Want to request but stuck for ideas? Feel free to send in up to three prompts from this list and the character you’d like them written with! I’ve tagged some fandoms I write for, but please refer to my navigation prior to requesting! You’re more than welcome to reblog this and use it yourself <3
Summary: You’re the first one Thomas sees when he dies. Naturally, he clings to you
Warnings: gn!reader (terms of endearment are used but none of them are gendered), ghost!reader (probably dead between kitty and Thomas but it’s not important lmao), talks of death and dying but overall it’s really just fluff
Word Count: 875
A.N: Thomas is ooc in this IM SORRY LMAO, idk how but the little freak turned became really suave and not pathetic, to be fair though this is my first Thomas/ghosts piece so don’t be too harsh on me lmaoooo, lowkey the reason it’s short is because I don’t really like poetry (because I’m shit at it) and Julian and Humphrey are my number one pookies so gg. Anyway, enjoy!
•
You had witnessed Thomas die. It was a dreary English afternoon when you and the other ghosts gathered in the gardens to watch the duel take place and you were only a few meters away from his slumped body, gasping for breath. The others found it amusing, how Thomas had clutched at his torso in an attempt to slow the bleeding, but failed to truly realize that the man was slowly dying all alone.
It had pained you that his cousin had abandoned him in his last moments and the woman he had fought over had barely spared him a parting glance.
So while your friends were occupied with their bets and jests, you had fallen to your knees beside him. He was muttering under his breath as his color drained away from his already pallid skin. Your hands hovered atop his as if you were comforting him. He couldn’t feel it, of course, but the sentiment was there. And when his breath finally left him and his hands went limp, you were the first one he saw.
His eyes had caught yours—a rich brown with a lighter ring of bronze around the pupil. The eye contact had made you gasp for air you no longer needed.
"Are you an angel?" Thomas had asked, faintly as if he wasn't believing what he was seeing. Instead of pain in his eyes, there was a familiarity—a softness—that seemed to fit him.
With him finally dead, your hands could finally meet. His skin was cool against yours as he shifted them to cling back onto yours.
In the days following, while he was getting used to being a ghost, he was always one step behind you.
"Are you sure this is not heaven, and you my guardian angel?" He would ask.
"I would not be a very good guardian angel considering you're dead, Thomas."
He would pout and sigh and gaze out the window of the estate, watching as people went about their normal, living days. The other ghosts liked him well enough; Kitty was fascinated with the wound in his torso, Humphrey had new ankles to gaze at, Robin had another soul to play pranks on, and Annie and Mary were just excited to finally have another person to talk to. Thomas was like a breath of fresh air to you and it was something you didn't want to let go of.
"I wish I were still able to write my thoughts down." He complained to you. "I finally have the muse I spent my life searching for and yet I am unable to compose anything."
"A muse?" You had asked, interested. Thomas had taken up flattering you on a day to day basis but he never called you his muse until then.
"An angel has presented themselves to someone as unworthy as this poet, you are certainly the muse I needed." His hands, still chilled with the blood loss he sustained during death, had clutched yours. "I shan't let this go to waste! Every stanza will be devoted you, my dear."
"Oh, Thomas...you flatter me so..."
"You are heaven-sent. Ethereal in the way your skin glows in the afternoon light, otherworldly when your eyes glimmer with the moonlight." His tone breathy in the emptiness of the house.
His words draped over you like a sweet song without even trying. When he was trying, however, his verses were clumsy and wordy, but you never minded. They still held the devotion he held solely for you and you always loved it no matter how many metaphors he jumbled up or phrases he never quite used correctly.
"If you are not an angel," he started one year after he had died while looking out into the gardens from a second-story window, "then why were you the first thing I saw after passing?"
His eyes were trained on the tree he was left slumped against a year earlier. The melancholy hung over him like a rain cloud. That was typical for death anniversaries but poets always managed to feel more than the average person, you found.
You had taken up the spot next to him, standing so your shoulders were touching.
"I know what it is like to die alone, Thomas. No one deserves that cruelty." You watched a game of croquet being played on the lawns with little interest.
"And the others do not?"
"The others are...more desensitized to death by now. To them, you were just another person passing on. They were more concerned with whether you were going to join us or pass on to whatever comes next immediately."
"You are very kind." Thomas says after a brief moment of silence. "You have not yet convinced me you are not an angel." He smiles for the first time that day, brown eyes finally meeting yours.
"You poets and your sweet talk." You laughed.
"You angels and your beauty." He had countered.
You had hummed in response, relishing in the quiet of the room. Faint laughter was heard from below, the players on the lawn having a grand old time, unknowing of the ghosts watching over them.
