#Hand And Stone Waxing Prices

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[sigh-tofm]

if you’re their sugar baby… (18+)

… price

- absolutely spoils you. adores giving you anything you want. if your gaze lingers in a shop window, he’ll buy you whatever’s in it. you suspect he’s infiltrated your phone somehow, because anything you look at online will show up on your doorstep a few days later. he takes you to private jewellery fittings and sits back with a glass of whisky while the jewellers puts glimmering necklaces and earrings on you.

in return, he likes showing you off. regularly takes you out to restaurants so expensive they don’t even list their prices on the menu. spoon feeds you black caviar and picks out the correct wine, the bottles so old they still have wax seals on them. loves seeing you wearing the dresses he buys for you, revealing the fleshier parts of your body that the rest of society tells you to hide. always wants you to wear diamonds in your ears when you’re his date. nothing is ever too expensive if it’s for you.

takes you to a luxurious hotel after and fucks you good and well in the satin sheets. goes back to base before you wake up the morning after, and leaves a generous cash tip on the nightstand in addition to the monthly four digit payments transferred directly to your bank account.

… kyle

- takes care of you. a sergeant’s pay is low compared to a captain’s, but it’s still a substantial amount and much, much more than you make. enjoys having a pretty lady to spoil. any visit to the hairdresser or nail salon is on him. will occasionally request a specific colour for your nails, and you know it’s to match a dress he’s bought you, waiting for you at home.

takes you dancing, spends the whole night downtown and treats you to high-end street food at three in the morning. you get fancy cocktails and colourful shots and anything else you want to try. if another woman gets close to him on the dance floor, he makes a point out of feeling you up, splaying his hands over you wide hips and soft tummy.

takes you home to his and you both fall right to sleep, waking up past noon the day after. arranges a massage for you to help with your hangover. sits in on the appointment and flips your towel up to eat you out when the massage therapist leaves. reminds you to use the credit card he’s given you in between your orgasms.

… johnny

- whisks you away to scotland when he’s off duty. borrows the family cabin in the highlands and accommodates you both in the master bedroom, spending the cold nights in a grand bed with a heavy pelt covering the duvet. loves the fantasy of having a big, soft secret stowed away in the mountains.

spends the days hiking with you or takes you down to the coast, where you watch the wild waves and enjoy cottage pie in a local pub. asks for the finest whiskey, refusing anything but the best for you. tells you all about the history of the old stone kirk of the town over steaming mugs of spiked cider.

lays the pelt out on the floor before the great fireplace in the living room and grins when you mention the cliché of it all. remarks that clichés exist for a reason and pulls you close. your skin grows goosebumps in the cold air of the cabin, but the fireplace (and the rigorous activity on the pelt rug) warms you both up. lays with you after, smoothing his hand over your side and enjoying how your soft body gives way to the pressure of his fingers. pays for first class on your flight back home and gives you cash enough to cover both rent and supplies for the month. makes out with you messily at the airport before you part ways.

… simon

- takes you along to all his going ons outside of active duty. enjoys having a partner in crime, so to speak. in the military he’s a lone wolf, so when he’s off he just wants to have you for company. price thinks it’s a good idea for him too, to at least pretend he has some normalcy in his life. you oblige. he takes you to all his mundane errands; groceries, changing the tires of his car, walking the old bridle paths in his area.

has you tucked in under his arm when the footie’s on in the evening, trays of hot takeaway on the sofa table. if you can’t decide what you want to order, he has you list everything you’re interested in and orders it all. entertains your questions about football terminology and plays with your hair. pulls a blanket over you when you’re close to falling asleep and turns the volume down.

herds you to bed after a little while and so enjoys having a warm, soft body to put his arm around at night. to you, it’s all so casual and natural that you almost forget it’s an arrangement, but he never forgets to pay for your company according to your agreement and always tips generously.

doesn’t say it out loud, but likes it when you straddle him on the sofa and lets him feel you up and make out with you until he comes in his pants like a schoolboy.

[poetslastdeath]

SAFE

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gn!reader x john price, slightly unhinged and very obsessed reader, they are down BADDDD

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the air is cold and heavy, whipping around you and biting at your skin sharply as rain pours from the dark sky above.

the only light that shines down on you two is a ray of moonlight and brushes over his cheek, wet and shiny with rain, and your gloved half bloody hands cupping his cheek.

paying no mind to the dead hostiles littering the ground, treating them casually like they are merrily pebbles to kick out of your way. you move forward, prices back presses harder against the stone brick wall, harshly pressing into his gear until he can feel it but pays it no mind.

lips against his, warm and slightly capped, his beard brushing against your face. you bite his lip, almost hoping it draws blood, you would get on your knees and savor every drop of his blood like it was salvation, like you were a broken devotee.

he lets out a noise, small and almost drowned out by the heavy sounds of rain, but you’re close enough to hear it, to savor it desperately. gripping him like he could die any moment.

he almost had. it was a close call, a simple almost harmless misstep, cornered with an empty barrel.

he would have died, he could have died, he could have died, you repeat over and over again maddeningly.

he could’ve if it wasn’t for the shattering of a window and a bullet finding its place right in the head of the hostile before it had even stepped into the room price was in.

you pull back, when he squeezes your waist so tight you think he might break his finger.

“price.” you mumble, grabbing his chin and forcing his head up to look at the dark moon sky only sparkled with stars that looks like flickering flames.

the warm press of a kiss against the skin of his jaw, then his neck. and to the astonishment of anyone else but you, he melts like hot wax in your hands.

he murmurs your name back, it echoes in your ears and you grip him tighter. his hand goes around to grip the back of your head, fingers tangled in wet hair.

your other hand travels down to press against the small of his back, under his soaked shirt and touching clammy skin with leather.

you mumble, “i would have killed them all. ripped out all of their throats for looking at you, thinking about you.” unworthy and yet granted privilege, you are.

his grip tightens, he leans his head down slightly to press and firm kiss to your head, a similar desperation that claws at your ribcage form your chest echoes in his own. he lets out a breathless chuckle, low and deep and half hysterical.

“mad, you are.” he breathes, there’s a certain affection weaved through his words, it sits warm around you. “fuckin hell.” he huffs, almost like he’s talking to himself.

there’s a pause, a moment only filled by the echoes of the night and the haunting sound of gunshots ringing through the empty bloody city even after all that’s left is two desperate bodies pressing against each other over the dead bodies that tried to take them from each other.

“yours.” you mumble, dropping your hand down to trail down his neck to his chest, over his heart. beating, echoing through your own body. “yours.”

if you could, you would drop down to your knees until they are bloodied and bruised, worship dripping off of your lips like honey, a promise. to follow him, forever, to the ends of the earth. you think the earth should thank him, that he wants to keep it clean, to save it. because if he even thought about it, you would burn the world. if only to see the flames reflected in his eyes.

“mine.” he echoes. and with the squeeze of his grip, you melt and all thoughts that aren’t him, the smell of cigar and ashes, the feel of his skin against yours, melt away with you.

yeah, his.

[aftermidnightspecial]

⛧Demons of Abbadon⛧ - Male Demon (Raumael) x GN Chubby Human Reader

Wordcount: 3,573 Summary + warnings: Smut with plot | size difference | You are an aspiring demon lord and intend to summon a strong demon. But when things don't go to plan, you get more than you bargain for when Raumael answers your evocation. Coming to an agreement, you seal the contract, paying the price with your soul and body. ⛧ A/N: Shout out to the anon who requested a demon fic. C: And special thanks to @sea-stone for beta reading this for me and letting me know I needed to add more smut.

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You steadied your breath, fingers trembling over the spine of the ancient tome that rest in your hands. Your skin was drained of color and clammy in the candlelight. The sheen of your skin glistening in the low illumination of flickering flames that lapped hungrily at the wicks of the wax pillars. Each candle you had painstakingly lit till the room was bright and the temperature had risen substantially. The shadows that quivered and jumped along the walls tauntingly made you wince. Even your own traitorous shadow took part in this hellish provocation.

The chalk circle and neatly drawn sygils were scrawled over the floorboards in curious flowing patterns woven around your bare feet, where the same symbols and patterns were mirrored on your flesh. You close your eyes, desperation creasing your brow. Without further hesitation, despite your own wavering spirit, you parted a remarkably dry mouth and read. The ancient words spilled from your lips like boiling water, hissing and bubbling forth. The wooden planks beneath the chalk enchantments shuddered and began to quake angrily, the patterns on the floor rolling like the waves of the ocean. 

This didn’t deter you, despite the roiling of your stomach, you continued reading, steeling yourself to this unsettling exhibition of power. As you continued to speak the words, the pages of the book ripped themselves free, and like a flock of doves, took to the air. A maelstrom of yellowed pages swirled around you. The paper flew past you violently, lightly slicing your flesh with each pass. You stared ahead, the page you needed to read from hovered in front of your face, bound by your speech, transfixed even as every object around you seemed to come to life by your words. 

You faltered momentarily as the sygils that you’d drawn on your skin began to burn, but nothing would stop you now. Speaking the words that were on the page and in your heart, having memorized them prior to the evocation you were relying on. The final moment was upon you. Summoning forth the infernal being from the depths of the eternal burning pit to break free from the chains of Abaddon and do your bidding. 

Hesitating for a moment, you revel in the power that surged around and through you. The same that had lifted up the books and pages, even your desk chair was spinning throughout the room.

Suddenly, the candles died, flames extinguished. It was now the sygils you’d drawn on the floor and on your own skin that glowed brightly in unholy illumination.

You let the demonic name roll off of your tongue in a smooth chorus, your voice powerful and commanding despite your normal demeanor. The floorboards cracked open, splintering and peeling back upon themselves. Dark smoke billowing from the gaping wooden maw, the large hole the magic had created was vomiting out ash and brimstone debris, sounding like a rumbling freight train was coming through the floor. 

You tumbled backwards, taking deep, gasping breaths of air as you caught the briefest glimpse of the dark silhouette through the smoke. The figure that had emerged felt every bit as evil that you thought It might. Though instead of a disgusting monster as you’d expected, It seems you have evoked something else. Someone else. Rising from the hole, was an imposing, masculine figure, cloaked in smoke and shadows, but Its glowing eyes were on you, now examining you with dour displeasure and a furrowed brow.

"Oh no." You swallow, frozen in place.

There was an awkward stretch of silence as the smoke was beginning to settle, but It was the demon who decided to speak first. "Why am I here?" It drawled as It scorned you with, glowering with boredom. You could hardly process what was happening, merely in shock, suffering from both excitement and horror from what you’d done.

"A-Agannud?" You managed to ask, your voice only quavering slightly in Its presence. That is, you assumed the demonkin standing before you was the one you’d summoned.

The monstrous creature scoffed, as if he'd been insulted by such an accusation. "Wrong, wrong, wrong.” Its scowl turned Its lips down, serrated teeth on display. 

The Hellspawn stood amongst the rubble of the room, the gaping hole in the floor having sealed itself at some point. You were now utterly alone in your bedroom with a demonic entity that was contained only by the chalk sygils you’d scrawled on the floor earlier. At least you hoped that the sygils were containing It. But you were no longer so sure. 

