#𓇼. . . ⟿ Pull up in a ghost

[baemon-yvette]

( layout ib: @/anqelblccm + @/idiishowl + @/skzminji )

⋆ ࣪ 𖠗 Ꮺ ָ࣪ ۰ ִ . . . MEET YVETTE !

YVETTE is a Korean-American group member of BABYMONSTER under YG Entertainment. Debuting as a member of the kid South Korean girl group USSO.GIRL in 2016-2018 and later on debuting as a member of the South Korean girl group BABYMONSTER in 2023 she has already made waves in both South Korea, China, Japan, Vietnam, and other places as one of the most trend setting and influential idols of the generations 3rd-5th. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⋆ ࣪ 𖠗 Ꮺ ָ࣪ ۰ ִ . . . MASTERLIST !

tags . disclaimer . artist profile . personal profile . edits . asks . writings . socials . news . discography . ooc . . Instavette .

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ a fictional oc blog wrote by akuma/woo  . interactions come from @/woo-verse / @/melovehao

「 📂 CASE FILE 1 」

Profile // What's inside Yves' bag? // Inside Yves' phone // AOTM // Pets // Style // Relationship with baemon // relationship with other idols // Love interests // Family

「 📂 CASE FILE 2 」

Writing masterlist..

Ahvette // Yveka // Yvemi // Phavette // YBAs // RoB // Chives //

Filmography

「 📂 CASE FILE 3 」

Through the era's, Credits

「 📂 CASE FILE 4 」

Yvette on instagram // Yvette on twitter // Yvette on stan twt // Yvette on stan yt // Yvette on tiktok

「 📂 CASE FILE 5 」

Additional... Visuals // ...

[cigsaftersuh]

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 𓇼

⤷ a moonlit proposal: ring on your finger, park jongseong’s mouth between your thighs, & the promise of a happy ever forever.

part of the hand's on the wheel, heart in your mouth series .ᐟ

though part of an anthology series, it can be read as a standalone!

smut, minors dni ୧⋆ oral ( receiving ), he calls you his girl + petnames, public sex. breeding + lactation kink. 2 ( two ) mentions of daddy. word count is 2.4k

the day feels too perfect to be real.

sun warm against your skin, the green grass soft beneath the blanket jay had neatly laid out, your favorite snacks between you — all his doing. he’d driven you out past the usual trailheads, just far enough where everything felt calmer, giving the illusion that it was just the two of you in the world. the edge of the lake glittered nearby, glassy and golden as the sun drifted lower, water catching every last drop of color in the sky. the pinks, soft oranges, lavender melting into the distance.

you’re still chewing a bite of fruit when he shfits beside you, dusting his hands clean on a napkin before he’s reaching into his jacket pocket.

“can i tell you something?” he asks softly, already turning toward you.

you nod, smiling. “always.”

his voice trembles just a little. “i’ve never been more sure of anything than i am of you.”

he turns toward you fully, not saying anything just yet as he keeps looking at you, eyes full of love, before he sinks down onto one knee with the softest exhale.

your hand comes up to your mouth instinctively, covering a sound you don’t even get the chance to name.

he opens the box. the ring glinting in the golden light — a delicate band, familiar and beautiful, something you’d once pointed at on a passing afternoon, long forgotten by you but clearly never by him.

“i know i’ve loved you my whole life,” he says, voice so sure, “but every single day with you, i find a new reason to love you more. you make everything feel lighter. you make me better, without even trying.”

his throat bobs with a singular quiet gulp. “i want every morning and every night with you. i want your worst days and your best ones. i want to be the reason you feel safe and loved, even when the world’s too loud. i want all of it. with you.”

he smiles, a little crooked and teary, and his thumb brushes gently over your knee from where he’s resting. “will you marry me?”

your eyes are stinging, hand trembling as you reach out for him. “yes,” you whisper. “yes. of course i will.”

he laughs — that breathless, boyish laugh that always makes your ribs ache — and gently takes your left hand in his, slipping the ring onto your finger as if it was made to live there. you’re already leaning forward before he can stand, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders, and he catches you effortlessly, lifting you just enough to spin you into his lap as he sits back on the blanket with you tangled against him.

his arms hold you close, and his nose nudges into your hair before he whispers, “my fiancée.”

you’re already climbing into his lap before you can even think about it, arms circling around his shoulders, and he lets himself fall back slowly into the blanket, pulling you with him. your body slots over his so naturally, like it’s always belonged there, chest pressed to his own, fingers tangled in his hair as his hands hold you by your waist.

“say it again,” you whisper, just beneath his jaw.

he tilts his head, lips ghosting over your temple. “mine,” he breathes out, unsure if it’s his really his reality. “my fiancée. my everything.”

his mouth finds yours again, slower this time. lips dragging and tongue flicking into you softly, savoring the taste. your fingers curl tighter in his hair, hips rolling instinctively against him when he lets a groan rumble lowly in his chest.

he pulls back with heavy eyes locked onto yours, his hand slips down, brushing just beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“can i show you how much i love you?” he murmurs, voice low and warm, like it’s meant for your ears only. “right here, under the stars?”

you nod, barely, throat too tight to speak. the only answer you can manage is the way your fingers dig into the collar of his shirt and the way your breath catches when he kisses you again.

he lays you back gently, hands braced on either side of your body as he hovers above you, the moonlight washing his features silver. he looks almost unreal like this — hair messy from your fingers, lips kissed pink, and eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them.

his hand finds yours again, fingers lacing together over your chest, and he brings it to his mouth without a word. he kisses your knuckles, the tips of your fingers, and then finally, the ring.

“you’re mine now,” he whispers against your skin, pressing another kiss just below the stone. “my girl. my only.”

you exhale shakily, back arching when his other hand glides over your side carefully, fingertips brushing beneath your shirt, just enough to feel skin. his lips trail lower, kissing over your wrist, your palm, until he’s easing down your body, nudging your thighs apart with a gentleness that makes you ache.

everything about him is soft and slow but there’s a hunger there, too. you feel it in the way his breath shakes as he his nose presses at the inside of your knee. the way he hooks your leg over his shoulder, mouth warm as he presses open kisses to your thighs.

“let me take care of you,” he murmurs again, lips brushing over your skin between each word. “wanna show you what forever means.”

your hips twitch beneath his mouth, breath coming out faster now. you can feel how warm his cheeks are against you, how his hands don’t stop moving — one tracing your waist, the other still holding yours. still kissing over the ring, just barely, between each slow motion of his mouth.

he kisses your hand again when he hears the soft sound that slips from your throat, eyes flicking up to find yours. “so pretty like this,” he breathes. “and you’re mine. all mine.”

his voice drops even lower, near a whisper, but the edge of it makes your stomach tighten.

“you know what i’m thinking about?” he murmurs, lips brushing your thigh again. “how good you’d look carrying me.”

your whole body stirs at that as heat pools at your core, head tipping back as his mouth moves lower again. slower this time, with more intent.

“would you let me?” he asks, voice thick now, so sweet it makes your breath catch. “would you let me fill you up right here, under the stars?”

your response barely makes it past your lips, but he catches it anyway. your thighs twitch in his grip, stomach tight with need. the answer’s already written across your body with how you’re soaking into the blanket beneath you and how your pussy clenches around nothing just at the sound of his voice.

he doesn’t stop touching you, you’re something he’s waited for all his life, and as he kisses over the ring again, he knows he’s never been mroe sure of that.

his spit glistens on your skin when he pulls back just enough to look with his thumb brushing along your clit, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. “so wet already,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “you get like this just from me talking about it, huh?”

he dives in again, tongue flat and wide as he licks into you messily, mouth moving as he’s trying to lick up every drop. his jaw works slow at first, but when your hips twitch, he groans and tightens his grip, locking you down.

“nuh-uh,” he growls, licking a stripe up to your clit and flicking it with the tip of his tongue. “you’re not running, not when you’re already fuckin’ dripping.”

his tongue circles your clit now, slow and purposeful, so cruel. every motion is calculated, as if he’s got all the time in the world to wreck you.

when he pulls back again, lips shiny, chin soaked, he presses a wet kiss right to the base of your ring finger. “look at you,” he whispers, thumb teasing your entrance. “wearin’ my ring and leaking all over my mouth. i think you were made for this.”

you barely have time to catch your breath before he’s ducking back down, groaning low against your cunt as he sucks your clit back between his lips, sloppier this time. the kind of messy he only gets when all he can think about is how you taste, how you sound, how sweetly you spread open for him.

“mmf— fuck,” he huffs, nose brushing your mound, mouth sealed against your soaked folds as his tongue works inside you deeper. “sweetest fuckin’ thing i’ve ever tasted.”

you can feel it again. heat coiling, thighs trembling as his arms lock around them to keep you wide open. he grinds his mouth against you, like your pussy’s the only thing that matters.

he groans deep in his chest as your slick floods his tongue again, and he pulls back just far enough to breathe — face soaked, spit and arousal smeared down his jaw.

he leans in again, but not to your cunt this time. his mouth finds your hip first, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the bone. then another, just above your navel, where his breath hovers across your now damp skin. he trails them upward with care, worship in the softness of every touch, as if he’s kissing his way through a promise, through everything he’s ever wanted to give you. he mouths at your chest, then lifts himself up just enough to hover over you.

his fingers are gentle when they find your hand, pulling it from where it’s clenched in the bedding and threading it through his own. he brings it to his lips without a word, pressing a kiss right on the glistening stone — messy and warm, lips still wet with you.

“you don’t even know,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low, “how long i’ve dreamed of this. of having you like this.”

you can feel his breath tremble where it brushes your knuckles, his thumb stroking over the curve of your ring as he kisses it again, slower this time. and again, trying to savor the way it tastes on you.

his gaze lifts — drunk on you, pupils wide and blown out. he shifts above you, body dragging against yours as he lets go of your hand only to reach between you, fumbling with the waistband of his sweats, they’re hung low on his hips from where he’d been too distracted with your cunt to push them down before.

he breathes out a curse when he frees himself. thick, flushed, tip leaking onto the fabric under you. he lines up against you without a word, softly grinding his cock against your folds, slick smearing along his length as he drags it through greedily.

“fuck,” he groans, watching it disappear inch by inch when he pushes in. “always so ready for me. warm little pussy just opens up, huh?”

you choke on his name, back arching, thighs spreading wider without thinking. he’s thick as always, but it’s the way he fills you: stretching you wide, cockhead catching on that sweet spot every time he moves that makes your eyes roll back.

he groans, head dropping to your shoulder as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours. “there she is,” he breathes. “daddy’s sweet girl. fuckin’ perfect inside.”

he kisses your shoulder, your neck, your jaw desperately before nuzzling the corner of your mouth. “you were made to be mine,” he whispers, hips rolling just enough to make you gasp. “made to carry me, to take me in."

his palm drags up your side, slow and possessive, cupping over your chest, claiming what’s not yet there — thumb brushing just beneath your nipples, with no pressure. he’s dreaming of what your body will carry and what you’ll give him.

