#super not proofread

[teddybeartoji]

im gnawing at puppy!satoru.... like pookie.... i didnt know I'd be obsessed with that.......... IM DESPERTLY WAITING FOR PUPPY!SATORU 😭 😭 😭

18+ mdni; gn!reader

puppy!satoru, who sits in front of your bed with the biggest and prettiest wide-eyes. tears pool in the corners of them, wetting his angelic eyelashes in the most beautiful way. a pretty baby blue collar hangs from his neck – it's tied to one of your desk's legs and it's the only thing that's keeping him from lunging at you. whimpers fall from his wet lips and drool dribbles down his chin; his tongue hangs from his mouth as he pants in desperation. he wants to taste, he wants to touch – but he's being punished right now.

he has been a bad pup.

a muzzle rests on his face, the straps sink into his soft flushed cheeks and you can already see the faint red marks that they're leaving on his perfect skin. you almost feel bad. almost. his hands are tied behind his back and he's completely at your mercy.

sitting down on his knees, he slightly bounces up and down on his legs just to get some relief. his tail thumps against the floor so hard that you can hear it. his fuzzy ears are bent back and he looks oh, so cute like this. they flop a little every time he raises his hips from the ground and you coo at him.

the sudden murmur makes them perk up again, his eyes growing even bigger than before. please, please, please. you grin at him from your place on your shared bed.

the thing he desires the most, the heaven that sits right between your legs, your soft thighs – it's exactly at his eye-level. this is pure torture.

he watches you touch yourself, play with yourself with slow movements; he can see the slick glistening on your sensitive skin and he'd do anything to lick you clean. he just wants to make you feel good! white tufts of hair fall in front of his eyes; they're starting to cling to his forehead from the way he's sweating. it's too hot in the room - he's not even wearing anything other than he stupid collar!

his rock hard cock bobs in the air, his balls twitching every time it hits his own lower belly. there's pre-cum smeared all over his happy trail and he's making such a big mess even without your help. your dirty pup...

another pretty little mewl tumbles from his swollen lips and he tugs harshly at his leash, but winces when it doesn't let up. a soft gasp followed by loud panting, his tail smacks against the floor. c'mon, he's being so good. he's so good for you. please, just let him taste you.

"does puppy wanna play, hm?"

his eyes roll back into his head at your sultry voice and he's nodding his head so strongly that he starts to feel a little dizzy. the collar around his neck only seems to be getting tighter and tighter, his airways getting blocked by his suffocating desire. a glob of pre-cum spills from his slit and it slides down the side of his shaft. he feels it. he imagines you wiping it off with your finger, with your mouth. he's so fucking hard.

his eyes are glued to your center – his least meal, his only solution to his unquenchable thirst. he wants to bury his nose into your crotch, he wants to breathe you in, he wants you to be the only thing on his mind.

(as if you aren't just that already.)

more. he needs more.

the silk ropes around his wrist dig into him, and even those just seem to be getting tighter by the second. he can't stop moving around, he can't sit still – he's the one that's making it worse. it hurts.

he likes it.

satoru's glassy eyes follow your free hand as it trails all over your thigh and your stomach and he can't surpress the saddest little whine that crawls up his throat. your lips stretch into a wide grin while raising your hand to play with your nipple. your other hand stays playing with yourself, filling the room with the slick delicious sounds.

you watch him lick his lips, you watch him pant, you watch him yank at the collar again – he's like a magnet, drawn to you always and forever.

he humps the air and a tear falls from the corner of his eye.

"aww... you crying, puppy?" voice far from sincere, his cock twitches. your teeth sink into your lower lip and your eyebrows furrow in a fake, mocking expression. "oh, you poor thing..."

his sharp fangs glimmer in the low lights of the room. "please..."

his tail swishes behind him, he can't help himself. he has no control over his own body.

"please what, baby?"

"taste, please, can i have a taste?"

you laugh at his neediness and you hear the little metal parts of his collar cling together. he's getting impatient now. "i don't know... can you?"

pushing yourself off your back, you crawl over to your pup. he's sitting so pretty, harboring a big aching mess between his legs. you reward him with another teasing coo as you situate yourself on the edge of the bed – close enough for him to drown in your scent but far enough to shed another miserable tear.

his eyes fall shut as he lets you properly fill his nostrils, all of his senses. a shiver runs down his spine when he feels your fingers on the side of his face and his pretty blues snap open in an instant. he's staring up at you – hungry and eager to please, ready to take whatever you'll give him—

—ready to give whatever you'll take.

you push his head back a little, tilting his head so he's getting a good look at you. in this position, you tower over him so easily and he feels like putty in your hands. combing through his hair, you scratch right behind his ear and watch him lean into your touch with hearts in your eyes.

but then you tug on his white strands, intoxicated by the smallest sounds that keep falling from him. forcing him to keep his gaze on you, you widen your legs in front of him. it's so, so hard for him to obey you, to be good, when it's right there. his lip wobbles behind the restriction and another quiet plea echoes the room.

"are you gonna behave, puppy?"

"yes." the speed at which he answers is almost ridiculous, but you can't tease him for it. not when your own stomach fills with butterflies aswell. you want him just as much.

loosing the grip in his hair, you let him slowly sink toward your center; he keeps his eyes on you, not daring to look away for even a second. the scent is so strong now, his balls twitch as pre-cum dribbles down them. just another inch, just a little more. he's right there. right fucking there.

the muzzle barely bumps against your crotch and eyes fall shut with a dramatic sigh. his ears flop down so fucking cutely; he's literally a breath away but the damn thing is in his way, it's ruining him, it's killing him. and to add to that, it seems like the collar is just about an inch too short aswell because there's a big vein running on the side of his neck – a clear sign of him not getting enough air.

but he doesn't pull away. his tail thumps, it never stopped. he bounces on his heel and tilts his head to meet your gaze again. he rests his cheek on against your thigh and you take the second to admire the mess he's made already. his skin is all flushed, from his chest and up to the tips of his ears; red markings peek from behind the straps of the muzzle – the contrast between those and his marble skin is just exceptional.

drool trickles through the miniature cage and straight down onto your thigh but you don't mind. he looks absolutely fucked out like this. you allow yourself to card through his hair again, unable to keep your hands off of him for more than two minutes and he hums at your soft touch.

"such a cute, pup, hm?"

you cradle his jaw as best as you can and hold his face to yours again before leaning down and pressing a kiss onto the muzzle, just above where his nose would be. and then another to the side of the thing. he squirms in your hold, overwhelmed by your sudden touches. he feels like he's going to melt into a puddle when you press the next one to his jaw.

he can smell your arousal. it's... so fucking good. he hums as he tries to nuzzle further into you. all he can think about is filling you up and giving you his knot. c'mon, he's been so, soooo good... he deserves it, right?

you will let him breed you, right? you're gonna let him have a taste? gonna let him pump you full? gonna let him give you his knot?

right?

