But it had heated up the moment the crew had stopped at the Baratie, the moment you had sat down at that restaurant table and Zoro’s free hand had rested on your thigh, squeezing the fat there, eyes looking elsewhere like it was the most normal situation ever. You hadn’t said anything about the touch, but thoughts about his hands on your body had run through your mind. Thoughts of his lips on your skin, his fingers curling inside your warmth, his cock nested deep inside you.

And when you thought this could keep going for weeks, he had to be dumb enough to have a death wish with Mihawk. You thought if Zoro was about to die later, he could at least get a sample of what he’ll be missing forever. But there was no way you’d let him be in control after being so dumb—and so, the both of you were locked in his room, his hands tied by thick ropes and up above his hands. Sweat covered his forehead, grunts and groans leaving his mouth as you bounced up and down on his cock.

It had started with a little argument, some sarcasm on his part, as always. Fingers tugging on hair, lips crashing against lips, hands groping your tits, his shirt flying away before you turned the situation to your advantage. 

He tugged on his restraint again, like it would suddenly break and let him free. His dark eyes were focused on your face and the expression of pleasure that decorated it. His voice was strained as he finally spoke. “Fuck, come on, I got it. Untie me, yeah?” He groaned as you lowered yourself down on his cock again, the wetness of your cunt coating his shaft, dripping down to his balls, sticking to both your skins. 

Your hands pushed on his bare chest, stabilizing yourself as your hips rolled on top of his own. Squelching noises made the movements more perverted and icky, but that didn’t make you stop at all. You shook your head at Zoro, a heat in your lower belly when his tip hit your sweet spot. “No—No, you don’t deserve it. You were stupid.” You voiced at him, before throwing your head up to the ceiling, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in pleasure. 

His hips jerked up when yours lowered, skin slapping skin and his shaft hitting deeper which made you moan out his name. Your nails scratched at his torso, leaving red marks on his tan skin, before one lifted to tug on his short green hair, making him hiss, his throat now bare for your liking. His earrings created little clicking noises that mixed with the whines coming from your throat. Curses escaped his mouth, his thighs shook under the weight of your body as you fastened your riding. “How am I supposed to make you feel good if I can’t touch you?” You heard him say, and you chuckled at his words, shaking your head.

“I can make myself feel good, Z, I just have to use you for that. Besides, it’s your punishment for being stupid and thinking you are stronger than Mihawk.” A strong jerk of his hips up made you gasp, his bulbous tip hitting your cervix which made you moan out his name loudly. Your pussy clenched around his cock, the length dragging in and out of your gummy insides. You could feel the veins twitching, the pre-cum flowing out of his pretty tip to mix with your juices, the way your ass slapped down on his balls when you lowered yourself.

The swordsman tugged on his restrain once more, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he felt you suck his cock inside your tight little cunt, creamy white come around the base of his shaft; so pretty, so dreamy. “Come on baby, let me touch you.” He groaned then, eyes half-lidded from the pleasure but you only chuckled once more and shook your head at him. You bounced faster, feeling his tip rub against your sweet spot so deliciously.

Zoro wasn’t one to beg for anything or to anyone, but at that moment, the pleasure was almost torture. He wanted to touch you, to feel your skin under his fingers, to make you bounce down on his shaft.

You loved the tone of his voice as he did beg to be freed from the ropes, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of touching you. You didn’t want to think about the fact that he could clearly lose his fight with Mihawk and die; no, you wanted to think about him coming back to you and how he could tease you the same way you were teasing him. It would be only fair. 

Zoro gasped as you rolled your hips to a new angle, velvety walls sucking him in, your wetness coating all his length and down to his bush. Your hands moved backward, resting on top of his knees as you bounced faster and harder, your ass slapping down on his thighs.

“Fuck, fuck—Come on, good girl, that’s it.” He praised, even if unable to touch you like he wanted to, even if he didn’t have the power. His dark eyes lowered to where his cock met your cunt, his thoughts in shambles at the view of the mess you created there. Your wetness coating his pubic hair, making them glisten with your essence, showing how good you felt.

You rolled your hips, sweating and panting, warmth coursing through your body at the slightly new position. “Z, fuck, it feels so good.” You moaned at him, eyebrows furrowed when your eyes met his own. Zoro couldn’t help himself from jerking his hips up to meet your movements, letting his cock slam inside your insides. Your juices dripped to your inner-thighs, slick and sticky, coating your skin. The green-haired man beneath you nodded, his eyes closing for a second or so just to open again and look at you.

“Feels good like that, uh? You like riding me?” He asked, smirk back on his face.

You almost wanted to stop, remind him that you were the one in control and he didn’t have the power to speak like that; but who were you kidding? So you nodded, biting down on your lips, hips slotted down against his pelvis and his cock nested all the way inside you. Your clit rubbed against his bush, bringing another wave of pleasure inside you, making you moan. His hair tickled against your wet skin. “Yeah, t’feels good…” You only replied, too busy pleasuring yourself at that moment.

“Don’t stop then, let me see how good you can make yourself feel without me touching you.” He added, jerking his hips up against yours once more, his tip hitting that sweet spot at the entrance of your pussy. Your hands were clammy on his knees, your grip tightening as you started to bounce again, rolling your hips forward so your clit would rub and hit against his bush. Moans escaped your mouth, eyes focused on his face as he nodded and praised you quietly. “That’s my girl, come on baby. Bet that feels good, uh?” 

For one little second, you swore at yourself: that should have happened way before. If only you both had acted up on those feelings and tension instead of walking around it without saying anything. Zoro could die and he could have left without knowing how you truly felt for him.

A warmth coursed through your lower belly again, your pussy clenching around Zoro’s cock, keeping him there so snuggly. He hissed at the feeling, muscles taunting as he tugged on the ropes again, but never able to break them. His head rolled to look at the wooden ceiling for a moment before his dark eyes met your face. Your thighs burned from the efforts of riding him and he must have realized, his hips now rutting upward to meet yours, his tip rubbing your g-spot continually. 

You moaned, hands flying to rest on his chest once more, hips bouncing to write your name onto his cock. Loud noises of skin slapping skin echoed in the room, followed by the squelching of your wet pussy filled by his shaft.

