nian 🌱

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ જ soft loverboy hours

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀*⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘚 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆*

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⁀➴  bf!martin + gf!reader 

⠀⠀⠀warnings𐙚tags ⋆ pure fluff, humor, super clingy martin, endless pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby, my love) soft kisses & tight hugs, curse!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𐙚wc ⋆ ~1.2k ♡

‧₊˚ ⋅ ☁️ — headcanons below ! ♡

• Every time you walk through the door, Martin stops whatever he’s doing, crosses the room in three big steps, and pulls you into the tightest hug. “Fuck, I missed you, my love,” he mumbles into your hair like you were gone for weeks instead of hours

• He’s clingy in the softest way, if you’re working or studying at home, he’ll drag a chair right next to yours so your legs can touch while he quietly plays on his phone or reads. Every few minutes he leans over to press a kiss to your temple.

• Martin keeps a little “you” playlist on his phone. He adds songs that make him think of you and plays it when you’re in the car together, singing the cheesy parts dramatically just to make you laugh.

• Random soft compliments hit you out of nowhere. You’re brushing your teeth? “How the hell are you this cute even with toothpaste everywhere?” You’re doing laundry? “My love looks unreal folding socks, what the fuck.”

• Movie nights always end with him wrapped around you like a vine. If you try to move he whines, “Don’t you dare, I just got comfortable. Stay with your man.”

• Martin keeps a photo of you as his lockscreen and wallpaper. When his friends tease him he just shrugs “She’s the best thing in my life, why wouldn’t I look at her every chance I get?”

• He loves holding your face in both hands before kissing you, slow, deep, and a little bit desperate like he still can’t believe you’re his.

• Late at night when you’re both half asleep, he’ll trace “I love you” on your skin with his finger over and over until you fall asleep smiling.

• If you’re ever cold, he immediately shrugs off his jacket or hoodie and wraps you in it, then pulls you into his lap to warm you up properly. “Can’t have my baby freezing on me.”

• He brags about you in the most casual, lover-boy way. Talking to anyone? “Yeah my partner is amazing, she put up with my clingy ass every day and still love me. I don’t deserve her.”

• Rainy days mean building a pillow fort in the living room, turning off all the lights, and spending hours talking about everything and nothing while he plays with your fingers.

• He calls you “bae” when he’s being playful, “princess” when he’s feeling soft, and “my love” when the feelings get too big for anything else and “wife” even though you’re not married yet he’s practicing.

• Whenever you achieve something, big or small, he celebrates like you won the lottery. Flowers, your favorite dessert, and the proudest hug while he repeats “That’s my baby. So fucking proud of you.”

• Morning person? Absolutely not. But he’s the clingiest when he’s half-asleep. He’ll hook an arm around your waist and drag you back into bed with a grumpy, “Five more minutes, my love."

• He keeps a little polaroid of you in his wallet. When he thinks you’re not looking, he’ll pull it out, smile like an idiot, and whisper “Lucky as fuck” to himself.

• After a long day, he loves when you let him rest his head in your lap. He’ll trace lazy circles on your thigh.

• Random “I love you”s hit you like trucks. You’ll be brushing your teeth and he’ll appear in the mirror behind you, wrap his arms around you, and go, “I’m so fucking in love with you it’s stupid.”

• Martin is dramatic as hell. If you tease him even a little, he’ll clutch his chest: “Wow. Betrayed. By my own girlfriend. In my own house. I’m filing for emotional damages.”

• He tries to cook for you sometimes and it usually ends in disaster. Smoke alarm goes off? He’s yelling “IT’S FINE, PRINCESS, THIS IS AMBIANCE” while frantically waving a towel at it.

• Inside jokes galore. He’ll randomly whisper “remember the incident” in public and both of you lose it while everyone else is confused.

• 2 a.m. conversations where he’s half on top of you, playing with your hair: “I can’t believe you chose me, man. I hit the jackpot.”

• He falls asleep fastest when you’re scratching his back or running your fingers through his hair. The second you stop he wakes up like “Hey… why’d you betray me like that?”

• Loves surprising you with little things. Random flowers, your favorite snacks restocked without you asking, or notes hidden around the house that say shit like “you make my dumbass heart do stupid flips, love you.”

•He wakes up first (barely) and just watches you sleep for a minute, then pulls you closer and presses lazy kisses all over your face until you giggle. “Five more minutes, my love. I’m not ready to share you with the world yet.”

• He’ll do the most ridiculous impressions or tell bad jokes just to hear you laugh. If you’re having a rough day he turns into a full comedian, complete with horrible dance moves, until you’re cracking up and calling him an idiot. Then he’ll scoop you up and say, “Yeah but I’m your idiot, princess.”

• Gets genuinely offended on your behalf. Someone was rude to you? He’s immediately in protective mode, muttering, “I’ll fuckin’ end them… but after I make you tea and cuddle the stress out of you, okay?”

• He’s the big spoon 90% of the time, arm locked around your waist, face buried in your hair. Sometimes he’ll whisper soft shit like “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m never letting you go, my love.”

• Date nights can be fancy or super lazy. He’s equally happy taking you out somewhere nice or building a pillow fort and watching trash reality TV while feeding you popcorn. Both end with him pulling you close and mumbling, “Best night ever. Love you so fuckin’ much.”

• Random love attacks. You’ll be scrolling on your phone and suddenly he’s peppering your face with kisses going “I just really fuckin’ love you, okay? Had to make sure you knew.”