+ @staryukis & @ohimsummer hiiiiiiii guuuyss.... puppyboy!satoru on my mind so i just had to tag you two too hehehehe:333

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

older brother touya au, endeavor is still an asshole, shouto interacts w his siblings lol, bby shouto, hyper active kinda rough reader (you tackle shouto), shouto and touya have an unspecified age gap but i was thinkin like 10 years (so touya is 17 and shou is 7), just a liiiil bit angsty but mostly fluffy, lemme know if i missed sum else !

touya knows his little brother shouto is kinda weird.

he rarely ever sees him happy, or with any sort of emotion on his face for that matter. he has little habits that he hates not being able to follow and he's incredibly nit picky about them. he doesn't outwardly emote but that doesn't mean he couldn't be bratty when he wanted to be, cus he is but that's also about super specific weird stuff like what he wants to have for dinner (which always ends up being cold soba anyways).

he's also not much of a talker. he's a little shy, but he also just doesn't like talking. it's impossible to miss the huge red scar around his eye, he doesn't like to play outside and roughhouse like touya did when he was his age and he still doesn't have any friends at school. shouto never seemed to be bothered by it, though touya assumes that his peers might find him weird too.

except they better not, because touya's the only one who can call his brother weird. and deep down, he worries a little for him.

until he comes back home from school, his sweater is tucked out and there's a dirt stain on it. his hair is messy and his backpack is haphazardly closed, his little notebooks propped inside and his pencil case threatening to fall out.

natsuo, the one charged to pick him up that day, sheepishly scratches at his neck "he won't tell me what happened to him." he explains as touya practically charges towards shouto, he doesn't look hurt, so his older brother roughly turns him around to check his bag.

" but i told you what happened, natsu-nii."

"you don't have to lie, shouto--"

"what happened to you ?" touya cuts in, looking inside his brothers bag to check if nothing was missing, it looks intact from what he can tell.

"i played with my friend." shouto says simply, like that explains why he looked like he'd just walked through a hurricane. touya already knows he's gonna get an earful about this from his father. he inwardly groans.

"you sure your friend didn't just mug you ?" he flips his brother around and shouto's little arms flail as he does, unbothered by his brother's rough treatment. he tilts his head, touya sighs.

"bully you, i mean."

shouto's eyes widen, then he hurriedly shakes his head, denying him ever getting bullied and simply claiming he was playing. touya shares a look with natsuo, who looks just as unconvinced as him at his brothers words.

"who's this friend of yours, shou ?"

"yn."

"yn ?" both brothers say at the same time. shouto nods and touya catches a small little glint in his eyes as he looks back at him "she's really nice."

"this doesn't seem nice. you look like you got robbed." touya furrows his brows, sneering at his brothers dirty shirt. he starts dragging the youngest toward the bathroom. hopefully he'd be fully clean before their father got home and he wouldn't have to get in trouble. for god knows what reason. enji todoroki would probably find a way to place the blame on him, something about how he should've been the one to pick him up or gotten there earlier he guesses.

"yn likes to play games where you move around a lot." is what he offers as explanation. touya hums absentmindedly as he ushers his brother into the bathroom, deciding on how he should deal with his youngest brother's first ever bully. because of the age gap he doubts the kid is any smaller than his brother is, so he thinks he'll probably just try to scare off whoever this yn is.

"how 'bout i pick you up from school tomorrow and i can meet yn. that sound good ?" and shouto excitedly nods at the idea, gushing about how funny and nice you are and that you share your snacks with him. it's weird how fondly he talks about his bully, but touya knows his brother's always been a little weird, he probably has no idea what's happening to him. the thought makes him frown just a bit harder.

the next day after school, touya is already at the gates before they've even opened ready to scare the pants off of his brothers harasser. he sees shouto walking out of the gates with a few other kids, alone. the little boy perks up once he sees him and sends him a high wave, which touya returns with one of his own lazier one's.

"where's your friend ?" he tries his best not the spit the word too venomously, shouto doesn't seem to notice.

"yn is coming. her bag isn't closing well, so she told me to go ahead without her." he explains, reaching for his brother's hand absentmindedly.

touya is about to respond when he hears yelling. yelling that gets closer and closer to them until he notices too late that a little person is rushing towards his brother. before he can pull him out of the way the person has jumped onto shouto and knocked the both of them onto the ground. and touya watches flabbergasted as his younger brother does not look surprised at all, like shit like this just happened every tuesday. his mouth falls open when the little girl that had charged into his brother excitedly starts hopping slightly on top of him.

"shouto !"

"hi, yn."

touya is going to fucking lose his mind.

you get closer to shouto's face still sitting on him, touya assumes to make sure he could hear you even thought he doubts he couldn't before. " i thought ya left without me, i couldn't see you !"

shouto shakes his head, still on the floor "i said i would wait for you." he says seriously. and you practically beam, nudging your cheek to his and rubbing it against his affectionately. shouto doesn't seem fazed by it, but he definitely doesn't seem angry.

you don't seem like a bully, at least.

you finally realise you're not alone, looking up at touya strangely "who're you ?" you ask bluntly. shouto responds before he could. "touya- nii's my older brother, he's the one i wanted to show you."

you don't seem like a bully, especially not when you immediately turn to shouto the moment he opens his mouth, holding onto every word you hear. your eyes widen looking between touya and him, "that's your brother ?!" shouto nods proudly. you finally get off of him allowing shouto to get up too.

"coool !" you exclaim, but then you quickly turn towards shouto " but you're cooler, shouto !" shouto's eyes widen, before he almost bashfully looks away, claiming that his touya-nii is was way cooler than him. touya has never seen his brother this expressive before. it might not be much for others, and if he were anybody else he'd think so too. but even the fact his brows raise when you speak and he actually engages in conversation with you, as short as he keeps it, is surprising.

but from that small interaction, he can assume that you're not a bully. and he understands why his brother looked like he got jumped yesterday.

you're so much more different then him though, it's weird. you're hyper and giggly and chatty. you jump around and you can't seem to pull yourself away from shouto, who really doesn't seem unhappy although you're a bit rough about it. it’s like you’re glued to him.

shouto who barely even talks to his family talks to easily with you, even though you start the conversation all the time. shouto who only ever eats cold soba gleams at your promise to bring more snacks to share with him, like you apparently do every day. and shouto who touya barely ever sees emote, smiles when you tell him something funny. he can't tell wether his little brother smiles because he actually finds what you said funny or because you do. but whatever it is, it's making him happy.

touya is so shocked simply staring at his brother interact with another human being that he fails to use the little 'leave my brother alone if you know what's good for you.' speech he'd practiced the night before and suddenly you have to go. waving at him and shouto (not before hugging him with all your might first), who sadly waves back as he watches you leave. though he cheers up just a bit when with a last wave you tell him that you'll see him tomorrow.

touya, despite not having said a word feels incredibly tired, so he starts pulling his brother along home with him.

"so..that was your friend."

shouto nods "yn." he says.

"yn." touya parrots, eyes drifting from his brother to the road ahead of him. "she's kinda weird, huh ?"

at that, shouto's eyebrows furrow hard and he furiously shakes his head, tugging at his brother’s hand "no. she's nice." he corrects adamantly. touya stares at his brother, before looking away again "right.." he sighs "well, she seems to like you a lot."

his little brother nods again, a faint smile forms on his face "cus the people in class are mean to her. cus she's new and they say she's weird, but i don't think she is." he rambles, he actually rambles, touya blinks. he doesn't think he's ever been more surprised than he's been today. "yeah ?" is all he utters.

"yeah. people think i'm weird too, but yn says she thinks i'm cool." touya's eyes soften at his brothers words. he raises his arm up so his little brother is slightly lifted in the air. "course you're cool, you're my little brother." smiling softly to himself when shouto giggles.

touya knows that his little brother is weird, but he doesn't have to be worried anymore. cus it seems you like him, that you think he's cool and that you're weird too, in your own way. shouto keeps coming back home with dirty clothes and messy hair after that, but with happy and satisfied eyes and little candies he shares with his siblings that he made them promise to keep a secret. and he thinks his little brother will be fine, as weird as he is.

[saturnniidae]

I love how Trollhunters is such an outlier in its genre in the sense that from the very beginning, when establishing the status quo, the notion is set; you can't always win someone over, you have to finish the fight. It is very often kill or be killed, and you can't bank on being able to change that.

