#ghostly writes stuff

[ghostlysoaps]

John MacTavish used to spend parts of his summers in England visiting extended family and this is where he ends up meeting a boy a couple years older than him named Simon. Surprisingly enough, they hit it off. His bombastic, extroverted personality somehow manages to compliment Simon’s rather timid, introverted one. Joined at the hip, the two of them quickly call themselves best friends, and, as children tend to do, develop a bit of an innocent crush on each other – going so far as to promise to marry one another if they haven’t found anyone else by the time they’re both twenty-five.

But then autumn arrives and goodbyes are made and their promises to meet up again never come to fruition.

He doesn’t forget him though. Their friendship remains a fond memory, even a decade later, though much of the details are blurred with time. Perhaps it’s because they’d been each other’s first kiss – if the chaste peck of lips-on-lips can be called as such – or it’s the ring of twined straw, brittle as tinder, he has tucked away in his box of mementos that make that particular summer an unforgettable thing.

That and his steadfast insistence no one else is allowed to use a certain nickname for him.

In any case… those faded months are far from his mind when John Price is showing him around their base of operations, introducing him to people as they go along. The one-four-one consists of near enough two dozen operatives though he’s told it’s not uncommon to be mostly paired off with a select few of his fellow soldiers if they play to each other’s strengths. He nods along and pushes for the use of his callsign when folks wish to be friendly. Until, eventually, he finds himself face-to-face with a man who needs no introduction. A living legend as it were; who’s records Soap had worked hard to beat.

“Well then, last but not least. MacTavish, this is Lieutenant Simon Riley. Also known as–”

“–my future husband,” John finishes for him, based on a name, twelve percent of a full thought and the manc accent he’d spied when hearing him dismiss a batch of recruits.

Youngest to ever make the SAS and about to be the quickest one ousted, he thinks miserably when the eyes assessing him narrow at his declaration.

“Johnny?”

Oh.

“So ye do remember me!” Pivoting from mortification to delight, and heedless to any gawking voyeurs, John slings an arm around Simon’s shoulders to draw him into a loose side-hug. “No’ long now ‘fore we need t’ get hitched, aye?”

“Courthouse is a twenty minute ride,” Simon says drily.

Soap laughs, brighter than he can remember doing for a long time, before he immediately starts teasing Ghost about not proposing properly.

(He does, of course, do so years down the line.)

[toadettely]

"You want to kiss him so badly, i've been watching this shit for years and all you two ever did was hug."

The spirit giggled amused as Vernis rolled his eyes.

"You are such a stalker! Why can't you watch other people?!" Vernias tried to deflect, the slight blush on his cheeks didn't help.

"Because Brent doesn't watch out for cars when passing a street, Nick is the funniest and most hilarious person and I like how he knows it, and you are fascinating to look at." Sophist almost danced in the air like he was excited to talking about his point of view.

"I'm fascinating?! This sounds like we are animals in a zoo for you!" Vernias sighed but couldn't help the small giggle that escaped him.

"You are not! You guys are my favourite people!"

Silence. Vernias' giggle died out and all he did was stare at the purple ghost.

"... Can I like, hug you?" His voice was so quiet he wanted to facepalm himself.

Sophist positioned himself in front of the shorter man, his smile warm and soft. "I'm a ghost and all, but we can try!"

(Bonus:

Sophist can move objects and he uses one of Vern's plushies to hug him or give him kisses on the cheek in random circumstances.

He's also frequently playing with Brent's piplup plush. Brent doesn't notice his piplup is laying differently sometimes.

After Vern tells Brent about Sophist, Brent tries talking to the ghost and because Brent can't see nor hear him, Sophist uses objects to communicate with Brent. (Possibly mostly the piplup <33)

Because Nick doesn't believe in ghosts, Sophist causes chaos in his home to get Nick's attention and to show him that ghosts exist. Broken plates, laundry on the floor, chairs moving, cold water instead of warm and such. When Nick finally admits that "he feels haunted by a ghost" (true) Sophist stops and does nice things ("WHAT THE HELL, WHY IS MY LAUNDRY DONE?! GHOST? WAS THAT YOU, YOU BOZO?!") but he can't help messing with Nick from time to time.

[blueberry-ink-93]

bayan

hijab practice i forgor to post last night lol. thank u to my beloved @notsolonedesert for the hijab inspiration i owe u my life atp <33

[ell-arts]

Background teaser for the next chapter's artwork ;)

[solargeist]

NEW USERNAME JUST DROPPED ................

[ghosttrolls]

im trying to use google docs for the first time in like over a year on my computer and i had to turn off autocorrect again (i dont like a computer "fixing" my words, google docs is especially bad with their guesswork), it's lagging every time i scroll the page by A LOT, every time i hit enter it goes two lines down. can i stop this from happening i cant figure out the setting for the "enter = two lines now" thing

[ghostlylicious]

‘Battle Cry'

An oc drabble by yours truly

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

Ze never had the courage to give faer a flower, though ze knew what kind of flowers fae liked; roses, daffodils, and lily of the valleys.

But then ze did gather the courage to give faer a flower. A small, yellow dandelion. Within a frenzied battlefield where fae was the tyrant of the other side. Ze reached faer, battered and rage-fueled, just to give this flower.