"My angel..." Thomas had sighed out, the hand at his side moving to press closer against your own. The backs of his fingers brushing the gaps in between your own.
i hate america because it really sucks that cbs ghosts is more popular than bbc ghosts like what do you MEAN trevor from cbs has more fanfics than THOMAS THORNE??? THE OG YEARNER???
Hey if you're still taking requests for Thomas Thorne from Ghost BBC, would it be alright for me to drop this in,? Got the idea after reading your work for him with a singer!reader. (This sweetheart of a man needs more love)
An old childhood friend of Alison or Mike, who is an author who hides behind a pen name. When the couple heard how they are trying to look for a temporary new place to stay to try get some fresh new ideas for a story they offered a room to her which she takes up. During her stay she ends up catching Thomas eyes as she works on her latest novel for a tragic romance, with over hearing her saying some poems/haikus out loud to see how it sounds before adding it in to the story. By the time she's finished she asked them if it's possible for her to rent a room for her next work since the stay seems to really kick up her creativity for more stories in the future.
(Bonus: if you wanna make this a NSFW, wile writing a spicy scene, she ends up getting so worked up she has to relive herself only for Thomas to walk in at that moment.... breaking his brain at the sight before him)
Note: requests are currently closed
Of course anon! I didn't include the NSFW bit as I don't write NSFW for Ghosts.
Any way, hope you like it :)
Title: His Muse
“Thanks for letting me stay here Alison. I really appreciate it.”
You set down your suitcase and looked around the room. You swore that the room was bigger than your flat. Alison and Mike stood in the doorway.
“Don’t mention it,” said Alison, “and sorry the room is in a bit of a state. Mike was-”
“We were.” interrupted Mike
“Mike was,” continued Alison, “meant to get ‘round to decorating it.”
“Hey, I was busy! I had to fix the electrics and then the boiler…”
“Honestly guys, it’s perfect. I just need a space away from the flat at the moment. You know what they say, a change of scene can help get the creative juices flowing.”
Alison nodded and Mike looked curious as you set up your laptop.
“What are you going to be writing?” he asked
“Not sure yet,” you said, “that’s why I’m hoping a change of scenery would help.”
“Well we’ll let you get settled in. Give us a shout if you need anything.” said Alison, pushing Mike out of the door and leaving you alone.
After they left you shiver. Button House was truly a beautiful place. Yes, it was a bit run down but you could feel the history seeping through the walls. You looked out of the window and admired the scenery. It was so quiet here although you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you were being watched. Well, guess that was the curse of these old places- too much history could make you think that it was haunted
*
“Alison. Alison who is that.”
Alison sighed as Fanny’s shrill voice cut through the clamour of the other ghosts.
“She’s a friend,” Alison replied, “she’ll be staying here for a while.”
“Why!”
“She’s an author,” said Alison,”she wanted somewhere to write.”
Now this caused all the ghosts to immediately become more.
“What’s she writing?”
“It should be an adventure story!”
“Don’t be stupid. It should be a biography about a distinguished Conservative politician who-”
“Died without trousers.”
“Who had a very influential career and helped inspire younger generations in politics.”
Alison pinched the bridge of her nose as she ignored the ghosts and tried her best not to walk through any of them as she made her way away from them. She didn’t notice Thomas staring at the door to your room with a dreamy expression.
“A fellow artist.” he said softly
*
You tapped your pen on the desk as you stared at the blank word document in front of you. The little blinking line was taunting you. It was just radiating a smugness. Knowing that you could put down all the words you wanted to say.
You just had to think of them first.
‘Divine’
You froze and looked over your shoulder. You could’ve sworn that you heard-
You shook your head and turned back to your laptop. No, it was just your mind playing tricks on you. Staying in an old house your overactive imagination was playing tricks on you. Just a pity that it wouldn’t work with the book you were trying to write.
‘Soul mates. Kept apart by time and death.’
This time you stood up. You had definitely heard something, you knew it. You slowly walked around the room.
“I know you’re here,” you said, “even if I can’t see you. I’m not going mad. However,” you took a deep breath, “I’m trying to work so if you don’t mind fucking off.”
You stood there for another minute and then sat down. You looked back at your laptop and paused. What was that the voice had said? Soul mates separated by time and death? Now that you could do something with.
Thomas sighed as he left the room. He sunk down to the floor as he heard you tapping away on that… machine of yours. It didn’t have the same romance as writing out words by hand but things had changed a lot since he had died.
He only hoped that he had done enough to inspire you. To become your muse.
“Thomas, mate, what are you doing here?”
