#i hope he goes back to france and tries his best. ):

[outlying-hyppocrate]

ok basically aoyama was the UA traitor (forced) he was originally quirkless and got a quirk from afo and at the end bc he felt bad he said he'd drop out of class A and retry being a hero. shinsou took his place in the class. he had a very sweet goodbye party they ate crepes and eri sang for him

i'm crying,,,,,,,,, that last bit is so lovely,,,,,,,,,

[textmel8r]

[ SMAU + DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( eighth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugarmommy! reader , sugarbaby! toji , smut , submissive toji , finger sucking , masturbation , oral sex (f!receiving) , profanity

୨୧˚ an; so not happy with my writing in this one, probs will rewrite it one day but here, have a couple thousand words of smut🗣️ this is lowkey another filler but lowkey not at the same time? i wanted to fit in another intimate moment before shit goes south awooooooo

You were not fibbing when you said you knew your way around the kitchen. “Holy fuck,” Toji all but moans, tearing into another piece of tender meat with his canines. It was juicy and seasoned almost too much, just the way he likes it. He squints across the table, where you eat in tandem with much better manners than he could ever hope to have. “Who taught you how to cook like this?”

You shrug bashfully under his gawking, wiping your mouth with a dainty stroke of the napkin you had placed in your lap. “I traveled a lot in between semesters at college. Italy, France, Denmark…” You list a few more places that Toji wouldn’t be able to point out on a map. “Those European countries do food so good, I guess it inspired me to give my best shot at it as well.” Self taught, huh? Yeah, you seem like the type to succeed in everything you try. 

The man nods, ultimately wishing he had more to add. He wishes he had just an ounce in common with you, a smidgen of relatability to offer. But he doesn’t. Toji didn’t finish school. He’s never left Japan. He’s never cooked a damn thing from scratch in his life. You must’ve caught on to his struggle and decided to show mercy by adding, “actually, right now we’re eating steak au poivre.”

“Steak au po–” He cut himself off before inevitably butchering the name. “What is that? French?”

You’re nodding enthusiastically. “That’s right. I happened upon this dish when I was staying in Bordeaux with a few college mates.” There’s a sweet smile tugging sheepishly at your lips as you recall the memory. “I fell in love with it the second I tried it, and asked the manager right then and there for the recipe.”

Toji shakes his head with disbelief, talking with his mouth full of food. “You’re just full of stories, aren’t you?”

“Some would call me experienced, yes.”

His brow raises. Experienced? Was that a come on? Toji gives way to his own quaint smile, jutting his chin toward you. “Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

“Steak au whatever.”

You oblige his request, repeating the name back slowly so he could attempt to grasp it. “Steak au poivre. Now you give it a go.”

Toji finishes chewing the mouthful of peppercorn-laced meat, swallowing it down with a swig of the Château Cheval Blanc you’d poured at the start of the meal. Some fancy French imported wine is what he gathered from the long winded description you waxed as you topped off an extravagant glass for him. Wine never really appealed to the man—he usually went for the harder shit. The type that you knock back from lowball glasses. The type to get you piss drunk after three rounds—but it was all you ever drank. It was safe to say he was becoming accustomed to your tastes. Maybe the sweetness wasn’t so terrible. He clears his throat, putting embarrassingly too much effort into his “steak au poivre.” It doesn’t sound pretty the way it did leaving your mouth, and he grimaces. “Can’t fucking do it.”

“I thought you sounded good.” He scoffs at that, but you click your tongue. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll just leave the French speaking to you.” The plate before him sits scraped clean. You’re still working on your dinner. Fuck, you’re a slow eater. “You know any more?”

“Any more French, you mean?”

He nods along with a gruff hum, swishing his tongue around his teeth, collecting anything left over of that smokiness from the peppered steak. 

“Hm. Tu m'as manqué, Toji.” You hide your grin behind the rim of your glass. 

Thick forearms crossed over chest, he croons a deep, barely-there chuckle. “I heard my name. Tell me what you said.”

“No way,” you chortle.

“Ah, c’mon. You’re all blushy.” He licks over the chappedness of his lower lip, knowing gaze latched onto your lips. It was hypnotic, your smile. “You say somethin’ dirty about me, ma’am?”

The way in which your eyes widened coquettishly at the accusation had Toji’s heart beating just a bit more erratically. Like a fawn, he thinks. All that was missing on you was a white, cottony tail. 

“If I said something dirty, It would have been in a language you could understand.” Finally, you take the last bite off your dish as well. Hopefully that means dinner is officially over; Toji has been craving dessert since he stepped foot in your house and got showered in ‘welcome back’ gifts. “I’m not the type of woman easily embarrassed by my sexuality. I thought you would have picked that up by now.”

He persists. “What are you embarrassed by?”

“Toji.” His name is spoken sharply, a verbal warning that he was tiptoeing the line. Threatening to shatter that layer of thin ice he stood upon. This is what he’s been needing. This is what he’s been fucking needing.

“I’ve been thinking about you, ma’am.” Any semblance of a filter is long gone, melted by the sheer heat of his desire. His limbs feel heavy, hands tumbling into his lap. They rest on the wide surface area of sweatpant-clad thighs, just sitting there. Feeling himself. “This entire week, I’ve been thinking.”

You seem to get the implications of his confession. “In a sexual way?”

“Yeah.” That’s a white lie. To be truthful was to admit that the sexual thoughts Toji let himself think about you were the minority. Objectifying you in the depths of his mind wasn't enough. He thought about your breasts, sure. He thought about your curves, and your ass, and your mouth, and every other body part that would grant him pleasure. But that wasn’t enough for Toji. Fixations of his tended to lead him astray from fantasies, instead breaching carefully saved memories stored within his brain catalog. When he touched himself, it was more or less to remembrances of mundane tasks you’d dealt him in the past. All the times you had bestowed little gifts and knick knacks on a whim just because they reminded you of him. Or when you drag him to the outlets with you for a shopping spree and he’ll act miserable the entire time, but you both knew it was a horribly crafted facade. Or even, like now, when you’d treat him to dinner because you worry over him and his eating schedule. The little things really counted; a revelation that scared Toji shitless, so he opted to ignore those budding, foreign feelings and replace it with familiarity: lust.

“Toji, honey, are you alright?”

What? His breathing pattern was off kilter, and the muscles of his jaw flexed unconsciously. When had he started palming himself? His right hand had grown a mind of its own apparently, because when Toji stole a glance downward, there it was; kneading roughly at the bulge between his meaty thighs. How desperate was he? To go dormant like that, so consumed with the thought of you that he began to instinctually masturbate himself not even five feet away from where you sit. And why… Why wasn’t he stopping?

“Can we fuck now?”

“Oh.” You barely look shocked. Not the slightest bit appalled like he expected you to be. Instead, slide off a ring that took purchase wrapped around your middle finger. A sigh escapes you as you place the band on the table. “I still have more to ask you. I wanted to know how your work trip went.”

Toji shakes his head, something akin to a toddler trying to get fed vegetables. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t wanna talk about work.”

“Why not?” You frown, leaning forward against the tabletop. “Was it bad?”

He knows what you’re doing. Trying to make him spill any details about his job. Well, he won’t give in. 

A heavy sigh slithers out hoarsely from the deepest part of his lungs, and Toji presses his palms to the table, pushing himself up. He stands tall, much like the tent at his crotch, and slinks along the roundness of the dinner table, walking his fingertips across the top all the while. “I don’t want to talk,” he reiterates, breathy and abrasive.

Finally, Toji stands before you. Still, you are seated, unbothered by the towering man’s presence. No, you’re swirling your wine glass sophisticatedly, lips pursed into a narrow line. Like you’re the slightest bit irritated with his persistent defiance. 

God, you won't even look at him.

Or maybe, you were never irritated at all. Toji cops a second glance to your lips, finding the faintest ghost of a frown. “You’ve been acting so… so removed. Ever since you left.” Now you’re looking at him; Toji shudders under the intense fire that billows behind your eyes, wide and wetted with worry. “I want you to feel like you can tell me things. I want your trust, Toji.”

You have his trust. Every last crumb of it resides in the palm of your soft hand.

“... And I know that it’s stupid—I’m stupid for wanting that from you. I know what this relationship is, and I know that there are these unspoken boundaries, but I—I can’t—”

It was the first time he’d ever heard you speak with such a volatile expression. There was a tremble of uncertainty in your vocal chords, carrying into the skittish dialogue that tumbled out in rambles. Something about such a show of pity from you, his Y/n, made his guts churn like butter. He can’t listen to this any more. With swiftness, Toji dives down to press his mouth against yours, swallowing the words that die on your tongue. One hand grips the back of your chair, the other holds the roundness of your cheek. He feels your gasp, feels the way your shoulders jolt in surprise, but he doesn’t release you.

This was really only his second instance of kissing you. The first had been in his bed, with his groin pressed to yours, tongue fighting its way to the back of your throat with greedy fervor. This second kiss was anything but greedy, though. Despite the ache that roiled at the base of his stomach, Toji didn’t serve you a kiss that reflected his desire. Tongues never met and spit was never swapped; just lips on glossed lips. 

At last, Toji reluctantly peels away. Lipstick residue feels heavy on his mouth, and he knows he probably looks foolish donning remnants of your dark lip lacquer, but he doesn’t move to wipe his skin. The circular bottom of the wine glass clinks as you clumsily set it down, freeing your hands. They branch upwards, finding his face. A pair of thumbs rub the sensitive pads of flesh beneath his eyes, massaging out those ugly, darkened bags that have accumulated as a result of many sleepless nights. It feels orgasmic, the way you handle him. 

“I trust you.” The words are out in the air before he has time to think.

You brighten, sunshine hiding in the crevices of your smile. “You mean that?” You ask him, hands petting down the sides of his neck.

He meant it wholeheartedly. The amount of trust left within Toji was scarce. Too many bad people fucked him for life; showed him the meaning of the phrase ‘trust is earned.’ So it really fucking freaked him out how quickly you came to earn it. A little over a year-–that’s how long he’s known you—you’ve have plenty of time to fuck him over. To batter him. And yet, you haven’t. All you’ve ever shown him was kindness and consideration and warmth and everything else Toji never knew how bad he was thirsty for.

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“I trust you, too, Toji.” 

He wonders if he deserves that. Because really, what has given you besides his annoyingly closed-off dickhead attitude? He provides fuck all, but you still stick around. 

Toji doesn’t say anything. He swoops once more, capturing your lips in a hungrier kiss than before. All the playful innocence is tossed aside, forgotten in lieu of Toji’s devastatingly furious need to consume you. Tongues finally greet each other in a spittle-slicked tango; he dominates yours with ease, worming behind your teeth just to collect your sweet flavor. Wine, he thinks. You taste like your goddamn expensive ass wine.

He feels feverish. One-track minded, hyper fixated on you. On your crossed legs underneath the table. “Fuck,” Toji breathes into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip.

Your hand clashes against the hard wall of his chest, patting it softly. A wordless signal that you need some air, so he retracts. “Let’s go to the bedroom.” 

The plea goes in one ear and falls right out the other. Toji leeches against your neck, dragging the flat of his wet tongue over that little throbbing pulse point. His teeth grate against your flawless skin, completely none the wiser that you’re even talking to him. You thwack the back of his head, and he lurches into the crook of your shoulder, muffling a groan.

“No marks, I’ve got work.”

His eyes roll, face still burrowed against you. He couldn’t give less of a shit about your job right now. 

“Come on, let’s go to my room.” “Gimme a sec.” He’s still licking below your jaw, making his way down. This stupidly lavish house had been cursed with three levels, your bedroom holed up at the very top floor. Like hell Toji was going to part ways with your glorious body so you two could safely make it up the two ridiculous staircases. Fuck that.

“Toji, I’m… serious…” Your raucous pants of anticipation suggest otherwise. Toji has sunken to his knees, crawling beneath the table and finding a home on the floor before your seat. His kneecaps scream in discomfort as they pin heavily to the wooden floorboards, but Toji bears the pain well ( he’d always been somewhat of a masochist ). Your legs are still crossed, one knee hinging over the other. 

“Open these.” Two calloused hands cuff around the thinnest parts of either ankle. Your legs were conspicuously smooth; did you shave for him? There is an attempt at delicacy when Toji pries your legs apart, and it makes you giggle. 

“Here?” You laugh more. Toji suspects you’re patronizing him in a way. “I haven’t even cleared the table. Are you really so impatient?”

And here Toji thought he exercised his patience well. He didn’t jump your bones the second of his arrival. No, he waited like a good boy until after dinner. “I’ve waited for this the whole week.” Restless hands walk up those porcelain calves, strong and lean from working in high heels. They wander up, hooking beneath the junctures of your knees; Toji uses his celestial strength to his advantage, maneuvering both legs with ease until he’s got them resting comfortably over his broad shoulders. Toji turns, cocks his head to give a serpentine lick to the inside of your thigh. Then a bite. “Don’t make me wait any longer. I’ll fucking die.”

You peer down at him. “Don’t talk like that.” You feel yourself. Small hands groping your chest, sliding lower and lower. “You’re not going to die.”

His mouth feels sticky, like there’s a spoonful of honey under his tongue. “I might.”

Your heel drives into his upper back, an impish little warning that makes him throb all over. “Don’t talk like that, I said.” Those manicured hands have garnered Toji’s full attention. They descend all the way to the hem of your luxurious dress, wrenching into its hem. It’s the sexiest sight Toji had ever seen: you pulling your dress up with the quickness of a sloth, inching the fabric up until it scrunches around the dip of your waistline. 

“These are hot,” he murmurs, thumbing the waistband of the scarlet panties. They were tight, sinking into the ample pudge of your hips and soft tummy. So fucking beautiful, he thinks, the contrast between deep red lace and the flesh of which it lays upon. The perfect, little present gift wrapped in a low-rise lace thong. “Bet they cost a pretty penny.”

You spare a breathy exhale through your nostrils. “I don’t look at price tags when I buy things for you.”

You bought these just for him? “You spoil me.”

“You deserve to get spoiled, baby.”

He is so mind numbingly turned on. Sickening tendrils of appetence bleed into his vision, his lust coils around his limbs and guide his movements like a marionette. Toji thumbs your—his—panties to the side, soaking in the sight of that pretty pussy he’s longed to be back inside of since the moment he pulled out. His face is close, so fucking close that he can feel warmth radiate off your core and deepen his flush.

Perhaps this is how he begins his journey of repayment. Ever indebted to you, despite your odd relationship being a mutually agreed upon situation, Toji fears you’ve truly altered him. For the better or worse he isn’t sure yet; all he knows is that you make him feel good. Better than he’s felt in fucking ages. You said he deserves to get spoiled? Well so do you, too.

Toji eats you with erotic vigor, delving into the deepest parts of your cunt with his lascivious tongue. He’ll be the first to admit that he doesn’t possess many skills. He isn’t terribly smart, nor is he gifted with great conversational skills like you. He isn't good at holding a real job. Isn’t very good at expressing himself. Not good at abiding by the law, or staying sober, either. But if ever there was an artistry in which Toji had full confidence he had mastered, it was oral sex.

“Oh, Toji,” you gasped, forcing his face deeper with a hand on the back of his skull. “Right there.”

Toji dug you out, excavating your hole with expertise. One hand slipped up beneath your dress, under your bra, pawing at your breast whilst the other busied itself in his pants. He stroked himself to the heady taste of pussy, fanning your clit with hot puffs of breath. You writhe against his open mouth, hips dancing, hands grabbing.

It’s more enjoyable like this, Toji thinks briefly. To not expect a wad of bills afterward in exchange for his velvet tongue. He eats you for leisure, because he wants to, and because you want him, and no other reason. It’s enough that you both need each other.

Toji groans loosely when you yank his hair, getting off on the way you move his head to your liking. “Suck my clit,” you instruct quietly, and he obliges with upmost obedience, nose nuzzling against the tuft of hair at your pubic bone.

Toji opens his eyes for the first time in a while, then thanks God he did. You look something like a goddess, celestial and righteous in the way your body works against his face. Using him to cure an insatiable desperation, with your lids screwed shut and head tossed back on your shoulders. “Are you gonna cum?” He sits up on his haunches a little taller, a little more alert now to fully experience your orgasm. “Cum in my mouth.”

He begs for it. Begs like a little bitch. Over and over again, mumbling the mantra between rough suctions to your swollen clit. Begging wasn’t like him. His father beat the beggar out of him many years ago, said it was weak to yearn for things so badly. The old man was right, Toji has never felt weaker than he does right now, knelt under the table with his head between your thighs.

“Oh my God.” Your voice is strained thin, each syllable pulled taught. The vice grip on his roots start to sting, follicles ripping from the scalp, but doesn’t tell you to stop. “Toji, fuck you’re so good.”

He’s good.

“You’re so good.”

“Mmn.” He squeezes himself, chokes his dick hard. Toji feels it when you cum. Warmth floods the cavern of his slack mouth, gushing and creamy. You fall silent, stunned by the force of your orgasm he presumes. Toji licks you through your high, guzzling down every drop of wetness that seeps from your spasming slit. It’s hot and gushy and messy; cum dribbles past his lips, collecting in beads that roll down his tensing neck.

Only when you blindly push at his face does Toji part ways with your center, leaning past your trembling hand to nuzzle into your stomach. It’s concave with an ongoing exhale; he nips at your navel. “Breathe.”

“Toji,” you whisper. On the come down, you’re a lot nicer; those needy, grabbing hands of yours now stroked down the tangled mess of his damp shag. He presses a handful of sloppy smooches above your belly button.

The erection trapped in the confines of his pants twitch at the dreadfully angelic drawl of his name. “Good?” His question is gruff and pointless as ever; anyone with eyes could tell you just had the most Earth-shattering orgasm of your life.

Your head lolls forward, rolling down to face him. Fingertips brush his chin, collecting the sticky residuals that dampened his stubble. You take your lower lip in between teeth when you bring those same soaked digits to Toji’s open mouth. He doesn’t resist you. Fingers are welcomed; he unhinges his jaw, baring the same holy tongue that just drove you to Heaven. You wipe cum-ridden fingers against the muscle, and Toji clamps around them in a vacuum-esque suction, looking up at you through dark lashes all the while. Your thumb traces the raised flesh on his upper lip. That ugly, jagged scar.

He catches your wrist when you move to flee his mouth, holding you in place. Sucking on you, touching himself along the way. Lapping between fingers, tonguing the thin web of skin there.

“So good, baby boy.” There’s the praise he craved, the praise he played oblivious to get. You claw deeper, jutting towards the back of his throat, pulling a scratchy gag from the man. What kind of fetish was this? You made everything sexy, even whatever this humiliation ritual was; watching him choke down slippery fingers with fat tears bleeding at his waterline. “You are so beautiful, Toji.”

“—oh en nah,” or no I’m not had there not been a barrier blocking his teeth from touching. Toji knows he’s an aged man, one riddled with scars and wounds and bruises and gauges and what have you. His skin is nowhere near perfect, baring disgusting reminders of what he does—who he is. Beautiful is what he’d call someone like you. Someone calm and serene, humble and kind. You’re a beautiful sight, and you’re also the complete and utter opposite of him.

“You are.” He wanted to be inside you for this. Toji had been daydreaming this scenario over and out in his head over the long haul of the week, going through the motions of his plan to fuck you. He’d give you everything tenfold, a barbaric fucking unlike your first time together. He imagined finally showing you his version of things, bending you over the couch first thing and blowing his load deep into your cunt.

Toji choked again, and a single thick tear fell from his lashes. You whispered sweet prayers, holding his face, wiping his eyes, fucking his mouth with fingers that tasted of your cum. It was a damn mystery how you rendered him so fucking pitiful, to be nutting on his knees into his boxers like this. A damn mystery.

His breaths are ragged when he explodes, hand and cock obscured by the sweatpants that sat low around his hips. Toji doesn’t stop pumping, tugging the shaft with long, hard strokes, wringing himself dry. Dark eyes weld shut, and he collapses against your thigh with a quake of exhaustion. Toji doesn’t know when you withdrew your fingers; the only tell that gave it away was the string of saliva that slapped coldly against his chin in the wake of your removal. He mewls, a graveling sound that sounds as if his voice box had been dragged through a sea of razor blades.