“you don’t even know what it does to me,” he murmurs, breath catching against your skin. “thinkin’ about how you’re gonna look— so soft, full for me. milk in you, baby. just like you’re meant to have.”

he’s deep now, deeper than before, your body’s pulling him in right where he belongs. you feel him twitch inside, the way his abs flex against your belly as he tries to hold off just a second longer. but the second he glances down, catching sight of your tits bouncing under him, the thought of milk hidden just beneath your skin, he breaks.

he thrusts in deeper, savoring the idea with every roll of his hips. the thought of filling you up, watching your body change for him, is driving him insane.

“gonna give you everything,” he whispers, kissing your temple, then your ring, still glinting in the moonlight where your fingers tangle with his. “mine to take care of. mine to fill. every part of you”

his voice dips even lower, rough with want. “wanna watch you bloom for me, baby. every part of you.”

the low sound of your soaked bodies meeting getting filthier with every thrust. and yet he can’t stop kissing your hand.

“look at that,” he whispers, lips brushing your knuckles, voice wrecked and shaking. “wearin’ my ring, takin’ my cock, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

“fuck— gonna fill you up,” he groans, dropping his head to your chest, mouthing at the soft curve as his pace grows frantic. “wanna see you all swollen again, all soft and full for me. for our baby.”

he buries himself one last time, moaning so low it echoes in your chest when he finally spills into you. warmth floods your belly as he stays there, cock twitching, his hand still cradling yours.

he presses another kiss to your ring, then another. then one to your chest, right where your heartbeat flutters under your skin.

“keep it in for me, yeah?” he breathes, voice sticky with affection. “keep daddy’s cum right where it belongs.”

he doesn’t pull out or move much at all, just shifting to cradle your body against his, cock still nestled inside, forehead pressed to yours. you can feel his heart pounding, just as hard as yours, under the stars.

you stay like that for a while, bare and tangled up in each other as the night caves in around you. his thumb strokes lazily over your ring, chest rising with every slow breath he takes.

“gonna remember this forever,” he whispers, eyes on yours. “you, me… and that damn sky.”

and you believe him because right here, under the soft glow of the moonlight, everything feels like forever.

“get in the cabin,” he mutters, still breathless, voice dark with promise. “before i fuck you right here on the hood.”

ﾒ𝟶 (only if you say yes), val . . .ᐟ hehe here it is <3 i hope you enjoyed this short little series lol now jay/n will live their happily ever after!! thank you for all the love ❤︎

tags ⋆˙⟡ @markkiatocafe @myarch @swetmeal @bamjjwi @rainyjeno @mey-archive @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @starl0ver4 @bambheee @invsomnixa1 @urmomdotcom5678 @miirtilosazuis @jenobubbles

[airbiscuitz]

“If I kissed you right now, would you hate me?”

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Summary: After a surf session gets interrupted by a sudden downpour, you and JJ take shelter under a lifeguard tower. Despite being soaked and shivering, JJ keeps the mood light with his usual humor—until he unexpectedly blurts, “If I kissed you right now, would you hate me?” What follows is a sweet, rain-soaked moment filled with laughter, teasing banter, and a long-awaited kiss that shifts everything between you. Beneath the sound of the rain and JJ’s jokes about haunted towers and ghost surfers, something real begins.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word count: 1k

Warnings: None!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

The rain hit like a surprise drumline, crashing down just as you and JJ were lugging your boards out of the water. One second, the sky was a soft silver haze, and the next, it broke open like someone tipped over a bucket the size of the Atlantic.

You both ran for the nearest shelter: an old lighthouse tower with peeling white paint and a loose bolt that squeaked every time the wind pushed. You huddled under it, wet hair plastered to your forehead, legs pulled up to your chest, shivering slightly.

JJ flopped down next to you, his board balanced behind him, and casually qiped salt water off his face like this wasn't the first time he'd ended up soaked under questionable beach structures. 

“Didn't know we signed up for the storm package,” he joked, elbowing you gently.

“Next time I'll ask Mother Nature to chill.”

You huffed a laugh, pulling your body closer. “She's dramatic today.”

He leaned back on his hands, rain dripping off the ends of his blond curls, still grinning like he'd just pulled off a prank. “I kind of love it though. It's like… we're in a moody indie movie.”

“Oh, totally,” you said, glancing sideways at him. “We're just one sad acoustic guitar away from winning Sundance.”

JJ laughed. “I'll write the soundtrack. Track one: ‘Wet Sand, Wet Socks, Full Heart.’ “

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. JJ had that way of making everything–detours, delays, even being drenched in a downpour–feel like part of some grand ridiculous adventure.

For a few moments, you just listened to the rain. The beach was empty except for a few stubborn gulls and your abandoned flip-flops, slowly filling with water. JJ stretched out a leg, his foot brushing yours, and didn't move it. He kept talking , though–nonsense stuff, mostly. 

“This lighthouse tower’s probably haunted, right? Like, definitely a ghost surfer named Brad who drowned in 1986 and now spends eternity making people wipe out.”

“Poor Brad,” you murmured, deciding to go along. “He probably still wears neon board shorts.”

JJ tilted his head dramatically. “Rest in peace, bro.”

You giggled, and that's what when he went quiet.

It was the kind of pause that felt…loaded. Not awkward, not exactly. Just different. The air between you shifted.

You turned to look at him, and he was already looking at you, like he had been for a while. His eyes–always a little mischievous–were softer now, scanning your face like he was trying to memorize something.

Then he asked it.

“If I kissed you right now, would you hate me?”

Your heart paused, the rain didn't. The world kept pouring, but inside, everything stilled.

 He blinked, like he hadn't meant to say it out loud. “I mean-uh, I was going to keep that in my brain. But then my brain was like, ‘Nah, let's be chaotic today.’”

You stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or say something profound. But then he added, “Also, in my defense, this does feel like a very kiss-in-the-rain-moment. Like, if a narrator suddenly said, ‘And that's when everything changed,’ I wouldn't even be mad.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too hard. “You're such a dork.”

JJ leaned a little closer. “Is that a yes, I'm a dork, or yes, kiss me?”

You didn't answer. Not with words.

Instead, you reached out and grabbed his necklace, his shark tooth necklace, pulling him toward you. He blinked once in surprise before grinning–really grinning–and meeting you halfway.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative. But JJ kissed like he surfed–fearless, grinning halfway through, like he couldn't believe he got to do this and wasn't planning to waste a second. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing rainwater away like it bothered him that it was touching you before he could.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and a little stunned, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I knew the haunted tower would come through,” he whispered. 

You laughed, leaning into him. “Brad really set the mood.”

JJ beamed. “We owe that ghost a thank you. I'll pour one out of him later. Probably coconut water. He seems like a coconut water guy.”

You both stayed there for a while, curled into each other under the lighthouse tower as the rain softened to a mist. The world was hushed, just the waves rolling and the wind teasing your wet clothes.

Eventually, JJ spoke again.”So… now that I've kissed you, are you contractually obligated to go surfing with me every Saturday? Or is there, like, a probation period?”

“Depends,” you teased. “Do you always talk this much after kissing someone?”

JJ looked mock-offended. “Excuse me, but this is premium post-kiss banter. I come with great surf playlists, emotional availability and a lighthouse tower shelter knowledge. That's boyfriend material, thank you very much.”

You laughed again, leaning your head on his shoulder.

And just like that, the rain wasn't a bother anymore. In fact, you're pretty glad that the rain decided to pick this time to pour heavily, because in return? You got to kiss JJ Maybank. The boy with ocean blue eyes and hair in the color of the sand.

[burekforsatoru]

divenire

sebastian (stardew valley)/ghost f reader | read it on ao3 you're sick of being summoned and of your ghostly figure being expelled back into nothingness as soon as you're perceived. it's exhausting, draining you for decades. that is until you come across a person that doesn't seem to give a fuck that you're dead. wc: 9.7k tags: past murder, past mr qi/reader, referencing suicidal thoughts, eventual smut, drowning (who's surprised) 𓇼 ⋆.˚ masterlist

there it is again.

that tugging sensation behind your navel. like a fishing hook or a threaded needle is stuck in your body, like an excited child pulled at a rope to open a bag filled with toys, you have no choice but to float after it. it’s become normal by now, being summoned. never lasting long, the summoner sends you back as soon as they realize their mistake, throwing the amulet into the wall as they scream and run away. you sigh, accepting your fate and once more relax as the thread carries you forward.

your destination is close, you can feel the presence of the amulet, that dark crystal made into a pendant that used to hang around your neck, the pendant that dragged you down under the lake as you fought for your last breaths while they laughed above the surface. right before you closed your eyes one final time and felt your lungs collapse. now it’s almost like you feel the absence of the crystal against your skin, being dragged towards it by a string of… fate? curse? who’s to say, whatever it is, it’s getting old now.

twenty years of hearing people scream when your ghostly form appeared, twenty years of seeing them run, seeing the panic in their eyes as you only appeared… after years of crying silvery tears into the material of your white, grass-stained dress, wiping your pale white cheeks into it as you dissipate into the air once more, into nothing, like nothing happened, you’re almost completely over it. 

the thread is taking you to pelican town again. you grit your teeth, of course, the moment you resign yourself to fate, it comes to smack you on the ass and send you to the place where it all started in the first place. steeling yourself for what may happen, for how much emotion this place might awaken, you glide towards a nice looking house, down into the ground through the walls of the basement. 

it’s there. in the hands of a dark-haired man who flipped the crystal along his knuckles as if it’s a simple toy, a fidgeting instrument instead of a cursed item tied to the essence of your soul. you pass through his wall silently, already counting down the seconds until he looks up, sees you, and runs away, throwing the amulet onto the ground as he goes. but his head only lifts to see you floating a few inches from the ground. he doesn’t move, only tilts his head to the side slightly. you’re not used to being observed this way, haven’t been for twenty years. he squints a little, focusing on your faint form, blurry around the edges. but he doesn’t scream. he doesn’t open his mouth as you slowly glide towards him, your white dress floating behind you even with no wind. this is new, this is… unprecedented. you almost feel the need to fix your hair or pull the hem of your dress down. being perceived so calmly, being looked at… it would be enough to make you blush.

“who are you?” the feeling of your voice scraping the inside of your throat makes you wince a little.

“who am i? you showed up in my room. i should be the one asking you.” his voice is pleasant, not at all what you’ve got used to when the first shriek would start, sending a chill down your form as you would start dissolving.

“i think i have the right to know who’s summoning me, don’t you think?” you cross your arms at his cheeky tone, like a ghost appearing in his bedroom is a slight inconvenience at most. 

“summoning you? i don’t even know your name.”

but once he says it, you realize you don’t know it either. it’s like your own name is just out of grasp and no matter how much you may flail your barely visible hands, you can never reach it. 

“i… don’t know either.” if you could feel physical pain, if there was anything to feel it on, you’re certain it would hurt like a bitch. but emotional distress? it’s your breakfast, lunch, and dinner. “i can’t remember.” your brows furrow and he sighs, disappointed.

“yeah,” he scoffs, “okay. i’m sebastian.” he flips the crystal in his hands again, playing with it right in front of your eyes. he must catch your gaze following its every move, because he pauses and lifts it up. “it’s pretty, right?” 

with a slow nod, you agree. of course it’s pretty. a dark purple crystal that turns transparent in sunlight. it’s got some sort of symbol engraved in gold and a leather strap pulled through a loop making it into a necklace. it looks almost brand-new, just like on the day when it was so lovingly placed around your neck by those nimble blue fingers, promising eternal love and happiness as he twirled you in the grass. your dress was all white then, perfectly bright for your own version of the flower dance, the one under the bright moon looking down at you, reaching through his dark blue hair as you danced. a mere year before you repeated the dance. before he twirled you again, only this time when he was supposed to dip you and kiss your rosy face, he pushed you into the lake. he let you struggle as others came closer, but no one reached out to help. they just watched as the crystal pulled you down, down, to the bottom while the air bubbles grew smaller and further between. until they stopped. until you stopped.

