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saltyluminaryvoid · 3 days ago

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Water Like a Stone {4/?}

[Orm Marius x Reader]

Summary: Exiled on land and taken in by Tom Curry at the Lighthouse, Orm is introduced to family friend and Marine Park Ranger Grace, a woman unafraid of swimming with sharks and whose job it is to care for the Amnesty coastline... How is he not to adore her.

Warnings: Language, sexual references, mentions of almost drowning? Reader is named, but it shouldn't come up too often, it just makes it easier to write xxx

Notes: So lets just all agree that the bends don't exist because 1. i find them horrific to think about. end of list xD

Words: 7.1k

“You ready?” you ask, turning back to Orm. he looks beautiful in the water, a thought you’ve never really had before about anyone or anything, but it’s undoubtedly true. You’re not quite sure what it is, but it suits him, his hair slicked back, his skin glistening, his eyes bright. What you like even more, however, is the way he looks at you like you hung the stars, and perhaps, you get an inkling that he liked seeing you in the water too.

“I’ll follow you,” he says. You nod, and quickly dive below the surface, gently pushing Khan aside. He’d joined you the moment your boat had appeared, like he’d been swimming around by the bay waiting. The water off the small pier where you lived, just around the other end of a small shoal to the lighthouse, was too shallow normally speaking for him to get too close, but after you’d put your boat out in the water this afternoon, you’d seen him circling and lapping out a little deeper, and when you’d begun making your way by boat over to the lighthouse at around sunset, he’d joined you.

You’d slowed down to let him bump into you, a sight and feeling that would terrify most people, but you know Khan only wished to say hello, and you’d made a short stop to greet him, petting his head as he dipped it out of the water. You’d been joined by Orm, who hadn't even let you dock yourself, telling you there was no point, before he made a perfect dive into the water and swam out to you.

You dive lower to reach the mouth of the underwater cave, and as you begin to swim forward through the water, you startle just a little at the feeling or Orm appearing right behind you, his hands reaching out to keep your body from connecting with the rocky walls of the cave. It was a feeling you were more than familiar with by now, but his attentive and thoughtfulness makes your chest flutter. You continue moving, swimming forward through the cave.

You stop to glance behind you every so often, making sure Orm is comfortable and keeping up, and you find yourself surprised at how naturally he moves through the water, like he’d swum this cave a million times before. You keep going until the cave seems to stop, at which point you push off the sandy bottom and swim upward until you finally surface at last once more.

Orm surfaces just behind you, and you turn to face him in the water. He’s still looking at you in that way he does, but after a few moments, he lifts his eyes to look up and around at the craggy wet rock and cave walls around you.

“Out of all the caves in the area, this is the one I’ve never told anyone about,” you say, listening to the way your voice echoes slightly around the place. You kick out to float a little on your back, so you can more comfortably look through the gap in the conical ceiling, and up at the fading evening light.

Orm swims over closer to you, staying perfectly steady. After a moment, he moves around to where your head is, and you smile softly as he raises his body to float beneath yours, allowing you to rest your weight on him, your head laying on his chest.

“How did you find it?” he asks quietly, lifting his hands and catching yours where they still sway back and forth through the water. He keeps his hands connected with yours but slowly begins to copy your movements, so you tread the water together.

“My dad had maps upon maps, upon maps when I was little. When he’d go away, I’d spend hours studying them,” you tell him. “This one only seemed to be on some of the oldest ones he had, so when I was around fourteen I convinced him to take me out here, let me dive off the boat and explore. I found it, still here, just forgotten, I guess.”

Orm hums.

You find that you’re actually a little surprised by how much of your weight he’s able to take, and you turn your head a little to look up at him.

“I never realised you were such a strong swimmer?” you say curiously. Orm is already looking at you and he lets out a funny little laugh you’ve never heard before, his lips curling up into a strange smile.

“I spent much of my childhood in the water,” he says softly. “Most of my life, really, I’ve always been a swimmer,” he says.

“Huh, a little like me,” you reply, earning another laugh from him that rumbles through his chest beneath your body, and his smile widens.

“A little,” he says, his eyes sparkling.

“It is beautiful,” Orm says after a moment, though you smile when you look up again and realise he remains staring down at you. He is obvious sometimes, you think, but you also don’t believe for a second that it isn’t on purpose. Everything the man seemed to do was purposeful, deliberate, from the tiniest movements of his body to the words he says, Orm was always in control. You liked that about him, liked that he never hid his intentions.

“Are you speaking of the cave, or about me?” you tease, watching as his lips slip up into an almost sly little grin, and he cranes his neck down, before pressing a kiss to the side of your temple.

“You,” he says, trailing another kiss to the other side of your head, lingering there for several seconds before he pulls back again. “Always you.”

You close your eyes briefly and smile up at him, before you turn over in his arms. He catches you around your middle, and seems to expect when you lean up and kiss him. He leans forward then, pushing you back some, and you almost startle when his hand comes up from your waist and begins fiddling with the tie at the back of your neck.

“Forward,” you tease, barely breaking apart from him. At your words, Orm leans back a little to give you a raised eyebrow.

“When have I ever not been forward with you?” he asks, beginning to tug now at the bow you’d tied your bikini top in. You lift your own eyebrow, and slip your hands down to his shoulders, steadying yourself as you wrap your legs around his middle, and he shifts the hand not currently untying your top to steady you.

“You know I love a man who knows what he wants,” you say, not thinking too hard about the words in that sentence, but Orm doesn’t seem to think too hard about them either, a wicked grin pulling at his features as he finally pulls apart the strings at the back of your neck, trailing his hand down your spine until he reaches the secondary ties. He’s much less patient about these, and pulls them undone quickly.

Your eyebrow raises higher and you cock your head as he refrains from removing his hand from your skin, and slips it toward your front. He leans back in again, pressing a light kiss to the side of your neck, before he pulls your bikini top away completely, tossing it onto the rocks. His lips continuing their path along your jawline, until he reaches your lips again, and you smile.

–

You wake in the middle of the night to a thudding crashing sound downstairs. You sit upright, and your hand moves directly for the bat you keep by your bedside, and you slip slowly out of bed. Grabbing your bat, gifted to you by Tom several years ago when you first moved out to the bay, you creep out of your bedroom, but pause in the hallway. The thudding from downstairs continues, like footsteps and you frown to yourself. They sound too heavy to be any man or woman’s, but you’re certain of the pattern, the steady thud, thud, thud exactly that of someone walking on your downstairs wooden flooring.

Edging toward the landing, you hear that the thudding is joined by a strange wet slop. You peek down to the first floor, but see only shadows, large, ungamely shapes moving about in the bright moonlight, casting odd hulking masses against your walls.

You panic, with proof now that someone is in your house, you rush as quietly as you can back to your bedroom, your heartbeat thumping in your ears wildly as you reach for your phone. You make the mistake of dropping your bat on your bed in order to reach out for the device plugged in at your bedside, pulling up Tom’s contact. You live far enough from the police department in Amnesty that you know contacting Tom will mean help arriving much faster, but you don’t even have time to press dial.

A bag is shoved over your head, and while you’re not usually one for screaming, you let out a blood curtling yelp as something strong and slimy grabs you around your arms, preventing you from striking back at them. You thrash and writhe, and do your best to make yourself as problematic as possible, and strangely, the last thing you think before you’re hit hard in the temple, is that the skin of the person grabbing you feels oddly like Khan.

–

Orm frowns out at the water.

He’d been delivering a coil of rope out to the pier, securing it against one of the posts when he’d spotted it; Khan close by the shallows, swimming quickly back and forth and altogether looking quite flustered. Mimi trails along by his side now, somehow having found herself in the good graces of the shark, though she seemed to be annoying enough that Orm found it necessary to watch carefully, as understandably, every so often Khan seemed to lunge warningly at her. He’d told her all last week that if she wasn’t careful she’d find herself as chow, but as with anything with the irate seal pup, she wouldn’t listen.

“Orm!” Tom’s voice carries from the top of the docks, and the blond whirls quickly in his direction. There was a hint of concern or perhaps panic in the old man’s voice, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, but if he’s honest, it only heightens the odd feeling he’s felt building all day. He’d woken last night, with the same dream he’d been having for days since his and Arthur’s last argument, though this time he’d found he couldn’t quite fall back asleep. With Khan’s odd behaviour, and now Tom’s seeming alarm, his stomach sinks in anticipation.

“Orm, have you heard from Grace today?” Tom ambles down the wooden walkways toward him, though Orm already moves to meet him, and his face falls into a deep frown, and the sinking feeling he’d just experienced roils his stomach even more, turning sickly.

“I have not, why?” he asks, though in his bones he already feels the need to dive for the water, and swim to your abode across the shoal.

“Marine Park Office said she never showed up for work, neither they, myself or her father can get in contact with her… she’s probably just come down with something, but her car’s still parked out front from what I can see,” Tom says worriedly, eyeing Orm up as if he knows the exact panic that sweeps over Orm the moment his words register.

“I will go to her now,” he says quickly, shucking off the thick woolen sweater Tom had insisted he put on before leaving the house this morning. He kicks off his shoes too, just in time for Mimi to plop out of the water and onto the docks, where she immediately goes about attacking them. Orm points to her.

“You stay here,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument, though he’s not so unwise that he believes for even a moment that the pup is truly listening to him, and instead would rather ruin another pair of his boots. Tom bites his lip in worry, but before Orm can give him a parting nod and make for your home, his hand lands on his shoulder, and he secures it firmly, giving a comforting squeeze.

“Orm, she’s likely just not well, don’t go poanicking yourself needlessly,” he says. Orm bristles a little, though he stops himself shrugging off the hand and focuses instead on the good wisdom in his step-father’s words.

“What do I do if she is sick? I know nothing of human illness,” he says breathlessly, trying his best not to allow his worry to enter his voice, but he can’t help it. It’s you, he adores you, and although he’s been assured in recent months that sickness for humans is both common and not always serious, he can’t help but be filled to the brim with anxious, devastaed concern.

Atlantean’s don’t get sick. If they do, they die, and the internment period is often short and brutal. He shakes a little at the thought. He can’t bear the thought of finding you, having you, loving you, and for you to be lost to him to sickness.

Tom squeezes his shoulder once more, turning him away from the water some, and placing his other hand on his shoulder too, holding him upright and seemingly, imparting some kind of calm through him. Surely Tom understands his fears, he’d been with his mother for some time now, both before Orm’s own birth, and for the last several years. His mother certainly would have had similar concerns when she first came to surface.

“If she’s awake, but groggy, let her take the lead, ask her to let you take her temperature. She’ll show you how, and tell you what it means. Listen to her,” he begins, speaking clearly and slow, letting Orm take mental notes of his instructions.

“And if she is not awake? Is that not bad? Human’s should not be unconscious for–”

“–If she’s not awake, call me, use her phone, I’ll come and we’ll take it from there. Don’t panic.”

Orm repeats the words over and over in his head as he dives for the water, swimming as fast as he can through the short distance to the other side of the small harbour, all but leaping out of the water.

His fears of losing you to sickness all but abate immedieatly when he sees the front of your home, the door off its hinges, and large, almost crater-like drag marks flattening and tearing up the lawn, leading down to the water, and his blood immedieatly begins pumping, his anger and rage focusing as he begins to realise what has happened.

He knows he won't find you inside, and although he’s been at peace for many months now, almost a year in total, it's not hard for him to return to that sinister mindset, to piece together what has been done and why. Your unhinged door swings and creaks in the wind, and when he grabs it to steady it, he finds exactly what he knew he would, a notice, and a knife stuck through it.

He doesn’t think about searching the rest of your home, it wouldn’t have been much of a fight. He sees multiple footsteps, despite knowing it would take only one person to have secured you. Orm prays the crater marks dragged across your yard and down to the shore are the signs of some attempts to keep you alive, but his mind darkens and refines itself into a mirror image of the man he had once been, and despite the thought stabbing him painfully in his chest, he can’t count out the possibility that he’ll find you alive and well.

With all he’d done in his past, he thinks it too unlikely he’d be lucky enough. He hates himself deeply, not protecting you, not being there for you, for not telling you his truth while he had the opportunity. And if you were alive, somehow, if the Gods of land and sea saw fit to give him that shining, dazzling hope, then you would likely know by now who he is and what he’s done. There is every chance you would fufill what until now has been his greatest fear, of you rejecting his past and his future, and never wishing to see him again.

Given all that has transpired in the past few minutes, all that he’d found, Orm finds that thought not nearly so frightening anymore. No, if you really were alive, if he could at least save you, he would happily never see you again if you asked it of him. To know you lived, would be enough for him, for the rest of his days.

Orm tears the page from where it’s stuck in place with the knife, scowling at it and letting out a growl as he crumples it in his hands. He regrets everything that had held him back from allowing Arthur to destroy King Fish and the Sunken Citadel. If he had known then…

…Well he supposed he wouldn’t have believed any of it. Wouldn’t have believed he'd come to love a human, to cherish the lives of many humans, to regret his actions in the past beyond a simple understanding of his wrong doings.

He’d been haunted recently by the thought of the wave he’d sent over the east coast of this land, of having almost killed Tom, and he hadn’t yet had the courage to ask where you had been, where your father had been that night. He’s not sure he wants to know, isn’t sure he could bear the answer. Not if it had brought you hardship or heartbreak.

Orm returns to the lighthouse, and all but ignores Tom’s questioning glance as he stalks in through the kitchen door. He throws down the crumpled page on the table, and behind him hears as the parchment is unfurled. Orm doesn’t wait, and he’s glad Tom knows better than to stop him.

When he returns downstairs, he finds Tom waiting for him, his eyes taking in the purple and silver of Orm’s old armour with a resigned understanding. He hasn’t yet placed his mask on, he’ll wait for that, and he hooks it onto his belt as he marches through the living room to meet Tom where he stands.

“Orm…” Tom begins grimly.

“Do not try to stop me, they will pay for what they’ve done, and if she’s… If I cannot recover her–”

Tom cuts him off.

“–I’m not stopping you,” Tom says, taking a few steps forward, and he takes up Orm’s forearm with both his hands. “You bring her back… you will bring her back, they haven’t led you to them for no reason,” Tom reminds him, grounds him. Orm takes a deep breath.

“I’m going to Atlantis first. I need my trident, I know Arthur has it,” he tells the older man firmly. Tom’s eyes widen and he frowns.

“But… everyone will know you’re alive… you’ll be put back in prison!” He argues. Orm shakes his head, and turns his hand over to clasp Tom’s own.

“I don’t care, I will gladly go back to my cell and live out the rest of my days there if it means bringing her home safely. And I need Arthur, if he is willing…”

Tom looks at him knowingly, pursing his lips and nodding mutely.

Orm makes for Atlantis right away. He swims as fast as he can, approaching from the pedestrian gate. He knows he’s recognisable, knows that the guards are alerted and confused upon seeing him. He doesn’t try to hide, he simply requests to be brought before the king, a request that they seem all too eager to grant, and before he knows it, he’s bound and before the throne. He wonders, if this is what Arthur felt like upon his first coming to Atlantis, if the intimidation and pageantry was really necessary in the face of the gandiuer that the throne rooms commands all on its own.

Arthur and he are in a different place now, but regardless, he’s thankful for the privacy that is granted to their conversation when Arthur immedieatly rises from his throne and rushes forward to meet him. Orm sees his brother’s bright eyes look over him questioningly, and as he nears, Arthur demands that his wrist bindings be removed. Orm finds hismelf surprised by only a brief moment of hesitation from the royal guard, who do in fact release him, but he’s not dumb enough to move, waiting for his brother to approach him first.

“Orm? What is this, why are you here… why are you wearing that?” Arthur asks, his voice guarded like he thinks perhaps Orm could have come for something as petty as a challenge for the throne.

“Arthur, brother, I beg of you, return to me my trident,” Orm speaks lowly, knowing a few of the guards may hear, but wishing only to speak to his brother. Arthur’s face flashes with concern and surprise, and he moves in closer, just as Mera appears beside him, her own features worried as she looks him up and down.

“It’s Grace, they’ve taken her to the Sunken Citadel, I need– brother, I need my trident,” Orm’s voice wavers, and he hates hismelf for that weakness in the face of the wrath and fury he knows he is to bring upon King Fish. But he can’t stop it, can’t stop the helplessness he hears in his own words. Mera and Arthur exchange looks, Arthur’s face growing angry and incensed.

“They what?” he demands. Orm lowers his chin somewhat, but does not dare look away from his brother, his king, for even a moment.

“They left a calling card, there were signs they may have prepared some form of containment for her to breath in, but I do not have time for this, please,” his voice shakes even more, and he clamps shut his mouth momentarily as Mera places her hand on Arthur’s arm, and he briefly grants a look over his shoulder at her.

“Arthur,” she begins, but stops herself, clearly her mind going to similair places Orm’s has ever since he first discovered you missing.

“Grace does not have time,” Orm pleads, and with those words Arthur’s mind seems to be made up. He looks up to one of the royal guards and nods, the man swimming off quickly.