It was something of a beast, but also had enough human qualities to give you pause. A human-like face, though… Its neck was perhaps slightly too long, even if the neck was thick with muscle and sinew. The facial features were obscured as Its coal black skin absorbed the light, made looking at the demon for too long a troubling task. It was also larger than you expected, perhaps seven feet tall, with muscular arms that were also perhaps a bit too long to be human. As It shifted Its weight and moved, you could have sworn Its shape changed, but It could be the low light playing tricks on you in a most unsettling way. Its lower half was still obscured in shadows and smoke, drawn around It like a cloak made of oblivion. For a moment, you could have sworn that multiple sets of eyes opened elsewhere upon Its body to observe you before they closed.

"N-no?” Unnerved, you pressed on regardless. You had studied this, you knew how to talk to demons. “How? I summoned Agannud? And, well, that has to be you?" 

"You sound unsure. Are you positive it was Agannud you called forth from the pits of Abbadon?" Its voice rumbled in such a deep register that you felt the vibrations from your perch on the floor. Quickly you stood up but it did little to fortify your nerves. This demon was still towering over you, Its lips twisting into a smirk, serrated teeth gleaning in the light of the sygils.

"Well yes? But-" You were saying but, It cut you off before you could work through your logic.

Its glowing abyssal eyes were on you now, there was no escape from their scrutiny. “There is your answer. You're not confident enough to summon anything, so you could not know who you called forth. It's not a game you know. There is a price, I have a price.” The demon paused as It lowered itself to Its haunches so that they were eye level with you now. With little pause, It rest Its elbows on Its knees. “The price is high." It growled. 

You froze, frightened of what was going to happen now. You had played with the darkest of magics and now there would be a tremendous penalty. Your life? Your soul? Could there be anything worse than losing your soul? You considered how to release him back to the depths of Abbadon, but would you ever get an opportunity to have summoned such a powerful demon? You had heard of Raumael and there was a reason you had not named him. Some entities were simply too strong to be controlled.

It continued to speak, "You are so very fortunate, because you've managed to catch my attention instead of that nobody, Agannud.” A toothy grin stretched Its maw, bringing no comfort to you, unable to partake in Its amusement.

“Though I have to admit, I'm rather embarrassed on your behalf. Despite how strong your evocation was, the fact of the matter is that your prompt was untethered, open ended, very erratic, and poorly executed.” An unnerving chuckle rumbled from the breadth of Its chest. “And that is exactly why your evocation normally would have gone unanswered. Damn my curiosity." It chastised you endlessly, sounding like a disappointed teacher rather than an infernal spirit here to do your bidding.

Its cutting remarks did nothing to fortify your will to speak out against that of which you’d summoned. But this was a demon you had called upon, sort of, and while it was an imposing figure with a crushing demonic aura to match, you had to take control. You took a step forward and steeled yourself for what came next. 

 "I don’t think so, demon. Tell me your name?" You commanded It with the same self confidence you had used to summon the creature itself.

It looked terribly unhappy with your renewed disposition, but It didn't have much of a choice and was forced to answer. "Raumael." It replied with contempt.

Flashing Its sharp, wolfish teeth your way was likely meant to scare you, but instead you found that the demon Raumael may actually have something of a nice smile. So much so that your cheeks began to feel warm, something that had little to do with the hellfire that radiated off of him.

“Then Raumael, you will do my bidding.” You commanded.

"I don't really feel like it. Maybe some other time." Raumael snidely remarked.

You balked, “What? You’re my demon! You have to?” baffled, you continued. “Those are the rules.” 

“Not without a contract they aren’t. As I already told you, my price is high.” Raumael drawled, bored by you it seemed.

You clenched your jaw, aggravated. 

He began to laugh, the deep rumble echoed throughout the small room. While It was unsettling, you didn’t find It unpleasant. “Hmm. Perhaps you will be the one following my orders and I’ll have your soul anyway.” The demon stepped closer to you, on the edge of the circle, towering over you, peering down over the ample curvature of his pec muscles. Perhaps Abbadon had a gym, you considered as this demon was fit.

You swallowed and shook your head, not so sure things wouldn’t wind up that way. “You aren’t leaving until you sign my contract. You get to walk around up here, but will do as I ask.” 

The demon tilted his head, “Will I?” his tone mocking.

“You will.”

“Then you will pay my price.” Raum said as he stood and towered over you.

“Which is?”

“Your eternal soul. When you die, I will drag you down to Abbadon.”

You swallow, uncomfortable. “Anything else?” 

“Your body.” 

“My body?!” The suggestion was unthinkable. “Demonic possession is out of the question!”

“That is not what I’m asking for.” Raum said as he beckoned you to come into the circle with a crook of his claws.

You stayed still, the request unclear. 

Obsidian eyes pierced yours, “I want to seal the contract with your body.” The demon parsed out, and as if sensing you were still dumbfounded, clarified, “Not possession.” 

This was an uncommon practice, but not entirely unheard of to seal a demonic contract with a sexual act. This seemed to be the case here. But with a demon as powerful as Raumael at your command, you’d accomplish everything you had set out to do. What was a bit of sex and your immortal soul in exchange for unlimited infernal power at your fingertips?

Steeling your nerves, you step into the circle with the onyx skinned demonkin, your body tense, moving with all the flexibility of an eight hour old corpse. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly as his claws circled the nape of your neck, the other prickling at your hips as he reclined you within the illuminated ring of sygils. The glow from the enchanted glyphs better elucidated the demon’s features, a handsome, masculine face, you thought. Though the longer that your eyes roamed his features, the more things you found were not quite human. Like your sight was playing tricks on you.

The ashes and debris surround your head like a corona of chaotic wreckage, but it did nothing to dissuade your demon from sealing your contract. Raumael languidly climbed atop you with his long limbs on either side of your smaller, human body. His dark, substantial frame absorbing the light, as if his flesh was made from the abyss itself. Intense mercurial eyes stared down at you, lips parting as he lowered his head, his warm mouth brushing your shoulder.  You clench your fists and tense up, waiting. 

"This doesn't have to hurt, little Master." He advised, claws tracing the length of your arm with surprising care. 

"I'm not your master yet." You manage.

"Per our agreement. You'll be my Master while we're under contract. You may not find the other monikers used for mortals so flattering.” 

You nod with hesitation, continuing to observe the way he moved, his larger body engulfing you, knees pushing your legs apart. A razor sharp claw cut through the fabric of your shorts to expose the tender flesh of your lower torso. A shudder wracks your body, feeling wound as tight as a coil while the warm air of the room washed over your bare skin. 

“Calm yourself and you just may enjoy this.” He said gruffly, his large body pressing down on you. Suddenly, distinctly male anatomy prodded at the cleft of your rear, his other claw slid down the length of your spine, careful not to shred your delicate human skin. 

You nod your consent, trying to relax as he licks two of his fingers before reaching down to get you slick with saliva, mindful of his claws, he avoids penetrating you with his digits. The pads of his fingers firmly rubbed the tension from the tightly clenched flesh between your legs. To your surprise he moved back, his lips kissing your collarbone and down the center of your chest. Raum’s hand released your nape and was instead put to work as they began to fondle down your torso, sliding over your chest, his mouth descending to take a pert nipple between his lips, rolling his tongue over it. You cried out, surprised and trembling as his serrated teeth brushed the tiny bud of flesh, sending a jolt of arousal through your entire body. 

Raum’s lips moved onward, kissing and nipping their way southward as you squirmed under his attention, he couldn’t have looked more pleased. You considered him as you peeked through your lashes at the immense demon, long talon-like digits tracing down your ribcage before settling on either side of your hips, squeezing your padding as they explored your body. Raum wasn’t complaining about extra flesh, if anything, the demon seemed to enjoy touching and squeezing you like a glorified stress ball. 

Everywhere Raum’s skin grazed yours was left warm, as if his pleasure was dependent on your own arousal, reveling in your soft frame. He left you trembling, arching into his caress as he seemed to want to cause more of your wanton behaviors. The way you mewled and tensed and shuddered for him. You entirely went stiff, physically aching for more than delicate touches, you wanted so keenly to be filled.

 “Please.” You rasped, muscles all over your body clenching and unclenching with need.

This plea only slowed the demon, who now seemed to be moving at a glacial pace. He was in no hurry to take you, to penetrate you and seal the contract. Your impatience would be your downfall, clearly. In a desperate attempt to take what you needed, you foisted your hips upwards at him, but not quickly enough. He pulled back, his cock still out of your reach. “Not yet.” He said, watching as your face contorted, awash with lust.  

The head of his length pressed firmly against you, parting your flesh indelicately, but went no further than the tip of his colossal length pressing at the tender split at the apex of your legs.. “Is this what you want, Master?” He asked as claws circle your waist, your belly compressed underneath razor sharp nails. His lips curl as he elicits a gasp from you as his cock throbs with need against you, precum dribbling into your hole. 

Nodding eagerly, your shoulders pinch together as you twisted beneath the weight of him, a moan slipping past your lips, surprising you as you thought you’d sealed yourself against enjoying the act, but you’d fallen so far so fast. Raum had seen to it that your body would enjoy itself whether you liked it or not. 

Raumael slanted his slightly too large mouth over yours, sliding his hips forward so that your bodies were pressed hard against each other, his talons gripping tightly at your nape. It was a possessive hold, a possessive kiss. 

Your lips softened and gave way to his tongue, tilting your head upwards to receive more of his heated kiss. Your breath escaped as he folded atop you, his hips finding their rhythm quickly as your flesh parted for his ample girth. You groan as you’re stretched, your tender flesh splayed wide to accommodate his fat cock as he rocked your body against his, his claw firmly on your lower back holding you. His rock hard length slid deeper inside you, knocking the air from your lungs with each bone-rattling thrust. 

You cry out, every part of you feels like it's on fire, your hands clawing at the massive pecs that hovered above your face before finding purchase on his broad shoulders. You weren't sure when you stopped thinking of him as It and more as a he. Perhaps when his cock barged its way inside of you, or earlier even when you'd noted his physique and handsome face.

Squirming underneath his weight, the heat of his skin warmed you to your core, as he pushed into your body, all of your nerve endings suddenly at attention as the burn of his hellfire washed over you. You wrapped your legs around him, welcoming the heat as you felt yourself unfurling, digging your nails into his shoulders as the glow of your orgasm was building. Your thighs quivered as your body seemed to have a mind of its own.

You gasp, mindlessly as his breath stirred against your shoulder, serrated teeth and warm lips pressed on the soft skin there. The demon’s hard length thrust into you, hot like coals and smooth as silk, as the base of his mound crashed against your hips. Slick with precum and fluids mixing in an obscene union. Your body was raw and pulsing as you tensed with every thrust, toes curling in pleasure, nails raking over his obsidian skin. Your breath hitched as every part of you felt as if you had shattered in that moment. Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, your eyes rolling back as you silently clenched, holding onto your demon for dear life.

