ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐Topaz

╭ —— ⋆˚. 𝓱ey there angel !! 🍈˚₊ ┆꒰꒰ 🎂17⋆₊⊹ ┆Cortis fan! Black corer! Just for fun!⭐️🧁

[meeoowchi]

——> {{🕹️}} “oops!?” || MARTIN EDWARDS

masterlist + taglist !!

———ˏˋ ★┆ 마틴 ˎˊ˗ 🍥 SYNOPSIS: you didn’t realize martin followed your priv account…

———ˏˋ ★┆ 마틴 ˎˊ˗ 🍥 PAIRING: martin x fem!reader , smau !!

———ˏˋ ★┆ 마틴 ˎˊ˗ 🍥 KORI’S NOTES: ugh i had 2 kinda rush at the end bc of the stupid 30 image limit tumblr has

———ˏˋ ★┆ 마틴 ˎˊ˗ 🍥 CONTENT WARNING(S): swearing and martin plays around 2 much

———ˏˋ ★┆ 마틴 ˎˊ˗ 🍥WORD COUNT: n/a

@meeoowchi 2026!! do not steal or repost! reblogs appreciated:3

[meeoowchi]

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 beautiful stranger ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 - martin edwards park

— ⋆˚꩜｡ in which martin falls head over heels for a girly girl????

— ⋆˚꩜｡ cw: none

— ⋆˚꩜｡ martin x reader

— ⋆˚꩜｡ reader is very hyperfemme!!!!!!!

— ⋆˚꩜｡ you/your used, no explicit pronouns stated

— ⋆˚꩜｡ lowercase is used on purpose

— ⋆˚꩜｡ May have accidentally turned martin into a tsundere oops

— ⋆˚꩜｡ reader is very happy and silly

—⋆˚꩜｡ not proofread!!!!!!!

— ⋆˚꩜｡ wc: 891

martin never thought he would fall for you out of all people.

i mean yeah, you’re really pretty of course, but you were never his… style?

you wore pink from head to toe, plushie keychains hanging off your bag with anime pins scattered all across it, while he had his spiky bleached hair and faded black painted nails.

yeah… opposites.

and yet he can’t help but stare whenever you walk by, or listen in to your conversations with your friends. He didn’t understand why he was starting to become interested in someone like you. he doesn’t know why he finds your laugh pleasant, or your sense of style kind of charming… he doesn’t get it.

— <3 —

“hey, martin could you help me on this?” you asked, tapping him on his shoulder. you two were currently in math class, working on some random worksheet.

martin slightly tensed when you tapped on him. he didn’t expect you to talk to him… like ever.he turned to face you, involuntarily studying your appearance.

“yeah? what’s wrong?” he asked, looking down at your paper. you pointed to an unfinished problem, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and slight frustration.

“I just don’t understand this question. ive reworked it so many yet i keep getting the same—wrong—answer.” you groaned, your head buried in your hands.

he almost smiled at your frustration, it was oddly cute in a way, or is that too condescending…?

whatever.

he cleared his throat, grabbing his pencil.“It’s because you didn’t divide correctly here.” he said, his tone firm yet not quite mocking either. your face immediately felt hot at your stupid mistake.

“right, duh.” you sheepishly giggle. martin couldn’t help but look at you, your giggle replaying in his mind. God what was wrong with him???

“thank you! seriously.” you smiled, pressing your hands together.

“seriously, I mean, you just saved my life!” you giggled again. jesus, that giggle of yours is gonna murder him one day. He straightened back up, turning to face his desk.

“yeah don’t mention it…” he muttered, forcing his voice to be all nonchalant and uncaring when he was actually genuinely panicking on the inside. you only smiled at that, going back to your work!

—<3–

raining… great.

students watched as the rain came pouring down, groans of annoyance filling the classrooms. if it wasn’t obvious, no one packed an umbrella.

well, apart from one person!

martin looked up from underneath the overhang, planning out his next steps for walking home until a light tap was felt on his shoulder.

he recognizes that tap… oh god he recognizes your tap???

he turned around, and yep, there you were, holding a pink umbrella with strawberry designs all over it.