“yeah. pretty, where did you get it?” your feet still don’t touch the ground, but you try to feel the smooth wood of his desk under your fingertips, cursing yourself for believing it would work.

“the fair.” he flips the pendant again, catches it, and carefully places it on the desk. “some guy sold a bunch of crystals and cool occult stuff, this one was fairly cheap.”

fairly cheap. you grit your teeth, but it doesn’t make a sound. it used to be your prized possession, a token of love, a curse, a death sentence. now it’s just a cheap, pretty trinket bound to your soul, useful only to keep summoning you until you either fully disappear or lose your mind, whichever comes first. 

“just…” you inhale deeply, about to make a request that you never had the chance to ask for, “... don’t drop it.” he lifts his eyes off the purple pendant on the desk before him, as if seeing you for the first time since you appeared in his bedroom. he looks down at the space between your dangling feet and the firm surface of his floor. 

“you always float like that?” it’s almost offensive how he’s seeing your ghostly presence as more of an interesting occurrence than a freak incident. 

“yeah.” you answer after a moment, still trying to will your immaterial fingers to at least tap the wood. what you wouldn’t give for even a splinter in your skin. “though i haven’t been in one place for this long before.”

“right.” sebastian is staring like he’s reading you, like your white dress is made out of the most interesting pages of a book. 

his bedroom is… interesting, you think. there are posters stuck to walls, a few framed photos of a group that seems to be his friends. the shelves are full of books, comics, trinkets that look like figurines from some fantasy world. it’s loud, his personality shouts from every corner through music instruments, a pile of stacked vinyl records, the moody wallpaper, seeing him sit in his chair so casually while a literal ghost hovers over his rug… it makes sense. it may have been a while since you talked to anyone, but the way he looks at you with those droopy eyes, all moody with his eyebrows set into a permanent frown, his attitude matches the aesthetic of the bedroom.

“why aren’t you scared?” you prompt him, tilting your head to the side like a curious puppy.

“of what, of you?” he all but scoffs at the idea. you frown, but being so pale, still so see-through, it barely registers. “why?” his question almost seems normal. why would he be afraid of a ghost? well, maybe because he’s human? maybe because ghosts are an unknown being, an apparition not everyone even believes in, something eerie, magical and ominous at the same time. just like all the others before him thought. right before their shrill shrieks ripped through your being, sending you away, back from whence you came. you’ve got used to the fear and the banishing, but sebastian here is taking this maybe a little too well.

“because i’m a ghost? because i literally showed up walking through your wall? why are you acting like i’m– like this is normal?” there is exasperation in your voice you don’t mean to reveal. it shouldn’t be getting to you so much, shouldn’t be bothering you that there’s someone out there who might not run away at the briefest trace of goosebumps crawling up their arms. it shouldn’t give you hope. hope and anticipation, because what will be the line he won’t be able to cross? how comfortable will you get before he realizes it’s unnatural, it’s abnormal for you to be there, and he throws the pendant into the floor. maybe even smashing it, taking away any chance of you coming back. because no matter how much it hurts coming back only to disappear within seconds, thinking about an eternity without it hurts more. 

“and? are you here to hurt me?” he raises a brow, picking up that damn pendant once more to fidget with it while he twists a black ring on his thumb.

“well… no, but i might be lying.” you swipe your hand over his desk again, as if trying to feel something, anything, trying to see if anything is real. 

“well then, i’m pretty sure i could defend myself against a being that can’t even touch wood.” he sees you wince at his words, and the self-satisfied smirk on his face drops. “shit… sorry.”

you shake your head, pulling hands from the flat surface and forcing them to stay against your lap. sebastian stretches to scratch the back of his head awkwardly, groaning a little once he realizes his mistake. “sorry… that was a shit thing to say,” he starts, but you’re already turning away, floating to his bookshelf to try and swipe a finger through a thin layer of dust, almost instinctively, “what i meant was… i think you would’ve hurt me already. if you wanted to, that is.” he turns in his chair and gets up. the few steps he takes to reach you echo against the wooden floor where it’s not covered by a rug. it almost mocks you. must be nice, being able to walk, to touch a surface, to sit, get up, stand, reach out, and grab one of the books from the shelf. 

“you don’t have to try and get on my good side.” you murmur, pushing your finger through the full wood of the shelving unit, almost as if trying to see how far into it you can get before the universe admits it’s just pranking you, apologizes, and gives you your body back. “it’s like you said. i can’t do anything to you.” at least you assume so. you can’t stand or touch, but you haven’t tried it all. you haven’t had the time to test out the limitations of your state, and now that you can, you chicken out of even attempting to take the book from his hand. 

“okay. well i’m going to do it just because it’s a decent thing to do then.” sebastian looks right at you then, not through you. the lamp on his bedside table illuminates you in gold, making you look a little more vibrant as you stand closer to it. and it looks like he can see it, like he can tell the shape of your mouth under this light. there’s no color yet, but he could imagine it. he can see the outline of your eyes, the length of your lashes framing them. and he is looking. taking a moment to remember the shape of your ghostly nose before looking down at the book he picked up. 

the beginner’s guide for the recently deceased.

he quickly puts it away. 

“why weren’t you in one place for long then?” he leans against the shelf, narrowing his eyes in curiosity.

“because they get scared,” you sigh, it’s still painful, no matter how many times it’s happened, no matter how many places you’ve glimpsed, “and then maybe that pendant is dropped, i don’t know.” there’s a habit you’re now realizing has stayed with you from your life. you try to touch your own fingertips with your thumb, as if anxiously playing an invisible piano on your fingers.

“does it bother you?” he softens his voice. “that you just get… pulled out like that?”

“more than i care to admit.” breathing is just a reflex, taking deep breaths hasn't served you a purpose in just over twenty years, but somehow your brain feels it might be necessary. so you puff up your chest and release the air through your parted lips. “it's weird. it's… like there are only a few seconds of this cursed existence that i can remember, but at the same time i feel every year that's passed.” once again, you turn your back on him, floating to the desk again. there's a comfortable looking couch there, a kind you'd probably be tempted to lie down on if you could. it's inviting, like changing the perspective of your vision might help you put the pieces of this grand, complicated puzzle together. “i wish i could understand it better, i wish i could–” you bump into the arm of his couch, making you nearly curse as you float slightly away, “wish i could just be visible for once. perceived, noticed… as myself, not as a fucking ghost.”

and you've grown sick of the word. it has been screamed at you too many times to count. it's been thrown in your face, almost spat out with panic and with something close to disgust. you hate it, but it's true. you have no choice but to accept it, even if it hurts. even if your face will never stay remembered, even if you won't turn heads anymore. even if your hand won't be held or your hair played with or your waist gripped so tightly that you feel the indents of their fingertips in your flesh. with another pretend deep breath, you start the motion of touching your fingertips again, playing the keys of your own hand. 

“i know what you mean.” his voice breaks through the screams you let out in your own head, poking a hole through them as it demands to be heard.

“you do?” with a dose of incredulity, you pick up your gaze and look at him, still somewhat casually leaning on that shelf even though with every second you realize that it's all a practiced front. that he's so far from relaxed, so on edge that it's easier talking to someone dead than anyone else.

“i don't… oh fuck this is embarrassing.” sebastian pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a few moments, looking like he's about to rip his skin off and not just share something personal. “i don't usually get along with people. yeah, don't look too shocked at that.” he exhales a laugh, turning to face you. “and even though i'm here in the flesh, i don't depend on something to keep me visible, i’m still nothing. i'm sick of it, but i can't move past the fact that it's so easy pretending i don't exist. my stepdad does it, most people in this fucking town do it, sometimes i think my own mother forgets she has an entire son down here.”

you blink a few times, slowly coming to understand his attitude, noticing the connecting thread between him and you. a desire to be seen for who you are. a want for closeness, for understanding. a loneliness embedded in your bones that calls to him and the cracks in his cockiness that pull you in. 

“i’m–” you pause, stopping yourself before you can say you’re sorry. it’s clear he doesn’t want sympathy, pity or empty words that anyone could say. “they sound like they suck.” you hope that people still say suck.

“yeah… it’s a little sad that this is the most meaningful conversation i’ve had in months.” he looks up from the edge of the rug, flashing that self-satisfied smirk tugging the corner of his lips once more. “no offence.”

it catches you off-guard, how easy the smirk is back on his face, how the front is almost pulled all the way over him so quickly. but it also makes you crack a laugh, the light jab in his words just the perfect amount of humor for you. hearing you laugh seems to make him relax a little, though. and this time for real. his shoulders aren’t as tense, he even stops turning the black ring on his thumb. 

“none taken. i think.” sebastian steps a little closer, narrowing his eyes for a moment as if noticing something interesting on you, but soon he lowers his gaze. 

“can i ask you something?” he starts, sitting on the couch once he reaches it, looking up at you with curious eyes.

“can i stop you?” you smile, floating to the side, making it easier to face him.

“guess not. where do you go when you… you know,” he makes a vague movement with his hand, “leave?”

you let out a groan. it’s such a normal question, one that seems only logical to be interested in, but another one you don’t know the answer to.

“fuck… you really know how to ask the most annoying things, huh?” you chuckle and shake your head, reaching over to the desk and tracing a few scratches on its surface, keeping your finger an inch above it as if to pretend you could touch it if you wanted to. “i don’t know. seriously, i have no clue. it just feels… empty. like i’m there and not at the same time, it’s not even dark, it’s nothing, no time passes, and yet i can feel it go by as it taunts and tortures me.”

a sigh you let out is the accumulation of sadness and hopelessness you’ve felt ever since that day at the lake. ever since the moment when you realized that your love was a farce, that his words had meant nothing, that you had meant nothing to him, despite the flowery words and the gifts and the whispers deep into the nights that you spent with him. ever since he let you die. sebastian looks away for a moment, as if the sound that came from you is something too private for him to witness, but when his gaze returns, those dark eyes sparkle. 

they look like deep, dark water that’s inviting you to dive in, like the answers to everything are in the centers of his pupils so far down that it might be worth the fall. he looks a little different, wears a different defiance on his face. where once was almost resignation at being tossed aside and forgotten, now he looks at you with a desire to be seen.

“must be rough,” his voice is lower than before, he's so close, so close he doesn't have to speak louder than a whisper, “tasting the air only to be pushed back into that box of nothingness again.”

“honestly? sort of used to that by now…” you shrug. it still hurts, still makes you want to grip the hem of white, grass-stained dress and run away from the thread that pulls you back, into the nothingness where all you have are your own thoughts echoing in the void, echoing and beating you into submission, trying to break you. but you can’t outrun it, it’s tied to your very essence, and the only thing that saves you from it sits on sebastian’s desk. cold and unmoving, as physical as you’ll never be again, reflecting the light from his desk lamp.

“liar.” he calls you out, so sure of his words that even your scoff doesn’t sway him.

