#*Protection spell. *Curse removal. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jayaury · 2 months ago

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Marked for Love

Another short story from the archive. Plenty more on you know where! https://www.patreon.com/JayAury

Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.

Cynthia Spellman bit her lower lip as she looked in the cracked mirror, her robe hiked up, baring her slim stomach, her lacy panties and, more importantly, the red mark like an elaborate heart tattooed on her mons. Throbbing.

Pulsing.

Beating with an insidious heat that wormed its way through her and to her core.

She groaned aloud. Ohhhh dammit. Dammit dammit dammit! She knew they should have recruited a priest into the party when delving into the Demon’s Dungeon. If only she’d been able to torch that imp to ash before the bitch got off that spell. Because Cynthia knew the curse mark she was looking at. Any mage would.

A breeding rune.

She swore again. An insidious mark, and one with only a 2% chance of landing. Honestly, she hadn’t thought any demons would be stupid enough to cast it. But that imp had looked awfully pleased with herself, right before Cynthia blasted the little harlot back to the pit that spawned her.

But the damage had been done.

And she was stuck with it.

Cynthia chewed on her lip worriedly. What she needed to do was get it dispelled, asap. Because a breeding rune was one of the more sinister magics. It enchanted a woman to desire a man to cum in her by any means. To be filled with seed and quicken with child. Which was bad enough, but the real danger was the longer she held out, the more the curse would change her in order to get what she needed. Corrupting her body and soul until she was just a demonic trollop begging for a good dicking. Not a problem if she got the curse banished. But if she ended up giving in, she’d be locked into whatever state she was in when she finally got that much needed fucking.

And how in the hells was she supposed to explain that?

A knock sounded at the door. “Cynthia? You okay?”

Cynthia squeaked, dropping her skirt hastily. “F-fine Roland!” she called. “Just fine! Just… just making sure this new hood fits! That’s all.”

“Alright. But be careful. We’re not out of this dungeon yet.”

Gods, and didn’t she know it. She felt again a flush. They’d delved pretty deep into the dungeon today, and the way out was quite far. But she felt sure she could manage it. The curse would take time to take effect. Honestly, she could last a few hours without jumping Roland’s bones. Fine bones that they were. Making the knight so big and strong and tanky. Always ready to take a hit for her. Let her do her stuff. So protective and sweet and…

She felt the heat within her stir and grow and she quickly shook her head. Get it together, girl! All she had to do was last a few hours and she could get out of the dungeon and head straight to the nearest temple to get the curse removed. For brief moment she considered telling Roland, but instantly dismissed the idea. The thought of admitting such an embarrassing thing appalled her. She couldn’t tell him she’d done something as silly as getting cursed by some low-level imp. Not to mention he’d ask to see it. Ask if he could do anything for her, because he was such a good man. A kind man. A sweet, lovable, hunk of man who would be such a gentle lover and…

She groaned and slapped her cheeks again. Focus, girl. Focus! Turning on her heel, she marched to the door and opened it abruptly.

Roland waited on the other side, and just the sight of his handsome, worried face almost melted her legs out from under her with a sudden needy heat that shot from her core. Blonde hair curled about his face. A broad build confined by his heavy armour, a large shield and sword sheathed on his back, and an expression of genuine concern, he was what every mage dreamed their tank would be.

“Did you try on the hood?” he asked.

“Hm? Hood? O-oh! Yes. Mhmm. Yes, absolutely. It ah, it didn’t boost my stats quite as much as I’d hoped. Haha!”

“That’s a shame,” he said, his eyes wandering down to her chest. “But uh, why are you leaving your robe a bit open like that?”

Cynthia looked down in surprise, realizing her collar was a bit undone, revealing a hint of her bust. “Oh, yes, that. Just… been feeling a bit hot in here. Thought I might get more air circulating. Cool myself a bit. Not a big deal.”

“If you say so,” Roland said, though she couldn’t help but notice that his eyes lingered on the teasing hint of her breasts. A sensation of amused triumph thrilled through her, but she quickly tamped it down.

“Let’s get going!” she declared, quickly passing him. “Gotta get above ground soon. Can’t delay!”

“Oh, yes. Um, right. Of course,” she heard Roland say, then the reassuring clank of his armour as he followed her. Cynthia breathed a sigh of relief, focusing on the present and what she needed to do. Just keep moving. Just keep going.

And try to ignore how comfortable it felt to put a bit of wiggle into her walk.

Gods, why was it so hot!

Cynthia groaned as she sat on a rock, feeling the heat like her clothes were stuffed with burning coals. With every step she’d been feeling the curse mark pulse on her mons, threading more of its feverish warmth through her. Roland had gone to scout ahead for a bit, giving her a blessed opportunity to take a break. Gods, but she just needed a bit of relief. Just a little bit to get further.

She hesitated, reaching for the enchanted bell on the collar of her robe. She knew she shouldn’t adjust her clothes. But if she did nothing, she’d pass out from heatstroke before reaching the surface. And if she did, then Roland would surely check on her. Maybe undress her. Then he’d see that mark and think she was a dumb bimbo and… and…

She grimaced and tightened her lips. Reluctantly, she touched the bell on her collar, gripped it, and willed a bit of relief.

Almost at once the fabric around her chest loosened, stretching and exposing more of her cleavage. She sighed with satisfaction, sagging a bit. Gods, that was so much better! But she still felt warm. Blushing a bit, she willed the sides of her robe to open, creating long slits that left only a strap of cloth covering her mons and ass. Somewhat scandalous, true, but there was no denying it was far more comfortable.

And… dare she say, cute?

She looked down at her chest and a worried frown marred her face. Was it just her, or was she… bigger? She cupped her chest, and had to bite her lip to suppress a sudden moan from escaping her. Oh… oh gosh, that… that felt good. So… so sensitive.

In fact, it was kind of hard to stop.

Stop feeling her big, soft chest. Giving it a bounce. A squeeze. Ohhhh, that felt gooood. She squirmed, legs rubbing together. But… but what would feel even better would be getting a big, studly, strong man to fill his loving hands with her big breasts. A man like…

”Roland,” she breathed.

“C-Cynthia?”

She squeaked, snatching her hands back and looking up in shock to find the knight standing at the end of the tunnel, staring at her in amazement.

“Roland!” Cynthia exclaimed, bounding quickly to her feet, and as she did, she caught his eyes riveting to her chest as her breasts bounced in her top. A feeling of satisfaction filled her, but she dutifully ignored it. “What um, what did you find?” she asked.

Roland seemed to shake himself, blinking as he looked back up at her. “Find? Oh, yes. It seems clear ahead. Looks like the ah, monsters haven’t respawned yet.”

“Wonderful!” Cynthia said, snatching up her staff. “Then we should get going, shouldn’t we?”

“Er, yes. We should. But uh, Cynthia, your clothes. They look…”

“Oh! That,” she giggled, giving a quick twirl. “Do you like it?”

“I um…”

“Just getting a bit of cooler air. So hot down here, right?”

“It is?”

“Absolutely!” she said, smiling encouragingly. “So hot. Gets me all sweaty and warm. Just needed to, you know, get a bit of airflow going. Right? Anyway! No time to waste. Better get back on the move.”

“I… guess,” Roland said uncertainly.

“Exactly! Let’s go,” Cynthia exclaimed, bounding past him, trying to suppress the knowledge of how good it felt to have that strip of cloth swishing between her thighs. The way the silk stroked her panties and slick mound.

