#spell by dance unit

[dosa-sambhar]

no thoughts just "adila kia akia syurapoe"

[octowoman2419]

i had this one dream one night where i met geno from mario rpg. then at one point, the dream shifted to the name of mihaly (the shaman coach from just dance 2024) appearing hundreds and hundreds of times in front of me.

which reminds me of an idea i had:

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Can you do aemond x reader x cregan ?? Reader has a thing with aemond b4 the dance, but after aegon is crowned, she goes with jace to the winterfell and ends up with cregan ?? 🖤♥️

Request: Cregan smut pleaaaaase

A longer fic for Cregan is in the work (Jacaerys twin!Reader), but these take more time to write...so be patient

Warnings: 18+, smut, implied cheating (sort of), oral (f receiving) 

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Cregan Stark wasn't immune to your charms. It didn’t take him long to fall under the spell of the Queen’s daughter, captivated by your breathtaking beauty and fierce determination. 

Since the day you and Jacaerys landed in Winterfell, you and the northern Lord had many occasions of getting physically closer, but Cregan refused to engage in anything with someone who was already promised to another. He didn’t want that kind of trouble. 

Yet, he found himself drawn to your presence, unable to deny the stirring of emotions you awakened within him whenever you were around. He felt drawn to you in a way he had never experienced before.

But control was more difficult when he had a few cups of wine at supper. 

Cregan stopped at the junction of the guest wing and his private quarters, the flickering torch lights casting shadows on the stone walls of Winterfell. ‘’I should not accompany you to your chamber tonight, Princess,’’ he said, his voice thick with restraint as you walked through the corridors.

‘’Why not?’’ you asked, raising an eyebrow as you stepped closer to him. ‘’You agreed on a cup of wine.’’

‘’I did. But I'm afraid I will not be able to resist to temptations if I am alone with you,’’ Cregan admitted, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of desire and hesitation. ‘’And I cannot give in to such desires.’’ 

You chuckled softly, leaning against the cold stone wall and looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. ‘’And what’s so wrong with a little temptation?’’ You paused for a moment, your gaze wandering over his tall frame, taking in his rugged features and muscular build. You bit your lower lip gently before continuing. ‘’Is the Lord of the North not allowed to indulge in pleasure?’’ 

Cregan's breath hitched as he struggled to keep his composure. ‘’I am allowed to indulge in pleasure, Princess. But you are already promised to another man,’’ he said, the long silver hair and black eyepatch of Aemond Targaryen flashing through his mind. ‘’Giving in to my desires would make my people question my honor toward others.’’

Your feelings for Aemond had once been true and pure, which led to your betrothal. It was also a good way to unite the families. A date had been set for your wedding and ravens had been sent through the realms announcing the big day, but your grandsire died and Aemond became a traitor to the crown. It didn’t surprise you that he stood by his brother’s side. Aemond had always been loyal to his family, it was part of who he was. What surprised you was the raven the Greens sent to Dragonstone to summon you to King’s Landing and bend the knee to their new King. 

Saying goodbye to the person you once loved was difficult, but you could not see yourself at the side of someone who supported the man who stole your mother’s throne. 

‘’Aemond Targaryen supports the usurper. Our betrothal is no more. I belong to no man,’’ you declared. 

Cregan leaned closer to you, his body only a few inches apart from yours. His eyes roamed over your features, lingering on your lips before returning to meet your gaze. ‘’Does he know?’’ he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You slid your hand up the thick leather of his chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath your touch. ‘’Who I bed is no longer his concern.’’

Cregan held his breath as you touched him, holding back from pressing himself to you against the wall and crashing his lips on yours. ‘’Gods, Princess, you drive me mad with your words,’’ he confessed, his voice a low growl.

You pushed your teasing further, feeling his self-control about to snap. ‘’Are you afraid of taking a princess to bed, Lord Stark?’’ 

The control he had tried to maintain snapped. Your words and touch awakened something within him, igniting a fire that he could no longer keep at bay. A soft gasp left your lips as Cregan closed the distance between you, pressing you against the wall and kissing you. His strong hands found their way to your hips, gripping you tightly, and in one swift motion, he lifted you off the ground, pressing you firmly against the cold stone wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, both of you lost in the heat of the moment, forgetting you were in a corridor where anyone could walk by.

You moaned into his mouth as you felt his body pressed against yours and tangled one of your hands into his dark hair, your slender fingers running through it as you held onto his broad shoulder with the other. Cregan’s grip on your thigh was iron strong and possessive. 

He wanted you. 

He pushed his body even closer to yours, his lips leaving your mouth and trailing down your jawline, to your neck, where he began to nibble and kiss the sensitive skin there. You wanted to tear his clothes — and tear your clothes — and see if wolves treated their women better than dragons.

‘’I think we should take this to your chambers, Lord Stark. How scandalous would it be if anyone were to their Lord with the Dragon Princess?’’

The door echoed as it shut behind you. Without losing any time, Cregan pulled you in another kiss as he began to disrobe. You unbuckled your own cloak, letting it fall off your shoulders, and helped Cregan with the buckles of his leather doublet. Why were there so many? 

Once you were both out of your clothes, he carried you to his bed. Depositing you gently on the soft furs before joining you, pinning you beneath him. The fire in the hearth was keeping your naked body from shivering, and casting a soft glow on your skin. You felt the press of Cregan’s cock against your thigh, hard and warm, and reached for it, air catching in your throat at the size. 

The Northern Lord trailed kisses on your hot skin and moved further down your body until he was lying on his stomach, using his elbows to keep himself upright. He gently parted your legs, his fingers brushing over the inside of your thighs as he took in the beauty of your pretty pussy, his mouth watering for a taste. 

Cregan placed a kiss on your mound, smirking when he heard you gasp softly. His lips moved lower, and his eyes drinking in your every reaction, the soft sounds of pleasure escaping your lips making him even more determined to drive you wild with pleasure. He was going to show you how men kiss their women in the North. 

Soon, you were mess on the furs as he tongue licked and teased your pussy. Your legs were folded to expose you more, and Cregan kept a tight grip on your trembling thighs. Your back arched from the bed, accompanied by a loud whine as you reached down to grab his hair and guide his face closer to you. 

‘’Kessa! Lua doing bona!’’ (Yes! Keep doing that!) 

The High Valyrian words had spilled from your tongue without realizing. Although Cregan didn’t understand a single word, he assumed he was doing a good job and continued working skillfully with his mouth to bring you to the edge of madness.

He swiped his tongue over your swollen clit, relishing in the sounds he was drawing from you. He loved hearing the moans and gasps that escaped your lips, knowing that he was the one causing them. 

You rocked your hips into him, practically riding his face, and Cregan moaned, his cock twitching — and leaking — between his stomach and the furs. ‘’Needy, are we, Princess?’’ he teased, his voice low as he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes. 

Pulling on his hair again, you forced his mouth back on you. ‘’No more talking.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale@mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron  @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade@mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog@queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21

[malerek]

20 Brand New YA Books [Released April 1st to 7th 2023]

Hello there 👋 I'm bringing a new blog feature to Pages & Plots where I showcase all the new YA books released in the last week. Don't miss out on any new book release ✨ #BookBlogger #BookTwitter #Booktwt #Bookworm #Booknerd #YoungAdult #BrandNewYA

Brand New YA Books is a Saturday feature showcasing all the Young Adult books released in the last week. If you are an author and want to see your book featured on this list, send me an email to pagesplots@gmail.com will all the details. PUBLISHED APRIL 1st TO 7th 2023 Silver in the Boneby Alexandra BrackenSeries: Silver in the Bone #1Genre: Fantasy | Mythology | RetellingPublisher: Knopf…

[bb-blu-love]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆when the world is asleep⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

tags: idol!bangchan x reader, established relationship, fluff, slight hurt comfort (really just a couple doing their best in a bad situation), reader has ~anxiety~

3:00 AM in the quiet part of town is your favorite place in the world. On the outskirts of the city, where only families and old folks live and the streets are empty this time of night, you have found what seems like the only place in the world where you and Chan can feel truly at ease.

You’d been waiting for him to come over all day, so when he finally called around ten saying he just left the studio you became giddy with excitement that soon turned into anxiety. It’s not like he had never been to your apartment before or that you felt uncomfortable around him; it’s just that you can never shake the fear that this time is when everything will go wrong. That this is the night you’ll be caught by photographers or fans and soon everyone will know and your relationship will change forever. That your whole life could change forever. These worries echoed in your brain as you went down to the entrance of your building to let Chan in. 

Your nerves were obvious; you didn’t hug him as tightly as you wanted to--trying to maintain the illusion that you could just be friends should anyone see you--and your smile twisted into a grimace as you kept an eye on your surroundings.

The summer night air ruffled the hair that stuck out from his hat “Hey, Baby!” he said with a soft smile “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m glad you could come over tonight,” You shyly smile, still not being able to shake the tight feeling in your stomach. 

He hummed a response and, sensing how on edge you were , looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was around before asking, “Should we go upstairs? I brought ice cream,” and lifted up a convenience store bag in his hand.

After heading up to your apartment the two of you spent hours just talking in your room. You were mostly catching up—you hadn’t seen each other in a couple of days due to your schedules—but eventually, it dissolved into a mess of inside jokes, you showing him all the Tik Toks you’d saved for him, him showing you videos of the boys messing around in dance practice in return, and whatever other nonsense made you both smile. Even though your relationship could be stressful, actually being with Chan was the easiest thing in the world. Honestly, you would be happy staying here forever; cuddled in his arms in the dim light of your bedroom, listening to his laugh get all squeaky as he worked himself up over some dumb video you won’t even remember in the morning. 

What you will remember, however, is how hot you are right now. Turns out your fourth-floor apartment with one broken AC unit could spell quite the sweathouse in the summer—especially with the amount of physical contact you two are prone to after some time apart. Chan had already shed his shirt sometime in between his first and second popsicle, and you had all of your fans on high pointed at your bed where you both laid tangled up with each other.

Chan, after finally calming down from his laughing fit, let out a sigh as he stared up at your ceiling. "You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah, why?" You asked, confused by his sudden declaration.

He continued quickly, "And you know that I really like coming over to your place-"

"Yeahh?"

"-because of the lack of roommates and overall better smell?"

"Also, I have HBO."

"Yes, also that—so will you not take offense if I, hypothetically, say that I’m going to die of heat stroke if I stay in here any longer?" He looked over at you with a rueful smile.

You laughed silently as you looked into his eyes. "I’ll go get my shoes."

He let out a triumphant "Yes!" and pumped his fist into the air as you got off of the bed, satisfied with the result of your banter. As you continued to get ready, he moved to the edge of your bed and was brought back to how anxious you seemed when he first arrived. "We don’t actually have to go out if you don’t want to, though," he said, scratching his arm as a nervous tick. "I know that we both get all paranoid when we’re not in private, and I don’t want to ruin the night or anything."

You turned to face him and put a reassuring hand on his arm, whilst you tried to shove your own concerns to the back of your mind."Don’t worry about it. I was thinking we could go to that one spot—you know, where we went on your birthday?"

"Yeah, that sounds perfect." He said with a relieved smile.

And that’s what brought you here; after checking for paparazzi from your apartment windows, and after you went outside and checked again, ensuring you both had your incognito face masks and baseball caps on. Finally, you were able to make the epic journey two blocks down and one over to a small playground surrounded by some trees and a fence: your safe haven. Taking in the warm night air as the wind lightly blows across your face--gently wicking the sweat on your brow--and hearing the leaves softly rustle as you both sit on the old swing set and let your legs dangle. You did what you loved to do most with each other: you talked.

"I’m sorry it’s always like this," Chan said as he looked at his feet, the toe of his shoes sputtering over the rubbery ground as he swayed, "that we can’t just get together and go to restaurants and the movies or—I don’t know— win you a big teddy bear at a carnival," he laughs half-heartedly, "or whatever regular couples get to do."

You smile sadly. "I’m sorry too. Maybe I’m just being overly cautious." 

He reaches over, grabs your hand, and rubs gentle circles on the back with his thumb, letting you know he isn’t mad and that he doesn’t blame you for anything. 

"I could tell the company, and they could release a statement or something." His tone hitches up at the end, almost like it’s a question—or maybe just the only thing he can think of to ease your guilt.

Not wanting to worry him, and always the best at avoiding the hard topics, you raise your eyebrows and sarcastically remark, "Oh yeah, and that would go over really well."

"Hm, yeah, you’re right. What do you think they would say, though?"

You lower your voice and attempt your best soulless executive impression. "'How could you, Chan?! You’re being so selfish by having desires and feelings! How do you expect us to monetize you when we can’t sell you as a fantasy boyfriend? Blargh rargh raa!'" You both chuckle at the absurdity of your situation: "And then of course you’ll get punished by your company, and everyone on Twitter is going to eat you alive when they find out, and you’ll get a tidal wave of hate thrown at you-"

"Oh, for sure." He nods along to your pessimistic prophecy (and excellent impression).