And of course in the beginning Jim is horrified, and staunchly refuses to even kill even the troll equivalent of a rodent, and he does manage to win people over by talking, multiple times. And he defies everyone's expectations with these new allies. His ability to do this is one of his strengths and it's incredibly impressive, but in the end he learns and relents to the fact that sometimes of only way you can stop someone is to meet violence with violence and by then he wants to.

It's not just about self defense or damage control anymore, Gunmar killed his friends, and caused those still living to suffer, and indirectly forced him to give up his humanity, his future, his chance of having any semblance of a peaceful life,

(In Jim's eyes anyway. But really, from the moment he picked up that amulet, he lost his chance at normalcy. He was doomed from the beginning. He was also 15.)

And he wants him fucking dead. I don't know, but that's just so unusual for the type of character that Jim is, but it's so very human to break under something so heavy (Young Atlas and all that, I suppose), and it's almost ironic for him because at that point – again, to him, at least – he is anything but human.

[mydearchoso]

geto and a reader with capnolagnia (a fetish/attraction to the smell of cigarette smoke/the act of smoking) and so everytime he wants some puss, he steps out for a few and comes back REEKING of it.

he loves doing it at movie theatres, restaurants, sometimes before he comes to visit you at work or before entering your house. any excuse to make you hot and bothered that inevitably leads to him being dragged to the bathroom or bedroom, sometimes not even bothering to hide it and just doing it right there as discreetly as possible.

he just loves the stark contrast when you go from bright, smiling, and cheery to furrowed brows and rustling thighs. mouth all but watering as you fuck the man to oblivion behind your eyes, before finally pouncing on him.

geto has also certainly fucked you WHILE smoking... slow lazy thrusts as he watches the ash flutter down to rest on your torso. smearing it with his hands as he slides it up to play with your nipple idly. putting the filter to your lips to inhale. all before he's locking your lips with his, grabbing each of your shoulders so hard his nails dig into your flesh. inhaling the smoke from your mouth as he pulls you down towards his hips. his leisurely pace turned cruel and hyper. fucking you like a rabbit who's only goal is to finish before it's heart gives out.

he gets so needy as he exhales the remainder of smoke across your face, watching your expressions as he drills into you ruthlessly. he may be using you like a toy right now, but after a little clean up, when he's put his briefs back on and you're in his shirt, you'll step out onto the back porch for a proper smoke. cuddling on the sun bed and passing the cigarette back and forth. staring up at the stars as you ramble about nothing special as you both bask in the afterglow of your ecstasy... and once you're back inside, who knows? maybe you'll be going at it again.

[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.

[riaki]

ᴄɪɢᴀʀᴇᴛᴛᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛᴡᴏ | ᴀᴋɪ ʜᴀʏᴀᴋᴀᴡᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

syn: as strong-willed as he thinks he is, aki can't help but indulge you every once in a while. he's too weak for you. or, aki shotguns you.

in the past, aki would’ve never admitted to being an addict.

whether it be the cigarettes that are always a few inches away from his twitching fingers, tucked in his pocket— or the alcohol he lets himself indulge in as a sort of tradition he'd treat himself to; a toast to the next day he lives to see, he likes to think his resolve is a little stronger than an itch in his lungs here and there.

still, it's not like he refrains from doing it— his policy is that he's going to end up in the grave soon one way or another, so in his eyes, it's just one rusted nail in the coffin that's a sliver away from being sealed. you’ve complained about it before, but he just can’t rip himself away from the smoke. it’s too bad he can’t turn you pocket sized and carry you around in his palm; you’re a great substitute to the hit of nicotine in terms of soothing his constantly buzzing mind.

his leniency towards those types of things dashes when it comes to you, though. like the breaking foam of waves that crash against a rocky shoreline.

“i said, no.”

aki thought he’d already been firm enough with you the first time, but evidently not. even so, no matter how much you pout and whine— he is not letting you take a drag from his cigarette.

normally, he wouldn’t care. it’s not like he’s never shared one before— he used to steal drags from himeno all the time, until you expressed your disdain and he stopped immediately. it’s not that he doesn’t find your jealousy cute— quite the opposite, in fact. he just doesn’t want you getting any stupid ideas.

you’re certainly not making it easy for him, though.

“come on aki, please?” it’s not uncommon for you to plead like that. since you’ve started dating, aki, or rather, you, have found that the best way to melt his strength of will is to beg.

aki likes taking care of you. it’s in his nature; whatever spirit of a big brother that was left in him after he lost his family gradually nurtured and bloomed in your relationship, especially with someone as… irresponsible as you.

as such, it’s his (self appointed, you’d argue) job to make sure you’re in good health. and he’s very quickly picked up on the fact that learning to say no to you is the one and only lifeline keeping this relationship from drifting off into an irreversible spiral of spoiling you to no end.

in this particular instance, you approached him one morning with a poorly hidden agenda; the balcony door slid open as warmth from the apartment mingled with the chilly early morning breeze. aki was immersed in his newspaper and halfway through a cigarette when you’d spoken up, with the request to ‘have a taste’. he’d immediately said no and left you looking like a sad wet cat on the porch to make breakfast.

he’s regretting that decision thoroughly, now. you won’t stop bugging him, and even though he finds comfort in the sound of your voice, it’s the last thing he wants to hear right now. not because you’re annoying, but that he knows if you say his name in that tone a few more times he’ll fold.

“why not? you do it all the time! i just want to give it a try.” you sighed softly, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the cold marble of the kitchen counter, watching him wash dirty carrots. the vivid green leaves bob up and down beneath the pressure of the sink water as he scrubs them clean, before looking down at you.

“it rots your bones.”

“your bones are fine!”

“i already told you i’m not going to let you. just give it up, love.” he murmurs, turning his attention back to the vegetables in his hands. “cutting board, please.”

you oblige and lean over the counter, grabbing the wooden board from where it leans against the counter wall and hand it over to him. his hands are wet, so you don’t let go until you’re sure he has a firm grip on the board. he uses his other hand to turn the faucet off, droplets clinging to the reflective metal.

“aww, don’t be like that. what’s the harm in just one hit?” you protested, hauling yourself onto the countertop, legs dangling over the edge as your heels hit the cupboards. aki rolls his sleeves up again, revealing the pale bandages on his arms as he shakes the water clinging to his fingers off and grabs a knife and begins to cut into the carrots, dicing them up.

“don’t be stupid.” he scoffs, not looking at you. you watch his arm move up and down with each motion, the thud of the knife hitting the dull cutting board. "i always am." you grumbled under your breath, but he just ignores you.

“you know that’s not how it works. how do you even think people get addicted in the first place, [name]?” he murmurs, holding the carrots in place with two fingers on the leaves.

“it starts with one hit. just one cigarette. and then it turns into one pack, and then some.” he knows the process all too well.

you sigh forlornly, propping your elbows up on your knees and supporting your chin in your hands, kicking your feet in the air as you study the cozy kitchen. the potted plant you’ve been taking care of sits in the corner, tear-shaped leaves drooping beneath the shade of the cupboards. aki’s mug of cold coffee sits on the counter next to the sink, half full and calling your name. it’s the only thing he’s allowed you to be addicted to. and him, of course.

“you’re such a hypocrite.” you grumbled half-heartedly, rolling your eyes before letting your gaze drift to his profile again, studying the slight purse in his lips as he rests one palm over the blunt edge of the knife and cuts with the other one. you’ve always liked watching him cook; he’s good at it, and there’s something grounding in watching him sprinkle pepper and salt over a simmering pot of homecooked stew on a lazy weekend off.

he finally spares you a glance, peering at you through his dark lashes. his silvery blue eyes reflect a soft shine under the glow of the warm kitchen lights.