But she also noticed the way Roland watched her breasts bounce in her tight top as she went by.

And maybe she enjoyed that gaze a bit more than was proper…

Hells but her migraine was just killing her.

Cynthia groaned, rubbing her temples.

“You sure you’re okay?” Roland asked her.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Just fine. Have a little headache, that’s all.”

“Can I do anything to help?” he asked.

Bend me over this fucking rock and rail me until I’m begging you to stuff me with your fucking stud baby batter!

Through an incredible force of will, Cynthia managed to not scream that out. But she needed some relief. The heat in her was coiling its insidious tentacles all through her, and she needed SOMETHING to take the fucking pressure off.

Her eyes slid back to Roland.

“Actually,” she said slowly, rolling her shoulders with a pained expression. “I’m feeling so… stiff at the moment. And you have those wonderfully talented hands. I was thinking maybe you could give me a quick massage.”

“A massage?” he said uncertainly.

“Yeah,” she said, already warming to the idea. Well, her body was anyway. Just the thought of getting those strong hands on her made the tension coiling in her ease just a bit. “Just a bit. Help me relax.”

“Of course,” the knight said, beaming that lovable smile of his as he took off his gauntlets. Cynthia bit her lip. Gods, just the sight of that goofy smile made her want to cram his head between her thighs and ride his tongue to a dozen screaming orgasms.

But she’d take what she could get. And as he moved around and sat down behind her, she tried not to shiver at the smell of him. That sweet medley of leather and sweat and manliness.

And that was before she felt his hands on her shoulders.

“Ohhhhh,” she groaned, arching.

He paused. “You okay?”

“Better than ever,” she sighed.

“I haven’t even started.”

“Then don’t wait,” she fairly growled. “Get those strong fingers in there.”

“Sorry?”

“Just… please, start.”

She stifled a moan as his fingers began to gently knead her shoulders, soon growing more confident at the familiar motions. Cynthia exhaled heavily, her eyes drifting half-shut as she enjoyed his touch. His wonderful, gentle yet firm touch. Gods, those fingers were incredible. She could actually feel herself start to drift away, even the headache easing.

“Is that good?” Roland asked.

“Wonderful,” she breathed, sinking back against his touch. Oh gods it was so good. “Lower.”

She felt his touch slide over her shoulders. “Like that?”

“Oh yessss,” she groaned, shivering in ecstasy, her toes curling in her shoes. “Just… mnnn… like that. Maybe… maybe a bit lower.”

She felt him hesitate, then obey. She was breathing deeper. Heavier. That was good. That was nice…

“You smell good,” Roland murmured.

A smile stole across her lips at his dreamy voice. “Thank you. Perfume… perfume is new. And lower, Roland.”

“L-lower?”

“Please,” she panted, wriggling.

Again that moment of hesitation. Then his hands slid down. Slid over the gentle curves of her chest.

Oh gods yes.

A soft moan escaped her as she arched, pushing her breasts into his uncertain hands. Hands that began to grow more confident. Slow. Gentle. Pumping and squeezing her breasts in ways that made her whimper and gasp in helpless pleasure.

Oh gods.

Oh gods that was so good.

She could feel the heat that had been torturing her dull to a pleasant throb. Swelling up into her head, filling it with a hazy warmth. Her headache easing into clouds of euphoric pleasure as her hips lazily rocked.

“Just like that,” she breathed, her free hand stealing between her thighs, a jolt of delight racing through her as she touched herself, the silky strip between her legs offering no protection to her hyper-sensitive pussy. “Oh Roland…”

“So soft,” he breathed, his face nearly buried in her luxurious hair, his hands still massaging and adoring her breasts. His warm breath panting against the back of her neck.

Oh gods yes.

“Roland,” she moaned, her finger pressing against her pussy, stroking herself through her dress and panties. Higher. Higher.

“Cynthia,” she heard him gasp behind her, his hands skilled and adoring as they bounced and massaged her soft breasts. She squirmed in delight, hot pants escaping her in rushes, her ass grinding back against him, feeling the bulge in his pants.

“Roland. Roland,” she whimpered, her finger strumming herself harder. Pleasure sparking through her in bursts, the cloudiness in her head concentrating. The pressure throbbing. Feeling so good. So wonderful. So… so…

“Mnnnnnn!” she cried out, quivering as she came, her juices staining her filmy panties and the strip of her robe, her muscles tightening in shameful ecstasy, the pressure in her head releasing in a sudden burst of euphoria that washed her in a wave of bliss.

She sighed happily, leaning back against Roland, who merely moaned softly, still gently massaging her plump teats. A sensation that ached through her wonderfully. Gods but it felt good. Gods it all felt so… so fucking good…

Why hadn’t she done this before?

As that idle thought swam through her mind, she felt another urgent throb from the place above her mons. She lifted her head numbly, and felt a strange weight on her brow. Vaguely, she reached up, touching her forehead.

Feeling a pair of bumps.

Her eyes snapped open in horror. Horns. Oh fuck, she had horns! Her formerly wonderful pleasure vanished like a flash of pink steam.

“Cynthia?”

She looked down in shock at the hands on her breasts and bolted suddenly to her feat, then slapped her palm to her forehead, turning away so Roland couldn’t see her front. “Er, yes! Thank you, Roland. Wonderful job. Very um, good. I’m just gonna go, er, freshen up a bit real quick. Be right back!”

“Wha-”

Before he could object she hurried back around the corridor’s corner and covered her face with her hands. Oh gods. Oh gods, did she really do that? Did she really just get Roland to play with her fat cow tits while she masturbated on his lap?

Yes.

Yes she did.

And it had been amazing.

She felt her blush warm herself anew, even as she berated her response. Gods, the curse’s heat was already back! It was like she hadn’t even gotten a moment of relief from it. But it was fine. It was fine. She could fix this. Just… just get out of the dungeon and find a priest who could dispel the curse. Then she’d be back to normal.

Yes.

Just normal.

So normal she’d never have done anything like that. Let Roland massage her sensitive breasts. Rub her ass against his bulge as she stroked herself to one of the best orgasms she’d ever had.

Totally.

Utterly.

Normal.

Cynthia bit her lip at the thought. She… she did want to be normal again. She was pretty sure of that. No, no. She was absolutely sure of it. Even if it had felt amazing. Even if she’d relished the thrill and the sound of Roland’s voice becoming dim and hazy. As if drunk on her presence. Her beauty. Even if she now had horns which she really needed to cover up. Yes, a hood. That’s what she needed.

And… maybe let the chest out a bit more. All of Roland’s pumping had made her even bustier.

Again she touched the bell on her neck and willed the changes. She sighed in relief as a hood formed from her top, looping over her hair, while an even larger boob window opened in her robe. As she looked herself down, she frowned at a sight below. The strip of fabric between her legs now sported a very apparent stain.

“Gods dammit,” she groaned. Look at that mess. She was NOT wandering through the dungeon with a big stain on the front of her robe. But how to hide it?

A sudden vision entered her mind, and well, it was a bit out of character for her, but why not? She’d be out of the dungeon soon anyway. Another press on the bell folded the strips of cloth between her legs, her robe shrinking even more, hugging her curves in a form-fitting leotard that showed off her every incredible curve. Cynthia smirked and turned this way and that, admiring her bared thighs and curves of her breasts. A perfect hourglass. Gods she was hot. That wasn’t the curse talking. Just… confidence.