"-and I’ll be, like, assassinated by a bunch of teenagers whose identity hinges on the fantasy that they are secretly your one true love." You finish with a breathy chuckle.

He smiles at the ground. "Hey, Stays are much more than that," he says in an only half-serious defense.

"Heh, not the ones that I’ll have to deal with," you reply, almost to yourself. He seems to draw back at that comment, whatever clever response he had lined up dying on his lips.

You press your toes into the soft ground and push your swing over to his so that your shoulders touch. "I’m joking, Chan," you say in a soft voice.

"No, you're not." He shoots back in defeat. You sigh and try to meet his evasive eyes.

"You’re right, I’m not," you sigh, leaning in closer to him, "but that doesn’t mean I regret any of this. I can wish things were different while still loving how they are now." He finally meets your eyes, and his gaze goes soft. You share a fond look and, without words, reach an understanding: you're the best thing that has happened to each other, and eventually your love may see the light of day, but for now, just this is more than enough.

He brings your hand up to his mouth and lightly kisses your knuckles before letting your arms fall in between the both of you. "You’re right. I love this too. I’ll love anything as long as we can do it together." His words are full of tenderness and a rom-com sincerity that only he can do right.

"Except sit in my hot apartment." You smile as you lean towards him, and he smiles too as he goes in for a kiss.

"No, I loved that too. Just a little less than this." His lips touch yours, gentle and grinning, as your giggles float up into the night sky and you feel truly at ease once more.

[readychilledwine]

Somnophilia

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

Somnophilia, or the Sleeping Beauty Syndrome, is the interest or sexual arousal in the idea of having sex with a Sleeping partner. Somnophilia is considered a predatory type of kink or paraphilia. Somnophilia is a pretty interesting kink/paraphilia psychology is still studying.

Some people enjoy it due to the power they feel when their partner wakes up, surprised by pleasure. These partnerships typically have prediscussed consent. Some people enjoy it because they have total power in the situation and have expressed frustration when their partner wakes up. Some people who expressed frustration also referenced using sleeping medication on their partner to prevent them from waking leading psychologists down darker path while studying this kink.

There's a lot of gross things we could get into when discussing somnophilia, but I'll be honest, I'm not interested in discussing the darker side of the kink world on this one. I'm just interested in you all getting to read about Rhys helping reader's delicious dreams come true.

💕Peep the Valentines Day List Here💕

As always, NSFW below the cut

Rhysand x Reader

Warnings - mentions of alcohol, reader is asleep (which should be given), Rhys using his powers over the mind for a little bit

Rhys hated long nights away from you.

He hated being trapped in a room with 7 other egotistical males, no advisers involved, trying to talk through issues between them all that had happened years ago while the highest of the Priestesses sat and mediated.

There were times when that poor female needed, no deserved, a drink more than he felt he did, but he knew this was for the fae they all looked after. One united front. A united realm. A goal Rhysand had dreamed of since he was a boy, a goal made possible with the death of Beron and Eris's rise. Now the last hitch was he and Tamlin. And Gods did having to air their dirty laundry to every High Lord piss him off.

He finished the last bit of his wine, annoyed as he held the empty bottle in his hand. It was then a dance of something came across the bond. Something so faint he knew you were projecting it in your sleep, but it had his attention nonetheless.

Rhys went up the stairs, entering your shared chambers as quietly as he could. He was greeted by the soft whisper of his name ringing in his ears like the melody of a siren's spell.

There, laying in the bed that until recently he slept alone in, was you with your head buried into his pillow. He could tell by the half empty wine glass and the book on the bed, you had drifted off to sleep suddenly. He approached slowly, studying the silk and lace nightgown adorning your body as he took off his own clothing.

It was then that it hit him, another soft moan of his name as your legs shifted, rubbing together before subconsciously falling slightly apart, exposing your glistening core to him. The scent of your arousal flooded his nose, intoxicating him as he crawled on top of you, holding your mind in that blissful dreamy state.

His cock twitched as he stared at your wet folds, at your cunt just squeezing around nothing. You looked so peaceful, so happy, so submissive and usable. He held your mind a little tighter, waiting until you moaned again to shift you and place one of your legs on his hips.

He ran his cock through your folds, biting his lip to hold back a moan at the wetness and warmth that greeted him. Rhysand then tool a breath, centering himself before entering you slowly inch by inch. Your lips fell open into the perfect o, breath stilled, a more desperate whimper left your mouth as he began to move in and out of you.

Rhysand had not felt control like this in years. He cherished every deep plunge, every drag of him against your soft walls. He cherished the way your breath was hitching, moans falling more spurring him on.

He could feel your mind starting to fight to wake up as he dragged down the night gown and exposed your breasts to himself. Your peaked nipples were like a treat just sitting and waiting, aching for his mouth and hands.

He didn't have time for that right now, though. You were on the brink of orgasm. He felt every sped up pulse of you, every wiggle. He released your mind right as your core tightened. You woke up barreling through an orgasm, hips lifting as your leg wrapped around a body.

You realized it was Rhysand slowly, a smirk playing on your lips as he took the nod you gave him as permission. His rough hands moved to your ass, gripping the plush flesh there, and he began pounding.

Each thrust was so hard, so deep, you had to put a hand on the headboard to stop yourself from being slammed into it. Rhysand's eyes had squeezed shut, and his head had fallen back between his shoulder blades. Two large wings littered with scars appeared behind his back as he began to growl in pleasure. They flared wide in dominance as you screamed for him, falling off the edge quickly for a second time.

"Gods, yes!" Your back arched off the bed as you gripped the satin sheets in your hands. "Fucking use me, Rhys. Feels so good, baby. So fucking good."

He growled again, moaning your name in response. "Almost there," he ground out. "Tell me where, darling."

"Inside me," the answer was so desperate. You were so close to that third orgasm. "Need you to fill me. Been so long."

Too damn long, Rhys said to himself mentally. He felt you begin pulsing again, a whine of his name leaving your throat, and it ripped him over the edge. The windows and house shook as he roared, spilling so deeply into you that you would leak his seed for weeks.

Rhys collapsed into you, chest heaving in time with yours as he buried into your breasts. "I-" He began, blinking as he realized what he had done, the line he potentially crossed. "I do not know what came over me."

You hushed him, bringing his lips to yours with a smile. "You just needed some control, Rhys. It's okay. I'm always happy to oblige my High Lord."

He rolled off of you, taking your nightgown with him, and began pulling you under the covers, snuggling deep into you. "Let's sleep, y/n."

"Of course," you reached up, kissing him deeply again. "Just don't be surprised when I wake you up with my lips wrapped around you."

Rhysand's eyes snapped open, looking down at you. "You beautiful wicked little creature. There are no words for how deeply I love that dirty mind of yours."He leaned down to kiss you.

"I love you too, my handsome, intelligent, and powerful mate. Goodnight, Rhysand."

"Goodnight, y/n Darling. I'll be looking for you in my dreams."

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

Rhys taglist:

@tothestarsandwhateverend @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @avajustreads

Valentines Day Taglist:

@sfhsgrad-blog @amara-moonlight @eternallyelvish @novaksangel @teenageeggscissorslawyer @thisblogisaboutabook @amygdtjhddzvb

@justasillylittlegoofyguy @avajustreads

@littlestw01f @azriels-shadowsinger

[devieuls]

ˋ Haunted . ✹

Qimir x Ex Jedi Fem Reader < SERIES >

Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Sith Lord Qimir x Fem ex Jedi Reader.

(during the series)

SMUT: Dirty Talk; Fangs; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; slut shaming; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoorsex; jealousy BDSM. Dom Qimir ANGST: toxic relationship, self-harm, derealization, suffering, Requited / Unrequited love, prejudices, bullying and insults. There will be flashbacks in this series

Aged characters: Qimir 35 y.o / You 22 y.o.

Synopsis: In a twisted web of light and darkness, two opposites are facing each other, dancing on a thin thread called fate. What happens when light and darkness dance on a wire called destiny, two eternal opposites that inevitably attract each other and create something perfectly powerful and chaotic to unite the power of two in one? The answer emerges in a journey of tension and attraction, where yin and yang discover that their opposition is nothing but a reflection of a deep and unexpected connection. This is the story of how destruction is akin to peace, how the moon one day decided to save the sun, how darkness is not so dark and evil so bad. A journey towards change and desire, where opposing forces merge into a future that no one could have predicted.

(Following some events of the series)

Lenght: 4.2k

TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!

⇠ Previous chapter ✵ Next Chapter ⇢

· · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · ·

⠀⠀⠀⠀Chapter II: The Loss

“You are like me…” he whispered a short distance from your lips.

The tension between you was almost tangible in the air. The fire burning in the cave cast shadows on his chiseled features, making his eyes shine with an intense and dark light. His gaze was piercing, but it was no longer just malice: there was a deep understanding, a dangerous invitation. His words, making their way into your mind, mingled with your thoughts, bringing you to a realization you didn’t want to accept. You swallowed. You couldn’t give in, you couldn’t allow yourself to become what he said you were. You were not like that. With a tremendous effort, you pushed his hand away, taking a step back to break the spell that seemed to envelop you both.

“I’m not like you,” you declared, your voice firm, though still charged with that tension that seemed ready to explode at any moment. “I won’t let the dark side consume me. I won’t become a monster like you.” Silence fell between you two. The man slowly withdrew, as if accepting your decision, but with an expression that suggested his offer was far from withdrawn. Perhaps, he thought, it would only take another moment of weakness, another moment of raw reality, to make everything you believed in crumble.

“A monster?” he repeated with chilling and sarcastic calm, his voice like silk sliding over your defenses. “Is that how you were taught to see us? What monstrosity is there in feeling free, y/n? Free, from everything that holds you back… free from the weight of a code that suppresses and represses emotions. Your emotions.” His words were a dangerous whisper, insinuating themselves into your heart with lethal precision. He knew exactly where to strike, where your hidden wounds could be opened. And every time he spoke, it seemed he was getting closer, physically and mentally, to a part of you that had taken years to hide. “See, I’m not bound by anything,” he continued, with a kind of dark pride, tilting his head slightly as if to study you better. “And neither should you be. Have you never felt that desire inside you? The urge to push beyond the limits that have been imposed on you? To let go?” His hand moved again, slowly, deliberately, resting on your shoulder this time, as his body moved close enough for you to feel the warmth of his presence. Despite everything, you couldn’t pull away. Every fiber of your being fought against yourself, yet his proximity was a temptation you were finding increasingly difficult to resist.

“You’re like me,” he whispered once more, his voice a warm breath near your ear. “No matter how much you try to deny it. No matter how hard you try to repress what you feel. The dark side flows within you… the anger, the pain… the desire. Isn’t that what makes us alive?” You swallowed, your breath short as you struggled to maintain control, but each word he spoke hit you with surgical precision. Each whisper dragged you closer to the edge of a dark and unknown abyss. Your mind was in turmoil, torn between denial and an unsettling awareness. There was something true in his words. Your pain, your anger… the emotions you had always suppressed were there, on the surface, and the idea of releasing them was alluring like a forbidden promise.

“Let me go.” you hissed, your voice breaking between the tension and the desire to break the spell that seemed to surround you both. “I am not like you. I will never be like you.” The smile that spread slowly across the Sith’s face was predatory, laden with a confidence that made you seethe with frustration. But there was also something more… a hidden desire, a dark curiosity that made him look at you as if you were an enigma he desperately wanted to solve. “Not now,” he admitted, bringing his face even closer to yours, his eyes probing yours with such intensity that made you shiver. “But one day… you will understand. One day you will see what I see in you.”

His hand slid down your arm, stopping at your wrist, the touch light but firm, as if he could control not just your movements, but also your thoughts. He leaned in towards you, his face now just inches from yours, his lips dangerously close, enough to make your heartbeat quicken. His warm breath brushed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “When that day comes,” he whispered, his voice a breath that seemed to penetrate every defense you had, “you won’t be able to turn back. And then, finally, you will be free.” His eyes seemed to linger on your lips for a moment, making you hold your breath once more inexplicably. You remained still, caught between revulsion and an attraction you didn’t want to admit or truly understand. Every word he said made your convictions waver, yet inside you, your will still resisted, clinging to that last shred of light that kept you anchored to your code, to your identity.

The man let you go slowly, aware of the tension between you, of the thin thread he was weaving between desire and temptation. He moved back slightly, never breaking eye contact, his smile faintly triumphant, as if he knew the battle was won, but the war between you was far from over. “Until then, I hope you enjoy your days with me as my guest,” he murmured, making you shiver. And as he walked away, you stood there, your heart still in turmoil, your emotions bubbling inside you. You quickly recovered from that moment of fragility, only to look at him with a sharp gaze. “Days?” you hissed as you watched him extinguish the fire that had been cooking the food he had been tasting only moments before. “The ship has sustained severe damage, and before it’s properly repaired, I’ll need a few days, if not weeks,” he said calmly and placidly as he took two bowls, filling the first with what looked like soup. “Weeks…” you whispered, swallowing, and then you watched the man. “I don’t have weeks. I need to find my sister.” You declared, advancing with a purposeful step, as if this might intimidate him. “Mae? You don’t need to find her.” he said with that soft voice, his eyes now shining with an unexpectedly delicate and sad calm. The atmosphere suddenly grew heavier, as if those words were laden with a weight you couldn’t yet fully comprehend. You stopped a step away from him, the stranger’s words echoing in your mind like a challenge. His calm tone, the apparent sweetness in his gaze, all seemed so contrasting with the darkness you knew was inside him. It had to be a mask, one of many he wore to get what he wanted. “I don’t need to find her?” you repeated, your tone sarcastic, looking at him as if you wanted to pierce through his deceptively gentle demeanor. The man offered you the bowl with the same calmness he had spoken, as if the entire situation was under his complete control.