Arthur turns fully to Mera, taking up her hands.

“I’ll leave Atlantis with you, I’m not letting Orm go alone,” he says, earning a nod from his wife, who seems happy with this statement. He releases her and turns back to Orm, just as his guard returns, two other men following him, and in their hands each a trident. Orm feels a momentary leap in his heartbeat.

He had decided, some weeks after Tom had taken him in, that he had not wished to ever hold one again. He was changed, he would be changed. His life for so long had been nothing but violence, one fight after another, needless and petty. It had been the way he was raised, to use violence as a means of power, but he had been shown otherwise.

His work at the lighthouse had come to grant him some realisation over his mindset, and even before you had come along, he had seen the power in using his ability, his strength and cunning for more than that. Human’s were weak, their bodies fragile in comparison to his own, but their strength lay elsewhere, in their sticktuitivness and their love for one another, even those they did not know. Orm found this a strange and foreign trait, but he admired it, found value in it, and that is where he had wished to focus his efforts from this point in his life on.

When the trident, his Father’s trident is offered out to him, he hesitates. The idea of taking it up again, even this once, he can’t help but feel as though it will undo all the progress he may have made. But he thinks of you, his memories of you, how scared you must be now, and with one final nod of encouragement from his brother, he wraps his hand around its middle, and takes it up.

–

“So… can you communicate with less mutated sharks– I mean, like, normal regular sharks?” you ask, wiping the sweat from your brow. Your voice echoes around the decently seized diving bell, and you can feel the soundwaves vibrate the glass behind your back as you look up and to the side at the massive, intimidating shark-man who stands guard outside of it. Although advanced in some kind of mutation, his face and head were much the same as other bull sharks you had seen, if not perhaps a little more animated, a little more evolved to display emotion, and currently the emotion being displayed is one of exasperated annoyance.

It’s eye flickers to you, before it seems to let out some kind of sigh you can’t hear (you suppose an exhaling of air isn’t really possible underwater), and he grits his rather sizable and impressive rows of teeth.

“Unless it talks… no…” he grunts back. You hum and nod, though you really wish you had something to take notes with right about now.

It had been a shock at the start, sure, but honestly, with everything else happening in the world right now, with all you were predisposed to believe when it came to stories your father had told you… anthropromorphic shark-men aren’t that big of a pill to swallow. In fact, it wasn’t even just them. You’d seen all sorts of assumedly mutated sea life, and you’d been briefly brought before some creature who called himself ‘King Fish’, though the mutation was far enough advanced that you weren’t even entirely sure what sort of fish he had mutated from.

You suppose it doesn’t matter really, a gangster was a gangster, and although he seemed to know more than he was willing to let on about why you were here, his behaviour was much the same as the million performances of criminal kingpin’s you’d seen on screen before. He was holding you hostage for some reason, intending to draw someone out, though, you have no idea who.

You replay the brief interaction in your mind and frown to yourself. What you’d assumed was a desire to not disclose information had been entirely decided on by yourself, and in fact, you had still been in quite a bit of shock at the time, so you hadn’t really thought to ask too many questions, so taken in by the sights and beings around you. Perhaps, you wonder, he hadn’t intentionally been keeping anything from you at all, perhaps he assumed you knew exactly why you’re here.

You turn to look up at your shark-man guard once more, and see him tense up slightly. You can’t help but smile a little at having gotten on his nerves, even if you were at their mercy, they had kidnapped and imprisoned you, the least they could do for the last six or so hours was answer all of your questions.

“What are you waiting for?” you ask then. This question appears to throw the shark-man off guard a little and he frowns, deigning to actually look at you now.

“What?” he bites out, though unlike some of his answers so far, this is less aggressive and put-upon, more surprised. You turn to look up at him fully.

“What are you waiting for, why am I here?”

The shark-man blinks slowly at you, confusion and disbelief breaking through his features.

“King Fish has unfinished business with your bonded,” he says as if it should be common knowledge. You frown and cock your head.

“My ‘bonded’? What does that mean?” you ask, making the guard adjust his hold on his weapon and roll his eyes.

“Your lover,” he ammends his language, clearly annoyed at having to use such unfamiliar words. You start at that revelation.

“My lover? You mean Orm?” you say slowly. The shark-man lets out an almost snort-sounding laugh.

“Yes,” he says, sounding a little less frustrated now, and a little more smug.

You frown deeper, your mind racing. Were these beings confused or… did Orm truly know them? You had always said he was strange, and while you had discussed a great many things, you had somewhat avoided queries of his past and his childhood… you knew they were painful for him, but how on earth did these pieces of the puzzle even fit together. You’re about to continue your questioning, but you don’t get the chance.

“Thought he could fake his death, that nobody would notice… King Fish didn’t buy it, knew there was more to it… he was right,” he goades. A million more questions fill your mind, but you bypass them to figure out later, instead, you try to keep your captor talking.

“Orm faked his death?” you ask. The shark-man lets out a sharp growling laugh.

“The price King Fish could get for his head… Do you not understand? Do you not know who the man you have bonded with is?!” he asks incredulously, but doesn’t give you the chance to respond.

“Orm Marius was the King of Atlantis, dethroned by his brother–”

“–King of Atlantis?!” you cut in, shakily getting to your feet now, bewildered by the slew of information you were learning. Screw details of these mutated shark’s biology, you can barely believe what you’re hearing.

“King Arthur,” your guard goes on, and by your expression and body language, you can tell he knows this is a shock for you. He appears to enjoy your discomfort, and moves closer to the glass, his mouth stretched in a mean little grin.

“Marius is the first in hundreds of years to be named Ocean Master, tried to wage war on the surface, before King Arthur stopped him, threw him in prison,” he informs you, moving in predatory little laps in front of your viewing window, reminding you of many of the more aggressive specimen of shark you’d seen in the wild, stalking their prey.

“How’d he get out?” Your voice sounds small, but it still echoes around the chamber. Your guard’s grin grows wider.

“King Arthur broke him out, came here and caused a bunch of trouble… It’s why King Fish is gonna get the reward for his head… Can’t do anything about the King of Atlantis, but an escaped convict?” he chortles again.

You try to keep your breathing even as you take in all you’ve been told. Orm had been the King of Atlantis? You’d once called him a fairytale prince, and he was incredibly formal… under any other circumstances finding out he was royalty wouldn’t be that much of a surprise for you, but Atlantis?! And apparently Arthur was its current king? That would make Mera… Mera, who you’d also found slightly strange, but…

You trail off. You don’t know why you’re so inclined to believe, perhaps it was everything you’d seen so far, the fact you were being told all this by an actual shark-man, but you can’t deny the amount of sense it makes. You pace back and forth in the hot, humid diving bell. The air had been getting fairly stale for some time, and despite the tank of oxygen being changed regularly enough so far, it does nothing to abate the heat from your stress, and you’re forced to wipe more sweat from your brow as you think.

You want to interrogate this topic more, both internally, and to the guard who appeared all too willing to tell you all about it, but you can’t. You stop walking and look up at the shark-man who watches you with an interested smug glee.

“You’re fucked, you know that, right?” you ask. Your voice no longer shakes, because if there's one thing through all of this uncertainty that you know for sure, it’s Orm. if he had been some kind of… war mongering ‘Ocean Master’... you don’t even know what that means, but you can take a guess.

Your guard blinks at you, his smile faltering somewhat at your words.

“What?” he growls. You step forward to face him, and lift your chin.

“If you’re telling the truth, then he’ll come for me, and when he comes for me, you’re fucked,” you repeat. You can all but imagine him now, tearing through this place in search of you. You’re reminded of his words about swimming all his life, and the strength he clearly had, the strength that had always dizzied you somewhat, and you wonder how much he had been holding back all this time. No wonder he’d not requested breathing apparatus for your dives to your grotto, no wonder he moved so fluidly and naturally through the water, no wonder he’d been able to take all of your weight and still not struggle.

The water was where he was from, where he was most comfortable, unrestrained.

You grin wickedly at the guard in front of you, who watches you closely now and with no small amount of fury etched into his features, before you defiantly put your back to him and take a seat once more, and clasp your shaking hands together.

–

The air gets thinner, and the oxygen comes less frequently. It’s been some time since you last spoke to anyone, no longer interested or curious about your surroundings. You try not to think too much about what you’d been told, for now simply taking it as fact. You don’t have the energy to waste, not with the lightheadedness that has been controlling your last few hours of containment.

It all becomes too much, and when your eyes start to droop, you force yourself to move, to keep awake. You can’t rest now, if they didn’t change your oxygen again soon, you’d suffocate in your sleep. Leaning heavily on the glass for support, you rise to your feet, doing your best to keep your breathing even as you do, to not use up any excess air.

“Hey!” you call out to the guard who still waits by your tank. He turns to you slightly, distaste clear on his features. It’s a different shark-man now, this one with the features of a Hammerhead, and you hadn’t spoken once to him so far. “I’m running out of air, I need more,” you tell him. Perhaps it was a misunderstanding, afterall, they didn’t appear to need to breathe under the water, they may not understand. The guard grunts.

“No more air,” he says simply, making you balk, and you step nearer to where he stands to the side of the tank.

“What do you mean no more air? Don’t you need me alive? I’ll die,” you warn. Your heartbeat quickens, but you try to force yourself into calmness. The shark-man growls and spins swiftly to face you.

“King Fish has waited long enough. I say he miscalculated your importance to Ocean Master, I say he doesn’t care if you live or die… just a little human toy,” he spits out. The words, either due to your lightheadedness, or their absurdity, mean nothing to you, and you’re about to open your mouth and speak again when the hammerhead in front of you jerks forward, a furious, pained scream echoing out from his mouth as his chest all but explodes open.

You can’t help but yelp at the burst of blood that clouds up the window in front of you, stumbling back and away from the glass as a figure swims into view, armoured hands skewering the entirety of the shark-man through with what appeared to be a silvery white trident, before pulling it out the other side, and kicking the body off the end. You watch terrified as it floats down and out of sight.

You shake as the blood clears and dilutes, and you’re faced with a figure, not a shark-man or any other kind of seemingly mutated creature like most of the beings you’d seen so far, this one appears as any man you’d seen before, in purple and silver scaled armour, and a flared, red-eyed mask.

He pays no mind to the murder he’s just comitted, instead he swims right up to the window, and despite the space forced between you thanks to your cell, you can’t help but back all the way up into the far wall as he places a hand on the glass where you'd just been standing.

“Please, don’t…” you start, though you have no idea what it is you wish to beg of him. It’s unnecessary to plead for anything however, as at your clear and apparent fright, the man rips the mask from his face and you’re met with the uncanny blond hair and blue eyes of Orm.

He stares in at you distraught, and no small amount of disbelief, like he can’t imagine how you’re here. Even still, his face is enough to rid you of any fear, and even the explosion of more violence behind him, a fight breaking out as more figures appear to engage, doesn’t scare you, and you start forward to lean up against the glass again, placing your hand mirroring his own as you let out a relieved and desperate cry.

“Orm!” you say breathlessly, taking him in closer now. He looked halfway between fury and misery, and his eyes refuse to meet your own for several seconds as he too looks you over.

“You are unharmed?” he asks, and despite the sight of him down here at the bottom of the ocean already making some amount of sense to you from what you’ve been told, the fact he speaks to you so clearly, his body totally unaffected by the water obviously filling his lungs, stops you from answering right away, in favour of staring at him awed.

“Grace, you are alright?” he asks again, more desperate this time, shaking you out of your reverie and you quickly nod your reply, stuttering out when you try to speak.

“T-they haven’t changed the oxygen in hours, I’m running out!” you tell him, pointing up at where the oxygen tanks had previously been delivered. Orm doesn’t depart from you too much, his hand staying laid against yours through the glass, though he does move to look.

You can’t help but be reminded of how beautiful he looks in the water, and seeing him now, armoured and armed, and still moving so easily and naturally… he looks otherworldly. He moves like nothing you could have ever imagined from a man… though, you suppose you had to reassess that thought now. He wasn’t human, he couldn’t be.

He looks back at you and his eyes flicker once more over you, like he really, truly can’t believe you’re in front of him, alive. You suppose you might not have believed it either, had your places been reversed. A shark-man comes flying toward him from behind, and your eyes widen, your mouth opening to warn him, but he barely even looks away from you before spinning the trident in his hands out and imapaling the attacker swiftly, flicking his leg out elegantly to boot him off and away, the guard disappearing as he’s thrown forcefully across the room.

When he turns back to you, he almost appears guilty.

“Can you hold on till I get this contraption to the surface?” he questions, returning to his place in front of you once more. You’re briefly distracted by the fight happening behind him, but swing your attention quickly back to him.

“No, I don’t know how far down we are, and I’m running out of air, I need a change in oxygen, or something else, I won’t make it,” you tell him honestly. Truthfully, it was only the shock of his appearance keeping you on your feet now. You’re shaking, and your thoughts roam wildly and floatily. You were going to pass out.

Orm looks at you distraught.

“I don’t know how to do that,” he tells you. It dawns on you suddenly, that he didn't come here expecting to find you alive. He’d come here for revenge. It’s a dark thought, but strangely, it pleases you, that he’d have destroyed this place in your honour. It’s clear to you now though, that he’s not in the state of mind to rescue, though he seems entirely focused on it now, his apparent lack of human-nature is failing him to work out a solution. You take in a small shaky breath.

“I can hold my breath for twelve minutes, if you can get the bell open at the bottom, I’ll use the last of the oxygen in here, but you need to get me topside fast…” you tell him. It’s not the greatest plan, with all the fighting going on around, it puts you at considerably more risk, but your air was running low and thin, and you couldn’t take a chance on him changing the oxygen when neither of you had any idea exactly how this diving bell worked.

Orm’s face firms and he nods.

“I won’t let anything happen to you ever again,” he promises. You nod, but step away and point at the round opening, currently closed, at the bottom of your tank.

“Go slow, the air bubble should hold long enough for me to get out.”

Your heart leaps when he disappears, moving fast and fluidly. You steel yourself as you kneel beside the door, watching as the round wheel begins to turn. You’re anxious as it unfastens, but even as it carefully opens up, and the water sloshes strangely in the hole now beneath you, you see him, his hands reaching up and beckoning you down.

Taking a few moments, you pull in as much air as you possibly can, before you plunge feet first through the water seal. Strong, steady hands immediately catch you, and although you feel the stinging bite of the cold ocean water, you know you can’t react. Orm gathers you up and before you know it, you’re away from the diving bell. His hold is steadfast around you, his weapon seemingly forgotten in favour of cradling you close, and although you’d already spoken with him, it shocks you again slightly as he opens his mouth once more.

“I will be quick, I promise,” he tells you, slightly more muffled now that you listen to him through water and not a bubble of air, but he’s clear enough all the same.

Before you know it, you’re shooting through the water, ascending up, up and up, away from the fighting and away from your captors. You don’t recall exactly when it is you lose consciousness, all you hear as your mind becomes darker is Orm’s voice calling your name.

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saltyluminaryvoid · 3 days ago

Text

The Sinful, The Guilty

incubus!daryl x fem!reader

monster fucking, size difference, stomach bulge, happy halloween!

summary: you get more than you bargained for when stumbling across a spooky basement in a seemingly abandoned cabin. 2.3k

It's an unnecessarily humid day, and although you had planned on covering lots of ground, you can't muster the willpower to bother. Now you're deep in the woods, trying to improve your mediocre hunting skills. You can't even remember the last time you ate fresh meat. But you're also already exhausted. It's too hot, the bugs are relentless, and it seems like a storm is brewing, so you decide to only walk as much as you can handle while searching for shelter.

Cabins this far out were few and far between, but as one appears through the trees after hours of walking, you decide maybe things aren't so bad after all. The interior is dusty and musty, but it's a better shelter than you've had ages. And you can't exactly afford to be picky. A small cot sits in one corner across from a cold fireplace. Lucky, after all.

You spend the next few minutes getting settled, spreading your belongings around, already taking advantage of having such a secluded, safe feeling place to call home for a bit. That's when you suddenly trip over something protruding from under the frayed rug. Which fucking hurts. You start rolling over the worn material, ready to give whatever inanimate object a piece of your damn mind, only to stare wide eyes once you expose a boarded up trapdoor. Immediately, it has you feeling somewhat queasy.

It takes an hour, your knife, and more energy than you'd like to admit to finally pry all the boards off. You hesitate, for the first time despite all the work it took, as an eerie feeling washes over you. This is creepily suspicious; maybe you should mind your own business. In fact, being inside the cabin at all suddenly feels… off. You sit back on your heels, biting your lip anxiously as you stare down at the latch. Just as the idea of leaving grows appealing, light rain starts echoing against the wood roof. Fuck. Okay, well… Guess you're stuck here, and you're absolutely not sleeping without knowing what's hiding underneath. With growing hesitation, you unclip the latch and open the trapdoor.