“how would you know? you got any experience being dead?” you wish so hard, wish you could just stomp your foot and throw a tantrum. you wish you could knock that stupid lamp off the desk, make it smash into a hundred pieces. you wish you could slam the door shut and crawl under a blanket, feel the comfort of something you’d taken for granted before you died, something you wished you could feel one more time.

“no but i wished it more times than i could remember.” his fists close tightly, making you look down and lower your guard slightly. a wish for death, yeah, you could imagine it. you felt it in that moment as the pressure of the lake squeezed your lungs, you wished you could just end it all already, wished you could erase the sneering faces gathered at the edge watching you struggle to keep the thread of life around you, but ultimately lose the fight. you wished it was over sooner, but he wouldn’t let you get off easy, the sadistic bastard.

“why?” you shake your head, moving to the edge of the couch where he’s sitting when you feel the overwhelming need to reach out and touch him. you want to put your hand on his shoulder, to make him feel that someone might be out here that sees him. someone that sees through his stupid front, sees the soft heart inside. his body heat radiates so much you can feel it. it’s like a magnet for your hand, and it shoots out before you can stop it. there’s a faint humming in between you, a field of power that you can’t touch, and so with great disappointment and embarrassment at thinking you could finally achieve something, you lower your hand, closing it into a fist.

“to escape. i know it sounds ungrateful. i’m alive and you’re not. i can choose what to do and you can’t. but i feel like my life isn’t mine. i feel like someone else was supposed to get it, but i got lucky instead.” he curses, gripping the edge of the couch so hard that his knuckles turn white and you swear you see a small tear drop down onto his knee. “i’m so sorry, in the bigger picture it’s such a stupid complaint, but i feel like nobody would even care if i died.” he looks up, those dark eyes glossy, so shiny you can see your white reflection in them clear as day.

“oh…” you softly whisper, lowering your voice as you see the pain in his eyes. “i’m…” you’re not saying sorry, he doesn’t need that, he needs to be seen, needs to be accepted. “i know it won’t mean much, coming from me, but there’s more to enjoy in life than you think.” you glide away, reaching his wall and looking at the band posters taped to the surface. “something simple like this, don’t you think it would be nice seeing them in person, hearing their music go through your entire body?” you smile a little, remembering what it felt like, standing in the field with people singing all around you, music vibrating from your head to your toes.

“they’re all dead.” he responds coldly, but there’s a tiny shade of smile on his lips.

“fuck, seriously?” you groan, feeling what would be anger or even disappointment when you hear him chuckle.

“yeah, seriously. but honestly,” he stands up, making the distance between you smaller as he walks over to stand next to you, “it is nice feeling the music in your body. feels… alive i guess, however corny that sounds.” his head lowers slightly, and you can tell he’s looking at the curve of your lips. you feel the weight of his eyes, the intensity of his thoughts, the warmth of his body. “do you feel… different?” he whispers, and his voice vibrates through your form.

looking up at him, you feel the light buzzing in the air, and the floor under your feet. floor. you gasp, looking down immediately.

“what the–” your feet are still somewhat transparent, but not floating anymore. there’s a slight blue hue on the surface of your toes, the nail polish you always wore contrasting with the pale white of your form. pale white that is slightly less so. stunned, you feel at a loss for words. your toes wiggle on the sturdy hardwood floor to make sure it’s real. you exhale an attempt at a laugh, too shocked to care if you sound like a wheezing corpse or not. there’s just too much going through your head to care. tentatively, you reach out and brush your finger over the surface of that beautiful desk. not much happens, to your disappointment, but there’s a tiny bit of resistance you feel as your ghostly finger glides over the wood. not much, but something. you dare keep a sliver of hope in your eyes, a crumb of something you’d call yourself a fool for cradling in your soul. a fool. a chump that is risking the biggest heartbreak since her death. but despite the part of you sneering at any sort of wish for a better eternity, you don’t let go of it. looking up at sebastian’s face, at his eyes wide and lips parted in surprise mirroring yours, you manage a smile. a genuine one this time, so when you brave a step to the side to finally face him, he can’t help but do the same.

“holy shit…” he laughs incredulously, taking the words right out of your mouth, “you’re… you’re standing!”

“my thoughts precisely,” you look down at your feet again, amazed at something as simple as standing firm on the floor. testing yourself, you lift one foot up and bring it back down, stomping to hear a faint thud that is like music to your ears. lifting yourself up on your toes and standing on your full feet, once more, again, swinging your body back and forth, hands following the movements almost whimsically. sebastian chuckles quietly at the sight, a dead girl smiling her dead ghostly smile, looking so endearing while swaying on her feet and giggling to herself, jumping to see if she can still float, but each time her feet leave the floor, they come back down with a soft thud.

thud.

his hand closes into a fist before reaching up to scratch the back of his head, thinking you haven’t noticed, but you have. stopping your motions, now looking down at your hands to see if anything is different, you sigh with relief. things are happening, things are changing, maybe you’ll be able to avoid going back into nothing now that you can touch–

“that’s never happened before?” he can’t stop smiling, and you can tell he tries, but those stubborn corners of his lips stay up, the traitors.

you shake your head, rolling your eyes. so bold now, like you own the ground you walk on, you click your tongue at him like he should know better than to ask this.

“never had the chance, did i, smarty-pants?” you laugh, still a little out of breath as you flip your hands to examine them, like seeing them for the first time in your afterlife.

“okay yeah, sorry.” he steps back, giving you space to do your acrobatics if you so desire. “sorry… i’m just… wow,” his hand brushes the strands of his fringe aside, letting you catch a glimpse of the side of his face it usually hides, “first time meeting a ghost and all, cut a guy some slack.” crossing his arms, he pinches his bottom lip with his thumb and index finger, as if deep in thought as he observes you twirl in the corner of his bedroom. “so are you, like, a poltergeist now?”

“wha– i don’t know…” you frown, but it doesn’t stick, as soon as your hand touches the wall beside you, well, hovers over it while sensing resistance from the surface, your smile widens. “i don’t know and… right now i don’t care. i didn’t think i’d–”

you’re cut off as sebastian steps forward again, standing so close to you. if you had lungs, your breath would hitch, but you stop nonetheless, a creature of habit even after your life fizzled out.

“incredible…” he speaks so low you think you might have imagined it, “how does it feel?”

“i–” you turn to face him, looking up at him, now tilting your head a little higher since your feet are flat on the floor, “i don’t know, weird?” the hem of your dress tickles your knees now, you’re aware of the slightly torn up and grass stained fabric as it hangs from your body. you feel the cold in the air around you, the slight tickle it leaves on your form, almost goosebumps on your arms.

“weird?” he echoes, lowering his voice like he’s pondering your words. “how is this happening…” sebastian trails off, not lifting his eyes off you.

“no idea,” you feel it more and more, the longer you talk, the longer his gaze weighs on you, the heat inside your being grows, “but i feel like i–” you turn your head to the side and stand in the ray of golden sun that spills through the tiny window high up on the wall of his bedroom. instead of passing through you completely, it only slightly pierces the top of your head. you nearly choke on your laughter when you see a shadow in the shape of you.

a shadow, tracing the sides of your head, the curve of your shoulders projected on the solid desk. you wonder if this is what you could’ve had all those times that you appeared for all of two seconds before being thrown back and rejected, before the shrieks rang through your soul and sent you into the void to hang in between the worlds. it’s back… the hope that clung to your smile when you were alive, the joy that used to make your heart jump, the laughter that echoed in the forest whenever you'd venture in there with your friends. it returns more powerful than before, fueled by spite and the pain of knowing what it was that you lost. so young, so damn young and dreaming of a world bigger than yourself. your thumb starts touching over each of your fingertips again, almost creating a melody of this moment to follow along your exhilaration.

“music,” sebastian whispers, looking down at where you play the gentle melody that only exists in your soul. you nod, lifting your hand, laying it palm down and going through the motions again. it feels like childhood, like the glittering dust in the sun that rose above the piano in your living room, like the stern teacher’s voice that you heard every time you messed up the tempo, all the way until you did it perfectly. until you got it perfect every time and he patted you on the back instead of clicking his tongue. until you grinned like a damn fool, just like now.

“you play?” lifting your gaze up to him, you see his hand mimicking your movements, a few times over until he turns around and walks over to the synthesizer in the corner of his room. hunched over, he doesn't sit, just caresses the keys with his long fingers a few times, settling on a place and presses down. he repeats the movements you did, making the air feel alive with the tune. you walk over, giddy at the feeling of the wooden floor under your feet, until you stand next to him, taking in the scent of his skin in your nose. there are so many sensations you can feel now, you feel the tickle of the slight breeze coming through the window, the light on your face, making you slightly squint your eyes. your hand finds his, and he stills.

warmth.

warmth of his skin against your palm. warmth of his breath as he turns his head to the side. warmth of your own existence under the sun.

his pale face betrays a slight hint of pink, spreading up to the tips of his ears as he looks into your rapidly clearing eyes. he can see the shape of them now, and himself reflected in the darkness of your pupil. you're so close he can count your eyelashes, he can finally trace the shape of your lips with his gaze. you feel the weight of it, the intensity of his attention, burning into your cheeks, seeing the essence of your being.

you press down onto the keyboard, leading his fingers where they need to go. the tempo is perfect, you smile a little wider just knowing that it's the one thing your old teacher wouldn't be able to disapprove of you for. you add the other hand, the richness of your melody almost making your right hand tingle with the increased warmth you feel from him. closing your eyes, you imagine dancing again. you imagine the grass under your feet, your dress once again white and bright, the flowers above your brow a pale purple, carrying the scent of spring, filling your lungs with life after a long winter. it’s so vivid you can almost feel the soft ground as you dance. but the only thing dancing are your fingers, gliding across the keys with sebastian’s until he stops and you take over, feeling the smoothness under your fingertips.

it’s solid.

solid like the door of your house that greeted you every evening after a sweet rendezvous, the seat you’d take at the table, the sturdy walls that protected you from harm. it’s comforting, but absolutely wild to feel something solid at this point. you could cry, you could choke on the salt of your tears in this moment as you continue playing, pressing the keys passionately, loving them with your entire heart as you sob, feeling the first tear roll down your warming cheek and fall onto the white key.

the music stops.

you lift your head and brush a few more tears from the corner of your eye, looking at them in the sun for a moment before popping the thumb into your mouth. your tongue darts over the pad of your finger, collecting the saltiness of the drops and craving more. they’re yours. nobody else’s. emboldened by your gaze that searches for sebastian’s eyes again, he holds your arm and gently turns you to face him. the perfect angle, he can see the shine in your hair. his fingers almost reverently touch your cheek, and as the soft skin warms under his touch, he smiles.

another gentle caress on your face, another soft breath from his lips, and he cups your cheek to tilt your head up. he looks at you like he’s known you his entire life. like he recognizes the shape of your soul and it speaks to him. like you’re what he’s been searching for while not knowing, like he’s been incomplete until you floated into his life, translucent and unassuming. losing the floor under your heels, you lift yourself up to your tip-toes, closing your eyes and taking the leap.

his lips are soft.

they taste like new beginnings. they part and take your bottom lip in between them like it’s what they’ve been hungry for all his life. his other hand quickly finds its place on your other cheek, savoring the feeling of them solid in his hands. he touches you so gently, but holds you close as if he’s scared of losing himself without you. his breath is stuck in between your throat and his, unsure if he should even attempt to breathe while he has you kissing him. sebastian’s body presses against yours, closing the distance rapidly before he pulls away from your lips. he watches as your eyelashes flutter open, so slowly as if worried that you’ll end the moment too soon. and everything is too soon, because it feels too good to be true. you don’t want to trust the feeling of his hands on your cheeks, the warmth of his breath on your lips, the closeness of his torso against your chest, because if you trust them and they fool you then you may as well just die all over again, newfound hope and all, disappearing into the wind.

