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sai-int · 2 months ago

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hi angel! I love your writing so much, I loved your daryl fic <3 could I make a request for rick smut? you could write anything about rick and I'd love it <<3

hi hun! my brain instantly went to some "we shouldn't do this" smut and that's kindawhat i conjured up :] hope u like it!!

rick grimes x f!reader, oral (fem!receiving), ricks shlong, 1.6k words

The rain started just after noon, a slow drizzle that quickly escalated into a downpour. By the time you and Rick realized the herd was closing in, the storm had become a deluge, turning the forest paths into rivers of mud. The walkers were relentless, forcing the two of you to sprint through the trees, your boots slipping on the wet ground.

“This way!” Rick shouted over his shoulder, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. His hand shot out, grabbing yours as he pulled you toward a narrow path. The chill of his touch shot through you, grounding you even as the chaos pressed in.

The cabin appeared out of nowhere, half-hidden by the rain and overgrown foliage. It was old and weathered, its shutters hanging crookedly and the roof sagging in places. But it was shelter, and more importantly, it had a door that locked.

Rick shoved it open with his shoulder, ushering you inside before slamming it shut. He shoved a standing closet across the door, catching his breath once he knew the both of you were secure. You leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath, your clothes soaked and clinging uncomfortably to your skin.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, dripping water onto the creaking floorboards, the storm raging outside. Rick turned, his piercing blue eyes scanning you for injuries.

“You good?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern.

“Yeah,” you managed, though your pulse was still racing. “You?”

He nodded, brushing a hand through his damp curls. “We’re lucky this place was here. Could’ve been bad out there.”

“Could still be bad,” you muttered, glancing at the foggy windows. The walkers weren’t far behind, and the flimsy-looking cabin didn’t inspire much confidence. But for now, it was quiet—no groans, no shuffling footsteps.

Rick moved further into the house, crouching to inspect ashes left in a fire place. “Looks like someone’s been here recently. Should be enough to get a fire going.”

You watched as he worked, gathering scraps of dry wood and kindling from the corners of the room. The way his hands moved—quick, efficient—was almost hypnotic. You’d been on enough supply runs with him to know he thrived under pressure, but there was something different about seeing him like this, in a rare moment of quiet focus.

Once the fire caught, warmth began to seep into the room. You sat cross-legged on the rug, holding your hands out toward the flames while Rick shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair to dry. His shirt clung to him, damp and outlining the broad planes of his shoulders, his strong biceps and chest. You tried not to stare, but your eyes had a mind of their own.

“We should stay here tonight,” Rick said, breaking the silence. “Let the herd move on.”

You nodded, though the thought of spending the night alone with him made your heart pound for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. The unspoken tension between you had been simmering for weeks—glances that lingered too long, the occasional brush of his hand against yours, words left unsaid.

The rain intensified, battering the windows and drowning out the world outside. You both settled into an uneasy quiet, the crackle of the fire the only sound.

It wasn’t until later, after the initial rush of adrenaline faded, that the weight of the day’s events truly sank in. You were sitting on the couch now, stripped of your sopping jacket with Rick beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. His head was bowed, his hands clasped together as he stared at the floor, his leg bouncing ever so slightly–in concentration or anxiety? You couldn't tell.

“You ever stop pretending, Rick?” you asked apprehensively, your voice barely above a whisper.

His head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“You know what I mean,” you said, your heart thudding in your chest. “You act like none of this means anything. Like we’re just two people trying to coexist, and that that’s all it’ll ever be.”

Rick exhaled sharply, standing abruptly. He started pacing, his boots thudding softly against the floor as the firelight casted his shadow across the room. “We can’t do this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It’s not right.”

“Why not?” you challenged, standing too. The both of you illuminated by the warmth of the fire as it warmed your skin, your voice rising above the droplets that hit the roof. “What’s stopping you? The rules? Rick, there are no rules anymore... Didn't you say that to Shane?"

He turned to face you, his expression torn, conflicted. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice rough. “We’ve got a group to think about. Responsibilities. I have Michonne, I think, This—this would only make things harder.”

You stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. “You’re absolutely right,” you said quietly, your voice feigning sincerity with every ounce of your being. “We shouldn’t do this...”

The air between you felt charged, thick with unspoken words. Rick’s breath hitched, his eyes searching yours for a hesitation he wouldn’t find.

He surged forward, his hand cupping the side of your face as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was all tongue, teeth, and desperation, all-consuming, weeks of suppressed feelings erupting all at once. You balled your fists into his damp shirt, pulling him closer as you both stumbled back onto the couch.

“Goddammit,” he muttered against your lips as his hands found your waist, his voice raw. “We shouldn’t—”

“Then stop,” you whispered as one hand tangled deeper in his damp curls and the other held the rippled muscles of his back.

The firelight flickered as clothing flew across the room. You peeled off his shirt while shimmying out of your pants, his hands dipping beneath the fabric of your top before yanking it off entirely. His touch was both rough and tender, his hands exploring the skin of your chest like he couldn’t get enough. He kissed his way down the soft skin of your neck before marking it as his, stubble scraping deliciously against your flesh. His tongue swirled around your nipples, giving them both enough attention to make your cunt flutter around nothing.

Outside, the storm raged on, but inside the cabin, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you—your breathless whispers, the heat of the fire, the way his name fell from your lips like a confession.

His lips traveled further down your stomach before he scooped up your thighs and placed them around his shoulders. Without warning, he licked a fat stripe over your clothed core, your back arching immediately as you practically grinded on his tongue. Lord knows it's been a while since a man's had his mouth on you.

But none of them were as good as Rick. His baby blues met yours as he pulled your panties to the side, feeling his cock twitch against his zipper at the sight of your glistening arousal. He lapped up your juices, moaning at the taste of you as he swirled and sucked your sensitive bud. You squealed as he held your legs impossibly tight, restricting your movement as he ate you nastier than a starving walker would have.

He eased a finger into your tight hole, slowly massaging that gummy spot inside of you that made heat burn in your thighs and stomach.

"Gotta get you nice 'n ready for my cock, Baby, hmm? How's that sound? Gon' get nice 'nd ready for me?" Rick was on another planet as he babbled, obsessed with the way your hole took his finger so well. He eased in another, his hips automatically pistoning into the couch at the sound of your moans, imagining just how well you would take his cock.

"R-Rick please... Need you so bad, please..." You were in tears as he played with you. He gave you enough stimulation to bring you to the brink of cumming, but never enough to throw you over. You pawed at his curls that were between your legs as he looked up at you. He almost looked drunk as he pulled his eyes away from your cunt.

"What'd ya need, Sweetheart?" He cooed at you as he sat up. His frame rising up above you as he unbuckled his pants, his eyes never leaving yours. "You need somethin' from me?" His mocking didn't cease.

"Yes, Rick! Fucking please..." You pleaded as you watch him work his belt out of the loops of his jeans at a agonizing pace. He pulled his pants down just enough to free himself from his boxers. The sight made your mouth water.

He was thick with a slight upward curve, thick curls at the base, and his tip was an angry red, pre smeared all around it. You reached out to take him into your hands but he moved away, your hands retracting.

"Keep those hands where I can see 'em. You wanted my cock so bad, right? You're gonna have to ask real nice for it, Sweetheart." He said, dragging his hands across your stomach, scorching the skin beneath his fingers.

You huffed as you stared at his cock as he teasingly tapped it against your perked clit, each little nudge making your hole flutter. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, whispering his name like a prayer through whines and whimpers of desperation.

His hand reached out and rested on your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "So sensitive... If I had known that I would've fucked this pretty pussy weeks ago.." His thumb slipped into your mouth, his cock drooling as your lips immediately tightened around it.

"Since you like to whine so goddamn much, you can suck on that while I fuck you stupid."

mlist

#rick twd #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x female reader #twd towl #twd smut #twd #twd fanfiction #the walking dead smut #the walking dead #the walking dead rick grimes #༒︎ sai-int #�� angel’s asks

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winxanity-ii · 30 days ago

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 15 Chapter 15 | veiled depths⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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You felt weightless yet grounded, like being suspended in a void where gravity had no say. The air, or lack thereof, pressed against your skin, cool and dense, as though it wanted to seep into your pores.

Your body felt untethered, disoriented, as if the world had folded itself inside out.

Everything was dark—so dark that you couldn't even see the outline of your own hand. There was no sound, no wind, no sensation of movement—only the overwhelming stillness that pressed in from every direction.

A low chuckle brushed past your ear, the sound warm and teasing. "It's safe to open your eyes, little musician..."

The voice jolted you, and for a moment, you hesitated, unsure if you wanted to see what lay beyond this suffocating darkness. Slowly, you creaked your eyes open, half expecting the void to remain.

At first, there was nothing but inky blackness, but gradually, faint shapes began to emerge. The outlines of towering, jagged stone arches loomed overhead, their surfaces shimmering faintly with an otherworldly glow.

The ground beneath your feet was cold and rough, uneven with patches of smooth obsidian-like rock that reflected dim light.

You inhaled sharply. The air tasted heavy, like iron and ash, and it clung to your throat, making it harder to breathe. A strange stillness blanketed the area, the kind that made every sound feel intrusive.

Hermes' voice broke the silence again, light and conversational as though he were simply giving a tour. "Welcome to the gate of the Underworld," he said, gesturing broadly with his arm. "Lovely, isn't it? Hades certainly has a flair for drama."

You turned to face him, your movements sluggish as if the air itself were resisting. He stood just a few steps ahead, his crimson cloak flowing unnaturally, untouched by any wind. His golden eyes gleamed in the dim light, his expression a mix of amusement and intrigue.

"Where...?" you began, your voice cracking as you took in your surroundings.

Hermes grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. "We're right on the threshold between worlds. See that?" He turned you gently by the shoulders, pointing behind you.

You followed his gesture, your breath catching in your throat. A narrow tunnel stretched far into the distance, its rough, dark walls illuminated by a faint golden light at its end. The glow pulsed softly, like a heartbeat, steady and warm.

"That," Hermes said, his tone dropping into something almost reverent, "is the mortal realm. A cozy little exit for souls who've earned their place back among the living... or for visitors like us to remember where we came from."

Your gaze lingered on the light, the warmth of it stirring an ache deep in your chest. It felt distant, unreachable, and yet part of you longed to step toward it, to bask in its glow.

"But," Hermes continued, stepping in front of you and blocking your view, "we're not here to dwell on that, are we?" He gestured toward the opposite direction, where the tunnel opened into an expansive void. "There's much more to see."

As your eyes adjusted to the dimness, you noticed movement in the distance. A vast river stretched out before you, its surface dark and sluggish, like molten ink. Thick mist curled over the water, obscuring parts of it from view.

And then... you saw him.

A hunched figure stood atop a small, rickety ferry in the middle of the river. His silhouette was skeletal, his robe tattered and blending with the shadows. Even from a distance, you could see how still he was, his hooded head tilted in your direction.

It felt like he was staring at you.

A chill ran down your spine, and you took an involuntary step closer to Hermes. The ferryman's presence was oppressive, his stillness more unnerving than any movement could have been.

"Who... who is that?" you whispered, unable to tear your gaze away.

Hermes followed your line of sight, his golden eyes narrowing briefly before a smirk tugged at his lips. "Ah, Charon?" he said, his tone casual, as if speaking of an old acquaintance. "The ferryman of the dead. Bit of a grump, but reliable as they come. He's not much for conversation, but he gets the job done."

Your gaze lingered on the figure, still as stone, his shadowy form blending with the swirling mists over the river. The hollowed hood of his robe made it impossible to see his face, but you swore you felt his attention settle on you, sharp and unyielding. It felt like the chill of winter air slicing through your skin.

You shivered, clutching your arms instinctively. "Do we... have to use the boat?"

Hermes turned to you, his grin widening mischievously as he clasped his hands behind his back. "What? And miss the chance to see Charon in all his gloomy glory?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Just kidding. Of course not. We have a VIP pass, remember?"

Your brows furrowed. "VIP pass? What's tha—"

Before you could finish, Hermes swooped down and picked you up, his arms curling securely under your legs and back. "Hold on tight, little musician!" he warned, his golden eyes sparkling with glee.

"Wait, what are you—AHH!" Your protest turned into a screech as Hermes kicked off the ground, the wings on his sandals beating furiously as you shot into the air.

Your screams echoed through the void as wind whipped past you, cold and sharp against your skin, while Hermes' laughter rang out like a bell.

You clung to him tighter, your heart pounding as you soared higher, the world beneath you shrinking into a dark, endless abyss. The river stretched below like a yawning chasm, its surface rippling with faint, ghostly lights.

The air was thick and cool, carrying faint echoes—mournful whispers that sent shivers racing down your spine.

You forced your gaze downward, the landscape shifting beneath you, dark and mythical. Jagged rocks jutted out like broken teeth, and faint, flickering spectral lights danced in the shadows, their movements slow and deliberate, like they were watching.

In the distance, you caught glimpses of strange, dreamlike objects—fragments of clocks, shattered mirrors, and what looked like broken chairs floating just above the river's surface. They swayed gently, as if tethered to invisible strings, their presence a haunting reminder of the lives left behind.

Hermes dipped lower, hovering just above the river. The mist curled around his feet and yours, tendrils of it reaching upward as if trying to pull you in. Shadows moved beneath the surface, amorphous and massive, their outlines distorted yet undeniably real.

"W-What... what's in the water?" you stammered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the rushing wind.

"Regrets," Hermes replied simply, his tone uncharacteristically sober. "Broken promises. Forgotten dreams. Everything people left unresolved in life."

You stared down at the dark waters, your breath hitching as one of the shadows slithered closer to the surface before disappearing again.

"Lovely, isn't it?" Hermes teased, though his voice held a faint edge.

"Not the word I'd use," you muttered, clutching him tighter.

With a laugh, Hermes straightened his course, carrying you past the mist and the river until solid ground reappeared beneath you. He landed lightly, setting you down as though the flight had been nothing more than a leisurely stroll.

You stumbled, your legs shaky, and glared at him. "Warn me next time!" you hissed, the words escaping without thought.

"But where's the fun in that?" Hermes shot back, his grin wide and unapologetic. "Now, come along. The tour's just begun."

You hesitated, glancing back toward the river, its surface still rippling with faint light and shadow. The figure of Charon remained in the distance, unmoving, as though waiting for his next passenger.

Hermes gestured ahead, his crimson cloak sweeping dramatically. "Welcome to the Underworld," he said, his voice dripping with theatrical flair. "Allow me to show you the highlights."

You followed him warily, your senses on high alert as the landscape unfolded around you. The darkness seemed to ebb and flow, shifting like a living thing, revealing glimpses of otherworldly sights that made your breath catch in your throat.

To your left, faint golden light shimmered through the murky air, illuminating a distant expanse of rolling fields.

They stretched endlessly, dotted with trees whose leaves sparkled as if dusted with starlight. Figures wandered through the fields, their movements slow and deliberate, their forms bathed in the gentle glow of the light.

Hermes stopped, gesturing grandly toward the scene. "Behold," he said, his tone lighter but tinged with something softer, "Elysium. The final reward for the virtuous, the brave, the wise. Heroes and poets, philosophers and dreamers... they all find their peace here."

You squinted, trying to make out the figures in the distance. Their faces were too far away to discern, but something about their serene movements tugged at your heart. The fields themselves seemed alive, the golden grass swaying as though in time with an unheard melody.

"It's beautiful."

Hermes nodded, his expression uncharacteristically calm. "It is," he said simply, his voice quieter.

You stared a moment longer, drawn to the sense of peace that radiated from the fields. But before you could ask more, Hermes suddenly grabbed your wrist. "C'mon. Let's check it out. I mean, when are you going to get a chance like this again?"

You hesitated, your wide eyes flitting toward the fields. "I-I don't think I—"

"No time for hesitation, little musician," Hermes interrupted, tugging you forward. His golden eyes sparkled with mischief as he added in a teasing tone, "Besides, you're with me. I've got pull."

You stumbled slightly as he led you closer, your heart pounding as the golden light grew brighter, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The air in Elysium felt different—lighter, sweeter.

Each breath you took was tinged with a faint floral scent, and the gentle rustling of the grass seemed to hum with a quiet, melodic rhythm.