After dropping from the ladder, you shine your torch over the dark room. It's damp and stagnant inside, and mostly empty except for what appears to be a shrine on the opposite wall. Your gaze sweeps over various items, herbs, bottles, and books before noticing the faded pentacle drawn in chalk. Unintelligible symbols are written around the outside. Some freaky religious shrine wasn't exactly what you expected, although you suppose it's better than a rotting corpse.

You reach over to pick up a weathered book resting over the star, a small, broken cross resting underneath clinks at the movement. The text in the book is in another language you don't understand, seemingly different from the markings on the floor. Despite the initial creepiness, there's something oddly sad about it all. You can't help but wonder what occurred here—was this done after the world fell? An attempt at seeking answers or protection? You place the book down with a heavy sigh and a heavy heart.

The storm has picked up by the time you ascend the ladder. Dark clouds blanket the woods around you. You gaze around the cabin, something in the stale air feels like it's changed, like time has stopped. It's probably just paranoia, but you can't shake the feeling. The rain pours down harder, as if it's trying to soothe you, and you close the trapdoor with a thud.

No, something is definitely wrong. Your eyes flick around the dark cabin, a shiver creeping up your spine. You force it back down, but the feeling of someone watching you remains. The deep shadows of the room have you patting around for your flashlight, but it's not where you left it.

You practically jump out of your skin as lightning cracks overhead, briefly illuminating the tall, winged figure standing in the corner.

What the fuck.

You freeze momentarily before scrambling for your dagger, a habit the apocalypse built into you, only to remember you left it in your damn bag. The glowing outline of whoever—whatever—stains your vision, only disorienting you more.

You lunge for where you think you tossed your bag earlier, desperate for the comforting weight of your blade, but creature must realise what you're doing. A strong grip yanks you back by the ankle, dragging you along the rough floor until it has you pinned underneath its broad body. Pure terror rakes your body, your eyes wide and frantic. It's too dark to see any features on the dark mass above.

“I ain't gonna hurt ya.” The deep voice comes as another surprise, but you're not exacly reassured by it. You aren't sure how long you lay there, panting, until its hold on you eventually loosens. The moment it does, you crawl back until you hit the wall. Your flashlight bumps against your foot, and you snatch it up, quickly shining it towards the creature.

He's… surprisingly human-looking, aside from the horns poking through his hair, black wings stretching behind him, and the long, thin tail. He flinches at the bright light, still slouched on the floor. Then you notice something else, the fact he's completely naked. Breathing suddenly feels difficult again as you have to force your eyes to stay above his waistline because Jesus Christ...

“What are you?” There's a noticeable shake in your voice as you ask. The winged man just looks a little irritated, and if you're purposely bothering him with stupid questions.

“Stop pointing that thing at me,” he ignores your inquiry as he squints.

“Not until you tell me.” You can't help feeling proud about not letting your voice shake this time. Although he hasn't hurt you yet, you still feel on edge.

He just scoffs like you're an idiot. “An incubus, darlin’. You brought me here, remember?” A what? You what?

Your eyes scan over him again, inspecting his inhuman aspects as if trying to confirm. Did you hit your head? Wait, obviously this has something to do with that creepy shrine. There was likely a reason it was boarded up; seems like you found it. Your eyes fall lower, not even really processing where you're looking until you notice him smirking in your peripheral. A blush crawls onto your cheeks; that was not your intention, regardless of whatever this demon guy thinks. “Stop.”

“I ain't done anythin’.” He looks so smug at your unease, your gut coils at the sight—with anxiety, but maybe something else, too.

“You're looking at me like you wanna eat me,” his smirk widening makes you regret ever opening your mouth, “what do you even want?”

“What do I want? You summoned me here.”

“I don't know anything about that, okay?” It's getting increasingly more difficult to keep your eye level appropriate. With the initial fear simmering, you can actually take in how attractive he is—which maybe is a given considering he's a literal sex demon.

“Well that's obvious, haven't had a human pass through in a while. I'm pretty hungry.” You can see the truth to his claim, something sinister swirling within his irises. He chuckles as you get lost in them for a second.

“I don't... I'm not…” You don't even know what to do or say next, torn between the urge to flee and being frozen in place. For now you focus on getting to your feet. “Okay. Shit, fuck, okay… Do you have a name?”

The incubus raises an eyebrow but nods, “Daryl.” Less biblical than you were expecting, but you return his nod. You attempt to reassure yourself; this situation didn't have to be weird or dangerous. But once you close your eyes to take a deep breath, Daryl is nowhere to be seen once you reopen them. Your heart drops into your stomach again as you stumble forward a few steps. Were you actually hallucinating? Maybe you really fell down the ladder and received a nasty head wound. Right as you place the flashlight hesitantly on the table, an arm snakes around your waist, pulling you back into a broad, muscular chest. Your breath hitches, and you tense as one of Daryl's hands firmly grips your chin.

You don't even realise you're whimpering quietly in fear until he shushes you. One of his fingers slides between your lips to rest against your tongue. “Fuck… I'm so hungry,” his voice is a raspy whisper against your ear. “Can ya be a good little girl for me?” Despite your unease, you feel yourself throb at the words. Not that you're to blame. He is an incubus, after all. Nothing wrong with giving in, you tell yourself.

The feeling of his cock pressing against your back makes you bite down slightly on his finger. This was kinda fucked up, if you thought about it for too long. But you were already tempted to throw caution to the wind. Maybe it's curiosity, frustration after being pent up for so long, or maybe he's got some crazy demon powers. Did you even care? His finger presses more firmly against your tongue as his free hand trails upwards, tugging and tearing at your top until he exposes your chest. His tail curls around your thigh, trapping you close. The way his thumb rubs and pinches at your nipples makes you squirm instinctively as his hips grind against yours. He continues until you're aching, desperate for any amount of friction, your knuckles turning white with how hard you're clutching the table in front of you.

Eventually, he removes his finger from your mouth, stepping back only long enough to yank your pants down. He drags the moistened finger over your clit, chuckling gruffly as you buck up against his hand. A strangled gasp escapes your mouth. “Yeah, baby girl, ya like that?” He presses himself against your back again, this time sliding his dick between your squeezed, wet thighs. His length presses hotly against your cunt, and you can practically feel him throbbing against you.

You feel any remaining hesitance crumble, giving way to complete desperation as Daryl fucks your thighs. He's massive, bigger than any human you'd seen. Right as you feel your orgasm building, he pulls away again to drag you towards the small cot in the corner. You nearly trip trying to kick off your pants completely on the way. The incubus practically throws you onto the bed, immediately climbing over you to capture your lips in a messy, heated kiss.

His taste is enchanting, distracting you until you feel the head of his dick push into your entrance. You reluctantly pull away with a whine at the stretch. “W-Wai..t,” but he doesn't stop, only pushing in further as he holds your chin. “I got ya, baby girl.” Your head falls back as he thrusts deeper, pulling drawn out moans from your lips. He grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to your stomach. Your confusion dissipates to disbelief as you feel the outline of his length press against your palm with each thrust. You're surprised you don't come right then and there. “H-Holy shit,” you barely manage to pant out.

“Takin’ it so well, it's like ya made for me,” the incubus grunts out. He buries his head into your neck, his fangs dragging shyly across your sensitive skin, as if he's holding back from hurting you. His grip on your hips is firm, dragging you down in time with his thrusts as they grow rougher. Your own hands slide up his body, exploring his strong chest and large biceps. His horns intrigue you, curiously wrapping your hands around them like they're handles. Daryl grunts in pleasure, pushing against you even more. He holds you down, fucking you hard until you're squeezing around him and coming with a yell. A deep, satisfied sigh leaves your lips as he pulls away. Your body already feels weak from the effort.

Before you can relax fully, a hot wetness slides up your folds. “Daryl!” Your voice quivers with sensitivity. You struggle to sit up on your elbows to look where his head is buried between your thighs. His tongue is precise, lapping up your juices and circling around your clit with practised perfection. It seems he's larger than a human in every aspect. He presses kisses up your stomach to your chest, long tongue sliding over your nipple before reaching your mouth. “Ya taste so good,” he whispers against your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, fingers roaming over his wide shoulders as he kisses you.

His strong arms flip you over without warning, pressing your face into the pillow as he shoves back inside you with a grunt. The cot shakes with force as he ruts against you, his chest pressing against your back. You feel caged, completely at this monster's mercy, and it's the hottest thing you've ever experienced. His wings fall around you like some kind of dark waterfall, and his tail snakes up to press against your clit. And fuck, if it isn't the most intense pleasure you've felt in your life—it's overwhelming. Daryl angles deeper, harder, and your mind completely blanks. His fingers slide into your mouth again, holding your jaw open as he fucks with animalistic thrusts. You come so hard the room spins.

Then you jolt awake, not even remembering falling asleep. The cabin is empty, void of any sign of the incubus. Your eyes scan the room as you struggle to sit up. Every inch of your body aches. An acute tiredness spreading through your limbs. As you glance down at your nakedness, at least you can be sure what happened wasn't your imagination.

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saltyluminaryvoid · 3 days ago

Text

Kinktober '24 Day 9

Request: kinktober request: Mihawk x Zoro x AFAB reader. Mihawk teaches Zoro how to fuck reader. Maybe some dp?

Requested By: @motherofbirbs

WARNINGS: oral (m!/ f! receiving), praise kink, PIV, hair pulling, first time, anal

A/N: now edited

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You want me to what?” you asked, you had heard them perfectly fine the first time, but you needed to make sure they knew what they were asking for. This is not how you expected your day to go. Sure, your shop was always slow in the early hours before the tourists visiting your island woke up, and it wasn’t out of the question that Mihawk would visit you this early, but it was still a strange request.

“I’d like you to, if you consent, be fucked by Roronoa.” Mihawk repeated, in the same plain way he had addressed you the first time. Sure, you and the older swordsman had found your way into each other’s beds in the past and had a quasi-romantic relationship, but that didn’t make the request any less weird.

“And you want this?” you asked looking up at Zoro to confirm the request. The younger swordsmen looked at you with blush-stained cheeks, he nodded in response, before saying, “Erm-yeah, if you’d let me, I want to become the world’s greatest swordsman, which means training here, and there aren’t a lot of options." he said, before blurting out, "Not to say you aren’t a great option, but you and Dracule are already a thing.”

He wasn’t wrong by any means you lived on an island near where Mihawk had set up his residence, the lack of consistent feasible relationships is how you ended up in Mihawk’s bed originally. Your relationship had grown since then, but originally you had a no strings attached relationship where if you were both free for the night and he was in town you’d fuck.

“And you’re okay with sharing?” You asked, glancing at Mihawk.

“I don’t find competing with a virgin, particularly challenging,” Mihawk responded, you nodded he wasn’t wrong there.

“And you’re okay with being with someone older?” you asked looking at the 20-year-old. You were only four years older than him, but it was worth asking.

“I’d prefer it” he answered honestly, “I want to learn how to do it right from someone with standards.”

“Okay,” you said pushing back from your chair at the register and making your way to the front of the store to switch your ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’.

“Where do you want to do this?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at the older swordsman.

“Preferably here. If you’re okay with us being in your home.” He answered, you nodded and began to wordlessly walk to the back of your shop, up the steps to your apartment. You could only hear Zoro walking behind you, but you knew Mihawk was there despite his ability to avoid any creeks in the steps to alert you of his presence. Your upstairs apartment wasn’t anything to write home about, but it was cozy and yours. You had them take off their shoes at the top of the staircase, before entering your home. You had a simple queen-sized bed, that you had made only an hour and a half before when you woke up for the day. The entire room still smelled of lavender from your oil diffuser that had been running all night. You walked halfway to your bed before turning around to address Mihawk.

“Okay, so how are we going to do this?” you asked.

“You’ll be taking the lead with him, while I watch and have him make adjustments.” He explained.

“Alright,” you nodded before addressing the apprentice, “You can leave your swords over there.” You gestured to your kitchen nook and the small two-person table there. Zoro nodded stiffly before hooking his swords on the back of one of the chairs as Mihawk leaned his against the table itself. He moved back in front of you looking down at you, waiting eagerly for your next direction, you smiled up at him. This may actually be fun, you mused to yourself before taking his chin in your delicate hands and tilting his face downwards.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” you ask. He shook his head ‘no’; blush spreading to his ears.

“Alright, lean down,” you prompted, “Good,” you praised him before pressing up on your toes to close the gap between you. You threaded your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down just a bit more to make it easier on you. He allowed you to take the lead as you nipped at his slightly chapped lips and moved your tongue past the opening of his mouth and began to leisurely explore him. He let out a surprised groan at the feeling of your tongue against his that made you smile into the kiss before pulling back,

“Do you think you can do what I just did? If your future partners think similarly to me, they’re gonna assume you will dominate.” You said, Zoro nodded, a look of determination in his eyes; cute you thought to yourself, before he leaned down and captured your lips. You let out a surprised moan as his tongue entered your mouth, while he simultaneously reached for your waist, forcing you to stay put. The kiss was immediately more demanding than you had expected of him, especially with it only being his second kiss. You allowed him to explore for a bit before pressing a hand to his chest and pulling back panting lightly.

“Good,” you nodded, a smile lightly tugged at his lips, you weren’t sure if he knew it but you could see the budding of a praise kink forming before your eyes. “Now for foreplay, have you ever given or gotten head?” you asked tilting your head slightly.

“Head?” he questioned.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you said smiling up at him before turning your attention to Mihawk, “Do you think it would be better for me to go down on him first and then he can go down on me while you show him how to prep me properly?” you asked. He hummed for a moment before nodding.

“Going down on him may make it easier for him to take direction instead of him focusing on himself.” Mihawk agreed. You gently took Zoro’s calloused hand in yours and led him over to your bed. You gently tugged on his shirt before he went to sit down.

“It’ll be a little easier to get your pants off if you pull them down a bit before sitting down.” You directed he nodded pulling both his pants and underwear down in one go to his mid-thighs before taking a seat at the edge of your bed. You paused for a moment as your eyes widened, taking in his cock.

“D-Did I do something wrong?” he questioned nervously.

“Oh, no, you’re fine love, you’re just big.” You answer honestly looking up from his cock to his even more reddened face.

“Is that- is it going to be a problem?” he asked, bashfully.

“No,” you shake your head smiling down at him, “Not if you follow Mihawk’s directions while prepping me.” You moved down between his legs, encouraging him to remove his pants entirely before you looked up at him, your hands perched on his knees, encouraging him to open a bit wider.

“Good boy,” you praised unconsciously, before looking up at him, “I’m going to work my way up your thighs before taking you in my mouth. Say, ‘Marines’ if it’s too much and you need to immediately stop. Later I’ll ask for your color, did Mihawk go over that with you?” you ask, never breaking eye contact.

“Y-yes” he answered, already getting flustered.

“Good,” you nodded, “I know this is your first time doing this, I won’t be mad if you cum too quickly, just let yourself enjoy the stimulation. Okay?”

“Okay,” he nodded, you smiled up at him before kissing and nipping at his muscular thighs. He let out a hiss as you ran your tongue from his base to his tip before sucking the head of his dick into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he gasped, white-knuckling the fabric of your comforter in each hand. His hips stutter as you work your way down his cock, until he bottomed out. You had to bar down his hips with your arm as he instinctually went to start thrusting.

“She likes it when you pull her hair,” Mihawk instructed, “I know it feels good, but don’t thrust into her mouth without warning.”

Zoro nodded, lacing his fingers through your hair; tugging at it lightly when you would go down.

“Fuck, please,” Zoro cried, too lost in the new stimulation to even know what he was asking for.

“It’s okay baby,” you encouraged, pulling yourself off his cock, as you continued to jerk him off, “You’re being such a good boy, you can cum whenever you’d like,”

He moaned one last time, before his hips suddenly thrusted upward, causing you to deep-throat him. You choked for a moment before relaxing your throat and swallowing. He whimpered as you pulled off his cock, falling back against your bed. You gave him a second to recover as you grabbed a condom and lube out of your bedside table.

“Are you ready to return the favor Roronoa?” Mihawk questioned as Zoro came down from his high. He nodded in response, shedding his top, now fully nude.

“Kiss her again, this time stay in charge as you work her clothing off,” Mihawk instructed. Zoro nodded, you placed down what you were holding as Zoro pulled you in for a kiss, which he immediately dominated. He moaned at the taste of his release before rubbing up and down your sides. Without pulling away he unbuttoned your top and eased it off. He then turned his attention to your bottoms; he began to push them down your legs before shoving you back lightly onto your bed. He fully pulled them off you, his eyes locked on your lower lips. You couldn’t help but moan as he worked down your neck kissing a nipping as he went, similar to how you did to his thighs.

“Good, now play with her chest. Her nipples are sensitive, the more you work at them the wetter she’ll become. The wetter she is the easier it will be to prep her later.” Mihawk instructed. You couldn’t help but moan as Zoro sucked your left nipple into his mouth, while simultaneously working at your other with his chilled fingers. You rubbed your thighs together needily as he switched nipples leaving them perked and sensitive. He then kissed down to the top of your mound before waiting for direction.