“Zoro, m’bout to come… Fuck!” You whined, and after those words, you fastened your pace on top of him. Zoro groaned, feeling your juices sticking to his balls and dripping all the way down to his length to pool at the base. He just moaned for a beat or two, before speaking. “Come on my cock, come on—show me how good you feel, sweet thing.” 

Those words were your undoing, and you gasped loudly when your cunt clenched around him, sucking him dry. Your thighs shook around his hips, your pace uncoordinated, warmth coursing through your entire body. You could hear Zoro praise you, but a buzz in your ears made you unable to understand his words. Your nails scratched the skin of his bare torso, muscles convulsing as you came on his shaft, making a mess with your juices. Your essence leaking down to his base, glistening against his bush—your clit throbbing from the rubbing you had done too. 

But your hips kept rutting, searching for more, trying to bring Zoro to his climax too. Your walls squeezed him tighter, and he hissed as you bounced up and down, more lazily. “Move baby, I’m about to—” He groaned and you nodded, sweaty and out-of-it. Your hips lifted up, his cock slipping out of your wet warmth in a loud-pop at the same time he came.

A loud groan left his mouth, thick ropes of creamy and hot white semen flowed to hit his lower belly and chest, his cock hitting back on his belly, twitching.

You sighed, watching his semen decorate his own skin, before gently sitting back on his thighs. Zoro took a deep breath, eyes lifting to look at you. “Fuck. Are you going to untie me now, sweet thing?” He smirked, tugging on his restraints for a last time before you chuckled, nodding your head at him.

You moved, hands carefully undoing the ropes from around his wrists. The swordsman immediately rubbed at the raw skin there, humming quietly at the feeling before his dark eyes met your orbs. He didn’t speak for a second before his strong hands groped at the fat of your hips, bringing you closer as he sat up.

“You know, the floor isn’t very comfortable for that kind of activity.” He joked, rolling his shoulders, the muscles of his biceps bulging. You hummed at him, before replying. “What? You want to try the hammock, next time?” Zoro acted like he was thinking about him for a beat or two before nodding his head, looking away.

“So… You’re saying there will be a next time?”

“If you survive Mihawk, why not?”

“That’s a deal, baby.” 

There’s so much to say in such a limited time.

But first, let’s backtrack to the beginning.

It all started with a heavy thunderstorm.

Local weather channels reported that it was the heaviest of the season, and as a concerned crop supplier, it fell to you to check on the cave systems behind your farm to determine if your produce would be affected.

Big mistake.

But perhaps—the strangest mistake of your life.

“Hmm, that’s odd.”

Your whispered breath is the only sound in this clearing besides the clanking of tools in your backpack.

The sight of blood smearing the cave walls is not something you quite anticipated seeing on a random weekday morning.

What the…?

There’s more blood. Weeds underfoot crushed like an animal had drunkenly trampled through them, splatters flecking the stony ground with bright red.

Stumbling past the brambles of the cavern’s hanging foliage, you’re drawn to a soft, glowing light in the distance.

Self-preservation is in every farmer’s sixth sense, but it seems like yours had taken a vacation.

Even though your instincts scream at you to stop, you push forward.

Driven by the innate curiosity to see what else this valley had to offer.

Tentatively, you approach the bright, shimmering light spilling through a crack in the cave wall.

The air crackles with an unexplained electricity, making the hair on the back of your neck stand.

However, a hand on your shoulder stops you from approaching.

Your heart deep dives straight to your stomach in horror, and you whip around.

Only to see a pair of glowing emerald eyes staring at you in the half-dark.

What the—!

His unnervingly bright eyes are not what stop you in your tracks.

It’s his body.

It's covered… in bark.

Thick, dark bark that pockmarks his skin like patches of a spreading disease.

Tufts of black hair fall into his face, his left cheek completely consumed by the wooden hide.

Your stomach twists.

You think you just might throw up.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice, low and commanding, pierces through your consciousness, shattering the last of your composure as the world grows dark around the edges.

The strange effigy’s eyes widen.

“Wait—”

But his words are lost in the dark waters of your mind; the black stars reaching down from heaven and sucking you right into their devouring eye.

All the light disappears, and the last thing you feel before your body tumbles to the ground is a pair of strong, rough arms catching you.

…

You have no idea how much time has passed.

When you finally come around, you’re in a dark cave. Only a sliver of evening light is visible from the crack on the ceiling, but it's enough to illuminate a man seated on a wooden throne, his watchful eyes keeping tabs on your every expression.

“You’re awake.”

Jolting, you sit up in a frenzy, remembering what had brought you here in the first place.

“What the hell are you?!”

You hadn’t meant to shriek such a cliche question, but your mind is spinning, your stomach churning.

Cliches could be forgiven when one doesn’t know exactly what they’re dealing with.

His mouth twitches, and the act reminds you of a thin piece of bark quivering under pressure.

“More importantly, it is I who should inquire what you are doing so deep in these secret woods,” he rumbles.

He makes no move to stand.

The effigy leans forward, and you hear the slight rattle of chains. Your eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of your skull.

“Are those—?”

“Chains.” He says flatly. Bleakly. “Yes. They are.”

You fall silent.

Unsure of how else to react, you take a moment to assess your situation: firstly, you’re in a dark, dank cave with a mysterious, talking half-tree man.

Not good.

Secondly, you have no idea if you’re still around your farm; the air here smells fresher. Like that of a mountain.

And, third?

You shift your weight from one foot to another.

“… Is it possible if you have a bathroom I can borrow?”

The effigy's brows shoot up into his hairline.

The absurdity of the situation and your question is exacerbated by his silence.

“I will not bother to entertain your nonsense with a response.”

He waves his hand, and you go flying back.

“Ah—!”

In a flash, you're warped in darkness, and when you open your eyes, you're back in your farmhouse.

Relatively unharmed and safe.

The next morning, your body runs a high fever, which makes you doubt the believability of what you've experienced.

But, you know what you saw; what you've experienced.

It was real. You saw him.

He’s real.

It doesn't take long for you to search the caves again, the second you make a recovery.

Stumbling for a second time into a familiar clearing, you find the effigy asleep on his throne. Except this time, you’re brave enough to approach him.

Your footsteps rustle the grass, and he barely moves.