“She’s dead.” His words were like a sharp blade that cut through every certainty and security you had left. The world around you seemed to stop, every sound fading as if it had been sucked into a silent vortex. The bowl of food he offered you seemed unreal, an absurd gesture amidst the horror you were experiencing.

That word echoed in your mind, bouncing like a distorted echo. Dead… Dead? Chaos began to spread in your head, a storm of pain and disbelief that overwhelmed you without warning. Your vision blurred, and the world seemed to wobble beneath your feet. It couldn’t be true. Not Mae. Not your sister, your other half, the only person who had always supported you, whom you would have given anything to protect despite the distance that had separated you two over time. She couldn’t be dead… not her Your mind refused to accept it. You felt your breath falter, as if the weight of the air had become unbearable. A lump tightened in your throat, preventing you from speaking, from shouting at him, at the entire universe for that unbearable cruelty. Pain enveloped you, an unrelenting wave that slowly suffocated you as you tried to breathe but couldn’t find the air.

“You’re lying,” you managed to whisper, staring at the floor, still incredulous. A part of you wanted to deny it, to fight against reality. But another part, darker and more destructive, knew it was true. You already felt that emptiness inside you, a chasm widening more and more. The man watched you in silence, his gaze becoming more serious, almost reflective. Perhaps, for a moment, he realized he had inflicted too deep a wound, that he had unleashed a pain even he hadn’t anticipated. “I saw her…” he said in a strangely gentle lower voice, a note of empathy contrasting with his dark nature. It almost seemed like he was trying to reach out to you in that moment of tearing anguish, as if, somehow, he could understand the storm that was devouring you from within. But even his calm seemed calculated, a hand extended into the darkness but with a precise purpose. “You killed her.” Your voice trembled with firmness, but there was no hesitation in the words. It should have been a question, but it came from your lips like a condemnation. A final sentence you had already assigned him, as if it were the only possible answer.

The air in the cave grew thicker, everything around you seemed to fade, the cold rock of the cave beneath your feet, all becoming indistinct. The only sound reaching you was the accelerated beat of your heart, echoing in your ears. The stranger remained still, his gaze fixed on you. For a moment, a flicker of compassion crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with the impassive calm that seemed to be a part of him. “No,” he replied slowly, his tone calm and measured. “It wasn’t me.” He paused, as if choosing his next words carefully, watching your reaction with unsettling precision. “The Jedi.” “You’re a fucking liar” you hissed, your voice sharp as a blade. Each word was laced with poison as the pain inside you twisted like a wounded beast. You felt your mind scream against the lie, the disdain for him consuming you.

He didn’t react immediately, his gaze softening slightly, as if he understood the chaos you were going through. Perhaps, you thought, he was enjoying the torment he had unleashed, like a patient predator waiting for the right moment to strike. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he sighed slightly, his face stoic, cold, and aware. “What do you think a Jedi does when they encounter a Sith who doesn’t bow to their commands?” His voice was a cutting whisper, like a sharp blade sliding across skin. The tone left no room for doubt: he was trying to dismantle your certainties, to confront you with a reality you had avoided, he wasn’t lying. “Sol said they would judge her… it’s not possible that—” you started to stammer, the words tangled in your turmoil.

“He killed her? Just because he’s your master, do you think he wouldn’t lie for a greater good?” He interrupted you with a coldness and frankness that seemed to penetrate your bones. “Do you think you would have followed him if he had told you that your sister’s fate was already decided?” His words hit like punches, shattering your ordered thoughts. Each word seemed to reveal a new uncomfortable truth, a missing piece in the puzzle forming in your mind. “You were a Jedi. You should know their tactics, their lies.” His voice was relentless, a cold whisper seeping into the deepest recesses of your being. “Think about it, y/n… why would I kill my pupil?” With a fluid gesture, he set the bowl aside, his gaze admiring your growing realization. Your knees gave way, and you collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed, forgetting the pain from your wounds. Your eyes filled with tears as you tried to understand the truth that was unfolding. Pain and confusion mingled, as the image of your sister, what you had lost, became clearer in your mind. The image of Sol, the master you had admired, was cracking, becoming something monstrous, something cold. You felt betrayed by the person you trusted most. The reality you had believed to be secure crumbled around you, as a cold tear traced down your face.

“I am not the enemy,” he said, his voice low and warm, but his tone was a mix of persuasion and understanding. “The Jedi betrayed you, they killed your sister… They lied to you, used you for their grand game.” Your mind struggled to push back his words, but they seemed to have a cruel and devastating sense. The pain you felt in your chest was nowhere near the anger and fire burning inside you. “I offer you freedom,” His words resonated like a dark chant, promising an escape from torment, a freedom that seemed as alluring as it was dangerous. His hand, offered with an almost elegant grace, was reflected in the dim light of the cave, creating a contrast with the darkness surrounding you. “I offer you revenge.”

Slowly raising your face to look at the man, you felt the world around you blur into an indistinct gray, as if your very existence was suspended between light and darkness. His face was a mask of calm, but your eyes, now glassy and full of pain, sought to grasp that gesture, that palm offered like a lifeline in a stormy sea. The pain of losing your sister, the betrayal you had just discovered, mixed with a growing awareness of how your life had always been manipulated. Every memory, every lesson you had followed, now seemed to question the meaning of your existence.

His words seeped into your mind, tempting you with the promise of revenge that you so deeply desired. His gaze, now so close to yours, was laden with an almost irresistible persuasion. Your trembling hand slowly reached out towards his, the idea of giving in to the dark side, of finding a way to channel your pain and anger, was seductive. But you also knew that accepting this offer meant abandoning everything you had believed in, everything you had fought for in vain. Justice, peace, impartiality… Yet, as you looked at him, the inner torment was palpable. Every fiber of your being screamed against this choice, but the temptation was strong, like a flame threatening to consume you. The moment your hand neared his was charged with palpable tension. Every movement seemed to slow down, as if time itself was holding its breath waiting for your decision. His words were a soft seduction, a call drawing you towards an unknown abyss, and your mind was torn between desperation and the desire for revenge.

As your hand approached his, an inner resistance made its way through you. You stopped your trembling hand just a few millimeters from his, as a wave of awareness and pain overwhelmed you. You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, closing your hand into a fist and withdrawing it from the Sith's. You felt a crushing weight in your chest, as new tears threatened to streak down your face. You pulled your knees to your chest, trying to shield yourself from the seductive temptation of revenge that was corrupting your mind. Your mind closed in on itself, a desperate refuge against the pain. It was an act of self-defense amidst the storm that Mae's death had unleashed.

The man, observing your refusal and your attempt to cling to that side of light, moved closer with a mixture of respect and understanding. He knelt before you, his intense and deep gaze almost as if he was peering into your soul. "What wonderful creatures we are…" he murmured, his tone reflective and tinged with a sort of fascinating sadness, as he placed two fingers under your chin, gently lifting it to make you look into his eyes. "Even in the revelation of the betrayal we have suffered, seeing the depth of our despair, we refuse to betray what has hurt us the most." His observation was both a compliment and a critique, a recognition of your resilience and a reflection on your internal struggle. You sighed deeply, your gaze now seemingly devoid of emotion, dimmed. "A special bond, isn't it?" he continued, watching you with an expression of admiration. "Between a master and his pupil." His words seemed laden with a sort of melancholic respect, almost as if recalling memories of his own, as if he understood your loyalty and your pain.

The man rose slowly, with a graceful and measured movement. His figure, elegant and imposing, stood out against the dim light of the cave, which seemed to illuminate almost naturally. With a nearly hypnotic calm, he approached the bowl he had set aside earlier, his gaze never leaving you. There was something surprisingly caring in his demeanor, a disturbing contrast to his previous coldness and stoicism. He looked at you as he took the bowl and approached you again, his physical presence emanating a kind of warmth, but now it seemed almost like a protective gesture. The bowl was still warm, the aroma of the soup wafting from inside was rich and inviting, yet you could only feel the weight of your grief.

"You should eat, or you’ll never feel better." the Sith said, his voice low and soft, with an undertone of concern you had never heard before. The tone was gentle, almost paternal, and his gaze was filled with genuine worry for you as he offered you the bowl. His hands were steady as he presented the food, as if the gesture itself was a demonstration of his intention to care for you. "I'm not hungry," you replied in a whisper, your determination to refuse his offer now a sign of pure and sincere sadness that held your appetite hostage. The feline-eyed man, however, did not seem inclined to yield. His expression changed, revealing a slight hint of frustration but also gentle determination. "Don’t make me force you to eat," he said, his voice growing firmer and harder, but maintaining that slight caring quality. He swallowed, clearing his throat as he moved closer. He knelt beside you, lowering his body to be at eye level with you. It seemed that every action of his was calculated to elicit a response, to persuade you to give in to his sincere desire to help you. His hands, as they offered you the bowl, were warm and gentle, contrasting with the coldness of your emotional state.

“I don’t want to force you,” he continued, his tone almost pleading, softer. “But you need to help yourself heal. I can’t let you destroy yourself. Not now, not after everything you’ve been through.” His concern for you was palpable, a stark contrast to the image of a heartless Sith. There was a tenderness in his gestures that seemed more easily associated with the behavior of two lovers, an inexplicable concern for you. You watched him for a few seconds, your heart a tumult of emotions, fighting a war you had always been careful not to create. The bowl was now there, in your hands, placed by that man whose name you didn’t even know. His gaze was kind, as if with just one word from you, he would have done anything. At that moment, he seemed like the only point of reference in a sea of confusion and pain.

“I don’t trust you,” you stated, your voice sharp and determined, as if every word was a barrier erected against any attempt to get closer. You felt that every word of his was a trap, a well-orchestrated game to break down your defenses. Yet, despite your contempt, there was something in his way of speaking to you that made it difficult to ignore him completely. “You are the reason they killed her. You are the reason for all of this.” The man sighed and then offered you a light, friendly smile. His face was now relaxed again, while in his eyes there was an inexplicable spark. “You’re right not to trust me,” he calmly replied, his voice soft and enveloping, while he slightly tilted his head in a gesture that seemed almost affectionate. “But trust your instincts.” His posture was relaxed. “Why would I want to hurt you after I saved you, healed you, and fed you? My aim, y/n, is not to destroy you.” His tone was sincere, and although you could sense a subtle manipulation, his words had a strong echo of truth. You wondered what he really wanted from you, but you had neither the time nor the inclination to delve deeper into the apparent kindness. Yet, every one of his actions still felt like a trap, an intricate mind game designed to break down your defenses.

For a few minutes, the silence between you became heavy, every word spoken seemed like a hammer blow on a glass wall. Your gaze landed for a second on the bowl in your hands. He wasn’t entirely wrong; after all, he had gone out of his way to save you when he didn’t have to, he had healed your wounds, taken care of you during your recovery, and now he had even cooked something warm to help you get back on your feet. You were the one being harsh at the moment. If he really had wanted to hurt you, he wouldn’t have hesitated—after all, you were injured and weak. With a quieter tone, but full of palpable unease, you spoke to him. “What’s your name?” you asked. Your voice was almost a whisper in the wind, broken but determined. The man raised his eyes, a shadow of curiosity in them. “I don’t have a name,” his tone was warm and harmonious, almost reassuring. “Qimir, call me Qimir,” he simply replied, once he saw the confusion in your gaze, with a tone that seemed almost intimate and sweet.

He slowly stood up from the ground, turning toward the exit. His shoulders were tense, but his step, like his demeanor, was elegant and measured as he walked away from you. He left you alone with your thoughts and the chaos of your emotions. With one last glance at you, he gently closed the door behind him. The metallic sound of the door closing echoed in the cave like a reminder of the solitude that now surrounded you. Inside the cave, there was a deep and absolute silence that would last only a short time.