“Right, now you’re going to go down on her to make sure she’s fully stretched and ready for your cock.” Mihawk began to instruct, "While you don't always have to go down on someone to prep them, I think it would be wise to teach you that as well."

You let out a whine, as Zoro gently pushed your legs apart and over his shoulder. Your pussy now on full display. You let out a shaky breath at the stimulation of his hot breath against your clit,

"Alright start out slow, run a finger down her slit, and gently spread it open. While you may feel inclined to go straight for her clit, you have to work up to that."

"What's a clit?" Zoro asked, spreading you open with his pointer and thumb.

"It's an erogenous zone," Mihawk answered, "Playing with her clit is similar to one stimulating the head of your cock. While it feels amazing, you should be prudent it your use of it as you start out. You don't want her to feel overstimulated. "

Zoro nodded as he gently stroked your inner thigh with his right hand while holding you open with his left.

"Kiss up her thigh, when you reach her pussy you may give her clit a kiss before introducing your fingers." Mihawk directed, "You'll want to ease your fingers into her opening to make sure she's wet and stretched out enough to take you cock. " Zoro nodded as stroked up and down you slit, he pulled a moan from you as he lightly stroked your clit with his tongue before he went to press two of his large fingers into your entrance. Mihawk caught his wrist before he could insert them.

"Be mindful of your size difference; starting out by stretching her with two fingers may cause her to feel displeasure." He explained before glancing up at you. "Darling, would it be okay if I stretched your out anally so that he can practice on your opening?"

You bit your lip and nodded, Mihawk nodded in response before drizzling lube on both his fingers and your back opening.

"Go slow," Mihawk instructed circling you asshole, before slowly thrusting in, "Be mindful of her reaction and let that guide you," Mihawk commented as he showed Zoro how to thrust and angle his fingers for the best reaction. You were a moaning mess as both your asshole and pussy were full and being stimulated.

"Good," Mihawk commented as Zoro worked a second finger in. Following Mihawk's directions you felt a twist in your gut as you could feel there fingers rubbing against each other through your walls.

"Now you can focus on her clit, suck and lick at it while you finger her."

A sharp gasp cut through you as he sucked hard on your clit while simultaneously thrusting in a third finger. Your thighs started to quake as you sat right on the edge of euphoria. You let out a gasp, followed by a moan as Mihawk started to finger you in time with Zoro. You moaned loudly, not caring who would overhear as your island's streets filled with tourist. You came hard clenching around both hands. You were left panting as they both eased their fingers out.

“Once, you’re positive you're ready, you can put on a condom and begin,” Mihawk instructed handing Zoro the package. You sit up from your reclined position and helped Zoro unwrap the condom and how to properly put it on his cock. Once he was ready you fell back into your reclined position, leg spread to accommodate his size.

"Need any help with that Mihawk?" you teased, taking in the sight of his strained cock against his trousers.

"How would you like me?" he asked instead of answering you.

"It'd be a shame to waste all your work prepping my asshole," you reply slyly. Mihawk hummed in return, grabbing a condom for himself, before stripping down.

"Zoro?" you asked, grabbing the apprentice's attention.

"Yes?" he asked, clearly desperate for some stimulation.

"Lay down on your back," you instructed before straddling his abs.

"I'm going to slowly ease down on you is that okay?" you asked, positioning yourself over his cock. He nodded desperately as you slowly bounced, easing yourself down.

"Fuck" you moaned, only Mihawk had ever stretched you out this well. Zoro panted with his head thrown back. You were about to rise to start riding him when you felt Mihawk's cool hand on your shoulder. He held you stationary as he began to thrust in your back entrance. You and Zoro shared a moan. You from the stretch of Mihawk thrusting inside of you; Zoro from the feeling of Mihawk through your walls. You stayed put until the elder swordsman pulled back and started to thrust in. Zoro didn't need any more direction as he gripped onto your hips and started to thrust up into you. All you could do was moan shamelessly as you were jerked around by the two massive men. Zoro, unsurprisingly, met his high first. His grip became bruising as he let go of his release. Mihawk's hand found its way down to you clit, rubbing it in tight circles, causing you to cum next as you fell down to Zoro's chest. You could only whine as Mihawk took what he wanted from you, cumming right before your pleasure would have turned into bitter overstimulation. Mihawk rolled off you to the side as you lay on Zoro's chest trying to catch your breath. Before you knew it the two were redressed and ready to make their departure.

“I’m sorry, I came so fast.” Zoro apologized; a tinge of blush still remaining on his cheeks.

“Don’t worry about it, you honestly lasted longer than I was expecting.” You said, smiling up at him. He smiled in return, you and Mihawk shared a brief kiss before the duo left to continue his training.

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MASTERLIST

Thanks as always for taking the time to read! stay tuned for Professor! Shanks x Student! Reader.

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saltyluminaryvoid · 4 days ago

Text

Another Man's Treasure

Series: One Piece

Chapter: One Shot

Word Count: 2339

Rating: T

Pairing(s): Cross Guild x Reader (YN)

It's Mihawk's week to have you all to himself. You have your traditions. However, that doesn't mean they can't be so rudely interrupted.

A/N: So, yeah...You guys seem to keep liking these things. As long as you do, I'm just going to have to keep cranking them out. At least until you tell me you're sick of them.

Tags: @tavsianus @canyouhearthecoyotes @cheese-it-jr

“YN…” Mihawk liked his alone time. But he liked it with you much more. And there was one thing he loved with you more than anything else in the world. However, he couldn’t seem to find you. It was his week. It was his turn. And yet…Where could you possibly be?

You weren’t intentionally hiding. You were just dragged out against your will. An average Tuesday around the castle. But it also meant Perona having her claws in you. Granted, you loved Perona. She was a sweetheart. But of all times for her to drag you away, now was not the time. It was the start of Mihawk’s week. You two had a tradition. And Perona knew it all too well. But you also knew that dear, sweet Perona was an agent of chaos, no matter whose week it was. It didn’t matter whose week it was. It was always Perona’s week.

“You do know he’s going to kill you, right?” You sat still while Perona had your hands practically pinned down. Because if you weren’t Buggy’s doll, you were hers. And she wanted to try her hand at acrylics. And your hands happened to be available.

“Who, Mihawk?” Perona scoffed, “Please. Look at my cute little face. Like he could hate me for any reason. He can’t be mad at me, YN. I’m me.”

“Someone thinks awfully highly of herself,” you teased her.

“It’s not me being conceded,” Perona assured you, “It’s just fact. Mihawk can’t be mad at me. And if he is, it’s not for long.”

“Damn,” you let her have that one, “Good for you, Perona.”

“And I know he’s going to thank me,” Perona grinned, “I know it’s his week and you better be putting those nails to good use.”

“Perona!”

“You act like I don’t know what goes on behind those closed doors,” she rolled her eyes, “You and Mihawk are the worst. I hear that headboard slamming into the wall.”

“Perona!” Immediately, your cheeks got hot.

“What?” she squeaked, “I’m just saying. I’m proud of you! No need to be such a prude.”

“I’m not…!” You wanted to strangle her. But by some act of the divine, you keep your freshly manicured hands to yourself. Miraculously. You had to admit, though. Perona did a great job for it being her first time, “Thank you, Perona…”

“You’re very welcome, YN,” Perona gave you a little smirk, “Now, those better have Mihawk’s blood on them by the end of the night.”

“Perona!”

“YN!”

“There you are, Darling,” Mihawk walked into Perona’s room, his face scrunching up, “Perona, what the hell were you doing in here?”

“Ask your lady friend,” Perona threw you to the sharks, “She’s the one who got what I did.”

“Perona gave me a mani,” You showed off your new black and silver nails…that Perona wanted blood on, “I think they worked out nicely.”

“Of course, they did,” Mihawk put your hands up to his lips, “They’re on your beautiful hands, treasure. I’d expect nothing less. Now, come with me. You and I have important business to attend to.”

“Lambskin or latex, protection’s the best!” Perona called after you.

“Perona…” Mihawk scolded her. But only for a brief moment. She was right. Mihawk couldn’t be mad at Perona for long. You were impressed.

“You two have fun…” Perona shot you a wink.

“Don’t you listen to a word she says,” Mihawk took you away down the hall. You smelled something sweet, yet a touch earthy, “Perona doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Besides, you know vbetter, don’t you?”

“Of course,” you stood on your toes and kissed Mihawk’s cheek, “We don’t fuck on the first night. You’re much more of a gentleman than that.”

“Obviously.” Mihawk led you through his bedroom and into his bathroom covered in beautiful black marble and mother of pearl. The steam filled the air and you knew what you needed to do. But Mihawk got a little closer, already sliding your shirt off your shoulder. He purred in your ear, “Shall I unwrap my perfect little present?”

“Yes, sir.” You happily insisted. Bathtime with Mihawk was one of your favorite things in the world. You’d get to soak your achy muscles with Mihawk’s chest on your back (and let’s be honest, his lips all over your neck and schoulders). He ate up skin to skin contact with you more than anything. And…well…look at him. Mihawk was a chiseled god. You weren’t going to say no to that.

As he helped you into his giant bathtub, he soon followed you in and made you comfortable. Everything was already there. A bottle of wine (As Mihawk told you, it was up to you whether or not you took it.), pillowy bubbles, and water at the perfect temperature. Not that he didn’t love having you with him in the bathtub, but he also had an ulterior motive. He wasn’t going to let you get into his satin sheets without making sure you were clean first. Even if he had to do it himself. Not that you’d ever tell him no. You both loved the quiet time. You loved the closeness, the warmth. You loved how he loved you. How he showed you just how much he loved you. The soft, gentle touches. You were the only girl in the world in Mihawk’s eyes. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. You loved Crocodile. You loved Buggy. But for this week, you loved Mihawk. And Mihawk alone. Unless someone asked nicely. Nothing could ruin this for either of you.

“OH, HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWKKKKKEYYYYYYYYYYYESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” a man’s voice sang through the halls. One that made Mihawk immediately tense up. It wasn’t Crocodile. It wasn’t Buggy.

“Mihawk?” You looked up at him, a little concerned, “What’s going on?”

“It’s alright, darling,” Mihawk assured you, idly running his fingers down your skin, “If we just stay quiet, he’ll go away.”

“Who is it?” you whispered.

“He’s…” Mihawk sighed out, “Complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that,” Mihawk held you a little tighter, “One of my ghosts coming back to haunt me.”

“But that’s Perona.”

“No, no,” Mihawk shook his head, “Before Perona. Well before Perona. He was…I’ll admit. He was fun for a night or two. But…”

“FOUND YOOOOOOOOOUUU!” That same man from the hall stumbled into the bathroom. Into the sanctuary you shared with Mihawk. Where you were both still very much naked.

“One of us sobered up,” Mihawk rolled his eyes and threw back the rest of his glass of wine, “What the hell do you want? And who even let you in?”

“Buggy did,” that man rolled into the bathtub with the two of you. And it took him a minute to realize you were even there. Once he did, though…That’s when you realized what Mihawk saw in him. Because a man with that level of charm was deadly, “Oh…Hello…A woman? Really, Hawkeyes?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” Mihawk did his best to keep his cool, but it grew more and more difficult by the second, “Get. The fuck. Out of my bathroom.”

“Look at you…” the man cradled your cheek in his palm, no doubt sending Mihawk into an internal rage, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“YN,” You tried not to swoon, but…Between the eyes, the face, the scars over his eye…You couldn’t help yourself.

“YN…” And then…That smile hit you. And you were done. Granted, you knew whose bed you’d be sleeping in for the week, but…This one made a case for himself, “What is that…South Blue?”

“Mmhm…”

“A pretty little southern girl…” he smirked, “Good for you, Mihawk.”

“Yes, yes, I’m very lucky,” Mihawk growled, “Now, get the fuck out of here, Shanks!”

“Alright, alright,” he rolled out of the bathtub, his clothes soaking wet, “So, should I wait in the bedroom, then?”

“If it’s a guest room,” Mihawk scoffed, “I am not sleeping with you, Shanks.”

“Aww, come on…” he slurred, “You know you want to…”

“No,” Mihawk grabbed a towel for you, handing it off with an apologetic look in his eyes, “Why don’t you go to our room? I’ll handle this.”

“Ok.” You wrapped yourself up in your towel and started walking off to the bedroom. Never did you expect to meet any of the Cross Guild’s exes, let alone under these circumstances. Let alone Mihawk’s. At least you knew Mihawk had taste. But there was something more. You didn’t like that look in his eyes. Just because he didn’t say something didn’t mean something didn’t happen with them. You’d never see him so scary. And yet, he seemed so defeated.

After you were dried off, you put on a black silky robe and made yourself comfortable on the bed. Although, the angry and colorful language you heard down the hall wasn’t exactly the comfort you were looking for. But then, it got quiet. Scarily quiet. You weren’t entirely sure if it was because it was over or Mihawk needed to hide a body. But before too long, one word echoed through the castle. It could be heard for miles. You had never heard Mihawk so angry. Then again, you were also involved.

“BUGGY!”

You weren’t sure what was going to happen next. But things went back to their scary quiet again. Before you knew it, Buggy’s head zoomed past your door. Just his head. Nothing else. It just blurred by. Along with Buggy’s yelling accompanying his head’s flight. You being the curious type couldn’t help but peek out at the carnage. No blood, so you took that as a win. That meant Mihawk kept the swords in their sheaths. However, the new black eye coming through Buggy’s makeup was not nearly as victorious.

“You ok, Buggy?” You picked his head up from the floor. What could you say? You took pity on the guy.

“No, I’m not ok!” he squeaked, “My body’s missing.! Your boyfriend just fucking decked me!”

“What happened?” Because you had a feeling that, even though it still broke your heart to see Buggy get hurt, he likely had it coming.

“Apparently, when we have company,” Buggy rolled his eyes, “I’m not supposed to answer the door. I’m not supposed to let them in. Oh, no. We can’t have that. Mr. Broody Pants barely wants us in his castle. God forbid we have anyone else come over. And before SOMEONE was boinking Shanks, that same SOMEONE seems to forget we have history, too.”

“Goddammit, Buggy…” you had been around the Cross Guild long enough. You knew how they ticked. You also appreciated Crocodile staying out of the mess. This was purely a hissy fit between Mihawk and Buggy. And unfortunately, you had to be the referee between them. You had to be the one to call the fight. And on tonight of all special nights. Which sucked even more, “Did you know Mihawk and Shanks had any history before you let him in?”

“Of course, I did,” Buggy scoffed, “I know enough about everyone in this castle to keep myself safe.”

And if that didn’t make your heart ache just a little more, “Even me…?”

“Sorry, doll,” Buggy nestled his head in your shoulder, “An unfortunate nature of the beast.”

“You really think I’d do something so stupid, Buggy?” you started to understand where Mihawk was coming from, “You really think I would betray you? You think I would be the one holding the bloody knife that came out of your back? You think I’m like that to where you’d feel the need to have something over my head?”

“Well…” It was then, Buggy knew just how much he gutted you. How much he hurt you. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to backtrack his way out of it.

“No,” you put your foot down, “You said what you said. You meant what you said. You don’t realize it, Buggy, but you and Mihawk and Crocodile have-”

“Ahem…”

“And Perona…” you didn’t see her floating around, but you knew she was there. You knew she was listening, “You’ve all been like a family to me. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t fuck family over. I can’t believe you’d do something like that…To Mihawk and Crocodile? Yes. Of course, I can see that. All day. I didn’t think you’d bring me into that, too. I thought we were special.”

“And we are,” Buggy insisted, his eyes pleading, “YN…Baby girl…”

“Don’t you fucking baby girl me,” you were not happy. And you had every right to be not happy. It was then, you decided to take a page out of Mihawk’s playbook. And you dropkicked Buggy’s head from one end of the hall to the other.

Although, as Mihawk stuck his head out of the guest room he had tucked Shanks into for the evening (because he wasn’t heartless. Shanks was wasted and needed a place to crash.), he was shocked to see Buggy fly by again, “YN…?”

“What?” You snarled, already fired up from what Buggy had said.

“YN…” Mihawk’s voice took on a much more authoritative tone, “You know better.”

“I’m not in the mood, Mihawk,” you stood your ground, not letting anyone belittle your feelings right now. You knew you had every single right to be as hurt as you were.

“Hey…” Mihawk wrapped his arms around you and let you shake in his embrace, “What happened?”

“Buggy just pissed me off…” You admitted.

“Me, too,” Mihawk scooped you up into his arms and gently kissed your forehead, “How about I bring you back to my room and we can make it ours for the evening? Sound good to you?”

You just nodded, your head rested in Mihawk’s shoulder.

“Good girl,” Mihawk carried you back to bed and put you down as delicate as a newborn baby, “By the way, darling…”

“What?” You started to come down from your fit of rage. Mihawk had that effect on you.

And he simply smiled, “Wonderful kick.”