Yeah.

Just confidence at being so gorgeous.

Smiling, she turned and went back into the chamber. Roland was still sitting on the rock, bent forward, his head in his hand like he had a headache.

“Ready, Roland?” Cynthia asked.

He looked up, and Cynthia had to bite her lip to keep from smirking at his expression. His jaw positively dropped at the sight of her, the awe in his eyes sending another shot of pure heat into her pussy and tingling through her veins.

“Cynthia,” he gasped. “You…”

“Just needed to let my body breathe a bit more,” Cynthia said coyly, turning this way and that to let him admire her further. “Do you like?”

“You… you look amazing,” he admitted.

Cynthia giggled. “So glad you think so. Now, come on, Roland,” she said, crooking a finger and beckoning. “Let’s get going.”

He rose instantly, and Cynthia felt another thrill at how quickly he obeyed. How his eyes grew dim as he breathed in deeply, as if just the sight and scent of her threatened to drown him in her presence. Arrogant of her to think so, perhaps, but as she turned, leading the way forward, she was hit with the delightful feeling like she was leading a puppy through the black stone halls.

And enjoying every moment of it.

The heat was back.

And strong.

So fucking strong.

It had been okay for a bit, but now the coiling warmth of desire was consuming her like an inferno. Cynthia was blushing, feeling her pulse throb and mons ache as if begging her to bathe her womb in the seed of a man. And it really didn’t help having such a handsome, willing man right behind her. Gods, she just wanted to push him down, kiss him, smother him under her fat tits and grind herself to a dozen orgasms before she even got his fucking pants off.

“Look! The exit.”

The words snapped her from her fantasies. Cynthia raised her head and through the blur of her vision she saw the white glow of the way out. The shining end of the tunnel beckoning her on.

Out.

Out of the dungeon.

Excitement surged within her. Bloomed with euphoria. “Yes!” she gasped. “Yes!”

So overcome, she whirled around and wrapped her arms around a startled Roland, leaned forward, and kissed him adoringly on the lips.

She felt him stiffen reflexively, but then he moaned, his eyes lidding, growing hazy as his lips moved against hers, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her tight against him. Cynthia whimpered in delight as she felt her mound press against his front. Grind against his bulge. Her sensitive breasts rubbing against the steel of his chest.

The kiss deepened. Her tongue pushed into his mouth. Her hands slid up his neck and to his head, her fingers running through his hair as his own arms moved over her back as if tracing every inch of her winsome figure.

More.

She needed more.

The compulsion radiated from her mons. From the mark. She pushed him back and Roland hit the cavern wall. She broke the kiss, panting. Hot. Needy.

“We… we shouldn’t,” she breathed, her hands already moving, finding catches and buckles of armour and stripping them away with uncanny precision.

“Y-yeah. Shouldn’t,” Roland said dimly, offering no resistance as his hands continued to stroke her, tracing the curve of her ass, pressing himself against the tight fabric of her leotard.

“Gotta… gotta resist,” Cynthia panted as she tugged his pants down, her fingers grasping his stiffened cock.

“Nnnn,” Roland groaned.

“Can’t give in,” Cynthia breathed as she sank to her knees, Roland’s cock finally in her hand. Before her eyes. Thick. Throbbing. Begging for her attention. The scent stuffing her nose. Her head. Her tongue teased over her lips. Her mouth opened, and she swallowed him deep.

“Ohhhh!” Roland groaned, head falling back, body jolting with a gasp.

“Mmmm,” Cynthia agreed, her lashes fluttering in ecstasy as she began to bob, her tongue swirling over his tip and length. Gods. Gods above, he tasted so good. So thick and powerful and virile. Her free hand slipped beneath him, cradling his balls, and she could fairly feel his seed churn within them. Stirring from her ministrations. Begging for release.

She’d release him.

Gods she would.

She’d suck him dry. Swallow without missing a drop. Gods, what had taken her so long to do this? How could she have kept herself from pushing him down and just fucking choking herself on his fat cock!? Her throat seemed to accommodate his every inch with uncanny ease. Moaning, bobbing, she sucked him deep, going down to the root, her tongue lathing and wrapping around his manhood with utterly shameless need.

“F-fuck!” Roland gasped, his eyes misty. Foggy. His hands groping down to her head. Cynthia bucked as his fingers pushed aside her hood and wrapped around her horns, the sensation throbbing into her like a bolt of lightning. For a brief moment she felt panic, but glancing up at his face showed Roland didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes were fogged, his mouth open, panting in needy gasps as he pumped into her waiting mouth.

Pheromones. A demon’s trait, now hers from the curse.

And he was utterly drunk on them.

She knew she should feel bad about that, but she didn’t care. She wanted him too much. Too badly. She needed his cum. Needed him. The heat from her mound pulsed in a throbbing beat like drums urging her on. Urging her to suck harder. Massage his balls. Tease and pump him until his face was flushed and desperate gasps were escaping him. Until he was feverishly pumping his cock into her mouth, fucking her face until… until…

“F-fuuuuuuck!” Roland cried out, head thrown back, groaning as he came.

And Cynthia was in heaven.

She moaned, her eyes lidding as the hot heaviness of his load pumped into her mouth, eagerly swallowed down into her stomach. She sucked him gently, relishing every spurt, feeling the swirling delight ache through her.

Gods.

Gods, it was… it was so fucking perfect…

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

Cynthia pulled her lips off his cock, her whole body feeling like it was on fire. Her head throbbing. Thoughts swirling with a single need that she had to satisfy. “More,” she gasped.

“C-Cynthia?” Roland panted, looking down at her blankly, his jaw slack.

She knew he’d do anything she wanted him to. She could tell. He wanted her as bad as she wanted him. And she’d have him. She rose, no longer hesitant. No longer caring of consequences or doubt. Her hand rose, rang the bell on her collar.

Every stitch of clothing seemed to burst from her, baring her glorious figure in all its glory, her skin so flushed it seemed red, her breasts so huge and full they seemed to float upon her chest. Her hips were wide and her legs parted, the curse mark blazing proudly on her body.

Roland stared at her, mouth agape. “What…”

“Don’t question,” she commanded, and he fell silent. Another thrill surged through her as she turned around, bent forward, planting her hands against the far wall, her ass thrust out. “Fuck me, Roland,” she growled, glancing over her shoulder. “Fuck me like you’ve wanted to ever since we met. Fuck me. Mate me. Breed my fucking pussy! I need your cock, Roland. I need it in me. Now!”

Roland stared at her, and oh how her curse mark rewarded her for that stare. That look of helpless lust. Of frantic desire. He came towards her, his hands reaching out, grasping the soft swell of her ample hips. She cried out, cooed as the rewarding heat of her curse mark surged through her again, tingling in her tailbone and back.

“That’s it,” she breathed, waving her rear, smirking as she saw his cock rise, hardening once again at the sight of her needy figure. “Fuck me, Roland. Fuck me hard. Mate me like the slut I am. Just a bitch in heat. Needing your cock. Now fuck me. Fuck me!”

“Yes,” Roland gasped, squeezing her soft rump, aligning his cock with the steamy gash of her pussy. “Yes… mistress…”

For a brief moment that word shocked Cynthia. Raised a doubt in her. She opened her mouth to order him back.

Then he pushed forward.

Filled her.

