#that fade transition... thanks i hate it

[toptensupakorn]

[stargirlygirl]

How would lads react to mc hitting their arm(in embarassment) in a kissing scene while watching a movie?

star girl's initial words: hello! thank you for sending this in. i usually write for reader (not mc/non-mc specific) so i hope you still like my take on this!

you hit their arm during a movie

⭑.ᐟ zayne

i think zayne would react the same way he reacts when you slap his butt.

you're half-way through the newest episode of love island (i hc that before you came along, zayne was a big fan of reality tv as an outlet from his stressful job (besides from sweets)) when two of the stars start going at it.

you slap his arm, covering your face with your hands, but even that can't block out the making out on screen. the wet smooching sounds act as the perfect background music to your boyfriend flinching so hard he almost jumped off the couch.

squealing at the screen, "noooooo!!! he doesn't even like you, tessa!" you don't notice how rigid zayne's gone as he processes your 'playful' affection.

once the kissing fades, he murmurs, "you can look now." your hands drop into your lap as you refocus on the show. you even cuddle into his side, but quickly take note of the lingering stiffness in his posture.

"everything okay, babe?" you ask sweetly.

he nods slightly, "yes, everything's fine, dear."

you giggle, "m'kay" while tightening your hold on his toned arm. zayne can't find it in himself to tease you when you're embracing him so innocently.

⭑.ᐟ sylus

i think sylus would tease you until you're all flushed (not from the kissing on-screen).

you're cuddled up on the sofa, watching a cheesy romcom when the make out sesh starts. you nuzzle your nose into his shoulder, not wanting to watch saliva being exchanged when you could do that with your own boyfriend.

he smirks while swishing his red wine around in its glass, "what're you hiding for, kitten? never seen two adults kiss before?"

you slap his arm in embarrassment, making him chuckle. the mirthful sound reverberates in his chest, too carefree for you to be upset with him.

the tension on your face dissolves as you try and bite back, "shut up, sy." instead, you sound like a third grader attempting not to laugh at a fart joke.

calming down, he grins, "oh? look it's over now, sweetie." rolling your eyes, you shift into a comfy position to watch the film, albeit, with a slight distance between you and your boyfriend.

sylus doesn't traverse the gap. he just sits there, watching you more than the movie until your cheeks are heating up and you're sliding yourself back to his side (where you belong).

⭑.ᐟ rafayel

i think raf hates romance movies because he could care less about humans falling in love. BUT i do think he can appreciate the artistry of film.

let's say you're at your apartment (does he even own a tv?) and watching pride and prejudice (your recommendation, of course). you're coming to the end, watching mr darcy walk across the brightening field for at least forty seconds.

"how long is he going to walk for—"

"shhh," you cut raf off, pivoting your head to stare at him momentarily. he's slouched, lean arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

turning back to the screen, you bite your knuckles as darcy confesses his feelings for lizzy.

"god, this is boring—"

"raf, shut up!" you're on the edge of your seat, soaking up every longing glance and camera transition until you finally get to the kiss scene.

mr darcy is repeating "mrs darcy" as he smooches lizzy's face so sweetly, reminiscent of the way raf loves to kiss all over your face before he ensnares your lips with his.

and when they finally kiss, you squeal in delight and slap raf's shoulder. he stares at you like you're the most foul bin juice that's dared to stain his silk shirt. but you pay no mind as you lean back and kick your feet gleefully.

once the credits roll, he grumbles, "worst film ever."

you roll your eyes, sassing him back with, "please, you have no taste."

he exclaims, "no taste?! i'll give you 'no taste'—" you shriek as he lunges at you, effectively pinning you to the couch and tickling you until you're crying.

later on, he reluctantly admits just how beautiful the cinematography and acting was.

⭑.ᐟ xavier

xavier pookie would be spooked.

picture it: cosy night in, a candle flickering, dim lights, and a warm blanket spread over both of you. you're watching some romance film because it was your pick tonight (you weren't particularly fond of the gory horror film xav chose last movie night).

xav really did try to stay awake, but he's inevitably dozed off. his head was resting on your shoulder before you shoved him off, and he slumped the other way, never waking, of course.

you're at the good part: the hero pulls the damsel in distress into an emotional kiss. you squeal, bobbing up and down excitedly. but when you glance back at your bf, you see that he's still out of it.

not actually thinking you'd wake him up, you slap his arm. xav jolts awake, his sapphire eyes wide open and arms raised, ready to summon his sword in a heartbeat.

he murmurs, "what happened?" you can't stop yourself from laughing at him. you're bent over, hands pressed to your tummy, practically wheezing as his eyes sweep the room and don't find anything out of the ordinary.

"it-it hurts," you cry out, joyful tears blurring your vision before you wipe them away with shaky fingers. your cheeks ache from your smile.

"why are you laughing?" he deadpans. you shake your head and return to watching the film, hiccuping out the last few giggles.

"just go back to sleep," you grin. xav sighs before wrapping his arms around your midsection and drawing you into his chest.

by the end of the movie, he's fallen asleep again, almost on top of you.

⭑.ᐟ caleb

growing up together, you and caleb have seen your fair share of movie kiss scenes. and, they're always awkward.

why? because i think he's been wanting to ask you to re-enact them with him for most of his life. being his childhood friend/adoptive sister (depending on which language version you play), he's never been able to do that until now.

as the familiar kissing scene comes on screen, you instinctively grab a cushion and position it to block your view of the action. usually, caleb groans from beside you and tries to snatch your pillow to conceal the sight for himself. but this time, after he plucks it out of your hands, he tosses it on the floor.

you stare at him with wide eyes, confused by the intense look he's giving you. with the way his fists clench and unclench, you know he's hiding something.

"what is it?" you ask quietly. caleb shakes his head, resolving to forget the stupid thought poking at the back of his mind.

"nothing," he mumbles, settling back on the couch and enduring the painstaking sight of smooching. you shift over to him and grab his hand.

holding it tenderly, you ask, "tell me," and add as an afterthought, "please." he shakes his head again. you don't like that. climbing onto his lap, you cup his reddening cheeks in your hands and force him to meet your gaze.

"caleb," you say like a warning.

he sighs, "fine. just wanna know if you'd wanna recreate the action on-screen with me."

you gasp, "caleb!" as you slap his shoulder playfully.

"'what?" he asks, all alert, like you're under attack by a wanderer.

you wave your finger in his face, tutting, "naughty, naughty boy. you just wanted an excuse to kiss me, didn't you?" he stutters out incoherent syllables, making you giggle. you shut him up by pecking the corner of his mouth before capturing his parted lips in a cocky loving kiss.

[illnessfaker]

tw: black+trans death

from the_yvesdropper on instagram:

our beautiful black trans brother, 35 year old Righteous Torrence "Chevy" Hill, was murdered in Atlanta, GA this weekend.

he went by his nickname 'Chevy' he was originally from Macon, GA. he owned Evollusion, which is a black/ queer owned LGBTQ+ salon in Atlanta that provided and dedicated full service to specializing in hair, nails, barbering and makeup. growing up as young black queer boys/kids, the barbershop experience can sometimes be a tricky space to occupy, this was something that Chevy understood and wanted to cultivate a space of safety where you can also get the affirming look and style you want, and he did exactly that.

Chevy was a beloved son, brother, partner, and father.

one of his last posts that had a photo of himself said :

"if you truly know me, you know i am a humble, modest, private man, that i love my community, i have the love of God in me and will give the shirt off my back to any soul in need, also i never post pictures of myself, legaey give myself credit, that stops today, i am my legacy!"

(a close friend of Chevy asked if i could share more then one photo of Chevy, since he never posted photos of himself and in recent years he got the confidence to want to share more photos and now he won't get the chance to)

Chevy, hey king, hey brother, hey angel, thank you for everything, i lové you, we lové you, i'm so sorry. there are a lot of photographers in heaven who will be able to photograph you as the glorious black trans angel that you are.

there will be a homegoing service/memorial for our brother

there aren't many details about what happened but apparently he was shot by a family member last wednesday, the 28th (at least this article was the one linked in relation to his murder.)

judging by both the IG post and the comments section he was well-loved by many people and those people have many good memories with him and nothing but good things to say. this is a comment that was left by tirajmeansgolden which was hidden by IG for some reason:

I started testosterone in February 2020. I hit this man up at the end of 2019 after numerous Google searches for an LGBT-friendly barber near me (and by near me... he was a good 35-40 minutes from the rural area I was in outside of Atlanta: but when I found out he was a trans man and that his business was the first and only LGBT hair bar, I knew it would be worth the trip). I was a dysphoric mess in his DMs one Sunday. I hated how my hair was growing out. I never had a "masculine" hairstyle before but decided one day I would buzz it all off myself, then allowed it to grow out a bit... I sent him a video and despite him being closed on Sunday, he told me to come through. I got my hair braided and he gave me my first really masculine fade. Explained the different terms. Lined me up. Was asking me about my decision to transition and provided some helpful advice + guidance. I told him how I was a therapist and he was hype and said he talked with a group of trans men and he would love for me to stop by and also give some mental health tips. So whoever said he was humble - wow, what an understatement. Such a community man! Made me feel SO comfortable because barbershops were a source of major trauma and triggers for me. They were such an integral part of my early transition (I just celebrated 4 years later week). And he was such an integral part of the Atlanta Queer community with hosting events like Queer Con. How I found so many other great resources + queer businesses/artists. May you rest in peace, Chevy. You'll be missed. You've made such a different in the lives of countless people. You definitely were living your Purpose + left a legacy behind ...

[aellesira]

— OUR ENEMY, MY FRIEND. (PART 1)

pairings, sethos x princess!reader, royal au.

summary, "do not cry. if your cheating fiancé won't even look at you anymore, why do you still stay with him?" 2.8k words.

content, character cheating (on reader), secret meetings, angst.

notes, sethos fic!! i got my motivation from a fic from my lovely friend @/knnichs, and here we are!! no hate to nilou or cyno, just for the plot.

The feeling of constant unease and discomfort was weighing down on you, getting heavier as days passed. Something was… wrong. You could tell. Something that those two were keeping secret from you.

During one of your many visits to Lady Nilou’s estate three weeks ago, just as you had pushed the door open to her bedchamber, you froze momentarily, your interest caught by the sound of Nilou’s voice… and the things she was saying.

“...Oh, he is just so sweet! He gave me these lovely Padisarahs as a thanks, isn’t he just so thoughtful? They are my favourite flowers after all…” Nilou gushed, a pink blush rising on her face. The maid sitting next to her seemed to agree, nodding her head, but voiced some confusion. Your initial thought was that, perhaps, she may have fallen in love with someone. A soft smile tugged at your lips at this, before fading away only a second after that.

“You mean General Cyno, my lady? Isn’t he… isn’t he engaged to Lady [Name]? …What do you think of him, if it is not so rude to ask you, my lady?” The servant, bold enough to question the lady she served, seemed to doubt. You did too. But there was no way…

“I don’t… no. He is engaged after all, and he is just a lovely friend of mine. His fiance is, too.” Even though there was nothing but honesty and sincerity in her tone, the way her eyes looked down and the uneasy expression on her face was telling you otherwise. You couldn’t bring yourself to doubt Nilou when she said this, but you suddenly remembered that Cyno was always forgetting your favourite flower. 

She loves all flowers of all kinds, Tighnari. I know her. Cyno had once said this to the botanist Tighnari, someone who came to be a common friend of the both of you, and even he knew your favourite flower. Tighnari tutted at his friend’s mistake, looking at you with a look that said This is the person you’re engaged with?

But he could remember her favourite flower. Not yours, though. You decided you didn’t want to meet her that day.

The second time something had happened was when Cyno had called Nilou to meet him for a discussion. For some reason, he refused to elaborate on it. 

She’d spent a good while in his study. When it was evening he could still be heard with her, although to you it seemed like their important discussion had quickly transitioned into a hearty banter between two close friends. All of this had happened too quickly. And why?

Lately, Cyno had been cancelling time in the day that he usually set aside for you so that he could run errands for Nilou. Even the simplest things that she could have easily had her servant do for her. 

With everything in mind, you had reached a simple conclusion; that Cyno didn’t love you anymore, that he loved Nilou and that they were having a secret affair. And as much as the kind part of you wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, and as much as the spiteful part of you wanted to confront them… you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

The windows creaked, interrupting your thoughts. Ah, one of the most anticipated parts of your evenings as of late. After all, it wasn’t like you didn’t have your own secrets. In truth… 

In truth, one of the kingdom’s most notorious enemies, namely Sethos, had been coming to visit his new best friend; you, the honourable and lovely princess of the palace, engaged to the General. If anyone ever found out about your secret rendezvous with him, you could only imagine how people would talk, the scandal… but your relationship with him was only a reluctant understanding and friendship, in your eyes, anyway. Sethos, while someone who had caused much panic and launched many attacks on your kingdom, was, at heart, a gentle and truly honest soul. A polar opposite to the person he was rumoured to be, the person he had a reputation of.

And yet, you couldn’t help but want to stay close to him. In a time of doubt and loneliness, Sethos came into your room one night with the intent to attack you. Knowing nothing about you, except having seen your harsh glare whenever he came to send a message to your kingdom, the glare being reflected back to you.

He’d appeared out of nowhere, dagger in hand. A threat had been uttered, but the man halted himself upon gazing at your tear-stained cheeks and distressed expression. Not one for comforting his enemies, or at least, anyone part of the kingdom he was so adamant on getting revenge on, he froze. Pondered if he should leave or if he should do something. Because he wasn’t, in reality, a monster like people said. 

He only wanted revenge on your kingdom; generations of monsters and tyrants in the monarchy that had waged war on his kingdom as a result of dangerous feuds and scathing abhorrence of their royals. He’d watched his kingdom suffer, all those innocent villagers and civilians, and he promised he would, one day, be the one in which his kingdom would find a voice in. Sethos. Of course, this truth was something he had revealed to you bit by bit over time, and he still had more to tell you.

At the time, Sethos had chosen to try his best to comfort you. Even though he hated it, the architecture of your room being of your distant kingdom’s, even the style of your clothing reminded him of your kingdom, there was something about you that was undeniably different to the ruthless cold-blooded murderers he was used to facing.

It made him want to protect you. 

Who knew that a few small but warm words of assurance and a shoulder for you to cry on would begin a genuine friendship between two people who, in any case, would seem like an unlikely pair; like a beautiful rose and a sharp, blood-stained dagger. 

You sat up on your bed, tuning yourself out of your thoughts to see the figure of a man in dark clothing enter through your bedroom window. The figure slipped through the window sill of your room, looking left and right and closed the curtains to make sure that he was discreet in his arrival. When he was sure that he’d come without anybody noticing him, he took off the hood of his cloak, revealing his distinct emerald green eyes and shiny smile that had you drawn in closer to him every time you were given the chance to look at him. He was quite the looker.

He pulled out beautiful flowers from under his cloak, your favourite type of flower. You hadn’t even known him for so long, but he did remember. It was, if your memory served correct, one of the first things you told him in general conversation.

Only Sethos knew why he had engrained and etched such small, seemingly trivial and forgettable details about you that you shared with him. Because he was the one who truly cared.

“Sethos.” you grinned, feeling the familiar kind of excitement at the prospect of having your best friend to stay with you for a while. As it happened, you tried to see Nilou less, distancing her from yourself, and Nilou didn’t seem to notice. Sethos had come at the perfect time to fill that empty space, and you were so grateful for that.

“Hey, princess~! For you, my lady.” Sethos presented to you the flowers, an infectious grin spreading on his face. You smiled back, or rather, tried to. His smile lessened into something more sympathetic when he noticed your lack of reaction.

He went over and sat on the edge of your bed, watching you as you placed the flowers in a rather ornate vase on your bedside table in which, Sethos had noticed, you kept all the flowers that he gave you. Specifically from him.

“Something wrong? You seem more bothered than usual.” he asked cautiously. At your silence, he was utterly puzzled. Normally, even on really bad days, Sethos’ comforting presence was enough to lift your spirits, and you always greeted him with unabashed enthusiasm. “Hey, I’m talking to you. You never ignore me.” 