Qimir leaned his back against the cold surface of the door, his breathing heavy and controlled as a weight inside him, at the height of his heart, grew heavier. The echoes of your sobs and tears penetrated through the door, and he remained there, motionless, listening to every single sound with closed eyes. The mask of tranquility and stoicism fell from his face with unprecedented speed, giving way to concern as he ached for your suffering. He tried to bury his concern for you with the pain of losing his own apprentice. But your crying was a heartbreaking melody, a stifled, silent cry of anguish that reflected in every sob and tear that streamed down your face. You were breaking, you needed to release the storm you had inside, clutching your hand to your heart. Inside the cave, the sound of your muffled sobs filled the air, your trembling hands gripping your skin, digging your nails into your flesh, trying to find comfort in the pain itself. You could feel the bond with your sister fading more and more, slowly, like a shadow that moves in the dying sun, fading into the darkness of the night

Qimir stayed there, sitting on the ground with his head resting against the door, his back rigid as he listened to the pain pouring into the room. Your stifled screams, the sobs, the sound of your crying that filled the air were tormenting him, but he knew your pride would prevent any form of vulnerability in front of him. Yet, as he listened to you, a part of him inexplicably found itself wanting to come in, to offer you a word of comfort, to share at least a fragment of that pain. He saw in you the same resilience he had seen in his old apprentice, reflected in your eyes and your voice, in your face. Mae, with her love for you and the pain of your separation, had spoken to him about you so much that he felt he knew you on an almost intimate level, even though you had never really met him before then. He realized that even though his affection for you was partly artificial, born from Mae’s words and his reflections, he was genuinely concerned for you. He wanted you to find some peace, to be able to face your grief without feeling judged or threatened by his unfamiliar presence, allowing you to mourn both your loss and his.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Notes :

My beloved flowers, let me know if you like the story. Thank you for the support with the likes and reblogs, they help a lot my work and the commitment I put into it. <3

-Mel

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

[ravers8fantasy]

Aran Ryan head canons🍀💥

Right I was meant to do Great Tiger next but I couldn't help myself😔 as usual, im sorry for any spelling mistakes and I hope you enjoy (*´╰╯`๓)♬

Is a slut for spice bags, he can scran down so many in one sitting (yall if you havent had one ugh, your missing out they are so lush)

Used to work at a chippie but got fired after being caught eating customers orders.

Thought it would be a good idea to cut his own hair but ended up with choppy af layers so he has to tie his hair

I think his dad would of worked at an oil rig or in the army which is why he was closer to his mum since he was never around much

Is a really good whistler, can whistle literally anything, he cant whistle however when he is drunk he ends up laughing at himself.

Has the most busted, cracked, expired phone ever. When he got asked about it he said he is trying to keep his stuff in better care (yeah like that's going well)

Takes rugby VERY seriously. Its like one of the only things he actually takes seriously apart from trying to become champion-

Used to go to a bunch of céilí's as a kid and teenager but hasnt been to one in a while, he still remembers most of the dances

That being said, he is VERY fun to be around at parties

I think his school had a silly traffic light system and because he was a trouble maker his ass would always be on red

Has broken ALOT of the W.B.V.A's cameras, usually from headbutting, he had a really strong forehead idk bro is a unit

I think he is superstitious as well, but not as much as when he was younger. Younger him would run away from a black cat with haste

Is really creative with insults. He also makes little diss songs about the others to the tune of a well known song or smth

(inspired by THOSE type of football chants😼)

Best mates with Soda, the two of then get up to all sorts together (almost set fire to the major circuit building because they wanted to see how how flammable an aerosol is)

Has pranked almost everyone, his favourite boxer to prank though is Don because of his toupee (someone free Don😔)

Whenever I look at him I just think he has done a front flip off the ring before using the ring ropes

He face planted the first time. But thought it was fun so now he does it whenever he is bored and around the ring when its empty

Has the craziest stories to tell. He has done so many side quests around the place its crazy

He might not be entirely fluent, but he is very passionate about keeping the irish language alive

Says he knows other languages but really he only knows swear words in other languages.

Okok thats all 😼 bye bye!!

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part Eleven)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest (at this stage accidental), Age Gap, PTSD, Domestic Abuse, Self-Harm, Fluff, Smut

After the earth-shattering revelation that Thomas Shelby was your long-lost uncle, your world was turned upside down. The truth weighed heavily upon your shoulders, casting a dark cloud of desire and forbidden love that enveloped your every thought.

Yearning for a real father figure and a sense of belonging, you found solace in Arthur's attempts to embrace you as his own. Yet, deep within, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions tugged at your heart. The news of Arthur being your father was a bitter pill to swallow, especially as you had already fallen under the spell of Thomas. Despite the twisted nature of your newfound familial ties, an undeniable thrill coursed through your veins at the mere thought of him.

Polly, ever perceptive, was aware of your forbidden desires. In due course, she orchestrated your induction into the Shelby Family, much to your mother's displeasure. In the midst of a family gathering, you were welcomed as an equal, officially cementing your place within the Shelby clan.

Within weeks, Polly took you under her wing, unveiling the intricacies of the Shelby name. She showed you how to navigate the treacherous waters of their empire, providing you with the tools to forge your own path. In her tutelage, you learned the art of negotiation and gained the confidence to command respect from those who once stood above you. Your transformation did not go unnoticed, as your newfound assertiveness radiated like a beacon.

Linda, resentful of Arthur for allowing your rise within the Shelby Company Limited, would often remark, "You truly are a Shelby." In the bustling office, you commanded attention with your sharp wit and no-nonsense attitude. Even the other Peaky Blinders marvelled at your ability to tackle any challenge that crossed your path. Your formidable uncle, Tommy, couldn't help but be drawn to this "new you."

"I see you've settled right in, taking charge like a true fucking Shelby," Tommy proclaimed proudly upon his return from the United States, where he had forged an alliance with Al Capone.

A mischievous twinkle danced in your eyes as you replied, "Indeed, Tommy," fully aware of the captivating presence you now possessed. Tommy's gaze lingered upon you, unable to tear himself away from the magnetic force you had become.

As such, his desire for you quickly resurfaced when he returned to the office after you had last seen him three weeks ago, and this desire was now becoming stronger with each day.

Your desire for your newfound uncle, however, had never really been extinguished even though, deep down, you knew that this forbidden infatuation could never be. The more you tried to fight it, the harder it seemed to resist.

Now that he was back in Birmingham, this was going to be problematic, and you could not help but tease him, making sure that he knew that you still did not care about the fact that he was your uncle.

Thus, one day, as you were engrossed in analysing some financial documents, you became aware of a pair of intense eyes fixed upon you. Raising your gaze, you caught Thomas giving you that infamous Shelby smirk, glimmering with a mixture of admiration and something darker.

"Enjoying the view, Tommy?" you quipped, unable to resist the temptation of toying with your uncle and letting him know that you knew he was watching you. After all, power breeds confidence, and confidence tempts fate.

Thomas leaned against the door frame, his voice dripping with the perfect blend of arrogance and desire. "The view is quite remarkable indeed, but it's not the scenery that has captured my attention, Love," he mused, and the air between you crackled with an intoxicating mix of tension and attraction.

“I didn’t think it was, uncle,” you teased and little did you realise just how deeply Tommy still desired you, his thoughts consumed by the forbidden possibilities.

***

As days turned into weeks, though, the flirtation between you and your uncle escalated. The stolen glances, lingering touches, and suggestive banter left a trail of electric anticipation in the air.

However, Tommy, consumed by his position and familial responsibilities, fought tooth and nail to keep the burgeoning attraction at bay. He knew all too well the dangers of allowing desires to steer his course, especially when they involved his own flesh and blood.

Reminding yourself of the bond you shared as a family, you tried to suppress the growing feelings within you as well. This was a line that should never be crossed again, no matter how tempting it may be.

One evening, though, as the sun dipped below the Birmingham skyline, you found yourself alone with your uncle in his dimly lit office. The cogs of desire turned ceaselessly in both of your minds, threatening to break free from their self-imposed restraints.

"You know damn well what you're doing to me, don't you Love?" Tommy whispered his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

“I do, Thomas and I am enjoying it. You were the first man I have ever slept with, and I most certainly don’t have any regrets, even after finding out that we are related,” you smirked before a moment of tense silence hung heavy in the air like a thick fog, the unspoken truth lingering between you. The forbidden fruit was tantalisingly close, the taste both bitter and alluring.

“But, I respect your decision. I know how important the elections are for the company, and I also know how important you are to this family of which I am now part. So, I won’t stand in your way,” you reassured your uncle, your voice filled with a mixture of admiration and apprehension. The weight of the upcoming elections for the company and the significance of your role as a member of this esteemed family was not lost on you. You knew that your uncle's leadership was crucial, and you didn't want to impede his progress.

As he stepped closer, his presence enveloped you, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. It sent shivers down your spine, igniting a desire that surged through your veins. The intensity of your emotions was almost overwhelming, but you managed to maintain your composure.

His response was immediate, his voice dripping with an intoxicating blend of passion and confidence. "You could never stand in my way, Love," Tommy declared, his gaze locked with yours. It was as if time stood still at that moment, and you couldn't help but feel a wave of vulnerability wash over you.

A shy smile played on your lips as you absorbed his words. "No?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. Tommy's hand gently caressed your face, his touch both tender and possessive.

"No, never," he assured you, his smile radiant as he pulled away slightly. He seemed to savour the tension between you, revelling in the unspoken connection that bound you together. "I have a gift for you," he revealed, his voice filled with anticipation.

With a delicate flourish, he presented you with a beautifully wrapped parcel. The vibrant green satin dress nestled within shimmered in the soft glow of the room. Its luxurious fabric seemed to come alive, whispering promises of elegance and allure. It was a testament to the exquisite taste and attention to detail that Tommy possessed.

You couldn't help but be captivated by the dress, its beauty mirroring the complexity of your emotions. It symbolised the delicate balance between duty and desire, representing the choices you were faced with in this intricate dance of power and love.

"Before I knew that you were my niece, I had something special planned for your birthday. This no longer seems appropriate now as it involved a date at the pictures and several hours of fucking. But I wanted you to have this dress anyway, as it was custom-made for you. It should fit you perfectly, and perhaps you could wear it at your birthday party next week,” Tommy exclaimed, hearted.

The beauty of the dress filled you with conflicted emotions - gratitude, desire, and a tinge of sadness. You couldn't ignore the fact that Thomas had desired you before discovering your blood connection. It was a bittersweet gift, a reminder of the love that could never be.

***

The day of your birthday had finally arrived, and Polly spared no expense in hosting a lavish celebration for their newest member. Arrow House was adorned with twinkling lights and fragrant roses, the grandeur of the occasion evident in every glittering detail.

As you walked down the sweeping staircase adorned in the green satin dress gifted to you by your own uncle, the room fell silent. All eyes were on you, the long-lost daughter of Arthur Shelby, now officially welcomed into the Shelby Family.

The dress clung to your curves, accentuating every tantalising inch of you. Thomas, unable to resist the sight before him, felt his desire for you intensify with each step you took. It was as if the very air around him crackled with a forbidden energy.

He couldn't tear his gaze away, mesmerised by your beauty. He cursed himself for the wicked thoughts that danced through his mind, yearning to touch and taste what he knew he could never have again.

The music swirled through the room, a melody of voices and laughter, yet all Thomas could hear was the pounding of his own heart, a wild beat that threatened to expose his desires to the world.

In a quiet corner of Arrow House, beneath a veil of shadows, you mustered the courage to approach Tommy to thank him for his generous gift. The ache within you had become unbearable, the desire to kiss him consuming your every thought.

“Thank you for the dress,” you told him almost shyly as his penetrating gaze met yours, and you could see the struggle in his eyes.

“You are welcome, Love,” Tommy responded as he looked at you, desire mixed with guilt, creating a tempestuous storm within his troubled soul.

"You look stunning in it, just as I had anticipated,” he whispered, his voice tinged with need. It was a dangerous game he was playing, his words a tantalising invitation into the forbidden depths of his desires.

Lizzie Stark, who had harboured affection for Thomas for years and who was carrying his child, watched your interaction with a mix of envy and resentment. The rivalry between you and Lizzie had always existed, but now it had become intertwined with the complex tapestry of desire and blood that bound Thomas to you.

She knew about past intimacy between you and Tommy and thought that all of this was in the past now that you were part of the family.

“Lizzie is clearly still worried about you and me,” you smirked, causing Tommy to chuckle as you both noticed her eyes on you.

“Well, Lizzie has always had a dislike for women I am associating myself with, and you are clearly no exception,” Tommy acknowledged, causing you to laugh.

“But you are not associating yourself with me anymore. She, of all persons, should know that now that she reminds me of our family bond every day, referring to you as my fucking uncle,” you said with some annoyance in your voice, causing Tommy to chuckle.

“Does she now?” Tommy chuckled, causing you to nod.

“Yes, Uncle Tommy. She does. And perhaps you should have a word with her about it and tell her to stop being so pitiful,” you told Tommy before you beckoned him with a mischievous smile.

“Now come, I need to show you something,” you then told your uncle before leading him upstairs to one of the guestrooms in Arrow House, and as Tommy followed you silently, desire burned hot between you, pulsating with a fierce urgency.

“Show me what, Love?” Tommy ought to enquire as, confidently, you pulled him into the empty room before, in the dimly lit corner, you pressed your lips against his with a passionate fervour, your hands exploring his body with a mixture of longing and desperation.

It was a kiss laden with desperation, a passionate struggle against the convictions that threatened to tear you apart. For a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered, and the world outside that room ceased to exist.