“You alright?”

A flowery hand slithers beneath his damp cheek, and suddenly his heavy head is being lifted. Toji is forced to meet your soft gaze; adoration brims in your eyes, as though you’re proud of him for creaming in his briefs like some flimsy virgin.

“Answer me, please.”

Toji smacks his mouth, preparing for his voice to project broken and fragmented. “I’m fine.” He could do without the pity; you were cautious to a fault. He wasn’t made of glass.

“You’re filthy.”

He grumbles, feigning grumpiness and averting his eyes off to the side. “I just had your pussy in my mouth.”

You bend at the waist, leaning down to meet him for a kiss. Toji melts against you, cradling your face with his semen-stained hand. You don’t seem to mind the wetness. He’s pouting against your mouth, childlike. “I wanted to cum inside you.”

You latch onto his nose, nibbling the point. “Let’s go clean up.” There’s a telling smile etched onto your lips, and your mouth finds his ear. Whispering ever so sensually, “I have a big shower in my bedroom.”

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[wonsdoll]

EMAILS i CANT SEND ── PJS

PREC𝓲S ｡｡ 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗃𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗌, 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄. 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗌, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋

박종성 ／⠀ 𝑓𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒 reader ── slight angst + non 𝑖𝑑𝑜𝑙 au ｡｡ jay debut on my acc we screamed & for mils duh because she’s my jong girl >_< !! ∿ ✦ more

THE SOUND OF YOUR COMPUTER GOES OFF as you continued to work on your last designs for the night. your boss sent out one last email about final submissions before the fashion show in milan for next month.

you were a fashion designer, designing clothing for women in fashion shows. your job had its perks, your creativity was on showcase for many to see, many to hopefully buy if it went successful. although your life was at its high right now, back then it wasn’t.

four months ago you were in the happiest relationship possible, or so you thought. jay was a sweet guy, he always had you in his thoughts, he was your protector. who knew your protector could suddenly switch up and change drastically ?

jay had moved to france, his dream country, he also got a job as a famous watch designer. designing watches in paris was jay’s dream, something he took seriously and did whatever it took to achieve it. leaving you behind was one thing, it hurt more than any wound.

jay was living his best life, doing his dream job in his dream country. you tried to continue with life, the only way to move forward, was to move on and push through.

you hit sent on your final email, your mouse running over the words “draft”. you clicked on it, slightly curious about all your drafted emails, that’s when you saw it.

drafts: 76 unsent emails.

seventy six times, you tried to reach out to jay, in hopes of bringing you two back together, those messages never made it to him. you went back and forth with your inner thoughts whether or not you should send them, afraid of jays reaction. after seventy six times, you decided to stop saving emails and move forward.

your heart hurt as you scrolled to view more emails, more failed attempts of starting back something you once held so close to you.

subject: i miss you more than anything

to: jongsongpark@emails.com

y/nforever@emails.com: jay it’s me.. i miss you so much, the winters are colder without your warmth. something i can’t live without. i hope paris is good, have you tried the fresh croissants yet? remember our dream back when we were teens? going to the eiffel tower after a fresh french breakfast. we were young and wild, i miss us.

please take care of yourself jay, i mean it.

with love, y/n.

and another.

subject: merry christmas my love

to: jongsongpark@emails.com

y/nforever@emails.com: merry christmas jay ! i hope you got everything you dreamed this year, maybe even more. i miss our little traditions, like watching home alone on christmas eve. our matching pajamas which i still have and wear. i also still have that locket you gifted me, i hold it close to my heart, like i do with you. please get back to me soon, i want to make things right.

with love, y/n.

you closed your laptop, pushing it away as you sat up, preparing yourself for a late night walk. late night walks have always helped you clear your mind, especially late at night, when all your thoughts roamed to jay’s whereabouts.

even though things were hard for you, they were even harder for jay. jay sat up in his bed, checking his emails for the night before getting ready for a huge meeting in the morning. his fingers glided onto the touchpad, navigating his way through the emailing system.

jay’s computer pointer landed on the words “drafts”. with curiously, jay clicks drafts, finding over 70 emails of his failed attempts to reach out.

subject: paris update.

to: y/nforever@emails.com

hey sweet girl, i’ve made it to paris. i’m scared i won’t lie, i’m far away from you so i won’t be protecting you, not like i was doing a good job at it anyways. you taught me a lot in life and that’s why i’m chasing my dreams. let’s talk soon okay?

missing you, jay.

and another.

subject: paris fashion

to: y/nforever@emails.com

hey sweet girl, all the paris fashion reminds me of you. i know how much you love creating designs and everything everyone wears here has a touch of you to it. i good your job is going well, sending you a few french clothing pieces, hope you like it.

with love always, jay.

jay did send you a few pieces of french clothing. a gorgeous skirt with detailing that called your name, a few tops that hugged your chest perfectly, and a black fur coat, similar to the one who’ve been working on for months.

jay continued to scroll through his drafted emails, all his failed attempts to try to reconnect, all his late night thoughts. missing you was an understatement, he wanted to be with you, but jay never knew if the feeling was mutual.

his thoughts of you never left, jay was hurting. although his dreams did come true, one dream was left behind and it was you. you were his present, past, snd hopefully his future. jay was determined to see you again, the real question was, how was he going to see you.

jay did a few calls before heading to sleep, asking a few of his coworkers about your designing company and when the next fashion show in milan may be. his eyes lighting up the minute he heard you may come to milan in a month for the show.

this was his opportunity, his opportunity to spend time with you and reconnect. after his calls, jay went back into his email, his movements leading back to the “new email” page.

it took a while for jay to find the right wording, knowing this email would actually get sent to you, no backing down. his heart faced as he typed, the clicking easing his mind slowly.

subject: let’s meet again.

to: y/nforever@emails.com

hey sweet girl, i’ve been thinking over these months, let’s meet up in milan when you get here. i could show you around, maybe take you to get that paris latte you’ve always wanted ? just let me know your flight info and i’ll be there okay??

with love always, jay.

💌 : jay debut on my acc yippie. i’ll proofread in the morning i’m sooo tired so goodnight ! time to honk shooo honk shooo mimimimi BTW FOR @kairoot bc she’s the biggest jay girl eva !

[ezri261]

Chamber was never one for showing genuine interest in somebody. The people he slept with were merely flings or just used for his plan. But once he got into the protocol; he didn't expect his first love to appear.

[♡] Past Day

(Y/N) (L/N), born in (O/C), forced to move to France for business purposes. There, they met Vincent Fabron, a child whom they were afraid to converse with due to the fact of how he looked.

Vincent, didn't mind this. He was used to people avoiding him due to multiple circumstances, but something drew him towards them, like a magnet of some sort.

Of course, he had to find out. He tried his best to befriend the shy person, and little by little, he saw how they slowly came out of their shell and started initiating more conversations.

[♡] Past Timeskip

"Vincent! I made you a necklace! It's a thin one, so you can hide it if you want."

"Ah, merci (Y/N), you are far too kind."

Vincent looked at the necklace and put it on. It fit nicely around his neck, and it felt... Nice? Lovely? He felt something, but he couldn't pinpoint the word, but having (Y/N) give him something that was hand-crafted was... Flattering.

[♡] Past Timeskip

"I'm getting forced into an arranged marriage with the Laurent Family."

They cried into Vincent's arms as they vented out their frustrations. They didn't want to get married so early, and Vincent's heart ached when he heard what they were getying forced into.

"Chéri, I promise that I'll get you out of this mess, okay?"

He didn't know why he said that; he didn't even know how to get them out, but when he saw the hopeful look in their eyes... He knew that he was going to find a way.

.

.

.

.

Too bad that the first light happened, causing them to separate.

[♡] Present Day

Chamber walked through the halls of the base, trying to familiarize himself around the area since this is where he will be staying most of the time.

Agents knew not to trust him, given his past, yet he could care less.

His mind wandered over the past, hoping that he'll meet them again soon, and not their lifeless body.

[♡] Present Timeskip

"Chamber! You’re joining Agent 8, Fade, Omen, and Raze for a mission on Bind. They'll inform you more about the mission in the common area."

It's been a few months since he joined, and he knew most agents, and some were warming up to him. But, he hasn't met 'Agent 8', and was more curious at the fact that Brimstone didn't say their code name, only their Agent number.

"Pardon me, but who is 'Agent 8'?"

He couldn't help but ask, who wouldn't when you haven't seen the face of this 'Agent 8'.

"You'll meet them in the common area. You lot will leave at 8am tomorrow."

After Brimstone informed Chamber of the basics, he went over to the common area to find the other three there

"Excuse me, but isn't 'Agent 8' supposed to be here?"

"Yeah! They're just about to return from a mission! I don’t know how the heck they even do it; always in missions!"

Raze boasted, quickly turning over to Fade to go over the mission one more time as Omen was standing next to them, listening in and giving his own thoughts.

Chamber furrowed his eyebrows and nodded. So the reason why he hasn't met this mystery agent was because they were always in missions..? How hardworking.

Chamber shook his head and walked forward to know more about the mission, putting the other thoughts to the back of his mind.

.

.

.

.

"Sorry for the delay. I got caught up with some other things."

Chamber turned around just as the mystery person was taking off their hood; only to be met by the same (E/C) eyes that he adored, the same ones he looked forward to meeting everyday.

"I'm (C/N), I'll be the one leading the team. I'll assign Omen to lead when something goes wrong on my end."

NOTES:

(Y/N) (L/N) = Your Name, Last Name

(O/C) = Origin Country

(E/C) = Eye Color

(C/N) = Code Name

[shelbyssins]

Hi there Rosie! Welcome again!! 😊😊 I apologize in advance for the fact that this request may not be the best…I’m not good at thinking them up — but I wanted to send one in, so here goes…

Would you be able to write a Tommy Shelby x Reader where Tommy and reader were previously in a relationship but separated for some reason (I can’t think of one atm so I’ll leave that up to you) but then he crosses paths with her some time down the road, when he least expects to, and is suddenly sidetracked by her again…like maybe he was about to do some business but sees her and is completely distracted. And then he does whatever he can to talk to her again. …. It’s up to you whether you want to go full angst or sprinkle in some fluff at the end.

I hope this made sense…thanks so much in advance if you choose to write the story!! ❤️

Home ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Language, Mentions of violence, Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 7,872

Request for: @runnning-outof-time

A/N: So this story ran away with me a bit... I absolutely loved writing this request and really wish I didn't have to work so I could've finsihed it sooner. I hope this story does justice to what you had in mind! If you read this fic, let me know what you think! I'm excited to upload more soon. Enjoy x

--

The shop was quiet today. Race day wasn’t for another week and most factories didn’t pay their worker’s wages until tomorrow, so most men were scrounging up their last few pennies to put food on the table before they could crowd the betting shop. It was all for the best, really; Tommy was in a frightfully awful mood, clattering about his office, ripping desk drawers and cabinet doors open as if the wood had personally offended him.

“Where the fuck is this fucking diary?” He muttered to himself, an unlit cigarette hanging forgotten between his lips. Stumbling over his desk chair, he cursed at whichever higher power was listening for testing him so harshly today. As he fumbled with his final drawer, the last iota of patience he had left drained out of him, and he forced the handle so hard that the entire drawer came out of the cabinet and crashed to the floor with a near deafening thud. Tommy flinched as the noise echoed around in his head, briefly taken to a place better forgotten, distant explosions, distant death. He pushed away the burning behind his eyes and bent to collect the various papers scattered around the floor.

They were mostly old contracts and accounting bills, permanently wrinkled, ink faded by the passage of the years, but one thing Tommy didn’t expect was peeking out from under a pile of old letters. A photograph, a reminder of someone he all too often tried to push away, just like every other painful memory. He staggered back a little, struck by this sudden resurgence of his past love, struck by this sadness curling around his lungs. 

Tommy clasped the photograph in one hand, her eyes staring unwaveringly back at him. He remembered when she gave him the picture; she had tucked it into the pocket of his coat just before he left for France, her hands softly trembling, eyes glassy with tears. Tommy slept with it under his pillow every night during the war. Sometimes she was the only reason he fought for another day, the only thing that could bring him back to his feet from the abyss of crippling fear. 

He was so angry all of a sudden, kicking the wooden drawer across the room just to feel the ache of his foot, just for the satisfaction when it hit the wall and splintered apart. Just so he could distract himself from the guilt rising through his body like a sickness.

“Fuck!” He roared into the silence.

Tommy’s fingers twitched for a moment, immediately craving to tear the photo into a thousand shreds, but he couldn’t do it to her - he almost felt like it would hurt her now if he did. He was too ashamed to look back at her beautiful face as he folded the picture away, just like he couldn’t look at her when she left.

All it took was one threat against her. One far too many. Tommy closed his eyes and thought of her, the soft smiles she gave only to him, her melodic laugh, the way she lit up every dark corner of his life. There would be no reason for him to keep living if he robbed the world of that brightness, could never live with himself if he didn’t keep her safe from his enemies. So Tommy convinced himself it was better to push her away than to ever see her dead because of him. He could make her hate him if he had to, anything to get her as far removed as possible. “You’re just not enough for me anymore, Y/n,” He said, aiming for nonchalance though his voice cracked on her name.She recoiled away from Tommy like he had slapped her, eyes stinging with tears as she turned her back to him, embarrassed.“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve proven to me what everybody always told me was true,” She spoke in a watery voice, tearful yet calm, but Tommy almost wished she’d scream at him, anything was better than this broken girl in front of him. “You have no room in your life for anyone’s interests but your own, Thomas Shelby. You knew I’d loved you from the moment we met, and yet you strung me along anyway. I knew exactly what you were capable of, but I never saw such cruelty in you.” Y/n finished her sentence looking Tommy in the eyes, fierce in her grief, “If you say you don’t love me, I swear you’ll never see me again.” Her words tore through him like a bayonet, killing a part of his soul he didn’t know was still alive. He refused to meet her gaze, ashamed of what he might see reflected in her eyes. He didn’t speak for a beat too long, not trusting that the truth of his feelings for Y/n might come tumbling out of his mouth like a traitorous avalanche. “I understand, Tommy,” Were her final words to him, spoken so tenderly that it almost comforted Tommy, it reminded him of the softness of his mother’s voice when she’d hushed him to sleep as a child, he swallowed down the lump in his throat, fighting to keep his face vacant.Y/n left Tommy standing on his own, her perfume lingering just in front of his face, fogging up his brain with all the loving words he wished so desperately he could say to her. Tommy’s chest heaved with the effort it took to keep his legs from darting out after her and begging her to stay. He cursed his ambition, cursed himself for breaking her heart, cursed himself for driving her away. He cursed everything he could for hoping she’d stay away from him forever.

~~~

Two days after he’d rediscovered Y/n’s photograph, Tommy found himself in the Garrison meeting two Irishmen over some headache about a fight. The air was a little stale in the snug, old alcohol soaked into the fabric of the couches and cigarette smoke absorbed by the walls. 

“Thomas Shelby,” The greeting hung stagnant in the room, Tommy not wanting to humour the men more than necessary.

Tommy seated himself at the table, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he did so, exuding class from every fibre of his clothing.

“So, what seems to be the issue?” Tommy ventured, knowing full well why they wanted an audience.

“One of your men attacked one of ours. All we’re asking for is fair recompense,” one man gurgled through his mouthful of whiskey. 

Tommy bit his tongue, dying to praise the Irishman for knowing such a long word, but he kept his little joke to himself, lips turned up in a smirk, “And why would I take responsibility for a street brawl I had nothing to do with?” Tommy asked, bored with the conversation.

“There’s only one gang reckless enough to employ stupid little feckers who wave around their razor-tipped hats like they’re trophies. Am I wrong in assuming you take responsibility for those stupid fucks?” The other man drawled, clearly a few more glasses deep than Tommy.

Tommy leaned forward in his seat, taking the bottle of whiskey from in front of the men and pouring himself a glass, having had his fill of them before he’d even sat down.

“Now, listen, gentlemen, you and I both know that my men don’t fight unprovoked. We also know that the Peaky Blinders have previously forgiven you a little misstep when one of your men tried to take another man’s wife against her will. A man on my territory and on my payroll. It wouldn’t take much for me to find out exactly why one of my men attacked yours and dissolve this little peace treaty,” Tommy rasped, his voice dropped low to threaten the men sat across from him.

“We still demand you make this right. We hear you Shelbys are rolling in the money nowadays,” The glint in their eyes told Tommy they were more moronic than he’d first thought. They’d shown their hand far too soon and shown they couldn’t keep up with Tommy’s intellect.

“So money’s what you want, ey?” Tommy smirked. “Tell you what. Here’s the first fucking instalment,” Tommy reached into his breast pocket and pulled out five pounds, throwing it onto the table in front of the men, “That’s nothing to me, as I’m sure you’re aware. Then for the next instalment, you’ll get your fair recompense in the form of a bullet each, right through both your heads.” Tommy makes an exaggerated and obvious gesture of stretching, showing the Irishmen a glimpse of the revolver strapped to his body holster, enjoying the way it made them squirm.

“My men outnumber your men by four to one. If I catch sight of a single one of you in my territory again, your little gang will go extinct. You can keep the five pound, buy your man a nice new white shirt and hope it inspires him to fight better, keep it clean this time round. Go on, fuck off,” Tommy gestures to the door with the cigarette he was in the midst of lighting, following the scared bodies as they scurried away, their metaphorical tails between their legs.

Tommy took a long drag from his cigarette and sighed out the smoke, closing his eyes to bring himself out of the mood those Irish had put him in. He knocked back another shot of whiskey, the satisfying burn distracting him for a brief moment. 

Then he heard it. A laugh, high and lilting like birdsong. A laugh he knew too well. He opened his eyes, his immediate thought that he’d drifted off briefly and was dreaming. He strained his ears, searching for the laughter again when it floated into the snug, tempting him out of his seat. 

He was opening the door before he even had a chance to tell himself to run the other way. Then his eyes fell upon her. Y/n was like an apparition, the way the last dregs of the afternoon sun filtered through the cloudy windows and bathed her in an ethereal glow, the light daring to touch only her, just like how she appeared to him in dreams. Y/n was stood at the bar, sipping a clear drink and wincing slightly at the taste after every mouthful. Rum, if Tommy remembered her preference correctly. He smiled despite his shock; she still had to force herself to drink it. She was chatting happily to a girl he didn’t know, a girl who was probably good looking when on her own, but who’s appearance was overshadowed in every possible way when placed next to such a beauty.

Despite the three years that had passed between them, Tommy noted that Y/n hadn’t changed too much. Her hair was a little darker, her features had become sharper, the softness of her youth having departed. Tommy couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, so familiar yet so unknown to him. The Y/n that left him was a girl, all wide grins and excitement. The Y/n he saw now had become a woman in her own right, she held her head a little higher, she kept her smiles demure. Tommy’s chest ached a little, he wondered when she changed into the woman who stood at the bar, wondered whether she was forced to leave her youth behind, wondered whether he could’ve protected that innocence if he’d have stayed with her.

Somewhere next to him, some drunkard knocked a glass to the floor, the sound of shattering glass drawing everyone’s eyes. Y/n’s gaze immediately locked with his. 

Tommy was rooted to the spot, feeling like the little boy who’d been caught eating sweets just before dinner time. He tried his best to regain control over himself and wandered over to the bar as nonchalantly as possible. 

“Thomas,” Y/n greeted simply, Tommy silently thanking her for opening the conversation for him. The way she looked at him felt undressing, her eyes were not unkind but she obviously wasn’t as affected by the meeting as Tommy. 

Tommy’s pride was a little wounded by her indifference, he hated that he was so nervous around her when she couldn’t seem more unbothered.

“Y/n,” Tommy replied, “You look good,” Such an understatement seemed like a crime, but he didn’t think he could find the right words to describe how she’d floored him with one look.

“Thank you,” She smiled softly at him, oozing class. Tommy’s legs felt a little unstable as she weakened him with that smile. He cleared his throat to attempt an even tone, “So where have you been?” 

The friend she was chatting with whispered something in Y/n’s ear before wandering over to a table, leaving the two alone. She knocked back the rest of her drink and Tommy couldn’t help but follow the way she tipped her head back, eyes trailing her exposed throat as she swallowed. She placed the glass back on the bar silently, “London,” She answered finally.

Tommy supposed that London made the most sense, given Y/n’s drive for adventure, he could see why the big city would attract her. Tommy thought that maybe he should leave it at that, her noncommital answers should have been enough of a clue that she didn’t want to talk, but his entire being was desperate for the encounter not to end so soon.

“So what are you doing back?” Tommy continued when the silence stretched on, distantly remembering the promise she made last time they spoke.

“I’m staying here for a while. For a friend’s wedding,” She clarified.

“I see,” Tommy replied, unsure what to say on the matter.

The silence drew on once again, such an unfamiliar feeling between the two. Tommy remembered the way they used to laugh, how Y/n’s lips were always curled up slightly at the corners, but looking at her solemn face now, he wondered if she had anyone who made her happy like he had.

Tommy was abruptly hit by the emptiness in his chest, the space Y/n left when she was gone having never been filled. He wanted to take her hand and talk about everything like they used to, longed to see her grin like she did three years ago, wanted to mend the heart he’d broken. 

“Will you join me in the snug for another drink?” Tommy ventured, watching her eyes intently, hoping he could see the cogs turning in her brain.

She smiled that soft smile again, with a warmth he didn’t deserve, wounding him. She reached out her delicate hand and cupped his cheek, Tommy couldn’t help the way his eyes fluttered closed. He had no idea that he’d missed her touch so greatly. Y/n brushed her thumb across his cheek gently.

“I think you and I both know that that’s a bad idea,” She replied, voice barely above a whisper.

Tommy fought hard to keep the disappointment out of his eyes when he finally brought himself to look at her again. Her hand lingered on his cheek for a moment, and Tommy wanted to run, push her away, fall into her arms all at once.

Y/n’s eyes pierced him, as if searching for something, then she let her hand drop back to her side, “Goodnight, Tommy,” was all she said as she went to rejoin her friend.

Tommy felt winded like she’d punched him. Seeing her again was such a sweet torture, knowing that she’d survived well enough without him should’ve been a welcome thought, but the overwhelming feeling was jealousy and sadness that others got to see her grow up, bitterness that it was his decision to drive her away and yet he wanted her back so badly.

Tommy spent the rest of the evening stewing and drinking, trying hard not to show any expression. All the while his eyes kept drawing to Y/n like a compass needle drawn to the North, eyes studying her face, trying to find his answers there. Not once did she look back at him. He deserved her ignorance. 

Tommy suddenly felt like he’d over stayed his welcome in his own pub, so he drained his whiskey and left. The icy rain lashed the gravel streets on his way home. Numbing his face, not quite numbing his heart.

