#i feel like there is one or two i am forgetting.

[killerlookz]

Is It Really You? | Joost Klein

description: Based on the song Is It Really You? by Loathe (aka one of the most beautiful songs of all time i'm being so serious) Following a breakup with your long-term boyfriend, the man you were certain you would marry, a night with your best friend, Joost proves that love may lie elsewhere for you.

content: Joost Klein x f! reader, 18+ suggestive content (no smut), RPF, smoking, mention of drinking, angst, hurt/comfort, breakups, cheating, fluff, best friends to lovers(?).

word count: 3363

"Is it really you...? Let's search the sky for a while, you and I, collide like two stars for a while, you and I."

Your eyes burn as another bitter tear falls down your cheeks, the taste of salt grazing your quivering lips as the droplet drips off your chin. The early summer air was getting cooler as the sun had long been set, a small breeze stinging your tearful eyes as it blew past your face.

"Oh," The word drops painfully from the mouth of the man beside you, as if you had just broken his heart right then and there, "Oh, don't cry." The familiar voice of your best friend was of little comfort now.

You suck in a deep breath, shaky as your chest spasms, struggling to maintain composure. You gaze out at the city that surrounds you, bright and alive with a bustling nightlife, a nightlife you had found yourself so often partaking in. But tonight, as you sat on the roof of your apartment, you were merely an observer, far removed from the fun of the city.

"Five years, Joost." You turn to face the blonde next to you, "five, down the drain."

His face is pained, pink lips pulled downwards as his eyelids fall and eyebrows furrow, "Het spijt me." (I am sorry) He shakes his head.

The last three weeks had been nothing but sorries, to the point the phrase had begun to make you nauseous, your stomach churning as the condolence had left Joost's mouth. Everything about him told you that he actually meant it, but still- you couldn't bear to hear any more sorries.

"I thought I was going to marry him," You turn away from Joost, facing back to the skyline that surrounded you, observing the buildings, and the multitudes of colors that shone from their windows. Your chest ached, you didn't understand how someone you had loved so much and for so long could leave in an instant, seemingly so nonchalantly, with not so much as to even give you a face-to-face goodbye, "Fuck." You mutter, feeling a familiar anger begin to bubble inside you- what a fucking coward.

A trembling hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes that sits beside you, grabbing the warped cardboard, and pulling out another cigarette. Looking into the box, only one remained, had you not been so consumed by your emotions you probably would have felt bad smoking almost the entire pack, considering they weren't yours.

"There's one left," You mutter, tipping the box in Joost's direction, offering him the remaining cigarette, despite the entire pack having been his in the first place.

"I'm ok," He shakes his head, "It's yours."

A small smile pulls at your lips in response to the gesture, but you just cannot take that response,

"No," You push the open cardboard towards him, "Take it. Humor me please." You had hoped he would accept, and indulge you in your shared bad habit together.

Joost reluctantly takes the pack from you, slowly pulling out the single remaining cigarette, and placing it between his lips. You watch as he struggles with the lighter in his hand that is clearly on its last life. With a flick, he's finally able to produce a small, orange flame, just enough to light the end of the cigarette.

He passes the lighter to you, his fingertips lightly brushing your palms as he hands the small, black object over to you. His slight touch sends shivers down your spine, almost making you forget your unfortunate situation for a split second.

Tilting your head down, and using a cupped hand to shield you from the gentle breeze, you attempt to light the cigarette that hangs from your lips. Your finger swipes down the cool metal, but you're unable to produce a spark, the serrated metal wheel is unturning as it bores into your skin. You attempt a few more times, left only with your thumb sore from its rough movements against the hardness of the metal.

"Here," Joost says, clocking your lack of success with the lighter. He leans in towards you, touching the end of his cigarette to yours. You note the proximity between you, his face so close to yours. You can't help but take a moment to admire him, the way his blue eyes glimmer behind the lens of his glasses, how his hair is just the perfect amount of messy, and how the warm colored city lights highlight the angles of his face against the backdrop of night.

Your spark of admiration reminds you of simpler times, of younger years, spent pining over your best friend in all of your teenage awkwardness. You had spent most of your childhood with an insatiable crush on Joost, one that went absolutely nowhere. Minus that one time, the two of you shared a drunken kiss four years ago, but it had meant nothing other than the fact that you were angry at your then-boyfriend, and you had had far too much to drink.

Still, you remember it like it was yesterday, having found out just days prior your boyfriend, Christian, had been hooking up with his ex-girlfriend the whole year you had been together. If you had known then what you know now, you would have left him, but having been dumb and 21 the answer to your problems was fighting fire with fire.

You and Christian had been at a party thrown by a mutual friend, having not spoken to him since you had found out what he had done, you showed up to the party with Joost, who you had, subsequently spent the entire night with. The kiss had taken place after god only knows how many drinks, and a night spent dancing with Joost like he was your boyfriend. You and Joost had found yourselves on a couch in the living room, Christian staring dead at the pair of you from across the room, his eyes burning into you- it had felt as good of a time as ever, Heartless by The Weeknd boomed over the speakers, to give him a taste of his own medicine.

To make a short story even shorter, you and Joost had become the focal point of the party for the remaining length of the song, having had him pushed back on the couch as you laid straddled on top of him, lips locked in a furious kiss, wandering hands exploring each other's bodies in a way that hadn't been entirely appropriate for such a public setting.

Following a heated argument after that incident, you and Christian considered each other even, willing to move on with the relationship as if nothing had happened. Joost didn't feel quite the same, the two of them had been on rocky waters ever since then, which, he didn't mind, he was far from fond of the man you swore up and down you were going to marry one day.

Blinking a few times you return yourself to the present moment, watching as Joost's chest rises, sucking in a breath, stoking the flame of his own cigarette so he can light yours. You inhale as well, which finally allows your cigarette to light.

You smile to thank him, the cigarette still pressed between your lips. You place two fingers on either side of the cigarette, taking a proper drag, feeling a familiar warm prickling in your throat as the smoke enters your lungs.

You face away from Joost to exhale, grey smoke dancing around you as another gust of wind approaches.

"I just don't understand," You start, your voice beginning to waver as memories of the last five years you spent with Christian came back to you, "How could he?" You inhale once more, deeply, hoping that you can receive at least some vague headrush from the nicotine. Exhale. "After all the shit I put up with, he leaves me." You face back to Joost, a grimace forming on your face, "With a text."

You bite at the inside of your cheeks, attempting to suppress the way your lips quiver as a sob threatens to escape you.

Joost's head hangs to the side, sympathy spread across his face,

"I don't think there's anything to understand." He presses the cigarette in his hand up against his lips, taking a quick inhale before speaking again, "He's just a dick."

"Easy for you to say," You sigh, "You're biased, you never liked him."

"Yeah," Joost says, matter-of-factly, "He spent the first year of your relationship fucking his ex-girlfriend."

"I cheated too," You mumble, you had never quite forgiven yourself for that incident, no matter how perfect it had felt in the moment.

"We kissed once while we were drunk." He furrows his eyebrows to take another drag of his cigarette.

"Still cheating," You shrug, even if he did have a fair point, you having kissed Joost in pure spite didn't exactly equal a year's worth of hooking up with someone else, "I mean," You pause to take a drag of your cigarette, "If I was your girlfriend, would you want me kissing other guys- even if it was because you had done something too?"

"If you were my girlfriend I wouldn't have sex with anyone else in the first place."

"That's not my point." You shake your head

"But that's my point." He says in earnest.

You flick your eyes up to look at him to find him staring back at you, his gaze unwavering from where it meets yours. He was right and you shouldn't have let the relationship go on for as long as it did.

With a blink more tears are spilling out of your eyes, unable to hold back your cries much longer.

"I wasted five years of my life," The tears continue to pour down your cheeks, "Five years is a long time."

A small smile appears on Joost's face, a sign of encouragement,

"Someday being with someone for five years will feel like nothing," You watch as the end of his cigarette burns down with another drag, a puff of grey smoke exiting his mouth as he speaks again, his voice softening, "But I know it hurts now."

"Yeah," You concede, hanging your head. "It does."

"I know the last thing you want is the 'it gets better with time' speech, but i promise you, it will."

"I believe you." You cannot look at Joost as you take another drag from the cigarette between your fingers, continuing to stare at the concrete roof of your apartment building as the tears continue to stream down your face. Deep down you know he's right, that one day you'll be with someone for far longer than five years, but it was hard to imagine all of the grief you'd have to push yourself through before getting to that point, mourning the last five years of your life seemed like a daunting challenge ahead.

You push what remains of your cigarette into the concrete, watching as the small flame extinguishes with a small plume of smoke.

"Come here." Joost sighs, slinging an arm around your hunched-over body. Instinctively, your head falls to the side, resting against Joost's shoulder. Moments of affection had been scarce between the two of you since the incident at the party, you knew that part of you feared what sort of emotions would be brought if you let yourself get too close in physical proximity to him.

But now it didn't matter, you were more than receptive of a shoulder to cry on.

The pair of you sit in silence for a moment, both fixated on the dark sky that stretches around you in every direction. The stars are nothing but a faint twinkle tonight, much as they had been every night, something you had gotten used to since moving to the city.

Joost's palm rubs soft circles into your back, lulling your shaky breaths to a stable cadence. You feel heavy as you lay on Joost's shoulder, your eyes burning and your head aching from how much you had been crying.

You can't help but let your mind wander, mostly about the past, about your life before Christian. Tonight had reminded you of old times, of when it was just you and Joost, the pair of you attached at the hip. Neither of you had very many friends growing up, and while you could appreciate your expansive friend groups now, and how much your lives had changed since you were teens, you couldn't help but miss moments like this, moments where you had him all to yourself.

You had accepted a long time ago that you were probably never going to completely get over the crush you had on Joost. Not that it mattered much anyway, it seemed harmless, and it obviously hadn't inhibited you from finding love elsewhere. A puppy crush was all you had thought it had waned down to. Joost seemed to only get more attractive as he aged anyway, having truly grown into himself. Sometimes you couldn't believe the man he had matured into- proud was an understatement.

"Feeling any better?" He asks, his voice low as to not startle you as he breaks the silence.

"I don't know." You mumble, your voice threatening to crack once more and your mind is a mess with pure confusion as to what it was you were feeling. Your heart thumps in your chest at a volume that feels much louder than normal, pumping at a rate that seems much too fast for the situation you're in, "Can I ask you a weird question?"

"Sure" He chuckles, "Ask me whatever you want."

"Did you like it?" The question quickly slips from your lips.

"Like what?" He responds, clearly confused.

"Like," You begin to trail off, unsure if you want to clarify your question, "When we-uh kissed?"

The soft motions he draws against your back are suddenly halted, and it feels like the entire city has gone quiet, like time has stood still, Your heart drops straight into your stomach, fearing the outcome of his rigid bodily reaction.

"Y-yeah, yeah, I liked it." His voice becoming more confident as words progressed.

"I did too," It seemed useless now to wallow in the guilt you had felt about that situation, you liked it, "Do you think we could-" You cut yourself off, not sure of how to finish the question.

Joost places three fingers on your jaw, grabbing at your chin to pull your gaze up to him.

You look at Joost through tearful eyes, questioning how to make your next move. A few seconds of anxious silence pass between the two, breathing heavily.

Joost's fingers linger on your jaw as you feel him pull you closer ever-so-slightly, the two of you inching nearer to each other. Unable to wait any longer, you push yourself forward, at the same time, Joost seems to have had the same idea, the two of you colliding with a force you hadn't expected, which almost takes the breath straight from your lungs.

But you only wish to get closer as your lips clash against Joost's with a hunger you weren't used to. You couldn't remember the last time you had experienced a kiss with such passion, with such intent behind it.

Your hands find themselves tangled up in Joost's hair, threading through and pulling at the already messy strands. Joost's own hands are planted firmly on your body, one on the back of your neck and the other on your waist.

You began to slowly tip back, removing a hand from Joost's hair to maintain stability as you lowered your back to the concrete. Joost follows suit, not breaking the kiss as you pull him down with you.

He props himself up with a hand next to your head, using his other free hand to hold your cheek. You wrap both of your arms around his neck, attempting to pull him further down on top of you.