A distraction? A truce? Fae couldn't tell, for fae had never experienced a gesture like this. So then followed a clunk from the impact of steel on cobble.

And so the king cried.

the ocs that hate me (they need a redesign fr):

[tawny-wind]

Pac man and the ghostly adventures au explanation.

I’m in a pac man mood, so explanation time.

I had this au for 3 years now. It had the main pac man cast as wings of fire dragons. But since last year, I didn’t want my au to be dragons now. I changed it to humans and going to do some re-writing of the lore. It may be long.

So I’m going to explain what happened during/after the show. Along with ocs!

When the Pac world wars started. A good amount of the characters had to protect everyone from Betrayus. Especially the kids, they had a bunker that they kept the kids in for protection and had guards protecting the place.

This was a risk though. The resistance built tunnels out of the bunker. Betrayus knew about this bunker, but didn’t know where until near of the war. When he was losing to the Freedom Fighters.

Ghosts in my au, before they went into the Repository to have their bodies stripped way from them. They gotten really bad injuries and suffered a lot weakening them. Betrayus is a good example of this. He got his face and his chest burned by pure accident. This also gave him his fire powers.

That made him furious when this happened. He knew his brother did this to him. He was the first one to have his body stripped away.

At the time during the war. The yellow ones were dwindling. There is a group of yellow ones left. They live in Pac-Tokyo now.

Pac isn’t the only yellow one to live in Pacopolis. There is Dakota Porter, who has vitiligo. She hides her yellow vitiligo for out of anxiety. She is the half sister of Skeebo. Both share the same mom, who is the new Head of Security.

Dakota is usually seen with her best friend Smokey. Who has been her best friend since toddlers. Dakota and Smokey recently joined, Pac and his group to help fight ghosts. Dakota is friends with pac and his group. She is also friends with Azalea the ghost princess of the underworld and Noelle another ghost.

The school has been destroyed in a ghost attack. But since then the school has been rebuilt near the lake. The actual maze is fine and is a historical site now. Pac worlders are allowed to go in.

President Spheros and Betrayus absolutely hates each other now. The only time that they will work together is to get outer space outsiders gone. The war and Betrayus trying to one up his brother are the major reasons that they hate each other.

Ellie is living at Pacpolis to study at Maze high school. She loves it there so far. She makes friends easily. She and Pac are dating. They keep it quiet for now.

Pac and his fellow students are seniors now. They are so burnt out. Since all of them have jobs. Pac and his crew do fight off ghosts and work at the national library near the maze.

Sasha is Skeebo and Dakota’s mom. She is the Head of Security. She is a war veteran and serious about her job. But drops it when her kids come around. They are her everything.

The ghost gang is allowed to be sureface world full time due to giving the pac crew information about Betrayus. The twins are still the Buttler and Scientist. They both still argue a lot.

After the main show, there are a lot of ghost attacks. So President Spheros had Ellie stay for a while until the ghost attacks calmed down. The pac crew have been working overtime with the ghost attacks. Along with going to school and having a job. So they are super burnt out.

President Spheros is growing tired of his brothers attacks and is trying to make a deal with him. But to no effect. Going to the Nether for some resources is a challenge. Due to the up tick of ghosts.

There are new power berries that are growing on the Tree of Life. There are a few that grow in groups.

[ghostlysoaps]

A Minor Annoyance

They’re back at base again and Ghost has been holed up in his office for the majority of the week in an attempt to get back on track with his ever-increasing backlog of paperwork. The knock on his door is therefore welcome, though surprising. He sits up straighter, wincing when several joints pop in protest, calling for them to come in.

Gaz leans himself against the doorframe. He, too, looks exhausted. Exhausted and irritated.

“I need your help wrangling Soap,” he says without preamble or an arduous attempt at small talk.

Ghost blinks at him.

“What?”

“He’s a stubborn bastard who won’t listen to reason,” Gaz shrugs. “And if it comes down to knocking him out in order to get him to rest, I’d rather have help carrying his leaden arse back to his room.”

Ghost blames sleep deprivation for the way he snorts.

“Alright,” he acquiesces, following behind the sergeant with amused wariness dogging his steps.

-

They find Soap outside surrounded by the scent of petrichor and bleary-eyed recruits. A gust of wind weaves around them, its chilling bite unmistakable where it tugs upon their hair and clothes, rustling through the pine-ridden area like an unexpected whisper. Ghost waits for Soap to send the group out on the track before he approaches, brow furrowed in response to the thickness layered over his voice. He'd sounded as if he spoke from deep in his throat, and with an air of a man pretending as if it didn’t pain him to do so. As he draws closer, Ghost allows the gravel beneath his feet to shift deliberately.

Soap jerks, swings his head around when Ghost comes to stand at his side, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. The tip of his nose is red too, his cheeks a tad puffy, though he carries himself admirably regardless. Straight-backed and refusing to huddle into the oversized jacket he's wearing.

"Lt.? What're y'doing ���ere?”

“I'm relieving you of your duties. Garrick can take it from here,” he replies, throwing Gaz a look that is met with surreptitious thumbs-up. He'll ask Price to look into leave for him. Soap's not the only one itching to work himself into an early grave by the looks of it.

It must be a cold day in hell, he muses, if I'm the one with the healthiest work-life balance at the moment.