~~~

Y/n walked home alone from the Garrison that night, grateful that the rain had ceased, yet wishing there was something to distract her from thoughts of Tommy. Sadness weighed heavily on her chest as she thought of what could’ve been between them by now. Marriage? A family? Every time she blinked, she saw blue eyes staring back at her. Small Heath invaded every one of her senses, the familiar smell of coal fire burning her lungs, distant shouting and car engines settling in her ears; they were odd things to be comforted by.

She finally arrived at the lodging house she was staying at and let herself into her room, the sudden silence oppressive. With nothing else to occupy her mind, she let out the shuddering breath she’d been holding all night, and with it, her tears fell freely down to her feet, the dam holding them back ultimately giving up. Y/n had stuck the pieces of her heart back together as best she could over the years, but all it took was one meeting with him to shatter it once again. Her ribs ached with the force of her sorrow, as if the shards of her heart were piercing her skin from the inside. She fell to her knees on the creaky wooden floor and clutched her arms around herself, sobbing like a child. 

When she had received the invitation to the wedding, her immediate reaction was the throw it away, knowing that returning to Small Heath was a poor decision, knowing she shouldn’t even entertain the notion. But Y/n was tempted already, she found herself daydreaming about the town that had once been her home, imagining what it would be like to return. She accepted the invitation, writing a letter to her friend informing her she would come. Y/n pretended to herself that she was only going because she wanted to support her friend, wanted to witness her marriage. But she knew her reasons were selfish in reality. She craved to see Tommy like he was an addiction, so she’d packed all of her things and was on the next available train home.

When Y/n saw him at the Garrison tonight she didn’t quite know what to do. There was a cruel part of her that reared its head, telling her to be cold, give him a taste of his own medicine. But she found it wasn’t hard to be distant from him, her heart closed its doors as soon as he started towards her, reminded of the pain he’d caused. 

Her entire reason for even going to the Garrison tonight was the hope that she’d see him, but when she finally did, all she hoped was that he’d feel a fraction of the misery he’d created in her, hoped that he regretted everything he’d done. The anger was a new emotion for Y/n, she’d spent night after night crying over her lost love, yet facing him now, she only felt a quiet rage simmering in the pit of her stomach.

Y/n climbed to her feet, feeling a little unsteady, from the alcohol or the night’s revelations she did not know, and peered out of her window. The glass was grimy with dust and soot, the town slept below her. The sky was an inky blue, never really turning pitch black during the summer, a permanent blanket of mist completely covered the stars. Her home hadn’t changed at all, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she had changed too much. She itched to run away from it all, return to London and pretend this had never happened, forget everything that once tied her to Small Heath. However, those ties were knotted around her every limb so tightly that no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get free, she couldn’t pretend that she had no feelings for Tommy anymore. He pulled her toward him like a string linked them and he was tugging, she feared that soon he’d pull her under if she let him.

Exhausted by the constant battle between her head and her heart, she fell into her tiny bed, head aching. Y/n fell asleep that night with tear-stained cheeks, she dreamt of blue eyes and rough hands.

~~~

The next morning, Y/n awoke fairly early as she’d forgotten to close the curtains last night and the morning sunlight was shining directly into her eyes. She groaned and checked the clock on her bedside table, it read 7:15am. Y/n decided against wallowing in her bed today and instead went to her cupboards to look for breakfast. She was wholly disappointed when she discovered the cupboards were empty save for some preserves, her stomach growled at the promise of food. So she pulled on a simple cream dress and black lace up boots and headed out into town to find something to eat.

There was something about walking the streets of Small Heath that felt so routine even after all these years, Y/n knew every pothole, every turn, near enough every face she passed. She didn’t realise how close she had strayed towards the betting shop until she saw the unmistakable heavy moustache upon Arther Shelby’s face. Panicked, she turned her head away from him, fully aware of his lack of tact, knowing he’d be asking all about her and Tommy if he saw her. 

Safely away from being cornered by any Shelbys, the bakery just down the road from the BSA Factory caught her eye, if the display of various fresh breads and pastries hadn’t convinced her, she was thoroughly tempted in by the sweet smell emanating from the building. 

Upon entering, she was hit by the noise of the shop, bakers slamming oven doors in the back, cashiers chatting to customers, so Y/n was confused when all the noise suddenly ceased. She looked around searchingly until her eyes found Tommy stood in the doorway, looking every bit the royalty of Small Heath.

He was dressed in his usual three piece suit, tailored to perfection, and it was only now Y/n realised how much he’d grown since she last saw him. His shoulders were broad and muscles thicker, he’d become every bit the man she always thought he would be. He seemed now to tower over her, even though they were still of a similar height. She tried to tamp down the heat rising to her cheeks as she took in his appearance, chiding herself for still being so attracted to him. 

“Mr Shelby!” Cried the owner of the place, “So good to see you in here,” the owner nodded his head so low it looked like he was bowing. Y/n nearly laughed, a little twinge of pride swelled at just how much Tommy had made of himself while she was gone.

Tommy just nodded dismissively, his eyes never leaving Y/n. She watched as the rest of the customers shuffled out one by one, all either rightly scared of Tommy or simply having other places to be.

The way Tommy’s eyes raked over Y/n’s body made her feel self conscious, suddenly overly aware of her plain outfit and the fact that her hair was hanging down past her shoulders and not pinned back like usual. She felt irritated that she evidently still cared what he thought of her. Y/n suspected that he’d followed her in here just for the purpose of seeing her again, why? She couldn’t figure it out, but the casual way he stood, hands in his trouser pockets, not speaking, was starting to annoy her. Y/n could only think he was enjoying the effect this little game of his was having.

“What are you doing here?” She accused, like this wasn’t a place open to the general public. 

Tommy smirked a little, seemingly amused, it just incensed Y/n that much more, “Just buying some breakfast, same as you,” He replied, warm voice heating her body more than the blaze from the ovens.

She couldn’t let herself be at his mercy, that one sentence sending a flush to her cheeks she could only pray he didn’t see, it wouldn’t do his ego any good. Despite his answer, he still hadn’t moved from his place, apparently content to just watch Y/n. 

“Good morning, Thomas,” She bid him like it was a goodbye as she slipped past him at the door, doing her very best not to shudder as she brushed against him, the notion of breakfast flying to the back of her mind. 

Y/n’s suspicion that he’d come to the bakery just for her was confirmed when Tommy followed her straight out of the shop without buying anything, despite his disclosure that he would. 

Y/n turned to Tommy and met his eyes with all the courage she could muster, “Tommy, will you please just let me get through this stay in peace?” She pleaded, suddenly tired again even though she had only recently woken.

His eyes softened then, and they reminded Y/n so much of the way he used to look at her that she wanted to cry. Tommy reached out and took her hand before she could think to move away and it felt so right that it stole the air from her lungs. His hand was a little rougher than she remembered, a few more callouses rubbing like sand paper against her smaller hand, but it held the same warmth and the same delicate touch that seemed to juxtapose Tommy’s hard nature.

Her eyes widened as he started to speak to her again, she couldn’t focus on his voice over the sound of her blood rushing in her ears, “If you tell me to leave you alone, I will,” is all she heard him say.

She fought every one of her instincts as she pulled her hand out of his, heart aching a little at the loss, a tear she didn’t know had formed escaping her eye when she turned away. It would be so easy to tell him to leave, to save herself all this hurt, but Y/n knew she couldn’t honestly say that was what she wanted. 

Even though it pained her to be near him after everything that happened, she was still in love with him, both sides of her feelings constantly warring with each other. She found that her head fell silent when he spoke to her. 

Confused and perturbed by what she really wanted, Y/n walked away from him, fighting to keep her pace even. She expected Tommy to follow after her, didn’t know if she was disappointed when he didn’t.

~~~

Today was the day before the wedding and Y/n had only just got round to trying on the dress she’d brought for the occasion. It was a classy blush pink gown, hemmed just below the knees, cut low enough to expose her chest but still modest enough to leave something to the imagination. She slipped the fine fabric over her head, internally praying that it would fit, though she didn’t know what she would do even if it didn’t. 

Blessedly, the dress fit. It was tight in all the right places, showing off her attractive curves, but it was just loose enough that the fabric fanned out behind her when she twirled. Y/n thumbed the delicate lace that covered her shoulders and allowed herself a small smile, she thought that maybe she could have fun tomorrow. 

No sooner than the thought had settled into her mind, there was an insistent knock at her door. Y/n hurried over and peered through her peep hole, she cursed at the ceiling as she recognised Tommy Shelby tapping his foot impatiently, flicking his spent cigarette to the floor after his last long pull. She felt a little unsteady as she watched him stand there, eyes trained on his lips, the fluttering feeling she always used to get around him making an unwelcome appearance in her stomach. 

Y/n considered pretending like she wasn’t there for a moment, staying silent as she mulled over her options. But she knew that Tommy wouldn’t have come if he didn’t know for certain that she was there, and he would absolutely do something stupid like break the door down just to get his way if she didn’t answer. 

“How did you know I was here?” Y/n demanded as soon as she opened the door, immediately cutting Tommy off from whatever he wanted to say first.

“Not important,” Tommy replied coolly, and his voice was so smooth and warm like honey, the look in his eyes just as impossibly sweet that Y/n kind of wanted to punch him in the face so she wouldn’t have to see it.

“What do you want?” Y/n asked, turning away and fighting to keep in control as she found herself inexplicably hypnotised by Tommy’s being.

“You look beautiful,” Tommy avoided the question. 

Y/n’s head spun a little as she watched Tommy watching her, she felt he had no permission to be looking at her the way he was, hungrily. She felt that the girl reflected in his eyes looked nothing like her. The history between the two simmered in the heat of his gaze as she tried to recall a time he’d wanted her so obviously as he did now. 

She was dizzied by the sudden change in her relationship with Tommy. Just mere days ago they were no better than perfect strangers, and now the past she shared with Tommy had come back and hit her with the full force of a steam engine, now he was standing in her room, staring at her as if he hadn’t broken her heart. She felt like she’d been pushed and pulled every way Tommy wanted her to go, like he was a child and she was his rag doll. The worst thing was that she kept letting him.

“What do you want?” Y/n repeated, an unmistakable waver in her voice.

“I want to know if you’re ok,” He replied simply.

Tommy’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly, revealing the fine wrinkles at the corners. Y/n noted that there were a few more lines there than when she last saw him three years ago. She assumed he’d laughed a lot since she left. She didn’t know why her mouth tasted so sour at the thought.

“Are you joking?” She asked incredulously, laughing without humour. 

She wondered then something that everyone wondered about Tommy; did he really have no conscience? 

Did he really care about her so little that he didn’t notice how broken she was when she left? Did he really think they could just continue as if nothing had passed between them?

Y/n was silent for a long time, her hands shaking with silent anger, her face seething with heat when Tommy spoke up again.

“Seeing you around here has shown me just how dark my life is without you to brighten it up. I know I’ve no right to ask you to stay here but… I just really want to know if you’re truly ok living away from home. Away from me,”

Y/n had kept all the despair about hers and Tommy’s relationship trapped inside for the past three years. She pushed it further and further inward until it started filling her bones, weighing her down with every step further away from him she took. Now, as she watched his eyes softly gaze back at her, all of it rose to the very pinnacle, boiling over like an unwatched pot.

Barbed words were spilling from Y/n’s lips before she could stop herself, “No! I’m not fucking ok, Tommy. Is that what you want to hear? You want to hear that you shattered my heart, Thomas Shelby? You told me I wasn’t good enough. I - I wasn’t good enough for you.” Y/n finished her tirade with a broken whisper, she had started to cry somewhere in the middle of her sentence, not daring to look Tommy in the eyes, afraid of his pity. “You ruined me for everyone. I haven’t been with anyone else since I left because I gave every last shred of the love I had in my heart to you! Everything I did was for you. And you wasted all of it. So, no, I’m not ok.” Y/n breathed heavily, surprised a little fire wasn’t coming out of her nose by how her words had burned even her.

She heard the old floorboards creak and looked up to see Tommy crossing the room in two long strides, standing face to face with Y/n. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out, Y/n knew that if he did, she would crumble.

“So come back. For good. I know I hurt you and I- I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered, looking at her like she was the one who kept the world spinning. Y/n was sure Tommy had never apologised to anyone, so no one could blame her if she didn’t quite believe it. 

They stood there for a moment, locked in each others eyes, each one searching for an answer, searching for a way back to their forgotten love. Y/n is so helplessly pulled in by the man in front of her, so inexplicably attracted to everything he did; she thought if they stayed like this any longer that she would just cave in, the part of her heart she gave to him still beating strongly in her chest. Her mouth quivered with unspoken words as she remembered the pain of Tommy’s betrayal seared into her skin, begging her not to let him back in.

“You’re sorry,” she bit back more tears, “Well, you don’t get to ask me to stay. You don’t get to toy with me like this. Are you enjoying this? You push me as far away from you as possible just to pull me back when you decide you want me again! And now you want me, what, because your ego is hurt by the idea that I could’ve possibly moved on? God knows, I’ve tried but you lurk around every corner of my life, waiting in the silence to remind me of what I thought I had. It hurts me every fucking day that I really thought you loved me too,” An ugly part of Y/n hoped every word was painful for Tommy, hoped they were like a poison, rooted in his brain, that they would stay there and remind him every day of what he’d done.

“I forgave you so long ago, so why are you trying to bring it all up again?” All the words that had been imprisoned inside her chest had escaped, she felt a little bereft without them. A new emptiness spread inside Y/n, making her feel faint with the weightlessness as she clung onto her night stand.

“Because I love you,” the world stopped. 

Those words, spoken so gently, struck her with such force that for a minute, Y/n thought she’d been shot. Agony bloomed beneath her ribs and her fingers flew up to her chest to touch, she was confused when her fingers came away with no blood. 

“No, you don’t, you’re only saying it because you think it will absolve you,” She replied, refusing to let the door to her heart swing open, no matter how hard Tommy was kicking it, “If you loved me, you would’ve fought for us back then. You let me go like it was so easy,”

“I do, I love you,” Tommy said, words coming out shaky, breath uneven, “I just couldn’t bear to see you hurt because of me,” 

Even after everything he’d done, Tommy failed to see the irony in those words , “Hurt?” Y/n asked disbelievingly, “You killed me the day you wouldn’t say you loved me. Don’t think your confession will revive me now.” The words hung like lead in the air, neither one wanting to take their weight.

“Y/n-” Tommy began, a glint of something unfamiliar in his bright blue eyes.

“I want you to leave,” Y/n cut him off, Tommy’s every word reopened her countless scars, but now the pain was unbearable. He tried to touch her, but she recoiled so harshly that Tommy backed away, “Please.”