“beautiful…” sebastian whispers, and you feel the words on the bridge of your nose. you lift your hands, finding a good place to rest on his sides, and relish the texture of his soft hoodie under your fingers. you grip it tightly, bunching up the fabric until you feel him gasp and your eyes fly open, looking up to see him watch you so carefully.

he leans in again, so quickly as his hands abandon the gentle hold on your face, sliding down your body like he’s making sure you’re really there, in the flesh, in this moment, fully you, tangible under his nimble digits. you’re practically vibrating, the scent of desire between you is raising the thrum of electricity in the air. you can still feel the music as his lips connect with yours, feel it in every inch of your body that finds the strength to move, to step forward in between his feet and mold yourself into him. tilting your head up, gliding your hands up into his hair, tugging on it gently, you’re testing out the limitations of reality. if you can do this, then what else is within your grasp?

a gentle hum from your lips passes into his, vibrating his bottom lip. it reverberates through his entire body, it moves him with so much need and rush that his hands drop lower, picking you up by the undersides of your thighs, and hold you up against him. after all this time, it’s so comforting to be held. to feel someone’s desire for you burn as they touch you. to feel them never get enough as their fingers try to leave marks in your skin. sebastian’s hands grip you so tightly, pressing into your thighs as your dress is lifted, bunched up around your hips. you’re giggling into the kiss, taken by surprise as he takes you to that dark couch and sits down, letting you settle on his lap.

with so many sensations, old and familiar, but completely new, you take a moment to hold his face in between your palms, pulling away from the kiss to just– look. there’s a soft pink tint flowing over his pale skin, the bridge of his nose bearing a few light freckles you can see now that you’re so damn close. it’s almost funny how he’s trying to keep his eyes closed, trying not to break the moment, trying to keep the image of your face so full of color in front of his eyes, fearing that he’ll open them again and you’ll be barely there, a shadow of your beauty, a memory, a ghost.

you use one finger to brush hair out of his face, tickling his nose with the end of it in the process. he scrunches it for a moment, making little creases appear on the bridge, looking too cute for their own good. you feel yourself drawn to them, your lips simply gravitate to his face, pressing a little kiss to those creases, making him sigh so sweetly.

pulling away again, you reluctantly leave the softness of his skin to once more take in his features. there’s blood rushing into your cheeks so loudly you can hear it pumping inside your head. how long has it been since you’ve kissed? do your lips still feel the same as they did back then? do they taste the same, like coffee and fruit you used to get from the store every morning? or do they taste like nothing now, poisoned by death and the lake that took you away…

sebastian inhales deeply and brings a hand to the back of your head, pulling you closer again, drowning in your lips, planting kiss after wet kiss onto them, gliding his tongue along the seam of your lips and taking every inch he can as you part them to let him in. you taste him, the familiar flavor of coffee fresh on his tongue, life bursting from his every pore as he needs you. to prove to him that life is worth living, to tell him that there is hope in the darker moments. and you give in, letting go of the shore to float in the wave that’s threatening to take you under, into his scent that fills your nostrils, that shows you there’s another side to death, to make you believe you can still feel like before. you don’t see blue anymore, when your lashes flutter open for a few brief moments, as if to make sure it’s not a trick. you don’t see the magical suit that shimmers in the dark, but pale skin and a comfortable hoodie that bears tiny holes where ash burned through the soft fabric. it’s dark, but the light in your heart is so bright. you squeeze your thighs together, getting used to feeling them again, getting used to the texture against your skin so rough, the seams of sebastian’s jeans digging into your soft flesh. he groans, sliding the hand from the back of your head down to grab your hips, pulling you against him firmly.

like a rumble of thunder in the distance, pleasure growls in the back of your throat. it shoots up your spine and shakes you to your very core. your cold toes curl against the slippery surface of the couch, but sebastian is quick. he lifts you up and makes quick work of his jeans, desperately trying to unbutton them before you can disappear on him, he lets out frustrated huffs, breathing out against your lips in between the tugs of his teeth on your bottom lip. your cold hands join his, the difference in temperature almost shocking, but he doesn’t let it sidetrack him. he needs you, needs to feel if you’re warm like he feels inside. needs to find the reason to keep going within you even if it’s the last thing he does. even if it ends him, he’s rushing to join you on the other side.

the unceremonious sound of his jeans landing on the floor would make you laugh if it wasn’t for the heat spreading through your entire body, reaching even your fingertips as they carefully tug his boxers off, synchronizing the movements of your hands with the ragged breaths that spill from his lips. you kiss them again, slowly this time to savor the taste of this living boy, giving you his everything for a chance to feel. there’s hardly any point in bunching up your dress again, but you do it just to make this action feel more familiar, to conserve any fragment of normalcy, to forget the fact that this should not even be possible. but you’re here, warm and soft like the day that you left this world. gentle and giving like in the life that you led, so damn pretty as you straddle sebastian’s lap and lean forward, resting your shaky hands on his shoulders for a moment, then sliding them down to grab the hem of that soft material and pull it off.

“so fucking pretty–” his whispered words are muffled by the hoodie, cut off by your heated kiss once you lay your eyes on his pale torso. if he speaks you have to listen, if you listen you start thinking, if you think… there’s no turning back once the memories start flooding, so you lower your hand, taking his hardened cock into it and swiping it along your soft folds until you’re ready to face the possibility that nothing can happen, until you’ve steeled yourself for the ultimate test of what this afterlife can give you… or take away from you.

sinking has never felt this good, the thought flashes through your mind. every vein on his cock makes its way into your warm cunt, sebastian throws his head back and lets out a high pitched groan. you see his adam’s apple bob up and down, so inviting that you have to attach your soft lips to it and kiss. a wet, sloppy kiss against his neck while you lower your hips down, until the plump flesh of your ass meets his thighs again, until he’s buried inside you so deeply that there’s no questioning if this is meant to be or not. if it wasn’t meant to be, would it feel so warm in your chest? if it wasn’t meant to be, would you feel the texture of his stomach under your fingertips? if it wasn’t meant to be, would his sweet moans be like honey in your ear?

you lean in, sitting on him like you’ve done this countless times before, tilting his head to look at you as his dark lashes slowly flutter open, revealing his glassy eyes, those slightly pink parted lips leaking your new favorite sounds, the gentle sighs he cannot hold inside. the sugary moans that you pick up with your lips and press against his again, like a royal stamp on hot wax, like a key to a lock.

his hands are shaking too, so overcome with sensations, itching to grab more of you, to toe the line with how far fate will let you go, playing chicken with the universe which can decide to take it all away from him. now, settled on your waist, gripping the tattered fabric of your once-white dress, he curses under his breath and lifts his hips up, pushing the tip of his cock against your soft, pliant walls as his eyes roll back.

“fuck…” sebastian groans, interrupting the pretty melody of your hips meeting in a gentle tap of skin against skin. your knees dig into the couch cushion, and you can still hardly believe this is happening, your knee isn’t simply passing through the soft, full material, but offering resistance. you can touch, press, push, feel the smooth surface under your palm while his body heat warms you and makes you lift your hips up only to bring them down again. his moan is like the most beautiful chord your fingers could ever produce against the smooth keys of the piano. it spurs you on, you need it repeated in your head over and over again until the end of time, until whatever is left in your soul is crumbling into dust and scattering with the winds across the endless world, across the waves of the universe where you could hear them again, at the center of a new world you’d create. the slow pace your hips move in is torturous, but you can’t speed up if you tried, landing on his lap is where you’re supposed to be, enveloping his cock with your cunt is what you didn’t even realize you were craving until he sank into your heat, until he became the only thing on your mind.

balancing yourself on his lean body, you keep the movements of your hips, the ones that have him rolling his eyes back and resting his head against the back of the couch. he’s melting into the cushion, completely under your spell, under your command as your wrists threaten to give out under you. kissing his jaw is the only thing your lips can do, hungrily possessing his skin trying not to let out so many desperate whimpers as you ride him slowly. you drag out the pace, savoring the feeling of his cock dragging in and out of your weeping pussy, gliding along your velvety warm walls as your mind spins. 

has it always felt this good? you don’t remember ever feeling the sheer ecstasy that sebastian is bringing you. maybe it’s the fact that you’re overjoyed since you can finally feel again, since you’re touching him when it shouldn’t be possible. maybe it’s the fact that he’s draped so prettily over the couch and how he lets you bounce yourself on his cock just how you want to. maybe it’s the fact that he’s not the one that killed you, but in a way resurrected you, gave you a chance, gave you time. maybe it really was meant to be, maybe the fates were pushing you two together until something snapped and you could finally give in to each other. 

whatever it is, you welcome it with open arms and head thrown back, moaning in pleasure into the air as sebastian’s hands desperately search for more of you, grip your waist tightly so his fingertips nearly poke holes in your tattered dress to reach your skin, and start moving you faster. like he’s awoken from a deep slumber, desperate and hungry, he pants as your thighs repeatedly meet his lap, your tight cunt swallowing everything he has to give you. your toes curl again, no longer cold but feeling the static travel through your body as he squeezes your waist tightly and dips his head down to plant messy, wet kisses along your exposed collar bones. so attentive, speeding up as soon as you start breathing quicker, as soon as you whimper out a syllable of his name, as soon as you start looking for a place for your hands. you need to grab more, you need to feel stability, so it’s only natural to lock them into his dark hair, tugging gently if only to hear the slight groan that slips from his mouth and vibrates against your throat.

oh how you want to bottle up that sound and keep it in a vial against your heart for eternity. he’s holding onto you like you’re the one who’s alive and keeping him tethered to you. he’s holding you like if he ever let go he’d be lost in the darkness like you have been. like if he lost contact with your skin he’d turn into a non corporeal apparition cursed to hang in between this world and the next. so he holds on, fingers almost cramping with the intensity of his grip on your waist as he pulls you against him, bounces your soft body on his aching, leaking cock that begs to be buried inside you if only for today, if only while you’ll have him. 

he looks up at you from the drooling mess he’s made of your collar bones, the skin so glossy with his saliva and reddened from his teeth that marked you desperately. his eyes… his glassy, pleading eyes that almost have you lean down to kiss his pretty face, press little pecks of gratitude to his eyelids so gently, but he’s looking up at you and it’s clear from the gasp that dies in your throat that you’ve never seen something so beautiful in your existence. his devotion is painted so clearly in the dark pupils swallowing the irises of his widened eyes.

so now you two trick the fates, indulging in each other so sweetly as his hips lift from the couch, cock diving deep into you to hear you whine out for him again, the noise seducing him to fall harder for you than he could have ever imagined himself doing. pressing against that sweet spot that is like a button making you slip those honeyed sounds from your parted lips, the sounds that make him lower his head in a bow, breathing heavily against the swell of your breasts, moaning and struggling as he feels the tight coil of tension about to break on him. 