Joost's kisses soon leave your lips, soft lips trailing down your jaw and eventually your neck. Your chest rises, back arching as he connects with your throat, sucking softly. You let your head tip back onto the concrete, staring up at the sky as Joost continues.

Somehow the stars feel much brighter now, although you know that they aren't. But you're memorized by their faint twinkle in the heat of the moment, as your hands desperately grasp at Joost's hair, and your breathing begins to speed up.

Once more, you're overwhelmed, eyes damp once more as they well up with tears. You pinch your eyes closed, trying to force the droplets away, but it does nothing but push your salty tears down your face. It didn't feel so bad to cry now, not as Joost ghosts your neck with soft kisses, his hand dropping to draw reassuring circles on your hip with his thumb.

You arch your back, allowing Joost to wrap an arm under you, holding you tight. You whine as his teeth graze your neck, quickly soothing the small bite with his tongue. It's obvious Joost notices your response to the action, repeating it over a few more times, surely bursting some blood vessels along the way.

You recognized the sensation that was building inside of you, the way the muscles in your legs tightened and your abdomen strained, the paralyzing feeling of want terrorizing every nerve in your body. You bend your leg, pushing your hips forward. With your sudden movement, Joost's hand slips from behind your back to your thigh, his fingertips just below the hem of your pajama shorts. It's not quite where you want him.

A strangled, "Please," leaves your throat, causing Joost to hesitate, lifting his head from where it hung by your neck, his hand dropping from your thigh.

Pity is written all over his face as he looks down at you, fuck.

"I'm sorry," He shakes his head

"What?"

"We shouldn't-"

"No?" You choke, and it's like you could feel him slipping through your fingers, you clench your jaw, his name bitten into your tongue. You let your head fall to the side, the concrete is harsh, scraping against your cheek.

"Stop," You feel Joost's hand graze your arm, "Please look at me."

You can't bear to lift your head up, shame written all over your face. First your boyfriend now him.

"I don't mean to upset you, please, liefje, look at me."

His use of the phrase liefje making you immediately turn your head, confused.

"Don't call me that if you don't mean it." You frown

"I do mean it."

"Sure."

Joost lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead,

"Believe me," He mumbles, his lips still resting against your hairline.

"Then why can't we go any further?" You wince at the words that come from your mouth.

"We will," He raises his head to look you in the eyes, "When you're ready."

"I am," You furrow your eyebrows, "I've known you for 15 years, I am more than ready."

Joost frowns, "You just got out of a five-year relationship."

"Do you think I'm using you as a rebound?"

"What-no," He shakes his head, "I just don't want to fuck up your healing process."

"What if you speed it up?" You ask, lifting your head from the concrete.

"And what if I make it worse?"

"You won't" You plead

"Not tonight." He sighs, dipping his head to place another kiss on your forehead, "Let me take you out first, we'll make it special."

A small smile grazes your lips, your heart warmed at his effort,

"I care about you, y/n, I don't want to just have sex with you because we're in the mood, okay?" He speaks earnestly, making your pulse quicken.

"Okay," You whisper, "Can you at least stay the night?"

"I'll stay as long as you want," he smiles, and a few moments of comfortable silence engulf you both before he speaks again, "You know I love you, right?" You're unsure of if it's platonic love, or something more, but it doesn't seem to matter now, the very simple fact that he loves you was all you could really focus on.

"I love you too." You're unsure of how you mean it either, knowing only that you love him. Just as you always had.

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Buzzed

steddie, omegaverse, modern AU, Eddie got out of Hawkins and got famous

Most days it’s easy to pretend. Steve and Robin share a house and a workplace and most of a life in Indianapolis. He can usually forget how he and Eddie almost had something.

But that was before Eddie moved to L.A. to try doing something with his music, found his way into playing a busker in an indie film that miraculously got oscar buzz, and suddenly he’s a household name, booking tons of projects.

And Steve is happy for him!

Really!

He is.

It’s just… He misses having Eddie around. How excitable and goofy he can be, but also having a thoughtful alpha to hang out with other than Robin.

Not to mention his campfire scent and the way his callused fingers feel against Steve’s skin.

They still talk occasionally, texting mostly, little check-ins every couple months, but Steve hasn’t seen Eddie in-person in at least five years.

That’s why it’s easy to pretend. Steve’s old friend, Eddie, and Eddie Munson, alpha movie star, are two different people.

Steve’s crush can exist between the pages of magazines and on internet gossip sites.

He can moon over the pics from Eddie’s photoshoots that he has saved on his phone in private. Can keep his fantasies contained in his nest as he imagines his fingers sliding into short curls.

At least until he gets a call from Dustin on an unassuming Friday night. Steve and Robin are already nearly through a bottle of wine, kicking their feet up after a long week of teaching, when Steve’s phone rings.

“Eddie’s next movie is shooting in Chicago,” Dustin starts.

“And he’s flying out early so he can stop in Indy for a week. I may have told him he should skip the hotel and stay in your guest room.”

“Dustin!”

“What? You’ve got one of the mattresses from the podcast ads in there! It’s comfy! And that way he doesn’t have to deal with paps!”

“Can you just say paparazzi like a normal person?” Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “But it should be fine. When does he get in?”

“Next weekend.”

“Dustin!”

“I only just found out! El and I are driving down in a week, and Mike and Will are only able to skype in.”

He doesn’t mention Lucas and Max, since they also live in Indy; Dustin and El are likely staying with them.

Robin elbows Steve and hisses for him to put the call on speaker, getting caught up as Steve has a private crisis at the thought of finally seeing Eddie again.

To make matters worse, his totally not stalkerish web alert for Eddie’s name pings after he hangs up with Dustin. A new photo shoot.

Eddie’s curls are gone, buzzed down to his scalp; Steve mourns for a fraction of a second.

Then he needs to squeeze his thighs together.

The wanting that he’s been squashing down for the better part of a decade comes back in full force, strong enough that Robin asks if his cycle is early and he’s going into heat.

Blushing, but knowing he can’t keep a secret from her to save his life, he shows her his phone.

“All I can see is how noticeable his ears are now,” Robin says with a judging look and a shrug. “And I am never going to buy Eddie as a tough guy, but I guess I can understand what you omegas see in him.”

“Rooooob!” Steve whines, indignant.

“Steeeeeve!” she teases back.

“I just… Fuck, I need to get laid.”

“I’m sure Eddie would if you asked him nicely.”

“Rob!”

“He looks like he could hold you down, get you to stop stressing so much.”

“Robin… I can’t think about that.”

“Sure you can.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, and you know why: The bulk of the conversations Eddie and I still have are about you. He always asks me how you are, what you’re up to, at least once a month.”

Steve’s taken aback by that. “What?”

“Yeah. He usually asks if you’re seeing anyone. Tries to sneak it in. Like I’m not going to notice.”

She raises a single eyebrow, and Steve feels intensely confused. “Then how come he doesn’t ask me? Or talk to me more?” He tips back the last of his wine and pulls his legs up tight to his chest.

“Because you’re both idiots,” Robin says, voice warm and full of love as she hugs him.

A week later, a car with dark tinted windows pulls up in Robin and Steve’s driveway.

Eddie has a baseball hat and sunglasses on as he gets out, the disguise barely enough obscure his features, but even if it were better, Steve would still recognize him by his posture.

Robin is out running errands and picking up dinner, but mostly giving Steve an hour of privacy. A chance to say something before either of them can get stuck inside their heads and fuck it up.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie says with a smile as he pulls off his sunglasses in the entryway.

“Hey yourself,” Steve replies, pulling Eddie in for a hug, ready to make it quick, only for Eddie to hold on tight and press his nose to Steve’s neck. A purr rumbles from his chest.

Steve reaches up and pulls the hat from Eddie’s head, letting it fall to the ground.

He rubs his fingers over the stubble of the alpha’s hair, keeping him pressed close to the bonding gland at his neck, his scent crying out for Eddie to claim him.

Soft lips ghost against Steve’s neck. “I missed you,” Eddie whispers.

“Missed you, too.”

Steve kisses the side of Eddie’s head, the only part he can reach, lips pressed to the velvet of his shorn hair. Then it’s like his brain suddenly catches up with him. “Sorry! We- I didn’t-”

Eddie presses a single finger to Steve’s lips, finally pulling back to look in his eyes.

Without his curls, Eddie’s gaze is somehow more intense, dark chocolate looking into Steve’s heart. “Don’t apologize, puppy. You have nothing to apologize for, not to me.”

“Eddie…”

“I’m the one who ran away, who’s been hiding instead of alpha-ing up and telling you.”

“Telling me what?” Steve asks, lower lip trembling.

“That even after all this time, I can’t get your scent out of my nose. That I still dream about you every night. That I work so much to keep from going insane missing you. That I sh-”

Steve cuts him off with a kiss.

Eddie doesn’t waste any more time, just picks Steve up, their lips still connected, and carries him to the nearest bedroom—fortunately Steve’s—and drops him on the bed. Getting out of their clothes doesn’t take long; they’ve both waited long enough.

And Robin will be home soon.

[smoooothoperator]

What Was I Made For?

02: Lose Control

Charles Leclerc x driver!OC (Dafne Morelli)

childhood enemies, forced proximity, accidental pregnancy, enemies to lovers

Warnings: alcohol, Charles being an asshole

a/n: Hello hello!! Second chapter! And things will get even more and more exciting!

Masterlist

previous part

If you want to be tagged don't forget to message me!

Every way of feedback is very welcomed

I never liked the taste of the champagne. It was bitter and the bubbles of it always annoyed me whenever I tried to take a sip of it, making me hold the same glass the entire night whenever I went to a gala.

But now? Now the champagne tastes like glory, like a drink made by the gods to reward their champions.

And that's what I am. A champion.

The first step of the podium gave me the best view I could ever ask for: a gigantic Ferrari flag, tons and tons of people dressed in red with flags in their hands, and a red fog that ascended up to the sky, painting the clouds by the crimson red.

The anthem, played for the second time today, sounded louder than before, with all the Tifosi screaming it with the top of their lungs, watching how I stood in the highest step while I looked up at the sky with a proud smile on my lips.

He's looking at me from above, he was the one that helped me. 

Jules.

I looked down at the crowd. My family was there. My sisters hugged each other, jumping excitedly like when we were kids while they sang the anthem. My parents stood next to them, and next to my family was Charles' family, looking at me too with a proud smile.

This is my day and nothing will ruin it. Nothing and no one.

I hugged the trophy close to me, walking out of the podium and not letting it go until I got inside of my room. My safe place.

I knew I made mistakes. I knew I argued with my engineer more than I should, that I held that position for the entire race until I found a chance of taking the lead. I defended and fought like a lioness, and that's why I deserve the trophy and the glory.

My glory.

I sat on the bed, scanning with my eyes that heavy piece of metal with a bug number 1 on it and the Ferrari champagne bottle, already planning where I should put them in my apartment. Somewhere everyone that walked in could see it, showing them that I'm a race winner too, that women can win in a category dominated by men.

I felt the anxious buzzing in my mind of what I will be doing for the next few days: interviews, social events, meetings with sponsors.

But it's worth it, because for once, I want to go to those things. For once I want to choose a dress that I'll have to wear for hours while I stand surrounded by high society people that smell like expensive perfume and eat caviar as an entree to their meals. I want to read little cards to remember possible questions to the interviews for the TV. I want to go to show the world what I did.

Because I deserve it. I deserve it. I deserve it. I deserve it.

“Here is our winner!”

I looked at the door, watching my parents and sisters walking inside of the small room and somehow fitting in it.

My dad, a man with thick beard and brown hair, was wearing a cap of my collection, and my mom, a woman that was the older version of Soleil, with dark blonde hair and bright eyes, was wearing a red summer dress. Every race they assist, they wear red, all my family dress with my colors.

“How are you feeling?” my mom asked, sitting next to be in the bed and wrapping her arm around my shoulders, kissing my temple.

“Mom, I'm soaked in sweat and champagne!” I gasped when I felt her body pressed against mine. 

“The smell of a champion” she chuckled.

I laugh softly, watching how my dad grabbed the trophy and held it, taking pictures of himself with it and then with my sisters.