“martin! wanna walk with me?” you asked, your smile reaching your eyes, it always did. he didn’t respond, too busy being shocked by your presence to say anything. He gulped, only nodding. He didn’t trust himself enough to speak.

you nodded, holding the umbrella high above you to try and match his tall frame. he bit back a smile at your attempt, gently taking the umbrella from you and holding it above the both of you. you two walked side by side in comfortable silence for a bit, listening to the sound of rainfall on the concrete.

“you know…” you said, deciding to speak up.

“I always thought you were really cool.” you admitted, looking up at him. his face immediately heated up, averting his gaze away from you.

“yeah?” he asked, receiving an enthusiastic nod from you.

“yeah! I’ve always admired your style!” you smiled, hands behind your back as you fell into step with him.

“the bleached hair, the black nails, honestly your whole get up is just amazing!” you explained, motioning with your hands for added emphasis. He stayed quiet, listening to your gushing.

“…thanks.” he mumbled, trying to appear nonchalant. but a smile broke through on his face, which didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Of course!” you said, giving him a thumbs up. the two of you didn’t speak much after that, you enjoying the silence while martin was losing his mind.

after a bit, your neighborhood came into view.

“alright, this is my stop. I’ll see you tomorrow martin!” you smiled, waving. He nodded, about to hand you your umbrella back when you stopped him.

“nono it’s fine! just bring it back to me tomorrow!” you said. before martin could even protest you already sprinted off, holding your backpack over his head.

he watched you go in slight astonishment. you really were something else.

—<3–

when he got home later that day, he laid down on his bed, his mind swirling around with thoughts of you. he looked over to your umbrella, seeing a piece of paper tapped to the inside of it. he raised an eyebrow, reaching over and grabbing it. he ripped piece of paper off, reading it.

“my number!!! xxx-xxx-xxxx :)”

his eyes widened, sitting up to make sure this was really happening. your number, you gave him your number??

he immediately grabbed his phone, typing the number in until he stopped, hesitating to text you… or even call you? crap, do you even do calls? or are you more of a texting kinda person?????

he took a deep breath, typing in your full number before he began to message you.

—<3–

heh finished my first one shot on this account!! 😼😼😼

actually I might turn this into a series…

idk….

also was it obvious I was thinking of kaoruko and rintaro when writing this….?

@meeoowchi 2026! do not steal! reblogs appreciated!!

[princess-angel-23]

When you're a black girl in a mostly white fandom

[gawainterlude]

Hear me out… a fic about frat martin 👀👀👀👀

FRAT!MARTIN ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

Fratboy!martin x Reader

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Summary ─── frat!martin but he’s in fact still a looser down bad for you. 3.6k wc

. ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Content tags ─── college au · best friend’s brother trope · banter · kissing · heavy eye contact

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Author’s note ─── whoever you are, i hope you’ll love it boo

The bass thumped through the floorboards like a second heartbeat, vibrating up through your heels and settling somewhere in your ribs. You could feel the party before you could see it. Red Solo cups littered the walkway, bodies pressed against bodies in the living room, and that ever-present fog of sweat and body spray that seemed to follow Stella's house like a shadow.

"There you are!" Stella grabbed your wrist, her acrylics clicking against your skin, pulling you through the kitchen threshold. Her blonde hair, dyed the same honeyed shade as her brother's, caught the strobe lights from the living room, creating a halo effect that made her look almost angelic. Almost. "I was about to send out a search party."

"You know I had to finish that essay," you said, letting her guide you toward the kitchen island. "My professor won’t accept 'I was at a rager' as an excuse for late work."

Stella laughed, the sound cutting through the noise, warm and familiar. She handed you a cup of something fruity and suspicious, and leaned against the counter beside you. "You're such a nerd. That's why I love you."

You sipped, letting the sweetness hit. "Where's the music coming from? This actually sounds decent."

