#coerblr

please DO NOT copy, repost, or claim as yours.

CREDITS: divider above from @/pixopix, any and all photos from pinterest (excluding the tomodachi martin)

maia’s note: im back !!! ok but first of all, i am not a tomodachi life larper, i’ve loved it since it was released on the ds and the photos of martin’s mii is from my actual game. anyways, i really love how this work ended up turning out not only bc of the concept of it but bc i’m genuinely just happy i finally finished a work. yes, this smau is not my finest… and there could’ve been more development… but nonetheless i like it and i hope you all enjoy reading it too ! reblogs and feedback are always appreciated !! 🩶

TAGLISTS: @bambisnc @mungbeancoups @starriniqhts @lusayyawnn @chrrific @winteringdream @w3willris3 @rickyshensgirlfriend @kaiyunsim @missingsarinha @lefttrashstrawberry @lovemashu

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.

a few hours ago you’d been walking one of the biggest shows of fashion week at only eighteen. the flash of cameras still stung your eyes and the makeup the stylists had spent hours perfecting was still half on your face.

martin swore up and down that he loved seeing you like how he did now though, cute pajama shorts that didn’t cover much, one of his oversized shirts, and hair pulled up.

"what?" you folded under his intense gaze and peculiar silence between the two of you.

"just saying," he said, kicking off his shoes, and shutting the door. "i think this is my favorite look of today.”

you laughed which only brought a stupid grin to his face. the room was comfortably quiet compared to the chaos of outside. it was finally just you guys for the first time all day with no paparazzi, no staff, no prying eyes everywhere.

"how'd you even get away?"

martin dropped onto the edge of the bed with a loud groan. "i told my manager i didn’t feel good."

your eyes widened, this idol shit was crazy strict, something you’ve definitely picked up on over time.

"you lied?"

“i would call it,” martin paused, scratching his head, “a little white lie.”

"you’re telling me you skipped the saint laurent after party?” you hurriedly said in complete horror, who in their right mind would want to miss something like that?

"i did." he shrugged.

"martin."

you shook your head, trying not to smile. you both hadn’t gotten a single second together all day, there was only secret longing glances shared.

it was hard, especially when all you wanted to do was tell him all about the show and he wanted to tell you that you looked breathtaking in response.

at least now you finally could as you sat beside him causing the mattress to dip a little.

"if your manager finds out—"

“trust me, i’d rather be here,” martin cut you off immediately, taking your hand into his own. “i’m sure james is having a blast at the party anyway.”

you laughed like always.

"god, you're terrible!”

"i know."

the silence was nice . . . the city lights shone through the big hotel window as traffic sounds echoed in the distance. paris looked beautiful at two in the morning.

but martin wasn't looking outside, he was looking at you, something he always seemed to do. for a model like yourself, you’d gotten used to people staring at you from every angle, but with him it always felt different.

"stop,” you huffed in annoyance, covering your flushed face with two hands.

"stop what, baby?"

"all the staring."

a smile tugged at his mouth. "you know i can't."

you rolled your eyes and felt his hand find yours once again.

"you were incredible today."

“thank you.” you looked down cheekily. “i know.”

“oh, do you now?” he tilted his head teasingly.

you looked back up and martin was already looking at you again. your bottom lip slid in between your teeth at the sight of his hooded eyes.

a second later your lips were on his, catching him by surprise as he didn’t reciprocate for a beat. your hands tangled in his disheveled hair before you pulled back.

your attempt to wipe the smug look off his face ultimately didn’t work very well since he was only smiling even more now.

“you’re impossible.”

his laugh filled the room, making you laugh too. neither of you cared about the cameras or staff anymore. you were just happy to be together at two in the morning in the middle of paris.

his voice came out muffled against your shoulder. you felt his grip tighten slightly when you shifted.

your fingers automatically slipped into his hair, brushing lightly through the strands near the nape of his neck. the reaction was immediate. his shoulders loosened beneath your touch, tension melting just a little.

you smiled faintly. “what happened?”

“nothing.”

