pairing : james!cortis x fem!reader◞

summary : you’re dating James, but you can’t shake the feeling that someone like him shouldn’t really choose you—yet he is willing to prove you that you are completely wrong.◞

other notes : sfw! fluff! comfortfic! noANGST! (1.4k)◞

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside the windows and the occasional turning of a page.

James sat cross-legged at the end of the couch, dark hair falling into his eyes as he read through notes on his tablet, brows furrowed in concentration. Even like this—wearing gray sweatpants, an oversized black hoodie, and looking half-asleep—he was unfairly beautiful.

You watched him from the kitchen counter where you were pretending to focus on your tea.

It was stupid, really.

After all this time together, after all the late-night phone calls and forehead kisses and sleepy “come here”s whispered into your hair, you still caught yourself staring at him the same way everyone else did.

The difference was that everyone else got to admire him freely.

You had to live with the terrifying fact that somehow, impossibly, he loved you back.

“You’ve been holding that mug for like ten minutes.”

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

James looked up, amused, lips curving into that small smile he always wore when it was just the two of you. Softer than the smiles he gave cameras. Realer.

You blinked. “What?”

“The tea.” He pointed lazily. “You forgot to drink it.”

“Oh.”

You glanced down.

Right. The tea.

James laughed quietly through his nose before setting his tablet aside. “Come here.”

The words were gentle, absent-minded, like breathing.

You obeyed immediately.

The moment you reached the couch, his hands found your waist automatically, guiding you between his legs until you were standing there while he looked up at you like you personally hung the moon.

It always made your chest ache a little.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Mhm.”

“You sure?”

His thumbs rubbed small circles against your sides. Warm. Comforting.

Too comforting.

Because the moment he looked at you like that, every ugly thought inside your head became impossible to say out loud.

How could you admit you felt small next to him when he treated you like you were precious?

How could you tell him that every time you saw edits of him online or fans screaming his name or comments calling him perfect, part of you wondered what he was doing with someone like you?

So instead, you smiled.

“I’m okay.”

James narrowed his eyes slightly.

He never fully believed you when you lied.

Still, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss just below your jaw anyway. “Good.”

The touch made your face warm instantly.

He noticed, obviously.

“Cute,” he murmured.

“Stop.”

“Never.”

You rolled your eyes, but he only grinned wider before tugging you down beside him until your head rested on his shoulder.

Safe.

That was the dangerous thing about James.

He made loving him easy.

A week later, your friend convinced you to go out drinking with her.

“You never go anywhere,” she complained while dragging you through the crowd. “And you’ve literally never been drunk before. That’s insane.”

“I just never wanted to.”

“Well, tonight you are.”

You should’ve known it would end badly.

The first drink burned.

The second tasted weirdly sweet.

By the fourth, the room had become pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.

You laughed too loudly at things that weren’t funny. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. The music vibrated through your chest while your thoughts floated somewhere far away from you.

At some point, your friend gently took your phone from your hands.

“You texted him the same sentence three times.”

You squinted. “Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“What did you even mean by ‘you’re shaped nicely’?”

You burst into uncontrollable laughter.

By the time James arrived, you were sitting outside the bar wrapped in your coat, blinking slowly at the night air.

The second you saw him stepping out of the car, something in your chest softened painfully.

He looked tired.

Not annoyed—never annoyed—but definitely worried.

His eyes found you instantly.

“There you are.”

The way he said it made it sound like he’d been looking for you forever.

You smiled weakly. “Hi.”

James crouched in front of you immediately, hands brushing your hair back carefully. “How much did you drink?”

You thought very hard about it.

“…some.”

Your friend snorted behind you.

“She’s gone,” she informed him. “Completely.”

James sighed quietly, though there was fondness hidden underneath it. “I can see that.”

Then he looked back at you, expression softening all over again.

“Can you stand?”

You nodded confidently before nearly falling sideways.

His arms caught you instantly.

Strong. Warm. Steady.

“Okay,” he said through a laugh. “Maybe not.”

You buried your face against his shoulder out of embarrassment while he thanked your friend and carefully guided you into the passenger seat.

The car smelled like him.

Clean laundry, faint cologne, something comforting you could never describe properly.

The second he buckled your seatbelt for you, your drunk brain nearly melted.

“You’re very pretty,” you informed him seriously.

James glanced at you while starting the car.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s nice, baby.”

“No, like…” You frowned, struggling to explain yourself. “Annoyingly pretty.”

His laugh filled the car quietly.

“You’re drunk.”

“You have fans.”

“I do.”

“So many.”

James hummed absent-mindedly, one hand resting on the steering wheel.

“And they all think you’re beautiful,” you continued.

His expression shifted slightly at your tone.

You didn’t notice.

Meanwhile your thoughts had become loose and slippery, impossible to keep inside anymore.

“I think so too,” you admitted softly.

The streetlights blurred past outside the windows.

James stayed quiet.

You stared at your hands.

“I don’t tell you because it sounds dumb,” you mumbled. “But sometimes I look at you and think maybe one day you’ll realize you could have someone prettier.”

The car became very still.

Even the music seemed quieter somehow.

James’s grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel before he glanced over at you again.

Your eyes were glassy from alcohol and exhaustion, fixed stubbornly on your lap.

“You think that?”

You shrugged.

It suddenly felt horribly embarrassing now that the words were out.

“I know it’s stupid,” you whispered. “I know you love me. I just…” Your throat tightened unexpectedly. “Sometimes I don’t understand why.”

