#for those of you who know the song though

[wh1spersofwinter]

pathetic bf!seunghyun (headcannons) ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

summary: bf!seunghyun who is incredibly down bad for his gf.

an: hello! this is my first fic on this account, im so excited to share it with you. i hope you enjoy <3 (ALSO, please ignore any spelling/grammar errors i didn’t proofread.)

bf!seunghyun who: didn’t care for love/relationships until he met you.

bf!seunghyun who: swears carless whisper by george micheal played in his head when he laid eyes on you for the first time.

bf!seunghyun who: likes to spend his down time making you playlists and/or writing you songs/raps. he likes to communicate through music.

bf!seunghyun who: calls you sweet girl and thinks it fits perfectly. you are his sweet girl. he thinks youre the sweetest, most angelic being hes ever met.

bf!seunghyun who: will agree to just about anything for your sake (“yeah i dont know, i just dont really feel like going out today” he mummered to jiyong, burying himself further into the fluffy cloud that was his bed, dead set on spending his night curled in bed. until you walked into the room. “seunghyun, lets go out tonight, i need to get out of this house.” seunghyun shot out of bed, unraveling himself from the covers and intertwined your hands, “yeah, sweet girl, lets go.” suddenly alive and full of energy. unaware of jiyong snickering behind him.

bf!seunghyun who: genuinely believes he cant go more than an hour without having his hands on you in someway. wether that be his hand in yours, his arm wrapped around your waist, his fingers curled in your hair, or his fingers inside, yes inside the waist of your jeans, resting against the warmth of your skin.

bf!seunghyun who: when you two sleep has to either be little spoon or lay on top of you (while you scratch his back.)

bf!seunghyun who: is only comfortable with you touching him

bf!seunghyun who: literally calls/texts you every chance he gets. in between recordings, while in the bath, while getting his hair done. he’ll text you every thought that crosses his mind. (itll be three in the morning and youll get a text from him like, “i just realized, nothing is ON fire. fire is on THINGS.”)

bf!seunghyun who: does things for you he knows you can do yourself, such as, brushing and drying your hair after a shower, carrying you from place to place in your shared apartment, brushing your teeth, grabbing things that are just out of reach, tieing your shoes, no matter how much you insist you’re perfectly cable. he cant help it; youre his angel.

bf!seunghyun who: genuinely tears up when you get mad at him (you immediately feel horrible and give in.)

bf!seunghyun who: loves to lay his head in your lap while you run your fingers through his hair (he falls asleep immediately.)

bf!seunghyun who: hangs onto every word you say. he’ll remember something you vaguely told him months later. (“hey, sweet girl, i got you one of those sun…sunny…sonny..angels…whatever you call them,” he said when he came home from the store, placing the sonny angel box on your lap, then, planting gentle kisses onto the corners of your lips, your nose, your temple, your eyelids. you smile, wondering how the hell he knew you wanted one. you giggle, placing your hand on his cheek and rubbing your thumb across his soft skin as he leans into your touch, “how’d you know i wanted one?” he looked at you as though the answer was obvious, “you mentioned it when you saw a tiktok video in..may” may was 8 months ago?)

bf!seunghyun who: apologizes by getting on his knees, putting his head in your lap, and kissing your hands profusely. muttering over and over how sorry he is and how he’ll do better.

bf!seunghyun who: follows you around everywhere like a little cat. always hovering over your shoulder. if you guys are sitting on the couch and you get up to get a glass of water, trust, he’ll get up and go with you with a content smile on his face. he has attachment issues.

bf!seunghyun who: when your making out and you pull away, looks at you, breathing all hard, like he physically needs more.

bf!seunghyun who: when he has to travel for work will send you a poem a day. (“hey, sweet girl, you will never be unloved by me. you are too well tangled in my soul; hello, my sweet girl, my heart is so full of you i can hardly call it my own. love you always.”)

bf!seunghyun who: is completely obsessed with you.

[daemonbrain]

~3.4k, cw: smut, size kink, p in v, overstimulation if you squint, fairy!reader, hes a monster hunter

Simon Riley, the monster hunter guild's most valuable asset. Whenever a high bounty was set out for one creature or another Simon was there. Werewolves taking all your sheep? He’s all stocked up on silver. Vampire terrorizing the town? Get him some matches and a stake, it’ll be gone come morning.

Those with real connections to the guild know that if you want a job done, you ask for ‘Ghost’. Contrary to the scars which littered his body, it wasn't all fighting the big bad wolf and risking his life. Occasionally he would get lucky with a low-risk high-reward job. Paired with his brute strength, he also had extensive knowledge on the supernatural and their habits. 

He had taken up a job for an anonymous businessman to nab a fairy. Fucks sakes he almost burst out laughing when he got the request, only to be met with a very serious expression.

Fairies, notoriously hard to trap and contain. It’s said that any who can lock one down will be granted prosperity for the rest of their days. Their laughs attract wealth, their dust makes little specks of gold, their tears harden into diamonds. 

Now of course, greed of humans and all, fairies had gone into some pretty deep fuckin’ hiding. Forests with heaps of danger weeding out any fools who tried to find one on a whim. If you got far enough the things were smaller than your finger and moved faster than you could blink, the only thing assuring you that they were there was the mocking little giggles that would sound out before they flew back into hiding.

It’s even rumored that they can turn themselves into the size of a fully grown woman at will. They're supposed to be prettier than any tavern wench you’d see on a regular night, or the fairest of maids if the songs were to be believed. Simon had never seen one though, so that was to be taken with a grain of salt.

You were a difficult catch. Pissed Simon off plenty of times with your dodging, your mocking titters. You just thought he was a passing traveller trying his luck. Sorely mistaken you were. It was when he began burning a mystery plant and your eyes grew hazy that you realized your misconception. Dropping from the sky as you struggled to hold up your own weight.

How humiliating! To fall for a mere man's tricks! He tricked you into believing he was foolish and you took the bait just like he intended. Even through the thick glass of the jar you could see your squirrel friends who looked on in worry from the trees. To be outfoxed by one of them, it infuriated you.

Which made it all the more terrible as he sat with his back pressed to the trunk of a tree, face illuminated by the fire looking at you angrily raising your tiny fist to the glass yammering who knows what in gibberish. He shook the jar in his hands gently, watching as your wings flapped rapidly to steady yourself. One had been injured on the drop and he could tell it was a struggle for you to stay upright. You’d occasionally dip a bit too low and by the look of shock on your face, he knew it wasn’t intentional.

One could almost mistake you for a pint sized human. An annoying one (though most people bothered the hunter, miniature or not). You certainly had the anatomy of one, none of the modesty though, with only leaves to cover your more intimate parts. He watched as you crossed your arms and began to point at the lid he fashioned to have minuscule air holes. Yelling in your grating foreign tongue once more, which really only sounded like little squeaks to Simon, the fight clearly returned back full force after you regained consciousness from the jimsonweed. 

He really took a gamble with that one. He was quite proud of himself to be honest. He’d never actually caught a fairy for himself, only hearing chatter from other members of the guild that your kind were sensitive to hallucinogens.  

You’d fetch a good price and to top it off Simon wasn’t walking around with a new batch of bruises. A win-win. Except for you that is. Bringing his attention back to you, he notices you’ve taken to pounding the cork lid with your hands as if that would make any difference.

However, upon seeing Simon’s dark eyes on you, you scowl yet reluctantly stop and float to the bottom of the jar. “Thas wha’ I thought” He said while rolling his eyes. He placed the jar in his travelling satchel and closed his eyes more than ready for a rest before having to hit the road again. 

...

Simon had woken up with the burning and familiar feeling in his loins. Groaning, his eyes open wearily only to be met with nothing but the trees and grass around him. What the hell?

He groggily wiped at his eyes. Trying to take focus on whatever it was that was rousing him from sleep. The only thing noticeable being the significant drop in temperature as the night went on.

What was wrong with him? Has not visiting someone's bed in so long made him that desperate?    He had places to be tomorrow, there was no time to be wasting jerking it in the middle of nowhere. Huffing, he closes his eyes and abstinently ignores the need which he feels building inside his belly unprompted.

He had sensed something was wrong when his cock once again slapped against the confines of his breeches. He knew something was wrong when a small but pitchy squeal followed.

“Fuckin’ hell”

His eyes widen in disbelief as he watches his trousers ripple with movement not his own. He lifts the waistband only to be met with two eyes narrowed right back at him, as if you were the one being inconvenienced. He was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that both your arms and legs enveloped half the circumference of his cock, bobbing with every movement. 

What. The. Fuck.

“What’re you bloody doing? How did you get free?!” He huffed while reaching for you, staunchly ignoring the way his blood began to run hot at your unintentional ministrations. As that monstrous looking hand approached, you stiffly moved, your body still too frigid from the cold, to nestle into the juncture where all of… him… connected to his balls.

When the hunter had fallen asleep, you had screamed and pleaded for any of your forest friends to hear. After a lot of begging, and a promise to help collect acorns for the winter which seemed to approach faster and faster this year, you had managed to convince one of the squirrels to gnaw through the lid of your prison. Too far from the safety of your home, you needed a place to seek shelter from the near freezing temperatures. 

Unfortunately, still weakened from your initial fall and the wind harshly prickling at your skin, you realized you were ground-bound. Trying as you might, you failed to scale the tall tree and make it into the squirrel's nest for refuge. With no other option, you were faced with the reality that the safest place for the night would be close to the human. After a few minutes pacing along the expanse of his body, you navigate your way to the warmest spot.

It smelt heavily of his musk, not the sweetest thing you had ever smelt, but not unpleasant by any means. You had tried to fall asleep, twisting and turning. You had rubbed the skin until it felt warm to the touch and pressed your cheek against it, all in an effort to make yourself more comfortable. Every minute you stayed on it the twitching got worse! So much so that you felt your body rising up, up, and up until you were harshly hit against the scratchy fabric of his breeches.

Bringing you to your current predicament as he whisper-yelled in his gruff accent. Truth be told, you could understand every word he said, you just didn’t like speaking old english. Your mother tongue was much prettier.

“C’mere.” he huffed as he nearly caught you by the leg. You may not be able to fly, but you sure could climb away as you made your way further to the tip of him. You had almost made it before a slow approaching bead of viscous liquid rolled in your path.  You were quick to move out of its way, unfortunately not quick enough to avoid Simon’s fingers as he dragged you from the safety of your shelter out into the abrasive open. 

Your abdomen was pinched between his thumb and forefinger as he looked at you expressionless. Somewhere in the struggle, your leafy garb had shifted, rendering one of your breasts exposed. You quaked violently, but your mind insisted it was the cold. A deeper part of you knew the giant staring down at you may have had a small part in it.

“Now you listen ‘ere, I don’t know what you know abou’ people but ‘m not the type of man to enjoy someone poking round my bits while ‘m sleeping. How did you even get out of the jar?”

Willing yourself to calm down, you muster the defiance and bravery to resist. Crossing your arms, you glowered back at the giant.

“It’s cold.” You finally spoke up.