"Oh." Stella's smile went knowing, tilted at the edges. She nodded toward the archway leading to the living room. "My brother’s on the decks tonight. He threatened to blackball James from the next three parties if he touched his equipment."

Your eyes drifted before your brain could catch up, scanning the crowd through the archway. The living room had been transformed. Couch pushed back, coffee table relocated, and in the corner, elevated slightly on a platform of wooden crates and a folding table, was Martin.

He was wearing a white tank that clung to his shoulders, arms moving with practiced ease over the mixer. His blonde hair, dyed blonde, almost platinum under the lights, fell across his forehead in a way that looked calculated but was probably just from moving around. From here, he looked every inch the frat boy stereotype. Tall, built from basketball and gym sessions, radiating that specific brand of confidence that came from being six foot three and knowing everyone at the party.

He had his boys around him, some standing on the platform, some leaning against the wall, all of them nodding to the beat he was laying down. A couple girls were hovering nearby too, laughing too loud at something one of his bros said, but Martin wasn't looking at them.

He was looking at you.

The recognition hit like static electricity. Your gaze locked with his across the crowded room, and his hands didn't stop moving, fingers dancing over knobs and faders, but something in his posture shifted. A tilt of the head. A smirk that wasn't quite aimed at the crowd.

"Uh-huh," Stella said, drawing the syllable out like taffy. She waved her hand in front of your face. "Earth to Y/N."

You snapped your attention back to her, heat creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the body heat in the room. "What?"

"Nothing." She was grinning now, that wicked best-friend grin that meant she knew something you didn't. "Just noticing how my brother keeps looking over here like he's performing for a crowd of one."

"He's DJing," you said, keeping your voice level, taking another sip. "He's supposed to watch the crowd. Read the room."

"The room is fifty sophomores trying to start a mosh pit, babe. He's not looking at them." She bumped her shoulder against yours. "He's been asking about you, by the way. 'Y/N coming tonight?' 'Y/N working on something?' Like I don't have better things to do than keep tabs on my best friend for my little brother."

"He's being polite," you said, but you didn't believe it. You'd caught Martin's eyes on you before. At dinner when you came over to study, in the hallway when you were leaving, always from across rooms, always with that same intensity that made you feel like you were under a spotlight. But he never approached. Never said more than a mumbled "what's good" when Stella forced introductions.

A boy who looked but didn't touch? Who stared but didn't speak? That wasn't it, as far as you were concerned.

"Come on," Stella said, grabbing your hand again. "Let's go dance before the good songs end."

The living room was a pressure cooker of bodies, heat rising from skin to skin contact, the music shifting to something with a heavier bass line that you could feel in your teeth. Stella moved like she was made of water, all fluid hips and confident steps, and you fell into rhythm beside her, letting the beat loosen your joints.

But you could feel it. That weight on the back of your neck, the prickle of being watched.

Martin was still at his station, still manipulating the crowd's energy with one hand while the other adjusted his headphones. But his eyes kept finding you. In the gap between songs. During the build-up. When the beat dropped and the room erupted, his gaze stayed steady, pinned to you like you were the only fixed point in a spinning room.

You didn't look back. Not directly. You danced with Stella, laughed at her jokes, let some guy from your Econ class spin you around once before you politely extracted yourself. You were unbothered. Untouchable.

If he wanted to look, he could look. But looking was free, and you weren't a museum piece.

"He's going to strain something," Stella shouted over the music, leaning close to your ear. She'd followed your line of sight, or maybe she'd just known where your attention would drift. "All that staring. His neck's gonna snap."

"Maybe he should worry about his transitions instead," you shouted back, but you were smiling despite yourself.

Stella's phone buzzed against her hip. She kept it in a holster like a gunslinger, always accessible, and she checked the screen, her expression shifting. "Shit. I gotta go handle something. Tyler's having a crisis in the backyard about his ex."

"Do you have to?"

"Sadly, yes. I'm the only one who knows the whole story." She squeezed your arm, already backing away. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"That leaves a lot of options!"

"Exactly!"