Tommy looked so conflicted, a million ideas spinning through his head, so quickly they seemed to flash across his eyes. Ultimately, he heeded Y/n’s words and slipped out silently, leaving her alone once again.

~~~

Today was Y/n’s final day in her hometown. She thought back to the wedding as she folded away her dress, placing it on top of all her other packing so as not to spoil it. She sat through the entire ceremony with her mind entirely elsewhere, she felt a little guilty about it now but she hadn’t listened to a word of the vows. She would like to pretend that she wasn’t jealous, but as she watched the newlyweds kiss tenderly to rapturous applause, she felt a bitter pang in her stomach. As a teenager, she dreamed of that fate for herself, a pure white dress, fresh flowers in her hands, Tommy waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Y/n had felt tears pricking behind her eyes as she watched the couple exit the church, hand in hand, she tried so hard to feel happy for them.

Y/n closed her small trunk with a click and sat down on the edge of her bed, exhausted. She fumbled for the train ticket in her purse, a return ticket to London. She folded it safely away in her pocket and stood, wandering over to her window. She looked out onto the street below her, the summer sun cracking the cover of mist today, casting polka dot shadows on the cobbles. 

Here in Small Heath, the houses were little and charming, warmth seeping out of every window you passed. The streets were never quiet during the day, always bustling with the community of a working class town.

Y/n sighed then as she thought about what waited for her in London. Row upon row of oppressively looming buildings, making her feel even smaller in a city so big. She was surrounded by thousands of people on the streets, yet she’d never felt so alone. Every day was the same, get up, go to work, come home. Y/n tried to be happy with it, she really did, but returning to Small Heath had ruined the pretence. It was like she’d left her heart here, and now that she was back, the beat was even stronger, refusing to let itself be buried again.

Y/n knew though that her love of her hometown wasn’t the only reason she was hesitating to leave for the train station. Her heart rate quickened as Tommy appeared in her mind, if she breathed in deep enough she swore she could still smell him in the room - his cologne, the Irish whiskey, the specific brand of cigarettes he always smoked. Her legs felt weak as she took it all in. Y/n struggled then to remember how she’d found the strength to walk away from this place those three years ago, to walk away from Tommy. Her resolve now was so weak that she prayed she could find that strength again today.

Y/n shut the curtains, blocking the view of the street below, wishing so desperately it was just as easy to shut out her memories of this place. As her hand touched the door handle, she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she left now, she’d regret it forever. 

Her departure time drew nearer and nearer, so she closed her eyes and pulled the door open, holding her breath.

“Please don’t go,” the sound of his raspy voice made her eyes fly open, she pinched herself subtly to make sure he wasn’t a hallucination.

There he was, Tommy stood tall in front of her doorway, hair flopping over the sides of his head and chest heaving like he’d run all the way here. Tommy reached out one large hand and gripped Y/n’s arm, his fingers almost circling all the way around it. He clutched her as if he was afraid she was going to disappear.

Y/n dropped her case then, forgetting everything else as she searched his gentle eyes, only barely remembering to continue breathing. She could push past him, she could run away again into the arms of a city that didn’t care about her, or she could fall into Tommy and pray this time he’d catch her. But she knew her decision was made as soon as he spoke.

Y/n stepped backwards slightly, allowing Tommy entrance into the room. He pushed a hand through his mussed hair, peaked cap nowhere to be seen. Neither of them spoke for a minute, and Y/n wondered if it was a mistake to let him in, the possibility of her escape becoming slimmer and slimmer as time ticked on.

Tommy sat down on the bed and inhaled a steadying breath, “I meant what I said the other day,” he said, quietly as if admitting a secret.

“I know,” Y/n replied, and the confusion that overtook Tommy’s face almost made her laugh, his eyebrows quirked, lips slightly parted, “I said all those things yesterday because I’m terrified of letting you in again. I’m scared that I’ll let you hold my heart and you’ll crush it again. I’ve waited so incredibly long to hear you say those words that when you said them so easily yesterday, all the pain came straight back.”

Guilt was written all over Tommy’s face, pooled in the ocean of his eyes, colouring his slightly flushed cheeks, “I was just so terrified I’d put you in danger, couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt, so I hurt you myself, told myself I wasn’t worth your love anyway, you’d get over me. I thought it was for the best,” He admitted, palm rubbing into the socket of his eye when it began to glisten with tears.

Y/n went over to the bed, sitting slowly and gently the way one would approach a skittish horse, she put a tentative hand on his thigh, tension buzzing beneath her skin where she touched him. “When did you know you loved me?” she asked quietly.

Tommy looked up at her then and shifted so that they were closer, legs pressed together. Y/n fought not to blush like a teenager, the touch so intimate after all this time.

“About a month before I left for France,” Tommy began, and Y/n didn’t miss the flicker in his eyes when he spoke, “You were out in the garden with Finn. He’d just learned to toddle about and got a bit too confident, fell and skinned his knee,” Tommy didn’t fight the smile that rose to his lips, “And when he cried, you went running and you held him like he was your own brother, you got him to calm down better than anyone else could have. You held him and fussed him until he laughed again. You didn’t know there was anyone watching you, you just did it because you loved him,”

Y/n felt breathless as Tommy told his story, she didn’t know whether to be furious or thrilled that he’d loved her such a long time, “That’s when I knew your name was forever branded on my heart, Y/n. I knew that I could never see you hurt because I couldn’t protect you from my world.” 

At some point while Tommy spoke, their faces inched closer together until their noses were almost bumping. He finished his confession in a whisper, his unmissable blue eyes flickering between Y/n’s own gaze and her lips, exposing his desires blatantly.

“You’re an idiot, Thomas Shelby,” Y/n breathed before Tommy leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. 

The kiss was exciting yet comfortable, like a knew book from her favourite author; the writing familiar but the content all new. One of Tommy’s hands came up to rest on the back of Y/n’s neck, fingers weaving into the strands of hair there, sending a delightful shiver down her body. His other hand cupped her cheek, pulling at her bottom lip so he could take it into his mouth. Tommy broke away briefly, only to breathe, before he leaned in again, kissing Y/n torturously slow, learning ever crevice of her lips once more. 

They finally broke apart, Y/n didn’t know how long later, she couldn’t control the whine from the back of her throat when they did. Tommy looked amused, maybe a little proud of himself and Y/n rolled her eyes at him. Tommy’s hands still cradled her head like something precious, their lips still tantalisingly close.

“I really don’t want to go back to London,” Y/n confessed against Tommy’s mouth, tiny sparks zapping every time their lips touched.

“Please don’t go back,” Tommy all but begged, stroking Y/n’s cheek with a calloused thumb.

She closed her eyes at the feeling, every fibre of her being giving up to him in that moment, “Tell me you love me and I’ll stay,” She said finally, her words so similar to those she’d broken her own heart with three years ago.

“I love you,” Tommy avowed as he kissed Y/n with a dizzying passion, his lips devouring hers as they told each other all the things words couldn’t say. Y/n’s hands found purchase on Tommy’s chest, feeling the rapid flutter of his heart behind his ribs, telling her he really did feel the same.

“Stay with me,” Tommy whispered, each word punctuated by a kiss, the two lovers unable to stop touching as if a magnet permanently held them together.

Y/n nodded, unable to speak as she felt Tommy’s fingers brush against her neck, against the exposed skin on her chest, goosebumps raising on her skin as she fought not to tremble.

All of her nerves were alight, the pieces of her heart coming back together as she kissed the man she’d loved for years; no big city could replace their small town love. London faded into nothing as she felt his tongue lick at her lower lip, her train long since missed as Tommy pressed his kisses deeper.

Y/n broke away just to look at Tommy again, his lips were plump, reddened by his ministrations, his eyes were fogged over with adoration, his hands still clung to Y/n anywhere they could hang on. She smiled one of those blinding grins she only ever saved for Tommy.

“I’ll stay,” Y/n promised.

[sitp-recs]

15 21 fics where Draco takes care of Harry

Happy Weekend folks! The last reclist for this self-indulgent HBD Harry celebration week brings the trope we all love and deserve: Harry being taken care of! Let 👏🏻 that 👏🏻 boy 👏🏻 be happy! I’m really soft for this trope because it delivers delicious character development and emotional payoff. Harry deserves all the nice things and I love seeing Draco willing to provide it, whether in the form of physical comfort, protection, shelter, medical care or just good old diq. I wanted to follow the previous lists format but ended up with 20 fics which means I left a bunch out (my first draft had around 30 🤡). As usual I tried to include both classics and hidden gems, and especially some that aren’t in the other lists. Enjoy!

Ceremonials by @jackvbriefs (NR, 4k)

“What are you doing here?” Harry said. This Malfoy blinked up at him, then lifted the bottle of tequila. “I’m teaching you how to make a drink.”

Is This Love? By @phdmama (E, 4k)

Draco wouldn’t call himself a tender man. He fights the forces of evil for a living, trying his best to pay penance for the evil he’s done. He’s fought and killed in the name of duty, and when he’s not on duty, he tends either to play hard or retreat alone. He doesn’t lean on anyone, and he knows he’s not the first person anyone goes to when they need care. Comfort. That all changes tonight.

It Never Occurred to Me That I Would Fall in Love With a Frenchman by lamerezouille (T, 6k)

Harry kisses Draco in a public place. All hell breaks loose.

Unseen by astolat (M, 11k)

When he wasn’t wearing it, he got jumpy, always waiting for someone to come at him wanting something—and now they did it even more urgently, if they ever saw him, because most of the time, nobody did.

Nice Things by aideomai (M, 22k)

The first thing that happened was Theodore Nott came back from France.

Lusimeles by spqr (E, 23k)

“You’re not special, Potter,” Kingsley informs him, not looking up from his work. “But I’ve already done Occlumency training!” Harry splutters, indignant. “And it’s Malfoy.”

just tell me when it’s alright by M0stlyVoid (E, 23k)

Harry’s been fighting tooth and nail for any bit of normalcy he can get his hands on. He’s sick of feeling like something’s wrong with him, tired of feeling different. He thinks he’s finally gotten to the root of it, and has settled into a routine that makes him happy. Naturally, that’s when Draco Malfoy walks back into his life and upends it once again. Has Harry bitten off more than he can chew with his former rival?

The Green Vial by @eidheann (E, 31k)

After months of seeing Harry Potter walk into his Apothecary disappointed and hopeless, Draco offers to carry the baby that Harry can't. Now he's just got to hide the fact that he's been half in love with Harry for years.

Expecto Patronum by @writcraft (E, 35k)

Harry Potter is the most sought after celebrity in wizarding Britain. His every movement is scrutinised, his relationships questioned and his photographs plastered over every paper. Harry's used to everyone thinking he’s a hero and has had plenty of time to learn how to keep his biggest secrets hidden from the press. As Draco Malfoy negotiates his feelings for the wizarding world's brightest star, he becomes increasingly attached to Harry and unravels the secrets he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.

(Un)wanted by @aibidil (E, 36k)

Ginny's pregnant, then she's not and Harry's single. Harry, again with no family, doesn't know what to do with this turn of events, or how to find a new life—post-war, post-Ginny, post-abortion—in which he belongs. He doesn't expect that life to include dancing to the Backstreet Boys with Hermione and Draco Malfoy. A story of finding belonging in the unexpected.

Breathe In (and Feel No Hurt) by Constance1 (T, 38k)

A tale of love, loss, and of finding hope again. Or the story of how Draco turned into a house-cat in order to secretly bother a depressed Harry Potter until he was no longer feeling sorry for himself.

Chocolate and Pastry by agentmoppet, anemonen (E, 50k)

When Pansy bets Draco that there is no chance he and Harry could carry out a genuine romantic relationship, he and Harry form a plan. But as their fake relationship progresses, Draco sees a side of Harry he never expected. Harry is struggling with something, pushing it far down inside him where he doesn't have to acknowledge its existence. Draco starts to worry, and then he starts to care, and then... horribly... he starts to fall in love.

Sweeten to Taste by @saintgarbanzo and @babooshkart (E, 51k)

It starts with Draco's buckwheat crepes with honeyed oranges. Or maybe it starts with his porridge with toasted walnuts and homemade apple butter. Or perhaps it starts with the cinnamon buns Draco made from scratch with mascarpone icing. Harry just knows he's hungry for more.

Meet Me at Midnight by @the-starryknight (T, 57k)

Harry was beginning to wonder if he’d ever make anything again when Malfoy stormed through the door of Harry’s furniture shop. Now Harry’s got an impossible Ministry commission to finish, and even less energy than ever to deal with his elusive muse. That is, until he stumbles upon the surreal and beautiful world of a mysterious fae creature…

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (E, 93k)

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world. Now he's a fisherman in Finland on commercial vessels. Harry has been struggling since the war and has become a recluse while trying to write his autobiography.

A Thousand Beautiful Things by geoviki (M, 100k)

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

A Sword Laid Aside by @korlaena (E, 128k)

When Draco’s cover is blown during a deep undercover operation and the Ministry is compromised, Ron takes Draco to the only safe place he can think of—Potter. Hiding out with a taciturn Harry Potter, who has been missing from the Wizarding World for almost two decades after a shocking fall from grace, is nothing like Draco thought it would be.

Any Instrument by @dictacontrion (E, 131k)

Draco Malfoy wouldn't go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can't control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.

By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 (T, 300k)

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness.

[best-iwtv-scene]

ROUND 1B, MATCH 7

Descriptions/Propaganda under the cut:

Louis saves Claudia from the fire (1x03/1x04)

Consumed with guilt after instigating a race riot throughout Storyville, Louis desperately tries to help the innocent black people of his city from the violence surrounding him. Despite his vampirism, he is unable to help anyone on the street, but as he comes to a burning house, he can hear a young girl inside, terrified and bound to suffocate from the smoke around her. Louis rips through the building and jumps to where Claudia is hiding, picking her up and bringing her to the Rue Royale. This moment is seen both from Louis's perspective at the end of 1x03 and from Claudia's viewpoint at the beginning of 1x04. Louis depicts his act as one that not only saved Claudia but saved him, too, forever changing his life from that day onward. Claudia depicts it as magical, amazed by the "black angel" that saved her from death. The scene is scored by "Claudia" by Daniel Hart in 1x03, introducing her theme which is frequently used throughout the show. "I could not save the Azalea. I could not save Storyville. I could not save the aunt on the wrong side of the wall, but I could save her. My light. My Claudia. My redemption."

Propaganda:

No propaganda was submitted for this scene.

"You and Me, Me and You" (2x01)

After years of travelling through cold, war-riddled Eastern Europe in search of vampires, and after finally finding one only to watch her throw herself into a fire before them, Louis and Claudia find themselves on the way to Paris. Claudia is fractured from witnessing Daciana's death, feeling like she will never find a community or understanding in anyone no matter where she goes. In the back of a car, lit only by the passing lights of France at night, Louis promises Claudia that he will be her community, her companion, wherever Claudia goes, vowing that he will never leave the earth as long as she still walks it. Wounded by what she saw, Claudia desperately wants to believe Louis and there is a fragile kind of hope in her eyes as she looks up at him. As the monologue continues, the camera slowly pans to Claudia's right to reveal an imagined Lestat, throat slit and bloody, sitting next to her, Louis fighting with himself over who to look at as he promises "you and me". This scene is heartbreaking, particularly knowing the direction of Louis and Claudia's relationship through season two, Louis making a promise that both vampires so greatly wish to be true, but ultimately does not hold, pushing each other away as the season progresses. The scene is scored by Daniel Hart's 'The Whole World Was Ready To Return', a piece many consider to be the best on the soundtrack, the short string motifs, building and layering to mirror the hope and desperation of the promise until it reaches a climactic cadence at the sight of Paris. The piece returns in 2x08 over Louis's final monologue, playing out the season in a bittersweet moment.  "We can't be the only good ones out there... Soft words. If you were the last vampire on earth, it would be enough. You and me. Me and you. You and me. Me and you. You and me."

Propaganda:

No propaganda was submitted for this scene.

Submitted by @interviewiththevicious

[eatifa]

somebody that i used to know

a/n - hello! this is inspired by a scene from the manga of tokyo ghoul. i only wrote for one character because this was a little bit hard to do. i may write for more in the future with this concept.

trigger warning - mention of terminal illness.

concept - amnesia made him no longer remember her.

starring - rindou.

tagging @mitsuyeaah because she like angst a lot along with supporting my works a lot and being a lovely mutual.

"she gave me a smile. a smile that looked a little troubled, and a bit… sad. and the thought that i had such a beautiful person in my life crossed my mind."

no one wanted rindou to find out the truth.

it was strange for rindou to comprehend that he couldn't remember anything about his older brother. ran was the first person that rindou saw upon waking up in a bed.

the mechanical beating sounds of a monitor and the anaesthetic smell is the only recognisable thing that could rindou tell where he was.

the hospital's bedroom was the only thing that he could recognise in the room. the younger brother have no idea who the man was standing next to his bed that leaped out the chair when he saw his eyes slowly opening.

"rindou, are you alright?"

ran became concerned when he saw his brother shoot him a confused look along with saying the next words that caused his heart to drop.

"who's rindou?"

at first, ran wanted to believe that he was just pulling a sick joke but when he saw his brother diverted his attention to the needle jabbed into his vein, he knew something was wrong.

ran wanted to doubt his theory with the hope that his brother's strange behaviour was caused by an unexpected side effect of the aesthetic.

surely, things would be back to normal when the anaesthetics would completely wear off but ran didn't want to take the risk. if he was right, the best option would be for rindou to stay longer at the hospital despite how much ran didn't wanted want to do that.

ran couldn't neglect rindou. as the older brother, ran always made the final decision. the pattern of ignoring rindou's input was the norm but for the first time ever, ran wanted to swap the order with him. ran didn't want to find out if he was right or not.

"rindou, do you know who i am?"

"no, why would i? we just met." rindou ignored how his face dropped and didn't stop him from darting out of the room.

why should he care about a stranger.

being inside the apartment that he apparently share with ran, his older brother just felt foreign to rindou. he couldn't recognise any of the items or the interior designs of the rooms that the apartment entailed.

at first, rindou didn't want to goes along with him but the doctors sitting him down and telling the events that led up to his hospitalisation gave him but no other option to trust ran.

"you have amnesia caused by a head injury and your brother is the one that rang the ambulance."

so rindou didn't started a war with the older man when he shoved him inside a taxi but his apparent older brother still felt like a strange when he tried start a conversation in the taxi.

"rindou, how much do you remember?"

"not enough to believe your claim of being my brother."

the rest of the journey was spent in silence.

but rindou could no longer deny it when he saw photos of them together pinned to the fridge by coloured magnets. there were too many photos and the resemblance was strong enough to believe ran was telling him the truth.

the main reason why rindou couldn't notice the similarites with his brother is the differences between their hair.

ran's hair was styled into two braids with black and yellow highlights whereas his hair reached his shoulders with blue and blondish strands.

as he snuck a glance at the taller man standing next to him whose was observing the photos together with him, the shorter brother realised something that he didn't know.

his age.

"this is when we went france together." ran placed a slim finger over a photo of them standing in front of a tower.

rindou noticed the carefree look on the past version of him in the photo and it was enough to erase the last doubt that ran wasn't lying about his identity.

but rindou noticed that their hair looked a lot different. neither of them had dyed it since their hair look completely jet black. as rindou snuck a glance at his brother, he couldn't help but ask a question.

"am i the younger brother or you are?"

it was the second time that ran was shunned into silence. his eyes widened into a state of disbelief, rindou couldn't even remember how old he is.

ran wasn't going to let him out of his sight anytime soon.

finding out that he was the younger brother didn't made anything less awkward for them. the photos show that ran was a caring older brother along with it being portrays in his actions.

"rindou, do you need anything?"

"when i'll goes out, i will get it so relax."

"rindou, it's not a good idea to tell others about your amnesia."

his actions started to suffocate rindou, he would walk out of the door and disappear on ran for a long time when he would gain his memories back.

ran told him about the basics of rindou's life but it might as well been someone else because rindou really couldn't remember any of it. to rindou, it felt like he was peering into a vase without flowers inside.

at this point, rindou might as well forget about his past life and just start anew. what's the point of keeping onto friendships and relationships that he no longer knew about.