As you walked, your gaze was drawn to the figures in the distance. They moved gracefully, their forms glowing faintly under the golden light. Some sat beneath the sparkling trees, their heads bowed in quiet conversation, while others walked hand in hand, their expressions peaceful and content.

Your steps faltered as you caught sight of a small gathering near one of the larger trees. Among them was a figure that stood out—a tall man with a proud posture, his golden hair catching the light like a flame. His armor gleamed as though freshly polished, and the faintest smile played on his lips as he spoke with the others.

Your breath hitched, your voice trembling as you whispered, "Is... is that Achilles?"

Hermes chuckled softly, following your gaze. "The one and only," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Not a bad spot for a legendary hero to spend eternity, huh?"

You couldn't tear your eyes away, the weight of the moment pressing against your chest. The realization that you were standing in the same realm as figures who had lived and died in stories you'd only ever heard whispered around fires left you speechless.

"I can't believe it," you murmured, more to yourself than to Hermes.

"Believe it," he said, giving your wrist a gentle squeeze before tugging you forward again. "But don't stare too long. The last thing I need is for you to get starstruck and embarrass me in front of the legends."

A small laugh escaped you despite the overwhelming awe still coursing through your veins. "I thought gods didn't get embarrassed."

"Only when mortals make it impossible not to," he quipped, his smirk returning as he guided you further along the edge of the fields.

The golden light of Elysium began to fade behind you, replaced by the harsher tones of the Underworld's other regions. The smooth, glowing stones beneath your feet gave way to uneven, jagged terrain, and the air grew warmer, heavier, and thick with a faint, acrid smell that stung your nose.

Ahead, a deep chasm split the ground, its jagged edges glowing with an orange-red light that pulsed like the slow, rhythmic beat of a heart. From its depths came faint, echoing screams—high-pitched and mournful, carried on a hot, unnatural wind.

You stopped in your tracks, your stomach twisting at the sight. "What... what is that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hermes glanced back at you, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he stepped closer, his arm curling around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly into the air.

"Hold tight," he murmured, his tone softer now.

You clung to him instinctively as he hovered near the edge of the chasm. The heat rising from below was stifling, and the glow of the firelight cast eerie shadows on his face.

"That," Hermes said, his voice low, "is Tartarus. A place for the worst of the worst—traitors, tyrants, those who defied the gods. And, of course, the Titans." His golden eyes flicked down toward the chasm, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Think of it as the parallel to Elysium... but not the good kind."

You shuddered, staring into the depths. The screams grew louder, mingling with the crackle of unseen flames and the faint sound of chains rattling. Shadowy figures writhed far below, their forms indistinct but their agony palpable.

Hermes' expression softened, and he lowered you gently back to the ground, his arm lingering for a moment as though to steady you. "Not a place you'd want to visit," he added lightly, his smirk returning.

You turned to look at him, your voice hesitant. "Do you... go down there often?"

His gaze lingered on the chasm for a moment longer before he shrugged. "When I have to"" he said, his tone casual but with a weight beneath it. "Sometimes I'm the one escorting souls who've earned their place there. Other times..." He trailed off, his smirk faltering. "Let's just say... it's not my favorite part of the job."

You swallowed hard, your gaze drifting back to the chasm. "It's horrible," you murmured.

Hermes nodded as he began flying away, his expression solemn. "It is. But it's necessary."

As the chasm faded into the distance, the air around you seemed to shift again, growing lighter and cooler. Hermes' tone brightened, his playful grin returning as he gestured toward the winding paths ahead.

"Of course, my duties aren't all doom and gloom," he said, his voice taking on a mischievous lilt. "I'm not just a glorified escort, you know. I deliver messages between the gods and Hades, mediate the occasional argument among the dead, and keep this whole place running smoothly."

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued despite yourself. "Did you just say, 'argument among the dead' as in arguing souls?"

Hermes chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, you'd be surprised. Some people don't let go of grudges, even in death. Sometimes it's a stolen goat. Other times, it's an epic feud spanning generations. Keeps things interesting down here."

You couldn't help but smile faintly, his lightheartedness cutting through the heaviness of the journey.

"Then there are the gods," he continued, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Hades can be a bit... particular, but he's nothing compared to some of the others. You should hear Demeter's complaints about Persephone being here half the year."

He chuckled to himself, his voice carrying through the still air like the faintest echo. "Honestly, if I had a drachma for every time she's accused Hades of keeping her daughter longer than he should... " He glanced over at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well, let's just say I'd be richer than Apollo."

You smiled faintly, though your mind was still trying to process the enormity of everything around you. The shifting landscapes of the Underworld had left you in awe and unease, the weight of the souls and their endless journeys pressing down like an unseen force.

Hermes slowed his pace, his golden eyes scanning the horizon as the terrain began to shift again. The jagged rocks and harsh glow of Tartarus faded into the background, replaced by a muted grey expanse. The ground grew softer, coated in a fine layer of ash-like dust that swirled faintly with each step.

The air grew heavier, cool and damp; the faint sound of whispers brushing against your ears, though you couldn't make out any words.

"This," Hermes said, his voice softer now, "is the Asphodel Fields."

Your breath hitched as the scene unfolded before you. An endless plain stretched as far as your eyes could see, its surface a monotone sea of grey and silver. Low-lying mists clung to the ground, weaving through the field like restless spirits.

The souls of the dead wandered aimlessly, their forms translucent and faintly glowing. They drifted through the haze, their movements slow and mechanical, like they were caught in a dream they could neither leave nor wake from.

Their faces were devoid of expressions, betraying no emotion—neither joy nor sorrow—only a blank, unending neutrality, their steps light as though they floated just above the ground.

"These are the ones who led ordinary lives," Hermes explained, his tone carrying a rare note of reverence. "Neither wicked enough for Tartarus nor virtuous enough for Elysium. They exist here in... well, let's call it neutral peace."

You stared, the weight of the sight pressing against your chest. The souls didn't seem to notice you or Hermes. They floated past like shadows, silent and disconnected, their figures blurring slightly as they moved through the thick, misty air; each lost in their own timeless wandering.

"It's seems kind of..." You searched for the right word, your voice trailing off as you watched a soul pause mid-step before resuming its slow journey. "Lonely."

Hermes nodded, his expression uncharacteristically somber. "It can be. But not everyone here sees it that way." He gestured toward a small cluster of souls in the distance, their movements slower, more deliberate.

Through the mist, you caught faint glimpses of them. They stood closer together than the others, their translucent forms almost touching. One figure reached out, its hand brushing against the faint outline of another. Though no words were spoken, their presence beside one another seemed less aimless, almost comforting.

"Some find solace in the stillness. For others... well, they just fade."

Your stomach churned at his words. "Fade?"

Hermes glanced at you, his lips twitching into a faint, sad smile. "When they forget themselves. Memories blur, identities unravel. Without purpose or remembrance, what's left to keep them tethered?"

A shiver ran down your spine as your eyes were drawn to a nearby soul drifting past within arm's reach. It was a woman, her movements slow and deliberate. Her face was faint, almost featureless, and her translucent form shimmered weakly, as though she were barely holding onto her shape.

She paused for a moment, her head tilting slightly, as if sensing your presence. A faint chill brushed against your skin, and you swore you heard the barest hint of a sigh before she continued on her way.

"Does she..." Your voice faltered as you glanced at Hermes. "Does she know we're here?"

"Maybe," he said with a shrug, though his gaze lingered on the soul. "Or maybe she's just remembering something that feels like us. Hard to tell in this place."

As you walked, Hermes occasionally gestured to things in the distance—an ancient tree with gnarled, leafless branches standing alone in the field, its roots half-buried in the ashen ground; a crumbled, forgotten structure with faint carvings etched into its stone, eroded by time.

"That used to be something important," Hermes mused as he pointed to the ruins. "A shrine, maybe. Hard to say now. Even here, traditions fade."

You nodded silently, your eyes tracing the outlines of the structure. The carvings were barely legible, but they seemed to tell a story—fragments of lives long gone.

At one point, Hermes stopped abruptly, his gaze fixed on a small patch of flowers growing near the base of a mound. The flowers were pale and delicate, their petals faintly luminescent, as if they glowed from within.

"Ghost blooms," Hermes said, crouching down to pluck one gently. He held it up, the petals trembling slightly in his grasp. "They only grow where a soul's memory was strong enough to leave something behind."

You reached out hesitantly, brushing your fingers against the flower. It was cool to the touch, its glow dimming slightly under your skin. "It's beautiful," you whispered.

Hermes nodded, standing and letting the flower drift to the ground. "A reminder," he said, his voice softer now. After a moment, he stepped forward, his cloak sweeping across the dusty ground as he strolled ahead.

You followed him hesitantly, your steps slow and uncertain. The field stretched on endlessly, the grey expanse blending seamlessly with the horizon. The air felt heavier here, the silence oppressive, broken only by the faint whispers of the wandering souls.

Hermes came to a stop in the middle of the field, his golden eyes softening as he turned to you. "This is where I leave you for a bit," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

You frowned, glancing around the empty expanse. "What do you mean?"

His lips curled into a faint smile, and he gestured gently ahead. "Walk," he said simply, his tone holding a strange mixture of encouragement and mystery.

You hesitated, your heart pounding as you looked at him questioningly. But his smile remained steady, and after a moment, you took a slow step forward.

The ground beneath your feet crunched softly, the ash-like dust stirring with every step. The air felt cooler now, the faint whispers growing quieter, almost expectant.

And then, you saw them.

Two figures emerged from the mist, their forms faint and glowing like the other souls. But as they drew closer, their features sharpened, becoming more defined, more familiar. Your breath caught in your throat, and you froze, your heart hammering in your chest.

The man stepped forward first, his broad shoulders and gentle smile exactly as you remembered. His blond hair, slightly disheveled, caught the faint glow of the mist, framing his strong yet kind face. His brown eyes, warm and full of love, locked onto yours, shimmering with a mixture of disbelief and joy.

Beside him, the woman followed, her movements graceful and full of purpose. Her dark hair was swept back in a familiar, simple style, the faintest glow catching the curve of her cheekbones. Her sepia skin radiated a warmth that felt like home, and her eyes—wide, filled with tears—were fixed on you as though you were the most precious thing in existence.

A sob tore from your throat before you could stop it. "Mother?... Father?"

Your mother gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as tears streamed freely down her face. "My sweet dove," she choked out, her voice trembling.

She rushed forward, her arms wrapping tightly around you, and for a moment, you couldn't breathe. Her touch, warm and firm, enveloped you like a shield against the weight of everything you'd endured.

"You're so beautiful," she whispered, her hands cupping your face as she pulled back just enough to look at you. Her thumbs brushed against your cheeks, wiping away tears you hadn't realized were falling.

Your father joined her, his strong arms pulling you into his chest. He buried his face into your hair, pressing kiss after kiss to the crown of your head. "My little one," he murmured, his voice breaking with every word. "You've grown so much. Look at you... so strong, so brave."

You clung to both of them, your fingers digging into their clothes, as though letting go might make them disappear. The sensation of their presence—the warmth, the familiarity—was overwhelming, and you couldn't stop the tears that fell freely now.

"How..." Your voice trembled, barely a whisper as you tried to make sense of the impossible. "How are you here? How is this real?"

They pulled back slightly, just enough to see your face, their hands never leaving your arms as if they too were afraid you might vanish.

Your mother's lips quivered as she gazed at you, her tears falling even as she smiled. "We've missed you so much," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "Every single day, we've thought of you, prayed for you."

Your father nodded, his own tears glistening as he cupped the back of your head. "We've watched over you, little one. And now... now, we can finally hold you again."

The weight of their words hit you like a tidal wave, and memories you had tried to bury came flooding back. The way they had laughed with you, taught you, held you in the moments when the world felt too big. And then, the sickness. The quiet moments by their bedside, the laurel wreath clutched tightly in your hands as you prayed for a miracle.

"B-But..." you stammered, your voice cracking as flashes of those final days pierced through the haze of joy. "You were... you were gone. I held the laurel, but I couldn't... I couldn't save you."

Your mother's expression softened, and she pulled you into another embrace, her arms wrapping around you tightly. "Shh, love," she murmured, her hand stroking your hair as she held you close. "It wasn't your fault. We were ready to let go, knowing you'd be safe."

Your father's hand rested gently on your back, his touch warm and steady, grounding you in the chaos of your swirling emotions. "We were never afraid for you," he said softly, his words laden with both sorrow and relief. "Not even at the end. We knew... we knew Apollo would protect you."

The mention of Apollo made you pull back slightly, your brows knitting together in confusion. "Apollo would protect me?" you repeated, your voice laced with uncertainty. "I don't understand. Why would Apollo protect me?"

Your parents exchanged a glance, their expressions shifting into something softer, almost hesitant.

Your mother spoke first, her voice barely above a whisper. "Love... don't you remember?"

You shook your head, the motion slow and uncertain. "Remember what?"

Her eyes searched yours, her lips parting as she whispered, "You're favored by Apollo."

A/N: and the plot thickens~ haha see! i been reading/listening to you guys, i didn't forget about mc coincidentally never bringing up/recalling her favor but let me hursh before i spoil/mess things up... also, ive seen/read your compliants on telemachus and all i can say is he better tighten up before hermes take over lolol, but seriously, i know it's going slow, but it won't feel right if i don't give the other love interests enough time to wiggle their way into mc's heart, 'ya know???

Tag List: thesimppotato11 alassal jackintheboxs-world uniquetravelerone

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topochicoslut · 2 months ago

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everybody wants to rule the world: prologue

fic synopsis: A young woman is sent on what is sure to be a suicide mission to spy on Ryomen Sukuna by a rival curse user who has heard rumors that the infamous King of Curses might have found the secret to true immortality

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader rating: 18+ ONLY!!!!!! MDNI!!!! IF I CATCH YOU, I'LL BLOCK YOU!!! word count: 1.1k

warnings: none for this chapter! but overall fic warnings include but are not limited to the following- slow burn, enemies to lovers, eventual smut/p0rn with plot, descriptions of violence and gore, language, horror elements, morally grey characters, me having an aneurysm while trying to properly describe cursed techniques, true form sukuna (eventually), etc etc. each chapter will have the appropriate content warnings added to them based on subject matter : )

a/n: hiiiii! so this idea has been bumping around in my head for the past few weeks, and I finally decided to do something about it. idk the world has just been kinda crazy lately, so I figured why not write something super self indulgent about sukuna to help take my mind off of things. this is just the prologue, the next few chapters should be dropping soon-ish after this. I just need to tidy some things up (aka edit the fuck out of everything i’ve written so far🫠🥲). just a couple of quick things- this is a Heian era AU fic, and while I did do a lil research before I started writing this, there will probably still be a couple of historical inaccuracies here and there. so for that I just wanna apologize in advance and say my bad. I have the entire story outlined, including the current number of chapters it will probably take to wrap everything up, but considering this whole thing has sort of taken a life of its own at this point idk what to expect anymore lol. I'll do my best to update it when I can based on life and work and everything else. !!!please note!!!: the first few chapters focus more so on reader's back story and world building, so sukuna won't make his first full appearance right away, but he IS mentioned periodically leading up to that. so please bear with me until he arrives in all his glory lol. anyway, thanks for everyone who has shown interest in this story since I first posted about it the other day! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it 🖤 divider by sweetmelodygraphics

Southern Japan, 888 AD

Your head was pounding when you woke up. Just as it had been ever since you’d arrived at the temple.

Well, arrived was too kind a way to describe what had really happened. Being forcibly kidnapped and imprisoned was a much more accurate description of how you had landed in your current situation. But the specifics didn’t really seem to matter all that much anymore.

Nothing did really.

You were still laid out in the middle of the floor of the small shrine you’d been confined to for the past two- or maybe it was four?- days now. You eyed the carafe of water to your right, and if you weren’t feeling so groggy and sick you would’ve crawled over to it and gulped it down. Hoping that the refreshing chill of it would help clear your head finally.

But moving felt impossible, and you were so, so tired.

A few days ago sleep would’ve been a welcome escape for you, but now it was just another prison you were stuck in thanks to the numerous talismans that were hanging on the walls around you. They had been smart to not leave any light sources in the room with you, or else you would have grabbed the nearest torch and burned them all to ash so you could try and make a run for it. But the only source of light you had came from the moonbeams that were shining in through the tiny window above you.