“What?! Get tae and dinnae talk pish! I'm fine. I can work, Sir, I dinnae need–”

“That was an order, Sergeant. You can either leave on your own two feet or slung over my shoulder. Choice is yours.”

Soap's eyes narrow, his shoulders drawing up defensively, lips pulled back in a sneer. “You wouldn't dare.”

Which is about the worst thing he could've possibly said.

All at once Simon is twelve years old again with a defiant Tommy glaring daggers at him from across the stained rug, those fateful words a hiss through clenched teeth. Even the keen knowledge of their mother’s impending disappointment, how she'd give him a hushed dressing down in the aftermath of their scuffle, hadn't curbed his need to lunge for him. It's like the flip of a switch. Three simple words and suddenly Ghost is vibrating with the desire to prove Soap wrong. Some previously dormant code ingrained deep in his DNA flaring to life with all the speed of an oxygen fire.

Those memories carry him forward and the sudden shift in Johnny’s expression, the moment he realises he’s sealed his fate proper, sends a thrill skittering down his spine.

“Wait, Ghost, I–” is about as far as he comes before the words change into an unintelligible blend of Scottish nonsense, voice strained from having his diaphragm compressed. “Put me doon ye clarty bastard! Gaz!”

“Dream come true for you, huh?” Gaz says with a jaunty wave at their retreating backs, mirth etched into the crinkled lines around his eyes.

“I'll fuckin’ kill ye, ye clipe wopper! Lemme doon so ah can wring ‘is bleedin’ neck!” Soap barks, squirming in Ghost's grasp like a recalcitrant eel. It's a blessing that Soap's already running on fumes since, true to his callsign, it's damn near impossible to keep him securely slung over his shoulder.

By his third attempt to claw Ghost's back to shreds, Ghost sighs and pats him firmly on the rump. Soap instantly stills. Flushed to high-heavens if Ghost were to hazard a guess – not that he can see him from this angle. “Settle down, Sergeant, and I might be convinced to let you walk on your own.”

“Hate you,” Johnny wheezes.

Ghost grunts and maneuvers the door open, settling Johnny back on his feet again when it swings shut with a resounding thud. He steadies him when he wobbles on his feet and Johnny lets him with little fuss. Resigned to his fate he shuffles along after Ghost, who detours briefly to score each of them a cuppa. He ladles honey into Johnny’s mug and presses it into his freezing hands. Gets a muttered, unenthusiastic and intentionally mocking “cheers,” for it.

“You're a right cunt when you're sick.”

“Yer a right cunt all o’ the time,” Soap fires back. He's glaring mutinously into his least preferred beverage, cradled close to his chest while he watches Ghost tidy up after them. “Jus’ hate bein’ sick ‘s all. Feel proper boggin’ no matter how many times ah shower an’ my nose is both runny and stuffed as if th’ physics of tha is s'pose to make sense. Could'a powered through it.”

“That's how you end up forcefully strapped to a bed in medical suffering from pneumonia and severe dehydration.”

Johnny pauses. A small smile graces his face and Ghost hastily turns back to wiping down the counters to keep himself from being blinded.

One shouldn't stare directly into the sun after all.

“Speakin’ from experience, sir?”

Ghost doesn't answer, as if that isn't a reply in-and-of-itself, merely nudges Johnny back into moving. He gets him all the way to his door before Soap's brow creases in confusion. His mouth opens, closes, opens again while Ghost trudges inside with little fanfare, door left gaping in silent invitation. Johnny seizes it with both hands after dithering at his threshold a second longer.

He examines the impersonal space with keen interest, slurping obnoxiously at his tea as if to detract from how his hands flutter over scuffed paint and barren walls, his gaze catching over the miniscule signs someone is living there at all.

“Why'ahm I ‘ere, Ghost?” Soap asks when he's done, pinning him in place with the intensity of his stare. It's the same focus he dedicates to a particularly difficult math equation or sketching up blueprints with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. It's a heady feeling to be on the receiving end of it. Heady and terrifying.

“Figured you'd appreciate the en-suite,” Ghost says, violently stamping down on the truth until it comes out in a statement easier to digest. “And someone needs to make sure you stay in place. Bloody flight risk that you are.”

You'd look good in my clothes, in my bed, as a permanent fixture here. This is as much for me as it is for you. A taste of what I can't have.

He hopes Soap doesn't read between the lines this time – always too perceptive for Ghost's questionable sanity.

“An’ where d'ye plan on sleeping?” Johnny smiles, a mote amused and as sweet as the honey lingering on his lips.

“Floor. Or Gaz's room if he doesn't delete those pictures he took.”

Johnny’s eyes go dark as sin.

“Oh, that'll be th’ least of his worries.”

“Sleep, MacTavish. You can come up with your convoluted revenge plot later.”

“Yes sir.” He gives a lazy salute and flops down on Ghost's bed with a grunt – boots and all, the absolute heathen. Ghost watches him rearrange himself into a position more befitting a person who's suffered a recent spinal fracture when Johnny peers up at him again from under thick lashes. “Dinnae think you're exempt from those, Lt. Ah know where ye live now.”

Ghost sighs and tosses the hoodie folded over his chair at Johnny’s face, taking great pleasure in closing the bathroom door in the face of Johnny's indignant name-calling.

