#ghost drabbles

[yeyinde]

thinking about Simon who just gets out of prison for murder after he's been locked up since he was 18, and starts working at a slaughterhouse for his parole. a big, scary dog who has bloodstains all over him, permanently crusted in the crease of his nails because he prefers field dressing over dragging the carcass inside the shop. who always smells of iron and sweat, and looms over you like he was trying to keep everyone else from looking at you. possessive, but you only know him from rumours and blog posts. his stare, the intense, hungry way he looks at you always gives you the creeps.

he's bad news. and he tries to woo you by feeding you meat from the animals he butchered (getting angry whenever you buy cuts from someone else), and won't go away even when you tell him to leave you alone. you've heard the rumours. read the news articles. nothing about this man is any good—

but he won't, of course. the thing about prison is that you need to hold onto the things that you have and take the stuff that you don't. a sort of cutthroat survival that has raised him better than his own mother. so, when he finds you (something he doesn't have, but wants), it's just in his nature to take.

[ghostface001]

Sweat drips from your brow as you bring the hammer down on the iron you're forming into the blade of an axe. You hear the bell to the shop trying inside when the door opens, and March appears. He leans against the side of the shop with his arms folded over his chest, and you're expecting some snide comment about you hogging the forge, but it doesn't come. Instead, he tilts his head to the side, watching you as you work.

"Is it me, or are you getting more skilled?" You can't help but lift your head to stare at him in shock at his words, your arm pausing mid-swing. He seems to realize he spoke out loud, his face flushing as he forces a sneer. "More skilled at breathing down my neck. How long are you going to be?" There it is. The jab you were expecting comes with no real bite, instead an afterthought, something to make up for the genuine compliment that you can't help but accept with a warmth in your chest.

You snort and roll your eyes, returning your focus to your work to hopefully disguise the flush in your cheeks that could easily be blamed on the heat from the forge. "I'm almost done, asshole," You reply lightly.

He grumbles something about going back inside, though you feel his gaze linger on your form before he turns and leaves.

[blanketorghost]

Unlike the waves of the Suminoe

Word count: 2,793

Summary: It's Azul's birthday, and despite Azul's policies about gifts, Yuu insists on giving his crush a birthday present.

Pairings: Azul Ashengrotto x Yuu Fujisaki (implied)

A/N: Happy birthday to my bestest boy mwah💕

Companion/continuation fic can be found here! Also I will add the companion art tmrw im so tired fr

Taglist: @kazumify @the-trinket-witch @yavya

~

"I know you don't usually accept these, but... happy birthday." Against his better judgment, Yuu extended the carefully gift-wrapped package to Azul. His eyes glued to the floor as a sudden bashfulness filled his body. For once, he was grateful that Vil had forced him to wear that full-coverage foundation.

Somehow, someway, Yuu had been roped into being Azul's interview host for his birthday party, whatever that was supposed to entail.

It was a long-standing tradition in Night Raven College to make these grandiose celebrations for students; The entire dorm would be decorated to its max splendor and the birthday boy would be awarded all sorts of gifts; even receiving a specially tailored suit that fit the year's theme. Is that where the budget to fix Ramshackle dorm went? Either way, Yuu couldn't really complain. After all, he was awarded the same luxuries when his own birthday came along. Kalim and Vil made sure of that.

The festive atmosphere that engulfed the Octavinelle dorm was also a welcome change of pace. With the VDC approaching, practice was getting more and more intense. So when the opportunity arose to finally relax and pig out on junk food and sweet treats, practically everyone jumped at the chance— even if the birthday boy wasn't particularly well-liked by most members of the NRC Tribe.

It also was exciting to be able to candidly ask Azul about himself for once. Whenever they met up, they seldom talked about each other, often their conversations being engulfed by work or contracts rather than other, more casual topics one would normally talk about with friends. Yet, as host, Yuu was allowed the rare opportunity to run an honest-to-goodness interview without running the risk of being blackmailed by the octomer, something he couldn't just pass by.

It was pleasant to hear about Azul's birthday memories first-hand, and he even got to learn about his family traditions. He spoke plainly and happily about his parents, the ristorante they had back at the coral sea, and his own thought processes behind his management of the lounge. Yuu reveled in that moment of subtle vulnerability. It was nice not having to read between words for once.

Now that the interview was over, though, Azul went back to his all-business persona as he cheerfully greeted guests and accepted well-wishes, often recommending dishes in-between or proposing deals. It was only until the very end of the party that Yuu could catch his attention again and pull him aside to an empty table.

The wrapping paper crinkled as he clutched the gift harder and slightly bowed— his body moving on its own before he could even think. Despite being in Twisted Wonderland for more than a semester now, he still couldn't shake up some of the rigid mannerisms from back home.

Perfect, now he looked more like a fool.

"Ah. I think you've wished me happy birthday... three times already?" Azul's laugh ringed on Yuu's ears. Melodious and sweet. Genuine even, compared to his usual tone. "But if you know my rules, then you should've known already I can't take it." Despite his statement, Azul tentatively took the package and examined it.

It didn't look like anything special. A flat, hand-sized rectangle that was wrapped in modest striped lavender paper from Sam's shop. Yuu had done this intentionally. He thought if the gift looked inconspicuous enough, Azul would accept it without protesting, but it seemed he had underestimated his crush's stubbornness.

"It's a dumb rule." Yuu quickly retorted. "I don't need or want anything in return, Azul. It's literally your birthday." He finally found the courage to look up. As his eyes were met with Azul's smile, he couldn't help but return it with his own, his only hope being that it wasn't too dopey or lovesick. "And honestly, you're already allowing me the joy of giving. Isn't that enough payback?"

"If you word it like that, I suppose that's enough." He laughed again, and Yuu's heart did a flip. "What is it?"

"You'll have to open it to find out."

"Can't you just tell me?"

"That's not how this works, come on—" Yuu let himself laugh as he finally sat beside him and averted his gaze towards the cutlery on the table. Maybe if he didn't have to look him directly in the face, his anxiety would fade slightly.

He nudged the present closer and held his breath as Azul unwrapped the package, careful not to rip the paper. If he were from earth, Yuu thought, Azul would be the type of person that would save them to wrap other gifts.