And hesitation was burned away by the fire of pleasure as she got what she so desperately needed.

“Ohhhhh!” Cynthia cried out, arching, tightening deliciously around the thick cock impaling her. Heat bloomed in her, but no longer tortuous. No. Now it surged in her in a euphoric blast. “Yesss!” she cried out. “Fuck me, Roland. Mate me! Fuck me haaaard!”

“Yes,” Roland panted, not hesitating a beat, beginning to thrust, pumping his cock feverishly into her hot pussy. Driving into her with a desperate urgency, every smack of his hips off her ass sending another throb of pure pleasure rocking her to the core. “Yes! Mistress. Fuck mistress. Fuck her!”

“Yes!” Cynthia cried out, uncaring, lost, relishing the feeling of him finally inside her. Finally giving her what she needed! “Yes! Fuck me. Mate me! Breed me, Roland. Breed your mistress! Mistress ah! Mistress needs your c-cum! Give it to her. Give it to me! Fuck me! Fuck me n-nooooooow!”

Pleasure pounded through her. Throbbed behind her eyes. In her back. In her ass. As she wailed her ecstasy, she felt the pressure burst. Felt a dark tail twist from her rear. Black wings sprout from her back.

“Breed your demon mistress noooooow!” Cynthia howled in triumph.

“Nnnnn!” Roland moaned, filling her a final time, his cock sinking deep inside her as he gave in. Cumming in a sudden rush of his hot seed.

The feeling surged into Cynthia. She wailed in pleasure, her orgasm flowing through her after his. Her pussy tightening, quivering, urging the hot gush of his cum into her womb. Feeling it fill her.

Wake her.

Consume her in bliss.

She moaned, her eyes rolling back, her arms shaking as she felt the curse mark burn itself into her skin. Marking her forever. Glowing like a brand.

And she couldn’t have been happier.

With a shaky breath she stepped forward, unsheathing Roland’s cock from her. The knight fell back onto the ground, his strong chest heaving, his eyes staring at her in worship and hazy love.

Cynthia smirked down at him, her hands lazily stroking her figure, her dark wings fluttering, her tail lashing.

Beautiful, she thought to herself. Utterly beautiful.

“Am I lovely, Roland?” she asked.

“So… so lovely,” he gasped, worshipping her with his eyes.

Cynthia giggled, her hands cupping her breasts, stroking them and sending them bouncing, her fingers tracing down onto her hips. “Mmm. And you’ll love me forever, won’t you? Be my obedient stud forever and ever? Pumping me full of children whenever I want?”

“Yes,” Roland panted. “Yes!”

“Adore me?”

“Yes!”

“Worship me?”

“Yes!”

“Do anything for me?”

“Gods yes!”

Cynthia purred, the desperation in his words filling her with intoxicating power. “Good boy,” she cooed, crooking a finger. “Then get up, lover. It’s time for you to get dressed and head out. There’s a whole wide world out there for us, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” Roland breathed, dragging himself to his feet. “Yes, msitress.”

“Good boy,” she laughed, strutting towards the exit of the dungeon, her obedient love slave stumbling after her, still pulling his boots on as he did. Maybe she would visit the temple after all, Cynthia mused. After all, the sisters there would surely love to examine her curse mark. In intimate detail…

#brainwashing #mind control #mindless #brainless #hypnosis #mind corruption #hypnotized #brain drain #jay aury #bimboification #cursed #curse mark #corruption #corruption kink #demon girls #demon girl #short story #ai artwork

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elronds-meleth-nin · 4 months ago

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Healing Hands

This is just a short little fic, based on this post here. The tall, broad High-King demanded a drabble aside from the ones I'd already started about him, so what else could I do? He is the High King, after all. 🥰👑

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Gil-Galad (RoP) x Half-Elven!Reader

[A/N: This is just fluff.]

Warnings: Spoilers for RoP s2e8, non-graphic descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood, soft!Gil-Galad, affectionate teasing, romantic tension, healing injuries, Gil speaking Quenya, battle aftermath, minor angst with a happy ending.

~*~

Did she truly think she was being subtle with such a limp in her step? The High King and his Herald had led their soldiers and the survivors of Eregion into a valley, establishing around it a protective, magical barrier using the rings of power.

Together, the pair had healed Lady Galadriel, but as they settled her in a soft, flat spot to recover, Gil-Galad saw his lady, clad in her own black-splattered armor, attempting to limp away unnoticed.

"Go. I'll stay with Galadriel," Elrond volunteered quietly, and with a grateful nod of acknowledgement, the King hurried through the trees after her. He hadn't even remembered seeing her struck, but obviously she had been if she was limping.

She didn't get very far. At the edge of a small clearing, he found her sitting with her back against a tree, struggling to remain conscious. His breath caught when he saw how pale she'd become. She'd clearly been hiding this for quite some time.

Without a thought beyond healing his lady, Gil-Galad dropped to his knees beside her and began slicing a window into the leg of her trousers. The cloth parted easily at the behest of his dagger, and at the waft of cool air over her skin, her eyes fluttered open.

"Ereinion?" Her voice was so shaky and quiet. "I'm sorry. Didn't...want to bother you..."

"Hush, I am here, now," he murmured as he beheld the broken-off shaft of an arrow embedded in her leg. She'd lost quite a bit of blood if the dark, drenched fabric of her trousers was any indication. Thankfully, the arrow was not lodged too deeply, and she'd left enough of it exposed for a healer to grip in order to remove it. "Fool of a girl, you should have come straight to me."

She let out a weak laugh at his affectionate scolding.

"Calling your favorite patient a fool? Ondórëa ingaranya," she murmured cupping his cheek and drawing his eyes to her own. There was no real acidity in her tone. Gil-Galad took courage in the fact that she still had enough clarity of mind to tease him. He had, in fact, healed her before, but the injuries were always insignificant and superficial. And, she'd never actively hidden them from him before.

What cause had he given her to do so? Had she been embarrassed?

Without hesitation, he turned his head just far enough to kiss her palm.

"I humbly beg your forgiveness, meldanya." He hoped that she knew he referred to more than his playful jab. He also knew that to call her such, to allow such a slip, would be tantamount to a confession for which he was not certain that he was prepared. But, to call her anything less than his beloved would be a lie. Furthermore, to do so in the aftermath of such rampant death and destruction would summon within his heart guilt in such quantities that he could not abide.

Turning his attention back to her leg, he laid his palm as lightly as he could over her thigh. He whispered in Quenya, allowing the magic from his ring and from his own healing abilities to seep into her skin and numb her pain. Working quickly, he removed the arrowhead and pressed his hand over the wound, murmuring some of the same healing spells he and Elrond had used on Galadriel.

Fortunately, though, this was not a cursed wound as the former had sustained from Morgoth's crown, nor was it as severe. Her skin glowed readily beneath his touch. Within moments, the skin bound itself shut and his lady shuddered in relief as a trickle of light penetrated the canopy of trees overhead to mingle with their own.

Her hand had fallen limply away after mere moments, but Gil-Galad retrieved it once his work was complete, grasping it gently between his own blood-stained fingers. Her pulse beat steady and strong in his grasp, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he breathed a sigh of relief. She would be alright. She had survived.

"Did you mean it?" She breathed, and he was so surprised that she was conscious that his eyes snapped immediately to hers. Despite the dirt and grime coating them both, he felt entirely exposed beneath her gaze - vulnerable and transparent before her.