The air was thick with smoke from the incense that had been burning ever since you’d been sealed in this room. Its sickly sweet aroma had made you retch when you first arrived, but now all it did was keep your mind fuzzy and your body heavy and sluggish. That paired with the ofuda that hung from floor to ceiling was just another tool used to keep you subdued and prevent any hope you had of escape. You couldn’t cross the threshold of the shrine even if you could get your body to cooperate.

The faint chittering sound coming from the shadows let you know you were not alone. But you couldn’t bring yourself to look in the direction they were coming from. You didn’t want to see the empty black eyes of the creatures that had been assigned to watch your every move day and night. Not when you now knew the sickening truth behind how Hisato had created them. Binding dead flesh and bone together with-

You couldn’t even think of it.

Your former master had never been one to shy away from showing the world exactly what kind of man he was. You knew that he was cold and cruel when you had willingly joined his side all those years ago. But somehow even you hadn’t thought he would be capable of such grotesque acts of depravity in his quest for immortality.

Or perhaps deep down you’d known all along what sort of monster he truly was, choosing instead to ignore it by willfully turning a blind eye to his unhinged cruelty because of the protection and comfort that had been provided to you by dutifully serving under him for so long.

You had been a fool.

If Sukuna were here, he would wholeheartedly agree with you.

He was somehow the one thing you could still see perfectly clear in your mind’s eye. You pictured him standing in this small room with you, towering over your limp body, his tattooed arms crossed over his broad chest as he glowered down at you with those fiery eyes of his. Challenging you to get up off your ass and do something. To fight like your life depended on it, because it did.

‘Foolish, pitiful, girl,’ He’d say. ‘This is pathetic. You’re being pathetic.’

You’d honestly give anything to hear him say those words to you right now, and the thought had you suddenly giggling to yourself. You didn’t care that your laughter was bordering on hysterical, but it was just so bitterly ironic that you found yourself wishing that the King of Curses was here to mock and scold you, considering that just a few months ago you had slapped him as hard as you could right across his face for insulting you and calling you names. It was funny how things had changed between the two of you in such a short amount of time.

The knowledge that you might never get to be near him again weighed on you. To hear him tut under his breath at you for bothering him with your ‘useless blabbering’ even though he was the one who so often sought you out. To feel his blazing red eyes follow you from across a room. To be overcome with the heat of his large body moving in tandem over yours. If you closed your eyes you could almost taste the sweat of his skin, and smell the rich, musky, scent of cedar and smoke from the incense that filled his chambers. In your mind it was so sharp it could almost mask the disgusting smell of the incense in your prison.

Almost.

You wished you could warn him about Hisato. You wished you could go to him and let him know that you were alive. You wished you could tell him where he could find you. You wished you could tell him to stay far, far, away. Because even if Sukuna did somehow manage to find you, even if he did somehow arrive here and challenge Hisato, there was only a limited window before the ritual would begin, and if Hisato was successful, not even Sukuna would be able to grant him a true death like he deserved.

In the distance you heard the sudden ringing of the large bronze bell that lived in the heart of the temple. It rang loud and clear- once, twice, and then a third and final time. Despite your distance from it, you felt your bones rattle with every swing of its giant body.

The chattering from Hisato’s creatures resumed, and this time it was feverish and loud. Their little shrieks and screams filled the room, and you could hear their talons scraping against the wooden floor as they moved their decaying bodies in excitement.

The moonlight that shone into your room was brighter than it had been only moments before. It pierced through the thick wisps of smoke that filled the air like a sword cutting through a blade of grass. You turned your head and stared out the window as you watched as the edges of the full moon that hung so heavily in the night sky began to twinge with red. Red like blood. Red like Sukuna's eyes.

It was time.

tag list: @after-laughter-come-tears @officialholyagua @clp-84

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna fanfic #sukuna fanfic #sukuna fic #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk fanfic #everybody wants to rule the world fic #topochico writes things #can’t believe i’m writing fics again after a nearly three year hiatus #hopefully this doesn’t suck too bad lol

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sukified · 9 months ago

Text

— his favorite ho.

❀ katsuki b. x fem!reader

❀ outline. teeny tiny drabble because i saw a car sex twt vid and it made me miss kats

❀ w. 18+ content, dirty talk, very light assplay, katsuki has anger issues, riding, car sex

❀ do not repost thx

katsuki has had a long fuckin’ day.

higher ups yapping in his ear and telling him that his poor attitude towards civilians has become a daily topic and he’s had enough. everyone who knew of the pro knew that his temper was short, that he wasn’t saving people to be friendly. no, he was doing his job, keeping japan safe and sound under his supervision without fake flowery bullshit.

not only that, his anger management classes have been kicking his ass. it was a requirement as soon as they threw katsuki on the front lines— he needed to attend regular sessions. it was believed that going to talk about his feelings, forced out of his protective shell of aggression and anger, would improve his performance.

whatever the hell that meant.

you know full and well how katsuki has been feeling about his current predicament. he brought it up all the time over whatever fancy dinner he treated you to, complaining about responsibility and growth and the likes. the man simply needed emotional guidance, he needed to learn healthier ways to deal with his feelings and mental hurdles because they were strong. everything about him was so very strong.

though, when he didn’t feel like running an irritated hand through his mop of thick ash hair while he spewed profanities about his braindead therapist or his dick-sucking bosses, he’d keep you stuffed.

it was a particularly taxing day on his end, seeing as though spring tends to bring out the evil motives and the villains. popping off explosions and knocking wrongdoers the fuck out could only go so far for his stress, for his mental constipation.

no, today he needed more. he needed to shut his brain up, needed to direct the anger and resentment and frustration elsewhere. what better way to deal with his problems than take it out on his pretty baby?

“been forever since i’ve given you good dick, hah?” katsuki hisses as his head lolls back lazily, thunking against the sleek leather of his backseat, rough hand planted limply on the curve of your waist. you look godsend hovering over him, your shoulders flexing as you grip on his thick thighs, trembling like a goddamn leaf as you fight to keep yourself up.

he’s got you riding him because he’d be damned if he put any extra effort into the shitty day. today was your day to take control, a rare one because he couldn’t be bothered. katsuki had called you up as soon as his patrol ended, voice void of emotion in fear that he’d end up snapping at you for any minuscule reason. after all, you hadn’t done anything wrong to deserve his berating.

your pussy cries and sobs as you bounce on his cock sensually, the strain making your mind fog up and blank on your train of thought. it was almost a routine for the pro to use your body for a nice shutdown, you felt it was the best way to thank him as a citizen. he sought you out on his worst days and you never failed to follow through, something he fucking adores about you.

his jaw is slack, blonde stubble decorating his skin, tongue slithering out to lick at his lips. you were so damn wet and tight around him, it was just enough to help him block out the spiel he had received earlier in the day about working on his rescue skills. nah, he didn’t need to change himself for the sake of others, you seemed to like him just as he was.

“shit, you’re filth. jus’ a filthy girl,” the sound of his voice, mumbled and distant, makes your cunt throb. your walls suction him tight, coating him in a glossy mess of your pussy drool. he swears he could die happy right here and his mind is nearly blank as he slips a thumb in your ass, huffing out a quiet chuckle at the way your back arches immediately.

no matter how nasty his attitude can be, you come back for more. you always do.

#katsuki smut #bakugo smut #bnha smut

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chaotic-orphan · 4 months ago

Text

Whumptober No. 4

Hallucinations

Hypnosis // sensory deprivation // “in my head you’re still alive”

Very loose interpretation of hypnosis, which means VAMPIRES BABY FOR SPOOKY SEASON!!!

*~*~*~*~*

Whumper cornered Whumpee in the alleyway, the poor dear trembling like a deer in shock, violently and so enticing. Whumpee kept backing up, turning their head left and right frantically but Whumper knew this alley was a dead end. He grinned as he stalked closer and Whumpee yelped, backing up all the way into a wall.

They flinched when they felt it. A sudden jolt of fear and panic as all blood drained from Whumpee’s darling face to their heart to be pumped around the muscles in their body.

Flee, flee, flee.

There was no fight impulse when a human faced a vampire, their body flooded with adrenaline to run, run as fast as they can.

“P-p-please! Please, no! Please!” Whumpee cried, holding their hands out in vain to create an illusion of control. Whumper stopped a metre away, tilting his head to the side, his grin exposing his fangs.

“You’re too pretty to be a chimney sweep,” Whumper said to the young boy covered in soot. He wore a peak cap and clothes that looked to be scraps of other clothes sewn together.

“Stay— stay back! I know what you are,” Whumpee announced, trying to be firm but their trembling lip gave them away.

“I know what you are too. Isn’t it illegal for girls to earn a wage?”

Whumpee stiffened. Their trembling ceased and they lowered their arms to their side, tightening their hands into fists. Her eyes sharpened dangerously.

“I’m a boy,” Whumpee said, her voice suddenly pitched down.

Whumper laughed and stepped forwards and Whumpee remembered to be afraid again and threw herself flat against the wall.

“I don’t like when my food lies to me,” Whumper sang, closing the distance between them.

Whumpee sucked in a fretful breath with an effort. “Th-thankfully chickens can’t speak.”

It was Whumper’s turn to freeze.

A surprised, melodic laughter bubbled up and out of his throat, stunning the girl into silence. She searched the area behind him, trying to see if there was any way she would be able to get by him, to skirt around him and make a run for it. Maybe if she kept making him laugh he would let her go?

“Child,” Whumper said fondly, fingers settling heavy on the brim of Whumpee’s hat. Whumpee’s hands shot up in panic, not thinking, as she held the hat over her hair.

“Please, please sir, don’t, please.”

A cold hand cupped under her chin and tilted her head up to meet the Vampire’s enthralling eyes. She was transfixed, locked into his gaze that seemed to be pulling her further in the more she looked, like the smell of chocolate from the corner shop that opened its doors after school. She forgot her fear, completely unafraid, all her worry leaving her as if it was just a suggestion, a silly notion that she was afraid at all.

“Good,” Whumper hummed and Whumpee almost melted at the praise. “Drop your hands.”

Whumpee obeyed, lost in the labyrinth of his gaze unaware of the minotaur that lurked, following her through every new corner.

Whumper removed Whumpee’s hat. Whumpee didn’t even blink, too afraid to miss the allure of his gaze. Her blond hair like silver thread fell over her shoulders, tarnished by the soot and the remnants of ash, but still magnificent. Whumper didn’t expect to be pleasantly surprised at how pleasing the human was to his eyes.

“There we are. Much better. Tell me, child, how old are you?”

“Sixteen sir,” Whumpee answered automatically. Her voice less boyish now, more dreamlike and light.

Whumper smiled. “Not even fully grown,” he hummed. “Why are you dressed as a boy?”

“To earn money, sir.”

“Why?” Whumper pressed, running a knuckle down the side of Whumpee’s face, tracing the prominent outline of her skull all the way down to her throat.

“For my family, sir.”

Hmph, extraordinary polite for a human. Whumper locked the information in the back of his mind, he hadn’t compelled the girl to call him sir, she just seemed to. A reflex.

“What about your schooling?”

“I—” Whumpee began, but hesitated, her eyes blinking back the fog. Whumper saw the beginnings of recognition flashing in her blue eyes, so he tilted her head up again to lock eyes with his and she was under his thrall once more. “I need to provide for my family, sir. So I dropped out.”

Whumper’s smile grew. What a strange creature.

“Where are your parents? Do they not—”

“They’re dead, sir,” Whumpee said, cutting over Whumper. Whumper raised a brow at her interruption, but he knew she couldn’t really control what she was saying so he let the slight go. “I’m all we have.”

“You provide for your siblings?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you the oldest?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And how old are they?”

“They’re—” the fog dropped immediately as Whumpee was suddenly back in their body, eyes widening initially at how close Whumper was before they shut them tight and shoved Whumper’s chest away. “No! NO! Get away from me!”

Whumper’s hand didn’t leave Whumpee’s chin. “Open your eyes child, I just want to—”

“No!” Whumpee cried, shaking her head. Her hair brushed her face and oh, yes, she forgot he removed her hat but she knew he did. “Whatever you’re doing to me stop it! Stop it! Let me go!”

Whumper stared as the child squirmed, throwing thin fists at Whumper’s chest and arms and trying to rip his hand away. How fascinating a child she was, determined and loyal, protecting her family more than herself.

It took a lot to break a vampire’s thrall, but it was near impossible to break Whumper’s and this slight of a thing, this small scrappy girl, masquerading as a boy, covered in soot and ash and coal, she was able to break it?

Whumpee’s eyes shot open when Whumper put her hat back on her head, surprise winding every muscle tight. Anticipation of something awful flooded her and she wanted to cry and scream for help, but if she did, only men would come running — men who would see her hair, dressed as a boy and lock her up in an asylum or something, and she’d never be able to see her family again. They’d be sent to workhouses or worse…

Whumper stepped away. Whumpee didn’t move an inch as he back up another step, then another, and turned his body to the side, allowing her to pass.

Her mouth was dry. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m letting you go,” said the vampire.

Whumpee didn’t move. “You’re trying to trick me,” she accused, licking her cracked lips. “When I walk past you’re going to —”

The world rushed suddenly around her and she gasped as a hand was on her throat, a thumb on her cheek, forcing the side of her face into the brickwork and she gasped, kicking her legs weakly as her air bled from her body.

Her hat vanished in the flurry of movement and Whumpee found herself locking eyes with the vampire again, her heart racing in her chest but she didn’t feel the floating absence of sensation she felt before, it was more like seeing a wolf in the woods on its own, the two of you hunting for game and seeing which would look away first, which of them would back out of the fight.

“If I wanted to kill you, dear, trust me, you’d be dead.” His voice carrying through air like the choir in church, soothing and pleasant. He dropped her and she fell to ground, landing on both feet and tipping backwards, leaning on the wall for support. Whumper was impressed. He pressed her hat back into her hands which Whumpee took with trepidation. He leaned down and grinned, exposing his fangs again and Whumpee flinched. “Run along now, little one. I’m getting hungry, and you don’t want to be here when I fancy a snack, hmm?”

Whumpee didn’t need to be told twice. She didn’t even put her hat on immediately and fix all the strands perfect, she did it as she half ran out of the alley, haphazardly throwing her hair up and smashing the brim of her hat low over her brows. Her heart pounded in her chest but she didn’t stop running until she made it home.

She looked over her shoulder, glancing around to make sure the vampire or anyone else hadn’t followed her before she snuck into the abandoned manor at the end of the high street, a condemned building, Whumper realised as he watched her throw open the doors to the cellar and with one last glance around, she disappeared beneath the ground.

Whumper smiled.

Clever girl. Observant, unlike so many other humans. Whumper would have to watch her over the week, see if he could see any of her siblings or the hint of a parent or guardian figure.

For now though, he was famished. The girl had been his meal before she was so intriguing. He wanted something fatty, he hummed, turning away from the manor and walking to the manor houses of the rich. A grin on his face.

A feast for his stomach and a feast for his brain.

What a night.

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annesthaeticc · 1 year ago

Text

lovers rock | sherlock x fem!reader

| Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

| one shot , song fic

| 961 words

| 'because love can burn like a cigarette, and leave you alone with nothing...' What Sherlock and Y/N had was beautiful, but it crashed and burned.

A/N okay bear with me it's short, but hey it's something, right? testing the waters asi hopefully hopefully come back into writing. let me know what you think!

————————————————————————————————

“Such a small world,” you quietly said and watched as the air escaped your lungs, echoing your words. The party inside was loud, but not loud enough for the silence outside was piercing yet calming. And so, he heard you. Slowly, he turned to see who spoke and found your silhouette, your shape outlined amongst the trees and the pillars.

Slowly, he walked towards you. Yet another mistake he was about to make. For all the choices he made that involved you, it led to one.

One. Big. Mistake.

Sherlock heard his heart thudding. Crashing and breaking in every step he made towards you. You sat there frozen, your eyes unblinking, or at least trying not to blink for you feared that if you do so, he might disappear.

Just like he did back then.

Sherlock sometimes wished he never pursued you, but here he was, about to do the very same thing. He never learned.

“Indeed it is.” he replied, his very perfect presence now crowding over you. His shadow embraced you and your eyes finally blinked only to find he was still there, standing in front of you.

He was taller. His face is more defined. His curls, curled to perfection. His perfume was the same, or is it? His lips fuller, more inviting than ever.