“seonghyeon.”

he sighed dramatically against you before finally lifting his head enough to look at you. his expression was somewhere between irritated and exhausted, brows pulled together slightly while his lips pressed into a quiet pout.

honestly, he looked more sulky than angry.

“practice was annoying,” he muttered. “everyone kept messing around and we had to redo the same part like fifty times.”

“mhm.”

“then manager hyung got mad because we were behind schedu—”

his words cut off abruptly.

your fingers had scratched lightly against the back of his neck without thinking, and the reaction was immediate. his eyes fluttered shut briefly before a quiet breath left him.

silence.

you stared at him for a second. “…you good?”

seonghyeon frowned like he was annoyed you’d noticed.

“…anyway,” he muttered quietly. “my in-ears stopped working.”

you winced sympathetically. “that’s actually terrible.”

“exactly.”

he looked genuinely offended by the entire situation. a quiet laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

immediately, his eyes narrowed further. “don’t laugh.”

“i’m not laughing.”

“you literally are.”

despite the accusation, he shifted even closer. one of his hands slid beneath your hoodie absentmindedly, resting warm against your waist like he needed physical confirmation you were still there.

you tried leaning away slightly to grab your drink from the table.

instantly, his arm tightened.

“where are you going?”

you blinked. “…three inches away from you.”

“…don’t.”

there was something almost childish about the way he said it. quiet. stubborn.

your lips twitched upward. “you’re clingy when you’re mad.”

“i’m not mad.”

“you’re literally attached to me right now.”

“maybe i want to be.”

his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth right afterward.

then lingered.

and suddenly he looked significantly less interested in defending himself.

you turned your head fully toward him then, finally catching the faint pout still sitting on his face. the irritation in his expression had already softened around the edges, worn down slowly by your fingers moving through his hair.

and suddenly, the earlier annoyance didn’t seem very important anymore.

not when your fingers were still moving through his hair like that.

the way his expression eased whenever you touched him. the way his grip kept tightening every time you moved even slightly away. like all the frustration from earlier had nowhere to go except here.

to you.

your hand slid gently down to the back of his neck. “baby,” you murmured softly.

his eyes fluttered for the briefest second at the name alone.

yeah. definitely one of those moods.

“come here,” you said quietly.

he didn’t hesitate.

his hand came up immediately, fingers brushing along your jaw before settling against your chin. gentle. careful. he tilted your face toward him slightly until your eyes met his fully.

“stay here,” he murmured.

the irritation in his voice from earlier was completely gone now. all that remained was exhaustion and something softer underneath it.

your stomach flipped a little despite yourself.

“i wasn’t planning on leaving,” you whispered.

“good.”

his thumb brushed slowly along your jaw once. twice. his eyes stayed fixed on yours the entire time, heavy-lidded and quiet in that way that always made your chest feel tight.

you hated how pretty he got when he was sulking.

“you know what your problem is?” you murmured.

his brows lifted slightly. “what?”

“you get clingy instead of angry.”

a tiny frown appeared immediately. “that’s not a problem.”

“for you maybe.”

“mhm.”

he moved to rest his forehead against yours. and for a long moment that’s how you stayed.

close enough that you could feel every slow breath he exhaled against your lips. close enough that his hand still curled loosely around your jaw, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin like he didn’t even realize he was doing it anymore.

“you make it hard to stay annoyed,” he murmured quietly.

something warm twisted painfully in your chest.

“that’s kind of the point,” you whispered back.

the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, like he wanted to say something else.

then apparently decided kissing you was easier.

so he kissed you.

slowly.

not rushed or desperate. just tired and lingering and warm in a way that made your stomach ache a little. his hand slid properly against your cheek as he tilted his head, kissing you like he needed a minute to forget about everything else first.

you felt the tension leave him piece by piece.

especially when your fingers slipped back into his hair.

a quiet sound escaped him instantly. barely there. more breath than noise.

your lips curved against his. “better?”

“mhm.”

“you still look pouty.”

