emery

9teen (07’) || she/they cortis || istj

[flwrhui]

I MET MY BIAS AT A JACKSON WANG PARTY pt 1 idol!james x nonidol!frdr , ft. bsf!ryul (lngshot)

SYN . when your best friend convinces forces you to attend a party, you don't expect to meet your bias in the most inconvenient way possible

✏️ this was inspired by the viral vernon at V8 listening party w his hair down and sum1 commented "meeting your bias in a jackson wang party 2016 wp vibes" and i was like HOLDUPPPP😳😳😳 this ones for all the ogs out there!!

-> part two

NOTE : let's js say cuz it's dark and she was lowk pissed, she didn't recognize him ok :D will post part 2 tmrw cuz like it was supposed to be a oneshot but likee screw tumblr restrictions

cortis taglist . @taelvvrzz @en-dream @anniyahhh @hyuneskkami @toomanyfanficsbruh

©️ flwrhui 2026

[backonmyswag]

𝄞⨾💿 soundtrack for archived memories

PAIRING — rockstar!martin 𝗑 fem!𝗋eader ── .✦ SYN : You found the blog completely by accident. One wrong click from a dead link, another from an archived fan page, and suddenly you were staring at a Tumblr account that looked like it had been abandoned for over a decade. As you scroll through it you didn't realise the user was still active.

🪽CONTAINS．smau+written confused || 01

The first post was from 6 years ago.

Not reblogged. Not tagged.

Just sitting there, a group photo with few guys at a restaurant. The quality wasn't good and there was nothing catchy about it.

You found the blog completely by accident. One wrong click from a dead link, another from an archived fan page, and suddenly you were staring at a Tumblr account that looked like it had been abandoned for over a decade.

Your eyes fall on to the user name. Yeah, this was definitely a teen boy.

The profile picture was hard to make out - a blurry photo of someone's hand.

The name sounded very familiar but at the same time you couldn't exactly say who it was. But everything about the whole profile screamed nostalgia.

No replies. No notes. Just post after post.

Just a teenage boy with random thoughts at 3 am, half finished lyrics, photos of his friends and himself and song recommendations.

Everything about this boy was raw and unfiltered and that's what drew you in with the current world being set on restrictions and fitting in.

The post that was pinned had a random writing on it. But it looked a bit too familiar to you.

A line that eventually became a song.

A phrase you'd heard in interviews.

A thought that you deeply resonated with.

Not famous Martin.

Not stadiums and magazine covers Martin.

Just Martin. Young, restless and awake at three in the morning.

You kept scrolling.

Who was he even talking to? It felt like peeking into someone's old diary, it was weird.

You remembered seeing in one of the interviews, Martin would get messages on twitter but he'd reply somewhere else because he was scared to get cancelled over the smallest things.

Maybe this was it. Perhaps this really was his secret diary.

Across the town, Martin was trying to remember a password.

It started as a joke, a conversation with a friend. A mention of old websites, ancient internet archaeology.

Then he suddenly remembered, the tumblr account.

One that nobody knew about, one that was made before everything changed in his life, before the records and tours. Back when it was just him and his friends on soundcloud for fun.

He stared at the login screen.

Tried a password. Wrong.

Tried another one. Wrong

And finally a third one. Success.

When he got in, it was exactly as he had left it. Embarrassing and full of things no one should ever read.

"Oh no." He groaned as his eyes went to the notifications. Someone had been liking his old posts.

A new follower.

One follower.

01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10

a/n : this had to be the hardest thing to make. Sometimes I wish I never thought about making this. Yes I had to make another account just for martin to post his stuff, yes I had to make another account again for yn with another email so it actually looks like from an outsiders pov and yes I'm tired. Please don't ask me to fix the date and timing on the posts, im way too lazy for ts. I should've just focus on my other fics💔 I wanna continue this to at least 5+ chapters so if yall like it pls do tell🤞 I'm genuienly confused as to what to do with this right now. Maybe I'll keep it as a one-shot or like 2 parts? idk Let's just hope it all works out.

[appplejjuice]

JUST JOKING ! '

🧃 : cortis' reactions to u ragebaiting them ! ^^

𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖳𝖠𝖨𝖭𝖲 ' ─── smau fluff lots of reaction images tinyy bit of cursing petnames ( baby , wife , princess ) martin lowk downbad ' ( daily clickk ) like and reblogg pls cuties 🥹

𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖾 ' 𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 ! ─── back w another banger 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ sorry to the anon who requested this a while back.. i was supposed to post this in june but oh well 🤷🏽‍♀️

anon req:

main taglist: @letterstohyeon @latentify @papayagreentea

cortis taglist: @cherishyunah @mayhapsmyra

if you want to be added to the taglist, comment on this post, dm or send an ask!

requests are open!! click here to request something!

[aerisyl]

— ✩♬ ₊˚. MUST BE LOVE ⭑ MARTIN EDWARDS

ᝰ.ᐟ synopsis in which you’re in your kitchen on a rainy night, and martin’s laugh turns an ordinary moment into the kind you quietly keep.

martin edwards x fem!reader , fluff , wc 1.1k

holy (re)debut 🌚🌚🌚 this has been in my drafts for the longest but i finally made myself finish it today… i was talking to @bananagirl222 and @miseulsoup (rip) like last month abt martin’s laugh after hearing it in an edit and that’s how this was made 🫪

currently playing - must be love by laufey

rain had been falling on and off since the afternoon, leaving your apartment wrapped in a soft kind of quiet that only comes with bad weather and nowhere else to be.

the windows were cracked just enough to let cool air drift through the curtains, carrying the smell of wet pavement inside. somewhere outside, cars drove softly down the wet streets below, muted by distance. inside, though, everything felt warm. dim lamp light glowed gold against the walls, the dishwasher hummed quietly in the kitchen, and martin moved around the apartment in one of his oversized hoodies, with the sleeves pulled up to his elbows. 

you were perched on the kitchen counter watching him make tea. not helping, just watching. 

“you know,” martin said while rummaging through your cabinets above the stove looking for something, “most people would at least pretend to assist.” you let your legs swing idly off the counter. “i am assisting.”

he glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow lifting. “how exactly?”

“moral support?”

“right.” he snorted softly. “vital.”

you smiled to yourself as he turned back to the cabinet, still mumbling something under his breath. martin always liked acting like he hated being observed, but you knew better by now. if he genuinely wanted space, he’d take it. instead, he stayed close enough for your knee to keep bumping against his side every time he crossed your section of the kitchen.

the water bubbled quietly as the kettle heated on the stove.

you watched him move around the room with sleepy familiarity, grabbing mugs without looking, nudging drawers shut with his hip, brushing blonde strands of hair out of his face with the back of his wrist. there was something strangely intimate about evenings like this. no work. no stress. no pressure to be interesting. 

just martin. 

“you’re staring,” he said suddenly. 

“is that a problem?”

“it depends. should i be worried?”

you laugh softly, leaning back on your palms. “i don't know.”

“there you go,” he muttered. “you’re doing that thing again.”

“what thing?”

“where you go all quiet and just…” he gestured vaguely towards you with the tea bag still in hand. “just look at me.”

“oh, im sorry for liking my boyfriend.”

“i didn't say stop.” the response came too quickly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it aloud. martin blinked once after realizing it, immediately turning back towards to counter to hide the faint pink creeping into face while you tried not to smile too hard.

the kettle started whistling before either of you could say anything else. martin pulled it off the stove with a quiet sigh, pouring hot water into the mugs carefully while steam curled around his hands.

you kept watching him.

you couldn't help it sometimes.

loving martin felt woven into tiny moments more than grand ones. 

the way he handed you things automatically without asking. the way he checks if your tea is too hot before giving it to you. the way he’d quietly lean against your shoulder whenever he got tired without realizing he was doing it.

he passed you one of the mugs.

“careful,” he said while leaning back against the counter beside you. “it’s hot.”

“thank you.”

for a while, neither of you talked much. you stayed sitting on the counter, drinking tea, while martin scrolled aimlessly on his phone, occasionally showing you things that made no sense what-so-ever. a stupid meme that you tried to make something out of while he giggled at his screen. a blurry picture of juhoon sent in a group chat. internet drama he randomly got himself invested in. 

the conversation wandered from the latest internet drama, to what you both wanted to eat for breakfast tomorrow, to martin recounting something that happed earlier during practice.

"—and then he looked me dead in the eyes," martin said, trying to keep a straight face, "and asked if penguins have knees."

you blinked.

"they don’t… do they?" martin stared at you.

"...you're joking." "no?" you frowned. "wait, do they?"

he set his mug down, already smiling. "you can't be serious. penguins have knees, love.” martin looked at you.

"martin, i have literally never thought about a penguin's knees before."

he looked at you for another second before the smile finally broke.

a laugh escaped him. real and unrestrained this time, head tipping back slightly as he covered his face with one hand. it wasn’t loud. just warm enough to make his eyes disappear into crescents, his shoulders shaking as he tried, yet failed, to pull himself back together. 

you found yourself smiling before you even realized you were.

you’ve heard martin laugh hundreds of times before. around friends, in voice messages, on call. but this laugh was different.

he was still chuckling to himself when he noticed you’d gone quiet.

“...what?”

before you could stop yourself, you said quietly, “i really like your laugh.”

martin froze, actually froze.

“what?”

your face warmed almost immediately, but it was too late now. 

“youre laugh,” you repeated, suddenly shy. “i like it.”

he stared at you for a second too long.

“that’s…huh.” he blinked, looking away with a small, almost disbelieving smile. “no one's ever said that to me before.”

“well..” you smiled. “i guess i’m the first then.”

martin looked at you for a long moment before letting out another quiet laugh, instantly looking away like he regretted it the second it happened. a faint blush crept up his cheeks and shook his head, smiling to himself.

“now you’re making me self-conscious,” he murmured. 

you reached over, brushing your thumb gently along his knuckles. “i just like hearing you laugh. that's all,” you laughed softly. 

his expression softened completely. 

“come here,” he said quietly. 

he stepped between your legs where you sat on the counter, one hand settling lightly at your waist as he leaned in. his forehead brushes yours for a second, still smiling and still shy, before he closed the small space between you.

the kiss was slow and unhurried, like he didn’t need to rush it anywhere.

his hand tightened just slightly at your wasit, steadying you as he leaned closer, and you felt him exhale through his nose like he was finally letting go of all the embarrassment at once. 

it was warm, familiar, like he’d done it a hundred times before but still meant it every time.

when he pulled back, he lingered close enough that your noses almost touched. his smile is still there, softer now.

for a second, neither of you moved.

his thumb gave a small absentminded press at your waist, like he wasn’t fully ready to step away yet. you could still feel the warmth of his breath and see that faint blush that hadn’t quite faded from his cheeks.

then he let out a quiet breathy laugh again, smaller this time, like it slipped out before he could stop.

you smiled immediately.

“what now?”

“you laughed again.”