reverence so profound, now that he’s holding his own personal deity in his lap, fucking into you desperately, lifting his hips to meet you closer, to sink into you deeper, to make you do that thing you did when he first pushed his tip inside you and clenched around his worshiping cock. he needs it again, needs to feel the extent of pleasure he can bring you while trying to hold on. he needs to know he’s useful, wanted, that he matters, even if it’s just to make you roll your eyes back into your skull just like you’re doing just now. tugging on the dark strands of his hair, whimpering out syllables of his name, throwing your head back so he can see your throat bob as you swallow hard, groaning out while his cramping hands bring you down against him harder, stuffing you so full of his cock that he may as well be fusing with your body.

the body that’s so warm to his touch now that he can finally feel you, the body that fits so perfectly against him that it has to be a joke played on him, to make him see someone so right for him and kill them before he had the chance to experience this utter bliss. 

you feel it, too, that tightness inside your abdomen threatening to make you spasm and shake. like a long build-up for the earthquake of the century, the magnitude of which would shake the ground under your bare feet, the ground that sebastian’s clothes lie on thrown away carelessly just to let you feel him. he must see it in your face, in the string of saliva that connects your lips, that he leans in to kiss as you moan into his mouth. he must see it in your eyelids that refuse to stay open, the lashes that flutter desperately like the wings of a dragonfly caught in a web, sweeping the tops of your flushed cheeks as you try to hold on to the sanity you still have left. he must see it in the squeeze of your soft thighs against him because he groans at the sensation, his panting becomes quicker, higher in pitch, the tempo uneven as he struggles.

“you’re…” he swallows, pulling his lips from yours albeit reluctantly, “so good i–”

you tug on his hair a little harder, dipping your head down to bite the pale skin of his neck just under his ear, dying to leave a mark behind, needing to see the definitive proof that you’re real and that he’s got you.

“please…” you whine, “please, please i need it…”

he can’t know what you mean, surely he can’t. but his hands leave your waist to hug around you, gliding against the small of your back before settling on the sides of your hips and gripping you more desperately, holding you closer than you’ve been held in your life. safe and secured against his relentless hips, now lifting to slot against you faster than ever, so resolute to have you until the very end, until the sun that’s on the horizon explodes inside both of you, he groans again, a frantic little noise that makes you go to the very source of it, sloppily kissing his bitten lips, already feeling the swell of that warmth about to consume you.

“i can’t–” you whine against his lips, murmuring in between the messy, wet kisses, “i’m so–”

it’s a supernova.

a blinding flash so bright that if your eyes weren’t closed already, you would’ve ended up blind. sebastian’s skin is hot to touch, and as your saccharine moans disappear and melt on his tongue, so his eager groans stick to your mouth. in an instant, in a moment so fragile, you feel your entire body shudder and your warm cunt contracts around him. he stutters, his hips so unyielding until then falter and it takes unprecedented strength to keep him going, but he doesn’t quit. he resumes the tempo, so perfect, so fitting as you suck him into your warmth, letting him spill his release into you. it unravels you, undoes your stitching, and reforms the atoms that make you. you cling to him like he’s the only constant in this world, and he clings to you because you just might be his salvation.

seconds, minutes, maybe even lifetimes pass while you sit on his bare lap like this, unwilling to move a single muscle for fear you’ll lose yourself, but he lifts his head up to look at you again. the sun is setting, there’s an orange ray that still goes through his window and lands on your cheek. sebastian smiles, letting go of your hips to lift a hand up and gently brush his finger over the patch of light that shines on you, barely holding a candle to the intensity of light that glows within you. you lean into the touch, seeking more as his palm turns to cup your cheek, soft gesture melting him as he looks into your slowly opening eyes. the other hand reaches to the side, to the soft blanket folded on the edge of the dark couch which he pulls over both of you, cocooning you into a safe little bubble.

“you’re still here.” he murmurs, smiling as you move your hands down to touch his body again, leaving the mess of his hair behind with little memories of your fingers interlocked in the dark strands.

“i’m still here.” you echo, voice sounding broken, but your heart finally feeling whole again.

“now what?” he asks, gently coaxing you to dip your head lower and place those gentle lips so needy for attention to his hungry ones.

you sigh, melting into him as you, for the first time in a long while, truly ask yourself… now what? now that you’re not floating back into the void, that you’re not screaming in silence to be let out, now that you’re… whatever you are in this moment. now that you can wonder what you could become…

♡ if you enjoyed this, consider leaving a like, reblog, or a comment. interaction helps keep your writers motivated! also if you don't agree with any aspect of this that's okay, this is just my opinion and it's hella self-indulgent!

“we’ll figure it out,” you speak softly, whispering against his lips with eyes blissfully closed, “one step at a time.”

[lacyspoems]

⠀ 𓇼 things i’m excited for in my dr! ⠀⠀⠀ ୭ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀part two my besties and i

⠀⠀    ꒰ 🧺໒ྀི ꒱ tyler dared us to jump from the ancient rusted bridge over the freezing saltmere (small coastal town i created!) ocean. james went first, of course… dumb, brave golden boy. tyler followed, screaming something about if james didn’t die, he wouldn’t either. then i went, because i’m also stupid. francis stayed on the rocks like a judgmental victorian ghost but handed us towels. kyle was almost crying over potencial tetanus. 100% would do it again

⠀⠀    ꒰ 🐚໒ྀི ꒱ being called the lighthouse freaks by everyone in town because we always sneak into the abandoned lighthouse to whisper our next schemes in latin. schemes that usually include going into cursed places. next up? maybe that pink house with the garden full of ginger cats. maybe the old observatory. maybe that one underground tunnel james swears it’s connected to his house. maybe go all the goonies and follow that treasure map kyle found in his attic.

⠀⠀    ꒰ ✉️໒ྀི ꒱ falling for ya (i love this one it’s so silly). our music class assignment was to recreate a scene from a musical, and somehow we pulled disney ones. so why not teen beach movie? i used to love that movie as a kid. so obviously we chose falling for ya and we’re making a very unserious-but-serious video starring me and my boyfriend. he’s the main role, after all he does sing like an angel.

⠀ 𓇼 now you might wonder… ⠀⠀⠀ ୭ ⠀⠀who the hell are these people? so here’s a short intro

    𓆉 lorenzo. (that’s me!) italian. golden-haired. ocean-obsessed. kinda cocky, yeah, but i promise it’s easy to make me blush. the one who shows up to our little adventures dressed in expensive navy blue or cream sweaters and knows everything about bees and snails.

    𓆈 james. inspired by james potter (hell yeah). so think red converses, dino shirts, painfully hot in glasses. dangerously charming. my favorite chaos partner on and off the field.

    𓆉 francis. the secret history coded. emotionally unavailable posh bitch who's actually brilliant. he translates latin for tyler like he's above it. he's not. but one thing i'm sure of: he's not from this time, but likee maybe none of us are.

    𓆈 kyle. a ginger menace. insect enthusiast (just like me). lowkey genius. knows the story of every haunted object in town. most definitely the reason we haven't died in one of our expeditions. rumour says he's trying to modify his bike into a time machine, if anyone goes all marty mc fly and take us back in time it's him.

    𓆉 tyler. my dear brainless jock with a golden heart. always in nike black shorts, never serious, but would sell his soul for a strawberry milkshake. low-key my fav.

𓇼 i feel like this is very random but fuck it i love these guys with my whole heart. i’m also shy to post this but whatever… maybe next one should be about my boyfriend.

[anythinggoesbutme]

Summer ‘25

Total Books: 7

𓇼 To Kill a Kingdom, Alexandra Christo

Rating: ★★★ ☆ ☆ (3.5 out of 5 stars)

Quote: “People don’t tell secrets because someone needs to know them. They do it because they need someone to tell”

Aesthetic Review: Dark seas and salt-stung magic collide in To Kill a Kingdom, a lush, enemies-to-lovers fantasy where sirens and pirates hunt each other across treacherous oceans. Christo paints an atmospheric world of jagged coastlines, cursed treasures, and aching longing between predator and prey.

Tropes & Themes: Enemies to Lovers, Cursed Royals, Morally Gray Protagonists, High-Seas Adventure, Forbidden Romance, Identity & Redemption, Found Family, Dark Fairy-Tale Vibe

𓇼 Defy The Night, Brigid Kemmerer

Rating: ★★★★☆ (4.8 out of 5 stars)

Quote: “Please, my love.”

Aesthetic Review: Moonlit rooftops, flickering lanterns, and whispered rebellion — Defy the Night is a lush, action-packed fantasy that pulls you into a world on the edge of collapse. Brigid Kemmerer blends intrigue and romance into a dark, fast-paced story of two people from opposite worlds teaming up to save their kingdom before it tears itself apart.

Tropes & Themes:, Robin Hood Retelling, (Rapunzel?), Forbidden Romance, Rebellion vs. Corrupt Monarchy, Enemies to Lovers, Found Family & Loyalty, Sacrifice and Duty, Courage and Compassion, Moral Grayness and Redemption

𓇼 Defend the Dawn, Brigid Kemmer

Rating: ★★★★ ☆ (4.7 out of 5 stars)

Quote: “Mind your mettle”

Aesthetic Review: Silken lies and fractured loyalties. A kingdom healing, a journey unraveling. Defend the Dawn is a sweeping continuation filled with political tension, slow-burning romance, and high-stakes diplomacy. As secrets unfold and alliances shift, the line between duty and desire becomes dangerously thin.

Tropes & Themes: Political Intrigue & Royal Corruption, Dangerous Journey & Road Trip Romance, Identity, Deception & Betrayal, Second-Chance Love, Scarcity, Power, and Survival

𓇼 Destory the Day, Brigid Kemmer

Rating: ★★★★☆ (4.2 out of 5 stars)

Quote: “If you’re breathing, you’re alive. If you’re alive, there’s still hope. Don’t undo it on your own”

Aesthetic Review: Shattered crowns. Broken trust. A kingdom teetering on the edge of collapse. Destroy the Day is the explosive, emotionally charged finale to the Defy the Night series — filled with heartbreak, uneasy alliances, and the desperate hope of reunion in a world falling apart.

Tropes & Themes: Separation & Longing, Enemies to Reluctant Allies, Power, Rebellion & Revolution, Found Family in Chaos, Trust, Forgiveness & Second Chances, Grief, Sacrifice & Resilience

𓇼 Bad Blod, Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Rating: ★★★★☆ (4.0 out of 5 stars)

Quote: “Home isn't a place. Home is the people who love you. Forever and ever, no matter what.”

Aesthetic Review: Blood-soaked secrets. Generational killers. A mother long thought dead. Bad Blood is the darkest, most twisted installment of The Naturals series — full of betrayal, mind games, and the kind of secrets that ruin lives. Cassie’s world is turned upside down as the line between victim and villain blurs, and the truth becomes more dangerous than the lies.

Tropes & Themes: Murder Mystery, Twists and Deception, Family Drama, Cult Influence, Secrets and Betrayal

𓇼 Twelve, Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Rating: ★★★☆☆ (3.4 out of 5 stars)

Quote: “Even when wounds healed, the scars remained.”