"A bookmark?" He held the wooden charm up. The delicately carved slab was decorated at the bottom corner with a wave pattern— the closest Yuu could guide Rook to paint on with his limited artistic talent to reflect the ones he'd seen at home. At the top, a braided satin tassel was looped through a small hole, tied into a rope.

"I- I'm not good with crafts like these, so I commissioned Epel and Rook to help me out with some—... I wanted to give you something you could use." Yuu tried his best not to trip over his words as he explained. Why was he even explaining himself, though? His plan was to just give him the package and dip, but instead, Yuu was now hunched forward, one finger pointing at the details he wanted Azul to take notice of.

"Thank you. It is indeed quite a useful gift." Azul's voice softened, but Yuu couldn't really gauge what he truly thought about the gift without looking at him— something he refused to do. "Is this design common where you come from?"

"Yes, the pattern here is called a seigaiha. It's meant to represent ocean waves. Though Rook did take some artistic liberties on his interpretation."

"And this?" Azul's hand slid to the complex knot at the top. His curiosity slightly encouraging Yuu.

"It doesn't mean anything specifically, but I wanted to mimic an omamori— a good luck charm." He answered before averting his eyes again in embarrassment. "That's the only part I contributed with manually."

"It's still very intricate. Though I'm a bit insulted that you think I need a lucky charm." He felt Azul's weight shift beside him as he leaned on him for a few seconds. He knew it was a friendly nudge, but that still didn't help Yuu feel any less flustered.

"Everyone needs a little luck every once in a while, besides—" Yuu guided Azul's hand and flipped the bookmark to its backside, which had a small, white rectangle painted at its center. "It doesn't have the spell that makes it lucky written on it."

"So there is magic in your world." Azul's voice gained a smug tone, that one he used so often whenever he wanted to tease Yuu. Usually, he would just laugh along and reciprocate with a quip of his own, but his brain was already working overtime with just maintaining his composure. Thankfully, Azul didn't seem to notice as he continued. "Then, shouldn't you write something? It's your gift, after all."

"I am magicless, remember? It wouldn't work. Besides, my handwriting's kind of ugly. I didn't want to ruin it."

"I don't think— nevermind." He felt Azul's posture falter for a second. "What I meant is that... It'd be nice to get a message from you. But if you say so, I suppose it's for the best then."

Yuu's eyes darted up. Did Azul sound... disappointed? If he did, he didn't show it. His expression was as inscrutable as always, his lips curled into that all-business smile as his delicate fingers ran through the blank slate.

God, he was gorgeous.

And it was getting very difficult to keep denying him, especially on his birthday.

"I may... know something I could write on."

"Oh?" Azul turned to him, head tilting in curiosity. "What do you have in mind?"

"I don't want it to be something menial like a 'happy birthday' or a regular well-wishes message. That'd be a disservice to Rook and Epel's work. So instead, I thought.... I know a certain poem I could write instead."

"You're writing me a poem?" Azul's smile widened, and he crinkled his eyes smugly, having found the perfect opportunity to tease Yuu. "I didn't take you for a romantic. Or a writer for that matter."

"And I didn't take you for an insufferable tease, and yet here we are." He flicked a finger to Azul's temple, Azul flinching in return. "I'm not writing you a poem. I'm writing a poem. Pragmatics, 'Zul-kun."

"But it is directed at me, no? So you are writing it for me." The boy chuckled as he moved a hand to his forehead, rubbing the spot where Yuu flicked at him. "Shame I won't be getting an original. It would skyrocket the bookmark's value."

"You can't afford me." Yuu retorts, returning Azul's smug and cheeky smile with one of his own.

"I doubt that. What are your rates?"

"I'll discuss with my associates and get back to you."

The two let out a low chuckle as the conversation naturally veers back to their usual dynamic. And Yuu gives himself the luxury to lightly nudge Azul, extending their contact for just a little precious second longer. "Now I'm curious, though. What poem are you going to write for me?"

"It's just a short thing. Back from a collection of poems that are pretty famous back home." Yuu explains, not truly wanting to get into the thick of it just yet. If only to make their conversation longer.

"And?" Azul leans closer, not buying Yuu's humble description. They have known one another for long enough that Yuu wouldn't just bring it up if it was that trivial.

"And, it's also become a kind of card game because of its fame. It's called Hyakunin Isshu karuta."

"A hundred people, a hundred poems, huh?" Azul perks up, leaning forward and placing his palms on his chin. "Must be quite a challenge to memorize all of them."

"Oh, not really." Yuu smiles in spite of himself, and he sees Azul frown in return. He quickly wipes the smile off his face and coughs. "I mean- they are quite short. Just 5 verses each, split in two. So they're not that hard to memorize. Much like a couple of songs or an album by your favorite artist..."

"I get it. A simple game of memorization." Azul's interest seemed to have returned. "So what you're telling me is that if I memorize all 100 poems, I could win this game?"

"Well, yes. But you also have to be quick enough. Some competitive players can spot the matching card to a poem in seconds."

Azul hums, straightening back on his seat. "That's an interesting premise. You must come to the board game club one day and explain in more detail, I wouldn't mind investing in creating a deck for us to play."

"Maybe I'll buy you a set for your next birthday." Yuu smiles to himself at the tacit promise of celebrating another year with Azul by his side, even if it's just as friends.

"I'll hold you to that." Azul taps his finger on the table, then leans closer to him. "Now, about this mystery poem..." He trails off, urging Yuu to start writing.

A soft light emerges from his right hand and his signature fishbone quill materializes, shimmering that bright golden hue that illuminated part of the table.

Yuu carefully takes it. The last time he'd used it was when he signed those dreaded contracts in what seemed forever ago. He never expected he would've become so close with Ashengrotto when he was presented with the deals, much less catch feelings for him.

"Since you're being so annoying, maybe I'll just write half of it."

"So you're giving me half a gift? How stingy of you. Since when did you become such a cheapskate?"

"Shush." Yuu turns to Azul, placing a finger on his own lips. "The bookmark is the gift. The poem's just an add on you insisted on." He says, then places the tip of the quill atop the slate, slowly and meticulously starting with the first line. "Besides, think of it as a challenge; I'm giving you three fifths of a full poem. Can you guess what the last two lines are before next year?"