She disappeared into the crowd, a flash of blonde hair and sequined top, and suddenly you were alone in a sea of people who knew each other better than they knew you. You made small talk with a girl from your dorm, waved at someone from your study group, but the conversation felt thin, stretched too tight over the noise.

Across the room, Martin's eyes found yours again.

This time, he didn't look away. He held your gaze while his hand reached for a vinyl, actual vinyl, you noticed, not just digital files, and he held it up, showing you the label. Some old rock band you'd never heard of, probably. He raised an eyebrow, a question in the gesture.

You know this one?

You shook your head, just barely.

He smiled then. Not the performative frat boy grin he wore for the crowd, but something smaller, private. He mouthed something you couldn't hear, but you caught the shape of it. Later.

Then the beat dropped, and the crowd surged, and when you looked again, he was focused on his equipment, head nodding to a rhythm only he could hear through his headphones.

You lasted ten more minutes. The friend group you'd found was fine, nice enough, talking about summer plans and internship applications, but none of them had Stella's sharp wit, her ability to make you feel like the funniest person in the room. You did the Irish goodbye, slipping away without announcement, weaving through bodies toward the stairs.

You needed your phone. You'd gotten ready at Stella's earlier, helped her blow up balloons and arrange snack bowls, and you'd left your bag in her room upstairs. The hallway was quieter, the bass muffled to a distant thrum, and you could hear the bathroom door clicking shut, voices behind it that you definitely didn't want to interrupt.

Stella's room was at the end of the hall. But halfway there, you stopped.

Martin's door was open.

Not wide open. Just a crack, a sliver of warm light spilling across the carpet. In all the times you'd been to this house, all the study sessions and movie nights and pre-games, that door had been firmly shut. Locked, probably. A barrier between the frat boy public persona and whatever private world Martin kept hidden.

You looked left. The bathroom door was still closed, muffled laughter seeping through.

You looked right. The stairs led back down to the party, to the noise and the crowd and Martin's eyes on you from across the room.

Well fuck it.

The door creaked when you pushed it. Just enough to slip through, just enough to see.

The first thing that hit you was the smell. Not the expected scent of gym socks and cheap body spray, but something cleaner. Cedar, maybe. Old paper and vinyl. The room was surprisingly neat, bed made with military precision, desk organized with what looked like obsessive attention to detail.

And then you saw the trophies.

They lined a shelf above the desk. Basketball medals, mostly, gold and silver catching the lamplight. Regional championships. MVP awards. The physical proof of the frat boy athlete, the tall guy who dominated the court. You walked closer, running a finger along the edge of a plaque. Martin Jonathan Edwards, All-Conference First Team.

But the walls told a different story.

Posters, actual framed posters, not just taped magazine pages, covered every available inch of drywall. Not the expected sports figures or motivational quotes, but bands. Vintage rock, punk, subgenres you'd need a music degree to identify. Sonic Youth. My Bloody Valentine. Bands with names that sounded like poetry or threats.

And the CDs.

They took up an entire wall, floor to ceiling, organized alphabetically or by genre or by some system only Martin understood. Hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe. You moved toward them like they were magnetic, drawn by the sheer absurdity of it. This collection represented hours of hunting, of crate digging, of obsessive curation.

This wasn't a frat boy room. This was a confession.

You pulled one from the shelf. A rare pressing, judging by the worn edges of the case, and turned it over in your hands. The plastic was cool against your palms.

"Yo, most people ask before they go through someone's stuff."

You didn't jump. You should have, but something in you had been waiting for this. The voice, the presence, the inevitability of him finding you here.

Martin was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted against the frame in that specific way he had, like he was too tall for the world and had gotten used to looking down on everything. He'd taken off his headphones, letting them hang around his neck, and up close you could see the flush in his cheeks from the performance.

He was taller than you remembered, or maybe you were just more aware of it now, the way he filled the doorway, the way you had to look up to meet his eyes.

"I didn't think you'd mind," you said, holding up the CD like evidence. "Since you left the door open. Practically an invitation."