Aesthetic Review: Dark skies. A lighthouse on the edge of the world. A girl with secrets and a storm in her eyes. Twelve brings the Naturals back in a chilling continuation—older, hardened, and haunted. It’s a story of ghosts that don’t stay buried, childhood trauma that still echoes, and a case that hits way too close to home.

Tropes & Themes: Found Family of Gifted Teens, Small Town Secrets, Childhood Trauma, Suicide or Murder?, Genius Profiling & Emotional Complexity, Ghosts from the Past, Psychological Darkness

𓇼 Love & Gelato, Jenna Evans Welch

Rating: ★★★☆☆ (3.4 out of 5 stars)

Quote: “You know, people come to Italy for all sorts of reasons, but when they stay, it's for the same two things." "What?" "Love and gelato.”

Aesthetic Review: Sun-drenched streets. Scooters and secrets. A summer in Italy that wasn’t supposed to change anything — but somehow changes everything. Love & Gelato is a light, heartwarming story about grief, family, first love, and discovering who you are somewhere unexpected.

Tropes & Themes: Unexpected Travel, Found Journal / Past Unraveling, Culture, Food & Self-Discovery, Grief and Healing, Sweet First Love, Love Triangle, Reconnecting with a Parent

[stoceanette]

𓇼 ⋆.˚𓆝 SAME TIME TOMORROW .ᐟ

┃ mechanic!johnny x butcher!simon ┃

( ©stoceanette; no translations, copies, or external usage as it is my work— thank you ♡ )

✦ mutual(s): @cr1ms0n-gh0stzzz <3

✦ tags: divergence from og au, hc simon appearance, small but mighty blurb, soulmates, blue-collar jobs, crude/suggestive language, simon is a fish guy since he was born in manchester & johnny is a juicy steak kind of guy, work life, and a healthy relationship/friendship with the two.. like they’re absolutely on good terms.

✦ synopsis: In the golden haze of a summer evening, mechanic Johnny MacTavish drops by the local butcher shop to return a favor—fixing Simon Riley’s truck. In return, Simon gifts him a prized Wagyu cut and a home-cooked steak dinner.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪

The bell above the butcher shop door gave a guttural clang as it swung inward on worn hinges, a sound heavy with familiarity and age. Johnny MacTavish stepped inside, ducking beneath the frame like he’d done a hundred times before. The summer heat peeled off him in waves, clinging to his tanned skin, seeping into the sweat-soaked collar of his tank. Salt streaked his throat and neck, a mark of the day’s labor beneath a merciless sun.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the outside world faded. In its place, a cocoon of scent: raw, honey-laced beef mingled with oak-smoke residue, the sharp bite of lemon peel, and the distant tang of brine from somewhere behind the counter. It smelled like comfort. Like ritual. Like Riley.

Johnny scrubbed his palms against the oil-stained rag looped through his belt, the fabric rough against calloused skin. His steel-toed boots echoed on the shop’s scuffed, age-worn tile as he stepped deeper into the cool interior. Everything about the space was functional and clean, but lived-in—like the sort of place that didn’t pretend to be more than it was.

White subway tiles gleamed faintly beneath warm overhead bulbs, butcher block counters bore knife grooves and stains, and the chalkboard menu to the left had meat cuts diagrammed with professional care. On the right, in looser, more personal handwriting, a list of daily “Chef Specials” sprawled in colored chalk.

Near the bottom, underlined twice in blue, read: Fish Fry – Friday Only. Fresh cod. Ask Simon.

“Oi, Riley!” Johnny called out, his voice carrying with a friendly rasp. He leaned into the wide glass display case, arms folded, chin tipped with casual arrogance, “Your truck’s runnin’ smoother than a Scottish lullaby. Fuel line’s fixed, idle’s recalibrated, even topped off your washer fluid. You’re welcome.”

A beat passed. Then, from the back kitchen came a familiar low drawl, unhurried and warm: “You spoilin’ me again, MacTavish. Gonna set my standards too high.”

Simon Riley emerged a moment later, framed by the swinging kitchen door like a specter stepping into his domain. He looked like he’d been carved from something older and stronger than the building around him.

Sleeves rolled up his forearms, the black button-down he wore was dusted in flour and streaked faintly with a dry spice rub that clung to his clothes like scent did to woodsmoke. His checkered apron was tied tight around his trim waist, smeared with evidence of a long day’s craft.

His forearms, dense with muscle and traced with pale scars and freckles, flexed as he reached under the counter and pulled out a carefully wrapped parcel. His buzzcut was damp with sweat near the hairline, the tousled top catching the light in shades of ashy blond.

He slung a towel over his broad shoulder and slid the paper-wrapped bundle across the polished counter.

“For you,” he hummed, voice low but clear.

Johnny blinked, frowning slightly. “That better not be what I think it is.”

“A5 Wagyu ribeye. Whole cut,” Simon confirmed, a ghost of a smirk at the corners of his mouth. “Paid a pretty penny for it, but you’re worth it. You give me top-shelf care, I give you top-shelf beef. Fair trade.”

Johnny hesitated, the warmth of the package seeping into his fingertips as he lifted it. His expression flickered—resistance, softened by the subtle intimacy of the gesture.

“Simon, c’mon—this is too much. I told you, I don’t—” Johnny insisted with his hands raised.

“Let me do this,” Simon interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. “You feed machines. I feed people. Same trade, different tools.”

Their eyes met across the counter. A quiet beat stretched between them—not awkward, but dense with unspoken things. Johnny’s hand closed around the parcel.

“You’re a stubborn bastard,” he muttered, grudging smile tugging at his mouth.

Simon’s eyes glittered, “Like calls to like.”

Johnny was a contrast to Simon’s grounded stillness—shorter, but wiry and coiled with strength. His shoulders strained beneath the thin, grease-streaked white tank he wore, his blue coveralls tied loose at the waist. His brunette mohawk was flattened and damp from heat, the longer top disheveled and dark with sweat. A streak of oil cut across his temple, trailing toward the hinge of his jaw. He looked like he’d just rolled out from under a semi-truck—and chances were, he had.

Without a word, Simon reached beneath the counter again and emerged with a steaming plate already prepped—thick-cut steak glistening in its own seasoned broth, tender vegetables soaking beneath it. He added a cold soda with the fizz Johnny was fond of, the kind that stung a little at the lips.

“Figured you’d show,” Simon murmured. “Summer rub—paprika, cayenne, garlic, touch of cumin. Broth-cooked for depth. You’re starving. I can hear your stomach from ‘ere.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes, but his smirk returned. He grabbed a fork from the utensil basket, dragged a chair over to the cozy nook tucked beside the counter—a small corner table, mismatched chairs, a faded coaster bearing the name of a defunct beer brand. A home away from home.

Simon followed with his own plate—perfectly fried cod, its crust golden and crisp, paired with thick-cut chips and a sauce dense with capers and dill. He brought a pint too, the glass slick with condensation, catching the low shoplight like amber.

They ate in silence, slow and comfortable, the kind of quiet that exists only between men who’ve stopped pretending they need to fill it. Every scrape of fork, every sip, every shared glance—words lived in those spaces.

Simon dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, folding it neatly on his lap when he was done. “Garage busy today?”

“Always,” Johnny huffed between bites. “Kid brought in a Civic that sounded like a blender full of marbles. Said the check engine light’s been on since ‘05. Had to rip out half the engine.” He shook his head in remembrance. “Told him if I see that light again, I’m slappin’ him with the owner’s manual.”

Simon chuckled, the sound a low and honest rumble. “You always this gentle with your customers?”

“I save my charm for you.”

Simon raised a brow, “Lucky me.”

Johnny’s plate was scraped clean before he realized. The seasoned broth was all but gone, the meat’s smoky and hickory richness still on his tongue.

“Fuck, mate,” he murmured, sitting back with a hand reaching out to his bubbly drink and mindlessly sipping at it. “You’ve got magic hands.”

Simon looked up, brows raised, voice casual, unhurried, and a tad too attentive: “Wouldn’t mind usin’ ‘em on your neck sometime.”

Johnny choked on his soda, coughing and swearing as he patted his chest firmly a few times, “Jesus, warn a guy first.”

Simon didn’t flinch. He sucked tartar sauce off his thumb, smiling slow with a soft pop, “Embarrassed, MacTavish?”

Johnny stood quickly, flustered but not retreating. The empty plate clutched like a shield, “I should help you close before you say somethin’ worse.”

And so he did. Together they cleaned the counters, swept the scuffed tile, scrubbed the cutting boards and sealed the fridge doors with practiced rhythm. They moved in sync, each step matching the other’s without needing instruction. The kind of coordination that could only come from time—habit, repetition, trust.

Once the last light was flicked off behind the counter, Simon jingled his keys, brows lifting, “Leave your car at the shop again?”

“Yeah,” Johnny nodded, wiping his hands on his rag, “Tunin’ the carburetor tomorrow.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Simon assured with emphasis, stretching the vowels longer than necessary to get the point across.

Johnny didn’t argue this time. There wasn’t any point. When Simon wanted something, he got it—and Johnny had never really minded that.

They stepped outside into the deep blue of early night, the air heavy with heat, but softened now by the ocean breeze rolling in from the coast. Streetlamps buzzed to life one by one, painting the road in hazy gold. They walked side by side to Simon’s truck, the engine already purring smooth from Johnny’s touch. As they climbed in, Simon’s hand brushed Johnny’s—intentional? Maybe. Neither commented.

Inside the truck, it smelled of leather, wood polish, faint meat smoke. Johnny leaned back against the headrest, the weight of the day sloughing off him with every exhale. Fed. Tired. At peace.

Simon’s voice broke the quiet gently, “Same time tomorrow?”

“Only if there’s more of that bloody lovely steak.”

“I’ll make salmon,” Simon replied, eyes on the road, “For the two of us. You’ll like the fish life.”

Johnny turned toward him with a slow grin, “With hollandaise?”

“Always.”

Johnny sighed contentedly, head tilting toward the cool glass of the window, “Deal.”

[airbiscuitz]

Burning Backwards

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Summary: You and Rafe were childhood friends—inseparable until he changed in high school. Now you're back in the OBX for the summer after being away, and he's more dangerous, unpredictable… and magnetic. Everyone warns you to stay away, but late-night bonfires and shared memories keep pulling you in. Does the old Rafe still exist, or are you falling for a ghost?

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Word count: 11k

Warnings: Mentions of cigarette use, brief description of a fight

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

The Outer Banks hadn't changed, not really. The salt still clung to the wind, the dunes still whispered in the evening breeze, and the sun still set like it had something to prove. What had changed was you—and Rafe Cameron.

You hadn’t planned to come back. College had given you a clean break, an excuse to put space between the memories and the mess of what OBX had become. You’d grown up running wild through these streets with Rafe at your side, your bare feet kicking up sand, your hands sticky from melting popsicles. He was your shadow back then—laughing, reckless, golden. The boy who told you everything, who held your pinky and swore you'd never be apart.

But then high school happened. And Rafe… unraveled.

He stopped showing up. Started skipping school. Got in fights, whispered rumors chasing behind him like a storm. His smile turned mean. His words turned sharp. You tried to hold on, but one day he didn’t meet you at the pier like he promised. After that, there were no more promises.

So you left.