But just as quickly as it had begun, Thomas pulled away, his face a maelstrom of regret and self-reproach. "No," he said, his voice ragged and filled with torment.

His grip on your shoulders tightened as he tried to find the words. "Y/N, I am your fucking uncle,” he said, his voice thick with anguish. It was a reminder that echoed through your mind, a harsh reality that threatened to shatter the fragile illusion of forbidden love.

“Yes, I know, but it is also my birthday, and I am already drunk on the champagne,” you told him, realising once again how much you still loved him as, in your eyes, disappointment mingled with frustration.

Thomas looked torn, his resolve waning under the weight of his desires. But his sense of duty fought fiercely against the raw passion that had entwined your souls. It was a battle for his moral compass, and he knew it would forever change the dynamic of the family if he surrendered to temptation.

"I can't Love. It's not just about us. It's about my fucking reputation, the elections, and everything that holds our family together, and you fucking know that, don’t you, eh" he repeated again, using the same words that he used on you two weeks ago. His voice was heavy with self-restraint. His eyes bore into yours, an unspoken promise of love and longing, even as he denied himself the pleasure of surrendering.

The corner was filled with unspoken words, thick with regret and longing. The world faded away, leaving only the two of you caught in a web of desire and familial ties. The room buzzed with excitement, oblivious to the intricate dance of passion being performed in that secluded space.

Frustration coiled within you, growing with each passing second. The truth of your blood connection was like a spectre haunting your every thought. The intensity and complexity of your feelings made it difficult to see beyond the throbbing ache in your heart.

Thomas abruptly stepped back, creating distance between you as he battled conflicting emotions. He turned away, his jaw clenching with determination. "I'm sorry. I should've never allowed it to go this far," he said, his voice heavy with self-loathing, not even realising that you both were being watched.

Without another word, Thomas walked away, leaving you standing there, trembling with a potent mix of desire, frustration, and heartbreak. He walked toward the door, his footsteps weighted with regret.

As he turned the doorknob, you couldn't hold back the desperation in your voice. "Thomas, please... don't leave me here. Not like this, on my fucking birthday,” you begged, and Thomas froze at the threshold, his resolve wavering for a precious moment. His eyes were lost in a tempest of conflicting emotions. But then, with a final sigh, he stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, leaving you alone in the room, your heart shattered.

Tears streamed down your face as you collapsed onto the bed, the weight of the forbidden desire crushing you. You wondered if you could ever find a way to navigate this treacherous path, one that defied both morality and convention.

Unbeknownst to you, as you lay broken and defeated, Thomas stood at the end of the hallway. His fists clenched, his features twisted in anguish. The battle within him waged on, torn between the love he knew was wrong and the restraint he knew was correct.

Lying there, adrift in a sea of despair, you wondered how it had come to this. How had fate forged such an intricate web, weaving together desire, longing, and the damning truth of your shared blood?

You felt like you had been short-changed by life, and after wiping away your tears, you, too, put on a solid face to return to the party downstairs.

Lizzie Stark, her eyes filled with triumph and pity, brushed past you on your way down to the ballroom, her voice barely concealing her smug satisfaction. "Tommy will never truly be yours. Blood is thicker than desire,” she barked, and you resisted the urge to confront Lizzie, unable to find the words to refute her taunts.

The weight of Thomas's rejection bore down on you, suffocating your spirit and casting a dark cloud over the extravagant celebration that had once held so much promise.

As you meandered through the festivities, your mind raced with thoughts of escape. Perhaps leaving Birmingham was the only way to mend your shattered heart. But even as you entertained the notion, a part of you clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, love could conquer all in the end until, somewhat suddenly, you were approached by a man you had not met before. His name was Liam O’Connor, and he was the newest member of the Peaky Blinders. Handsome, tall and dangerous.

[siremasterlawrence]

Hypnosport

Travis Kelce is agreeing to do a major player television network the show is true detector of of course, now he feels uneasy as the reality of it finally hit him and it’s too late as you walk through into the darkly lit room, the last of lights shut off.

Seeing the one ceiling light left, raining down golden light shower of color over the sole chair in the room as he walks over, grabbing the top of the chair and he pulls to the side, he pops down, sitting on the chair, arms crossed and he sighs.

Suddenly, he can hear the mechanisms of the door began to close, the ceiling light fades to the dark, leaving him in pitch black as his furious begin to rise, causing his body to shake, and his reality comes to close after finally reaching fame.

Apparently on the walls there are tightly secured lightbulbs with light as they blow up further in the room, they begin to strobe in goes in a multitude of colors on and off, blinding Kelce all he can do is stare at the light as this world goes blank the reality is.

The wall before him has an opening slot as it swings to the side as younger nerdy man is entering the space staring at the mindlessly zonked Travis. He smirks proudly taking a seat hidden in the dark as he places it right across the room.

The man lifts up his steel suitcase onto the glass table as he flips the locks up revealing a strange device in the middle of the case and he happily spins about facing with a screen on the front which he places on the table

He press the button on the top as if roars on brightly like a projector showcasing a lovely scene as Travis best moments in the media including sports and he is instantly ensnared barely back to recognize himself but he is at loss.

He gets excited as he jolts up to his feet in joy as he throws his hands in to the air with love, he fist pumps in the air screaming as the team runs in victory with unique face of his he does a flashy showcase of his pearly whites.The man claps his hands as Travis rise up to stand on his feet mindlessly he obeys on my order.

“Yes Master!”

“Enjoyed the game?”

“Yes Master”

“Good boi!”

“Strip off your clothes “

“Yes Master”

“Dance for me”

“Little bitch “

“You got me hard “

“I am about to kiss you and then fuck you”

“Oh God!”

“You play for me now and soon your proper will be back in the game.”

Thanks to my Slave Travis many members of his sporting events are now under my firm grasp of power to do as I please and I snap my fingers as their are terms that must be discussed and with all my power they will bend to my will.

They are quickly getting to work to plan a grand event for Jason Kelce who is talked in to by his brother, the day spun about very swiftly as he walks in to the arena in a new blue suit he spent a good bought on money on.

He is a bit confused because their is no fans in sight as he stares around the room he use his right hand to block out the sunlight from his eyes and that’s when I appear with his gold medal in hand I can see he is judging me totally.

He bends his neck to accept the gold medal as it placed over his head finally sliding on to his neck he instinctively when blank as he feel under my spell his body went slack and his eyes droop and transforms him in to a mindless goon.

“Yes Master? How may I serve you?”

“Please watch the screen above “

“Yes Master”

“I am hard my love “

“I am your everything and your world “

“I am your life “

“You will submit to me”

“You are madly in love with me”

“I am your God”

“You will still be a foot ball player”

“My slave “

“Massive muscle body “

“Sir Yes Sir”

“You are the same team as your brother “

“We are United “

“Mindless husk”

“I love you sire “

“Zip it! And kneel”

“I serve Master Lawrence, you will too because you will play whatever sports he desires.”

The end

[ciaomarie]

Waiting on my AO3 invite. Here's a one shot Sydcarmy story. Canon compliant. Post season 2. Please excuse the grammar/spelling mistakes. I need season 3 to get here quickly!

Title: Won't You Be My Neighbor

It was her break and for the 89th time in the last three days Sydney reassessed the apartments within 15 minutes walking distance from The Bear. As CDC she no longer wanted to depend on the train should there be some kind of accident, strike, or weather event. There were three that she could afford on her own and many more options if she were willing to become a roommate. She wasn't. If inspiration for a recipe struck her at 2am she wanted to get up and cook if she wanted. She loved the freedom of walking around naked after a shower, picking out her clothes or getting a snack. Most of all she missed turning up her music and dancing like an inflatable tube man in private.

She had sent a message to each leasing office to schedule an appointment next Monday and two of the three had confirmed a 10a and 11a showing. It had been more than 48 hours since she messaged the third so she called. The leasing agent informed her that the specific unit she wanted was no longer available, but they had a gorgeous 2 bedroom for $3800 a month if she was interested. "Okay, now that's just two options" Sydney muttered after getting off the phone.

"Hey mija, what you looking at?" Tina asked sitting down to eat lunch.

"Just apartments. I finally have the funds to move" Sydney answered with a sigh.

"What's wrong? Aren't you happy to be getting out on your own?"

"Oh, yeah for sure. It's just I'm really picky"

"Well, it doesn't have to be forever. Just make sure to read the reviews. You don't want roaches or bed bugs".

"Oh, I can't stand bugs! My dad still has to kill them for me, but I better get a fly swatter and spray now that I'll be on my own soon."

Break was over and Sydney stood up to resume her duties. First she needed to talk to Natalie about the upcoming private party. A celebrity had reserved the entire restaurant next Thursday evening. The names of all staff members on duty that night had to be submitted ahead of time with signed NDAs. It was all happening so fast and The Bear's debt was likely to be paid less than a year after opening. First there had been a Grio article about her being a rising black chef. That led to Keith Lee, the TikTok restaurant reviewer, raving about his to-go order that included the T-Bone and the Michael cannoli. It went viral and suddenly, they were booked for the next three months with a waiting list. She was working harder than ever, getting paid pretty well, and she deserved a place of her own.

After talking to Natalie, she found Carmy working on her prep.

"Hey, thanks! I can take over that now if you want"

"Actually….it's done. I wanted to take you somewhere for like 30 minutes" he said finishing up and cleaning the station.

Sydney folded her arms, her eyebrows raised high.

"Okay, where are we going?"

"I know you've been looking for a place and I think know the perfect apartment for you. Just a 10 minute walk from here. The landlord gave me the key so I could show you today" Carmy said trying to sound casual, but a deep pink flush rose in his cheeks.

"Why is he being weird?" Sydney thought but simply said "Okay, that's dope."

The Chicago air was soft and warm, the clean sunlight making everything look new. Summer afternoons like this made you forgive the brutal winters here. Carmy directed Sydney when to turn left and right, but refused to tell her where exactly they were going. Soon they were standing in front of his building.

The reason for his weirdness was now perfectly clear to Sydney and she felt so flattered that she had to avoid looking at Carmy when she said "So, there's an open unit in your building?"

"Uh, yeah. The people who lived just above me moved and I, uh, thought you might want to see it".

The apartment was on the fourth floor. Carmy unlocked the door and let Sydney go in first. The walls were freshly painted in "Cloud White" and the oak hardwood floors creaked comfortably under their feet. The layout was the same as Carmy's apartment with plenty of windows to let in natural light and a shockingly large kitchen for a 1 bedroom place in Chicago. As Sydney inspected the appliances and bathroom, she decided that if the rent was going to eat up even half of her check it was worth it. She had always admired Carmy's spacious apartment and with her sense of style she could make hers, a cozy bohemian oasis filled with plants, wall art, and actual furniture (eventually).

Carmy had let her roam around in silence for a few minutes, muttering and emitting tiny sounds of joy to herself. When she met him in the living room again, he said trying not to grin too widely, "If you like it, it's already yours."

"How? I know places like this are snatched up fast" Sydney said her eyes finally able to meet his again.

"The landlords, they're a couple, and their 20th wedding anniversary is coming up. They want reservations at The Bear." Carmy explained, desperately hoping to sound nonchalant about it.

"Oh, that's nice work, Carmy."

Then Sydney squealed and cried "This is just what I wanted!!" and she flung her arms around his shoulders in a wild hug. Carmy commanded his body not to shudder as he hugged her back. She was just wearing a t-shirt and without her usual layers of clothing he felt her delicate frame, her slim shoulder blades imprinting on his fingers.

In a moment Sydney pulled back shly and let her arms fall to her sides, her face burning. She made a mental note: Hugging Carmy. Not a safe activity for those who want to cook along side him using sharp objects or sleep peacefully at night dreaming innocent thoughts.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!" Sydney said taking another step back and making another turn around the room.

Carmy nodded and concentrated on not melting into the floorboards.

"You're okay with this? We already spend 60+ hours together at the restaurant every week and now I'd be in your building! And literally living on top of you."

"Yeah, well, I want you to. You deserve everything you want, Syd."

"Then I'll take it! Just a warning though. If you hear someone belting out Kpop and an occasional thud, that's just my weekly one woman concert, which will be over no later than 10pm. I'm not being murdered."

Carm was no longer unable to contain the width of his smile. This girl is so cute, his body physically ached. How would he get through service tonight?

With a happy shake of his head, he replied, "Thank you, for the heads up!"

With that Sydney marched towards the door and exclaimed "Take me to your landlord!"

Carmy floated behind her.

Cue: Maxwell's "Whenever, Wherever, Whatever"

[jikooklove9795]

I saw this today and it made me smile so much

https://x.com/BTStranslation_/status/1435919852569460744

look at Jimin and JK, the moves! 😳 and if I’m not mistaken that’s the same outfit on Jungkook from a certain dance practice they did by themselves 🤭

Hi Anon!

Yeah they got the moves!