Pat approached him, giving him a disapproving look.
“Alison told you to leave y/n alone. She needs space to think.”
“Oh I am aware,” sighed Thomas, standing up, “I was only hoping that I might inspire her in the same way that she so inspired me.”
Pat gave him an infuriatingly disapproving look and Thomas stood up. He smiled again as he heard you tapping away and let Pat usher him away.
Maybe his job was done.
*
“Y’know,” you said through a spoonful of cereal, “I really think this is working.”
“Oh?”
Alison looked up from her coffee.
“Yeah, I’m actually writing!”
“That’s great,” said Mike, “what’s it about? Oh yeah, don’t forget to credit us in the book. Y’know, plug Button House.”
“Mike!” said Alison
“What?” said Mike, “got to plug the business.”
You smiled and laughed lightly.
“Of course I’ll credit you guys,” you said, “if it weren’t for you two I doubt I would’ve written a word!”
You took another spoonful of your cereal.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” you said, “do you think I could stay for a bit longer?”
“Stay?”
Mike and Alison glanced at each other.
“It’s just I feel so much better here,” you continued, “so much more inspired. I’ll pay rent of course.”
“Done,” Mike slung an arm over your shoulders and led you out of the kitchen, “we’ll get something drafted up. Make it official.”
“Thanks Mike. Oh yeah, been meaning to ask, is this place haunted?”
Alison didn’t need to see Mike’s face to know that he was immediately panicked. Maybe, when things are a bit more settled, maybe she’ll gently bring up the subject with you.
“Is she staying?”
She jumped as Thomas stuck his head through the wall. He beamed as she nodded.
“My muse,” he said again, “my muse. You must read her book to me once it is done. So I can see how much I inspired her”
WARNINGS peer pressure from the other ghosts, kissing?? does that need a warning??
Thomas didn’t understand why it was so difficult to get Alison under the mistletoe. Each time he had tried today, he had failed miserably and it’s making him so frustrated. Thomas currently had his face shoved into the Captain’s thigh, his body in an uncomfortable position as the two were playing twister, a game Alison got Pat for Christmas.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alison standing at the door frame, right under the mistletoe. Thomas tried to call out to, desperately, but it was muffled due to his position. Thomas rolled his eyes, giving up a kiss with Alison was absolutely and positively not worth it for this terrible game, so he quickly got out of the position and walked (basically ran) towards the door, but alas, Alison was already walking away.
A loud gasp suddenly echoed through the room, and Thomas looked towards Kitty. “You two are under the mistletoe.” She said. Thomas furrowed his eyebrows, but turned his head to see you trying to walk away from under the door, but Kitty called out again. “Stop! You have to kiss now, Y/N!”
“Kitty…” Y/N said, “we don’t have to kiss. It’s just silly tradition.”
Thomas laugh, although it sounded quite un-genuine to the people in the library. “Such a silly tradition.” He says. Little do they know, Thomas, despite being a massive poet and always admitting his love to those women around him, quite liked Y/N. Every since you passed away 55 years ago and came into his life, he has never been happier. You two hang out all the time, and he loves how you always listen to his poems. The problem is that when he realised he had these feelings for you, you guys became too close. He felt that if he revealed these feelings, and you rejected him, you would no longer want to be friends.
What he didn’t know is that you harbour the same feelings for him, you been infatuated with him for years. When Alison came to the house, and he started telling her all his poems, and hanging out with her more often, you couldn’t help but to feel jealous. You can’t lie and say it hasn’t been tense around you two, because everyone can feel it.
“It’s not silly tradition it sweet!” Kitty complained.
“I used to always hang mistletoe around the house for me and Carol. It was great, really nice tradition.” Pat told the group.
You rolled your eyes, “fine. If it’s so important to you lot.” You leaned up and Thomas held his breath, his eyes widened, only to feel your lips fall on his cheek before you pulled back. “There.”
“No! It has to be a proper kiss silly!” Kitty giggles, “on the lips.”
Despite not having any blood in his body, Thomas swore his whole face went pink. The idea of your lips on his was enough to make his tummy do somersaults (even you just kissing his cheek made his body feel all fuzzy inside).
“Kitty, it’s not like me and Thomas not kissing is going to ruin Christmas or anything.” You tell her.
“Actually, it suppose bad luck if you don’t kiss under mistletoe.” Mary mentions, causing the rest of the group to send you smirks.
You take a deep breath, the others watch in anticipation on what your going to do. You groan before looking back at the group. “Does it really matter if we kiss or don’t kiss.”