“Well… We will have dinner” my dad said, looking at me. “With the the Leclerc’s”

“What? Why with them!” I frowned.

“Because they are our friends” he frowned. “When will be the time that you two stop acting like kids? It has been twenty years already! Are you tired of this rivalry?”

“Dad…”

“No, Dafne” he said, pointing at me with his finger. “Stop this now. Can't you see that it's not funny anymore? Act like adults, now you two are teammates, and I heard that the team already gave you a warning”

I clenched my jaw, looking at him and then at my sisters. When the team gave us that warming the only ones that knew were them, and I asked them to not tell anything to my parents.

“I'm sorry but he's right” Soleil sighed, looking away. “It's only you two… We get along with Charles, you are the only one that can't stand him. Why?”

I took a deep breath and looked away, avoiding their gazes.

They wouldn't understand. Why would they? They don't know what happened. And they won't know. 

“Whatever, I have to go to the press” I said, grabbing the Ferrari cap. “It will take me a while, I'll see you at the restaurant. The same one as always?”

“Yeah” my dad sighed, watching me get up and walk out of the room, leaving them there.

No one will ruin my day.

I don't know how I ended up in this situation.

An hour ago I was leaving the track alone, my sisters went with my parents to the hotel to get ready while I was finishing the last interviews and team pictures. The music was high in the speakers and I just sang along to it. My backpack was on the backseats with the box of my trophy and the empty champagne bottle. When I arrived at the hotel, the fans saw me and they immediately walked towards me, chanting my name and wanting to take pictures with me.

At that moment, I was on cloud nine, loving the attention they gave me and not remembering that I was going to have dinner with him.

As I walked inside my room and saw the outfit my sister chose for me to take to the dinner, I tried to not think about it.

The black sparkly midi dress is one of my favorites, that hugs my body in the right places and is perfect to wear to formal events and even to parties. Just what I needed.

After I did my makeup and hair I grabbed my bag, taking a deep breath before opening the door of the room and walking out. The heels were uncomfortable, but at least I looked good in them. While walking downstairs to go to the restaurant of the hotel, I started to wonder if that girl Charles brought was going to be there too.

And to my surprise, she was. Dressing like she was in a high society gala. Again, it's like she doesn't know where she is.

“Did you explain to her that my nickname is only a nickname?” I said looking at Charles, watching how he rolled his eyes.

“She wears whatever she wants to wear” he groaned. “She looks fine”

“Fine?! You told me I look gorgeous!” she gasped, talking with that high pitched voice that made everyone close their eyes. 

I saw Charles sigh, grabbing a glass of wine and drinking half of it. Well, the dinner starts strong.

“Well, Melanie” I smiled looking at her. “What's your job? I'm curious”

“Oh, I'm trying to be an influencer” she said, looking at me with a smile. “It's starting to work, somehow”

Sure, because you are hinting you fuck Charles Leclerc.

“Mhm, which brands contacted you? Maybe we will meet in one?” I smiled. 

“Oh none…. Yet” she smiled weakly.

I felt Charles' eyes on me, his angry gaze piercing a hole in my head and how he drank the entire glass of wine. 

When the waitress walked us to the private room where the dinner will take place, our families did everything to sit us two next to the other. The long dining table separated us from our parents, yet it felt like Charles and I were worlds apart. The polite hum of conversation was just a background noise to the storm between us. 

My father stood up with his glass of whine, looking at me with a big proud smile. I sighed, grabbing my own glass and raising it like the rest of the table.

“To Dafne” he smiled, pointing his glass towards me. “The first woman to win a Formula 1 race”

I smiled and looked at everyone at the table. Arthur and Lorenzo were sitting next to each other, sitting in front of my sisters. My father was next to my mom and Pascale, and Melanie was just sitting next to Charles.

"To success," Charles said, his voice had a big amount of irony. "And to the people who think they can buy it"

"Success is earned, Charles. Some of us know the value of hard work" I shot him a look, trying to keep my composure.

"Oh, I know all about hard work," he scoffed, taking another sip of his refilled glass of wine "And the people who take advantage of it."

“Oh, really? You do?” I laughed, looking at him and then at Melanie. “I think you don’t, but okay. Good for you if you think you can recognize who works hard for something and who just buys their way to it. Clearly you should look around more often”

Our parents exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the undercurrent of hostility. Melanie, blissfully unaware, just sipped her wine and looked around the room with wide eyes.

"What exactly is your problem, Charles? Are you upset that I won today?" I leaned in closer to Charles, keeping my voice low so only he could hear. 

"I'm not upset that you won, Dafne. I'm upset that you think you can walk all over everyone to get what you want. That win should have been mine, I had more pace and better tyres” he groaned lowly.

“You did? Then why didn't you overtake me, hm? You clearly know that I would do whatever Ferrari orders me to do” I smirked. “And I didn’t hear a team order of letting you pass me”

Our families were now fully aware that something was off. My mother gave me a warning look, and Charles' older brother cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

"So, Dafne," he began, forcing a smile. "How did you feel about your performance today? It was quite impressive."

 "Thank you. It was a challenging race, but I'm happy with how it turned out” I said, taking a deep breath, ignoring the man next to me. Charles scoffed quietly, and I shot him another glare. "Is there something you'd like to add, Charles?"

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and something else I couldn't quite place. "Just that it must be nice to always get what you want."

I opened my mouth to respond, but Erica cut in, sensing that things were about to escalate. "The food looks amazing, doesn't it? Let's enjoy dinner."

The bass vibrated through the club, reverberating against the walls as red neon lights danced over the sweaty bodies of the dance floor. The music was loud, making everyone scream if they wanted to talk to someone or even take a step closer and talk to someone directly in their ears.

With the adrenaline of the race and the tension that took place during the dinner, I made my way towards the drinks bar, ordering whatever that doesn’t taste like alcohol but definitely has alcohol in it. With the cold glass already in my hand, I walked back to the table where my sisters were sitting with some girlfriends of the drivers.

“Have you seen Melanie?” I chuckled, feeling tipsy and looking around.

“Who?” Lily, Alex’s girlfriend, frowned. 

“Charles’ girl! She’s a wanna be influencer” I laughed, scanning with my eyes the crowd, trying to find the monegasque driver.

I heard my sisters sigh and sip their drinks, trying to ignore me. Alex and Carmen looked at me, frowning and following my gaze.

“Are you jealous? You sound jealous” Carmen pointed. “When will you stop talking about Charles? You say you hate him but you can’t stop looking or even talking about him”

“Me? Jealous?” I laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, that guy can take whoever he wants to his bed”

“Then let him live” Erica sighed. “Yes, we saw that Melanie is a gold digger. Yes, we saw she’s making everything to get his attention and fame. But that’s his problem”

“Erica is right” Soleil sighed. “You even sound worried about him, always talking about how bad the girls he choose are”

“I'm not!” I gasped.

“Mhm, whatever” the four of them sighed.

I groan and look away. They don't understand. They don't understand! 

I just stayed quiet, hearing them talk and focusing on a random spot at the other side of the club, drinking and drinking.

This is my day, no one will ruin it.

But then that idiot decided to grab a microphone and open his mind.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please listen!” he said, standing on top of a table. “I would love to say some words”

I frowned, getting up and already feeling tipsy, having to hold myself against the railing of the balcony where the VIP room was. He was holding a glass of some liquor, raising it up with a smile on his lips.

“I want to congratulate my fantastic teammate, Dafne! Daf, where are you?” he exclaimed looking around. “I guess she's hiding as always…”

“Fucking idiot” I mumbled, watching him look around.

“Well, maybe she's not here” he chuckled. “I'm sure she's with someone, maybe a random dude so she can keep going higher on her career. After all, that's how she got in Ferrari, hm?”

I looked at him and then I started to hear people talking, their eyes all moving around to search me.

“Jules always said that everyone has a chance in Formula 1” he giggled. “But her? Oh, no. She got in this sport sucking the dick of every person she found that could get her a seat. Mick! Mick, where are you? Is she good at that? Is she good at fucking you? I bet you two did it, she always ended higher than you… Head for some points? How pathetic, Daf”

My cheeks were red. My ears were red. Everyone who found me was looking at me. I heard steps behind me and a pair of hands trying to hold my arms, but I moved faster and ran downstairs towards him.

“Oh there she is! Who was the unfortunate one?” he giggled.

“Get down” I groaned, clenching my jaw. Somehow I am sober now. “Now!”

“Why?”

“Get down!” I screamed.

“No!” he laughed, drinking from his glass. “Aren't you satisfied? You had your win, you are in your dream team. I think you should take another step. Maybe… I don't know, suck Max's dick so he can give you a championship?”

“Charles Leclerc you are a dead man!” I screamed, running towards him and grabbing his leg, trying to get him down from the table.

This was supposed to be my day. My party, without someone like him ruining it.

Two pair of arms grabbed mine, stopping me and pulling me away from the club before I could do something worse. Soleil and Arthur were holding my arms, pulling me away from the crowd while Lorenzo and Erica tried to put down Charkes from the table.

“Let me go! I'm going to kill him!” I screamed.

“You are going to your room and stay there until you sober up” my sister said, frowning, sinking her nails on my arm to make me stop.

“That asshole is saying shit about me! And I'm the one that will be punished? Bullshit!” I exclaimed, but clearly they are not listening to me. “He should be the one that has to be punished! And you should wash his mouth with soap! And drown him on the toilet!”

“Enough!” Soleil exclaimed. “I'm so done with this. We all are done with you two. You are acting like kids”

“Why are you two like this?” Arthur frowned. “Why can't you two see that only you are the ones that hate each other? It's making the team and our families have problems”

“I did nothing wrong” I mumble, letting them take me to the elevator. “I didn't suck anyone's dick. I did every right”

“And we're not saying you did something like that. But you two always find a way to start a fight” Soleil sighed. 

“I did nothing wrong” I whispered.

Soleil sighed and grabbed my keycard, opening the door of my hotel room. Arthur and her helped me get in the room and then she took off my clothes to get me in bed.

“Don't do anything you'll regret tomorrow” Arthur and Soleil said before getting out of my room. 

I groaned, showing them my middle fingers before they walked out and closed the door. 

The silence in my room was too loud and the drum on my chest was beating too hard. I tried to walk side to side in the room,trying to calm down. The drops of the faucet in the bathroom are too loud, just like the air conditioner.

But then two hard knocks on the door broke the noisy silence in the room. 

I groaned, walking towards it to open it. 

And I shouldn't have done that.

“Oh fuck off” I groaned closing the door again, but he was faster and put his foot to stop me. “Charles-”

Before I could stop him, or even kick his balls, his lips were on mine, pushing me inside the room.

taglist

@racinggirl @elisysd @alltoomaples @ssprayberrythings @rach3164 @yvonne-dump @deliciousfestsalad @janeh22 @hc-dutch @ninifee1802 @kakorrhaphiphobia @ssararuffoni @itsjustkhaos @scaramou @tapedeck-hearts @apollosfavkiddo @sltwins @glitterquadricorn @ladystardust05

[fictionally-driven]

You Deserve Better

Pairing: Calcharo x f!reader Word count: 4020 words

Trigger warnings: Injury mention, stress, anxiety, implied relationship, angst, heartbreaks

Plot: Calcharo, burdened by his dark past and aware of the danger he poses to (Y/N), is unable to see how his choices hurt her. To ensure that she gets the life she deserves, Calcharo makes an impossible choice.

Author Note: I am not paying for anyone's therapy and I apologize in advance for hurting y'all :3 This fic was inspired by the song You Deserve Better by James Arthur

The door creaked open with a hesitant groan; its sound amplified in the dead silence of the house. Calcharo stepped inside, every movement deliberate, every step weighed with the exhaustion that clung to him like the grime and dried blood matted against his skin. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and iron, mingling with the faint aroma of alcohol wafting from the living room.

He paused, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. Calcharo moved with practiced stealth, mindful not to disturb the peace. Yet, as he stepped into the living room, a sharp scent of alcohol pricked his senses, cutting through the familiar mustiness of home.