Turning to him, you sat down at his side. Let out a sigh. “I’ve been thinking about it more than usual.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head as a response to your vague sentence. “Thinking about what exactly?” he inquired, clearly confused, but after a moment or two of silence it hit him. “Oh… did your fiance and that pretty noble lady have something important to attend to again?” Sethos frowned. Ah, right, your current situation was something you often spent many hours venting to him.

You always seemed to think about them, about Cyno, even when Sethos tried his best to capture your attention and to have your thoughts divert from your pathetic love life for once. But his heart did ache for you. He knew what it was like to see someone you loved fall for another. He felt it, even now. But he couldn’t let what he felt get in the way of your friendship. “Talk to me, [name].” He looked down at the floor. You sighed heavily. “It’s… it’s not like I have concrete evidence, you know, Sethos? Like, it’s very odd and all, b-but it could be, just… two really great friends who love spending time together and have s-such a good relationship that to everyone else it feels like they’re in love and they don’t know th-that what they’re doing is hurting me and-and—” Sethos snapped you out of your daze when he grabbed your hand. He looked at you with worry, and you hadn't even realized that your eyes were glistening; tears were streaming down your cheeks. He reached over and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You always made him want to protect you.

“Hey… hey, come on… shh…” He rubbed your arm in an effort to soothe you. Seeing how distressed you were, his heart sank a little more than it already was. You were avoiding eye contact with him, sobbing, although quietly, and he pulled your head closer to his chest, his shirt soaked with your tears.

He felt your pain, but even more so he felt angry. Cyno was actually a distant relative of Sethos’, and even though they weren’t on speaking terms anymore, he didn’t expect this from Cyno.

For a few minutes he remained quiet, wanting you to get everything out of your system, this was hard for you. He patiently waited for you to speak when finally, the tears had ceased. You looked up at him. “...Sethos… what should I do?” 

Sethos reminded himself that a) you weren’t very sure if Cyno was cheating on you or if this was just a big misunderstanding and b) even if it wasn’t a big misunderstanding, you didn’t think you could handle leaving the man you loved so much. Knowing you, you would happily go along with marrying him if it meant you could stay with him, even if his heart wasn’t yours anymore. “You don’t want to confront them, just in case you're wrong. You don’t want to expose them, just in case you're right. It wouldn’t be a good look on you, princess, and definitely not on those two. So…?” You looked at him helplessly, pulling away from his comforting embrace. “You need to figure out what you want to do. You don’t deserve him, you don’t deserve this… you’re an absolutely amazing woman.”

“I may be the enemy, but I’m also your friend. Remember that.” he placed a hand on your shoulder. “...How about this? I’ll… I'll find proof. Undisputed, concrete proof that he’s cheating on you. And then you’ll be satisfied, and we can decide how we should move forward, hm?” 

You looked at him incredulously. “You’d do that?”

“I’m a pretty good spy, you know that. I can do this without getting caught,” a confident smile appeared on his face. “How do you think I’ve been getting in and out of your room every evening these past weeks if I couldn’t, eh?” He pointed out and chuckled, and he could see that you were already beginning to feel better. 

“Ugh, thank you, Sethos…! You’re actually the best.” Wiping the last of your tears away, you nodded, thankful of Sethos’ constant support. This was the person people hated so severely? You wrapped your arms around his neck, his smirk softening into a gentle smile and patted your head in silent affection. At least you were smiling a little now?

“I’ll get you that proof, okay? Promise. Trust me.” 

You huffed. “I trust you, Sethos.” Trust… Sethos couldn’t suppress a grin at your admission.

—

“Where do these flowers keep coming from, [name]?” It was a simple question. Nothing that Cyno really cared about, coming back from a mission after two weeks he only cared to see you. Not that Sethos mentioned that he’d seen him with Nilou in the forest just four days ago, likely for a quick meeting with his new love. How could you believe that Cyno wasn’t truly cheating? He’d wanted to tell you, and yet he couldn’t hurt you further with that.

Cyno was supposed to come back a little later, Sethos had planned another secret meeting with you just so he could find time to see you before your cheating fiance came back. Early was not something he was expecting.

“Where would they be coming from, dear?” The pet name slipped out, and a part of you felt guilty for speaking to Cyno so sweetly when you’d been telling Sethos you’d try to stop loving him. And Sethos was currently hiding out behind your wardrobe, listening to the conversation happening outside. No doubt he was listening, and Sethos had to stop himself from scoffing at you two.

“Do you go picking flowers often?” Cyno asked you curiously. No, your worst enemy, the kingdom’s worst enemy comes into my room every evening to assure me that my sorry life of a princess is actually fine and he shows me love that you don’t, by, as an example, giving me flowers that he actually knows I love—

“From time to time, yes.” You shifted your weight to either foot, eyeing him like he was eyeing those flowers; accusingly. But he dropped it. Flopped onto your bed and buried his face in your bedsheets. He was exhausted.

He opened his eyes when you didn’t say anything, expecting a warm welcome from his lover, but… “Are you feeling alright?” He lifted his head to look at you, and luckily he didn't notice your distraction. Or the way your gaze flicked worriedly towards the wardrobe, where Sethos was currently trying to remain silent.

“Er… when do you have to leave again?” 

Cyno rolled over to his side to face you again, raising an eyebrow. “You’re already waiting for me to leave?” Yes, but you couldn’t say that, could you? “...Tonight. Just a few hours, and I’ll be gone by then. It’s a shame I can't spend as much time with you like we used to.”

“Ah, I’ll miss you.” That wasn’t a lie, you would miss him. But you were also trying to deny that in your heart, you wouldn’t miss him as much as you usually did. He sat up.

“I’m sure you will.” Rather dismissive today, wasn’t he? You supposed he was just tired. He got up, and simply placed a kiss on your forehead. “I need to go prepare. Don't miss me too much, okay? I don't need you worrying about me when I'll be fine.” He didn’t even look at you after that.

When you were certain he left, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, and Sethos remained hidden for a good moment or two after Cyno left. You closed the bedroom door, trying to push down the anxiety you always felt when people were just moments away from catching the enemy. In your room. When Sethos emerged from the wardrobe, he stretched his limbs.

“Close one. We nearly got caught.” he smirked. You grumbled; hadn’t it been Sethos who’d told you Cyno was coming home later? 

“You make it sound like we’re doing something we’re not supposed to.” 

“We are, though?” Sethos sat on the edge of your bed, looking at you intently, his smirk disappeared from his face. “...Remember how I told you I’d find evidence for Cyno cheating on you?” Your eyes were only focused on him at that moment, your heart beating at your ribcage painfully.

“Well, I found it.” 

[szariahwroteit]

Girls Need Love: A Kylian Mbappè x Original Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 22

Giselle could feel Kylian's frustration from high up in the stands as he exited the pitch, his head hung low and his shoulders tense as they left prepared to leave North London three-nil down Arsenal.

Although Real Madrid still had a chance for redemption, there was no denying morale was incredibly low among the men.

Following behind a few of the wives and girlfriends that had accompanied their partners from Madrid to London, Giselle remained quiet as she trailed the women.

The transition from the stadium to the airport was fast and within a few hours of the loss, they were on their private jet, the mood heavy with disappointment. Giselle found herself seated next to Kylian, who stared blankly out of the window, the London skyline fading into the distance. She could sense the turmoil brewing beneath his stoic exterior; frustration mixed with regret played a symphony of emotions in the silence between them.

Giselle reached out, her hand brushing against his. "Hey," she whispered, drawing his gaze away from the clouds. "If you want to talk, we can."

Kylian turned to her, his piercing eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. “I know, but it hurts. I wanted to do better for the team.” His voice, usually confident, cracked slightly at the end, revealing the weight of his expectations.

She squeezed his hand, their fingers intertwining, grounding him in that moment. “You’ve given everything to be where you are and the man you are, and you’ll continue to shine. I believe in you.”

As the jet flew through the night sky, Giselle felt the tension begin to ease, if only slightly. Kylian’s breath steadied as he allowed himself to lean into her. She used this moment to pull him closer, her arm draping around his shoulder, offering warmth and solace as he tucked his face into the crease of her neck.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured softly, her breath brushing against his ear, stirring something deep within him. The jet’s soft hum cocooned them in a private world, far removed from the disappointment that lingered on the pitch.

Kylian's grip on her hand tightened, relishing the comfort she provided. “It’s just... I hate letting everyone down. Fans, teammates…” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Giselle could feel the unyielding pressure of his burdens, and she understood that sometimes, all he needed was an anchor to navigate the storm. “You’re human, Kylian. You’re allowed to stumble,” she reassured him, her fingers gently tracing patterns on the back of his hand.

As the cabin lights dimmed, a cocoon of intimacy enveloped them. The other couples settled into their conversations, but Giselle and Kylian remained wrapped in their own world. She could feel the tension easing around them, the atmosphere softening with every reassuring word exchanged.

“Thank you,” Kylian murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "For being here."

Giselle smiled softly, tilting his chin up so that their eyes met. "It’s where I want to be."

As the jet continued its smooth ascent into the night sky, Giselle could sense the change in Kylian. Slowly, beneath the weight of his disappointment, a flicker of something more vulnerable began to surface. She admired the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light, reflecting the soft glow like stars across an endless night.

"You know, sometimes I feel like I'm just in a performance," he confessed, his voice low, almost hesitant. "Like I'm always on show, always expected to win."

Giselle nodded in understanding. "But it’s okay to be real, to show emotions. You carry so much weight on those shoulders, Kylian," she replied, her tone soothing. "It's okay to feel lost sometimes."

He hesitated, his gaze drifting back to the window, the world outside now a swirl of darkness and distant city lights. Then he turned back to her, a small sense of resolve settling in. "I appreciate you saying that. It eases the pressure... just a little."

Giselle leaned closer, instinctively wanting to close the distance between them. Her heart quickened as he moved slightly, just enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off his body. "We all fall down," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it’s how we rise again that defines us, right?"

Kylian's breath hitched slightly as her words sunk in, and he found solace in her touch. "You always know the right things to say," he said, his tone softening as he held her gaze. The dim light from the cabin only accentuated the way her eyes sparkled with kindness and strength.

Suddenly, the heaviness of the night began to lift, replaced by a warmth that wrapped around them both. Giselle traced the contours of Kylian’s jaw and let her fingers linger. The connection between them deepened, the intimate moment cocooning them from the reality of disappointment outside.

“I have a confession,” Kylian said, his voice teasingly playful, the weight of their earlier conversation simmering beneath the surface. “Having you here is the best part of this miserable trip.”

Giselle chuckled softly, a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes. “So I’m your lucky charm?”

“More like my peace of mind,” his expression turned serious, but his gaze glimmered with something more. “I don’t know how I would manage all of this without you.”

She felt a delicious thrill run through her at the intensity of his gaze. They shared a charged silence, the air thick with emotion. As if an unspoken agreement had been made, they moved closer to each other.

“Giselle,” he whispered her name as if it were sacred, his lips inches from hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.

“Kiss me,” she dared softly, her heart racing at the vulnerability of the moment. The air around them crackled with anticipation, pulling them closer as if an invisible force had taken hold.

Kylian's gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips, his breath shallow and warm. The world around them faded into obscurity, leaving only the two of them suspended in this intimate bubble. It was as if time had come to a standstill, granting them this single moment of connection stripped of the noise and pressures that usually surrounded them.

He leaned in, the brush of his lips against hers igniting a spark that coursed through her veins. The kiss was tentative at first as if both were testing the waters, but it quickly deepened into something more profound, something that spoke of the unguarded emotions and burning desire.

Giselle felt the warmth of his hands cradling her face, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer, the kiss growing more fervent and desperate as they lost themselves in each other. The taste of him—fresh and intoxicating—made her head spin, and she melted into him, surrendering to the undeniably fierce connection.

“I want you,” Kylian whispered, his hand slipping from her face to trace her jawline, exploring the contours of her skin as if she were the most fragile piece of art. His eyes burned with a mixture of desire and something deeper—an emotion that transcended mere attraction.

Giselle's heart raced in response to his words, a hunger igniting within her. She tilted her head back slightly, giving him further access, their lips brushing against each other, teasingly, with an urgency that told her he meant it. "When we get back to Madrid," she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper steeped in desire.

“What if I don't want to wait?” Kylian asked, their eyes meeting as his hand found her jean-clad thigh.

“You have to,” Giselle whispered, her breath deepening as her nipples hardened against the silken cotton of her top.

Kylian's gaze darkened with a mix of frustration and longing, his fingers gently squeezing her thigh, setting her ablaze. “Why do you have to play by the rules? Let’s just let go of everything just this once.”

The tension crackled in the air between them, a heat rising that made Giselle’s heart race faster. “Because,” she leaned in closer, her lips ghosting over his, “you deserve more than rushed sex in a tiny bathroom.”

He breathed deeply, absorbing her words, and she could see him wrestling with the urge to give in to the reckless desire that was thrumming through them both.

The hour was late and Kylian was horny as they arrived back in Madrid, he barely bid his teammates a good night before he was dragging Giselle toward the car that awaited them.

His earlier frustrations had transpired into lust, and the desire to get completely lost in each other. The moment they were inside the car, Kylian's hands found her waist, pulling her close as the driver maneuvered through the city streets.

Giselle felt the heat of his body against hers, the tension from earlier dissolving into a palpable energy that promised something more. The silence in the backseat was thick with unspoken words, their breaths mingling in the confined space as Kylian's lips traveled from her cheek to her jawline, paying attention to every inch of her skin.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he murmured, his voice low and gruff with seduction, sending shivers down her spine. “Are you going to be a good girl for me tonight?”

Giselle's pulse quickened at his words, a thrill coursing through her veins. She could feel his breath against her neck as he continued to explore, trailing kisses downwards toward the neckline of her shirt.

“Aren't I always?” she teased, arching her back slightly, wanting more of his touch.

Kylian chuckled softly, a deep rumble in his chest that reverberated through her. “That’s true,” he admitted, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt, drawing it up just enough to expose the soft skin. “Are you going to let me have my way with your body?”

“Ask me properly,” Giselle challenged playfully, her heart racing with excitement as she felt his fingers brush against her bare skin. The heat between them was palpable, a simmering tension that grew with every moment they shared in the back of the car. She relished the way he looked at her, with an intensity that made her feel both desired and empowered.

Kylian's eyes sparked with mischief, and he leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Giselle,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, “will you let me have my way with your body tonight? I want to feel every part of you."

Her stomach fluttered at his words, stirring a hunger deep within her. “That’s better,” she replied, a teasing smile spreading across her lips. “But you need to do more than just ask nicely. Show me how much you want it.”

Kylian's expression darkened with desire, a heated look that made her pulse race. He tilted her chin upwards, capturing her gaze as he leaned in closer, their lips nearly brushing against one another. “I want you, Giselle. I want to explore every inch of you, to feel your body beneath mine, to pleasure you until you beg me to stop. Are you going to let me?”

“Yes,” she breathed, feeling the weight of his words send a shiver down her spine.

“When we get to the house, remove your clothes and wait for me in my bedroom,” Kylian instructed in a low, commanding voice, his gaze never wavering from hers. The heat radiating between them was electric, a potent mix of longing and urgency.

Giselle felt her heart race at his directive, a thrill coursing through her veins. “And what if I decide to tease you instead?” she challenged, her lips curling into a playful smirk.

“Do it and find out,” Kylian warned.

As they arrived at Kylian's house, the tension between them was palpable, a thick fog of desire that clung to their every move. The moment the car came to a stop, Kylian was out and pulling Giselle along with him, his grip firm and possessive.

Kylian led her upstairs, his hand never leaving her waist, guiding her through the darkened halls until they reached his bedroom.

He pushed open the door, revealing a spacious room dominated by a large, plush bed. The curtains were drawn, casting the space in a soft, intimate glow. Kylian turned to Giselle, his eyes burning with intensity as he took a step closer, backing her up against the closed door.

"Now," he murmured, his voice low and husky, "are you going to be a good girl and do as I asked, or do I need to remind you who's in charge?"

Giselle's breath caught in her throat as Kylian pressed her against the door, his strong body pinning her in place. She could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with the underlying musk of his desire.

"I think," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly with a mix of nerves and excitement, "I need a little reminder." She tilted her head to the side, exposing the long, graceful line of her neck, a silent invitation.