“don’t start.” martin looked down, shaking his head to himself with another embarrassed breath of laughter.

and even now, after everything, hearing it still made your chest feel warm.

i literally had a whole argument with my friend because she swore up and down for like five minutes that penguins didn’t have knees. hello??

[illitdream]

my post got flagged so reposting... don't normalise explicit material about children or even people that have only just become recently of age, this is not a way to cope if anything has happened to you and these fantasies are not something to be shared or even had in the first place. get professional advice or help. whether your account is marked maturely or not, these are still children, you may be mature but they are not.

[bunnykao]

WE NEVER DATED ! — e. martin ᝰ.ᐟ

OO1. may zeus strike me down—

synopsis ; You and Martin were inseparable as kids. but ever since he got a girlfriend, you decide to put your feelings aside and cut him off, focusing on your own idol career.

But now that he's also debuted—meaning that you'll be seeing him often in the building, Martin refuses to stop bugging you he finally finds out why you ghosted him in the first place.

ss count ; 15 pictures

word count ; 1.17k+ words

warnings ; jokes about suicide and throwing up

MASTERLIST | PROLOGUE. | OO1. | OO2.

"You'll be fine, babe," Danielle soothes you as you walk with her to the practice room, her hand on the small of your back. "it'll just be like meeting an old friend."

Hanni suddenly scoffs as she walked in front of you two, turning away from her chat with the other two members to say, "Yeah, if that old friend had started prioritizing a girl they for only a few months rather than their friend since preschool."

You kicked her knee, making her legs buckle mid-walk. All the girls giggled as she looked back at you with pettiness.

The conversation ended there as you got close to the designated practice room, with your group's de facto leader, Minji, going in first.

"Hello, good morning!" is what you hear as she fully entered the mirror-covered room.

You went in 1 by 1, each of you bowing in respect. As the last in line, you hear the distant 'hi's' and 'hello's' of the boys you were expected to collab with getting louder as you make it to the door.

Once you make it into the practice room, you quickly scan the room, before quickly greeting them like your members did. You make eye contact with the eldest (the only reason you know being from Tik Tok), the boy bowing back as you smile back, before grazing your eyes at all of them, until you meet his.

You've only ever seen glimpses of him through the building, never wanting to see him one on one, it'd be too awkward for you. He was shorter last time you met him in person, but as you quickly give him a once-over, you notice how much he's changed, yet remained himself.

How much he's remained your Martin. The one you knew before. . . yeah.

You hold eye contact for only a few milliseconds before you break it, quickly eyeing your members, the girls giving you a smile of mischief.

The awkward tension of first meeting another group quickly breaks when one of the managers (presumably CORTIS') speaks, saying that they'd be doing a dance challenge as a whole first, then would split into duos and one trio.

You didn't complain, merely nodding in understanding as you whisper to Hyein's ear next to you, "I hope we get a trio together," with the girl grinning at you, showing you how her fingers were crossed in hope.

Being in your own world, it was unbeknownst to you that he'd been staring at you the entire time. Well, only until his boys had started chatting about who they wanted to pair up with, that was when he blinked away from your figure.

The dance challenge with both of the groups in one video was easy, more importantly, it was super exhilarating. The dance was a little tedious enough to break a small sweat, but it was fun nonetheless, all of the boys' screaming spurring your group to also enjoy and make noise.

You were all having fun, even after it finished, you guys were intermingling with one another and chatting while you watched the replay of the Tik Tok.

It was more fun that you thought.

Until it came to duo dance challenges.

That was when all the fun you were having quickly turned into unease.

Because when the managers decided that your groups had enough socializing with one another and decided to do the trio and duo challenges now, you were paired up with the one member you were actively hoping (AND PASSIVELY MANIFESTING) not trying to get paired with.

Martin.

The girls didn't want to seem obvious to the boy group (that being code word for MARTIN) like they knew something, so they just gave you a reserved smile, with Minji just shrugging and giving you a 'welp, you're on your own, babe' look.

Not wanting to cause a scene and say you want to switch partners, you swallow the complaint on your tongue and suck it up.

Each member walked up to their respective partner, with Martin walking up to you first.

"Hey," he smiled, almost taking another step closer, before catching himself, taking a step back, his hand taking refuge on the nape of his neck from the awkwardness. "Nice to meet you, er- again."

You knew what he was going to do.

A hug.

You always did that back then when you guys saw each other.

Back then.

"I— yeah. You too. . ." you say, bouncing on the balls of your feet, "So, are we going to do your guys' dance or my groups'?"

"Ours, I think?" he pulled out his phone, opening Tik Tok. "Do you need me to teach you how to do it or—"

"No, I think I got it, just a few tweaks, I think. The girls and I dance a lot to your songs."

"Oh, really?" the corner of his lips tug up, still trying to find their audio on the app. "We listen to your guys' songs too."

"Cool." you simply state. He doesn't reply, pausing his search on Tik Tok to look at you.

There it was again. The awkward silence.

That's what made you both laugh. And that was what made the weird wall of unfamiliarity melt, but only by a little.

When you guys practiced, you were satisfied to know that you could just turn your brain off and turn on your professional Idol mode, lasered in on getting the dance right.

"You've gotten better at dancing." he compliments when you both finish practicing, looking at Keonho and Hyein who were paired up together.

"And you've gotten taller."

"You did too, like a few inches. . . not really noticeable for me though, but I guess if you're next to others—"

The way you suddenly punch his arm cuts his insult off before he can even finish, the boy scoffing out a laugh, looking at the staff who didn't see it, before gazing back at you.

You gave him a look that showed that you weren't entirely offended, bur still pissed off. Then you huffed a laugh, a smirk trying to make its way to your face, turning your head away.

Martin rubbed at the spot where you had hit. Not to soothe the pain, but to try and feel the lingering touch where you had hit. Because it had meant you were comfortable.

Comfortable enough to do that.

Just like old times.

When it was your guys' time, it only took one take. But that one take consisted of something you didn't expect he'd do.

The timer counted down, the sound beeping in your ears as you ready yourself, until you were snapped out of it, Martin calling your name next to you.

"Do you remember our handshake?" he asks.

That caught you off-guard, but you knew what he was talking about.

The old one you guys had created when you were in sixth grade.

"Yeah," you nod, before tilting your head. "Why?"

"Perfect." is all he replies.

The phone starts recording before you can process what he says, your body instinctively going into Idol mode.

i wonder how many kpop idols be going thru the most heart wrenching situationships then have to go do 'i'm your puppy uwu' fanservice the next day. . . idk just a thought

©bunnykao. I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WRITING OR PHOTOS BEING MODIFIED, PLAGIARIZED, REPOSTED, TRANSLATED, OR HAVING THEM FED TO AI.

[lovhyeon]

champagne borrowed & someone blue

— ahn keonho

pairing. groomsman keonho / f ! reader

warnings + info. one shot, fluff, love at first sight (kono...), banter heavy, intoxication (alc), he down BAAAD, non-idol au, wedding setting

synopsis. truth is, keonho was just trying to get through the wedding without dying of boredom. james getting married at the ripe age of 20 was not on his list of group activities this year. turns out all it took was you and a bottle of champagne to keep him afloat.

wc. 6.7k

LISTEN TO... you by radiohead ... the perfect pair by beabadoobee ... nomad by clairo ... lovers rock by tv girl

maddy's note. thank you to my most creative child nana banana for the idea i love you 💓 & here is keonana @bananagirl222 !! also TAOR is coming soon pls dont fret i just need a refresher okay bless all of you and ur patient souls 🤞👼👼

ps. hi ivy this my ode to miyo #weloveyouteacup 💌🫖

lovhyeon © 2026 ⸻ ALL CONTENT BELONGS TO ME

"You may now kiss the bride."

Keonho thought that love probably worked the way songwriting did. You couldn't force it. The second you tried to make something fit before it was ready, it stopped sounding true, and you ended up with a song that technically rhymed and meant absolutely nothing.

He'd believed that since he was maybe sixteen, sitting on the floor of a practice room with a guitar he didn't know how to play yet, some half-finished melody looping in his head that he couldn't get to land no matter how hard he forced the chords underneath it. 

It had taken him weeks to figure out that the problem wasn't the chords. The problem was that he was trying to write something before it existed yet.

He still believed it now, sitting in a pew in a chapel that smelled like candle wax and old wood and, faintly, the lavender someone had tucked into the flower arrangements. James was up at the altar in a suit that fit him a little too well, kissing a woman he'd known for eleven months, and the whole room had gone soft and anticipating the way church halls do at that exact moment, everyone leaning forward without meaning to.

He wasn't against the idea of a soulmate.

In fact, he was fully on board with the concept, actually, had been since he was a kid watching his parents slow dance around the kitchen to nothing. There was no music at all, just the two of them swaying because they felt like it.

He just thought a soulmate should get to exist for a while before you legally attached yourself to them in front of two hundred people and a priest who'd never met either of you before this week. 

He had a rule about it. Nothing official, nothing he'd ever admitted out loud to the guys, but a rule nonetheless, something he'd built for himself the way you build any rule you actually intend to keep.

He wasn't getting married before twenty-four. Twenty-four felt like the age where a person finally figured out what specific kind of idiot they were, the age where you'd made enough mistakes to know your own patterns, could see them coming before they arrived. (It was also the closest thing to his birthday number.)

He'd never bothered explaining the logic to anyone because there wasn't much of one beyond that. It was a number he'd decided to trust as a teenager and never questioned since, the same way some people trusted a lucky pair of socks or refused to walk under ladders, superstition dressed up as strategy.

So he sat there in a chapel on some sprawling ranch property, in a suit that was already too warm for the weather, watching his bandmate promise forever to someone he'd met less than a year ago, feeling some sort of mix of happy-for-him and are-you-actually-out-of-your-mind that he figured most people felt at weddings they were too young to be standing up in as anything other than a witness. 

And then he turned his head, just slightly, meaning to check on James's mom in the front row, who'd been crying since the doors opened. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue his cousin kept handing her, because that felt like the kind of thing a good groomsman should notice and mention later, something to bring up at the reception.

That was the plan, anyway. Instead his eyes caught on you first, three rows back on the bride's side, in a pale yellow dress, laughing quietly at something the kid beside you had whispered, your hand coming up to cover your mouth like you were trying not to be the loud one during someone's vows and failing slightly anyway.

He completely lost the thread of whatever he'd been about to think about James's mom. He didn't look away fast enough.

You caught him looking. Just for a second, your eyes flicking up and landing right on his before he managed to arrange his face into something less obvious, something less like a man who'd just forgotten his own best friend was getting married four feet in front of him.

You didn't smile, not right away. You just held his gaze a moment longer than a stranger indifferent would, like you were deciding whether he was worth being annoyed at for staring, weighing it, and then you looked back toward the altar like nothing had happened, leaving him to sit there with his heart doing something stupid and immediate that he had absolutely no name for yet.

Keonho faced forward too, and thought, with an alarming amount of certainty, that he could get married today. Right now. 