In the living room, he saw her—(Y/N). Her head was bowed, shoulders trembling with quiet sobs. A nearly empty bottle of wine lay cradled in her lap, her fingers gripping it like a lifeline. The sight pierced through Calcharo’ s hardened exterior. His heart clenched painfully at the sight. He had been supposed to return two days ago, but complications had delayed him. The mission had been brutal, and communication had been impossible. He knew she worried, but seeing her like this, shattered and vulnerable, was worse.

The sound of his footfall drew her attention. Her head snapped up, and the relief that washed over her face was instantaneous. "(Y/N)," he breathed, the single word heavy with unspoken apologies and unexpressed emotions.

For a heartbeat, she simply stared, as if ensuring he was real and not a figment of her desperate mind. Then, in an instant, she was on her feet, the bottle forgotten as it clattered to the floor. She crossed the space between them in a few quick strides, flinging herself into his arms with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of him.

"Oh, thank God," she murmured against his chest, her voice trembling. "I was so worried... I couldn't reach you... I feared the worst..." The grime and blood smeared onto her clothes, but she didn't seem to care. All that mattered was that he was here, alive.

Calcharo held her close, his arms encircling her with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the brutality of his profession. He could feel her trembling, her body wracked with the remnants of her sobs. He rested his chin on top of her head, closing his eyes as he soaked in her presence. For a moment, he allowed himself to forget the bloodshed, the danger, and just be here, with her.

"I'm here," he murmured, his voice roughened by exhaustion. "I'm here, (Y/N)."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands cupping his face. Her thumbs traced the lines of dirt and blood, her eyes scanning his features as if reassuring herself that he was truly there, in one piece.

"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Two days, Calcharo... I didn't know if you were ever coming back."

He could see the toll those two days had taken on her—dark circles under her eyes, her face pale and drawn. The weight of his absence was etched into every line of her expression.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words falling heavy and sincere. "The mission... it took longer than expected.”

(Y/N) nodded in understanding, her eyes softening with acceptance. "Have you eaten yet?" she asked.

Calcharo opened his mouth to respond, but she already knew the answer. "Of course, you haven't," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "I'll whip something up quickly. You should shower and get cleaned up in the meantime."

She always did this—pushing aside her own worries to care for him. She was a good woman, far too good for a man like him. He'd put her through situations like this too many times already, and every time, she was patient, loving, unwavering. He simply nodded, retreating to the shower to clean the grit off him while she headed to the kitchen.

The shower hissed to life, and as the hot water cascaded over him, he could smell her shampoo, her soap—those familiar, comforting scents that grounded him, reminding him that he was back home. He scrubbed the grime and blood off his skin, but he couldn't scrub away the memories, the guilt, the deeds he'd done. The water turned pink as it swirled down the drain, a cruel reminder that some stains never truly fade.

Patting himself dry, he slipped into a pair of pants and draped a towel over his shoulders. The mirror reflected a man weary beyond his years; his eyes shadowed with memories too dark to recount. With a heavy sigh, he left the bathroom, the comforting scent of her products still lingering on his skin. He couldn't delay any longer. He needed to check on (Y/N).

Walking into the kitchen, he found her standing by the stove, her hands moving deftly as she prepared a simple meal. Despite her woozy state from the alcohol, she was focused, determined to take care of him. Calcharo approached quietly, his presence announcing itself only when he was close enough to touch her. He took over the cooking process without a word, gently nudging her aside.

Her eyes traversed his form, widening as they fell upon a gnarly cut on his forearm. "Calcharo, you're hurt," she gasped, her voice tinged with a mixture of concern and reprimand. She clicked her tongue, rushing to get the medical kit.

"Let me see," she said, her tone shifting to the professional calm of a medic. (Y/N) was a former medic, and dealing with injuries was second nature to her. She laid out the supplies with a precision born of habit, her hands moving swiftly but with a tenderness that belied the severity of the wound.

Calcharo watched her work in silence, the ache in his chest deepening as he realized how much he relied on her strength, her compassion. She cleaned the wound methodically, her touch gentle yet firm.

"It's deep," she murmured, her voice tinged with concern as she applied antiseptic with careful precision. "You should have taken care of this sooner."

"I didn't notice," Calcharo replied quietly, his gaze fixed on her face. "I was... distracted."

She glanced up at him, her eyes searching his as if trying to read the depths of his soul. "I worry about you," she admitted softly, her fingers wrapping gauze around his arm to secure the dressing. "Every time you go out there..."

Calcharo’ s heart clenched at her words, the weight of her worry pressing down on him. He reached out, cupping her cheek gently with his clean hand, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "I know," he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “I am sorry, love…”

She didn't protest. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly as if seeking solace in his warmth. For a moment, they simply stood there, bound together by unspoken words and shared experiences.

Calcharo knew. He knew in the depths of his soul that his profession, his life as the leader of the Ghost Hounds, was a poison seeping into (Y/N)'s veins. It wasn't just the worry etched on her face every time he left, nor the fear that gnawed at her when he returned battered and broken. By being with him, by loving him, she willingly walked a path fraught with danger. She put herself at risk, entwined her fate with his, despite the inevitable peril that shadowed his every step.

And yet, she didn't seem to mind. She stood beside him, unwavering in her support. She saw goodness in him where he saw only shadows. She believed in him, whispered words of reassurance that he was a good man, despite the blood on his hands and the darkness in his heart.

But Calcharo knew better. He had seen good men—General Jiyan, Mortefi—men with strong moral compasses who fought for justice and righteousness. They were the kind of men who did what was right, not just what was profitable. Unlike him.

As they cooked in silence, (Y/N) hummed a soft tune under her breath, a melody that spoke of innocence and hope. Calcharo couldn't help but contrast her purity with the darkness that clung to him. She was kind, selfless in a way he could never be. Since her arrival, many members of the Ghost Hounds relied on her medical expertise, freely given without any thought of profit. It was a stark contrast to his own dealings, where every transaction was a negotiation, every job a calculation of risk and reward.

The smell of alcohol lingered on her breath, a subtle reminder of her own struggles, her own ways of coping with the weight of their reality. Calcharo glanced at her, a pang of guilt tightening his chest. She deserved better than this life, than him. He wanted to protect her, shield her from the darkness that threatened to consume them both. But how could he, when he was the very embodiment of that darkness?

He finished preparing the meal mechanically, his movements precise but lacking his usual efficiency. Each chop of vegetables, each stir of the pot, felt like a ritual to stave off the inevitable conversation looming between them.

As they sat down to eat, she launched into stories about the Lawless Zone they inhabited, her voice animated despite the weariness that lined her features. Calcharo listened intently, his attention divided between her words and the weight of his own thoughts.

She spoke of the baker who had mastered the art of baking in makeshift ovens, of children who startled learning how to use grappling hooks to navigate the treacherous terrain. Her anecdotes painted a picture of resilience and adaptation in a place where survival was a daily battle. She found joy in the small victories of others, weaving tales that brought warmth to their otherwise harsh reality.

Calcharo ate in silence, marveling at how effortlessly she embraced life in the Lawless Zone. In this unforgiving environment where alliances shifted like sand in the wind, where trust was a luxury and betrayal a constant threat, (Y/N) saw good in everyone. It was a trait that set her apart, a reminder of the innocence she carried despite the injustice that had led her here.

But he knew the truth of her exile, the injustice that had ripped her from a life of healing and service. Some faceless bureaucrats in the New Federation had condemned her for a crime she didn't commit, tarnishing her reputation and casting her out. Yet, despite the bitterness that could have consumed her, she continued to trust, continued to give of herself without hesitation. The bitterness of the betrayal still lingered, a wound that hadn't fully healed. Yet, despite everything, she had found it in herself to trust again—to trust him.

As they cleaned up after dinner, (Y/N) moved to tidy the living room while Calcharo washed the dishes with a methodical precision. The clink of porcelain against porcelain echoed in the silence, a counterpoint to the tumultuous thoughts racing through his mind. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him, she deserved peace, she deserved better.

When they finally retired for the night, exhaustion weighed heavily on Calcharo, but sleep eluded him. He lay in bed beside (Y/N), her head nestled against his chest, her breathing steady and peaceful. His mind replayed the events of the day—the worry in her eyes when she saw his injury, the tenderness of her touch as she tended to him, the way she effortlessly navigated their tumultuous existence with grace and compassion. She trusted him, believed in him, despite the darkness that tainted his soul.

But he knew the truth. He was a man haunted by his past, burdened by the choices he had made and the lives he had taken. (Y/N) deserved better than the life he could offer her—a life steeped in danger, where every day was a battle for survival. She deserved peace, safety, and the chance to heal from the wounds inflicted upon her. The weight of his own inadequacies pressed down on him; a suffocating presence that threatened to consume him whole. He closed his eyes, willing himself to find solace in (Y/N)'s embrace, in the warmth of her love. Yet, despite her comforting presence beside him, sleep remained elusive.

As the hours slipped by, Calcharo stared into the darkness, wrestling with his demons. He knew he had to protect her, shield her from the inevitable storm that was to come for him. Beside him, (Y/N) stirred in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Calcharo tightened his embrace around her, his fingers tracing absent patterns on her back. He wished he could shield her from the nightmares that haunted him, from the harsh realities of their world. But he knew he couldn't.

As dawn painted the sky in soft hues of orange and pink, Calcharo lay awake beside (Y/N), his mind churning with resolve and sorrow. He knew what he needed to do, though he lacked the strength to follow through. The abyss stared back at him—a reminder of the darkness that had consumed him long ago. He had always known that staying in the kill-or-be-killed business was never the path to redemption. Despite numerous attempts to leave this life behind, each endeavor had failed. The Ghost Hounds relied on him, and so did the people of the Lawless Zone. They needed his leadership, his expertise in navigating the treacherous underworld they called home. He couldn't abandon them, not after everything he'd done, not after the lives he'd already taken, not after the lines he’d crossed and the enemies he’d made.

But she was different. (Y/N) deserved a life far removed from the danger and uncertainty that defined their existence. She deserved peace, safety—a chance to reclaim the innocence that had been unjustly stolen from her. There was no salvation for him, no redemption from the sins he had committed. But there was hope for her—hope in a future away from the Lawless Zone, away from him.

As the sun continued its ascent, casting long shadows across the room, Calcharo made his decision. He would hurt her one last time, knowing it would break her heart. But he had to do it—for her sake, because he knew she would never make that decision herself. Quietly, he disentangled himself from her embrace, careful not to disturb her peaceful slumber. He watched her for a moment, the curve of her cheek illuminated by the gentle morning light. She looked so serene in her sleep. Her chest rose and fell with her soft breaths.

With a heavy heart and a sense of grim determination, Calcharo quietly began packing his belongings. Each item he placed into his bag felt like another piece of himself being removed from their shared space. The room that once held their laughter and whispered confessions now echoed with the hollowness of impending separation.

He folded his clothes with methodical precision, placing them neatly into the duffel bag. His fingers lingered over small trinkets—a worn-out book she had gifted him, a bracelet she had made from scavenged materials—that held memories of happier times. Yet, these very memories weighed on him now, reminders of what he was about to do. Calcharo erased every trace of his presence in the house, wiping down surfaces, gathering stray belongings, and leaving the space eerily devoid of his essence. It was a painful process, akin to erasing a part of himself that had intertwined with hers over time. The ache in his chest grew with each passing moment, the reality of his decision settling heavily upon him.

Once everything was packed, he sat in the living room, waiting. The Ghost Hounds had swiftly removed his belongings from outside, leaving no visible trace of his imminent departure. He glanced at the door, knowing that soon she would awaken to a home that felt emptier, colder, without him. Hours passed like slow-moving shadows before (Y/N) stirred awake, her footsteps padding softly as she entered the living room, still half in the realm of dreams. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips as she greeted him with a murmured "Good morning."

Her smile faltered as she took in the expression on his face—the somber set of his jaw, the sadness that clouded his eyes. Concern knit her brows together as she approached, sensing something amiss in the air.

"Calcharo, what's going on?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with worry.

He gestured for her to take a seat beside him, his own features drawn with a mixture of resolve and sorrow. "I... I need to talk to you," he began, his voice rough with emotion. He paused, struggling to find the right words, knowing no syllable would make it easier.