Kylian's lips curled into a wicked smile, his eyes flashing with a predatory gleam. "As you wish," he murmured, his hands sliding up her arms to grasp her wrists, pinning them above her head. He leaned in, his breath hot against her neck as he began to trail kisses along her collarbone, his teeth grazing her skin.

Giselle gasped, her body arching instinctively into his touch. She could feel the hard length of him pressing against her, a promise of the pleasure to come.

His lips continued their assault on her neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, marking her as his. One of his hands released her wrists to roam down her body, cupping her breast through the fabric of her shirt. His thumb brushed against her nipple, feeling it harden beneath his touch.

"You're playing with fire, Giselle," Kylian growled against her skin, his voice thick with desire. "You know what happens when you tease me."

Giselle moaned softly, her head falling back against the door as she surrendered to his touch. "Show me," she whispered, her voice laced with a challenge. "Show me what happens when I push you too far."

Kylian's eyes flashed with a fierce intensity, a primal hunger consuming him. He stepped back, releasing her completely, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. "Strip," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Slowly."

Giselle's heart raced as she met his gaze, a thrill running through her at the dominance in his tone.

Reaching for the hem of her t-shirt, she pulled it up and over her head to reveal her breasts, her nipples hard and aching to be touched as she stood bare before him.

“Strip,” Kylian repeated.

Kylian's gaze raked over Giselle's exposed skin, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of her. "Slowly," he reminded her, his voice a low growl. "I want to enjoy every inch of you."

Giselle's fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the button of her jeans, popping it open and sliding the zipper down. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband, slowly peeling the denim down her legs, revealing the lacy panties that clung to her hips.

Kylian's breath hitched as he watched her, his eyes following the path of the jeans as they pooled around her ankles. "Step out of them," he ordered, his voice husky with want.

Giselle complied, kicking the jeans aside and standing before him in nothing but her underwear. The lace did little to conceal her curves, the fabric stretching taut over her hips and ass.

"Turn around," Kylian instructed, his gaze never leaving her body. "Slowly."

Giselle's heart raced as she turned slowly, giving Kylian a full view of her body. The cool air of the room prickled her skin, making her nipples harden even further. She could feel his gaze burning into her, tracing the contours of her figure, igniting a fire within her.

As she faced him again, Kylian's eyes flicked up to meet hers, filled with a raw, primal hunger. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Now, the panties. Off."

Giselle's fingers hooked into the delicate lace, slowly dragging the fabric down her legs. She stepped out of them, standing completely bare before him.

“Come here,” Kylian commanded, his voice unyielding yet laced with a hunger that sent shivers down her spine.

Giselle took a tentative step forward, feeling the heat radiating off him, the anticipation thick in the air. Every inch closer ignited a longing within her, her body responding instinctively to the magnetic pull between them.

Kylian stepped forward, his hands sliding around her waist, pulling her against him with a hunger that was both surprising and exhilarating. She could feel the hard line of his body pressing into her softness, igniting a fire that danced in her core.

His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, his lips brushing against hers in a teasing whisper. “You are everything I want and more.” With that, he captured her lips with his, kissing her deeply and possessively, as if he were trying to etch her into his very being.

Giselle melted into him, her hands roaming over the strong planes of his back, feeling the way he responded to her touch with an urgency that set her aflame.

“I want to taste your pussy before I ruin it,” Kylian growled against her lips, his voice low and filled with desire. He pulled back slightly, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse race.

"Please," she breathed, the word slipping from her lips in a pleading whisper, filled with longing and anticipation. The very thought of his mouth on her sent waves of heat cascading through her body.

Kylian's hands found her thighs, lifting her effortlessly to press her against the wall. "Hold on tight," he instructed, the command sending a thrill through her. She gripped his shoulders, her heart racing as he lowered himself to the ground, his mouth hovering tantalizingly close to her core.

With agonizing slowness, he trailed kisses from her thighs to her sex, teasing her as he relished the way she reacted to every feather-light touch. "You smell incredible," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “So sweet and tempting.”

Giselle couldn't contain the moan that escaped her lips at his words, the sound a mix of desire and desperation. She had never felt more exposed yet more confident, knowing the effect she had on him.

Just as he'd proclaimed, Kylian feasted on Giselle until she was a trembling mess before he fucked her, her body the perfect distraction after such a testing and heavy evening.

Kylian pinned Giselle's wrists to the bed as he rolled his hips against hers, each deep-measured stroke ripping soft, drawn-out moans from her throat as Kylian's forehead remained pressed against hers, their eyes locked as she gave herself to him.

Kylian's lips curled into a smirk against Giselle's as he felt her body tremble beneath him, her wrists still firmly pinned as he continued his slow, deliberate pace. "You're so fucking beautiful when you're like this," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Completely at my mercy, giving yourself to me so willingly."

He nipped at her bottom lip, his hips rolling in a way that made Giselle gasp and arch her back. "I could do this all night," Kylian continued, his words punctuated by a particularly deep thrust. "Keep you right here, beneath me, taking every inch of my cock until you're begging for mercy."

His free hand slid down her side, gripping her hip possessively as he increased the pace slightly, his movements becoming more forceful. "But I think we both know you'd never beg me to stop, would you? You love this too much. Love feeling me inside you, claiming you as mine."

Kylian's eyes flashed with dominance as he stared down at Giselle, his smirk growing wider at the sight of her flushed cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes. "Say it," he demanded softly. “And I’ll fuck you until you can't walk straight.”

Giselle's breath hitched as Kylian's words washed over her, his dominant tone sending shivers down her spine. She could feel every inch of him inside her, stretching her, filling her. It was overwhelming and exhilarating all at once.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. "I love it. I love feeling you, Kylian. I'm yours, baby."

Her hips moved to meet his thrusts, matching his pace as they moved together in a dance as old as time. “Fuck,” Kylian groaned, releasing his grip on her wrist so he could reach for her thighs, pinning them to the bed as he adjusted his angle, slipping even deeper.

Giselle's eyes rounded in awe as her arms wrapped lazily around his shoulders, needing to touch him amidst the sensations coursing through her.

Kylian's eyes darkened with lust as he felt Giselle's body respond to his touch, her hips lifting to meet his thrusts. He could see the desire burning in her gaze, matching the fire that consumed him.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a low growl as he rewarded her submission with a particularly deep thrust. "You take my cock so well, Giselle. You were made for me."

His grip on her thighs tightened, fingers digging into her soft flesh as he thrashed his hips, driving into her. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their labored breaths and moans of pleasure.

“I was,” she said, her voice barely above a breath. “I was made for you.”

Giselle's words sent a surge of primal satisfaction through Kylian. He felt a possessive growl rumble in his chest as he claimed her mouth in a feverish kiss, his tongue delving deep to taste her. His hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her welcoming pussy.

"You're mine," he declared against her lips, his voice hoarse with desire. "Say it again. Tell me who you belong to."

Kylian's pace became punishing, each thrust designed to brand himself onto her very soul. He wanted to erase any thought of anyone else, to be the only man she ever craved. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, holding her in place as he took her with wild determination.

Giselle cried out, her nails raking down Kylian's back as she clung to him. The pleasure was overwhelming, bordering on painful, but she never wanted it to end.

In one swift movement, Kylian stood from the bed with Giselle in his arms, his cock buried in her depths. Kylian's powerful legs carried them to the nearby wall, where he pressed Giselle against it, her back flush against the cool surface. He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other gripping her hip as he resumed his relentless pace.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Tell me who you belong to, Giselle. Who fucks you so good that you can't even think straight?"

His hips slammed against hers, the force of his thrusts making the wall shake. Kylian's eyes bore into hers, intense and unwavering, challenging her to deny the truth.

Giselle's eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back against the wall as Kylian's words and actions overwhelmed her senses. She could feel every inch of him, stretching her, filling her completely. It was too much, yet not enough. She needed more.

"You," she gasped, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her own heart. "I belong to you, Kylian. Only you."

Her words seemed to unleash something primal within him. Kylian's grip on her wrists tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he flexed his hips, driving into her with a fierce intensity. The wall shook with each powerful thrust, the sound of their bodies colliding echoing through the room.

"That's right," he growled, his breath hot against her ear. "You're mine, Giselle. Mine to fuck, mine to pleasure, mine to own."

His cock slipped from her as Kylian eased himself from her tight confines, snarling as he inspected his cock, covered tip to base in her essence.

Kylian's eyes flashed with a primal hunger as he took in the sight of his own length, glistening with Giselle's arousal. A wicked grin spread across his face, his lips curling into a predatory smirk.

"You're a fucking mess," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Look at how your beautiful pussy is dripping for me."

He stepped closer, his hand wrapping around his shaft, pumping slowly as he brought the tip to her entrance. Giselle shuddered, her legs trembling as she felt the heat of him against her sensitive flesh.

"Please can I ride you?” she asked, her breath hitching as their eyes met.

Kylian's smirk widened at Giselle's plea, his ego swelling along with his already throbbing erection. He loved seeing her like this desperate, needy, completely at his mercy. It was a heady feeling, knowing he could reduce this stunning woman to a begging mess with just a few well-placed thrusts.

"Mmm, I like the way you ask," he purred, his accent thickening with his arousal. "So polite."

He stepped back, releasing his grip on his shaft, and gestured to the bed with a flourish. "By all means, ma chérie."

His eyes gleamed with mischief and lust as he watched Giselle scramble onto the bed on shaky legs.

Kylian's eyes darkened with desire as he watched Giselle position herself on the bed, her back arched and her hips lifted invitingly. He crawled onto the mattress, his muscular body hovering over hers as he settled between her spread thighs.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, his voice low and husky as he guided his cock to her entrance. "Asking so nicely for what you want."

He teased her with the tip, rubbing it against her slick folds, coating himself in her arousal. Giselle whimpered, her hips bucking slightly as she sought more friction. Kylian chuckled, the sound deep and rich, sending shivers down her spine.

"Patience, ma belle," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "I'll give you what you need."

With a swift thrust, Kylian buried himself deep inside Giselle, a groan of pleasure escaping his lips at the feel of her tight, wet pussy gripping him. Giselle cried out, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he flipped them so she straddled his lap.

Kylian's hands gripped Giselle's hips tightly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he guided her movements. He loved the way her body felt pressed against his, the soft curves molding perfectly to his hard muscles. Giselle began to ride him slowly, her hips rolling in a hypnotic rhythm that drove him wild.

"That's it, ma chérie," he encouraged, his voice thick with desire. "Take what you need. Fuck yourself on my cock."

His words spurred her on, and Giselle picked up the pace, bouncing on his lap with increasing fervor. The nasty sound of their bodies clashing filled the room, mingling with their moans and gasps of pleasure.

Kylian's hands slid up Giselle's sides, trailing over the smooth skin until he reached her breasts. “Sit up and take every inch,” he growled.

Kylian's eyes flashed with a fierce intensity as he watched Giselle sit up, her back arching beautifully as she took him to the hilt. A low, possessive growl rumbled in his chest at the sight of her stretched around his thick length.

"That's it, baby. Take it all," he commanded, his voice a husky whisper. "Fuck, you look so perfect like this. Impaled on my cock, desperate for more."

His hands gripped her hips tightly, fingers digging into her soft flesh as he guided her movements. He loved the way her body responded to his touch, the way she shuddered and moaned with each thrust.

"You're mine," Kylian declared, his words punctuated by a particularly deep thrust. "Every inch of you belongs to me. Say it, Giselle. Tell me who you belong to."

His hips snapped upwards, driving into her with a fierce intensity, that forced a cry to rip from her throat in place of her words, reaching to cup her breasts as Kylian controlled her from beneath.

Giselle's eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back as Kylian's words washed over her. She could feel every inch of him inside her, stretching her, filling her completely. It was overwhelming and exhilarating all at once.

"You daddy," she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. "I'm yours, Kylian. Only yours."

Her hips moved to meet his thrusts a few more times before faltering as she sat up and lifted herself from his cock, slipping off of him so she could lay on her side.

“I want you all over me,” she whispered, her gaze smoldering with need as she looked at him over her shoulder, her body invitingly splayed out on the bed.

Kylian's breath caught in his throat at the sight before him—Giselle, soft and inviting, her skin glistening as she arched her back, revealing every curve to him. The need within him surged, a primal urge to claim her completely overwhelming his senses.

"All over you?" Kylian growled, the possessive need lacing his tone as he shifted closer, his body flush against hers.

In one swift, fluid motion, he filled her from the side, the angle of the position allowing him to get as deep as he wanted.

Kylian's hands gripped Giselle's hips tightly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he thrust into her from behind. He could feel her walls clenching around him, squeezing his cock.

"Tell me how you want to be fucked," he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure.

“Slow and deep,” Giselle whispered breathlessly, her voice thick with desire. “Just like that, Kylian. I want to feel every inch of you.”

Kylian's response was a low, guttural growl as he complied, his hips rolling in a steady, deep rhythm that made Giselle’s body tremble.

"Like this?" he grunted against her shoulder, his grip on her hips tightening as he guided her movements.

Giselle moaned, pushing back against him, craving more of the delicious friction. "Yes, just like that," she encouraged, her breath hitching in her throat as he adjusted his angle, hitting that sweet spot inside her that belonged to him.

Cupping her breasts in his hand Kylian's hands gripped Giselle's breasts, kneading the soft flesh as he continued his slow, deep thrusts. His fingers found her nipples, pinching and rolling the hardened peaks as he felt her walls flutter around him.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "Feel how deep I am inside you. How I fill you up completely, how your perfect little body was made for me."

His hips rolled in a hypnotic rhythm, each thrust designed to drive her closer to the edge. Kylian could feel his own release building, the pleasure coiling tightly in his abdomen, but he held back, determined to make Giselle cum first.

"Cum for me, ma belle," he urged, his voice a low, commanding growl. "All over my cock."

His hand snaked down her taut stomach, his fingers finding her swollen clit and circling the sensitive nub in time with his strokes. Giselle cried out, her body tensing as the pleasure overwhelmed her.

"Kylian!" she mewled.

“Give yourself to me,” he whispered hotly into her ear, catching the lobe between his teeth as he reached for her outer leg, hooking it over his forearm and holding her open, the shift in position allowing him to give her his entire length.

“Harder, baby,” she pleaded, her voice filled with urgency. “I need you, Kylian.”

Kylian's eyes darkened with lust as he listened to Giselle's desperate pleas, her voice filled with a need that mirrored his own. He gripped her hip tightly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he began to thrust harder, deeper, each stroke designed to push her over the edge.

"That's it, baby," he growled, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take it all. Every fucking inch."

His hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her body tensing as she approached her climax.

Giselle's body shuddered violently as she came undone, her orgasm crashing over her in powerful waves. She cried out Kylian's name, her voice echoing through the room as she convulsed around his length, her walls clamping down on him like a vice.

"That's it, ma belle," Kylian groaned, his hips pistoning furiously as he chased his release. "Milk my cock. Fucking squeeze every last drop out of me, it's yours."

With a final, brutal thrust, Kylian buried himself deep inside Giselle, his body tensing as he found his release. He came with a roar, his seed spurting hot and heavy inside her, filling her.

"Fuck, Giselle!" he groaned, his voice hoarse and ragged as he emptied himself inside her, his hips jerking spasmodically with each pulse of his orgasm.

Giselle was completely enamored as she rolled over to face Kylian, her core pulsing with the remains of his handiwork as she melted against his chest.

“Kiss me,” she whispered against his chest, peppering kisses over his skin, feeling the warmth radiate from him as she traced her fingers along his chiseled muscles. Kylian chuckled deeply, the rumble reverberating through his chest, sending vibrations to her lips as she kissed him.

“Insatiable,” he murmured, his hand finding the back of her neck, tilting her chin upward so he could capture her lips in a slow, sensual kiss.

The taste of her lingered on his tongue, sweet and intoxicating, as he pulled away from her lips, gazing into her eyes.

“I’m not,” Giselle protested playfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just understand what I want.”

Kylian smirked, his gaze smoldering as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And what is it that you want, Giselle?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

She leaned in closer, pressing her body against his, feeling the heat radiating from him. “Always you,” she whispered, her breath a caress against his skin. “Win or lose, I always want you.”

[gguk-n]

All of this is fiction. All rights are reserved

This is my masterlist, I do not allow any transfer, translation or reposting on any other platform. This is the only place I post fanfiction and if you see someone reposting with a name other than gguk-n please let me know! thank you.☺️ P.S. I use Y/N and the reader uses she/her in my stories.