Sherlock noticed this, and cannot help himself but do the very same. You were perfect in every shape and form, as the day he met you. He committed crimes before, but his favorite might be the one he is about to make; to kiss you.

Silence passed by the small distance between you and him and it was almost deafening. You were waiting for him to say something. Something along the lines of “I’m sorry I left you…” And he was doing just the same, waiting for the words like “I’m sorry I couldn't wait for you…”

“Best man leaving early?” you finally said, shyly asking. He nodded and looked away.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, cutting you off before you could even say anything.

“I was invited, well not just me really, Ian and I were…” your voice trailed off as your husband's name left your lips. Again, he nodded.

Ah yes, Ian. Sherlock knew more than you. He is decent enough, this Sherlock could guarantee. But not decent enough to leave you on your own for days, even weeks or months on end while he was traveling the world on some sort of opera tour. Sherlock didn't care enough to dig for more details.

All he knew was deep seated anger and sadness.

And this resonated through the walls of the second floor of 221B Baker Street for months. Your wedding invitation sent for him lay hopeless on his desk, waiting to be written on to confirm his invitation. He was about to decline after finally making a decision that went on for weeks, only to find out it was pointless to respond because your wedding was already done.

And so, he threw the invitation in the fire. He watched as the intricate paper got swallowed by the flames, melting into ashes, into nothing. He was mesmerized by it. How something could be nothing because of the burning flames.

He was shaken from his thoughts when he saw your hand, holding a packet of cigarettes. You were offering him one and Sherlock accepted. You sat down again on the bench and he followed, allowing a few inches between you.

Quietly, the two of you smoked. Avoiding glancing or talking. You were caught up in a trance and were shaken out of it when you felt movement. Sherlock stood up and stepped on the cigarette. His shoe dug into the grass as the last of the embers glowed.

“Going somewhere?” you asked.

“Home.” he replied, his voice deep.

“I could drive you.” you offered.

“No thank you. I’ll catch a cab.” he replied, slowly walking away.

“Sherlock, wait, please—” you caught up with him and offered to drive him once more. He declined and you almost gave up.

His figure faded into the darkness when you cried out, “Sherlock, I'm sorry.”

Tears flooded your eyes and you couldn't help. It fell from your eyes, flowing down your face. Everything was blurry and you felt your hands shaking from the nicotine and from the adrenaline of your apology.

“It's been 12 years, Y/N,” he replied. “Why are you saying sorry now?”

“Because…”

“You will not tempt me to play one of your games, Y/N. Not this time. Not ever again.”

“Sherlock, please,”

“I'm sorry? Is that all you could think? You left me, Y/N,” he cried. And now you see his face. Anger, despair, and longing painted his face,

“You left me first!” you accused him. He really did.

“And yet you couldn't wait for me, couldn't you? All the promises I made—”

“Were gone as soon as you disappeared, Sherlock.”

“Oh ye of little faith!” he said, his voice booming.

“Sherlock,” you breathlessly begged. “I'm sorry.”

Sherlock heard you, and saw your eyes. He hated you for marrying someone else, but what he hated most is seeing you cry. He pulled out his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed your face, wiping away the tears. He pulled you into his embrace, just like he did back then. When your cries died down, he pulled away then planted a kiss on your temple.

“We would never work out. You're happier with him.” Sherlock said.

“I realized that what he had, was all that it was. Nothing more, nothing less. We burned too fast until we became nothing, Y/N.” he continued.

“I loved you,” you whispered.

“And I did too. So much.” he said, his voice breaking.

————— • ————— • ————— • ————— • ————— • ——

TAGLIST:

@migurin @damiensoda @inas-thing @peachywoong @ruevz @sammiisnthere @srapalestina @winchestersgirl222 @taramaria @alexag-barnes @sleutherclaw @will0wfairy @vexedvalerie @lovecleastrange @evelynrosestuff @azu21 @getlostsquidward @bubu890 @strangefilms @ice-ksk @my-beel @doctorswitch @tuitiononlivings @windchaser1990 @swds @andrewgarfieldsloml @spencerreidslittleslut @sherlockstrangewolf @littlebadariell @whosgwyneth @cumberbitch @lostfleurs @strangeobsessed @slvtforstr4nge @jyessaminereads @dancerpanda04 @stephenstrangeaddictions @starryeddie @cemak @valoa3s @paola-carter @runningnannie @siredlust @stupidthoughtsinwriting

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syringesyrup · 1 year ago

Note

More tummy worship? Please? 👀

CAN YOU PEOPLE LEAVE ME ALONE!!!

nsfw below cut. Get the fuckoutofmyface. TRANSDEW FOREEVERRRR (like scotland forever).

“You want the last of it?” Swiss asks as he twirls the dying joint in his clawed fingers. It’s ember is dwindling now, almost touching the tips of Swiss’ fingers as he holds it carefully in his claws. Dew hums with a shake of his head as he lays his head on Swiss’ stomach. He hooks a claw under the multi ghoul’s white tank top and folds it up to his chest to expose his warm tummy. He presses his face into it immediately and groans as he breathes in Swiss’ intoxicating scent of ash and whatever that new cologne is. Swiss’ stomach shakes as he laughs, glazed eyes peering down at Dew. Dew only draws his hands up lazily and squeezes Swiss’ stomach, suffocating himself in the pudge of the multi ghoul’s stomach. He tries not to think of the way it slightly folds over Swiss’ waist band now and fails. He breathes heavy onto Swiss’ skin and sighs, turning his head up again to the multi ghoul to try and distract himself from the bizarre thoughts he has about Swiss’ body.

Dew watches through lidded eyes as Swiss inhales sharply, smoke seeping into his parted lips. He tosses the stub of a joint into the ashtray on the nightstand and looks down at Dew, smiling at the red of Dew’s eyes and his sleepy face. “C’mon.” Swiss huffs through smoke, patting rhythmically on Dew’s shoulders as he lays unmoving on Swiss. “You’re breathing all hot on me down there.”

Dew hums against his bare stomach as he exhales a hot breath onto his skin. He’s in the mood as well, as per usual, but is far too comfortable with his face pressed to Swiss’ body. It’s warm and surprisingly soft and he just smells so nice. Dew wishes he could move and get things started, he really does. If Swiss’ tummy didn’t make his brain fog over every time he got his hands on it, they wouldn’t be in this position. Literally and figuratively.

Swiss adjusts his hips under Dew, gliding along the fire ghoul’s chest with a wince. It’s way too easy to get him going when Dew pays attention to his stomach. As if its Dew’s fault that Swiss’ body is impossible to ignore. The soft pudge of his stomach and the handful of raised scars that Dew has left behind with his own teeth many times. He’s glad that they left a mark. Maybe he did it on purpose each and every time.

What really drives Dew up the wall about his multi ghoul’s stomach is the tattoo marked just above Swiss’ waistband. How could he not stare at it? It’s Dew’s fucking name. Dew recalls fucking Swiss within an inch of his life after he got it done, outlining the fresh ink with his own little marks to compliment it. He still couldn’t believe Swiss was crazy enough to do that. He even made a passing comment about getting their favorite water ghoul’s name as a tramp stamp. Dew couldn’t save Swiss from Rain’s bizarre reaction if he tried.

“Helloooo? Earth to Dewdrop?” Swiss asks as he runs a hand through Dew’s pulled back hair, ruffling his bangs. Dew looks up from where his eyes were glued to the ink and squints at Swiss through glazed eyes. Swiss huffs a laugh at him before he leans forward and runs a claw down Dew’s spine, making the ghoul bite his lip and adjust his legs to arch his back. Swiss watches with a hazed smile as Dew lifts his ass in the air before pushing his face back down into Swiss’ exposed tummy.

“You gonna stay like that?” Swiss asks through a smirk. Dew only gives a grunt in response. Swiss sighs before he hooks his claws under his shirt and pulls it off, exposing his chest as well. Dew peeks up at him and stares. He doesn’t know how he’s shocked each time he sees Swiss’ body. His broad chest and wide shoulders and each scar and blemish and his chest hair and his fucking tits-

“Damn, you’re stoned.” Swiss laughs as he watches Dew stare. Dew glares up at him before lowering his face back into Swiss’ tummy, flicking his tail at Swiss. The multi ghoul watches his spiked tail flick with a hum before he lays back, lip pursed in thought. Dew knows that look. It’s when Swiss has something absolutely evil planned that usually leaves Dew wrecked with the best aftercare of his life. It makes him throb and draws a whine out of him. It’s not exactly intentional on his behalf but at least it lets Swiss know that he needs him badly right now.

Of course Swiss knows. When do they not need each other?

Swiss stares down at him with the same evil look and glazed eyes before he tilts his head at Dew with a droop of his ears, innocent and dangerous for Dew. He folds his arms over his chest, blocking the sight before he hums and pouts his lip at Dew.

“Wanna fuck?” Swiss asks, plain and simple. Dew moves his head up and sneers at Swiss.

“How romantic of you.” Dew says with a roll of his eyes. Before he can even shoot another glare at Swiss, he’s pushing Dew’s head back down into his stomach as he yanks his hair. Dew winces loudly and scrambles for a moment before settling. It’s Swiss. He’s safe.

“Do you even deserve it?” Swiss asks with venom dripping from his tongue. Dew moans into the heat of his skin, knees shaking against the mattress as he looks up at Swiss with pathetic eyes. Swiss hums, pleased with his reaction before he releases the grip on his hair and his face softens. He pats Dew’s head with a frown and a shift in his brows.

“Can I try something, baby?” He asks kindly. Dew knows it’s not a front. He switches like this often to make a mush of Dew’s brains when he fucks him. But this is different. It’s genuine and void of any malice. Dew hates that he feels like he has to ask. Why would Dew say so no when Swiss leaves him in the stars with each touch, no matter how devastatingly haunting on his skin or how ironically heavenly it is?

“Yes, please, anything.” Dew shakes, the tips of his claws poking ever so slightly into Swiss’ waist as he stares up at him with blown pupils. Swiss whines at the sight of Dew and his sweet yes before the grip on his hair returns and he’s yanking Dew up into a hard kiss, clanking their teeth together hard enough to make Dew’s lip bleed. And fuck if it doesn’t make Dew’s eyes roll back into his head and thrust his hips hard into Swiss’ own as he kisses him brainless.

Then it’s over. Dew doesn’t even register that his lips aren’t on Swiss’ anymore until the multi ghoul is pushing his face back into his stomach and placing a hand under Dew’s body, making him arch his back again. Dew groans into Swiss’ skin, trailing his hands back up to palm at Swiss’ stomach again as he buries his face into the now healed ink that screams his name.

He feels Swiss’ tail wrap up around his thigh, slipping under his boxers and out again above the waist band. He curls it there, gripping Dew’s boxers with the limb before he drags them down slowly but desperately. Dew moans when the air hits him, cold against his red hot thighs that are already coated with slick. He adjusts his knees, preparing himself for Swiss to slide under him and eat him out like it’s his last meal on Earth.

Swiss’ hands move down to Dew’s head again, grabbing him by his horns and shoving his face lower. Dew feels his heart skip when he breathes in Swiss’ scent, strong and sickening in this area. He desperately grabs at Swiss’ waistband and fuck him for wearing these gray sweatpants again. He hooks a claw under the waistband with his mouth already watering at the thought of having Swiss in his mouth in mere seconds. Maybe Swiss was thinking of something different. He wouldn’t mind having his throat fucked in this position. The weed dried his mouth out anyways.

Before he can even drag Swiss’ pants down an inch, he feels something hot press against his cunt. Dew tries to register it and turn to see but is swallowed whole by the burn in Swiss’ eyes. He’s staring down at Dew, his massive hands still wrapped around the nubs of Dew’s horns. His eyes are burning red, a sign of his fire element raging through his body. Dew stills as he watches the multi ghoul’s face turn in a way he’s never seen before. It’s new and horrifying. Dew can never ever guess his next move.

Swiss leans down ever so slightly, his pupils sharp as he watches Dew. There’s still something pressing against Dew in between his legs. He’s so high he can’t even think of what it could possibly be. Was Swiss’ knee always so warm? He doesn’t get to dwell on it before Swiss grips his horns and bares his fangs, a threatening look on his face as he stares through Dew’s contrasting eyes and opens his lips to speak.

“Stay.”

Dew can’t even say a word as he feels something push inside him, hot and curled and ridged. It slips inside of Dew and there’s something sliding against his clit with it. Dew’s mouth falls open and his head twitches as his mind urges him to bury his face back into Swiss’ skin and scream. He can’t. Swiss is so locked onto him and holding his gaze prisoner in the palm of his hand. All he can do is let out a moan that doesn’t even register in his own ears. Swiss’ pupils go wide as he does it, expanding so far in his eyes that Dew can barely see the red glow of them anymore.

It’s when whatever is inside of Dew digs deeper and opens him up that Dew can’t take it anymore. He tears his hands away from Swiss’ stomach and grabs his arms, clawing at them as he arches back and slams his face down into Swiss’ body, shouting again as he’s filled.

“Swiss!” Dew cries, squirming under his grasp. Swiss moves his hands to Dew’s own, intertwining them and holding them against Swiss’ chest. The multi ghoul’s heart is beating heavy against his chest as he places Dew’s hands there. Dew whines at it, staring up at Swiss’ with his eyes lidded and almost rolled back in his head.

“Wha-“

“Don’t move.” Swiss whines. “Oh, please don’t fucking move. You’re perfect.” Swiss groans as he bucks his hips up and Dew can feel himself gush slick. It drips down his body and begins to pool onto the sheets, soaking them under Dew.

“Wha-what are you-“ Dew tries again before he feels something thrust inside of him, drawing another cry out of Dew. Swiss reaches down and tugs his pants down, freeing himself at last. His cock slaps against Dew’s face, leaking onto his cheek as the fire ghoul winces at the heat of it against his face.

“It’s-oh fuck-“ Swiss gasps when Dew breathes against him, hot breath circling around his cock. “It’s my tail.” Swiss chokes out.

Dew pauses.

What.

“What?” Dew asks, suddenly not as high as he thought he was.

“Well you were waving yours around and I thought ‘Wouldn’t it be funny?’” Swiss cries as Dew moves against him, making his eyes flutter. “But now I’m just fucking realizing how very much connected my nerve endings on my tail are to my dick.”

Did Mountain fucking lace them? There’s no way a simple joint could pull this thought from Swiss’ mind. Swiss did a lot of crazy shit when he was high but this has to take the fucking cake.

“If you don’t fucking touch me I’m going to just fuck your face myself.” Swiss growls through a moan as he pumps his tail inside of Dew. The twin rings pierced through the spade of his tail slide against Dew from the inside, making his knees shake and almost give in. The so called threat of Swiss face fucking him makes his mind go so blank that he forgets to even answer Swiss.

“Dew, baby.” Swiss whines. “C’mon, give me something.”

Dew can’t even think any comprehensive thoughts right now. He can only bury his face into Swiss’ stomach and weakly wrap his hand around his cock, jerking him with a shaky hand. It’s enough for Swiss. He rolls his head back with a loud curse as he grabs at Dew’s horns again and twists his hands around them. Dew moans weakly at the sensation. This weed is kicking his ass right now. He can feel every twist and curl of Swiss’ tail inside of him. Each slide of the twin rings, the ridges where the length of his tail meets the spade, the slide of the rough skin against his clit as his slick leaks down the thing. It’s somehow worse than Swiss’ stupidly useful piercing on his cock.

“Faster, fuck.” Swiss chokes on his own drool. “Faster, Dew.”

Dew tries. He swears he’s trying to give Swiss more relief but his entire body is quaking as he’s rocked forward by the surprising strength of Swiss’ tail inside of him. He lets his hand fall away from Swiss’ cock and rest on his hip, whining as he buries his face back into the comfortable pudge of Swiss’ tummy. He just wants to lay here until he cums or wakes up or sobers up or just dies.

That’s a bit dramatic. But at this point?

“No, baby, no.” Swiss curses. “Mother fucker.”

“I’m sorry, I-I-“ Dew tries to speak as Swiss thrusts faster in him. “I can’t think.” Dew admits shamefully. He’s never been fucked this stupid so fast. Rain has his way of dumbing him down into a puddle in almost record time but this? Dew just can’t even believe it’s real.

“You’re okay.” Swiss reassures. “Fuck, baby, you’re doing so good.” He coos, running his hands down to cup Dew’s tear stained cheeks. Dew doesn’t even remember when he started crying. It’s all a fog.