(Y/N) sat down slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. Her concern deepened, a flicker of fear darting through her expression. "Calcharo, please," she implored softly, reaching out to touch his arm, seeking reassurance in the warmth of his skin. "You're scaring me. What's happened?"

Calcharo took a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable pain he would inflict. He met (Y/N)'s worried gaze, her touch still warm against his arm, and he knew he had to be resolute.

"I... We can't do this anymore," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not right for you to be with me."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened in disbelief, her grip tightening on his arm. "Calcharo, no," she protested, her voice trembling. "Please, don't do this. We can work through whatever it is. I love you.”

He shook his head, his own voice choked with emotion. "You deserve someone better than me," he insisted, his tone firm yet laced with pain. "Someone who can give you stability, peace... a life without constant fear and danger."

Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over as she fought against his words. "But I don't want someone else," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "I want you. I can adapt, I can learn. I can handle it."

Calcharo’ s heart clenched at her words, his resolve faltering for a moment. He gently detached her hand from his arm, standing up with a heaviness in his chest. "I don't want you to handle it," he said softly, his voice tinged with anguish. "I can't bear to see you caught in the crossfire, (Y/N)."

She stood up too, desperation etched on her face as she reached out to him once more. "Please, Calcharo," she begged, her voice trembling. "Don't leave me… I am begging you. Please…”

He turned away, unable to meet her pleading gaze. "I love you," he admitted hoarsely, pain lacing every word. "But this love... it's hurting you. It's not fair to you."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she took a step closer, her hands reaching out as if to hold onto him, to anchor him in place. "I don't care about fair," she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. "I care about us. About what we have."

Calcharo closed his eyes briefly, the ache in his chest unbearable. “You might want me, (Y/N) … but I am not what you need. You deserve a righteous person by your side who can protect your innocence and kindness. That is not me.”

She gasped softly, a sob escaping her as she stumbled backward, her hands covering her mouth in disbelief. "No," she choked out, her whole-body trembling with the weight of his words. "Please don't do this..."

Calcharo’ s own voice wavered as he took a step closer, his hand hovering in the air as if torn between reaching out to comfort her and knowing he had to leave. "I love you," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with unshed tears. "But this... this is the only way."

(Y/N) watched him, her entire being trembling with the weight of his words, with the finality of his decision. "Calcharo, please," she begged, her voice breaking as fell on the floor. "Don't leave me. I can't... I can't do this without you."

Calcharo stood before her, his heart breaking with every tear that streamed down her face. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to take her in his arms, to comfort her, to take back his words and pretend this moment never happened. But he knew he couldn't. Not for her sake. Not now.

"I've spoken to someone in Jinzhou," he said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. "They've arranged housing for you. It is safe there and you can start afresh. You… you need to leave the Lawless Zone.”

(Y/N)'s sobs grew louder, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as she struggled to comprehend the magnitude of his words. "No," she cried out, her voice raw with anguish. "Please, Calcharo..."

Calcharo’ s heart shattered into a million pieces at her words, but he pressed on, knowing it was the only way to protect her. "My people will protect you until then," he continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "But this... this is the last you'll see of me."

She collapsed onto the floor, her body convulsing with grief. "No, no," she sobbed, her voice raw with agony. "I can't... I can't do this without you."

Calcharo closed his eyes against the pain, struggling to maintain his composure. "I hope you find somebody else," he whispered, his voice barely audible over her cries. "Someone who will love you like nobody else." His words hung heavy in the air, a bitter admission of his own shortcomings. "I hope he gives you something real, someone who can put your well-being first." he continued, his voice breaking. "And I wish nothing but the best for you."

He knelt beside her, his hand hovering over her trembling form, wanting to touch her, to soothe her, but holding back. "I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice thick with regret. "For all the pain, the hurt, the worry... I never wanted this for you. You’re the only person in this world that I cannot see get hurt because of my deeds." Her cries echoed in the room, reverberating off the walls as he apologized. "Thank you for welcoming me every time with an open heart."

He leaned forward, brushing a gentle kiss against her forehead, a silent farewell filled with a lifetime of love and regret. "Goodbye," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible over her sobs.

With great effort, Calcharo stood up, his legs heavy as he turned away from her. Each step felt like a knife in his heart, tearing him apart as he walked toward the door. As he crossed the threshold, a single tear escaped his eye, and he quickly brushed it away, his face composed into its usual stoic mask.

He glanced back one last time, memorizing the sight of her curled on the floor, her heartache echoing in the empty room. It was the last time she would see him, but he promised himself he would always watch over her from afar, keeping her safe until she no longer needed his ghostly presence.

She would find someone to love her, he knew. She had so much love to give. And despite the ache in his own heart, he would be happy for her when that day came. Despite the agony that consumed him, Calcharo found a bitter solace in knowing that she would eventually smile again, even if it wasn't because of him. But for now, he bore the weight of their separation, the ache of leaving her behind. She would move on, and he would fade into memory. For her sake, he would bear the pain of being a ghost in her life, a memory of a love that was both profound and tragically unfulfilled.

And as he disappeared into the harsh sunlight of the Lawless Zone, he carried with him the weight of her sorrow and the echo of her cries, a haunting melody that would stay with him long after he had faded into the shadows.

[knavesflames]

arle talking us through it 🙏

I know this has been sitting for a few days, but I had so many thoughts about this I couldn’t choose!! Enjoy😌

Contents: masturbation, mirrors.

Word count: 1120

Nsft utc!

It’s only natural for her to guide you the first few times, for her to show you what pleases her, even how to please yourself. Arlecchino enjoys the shiver you attempt to hide when her lips ghost over the shell of your ear, giving you instructions and then praising you when you follow them. Arlecchino has been both gentle and rough, and it almost seems she’s teaching you what to do in every situation you’ll find yourself in with her. You’ve trusted her now, haven’t you? Besides, Arlecchino trusts you enough to tell her no if you wanted to, and yet you have not. She’s turned from a person who never even thought about sex to someone who thinks about it almost daily.

So it comes to today. You have been frustrated the entire day, waiting for her to get home. How are you supposed to do anything without her here? When Arlecchino finally does come home, your head snaps up, a small smile appearing on your face. It fades quickly when you see her exhausted demeanour, concern quickly overpowering the neediness you feel in your stomach. You forget your own needs as you walk, helping her with her coat and dragging her to the sofa before demanding she speaks. She does, complaining about how Pantalone, in her words, “fucked everything up again”, and you listen with your eyes glued to her.

Arlecchino finally ends her speech with a sigh and her fingers pinching her nose bridge before her eyes flit to you. She notices immediately the tense way you’re sat, the way your thighs rub together slightly. Her eyes flit between your thighs and your soft, caring eyes, and she silently appreciates the way you haven’t asked for anything despite being so needy for it. She wants to, she does. Only the Tsaritsa knows how badly she wants to whisper in your ear as she pleases you, but.. she’s so tired today. She simply does not have the energy to have her hips snap against yours for an hour or two and she begins to wonder how neglected you’d be when project stuzha really begins taking off. So, she brainstorms, and brainstorms until she comes across the very thing she engages in when she’s away on missions and she’s missing you.

“Come.”

One word, and yet you obey, following her to the bedroom. You arrive just to see her pulling the full length mirror towards the bed with ease. You open your mouth to speak but she gives your wrist a gentle tug, moving you to settle in front of her, facing the mirror. You feel her chest press against your back, her hands lazily tracing circles along your arm, moving downwards until they trace along your thighs.

“Let me show you something. It is something I engage in when I am away from you.”

Just as quickly as your head turns, her hand reaches up to softly grip your chin, turning you back to the mirror. It is a silent gesture, but an order to stay looking into the mirror. You can see her and yourself through the glass, and your eyes lock with hers as you nod, a quiet action of consent. Sharp nails move to your hand, stroking your knuckles before guiding your hand down between your thighs, her eyes not once leaving yours. Her other claw like hand pushes your dress up, moving the cotton panties to the side, revealing your already wet state before she murmurs.

“Needy girl.”

The words seem biting, but they’re said with the gentlest voice she can muster. Admittedly, it is not as gentle as yours, but the effort is indeed there. When your fingers meet the place she’s guided them to, you can’t help but almost flinch away from them in surprise. She clicks her tongue, shaking her head, her velvety voice in your ear.

“No, put them back. Good girl.”

You hesitate, but then do as she asks, swallowing as you feel the contact.

“You know the way I move my fingers when I touch you there. Make the same motion.”

With trembling fingers, you repeat the motions she has done to you so many times before. It is clumsy, messy, and you hear a low chuckle before her hand holds yours, guiding your hand until small puffs of air leave your mouth. Eventually, her hands move away, letting you continue alone as she watches you. Her face isn’t showing any particular emotion, but there is adoration in her eyes as she watches you, her own breathing slightly quicker than normal.

“Good. Now, insert them into you. I have done it to you before. I have put more than my fingers into you.”

“It is different than when you do it.”

“Do it anyway and watch yourself.”

You can’t deny that you want to, despite the hesitation. You slide your digits until they rub against your entrance as you prep yourself for one finger.

“No. Two.”

Teeth graze the skin of your lip, your eyes locked on her, then yourself as you slowly do as she asks, a small whimper escaping you. You get to the first knuckle, easing your fingers in and out before her hand comes back down, pushing them further until your fingers disappear as much as they can. The shell of your ear is warm from her breath as she guides your hand, sliding your fingers in and out repeatedly.

“Like this. Curl your fingers. Say my name.”

“Arlecchino.”

You breathe, your eyes meeting hers in the mirror once more, only to see her shaking her head.

“No, my name.”

“Peruere.”

“Good girl.”

Her praise is everything as you feel your pussy greedily sucking in your own digits, and your back arches off of her when your finger pads rub against the spongy spot inside of you. Her hand once again leaves you to continue on your own, instead moving to grip your chin and making sure you’re staring directly at yourself. You reach the peak with speed, though you can’t help but clutch her thigh with your other hand.

“Keep going, push through it. Do you feel it? The way you clench around yourself? That is what it feels like when we do this together. Let it happen.”

She continues whispering praise as you mewl, quickly coming undone from the power of your own fingers (or is it her words and the way she watches you? It becomes hard to tell.)

Her lips meet your hair, and she relishes in the smell of your coconut shampoo, allowing her lips to twitch into a smile as you catch your breath. It seems you have found a new way to relieve yourself when she cannot.

[etherfabric]

What benefit is hidden in your aura? + Affirmations

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

Pile 1

Justice, Knight of Pentacles rx

Your aura reflects your miniscule attunement to injustices. People in your vicinity are taking their sweet time to hold up their end of a bargain they had no problem agreeing to as along as it was your turn to show up. But now that the foundations are being shaken up by influences outside of your control, suddenly it's everyone for themselves. Let your frustration and impatience truthfully shine through. There is no shame in knowing what you deserve, and reacting accordingly when being left in the rain. Those who truly care will feel the discomfort in just the right places to motivate them to be better. And those who shame you for standing up for yourself are just as pathetic as it feels when they do it. You can't save everyone, especially not while being bled dry.

Spend your time waiting for them to process all this on things that bring you joy and nourishment. Joy is easy, joy is pulling you towards things you could do for hours, that make you forget to eat, sleep, drink (but please do eat, sleep, drink). If your mood is too dark to access joy, aim for comfort and relief. If there is anger taking up space, seek catharsis by writing insults in your journal, or throwing hands with your mattress. If you need a good cry, watch that movie you know will break you. Trust your inner compass to guide you to where your next quest is hidden.

Your affirmation is:

I slow down and listen to the guidance that's available to me.

Pile 2

2 of Cups rx, 7 of Wands

Your aura is dulled by your aversion to conflict, even and especially within yourself. As soon as you feel two opposing forces, you shut down and fall into a pit of despair. I know this can sound so hurtful and dismissive, but please see the reality of hope when I say your emotions do not reflect the totality of what is true. I don't want you to stop feeling these things, I want you to stop acting like they are the only things that are true. Those vulnerable aspects of you never asked to carry the weight of being a solo performer. They need their supporting actors - all your other parts, that yes, seem antagonistic at first glance. But avoiding communication, be it inside or outside of yourself, won't lead to anything that will feel as good as you deserve.