With a laugh that sounded like a breathy cough, the man roved his eyes over your near-naked form.

“So you do speak english. Could’a started off with that. And I'd bet you were cold, people don’t normally have their teats out in this kinda weather.” Simon mocked. You scowled at his words. If this had been a normal day, you’d already be wrapped up warmly in your little nook. It was entirely his fault you were out here like this and yet you were the one being lectured.

“I’m not a person! And I wouldn’t be cold or outside if you hadn’t taken me. How do you live with yourself? You greedy things. You’re all the same you take and take and- mmph” You’re suddenly interrupted by a light squeeze to your midsection. 

“You wanna warm up so bad? Fine. ‘Ve got a way.” lust creeping into his tone.

Suddenly, your legs were being knocked apart. With a gentleness you wouldn’t think possible for a person his size, you feel the soft trace of his pinkie inching towards what rests between your thighs. Instinctually, your body tried to jolt away but with the tight hold he had on you there was nowhere to go. The little fight you had in you quickly faded as the pad of his finger covered the entirety of your cunt.

Fairies weren’t conceived in the way humans were, your own conception a mystery. You did not have parents, nor a family. You simply were. You had been for what could be measured in over a hundred years according to civilizations calendars. You had pleasured yourself many times before, your only company being your own fingers when the mysterious urge would come over you. It was never a feeling you dwelled on, always finding other ways to occupy your time.

But the feeling of his cool finger prodding at the juncture between your legs set a fire in the pit of your belly you couldn't understand. Your sensitivity was palpable as he began to shift the finger around, presumably trying to emulate what he would do to a regular woman. 

You shuddered and your eyes began to flutter close at the feeling. Suddenly, his hand pulled away much to your initial disappointment only to be replaced by the heat of his tongue.

Now this was new.

“H-hey, wait-”

A squeal left you at the feeling of the warm, wet muscle butting its way in. Even just the tip of his tongue was too large to catch on to your entrance. It was overwhelming as you felt the lower half of your body drenched, the size causing a lack of precision that made you want to weep. So close, yet so far from what you needed.

You had to do something. You just had to.

As Simon began to maneuver you to lay back on to his palm you shook your and held your hands up to arrest his movement.

“Had enough already?” He questioned, tilting his head while his brown eyes sparked with a hint of debauchery. 

Shaking your head, you closed your eyes and channeled your energy to the very core of yourself. You may regret this later.

Slowly but surely, your body began to stretch and warp itself as your size increased. Soon enough Simon’s hands adjusted to hold your growing figure as you assumed a more useful human form. 

His eyes widened as he let out a breathy chuckle, exploring your much more touchable form. Whatever had scantily covered you before had been shed as you sat bare before him. Although you were the size of an average woman, the man in front of you still towered above, even when seated.

Maybe he really was a giant. 

Taking a breath you steadied yourself by gripping his firm bicep, yet another large part of him. Grabbing your jaw with a single hand he softly moves your head upwards to face him. Without another word his lips were on you again, kissing at the delicate and untouched skin of your neck.

The sensation was unlike anything you’d ever experienced.You had been much alone for decades, though the critters of your forest kept good company through these times, there were many things they could not provide.

Large hands groped every bit of skin they could touch, as Simon reached your clavicle, you sharply inhaled as he began to bite at the skin. You felt lost, the only familiar feeling being wetness pooling between your legs as the unfamiliar bulge beneath you continued to press into your cunt.

You felt helplessly susceptible to his relentless attack, eyes going glassy from the strange pressure building in you. Your head began to lull, forehead pressing to Simon’s shoulder.

Grabbing the back of your head he raises you once again, snaking his free hand between your legs. “None of that, it’s alright, yeah? ‘M gonna take good care of ‘ya.” He reassured you as his thick fingers began to rub at your pearl. 

It was when his mouth met yours that you truly gave up. No shame as a wanton moan came from you. He swallowed the sound and began to push his tongue through your lips much to your confusion, though as he pushed a little harder at your clit, you trusted that he knew what he was doing. Allowing him in, all you could feel was him.

Nothing else mattered.

He parted from you and urgently began guiding you to the ground. No longer did the chill in the air bother you as he began to take off his breeches. Pushing your thighs as far as they could part, he positions himself between them, tugging at his cock while looking at your pretty face.

So the songs were right.

His body shielded you from everything which surrounded the two of you. The cold, the outside world, the only thing keeping you grounded was the twigs that peskily poked at your back. 

“I want you. I need you.” You begged. You didn’t know what this was, all you knew was that your insides roared for closeness.

“Do you even know what you’re askin’ for?”

He meanly slapped himself to your cunt. For the first time, you looked down to see where he had made the connection. You didn’t know how big a cock was supposed to be, but looking at the sheer difference between it’s hulking size and yourself you feared that he wasn’t the average man.

“I’ll fuck you if you let me. With this-” He waved the thing like a damn blade “You know what fucking means right? It’s gonna go inside of you.”

Absolutely not! It would ruin you. It would scramble your insides until they were so misplaced your poor body wouldn’t know what to do.

Your mouth fell slack as he gave your head a soft pat. Putting your hands to his shoulders, you shake your head in shock.

“Wait! wait  that- no it won’t, that won’t fit!” You stammered as Simon compared his length to your belly.

“It’ll fit. I’ll make it fit.”

Repositioning himself, he drags the bulbous tip up and down while knocking into your clit a few times. You squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation, digging your fingers into his arms. The head of his cock slowly pushed in.

Simon gritted his teeth while restraining himself from slamming all the way to the base and gosh it was difficult. It had been so long since he felt the touch of a woman- fuck, a fairy, whatever the hell you were right now. Your little cunny squeezed him unbelievably tight and it was so warm. 

He felt you try to push his chest closer to yours in a silent plea for closeness and he almost went dizzy. Obliging you, he puts a forearm to the right of you and then slips his left hand under your head to push you closer.

You whined as he cradled you, the action so soft as his hips continued to push through whatever resistance your muscles still held. Remembering the way he nipped at your flesh earlier, you found yourself with the urge to bite at the meat of his bicep. Indulging that urge, you heard a groan leave his lips and it's as if something snapped in the hunter.

Forgoing the snail-like pace, his cock slid in inch by inch until you were filled to the brim. The two of you take a moment to catch your breath. You felt so full. Is this what your body had been craving all along? This fucking. Had it been waiting for Simon to make his way to you?

You couldn’t be sure the logic behind all of this, but you did know that you needed him now. Peering up, you gaze upon his features and realize that perhaps humans do have a certain beauty to them.

“Please.” You asked.

And he answered. Slowly at first he began to thrust in, as your noises continued to grow louder the faster he got. Soon enough he began to hammer his hips to yours as you all screamed in ecstasy.

He fucked you and he continued to fuck you and it all felt so very good. You felt so drunk of the pleasure, as if one more thrust would kill you, yet if he stopped you would surely die.

“Please hunter, please!” Placing his forehead on yours, his breaths came heavy

“My name is Simon. Call me Simon.” Another thrust. “Do it. Say my name.”

HIs voice only spurred you closer and closer to some edge as your nails dragged against his skin.

“Say it love, say it.” He finally met your eyes as your body rocked with his every movement.

“Simon!” You called out as an overwhelming peak washed over you. Your cunt spasmed around him, trapping him there in your warm leaky mess as he chased his own high. You felt yourself go limp as he bit into the juncture between your shoulder and neck with a velvet moan.

And at the final slam of his hips, he pushed his entire body into yours. Your head pushed uncomfortably against the tree behind you with the weight. His cock fully sheathed into you as he unloaded every drop of cum he had to offer you, coating your insides with the gooey fluid. 

There was silence until you let out an exhausted giggle. Simon looked down at you through long lashes and shook his head in amazement. In awe of you who so casually laughed while still speared on his cock and full of his cum.

Reaching for your hair he untangles a twig which had gotten caught in it. Stroking your loose strands, he broke the silence.

“Fuck the buyer, ’m keeping you little fairy.”

As he said that, a shooting star passed overhead. Fairies really were lucky.

[marzipanandminutiae]

I genuinely think there were far more trans people in 19th century western history than we're aware of, simply because of the nature of how most LGBTQ people lived their lives back then

namely, though of course this varied WILDLY by time, place, cultlure, race, gender, etc., in relative secrecy

if you go back far enough, legal identifying documents were barely a thing for many people. and even if they existed, circumstances in which they'd be checked were few and far between. surveillance was nowhere near what it is now simply because of technological limitations. and due to those same technological limitation, people were more used to accepting at face value the identities of people with bodies that varied from the norm

Gilbert and Sullivan mention, in their 1885 song "I've Got A Little List," the singer's "auntie with a mustache" (albeit in a negative context). not "well, I don't hold with all this woke DEI nonsense and have we checked Auntie's genitals and what's the marker on this alleged woman's passport?" is it very probable that the auntie was cisgender? yes. there are plenty of reasons for cis women to grow more facial hair than is average, ranging from genetics to PCOS to post-menopausal hormone shifts. before HRT, in a time with few readily accessible safe hair removal techniques (though they tried, and electrolysis had been technically available- at ruinously expensive rates -since the 1870s), you'd be more likely to encounter cis women with facial hair who chose not to try removing it. and you assumed all women were cis. so your set concept of A Woman included, potentially, facial hair, and it was less likely to make you question someone's gender

EDIT: wow okay so that is NOT an original G&S lyric! it's so borderline in terms of Poor Taste that I assumed it must be 19th century. nonetheless, references to old women with whiskers and moustaches abound in Victorian and earlier literature, so the point still stands

besides which, for a very long time, personal questions along the lines of "what's in your trousers/skirt" were considered HIGHLY impertinent

so, while there would be a world of trouble if a trans person was caught or if suspicions began to arise about their gender for some reason- the past was not a trans-friendly utopia by any means -it was often somewhat easier to fly under the radar than it generally is today. the transphobic powers-that-were were less aware of this possibility and therefore not on high alert for it, generally speaking

and since most trans people then and now want to have jobs and social circles and families and do things to which being trans is incidental, while trans, it wasn't likely that they'd call attention to themselves in a time when Closet = Safe. indeed, most trans people from that era that we know about are only publicly known because their death wishes to be buried without autopsy were not respected. I'm thinking of Dr. James Barry, Charley Parkhurst, and earlier the Chevaliere d'Eon [no, that's not a misspelling; it's the feminine form of Chevalier since she was a woman]

(you hear about more transmasc people in the history of this era because it was harder to establish an independent life as a woman, at all, without some kind of support network/establishment of Reputation in the area where you were living. unless you were a sex worker, and while we do know about some transfem sex workers of the era, the specifics of their identities are often obscured behind salacious news reports of Man Disguised As Woman Tricks Other Men Into Doing Icky Gay Things. so figuring out whether they saw themselves as women or crossdressing men can be difficult. Mary Jones comes immediately to mind)

how many similar wishes were respected? how many people slipped through history with their gender variance unremarked-upon? there's literally no way of knowing- which is good in terms of immediate postmortem respect, but leaves historians of queer subjects nowadays with a herculean task

I think, in light of all that's happening right now, I just want to remind everyone that trans people have always existed, will always exist, and are an integral part of humanity's fabric

[lancestrollsgf]

# STOP LOOKING AT ME WITH THOSE EYES ! YANDERE! AXEL KOVACEVIC X READER, WRITTEN

introduction master list request list

# WARNINGS: not a good interpretation of a yandere (not intense), lowercase intended, female! reader, use of y/n, spelling/grammar errors, possible OC axel and gullible reader, established relationship, messy writing, and maybe bad descriptions. good ending!! + a cute extra scene at the end

# SUMMARY: you decided to follow your boyfriend to the torment he was participating in. due to not making many friends in highschool in croatia, being in a new environment and country could be a possibility to make new friends, but by the way axel is acting, he doesn’t seem to like that.