“do not.”

you laughed softly.

and apparently even that was enough to distract him completely because his eyes immediately dropped back to your mouth.

“…come here.”

your lips twitched. “you were literally in the middle of complaini—”

he kissed you before you could finish.

longer this time.

his arm around your waist tightened until you were practically halfway in his lap without realizing it. the earlier frustration lingering in his expression had melted completely now, replaced by something softer. needier.

every time you pulled back even slightly, he followed immediately.

one more kiss.

then another.

like he couldn’t quite let the moment end.

“seonghyeon,” you laughed quietly against his mouth. “you’re actually using me as stress relief.”

“mhm.”

not even denying it.

his lips brushed yours again, softer this time, and the warmth of it spread straight through your chest. he kissed like he was slowly getting sleepy from it. lazy and clingy and completely unconcerned with anything except keeping you close.

your hand scratched lightly at the back of his neck.

he practically melted.

his shoulders dropped fully for the first time since he got home, a quiet sigh leaving him against your lips before he buried his face briefly against your jaw.

“see?” you murmured, smiling a little. “you’re basically a giant cat.”

he frowned immediately against your skin. “don’t ruin this for me.”

you laughed again, and he kissed you just to shut you up.

it worked embarrassingly well.

his hand slid from your jaw into your hair, fingers careful as he tilted your head back slightly for another kiss. slower. deeper. not messy or rushed, just enough to make your thoughts blur pleasantly at the edges.

and honestly?

it was unfair how affectionate he got after bad days.

because somewhere between the soft kisses and the way he kept pulling you impossibly closer, all the earlier irritation had disappeared entirely.

replaced by this quiet, clingy affection that always seemed reserved just for you.

eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at you properly.

his lips were slightly pink now. hair messy beneath your fingers. expression soft in a way he only ever let himself be around you.

then quietly—

“okay, i’m over it now.”

you blinked at him once before laughing. “that’s all it took?”

“mhm.” his thumb brushed lazily across your cheek. “needed kisses.”

©young2keu, 2026

keu is typing...

i should probably write smth for james n martin soon... but i'm having tm fun doing kono n sean drabbles... u cant make me stop yet... n anon said they wanted more. so its okay.

“God what’s she doing here again with that shitty digicam..” One of the guys complain and everyone in the group groans. You’re always here when they want to skate taking pictures of shit. Never them of course, but you stay for like thirty minutes, that’s thirty minutes too long!

“Dude she’s a total creepazoid. Like, she literally stays here and makes us uncomfortable! Like I can’t even do a dive when she’s staring at me all weird!”

“She’s a bitch too, she never lets me cheat off her during tests. Like what the fuck, I’m trying to pass too!” The other guy adds in.

“Shut up, she just has a hobby. She’s not harming us.” The other shoots back, making the guys all roll their eyes.

“Well then James, talk to her, tell her to get off our turf.” The taller guy says, challenging him.

“Fine. But if she doesn’t listen, don't say I didn’t try.” James gets up and starts walking towards you, stopping abruptly in his tracks. “And you owe me chips from the vending machine at school dipshit.”

The taller guy sticks out his tongue and James continues walking towards you. You have your back to him and he clears his throat rather loudly, startling you. “Uhm, me and my friends wanna skate and you’re kinda ruining the vibe.”

You frown. “Get over it, I’m just taking pictures.”

He rolls his eyes. “There’s gotta be more interesting places to take your digicam than here. Plus, it’s creepy how you’re always here when we come, it’s like you’re stalking us.”

“I have much better things to do than stalk.” You deadpan. “And no, this boring town truly has nothing on the view this public skatepark has to offer.” You say, emphasizing ‘public.’

“Well can you just leave? We just wanna skate without you lurking around. You can come back when we’re done.”

“I’m not taking orders from a twenty year old.” You snap and he looks rather offended at this statement. “Sorry? Are you eighty or something? The fuck does my age have to do with me telling you to get lost?”

“It means that I’m not taking your shit. Now leave me alone.” You say finally.