“i’m not.” he replies, nose wrinkling slightly as you grin in return and raise an eyebrow.

“sure. why don’t you prove it then, aki?” you challenged, leaning forward to stare down at him. even though you’re perched atop the counter, you’re still barely taller than him. not that you mind, though. you both know all of him belongs to you.

aki frowns, before shaking his head. “i don’t need to prove myself to you.” he mutters under his breath, giving you a resigned sigh. his topknot is messier than usual today; probably because you insisted on doing it for him.

he doesn’t even need to look at you to see the pout weighing on your lips; it shows through your voice when you speak again, as he dumps the carrot chunks into a plastic bowl and cleans his knife off on his apron.

“you’re no fun.” you complained, letting your hands fall to the edge of the marble as your fingers curl around the countertop. the sound of the city drifts in through the crack in the balcony door; the sound of trains whizzing by and the bustle of workers on their morning commute filters in through the breeze, a soundtrack to your morning. aki just bites his tongue and sighs.

you’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even notice him step away from the cutting board, dumping the carrot bits into a plastic container and leaving the knife behind on the wood to stand in front of you. your knees graze his middle as he reaches behind you, looking for something on the kitchen counter and your breath catches for a moment when he leans in—

until he pulls back again, a pack of cigarettes in his hand. one end of the box is torn, a hole where he taps his finger on the other end and a cigarette slides out, a bundle of drug and addiction. you're about to be excited when you notice the brand label on the blue cardboard— wild raven, the same one himeno smokes. you know it's petty to be upset over such a thing, but that doesn't stop you from pouting like a petulant child (again), crossing your arms over your chest and nudging his shin with your foot.

aki is observant; it's not like he doesn't notice this. he just ignores it in favor of searching for his lighter, leaning over you to reach the elevated shelf of the counter where he last left the lighter you gave him, decked with worn stickers that rubbed off and left papery residue over time. the material is cold against his hands as he rubs his thumb over the cap; the feeling is familiar.

he clears his throat and your attention snaps back to him, like a moth drawn to a lamp. his expression is unreadable, but you try your best to decipher it anyway. you're only able to catch a hint of uncertainty in the slight frown on his lips before he speaks again and you're distracted by his smooth voice.

"i'll make a compromise. come here," he murmurs, tapping his index finger against the film and coaxing a stick out. it slips from the box and he catches it between his fingers, tipping the lid off and thumbing the spark wheel absentmindedly. not enough to strike a flame by any means— but it's enough for fireworks to go off in your gut as you look up at him again and scoot closer on the counter.

"what are you going to do?" you asked curiously, eyeing the cancer stick as he rolls it between his fingers. it slides down his knuckles and he catches it between his middle and index finger, lighting the tip with one swift flick of the lighter.

"you'll see." he answers simply, tearing his gaze off the cigarette to look back at you again as he slots it between his lips. suddenly you're mesmerized; the only thing you can focus on is the curve of his lips and the way the cig balances between them. you hear him breathe in as he leans a little closer to you, standing between your knees as he slowly inhales.

you're mesmerized. there's always been this draw when it comes to aki— something you can't place but that you recognize to be alluring; right now, the only thoughts running through your mind aren't about the cigarette so tantalizing close within your reach like a forbidden apple, or the wet carrot chunks left unattended in the plastic strainer. the only thing on your mind is how close he is, and what he'd taste like if you kissed him right now.

unfortunately for you, there's a stick of paper and drugs blocking your path.

fortunately for you, aki seems to have read your mind.

in one swift motion, he takes his cigarette out his mouth and leans forward, using his free hand to tilt your chin up. he notices the way your lips part like it's muscle memory whenever his own lips are close— it makes him smile; a minuscule, amused twitch of his lips as he exhales the smoke into your mouth. it curls in mini storm clouds like some sort of deathly mouth to mouth, and aki's fingers gently press into your chin to make sure the smoke settles in nicely, trapped between two lovers in a haze.

and before you can even process what just happened, the sensation of his lips pushing hungrily against yours floods your brain, sending a jolt of tingling electricity down your spine as the blaring alarms going off in your brain from the unfamiliar sensation of the smoke are silenced.

a fire spreads through your veins like molten lead as he kisses you, a veil of smoke drifting into the air, curling and snaking about like an oriental dragon made of vapor. it's as if you've been burned by the cherry itself; your cheeks feel hot and you can feel aki's fingers tremble slightly as they find your face, his thumb barely brushing over your cheek gingerly it's as if the slightest hint of pressure might make you vanish into thin air. he tastes like rich coffee and sweet smoke, and something bitter.

you're acutely aware of the way his other arm snakes around your waist, trapping you against the cold marble counter as your teeth graze his bottom lip and his fingers curl into your side. it's something straight out of your wildest dreams until the smoke clogs your throat like cobwebs and you rapidly pull away, coughing as your eyes burn and you cover your mouth. a rare laugh escapes aki's lips, and you shoot him a glare, to which he only ignores, letting it burn away.

it takes you a moment to gather your thoughts as you stare up at his face, pleasantly dusted strawberry red under the glow of the kitchen lights, the tips of his ears pink with a crude mix of want and embarrassment.

"you could've given me a warning next time." is the only thing you're able to get out, the rest of your words dying on your tongue as you cough again to soothe the itch in your throat, rubbing your eyes as you sulk.

it's such a childish thing to do, and yet aki can't help but find it endearing. he's in over his head, and he knows it's far too late to turn back now.

he grabs the ashtray he keeps on the cluttered kitchen counter, smushing the glowing red cherry of the cigarette into the ashtray, extinguishing the life from the ash as it fizzles out, and your hopes go with it.

"wait— you're not gonna do it again?" he glances down at you, blue eyes sharp with a sour expression on his pretty face. it's like you squeezed lemon juice onto his tongue.

"no. like hell i'm letting you get away with more," he says firmly, shaking his head as he steps away from you again. he has a sixth sense for when you're about to complain, so he puts a hand over your mouth to stop the noise from escaping before you can start.

even with the way you're glaring daggers at him, just the fact that you can stand to look at him after he violated your personal space like that makes his chest constrict. it's as if his heart is trying to burrow out of his chest and find its way into your palm. he looks away again to hide the flush on his face.

even then, it was a mistake to keep his fingers over your mouth, because he can feel the very instant your lips curve into a soft, doting smile that only worsens this touchy predicament he's found himself in.

"pleeeeease, aki?" even though your voice is barely audible, it's too much, and you can tell. before he can even blink, he finds himself staring up at you with his chin on your chest and your fingers tangled in his hair, newly loose with his hairtie around your wrist. it would've been cute if not for the shit-eating grin on your smug face.

aki groans and hides his face in your shirt, reluctantly letting you pull him closer. as much as he'd like to ignore the effect you have on him and continue preparing a warm lunch for the two of you, his willpower has melted away like the wax on a candle, no fight left in him to protest as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

"you're too much." he grumbles irritably, voice muffled.

you only smile, and although he can't see it, he can hear it when you speak, and it makes his heart pound wildly between his rotting lungs.

"you love me." and he hates how you don't even realize just how right you are.

aki doesn't consider himself a hopeless romantic. but if there's one thing to ever be addicted to, you're it.

[beesfurbyblog]

staple length has been sent to the seaside for its health

[thevirtualvalentine]

content warnings: bondage (on your wrists), condescending!law, fem!afab!reader, drabble on how I picture law brat taming, vitiligo law so real and canon, dacryphillia if you squint.

“How long are you gonna keep up the act, doll. It’s not hard to apologize.” Law’s currently pissed off at you for misbehaving today and is showing it in how he fucks you like he hates you. “Just two simple words,” he says in that condescending deep voice of his with cold eyes that berate your every move.