# AUTHOR’S NOTE: i did have to watch season 6 again to really get a good intro on axel again, i also did some research/watch interviews, hoping it is right. in this axel is 16 years old and is from croatia, balkans. meaning that axel is going to school in croatia and went to hong kong for training with sensei wolf. i know that it wasn't shown but pretend that axel and reader actually had time and would at least in someway interact with the other characters (more like just miyagi do). i apologize for this being on the short side, i’m still trying to get the hang of writing again. word count: 1100. here is the link of the song the title is named after!

# REQUESTED: YES

axel has been your boyfriend for a while now, and you've always been by his side—more voluntarily than anything, considering how hard it was for you to make friends in your high school back in croatia. it wasn’t that you were unlikable, just that people didn’t seem to care enough to get close. axel was different, though. from the moment he noticed you, it was like you were the only person in his world.

when he told you he was leaving for the tournament, you didn’t hesitate to follow. a new environment, a new country—it sounded like an opportunity, a fresh start. maybe this time, things would be different. maybe you could finally belong somewhere. but axel… he didn’t seem to like that idea.

it started small. a hand on your lower back when you tried to talk to someone new. standing just a little too close when another competitor greeted you. answering for you when someone would ask a question. his grip would tighten, his voice always calm but firm, a quiet reminder.

stay close to me.

you brushed it off at first. axel had always been protective. he said it was because he knew what people were really like— how they used and discarded others when it suited them. you didn't want to believe that.

but then came the glares. the cold, sharp eyes watching every interaction you had. the way his jaw clenched whenever someone so much as smiled at you. the way his mood soured whenever you laughed at someone else's joke.

then the words.

"we're leaving soon, don't get to close"

"they're pretending to be nice, they're trying to get to me"

"i'm the only one who understands you"

at first, you tried to ignore it. axel had always been intense— possessive, even —but he had his reasons. he didn't trust easily, and he never let his guard down. but now, that wasn't just directed at his opponents in the tournament. it was now aimed at anyone who got too close to you.

it started off small. a hand on your wrist when you lingered too long in a conversation. a sharp look when miguel or hawk cracked a joke that made you laugh. the way he always seemed to position himself between you and someone else. like an unspoken barrier.

at first, the others found it ammusing.

"man, your boyfriend's intense," hawk had said nudging miguel after axel all but dragged you away from a conversation. "you sure he let's you breathe?" miguel had given you a sympathetic glance, but he didn't push. sam, on the other hand, did.

"you know that you can talk to whoever you want, right?" she asked one afternoon when axel had stepped away for a minute, due to his sensei wanting to have a conversation with him.

"i know," you had said, but the words felt hollow. because deep down, you knew it wasn't about permission. it was about him. about the way axel saw the world— how he believed people couldn't be trusted. and more than anything, it was about his fear of losing you.

but it couldn't go on like this.

that night, after most of the competitors had gone back to their rooms, you found him outside, leaning against the railing of the balcony of your shared rooms. the bright active city lights reflected in his eyes, but his expression was unreadable.

"you're mad," he said before you could even open your mouth. "i'm frustrated," you corrected, stepping closer. "axel... you have to stop this. i want to be here with you, but i can't do that if you keep pushing everyone else away." his grip tightened on the railing. "i'm not pushing them away. i'm protecting you."

"from what?" you asked, starting to get irritated. "from people being nice to me? from me finally being able to have the chance to make friends?"

he turned to face you then, his gaze sharp but conflicted. "people lie. they act friendly, they pretend to care— but in the end, they always let you down." his voice was steady, but there was something beneath it. something raw. "not everyone," you said softly, reaching for his hand. "not me."

for a moment, he didn't move. then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours, his grip firm, but not forceful. "i don't want to lose you," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "you won't," you promised. "but you have to trust me the way I trust you."

axel exhaled sharply, looking away. you could tell it wasn't easy for him, to let go of control. but after a moment, he nodded. "...alright," he muttered. "but if they give me a reason to not trust them—"

"i know," you interrupted, a small smile tugging at your lips. "you'll be watching." a smirk ghosted across his face, and for the first time in a while. his presence didn't feel suffocating. it felt grounding.

— extra scene funny and cute!! (y/n and axel are sitting with miyagi do in this scenario and they have a good relationship with them in this scene.)

the shift in axel hadn't gone noticed. while he still had his moments—hovering nearby whenever someone got a little too friendly—he wasn’t shutting you off from the rest of the world anymore.

during a lunch with all the teams in the tournament, miguel nudged hawk and nodded toward the two of you. “dude, i think your little intervention worked.” hawk smirked, taking a bite of his food. “told you. y/n just had to remind him that she’s her own person, and won’t go anywhere.” hawk replied quietly.

demetri, who had been wary of axel ever since the tense standoff, finally realized enough to sit at the same table again. “so, we’re actually allowed to talk to you now?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

axel shot him a look, but there’s no hostility behind it. “don’t push it.” tory leaned back in her chair, smirking. “hey, progress is progress.”

even sam, who has been quietly observing, gave a small nod of approval. “it’s nice to see you with us instead of watching from a distance.”

you squeezed axel’s hand under the table, and for once, he didn’t flinch away from the attention. instead, he met your gaze, a silent understanding passing between you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

the end!!! 😄😄 if anyone from the better norris series is reading this, part three is coming soon! just trying to get through the axel requests, which i am open to more requests, before posting the third part. ( i am working on part four rn )

[zeroseuniverse]

hey, I just saw your SKZ “Types of Cuddlers” thing and I was wondering if you could maybe do one of the members reacting to their S/O secretly being an AMAZING singer

(Preferably in the car while listening to the radio)

OFC OFC

Here is....

Stray Kids reacting to their S/O being a good singer secretly

Bang Chan

Chan is always humming along to the radio, so when you casually start singing along, he doesn't think much of it—until you really get into it. His head snaps toward you, eyes widening as he forgets about the road for a second. "Wait—EXCUSE ME? Since when could you sing like that?!" He’s immediately hyping you up, turning down the music just to hear you better. By the time you finish, he’s already planning a whole studio session. "We’re recording this when we get home. No, this isn't up for debate. I need this on a track—please, baby."

Lee Know

Minho’s driving with one hand on the wheel, casually vibing, when you start singing. At first, he side-eyes you, but when you hit a high note flawlessly, he nearly swerves. "What the hell was that?" He plays it cool but turns the music down ever so slightly, just to hear more. When you stop, he just raises a brow. "Why are you acting like you didn’t just sing better than half the idols out there? Explain." He might act nonchalant, but trust me, he’ll be begging you to sing for him again when you least expect it.

Changbin

Changbin’s rapping along to the song, fully in the moment, when suddenly, your vocals steal the show. He stops mid-bar, his jaw dropping as he turns to stare at you like you just grew wings. "HUH?! Babe, what was that?! Why do you sound like a literal OST singer??" He’s shook, and now he refuses to let you stop. He even starts replaying the song so you can sing it again, hyping you up like a proud fan. "You better sing every song from now on. This is our thing now."

Hyunjin

Hyunjin is just enjoying the ride, scrolling on his phone while you sing along absentmindedly. Then, your voice hits, and his head snaps up so fast it might give him whiplash. "Wait. WAIT. Since when could you sing like that?!" He’s dramatically clutching his chest like he just fell in love all over again. "I need you to sing to me every day from now on. No exceptions." Would 100% start recording you on his phone while fake crying.

Han

Han’s all about music, so when you start belting out a song like a pro, he goes through all five stages of shock in two seconds. First, his jaw drops, then his hands are in his hair, and then he’s physically shaking you. "BABE—HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS?!" He immediately starts harmonizing with you, but let’s be real—he’s mostly hyping you up. By the end, he’s convinced you must have been a singer in a past life. "We’re doing karaoke as soon as we get home. I don’t care what plans we had—this is more important."

Felix

Felix is driving peacefully, just enjoying the moment, when you casually start singing. At first, he smiles—then he really listens. His eyes go wide, and he suddenly pulls over. "I need a moment. WHAT was that?!" He’s staring at you like you just unlocked a hidden talent he never knew about. Immediately starts asking questions: "Why haven’t you told me? Can you do that again? Wait, are you secretly an idol?!" He’s so soft about it, though. From now on, he’ll beg you to sing him to sleep.

Seungmin

Seungmin is one of those people who wouldn’t react right away. He’d just stare at you while driving, trying to process the fact that his S/O has a golden voice. "Huh. So you’ve just been hiding this from me?" But the moment you’re done, his teasing starts. "You think you’re better than me now? Should we battle? Should I call JYP?" He’s acting unserious, but deep down, he’s genuinely impressed. Expect him to request random songs just to hear you sing again.

I.N

Jeongin’s jamming out, not expecting much, until you casually body the vocals. He gasps so dramatically you think something’s wrong. "YOU CAN SING?!" His hands are gripping the wheel like he’s shook. He immediately starts grinning, turning down the volume just to hear you better. "No, no, keep going! You sound so good!" He’s so excited about it that he’ll probably keep bringing it up for days, telling the rest of the members like he just discovered a secret treasure. "Guys, my S/O has been hiding their vocal skills from me. I feel betrayed but also so blessed."

[writingwordsgayly]

"what do you mean you woke up like that?" our paladin says, eyes wide as saucers, hand on his hilt.

"exactly what I said, rupe" a short reply comes from our armoured cleric, she is trying to pull off her helmet and is not succeeding

"no lulu don't touch the armour it's eeeeevil" our rogue mimics the cleric's high-pitched voice, "but you just wanted it for yourself!!!" he looks angrier then I've ever seen him.

the barbarian moves to pull the helmet off but the wizard steps in front of her holding up her hands and investigating the armor, mumbling about runes and incantations and studies, and I tune it out to start working on some songs.

"if it is cursed armor then simply pulling it off will do nothing more than harm her Jules, let me see".

the fifth spell fails to give us any insight, and the cleric is talking to herself, I've run out of songs to play as I wait so I rummage through my bag for rations I start handing them out to the rest of the party, the cleric stands abruptly when I approach hands raised beginning a spell. the counterspell leaves my lips before I am able to even hear what she was casting, the rest of the party is on their feet before the magic dissipates from the air. and I take a couple copper from my pocket to understand what's going on inside her head.