Fuck twenty-four, forget the rule, forget every piece of logic he'd built the last several years of his dating life around. He didn't know James's fiancée, wife now, he supposed, all that well, had met her maybe four times total, but apparently her family had been hiding an angel like that the entire time, tucked away three rows back in a chapel.

Nobody had warned him one of them would look like you did in a pew, laughing quietly at a kid's joke during someone else's vows like the whole ceremony was a secret only the two of you were in on.

He leaned toward Juhoon, who was standing beside him in full groomsman formation, hands folded. He was doing his best impression of a man taking this seriously, which was more than could be said for Keonho at the moment.

"Who is that?" he whispered.

Juhoon didn't even turn his head. "The cousin. Ivy's cousin."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I was listening when James went through the whole seating chart, and you were on your phone."

"I was talking to my mom."

"You were sobbing about your dog, dude."

"That's not—okay, fair, but I was also talking to my mom while it happened, so it still counts as listening. Technically."

Juhoon, mercifully, offered nothing else, mostly because the officiant had picked that exact moment to ask James if he took Ivy to be his lawfully wedded whatever, and James's voice cracked so badly on the word "always" that half the chapel made a collective sound like some kind of interactive audience. Someone's grandmother actually sniffled out loud, three pews back, loud enough to make a few people laugh through their own tears.

Keonho tried, genuinely, to focus on his best friend getting married. He really did.

But his eyes kept sliding three rows back, and every single time they did, you were doing something new. Adjusting the flower crown someone had clearly forced onto your head. Whispering to the kid again, some private joke passed back and forth. Catching him looking and this time not bothering to pretend you hadn't noticed, just raising an eyebrow at him like, are you gonna keep doing that the whole ceremony? He absolutely was. 

He thought, watching you, that he was going to marry a stranger's cousin, and then, a second later, that this was genuinely psychotive behavior and he should probably get it together before the reception even started.

Of course, he thought about it anyway for the rest of the ceremony, all the way through the ring exchange and the unity candle and the part where James's little brother dropped the pillow with the rings on it and had to scramble under a pew to retrieve it, and Keonho did not feel even a little bit sorry about any of it.

Three hours earlier, in the room where the groomsmen were getting dressed, Seonghyeon had made an announcement to the whole room while doing up his cufflinks in the mirror, checking his own reflection from three different angles like the room owed him a fourth opinion. The room wasn't just the band, either.

James's actual family had spilled into it too somewhere around the second hour, an uncle helping with someone's tie because apparently nobody under thirty in that family knew how to tie a full Windsor, his younger cousin arguing with his mom about whether the boutonnieres matched the exact shade of the bridesmaids' dresses or just a shade close enough that nobody but her would notice, a cousin filming everything for some group chat back home, narrating in a whisper like he was covering a sporting event.

The whole space was loud in the way rooms get right before something important happens, everyone talking over everyone else. It was all nervous jitters with nowhere to go, cologne and hairspray thick enough in the air that Martin had opened a window twenty minutes in and gotten yelled at for letting the air inside.

"Calling it now," Seonghyeon had announced, loud enough to cut through all of it, still watching himself in the mirror. "Pretty bridesmaids are mine. Whoever gets there first."

"That's not how dibs works," Martin had muttered, not even looking up from his phone.

"Are you slow? It's exactly how dibs works."

"You can't call dibs on a person, you absolute caveman."

"Watch me."

Keonho hadn't looked up either, though for entirely different reasons than Martin, because Keonho had been fully losing it on the phone in the corner, back pressed against the wall like he needed the support, one hand gripping his hair, the other holding his phone so tight his knuckles had gone pale. H

e'd been entirely too consumed by his own personal crisis to register anything Seonghyeon was declaring war on across the room.

"He did WHAT," he'd hissed into the phone, loud enough that James’ uncle, tying his own tie two feet away, had actually paused to look over.

"He peed on your Jordans," his mom had repeated, very calmly, like this was a completely normal Tuesday update and not a war crime committed against his sneaker collection. "The pink ones. I tried to catch him but he was already—"

"Mom. Mom. Those were limited edition. I saved for those. I waited in line for those."

"I know, baby, I'm sorry. He seemed very apologetic about it, if that helps."

"It does not help."

In the background he could hear Cookie panting happily, no remorse whatsoever, a dog fully at peace with his crimes, tags jingling against his collar as he presumably trotted around the kitchen looking for something else to ruin.

Keonho had demanded, with the seriousness of a man twice his age handling actual legal proceedings, that his mom hold the phone up to the dog's ear so he could hiss "you ruined my life" directly into the receiver. Cookie received this with total indifference, maybe even a happier bark, like the whole conversation was a game he was winning.

That was the entire reason he'd missed Seonghyeon's declaration of territory on the bridesmaids. He'd been too busy crashing out over a dog and a pair of shoes to register anything else happening around him, and he hadn't thought about it again until the ceremony ended and he was standing in a reception tent that smelled like hay and candle wax.

Scanning the crowd for no reason he could name yet, and he saw you across the room, and thought, with something close to actual panic, please tell me Seonghyeon didn't see her first.

The reception was outside, past the chapel, under a tent strung with lights someone had clearly spent an entire day getting perfectly even, the sort of lighting job that only happens when somebody's mother has strong feelings about symmetry. 

Beyond the tent sat a barn converted into something with a dance floor and a bar, string lights wrapped around every visible beam. Past that, if you looked far enough into the dark, real stables with real horses shifting occasionally against their stalls, plus a small pen holding two pigs that James's future father-in-law apparently kept as pets, for reasons nobody had bothered explaining to any of the guests, least of all Keonho, who'd spent a solid five minutes earlier just staring at them like they might explain themselves eventually.

“Keonho, those are pigs. P-I-G-S.”

“Martin.”

“Like… bacon. Oink oink– how do you still not kn–”

“Can you shut up, I fucking know they’re pi–” 

Keonho was in the midst of flicking Martin off when he saw the love of his life again. You.

He felt like some ripoff Joe Goldberg with the way he observed every single little thing you did. You, with your contagious smile and your silly way of trying to make someone’s newborn baby laugh and your teaching your uncle how to dance Gangnam style. He was noticing things and he usually didn’t.

You'd taken the flower crown off at some point and it hung off your wrist like a bracelet now, and someone, a little cousin or a sibling, some kid with a marker and zero respect for personal space, had drawn what was either meant to be a horse or a deeply confused dog on the inside of your forearm, along with a few stars and something that could've been a heart or could've been a poorly attempted flower. You kept glancing down at it like you'd forgotten it was there, then remembered, then smiled a little to yourself. It was private in a way that made Keonho feel like he was watching something he wasn't quite supposed to see.

He couldn't stop watching you do it anyway. It was becoming a genuine problem.

"That's her," Martin announced, appearing at Keonho's elbow with two drinks and handing him one without asking, the ice already half melted from however long he'd been carrying it around looking for Keonho. "The one you keep staring at like she owes you rent money or some shit."

"I'm not staring."

"You've looked over there four times in the last minute. I counted."

"You counted my staring? Man, that's worse than the staring itself."

"I'm bored. James's busy being a married man now." Martin took a sip of his drink, watching Keonho over the rim of the glass with the patient, unbothered look of a man who had absolutely nothing better to do all night. "So who is she?"

"Ivy's cousin."

"You gonna talk to her, or keep doing that thing where you look and then look away too fast, like you got caught doing something illegal."

Seonghyeon chose that exact moment to walk over, tie already loosened, jacket somewhere else entirely. He looked far too pleased with himself for a boy who'd just spent forty minutes doing the electric slide with someone's grandmother and, from the state of his hair, possibly lost a bet along the way.

The second his eyes found you across the tent, something in Keonho's chest went instantly, embarrassingly territorial, even though he hadn't said a single word to you yet and you weren't a thing that could be claimed based on who'd noticed you first, regardless of whatever Seonghyeon had shouted into a mirror three hours ago.

"Oh," Seonghyeon crowed. "Called it."

"You didn't call anything. You said a general sentence about bridesmaids."

"I said pretty bridesmaids are mine, and she is, unquestionably, a pretty bridesmaid."

"She's not even a bridesmaid, she's family."

"Even better."

"Seonghyeon." Keonho set his drink down on the nearest table, having apparently decided, somewhere between one breath and the next, that he was doing this now, immediately, before he could talk himself out of it. "I'm gonna go say hi."

"Say hi from me too," Seonghyeon called after him, entirely too pleased with himself, and Keonho didn't even bother turning around to answer, just raised a middle finger over his shoulder as he walked off toward the buffet table, weaving between two of James's aunts who were deep in conversation about the flower arrangements.

He found you there, plate in hand, surveying the food like you were making a real decision instead of picking off a wedding spread, tilting your head slightly at the chafing dishes like one of them spoke to your soul. He came up beside you, grabbed a plate of his own, and did his best to sound casual, which took considerably more effort than it should have for someone who'd once performed in front of thousands of people without breaking a sweat.

"Bride or groom's side?" he asked.

You glanced over, clearly knowing that he already knew the answer, seeing as he'd been standing at the front of a chapel in a matching blazer less than an hour earlier. You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"Bride," you offered slowly, playing along anyway. "You?"

"Groom. Guess that makes us enemies."

"Guess it does. I'll try not to take it personally."

"Appreciate the maturity." You scooped mac and cheese onto your plate before you even touched the salad, spooning a generous portion without any of the polite hesitation most people performed at weddings, and Keonho silently decided that was correct behavior and possibly a sign, though a sign of what he wasn't entirely sure yet.

"You're one of the guys in the band, right," you said, glancing at his lapel pin like it might confirm something. "Ivy mentioned it. Said James's marrying into some very funny, very loud family band situation."

"That's us. Very funny, very loud. Me, funniest to be specific.” He looked down at his own plate and realized, with some embarrassment, that it currently held three deviled eggs and nothing else, the rest of the buffet apparently forgotten the second he'd spotted you across the tent. “My name’s Keonho."

"Keonho," you repeated back at him, testing it, like you were trying the shape of it in your mouth. "Strong name for a guy currently holding a plate with three deviled eggs and nothing else on it."

"I was gonna get more. I got distracted."

"By the eggs?"

"By you, actually, but I didn't want to say that on our first conversation, so let's go with the eggs."

You laughed. To his surprise, it was a real one, loud enough that a couple people glanced over from the next table, and somewhere in his chest, a feeling like something tugged at his strings settled.

"Bold move for someone you met ten seconds ago," you told him.

"I have my moments."

"You have three deviled eggs."

"I can have moments and deviled eggs. Both things are allowed to be true at once," he offered, and you rolled your eyes, but you were still smiling when you turned back to the buffet, and he counted that as a win worth remembering.

Dinner was assigned seating, apparently, which nobody had bothered to tell Keonho, because he walked straight up to the table you'd sat down at, pulled out the chair across from you, and dropped into it like it belonged to him, setting his plate down with a finality that suggested the matter was already settled.

You looked up, fork halfway to your mouth. "What are you doing? We have assigned tables."

"I don't see anyone here."

"There's a card. Right there. With a name on it."

"I can't read."

"You're in a band. You write lyrics."