ran had tried to encourage him to text his friends, hoping that it would start to bring back his memories because ran couldn't despite how hard he tried. and his younger brother's behaviour wasn't helping.

rindou never got past a how are you text from anyone since he just gave a shrug and left them on the read mode. at this rate, ran would need to tell everyone that his brother was suffering from amesnia before he accidentally push everyone away.

the only thing is that ran really wanted to use that as a last resort. rindou values his privacy and he knew shit would hit the fan when his original personality would returns.

so ran pinned all his hopes on the weekly visits to the hospitals but even the medical staff couldn't make a breakthrough. after the third visit, ran started to feel deflated that he left rindou in the dust to take a smoke outside their apartment

rindou never paid much attention towards what ran wanted to do since he just mumble out an okay and accepted his fate of being left alone in the apartment.

after a while, the ticking sound of the clock was loud enough to catch his attention when rindou switched off the tv.

20:30

his older brother would never leave him for this long because of the memory loss.rindou would apprecipate being left alone but the fear that ran may become more overwhelming if he felt gulit towards this mistake motivated rindou to get up and hunt him down.

as rindou was wrapping a scarf around the neck, an unexpected sound echoed throughout the apartment.

knock.

surely, it must be ran but rindou couldn't help but frown at this thought. ran would never be this careless enough to leave without a house key but rindou could recall the disappointment in his brother eyes as they were leaving the hospital earlier on in the day.

the negativity must made him forget.

so rindou discarded the scarf from his neck and placed his right hand on the silver handle and opened the door without a second thought.

it was not ran.

it wasn't even a male.

it was a woman.

rindou took a double take at seeing her standing in front of him.

who is she?

for some reason, the woman became quiet too almost as if rindou was a ghost that she just encountered. a pair of blue jeans and a black shirt concealed her shoulders but rindou couldn't paid too much attention to her outfit.

she was smiling at him.

he didn't know why.

"she gave me a smile. a smile that looked a little troubled, and a bit… sad. and the thought that i had such a beautiful person in my life crossed my mind."

his monologue at seeing her smile. rindou must had knew her before the amnesia came along.

why else would his feelings be this intense? the tears shouldn’t be escaping from his eyes.

"rindo-"

her sentence was cut short because someone else grabbed onto her arm and another voice stopped her from uttering out another word.

"i told you not to come."

rindou couldn't see his face but from the hostile tone in his voice, ran was clearly pissed off at her.

but why? she have such a sad glint in her eyes. what did she do?

rindou couldn't help but stop these thoughts from articulating inside his mind but ran whisked her away before he could stop him.

"she is just an ex that broke my heart. "

this is what ran told his brother the next day after the incident.

rindou didn't entirely believe this was the truth since the woman looked so sad when she laid eyes on him.

there must be a white lie embedded inside his explanation.

but whenever rindou would try, his brother would change the topic and with the last attempt, he completely snapped.

"shut the fuck up, rindou. if you ask one more time, i am leaving your annoying ass behind in this apartment. "

rindou finally believed him at hearing his abrupt threat. it was the first time that ran ever shouted at him along with using vulgar language.

so he stopped asking his older brother since it must be a pretty bad breakup. rindou genueinly thought that she must had cheated or something. rindou was convince that getting a slap from ran would be his reply if he dare ask again.

throughout the upcoming months, the memories started to return but nothing major.

his favourite colour.

the name of his high school.

did he go to university or not.

all but nothing little tabs to rindou but whenever he would tell his brother this, a smile would appear on his face where ran no longer detested taking rindou to the hospital.

his little brother was slowly coming back.

it was only a matter of time.

the moment finally arrived but came in the worst way possible.

in a rush to get to work on time, ran carelessly left something in his room that he definitely shouldn't had. a photobook album that he never shown to anyone else.

unfortunately, rindou got to it first and when he arrived home, the first thing that greeted him was a porcelain plate being thrown at him.

on instinct, ran used the briefcase to deflect the flying plate that landed on the floor instead but the force was enough for it to shatter into fragments.

seeing the enranged look on his younger brother face hinted one thing.

"why didn't you tell me about my wife?"

the question had confirmed it. his memories had come back.

more untensils and glasses were thrown at him along with his brother swearing at him non-stop.

in the end, ran wrapped his arms around his brother neck to force him into a headlock before either of them ended up seriously getting hurt.

it didn't meant that rindou was backing down though.

"ran, you manipulative fuck, no wonder you chased her away when she came that day."

the photos from the wedding album revealed that rindou was the groom and the girl that gave him such a sad smile that knocked on the apartment's door months ago was his bride.

"calm down."

"fuck off. you guys must had an affair or something like that. it explains everything about not telling me the truth and getting rid of her when she saw me again. "

"shut up."

"she must had thought it was you. i swear that i'm going to murder you and i'm going to divorce that slu-"

ran wouldn't let rindou finish his sentence since he yanked him by the hair before pushing him away.

"shut the fuck up, you don't want to insul-"

the way that ran paused his sentence made rindou narrowed his eyes at him in suspicious but ran decided it was better to come clean before his brother would say something that he would regret forever.

"she got cancer. it's the reason why you got amnesia. when she found out, she cut ties with you because she wanted to give you a fresh start. she begged me the most not to tell you."

the horror dawned on him. it was the truth.

the explanation filled in the last gap. rindou couldn't remember the last event that happened before he woke up in the hospital.

now he did.

his wife told him about the diagnose but she wasn't ready to tell him yet. she confessed through a text when he asked her about what she wanted to do for her birthday.

rindou didn't want to ring her but he wasn't ready to come home straight away after work.

he just wanted to run and that's how he ended up being in a pub late at night before getting into a fight in a drunken haze. whoever the person was, he must had aimed for his head and their force must been strong enough to make rindou blackened out from the pain.

the incident that triggered off the amnesia but rindou no longer cared about that.

"where is she?"

ran went quiet.

he wouldn't answer him.

[katerinap]

One of my OC’s stories.

I’m only 13 so this might be pretty bland but I wanted to share this somewhere so obviously strangers on a mentally insane website was my best idea.

This goes with the movie version mostly.

Geneviève was part of the large lower class in France. Her father died of tuberculosis when she was 8. Being desperate, her mother sold her body to afford the two of them. After a year there, her mother died of an illness. 

Vivi was completely and utterly alone. 

She wandered the streets of Paris, stealing food whenever she could. Her clothes might as well have been considered oversized rags. Then one night when she was 13 she found herself outside of a place called the Cafe Musain. Cafe. Food. She was in desperate need of that. 

She saw a bunch of students going into it, and while they were talking among themselves they left the door open enough for her to slip through. There was nothing downstairs but an abandoned tavern, but she looked through it anyways. When she found nothing, she went up the stairs to look up there. She hid on the staircase, watching the boys talk about revolutionary ideas. 

When she hoped no one was looking, she ran behind a few tables and looked around. Nothing. Then just as she was headed back she noticed the talking had stopped. She stopped dead in her tracks. 

“Why’s there a child here?” She heard an irritated voice say. 

“Enjolras, she could be lost.” Said another, clearly the more understanding one. 

“What do we do?” Another asked. 

“I can hear you.” She snarks. 

She tried to run but bumped into a really big guy. “Seriously, little one?” He says, a small smile on his face. 

She tried to push past him but he just picked her up and turned her around so she was facing the other, loosely wrapping his arms around her, almost like a hug. 

“Look. I’m sorry for showing up to your revolution party,” she said, “but I was just about to leave.” 

They all stiffened a bit at her words. Except the one in the back who was just drinking. Guess her knowing they were talking about another revolution was troubling. 

“What? Revolution got you all paranoid?” Vivi said, a small smile forming, “Or does a little girl being able to understand surprising?” 

She’ll admit, she’s not the smartest. But she is good at understanding things when she’s heard enough people talk about that subject. 

The one who calmed the other down spoke. “It’s not that. Just…” He paused,  “You’re… you seem too young to know about it.” 

“Kids like me ‘ave known about it since we’ve been born,” she told him. She then craned her neck a bit to speak to the man holding her. “I ain’t gonna run anymore.” 

“Bahorel, you can let go.” A new person said. He had curly brown hair. He seemed like someone who brought fun to situations like this. 

The man, Bahorel, let go of her. 

“Sit down.” She was instructed by a blonde man, seemingly the leader of the group. He was the one who had spoken before about why a child was here. 

She sat down at a nearby table, a few others sitting down as well. The blonde and the one who reasoned with him. Someone was already sitting there, but he was too busy writing in his journal to pay any mind to her. He seemed to be blushing at mere nothing. 

“What are you doing here?” The blonde asked her. It felt like a police interrogation. Clearly, he didn’t know how to talk to children, so he was treating her as an adult. No worries. She can be an adult for now.  

“The sign outside says it’s a cafe. I thought there might be food in here.”

“And why are you looking for food?” He asked her, his tone firm. 

She looked down at herself. Her clothes were slowly turning to rags, and they were covered in dirt. Her face also has dirt on it, but she’d grown used to that. 

When she looked down, he seemed to understand. 

She looked around the room. They all looked more well off than her. Privileged. There were only a few who didn’t look as rich as the rest. There was one who looked older than most of them. He was wearing what she’d seen workers wear often. Then there was the man who she’d seen drinking, who was now drunk. He seemed too messy and disheveled to be rich. 

“How did you end up there?” The blonde asked her, softening slightly. Very slightly. 

“Born.” She answered without hesitation. She can’t remember a time being in an actual home. They all studied her, then suddenly the drunk spoke up. 

“Well, are we now going to get rid of her and continue with your nonsense?” He asked, drawing his words a bit.

“Grantaire-” the blonde started. 

“Enjolras, what’s your genius plan?” Grantaire asked. “All we can really do is send her off with a loaf of bread.”

Enjolras, previously known as the blonde, sighed. “Try and think about this rationally through your drunken stupor.” Enjolras hissed at him. 

“I am.” He grumbled. “ And it’s stupid. What do we do if we don’t send her off? One of us take her home? I can’t afford that. Feuilly can’t afford that. Courfeyrac can’t raise a child. You can’t raise a child. 

The writer seemed to finally look up and notice what’s happening. He seemed to not like the idea of a child on the streets. “We can’t send her back. It’s cruel.” 

She sat there as they talked, sighing and leaning back into her chair. She would have no say in what happened to her. She was sure of it. 

“If you care so much, you take her, Jean.” Grantaire told the writer, who now is known as Jean. “But you can’t take care of a child.”

“Grantaire, it’s not your decision to make.” Jean tells him. “It’s mine.”

Everyone was a bit shocked. He was always so timid and quiet. Seeing him so determined on this was odd. 

“Prouvaire,” Enjolras started. 

“Enjolras, you have to trust me on this. You always talk about making change and making things equal for all. That’s what our cause here is,” She sees him ready to continue, “And you know how bad it is for children out on the streets. Especially girls. Think of the bad that might happen.” 

She is starting to get a feel for who this man is. He’s sweet, a softie. He knows about injustices for different groups, even though he’s clearly privileged. 

“You better know what you’re doing.” Enjolras warned. 

“I do. I swear I do.” Jean assured him. 

Enjolras sighed. He didn’t want to do this, but Jean seemed determined to help. “If you believe you can…”

“I do.” He turned to her and smiled, his face turning slightly pink. 

She smiled back, almost unable not to. “You sure you’re up for the challenge known as me?” She asked skeptically. 

“Of course…” he paused in a way, silently asking for her name. 

“Geneviève.” She said. She didn’t mind being called that, she just preferred to be Vivi. 

“Geneviève,” He repeated. 

The others seemed to try and remember that as well. 

Grantaire just rolled his eyes. 

“You got a stick up your @#$% or something?” Vivi asked Grantaire. 

He seemed to have a small smirk on his face. “Oh, the small one’s feisty, I see.” He remarks. 

She smiles at him. Maybe he’ll come around to like her. She certainly found him someone who would be fun. 

“Looks like you’ve got a knack for making people soft.” The curly brunette from before spoke. 

“Courfeyrac,” Grantaire started. “I’m not going soft.”

The brunette, Courfeyrac, gave him a wide grin. “You just can’t admit that a child makes you all sweet and mushy.”

Grantaire takes a swing of his bottle and gives Courfeyrac a glare and Vivi a dirty look before walking away, grumbling. 

They all laughed at him, and she felt a sense of something. Safety, maybe. Or maybe, just maybe, she’s found a new family. A new life. She had to remind herself to think rationally, to not get ahead of herself. She’s only known these boys for a few minutes. 

“Maybe…” The understanding one spoke, almost to himself. “Maybe Prouvaire, if things get hard for you or you can’t take care of her every day… one of us might take her? I’d certainly be willing enough if need be.”

They all looked at him like he was mad. “You’d take in a child?” Bahorel questioned. “You’re a smart man, Combeferre, but even that seems like a challenge.”

Combeferre looked at Jean. “If you need me, just ask.” 

Jean nodded, giving Vivi a small smile, his ears turning a bit red. He was cute, almost like a giddy little kid. 

“Well, with the child settled,” Enjolras said, trying to get the meeting back on track, “Let’s get back to our important matters.”

Everyone stopped and started to listen, even Grantaire, though he took a long swing of his bottle, as if he needed it to get through the meeting. 

Enjolras started to talk. He started off with how class inequality was a problem they needed to stop (which she thought they all probably knew already), then started throwing ideas on how to improve society. Combeferre would keep him from getting too worked up. She gained a respect for Enjolras. He was so excellent at getting everyone’s attention and rallying them up. 

She admired Combeferre. It was as if no one dared to talk to Enjolras when he was like this. The only other who did was Grantaire, but she just guessed that it was to rile him up. 

After a while, things started to lighten up. Everyone started to fool around and make fun of each other. It was entertaining, to say the least. Combeferre leaned over to her, then pointed to everyone so she could learn all their names. 

Enjolras, as we know, is a tall blonde man. He was definitely charming, but she was told he was capable of being terrible. That wasn’t too surprising for her, for someone leading a revolution must be able to stomach lots.

Courfeyrac was a fun fellow. He’s considered the center of the group. He keeps things fun and interesting. The lightheartedness of the group. He knows everyone on a personal level, and is almost like the heart of the group. The center. 

Bahorel was the one who had been holding onto her. He was a big fellow, who thrived on conflict. He apparently went to law school, but never intends to be a lawyer. Geneviève found this a waste of time. Why go to school if you never intend to use the knowledge you gain? 

Jean Prouvaire was the one who offered her a home. He is a softie. He blushes at nothing and cries at the smallest things. Vivi finds that adorable, smiling as Combeferre described him. Prouvaire is addicted to love, and writes poems. He has given everyone a small pot of flowers. 

Feuilly was the one who looked like a worker. He was the oldest of the group. Unlike all the others, he wasn’t a student, but a worker. He made fans for a living. He didn’t earn much, but he worked hard for what he got. 

Joly was another member of this small group. He studies medicine. He was always worried about everything, checking people’s temperatures and 

Bossuet was a fellow who wasn’t present that day. Something had happened that made him unable to come. Apparently, that was just his luck. He was a good man, but had an unlucky streak. He was bald, and his actual name was Lesgles. 

Now, among the descriptions, she also could put some things together about Combeferre as he was talking. He was definitely an intellectual, and was good at talking. He seemed about the same age as Enjolras. His job was to keep Enjolras in check, to calm him down from his violent tendencies. Combeferre has glasses and would constantly push them up while talking. 

Last but not least, there was Grantaire. Grantaire was the skeptic in this group, constantly challenging what Enjolras had to say. He always drank. He has curly black hair, which is grown out a bit in the front. He wasn’t very handsome but Geneviève wouldn’t call him ugly either.

“Enjolras disdains him. He always scorns Grantaire for his drinking,” Combeferre told her. “But through all the rejection, scolding, and harsh treatment, Grantaire always comes back, admiring Enjolras.” 

“Oh…” She mumbled. Combeferre didn’t seem troubled about Grantaire’s treatment. She found it rude, especially for someone who just keeps coming back. She could hardly believe that he admired Enjolras despite all the rejection and criticism he must get. 

“He’s not the best influence,” Combeferre adds. “Not for a young girl like you. You keep your distance, you hear?”

She nods, though has no intention of listening to what she was told to do. He seemed like an interesting person, and she was going to get to know him. 

The meeting started to wrap up, with people trickling out of the Musain. 

Jean stood up and said goodbye to Combeferre before taking her hand and walking with her out of the cafe. 

She got up and took it, and they walked out with Jean promising to take her to the next meeting, which would be the next day. 

If this was good, let me know so I can post another part.

[crazyintheeast]

As someone who has studied politics on an university level and has a bit more indepth knowledge there is something you need to understand. Israel just like USA, France, Russia, Britain and any other colonial power has always had a foreign policy of pure evil and mass murder. The reason why Israel escalated beyond passive massacres is simple. Trump. Why Trump? Because Trump is the FIRST US PRESIDENT to submit to Israel's demands and recognize Jersalem as Israel's capital. This was something huge, no US president in history has ever been his servile to Israel. It gave them the green flag to do whatever they wanted So why did they start their active genocide under Biden ? Simple. They needed an excuse and that came under the form of October 7. And no it's a conspiracy to acknwoledge that they obviously let it happen. Not when Israel has one of the best intelligence networks in the world and the terrorist act was so wide spread. And yes this is further confirmed by reliable reports even in otherwhise extremly pro Israel media that they knew

So what does this mean? Israel will not end it's genocide until the election because they are deeply invested in getting Trump back to power and undermining Biden. So nothing he will do will make Israel stop. It doesn't matter if he stops the arms shipment Israel will continue. Eve if he tries to put sanctions on them which will never ever happen because it goes against USA's benefits Israel will continue because they hope for Trump and know that even if they lose short term USA will still support them long term. After all don't forget that Israel blew up an USA warship killing hudnreds of US soldiers and it only got a slap on the wrists So what can we expect? Israel HEAVILY relies on emotional liberals who will refuse to vote or throw away their votes on a third party and they will do anything to make this happen. So the closer we are to elections the more massacres they will commit. And the worst will probably come in the week of the elections where they will most likely targets children and women to give you enoug trauma to keep you from voting. Does this mean you shouldn't crticize Biden or push for a pro Palestine policy. No it just means that if you fall for the propaganda and don't vote it will get much much worse Because right now if Trump wins do you know what will happen? With his blessing not only will Israel continue the genocide but they will start MASSIVE colonisation. We are talking hundreds of thousands of settler being sent to steal as much land as possible in the next four years If Kamala wins....well most likely there will be some shadow talks. USA won't go publicly against Israel but in private Kamala will make it clear that this won't go on. What hostages survived Israel's bombimngs will be returned and in turn Israel will declare that they won and retreat. It won't be justice , it won't be nearly enough but at least Israel will be killing dozens of Palestianians per year instead of tens of thousands So yeah I know it's deprssing but tha's how it is. So you have to chose. Will you follow Israel's plan and throw your vote away leading to eve greater suffering udner Trump or wll you vote for Kamala and try to minimise the suffering as much as possible

[fiddleturnips]

Bonding

This is an excerpt from a larger, incomplete chapter.

Stanley slammed the door on his way out. He didn't really have anywhere else to go, though, so he didn't go anywhere. He sat on the porch and smoked, staring at these unfamiliar Northwest mountains and thinking about how stupid it was that this dumb argument had apparently lasted decades.

Stan was on his second cigarette when Fiddleford came out. Stan didn't turn around, but he could tell it was him. His steps were trying to be heavy, but he probably weighed half what any Pines did including their Ma, and was barefoot besides. He stomped unmenacingly over and sat on the stair beside Stan.

"Can I bum one of those," he said. He was glaring out at the woods like he wanted to punch the whole mountain range in it's big stupid face.

Stan tapped one out and passed it. He shared his flame. Fiddleford took a huge drag that doubled the volume of his chest and hissed it out.

"Trouble in Paradise?" Stan joked.

"Thought I'd finally talked some sense into that man," Fiddleford snapped. "Always gotta be the smartest in the room, with his twelve cotton-pickin doctorates and his one man research grant, don't he get you can't solve everything with just smarts."

