#had to do some shitty drawing for it somehow

[cent-scratchnsniff]

that day when she opened her eyes for the first time. i remember you were just staring through the laboratory's glass not setting a single foot inside.

[alexthebordercollie]

it's nice to see mystery trio aus that aren't fiddlestan tbh. The amount of times I'll see one, think it looks interesting, and then it just turns into "wow Stan, you're so much nicer and cooler than your lame brother! Lets date!" And act like it's some kind of karma for Ford or something.

I definitely agree with your take that so often fiddlestan is just used as a way to express dislike of Ford, while ignoring any of Stan's canonical flaws

As a side note, since this is more of personal headcanon territory, but i think Stan would find Fiddleford too reminiscent of Ford when he was young to actually be interested.

Anyway, i always love to see Stan in his natural habitat (being a chaotic uncle)

I love the idea of the Mystery Trio. I think these three would play off each other really well. They're cute and funny together, but you don't need Fiddlestan. It feels like people treat it as a given that if offered the choice between Stan and Ford Fidds would choose Stan. Which is kind of shitty. (Low key it kind of reads to me like Ford is assumed the worse partner because he's autistic :/ even if people aren't consciously treating him that way.)

I think it's kind of presumptuous to assume Fidds would be into Stan anyway. Like physically attracted to him? Sure, obviously. If he finds Ford attractive odds are good Stan would also be nice to look at, but relationships aren't just physical attraction and it's obvious from the journals and BOB that Fidds had a very strong connection to Ford. If he's in love with an autistic nerd enough to throw his life away for him why would people assume Stans's wildly contrasting personality would somehow be more appealing?

I've actually had this comic kicking around in my mind for a while and this ask gave me a good excuse to draw it. (Though it took longer than expected)

While I don't think Fidds would ever choose Stan over Ford, I do think Ford would be a bit of a jealous and insecure partner. He's used to a lot of social rejection and struggles to maintain connections with people. Not to mention trust issues, especially after Bill who tried to sabotage his faith in Fiddleford in particular.

I wouldn't put it past Ford to get antsy seeing Fidds get along with his brother even if there's absolutely nothing going on there.

Also, I hadn't considered the suggestion that Stan might find Fidds nerdiness a turn-off because it reminds him too much of his brother, but yeah I could see it. Still, I'd buy Stan being interested in Fidds before I could really see the other way around happening. I think Stanley's tastes are bit broader but Fiddleford I imagine to have a bit more of a type. At least where romantic attraction is concerned. That said I don't think Fiddleford's actual tastes are really considered, I think he gets shipped with Stanley by people who want to see Stanley get that kind of overbearing love that Fidds showed to Ford. I do understand wanting to give him that kind of partner but Ford deserves love too, we don't need to be taking his healthy romantic option away from him and leave him with Bill. (His abuser.)

[moonstruckme]

Can you do poly!marauders where reader has kinda a shitty family? Like, where their family belittles them and insults them and gets mad over them existing so whe reader is back at hogwarts the next year she's as fragile as a china shop uncomfortablely close to a bull farm??

Only do it if your comfortable with it <3

Make sure to take care of yourself and remeber you are loved <3 <3

Thanks for requesting, love you and hope you're taking care of yourself as well <3

cw: hints at emotional abuse

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re quiet, all of a sudden. The distance over the last few months had been rough for all of you, gone to your separate homes for the summer, but Remus is beginning to suspect it was most difficult for you; you can’t seem to find your way back to them. It’s like you’ve constructed a shell around yourself over the short three months you’ve been apart, and none of James’ loving, Sirius’ teasing, or Remus’ offerings of a study companion have proved successful in drawing you back out. 

He’s sure you think you’re being subtle. You certainly haven’t addressed your boyfriends’ worries, either missing or ignoring the looks they send each other when you don’t jump in on a joke they’re doing or answer in a quiet, meek voice when they ask you a question. It’s as if you’re afraid of being heard, of being noticed at all. 

Remus doesn’t like it one bit. 

Neither do the others, of course, and he and James have had to talk Sirius down from confronting you about it multiple times already in the week since you’ve been back. You seem…fragile, somehow, and Remus doesn’t think pushing you will get the results they all want. James seems to think you’ll come back to them on your own if they give you time, and Remus isn’t so sure, but it’s the plan he’s rolling with for now. 

Still, he doesn’t think it’s out of line to intervene when he catches you carrying a stack of books that has to be half your weight. Last year, he’s positive you would have asked for help, but now you only grunt quietly as the stack wobbles above your head. 

“Let me take some of those for you,” Remus offers, already standing, and you flinch as if your distracting him from his homework is a punishable offense. The stack teeters dangerously with your sudden movement. 

“That’s okay,” you squeak, leaning back a bit in an attempt to get your tower of books under control. You look timid, wide-eyed like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, afraid of getting in trouble. “You can sit back down, I’ve—” You don’t even get the chance to finish your excuse before the books topple, scattering about. Remus flinches internally when some fall down on your head, and another sends an empty glass on the edge of the coffee table crashing to the ground. 

You cover your mouth with your hand, staring in silent horror at the mess around you. 

James and Sirius, playing cards on the other side of the coffee table, look up at the commotion. 

“Shit,” Sirius says (a rather eloquent sum-up in Remus’ opinion). “Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry,” you breathe, crouching and beginning to gather the broken glass in your hands.  “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I did that.” 

“Don’t—be careful,” Remus starts to say, but then you lose your balance, stepping backwards just slightly and letting out a tiny hiss. 

Remus stands, but James gets to you first, careful to keep away from the broken glass himself as he lifts you clear of the debris and deposits you onto the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” you say again, impossibly quiet. You’re looking between your boyfriends as if unsure what they want you to do. 

“Angel, it’s okay,” James insists, coming to sit down in front of you. “We’ll clean it up in a bit, don’t worry. Did you hurt yourself?”

You look down at your foot, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth.

“A little,” you admit. “Sorry.” 

“Stop that,” Remus says sternly. “It was a mistake. We only care that you’re hurt.” 

You look conflicted, and Remus can practically see your next apology forming on your tongue, but before you can utter it, James asks gently, “Can I have a look, sweetheart?”

You blink at him, nodding hesitantly. James is careful as he takes your ankle in his hand, lifting your foot in front of his face. His expression clears a little.

“Okay, it’s just a little piece,” he says, adjusting his hold before picking out a tiny bit of glass and flicking it into the pile with the rest. “There you go.” 

You nod your thanks, curling your foot underneath you. You’re being quiet as a rabbit, Remus thinks, all tense and wary but afraid to make a single sound. Whether you notice or not, the unease in the room grows with every second of your silence. 

Finally, it appears Sirius can’t be held at bay any longer. 

“Alright,” he says, more frustration in his tone than Remus thinks is really a good idea, “what’s going on with you?”

You look surprised. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’ve been acting like someone’s going to shout at you ever since we got back this year.” Sirius lowers his voice, eyebrows scrunching together just slightly. “It was being at home, wasn’t it? Something happened.” 

You flush, and Remus feels suddenly like this is a conversation he has no right to be in. Of course Sirius would be the one to pick up on it if  your family was what was making you act this way. No wonder he’d been so insistent they needed to get to the bottom of it. That’s something he can understand, whereas Remus and James never could. 

“Nothing happened,” you say, and Sirius narrows his eyes like he doesn’t believe you. “I just…okay, don’t be mad.” 

“No one is going to be mad at you, sweetheart,” Remus says, feeling like his heart is working its way up his throat with the words. “We’re just…you’ve seemed so different, and it’s scaring us a little bit. We only want to know what we can do to help.” 

You look hesitant. James reaches forward, taking your hand in both of his and rubbing at it with his thumbs. You nod, seeming a bit more confident now, and say, “There’s nothing you can really do. I just need some time.” 

James nods back, looking at you with brown eyes big and open and understanding. Remus often wishes he could convey even half James’ earnestness, but he doesn’t know anyone with the same capacity for warmth. “Time for what, darling?”

You nibble on your lower lip, and Remus has to repress the urge to rescue it from between your teeth. “Well, we didn’t really get close until a couple months into fall term last year, right?”

“Right,” James agrees. 

“So…I wouldn’t expect you to know, but it always sort of takes me a bit to…adjust back to school life.” 

Sirius still looks like he wants to fight something, but he’s more careful to keep his anger out of his voice now. “Why’s that?”

You shrug. “You’re not wrong. My family isn’t always as…patient with me as you guys are. They’re not awful, it’s just, I get into a habit of being quieter around them.” Remus’ heart feels like lead in his chest. “It takes me a while to get out of the habit once I get back.” 

“Honey,” James murmurs, not looking much better than Remus feels. “I’m sorry.” 

You give him a little smile, shifting uncomfortably. “You don’t need to act like it’s such a tragedy,” you joke. “I’ll get over it soon.” 

James looks distressed, but Remus cuts in. “I’m sorry you don’t feel like you can be yourself at home, lovely girl,” he says in what he hopes is a light but soothing tone, unsure what you need right now but gathering from your demeanor that it’s not their pity. He slides his arm around your back to tug you closer to him. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

You hum contentedly, leaning against his side. “Not really,” you reply. “You guys are too good to me, it’s hard to be quiet around you for long.” 

“Good,” Sirius says firmly, “because we don’t want you to. Want to go scream off the astronomy tower, sweet thing? Maybe that’ll help loosen you up.” 

“Actually, I’d really like to clean up my mess before someone comes down here and steps on it,” you admit. “But maybe we can try your yelling thing tomorrow.”

[mourn-and-watch]

in all seriousness, dragon age being almost officially dead to me is, like, whatever. i'm used to hanging out in dead fandoms because i'm usually extremely late to the party so i think i'll manage. i was excited for veilguard but even if it was bad bad for me (which it wasn't. i have my problems with it but they didn't ruin the franchise for me) i would also manage because dragon age to me always was extremely flawed but had an enormous potential for fan content. at some point i started to treat it like my favourite fantasy playground where i can smash pre-existing barbie dolls with the ones i made myself. all my barbie dolls are in place and i still can do whatever i want (and i plan to continue to do so) and, i guess, i shouldn't be upset.

i am upset, however. for all the devs affected by laid-offs, but especially the writers. these people created dragon age as we know it, and it's been a messy series in every aspect, including the writing, it's been insensitive at times, at times dumb and undercooked, but there was always an immense amount of potential that's been inspiring fans for years, and also a feeling that all, or at least the most of it was created with genuine passion. and realizing that there is no one left from the team that made dragon age what it is, every installment of it, is just. genuinely sad. and it's not a theseus ship dilemma, because it's not like they were slowly replaced one by one. they were just fired. this ship is destined to sink, it's falling apart in front of our eyes because neither ea nor bioware cares about writing. not many companies do nowadays, to be honest. and it's kinda devastating. grifters will celebrate that like a "downfall of woke slop", but they'll get only more ai slop instead, lol, because good writing doesn't guarantee good sells. best selling games of 2024 are shooters and sports games. and elden ring which is a nice exception, but an exception nevertheless.

i don't think mass effect will save bioware at this point. even if it's an absolute banger it still has to meet ea's expectations. which are unrealistic, to say the least. also people who wrote characters like mordin, tali, legion, thane, garrus and liara are all gone. either they left themselves or were laid off. like, if you want "old bioware magic" to return, there is none. the same people who wrote your favourite characters and storylines in da/me were also working on veilguard. i may be wrong, but somehow i think they didn't all lose their ability to write here because they went woke or whatever. i think the inconsistent quality of datv writing that can only be described as 'we're so back/it's so over' pic is a consequence of multiple rewrites, constant director changes and shitty decisions, both internal and coming from bioware/ea higher-ups. i also may be wrong, but it wouldn't be such a big problem if writing wasn't at the bottom of priority list.

if i recall correctly, when gaider left willingly, he highlighted that bioware didn't treat its writers seriously at that point. and i'd say that tracks. like, from countless veilguard rewrites and scrapped ideas to lay-offs of every single studio veteran.

idk what else there is to say. i'll cheer for every studio that value its writers and i hope all ex-bioware devs will be able to do something new and exciting. i also doubt bioware is the last studio that will experience such a decline in the years to come. the narrative of this shitshow will also be twisted into 'go woke go broke' and it already slightly draws me insane. fuck ea fuck bioware fuck grifters. also i beg everyone to start appreciating writing as a craft because otherwise it's only going to get worse!

[coeurify]

“it’s november.”

the words have you jumping, the unsolid, rounded edges of the stool you’re currently standing on wobble with the movement of your foot. a squeak follows, rushing to find your balance— which is found by pressing your hand against the wall you were trying to reach the top of.

the hand used is … currently holding a string of multi colored christmas lights, the green trail of side dropping below you, your stool and the wall you had already pinned them to.

“it’s november,” the voice repeats— belonging to your girlfriend ellie, who walks behind you and peers up. the sweater she wears is pushed up to her elbows, pooling the cloth in a way that makes her look a little silly. as silly as the tone of voice she uses as she continues her obvious teasing. “and you’re already putting christmas lights up?”

your lips pout out immediately at the words, huffing as you press your sock clad feet. “november is almost over el. this is an absolutely valid time to put these up.” you wave your hand holding the clump of lights around, much more steady on your little wooden stool you were using for some added height.

“babe, thanksgiving hasn’t even passed,” ellie continues— and you can see her shaking her head even out of the corner of your eye as your head turns back to the wall— jaw clenching as you press up on your toes again to hand the light over the next pin. the small chuckle that the sight of you struggling to reach the spot seems to bring only annoys you more— head snapping to look over your shoulder with a look ellie liked to call your ‘scary eyes.’

“you can’t even— baby you can’t even reach. how did you get all that up?” ellie tries not to laugh but she can’t help it, the bursts of giggles slipping from her lips before she can stop them, green eyes trailing over the soft and cozy living room you two shared. somehow, alone with your little shitty stool.. you had covered at least half of the room while she was napping. “let me help,” she offered, a hand reaching out to steady your leg.

“no!” you complain, kicking your leg out a little to shrug off her hand. it only brings the wood below you to rock some more, which makes ellie grip a little harder. “you’re being judgy. i don’t want your help.” you sound petulant, maybe a little hurt by her amusement that you were doing this now.. alone.

“i am not being judgy,” ellie soothes her hand over your leg as you reach forward and successfully hook the sting of wired lights over the next spot. “you are, and you’re basically the same height as me— you can’t reach shit either.” you continue, the dig at her height a teasing one, paired with an eyebrow raise and fleeting glance back at her.

“ow?” ellie’s free hand clamped over her chest in faux hurt— the ragged cut strands of deep auburn hair shaking with her head. you find yourself watching the movement and fighting away a smile. “i meant by keeping you steady but if you wanna be mean i can totally let you do it all.” ellie pinches your leg over the fuzzy sweatpants you’re wearing. if it was anyone else you might be a little worried she was actually hurt.. but you can hear the humor seeping into her words and drawing out her sentences.