Masterlist

Requests are open

500 followers celebration series

Formula 1

1000 followers celebration masterlist

Requests

Soulmate AU

Lando Norris

SMAU

Please, Please, Please Stranger in the sun

Imagine

Hate you Last Straw

Fading Shadow

Laps of deceit Brother of the bride

Max Verstappen

Imagine

The Exception Unravelling Max's Mystery In another life

SMAU

Medicine & Motors Short n Sweet Tracks & Beats

Logan Sargeant

Imagine

Mission- Cheer up Logan Unforseen Affection

Oscar Piastri

Imagine

The illusion of destiny

Tragic Circumstance Growth & Realisation

Grand Prix morning Accelerating Emotions Your brother's Oscar Piastri? Daddy dearest

SMAU

From Pitches to Podium Notes and Nitrous (Jeon Jungkook's labelmate!Reader)

Charles Leclerc

Imagine

The Sky Between Us Replaced

Transition

SMAU

Rewritten Headline

Arthur Leclerc

Imagine

Luxury in Love’s Blind Spot

Eternal Luxury

Lewis Hamilton

Imagine

Renewed Passion

Falling for You Again

SMAU

Racing Smiles

Carlos Sainz Jr

SMAU

Harmonies on the fast lane Destined for Carlos Jokes in the cloud

Imagine

Safe Haven Pivotal Choice Arranged for Love

Lance Stroll

SMAU

Lights, Camera, Stroll

Fernando Alonso

Imagine

Fernando's protege Wheels of Desire

Yuki Tsunodo

SMAU

Fri(end)s

Zhou Guanyu

SMAU

High Speed Hearts

Daniel Riccardo

Imagine

Alternate Universe Balancing Act (Jung Hoseok's Manager!Reader)

Franco Colapinto

SMAU

Turned Page (Park Jimin's ex!Reader)

BTS

Kim Seokjin

Beneath the snow (Snow leopard Kim Seokjin x Reader) Overtaking Hearts (Lando Norris's Race Engineer!Reader)

Jeon Jungkook

Royal Heart (Crown Prince!Jungkook x Maid!Reader) Yes or No

Kim Namjoon

Cinematic sparks (Lewis Hamilton’s sister!Reader) Bound by fate (Husky Kim Namjoon x Reader)

Min Yoongi

Heart on the grid (Sebastian Vettel's God-daughter!Reader)

Kim Taehyung

Canvas of Memories (Charles Leclerc's ex!Reader)

Jung Hoseok

Therapy Hybrid (Golden retriever Jung Hoseok x Reader)

[jamilelucato]

Secrets We Keep - 2 [F.W.]

Secrets We Keep Masterlist

Pairing: Fred Weasley x [y/n] Malfoy

Summary: After a chance encounter late at night, the lines between enemy and ally blur, and the walls she's built to protect herself start to crack. With new alliances and unexpected emotions, [Y/N] must face the truth of who she is—while fighting to keep her family's secrets buried.

Warning: Mentions of dark magic, family drama, mild angst, cursing.

A/N: Inspired by the song Bad Idea from the musical Waitress, this part dives deeper into [y/n]'s inner turmoil and the evolving tension between her and Fred. It's the kiss chapter, if anyone's wondering. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter. 😊

PART TWO

For Merlin’s sake, she was nearly eighteen—a woman on the verge of adulthood. Soon enough, she would be the unmarried Malfoy maiden paraded before society and married off to whatever young, noble man her parents deemed worthy. The thought of such a future—of tying herself to a stranger—was unbearable. Yet, in a twisted way, it symbolized her transition into the poised, proper woman her family expected. And women, real women, didn’t cry like this. Not with swollen eyes, blotchy cheeks, and sobs so intense that their throats ached.

This? This was pathetic.

She caught her reflection in the polished surface of a large silver candelabra positioned at her shoulder height in the anteroom between the staircase to Dumbledore’s office and the corridor leading to the other professors' offices. The distorted image of herself was unflattering, but she didn’t look away.

Her nightly walks had become routine, the castle, her endless labyrinth. It had to be her eighth or ninth night sneaking out of her dormitory to wander, using the chill of the stone corridors and the physical exhaustion of climbing staircases to numb her swirling emotions. She had started in the dungeons, but as usual, her legs had carried her upward, far away from her house and its suffocating sense of belonging she no longer felt.

She didn’t hate the girls she shared a room with. If anything, she admired how easy they made everything seem—laughing, gossiping, exchanging hair-care charms and giggling over their shared crushes. [Y/N] liked them, maybe even more than she was willing to admit. But lately, she’d been walking on eggshells, keeping her distance, terrified that the truth might slip out if she let her guard down.

The truth that her family’s pristine image hid a rotting core. The truth that her father—her family—served the Dark Lord.

That night, as every night, she yearned for someone to confide in. Not just anyone, though. Someone who could take her secret and shield her from the crushing weight of it. Someone who wouldn’t gasp in horror at the revelation or, worse, nod in understanding.

And if that was too much to hope for, she at least wanted someone who could distract her—a group of friends who wouldn’t talk about family heirlooms, pure-blood pride, or valuable objects passed down through generations. She wanted to forget.

But forgetting wasn’t so simple. And so she walked, and cried, and loathed herself for both.

With only the magic light cast by her wand as company, she decided to rest in the anteroom. Surely, Dumbledore wouldn’t be working hours in his office? It was almost three in the morning. Not a soul in the castle was awake. Well, perhaps the owls.

[Y/N] let out a shuddering breath. She brushed the tears from her cheeks with a shaky hand, trying to pull herself together.

At night, when no one was watching, the disgusted sneer she had perfected—the one she had stolen from her father’s own expression—faded away. What replaced it was someone softer. Someone vulnerable. Someone who wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up the act.

But whether it was a laugh of fate or an unfortunate stroke of luck, she was not alone. She was not the only one awake.

There were few professors’ offices up there. Some kept the empty rooms near their classrooms as a personal choice. Professor Snape, for example, kept himself housed in the dungeons, like the natural-born Slytherin he was.

But there was one unfortunate pink one, who had little to none panther-like appearance, who chose one of the offices upstairs, and [y/n] suspected that the choice was made to stay close to Dumbledore.

Of course, Dolores Umbridge was not the topic. She was not the one who slipped out the front door of her office, at three in the morning.

No, the figure was not the notorious pink one. It was an equally famous red.

Fred Bloody Weasley. Of all the people to run into at three in the morning, it had to be him.

[Y/N] swallowed hard, her sobs lodging in her throat as her eyes darted around, frantically searching for a hiding place. The anteroom was painfully bare—no tapestries, no curtains, no alcoves to disappear into. Her wand was still clutched tightly in her hand, the faint light she had conjured snuffed out instantly. She sat there on the cold floor, heart pounding in her chest, hoping against hope that the darkness would be enough to conceal her.

But it wasn’t.

The soft glow of the candelabra she had forgotten about betrayed her position. Its flickering light wasn’t strong, but it was enough.

Fred didn’t call out, didn’t ask who was there—he wasn’t stupid. Instead, he leaned casually against the wall, squinting in the dim light. His steps were slow, deliberate, the faint creak of his trainers against the stone the only sound in the otherwise silent corridor.

As he approached, [Y/N] froze. She considered her options—she could lie, she could feign illness, or she could stay silent and pray he’d leave her be. But none of those seemed convincing, not when he was already this close.

The moment stretched unbearably, the soft flicker of the candelabra casting shifting shadows across Fred’s face. His expression wasn’t mocking or mischievous as it usually was; it was curious, maybe even cautious, as though he wasn’t sure if he should even be intruding.

Finally, he stopped just a few feet away, tilting his head to the side as he stared down at her. “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” he asked quietly, his voice devoid of the usual playful lilt.

[Y/N] blinked, thrown by his tone. Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that wasn’t it.

Fred didn’t wait for an answer. He crouched down, careful to keep some distance between them, his movements deliberate and non-threatening. “You, uh… want me to leave?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

It wasn’t a demand or a joke. It was a question, simple and honest, and for a moment, [Y/N] didn’t know how to respond. She was used to taunts, pranks, and snide remarks from Fred and George—this wasn’t in the play book.

She shook her head, surprising even herself.

Fred’s lips twitched, not quite a smile but close enough. “Alright then,” he said, easing himself down to sit on the floor across from her, his back against the wall.

They sat there in silence, the candelabra’s flame dancing between them. It wasn’t comforting, exactly, but it wasn’t uncomfortable either. For once, neither of them had to say a word.

[Y/N] sat still for a moment, the silence between them pressing in. Her chest felt tight, and she knew she had to say something—anything—to break it. But the weight of everything she had just been feeling still lingered, her tears still fresh in her memory. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to ask, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

“Did you plant a bomb in the pink bitch's office?”

Fred’s lips twitched at the corners, a hint of a smile pulling at them, though his eyes remained thoughtful. “Something like that,” he replied, his tone just as dry and amused as ever.

For a fleeting moment, [Y/N] allowed a smile to tug at her own lips, though it was short-lived. The act of smiling hurt—her cheeks were still sore from the hours of crying, swollen and tender.

With a steely look, she fixed her gaze on him. “If you tell anyone you saw me here, I will unleash Cruciatus curses on you until you turn into a house elf,” she warned, her voice cold and resolute.

Fred raised an eyebrow, as if the threat didn’t quite have the desired effect. But there was a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, the tension in his posture betraying him. “I’d say the same, you know,” he replied, a wry smile spreading across his face. “I’m at risk here too.”

The grin he wore was playful, but there was something deeper now, a shared understanding that hadn’t been there before.

Her eyes narrowed as she glanced around, noticing the absence of his twin. “Where’s George?” she snapped.

Fred shrugged nonchalantly, his smile widening as he leaned back against the wall. “Snape’s,” he answered, his eyes twinkling mischievously. And then he flashed her a full, genuine grin—something so real that it was almost disarming.

[Y/N] wasn’t sure what to make of this—this strange, unspoken understanding, the rare glimpse into the Weasley twins' world, or the fact that, at that moment, they were both, in their own ways, in the same boat.

She took a long, careful moment to look at Fred, really look at him, taking in every detail. His arms, strong and defined; his broad shoulders, relaxed against the wall; the easy confidence in his posture, the way his hair, though tousled, seemed to fall just right. And his eyes—holding the weight of things he hadn’t yet spoken aloud.

But then her gaze lowered, to his lips. Slightly parted. Expectation? Or something else? Her mind swirled, as she felt a strange knot form in her stomach.

His cheeks were red—why were his cheeks red?

Her eyes flicked back to his, meeting the depth of his gaze again. Now, those eyes were darker, almost black—sombre. What did that mean? What was he thinking?

For a moment, she wrestled with the urge to speak—to break the tension. But the salty sting of the tears she hadn’t fully wiped away still lingered, and she knew, somehow, that he was still watching her with that quiet curiosity. Her secret—her family’s dark secret—loomed over her, suffocating in its weight. It was so improper here, in this quiet moment between them. She could feel it pressing against her chest, a constant reminder of the chasm between her and everyone else.

And then, before she could think better of it, she moved. A quick, impulsive gesture. Jump or be caught.

So jump it was. Her lips met his.

It was simply a fleeting touch, a soft peck. But in that brief moment, something sparked between them, an electric current that both startled and thrilled her. As soon as the kiss happened, she pulled back, her heart pounding in her chest. Fred’s eyes fluttered open, and it took a moment for him to register what had just happened.

[Y/N] let out a sound, half-frightened, half-embarrassed. What was she frightened of? The kiss? Of herself?

Before she could make sense of anything, her face burned with mortification. She jumped up from the spot, suddenly self-conscious of the awkwardness that now clung to her like a second skin. Her robes caught at her ankles as she moved, making her stumble, but she regained her footing quickly. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, but one thing was certain: she had kissed Fred Weasley!

And to make matters worse, she’d done it like a child—impulsive, messy, and utterly unprepared.

THAT SAME NIGHT, MINUTES LATER

The grand prank—meticulously crafted to ruin every single porcelain plate adorned with kitten designs in Dolores Umbridge's office—was perfectly in place. The setup was flawless, engineered so that when the door was opened, the catastrophe would appear to be the result of her own careless actions. Floors below, an equally devious scheme was undoubtedly in motion. George Weasley, with his skilled hands and sharp wit, would be putting the finishing touches on the trap in Severus Snape's office.

But Fred wasn’t moving.

He remained seated in the same spot where he had stumbled upon the tearful Slytherin minutes earlier. His usually restless energy seemed to have deserted him, leaving him uncharacteristically still. The echoes of what had just happened—her tears, her vulnerability, and then that—played over and over in his mind.

Fred Weasley had been on the receiving end of many things in his life—laughs, hexes, detentions—but a kiss like that? Never.

The kiss wasn’t grand or dramatic; it wasn’t even what one might call proper. It had been fleeting, a brush of lips, but it left behind a current of something he couldn’t quite name. Her lips had been soft, warm, and trembling, and the brief touch carried a weight that Fred hadn’t expected. A weight that didn’t feel like just a kiss—it felt like a moment she’d decided on, maybe even fought herself over, before finally letting go.

And then she’d run.

Fred leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the dim ceiling above him. His mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He hadn’t had time to react, hadn’t said a single word before she’d disappeared. And now he was sitting here, replaying it all like a scene in one of those overly dramatic wizarding plays his mum occasionally dragged them to during Christmas holidays.

He let out a long, frustrated breath and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to anyone else.

Fred Weasley didn’t do confusion. His life was simple. He didn’t dwell on things, and he certainly didn’t let people catch him off guard. Yet here he was, sitting in a dark hallway, absolutely baffled by a girl who, only hours ago, he would have described as Malfoy—the snooty one.

But now?

Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way her eyes had looked—red-rimmed and puffy, but with a defiance that reminded him of storm clouds. Or the way her voice had wavered when she spoke, like she was fighting a battle he couldn’t see. And then there was that kiss…

Fred groaned and pushed himself off the floor, finally forcing himself to move. George would be wondering what was taking so long, and the last thing Fred needed was his twin’s sharp tongue picking apart his distracted state.

As he made his way toward the stairwell, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. That fleeting kiss had opened a door he wasn’t sure he wanted to close. Or maybe, just perhaps, it wasn’t a door he could close even if he wanted to.

TWO DAYS LATER

She’d had enough. A Howler? A Howler, of all things?

Lucius Malfoy, with all his pomp and self-righteousness, had dared to send her a Howler. At least he hadn’t been cruel enough to have it delivered in the Great Hall, where every student would have had front-row seats to her humiliation. No, the family’s sleek black owl, as dark as the night itself, had waited for the moon’s ascent to deliver its cargo—a Howler bound with a green ribbon and sealed with silver wax.

[Y/N] untied the parcel with trembling fingers, her stomach sinking as the seal cracked open. Her father’s voice erupted in a cold, measured monotone that somehow managed to be worse than screams.

“Your brother has reported your carelessness, your lack of decorum,” Lucius began, each word razor-sharp. “Wandering the halls inappropriately dressed, conducting yourself without purpose. If this behaviour affects your grades, young lady, I will have no choice but to petition your professors for additional coursework. I understand that Miss Umbridge did not award you full marks on a recent essay—an embarrassing lapse. I had assumed it to be an anomaly. Let us ensure it remains so.

“The Carrow family,” he continued, his tone heavy with meaning, “has expressed interest in you. Do not disappoint us.”

And that was that. No shouting. No dramatic crescendos. Just cold, calculated disapproval, delivered through the most theatrical medium possible.

When the Howler finished, it hovered for a moment, as if daring her to respond, before folding in on itself and dropping neatly to the floor. She stared at the scraps for a long moment, her chest tight with suppressed fury.

The Carrow family!

She hadn’t even had her formal debut yet, and already she’d been practically auctioned off to the highest bidder. She didn’t need to dredge her memory for details. If Lucius Malfoy had deemed the Carrows suitable, it was because their son—no doubt a fledgling Death Eater—ticked all the right boxes. Bloodline. Wealth. Loyalty to the Dark Lord.

[Y/N] clenched her fists, the fragile parchment crumpling further in her hands. For the first time, she didn’t cry. She didn’t allow herself the luxury. Instead, she tore the Howler into pieces, her movements swift and brutal, and flung the scraps onto the grass.