“Yes!” Kitty says gleefully. Thomas frowned. The thought of kissing you sounds delightful but it seems as though you don’t share the same thoughts as him. Only you do. You would love to kiss Thomas, you would just prefer to kiss him without the peer pressure of your friends.
“Look, Thomas doesn’t even want to kiss me and it would be very rude to kiss someone without their permission.” You tell the group and try to leave again. Thomas looked at you on bewilderment, he can’t believe you think he doesn’t want to kiss you.
“I believe Thorne does, Y/N.” The Captain tells you. You glare at him, wondering why he decides now is the best place to join in on the group’s antics.
You turn your head to look at Thomas, “I really don’t mind.” He mutters. “Besides if it makes them stop pestering us.” Thomas says.
“Y’know what? Fine. If it means so much to you people.” You turn your whole body towards Thomas and grab his shirt before pulling him towards you. Your lips fall on his and the poet swore he has never felt anything better.
Thomas lets out a soft hum against your lips, he brings one of his hands your cheek to deepen the kiss. He opens his mouth slightly, brushing his tongue along your bottom lip to gently request access to your mouth. You part your lips ever so slightly before they are quickly pried open further by Thomas’ tongue.
You suddenly remember that the ghosts are watching and quickly pull away. Thomas tries to chase you lips but you step back before he can.
“There. Was that a proper enough kiss for you?” You say. The four ghosts watching don’t answer, so you walk back out of the library, Thomas fixes his waistcoat and looks at the others; his face feeling hot.
“Oh my god.” Kitty ends up saying, breaking the silence.
what would you do, if you only knew (that i can see you)
thomas thorne x ghost hunter+fem!reader (set during season 2 episode 1)
synopsis: being able to see ghosts for most of your life almost seemed to force you into being a ghost-hunter of sorts (not that your boss is actually good at his job), it’s only on a trip to button house and a reunion with an old friend from your student days that your ability actually comes into use after a run in with a particularly dashing ghost
a/n: this is massively inspired by the song i can see you by taylor swift, the plot just came into my head after listening to it and here we are, it was meant to fulfil one of the requests i’ve been sent but it went so far from the prompt that i decided to make it a separate fic and do another fic for the prompt
-
If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re not sure how you ended up in the ghost hunting business. It’s not something you even thought was a real job when you were a kid, it seemed like something you'd see people doing in the cartoons you watched. It was only after a close call when you were a teenager that almost killed you that you realised that you could see ghosts.
It made living in London quite difficult, the sheer amount of people who’s spirit hadn’t moved on was difficult to deal with but you managed to set yourself up with the so-called Ghostmaster General and it gave you a steady stream of work going round the country with him seeing if the buildings were actually haunted or not. You’d never explicitly said you could see ghosts to your employer but you could express enough knowledge that he kept choosing you to go on the trips. When photos of a grey lady surfaced on Facebook and Twitter from a mansion in Hemel Hempstead your boss had called on you immediately to join him on the trip.
Button House didn’t seem to be any different than the countless other manor houses you’d seen over the past few years. It's in a worse state of repairs than you're used to but aside from that it seems like every other fake haunted house you've visited. You’d left your boss to sort out whether you were being allowed inside the house, not wanting to drag the many bags of equipment to the front gates if you were going to have to just bring them back to the van. It’s only when he gives you the go-ahead to go and start setting equipment up inside that you grab a few bags and make your way towards the entrance.
It's with a jolt of surprise that you realise you recognise one of the owners of the house. You’d been friends with Alison at university until the two of you had both finished your degrees and parted ways, keeping in touch only to wish each other a happy birthday or similar milestones.
“Alison, hey!” The woman looked your way at her name, and her face bloomed into a confused smile when her eyes fell on you.
“Hey! Oh my god!” She pulled you into a hug as soon as you were within arms reach and you did your best to reciprocate without hitting her with the equipment bag slung over your shoulder.
“This is your house?”
“Yeah, well it was my great-step-aunt’s house and I inherited it when she died.”
“That’s amazing! Much easier than trying to get lucky with London real estate.”
“So how did you end up doing this?” Alison gestures vaguely to the bag pulled across your shoulder. It’s all you can do to shrug your shoulders lightly, trying to look as blasé as possible as you readjust the strap before it starts to slip down.
“It pays the bills.”
You couldn’t help but notice how nervous Alison was about the whole situation she’d found herself in but you chalked it up to nerves about having so many strangers in her home and didn’t think to push it. She’s kind enough to give you directions up to one of the rooms near the attic that your boss has assigned for the thermal camera currently resting against your shoulder. You agree to a cup of tea and a catch up before making your way to the room.