Raumael held you in a bruising grip, pumping furiously into you, every muscle tense and strained. You felt him swelling, growing harder, filling you more than you ever could have anticipated. He lifted you by your pelvis off the floor, angling you higher to meet his fearsome thrusts, his face contorted with evident focus. The demon’s dark brow furrowed, lips curled in a snarl as a spasm began to shake him. With a guttural hiss, his body jerked as he suddenly flooded with you what felt like an endless supply of hot, slick fluid, flooding out of you as you were filled to capacity as it smeared your inner thighs and trickled down the cleft of your bottom.  

Suddenly then, the illumination of the sygils stopped. The only light that was cast upon you was the tiny sliver from beneath the closed door and a pair of dark eyes reflecting that miniscule glow back upon you. Your body was numb, like it was made completely of static and you felt utterly drained, slick with sweat, a mixture of yours and his. 

There were several minutes where both of you only focused on breathing, the demon still having pinned you beneath him, his cock stuffed inside of you as cum gushed out and pooled on the floor. A terrible mess you both had made. 

"Is that it?" You asked, breaking the silence, your breathing unsteady.

All the candles flickered to life suddenly and your demon peered down at you, quite offended. "Did you not cum too?" Raum scowled as he sat back on his haunches, carefully releasing you from his grip as his erection slowly dissipated.

"Oh! No, I did!" Your face turned scarlet at the questioning and you realize how that may have been misconstrue. "I meant...our contract is sealed?" 

"You can't tell?" Raumael scoffed, unimpressed as he observed you closely now. 

"It’s just that you're my first." You explain as you sit up, gesturing to the sygils and then to him.

"First?" Raum perked up, as you seemed to summon every ounce of his attention. 

"Yes...first demon and..." You trail off. 

He glanced down at you for a moment, "Oh, that makes things interesting. You should have negotiated our contract, Master. I would have given you a better deal." He chuckled, but very tenderly began to clean you up. This bit of information seemed to garner a modicum of sympathy from the devil. 

Perhaps it wasn’t too late to renegotiate?

“No.” He said simply, as if he was reading your mind. This did not stop him from examining you for damage. How cute he was concerned, but there was a very legitimate reason for it. You shouldn’t confuse his concern for care. It was contractually his job to make sure you’re okay. 

“But-” 

Raum shook his head. “Absolutely not.” He reaffirmed. 

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Original works Masterlist

[the-faceless-bride]

Worship me, you love to.

Price is whipped for his wife. Youthful, fun, loving. He has a picture of you in his wallet so you're always near. Everyone knows he's whipped. But what they don't know, is how much he truly worships you and the ground you walk on.

Warnings: Pure porn, femdom, m. Receiving fingering, glove kink, Slapping, Degrading, humiliation? 'our wife' price? (maybe in the future if anyone likes this.) Price is a mommy's guy, a sub, you won't change my mind.

Price knew he might be in a little trouble with his darling wife. He forgot to call when he debriefed with his team. Went out for drinks and had a good time. But once the clock hit 12 he realized he hadn't spoken to you once. And he panicked.

Rushing out of the pub while being teased by his mates about needing to "get home to the boss."

They had no idea...

When Price pushed open the door dropping his bags he heard the soft sound of the stereo playing a sweet toon. The smell of a lit cigarette, he noticed the lights were off and some candles were lit. It was the particular pink wax/lotion candle that caused an alarm.

"Welcome home." he heard from behind him.

You were beautiful. You sat with a cigarette and a glass of red wine; hair loosely curled and a tight dress that hugged your waist and presented your breasts beautifully, dark leather gloves covered your pretty hands; your makeup was light and sweet but you held something dark in your eyes.

"Baby-"

"Johnathan Price... You've made mommy very angry."

Price took a shaky breath, and gulped. He was in deep trouble. He was going to be punished, he knew for sure.

He took a step toward you, "im sorry-" you put your hand out pointing at him, "Ah-ah!" a sound of protest. Telling him to not move.

"on your knees."

John took a breath before slowly lowering to his knees.

"crawl," you demanded.

John slowly put down his hands, slowly making his way towards you.

When he was close enough, you saw the look in his eyes; the look to please, to submit, to let go. To worship you.

You smirked, crossing your legs and spreading them slightly.

John groaned softly at the sight of no panties.

"I had such a sweet surprise for you. To come home and let you bend me over and take me however and wherever you wanted... But you've been a bad boy Price. Naughty boys don't get rewards like that."

He whines; it's almost inaudible. You place your heel atop his head so he stares at your bare wet cunt. His eyes look so glossy.

Before he can move you strike, pushing him back on his knees before giving him a smack across his face.

He gasps, "What do you say?"

"i-im sorry-"

"sorry... Who?"

"Sorry Mommy. I'm sorry Mommy."

"and?"

"thank you."

You grab him by his hair at the base of his head, "What a dirty slut you are Price." he moans, deep and rich in his chest. "how pathetic are you? Already hard? How disgusting." John stares deep into your eyes, letting himself fully submit himself to you. The goddess that allowed him to marry her.

You smile down at him, "I wonder how your team would react to seeing their Captin isn't as strong and commanding as they think he is. How would they react to seeing their Captin is really a disgusting slut that loves to be hurt and called names."

You let his hair go and he pushed his head into your lower stomach, his breath broken and uneven. His breath fans across your body and his wet eyes leave spots on your dress.

"is that who you were with? Your team? Do they need to be punished too?" he took a risk letting his hands graze over your body from your calves to your thighs, to your ass and finally resting on your hips. "naught boys who have no mommy to teach them how to behave? Maybe I can hit two birds with one stone, hm? Punish you by not letting you touch Mommy and teaching your boys how good it feels to behave?" John is uncomfortably hard now, it strains against his belt. The slightest move of his hips causes a painful yet amazing friction.

"I bet Johnny is a naughty brat, I bet Simon is a stubborn thing. Maybe I can use those pretty ropes on him, huh?" John starts to grind on your heeled foot, his beard tickles your leg as he drags his lips over you, not kissing but waiting for permission.

"though. I think Kyle is a good boy. I'm sure he's a sweet boy who would live to please Mommy. Tell me. Is he a good boy?" John doesn't answer, you kick him away and he desperately tries to hold onto you. He looks up from the floor.

"answer. Me."

"yes. Yes, Mommy. Kyle is a very good boy." John's face feels hot.

You hum pleased by John's answer.

"I bet he is.-" You make your way around John and kneel behind him pulling him to lay fully on his back, "tell me, Do you feel good being in charge? Do you get pleasure in telling you're boys what to do? Do you enjoy it when Kyle is a good boy for you?"

You slowly unbuckle John's belt pulling his pants and boxers down to his thighs and no lower.

"Yes." John flushed. "say it."

"I like it when Kyle is a good boy for me."

"Funny how you get off being the one in charge, but you're such a sweet, pliant slut for Mommy." you tease. Pushing your fingers into John's mouth. Pushing far into his mouth making him gag on your leather Gloves before pulling your hand away and trailing down to his body.

Your fingers are covered in his spit circling his ring of muscle. But at no point do you give him what he wants. "beg."

And he doesn't just beg. He cries.

"Please, Mommy. I didn't mean to be bad.-"

"I'll be good I promise!-"

"I promise to take my punishment like a good boy-"

"please. Please. Please. PLEASE."

John lets out a pleasured cry. As you push your fingers inside him. Whispering in his ears about how you'll forgive him if he promises to be good.

"you need to prove you weren't bad on purpose baby"

"keep to your promise, or I'll punish you harshly next time- maybe Kyle can show you how to be a good boy for me"

"good. Seeing you take your punishment like a good boy makes Mommy very proud."

John's cock twitched and covered his soft stomach and chest. You haven't even touched his cock once.

"what a good boy. Now let's finish up your punishment and get you in a nice warm bath yeah?" you take off one of your gloves before picking up the wax/lotion candle, you stand over his face letting him stare up at your leaking cunt.

"take a deep breath baby, it's hot."

[loki-cees-all]

Protection {Prince!Loki x Female Reader One-Shot}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / A03 Link

Pairing : Prince!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : Your marriage to Loki was an absolute dream - the complete opposite of the nightmare you had once lived. But when someone from your past shows up to surprise and hurt you, the God of Mischief follows through on his promise to always protect you. Afterwards, you’re left reeling in insecurities and self-doubt, and Loki does what he can to help you feel better about your position in his life.

W/c : 4.9k words

Content / Warnings : Mentions of past abuse and just a smidge of violence performed against the reader (not by Loki), Smut, Fingering, Hurt/Comfort, Hand Kink, Praise Kink

18+ only - Minors DNI

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

The curtains swirled around in the pensive breeze, allowing the floating moonlight to wane and wax over you. Candles shuddered with every question, casting flickering shadows on the ceiling above.  Despite the cool air floating in through the open terrace doors and the silk sheets underneath, your skin still felt warm and flushed, a result of the negative energy - the overabundance of fear and unease - still looming in the air.

The image of your abuser standing inside your flat had been nauseating. There had been no warning signs, no bad omens, no sense of impending doom prefacing his intrusion. You had simply opened the door and frozen in place as he greeted you with a sloppy grin on his bloated face. 

Almost instantaneously, you were eight years old again, having fallen asleep in the living room, unable to seek the refuge of your small room before he had returned home. The audacity to accidentally fall asleep inside his living room was a grievance he could not let pass unnoticed, and it had been a mistake you never repeated. 

You had been so careful to stay quiet in the shadows since then, out of his eye line and away from his wrath. When you were fifteen, you finally decided to run. The fear kept you moving, on edge and forever looking over your shoulder, but it had also kept you safe from him. 

Living on the street wasn’t for the faint of heart, but you had nowhere else to go. The experience had turned you feral, a creature of the darkness and dependent on thievery. Sometimes it was food, sometimes it was just respite from the cold rain, and sometimes it was for much worse things. It was an unhappy life, but miraculously it was how you wound up meeting your husband - someone who despite being a Prince was also accustomed to hiding in the shadows. 

You weren’t sure what he saw in you, but you knew what you saw in him. He was devastatingly handsome, impossibly charming, and terrifically clever. You loved watching the way his lips curved while he spoke, the way his eyebrows rose and fell while he listened. He was always gentle with you, so sweet and calm. He had never raised his voice at you, and the only time he ever showed his hands was to lift you up. 

It had been quite the relief to be able to move into the palace, with its stone walls, armored guards and loving husband. The knots in your neck began to loosen when you no longer needed to look over your shoulder. Smile lines began to carve themselves into your cheeks after you stopped seeing everyone as a predator.

Once the adrenaline of the streets and running from your abuser had eventually worn off, you fell extremely ill. Your bones ached and the coughing kept you up all night as the physical effects of the trauma finally caught up to you. Loki never left your side while you were confined to the bed. 

At the time, the illness had been a small price to pay for his protection, for the chance to see someone worrying and fretting over you. But maybe you had let your guard down too much, because somehow your abuser had mysteriously appeared - this time in your living room, after a dozen years, thousands of miles and a new name. 