You are scared of the fire within you. You are scared once you let it burn, everything you love and need will turn to ashes forever. You have no faith in the transformational power of emotional alchemy. This keeps you stuck in loneliness, because conflict is just a part of human connection that you need to befriend if you ever want to feel truly close to someone - yourself included.

The ashes give rise to the phoenix. The strike of a meteor brings new resources to a formerly closed off sphere and changes the whole game. You are cutting yourself off of a immensely valuable resource. I am not asking you to go on a killing spree - I am asking you to bravely admit to your humanness. With yourself, and in front of others.

Your affirmation is:

When I cultivate a spiritual connection I can trust the Universe no matter what.

Pile 3

The Lovers, Death rx

I see an open invitation being ignored in your aura. Someone is trustworthy and flexible, but you stick to rigid beliefs around the situation and assume the worst. They have hit you where it truly hurts, and you are so ashamed of having tender sports, you rather tell yourself being stuck with a villian instead of facing the truth: You are dealing with pain inside of your soul after this interaction. As long as you deny this, you can't receive the blessing of being truly seen and cared for. You ignore your hopeful and optimistic parts out of fear they will set you up for failure if you take them into account.

You are taking normal human imperfections as indicators for fundamental untrostworthyness. You do this to them and yourself alike. You refuse to see how the current situation is different from the past experiences that were actually hopeless. There is a happy end waiting for you. A realistic one, not a perfect one.

I understand this is concerning trauma you had no other means to deal with in the past but denying it and acting like an unscathed person. Habits born out of survival are tough to shake. But this one begs you to loosen your grip just this once. You won't suddenly turn into a helpless punching bag without any of your skills just because you dare let someone see your wound. And this person isn't just anyone. You having gotten scared, and hiding out of reflex, can totally be a topic of gentle discussion once the time is right to talk again. I'm sure they will understand.

Your affirmation is:

When I live and act from a place of spiritual alignment, I can trust that everything is working out for me, even if I don't know when or how it will happen.

Pile 4

3 of Cups rx, 3 of Wands

You had to experience your own limits, and your aura reflects your disappointment in yourself. You are being way too harsh. What you deem lost is merely dormant for now. Zoom out of the current moment and realize that you are way more than your worst days. Training this kind of perspective willl form beneficial associations everytime you dare to try it. Don't expect ecstacy as a result, more a timid sibling of hope saying you might not be utter trash after all. This is more than enough for now. Build on it step by step.

Really, cut yourself some slack. Have grace. Have compassion. You were completely overwhelmed by the circumstances, and now see yourself falling back on habits you thought you had gotten rid of once and for all. You think you have let people down irreversibly, but this is just not the case. If you can, communicate you having a hard time right now, that you can see the non-optimal influence you had on the situation, and then take the time of isolation you so desperately crave.

There will come brighter, more joyful days. The kinder you are to yourself right now, the quicker you will feel up for it again. Relief and comfort are your number one priority right now. This too shall pass. You will return to your healthier set of skills once you yourself are healthier. You got there once, you will get there again.

Your affirmation is:

Feeling good will bring me far more than whatever I thought I needed.

[the-kr8tor]

Part two of older Hobie! x Older reader:

Warning, I'm mean.

There are pictures of you all over, he smiles as he recognizes you through all of them. You're so beautiful to him, even as you aged you hadn't lost any beauty. Only getting more mature and always looking back at him with love and a kindness he can't begin to describe, a kindness he hadn't had most of his life. The only thing he had been awarded for living a tough life had been you, and what a reward you were.

He walked alongside the small room, the flowers smelled great. They were your favourite, he recognized them just at the scent even if he forgets the name. He starts to look around the room, wondering if you'll come out soon. Where were you? Where was his dove? He needs to tell you about today, how lovely everything is. He wanted to give you a kiss and an I love you. He couldn't hold your hand as well as he used to, his hands now shaking a bit but he'd still find every way to do it.

He walks a bit closer, wondering why the room is empty exception from him. He looks at the box in front of him, standing over it with a curiosity he's always had. He freezes and looks down at you, how pretty you looked, he chokes back sobs as he recognizes you, his mind fuzzy. Where is he.

You look so old now, beautiful but tired. He rests his hand on your cold face as tears flow down his face, seeping into his wrinkles.

"When'd you get 'ere dove? Oh love...when'd you die? Who put you 'ere...that ain't right. This isn't right at all"

He remembers you breathing and alive, but now he isn't so sure anymore. When had your skin grown cold, when had the blood stop flowing through you, when had your eyes went extinct? Had he been there? He can't recall and he can only cry at the sight, his heart clenching as he holds a shaky hand over his heart.

He had grown old without you, actually you had grown old together, not that he remembered currently. He could only mourn the loss of his life, the loss of his past, present and future. All the flowers in the world couldn't hold a candle to you even when you were encircled with them. Above you stands a plaque, your name, when and how you died. He stares at it in confusion, behind the door silent tears fall as three younger adults watch their father. All of them mourn two things that day: your loss and your Hobie's loss. Two love birds who can no longer sing and fly together. One now long departed and left the other to drift in the deep and quiet halls of memory.

His tears fall into the coffin, he doesn't remember who else is meant to be there but why is the room so empty. He feels it's unjust, you would've deserved to be loved. Where are all your friends? Your family, his family? He cries as his brain asks itself the same question over and over again, failing to break he cycle with his feeble memory. Before he feels an arm wrap around his own, guiding him outside. They seem kind, his mind drifts to how you used to do the same. Oh where you again? You must be at home, that's right, you were always at home. The place he knew and loved, because it had you in it. He smiles, forgetting how to cry and what he's lost as he thinks of what he thinks awaits for him back home. The person holding his arm sobbing as they wipe away their tears, if only their dad recognized them. To him home had been you, so where would he go now. His smile is accompanied by the pain he cannot show as his kid which he doesn't recognize as leads them to his car. What had been his car. It smells like you, how wonderful. Your perfume lingers, he can't wait to go back home and tell you about his day.

-🪦 NOW. YOU A S K E D. and I am providing, so shoo no witch hunt 😚/j

OH MY FUCKING GOD AND HERE I THOUGHT IT WOULDN'T BE THAT SAD 😭😭😭

Funny enough (it's not) when one bird from a pair of lovebirds die, one soon follows so with that in mind I shall jump off a cliff brb

THE LAST FUCKING LINE GAHHHHHHH PUNCHING A WALL TO FEEL MANLY AGAIN

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

Getting the Numbers Right

I glare at Billy. The empty eye sockets glare back. 

“You’re nothing like John,” I tell him.

Billy stays silent. He often does. Especially after John moved in and I didn’t need him for a sound board anymore.

“No one is like John,” I mutter.

“How long has he been gone? Is she the one who will hold his attention longer than two dates?"

Billy’s mocking tone puts my nerves on edge.

“If I text him now, about a case, he will abandon her without a second thought,” I inform the obnoxious skull.

If Billy was still able to roll his eyes, this would be the moment for it.

“To answer your first question, he’s been gone for one hour and forty-seven minutes.”

“Trust you to know to the second how long he’s been out.”

I roll my eyes because I can, and huff loudly.

“Getting the numbers right is just a way to keep my brain occupied while I’m talking to you. Now, to your second question. This one, Jeanette? Lisa? Sarah? is number six in as many months. John looked exactly the same as he does before every second date he’s been on since he moved in here. My analysis will prove that he’ll end it. Tonight, or by text tomorrow.”

“You seem awfully sure about this. What if this one is the exception.”

It turned out that Billy was right for once.

***

“Alright, I’m off. See you in a week,” John says and hoists his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to eat.”

“Why?” I mumble into the sofa cushion.

“Because I don’t want to come home to a corpse, you git,” John explains.

“Why bother coming home at all if you’re moving in with what’s-her-name anyway,” I protest.

A foreign sensation is starting in my throat. It thickens and something is burning behind my eyelids. 

“Sentiment!”

“Shut up, Billy!” I yell.

“Moving?” John asks incredulously. 

A thump startles me. John has dropped his bag to the floor, and his palm is warming my shoulder.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Sherlock?” John asks, clearly worried.

“Nothing. You’ll miss your train,” I say and curl in on myself, trying to shake off John’s hand without succeeding.

“You’re trembling,” John states and places his other palm on my forehead to check for fever.

“Am not,” I say, but something is wrong with my voice.

It’s hoarse because of my swollen throat. My nose fills with moisture, overflows, and my philtrum is suddenly soaked with snot. Both cheeks are wet with shed tears, which I evidently have an endless amount of. 

“Sherlock? Talk to me,” John pleads. “There’s clearly something bothering you.”

To my utter dismay, the tears keep flowing and my chest has started to ache. A sob is impossible to stifle. It’s a sound I haven’t heard myself produce since I was a child.

Another sound catches my ears. John is tapping on his phone. The absence of his warm hands is unsettling. I feel…bereft. To my relief it doesn’t last long. His strong fingers rake through my hair, and his other hand stroke my upper arm.

“I really wish I didn’t have to go, Sherlock, but this conference is…shit…look. I’m postponing my departure a few hours, and I won’t stay the whole week, just the three days that are inevitable, alright. But I need you to talk to me. Tell me what all this is about. And I swear, if this is just shamming…”

“It’s not,” I croak. “I’ve come to realise…you…John…I can’t…I won’t cope when you move…”

“Shh, now. No one is moving. Didn’t you deduce that I broke it off with Jeanette last month? You must stop talking to Billy. He’s an idiot,” John murmurs.

Strong arms turn me, but I can’t bear to look at John when my face is covered in snot and tears. Instead, I bury it in the crook of his neck, and the familiar scent instantly soothes me. My body goes limp, and the tears stop falling.

***

It’s a totally different experience when John prepares his second departure. He holds my head in his hands, looks me square in the eyes and talks softly.

“Keep busy. Count the days, minutes, seconds until I’m back if you must. Perform safe experiments. Eat. Stay hydrated. Text me if you need to. I won’t always be able to answer right away, but whenever I can, I will. We can talk when I’m finished for the day. Video calls. I’ll want to see you to know that you’re okay.”

He pulls me down and kisses me so tenderly, I’m tempted to start crying again. I hold the back of his head carefully and puts all my love for him into the kiss.

“I love you. I’ll miss you. Come back to me,” I murmur into his hair when we break the kiss and we’re holding each other tight.

“I will, Sherlock. I’ll miss you too. I always miss you when I’m not with you. Love you too. Now, start counting,” you say. 

You stroke my cheek, then leave. I start counting the seconds, minutes and days until we’re reunited.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @keirgreeneyes @raina-at

@helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @phoenix27884 @topsyturvy-turtely

@peanitbear @meetinginsamarra @bs2sjh @a-victorian-girl @221beloved

@ninasnakie @jolieblack

[danieyells]

After Hotaburi's chapter i was very curious about Zenji voicelines! Can i ask for them, please?

@yuri-is-online YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT OVERWHELMING ME although I appreciate the concern!! If I get overwhelmed or need a break I just put it aside until I'm ready or have the time and energy and attention span or ideas if necessary haha so no need to worry there 'u' (Also. . .good luck with those fics lolol)

ZENJI IS OUR LAST BOI. Until we get Ed and Lyca anyway. Which will honestly probably be in like. A week or two. Possibly less. I had my suspicions when I first read his that he was a ghost lol knowing he is. . .it gives them a little different feeling I guess haha.

Default:

"Why, hello there, my dear. Suppose we kick off another swanky day here?"

"You want to know the meaning of my words? I see— I'll have to give you a lecture on romanticism."

"What's this? Well, it's a biwa, of course. It's a biwa just as you are yourself."

what does that mean tho. . .i mean i get what it means but also it feels like it must mean something. . . .

"Girls, be ambitious... Dream big, my dear."

proud women enjoyer zenji kotodama

"A man who's everywhere but can be found nowhere... That's what it means to be an inspired man of the quill."

i think that's just what it means to be a ghost bby. . . . . . . . . . .

"Heh. There's no doubt about it. Zenji Kotodama is once again the most styling man on campus. These glad rags are the cat's pajamas."