She was outside, near the rear entrance to the castle that overlooked the path to the Quidditch pitch. The cool night air brushed against her face, doing little to calm the storm raging within her.

With an almost defiant tilt of her chin, she looked up at the moon, searching the vast expanse of stars for some semblance of guidance. But they offered none. The stars twinkled indifferently, as though mocking her plight.

She clenched her jaw, breathing heavily through her nose as her thoughts spiralled. She was to be married off, shackled to some boy her father had deemed suitable, and inevitably inducted into the ranks of the Death Eaters. It was a future she neither chose nor wanted.

How foolish she had been to ever think she had a choice. She never had. Not even as a child.

She’d been moulded from infancy—wrapped in long-sleeved dresses to exude the “Malfoy class,” her hair half-tied to frame the pale perfection of her lineage. A silent doll, a perfect reflection of her family’s ideals. While Draco’s fiery stubbornness earned him their father’s reprimands—or their mother’s smothering, silencing embraces—she had learned early to keep her mouth shut. To think before speaking. Or, more often, to simply not speak at all.

And for what?

The letter had shattered any lingering illusions of solidarity within her family. Draco, her own brother, had reported her. For wandering the halls aimlessly, for her clothing being “too casual”—petty, trivial things. She could have laughed at the absurdity of it all if it didn’t sting so much.

He was no naïve boy any more, she realised bitterly. At some point, he’d shifted from the irritating, idealistic little brother into a perfect disciple of their father’s will. The baby Malfoy had become something else entirely—someone she could no longer trust.

And yet, if he only knew what she had truly done.

The thought struck her with the force of a thunderclap. Two nights ago. The moonlight. The candlelit corridor. Fred Weasley.

She shivered, though not from the cool night air. If Draco—or worse, Lucius—had any inkling of what had transpired, she doubted even the long arm of her mother’s influence could shield her from the consequences.

But then, almost as suddenly as her panic had risen, it ebbed away, leaving something else in its place. Something sharp and hot and utterly wicked.

She let out a short, incredulous laugh, low and quiet, as if afraid the stars might overhear. How deliciously ironic that, in a world where every choice had been made for her, she had snatched a moment of her own. She had crossed every line her family had so carefully drawn.

She felt it again now—that reckless, impish surge, as though Peeves himself had passed straight through her, cackling as he went. It made her feel… alive. For once, she had done something utterly and completely her own. Something wrong. Something unforgivable.

It was a tiny spark of rebellion that flickered in her chest, and it dared grow.

The castle at night was a labyrinth of shadows and whispers, the ancient walls cool and unyielding under [Y/N]’s palms as she steadied herself against one of them. Her heart thundered in her chest, her breaths quick and shallow. She didn’t stop to think—thinking was dangerous, thinking would unravel her resolve. She needed to act before she lost the reckless courage surging through her veins.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridors as she broke into a run. The portraits she passed muttered in disapproval, their drowsy protests lost on her. She couldn’t stop now. Not when the fire in her chest begged for fuel. It was dangerous and foolish, and exactly what she needed.

Her mind raced alongside her feet. The memory of Fred Weasley, his smirk, his laugh, the way his lips had felt brushing against hers—it burned like a secret brand. The thought clawed at her now, relentless and consuming. She wanted more. She needed to find him. [y/n] needed to know if this feeling—this chaos, this rebellion—was real, and to confirm it was her choice, once. Her heartbeat thudded against her ribs, faster and louder, like a drum urging her forward. Let’s make mistakes, it seemed to whisper. 

Her breath hitched as she skidded to a halt, stooping to rest her hands on her knees. A judgmental portrait loomed nearby, its painted gaze following her with disdain.

“So what?” she snapped, her voice cutting through the silence. “It’ll be my mistake to make. Mine.”

The portrait shrugged indifferently, its expression unreadable, and she straightened, a renewed defiance lifting her chin.

Elsewhere in the castle, Fred wandered aimlessly, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The corridors stretched endlessly, cold and quiet, as his thoughts circled like vultures. He was haunted by a memory. A devastating one.

Two nights ago, everything had changed. Her lips, soft and unexpected against his, had been like a spark in the dark. He’d told himself it was nothing—a mistake, a lapse in judgment. But the memory wouldn’t fade. It gnawed at him, twisting and reshaping itself until it was no longer something he could dismiss.

He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered under his breath. A Malfoy. Of all people. His mind conjured images of her family—their sneers, their disdain, the way they would look at him like dirt under their boots. And yet, when he thought of her, all he could see was the defiance in her eyes, the vulnerability that lurked just beneath.

He leaned against the wall, his forehead pressing into the cool stone. He shouldn’t want this. Fred shouldn’t want her. And yet, the thought of kissing her again refused to leave him. Not a hesitant peck this time, but something real, something that would sweep them both away. The very idea made him wince with self-loathing. A good bad idea, his thoughts taunted him. Make worse what’s already pretty bad.

Back again on the grass ground, where she had begun, [y/n] found herself facing the entrance of the Quidditch pitch, the vast expanse of grass stretching out before her. The cold air bit at her skin, bringing a clarity she didn’t want. She doubled over, hands on her knees, gasping for breath. The fire inside her dimmed, replaced by the creeping chill of doubt.

She straightened slowly, the stars above fading as the first blush of dawn crept over the horizon. The soft light turned the castle into a silhouette, a towering reminder of everything she was running from. Her heart, which had been racing moments ago, began to sink. She shook her head, her lips pressing into a bitter line.

This was madness. Utter madness. She was a Malfoy. He was a Weasley. Their worlds didn’t just clash; they were built on opposing foundations, destined to crumble if they ever truly met. Her brother’s face flashed in her mind, followed by her father’s cold disapproval. She knew exactly what they would say if they found out.

“Poor idea,” she murmured to herself, the words soft and scathing. “Me and you.”

Her shoulders sagged as the weight of it all pressed down on her. She turned slowly, intending to head back to the castle, to bury herself in the lies and expectations that had shaped her life. It was safer that way. Smarter. It was the only way to survive. Time to let this thing go, she thought, her steps faltering. It was a pretty good bad idea, wasn’t it, though?

Elsewhere, Fred’s pace quickened suddenly, his body moving before his mind could catch up. He had no idea where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t stop. His feet pounded against the stone floors, his breath coming in short bursts. The castle seemed to pull him forward, its twisting corridors narrowing until he could feel the weight of dawn pressing against the walls.

He didn’t want to find her. That was what he told himself. But the truth gnawed at him, sharp and insistent. He needed to see her, needed to know if she felt it too—that spark, that chaos. He had to know if it had meant something, or if he was just a fool chasing shadows.

As he neared the Quidditch pitch, the cool air hit him like a wave, clearing his head just enough for him to curse his own stupidity. But then he saw her.

[y/n] Malfoy stood in the grass, the faint glow of dawn outlining her figure. Her hair was tousled by the breeze, her arms wrapped around herself as though to ward off the chill. She looked fragile against the vast sky, but there was a strength in her stance that made his breath catch.

He stopped, his chest heaving as their eyes met.

Neither spoke. Neither moved.

The sun lingered just below the horizon, as if hesitant to interrupt the stillness, granting them the fragile, fleeting privacy of the in-between hours.

Fred saw her first. And yet, the strike of it—the sheer improbability of her standing there—was just as breathtaking to her.

Had he been looking for her? Had he felt it too, the same turmoil of rebellion, of need, of something greater than them both? [y/n] didn’t know. She had no answers to her spiralling questions, and for once, she didn’t care. She would have to ask him herself.

Her breathing steadied as a newfound calm settled over her. Slowly, deliberately, she took her first steps toward him. Fred, who had been running so fast mere moments ago, now stood frozen in place, rooted to the spot as he watched her approach. His gaze dropped to her feet—delicate steps in dark blue slippers—carrying her closer, closer.

To him.

He could hardly believe it. Fred had been so certain she would avoid him forever after that stolen, fleeting kiss in the shadows. But the horizon was brightening, and so was she.

[y/n] Malfoy wasn’t hiding any more.

Fred let her close the gap between them on her own because part of him still doubted that whatever she was going to do next would be good for him.

“You kissed me,” he said, as if it was the only thing he could say to her.

“Yes,” she agreed—well, she really had.

“And then you avoided me,” he added, the words tinged with an unintended cruelty. He didn't mean to push her away, not when all he wanted was to bring her closer. But Fred Weasley was clumsy with feelings, and he hated how his tongue betrayed him.

[y/n] didn’t flinch. She doubted anything Fred said could push her away. “I did,” she admitted, her tone softer now, her head tipping slightly to one side, almost in resignation. “That part was intentional.”

Fred frowned, his chest tightening. “Let me guess. Because, bam—I'm a Weasley. That reality hit you, didn’t it?” He tried to sound casual, but the words escaped him too fast, and he felt ridiculous as soon as they hung in the air.

But [y/n] wasn’t offended. Her retort came swiftly: “And I'm a Malfoy, dear Weasley. What does that mean, really?”

His gaze faltered, his brows knitting together as her words settled in.

“It's too early for us to be defined by names like that,” she continued, a faint smile teasing her lips. She crossed her fingers and stretched her arms out in front of her, like a child trying to reach the sky. “I’m just [y/n]. For a few more days, I’m still seventeen. And you? Who are you?”

Fred blinked at her, unsure of what to say. The silence lingered, stretching just long enough for doubt to creep in. Was he really not going to get it? Her head tilted slightly in question, but her disappointment didn’t last long.

Fred closed the gap between them. His hands found her waist with a determination that surprised even him. Before either of them could think too much, her face tilted forward, meeting him halfway. The kiss was easy—natural.

And [y/n] didn’t pull back. Her breath caught against his lips for only a moment before she parted them, inviting him closer. When his tongue brushed hers, her hands rose to his shoulders, fingers tracing the curve of muscle, grounding herself in the sensation.

This was a kiss. Deep and unrelenting, it was more than skin meeting skin; it was a convergence of need and affection. She pressed herself against him, craving the connection, wanting to lose herself in the solidness of Fred Weasley.

Fred matched her intensity, his hands moving from her waist to her back, then higher, threading into her hair. He marvelled at the soft, silver strands as they slipped through his fingers, untangling the remnants of her earlier rush. At that moment, [y/n] let him have her—her posture, her defences, all of it.

For Fred, the sensation was everything.

But, like all good things in life, the moment had to end. Eventually, they pulled apart—but [y/n] remained in his arms, her warmth still pressed against him.

“I'm Fred,” he said, a little breathless but smiling anyway, the mischievous glint in his eyes softening. “George’s twin. It’s a pleasure to meet you, [y/n].”

It was beautiful. That was [y/n]’s first thought. The way he said her name, the way he looked at her—it was like she was the only person in the world. But then the second thought came. Slowly, her hands fell away from his face, where they had been cradling him just moments before.

It felt like a fantasy. Too good to be true. And even if it was true, it felt too good to be hers.

The moment passed. Fred noticed the change instantly. Her body tensed in his arms, her back straightened like a shield raising itself, and even the silver strands of her hair, which he had so joyfully tousled, seemed to settle back into a pristine, unyielding order.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low with concern.

“Nothing’s changed,” she replied, her words carrying a quiet sadness. It seeped into her voice, her expression, even the hesitant way she pulled his hands away from her waist.

Fred’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean, [y/n]?”

She hesitated, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her. “I thought it would change,” she admitted, guilt creeping into her tone. Her voice broke just slightly as she added, “I thought this would be enough to save…”

“Save what?” Fred pressed gently, his voice filled with care, though worry was starting to edge into it.

Save me, she finished in her mind, but the words never made it past her lips. She looked away, stepping out of his hold. Now, without his embrace to shelter her, the towering silhouette of the castle loomed around them. Hogwarts now felt more like a reminder of the person she was supposed to be.

And how she had failed everyone.

A tear slipped from her right eye before she could stop it. Damn it. She brushed at her face with a trembling hand, but Fred had already seen. Fred noticed everything about her, and this was no exception.

Something was very wrong.

Wasn’t she the one who had invited him to be someone new? To shed the weight of expectations? Then why did it feel like she was slipping back into the role of the Malfoy daughter—the person she so desperately wanted to leave behind?

“You’re not making sense,” Fred said, his voice tinged with both confusion and concern. The whiplash of her emotions was challenging to follow, and it worried him.

“I’m not,” she admitted bitterly, frustration bubbling over. She took a step back, then another, as if physical distance might make her words sting less. “I never am.” She paused, swallowing hard before adding, “I’m sorry, Fred. I thought... I thought this kiss would be enough.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and the weight of her thoughts dragged her down. What kind of fool am I?

A kiss wouldn’t save her. This wasn’t a fairytale. A true love’s kiss wouldn’t wake her from the life already spiralling out of control, unravelling like a story written by someone else’s hand. What power did Fred have against Lucius Malfoy? Against the man who, by now, had likely finalized her engagement to someone hand-picked for status and strategy?

What had she been imagining? That they’d run away together? Into the sunset? And go where? The Burrow? She snorted bitterly at the thought. [y/n] wouldn’t last a day there. She wouldn’t even know how to be in a world so unadorned, so painfully honest.

She wanted to escape her name, her lineage, the weight of expectations that pressed down on her every step. But could she? She couldn’t run from the habits ingrained in her, the luxuries she loved. Her hand unconsciously brushed the soft fur of her robe—an extravagance that cost more galleons than most people earned in a month.

And Merlin helped her, she loved the robe.

Her feet moved before her mind gave the order, pulling her away from him.

“No, not again,” Fred called after her, his voice carrying desperation. He reached out, his fingers just brushing the air near her hand. “Don’t run from me again.”

Her chest was tight, and she was still fighting back the sob that was already breaking free, her breath hitching painfully. “This was a bad idea, Weasley,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, though she knew he could hear her.

She slowed for just a moment, long enough to meet his gaze. His hand was still outstretched, a silent plea hanging between them. Her eyes softened, guilt flickering behind them. “But thank you.”

Then she turned and ran, the moment's weight trailing behind her.

[sonoranbumblebee]

Syd-Richie, and Carmy out in the cold

I'm sick when I think of Carmy feeling excluded by those two in particular, realizing they now have an intimacy with each other that is almost the same as the one he has them with them separately. I think the first couple of months apart are going to be harsh on all their hearts, but just like in this fight, there will come a period of transition where the distress fades out and reconnection is inevitable.

When he's ready to come home, when he's back; oh the joy! In season 1 Richie described the Beef as your brother's house. In season 5 the Bear will be identified as Richie's brother's house. Even without a penny of ownership stake or a job there, that "building" is in fact Carmen Berzatto's house, because that's the building he turned into a home where his wife and brother and sister spend their days. And no three people could have more personal motive for protecting and loving and fighting to make that restaurant something beautiful and good than Richie, Sugar, and Syd, fighting to make Carmen's place worthy of his character and his gifts, and a testament to their love for him.

I sort of imagine Carmy hesitating outside the Bear, genuinely anxious about what reception he will receive. He made himself an outsider and left even when they were begging him to stay. Does Syd hate him? Does Syd just not care at all anymore, well and truly done with him entirely?

And then when takes that inhale and exhale and finally he enters, no raucous reception, no big emotions. Simply, oh it's you finally. We look for you every day.

Thank god you're home. This is where you live, this is your home, forever and always no matter far away you go. Thank god you're home. We've been waiting for you, will always wait for you and save you a place at the table, and we've been saving stories we want to tell you when you're finally back, our brother, our husband, the heart and soul of this generation of our family, and the father of the next generation.

"Syd! Quit fucking around. Grab a can opener!"

[saddled-on-stars]

Hello! Could you please do movie Beetlejuice with a(n adult) reader summoning him with the only purpose to ask for cuddles? She didn't expect the ritual to actually work and is extremely shy, so when he shows up she's absolutely embarrased for having him come over to do something as mundane as cuddling. Thank you!