Stan suddenly decided he liked this guy. "Yeah. Yeah, it's always, oOooh, if I'm the biggest genius they ever saw then they have to crown me the king of fucking France or whatever. Everything that goes right, it's 'cause he was just better. Anything goes wrong was a fluke. Like, geeze, man, maybe if your entire future rested in a seventeen year old's ability to break the laws of physics it's the system that's the problem, y'know?"

"EXACTLY!" Fiddleford flung his arms out. It almost hit Stan in the face. "He did good in school, and I'm real happy for him, I really am! But it's like, we were in the same classes, and goshdurn it, I was better than him! So what's this magical force what makes him think everyone who didn't get where he did just didn't try hard enough?"

Fiddleford was starting to lose him now, but Stan got the impression the guy needed to vent from how loud it was coming out, so he didn't say anything.

"I tried, Doctor Stanford Pines, I tried till it almost killed me, and then I help you try til that almost kills me too! Maybe your dreams ain't worth all that!"

"Oh, yeah. And, like, maybe your dreams ain't everyone else's dream, too," Stanley said. It probably wasn't a fair thought, but it was one that came on him all the time in motels and WalMart parking lots: what the hell were dreams worth, if you went one way and he went the other and neither of you ever got to see each other again?

Fiddleford glanced over and huffed a smokey laugh. "Truth. Not sure how many daddies and doctor types need to hear that." Fiddleford wrinkled his nose. "Ack, forgot how foul these are."

"Then why'd you bum one?"

"Hoping to trick myself into thinking it was something stronger, I guess," he said, scraping out the lit end on the porch and leaving it in case Stan wanted the other half.

Stan side-eyed him. "You payin'?"

Fiddleford looked over at him in surprise. Then down.

Stan was peeking a baggie out of his inner coat pocket. It wasn't much, maybe half an ounce, and it was cheap shit. But hey. A sale's a sale.

Fiddleford didn't even ask. He just pulled a fifty, threw it at Stan, and snatched the bag. Stan passed him a box of rolling paper, and Fiddleford rolled first one, than a second, out with astonishing dexterity.

"Shit, you know your stuff."

"I had a social life in school."

He offered one to Stan, who lit them both up. Fiddleford lay back on the porch and sighed deeply.

"So. What's the story here?" Stan asked.

"Oh, Stanford's my best friend," Fiddleford said. "And as much as I hate to say it, your brother really is all that. Not only the biggest genius I ever met, but one of the best academics to boot. Brains alone don't get degrees."

"And now, uh, what's going on?"

"Oh, right. Sorry, we've been awful." Fiddleford sat up and occipied his hands by making more joints, resting his own on the stair between tokes. "Doctor Pines is here on grant money he got after groundbreaking solo research and a very impressive proof of concept at a conference a few years back. Now, I don't suppose you'd know much about academic politics, Mister Pines, but that is what we call a very big deal, especially when you look at what they gave him. And if I'm being completely frank, it's not primarily the work that's good. The man could convince the board to dig a canal in Arizona."

"What? Sixer?" Stanley laughed. He noticed, but didn't quite register Fiddleford's flinch at the name. "Guy never took a date to a school dance in his life."

"Maybe he ought've asked more funding admins."

Stanley chuckled. The weed was definitely helping.

"Anyhow, part of what he was doing here was building this big -" Fiddleford sucked from his joint, gestured lamely, lost his words - "I don't know how to describe it in plain speak. It's a doohickey."

"A doohicky."

"Portal, let's say. Real spaceman bullhockey. Let's just say, me'n him are close on the only ones as could do it, this stuff is mathematically on the edge of impossible."

"You an him, huh?"

"Oh, alright," Fiddleford said, grinning, rolling out the last of his little arts and crafts project. "Me. I'm the only one could build it. I weren't lying when I said I'm better'n him."

Stan coughed laughing. "Got a big head on your shoulders?"

"Hardly. I'm an engineer. Not an academic."

"Yeah, yeah. Smart guys. Look, I'm just a schlub."

Fiddleford's face fell. "Sorry, I don't mean that- oh, shucks, my wife always warned me I gotta watch what I say about that sort of thing. I didn't mean nothing by it. Having brains don't measure a man's worth, I know that more'n most."

"Aw, it's nothing," Stan said, made big-hearted and quick to forgive by the drugs. "You're good in my book."

Fiddleford was out of weed. He tucked what he'd made back into the bag and sealed it. When he gazed out at the woods this time, his anger had softened to irritation. "Anyway, I come out here to help him with his work. And believe me, it's good. He's got a one-of-a-kind opportunity here. But Stanford Pines is one of those Victorian types says discovery is all about taking risks, and let's just say when he takes risks I always seem to be the one who ends up with something broke."

"Aw man. I'm sorry. Seriously."

"First there was the Grenloblin, which is a horrid creature, by the way, then that cat-tannin' shapeshifter he kept as a pet even when it began to talk to us-"

"Wait, what?"

"And the gnome debacle keeps coming back to bite us, can't keep the windows sealed tight enough,"

"Gnomes?"

"And then that FUCKING demon."

Fiddleford abruptly stopped talking. He took another toke. His free hand was clenched into a shaking fist. Stan stared.

"What do you guys research, exactly?"

"Anomalies," said Fiddleford.

"Like, what, two-headed calves and shit?"

"That'd work. But Gravity Falls has gnomes."

"Little men in red hats."

"Little men in red hats."

"You're shitting me."

"I swear to you I am not."

"Don't suppose the bud went bad..."

"You'll see in the morning. I'll show you."

"You just described a bunch of dangerous shit. And also gnomes, I guess. Do I want to see it all?"

"Believe me, the most 'dangerous shit' is in this house."

Stanley, being an idiot but not that much of an idiot, was about to press him further. They were interrupted by the door, though, and his dumb brother's disapproval.

"Are you two smoking cannabis?" Ford demanded. Stanley chuckled at how much he sounded like a pearl-clutching old woman.

"Yes we are, and you're partaking," Fiddleford said, pulling out a joint. "We're making up for lost time, come on."

Stanford glared daggers. "I am not."

Fiddleford fell back on the porch, stretched his legs out in front of him, and stared upside-down up at Stanford.

"You owe meeeeeeee."

Stanford kept glaring. Then he glared at Stanley, who shrugged.

"Did you bring this?" Ford snapped.

"Technically, but I didn't offer. He asked."

Fiddleford wiggled the outstretched joint.

Stanley had no idea the look on Stanford's face was, aside from uncomfortable, but the guy relented. He stepped forward, sat as far as he could from the other two, and gingerly picked up the joint. Stan tossed him the lighter, knowing very well that he wouldn't have his own. The other boys laughed at him when he struggled to get it lit right.

"Don't worry, Doctor Pines, I'm here for you," said Fiddleford in a fond, dreamy voice.

"Very reassuring, thank you," Stanford growled.

It was endearing. It was, hell, it was cute. Despite the blow-up inside, Stan was kind of... glad? that Stanford had apparently made an actual, honest-to-god friend.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

6k of JackCurt, half Curt character study, half romance; established relationship; no queerphobia; everyone lives

They're barely across the channel when they're hit hard. Curt hears Dickie grunt, and when he looks over, there's red seeping from under his cap and red pooling in his sheepskin. There's smoke billowing from two engines, and after a second strafing, Curt's got glass all over himself.

"Dickie, you with me?" Curt asks as he maneuvers so his gunners can get some shots in.

"Here, here," Dickie murmurs. He straightens up. He tries to reach for his controls, but his left arm doesn't move right, and his right doesn't move at all. "Curt–"

Smoke starts to billow from a third engine. One of the side gunners yelps into his mic. Curt's not even sure they're over France yet, and they're supposed to make it all the way to Africa.

"We're chewed up," Curt says into his mic. "Three engines smoking, glass in my fucking face, Dickie's bad off–"

"I'm fine," Dickie huffs.

Curt reaches out and grabs his right hand, gives it a squeeze. "Merrick's down, gonna turn her around and try to make it back to base."

There's confirmation from the lead, and then a long moment of silence as Curt starts to turn back, the Germans on his ass. 

"Biddick, we'll see you back at base," says Jack, calm and cool as he always is on the radio. No sign he's thinking of anything but adjusted logistics with Curt out of the game already.

"Safe travels, boys," Curt replies. "No one be an angel today, you hear me?" 

"We hear you," Jack says, and there's a little warmth there, just for him. Curt's sure about it. 

His boys do their best to keep the Germans off their asses, but then the fourth engine goes, and all Curt can do is aim for the water. 

They hit hard and at an angle, and Curt feels something twinge hard in his chest and his leg, and then something hits him in the head and things go real hazy before they go black. 

*

He comes to on a cot next to a fire. There's a splint on his leg and bandages around his torso, and when he turns his head, it hurts like fucking hell. He groans.

"Easy, son," a voice says, and then an older woman comes into view. She has a long braid and a nice smile, and she touches Curt's cheek in a way that reminds him of his mother. "You're still half-frozen from the water. Just stay right where you are and warm up."

"My boys?" Curt manages. He's out again before he hears her answer. 

*

When he comes to a second time, he's in an ambulance with two medics. There's a needle in his left arm, and his head still hurts like fucking hell. 

"...the fuck am I?" Curt asks, but the medics don't hear him over the sounds of the vehicle. He wonders if Dickie's okay, says a prayer for him and all the other fellas. 

His last thought before he fades out again is that he hopes Jack makes it back. 

*

The third time, he wakes up properly, coming to sluggishly, but once his eyes are open, he's awake. He's staring at the ceiling, and there's sounds of men around him. He puts his hand on the mattress to push himself up, and grunts when it makes pain cut through his chest. 

"Careful, Biddick," Red says. He's in a chair next to Curt's bed. He reaches over and helps Curt finish sitting up, stealing a pillow from the empty bed next to him to give him extra support. "You've got two broken ribs and a broken leg and a bump on your head, plus you went down in the water, so you were about half-frozen when they found you."

"The boys?" Curt asks. "Dickie?"

"Had to send 'em all to London once we found you," he says. "The locals did a good job keeping you all alive, but you're the best off of everyone."

Curt considers that. "Shit," he says. "How hard did I land?"

"It was the Germans, not your landing," Red says. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Can you give me a short recap? The other boys couldn't say much." 

Curt blinks and stares at his leg in the bed. It's in a cast now, bright white. He remembers a kid breaking his arm in the neighborhood, how they all scrambled to sign their names. "You gonna sign my cast?" he asks. 

Red huffs and scoots his chair a little closer. "You'll have my signature before I leave. I promise."

Curt nods. "Okay," he says. "Yeah." He closes his eyes and thinks about the mission. "We were over the channel when they got us the first time. Fucking nailed us good. Two engines shit the bed, and something got Dickie…"

"Shrapnel," Red fills in. "In the neck and in the head. They sliced, didn't stick, that's why there was so much blood."

The details make Curt relax a little. "Those cuts get infected?" he asks. 

"Shockingly, no," Red replies. "Like I said, the locals did a good job."

"Should thank 'em when I'm on two feet again," Curt mutters. He thinks of the face of that woman, her long gray braid. 

"What happened after the shrapnel?" Red asks. 

"One of the side gunners took a hit. Merrick. His arm, I think."

"They'll have to amputate," Red says. 

"Fuck me," Curt replies. He crosses himself. "I radioed we were turning around after that. Germans followed us, and they got the other engines. There was glass at some point. I don't know how I hit my head."

"Awning collapsed on landing," Red says. "A rivet smacked you good."

"Huh," Curt says. He lifts his hand and feels around until he finds the knot. "How long I been gone?"

"Two days. You went down, and you were rescued by boat. They sent word they'd pulled men from Escape Kit. We took the other boys before we grabbed you, since you were doing all right where you were. Smokey went out himself to make sure."

"Nice of him," Curt says. "How'd the other fellas do?" he asks. "They make it to Africa?"

"Not all of them," Red replies, and Curt feels sympathy for him, having to track things like that. "Just-a-Snappin got there with no major injuries reported."

Curt sags against his pillows and says a prayer of thanks. "The Bucks?" 

"Both made it, though Cleven had to glide in."

Curt snorts. "No engines Cleven strikes again."

"He does," Red agrees. He puts his hand on Curt's arm. "We can't send word out that you're here, but I'll make sure Jack knows before interrogation."

"Thanks, Red." Curt opens his eyes, though it's hard. "I'm fading," he says. 

"Get some sleep, Biddick. You did a good job. You got your men back home."

Curt nods, closing his eyes again. He hopes Jack isn't worrying too much. He wishes they could send word, but he understands. The less information that goes over the radio, the less the Germans could possibly know. It's the way it's gotta be.

*

He wants to get up and move around the next time he wakes up, at least take a piss without using a bottle, but the nurse explains in very clipped tones that he has a broken leg and broken ribs, and he's lucky he didn't puncture a lung.

"I'm wrapped up like a mummy," Curt says. "How could my ribs move to get me?"

"You slip, you fall, and they move," she says. "So piss in the bottle and be grateful you can."

Not the sweetest way to talk to him, but it makes Curt smile all the same.

*

Harding shows up after dinner. He shakes Curt's hand and congratulates him on making it back. He asks how he's feeling, and Curt admits he's pretty doped up. 

"I broke some ribs playing football," Harding says. "Trust me when I say doped up is better."

"Yes, Sir," Curt replies. He's never really talked to Harding, and Jack's only just started working with him as Air Exec, but Curt can see why Jack thinks highly of him. He's friendly in a real way, the type of guy who is gonna really care about them. After what he's already survived, Curt's glad to have him as their CO. 

"I'll get you back in a fort as soon as I can," Harding continues. "I know you boys don't like staying on the ground, but it's gonna depend on you listening to Smokey about that leg."

"He says it's a greenstick fracture," Curt replies. "It'll heal up fine if I don't jiggle it too much."

"Well, do what he says, and we'll get you flying again."

Curt nods. "Yes, Sir."

*

The next day in the late afternoon, he wakes up and Bubbles is there. He's writing a letter, but he puts it aside when Curt yawns. 

"Sorry it took me so long to stop by," Bubbles says. "I came to check on you a few times, but you were always sleeping, and then I'd have to get back to work. But I had some extra time today, so I figured I'd stay a little bit."

"Appreciate it," Curt says. He doesn't try to sit upright. He aches from his head to his toes. "How's our boys?" he asks. 

"Still in Africa," Bubbles replies. "Nothing new to report."

"Well, that's probably best," Curt says. He glances at the letter Bubbles has set aside. "Who were you writing?" 

Bubbles goes a little pink. "Jean," he says. "I promised Harry I would while he was gone." 

Curt grins. "Careful. You don't wanna get busted writing another man's wife."

"Well, it was at his request, so…" Bubbles goes pinker. 

Curt turns his head. The bed next to him is empty. The bed behind Bubbles is empty, too. "You three seeing each other?" he whispers. "I can't ever tell."

Bubbles stares at him. "What?"

"Been trying to figure it out for awhile," Curt says. "If you and Harry are just close or if there's a whole…thing…going on."

Bubbles looks shocked. "I don't–whatever they gave you for the pain really opened your mouth, and that's saying something."

"Yeah, and you're saying nothing," Curt replies. He waves a hand. "Eh, not my business. Not really. I've just been curious."

Bubbles glances at the letter. "Kind of," he says very quietly. "It's…well, you gotta basically speak in code in letters anyway. And we want to keep this private while we figure it out. But. Maybe."

Curt grins. "Heh. That's how it felt with Jack for awhile. Maybe."

"Really? Jack doesn't seem the type to be a maybe."

"Nah, I was the maybe," Curt says. "Not on purpose, but I didn't present my feelings in a typed report with three signatures, so it took him a little while to realize I was serious about him."

Bubbles chuckles. "Okay, that does sound like Jack. How'd you convince him?"

"No idea. One day he just looked at me and said, 'Oh, so we're serious'? And I about lost it when I realized he didn't know. So, I made sure he knew." Curt gives Bubbles his best rakish grin. "You can fill in the details. Send a few to Jean if you want."

"Pass," Bubbles says. "I can't even begin to figure out how to tell her any of that on top of what I'm already trying to say."

"Make up a girl," Curt says. "Say you met a Jean here you really like. Or call her Jane or June. Something with a J. Underline it. She'll get it."

"You write a lot of complicated love notes?"

"Nah, I've got my J. I can be direct. I just like figuring out puzzles."

Bubbles thinks for a moment. "That might work, honestly," he says. "Jane, I think. Like in Pride and Prejudice. It's Jean's favorite book. She'll put it together."

"She's gotta be smart to fall for Harry," Curt says, and he likes the way Bubbles goes a little soft at his words. "You are gone," he says. 

Bubbles nods. "Yeah, I sure am," he replies. "But so are you."

"Damn right," Curt replies. "I got a smart one, too." He laughs. "Hey, me and Harry, we've got all the smart Js. Jean. Joseph. Jack."

"What about Buck and Bucky? He's a John."

"We'll ask Buck on a good day and a bad day, see if the answer changes." Curt says. "I bet it does."

*

A nurse–Nurse Upton, she says–helps him into a wheelchair the next day and wheels him all the way down to the hardstand to see his new fort. Kenny comes over when he spots him. He shakes his hand and welcomes him back, then turns and gestures to the fort. 

"We haven't named her yet," he says. "Any ideas?"

Curt looks at the big, empty space where the name should go. He thinks of Jack, who's still in Africa. Who doesn't know yet that Curt made it back. He hopes he's okay. "You feeling romantic, Kenny?"

Ken laughs. "Sure," he says.

"Wild Card," Curt says. "With a Jack of Hearts at the end."

Kenny looks up at the fort, and Curt can see him picturing it. "Yeah," he says. "I can work with that." 

Curt watches him scramble up onto the wing and start sketching. He grins when he sees how big Kenny makes the card, and grins even bigger when he sees Kenny scrawl initials into the two hearts next to the Jack's two heads. A C in the top one, and a J in the bottom. 

"Perfect," Curt calls.

"I'll have the brass okay it before we paint it," Ken hollers down to him. When Curt nods, Ken turns back to the fort and scribbles some detail on the card. 

"Lieutenant, we should head back," Nurse Upton says. "You'll want lunch soon."

"See you, Kenny!" Curt calls. 

"Heal up fast!" Kenny replies. 

Nurse Upton turns him around and starts pushing him towards the hospital again. "How many days is a guy an invalid in my condition?" he asks her.

"As many days as it takes not to be," she replies. "If you didn't have broken ribs, we'd have you on crutches already, but you had to go and break your ribs, so here you are."

Curt huffs a laugh at her description. "All right, all right, I'll try not to be a problem."

"Lieutenant Biddick, I've heard enough about you to know that is not true."

Curt laughs for real this time. It makes his ribs ache. "I'd be disappointed if my reputation did not precede me."

"Did you really punch out an RAF officer?" 

Curt grins thinking about that night. About Jack not even blinking when Curt said he was taking the fight. About Jack leaning in close and saying, 'No kicking him when you knock him down,' and the way Jack had looked soft and sweet when Curt had replied with 'Hey, come on, I wouldn't do that in front of you, sweetheart. You like a fair fight.'

Bucky had carried him down the street in victory, but the moment he'd put him back on his own feet, Curt had circled back to Jack at the end of their straggling parade of drunken pilots and navigators and offered Jack his elbow. 

"Fair enough for you?" he'd asked. 

And Jack had stopped in the middle of the street to turn Curt towards him and kiss him full on the mouth. "Exactly fair enough," he'd replied. 

"Dropped him in one punch," Curt says to the nurse. 

"How do you do that? Is there a trick to it?"

"Distract him first," Curt says. "Play the fool. It brings their guard down." He tips his head back so he can see her. "You getting into fights behind pubs?" he asks. 

She giggles. "No, I'm just curious. I read a book about boxing last week."

"We've got books on that?" Curt asks. 

"Just the one, but I can bring it to you."

"Sure," Curt says. "Why were you reading it?"

"I've read all the others," Nurse Upton says. 

Curt snorts. "You read fast or just a lot?"

"Both," Nurse Upton replies. "What about you?"

"I just read sometimes. I like it all right, but I like to be up and doing things."

"Like punching RAF officers?"

"When the occasion calls for it, yeah."

*

Curt reads the boxing book. It doesn't teach him anything new, but it's well-written and takes up his time. Bubbles visits again, as does Red. Curt's bored, but the sooner his ribs heal, the sooner he can be up and around, so he makes himself stay put.

Smokey comes by when Curt's reading. He unwraps his ribs and pokes him hard. Curt grits his teeth and doesn't call him a son of a bitch. 

"I'm going to leave them unwrapped for now," Smokey says. "I'll keep you on the same amount of painkillers, but if you're careful, we shouldn't need to do more than that."

Curt takes a deep breath very slowly, just to feel how things feel. There's a twinge but it's manageable. "Okay," he says. "Can I get crutches yet?"

"No, not until I'm sure your ribs will stay put. But I will give you free range with a wheelchair as long as you don't talk any of the boys into anything stupid."

"I don't need a nurse?" 

"Not if you behave."

Curt grins, appreciating that Smokey knows him so well. "I'll behave like the nuns are watching," he says. "Best Catholic boy you ever did see."

Smokey snorts in response and pats Curt's shoulder. "Right," he says, so dry it makes Curt giggle. 

*

It's nothing to get Red to push him down to the control tower when the boys come back from Africa. Curt sits up straight and smooths his hair and wishes he could stand on his own two feet, but he figures he's alive and looking all right, so that's enough. 

Bucky spots him first and gives a whoop, then rushes over to check on him, Buck hot on his heels. They both pat his shoulders and tell him he looks great, but Red clears his throat when they ask after Dickie and the others and points to the trucks. 

"See you after!" Bucky yells and blows Curt a kiss. Curt blows one back. Buck gives Curt a broad smile and a wave as he climbs into a truck with his own crew. 

A few of the other boys also take a moment to give Curt their best and promise to catch up with him, and then he's got Harry beaming at him with Douglass and Blakely on either side, and it's nice enough to see them but it also means Jack is close. 

