zar

EIGHTEEN

[fa2hion]

　. ﾟ .　 ݁ ⠀ε(♡ᵔ ˕ ' ᨳິ✧✚  ﹡    ֗  ۪ . * ✩

[getokive]

STREAMER .ᐟ MEGUMI

So private, nobody knows what Megumi's girlfriend looks like. Alternatively: You're currently watching a 10-minute video compilation of Megumi being a simp on live.

⤷ II: MEGUMI: IS ONLINE ┈ 17+ CW ⋮ ⌗ ┆ fluff ⸝⸝  crack-ish ⸝⸝  really short pwp ⸝⸝  aged up ! megumi

Megumi enjoys all kinds of games but found RPGs the most interesting to play. What kickstarted his streaming was Yuji, who practically begged him to join his Call of Duty stream.

Everyone who tuned in thought Megumi was insane at landing clean headshots, then immediately urged him to start streaming on his own. He only gave in when you told him it wasn’t such a bad idea, and the rest is history.

In nearly every stream he was on, his viewers would always catch glimpses of you. The underrated perk of having a boyfriend who streams? The fans who edit his livestream clips:

megumi being a simp 01:10 ─●──────── -08:50

Megumi’s viewers were just as attentive as he was.

They noticed how Megumi visibly perked up the moment you entered his gaming room. They heard the tiny squeals you tried to suppress. It's almost always inaudible, but unmistakable.

“You got this,” you whisper, and Megumi smiles instantly.

Chat explodes.

[m__ki] yo stop simping you're about to die HELLO

[p4nda] save the couple content for later pls end itadori first

[salmonroe] jealousy is a disease and i have it

“What the hell?” Yuji laughs, “your whole contribution tonight is just smiling?”

Megumi scrunches his nose as he chuckles, right as he kills Yuji on his own stream.

Yuji holds his head on his hands and yells, “BRO—”

“That’s on you,” Megumi sighs, leaning back. “Getting on my nerves is a personal choice.”

Yuji inhales sharply as he reads the chat. “Itadori's sleep deprived and bitchless – Fuck you?" He continues to scroll through the chats and finds a message that makes him grin, “Megumi, someone’s asking when the girlfriend reveal is.”

Megumi blinks. “Huh? Why would I— this isn’t even that kind of channel.”

The chat immediately spirals, urging Megumi they would love to see what his mystery girlfriend looks like.

"Yuji, don't you need to sleep?" Megumi

"But I–"

"Sleep?"

"Okay, okay." Yuji's already doubled over laughing. “Before we end, Megumi, do you have something heartfelt to say to the viewers?”

Megumi nods with a playful smirk. “Not really.”

megumi being a simp 02:37 ──●────── -07:23

Every so often, new subscribers would ask if he was single. Megumi always answered with that same shy smile and a short nod, the kind that already felt like an answer.

Just like now, in the middle of playing Elden Ring, another batch of new subscribers ask him the same question again.

[itadorislut] just one chance megumi

He doesn’t look away from the screen when he replies, “No. I have a very affectionate and caring girlfriend.”

Megumi stay silent for half a second before reading a new chat.

[today_is_todo] tf u gatekeeping your gf for?

Megumi chuckles. “I'm the jealous type.”

megumi being a simp 03:21 ───●────── -06:39

Lowkey, but never a secret.

Megumi never imagined his streaming career would take off the way it did. What grounded him, even with the sudden success, was knowing how to keep his personal life private.

Still, sometimes his fondness slips through.

Megumi usually plays loud, high-energy music to stay focused, but today’s stream is different. Cherry Wine plays softly in the background and chat notices immediately.

[bbmai] interesting song choice

“Oh,” Megumi says casually. “It’s my girlfriend's playlist.”

[bbmai] feels personal

He smiles to himself. “I like it, though.”

He hums under his breath while playing.

A moment later, the faint sound of the door shuffling makes him glance sideways. His lips curve instinctively as he reaches for mute. Megumi looks softer when he turns back to you.

“Hey, you said you didn’t like this song,” you whisper with an amused smile.

“I never said that,” he shrugs. “I just didn’t get it the first play.”

“And now?”

“I get it.”

You grin. “Wow. He's a playlist connoisseur overnight.”

He laughs softly. “Please don’t let chat hear that.”

You cup his face and squish his cheeks playfully. In response, he grabs your wrists gently, pressing quick kisses to your knuckles like it’s instinct. You fix his hair, nod reassuringly, then quietly slip out of the frame.

On-screen, the stream stays muted with barely any context, but chat goes feral anyway.

[mmmiwa] WHY DID HE SMILE LIKE THAT

[today_is_todo] this is emotional edging

[mxchmaroo] bro hit mute like it was muscle memory

[dastrongest] that man is IN LOVE your honor

“Okay, relax,” he mutters. When Megumi unmutes and refocuses, the chat is still screaming. “Huh?”

He glances at his other screen to find that his game's ended.

“Shit. I just died.”

megumi being a simp 04:05 ──────●─── -05:55

“Fuck,” he mutters, exhaling sharply as he blows the stray hairs out of his face.

He’s already thinking of ending the stream, except he’s only been live for an hour, when he usually goes for five.

What’s more off is his unusual silence. Megumi’s naturally reserved, but he usually tries to talk a little just to push himself. Today, though? Nothing’s landing, and probably the worst gameplay of his life.

