ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Summary ─── frat!martin but he’s in fact still a looser down bad for you. 3.6k wc
. ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Content tags ─── college au · best friend’s brother trope · banter · kissing · heavy eye contact
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Author’s note ─── whoever you are, i hope you’ll love it boo
The bass thumped through the floorboards like a second heartbeat, vibrating up through your heels and settling somewhere in your ribs. You could feel the party before you could see it. Red Solo cups littered the walkway, bodies pressed against bodies in the living room, and that ever-present fog of sweat and body spray that seemed to follow Stella's house like a shadow.
"There you are!" Stella grabbed your wrist, her acrylics clicking against your skin, pulling you through the kitchen threshold. Her blonde hair, dyed the same honeyed shade as her brother's, caught the strobe lights from the living room, creating a halo effect that made her look almost angelic. Almost. "I was about to send out a search party."
"You know I had to finish that essay," you said, letting her guide you toward the kitchen island. "My professor won’t accept 'I was at a rager' as an excuse for late work."
Stella laughed, the sound cutting through the noise, warm and familiar. She handed you a cup of something fruity and suspicious, and leaned against the counter beside you. "You're such a nerd. That's why I love you."
You sipped, letting the sweetness hit. "Where's the music coming from? This actually sounds decent."
"Oh." Stella's smile went knowing, tilted at the edges. She nodded toward the archway leading to the living room. "My brother’s on the decks tonight. He threatened to blackball James from the next three parties if he touched his equipment."
Your eyes drifted before your brain could catch up, scanning the crowd through the archway. The living room had been transformed. Couch pushed back, coffee table relocated, and in the corner, elevated slightly on a platform of wooden crates and a folding table, was Martin.
He was wearing a white tank that clung to his shoulders, arms moving with practiced ease over the mixer. His blonde hair, dyed blonde, almost platinum under the lights, fell across his forehead in a way that looked calculated but was probably just from moving around. From here, he looked every inch the frat boy stereotype. Tall, built from basketball and gym sessions, radiating that specific brand of confidence that came from being six foot three and knowing everyone at the party.
He had his boys around him, some standing on the platform, some leaning against the wall, all of them nodding to the beat he was laying down. A couple girls were hovering nearby too, laughing too loud at something one of his bros said, but Martin wasn't looking at them.
He was looking at you.
The recognition hit like static electricity. Your gaze locked with his across the crowded room, and his hands didn't stop moving, fingers dancing over knobs and faders, but something in his posture shifted. A tilt of the head. A smirk that wasn't quite aimed at the crowd.
"Uh-huh," Stella said, drawing the syllable out like taffy. She waved her hand in front of your face. "Earth to Y/N."
You snapped your attention back to her, heat creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the body heat in the room. "What?"
"Nothing." She was grinning now, that wicked best-friend grin that meant she knew something you didn't. "Just noticing how my brother keeps looking over here like he's performing for a crowd of one."
"He's DJing," you said, keeping your voice level, taking another sip. "He's supposed to watch the crowd. Read the room."
"The room is fifty sophomores trying to start a mosh pit, babe. He's not looking at them." She bumped her shoulder against yours. "He's been asking about you, by the way. 'Y/N coming tonight?' 'Y/N working on something?' Like I don't have better things to do than keep tabs on my best friend for my little brother."
"He's being polite," you said, but you didn't believe it. You'd caught Martin's eyes on you before. At dinner when you came over to study, in the hallway when you were leaving, always from across rooms, always with that same intensity that made you feel like you were under a spotlight. But he never approached. Never said more than a mumbled "what's good" when Stella forced introductions.
A boy who looked but didn't touch? Who stared but didn't speak? That wasn't it, as far as you were concerned.
"Come on," Stella said, grabbing your hand again. "Let's go dance before the good songs end."
The living room was a pressure cooker of bodies, heat rising from skin to skin contact, the music shifting to something with a heavier bass line that you could feel in your teeth. Stella moved like she was made of water, all fluid hips and confident steps, and you fell into rhythm beside her, letting the beat loosen your joints.
But you could feel it. That weight on the back of your neck, the prickle of being watched.