He relished the sensation of being known so completely. To everyone else, he was Gil-Galad, the High King of Lindon, the bastion of strength from which his people drew their courage when darkness threatened.

To her, he was simply Ereinion. The feeling was more pleasant and intoxicating than he could possibly express.

"You called me your beloved," she continued. "Did you mean it?"

How could he deny it? He loved her. He had for centuries. Since the moment she set foot in Lindon nearly three hundred years before, Gil-Galad had surrendered to the realization that his heart would settle for no other. Her light was beyond compare, shining into even the most uncertain parts of his heart which he hid from all others. She drew him out so easily, comforted him simply by smiling in his direction. She was his strength, his courage, his most luxuriant pleasure and joy.

But, he was a king. Because she knew him, she also knew better than any other how taxing his position was. Over time, he'd convinced himself that she would not wish to bear the burden of ruling by his side, so he'd remained silent - reluctant to steal her own contentment and joy by forcing the responsibilities of a ruler upon her. She deserved to have a life unburdened by the weight of a crown.

In his secrecy, however, his heart had grown accustomed to a more profound loneliness than he'd ever previously known. On too-silent nights in his chambers, he longed to hold her close and whisper poetry in her ear - he'd composed more verses in her honor than he'd expected his heart to harbor. On tranquil mornings before the rush of the day's duties began, he ached with the need to see her curled peacefully in his arms as the light of the sunrise spilled in through the windows.

No longer. After today's battle, Ereinion could no more hold his tongue than the pair of robins who sang so freely in his gardens each morning.

"Yes. With all of my foolish heart, I meant it," he admitted, his heart singing with every word, and she lifted her free hand, threading it lightly into his hair. The King savored the feeling. Never before had she touched him so brazenly - he'd made it clear that she was more than welcome to, of course, but she never availed herself of such liberties.

He bent lower, hoping to encourage her by making his person easier to reach. He felt her bare wrist brush against the tip of his ear - sharper than her own, thanks to her half-mortal parentage - but he could not hide his blush nor the light groan she tugged from his chest.

"You have tempted me...enchanted me since our first meeting. I have eyes only for you, but if you do not feel the same, I swear on my honor that I will not torment you further." The King's oath came from the most sincere depths of his heart. For her, he would. Much as it would pain him, if she wanted nothing to do with his feelings, he would bury them deep so that only he would feel the ache. She would suffer no discomfort at his hands.

Her lips met his, stopping his spiraling thoughts in their tracks, and all his worries fell away beneath the most delicious relief. They were as soft and sumptuous as they looked - as he'd imagined them to be - and Ereinion didn't hesitate to return her affection. He may have healed her leg, but with that once simple act, she had healed the King's heart.

~*~*~

Elvish Words (Quenya):

ondórëa ingaranya = my hard-hearted/pitiless high-king

meldanya = my beloved

~*~

Taglist:

@bigblissandlove1 @gandalfthepimp @horta-in-charge

#elronds-meleth-nin fic #gil-galad x reader #gil-gadaddy x reader

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orion-sage · 1 year ago

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Unveiling the Dark Corners of a Curse

Are you cursed? Discover it HERE for free!

Having a curse could lead you to a lot of different issues:

1. Intestinal Issues and Digestive Distress:

The weight of a believed curse often manifests physically, particularly in the realm of digestive health. Anxiety stemming from the curse belief can cause gastrointestinal discomfort, affecting digestion, leading to symptoms such as nausea, bloating, diarrhea, or constipation. This physical toll further perpetuates the conviction of being cursed, creating a cycle of distress and digestive issues.

2. Anxiety: The Unseen Tormentor:

At the core of a cursed belief lies the relentless companion of anxiety. This overwhelming fear of negative events caused by the curse can result in chronic anxiety, disrupting daily life. The mind becomes a battleground of anxious thoughts, eroding mental peace and stability. The constant anxiety not only feeds the belief in the curse but also impairs one's ability to find solace and tranquility.

3. Insomnia: Sleep Eludes the Cursed:

The anxiety and fear associated with a curse can cast a dark shadow over sleep. Insomnia, a common companion of anxiety, creeps in, robbing the mind of rest. Sleepless nights amplify anxiety, deepening the belief in the curse. This vicious cycle of sleep deprivation and anxious thoughts further exacerbates the negative effects of the perceived curse on mental and physical well-being.

4. Headaches: The Curse's Physical Echo:

Headaches, often stress-induced, can become a physical manifestation of the mental anguish caused by a belief in a curse. Persistent worry and fear can result in chronic tension headaches or migraines, further burdening the individual. The pain becomes a tangible reminder of the perceived curse, reinforcing the conviction of being under a malevolent influence.

5. Sexual Issues: A Curse on Intimacy:

Intimacy, a source of joy and connection, can be profoundly affected by the belief in a curse. Anxiety stemming from the curse can lead to sexual issues such as erectile dysfunction, low libido, or performance anxiety. The fear of the curse infiltrates this intimate aspect of life, eroding confidence and joy, leaving one feeling broken and isolated.

Contact me for a FREE ENERGY CHECK to discover if you have a curse!

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ko-core-o · 5 months ago

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Lush Redux

Went back to give Lush a bit of a visual update as well, since I felt like she was my weakest Materria dragon. Mostly wanted to change the shape of her legs but also lean more towards a horror aspect. More info below!

While Twikinzy's witchcraft leans towards the alchemy side, Lush is more involved with hexes and spell-weaving! Her stitch-based magic can be used to protect and harm, enchanting her friends with wards while debilitating her enemies with curses!

Pink Thread - Inflicts Hatred

Red Thread - Inflicts Weakness

Orange Thread - Inflicts Pain

Yellow Thread - Inflicts Vulnerability

Green Thread - Inflicts Shrink

Blue Thread - Inflicts Slow

Indigo Thread - Inflicts Silence

Violet Thread - Inflicts Polymorph

Running Stitch - A basic hex stitch

Back Stitch - Applies a repetitive nature to the hex

Chain Stitch - Binds the hex to another person, place, or thing

Buttonhole Stitch - Attaches a conditional to the hex that causes it to trigger

Feather Stitch - Creates a zone around the target that applies the hex to them as well

Cross Stitch - reverses the effect of the hex

Knotted Stitch - Causes a trigger when the hex is unraveled

Laid Stitch - Actually a combination of two stitches, makes hexes harder to remove

#Dragon #Plushie #Toy #Materria #Lush

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 4 months ago

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The Meet Cute - Law's Story - 12

Source for pic

The Great Pretender 12 🔞

Word Count: 4734

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Law is a soft dom; you have bratty tendencies (not all the time); voice kink; praise kink; cursing; very suggestive behaviour and innuendo from the start; sexual tension; teasing; so much flirting; romance; slow-burn; fluff; slight angst; mature audiences (though explicit NSFW moments will be properly tagged on the chapter); possessive Law; protective Law; soft Law; teasing Law; manipulative Doflamingo; inappropriate Doflamingo; fake relationship trope; only one-bed trope; reader has some anxiety issues; reader is a control freak and perfectionist; modern day AU; Mention of ex mentally abusive relationship;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your father’s procedure. So much so that when he’s invited to Baby 5’s wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.

Notes: Guys! This one is NSFW from top to bottom, k? 😅 I hope you enjoy it as much as I have writting it. 🥰 (my phone app is being an idiot and doesn't let me add the spotify song as usual, and on the laptop this is how it looks like... I'll edit later, I really just want to release the chapter!)