“fine,” the sigh that comes with the tingle word makes it seem like this decision was just absolutely the most difficult one you’ve had to make— the dramatics always evident. “i guess you can help. but only if you quit saying i’m doing it too early.”

honestly, you had planned to finish this little light hanging before she was done with her nap. she worked a long day with joel, you wanted to surprise her. and okay.. maybe you had seen one or two too many videos about the holidays that had given you the itch to decorate something and right then. but clearly the surprise element was lost, and ellie’s sarcastic taunting had replaced it. so now maybe you’re doing it out of spite. who knows, maybe you’ll even put on the santa clause after.

ellie’s fingers raise to her mouth, fake zipping them and nodding quickly. the urge to roll your eyes is one you act on, scoffing at her before you turn again and feel the steady warmth of her hands on both of your legs now, shifting you a little bit further down the wall for the next spot.

your lip falls between your teeth again, toes straining against your feet as you push as high as you can to get the next spot and—

“okay but you can admit most people wait for after thanksgiving right?”

“ellie!”

[atsumutu]

“Hajime, are you bored?”

The raven haired man peers up from his phone, instantly locking the device and pocketing it when he sees the concern etched across your face.

Shaking his head, Iwaizumi gives you a gentle smile. It only takes him a few steps to reach you. “No, just checking my emails.”

Unconvinced, you rest a palm on his chest. It wasn’t like you had forced the man to come out with you. Ever the attentive boyfriend, Iwaizumi had made it his mission to spend some time with you after a hectic few weeks of work - even if that meant spending the day following you into countless stores.

“Are you sure? I know this isn’t really your thing.” you mumble, gesturing lamely at the store.

“Baby, no.” he plants a soft kiss on your temple. “I love spending time with you. Even if it means becoming your personal bag holder.” Iwaizumi lifts an arm, biceps curling underneath his t shirt as he lifts a plethora of shopping bags with ease, 90% of the contents belonging to you.

He watches the way your eyes draw towards his muscle and with the tiniest lift of his lips, he whispers. “I’m starting to think you only bring me along so you can have me carry your bags and ogle me.”

Rolling your eyes, you lightly slap his chest. “You’re the one who always insists on coming with me and carrying all my bags.”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow as if to ask are you sure?

Scoffing, you offer no solid denial, only a light push that does nothing to move the brute standing before you. Iwaizumi smiles down at you, endeared by the attempt.

“Seriously though, Hajime, I can go around by myself. Why don’t you go home and rest?”

Now he’s confused. It’s the second time you’ve tried to send him home and he’s racking his brain to see if he may have upset you somehow but he keeps coming up blank. Finally giving up, he decides to ask you.

“Why?” he squints his eyes playfully, “You got another man around to carry your stuff for you?” When you don’t respond to his joke, the raven furrows his brows. Calloused palms come to rest on your cheek. “I’m fine, love.”

And sure he looked fine, Iwaizumi was as tough as nails. But not even he could handle the crazy hours he had been working the last couple of weeks and you could tell he was close to running on fumes.

“Ha ha, very funny.” taking a hold of his wrist, you peer up at the man. “Let’s just go home. I think i’ve bought enough-“

“No.” He’s curt and the unexpected sharpness in his tone cuts you a lot deeper than he would have ever intended. You blink at his words, guilt, concern and a flash of hurt painting across your features. Sighing, Iwaizumi rests his forehead on your shoulder, groaning in what you guess is regret.

Your first instinct is to comfort him, so you do. Weaving your fingers through his dark tresses, you let him soak in your warmth.

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“I know, Haji.”

With a final sigh, he slumps back a step. “Shit, maybe I do need to get my ass home.” he chuckles half heartedly.

Humming, you take a step forward to reach him, mischief brimming in your tone. “Well if you’d just listened to me the first time I wouldn’t be here trying to calm down Mr Grumpy Pants himself.”

“Watch it.” he snipes, no real bite behind his words.

And in all your childish glory, you stick your tongue out at him.

Iwaizumi looks wholly amused. When was the last time someone stuck their tongue out at him? Then, he remembers who his best friend is and any trace of amusement is gone. “That Oikawa is a shitty influence on you.” he grumbles.

“Come on, let’s go.” you giggle, reaching for his free hand to lead him towards the exit.

“Hey,” he calls, softly tugging at your hands to halt your steps, “I love you.”

Despite the gruff texture of his voice, you would never tire of how softly those words would fall from his lips.

“I love you too.” lifting your entwined fingers up, you seal your words with a quick kiss to the back of his hand. “Now, can we finally go home?”

Iwaizumi smiles, fond. “Let's go home.”

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Bunny!! I have a request if you don't mind :>

I was thinking maybe headcanons of Sam and Mermaid!Reader (kinda like H2o if you ever watched it). Like stuff of how they met, how he found out and started dating, whatever you feel like it

Just an idea. It's my first request but i'll try to interact more because i really liked your blog

Luv your writing pookie, can i be 🦢 anon?

SAM MONROE X MERMAID!READER HEADCANONS 🧜🏻‍♀️🌊

Author's note: welcome 🦢 Nonnie 🙂‍↕️ that is actually such a creative idea oh myyyyy but I haven't watched H20, only heard of it :(( I hope it's up to your liking :((

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who met you on one of his «get the hell away from everything» afternoons. He’d wander down to the rocky beach near his house, chain-smoking and throwing rocks into the water, just trying to avoid his dad and all the shitty stuff happening back home. You had been reckless, resting on a rock, just takin' in the sun..you liked this beach, it was quiet, people rarely came there. But fate had other plans today..When you heard a grumpy curse, your body stiffened and you immediately made your way back to the water. Yet, it was too slow for Sam not to see. He had spotted your tail diving under the water, his brows softening, expression going blank and he really thought he was going insane after pills he just took. "Hey! What the—" he run to the spot you were just by "Are you a freakin’ fish?" He yelled after you

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who came back to the place where he had seen you to make sure he's not going insane

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who actually one night sneaked out to see if you're there, and when you were, he hadn't stopped looking at you from behind. “So... you’re part fish? Do you eat people?” he'd blurt out, making you jump, before pointing at you like you were a science experiment.

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who cursed the life out of him when he saw you become a human again after stepping out of the water. That guy stumbled over his own steps, thinking you're about to..he doesn't even know what, he just let out a breathless, shaky "shit!" before running away as fast as he could

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who still came back to this place and this time didn't run away but the interaction between you two was.. awkward..a little but somehow you two got along with each other

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who was protective of your secret, often glaring at people who give you, weirdly, too much attention. «Mind your business, freak.»

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who secretly loves watching you swim. He’ll sit on the beach with his arms crossed, pretending he’s not impressed, but you catch the way his lips twitch into a smile when you do something cool.

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who began bringing you little sea gifts—sea glass, weird shells, all while acting like it’s no big deal. «Found this dumb rock. Thought you’d like it.»

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who teased you about your mermaid-ness. «Do you talk to dolphins or something?»

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who sometimes asks you quiet, serious questions, frowning at you in the water. «What’s it like down there? Do you miss it?»

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who draws you sometimes. Sketches of you on rocks or swimming. When you catch him, he simply plays it off. «It’s not you. Just some random fish person.»

🧜🏻‍♀️ SAM MONROE who spent hours smiling like a fool after the first time you kissed him underwater «Holy shit..that was..uh..wow»

🧜🏻‍♀️ SAM MONROE who, sometimes, let you take him into the water with you; jeans soaked up to his knees, just so he can kiss you properly while you float in the waves. «Don’t make me regret this. My shoes are already ruined.»

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who teases you about being a mermaid all the time. "So, do you, like, talk to dolphins? Bet they’re better company than me, huh?" Yet when it he chills out, Sam’s completely enamored by your world. He’ll constantly ask quiet, curious questions late at night, when it’s just the two of you. "What’s it like down there? Do you miss it? Being in the water all the time? Is it worse than being out there?"

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who you catch sketching you sometimes--little doodles of you sitting on a rock or swimming in the waves. He would deny it, of course. "It’s not you. It’s just some random fish person."

🧜🏻‍♀️ SAM MONROE who struggled with feeling like he’s somehow not enough for you, in a way. He thinks you deserve someone more “magical” or less messed up. «You’re out here being, like, a mystical sea goddess or whatever, and I’m just...me.»

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who, whenever you’re upset, he’ll let you drag him into the water (even though he grumbles about it). "Fine, but if I drown, I’m haunting you."

🧜🏻‍♀️ SAM MONROE who gave you your first cigarette

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who literally thought you were Ariel;

"So, uh," he started, scratching the back of his neck. He hesitated, the words seeming to stick in his throat before he finally blurted out, "Are you... some kind of Ariel or something?"

You blinked, tilting your head. "Who’s Ariel?"

Sam froze, lips parting like he was about to explain. But then, his brow furrowed, and he let out a long breath through his nose. "Eh… never mind," he muttered, taking a long drag of his cigarette

"No, wait," you pressed, frowning now. "Who is this Ariel? Another mermaid?"

"Not—well, kinda," Sam admitted, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He glanced at you, cheeks faintly pink. "She’s from a movie. Some Disney thing."

"Disney?" you repeated, your confusion deepening.

"Forget it," he grumbled, tossing another pebble into the water with more force this time. "It’s stupid. You're, like, way cooler anyway. Ariel’s just a cartoon."

You didn’t fully understand what he meant, but the faint praise made your lips curl into a smile. "So, this Ariel isn’t real?"

"Nope," Sam said, leaning back on his palms. "You, on the other hand…" His voice trailed off, and he looked at you again, blue eyes tracing the curve of your tail in the clear, shining water. "You’re, like… real as it gets."

You grinned before flicking water at him with your tail. "Good. I’d hate to have competition."

Sam chuckled, wiping the water from his face. "Yeah, well, you’re safe. Ain’t nobody like you, Ariel or not."

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[crescenthistory]

#3 with Lee please!!!

hi sweetheart! in reference to your other ask, no worries about forgetting to put the letter, and thank you for your request<33 i love any and all excuses to write for my love lee

Prompt: E.3 "Is this okay?"

Words: 2k

Warnings: not proofread, smutty (mdni), kissing, touching/groping, nipple play, implied oral, very fluffy foreplay, hair pulling and skin scratching (lee receiving, he is a masochist you cannot change my mind), small choking reference, doting, not a lot of dialogue, cannibalism and homelessness references (bestie this is bones & all)

Note: in my mind, this is you and i, we've grown comfortable here lee and reader's first time. also, asking consent is so hot

Your nose is flooded with the scent of wildflowers and gasoline as the thick air lays heavily around you.

You chose a shabby bar nearby for dinner, the kind of place where people don't look too closely at strangers. It had been loud inside, stifling. The jukebox in the corner was playing some old country tune that didn’t quite fit the mood, but you did not bother to care. Lee led you to a booth toward the back, hand firmly in yours. The wooden seat stuck to the backs of your thighs and your eyes flicked all over, trying to take the place in.

When you ordered, you made a point of brushing your hand against his. The tiniest spark, but enough to let him know what you were thinking. When you leaned into him to talk over the noise of the bar, your lips too close to his ear, it had taken everything in you to pull back and act like it wasn’t deliberate. You saw the way his eyes lingered, how his hand tightened around the glass he was holding.

Lee always picked up on those small gestures, especially the ones you barely knew you were making. It almost scared you how much this boy could read your mind, how well he knew you by now – but even more so, it enticed you and softened your aching heart.

The night flurried away with the familiarity of the unfamiliar. The half-decent meal was devoured, a few drinks some guy sent your way was shared by you and Lee, your hands never not on the other's skin somehow. Eventually, you felt you had waited enough to pull him with you out of there, longing for fresh air, silence and him.

Months ago, you decided on a schedule where you try to scrape in enough money to stay in a shitty motel one night every two weeks. It came about when your back pain worsened and Lee grew worried for you, even when you told him it was no problem.

"If we can ease your pain in any way, that's what we're gonna do, sweetheart." You were simply not allowed any objections.

Motel nights were a small luxury, so it was bound to create some excitement, but recently it had been more than that. It gave you a different kind of privacy than the one you have grown used to on the road, and it created a new tension between you, one you were eager to snap. Stolen kisses building to something more.

Neither of you spoke much on the walk to the motel, Lee's arm around your shoulders. The parking lot was dim, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering every now and then, casting shadows across the worn asphalt. Your mind was racing so loudly that you were sure he could hear it, but you still couldn't help the content smile over your lips. You loved your little life with him, however unconventional and occasionally bloody, and you felt closer and closer to him every day.

Once safe inside the room, you sighed at the safety of a locked door and no strange men with travelling eyes and loud laughters. It was quiet save for the distant hum of the highway and the soft rasp of Lee's breath, two of your favourite sounds.

That very soft rasp grew closer as Lee came up behind you, tentatively circling his arms around your waist, drawing your back into his chest. His fingers stroked against your sides and you leaned into him with all your weight, tilting your head slightly to the side. Lee clearly took it as an invitation, leaning down to press slow, open-mouthed kisses against your neck. He kissed from the junction of your shoulder and neck up to a spot behind your ear he found a few weeks back that had made you moan, in search of those same beautiful sounds. You gave him what he wanted, and you could feel his smile against your ear.

"You are so beautiful, love," he whispered, fingers travelling under the hem of your shirt, barely skimming the skin there.

"Just beautiful, hm?" you teased. You turned around in his grip, body still flush against his, and placed your hands on the back of his neck to play with his hair.

His gaze bore into yours, darkening. "Beautiful, stunning, hot, unbelievably, painfully sexy. Whichever you prefer, darling, they're all true."

You smiled, bringing your face closer and closer to his, still keen on teasing him a bit. When you spoke, your lips almost brushed his. "I prefer yours actually."

He groaned at your words, closing the gap between you with almost bruising force, desperately kissing you.

You were never this brazen, treating this thing between you with delicacy, indulging yourself in kisses and touches, but no more. Tonight, though, whether it was your slight tipsiness, the motel or just that the longer you were around Lee, the more his every move sparked you up – you needed him.

Lee moved the two of you without breaking away from your lips, backing you up against the wall beside the bed. His hands were splayed against the bare flesh of your sides, kneading it sensually as he tried to press himself even closer to you. His lips moved against yours sloppily, his tongue swirling against your bottom lip and teeth, seeking yours inside your mouth. It was always messy with Lee, and you hadn't expected to be driven so crazy by it, but you were overwhelmed with it, trying to take in more and more of him.

When his lips trailed down your jaw to kiss the un-touched side of your neck, you realised you had forgotten to turn on the light. The room was lit up only by the purple hazy motel sign outside the window, and Lee looked painfully good bathed in it. Even from your angle, where you only saw his shoulder, part of his back and his hair with your hand tangled in it – it was perfect.

Lee tugged at your shirt and helped you out of it in seconds, fingertips dragging across your skin, leaving fire in their wake. The cool sensation of the wall against your back mixed with the heat of his hands made your thoughts become incoherent, now only filled with Lee.

You hooked your own fingers into the collar of his shirt, dragging him closer, crushing your lips to his in a way that told him everything. You slip your hands underneath it, letting your nails drag along his barely-there abs, up to his throat that you lightly squeeze. Lee's lips smiled into yours as he gave a soft moan that drove you to rip his shirt off as well, skin finally against skin.