"I hum them. Very different skill set."

You stared at him for a second, clearly fighting a smile and losing badly, then reached over and flipped the little place card face-down without breaking eye contact, like you were making an executive decision and daring him to argue with it.

"There," you declared. "Now nobody can prove anything."

"See, this is why I sat here. I could tell you were a problem solver."

"I could tell you were a menace within thirty seconds of meeting you."

"That's the fastest anyone's ever figured me out. Impressive."

The conversation kept easy after that, drifting through the band, your job, a story about the last wedding you'd been a bridesmaid at where the groom's dog had eaten part of the cake before the reception even started and spent the rest of the night refusing to make eye contact with anyone, clearly aware of what he'd done. Keonho told you about the time James had tried to write a song entirely in falsetto to impress a girl in high school and ended up losing his voice for three days right before a talent show. 

You told him about your job in a way that made it sound more interesting than you probably thought it was, and he found himself actually listening, asking follow-up questions he genuinely wanted the answers to instead of just waiting for his turn to talk again.

He found himself laughing more in the space of one dinner course than he usually did in a week, the laughing that made his cheeks hurt in a way he didn't mind at all, and by the time the toasts started, he'd stopped tracking how long you'd been talking, which felt weird in a way he wasn't ready to examine yet.

Keonho lost track of you somewhere around the first dance, pulled onto the floor for a photo James insisted on, then handed a shot by Seonghyeon that he hadn't asked for and drank anyway out of some misplaced sense of obligation, coughing slightly at the burn while Seonghyeon laughed at him. By the time he'd extracted himself from both, you weren't at the table anymore, your chair pushed in neatly like you'd meant to be gone a while.

He found you eventually outside the tent, past the string lights, near the edge of the property where it got dark enough to actually see stars. The phone pressed to your ear, free arm wrapped around yourself against the cold, your voice carrying just far enough for him to catch the tail end of something before he registered what he was hearing.

"—no, I know, but you said you'd be here," you were saying, voice tighter than it had been all night. "You were supposed to be my plus one, that was the whole point of—no. No, I'm not doing this right now, I'm at a wedding."

Keonho slowed, unsure whether to turn back or risk making it worse by staying, but you'd already snapped, "Whatever. Forget it. Have a good fucking night," and hung up before whoever was on the other end could respond, standing there for a second with the phone still pressed to your ear like you were bracing for it to ring again anyway, your shoulders drawn up around your ears.

He cleared his throat quietly, enough to give you a second before he actually approached. "You good?" he asked, and you turned, and for a moment there was something in your face you were trying to smooth over before he could catch it clearly, but you weren't fast enough.

"Fine," you murmured. "Just a whole thing. Doesn't matter."

He didn't push. He'd learned a long time ago that pushing rarely helped and mostly just taught people to hide better next time, so instead he reached behind his back, having had the foresight somewhere around the third toast to swipe a bottle off the drinks table and stash it near the stables for later, telling himself at the time it was for the guys, for some after-party moment that hadn't materialized yet and, he suspected now, had never really been the plan at all.

"Pretty sure you need this more than I do," he offered, holding it out.

"Where the hell did you even get that?"

"Stole it. Don't tell James's father-in-law."

"You stole a bottle of champagne from a wedding."

"It was gonna be for the guys, but honestly, they've had enough tonight. This feels like a better use of it."

You studied him for a second, deciding whether to let the moment be lighter than it currently was, and something in your shoulders finally dropped as you took the bottle from him, your fingers brushing his for just a second longer than necessary.

"Fine," you muttered. "But you're drinking it with me. I'm not doing this alone in a field like an alcoholic loner."

"That's the least alcoholic loner way I've ever heard someone describe drinking stolen champagne in a field."

"Low bar," you shot back, and led the way toward the stables without waiting to see if he'd follow, which he did, immediately, without a second of hesitation, matching his stride to yours in the dark.

You ended up on an overturned crate near the stables, close enough to hear the horses shifting around inside, the occasional soft huff of breath through their noses, close enough that you had to sit with your shoulders pressed together to both fit, which neither of you mentioned or moved to fix. Passing the bottle back and forth since neither of you had bothered finding glasses, your hand found his every time without either of you really looking, fingers grazing over fingers in the handoff, lingering a half second longer each time like the two of you were testing how long you could get away with it. 

The reception noise carried faintly behind you, string lights and laughter and someone's aunt winning an argument about karaoke, but out here it was quieter, just the two of you, a couple of horses, and the occasional deeply unbothered grunt from the pigs somewhere off to the left, entirely unconcerned with anyone's romantic evening.

The bottle emptied slowly between you, and somewhere around the halfway mark, both of you a little looser than you'd been an hour ago, your filters worn thin enough to say things you might not have said sober, the conversation turned real without either of you quite deciding to let it.

"Can I say something and you not repeat it to anyone?" you burped, lowering your voice even though there was nobody around to hear it but the horses.

"Depends what it is."

"This whole thing is freaking insane. Like, rubber room full of rats insane." You gestured with the bottle, a loose sweep that took in the tent, the lights, the whole glowing shape of the property behind you, and nearly lost your grip on it entirely, which set off a fit of giggling that took you a solid few seconds to recover from.

"She's twenty-one, Keonho. Twenty-one. I love her, she's my favorite cousin, we grew up two houses apart, I've known her my whole life, but she's known him less than a year and she's up there in a dress that costs more than my car, promising forever to a guy she met at a coffee shop."

"They met at a soundcheck, actually, but I take your point."

"Even worse. That's not romantic, that's like the workplace."

He laughed at that, properly, loud enough that one of the horses shifted at the sound, a hoof scraping against the stall floor, and you laughed too, harder than the joke probably deserved, leaning sideways into his shoulder like you needed somewhere to put the laughter.

He didn't move away. He watched you instead, the way your whole face changed when you actually meant a laugh instead of just being polite, the little crease that showed up near your eyes, the way you had to press your lips together afterward to stop yourself from starting all over again, and he thought, not for the first time tonight, that he could probably watch you do that for hours and not get bored of it.

"Okay, I'm with you. I've thought the exact same thing since he told me he was proposing. I sat him down, I was like, brother, are you sure, and he looked at me like I'd insulted his entire existence."

"Did it work? Clearly not, given the whole," you gestured again, vaguer this time, the champagne clearly starting to catch up with your coordination, "situation."

"Didn't work at all. He said when you know, you know."

"That's not an answer, that's a bumper sticker."

"That's exactly what I told him. He didn't appreciate it."

"I love her, I do," you went on, tipping your head back against the stable wall, staring up at whatever stars were visible past the string lights, your knee coming to rest against his without either of you commenting on it, "but I've been sitting here all night doing math in my head. Like, is this actually going to last, are they gonna make it to twenty-five without one of them having some kind of quarter-life crisis about everything they gave up so young, the whole life they didn't get to have because they signed up for this one at twenty-one."

Keonho considered that for a second, turning the bottle in his hands, watching the last of the liquid catch the light from the tent behind you. Then he watched you instead, the way the same light caught the side of your face and made you look softer than you probably felt, all that champagne warmth still sitting in your cheeks. It was not adorable. Definitely not.

"To be honest? No idea. Genuinely no idea. But I've decided I'm not allowed to get married before twenty-four, so at least I'll never end up in this exact situation myself."

"Why twenty-four specifically?"

"No real reason. I decided it a long time ago and never had a good enough reason to change my mind since."

"That's either the most mature thing you've said all night or the least mature. I genuinely can't tell which."

"Probably both," he admitted, and then, quieter, almost to himself, something else nearly slipped out with it, something that felt too big and too soon to actually say out loud, and he caught it just in time. "Never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing. I almost said something corny."

"Now you have to say it." You nudged him with your shoulder, insistent, your whole body tipping into the nudge with more force than you probably meant, another giggle escaping before you could stop it.

"Absolutely not. It's gone. Lost to the void."

You narrowed your eyes at him, clearly filing that away to bring up later, and he made a mental note that he'd have to be more careful around you, because you were already better at reading him than he'd expected anyone to be after one bottle of stolen champagne.

"For what my opinion's worth," you said instead, letting him off the hook for now, "I don't think James is a bad guy at all. I just think twenty-one is young to sign your whole life away to anyone, even a good one, even someone you're sure about."

"Yep. Agreed. Completely agreed. He's my best friend and I'd take a bullet for him, but I also think he's out of his mind right now, and I'm allowed to think both those things at the same time."

"So what happens if it doesn't work out."

"Then I write the divorce album," Keonho said immediately, without a shred of hesitation, like he'd been waiting all night for someone to ask.

"You have not."

"I do. I've been planning it since he proposed. The second things go south, I step up, I take over lead songwriting duties, I turn his whole heartbreak into our best record yet. Every great band needs a devastating breakup album eventually. It's basically already written in my head. It’s gonna be Radiohead inspired. You know how depressing that shit is."

"Oh my god, stop." You reached over and swatted his arm, then left your hand there afterward, resting just above his elbow like you'd forgotten to take it back, still laughing while you did it, which undercut the whole thing completely. "You cannot be planning your best friend's divorce album at his own wedding, that's genuinely deranged behavior."

"I'm not planning it! I'm just… prepared for it. There's a difference."

"There is not a difference."

"There's a small difference."

"You're a horrible person."

"I'm a realist. Someone has to think ahead while the rest of you are all busy crying like babies at the vows."

You hit him again, lighter this time, still laughing, your hand staying on his arm afterward instead of pulling back, and he decided he could get used to being hit like that on a semi-regular basis if it meant getting that exact laugh out of you every single time, and getting to feel your hand stay where it landed.

The conversation drifted looser after that, the way conversations do once two people have decided they like each other and stopped trying quite so hard to prove it. Your giggling came easier now, quicker to arrive and slower to fade, the two of you tipping toward each other more than either of you probably noticed.

"What's your sign," you asked out of nowhere, swirling what was left of the champagne in the bottle, your words starting to blur softly at their edges.

"Why does that matter?"

"It matters completely. It's basically the only real information about a person."

"Fine. Aquarius."

You made a small, considering sound, taking note without much commentary at first, taking another sip like the conversation might be over already, your eyes still on him over the top of the bottle in a way that made it hard for him to look anywhere else.

"That's it? No commentary?"

"I'm thinking."

"Think faster, you're killing me."

"Fine. It tracks. Slightly unpredictable, thinks he's smarter than everyone in the room, probably says something weird and then acts like he didn't say anything at all."

"That's oddly specific for someone who's known me two hours."

"I have a system," you offered. "What's yours?"

"Libra."

"Oh," he said, grinning slow, watching the way you sat up a little straighter, clearly proud of whatever was coming next. "That explains it."

"Explains what? You don’t know shit about astrology."

"Why you're so sure you're right about everything."

You gasped. "It's not being sure, I’m just correct. It's a Libra thing. We're just morally superior." You said it with total seriousness, chin lifted, and then completely ruined the effect by dissolving into giggles halfway through the sentence, which made him laugh too, mostly at you rather than with you, though you didn't seem to mind the distinction.