You've Got Mail:

"Come now, read those messages out, won't you? They're fan letters for me, aren't they? ...They're not?"

Affinity 1:

"Come now, let's depart in search of something sensational."

Affinity 2:

"Oh, have you come to see me? This is troubling. I'm afraid I'm out of autographs."

where have you been distributing them. . .?

Affinity 3:

"What am I doing here? ...I'm people-watching."

Affinity 4:

"Ordinarily I ask for write-ins for my advice salon on the World Wide Web...but tonight, I'm taking it out into the field."

i wonder if he's waiting to encounter people who'll be able to see and hear him or if he's just like. . .genuinely ignoring/forgetting/disregarding that he isn't seen or heard. . .or maybe he was ignored a lot in his lifetime too so he doesn't question that people don't respond. . . .

Affinity 5:

"The moon is beautiful... I always look forward to passing the hours in conversation with you and Towa on nights like these."

i thought you didn't hang around jabberwock after dark because the dark was dangerous tho. . .maybe if the moon is big and bright he doesn't mind because it's not as dark lolol

Affinity 6:

"My folktale videos? I filmed them at Haku's behest, but I can't imagine these old things will capture my fans' hearts..."

based on that the Urashima Taro video has his voice in it but his character story recording doesn't have him or his voice in it(and Haku deliberately tries to make the background interesting because he knows it'll only be the background and biwa sounds,) I think his voice can be recorded but if he's visibly in the recording it won't be captured? That or Haku has recording equipment that can capture ghost voices, but not images???

Affinity 7:

"It truly is the age of YouTube. Can you fathom the romance of my artistry spreading to all four corners of the globe?"

Affinity 8:

"Every tool has its own knack you've got to acquire to use it properly. Behold— my mastery with a fishing pole!"

Affinity 9:

"This doll here is special. The moment I met him I felt a destiny such that I knew we couldn't be strangers."

Affinity 10:

"Oh, I didn't mean to give you a fright... I ought to have expected this. A sudden brush with an inspired man of the quill would take anyone's breath away."

Affinity 11:

"Have you got any siblings, my dear? Why no, I don't mean anything by it. Just a little morning conversation."

i can imagine him looking fondly at his doll as he says he doesn't mean anything by it. His sibling isn't one of the most important things in the world to him or anything. He's just making conversation. btw in Japanese he says "morning talk" which sounds an awful lot like "pillow talk" to me and idk how many people would be comfortable discussing their siblings after the deed--

Affinity 12:

"Are you going to Mortkranken, my dear? ...I see. No, I don't mean anything by it. Are you hurt? I hope you'll take care."

so while it makes sense for Zenji to ask this as he is noted in his profile to be a worrywart, not to mention he died on campus, but also. . .y'know, theories.

Affinity 13:

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you. Apparently my footsteps give the general students the heebie-jeebies..."

In Japanese it does clarify that he moves without the sound of footsteps at all because the general students freak out hearing his footsteps since they can't see him

Affinity 14:

"A swanky morning calls for a swanky breakfast, and some swanky radio calisthenics."

apparently radio calisthenics are still pretty popular in japan. in any case man are you sure you died like a year ago you sound so old

Affinity 15:

"Why, Subaru hasn't risen yet. Go ahead and wake him, won't you, my dear? I'll accompany your efforts from here with my biwa."

Affinity 16:

"A burst of inspiration has taken hold of me... No. The ghost of artistry has possessed my soul!"

okay well be careful with ghosts taking over your soul you don't have a ton left if you lose that--

Affinity 17:

"To be a Darkwick student is to greet danger as an old friend... But I hope that Haku and Subaru have a long life ahead of them."

Affinity 18:

"Zenji Kotodama is a wonderful name, don't you think? A sensational name befitting of my sensational sensibilities."

this line and the meanings of "Zenji" and "Kotodama" make me think it's a pseudonym lol most people don't praise their own names like that y'know? of course zenji isn't most people but. . . .

Affinity 19:

"Trouble sleeping? Then I'll read you a story. How about Urashima Taro?"

Affinity 20:

"I was standing by your pillow last night? Horsefeathers, I'd never. I was there the night before last."

BABY I DON'T THINK THAT'S BETTER. YOU ARE STILL WATCHING THEM SLEEP. WHAT ELSE DO YOU WATCH THEM DO.

Affinity 21:

"Go ahead and eat. No, don't give me another thought—I'm on a diet, you see. Watching you is enough food for my soul."

you see why i suspected initially that he didn't know he was dead? can you eat at all buddy?? i don't think it's a diet if you've lost the ability to consume food. . . .

Affinity 22:

"Haku's busy today—film me in his stead, won't you?"

Affinity 23:

"I've got a little story about a hapless fool of a man... I'm sure it's hardly worth listening to. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to share it with you?"

the true stories seem like the ones he wants to avoid. . .'a hapless fool of a man's story that isn't worth listening to but i'd still like to share' sounds an awful lot like it must be about him and his life. . . . In Japanese he says 「救いようのない、馬鹿な男の物語さ」 "it's the story of an irredeemable/hopeless, stupid man.". . .who did you hurt, Zenji?

Affinity 24:

"To be able to look into your eyes and bid you good night... I'm the luckiest fella for miles around."

Affinity 25(max):

"Maybe we did meet too late. But it's all right. I promise I'll find you in the next life."

but. . .but we have this life. . .although this is one of the few acknowledgements he really gives of his own ghostly nature. He wants to be able to live with you. To be tangibly there for you, to touch you and support you, to be able to show you off to others. . .but he can't be recognized. He can't be seen or heard but by a select few, it's only thanks to Haku that he can be seen or heard by you. It's too late for something 'real' now. So he can plan for the future. For the next life. He'll find you when you're both alive and then you can do everything you'd want to do with a real physical boyfriend. He promises.

Spring:

"In spring, the dawn... Red tinges the slowly paling mountain rim... Ah... These mountain fellas must've been goofy for some doll..."

"There is hope buried under the cherry trees... It means that spring is the season of chance encounters."

isn't the like. rumor that cherry blossoms are pink because they dye their petals with the blood of corpses buried beneath them or something? i swear i read that somewhere. apparently it comes from a poem. is hope a body buried under a sakura tree. is that where they buried you, Zenji?

"The cherry blossoms of Hotarubi are ephemeral—they bloom only to be quickly washed away by the rain. But I am rather fond of that way of life."

Zenji simultaneously lives in Acceptance and Denial stages of grief it seems lol

"The beauty of the cherry blossoms under the night sky inspired me to pick up my pen... Oh, it has gotten easier to lift."

Summer:

"Have you seen him!? Who? Why, my doll, of course! This is very troubling. I've got to find him before the boogeymen stir!"

. . .somehow this reminds me of the Jiro dialogue where he's like "if Yuri asks where I am, tell him i went to bed, i'm going out" lol if the doll reminds him of Jiro, it seems to make sense that now and then it wanders off on its own. I wonder where it's going though?

"My ideal summer vacation? I wish to lay down my burdens in the springs of Yugawara and pursue my wordsmithery in peace, as so many greats have done before me."

Yugawara is a hot spring town in Japan! Apparently since the Meiji era people would go there for inspiration and such thanks to the atmosphere

"This master wordsmith studied by the light of fireflies... I see. Haku! Turn out the lights!"

"I heard a frightful rumor... Apparently the ghost of a dead student has been spotted around Hotarubi..."

THAT'S YOU. YOU ARE THE SCARY GHOST OF A DEAD STUDENT. PEOPLE CAN SEE YOU MORE BECAUSE IT'S SUMMER.

Autumn:

"Fall is the perfect season for a new book, and I have the perfect one for you... From inspired man of the quill Zenji Kotodama, the fruit of his sweat and blood... "Body.""

"A song for you in the season of the arts... From inspired lute priest Zenji Kotod— Wait, where are you going!?"

why is this the one time 'biwa' is translated to 'lute' lol. . .although 'lute priest' does sound way better than 'biwa priest'

"Gauging the literary significance of this video by something as insignificant as views... Horsefeathers, isn't it?"

yeah!!! don't judge your worth by views or follows, zenji!!!

"I've decided to make you the heroine of my next work... A beautiful princess who bites into a poisoned apple and falls into a deep slumber... and seven of you!"

a fascinating retelling of Snow White. . .Snow White And The Seven Snow Whites. . . .

Winter:

"Good morning, fellas! Time for my biwa recital to color the chill of this frigid sunrise! I call it "Six O'Clock in the Morning.""

zenji nO PEOPLE ARE TRYNA SLEEP

"There's a rumor going around that you can hear a biwa playing in the music room when no one's there... I go all the time though, and I've never heard it..."

again. . .that's because it's you. . . .

"The setting sun... The sky dyed purple... Your beautiful profile, obscured... (gasp) I've been struck by inspiration!! My dear, I have to leave you here!"

"Are you cold? Then let me warm you up... My dear, why are you scooting away? I'll only make you colder...?"

it really seems like he forgets he's a ghost pretty often lmao

His birthday:

"Is this...a birthday present...? (hic) (sob) I'm the luckiest fella around...!"

people don't give him gifts often huh. . . .

Your birthday:

"I've planned the perfect day to celebrate the miracle of your birth... We'll start with an ode to you, accompanied by my biwa."

he planned you a whole outing or maybe a party! with all day musical accompaniment!! What a sweetheart!!

New Years:

"Happy New Year, my dear. I'll be making the first shrine visit with Haku—care to join us?"

Valentine's Day:

"My dear...is this for me? (hic) (sob) I'll treasure it always...!"

well given he probably can't eat it. . .fair reaction

White Day:

"I'm sorry... I did try to explain that a biwa recital would make a better gift, but Haku insisted I present you with confections instead..."

thanks haku you a real one lmao although music wouldn't be bad just. . . .

April Fool's Day:

"No, I would never lie to you. An inspired man spins fiction with his quill, not his mouth, after all."

y'know, i love the honesty! you keep making stories and being open, zenji!

Halloween:

"Why, you gave me quite a fright in that getup! What a marvelously queer celebration this is! So this is the legacy of westernization..."

no the marvelously queer celebrations are in june. although halloween is also marvelously queer sometimes--

Christmas:

"Merry Christmas! I've completed a new fairy tale. May my wishes reach the hearts of children everywhere..."

not a gift for you, but for the children! can a ghoul ghost and a human have--

Idle:

"...And they lived happily ever after. How did you like my new story? I'd love to hear your— What? You weren't listening!?"

"Can you see me? Phew... You've been so quiet, you had me worried, my dear."

Absent:

"Ah, I'm so relieved you're all right, my dear. I wondered if something had happened on a mission... I'm glad my fears had no teeth."

THAT'S ALL OF EM. He's really. . .he is himself the whole way through huh lol. At the same time when he does acknowledge his ghostliness(and oftentimes he does the exact opposite, simply lacking in self-awareness) he seems a little lonely and regretful. . .I wonder if he was always such a worrywart or if he started worrying more after he died, realizing first hand just how dangerous things could be. I'm surprised how feel acknowledgements his doll gets, although I don't think he carries it on the home screen?

I wonder how different his personality was when he was alive. Probably not very different tbh.

ANYWAY IT IS HALF PAST MIDNIGHT FOR ME. BEDTIME.

[clustermuck]

here why I’m upset with Colin’s characterization in part 2: when this show is all about Romance and our romantic lead spends the last 1/4 of the season being sullen, not listening to his wife’s side of things, and even actively shutting her down on more than one occasion after finding out this secret, I worry that with the little scenes of them dancing or holding hands or talking about their relationship is the writers telling us this behavior from Colin is supposed to be…sexy? Endearing? Romantic?

It’s not really…

Does Colin have every right to be upset that the woman he just discovered he’s basically loved his whole life without even him knowing it kept this huge secret that hurt a lot of other people he loves and puts that same woman he loves in constant danger herself? Sure. Absolutely!

But Colin, babe, YOU chased her down. You stopped her betrothal to someone else. You declared yourself first. I know you were declaring yourself to Pen and not LW, but don’t then turn around and act like Pen was conniving to get you to marry her. Like what?!?