Martin was still at his station, still manipulating the crowd's energy with one hand while the other adjusted his headphones. But his eyes kept finding you. In the gap between songs. During the build-up. When the beat dropped and the room erupted, his gaze stayed steady, pinned to you like you were the only fixed point in a spinning room.
You didn't look back. Not directly. You danced with Stella, laughed at her jokes, let some guy from your Econ class spin you around once before you politely extracted yourself. You were unbothered. Untouchable.
If he wanted to look, he could look. But looking was free, and you weren't a museum piece.
"He's going to strain something," Stella shouted over the music, leaning close to your ear. She'd followed your line of sight, or maybe she'd just known where your attention would drift. "All that staring. His neck's gonna snap."
"Maybe he should worry about his transitions instead," you shouted back, but you were smiling despite yourself.
Stella's phone buzzed against her hip. She kept it in a holster like a gunslinger, always accessible, and she checked the screen, her expression shifting. "Shit. I gotta go handle something. Tyler's having a crisis in the backyard about his ex."
"Do you have to?"
"Sadly, yes. I'm the only one who knows the whole story." She squeezed your arm, already backing away. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
"That leaves a lot of options!"
"Exactly!"
She disappeared into the crowd, a flash of blonde hair and sequined top, and suddenly you were alone in a sea of people who knew each other better than they knew you. You made small talk with a girl from your dorm, waved at someone from your study group, but the conversation felt thin, stretched too tight over the noise.
Across the room, Martin's eyes found yours again.
This time, he didn't look away. He held your gaze while his hand reached for a vinyl, actual vinyl, you noticed, not just digital files, and he held it up, showing you the label. Some old rock band you'd never heard of, probably. He raised an eyebrow, a question in the gesture.
You know this one?
You shook your head, just barely.
He smiled then. Not the performative frat boy grin he wore for the crowd, but something smaller, private. He mouthed something you couldn't hear, but you caught the shape of it. Later.
Then the beat dropped, and the crowd surged, and when you looked again, he was focused on his equipment, head nodding to a rhythm only he could hear through his headphones.
You lasted ten more minutes. The friend group you'd found was fine, nice enough, talking about summer plans and internship applications, but none of them had Stella's sharp wit, her ability to make you feel like the funniest person in the room. You did the Irish goodbye, slipping away without announcement, weaving through bodies toward the stairs.
You needed your phone. You'd gotten ready at Stella's earlier, helped her blow up balloons and arrange snack bowls, and you'd left your bag in her room upstairs. The hallway was quieter, the bass muffled to a distant thrum, and you could hear the bathroom door clicking shut, voices behind it that you definitely didn't want to interrupt.
Stella's room was at the end of the hall. But halfway there, you stopped.
Martin's door was open.
Not wide open. Just a crack, a sliver of warm light spilling across the carpet. In all the times you'd been to this house, all the study sessions and movie nights and pre-games, that door had been firmly shut. Locked, probably. A barrier between the frat boy public persona and whatever private world Martin kept hidden.
You looked left. The bathroom door was still closed, muffled laughter seeping through.
You looked right. The stairs led back down to the party, to the noise and the crowd and Martin's eyes on you from across the room.
Well fuck it.
The door creaked when you pushed it. Just enough to slip through, just enough to see.
The first thing that hit you was the smell. Not the expected scent of gym socks and cheap body spray, but something cleaner. Cedar, maybe. Old paper and vinyl. The room was surprisingly neat, bed made with military precision, desk organized with what looked like obsessive attention to detail.
And then you saw the trophies.
They lined a shelf above the desk. Basketball medals, mostly, gold and silver catching the lamplight. Regional championships. MVP awards. The physical proof of the frat boy athlete, the tall guy who dominated the court. You walked closer, running a finger along the edge of a plaque. Martin Jonathan Edwards, All-Conference First Team.
But the walls told a different story.
Posters, actual framed posters, not just taped magazine pages, covered every available inch of drywall. Not the expected sports figures or motivational quotes, but bands. Vintage rock, punk, subgenres you'd need a music degree to identify. Sonic Youth. My Bloody Valentine. Bands with names that sounded like poetry or threats.
And the CDs.