Striding closer to him, you tentatively touch one of his bark-ridden hands.

His finger flexes. Eyes creak open.

“You are back…”

He huffs, and it sounds like disbelief wrapped in disappointment.

A force wraps around your torso, and you stumble closer, almost tumbling onto his lap.

The effigy raises one rough finger to your cheek, gently grazing it.

“Amazing,” he breathes. “I can feel the magical properties within you.”

He sucks in a breath. “However, you have a remarkable lack of self-preservation.”

His words are pointed—sharp.

Yet, you don’t wilt from them.

“You could’ve killed me anytime you wanted,” you don’t mean to blurt out, but the words spill past your careless lips. “If you wanted to hurt me, you would've done it a long time ago.”

His lips twitch.

Something about your words pierces right through him.

“Perhaps, it is because a certain human is quite stubborn in seeking out danger when she shouldn’t put her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

You pretend not to hear the exasperation in his tone.

Approaching him closer on his throne of wood, you note the vines encasing his hands and feet. Literally rooting him to the spot.

“Who did this to you?”

Not: Why are you trapped?

Or: Why can’t you escape?

But, who?

His eyes flicker briefly, a flash of pain appearing for a moment before that hint of vulnerability disappears behind his stoic mask.

That emerald gaze regards you in a new light, features softened with curiosity now more than hostility.

“You are the new farmer up the road?”

His voice is low, gravelly.

“You may call me Zayne.”

“Zayne,” you test his name in your mouth. “Not what I was expecting from someone trapped here, but okay. It’s a rather… modern name.”

The corners of his lips quirk up, despite himself.

“You want to know how I ended up like this?”

He continues, easing back into his throne of warped roots. “I made a mistake. A horrible one. And now, here I am—cursed by the Gods to stay in this form, only allowed to stand if my realm is threatened, but never go beyond this cave.”

There’s a bleak rumble in his voice.

A sense of despair.

“Until you walked into my land. Activated the leylines.”

His sharp green eyes hone in on you.

“There’s something magical about your blood. Something sacred.”

The effigy—Zayne—leans forward. Even his bare chest is covered with bark.

You flinch back, attempting to put some space between the two of you. But, it’s futile—there’s a force keeping you in place.

“I wonder…”

Something sharp gashes across your arms. Blood spills, bright red and violent, onto the forest floor.

Your scream melts into a flurry of his mouth pressed on yours; the force dragging you up and into his lap. He groans, lusty and in relief, when the bright red droplets spill onto his skin.

Before both your eyes, the rough cracks turn into smooth skin.

Human skin.

“What the…” You trail off in disbelief. “What the hell?”

“I knew it,” he husks, shifting under you so you have to straddle his lap. “You’re the one the prophecy has foretold. A child of the earth with magic in their veins.”

He leans in, breathing your scent deeply; his voice lowers in reverence.

"Come closer.”

Compelled by the desire dripping heavily in his tone, you lean in closer. His teeth catch on your lower lip, biting down hard enough til you taste the rusted tang of blood coating your tongue.

The drops begin to heal him—the rough bark covering his skin disappearing.

You want to stop him, but your voice is lost in a debilitating haze of lust suddenly descending upon you.

Like a delicious burst of sweetness, you can’t get enough of him.

It’s enough to make you dizzy, leaving your head spinning.

“S-Stop—”

Your palms press to his chest to weakly stop his advances. Zayne pulls back, albeit reluctantly, and huffs, licking his lips. Smearing more thick crimson over his mouth.

The sun is closing in a final hurrah, brilliant orange tones casting fiery shadows across its face.

You watch, unable to tear your eyes away—

—when his hands that were once shackled to the throne reach to grasp your waist.

“Have you ever heard of something called a Soul Bond?”

You shriek. “Hey—!”

The chains around his wrist loosen enough to give him leeway to hold you firmly on his lap.

“Answer me.”

"I—” Squirming is futile. He tightens his grip on you. “I have no idea what—”

“It means two people who are tied together through multiple destinies, fated to meet each other again and again.”

His tone is cold, though his hands are warm on your skin.

“And you, farmer, are the biggest thorn in my side.”

As much as you try to fight off his advances, he doesn’t let up. Only fastened his arms tighter around your torso.

“For years—” he growls, lips pressing to your jaw and chin, as if he could consume you from the inside out. “For years, I have waited for this moment. Biding my time.”

Ruthless now, he chuckles darkly. “Or, do you not remember that it was you who cast me into this horrendous fate…?”

His words barely make a lick of sense.

You think he’s gone insane.

But Zayne’s arms are like metal ropes around you, making escape impossible.

His words strike fear in your heart, but none so then when he touches your forehead with his.

And, instantly, a wave of memories comes flooding in like a barrage of snow, banketing your thoughts like an avalanche of pure despair.

The scene unfolds—a man is hunched over in the frosty silence, a woman frozen in his arms, her lips blue with impending death. As she exhales her dying breath, she whispers three words that would bind him to his fate forever: “Forget me, Zayne.”

His tears barely move her. Like the setting of a brilliant sunset, her eyes close forever.

Zayne lits his forehead from yours, your gasps loud and ragged in the resounding silence.

He doesn’t speak for a moment—allowing you to catch your breath.

After a beat of silence, he finally speaks.

“You cursed me to lose the memory of you, and I wept day and night by your side.” His tone betrays no emotion, even as the words are scalding.

“Till I grew bark on my skin. Till my tears turned into ashes in my mouth.”

The briefest tremble in his lower lip.

Yet, his gaze doesn’t soften. He stares you down with his aquiline nose, hard and unrepentant.

“And, you swore to be with me for life. To stay with me no matter what the world threw at us. Instead, you cursed me to forfeit your memory—and, I will never forgive you for that.”

Zayne’s tone turns bitter, and he squeezes down on your flesh harder.

“I will make you bleed for me—till every drop heals this malady from my body.”

You cry out when his sharp nails rake down your thighs, digging deep enough to make drops of blood seep into his skin. He hisses in pleasure at the feeling of your blood healing him, and tips his head back.

His soft moan caresses your chin.

“For centuries, I have waited for you—”

A rough growl as he licks down your neck.

“And you have evaded me for far too long.”

Gasping, you scramble to save yourself, or else this creature might bleed you dry.