-

Prompts via @whumperless-whump-event and @seth-whumps

[ghostlybumblebees]

every hyperfixation needs a special interest crossover au. im calling sburbbound

[cloudyswritings]

You know I’m really starting to think that the beach is haunted. I mean in hindsight it makes a ton of sense honestly. Think about it for a second, you’ve got all of the washed up shells, and starfish, and snails, and like urchins and crabs and shit. Plus sometimes ray and shark eggs. And they’re all just piled up there in a giant lump. Like can you imagine the sheer number of ghosts? And that’s not even thinking about all the fish and other sealife that die there during the red tide, the died gasping for air, choking on the very waves they once called home. That’s not even thinking about things like mass stranding events or beached whales, or all of the little shore creatures kids have accidentally stepped on at the beach. I mean shit, if I were a hermit crab and my entire career got ended cause some fucking kid chucked me at a rock or stepped on me or something I’d be pretty pissed.

Now, you may be asking, okay cloudy but why would they even haunt the beach just cause their shells and corpses ended up there. And like, yeah fair enough, but consider this:

You’re a fish or a snail or something, all of your life has been spent roaming the best hand depth of the sea, but one day you die, and that’s like fine you know? You’re just a little guy and honestly your life expectancy wasn’t so great anyway, so you’re pretty chill with being dead. You drift for a bit and wait to be returned to the food chain. Only that doesn’t happen, instead it’s suddenly too dry, and hot, and the sand is scraping you apart piece by minute piece. You, as much as you can be conscious, being dead and all, are kinda freaking the fuck out. What’s even worse though is that you can tell you’re not alone, in fact there’s others like you, stuck in place and boiling and terrified, and the ocean is right there! But you can’t move, you can only wait and watch, and scream or chitter or whatever it is you do. Except you can’t even do that, because you’re dead. So you join the silently terrified masses, you hope it ends soon, you even dare to think it will. You’re wrong, you’re just out of reach of the high tide, you won’t be set to rest or returned to the sea anytime soon. Worse still, you can hear something approaching you, and feel the sharp crunching noises of those around you being shattered. And great fleshy mouth(?) reaches down to grab you, and brings you before a ghastly eye, the same color as the shells around you. You’re tilted this way and that before you’re shoved somewhere else, somewhere dark. You can feel yourself moving away from the pile, and for a second you’re relived. It doesn’t last long, you feel the sea getting further and further away…

So yeah anyway, just keep the ghosts that weren’t pretty enough to take home In mind when you visit the beach, cause that shit is haunted to hell and back.

[reallyghostlypost]

Finally wrote a backstory for farmer Thad 🥳

To his family's terror, Thad was that creepy child in horror movies that would see ghosts. Only that Thad could see a lot more things than just ghosts. And he was willing to follow ✨suggestions✨.

What do you do with a child who is willing to slice his palm open to try to write blood sigils on the kitchen cabinet door because something told him that this way he could teleport the cookie jar from the top shelf to him?

He's basically half feral and slightly animalistic, potentially spawned by the void itself and raised by it, and an utter moron with no self preservation instincts.

Thad's entire family was always scared of magic, even if they couldn't really explain why. But they were sweating even at the thought of a Ministry mage visiting someone in the same neighbourhood as them, and were absolutely terrified of being 'accused' of having an interest in magic themselves. When Grandpa showed his first signs of magic his parents forbade him from using his powers at all. This was a constant source of conflict that eventually led to Grandpa buying the farm and completely cutting ties with the rest of the family.

After Grandpa stopped talking to them the entire family thought that they could finally relax but then Thad was born. Unlike Grandpa, who discovered his magic by making literal dust bunnies while cleaning at eight, Thad seemed to have been borned with his magic already active. It became obvious fast that Thad could see things his parents could not. If they were 'lucky' he would see a ghost, if not he would start describing things. Things that didn't have names or even shapes, full of eyes and mouths and hunger. This caused endless sleepless nights for his parents and the rest of the family, but it still wasn't enough for them to publicly admit that they have wizards in their family, so like Grandpa Thad was simply told to never use his magic. Unlike Grandpa, Thad never got angry at the interdiction but he also never really followed it.

Aside from his connection with the supernatural he was a good kid. He was intelligent, a top student and could often learn the lesson while the teacher was speaking, but had problems dealing with boredom. He was even tempered, rarely showing strong emotions and generally smiling and polite, but kinda distant (although unknown to his parents he would vent to random supernatural beings). His parents left him alone from an early age and never really cared what he did so he grew up as an independent child. He was getting along with other kids but he never had close friends. He started working as soon as he was legally allowed and changed jobs often due to boredom. He never went to college.

Thad only met Grandpa twice in his life. When he was five Grandpa learned from his doctors that his illness was terminal. So he contacted his family for the first time in years. Thad's dad decided to visit his father for the last time before his death and he decided to take Thad along to at least meet his grandfather. Grandpa thought he was the only magic user in his family so he was shocked to realize Thad not only could do magic, but he was showing potential to became a powerful wizard if his magic was already this strong this early. After a few months, on his deathbed, Grandpa convinced his son to let Thad visit him one last time. Grandpa gave Thad his farm in the hopes that Thad will choose to develop his magical talent in the future and that the isolated farm will make it easier for him.