He scoffs and walks back to his friends. Once he reaches them he throws his hands up. “See, told you she wouldn’t listen!”

“Dude. You aren’t assertive enough, watch how the real pro does it.” The one guy speaks.

He gets up and walks over to you and you huff, here they go again. “Hey weirdo, get the hell out of here, we’re trying to skate.”

“I’m not hurting anyone.” You weakly argue.

“You’re hurting our vibe.”

You groan. “What vibe? You guys just sit there for like forty-five minutes and talk. You guys don’t even skate some days.”

“Damn, you’re a bitch to me in college and out of it too.” He says, shaking his head. “Just leave bro, nobody wants you here.”

You look down at the ground as tears well up in your eyes. “Fine. I’ll go.” You walk out of the skatepark as fast as you can after being totally humiliated not once, but twice. You’re crying to yourself because once again, nobody wants you somewhere, as always.

A week later, the new semester at college started. So that means new classes and new faces. You notice James is in your Biology Basics class but he’s sat across the room, which means you probably won’t have to talk to him anyways.

“Okay everybody. Now, I had you sitting random for the first few days but I’d like to change that. I want to pair groups that I think would work best together. I’ve been observing you all over the week and I found a seating chart I think will benefit you all. Firstly, you.” He points at you and points towards the back table. “Across from Mr. James.”

“Oh my god.” You mutter to yourself as you get off of the barstool and trudge towards the table where James sits. You don’t even spare a glance at him as you plop down and look towards your right, back at the front of the classroom.

He’s not offended by this, he knows how he’s perceived by you, and frankly, he doesn’t care all that much. All he cares about is passing this stupid fucking class, getting past his basics, and going to a better college far far away from here. By this time next fall, he should have a ticket out of here. Will he miss his friends? Sure, but James has never been someone who has had trouble making friends, he’ll survive.

So when the Professor pairs you two together for a lab, he’s pissed. He’s pissed because he’s not playing checkers with you this entire semester, each of you trying to get at one another, fuck that. This is his ultimate test to himself this semester, make you his friend.

You don’t give him so much as a glance when you grab the dropper from the tray and begin filling it with seven drops of saline. “What’re you doing?” He asks in an annoying tone.

“The lab.” You answer simply.

“Yeah but it says six drops of saline, you did seven.”

You look back at your instructions, and shit, he’s right.

You huff. “Sorry. I can’t read, I guess.”

This statement makes him laugh. “It’s okay. It’s just saline, not like it’s acid or something.” You frown at his attempt to make you feel better, similar to the frown you gave him when he confronted you at the skate park. “I can’t make mistakes like this. This class is part of my future.”

“Well, what future is that?” He queries.

“To get the hell out of here.”

James stops for a second. You seem like a homebody, he would’ve never guessed you wanted out like him.

He nods. “I do too. I want to get out of here and go to a better college, make money, and have a better life.”

“What’s a better life entail?”

“Like maybe a house or a nice apartment, a wife, friends, to be happy. What about you? What’s a better life?”

“I just want to be me and belong somewhere.” You admit, not daring to look up from your paper. He hums. “That too.”

James and you don’t get partnered up much after that, not because you guys were bad together, just because your professor is indifferent to letting people get used to each other. You don’t see or hear much of James until you're at an off campus party with ‘friends’ a month later. He’s standing with the jerk that told you nobody wanted you at the skatepark and when he sees you, he does a double take.

You pay him no mind and continue on with your group, acting in the way you feel you should act so they include you. You’ve gotten good at that, feeling people out, being able to tell them what they want to hear.

When you’ve had entirely too much to drink, you find yourself not being able to find your friends. Hm, weird. You walk drunkenly around the party and don’t spot them, when you realize they probably abandoned you, you start to cry. You walk with blurry vision to the bathroom and someone comes out just as you reach for the doorknob, making you jump back.

“Hey you were my lab partner back during the beginning of the semester!” He says enthusiastically, then realizing you have tears running down your face. “You alright?” He asks now, worried.