They took up an entire wall, floor to ceiling, organized alphabetically or by genre or by some system only Martin understood. Hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe. You moved toward them like they were magnetic, drawn by the sheer absurdity of it. This collection represented hours of hunting, of crate digging, of obsessive curation.
This wasn't a frat boy room. This was a confession.
You pulled one from the shelf. A rare pressing, judging by the worn edges of the case, and turned it over in your hands. The plastic was cool against your palms.
"Yo, most people ask before they go through someone's stuff."
You didn't jump. You should have, but something in you had been waiting for this. The voice, the presence, the inevitability of him finding you here.
Martin was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted against the frame in that specific way he had, like he was too tall for the world and had gotten used to looking down on everything. He'd taken off his headphones, letting them hang around his neck, and up close you could see the flush in his cheeks from the performance.
He was taller than you remembered, or maybe you were just more aware of it now, the way he filled the doorway, the way you had to look up to meet his eyes.
"I didn't think you'd mind," you said, holding up the CD like evidence. "Since you left the door open. Practically an invitation."
"Practically," he agreed, pushing off the frame with a roll of his shoulders. He stepped into the room, and you realized too late that there was nowhere for you to go. The CD shelf was at your back. The bed was to your left. He was between you and the door.
And then he closed it.
The click of the latch was louder than it should have been, cutting off the party noise to a distant hum. You were alone with him. In his room. With his secrets spread out like offerings.
"Surprising, isn't it?" he asked, nodding toward the posters, the CDs, the carefully curated chaos of his actual personality. "Not exactly what you'd expect from the guy who runs the aux at every party, right?"
"Which part?"
"All of it." He moved closer, not crowding exactly, but occupying space in a way that made you hyperaware of every inch between you. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture pure frat boy, all casual confidence. "The guy who plays Top 40 for the boys has a first pressing of Daydream Nation. The rush chair knows the entire discography of shoegaze. The frat star has feelings about guitar pedals."
He was smiling, but it was different from downstairs. Self-deprecating. A little sharp.
"Why hide it?" you asked.
"Why not?" He shrugged, that single gesture doing something complicated. Lifting the strap of his tank, shifting the muscle of his shoulder. "People like the frat boy. He's easy. He plays the hits. He doesn't make anyone feel stupid for not knowing who Slowdive is. Plus," he added, a flicker of that cocky grin returning, "girls dig it. No cap."
"But that's not you."
His eyes caught yours, and there it was again. That weight, that intensity from across the room, but now there was no crowd to hide behind. No DJ booth creating distance.
"Nah," he said softly. "That's not me."
He took another step. You took one back, your shoulder blades hitting the CD shelf. He kept advancing, slow, deliberate, until you were moving backward across the carpet, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of his mattress and you sat down hard, the CD still clutched in your hand.
Martin didn't stop. He kept coming, settling onto the bed beside you. Not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat coming off his arm, could smell that cedar scent up close now, mixed with something else. Something like the static before a storm.
"You know what the worst part is?" he asked, his voice dropping. The party downstairs felt like another planet.
"What?"
"I've been trying to holler at you for months." He turned to face you, one knee bent on the mattress, his body angled toward yours. "Since last semester. Since that night you came over to help Stella with her sociology project and you quoted bell hooks at dinner like it was nothing. Like everyone should just know who bell hooks is."
You blinked. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything." He reached out, his hand hovering over yours where it rested on the CD case. He didn't touch. Not yet. "I remember you wearing that yellow sweater. I remember you laughing at Stella's terrible jokes and making her feel smart even when she was being stupid. I remember thinking, damn, there's someone who actually sees people."
Your throat felt tight. "Martin."
"I know I'm not," he gestured at himself, at the room, at the duality of his existence. "I know I'm not what you probably go for. I'm too tall, I'm in a frat, I act dumber than I am. But I keep looking at you across rooms, and you keep looking back, and I keep thinking maybe."
"Maybe what?"
"Maybe you'd come to my game next week." He said it fast, like the words were escaping. "Saturday, three o'clock. We're playing State. And I know it's just intramural, I know it's not. I'm not trying to wife you up or anything, I just. I play better when you're there. I can feel you watching, and I want to be better."