You weren’t sure who let him into your flat, presumably some other member of the palace; Gods only knew what kind of lie he had told to be let in. You cursed yourself for not giving explicit instructions to never allow anyone claiming to know you inside the palace. But there hadn’t been time to figure out how he found you in the moment; all that mattered was keeping him appeased until Loki could return home. 

So your abuser laughed at his own good fortune as you poured him drinks. The sound of his laughter was revolting and haunting, but still preferable to his screaming. The alcohol had been a gambit; sometimes he was a happy drunk and other times, well…you didn’t have much choice. The man was like a ticking time bomb, except there was no predicting the length of his fuse on any given day.

The sharp edges of carefully laid eggshells dug into your feet again as you stood by, waiting to either be given an order or be punished. Muscle memory allowed your face to remain neutral while on the inside you were screaming, crying, dying. You kept waiting to wake up inside your bed, wrapped up in Loki’s arms, safe and protected, while the nightmare faded away as if the memories belonged to someone else.

It was humiliating, but you had managed to snag a passerby in the hallway while your tormentor was distracted. The shame wrapped its cold fingers around your neck as the passerby ran off to fetch Loki from his meetings. You couldn’t decide what was worse - allowing anyone else in the palace to see your abuser, or being too afraid to stand up to him. But you were too rattled to think properly, too paralyzed to save yourself again. You needed Loki to do it for you, and it was crushing you. The God of Mischief’s wife, afraid of a mortal - what an absolute joke. 

That was when your abuser shrieked and jumped up, knocking the bottle out of your hands and to the floor. You were so busy trying to get a message to Loki that you hadn’t noticed the wine overflowing and spilling everywhere. The bottle had shattered violently, sending splashes of red wine and fragments of glass everywhere - the floor, the furniture, your clothing, his shoes. 

You apologized profusely with a flushed face and eyes full of tears, but the damage was already done. Your abuser was seething with rage, and you could taste it in the air as you gulped it down; there was nothing he hated more than being forgotten. He cornered you, screaming obscenities and flailing his arms around. His face twisted into that of a demon as your back pushed against the wall, as you balled your fists and clenched your jaw, your nails and teeth digging into flesh and on the verge of shattering. 

You desperately clung to a vow of silence in order to not make things worse, but your abuser must have interpreted it as defiance. He swung his hand at you as hard as he could, and the palm smacked against your cheek with an echoing fury. A moment of silence descended over the room as you fell to the floor, anxious to give him a demonstration of submission. But it was too late.

The tears were free-falling as he screamed, and it didn’t even matter what he was ranting and raving about anymore. You felt yourself sinking into the floor itself, sliding further and further down, hugging your knees to your chest as his spit and rage threatened to drown you. You were praying for mercy when Loki had finally appeared.

Your predator had immediately taken personal offense to the interruption, but once he realized who Loki was, the back-pedaling and lip-service began. It was only then that you realized he had shown up to curry favor with the Prince of Asgard; getting to abuse you again had just been a bonus. 

Loki completely ignored him as he strolled past to help you up from the floor. His voice had been soft and merciful as he whispered reassurances to you, a stark contrast to the shrieking your abuser was doing while no one paid attention to him. He shouted every combination of words he could to excuse his behavior, projecting his own flaws and insecurities onto you, as if the years of abuse he had inflicted had been something you actually deserved. It was only when he called you a whore that Loki finally tore his eyes away from you. 

You sighed and rolled onto your side to face the cool breeze, begging it to wash away the memory of Loki prowling around that creature. His jaw steeled and his hands fisted, the veins of his forearms flush against his skin and his voice screaming that you weren’t the whore like that monster claimed. Loki easily had a foot or two advantage over him, towering above like a vengeful God as he corrected your abuser’s miscalculations - clarifying that you weren’t Loki’s whore, you were, in fact, his wife. 

The last word had been delivered as a roar, reverberating throughout the room and bouncing off of every wall, every broken shard of glass, every shadow in your heart. You had never seen him so furious as he latched on to your abuser’s neck, as he squeezed until the monster’s face turned red. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he was ashamed of you.

It had been hours since and you still couldn’t quite put a finger on the sensation that memory produced. Loki had followed through with every promise he had ever made to you. He came immediately when you called for him. He had saved you, and yet it wasn’t relief or respite that you felt. But shouldn’t that be what it was? Why did you feel so guilty? Why did you feel like you tricked Loki into loving and defending you, that you didn’t deserve his rescue? 

The stocky, red-faced man had sputtered curse after curse at Loki as he loomed over him, furious that anyone dared to disagree. The scene had been so unnerving to witness - you had always seen your abuser as an unstoppable force, a formidable foe, a monster that no one could have dreamed of defeating. And yet, he crumbled so easily with Loki’s hands wrapped around his throat. Had he always been that easy to dismantle? 

After being placed in chains, the guards led the demon out of your home. “Neither of you are better than me!” he had shrieked, almost against his will, as if he couldn’t help but try to get in the last word to the God of Mischief. You hoped it ate him up inside that Loki was too busy comforting you to bother responding. 

After your abuser’s removal, Loki had escorted you into the bedroom to relax while he went to discuss the security breach and newly required security protocols with the leaders of the Palace’s Guards and his father. You had spent that time trying to rest but relief never came. Your muscles remained constricted, your nerves fried, your mind ruminating, your guilt working overtime to make sure you never got the rest Loki said you deserved. 

Everything hurt while you waited for him to return home. The urge to cry was plaguing you, but nothing would happen when you tried. You were suffocating under the combined weight of loneliness and the desire to hide when a gentle knock on the open door interrupted your thoughts. “Darling?” 

You pushed yourself up to sitting as he stood cautiously and soft in the doorway. His smile was warm and his eyes sparkled at you, but an air of concern lurked around him. Why did he look so hesitant to be there? 

“You don’t have to knock before coming into your own bedroom,” you said quietly. A dark thought crossed your mind, that maybe somehow your abuser’s words had created a feeling of discontent about you. 

“I’ll remember that the next time you’re upset with me.” He winked, and his voice was teasing but kind as he finally stepped into the room. 

“I could never…” Your voice trailed off and your brows narrowed. What had changed since he left earlier? It had been several hours since the altercation, and he had disappeared for quite awhile after the monster had finally been escorted away. Had he decided that the charity he performed by marrying you had finally become too much work?

“You could never do what, my love?” Loki asked over the unmistakable sound of his magic. 

A wave of relief washed over you in parallel to his affectionate words and the magic transforming his leathered daywear into his sleeping clothes. But the relief was short-lived - what if in the future you did something to trigger his memories of your abuser’s cruel words? What if someday Loki realized that perhaps the monster had a point…?

You felt yourself falling back into old patterns of fawning and terrified promises intended to stave off rejection. “Be upset with you, of course.”

“And I’ll be sure to remember that as well,” Loki chuckled as he sat on his side of the bed, propping his back against the wall. Somehow he always managed to look regal, ankles crossed and back straight, hands folded across his lap and chin held high. Even in sleeping clothes, even inside your bed, he looked like a God. 

His bed, your intrusive thoughts corrected. Everything in this flat, every thing you had, was his. And of course he looked regal, he was actual royalty! He had the power to cast illusions, in fact, while you had the benefit of neither. He would always look exactly the way he wanted, while you were stuck with whatever concoction your atoms had already formed in. 

The image of your abuser taunting Loki with the notion that no one in their right mind would ever make you Queen flashed across your mind. Surely the question of “Why her?” had been asked of Loki many times after he had brought you here. You couldn’t bring yourself to wonder if Loki agreed with him, or if he ever tired of having to explain himself. 

Your thoughts swirled uncontrollably in a whirlwind of turmoil. Or maybe this all was just an elaborate prank? He was a trickster, after all, and you had never known true love before. Perhaps this wasn’t actually it, and the way he looked at you - the way he made you feel - was just an illusion. Your heart broke as that voice inside your head convinced you that nothing here was real. 

Loki studied you, his blue eyes trying to decipher everything you weren’t saying. You forced yourself to smile at him, and he must have seen how hollow it was. He patted the mattress next to him. “Come closer to me.” 

You found yourself afraid to move, and afraid to answer his questions if you didn’t. Nausea and déjà vu pulsated through your veins as you moved closer to him. The usual position of resting on his chest felt too familiar, so you mimicked his position on the bed, ankles crossed and hands folded. An unflattering homage, you were sure, but what other choice did you have?

“Are you alright, dear?” he asked with a forlorn look on his face. His fingers twitched in his lap, and you wondered what they were thinking about. 

“I’m fine,” you lied, desperately trying to clear your mind. If he realized you knew this was all just a joke, there would be no reason to keep you around anymore, would there?

Loki arched his brow. “Why are you still listening to his words?” 

You feigned ignorance again, praying he wouldn’t question you further. You couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing his face every day - even if he was lying to you, even if this wasn’t real. 

Loki gave you a sorrowful smile. “Sweetheart, that look on your face right now is his, and the words echoing around in your mind are his too…”

You tried to swallow down the disappointment of how exposed you had allowed yourself to become. It was always a possibility that Loki would inevitably toss you aside someday, and yet you had still allowed yourself to hope otherwise. 

“It’s been a very long time since you’ve worn that expression, but I haven’t forgotten what it means…” he added, shifting to look at you closer. “Darling, his words were designed to make you question yourself, you should put no stock in them.”

A flush crept across your face, and your eyes turned down to avoid his gaze, to watch your fingers as they picked at themselves. How could you have had the audacity to believe you could have hidden anything from him? That you could have kept him happy for very long?

Tears pooled around your weary eyes as you shook your head at him. “It’s not that, I just…”

“Just what, dear?” His fingertips grazed across yours in an attempt to halt their self-destruction. 

You gulped at the answer, afraid to speak it into truth but anxious to get it over with. “I’m just afraid that…you believe them. Or that you will, someday...”

“What? Darling, I…” His voice was a mixture of disbelief and bewilderment as he tried to organize his thoughts. “Why would a rambling, manipulative drunkard breaking into my home and abusing my wife ever be able to change how I feel about you? And why would you chose to believe that it could?”

There was that word again; a word that meant so much and yet fell so easily from his lips. You hadn’t ever really stopped to consider it, but it was a vow renewal every time he said it. A reminder to you, and anyone else in the room, how much you meant to him. 

A rush of tears boiled over, and once more Loki reached out to pull you back to safety, to curl you up against his chest, a life raft in your sea of sorrow. You had believed you were all cried out, but there was just something in the way that he held you that made you feel safer than you had ever felt before. 

“Do you truly believe that I could be swayed from you so easily?” he asked between kisses to your temple.

A shrug was all you could manage, unable to admit that deep down you knew he couldn’t be. How long had your abuser been inside your flat? Ten minutes? Twenty? And in that time, he had somehow managed to undo every act of devotion that Loki had ever shown you. The regret you felt could not be understated. 

“You are everything to me, sweetheart. And no one will ever be able to convince me otherwise, not even you.”

You opened your mouth to apologize for all of your doubts, but his fingers grazed under your chin, directing your doe eyes upwards to his face. He leaned down to meet your lips, pressing softly against them and sending tingles down your spine. 