"I will not hurt him! he is my friend!" her voice echoes through my head, and a deep tinny voice responds

"they killed my last wearer they will kill you too" I open my mouth to defend myself but she is faster

"he wouldn't kill me! we protect eachother, we are friends, we fight side by side! against those who harm our world, our *home*" the armor seems to listen to her words, I see her nodding though I feel that it is not her moving her head

"what do you want" I hear her say outside of my head, I hear the armor's response in my head

"I want to serve you as I once served him" she considers, I feel it. she shifts,

"how would you serve" I try to caution her against it but I know she cannot hear us while they speak, I feel myself speaking but I truly don't know what I'm saying, I think I hear myself say demon king, but at this point I'm stuck in my own head

Upon his death, the demon king’s cursed armor seeks out a new host to wear it and its power. It found a match in the gentle cleric in your party.

[runninriot]

Happier With You

written for the @steddiesongfics february prompt and as fill for my @steddiebingo card prompt: The Hideout

song inspo: Happier by Ed Sheeran | rated: T | wc: 3.199 | tags: emotional hurt/comfort, heartbreak, second chances, love confessions, angst with happy ending | complete fic on ao3

This was supposed to be a fun night out with his best friend. Nothing special, just him and Robin going to the open mic night at The Hideout – a place he usually avoids for reasons but never would’ve thought said reasons would choose this night specifically to come back and haunt him. Had he known, Steve would’ve fought with his hands and feet not to be dragged into this hell.

It’s not Robin’s fault; she didn’t know this would happen. Neither of them could foresee that a night that started out so full of joy, could turn into a dreadful nightmare. That the laughter from earlier would get stuck in his throat, forming a lump too big to swallow around. Restricting his airways and making it almost impossible to breathe.

Maybe, if they didn’t have their backs turned to the little stage on the other side of the decently crowded room, he could’ve reacted differently. Maybe, had he seen rather than felt what was coming for him, he would have had the chance to get up and leave before it was too late.

That’s not what happens, though.

Because when first note hits him, it feels like a bullet shot right through his chest, tearing open old wounds that never quite managed to fully heal. Leaving him frozen in shock, no chance to run and hide to protect what little of his heart is still intact.

He hasn’t heard this voice in almost a year but still recognises it the moment it fills the room – honey-sweet and deep and warm, hanging thick in the air like suffocating campfire smoke slowly creeping into all the broken parts of him.

How could he forget?

How could he ever forget what his voice sounds like?

Even like this, singing a song that’s so different from the music he used to play back when they were still part of each other’s lives.

Back when Steve would’ve done everything for the man whose heartfelt lyrics now try to kill him. Steve would’ve given him the world but apparently, that wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

Not enough to make him stay but enough to- write him a song?

There’s no doubt those words are directed at him; the story too close to theirs – one moving on while the other is looking at them from the outside.

Only he’s twisting the truth. The words an accusation so vile it makes Steve want to scream. Makes him want to storm the stage and punch him right off the bar stool he’s sitting on. Guitar in his lap, eyes closed, pouring his heart into the mic. Sitting there looking hurt.

Having the audacity to make Steve the one who moved on. Blaming him for trying to find peace when everything was falling apart.

As if Eddie hadn’t made him choose someone else. Pushed him into the arms of a person Steve didn’t even want, not anymore.

Because he wanted Eddie.

But again, it seemed, Steve had fallen for his own mind’s tricks. Clinging to the illusion that there was something between them. Something worth fighting for. Something that turned out to be nothing but smoke and dust and the cause for an aching heart.

Eddie made him question everything. Made him feel insecure about his own intentions. Tried so hard to make him believe that what he felt was just a silly infatuation that would soon again dissipate into something less meaningful. Convincing Steve of a fact he knew not to be true.

Because Steve wanted Eddie like he had never wanted anyone ever before. His feelings were real, no matter how hard Eddie tried to make him believe that they weren’t. It could’ve been real, if Eddie had given him a chance.

-----

continue reading here

[sarahisslytherin]

whatever you need.

matt murdock x reader

summary: matt murdock has enough problems. but when his upstairs neighbor is upset over her breakup, he can't help getting involved.

contains: talk of an emotionally abusive relationship. mentions of fem!reader. other than that it's all fluff.

a/n: am i trying to process my feelings through fanfiction? absolutely. am i ashamed? no. also so happy to be writing for my boy matt again! gif by @djo

word count: 0.8k

It’s been a long day for Matt Murdock. Work was shit, in spite of Foggy’s attempts to crack jokes and cheer him up. His body aches in too many places to count from the endless hits he took last night. So when he finally stumbles in through his apartment door, the last thing Matt needs is another problem. But as he cracks open a beer and takes a seat on his sofa, he can’t help but notice how the silence surrounding him is pierced by a ragged cry.

His head cocks to the side, listening intently to figure out where the sound is coming from. It’s the apartment directly above him, the one with the young woman he often would hear singing or laughing. That was until the boyfriend moved in. There was still laughter, but exponentially less of it. He recalls a lot more crying and fighting and slamming doors. It was like that for a while. He can’t deny that some nights the arguments had him itching to waltz upstairs and break that fucker’s nose for putting you through hell. But then he figured, it wasn’t his problem, and he had enough of those.

But it’s been quiet lately, and after putting two and two together, he’s realized it’s just you up there now. Just you, crying your heart out into the pillow before bed every night, scribbling in your journal in the morning, inviting friends over to distract yourself from the pain. The pain he wishes he could take away. He admits it, he’s grown fond of you. When you sing, he stops what he’s doing and drinks in the sound of it as if it were an angel’s song. He can’t help but overhear your conversations at times, can’t help but chuckle when you make a particularly funny quip. He doesn’t know what you look like, but he’s sure you’re as beautiful as you sound to him. How that ass couldn’t treat you right, he’ll never know.

He ignores your cry this time, the way he has for the last couple of weeks. But when he lays his head down on his pillow after another restless night on the streets and hears your whimpers, he simply can’t take it anymore. He throws on the first shirt he gets his hands on and a pair of grey sweats before racing up the flight of stairs keeping him from you. It’s only when he knocks on your door that it dawns on him he doesn’t have a plan.

His heart stops when he hears you shuffle inside, sucking in your breath and no doubt trying to conceal any visible evidence that you’d been crying. He hears the doorknob turn and the creak of the wood as he comes face to face with you.

“Hello.” you manage to say, your voice still a bit hoarse. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, my name is Matt. I live right below you.” he starts. He’s praying to every god that you can’t hear his heart panging in his chest. “I know this may seem odd to you, but I get the sense that you’re not okay. I mean, I used to hear some pretty crazy fights from up here with who I can only assume is your boyfriend-”

“Ex.” you interrupt him, arms crossed and eyes trained on the welcome mat beneath your bare feet. “Ex-boyfriend.”

Matt nods, taking a breath before continuing. “Right. The thing is, I’ve got a really good sense about these things. I don’t know, call it intuition. But let’s just say I’m not hearing any screaming matches anymore and, though that is a good thing, I can’t help but wonder if you need someone to talk to or just a hug or whatever you need.”

There’s a silence hanging in the air after he speaks. You watch him wring his hands together as he waits for your response. You also notice the way his sweet, brown eyes seem to look straight through you before you realize he can’t see you. 

“You want to give me a hug?” you ask, and Matt in your voice the way your mouth quirks into a tiny smile. “Because I’m crying over my asshole ex-boyfriend?”

“A hug, some takeout, a walk around town. Whatever you need.” he’s grinning too now. He picks up on the way you casually lean on your doorframe, arms still crossed.

“What are you, some kind of hero or something?” you joke, adding a faux air of suspicion to your tone. “Who sent you?”

Matt laughs openly at that, throwing his head back as he does. “No one sent me, I just don’t like to know there’s a pretty girl crying over some jackass in my immediate vicinity.”

“Not to be rude, but what makes you think I’m pretty?”

Matt just shrugs. “Call it intuition.” 

He definitely doesn’t need sight to feel the way your hand clutches his shirt and playfully tugs him through the door. It’s right then and there that Matt resolves on making your problems his problems as well.

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @deadfables @misshale21 @dragonsfictavern @sweetercalypso @sheraayasher

[babybearnation]

Pop star reader headcannons w/ Zane Maloney, Nyck De Vries, Alex Albon, Logan Sargeant, and Arthur Leclerc

Love you mwah 😚😚😚

-🦊

i love you too hehe

gn!pop star!reader

zane maloney:

your music is his new favourite thing and he will proudly tell any and everyone about it

can always be found at your concerts, silently mouthing all the words to your songs as he stares lovingly at you and no one else

appreciates the fact that you make subtle merch that can easily be incorporated into day to day life because you know it's what he prefers to rock when repping you

will sometimes brag about owning limited edition merch or special editions of your albums until someone reminds everyone else that he's your boyfriend and that's why (this doesn't happen often tho!)

nyck de vries:

uses your music as a way to motivate himself before a race - your brighter, poppier songs are his favourites for that purpose

before f1, nyck could always be found front row of your concerts, cheering you on, but post-f1, he sticks to backstage, still cheering you on but in a safer place, away from peering eyes

posts about your new music on his instagram story to hype you up to his followers because he believes you deserve all the attention

does silly little unboxings of your new albums when you are on instagram live because he actually loves interacting with you fans in all the ways he can

alex albon:

plays your music at full volume in his driver's room, annoying everyone who gets too close to it

loves interacting with your fans so will be in the crowd of any of your concerts that he can attend, hyping you up and cheering you on with the rest of your fans

gives his friends specified song recommendations from your discography as a way to get them to listen to you more

if you release a new album during the f1 season, he'll get a custom helmet made for the next race that is inspired by your album art to promote you

logan sargeant:

everyone is so tired of hearing about you and your music because logan does not shut up about you ever

hides backstage at your concerts because he wants to support you but the media is still totally down to pick on him so he prefers to stay backstage where he considers it safe

gets a small section of your lyrics tattooed on him, especially if you write a song about him, because he loves your music and wants to support you

won't admit it but he carries a copy of your newest album with him everywhere he goes because it brings him comfort

arthur leclerc:

LOVES to promote your music - treats it like it's his fucking full time job considering how often he talks about your music

loudly and proudly in the crowd of your concerts - everyone knows he's your man and will happily interact with him because he's so fun to talk to

always ready to sing your songs - he knows them all off by heart, no matter what language you sing in, and can easily win those "guess the lyric" games when its your songs

brags about all the limited edition and signed stuff of yours he has but everyone knows he's your boyfriend so they won't take him seriously at all (doesn't stop him though)

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[blondemrk]

Hi can i do envelope 2 with mark 🐯

LOST TIME

p mark x fem!reader genre angst wc 1.2k

the sound of tires rolling over wet pavement fills the silent streets as a black van slows to a stop in front of the venue. the neon lights above the entrance flicker against the dark sky, and the muffled hum of a crowd seeps through the brick walls. the air is cold, damp with the remnants of rain, but mark barely notices as he steps out, hood pulled over his head, gaze drifting across the unfamiliar yet familiar city.

it had been years since he last walked these streets.

years since he left without looking back.

and years since he last saw you.

his fingers tighten around the strap of his bag as he follows the security team inside. the venue isn’t massive—not like the arenas he’s used to—but there’s a strange comfort in the intimacy of it, in knowing that this place, this city, holds pieces of his past that he abandoned a long time ago.

he doesn’t know why he agreed to come back. nostalgia, maybe. or guilt.

maybe you.

maybe the hope that after all this time, you’d still be here, still waiting, still willing to see him after he disappeared without a trace.

but that would be selfish, wouldn’t it?

you and mark were inseparable as kids, bound by a friendship that felt unbreakable. you spent summers biking through the neighborhood, sharing headphones as you lay on the grass, talking about the future like it was something you could control.

back then, mark’s dreams were small—simple. he wanted to make music, to write songs that made people feel something. you believed in him before anyone else did, sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor while he scribbled lyrics in a worn-out notebook.