“Can I fuck your face?” Swiss asks through a gulp. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this.”

Dew whines, gripping Swiss’ wrists and nodding. Swiss brings his head up immediately, grabbing his cock and slapping it against Dew’s lips. Dew opens his mouth weakly, taking Swiss in and stretching out his tongue. He unglamoures it as it slides it, long and forked at the end. Swiss moans low in his throat as Dew wraps his tongue around him and gives him a small but reassuring jerk. He shoves himself inside of Dew’s mouth and back into his throat. Satan bless this little ghoul and his lack of a gag reflex. Who would Swiss be without it?

Dew moans as he tastes Swiss, hot in his throat and surprisingly sweet. Dew thinks of cranberries before Swiss’ hands are grabbing his face again and shoving him down to the base of his cock. Dew’s eyes water for a moment as his nose presses into the tuft of curls swirling at the base. Swiss leans up to get a better angle and Dew almost loses the last bit of his sanity as Swiss’ stomach presses against the base of his nose. He’s not sure Swiss’ even realizes how fucking hot that is.

“So fucking good.” Swiss babbles as he begins to fuck into Dew’s throat at a quick pace to match the one he’s set with his tail. His tail is now wrapped around Dew’s thigh, squeezing as he fucks into him with it. Every slide of it inside of Dew makes him want to scream. The slide of Swiss’ tail against his clit doesn’t do him much good either. The sound of Swiss’ tail pulsing in and out of him is what really does it for Dew. It sounds wet and filthy and Dew can’t wait until Swiss does this again in an angle where Dew can watch it slide in and out of him.

Swiss picks up his thrusts, digging himself deeper inside of Dew’s cunt and his throat. He’s close, Dew can tell. The way his nose scrunches up, his labored breathing, the way his left ear keeps flicking with each strangled moan Dew lets out that vibrates against his cock. And, oh fuck, the way his stomach is flexing as he fights it off.

“Gonna cum.” Swiss warns. Dew whines high in his throat as Swiss thrusts faster inside of his cunt and presses harder against his clit. Dew was ready to cum the moment Swiss was inside of him. He moves his arms back and wraps them around Swiss’ thighs, gripping hard at them as he lets Swiss abuse his mouth.

“Fuck, please say you’re close too.” Swiss hisses as his rhythm goes sloppy and fast. He’s losing his composure, clearly seconds away from shooting down Dew’s throat. Dew moves his own tail up, wrapping it around Swiss’ own and squeezing it. His eyes flicker at Swiss and it’s all the multi ghoul needs.

He yanks Dew down into a final thrust, spilling down his throat as he yells Dew’s name like it’s a sin. It’s scorching hot and startles Dew for a moment before he hollows his cheeks around Swiss, yanking his orgasm out of him and drinking it greedily. When his tail digs just an inch deeper inside of Dew, the fire ghoul yanks himself down onto it and buries his face into Swiss’ stomach with a choked cry as his eyes slam shut. He tightens around Swiss’ tail and gushes around him, spraying his tail and Dew’s thighs with cum as it soaks the mattress.

After a second longer, Dew’s knees give in and he falls stomach first onto the wet mattress. Swiss pulls his face away from his stomach, yanking him up into his arms as his tail slides out of Dew. It makes Dew wince and flail, still so overwhelmed by it all. Swiss is kissing him immediately, gentle and warm with the taste of weed still on his tongue. Dew’s hands land on Swiss’ chest, patting him weakly as he tries to breathe.

“Fuck.” Swiss breathes. “Are you okay, baby?” Swiss asks as he adjusts Dew in his arms, cradling him against his chest. “You did so good.” He praises, running a hand down Dew’s spiked back. “You’re so fucking perfect, Dew.”

“What-“ Dew gulps. “the fuck?”

“Are you okay?” Swiss asks again, nudging his nose into Dew’s neck. “Did I hurt you?”

Dew shakes his head. “What the fuck.” He says again.

Swiss kisses his neck, leaving a small little purple glow that seeps into Dew’s skin. It’s his favorite way of transferring quintessence and healing. With gentle little kisses that warm someone up like hot coco.

“Fine, ‘m fine.” Dew breathes. “I’m okay.”

Swiss nuzzles his neck again, purring loud enough for Dew to feel it. He kisses his skin senselessly, pouring quintessence into him. He grabs one of Dew’s hands and drags it down to his stomach, pressing Dew’s warm palm into his skin.

Dew preens at it, feeling his own purr jump to life as he squeezes Swiss’ tummy. Swiss begins to kitten lick Dew’s face, placing warm kisses against his cheeks. “So sweet.” Swiss hums, kissing the corner of his eye before he rubs their cheeks together with a chuff.

“Stop that.” Dew scolds. Swiss pauses before he pushes Dew back, climbing over him as he presses his head into Dew’s stomach and blows raspberries. Dew shrieks, kicking at him with a laugh as he yanks on Swiss’ horns.

“Swiss!” Dew laughs, breathless again.

#my art #ghost bc #the band ghost #swiss ghoul #swiss army ghoul #multi ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #sodo ghoul #fire ghoul #okay so.#THIS HAS BEEN IN MY GOOGLE DOCS FOR SO LOOOOONG 💀#enjoy 🫶 s/o miasma for inspiring me to finish this thanks legend #k bye 😼🤞

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conchcronch · 8 months ago

Text

Pretend I’m Someone Else

Zoro x Sanji

Zoro is just trying to help his fellow crewmate…

NSFW below the cut

Sanji hisses through his teeth, his hand lubricated by the precum that’s beading down his angry pink head. He’s been at this for what seems like hours, but he just can’t reach his peak. Frustration is building to the point where his arms feel tense and there’s a restlessness running through his entire body. It’s been months since he’s felt someone else’s hands, since he’s held someone, kissed someone. Normally that fact made tasks like this fairly quick, but today it seems impossible. He grinds his teeth together, letting go of his painfully hard cock to reach for the crumpled cigarette box on the far end of his nightstand. With a flick of his thumb and the quiet sizzle of the cigarette his nerves begin to calm, tipping his head against the wall behind his cot.

He could hear the crew out on the deck, celebrating like they haven’t been at sea for weeks with no sign of land. Normally Sanji could handle these long stints at sea, but something about this time was really making it difficult, he was becoming antsy. The cigarette dangling between his lips, he moved so he had his back against the wall with his blanket draped over his naked lap. He tried to start again.

He closed his eyes, rubbing one hand down his neck slowly, down over his collarbones while the other scratched dully at his thigh beneath the blanket. He tried to forcefully bring back memories of his last fling, but the details were fuzzy since it had been so long. He had met her at a market…or had it been a bar. He shook his head, knowing he was going to get caught up on the specifics instead of just getting an image that could get him off.

He remembered the way she had whined into his chest as he fingered her at the back of a bar, his eyes scanning the crowd to make sure no one caught on to them. She smelt like cheap beer and pungent perfume that was probably meant to smell like roses but really just smelt like chemicals. But the way her big lips had ran over his neck made it all worth it. She had a babydoll face but had been older than he originally thought when he bought her a drink from across the bar, not that he really cared, all women were princesses in his eyes. She had dragged him by the tie to a room at the back of the bar after cumming on his fingers, making sounds that until this moment he had not realized were clearly very practiced. She had taken off her corset and hiked up her skirt before climbing on top of him while he was seated on an unpleasantly lumpy couch. He remembered wanting this to have been better, wanting to be able to take his time, to worship any woman who allowed him to lay his eyes on their bare form. But instead she had ridden him to an underwhelming but necessary orgasm, only having enough time to draw a nipple into his mouth and suck on it until he was brought over the edge much too quickly with an erratic pace.

He huffed, accepting that this wasn’t going to work. He banged his head lightly against the wall behind him. He took his hand off his cock, wiping it on his blue blanket before rubbing at his face with both hands, letting out a frustrated groan.

“Someone’s pi-“ Zoro froze in the doorway, slowly taking in the scene before him. Zoro was a lot of things, brash, quick to get lost, dense, garish, and more often than not belligerent, but even with a few glasses of sake in him he could still put the pieces together of what he had walked in on.

Sanji was too frustrated to really care, stubbing the butt of his cigarette out on the ash trash sitting on his bedside table before looking up at the man who clearly didn’t know if he should give the cook more private time or poke fun at him. Zoro watched as the cook squirmed a bit to reposition himself before laying down, his head dropping onto the pillow heavier than normal. Sanji knew that the other man got a clear view of the outline of his painfully hard cock as he rolled over to face the wall but he didn’t think anything of it, closing his eyes in hopes that it would go down on its own decently soon so he could get at least a few hours of sleep. “Can you at least turn off the light?” Sanji grumbled when he didn’t hear the swordsman move.

“I can leave you al-“

“Doesn’t matter, it’s not happening.” He clenched his jaw when he heard Zoro’s stupid laugh as the door closed behind him.

“Aw poor little pervert can’t get it up?” He heard Zoro walk throughout the shared room, his boots heavy on the wood floorboards. The lights flicked off and he heard Zoro kick off his boots, followed by the sound of his cargo pants hitting the floor, likely followed by his shirt before he climbed into his bunk on top of Sanji’s.

Sanji was so close to falling asleep when he felt Zoro shift enough that the whole bed wiggled before he heard his voice. “Are you still hard?” The question made Sanji clench his teeth, grinding them together in irritation.

“The fuck does it matter?!” He bit back, his frustration getting the better of him, knowing he was just fueling the other man to keep irritating him.

“Just askin’, no need to get your panties in a twist.” He could imagine the swordsman laying there without a care in his mossy brain, just looking for any fuel to ignite the flames of irritation in the other man. Sanji can’t see it but Zoro has a slight grin and is very slowly running a large hand over his growing erection. “Do you want help?” There was a very long beat of silence in the room, and if Zoro didn’t know the cook as well as he does he almost would have thought he had fallen asleep. But he knew Sanji better than that. He knew he was lying below him questioning everything, playing out every possible way this scenario could go.

“Fuck off,” Sanji finally said, his voice lacking the bite that Zoro came to expect.

“Fine.” They fall silent again, Zoro’s hand having reached into his boxers to grip his erection firmly, moving his hand slowly up and down his shaft as his own sexual frustration was beginning to bubble over the surface. Zoro had gotten very good at forcing his sexual needs as deep as he could, opting to focus on his training above all else. But these long times at sea were taxing to say the least.

He wasn’t one to make a big deal about going out to get laid, he was confident none of the crew even noticed on the nights he would go off to a tavern or alley just to find someone that could give him a half decent finish. He had seen Sanji once, had seen the way he tried to secretly finger some chick that Zoro was fairly sure was a prostitute before being dragged to the back room. When Sanji had gotten led out of sight that’s when Zoro began scanning the crowd for someone easy, someone who didn’t need a lot of effort, someone loose both morally and physically. He had spotted a slender man who was giving him eyes from the second he spotted the swordsman. Zoro didn’t really have a type, never wanting to put in the work to pick and choose when all he was really looking for was a decent fuck. But he did know what he liked, a narrow waist that he could grab, someone smaller than him to manhandle easily and the longer the legs the better. But those weren’t his type, or at least that’s what he kept telling himself. He had made quick work of inviting the man outside, leading him to an alley beside the bar where he pressed him against the stone wall. The rest was uneventful in Zoro’s eyes, they both came and that was all that really mattered.

He was brought out of his sorry excuse for a fantasy by Sanji’s voice from the bed below him. “You weren’t serious…” There was a pause, Zoro almost answered but stopped when he heard a quiet, “were you?”

“Yeah I was.” His cock jumped in his hand, hoping Sanji would actually take him up on his offer, his mouth practically watering at the thought. But the longer the silence stretched between them, the more Zoro tried to shift his focus from the man below him to his own erection. His eyes close and it isn’t until he hears a breathy curse from under him that he sits up and tucks his cock back into his boxers. He jumps off the bed, catching himself on the balls of his feet, clearly catching the cook by surprise. One knee is bent and it’s clear he’s stroking his cock from the way his shoulder is moving. Zoro locks eyes with the man, smiling a bit when the arm that had frozen at first slowly begins to move again, followed by a frustrated groan. “Do you want me to help you?” Zoro asks with a sly grin, his hand grabbing the blue blanket but not moving it. He watches as Sanji’s eyes close, catching his lower lip between his teeth as he nods.

Zoro doesn’t need more than that. He pulls the blanket off, letting it fall at his feet before he moves onto the narrow bed. Sanji is a vision in his own right, his long legs splayed out completely bare under the discarded blanket. Zoro had seen him naked plenty of times, but something about the way he’s under him, the way he sees Sanji’s eyes scan over him in the same way he is. Zoro was quick to break his focus and shift between Sanji’s long legs, even going as far as to throw one over his shoulder just because. He laid flat on his belly between Sanji’s legs, biting at his inner thigh getting progressively closer to his angry looking erection.

The feeling of Zoro’s breath this close to his pulsing cock was almost enough to make him cum. But the sight of the green hair between his legs made his stomach churn, to the point where he grabbed at the man’s hair, pretending his cock didn’t just leap at the groan of pleasure from the swordsman. “I-I can’t,” Sanji was looking everywhere other than the man, who was allowing himself to be held up by his hair as he watched the way Sanji covered his face with one hand. “I’m not…Not with you…I’m sorry.” Zoro leaned back, pulling his hair from the chef’s long fingers.

“I don’t give a shit, Curly, I was just offerin’ to make things easier on both of us. Unlike you, I don’t have issues finishing.” He couldn’t resist the urge to rub his cock through the fabric of his boxers, unable to hold back the heavy breath that fell from his lips. Sanji’s eyes peeked from between his fingers at the man between his legs, who was currently touching himself in such a way that Sanji was seriously considering this. The way the muscles in his forearms moved under the tan and scarred skin drew him in a way Sanji had never quite experienced before. His eyes scanned down his arm, hand on the covered member gripping it firmly, if the lighting had been better he was sure he’d see a wet spot where his cock head was sandwiched between the fabric and his lower belly.

Zoro was thriving off of Sanji’s stare, the way he subconsciously licked his lips as he stared directly at his crotch sent a thrill through his whole body. He bucked his hips into his hand which was now fully jerking himself off through the thin material, a groan falling from his lips which seemed to snap the blonde from his trance.

“Just seeing you-“ He paused, trying to choose his words carefully, suddenly very aware of where his gaze had landed for so long and then trying to overcompensate by looking everywhere but Zoro. “Seeing you down there it’s just weird.” Zoro laughed, he laughed as though Luffy had just told a dumb joke.

“Trust me, I don’t much like the idea of lookin’ up and seein’ your ugly mug.” Sanji’s eyebrow twitched in frustration but when he saw Zoro’s free hand reaching forward to grab his cock and he allowed it. A deep guttural moan burst from his lips as soon as his big hand wrapped around his member. “But sometimes you gotta’ blow off steam no matter who’s offerin’.” Zoro’s eye looked up, trapping Sanji’s gaze as he slowly began to stroke his cock, smiling when he saw the way the chef’s head tipped back and a whine slipped out. “This is just an exchange of services, nothing more. Pretend I’m someone else.” Sanji nodded even though his eyes were still weighed shut as his hips began bucking forward to meet every one of Zoro’s strokes.

When Sanji feels Zoro’s hot mouth encircle his head he barely manages to stifle the cry that wants to burst forth. Zoro works more of his shaft into his mouth with each bob, Sanji tries to focus on something, something to feed the fantasy he’s piecing together behind his lids. It takes next to no time before Zoro is swallowing his entire length each time, one hand going from his shaft to his balls, stimulating them in the way only someone who has them would know how to. His other hand is supporting Sanji’s leg that’s over his shoulder, the pads of his fingers digging into the muscle of his thigh. It takes everything Sanji has to fight his instinct to run his fingers through his partner’s hair, to run down the back of their neck and over their shoulders, knowing what he finds is going to be much different then what he’s trying to imagine. With a long breath Sanji focuses, trying to ignore the occasional moan from the man between his thighs and instead on the sound of the swordsman’s earrings clinking together with each bob of his head.