You stared at him. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
"I know."
"No, I mean." You laughed, the sound breaking some of the tension, but not all of it. "You think I make you play better? That's insane."
"Probably." He was grinning now, that frat boy charm bleeding through but mixed with something real, something desperate. "But I've been three for three when you're in the stands. Coincidence?"
"Definitely."
"Prove it." He leaned closer, and you didn't pull back. "Come to the game. Watch me lose. I'll admit I was wrong."
"And if you win?"
"Then you let me take you out. Real food, not dining hall sludge. And I tell you about every single CD on that wall."
"That's a lot of CDs."
"I've got time."
He was close now. Close enough that you could see the flecks of darker gold in his dyed hair, the way his pupils had blown wide in the dim light of the room. Close enough that his knee was brushing yours, that his hand had finally settled over yours on the CD case, his fingers warm and long and slightly calloused from basketball and from spinning vinyl.
"You've been watching me," you said. It wasn't an accusation.
"Couldn't stop if I tried," he admitted. "You're a tall girl , you know that right? You walk into rooms like you own them. You make Stella laugh harder than anyone. You pretend not to see me staring, and it drives me absolutely crazy."
"Good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You leaned in, just slightly, just enough to close some of the distance. "Maybe you should do something about it instead of just watching."
His breath caught. You could see it, the way his chest stilled, the way his eyes dropped to your mouth and then back up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He moved first, but you met him halfway. It was soft, hesitant, his hand coming up to cup your jaw with a gentleness that didn't match his size, his frat boy exterior. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, and they moved against yours with a carefulness that made your chest ache. No rush, no demand, just the slow exploration of a first kiss, the kind that made you feel like you were in high school again, sneaking around after curfew.
The CD case dug into your palm where you still clutched it, but you didn't care, couldn't care, not with the way he tilted his head to fit better against you, not with the way his other hand found your waist and rested there, light and uncertain and sweet.
He pulled back first, just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. "Is this okay?"
"Yeah," you whispered, your hand finding the front of his tank, gripping the fabric just slightly. "This is okay."
He smiled, that same small, private smile from across the crowded room, and leaned in again. This time was shorter, sweeter, just a press of lips and a promise.
The door burst open.
"Martin, have you seen my girl? I lost her downstairs and she's not answering her..." Stella's voice trailed off, her eyes going wide as saucers as she took in the scene. You and her brother, sitting close on his bed, your hand on his chest, his hand on your waist, guilty as sin.
You scrambled upright, heat flooding your face, your neck, your entire body. "Stella, I can explain."
"Oh my god." She leaned against the doorframe, one hand over her heart, the other pressed to her mouth. "Oh my god. I should have clocked that way sooner."
"Stella, it's not."
"Not what?" She dropped her hand, her expression shifting from shock to delight, that wicked grin returning full force. "Not obvious? Not inevitable? Not the fact that my brother's been down bad for you since literally the first time you came over and he spent forty minutes in the bathroom fixing his hair?"
"Stella," Martin groaned, burying his face in his hands.
"Forty minutes?" you repeated, looking at him.
"She's lying," Martin said, but his ears were turning pink.
"Let’s make it an hour," Stella corrected. "And he made me play three different songs to see which one you'd like best. It was pathetic, truly."
"You're not helping," Martin muttered.
"Oh, I'm absolutely helping." She pushed off the doorframe, backing into the hallway. "I'm about to go tell the whole house that DJ Martin finally made a move. You two have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, which, let's be real, leaves you plenty of room."
"Hell fucking nah, Stella!"
"Love you, bye!"
She pulled the door shut behind her, and you were left in the sudden silence, the hum of the party downstairs filtering through the walls, your face still burning with embarrassment.
"She's going to tell everyone," you said.
"Probably." He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back on his palms, looking up at you with that lazy frat boy grin that didn't quite hide how pleased he was. "You cool with that?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Just checking." He reached out, catching your hand where it rested on the bed, his thumb tracing slow circles against your palm. "So. Saturday. Three o'clock. You gonna come watch me ball?"
"Are you going to play better?"
"Bet." He squeezed your hand, grinning wide. "I'm gonna drop forty points if you're there."