“you’ll make it big one day,” you had told him, grinning. “i’ll be your biggest fan.”

he laughed, nudging your shoulder. “you’ll be right there with me, right?”

“always.”

but “always” had an expiration date.

the day mark got his acceptance letter to train in korea, everything changed.

he was ecstatic, eyes shining with the kind of excitement you had never seen before. and you were happy for him—so, so happy—but beneath that joy was something bitter, something selfish.

“you’re really leaving, huh?” you had asked, trying to sound teasing, even though your voice wavered.

mark hesitated before nodding. “yeah… but it’s not forever.”

but it was.

at first, he tried. he texted, called, sent voice messages telling you about his training, his struggles, the late-night practices that left him exhausted but fulfilled. and you held onto those messages like lifelines, responding every chance you got, telling him about your mundane life in comparison.

but slowly, the messages became less frequent.

the calls stopped.

the time zones stretched the distance between you, and suddenly, you weren’t part of his life anymore.

you told yourself you understood. he was chasing his dream, living the life he always wanted. who were you to hold him back?

but understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

the coffee shop on 3rd street is the same as he remembers—warm lighting, the scent of espresso, the low hum of conversations overlapping.

but the moment mark steps inside, he feels out of place.

his hands are clammy as he orders, shifting from foot to foot as he glances around. he doesn’t even like coffee that much, but this was your favorite place. he wonders if you still come here.

if you’d even recognize him after all this time.

the barista calls his name, and just as he reaches for the cup, he hears it.

a laugh.

soft, familiar. a sound he hadn’t heard in years, yet it still manages to send a sharp pang through his chest.

his gaze snaps to the corner of the café.

and there you are.

sitting by the window, a book in one hand, a drink in the other. the sight is so painfully familiar that for a second, he forgets how much time has passed.

you look… older. not in a bad way. just different. the softness of youth is gone, replaced by something quieter, more mature. he wonders if you’ve changed or if he just doesn’t know you anymore.

he takes a shaky breath. he shouldn’t disturb you. you look happy. peaceful.

but then your eyes lift, and suddenly, he’s frozen.

shock flickers across your face, but it disappears just as quickly, replaced by something unreadable.

mark swallows, gripping his cup tighter as he takes a hesitant step forward.

“hey,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

for a moment, you just stare at him, as if trying to determine if he’s real. then, slowly, you set your book down.

“mark.”

it shouldn’t hurt, the way you say his name—carefully, cautiously, like he’s a stranger.

like he isn’t the same boy you once promised to stay beside forever.

the air between you is thick with unspoken words. you agreed to talk, but now that you’re here—now that you’re sitting across from him in a quiet corner of the café—mark realizes he has no idea what to say.

he should apologize. should tell you he’s sorry for leaving, for never looking back, for letting the distance turn into silence.

but before he can, you speak first.

“you look good.”

it’s polite. distant.

not the way you used to talk to him.

mark forces a smile. “so do you.”

a beat of silence.

then, you exhale, setting your cup down. “why are you here, mark?”

the question is simple, but it carries weight.

mark shifts uncomfortably. “i—i had a concert here. thought i’d… check out the old places.”

you hum, nodding, but you don’t look convinced.

“i didn’t mean just here,” you clarify. “i mean… why now? why after all this time?”

mark clenches his fists. he wishes he had a good answer. wishes he could say something that would make up for the years of absence, for the messages left on read, for the calls never returned.

“i don’t know,” he admits quietly. “i guess i just… missed you.”

a sharp exhale. you look away, fingers curling around your mug.

“you don’t get to say that,” you whisper. “not after disappearing for years.”

mark flinches. he deserves that.

“i know,” he murmurs. “i messed up. i—i should’ve tried harder.”

“you didn’t try at all, mark.” your voice isn’t angry. just tired. “do you even know how long i waited? how many times i told myself you’d call back? that you’d keep your promise?”

mark swallows the lump in his throat. “i—”

“but you didn’t,” you continue. “you left, and i had to be okay with it. i had to move on. and i did.”

something cracks in his chest.

“you’re right,” he says hoarsely. “i don’t deserve to ask for anything. i just… i wanted to see you. even if you never want to talk to me again, i just needed you to know that i—” he stops, inhaling sharply. “that i never forgot about you.”

your expression softens—just barely.

for a moment, neither of you speak.

then, you sigh, rubbing your temple. “i don’t know if we can go back to how things were, mark.”

“i know,” he whispers. “but maybe… maybe we can start again?”

a pause.

then, finally, you meet his gaze.

and for the first time that night, your lips twitch into something almost like a smile.

“maybe”

and that’s enough.

for now.

be prepared for the next one... its SO SAD.

[softpascalito]

Vow Renewal I Renaldo x Matt (SNL Sketch)

Summary: Just when things seem to finally be calming down in Matt's marriage, someone from his past shows up at the Vow Renewal. And Renaldo has always been Matt's favorite temptation.

Pairing: Renaldo x Matt (SNL Sketch) Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 2.6k Tags: Explicit, Smut, Semi-Public Sex, Dirty-Talk, An*l Sex, MLM, (Light) Spanking, Cheating (ish), Crackfic, Never thought I'd write smut about an SNL sketch but who is surprised

AO3 LINK // Masterlist

notes: i have no defense, i saw the sketch, i opened my laptop and a wrote this. have fun ♡

Vow Renewal

It’s been a rocky road. But it didn’t start out that way. When Matt met Kelsey in College, their relationship was picture perfect. A few glances and smiles exchanged from their respective seats in the lecture hall, an invitation to grab coffee on a friday. Matt brought flowers and paid for the drinks with a few crumpled up dollar notes and asked questions that he hoped made him sound smart and well educated.

They must have, because three months later, for Christmas, he met Kelsey’s family for the first time, sweating too much at the dinner table as he tried to be on his best behavior. But despite the nerves, all was going well. He popped the question two years later. She said yes.

Then came Domingo. And it all went to shit.

Matt was surprised they had even gone through with the marriage but with Kelsey promising again and again that she was over Domingo and that she only had eyes for Matthew, things settled down. Still, they decided on a vow renewal less than a year later. A sign of good faith. For both of them, though that detail was unknown to Kelsey.

He uses his hand to smooth down his hair, trying not to mess up the product that is already holding it in place. The venue they have booked is small but pretty and even though they are already married, seeing the white and pink decorations is making Matthew feel like his tie is too tight, cutting off his air supply. “I’ll be outside for a moment,” he mutters to one of his groomsmen. They barely take notice of his departure, too busy going over some sheets of paper that are sure to be another embarrassing, self-written song. Like anything good ever comes out of those.

The February air that greets him outside is cold and he shivers in his suit, letting the door fall shut behind him. The balcony stretches along the back of the house, overlooking a forest behind it. It probably makes a nice addition to the venue in the summer, when the weather allows it. But today, it is empty.

He smells him before he sees him. Matt doesn't smoke, unless he counts the two times he tried it in college. He doesn't know shit about cigarettes. But he'd recognize the scent of American Spirits mixed with him anywhere.

The sounds of Renaldo's footsteps echo around the terrasse as he comes closer, like a wolf stalking its prey. “I was waiting for you.”

“Renaldo.” Matt is surprised to hear that his voice comes out shaking. “I didn't know you were here.” He’s not sure why he sounds so hostile. Renaldo hasn't done a thing to him. Except be the very thing he can't have.

“Any yet here I was, still waiting.” He has that fucking smirk on his face.

“How is Santiago?” Matt asks quietly, leaning back against the bannister because he wants to keep as much distance between them as possible and hoping that the topic of Renaldo’s hot brother will provide distraction. But it's like he's back on that golf course where they first met.

“Good. He's good.” Renaldo hums, taking another step towards him. “But that's not the question you really want to ask, is it?” It's like he's challenging him, brown eyes focused on his face, searching for the hint of emotion that will betray his desire and make him an open book. “It's been a very long time, hasn't it? A whole year.”

Matt can feel the man entering his space, his scent even more protruding now. “I told you it wasn't like that, Renaldo. I'm not like that.”

“I don’t remember you complaining,” he muses and fuck, Matt doesnt have it in himself to deny that. “In fact, I think you were doing quite the opposite.” Renaldo’s hand comes to rest on the banister beside his and he towers over him, his voice dropping to a whisper against his ear. “You were begging for it.”

His reaction is immediate. Matt lets out a soft noise that is somewhere between outrage and a moan and he feels his dress pants getting tighter, a shiver running over his body. He takes in Renaldo’s face for a few split seconds, the small goatee, the fine lines that serve as a visual reminder of their age difference and brown eyes filled with lust. Then, Matt pushes himself off the banister and right into Renaldo’s arms, his lips finding those of his illicit lover.

Renaldo’s tongue pushes against his mouth until he gives in and opens for him, their mouths catching his moans when the other man begins to explore his mouth, all restraint forgotten.

Matthew is panting when they break apart. “Not out here. Kelsey's parents are–” He takes a shuddering breath. “Everyone is here. Come on.”

He takes Renaldo’s hand, prompting the other man to follow him without hesitation. They squeeze through the door again, taking a left to get further away from the ceremony hall, when an idea pops into Matthew’s head. The room is small and windowless, almost too full with two chairs, a vanity and clothes rail. It's where he got ready with his best man half an hour earlier. Now, it has turned into the perfect hiding spot.

He doesn't even have a chance to lock the door behind them when Renaldo pushes him further into the room, pinning him against the nearest wall with an audible thud. Matt doesn't know the layout of the house, doesn't know if Kelsey is getting ready behind this very wall. But just the thought of it makes him whimper.

Renaldo’s hands are wandering down his body, his broad form trapping Matt in the most delicious way. He can feel his legs on either side of his right one, already feeling the hard cock pressing into his thigh. By the way his own pants are stretching, he can tell he's not far behind either. One hand finds Matt's back, the other trailing over his neck and somehow Renaldo still knows exactly where to touch him to draw those breathless little moans from his throat.

“You fuck her?” Renaldo grunts and it takes a moment for Matt to remember who he is talking about. His own voice comes out breathless.

“She’s my girlfriend–” He feels Renaldo press into him more at that. “No, she’s your fucking wife,” he growls. “But she was your fiancé last time and you still let me fuck you. So I assume that hasn't changed?”