"That's terribly unfair." Azul stifles a giggle, his eyes following each and every one of Yuu's movements as he writes. "How will I be able to know?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll come up with something..." Yuu hums, tracing the line of a kanji until he's sufficiently satisfied with its thickness. "You're smart like that."

Azul only hums back in agreement, then chimes in once more "What is a 'Suminoe'? You have to at least explain to me the foreign terms."

"It's the name of a beach. I thought it'd be fitting given the bookmark's pattern." Yuu answers, mentally measuring the length of the third and final line. "All poems of this type have something relating to nature."

"And so, you thought of an ocean themed poem."

"Correct." Yuu nods, flicking the nib to finish his last stroke.

He couldn't quite discern from just Azul's tone if the comment was condescending, interested, disappointed, or entirely neutral about the poem's subject. Azul's voice already had a melodic and dramatic tilt to it when he talked. And the cadence of his words were so meticulously controlled to give so much information about his mood, they were a puzzle in itself.

"... I think I'm done." Yuu hands his finished message to Azul, who adjusts his glasses as he carefully inspects the writing on the slab.

As he reads the few lines repeatedly, Yuu watches his eyebrows pinch and his lips purse, and his heart skips a beat when Azul's expression slowly turns into a disappointed grimace.

"... I don't get it." He sighs, dejected, and places the bookmark down on the table

That was a risk Yuu always had to account for; that his references or sayings would be misunderstood or flew over people's heads. Especially when he'd just chosen to write half a tanka, famously known to need those last two lines to bring out the full context of the message. Usually, Yuu wouldn't even bother to say anything that could incur the confusion of others, but, with Azul, there was a benefit to being cryptic; It kept him interested.

Azul was so curious, so hungry for knowledge, he would eat up any and all information Yuu gave him. And whatever he didn't understand, he was eager to make it so he would the next time it was mentioned. At some point, Yuu started to intentionally include some of Earth's locations and slang, just to have the pleasure to explain to Azul anything that would pique his interest. It was nice to have an excuse to talk about home... especially when the listener was so eager to learn.

"It's incomplete. You're supposed to find the words to make it make sense to you." Yuu chuckles, handing Azul the quill back and leaning his cheek to rest on his fist. "I think it'd be interesting to see what meaning you extract from those words, then later see how closely it matches the authors." He smiles, but Azul only returns his gesture with a pout.

"Fine. I suppose it would be interesting to try out." He sighs and makes the quill disappear with a snap of his fingers. "But I would've rather had a full poem to think about."

"You're no fun."

"Perhaps I am not. But you'll still try to complete the poem?"

"Of course I will. That is, if I can't manage to pry those last verses from you."

"Over my dead body."

Azul chuckles once more, and, as he is called over by one of the employees of the lounge, Yuu watches him leave the table and bids his goodbyes, taking the gift from the table and putting it in his coat pocket.

Success.

He stays there seated for a while, watching as Azul weaves through the crowds and stops at some instances to entertain the guests. No rhythm or pattern, he just melded into the crowd seamlessly only to pop up once again somewhere else.

In a way, Yuu compared it to a delicate dance. A push and pull of socialization and taking times for himself to recharge. A beautiful view in his eyes.

Maybe that's why he chose that poem. Something that reminds him of Azul's nature of hiding, camouflaging, a figure so ethereal he felt it could only be seen from afar.

Unlike the waves that come up to the shore of Suminoe, in the gathered night.

[iamthecomet]

RAIN AND DEW IN A SKIRT.

"You're so pretty like this."

Dew doesn't know where to look. Certainly not at himself. And definitely not at Rain. He tilts his head back. Chooses the ceiling of Rain's bedroom instead, counts the tin tiles, 34.

Rain drags his hands up Dews thighs. Calloused fingers brushing over bare skin. Dew tries not to react. He tries not think about it. He starts counting tiles again.

"Watch," Rain orders.

Dew looks down. He catches his own eyes in the mirror first. His pupils have gone wide. He's flushed pink down to his collarbones. He watches his chest rise and fall as he drags in shaking breaths. When did he start breathing so hard?

Rain puts his face next to Dew’s. His dark eyes are nearly black with want. His curls are disheveled, jaw slack. It's a face that never fails to send a shock of want through Dew's stomach. He doesn't think he can get harder. His body proves him wrong.

"C'mon, Dew. You gotta look. I need you to see. So fucking beautiful."

Dew wants to fight against the word. Wants to snap against it. But instead, he just flushes deeper. He swallows. His mouth is bone dry.

He is powerless to deny Rain. That's how he got here to begin with. He resists the urge to lean his head into Rain's--to chase a softer touch.

He forces his gaze down, over his bare chest and belly, and down to where Sunshine's mini skirt rests low on his hips. The red of it looks violent against Dew’s skin. It hugs tight to his narrow thighs and does nothing to hide how hard he is beneath it.

Rains hands reach the hem of the skirt, but don't stop. They drag up, gathering fabric in a slow slide, finger tips catching against the hem.

Dew's breath catches in his lungs as he watches Rain's hands move against it. Rain is gentle as he slips it further up, exposing more pale thigh.

"Should make you wear this out. Show you off," Rain murmurs in Dew's ear. Dew whines, hips flexing forward on their own accord. He tries to tell himself it's from Rain's fingers dipping inward to brush his inner thighs. But he knows it's really at the image of the others seeing him like this. He can see Aether’s face now, jaw dropped, eyes wide.

"You want it," Rain laughs.

Dew shakes his head. "No. What the fuck? Don't be weird. Just touch me already."

Rain smiles against the side of Dew's head. He makes a show of fixing the skirt. Tugging the stretchy fabric back down and smoothing it over with his palms.

"Later," he says. Peeling himself away from Dew's back. "It's time for dinner. We don't want to be late."

[beloveds-embrace]

Telling Ghost/König you are too heavy for him to pick up or sit on his face, and he doesn’t say anything at first so you think he just accepted it even if your heart kinda twinged a little in pain because you know you are just not skinny enough-

Only for him to send you a video the next day: in the gym, looking mighty hot in a compression shirt and sweatpants just a touch low on his hips, and lifting a bar with ease. On a closer look? The weighs attached to the bar weigh far more than you do. And he so easily maneuvers and controls and manhandles it…

Between the heat curling in your stomach, face pink and thighs clenched shut, you almost miss the incoming text.