"That's a lot of points."
"For you?" He pulled you back down beside him, easy and casual, like you'd done it a hundred times before. "I'd drop a hundred."
BJP has done a lot for our country. Please don't be inconsiderate about it. Every party has its flaws. Just one time where BJP fails, the entire generation comes after them.
I can list countless incidents that had happened in the congress rule as well. Why only speak now? Why not then? Isn't this a propaganda too?
I'm not saying the protest is wrong, I'm saying blaming the party is wrong. They are taking accountability. They always have, every time they mess up.
The news shows everything, and you can clearly see the students being aggressive too. They're getting back what they did by ILLEGALLY protesting.
What good will resignation do? This is not a solution.
i need you to read your own shit again, slowly. you contradict your own statements.
WHAT NO MY BABY STOPPPP GET WEEL SOON 🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁Oh my god I hope he’s okay THE TOUR ISNT AS IMPORTANT AS HIS HEALTH I HOPE HE ISNT SAD ABT NOT GOING TO THE TOUR BROO 🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁
the cortis/coer youngkeukeu application form was cute, so i wanted to turn it into a fun little game (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)♡ i'm tagging all my mutuals (so i can know you all better), but no pressure if you don't wanna do it/don't follow cortis!
no pressure tags :: @kloversung @yawwni @us3rkilxz @channlust @ninisei @koiiq @b4echo & anyone else that wants to!
LOVE THIS OMG ITS SO CUTIEEE thank u koifish for da tag > < tags ( np ) @starriniqhts @tanghuyuj @candoiella @revrette @williamssbabydoll @ourhyeons @yyel1ah @twiishaa and anybody else who wants to join innnn
synopsis ⋮ ⌗ ┆ y/n and her friends are going to the KNUE university festival, like all other students in their top grade university are. The ever so trending group CORTIS are the 5th in the performance line-up. Like any other person around her, she goes all out in the dancing and screaming along. Having fun is good, but having so much fun that you drop your coolest shades—Chanel, mind you—? How will she get them back? Actually—Does she even get them back?
pairing ⋮ ⌗┆idol!martin x f!reader ⟡
others ⋮ ⌗┆cortis cameo + kya, ye-on, woojin, dohoon & tina cameo , Mentions of ENHYPEN ⟡
author's note ⋮ ⌗┆ sry i lwk gave yall false hope oka ts so pmo like da gradient text making shi got me feeling like that one spongebob meme where hes wearing an all black fit ygiwm LIKE WTF Y AM I DOING HTML TYPE SHI HERE TOO ??I BARELY ESCAPE ALLAT IN SCHOOL OH MY GOD #fuhmahlaif anyways heres the profs of gng !! (also lets not look at my battery % and the time ok) ⟡
synopsis ⋮ ⌗ ┆ y/n and her friends are going to the KNUE university festival, like all other students in their top grade university are. The ever so trending group CORTIS are the 5th in the performance line-up. Like any other person around her, she goes all out in the dancing and screaming along. Having fun is good, but having so much fun that you drop your coolest shades—Chanel, mind you—? How will she get them back? Actually—Does she even get them back?
pairing ⋮ ⌗┆idol!martin x f!reader ⟡
others ⋮ ⌗┆cortis cameo + kya, ye-on, woojin, dohoon & tina cameo , Mentions of ENHYPEN ⟡
author's note ⋮ ⌗┆ sry i lwk gave yall false hope oka ts so pmo like da gradient text making shi got me feeling like that one spongebob meme where hes wearing an all black fit ygiwm LIKE WTF Y AM I DOING HTML TYPE SHI HERE TOO ??I BARELY ESCAPE ALLAT IN SCHOOL OH MY GOD #fuhmahlaif anyways heres the profs of gng !! (also lets not look at my battery % and the time ok) ⟡
synopsis ⋮ ⌗ ┆ y/n and her friends are going to the KNUE university festival, like all other students in their top grade university are. The ever so trending group CORTIS are the 5th in the performance line-up. Like any other person around her, she goes all out in the dancing and screaming along. Having fun is good, but having so much fun that you drop your coolest shades—Chanel, mind you—? How will she get them back? Actually—Does she even get them back?