[p4nda] nah megumi's NOT locked in today

[y-okkotsu] shut up let him cook

“We're cooked,” Yuji groans into his mic.

“I told you we should’ve joined with Nobara!” Megumi snaps with brows furrowed. “This stupid game suc—”

He cuts himself off mid-sentence the moment you peek in and press a finger to your lips. He tilts his head toward the door, and gives you an apologetic look.

“Sorry, love,” he softly says instantly with guilt flickering across his face.

You step in quietly, trying not to get picked up by the mic, but the LED lights betray you. Your shadow flashes across the wall, and it was too late for you notice it too.

You give up eventually, and proceed to walk behind him to tie his hair.

[kirarare] i just opened the stream why am i blushing and kicking my feet likeee

[heatkari] this is the kind of content that makes men shave their heads

And once again, chat loses its mind, not just because you’re there (well, that too), but because you’re wearing that white hoodie. The one Megumi wore on stream before. The sold-out one.

Megumi doesn’t even look away from the screen, so focused he lets you tie his hair into a neat little apple without question.

“There,” you whisper. “All done.”

“Woah, I needed that,” he grins, boyish. He ducks behind cover, glances back at you. “Thanks, love.”

He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck with a satisfied groan.

“Alright,” he snickers, competitiveness snapping back into place. “Time to annihilate these fuckers.”

[nkamo] suddenly considering growing my hair out again

[nkamo] nvm who am i kidding nobody’s tying mine

[itadorislut] oh he’s back BACK

“Chat, should I get a haircut?”

“Hey!” you clutch your chest dramatically. “Why would you do something so offensive to me?”

He chuckles at your over exaggeration, and does the chat.

[ozawasan] someone hide the scissors from him

[junpyosh] i agree with her even if she’s dramatic

Megumi reads the chat, amused. “They’re telling me to stay away from scissors.”

You grin. “See? Even chat’s on my side.”

You step out of frame, but his eyes follow you instinctively.

[rikascurse] DID YOU SEE THAT LOOK OML

[rikascurse] CUT THE CAMERA'S DEADASS

“Megumi, focus!” Yuji yells. “Stop oggling at—”

“Watch your mouth.” Megumi cuts in fast.

“Oh— uh— your girlfriend!” Yuji recovers.

You giggle softly before closing the door.

Megumi is smiling like an idiot now, landing headshot after headshot, and climbing ranks effortlessly. All because you tied his hair back so he could see better.

As soon as the video ends, Megumi snorts. "It was that obvious, huh?"

"What? It's cute," you tilt your head and smile at him. "You're cute."

Megumi smiles to himself and plants a soft kiss at the top of your head. "I'm actually surprised that didn't make it to the edit."

You furrow your brows. "What didn't?"

"The livestream?" He says with an arched brow. "From last year?"

"Oh. That stream."

⏸ DELETED CLIP — YUJI'S LIVESTREAM

Yuji’s stream is chaotic as usual with him yelling at chat, chat yelling back, and his gameplay hanging on by a thread. On the other hand, Megumi’s window sits in the corner of the screen. All black, no cam or audio.

[junpyosh] where's megumi?

[mxchmaroo] he said bathroom break bro

[heatkari] nah but why is it taking THIS long

Yuji reads the chat and says, "Probably shitting himself to death."

Chat laughs it off.

For some odd reason, Megumi's window flickers, but Yuji doesn’t notice at first because he’s too busy reading chat.

[p4nda] AYO

[p4nda] MEGUMI'S GLITCHING

Before anyone can process it, Megumi’s feed snaps back online.

The room comes into view at a bad and slightly tilted angle. Only his empty chair is on camera, but the whole chat can hear the static mic crackling, chopped up heavy breathing, and mumbling in the background.

“— squirt for me —"

The audio dips, then spikes again.

“…I’m—”

The feed stutters, pixels freezing for half a second before the sound punches back in.

“Cum—”

Chat is no longer typing, they are smashing their keyboards.

[y-okkotsu] ???????????????

[kirarare] WHY IS HE BACK

[m__ki] THIS FEELS ILLEGAL

[dastrongest] PAUSE– DID HE SAY SQUIRT

At that very moment, Yuji’s soul exits his body.

His eyes widen in shock and goes completely still. He's so shocked that he immediately ends the stream without any warning.

wia says: Ws in the chat for Megumi and his secret girlfriend! [/EDIT: just cascading the theme for this series lol]

© getokive. ┈ masterlist

[kaikaikoi]

IDIOT OFF COURT! PREV | NEXT

otherwise more popularly known as “RAPPERS AINT SHI, MIGHT FW A BALLER”

( 011. ) ˖ ࣪ 𐙚 ⁺ KIM JUHOON × FEM!READER ˖ ࣪ 🍰·. ˖ ࣪. jju......I missed you.... ( fluff & humor ) jjuyn moments, friend group moments, juhoon unwrapping his gifts 🎁

( pre chap notes. ) references in this chap : the gift chapter + shoe bonus

(💭) 🎤🎤 good evening everybody....hows everybody doing....js wanna ask you a question umm have you have you have you ,,,,, been in luv,,, before? #elite it's been a while while whiiiile huh... sorry for the huge break I've been out of town 😭 just enjoying the school break as of the moment but I'm trying to upload as I can 😿 I can't promise when the next upload will be however ,,, I am writing!!! so it will be when my life stabilizes a little 🫪 but I hope y'all are having a great time and just know I'm here writing as silently as I can ^•^ luv y'all sm 💞

[tojitulip]

you drew them and for some odd reason they don’t like it 🧐

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a/n: A JJK SMAU???? if you liked it, let me know and i can make them from time to time 🙂‍↕️ i could also make a master list for it if i were to continue ! thank you to my mom who made choso and higuruma, and my sister who made gojo and sukuna😭 thank you for reading, i love you (. .*)β

[juliaspizzeria]

accidental pics ! pt. 2 !