And then after his convo with Kanthony, he CHOOSES to still marry her because he’s obviously still in love with Pen even if he hasn’t worked out the LW feelings yet. If he had his mind made up to marry her anyway, then his coldness towards Pen needed to end then and there. He can still be frustrated or unsure of how they’ll move forward, but at that point, after “I do,” Colin needed to realize that this just became Penelope and Colin VS. the Problem—esp after the Queen’s interrogation. He needed to step up, NOT continue to freeze out or fire shots at his wife.

There can be conflict without fighting or frustration or cold-shouldering and I get so annoyed when writers forget that. The last two episodes could have been so interesting and still frought with angst only having Pen and Colin on the same side.

Instead we get a beautiful, but I think kinda tacked on love declaration after Pen’s reveal as LW (as such, as beautiful and appropriate as the words were, it felt hollow) and then give us less than 3 mins of Happily Married Colin and Pen?!?!

That’s not romantic, guys.

I could be reading WAY too much into this…probably am…but to me, reading this half of the season another way is Colin bordering on emotionally abusive to Pen (yes, I know Pen has things to atone for, I know she’s not 100% in the right.)

So yeah…I’m really upset.

(Though I should note, I’m blaming writing and editing the most here, Nic and Luke acting this season with all their hearts and I know they would have made a better approach to their character arcs SO BEAUTIFUL if they had been given the chance…alas…)

**EDIT: I love these characters so much that I am ACTIVELY looking for someone to make an argument for the other side. I want to be told I missed something and Colin was softer, more loving than I’m seeing right now. Please…

[akaashislover1]

Love triangle

GetoXreaderXGojo

I can’t think of a proper title yet but I will change it as soon as I come up with one!😙

All characters are mid 20’s. No jujitsu sorcery happening, just a simple young love triangle story. Geto and gojo are in college btw and reader owns her own pet grooming/doggy daycare(I love animals don’t judge)

“Surguru, I don’t see why you don’t want me to go to your graduation. I mean it’s a big day and you only graduate from university once.” You say as you’re making some last minute trims on your furry client named Pluto. Geto, who sat in a chair holding a kitten in his lap, gave a little sigh as he watched you cut the dog’s hair.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to go, of course I do, I just politely said you don’t have to, if you have to work. So why would you want to waste your time sitting outside in the hot sun, crowded by a bunch of strangers when you can be in here, an air conditioned building surrounded by cute little animals?” Geto rambled as the cat, whose name is scratch, huffed at him. You turned your head back to the dark haired man, giving him a semi playful cold stare. Geto felt his heart skip a beat when you looked back at him. When you focused back on Pluto, Geto’s eyes went to what you were wearing. A plain white t shirt covered in stains, only god would know the true origins of, matched with a pair of blue jean shorts. It was when he felt his face turn red that he looked away.

To say that he liked you was an understatement. The two of you have known each other for nearly five years now. From the very first day that he met you(which he’ll never forget), he has been head over heels for you. Although Geto Suguru knew better than to let his feelings ruin what could be a lifelong friendship. Especially if you didn’t feel the same way.

“Well I think I’ll go. It’s not like I am not my own boss anyway.”

That wasn’t the answer Geto was hoping you’d say. He was hoping you’d get the hint and not go. Unless you did understand his frustration about not wanting you to go and you ignored him. Either way he knew once your mind was made up, there’d be no changing it.

“Okay, so what time should I be there?” You asked, your back still facing Geto.

“Huh. Around 2 o’ clock should be fine.”

You let out a chuckle, “you really don’t want me to go, do you? Why are you being so weird? What’s there that you don’t want me to see?” Before Geto could get a word in, you sat in the chair next to him and gave him a slap to the shoulder, “Are you not graduating or something?”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m graduating. I wouldn’t be going if I wasn’t.” He shot back.

“Or maybe you’re just embarrassed because I’ll see you smiling and how you act around your college friends.”

Geto playfully rolled his eyes at you, “I act the same with my collage friends the same way I act with you.” He deadpanned.

“Well now I am just hurt. You’re supposed to give me special treatment. Am I your only girl best friend?” You asked, “Or do you have a girlfriend- or boyfriend- that I don’t know about, considering that I have never met one of your collage friends.”

“You make it seem like I have a bunch of friends.” He laughed and you shrugged. Geto made eye contact with you when he finished laughing. The look in your eyes was genuinely curious. Geto felt his features soften and he rolled his eyes yet again.

“Fine. You can come. But please don’t be a weirdo.”

“Exsqueeze me, but I take great pride in being a weirdo.” You spoke proudly. Geto only gave you a deadpanned look. He knew for a fact that if there was any mist of awkwardness, you would be the first to try to normal it down. And as much as he’d love to make fun of you for that, he would still love for you to make a good first impression. Another part of him was nervous about how a certain white haired flirt would react to Geto greeting them to a girl he suddenly brings up. Guess he will find out in couple days.

🩵💜🩵💜🩵💜🩵💜🩵💜🩵💜🩵💜🩵💜🩵

I have no clue how many parts this is going to take up but I finally posted part one so cheers to that 🥂🥳

[bagerfluff]

We'll Meet Again

Casper x Non-Binary Reader

Prompt - Soulmates

“Do you think we’ll meet again?”

You asked Casper. Casper looked over at you, “maybe, depends on what you mean by that.” Casper responded. You looked down at your lap while Casper looked back at the sky.

The stars and moon shone brightly against the dark night sky. It brought peace to Casper. Casper only hoped that it brought peace to you, but it didn’t look like it.

You were fidgeting with your pants and kept looking around. Casper knew what you were talking about when you asked him that question. He just didn’t want to think about it.

The reason?

Casper was dying.

Some sort of disease that ran in his family, killed his father, his uncle, his grandfather. All the men had it, now Casper had it. He just didn’t think he'd get it so young, so early.

If he knew, he would have never said yes to your proposal. Casper looked down at the ring, it was silver. Yours was gold, they looked nice together when you and Casper held hands.

“I mean, when I die, will we meet in the afterlife, or what if we get reborn then meet”, you explained. Casper looked over at you, you were also toying with your ring.

Tears brimmed your eyes, they brimmed Casper’s as well. “Yeah, that means we’re soulmates”, Casper said, trying to lighten up the mood. You smiled, though it was sad.

“Do you remember when we first met?”

You asked and Casper smiled, “how could I forget”. It was on the very rooftop. You were watching the stars and Casper wanted to get away from his roommate.

You two spent the night together. You told Casper all about the stars and Casper listened. Then after a couple nights of repeating that you asked Casper out on a date.

The rest is history.

Casper was watching you but you were watching the stars. You felt tears slowly drip down your face as you gripped your ring. If you just had a little more time.

Just a little more. But now some force is taking your beloved away from you forever. Maybe that same force was kind enough to let you two meet again.

Someday.

Casper walked over to you and hugged you. You turned and buried your head in his shoulder, crying. Casper cried too, holding you tighter as you sobbed.

“Don’t worry, we’ll meet again, you said it yourself when you proposed”, Casper held you tighter.

“We’re soulmates”.

You spun your ring around.

You were leaning on the ledge of the rooftop. The only light being the moon and the stars. You blinked away tears as you looked up at the sky.

You could feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Friends and family asking if you were okay. No, you weren’t. You just buried your fiancé. What were you supposed to be, happy?

You had left right after the funeral ended.

You couldn’t bear to look at the gravestone anymore. Knowing that the one you loved, the one you were supposed to marry. Was now in the ground, dead. In a box.

You let the tears stream down your eyes now. You didn’t care that they ruined the outfit you were wearing. You didn’t even change from what you were wearing at the funeral.

You just went straight home and straight to the rooftop.

You waited till it was night, thinking over your thoughts and grief. You won’t lie, you wanted to jump off the roof, but you knew Casper would yell at you if you did that.

He knew that you had a long life ahead of you. You didn’t know if you liked that, what was a long life without the one you loved more than anyone or anything?

Suffering.

You looked back down at your ring. You leaned down and kissed it, “I love you”, you whispered to the stars. You looked back up, “maybe one day my love. We’ll meet again”, you smiled sadly at the stars.

“We’re soulmates”.

“Well look who it is”, you said.

Casper smirked as he came in through the window. You stood up from your bed to greet him. “You’re happy to see me”, Casper said and you rolled your eyes.

“Sure I am”, you teased while closing the window. When you did you noticed the stars. You never knew why but you loved the stars. Something about them made you happy and giddy.

You smiled when you felt Casper stand next to you.

“What are you doing?” Casper asked, “look at the stars, don’t know why but I love them”, you said. Casper looked away from you and to the stars. “I do too, never knew why”, Casper said.

You both looked at the stars, unconsciously you both fiddled with your ring fingers. “It also makes me sad”, Casper mentions and you nodded. “You remind me of the stars”, you said, looking at Casper.

Casper felt calmed by the sentence, like he’s heard it multiple times. Casper furrowed his brows, he’s felt like this his whole life.

Casper often finds himself on the roof of an apartment building, watching the stars. He knew the names of many stars and constellations.

Why?

Casper didn’t know, he didn’t know why he found comfort on the roof. Casper wondered if it had something to do with before he became a reaper.

He doesn’t know what his life was before, or if he even had one. You held Casper’s hand, you knew what Casper was thinking. You’ve thought about your weird memories for years.

They were also the same as Casper’s, finding yourself on a rooftop looking at stars, knowing their names and meanings. Feeling sorrow and happiness when you look at them.

Something told you that they were very important for you. “Do you know why he feels like this?” You asked Casper. Casper looked away from the window.

“Ever heard of soulmates?” Casper asked and you nodded. “I found a book on them when I was researching about your soul”, Casper walked closer to you.

“Apparently, soulmates are two people that have linked souls since birth, no matter how they die they will meet again, no matter what”, Casper said.

You looked at Casper, something about him felt familiar too. Like this is where you belonged. Maybe that’s why you were drawn to him when you first met him.

Even though he was death and you were life.

You loved him.

You smiled and grabbed Casper’s hands. “Then we’re soulmates”, You said. Casper rolled his eyes, “that’s cheesy”, but Casper didn’t deny that he liked that idea.

You hugged Casper, head buried in Casper’s shoulder. Casper hugged you back head on your shoulder. You and Casper relaxed in each other's arms, feeling an immense amount of happiness.

“Will you marry me?"

You whispered into Casper’s ear. Casper pulled away shocked, “did you just ask me to marry you?” Casper asked and you nodded.

“But you’ve only known me for a couple weeks”, Casper said but you just smiled. “Felt like I’ve known you my entire life, plus, I love you”, you walked closer to Casper and kissed him.

You wrapped your arms around Casper’s waist and pulled him closer to you. Casper rolled his eyes but kissed you back. You and Casper slowly kissed, heads turning to get at a better angle.

You pulled away after a few minutes and leaned your forehead against Casper’s. “So, will you marry me?” You asked with a smile. Casper smiled slightly, “yes”, Casper answered before kissing you.

You smiled into the kiss, holding Casper tight because of a feeling in your heart that you might lose him. You didn’t mind it, cause even if you did, you two were soulmates.

Bound by fate to always find and love each other.

No matter what.

[creaturefeaster]

I haven't made a poll yet since the feature came out, figured I might as well put it to use while I have this question in mind :3...

[wonder-worker]

I've been thinking about the tragedy of Elizabeth Woodville living to see the end of her family name.

I don't mean her family with her husband, which lived on through her daughter and grandson. I mean her own.

Her sisters died, one by one, many of them after 1485. When Elizabeth died, only Katherine was left, and she would die before the turn of the century as well.

All her brothers died, too. Lewis died in childhood. John was executed. Anthony was murdered. Lionel died suddenly in the peak of Richard's reign, unable to see his niece become queen. Edward perished at war. Richard died in grieving peace. For all the violence and judgement the family endured, it was "an accident of biology" that ended their line: none of the brothers left heirs, and the Woodville name was extinguished. We know the family was aware of this. We know they mourned it, too:

“Buy a bell to be a tenor at Grafton to the bells now there, for a remembrance of the last of my blood.”

Elizabeth lived through the deposition and death of her young sons, and lived to see the end of her own family name. It must have been such a haunting loss, on both sides.

[mars-ipan]

happy early discount chocolate day

[front-facing-pokemon]