Everything was going normally with the equipment setup until you suddenly heard a voice shouting down a corridor. It immediately pulled your attention from the camera you were setting up, your eyes trained on the closed door to the room you're in waiting to hear footsteps approaching. When silence lay steady, your focus returned back to the camera.
It takes a great deal of self-control to try not to flinch when a figure suddenly comes through the closed door. You try not to let your eyes flicker away from the camera but can’t help but quickly scan the figure. It’s not the grey ghost you saw in the pictures, the man is dressed like a scout for some reason and the only abnormal thing about him is the arrow sticking out of his neck. You can’t help but wince slightly at that, what a terrible way to go. The ghost is talking to himself apparently in a thick northern accent or that’s what you assumed until another ghost steps through the door.
It takes everything within you to not stare at this ghost. He’s clearly from a few hundred years ago based on his attire but he might be the most beautiful man you’re ever laid eyes on. He was mid-sentence when he walked through the door saying something about finding the others but his voice trailed off when he looked in your direction.
“But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and you are the sun.” The way his voice carries the words is nothing short of reverent and you can practically feel the embarrassment rushing through your body. It's not the first time a ghost has found you attractive but normally they're plague victims or half-mad, they don't normally look as though they've just stepped away from a recreation of Pride and Prejudice.
“Thomas! It's not polite to stare.” The scout almost looks apologetic which is quite sweet given that there’s no way he can know that you can see him but his words have done nothing to deter Button House’s version of Mr Darcy.
“And yet we hang the most beautiful paintings ever created in galleries so that the masses may gaze upon their beauty. Would you deny me a similar experience Pat?”
As nice as it is to have someone speak about you like that, you’re aware that it’s going to be very difficult to get through the night if you have a ghost following you and all but swooning over you. Part of you wonders if you could try and feign being sick but also you know how one-track minded your boss will be about this house and there’s no way he’ll be willing to leave to drive you into the nearest town to get a train back to London.
You hear the familiar sounds of the camera as it’s finally finished setting up facing the door and, as you expected, shows no sign of any heat signatures. You decide to leave your other bag in the room for now, choosing instead to go and find Alison. The two ghosts are mid-debate as to whether it’s polite to stare at someone who doesn’t know they’re being stared at as you walk over to the door.
It’s with slightly shaking hands that you twist the handle on the door, opening it as calmly as possible as you try to remember your way out of the house. You can hear the ghosts talking in the room and the voices don’t seem to be getting any further away but the only cohesive thought in your mind is that you have to track down Alison and ask her what she knows about the house.
“Hey, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.” Alison laughs nervously at her joke but it does nothing to relax you.
“I need to speak to you.”
“Okay?”
“Outside.” Alison must see something in your expression that worries her because she allows you to take her by the arm and gently leads you to the front door. It's only when the front door is closed behind you and you can't see anyone dead or alive around that you find your anxiety easing. When you stop moving, you make sure to have your back to the front door, if only to put yourself at ease.
“Are you okay?” You’re about to speak when a voice cuts through the silence.
“Alison! You must reveal the name of this fair maiden at once! Her beauty outshines the sun in a way I never believed possible up until this very moment.” You have to give credit to Alison, she's very good at hiding the flinch when a voice suddenly appears from through the front door. It's only from a lifetime of doing something similar that you catch it, and you watch her eyes darting to something behind you before looking back towards you.
“Sorry, did you say something?” To give Alison credit, her voice only wavers slightly after the interruption. Maybe it’s unfair of you but when you speak, you make sure to do so in a quieter tone than you would normally. You have to be sure that she can see and hear him before you say anything and if you can make it harder for her to hear you under the loud gushing of the ghost then you’ll do what you can.
“I think there’s something upstairs.” You try to pay close attention to any reactions that Alison has to your comment but it’s very difficult once the ghost appears by your side. Up close he really is gorgeous. It’s almost a shame he’s dead because if you saw him in public you’d want his number in a heartbeat. It’s very hard to not let your eye wander in his direction, especially when he’s so close to you. He hasn’t stopped talking since he appeared through the door and whilst you’re more than used to a chatty ghost, you can see that Alison is getting more and more distracted by him.
“Alison! I must insist you express how ardently I admire this fair lady immediately or I shall never give you a moment of peace!” The threat, however serious he is about it, seems to be the final breaking point for your friend, whose face shoots in his direction.
“Thomas, stop talking for one second!” Even the ghost seems surprised by her outburst, staring at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. She catches her mistake in an instant, staring at you with an almost mortified expression as she waits for your reaction.
“I’m guessing you have more than two ghosts here then?”