"Practically," he agreed, pushing off the frame with a roll of his shoulders. He stepped into the room, and you realized too late that there was nowhere for you to go. The CD shelf was at your back. The bed was to your left. He was between you and the door.

And then he closed it.

The click of the latch was louder than it should have been, cutting off the party noise to a distant hum. You were alone with him. In his room. With his secrets spread out like offerings.

"Surprising, isn't it?" he asked, nodding toward the posters, the CDs, the carefully curated chaos of his actual personality. "Not exactly what you'd expect from the guy who runs the aux at every party, right?"

"Which part?"

"All of it." He moved closer, not crowding exactly, but occupying space in a way that made you hyperaware of every inch between you. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture pure frat boy, all casual confidence. "The guy who plays Top 40 for the boys has a first pressing of Daydream Nation. The rush chair knows the entire discography of shoegaze. The frat star has feelings about guitar pedals."

He was smiling, but it was different from downstairs. Self-deprecating. A little sharp.

"Why hide it?" you asked.

"Why not?" He shrugged, that single gesture doing something complicated. Lifting the strap of his tank, shifting the muscle of his shoulder. "People like the frat boy. He's easy. He plays the hits. He doesn't make anyone feel stupid for not knowing who Slowdive is. Plus," he added, a flicker of that cocky grin returning, "girls dig it. No cap."

"But that's not you."

His eyes caught yours, and there it was again. That weight, that intensity from across the room, but now there was no crowd to hide behind. No DJ booth creating distance.

"Nah," he said softly. "That's not me."

He took another step. You took one back, your shoulder blades hitting the CD shelf. He kept advancing, slow, deliberate, until you were moving backward across the carpet, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of his mattress and you sat down hard, the CD still clutched in your hand.

Martin didn't stop. He kept coming, settling onto the bed beside you. Not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat coming off his arm, could smell that cedar scent up close now, mixed with something else. Something like the static before a storm.

"You know what the worst part is?" he asked, his voice dropping. The party downstairs felt like another planet.

"What?"

"I've been trying to holler at you for months." He turned to face you, one knee bent on the mattress, his body angled toward yours. "Since last semester. Since that night you came over to help Stella with her sociology project and you quoted bell hooks at dinner like it was nothing. Like everyone should just know who bell hooks is."

You blinked. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything." He reached out, his hand hovering over yours where it rested on the CD case. He didn't touch. Not yet. "I remember you wearing that yellow sweater. I remember you laughing at Stella's terrible jokes and making her feel smart even when she was being stupid. I remember thinking, damn, there's someone who actually sees people."

Your throat felt tight. "Martin."

"I know I'm not," he gestured at himself, at the room, at the duality of his existence. "I know I'm not what you probably go for. I'm too tall, I'm in a frat, I act dumber than I am. But I keep looking at you across rooms, and you keep looking back, and I keep thinking maybe."

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe you'd come to my game next week." He said it fast, like the words were escaping. "Saturday, three o'clock. We're playing State. And I know it's just intramural, I know it's not. I'm not trying to wife you up or anything, I just. I play better when you're there. I can feel you watching, and I want to be better."

You stared at him. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"I know."

"No, I mean." You laughed, the sound breaking some of the tension, but not all of it. "You think I make you play better? That's insane."

"Probably." He was grinning now, that frat boy charm bleeding through but mixed with something real, something desperate. "But I've been three for three when you're in the stands. Coincidence?"

"Definitely."

"Prove it." He leaned closer, and you didn't pull back. "Come to the game. Watch me lose. I'll admit I was wrong."

"And if you win?"

"Then you let me take you out. Real food, not dining hall sludge. And I tell you about every single CD on that wall."

"That's a lot of CDs."

"I've got time."

He was close now. Close enough that you could see the flecks of darker gold in his dyed hair, the way his pupils had blown wide in the dim light of the room. Close enough that his knee was brushing yours, that his hand had finally settled over yours on the CD case, his fingers warm and long and slightly calloused from basketball and from spinning vinyl.

"You've been watching me," you said. It wasn't an accusation.