“Thank you…” And you knew the night could only get better from there.

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saltyluminaryvoid · 4 days ago

Text

Kinktober '24 Day 15

Request: Mihawk x afab Reader (you can choose if you want it be female or gn, I'm fine with both). And I thought bondage, dom Mihawk and sub reader with impact play and sir kink. I thought Mihawk could take readers first anal experience as they were to shy to do it before? If that works for you? If that's too much just say so. (ﾉ▽ﾉ)

Requested By: @nocturnalrorobin

WARNING: Anal Sex, Oral (F! receiving), Tied Up, Spanking, Fingering, Sir Kink, Mirror Sex, Lingerie

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You took a deep breath giving yourself a final once over before you left the bathroom. If your timing was right your lover should be descending down to your captain’s quarters now. You touched up your hair before smiling in the mirror. You were wearing red wine-colored baby doll lingerie. The cups of the bra part and your panties were opaque, while the rest of the outfit was sheer. You felt pretty, which didn’t happen very often in your line of work. As captain, your duties easily outweighed the importance of how you looked or how you felt about your appearance. You normally exclusively wore trousers and a button-up shirt with boots; it was your set default uniform of sorts so that you could focus your attention on more important things. Tonight was different though, it was special, you were going to try anal sex for the first time. It was one of the few first you had left when it came to sex, and you couldn’t think of anyone you’d rather share it with than Mihawk.

You perched yourself on the edge of your made bed. A small whine escaped you as you could feel the butt plug inside of you shift with you as you sat down. You bit your bottom lip as you impatiently waited for your love to arrive. You gave a cursory glance behind you to make sure everything was in place. The lengths of ropes were laid out on the side of the bed, along with a gag, a blindfold, and some high-quality earplugs. You were excited to see which combination of items he would choose to use on you. While there was a world where he used all of the items, it was not very likely.

Your attention snapped back to the door to your cabin as you heard the worn wooden flooring protest against the weight of the person on the other side. Despite knowing he was coming and having this whole scenario planned out you still felt like a deer in the headlights when he opened the door and firmly slammed it shut behind him, his gaze never leaving yours. He reached behind him to click the lock into place, before advancing towards you. You had to crane your neck back to maintain eye contact with his lovely gold eyes.

“My what a pretty little package I have to unwrap,” he said breaking the silence as he gently cupped your face, stroking your jawline with his thumb.

“You did all this for me?” he asked, looking past you to your setup.

“Mhm, Always,” you hummed, unable to look away from his loving gaze. His lips quirked into a small smile before he bent down and settles on his knees between your legs and captures your lips in a sweet kiss. It was a languid and unrushed kiss. You could tell from his composure that he’d be taking his time with you tonight. He ran up and down your thighs with his calloused hands, you whined as he pulled back.

“As lovely as this is,” he started twirling the edge of your garment with his skilled fingers, “I’d love to see your bare. Is that alright with you love?”

“Please,” you whine. Mihawk smirked up at you, he quickly undid the latch between your breasts, before skimming his hands down your sides. Your top slipped off of you as you lifted your hips for Mihawk. He hooked his thumbs around your panties, skillfully tugging them down.

“Perfect,” Mihawk sighed contently, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. He gently pressed on your inner knees to encourage you to spread out for him.

“Good girl,” he praised as the jewel on your butt plug came into view. With gentle hands he slowly eased the plug out, earning a sharp inhale from you once the last bit of the plug was outside of you.

“Everything alright?” he asked, only making you shiver as his hot breath stimulated your clit.

“Fuck, yes Sir~” you moaned as he circled your asshole absentmindedly with his right hand. He began to finger you to check how well you had prepped yourself earlier. He let out a satisfied hum, as he slipped the butt plug back in you. You could only whine as you felt the circle of muscles there stretch around its bulbous tip before, before it settled back inside of you. Mihawk then pressed up on your thighs, pulling you into another kiss he dominated. He gently pushed your shoulder back, until you were lying down. He broke the kiss as he fell back into his position between your thighs. You could feel the tickle of his facial hair as he began to kiss up your thighs, getting closer, and closer to your pussy.

“Sir?” you asked, “What are you-”

“While you’re prepped well, you’re still too tense,” Mihawk answered, “I’m going to make you cum and then check back,”

“Oh, O-Okay,” you respond, you can feel your face heat up as you feel Mihawk’s breath return to your pussy. While it wasn’t unheard of for Mihawk to eat you out, it was rare. He was more likely to only finger you when he was prepping your cunt for his cock.

“Fuck,” you moan as he licks a clean strip from your pussy up to your clit as he began to finger you with his left hand. You panted as his lips sealed around your clit. You knew it was over for you when he began to find a quick tempo while still curling his fingers against your front wall.

“F-Fuck, Sir, fuck, Sir please~” You moaned, on the cusp of your orgasm.

“Go ahead love, cum,” he encouraged, before going back to your clit. You shuddered, before clenching down hard on his fingers. Your thigh slammed against either side of his head, trying to keep him as close as you could to your cunt on a primal level. Your legs shook, as you came hard on his fingers and tongue. You fell limp against the bed as you came down from your high. Mihawk slowly eased his fingers out of your pussy before he once again pulled at the butt plug with his other hand. He hummed to himself now satisfied, as he placed the toy to the side.

“How are you doing love?” he asked as he crawled up onto the bed, hovering over your body.

“Okay,” you nodded, still a bit spacy from your orgasm. He quirked a small smile as he gazed down at you lovingly.

“Are you still okay to continue?” he asked, pushing your hair out of your face with the back of his hand.

“Yeah,” you nodded, mind beginning to clear.

“Okay, I’m going to begin trying you up darling,” Mihawk said, pressing a kiss to your brow. Mihawk slid off of you before he began to pull apart and unwind the red rope to your left. Once he was satisfied, he helped you into position. You were bent chest to the bed, the tops of your thighs pressed flush with your stomach, with your ass up in the air. Mihawk bean to artfully wind and tie the rope around your body. He entered an almost meditative state as he advanced his design. Once satisfied he pressed a kiss to the base of your spine, before slinking off the bed. You crinkle your brow with confusion, before realizing he’s moving your mirror so that it leans up against the door, directly in front of you. Your eyes widened, as you took in your restrained self. While the rope work was lovely, you’d never seen yourself in more of a submissive position. You were completely prone and at Mihawk’s disposal. You clenched around nothing as you had the realization of how you were at his mercy.

You could only hear the noise of him disrobing, as he stood out of both your and the mirror’s sight. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him as reappeared nude behind you.

“Ready love?” he asked, pouring a generous amount of lube on his member and your asshole. You could only whine in response, as he lightly pressed the tip of his cock against your hole. Your eyes widened as he laid down a harsh smack to your ass. Your head jerked upward.

“Darling, I know you’re excited, but I want verbal responses. If you fail to do that, I’ll have to stop. Is that understood?” he asked

“Fuck, Yes Sir.” You said firmly.

“Good,” he praised as he began to shallowly thrust in and out. He fucked a bit more of his cock in your tight hole with each stroke. He moaned loud and unabashed the deeper he got. You both shared a groan as he bottomed out.

“Still doing okay love?” he asked, panting above you staying flush against you to give you more time to accumulate.

“F-Fuck, please Sir,” you begged, making eye contact through the mirror.

“Please, what?” he asked, holding eye contact. His small smirk was ever present on his face.

“Please fuck me,” You whined, desperation clear in your eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite hear you love,” he responded cheekily.

“Fuck-Oh!” you yell as he suddenly started to thrust into you with a demanding rhythm.

“Fuck. Is that what you want baby? You want to cum on Sir’s cock?” he teased, the pace never relenting. You couldn’t help but moan as you were stuck tied up at his mercy. You were close, so fucking close. Mihawk could feel you getting tighter and tighter as you milked his cock.

“Go ahead darling, you earned it.” He moaned, “Such a good girl.”

You seized up the second he gave you permission, moaning shamelessly as he continued to fuck you. You were on the verge of overstimulation until he grabbed your hips in a bruising grip and thrusted into you shooting ropes of cum within you. You panted heavily as you came down. All you could see was the image of your fucked out expression looking back at you. Mihawk immediately started to untie you the second he came down from his high, placing gentle kisses below where each knot rested. He whipped up your excess wetness, before getting you to bed. You snuggled into his chest as he held you, chin resting on the crown of your head.

"I love you," you sigh, contently.

"I love you too darling," he said pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MASTERLIST

A/N: K I'm about a day and 1/2 behind currently, but I'm hoping to catch up soon. Thanks for taking the time to read ^-^ Stay tuned for Jealous! Shanks x AFAB! Reader (hopefully out later today).

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saltyluminaryvoid · 4 days ago

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Dracule Mihawk; Ideal Type Deep Dive

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A/N: this is prolly gonna be setting up some blurbs I do of Mihawk x reader but the reader’s like a loose OC w/some distinctions like backstory/general wardrobe nothing too forceful so readers can still feel like apart of the story but something I’d have fun writing yk so the writing style of this is different than original headcanons, leans more into blurbs

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Think Morticia and Gomez Addams

Mihawk would like someone that matches his dark and aloof aura

Mihawk is rather disengaged and bored of just about everything in life, but his lover is the one thing that he is engrossed by. I’m talking obsession, like a couple that’s too in love with each other that no one else is in the room with them.

Mihawk would be drawn to something with intense, dark features like darker hair and eyes. Sucker for lipstick, any shade of red. Black lipstick is one of his favorites too.

Mihawk would need to be with someone that can hold their own. His partner needs to be able to fight and be strong enough to defend themselves in a majority of scenarios.

Mihawk lives for thrill whether he admits it or not. His partner and him in a wild love chase *chef’s kiss*. Someone who can match his ‘cat and mouse’ energy and be frisky with him. Someone that likes to mess around with him and ignite their relationship. Be that some caresses then a smooth exit out the door or challenging him to something, he’s following you as soon as you’re out of his sight.

Mihawk would love long length dresses. Something that screams regality and empowers his lover and makes them look beautiful.

I see Mihawk as being a sucker for teasing. Your gown has a deep v neck and your cleavage is exposed perfectly? He’s looking. There’s a thigh split in your skirt or dress? He’s looking. Your corset hugs your waist and accentuates your hips. He’s looking and feeling you up. Whisper something in his ear, give him a long moment of intense eye contact, rub your hand along his chest then exit the room. He loves loves loves it!! He loves it all I cannot stress enough he’s transfixed by his lover for life.

Mihawk most likely wouldn’t want someone clingy, but someone obsessed with him. There’s a fine line and it’s easy it blur it. Whining about how he’s been gone from Muggy Kingdom and made you feel kinda lonely might come across as irritating if he heard it too many times. Someone who could keep themselves busy until he returns and grab him by his coat collar and tell him that he spent too much time away from the island is more enticing to him and makes him just as obsessed as his lover. (I really hope that made sense)

Mihawk likes someone that can banter with him too. Someone that can flirt with him whether it’s just them in the room or a whole navy fleet. Someone bold and confident in themselves, that loves themselves maybe a bit too much.

(Literally just imagine a scene with you and Mihawk exchanging flirtatious eye contact while fending off against marines and yall end up right next to each other and just as the last marina drops he grabs ahold of you and whispers another love confession against your lips omfg..)

Mihawk would want someone that is well rounded. Someone who knows the way the world works and has a good brain underneath all their beauty. Someone cunning enough to scam a poor barkeeper out of their berri but compassionate enough to feed the stray cats of the town. Someone that can hold a conversation with him of the best wines or whiskey and defend their favorites against his own.

Someone with manners. Mihawk appreciates couth people that talk with an air of knowledge and slyness and can read through the lines of marine propaganda. Mihawk needs some romance in his relationship, there must be love and trust, not just looks and lust.

Mihawk would pour his whole being into a relationship and needs that to be reciprocated. While he might be nonchalant, he can still be dedicated. People may know of his lover, they may not. He doesn’t really speak upon it but won’t deny it if someone were to bring it up.

Someone that was also a pirate would suit Mihawk. They can handle being away from him for long periods of a time, they can defend themselves and have connections to powerful people (shanks imagine you knew shanks outside of Mihawk’s rivalry with him). He would never entangle with a marine, he has a strong hatred for them because of his past. A civilian that hasn’t led a tumultuous life wouldn’t be best prepared for whatever hardships may come Mihawk and his love’s way.

Someone who knows how to dance!!! Oml imagine dancing with Mihawk and not js white girl dancing I’m talking duo romantic dances. Theres romance, there’s sexual tension, there’s a bond that flows between y’all’s bodies.

Someone with desire in them. Lemme explain, someone that can go a couple months without his help sexually, but craves him so bad when they finally reunite they can have a passionate session once alone. Someone to match his romantic freakiness.

Mihawk would want his partner to have a healthy relationship with sex. Sex is an act of devotion, and whether him and his love engage it 0 or 3 times a day, he wants both of them to enjoy it to the fullest.

Mihawk would prolly want his lover to be morally grey. If he kills someone and you get mad at him for it, yall won’t work out. There are exceptions to this, and he can easily change his ways if that’s what his lover coaxed him to do though. But if he retells how he hunted down Don Kreig’s whole pirate fleet because they awoke him from his nap, he can’t have you try to slap him and give him a lecture on how he’s a heartless murderer (bc he is a heartless murderer).

Mihawk is loyal, and it’s a given he would expect that back. No matter how long yall are apart, no one else should satisfy you in the ways a lover should because trust ain’t no one doing that for him.

Someone who loves food, he’s quite a good cook and frequents the Baratie. The Baratie is well accustomed to serving the two of you on your monthly date (oml I should write a blurb abt Sanji tryna make moves on you while Mihawk watches in amusement looking all smitten or smth lmao).

Mihawk would prefer his lover to have a calm rationale. If his lover starts freaking out and screaming over something inconvenient or starts harsh arguments over miscommunications the relationship is doomed to fail.

Someone that is a gossip lol. Read the news and try to theorize why Alabasta was featured twice and the first time it mentioned the Warlord Crocodile’s casino having a river around it bc it’s Alabasta and it hasn’t been raining there in months apparently. Some fun stuff like that haha.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Mwah 😽

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saltyluminaryvoid · 4 days ago

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OPLA men - I licked it so it's mine

Shanks / Mihawk / Zoro / Sanji x Reader

this is @justnerdystuffs' fault idea with a little twist here and there and it has been sitting in my drafts for ages 🫣

Warnings: implied mutual pining, idiots (all of them), fluff, kissing, implied relationship afterwards and other stuff , height difference, not proofread (I just wanted to finish something finally 😭🤧)

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It's been weeks since you have had a decent meal.

After such a long time, you finally landed on an island with a nice-looking bar where the rest of the crew could celebrate whatever excuse they could come up with for drinking and partying. You couldn't care less at the moment.

You had half the menu ordered, knowing full well some of the guys would join in on the feast whether you invited them or not. And that was fine, really, until they tried to take a bite of your steak. Roux was indeed lucky not to lose a hand.

However, your dearest captain had no such self-preservation instincts. You were on very good terms with the man, Shanks was easy to get along with, but he could be such a child sometimes.

He was sitting right next to you and he moved in the moment you turned your head in the other direction to look at some stunt Yasopp was trying to pull. You turned back just in time at the sound of the fork being stabbed into meat.

You moved fast, but not fast enough. The red-haired manchild took the last piece of your steak and quickly licked it from bottom to top, grinning at you with sauce staining his cheek right from under his scars all the way to his chin.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I licked it so it's mine."

From the other side of the table Ben was watching the scene in morbid fascination, ready to save his captain from certain death once again and he didn't like the sinister grin slowly pulling at your lips.

"Hmm," you leaned closer as Shanks put down the food on his plate, reaching for a napkin to wipe his face before you grabbed his hand, yanked him closer, gripping his chin in your other hand, you slowly licked the sauce off the side of his face before you pulled away and smirked at him as you claimed, "I guess that means you are mine now."

The room turned silent, all eyes on you two, as Shanks regarded you with a strange expression, and Ben stood still right where he jumped up when you launched for the captain, while you just stared at the man before you with slowly widening eyes as you just realised what you have done.

Before you could pull further away, Shanks quickly lifted you from your chair, making it tumble back as he pulled you into his lap with his smile quickly returning but with a new warmth to it, and you already knew you were in trouble before you heard what he had to say.

"Yours, huh?" he asked, cupping your cheek gently as he leaned in impossibly close, playfully nudging your nose with his and whispered, "I think I like the sound of that."

Steak forgotten, the crew's cheering ignored, you kissed the grinning idiot and you could't help but smile into the kiss too.

Ben in the background collapsed back into his chair, grabbed a large bottle of rum, and took a big gulp, already dreading what these two will put him through together.

You didn't know how Shanks convinced the swordsman to stay for the celebration but you were having fun watching your captain get on his nerves and when you saw the opportunity to join in that fun, you just had to do it.