You didn’t wait long for Law. It took him just enough time for you to freshen up a bit in the bathroom, give yourself a pep talk in the mirror, and hydrate. The day had been intense, and you were a nervous mess by now. The realisation that what you feel for Law is so much more than you initially thought, hits you hard, and now you’re suffering the backlash of it: trembling legs, a frenzied heart and untamed anticipation.

Your breath shakes as it leaves your parted lips, tingling hot against them as you face the vanity, slowly removing your jewellery. The dim light from the moon and the small bedside table lamp is the only source of brightness in the room, lending it a cosy and warm ambiance.

The door clicks softly, and your fingers tremble on your ear as you remove your earring. Law comes in, his eyes already fixed on your back, and he smirks as you watch him through the mirror. Another click on the door alerts you to the fact that he locked it, and then he drops his coat on the armchair before sitting at the edge of the bed, observing you. His legs are slightly open as he loosens his constricting tie.

You let out another shaky breath, your eyes never leaving his, as you remove the other earring and then your necklace. You’re still dressed, heels and all, but Law doesn’t seem to be in any rush. So you twist your arm to reach the zipper on your back, showing him how you could’ve done it alone earlier by unzipping it –that earns you another smug smirk– and you let your dress slither away from your shoulders and past your hips as it pools down at your feet.

The satisfaction you get from Law’s eyes following the fabric as it slides down your body and darkens with hunger, only makes your breath quicken. Your lingerie isn’t meant to seduce, it’s meant to be practical, but it’s lacy and revealing and Law’s ravishing you with his eyes.

He still doesn’t make a move.

So you do.

Inhaling deeply, you turn to face him, a slight blush creeping over your cheeks as you gather confidence from deep within, grasping at how Law makes you feel and how he never judged you.

His smirk widens, and he sits more comfortably, pulling himself a little higher on the bed, and you start to strut. For all the control he’s showing, he can’t keep his eyes still as they roam from your face to your chest, to your swaying hips, to your legs and your feet. He’s mesmerised.

His face rises to meet your eyes when you reach him, and you feel your cheeks burn again as you chew your bottom lip, a surge of intense desire almost making you lose your footing. Your heartbeat is deafening and keeps increasing as you set a hand on his chest and straddle him, one leg on each side, your knees making the mattress dip around him. Law’s hands still rest on the bed, though he can’t disguise the slight shortness of his breath or the unbridled hunger in his eyes.

Leaning forward, your lips hover just above his, tingling as they’re met with his hot breath, and you smirk. Running your fingers through the hair at his nape, you grind your hips, feeling how much he already wants you, and it takes an extreme amount of effort not to start moaning and pleading. But you’re a woman on a mission.

“I think tonight I’ll make you beg for what you want, Law. What do you say?” Your voice comes out in slow, shaky breaths, tingling his skin where you hover. You lick his neck, feeling his pulse flutter, and it’s you who almost breaks again. He’s divine.

“I don’t beg, sweetheart. Ever.” How can he still be so cool and collected? The only thing that gives him away is the slight raspiness in his voice as he answers you. So you decide to push a little more.

Turning your hips in small, steady circles, you grind against him, sensing his breath hitching every time you touch. You can almost see the invisible thread of his patience wearing thinner and thinner by the second. You know how much he loves being the one in control, and you need to enjoy this reprieve he’s letting you have before he snaps.

And heavens, how you want him to snap.

Your nails dig into his scalp as you press your clit against him unintentionally, letting out a moan-like gasp near his ear. He tenses, and you keep pushing him further, breathing on his neck, sucking and nibbling slowly. “Are you sure, Law? Are you sure you don’t–”

He doesn’t even let you finish. His hands come alive as he grasps your hips and flips you, pinning you against the mattress, looming over you with that unhinged smirk and darkened eyes. You let out a surprised gasp as a rush of energy jolts through your veins. You’ve pushed far enough.

“I don’t beg.” He removes his belt with a swift movement, and the sound of the leather whipping sends another jolt through you, making you shudder. Then with deft, confident moves, Law wraps the belt around your wrists and holds your arms above your head. The leather feels cool against your skin, tight but comfortable. You wriggle a bit, testing it, and it doesn’t even budge. “I take what I want.”

“Law…” Your tone is already pleading, you need him to touch you.

“See, sweetheart, you’re already getting it.” His smirk is insufferable and that only makes you want him more. “This has been a long time coming.” He murmurs, his fingers trailing your breasts through the bra, then descending to your stomach. So light and soft that the touch is barely there. It only ignites the flames higher and higher and they all burn in your core. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he just smirks again, his tattooed fingers undoing his tie completely as he removes it and slips the fabric over your eyes. You inhale sharply, desire tingling and awakening all your senses, his presence suddenly overpowering everything else in the room.

“You’re mine, sweetheart. And I’m going to claim you in every way possible, until the only word spilling out of your mouth is my name.” His whisper against your ear seems heightened by the lack of sight, making you tremble slightly. “Got it?” Law punctuates his question with the tightening of the knot on the tie, and you gasp again, nodding.

Then his lips caress your ear, travelling to your jawline and down your neck. His goatee scratches against your skin as his tongue comes out to soothe the invisible rash. “I can’t hear you, sweetheart. What will you be saying?”

“Your name.” You let out a weak pant as his lips land on the dip of your throat and his thumb grazes your nipple. Without sight, you’re completely lost as to where he’ll touch you next. It intensifies his teasing a thousandfold, and you’re already burning up.

“Yes…?” He asks calmly, his fingers tracing every inch of your body in a torture-like caress, barely touching but close enough to ignite. Your hips shift restlessly beneath him, searching for some sort of friction or contact - anything that can help ease the burn inside of you.

“Law!” A desperate plea leaves your lips, and you don’t quite know how long you can take his teasing. He’s revelling in your neediness, you’re sure of it. Though you can’t see, you can practically feel his smug grin as his fingers descend softly, brushing your hips and settling on your bare thighs. You instinctively open your legs, praying he gives you what you want, but his touch only lingers on your inner thigh. So close and yet, so far away.

A soft whimper leaves your lips just as his fingertips touch your panties, and then he pulls away.

“There it is, sweetheart.” His voice is as smooth as silk, and it vibrates against your sternum as he nibbles and kisses your skin. “You make the prettiest sounds when you’re desperate.” He glides down, his tongue tracing patterns against your stomach and treading very close to the waistband of your underwear. “Do you want more?” He hums low.

“Yes.” Your voice barely counts as a whisper. It’s a sliver that catches and scrapes against your throat as you twitch your hands, feeling the leather crack and groan, as desperate as you are.

He pulls away, leaving only coldness behind. “I can’t hear you.”

You swallow hard past the lump in your throat, your back arching, yearning for his touch again. “Yes, Law.” Your voice seems stronger, though it trembles with a burning need that stems from the heat pooling between your thighs. “Please, Law, please.” Your whole body aches for him, it’s unbearable.

His slow chuckle brings forth another whimper from your lips. “That’s my good girl.” Finally his hand touches you with more purpose, no longer a feather-like touch, but a full-on grope of your flesh and you sigh, the anticipation of release just within reach. He grasps your hips and your thighs, and his fingers dip below the hem of your panties as your breath hitches.