“You don’t need to apologize, love,” he whispered against your lips, before pressing against them once more. 

The kisses were lingering and incendiary, and you felt so foolish for ever calling his affection into question. You sighed into him, allowing your muscles to relax for the first time all evening, as he continued to caress your face. 

Everything about him was impossibly large and incredibly delicate. His hands could easily crush you, and yet he chose to worship you with them, to guide you through the path of vulnerability to the reward of safety. His lips could easily devour you, and yet he chose to love you with them. He could do whatever he wanted with you, and yet he chose to protect you. 

He pressed his forehead to yours as his lips withdrew, leaving you wanting and needing more. You kept your eyes closed, wondering what was going to happen next. That moment seemed to exist forever, in both space and time - you wanted him to continue, but still felt unsure of what he wanted. 

“Is there anything else I can do to help you feel better?” he murmured softly. 

His voice was low and suggestive, and your heart skipped a beat. The tip of his nose brushed against yours, exploring the contours of your face and overwhelming your senses. As you breathed in his air, you realized he already knew what you needed, and he wanted to provide it. 

Maybe he felt guilty about that monster abusing you inside your own home. About not arriving sooner, about not protecting you better. He wanted to make it up to you, and even though he had done nothing wrong, in the end it would help you both feel better. 

Anticipation was building in your core, and your eyes drifted open. He was admiring you, eagerly waiting for your answer. You bit your lower lip, and his eyes followed the movement. They lingered over your lips before returning to meet your gaze.

“Please take care of me,” you pleaded before self-doubt could stop you.

His eyes shifted into a smolder as they gazed deep into your soul. Everytime he looked at you like that, it sent your stomach into somersaults. It was exactly what you needed him to do. 

“My beautiful girl,” he hummed as devastating hands gripped your waist and pulled you across his lap. Your knees pushed into the bedding, ankles folded neatly beneath your hips, thighs clenching around his. The gravity of his love pulled you forward, pressing your heart against his. 

His hands locked onto your neck, bringing your mouth to his again. Fingertips raked across your skin where the hairline met your neck, thumbs caressing your cheekbones, palms elevating your chin ever so slightly. His hands were safety personified as they cradled not just your face but your entire soul. Nothing could hurt you as long as he was touching you.

He crushed his mouth against yours in a way that stole the air from your lungs. His lips rolled over yours, separating and pulling them apart. His tongue lapped over your lower lip, ravishing it as your hands ran through his hair, and your hips rocked around his hardening lap. The kisses were frantic and incomplete, your teeth clicking together as you gasped against one another. Then your lips found each other again, and the cycle started anew.

Possessive and healing hands were everywhere. In your hair. Gripping your waist. Splayed across your back. Your lips let go of his as he began to loosen the bodice of your dress. He guided your arms through the sleeves and slid the bodice down, pressing kisses across the newly exposed skin. Time seemed to stand still as he traced down the curves of your body to lift your hips away from your ankles. 

“You had a difficult day today, didn’t you, love?” he murmured. His voice was heady, his eyes wild and hungry. “But you were so strong and brave throughout all of it, weren’t you?”

You nodded, savoring every word, every touch. Arousal coated your inner thighs, and your back elongated, your hips desperately searching for anything to press against. His words felt so good, and you were desperate for him to continue. 

“Yes, and I’m so very proud of you,” he praised just before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. 

You shivered as his tongue flickered against your stiffened skin. His lips tenderly pulled and tugged at the peak, as he lifted and cupped your breasts from underneath. Dizziness was settling in, and you whimpered as his mouth worked on you.

A hand slipped underneath your nightdress, squeezing your thigh as it moved to cup the outside of your already soaked underthings. His breath hitched as his fingers traced along the dampness, his gaze shifting upwards to admire you above him. “Oh, darling…”

He looked so peaceful, so thoughtful, so inconsiderate as his fingers teased you, as the dampened fabric cruelly kept you apart. He smiled, a reminder that you could be both vulnerable and safe with him.

“Loki - ” you breathed, longing to feel his skin against yours but also aching for the teasing to continue.  

The pressure of his fingers increased just a little. “Tell me what you want, love…”

You knew this wasn’t a bribe or a trick; he just wanted to be asked so you knew that you could, so you knew that he would never deny you. 

“Please, touch me…”

As soon as the words left your mouth, what remained of your clothing disappeared and his fingers grazed directly against your slick skin. His hand shifted around to your upper back, beckoning you to lean forward against him. “Just relax for me, sweetheart, let me take care of you…” 

You did as you were told - your arms around his neck, your chest pressed against his, your head resting on his shoulder. Your breath hitched as he traced lingering, soft circles over your clit. The fabric of his clothing brushed against your nipples, stimulating the delicate peaks. Your eyes closed, your muscles relaxed, and everything else just fell away. 

His lips hovered over the shell of your ear, the warm air sending goosebumps down your spine. “Does that feel good, love?” 

His voice was absolutely filthy, so saturated with lust as the delicate motions dissolved any remaining insecurities. Fully clothed and rock hard as his hands worshiped you, as yours merely clung on to him for dear life. You were already completely undone, the only way to respond was with a pleasured sigh. 

“Yes, and good girls deserve to feel good, don’t they?” he whispered, slipping a rewarding finger inside you. 

That long, skillful finger slid inside you, deliberate and measured, for what seemed like hours, until his palm brushed gently against your clit. The slow pace was agonizing and divine. A gasp escaped your mouth, and his torturous withdrawal left desperation in its wake. The pads of his fingers circled your clit again before the digit pushed back inside you. 

You whimpered again as he nuzzled into your neck, and your hair fell across his face. Every inch of your skin, so plump and slick, seemed to melt against his fingers. 

“And you feel so good, don’t you? So wet and hot already,” he teased as he began to withdraw the finger again. “Are you ready for more?”

All you wanted was more of this - of him filling you up, soothing you, rewarding you. Your hips answered for you, grinding hard against his hand and moaning as you did. 

“Oh, good girl,” he praised, slipping a second finger inside you. He loved it when you knew what you wanted and weren’t afraid to take it. 

He continued whispering reassurances in your ear as you contracted around him. He composed a beautiful poem for you, a combination of delicate writing and heady words that you were good, perfect, deserving, beautiful - everything he desperately needed you to know, everything no one else had ever told you. 

With his arm supporting you and delicate fingers pressing inside, he beckoned those endorphins to come out and wash away the sadness of that day, to ward off any pain of future days. Those fingers were magic even without the power of the Aesir, and they cast no illusions while inside you. 

His scent, his skin, his voice - everything was completely enveloping you in a cocoon of safety as his fingers sunk into you again. He nibbled on the cartilage of your ear, the sharp edges of his teeth contrasting with the smoothness filling you up inside. 

Your hands dug their nails into his shoulders as blood rushed to your core. His fingers continued to fill you up before massaging their way out to caress your soft lips.

“You were so good for me today, my love. You earned every bit of this pleasure, didn’t you?”

You were positively drenched now, and starting to lose your composure. Your face grew hot as your hips bucked, and he encouraged every gasp, every moan, every spasm. 

There were times when you would hold your climax back as long as you could, desperate to just exist with him inside you; there was no hope for that this time. Every fiber pulled taut almost to the point of shattering as he worked so diligently to comfort you.

As you cried out, he kissed your neck and shoulder, shuddering himself and curling around you. His fingers slipped out and returned to your clit, rubbing in circles and moaning your name as you came; never before had anyone been so drunk off of your pleasure. Your spine stretched and arched, every muscle contracted and twisted as his devotion washed over you. 

His sinful mouth kept delivering assurances of love as you finally came back down. Your thoughts were hazed and dull in a sea of release as he shifted you both down the bed. You were both conscious and not as he rolled over, placing your head on the pillow and covering your body with the silk sheets. 

He repeatedly asked if you were alright as he worked, but the connection between your mind and mouth had long since become corrupted. His kind words, hands and lips had undone anything you could have thought to say in that moment; all that could be managed were smiles, nods and comforted sighs. 

He blew out the candles before settling in behind you, sliding one arm under your neck and wrapping the other around your waist. Sleep was beginning to overtake you, and you shivered beneath his touch as he pressed his lips to your neck.

“I love you so very much, darling,” he whispered. “Please, don’t ever doubt that.” 

Yet another set of tears stung closed eyes as he cradled you in his arms - squeezing tight, keeping you safe and protected.

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

Click here to be added to my Loki fic tag list! 💚

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @mkdecimation this week (thank you <3)

got some more vampire au goodies for this week just in time for the temperature dropping here and the leaves changing color, it's very much spooky season for me already.

warnings for blood and gore descriptions, but mostly its just Price waxing poetic about his conflicted feelings over his hot vampire gf

It's not the first time he’s seen her in this state. Covered in blood that isn't her own, drenched to the point her clothes are a slick oil spill of black, the fibers so steeped in it they reflect the light. Her mouth drips red, crimson pouring down her chin. It’s always a startling realization to see her in her glory, a beast with prey, rending flesh from bone. The metallic tang of copper hits his nostrils and oozes down the back of his throat. It’s a stench he knows all too well, and not just because he’s involved with a vampire. It's a scent he carries with him. His hippocampus storing it. A reminder linked to memory, to emotion. Fear. Danger… The way she moans. He shakes his head, clearing the thoughts. Refocusing. 

The way she feeds in seclusion, hidden in the dark— this isn’t the way she treats him. There’s no romance here. The way she drinks from him is an act of bonding. Something tender, draped in all of the seductive elegance Rory had always carried with her. This— this is predatory. Violent. Cruel and crude as she satiates her most base need: to eat, to perpetuate her life. Even her undead one still requires sustenance.

That doesn't stop the disgust that burrows deep within him on a level he doesn’t quite understand. That primordial fear of the things in the shadows that go unseen, the reason why man sought fire in the dark. He’s learned not to let his emotions get the better of him when it matters, not to fall prey to instincts that went against his training, but witnessing the woman he loves turn into the very thing that parents have been checking under the bed and in closets for for centuries still needles in his brain.

She’s the top of the food chain, and he knows it.

The complete lack of humanity in her as she feeds on their enemies is a grotesque thing to witness. She had always been cold when it came to her kills, resolute with a trigger, never questioning her motivation to take a shot. Now, the weapon was removed from the equation. This was all just her. No switch flipped or order given. She was in her natural setting. 

Her long, sharp fangs descend and they don’t merely puncture small wounds into the artery to drink. Instead, she rips the layers of skin away with the frenzied delight of a child and a gift’s wrapping paper on Christmas morning. Giving into whatever it was that sustained her, whether disease or curse, he couldn’t be sure. No one did. It was just the truth of things. 

John lingers just out of sight, in the shadows watching, feeling like a voyeur as she grips at this stranger's dark hair, clawing at his scalp as she forces their head back and latches on with the same persistence as a leech. Her lips (the same one he’s fantasized about being on him) wrap around the throbbing pulse point, flooding her throat with their essence. Bleeding them like a stuck pig. Draining them until they're little more than a husk— as dry as the bloody desert. 