Eventually, after getting bored at Joja too, Thad decided to check out his grandfather's letter. When he reached the farm Thad already had some experience with magic due to his constant encounter with the other beings.

---

Because his parents were overwhelmed by Thad's experience with magic they would often end up being neglectful, so Thad was basically half raised by them half by whatever spirits or beings happened to be around him at any giving time. That's why he wasn't really lonely as a child despite not having close ties with his parents or any friends.

While not every spirit he encountered was nice, most were at least curious about the human child approaching them and were willing to entertain him for a while. They kept him company after nightmares, comforted him when he was hurt or sick, and helped him restrain his emotions so that he won't accidentally use him magic too much. This is how Thad ended up with some unique ideas about how life works, what is dangerous or scary, or how problems should be resolved. This also gave him an unique perspective on magic.

Over time Thad started to agree with his parents that his magic should remain hidden (but not necessarily that it shouldn't be used). Thad realized his magic was dark. He was basically born with void magic, and void magic was inherently incompatible with reality. Using magic even a little would start straining reality around him, wearing it thin and prone to small tears where the void could start to sneak through. Mending the veil back was also very difficult.

From his 'friends' Thad learned how to use the safer ambiental magic for his needs instead of his natural void magic and learned the basics of multiple types of black magic, especially blood magic and a few types of divination. But he mainly uses his magic to feel different types of energy around him and to heal his wounds and illnesses.

[epitomees]

DIBS

DIBS

DIBS

send me a ‘dibs’ if you are ridiculously attached to me as an rp partner

((You goddamn nerd!! You HAD to write it out in all the fancy lettering. Well buddy, you know the feeling is DAMN WELL MUTUAL because you can never get rid of me. We are attached to each other at the hip, we cannot be separated ever.

You are meme husband and I am your meme wife. Always and forever. You’re stuck with me, Splat and you know I will never let you go. I won’t turn around and desert you, and will never give you up. Hehehehe~

[polarfarina]

I guess I'm just confused that fans of watcher are willing to pay sometimes $100 or more in ticket prices to see the live shows with Shane and Ryan but then $6 is really offensive and a betrayal of an ask... like one mystery files hoodie costs more than a year of their (currently announced price of the) site subscription. Don't get me wrong because I do NOT think the paywall was the right decision or announced the right way, I don't think it's going to work. But. I have seen and heard several people say they buy tickets and merch, why can't that be enough? $6 is too expensive! But I'm sitting here confused because. The tickets and merch are way more than six dollars..???? I'm really really confused about that point. It's not that I don't understand that $6 can be unaffordable, it's just... so many people say they can't spend $6 while in the same breath have been boasting about how so far they've been able to spend money on concerts and patreon and buying shirts and blind boxes and the premium YouTube subscription because creators get a bigger chunk of the money that way (watcher should be GLAD they supported them btw!); but SIX DOLLARS? They can't pay that! It's odd. Is all I'm saying.

On the flip side, I saw people saying that because they live outside of the us they would get charged a double tax that they couldn't afford due to having to transfer money overseas; I feel like that's a really good point. Once this goes behind a paywall, international audiences will have a much harder time accessing content moving forward, if they can at all (not every country plays nice with PayPal). Even if they can afford the $6, there will be a heap of fees on top of it - or there won't even be a way to get the money to the service in the first place.

Absolutely the fact that Watchers' content is suddenly becoming paywalled seemingly immediately moving forward with little warning is a big shock and at first when watching the video, I didn't think they were serious. Having witnessed a successful launch of a YouTube channel into a paid subscription site with the exact price that watcher is asking for... they are not doing it right. Not for their audience. But people are so so focused on how expensive six dollars is and not on the other implications of this decision, which just... am I in the wrong here?? There's a bigger conversation i feel could be had but everyone is really really focusing on the BETRAYAL of six dollars... and I feel like I'm going crazy because that wasn't even in my first handful of thoughts about why this was a bad idea

[strawberry-nugget]

Beach day with Katsuki + grinding and cuddling with him underwater in a sea cave. 🤧🥰

Pairing: Bakugo x fem!reader

Tags // Warnings: NSFW-ish, MDNI, grinding underwater, loads of kissing, fluff, i might write smut for this

Unbeknownst to him, Katsuki is the funniest person in existence and today, every time you look at him, you giggle a little more.

Maybe it’s because he’s too huge for the pedal boat the two of you rented for the day, or maybe because he looks ghostly white from the amount of sunscreen on his face. Or it’s both, paired with his ridiculous long sleeved white shirt that he said is specifically for swimming, while he’s peddling in the middle of sea.

Then again, it’s the ‘one piece’ style hat as well.

You’re not even sure when the laughing started—maybe when you first caught sight of Katsuki trying to stuff his long legs under the tiny canopy of the pedal boat, scowling like it personally offended him. 

Or maybe it was when he insisted on applying a “proper layer” of SPF 100, smearing it across his nose and cheeks with the precision of a soldier applying war paint. Either way, it’s been downhill— rather, down current— since.

Because now, as he continues pedalling furiously across the open sea in his bright white rashguard, sleeves pulled all the way down despite the heat, face ghostly pale with the overzealous application of sunscreen, and his wide-brimmed fisherman hat flopping slightly with every gust of wind—you lose it again.

