowed his eyes, already suspicious. He set his phone down and stood up. “You’re bad at lying,” he said calmly, walking over. Before you could react, he gently but firmly took your phone from your hand and unmuted the call.

Your friend’s voice filled the room again. “—I mean, imagine if James ever found out you wrote fanfiction about—”

You screamed his name. Loud. Sharp. Desperate. “JAMES!”

Your friend finally stopped. “Oh. Oh my god. He’s there, isn’t he?”

James just stood there, phone in hand, frozen. His mouth was slightly open, shock written all over his face. “Fanfiction?” he repeated. “You… wrote fanfiction?”

You didn’t even think. You snatched the phone back, bolted past him, and locked yourself in the bathroom like your life depended on it. The second the lock clicked, you slid down the door and covered your face, mortified beyond recovery.

“Hey,” James said from the other side, knocking softly. “Come on. Open the door.”

“No,” you groaned. “I’m never coming out. Cancel dinner. Cancel our relationship. I’m moving countries.”

He laughed—actually laughed—which only made it worse. “Babe, our reservation is in thirty minutes. You can’t ghost me over Tumblr.”

“You don’t understand,” you whined through the door. “I was unwell. I was cringe. I was unemployed.”

“That explains a lot,” he teased gently. 

“But also… kind of impressive?”

You cracked the door open just enough to glare at him. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, grin unmistakably smug—but soft. “You’re not mad?” you asked cautiously.

“Mad?” he shook his head. “You liked me before you even knew me. That’s adorable.” 

He paused. “Embarrassing for you, sure. But adorable.”

You finally came out, still hiding your face, and he immediately pulled you into a hug. 

“Relax,” he murmured. “I promise I won’t read them.”

“You already want to,” you muttered.

He absolutely did.

At dinner, he behaved for exactly ten minutes. Then, while scanning the menu, he casually said, “So… was I the serious type in the fanfics? Or more soft and misunderstood?”

You kicked him under the table. Hard. He just laughed, leaning closer. “I’m just saying,” he whispered, “if you ever need inspiration again—”

“James,” you warned, cheeks burning.

He grinned, eyes warm. “Hey. At least now I know I was your type before I was your boyfriend.”

JUHOON

              ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Movie night was supposed to be easy. You had planned it all out—comfy clothes, lights dimmed just right, snacks stacked dangerously high on the coffee table. 

Juhoon was sprawled on the couch, already halfway under a blanket, scrolling through Netflix like this was his apartment and not yours. You were in the kitchen, shaking a bowl of popcorn and humming, feeling very proud of yourself.

“Hey, babe,” Juhoon called lazily. “It logged you out. What’s your Netflix password?”

You rolled your eyes, dumping popcorn into a bigger bowl. “It’s saved in my notes app. Just grab my phone.”

“Got it,” he said easily, already unlocking it like it was muscle memory.

A few seconds passed. Then a few more. “…I can’t find it, baby.”

“It’s there,” you said, focused on arranging snacks like it was a competitive sport. “Just scroll more down.”

Juhoon did exactly that. And immediately wished he hadn’t.

Instead of a password, his screen filled with folders. Not subtle ones. Not mysterious ones. Ones titled “Scenarios w Juhoon”, “Names for children with Juhoon”, “How to get Juhoon to notice me”, “Upcoming cortis concerts & events”, and—his personal favorite—“Things Juhoon might like (DO NOT DELETE)”.

He froze.

Like, fully froze. Thumb hovering. Brain short-circuiting.

Is this… about me?

Children?

Notice me??

This girl planned me.

His chest felt warm and panicky at the same time. Part of him wanted to laugh. Part of him was weirdly flattered. Another part of him was trying very hard not to spiral over the fact that you had apparently manifested him with using the notes app.

You walked back into the living room balancing snacks like a champ. “Okay, I’m ready—what happened? Can you still not find it?”

Juhoon looked up at you slowly, eyes wide in a way you’d never seen before. “…Yeah,” he said, voice suspiciously calm. “I, uh. Found something else.”

Confused, you leaned over—and then you saw it.

Your soul left your body.

“Oh my—” You snatched the phone from his hand so fast popcorn almost flew everywhere. Your face dropped. Full shutdown. “You were NOT supposed to see that.”

Silence. Then—

Juhoon laughed. Not mean laughter. The soft, breathy, trying not to embarrass you further kind. He leaned back into the couch, running a hand through his hair. 

“So,” he said carefully, “you’ve been planning our children… before I even knew you?”