“What?” Alison’s voice is tentative, like she’s waiting for you to either laugh in her face or run away screaming. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”
“I can see them too.”
“What?!” You don’t blame Alison for being surprised, it’s not something you ever told her during your time as students, not even when you had both had a bit too much to drink and your secrets spilled easily. You’d learned early into your time seeing ghosts that telling people the truth was a quick way to alienate yourself from friends and peers alike. It was much easier to lie and say you were just an anxious person by nature who startled easily than to explain that you flinched every time you saw a particularly gruesome looking ghost.
“Sorry for not telling you. Pat seems really nice.”
“Oh my god.” A beat passes as the news sinks in, and then another wave of acceptance seems to reach Alison and with it comes another shout. “Oh my god! You can hear him?” She points in Thomas’ direction and the ghost in question has the good grace to look somewhat mortified by the idea you’ve spent the past thirty minutes listening to him regale you with compliments that he thought you couldn’t hear.
“I can.” For a ghost that’s just spent the better part of an hour showering you with compliments, he suddenly seems unable to string a sentence together. It’s easy to put him out of his misery though. “You’re very handsome by the way. I’m very flattered.” His face goes red at the compliment and, for the first time since he appeared in front of you, he seems genuinely speechless. Alison seems to be in a similar state.
“Does your boss know?”
“Absolutely not! I didn’t want to spend most of my adult life being ridiculed for something no one would ever believe to be true. Have you told anyone?”
“Mike knows. Kind of hard not to tell him with so many of them.” Mike is quickly making his way into your good books with everything you hear about him and you make a mental note to buy him a nice bottle of wine for being such a supportive husband.
“How many have you got?”
“Too many.” You let out a soft noise of consideration before turning to the still shocked ghost standing beside you.
“Would you introduce me to your friends?” Thomas seems to snap out of his shock at your request, bowing slightly and extending a hand in your direction. It’s a sweet gesture even though both of you know you can’t physically take his hand.
“It would be my pleasure.”
“I’ll uh, catch up with you later?”
“You might want to worry about the twenty-something ghost hunters running amok in your house first.” Alison pales slightly at the reminder of what situation has brought the three of you to where you currently are.
“Oh god. I need to go and find Mike.” Your friend is quick to dash back inside her house, leaving the door open for you and Thomas to follow her. Manly you, since he could just phase through the door again.
“Shall we Lady-uh…” It’s only in that moment that you realise Alison never actually told Thomas your name and you’re quick to correct that.
“(Y/N).” You supply.
“Lady (Y/N).”
“We shall.” Thomas walks towards the house first, waiting just beyond the door for you to follow him. Your only thought as you walk through the door is that you hope you don’t run into your boss for the next thirty minutes or so otherwise you might have some explaining to do.
Hi! I want to request a Thomas Thorne x ghost! reader with the reader being a ghost from the 1960s! They're from America and was visiting the Button House when they died (or murdered if you want to include that). The reader is pretty oblivious to advances Thomas makes, as they believe it's just a sort of thing he does as a poet (like a persona in a way). Reader is as down bad for Thomas as he is for them, though lol. Reader can manipulate any radios nearby to play a certain station or sound.
Sorry if this is a lot! You can leave out what you wish to. Have a good day/night! Thank you :]
HAUNTED BROADCAST
A/N: Thanks so much for requesting! This is literally such a good idea woah, I hope you like it :) Also I haven’t watched ghosts in a while so I’m sorry if Thomas is OOC, btw this is my first post so it’s bound to have bad writing D:
Pairing: Thomas Thorne x GN!ghost!reader
Warnings: talks of how reader died (also Thomas being a simp for reader)
Thomas walked through the halls of Button House nervously, he had just composed a new poem and had to tell someone before he forgot. The first person he absolutely needed to tell, was of course you.
You were his muse for his newest poem, not that he would admit it, he was scared that if he actually admitted his feelings for you, he would be rejected, like how his advances with Alison would often turn out.
The others would constantly tease his giddy nature around you, but Thomas always made an excuse to them, that the reason you were always the first to hear his poems was because you could broadcast his performance on the radio that Alison would conveniently leave in the sitting room, which is where you were the moment he reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Oh thank goodness, you're here! I need you-", Thomas was cut off by you letting out a giggle as you proceeded for him, knowing exactly what he was going to say, "Hey sweetie you need the radio?"
Thomas grinned bashfully, trying his hardest to hide his lovestruck blush by your nickname for him, well you actually called everyone 'sweetie', but the delusional romantic that Thomas was, made him convince himself that it made him particularly special.