"That's not a real astrological trait, you made that up."

"I didn't make it up, it's common knowledge."

"According to who?"

"According to me. I'm a very credible source."

"You're really not."

"I'm the most credible source at this table."

He looked around. "There's no table, we're on a crate."

"And I'm still winning."

"For the record," he said, "my birthday's on Valentine's Day."

You raised an eyebrow at him over the rim of the bottle, and he watched your mouth curve before the rest of your face caught up to it, that half-second where he could tell exactly what you were about to say before you said it. "Does that make you any more romantic than any other guy?"

"Statistically? Probably not."

"Then why'd you bring it up like it should impress me?"

"Habit. It usually gets a reaction. Why do you not care?"

"It got a reaction. The reaction is that I think it's a little sad you're leading with your birthday as a personality trait."

"Brutal." He made a pfft noise with his mouth and pressed his lips together. You were so honest. And perfect.

"I'm a Libra. We're balanced. Brutal and fair, at the same time."

"That's not what balanced means."

"It is if I say it is," you told him, with total conviction and zero evidence to back it up. He decided, watching you say it like it was simply a fact of the universe, your knee still pressed warm against his, your shoulder still tucked into the space beside him like it had always belonged there, that he might genuinely be in trouble here.

"You're not what I expected," you said eventually, once the champagne was nearly gone and the night had gone soft and slow around you both, the string lights blurring slightly at the edges of your vision the way they do after a few drinks, your head tipping toward his shoulder like it had gotten too heavy to hold up on its own.

"What'd you expect."

"I don't know. Guy in a band, more, like," you gestured vaguely, nearly tipping the bottle, "broody. Mysterious. Guitar-face energy."

"I can do guitar-face if you want it."

"Please don't."

"I have a whole face for it. Very attractive. Lots of squinting." He demonstrated, badly, and you laughed so hard you had to grab his arm to steady yourself, your fingers curling around his sleeve, and he stayed very still, very aware of exactly where your hand was and how little he wanted it to move.

"Stop, oh my god."

"I could write a whole song about this exact moment right now. Girl, stables, questionable champagne, pigs actively ruining the mood."

"The pigs aren't ruining the mood."

"They're really not helping it."

You laughed again, winding down into something softer, and he watched you do it, watched the way your smile stayed even after the laugh had faded. Keonho watched the small movement of you tucking a strand of hair behind your ear that had nothing to do with the wind, and thought, not for the first time that night but with more certainty than before, that he might be in real, actual trouble here, the trouble that didn't go away in the morning along with the champagne headache.

Back near the tent, Seonghyeon had clearly been watching for you both to return, because he intercepted you the second you stepped back into the light, arms crossed, grinning like he'd already decided how this story was going to go and just needed you both to catch up to it.

"There she is," he announced. "I was starting to think Keonho scared you off."

"He didn't scare me off," you giggled. "He stole champagne and made me sit near pigs."

"Sounds about right." Seonghyeon looked between the two of you, something a little too knowing in his face. "So, are we still doing the dibs thing, or?"

"There was never a dibs thing," Keonho said. "You made that up three hours ago and no one agreed with you."

"No one disagreed either. I stand by it."

"Well, now you've got no chance with her," Keonho offered, more confident than he had any real right to be.

"You don't know that," Seonghyeon shot back.

"Oh, I don't?" Keonho turned to you, eyebrow raised, already fairly sure of the answer. "You wanna go share a bottle of champagne with him instead?"

You looked between the two of them for a long, deliberately drawn-out second, clearly enjoying making them both wait for it.

"I already used up my one bottle of stolen champagne tonight," you said finally. "Budget's tight."

"See," Keonho gloated and stuck his tongue out at Seonghyeon. "No chance."

Seonghyeon threw up his hands like he'd been personally wronged and wandered off toward the bar, muttering something about betrayal that neither of you bothered chasing down.

"Well, thank you," you murmured, once he was gone, quieter now, the teasing edge from a moment ago softening into something more sincere, your hand finding his arm again like it had a habit of ending up there. "For the champagne. And for not asking about the phone call."

"You don't have to explain it if you don't want to."

"I know. I might, later. Just not tonight."

"Later works for me. I'm not going anywhere."

You looked at him for a second like you were deciding whether to believe that, then smiled. You bumped your shoulder against his as you both started walking back toward the tent, close enough that your arms brushed with every other step, your hand finding his without much fanfare, like it had already decided to be there before either of you agreed to it. 

Holy shit. 

Neither of you moved to close the last few inches. Neither of you moved away either.

"Aquarius," you said, testing it out loud, like you were still deciding what to do with the information, your thumb moving absently over the back of his hand.

"Libra," he said back. "The one who's infinitely better than everyone, apparently."

"Now you're getting it."

Keonho glanced at you as you walked, at the string lights catching the side of your face, at the flower crown still hooked around your wrist and the faded marker drawings underneath it, at the small, private smile you were wearing like it belonged to both of you now. He thought that twenty-four suddenly felt like a very long way off, and, for the first time since he'd made that rule up as a teenager with absolutely no evidence behind it, like it might genuinely be worth the wait.

lovhyeon © 2026

[wenosgf]

&team reacting to their ex rating them (smau)

warnings > swearing, gay jokes, taemin mention, ellen degeneres mention (don’t ask), homie hopper! reader, sfw, implied sexual reference

a/n: ive seen a couple people do this for other groups and wanted to do it for my men! this is purely for comedic purposes

a/n: i’m getting so good at the disappearing act im sorry. here’s another silly little smau, i promise i have a couple actual fics in the drafts!

[pikapipipu]

All over you

PAIRING: bf!martin x older!reader

SYNOPSIS Martin has a habit of ending up next to you. Not beside you in any grand way, just close. He says your name like it's something he likes having in his mouth. He asks for things he already knows you'll give. And somehow, every time, you let him, because you've tried to imagine the alternative and you don't like how it feels.

A/N: this is literally my VERY FIRST fic ever idk what came over me sorry if it's bad i wrote it in like one sitting and did not proofread but hope y’all like it 🥹🫰

"Noona"

He says it like it's a secret he enjoys knowing.

Not loud, not teasing, just close to your ear, low and deliberate, the way he says it when he wants something and knows you can't say no to that particular word in that particular voice.

"Noonaa, I’m calling you." 

"Martin i hear you." You said.

"I finished my readings."

"Good for you." You said.

"I finished them an hour ago."

You turn a page. The café you've claimed as your study spot is warm and smells like brown butter and espresso, rain tracing long fingers down the window beside you. Martin is across the table, textbook shut, chin propped in his palm, watching you with that expression he gets patient and a little helpless, like you're a problem he's already decided he doesn't want solved.

"Noona," he says again.

"Martin, I have thirty more pages." You said.

"Your coffee's cold." He said.

You reach for it. He's right, it's cold. You make a face. He looks pleased with himself in a very small, very annoying way.

"I would've gotten you a new one," he says, “but I didn't want to leave."

You look at him over the rim of the cup. "Why not?"

He shrugs. It's the kind of shrug that means you know why.

You do know why.

You set the cold coffee down and look at him properly. There's a faint crease on his cheek from where he'd been resting on his hand earlier, during the hour he claims to have been studying. His sweater is slightly too big. He looks soft in the warm light, a little sleepy, and entirely focused on you.

"Come here," you say.

He moves before you finish the sentence. He pulls his chair around to your side of the table and sits close enough that your arms press together, and then he leans down and kisses your cheek, so soft it barely lands, like a question, and then your temple, and then he stays there, face turned into your hair.

"Hi," he mumbles.

"You're such a baby," you say, and you mean it with your whole heart.

"I'm a baby who finished his readings."

"Mm." You reach up and pat his cheek. He catches your hand and holds it there, eyes closing briefly. 

"What do you want?" 

"Nothing." A pause. "You."

"Martin." 

"I just want to sit here." He says it plainly, without performance. "Is that okay? I'll be quiet."

It is so deeply okay. It's always been okay. You've told him this a hundred times and he still asks, still checks, and you've come to understand that's just how he loves with this particular carefulness, this ongoing, gentle requesting of permission even when the answer has never once been no.

You go back to your reading. He stays.

He's quiet for exactly four minutes. You know this because you count.

"Noona."

"Yes, Martin."

"You're the prettiest person in this café."

"There are like eight people in this café."

"You're the prettiest person in the building."

"The building has four floors."

"You're the prettiest person I've ever seen," he says, easy as breathing, and you feel your face go warm from the ears down.

You keep your eyes on your page. It doesn't help. "Sweet-talker."

"It's not sweet talk if it's true."

"That's exactly what a sweet-talker would say."

He laughs quietly, that small, real laugh he has, barely any sound to it, more felt than heard when you're this close. He turns his head and presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then another, slightly higher. Working his way up with no urgency, unhurried, like he has all the time that exists.

Your collarbone. The curve of your neck. The soft place below your jaw.

"Martin," you say.

"Mm." His lips brush your cheek. Your nose. The corner of your mouth.

You turn your head and catch him properly.

He goes still, always does, that half-second where he just receives it, like he hasn't expected it even now, even after all this time and then he kisses you back slowly, both hands coming up to cup your face with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. He tastes like the latte he finished an hour ago. His thumbs trace your cheekbones.

When you pull back he keeps his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

"Noona," he says, very quietly.

"What."

"I really love you."

You look at his face, the ink smudge on his knuckle, the small scar above his brow, the way his lashes fan out when his eyes are shut, and something in you settles warm and permanent.

"I love you too," you say. "Now let me study."

He smiles. Leans back. Opens his textbook.

Forty seconds later his knee finds yours under the table and stays there.

You let him. You always let him.

You'd miss it if he stopped.

[ghvstile]

⤳ ゛FASHION ̤̮ idol!martinedwards × model!reader

in which martin drunk-texts the fake number a girl gave him at the club, accidentally hitting the inbox of a model who happens to be a coer 𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪ pt 5

𓏲 cw - sfw, smau, crack, cursing, martin tries to be nonchalant but fails miserably

𓏲 a/n - guys we’ve made it to the end :’) this part is gonna be shorter than usual, but i hope you’ll like it anyway :( thank u all for the support and for all the kind comments i got <3 love u, enjoy!!

masterlist

taglist: @hyuneskkami @eunjix @toj1sgf @banshipresi @dina-10s-blog @kpopluver167 @gojosslvt0 @hiitzstar @mia-mita @sa1nt-kitty @qngelical @seokiify @krsyelia @ivyzhangg @seonghwaswifeuuuu @yvalrik @red--roses @yajw @carxzrito @myuekii @enhypen113020 @foreveronez @inadazeee @letterstohyeon @moons-v @sariy5h @freesofxx @bakupakuu @claireo-o @sese-blurbs @woozarts

[jjudawn]

WHY YOU GOTTA BE SO RUDE?

synopsis: your father absolutely refuses to give martin his blessing for him to marry you, but fails to consider that martin just might marry you anyway.

word count: 3.0k

info+warnings: inspired by Rude, delinquent!martin, fluff, mild angst?, young marriage, sneaking around, climbing through windows, strict father, defiance, kissing

Martin should have known better than to believe that the man who hated his entire existence would suddenly change his mind.