The first thing you can think of is to smash his head in with the palm of your hand, like an old Judo master from years ago taught you. But, he’s quicker—evading your throw and pinning your hand down to the arm of his wicked throne.

“Argh—!”

Zayne’s teeth puncture your shoulder, and more crimson red spills onto his front, healing him over. This time, it doesn’t hurt as much as it does, and the sharp pain is replaced by a swooping sensation that makes you light-headed.

Your protests grow weaker, eyes heavier with fatigue. You slump forward, and he catches you before you can slide down to the forest ground.

He continues to feed from you, lapping up the ruby droplets, letting them heal his skin.

Despite the desperate depravity in how he feeds from you, Zayne doesn’t want to drain you completely.

He keeps you on the edge between consciousness and blacking out, the cruel edge striking primal fear into your soul.

Then—

He lets you go.

Licking his lips, his emerald gaze pierces your soul. Zayne sucks in a trembling inhale.

“Go,” his voice booms, and he can’t look at you. “Go.” Before I do something I regret.

The words are implicit, but you hear them clearly.

You stay frozen on his lap.

Zayne shudders, a full-body shiver that wracks him apart when you look at him with those dumb, hazy eyes.

“Fuck—”

“I-I can’t move—”

He curses again under his breath. “Get up,” a snarl filled with desperation more than maliciousness. “Get up and go now—!”

The strange fog creeps into your brain. Your muscles can’t move. The heat that blooms straight from your center feels too good to deny.

Your hips start to move on their own accord before you can stop them.

“No—”

His breath leaves in a sharp hiss.

You run your hands over his healed skin, taking in the contrast between smooth flesh and indents of rough bark.

It’s mesmerizing—he would be handsome if he weren’t scowling at you like you were an animal needing discipline.

“Human—”

He chokes off when you lean forward to press your lips to the hollow of his throat.

Whatever protest he had withered away into a moan as he tipped his head back, groaning at the weight of you in his lap—how you perfectly fit on top of him.

His hands, trapped under the vines, ache to reach out and touch you.

Leaning into him, the weight of your body melting into his is intoxicating. All warmth and soft, silky skin.

Your lips meet his, and at first, you jerk back at the rough feeling of dried skin and bark.

But, eventually, you get used to it and lean into the sensation.

Zayne groans under your ministrations.

Hapless and immobile, it’s now his turn to let you have the fun you need.

Your tongue traces his lower lip, sinking into the depths of his mouth and twining with his surprisingly human appendage.

Whoever or whatever cursed Zayne into this miserable life as a forest effigy was careful enough to keep his most human parts intact.

You expect him to be hollow under your touch.

Yet, he’s vibrant and warm.

The end of his breath catches in his throat when you glide your hands down his firm chest.

“You know, for a wooden statue, you sure are sturdy,” you attempt to make a joke.

He doesn’t laugh. Though a small spark of amusement lights his eyes.

Zayne lets you kiss down the clavicle of his collarbone, and halts when you try to go down further.

“That’s quite enough,” he rasps.

A sudden force tugs you back from descending further, and you find your body pinned to his chest, your breath falling out of you in a rush.

“Zayne—”

“Go home.” His lips brush the crown of your head. “That is an order.”

Sensing your pout more than seeing it, he chuckles hoarsely.

“Come back tomorrow. Midnight sharp. I will be here waiting for you.”

Skin still smarting from his bites, slightly dizzy from the blood loss, you stumble off his lap.

You have no idea what possesses you to agree with his orders, but you nod, the penetrating green of his gaze piercing through your heart.

“Tonight.”

—

The moon tonight is unusually murky behind an impenetrable roll of fog.

Guided by the flashlight’s beam, you make your way through the thick foliage and find the opening of the clearing where you sense the unmistakable magical aura from the bat.

Zayne is where you left him, head drooping, breathing shallow.

You cautiously walk over to him, gently tapping his hand.

He moans, and when he lifts his head, you catch a pungent whiff, like something rotten coming from him.

But he grins when he sees you, despite the clear exhaustion in his eyes.

“You are back… my goddess.”

Goddess?

The word sends a thrill up your spine. Reverberating across space and time to fill you with the sense that this endearment is familiar.

Zayne doesn’t stop you from clambering onto his lap once more, his presence sturdy and reassuring.

You find you quite like how his somber eyes would regard you with a mix of anticipation and dread all at once.

A constellation of anxiety painted emerald green that tugs on your soul.

You cannot look at him without feeling a stab of pity.

“Zayne… when you mentioned I was the one who imprisoned you—” His hitched breath makes your words stumble. “—can you tell me more?”

He hesitates for a second. Something tells you this is a touchy subject.

Raising his head, the stench is mitigated by his smile fracturing around the edges to reveal a warmth that literally takes your breath away.

“Do not worry about it,” he murmurs, and this time, is the one to initiate the kiss first. “You have my heart and every memory that comes after it. I would never blame you for what you had to do.”

There’s that dizzying feeling again.

The one that makes the world spin and your core tighten in heat.

His lips are on yours, and you drink him in. It’s intoxicating. It’s wild.

It’s dangerous.

This affection is more like an affliction.

Sucking your tongue into his mouth, this is the closest you will ever feel to worship in this life.

Embraced by his warmth and firm body, you find the courage to wrap your arms around him.

He doesn’t bite down on your flesh. Doesn’t claim your blood as a remedy for his malady.

He just kisses you like a man enamored with a lover for half of his existence.

“Zayne—”

Your heated gasps fill every crook of his mouth. He mumbles:

“Do what you must.”

So, you go with your instincts.

Sliding your panties to the side from underneath a short skirt you wore (totally not with the hopes that he would let you take him this way), you sink on the stiff pole jutting from underneath all that bark.

He feels warm and solid inside of you as you take him inch by inch.

From the periphery of your gaze, you see his hands clench into fists.

“Gods,” he moans like it’s blasphemy. “You feel sensational.”

Your walls are a warm hug around his hardness. It’s easy to settle him fully inside when he remains stock still, letting you work yourself down to your comfort.

Once seated to the hilt, he buries his lips against your throat.

Again, he orders slash plead:

“Do what you must.”

So, you ride him.