“I’m not bi,” Matt chokes out, not because he believes it but simply because he's so used to saying it, even when he knows that Renaldo of all people does not give a damn what label he puts on his sex life.

“You want me to stop?” He grunts, searching Matt's eyes for a few seconds. Renaldo can watch as they soften and the younger man shakes his head.

“No,” he whispers and Renaldos smirk returns at that, tugging at the groom's belt.

“Then lose those fucking pants.”

He is eager to obey, fumbling with his belt with shaking hands and then practically ripping his pants down, not even bothering to step out of them properly. Just enough to allow Renaldo access. He hisses as the other man hooks his thumb into his briefs and pulls them down in one quick motion, his cock already hard and leaking. “Should’ve come earlier–” Matthew mutters and the next moment, Renaldo’s hand comes down onto his bare ass, grumbling an empty threat.

His large, callused hand stays there, kneading the flesh and it's like he remembers the exact motions still, both of them no doubt taken back to that night in Scottsdale. Renaldo slips his index finger inside and Matt immediately feels his muscles clench down on him. “Relax.” Renaldos voice is a bit softer now, low against his ear as he begins working his finger further inside, though with a bit of a struggle. The squeezes of his ass turn into soft caresses. “You got any lube on you?”

Matt shakes his head, already trying to mentally prepare himself for a more painful experience than he’d like. But to his surprise, Renaldo just nods and withdraws his finger. “Don't move. I'll be just a second.”

***

His steps through the hallway are hurried, partly because he doesn't want to leave Matt waiting and partly because he doesn't want to be caught sneaking around with a more than obvious boner in his pants. Renaldo nods to himself in relief when he finds the kitchen empty, the staff nowhere to be seen. He eyes the white two-tier cake with a small shake of his head, not paying it too much attention. Instead, he opens one cabinet after another until he finds what he’s looking for. “Bingo.”

He slips back into the dressing room with the bottle of olive oil and laughs as he watches Matt's eyes go wide. “That's the expensive stuff–” He breathes out because of course that's what Matthew would be worried about right now.

“Good,” Renaldo comments dryly. “Then maybe it’ll be nearly as good as real lube.” He carelessly throws the cap into a corner and places the open bottle onto the vanity beside them. As soon as he’s back beside him, Matt's hands reach for him, fingers clawing at the golden chain around his neck, pressing his half naked form against him. It's like now that he has him, he doesn't want to let him go again.

“Do you need to lie down or are you good to stand?” Unless Renaldo is very much mistaken, he doesn't believe that Matt has been with another guy since their fleeting romance and he remembers the whispered confession about being his first.

“I can stand if you can, old man.”

Oh. He knows exactly how to push his fucking buttons. Two can play that game. In one quick motion, Renaldo uses his size to his advantage, turning Matt on the spot and bending him over, the younger man's hands flat against the wall, his ass stuck out and on display. Renaldo brings his palm down on each side, feeling his own desire skyrocket at the sight of his hand imprinted on the cheeks for a few moments.

The soft moans from Matt's mouth mix with the distinct jingle of Renaldo opening his belt, followed by that of a zipper opening. He kicks his pants off and reaches for the bottle, his cock already aching to be touched. The cool sensation of the olive oil sends shivers through his body and Renaldo fists himself a few times, coating his length in the makeshift-lube.

“Who the fuck are you calling an old man, huh?” He grunts as he lines his tip up with Matt's hole and begins to bury himself inside, looking down to watch inch after inch disappear, the younger man's body already so tight around him that he feels like he could shoot his load right away.

“Fuck–” Matt chokes out, curling his fingers as he holds himself up against the wall and Renaldo watches him closely. He knows exactly what he needs. So he leans forward, reaching around to hurriedly undo the buttons of Matt's dress shirt and carelessly sends it to the floor. He runs his tongue over Matt's shoulder as he bottoms out, teeth scraping over his neck. Distracting from the pain that they both know will turn into their favorite pleasure in a few seconds.

“You good?” He hums quietly, giving the other man a moment to check in with him. He watches him nod weakly and Renaldo tuts softly. “Words, baby,” he reminds him.

“Good. It's so good, Jesus–” Matt presses out, rolling his shoulders back slightly. “Please move.”

Renaldo obeys, beginning with shallow thrusts, working his way in and out. His free hand wanders down Matt's chest, fingernails scratching his skin just enough to make him shiver. Then, he finds his lover's middle and wraps his hand around the leaking cock that has been so starved of attention until now. He loves how the other man feels in his hand, heavy and slick with precum.

“You're gonna ruin those pretty dress pants,” Renaldo mutters into his ear, punctuating each of his sentences with a deep thrust. “Did your little wife buy them for you?”

For a split second, he thinks he’s gone too far, feeling Matt tense under him. But then, his dick twitches in his hand, making Renaldo smirk as Matt groans. “I want them ruined.”

He doesn't have to ask twice. Renaldo sets a faster pace, making both of them pant with effort as Matt bounces himself back on his cock. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room and judging by its weight, Renaldo is certain that the wooden door of the dressing room is in no way soundproof. Good.

“Renaldo–” Matt doesn't even have to say it. They both know what he’s asking and the older man nods weakly, burying his nose against his neck as a groan leaves him. “Yes.”

He lets his thumb flick over Matthews tip, making him whimper and his body shudder below him. His muscles quiver around his own cock in a way that lets him know he’s close. His grip around Matt's cock tightens and he strokes him right up to that delicious edge. Then, he drops his hand, prompting a weak string of curses from below him.

“I want you to come from just feeling me,” Renaldo rasps and is met with eager nods. “Think you can do that?”

“Yes, fuck–please–” He’s begging the same way he was that night, falling apart below Renaldo’s hands so beautifully. “Renaldo–” He chokes out. “Tell me to leave her.”

He hesitates for a moment, knowing that those words hold more weight than any of their actions tonight. But eventually, he nods, driving himself deep into the man below him. “Leave her.”

Matt moans, his name on his lips and shoots his load without further warning, the sticky fluid ruining his pants the way that Renaldo promised it would. He brings his hand back to stroke his lover through his orgasm, drawing it out and a few moments later, Renaldo follows suit, spilling himself deep inside of Matthew, exactly where he is meant to be, their bodies melting together and he finally, finally marks what is his.

He pulls out with a grunt eventually, watching his cum drip from Matt's hole for a moment, ruining any slight chance of salvaging those black pants, now stained with white. Renaldo lets himself fall onto one of the chairs at the back of the room, beckoning Matt to follow him and pulling him onto his lap, one strong thigh serving as his seat. He closes his eyes for a moment as he feels Matt tracing his gold chain again, his touch now so delicate.

“I'm gonna have to see her at the family functions, won't I? If she gets with Domingo.” Renaldo can tell that he's trying to hide the anxiety in his voice but he's not doing a very good job of it. He sighs, opening his eyes again and nods.

A smirk spreads over Renaldo’s face as he nudges Matt's chin, prompting them to lock eyes. Then, without blinking, he brings his right hand up to his own mouth and licks a stripe along its side, catching a few drops of Matt’s cum on his lips.

“You’ll have to. But I promise there’ll always be a dressing room to fuck in.”

notes: thanks for reading! if you enjoyed, feel free to reblog or follow me for more ♡

[magiturge]

i just wanna say. thsnk u so much for having such a fire music taste. i listened to all tghe sherhank songs and theyre all so fire. also can u go in depth about supersonics? (also do u have any playlists i can klisten to or more songs? these are all fire my goat)

supersonics ( linked for others to follow along ) serves to be sheriff's perspective in a sort of drunk way.

discussion under cut

for supplementary information, i hc sheriff to be self medicate with alcohol / is a functioning alcoholic due to his circumstances stressing him out with little outlet to his problems. this is also in reference to one of his voice lines being 'pass the whiskey'.

the whole song has a sort of jaunty dance feel, like a duo dancing around each other. it sorta punches you in the face, and its loose and cheerful. that's why it comes from sheriff's perspective in a drunken way, it's all a good numbing feeling, it's honest. it's a messy dance with a desperate elegance to keep going, it's an up and down with a hanging grip, feet kicking in the air.

it's a drunk cowboy's fun time

ill provide the particular punchy sound im referring to in the form of the original audio and version of that spinning gif i made : ) "You don’t really know what goes on That’s why all this looks like a perfect mess"

best in reference to the entire situation being a secret for the most part to everybody as much as sheriff can possibly keep it up. sheriff walks and weaves an image for himself that everything is just as it is, nothing as changed, things are functioning the same as they have been for the past however many years. it's a messy sector but it's the same as always, it's a perfect mess and you don't really know what's going on.

-

"Freaks come out until the lights go on And it feels so good when I lose my head"

the freaks ( both him and hank ) come out until the lights ( eyes of others ) come on. i dont really know how to describe this part right but hank is sort of an unraveller for sheriff. there is something.... ( does some gestures ) really intimate and vulgar about the way those two dance around each other, and that dance is thrilling even if terrifying for sheriff, it feels good, to lose his head ( lose a sense of ratoinale for awhile ).

-

"What a bad habit Hard to scrap Knockin' at my door It can’t be stopped no more What a bad habit Hard to scrap Knockin' at my door It can’t be stopped no more"

the chorus of supersonics can refer to both sheriff's issue with drinking or to his 'bad habit' of continuously meeting with hank, of getting more intimate and tender with them, growing more attached to them and further taking them into who he is, as much a part of his identity as he is.

it's hard to let go of this. for how i write sheriff, he's emotionally repressed as a result of having to keep his head straight on leading the MERC faction instead of living as normal as a nevada life can be. he was just a guy before this selling mattresses. part of that emotional repression comes from the pressure he feels from jeb.

jeb is scary to him. he's a friendly face, not a friend.

it is so hard for sheriff to let go of this despite knowing how many cons there are to getting so involved with hank, it's a bad habit. it's hard to scrap. it's knocking at his door ( traversing the body of his fortress ) and it can't be stopped anymore. :9

his problem with drinking is also hard to kick, he has little comfort to his situation and his artificially planted sense of leadership on the men in MERC makes it hard for him to open up proper to any of them. even though he's sociable, he's emotionally closed from responsibility.

-

"It’s so easy, won’t you come along? Just lose yourself with the side effects"

a lot of the songs that i gave in that one ask can come with 'fake' lines from hank in the sense of, it's sheriff's mind thinking of things hank is saying to him but hank never says it. it's like an image of hank in his mind murmuring things at him, like he's a concept more than he is a person.

hank is like temptation to him. it is so easy for hank to not care about others, to regard people like tools and keep moving forward because it's almost like that's how it was meant to live. lose yourself in the side effects, just indulge in what else there is that comes with this.

get messy in the dirt, be greedy, be selfish, you're a rock in their stream and they're eroding you. it's as much a part of you as you are to yourself. lose it. lose it. lose it. lose it.