; synopsis . . . this time, you accidentally send nudes to the jjk characters! oops... pt. 1

; warnings . . . talks of nudity (duh), language, suggestive

; featuring . . . satoru gojo. suguru geto. kento nanami. choso kamo. toji fushiguro. takuma ino. shoko ieiri.

— a/n ; ehehhe hi guys im so weak for them

[kaiiswrld]

texts w your brothers teacher suguru geto who’s also your fwb

minors dni

[tojitulip]

we got a dog! wait wdym it’s ugly?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

a/n: i couldn’t help myself and snuck in me and my sisters dogs 😭 ours are margo, taro and tsukki all other photos found on pinterest 🙂‍↕️ thank you for reading, i love you (. .*)β

[itsredxctedstan]

stealing my ending by @ptolemaeiia ( [NSFW 🔞] 19k, video game au, game character!james)

in the mood for love? by @teacuplps (4k, romeo!james x juliet!reader, 1960s shanghai au, forbidden love)

stay cool, be somebody's fool by @cranialberry (17k, mechanic!james, summer romance)

power play by @lovhyeon (43k, hockey player!james x figure skater!reader, strangers to situationship)

cowboy bebop by @aftermoontea (5k, delinquent!james x farmer's daughter!reader, cowboy au)

the winner takes it all by @jjuhyeons (30k, hockey player!james x figure skater!reader)

2 wins in 1? by @fshionalien (2 parts, plug!james, mentions/use of substance)

nobody else matters by @eub11ss (5 parts, popular player!james x party girl!reader, gossip girl universe)

senior year goal by @azywhwa (4 parts, downbad!james x playing hard to get!reader)

[yuwuta]

megumi really is sasuke’s child not just bc they’re both the dark hair brooding characters in their narratives, there are a lot of those, this goes deeper than that. what they share is that they are perceived as cool by by people in their verse but they repeatedly get their asses kicked. like within an inch of their lives every time. they are losers BUT!!!!! one thing about them is they’re gonna earn that ass beating nobody’s gonna roll up on them and make them a sucker no no no they’re talking shit, they’re provoking the opponent, they have earned every single knock to their ribs and they take that on the chin and still get back up again. that’s what sets them apart from other dark haired brooding cool guys who aura farm and consistently win. they lose. but they lose #withpride

[juhooniesdoll]

#NEEDDAT

SYNOPSIS — in which you won’t stop texting the gc about the fine senior that left.

pairing bsf!cortis x reader

warnings purely crack smau,cursing, reader is into James(“into” is an understatement), Keonho is a menace, reader is embarrassing

notes ! This was requested and I’m so happy that a platonic Cortis,crack smau was what an anon wanted cus cortis give bsf vibes smmm😭. Also this is only part 1, I literally did the whole thing but tumblr only allows 30 images so I’m gonna have to split it up!feel free to request what you want next!

masterlist

[mytwinsung]

⋅˚₊‧ᯓ ⊹ LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO

٠࣪⭑ c. yufan x reader &&. fluff. pre-relationship. mutual pining. clingy + loverboy james. fem implied reader. cortis 6th member reader. masterlist.

even though you aren’t quite as bad as five teenage boys, you still don’t exactly smell like roses after a full day of nonstop dance practices. 

just when you’re about to collapse and give up for good, martin finally calls it off and it’s not an exaggeration to say that you sprint to the bathroom for the reprieve of a long, hot shower. 

and for a second, surprisingly — despite the loudness of keonho and seonghyeon arguing, the beep of the microwave from whatever juhoon was heating up, and the instagram reels playing from martin’s phone at full volume — the dorm feels too quiet for james. 

he was always to first to notice your absence. it was like he had a radar, some secret kind of sixth sense for you. what you were feeling, where you had gone, what you needed, and exactly when you didn’t feel like being bothered. 

so naturally, he wanders into the hallway past the bathroom you’re currently showering the day off in. 

even over the running water and the music playing out of your phone’s speaker, you hear the soft knock. 

“yeah?” you call, exasperated. was it impossible to get a second of peace for yourself? 

“you in there?”

you want to laugh. if it were anyone besides james, you would have.

“obviously.” you’re glad he can’t see the way you’re smiling when you answer. 

a moment of thoughtful silence passes before he speaks again. “you almost done?”

“james, i just got in here five minutes ago.”

“this dorm only has one bathroom! and what takes you longer than five minutes?”

you hear his playful scoff and snort. “my hair is a little longer than yours, in case you haven’t noticed. takes a minute to wash.”

james heaves a dramatic sigh. “you’re going to use up all the hot water.”