Slowly at first, and then with full intent to drive you both down the cliffs of this pleasure that has enraptured you towards the tether of your common sense.

You have no thought in mind.

Nothing but how he feels inside of you—how right this moment is.

Engraved in this hidden alcove, upon his lap where he sits on his throne, you take the forest effigy and race to find your completion.

The sloppy sensation of your bodies meeting together again and again fills the air with a lewd rhythm.

Zayne cusses out, “Gods,” when you bite down on his earlobe.

The fat, weeping tip of his hard cock rams your sweet spot, and your eyes water.

“Z-Zayne,” you cry out, holding on for dear life as his hips surge up, meeting you slick thrust for slick thrust—

Ruining you as much as you ruin him.

“H-ah,” he pants, and in this light, he looks more man than stuffed beast.

Eyes crossed, cheeks pink, and lips puffy.

Your heart skips a beat, and you clench down on him.

His teeth drag down the column of your throat, a soft growl accompanying the bite he sucks into a spot underneath your ear.

You want him to hold you—to clasp you tight as you ride him to oblivion.

“Please—” you hiccup, reduced close to tears.

Your shiny eyes glimmer in the moonlight, and Zayne has to bite back a curse.

“Can you touch me?”

He grunts like he’s in pain. “Lovely, I want to, I so do—”

Another pained groan.

“But, I cannot. I cannot—”

“You could hold me a few days ago,” you cry out, and the way you buck your hips to bump his weeping tip with your clit as your hips rise is unfair. “When you told me to return home—”

“I can only rise when my territory is threatened,” he moans out, gritting his teeth.

“Beyond that, I am no more useful than a doll.”

His words are laced with pain and frustration.

The interplay between pleasure and despair contrasts beautifully on his mirage, like a shadow and light show.

Zayne grits his teeth against a sudden wave of arousal, making him throb hot and deep inside of you.

“Gods, I am not going to last—”

“Don’t,” you choke. “Don’t hold back.”

His bound hands twitch, as if desperate to grasp your hips and slam you down harder on him.

Bound by blood and a mysticness neither of you can explain—perhaps in the shades of dreams long gone and a life no longer lived—your souls merge in an ecstasy of pleasure.

Providing the ultimate release he needs.

While the orgasm wracks through you, Zayne moans and writhes like he’s been set aflame.

The pungent, rotting aroma doubles, and you nearly gag.

Underneath your body, he heaves—rolling his hips, tossing his head back—

And, his entire face disintegrates into a rotting, maggot-infested corpse right before your eyes.

The outer shell—his bark—melts away to reveal the deadened man made out of wood and a foul dark magic you cannot name.

Shock like freezing water drenches you from head to toe, and for a moment, you can’t think—

AHH!

You jump off his lap, screaming and maniacally batting the maggots that had clung to your skin off like you’re trying to put off flames.

A litany of curses and wails pierces the evening air.

The corpse slumps down the throne, its manacled hands detaching from the torso.

You pick up what’s left of your sanity and run.

Far from the clearing, far from this cursed, wretched place.

You don’t realize tears are streaming down your face until you halt right in front of your cabin door, catching your breath.

What the fuck—!

You turn your gaze back to the clearing, your body frozen.

What the hell just happened?!

Your mind is a ringing mess.

For a second, you wonder if you’ve died and entered a strange version of hell. A few slaps to your cheek. A pinch on your arm.

You swear you can still taste rotting flesh on your lips, and the thought makes your stomach twist—

On your hands and knees, you dry heave spittle, flecks of your early dinner, and bile acid into the hard-packed ground.

The world spins. The night sky expands before your eyes, the stars threatening to swallow you up whole—

And, the entire world grows dark.

But, just before you fade into the black, an icy finger traces your cheek, catching your tears. A whisper in the wind:

I never once blamed you for what happened—rest easy now, my love.

—

The police could find no trace of a body in that deep wood clearing you stumbled into all those weeks ago.

Neither could any of them understand your senseless rambles when you try to piece together a proper story.

One of them even passes you a hospital’s number, in case of a head injury. 

Despite how the world denies him, you know he exists.

You know he’s in the aether, soul still bound to yours.

You feel him in the cool night breeze, whenever droplets of rain splatter on your face.

The effigy hiding the man; this inexplicable connection you have with Zayne.

Maybe one day you’ll finally remember the truth.

But for now, you take comfort in the silence and solitude of an approaching winter; your gaze always finding that clearing in the distance, wondering if you’d ever catch a glimpse of the divine again.

— reblogs and comments to support are very much appreciated 💕

“Wonder how much ol’ Nelson by the pier is gonna charge us for this beauty,” the last one chuckles.

“Tuna’s bout as pricey as a house these days—we’d be swimming in gold!”

Your eyes, wide with alarm, land on his frantic ones.

Tuna…?

What the hell were they talking about?

Clearly it was a man caught in the netting.

Or, were they all still drunk off cheap scotch from yesterday’s bar session to not see the sheen of scales covering his midsection?

Chromatic purple-pink, it’s would be hard for anyone to miss.

Shell-shocked, you try to warn them.

To open your mouth and shriek that they’ve caught a half-man, half-fish.

But, one cold, piercing look from the strange fish-man silences your attempts.

As if you can read his mind, he shakes his head.

Don’t blow my cover.

Rooted to the spot, you can only watch as they prepare a huge ice box to transport the merman (?) to the docks.

However, neither of you anticipate the sudden rolling of thunder clouds, the heavens opening up in the blink of an eye to pour down icy-sharp drops that cut through your skin. Screaming, the men disperse and you follow suit, hiding under a shop’s awning as everyone watches—horrified—as the “tuna” catch cuts through the net and twists over the docks, disappearing under the choppy waves.

The fishermen curse and stomp their feet.

But, you’re still staring at the spot where the man used to lay, wondering if you had finally lost it.

An icy finger slides down your spine which has nothing to do with the sudden hail-like downpour.

Something tells you this wouldn’t be the last time you’ll see him again.

—

Saltwater spray crashing from a rocky edifice you’re standing on nearly blinds you.

Gazing down from the sharp jut, you turn your gaze towards the blood-red setting sun.

It’s around this time that he’ll appear.

The man with a tail, scales, and siren song like honey in his mouth.