pairing ⋮ ⌗┆idol!martin x f!reader ⟡
others ⋮ ⌗┆cortis cameo + kya, ye-on, woojin, dohoon & tina cameo , Mentions of ENHYPEN ⟡
author's note ⋮ ⌗┆ sry i lwk gave yall false hope oka ts so pmo like da gradient text making shi got me feeling like that one spongebob meme where hes wearing an all black fit ygiwm LIKE WTF Y AM I DOING HTML TYPE SHI HERE TOO ??I BARELY ESCAPE ALLAT IN SCHOOL OH MY GOD #fuhmahlaif anyways heres the profs of gng !! (also lets not look at my battery % and the time ok) ⟡
synopsis ⋮ ⌗ ┆ y/n and her friends are going to the KNUE university festival, like all other students in their top grade university are. The ever so trending group CORTIS are the 5th in the performance line-up. Like any other person around her, she goes all out in the dancing and screaming along. Having fun is good, but having so much fun that you drop your coolest shades—Chanel, mind you—? How will she get them back? Actually—Does she even get them back?
pairing ⋮ ⌗┆idol!martin x f!reader ⟡
others ⋮ ⌗┆cortis cameo + kya, ye-on, woojin, dohoon & tina cameo , Mentions of ENHYPEN ⟡
author's note ⋮ ⌗┆ sry i lwk gave yall false hope oka ts so pmo like da gradient text making shi got me feeling like that one spongebob meme where hes wearing an all black fit ygiwm LIKE WTF Y AM I DOING HTML TYPE SHI HERE TOO ??I BARELY ESCAPE ALLAT IN SCHOOL OH MY GOD #fuhmahlaif anyways heres the profs of gng !! (also lets not look at my battery % and the time ok) ⟡
synopsis ⋮ ⌗ ┆ y/n and her friends are going to the KNUE university festival, like all other students in their top grade university are. The ever so trending group CORTIS are the 5th in the performance line-up. Like any other person around her, she goes all out in the dancing and screaming along. Having fun is good, but having so much fun that you drop your coolest shades—Chanel, mind you—? How will she get them back? Actually—Does she even get them back?
pairing ⋮ ⌗┆idol!martin x f!reader ⟡
others ⋮ ⌗┆cortis cameo + kya, ye-on, woojin, dohoon & tina cameo , Mentions of ENHYPEN ⟡
author's note ⋮ ⌗┆double update cz once my exams start ima delete tumblr. Matter of fact, ima delete myself ! (Also let’s not look at the timestamps ly 🥹🫰)⟡
synopsis ⋮ ⌗ ┆ y/n and her friends are going to the KNUE university festival, like all other students in their top grade university are. The ever so trending group CORTIS are the 5th in the performance line-up. Like any other person around her, she goes all out in the dancing and screaming along. Having fun is good, but having so much fun that you drop your coolest shades—Chanel, mind you—? How will she get them back? Actually—Does she even get them back?
pairing ⋮ ⌗┆idol!martin x f!reader ⟡
others ⋮ ⌗┆cortis cameo + kya, ye-on, woojin, dohoon & tina cameo , Mentions of ENHYPEN ⟡
author's note ⋮ ⌗┆double update cz once my exams start ima delete tumblr. Matter of fact, ima delete myself ! (Also let’s not look at the timestamps ly 🥹🫰)⟡
synopsis ⋮ ⌗ ┆ y/n and her friends are going to the KNUE university festival, like all other students in their top grade university are. The ever so trending group CORTIS are the 5th in the performance line-up. Like any other person around her, she goes all out in the dancing and screaming along. Having fun is good, but having so much fun that you drop your coolest shades—Chanel, mind you—? How will she get them back? Actually—Does she even get them back?
pairing ⋮ ⌗┆idol!martin x f!reader ⟡
others ⋮ ⌗┆cortis cameo + kya, ye-on, woojin, dohoon & tina cameo , Mentions of ENHYPEN ⟡
author's note ⋮ ⌗┆double update cz once my exams start ima delete tumblr. Matter of fact, ima delete myself ! (Also let’s not look at the timestamps ly 🥹🫰)⟡
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