Your wrists are bound together to the bed post, of course fashioned to his liking. Dick in hand as he reduces you to a blubbering mess, easing in and out of your greedy hole with how wet you are for him. “You know you wanna sweetheart, use yer words.” His smirk betrays that indignant tone, so does the way he huffs when you squeeze his head in your damp walls.

“Please Law m’sorry.” He’s edging his tip around your slit as he plays with you.

Sadistic bastard, “sorry for?” Pulling away entirely as he pumps his fat length in front of you, too far to reach but close enough to watch. It makes your mouth water; dark skin with splotches of white here and there across his abdomen, a delicious happy trail, and a heavy cock that you wish would wreck your insides already.

“Annoyin’ you t-today,” he slides in halfway as you’re talking, wanting to hear the way his dick makes you fumble over your words, it’s all about control with him.

“And? You sure that’s all.” He couldn’t care to look at you, instead fixated on where you meet. Lower lips clinging to his shaft as he glides inside, filling you to the brim. He thinks your pussy looks prettiest stuffed with him.

“Mhm hm,” you cry, tugging your plush bottom lip between your teeth as he places a hand across your lower stomach, almost covering it with a single appendage. Death written across his knuckles as he presses down, lessening the space in your already tight cunny.

“You’re not that dumb, are you?” Dragging his length out of you, dissatisfied with your answer. “What happened to my smart girl? Huh?” Law fucks you with only his tip, letting it stretch your first ring of muscle while you strain against his confinements.

“Poor baby, just want some dick don’tcha,” he wipes the defeated tears that spill down your face with his thumb, rolling his pelvis into you at a begrudging pace. He’s savoring every sound, cry, and reaction from you. Storing it in his brain for when he’s sadly away from you.

“I know, I know, stop your cryin’. I’ll fuck you right baby, just gotta learn your lesson first.”

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Malice's Stain (Imprisoning War)

I set out to write one thing, stumbled onto something I had written weeks ago, and was inspired, so have some post-war PLOT for y'all! >:D I feel like this can be read even if you have no idea what's going on, but whatevs, read as you please. <3

X

The smell of autumn was in the air.

Crickets chirped, a symphony of oncoming coolness and stillness, a song of farewell to the warm, moist summer nights filled with twinkling fireflies that replaced the stars. The sky sparkled, gracing the land with a preview of the splendors a cold winter night sky could provide. Flames burned quietly from torches, casting shadows taller than the castle’s turrets.

Link stared blankly out at the courtyard from the balcony.

He knew this feeling. Or lack of it, really. It took every ounce of energy to just breathe. Here he stood, permanently planted in this spot, not tolerating moving but not wanting to stay still. His mind was filled with cotton, half-thoughts trying to formulate sentences and failing to even convey anything beyond a dull ache, a shadow of what should have been an emotion.

This was becoming a problem, but he was far beyond the point of caring at the moment.

There were a million stressors on his mind, yet none truly seemed to stress him out. It was just another thing to be done, another item to obtain, another person to look out for. Day in and out, watch the children, watch the military’s progress in training new recruits, watch the Sheikah scientists continue to come up with new creations and make new breakthroughs.

Smile, say a few words, rinse, repeat. Go to bed, never fall asleep, get up, do it again.

He gave up even trying to go to bed tonight. He’d tolerated his son’s presence today. Tolerated it. What sort of father tolerates his children?

Link felt a twinge of something pull at his chest. His lips trembled. He leaned heavily on the balcony railing, sagging as if the weight of all the stars in the sky were bearing down on him.

There was a low rumble, a voice that practically growled as it chuckled. “So this is the fate of the Hero of Hyrule, then. You’re just as pathetic as I figured you to be.”

Link stiffened a moment at the voice, at the way his body physically reacted and wanted to scream and claw at the man. But no. He wasn’t there. He couldn’t be real. He’d sealed Ganondorf away years ago. Besides, last night Link had seen the Gerudo general he’d murdered when he was sixteen; he’d figured, after a week without sleep, he’d probably start seeing things. He’d gotten close to this level of exhaustion during the war, and he remembered he and Hemisi had nearly lost their minds.

It didn’t make it any more tolerable, though.

Link didn’t dignify the hallucination with a response.

“I’m grateful you didn’t marry my daughter,” Ganondorf continued, pacing the length of the balcony behind Link like a predator stalking its prey. “You would have ruined her.”

It stung, for a moment. Then Link almost laughed. “The only one who ruined her was you.”

“Imagine if I had won,” Ganondorf continued, either oblivious to his words or ignoring him. Could a hallucination ignore its creator? “Imagine the different state of things.”

“Hyrule would have burned,” Link snapped, glaring at him.

“Would it?” Ganondorf questioned. “Is it not burning slowly now, withering away as its nobles poison it from the inside out?”

“Zelda is working to fix that,” Link argued.

“Ah, yes. Zelda.” Ganondorf spat out the name like it was a curse. “How Nayru ever favored such a dim-witted child is beyond me.”

Link reached for a weapon before remembering he wasn’t armed. “You are the only fool I had the displeasure of knowing. Thinking you could control everything and in the end all you did was destroy it. Tell me, when you first came up with the plan to steal the Triforce, was murdering your entire family part of it or just a side quest for fun? You stood tall and proud like some king but you were nothing more than a clown, lapping at power like the pathetic boar that you were!”

“And yet here you stand,” Ganondorf hissed, motioning towards him. “The man with all the power in the world, and you are completely helpless.”

The fight drained out of Link, and he felt his face grow cold and pale. Rage filled him and exited just as quickly as he had no rebuttal.

Pathetic.

…He wasn’t wrong. Link was pathetic. He was weak and he knew it.

Years ago, he’d tried to end it in an act of desperation and fear, wanting to escape his imprisonment and avoid becoming a monster that he thought he was turning into.

Had he succeeded in avoiding such a fate? Was he not a monster?

He supposed he wasn’t. He was no Ganondorf. But… he was pathetic. Despite all his attempts to be otherwise, here he stood, arguing with thin air and unable to win.

“You were supposed to be the pride of the Sheikah,” he heard beside him, and he turned to see Lady Impa looking at him disappointedly. “Yet all you do is wallow in self-pity. Our duty is to the royal family, and you can’t even do that.”

“You’re no Hero,” Ganondorf sneered. “Heroes are powerful.”

“Heroes are selfless,” Impa added, walking up to stand beside the ghostly Gerudo man.

“How could anyone love such a wretch?” Ganondorf finally said.

“I don’t need your love or approval,” Link spat, though the fire had mostly drained out of him. It was less of a rebuke and more of a plea, a petition to himself to believe it.

He was over this conversation. He turned sharply, growing dizzy, staring down at the ground so, so far below.

Softer footsteps came next, lighter feet than the thundering steps of the monster he’d faced years ago but not as purposefully quiet as his chief. He caught sight of red hair in his periphery, and he saw Hemisi watching him, bubble ponytail over her shoulder, amber eyes reflecting the firelight.

Link bit back an exhausted sigh, squeezing his eyes shut. He should’ve known she’d inevitably appear in this insanity. He really should try to get some sleep. Would Zelda appear next? Or would his mind turn images of his own children against him?

Honestly, he probably deserved that more than anything.

“You look like shit,” Hemisi commented, an echo of her remark when they’d seen each other for the first time since Sonia’s baby shower. He recalled the incident fondly and forlornly, an event that probably should have never happened. But that had been years ago.

He wasn’t sure it was worth indulging this hallucination as well, and had very little energy to do so, but if he ignored it things would probably just get more out of control. “I haven’t slept in a week.”