The man who has captivated you enough to make you forget about your evening duties and spend your time waiting by the shore for his return.

Rafayel.

Like a tale from an old, forgotten book, you're enraptured by this man who you came to find out is part of the sea— quite literally.

Born from primordial powers you can’t even wrap your head around, Rafayel spans easily 9-feet with his tail, powerful enough to slash through a man in half with one swish. His long, flowing amethyst hair flutters in the current, lovely face looking up at you through the shimmering water.

“Hi, Fishie,” you tease, using his least favorite nickname on him.

Rafayel chuckles, air bubbles rising to the surface as his head breaches past the water.

“Feisty,” he rasps, and hauls himself out by the forearms onto the rocky shore, his long tail curling around him like a scaly beacon.

You once asked him why you were the only one who could see his true form, and he had fallen silent.

Unable to answer you.

His eyes now gleam with a hunger you can’t deny. As a god of the sea, he’s starved for human worship, and you’re more than happy to provide it.

Sinking to your knees, you grab his face in your hands; like drinking from a mystical fountain, you tip his lips to yours and swallow his kisses.

“Gods—”

It’s blasphemy and he knows it. But, Rafayel would go against the heavens itself to mandate you by law to be by his side.

“My bride tastes good,” he purrs and licks his lips, smirking. “How’ve you been, my lovely?”

He props a hand under his cheek, leaning in to show his interest.

You have no idea why Rafayel is enamoured with you: the life of a lighthouse keeper isn’t a terribly exciting one.

The most interesting thing you will ever experience is two ships docking into the port at once.

But, he’s fascinated; listens with an enraptured expression on his face.

He keenly slurps up some corn soup you made for dinner, and you let him play his flute to soothe you to sleep.

“I’ll lock you in my bathtub if you keep this up,” you murmur, only joking.

Rafayel stops playing.

“Is that a promise? Or, a threat?”

He chuckles and sets his instrument down. “Do not start something you cannot finish, little one.”

You huff, and while he’s staring at you like you hung the stars across the sky, you tug him closer, tasting saltwater off his lips.

Rafayel moans and kisses you back.

“Little minx.”

He growls and tackles you to the rocky edifice, laughing quietly when you squeak and try to push his broad shoulders.

“Rafayel—!”

“You started this,” he rumbles, and nips your shoulder.

Lithe fingers start to unlace the ties holding your pants together.

“My rebellious—little—bride,” he drags his teeth over your exposed neck, making quick work of your clothes. “It is time to put you back in your place.”

“What if I did this on purpose?” You breathe.

He laughs. “All the more reason for me to devour you, my bride.”

The brilliant sunset throws his gentle lilac eyes into a deep blaze. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted… all I could ask for.”

Your breathing hitches.

This union will not make sense to many people, but it feels right.

Land and sea, human and merman.

Rafayel has not once treated you as anything other than his.

Those long fingers finally unwraps you free from your clothing, and you’re naked on the shore, his lips on yours.

The feel of his scales sliding against your skin makes you shiver.

The wind picks up, but in his arms, you’re warm and safe.

“Are you ready?”

You nod, eager.

The first time you ever took him, your legs had shook, and you had to spend the next day bedbound.

A merman's… physiology… is remarkably different from a normal man's.

One dick, you can take.

Two?

Well, sometimes Rafayel has to call in for reinforcements.

This time, he feeds you a sweet, yet tart berry with a crunchy outer layer—a Lemurian dessert—as he calls it.

The fruit makes you woozy, eyes growing heavier. Body feeling denser. You’re relaxed enough to not wince when the thick head of his second cock brushes your entrance, the other one grazing the less-used puckered hole, sending a dirty thrill up your spine.

“Raffie,” your sweet honey sighs brings a smile to his lips.

“Yes, my bride?”

Your hips twitch and you squirm, the hunger in your eyes unmistakable.

“I’ve been waiting for you all day—don’t make me wait any longer.”

On the pillowy soft sand, Rafayel stakes his claim. Ploughing into you with the force of a tsunami trying to drown a wrecked boat.

He takes and takes, stopping only to kiss you full on the lips. His tongue delves deep into your mouth, fingers plucking the tiny cherry-tipped buds on your chest with a terrifying efficacy that borders on him knowing your body better than your own.

Mmhh!

Your moans are his fuel, and your kisses his fire.

Rafayel consumes you like a blaze, swallowing down your cries.

There’s sand everywhere.

In your hair, between your butt cheeks, scattered all over your stomach and chest.

It's raining sand down on you and you love it.

The stars are beginning to rise in the upper hemisphere when Rafayel finally slows down, sheen of sweat glistening on his chest. He breathes hard and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, gently cupping your face.

“Are you well, my bride?”

You nod, too fucked out to form words.

He grins and rolls off you, large palms sweeping down your chest and body to brush off the granules of sand still clinging to your skin.

“I shall return tomorrow, when the sun dips below the sky,” he promises like he always does.

You roll over to your side, supporting your head with a hand under your chin.

“You swear?” Extending a pinkie finger towards him, Rafayel chuckles and tentatively wraps his longer one around yours.

“I promise.”

…

He’s broken his promise.

Rafayel doesn't return tomorrow, nor the day after.

You grow restless, eyes constantly flickering to the seashore for a glimpse of chromatic purple or pastel pink.

You start to see him in the seaweed washing up in the shore; wondering when did dull green fibers start to resemble the wondrous hues of his lilac hair.

You think you hear his voice in the breeze, but it’s the whistle of the wind.

The loneliness eats at you. Nights spent watching the coast for a glimmer of his appearance.

You’ve taken to sleeping on the balcony overlooking the obsidian sea where he usually makes an appearance.

Still, he does not come back to you.

One fateful night, when the rain beats down like bullets on your window, you hear the faintest knock on the front door of your home.

Instantly curious, you undo the bolt and when you see who’s on the other end, your heart nearly stops.

It's Rafayel.

Just not the Rafayel you were expecting.

But, a man walking on two legs.

Your knees buckle. The world starts to spin.

“Where…” you swallow hard. “Where is your tail?”

Your lover chuckles at the question. He’s dressed head to toe in velvet—coat, gloves and a pair of leather boots to compliment the eccentric getup.