You giggle. Just a little at first.

He glances over his shoulder. “What.”

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “Nothing.”

But it’s not nothing. It’s quite literally everything.

It’s the way his knees keep hitting the bottom of the console, his arms comically too broad for the flimsy little steering lever. It’s the hat string tied snug under his chin like a five-year-old on a field trip. It’s the gruff, sun-drenched expression of a man trying to maintain dignity while slowly being baked alive by the sun and his own fashion choices.

“You’re laughin’ again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re lookin’ at me and laughin’, what the fuck is this funny?!”

You snort, trying to hide your grin behind your water bottle. “You’re funny.”

A new wave of laughter hits you and this time Katsuki shows his annoyance by painting it on his face. He squints his eyes and pouts, jaw almost slack to the side, nose scrunched “I’m careful of the sun. Im not funny”

“You are. You look like a diver ghost trying to cosplay as a sailor.”

He narrows his eyes at you, hat brim casting the perfect dramatic shadow across his sunscreen-smeared face. “You wanna swim back to shore?”

You burst out laughing, the kind that makes your stomach ache and tears well at the corners of your eyes. He glares, cheeks just barely turning pink beneath the layer of zinc.

But you see the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, the glint of embarrassment in his eyes and way past him, finally, the shore of the tiny piece of land in the middle of the shallow part of the ocean where there should be sea caves to explore.

“You’re so cute though Kats”

“Tch-whatever”

By some miracle—and Katsuki’s terrifying leg strength—you actually make it to the island without capsizing. It’s not much more than a slab of rock in the sea, scattered with tide pools and jagged inlets, but it’s quiet, glimmering under the sun like a secret.

Katsuki hops out first, water splashing around his calves. He grabs the edge of the boat and steadies it so you can step out—like he hasn’t just spent twenty minutes being heckled by you nonstop.

“Thanks,” you say innocently, taking his hand as he helps you onto the slippery rocks.

“‘Course,” he mutters, eyes flicking down to your feet like he’s trying not to look anywhere else. “Don’t slip, babe.”

The sun glints off the water, the air smells like brine and sunscreen, and everything feels a little too golden. You wander inland a few steps, the soles of your sandals squelching as you step over barnacles and shallow tide pools. Somewhere up ahead, under the overhang of rock, a dark slit in the stone opens up into a shallow cave.

“Oh,” you grin, turning over your shoulder. “That’s definitely swimmable.”

Katsuki squints at it. “Bet it’s cold as hell.”

“You scared?”

His brow twitches. “No.”

“I think you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He steps forward suddenly, casting a shadow over you, his hat flopping forward like an exclamation mark. “Say that again.”

You’re grinning, not backing down. “You’re scared.”

Without warning, he bends down and throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You shriek—startled, laughing, kicking gently at the air as he stalks toward the cave entrance with you dangling upside down.

“Katsuki! Don’t you dare—”

“Too late,” he growls, amused and smug, wading into the water. “Say I’m funny again.”

“You are—you’re the funniest man alive—Katsuki, seriously—!”

And then you’re dropped.

Not hard—just enough for your legs to splash into the cold seawater with a high-pitched yelp as he lets go of your thighs. You scramble up, soaked and squealing, water rushing around your waist as you shove at his chest. He just smirks, towering, smug as hell, droplets clinging to his lashes.

You splash him back, hard, both hands against the center of his chest. He barely budges, but the water does, sending a spray straight into his smug face.

“Asshole,” you mutter, squinting at him through the salt. “This shirt isn’t even for swimming.”

“Yes it is,” he fires back immediately, swiping water from his eyes. “It’s UV-protective.”

“It’s ugly-protective.”

Katsuki scoffs like he’s offended, but his grin gives him away. “You’re pushin’ it.”

“Or what? You’ll throw me back in?” You gesture to the waist-deep water, arms flung out. “Go ahead, I’m already soaked.”

He stares at you for a beat too long. You can hear the waves lapping gently against the cave wall behind him, the muffled echoes of water in stone. The cave’s mouth darkens the light just enough that the world feels cooler in here, more private. Your laughter settles into your skin like warmth, like the sun above.

Katsuki’s smile fades into something softer.

He doesn’t answer with words—just wades in closer. His hands find your hips under the water, fingers curling with the casual certainty of someone who knows he’s allowed to touch you like this. You blink up at him, water dripping down your temples, your hair sticking wet and cold to your cheeks.

You reach up and gently push wet bangs from his eyes—those sea-glinting, vermillion eyes that always look a little wild when he’s outside, untamed by four walls or mission structure. “You’ve got sunscreen on your eyebrows,” you murmur.

He rasps a laugh. “Don’t fuckin’ care.”

You lean in. Press your mouth to his in a kiss that tastes like salt and sun and the tinny sweetness of your water bottle. His lips are hot and dry and then not—they part, wet now, his breath low and uneven against your cheek as he leans down into you, both of you half-floating in the cool sea.

It’s unhurried. Lazy and warm and something else, too. Something that simmers right under the surface.

His hand slips down your back,  tracing the dip of your spine. The heat of his palm feels sharp against the coolness of your skin, and you shiver—but definitely not from the temperature of the water.