"Come on, boys," Blakely says, "Let's give Jack a moment." He herds Harry and Douglass away, and Curt sees Bubbles approach from the side, grabbing Harry's arm and pressing their foreheads together for a moment before he lets go. Curt looks away as Douglass and Blakely and Harry step into the truck, and there Jack is, hovering near Just-a-Snappin', staring at Curt like he's seeing a ghost. His curls are loose and wild, and he looks the grimiest Curt's ever seen him.

"Get over here," Curt says. 

Jack blinks and steps forward, wobbling for a second. He goes still, then stands straighter, and Curt watches the way determination seems to rise up from his toes. It makes his heart ache to see it. That determination was one of the first things he liked about Jack, and seeing it used because he can barely stand up at the sight of Curt alive. Well.

"I made it," Curt says when Jack gets close. 

"I see that," Jack says, and his voice is even and smooth. His command voice. He clears his throat and leans down, and then he's crouched next to the chair, both hands holding Curt's arm. "Dickie?" he asks. 

Curt expects Red to clear his throat, but he doesn't. He glances over, and Red's over by the truck with the rest of the Just-a-Snappin' crew, watching them but giving them a moment. 

"He's in London," Curt says. "I haven't heard from him yet, but Smokey hasn't said he's dead, so he's probably all right."

"I'll check after interrogation," Jack says, and his voice breaks a little. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on his hands on Curt's arm. "I told myself you would make it back, but I didn't know."

"Look at me," Curt says. It takes Jack a moment, but he lifts his head. "I'm right fucking here, Jack. Kiss me hello and get on the goddamn truck."

Jack laughs wetly, and he stands. He leans over and cups Curt's face and kisses him softly. There's a whoop from the truck–Douglass, Curt is pretty sure. 

"I'll find you when I'm done," Jack says. 

"You fucking better," Curt replies. He grabs Jack's flight suit and gets one more kiss, then lets him go. When Jack gets into the back of the truck, he keeps his gaze on Curt. Curt blows him kisses, and Jack licks the corner of his mouth and doesn't look away until the truck turns to go to headquarters. 

Bubbles takes Curt back to the hospital. They don't talk. Curt wonders if Bubbles feels as exhausted as he does. It takes a lot to see a man come back from a sortie, it turns out. Curt closes his eyes and falls into a doze that he can't quite shake when they step back into the hospital. Bubbles helps him into bed and covers him with a blanket. Curt mumbles his thanks and falls fully asleep. 

When he wakes up, Jack's at his bedside, still grimy and looking exhausted. He's watching Curt with sharp eyes, and when Curt meets his gaze, he leans in and takes his hand. 

Curt is silent as Jack kisses his knuckles and presses the back of Curt's hand to his cheek. His stubble is harsh against Curt's hand. He's never seen Jack with so much scruff. 

"You look like a delinquent," Curt says. 

Jack turns Curt's hand over, and Curt happily cups his cheek. "You'd know," Jack replies. He closes his eyes when Curt drags his thumb along his cheek.

"You hurt?"

"Cuts and bruises."

"You sleep?"

"Some." 

Curt wriggles over on the bed. "Come on, sit here."

Jack sits in the little space Curt has made. He keeps hold of Curt's hand and runs his other hand up and down Curt's arm. "Checked with Smokey before I came in. He says your ribs are doing all right, and your leg should heal fine. He's not worried the bump on your head did too much."

"Yeah, my thick Irish skull wins again."

Jack looks at him, seeming to drink him in. "Leave me a spot to sign your cast?" he asks. 

"Right over my knee where you like to steal a nibble," Curt says in an undertone. Jack looks away, cheeks pinking the slightest bit. Curt grins. "It's your favorite spot."

Jack squeezes his hand. "One of many," he murmurs. He meets Curt's gaze again. "I'm having a cot moved into my quarters. Smokey's going to have a nurse make up a schedule for your medications, and you'll have a wheelchair for your use whenever you want."

"You don't gotta–"

"Shut up," Jack says.

Curt shuts up. He looks at the dust on Jack's face and arms, the small tears in his undershirt peeking out through the open zipper of his flight suit. "You need a shower, a shave, and a shot," Curt says. "Maybe two shots." 

"Maybe three." Jack sighs and closes his eyes. "They found you in the water. You could have frozen to death."

"Didn't," Curt says. 

"Dickie's doing fine, but the shrapnel hit a nerve or something. He can't hold a pen right now, but the doctors say it's fixable."

"I'll write him tomorrow," Curt says. "Been waiting until you all got back since I knew he'd ask."

"How is it you're the only one who didn't have to get sent away?" Jack mutters, more to himself than Curt. 

"Lucky, I guess," Curt says. "And I'll take it if it means I get to stay here with you."

Jack leans in and kisses his forehead. His lips are dry and cracked and chapped. Curt closes his eyes and memorizes the touch. "I'm grounded for this week at least," Jack says against Curt's skin. "We'll have a week."

Curt lifts his free hand and curls it around the back of Jack's neck, keeping him close when Jack shifts to press their foreheads together. Curt thinks of Harry and Bubbles doing the same on the runway. He hopes they're getting a moment like this, maybe getting to talk about Jean and whatever the plans are there. 

"Get cleaned up," Curt says. "Then come back and spring me. I wanna eat in the mess tonight."

"Okay," Jack replies. He pulls away slowly until he's sitting up. "I'll be back in a little bit."

"Yeah, you fucking better," Curt says. He's glad to see it make Jack smile. 

*

Jack's back in forty minutes, showered and shaved and in a fresh uniform. He's combed his curls back but there's no pomade in them, and Curt thinks of the first time he saw those curls like that. After they'd sparred for the first time and he'd learned Jack had way more strength behind his punches than you might think to look at him. He'd come out of the shower with his curls combed back like now, and Curt remembers then, thinking how it made him look younger, a little looser, more like the kind of guy Curt'd have on his side in a scrap. 

"What?" Jack asks after a long moment of silence. He's standing by Curt's bed, hands behind his back. They're waiting for a nurse to bring a wheelchair and Curt's medication schedule. 

"You look better," Curt says. Jack's lips are slightly shiny, no doubt coated in Vaseline to help with the chapping. "What was it like in Africa?"

"Hot as hell," Jack answers. "Bucky brought a fez with him."

Curt snickers. "Yeah, I helped him pick that out."

Jack looks pained. "Of course you did." 

Nurse Upton comes over with the wheelchair. She hands Jack a small paper bag with an envelope taped to it. "Medication and the schedule," she says. "We're tapering him off the painkillers right now, so he may be a beast in a couple of days."

"I've seen him at his worst," Jack says. 

Nurse Upton smiles at Curt. "You need to use the wheelchair if you're taking more than a few steps, but the doctor says if it doesn't hurt your ribs to stand and use them, you can walk short distances with crutches starting tomorrow."

"Can I stand now?" Curt asks. 

"No. And we won't be giving you the crutches until tomorrow just to make sure."

Curt cuts Jack a look at the way he stifles a laugh. "A guy has to try," he says to Nurse Upton.

"One of the nurses will be coming by your quarters to check on him a few times a day," Nurse Upton says to Jack. "If he tries to pull any stunts, we'll take him back until he learns some manners."

"I have been nothing but polite since I got here," Curt argues.

Jack glances at Curt, then at Nurse Upton. "How accurate would you say that statement is?"

"We expected him to put up a lot of fight," Nurse Upton says, "Given his reputation."

Jack looks at Curt. His eyes are soft. "The reputation is earned, but he's smart enough to know when not to use it." 

Curt ducks his head, suddenly shy under Jack's proud gaze. "Come on, bust me out. I want mess hall food."

"We serve the same meals here," Nurse Upton says. 

"It tastes different," Curt says because it has. 

"Come on," Jack says, holding out his arms for Curt. He helps him into the chair, paying close attention as Nurse Upton shows him how to raise the left leg support and use the brakes. She gives Curt one last smile, then leaves them alone. Jack drops Curt's medications into his lap and  maneuvers the chair very carefully, clearly worried he's going to bounce Curt off a bed. 

"You're not gonna re-break me," Curt says. 

"I can't imagine a broken bone against a metal bedpost feels good," Jack replies. 

He's got a point, so Curt doesn't argue. He lets Jack push him slowly down the aisle between the beds and then out into the early evening light. He sighs in relief at being outside and not having to go back to the hospital for another night. 

Jack pushes him to the mess hall and parks him at the end of the table, left leg out of the way, then sits to his right so they can see each other. They're joined in a few minutes by Harry and Bubbles, then Bucky and Buck. Blakely and Douglass come along, and by the time everyone's sitting and eating, Curt feels like the head of a family, sitting where he is at the table and everyone filling out both sides. 

They talk about Africa, telling Curt about the fight to get there, teasing Buck about having to glide in. Jack watches him eat, and Curt wonders if he's tracking pain or calories. When he's finished eating, Curt shakes his head when Jack asks if he wants to go rest. 

"Have a cup of coffee," Curt says. "I can sit here." 

Jack gives him one of his measuring stares, then turns and requests coffee. He sits with the boys and just talks a little while. Curt listens and looks at all of them. He sees the little cuts and scrapes they'd gotten. Bucky's got sunburn across his nose, and Harry missed a spot shaving. It'll be weeks before he's up with them again. He hates the thought of having to wait. 

Before they all call it a night, Bucky comes over and hugs Curt tight, then kisses his cheek. "Save a little luck for the rest of us, huh?" he says, smiling but his eyes are so serious. He was worried too, Curt knows. He didn't know if Curt was okay, either. 

"Won't need any for awhile," Curt says. "It'll be stocked up by the time I go up again."

Bucky holds his face in both hands, then steps back. Buck steps forward and taps Curt's cheek with a soft palm. "I'll drop by tomorrow, okay? We can play some cards or something." 

Curt nods in agreement. He knows without asking that Bucky will be with Buck. If Jack's not there to be the fourth player, they'll pull someone else along. 

Harry and Bubbles wave as they leave together. Douglass and Blakely stay for another cup of coffee. Jack pushes Curt out the door with a quiet goodbye to the two of them, and then it's just the two of them making the trek to Jack's quarters. 

"Gotta say, banging the Air Exec has a few perks," Curt says when he can see Jack's private hut. 

Jack groans and flicks Curt on the top of the head. "Don't call it that," he says.

Curt tips his head back and grins up at Jack, whose gaze is focused on the road in front of them. He wants to joke some more, but there's something about being like this, getting cared for in Jack's quiet way that stops any further jokes he has. "Hey," he says. "Stop a second." 

Jack stops and looks down. "You okay?" he asks. 

Curt nods. "Just. I love you. You know that, right?"

Jack smiles at him. "Yeah, I do," he says. "And I love you, too." 

Curt nods again. "Okay. Good." 

They reach the hut, and the second cot is set up next to Jack's, positioned so Curt's left leg will be on the outside edge. There's a night stand set up, too, with a lamp already plugged in. 

Jack leaves Curt in the chair for a moment and walks over to inspect things. He takes the blanket off of both cots, then pushes them together. 

"Like the way you think," Curt says with an exaggerated leer.

Jack gives him an amused look, then walks back over to wheel Curt right up to the bed. He helps Curt shift to the bed, then covers him with the blanket. "Give me a minute," he says. 

"You're coming to bed already?" Curt asks, surprised.

"Not for the whole night," Jack says. "I just want to lie down with you for a little while."

"Okay," Curt says. "Good." He watches as Jack strips down to his shorts and takes in the scrapes and bruises he hadn't seen before. He's banged up more than Curt expected, but he's moving all right, so Curt decides not to point it out.

Jack gets into bed next to him and rolls onto his side. He slides an arm around Curt's waist and lays his head on Curt's shoulder. "Comfortable?"

"Yeah," Curt says, resting his cheek on Jack's curls. "You doing all right?" he asks. 

Jack breathes out slowly, and Curt feels some tension leave him. "Better than I've been all week," Jack says. "Jesus," he says. "Jesus fucking Christ, I thought you were dead."

Curt cups the side of Jack's head. He wants to roll over and gather Jack into a bear hug like he's done before when they've had this moment, but the injuries make it impossible. "I'm not, though," he says. "If I've got breath in my body, I'm not leaving you, Jack."

Jack shudders, and Curt feels dampness on his shoulder. He tucks his hand under Jack's ear and lets it be a soft weight on his jaw and neck.

"Had to name my new fort," Curt murmurs after a minute. Jack's still crying, and Curt doesn't want him to stop until he's good and done, but he wants to help in some small way. "You seen her yet?"

Jack strokes Curt's waist and sniffles. "No," he says. "What'd you choose?"

"WIld Card," Curt says. "With a Jack of Hearts."

"Shit," Jack mutters. "We can't use it."

Curt goes still. "Huh?"

"Wild Cargo made it back," Jack says. "It's too close for the radio."

"Aw, fuck," Curt says. He laughs a little. "This is why I don't do romance."

"Bullshit," Jack replies. He lifts his face from Curt's shoulder. He's got tear tracks on his cheeks, but he's giving Curt the sweetest look. "It's romantic whether it works on the radio or not." 

Curt rubs his thumb over Jack's cheek, wiping away the tear track. "Guess so."

"And we can keep the card, that won't be a problem," Jack says. "Just need a different name."

Curt chews on that for a moment. Jack sits up and reaches for the tissues on his side table. He wipes his face and blows his nose, then gets up and pours a glass of water from the pitcher by his desk. He drinks half and brings the rest over to Curt. 

"Heart's Wild?" Curt suggests before taking the glass. He takes a sip and watches Jack open the envelope with his medication chart. Jack takes out a series of pill bottles and reads the labels, then taps two different pills into his hand and holds them out to Curt. Curt takes them and swallows them down with the rest of the water. 

"Jack's Heart," Jack says as he lies down next to Curt again. 

Curt stares at him. "You don't gotta claim me quite so hard, Jack. Everyone already knows we're a set."

"That a no?"

Curt beams and reaches for Jack. "No fucking way is that a no. You wanna yell it from the rooftops, I'll meet you up there."

Jack kisses him and noses his cheek. "Go to sleep," he says. "I'll tell Ken in the morning." 

Curt tips his chin for one more kiss and thinks about what Bucky said about saving some luck for the rest of them. How could he ever be short of it with a guy like Jack by his side, he thinks as he falls asleep.

[verywhispersstrawberry]

@ao3org

My first time writing ever! Many head cannons of how I would have like things to have went on TWD after “Alone” and people I wanted to still be alive.  Just had to write it down. Hope you enjoy, any and all feedback appreciated. Beth and Daryl have inspired me so much from TWD, that I have all these head cannons, that I want to write. Also, what are some of the best forums to post fanfiction on? Any suggestions would be great as well!  Happy Reading!

 

 

CHAPTER 1

"Did You Really Love Me"

 

 

Carol had mentioned to Beth that Daryl was in a place called Madmosone. She explained to her what it was. She mentioned the woman coming up and propositining him and he said, “I’m good, but thank you.” She was just aggravating Daryl. Hershel, Rick, Michone,  Glenn, Maggie and all the others were listening and smiling. Couldn’t believe Daryl would be in a place like that. But Beth wasn’t smiling. In fact it made her realize Daryl had a whole other life in France and all these years that they were apart.

Maggie and Carol had told her about Leah and Daryl living with her for about  a year in the cabin in the woods. That hurt Beth too. But listening to his life in France and the fact that he took on a child, who was not his. She began to wonder if he had forgotten about her all these years. Did he really love her like he was implying that night in the kitchen in the funeral home, or was it out of loneliness?

 

When Daryl came down the stairs, Carol starts to aggravate him (like brothers and sisters do) about telling Beth about that place. Was all harmless fun to Carol. When they proceeded to tell him about what they had been telling her,  Daryl just rolled his eyes.  He looked at Beth and he saw she was not smiling and in fact she was hurt.

“Beth, nothing happened. I was there to find get some help and fuel so we could get back here.”

Laurant was listening in and he responded, “but Isabelle loved you.” Did you not love her?” Everyone is staring at Daryl at this point. Hershel, Rick, Maggie, Glenn, Michonne, and definitely Beth. Daryl didn’t respond to his question. Laurant again states, “she told me she loved you, Daryl.” “I know,” Daryl responds.

Beth gets up and goes upstairs. Obviously, hurt. The others realized and watch what has happened. Daryl goes up after her. They go into their bedroom. Beth is sitting on the bed. Daryl sees her and sits down beside her.

        “Beth are you ok?”

 

        “Did you love her?”

        “I cared about her, but I didn’t love her.  She was a good person. She reminded me of you.”

        “How?”

        “How what?”

        “How did she remind me of you?”

        “When I was at the convent, she was helping me bathe.  I noticed she had scars on her wrist. It reminded me of you.”

        “Great! me trying to kill myself at the farm reminded you of me and she was bathing you!”

        “It’s not what you think. She was helping me with my back. She saw my scars. That’s it.”

        “Isabelle, had tried the same thing. I seen the scars, I thought of you. I have always thought of you.

        “ Are you sure?”

        “Yeah, I’m sure.”

        “Daryl, I hear these stories about your life after all these years apart and I feel you are a different person. You lived with a woman who obviously loved you, you were in another country, you had another woman in love wth you. It hurts me to think that had not everything happened that night, we coulld have been together. What about Leah? Did you love her too?

        “ I thought I did, but no I didn't.” I was just lonely.”

        “Were you ‘just lonely’ that night when were talking in the kitchen?”

        “No! I was in love with you then and I have always been in love with you. It has always been you, Beth.” No one else. Yeah I cared about Leah and Isabelle, but I did not love them. You were always in my heart, even though I believed you were gone.” I was looking for someone like you, I guess. But I never felt about anyone the way I felt about you that night and all these years since.”

        “But you had a whole other life?”

        “So. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” Beth said.

We are here together, now, and that is all that matters. You and Laurant are all that matters to me.

        “Laurant is not your son.” No, but I made him my responsibility. They were going to use the kid as a martyr. I couldn’t let that happen to him. You wouldn’t either.”

        “No, I wouldn’t.” Beth said shaking her head.

        “How do I get you to believe that you are the only one I love?”

        “I don’t know. I thought I knew, but hearing of your life since that night and how you have changed, I don’t know.”

         Daryl, sat for a minute, and looked at Beth,  “Alright, remember that night when you were going to write that thank you note to whoever lived there?”

        “Yeah.”

        “Well, you were ready to leave that next day, I wanted us to stay. When I lived with Leah for a while, I decided I needed to come back home. Here. She wanted me to stay. She begged me to stay. I didn’t. Isabelle wanted me to stay in France, I didn’t. But I was going to settle with you at that funeral home for as long as possible. I wanted to make a home with you there. I have only wanted to be with you. After you getting shot, and everything that happened afterward, I was lost. I was lost without you. My heart was broken, Beth. I guess, I was just reaching out wherever I could. But, then to find out you are alive and here with me now. You don’t know how happy that makes me. I don’t want to leave you. I don’t even want to go out on runs, because I am afraid to leave you. I am afraid to fall asleep at times that I will wake up and it has all been a dream. That you aren’t really here. I can’t go through that again Beth. I can’t!”

        Beth hugged Daryl, tryng to comfort him and let him know that she is real and she isn’t going anywhere, but she understands how he feels, she does the same thing, she thought. That she will wake up and will all be a dream and she won’t be back with her family and Daryl.

[dorisslut]

Heyy, I hope you are doing well. I had a pretty weird idea recently but I would love to read about it. The idea is a medieval AU with different AIB characters. My personal favorites would probably be Kuina as kind of a Robin Hood type character and Niragi as a/your dark knight though I'm very open to any different scenarios. Of course there's no pressure to write anything like this. Sorry if all this was not helpful. Anyway all the best wishes to you ^^

Hii! i hope your doing well also, i will try my best! it should be posted tomorrow! thank you for the request <3

KnightNiragi x NoblewomanReader

A/n note: oki so i finally started writing i had to google a little bit but i’m gonna use 2 different kingdoms in this. So i just found these on google so if there wrong i’m so sorry! :)

Summary: Niragi is a knight in France, and y/n is a noblewoman in England. Everyone in town was raving about how the war might start soon, but y/n didn’t care to listen. So she goes for a stroll in the woods but while she’s walking she finds a knight from france, then she realizes what everyone was saying is true. niragis colors: blue and yellow y/ns colors: red and silver

As you were walking around town you kept hearing people talking about how the war was about to start. You really didn’t pay any mind to it.

“Oh my god did you hear the war is starting soon!”

“yes i hear!”

You rolled your eyes wanting a break from the constant yapping, but being curious on how they knew you walked up to them.

“How do you know it’s starting soon?”

“r/n said she saw a knight!”

“apparently-“ you cut her off

“where did she see him?” you have never believed a word r/n said, she always seemed to make things up for attention.

“she never said” you scoffed at the response

“of course she didn’t” you said back walking away from them and over to r/n.

“did you acually see a knight? or do you need more attention?” you got straight to the point not wanting to talk to her long.

“how dare you accuse me of such a thing!” she gasped but started laughing afterwards.

“do you know how much a ruckus you have started here?” rolling my eyes at her childish behavior, you don’t get why she always had to do this. She had everything in this town, every guy swooned over her, everyone loved her.

“thaha, yes and i don’t care” she tried waking away from you but you grabbed her wrist and pulled her close.

“if you want people to believe you, then tell them where you found the knight.” you walked away from her, then she realized she never told people where she had found him.