"Yes, how did you know? Oh my, you must be able to read minds on top of controlling that contraption!"
You smile and playfully roll your eyes at his signature dramatics, "No silly, you ask for the radio almost everyday.”
Trying your hardest to distract yourself from his charm, you prepared yourself to focus hard, “Right sweetie you can start in 3, 2, 1.", you flexed your fingers and placed your index finger on the tip of the radio antenna, focusing all your strength on sending a broadcast through the radio stations just like you had done over the decades of knowing Thomas.
Thomas then started to recite his poem from the top of his head, he spoke confidently as he always did, but unfortunately as was the way, most of the time you could not listen to his work. Focusing on the radio was your job and having to multitask was not an option, so with a guilty heart you had to pretend you heard every word and applaud him once he had finished.
Thomas smiled proudly, “Did you like it?”
“Yeah, it was beautiful sugar, probably your best work to date.”, your proud smile strained on your face as guilt ran through your body, you deeply cared for Thomas but at this moment you wished he would leave so you could stop feeling bad for him.
“What are you two up to? Another poem Thomas?”, Alison asked walking into the room alone.
You looked at Alison gratefully, now Thomas’ attention would be elsewhere and you wouldn’t have to lie. “Hey Thomas I think The Captain is looking for you.”
You and Thomas frowned, confused as to why The Captain of all people would be looking for him. “He just wants to talk to you, now go before he gets cross!”, Alison shooed an utterly confused Thomas up the stairs; she returned to the sitting room and took her place next to you.
You raised a brow suspiciously at Alison, “What was that all about?”, you couldn’t decipher why Alison looked almost giddy at you.
“Didn’t you hear the poem that Thomas was performing just now?!”, Alison couldn’t wipe off the now cheeky smile off her face.
“I’m sorry sugar but I really don’t know what you mean. The thing is I don’t listen to his poems, I’m so focused on broadcasting them that it takes up my attention. I know it’s horrible that I lie to him afterwards, but he just looks so happy it would crush me to tell him the truth.”
“That’s probably the best since none of his poems are that great.”, Alison had slipped out, not realising she was thinking out loud. As she slapped her hand over her mouth, you looked offended at her and she proceeded to raise her hands in surrender, eventhough she secretly thought she was right. “That’s not nice, I’m sure you’re wrong Alison.”
“Hey, I never actually asked, how can you control the radio?”, Alison looked at you curiously. “Well it’s because I died in the 1960s, radios were the rage back then.”, you replied as if it were obvious, considering you were still wearing very stereotypical 60s clothing too.
“Right so how did you die?”, you raised a brow at Alison, “well aren’t you full of questions today”, you sighed and got comfortable on the sofa.
“It all started back in my hometown in the US. I was married to my partner who was very wealthy back in the day and they had friends here in England.”, Alison had opened her mouth to ask a question but you continued to talk, wanting this explanation over with as quickly as possible.
“I didn’t much care for flying, I got airsick a lot but my partner had forced me to go with them for the sake of being polite.”, you paused for a moment getting lost in thought when Alison tapped the sofa closest to you to proceed, “Anyways, we had made our way to Button House, where my partner’s friends lived and we stayed here for a couple days, we partied and traveled around town, it was fun, no doubt about it, but I was always left out. I wasn’t friends with anyone else at the house and my partner was so wrapped up in the fun they forgot about me.”, Alison kept her gaze on you apologetically.
“It was the last night of our vacation, everyone was drunk excluding me, I didn’t mind a drink here and there but I wanted to make sure at least one of us could wake up on time to catch our flight the next morning. I was making my way upstairs to the guest room.”, you both turned towards the sound of Pat and Robin bickering on the top of the stairs, you turned back to face Alison, this time with an uncharacteristically serious expression.
“It was very late at night, I was tired, it was dark, so I wasn’t watching where I was going and I slipped at the top step, it caused me to fall all the way to the bottom and that’s how I died.”, you refrained from getting too detailed with the process of your death since it was too much for you to explain.
“It was so strange when I became a ghost, frightening, to see yourself watching over your own body just lying there. That was nowhere near as scary as when I first met the others though, it was all so overwhelming, but of course the only exception to the group was that Pat and Julian weren’t dead yet. They became my new family very quickly, they didn’t make me feel left out and were all so caring, especially Thomas, he was the one who made me eventually discover my talent with the radio.”, you smiled fondly thinking back on those days of newly being a ghost, “So that’s how I died, anything else you wanna know sweetie?”, your signature smile returning to your face.
“Woah that’s so sad, I’m so sorry I just get really interested in how you all died, I never think about how it must feel to retell it. I wish I could give you a hug.”