All his attention is honed in on the metallic sound of those three gold drops colliding with one another and the way his hot mouth feels surrounding his cock, the way Sanji is sure he can feel his head nudge aside the swordsman’s uvula with each swallow. Zoro on the other hand was cock drunk, every one of his senses was drowning in Sanji. All he could smell was his musk, the remnants of his cologne, and just a hint of nicotine. All smells that Zoro had always hated, every single one of them had brought him nothing but irritation from the moment he smelt them on every average day, yet today. Today they drove him wild.

He had lied to Sanji earlier, the sight above him only proved to make his hips rut into the mattress they were both on. The way the cook’s abs tightened each time he swallowed his full cock, and the way his hand kept running over his chest, pausing for a fraction of a second to graze over his left nipple. Zoro saw it all, saw where he unconsciously touched to give himself pleasure. He took note of the way Sanji tipped his head to one side, his right hand snaking around his neck to draw feather light shapes along the side of his throat. “Z-Zoro” The words fell from his lips like a plea before being muffled by Sanji clearing his throat, suddenly very aware of his voice. “Zoro” He said firmly this time. The swordsman looked up, hoping it seemed like he hadn’t already been looking up. He was breathless, and when Zoro didn’t stop his bobbing even while maintaining eye contact he felt those long fingers yank his hair again, guiding him off his member. Zoro begrudgingly released his cock, a line of saliva connecting his lip to his head.

“What,” Zoro asked bluntly, sitting up on his knees and rubbing at his painfully hard erection that was straining at the flimsy fabric.

“I can do the rest.” Zoro scoffed at Sanji’s words.

“You couldn't before, what makes you think you can now?”

“I don’t want to accidentally…” Sanji’s voice faded off, in hopes Zoro would get it, and even if he knew exactly what the blonde was trying to say he wasn’t going to let that on. He shrugged, his grip tightening on his cock when he watched Sanji’s own hand wrap around his member. “I don’t want to accidentally finish in your mouth.” Zoro laughed, releasing his own cock from his hand and resuming his position between the cook’s legs.

“Just do it already.” Sanji noticed the way Zoro humped the bed, the way he greedily swallowed his cock with a longing moan. Part of him was going to comment, even going as far as to question if this was something he had wanted but the words died before they made it to his throat, forced away by the moans that replaced them. Sanji tangled his fingers in the swordsman’s short hair, no longer caring as he guided the man’s head up and down his length at the same speed as his hammering heart. Zoro threw Sanji’s other leg over his shoulder, almost cumming when he felt the thighs squeeze his head seconds before his mouth was filled. Never before had Zoro swallowed someone’s cum as gluttonously as he did in this moment. Every rope was quickly gulped back, his suction becoming almost painful for Sanji as his orgasm tapered out. Only then did Zoro pull back, lapping a long strip from the base to the head before he sat up, looking down at the completely limp man below him.

Zoro couldn’t resist the painful throb of his long neglected cock, trying his best to keep it at bay with his firm strokes overtop his boxers. He loved the way Sanji was completely out, his eyes almost glassy and his lips chapped. When the blonde still hadn’t moved by the time the ache in his balls was becoming too much, the green haired man moved to get off the bunk with the intention of going to finish himself off in the washroom, but he was stopped by a tired hand on the outside of his large thigh as he stood beside the bunk. Looking back to see Sanji’s brows were knit closely together, concern on his exhausted face. Zoro froze, unsure of what the blonde wanted but his patience was waning with every throb of his cock. “You said-“ His voice was hoarse, he cleared it in hopes of sounding more clear. “You said, an exchange of services.” He emphasized the plural and the swordsman shrugged.

“M’ not gonna’ hold you to it. I can finish myself.” Obviously he wanted something in return, he wanted to feel Sanji’s hands on him, wanted to feel his lips on his body, but he also only wanted that if Sanji wanted that. Zoro was a lot of things, but that wasn’t his style. The blonde’s hand didn’t move, in fact his nail bit into the tanned flesh of Zoro’s thigh. “Ow, what do you want?” He tried to cling onto the irritation, masking the hope he knew would be in his voice.

“I want to return the favor.” Zoro’s gaze was intense, scanning the blonde’s face for any signs of…anything really. “I haven’t done it before.” As if Sanji needed to say that, but Zoro wasn’t going to say that. He hadn’t had his dick sucked in what felt like months and if he had a straight guy who was willing to do the task, who was he to risk ruining it.

“I can teach you.” The words left his mouth before he had fully processed what he was offering, but to his surprise he watched as the blonde sat up and turned so his legs were over the edge of the bed.

“How do you want me?” Sanji had no idea the effect those words had on the man in front of him. And thankfully his boxers were there to hide the way his cock jumped.

“On your knees.” A chill coursed down Sanji’s spine, the words making his knees feel weak and blood slowly diverge back down to his cock as he slid off the bed and onto his knees in front of his crewmate. Zoro crouched in front of Sanji so they were eye to eye, he reached forward and guided his mouth open, the chef was completely placid in his grasp. He ran his fingers over his bottom lip before slowly sliding his thumb along the chef’s tongue. He slid his thumb all the way back until he felt the curve of where his tongue ends and his throat begins, amazed the man hadn’t gagged. “Good.” He couldn’t stop the praise, and Sanji couldn’t repress the whine that followed. Zoro took his time pulling his thumb out of the man’s mouth, allowing him to close his jaw all while maintaining perfect eye contact. “You’ll have no issue taking me.” A warmth bloomed in Sanji’s chest and continued to blossom as Zoro took his face in his big hands, his fingers brushing over all the points he had seen Sanji touch while he was going down on him, enjoying the sighs it produced.

Zoro pushed himself to stand, pushed his boxes off his hips and stepped out of them, kicking them somewhere behind him. He was quick to wrap a hand around his cock, stroking it slowly as he watched Sanji look up at him with wide eyes. He used his free hand to run his fingers through the blonde’s hair, loving the way he relaxed into his touch. He reached further down, drawing Sanji’s body up from his slouched position so he could reach his cock with ease. Zoro released his cock from his grasp, nearly hitting Sanji’s nose.

Zoro expected some resistance, some hesitation but was surprised when he felt the man’s lips on his head almost immediately. His hands were immediately on the swordsman’s thighs, running up and down the muscles as he sucked experimentally. Zoro had to cover his mouth with his hand to stop the needy moan that was fighting to escape as one of Sanji’s hands began to stroke his shaft. Zoro so badly wanted to tell him exactly what to do, how he wanted him to open his jaw wider so he could take more of his cock, how he needed him to let those skilled hands wander wherever they pleased, but he resisted. He watched as the cook slowly began to take more of him in his mouth, being very mindful to cover his bottom teeth with his lip, his eyes closed and brows furrowed as he concentrated.

Zoro forced himself to lower the hand that was cupped over his mouth, finally getting used to the near forgotten feeling of someone’s mouth on his cock. He allowed his hand to run through the blonde’s hair again, immediately catching the way Sanji’s blue eyes looked up, the bobbing of his head becoming more rhythmic as he took a bit more of him each time. “You’re doing so good.” Zoro could feel Sanji’s moan around his cock as he managed to swallow all of him for the first time. Zoro couldn’t stifle the moan when he felt the back of Sanji’s throat for the briefest of seconds. Sanji pulled all the way off his cock, his breath coming in puffs and his lips shiny with his own spit. Zoro would be lying if he said he wasn’t close, and seeing the blonde on his knees in front of him with precum smudged on his cheek wasn’t helping.

“Can you sit on the bed?” Sanji’s voice was rough, even a little bit raw. Zoro didn’t say anything, instead opting to take a step to the side so he could sit on the edge of the bed, his legs open wide enough that the blonde could easily fit. He was quick to crawl between his knees, his hands immediately running up Zoro’s thighs to his waist and moving in close enough that his lips could press against his chest. “Can I kiss you?” Sanji asked as he trailed kisses along the swordsman’s collarbone.

“Y-yeah” the question caught Zoro entirely off guard and he prayed that the other man couldn’t hear how his heartbeat quickened. Sanji immediately grabbed the back of his head, their lips meeting in an oddly passionate kiss. Probably the most passionate kiss Zoro had ever experienced. Sanji slowly got to his feet, keeping his hands on either side of the green haired man’s face as he did so. Zoro instinctively grabbed the man’s narrow waist, leaning back onto the bed and lifting Sanji to straddle his waist with ease. If Sanji hesitated at any point in the position change, he didn’t show it. His lips never parted from Zoro’s, but rather the kiss deepened. Their tongues sliding along each other’s, Sanji’s fingers running through the other’s hair noticing the way Zoro groans anytime he tugs at the short green locks. Zoro’s hands slid down Sanji’s waist, snaking around to dig his blunt nails into the meat of his toned rear, smiling into the kiss when he felt Sanji rut against him.

Zoro shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was to feel that the chef was hard once again. Zoro left one hand on the chef’s ass and brought the other to grab a fist full of blonde locks, catching the way the other man whined when he tugged just a bit.

Sanji had never really expected being with another man to feel so normal. He loved how Zoro was able to lift and throw him around, something he had never experienced. The way Zoro’s big hands felt on his waist, on his neck, gods, in his hair. Sanji was rutting against the other man’s cock, loving the way they ground together.

“Are you going to finish what you started?” Zoro asked, gripping the blonde’s hair still, pulling his head to the side in order to nip at his long neck. He felt Sanji nod against his grasp but only tightened his fist signaling that that wasn’t a good enough answer. The hand that had been gripping Sanji’s ass moved around to wrap around his weeping cock, pumping it at an excruciatingly slow pace.

“Y-yes” He was barely able to get the word out, each throb of his cock was almost painful and the slow pace of Zoro’s hand wasn’t helping in the least.

“Maybe if you’re good,” Zoro squeezed Sanji’s shaft, producing a strangled whine from him. “I’ll return the favor…again” Zoro released his cock and allowed him to slip off his lap and back down between his large thighs. The apprehension Sanji had had earlier in their encounter was replaced with unbridled lust. There was no hesitation in the way Sanji hungrily swallowed Zoro’s cock, it took every ounce of his resilience to not cum the second he felt the cook’s uvula drag along his shaft. But when Sanji gently cupped his heavy balls, tugging on them ever so gently, Zoro knew he wouldn’t last nearly as long as he wanted to. “Cook” Zoro managed to growl out from between his clenched teeth, hoping his tone would warn the other man.

But instead, the man between his legs doubled down. Hollowing out his cheeks and using his hand to stroke his shaft any time his mouth pulled back. Zoro couldn’t stop his hips from bucking to meet every bob, his hand tangled in the blonde’s hair, manipulating him to move at exactly the pace he wanted. He could feel Sanji moan around his cock, could feel the way his tongue lapped at his head like it was the best tasting food he had ever made. He wanted to warn him, to tell him he was going to cum. Normally he would yank the person’s head off so he could paint their face instead but by the time the thought crossed his mind it was what sent him over the edge. Sanji swallowed his cock completely, every spurt of cum going right down his throat while he kept sucking hard enough to milk him dry. It wasn’t until Zoro made a sound that could only be described as weak that he pulled off.

Zoro laid back on the bed, grip on Sanji’s hair releasing and his arm thrown over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. Sanji remained in place between the swordsman’s thighs, half unsure what else to do and the other half hoped he could do it again. The fact that he was the reason Zoro made all those sounds, from the growls to the whines gave Sanji an overwhelming feeling of pride, something he rarely felt. Despite his own cock pulsing painfully between his legs, he pushed himself up, taking this moment of vulnerability to press kisses up the larger man’s body. Each kiss was met with a huff from him, until Sanji finally pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling when Zoro immediately tried to deepen it.

“You liked it.” Zoro’s voice was rougher then normal, the words slipping out between kisses. He wrapped his arm around Sanji’s narrow waist, keeping him pressed against himself.

The cook opted to stay quiet and for once in his life, Zoro didn’t push. The larger man ran his calloused hands up and down Sanji’s back, both hands lingering on his ass each time, idolly toying with the meat as he came down from his high.

It wasn’t until he felt Sanji try to rut against him that he became overly aware of the hard length that was sandwiched between their stomachs. “Seriously? Again?” He was met with an embarrassed whine as Sanji rubbed his face against Zoro’s chest, his hips bucking against him. “You’re very greedy” The swordsman carded a hand through his blonde hair before closing his fist and pulling his head back so he could see the watery blue eyes of the cook.

“I-It’s just been-“

”Yeah yeah I know, it’s been a long time.” Zoro mimicked, the blonde whining at his mocking tone, his cock somehow hardening even more. ”I’m gonna need more from you this time, Curly.” He watched as he tried to nod against the hold Zoro maintained on his hair. Zoro decided to try something, something he had been wanting to do probably since the cook had joined their crew however long ago that was. He swiftly slapped the meat of the man’s ass, watching as a long and clearly startled moan fell from his sore looking lips. “Well well well” Sanji’s face burned, knowing there was no way he could explain his way out of that sound in his current state. Zoro did it again, met this time with a sound that made it very clear that Sanji was trying to hold back his moan, making Zoro spank him even harder. The swordsman wished they were in another position so he could see how the muscle of the chef’s rear moved when he slapped it, he hoped it would jiggle the same way a chick’s did but he also knew Sanji had more muscle then the average person.

“I-I can’t- I can’t!” Sanji was barely able to get those two words out of his mouth, his breath coming in puffs.

“What do you want?” Zoro whispered, letting his grip go so Sanji collapsed into his chest.

“Anything” Zoro shook his head, his hand rubbing over Sanji’s cheek that was sure to be red.

“Not good enough.” Sanji whined into his chest before squirming so he was straddling Zoro’s wide thighs and rutting against the swordsman’s now sore erection; he didn’t fight to stifle the groan that fell out as Sanji’s cock dragged along his own.

“Use your words.” Zoro’s hands were on his waist, guiding him at a steady pace to bring him closer to another orgasm.

“I-“ Sanji took a shaky breath as he sat up fully, the sight of Zoro lying beneath him somehow made his cock jump, a feeling that in the moment he was accrediting to heat of the moment but he was sure to overthink when the lights were off and he was alone in his bed once more. Zoro let go of Sanji’s waist, moving to grab his hand and bringing it down to his mouth, the cook’s eyes never leaving the man’s actions. Once Sanji’s hand was underneath his mouth, Zoro sat up a little and spit into his hand, but before the cook could protest too much he guided his cupped palm down to their cocks. Sanji was able to put two and two together, even if it took a bit longer than normal, and wrapped his hand around both of their cocks. The spit, while a disgusting concept, made their cocks slide together perfectly, a feeling Sanji had never expected to experience and even less expected to enjoy. Zoro no longer wanted to play this game of cat and mouse, he wanted to give into the pleasure that was taking over his whole body. “Next time, I won’t be so generous.” His voice was breathier than he’d admit, and he could tell Sanji was too cock drunk to really process his words he just nodded as he tipped his head back to moan.

In most circumstances, Zoro would have felt a sense of pride seeing the size difference of his cock to another man’s but all he could focus on was how badly he wanted Sanji’s inside of him. Watching the hypnotic way he moved his hand up and down their shafts was ushering Zoro closer to that edge, the way he flicked his wrist every time he moved his hand up, how he rubs his thumb over both of their heads to gather more slick had Zoro moaning loudly and without thought as to who’s around. “Fuck, god that’s good” Zoro barely managed to groan out, wanting to tip his head back but also not wanting to look away, the way Sanji’s hips buck forward every so often was possibly one of the hottest things he had seen tonight.

“T-Too loud, s-shut up” Words that Sanji normally would have said with more venom behind it, instead came out whiny as he covered Zoro’s mouth with his free hand.

This is what sent Zoro crashing over the edge, a burst of cum erupting from his cock, his hips bucking as rope after rope coated his own chest, even going as high as the base of his neck. Sanji wasn’t far behind him, his cum splattering over Zoro’s face as he moaned breathy praises, his hand still moving along both of their cocks, despite Zoro’s overstimulated moans.

Sanji finally released their cocks from his sweaty and sticky grasp, using the hand that was over Zoro’s mouth to support his body against the man’s large chest. Both of them were panting, eyes closed as they both came down from their orgasms.

Sanji was the first to open his eyes, the sight of Zoro underneath him, lines of cooling cum dripping down his lips and chin was almost enough to get the cook hard again. But Sanji fights back the thoughts of how good Zoro looks painted with his cum and opts to grab the blanket that was tossed aside what feels like hours ago and moves to start wiping the swordsman’s face.