His skin was softer than it had any right to be, given the life he leads, given the way his knuckles were scarred and his heart was walled off from everyone except you. You kissed him harder, like you were trying to draw him out from the place he always disappeared to inside himself. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you in, his fingers pressing into your skin just hard enough to make you gasp against his mouth.

And God, the way his mouth moved against yours – slow, then rough, then soft again, like he was trying to find some rhythm in the chaos of it all. Lee kissed like someone who had been starved for touch his whole life, as if this, you, were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

His mouth disappeared from yours again, pulling a soft whine from you that he chuckled at, breath tickling your skin. He placated you as he quickly dragged it down to your chest, licking stripes and leaving small bites in his path. How funny that the same teeth that tore flesh from bone could be so loving, so carefully enticing when on you. One hand on the small of your back, arching your hips into his ever so slightly, and another going up to your breast, palming and squeezing, with his thumb brushing over your nipple. In similar fashion, his doting mouth finally closed around your other nipple, flicking his tongue before drawing increasingly larger circles with it.

Your hands were back in his hair at that, clutching at it and tugging just barely – at the feel of his moan against your skin, you pulled harder, making his movements more desperate. Your chest was pressed against his mouth, squirming your hips against his body that was still flush with yours.

His teeth grazed over your sensitive skin and you mewled, sputtering his name between gasps. He looked up without his lips or tongue not leaving you and seemed to get drunk on the sight of you. When you flashed him a smile his expression immediately mirrored yours, revelling in the moment with you. The best of friends, venturing together into this, whatever it may be. His lips moved to your other breast, fingers taking over to placate the wet skin there.

"Lee," you whispered desperately. "I need you."

His face was up by yours again in a heartbeat, eyes searching yours for a second before crashing his lips onto yours once more, taking your bottom lip in between his and sucking. Meanwhile each of his thumbs find your nipples, rubbing circles on them, eliciting another moan into his mouth.

"You need me, sweet girl?" He asked in between kisses and you just nodded against him.

"Are you sure?"

You pulled back at that, hands moving from his hair to cup his jaw, feeling the slight stubble that had begun to grow there. He looked at you intensely, but you didn't see insecurity in his eyes – just curiosity, want, as if he needed to learn everything about you, right in this moment.

"I've always needed you, Lee. And I always will. Please."

He grinned, kissing you once, slowly, before dropping to his knees, kissing and licking across your chest down to your stomach, cheekily biting you to the left of your belly button. His hands moved to grab your ass, kneading quickly before tucking his thumbs into the bandwidth of your skirt, teasing it down a few centimetres. When you arched your back from the wall to help, he pulled it all the way down to the floor, helping you step out of it.

You were left leaning against the wall, holding onto his shoulders for dear life, wearing just your panties. Both of your breaths were coming in shallow gasps as Lee placed soft, sweet kisses to your upper thigh. He looked so beautiful on his knees before you and you moved a hand to touch his chin, making him look up at you. The amount of adoration pouring from his eyes made your stomach flip almost as much as feeling his breath on your most intimate parts did.

Maintaining eye contact, Lee kissed right above your panties, upper lip on your burning hot skin, lower touching the lacy fabric. His fingers teased the strings on the sides of your hips, a few of them slipping beneath, stroking your hips.

"Is this okay?" Lee asked. You nodded enthusiastically, aching for him, but his eyes still seemed inquisitive, wanting verbal confirmation.

"Yes, so okay. I want you."

His eyes darkened and he grinned mischievously. "Say it again."

"I want you, Lee, please."

That was the last bit of encouragement he needed from your desperate voice and another harsh pull at his hair. Lee leaned in to kiss you through your panties before finally pulling them off.

In the burning darkness the two of you created, you had never felt so full, loved and safe – all because of Lee.

[butterflyslinky]

I keep seeing anti-Tommy people saying that his past as a bad person from the Begins episodes will be the hurdle he and Buck will face. That Buck will find out about what Tommy was like and be offended by it.

Except…Buck already knows about it? Tommy's pretty openly talked about not being a good person in the Gerrard era. Maybe he didn't tell Buck exactly what he said, but he probably doesn't remember because in-universe, that was fifteen to twenty years ago. He said the 118 was regressive, and that being under Gerrard did not make him a better person.

Hen and Chimney have also been pretty open about how shitty things were back then. Maybe they didn't name Tommy specifically, but Buck can make inferences based on them talking about how everyone was shitty and Tommy was part of everyone. This isn't some Deep Dark Secret Buck would be shocked by, it's information he had before meeting Tommy.

But okay, let's say somehow Buck had all three of the people who were there telling him Tommy was not a good person back then and somehow didn't realize what that meant. That doesn't change the fact that Tommy is clearly not that person anymore and that everyone's moved on from it. Chimney and Tommy are friends, and have been for close to two decades. Hen and Tommy don't seem to be super close, but they clearly have a level of professional respect for each other and she doesn't object to him hanging out with the group (Bobby Begins Again, the bachelor party.)

Like, if this is the big problem they face, what's supposed to happen? The story grinds to a halt while Tommy details every bad thing he's ever done and Buck processes it? Does Buck need to go see Hen and Chimney to get their blessing to date a guy they're both cool with and have been for years? Does Tommy need to do an apology tour to rehash everything and reopen all the old wounds for the benefit of the guy who wasn't involved in anything that happened back then? What purpose would that serve, either in the story or for the viewers? Honestly, if Buck made Tommy do that as a condition of continuing the relationship, I would not be rooting for Buck.

No, we didn't see Tommy give apologies in perfect therapy-speak or see the work he did on himself in the years between Begins episodes and the rest of the show. He's a minor supporting character who existed in Begins to show the growth and change of the LAFD as a whole, and who was bumped up to recurring minor character to be Buck's love interest. We're not going to spend entire episodes sitting in therapy with him, we're supposed to draw conclusions from the information given so the story can keep moving.

[courtingchaos]

It’s Just a Question

A/N: Back on my bullshit. I’ve had some really hard times with my normal writing while also finding myself in some shitty circumstances. So this is how this came about. Just a lot of feelings. Technically plus sized reader but you can do whatever you want.

18+ NSFW No Minors

“Am I pretty?”

“What?” Eddie sprays toothpaste on the mirror, he’s so quick to ask.

“Am I pretty?” You scrunch your face up over and over, drawing your eyebrows down and crinkling your eyes. Purse your lips and frown deep and finally look over at him staring at you, toothbrush hanging from his mouth and arms braced on the countertop.

“Are you pretty?” He reiterates with a deep sigh. “Of course you are, you’re gorgeous. Especially right now when your hair matches mine and we look like two electrocuted cotton balls.” He’s not flippant but he’s definitely brushing you off.

You aren’t done though. “I’m serious, and I’m not asking if you think I’m pretty. Am I pretty like…Anne Hathaway.” You pull down on your cheek and watch it bounce back, albeit slower than it did when you were 20.

“Well…you don’t even look-no.” He stops quickly and spits in the sink and rinses his toothbrush, viciously shaking his head the whole time. “This is a trap and I refuse.” He says as he leaves you in the bathroom.

“Eddie it’s not a trap it’s an honest question!”

“This is like the worm thing and I’m not doing that again!” He yells over his shoulder before closing himself in the bedroom to get dressed for work. You sigh and turn to look at your tired reflection. Your perpetual eyebags answer your question for you, and your dusting of sun damage yells it louder from the mirror.

Not pretty, subliminally average.

Standing in line at the grocery store, Eddie slumped over the handle and picking at stray grapes, you ask again only this time with a visual aid.

“Okay, I mean like this.” You shove a copy of Rolling Stone under his nose, a new pop star gracing their cover in something sheer and tight. “I meant pretty like this.” You say quietly next to him. He chews on another free grape slowly, staring at the cover and tilting his head. He doesn’t move, just slides his eyes way over to give you the look.

“You’re prettier than her.”

“What about Juno Temple?” You quip back.

“She’s shorter than you. And British, doesn’t count.” He quips right back. You huff and shove the magazine back in its slot.

“You’re not understanding me.”

“No, I am. You’re just not listening to me.” He pushes the cart up a spot and continues his easy lean. “You’re pretty like…that.” He searches the newsstand by the register and points at a baking magazine, perfectly circled apple tart dusted with sugared cinnamon and you bark a loud laugh.

“A tart Edward?”

“Don’t twist my words. I said you’re pretty like that.” He smiles, pops another grape in his mouth and starts tossing things on the conveyer belt.

Pretty like a baked good.

He’s elbow deep in the shelf of succulents, looking for something called a ‘Black Rose’.

“I know it’s in here, there’s four dead ones up top.” He’s pushing little green teardrops to the side to find his prize, a loud ‘Ha!’ when he whips his hand out, holding the little plant by its little container.

“It’s so tiny.”

“Yeah and in like six months it might not be.” He gives you a cheesy smile and sets in the cart with your other potential house plant failures. Somehow he’s managed to keep a giant flat pot of succulents alive for almost a year and every time you go to the plant store, he adds another.

“Okay, what’s its name.”

You hum at him, tapping your finger along the cart when you get distracted. A willow of a woman walks in, hair shiny like water and flowing over her thin, petite shoulders. She looks like she’s on a mission, perfectly manicured hand pointing her in the right direction when she heads for a batch of bright zinnias. Her smile painted a bright coral like the plant she picks up and places in her cart, three more following and off she billows to the next aisle full of ivy. Eddie saw it the moment you stopped listening to him listing off names. The swivel of your head and then the tapping of your finger ceasing, knuckles going white around the cart handle. He watches you watch her and he knows the question is coming before you turn back around with that frown hewn into your forehead.

“Like this.” He holds up the small succulent, barely formed petals burnished a deep purple in the afternoon sun.

“What.”

“Pretty like this.”

“You don’t even-“ You scoff and cut yourself off, heavy eye roll directed at no one while you turn away and sulk by the snake plants.

He doesn’t tell you, but he names it after you.

The Big One happens during the summer. Chrissy is engaged, and her new belle and her decide to have a joint bachelorette party, everyone invited. You know Eddie’s people, all these random characters drawn together through something you don’t quite understand. You meet Chrissy fiancé and she’s just as bubbly and sweet as Chrissy herself. Eddie gives them your gift and drops a kiss on Chrissy’s cheek and it barely bothers you.

They’d dated just out of high school. 15 years ago and before Chrissy had realized why men just never hit the spot. She floats around her party and you hang around behind Eddie while he walks the two of you around in conversation. At some point you’d gone past your standard three (3) drinks and the mango seltzers are starting to make you a little resentful.

Thankfully you catch it, excuse yourself to the bathroom and give yourself a stern stare in the mirror.

It’s not your party.

They’re just friends.

It’s not about you.

…Is it ever?

There’s a reason you stop at 3 lately, that rolling black pit of self loathing feeds on bubbly things and it’s feeding on a blonde tonight.

So when you come back you sit at a table by yourself. You tuck your hands under your thighs and admonish yourself for how wide they are. There’s a tug of war happening between your self pity and your self depreciation, a tear balancing on your lashes while you roll the wet eyes under them. Eddie finds you bent over your phone and all you can think about is how wide your shoulders must have looked from that far away.

“Hey, where’d you go?”

“I had to uh, go to the bathroom.” Your pause gives you away, just south of tipsy, and Eddie smiles, his big hand sliding under your chin to hold it between his fingers. A move that usually has you melting into his palm, but tonight?

You tug your head away and he frowns. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t think I need to be here anymore.”

“You feeling okay?”

“I’m just fine. I’m gonna get an Uber home, you stay.” You stand up and hate the feel of your clothes on you. Your hair feels too heavy and the makeup you spent an hour on is suddenly sticky and tacky and wasted on you.

“No, we’ll leave together.” Eddie has concern all over his face. He tries to give you a hand when you obviously stumble and you slap it away.

The fight only starts when you start crying, unable to control your emotions anymore. You spend the whole ride home feeling sorry for yourself, saying the most inane shit Eddie’s ever heard.

“You can’t ask me to compare you to Chrissy. That’s not fair!” He laughs humorlessly when you ask him who’s prettier. “One, it was 15 years ago! Two, I’m not doing this anymore!” He yells and it shuts you up. He can hear the click of your jaw with how quick you stop yammering on drunkenly about your thighs.

“If you want to play that game, let’s look at your past relationships, huh?”

“What relationships Eddie?!” You scream back at him. There’s a part of his being that can feel the backslide into the terrible habit of yelling to get his point across. Picked up from his father and quelled at every turn, but today you drag it out of him.

“Oh don’t start with that shit again.”

“You mean all the guys that fucked me in the dark?! Or do you mean the ones that pretended not to know me in public?”

He gets to your apartment in record time, slamming the car in park and scrambling to hold your seatbelt buckled before you can run out.

“Let me out.” Your face is red from crying and from hatred and from loathing.

“No.” He says quieter but with finality. You stare at him, waiting for him to move his hand but he won’t, keeps his fingers locked around yours.

“You’re drunk, and you’ve been in a bad mood lately.” He knows he knows he knows that was the wrong thing to say. It spilled out of his mouth before he could throw the net out for those errant words and you give him the meanest smile he’s ever seen on your face.

“A bad mood?” You nod your head like you’re agreeing but he’s bracing for impact. “A bad mood. Tell you what, when I have a fucking roster of groupies and easy boys behind me, then we can talk about my bad mood.”

“You’re mad because of people I’ve slept with?”

“Look at me Eddie!” You scream and it breaks on his name, the sob you’d been swallowing for an hour finally surfacing. “I don’t fucking look like Chrissy and I sure as fuck don’t look like Steve! You still have that picture of that stand in drummer on your profile you fucked around with! Every single one of them is-fuck! Stunning!” You finally wrench the seatbelt out of his hand and free yourself. “I look like a fucking joke when you take me places. You think I don’t see people staring?” Another mirthless laugh before you kick the door open and wobble your way out. “Make someone else laugh, Eddie.”

He watches you stomp off inside and slap the button for the elevator. There’s enough time he could get out and follow you in and upstairs and finish the yelling match and maybe get you to see straight.

But he doesn’t. His grip tightens on the steering wheel so much it creaks. He feels on the verge of tears and when you disappear behind the closing doors he punches his door and drives home too fast.

The doorbell rings and Eddie answers it without thinking. You look small in your hoodie, your hair damp and braided over your shoulder. He’s so used to you standing tall with him, a sturdy pillar he can lean on instead of always having to be the support. To see your shoulders pulled in tight makes his chest ache.

“I’m sorry I haven’t answered your texts.” You say quietly.

“I shouldn’t have yelled like that.”

“God don’t-“ you wipe at your eyes and stare at your feet. “Don’t apologize to me. I shouldn’t have gone off the fucking handle like that.”

“Maybe, but you’re obviously feeling some kind of way that you aren’t telling me about.”

“It’s the normal shit, Eddie. I just let it get to me.”

He holds the door open wider and nods his head over to the couch. “You wanna tell me about it?”

You don’t, not really. It’s going to go the way it always does with you explaining a life long loathing and the few times you see daylight out of the pit it holds you in.