He grimaces at the spectacle. The body tossed away from her when done. Discarding the trash. A lesser life form that’s only use is to be fed upon after being a bullet sponge, fodder for some piece of filth they’ve been sent in to deal with.

Her hand drags over her lips as she smacks them and her tongue dips over plump lips, drenched in the color of life while she remains so plainly dead. Pale, pallid. Forever perfect like one of those stone angels guarding over tombs in a cemetery. 

A quiet groan of sated pleasure echoes in the silent room as she stands there, bodies strewn around her, and his breath hitches. He’s caught only the last dregs of her feast, her plate finally cleared. It’s clear Rory has a near insatiable hunger, an unquenchable thirst that constantly drives her, and he can only imagine the sheer will it must take her not to devour an entire base of soldiers when she’s stationed at one. She could do so far too easily. How she hasn’t lost control and torn his throat out yet, he can only imagine. The indomitable strength she carries was something he always recognized in her, it had never been more apparent than in this moment. She glances over her shoulder and the swirling depths of scarlet in her irises regard him as if he’s caught her in a lie, a secret, something that was never meant to be divulged to him. But there's no judgment in his stare, just the same unreadable gaze of a man who’s seen and done monstrous things-– 

Who was he to cast the first stone, after all?

tagging the cod list folks [opt in/out]

@taciturntraveller @writeforfandoms @imagoddamnonionmason @chadillacboseman @efingart

@alypink @roofgeese @harmonyowl @g0dspeeed @simplegenius042

@voidika @strangefable @direwombat @la-grosse-patate @josephseedismyfather

@statichvm @clicheantagonist @tommyarashikage @aceghosts @inafieldofdaisies

@raresvtm @cloudofbutterflies92 @justasmolbard @finding-comfort-in-rain

@imogenkol @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @confidentandgood

[doc42]

Mother of Dragons

“Mother of Dragons” is another way of spelling “Azor Ahai”, as it describes a gender-flipped big damn hero drawing a Red Sword out of fire and blood.

She did this thing, why I cannot say, and Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart. It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel. Such is the tale of the forging of Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes.

The dragons are animated by sacrifice, the power of what once was supposed to be yet now can never be, the blood and the souls and the strength and the courage of days that never were. The shape of shadows. The fire, the life.

She saw sunlight on the Dothraki sea, the living plain, rich with the smells of earth and death. Wind stirred the grasses, and they rippled like water. Drogo held her in strong arms, and his hand stroked her sex and opened her and woke that sweet wetness that was his alone, and the stars smiled down on them, stars in a daylight sky. "Home," she whispered as he entered her and filled her with his seed, but suddenly the stars were gone, and across the blue sky swept the great wings, and the world took flame.

Ser Jorah's face was drawn and sorrowful. "Rhaegar was the last dragon," he told her. He warmed translucent hands over a glowing brazier where stone eggs smouldered red as coals. One moment he was there and the next he was fading, his flesh colorless, less substantial than the wind. "The last dragon," he whispered, thin as a wisp, and was gone. She felt the dark behind her, and the red door seemed farther away than ever.

Viserys stood before her, screaming. "The dragon does not beg, slut. You do not command the dragon. I am the dragon, and I will be crowned." The molten gold trickled down his face like wax, burning deep channels in his flesh. "I am the dragon and I will be crowned!" he shrieked, and his fingers snapped like snakes, biting at her nipples, pinching, twisting, even as his eyes burst and ran like jelly down seared and blackened cheeks.

She could feel the heat inside her, a terrible burning in her womb. Her son was tall and proud, with Drogo's copper skin and her own silver-gold hair, violet eyes shaped like almonds. And he smiled for her and began to lift his hand toward hers, but when he opened his mouth the fire poured out. She saw his heart burning through his chest, and in an instant he was gone, consumed like a moth by a candle, turned to ash. She wept for her child, the promise of a sweet mouth on her breast, but her tears turned to steam as they touched her skin. ...but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel. 

Her homes.

She threw open the door. " . . . the dragon . . . " And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. "The last dragon," Ser Jorah's voice whispered faintly. "The last, the last." Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.

A true sword of fire, now, that would be a wonder to behold. Yet at such a cost . . . When he thought of Nissa Nissa, it was his own Marya he pictured, a good-natured plump woman with sagging breasts and a kindly smile, the best woman in the world. He tried to picture himself driving a sword through her, and shuddered. I am not made of the stuff of heroes, he decided. If that was the price of a magic sword, it was more than he cared to pay.

“Only death can pay for life.”

“Three fires must you light . . . one for life...”

He tried to picture himself driving a sword through her, and shuddered.

Inside the tent Dany found a cushion, soft silk stuffed with feathers. She clutched it to her breasts as she walked back out to Drogo, to her sun-and-stars. If I look back I am lost. It hurt even to walk, and she wanted to sleep, to sleep and not to dream. She knelt, kissed Drogo on the lips, and pressed the cushion down across his face. 

“It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon.” “The moon of my life.” “I am not made of the stuff of heroes.”

Daenerys is made of the stuff of heroes, she’s a big damn one. “Fire made flesh, and so am I.”

She climbed the pyre herself to place the eggs around her sun-and-stars. The black beside his heart, under his arm.

No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don't you see? Don't you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children. The third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world.

Interviewer: Why is Dany a princess and not a prince? George: I made this choice a long time ago, but I think I wanted to play a little with gender roles and reverse things a little... And, of course, "Mother of Dragons", to my mind, is much better than "Father of Dragons". There is the connection between the woman who brings forth life carrying a huge power of death, fire and destruction. There are very powerful metaphors in there. (x) 

Birthing dragons is a woman’s way of drawing a Red Sword of Heroes, “mothering a sword.“

Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. He is fire made flesh, and so am I.

[cldhrbour]

[ 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 ] : sender takes a hold of receiver's both hands. - @recitedemise

the elevator SHUDDERS to a halt. gates opening with a screech. the only sounds that broke an otherwise agonizingly quiet ride from grymforge to. . . well wherever the hells this was taking them. their friends begin to file out of the small space , and as serana begins to follow suit she feels a hand reach out and clasp to her own. keeping her from moving. a silent beg. please. talk to me. i did it for you. i only ever did all of this for you. and when she looks back , those eyes like fire gazing into warm pools ( they remind her of chocolate or more appropriately the polished wood of a walnut bookcase lit in ambient firelight ) for the first time in a couple days her resolve cracks. just enough. just enough for him to pull her in ; he waves the party to keep going , that they'd catch up , and he keeps her here by encompassing pale fingers within his own.

she refuses to look down at them , no she's holding his gaze. because all it is , is proof. veins black with tar. tips of his fingers darkened and she knows it's only worsened over the hours. ( a battle with some spawn sent by harkon had ensued on the way here and she watched him so closely. would purposefully cast before he could. still without a word spoken to him. ) he'd notice by bringing her close that there was a significant change in temperature. he'd see , even in the dark that now surrounded them as they neared the shadowed lands , the pale stone sitting pretty in the gentle dip between her collar bones. THIS. CURSED. THING.

you've battled with yourself these past few days. you've wanted to RIP IT OFF and throw it into the molten fires of the forge because maybe , by the blood just maybe the fates would be kind enough to pull the weave from between it's melting molecules and give it back. drip a few measly droplets back into his well. but you can't , can you ?? because if that doesn't work you've wasted what he's given up and you could never do that because you ───

he sings songs of apologies. waxes on about how lonely the past couple of nights were without her there. they're pretty words. if he were a bard , they'd tug sweetly at her heartstrings. " gale , please. . . " how could he not understand ?? this isn't what she wanted. as gracious as the gesture was , as they all had been , if she'd known the cost she'd never ─── " it was never about what it was. . . gale. it was about what it meant. maybe to you it was a kind gift to a friend ─── " something done to show how much you care about someone , how much you listen. " ─── but to me. . . now all i can think of is the LOSS tied to it. "

a hand pulls from his grip , gently and delicately , reaches up to cup the cheek of her sallow-skinned wizard. he's fading , there's hardly any light behind his eyes anymore and your heart so full wails inside. " i don't want . . . gods gale i would have NEVER asked for a trinket to keep me warm , nor a spell to see myself again , nor any other moment you've given me if i knew it was at the cost of you. it's a price i'd never pay. " and you took that choice from me. ever since the night. that one. where they traded the most delicate ice lace. when her hands pressed the dirts of coldharbour into his. it wasn't about the magic. it never was. no , this was about two souls lonely and desperate for someone to understand. two people who only knew value of what others wanted from them. two wielders of magic , no matter its source , just sharing a moment together. falling.

silence again. they hold to each other , fingers grasping tightly. ( she'd press kisses to each one if she could , how she was desperate to take the pain away. to give him back that which he holds most dear. ) here she feels a moment in the space between them , a flicker as if the weave were finally giving out. her forehead presses against his , thumb running along the dark shadows beneath his eye , trailing down the delicate lines and she wonders if she'll ever see them grow brilliantly purple again. lips whispers away from each other. his name echoes around them. breaking the tension. like the snap of a piano wire. were they to take a couple steps and peer out of the elevator they'd see their friends. and in the dark , in between the small semi-circle the group had made ─────

───── there stood a rather elderly man giving the most gentle wave.

[thereflectionsalon]

Luxury Pedicure Services – A Pampering Experience!

There’s nothing quite like a luxury pedicure service to make you feel pampered and special! If you’re looking for a relaxing experience that will leave your feet feeling soft and smooth, a luxury pedicure is a perfect choice.

What are luxury pedicure services?

A luxury pedicure service is a service that is provided to a customer that is considered to be a luxury. This means that the customer is paying a higher price for the service than they would for a service that is considered to be standard. A luxury pedicure service can be provided in a variety of ways, but it typically includes a pedicure that is performed using high-quality products and techniques.

The benefits of luxury pedicure services

There are many benefits to Luxury Pedicure Services in Bhubaneswar. For one, they can help improve the appearance of your feet. If you have neglected your feet for a long time, a luxury pedicure can help get them back into shape. Luxury pedicure services can also help improve circulation and stimulate the muscles in your feet. This can help keep your feet healthy and looking good.

 How to find the best luxury pedicure services

There are a few things to look for when trying to find the best luxury pedicure service. First, make sure that the salon has a good reputation and is highly rated. Also, take a look at the services that they offer and the prices. Finally, read reviews from past customers to get an idea of what the experience is like.

The different types of luxury pedicure services

There are a few different types of luxury Pedicure Services in Bhubaneswar that a person can choose from.

 One type is the hot stone pedicure. This service includes a foot soak, a scrub, and a massage with hot stones. The stones help to loosen up the muscles and soothe any tension.

Another popular type of luxury pedicure is the paraffin wax pedicure. This service includes a foot soak, a scrub, a massage, and a paraffin wax treatment. The wax is applied to the feet and then wrapped in warm towels. This treatment helps to soften the skin and prevents the accumulation of dry skin.