“if you keep pestering me then yes i will!”

another lapse of silence falls, the sound of water droplets hitting the ground filling the bathroom once more. it doesn’t fool you. 

“james? are you still there?”

“…no.”

“james!” 

“what?”

“leave me alone!” you try not to let the laugh into your voice. “go sit in the living room and wait for your turn like a normal person.”

“aw, why?”

“because i don’t enjoy having conversations through the door while i’m trying to shower?”

another dramatic sigh. “fine, fine, whatever. but if you take any longer i’m going to use your fancy shampoo.”

“james!”

“going!” his melodic laugh fades as he disappears down the hall. it makes you feel warm, and not just from the hot water. 

with james gone, you finish up your wash in peace and finally cease the shower to your juniors, who are about ready to fist-fight for the next in line to the bathroom. you laugh and bid them goodnight before heading into your room to wind down. 

it quiets down after everyone’s showered and turned in for the night. the hallway light is dim, bleeding into your room lit only by your bedside lamp. you were fortunate enough to have landed your own room this time around, which of course meant that your peace was precious but momentary. 

you’re leaned over in the middle of drying your hair when you spot james leaning against the frame of your door. 

“i used your shampoo.”

“james!” you raise your hand and pretend to swat at him. he laughs, coming to plop down at the foot of your bed. 

“i’m kidding! i totally would have though. it smells nice.”

you blame the way your cheeks heat up on the stuffiness of the room. you hang up your towel to dry and sit on your bed, kicking your feet up on top of james’ legs. you nudge him with your knee. “so what now? come to bother me again?”

he grins. “maybe. so what if i did?”

you smile at him from under your lashes, just a little bashful as you pull your knees up to your chest. “you know, if you want to hang out you can just say that.”

james sneaks an amused glance at you. “well, since you say…”

“oh, boy.” 

you sigh dramatically as he scoots up closer, kicking his way under the covers as he settles down next to you. “juhoon and martin are being annoying, so i’m bunking with you tonight.”

you already know there’s no use protesting even if you wanted to, so you just sigh again and lean back against the pillows. beside you, james’ eyes are already fluttering closed where he’s laying just far enough to be respectful but close enough that you can still feel his warmth. you’re glad he can’t see the smile you can’t stop when you turn out the lights. 

james clearly isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. and you know what? you don’t mind. not one bit. 

more pining loverboy james <33 hope this finds the anon who requested more of this genre!!

© mytwinsung ♥︎ do not copy, translate, repost, feed to ai, etc. — comments + reblogs always appreciated!

🏷️ — @feelinghiraethbutimnotwelsh @nnkento @ijustchokeonacaii @cortisean @haechann0606 @jesmightjumptmr @pxronbeat1

[singse]

!overly affectionate reader who accidentally interrupts aang mid meditation... she jjst comes up behind him and kisses him stupid and he's like!!! my love... gentle dcolding ough

aang who has to remind you that he has to concentrate while meditating but you're being so cute and soft and clingy, he's melting on the inside.

you're just nuzzling into his neck and planting kisses all over his skin, making the happiest little noises and aang struggles to scold you because why must he scold his adorable and highly affectionate partner?????

eventually, aang does gently tell you that he's meditating and needs the time to concentrate. and you're so apologetic that it actually pains him as he repeatedly reassures you that it's fine!

but then he misses you when you give him the space to mediate. :(

[doinggreat]

[ceuxnoirst]

my moon, my man

SYNOPSIS. if you were dating Jude Bellingham and cheating on him with James Chao.

warning. SEPARATE FICTION FROM REALITY, purely satire, don't condone cheating, ever!

masterlist . taglist

꒰ 🌊 — @cookyland @weirdowithaphone @toj1sgf @yeeyeehaw22 @inadazeee @chrmedbyjju @taelvvrzz @isthiscool @young2keu @one-chance-pls @luffyloving @joyuuma @hyeonverse @hyuneskkami @ilovegojosatoru13 @stxr-lilac @cortismoon @yvesismylove @jjuhyeons @meeoowchi @xowonat @cvntycapricornxx @fvrgetmenot @kienhawon @chaebbys @kimustar @kiramyeo @keonono @yvalrik @yeppiz @rie-diculous @katsukisser ꒱  

© ceuxnoirst

[jjudawn]

ROCKSTAR’S MUSE

synopsis: you had initially thought martin edwards was your typical rockstar, collecting girls like they were trophies on a daily, but you soon realised how wrong you were.

word count: 4.3k

info+warnings: 90s!rockstar!martin x model!reader, typical rockstar behaviour, invasive press, flirting, skinship, kissing

To be a rockstar's girlfriend you needed to be many things: prepared for the intruding eyes of the public, ready for the endless girls throwing themselves at your boyfriend's feet, but most of all—if you wanted him completely obsessed—you needed to be cooler than him.

For a star like Martin Edwards, that was a tall order. Lead singer of his band, his face plastered across every magazine, his voice the anthem of a generation. He'd never publicly acknowledged a relationship, never shown interest in anyone. The endless fangirls bordering on stalkers made him paranoid—he'd rather be alone than risk letting a stranger in. He'd built his career on being untouchable, the kind of guy who left girls crying in their bedrooms, not the other way around.