“I shouldn’t have started that pretty shit.” You shake your head and clutch the pillow tighter around your middle. Eddie sits on the other side of the couch, long legs tucked up under his chin and you wish you could fold in on yourself like that. There must be a twist to your mouth or a shift of your body because Eddie sighs deeply.

“You know you don’t have to ask me that.”

“I know, but that’s not what I was asking anyways.”

“What does it matter?”

You shoot him a puzzled look. “I mean, I just want-I’d like to know if-“ you start and stop and Eddie just waits until you stop floundering.

“If I think you’re pretty, what does the rest matter?”

“It just does.” Your bottom lip wobbles and you hide it behind your fist. Eddie catches it, of course, and crawls over to you, grabbing your quivering chin and making you look up.

“I can’t undo a lifetime of self loathing in one afternoon, but I can definitely help cut through that shit one compliment at a time.” He gives you a gentle kiss and feels the smattering of tears hit your face, his thumb coming up to wipe them away. He cradles your face till you bury it in his neck and quietly cry for a while.

You loose count of how many sorry’s you give him and he finally tells you enough with a smile. He gives you his phone and tells you to order dinner and he disappears for a few minutes in his room.

Later, after food and more talking and a quiet nap spent curled up against Eddie’s side he asks if he can take you to bed.

“Sure grampa.” He smiles at your humor, an improvement to the tears earlier. He gets you out of your Sad Clothes and you quickly get under the blankets. He wants to say something but he knows to start small.

Starts with the lights off and sheds his clothes before crawling under the blankets from the foot of the bed. It makes you laugh and wind your legs around him, a win in his book. He kisses up your legs leaving a wet trail from your ankles to your thighs before you feel your face growing hot the closer he gets to your center. When you think he might pull your underwear off he doesn’t, instead kissing up your soft stomach to your breast and it isn’t until his curls spill out from under the blanket that you can hear him murmuring against your skin. Chanting “beautiful beautiful beautiful” and laying down “I love you’s”. His nose runs along under your chin while he kisses up to your ear “so pretty so perfect”. He runs his hands up into your hair and hold you in place while he hovers, warm brown eyes staring lovingly into yours.

“You have no idea how lucky I am.”

“Eddie…”

“No, don’t start.” He kisses you long and slow and it makes you tear up in a good way. He notices them hanging in the corners of your eyes and kisses those away while you laugh at him, watery and light and he knows he’s winning. It isn’t long before he’s got you trapped under him, legs tugged up around his hips so he can fuck into you slow and deep, his fingers still carding through your hair and keeping your eyes on him.

“So good for me.”

“Keep your eyes on me baby.”

“Just me and you.”

You couldn’t close your eyes if you wanted to, anchored to his stare and his touch and the way he whispers at you such sweet things. He kisses you deep when he feels you tightening around him. Thighs pulled tight around his hips, hands grasping for his shoulders to hold him tight to you while you spasm and gasp around him. He follows soon after, dropping his head down to nuzzle into your neck.

“Sweet girl.”

“Always so good to me.”

“Love you so much.”

Eddie lets you unwind from him before he lays on his back beside you.

“Can I show you something?” He pulls you in next to him so you have to drape over his chest, tattoos swelling under his deep breath. He holds his phone over your heads and finds the photo album he was looking for. You catch a glimpse of one of you and start to turn your head into his chest before he tuts at you.

“What did we just talk about?”

Instead you give him the benefit of doubt and let him scroll through. He talks about all the photos he has of you and why he kept them. Why he took them or got them from Robin or Nancy or one of the kids on one of the many outings. He’s got pictures of sunsets and really good food and flowers and his succulent pot. There’s a skyline in the rain from a green room he was in that he tells you reminds him so much of you. Says something about composition and the rain and how it comforts him like you do and if you weren’t wrung out you’d start crying again. He scrolls for a half hour explaining every photo and why they’re all you or remind him of you and how he finds you in the things he finds beautiful.

“So yes, I do.” He grabs your chin and you melt into his touch as he pulls you in for a soft kiss. “I think you’re pretty and beautiful and stunning and I will remind you every day.” Another peck before he cradles your head against his chest.

One day, maybe, you won’t have to remind yourself that it doesn’t matter. That Eddie thinks you’re pretty and that’s all you need, but today you know it for sure and feel it for sure and it’s enough.

(Sacrifice for the read more)

[nxuvillette]

hi celeste bby! how do we feel about professor! welt yang? bc i think he would be such a hot— i mean, good teacher! imagine you enroll in college a few years after graduating so you're a little older than most college students, a little more mature. it sets you apart from your younger classmates and he can't help but notice, yk?

❥- note : hi eliza !! forgive me if this sucks, this is my first time writing welt </3. i hope you enjoy and thank you for sending this :> !

content warnings : nsfw [17+], fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, professor!welt, age gap (reader is 24 and welt is 28), semi public sex, classroom sex, creampie, use of pet names (good girl + darling), rough(ish) sex.

professor welt yang was one of the more chill professors on campus. he wasn’t very stingy about grades, and he was very close with the students who took his course.

especially, you.

welt first noticed you on the first day of class. you seemed a little older than most of the students in the lecture hall, and it turned out you were actually trying to obtain your master’s degree and had to take his course as an elective to move forward. he was used to dealing with typically eighteen or nineteen year olds who didn’t really know what they were doing, so you were kind of a perfect change to his class. you did your assignments, did very well on tests, participated regularly, and always showed up on time. he admired that a lot.

soon enough, you started sticking after class to try and prepare for his exams which were usually pretty tough. he didn’t mind giving you some tutoring. you were one of the few students who actually seemed interested in his class. it was also nice to have your company. you were much more mature than the rest of your peers, and welt really liked that.

then again, he was just your professor and you were his student. he couldn’t do such a thing.

but, you were so attractive. some days you would come to class in a skirt and it would ride up just a little to where he could see the fat of your thighs and a brief glimpse of your ass. welt would have to stop himself sometimes from taking a look at your cleavage whenever you had a tank top on. he didn’t want to cross boundaries by any means. you were somewhat near his age, but still someone who was above you. he could get in trouble!

though, today was the day that all of his self restraint went out the window.

you had stopped by at the end of the day to talk to welt about a question you had about something he taught during his lecture. somehow, the conversation had shifted to a more personal one, and you ended up sprawled out on welt’s desk with his fat cock splitting your pussy to almost its limit.

he knew he shouldn’t have been doing such a lewd act at school of all places, and with his student, but he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. not when you flashed your cunt that was hidden under your skirt with no panties on. he wanted to try and forget what he saw, but you just kept drawing him in. welt knew what you were trying to do. he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip by either. not when the chance was absolutely perfect.

you were underneath him babbling sentences while he fucked your brains out. the papers he was grading were now discarded and some were even on the floor. the desk creaked from the sudden ruts of his hips into yours. oh, how cute. “m-mr.yang! more, more!” you whined, sounding desperate for his touch.

welt’s thumb toyed with your clit, sending bolts of electricity dancing around your stomach. he had fantasized about this moment more times than he could count. his pretty student taking his dick that was much better than the shitty college boys who didn’t know how to use their own. “you’re such a good girl, fuck..” he groaned with gritted teeth. “you like when i give you extra credit, hm?”

you responded with several nods. this was turning you on so much. you were already so close to cumming, and he could feel it. your pussy squeezed his cock like a vice and he was becoming enthralled with how amazing you felt.

“mm..! i’m close! ah.. please cum inside me, mr.yang! pump my pussy full!” you cried, rolling your nipples between your fingers.

welt practically lost his damn mind when he heard you moan such a slutty thing to him. his fingers dug into your hips, setting up a very quick speed that knocked the air out of your lungs. he was lost within you and the orgasm he had been desperately chasing for the last few minutes. “anything for you, darling..” he grunted, sweat casually trickling down his face from the heat of the room.

the two of you let out completely different noises the moment your orgasms had finally crashed onto you. thick cum spurted inside of your walls, covering them with white, and your pussy gripped welt’s cock so tightly he found himself not wanting to pull out of you.

“make sure you come by again. i have many other lessons i’d like to teach you..” he whispered.

© NXUVILLETTE ┆ all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[gold-rhine]

like i dont think mavuika having no personality is the main natlan aq problem, but i think it contributes a lot bc shes often focus of the story and she's just so bland. like a lot of ppl say, she feels like a mary sue oc, like oh shes so brave and cool and hot, she has tragic backstory but it doesnt affect her at all except that she makes sad face sometimes, shes so well adjusted and always knows whats the right thing to do and everyone loves her. like its just boring bc it gets rid of any tension or conflict, you know everything is going to go fine and its not even interesting to watch. its insane how even in her own story quest she got ZERO characterization and instead xbalanque somehow got all the focus and personality. and in the end we had to listen to him just say out loud how she's so great and brighter sun blah blah while shes standing there the whole time like 😐

like one personality trait i can actually think was mentioned for her is that she likes learning to do new stuff and getting better at it to relax. but like she says shes not good at painting, but then draws perfect picture of her family. like??? give it some energy! what if this means she has like 100 hobbies at the same time and she's shit at all of them and shes juggling 35 projects at the same time. shes doing shitty drawing of her family and baking a shitty cake at the same time and then switches to doing like ice sculptures bc its a challenge bc it keeps melting and she's also trying photography and bonsai bc she met someone from inazuma last week. give her crazy high GOGOGO energy with insane drive that pyro archon should have instead of just calmly and serenely standing there, painting a perfect picture

also like she had to abandon her entire life and family and go to completely different time and it didnt fuck her up even a lil bit?? and she has no trouble adjusting???? like??? what if she was retro-styled, like harley instead of just generic modern bike, and it first its just a cool aesthetic, but with time u realise its bc she's from the past, shes a bit out of sync, she doesnt get all modern shit and she still likes thinks she liked in her prev life. and shes pyro, not cryo or hydro, so shes not mopping and brooding about it, shes making it everyone elses problem. shes fighting xilonen for ausx cord to play metallica instead of EDM, shes making "correct" versions of dishes that no one else knows how to make, etc. it can be a fun gimmick or an actual internal conflict of her having to eventually let or. or not! or choosing what of it is clinging to the past and what are just things she loves and wants to have this way. there is a lot to explore!

[alittlebitofloveliness]

The last time Dally was having a week this bad he was eleven years old and fresh out of juvie, running from New York with nothing but the clothes on his back and three dollars his sister gave him instead of any sort of proper goodbye.

Shoot, but he’d thought he left that all behind, coming to rodeo country from brooklyn had felt like a retirement of sorts, and he’d gotten half used to the quiet, even if the itch under his skin sometimes still had him wishing there was blogger trouble to get into than tussling with Shepard or baiting some soc into a fight.

Still, that didn’t mean he wanted to end up in another murder wrap. Then again, he probably could have dealt with it a whole lot better if it had been anyone else who’d done it. If Tim had shown up at his place, cool but just a little less collected than usual, Dally would have grabbed a bag of salt and a shovel and driven with him into the backwoods to dump the body without having to think twice. If Darry or Two, or hell even Sodapop had showed up at his door he could have given them a lot better advice than to run a few towns over and hide out in a busted out church. 

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was the kids. Of course it was. 

He knows he’ll never forget it, the way Johnny had looked holding that knife, dried blood like scales on the back of his hand and soaked into the cuff of the jacket Dally had given him a year ago, a look in his eyes Dally had only ever seen once before, years ago, in a different face in a different life. It wasn’t fear, wasn’t anger, wasn’t even really panic- it was exhaustion, plain and simple. The type of bone deep resignation that came with being so beaten down and broken that when someone finally snapped they couldn’t even find themselves to be surprised by it. That look in Johnny’s eyes- just a year younger than him, but somehow so much older and younger at the same time- had haunted Dallas ever night for the past week, stealing the scant minutes he’d managed to set aside to sleep, as those soulful, empty eyes rose in his subconsciousness, staring at him for hours in the darkness.

Then there was Ponyboy, small for fourteen and even smaller shivering in the darkness, eyes wide in his peaked pale face, terrified and naive and stupid. 

What was Dally supposed to do? The kid had been so pissed he wouldn’t have gone home to Darry even if he’d begged on bended knee, especially if he’d suggested hiding Johnny anyway. The whole gang knew Pony worshiped the ground Johnny walked on and hardly seemed to realize it. 

So he’d sent them, the broken one and the baby, a few towns over with 50 bucks and bullshit he could pass off as advice instead of half crocked wishful thinking, and had paid the price for such an idiotic rash decision ten times over. He’d deserved the cracked rib Darry had given him when he found out about the whole thing, especially since he still hadn’t let slip where the kids are. He hadn’t deserved Steve’s icy silence, but he’d taken it with as much grace as he could muster anyway. Steve had already lost a lot in his life, and it was no secret Pony was a favourite of his even though he worked too hard to hide it. Dally could take a little bit of heat if that’s what it took to stop Steve from following Soda into full raving lunacy.

At least the benefit of his shitty advice is this: the kids are still close enough to reach, close enough for him or any of the rest of the gang to get to if they need to, at least for the moment. Not for long though- his selfish desire to keep them close can’t last much longer, he knows. He’s been planning, fund them a half safe route across the border that’ll keep them out of trouble until the whole thing dies down. 

For now though, he parks Buck’s shitty car down a dirt road thats barely more than tire tracks in worn down earth, and starts walking, the church on Jay mountain looking a bit more decrepit than it had the summer he spent out here a few years back working as a ranch hand. 

As he draws closer he notes the broken windows and missing boards and soft part of him, the part that knows he loves these fucking dumbass kids as much as he wishes he didn’t, hopes they weren’t too cold these past few nights.

He banishes the thought from his mind, instead letting out a long low whistle followed by a sharper, higher note, the one Tim’s gang uses to communicate with each other, but that Johnny knows because he spends enough time around Shepard territory to be half decent buddies with some of the younger guys in that gang.

Sure enough, as he rounds the hill a familiar head of jet black hair peers around the side of the church, breaking into a grin at the sight of him, and Dally’s traitorous heart leaps, relief a better upper than Tim’s good coke.

“Hey Dal!”

“Heya Johnnykid,” he can’t help the urge to reach out and ruffle the guy’s hair, especially since it been hacked off in a poor approximation of any sort of haircut, “geez, what’d you do to your hair, huh? Let Pony attack you with scissors, in the dark, blindfolded?”

“Shut up,” Johnny shoves at him halfheartedly, “I thought it’d be a good way to disguise ourselves.”

“Well it's true no one’ll mistake you for a murderer but they’ll take one look and think you escaped the looney bin.”

The kid winces a bit at the word murderer and he immediately feels bad, even though there isn’t much he can do to take it back now, is there?

“Where’s the kid?” He changes the subject, “I figured he’d be tearing down the hill the second he heard me whistle?”

“Inside,” Johnny jerks his head towards the church, leading Dally through the half rotted doorway.

Inside is as dingy and gross as Dally remembers from the one time he came to scope the place out before. The pews are rotted to the point it looks like if anyone older than three tried to sit on them they’d fall right through, and the concrete floor is so covered in dirt it's nearly black.