Never too heavy for me, doll.

[readwritealldayallnight]

“I also grabbed that oatmeal you liked.”

“Mhmm.”

“You know, the one we tried a few weeks ago, and you were certain you wouldn’t like.”

“Mhmm.”

“Luckily by the time I made it out of the gym they wer-”

“Mhmm.”

You finally glance up from where you’ve been unloading the groceries onto the kitchen counter, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you look to your boyfriend.

Sure enough, Simon’s not listening to a word you’re saying. Eyes locked on the steady jiggle of your tits in your tight new sports bra, as you continuously bend down and bounce back up with item after item.

He doesn’t mean to ogle you so obviously. Well maybe that’s not so true. Really he doesn’t mean to be ignoring you as he ogles you so obviously. But today it appears his lower half is in control of his attention span.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you wonder how long it’ll take him to snap out of his trance.

“So yeah, thought we might start having oatmeal more often now.”

“Mhmm.”

“Maybe three meals a day.”

“Whatever you say, love.” He answers, eyes still fixated on your chest, clueless as to the smirk beginning to spread across your face.

“Might even change my license plate to ‘oat-mobile’, watcha think ‘bout that?”

“Sure thing.”

You’re shaking your head to yourself in disbelief, a smile still splayed on your lips. At this point you’re turning around to put things into their rightful cupboards. But you think there isn’t anything behind you he won’t stare at either? While you’re wearing those workout shorts??

“Looks like they updated the class schedules at the gym too.” You continue, glancing back over your shoulder and seeing that, sure enough, Simon’s gaze has shifted to your ass.

“Mhmm.”

“Think they’ve got some new trainers or somethin’.”

“Mhmm.”

“Heard one of em’s quite hot. The men’s personal trainer. Maybe I’ll ask if he stretches the women out too.”

“Okay lov- wait what?!”

Got him.

[khioneee]

simon knew it was over the moment he realized just how freaky you are.

simon knew he was massive—he always had.

it was a quiet fear that followed him, the thought that if he lost control for even a moment, he might hurt you. his touch was always careful, deliberate.

his hands were wrapped around your neck, not tight, but gentle—just enough to feel the pulse beneath your skin. his thumbs rested softly against your throat, his grip light, careful not to leave a mark. but when you started frantically grinding your hips against his, rolling your body in desperate need, everything shifted.

a low, guttural noise rumbled from his throat as his body responded on instinct. without meaning to, his hands tightened, gripping your neck for leverage as you moved against him. he froze for a second, startled by his own strength. but then—

it happened.

you clenched tighter around him, your head falling back as a broken moan escaped your lips. you were crying out, completely undone, lost in the moment. your hips bucked harder, desperate for more, and it hit him like a bolt of lightning:

you liked it rough.

you, his innocent, angelic girl — the one with soft smiles and bright eyes, the one who blushed at the smallest touch — had been hiding it all along.

he stared at you, stunned, as you begged with your body, your innocent exterior cracking to reveal the wicked, burning desire beneath. his angel wasn't just soft and sweet

—you were freaky.

a low growl rumbled in his chest as he leaned in, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips. “you've been holding out on me, haven't you, lovie?” he murmured, his voice dark with amusement and something far more dangerous.

[orbitganymede]

baby daddy simon who dated you for a year before you got pregnant, you’d gone through most of the pregnancy alone, him being deployed 3 weeks after you found out and gone until the very last month of it. the both of you had tried at keeping the relationship together, but the distance and loneliness got to you, you’d been fine when it was just you but now with baby, you can’t let the father go in and out of their life. he wasn’t very happy with the decision to end your relationship, in his mind you were together forever now, tied together by this beautiful thing you two created, he didn’t even want children before you told him you were expecting but his whole world view changed when he realized that he not only had you to protect but a baby as well.

but you’d moved out against his wishes, finding a small flat you like and making it home for you and baby. he would come over sometimes, when he could, and spend some time with baby but honestly he felt more like some glorified uncle, would be convinced he was nothing to this child until he saw those brown eyes staring back at him, the ones that are so completely his, and he comes to the conclusion that this isn’t gonna work.

he starts small, coming over once a week instead of every other weekend, takes the two of you out for dinner instead of letting you cook or ordering in. stays late enough that you offer him the spare bed in the guest room, even with the distance you’ve put between yourselves, you can’t help but care for him, knowing nobody else will.

then he puts more pressure on you, making sure you see just how valuable he is, taking night shift feedings and waking up early with baby when they’re fussy. he offers to take baby for the night so you can go out with your friends, do things you haven’t been able to since baby’s arrival, even pays for a spa day for you to really relax. he stocks your fridge, full of the snacks you love and a bottle of wine for the hard nights. he buys and sets up new decor in the house, finally gets you the pretty white vanity and a new washing machine that doesn’t squeak. he really just does what he considers ‘husband duties’, things that he should have been doing this whole time.

and when you don’t budge on the separation, he goes nuclear, “no, love, i haven’t seen your birth control pills”, “look how cute this baby is, remember when ours was that small, sweetheart”, “you’re so stressed darling, let me help you” which basically means you end up getting rawdogged within an inch of your life, condom long forgotten, one of simons hands held over your mouth to muffle the sounds you’re making. he just hopes he’d tracked your cycle right, that you’re actually ovulating, because you can’t possible refuse his ring after having two of his babies right? you wouldn’t do that to him, would you pet?

[starsofang]

Simon didn’t like to hold you. He liked to be held.

At first, you didn’t understand why he’d turn his back to you in bed without saying anything. You thought you’d done something to him, or maybe he was in a bad mood. You couldn’t be any more wrong.

Simon Riley, an absolute brute of a soldier, was silently asking for you to be the big spoon. You nearly didn’t believe it when he finally brought it to your attention.

He was too embarrassed to ask you, so he’d resort to flipping on to his side and wait. And wait. Until he realized you didn’t catch the memo, even after many hopeless attempts.