“My friends, they left me here and I don’t know how to get home and I’m so drunk and-.” You feel a hand on your shoulder and it snaps you right out of your drunken crying rambling. “It’s okay, I’ll take you home.” He smiles comfortingly.

You nod, wiping the tears from your face and following him through the hallway, once out, he grabs your hand and guides you through the wave of people. You guys get to his car finally and you cautiously get in, having never been in a car with a guy before you really didn’t know what to expect.

You get comfy in the passenger seat and immediately start to shiver, it’s so cold out and you didn’t think you’d need a jacket but jesus it’s frigid in James’s car. He looks over and notices you trying not to shake uncontrollably and immediately reaches into his backseat, bringing a jacket along with him. He hands it to you without a word.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine.” You hurriedly say.

“You’re shaking the whole car, just put it on, I don’t mind.” He responds.

Nodding, you put it on as he pulls away and heads to your apartment, with directions from you of course. It’s not that far of a drive, only fifteen minutes but you still offer to give him gas money to which he says ‘don’t worry about it.’

“Do you have to drive a lot of drunk girls home?”

“No.” He laughs. “Just Martin, I don’t even know why he insists on driving to these places knowing he can’t drive his ass back to our apartment. We always have to pick his car up a day later when he’s finally conscious.”

You bite your lip, nervous to bring this up. “Was that the guy who told me to get lost at the skatepark the one day?”

“No, that was Keonho. He’s not as mean as he seems, just tries to act tough I guess.”

“Oh.” You say. “Well I still don’t like him.”

James smiles. “That’s okay.”

“And I didn’t like you either till we were paired up.” You admit.

“What changed your mind?”

“I dunno, you were different from the James I talked to at the skatepark. I guess I didn’t expect it. You pleasantly surprised me.”

He hums and continues driving down your road, stopping at your apartment. You get out and thank him and he does that award winning smile that almost makes your heart stop. You’re still so drunk that you forget you still have his jacket on and when you do realize, you mentally berate yourself. You’ll give it to him tomorrow in class, no big deal.

-

Tomorrow comes and you’re hardly awake as you drive to the college. You feel half dead but you did remember his jacket thank god. You see him in the back corner and you wordlessly hand him his jacket to which he wordlessly pushes it back towards you. Your eyebrows stitch together. “Don’t you want this back?”

He shakes his head. “Keep it, looks better on you anyways.” Now that makes your heart stop, the casual compliment totally makes you land on your ass. “Oh. Thanks!” You say a little too enthusiastically.

“Hey there’s another party at my friend Niki’s apartment this weekend. It’s lowkey. If you wanna come, I can take you with me.”

“Uhm, sure. If you want to.”

“Of course I want to, we’re friends.” He states simply and you smile to yourself. Maybe you can make friends after all.

-

You try not to dress too nice for this party, don’t want to come off as trying too hard or anything. You want to look nice though, don’t want James to be embarrassed. You may or may not have formed a tiny little crush on James, but nothing major. You told yourself after the last one that you’d never do that again and you’re sticking to it. Although, there’s nothing harmful in having a crush. He wouldn’t like you back anyways, you’re safe.

James picks you up and you guys talk casually during the car ride. It turns out Niki’s place isn’t far from yours, which is good for the butterflies in your stomach begging to get out from James being in such close proximity. You’re not sure if downplaying this crush is working anymore but that’s a problem for another day.

When you guys get there you’re met with many warm smiles and waves. There’s a couple of girls there which is good you think, you won’t be the odd one out. As the night passes by, James excuses himself to get a drink and you feel a sudden pit in your stomach. Uh oh, now you’re alone with people you hardly know. And something feels wrong, your anxiety peaks suddenly.

When you look back at the kitchen later, you see James and a girl from earlier talking, and she’s rather close to him, and she’s whispering in his ear, and he’s smiling, and-. “I’m going to go outside and get some air, be right back.” You feign a smile and tell the other girl, she nods and you sneak out the door running down the hallway and into the night.