All of this ceases to matter of course, when Dally spots Ponyboy’s thin frame curled up in the corner, eyes closed, face white as a sheet. If he weren’t trembling ever so slightly, Dally would swear he was dead.

“Jesus,” he hisses, and Johnny nearly flinches, “what the fuck is wrong with him?”

“Nic sick,” Johnny sighs, shaking his head, and for a second he looks so much like Darry Curtis its comical, “I told him to cool it with the cigarettes but he didn’t listen.”

Dally sighs. No wonder he couldn’t bring himself to give them a proper escape plan a week ago. Six days in and Ponyboy’s smoked himself into a stupor, meanwhile Johnny’s lost about three pounds and whatever remained of his innocence.

Whatever. He’s here now. That’s what matters.

“Glory,” he says to Johnny, nudging the tip of his boot into Pony’s side, “he looks different with his hair like that.”

Ponyboy’s green eyes snap open.

The story continues.

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I'd copy-and-pasted this request into my doc to write it, but now I can't find it in my inbox! I don't think it was anonymous, so if this is your request and it somehow got deleted, I'm very sorry! Thank you for requesting, apologies for the wait, and hope you like it <3

hi love!!! Congratulations on 1,000 followers!!! I absolutely adore your writing and if your requests are open I’d love it if you could right something about poly marauders with a reader who’s non-binary or gender fluid. Maybe they just got together and the reader hasn’t came out to them yet or something. Idk you get all the writing freedom, of course if you don’t want to write it’s totally fine!!! Thanks anyway 🫶💗🫶💗 xoxo

cw: marauders unknowingly misrepresent reader's pronouns+gender

poly!marauders x nb!reader ♡ 1.1k words

“Sirius, no.” Remus rubs at his temples. “I will not mar you with a tattoo gun you bought from some bloke on the street.” 

“Oh, don’t be such a wuss,” Sirius complains, sitting spread out on his bed. “It'll be fun, you can all do it!”

“I’m on board,” James says from his own bed. He’s levitating his shoes about the room idly. “Hey Pads, can we draw anything we want?” 

Sirius ponders this for a moment. “If you do a dick, it has to be small, and I’m putting an arrow with your name next to it.” 

James’ smile fades, and he lets the shoes drop. “You’re no fun.” 

“I don’t know,” you say to Remus, looking up at him from your chosen spot on the floor of their dorm. “It’s his body, I say let him cover it in shitty tattoos if that’s what he wants.” 

“Yes!” Sirius hops down from his bed to throw an arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on your cheek. “That’s what I’m talking about, that’s my girl!” 

You’d begun to glow at his over-the-top praise, but you dim at the last bit. Sirius must feel it; he looks over at you quizzically as Remus says for the fifth time, “That’s fine, but I won’t have anything to do with it.” 

“Well, it’ll…” Sirius’ eyebrows furrow as he continues to watch you. You try to bury your discontent where he can’t see it, but once he catches a whiff of melancholy he becomes a dog with a bone. The levity slowly leeches from his voice. “It’ll be more fun if you all do it…Sorry, sweetheart, is everything alright?” 

You don’t want the attention, but you can’t bring yourself to lie. “I didn’t mean to distract you,” you say softly, shoulders hunching forward. “Keep going.” 

“No, that’s alright.” His slender fingers squeeze at your shoulder like he can tell you need the comfort. “It’s not actually important. What’s on your mind?” 

You want to tell him. You want to tell all of them, you have for weeks, but is there ever a right time? When the boys had first asked you out, it felt too abrupt to say anything, like you were making a big deal out of nothing because they didn’t even know you all that well. But now you’ve turned serious faster than you could’ve seen coming, and they feel like they do know you that well. And the longer you go without telling them, the more like you feel like you’re keeping some dirty secret. 

You should have just corrected them the first time they’d gotten your pronouns wrong. Each time feels like someone’s chipping away at your heart with a toothpick, the pain lessened by your surety in their good intentions but still very much there. It’s almost worse, now, to be on the precipice of falling in love with people who you don’t feel really know you, and it’s all your own fault.

This isn’t how you’d imagined the conversation coming about, but it might be the best chance you get for a while. 

“I, uh.” You clear your throat, unsure if you should move out from under Sirius’ arm for this conversation but really not wanting to. “I don’t…listen, it’s not your fault, but I don’t really like it when you call me your girl.” 

Sirius lets his arm drop to look at you properly, hurt flashing across his features. You take his hand, selfish thing that you are. “I mean it, it’s really not your fault.” It’s more plea than promise. “It’s just that I don’t—I don’t really see myself as a girl. I’m sorry.” 

You watch confusion take hold in Sirius’ expression before letting your eyes flit to the other boys. James looks tentatively like he’s beginning to understand, and Remus’ face is carefully controlled. He leans his elbows on his knees, looking down at you. 

“What do you mean by that, honey?” 

You know the endearment is meant to soften the question, but you get all tense around the middle anyway. 

“Just that…” You swallow, and James offers you a small smile of encouragement. “I don’t really see myself as any gender. It’s…it’s called nonbinary, I don’t know if you might’ve heard of it before? I’m really sorry I didn’t say something sooner.” 

“Hey, that’s alright.” James kicks a foot out from his bed, nudging your leg gently. “I’m really glad you told us, angel. Thank you.” 

You try to return his smile, chewing your lip. 

“Merlin, I thought you meant you didn’t want to be our girl,” Sirius sighs, bumping your shoulder with his. “That would have been unacceptable. You can be our something-else, though, if you like.” 

This is going well, you tell yourself. They’re being as kind as you’d always expected. Still, you don’t feel like they fully understand what you’re so clumsily trying to tell them.

“I get it if this changes things for you,” you say, and when you lean away from Sirius’ touch, he doesn’t chase you. “I know this is…you signed on for a girlfriend, not this.” 

The gentle smile drops from James’ face. His eyebrows twitch together uncertainly. “We…what? No, we didn’t…we didn’t ‘sign on’ for anything like that. We signed on for you.” 

“Darling,” Remus says, in that careful, measured voice that you can’t decide if you should be nervous about, “I don’t know a lot about this, so correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the point that you’re still you? You’re just telling us how you’d like to be treated and understood, right?”

You take a second to run over his words in your head before nodding. 

Everything about Remus has gone soft, from his eyes to the gentle uptilt of his mouth. “Then James is right. Nothing has changed. I mean, we can make any changes to our relationship that make you more comfortable, but nothing about how much we care for you is any different.” 

“And look around you, sweetheart.” Laughter livens Sirius’ tone. “It’s not like any of us are only dating girls.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. “That’s a good point,” you mumble, and he laughs, arm reclaiming its spot around your shoulders. 

“Yeah, I actually do make those sometimes,” he teases. “Listen, gorgeous, I don’t think anyone here has a problem with you being whoever you are. Just tell us what you like to be called, and we will. And if there’s anything we do that you don’t like,” he adds, giving your shoulder a little squeeze, “you can tell us those things too.” 

James nods, emphatic. “Exactly. We want to support you, angel. Thanks for telling us, but just keep talking to us when you can, okay?” 

You have to bite down on your lip to contain the full scope of your smile. “Okay,” you promise him, overflowing with a gratitude that feels a lot like love. “Thanks. You guys are too sweet to me.” 

Remus makes a pfft sound. “Dove, I cannot believe that is your standard for sweetness. You’ve set the bar far too low.” 

[ruh--roh-raggy]

Flowers For My Valentine (Steve Raglan x Fem! Reader) - Valentine's Day Special

Hello hello and Happy Valentine's Day my lovelies! We have some sweet and flirty Steve Raglan this time around thanks to a wonderful Anon who made a request (this was so fun thank you so much!) If you would like to see more of this, more fnaf in general, or would like to be added to my tag list please let me know!

WARNINGS: Age gap (Reader is in her late 20's, Steve is in his early 50's), office romance, flirting, mutual pining, reader very briefly talks about how she doesn't feel good enough, some swearing, not proofread, if I missed any please let me know!

You can find my Masterlist here! ~ AO3 Link!

Word Count: 6,189

“Good morning Linda!” You greet your co-worker jovially.

“Oh, perfect, you're here.” She waves you over, her long bright red acrylics clacking together. “Could you bring this down to Mr. Raglan’s office? I’d go do it, but he likes you better.” She teases with a chuckle, making your cheeks warm. She hands the pink flier over to you. It was the announcement for the office's annual Valentine’s Day party.

You walk down the plain, beige hallway, the walls lined with matching, cheap doors, their old brass hardware glinting in the fluorescent lights that hang from overhead. You paused in front of the last door on the left, ‘Steve Raglan' printed across the nameplate. You tap softly, a soft smile finding its way to your lips as you hear him call you in. He says your name softly, grinning brightly at you. “What a pleasant surprise.” He motions to the chair across from him. “Please, sit! Um, would you like some coffee? Tea maybe?” He hurries to stand, banging his knee on the desk in the process and making him curse under his breath.

“Mr. Raglan are you okay?” You hurry to his side, your look of pure concern making the older man’s features soften.

“I'm fine rabbit, being around pretty girls just makes me nervous.” He says with a wink. You giggle, growing flustered at his compliment.

“You flatter me, Mr. Raglan.” He gets lost in your eyes for a moment, the playful glimmer in them drawing him in. His gaze flashes down to the paper you held in your hands.

“What do we have here?” He smiles, taking the flier from you. He reads it over silently, running his fingers down his tie. “A Valentine’s Day party, huh?” His silvery eyes flash to yours, a playful smile lacing it’s way across his lips. “Are you going to drag your boyfriend to this thing?”

“Oh, there's no boyfriend to drag along.” You giggle. “I'm probably going to be stuck in some mindless gossip loop with some of the other ladies if I go.”

“If you go?” He repeats the last part of your statement.

“I'm not really a big Valentine's Day girl.” You admit, swaying awkwardly on your heels. “The whole holiday tends to be a bit of a let down if I'm being honest.” Your eyes widened slightly as you realized you were being far too casual. “I'm sorry, Mr. Raglan. I shouldn't be talking about this stuff at work.” You hurriedly tried to head for the door, wanting to excuse yourself as quickly as possible before you became even more flustered. You slam the door behind you, managing to slip into the bathroom just as you heard his office click back open. You silently berated yourself for looking so stupid in front of him. “Let’s just open up to him about every shitty Valentine's we've ever had!” You mock yourself in the mirror. You sigh, studying your reflection. It was silly really. For a brief moment the thought flashed through your head that maybe, somehow, some way, Steve would've asked you to go to the party with him. You splashed some water on your face, reluctantly deciding to go back to the office. Hopefully he would forget about your awkward little interaction by tomorrow.

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“Alright, who is he?” You freeze in your tracks as you walk through the office door.

“Excuse me?” You ask, your gaze trailing up to the reception desk. You were met with the sight of a beautiful, elaborate bouquet made up of yellow, purple, and white flowers.

“They're addressed to you. You better not have gotten a boyfriend and not told me about it, I thought we shared everything!” She pretends to be hurt, making you chuckle.

“We do, you're my work wife, I wouldn't survive without you.” You pout, she laughs, shaking her head slightly. “Was there a card?” Both of your curiosity over the matter bubbled up as you did a quick investigation of the scenario.

“There is, but no name.” She hands the small, cream colored piece of cardstock over to you.

“I know flowers from your secret admirer are cliche, but I wanted to do something special for the woman who never fails to brighten my day.” You couldn't stop yourself from smiling as you read over the message.

“Do you think it's someone in the office?” She asks in a hushed tone.

“I don't see why not. I don't have anyone that would send me flowers at work, even as a joke.” You explain, trying to place a face to the neat script that swirled across the card.

“Wow.” Your eyes snap up to Steve Raglan. His short sleeve, yellow button down with brown pinstripes tucked neatly into his perfectly pressed pants. “Someone's a lucky lady.” He smiles at Linda, more than likely assuming they were from her husband.

“Oh they're not for me, someone has their eye on your best employee.” She states in a teasing tone.

“Is that so?” He shoves his free hand into his pocket, the other holding a comically small looking mug of coffee. “Guess someone might have a date for the Valentine's Party yet.” Warmth pools behind your cheeks as your eyes meet his striking silver ones.

“You didn't happen to see who dropped these off, did you Mr. Raglan?” You ask curiously.

He shakes his head, “I'm afraid not sweetheart, but I'll keep an eye out.” He chuckles. “I have to make sure whoever is trying to catch your attention only has the best intentions in mind for my favorite girl.” You let out a flustered giggle as he winks at you. He pulls his pager off his belt, quickly reading the message. “I'm going to have some new client paperwork that needs to be filed, I'll have it on your desk within the hour if that's alright?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Raglan. I'll take care of it.” You smile brightly at him.

“This is why you're the best!” He compliments you. “Thank you beautiful, I'll be back.” You noticed Linda’s gaze trail after him, watching him intently until he shut his office door behind him.

“Do you think Mr. Raglan might have left you those flowers?” You choke on your drink, coughing and sputtering as you try to regain your composure.

“Now where the hell did that come from?” You ask in response, unable to meet her eyes as you try to hide your nervous expression.

“Well, you're obviously his favorite, everyone that works for this company knows that. He always compliments you, he’s always telling you how pretty you look or how good of a job you're doing. If it’s anyone in the office my money’s on him.” She rattles off the first few reasons that came to her mind.

“Oh, I don't know about that.” You nervously wring your hands in your lap, staring blankly down at the stack of papers that sat in front of you. “I'm nothing special, plus I'm sure he has a wife.” You try to wave her off.

“I've never noticed a ring.” Your breath froze in your throat as you saw her attention turn to you. A smirk spreads across her lips, “and from how flustered you look right now I'm assuming that someone definitely doesn't mind the attention.” She whispers.

“Okay, okay, hang on.” You wave your hand in front of her, wanting to cut her off before she has the chance to keep snowballing her idea. “If I tell you this, not another soul hears about this, not even Mark!” You point an accusatory finger at her.

“Honey, please, my husband doesn't give a rat's ass about work gossip. Tell me everything.” She leans an elbow on the desk as she spins her chair to face you, taking a long sip of coffee from her mug as she waits patiently for the details.

“I might have a bit of a thing for him.” You admit, your cheeks already heating up at the simple confession. “He's funny and charming and handsome and… I don't know, I feel so stupid.” You groan, dropping your head into your hands.

“You shouldn't feel stupid.” She rushes to reassure you. “You are a gorgeous young woman, I'm sure he would be absolutely flattered-”

“It's not even about that.” You sigh. Linda gives you an incredulous look in response. “Okay, maybe it is a little about that. But, on top of the fact that he could just outright reject me, he's my boss, he's quite a bit older than I am, he's going to get to know me and see that I'm just some stupid young kid and it's going to make things weird here and I'm going to have to quit my job because of it.”

“I think someone is overthinking this way too much.” She laughs, shaking her head slightly.