“That’s alright sweetie and please don’t hug me. I’m sure you’re a great hugger, but you know, it feels super freaky.”
“Oh you know you should really talk to Thomas, tell him the truth that you didn’t hear his poem. He’s so smitten I don’t even think he’s capable of being mad at you. The truth is, I was eavesdropping and I heard some of the poem, you need to hear it.”, she said fighting a smile on her face which you were oblivious to, you could only imagine what Thomas’ poem could be about.
Without another word you sat up and mindlessly walked through the sitting room and up the stairs, making sure to check the top step as was your routine. “Have you seen Thomas?”, you asked Pat who was still bickering with Robin.
Pat noticed you wringing your hands nervously through your clothes and smiled warmly at you, “I think he’s in his room dear, he’s been in a right state you know.”, he said and picked up where he left off in his argument with Robin. You nodded and carried yourself through the hallway leading to Thomas’ room.
The door was shut so you stomped your foot gently on the wooden floor and Thomas spoke quietly from inside his room, “The door is open.”, you sucked in a breath and walked through the closed door. “Thomas we have to talk.”, he furrowed his brows and nodded, he knew you must be serious since you didn’t use your usual nickname for him, “Speak my dear, tell me what worries you.”
You sighed and sat next to him on his bed, “I must confess that I haven’t been listening to your poems whilst broadcasting them. Before you say anything, I’m so so sorry sweetie, I really wish I could but broadcasting takes up all of my focus.”, Thomas just blinks at you.
“Well?”
“Is that all?”
“Yes … that’s it. I’m so sorry.”
“I thought it would be worse, I thought you would say you didn’t like me.”
“I would never say that Thomas, of course I like you, I always will.”
“Could you recite your poem for me again, I want to hear it.”, you asked now feeling much better after confessing your guilt to Thomas.
“Um of course.”, Thomas cleared his throat and stood up in front of you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you; the feeling was mutual and the tension between the two of you grew stronger.
“I feel so unsure,
As I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor,
As the music dies, something in your eyes,
Calls to mind a silver screen,
And all its sad good-byes—”
“I'm never gonna dance again
Guilty feet have got no rhythm
Though it's easy to pretend
I know you're not a foollll”, Pat had been walking past Thomas’ room, cutting him off since he recognised the lyrics, he was very off beat but regardless he caught the two off guard and completely ruined the moment.
“Patrick! How on earth did you know the lines to my poem?!”, Thomas asked completely shocked at Pat’s sudden appearance.
“It’s a song from my time mate, it’s a classic!”, he smiled oblivious of what he had ruined and danced down the hall, singing the rest of ‘careless whisper’.
Thomas pouted, he was upset that he couldn’t complete his poem. “Um Thomas as beautiful as that was, I think Pat is right. I do recall hearing that song on the radio, it’s called ‘careless whisper’ by George Michael.”
“Um who is George Michael, is this man a poet?”
“I guess you could say that, yeah.”
He gasped loudly, “Oh my goodness I must send my apologies to Sir George Michael at once! How could I plagiarise such a talented individual!”
“Oh sweetie that’s not necessary, he’s dead too, unfortunately.”
“Oh, what a shame his poem was beautiful. It made me think of you my dear.”
“You know that song is about love right?”
“Yes, I gathered from the words.”
“…is there any particular reason you chose that song to recite to me specifically?”
Thomas sucked in a breath and blushed, “Yes there is a reason. I think you know that for a very long time, like since you came to Button House, even when you were alive, I fell in love with you.”
“Y-you have loved me for that long?!”, standing up to face him properly, in shock, had you really been so painfully oblivious?
“You didn’t know? I thought I made it obvious. All of my poems were for you, you have been in my dreams almost every night, surely you must have known.”
“I’m sorry Thomas I didn’t know, but I have loved you for a long time too, I just didn’t think you shared my feelings. Telling you could have ruined our friendship which is something I treasure.”
“Don’t worry my love.” Thomas smiled bashfully and took your hands in his. “May I kiss you?”
You smiled leaning your forehead against his, “You may sweetie.”
He pressed his lips to yours gently and you returned his kiss as ‘careless whisper’ started playing on the radio downstairs.
Okay, someone didn't tell me how good Ghosts is. I'm not even kidding, I forced my mum to watch all of Season 1 with me last night. And also, WHY IS THERE SO LITTLE THOMAS THORNE/READER FICS ON AO3??? I'VE READ ALL BUT TWO BECAUSE THEY WERE OF MULTIPLE CHARACTERS???? HELP??? I NEED MORE!!