“Why?”

Hell if he knew. He’d tried. He used to sleep too much. Now, suddenly, his body decided he just shouldn’t sleep at all. He’d had sleepless nights before, but never for such a long stretch. He felt like he was about to burst out of his own skin. He wasn’t entirely sure why any of this was happening.

“What’s wrong, Link?”

Her voice was so gentle. It made him want to scream.

But what was wrong? He had episodes where he felt down or unmotivated, but he hadn’t felt this insane since Sonia’s birth. His daughter was eight years old now!

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

Hemisi snorted. “I’d say so. You haven’t slept in a week.”

He supposed that was a silly remark to make, given the circumstances. But he really couldn’t fathom what was causing this.

Link smelled lavender all of a sudden, and he turned, noticing that Hemisi had vanished, and only saw a silhouette in the entrance to the balcony. The curls that haloed their head, as well as the mildly heavier build from childbearing gave away the person’s identity, her lavender soap carried in the chilly breeze.

“Zelda?” he asked hesitantly, wondering if this was somehow a more vivid hallucination or if the queen really was there.

The silhouette stepped out of the castle entirely and into the open air, and the torches cast their light on her. Zelda watched him, hands rising to hug her bare arms as she shivered a little.

She was responding to the environment. She had to be real.

“Link,” she said softly, green eyes roaming the area. “Who were you talking to?”

Great. The queen overhearing her husband steadily losing his sanity was the last thing he needed right now. He felt irritation sting, pulsing angrily behind his eyes with his ever-growing headache.

“Myself,” he answered truthfully. “Long night. Do you need something, Your Majesty?”

Zelda hesitated, noting, “Are you not cold? It’s getting chilly out here.”

Link glanced down at his attire. He was still wearing his summer clothes, the bright red tunic laced with golden embroidery overlayed by the dark forest green cloth that draped over his left shoulder and across his chest, cinched at the waist with a brown decorative belt made of leather and beads. There was no need to wear trousers in the summer for nobles in formalwear, something Link had never really enjoyed, but he’d adopted the dress as he was expected, wearing sandals with it. At least the tunic went to his knees. Nevertheless, Zelda was right – he was underdressed for the weather, but… he’d chosen to wear his summer attire as it had been warmer in the day and he’d wanted the nighttime cold to slap some semblance of clarity into his foggy mind.

The hallucinations did not seem to be indicating that it was working. The way he only just noticed he was shivering didn’t help, either.

Deflecting, he jutted his chin towards her briefly, his earrings jingling in the breeze with the movement. “And you?”

She was, after all, in her own warmer weather clothes, a sleeveless ocean blue knee-length simple dress overlapped with a milky white overdress that crossed over her chest, shoulder to opposite hip, before encircling her legs, more in the back than the front. She had a thicker belt with cloth bearing the symbol of the Triforce resting over the area the overdress left exposed. Her curly brown hair was pulled out of her face, though styled in its usual half-up/half-down manner, so at least her neck was likely somewhat warm. He could vaguely make out goosebumps over her light skin, despite her hands covering her upper arms and the bright blue skin paint that decorated her from upper arms to wrists.

“I’m freezing,” she admitted. “Come inside, Link.”

Did she actually need something? It was strange for her to seek him out this late. They certainly weren���t on as bad terms as they used to be at the start of their rocky marriage, but given her actions over Sonia’s training, Link had distanced himself and their son from her. He hadn’t wanted Orik dragged into her scheming like his sister had been. It had left their relationship… cool, to say the least.

Sighing, he complied. There was nothing left to do at this point, and he didn’t have the energy to argue further. His eye roamed the balcony, scanning for any more hallucinations, but his mind seemed to be having some mercy on him; the demon king, Link’s chief, and his former love were all gone.

His fingers stopped stinging from the cold as he followed the queen indoors, though the air was still fairly chilly. Zelda didn’t speak, instead wrapping an arm around him and guiding him along. He glanced at her, almost wanting to ask what this was about, but not caring enough to do so. With the minor alarm of haunting images of his past disappearing, he’d grown numb to the world once more.

Goddess, he just wanted to sleep.

The couple eventually wound up at the door leading to Zelda’s chambers. Link glanced at her again, wondering if she wanted what he thought she did. They hadn’t been physically intimate in years—early in their marriage it had been a push between the two, Zelda needing an heir and Link needing a release from everything, but as they had matured and had two children and steadily avoided each other, neither really wanted to instigate anything all that often.

So why did she want it now?

Zelda opened the door, guiding Link inside, and then sighed, releasing him and heading towards the roaring fire. Link looked around, feeling out of place, and honestly just wanted to leave. He watched the queen a moment longer, watched as she took off her belt and outer dress before grabbing a robe and bundling herself up.

“Come to bed,” she said. It wasn’t quite an order—he was very familiar with what those sounded like—but it still seemed firmer than a request.

Link sighed again. Debated the matter for a moment, growing annoyed at being stuck here, but quickly acquiesced, giving up on the matter. The bed was unbelievably soft and warm, yet simultaneously too hard and cold, his back hurting, hair on his body rising in anxiety, muscles aching, mind still unable to focus.

He… wasn’t sure he’d ever felt this awful. Had he felt this bad during the war, perhaps?

Maybe the night before Hemisi and I fought Ganondorf, he mused. But back then, he and Hemisi, despite how nervous they’d been, had also had each other. There had been a little comfort in that, in the promise of a future after everything, in the hope that the world wouldn’t end the next day as Ganondorf held Zelda and the capital hostage.

He was far over the bitterness of how everything had unraveled between him and the new chief of the Gerudo, but his heart still hurt thinking about the war, about a time when he knew what hope felt like. And he wanted to smack himself for it. His children brought him hope and joy.

Well. They had. Until whatever the hell this funk was had started poisoning him.

He had episodes like these, but they’d never been this awful. Nor this agonizing. He’d be exhausted, paralyzed, but it would last maybe a day or two, a brief spell before Lady Impa would track him down and help him, or his children would find a way to fetch him (he still was too scared to let them know where his room was, terrified of what he’d do if they startled him awake—his reactions weren’t as severe as they’d been, but he still worried).

Zelda slowly got in bed as well, watching him a moment. She no longer hid her expression, worry clear on her face, and it made Link feel like he was under scrutiny.

She was trying to be nice. That’s what this was. Perhaps she did need something, but not now. But he knew she could be kind as well, and that seemed to be her only motivation. He knew that. So why did he feel like a caged animal?

Link waited. Time passed. The fire died. Zelda fell asleep. He was still wide awake.

A whisper behind him made him turn sharply, though he tried to be quiet for his wife’s sake. He caught sight of a silhouette, and alarm made his eyes widen as he slinked out of bed, looking desperately for a weapon.

The person vanished.

Link wanted to scream. He couldn’t stay in here. If these hallucinations got worse, he could hurt Zelda. So he made his way back outside, hoping the cold would slap some sense into him.

He never made it to the balcony, though. Something else caught his eye. It sparkled in the night, like an ember from a torch, but it was darker.

The crispness of the early spring air froze over as if winter had come anew, and Link felt like the wind itself punched the air right out of his lungs. It was unnatural, like he was being squeezed, like something was crawling inside his skin and tearing him apart. His head pounded, and the world darkened, surrounded in purplish burgundy energy, like blood and poison mixing together in a sickening magic that could only be produced by someone who had let evil stain them to their very soul.

Ganondorf disappeared as he screamed, encased in the dark essence, and Link clutched Hemisi more firmly. She was still limp in his arms, having taken the brunt of the lightning attack he’d sent their way, able to redirect it before it could kill all three of them.