You're not mistaken. Jungkook's wearing the same outfit from Jikook's "Own It" dance practice video. Also, both these events happened on the same day. I mean the "I Like It pt2" and the "Own It" dance practices. How I'm able to tell its from the same day? Cause BTS had a few dance practices that same day: I Like It pt2, Baepsae, Coming Of Age ceremony, Namjoon and Jin's dance practice for BTS Day and lastly Jikook's Own It. During all of which Jungkook and Hoseok kept their same outfits. So, thats how.

I'm taking advantage of your ask to share my thoughts about Own It. Hope you don't mind 😅 What exactly was Jikook doing? A dance practice? With the dimmed light settings? And who uploaded it? Many of us have noticed how Brian Puspos was wrongly spelled in that video right? And also the difference in the captioning style of that particular dance video to other BTS dance videos which mostly starts with [CHOREOGRAPHY] BTS. My guess would be it was either Jimin or Jungkook. They had that kind of access to do it. Cause we have seen Jungkook uploading GCF Tokyo or Jimin sharing pics of him and Jungkook on Twitter when BH did cause they were not paired in the same unit.

And then I think about Jimin's pants situation down there. Cause of the overall vibe of the song and his attraction for Jungkook whose dancing beside him its very much possible.

Thanks for your ask Anon 😊

Credits to the owner of the video

[magiclostinfantasy]

Love Undone || Mattheo Riddle x reader

Warnings: swearing Summary: When Y/N is asked out by her secret admirer, Mattheo can't help but feel jealous.

Mattheo Riddle and Y/N L/N had been inseparable since their first day at Hogwarts. Their friendship transcended the ordinary; it was a bond forged in the shared corridors of the magical castle and fortified by countless adventures. They were two halves of a whole, completing each other in ways that only the closest of friends could understand.

Lorenzo Berkshire, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Draco Malfoy were also integral parts of their tight-knit group. The group moved through the grand halls of Hogwarts, their laughter echoing off the stone walls. In their fifth year, the challenges of magical education awaited them, but together, they faced everything with a united front.

As they navigated the intricacies of spells and potions, Mattheo and Y/N stood side by side, a pair that drew attention not just for their magical prowess but for the depth of their friendship. Mattheo, with his raven-black hair and piercing eyes, complemented Y/N's warm demeanour and contagious laughter. Their camaraderie was a source of envy for many, yet their connection remained unyielding.

In the common room, late-night conversations blended with the soft crackling of the fireplace. Mattheo, Y/N, and their friends reveled in the comfort of each other's company. Hogwarts was a place of wonder, but it was their shared moments that made it truly magical.

Little did they know that the tranquillity of their friendship was about to face the turbulence of unexpected emotions, stirring a chain of events that would challenge the very foundations of their bond.

<><><><><><><>

One ordinary day, as they sat in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Y/N found herself distracted by a folded piece of parchment slipped discreetly onto her desk. Intrigued, she unfolded it to reveal elegant handwriting that danced across the page.

"Dear Y/N,

Your laughter is like a melody, and your eyes hold the secrets of a thousand stars. Would you grace me with your presence for a date in Hogsmeade this weekend? Meet me by the Three Broomsticks at sunset.

Yours sincerely,

Your Secret Ravenclaw Admirer"

A blush crept across Y/N's cheeks as she read the words. Mattheo noticed her distraction, nudging her gently. "What's got you so red, Y/N/N?"

With a mischievous grin, Y/N shared the letter with Mattheo and the rest of their friends. Excitement buzzed in the air as everyone speculated about the mysterious Ravenclaw suitor.

As the week progressed, Y/N couldn't help but wonder about the sender. The allure of the secret admirer and the promise of a date stirred a sense of anticipation. Mattheo, however, found himself watching Y/N more closely, a growing unease settling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't pinpoint the source of his discomfort, but the prospect of someone else capturing Y/N's attention didn't sit well with him.

<><><><><><><>

The days leading up to the weekend were a whirlwind of excitement and speculation. Y/N, still basking in the glow of the mysterious love letter, found herself caught between the thrill of the unknown and the unspoken tension that had crept into her friendship with Mattheo.

One afternoon, as they studied together in the library, Mattheo couldn't contain the turmoil brewing within him. "Y/N, are you sure about going on this date?" he asked, his voice laced with an edge of concern.

Y/N, surprised by the question, looked up from her book. "Why wouldn't I be? It's just a date, Mattheo. What's the big deal?"

Mattheo hesitated, struggling to put his feelings into words. "I just... I don't want you to get hurt, that's all. You don't really know this person. What if it's a prank or something?"

Y/N, taken aback, felt a spark of irritation. "The fuck? I can take care of myself. It's just a bloody date, and besides, it might be someone genuinely interested in getting to know me. Why are you so against it?"

As the words hung in the air, the tension between them escalated. Mattheo, torn between his protective instincts and the fear of revealing his true feelings, clenched his jaw. Y/N, feeling a mix of frustration and confusion, closed her book abruptly and left the library, leaving Mattheo sitting alone, grappling with his emotions.

<><><><><><><>

The weekend arrived, bringing a flutter of anticipation to the air as Y/N prepared for her date in Hogsmeade. The common room buzzed with excitement, but a palpable tension lingered between Y/N and Mattheo.

As Y/N made her way to the meeting spot by the Three Broomsticks, Mattheo couldn't shake the unease that gnawed at him. Unable to bear the thought of Y/N with someone else, he decided to follow her, intending to keep a watchful eye from a distance.

In Hogsmeade, the charming village was alive with students enjoying their weekend getaway. Y/N anxiously scanned the crowd for her secret admirer, while Mattheo trailed behind, hidden in the shadows. Pansy and Lorenzo, sensing Mattheo's internal struggle, exchanged concerned glances but decided to let him confront his emotions.

Just as Y/N was beginning to lose hope, a handsome Ravenclaw boy with brown hair and blue eyes approached her with a shy smile. The air was filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension as they embarked on their date.

Meanwhile, Mattheo, torn between loyalty and personal turmoil, couldn't resist the urge to intervene. As the pair entered the Three Broomsticks, Mattheo attempted to discreetly cast a charm to disrupt their date, but Pansy and Lorenzo, ever watchful, intercepted him.

"The fuck are you doing?" Pansy hissed, blocking his view of Y/N and her date.

"Move, Pansy! I can't stand seeing her with someone else," Mattheo pleaded, frustration etched across his face.

Lorenzo, with a stern expression, said, "This isn't the way, Mattheo. You need to trust Y/N to make her own choices."

With Pansy and Enzo standing in his way, Mattheo watched helplessly as Y/N and her date enjoyed a cosy corner in the bustling pub. His heart sank, as he watched her laugh with someone that wasn’t him.

In the aftermath of the failed sabotage, Y/N had discovered what Mattheo had attempted. The air hung heavy with tension between the two of them. The common room felt suffocating with unspoken words and wounded emotions.

Unable to avoid the confrontation any longer, Y/N sought out Mattheo in a quiet corner of the common room. "Mattheo, what the fuck were you thinking? Why would you try to ruin my date?" she demanded, hurt evident in her eyes.

Mattheo, unable to meet her gaze, struggled to find the right words. "Fucking hell, Y/N, I love you! I couldn't stand seeing you with that jackass."

The confession hung in the air, freezing time as Y/N processed the weight of Mattheo's words. The realisation hit her with a mix of surprise and clarity. The tension between them, the jealousy, and the unspoken emotions—they all made sense now.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" Y/N asked, her voice softer, the anger giving way to a vulnerable curiosity.

Mattheo looked up, meeting her eyes. "I was afraid of ruining our friendship. I didn't want to risk losing you altogether."

Y/N took a moment, absorbing his words, then whispered, "You idiot, I've loved you since our third year." Mattheo's eyes widened in surprise, hope flickering within them.

With a tender smile, Y/N continued, "I thought you didn't feel the same way, so I kept my feelings to myself. But if you're willing to, we can start something new."

Relief and joy flooded Mattheo's expression as he pulled Y/N into a passionate kiss. The common room, witnesses to the highs and lows of their friendship, seemed to sigh in contentment as the two friends-turned-lovers embraced the beginning of a new chapter.

[bitchiswild]

Winter Ball

Kim Minjeong x F! Reader

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 3.5k

A/n: ❄️🎻🪩

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

The Winter Ball, an event steeped in opulence and prestige, stands as the pinnacle of the year's social calendar. Within its glittering halls, destinies intertwine, where chance encounters spark romances and hearts both unite and fracture. This illustrious affair owes its existence to the esteemed Kim Seok, a titan among elites, who christened the gala in honor of his beloved daughter, Kim Minjeong, affectionately known as Winter.

Beyond its facade of elegance and grandeur, the Winter Ball is a nexus of strategic alliances and lucrative sponsorships, where business dealings are as commonplace as swirling waltzes and whispered confessions. Yet, amid the clinking glasses and shimmering gowns, there exists an unwritten expectation, one fervently held by Kim Seok himself. With each meticulously planned Winter Ball, he harbors a silent hope—a hope that his daughter, Winter, might find love amidst the enchanting splendor.

Winter, however, is a vision of independence and conviction. Echoing her father's unyielding spirit, she rebuffs the allure of romantic entanglements with a steadfast declaration: "I have no need for such entrapments. Love is a fallacy." Yet, despite her protestations, Kim Seok discerns a familiar skepticism in her words, a reflection of his own past reservations before fate introduced him to the love of his life—Winter's mother.

In the depths of his heart, Kim Seok yearns for Winter to experience the transformative power of love, much as he did. With an ardent wish that transcends the gilded confines of the Winter Ball, he quietly prays for the serendipitous arrival of the one who will awaken his daughter's belief in love, just as it was once awakened within him.