In his mind, he thought being the big spoon would somehow convince you he wasn’t manly enough, as if his title in the service or his pure stature wasn’t proof enough of his masculinity.

To him, being held was a blanket of security. Where he’d always have to watch his back out on the field, both literally and metaphorically, he didn’t have to keep an eye out at all times with you. It was a chance for him to find solace in a person, and when he explained this to you, he was surprised to find you so willing.

And oh, when it happened, Simon nearly kicked himself for holding back on verbalizing it for so long.

The warmth of your arms when they wrapped around him from behind, your face buried between his shoulder blades, legs tangled in his, he thought that this was what inner peace felt like.

He was silly to think you’d ever be the one to judge him for what most deemed ‘unmasculine’. In all of his broad glory, he felt safe the moment you held him, like a child does when they feel a mother’s embrace except it was from someone he loved dearest to his heart.

And you? You found that being the big spoon was rather enjoyable when the man you’re holding was so damn comfortable to snuggle up to. It was a win-win for you both.

You just wished he wasn’t an idiot that left you wondering all those hopeless nights until the truth came out.

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you.

when you’re in the shower, he’s sat on the lid of the toilet on his phone (watching those rug cleaning videos) enjoying your faint singing under the stream of water, the smell of your body wash on the cloud of steam- ready to pass you a towel or get your back.

when you’re at your desk, working from home or studying, he’s just on the other side of it reading the paper with one outstretched leg tangled with both of yours. he’s dead quiet when you’re on a call, just happy to be around.

when you’re doing laundry, collecting the clothes in the hamper and crouching to stuff them into the washer- turning around and accidentally colliding with a thick wall of muscle.

“sorry, love”

he steps aside but you can hear his soft footfalls as he continues to follow you throughout your home.

when you’re both watching something on the couch, what starts as his pinky locked with yours turns into his arm around your waist. that turns into your head on his chest, which culminates with you falling asleep in his lap with his cheek on your head and soft snores emanating from his lips.

when you grocery shop, you push the trolley but his chest is to your back, arms either side of you and hands clasped over yours on the handle. you can thank his military training for his uncanny ability to tell exactly when you’ll stop walking.

when he wakes up in the middle of the night, on a rare occasion when you’ve managed to slip out of bed without him realising, he’s immediately in a panic calling your name.

“in here, my love”

as soon as his heart settles, he realises the bathroom light was probably a dead giveaway. you’re taking a wee, you’ll be back in a minute.

that doesn’t stop a sleepy simon from leaning in the doorframe, shielding his eyes from the big light as he waits for you to finish up.

even on the short walk back to bed, you can feel fingers twisted in the back of your shirt- almost like you’re leading the way.

minute you’re both on the mattress, you’re being wrapped up in his arms, slotting you perfectly into the curve of his front- almost like you’re made for him.

(and you are)

[lapetitepatisserie]

cod × fem!reader ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The familiar sound of keys in the door alerted you to your husband’s return.

“My love?” he called, looking for you, boots making heavy footsteps as he made his way towards you and your child. His eyes soften once they land on you and your baby girl.

“How’s my princess?” he drawls, voice deep with exhaustion from work.

You look down at the child sitting in your lap, occupied with trying to fit a chubby foot into her mouth. A steady finger reaches underneath your chin, lifting it to meet his warm, intense gaze.

“I’m talking about this one.”

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Just thinking about how simon would definitely be the type of man to start cooking ribs, I mean like marinating those things and letting them slow cook for hours, only for him to slip out of the bed at nearly 3am.

You only noticed because his side of the bed got colder and then you woke up to your precious simon riley with a plate of ribs in his big hands, piled high for both of you as he sat down. you wouldn’t care about getting food on the bed this late, and he knew it. He liked cooking for you when on leave, liked providing.

“ribs.”

He mumbled, and you gave a sleepy nod before leaning against him, idly taking a rib and obliging him with a bite of the food. As it turns out, it was pretty damn good, and for another hour or so you both just sat there, silently eating ribs in bed.

Anyways, I’m marrying him. He’s mine.

[theorist-fox]

Can I interest you in some silly sex with Simon? 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️

18+

Word count: 1k.

CW: nothing really. Just silly sex. Just giggling sex. Just I-need-to-give-this-man-some-humanity sex. Simon is ticklish and you find out, that's the plot.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

You look delectable straddling his hips.

Naked and soft, plump tits sitting prettily in his hands. His thumbs swipe idly around your perked nipples as you ride him slowly, early morning sun peeking through the curtains and lapping at your skin. What a way to wake up, what a sight.

He stares at your lips and how they part for him—something he still has to get used to, though he probably never truly will. How dulcet does his name sound if it’s your voice whispering it, how beautiful your eyes when they take in his face.

Soft hands are pressed on his chest for leverage, and you’re treating him with a view he keeps pinned to the forefront of his brain—gliding your cunt until you’re chock-full of him, stroking yourself until you’re shivering.

He likes it when he’s on top, sure. He’s used to taking the lead and orchestrating every detail, in and out of the job. 

But when you allow him to sit back and take it? Hell, sign him up. He’d do it every day. Especially when it’s this lazy sex here, in which you’re canting your hips to cum before he does, giving him the blissful chance of feeling you clench around him when he's still hard. 

Goosebumps rise under your nails as they graze down his chest and brush his stomach. Your hands wander blindly on his belly, then his sides, as you clock his eyes with your heavy ones, panting softly, idly—my beautiful, beautiful girl.

But then you inadvertently brush his ribs, and he stiffens—even squirms, and your movements come to a halt.

You blink as conscience returns to you slowly, and the room sinks into tense silence. His cock twitches inside of you when you tilt your head inquisitively, squinting your eyes.

Experimentally, you brush your fingertips against his ribs again, and his biceps flatten to his sides, trapping your hands.

Your eyes widen, and his do the same.

“Don’t.”

You gasp, “Oh my God.”

“Darling, no.” He warns, but you’ve clearly made up your mind already.

Your lips are curled in a smile that promises mischief, and he can only give up, sit back, and count his losses.

“Darling, yes.”

Simon feels your fingers wiggle under the tight press of his arms, but no matter his strength, they're seemingly useless against that playful resolve you're displaying.