Then he stops.

Your groan meets his chuckle. “How badly do you want this, sweetheart?”

“Please, Law! So badly. I need you to touch me, please!” He barely lets you finish your pleas - and you would’ve pleaded forever - before he slips his fingers inside your panties and finally touches you.

The gasp you let out is almost a cry as you arch your body, head falling back in abandon as the need in you begins to be fulfilled. He’s built the tension so high with all the teasing that every circling motion, every thrust of his fingers feels like molten lava on your body. You’re hit by wave after relentless wave of pleasure, giving way to wanton moans and whimpers.

“Feels good, sweetheart? You’re so wet for me already, look at you, so needy and desperate.” Law’s whispering against your ear, and by heavens, does this man know how to multitask. His tongue works around your neck, his hand cups your breast and teases your nipple with sharp pinches and soft caresses, and his fingers… They may spell death, but they’re the very thing giving you life in this moment.

“Law!”

He has you, all of you. You’re bound, blindfolded, and he’s working out every inch of pleasure within you. You’re completely at Trafalgar Law’s mercy. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

Your breath quickens in uneven pants, and the coil of pleasure in your abdomen begins unravelling, spreading tendrils of fire to every nerve ending in your body, awakening them with jolts of unbridled pleasure as Law increases the pressure on your clit with his thumb and curls his fingers inside you.

The unholy squelches that fill the room make your cheeks flare up as your hips grind against his hand, searching for that final push. “Law, oh, Law.”

“Come for me, sweetheart, you’ve earned it. You’re being such a good girl.” Then he presses harder and crashes his lips against yours, his tongue pulling every moan from you, claiming it as his own as your release hits you like a thunderstorm. Your body trembles violently beneath him, and Law’s fingers are relentless against you, helping you chase the pleasure, prolonging it as your soul shatters in his hands.

It’s intense, and it’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced before.

Law’s lips part from yours as you take long gulps of air, trying to ground yourself back in reality. His hand rests against your stomach as you still shake and tremble from the aftershocks of your release. You can practically feel his smug grin as he kisses your collarbone. “I told you I take what I want, didn’t I?”

You chuckle softly and inhale deeply as his hands steadily remove the tie from your eyes and then the belt holding your wrists. He massages them gently, though they don’t hurt at all, and you blink slowly to adjust to the dim light of the room.

“Hi.” You whisper with a wide grin.

“Are you alright?” Law asks, concerned, and you nod. “Good. Because we’re nowhere near done.” His unhinged smirk is back. “I told you you’d come on my fingers, on my tongue, and on my cock.” His words send another jolt through you, reminding you of the pleasure you just felt, the heat still coursing through your veins. “One down, two to go.”

You know he means it, too.

How he manages to keep himself controlled when you're a mess of numb limbs and unintelligible sentences, it’s beyond you. There mustn’t exist a thing in this world that makes Law’s control crumble in the bedroom. He’s untouchable.

“I want you, Law.” You whisper, your fingers trailing down his abs and sitting at the waistline of his pants. “Why in the world are you still dressed?” How unfair is that?

Sitting up, you bite your lower lip, gaze burning into his as your hands reach to unbutton his shirt. He lets you, helping ease it off after the buttons are undone. Gosh, you love his tattoos. You kneel as your tongue begins tracing them, deft fingers already finding the button of Law’s pants, grazing against his hard cock as he lets out a low, controlled grunt.

He helps you pull off his pants, grabs a condom from the bedside drawer, and gets rid of his socks, while he’s at it. You suck in a gasp, biting your lip to keep from moaning at the sight of the bulge in his briefs.

But he doesn’t need to hear you moan to know how much you desire him. He towers over you, leaning in and pressing you back down with that simple, commanding act. “You want me, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Law.” You nod. He smirks and with a swift movement, rids you of your bra and panties. “I need you inside me. Now.” You urge him as the familiar throb of need pulses between your thighs.

“Aren’t you a needy, desperate girl?” You lay back down as he finally removes his briefs, and by all the gods - old and new - this man is devastatingly perfect. All lean, defined muscles, tanned skin and those amber eyes darkened with desire, devouring you just as you devour him.

A whimper escapes your lips as you reach forward, ready to touch him, but he stops you, hands at your wrists as he leans forward and takes your lips in his in a shattering kiss, settling his body between your legs, which you part willingly.

His tip bumps into your sensitive clit as he grinds down, and you let out a soft mewl against his swirling tongue. He draws back a little and you gasp for breath and roll your hips against him, seeking more friction, more heat, just more!

“How does this feel, sweetheart?” He whispers against your ear as his tongue traces a sinful pattern down your neck. He grinds himself against your clit one more time and you moan loudly, your slick allowing him to glide effortlessly against your pussy, throwing more kindling on the fire and stoking the flame with ease.

“Good. Perfect.” You babble between pants.

“Describe it to me.”

“Law!” You whine, rolling your hips again in a feeble attempt to get him to enter you.

“How does it feel?” His tone is clipped, though it frays at the end, hinting at a need he’s not fully showing you.

With a deep breath, you will your brain to leave the puddle of mush it has become and assemble some kind of rational thought as you focus on the sensations. “Your tongue feels hot against my skin, it prickles and–... hmm… sends shivers down my spine.”

“More.” You hear a slight crack in his voice and it’s another piece of kindling for your flame. Law’s hands slide up your wrists as his fingers entwine with yours and you gasp at the intimacy of it all.

“God, Law. You… nhgh… your cock feels so good pressed against my clit and–...” Your cheeks flare up and you close your eyes tightly as pleasure rolls through your body.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” There. It’s a tiny crack in his usual cool timbre, but it’s there. And you’re the cause. This realisation brings a different kind of warmth and you smile through your next moan while you open your eyes and get lost in his. “And now?”

He laces one hand behind your knee, lifting your leg up, aligning his tip with your hole and slowly, torturously slowly, pushes himself inside of you.

A ragged cry leaves your lips and you arch your back to meet him, but he doesn’t push any faster. “Describe.” He nearly growls, and the warmth in you spreads.

“Hmm… Law, you feel perfect. It’s…” It’s a struggle, it’s what it is. Because your brain is only screaming: More, more, more. And he wants you to describe it? “It burns! It scorches my insides, my skin, my whole being. You’re filling me up so perfectly and I–... ngh… I need all of you! And I need you fast, and hard, and–... Law!”

He barely makes it to the end of your sentence before he slams into you, bottoming out and pulling another wrenching cry from your lips as waves of pleasure ripple through you, bringing you to the brink of release almost instantly. He curses, pauses, and, as you open your eyes, you see it as clear as day: Law is losing control.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You take me so well.” A grunt escapes his lips as he shuts his eyes and his hands wander up and down your thighs. “You’re perfect for me.” His words stir a whole new range of emotions inside of you. Digging your nails into his forearm, you roll your hips at him.

“Please…”

Pulling back until he’s almost out of you, he takes barely a second to breathe before slamming onto you again. You press your nails deeper because you can feel your release overwhelming you already. The wave is cresting, ready to take everything in its path with bright, hot pleasure.

“What are you going to scream now?” He’s almost breathless as he pulls in and out of you, his hand lifting your leg, angling himself in the perfect position to brush your G-spot and hit your cervix, and it only takes him another thrust to push you to the edge again.