“I get it, it's scary. There's a lot of unknowns and different ways it could all pan out. But, you'll never know if you don't try. I'm not saying burst in there right now, rip your clothes off, and try to seduce him.” You can't help but laugh at her over the top idea. “All I'm saying is maybe make a little effort to flirt with him, test the waters, see how it feels.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair, “I don't even know how to even try if I'm being completely honest.”

“Listen up, buttercup, it's time for a crash course in office flirting 101.” She laughs.

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You smooth your blouse as you stand in front of the last office on the left, repeatedly reading over the name ‘Steve Raglan’ printed in neat gold lettering in front of you as you try to build up your confidence. You tap softly on the door, waiting for the quiet ‘come in’ before entering. “Finished up with that paperwork already?” He smiles brightly at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he speaks.

“Yessir, I just wanted to come hand deliver it myself.” You shoot him a coy grin.

“Can I interest you in some coffee?” He asks, still reading from the paperwork you handed him, expecting you to flit out of the room like you normally did.

“Do you have any tea?” You saw him pause, his brows furrowing slightly before he looked up at you.

“I do.” It took him a moment to continue, still trying to process the situation. “Why don't you sit down, I'll put the kettle on.” You nod, plopping down into one of the slightly too hard chairs that sat opposite him at his desk. You can't help but giggle as you glance over your shoulder to find Steve studying you.

“You seem a bit surprised that I stayed.” He snaps himself from his thoughts.

“I am, if I'm being honest. I feel like every time I invite you to stay for a cup of tea you practically sprint out of here.” He chuckles, slowly walking back to his desk and sitting across from you. “I'm not that scary am I?”

You shake your head, “no, you're not. I think you're sweet, Mr. Raglan.” You fidget with your fingers for a moment before deciding to take a rather bold approach to the flirting Linda had suggested. “Being around handsome men just makes me nervous.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching as the realization set in that he had said something very similar to you the day prior.

He breathes out a laugh, a smile lacing its way across his lips. “Well, thank you rabbit. I'm flattered that a pretty little thing like you thinks I'm handsome. Also, feel free to call me Steve, I think we know each other well enough at this point, don't you?”

“I think you might be right.” You perk up at the sound of the kettle going off, immediately hopping out of your seat to get it.

“Oh, I can-” you cut him off with a small wave of your hand.

“Steve, you have to be one of the hardest workers I know.” You fill his mug first, carrying it over to him slowly to make sure you wouldn't spill any coffee. “I think you should let someone take care of you for a change.” You wink at him, your hand trailing across his shoulder as you step next to him.

“Well how can I refuse such a tempting offer.” He grins, his silver eyes flashing across your features. You made your own cup of tea before returning to the seat across from him. You feel his gaze trailing over your much smaller form as you carefully cross your legs. “Any leads on that secret admirer of yours?” He asks casually, taking a long sip of his coffee.

“Nothing yet, but I'm hoping I can figure it out soon.” You run your finger along the rim of your mug. “I'm hoping I can manage to find out who it is before the party.” He clears his throat as he shifts himself in his seat slightly.

“Anything's possible isn't it?” He responds, lacing his fingers together as his hands come to rest on his stomach. You were both interrupted by a knock on his door.

“Steve, sorry to interrupt, you got a minute?” It was one of your coworkers.

“I'll stop by later Mr. Raglan, thank you for the tea.” You smiled softly at him, his eyes locked with yours as you stood, smoothing your clothes slightly before sauntering out of the room.

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You jump when somebody calls your name. You look up to see Steve shrugging into his thick, gray jacket. “You're still here?” He asks with a warm smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

“I had some emails to send, I was just about to head out myself.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets as he slowly approaches you.

“Would it be alright if I walked you to your car?” He asks carefully, as if he was trying to pin down the exact right way to ask you. “It's late, I want to make sure you get there safely, is all.” You could hear the slight hesitancy in his tone, that fact he seemed almost nervous made you smile.

“That's very sweet of you Steve, thank you.” You smile warmly at him. He helps you into your jacket, stuffing his hands back in his pockets as he slows his long strides so you could keep up easily. “Are you going to be bringing your wife to the Valentine's Day party?” You finally ask after walking in silence for a while.

Steve chuckles, “oh, I'm not a married man, rabbit. I'm afraid it's just going to be me.” You feel your cheeks warm at the sound of his gravelly tone.

“It's a shame, I guess we're both going to be single for Valentine's Day.” You giggle.

“What a shame indeed, I'm very surprised some dumb little boy hasn't tried to scoop you up. A pretty thing like you deserves a man who’ll make her feel special.” He smirks down at your flustered state.

“Well, maybe if I can get to the bottom of who sent me those flowers I could get to the bottom of that.” You brace against the cold as he holds the door open for you. Steve holds his coat open, pulling you into his side and shielding you from the wind.

“You never know, he could be a lot closer than you think.” He winks at you, making you let out a flustered giggle. The end of your nose tingles from the cold as you stop in front of your car. “Have a good night, rabbit.” He smiles softly down at you, his silver eyes searching yours with a subtle intensity.

“Good night, Steve.” You pull open your car door, a dull ache settling in your chest as you watch him start to head off. You called his name, making him pause. He turns to glance back at you, your smaller form moving before you have a chance to overthink the situation. You pushed yourself up onto the tips of your toes, your hand wrapping around his strong bicep as you leaned in, allowing your lips to come to rest against his cheek. “Get home safely.” You whisper, letting your eyes linger on him before you hopped in your driver's seat and watched him walk to his own car with an absolutely dumbfounded expression on his face.

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You were one of the first people in the office this morning. Having to come in early to prepare the conference room for a meeting and to send out reminder emails for said event definitely wasn't your idea of fun, but there was something oddly tranquil about the nearly empty space so early in the morning. You had been called over to one of your coworkers cubicles to help with a paper work issue, smiling at Steve as you watched him push into the room, flurries of snowflakes trailing in through the door behind him. The memory of you kissing him on the cheek the night prior raced to the forefront of your mind, your eyes widened slightly, your cheeks growing warm as you rushed off before he had a chance to confront you about it. You had felt guilty about it, he was your boss, now you've probably made whatever small relationship the two of you had extremely awkward. You looked around as you headed back to your desk, expecting him to emerge from nowhere at any second. You froze when you noticed a red, heart shaped box, all wrapped up with a matching satin bow. ‘These chocolates will never be as sweet as you, but they're the closest thing I could find.’ you smiled as your eyes drifted over the familiar neat script. Once again, the card contained no clues as to who your secret admirer might be. You carefully undid the bow and lifted the lid to find a stunning box of extravagant assorted chocolates. “Another gift from your prince charming?” Linda asks with an excited grin as she roughly tossed her purse and jacket into her chair.

“The funniest part is… these definitely weren't on my desk when I got here. They must have just been dropped off.” She eyes you curiously before looking around at the possible suitors within the small space. You noticed her lips pull into a smile as her eyes locked onto someone.

“Well, good morning Mr. Raglan.” Your blood turned to ice in your veins at the mention of his name.

“Good morning ladies, I hope you're having a good day so far.” You reluctantly turn to face him at the sound of your name. “Another present?” His eyes dart down to the half open box before returning to your face.

“Um, yes sir.” You squeak in response. “Still no name though.” You giggle.

“Shame…” he trails off as he studies you. “I hope he reveals himself soon, I'd like to know who's keeping that pretty smile on your face.” He winks before quickly turning and heading off.

“Something happened between you two, I can feel it.” She narrows her eyes, passing you your own mug of coffee as she settles in with her own. “Spill.”

“So, remember how you brought up that whole flirting thing?” She nods. “Well, I may have pushed things a little further than just, you know, giggling and fawning over his muscles, right?” Her silence was making your nerves run rampant. “I may or may not have kissed him on the cheek when we were parting ways last night.” She gasps your name in shock. “It felt right, okay!” You yell-whisper. “He walked me out to my car, I had already been flirting with him a little bit earlier, he was being his usual sweet and handsome self… I don't know what came over me, it just sort of happened.” You bury your face in your hands.

“What did he say?” She pushes your shoulder lightly to regain your attention.

“I don't know, I got in my car and I left.”

“Are you kidding me? You kissed him and then just walked away?”

“On the cheek!” You rush to clarify.

“On the cheek or not doesn't matter, what if that could have turned into something more?”

“Doubtful-”

“But how do you know?” Your mouth snapped shut at her statement. “Give yourself a little more time to feel things out, but I would say after that you should definitely try to make things a little more serious.”

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You tapped softly against Steve’s office door, a pile of folders situated neatly in your grasp. He calls you in, his back facing you as you enter the room. You wait patiently for him to finish up the phone call he was on, jumping slightly as he slams down the receiver. He groans as he spins in his chair, massaging the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “I swear, they always stick me with the worst damn clients.”

“It's because you’re the best career counselor in the state, if anyone can solve hopeless cases it's you.” You laugh softly, Steve brightens up at the compliment.

“Why thank you bunny.” He says before letting out a quiet chuckle. “I don't know about the best, but flattery will get you everywhere young lady.” He winks at you, making your cheeks grow warm.

“I brought you Mr. O’Malley’s file, along with the applications and other paperwork for the company's we work with that hire people with criminal records. Is there anything else you'd like from me?”

“For you to come to dinner with me tonight.” The request rang in the otherwise silent room like a gunshot. You could hear the blood rushing behind your ears as you processed whether or not you had heard him correctly. “You've been working a lot of late nights, if it's alright with you I'd like to handle things for you for a change.” He smiles warmly at you, you stared back at him with a shocked, empty expression as your mind struggled to catch up with your words.

“I…” you trail off, the warmth in his eyes quickly turning into an expression of panic.

“Sorry if I overstepped, you can say no I won't be offended.” He hurries to apologize.

“Steve.” You jolted slightly at how forceful your own voice came out. You sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to steady your pounding heart. “I would love to. You didn't overstep, I'm just… surprised?” It came out as more of a question but that felt fitting for the moment. You were beyond excited, still not fully believing that he had just asked you to dinner.

“Why's that rabbit?” He rests his chin in the palm of his hand as he leans on his desk, his expression more perplexed than anything else.

Your hand slid over the cool metal doorknob. “It’s just kind of hard to believe that the most handsome man I've ever met is asking me to have dinner with him later.” Your lips pull into a coy smile. “I'll see you later tonight, Steve.” You quickly slip out of his office, heading quickly back to your desk. You decided it was best to wait to mention this to Linda, your nerves were already running rampant as it was. You tried your best to get through the rest of the work day without looking suspicious, but her sharp eyes noticed how frequently you checked the time, how you nervously flipped your pen in between your fingers as you sat idly at your keyboard.

She swivels her chair to face you, her long acrylics drumming rhythmically across the desk. You internally cringe as you watch her eyes narrow. “Spill-”

“He asked me to dinner.” The pressure was immediately too much. “I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to be thinking about it all day but I can't stop.”

“I'm sorry, you didn't want to tell me about the biggest development in your love life since I've met you? He's so into you, this is going to be great!” She tries to encourage you.

“What if he doesn't like me? What if I'm boring or I'm not what he thought I would be like outside of work?” You start to ramble out your anxieties.

“Slow down, that's not going to happen. You are so cool, I need you to remember that.” She starts to dig around through her purse, producing a few makeup products and some tissues. “Go touch up if you want to, I can hold down things here.” You quietly thank her, heading to the bathroom to freshen up your makeup.

The remainder of the day crawled by until five o'clock eventually rolled around. Linda sat at your side, fussing over your hair and trying to convince you to remove the sweater you were wearing to reveal the slinky black cocktail dress you were currently wearing as a skirt. “I'm going to freeze to death.” She practically throws her jacket at you.

“I know exactly which dress that is, you look hot as fuck in it. Give me the sweater.” She orders. You groan and reluctantly pull it over your head, tossing it at her before standing and slipping your arms into the satin lined sleeves. “Heading out, Mr. Raglan?” She couldn't hide the excited tone in her voice as you heard his heavy footsteps approach behind you.

“As long as this pretty little thing is ready to go.” You turn to face him, your cheeks warm as you try to hide your flustered expression. “You look beautiful, rabbit.”

“I'll see you tomorrow Linda.” You smile as he offers you his arm, guiding you into his side as you leave the building together.

He opens your door for you, holding your hand as you lower yourself into the impeccably clean vintage muscle car. He slides into the driver's seat with a soft groan, his gold framed aviators glinting in the setting sunlight. A smile spreads across his face as he studies you in the seat next to him. He silently starts the car, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he turns to back up. As he sits back down his arm remains in place, his large warm hand settling on your arm and pulling you to him. You lean in and place a soft kiss to his cheek, your eyes immediately darting down to your lap. He chuckles, taking your chin between his fingers and running his thumb over your bottom lip. “You better be careful, you might get yourself into trouble doing things like that.” He chuckles, watching your eyes widen under his hungry gaze.

Steve drove you to a cute little bistro that overlooked the river that ran through town. With you tucker safely away into his side to brace against the cold he led you inside. You were sat in a corner, tucked away from everyone else. He ordered for you, wanting you to just enjoy your evening. “Thank you for coming with me.” He says with a bashful smile.

“Thank you for asking me.” Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched his large, calloused hand reach across the pristine white table cloth to envelope your own.

“The Valentine's Day party is tomorrow.” He suddenly chimes in. You hum in response, eyeing him curiously. “Have you decided if you're going or not?”

“I've definitely been considering it. At the very least I'd get to see you, if anything.” You smile warmly.

“You're sweet.” He gives your hand a soft squeeze. “I'll never understand why you willingly choose to spend time with an old man like me.” Your eyes snapped to him, your heart beginning to race as you debated just putting all of your feelings out into the open.

“Well,” your voice shakes when you finally find the nerve to speak, “that's because I-”

“You folks have a wonderful night.” Your jaw snaps shut as the waiter approaches your table to drop off your check.

“You, what, rabbit?” You search his features for a moment, the building confidence spurring you forward had fizzled out in an instant. You slowly pulled your hand out of his, folding it neatly in your lap, he quickly copied your motions.

“I just think you're really easy to talk to.” You mumble, fidgeting with your fork in front of you. “It should be me who's confused.” You try your best to force out a laugh. “I'm just some dumb little post grad who can't find a job in her field, I'm nothing special Steve.”

“Did you know, it took me seven years to find a job in my field after I graduated college?” His voice came out gentler than you had ever heard it. “Bunny just because you're at a different point than you thought you'd be by now doesn't mean that you're not special or that you're falling behind or any way you could look at it. I look forward to coming to work everyday not because I give a singular fuck about what I do, let's not get that confused.” His crass statement made you giggle, you notice your lightening composure made his shoulders relax slightly. “I look forward to coming in every day because I know that you're going to be there. You're going to bounce into the office in your pretty outfits with your cute little heels and that infectious smile of yours… Honey, I know it's hard to see from the outside looking in, but you are a goddamn treasure to have in my life.” He chuckles. Your cheeks burned as you fidgeted with your fingers in your lap.

“Thank you Steve, it's nice to hear something so positive from someone I admire so much.” He settles your tab, walking to your side of the table to offer you his hand. You smile softly, allowing your fingers to ghost over his rough, calloused skin.

