"You miss that?" Simon points surreptitiously to the couple with a nod of his glass.
"What? Women?" Johnny asks with a cheeky smile.
It earns him a playful smack to the back of the head. "The butterflies," Simon corrects.
Johnny leans back in the booth and spreads an arm across behind Simon, resting the tips of his fingers on the sensitive skin where shoulder meets neck. He caresses over a raised line there, a scar that's not quite a year old, and hums to himself before replying.
"Nah," he says finally. "Still get butterflies with you. Especially when—"
He's cut off by Simon pulling him to his feet and into a close embrace. Tucked into the back corner, they're away from most of the restaurant's prying eyes. Still, Johnny whispers out a "Si, what the fuck are you doing" before Simon shushes him and points to the ceiling.
"Listen, Johnny."
Johnny does.
It takes a moment, but once he hears the familiar croon of a Shania Twain ballad coming in low over the speakers, he wrinkles his nose.
Simon leans in close to his ear. "C'mon. Dance with me," he insists, grabbing Johnny's body and swaying him gently to the rhythm of the song.
-Ch12 Seven-Year Itch by noxmajor
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
!!! As a part of @bluegiragi's charity art drive, I requested this amazing piece for a dear friend 💖 Gira, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all you do!
Nox, congratulations on finishing this masterpiece. Please go read Nox's fic, and enjoy all of the tasty drama!
Ghost/Soap SFW romantic one shot. A short fic set before and inspired by @bluegiragi's artworks: Bouquet and Lie In, <3 <3
Word count: 1,300
Blurb: As their romantic dinner date comes to an end, Johnny gets a bit emotional. Love is a good look on them.
Struck Gold
As John bathes in the romantic ambiance of the restaurant, sipping a rich red wine that tastes of wealth, he can’t help but wonder how he managed to get so lucky.
His scarred fingers curl delicately around the cabernet glass stem, gently swirling the liquid inside in a mindless pattern as he gazes fondly at the figure opposite him. His other hand absently tracing the fuzzy rose petals of the bouquet lying on the table side, settled next to an opened anniversary card.
His shoulders lack their usual tension as he leans forward, attention fully captured by the handsome blond currently finishing off the last of his own beverage.
Fuck, he’s so bonny…
John can’t pull his gaze away.
He is intimately aware of the bulk of Simon’s shoulders, enthralled in how the pristine white dress shirt stretches obscenely across the width of him. The sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms decorated with numerous tattoos, of which John could draw from memory alone. Those arms have haunted John’s thoughts for years and seeing them on display like this… he’s struck with an unending desire to just worship.
The entire sight is made all the more enticing by the soft glow of gold engulfing Simon’s body from the lights above, and the occasional flicker of soft red and crisp orange bouncing off his large frame from the candle burning steadily between them.
Simon’s face is bare of his usual medical mask. The one he had adorned at the beginning of the night having long since been forgotten and disregarded into a pocket to be found later. The lack of any physical barrier allows John to openly admire his lover’s features.
He appreciates the unfiltered and unguarded reactions as they cross Simon’s face; the way the large white scar carved into his lips pulls upwards when he smirks, the frown lines across his torn brow smoothing out with each joke shared. Each honest expression carving itself into John’s memory to be immortalised later in a prayer forged from charcoal and paper.
It's a visual treat, and even after the dessert they’ve just shared, John’s sweet tooth is actively feasting on the honeyed vision as eagerly as it had when he first laid eyes on the man.
“Would you like the check?”
The waitress’ friendly voice is a blemish on the image before John, and his face pinches at the interruption. Yet, even with the interference, he doesn’t dare look away from Simon, opting to continue focusing on the only person worthy of his interest.
It’s incredibly rude, but frankly, he couldn’t care less. All that matters is them.
Him.
His impolite manner only garners a knowing look from the man in question. Simon’s chameleon brown eyes crinkling in fond exasperation as he offers the waitress a simple nod.
The woman must get the hint of her presence being unwanted as she doesn’t linger at their table-side, much to John’s relief. Her departure allows Simon’s attention to focus on John once more, and John’s core heats with warm satisfaction at having this gorgeous man’s gaze lingering on him. A feeling which never seems to lose its thrill even after being the centre of Simon’s world for the entire evening.
“Startin’ to think you’ve got a staring problem, Johnny.” Simon chuckles: the sound lilted with a whiskey-smooth cadence which sings to that distinctively soft part of John, melting him from the inside out. “You’ve blinked a grand total of three times in the last... ten minutes? I’m pretty sure the waitress believes you’re an invalid.”
The teasing words do nothing to discourage John’s intimate stare. He moves his foot, nuzzling his shoe against Simon’s under the privacy of the table, silently encouraged as Simon shifts into the touch.