-

in terms of the second part of your ask, i don't have any playlists even though i probably SHOULD be making playlists. i forget songs a lot.

also i don't know what songs to reccommend, my taste is like, out over there sometimes.

so i'll give you this, this, this, this, this, and this.

they are probably not part of the same genre of music, but i like all of them. and i dont remember what i put in those links now, so they are as much of a surprise to me as they will be to you. if you like any of them, idk let me know lol

[little-diable]

Heaven on a hellbound train - Tommy Shelby (smut)

Requested by my love @zablife for my birthday bash celebration. The lyrics are from Noah Derksen's song "Heaven on a hell-bound train". Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader curses Tommy for forgetting about her once again and he is all set on reminding her of their bond, pwp

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, Tommy is a dick, reader is angry, dom!Tommy

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (800 words)

She was seething, angry eyes set on his emotionless features. (Y/n) had her hands pressed to her waist as if she was trying to stop herself from reaching out to strangle her husband. Minutes had ticked by ever since she had stumbled into his office, cursing him for forgetting yet another evening he was supposed to spend with her instead of whatever deal he was currently working on. 

“Go to bed, (y/n), get some sleep, eh?” A humourless laugh left her at his words, taking a step closer so she could almost feel the burn of his cigarette, ashes falling from the cigarette like all the lives he had taken. 

“You think you’ve got it oh so bad, don’t you, Thomas? But let me tell you something, we are all fucking struggling here. It don't matter if you're standing in the rain, we're all trying to get to heaven on a hell-bound train.” His piercing eyes found hers again, allowing her a glimpse of the emotions he was fighting against. With a deep sigh leaving her, she rounded his table to come to a halt right in front of him. “I just want to spend some time with my husband, is that so wrong of me?”

The cigarette was left to burn out in his ashtray as Tommy reached for her, pulling (y/n) into his lap before his lips found hers. He tasted of alcohol, of cigarettes, and of unshed blood, while she tasted of home and a sweetness he had never been deserving of, “Is that what you want? A fuck?”

“I want whatever you’re willing to give me, Thomas. But I won’t accept you forgetting about me, my life is too short to give my time to a husband who barely knows what his own bedroom looks like.” His lips found hers again to successfully shut her up, knowing that this wouldn’t be the last time they’d speak about this. But for tonight Tommy couldn’t deal with any of it, of all those emotions he found himself distracted by. (Y/n) clung to him as he rose to his feet, carrying her to the small couch to place her down on it, fingers already working on her dress to shuffle it up to her waist. 

“This will be a quick fuck, a reminder that I love my own fucking wife more than anything else, you hear me?” His hand found her face, squishing her cheeks to draw nothing but a whine out of her. Tommy didn’t need much time to rip her undergarments down her legs, exposing her aching cunt to his dangerous eyes. For a moment, his touch was sweet almost, fingers brushing over her soft skin to feel her arousal. 

It had been a fleeting moment, ripped apart by Tommy letting go of her. (Y/n) watched him free his cock, knowing better than to reach for him, at least not tonight. He spat down on his cock, pumping himself a few times before brushing his tip through her folds. At that very moment, she could recognise the man she had once married, buried under darkening layers ready to swallow all of him. 

“Look at me, convince yourself of the love you fear I no longer feel for you.” The words had a mean undertone, something (y/n) tried to drown out as he sank into her. Tommy pushed all of himself inside of her, burying his cock in her tightness with a heavy groan. Even though he couldn’t put it into words, she knew that he had missed being close to her just as much, cursing himself for being this distracted. 

Just like Tommy had promised, it was anything but a slow fuck, it was fuelled by their need, by the ticking clock, and the desperate ache for an orgasm. His hips met hers with every thrust, set on leaving bruises she could cling to like a wordless promise, bruises similar to the scratches she left on the back of his neck, close to drawing blood. 

“God, Tommy,” she sobbed her words, struggling to keep looking at him while he fucked her closer to the edge. It was ironic, praising the man she had cursed minutes ago, all because he was finally touching her again, making it feel like a drug pushing through her system after staying away from it for too long. 

“Cum for me, show me how good I’m making you feel.” (Y/n) came seconds later. Her walls clenched his cock, giving him the needed push to follow her down the edge, letting go with a groan before he kissed her breathless. 

“It would help us both if you finally believed how much I love you.”

[carnalcrows]

YANDERE ROCKSTAR

☆ name: Choi Minjae (최민재 | 崔敏宰) → "Quick-Witted and Capable Peak"

☆ ethnicity : Korean

☆ age : 19

☆ gender : Male

☆ mbti : ENFP

☆ his story : [click below to proceed]

From the moment he picked up a guitar at age ten, music became his escape. His talent was undeniable, and by the time he was seventeen, he had joined one of Korea’s rising rock bands as their lead guitarist. Fame came fast, but so did pressure. His father, once a promising musician himself, had abandoned music after a tragic accident—one that nearly took the life of his younger brother. When he was fourteen, a reckless drunk driver crashed into their family’s car. He survived with minor injuries, but his younger brother was left severely injured and in a coma for months. The guilt of not being able to protect him has haunted him ever since.

Now, at 19, he is balancing college and international fame, all while carrying the weight of his past. Though he appears cool and distant at first, those who break through his icy exterior find a fiercely loyal friend with a heart of gold. His PTSD manifests in subtle ways—flinching at sudden loud noises, avoiding car rides whenever possible, and gripping his guitar like a lifeline during anxiety episodes. But he never talks about it. He refuses to be seen as weak.

☆ appearance:

Dyed blonde hair, usually messy from long nights of rehearsals

Deep-set dark brown eyes that seem unreadable until he smiles—then they light up

6'1", lean but toned from constant performances

Always wears glasses or contacts (his vision is terrible)

A silver ring on his right hand, a gift from his younger brother

Black nail polish on his right hand, a personal quirk that started as a joke but stuck

☆ personality:

Has the ultimate resting bitch face—people assume he’s cold, but he’s just lost in thought

The definition of a golden retriever after you get past his initial standoffishness

Protective of his bandmates and fiercely loyal to those he loves

Hates conflict but will throw hands if someone messes with his younger brother

Struggles with expressing emotions—he prefers to let his guitar do the talking

Hides his pain behind sarcastic jokes and witty comebacks

Loves small, meaningful gestures over big dramatic ones

☆ with a lover:

The type to pretend he’s chill but is actually a hopeless romantic

Writes songs about his feelings but will never admit who they’re about

If he likes someone, he teases them mercilessly but will also drop everything if they need him

Physical affection makes him shy at first, but once he’s comfortable? Good luck getting him to let go

Protective but not possessive—he trusts fully but will glare at anyone he deems suspicious

Remembers the little things—favorite drinks, random stories, the exact way they laugh

☆ strengths:

Unbelievably talented guitarist—he can make a song sound like it’s speaking

Creative and quick-witted, always coming up with ideas for the band

Surprisingly responsible despite his chaotic tendencies

Amazing at comforting others, even if he can’t do the same for himself

Can learn a song by ear ridiculously fast

☆ weaknesses:

Terrible at asking for help—bottles up everything until he crashes

PTSD triggers he refuses to acknowledge (sudden crashes, flashing lights, sirens)

Reckless when it comes to pushing himself—he will practice for hours without eating

Has a bad habit of shutting people out when he’s overwhelmed

Avoids car rides, sometimes even taking absurdly long routes just to avoid them

☆ relationships:

Younger Brother: His world. He’d drop everything for him without hesitation.

Bandmates: His second family. He acts like he’s the responsible one, but they all know he’s a mess.

Fans: Loves them but gets flustered when they compliment him too much.

Professors: They either love him for his talent or hate him for always being late.

Love Interest: Good luck breaking through his walls, but once you do? He’s all in.

☆ extra:

Fluent in Korean, English, and basic Japanese for interviews

Loves bubble tea but refuses to admit it’s his comfort drink as it’ll make him look basic

Collects guitar picks from every country he visits

Low-key terrified of dogs despite acting like a golden retriever himself

Secretly has a soft spot for romantic movies but pretends they’re “for research”

[starflungwaddledee]

💋, 💭 and 🎶 with Metastruck for the ask game!!? 👀

>>> kirby ship ask game here જ⁀➴ ♡!

21. 💋 What was their first kiss like? Who initiated it and how did it happen?

in general within my headcanons, Popstarians kiss and hug and show physical affection a lot! forehead touches and pressing faces together is, in many cases, equally as important as an actual kiss. as a greeting, for healing/sharing, and in some cases even to share memories or feelings that are otherwise hard to communicate. it's all very everyday and platonic and nobody is thinking much of it!

starstruck probably plapped a friendly kiss on meta knight pretty early on, maybe after a training session. he didn't think anything of it. he probably gave her a quick one back to share with her after she took a tumble on an adventure one time, just because he was closest. he didn't think anything of that, either.

the first kiss that stood out to meta knight hasn't actually happened in their timeline yet. but it would be initiated by him, and it would be an accident!

the stars were nice but the sun's coming up and he has to get to patrol, as he's always done. and she has to at least pretend to sleep in her own bed before bandee gets there, as she's always done. so they're parting ways at the bottom of the astronomy tower stairs, as they always do. she waves and bumps her cheek to his cheek, as she always does, and he nods and turns away to start the climb, as he always does. but then for some stupid reason with one foot on the stairs he looks back (which he's never done), and she's waiting there watching him (which he doesn't know if she usually does or not because he's never looked back before??? does she always do that??), and a footstep or two is abruptly slightly more distance than he can bear.

so he takes her hand, and he pulls her back in.

and she thinks nothing of it. not really; though she's grateful he's been much more friendly lately! but meta knight runs back upstairs and sits in his room absolutely panicking and going through it for the next 70 hours or so because oh no and also what the fuck.

11. 💭 Do they have a favorite memory involving their partner? If yes, then why is it such a special memory for them?

if they ever get to do it, it would almost certainly be the skyfall, for meta knight, and probably also for starstruck.

as it stands, she'd have delightful memories of any time he takes her flying or stargazing! his fondest currently probably include the others (kirby, bandee, king dedede) as well, rather than just starstruck. he's so stubborn about it, but his most important moments are always those spent with his loved ones.

13. 🎶 Do you associate any songs with this ship? If yes, why do you associate the song with them?

soooo many actually. my god 😂 could make a whole playlist of soggy songs just for these two, i think.

for the purposes of this ask in particular i'm going to go with Landmines by BELLSAINT, which is from meta knight's POV. this one suits the romantic theme in particular, and in fact i already have an upcoming shipaganza art piece for them drawn to it!

[goldfades]

Hi:))) could you write something about Booker proposing to Reader, please?

i hope you enjoy!!! hubby devin is soo cutesy

You met Devin in a way that made you believe in fate a little more than you probably should have. One of those right place, right time situations—except, in hindsight, it was never just timing. It was how he looked at you like he already knew you, how the conversation never felt forced, how his presence settled something in you rather than stirring it up. He wasn’t the loudest guy in the room, never needed to be, but from the moment you met him, he had this gravitational pull. And you? You never stood a chance.