James pulled into an empty side street without another word.

The car stopped.

You looked up, confused.

He turned toward you fully then, expression unreadable for exactly two seconds before he reached over and cupped your face gently.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Your chest hurt.

“Look at me.”

You did.

And there it was again.

That look.

Like you were something unbearably precious to him.

James brushed his thumb under your eye carefully. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

You shook your head slightly.

“I see the person who remembers how I take my coffee even when I forget myself.” His voice stayed calm and warm. “The person who waits up for me after schedules even when you’re exhausted. The person who gets shy when I compliment her even though she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your face crumpled instantly.

James smiled sadly at that.

“You really don’t know how beautiful you are, huh?”

You let out a tiny, miserable laugh. “Not compared to you.”

“Compared to anyone.”

His hand slid into your hair carefully.

“I have fans,” he said quietly. “And I’m grateful for them. But they’re not you.”

The tears burning your eyes suddenly became impossible to ignore.

James leaned closer immediately.

“Baby, no—don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.”

“You are literally crying.”

You sniffled. “Shut up.”

That made him laugh softly.

Then his forehead rested against yours.

“So listen to me carefully,” he murmured. “There is nobody else I want.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly destroyed you.

“You don’t have to compete with anyone. You don’t have to become prettier or cooler or anything else.” His nose brushed yours lightly. “I already love you exactly like this.”

Your eyes closed.

The warmth of his hand against your cheek, the softness in his voice, the quiet patience he always carried with you—it all wrapped around your heart until it felt too full to hold.

“I’m drunk,” you whispered weakly.

“I know.”

“So maybe ignore me forever.”

“Absolutely not.”

A tiny laugh escaped you.

James smiled immediately like he’d won something important.

“There she is.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you.

Slow.

Careful.

The kind of kiss that felt less romantic and more reassuring somehow.

Like he was trying to pour every unspoken feeling into it.

You melted against him instantly.

His thumb stroked your cheek while he kissed you softly, patiently, until all the awful thoughts in your head quieted down for just a moment.

When he pulled away, he stayed close enough that your noses still brushed.

“Better?” he asked quietly.

You nodded.

“A little.”

“Good.”

Then, because he was James, he reached down and intertwined your fingers together before starting the car again.

The rest of the drive home was quiet.

Not awkward.

Just soft.

Your head rested against his shoulder the second you got upstairs, and he guided you carefully through the apartment while mumbling fond complaints about how heavy you suddenly were.

You laughed sleepily.

He helped you wash your face.

Helped you change into pajamas.

Brought you water.

And when you finally crawled into bed, exhausted and dizzy, James slid in beside you without hesitation, immediately pulling you into his chest.

You could hear his heartbeat.

Steady.

Safe.

Even half-asleep, his fingers still traced gentle patterns along your back.

“You know,” he murmured into your hair, “you’re gonna wake up embarrassed tomorrow.”

A groan left you instantly.

“I knew it.”

He laughed quietly.

“But I meant what I said.”

Your arms tightened around him instinctively.

James pressed one last kiss to your forehead.

And in the darkness, with his arms wrapped securely around you like he never planned to let go, it became just a little easier to believe him.

It was mutual and amicable, as much as it had hurt them both. Eddie needed to leave, to get out from under the thumb of Hawkins, Indiana, and Steve wasn't ready to go. Maybe someday, when he could be absolutely sure that things were settled here. But in the end, Eddie needed to go, and Steve needed to stay.

Three months before he left, because he'd known even then that he would never get over Steve, he gave him his necklace. He'd never fully explained to Steve what it meant to him, but the other man had accepted it like he had.

Eddie didn't ask for it back when he left. He didn't know how. Wasn't sure he wanted to. He was going to try to move on, just like Steve asked, but how could he give his necklace to someone else?

The months and years pass them by. They keep in touch, making time to talk to each other on the first of every month, even as Eddie's career starts to take off and Steve starts taking classes at the Roane Community College, trying to find his purpose.

Eddie's one guilty pleasure, even as he starts and stops other relationships. Even as he finds success with his friends, not selling out stadiums around the world but selling out real venues around the country. Even as they trudge their way through the 90s, are the pictures Johnathan sends him once or twice a year in the mail.

It's always a small stack of candids. They're taken throughout the year in the little pockets of time the gang finds to meet up. Eddie has been to a small handful himself, but never all the way to Hawkins, and never more than once a year.

What makes them special, important, vital, is the glimpse of that old chain still wrapped around Steve's neck, tucked under his shirt.

Every time the thick envelope finds its way into his hands, Eddie has to hold his breath. Maybe this time it won't be there. Maybe Steve has finally taken it off.

Every time he gets to breathe again, because his guitar pick is still nestled right over Steve's heart.

It's usually not long after he gets those pictures that whatever relationship he might have been in ends. No matter how successful. No matter how much he truly cares for them. It's always a guilty reminder that someone else hasn't let go of his heart.

It's five, almost six years since he left, and he feels the change coming. Steve graduated with an associate's degree in the culinary arts in June and is one month out from graduating from an intensive four-month culinary program. Eddie's life has settled. His schedule has fallen into neat boxes of touring seasons and non-touring seasons, two-month stretches of chaos followed by several months of writing and recording, coming home before the sun sets.

The kids have moved on. The adults are settled. They're all safe.

Steve was wearing his necklace at graduation. The cheap chain looked freshly polished.