When the vicious tornado of malice dispersed from the center of the dark storm, a massive beast stood before them, and Link felt as if his heart stopped. It roared ferociously, and he rose to its threatening call, drawing his blade once more, surprised to see it glowing bright blue. Behind him, Zelda cast a spell of some sort, and Link could see the borders of the dark storm held in place by a golden light, the same barrier she’d used to protect herself in the castle.

The real fight had begun.

Link felt his blood freeze.

No. No.

It was a single spark, and he’d been hallucinating. Nothing was wrong. Ganondorf had been dead for years now, soul split viciously into four to prevent the demon he’d sold himself to, the demon he’d become, from ever returning. The cycle was broken. It was over.

Paranoia overrode reason in his mind. There was no way everything they’d done, everything he’d sacrificed, had been in vain.

Link moved quickly, foggy head gone, filled instead with frantic thoughts, one overlaying the other, choking him as he hyperventilated, barely able to make it to the stairs as his vision started to blur, as his fingers tingled and grew numb. He pulled a torch off the wall, nearly falling down the next flight, and tried to slow himself down, tried to tell himself this was just another hallucination.

“Is it, though, boy?”

Link whirled, seeing nothing, but that voice had been clear, as if he—

He shook his head. You just saw him on the balcony. It’s not real. You know that.

Yes, yes. Yes. It… it wasn’t real. None of this was real.

Yet there it was again. A dark spark, a piece of that awful, hellish storm that had eaten away at Ganondorf’s flesh, that had tried to consume all of them. The reveal of the true evil, the physical manifestation of how far the former Gerudo king had fallen, the…

The day Hemisi’s father had died. The day the man Link had viewed as a father had…

Link bit his tongue. Focus! You haven’t viewed him as a father since he captured you during the war!

It was beyond infuriating that such thoughts still lingered, but he blamed it on being sleep deprived. He had to think!

Link took a steadying breath, and he continued descending into the depths.

Hyrule Castle was a large and formidable fortress. It had been rebuilt and fortified after the damage from the war, after that final fight when Ganondorf had taken the capital. During the reconstruction, they’d created an inner sanctum in the lower levels, accessible only by the most trusted Sheikah and the royal family themselves.

Zelda had been trying for years to learn how to access the Sacred Realm so they could properly hide and protect the Triforce. Link knew little of her research, but he did know it existed. He was no sage, and his magic was practical, not fantastical. He had no way of knowing how to access such a world, and had left such sacred matters to her. In the meantime, though, it was heavily guarded in a vault near the Temple of Time, returned to its holy resting place from which it had been stolen years prior. But the inner sanctum…

Ganondorf’s soul had been split into four pieces. Three had disappeared into the sky, vanishing beyond anything they could find, no matter how many scouts they’d sent, no matter how the Sheikah had torn Hyrule apart to find it. Zelda had theorized they’d moved into a different realm entirely, as the Triforce could of course do such a thing. But one piece…

One piece had remained.

The Master Sword, a sacred blade constructed by the goddess, refined by her divine Hero, was specifically designed to seal away evil. And it held a piece of what Link had killed that day.

After what felt like an eternity, the king consort finally reached his destination. Two Sheikah flanked the entrance, noticing his approach, and knelt. He passed through the door without delay, walking through a room with false entrances to misguide anyone who might get this far.

“Love, what’s wrong?”

Link jumped, startled, turning to see Hemisi watching him.

Goddesses, not now, he grumbled, returning his attention to the doors.

“Link, you really do look awful,” Hemisi noted. “You need to sleep.”

“I know,” he snapped, still trying to focus on finding the right door. He knew which one it was, dammit, he just couldn’t think straight!

He heard a young man’s voice next, still somewhat tenor in youth, almost unfamiliar as it had been so long, but it made him freeze up.

“Stop trying to convince him, Hemisi, he’s too stubborn,” Merovar, Hemisi’s long dead brother, grumbled from Link’s other side. The hero turned, looking at the teenager, but despite how alive Merovar looked, all Link could see was the broken body on the battlefield, the bleeding stab wound, all he could hear was Hemisi screaming—

Link squeezed his eyes closed, putting his hands over his face, pushing on his temples, begging Hylia for help.

He heard a whisper, the same one from the queen’s bedroom, so, so distant but somehow so much more visceral than either hallucination. It was deep, rumbling, but too far away to be discernible. The Gerudo royal twins grew silent, disappearing from the room, and Link thanked the goddesses over and over as he finally found the door he needed, rushing to it and opening it.

The air froze, stealing Link’s breath away. His left arm lowered, torch nearly falling out of his numb grip.

The inner sanctum was a large, stone room, four corners posted with guardians affixed in place, large heads swiveling constantly to seek out threats. Their usually blue and amber lighting was flashing purplish red as they all focused on the center of the room, though there was no true target to fire at yet.

Yet.

Malice swam in the air, peeling off the Master Sword like smoke from a flame. The blade sat on an altar in the center, surrounded by a light blue barrier of Sheikah technology and magic, the eye of his people still glowing brightly to ensure the seal.

“Link.”

The torch dropped entirely, and Link scrambled back towards the door, terrified, breath coming out in rasps. No, no, NO!

The fear at hearing Ganondorf’s whisper faded though, morphing into rage. That monster would not return, would never return, and he would die before he let him hurt his children, his queen, or his kingdom!

The seal was still holding, but he wasn’t sure if it would continue to do so. He had to find a way to figure out why the sword wasn’t enough, why that piece of Ganondorf’s soul was seeping out like blood from a wound. Had the sword weakened?

He needed Ze—

“Link!”

Gasping, Link turned sharply, finally losing his balance entirely in his exhausted state. Zelda leapt forward to try and catch him, hands scrabbling for his tunic to help ease him to the ground. He reached for her desperately, gripping her shoulders, breathless, speechless—

He refused to be helpless. He refused.

“The seal,” he rasped. “We have to repair the seal!”

Zelda’s expression grew frantic as she looked up, examining every inch of the room. Link couldn’t fathom why she didn’t just look at the sword itself, but—

The world spun and then grew unnervingly, disturbingly still. Link held his breath until his vision grew hazy around the edges. The queen’s green eyes examined everything at least five times before she slowly looked back at her husband. When Link saw the concern, the anxiety, but a lack of overwhelming dread, he slowly glanced around the room as well.

The sword was dormant. The guardians were swiveling their heads as usual, a reassuring scrape of metal, blue eyes passive.

Had… had it all been…?

“I’d been having strange dreams,” Zelda said quietly, kneeling down to be at eye level with him. “A strange, impending dread. I thought… perhaps one of the nobles were going to try something. But… Link, I think my dreams are about you.”

Link swallowed, but he could only scrape the back of his throat, dry as it was. “M-me…? You… you think I’m the threat?”

The queen slowly moved her hands from his tunic to his face. “No, Link. No. I… I think you need to rest.”

You’re becoming a threat.

But he… he could’ve sworn—!

What if you’d broken the seal in your panic?

Oh, goddess. Oh, goddess.

He heard footsteps behind the queen, and Impa came into view. The look on her face mirrored the nervous energy she’d had as she’d taken care of him all those years ago, when he’d tried to take his life.

“I—I swear, I—” Link tried to argue, but found his voice failing him, and suddenly, just like that, he was helpless again.

Weak. Pathetic. The words spat in his mind through Ganondorf’s own voice, and he whirled to look at the sword once more.

Nothing.

“Link,” Impa called gently, hand warm on his tense, shivering back. “Come on. We’ll get you something to drink to help you sleep.”

Was he… really…?

Link shivered, curling in on himself, feeling more humiliated and useless than he had in a very long time. The two women flanked him, gently holding him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out brokenly.