You hate to start crying but you just can’t help it. Yes, this crush is bigger than you originally had thought, and seeing him with someone else kills you, but you can’t blame him. He doesn’t know about this at all, he doesn’t know you feel like he’s been clawing at the inside of your heart, he can’t know that. You haven’t had much to drink but you feel like throwing up, the fact he’s still up there with her makes you sick.

You sit on the stairs of the apartment building and rest your head on your knees, hugging them closely to yourself. You sit there for a while, and then hear the door open.

“Oh thank god.” James says in relief from behind you. “I thought you left me.”

You don’t say anything, just you looking forward, not a peep out of you. “Hey, you okay?” He asks as he sits next to you. You slowly nod yes and he sighs. “Look at me.” You do, and he sees tear streaks that have made their way down your face. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath in. “Just sad. Sorry, I probably ruined the vibe.”

“You haven’t ruined anything, but I am worried about you.” He quietly speaks. “Don’t want you to feel like you don’t belong, because you do.”

This statement makes you start to cry all over again. All you’ve wanted was for someone to say that for you, and here you are, finally being told that and you can’t even say thank you because you’re too busy crying.

He tugs you towards him so that your head lays on his shoulder and you feel at ease immediately. Doesn’t stop the tears from falling still though. He hooks his finger under your chin, pulling your face towards him and he kisses you. Plain and simple kiss, but it makes you freeze. He goes back, kisses you again but deeper this time and it takes you a second to realize what’s even happening. When you do, you melt against him, kissing him back.

He pulls away, licking his lips and grinning. “Should I take you home?”

You nod and he leads you to the car with his hand on the small of your back, opening the car door for you and you hop in. He gets in and says a quick ‘c’mere’ and he kisses you again, making your knees clamp together in desperation for him. You want him, but you don’t know if he wants you like that. You wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t, you don’t know what you're really doing anyways.

When he gets to your apartment, you casually invite him in and he accepts. Once in the elevator he grabs you gently and smashes his lips onto yours, you feel him against you and his bulge is practically breaking out of his pants. Guess your questions answered.

The elevator dings and he gives you one last kiss before exiting the elevator with you, letting you guide him to where your apartment is. You enter your apartment and he’s in awe. It’s decorated all nice and homey, he wishes his shared apartment was half as decorated as yours was.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he leans forward, giving you a slow kiss that you think will linger on your lips for months. He rests his head against yours, putting his hands on your hips and steering you backwards. The back of your knees reach the couch and you fall back on it, him following shortly after. You guys make out for a really long time while feeling each other up. He’s obsessed with squeezing your boobs, they feel so good in his hands.

What you’re obsessed with is running your hands up and down his abs and you think that he’s literally Adonis himself. Now way is a man this physically perfect, makes you feel embarrassed about how you look.

He starts to kiss the corners of your mouth and migrates down to your neck, leaving love bites everywhere. “Can we move this to my bed?” You ask breathlessly.

He hums and helps you up off the couch. He follows you closely as you go to the bedroom but not without some fun, of course. As you walk you take off your shirt, still having your back towards him, and then your bra. You throw it back at him and he catches it and holds it like it’s a grand prize.

You open your bedroom door and face him and his eyes immediately go down to your tits. He swiftly comes towards you and kisses your neck some more while he kneads your boobs in his hands. You walk backwards to your bed, switching him around and pushing him onto it. You pull your pants off and he takes this as his cue to get down to his underwear too, once you both do, you just stare at each other.

“So perfect, wow.” He says in astonishment as he reaches towards you and pulls you onto him. This man is obsessed with kissing you, like he can’t get enough, ever. He kisses you long and slow, then whispering against your mouth, “ride my face.”

Your eyes widen. “Really? But what if I hurt you?”

“You won’t.”

You tremble as you take off your panties and hover yourself on top of him, he grabs your ass and squeezes it once, letting you know he’s ready. You lower yourself just enough to where you feel like you won’t suffocate him and he goes to town.