"You must be out of your damn mind if you think I'd let you marry my daughter."

The words still rang in his ears as he walked away from your porch, the door slamming shut between him and your father's scowling face.

He couldn't blame the man, really. Martin knew what kind of person he was: a teenage delinquent that only gets himself into trouble, and would likely drag you straight into it sooner or later.

He himself still couldn't quite understand what about him had actually managed to win you over initially. You were everything he was not: a rule follower, an academic, someone with a much more promising future than the one Martin possessed. So how you found him to be anything other than a walking red flag was a mystery that kept him up at night.

He remembered the first time you'd spoken to him behind the gym in your second year of high school, his knuckles were bloody and his temper was still running hot. You'd appeared out of nowhere, holding out a crumpled napkin from the cafeteria.

"You're bleeding," you'd said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Not your problem," he'd muttered, trying to brush past you.

But you'd grabbed his wrist before he could fully turn the corner and pressed the napkin into his palm. "Just clean it up," you'd said. "You'll get blood on your shirt."

You then walked away, leaving him standing there with a bloody napkin and a strange feeling in his chest that he'd never quite managed to shake.

Martin had tried to push you away at first. He knew what people said about him: the troublemaker, the burnout, the kid who'd end up in juvie before graduation. He'd heard your father's warnings from across the street, loud enough to carry, "Stay away from that boy, Y/N. He's nothing but trouble."

Despite all of that you kept appearing.

You showed up at the diner where he worked, sitting in his section and ordering coffee you barely touched, just so you could talk to him during his break. You showed up at the auto shop, claiming your car needed an oil change, even though it was perfectly fine. You showed up at his apartment after he got suspended the second time, bringing takeout and a stubborn expression that said you wouldn’t leave under any circumstance.

"Why?" He’d finally asked you, exhausted and confused. "Why do you keep doing this? You know what I am. You've heard what everyone says."

You'd looked at him then, really looked, and said, "I see something they don't."

"What?"

"Someone who's trying."

And that was it. That was the moment Martin knew he was a goner.

It hadn't taken long for your father to work out that you had ignored all his prior warnings, though truly he should have realised it sooner.

You had been staying out much later than before, coming home with an almost lovesick grin. Your father knew you were in love—that wasn't hard to tell. Just in his own mind, the thought of you falling in love with the one boy he had forbidden you from even talking to was a concept so foreign, so utterly incomprehensible, that he simply refused to entertain it.

But the signs were all there. You'd rush through dinner just to get to your room and stare at your phone, waiting for a message whilst also deflecting his questions about your day with vague answers and quick subject changes.

It was only when your father found the crumpled napkin in your laundry with Martin's name scrawled on it in your handwriting, surrounded by tiny hearts, that the truth finally crashed down on him.

He'd confronted you that night, voice shaking with barely contained fury.

"Are you seeing that Martin boy?"

You'd looked at him, and for a moment, he only saw defiance in your gaze. "Yes," you'd said quietly. "I am."

The argument that followed was the worst you'd ever had. Your father had shouted until his voice went hoarse, listing every reason why Martin was wrong for you: his record, his reputation, his lack of prospects. You'd shouted back, defending him with a passion that only made your father angrier.

"He's not who you think he is, Dad. He's trying so hard. He's working two jobs, he's studying for school as best he can, he's—"

"He's a delinquent, Y/N. He's always been a delinquent, and he always will be. I won't let you throw your life away for someone like him."

"He's not a delinquent. He's just... he's just someone who never had anyone believe in him. Until me."

Your father had gone silent at that. Not because he agreed, but because he realised something crucial: you were in too deep. No amount of arguing would change your mind.

So he'd done the only thing he could think of. He'd banned you from seeing Martin, forbade you from leaving the house except for school and work, and took your phone, your laptop, everything that connected you to the outside world.

For a few weeks, it seemed to work. You and Martin had never shared a class at school, so he didn’t need to worry about that. Additionally, with so much surveillance surrounding you, you had practically given up even thinking of trying to find a way around it.

That was until one night a few weeks later when you were laying under the covers of your bed, staring at the ceiling with not a thought on your mind when the sound of something knocking on your window echoed through the room.

You sat up, heart pounding, and stared at the window. The blinds were drawn, but through the slats, you could make out a familiar silhouette you knew all too well crouched on the fire escape.

You scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the blanket tangled around your ankles, and yanked the blinds open. There he was—grinning like an idiot, dirt smudged on his cheek, a small bag of takeout dangling from one hand. He was wearing that worn leather jacket you loved with the torn sleeve he refused to sew back together.

"Hey, princess," he whispered through the glass. "You miss me?"

You fumbled with the lock, pushing the window open as quietly as you could. Cold night air rushed in, carrying the scent of rain and city streets.

"What are you doing here?" You hissed. "My dad could hear you!"

"Your dad's probably knocked out asleep right now." He climbed through the window with practiced ease, landing silently on your bedroom floor. 

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his jacket. "I thought I'd never see you again," you whispered, your voice cracking.

"Hey." He pulled back, cupping your face in his hands. "I told you. Nothing's keeping me away from you. Not your dad, not the cops, not anyone."

"Martin—"

"Three weeks, Y/N. I spent three weeks without you and I was going insane." He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to something raw and vulnerable. "I thought about calling your house, but I knew your dad would just make it worse. I had to wait until I could figure out a way to see you."

"You figured out the fire escape."

"I figured out the fire escape." He grinned, but there was something softer underneath it. "Took me two days to find the right route. Nearly fell off the third-floor landing, but hey—" He shrugged. "Worth it."

You laughed, a wet, shaky sound. "You're insane."

"Only for you." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then pulled back to hold up the takeout bag. "I brought food. Your favourite dumpling place with the spicy sauce you like. Figured you probably haven't been eating much."

You hadn't. The past three weeks had been a blur of forced dinners and silent meals, your father's disapproving gaze boring into you from across the table. You'd lost weight, and Martin had noticed it the moment he climbed through your window. 

"You're too good to me," you said.

"Not possible." He set the bag on your desk and pulled you over to sit on the bed. "Now eat. I'll keep watch."

You sat together in the darkness, sharing dumplings and whispered conversations. 

"One day," he said, "I'm going to have a real place with a good job and be something your dad can't complain about."

"I don't care about any of that."

"I know." He smiled, but there was something serious in his eyes. "That's why I want to give it to you anyway. You deserve the world, Y/N. I'm going to figure out how to give it to you."

"I just want you," you said softly.

"Good." He leaned in, his lips brushing yours. "Because you've got me. For as long as you want me."

It was reckless and dangerous and every time you heard a floorboard creak, your heart stopped. But as you sat there in the dark, wrapped in Martin's arms, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Your father never caught the two of you, and gradually he granted you back your privileges, though that also stemmed from your absolute refusal to even look at him until he did so.

A part of you secretly knew that your father had probably worked out you were still seeing Martin. He wasn't stupid—he'd raised you, after all. He knew the stubborn set of your jaw, the defiant glint in your eyes when you were hiding something. He'd seen the way you'd started leaving your window unlocked again, the way you'd come downstairs with pillow creases on your cheek and a sleepy smile that had nothing to do with a good night's rest.

But he never said anything and you remained in this strange stalemate situation for the following couple of years.

It was an unspoken agreement, really. Your father pretended not to notice the faint smell of motor oil that sometimes clung to your clothes in the morning. He pretended not to hear the soft thud of footsteps on the fire escape at midnight. He pretended not to see the way your eyes lit up whenever your phone buzzed. And you, in turn, pretended not to notice the way your father started leaving the back door unlocked, or the way he'd conveniently be in the living room with the TV turned up too loud whenever Martin was climbing the fire escape.

It was a strange kind of peace. Fragile, particularly tenuous. But it was peace nonetheless.

Then, finally, graduation day arrived.

You walked across the stage in your cap and gown, your father watching from the front row with a carefully neutral expression. Martin was a few students behind you, wearing his best clothes underneath the gown that you had bought for his birthday, his grin so wide it looked like it might split his face.

After the ceremony, you found him in the parking lot, still in your gown, your diploma clutched in your hands.

"We did it," you said, laughing. "We actually did it."

"We did." He pulled you into his arms, spinning you around. "High school graduates. Can you believe it?"

"I can't believe you didn't drop out."

"Me neither." He set you down, his hands still on your waist. "But I had a good reason to stay."

"And what was that?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "You."

You and Martin had separated before your father emerged between the cars with the promise of seeing each other tomorrow, however you failed to fully notice the strange glint in Martin’s eyes as he parted with you

The next morning, Martin showed up at your door, his hands shaking as he knocked.

You answered, still in your pajamas, your hair a mess. "Martin? What are you—"

"I'm here to ask your father for permission to marry you."

You stared at him for a few seconds. "Now? At eight in the morning?"

"Time's ticking." He tried to smile, but it came out nervous. "I've waited long enough. Three years. I'm not waiting anymore."

Your father appeared behind you, coffee mug in hand. He looked at Martin, then at the suit, then at the determined set of Martin's jaw.

"Y/N, go to your room," he said, his voice flat as you gave Martin a wary look before retreating, "you again."

"Yes, sir." Martin straightened his spine, watching you disappear into the background. "I'm here to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."

Your father set down his coffee mug, and for a long moment he just looked at Martin. "You must be out of your damn mind," he said slowly, "if you think I'd let you marry my daughter."

"Sir, I know I'm not what you wanted for her. I know I've made mistakes. I know I don't have much—"

"You've barely got a diploma, an unsecure job at an auto shop, and a reputation that makes me want to lock my daughter in her room until she's thirty-five."

"I know, sir. But I love her. I've loved her since I was fifteen, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life taking care of her."

"You think that's enough?" Your father's voice was rising. "You think love is enough? You have no future, no prospects, no—"

"I'm going to marry her anyway."

Your father stopped mid-sentence. "What?"

"I said I'm going to marry her anyway." Martin lifted his chin, his voice steady. "With or without your blessing. With or without your approval. I love her, and she loves me, and we're getting married. I'm just sorry you won't be there to see it."

"Get out." Your father's voice was ice. "Get out of my house before I call the cops."

Martin nodded slowly. He'd expected this. He'd prepared for this. It still stung. He turned and walked down the steps, the door slamming behind him.

Five hours later, Martin stood in front of you at the courthouse, him having snuck you out of your room through the very window he had spent years crawling through.

You'd changed into a simple white dress that you had worn a few times in the summer. Martin was in his navy suit from the graduation, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Dearly beloved," the officiant droned, "we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."

Martin barely heard the words. He was too busy memorising the way you were looking at him like he was the only person in the world.

"Martin," you whispered, "you're crying."

"Am not."

"You totally are."

"It's allergies."

"You're such a liar."

He laughed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Fine, maybe I'm a little emotional. You're marrying me, Y/N. Me. The guy who couldn't even pass English without your help."