His cock is still embarrassingly hard inside you, and Simon reckons it won't soften any time soon. You don’t seem eager to get off him either, thus prolonging the torture with each tiny movement you make.

He inhales sharply and fights tooth and nail to school his expression into neutrality. His eyes are narrowed, and his jaw is locked tight. The only thing giving him away is the flush of his cheeks, getting pinker by the second because he refuses to open his mouth to breathe a much-needed lungful of air. Knowing that if he would, he'd bark a laugh that would proclaim you as the winner of this fight.

He would never.

You roll your hips, then—cheap trick. He unravels with a shaky breath, and his biceps give out enough for you to slip your hands away.

And then, he knows he's done for.

“Cut it out.” He barks, trying to sound stern and miserably failing. He knows because you're laughing even harder.

Your fingers feel like tiny bugs crawling up his sides, and they make his breath catch in his throat.

“Never.” You say, with a grin that scrunches your nose. A smile that would normally make his heart throb, but right now just makes him wish he were a lesser man so he could throttle you.

“Fuckin’-“

You chuckle.

You evil little cunt.

Resistance lasts a few more seconds before he bursts.

It’s not a full laugh that leaves him; more of a wheeze that makes you chortle like a wicked witch. His chest heaves as your fingers frantically tickle his sides. Tries to get you off him by shaking his hips, but that only makes the two of you falter and moan, and then chuckle and catch your breaths.

His shoulders shake in a breathless, choking laugh that pitches upward as you continue with your assault (yes, assault—he is not being dramatic), eyes veiled with tears of frustration and mirth. He shrieks when your hands travel under his armpits—the sound makes you giggle in a way that would have him melt. 

“That laugh’s lovely, baby.” You say with a smarmy grin he wishes he could wipe with a kiss, hands unrelenting against his sides. “Sound like a kettle whistling.”

He tries to glower and push you off, but you’re surprisingly strong when you’re focused. Right now, your only goal is to apparently make him hate you—he'd rather be held at gunpoint than being forced to hold in a laugh that makes his stomach hurt.

Simon now looks shockingly harmless, with his cheeks flushed bright red and his voice an octave too high—wouldn't look dangerous if he tried.

“Tea ready, yet?” You add, batting your lashes, because why not rub salt into the already embarrassing wound marring his pride.

It’s that unfathomably stupid joke that finally makes Simon crack. He barks out a laugh that bubbles up his throat, rippling through his stomach so suddenly that you bounce above him. Your own laugh follows soon after, because each time you manage to steal one from him, your heart vibrates with loving triumph.

But still—he is Simon Riley, isn’t he? Member of Task Force 141. Lieutenant in the UK Special Forces, SAS. The Ghost. There is some pride in there, one he'd like to keep intact.

He tries to recollect his breath, sniffling, and his arms shoot out to wrap around your waist. He rolls onto his side, taking you with him.

It’s then that you find yourself in a position of utter disadvantage, on your back with your big brute of a boyfriend holding you down. You’re wide-eyed and still smiling with barely contained giggles, and he’d be lying if he said it doesn't make his heart soar.

Sure, he’s panting, still proper flushed and apple-cheeked, with shivers wrecking his spine and unshed tears in his eyes—but he takes great pride in having won yet another fight (again, not overreacting at all, if you ask him).

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

You fix him with a look. “Simon, no.”

Before you can add more to your complaint, he rams his cock into you until your chest stutters, your lips mouthing around a shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

He fucks you into the mattress, then—once, twice, until the remnants of laughter vanish from your face and you’re trembling in bliss, eyes rolled back under heavy eyelids.

He places a sloppy kiss down to your collarbone.

“Simon, yes.”

[blanketorghost]

When In Dreams I Go To You

Azul Ashengrotto x Yuu Fujisaki (OC)

Word count: 2,624

Author's note: uuh yeah this lacks a lot of context that comes from other fics but I really wanted to publish this very specific part of their story. A year and a half after the main storyline. Azul is 19 and in his senior internships and Yuu is 20 and back on Earth.

Summary: After months of work and research, Yuu, Ortho and Idia made a reliable duplicate portal. Initally designed to let Grim travel between worlds, Azul catches word of it first. And having regretted the sour note they left their relationship on, Azul strongarms himself into the operation and surprises Yuu on Earth. Right as he was about to make the first step into moving on from his ex boyfriend.

This scene is the 3rd ish part of this earth centric arc.

"What were you even planning to do once Idia-san manages to create a way for you to travel back? Would you just... pop in for a visit?"

Yuu merely shrugs and turns around, walking to the pantry and taking out a small glass jar with more leaves. "Maybe. I was hoping I'd be able to before you graduate."

"... and?" Azul's breath catches in his throat, eyes scanning each and every one of Yuu's movements as he filled the kettle with water again and put it on the stove to boil, this time filled with a different blend of tea inside.

"... I don't know. Maybe I could've caught a glimpse of you when the seniors were back."

"Is looking at me from afar enough for you?"

"I like to lie to myself and pretend it is."

Azul worries his lip as he looks down at his own tea, which had become lukewarm long ago. His reflection merely stares back, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes glazed over as he mulled over his next words. "Did you ever think about me?"

An uncomfortable, faint echo reverberates through the room, only now making Azul notice how sparcely decorated it is.

As if taken from a minimalist magazine, Yuu's apartment looked... cold. Not lived in. There wasn't even a hint of the warmth that his old bedroom in Ramshackle had, one which was full of little trinkets and gifts he's collected.

Yuu lingers at the edge of the marble counter, staring at the kettle with such intensity one might think that'd be enough to make it break. "... Is the sky blue?" He utters out, his voice bouncing off the walls, giving even more weight to his words.

"Is water wet?" The kettle boils, and the shrill sound of its whistle makes Azul flinch before Yuu turns the stove off.

He takes his time to pour a fresh cup of tea and takes another cookie, carefully placing both on a saucer. Yuu slowly balances the small plate with both hands as he walks back to the coffee table and places it in front of Azul, then takes the old cup of already-cold tea from his hands.

"Does Yuu Fujisaki think of Azul Ashengrotto?"

He whispers softly as their eyes meet, and Yuu's hand grazes Azul's fingers when he gently tugs the cup away. He silently walks back to the kitchen and pours the contents down the drain. He turns on the faucet and lets the sound of flowing water take over as he gently scrubs the dishes, creating a generous layer of foam build up before rinsing.