If you didn't know any better, he probably ransacked the closet of an elderly socialite.

“Is that anyway to greet someone who went through hell just to see you?”

His tone is light, the words deceptively honest.

You gape at him.

Asking him the one question that addresses the elephant in the room.

“How?”

Rafayel’s lips twitch.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Yes, I do—” A sharp breath. “I waited for you. For so many nights—”

You hate how your voice starts to break. The sting in your eyes and wobble in your lower lip obvious.

“—and I thought you left me—”

The rest of your words disappear in a muffle embrace full of velvet.

Rafayel holds you fast to his chest, murmuring into your hair.

“I would never leave you, my bride. You’re all I need want—all I could ever need. Besides—” he grins and gently chucks your chin with two fingers till you crack a smile. “—who else is going to remind you to do your rounds in the lighthouse if it weren't for me?”

Though his sudden appearance raises a few red flags in your mind, your innate need for his company doesn’t abate. You tighten your arms around him.

“As long as you’re here… that’s all that matters.”

—

The funny thing about love is that is makes you blind to someone’s lies.

Life was perfectly in bliss with Rafayel back at your side. Though you tried to ask him about his legs—how he got them when the last you remembered, he had a seven-foot long tail, he always shut down your curiosity before it could go too far.

Distracting you with honey-sweet kisses that fill your chest with warmth.

On rainy nights, he would bring out his record player and the two of you would dance barefoot across the cold, concrete floors.

The thought that he would leave never occurred to you.

Not even as you spend your mornings sweeping the coast with your binoculars, or filling an order form with next month’s supply rations to be delivered.

As long as Rafayel was by your side, you were happy.

His footsteps come up behind you, arms wrapped around your waist.

“Morning, beautiful,” he husks into your ear, and you turn to smile at him, only to catch his eyes widening in alarm. “Y/N—you’re bleeding.”

He instantly pulls out a handkerchief and gently dabs at your nose.

“Shit—” you tilt your head back, wincing. “That’s funny,” you murmur as he pinches your nose, your next words a nasal wheeze. “I haven’t had a nosebleed since I was five.”

Rafayel admonishes you with a look. “You’re overworking yourself. You need to take a break.”

“I’m fine,” you lift a hand to his wrist. He catches the slight tremor in them and his eyes narrow further.

“You’re not—that’s it.”

He sweeps you into his arms, lifting you straight to bed. “You are resting for the whole day. No ‘buts’—you need to take it easy.”

“But, the boats—”

“Will survive for the night,” he grouses. “I can switch on and off a humongous bulb. You just rest, okay?”

Okay. Your voice is small, lost in the mountain of blankets he stacks on top of you.

Despite his careful attentions, you don’t get any better. There are times at night when you’d lie awake in his arms, unable to fall asleep. Dizziness would get the better of you at times, and you’d have to slump over your work desk to catch a breath.

It doesn’t help that the local police have been darkening your doorstep for the past week.

Something about a man by the docks who was found with his body sliced in half, legs missing.

You shake your head when they show you his photo.

I don’t recognize him. Sorry, officers.

They persist, saying he was on his way to the lighthouse to deliver some heat packs when he turned up dismembered near the shore.

You shake your head again.

I’ve never heard of this man, nor seen him in my life.

Eventually, they grow weary of hounding and take their leave, but not before one of the younger officers casts his gaze around the circular, hollow lighthouse.

“Bit daunting to be a woman all alone here, eh, miss?”

You narrow your eyes, sensing where he’s getting at.

All your life, people had questioned your choice of taking over your father’s job as the new lighthouse keeper. Most of them came from a good place; others like this officer did it to feel a smidgen of superiority—insinuating that you didn’t have what it took to be the guardian of the seas.

You raise your head, tightening your jaw.

“Only if you can stand the sea wisps who try to steal your soul.”

His expression changes into one of furious confusion. His burlier colleague pats his shoulder, throwing you a strained smile.

“We’re done here, Miss. Enjoy your day.”

After they leave your doorstep, you feel more than hear Rafayel coming up behind you.

“Those bastards are lucky I’m in a good mood,” he comments, tracing your sides with a light touch. “Or, I would’ve sliced up and ate them raw.”

You scoff, leaning into his touch. His lips press against the crown of your head, tender and reassuring.

“Relax. I’m here.”

The broad and sturdy muscled plane of his chest reassures you, and you let yourself sink into his touch.

As much as you try to force yourself to relax, you can’t quite get the words of those officers out of your head.

“A man sliced in half… his legs missing.”

Rafayel tenses behind you. A part of you wonders if…

“How’re your legs feeling?” You casually ask, remembering how he’d complain of their joints aching last night.

“Never you mind,” he comments breezily. Almost too casually. “I’ll find some ointment for them. You, however, my pretty pearl, need to sleep.”

He evades your questions again.

And the next day, he doesn’t respond when you probe him about his legs.

You should’ve known something strange was going on when he refused to let you take off his pants. Or, go down on him.

In fact, you can’t remembered the last time Rafayel actually had sex with you.

Really, really had sex with you.

It was always heavy fondling, or he’d take his time between your thighs, eating you out until you cried out in ecstasy.

The moment you let your hands drift downward, he’d catch them and press a kiss to your wrist.

I want to focus on you, princess.

Let me make you feel good.

Don’t worry about me.

Could it be…? No.

You try to shake off those thoughts.

It doesn’t mean anything… right?

The radio by your nightstand crackles, blasting an important news update.

“… we interrupt the morning traffic announcement to inform civilians of Uncanny Valley to be on high alert for a serial killer with a penchant for dismembering legs…”

Slender fingers turn down the radio dial, and you startle when Rafayel’s grinning face appears in your vision.

“It’s a lovely day, princess. Come on. We should stroll down the beach.”

He takes your hand and you can’t protest at his enthusiasm—it’s the first time you’ve seen him this happy in a long while. The air is warm, with a hint of sea salt carding through your hair. The sun shines down and Rafayel tugs you into an alcove, far away from prying eyes.

His hands sink in your hair, lips pressing onto yours with an eagerness that makes you gasp.

The cave is dark, and you can’t see him, but you can feel his arousal stiffening against your thigh. Scent the musk of his kisses in the heat of your mouth. Rafayel devours your moan, hitching your legs around his narrow waist.