Paris Fashion Week wasn't his scene at all. He'd almost skipped it, told his manager to shove the invitation somewhere unpleasant, but something pulled him there, a restless itch he couldn't explain, a feeling that he'd miss something important if he didn't go.

He came decked in black: scuffed combat boots, leather trousers that hugged his thighs, a faded CORTIS tour tee from two years ago. He looked bored, slouched in his front-row seat like he'd rather be anywhere else, fingers drumming against his knee as models glided by in designer gowns and sky-high heels. The music was too polished, the lights too bright, the whole affair too clean for his taste. He was about to get up and leave when you emerged.

You walked the runway like you owned it, wearing stunning floor-length gown in champagne silk that caught every light, a slit that went dangerously high, heels so sharp they could kill a man. You didn't smile, didn't wave, instead you moved like you were born for this, shoulders back, chin high, utterly untouchable.

His jaw went slack and his drumming fingers stilled. For the first time in years, Martin Edwards was speechless. His mind was hollow, entirely empty of any rational thought that would have been screaming at him to snap out of it before his reputation of being untouchable is completely destroyed. Instead there was one simple line repeating like a mantra.

He needed you. He needed you more than he'd ever needed anything.

You didn't look at him once. Your gaze swept over the front row like they were furniture, as though he was just another piece of decor, and that only made it worse.

At the end of the runway, you turned. For a split second, your eyes met his. You lifted one eyebrow by just a fraction—a flicker of curiosity, a silent question—before your expression smoothed back to perfect neutrality and you were gone, disappearing behind the velvet curtains.

He didn't even remember the rest of the show. He sat there like a statue, his mind replaying that single moment in an endless loop.

What he didn't know was that it had all been photographed. By morning, his slack-jawed, lovesick stare was splashed across every tabloid and newspaper in the country.

"ROCKSTAR RAVENOUS! Martin Edwards' Heart Snatched by Parisian Mystery Muse!" Screamed the front page of The Sun, complete with a grainy photo of his stunned face. "WHO IS THE SIREN IN HEELS?" Demanded the Daily Mail. Even the fashion magazines got in on it: Vogue ran a two-page spread speculating about the mysterious model who'd made the ‘Prince of Darkness’ lose his cool, complete with freeze-frames of that one eyebrow raise.

Martin sat in his hotel room the next evening staring at his own exposed face on every newsstand. The mask he'd worn for years—the untouchable, brooding rockstar—was gone. Everyone had seen him unravel in real time.

A slow grin spread across his face as he scanned the endless pages.

Good. Now you’d know exactly who was coming for you.

Two weeks later, you arrived back in New York following the event, doing everything in your power to try to forget the weird rockstar who stared at you like you'd personally ruined his life. You were in your penthouse apartment, a copy of Paper magazine with his lovesick face plastered across it on your marble coffee table. Your agent had been calling nonstop, thrilled about the publicity, already scheming about how to leverage it for your next campaign. 

Your phone suddenly began ringing and you almost ignored it entirely, tired of the constant need for people to speak to you, but something pushed you to pick up.

"Hello?"

A low voice, rough and amused, crackled through the receiver. "That was a hell of a walk. Almost made me forget my own name."

You instantly froze. You knew that voice—you’d heard it enough times on the radio, on MTV, blasting from cars in traffic. The voice of a generation, the voice of every teenage girl's bedroom wall.

"Martin Edwards," you said flatly, sinking onto your velvet chaise. "How the hell did you get my number?"

"You're a model," he replied, like that explainef everything. "I'm a rockstar. I have people."

"You have stalkers, you mean."

He laughed a genuine, surprised sound, not the polished chuckle he typically gives interviews. "Yeah, maybe. But I'm not a stalker, I'm just..." He paused and you bit your lip slightly, unsure on why the silence made you nervous. "Determined."

You should have hung up and slammed the phone down and called your doorman to make sure no one gets past the lobby. You knew exactly what this was: a rockstar with a new fixation, chasing the next shiny thing, bored of groupies and looking for a challenge.

"Listen, rockstar," you said, your voice dropping to something cold and sharp. "I don't do groupies, I don't do fans, and I definitely don't do men who think they can just call me up because they saw me on a runway."

Silence came from his end. Then, quietly: "I don't want a fan. I want you."

"You don't know me."

"Then let me."

You chewed your lip, staring at your reflection in the dark window of your apartment—the skyline glittered before you, the city that never sleeps hummed twenty floors below. You've dated musicians before and it's always a disaster: the cheating, the lies, the constant parade of women throwing themselves at them. Martin Edwards was the biggest of them all. A tabloid regular; a walking red flag in scuffed boots and leather.

Though there was a rawness in his voice that caught you off guard and made you pause.

"I'm busy," you answeref, though the slight smile you were attempting to suppress suggested differently.

"Friday. 8pm. I'll send a car."

"I didn't say yes."

"You didn't say no."

You hung up before he could say anything else, but you made sure to write his number down on a scrap of paper incase he ever called again. Just in case.

Friday night arrived and you put on a silk black slip dress with barely there straps. The stretch of fabric falling just above your knee and you added strappy heels that made your legs look endless, folowed by a delicate necklace before you styled your hair loose and glossy.

You looked in the mirror and reminded yourself that you didn’t care what rockstar Martin Edwards thought of you, he was the same as every other male musician that latched onto women for a few weeks before getting bored.