As Sanji wipes the first line from his chin, he watches as Zoro sleepily opens his eye and licks at the cum that was dripping onto his lips before the cook can clean it up, watching in amusement as Sanji sputters for words. “You better not get hard again.” He manages a lazy smile but doesn’t miss the blush that works its way to the tips of Sanji’s ears. Once all the cum is gone from Zoro’s chest and face he gets out of Sanji’s bed and climbs up to his own bed, an exhausted quiet filling the room.

“Zoro,” Sanji cringes at how loud his voice sounds in the silent room. Zoro grunts in response, the bed shaking slightly as he repositions. They fall silent again as Sanji tries to choose his next words. “T-this can stay between us, right?” He hears the man above him huff out a laugh,

“Yeah Curly, it’ll stay between us.” Sanji nods, even though he knows the other man can’t see him.

“Thank you” Sanji wasn’t sure what he was saying thank you for, whether it was for keeping it between them, or if it was for the acts themselves. Regardless, Sanji was finally able to drift off to sleep, the tenseness that had been filling his extremities the last time he had laid in the bed was gone and instead he was filled with bliss. Bliss that tomorrow was likely to be replaced by questions, so many questions, but in this moment he slipped underneath the veil of sleep finally.

#one piece smut #ao3 author #ao3 #one piece #sanji x zoro #sanji smut #zoro smut

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nonameonlyflowers · 10 days ago

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17/01/25

Another 6k words done (w/o coding/choices). It’s going decently for now, which kinda worries me…

More previews under the cut.

Going places

The farther away from the city and the closer to the border, the more the sights changed.

Gone was the ever-present greenery, now only contained to the lone fields and walled estates on the banks of canals and rivers. The ground under your horses’ hooves turned dry and sandy, their steps raising clouds of dust into the air. The dust was soon everywhere - on your clothes, hair, and skin. You were breathing it in with the air and taking it in with your food.

On the last stop before you would’ve reached your destination you bent down on the bank of a river branch, washing the ever-present grey hue off your skin. The same dark, dusty, rocky ground stretched in all directions, black silhouettes of what should’ve been the guardian towers outlined against the horizon to the north.

Local legends

#Stubbornly continue to listen.

“…and he ordered that her body be ripped apart by the horses,” the priest finished. "Her blood spilled over the once-fertile fields, and nothing grew there anymore, so the place became known by it’s current name: “the fortress of dead flowers.” He looked up at you, smiling. “Did you like the story?”

“Is this really a history scroll?” You squinted at it, but couldn’t make anything out. Was he pulling your leg?

“Believe it or not, it is. Why, can’t I not have my hobbies? Do you think I spend the entire time praying?” No, in fact, you didn’t think you saw him praying once. “Do you know how rich is the history of–”

“I get it, I get it, backing off.” You stepped back, raising your hands up into the air. Ash, you could take a hint.

New faces

“Let me start off by saying that I don’t know anything, either,” she stated, her attention still on the horse, which was happily pushing its head further into her palm. Right. She would’ve overheard your conversation with the priest…

“Alright. Let’s talk about something else, then.” Perhaps you could glean something from the conversation either way?

“If you wish.” She paused. “Nice weather we’re having today, don’t you think? Very… dusty.” You caught just the slightest hint of distaste in her last words.

Your gaze swept over the sunbaked wasteland around you, ending down on your own boots - indeed grey from the dust.

“I don’t like dust.” You frowned. “It sure gets everywhere.”

“Indeed.” The acolyte sighed. She finally raised her head to look at you; a calm, steady look. “Now what was it that you wanted to ask, if not about the mission?”

#interactive fiction #writing update #pol: preview

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thatguyfromforest · 1 year ago

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Mammon looked around.

This is one of the few evenings when the whole family gathered in one room. Lucifer did not write his endless papers, Levi did not watch the next anime marathon, Asmo did not go to a party, Satan did not close himself in the library, Beel did not stay late for training and Belphie did not sleep (well, almost did not sleep).

The topic of conversation was changing every minute, everyone was involved and it seemed that nothing could be better. The TV was hissing softly behind him, a pleasant warmth was coming from the fireplace, causing drowsiness. Mc was here too. She sat opposite him between the twins, stroked Belphie's hair, who had fallen asleep on her lap, carefully passed packs of snacks to Beel and smiled.

Oh, whatever Mammon would do for that smile. Whatever he would do to wake up seeing that smile, fall asleep next to her and so on from day to day.

You're the love of my life.

"Didn't you recently write a diploma for the university?" Lucifer asked, and all attention turned to Mc. She smiled guiltily, as if she had done something wrong and lowered her gaze.

"Exactly! I remember what you said about it" Asmo nodded and moved closer.

"How did it go? What do you think to do with this next?" - Satan closed the book and turned to Mc, waiting for an answer. But for some reason she was silent. She was still smiling and looking at the floor. Mammon felt uncomfortable for some reason.

And most importantly, why does no one but him pay attention to this change of atmosphere? Why is she silent? What's wrong? She didn't pass? Or she's going to...

"Mc" he called. "what do you want to do next? Will you leave us? Will you leave me?"

The room went cold in an instant. He blinked and now it was just him and Mc in the room. There was no fire in the fireplace, no TV, no one nearby. Just the two of them. She still had her hand in her lap, as if Belphie was still lying there.

"This is cruel Mammon" she whispered "It's not even fair"

"What ya talkin' about?"

She looked up at him, still with the same faint smile.

Now this smile did not bring happiness to his soul.

Only cold fear.

"I've been dead for a long time Mammon. I have no future, I left it in this house. There is only the past in which I can't breathe"

Mammon blinked again and now there was no one in the room but him. He jumped to his feet and looked around. Something is missing. Something's wrong. Where did everyone go? Mc?

His trembling legs led him towards her room by themselves. The step turned into a run, and he could no longer notice that her drawings, which she gave to the brothers, were missing from the walls, her little garden was not visible from the window, and there were no cute pink slippers at the entrance.

He opened the door with such a bang that it seemed the whole Devildom heard it. Moonlight illuminated the outlines of the room, covered with a century-old layer of dust. No one has been here for years. But how so, Mc went out of here to hang out with them, he saw for himself.

This is some kind of joke. Another failed prank by Belphie and Satan over Lucifer.

Mammon went into the room, trying not to make unnecessary sounds, as if he could disturb someone. The bed is neatly made, notebooks are stacked on the table, empty flower pots are on the window. It's the same as always, except...

Neatly standing vase on the shelf. In the corner, almost invisible. Mammon didn't remember her.

The realization came only when he opened the lid and looked inside.

Ashes.

****

Mammon inhaled so hard that his chest ached. His eyes were open, but his vision was hazy, he could not even see the ceiling of the bedroom. He almost fell off the bed, but managed to roll over and immediately grabbed his throat. It was as if water had been poured into his lungs, he could not take a single breath.

It is not true. It is not true. It is not true. It is not—

He jumped out of bed and immediately collapsed on the floor. His legs refused to obey him, but Mammon forced himself to stand up. Not seeing where he was running, he just trusted his instincts. A long-learned path.

The house was quiet, as well as behind the door of her room. He opened it, not caring about the silence. He went straight to the bed and only then was able to exhale.

Mc was lying there, wrapped in a huge blanket like a caterpillar. She sniffed softly and made a funny whistling sound with her nose. His legs betrayed him, and Mammon collapsed to the floor, having managed to catch on the edge of the bed. From a thud, Mc stirred, mumbled something and removed her hair from her face.

Mammon grinned nervously and immediately put his hand over his mouth. He didn't care that he could wake her up, just another second and he wouldn't be able to restrain the hysteria that was bursting out of his throat.

"Mammon?..." came a soft whisper from the bed. Mammon shifted his gaze and felt tears flowing down his cheeks. Mc sleepily rubbed her eyes and looked puzzled at the night guest. "Mammon, what happened? Why are you crying—"

He did not let her finish, throwing all his weight on her, wrapping his arms and legs around her body. Mc let out a small squeak of surprise, but immediately quieted down when she felt Mammon's shaking.

"It's okay. I've got you. I'm here."

"Yes," he sobbed "you're here. I beg... Please, always be here... Don't ever leave me..."

****

All the next morning Mammon did not move away from Mc more than two steps, which was not surprising, but he was so quiet that all brothers thought about another curse had been put on him.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me mc #obey me! mammon #om! mammon #obey me angst #obey me hurt/comfort #Obey me f!mc #obey me headcanons #obey me mammon x mc

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monstersandmaw · 1 year ago

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Monsters & Maw Patreon returns 21st October, with a Dullahan story in time for Halloween!

Extract:

A mist on Samhain night coiled its curious fingers through the hawthorn hedgerows and carded the bone-pale grasses along the verge with gentle, sighing caresses. At the fulcrum of the year, when the last warmth of summer had truly faded, and the biting maw of winter had yet to show its teeth, you came truly alive for a precious few weeks.

You sighed around a smile, softly sweeping the birch bristles of the broom back and forth across the flagstone that marked the entrance to your cottage, and hoped to sweep away the bad luck that seemed to have gathered like choking dust in all the corners of your life that year. You were ready for the restorative stillness that winter would bring, but you weren’t quite ready to let go of the bounty of a rich autumn either.

That afternoon, you’d set your carved Jack o’ Lantern grinning on the step, and you’d given your private remembrances to the recently departed. You’d walked sunwise round your house with a bough of smouldering fir to cleanse the space with smoke, and you’d offered firewood from your stores to the village boys who’d trekked all the way out to your lonely cottage to make sure that your hearth was included in the communal bonfire. In the morning, you would go down to the smouldering embers on the village green and light your own torch to bind your hearth to the rest of the community, but for the moment, you were alone on the edge of things.

Now, as the tiny crescent of moon sailed out from behind the bare, silhouetted branches of the old copse of ash and oak behind the drystone wall, you leaned a moment on the wooden gate at the end of the garden path, and tilted your face to its frail, faltering light.

Your breath made ghosts dance in the air, and as you rested there and smelled the last of the mint in the garden beside you, the sound of hoofbeats on the road disturbed the dark and the quiet of the night.

It was far too late for any of the villagers to be venturing up the road now. Travellers were rare on Samhain night, and yet a horse was approaching at a steady, measured walk, and eventually, the hazy outline of a rider on a huge, ragged mount melted from the mist.

Your heart leapt to your throat and you stepped back, trying not to trip or stumble or bolt to your house for fear of insulting the rider. This was no human being sitting astride that monstrous horse with its rolling red eyes.

For one, the rider had no head.

“Dullahan,” you breathed before you could stop yourself, and you felt their attention sharpen onto you. You bit back a hissing curse at your stupidity just in time and stood your ground. There was an iron horseshoe above your door, and you wondered if that would be enough to protect you from this Unseelie Fae.

The horse’s hooves slowed and it tossed its head, snorting and blowing steam in the cold night, and the rider turned to regard you with a head that wasn’t there.

---

You will be able to read the whole story on the 'Little Ghosties' tier of Patreon from 21st October 2023!

I hope to see you there for more like this, and if you want to know a little more about it, here's the post I made to let folks know about my Patreon coming back!

#dullahan #dullahan x reader #dullahan romance #fae romance #fae #patreon #ghosti's patreon

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sunkissedandseraphic · 8 months ago

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My Beautiful Boy

Summary: The saviors had attacked Alexandria, and all Rick wanted was to find his family among the flames and know that they were safe. To know his son was safe. (A rewrite of season 8 episode 9 where Carl doesn't die and Rick finds him safely in the sewers with the others, much to his great relief)

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Mentions past character death, mentions past shooting

read on ao3!

With each heavy step, the smell of smoke hit Rick like a sack of bricks. His eyes wandered frantically, watching as fire engulfed each of the Alexandria buildings. His heart was in his stomach; his home, the one he and his family had rebuilt and made stronger to survive, was swallowed by flames. Everything they had created now reduced to a pile of ash.

His leg was throbbing. Negan’s push out the window had truly done a number on him, but Rick couldn’t stop. He needed to find his family.

His beautiful girlfriend, whom Rick longed to cup her cheek with his calloused hands and kiss until the world melted away. His daughter, whom Rick wanted nothing more than to hold in his arms and press his nose into her bright blonde curls. His son, his beautiful boy, whom Rick would give anything to see smile and tilt that stupid cowboy hat down to cover his bandaged eye.

He needed to find his family.

Rick had been stumbling around aimlessly when he first heard the familiar sound of a machete and the woman who wields it. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears when he finally saw Michonne, reaching out and pulling her away from the Savior who was beyond dead now.

There was so much Rick wanted to say, to tell Michonne, but each word got caught in his throat the moment he opened his mouth. “Where are they?” was all Rick managed to sputter out. He was so desperate to see his people again. His kids. Everyone he had left in this god-forsaken world.

Silently, Michonne led her lover to the sewer, where below, the remaining Alexandrians were awaiting safety and instructions on where to go from his shitstorm.

Michonne descended into the tunnel first, but once both of them had their feet on solid ground, Rick took off ahead of her. He hobbled as quickly as he could until he spotted bodies hunched on the floor against the sewer walls; crying, shaking, whispering. Living, breathing bodies of his friends.

Rick’s eyes scanned over the scene in front of him. He could see the outline of Tara and Rosita sitting beside each other– Rosita’s head leaned back and eyes screwed shut while Tara’s were wide open in horror, tears staining her cheeks as she stared out at nothing. He could see Dwight leaning his arm against the tunnel wall and resting his forehead on it, deeply breathing. He could see Daryl, his brother, bowing his head down as he sat with Judith, who swayed back and forth on her little legs. He could see a figure straight ahead staring at him, one Rick could feel he had seen before but couldn’t place how or why he knew the stranger.

The further forward he staggered, the more Rick made out the faces of those who sat in the sewer. Everyone in their tight-knit group, if not almost everyone in the community, seemed to be accounted for at that moment.

Everyone except Carl.

“Carl? Carl… wh-where’s Carl?”

Rick felt his heart start to pound, stomach churning at the thought of his son not being in the safety of the sewer. It was getting harder and harder to put weight on his leg, but he pushed through the pain; Carl was more important.

He felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Tears burned in Rick’s eyes, threatening to spill over any second. He wanted to throw up, punch something, yell his son’s name at the top of his lungs until his throat burned just so Carl could have the chance to find them.

Maybe Carl was dead already. Maybe Carl had turned and was roaming around the scorched land as a walker. Maybe Carl was lost in the flames. Maybe–

“Dad?”

Rick knew that voice.

Rick’s head whipped around almost immediately and took a step forward, his leg threatening to give out underneath him. And then another. And another until Rick was practically dragging his foot behind him in an attempt to run toward the sound of his son’s voice. Running past Tara, past Rosita, past Dwight and Daryl and Judith and the familiar stranger until soon he was face-to-face with the one he had spent the last few minutes completely hell-bent on finding.

Just like that, there sat Carl Grimes with his back against the wall, completely unharmed, giving Rick the tiniest crack of a smile.

Rick couldn’t do anything but laugh at that moment. He felt himself lose all control of his actions as he swiftly dropped to his knees and gathered Carl up in his arms. Rick moved the teenage boy onto his lap and just held him as tightly as his body would allow.

Rick felt like he was the dad he had been a decade ago, long before the dead started roaming the earth. It felt like when Carl was merely five years old again, waking up startled and sobbing from nightmares of a monster under his bed or the Boogeyman chasing him, when he would run into Rick and Lori’s bedroom to seek comfort and safety.

As he held Carl in his arms, Rick felt every memory of his son rushing back to him.

The day Lori had announced to Rick that she was pregnant, and the utter joy and terror that flooded through him as he processed the fact that he would be a father. Holding Carl for the first time, bursting into tears the instant his son grabbed onto his finger with his chubby little fist. Watching Carl take his first steps, listening to Carl say his first word, Rick’s heart overflowing with love.

Celebrating Carl’s first birthday and his first day of school, wondering how his little boy was growing up so fast. Grinning as Carl came home gushing over his first-grade girlfriend, remembering how he ruffled his hair and called him “a little ladies’ man.” The pang of pain that hit as he realized how fast his little boy was growing up and finding who he was.