You groaned, collapsing beside him and burying your face in a pillow. “I’m actually going to pass away right now.”

He gently tugged the pillow away so he could see you, eyes still amused but warm. “Hey,” he said, nudging your shoulder. “Relax. I’ve seen worse. Fans once mailed me a spreadsheet.”

That made you peek up. “That’s not helping.”

“But this?” he continued, holding your chin lightly so you had to look at him, “this is kinda cute.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Cute?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “You were… prepared. Dedicated. A little insane—but in a charming way.”

You covered your face again. “Please stop talking.”

Instead, he scooted closer, pulling the blanket around both of you. “For the record,” he added casually, “you spelled my name wrong once in the ‘scenarios’ folder.”

You shot up. “YOU READ THAT FAR?!”

He grinned, completely unbothered. 

You smacked his arm, mortified, and he laughed again—then softened, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Hey,” he murmured. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. You liked me. Now I’m here. Mission accomplished.”

Your heart melted against your will.

He grabbed the remote, pulling you into his chest.

SEONGHYEON 

              ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Y/N had been staring at her phone for a full minute before finally typing the text.

I’m so sorry, something came up 😭 

I can’t make it back home today.

She sent it, immediately followed by another message.

You don’t have to help my mom with the closet, really. She can do it later.

Seonghyeon read it while standing in the hallway of her childhood home, sleeves rolled up, already surrounded by dust and old cardboard boxes. He replied almost instantly.

It’s okay, don’t worry about it. I can head out.

Then he looked over at her mom, who was already climbing a step stool with a determined sigh, and sent another message.

Actually… I’ll stay and help. It’s fine.

The closet was exactly what Seonghyeon had expected from someone who hadn’t cleaned it in years—boxes stacked all the way to the ceiling, random childhood trophies, and things labeled in messy handwriting. Y/N’s mom stood on the step stool, carefully sliding boxes forward while Seonghyeon waited below, arms raised to catch them.

“This one’s heavy,” her mom warned.

“I’ve got it,” Seonghyeon said easily, taking it from her hands and setting it aside. He was polite, attentive, and trying very hard not to imagine Y/N as a tiny child crammed into this same space.

Box after box came down. Old clothes. School notebooks. Stuffed animals sealed in plastic. Then, as her mom reached for the very back corner of the top shelf, a smaller box slid forward. Seonghyeon caught it automatically—and then paused.

Written on the lid in slightly faded marker were the words: “my loves.”

He stared at it longer than necessary. Curiosity tugged at him, quiet but persistent. When her mom stepped down to adjust the stool, he lifted the lid just a little.

Inside were neatly stacked posters, photo cards, and albums. His breath caught when he recognized his own face almost immediately. And then—Cortis. Multiple eras. Carefully organized. Some older, slightly worn, like they’d been handled a lot.

“Oh,” her mom said, noticing his expression. Then she laughed softly. “You found that one.”

Seonghyeon looked up, ears already warm. “Uh… I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she waved him off. “She adored you. Both of you, really. That box used to move everywhere with her.”

His heart thumped a little harder. “She… did?”

Her mom smiled like she’d been waiting years for this moment.

“Oh, you have no idea. She saved for months just to go to that one showcase. Camped out online for tickets, cried when they sold out, cried harder when she got them.”

Seonghyeon let out a quiet laugh, half disbelief, half something softer. “Really?”

“Mm‑hmm. She made banners, too. Stayed up all night once repainting one because the color was ‘wrong.’”

He shook his head slowly, smiling despite himself. “She never told me any of this.”

“Oh, there’s more,” her mom said cheerfully. 

And there was. 

Stories about train rides, handmade signs, deleted drafts of messages she never sent, how she practiced what she’d say if she ever met him—and then panicked and said nothing when she finally did.

By the time the closet was finished, Seonghyeon felt… full. Warm. A little stunned. The idea that Y/N, the girl who teased him now and pretended not to care, had once cared that much made his chest ache in the best way.

Later that evening, he texted her.

I’m gonna stop by your apartment.

When he arrived, everything was normal. 

Too normal. Y/N immediately launched into apologies, words spilling over each other. 

“I’m really sorry I couldn’t come, I feel bad you had to help my mom, I swear I didn’t plan—”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, watching her pace. “It’s okay.”

She finally stopped, looking at him. He tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I didn’t know you were such a fan girl.”

She froze. “What do you mean?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You know. The posters. The albums. The box labeled my loves.”

Her soul left her body. “She did not.”

“She did,” he said, nodding. “Extensively.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face. “I want to disappear. Right now. Like actually evaporate.”