You smoothed down the dress one last time, adjusting the thin straps on your shoulders before grabbing a small clutch, slipping your phone inside and taking a breath.

The town car waited outside your building, sleek and black, a driver holding the door open like this was completely normal. You slid into the leather backseat and watched the city blur past as he drove you downtown.

The jazz bar was hidden in the Village, tucked away behind an unmarked door you would have walked right past if the driver hadn't pointed it out. Inside, it was all exposed brick and dim amber light, a saxophone player in the corner crooning something slow and sad. The place was intimate, almost empty, a few couples scattered at tables alongside a bartender polishing glasses.

And there he was.

Martin Edwards sat in a corner booth, dressed down in a simple black sweater and dark jeans, his hair pushed back from his face. His fingers tapped against the tabletop in a restless rhythm, and when he saw you approach, he stood up so fast he nearly knocked over his drink.

"You came," he said, genuine surprise in his voice.

"You sent a car. It seemed rude to waste gas."

He grinned at your words. "I'll take it."

You slid into the booth across from him, crossing your legs, the slit of your dress falling open just slightly. 

"So," you said, leaning back. "What's your angle?"

"No angle."

"Bullshit."

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have an angle. I just saw you on that runway and couldn't stop thinking about you. That's it. That's the whole thing."

"You haven’t even asked for my name."

"I already know it's Y/N."

You tilted your head, studying him. He wasn't performing for you—not the way he performed on stage, not the way he performed in interviews. He was just here, nervous but trying.

"Okay," you said slowly. "One drink. If you bore me I'm gone."

"Deal."

You ended up staying until the bar closed. He didn't bore you. Instead he made you laugh whilst looking at you like you were the only person in the room, and when he walked you to your door at 3am, he didn't try to come in. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, memorising every detail of you with a slight smirk residing on his lips.

"Same time next week?" He asked, tilting his head just a fraction.

You should have said no and walked inside and forgotten this ever happened. Instead, you smiled. "Maybe."

Safe to say, Martin Edwards was a hard man to shake.

He had a way of appearing when you least expected him: a bouquet of peonies delivered to your apartment the morning after your first date, a handwritten note slipped under your door alongside it that revealed far more emotional depth than a rockstar of his realm should technically possess. He called you at odd hours from the road, his voice rough and tired, just to hear you say goodnight. He sent you playlists filled with unreleased songs he'd recorded himself that were burned onto discs, his voice cracking over stolen lyrics he'd rewritten just for you.

He was relentless, and worse, he was charming.

It started small with a dinner here and a walk there. He took you to dive bars and rooftop restaurants, to galleries and late-night diners. He never brought you to anything flashy, never paraded you around like a trophy. He kept you hidden, protected, his own private secret in a world that wanted to consume him.

You let him do it all because despite every instinct screaming at you to run, to protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak of dating a rockstar, Martin Edwards made it impossible to resist.

He remembered everything—your coffee order, your favourite movie, the way you liked your eggs in the morning. He learned the exact pressure of his hand on your lower back that made you shiver when he guided you through crowds. He learned the exact rhythm of your breathing when you fell asleep on his chest.

He was careful with you in a way you hadn't expected.

And slowly, without even realising it, you fell.

Within two months of knowing you Martin was already inviting you backstage to his shows, keeping you hidden and protected from the intruding crowd. It was at one of these shows when he had pulled you behind a pillar, the rest of the world becoming nonexistent as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you tightly against him, his forehead dropping to uour shoulder.

You hesitated for a moment before reaching your hand up and letting your fingers sift through his strands, the sigh of relief he let out showing you were doing the right thing. 

The two of you remained in that position much longer than what was considered normal, though neither of you cared, too swept up in the moment.

Eventually you heard him say something, his words muffled against your jacket.

“What?” You asked softly, a small smile resting on your lips. He lifted his head up, his hair standing up in multiple directions from all your ruffling, and he very much did not look like the hardcore rockstar many of his fans saw him to be.

"I said," he murmured, his voice rough, "I think I'm in trouble."

You raised an eyebrow. "What kind of trouble?"

"The kind where I can't stop thinking about you." He reached up, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear as you felt your cheeks redden just slightly at the gesture. "The kind where I don't want to be on stage unless I know you're watching. The kind where I wake up and the first thing I do is reach for you, even when you're not there."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, your gaze softening at his words. "Martin—"

"I know it's fast. I know we've only known each other two months. I know you probably think I'm just some rockstar who gets bored easily and moves on to the next thing." He let out a breath, his forehead dropping back to your shoulder. "But you're not the next thing, you're the only thing for me."

You stood there, frozen, his body pressed against yours, his words echoing in your head. Two months was nothing, barely enough time to know someone properly and let alone fall for them.

But you already knew him. You knew the way he took his coffee, that he hummed when he was concentrating, even how his eyes lit up when he talked about a new song he was writing. You knew the shadows under his eyes when he hadn't slept, that his fingers tapped against every surface like he was always composing something. You knew he looked at you like you were something precious he was terrified of losing.

And you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were already in too deep.

"Martin," you said softly, your fingers finding their way back to his hair, threading through the dark strands. "Look at me."

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, and he looked nervous. Martin Edwards, the man who commanded thousands of screaming fans night after night, looked nervous.