"Couldn't stop if I tried," he admitted. "You're a tall girl , you know that right? You walk into rooms like you own them. You make Stella laugh harder than anyone. You pretend not to see me staring, and it drives me absolutely crazy."

"Good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You leaned in, just slightly, just enough to close some of the distance. "Maybe you should do something about it instead of just watching."

His breath caught. You could see it, the way his chest stilled, the way his eyes dropped to your mouth and then back up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He moved first, but you met him halfway. It was soft, hesitant, his hand coming up to cup your jaw with a gentleness that didn't match his size, his frat boy exterior. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, and they moved against yours with a carefulness that made your chest ache. No rush, no demand, just the slow exploration of a first kiss, the kind that made you feel like you were in high school again, sneaking around after curfew.

The CD case dug into your palm where you still clutched it, but you didn't care, couldn't care, not with the way he tilted his head to fit better against you, not with the way his other hand found your waist and rested there, light and uncertain and sweet.

He pulled back first, just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," you whispered, your hand finding the front of his tank, gripping the fabric just slightly. "This is okay."

He smiled, that same small, private smile from across the crowded room, and leaned in again. This time was shorter, sweeter, just a press of lips and a promise.

The door burst open.

"Martin, have you seen my girl? I lost her downstairs and she's not answering her..." Stella's voice trailed off, her eyes going wide as saucers as she took in the scene. You and her brother, sitting close on his bed, your hand on his chest, his hand on your waist, guilty as sin.

You scrambled upright, heat flooding your face, your neck, your entire body. "Stella, I can explain."

"Oh my god." She leaned against the doorframe, one hand over her heart, the other pressed to her mouth. "Oh my god. I should have clocked that way sooner."

"Stella, it's not."

"Not what?" She dropped her hand, her expression shifting from shock to delight, that wicked grin returning full force. "Not obvious? Not inevitable? Not the fact that my brother's been down bad for you since literally the first time you came over and he spent forty minutes in the bathroom fixing his hair?"

"Stella," Martin groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"Forty minutes?" you repeated, looking at him.

"She's lying," Martin said, but his ears were turning pink.

"Let’s make it an hour," Stella corrected. "And he made me play three different songs to see which one you'd like best. It was pathetic, truly."

"You're not helping," Martin muttered.

"Oh, I'm absolutely helping." She pushed off the doorframe, backing into the hallway. "I'm about to go tell the whole house that DJ Martin finally made a move. You two have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, which, let's be real, leaves you plenty of room."

"Hell fucking nah, Stella!"

"Love you, bye!"

She pulled the door shut behind her, and you were left in the sudden silence, the hum of the party downstairs filtering through the walls, your face still burning with embarrassment.

"She's going to tell everyone," you said.

"Probably." He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back on his palms, looking up at you with that lazy frat boy grin that didn't quite hide how pleased he was. "You cool with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just checking." He reached out, catching your hand where it rested on the bed, his thumb tracing slow circles against your palm. "So. Saturday. Three o'clock. You gonna come watch me ball?"

"Are you going to play better?"

"Bet." He squeezed your hand, grinning wide. "I'm gonna drop forty points if you're there."

"That's a lot of points."

"For you?" He pulled you back down beside him, easy and casual, like you'd done it a hundred times before. "I'd drop a hundred."

"Corny ass."

[h0n3ybvnny]

I like being at the function but I also love complaining.

[kieangelic]

Initials of love - m. park x reader

Author's note: I saw the cutest video of a fan who got the members painted on her nails and martin's reaction was so adorable I just had to make a little something about it, enjoy lovies!