Damn y'all are thirsty for Keatlejuice- (NO HATE I SWEAR, It's just that a lot of requests have been for Keatlejuice lmao) I really should watch the movie, lmao- Again, to tell you what I tell others for Keatlejuice and Toonjuice, I can't guarantee that it will be 100% accurate, as I've never watched the cartoon or the movies, but I'm hoping to soon! Please feel free to criticize if it isn't correct! BUT LOWKEY THIS IS SO CUTE I WILL DO MY BEST, DARLING! SORRY IT WAS SO LATE!! Happy reading! - Star ★

-★-★-★-★-★-★-★- Trigger Warnings: Explicit Language, *slight* Mentions of Perverted Boss, *subtle* mentions of cycle. -★-★-★-★-★-★-★- Key: ★ (This fic is specifically for a female reader!) ★ (Y/N) = Your Name ★ (L/N) = Last Name -★-★-★-★-★-★-★-

- ★ - Summoned Snuggles - ★ -

You're lying face-down on your soft, cool mattress, feeling the soft sheets beneath your fingertips. You groan into your pillow, exhausted from the day it's been; your boss had you working the 14-hour shift instead of your typical 8-hour.

He's already an asshole as it is, he didn't have to make it worse by performing his perverted acts like squeezing your hip and brushing your thigh, which you did not consent to. Ugh, he's such a fucking perv, and you're sick of it.

To top it all off, it's that time of the month for you. Great. Cramps take over your lower abdomen, causing you to hold your stomach tighter, and wince from time to time.

A headache begins to take form in your brain, and it causes you to rub your temples, despite it not doing anything to help the pulsing in your head. Ugh, you just wish this week could end; it's only Wednesday.

Your headache pauses for a brief moment, as a small, simple idea pops into your head, causing a small shy smile to spread across your face. His hugs were always nice. They seemed to erase any pain, mostly mental, but that didn't matter.

You finally saunter out of bed and stumble over to your closet, ready to change out of that fucking itchy uniform, with a button-up white shirt, that shows off your cleavage way too much, the skirt being much too short for your liking at all. You didn't like showing off your body to the public, let alone that nasty boss of yours.

Shutting your closet door, you lock it, afraid as if something were to come in and see you exposed, even though you know full well that there's not. He wouldn't be here unless you summon him.

Finally exiting your closet, after what feels like hours of having to stand with that throbbing headache, you plop onto your bed once more. You're now wearing a pair of comfy fitness shorts, a hoodie that smells like a foggy day in a way, and your favorite pair of fuzzy socks that reach up to just below your knees, providing perfect comfort.

That familiar shy smile returns to your lips, the corners turning up slowly, but that smile quickly fades as a wince comes through, due to another headache-cramp combo. You hold your head, and lean up against the pillows that are leaning against your headboard as you groan in pain. 'Ugh, I really want him here, but I don't want to bother him! What if he's busy? What if he doesn't want to talk to me? Does he even like snuggles?-...', your thoughts say as they wrack your brain. Suddenly, a jolt of confidence flows through you, as if your body's telling you that you need to summon him. Eh, what the heck, you're in a little too much pain to care. What could go wrong?

The bedroom is still dimly lit from the lamp on your nightstand, casting soft shadows on the walls, providing the room with that comforting appearance. You transition your legs to cross in a sitting position on your bed, excited for what's to come.

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice."

You close your eyes and smile, knowing that he'll appear in front of you any second.

"It's showtime~.", you hear his familiar raspy voice say.

You open your eyes to see that startling, yet familiar puff of green smoke, and standing there is your favorite demon boyfriend; or really your only one for that matter.

"Howdy, Babes!", he says with a strange twirl, rather a spin on his heels, but it never fails to amuse you, causing you to giggle. Even though you've seen him countless times, you take in the sight of him.

He's wearing his typical striped suit, still spotted with green spots from here to there, but you don't mind. His hair, still sticking out in all different directions, looks even softer today, causing you to smile. His eyes are their typical deep ocean blue, and it never ceases to make you stare slightly, and those blue orbs still have the black orbs surrounding them outside of the eye.

"Hi, BJ.", you reply with a soft smile, your giggle ceasing, as you begin to fiddle with your fingernails in nervousness.

He notices your actions immediately and comes and sits across from you on the bed, using his finger to bring your head up from your lap.

"Why don't-chya tell me what's wrong, toots.", he says with comforting eyes, which isn't usually like him, but you like seeing this side of him too.

"Just-... A rough day at work, that's all!", you say with a fake smile, trying to brush it off. Oh no, you don't want to seem needy! Not. One. Bit. However, he seems to see right through that smile, and his smile slightly falters.

"Babes. I'm a dead guy. I've fuckin' seen a lot. A LOT. Did ya need me for something specific?"

No, no, no. You really don't want to sound needy, and you also didn't want to summon him for no reason. Oh boy, the truth is the only option left.

"Just-... uhm-...", you stutter as you're now chewing at your fingernails.

"A-Are you alright-... if w-we s-snuggle?"

Your eyes are squeezed shut, so much that you aren't able to see him extend his arms and pull you into his lap. You're startled at first, but eventually open your eyes, to see him with his back to the headboard, and he's inviting you to lay your head on his torso.

This is comfy for you. It feels like home, in ways you could never describe with words. Without another thought, grateful that he accepted your request, you let your arms wrap around his stomach, causing his hand to rub circles on your back.

"I gotchya, Babes. I've always gotchya."

"I know you do.", you reply as you snuggle deeper into his chest. "I love you, BJ."

"I love you too, Babes."

- ★ - Written by Saddled_On_Stars - ★ -

[formosusiniquis]

I'm in chainmail, baby I'm impressed

Squeaking in under the wire for @stevieweek day 4: Special Outfit with bonus prompts: lingerie and DnD/Fantasy. Plus I'm counting this as my @steddie-week Day Seven Free Space

Stevie Harrington/Eddie Munson WC: 3217 | M | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tags/Themes: Transfem!Steve Harrington; Transmasc!Eddie Munson; Fade to Black

AO3

It starts with a blouse.

No, that’s not right. It actually started when Stevie asked how earring a suit of armor didn’t chafe, and if a pair of keys could stab through a beer can how were arrows not sending stabby metal pieces into people.

Which actually probably means it really started with layers. Like the extra layer of leather, done up to Eddie’s chin when he called her back. “Make ‘em pay” wasn’t the send off she’d expected after the big boy and other flirting. Flirting that had made her stomach twist and her heart flutter and her brain flinch with the close but not quite of it. But maybe that’s why she’d sent her own return volley. Why she’d grabbed hold of that half done zipper and left Eddie with a pat to the chest and a promise to do just that.

She totally saved his life with that move. Her, the leather jacket, and some extra breast tissue Eddie wasn’t really using, all working together to keep razor sharp fangs from tearing flesh and puncturing any important organs.

That breast tissue maybe saved her too, when she learned just what having it made Eddie and what it meant about options she hadn’t known were there. They had a lot of time to talk in their shared bat bite isolation chamber.

Talk about layers that go under chain and metal to protect knights of the realm and their devoted squires that help them.

That started in the Upside Down, finished in the hospital. And this started in the thrift store.

The blouse was white. Pure white, basically neon, white as the virgin snow. Totally not Stevie’s color, the fresh wedding white brings out the undertones in her skin in a way that leaves her looking sallow and liver failure-y. But something about the sleeve catches her eye. The way  it balloons before gathering at the wrist. 

It’s a 70’s throwback for sure. Reminds her of the cover from the album Eddie brought over a few weeks ago, Little Queen. Robin has her face screwed up before Stevie even has it all the way off the rack. Hating it but trying to be supportive the way she has been throughout all of Stevie’s transition from Steve to who she is now.

“That is… wow!”

“It’s super ugly, and not even in a cool way.”

Robin slumps against the rack, sending a hanger cascading to the floor. She scrambles down to pick it up but Stevie doesn't miss her, “Oh thank god.”

“The best thing to happen to you was my sense of style not changing.”

“I know. You’d look good in anything, but my wardrobe offerings would have shrunk.” Seeming to remember the source of the freak out. She snaggs the shirt. “So what’s with this thing? I think even you’d struggle to make this look good.”

She takes it back from Robin’s disapproving grip. Holds it up to herself just to see the way Robin’s face contorts. The neckline is going to do nothing for her, not low cut enough to show off the way her boobs are coming in. The poof in the arms will accent her shoulders . And it’s so, so white.

“It made me think of Eddie,” she says, fingering the loose tie that’s hanging down the front of the blouse.

“It is very vampire lord,” Robin admits. “Might even make him look tan.”

Layers, knights would wear padded shirts under their armor and under those drapey shirts in cotton and linen. He’d been excited when he’d talked about it. Passionate. The way he got when he talked about Lord of the Rings or DnD. She holds the shirt even tighter against her, turns this way and that even though she can only kind of make out her reflection in the mirror at the end of the row. It’s an ugly shirt. But it makes her think of knights and Éowyn and paladins and Eddie.

Eddie flushed pink and beautiful, squirming in his seat in a different way than he usually does, talking about devotion and pledges. Duty and honor.

“I’m gonna buy it.”

“For Eddie?” Robin asks on a sigh. She already knows the answer.

“He’ll certainly get to enjoy it.”

The problem with being the one to come up with a plan is she has to be the one to follow through with it. 

Part of her knows the blouse would be enough. She could dress it up just right, flirt a little, and have Eddie eating out of the palm of her hand.

But the part of her that had a flair for the dramatic that rivaled her boyfriend’s wasn’t going to let her skimp unless she took every possible step to fully achieve her vision.

So she goes to the only person she knows who might be able to put the final and most crucial piece of the scene together.

Flopped across the Henderson couch, she’s making herself comfortable for her and Caludia’s date with Dallas. She’s too cozy to get up, decides it's easier to flop her head over the arm of the sofa to shout at Dustin while he rummages through the kitchen.

“So if I was trying to get my hands on some of that chain link armor stuff, would you know a drama club nerd who might have some?”

“Yeah, I have some.”

“You have some?” she can feel her eyebrows raised up into the middle of her forehead. She went to him for a reason, but surely she would have known if he was capable of affording something like that. Was that why she was footing the bill at the arcade every week, so he could have suit of armor money?

“Well it's not like it grew in the backyard, I made some.”

“Made some?” she flips around on the couch, this has become the kind of conversation she has to look at her brother and have him be rightside up.

He’s got his hand on his hip which isn't as commanding when he’s also holding a glass of milk in the other. It’s cute though, like he’s trying to channel her.

“What are you an echo? It's not like it was hard. You need some wire and pliers and patience.”

“And you?”

“Har har. Yes. Do you want to borrow it or not.” The threat is there even if she doesn’t think it’s that sincere. It’s fucking armor she doubts he could hide it that well if she wanted to just come in and take it.

But she makes nice anyway cause she’s a good sister. “Yes! Sorry.”

“Ma's got all that jewelry making stuff and you know I like to work with my hands when I'm talking with Suzie.”

“Disgusting.”

It was a joke. But it’s a joke that sends his drink sloshing over the sides of his glass as he startles. A good friend, even if she doubts he’ll ever acknowledge it, she stifles her laugh in the palm of her hand as he turns a shade of red that is medically concerning. 

“Ew, don't be crass, Stevie,” he stutters out.

“Is this even going to fit me,” she takes pity on him, dragging the topic back to her, “you made it for yourself half-pint.” The insult barely works, a summer growth spurt has left sophomore Dustin towering over her shoulder. Well, not towering, but he can see over her shoulder now.

“I made it for Mike, actually, so he could be his paladin at that convention in September. But he wouldn't let me measure him cause I ‘know what he looks like’ and it came out too big.”

“Oh so it'll be perfect for me.” She tries to make it a joke, but hearing that it was made for human stringbean Michael Wheeler has her nervous in the place where all of her ugliest body issues live. At least if Dustin had made it for himself it would have just looked like a crop top.

“Well, it still might not fit because of your,” he gestures vaguely at her front.

“Boobs, Henderson, they're boobs. You can call them-”

“Alright!” He shrieks, “I was trying to be respectful.”

“When have you ever been respectful? And don't say it's because I'm a girl, I'll push you into Lover’s Lake.”

“I wouldn't talk about El’s or Max’s is all I'm saying.” He says into the glass in his hand.

“But I can borrow it?”

“If it fits over your boobs,” he says the word like it's in a foreign language he's neither spoken nor heard, “you can keep it. I know it's for some weird sex thing with Eddie and I don't want it in my closet knowing what it's seen.”

Honestly it's for the best, because if this goes the way she thinks it's going to she really doesn't want to have to figure out how to get stains out of aluminum. But it's hard to resist the siren song of torturing Dustin. “I can't believe you're calling my sex life weird, are you saying there's something wrong with us? That we aren't a normal couple like everyone else? I thought you were a friend.”

“Nothing about Eddie is normal and he'd be offended you tried to suggest he was so I'd feel bad.”

“Yeah, good point loser.” She snuggles back down into the couch, she never really gives the episodes of Beauty and the Beast that much attention but this one should be wrapping up soon. “If it doesn't fit over my tits and it sees zero action do you want it back then?”

“After this conversation, I'm not sure I ever want to see you again. So just keep it. I'm sure Eddie will find some kind of use for it.”

There’s another quip at the tip of her tongue that she knows will send Dustin into fits, whether they would have been of rage or denial she’ll never know. The front door is slamming open bringing with it Claudia at the end of her swing shift.

“Stevie, dear,” she always bustles into the house like she’s carrying an armload of groceries even when it’s just her coming home in her uniform, “never go into nursing. Doctors are some of the dumbest fuckers on the face of the planet.”

It occurs to her, the attitude might be a family trait. Maybe that’s why they adopted her so easily. If only she could pull off the tiny hat the way Claudia can.

All of the pieces of her plan stay hidden for weeks. Folded up carefully in an oversized hatbox in the back of her Mom’s extended closet. The hat, a monstrosity purchased for a Derby she doesn’t think they’d even gone to left to gather dust or whatever it is hatboxes are meant to prevent.

The chainmail had fit. The weight of it as surprising as the cool feeling of it against her fingers.

She has the clothes, the accessories, even bought something silky and golden yellow to go underneath. Like the armor wasn’t going to be sexy enough for Eddie. Lingerie under lingerie like a hat on a hat, but she has to feel sexy or else she’s going to feel like a complete idiot.

She kind of already feels like an idiot. Something in the knowing that the top and the chain and the yellow bra with the flowers embroidered on it are all upstairs makes her anxious in a way she hasn’t ever been with Eddie before.

Hands haven’t been wandering during their movie nights. She keeps her feet kicked back behind her, crossed at the ankle, when they’re sharing a booth at dinner. There’s always a fifteen-going-on-sixteen year old chaperone in the car with them, sometimes even in the front seat as she pretends she’s just making sure they’re getting pre-prepared for their upcoming drivers tests.

And sitting next to him on the sofa, a whole cushion between them for the first time since ever, she watches the careful way he makes each line as he sketches and cross hatches what she can just make out to be a flowing haired knight. Her resolve breaks.

Stevie craves him the way she used to want ice cream on a hot day. The taste and feel of it an almost physical feeling, she would want it so bad. That’s what horny feels like now, she’s slowly realizing.

Before she can overthink it too much more, “I wanna try something.”

Normally she thinks of Eddie as having a kind of feline grace, he slinks and when he does fall off of something he isn’t supposed to be on he grins like it was always the plan to reacquaint himself violently with the floor. But the hint of suggestion in her voice has him perked up on the couch like a dog that just heard his leash come off the hook.

It's embarrassing how badly she wants him.

“What were you thinking, baby?”

He’s better at this than she is, at the lead up. The introduction. It’s a different skill to slowly introduce the concept of the strange, a change. Different than foreplay. She feels like she’s propositioning her proposition. The thing about slow, missionary in a room with the lights dimmed, no bandaids need to be ripped off before.

“You’ve roleplayed.”

“Not the kind I think you’re suggesting.” He’s impossibly more perked. Notebook and pencil still and poised like he’s about to start taking notes. “But I’ll try anything you want to do, however you want to do it.”

Maybe it isn't healthy, but she likes that about Eddie. That he’s all in on her, obsessed maybe. Willing to push himself out of his comfort zone for the sake of letting her have what she wants or try what she thinks she wants.

She likes how a few right words will turn him into putty she can squish and meld between her fingers.

“I’m gonna go get changed.”

