Ghosted Meme Novels & Stories

“Gonna wreck you in a real bed next time. Lights on. So I can watch your face when I make you come again. And again.” Heat flooded my cheeks. My thighs clenched hard. He turned, started walking back toward the group—whistling like nothing happened. I stared at the contact name glowing on my screen. Smiled so wide it hurt. Already typing. Me: You’re insane. I hit send before I could overthink it. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, read it, glanced back at me over his shoulder with that wicked grin. The Ghost Who Fucked You Senseless: You love it. I bit my lip. Yeah. I really, really did.

How did dead men send them notes? “Oh, by the way,” Mason continued, ignorant of the mood. “The internet is having the time of its life. You guys are now a meme.” Hayden snorted despite himself. “Oh my God,” Beck muttered. “Mason, it seems like your job doesn’t keep you busy enough nowadays.” Jared pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Mason,” he said. “We’ll catch up later.” “You’re welcome. Call me if your dead boyfriend resurfaces.”

Walk away from the life that just comes to reality I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to breathe. Suddenly, my phone rang, making me jump. I fumbled for it, my fingers shaky, and when I saw Sandra’s name on the screen, I hesitated before answering. “Finally!” Sandra’s voice came through, full of her usual dramatic energy. “You’ve been ghosting me! Not even a single call? What’s your excuse, huh?” I let out a tired sigh. “Sorry, babe. It’s just… a lot.”

Instead, my heart lurches. A notification from the unofficial group. I’ve been tagged. I don’t want to open it. My thumb hovers over the screen, trembling. But curiosity—or masochism—gets the better of me. I tap. The screen floods with messages, reactions, laughing emojis, and sneering comments. My stomach knots. The post by someone named GhostBella sits at the top, like a bomb waiting to go off. GhostBella:

“Especially considering there’s a dead body right fucking there.” We both laugh, the tension cracking just slightly, and I lean into Ghost again, letting him hold me because, fuck, I need it right now. “Like I care,” Ghost taunts, the smirk evident in his voice. “I’d happily fuck him on his grave.” “No,” I mutter, shaking my head against his shoulder. His laughter is loud, unapologetic.“Guess I found one of your hard limits,” he muses. “No fucking on your father’s grave.”

He was tense earlier because of the stares, but I'm sure he was enjoying their adoration of him. Ghosts don't favor crowded spaces. Their real name is Myles McCormick, aka Ghost. He's only a few years younger than me before he joined the team. He has been given the name Ghost because of his code name. He is good at not being spotted. He's a great master of disguise, and you wouldn't think twice to know who or where he is. He's like a wandering ghost who came to fuck you.

This is the first time my assumed 'stalker' is actually reaching out to me and, sadly, I don't really have a clue as to who it is. My phone buzz again. I shiver, maybe it was another text from this potentially deranged psycho. I turn over the phone and look at the screen. My fingers were shaking as I open the message. Thought I would be there? Hate to disappoint but I'm way too smart for that. Looks like you've seen a ghost. Btw it's your time to go in. What are you waiting for Zoey Martinez? 👻 ;-) - Unknown =================================================================== Thanks for reading!

What if he was going? What if people talked again? My stomach flipped. Before I could spiral any further, my phone buzzed in my hand again — but this time with a name that made my heart do something dramatic and stupid. Noah Carter. I froze. Then forced myself to be normal. Cool. Chill. (Which meant staring at the name for a solid ten seconds without moving.) He was just sending a meme. Some dumb video of a cat falling off a counter too dramatically. But then: Noah:

Alexandre leans in, gently wiping my cheeks with a warm towel and whispers: — You know what? Even the most fearsome pirates need breaks, warm baths, and laughter. And you, you are braver than you think. A small smile finally appears on my lips. Alexandre laughs softly, a sound that fills the room with a warmth I thought long lost. — And now, he adds with a wink, I have a joke for you. Why don’t ghosts like the rain? — I don’t know… why? — Because they hate getting soaked… and losing their… ghostly elegance!

She passed me a croissant and sat cross-legged on the couch, peering at me like she was a therapist and not the most meddlesome friend a woman could have. “So. You ghosted Jeff?” I sighed, breaking off a piece of flaky bread. “I didn’t ghost him. I just… didn’t respond.” Chelsea chewed for a second before answering. “Demi, that’s literally the definition of ghosting.” I shot her a look. “He didn’t tell me Ethan came to see him. Ethan—the same man who tried to publicly ruin me. That’s not a small detail.” “No, it’s not,” she agreed. “But what was his reason?”