Finally, the third type of luxury pedicure is the milk and honey pedicure. This service includes a foot soak, a scrub, a massage, and a milk and honey treatment. The milk and honey help to nourish and hydrate the skin. They also help to reduce the appearance of wrinkles and age spots.

What to expect from a luxury pedicure service

  If you’re looking to treat yourself to a luxurious pedicure service, there are a few things you can expect. First, you can expect a relaxing and refreshing experience. The pedicure technician will start by soaking your feet in a warm bath, then will proceed to clean, trim, and file your nails. They will also massage your feet and legs and may apply a mask or scrub. Next, they will apply polish to your nails (or you can choose to go without polish). Finally, they will give you a pair of comfortable socks to take home with you.

How to prepare for a luxury pedicure service

The first step in preparing for a luxury pedicure service is to remove any nail polish from your toes. If you have any calluses or dry skin on your feet, you should also take care of that before your appointment. The best way to do this is to soak your feet in a warm bath for 10-15 minutes.

Once your feet are soft, you can begin to prepare for the pedicure itself. Start by clipping and filing your nails to the desired shape. If you have any dead skin on your feet, you can use a pumice stone to remove it.

Next, it’s time to give your feet a massage. Start by applying some lotion or oil to your feet and then use your hands or a special foot massager to massage them. You can also use a foot scrub to exfoliate your feet.

Once your feet are fully massaged, it’s time to give them a pedicure. Choose the colour of nail polish you want and paint your nails accordingly. You can also add some decorations, such as stickers or gems.

When you’re finished, make sure to apply a coat of polish to your toenails to protect them from chipping. Let the polish dry completely before putting on your shoes.

The aftermath of a luxury pedicure service

I was so excited when I scheduled my appointment for a luxury pedicure service. I had heard great things about the salon and the services they offer. I couldn’t wait to relax and have my feet pampered.

The salon was beautiful and the staff was friendly. I was given a robe to change into and led to a private room. I was given a foot bath and my feet were soaked in a warm, fragrant solution.

The technician then began to scrub my feet and toenails. She used a gentle but effective scrubbing motion that felt amazing. She then used a pumice stone to remove any callouses or dead skin.

She applied a luxurious moisturizing cream and massaged my feet and calves. The massage felt amazing and it was very relaxing.

The technician then finished my pedicure by painting my toenails with a beautiful shade of pink. I was so happy with the results. My feet looked and felt amazing.

The aftermath of my luxury pedicure was definitely worth the expense. I would highly recommend this service to anyone.

If you’re looking to treat yourself to a special pampering experience, be sure to check out Reflection Salon. You won’t regret it!

[archive-of-artprompts]

🏚 Betrayal at House on the Hill: Item Prompts 🏚

Send in a Number + Character/s, and I'll draw/write a scene inspired by the prompt! (Prompts from the Betrayal at House on the Hill strategy game)

Axe. A weapon. Very sharp.

Angel feather. A perfect feather fluttering in your hand.

Locket. A memento of love on a thin gold chain.

Dark dice. Are you feeling lucky?.

Revolver. A weapon. An old, potent-looking weapon.

Adrenaline shot. A syringe containing a strange fluorescent liquid.

Snake oil. The worn label has vague promises of renewed vigor. It doesn't smell poisonous.

Pickpocket's gloves. Helping yourself has never seemed so easy.

Dynamite. A fuse isn't lit... yet.

Armor. It's just prop armor from a Renaissance fair, but it's still metal.

Bell. A brass bell that makes a resonant clang.

Idol. Perhaps it's chosen you for some greater purpose. Like human sacrifice.

Music Box. A hand-crafted antique. It plays a haunting melody that gets stuck in your head.

Puzzle Box. There must be a way to open it.

Camcorder. Left by a previous explorer, there seems to be something on the tape. You should totally watch it.

Healing salve . A sticky paste in a shallow bowl.

Sacrificial dagger. A weapon. A twisted shard of iron covered in mysterious symbols and stained with blood.

Chainsaw. A weapon. Vroom, baby, vroom.

Device. A jumble of wires and glass instruments used to measure things that are not of this world.

Boomstick. A weapon. Rusted and well-used, someone took a hacksaw to the barrel. At least they left two good shells.

Blood dagger. A weapon. A nasty weapon. Needles and tubes extend from the handle... and plunge right into your veins.

Chalk. A simple drawing stick made of ground bone and wax.

Smelling salts. Whew, that's a lungful.

Candle. It makes the shadows move-- at least, you hope it's doing that.

Ceremonial robe. Not sure if it's for the sacrificer or the sacrificee.

Teapot. A porcelain teapot with a motif of delicate pink flowers. It grants wishes, at a price.

Blueprint. An old map of the house.

Effigy. Handmade with care, this doll is dressed in a tiny copy of your own clothes.

Amulet of the ages. Ancient silver and inlaid gems, inscribed with blessings.

Bottle. An opaque vile containing a black liquid.

Medical kit. A doctor's bag, depleted in some critical resources.

Lucky stone. A smooth, ordinary-looking rock. You sense it will bring you good fortune.

Rabbit's foot. Not so lucky for the rabbit.

[angry-geese]

Blood Ties - Chapter Fourty-Six: Lithopedion

soulmate au Choso x reader

Warnings: character death, canon typical violence, manga spoilers

Synopsis: the sorcerers have finally located Angel. Unfortunaly for them, her help comes at a price

a/n: I've only forgotten to post this for about what? five months now /hj anyway sorry! lolol

Word count: 2.7k

prev - next

masterlist

As long as humanity has existed, so has the string of fate. As long as the string of fate has existed, so has a sorcerer capable of manipulating it.

In the air is the smell of decay, and a damp cold that seems to sink directly to her bones. The woman—nearing fifty, face roadmapped with scars and wrinkles—fixes her pack higher upon her shoulders, and begins her march up the steep path. As each wooden gate passes, she draws closer to a temple.

It was beautiful. At least at one point in time. Over the course of a century, the temple has fallen into disrepair. Animal bones lay bleached and brittle from the sun, stone steps crumbling under the slightest touch. There's signs warning travelers to stay away—talismans littered about. Some hung on trees, others litter the ground. Some are so old that they turn to dust under foot.

That's when a man—he can't be older than forty, but time has not been kind to him—ducks out of the shrine, and greets the sorcerer. His kimono is in tatters. He radiates fear; from his glossy eyes, to the slight tremble in his hands. He stops upon seeing her.

“I’m here seeking Ryoumen Sukuna.” She says. “I’ve brought an offering.” The contents of the bottle slosh as she holds it up. Sake. From the thick, wax seal, to the label on the bottle—it all appears expensive.

His eyes linger on her hands for a moment longer than she should. An unnoticeable action to most, but she picks up on it. Without another word, he motions her through.

In stark contrast to the exterior, the inside of the temple is well kept. Incense is lit. So are candles, which illuminate the short path. The room holds a damp cold that seems to seep right into her bones.

She doesn't hear the man enter, but she senses another soul behind her. She refuses to turn her head to the disturbance. Maybe it’s out of fear. A fear so primal she doesn't recognize it at first. A fear left behind from before humans moved into villages, and then cities. But something is preventing her from turning to look at him.

Without a word, she uncorks the bottle of sake, and takes a swig. The alcohol does little to settle her nerves.

“You walk down the center of my temple’s path like you’re its mistress,” Sukuna says, circling around her, “you tamper with my offerings, and you disrespect me directly,

“Are you not afraid? I could kill you right here…” 

He runs a clawed finger along the underside of her chin. The sorcerer tilts her chin upwards, moving with his touch.

“Girls have the most tender cuts of meat.” Sukuna says. “Men? Their meat is too tough; women have an extra layer of fat that makes them cook down better.”

The sorcerer wants to scowl. Girl? she wants to spit, I haven't been around for fifty years to be referred to as a child.

“Maybe thirty years ago that would be the case,” she says, a tone of annoyance audible in her voice, “but I’m too old, and I’ve spent too many years smoking for my meat to be tender,

“Killing me would do you no good.” She says. “I’ll be reborn into another body. You would have maybe twenty years of peace before I come back,

“And I will be back,

“But you… you don't have that luck.” The tattoo on her chin twitches as she smirks. “When you’re gone, that’s it.”

A look resembling annoyance crosses his face. “I won't die.” He says. “Even in the golden age of sorcery, you humans couldn't defeat me.”

“You say that,” the sorcerer continues, “yet I don't believe you,

“But I didn't travel all this way to argue with you. I want your help. I would not bring such a request to you without something to offer in return.”

The look on his face turns from thinly veiled amusement, to something unreadable. When she offers the bottle to him, he takes it, holding it to his lips. It appears comically small in his hands, his palm able to wrap nearly twice around it.

“Speak, then.” He says.

“I wish to free humanity of this curse that my ancestors placed upon them.”

“And in return?”

…

Ryoumen Sukuna would meet the Soulmate Sorcerer once again that following winter. Just months prior, a war had raged in the region to the south. He never witnessed it personally, but he saw it in the way smoke lingered along the horizon. Occasionally, refugees would find themselves lost in these woods, unaware of how the locals avoid it. Much like those refugees, she would find herself injured atop the steps of his temple.

Sukuna isn't quite certain why he didn't leave her to bleed out. Perhaps it was their conversation from months prior. Perhaps, deep down, he has a shred of honor left. It's not a significant one. Ryoumen Sukuna is not a man of honor. And yet, the Soulmate Sorcerer would wake up hours later, with her wounds dressed.

She thinks, at first, that she must be dead. This temple—once abandoned—has a strange luster. The smoke in the air obscures the ceiling, the walls flickering with the light of a fire. If this is the afterlife—she thinks—then it’s a disappointing one. 

Slowly, enough feeling has returned to her hand for her to bring it to her side. The wound—product of a thrown spearhead—feels as if it’s been filled with hot wax. Scratchy, yellowed bandages have been secured around the wound. It's crude handiwork. Someone actually trained in healing could do better. Though the sorcerer doesn't find too much to complain about, seeing as she’s still alive.

In the low light of the room, she slowly gains her bearings. At her feet sits a shrine, ripe with offerings. To her left, a blanket, of which she’s kicked off herself while asleep. The pile of hay and furs she lays atop can hardly be considered a bed, but it’s warmer than the ground.

He sits, eyes fixed on her from within the darkness. Her heart beats faster—fueled by a sudden rush of adrenaline. The feeling of being prey; one not entirely foreign to the human psyche. 

“What?” She asks, the slightest ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re not gonna eat me? I'm already halfway there. Just needs a little seasoning.”

“I did not give you permission to die.” He says.

…

Spring rears its head with a vengeance. Violent rains batter the temple, and surrounding woods. The ground is soft from all the water.

Sukuna would come to learn that the soulmate sorcerer is a child of winter, born on a bleak January day. He could have guessed that, he thinks. She seems to tolerate the bitter cold, the snow, and the distant warmth of summer. A child born under a black sun, regarded as unlucky by every caretaker and adult in her life. A sorcerer; a powerful one. The only sorcerer capable of challenging fate itself.