You couldn’t take this, you walked back to your home where your mother was cooking dinner.

“Mother im going for a stroll in the woods!”

“okay y/n be careful! you know what people are saying about these up coming days or even weeks!” You nodded back to her and stared your walk to the woods.

Once you entered the woods you started to roam around a bit not realizing how deep into the woods you have gotten. But you didn’t care very much and continued walking.

You got in pretty deep and you heard a crunch on your right, you ignored it thinking it was someone fetching for wood. But thinking about it more, they never come this deep.

You got snapped out by hearing another crunch, but a little bit closer to you. You walked the other direction not wanting to believe what r/n is saying, knowing she’s doing it for attention.

You heard it again but it sounds like it’s following you. You knew it wasn’t the best idea but you turned around and saw a person on a house, you couldn’t see the colors of his uniform since it was kind of dar outside.

“Ahh and who are you?” he held up his torch, then you saw it. Blue uniform, so it is true. You tried to run away but he got off his horse and ran after you.

He caught up to you and grabbed your wrist in a tight grip.

“Please let go! i’m sorry! i wont tell anyone just please let me go!” you were crying and trying to pull your wrist away from him.

“Ohh your not going so easily, what’s your name?”

“I’m not saying! just let me go please!” he got closer to your face, you could feel his hot breath on your face but you could see more of his features. He has very dark brown eyes and a few piercings, on his left eyebrow and nose.

“Well? what’s ur name?”

you caved in hoping if you tell him he’ll let you go. “y/n”

“well that’s a pretty name y/n” it rolls off his tongue so nicely, you noticed he also had a tongue piercing.

“w-whats your name?”

“niragi, suguru niragi” you nodded at him, but not feeling him grip on your wrist loosen.

“your very pretty y/n, i’m not going to hurt you” he drops his gun that was also in his hands and he let go of you. But for some reason, you didn’t run away from him. Something about him seemed… comforting?

“Wanna stay with me hm?” you nodded at him, you didn’t even know why.

“cmon, let’s go to my horse” he held out his hand to me, i told it and he kissed the back of it, picking his gun up and taking you to his horse.

“I like your piercings, and your hair” his raven hair looked nice, long and half of it in a little bun.

“thank you y/n” we got to his horse and he set his gun down and hopped on.

“need help?” you nodded once again and took his hand. He pulled you up behind him and we started walking around talking to each other getting to know some more. You warmed up to him and he warmed up to you.

“We are attacking in 2 weeks time” he told you talking you back up to the front of the woods but not close so he could be seen.

“Thank you, i’ll come back tomorrow, bye niragi!” you gave him a kiss on his cheek and hopped off the horse. Niragi felt a strange feeling while going back to the fire.

“Niragi you good?”

“yeah fine” he walked back to his tent and he could get y/n off his mind, but little did he know. Neither could y/n.

It’s been a few days and you have been going to the woods to see niragi every night. But someon has been following you, r/n. You didn’t know that she was telling her little group everything about what has been happening. But tonight they were going to confront you about it.

You did the usual tell you mom then go find him. Tonight niragi decided to confess his feelings for you, yes he knows it’s only been a few nights but he feels different with you then what he’s felt with any other girl.

“Hey y/n!”

“Hey niragi!” he pulled you up to onto his horse

“I have to tell you something.” he was nervous, you could tell.

“what’s up? are you ok?” he nodded at you and started talking.

“Y/n i know we haven’t known each other for long but” he took a slight pause not know if he should, but if he doesn’t he might never see you again after the war.

“i like you, a lot. and i get if you don’t like me back due to how long we have kn-“ you shut him up but kissing him, he kissed you back but you pulled away.

“I like you to niragi, i thought it was obvious” you leaned in to kiss him again but you heard a noise and you turned your head to see r/n.

“Ha, caught you y/n!” she had her little group around her staring at you both.

“i- um”

“you filthy slut y/n, kissing a french knight” you didn’t know what else to say to her. you were scared of people finding out about it. Niragi saw your nervousness and made the horse start to run away.

“We’ll get you y/n!” the girls laughed but stared to walk away.

“i’m so done for” you were panicking because you don’t know how you just realized you could get hung.

“Then don’t go back, stay with me” he tried calming you dow but it didn’t work.

“I can’t they will come looking for me.” you looked up at him with worry in you eyes.

“I don’t want them to do anything to you” you had tears building up in your eyes at the thought of them doing anything to him.

“hey hey hey, they wont touch me, i promise nothing will happen to me.” you nodded at him, you hated this. It was forbidden love.

“Can i stay with you tonight?” you hoped it wasn’t to much to ask of him.

“of course my love.” the pet name made your heart flutter and a blush come upon your cheeks.

“I have to grab some stuff for us to sleep” he snuck in his tent to grab some of his stuff and came back to the horse, not being seen by anyone. He found a good spot for us to sleep and started setting everything up.

“Thank you, for everything niragi”

“don’t thank me, now c’mere” he opened his arms already laying down waiting for you to join him. You layed your head on his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist, he wrapped his arms around you. One around your waist and one on your head playing with your hair.

“I love you y/n, i know it’s fast but i really do”

“I love you to niragi, it may be fast but i m have never felt this way before.” you looked up at him to find him looking at you already.

“get some sleep my love” he told you, already drifting off to sleep.

“goodnight niragi, i love you” i heard him mumble an i love you back before we both dozed off.



[marie-swriting]

I Still Miss You - Benedict Bridgerton

Masterlist

Summary : You are best friend with Benedict Bridgerton till the day you have to leave to go to France. When you meet again, seven years later, Benedict realises you still have an important place in his heart.

Warnings : angst, sad ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see any and if I missed any warnings !

Word Count : 2,9k

French version on Wattpad

French version on Tumblr

Song Inspiration : A Little Bit Yours by JP Saxe

It's 1804 and you stare at your house, you’re lost in your childhood memories. After living for sixteen years in London, you have to move to France as your father has to work in Paris. 

Your father makes sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, allowing you to memorise every single stone of your old house, the one you called home. A voice calling your name brings you back to reality. You turn around and see your best friend, Benedict Bridgerton running to you. You meet him halfway, trying to hide your sadness. 

“Benedict, what are you doing here ? We bid each other goodbye yesterday.”

“I know, but your whole family was there. I wanted to see you one last time, alone.” The eighteen years old confesses.

“I’ll come back to London.” You assure him.

“But when ?”

“Soon. I hope so. Promise me to always write to me. I do not wish to lose our friendship.”

“I promise you, Y/N.”

You both look into each other’s eyes. They express more words than their voice ever could. You’re about to be separated for the first time. You have always known Benedict and you can’t imagine a life without him, unfortunately you don’t have a choice. Benedict doesn’t want to go back to a life where you’re not by his side. You've been his best friend since the day you were born. You know everything about the other. Suddenly, you fall into Benedict’s arms, needing to keep Benedict in your memory by more than just sight and ear.

“I’m going to miss you.” You murmur.

“I already miss you.” 

“Y/N, we have to go.” Your father calls, forcing you to break your embrace. 

“I am coming.” You answer before looking at Benedict one last time. “See you soon.”

Benedict doesn’t have the courage to answer you, trying to bite back his sobs. He looks at you leaving him and getting in the carriage. When you pass next to him, he waves at you and you do the same. When your family is not in his sight anymore, he lets a tear roll down his cheek. It’s official. You’re not close to him anymore. He made you a promise. He’ll write to you till the day you come back.

Lady Danbury’s ball opens the social season of 1811. Benedict goes to the event against his will, just like his two brothers Anthony and Colin. They don’t want to spend their night dancing or meeting the mamas who absolutely want to marry their daughter to a Bridgerton's. Benedict has to act as if he wants it. He stays in a corner of the ballroom, trying to make himself look smaller than he really is. Looking across the room, his eyes set on a familiar face. He needs a second to be sure he’s not being mistaken. You lost your baby face, but your beauty is still the same. With a huge smile on his face, he walks to you as you’re standing at the opposite of the room.

“Y/N ?” He asks, catching your attention.

“Mister Bridgerton, it is nice to see you again !” You answer, taking Benedict aback as he’s not used to you being so formal but he tries to hide his shock before talking again.

“I did not know you were back.”

“I arrived in London only two days ago. I haven’t had the time to greet everyone yet.”

“Dear, here is your drink.” A man states with a noticeable french accent, giving you a glass of champagne. Benedict frowns his brows, not knowing who that man is.

“Oh yes, I think some presentations would be greatly appreciated.” You begin, noticing the rising tension. “Viscount BirdWhistle, this is Lord Benedict Bridgerton, my childhood best friend. Lord Bridgerton this is Viscount James Birdwhistle, my… husband.” You say the last word awkwardly.

“Nice to meet you.” Benedict smiles politely.

“Nice to meet you, too. I am delighted to finally discover Y/N’s birth town.”

“Lord Bridgerton, I hope I will have the pleasure of seeing your family again, after so many years.”

“I hope so, too, Viscountess Birdwhistle. I apologise, I see my mom is looking for me.”

“There's no need to apologise, I was going to ask my wife to dance.” The Viscount reassures him, taking your hand. “Have a good time.”

“So do you.”

Benedict walks away, his throat seeming to be tied as he tries to comprehend what’s just happened. 

“Of course, she’s married ! She’s three and twenty. They must've been married for three years at least !” Benedict curses himself mentally. 

He takes a glass of champagne and drinks it quickly. He takes another glass and sets his eyes on the dancefloor. You and your husband are waltzing, eyes full of love. James murmurs something in your ear and you try to hold back your laugh. Benedict feels his heart being crushed in his chest while he’s watching the scene. You two look like you are very close, indicating that your marriage must be a love one.

Over the years, Benedict understood that his feelings for you have changed. They were becoming stronger and stronger when you were still in Paris. He was in pain at every letter he was sending. He only wanted one thing : to be close to you again except he never got the chance to. As he wasn’t seeing you coming back, Benedict convinced himself that he’d never see your malicious eyes ever again. He thought he had learnt to live with the pain of his non-exploited love for you. But seeing you again was like a punch in his face. Despite the years, he wasn’t able to forget his feelings for you. The young man can’t bear the sight of you in the arms of another man so he lies to his mother to leave the ball earlier.

The next few days, Benedict retires to his quarter, preferring to draw than risking meeting you again. His family hasn’t noticed his change in behaviour yet they think he’s probably having one of those periods where he isolates himself for his art. His last paintings and sketches are full of melancholia, a sadness never drawn before. What could have been a way to free himself from his pain hurts him more.

But painting his heartbreak constantly is nothing compared to the news his mother has announced two days ago. Coming back home from a promenade, she informed with a big smile that she met you with your husband, a real gentleman, she precised before telling the family that she had invited you and your husband for dinner. The Bridgertons children were all happy to finally see you again. Benedict only focused more on his sketch when he heard the news, making his mother frown. She didn't know how big his feelings for you were, but she knew that you were close friends when you were younger. She was sure he’d be happy. 

The meal is full of joy. You and the Bridgertons talk about childhood memories, allowing your husband to see another face of you, one that is more childish. You’re relieved to see you haven’t lost your connection with the family. You’re still at ease with them. The atmosphere is warm and everyone participates in the conversation. Except Benedict. He only talks when spoken to. His younger sister Eloise notices his silence so she grows worried about him. She thought he’d be the one always talking with you, but it’s actually Daphne as she questions you on your debuts in the society.

“I promise you Daphne, you will be okay.” You reassure her. “I am sure you will find a husband quickly.”

“Was it the case for you ?”

“I met the Viscount in my third year. He spilled lemonade on my dress !” You tell her, making the family laugh.

“She’s still angry at me for that one.”

“I waited weeks for this dress ! Fortunately his dancing skills made up for his clumsiness. Quickly we did some promenades and visited some museums.”

“So you’ve only been married for a year ?” Lady Bridgerton asks.

“That's correct.”

“Talking about museums, do you still draw ?” Eloise questions. “I remember some sketches you did with Benedict.”

“You draw ?” James asks you, surprised.

“I… I stopped a few years ago.” You admit, embarrassed. 

“Why ? I thought you loved it.” Benedict wants to know, being suddenly invested in the conversation. 

“I still do, I just don’t have time anymore.”

Noticing you’re more tensed than when the conversation about art started, the Bridgerton's matriarch catches your attention by asking you a question.

“Do you live in your childhood home ?”

“I couldn’t picture myself anywhere else. I have some ideas for the decoration as it is a little bit old. I want the place to feel more alive.”

“Ah, but I am certain that would be the case once you will have your first child.”

“We hope it will be soon.” You smile.

Benedict can’t bear it anymore. He sets his napkin on the table before looking at his mother. 

“Will you please excuse me, mother, I have a headache.”

“Of course, my dear. Do you need anything ?”

“No, do not worry, mama.” 

Without another word, Benedict stands up and leaves the room. You watch him, concern in your eyes. Even though it’s been years, you're still able to tell when he’s lying. You had already noticed his silence, but his sudden urge to leave the room intrigues you more. If you could, you’d join him right now to know the reason behind his strange behaviour but the presence of your husband stops you from doing so. Despite your worries, you don’t do anything until the end of the meal.

Anthony, Colin and James are in the office of the oldest Bridgerton, they wanted to talk between men, leaving you and the other women in the drawing room. You talk about the next balls as Eloise makes sarcastics comments about them. You don’t show it but a part of you is happy to see Eloise is becoming an educated woman. Quickly, you had the opportunity to listen to the most scandalous thoughts of the youngest Bridgerton but you love the new perspective that Eloise offers you.

“Eloise, you’re always reading. Do you have a book in your room to recommend me ? It has been such a long time since I’ve read a good English book and the French translations are awful.” You inform her, making the other women softly laugh. 

“You’re asking the right person. Come with me.”

You both leave the room before walking upstairs. When you arrive in the corridor leading to the bedrooms, Eloise stops herself and turns to you.

“You want to talk to him, am I right ?”

“How did you… ?” You start asking her but she interrupts you.

“I was maybe young but I still remember how close you were ! Go and talk to him. I will wait in my room for you to return to go back to the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Eloise. It is very nice of you !”

You don’t wait for your friend to be in her room to go to Benedict’s. You hesitate for a second before knocking. Benedict opens the door rapidly, a surprised expression on his face.

“Hello Benedict.”

“Oh, it is not ‘Lord Bridgerton’ anymore ?” He asks sarcastically.

“We are not surrounded by the ton.”

“Precisely. How scandalous. Does your husband know you are here ?” Benedict continues, making your eyes roll.

“I just want to talk, please.”

Benedict opens his door a little more, letting you enter. You walk in the middle of the room as he closes the door. You don’t know where to start but you know you’re the one who has to make the first step as Benedict stays silent, looking at you.

“What is the matter ?”

“I had a headache.”

“I know it is not true.”

“Why did you stop drawing ?” Benedict retorts and you stop yourself from showing your annoyance.

“I already told you, I don’t have time anymore.”

“I know it is not true.” He repeats, proud to use your own words against you.

You turn your back to Benedict, walking to his desk where you find his sketchbook.

“May I ?” You ask him and he nods.

You look at some pages, more amazed every time you find a new sketch.

“It is really beautiful, Benedict. You have improved so much in seven years. Your lines are more delicate and you know how to catch emotions.”

“Your drawings would have been the same if you hadn’t stopped.”

“No. You've always had talent. I didn’t.”

“I do not think so.” He contradicts you. He waits for a second before asking the question he had on his mind for a while. “Y/N, do you really love Viscount Birdwhistle ?”

“Yes.” You admit sincerely, looking at him. “I had the chance to make a marriage of love. He’s nice, respectful, he’s always listening to me and he’s funny. He always puts my happiness before everything else. It was his decision to come back here. I told him once how much I missed London and he decided that we should move back to my old house.”

“How come he didn’t know about your drawings then ?” Benedict wonders, hurt by your confession.

“I had never told him. You can not blame him. He is a good man, Benedict.” You assure him.

You look with more attention at a sketch from a landscape when Benedict brings you back to reality.

“I apologise.”

“What for ?”

“For stopping writing to you.”

“I’ve never written to ask you why you stopped. I am as guilty as you are.”

“I made you a promise to always write to you. It’s just…” Benedict starts, looking for his words. “At some point it became too hard. I really thought I would never see you again and the letters were not making up for your absence. On the contrary, the more I was writing, the more I was conscious you were not here.”

“It is the reason why I stopped drawing.” You confess looking in his eyes. “Art was the last link I had with you. When I was drawing, I was thinking of you and it was becoming harder every time I held my charcoal. So I stopped. It is also the reason why I’ve never told James. Telling him was like sharing our link and I wanted to keep it just for me. Every single moment we spent together, I keep them for me, in my secret garden. It is one of the rare things I had never told him. I care a lot about you, Benedict.” You add, getting closer to him. “I missed you.”

“I still miss you.”

You look into each other's eyes, staying at a good distance from each other. You wish you could hold each other like the day you left, but Benedict knows he can’t. If he did, he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop him from making a mistake. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment and even less your relationship with your husband. You seemed honest when you answered earlier. A part of him broke when he heard you talking about your feelings for James but another was relieved to know you found love. If you had to be with someone else, it’s better for you to be with someone you love. Benedict suffers a little more, thinking of you loving him, James Birdwhistle. You are with him. And you’ll always be till death do you apart. There's nothing he can’t do about it. Benedict can’t bear being this close to you without doing anything so he clears his throat before talking again.

“You should go back downstairs. Your husband is probably waiting for you.”

You don’t answer him and walk to the door. Your hand on the knob, Benedict holds you back one last time.

“Y/N, I am happy you found someone you love. You deserve happiness.”

“I hope you will find someone you'll love. You deserve happiness, too, Benedict.”

“See you soon.”

You smile at him one last time. Leaving Benedict behind, he's now a part of your past. Like seven years ago, Benedict lets a tear roll down his cheeks. Even though this time you’re not a thousand miles away, you’re still so far. Despite what he wants, he’d never be able to have the link you used to have. You are with the Viscount Birdwhistle now. It’s official, he needs to learn to live without you. He can’t let himself fall back into your eyes like he just did. He can’t let himself want you close to him like a few seconds ago. He can’t let himself hope like he was still doing. He would have loved if your relationship never ended, but life decided for you two. You don’t see him the same way he does. Even if the Viscount wasn’t here, years had deleted the affection you had for him. He was sure of it. Benedict knows, deep down, that even if he moves on from his feelings for you, you will always be a part of his heart. His love for you will never disappear. He’ll always be a little bit yours.

Masterlist

{This is my side blog so I'll be answering comments under the username @marie-sworld}

[childotkw]

Jordan, please don’t say Riddle won’t recognize that Hadrian is compelled to kill him when he tries to I will absolutely DIE if there relationship goes back to square one or if they are just snippy to each other and go there separate ways with tension. I’m not ready for Hadrian to be upset with Riddle :(. But it would be 100% funnier if Riddle does recognize it’s happening and can’t do anything about it. I stg if Dumbledore try’s to insert himself after this and the order members continue to be blind to it I will riot. Does Hadrian even recognize he’s being compelled? I’m assuming it might just change his brain into thinking very negative things about Riddle and resulting in bitter good-byes while Hadrian focuses on his future in international relations in France living with Raina’s family. Keep up the good work, I’ll be patiently waiting in anticipation for the next chapter <3

I can neither confirm nor deny what will happen in the coming chapters, I can only hope that you all trust me to hurt you in the best possible way 😂

All I will say is that the issues caused by this last-minute interference will not all be solved by the end of CS, and the emotional trauma of what happens will linger.

As for Hadrian, I'm still debating how exactly I want the compulsion to come across in his sections - so I can't really answer the second half of your ask just yet because I don't know myself 😅😅 it'll either be, he is in 'full-control' over himself and it's just his perception of Riddle that's twisted; or he completely shuts-down and becomes the equivalent of a non-verbal puppet carrying out his 'orders'. Both are really fucked up, but I am leaning towards one over the other (won't say which though!)

But thank you - I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! 💕💕💕