As the anticipation mounts and the chandeliers cast their ethereal glow upon the revelers, Kim Seok watches over the festivities, his paternal gaze holding a silent plea to the stars: that Winter, his cherished daughter, may find within this glittering celebration the key to unlock the guarded chambers of her heart.

~~~

Winters POV

I let out a resigned sigh, my eyes scanning the elegantly adorned room filled with twirling couples lost in their own romantic reverie. Amidst the enchanting melodies and graceful waltzes, I stood on the periphery, a silent observer of a spectacle that failed to captivate my convictions. Love, in my view, was a frivolous pursuit—an enigmatic dance of emotions I had no desire to partake in. Love at first sight? Ridiculous.

"Minjeong!" Jimin's voice interrupted my musings, drawing my attention to my ever-optimistic best friend. She flashed a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with a certainty that often accompanied her unwavering faith in matters of the heart.

"You're always so dismissive about love, but mark my words, one day you'll see. It'll all make sense," she remarked, her tone laced with a playful certainty that mirrored her perpetual optimism.

I couldn't help but scoff. "You say that as if it's some inevitable epiphany waiting to happen."

Jimin chuckled, her laughter carrying a hint of affectionate exasperation. "Trust me, Minjeong. Once you experience it, your perspective will shift entirely. Love won't seem like a waste of time anymore."

Her words lingered in the air as she sauntered away, disappearing into the crowd with her partner, leaving me to ponder her unwavering belief in the inexplicable magic of love.

Despite my protestations, I couldn't shake off the echo of her words. Was there a kernel of truth in her confident assertions? Could love truly transform one's outlook, turning what I deemed as frivolous into something profound and meaningful?

As the music swelled and the enchantment of the Winter Ball continued to weave its spell around the room, I found myself caught in a fleeting moment of contemplation. Perhaps, just perhaps, amidst the sea of skeptics, cynics, and believers alike, there existed a truth waiting to reveal itself—a truth about love that I had yet to uncover.

As I made my way towards the refreshments, a subtle shift in the atmosphere caught my attention. A figure, graceful and poised, mirrored my steps toward the drink table. Her presence, almost magnetic, tugged at my senses, and for a fleeting moment, the room seemed to shrink, centering around this enigmatic stranger.

"Sorry, am I in your way?" Her gentle voice broke the spell, drawing me from my reverie. I shook my head, startled by the sudden rush of emotions that stirred within me. "N-No, you're not. It's okay," I managed to stutter out, my heart thundering in my chest.

She giggled, her laughter a melody that resonated through the air, and in that moment, it felt like I was enveloped in pure bliss. Was this the inexplicable sensation Jimin spoke of—the rush of emotions, the rapid heartbeat, all in the presence of a stranger? Could this be the much-dismissed notion of love at first sight?

Summoning an ounce of courage I hadn't known I possessed, I extended my hand towards her. "My name's Minjeong. What's yours?" The words stumbled out, coated in a mix of nerves and excitement.

The girl turned toward me, her eyes sparkling with an unspoken allure. "Y/n," she replied, taking my hand in hers. "Nice to meet you, Minjeong. But I've got to get going; my friends are waiting for me. I'll see you on the dance floor?" Her words lingered in the air, a question tinged with a hint of anticipation.

I could only nod dumbly, lost momentarily in the radiance of her smile. As she giggled and gracefully departed, I felt a rush of relief flood through me. It was as if the weight of the moment lifted as she left my vicinity. Gathering my composure, I hurriedly made my way through the crowd, seeking out Jimin amidst the throng of revelers.

"Jimin!" I called out, scanning the crowd for my ever-supportive best friend. Spotting her animatedly conversing with a group nearby, I navigated through the sea of dancers and socialites, eager to share the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me.

"Minjeong, there you are!" Jimin's eyes lit up as she noticed me approaching, her expression expectant. "Did you find yourself a drink?"

I chuckled, trying to compose myself after the unexpected encounter. "Yeah, but more importantly, Jimin, I just had the most...unexpected moment."

Jimin arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Oh? Do tell!"

I recounted the brief yet intense interaction with Y/n, the rush of emotions, and the lingering sensation of having stumbled upon something inexplicably enchanting.

Jimin's grin widened with each word, a silent acknowledgment dancing in her eyes. "Minjeong, could it be? Love at first sight?"

I hesitated, grappling with the idea I'd dismissed moments before. "I don't know, Jimin. It sounds so cliché, doesn't it? But there was something about her... It was different."

Jimin's laughter bubbled forth. "Welcome to the club, Minjeong! Looks like someone's heart might be softening after all."

I rolled my eyes playfully but couldn't deny the fluttering feeling in my chest, a strange mix of nervousness and excitement at the thought of seeing Y/n again.

"Will you go dance with her?" Jimin nudged, her gaze filled with encouragement.

"I-I think so," I stammered, surprised by my own resolve. "I hope I see her there."

With Jimin's teasing encouragement and the memory of Y/n's smile lingering in my mind, I found myself swaying to the music, unable to shake off the lingering anticipation of a potential reunion.

As the night progressed and the melodies intertwined with laughter and whispers, I couldn't help but steal glances around the room, hoping for another glimpse of Y/n amidst the swirling crowd.

Time had passed, and there was no sight of Y/n. Faint disappointment settled in as I made my way back to the bar, hoping to find solace in another drink. Yet, to my surprise, there she was, standing next to a guy who seemed to be making her visibly uncomfortable.

My steps faltered as I approached the bar, the familiar sight of Y/n amidst an uncomfortable interaction stopping me in my tracks. A knot formed in my stomach, an instinctive urge to intervene surging within me.

Y/n stood there, her expression strained, a polite yet uneasy smile plastered on her face. Beside her loomed a guy, his demeanor exuding an unsettling sense of entitlement. His persistent attempts at conversation were met with Y/n's subtle but visible discomfort.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" I questioned, my voice poised but carrying an underlying concern.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise, a hint of relief flickering across her face. "Minjeong! I'm so glad you're here," she responded, her voice tinged with gratitude.

I turned my attention to the guy beside her, offering a friendly yet assertive smile. "Hi there! I'm Minjeong. Sorry to interrupt, but Y/n and I have some catching up to do, right?"

The guy glanced between us, seemingly taken aback but sensing the shift in the atmosphere, he excused himself with a half-hearted smile and sauntered away.

Y/n exhaled a breath she seemed to have been holding, offering me a grateful smile. "Thank you, Minjeong. That was...unexpected."

I shrugged, trying to downplay the gravity of the situation. "No problem. Looked like you needed a rescue."

As the tension dissipated, Y/n's gaze met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. The brief yet charged moment solidified something unspoken, a connection forming in the wake of an unexpected rescue.

"Hey, let's grab that drink together," I suggested, hoping to offer some reprieve from the uncomfortable encounter.

Y/n's smile widened, a genuine spark returning to her eyes. "I'd like that."

As we moved towards the bar, the weight of the encounter fading into the background, a newfound sense of camaraderie and intrigue filled the space between us.

The ambient glow of the Winter Ball seemed to dim in the wake of the burgeoning connection between Y/n and me. We settled at a quieter corner of the bustling venue, cocooned in our own world, amid the gentle hum of conversations and the occasional tinkling of glasses.

"So, Minjeong," Y/n began, her voice a melodic invitation to unravel the layers of our mutual acquaintance. "What brings you to the Winter Ball?"

I shared anecdotes about attending with Karina, my father's insistence on finding love for me at these events, and my own skepticism about the enchantment of love.

"And what about you, Y/n?" I inquired, eager to reciprocate the sharing. "How did you end up here?"

She laughed softly, the sound like a symphony in the midst of the ball's elegance. "Honestly, I was dragged here by a friend. Not much of a fan of these extravagant affairs myself."

As we conversed, the conversation flowed effortlessly, each exchange peeling away the layers of initial awkwardness. We discovered shared interests, from music preferences to our views on the complexities of life. There was a comfortable rhythm to our interaction, a natural chemistry that seemed to bridge any gap between us.

Time ceased to exist as we exchanged stories, laughter, and thoughts. The once-imposing Winter Ball now felt like an intimate setting, our dialogue weaving an invisible thread between us, binding our newfound connection.

The night wore on, the music shifting from lively tunes to mellower melodies, yet our conversation continued, unhurried and unreserved. Amidst the glamour and opulence of the ball, a genuine connection had blossomed—a serendipitous encounter that defied the confines of the grand event.

As the evening drew to a close and the final strains of music echoed through the hall, I realized that amidst the sea of faces and fleeting encounters, I had found an unexpected and cherished connection in Y/n.

Our exchange continued, weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and aspirations. As the night unfolded its secrets, we found ourselves drawn to the idea that chance encounters often held the most unforeseen treasures.

Eventually, the allure of the wintry night beckoned, and Y/n suggested we step outside to catch a breath of fresh air. The grand doors opened, leading us to the quiet serenity of the winter landscape outside.

A hushed blanket of snow had begun to descend, painting the night in a soft, ethereal glow. The air was crisp, and the gentle flakes danced around us, adding a touch of enchantment to the already magical evening.

Y/n and I stood side by side, gazing at the mesmerizing sight before us. The snowflakes twirled in the air, creating a tranquil scene that felt straight out of a storybook.

"It's beautiful," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the moment.

Y/n nodded in agreement, her eyes reflecting the soft glimmer of the falling snow. "It really is. There's something so serene about snowfall, isn't there?"

We stood there, amidst the quiet elegance of the wintry night, sharing a moment that transcended the grandeur of the Winter Ball. The snowflakes continued their graceful descent, enveloping us in a cocoon of tranquility and wonder.

In that peaceful solitude, our conversation took on a more introspective tone. We spoke of dreams, aspirations, and the inexplicable beauty found in the simplest of moments—a shared understanding that seemed to deepen the connection between us.

As the snow continued to cascade from the heavens, we exchanged quiet smiles, a silent acknowledgment of the rare beauty of this shared moment. For in the delicate dance of snowflakes and the whispers of our conversation, something special had bloomed between us.

As the delicate snowflakes continued their graceful descent, an unspoken warmth enveloped us in a cocoon of shared moments and unspoken sentiments. I turned to Y/n, a genuine sincerity coloring my words.

"I really enjoy your company, Y/n," I expressed, my voice carrying the weight of truth and vulnerability.

Her eyes sparkled with a reflective radiance, mirroring the sentiment. "I enjoy your company too, Minjeong," she replied, her smile a testament to the comfort found in our connection.

We stood there, side by side, witnessing the tranquil spectacle of the first snowfall. The silence between us was filled with unspoken words, an uncharted territory of emotions and possibilities.

"You know what they say about the first snow," I remarked, breaking the tranquil silence between us.

Y/n turned to me, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "No, what is it?" she asked, her voice soft and attentive.

"It's where you make a wish, and they say it might just come true," I explained, a tinge of wistfulness in my tone.

"Make a wish, Minjeong," she encouraged gently, her eyes filled with a gentle encouragement that urged me to embrace the moment.

I let out a sigh, the weight of my wish settling in my chest. "I wish to take you out on a date," I confessed, the words slipping out, carrying the earnestness of my feelings.

In the tranquil serenity of the wintry night, with snowflakes twirling around us like silent witnesses, I dared to voice a longing that had quietly blossomed within me.

Y/n's gaze held mine, her eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions. Her soft smile echoed the silent understanding that had grown between us, a shared connection woven in the magical embrace of the first snow.

As the snowfall continued its gentle descent, a subtle chill began to permeate the air. I noticed Y/n subtly shivering, the cold seeping through the elegant attire she wore for the ball.

"You're getting cold, aren't you?" I asked, concern lacing my words as I observed her discomfort.

Y/n nodded, a faint blush gracing her cheeks. "A little, yes."

Without hesitation, I slipped off my own warm sweater, a comforting shield against the wintry chill, and offered it to her. "Here, take this. It's warmer," I insisted, my voice carrying both concern and a hint of bashfulness.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise at the gesture, her gaze meeting mine in a mix of gratitude and astonishment. "Minjeong, I couldn't—"

"Please," I urged gently, my smile attempting to ease any reservations she might have. "I want you to be warm."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Y/n accepted the sweater, wrapping it around herself with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Minjeong. You're too kind."

The exchange brought an unexpected warmth to the wintry night—not just from the shared gesture but from the growing connection and the unspoken promise that hung between us.

With Y/n now shielded from the biting cold, our shared moment continued, the snowflakes descending around us in a silent ballet. The act of offering my sweater felt like a bridge between us, forging an unspoken closeness that transcended the physical warmth it provided.

As we stood there, enveloped in the beauty of the snowfall and the quiet understanding that bound us, the promise of a forthcoming date lingered in the air, an anticipation that added an extra layer of magic to the Winter Ball's enchanting allure.

The clock struck midnight, signaling the end of the enchanting evening. Reluctantly, I walked Y/n to her car, the weight of impending separation casting a shadow over our otherwise uplifting interaction.

"Here's my number. Text me about the date plan; I'm looking forward to it," Y/n said, her smile radiant with anticipation, as she handed me a slip of paper bearing her contact information.

My bashfulness emerged, rendering me momentarily speechless. "I'm excited too. I'll be sure to text you. Just get home safe, alright?" I replied softly, hoping to mask the fluttering nerves within me.

Y/n's smile widened, and in that moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Her gentle kiss on my cheek felt like a jolt of electricity, sending my heart into a frenzy. For an instant, I felt as though I might lose my footing, caught in the unexpected rush of emotions.

"Good night, Minjeong," she whispered, her words carrying a softness that reverberated through me.

I stood there, watching her car depart, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. Placing a hand over my heart, I attempted to steady the rapid beating within my chest, the lingering sensation of her kiss lingering like an echo.

Before I could collect my thoughts, Karina came bounding towards me, brimming with excitement. "Oh my gosh, I saw everything! Minjeong is head over heels, everyone!" she exclaimed with uncontainable enthusiasm.

I stood there, Karina's excited proclamation ringing in my ears, a mix of bewilderment and anticipation coursing through me. Her words echoed a truth I had vehemently denied for so long—love had never held a place in my beliefs.

But as I stood there, my hand unconsciously lingering on the spot where Y/n's kiss had landed, a revelation dawned upon me. I had once deemed love a frivolous notion, dismissing it as a mere illusion. Yet, in this whirlwind encounter, I found myself yearning for something I never thought I'd desire.