“I don't like seeing my girl looking so down.” You squeeze his hand, your fingers pushing through his as he gently tugs you towards the door. You rode back to the office in a comfortable silence. Steve's arm draped over your shoulder as you settled into his side, the warmth creeping into your body from his own making your eyes heavy. As you pulled in you were a bit reluctant to leave. Every subtle, slightly too long glance made your heart thrum, the way you pressed into him felt like a puzzle piece finally slotting into its perfect match. Being with Steve felt like home.

“I had a great time with you tonight.” You state softly in the small space.

“Same here rabbit.” He carefully reaches out, tucking some stray hair behind your ear. “I do have one more, albeit strange, question for you.” He chuckles.

“And what might that be?” You found yourself leaning in closer to him, your gaze slowly falling to his lips that were tantalizingly close.

“Will you dance with me?” As intoxicating as the idea of kissing him was, you were definitely more perplexed by the offer that had just materialized before you.

“I would love to.” Steve found a station playing some old love song, the trumpet’s lazy melody bringing a smile to your face as your stomach filled with butterflies. His strong arm slides around your waist, pulling you to him as softly as he could manage. He treats you as if you were made of glass, as if the smallest rough movement would have you shattering beneath his fingers. The bright light of the full moon made you glow before Steve's eyes.

“You look so beautiful rabbit.” He whispers. You allow him to effortlessly spin you around the pavement, your movements easily falling in time with his. The world around you faded away, leaving nothing but you and him and the dreamy, far off sound of the radio drifting from his car speakers. He dips you low, your body falling into his hands with complete trust. As you pull back up your eyes find his, striking silver that only seemed to draw you in deeper. He takes a step back from you, bringing your knuckles to his lips.

“You're a wonderful dancer.” You compliment with a soft giggle. He holds you close to him as he guides you back to your car. He opens your door, holding your hand in his as you lower yourself into your driver's seat.

“You're not so bad yourself.” He grins down at you, shooting you a wink. “Goodnight rabbit.”

“Goodnight Steve.” You couldn't keep the sad smile off your face as he turned to leave.

“You deserve someone who's going to choose you every day, not that it would be a hard choice.” He chuckles. “Bunny, you're beautiful, funny, kind, smart. Anyone would be lucky to have you by their side… especially me.” He states in a hurried tone before leaving you to sit in the still, silent night.

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The next morning started out just like any other. You went through your daily routine the same way you always did. But, you couldn't shake the memory of what Steve had said to you the night before. ‘Anyone would be lucky to have you by their side… especially me.’ You finished off your makeup before grabbing your coat and heading out the door. You greeted your coworkers in your usual chipper tone as you made your way to your desk. You were met with the sight of a small, yellow plush sitting on your desk, a rose situated neatly in his lap. You picked it up with a smile, rubbing its soft, velvet ear between your fingers as you study it. The note that was left with it contained a single sentence. But, those three words were enough to tell you exactly who your secret admirer had been this whole time. You struggled to keep your composure as you repeatedly traced over the neat script that you now recognized perfectly. “To my rabbit.” You breathe out through a laugh, your vision blurring as tears welled up in your eyes. You cradle the stuffed animal close to your chest, hurrying down to Steve's office. You didn't bother knocking, pushing through the door to find Steve answering emails, an alarmed expression on his face as he whips around to face you.

“Bunny are you o-” you wave your hand in front of him, cutting him off as you try to find the right words to say.

“I'm falling for you.” The confession hung thick in the air after it fell from your lips. Steve blinked a couple times, his brows furrowing together in confusion. “I'm tired of hiding this from you. I was worried what would happen if I told you, I mean, you're my boss, you could fire me right now and there's nothing I would be able to do about it.” Both of you laugh, the tension melting slightly at your small joke.

“I take it you found out who your secret admirer is.” A smile stretches across his lips as his gaze darts down to the rabbit in your hand.

“Why didn't you just tell me?” You sniffle, a tear trailing down your cheek. He pushes himself out of his seat with a soft groan.

“Because, I had convinced myself that you could do a lot better than me.” He takes your hands in his. “But, I'm starting to realize that's not true…” He smiles as he studies how small your hands were in his. “Sure, I can't give you all the money in the world, I can't buy you fancy jewelry at the drop of a hat, I don't live in a mansion…” he sucked in a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. “What I do know is that I want to be the one to pick up the pieces when your world feels like it's falling apart, I want to be the one to hold you tightly in my arms while we drift off to sleep at night. I want to be able to choose you day in and day out because I can't imagine a more perfect woman to fall in love with.” You looked away from him, your cheeks streaked with tears.

You reached out, grabbing him by his toe to yank him down to your level. His lips crashed into yours, two strong hands finding their way to your waist to steady both of you. As you tried to pull back you felt his fingertips press into the soft flesh of your hip, keeping you rooted in place as he drank in every second of this moment. You both separated with a soft gasp, your lungs burning with need for air. “Steve?”

“Yes my beautiful bunny?” He responds breathlessly, tilting your chin up gently with his finger.

“Will you be my Valentine?” He chuckles, no words were needed for you to know his answer. He captures your lips in a much softer, more tender kiss that leaves you feeling light headed.

“Does this mean I should get you more flowers?”

Tag List: @yellowbunnydreams @zoey5252 @loudchaosking @residentevilbeast @weirdoartist21 @lokanda @emmbny @yukkkiki @dij-ology @maria-moll (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

[nariism]

come out and haunt me

pair. itoshi sae x ghost!reader

content: fluff, angst/comfort with a happy ending, reader is a ghost, platonic + romantic interactions, strangers to friends (to more?), slight pining

synopsis. sae is 13 years old when he moves to madrid. his temporary apartment is old and cheap, and worst of all it's haunted. but he finds your company better than nothing, even if you do tend to knock all of his belongings over.

wc. 5.7k

You are dead.

As it comes to all mortal humans, you have died. You can't remember when, or how, or why— only that it is your duty to haunt this home, that you are abysmally cold, and that you are dead.

You don't know if you had any last words, what it was like to draw a breath, or how to stop feeling so cold. Cradling yourself somehow makes it worse. But you are dead, so what does it matter if you can't remember?

If you had aspirations and meaning in life, then you suppose you should try to find them in death, too. So you float around empty halls, deliberately bump into things just for the fun of it, and pretend that you aren't dead. It is purposeful enough.

There's a boy who lives with you.

You are dead, and he is alive, yet he seems completely unbothered by your loud, obnoxious presence.

Sae feels more dead than alive.

He is 13 years old when he moves into his temporary home in Madrid. It's old and worn. It is all his parents could afford with Yen in a foreign country.

His new home is despairingly lonely. It makes the heart in his chest sink into the pit of his stomach. He misses Rin. His parents. Japan.

He should be thankful. He doesn't mean to be a brat. But the small apartment is cramped and cold and smells like mildew. He's allergic to something in the walls. His light buzzes horribly when it turns on.

And, well. The place is haunted.

You are a ghost haunting an old, rickety apartment in Madrid.

You've never seen your reflection in the mirror, but you're pretty sure you look scary. There has been others before him— a young couple with a dog; a retired carpenter; a businessman complaining about how shitty work is over the phone. Each and every one of them have left you the same way: screaming, crying, colour drained from their faces and packing their suitcase before you could even say hello.

It's a little lonely, being a ghost. Sometimes you wish you came off a little friendlier. You have no ill intent, you're just bored. Bored and lonely and wishing to know why everyone thinks you're so terrifying.

The boy who lives with you is the first. He's the first to look you dead in the eyes and shrug you off. He's the first to fall asleep knowing your presence is watching. He's the first to leave out a bowl of warm, steaming rice for you even though he seems to know you can't physically eat it.

His company is silent, as is yours. It's better than nothing.

Sae is 13 years and 5 months old when he tells Rin his apartment is haunted.

"A ghost? Seriously?" Rin sounds unimpressed even through the static of the phone call. Take it from the kid who watches horror movies in his spare time. Freak, Sae thinks.

"Seriously. I have a picture."

He can hear his brother pulling his phone away from his ear to look at the image he just sent. The call goes quiet for a moment, and then Rin is scoffing in the microphone again.

"Quit messing with me." The younger Itoshi sighs. "This isn't funny."

Rin is only 11. He lives at home with Mom and Dad. He's not alone right now, in a place where everyone speaks a jumbled language he can't decipher yet.

He doesn't understand that even if Sae isn't being haunted, he shouldn't crush his brother's hopes that someone, or something, is watching over him.

"I'm not," Sae deadpans.

"Yeah, okay, and what does this ghost do, then?" He still sounds skeptical.

"Mostly just knocks over my books and stuff."

From his couch, he watches you bristle in embarrassment and scurry away into the darkness of the hall.

You are some sort of untethered soul, unsure of where your actual body rests. It could be 10 meters from this apartment. It could be in Antarctica, for all you know.

Okay, well, Antarctica is a bit of a reach, but you're certain that your body is somewhere. You wonder what kind of clothes you used to wear; what kind of music you used to listen to; what kind of hairstyle you used to prefer.

You wonder if these things are anything like Sae's.

He's all you have right now. It would be nice if you had some things in common. Maybe you could be friends, if he was ever going to acknowledge you to your face instead of gossiping to his brother.

You watch him quietly from the kitchen table, waiting for your bowl of rice. You must make some kind of face when he instead places a plate of eggs in front of you.

He almost laughs, you think. He hasn't shown any sort of emotion in response to you thus far, so it's hard to tell.

"Coaches told me I have to be stricter about my diet," he says out loud. It's the first words he has ever spoken to you. It's the first words anyone has ever spoken to you.

He eats his bland eggs silently after that remark, eyeing them disdainfully.

You have that in common, at least. You miss your warm bowl of rice.

Sae thinks you are funny.

He's only ever known ghosts to be malicious, benevolent beings. Things stuck in purgatory with no way out, forced to wander the mortal plane and thus turning into baneful monsters. Watching spooky movies with Rin has ingrained this into him—  hardwired his brain into giving him goosebumps whenever you're around even though he knows you're harmless.

He has to wonder how anyone could ever find a ghost like you genuinely scary, with your avoidant eyes and that patience while you wait for breakfast.

He doesn't mind doing twice the amount of dishes. Not if it means he doesn't feel alone.

You do silly things, like shoving his belongings over when you want his attention, or sitting on the floor and blowing bone-chillingly cold air into his face when he's taking his midday nap.

He's discovered that your inconsistent corporeal interactions with the world are quite amusing.

"What's your name?" He asks one day over eggs that he's shoving around on his plate.

Silence. Of course.

"Don't have one?"

You shake your head, but really, you don't know. You can't remember.

Sae has never been the talkative type, but for some reason he just can't keep his mouth closed. Being a complete shut-in and not having anyone to talk to outside of his team would do that to him, he guesses. He's thankful that you at least don't seem to have a language barrier when he speaks Japanese.

"Should I name you?"

Your offended expression screams: What am I, a pet?

He just smiles, placing his fork down and observing you carefully. And the name he decides on dances at the tip of his tongue, sounds so sweet coming from his lips.

You can't help but think the name was meant for you, in life or in death.

You like listening to Sae talk.

He has a voice smooth as silk, so charming and boyish. He's young, you think. He told you once that you also looked rather young, and asked you how old you were when you died.

Even if you had an answer for him, it's not like you could have told him.

Sae is famous for his age, you discover one night while watching television with him. You're sitting on the floor and he's on the couch. You cause the TV to frizzle and crack with static but he doesn't shoo you away. Maybe he finds your presence more valuable than the background noise of the screen.

He's in a recording, playing what he calls "football"— light blue uniform, eyes wide with adrenaline, sweat sticking to his forehead and a proud shine in his expression. He isn't smiling by any means (you've also discovered that he rarely does), but you can tell he's happy.

"I'm going to be the greatest striker," he says from the couch. He talks about his dreams a lot, which is apparently what he used to do with Rin, but you don't mind filling in that role temporarily. "I'm going to be the best in the entire world."

You don't know anything about football, but you believe him anyways.

Sae is 14 years old when he gets his first contract payment.

This is his chance, he realizes, to move out of his shitty little apartment and into an actual livable home.

He has to consider if you'll feel lonely, if you even can feel lonely, and if you'll like hanging out with your next housemate, whoever it is that's unlucky enough to have a ghost befall them.

He's getting soft. If it were any other point in his life, Sae would have taken the chance to move out without hesitation. But you've been there for him since day one, kept him enough company — no matter how quiet — for him not to go literally insane.

You're the only thing he has in Madrid that he can come home to right now. You’re the only reason he even comes home at night instead of just sleeping in the locker rooms.

If not him, who else would feed you crappy bland eggs in the morning?

You, football, sleep. You, football, sleep. You, football, sleep. At some point, it became his routine.

"I was thinking of moving out."

Your head tilts to the side. You seem perplexed by his statement.

"Like, leaving. Leaving here."

You blink at him, head tilting the other way. There's a look in your eyes that tells him you understand. There's also a look that tells him it's not your first time being abandoned, left in this terribly lonely, smelly apartment.

"I can never tell what you're thinking," he huffs.

You're still for a moment, just staring at him as if you suddenly can't understand Japanese. But then you get up from the table, walk over to the container of dry rice that's been untouched for so long that it's gathering dust, and knock it over.

"Hey," he scolds sharply, chair screeching as he stands. "I have to clean that, you know?"

You start moving the spilled rice into place. He watches curiously as you sort dry rice into a pile. You don't know any Kanji, he isn't surprised. But you know enough to draw him a universally understood symbol.

When he peers over at the messy counter, he finds himself staring at a giant X. Stay, it means. Don't leave.

That night, when he knows you've retreated into the closet where you seemingly go to sleep, he crumples up the lease for his new place without signing and burns the paper.

It's because he needs to make you eggs tomorrow morning. Only he would know to do that.

"Do ghosts ever have dreams?"

You raise your head from the edge of the bed. You've made it a new habit to protect him in his sleep, from what he can tell. Perching yourself on the floor beside the mattress and resting there, head in your arms, making his sheets cold.

You shake your head. Of course not, he internally smacks himself. What a ridiculous notion.

He rolls himself over onto his side, looking at you from under his duvet. "So when you sleep, you don't see anything?"

Another shake of the head. He isn't sure you're understanding him. There's another pause as he peers at you, and then he sighs, eyes sliding shut.

"Do ghosts ever have dreams?" He asks again, this time emphasizing his words in a different way and hoping you'll answer him the way he wants.

Your eyes shift away for a second, as if pondering. When you look back he's surprised to see that you look... bashful?

You point at him, then at yourself, then shy away again.

You. Me. Friends.

Sae feels silly that it makes his heart ache a little— the sadness carried in your face and a loneliness so powerful he feels it rattling in his own bones.

Well, the two of you have a lot more in common than he thought. How long had you been alone? Was that really all you ever dreamed of? Having a friend?

Suddenly, his doubts about his own dreams feel immeasurably small.

He reaches out to pat your head. His hand goes through you.

Sae is 15 years old when he packs up his belongings for a flight to Japan.

"I'll be back," he promises with a small smile. You believe him. He doesn't lie to you.