1.3k words btw

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

you seldom got your nails painted, it was fun of course but you found yourself without the time nor money to make it a habitual practice. now that you'd been dating your boyfriend martin for some time, that began to change. he also liked getting his nails done and whether they were chipped to smithereens or a perfect manicure, he loved it when you joined him in the process. 

as your boyfriend he thought it only natural for you guys to match, whether that be colors or designs. he loved the simple intimacy of sitting in your room, listening to music and painting each other's nails. he'd gotten it down to a perfect science and was practically a pro. from time to time he also liked to spoil you and send you off to a nice salon to get your nails professionally done. 

you'd been scrolling on tiktok and pinterest searching for a new set to get done seeing as martin insisted on treating you to a mani-pedi fully on him and lunch at his house afterwards. finally when it seemed you'd given up and would just opt for a simple color with no designs, you stumbled on a cute couple's video.

the girl in said video had surprised her boyfriend with his initials on her ring finger. her boyfriend had been in awe of her, unable to keep his eyes from her hands, in pure shock, adoration and love for his girlfriend. you couldn't help the gears turning in your mind as a plan formed instantly to do the same and see how martin would react. 

you arrived at your nail appointment with a design in mind and a smile on your face. for all martin knew you were simply getting your nails done, he was paying, and then you'd go to his house for food together. you couldn't help but imagine the expression on his face when he saw it.

at the salon you decided on your designs, a pink and black look with star designs and charms. on your right hand you left the fourth finger with the pink color and a black star while on your left hand you made the nail black with a pink star and a pretty m in cursive, m for martin. the design was beautiful and better than you could've hoped for. your nail tech was more than happy to create the set of your dreams, how cute she thought, young love at its finest!

you were as giddy as can be to show martin. after handing your nail tech the money due, you left the nail salon and started on your drive to martin's. a permanent smile remained on your lips the whole drive over. after arriving at his house you took one last look at your nails and inspected your nail tech's handiwork. 

"hey baby, I'm home", you announced as you walked in and took off your shoes at the door. slipping into the slippers martin kept just for you, you walked down the hall and towards the kitchen, his family must've been gone for the day, martin liked to keep you all to himself, he swears you'd choose his noona over him if given the chance. 

"i'll be down in a minute babe! my shirt got a stain while i was preparing the kebabs, omma cut up some fruit for you before she left by the way, it's at the table" he called from up the stairs.

perfect, you thought to yourself.

you walked towards the kitchen and found a plate of cut up mangos, your favorite fruit. martin’s omma was so sweet for leaving some out for you. you were her favorite after all.

as you ate the fruit you found the perfect spot to hide your phone behind a plant nearby. quickly setting up the camera you continued eating as if nothing was going on. finally martin’s footsteps came from the staircase.

“hey baby, how was the nail appointment?” he asked as he placed a kiss on your temple.

“It was great! thanks again for paying. i know you insist it’s no big deal but i appreciate it regardless. we can paint your nails after eating to match like last time.” you spoke with a smile on your face as his face colored slightly with a tinge of pink. 

heading over to the stove, martin pulled out two plates of food covered with tin foil, “alright, you ready to see the masterpiece your amazing, super smart, super cool, and hot boyfriend created for you?” Martin asked with his usual silliness. 

“i was unaware my boyfriend was so awesome, but sure amazing boyfriend let’s see what you've prepared for me” you responded as a smile spread across your face.

with a very proud expression on his face your boyfriend revealed kebabs and yellow rice on two plates for the both of you, “tada! made it all myself, told you im better than noona at cooking.” martin said with confidence. 

“hmmm, tell that to the burnt toast from last week.” you said with a smirk, getting a rise out of your boyfriend came so easily, it was laughable really.

“im gonna pretend you didn’t say that, now enjoy!” martin spoke with sass as he placed the food in front of you and sat down in the seat opposite. “before we eat i wanna see your nails tho, gotta make sure you’re getting my money’s worth.” martin wanted only the best for his girl, he had to make sure himself that it’s what you got. 

shit. you’d forgotten so easily about your plan, the mango chunks were too good to not give them your full attention! with one last piece of mango you placed the fork down and displayed your hands to martin, suddenly your heart was beating a little faster and the room was getting hotter. what if he didn’t like it? what if he hated it? what if-

your anxious thoughts were cut off.