"I think you're pretty great," you said softly. "I always have."

The officiant cleared his throat. "The rings?"

Martin fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the simple silver bands he'd saved up for. He slid one onto your finger—it was a little too big, but you didn't seem to care, you just stared at it like it was the most expensive piece of jewelry in the world.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Martin’s lips were on yours before you could fully process the words.

He kissed you like he was drowning and you were air. He was savouring the reality of this, you in his arms finally calling yourself his. Gradually it deepened, the years of longing and wanting pouring into every second your mouth remained on his.

When he pulled back, you were both breathless and grinning like idiots.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice rough and cracking. "I know I don't say it enough, but I do. I love you more than anything. More than I ever thought I could love anyone."

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. "I love you too. Even though you're insane."

A wet laugh escaped him, his shoulders shaking. "Especially because I'm insane?"

"Especially then." You smiled, soft and radiant. 

He kissed you again, softer this time, because he felt he had all the time in the world, and, really, he did. Nothing else mattered to him except the way your lips moved against his, the way your fingers tangled in his hair, the way your heartbeat matched his own.

When he finally pulled back, he was grinning like an idiot, tears still tracking down his cheeks. "Mrs. Edwards," he said, testing the words. "That has a nice ring to it."

You laughed, bright and beautiful. "Mr. L/N. That would have an even nicer ring to it."

"Hey." He poked your side. "I proposed first, that means you take my name."

"Fine." You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. "But only because I love you."

"That's the only reason I need."

The courthouse was small and dingy, the officiant was already shuffling papers, clearly eager to leave, the neon sign outside flickered and buzzed. It wasn't the wedding either of you had dreamed of. There were no flowers, no guests, no white dress with a long train.

But it was yours.

And as Martin pulled you into his arms, his lips pressed against your temple, he knew he'd never regret a single moment of it. "I'm going to give you everything," he whispered against your skin. "I don't have much now, but I will. A home, a future, a life you can be proud of. I promise."

"I already have everything I need," you whispered back. "I have you."

He pulled back, just enough to look at you. His eyes were red-rimmed, his smile shaky, his heart laid bare on his sleeve. "You really mean that?"

"Every word."

He kissed you one last time: deep, slow, full of all the promises he'd spend the rest of his life keeping.

Your father was going to be absolutely livid when he found out, though Martin didn't care.

He'd married you anyway.

[aerienchanted]

EARLY BIRD GET'S THE WORM martin edwards x fem!reader

texts with your boyfriend, martin edwards!!

content: fem!reader, smau/texts, humour, wonhee is the readers best friend, reader and keonho & wonhee and martin have beef, you match each others freaks, down bad!martin, a mention of cheating (done by a side character, not martin or reader), ragebaiting ss count: 15 note: first cortis fic in nearly two months...we're so back guys

fomo? click here for more!!

craving something else? read my rules and then request!!

cortis taglist: @rickyshensgirlfriend @j-jinxee @vanilladictator @ireaiiyiikecats perm taglist: @emmaitoshi @madwheelerpilled @kpopluver167 @seonghwaswifeuuuu @mwaeom

divider by @/strangergraphics

[juh00n]

SCAMMER BOY

SYNOPSIS you knew not to buy from just any reseller, but you never imagined you’d get scammed by someone who goes to school with you!

scammer martin x reader — enemies to lovers(ish), lots of cursing, martin is…, crack fic, small drabble, bad humour

→ yo it’s been a VERY VERY LONG TIME!! but IK BACKK AND BETTER THAN EVER, i’m in summer break finally but i needa prep for senior year FUHH😡😡 this is just smth small i made tdy, idk if id make this a whole series but we’ll see. im just ready to make more content this summer while i have more time, did u guys miss me?🥺🥺

[tateholic]

VOY POR TI — M.EDWARDS

𝄞 :: yo te veo pero tu no ves, en esta historia todo esta al reves

˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ smau :: non!idol!martin x fem!reader, bsfs to lovers, fluff, jealous martin ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ voy por ti

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

violetta x cortis crossover iktr

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Fall Into You | Chapter 1: The Favor

pairing: brother's friend! Martin x Older!Reader

Ahn Y/n knew one thing about her younger brother.

When Ahn Keonho suddenly became sweet, something was wrong. Not bad wrong.

More like he wants something from me and he thinks I won’t notice wrong.

Which was why she immediately looked suspicious when she walked into the kitchen and saw him placing a cup of iced coffee beside her laptop.

Very suspicious.

“...What do you want?”

Keonho, who had been leaning against the counter with the most innocent expression he could make, immediately frowned.

“Wow.”

Y/n didn’t even look up from her notes.

“What?”

“You don’t even appreciate the coffee?”

“I do.”

“Then why is your first question what I want?”

“Because you made me coffee without asking.”

Keonho blinked.

“And?”

“And you only do that when you need a favor.”

He placed a hand over his chest dramatically.

“You think so little of your own brother?”

“Yes.”

The answer came too quickly. Keonho stared at her.

Y/n finally looked up and smiled.

“You’re my brother. I know you.”

“That’s actually kind of insulting.”

“It’s actually accurate.”

-

Keonho dropped into the chair across from her, taking a sip of his own drink.

For a few seconds, he said nothing.

And that was how Y/n knew he was definitely planning something.

Keonho was many things.

Talented. Passionate. Annoying.

But subtle?Never.

“Just say it.”

“Say what?”

“The reason you’re here.”

“I came to see my beloved noona.”

“No.”

“I missed you.”

“No.”

“You wound me.”

“Keonho.”

He laughed.

“You’re too easy to read.”

“You’re the one who walked in here holding coffee like a peace offering.”

“Okay, fine.”

He leaned forward.

“Can you help me with something?”

There it was.

Y/n leaned back.

“With what?”

“My band.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Your band?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Then why do you sound nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You are.”

“I’m literally not.”

“You’re tapping your fingers.”

Keonho immediately stopped.

Y/n pointed at him.

“See?”

He looked offended.

“Why are you so good at noticing things?”

“Because I’m your sister.”

Keonho sighed and finally gave up pretending.

“We have this project for our major subject.”

“Okay.”

“It’s like a campus music video.”

Y/n nodded.

“A music video?”

“Yeah. We need to create a video for our group and upcoming performance.”

“That actually sounds interesting.”

Keonho smiled slightly.

“But?”

She pointed at him.

“There’s always a but.”

He laughed.

“But we need someone who knows how to handle the marketing side.”

“And you thought of me.”

“Obviously.”

Y/n shook her head.

“You just want free labor from your sister.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Noona.”

“Keonho.”

“Please.”

She stared at him.

And it was unfair.

Because no matter how annoying he was, he was still her little brother.

The same little boy who used to sit beside her while she studied because he didn’t want to be alone.

The same kid who would proudly tell their relatives:

“My noona is really smart.”

Even when she knew he didn’t fully understand what she was studying.

The same kid who showed her his first song and waited nervously for her reaction.

She still remembered that day.

He had been thirteen.

His hair was messy, his headphones were too big, and he looked like he was holding his breath.

"Noona… what do you think?”

And she remembered looking at his face and thinking:

He really loves this.

Not because he wanted attention.

Not because he wanted praise.

He just loved making music.

So when people questioned him, she was always the first person to stand beside him.

-

“You’re impossible.”

Keonho’s eyes immediately brightened.

“Does that mean yes?”

“It means…”

She sighed. “Yes.”

He immediately cheered. "Yes!”

“Don’t celebrate yet.”

Keonho stopped.

“What?”

“I’m not filming anything yet.”

His expression changed.

“What?”

“I need to meet them first.”

“Meet who?”

“Your bandmates."

“Why?”

Y/n gave him a look.

“Because I’m creating something that represents your group.”

She closed her laptop.

“I need to know who you are as a team.”

Keonho stared at her.

Then smiled.

“That’s very marketing major of you.”

“I know.”

“You’re really taking this seriously.”

“Of course.”

She shrugged.

“If I’m going to help, I want it to actually feel like you guys.”

Keonho smiled at her.

The teasing expression disappeared for a moment.

And Y/n knew that look. The one he had whenever he was genuinely grateful.

“Thanks, noona.”

She looked away.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m being sincere.”

“I know.”

“You’re the best.”

“Again, don’t make it weird.”

He laughed.

The meeting was scheduled a few days later.

Keonho insisted they meet at their practice space.

Y/n expected a normal music room. Maybe some instruments.

Maybe some messy college boys’ belongings.

Nothing too surprising.

At least, that was what she thought.

“Why is it in a basement?”

Y/n stared at the building in front of her.

Keonho, beside her, looked confused.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a basement.”

“It’s a creative space.”

“It looks like the place where horror movies start.”

Keonho laughed.

“Noona, please.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re the one who calls a basement a creative space.”

“Because it is.”

He opened the door.

“Come on.”

The moment she stepped inside, she realized he wasn’t exaggerating.

The basement wasn’t creepy.

It was alive.

There were instruments everywhere.

A small recording setup.

Speakers.

A dance area.

Notes and ideas stuck on the walls.

It wasn’t just a practice room.

It was clearly a place they built because they loved what they did.

Y/n looked around.

“Wow.”

Keonho smiled.

“Told you.”

“I didn’t expect this.”

“Because you underestimated us?”

“Because you’re a bunch of college boys.”

“Wow.”

She laughed.

“I mean that lovingly."

Four people were already there.

Keonho introduced them one by one.

“James.”

A familiar guy waved probably around my year.

“Hi.”

“Juhoon.”

Another nodded politely.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Seonghyeon.”

"Hello, noona.”

Y/n smiled.

“And you guys are the ones I’ll be working with?”

James nodded.

“Yeah. Martin’s supposed to be here too.”

“Martin?”

“Our leader.”

Keonho answered.

“He’s probably upstairs.”

Y/n nodded.

“Okay. While we wait, can I ask you guys some questions?”

James smiled.

“Already in work mode?”

“Obviously.”

Seonghyeon whispered. “She’s scary.”

Keonho immediately defended her.

“She’s not scary.”

Y/n looked at him. “You literally called me scary when you were seven.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“You made me eat vegetables.”

“Because you hated them.”

“I was a child.”

“You’re still dramatic.”

They laughed. And for the first time, Y/n thought maybe this project wouldn’t be as difficult as she expected.

She opened her notebook.

“Okay. First question.”

She looked at the three.

“What kind of group are you?”

And before anyone could answer—

A loud metallic sound echoed from upstairs.

Everyone froze.

Y/n slowly looked up.

“What was that?”

The boys immediately looked at each other.

James sighed.

“Oh no.”

Seonghyeon covered his face.

“Not again.”

Keonho looked embarrassed.

“Please tell me he didn’t.”

Y/n blinked.

“Who?”

And then—

A familiar sound.

A slide.

Someone coming down way too fast.

And before she could process what was happening—

Someone came sliding down from upstairs.

Head first.

Straight into the basement.

Straight toward her.

And that was how Ahn Y/n met Martin Edwards.