Azul's breath wavers as he shakily takes the new tea placed in front of him. He feels his own strength somehow leave him, as if the contents of the cup had just suddenly transformed to lead and his arms had had all their bones removed.

"I think this blend might suit you better. It's less strong than the matcha I mull. More similar to the black tea you have at the lounge." Yuu says as he washes the last dish left and starts wiping everything dry. "It goes well with the cookies."

Azul simply nods and takes a sip of the piping hot beverage. He was right, like always. The tea was rich and just slightly bitter, perfectly balancing out the sweetness of the cookie. It was slightly smoky and earthy, warm and comforting. Just enough for Azul to try and speak again.

"Why did you not call?"

Maybe that wasn't a good idea.

Yuu moves on with his task, wiping stubornly at a mug. Then takes a pair of chopsticks and does the same with each.

"Would you have picked up?" Finally, Yuu answers. His posture slumps, and he places a plate on the dishrack. "Would you..." his voice breaks, and he has to cover his mouth with one hand as his shoulders tremble.

The room is filled with heavy silence as Azul waits for Yuu to say something. Anything. Should he come there and comfort him instead? Would Yuu even accept that after all the pain he's caused him?

He was never good with these kinds of situations. Yuu was the one who did the reassuring, the one who made him cups of fresh tea when he was upset and wiped frustrating tears away in the worse days. Yuu was the one who cared for everyone else.

"Why did you come?" Yuu hugs himself tight, the slightest hint of his deltoids showing through his woolen vest from the sheer strength of his grip.

Azul, in response, takes a sharp breath. He wanted to say it was obvious. That the reason he threw himself into that portal was to take Yuu back with him now that he was more successful, now that he could provide and give him everything he wanted.

But could he really do that?

Could he really, when Yuu's face was basically in every billboard, in every magazine from this world? How could he compete when Yuu had already reached the top and he was just starting out?

His voice catches in his throat when he tries to speak. Truly, it was foolish to think he could satisfy Yuu. Deep down, he already knew this. Yet, he still needed to say it. He couldn't just stand by and let Yuu suffer alone, thinking he didn't want him back. Because Sevens, he wanted him.

He needed to let him know that his abscence haunted him constantly. That every little thing, every detail, and subtle touch he added to his contracts were a testament to Yuu's impact in his life. He could see him everywhere. In the honey in his tea, in the carefully laid out blankets in his hotel rooms, or in the shaky lines of a bad drawing.

He hated to admit that the warmth Yuu gave him when they were friends, when they were lovers, was one he couldn't replicate. No amount of searching, no amount of money could buy what Yuu made him feel. What Yuu specifically made him feel.

Azul worries his bottom lip until he feels that still foreign, metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Words were his trade. They were the glue that held his contracts together. Yet, there he was, unable to string a sentence that could possibly encapsule Yuu's importance to him. His knuckles turn white as he grips the teacup tightly against his chest, and, as a small mercy to the delicate porcelain, he digs his hand onto his coat pocket, hitting something hard.

...

His hand curls around the flat slate, slowly taking it out. He caresses the wood's surface, the small etches hand carved onto it, and the slightly faded off paint from constant use. The ribbon at the top had also slightly frayed at the edges, something he had to fix himself by burning them slightly a few months back. He turns the slab around and looks at the handpainted message on the back, which sparkled with his own signature golden ink. Yet, the writing wasn't his. The gentle strokes of a foreign language were there, still legible thanks to that translator amulet he'd invested on a while ago.

Azul didn't even need that, though. He thought. He could've recited those phrases by memory with how often he'd read them.

"....U... Unlike the waves..." He starts, his voice shaky and slow. He'd never dared to recite this out loud in the months before, but now, it felt, more than ever, that those words were calling to him. "... that come up to the shore of Suminoe..." Azul gulps, his mouth gone dry. Still, he pushes on. Only a line left. "In the gathered night..."

"... When in dreams I go to you, You hide from people's eyes."

Yuu's voice takes him by surprise as he recites the rest, his tone just as weak.

Azul had always wondered what the rest of that poem said, what made Yuu want to write those specific words into his 18th birthday gift. And what were those last lines that completed it. Now, he didn't know if he regretted or delighted in hearing them. He can no longer count the nights he'd spent awake thinking about them. Were they merely something beautiful to adorn the bookmark at his insistence, or were there something more?

Even in the brief period in which they dated, Yuu refused to complete the poem for him, giving him promises of getting him the full anthology for him to read and enjoy. But he couldn't have enjoyed it.

Even when, a mere week after their break up, Yuu sent over the carefully wrapped book, Azul couldn't get himself to open it and find the end for himself. Not when all he could think about was Yuu's sweet voice reciting those first verses to him.

Now, he had his answer. An answer that squeezed his heart and made him want to scream and cry into the void. Yet also made him want to run into Yuu's arms and drown in his embrace, lay there and feel his scent again, his soft hands holding his back, and listen to his heartbeat, no matter how changed he was now.

"Why did you come here?"

Azul was so dazed he didn't notice that Yuu had kneeled right in front of him, arms crossed in that familiar defensive way. He couldn't dare look at his eyes, no matter how much he missed that mauve hue. He didn't deserve it.

Yet, his eyes moved by themselves, tracing the imaginary lines from his collar to his neck, his jaw to his moles, his lips to his nose, and his cheeks to his eyes and brows, which were furrowed into a tight grimace despite that beautiful shine his irises gave off. He was still perfect after all this time.

"Yuu...." He whispers, tears welling up in his eyes. "Isn't it obvious?" Was he really going to force him to say it out loud? How much he missed him, how much he needed him. Weren't the words they exchanged when they were together enough?

"I don't want to get my hopes up again." Yuu says softly as he tightens his arms around himself in that heartbreaking way he does when he's upset.

Right.

Azul was the one to break things off. He was the one to leave Ramshackle early after the farewell party, and he was the one who rejected Yuu's last attempt to reconcile before he left. But could he not cut him some slack, too?

They knew this was going to happen eventually. And Yuu deserved to go back home without any responsibilities to burden him back in Twisted Wonderland.