The Winter Ball had unveiled a world of possibilities I had stubbornly ignored, and in the lingering warmth of Y/n's presence, my heart had stirred with unfamiliar emotions. What had begun as skepticism had morphed into an eager anticipation for what lay ahead—a date that held the promise of something genuine and heartfelt.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I found myself eagerly awaiting the prospect of love—a concept I once rejected but now, with each flutter of my heart, embraced with open arms.

Years cascaded by in a beautiful tapestry woven with shared moments, laughter, and a love that surpassed every doubt. Y/n and I stood side by side, a testament to the transformative power of love, as we returned to the Winter Ball each year.

My father's beaming smile was a reflection of his joy as he witnessed the love that had bloomed between Y/n and me. The Winter Ball, once a place of skepticism and uncertainty for me, now held a cherished significance—a testament to our enduring bond and the promise of a love that had weathered the test of time.

With each passing holiday season, Y/n and I found ourselves wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence. The Winter Ball had become more than just an extravagant event; it was a celebration of our love story—a reminder of the serendipity that had brought us together and the countless memories we continued to create.

The twinkling lights, the elegant dances, and the festive atmosphere held a deeper meaning now—a symbol of our shared journey, a testament to the enduring love that had blossomed amidst the enchantment of that first Winter Ball.

As we danced under the glittering lights, surrounded by the echoes of laughter and the whispers of timeless promises, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the unexpected turns that had led me to find the love of my life.

Every holiday season was now a cherished opportunity—a chance to revel in the love that had transformed my beliefs, turning skepticism into an unwavering certainty that love, indeed, was the most powerful magic of all.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

[lynette-m-roses]

Enchanted Flames

In the heart of New Orleans, a powerful witch named Y/N found herself caught in a whirlwind of chaos. Her magic crackled in the air as she faced off against a group of vampires, her eyes blazing with determination. Unbeknownst to her, her display of power had caught the attention of none other than Klaus Mikaelson, the infamous hybrid.

Klaus watched from the shadows, his curiosity piqued by the fiery witch. He had always been drawn to power, and there was something about Y/N that intrigued him. He approached her, his voice laced with a hint of arrogance. "Impressive display, love. But you should be careful. The streets of New Orleans can be dangerous."

Y/N's eyes narrowed as she turned to face him, her voice laced with defiance. "I can handle myself just fine, thank you. I don't need your help."

Klaus smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, I never said I was offering my help. Merely making an observation."

Despite their initial animosity, fate seemed determined to bring them together. They crossed paths time and time again, their encounters filled with tension and sparks of undeniable attraction. Y/N's fiery spirit matched Klaus's own, and they found themselves drawn to each other despite their better judgment.

As their connection deepened, a dangerous enemy emerged from the shadows, threatening to tear them apart. A coven of witches, envious of Y/N's power, sought to eliminate her and claim her magic for themselves. They launched a relentless attack, their spells lashing out with deadly precision.

Klaus, unwilling to let Y/N face this threat alone, stood by her side, his protectiveness surfacing. Together, they fought against the onslaught of dark magic, their powers intertwining in a dance of strength and determination. The battle raged on, each passing moment testing their resolve and their love.

In the midst of the chaos, Y/N found herself cornered by the leader of the coven, a formidable witch named Isabella. Isabella's eyes gleamed with malice as she raised her hand, ready to strike a fatal blow. But before she could unleash her spell, Klaus appeared, his eyes burning with fury.

"No one touches her," Klaus growled, his voice filled with a deadly promise.

With a flick of his wrist, Klaus rips Isabella's heart out. Y/N stared at Klaus in awe, her heart swelling with a mixture of gratitude and love. At that moment, she realized that Klaus would always be there to protect her.

The remaining members of the coven, realizing the futility of their efforts, retreated into the shadows, leaving Y/N and Klaus victorious but weary.

Y/N reached out, her hand trembling as she cupped Klaus's cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

Klaus's eyes softened as he leaned into her touch, his voice filled with tenderness. "You don't have to thank me, love. Protecting you is what I was born to do."

In that moment, their love transcended the chaos and danger that surrounded them. They had faced death together, and in doing so, they had forged a bond that nothing could break. Their love burned brighter than any spell or curse, an eternal flame that would guide them through the darkest of times.

As the dust settled and the city of New Orleans began to heal, Y/N and Klaus found solace in each other's arms. They knew that their journey was far from over, that more challenges would come their way. But they faced the future with unwavering determination, knowing that their love was a force stronger than any magic or enemy they would encounter.

And so, in the heart of New Orleans, two souls entwined, their love a beacon of hope in a world filled with darkness. Together, Y/N and Klaus would face every obstacle, united in their love and ready to conquer whatever lay ahead.

[philtstone]

Touch prompts: “feeling their pulse” for Shawn and Gus

so like .... i compromised my most staunchly held principle (there is objectively way too much of this kind of fic in the psych tag and i refuse to contribute MORE) to write this. alas; it would not let me go not sure how i feel about it as a standalone - i think it belongs in a larger fic, tbh, but im trying to be responsible and post these as prompts instead of spending weeks on a real story. i'll probably expand on it (and situate it in a generally more fun story) eventually. warnings for cursory description of blood, throw up and a broken arm & set during the events of 4x09, aka shawn takes a shot in the dark

In Gus’s memory, the Tuesday before Junior Prom is marked by the dead frogs in biology class and the most disgustingly broken bone the world ever had the displeasure of witnessing. 

“Mr. Spencer!” he had shrieked, operating on pure and unadulterated survival instinct.

They were fifteen and stupid – the way being angry at your parents makes you stupid, or being scared of how much you want to see Destiny B from first period art naked makes you stupid. When Gus yelled, feeling cold all over despite the hot after-school May sun, a weird hoarse twist he wasn’t used to tightened his throat. It overrode his gag reflex, thankfully, but unfortunately also made him sound like a panicking girl. Shawn didn’t say anything. They had a system. If Gus couldn’t look at Shawn’s broken ulna without throwing up, then he also couldn’t see the tears leaking out of Shawn’s eyes as he pressed his face against the scraggly front lawn and groaned in a horrible not-normal version of his recently-cracking teenaged boy voice. 

Plausible deniability for both of them.

“Fuck,” Shawn managed between sobs. Gus’s mom would have killed them both if she ever heard that word. “Gus, Gus it really hurts –”

“Don’t,” said Gus. He couldn’t look. This was so much worse than that time Shawn got a nosebleed in gym class it got all over his grinning teeth. He wasn’t grinning this time. He was shaking, like a leaf. Like one of those leaves from the plant unit in biology class, and oh, God – the frog. “Don’t, don’t, don’t.”

“Make it stop!”

Gus couldn’t. It was horrible. He’d told Destiny two weeks prior that he wanted to be a doctor when he grew up and he couldn’t even look at his best friend’s broken arm. He wasn’t panicking, not in the way Joy used to tease him for when they were kids (not grown-up fifteen year olds) and he’d get nervous around the water slides at Six Flags, but in this memory Gus felt scared in a new way that was somehow worse than water slides. “I told you that branch w-wouldn’t – I told you it wouldn’t hold, Shawn!” He shouldn’t have been yelling; it made him feel better anyway. “Why wouldn’t you just listen to me for once –”

The front door slammed open and shut and heavy footsteps rushed toward them. The broken arm probably hurt a lot, because Shawn wasn’t even mad at Gus for summoning his dad. Gus kept on shouting at his own shoes. To this day he has pretty much no idea what he was actually saying. The act of berating on its own was therapeutic.

Therapeutic had been one of the words he’d spelled right in the spelling bee.

“Shawn!” 

In the memory, Mr. Spencer’s voice invades their bubble like a popping bb gun and a big bucket of cool water in summertime all at once. The broken arm was not actually his fault, but Shawn had climbed the tree because he was fifteen and angry and Gus had hung back on the ground because he was fifteen and thinking about Destiny’s long swinging braids. Somehow both of these things connected back to the general presence of Henry, weeks away from divorce, hanging over their heads. He’d been the one who grounded Shawn two days prior for skipping second period for the millionth time, and Gus wasn’t sure he wanted to go to Junior Prom (where Destiny would be, slow dancing with Micheal H for sure) alone. 

“Shawn – ah, Jesus. Gus. Gus, come on, calm down, kid.” Two firm hands grabbed Gus by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet, and his tirade died in his throat. He was kind of shaking, too, but there was a sharp edge of fear to Henry’s voice that came out sounding almost angry and somehow made Gus feel better. “You’re okay, alright? You’re okay. He’s okay. This isn’t your fault. Go inside and get my car keys.”

Gus can’t really remember whether he made it to the bathroom before spilling his guts. He figures it’s kind of an immaterial detail, nineteen years later.

“Gus,” Shawn mumbles. “Gus, I got blood on you.” 

“Shut up, Shawn,” Gus says.

Shawn isn’t dead, which is pretty obvious to everyone now. Gus has been convinced of it for the last twenty-four hours. If Shawn was dead, Gus would’ve felt it. This is a conclusion he came to at around eleven a.m Pacific Standard Time, still in his pajamas and halfway through one of the gross protein bars Juliet keeps in her purse to keep his brain functioning on something one tier above pure fear. He used to wonder about it in college – whether Shawn was lying in a ditch somewhere without him. The idea would float through his head on random days when he was in crisis about stupid stuff like his upcoming Chem 102 final and prone to catastrophizing, and he’d think miserably that Shawn was probably on a sunny beach surrounded by beautiful women and Dolph Lundgren, momentarily freak because dude, what if he’s in Northern Guatemala and dead, and hasn’t even said anything? That would be just like Shawn, and then, finally, he’d eat a Kit-Kat and go for a walk around campus and finish his study notes and everything would be fine. A week later he’d get a postcard, like Shawn had somehow read his mind all the way from Bardstown, Kentucky, and pretend he didn’t miss his friend someplace deep in his ever-feeling stomach.

This morning he became convinced. He’d know. That has to be how it works. Nothing else makes sense, and Gus is a person who likes to believe in the reasonable and rational when he can.

Yeah, says Shawn’s regular, not-mumbly voice in his head. Like mummies and curses and ghosts. Absolutely the most sensible person I know, buddy, bar none. 

Shawn’s real voice is slurring something unintelligible and sounding a lot less coherent than he did fifteen minutes ago when jumped onto the hood of a moving vehicle. Like an action movie star. Gus can’t even bring himself to be pumped about how cool that was, theoretically, because –

“EMTs are on their way.”

“Well can’t they get here faster?”

“I’m not a goddamn teleportation service! Guster, get his head up –”

“His head is fine, will you just –”

“Stop jostling him!”

“He’s my son, Lassiter, don’t fucking tell me what to do – Shawn – Shawn –” 

After the adrenaline wore off and Shawn’s legs turned to jello, getting him to sit up against the car was kind of hard. He is, as a result, currently lying on the ground with his head in Gus’s lap, manfully, while they wait. Juliet took care of locking the bad guy in the other car and has sort of shut down, emotionally speaking – her sweet face is the color of chalk and her eyes are like saucers and she keeps answering her radio so fast her hands blur – and Lassiter’s trying (ungainingly, now that the shooting is over) to take charge to make himself feel better.

Henry’s the only one who seems capable of being practical. Gus knows this version of him well.  

“Gus … you hate blood. 'Cept when you're tellin' me to lick it.”

Shawn again, being unhelpful. As always. Gus is too relieved to gag. Maybe later. 

“At this juncture I am neutral about blood,” Gus tells him, in his best Professional Pharmaceutical Salesman Voice. Shawn grins crookedly up at him. He’s like, half passed out already, and the only thing keeping Gus sane is the steady beat of his pulse in his neck, where it presses hot and sweaty against Gus’s hand. Hot and sweaty makes him think of their junior prom. That was gross, though Gus supposes he didn’t mind at the time. They barely made it to the thing anyway. Shawn milked his stupid cast like his life depended on it and Destiny, who was big into art, sat at their table instead of dancing with Michael H so she could doodle on it with the Sharpies she carried in her frilly clutch. She and Gus spent almost the whole night talking. She was like, his second ever kiss.

Back to the present. Through the power of Henry Spencer’s eyebrows Lassie’s been successfully banished – warded off, whatever – and Gus briefly wonders if he should be a bad friend (to Juliet) and ask that she come over and hold Shawn’s hand or something. Then Henry locks eyes with him and he realizes suddenly and inescapably that no, actually, Shawn will not want her to be here for this.

“Shawn,” Henry says.

“Hi, Dad,” Shawn manages. He’s still grinning, but his face is pale. Pasty. Shawn’s kind of tan as far as white guys go (Gus remembers Joy declaring this once, the way she always liked to declare things, when they were eight and she was twelve) so the gray tinge to his cheeks doesn’t become him. "Unhg… this’sucks. Kinda … numb tho’. I think ‘s getting better.” 

It’s not really getting better. Gus looks at the dirty, slick duct tape matted into Shawn’s tattered shirt and feels his ears ringing. This is one of top ten most unforgivable pranks Shawn has pulled on him in their lifetime, without a doubt.

“Kid, I’m so sorry. I have to stop the bleeding.”

“S’still bleedin’?”

It is. Gus’s leg is damp. Probably sticky. Every molecule in his body is trying not to think about it. 

“Gus, brace his shoulder.”

“Yes sir.”

Shawn’s mind registers what’s about to happen a second before Henry presses down; Gus can see it all click in his drooping eyes, which widen. The noise that comes out of his mouth is sudden and horrible. Worse than God’s most disgusting broken bone. Gus doesn’t move, but his stomach lurches, and his head spins. Henry’s pressure is firm and professional and unyielding and he can see the old brown jacket the older man stripped off his own shoulders start to stain where it rests against Shawn, who seems to be remembering that he got shot with a real live bullet for the first time since they found him. 

“Dad – Dad, stop, stop, fuck! Why’d you – doesn’ haft’ – jus -”

Plausible deniability, Gus thinks while Shawn complains. It would be normal except Henry's actually apologizing. He stares at the ugliest sepia-patterned fruit on his best friend's dad's shirt and counts to ten, then twelve, then thirteen. He wonders what Destiny's up to these days. He doesn't look and pretends not to hear, either.

“Gus,” Henry says after another minute, and Gus looks up. With a jolt, he realizes that he’s watching Henry Spencer cry. Nothing about his voice has changed; nothing about his posture has changed. The faint sound of an ambulance invades their consciousness while mundane, dull tears shine in the pale afternoon sun as they leak out of the older man's eyes and down his grizzled exhausted face. “You need to throw up?”

He does, kind of. Shawn’s spare hand has grabbed the dirty fabric of Gus’s jeans in one fist. He isn’t yelling anymore and from over Henry’s shoulder Gus can see Juliet, across the road, looking over at them desperately. She probably can't see the details, but there's no way she hasn't heard. Shawn gasps a shaky breath and squeezes his eyes shut and bites down into his own shirtsleeve to muffle himself. Gus and the car are blocking the worst of it from everyone else. The sirens are properly loud now. 

“He’s gonna be okay,” Henry says. “You know? It just looks like hell.”

Like he’s fifteen again, and being ordered to go get the keys. Gus shakes his head anyway, and Henry doesn’t ask again.