There was no shortage of alcohol but Dracule Mihawk has a certain taste and you knew he would go for the good stuff, so you acted as soon as he got up from his seat from next to Shanks.

You took your time to pour out the remaining wine from the last, almost empty bottle and waited until the warlord got close enough that you could tease him without too many witnesses.

He towered over you somewhat menacingly, slightly raising his eyebrows expectantly as his gaze travelled down to the glass in your hand and back to your face in a meaningful motion. You were not intimidated in the slightest though.

On the contrary, you faked innocence as you mimicked his gesture before locking your gaze with his and letting your lips pull up into a little smirk then you lifted the glass and slowly dragged your tongue around the edge of it.

"I licked it so it's mine." you stated cheerfully and shrugged at his almost unperceivable widened eyes that betrayed his surprise or anger. Definitely disbelief, you decided.

Following a tense silence, a rare smile graced his lips, and you stopped breathing for a moment as he leaned in closer.

"Is that right?" he murmured. His usually bored tone a mix between amusement, mocking and challenge.

Mihawk didn’t wait for your response but took a hold of your chin and smashed his lips against yours just as you gasped, and he took the opportunity to immediately deepen the kiss and lick into your mouth, letting you taste the wine he has been drinking throughout the night and you had no opportunity to sample because you dropped the glass as soon as his lips touched yours.

He didn't seem bothered by the pricey drink going to waste or you knocking down his hat as you desperately reached out and hang onto him by his nape while you tried to keep up with his maddening, passionate, slow, seductive kiss that made you feel like the room was spinning around you.

He pulled away just as abruptly as he started the kiss but he didn't let you go while he regarded you with a smug expression.

"I believe that makes you mine." When you failed to reply, he faked thinking about it for a second, then his smirk returned and he added, “Hmm. Perhaps I’ll have to be more thorough with my claiming.” before capturing your lips again and lifting you up into his arms to take you away somewhere private to make good on his promise.

Luffy claimed most of the food as you sat down, and he did it in the most disgusting but interesting way possible. He stretched his tongue out and licked over all the plates at his half of the table, grinning as he yelled excitedly, "I licked it! So it's mine!"

A moment of horror passed then everyone dug into (the safe part of) the feast. Everyone, except the green haired menace next to you.

Zoro collected both bottles of wine to himself opening them and storing them on his other side, even though he knew that was the only drink you'd find acceptable and it was pretty much all the same to him as long as it had alcohol in it.

He didn't react to you theatrically clearing your throat as you turned to him so you kicked his leg with a force that made him jump up a little.

He looked at you with surprise that quickly turned into annoyance then a wordless challenge. When the silent staredown didn't end with his win he sighed and reached for both bottles, and he extended one of them towards you but pulled back before you could grab it and went to lick over that bottle opening and then the other. Smiling at you in triumph as he said,

"Heard the captain. Rules are rules!"

Huffing at the audacity, you waited until he raised a bottle to his lips and hit the bottom, tipping it so he would spill the wine on himself.

He stood abruptly, making the chair almost fall over as you laughed.

The others' only reaction was a look in your way, they were used to your antics by now, they expected a fight as soon as you sat down beside the ex pirate hunter.

What no one, including you saw coming was your next move. Your eyes followed the droplets of wine dripping down Zoro's neck as he tried to dry his shirt with a napkin. It was all in vain, the fabric was soaked through.

You blinked a few times, trying to gather some sense into you, and obviously failing as you batted away his hands, produced a knife and slit his shirt open in a flash. Then, as you stood up you licked over his toned abdomen and chest, all the way up to his jaw before biting him teasingly there.

He blinked rapidly, taking in a staggering breath as he looked down at you, fixing his gaze on your now wine red lips. You licked them to savour the taste then you took the other bottle, sauntered over to the door and paused, looking back at Zoro with a challenging eyebrow raise before you left.

"Huh," was all he said before he followed you to your room.

You narrowed your eyes at Sanji, eyeing him with growing annoyance as he ate the rare bite-sized food that was gifted to you as the last creation of the chef who the cook obsessed over for the entire week. He moaned and swooned over the taste as you clenched your teeth together, trying to come up with an appropriate revenge.

Sanji looked at you with innocent eyes, smiling sweetly as he ased, "What?"

You looked down at the empty plate pointedly and then back at the thief just in time to see him shrug. "You know the rule, I licked it so it's mine."

Your body moved before you could think it through, grasping his chin with one hand, brushing away his hair from his face and grabbing him by the back of his head with your other hand as you quickly licked the side of his face and pushed him back a little as you stepped back. There, the gesture says.

Waiting for his disgusted reaction, you started to grin, satisfied with your little revenge for now, at least for a moment or so because he didn't react how you thought at all.

He seemed to be frozen in place except for his slowly widening eyes, then he gasped, giggled, and turned to you with a grin, exclaiming loudly that, "I'm yours now, no takebacks!"

You huffed at the ridiculous train of thought and turned to leave but he hugged you from behind, nuzzling into your neck, arms circling around your waist and you couldn't help but smile as you sighed dramatically but placed your hands on his, letting him pull you into an even tighter embrace that you would be trapped in for a while.

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saltyluminaryvoid · 4 days ago

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˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 𝑻𝑶𝑶 𝑪𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑬 | Cillian Murphy

𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 — Are y'all sick of my "ushy gushy" smut yet? LOL. Also ya'll fw this new layout? I fear it's kinda cute and slay...

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 — Cillian's wife and kids are out of town, and your parents are in Italy for the next month, leaving you home alone. What's the harm in getting close and spending some time with your slightly awkward, DILF neighbour?

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 — 3.3k

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 -> 18+ ONLY smut, age gap (unspecified but reader is in college, Cillian is late 40's), cheating on both ends lol, Cillian is married with kids but reader dont give a fuck like ok baddie

𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Cillian watched you in your window from his window, in his home, across from yours. Curiosity gets the best of everyone; sometimes you just wonder what your neighbours get up to.

That’s what Cillian was doing — he was just curious about what the young, beautiful, sweet college student next door was up to. His house faced yours, which meant if you left your curtains open, he could see into your home…but in the year you’ve lived across from him, it’s not like he’d ever seen you do anything except the most mundane things.

Flipping through the pages of your textbook and taking notes, calling your friends on the phone and giggling at something they said, posing adorably for some selfies in your kitchen to send to god knows who or post to god knows where. He didn’t understand it, but it was cute, reminding him of the years so far behind him now.

It was innocent…until it wasn’t.

You moved from your hometown with your parents to Dublin, Ireland a year ago, leaving your life behind and attending college here instead. Cillian talked quite a bit with your parents, hence the whole “neighbours” thing, but he always found you to be sweet…and his wife and kids seemed to think so too.

Last week, you’d mentioned to his wife that your parents were going to Italy for the next month to travel, and he couldn’t help but find himself wondering what you’d do when you were home alone. Probably studying, she seems pretty invested in school, he thought.

It was almost time for his kids to go to sleep, and he could hear his wife talking to them as she got them ready for bed, but he stood in his living room and watched you through your bedroom window. You were giggling on the phone with who he assumed were your friends, and he sighed to himself as he saw your youthful smile. He was reminiscent of his younger years as he watched you.

He observed as you threw your phone down for a second on your bed, before getting up and—

His jaw went slack as he did a double take. You casually started to take your clothes off and tossed them onto the floor of your bedroom, but that’s not what caused him to lose his composure.

His eyes widened and his heart rate accelerated as his blue eyes wandered all over your figure, watching you from the window and unable to look away as he took in the lacy, intricate and extremely sexy lingerie you were wearing under that baggy sweater you had on not even a minute ago.

The see-through lace hugged your body beautifully, and the material allowed him to see your perky breasts through the sheerness of it. He almost choked when you bent over to grab your phone from your bed again, as the lingerie left pretty much nothing to the imagination.

“Fuck,” he mumbled aloud to himself, feeling his cock starting to strain against his pants. This was wrong. Oh, it was so wrong — but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

He watched with a clear hard-on now as you held your phone up, giggling to yourself as you started to pose and take pictures in the lingerie, presumably sending them to some very lucky guy. Who were you sending them to? Who was getting to see your body up close like that? Who—

“Honey?” His wife’s voice cut through his thoughts, and he turned around as she came into the kitchen. He leaned against the island in the middle of his kitchen to hide how hard he was. God bless this kitchen counter, he thought. “What are you looking at? I kept calling you upstairs.”

“Right, erm,” he coughed, clearing his throat and turning around to your window to see you were no longer in your room. It was just an empty, dimly lit bedroom in his view now. “Nothing. Thought I saw a deer or somethin’ in the yard.”

His wife hummed in acknowledgment, clearly unaware that he was just basically participating in some form of voyeurism with the girl next door who was young enough to be his daughter.

“Don’t forget to drop the dog off next door tomorrow at noon,” his wife reminded him, and Cillian’s breath hitched at the reminder.

Fuck. He forgot that his wife and kids were going to visit his wife’s side of the family for the week. He couldn’t go due to a conflict in his work schedule, but he was going to drive them there and pick them up the following week. He also forgot that his wife asked you to watch Scout, the dog, for the day while he drove them up there.

“Cillian?” His wife asked as she looked at him with a raised brow. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, I heard you,” he said as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’ll bring Scout over at noon tomorrow.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You’d just tossed on your most cozy oversized sweater and some short-shorts as you headed downstairs, hearing knocking at your front door. As you swung the front door open, you saw Cillian standing there with Scout, who started to wag his tail happily.

“Hey,” you smiled at him before you started petting Scout. “And hello to you too, Scout!”

As you took the leash from Cillian, he looked flustered as he swallowed, giving you a small smile. “Thank you again for watching him.”

“Oh, it’s really no issue!” You assured him with a friendly smile. “I’m home all day studying anyways, and my parents are out of town for the next month. I could use the company — plus, me and Scout are best buds anyways.”

Scout barked happily, and you continued to give him a few more pats. Cillian couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander back to last night; the image of you in your sexy, lace lingerie was still fresh in his mind. He cleared his throat, “Well, I’ll come and swing by around 6 to pick him up. Not too late, is it?”

“Gosh, not at all,” you giggled, letting Scout roam through your home as you started to close the door slightly. “I’ll be up late studying so…”

“Thanks again,” Cillian said, waving goodbye to you as you shut the door softly.

Later on that day, once Cillian returned home after dropping his wife and kids off at his mother-in-law's house, he knocked on your front door once more to pick Scout up.

You opened the door and smiled sweetly as soon as you saw him, “Hi, Cillian! How was the drive?” Your voice gave him butterflies, and he knew it was wrong, but after seeing you and what you got up to after dark, he couldn’t help it.

“Ah, it was good — boring,” he joked, his smooth, Irish accent making you blush a bit as you handed him Scout’s leash, to which he handed you something as well.

He handed you an iced coffee with a warm smile, “Here — just a little thank you for watching Scout. I remember you saying iced coffee was your favourite a while back, plus you mentioned you’d be studying all night…”

“You didn’t have to do that!” You said sweetly, returning his warm smile, and taking the coffee from him. “But thank you, I could definitely use the caffeine.”

You waved him off as he left with Scout and closed the front door behind you. As you got back to your kitchen, you felt yourself getting giddy for some reason after your interaction with him, though you tried to push it aside. He was just your much older, super attractive, neighbour — oh, and he was married with kids.

You shook the thoughts out of your head as you placed the coffee down on your kitchen counter, suddenly noticing some scribbled letters on the side of the clear, plastic coffee cup. When you spun it around, you saw a handwritten message on it, and your heart stopped for a split second.

Thank you, pretty girl :)

You blinked a few times as you stared at it. Your eyes lingered on the handwriting, momentarily caught off guard. Was he just being friendly or was there an ulterior motive behind it?

The following day, you returned home from your classes, and as you got out of your car, you noticed Cillian coincidentally unlocking the front door to his house with some grocery bags in hand. He glanced up as he pushed open his front door and saw you, a friendly smile crossed his expression.

“Following me home?” He teased, and you giggled whilst you shook your head, textbooks in hand.

“I mean, if I was following you, I’d definitely be trying to sneak a peek at what you’re cooking for dinner.”

Seizing the moment, he decided to just be bold with it. “Yeah? Why don’t you come over then?”

“…What, like right now?”

“You can tell me all about your classes while I cook dinner,” he replied innocently as you walked over to his front door. His words made you feel awfully juvenile…and excruciatingly hot and bothered.

As you got comfortable in his kitchen, he unpacked the groceries and you sat on a barstool against his counter, watching the way his t-shirt was ever so slightly too tight against his arms and chest, showing his muscles off.

“Make yourself comfortable. How does pasta sound?”

“My favourite,” you giggled. “...So, do you always invite your neighbours over to help with dinner or am I just special?”

Cillian glanced over his shoulder as he prepped the ingredients. “You’re definitely special. I’m not usually this straightforward, but something about you…” He trailed off and the unspoken tension lingered in the air.

“Speaking of being ‘straightforward’ — I have to ask about that coffee from yesterday.”

“Oh? What about it?” He feigned innocence.

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice the cute note on the cup. ‘Thank you, pretty girl’? It definitely caught my attention...”

“I’m glad it did,” he chuckled before pausing for a moment. “…I meant it, though. You’re very pretty.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, and he turned back to look at you again, his blue eyes making your breath hitch. “I– well, thanks,” you laughed thinly with a blush. “Sorry–I just didn’t expect you to think…I just…”

His gaze continued to linger on you as his expression softened. “I hardly think you find this surprising considering you must get guys chasing after you all the time,” he said as he took a step closer to you. “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve…noticed you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you sensed some weight behind his words. “Oh? Noticed me how?”

Cillian hesitated for a beat before he decided to push the boundaries, seeing how far this could go. How far you would allow him to take it. “I saw you the other night, through your window. Taking those pictures…”

You went wide-eyed as you let his words sink in. “You were watching me through my window?!” Your voice came out in a shocked whisper, and he bit his lip shamelessly.

“I didn’t mean to at first–” he choked out in an attempt to defend his behaviour. “But once I saw you I couldn’t look away…”

You paused, and the silence hung heavy in the air before you spoke up.

“Well, if you’re that curious, I could always show you the pictures. Or…” You swallowed as you looked at him, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I could just show what’s underneath my clothes right now...”

His eyes went wide and he got closer to you, hesitantly reaching his arm around your waist as he pulled you into him. His eyes darkened, breath catching on your words. He hesitated, clearly torn morally. “You know I’m married…” he whispered, but it seemed like he was attempting to remind himself that rather than telling you.

“Right…and I was sending those pictures to my boyfriend,” you casually replied.

Cillian’s eyes flashed with something dark, a mixture of surprise and unspoken jealousy. His resolve broke completely, unable to hold back anymore. There was no point in pretending to resist now, and he let out a sigh as he cupped your face.

“So, we’re both breaking a few rules then?”

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you looked up at him far too innocently for what was happening right now. “You know what they say about rules,” you whispered. “They’re meant to be broken.”

Cillian suddenly closed the gap between you two, kissing you with a hunger that felt insatiable. His hands came to pull you right up against him, and you gasped into the kiss when you could feel how hard he was already. He’d barely even touched you.

You kissed him back with a hunger that surprised you both, and your hands came to clutch onto his shirt. He backed you into the countertop, which started to dig into your back, but that was the last thing on your mind — him fucking you being the first. You continued to kiss each other feverishly until neither of you could stand the build-up anymore.

Between sloppy, dirty, messy kisses and wandering hands all over one another’s bodies, he started to undress you right in the middle of his kitchen. You only hoped your other neighbours weren’t as “curious” as he was and god forbid they looked through his kitchen windows as he ran his warm hands all over you at this very moment.

“Shit,” he choked out when your clothes hit the floor, revealing some rather racy lingerie underneath. “Are you tryna’ kill me?”

“Am I getting you all worked up?” You teased, as you ran your hands against his chest. “You know I’m young enough to be your daughter, right?”

“C’mon, baby,” he groaned, tilting his head back as you cupped his cock through his jeans. “That shouldn’t turn me on but, fuck, you keep talkin’ like that and I’m not gonna last…”

“We haven’t even fucked yet,” you giggled, pulling him in for another kiss. “Do me a favour — try not to give yourself a heart attack when you put it in, okay old man?”

“Shut up,” he scoffed a laugh before kissing you passionately again. His hands snaked behind you, unclasping your sheer, lacy bra before it fell to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your matching panties. In retaliation, you got him out of his shirt before he turned you around and pressed you against the cold marble of his kitchen counter.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbled as he gave your ass a light slap, causing you to moan. He slowly pulled your panties down from behind you, letting out a groan as he took in the sight of your drooling cunt, all soaked and ready for him to fuck.

He hoisted one of your legs up onto the kitchen counter and placed one of his hands on your hips. You heard his belt being unbuckled and his jeans being unzipped as he pulled his throbbing cock out, the tip flushed and leaking. He inhaled sharply as he pumped his cock a few times with his hand, before running his fingers through your dripping folds.