“It’s okay,” Impa assured gently, oh so gently, that same soft tone she’d used so many years ago.

“We’re going to help you,” Zelda affirmed, her own tone softer than he was used to.

Slowly, Link let them help him stand. He took one last look at the room, at how peaceful it was, and felt like he was going to be sick.

Why did something still feel wrong? Was it just him?

The three made their way back up the countless stairs. The queen let out a small sigh – despite the worry she had for her husband, she couldn’t help but feel somewhat reassured that there wasn’t something else going on. She’d never had visions that pertained to Link, though, and it was frankly a little terrifying that he’d gotten this bad. The chief of the Sheikah watched her boy worriedly, wondering if he’d been on the brink of something far worse, remembering how bad he’d gotten when he was eighteen, terrified that he could’ve almost broken the seal himself without even realizing it. The king consort felt miserable and petrified in his own right, wondering if he should even be allowed anywhere, ignoring how his cheek stung over his old scar he’d gotten from Ganondorf.

But it didn’t matter what the three thought. Plans were in motion. A former ruler sat in the dungeons, awaiting his triumphant return. And farther in the depths than the former King of Hyrule, the inner sanctum remained spotless.

Except for one little spark.

[novirp13]

Based on THIS POST

Friendship was born that day :’D

(Here’s another fanart)

[ilottthepilot]

having many thoughts about "natural talent" vs growth and development and how that manifests differently in f1 vs other sports

[14dayswithyou]

Hello! Hope you're doing well and thank you for taking the time to answer this ask. 💕 I just had a random thought and thus I am here! My ask is: If Angel was a detective, would [REDACTED] go out of their way to play the part of the killer you're trying to find? Even if you eventually found them out? My line of thinking in this is that the whole case would be a form of attention to [REDACTED]! And maybe he could pretend to be your colleague as Ren? It'd be a super interesting story/AU, I think..

✦゜ANSWERED: Oooh, I love this AU idea!! *w* <3

I don't think [REDACTED] would go as far as becoming the killer himself (purely because it'd be a lot of work on his part), but he'd definitely be the type to frame all of the murders on the people who were getting too close to you.

Typical killer/murderer behaviour under da cut!! Please be cautious ^^

Like, oh?? That guy at the bakery gave you a free muffin because he thought you looked good in your outfit?? He's now your #1 suspect and all of his DNA is suddenly found at the scene of the crime. Or that checkout clerk who handed you a few extra coupons "just because they felt like it"?? Suddenly they've been posting rather... suspicious stuff on their social media accounts that all coincidentally lead towards your killer's identity.

But if [REDACTED] reeeeally had to be the killer (or if you really wanted that enemies to lovers trope), he'd honestly just blackmail and bribe innocent people to do his bidding ^^; Like?? If Violet wants to see her mother again, she better put oleander poison in his target's drink. If Jae wants to make sure that Teo and Leon stay safe from the anonymous killer, then he better find a way to dispose of someone's dead body. [REDACTED] would 10000% be able to dig up dirt on all these people and easily use it against them. They'd have no choice but to murder his victims for him — and worst of all — [REDACTED] wouldn't even need to leave his room to do it.

Ren, on the other hand, would definitely try to be of use to you — though I don't think he'd go as far as pretending to be a detective as well ^^; It'd be too suspicious for some rookie detective to suddenly show up at your workplace (despite the fact that he could easily forge his resume and work experience) — but if it comes down to it; he's not opposed.

But in saying all of that, I'm totally okay if you (or others) wanna come up with other ideas for this AU!! I'm just throwin things at the wall and seeing if it'll stick lmao

[fountainpenguin]

Obsessed with the size difference between Hadley and Dale. Both in terms of height and weight. Hadley being only 4' 10' makes her husband look like a giant next to her.

lanky x stocky 💕💕

Have this sketch I did of them.

SKLDFJSLDFJSLKDFJSD I know, right?? Dimmadome x Leadly family genes, my beloved... They are plotting to open another business front that is definitely unrelated to the Dimmadome State Sport of money laundering.

They have such fun silhouettes and you captured that so well; thank you for this gift. They look soft... <3

[thasorns-moved]

I cannot shake my thoughts about this and I’ll know I’ll keep this drama close to my heart. The fact that Myung ha’s ‘sunbae’ opened the riff to the world with the question “would you change it for me?” Also the fact that Myung ha’s alternate universe/game world started with the sound of an ocean tells already a lot about it but we won’t know until Episode 8 why. Throughout the series we watched Myung ha doing everything in his power to make Yeo woon happy while he himself couldn’t rely, couldn’t trust, couldn’t open himself up to him. We know the phrase of his ex gf “you don’t know how to love anyone.” left a deep scar in his soul which he carried with to the alternate universe/game. I try to think the system errors which occurred during the game was a way to change Myung ha’s mindset to not make the same mistakes and/or go on with his habitual habits he did in his life before he drowned himself. Also the different tasks was it actually for Myung ha to realize that he’s the one who makes Yeo-woon happy (which he didn’t). He retreated himself from Yeo woon because he couldn’t choose between the most important persons in his life as we saw his grandma died in real life which makes me think if he also knew that because in one sequence in the game/au it asked him if he wants to bring back some memories of Myung ha’s life. Also the last I love you from Yeo woon was the cherry on top to let the system completely crash where he distanced himself from Yeo woon. “I want to spend my remaining time making Yeo woon happy as best as I can. But it seems the more I try, the more unhappy I make Yeo-woon.” Which Myung ha remembers what Yeo-woon said: “whenever I see you, I both feel good and want to cry. I feel so much about every little thing. But I’m not happy at all right now.” Which again I try to think it is about why Myung ha doesn’t rely more on him? Why he doesn’t open himself up to him? A relationship is based off of trust, give and take… etc. but Myung ha goes into this relationship with deep rooted traumas which causes lack of self love. If one loves not itself enough how can they expect to love someone else which what explains Myung ha’s last phrase in the same scene so much. “Why did I think I could make you happy?” It’s as if he doesn’t think that a loner like him could be the one to give him love and happiness. What follows after is that he choses Yeo woon’s happiness even if he’s not his happiness… which again brings me to the beginning where Myung ha thinks “but I prefer lonely supporting characters to happy protagonists.” In this case he’s the lonely supporting character to our happy protagonist Yeo-woon. “But being fated to live that kind of life… is just so unfair.” He knew/knows how cruel life can be so he chose his happiness over everything and got vanished from the game. He realized by now that Yeo-woon is/was more important than he wanted to admit. Yeo-woon is/was a glimpse of happiness in Myung ha’s life. What brings us to the tragic backstory of his life and how he lived. All the obstacles he endured and went through led to his drowning (at this point we saw Yeo-woon’s obstacles in the alternate universe/game at least in my opinion). This is the turning point for Myung ha. “I was hoping if you saw yourself from someone else’s perspective, you would learnt to love yourself. I thought if you learned to love someone, you would be a little happier.” I want to make a reference here to the title itself “Love for Love’s sake” because all the sacrifices he did and cared more for others than himself… but he found happiness. In Yeo-woon. And he chose his own happiness for once. It’s the way he chooses all these things for himself, to open himself up for him, to rely and be cared for. “It would be nice to have someone. Someone who cares by my side. Someone who gives me chances when I fail and feel hopeless. It would be nice to have someone who always gives me love.” Which they found both in each other.

[romanceyourdemons]

that post that's like "triple checking my work emails to make sure i didn't accidentally type all of the lyrics to closer by nine inch nails" is a funny joke, but i'm currently writing cover letters while listening to pretty hate machine, so this silly joke could easily become my reality

[fiona-fififi]

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