He had to do it for his own good. He had to.

He had to.

At least, that's what he told himself. That's the only thing that gave him a morsel of comfort after months of grief and pain.

Then why, especially now, did it feel like it was a horrible mistake?

"I miss you." Azul finally admits out loud, feeling like he's swallowed shards of glass that tore out his vocal chords. The truth was bitter and sticky and so sharply painful he felt as if his whole neck was being torn out. As if two fires had ignited in his lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

"I miss you too." Yuu whispers back, his expression getting softer. A small mercy for Azul's shattered hearts.

"I came here for you." If he was going to be honest, Azul may as well get everything out now that he had Yuu here. He didn't know when would be the next time they'd be allowed a moment like this. "I needed to see you again. I wanted to make things right between us."

"Why?" Yuu asks again and makes a face. Was he really going to force him to say it? Obviously, it was because he loved him. Obviously, it was because he wanted him back. So why did he need Azul to say it out loud?

Azul gulps and musters the courage to look at Yuu's eyes again. He simply couldn't say no to that pleading look, to those puppy dog eyes, and that kicked dog expression. Did he need it that much? Did his gaze really betray the amount of trust Yuu had on his words?

Fine. Then so be it.

He'd write him an entire book if he needed to.

"Because I love you." Azul struggles to get the words out, his tongue suddenly deciding to rebel against him. Yet, he continues on. "I still love you. And I'm sorry."

"I love you too." Yuu's hand reaches out to caress Azul's cheek. And, at that moment, he thinks the dam's about to break. Sevens know he can already feel the cracks forming. "And I'm sorry, too."

"Why? I broke up with you."

"I know, but I didn't make the break up easy either. I'm sorry." Yuu strokes his cheek with his thumb and places his other hand above Azul's, the one that held onto the bookmark. "I kept on sending you gifts but didn't have the courage to even write to you." He bites his cheek before continuing, "I was too scared you'd throw any letters away."

"I would - I would never do that -" Now it's Azul turn to frown as his tone turns more indignant. He wouldn't have read them, probably, just like how he'd never unwrapped any present Yuu sent. But he still kept everything. A part of him was scared. Scared of the feelings they might reignite. But he would never throw away something as precious as Yuu's gifts were.

"I was still scared." Yuu smiles a little. "Can you blame me?"

"No, I cannot." Azul snorts in response, a bit of the tension breaking. Somehow, Yuu always knew how to make difficult conversations easy. "But I still wouldn't have thrown them away."

"Good to know." Yuu squeezes his hand. Once again, it demonstrated just how easily it was for him to make Azul's heart melt.

They stay there, looking at each other for what feels like an eternity. Finally having enough time to examine those little things that had changed in just one year of being apart. The new earrings, the longer hair, the slightly matured features, and slightly more pronounced eye bags. He looked so... uncanny. Not exactly the same Yuu he met, but not exactly a foreign look either. Like an odd middle ground he couldn't pinpoint. Would his hugs still feel familiar? Would his skin feel the same? Would he carry the same scent? The answer should've been obvious, but Azul couldn't help but wonder.

Were his kisses still the same?

He lingers on Yuu's face, letting go of the bookmark and cupping his cheek. The way Yuu leans to his touch is so familiar. A habit formed after hundreds of times. His other hand soon follows the first, framing his face with his fingers. Just like before.

It's always been easy to pull him close. Yuu always allowed Azul to do so. The lack of resistance took a weight off of Azul's shoulders. He didn't need to fight for Yuu's affection. He gave it away so freely all the time. It sometimes made Azul jealous. But in times like this, that kind of trust was all he needed. All he needed to know was that he was doing the right thing when he pressed his lips to Yuu's, and Yuu so easily kissed back.

It was awkward to have Yuu kneeling on the ground, though. He would've much rather had him sitting on the couch beside him. But beggars can't be choosers, and right now, all Azul begged for was for the Yuu he knew and loved to take him back in his arms again.

[dmitriene]

plink inspiration

simon riley rearranging your pussy while spreading your asscheeks, thrusting his lengthy, thick cock in your tight, constricting warmth as your gummy walls ripple, his palms holding onto your supple skin, sinking in, spreading your fat as his thumbs point on your asshole, the tight, gaping hole clenches in front of his lidded, darkened gaze.

his cock gliding slowly, pulling back until only his twitching, fat tip remains inside your gooey, spasming walls, before sheathing himself back to the hilt in one hard, powerful thrust, repeating it over and over again, knocking those chocked, slurred mewls right from your lungs, as you squeeze your legs, holding yourself up properly through the jolting.

accepting the burn from his muscular hips that hit repeatedly against your ass, skin raw from his blunt, sinking nails using you as a leverage, and the slap of skin against skin that resonates lewdly across the bedroom, before simon skims his calloused palms up your cheeks, groping at the round, bouncing globs, tugging them down roughly, almost scratching at your tender skin.

simon starts to ram into your squelching, sappy pussy, jackhammering against the small, spongy spot located deep in your spasming walls, aching pleasantly when his throbbing, leaking tip bumps into the spot, making you sputter out a chorus of loud moans, arching your back in a sweet curve, even through afraid he can slip into your pretty ass at any moment.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[alexthetrashyracoon]

“You look like my boyfriend.”

Simon raises a brow at that statement and sits down in the nearby chair. His eyes on you. “Is that so, lovely?”

“Mhm,” you agree with a confident nod and loopy. “No. My boyfriend is prettier than you.”

He isn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment or as an insult, for now Simon decides to not comment on it. “You must be lucky to have such a pretty boyfriend then.” He grins and sips his cheap hospital coffee.

“Oh, I am! He’s pretty and cool and strong. And you should be careful because he’ll be here soon!” You pout, shoving your lower lip forward.

Cute. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gone before he shows up.” Simon reassures you and pats your thigh.

You don’t reply, the remaining anesthesia must still be running its course through your body after the surgery in which the doctor took out your inflamed appendix, snoring softly in the otherwise quiet room. “Good thing your boyfriend is already here, lovely.” Simon chuckles before tugging the thin hospital blanket higher over your chest and keeping watch as your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. “And he will be here when you wake up again. He will always be there, my lovely.”