Not through a handshake.

Not through a proper introduction.

But with him crashing into her life — quite literally.

@ tobiosbbyghorl 2026

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[celestemera]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎KISS CHALLENGE.

ᰔ‎ ‎ ‎ MARTIN J. EDWARDS‎ ‎ ‎ ／‎ ‎ ‎ oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight.

pairings ― idol!martin x 6thmember!fem!reader

synopsis ― martin definitely wasn't expecting you to come home early . . . or for one fan comment to turn the livestream into a kiss challenge.

!‎ ‎ ‎ fluff, domestic fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, lots of kissing, physical affection, pet names, fans third wheeling lol

MARTIN HATED BEING HOME ALONE. he did everything he could to keep himself from crashing out: he tried lying on your bed while tossing a crumpled up paper ball into the air, only for it to keep landing on his nose, he tried rearranging the ornaments on the christmas tree in the living room (even though it was june), he even tried learning new songs on his guitar, but he really didn't want this one to end up like the last one.

keonho, seonghyeon, juhoon and james had left about half an hour ago after deciding to go pick up some fried chicken for dinner, leaving martin home by himself. he hated that he'd argued with them again just because they thought he'd end up ordering kebab again.

but what he hated most was that you weren't there with him. he thought lying on your bed might help, but unfortunately, it didn't.

so after fifteen minutes, he ended up opening his laptop and starting a weverse live.

"they've been gone forever," he sighed as he absentmindedly ran a hand through his blond hair while reading the comments.

'you'll survive'

'kebab's fault'

'call y/n'

the moment he saw your name, his eyes seemed to light up and a small smile tugged at his lips. "she's out shopping."

'bother her!! we wanna hear her!!'

he shook his head with a quiet laugh. "i've already bothered her enough today. i know she likes having some peace when she goes shopping."

another five minutes went by, and he spent some time talking to the fans about music. he played a little bit on his guitar, accidentally spoiled something, and just hoped nobody watching had noticed.

until he heard the front door unlocking.

"'i'm home!"

the boredom that had been plastered all over his face disappeared the second he recognized your voice. "guys," he smiled as he stood up from his chair. "she's back." he left the laptop on without a second thought, completely forgetting about the thousands of people still watching.

still, even if all they could see was an empty living room, they could hear everything.

"hey."

"baby, hi."

"tired?"

"yeah, a little."

"mmhm. c'mere."

a soft laugh slipped from your lips before the sound of fabric brushing together filled the quiet apartment.

martin wrapped his arms tightly around your waist as you melted into them, holding you close against his chest.

you let out a quiet sigh, your arms automatically sliding around his neck as your fingers gently combed through his already messy hair.

"missed you," he murmured, burying his face in your hair.

you giggled against his neck. "yeah?"

"mmhm."

"drama queen."

"you were right when you said i wouldn't survive without you."

that was followed by the sound of countless slow little kisses.

'THEY'RE SO CUTE'

'mama y papa'

'may this love ATTACK me'

after a little while, martin went back to his desk and smiled to himself. "y/n's changing. she'll be here in a sec."

'HE'S SO RED'

'is that lipstick on his cheek?'

you were wearing one of his oversized kurt cobain shirts and a pair of equally oversized sweatpants.

the moment you walked into the room and he looked at you, all he could think was how lucky he was. his smile grew wider and you couldn't help smiling too, his happy, deeply in love expression way too contagious.

you settled onto his lap and wrapped an arm around his shoulders as you smiled politely at the screen. "hi, everyone!"

martin immediately rested his hands on your waist and leaned his chin against your shoulder.

'y/n!!!!'

'SHE'S BACK'

'omg shes so pretty'

'the shirt is peak'

you chuckled softly. "it's martin's. all the swag belongs to him."

for a while, the two of you read through the questions in the chat: future projects, music, unreleased songs, random habits.

but you were the only one answering.

martin just found himself nodding along to everything you said, even though he wasn't actually paying attention anymore.

somewhere in the middle of you explaining your current favorite song and talking about your new obsession with collecting vinyl records, he'd completely forgotten what you were even saying. your hands moved every time you talked, your eyes lit up whenever you got excited, you smiled at every comment you read.

and he couldn't help staring at you.

he could listen to you talk for an entire week and never get tired of it.

"...right, martin?"

"...huh?"

you tried not to laugh. "what did i just say?"

"uhhh... clothes?"

realizing he couldn't completely lose all his aura in front of a million people, martin decided to pull himself together. he pressed a lingering kiss against your cheek before casually going right back to reading the comments, leaving you giggling to yourself.

"'do the kiss challenge,'" he read, furrowing his brows. "what's that?"

your eyebrows shot up and you bounced on his lap, making him let out a little groan. "wait!"

martin looked at you in confusion. "why are you so excited?"

"i know one!" you giggled mischievously as you climbed off his lap. "wait here."

martin watched you disappear out of the room before looking back at the screen. "guys?"

'LMAO SHE'S PLOTTING SMTH'

'RUN'

'GOOD LUCK MARTIN'

a few seconds later, you came back holding a colorful bag with the biggest smile on your face. "ta-da!" you showed it to the camera. "i bought fruit candies while i was out." you sat back down on his lap and pulled out around ten candies, placing them on the desk in front of the setup. "okay, so you close your eyes, i'll eat one of these, then i have to kiss you and then you have to guess what flavor it is."

martin hadn't been this excited about something in forever. his eyebrows lifted and with a smug smile he leaned back comfortably in his chair. "i like that."

a few moments later, you were sitting completely turned toward him on his lap, your legs hanging off either side of the chair while the two of you faced each other. you'd turned the chair sideways so the fans could see both of you.

"close your eyes."

he shut them immediately and leaned in, already ready to kiss you, the same smug smile he'd been wearing for the last five minutes still plastered across his face.

you smiled. "no peeking this time, okay?"

"i'm not peeking. c'mon."

"okay." you grabbed the watermelon candy, the sixth round of the challenge,and unwrapped it before popping it into your mouth. you let your tongue brush over your lips for a second before swallowing.

a laugh escaped you just before your lips met his in a long, slow kiss.

martin's hands automatically settled on your waist, his thumbs slowly brushing the skin beneath your shirt. he hummed against your lips, and when you finally pulled away, he looked at you with that satisfied expression that always made you roll your eyes because you knew he'd only agreed to the challenge just because he could kiss you.

"so? what flavor was it?" you asked impatiently, though you couldn't stop smiling, your hands resting gently on his shoulders.

he licked his lips while still looking into your eyes. "lemon?"

the smile disappeared from your face and a sigh escaped your lips. "martin. be so for real."

he shrugged, letting out an involuntary laugh as he shook his head. "baby, i'd love to keep kissing you, but i think i'm, like, genuinely losing my mind. for real."

you couldn't hold it in anymore. you shook your head too and laughed quietly to yourself. he probably wasn't even doing it on purpose. he really did seem distracted. "i hate you, you know that?"

he chuckled. "no, you don't."

then he turned back toward the screen. "let's end this. i missed her way too much today."

and just like that, the live ended, leaving the fans completely speechless.

oh, the edits were going to be endless.

martin stood up from the chair, easily lifting you by your waist and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him. the room filled with another fit of messy laughter, leaving behind a laptop that was still on and two hopelessly in love idiots disappearing into their room.

( TAGLIST OPEN ) :: @drpepki

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Falling Into You | Prologue

pairing: younger brothers friend! Martin x Older! Reader

Ahn Y/n was the kind of person people naturally looked for.

Not because she was the loudest in the room. Not because she demanded attention.

But because somehow, she always knew what to do.

Need someone to proofread your presentation at midnight? Y/n. Forgot to bring your charger? Y/n probably had an extra. Crying over a failed exam? She was already buying you coffee before you even asked.

It was almost annoying how reliable she was. Almost. Because being the person everyone depended on meant everyone forgot that sometimes, she needed someone too.

As a junior Marketing major, Y/n had her life planned out. Her notes were organized by color. Her calendar was always updated. Her deadlines were never missed.

She was the type of person who submitted projects three days early and reminded her groupmates that “panic is not a valid strategy.”

Her friends often teased her. “You were born thirty years old, Y/n.”

And she would just roll her eyes. “Someone has to have common sense.”

But there was one person who could completely ruin her perfectly organized life.

Her younger brother. Ahn Keonho.

To everyone else, Keonho was the talented music major with too much energy and too many ideas. To Y/n?

He was still the little boy who used to follow her around the house holding onto her shirt because he didn’t want to sleep alone.

The kid who would sit beside her while she studied, even though he didn’t understand anything she was reviewing.

The little brother who proudly told everyone:

“My noona is the smartest person I know.”

Even when she knew he was exaggerating.

Y/n adored Keonho. She really did.

She complained about him constantly, but everyone knew she was the first person to defend him.

When he decided to pursue music, she was the one who stayed up listening to his unfinished songs. When relatives questioned whether music was a “real career,” she was the one who shut them down.

“If he’s happy and he’s working hard, why wouldn’t it be?”

She never wanted him to feel like he had to choose between his passion and practicality.

Because she knew Keonho. She knew how much music meant to him.

Which was exactly why she couldn’t say no when he asked for help.

“Noona.”

Y/n didn’t even look up from her laptop.

“No.”

Keonho blinked.

“I didn’t even ask yet.”

“You have a favor.”

“How did you know?”

“Because you only call me noona in that voice when you need something.”

Keonho immediately smiled.

The dangerous smile.

The one that meant he already knew he was going to win.

“Can you help us film a marketing video?”

Y/n finally looked at him.

“Us?”

“My band.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“We have a major project.”

“Still no.”

“You need portfolio experience.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Are you using my own goals against me?”

Keonho grinned.

“Yes.”

She stared at him.

Then sighed.

“You’re annoying.”

“But you love me.” Unfortunately, he was right.

Because that was Keonho’s greatest talent.

He knew exactly how to get his noona to give in.

“You said it’s for your band?”

“Yeah.”

“And this helps your project?”

“Yeah.”

“And it helps my portfolio?”

“Exactly.”

Y/n shook her head.

“One stone, two birds?”

Keonho’s smile widened.

“See? You get me.”

She should have known agreeing meant stepping into chaos.

She should have known a room full of music majors would never be normal.

She should have known Keonho’s friends would be just as chaotic as him.

But what she didn’t know…

was that helping her little brother would introduce her to someone who would challenge the one rule she had always been so sure about.

Someone who would make her question whether being younger really meant being less mature.

Someone who would literally fall into her life.

And his name was Martin Edwards Park.

tobiosbbyghorl 2026

series taglist: @voucearse @luvpadron @avis-writeshq @cinnased @sleepymochiiii @sevvycoer @v4mpnina @toomanyfanficsbruh @mokkicchi (open)

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife @soona-huh @laylasbunbunny @maveysoup @kirakun @aishigrey @multicolorfandoms @celestialensemble @kookiesnkim @lvskjen @1-itsneverthatserious-1 @taesansnovia @sunwoosberrie (open)