“is that an m? m for martin, as in me?”

you’d never seen your boyfriend at a loss of words, awe dripped from his tone as he examined your nails. “don’t get me wrong, the nails are really nice but i’m still hung up on the "m". did you really get that for me, baby?” 

you let out a breath of relief at his tone, as you took in martin’s reaction a shy smile tugged at your lips. “i saw it online and wanted to surprise you, im glad you like it baby.” you said while avoiding eye contact.

“how did i get so lucky with you? i love you, baby.”

martin got up and took your hands in his, kissing them all over.

wrapping you in his arms, he held you as if he would never let go. 

"i love you too babe" you replied. then you remembered once more you were recording, you would get to watch this whole thing all over again. ha! “by the way I got this all on video…” you mumbled into his chest and you couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction.

“bro, no way! that’s evil, caught in 4k is crazy…actually i don’t care. i do really want to eat though. i'm starving, and then i want matching designs like you promised" martin said with mock seriousness. with a kiss to your cheek you both sat back down and ate your food. a comfortable silence filled the space as you enjoyed your meal together. as you ate, martin held your hand and occasionally caressed the back of it with the pad of his thumb. continuously throughout the meal he would gaze at his initial on your ring finger. he was head over heels in love.

later as you sat in his room, sounds of wonderwall by oasis added to the scenery. there was a calm bubble around the two of you. you’d finished painting martin’s nails to match yours. black and pink polish sat on every other finger with stars, and on his ring finger was the best part, your initial. you smiled at your work as martin sat relaxed on the floor waiting for you to finish.

"all done" you said with a smile. he kissed your hand in thanks and with a look at your work he couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across his face. 

"matching, just like you promised. i love it baby, thank you."

he spoke with such sincerity and love that you felt your heart melt at the words

“i love you too” you replied

with a kiss to your lips, martin stood from the ground and offered you his hand. crouching down once more, you both placed the polishes in their respective areas and headed towards martin's bed. laying down, you felt your muscles relax as martin let out a content sigh.

with your head resting on his chest and your hand curled beside your face, you felt completely at peace. there was nothing quite like these moments, just you and martin in your own little world. as song after song faded in the background you drifted off to sleep with a smile on your face.

martin's hand remained intertwined with yours as he held you close. as his breathing slowly evened out, he placed a kiss to your temple and glanced once more at the small reminder of him you kept on your nails. a smile tugged at his lips as he finally closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Ahhhh my second post!! Requests are open!! Thank you so much for all the love on my last post, I hope you enjoyed reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 I feel like Martin is the type of boyfriend to call you babe or baby, those are just the vibes I get from him idk. lmk your thoughts and if you find any mistakes don't be afraid to lmk as well! asks are open btw, just be mindful that im quite new to this :) bye lovies! -kie

also shoutout to that cute video of martin with his family where his mom feeds him mangos for some of my inspo in writing this 🫶🏾

[theafangirls]

i need me a lanky 6'3" wasian boy, born '08, blonde hair, gorgeous smile, maybe his dad is from canada while his mum is from south korea, and he's insanely musically talented !

[floridak1los0]

[saudadebunny]

[saudadebunny]

[saudadebunny]

[kiricumber]

[martin-exe]

[martini0t5]

Their set was actually so unreal

[peachys1gh]

ISTG HE IS GOING TO KILL ME, HOW CAN SOMEONE BE THIS CUTE AND THIS HANDSOME AT THE SAME TIME👅

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[martin-exe]

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[imanutcase-10]

Then bring me luck

[thirddeadlysin]

the day after I posted this last time I was notified that I was selected for a really cool mentorship gig and got an unrelated glowing review at work

[icantbearsedtothinkofone]

Hey Potato, cure my -ing cold so I can have a good time while away.

[dduane]

Here's the potato. Make what use of it you will. :)

[cangelala]

God I need this so bad for my Midterm so please let this work again for me.

[skwangmbyul]

I could use some luck

[lanadelreysghost]

in waiting on college acceptance letters. PLEASE GOLD POTATO.

[honey-on-your-tongue]

I figure there's no harm in trying lol

[wonyz1]

potato of luck........