“Look at that,” he cooed by your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “All soaked and ready for this cock, yeah?”

“Fuck,” you sighed, feeling him poke your entrance with the tip of his cock. “Need you inside of me, please.”

“Yeah, I bet, baby,” he said softly before pushing himself into you fully with one swift, long thrust. You let out a strangled noise at how he stretched the walls of your cunt and he moaned as his hands found purchase on your hips. Cillian wasted no time as he started to rock his hips back and forth, his thick cock going in and out of your wet, warm hole with ease.

He watched in awe as he looked down at his cock disappearing into your pussy, all warm, tight, and wet for him. “You’re so– fuck, baby. God, you’re so much tighter than my wife.”

“Oh my god,” you whined, his words only making you wetter as you heard your pussy making those squelching sounds. “A-am I?”

“Fuck, yeah you are,” he agreed, ramming into you faster now. You let out choked moans as you felt him pound his thick cock into your cunt, the tip of him reaching the deepest places inside of you. “Takin’ my cock like a good little girl, aren’t ya honey?”

“M–hmmm,” you mindlessly babbled, cock-drunk on his thickness. “Your good little girl…”

“That’s right,” he purred, slamming himself as hard as he possibly could into you. “You’re my fuckin’ girl.”

“Yeah…” You sighed, your body going slack as you tightened up around him. You hadn’t realized how close you were, and his arms came to wrap around your chest, pulling you against him as he rammed himself up into you deeper. Your head went slack too as you let it fall back against his shoulders.

“Gonna come?” He cooed softly as he noticed how fucked out you were starting to get. “Can you be a good girl and come on my cock for me?”

“Mmm,” you groaned as you saw stars, creaming his thick cock as you shut your eyes and continued to let him pound you senseless through your orgasm. “I’m…I–”

“And what was that earlier about me being old?” He joked as you failed to formulate a proper sentence, feeling himself about to come with you as he watched your mind go blank from his cock in your dripping, slick cunt. “Yeah, fuck — tightest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever felt.”

Cillian felt himself pour his warm cum into your worn-out cunt, and he rested his head on your shoulder as he gave you a few more lazy thrusts from behind, still holding onto you tightly. The two of you were silent as you caught your breath in his kitchen, your body continuously being pressed up against his as he stayed buried deep inside of your hole.

After a solid few minutes, he finally pulled out gently, making you whine. “Hang on, honey,” he said softly, placing a gentle kiss behind your ear. “Let me get a cloth.” He grabbed a towel from a kitchen drawer as his cum ran down your leg and dripped out of your cunt, before wiping it up gently.

As he cleaned you up, he turned you around and you got lost in his hypnotizing blue eyes again. He laughed under his breath, cupping your face with his hands. “You’re so pretty,” he breathed, taking in your youth, your beauty and…you. All of you. “Just…beautiful.”

You blushed, smiling up at him dopily with a sigh as you leaned into his touch. For a moment, the silence between you was comfortable, but there was an undeniable weight to it. His eyes said something…unspoken.

He let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I’ll…I’ll figure something out,” he murmured, voice steady with emotion. “About my marriage. About us. About everything”

“Cillian,” you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “You don’t have to–”

He shook his head, his thumb still brushing against your cheek. “I do because we’re already too close,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “Too close to go back, too close to pretend this doesn’t matter.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat at his words, your heart beating much faster now. He softly bumped his nose against yours as he left a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. “We’ve already crossed the line, crossed every boundary,” he whispered.

“But your family—” You started, the weight of reality pressing in. You could easily break things off with your boyfriend, but he had much more at stake than you did.

He cut you off gently, his gaze soft but unwavering. “I know what I’m risking, but I can’t pretend this doesn’t matter. You matter to me,” he paused in thought before he pulled you in again, tangling his hands in your tussled hair. “Like you said; rules are meant to be broken. If we’ve already broken every rule, then what else do we have to lose?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

𝑇𝐴𝐺𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇

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saltyluminaryvoid · 5 days ago

Text

Romancer

Aemond Targaryen x Wife

Summary: During King Aegon II tumultuous coronation, Aemond’s wife becomes the first casualty of the Targaryen civil war. The young prince’s grief drives him to Flea Bottom, where he meets a mysterious Qartheen necromancer, who promises to bring his love back. But as with any sorcery, there is a price to pay; with each of Aemond’s touches, she slowly rots away.

Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, death, violence, sorcery, necromancy, angst, longing, smut

A/N: Happy Halloween! 🖤

Word count: 4200

‘Twas but a fleeting instance.

A dragon, the Red Queen, and her traitorous rider burst through the floors of King Aegon II’s coronation.

Chaos followed. Shrill voices begging for mercy, children weeping, sobbed ramblings closer to nonsense than prayers.

Prince Aemond, whose seeing eye had been fixed on his wife before the tumultuous entrance of Rhaenys Targaryen, steps to the side to protect his sister from Meleys’ wrath.

When their cowardice wins, and the dragon and her rider leaves, his seeing eye falls back to where he had last seen his beloved.

Only now, he cannot find her.

As members of the King’s guard swarm around the royal family to protect them, a futile gesture far overdue, Aemond pushes between them to rush down the steps of the elevated platform made for the Targaryens to bask in the admiring gazes of their people.

She couldn't have left, she was here just moments ago.

His eye is frantic as it searches the soot-covered ruins around him. His silvery hair whips to the side as he desperately jerks his head from one side to another. Then, he catches sight of her hair.

She lies on the ground, pushed down by large stones crushing her body.

Aemond hauls them off with a strength bestowed upon him by his despair. A sob leaves his throat as he pulls her into his arms, gently stroking her hair, burying his face there and inhaling the dust decorating it.

He holds her until the heat of her body leaves her. Until she’s cold as ice in his grip. Stiff and strange.

Only once does he glance down at her, and to his horror, she’s changed. It’s not her anymore.

The soft cheeks he used to trace his fingers down are now hollow. Her skin is discoloured, and her eyes lifeless. Almost white, like the soul has left them and in its wake, a mist settles over the grave that once was a loving gaze.

Prince Aemond sits like that, with her lifeless, rigid body in his arms, for too long.

He cannot tell how many hours have passed, but he knows that he has lost a day when the sun appears, and disappears. It feels like an eternity trapped in the blink of an eye.

No one dares approach him. They know that the fiery prince will show no mercy to whoever chooses to disturb his mourning.

So he’s left alone in his devastation, until he cannot bear it any longer.

His fingers are blue from the cold air enveloping him in an embrace so chilling, it rattles his bones.

His love has also turned impossibly cold in his hold. Colder than the freezing, blue burn of a dragon’s flame.

When he can no longer withstand the chill, he finally stands. His legs almost give in and every inch of his body hurts. Still, he persists, never letting his love fall to the ground as he keeps a secure hold around her.

She is heavier than anything he’s ever carried before. He knows her, and this is not her. How many times had he not lifted her onto their bed? Pulled her in his lap? This sack of flesh weighs far more than she ever did, and yet he cannot let go. So he persits, and carries her to their chambers, sacrificing his own aching limbs in the process.

When he thinks he might pass out from the effort, he reaches their marital bed, and lays her on top of it.

Tenderly, he places her arms on her stomach, brushes her hair from her face, and closes her eyes.

She’s merely sleeping, nothing more. Nothing permanent, nothing everlasting.

Soon, she’ll open her eyes, look up at him, and give him a smile that melts his heart. Until then, he carefully places a quilt over her, and lies down next to her to find sleep, as husband and wife, just like so many nights before.

He finds slumber next to her, if only for a few hours. By the hour of the wolf, he’s once again awake, laying on his back, staring at the intricate carvings in the wooden canopy above him. In a moment of weakness, he reaches for her hand to hold, but when his touch is met by freezing cold fingers, he winches and quickly lets go, instead placing his hand on her stomach, covered by the quilt he’d placed over her.

His mind is too restless to let him find slumber. One hundred ideas, possible scenarios, flash in his mind. Thoughts of how to fix this; how to undo this, won’t let him rest.

The Seven say that death is final, but is that truly the case? Surely, in Old Valyria, where dragons roamed free and the practitioners of the dark arts ruled, warlocks would not be content with leaving death to the Gods?

Another day passes by as Aemond is deeply submerged in his own contemplation.

This cannot be the end of her; of their life together. His dear wife. His one true ally. The sweet mother of their future heirs. She is not gone. She cannot be.

By next daybreak, an idea from his latent mind floats into his consciousness, and causes the troubled prince to finally see clearly.

Necromancy. The art of bringing back the dead.

Fuelled by the fire of determination set ablaze within his chest, Aemond reluctantly leaves his lover's side, throws on a cloak, and orders a member of the King’s Guard to guard the door to his chambers with his life.

Before he leaves, Aemond throws one last glance at his wife’s lifeless form, and kneels by their bed, pressing a chaste kiss against her cheek. ‘Tis cold and stiff, as he should have expected. Still, his heart breaks when his lips are not met by the warmth he so wishes would still flow within her.

“I will bring you a cure”, he promises next to her ear, and ventures out into the dark, bustling streets of King’s Landing.

Flea Bottom is as he remembers.

Filthy and depraved.

The mere smell of the streets corrodes the insides of his nostrils, air so thick with stench from pigsties and tanneries the prince buries his nose inside his hood and breathes through his mouth.

Around each corner of the dilapidated buildings lurks another distraction; whores beckoning him into their lairs, conmen trying to trick him into buying false treasures.

‘Tis not a place for the educated. Nor is it for the devoted. Flea Bottom is reserved for the lowest of men; the ones who revel in debauchery and make a living of their falsehood.

With the help of a few silver stags, Aemond manages to navigate the dirt-filled cobblestones of King’s Landing’s foulest corner. By the hour of the eel, he’s directed towards a short, stocky man with small eyes obscured by thick, bushy eyebrows.

At last, he has found what he’s looking for;

A foreign man familiar with the dark arts.

He smiles when the prince tells him of the task, cold yet amused, resembling a serpent,

“There is always a price to pay, my prince. What are you willing to sacrifice?”

“Anything”

“What if the sacrifice is your own selfishness?”

Aemond does not need convincing. He has already made up his mind. Without her, warm and comforting and breathing in his arms, he is willing to offer the sorcerer anything. The strange man inspects him with beady eyes that shine in the fire dancing against the stoney walls,

“10 gold dragons. And I will restore your lady once more”

In the shadows of the night, Prince Aemond brings the warlock into his chambers.

The mysterious man does not ask for much in order to perform his sorcery.

He orders a servant to bring him boiling water, sage, dirt from the courtyard, and a small vessel.

The staff of the Red Keep work quickly, and when he has all he requires, he pulls out a short, thin dagger from the inside of his pocket, and hands it to his prince,

“A drop of your blood, your grace”

Aemond complies, and slashes the tip of his ring finger with the small blade. The warlock catches his blood with the vessel and proceeds to the bed, cutting the skin of the prince’s wife as well, mixing her blood with his. He adds the soil of their land, smoke of burnt sage, and water to his concoction before working his fingers into her mouth to force it open, and pours the brew down her throat.

Nothing happens.

Quietly, he leaves her bed to wash his hands in the basin by the hearth. He does not seem displeased by the fact that his magic did not work, or frightened by the dragon prince observing him closely.

Aemond inhales, ready to have the deceitful bastard executed, flames of anger dancing within his blood from the humiliating disappointment of trusting a common conman.

But just as he’s about to unleash his fury, he hears it.

A sigh, quiet as a whisper in the room, yet loud as thunder in the young prince’s ears, floats from their bed to where he stands. He whips his head so quickly to the side his neck hurts, and hurriedly walks towards where she lies, still with her eyes closed and in the same position he had left her in.

He carefully brings his hand out, shaking like the leaves of a tree caught in a storm. His eyes cannot see her clearly, unshed tears becoming a veil of relief over his eye. His hand gently grabs hers, and despite her still cold skin, he feels it, the drum of her heart, dancing in her chest and sending waves of thuds through her body. He leans in closer, wanting to whisper a greeting against her soft skin, yet is disturbed by the presence behind him he had nearly forgotten,

“We have not yet discussed the price, your grace”

Aemond leans back and turns to face the sorcerer. He wears the same wicked smirk as before, as if the prince’s despair amuses him.

Disgusting creature.

“You have your gold. You are dismissed”

“Oh, but that is not the price the Gods wish to see, my prince”, he says with a sickly sweet gleefulness that chills Aemond’s bones,

“Witchcraft angers the Gods. It mocks them. I told you your selfishness will be the price you pay, and They have agreed”

“What do you speak of? Spit it out”

His smirk widens, “Release her hand”

Aemond gently lets go of her, and watches as a bruise blossoms forth from underneath the delicate skin of her wrist.

“With each touch, she moves closer to the Stranger once more. You may have her by your side, but you cannot indulge in her”

Frozen in place, the prince does not answer. What will become of his life if he is not allowed to touch his beloved? Being beside her, yet so far away.

The man forces Aemond out of his thoughts,

“Will you settle for that, my prince? Being tempted by her every day, until you draw your last breath?”

“If that is the price the Gods wish to be paid”

“Hm. And you are content with a life without heirs? Without a bedmate? Or will you look for that elsewhere? Have another bed your wife, claim the offspring as your own?”

The question turns Aemond’s stomach.

“Watch your tongue, warlock. Or I will take it”

His icy voice does nothing but amuse the man further, whose lips draw even taunter as he feigns regret with a courteous nod,

“Forgive me, your grace. I did not mean offence. Surely, you must have considered all implications carefully to reach this conclusion”

In truth, he had not. But the thought of another touching what belongs to him, his most dear possession, is so repulsive to Aemond he swallows the bile pushing up his throat.

No one else may ever touch her.

By next morning light, she awakens.

Still in a delirious state, she asks her husband to come closer and embrace her, frightened by the visions she had seen in her resting state.

The contentment Prince Aemond feels from once again speaking to her; seeing her draw breath, seeing colour reappear on her cheeks, is dulled the separation between them, and the realisation that this is how they will remain from now onwards.

He tells her of it all; Rhaenys bursting through the boards, the necromancer and the price he paid to bring her back.

A tear falls from her lashes when he tells her that they may never touch again, for she will once more decay if they do.

With a forceful swallow, she pushes down her own sadness and nods, grateful that he loves her too much to live without her.

And so, their new normality begins.

They enjoy the same things they did before; taking their meals together, reading together, speaking of their duties together.

He had told court that her life was saved thanks to a skilled maester visiting from Oldtown, aware of the dangers enlisting a man of the dark arts carries.

Should the truth about her resurrection come to light, she might be sanctioned not only by the court, but by the Citadel as well, and thus forced back into the arms of the stranger.

In their endurance, their days grow tense, each moment tainted by the unspoken heartbreak of separation.

The most prominent change to their lives together is the longing squeezing the prince’s heart.

Never before has he ached so much for something as he does for her touch.

The pain inside his heart doubles when he catches her eyes observing him from across the table whenever they sit together.

She looks so devastated by their separation, so overcome with yearning.

He knows the feeling, ‘tis the same sorrow that reflects in his heart. And yet, there is nothing they can do.

Aemond would rather spend an eternity with her, and never once more feel the warmth of her fingers on his flesh, than to watch her get pulled away by the stranger yet again.

So he endures.

An unforgiving storm whips the Red Keep with vexed, rainy lashes when he returns from Storm’s End.

He is drenched, dripping from head to toe. His face looks haunted; as if he has met the eye of death himself.

She sits by the hearth, embroidering a small, green dragon onto one of his tunics. Her needle clumsily pierces the tip of her finger as she sees her husband’s distressed state,

“What is the matter, my love?”

“Lucerys, he-, he’s dead”

Aemond shakes from the cold of the rain soaking his clothes. With shaky fingers he peels off his leathers, until he is only in his underclothes, standing right before her by the fire to seek some warmth,

“I did not mean to-, Vhagar-, she-”

The explanations die on his tongue.

She meets his gaze, bewildered and pitiful, and nods in silent understanding, unsure of how to comfort him. Aemond sinks down to his knees, feeling the heat of the fire lick against his cold skin. ‘Tis little comfort; his bones still feel freezing. As does his heart, when he looks at her. So close, yet never close enough.

Torture, that is what it is. A cruel jest from the Gods.

“How can I ease your distress, my love?”, she asks, and he nearly whimpers at her sweet concern. If he cannot confess his suffering to her, then who?

“I fear I am a selfish man, after all”, he says defeatedly,

“Even now I miss you, when you sit before me. I crave your touch - to feel you near. To be inside you. I am not whole unless I am with you - part of you, my love”

The smile on her face is filled with sorrow, piteous eyes glimmering against the warm glow of the hearth. She shuffles in her seat, pulls her hand out, and opens it in an inviting gesture,

“I can spare a few years in my elderly days if I may feel your touch for one more night, my love”

And who is he to deny his love?

To dismiss her sweet pleas?

He would never deny her anything.