The early days had been easy, seamless in a way that made it hard to believe. No guessing games, no second-guessing. Just long drives with the windows down, his hand on your thigh, a playlist full of old-school R&B and whatever song you’d been obsessed with that week. He had this way of making everything feel slower, like the world could wait for you two to finish your conversation before it kept spinning.

And then, of course, there was basketball. Devin’s love for the game bled into every part of his life, and by extension, into yours. You had learned to tell what kind of game he had just by the way he walked through the door—victories came with an easy grin, slow and satisfied, while losses weighed on his shoulders in a way only you knew how to lift. You loved him for it, for the way he cared, for the way he never let it make him anything less than the man you had fallen for.

The years had been kind to you both. Through seasons and off-seasons, through quiet nights and loud arenas, through stretches of time where the only way you could reach him was through a grainy FaceTime call in a different time zone. But it had always been worth it. Because at the end of the day, it was him. It had always been him.

And lately, you’d started noticing the way he looked at you—like he had a secret he was dying to tell.

Devin had never been the type to overcomplicate things. He liked to go with the flow, to let life unfold the way it was meant to. Planning wasn’t really his thing—not for trips, not for dinner, not even for his own birthday. But this? This was different. This was you. And if there was one thing in the world worth getting every single detail right for, it was you.

He had known for a while now. Maybe he had always known, but lately, the realization sat heavier on his chest, warm and insistent, like the sun in the Arizona sky. He would catch himself staring at you across the room, watching the way you curled up on his couch like it was yours, flipping through a book with the same concentrated expression you had when you were trying to beat him at cards. Or the way you leaned into his side at dinner, fingers idly tracing patterns on his wrist like you weren’t even aware you were doing it. And, man—if that wasn’t the kind of love that made him believe in forever, he didn’t know what was.

The decision wasn’t hard. That was the easy part. The hard part was figuring out how to ask, because even though he wasn’t one for grand gestures, he knew this couldn’t be something he just winged. You deserved more than a last-minute idea. You deserved the kind of proposal that would sit in your bones for years, one you’d replay in your head on random afternoons and smile about.

So, for the first time in his life, Devin Booker started planning.

It started with the ring—because if he was going to do this, it had to be right. He spent weeks searching, scrolling through jewelers’ websites at night, consulting with a handful of people who would know exactly what you’d like. He even considered asking you outright, but he knew you too well. You’d sniff out what he was up to in a heartbeat. And sure, maybe he could be slick on the court, but off it? Around you? He had no shot.

Next came the how. At first, he thought maybe a big, picturesque setup—something extravagant, something cinematic. But the more he thought about it, the more it didn’t feel like you two. You had always been the best parts of quiet moments. The in-betweens. The stolen seconds before he left for a road trip, the half-asleep murmurs of love you when one of you dozed off on the couch. He didn’t want this to be a spectacle; he wanted it to feel like home.

That’s how he knew. It wouldn’t be some flashy event. No helicopters, no mid-game Jumbotron moment (not that he ever considered that). Just him, you, and the kind of moment that would be yours and yours alone.

Now, all he had to do was actually pull it off.

Devin had never been this meticulous about anything in his life. Not about planning trips, not about packing bags before road games, not even about scouting reports—not in the way he was about this. He was the type to figure things out as he went, to trust his instincts, and nine times out of ten, that worked out just fine. But this? This had to be perfect. Because this wasn’t just a moment; this was the moment. The one that would mark the beginning of something bigger than both of you.

The ring had been the first step, and, honestly, that part had stressed him out more than he cared to admit. Devin Booker, three-time All-Star, calm under pressure with the game on the line, had found himself sweating in high-end jewelry stores, feeling wildly out of his depth as he stared at rows of diamonds that all started to blur together after a while.

But when he finally saw it, he knew.

It wasn’t the biggest or the flashiest, because that wasn’t what this was about. It was timeless. Elegant. The kind of ring he could picture on your finger twenty, thirty, fifty years from now—worn and loved, catching the light as you ran your fingers through your hair. He had spent an unreasonable amount of time picturing it on your hand, getting lost in the thought of you wearing something that told the world you were his, that he was yours. And once he had it, tucked safely in its little velvet box, he carried it with him like a secret, weighty in his pocket, a promise waiting to be made.

Now came the part that had been messing with his head for weeks: how to actually do it.

Devin knew you. He knew you better than anyone. Knew that you weren’t the type who needed grand, flashy declarations, that the idea of being proposed to in front of a hundred people would make you want to disappear into thin air. You liked the quiet things, the intimate things. The moments no one else saw, the ones that lived in the spaces between all the noise.

And when he thought about your moments—the ones that had built the foundation of what you had—it became clear.

It had to be at home.

Not just in the house, but in the life you’d built inside it. The late-night kitchen conversations, sitting on the counter while he cooked because you insisted he made the best eggs. The lazy Sunday mornings with your legs tangled in bed, neither of you in a rush to start the day. The warm glow of the TV as you both dozed off on the couch, his arm instinctively pulling you closer even in sleep.

That’s what he wanted this moment to be. Not some big event. Just you two.

So he started laying the groundwork. He made sure you wouldn’t suspect a thing, playing it cool even when he felt like he might combust from keeping it all in. He paid attention to the little things you said in passing—like how you’d been craving a certain dish from your favorite restaurant, or how you mentioned that the last time you got flowers was forever ago (which, okay, was an exaggeration, but he took the hint). He wanted everything about that night to feel right, to feel like the two of you.

When the night finally came, he could barely sit still.

He had ordered your favorite meal, set up the table just the way you liked it, dimmed the lights just enough to make everything feel softer, warmer. The ring box sat in his pocket, a solid, burning presence against his thigh, like a constant reminder of what was about to happen. He had gone over it a thousand times in his head, but the second he heard your key turn in the lock, his heart kicked up in his chest like he was back in the fourth quarter of a tied game.

And then you walked in, and it hit him all over again.

This is it.

This was the moment that would change everything. The moment he had been waiting for. The moment you would remember forever.

You barely paused to take a breath as you rambled on about the latest season of Love Island, kicking off your shoes the second you stepped through the door. Devin was at the kitchen counter, leaning against it in that effortlessly cool way he always did, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you with an amused expression.

"I'm telling you, Dev, this season is chaos—like, these people don’t even like each other, but they’re moving mad for camera time. It’s embarrassing." You dropped your bag on the counter, shaking your head as you walked toward him. "Like, at least pretend you’re in love, you know? That’s the bare minimum."

Devin let out a soft chuckle, his lips twitching like he was holding back a full grin. "So what I'm hearing is… you're emotionally invested."

You huffed, crossing your arms. "I wouldn't say emotionally—"

"You literally just walked in here talking like you've been personally betrayed."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Okay, maybe a little emotionally invested."

He laughed then, a deep, warm sound that settled into your chest in a way it always did, spreading like heat under your skin. He reached for you, fingers catching yours, pulling you into the space between his legs where he sat perched on a barstool. His hands slid over your waist, settling there like they belonged.

And you? You didn’t suspect a damn thing.

Because this was just him. Just Devin, with his quiet affection, the way he always pulled you close like it was second nature. The way he looked at you, warm and steady, like you were the only thing worth looking at.

"You hungry?" he asked, rubbing slow circles against your lower back with his thumb.

You leaned into him slightly, enjoying the way his body felt against yours. "Starving. I swear, I was this close to getting popcorn at work just to survive."

"Good thing I planned ahead," he said, nodding toward the dinner he had laid out. Your favorite dish, perfectly plated, candles flickering low on the table.

That’s when you paused.

Devin wasn’t not romantic. He had his ways—bringing you your favorite snacks when he came back from road trips, pulling you against him in the mornings before either of you were really awake. But this? The effort? The set up?

Your eyes flickered back to him, suddenly a little suspicious. "Okay, what’s going on?"

He smirked. "What do you mean?"

"You made my favorite dinner. There are candles. You hate candles."

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. "I don’t hate candles."

"You claim they make the whole house smell like a Bath & Body Works exploded."

He didn’t argue. Just reached for your hand and pulled you gently toward the table. "Can’t a guy just do something nice for his girl?"

You eyed him, still skeptical, but your stomach was louder than your suspicion, so you sat. Devin made a show of pouring you a glass of wine before settling across from you, watching as you took your first bite.

And for a while, it was easy. Normal. You got lost in the food, in the way Devin kept the conversation flowing, letting you ramble about your day, about Love Island, about whatever popped into your head. He was good at that—at making space for you, at making you feel like everything you said was worth listening to.

You were so caught up in it that you didn’t even notice the way his knee was bouncing slightly under the table. Or how he kept fiddling with his napkin. Or the way his jaw clenched every time he reached for his pocket, only to stop himself.

Until, finally, after what felt like a lifetime for him, he cleared his throat.

"You know I love you, right?"

You looked up mid-bite, eyebrows raised. "Obviously." You chewed, swallowed. "Is this a bad news kind of ‘I love you’ or a normal one?"

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Nah. No bad news."

"Good, because you scared me for a sec." You reached for your wine, taking a sip before meeting his eyes again.

And that’s when you noticed it.

The way he was looking at you.

Like he was about to change your life.

Your stomach flipped, and suddenly, you weren’t so sure if it was just the food warming you from the inside out.

Devin shifted, reaching into his pocket. His fingers curled around something, and when he pulled it out, your heart slammed against your ribs.

Small. Velvet. A ring box.

Your breath caught, eyes flicking between the box in his hand and the expression on his face—this mix of love and nervousness and something else, something deeper.

He stood slowly, circling around the table until he was in front of you, and before you could even process what was happening, he was sinking to one knee.

Your hands flew to your mouth. "Oh my God."

His hands were steady, even if his heart was threatening to beat out of his chest. He had pictured this moment over and over, had run through every possible scenario, but nothing prepared him for the way you were looking at him now—eyes wide, lips slightly parted, your breath coming out in shallow, uneven puffs.

It was you. It had always been you.

"Baby," he started, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. "I—I don’t even know where to start, because there’s just so much I wanna say."

Your hands were trembling as you lowered them from your mouth, resting them over your chest, like you were trying to keep your heart from bursting out.

Devin swallowed, wetting his lips. "I knew, from the second I met you, that this was different. That you were different. And every single day since, you’ve proven me right. It’s not just that I love you. It’s that I need you, in a way I didn’t even know was possible."

Tears pricked your eyes, and you let out a shaky laugh. "Devin—"

"I wanna wake up next to you for the rest of my life. I wanna hear you complain about Love Island for years to come. I wanna be the person you turn to when things get hard, and the one you celebrate with when things go right. I wanna love you like this—always."

You felt like you were floating. Like none of this was real. But it was.

Devin flipped open the box, revealing the most perfect ring you had ever seen—classic, elegant, you.

"Marry me," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "Please."

Your breath left you all at once, and for a second, all you could do was stare at him—the man you had loved for so long, the man who was asking you to be his forever.

There was only one answer.

"Yes," you whispered, then stronger, louder, "Yes. Yes."

And the second the words left your mouth, he was up, wrapping you in his arms, pulling you into the kind of kiss that left you breathless.

And just like that, your forever began.