• The softest “I love you”: When you’re both half-asleep, he’ll press a kiss to your temple and whisper it so gently it almost doesn’t sound like him. Then he’ll squeeze you tighter like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

• Soft moments hit hard when you least expect them. You’ll be reading or scrolling on your phone and suddenly feel him watching you. He cups your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, and whispers, “I’m so fucking gone for you, you know that?” before kissing you slow and sweet.

• Grocery shopping? His arm is slung around your shoulders the whole time. Movie theater? Hand on your thigh, playing with your fingers. If you’re out with friends he’s still glued to your side, occasionally leaning down to murmur dumb jokes or “you look so fucking cute right now” in your ear just to watch you blush.

• He loves when you lie on his chest. Runs his fingers through your hair and talks quietly about his day or random future plans that always include you. If you fall asleep first he stays awake a little longer just to watch you, occasionally muttering “I love you so damn much” under his breath.

• When you’ve had a long day, he pulls you into his lap, wraps you up completely, and just holds you. No talking needed unless you want it. He’ll press his lips to your temple and murmur, “I’ve got you, baby. Always.”

aaa this made my day!! 😭💕

PAIRING: idol!martin x staff!reader

SYNOPSIS: shy makeup artist y/n tries to stay professional while doing Martin’s makeup, but his gentle teasing and lingering touches make her blush nonstop.

a/n: lowkey wrote this bc i’m a massive sucker for shy girl x gentle idol energy like imagine being his makeup artist trying not to fold every time martin looks at you for too long…😳😳

You had been working as Martin’s personal makeup artist for three months now, and you still couldn’t look him in the eyes for more than five seconds without your cheeks burning.

It wasn’t your fault. Not really.  

Martin was… a lot. Kind, patient, unfairly handsome, and way too good at noticing everything about you.

“Morning, y/n,” he greeted softly as he sat down in the makeup chair, voice gentle like he knew you’d startle if he spoke too loudly. 

The rest of the team was bustling around the other members, but his station always felt quieter. More intimate.

“H-hey..,” you whispered, barely above a breath. You kept your gaze fixed on your makeup palette, fingers trembling slightly as you picked up the foundation sponge. “Um… same as usual today?”

He hummed in agreement, but you could feel his eyes on you through the mirror. Warm. Patient. Amused.

You started working in silence, dabbing gently under his eyes. The proximity was dangerous. You were close enough to smell his cologne, close enough to see the birthmark on his neck, close enough that every time he breathed you felt it.

“You’re really good at this,” Martin said after a minute, voice low so only you could hear. “I always look the best when you do my makeup.”

Your face instantly heated up. You ducked your head, pretending to search for a different brush. 

“T-thank you… It’s just my job.”

He smiled, that soft, crooked smile that made fans lose their minds. 

“It’s more than that. You’re always so careful. Like you actually care how I feel up there on stage.”

You bit your lip, heart hammering. Of course you cared. How could you not? Every time he performed, you watched from the side of the stage with your kit ready, secretly cheering him on while trying to remain professional.

As you leaned in to blend the product along his jawline, your fingers accidentally brushed his skin. You pulled back like you’d been burned.

“S-sorry!” you squeaked, mortified.

Martin caught your wrist gently before you could retreat fully. His touch was warm and careful, thumb brushing lightly over your pulse point.

“Hey… it’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to be so nervous around me. I don’t bite.”

Your cheeks were probably bright red now. You couldn’t even meet his eyes. 

“I-I know. It’s just… you’re Martin. And I’m just the staff. I shouldn’t… I mean, we shouldn’t…”

He didn’t let go of your wrist. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, trying to catch your gaze. 

“I like when you’re close like this. You’re the only one who makes the pre-stage jitters go away.”

You finally glanced up. His expression was so sincere, so soft, that your stomach did a little flip. The tension had been building for weeks, stolen glances in the van, him saving you the seat next to him during long rides, the way he always thanked you extra sweetly after shows.

“You’re doing it again,” he whispered, a hint of playful teasing in his voice. “Looking at me like that and then getting all shy.”

“I can’t help it,” you admitted in the tiniest voice, embarrassed but honest. “You’re… a lot to handle.”

Martin’s smile widened, but there was something deeper in his eyes now. Something like longing. 

“Good. Because I can’t stop thinking about you either. Every time you fix my hair or adjust my collar… I have to remind myself there are cameras everywhere.”

Your heart nearly stopped. You quickly looked around, but the other staff were occupied. Still, you lowered your voice to almost nothing. 

“Martin… we really shouldn’t talk like this. If someone hears—”

“I know,” he said, reluctantly letting go of your wrist. But before pulling away completely, he added, “But I like making you blush. It’s cute. You’re cute.”

You nearly dropped the brush.

The rest of the session passed in charged silence. Every small touch felt electric, your fingers grazing his temple, him subtly leaning into your hand when you powdered his nose. When you were finally done, he looked perfect, as always.

“Thank you, y/n,” he said as he stood up. Then, quieter, just for you: “You’ll be watching from the side again tonight, right?”

You nodded shyly, unable to hide your small smile. “Always.”

He gave you one last lingering look, full of unspoken promises and gentle affection, before heading out with the rest of the group.

Later, during the show, as Martin hit every mark perfectly on stage, you stood in the wings clutching your emergency kit. Right before the final chorus, his eyes found yours in the dark. He smiled, small, secret, just for you.

And even though you were supposed to stay professional, you smiled back, cheeks warm, heart racing.

The tension between shy staff and charming idol was far from over.

In fact, it was only getting started…….

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.