Shameless.
“She can believe whatever she wants.” John dismisses with a shrug. “I’m simply admirin’ the view. Nothin’ wrong wi’ that.”
Simon tilts his head, his lips twisting upwards in response to John’s carefree admission. The action causes a small tuft of blond hair to endearingly fall across Simon’s forehead, covering one of those protruding pink scars that still look fresh even a decade later.
John reaches over to smooth the stray curl back into place, letting his fingers linger on the marked skin with quiet reverence.
“No need to stare though.” Simon remarks, capturing John’s hand in his own. “The view’s going nowhere.”
Their fingers interlock languidly; familiar and reassuring even after all these years. A connection forged in the intimate experience of knowing that these hands have been both weapon and shield for each other.
Simon caresses the back of John’s hand with his thumb and John’s heart sings.
“Better no be.” He murmurs light-heartedly. “The view’s a beaut… I need ye in a dress shirt more often. Yer fuckin’ gorgeous, Si.”
Simon’s tongue darts across his lower lip slowly, drawing out the action with self-assured confidence. His eyes unfaltering as they return John’s stare with an intensity more befitting the bedroom than their current populated surroundings. It has John chubbing up in his trousers a little, he’ll admit.
“Down, boy.”
…Okay, maybe it’s a little bit more than just a chub now.
Simon’s foot nudges against John’s, inching up the stiff material of his pant leg with careful precision. Slow. Steady. Letting the textured sole of his shoe nestle against the fabric of John’s sock and resting it there. It does nothing but cause John’s blood to burn.
“You’re drooling.” Simon drawls in amusement, his free hand moving to run a large thumb over the wetness collecting on John’s bottom lip.
“I’ve been droolin’ since I first saw ye.” The honest utterance falls from his lips without conscious thought. “Ye’ve always been a sight for sore eyes, but Christ… havin’ ye dress-up for little old me? Takin’ me out and treatin’ me to all this? I’m feelin’ like I’ve struck gold right now, Simon.”
His throat and soul feel raw after that admission. He can’t tell if it’s the romantic atmosphere, or the delightful dinner they’ve just shared, or the mere notion of this man in front of him being his… but he is suddenly all too aware of his own deep affection for Simon.
He gets like this sometimes. His feelings surrounding Simon burning bright enough he ignites like a sun, blinding himself in his devotion; getting overwhelmed with his own ceaseless love for the gruff Manc who has somehow stitched himself into the fibres of John’s existence and made himself at home.
Simon’s gaze softens, recognising the tender admission for what it is.
He lifts their joined hands to press an amorous kiss to John’s knuckles, conveying his reciprocation and understanding without speaking a single word. Those dark brown eyes peering up at him, reflecting the emotions neither of them are burdened to speak.
“Sappy bastard.” Simon murmurs against John’s flesh.
It’s a compliment really. The words spoken with such unforgiving fondness that John can’t take it as anything else. The grounding nature of the comment gives him a focal point; stabilising him enough to allow the ballooning emotions within him to slowly deflate to fit inside his body once more.
A typical Simon Riley tactic used to provide John with an anchor to keep him from floating too close to the sun.
“Oh, aye.” John mumbles. “Always.”
Simon doesn’t offer any other words. He doesn’t need to.
The conversation continues in the unspoken physical language of upturned lips and soft glances, their fingers tightening occasionally in each other’s grasp. Their affections lingering within the leftover crumbs of their shared raspberry cheesecake; burning alongside the flickering red candle; settled within the bouquet of fresh roses; and scrawled in the custom anniversary card.
Devotion spelled out in the intimacy of the moment.
@bluegiragi Guess what I just got in the mail! 😄🤗🥹🥰🥳
For those of you who havent purchased the pdf or physical copy; please consider doing so, it is 100% worth it! The artwork is gorgeous, the physical copies are thicker & heavier than Ghost's thighs, and the print quality is perfect. I'm going to be pouring over this for months and years to come.
Thank you, Gira, for creating such an amazing AU and sharing it with all of us!! 🥰🥰🥰
Just an idea, for bluegiragi’s monster 141 au. I know there are a lot of these out already but this is an idea I’ve had for a while.
A reader who’s human, like in most of the spin-offs of bluegiragi’s wonderful au, but even though the reader is human, the reader can see/interact with the dead that chose to linger in the world instead of moving on.
This causes issues with her between her peers, not just the monster ones but the human ones who don’t understand her and think she’s insane.
Maybe during a recruiting option for a mission, Laswell stumbles across reader’s file and become’s curious about the amount of psych reviews in her file, she gets suspicious and considering the area the 141 is going into Laswell decides it’s a safe bet to try and integrate this human into the team.
I’m still rough-drafting the idea, but would anyone be interested in reading something like this?