Glenn taking a chance on Rick and leading him back to the camp that just so happened to be the one protecting Lori and Carl, every emotion he could feel rushing through him as he hugged his son. The day that he had carried Carl to Hershel’s farm after being shot by Otis, horrified he would lose him after just getting him back. The memory of Lori’s death, learning Carl had been the one to shoot his own mother. The night Rick had ripped a man’s throat out to protect his son from the monsters and what they threatened to do to him. The night Carl had been shot for a second time, now in the eye, thinking he would never hear his son call him “dad” again. Every day before, after, and in between Rick remembered as a blessing that he had his son with him.

“Carl…” His voice broke as the tears that he had fought to hold back finally spilled down his cheeks. Rick could feel Carl burying his face into his chest, trembling as he quickly reciprocated his father’s hug. Gently taking off the cowboy hat and placing it to the side, Rick hung his head and pressed his lips to Carl’s hair.

His eyes were shut, trying to savor every ounce of this moment that he could. Rick kissed his son’s head once, then twice, and then after some time he lost count, too focused on the fact that Carl was safe in his arms– all he could ever ask for.

“My boy…” The words softly escaped Rick’s lips as he somehow managed to hold Carl even tighter in his grasp. He had the world, his world, their future in his embrace, and he never wanted to let go again. “My beautiful boy…”

“I love you so much,”

Of course, Carl knew his father loved him, there was never any doubt of that, but it was so rare now to hear Rick say the words. As his tears began to dampen Rick’s shirt, Carl failed to hold back the sob that ripped through his throat; not one of grief or sorrow, but one of joy and relief.

“Love you too, dad,”

#the walking dead #twd #rick grimes #carl grimes #twd fanfiction #twd rick #twd family #andrew lincoln #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #fan fiction #fanfic

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withacapitalp · 2 years ago

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How to Rehabilitate a Jock in Four Months Pt 10

Part One Part Nine Link to ao3 Part Eleven

Finally outlined the entire thing and it's lookin like it's about to be 53 parts.....we're in for the long haul lads TW for internalized homophobia/general period typical homophobia in this chapter. Nothing explicit or like present moment, just Eddie ruminating.

@stevethehairington ty for betaing giving you a kiss and a quiche

Step 10: Dress Him Appropriately

“Eddie, this is getting pathetic,” Gareth sighed with a roll of his eyes. Eddie flipped him the bird and continued to pace back and forth across the trailer, only pausing every few seconds to look up at the clock on the wall.

7:56.

“I wouldn’t call it pathetic per say,” Frank replied, continuing to tune his guitar, “But it’s a little much. Seriously dude, just chill out. Come sit,”

“No thanks,” Eddie bit out, turning on his heel and walking back towards the couch. He hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast, but his stomach felt like it was filled with lead, and the tips of his fingers and toes were all tingly. He looked up again.

7:56. Still.

Was there a way to make time move faster? Maybe Eddie could sell his soul, or invent a time machine? Anything to make the next four minutes pass just a little bit faster.

A soft knock came from the front door and Eddie immediately perked up. He bounded over to the door and flung it open, excited to greet Steve.

Empty open air. A chilly blast of wind rushed past him, making the screen door wave erratically, banging against the side of the trailer. Eddie grabbed it and latched it properly, shutting the door and sheepishly turning around to see the rest of the band smirking at him.

Okay. Maybe he was being a little bit pathetic.

Eddie groaned, forcing himself to sit on the couch. He grabbed a few of his curls and yanked them over his face, trying to ignore the way the others were teasing him.

“I hate you guys,” He mumbled, his cheeks burning dark red.

“Careful with your words, Munson. Better treat us right or we’ll make you sound terrible for your first date,” Jeff said with a chuckle.

“It’s not a date,” Eddie moaned, burying his face in his hands

“No, it’s not,” Gareth snapped.

Eddie’s nerves turned to ash, burning up as irritation raced through his body. He huffed out an annoyed breath, sitting up and pushing his hair away from his face. Gareth was sitting in the chair in the corner, staring moodily at the window with his arms crossed. He had come to the trailer in high spirits, but had immediately turned into a pouty whining brat the second he found out Steve was going to be joining them.

“Okay-” Eddie started, about to launch into what was sure to be a brilliant argument. A loud banging noise from the front door cut them both off.

That was definitely not the wind.

“Well, gentlemen, guess you’ll have to duke it out later,” Frank said as Eddie rushed past him, slamming his knee against the coffee table in his haste to get to the door.

“Ow! I mean- Steve! Hi!” Eddie practically shouted, cringing at his volume and reaching down to clutch at his knee that was screaming in pain.

“Sorry I’m a little late!” Steve said as he stepped in, shivering to ease away the chill from outside. He noticed Eddie’s strange pose and quirked his head, raising his eyebrows.

“Are you…okay?”

“Never better. What's that?” Eddie asked, desperate to change the subject before Steve could investigate any further. The last thing he needed was Steve finding out how Eddie had spent the last twenty minutes staring at the door waiting for him to show up.

God. He really was pathetic

“Oh, my reason for being late,” Steve said, holding up the tupperware and passing it over to Jeff who opened it and pulled out a cookie, “Dustin wanted to learn how to make pignolis before Christmas, so I was teaching him my Noona’s recipe. I brought some as an apology.”

The most delectable scent filled up the trailer, and Eddie’s mouth immediately began to water. The container passed hands in less than a second, and Eddie barely had time to examine the sweet before popping the entire cookie into his mouth.

Holy shit.

This wasn’t fair. This really just was not fair.

Steve couldn’t be hot, nice, and good at baking.

“Jesus H,” Eddie muttered with his mouth still full, crumbs spilling down his shirt. He slapped his hand over his mouth to catch any other morsels that tried to escape.

The outside of the cookie was covered in some kind of crunchy nut, and the inside was the perfect contrast of soft buttery sweetness. Judging by the noises coming from the rest of the band, they were experiencing the same delight he was.

“These are amazing?” Jeff said in shock, staring down at the half bitten pignoli in his hand like he couldn’t quite believe it existed.

“You think so? I just followed a recipe, that’s all. My Noona loved making these,” Steve said, ducking his head down with an embarrassed little smile.

“Noona?” Jeff asked, grabbing another cookie.

“My grandmother. My brother’s first word was ‘Noona’ instead of Nonna, and the rest of the family just kind of followed in his footsteps,” Steve explained, reaching over and picking out his own sweet, “She used to make a huge batch before Christmas, and she swore every single year that they would last until Christmas Eve,”

Steve cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders, hunching down and wagging a finger in Eddie’s direction.

“ Non quest’anno, chiacchierone. Not this year,” He croaked in a terrible old Italian lady impression. It wasn’t the most funny thing in the world, but for some reason Eddie couldn’t stop laughing. Maybe part of it was the fact that he was still reeling from the shock.

Steve bakes?

Steve has a brother?

Steve’s Italian?!

The images Eddie’s mind wanted to conjure up thinking about that were so wrong that he couldn’t do anything except laugh like an escaped asylum patient.

“Guessing that didn’t work out?” Eddie managed to say through his giggles. Steve shook his head, straightening back up.

“Every single year she would have to stay up all night and make a tiny batch, just so we had something to put out for Santa Claus,” Steve said with a fond smile. His eyes were a million miles away, but filled with an affection that was so warm Eddie was burning from the top of his head to the tips of his toes just from looking at him.

“Guess your family never heard of Oreos?” Gareth muttered from where he was still sitting, an untouched cookie sitting on the arm of the chair.

The light around Steve faded ever so lightly, and that beautiful smile became fixed. It wasn’t Steve’s anymore, just another act to keep up appearances. Eddie was trying to be patient with Gareth, he really was, but he couldn’t help the creeping loathing that was starting to crawl up his spine anytime there was another remark made.

“They’re great. Thanks, Steve,” Frank stepped in, cutting through the tension like an expert. He grabbed the last cookie, swatting Eddie’s hand away as he did, “We should make you the band groupie, have you bringing us snacks before every gig,”

“You wish, Nicholson,” Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes and undoing the buttons of his overcoat and revealing his outfit.

“Uh Steve? What are you wearing?” Eddie wondered aloud, as the rest tried to hide their snickers when they caught sight of Steve’s choice for what to wear to a metal show.

Steve looked down at his maroon crew neck sweater with blue jeans and white Nikes, giving Eddie a furrowed brow frown.

“Does this not work?” He asked innocently, his puppy dog eyes dialing up from slightly cute to absolutely irresistible.

The outfit worked for Eddie, that was for sure.

“You’re going to a bar that pretty much exclusively hosts hard rock and metal bands, so no, it doesn’t.” Gareth said, smothering every word with enough disdain that Steve leaned away from him. Even Jeff looked uncomfortable and Frank let out an annoyed sigh at Gareth’s theatrics.

“Come on,” Eddie said impulsively, grabbing Steve’s wrist and giving it a comforting squeeze, “You can borrow some of my stuff,”

He tugged Steve away before there could be any protests, turning around and sticking his tongue out at Gareth as he pulled Steve into the safety of his bedroom.

Eddie babbled on about chains and eyeliner and all sorts of things to distract Steve from the awkwardness of the moment, pushing them both in and slamming the door shut without any fanfare. He didn’t want anyone interrupting them or making things worse.

And then he remembered why they were sitting in the living room instead of in here. There were clothes strewn everywhere, crumpled balls of paper in a perfect ring all around his desk, even a banana peel draped carefully on his lampshade like a fricken cartoon.

Eddie glanced at the clock on his desk as he dashed by it, hoping to get Steve taken care of as quickly as possible. Not just because he was embarrassed by the mess, but also because they were running out of time.

8:13.

Corroded Coffin went on at 10:00. It took about twenty minutes to drive there and an hour fifteen to get everything out of the van and set up. They should have left ten minutes ago just to be safe, but here he was wasting their time trying to find Steve something that would fit.

Eddie hated being late with a passion, but he found that in this moment, he cared a lot more about making sure Steve felt okay than getting to the bar early.

Wasn’t that mildly terrifying? He never put anything before his music, except maybe Wayne.

“Maybe it wasn’t a great idea for me to come,” Steve muttered, interrupting Eddie’s spiraling thoughts. He looked out of place, uncomfortable and even slightly upset by what had just happened.

“Ignore him, he’s always moody before shows,” Eddie said with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

Actually that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Gareth was usually at his happiest right before they went on stage, and normally the two of them would be bouncing around the trailer together like two jumping beans right now, while Jeff and Frank tried to calm down their enthusiasm.

But what Steve didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“Here,” Eddie said, casually tossing over a cut sleeves black top and rooting around in his closet for more.

“A tank top in December?” Steve said dubiously, holding it up in front of him. Eddie poked his head out of the closet and shot Steve a quick grin

“I’ve got plans, don’t you worry,” Eddie replied.

Steve shrugged, and then he just took his shirt off, making Eddie’s brain short circuit.

He just took off his shirt. Right there. Right in front of Eddie. Like there was nothing to it. Like he didn’t have big biceps, and a broad chest, and abs that made Eddie want to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

Steve was just tossing his sweater onto Eddie’s bed like it belonged there, standing in the middle of Eddie’s room half naked with ease. Like it was normal. Like it was fine.

Like he wasn’t at all afraid of Eddie seeing him shirtless.

Eddie had never been coy about who he was, and he knew that most of the school already assumed he was a queer. He never said one way or the other, he didn’t want to give those jackasses the satisfaction of being ‘right’ about him, but it didn’t matter. Once that rumor started, you could go down on a girl in the middle of the cafeteria and it wouldn’t change a damn thing.

The second the word came down, you were permanently burned. It was forever branded on your chest, like the scarlet fucking letter.

Queer.

It wasn’t like he cared much. Eddie was a queer, and proud of it too. He loved kissing boys in dirty back alleys, leaving hickeys carefully where they could always hide them, learning no names and leaving no strings attached. That was fun. That was how it was supposed to be, and he had never cared to try out what everyone else got to have.

Where was the pleasure in sharing a milkshake in the diner, or kissing behind the bleachers at a basketball game? Everyone got to do that.

It wasn’t special. It wasn’t sacred.

Eddie didn’t want it, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of it.

He didn’t care that he was pretty sure the reason he always got F’s in English no matter how hard he tried was because their teacher was a bible thumper.

Eddie didn’t care that most of the boys in his gym class waited until he had left the locker room to start showering. As if he would even be interested in any of them.

He didn’t care that there would never be a chance that Steve would hold his hand in the hallways like he used to with Nancy.

He didn’t care that there was no chance Steve would ever want to hold his hand at all.

Eddie told himself he didn’t care.

“Eds?”

Fuck.

“Are you…alright?” Steve asked hesitantly.

Fuck .

He had been staring straight at Steve the entire time, and now Steve was probably remembering that Eddie was a dirty fucking queer. Somehow he must have forgotten, but he was remembering now, because Eddie had just been ogling at him for god knows how long. Steve was going to cover up and leave right this second, probably throw a couple of slurs behind him just for good measure, and Eddie had no one to blame but himself.

But once again, Steve surprised him.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Hell, he didn’t even cross his arms or try to cover up at all. He was just looking at Eddie with that same soft concern he had when he saved Eddie from falling off the table last week.

Gods be good, this boy was going to ruin him.

“‘M okay,” Eddie murmured, turning away to hide his terrible, terrible blush, “Just lost in thought, sorry,”

“That’s okay, I get spacey all the time at school,” Steve replied with an easy laugh, and Eddie could hear him starting to get dressed, “You should see me in Math class, I look so stupid,”

Eddie hadn’t seen Steve in math class, but he had seen him in History and Biology, so he already knew the face Steve was talking about. The face he would make when he rested his cheek in his open palm and let his eyes slowly droop shut, going from bored to gentle and peaceful.

Eddie would have called it adorable instead of stupid, but he had played with fire enough for tonight.

“The jeans are okay, but here, see if this fits,” Eddie said, getting back to business and throwing Steve one of the black leather jackets he had thrifted in Indianapolis, “What’s your shoe size?”

“12.5 but I can fit into a 12. My mom always says how annoying it is to try and find shoes for me,” Steve answered, shrugging on the jacket.

Eddie had to bite his tongue twice. The first time was because he needed to resist the urge to make a joke about how something else was probably big if Steve’s feet were. The second time was because that jacket looked like it was made for Steve to wear it, and all Eddie wanted to do was tell him to keep it.

“Lucky for you, we’re the same size,” He bit out instead, grabbing a random pair of converse and bringing them over. He would have given Steve boots (and Steve would have looked amazing in them) but this was the time for baby steps.

Steve sat down on the bed and began to lace up the sneakers as Eddie rifled through his drawers looking for any missing touches. He still looked pretty preppy, but some accessories might help that.

“Are you excited for the show?” Eddie asked, needing to keep them talking so his brain wouldn’t drift off back to where it had been falling.

“Yeah! I can’t wait to hear you play,” Steve immediately replied, sitting back up and giving Eddie his world class winning smile complete with twinkling eyes and everything.

“I sing too. I’m the lead,” Eddie added casually, not exactly to impress Steve, but really hoping that it would.

He reached over and grabbed Steve’s left wrist, pulling it close and wrapping one of his spiked leather cuffs around it, stepping back to see the full outfit.

Definitely a huge improvement, Steve wasn’t going to stick out anymore, but there was still something that felt missing. A little touch that would wrap the whole thing in a bow. Something that would undeniably say Steve was there to see him - them. Eddie reached up to fiddle with his necklace as he thought, and the second his fingers tangled in the chain, the lightbulb blinked on.

Oh. Duh.

“Here. Finishing touch,” Eddie said, pulling off his signature guitar pick necklace and putting it around Steve’s neck.

The black swirled with red complimented the dark top perfectly, and the tiny Hellfire devil that he had carved into it was the ultimate symbol.

“All done,” Eddie said.

All Mine , Eddie thought.

“Staking your claim, Babydoll?” Steve teased, playing with the necklace.

It was obviously a joke, but he couldn’t have been more right. The beast in Eddie’s chest that he had been resolutely ignoring this entire time settled down now, happy that there was an obvious marker that Steve belonged to him. That was a dangerous thought to have. A real dangerous thought.

Eddie still loved it.

“Just making sure you won’t stick out quite as badly, Sweetheart,” Eddie said with a crooked little grin, tugging once on the chain and walking to the other side of the room, “Last thing I need is you getting kicked out for being too much of a poser,”

“What a shame that would be,” Steve joked back, standing up and walking into the living room. Eddie followed him in, distractedly glancing up at the clock.

8:36. Corroded Coffin were about to be officially late for the very first time.

Eddie didn’t give a damn.

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