You wait patiently at the door for him for two weeks, three days, and sixteen hours. When he comes home, he finds you sitting on the floor like you always do with your head in your knees and a sleepy expression on your face.

He seems colder. More withdrawn, for some reason.

"Miss me?" Sae asks, but he's not even looking at you. He makes his way over to the kitchen and dumps a cup of rice into the cooker, suitcase abandoned at the door unpacked.

You trail behind him curiously, watching him in confusion as he washes it in the sink. He pauses, finally glancing at you before reaching over and dumping a second cup of rice in.

"I stress eat. Don't tell my coach."

The words don't make much sense to you, but you nod anyways.

For the first time in months, he places a bowl of warm rice in front of you. You do as he does, say thanks for the food in your head even though you can't eat, and observe him. You both sit quietly in the dim light of the apartment, moonlight beaming through your single rickety window.

He only gets four bites in before he puts his head in his hands and sobs.

You've never seen someone cry so hard before. Usually, they only do it when they first catch a glimpse of you and flee in terror. You've never known it to be such a painful sound— like a bird singing for the sky but never finding it.

Sae sits there for a long time just crying to himself, not caring that your presence is still watching. It's not like you'd ever judge him or have the voice to speak this secret, anyways.

"Fuck—" he hiccups, wiping up his face. "—Sorry."

You look at him funny. He has no reason to apologize. He's just a kid. A 15 year old kid who needs to stress eat in the solitude of his lonely apartment right now. It makes your chest squeeze; an unfamiliar, horrible feeling that's completely new to you. You wonder if this is what all the anime he watches calls a heart.

By the time he finishes crying, his rice is cold. And when he looks up, his eyes widen. Your lips are trembling and you look like you want to shout at him, but you can't. You are dead. You're a ghost. You can't yell some sense into him, even if you tried.

In the pale moonlight shining into the room, he can see tears illuminated on your cheeks.

Sae is 16 years old when he meets his first partner.

"They're nice," he reassures you as he slicks his bangs up with gel. You shake your head in disapproval and he rolls his eyes. You always liked his bangs down, thinks he looks better that way. "Well, I can't stay single forever."

You scowl at him and swivel on your heel to stubbornly deny his claims. He just laughs.

"You're seriously jealous?"

You shoot him a glare.

"If you really don't like them, you could always scare them away. You are a ghost, aren't you?" He reaches up to pat your head as he always does. And as always, his hand phases through you.

He turns around to fix his hair again, leaning into the mirror to see himself closer.

You're not sure if you even have human features. You can't see them in a reflection, anyways. Even if you did, you're sure they're pretty scary.

You glance at Sae in the reflection. He looks as good as ever, no longer a scrawny little 13 year old kid who eats rice for breakfast every morning. You wonder if his partner is pretty like he is.

He must notice the chill in the air grow ten times colder— a telling sign that your mood is dropping. He turns around to see what has happened, only to find you sulking.

"What?"

You pout, gesturing to the mirror. He looks to the vanity, then to you, and he shakes his head with an exasperated smile.

"I was wondering when you'd ask," he says as if this was a conversation he's been waiting for. And then he talks. Talks more than you've heard in a long time— since he came home from Japan, probably.

He's gotten meaner over the years. He was always a rude little kid, but being pushed around in football must have given him thicker skin and a sharper tongue. You've never known him to be a saint of a human, someone who speaks so eloquently in their descriptions. But here he is now, defying your every expectation like he always does.

He tells you what colour your hair is. Compares the shape of your head to a fruit you can't recall an image of. Gives you a detailed explanation of all your flaws and marks and why he thinks they're so perfect because it proves that you were indeed alive and human at some point.

"You're beautiful," he concludes casually, as if he's not turning the entire world on its head right now.

Silence fills the room as he waits for your response. You don't do anything but gawk at him, and he chuckles.

He doesn't show up to his date that night.

"Your hair got longer," Sae points out one day while he's scrolling through his phone.

Your eyes flutter open from where your head rests on the coffee table. You hadn't even noticed. Can ghosts grow? 

"You know, I used to think you'd stay the same forever, but you've been growing up with me. It's cute."

Have you? Is it cute? Are you seriously so tethered to him that you've been unconsciously changing to match him?

Sae puts his phone down at your confusion. "Should I give you a birthday if you're going to grow up?"

You don't know what a birthday is. When he tries to explain it, you're even more perplexed. Ghosts don't have birthdays. They have... deathdays.

He puts a cake in front of you anyways and lets you blow out the candles.

Sae is 17 years old when he gets the eviction notice.

Four years. Four long, hard, unbelievably painful years later, and he's finally being kicked out of his house.

13 year old Sae would have celebrated. All he feels now is despair.

He doesn't tell you. He can't. How can he explain that he won't wake up every morning at 6am sharp to make you eggs? That you won't have someone around who will tell you every little thing that's changed about you from the last day? That you won't be able to doodle him little incomprehensible blobs with dry rice anymore?

He shouldn't care so much. You're not chained to this Earth. You might just disappear once he leaves, inperceptable to anyone else. The thought makes him so sick that he throws up that night. He tells you he ate some bad food.

Sae doesn't want you to feel sad or lonely, but it's not like he can just become a squatter in this place. His dream is to play football, not be thrown into jail.

You wake up one morning, and he's gone.

There isn't a note. There isn't an explanation anywhere to be found. There isn't even a trace of evidence that Itoshi Sae ever lived here.

Well, except for the plate of eggs and bowl of rice sitting on the stove.

You thought you would have been used to being alone by now. For some time, you were used to it. But that was many years ago.

You're not sure how long you've been haunting this apartment in Madrid, nor do you know how much time passes after Sae leaves. The world seems to come to a halt, actually. Without him, what fun is being a ghost?

Now you're just a lost soul like all the others. There isn't anything special about you. You're just the ghost that used to haunt Itoshi Sae and wake him up from his naps.

For the first time in years, you only know one thing. A singular fact that keeps you bound to this world: it's your duty to haunt this home. There is nothing else.

No one moves in after Sae leaves. No one new comes to be haunted. No one dares to set foot into this apartment. You remember that there were moments when life flickered inside of you, if even for just a fraction of your infinite time. The reason for that has abandoned you without explanation.

There's a knock on the door one day. You can't open it, and the person outside doesn't bother sticking around to see you phasing through the door to look around.

There's a birthday cake on the floor with candles that say '19' sticking out of it.

Only one human in the entire world would have deemed today to be your 19th birthday. He's nowhere to be seen.

He moves back to Japan on his 21st birthday. Sae is having trouble remembering what you look like, despite seeing you in his dreams every night.

It's a terrible realization. So terrible that it makes him sob into his pillow at night when no one in the world is awake to hear his anguish.

Japan is lonelier than Madrid. He never thought it would happen, and he blames you entirely.

He doesn't have anyone waiting for him when he opens the door to his luxury penthouse apartment. He only washes one plate in the morning. He wakes up from his midday naps undisturbed and rested.

Sae misses you deeply. And he can't help but wonder if you feel the same.

(You don't know what the yearning ache inside of you is. You don't know what to call it.

You miss him, too. You just can't put a name to the feeling.)

He doesn't stop seeing you in wisps; little blurs in his peripheral that make his head turn fast as lightning. Wherever he looks, you're gone.

It's not fair that you're a ghost who both literally and figuratively haunts him. He'd like to move on in life and forget about those 4 miserable years he spent living in that damned apartment.

He can't. Sae is incapable of moving on from that place. The irony of it is that you actually can't move on from that place, for some reason.

He would give anything to have you haunting him again. It doesn't matter where in the world the two of you are, if you were together everything would be okay. He's impossibly lonely without you.

You start to think that you're the selfish one.

The idea of leaving this terrible apartment in Madrid scares you to your very core— whatever soul is resting in your incorporeal body. It's not fair to place the blame entirely on Sae. Not when you're too wimpy to leave this place and find him.

Death is lonely without him.

One step forward, one day at a time. It's the advice Sae used to mutter to himself while getting ready in the morning.

One step forward, one day at a time. One step forward, one day at a time. And day by day, you're slowly inching closer to the door.

Sae talks to Rin and all he can think about is your confused smiles and head tilts. He talks to his parents and all he can imagine is how cold the room would be if it were you. He talks to his fucking therapist and thinks that all of her shitty advice can't compare to your quiet understanding— that your tears of solidarity are the only thing that could make him feel better.

It's fucked up, really, that he can't move on. His body is in Japan going through the motions: playing football, being famous, being interviewed and going home to nothing. His heart is in Madrid. You took it with you and refuse to let go.

You're the closest thing to love he's ever felt, perhaps— his only friend in Spain. His only reason not to leave. A ghost from his childhood that protected him in his sleep and ate bland eggs for breakfast across the table from him every morning. A ghost that would sit on the floor and wait for him to come home every day. A ghost that kept him company when he had no one else.

He loves you. He doesn't. He needs you. He doesn't. He misses you. He doesn't. Whatever. What does it matter now?

"So playing football has always been your dream?"

Sae stares blankly at the interviewer. He's reminded of a distant conversation: he is laying in bed looking at a ghost with a lump in his throat, and then he makes his first and only friend in Spain.

"Yes."

"And now that you're back in Japan, will you be playing for the national team?"

"I have no interest in playing on such a weak team." In other words, he has no reason to stay in Japan.

"So where will you go?"

Anywhere but here, he wants to say. In reality, he doesn't know where to go anymore if not to his old apartment in Spain. He just knows that he wants to come home to your sleepy face.

(That night, he makes two bowls of rice. He cries like he's 15 years old again and just ruined his relationship with his brother.)

You've never been outside before.

You've heard about it, almost entirely from Sae but also from little snippets of anime he liked to watch. It's brighter than you imagined it to be, and warmer. You're not sure you've ever felt so warm before— it's hard to when you are a walking freezer.

There isn't anyone to tell you where to go. No one pays you any mind. You wonder if you even exist anymore outside of the small confines of that old apartment.

Something tells you that you do.

You don't know where to start looking. He could be all the way across the globe for all you know, though he did used to talk about his home country.

You have no map. You have no sense of direction. You have no one to ask for help. 

All you have is the soul caged within your ghostly body tugging in one direction, and wispy feet dragging your body along in response.

Sae is 23 years old when he finally signs the contract to play for Japan, after months of being pestered by Rin about it.

His relationship with his brother is complicated. On one hand, he feels as though Rin will never truly forgive him for what he did when he was 15. On the other, he looks so ecstatic to be playing football together again that Sae wonders if their discourse was imaginary.

Japan is just a smidge less lonely with Rin in his life.

He wants to tell you all about it. That everything worked out and it's fine now. That you can stop weeping for him and to wipe up the tears that fall into nothing.

He counts the distance between you. Fourteen thousand kilometres separate him from telling you how he's living his new dream: playing football with his little brother again.

Fourteen thousand kilometers, ten years of needing you, and a reminder set on his phone to buy you a birthday cake again this year.

His heart aches.

Japan is loud and busy and everyone is always in a hurry to get places.

You have to wonder if Sae really grew up in a city like this, and how he turned out so calm and unmovable. The street names are all in Kanji you can't read, but your soul tells you that you're going the right way, anyways.

There's a crowd gathering when your feet finally come to a halt. Lights flash and there are fancy looking people with microphones clamouring toward the center.

It's only a fraction of a second that your eyes meet, and then someone shoves him into the back of the car and they drive off.

He must be famous here, too.

Sae is 24 years old tossing and turning in his bed, wondering if you were just a figment of his imagination or if you were truly standing there under a streetlamp watching him.

It wouldn't be the first time he dreamed you into existence; on some occasions you feel so real that he nearly reaches out to attempt to pat your head, like he always used to do when he was younger.

He goes back to that spot a couple hours later. The crowd is long gone and it's the dead of night— no one would be around to witness Itoshi Sae looking psychotic.

He doesn't find you in that spot. Instead, you're two blocks down and crouched in front of the window of a 24 hour shop. There's an ad for sparklers, and though you can't read the poster itself, the picture makes you stare with wide eyes.

He crouches down beside you as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

"Do you want one?" He asks. You look at him in a strange way and his knees grow weak beneath him. You nod.

He comes out five minutes later with a few packs in his hand, walking away from you down the street to the park. You follow him quietly as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

Sae holds one out, flicks the lighter in his pocket open and ignites the first sparkler. You watch it in fascination, ghostly form illuminated in warm orange and yellow light.

He smiles at you as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

When the sparkler dies out, he lights another. And another. And another, until he's gone through all the packets he could afford with the Yen in his wallet right now.

As if 7 years of distance never existed between you, he reaches out to pat your head. His hand falls through you.

You think Sae's new apartment is pretentious, but it's clean and open and doesn't smell like mildew.

It's hard to imagine what kind of purpose you had before him— all your memories are flooded with his hands and eyes and bangs and small smiles reserved for you. You think that the only reason you were ever materialized into the mortal plane was to haunt him, and only him. Itoshi Sae's permanent looming presence.

He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, you've noticed he's been smiling more lately since you started waiting for him to come home by the door.

Sae is 25 years old when you fall asleep beside him in his bed.

You don't care that he's a kicker or a blanket hog in his sleep. It's not like either of those would affect you. He watches your sleeping face carefully, waiting to see if he would ever wake up from this blissful dream and be alone again.

But every time he wakes up, there you are.

You've grown since he left you in Madrid— you don't look like some lost little kid anymore, at least. He wonders if your souls are truly so intertwined that you would change alongside him, regardless of the distance.

Your eyes flutter open and his breath catches in his throat. You blink at him slowly in the pale moonlight, brows furrowed.

You point at him. Then yourself.

You. Me.

He nods in understanding.

When he drops a plate of protein pancakes in front of you for breakfast, you look confused.

"Oh, sorry. Do you want rice?"

You shake your head. You don't care what's for breakfast, as long as you're sitting across from him while he eats it.

"I'm going to be the world's best midfielder," he tells you one day. You're on the floor and he's on the couch, and it's like time had never even passed.

You don't know what that means, but it's his dream so it must be important. The most important thing in the world.

What you don't know is that it's not his entire dream. World's best midfielder doesn't mean a thing if he can't come home to tell you all about it.

You are dead.

You're a ghost haunting Itoshi Sae— one that followed him from Madrid all the way to Japan. You don't remember how, or when, or why you died. You can't remember what your face looks like either, no matter how much Sae tries to describe it to you. 

You are dead. You're a ghost knocking over Sae's belongings to get his attention when you want it. You're the ghost curled up in bed with him even though he has to wear two layers to stay warm because of it. You're the ghost watching him rotate through different breakfasts that he says could never compare to a good old warm bowl of rice.

You are a ghost, and Itoshi Sae gave you a name. A birthday. A purpose greater than being a loud nuisance.

You are a ghost who likes to watch him light sparklers on his balcony. Who feels the things described only in the books he reads to you. Who learned to love somewhere along the way.

You are dead, and somehow alive at the same time.

(One day, Sae will be brave. One day, he will tell you he loves you. One day, he will thank you for waiting for him at the door when he comes home.)

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.