You tilt your head and kiss him again. Deeper this time. He makes a sound at the back of his throat, quiet and wrecked, like you’ve caught him off guard. His grip on you tightens—just slightly—and he walks you backwards until your hips hit the slippery rock ledge at the edge of the cave wall.

Water sloshes up, foams around your waist.

“Katsuki,” you breathe against his mouth.

He exhales, lips brushing yours as he kisses you again—slower now. Hands sliding up under the sides of your bottoms, knuckles grazing then the band of your bikini top. “Fuckin’—look at you,” he murmurs, forehead against yours. “Drippin’, laughin’ like that, makin’ fun of me…”

You grin lazily. “You liked it.”

“Did not.” He pouts

“You love it when I tease you.”

He leans in and kisses your jaw, your cheek, just beneath your ear where his breath makes your skin rise in goosebumps. “I like shuttin’ you up.”

“Mmm.” You tangle your fingers in his hair, damp and briny, push it back so you can see the flush rising on his cheeks. His hat is long gone, washed back into the sea like a tiny white flag of surrender, housing his silly UV protective shirt in it as well. For a second you chuckle at the thought.

He looks beautiful like this—messy and wet and glowing, skin ever so slightly kissed by the sun and heat and your hands.

“Then shut me up,” you whisper.

And oh well he does.

Not all at once—he’s too deliberate for that. His kisses turn slow again, wet and open-mouthed, tasting you like he’s letting the heat build in his chest before it bursts. His hand slips under your thigh, lifts your leg around his waist so he can press closer, even though you’re both still half-submerged in seawater. It doesn’t matter. Everything feels far away except the friction of his body and the way he holds you like he’s trying not to lose control in the middle of an Okinawa island.

It’s slow. It’s messy. And it’s summer—thick and golden and heavy in the air between you.

And when he finally pulls back, breathing hard, hands still curled around you like he might pull you under, you rest your forehead against his and smile through the salt on your lips. 

“You still look ridiculous,” you murmur before licking your lips “And you taste like sunscreen”

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “But now you’re wet and clingin’ to me, so who really won here?”

You laugh, low and breathless. “Shut up.”

He kisses you again. And this time, you let the water take you both.

You don’t know how long you stay like that—held against him, half-kissing, half-laughing in the shadow of the cave—but at some point, the heat gives way to something quieter. Softer. The rush of saltwater settles around you like a warm hush, your limbs suspended, your thoughts weightless.

Katsuki’s arms stay locked around you, solid beneath the surface, palms smoothing over your back as if anchoring himself just as much as you. His thumb brushes slow circles against your spine, and your fingers stay curled in his hair, gently scraping at his scalp. You think he likes that, from the way his shoulders drop just a little, from the breath that stutters out of him like he’s finally letting go.

Your chest presses to his. Stomach to stomach, hips to hips. Nothing between you but warm seawater and soaked layers of fabric that stick in all the wrong places.

You shift, just slightly, adjusting your hold on his waist—but that’s all it takes for your pelvis to slot directly against his. You freeze.

So does he.

The contact is faint—filtered through your swimsuit, through his swim shorts, through the fluid drag of the water—but it’s unmistakably… there. Real. And close. His body is warm beneath yours in the cold water, legs braced wide, feet anchored to the rocky sea floor as if he knows the second he moves, he’ll give himself away.

You don’t move. Not yet. Your lips hover just beside his ear, and nearly trembling with a soft whine.

“Kats,” you murmur.

He makes a sound. Low, nearly voiceless—like a caught breath, or a confession too small to speak. His hands slide lower, splaying across your waist now, thumbs brushing your ribs as he tries—badly—not to shift against you.

He doesn’t want to let you know how hard he is from grinding against you underwater… But your thighs tighten around him.

You pull him closer, wrapping both legs around his hips with a lazy sort of slowness. The water makes it feel effortless, sensual in a way dry land never could. Skin glides over skin without resistance, your bodies suspended, pressed together in a floaty kind of weightlessness that feels too intimate for daylight.

Your forehead rests against his. “Feels nice like this,” you whisper, voice thick with heat.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, mouth parted like he forgot how to close it. But he’s blushing—bright and sharp across the top of his cheeks, even beneath the faint smudge of sunscreen. And not just there. It trails down his neck, creeping beneath his collarbones like warmth spreading from inside him out.

His hands tighten on your waist. “You’re not helpin’,” he grunts, voice rough and low.

“Helpin’ with what?” you tease, nudging your nose against his cheek. “I’m just swimmin’.”

“You’re—fuckin’—” He groans under his breath, the sound vibrating against your collarbone. “You’re grindin’ on me like that and sayin’ you’re swimmin’?”

“You didn’t say stop.”

“Didn’t say keep goin’.”

“Then stop me.”

He doesn’t—Of course he doesn’t.

Instead, his grip slips under your thighs, fingers digging in as he lifts you higher, tilts you just slightly until your core rubs right over and against his. The sensation is muted but unmistakable, heat blooming in your gut, your pulse syncing with the lazy roll of your hips. The water licks at your skin, cool in contrast to the fire rising in your stomach, and Katsuki watches you like he’s somewhere between wrecked and mesmerized.