Now that Eddie is waiting downstairs for something spectacular, it isn't so hard to pull that box down from its hideaway and slide each layer on. She already knew it wasn’t that hard to get the chain on and off by herself, she had tried it on. Maybe squires were for the heavy metal suits like on Scooby-doo. Or maybe it was about the intimacy and the ritual even back then, sliding on pieces and parts meant to keep the other person safe from harm knowing later if there was a chance to undress again you could see just how you helped save them.

Next time, she thinks, they should do this the other way around. She can get Eddie off a couple times, clean him up, and slowly dress him in each new layer. Until he’s lying in her bed armored in metal and cocooned by her cotton sheets. Safe from anything the world might want to do to him. Under her panties, and the sports leggings she’d decided where the sexier choice of pants, she can start to see the evidence of her arousal in the full length mirror.

It’s a good thing Dustin doesn’t want his stuff back.

Her finishing touches go on next. The gold ring with the small green stone that Robin had given her slides on to her index finger. Then around her neck her holy symbol, the guitar pick from Eddie’s first post-almost dying show. Tossed at her from the stage in an act of Bon Jovi badassery. She had gently poked a hole through it and now she slides it on its dainty, gold chain around her neck.

She tugs at her hair in the mirror, the one part that isn’t quite right. In her vision it’s finally grown out, beautiful waves that would fall out of the ugly helmet she doesn’t have when she pulled it off. Waves like Brooke Shields or the girl from One Day at a Time who married the guy from the band Eddie liked have instead of the bob she’s growing out now.

But it would grow and in the meantime she looked hot.

Stevie looked really hot. Swallowing around the saliva pooling in her mouth, she remembers she has a boyfriend to show that to.

Her first reward is the sight of Eddie's jaw dropped against the floor.

“You remember the other day, you were talking about how paladins could get leveled up so high they basically became gods too?”

Stevie knew that wasn't right, but she liked watching the nerd part of him war with the boyfriend part of him. One itching to correct the mistake and the other looking for a way for her to be correct in a roundabout way. Usually, it leaves him flushed and wide eyed, like his brain is overtaxed and with just a little more stress steam will start to burst from his ears to keep his brain from melting. Last week she had him arguing with the Party that humanoid didn't mean hobbits couldn't also be little rabbits.

She decides to take pity on him now, his wheels skidding blankly on wet road.

“I want you to worship me.”

He's agreeing, she thinks, before he's even sure what he's agreeing to. Dropping to his knees in front of her just like the worshiper she imagined: awe struck and devoted. Her divine intervention on his unfinished prayer kept him alive. Eddie Munson would let her kill him if she wanted to, if it suited her whims.

Good thing she wants to keep him for forever.

His hands slide up the back of her legs. She can feel the hot trail of them from the calf up to the thigh.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Presses a kiss to her knee, her thigh, the chain that covers her hip. “My hero, my knight.”

In the end, she didn’t need the blouse or the bra and panty set. She still has her chainmail on when she eases them both down onto the couch. Running her fingers through Eddie’s hair from his sweat damp temples to the tangling ends she’s careful to keep it from getting wrapped in the links while he rests on top of her.

“I don’t know where you came up with that, my lady, but I think that was the hottest thing to ever happen to me.”

She tugs at the end of his hair just to watch the way the lingering arousal dances across his face. “I got that from the way you creamed your jeans while you were playing with my clit.”

“I am but a man, my golden sun. When a paladin of Apollo is before me what can I do but show my utter devotion.”

“You liked it? It was good for you?”

Maybe it’s a testament to how good it was that Eddie isn’t immediately off the couch. He only shifts enough to rest his chin on her stomach. Looking her in the eyes or maybe at the bottom swell of her breasts.

“Steph, that was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re a vision in everything you put on,” he assures, “but where did you even get this?”

“That’s the bad news, if you’re hoping for a better fitting part two I think I’m gonna have to give Dustin my measurements.”

[2demondogs]

hii! I loved your take on LH!Arthur and his bio kid! Could you maybe write something about Dutch having a bio daughter? Just like how he is as a father while also running a gang of outlaws. Thank you!! I love your work sm!!

Thank you! Honestly kinda hoped someone would ask for Dutch. I think he would one day look in the water of a still river and, mortified, realize he's just the male version of his mother.

Reader lowkey doomed by the narrative. Ain't no one wanna be that man's favorite kid I'll tell u that right now bucko

CW for Dutch being Dutch.

Dutch is less flimsy about letting you see the violent parts of life. After you learn what words really mean, only on rare occasions are you allowed in his tent while he's discussing a job or lecturing someone. A little violence is necessary, though. As soon as you can hold a gun, you're taught how to defend yourself and hunt.

It's partially about your innocence and partially about the vague sense of shame and guilt that haunts him. Outlaws �� criminals, yeah whatever helps you sleep at night, Dutch. Despite it, you will ideally become an outlaw too. If you don't, he'd be more ashamed to see you grow into a docile bootlicker than a violent criminal.

As such, Dutch insists on giving you most of your education. Periods, pregnancy, and other matters too "feminine" for him are handed to Susan, who is essentially your governess. Your moral compass, literacy, and social skills are his concerns. All very Victorian of him, for a man who teaches you that anything beyond the bounds of camp is claim to an ominous enemy: "them." We love a paranoid anarchist dad. And yes, he teaches you to read and write using simpler Evelyn Miller passages.

There is one thing he will hand over to Hosea, and that's the art of lying through your teeth. Dutch learned from the best, so why shouldn't you? Unfortunately for him, until you were old enough to actually know what a con artist is, Hosea's main goal was to teach you how to manipulate Dutch. He's definitely sent you on a few missions to get the man to do something he wants. Don't hate the playa hate the game

As far as being taught how to be a person, you're on your own fairly young. Dutch chose to do it, but he was self-sufficient at fifteen. Susan's guidance also transitions from caring for yourself to caring for the camp rather quick. By sixteen, Dutch's main punishment for mistakes is his disappointment without any guidance on how to move forward.

He's not all bad, though. He's got your wire comforts down: your food and water and shelter. He makes sure you're comfortable, that you build strong relationships, and that you get a good chunk of his attention. He has a bad habit of paying the most affection to whichever shiny new gang member washes up, but you'll always make him the most proud. You're his girl, after all. That's also a bad habit considering Arthur, John, and Tilly are just as much his as you are, but I digress.

If you're not spoiled to his standards, he feels he's failed you as a father. He makes sure you have nice things, which he works hard to steal for you, and that you've got your own tent with a cot, not a bedroll. The spoiled-rotten treatment fades as you get older, but you'll always be his princess, for better or worse. If you want something, then, chances are he'll take you out and show you the best way to steal it instead of simply handing it to you.

You're with the other women more often than not, especially while you're young. Susan is typically the one in charge of the ladies, but Dutch gets more leeway with you considering he's your dad. Again, for a guy who hates society's structures, he treats you like property at times. But he also treats his boys like that, soooo... equality win? All this to say, he overrules Susan and lets you have more freedom to leave camp than the other girls. If you get into trouble, though, he'll anxiously refuse letting you out of his sight until he gets busy and forgets he was supposed to be coddling you. Rinse and repeat. Once Molly comes along, you're usually expected to chill with her, since you exist in the same strange hierarchical pocket.

[gggukniverse]

cool with you | jjk

title: cool with you

pairing: jungkook x trans male!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship au

summary: the dysphoria hits you as you're getting ready to go out with your friends but jungkook is there to make you feel better.

warnings: a little breakdown because of dysphoria, mentions of a gender-affirming surgery, jungkook calls you love because i'm a SLUT for that petname.

wordcount: 2.7k

note: hey 👀 so... i'm aware that there's not a lot of male!reader and trans male!reader content here so i wanted to try and write a cute little drabble for people who might want to read this type of content. i hope you like it a lot !!!

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"can i borrow one of your shirts?" you ask loud enough for jungkook to hear from the bathroom after having no luck finding a nice shirt in your side of the closet.

"of course you can," jungkook replies with his voice a little muffled and you turn to the open bathroom door, he's brushing his teeth. "you don't even have to ask." he adds.

"okay, thanks babe." you blow him a kiss and he winks at you before moving back to the sink.

you quickly find a nice oversized soft pink shirt with a darker pink drawing on it. you don't waste any time, taking your shirt off immediately and put his on, walking towards the mirror to check the look. it's a cute look, jungkook's shirt looks good with your baggy light blue jeans with wide pockets.

but you hate it. you like the fit but you hate how it looks on you. and it is all because of the same thing as always, your chest. your stupid chest that always ruins everything. you can see the curve on your shirt from your boobs even with your binder on and you fucking hate it. you hate it so much that when you look up to see the reflection of your face in the mirror you can notice how miserable you look all of the sudden.

it's not always like this. usually, you just suck it up because there's nothing you can do about it for now, but sometimes the dysphoria hits too much and it feels like you're drowning in all of your insecurities.

"ah, isn't that shirt cool?" jungkook speaks behind you and you turn around to look at him. his smile completely fades away as soon as he sees you. "what happened?" he asks, his wide eyes suddenly filled with worry.

you're so lucky to have jungkook, just one look at you and he already knows something is up. he always knows.

"i... i don't..." the worst thing is that you feel embarrassed to say it out loud.

jungkook has been your boyfriend for over two years. you met him when you had just started transitioning and he always supported you, right from the start. you know he will always be there to listen to your worries and insecurities because he loves you, so you shouldn't be embarrassed about things like this. but even after everything, it is still difficult.

you turn back to the mirror and take another look at yourself, slightly turning to check your profile. your shoulders drop and you sigh in disappointment when you can clearly see your stupid chest through the shirt.

"love." jungkook speaks with that gentle and careful tone, like he's thinking about what he could say to comfort you because of course he knows what's wrong. but he doesn't really say anything, he just walks up to you and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and looking at you through the mirror.

"what?" you avoid his eyes as yours go down to your chest, then to his arms wrapped around you. he has strong arms and they make your body look so small when he holds you like this. you kinda wish you were also big and strong like him, the only thing that's keeping you from having another dysphoria breakdown over not being bigger is how nice it feels to be held by him.

"you look really cool." your boyfriend says as he looks up and down your body but you can only sigh.

"i look stupid." you say.

"you don't." he lifts his head from your shoulder to instead nuzzle against your neck, leaving a sweet little kiss on it.

"i do," you insist and jungkook's breath hits your neck from how he sighs. "i don't even know why you..." you shut your mouth before finishing the sentence because it would hurt too much to say it but jungkook looks up from your neck with a frown and rests his chin on your shoulder again, never breaking the backhug.

"why i what?" he asks curiously, his eyes narrowed as they look straight into yours through the mirror.

"i don't- i don't know why you like me." the knot in your throat almost doesn't let you finish the sentence but you somehow do.

"what?" jungkook frowns, he looks at you like you've said the craziest thing he's ever heard. "literally what the hell are you talking about?" he actually sounds mad and you flinch a little at the tone of his voice but he instantly turns you around to face him and he cups your cheeks with his hands. "can you please tell me why you think that?"

"it's not that i think you don't like me," you clarify, suddenly feeling even smaller. "but i don't know... you like boys, and i don't look like a boy. it feels like i'm not... manly enough." you mutter, your voice so quiet with embarrassment that you're sure jungkook wouldn't have heard you if he wasn't so close to you.

"are you a boy?" jungkook asks simply.

"jungkook-"

"are you?"

"yes."

"then why are you saying those things?" he brushes your cheeks with his thumbs. "i could not care less about what's under your clothes and if you look more or less manly, whatever the hell that means."

"but i care," you say and immediately look down when your voice breaks and the first tear rolls down your cheek. you can hear jungkook sigh, not an annoyed sigh but a defeated sigh, you know this is not easy for him either and you can't blame him. "i'm so tired." you put your hands over your face as you start crying and jungkook wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him in a warm hug.

"it's okay, love, i'm here." he rubs your back as you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your head on his chest, not having half a mind to feel bad for wetting his shirt with your tears.

"i just want to feel good with myself, it's all i've wanted for years, but it's so hard." you sob against his chest.

"i know it is." jungkook hums and holds your head to his chest with one of his hands, slowly brushing your hair to try and calm you down a little.

"i go out and strangers refer to me as a girl, i look in the mirror and i don't see a boy, my body sucks... i fucking hate it." you're full on sobbing now. you're crying like a baby and jungkook is so gentle with you, he holds you until your sobs have turned into little whimpers and a little headache is starting to bother you. that's what you hate about crying, the headache after.

"look at me, y/n." jungkook speaks softly, as if not to disturb you.

you look up at him and he quickly brings his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks gently and starting to wipe your tears away. "i'm sorry." you sniff and he frowns.

"why are you sorry, love?" jungkook leans down and leaves a kiss on your forehead that makes you feel a little giddy even in your current state.

"i don't know," you force a chuckle. "for crying over something so stupid."

"it's not stupid," he shakes his head. "it's something that is upsetting you, that's never something stupid."

"i love you." you say and feel a little better when he smiles.

"i love you too," jungkook gives your lips a little kiss. "and you look fucking cool with this fit." he adds.

"i don't," you insist and ignore the way he rolls his eyes to turn around again and look in the mirror. "i'll wear a big hoodie or something, anything that covers this." you point towards your chest in frustration.

"it's really hot outside, if you wear a hoodie you're gonna melt into the ground." jungkook says and sits on the edge of your bed, not taking his eyes off of you.

"i don't care," you say. "those are the types of things you have to endure, but you wouldn't understand," you turn around to gesture at him with your hand. "you already have that flat chest, you have nothing to worry about."

"don't hate the player." he puts his hands up and you can't help but chuckle a little.

"stupid..." you mumble as you go back to look for some other clothes in the closet.

"also, not to brag but i might have more boobs than you." jungkook jokes and you throw your head back in laughter. you appreciate that he knows how to make you laugh in moments like this.

"yeah, if you don't stop going to the gym." you say, going through his clothes.

"you want me to stop going to the gym?" he asks and you turn around to look at him. jungkook is looking at you with a dangerous smirk and a cocked eyebrow.

"careful," you warn him and he breaks in a laugh. "you know i don't want you to stop going." you walk towards him until you're standing between his spread legs.

"i know," jungkook hums as you run your hand through his soft hair. he puts his hands on your thighs as to keep you in place, his fingers playing with the side pockets of your jeans. "you love using my chest as a pillow, of course i would know." he says, making you laugh.

"they are really squishy." you bring your free hand to his chest and poke one of his pecs, making him squirm away from you.

"stop!" he giggles, grabbing your wrist to pull it away. he ends up intertwining your fingers together.

"you use my chest as a pillow too." you say as you keep playing with his hair with your other hand.

"should i not?" he asks, voice a bit softer now as he gives your hand he's holding a little squeeze. you know he's still careful around certain topics sometimes.

"you can, it's okay." you shrug with a little smile because you find him so cute.

"okay." he nods and suddenly lets go of your hand to wrap his arms around your middle and pull you closer, his head pressed to your stomach.

"will you... will you miss my boobs when i don't have them anymore?" you ask quietly. both of your hands are on his hair now, playing with the soft strands between your fingers.

"huh?" he hums.

"i mean, i know you like them..." you trail off but he doesn't say anything so you keep talking. "i wonder if you would prefer me with boobs."

jungkook pulls away just enough to look up at you. "what are you talking about?"

"i don't know."

"love, i just told you i don't give a shit what's under your clothes," he says. "i fell in love with you, not with your boobs, you know."

a little smile grows on your face. "i fell in love with your boobs, actually." you tease him and he chuckles a little.

"okay, but seriously," jungkook continues. "i'll like you just the same when you have a flat chest. i'll like you even more because i know you're gonna be a lot happier."

"so you don't care that i'm not gonna have boobs anymore?"

"even if i cared, who gives a fuck what i think about it?" he frowns. "you're the one who decides what you want to do with your body."

"i know." you nod.

"so please, don't let those ugly thoughts cloud that pretty head, okay?" he says as he slips his hands under your (his) shirt and places them on your waist, just leaving them there like he needs that skin to skin contact. "in my eyes you're fucking gorgeous now and you'll be fucking gorgeous after."

you can't help but smile and bend down a little to kiss him, your hands slipping down from his hair to his cheeks.

"i love you." you say after breaking the kiss.

"i love you more," he smiles and gives you another kiss. "you're so handsome, love."