“Law!” You cry out his name, as he requested earlier, and he’s all you can think about anyway. He consumes your very existence to the point where you have no idea how you’ve survived up until now without him breathing life into you. The pleasure overwhelms you with intense waves that leave you a shuddering mess.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Scream my name.” He leans forward as you gasp and dig your nails into his back, pulling him closer. The grunt he releases near your ear makes you whine in need as he slows down his thrusts. His fingers are buried in your hair, and his face is hidden in the crook of your neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Law?” You mewl as another lazy thrust starts to build the ember inside you back to a roaring flame. He hums against your shoulder and you place your hands on his face, urging him to look at you. It’s not there anymore. The clipped and cool control he holds at all times, it’s gone, and it seems like he’s trying to get it back, trying to find his ground, the familiar instead of the new. “Law, tell me what’s wrong.”

He kisses you deeply with another roll of his hips and another lazy thrust, and you clench around him as his pelvis strokes your oversensitive nub. “You…” He begins with another grunt. “You make me lose it.” His voice is thick with need, coarse and raw, he’s barely holding on to his poised demeanour and you can feel the way his pulse beats erratically against your fingertips.

Law pulls back until he’s almost out of you, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and filled with heat capable of igniting the strongest of flames. “You have no idea what you do to me.” With another frustrated grunt, he pushes into you, slower than before, but deep, so deep that it feels like he’s touching your soul.

Your breath falters and hitches as your nails bite into his shoulders. “Then tell me.” Circling your legs around his waist, you pull him impossibly closer to you, and his hands find purchase against your hips, digits digging and pulling, afraid you’ll let go.

“You drive me fucking insane.” He nearly growls as he pulls out again, his whole body rolling over yours with his next thrust, and it almost shatters you. Heat courses through your veins with such intensity that you feel you’re about to burn from the inside out. “I can’t focus on anything else but you. Ever since you set foot into my fucking office, all I wanted was you.” He emphasises his words with another languorous thrust, pulling a gasp from your lips.

God, you’re at the brink again. His slow movements, his words, it’s all too damn perfect. “You have no idea how hard it has been to not devour you, to have to hold back because I couldn’t stop if I touched you more.” His next thrust hits deeper, harder, and he bites into the curve of your neck, clearly not holding back anymore, and that’s all it takes for you to lose it.

Your body tenses and your muscles tighten around him as another wave of pleasure crashes through you, so intense that it leaves you breathless and gasping for air. Law’s name falls from your lips between wanton moans of pleasure.

“You’re perfect, so, so perfect. I�� I can’t hold back anymore.” He grunts into your neck, his hands tightening their grip on your hips as you still shudder from the aftershocks.

“Then don’t hold back, Law…” You plead between a sob of utter satisfaction and a whisper. “I’m all yours.”

“Fuck, sweatheart, yes. Yes, you are.” With heavy pants, he barely lets you come down from your high before disentangling your bodies and turning you on the mattress. Your face plummets against the pillow as he grabs your hips and pulls your ass into the air, lining himself up again, immediately. “I want to hear you scream my name again, just one more time. One more, okay?”

His hand circles your back with a soothing motion before he continues, his question bears more than one inquiry: Are you okay? Can we go on? Can you take it?

And you can go on. You can and want to take it. You want to feel him completely lose himself inside of you, you want to hear him chant your name. He’s vulnerable in a way that doesn’t stem from rawness or pain. It’s just affection and desire, and you’re already addicted.

Turning your head to the side, you nod frantically. “Yes, yes.” You don’t even think you can say anything else at this point. Law thrusts violently in and out, and you cry out, oversensitive and overwhelmed by the sensation. He’s not holding anything back, just like you asked.

“You feel so good, sweetheart. Tight and wet. Just like I imagined all this time.” He grunts as he snakes a hand around your waist, pulling you up, your back flush against his chest as his fingers travel through your body and settle at your neck. His grip is tight but comfortable.

Heavens, the sensation multiplies tenfold as he reaches all your sweet spots and pounds incessantly into you. A symphony of primal grunts surrounds you both as he lets them out against your ear with every thrust. His other hand grips your hip for a moment and then circles you, pressing against your clit with a desperate move.

“Law, I’m–...” You moan out, sensing the pacing of his thrusts falter as he grips you tighter. Your pleasure is mounting up again - or maybe it never truly stopped - and you feel dizzy and blissed. “I’m…”

“I know, sweetheart, fuck. I know.” His own thrusts are erratic and sloppy as he grips your body tightly, holding on to you and to the moment with unstoppable want.

“I–...” Your bliss hits you without any kind of warning and is much more intense than before. Instead of waves, it’s almost like a continuum of pleasure that rips through you and leaves you suspended in ecstasy. Your cry stays lodged in your throat, and all you can do is shudder and ride through the sheer intensity of it all.

Law tenses, grunts, and buries his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting three more times before stilling completely against you as a torrent of curses leaves his lips, your name mingling between them. Another moan - a softer one, because you don’t have the strength for more - escapes your lips as your high subsides and only the rippling of the aftershocks remains.

You’re a mess. You can barely move, breathe, or think.

Law is still buried inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder as your bodies tremble in tandem, breathless, both trying to come down from your highs. “Fuck, sweetheart. You wreck me.” His words elicit a soft chuckle from you as he kisses your nape and your damp hair.

“Well, you ruined me. That makes us even.” You manage to whisper, earning you a chuckle from him. Your eyes meet when you turn your face to him, and the warmth that filled your chest returns tenfold.

With a deep breath, Law pulls out and disentangles himself from you, gently settling you down on the bed, clearing the hair away from your eyes, and kissing you softly. The tenderness of his kiss matches the one in his eyes when he pulls back. “I’ve never felt this way with anyone before…” He admits as your heart clenches.

Not even Monet? The question is at the tip of your tongue, but you don’t want to ruin the moment. And he said ‘anyone’, it’s implied. So you smile softly and run your fingers through his damp hair, pulling the strands away from his beautiful amber eyes. “Neither have I, Law.”

He inhales deeply and kisses you one more time before rising. You’re still breathing heavily when he returns from the bathroom with a full glass of water for you.

A silly, blissful smile settles on your lips as you try your hardest to keep your eyes open. “Thank you.” You mumble as you sit up, wincing and predicting that you’ll be deliciously sore tomorrow, and take the glass in your hands as he sits by your side. His smile mirrors yours, which only makes you giggle more because it’s not the usual grin or the teasing smirk. It’s a genuine, loving smile.

“Bath now, or shower in the morning?”

“Hmm…” Bath with Law sounds nice, but all the muscles in your body are clamouring for sleep. “In a bit, lie here with me for a while.” You set the glass on the bedside table, already plopping down to make yourself comfortable, and Law lies next to you, immediately pulling you against his chest.

“Are you all right?” He asks, and you grin against him. He’s always so considerate of you.

“Perfect.” Your reply is very soft, but he hums and kisses your forehead with a deep sigh.

“It really was.” He complements your words, and the warmth in your chest spreads some more into a steady beat of your heart. It’s love. There’s no denying what has been built over the months since you met him. Love. Pure and unbridled.

Law rubs soft circles against your back and then threads his fingers through your hair, stilling his movements as his breaths even out. Can you say it to him?

“Law…?” He hums. “I really, really, really, really, like you.” Close enough. The amusement is there, even though he barely has the willpower to laugh. “I really, really, really, really, like you too, sweetheart.”

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|Chapter 13🔞|

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