Your lips find his again—slower this time. Deeper. Salt and sun and breath shared back and forth as you move against him, as the gentle waves lap at your sides like they’re urging you on.

“You feel good,” you murmur between kisses, and you feel him tense—just briefly—before relaxing into you again, letting the truth of your words melt him a little even if he’s hiding from the sun.

“So do you,” he grits out. “Too good.”

You smile into his mouth, pressing your forehead back to his. His hair’s wet, matted, dripping over his blond brows in messy clumps, and you push it away again with gentle, pruney fingers.

There’s a silence between you then, charged by the soft sound of water and lust. Like the sea itself has paused to let this moment happen and in it, you feel everything.

His heartbeat through his chest.

His breath on your cheek.

The twitch of restraint in his thighs.

The unmistakable swell of tension between your hips, straining against its own boundaries in the water.

“You gonna lose it if I keep doing this?” you whisper.

Katsuki exhales shakily. “Fuckin’ maybe.”

And god—you like that. The admission. The edge in it. How he wants to be good for you, even when his body’s fighting against it.

You kiss his neck, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Then maybe we save the rest for when we get back.”

“You’re so evil,” he mumbles, voice hoarse, lips pouty.

“You like it.”

He doesn’t deny it. He just kisses you again, deeper now, like he’s holding himself together with your mouth. Like if you just keep kissing, he might make it back to shore in one piece.

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Ghosted

Male Jock Yandere Ghost x Gender Neutral Nerd Ghost Reader

CW: Reader death, ghosts, spirit world, manipulative yandere, stalking, general yandere behavior, consensual sex

Word Count: 801

(Trying to get back into the habit of writing, this is the result, hope you like it! I consider a demented ghost as still being a monster and therefore still teratophilia.)

You had died in college. One moment, you were being your nerdy self, rummaging through your binder, and the next, you were on the ground. You didn't really remember much, all very fuzzy. Was it a stroke? A brain aneurysm? You had no idea.

Once you were brain dead, though, you stepped from your body and appeared on the ghostly plane. A fog filled realm that somewhat mirrored the world of the living. Though spirits could make alterations, there were spaces untouched by the activities of the still living. 

There were a lot of ghosts. Many of them wandered aimlessly or were stuck in a loop of denial, acting out behaviors as if they were still alive. Others lashed aggressively, unable to regain their grip on their sanity. 

You mostly kept to yourself. Like Jonesy taught you. He was a former jock about your age when he died in the late 80s. He still wore his letterman jacket. You weren't limited to the clothes you died in, but you figured it was a symbol of how he was still attached to his old life.

Jonesy had taught you a lot of things. He had pretty much been your mentor since you had died. He was there waiting when you passed. He said he had sensed someone might die as he was wandering the halls of the college, where he had also died years ago. 

Jonesy said he was stuck in a loop. Being alone had made him lose his mental stability. But when he sensed you were about to die, it snapped him out of it. He said you saved him, so he wanted to get to know you and help you navigate the land of the dead. 

Plus, being together would help prevent the two of you from getting mentally frail. 

It was a bit of a paradox. Jonesy taught you to avoid most spirits, but communication and relationships were essential to staying sane. 

"You just have to know the right types to befriend. Many of the people here have a darkness in them and can drag you down if you're not careful."

He also told you the other secret to remaining stable. 

"You have to keep busy, do stuff. Don't get too bored."

There was a surprising amount you could do as a ghost. You could go to stores and yoink whatever you wanted, eat whatever you wanted, play video games, there was even a ghost version of the internet! 

Getting infinite free popcorn at the movies was your favorite thing. Jonesy always did that lame pretend yawn thing that ended with his arm wrapped around you. It was nice, though. Made you feel safe. You had been touch starved in life.

The transition to him being your boyfriend was so seemless and natural that you barely noticed that it had happened. You had never stopped any of his advances. Cuddling you, holding you, and smooching your cheek.

You didn't even question it when chaste kisses led to him kissing you hungrily before carefully taking off your clothing, like he was removing the wrapping from something delicate. 

Soon you found yourself laying ass up on his bed with him pounding into you, drinking in all your lusty moans and unabashed calling of his name.

He gripped your hips firmly as he came deeply into you; the pleasure made you see stars. His girthy cock stretched you wonderfully. You felt so lucky and special that this jock spirit had taken an interest in you, a lowly nerd.

Jonesy felt lucky too. He hadn't been in a loop. For a year before your death, he had been haunting you, It was difficult to peek into the living world, but once he found you, he was addicted. 

He loved watching you read books, study, and watch anime. He especially loved watching you shower, fervently jerking hinself off as he did so. 

It wasn't enough though. He needed to have you with him! You had been so perfect for him. You were kindred souls in a way. You were always alone and starved for attention. You'd fall for his affections easily, and you wouldn't just crossover beyond the purgatory the two of you were now in, you were too depressed for that.

Influencing people who were still alive was nearly impossible, but decades of being alone had made Jonesy angry and bitter. He used those emotions as fuel and tried many times to trip you down the stairs or get you to stroll into traffic absentmindedly. Finally, the jock was successful in busting something in your head.

At long last, you were with him. As he held you tightly, after making love several more times, he knew he'd be able to keep you there forever and he'd never have to be alone again.