"I'm not going anywhere," you said quietly. "You're not going to lose me."

His breath caught. "You mean that?"

"I mean it."

He stared at you for a long moment, searching your eyes for something: doubt, hesitation, a lie; he found none.

He slowly moved forward and his lips brushed against yours so softly you could barely feel them, and you realised in that moment he was afraid you'd pull away.

You did nothing of the sort and instead leaned into him, your fingers curling in his hair, pulling him closer. His arms tightened around your waist, and you felt the tension drain from his body as he melted into you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps whilst his eyes remained closed.

"Y/N," he whispered, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

"I'm here," you said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

He opened his eyes, and the look in them made your heart ache. It was raw and open and completely unguarded.

"I've never—" He stopped, shaking his head. "I've never felt like this before. I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know how to do this."

"Neither do I," you admitted. "But we can figure it out together."

He smiled then, his grin reaching his eyes and making him look younger and lighter than how he appeared on the many magazines you absolutely did not keep hidden in your bedside table. "Together?"

"Together."

He kissed you again, softer this time—if that were even possible, as though he was sealing a promise. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones, and you felt like the only person in the world.

When he pulled back, he was grinning. "I'm going to be so annoying now, you know that, right? The whole band is going to hate me. I'm not going to shut up about you."

You laughed, shoving his chest lightly. "You're already annoying."

"True." He pulled you back into his arms, burying his face in your hair. "But now I'm annoying and in love."

You could only smile against his shoulder at that, closing your eyes and letting the feel of him engulf your entire being.

From then on, Martin was yours and you were his, as hard as it was when you were constantly on opposite sides of the world. The distance was brutal: weeks apart, time zones that made calls nearly impossible, schedules that never seemed to align, but Martin made it work. He called you every night, no matter where he was or what time it was. He sent you handwritten letters filled with lyrics he'd scribbled in the margins of hotel notepads. He showed up at your apartment unannounced, exhausted and rumpled, just to hold you for a few hours before catching another flight.

You did the same for him. You flew across oceans to watch him perform, sitting in the shadows of the crowd, hidden beneath caps and sunglasses, just to see him do what he loved. You called him when you couldn't sleep, when the loneliness of your hotel room became too much and everything made you think of him.

It wasn't easy—there were nights you cried, overwhelmed by the distance, the secrecy, and the weight of loving someone the world wasn't supposed to know about, and there were nights Martin called you, his voice rough and raw, confessing how much he missed you followed by how much he hated being so far away.

But you always found your way back to each other, and every time you did, it was like no time had passed at all.

The public eventually found out, and it was entirely inevitable, to be completely honest. You'd been as careful as two people in the public eye could be, but you weren't as invisible or untouchable as you had thought. Eventually the paparazzi, relentless and all-seeing, caught a glimpse of what you'd been trying so hard to protect.

It started with a photo: the two of you in a hotel lobby in London, his hand intertwined with yours, your head tilted back in laughter as he whispered something in your ear. It was grainy, taken from too far away, but it was unmistakably the two of you.

The next morning, the image was everywhere.

"ROCKSTAR'S SECRET LOVE AFFAIR EXPOSED!" was printed on every newspaper in the country. Your face was plastered across every newsstand, every television screen, every gossip column. Your agent's phone rang off the hook for hours on end; stranngers on the street recognised you, whispering behind their hands, pointing and staring like you were a spectacle.

You'd known this day would come, you’d prepared for it, even braced yourself for it, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer weight of it: the invasion, the scrutiny, the sudden loss of privacy that came with being publicly linked to Martin Edwards.

You sat atop his bed in a London hotel room, the many magazines spread out in front of you as you sifted through one, your fingers tracing the grainy image of the two of you in the lobby. Your own face stared back at you, frozen in a moment of laughter, his hand wrapped around yours. It felt strange, seeing yourself reduced to a headline and a piece of gossip for strangers to consume without a care in the world about you as an actual person.

You heard the bathroom door creak open behind you, the air shifting as Martin emerged with his pyjamas sitting loose on his frame and his hair still damp, curling slightly at the ends. He crossed the room in a few quiet steps, and before you could look up, his hands were on the magazine, gently pulling it from your grasp.

"Hey—" you started to protest, but he tossed it aside, not caring where it landed.

Then he climbed onto the bed, his weight settling over you as he lay on top of you, his body pressing yours into the mattress. He was warm and solid, still smelling like soap and steam, and you let out a breathless laugh as you tried to shove at his shoulders.

"Martin, you're too heavy," you complained, but you were giggling, your hands flattening against his chest. "Get off."

He didn't move. Instead, he buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "No," he murmured, the word muffled. "I'm staying here forever. This is my new home."

"Your new home is crushing me."

"Good, you're not going anywhere."

You laughed again, your fingers finding their way into his damp hair, threading through the damp strands. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm in love," he corrected, lifting his head just enough to look at you, his lips just grazing your chin. His eyes were soft and searching your own. "And I'm not letting a bunch of magazines ruin that."

Your smile faded slightly, the weight of everything pressing down on you again. "Martin—"

"I know," he said quietly, cutting you off. "I know it's a lot. I know they're going to be everywhere now. I know they're going to try to tear us apart." He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "But I don't care about any of it, all I care about is you."

You stared at him, your heart swelling. "You really mean that?"