And now, four years later, you were back—for the summer only, you told yourself. Temporary. You’d walk the familiar paths, visit your parents, soak in the nostalgia, and then leave again before anything could sink its claws into you.

You didn’t expect to see Rafe your first night back.

It was at a bonfire on the beach, the kind you'd been dragged to a hundred times in your teens. You stuck close to the firelight, nursing a beer, laughing with people you used to know but barely recognized now. And then you felt it—that buzz at the base of your spine. The weight of a stare.

You turned.

He stood at the edge of the light, like a shadow trying to remember how to be a person. Cigarette between his lips, arms crossed, eyes locked on you. Same blue eyes. Different temperature.

Your breath hitched.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just nodded once—almost imperceptible. Then turned and walked into the dark.

You should’ve stayed by the fire.

But you didn’t.

---

You found him leaning against the hood of a black Jeep with peeling paint, moonlight making him look softer than he was.

"You back for good?" he asked, not looking at you.

"Just the summer."

He nodded. Flicked the cigarette away.

"Place hasn’t been the same."

You didn’t ask if he meant the OBX or himself. You weren’t ready.

He pushed off the Jeep, walked toward you, close enough that you could smell the salt on his skin, the hint of something smoky and familiar.

"You look the same," he said. "But different."

"You look different," you replied. "But the same."

He gave a huff of a laugh. "Guess we’re both ghosts."

---

It started slow.

You’d see him around—at the gas station, on the pier, walking the same streets you once ruled together. You never planned it, but he’d be there. Sometimes he’d nod. Sometimes he’d say nothing. Once, he handed you a bottle of water without asking and walked away.

But the tension built like thunder.

And then came the treehouse.

You were wandering through the woods near your childhood home when you saw it. Hidden by overgrowth, still miraculously standing. You climbed up the rickety ladder, heart hammering.

And he was already there.

"Didn’t think you’d come," he said, not looking at you.

"Didn’t know I was invited."

He slid a jar across the wooden floor toward you. Inside were folded notes, old ticket stubs, tiny treasures from another life.

You lifted one of the notes. It was in your handwriting: "Don’t forget me."

You looked up. His jaw was tight. His hands were fists.

"I forgot everything but you," he said.

---

After that, it was a mess of moments. Confessions in the dark. Driving down backroads with no destination. Late-night swims. Arguments that ended with slammed doors and bruised hearts. He’d pull away. You’d chase. Then you’d push, and he’d chase.

Everyone warned you.

Your old friends. Your mother. Even Sarah Cameron, who pulled you aside and said, "He’s not who he used to be. He’s not who you think he is."

But she didn’t see what you saw.

How he watched you like you were a lifeline. How his hands shook after he yelled. How he said sorry without words—leaving flowers on your doorstep, fixing your broken bike chain, standing between you and trouble more than once.

The night he kissed you, the sky was heavy with stars.

You were sitting on the beach, his shoulder brushing yours.

"You remember the Fourth of July when we were ten?" he asked.

"You lit a sparkler in your pocket. Burned a hole in your shorts."

He smiled. Really smiled.

Then he leaned in. Slow. Careful. Like asking permission.

When your lips met, it was every memory, every ache, every forgotten promise wrapped into one.

You kissed him like he was still yours.

---

But love doesn’t fix everything.

Not when the darkness runs deep.

He spiraled one night. Got into a fight with a guy at the bar. You tried to stop him, grabbed his arm, screamed his name. But he was gone—lost to rage.

The next day, he didn’t call. Didn’t show up.

You sat on the porch of the treehouse until dawn.

When he finally came, he looked broken.

"I scare you now."

"No," you whispered. "You scare yourself."

He dropped to his knees in front of you.

"I don’t know how to be good anymore."

You cupped his face. "Then be real. Be here. Start there."

---

The days blurred together. You woke up next to him more often than not. You saw the best of him, and the worst. He was flawed, but he tried.

And then, just like that, summer was ending.

The night before your flight, he handed you the jar again.

Inside was a new note.

"I’ll find my way back to you. Just leave the light on."

You kissed him like you didn’t know when you’d get to again.

Because maybe you didn’t.

You left the next morning.

But the jar stayed on your nightstand.

Waiting. With Rafe Cameron longing on the other end.

[airbiscuitz]

could i request a jj fic where he’s been in a long term relationship with the pogue! reader

but they haven’t been able to fully be together with all the chaos around them, a fight ensues, and maybe the reader gets hurt before jj can apologize? and fluffy ending please 😔🫶🏼

i just love how you write angst to comfort

We have our first request YAY!

"Don't Run From Me."

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Summary: JJ and you have been in a long-term relationship, but the chaos of life in the Outer Banks—treasure hunts, danger, and nonstop conflict—has kept you from truly being together. After a heated argument where feelings boil over, you storm off into the marsh, only to be chased by a man with a gun—the same one who had hunted you all weeks before. You gets hurt trying to escape, but JJ finds you just in time, saving you and realizing how close he came to losing you.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word count: 1.8k.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The Outer Banks were chaos. They always had been—storms that never stopped, gold that never stayed buried, and enemies that always came back. In the middle of it, there was you and JJ. It hadn’t been easy. Two years together, but only a handful of quiet moments. The rest had been spent dodging bullets, climbing onto moving boats, and holding your breath in the marsh. And lately, it felt like you and JJ were holding your breath with each other, too.

You were tired. Not of him—never of him. But of feeling like his last priority.

It started with the boat keys.

“I asked you one thing, JJ!” you yelled, arms flailing as you stood at the dock near the HMS Pogue.

JJ tossed his hands up. “I’m sorry, I got sidetracked! Kie needed help, and then John B was talking about Ward—”

“And I needed you,” you cut in. “I needed five minutes of your time without everyone else pulling you away. But I guess I don’t come first anymore.”

JJ’s expression shifted from defensive to wounded. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is pretending like we’re still in this when you haven’t looked me in the eye for a week,” you snapped. “I feel like I’m dating a ghost.”

His jaw tightened. “You know what? Maybe that’s better than dating someone who expects me to pick them over my best friends in the middle of a warzone.”

You stared at him, heart thudding painfully. “Wow. That’s how you see me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

But you were already walking off, grabbing your backpack from the dock. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not again.

JJ didn’t chase you.

---

You wandered the marsh, the sun dipping low behind the trees. You didn’t know where you were going—you just needed space. Space to breathe. Space to hurt without anyone watching.

That’s when you heard it.

The crack of a branch.

A soft, ominous splash.

You turned sharply.

That face. That same wicked smile that always manages to send fear all over your body.

Your heart stopped.

He was back—the man who’d chased you and JJ through the marsh weeks ago. The guy who worked for one of Rafe’s dealers. You thought he was gone. You thought it was over.

Apparently, you were wrong.

You bolted.

Branches whipped your face. Your feet slammed the uneven dirt trail, lungs burning with fear. Behind you, his heavy boots pounded the ground. And then—

“STOP RUNNING!” he shouted, followed by the unmistakable click of a safety being turned off.

Your heart jumped to your throat.

Where was JJ?

Why hadn’t you waited for him to calm down? Why did you always run?

You turned sharply down a narrow path—but your foot caught a root, and you fell hard, tumbling down a slope and landing in the mud with a sickening thud. Pain tore through your side. Your arm twisted awkwardly beneath you. You wanted to scream but only a choked sob escaped your mouth, desperate to escape this loop of danger that somehow always managed to follow you.

You couldn’t move.

The footsteps stopped above the slope. You braced yourself. Closing your eyes shut until you can't see any light peeking through your lashes, lungs heavy with the scent of wet grass, dead leaves and the outstanding smell of the marsh water.

But another voice broke through the stillness.

“HEY!”

It was JJ. Furious. Breathless.

Terrified.

“Back the hell off!” He demanded, hair a mess and jaw locked.

The man cursed and bolted. JJ didn’t chase him. He ran straight for you.

“Baby,” he breathed, dropping to his knees. “Oh my god—baby.” his voice met your ears and you wanted to cry. You really did. Because the way he said those words felt like he was gripping your heart with desperation to come back to you.

You were trembling. Your lips moved but no sound came out.

JJ pulled you gently into his arms, hands shaking. “I got you. I’m here. You’re okay. I promise. You're okay.” he kissed your temple, cradling your body gently and with his teeth meeting his bottom lip. He wanted the world to get angry at him right here and now because of how stupid he was. You just wanted him. You just wanted to talk to him, spend some time, but he lashed out, pushing you away, yelling at you and God... He fucking hated himself for that. And now you're hurt, because of him.

You buried your face in his chest, finally letting the sob out.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he whispered against your hair. “I was pissed and stupid, and I let my fear make me push you away. But I never meant to let you go.”

“I thought I was gonna die,” you choked. “I didn’t want to die like that. Mad at you.” You wholeheartedly explained, gripping into the fabric of his shirt.

JJ held you tighter. “You’re not dying. Not today. Not while I’m still breathing.” he promised.

---

Back at the Chateau, Kie helped patch you up—aching shoulder, bruised ribs, a few cuts. But the worst of it wasn’t physical. That night, after everyone had gone to bed, you sat on the porch steps, wrapped in one of John B’s hoodies, sipping ginger ale. JJ came out, wordlessly sitting beside you, close but careful not to touch you unless you wanted him to.

“I was so scared,” you whispered.

JJ rubbed his hands together, voice quiet. “Me too. I thought... if I had just said something sooner... if I hadn’t let you leave like that...”

“You didn’t know,” you said softly. “Neither did I. And I shouldn’t have run.”

He turned to face you. “Don’t run from me, okay? Not when you’re scared. Not when you’re mad. I’ll take the yelling. I’ll take the tears. Just—don’t disappear on me like that.” JJ softly said, it was almost like a whisper. A silent plea. His voice shaking.

You nodded, tears welling again. “Okay.” you managed to put out a small smile.

He reached for your hand. “I know I’ve been distant. And I know I don’t always say what I should. But I need you to know—you’re it for me. Not when the chaos ends. Now. Even in the middle of all this shit.”

You squeezed his hand back. “Then show me. Let me be your person. Even when it’s messy.”

He smiled, eyes glassy with emotion. “Deal.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, and JJ rested his cheek against your hair.

After a while, he whispered, “I was thinking... once things calm down—just for a weekend—we disappear. Just you and me. No treasure. No guns. Just peace.”

You smiled. “Is that even possible in the OBX?”

He chuckled. “Maybe not. But I think we can make our own version of peace.”

“Then yeah,” you whispered. “I’d like that.”

---

The next morning, you woke to the smell of bacon and something sweet. You padded into the kitchen—still sore, still stiff—and found JJ standing at the stove, wearing your sunglasses and humming off-key.

“Breakfast for my badass girl,” he said proudly, holding up a plate.

You laughed, actually laughed, for the first time in days.

“You made that?” You pointed at his so called 'masterpiece'. Some slices of bacon were burnt and rock solid, the pancakes he flipped were cracked in the middle, still raw on the inside, hell maybe even half cooked. But you smiled until your cheeks gave out, you missed this. You missed him.

“With love and too much cinnamon, yes.”

You kissed his cheek. “You’re full of surprises, Maybank.”

He grinned. “Only for you.”

And maybe, for once, you didn’t have to run.

Because JJ was already running toward you.

Every damn time.