"okay, enough with the praises," you giggle as you stand up straight again. "i know you enough to know where this is going and i don't wanna be late."

"it's not my fault you're horny all the time," he pouts and you gasp, letting your jaw drop dramatically. "you know it's true, so don't even try to act offended."

"i hate you." you sigh and turn around to walk back to the closet.

"you don't." he says and you can hear the smile in his voice.

you take jungkook's shirt off your body and grab one of his favorite hoodies, putting it on and walking to the mirror. you check your profile and sigh in relief at how the thick material doesn't let your chest pop out as much as the shirt, but you're still a little disappointed.

"you know i've been promoted at work, soon we will-"

"jungkook, stop." you cut him off, already knowing where this is going.

"soon we will afford the mastectomy." he says either way and you sigh, turning to him.

"you're not gonna pay for it, jungkook." you try to sound as serious as you can because you know how stubborn he is. you actually know he's not gonna listen either way because you've talked about this so many times before so you don't really know why you keep trying.

"i'm not gonna pay for it, i'm just gonna help." jungkook replies easily with a shrug of his shoulders.

"this is my thing, i have to pay for it myself." you insist.

"love, you know you can't afford it."

"that's why i'm saving up."

"and that's also why i'm saving up too, because i wanna help you pay it." jungkook says.

"jungkook."

"if we save up together this will be over sooner, do you know that?"

you go quiet.

"it breaks my heart to see you like this, to see you so frustrated because you want something and you can't have it." jungkook stands up and walks slowly towards you. "just let me help you. i want to do this with you." he takes one of your hands in his and you lower your head to look at them. your hands look so small in his, but that's also something you kinda like.

"i don't want you to waste money on me." you mutter.

"i'm not gonna waste that money," jungkook says. "thanks to that money i'm gonna see you happier and more confident than ever, i can't fucking wait to spend that money on it."

you exhale through your nose and lift your head up again to look at him. "you're too sweet."

"i know." he sighs dramatically, making you laugh again.

"i love you."

"i love you too," jungkook whispers before kissing you again. "my pretty boy."

"stop..." you warn him and he chuckles.

"c'mon, go get ready." he gives your ass a little slap.

"do you think i look good like this?" you step back a little to let him see the look.

"you look great," jungkook says. "i love it when you wear my clothes."

"i love wearing your clothes," you smile wide and grab your phone from the nightstand. "i should get going."

"mh, okay." he nods as he walks out of the bedroom, you follow him.

"don't wait for me, i'll probably be out until late." you tell him and jungkook hums.

"okay, tell eunji happy birthday for me." he says and walks to the couch, grabbing the remote from the coffee table before sitting down.

"i will." you say while he starts looking for something to watch on the tv. your gaze goes down to your body, fixing the hoodie a little.

"love," jungkook calls you and you look up, he's already looking at you. "you look so good." he says.

"do i really?"

"yes," he nods. "so good that if you don't leave now i won't be able to let you go."

you throw your head back as you laugh. "okay."

"have fun, keep me updated if anything happens." he tells you and you just hum.

"love you!" you say as you disappear down the corridor towards the door.

"love you more, handsome!"

-

-

-

A/N: i hope you liked this little fic !!! as a non binary person with craaaaaazy dysphoria this one has an important place in my heart, all of us live through these things in different ways but i hope you enjoyed this story. thank u for reading <3 let me know if you would like to read more about this couple in the future 👀

(also, i'm still working on the part two for basic needs so hang in there !! it's coming)

[crypticpuffin]

behold..... the first section of the first chapter of my fic. I got discouraged with it lately but I'm gonna try and keep going with it if I can anyways. read the excerpt below the cut!

Chapter 1

Lambert touched the console nearest to her, allowing the ever-present hum of the ship to vibrate through her space-weary bones. Just the knowledge that they were on their way back home made the feeling somewhat soothing; a promise of safe passage, maybe, or just a reminder that there was nothing to worry about.

She knew she was being ridiculous when she worried about what ifs– she’d always been a worrier, and everyone had always told her to relax, to just let it go. But Joan Lambert had never been very good at letting things go.

Are you scared, little lamb?

“Lambert?”

Upon hearing her crewmate’s voice, she retracted her hand from the console– it was stupid, but something about being alone with someone else (another woman, her brain specified unhelpfully) often made her feel a bit insecure and even nervous. Ellen Ripley was unfortunately no exception. She turned around to face the ship’s third officer, feeling suddenly self-conscious of her appearance. Cryosleep had left her feeling used up and vaguely sick– she was sure that much was evident on her face.

“Yes?” Lambert asked, forcing out the word through the thick buzzing of her thoughts.

If Ripley noticed anything was amiss, thankfully, she didn’t show it.

“Family dinner in five– Dallas’ orders,” she stated simply, but with a little quirk of her lip at the word family. Always that effortless way about her– like other people didn’t scare her. Like nothing scared her.

If Lambert let herself feel it, she might’ve envied her crewmate’s seeming fearlessness; but jealousy was an ugly thing, and besides, Ripley had done nothing to earn any ill will on her part. She was just trying to get by and get home, like all of them. Instead, Lambert let herself feel only a discomfort settle over her skin at the other woman’s words, like an invisible itch she didn’t dare touch.

“Okay, thanks,” she replied, smiling as effortlessly as she could pretend to. She wanted to turn around and drown in her thoughts again, let them pull her under and fill her marrow with that familiar white noise, but Ripley wasn’t leaving. In fact, she was knitting her eyebrows together just slightly; a small tug of concern, maybe, like she’d seen Lambert’s facade for what it was. Shit.

She hated that other women made her feel like this sometimes, especially beautiful women like Ripley– around them, she felt exposed, different. She had transitioned very early in life, but that didn’t mean there weren’t days that that acid doubt didn’t eat away at her, that burning fear that spoke in her mother’s voice and asked her:

Why do you think you could ever fool them?

Most of the time, it was just more static in the incessant din of her head; but sometimes she might have sworn that she could hear that voice as if her mother was standing right behind her, as if her ghost had persisted through the cold vastness of space just to haunt her.

“Are you all right, Lambert?”

She blinked her heavy thoughts away, letting them sink into the pit of her stomach like stones to the sea floor.

“Yeah,” she answered, managing a breathless chuckle as she said it. “I’m fine.” Sensing this might not be enough to dispel her crewmate’s concerns, she went on, “Just still waking up from the cryosleep. Always leaves me kinda disoriented, I guess.”

Ripley nodded with a little smile.

“Yeah, I can’t say I don’t feel the same,” she agrees, and Lambert thinks she can see a small light in her dark eyes, as if she was enjoying the conversation. She doesn’t know what to make of that. “If it helps, Brett managed to throw up afterwards.”

That got an almost involuntary laugh out of her. “Why do you think that would make me feel better?”

She shrugged, but her smile hadn’t faded in the slightest. “I mean, it’s just kind of impressive. After all that time, what did he even have to throw up?”

Lambert’s mouth fell open before a few incredulous, but genuine notes of laughter tumbled out of it. “You’re disgusting, oh my god. Why would you even talk about that?”

Ripley’s smile turned into something more sly, but no less warm.

“I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to make you laugh.”

Lambert almost choked on thin air. What?

Before she could even attempt to formulate a response to that, Ripley was already flashing her an almost professional smile– almost, because it didn’t reach the amused warmth in her eyes at all– and turning to make her way over to the mess hall, where the others were probably waiting. 

As Lambert watched her go, she began to notice that the buzzing in her head had subsided; in its place, she could feel a soft humming, vibrating through her whole body, seeping through her skin and swirling in her ears like music sometimes did.

She didn’t know how to put a name to the sensation… but maybe, if she was brave enough, she could find out.

[k-dokja]

[432] for samuel seo

You always have a overcoat on your shoulder when you have to dress in the company’s colour. It is not yours, well, it used to not be yours, until you took ownership of it one day and the complaints of the previous owner never changed your mind.

In your time together, you’ve taken many things from him, often without his consent, and enjoyed the litany of complaints he made after. But say what he will, he rarely took back what you’ve acquired from his possessions. You wonder what he would say if he can see you now, taking this title from him.

“You don’t look happy, Ms President,” Eugene has that vomit-inducing sweet smile on his lips turns every hair on your arm up straight. “Is the promotion not what you wanted?”

You shrug with your arms crossed, the air of nonchalance is a purported display, “I would far prefer to take over when there’s less of a mess, but this will do.” With a frown and pursed lips, you turn the question back to him. “I’m more worried about you. It was you who he targeted, no?”

“Indeed,” Eugene shrugs away the pressure with a casual smile, “it could’ve been far worse, but the tides have blessed us in the end. I find the outcome mattering more in the long run than the hiccups which happened along the way. You do understand?”

The slight incline of his head, the scrutinising eyes, and the dulcet smile that nauseates you. Your only choice is mirroring him and hope you’re a convincing actress, because Eugene Yoo has no reason to trust you as he does but he keeps you anyway. You can only hope his reasoning doesn’t change before you get the change to mobilise your assets and make a clean escape.

“Of course,” you echo his sentiment with a smile too practiced to be true, “we shouldn’t be hindered by losses, the only way we should move is forward.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Eugene takes off his glasses, meeting your eyes with his own. He makes to retrieve the cleaning cloth from his pocket, but you can’t say there is any smudge on his glasses.

Probably, maybe, he wants to penetrate your soul without obstacle with those dead eyes of his. “It warms my heart to see what remains of our affiliates in good hands after the… removal of President Seo, I trust that your understanding of our businesses will make the transition seamless.”

“You don’t have to worry about a thing, Mr Chairman,” you reassure him with a voice equally sweet, hating every sound coming out of your mouth, “we all know I was the one responsible for keeping the machines well-oiled all this time.”

The light fades from your eyes the moment Eugene leaves you be. You slump back on your desk—Samuel’s desk, once—and breathe out a sigh. If it is not for Eugene the state of your anger after Samuel’s betrayal, you don’t think you’d have been left unscathed. For once, your irrational emotions benefit you, but it won’t save your life for long.

You reach for the glass of water left on the desk, originally his whiskey glass. The cooling of water does nothing to calm your heart, and you can’t afford to idle either. You need to plan. Your movements are monitored, from what you garnered. You’ve also heard over the grapevine that Samuel is alive but imprisoned. You don’t even want to thank the bastard Cheon Taejin for the news. He was insufferably smug when he informed you about it.

Eugene probably wouldn’t suspect his involvement with Goo, and Samuel acted out of personal interest, so your little gang of misfits haven’t been compromised yet. But you despise the way Samuel almost jeopardised everything with his foolish alliance. He could’ve avoided all of this if he talked with you once.

All this time working together, you had foolishly believed he had outgrown the selfish, stupid mindset that the world never rewarded him for. One would’ve thought getting humbled over and over would teach him something but no. That rotten, insufferable—

The shatter of glass snaps you out of your turmoil. You glance down at the shards embedded in your palms, ignoring the other few dropped to the floor. A sigh escapes your lips before you wave out the glass and the blood, absentmindedly wondering where is the first-aid kit. He was always the one who knows where everything is.

The thought of his absence hurts worse than your palm.

Either way, Samuel isn’t here to clean up the mess or patch you up again. You move on your own, now. All the mourning and the sentimentality won’t fix anything.

No way but forward.

[doodlenoodleboi]

hi hi hi!!! im a sucker for nakedtoaster, and if you dont mind, could you write some headcanons about toasty with a trans fem reader/MC? I think he of all BP love interests would be understanding because they themselves are also trans. thank you so much!! :3 -🦋

︎ ୨ৎ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ♥︎ ⋅ TOASTY!! ♡︎ ୨ৎ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ♥︎ ⋅ ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Authors note: If I understand you right, I think you naked, toaster as a trans as well. I don’t see him like that, but if I was a head of yours I will accept it and go by it for these head cannons. By the way i’m a gender fluid, pansexual, I like getting request like these, even if I don’t truly understand them sometimes. Because me myself am already confused with my gender identity.

Naked Toaster with a trans woman as his significant other!

◦ You being a trans woman does not change the way he loves you. It only changes the way he helps you, he can help you with.

◦ If you haven’t transitioned surgically, of course, he’ll remind you to take your supplements if you have them.

◦ If toast was trans he would appreciate reminders to takeoff his binder if he had worn it for too long if he hasn’t had surgery.

◦ Toast being friends with xyx is rather chaotic and funny, given the fact if you were to ever get any Internet hate best believe xyx is coming to troll them. While Toast might just relay their IP address.

◦ If you’re not the confrontational type when it comes to your pronouns, Toast to make sure to correct people in every in every setting.

◦ I don’t know if this projecting, but I feel that if toast would go off of presenting and doesn’t want to miss gender a person they usually go with they/them.

◦ MATCHING CAT EARS you can’t tell me if you’re a person that likes inherently feminine things, that he won’t put cat ears on you maybe just for a picture he would practically beg for you to do so.

◦ Toast canonically presents is non-binary and oddly enough likes things like pink even if he uses pronouns He/ They. He will most likely warm up to your pronouns in no time.

◦ Once again for the people in the back he make sure everybody respects your pronouns!

◦ Toast appreciates when you helphelped dye his roots, him being a natural blonde does help the appearance of his roots to the strawberry blonde but after a while, it looks weird so he needs to dye it.

◦ He might hate it at first, just give him a minute he needs to color to fade.

◦ Before you guys get off discord and you do tell him that you are a trans he reacts rather calmly, or doesn’t know what to say to that. (Yooo me too! Jk) nonetheless he loves you unconditionally.

◦ As a CEO and everything goes smoothly, he would offer to pay for your surgery if you’d want one. Because truly he fell in love with your soul, not your body.

The end!

That last one was fucking sad but like in a good way like I want someone to love me like that!

Sorry that was kind of short <3

This is how I see Toast if you care… I couldn’t find the credits for the artist on Pinterest so this is not mine! Tell me if you can find the artist.

[obsidianpen]

Hi, NG fan here! Ramble ahead.

I just wanted to say you do a really good job both explaining and transitioning Voldemort from being a pretty pure evil, 2-D villain coming straight out of book 7 into a more complex 3-D character as he literally gets soul!supplements from Harry. Obviously a lot of the stuff in the very beginning is reflective of the fact that Rowling likes her heroes and villains very cut-and-dry, which means that you can't build compelling character interactions with them without breaking at least *some* of her tonal choices, but that's not a bad thing and you do it in a way that feels very natural.

I think part of what makes the way you write your Voldemorts (counting Hauntingly) so compelling is the internal growth and desire for change. In both NG and Hauntingly, Harry is obviously the catalyst for a lot of this, but I think we do demonstrably see V improving over time (obviously by the end of Hauntingly, but I think in NG too). A lot of what he does is deeply evil, but we as the audience can be sympathetic because it comes partially from a place of ignorance (both regarding his own emotions/desires and his effect on those around him) and we see the evil waver as the ignorance fades.

Harry would sacrifice himself for a soggy corn chip, but beyond that I think that the acknowledgement of how ignorance feeds into remorse definitely contributes to his willingness to engage in intimacy -- emptional, spiritual, and sexual -- with Voldemort after the torture and rape. Voldemort seems to genuinely not have known that he was the kind of person who could rape someone to death, and now that he knows that he is he hates that about himself. It's a low bar to have, but it's a bar that V has never had before because it never occurred to him that he could do something so evil he regretted it. Obviously control is another huge theme in NG, and if the rampage of the most recent chapter is any evidence, it's clear that Voldemort has very little self-control and that will probably feed his remorse even more deeply.

I think that eventually they'll plateau in terms of improvement, because the problem with Harry sacrificing himself all the time is that it's -- shock and awe! -- not actually good for him, and if V keeps improving then eventually his desire to "do right" by Harry is going to outweigh his own selfishness as he becomes aware of just how much harm he's done and how much his presence continues to do. Harry is really good at drawing V back in, but he doesn't actually respect most of V's attempts at boundaries and it still isn't good for him even when he succeeds.

Anyway, thank you for all your work on this! Can't wait to see where it goes next.

’It's a low bar to have, but it's a bar that V has never had before because it never occurred to him that he could do something so evil he regretted it.’ - pretty much hit the nail on the head with this line. Lowest bar in the world but he’s literally never thought about it, and only something that horrible - being the near cause of the death of his last horcrux and tie to a full, pure soul - would make him do so.