"I really mean it." He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I love you, Y/N, and I'm not going to let anyone take that away from us."

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, and he let out a soft sigh of relief against your skin. The magazines lay forgotten on the floor, their headlines screaming about secrets and scandals, but neither of you paid them any attention.

In that moment, there was only the two of you.

"You're still crushing me," you murmured after a moment, a smile tugging at your lips.

He laughed, rolling off you just enough to pull you into his side, his arm wrapping around your waist. "Better?"

"Better."

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you felt the tension in his body slowly ease. 

Eventually, the fans and press got used to seeing the two of you together.

It took time: months of grainy photos and speculative articles, of whispers and pointed fingers and strangers dissecting your every move. But slowly, inevitably, the novelty began to fade. You weren't a mystery anymore, you were just Martin Edwards' girlfriend, and he was just your boyfriend, and the two of you were simply... together.

The tabloids still covered you, of course, they always would, but the tone shifted. The invasive headlines gave way to something almost affectionate. The speculation about breakups and cheating scandals was replaced by stories about your red carpet appearances, your joint holidays, the way Martin looked at you during interviews.

"CORTIS Frontman and Model Girlfriend: The Coolest Couple in Rock?" —NME

"Martin Edwards and Y/N Y/L/N: How They Became Music's Most Stylish Pair" —Vogue

"Rockstar Romance: Why Martin and Y/N Are Relationship Goals" —Rolling Stone

You'd laugh every time you saw a new headline, shoving the magazine in Martin's face. "Did you see this? We're 'relationship goals.'"

He'd grin, pulling you into his lap. "They're not wrong."

You'd roll your eyes, but you'd be smiling. "You have such a big ego."

"You love it."

And you did. You really did.

The fans embraced you too. At first, there had been the inevitable backlash: jealous comments, cruel speculation, girls who swore you weren't good enough for him. But you weathered it, never engaging, never stooping to their level. You showed up to shows, stood quietly by his side, and let your actions speak for themselves.

Slowly, the fans came around. They saw the way Martin looked at you like you'd hung the moon, and how you supported him by showing up even when you didn't have to. They saw the small moments: him holding your hand backstage, you fixing his collar before he went on stage, the private smiles you exchanged across crowded rooms.

Soon, you weren't just Martin Edwards' girlfriend. You were the girl who'd tamed the rockstar. The one who could walk a runway in couture and still stand in the pit at one of his shows despite the rowdy crowd. The one who never looked fazed, never seemed rattled, never let the cameras get to her.

You'd become a style icon in your own right, your red carpet looks dissected and praised. You'd become a fixture at award shows, a staple of magazine covers, a name that stood on its own. And through it all, Martin was right beside you, his hand always finding yours, his eyes always seeking you out in a crowd.

The press called you the coolest couple, the most stylish pair, the relationship goals of a generation, but to you, it was simpler than that. You were just two people who'd found each other in the chaos, and had held on dearly when everything tried to pull you apart.

You had each other and that was enough.

[wintersonlysdaughter]

Modern Zuko and his pretty history nerd girlfriend making out cause Zuko shut her up with a kiss

FUCKIN’ NERD

“I swear these fucking kids are stupid.” You mumbled beneath your breath, shaking your head as you graded yet another failed assignment.

“You know, you were once that kid.” Zuko spoke, rolling over on your bed to look at you, you meeting his gaze with a glare.

“Yeah, well at least I knew my shit. These fuckers don’t know the difference between Helios and Apollo.”

Zuko let out a dramatic sigh, pausing before he turned to you.

“I don’t even know the difference, babe.” Zuko spoke, moving to stand behind you. He looked over your shoulder, glazing over the student’s work.

You were a graduate TA for your professor, as your love for history proved useful outside of class; a class you took as an elective your undergraduate years.

“Apollo is the God of the Sun. Helios is the personification of the Sun.”

“Personific-who?”

“Personification. It’s when you give an object human emotions or meaning. Helios is the human version of the Sun. Or God version, I should say.” As you ramble on, Zuko looks at you with a smile. You take notice, raising your eyebrow.

“Why are you smiling like that?” You looked up at your boyfriend from your seat, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re so fucking hot when you ramble on like this..” He spoke, pulling you to your feet.

“I doubt me bitching about dumb ass students is hot. Seriously, you’d think this late in the semester they’d understand these concepts by now, but nooo. They don’t, and it-“ Before you could finish your sentence, his lips connected with yours, your sentence dying out. His hands roamed your body, gripping your hips and pulling you close, as if he was trying to climb into your skin.

His hands wandered to your ass, giving it a firm smack before you jumped in response.

“Zuko!”

“What? This is nice.”

“What, you trying to crawl into my skin or me bitching?”

“Both, you fuckin’ nerd.”

a/n: Grammar check not done, I’m at work rn. Ancient Greek history because I LOVE IT, and I’m helpol.

[loveqnai]

ONE SIDED DELUSIONALSHIP? ahn keonho.

synopsis, When everyone doubts Keonho on if he could bag his crush, who happens to not only be an actress, but also a huge fan of CORTIS— he has to prove them wrong. Does he, though?

pairing, Ahn Keonho x Actress!reader

genre, crack, smau, sneaking in mason thames at every chance i get.

© loveqnai, all rights reserved.