“Lay down—yes… just like that.”

Your back meets cool rock. On a flatbed of stone, he begins to undress you. There is no sound beyond your staggering breath the steady drip-drip-drip of water trickling down from the damp rocky ceiling into a quietly bubbling underground stream.

Even with the lack of light, Rafayel’s warmth is enough to reassure you.

Like a burning flame in the deepest depth of night, he fills you with a rush of safety.

“God, you taste so good.”

He moans against your neck.

“I’ve missed you like this…”

Your clothes are shed to the floor, and he nips and licks at your mouth, desperate to taste you.

Blooming like a flower, your lips part for him, just like your legs.

He settles between them, a comforting weight.

A look of tenderness sparks in his cosmic lilac eyes, streaking through your soul like a fiery comet.

“I love you.”

Your sudden admission leaves him breathless.

He moans and buries his face into your shoulder, licking and biting your bare skin.

“Say it again,” he demands, almost desperate. “Say those words again.”

I love you.

You brand it into his neck, leaving your mark.

I love you.

Your body whispers when you straddle his lap, raising your hips. He watches from below, a love struck god entranced by his devotee.

The warmth of your palms seeping into his chest makes him shiver, twitching deep inside of you.

It’s one now, not two—no double penetration, and somehow, you miss the feeling of being completely filled and taken.

He seems to sense this, and slides a finger between your crease, testing the waters by gently easing the tip of his index past the tight rim of your ass.

Fuck!

Your gasp riles him up, and Rafayel pushes deeper.

It’s enough to get your walls fluttering around him.

"Come for me,” he urges, low and deep. “Come for your sea god.”

Head tossed back, eyes squeezed shut, your release crashes you apart; a violent wave dragging you deeper, and deeper till his cock is the only thing you can anchor yourself to; till the salt tang of his cum is what you can taste behind your throat.

He cradles you in his embrace, sturdy and sure.

As you drift off, his kisses rain like warm specks of dew, dabbling your cheeks and smearing it with his devotion.

Sleep now. I’ve got you.

The last thing you remember before drifting off into unconsciousness was how he tightened his arms around you, as if desperate to let go—afraid you would float away.

Because when morning came, he was the first to leave.

Naked and alone, you stumble to drag your clothes on.

Emerging from the cave, your feet stagger on the soft sand, and you shield your eyes against the sun’s sudden harsh glare.

There, in the distance, police car lights bounce red and blue by the lighthouse entrance, making something in your chest tighten in fear.

When you approach them, instead of offering you an answer, they halt, eyes wide.

One of them grips his gun holster tight, as if bracing himself to shoot.

“Wh—?”

“Get on the ground!”

An officer to your right yells. You snap out of your fugue and raise your hands, eyes wide.

What the hell is happening?

You want to scream—to ask them to clarify just why the hell they were in front of your home, weapons raised right at you.

Get on the ground and hands behind your back!

It’s only when you kneel on the gravel do you notice the blood seeping through your clothes. You cry out in fear, but the men don’t hear.

They don’t care if you’re trembling from the confusion and terror.

They don’t care if you keep hurling questions at them, demanding to know what is going on.

One of them cuffs you, while the other surrounds the area, retracing your steps back to the cave.

He emerges a moment later, white as a sheet, and nods gravely at another officer.

The burlier man curses under his breath, and spares you a dirty look.

He doesn’t explain—doesn’t offer you any rhyme or reason—just simply lifts his walkie to his mouth and instructs dispatch to send in paramedics.

There’s a moment when you have an out of body experience.

You’re not handcuffed, sitting hunched back by a broken vase of flowers. You’re following the men inside the cave—seeing a pair of dismembered legs lying limply on the rocky edifice. You can’t scream because you’re not in your own body; relegated to watching with wide, unblinking eyes as they carefully put what remains of Rafayel into a body bag.

It wasn’t me, you want to beg and plead.

It wasn’t me!

Mercury poisoning, one of the mutters under his breath.

This whole place reeks of it.

You would never hurt Rafayel.

You would never—

“Please.”

Forcing yourself to your knees, you glance up at one of the officers.

“Let me call my… my boyfriend. His name is Rafayel. Just let me call him and he can explain everything.”

The officer hesitates. He’s older—big bellied with an equally voluminous mustache.

“Lady, who is Rafayel?”

You hesitate for a split second. Would they think you were crazy—telling them all about the merman you saved who could mysteriously walk on land?

“Take my phone.”

You gesture at your pocket. “We have pictures together—”

The officer nods and gets on one knee, fishing for your phone to find out who ‘Rafayel’ is. He would see the handsome young man posing in front of sunsets, laughing into your lenses.

Perhaps, he’d even be moved by the photos you two snapped of each other, the ones where both of you were obviously in love, immortalized side by side in your gallery.

But, the officer falters.

“You said… you said you had a boyfriend? And you have photos of the lad?”

You nod, wondering why he suddenly sounds alarmed.

In a matter of seconds, you get your answer.

He turns your phone screen to you, and your eyes widen in shock.

Every photo the two of you have taken as a couple—selfies in the sun—only showed you.

You, grinning into the camera, with an eerie man-shaped space beside you. Empty.

No trace of him. Not even a shadow.

No Rafayel reflection in your sunglasses, nor the suggestion of someone who had once stood there.

Just… you.

“It can’t be.”

The officer helps scroll through your gallery, each photo more unnerving than the rest. The romantic sunset walk by the shore—you appearing to hold some invisible man’s hand. A picnic date—you toasting to empty air.

No boyfriend.

No Rafayel.

“Miss, it’s okay,” the older officer soothes you, his tone deceptively calm, but the strain is evident.

“We’re going to get you some help. Some of the best, finest lawyers and shrinks in the city—”

No.

You want to scream.

No!

But, as they haul you up and into the police car, a chill snakes down your spine.

A whisper, barely louder than the wind, brushes your ear: “I’m sorry.”

Before the car door slams shut on your stunned, hollow-eyed stare, your gaze drifts back—drawn to the shoreline.

There, half-submerged in sea foam, a pair of eyes—unnaturally pink and violet—stare back at you.

Unblinking.

Unmoving.

Mourning.

— reblogs and comments to support are very much appreciated 💕