He moves forward, crawling towards where she sits like the depraved hound he is. When he reaches her, he pulls the skirts of her small clothes up to reveal the soft meat of her things, and lays his head there, only for a moment.

A sigh escapes him, so content to feel her softness against his cheek once more. ‘Tis like finding salvation after a life in sin; an otherworldly experience.

He nuzzles into her skin, and she brings one hand to the side of his face, gently tracing his cheekbone and threading the silk of his hair between her fingers. After a moment of still devotion, he pushes the fabric further up to kiss her cunny, the only drink his parched lips crave.

A startled gasp echoes above him, and the hand she carefully stroked his hair with turns into a painful grip. He adores the sting against his scalp. Hurriedly, he steals a peak from her, wasting no time to finally feel whole again.

Kissing his way up her panting body, he finally tastes the reward he had coveted so. Her lips are even sweeter than he remembered them; soft, warm and most comforting.

He stands and pulls her up to do the same, leading her to their bed with quick, long strides. He removes her small clothes as if he despises them, tearing the fabric and grunting at the layers separating him from the light of his life. When she is finally bare before him, he strips himself and joins her on their bed, finding his home between her thighs. She is so slick he slides in as if he were the missing piece of her incomplete body, and they both cry out at the all-consuming bliss of finally being together, being one, once more.

His arms snake underneath her back, pulling her so close to him each inch of her skin touches his. Their lips stay locked together, moans and pleasurable sighs bouncing between their mouths.

He cannot tell if the wetness on her cheek is proof of her own relief, or his.

Nevertheless, he kisses it away, closes his eyes, and disappears into the bliss of having her again.

They stay intertwined through the night, and by first light, Aemond reluctantly lets go of his love.

The light that illuminates their chambers is scarce in the early hours of the morning, yet he can see the discolouration travelling up the limbs of his wife; painting her legs and arms in odd, painful colours.

Their indulgence had cost her greatly.

Regret stabs his heart; potent and aching.

What have I done?

‘Tis as if the small dagger the warlock carried were lodged inside his chest, reminding him of the devious man he had become.

A kinslayer.

His bloodthirsty quest for selfish pursuits; justice, comfort, love, is naught but foolishness.

And now those around him pay the price.

Aemond makes sure to keep distance from her, and he suffers immensely from it.

On the night he came back from Storm’s End, he had found peaceful slumber in the arms of his beloved. Each night since, he is tormented by nightmares; visions of his worst fears playing in his mind.

Cold skin, blood, bruises.

He fears Rhaenyra’s wrath. The retribution he will have to atone for Lucerys’ life.

Will he be the one to pay it this time?

Or will the burden of his crimes once more fall on the shoulders of his loved ones?

Aemond does not need to wait long for retaliation.

Rhaenyra’s revenge go by the names of Blood and Cheese, a ratcatcher and a disgraced butcher. The pair snook into the chambers of his young nephew, heir to the Iron Throne Jaehaerys, and slew the boy in front of Aemond’s sweet sister, Helaena.

His hands are no longer merely tainted by the crimson of Lucerys’ blood. His pursuit for vengeance cost him the life of his nephew, and his sister, so lost in grief she can no longer leave her chambers. He only visits her once, horrified by the ghost of a person the queen has become.

‘Tis my fault.

And it echoes in the prince’s mind anywhere he goes.

When he trains with Ser Criston. When he flies on Vhagar. When he breaks his fast with his wife.

‘Tis my fault.

When his mother can’t meet his eye. When his brother sinks deeper into his cups. When his grandfather no longer confides in him.

‘Tis my fault.

The only light remaining is his dear lady wife.

She still regards him with love.

Her eyes still sparkle as he enters their chambers after a long day. Her mouth still forms a smile whenever he greets her.

“Her sweetness is wicked”, Prince Aemond thinks, “So inviting, beckoning me in, yet I must remain at a distance”

They still sleep next to one another, separated by an arm’s length. A small distance that feels infinite as he longingly steals glances of her sleeping form.

A siren calling to him, taunting him with her soft, warm flesh.

He knows that a night with her in his arms would ease his distress; allow him to find slumber and wake up as a better man.

I would be a better man, for her.

And that is the last thing he thinks before he shuffles closer, gently pulls her into his arms, and buries his nose in her hair.

If he were a better man, he would have stopped after one night. But by now, Aemond knows that he is not.

He is a self-serving, weak craven.

The first night of having her in his arms while she slept did not soothe the longing aching in his chest as he thought it would. It doubled it. And by next nightfall, he waited for her to drift to sleep before greedily pulling her into his arms once more.

He sees the toll his nightly indulgence has on her body rapidly. The bruises that had decorated her limbs grow darker, like those of an apple decaying. They now travel from her hands and feet, up her arms and legs, and bloom out over her stomach, chest, and neck.

Aemond finds himself looking at her less and less.

‘Tis my fault.

“Mayhaps we need to seek out the sorcerer again for council?”, she questions one day as she carefully observes the bruises colouring her body. She presses on one and winces, lips pulled down into a displeased frown.

She is withering. Rotting away.

“I will”, Aemond says, and the lie is so bitter on his tongue, he wonders if his foul ways have caused poison to grow from within him.

He had stolen Lucerys’ life above Storm’s End. A quick affair, an instance that he regretted as soon as he saw Vhagar’s jaw close around the small dragon. He did not mean to do it; to take his life. He only meant to seek justice for his eye; for the pain his nephew had caused him. For disfiguring him.

‘Tis what he has become known for; kinslaying. The merciless murder of the young boy who wronged him. If the court only knew of how vile he truly is.

With each night that passes, he steals another flicker of the flame keeping the light of his life alive. He sees her grow paler, the bruises now covering nearly every inch of her being, slowly working their way towards her heart, drumming weaker and weaker in her chest.

And yet, he cannot stop. He needs solace; the only good thing in his life. Holding her near, feeling the heat of her melt the icy bolts of remorse and guilt shooting within him.

Tonight, he knows it is their last time. She can hardly open her eyes anymore. Her lips are purple, skin a sick melody of various shades, and her heart beats slowly, as if it is fighting with each thud.

Just like the nights before, he lies down next to her, pulls her into his arms, inhales her scent, and closes his eyes.

“This time, she perishes by my hand”, he thinks, “She gave me everything, and yet I took more”

But what is love, if not to take?

Take and take and take, until there is nothing left.

No one savours love.

No one would ever feel satisfied with only a taste.

It is meant to be devoured. And that’s what Prince Aemond tells himself, as his love finally draws her last breath in his arms.

“Forgive me”, his whisper begs,

“I have devoured you. I have let my selfishness slaughter you. Now I await my own demise, one that will come to me soon”

His fingers gently dance over her cheek,

“I welcome it. I welcome a chance to meet you once more”

He holds her closer, feeling the warmth of her body leave for the second time in their lives,

“Until then, sleep well, my love, and I will return to you soon”

A/N; I hope you enjoyed this little Halloween fic of mine! I tried to go with a bit more classic, haunting and tragic theme, and it was so fun to write.

If you enjoyed this, please check out my fic Colour My Mind, Bring Me Back. It has very similar vibes and I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Kisses!

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saltyluminaryvoid · 5 days ago

Text

The Coldest Blue

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!reader Warnings: Angst. Word count: ~2.1k

Summary: When her husband returns unexpectedly from the ongoing war, she is elated. However, the sinister news she receives in the days that follow threatens to shatter her happiness.

Author's note: Happy Halloween! No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She startled as a cold hand was placed gently upon her arm, the sensation tugged her violently from the warm and blissful comfort of slumber that she had been about to succumb to. As she turned over in the bed, her heart felt as though it ceased beating in her chest, and her eyes widened in shock as she took in the unexpected sight of her husband.

“Aemond!” She gasped, all traces of sleep suddenly cleared from her mind.

She reached out to touch him, and immediately he clasped her hands in his. The contact sent a shiver down her spine - he had always had that effect upon her, the simplest brush of his fingers against hers often caused butterflies in her stomach. It had been that way ever since their mother had informed them they were to be married. However, the juxtaposition of the chill of his skin against the buttery-soft warmth of the crisp, white bedding was jarring.

He must have come straight to her after having dismounted Vhagar, and his skin was still chilled from the night air of the flight – all the way from Harrenhal – a place that had torn her twin, her husband, away from her for months. It was no surprise that he felt shockingly unfamiliar, the last time they had touched felt like a distant memory.

She had made a home in loneliness, the ache of his absence, alongside continuous fear and uncertainty had become so familiar that it felt like slipping on an old pair of slippers. No longer would she pine for the weekly raven that delivered news of his well being, and declarations of his love and loyalty to her, instead she must now grow accustomed to his presence by her side, though it was an adjustment she was all too happy to make.

“I did not know you would be returning,” she said softly, a twinge of guilt in her tone – had she known then she would not have been abed, she would have prepared for his return, provided a warmer welcome. A man that had spent months away at war did not deserve to return to the sight of his wife’s sleeping back. “You did not send word.”

She propped herself up on her elbow, releasing his hands as she leaned against the pillows gazing down at him. Even in the dim candlelight that burned low upon the bedside table – she had taken to sleeping with a lit candle when Aemond had departed, unable to bear sleeping alone in the dark – his eye was still as vibrant as ever. At least that still feels familiar. Eyes of the coldest blue, that stared into hers with such intensity she was often torn between wanting to lose herself in it, or turn her face away for fear of that very thing happening.

“I just wanted to see you,” he replied quietly, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Her mind reeled with a thousand questions and he laid there patiently, watching her impassively, as she sorted through her thoughts, deciding upon which she would ask first.

Does mother know you’re back? Aegon? How are you feeling?

“Is it over then? Have you come back to me?” are the questions she finally settled upon.

“Mmm…it is over,” he told her, “Daemon is dead.”

Her breath caught in her throat as happy tears filled her eyes, not quite able to believe what she had heard. “I have missed you so,” she whispered in a trembling voice, “you cannot imagine how much it gladdens my heart to have you back.”

“You should sleep, my love,” he murmured.

“What?!” she demanded, outraged by the notion. Her lips parted and her brow furrowed as she stared at him incredulously. She had not seen him for months, how could he simply appear in their bed without warning and then just expect her to fall asleep?

“I have not known peace in such a long time,” he explained softly, “I just want to watch you as you sleep. I did not mean to wake you, I just could not resist touching you.”

“We need to tell mother that you are back,” she argued, reaching for him again. Once more, he took her hand in his, his slender fingers chilly against the soft skin of the back of her hand. “Aegon must know you have returned.”

“Later,” he insisted, “sleep.”

Despite the commanding nature of his request, his vibrant, blue eye held within it a silent plea that she could not ignore. She sighed, turned onto her side, and closed her eyes. There was a part of her that had daydreamed that Aemond would ravish her upon his return, eager for the closeness and intimacy that only she could provide, after such a long separation. She was more than a little disappointed that he had made no such attempt, though she supposed he was tured after his journey home.

She had expected the excitement of the past few moments to prevent her from falling asleep. To her surprise, the pull of sleep dragged her under swiftly, a comforting, inky blackness enveloping her. Eyes of the coldest blue filled her dreams that night.

When she awoke the next morning, her tired mind was convinced she had dreamed Aemond’s return, especially as when she turned to his side of the bed, it was empty, utterly unrumpled as though it had not been slept in. Her heart sank, disappointment settling upon her chest like a stone that threatened to crush her. The mere act of throwing the covers back and climbing out of bed felt like an effort, her bones felt heavy with sadness.

She padded barefoot, slowly, to the adjoining nursery, stopping in her tracks when she saw the back of Aemond, stood in his riding leathers, looking over the cradle of their son, Rhaegar. The warm wave of relief that washed over her almost made her knees buckle, such was the elation that she had not imagined the return of her beloved twin and husband. Her cheeks almost ached under the strain of her smile, she had not expressed such joy in a long time.

Rhaegar had been a tiny babe when Aemond had pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head in farewell all those months ago. Now, he was approaching his second name day, and growing to resemble his father more with each passing day, his features possessed a sharpness that was uncanny to Aemond’s.

The infant babbled happily as he sat in his cradle, chubby fists clenched around a wooden dragon toy.

“Are you pleased to see your father?” She cooed as she came to stand beside Aemond.

Rhaegar squealed upon seeing her, waving his toy vigorously.

“You may hold him if you wish,” she urged her husband gently.

Aemond shook his head. “He seems happy enough, I do not wish to disturb him. My boy…he has grown.”

She hummed in agreement, nodding. “He looks more like you with each passing day.”

Aemond reached out a hand towards the child, stopping short of touching him. His expression became pensive, a faraway look in his eye, before he pulled his arm back, letting it drop back to his side.

His behaviour in the short time he had been back was puzzling to her, yet she knew that war changed people. Hopefully, as time passed, he would return more to himself, and be the man she married once more.

He turned and walked from the room as the nursemaid entered and lifted the child from his cradle in order to wash and dress him for the day.

As she returned to her own chamber, she noticed that bread, fruit and cheese had been laid out upon the table, by her chambermaids, for her to break her fast. Aemond had taken the armchair beside the fireplace, his favourite place to settle before he had left to defend Aegon’s claim to the throne.

“Will you join me for breakfast?” She asked hopefully.

“No,” he responded, “I have little appetite.”

She pursed her lips. She wanted to press the issue, he needed to eat, to maintain his strength, yet she did not wish to nag and cause him any additional torment after he had already endured so much.

“We will have to take Rhaegar to see Vhagar now you are back,” she said, attempting to lighten the mood, as she seated herself at the table and placed grapes upon her plate. “He is big enough now that he can actually comprehend what she is.”

“Vhagar…did not survive the battle,” Aemond uttered, staring off into the unlit fireplace, his tone sombre.

No wonder he seemed so different. Losing his dragon would have been a devastating blow to Aemomd, after all he had endured to claim her. She was his most prized possession.

“I am sorry, my love,” she murmured, rising from her seat and approaching him. “How…how did it happen?”

“Caraxes and her were surprisingly well matched. They both now rest at the bottom of the God’s Eye…alongside Daemon, and…”

He stopped, shaking his head and lifting his gaze to meet hers. The sadness within made her want to cry. As she stepped towards him, he held his hand out, the coolness of his skin enveloping the warmth of hers.

“And what?” she pressed quietly.

“It does not matter. At least I am reunited with you, I got to see you.”

She was about to respond when a knock at the door interrupted her. She sighed, calling out for them to enter.

A page boy opened the door, just enough for him to slip through the crack, before bowing to her. “Princess, the King has requested that you go at once to the Small Council chamber.”

She frowned, scoffing as she replied, “can it not wait until I am dressed?”

“Apologies, princess,” the page boy said, not meeting her eye, “the king insists that it is urgent.”

“Very well,” she huffed, tying her robe tighter around her nightgown, “I shall be there momentarily.”

The page boy bowed, leaving the way he had come.

“I suppose we could not avoid it forever,” Aemond said wearily, rising from his seat.

He trailed after her as they walked to the Small Council chamber, his steps quiet behind hers.

“Do not forget that I love you, I always have,” he told her softly as they approached the heavy doors.

“And I love you,” she said in turn, her heart fluttering as the coolness of his fingers briefly entwined with hers.

She did not knock, simply pushed open the door and stepped in. Only Aegon and their mother stood at the long, wooden table.

Her mother’s big, brown eyes were tearful, as Aegon leaned over a parchment that was rolled out before him, his features pinched in anguish. His bottom lip trembled in a manner that only occurred when he was angered to the point of near hysteria.

She had expected them both to be overjoyed to see Aemond, considering he stood at her side, but both seemed too engrossed in the contents of the letter they were reading.

“Oh, my dearest love,” her mother whispered tearfully, clutching a handkerchief as she stepped towards her and embraced her tightly.

“What? What is it?” She asked, and pulled back, brow furrowed in concern as she looked at her mother and then Aegon.

Alicent kept her arms around her, stroking her hair gently, as Aegon looked up from the parchment. His voice was quiet, almost croaky, as he spoke. “News from Harrenhal.”

What more could there possibly be?!

“So?” she asked in exasperation, “what is it?”

“There was a battle between Aemond and Daemon above the God’s Eye…”

I know this, I know this, I know this!

She wanted to scream in frustration, he was not telling her anything she did not know already. She pulled her shoulders up towards her ears momentarily, an impatient gesture for him to continue.

“Daemon is dead,” Aegon said, swallowing thickly, “and so is Aemond.”

She almost wanted to laugh. No, he was not! What a ridiculous thing to say.

“No, he is–” she reached out to Aemond, grasping the front of his riding leathers, her breath hitching as her hand passed straight through him.

Her blood ran cold as her horrified eyes lifted to meet his.

“I just wanted to see you,” he murmured, eyes of the coldest blue looking straight into hers as he faded away to nothing.

“...he’s gone,” she whispered tearfully. The painful clenching of her heart dulled every other sensation, and she did not even feel it when her mother wrapped her arms tighter around her.

Eyes of the coldest blue, let me see into you.

He had returned to her one final time, and would never again.

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