His tongue greedily explores you, cleaning you of your arousal until all that’s left is his own saliva. You cry out when he tugs you down even further and sucks on your clit, rocking his head back and forth as he teases you. You start to grind yourself against his face and nearly topple over when his nose hits your sensitive spot over and over. It’s not even two minutes and you’re moaning his name as you come all over his tongue, to which he licks up happily of course.

He gives your pussy a final kiss and you weakly get off of him, falling back onto the bed. You hear him slip something off and you sit up to see him on his knees stroking himself. You crawl towards him and flash those pretty eyes at him and he knows what you want. You replace his hand with yours and stroke him lazily as you swirl your tongue around the tip of his dick. You take the head in your mouth and suck on it as if it were a lollipop, popping it out of your mouth, teasing him in return for earlier. He watches as a spit string connects from him to your mouth and nearly nuts right then and there. He’s still so pussy drunk he can hardly see straight.

When you take him fully into your mouth and start bobbing your head up and down his shaft, he thinks he sees stars. He grabs onto the hair at the back of your head for support as you run your tongue on the bottom of his cock, the warmth mixed with that is nearly killing him.

He’s so so close but he can’t cum in your mouth, he just can’t. He says a quick ‘off,’ and you give him a parting kiss on his tip after you pop him out of your mouth. He pushes you down and onto your back as he makes himself at home between your legs. He holds himself above you, admiring your face. “So so pretty. Thought that ever since the skatepark.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I did, minus the digicam.” He jokes.

You giggle. “Ha ha very funny.”

“I try.”

He looks between you two and at his raging boner and knows that if he’s not inside you soon he’s going to go insane. He rocks himself against you. “Let me know if at any point this is too much.” You nod quickly and he guides his tip to your entrance, circling himself around it a few times. He inserts the tip in and you whimper a little at the sharp zolts of pain you feel and he quickly stops.

“We don’t have to do this.” He reassures you as he brushes your face with the back of his fingers.

You shake your head. “No no, I want to. I want it really bad.”

He says a quick ‘okay,’ and inches in little by little, watching your face as he does so. When he does bottom out he stays like that until you’re fully relaxed around him because he’s not going until he knows you’ll feel good from this too. He tests the waters by doing a few shallow thrusts and you whimper some more, “feels good, just so big.”

You adjust yourself a little more and give him the go ahead and he gives a few more test thrusts, the feeling has you gripping his arms for support. “You okay if I go a little faster?”

You smile. “Mhm.”

He kisses you one more time and starts to fuck you nice and slow. He’s taking his time because he’s used to good things not lasting for him. Soon though, the desperation kicks in and he finds himself plowing into you, hard. You can’t help but throw your head back and moan his name like a chant over and over again. You’ll moan his name until the entire apartment complex memorizes it for all you care.

His cock ruthlessly pounds into you, hitting you so deep you feel like blacking out. He’s groaning in your ear as his hips smack into you repeatedly, making a skin slapping noise that echoes throughout your apartment. “I’m so close.” You whine.

He speeds up, fucking you harder, making you cry out as you let go all over him. A creamy ring forms around the base of his cock as he continues on until his climax hits him like a train. He paints your insides with his cum, continuing on lazily pumping himself until the mix of each others release makes noises that reverberate in your bedroom. He’s spent, hardly holding himself up as he pants into your ear, kissing your cheek as a final touch.

He lays next to you and you can’t help but let your thoughts get to you. “So, are we casual?"

It’s quiet for a minute, you not daring to say anything. “I don’t want to be casual, no.” He finally says.

“Then, what do we do now?” You ask.

“I think we have to do all that lovey dovey couple shit… I wouldn’t mind though if it was with you.”

You laugh. “Thanks, I wouldn’t either if it was with you.”

“Maybe tomorrow I can take you to the skatepark, teach you how to skate a little, nobody will be there, just us.”

“Okay.” You agree.

He wraps his arm around you and pulls you towards him, cuddling you as if you’re the only thing in the world. You don’t mind this, matter of fact you fall asleep so good you don’t wake up till one the next day. He’s still there, cuddling you, soft breaths coming from his mouth.