Seonghyeon laughed, soft and fond, stepping closer. “You practiced speeches?”

“Stop.”

“You repainted banners?”

“Please.”

“You cried over ticket sales?”

“Okay, I’m breaking up with my mom.”

He reached out, gently pulling her hands away from her face. Her cheeks were bright red, eyes refusing to meet his. His teasing smile softened when he saw how genuinely mortified she was.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “It’s kind of… amazing.”

She peeked at him. “You’re not judging me?”

“Not at all.” His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “I think it’s sweet. And a little unbelievable that youwere cheering for me like that.”

She groaned again, but this time she leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her, chin resting lightly on her head.

“I’m glad it was me,” he murmured. “And I’m really glad I get to be here now.”

She sighed into his chest, still embarrassed—but smiling.

KEONHO

              ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Keonho woke up before his alarm, heart already racing like it was his birthday instead of yours. He carefully slipped out of bed, moving as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t wake you. 

Today mattered. 

He’d planned everything down to the smallest detail—the breakfast menu, the little handwritten signs taped around your apartment, the neatly wrapped gifts lined up on the counter… even the exact number of kisses he intended to give you throughout the day.

In the kitchen, he worked with a soft smile, flipping pancakes, cutting fruit into neat shapes, and plating everything the way you liked. He placed a tiny candle into one pancake because of course he did. 

Around the apartment, pastel sticky notes waited: Happy Birthday, I love you. 

When he finally stepped back to admire everything, he felt that warm, satisfied ache in his chest—the kind that only came from loving someone this much.

Then came the worst part. Waiting.

He sat on the couch, phone in hand, trying not to check the time every thirty seconds. To distract himself, he scrolled mindlessly—until a photo stopped him cold. His thumb froze. His breath caught.

It was you.

Years younger, grinning next to a very obvious Cortis-themed cake… and right beside you stood a full-size cardboard cutout of him. Of Keonho. The caption read something like “anything is possible”, and the comments were already brutal and viral. “From sasaeng to girlfriend”, “She won the lottery”, “Manifestation final boss”. His name trended in the replies.

Keonho stared at the screen, stunned. Shock hit first—pure, dumbfounded disbelief. Then curiosity. Then something softer. Warmer. He felt his ears burn as he imagined you back then, probably laughing, probably never thinking this moment would actually exist. 

The idea that you’d once admired him from afar, that fate had somehow twisted so hard it landed you here—in his bed, on your birthday—made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain.

Before he could spiral any deeper, the bedroom door creaked open.

You shuffled out, hair messy, eyes sleepy—and then you froze when you saw everything. The breakfast. The signs. Keonho standing there with the softest smile you’d ever seen. “Happy birthday,” he said gently, walking over to press the very first kiss of the day to your forehead. Kiss number one.

The morning unfolded perfectly. You laughed over breakfast, unwrapped gifts that were way too thoughtful, and groaned when he proudly announced he’d already given you sixty kisses out of one thousand. 

He kept count too—tapping your nose, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, every time mumbling number as if he was counting kisses.

Later, when you were cuddled together and he suggested taking a photo, you leaned in without thinking. But the moment he opened his camera roll, that picture popped up again—bright, unmistakable, incriminating.

Your soul left your body.

You yelped, buried your face in a pillow, and absolutely lost it. “TURN IT OFF. TURN IT OFF. I WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO SEE THAT EVER AGAIN.” You refused to look at him, rolling onto your side and groaning into the couch cushions. “That was a PHASE. A PRIVATE PHASE.”

Keonho blinked once… then burst out laughing. 

Not mocking—warm, incredulous laughter. “A phase?” he teased gently, trying to catch your eye. “You had a cake. And a cutout. That’s commitment.” When you groaned louder, he softened immediately, sliding closer and wrapping his arms around you. “Hey,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay.”

You peeked at him, still mortified, cheeks burning. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

He shook his head without hesitation. “I think it’s kind of uhm.. nice,” he admitted. 

“You liked me… and now you’re here. With me. On your birthday.” He smiled, thumb brushing your cheek. “I don’t mind at all. If anything, I feel lucky.”

You finally looked at him fully then, and he leaned in to steal another kiss. “Sixty-three,” he whispered, smiling against your lips. “And I’ve got… nine hundred and thirty-seven more to go. So you’re not allowed to hide.”

And somehow, just like that, the embarrassment melted—replaced by warmth, laughter, and the quiet realization that sometimes the universe really does let fangirls win.