“What could make a human choose this life?” Sukuna asks, one day by the riverbank, “to live among cursed spirits as a human…”

The sorcerer shrugs, turning her attention back to her fishing rod. The morning has proved fruitless. All she has to show for her time is a broken line, and wet boots.

“I believe it’s a side effect of my cursed technique.” She says, following a brief moment of silence. “I am one of the few humans born without a string of fate.

“To you, that may not seem significant. What good is a soulmate to you? But to my people, that was a sign of bad luck,

“I was the scapegoat. The black sheep. They viewed me as a bad omen from the moment I was born,

“For a while, I was betrothed to a man from a neighboring village. He suffered from the same misfortune as me. Our families thought they could fix our ‘curse’ by marrying us, but…”

Sukuna seems to understand what she wishes to say before she does so. “How’d he die?” He asks.

“Pneumonia.” She says. “He fell sick one day and never recovered. And honestly? I felt relieved after he died,

“I spent so many nights awake wishing he would simply disappear and when that day came I finally felt free. Because I do not wish to be seen as a broken half! I wish to be seen as my own person! Why aren't humans allowed to exist free of soulmates?!”

Is love not the root of all curses, she thinks.

So this it is. She thinks that’s the way her ancestors were cursed to live: to wander aimlessly. It's not such a bad life, she thinks. There's plenty of tales to tell, plenty of drinks to be had, or warm fires to sit by. She exists—she thinks—to experience these things; and she finds comfort in that lack of direction.

“What about you?” She asks. “Weren't you human at one point?”

“I was,” he says, “at one point. And if you expect me to lament to you about how I miss it, you’re mistaken,

“There are things that were better while I was human. Alcohol. Sex. But if I were given the chance to go back—to do this all over again—I would not. I do not miss humanity.”

He watches as her lips press into a thin line. Perhaps she expected more from his answer. Maybe a shred of regret. Or the slightest semblance of humanity deep down. But Ryoumen Sukuna, King of Curses, holds few regrets.

The following morning, the Soulmate Sorcerer would leave on a hunting trip. She would not return that evening.

And when a week later, the King of Curses finds the head of his guest on a pike, captured by the local villagers, he would not regret razing it to the ground.

He did not give her permission to die.

…

James isn't quite sure how long he’s been asleep, but the dryness in his throat signals some time has passed. For the past few hours, the sorcerer has been drifting in and out of consciousness. He pretends to sleep through all of it, so as to avoid talking to new people. Such a ruse can only be held up for so long.

They haven't tried to kill him yet. James considers himself lucky in that regard.

Conversation takes on a low, sleepy nature. The voices—some familiar, and some not—sound low, and distant. Only the occasional word is discernible. It all sounds like nonsense to James anyway.

The ache in his hand turns from dull, to near unbearable in a matter of minutes. He flexes his remaining digits. It feels like his missing fingers are being compressed beneath the bandages, aching to be free. It feels as if his hand is in a painfully right fist. James knows logically that nothing is there. 

It takes James a moment to register the sight before him: a hotel room. An expensive one, if he had to guess. Were the circumstances any different, he couldn't imagine staying in such a place. 

“Did you sleep well?”

The question isn’t directed at him, but it’s what finally pulls him from sleep. It's a woman's voice. One he's heard before, but can't place where. James must lay there for several minutes, unable to shut his mind off, before he stirs. 

“You're awake,” Angel says. She wipes her palms on the front of her pants, before getting up from her seat.

Fatigue has set in—a byproduct of blood loss. He sits up, his gaze tiredly meeting hers. Something is strange about the sorcerer standing before him. Though her face is that of a human—a sorcerer—two sets of eyes stare back at him.

“You're an angel…” James slurs, almost sounding drunk. The moment he processes his own words, he sits up, quickly correcting himself. “You must be Angel—I can sense your second soul.”

A mouth appears from the flesh of the woman's cheek. “It's rude to interrogate a young lady, Matchmaker,” it says. 

Such an accent is difficult for the sorcerer to place. It sounds like a grandmother. Old. James has no recollection of ever meeting Angel, but his body betrays him. There's a strange feeling of familiarity as it speaks.

“You were going by Gloria the last time we met,” it—not ‘it’, she—says, “I take it that's changed.”

“A little,” James says.

His front pocket is bulky with something: a pack of cigarettes, and a book of matches. He has the filter of one between his lips before he realizes what he's doing. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead seems to become more audible.

“You must be hungry,” Hana says, “here.” 

The grocery bag crinkles as she reaches into it, retrieving something, and tossing it to him. The package lands square in his lap. It's some kind of ice cream bar: melon flavored. He tears the top off, sinking his teeth into it. 

James knows he should eat—his body is signaling that he needs to—but he can barely stomach it. There should be a sense of fulfillment that follows the action, but he feels none. The food seems to turn to ash in his mouth. 

“If it's not too personal, I must ask: why enter the game?” Hana asks. “You're not a reincarnated sorcerer, you weren't forced to become a player. What reason do you have for being here?”

James shrugs. “Because I have an idea on how to take down Kenjaku.”

That seems to catch the other's attention. They pause their conversations, only to turn to him.

“By opening the prison realm?” Itadori asks.

“Sort of. In order to free Gojo, we need to get Kenjaku in here,” James says. “Geto's soul is still in there. When the two are present, the string of fate is complete, and they should be able to leave together.

“So we're going to use Gojo as bait,

“The problem lies in getting Kenjaku into the game in the first place—and even then, we risk him entering the wrong barrier. But I have a plan for that,

“I have reason to believe that once all the players in a barrier are dead, or have moved on, that barrier becomes inactive.” He says. “The final showdown—so to speak—will happen when all remaining players are confined to the same, final barrier,

“The game only ends when all participants are dead, or everyone refuses to participate, and dies… so by that logic, what happens to the final guy?

“I think that's when Kenjaku steps in to absorb all the residuals,

“And I have another theory: Kenjaku will be the one to deliver the final blow. Or at the very least, he'll be present for the deaths of the final few players,

“Granted, I don't have any proof for this, but I'm figuring the number nineteen has something to do with it. Once the number of remaining players drops to that, Kenjaku will enter the game.”

For whatever reason, a significance is placed on that number in this game. Of course, the sorcerer has no way of proving this until he tries it.

“Back in Shibuya, I briefly witnessed Geto take back his own body when in the presence of his soulmate.” James says. “If we can replicate that—for even just a minute—they can use the rule I put into place to escape.”

Megumi opens his mouth to speak. “But, if Kenjaku is still present within Geto's body-”

“The barrier will take care of that.” He says, sounding just certain enough to convince himself.

“Could that work for Itadori and Sukuna then?” Megumi asks.

“Maybe.” James says. “But Itadori’s and Geto’s situations are a bit… different. Sukuna has learned to coexist with Itadori—so to speak. Meanwhile, Geto and Kenjaku’s relationship is more like parasite and host. While one is considered a complete being, the other is viewed as an intruder.”

Trying to separate the two—especially now—could prove fatal.

A crease forms in the space between Megumi’s eyebrows. He runs his palms along the front of his pants. Through his plain expression, small cracks of emotion show through. It's only now that James notices how tired the student looks. 

Hana stands, hands smoothing out the front of her sweater. “I don't mean to interrupt,” she says, “but look at the number of people who just entered the colony.”

With the wave of her hand, her Kogane appears. The number on its scroll quickly turns from 23 to well over 800.

“I will help you,” Hana says, “if you help me defeat 'The Fallen.'”

[musiconanironingboard]

12 August 2022: Through the Past, Darkly (Big Hits Vol. 2), The Rolling Stones. (1986 ABKCO reissue of 1969 Decca/London compilation)

The Stones discography, up to the point of departing Decca in the UK and London in the US for their own, Atlantic-owned Rolling Stones Records imprint, received a US vinyl reissue campaign in 1986. Many of these dozen-or-so albums had long been out of print. Like the Beatles, who would get a similar treatment by Capitol beginning the following year, the Stones got digital remasterings for this campaign that occurred on vinyl as well as CD. Also like the Beatles, the first several Stones albums were different in the US versus their UK homeland, and this campaign followed the US versions of those albums. (The Beatles campaign followed the UK versions, which have been treated as the definitive worldwide versions ever since.) Unlike the Beatles, whose ’80s reissue campaign I attempted to buy in real time, I didn’t fret the Stones reissues until roughly twenty years later. I did buy Let It Bleed from the campaign when it was new, but didn’t feel a need to pick up the others. I’ve just never been a diehard Stones fan, but at one point I realized I should probably have all of these albums. As of this past summer, there were still several titles from this campaign that I didn’t own. Some of them—including the subject of today’s post—I have original versions of; two of them, namely the 1966 comp Big Hits (High Tide and Green Grass) and Aftermath, I don’t own in any format. (I do have a horrifically warped copy of Aftermath; I finally found a sealed copy of the 1986 reissue on eBay and no one could have known it was ruined without opening it.) I’m not too worried about finding Big Hits, though I would like to get a replacement copy of Aftermath. Should I ever see a copy of the 1986 version of Their Satanic Majesties Request (I don’t think I’ve ever seen one), I’ll probably pick it up, even though unlike my original copy it does not have a lenticular cover. (One notable thing about the 1986 reissues is the version of Beggars Banquet uses the original, banned cover art of a heavily graffitied toilet-stall interior.)

It was superfluous of me to buy this copy of Through the Past, Darkly, but seeing it came from the ’86 series I instantly wanted it, but I also was interested because I think it’s the first time I’ve seen this album with a square cover. Originals are in an octagon shape (details on this below).

Above are the front and back covers of the reissue.

Below is the opened gatefold.

Here is side one’s label. The labels of all entries in this reissue campaign look like this.

For comparison, here is my original US pressing of the album. This was a must-have for a young record collector like me, just due to the novelty of its sleeve shape.

The inner sleeve is a regular square one, folded to fit the octagon shape.

The silver-and-blue London label is hard to photograph.

Forgive the reflection of my hand holding a phone here—I wanted to capture that little green dot in the dead wax. This telltale sign proves to me that I purchased this title at Recycled Records in Springfield, Illinois. This would have been sometime in the ’80s. Recycled Records did this with all of their used albums to prevent sneaky people from cheating them. The price tags were always on the aftermarket plastic sleeve the shop put everything in, and if anybody decided to swap sleeves to try to get a cheaper price, Recycled Records had them fooled. I prefer to take these little dots off, but the adhesive was always so sticky that it left a mess behind if you did manage to remove the dot. I wasn’t sure upon seeing this if the price was $6 or $9 (I’ve long since removed the original price tag on the outer sleeve), but $9 seems impossibly high for a relatively common title in the ’80s at Recycled Records, so I’m wagering I paid $6 for this.

[bigfoot-carmo]

Preserve Your Car's Shine with the Best Paint Protection Film in Mumbai

Owning a car in a bustling city like Mumbai can be both rewarding and challenging. The constant exposure to harsh weather conditions, pollution, and traffic can take a toll on your car's exterior. This is where paint protection film (PPF) comes in as a savior for car owners who want to preserve their vehicle's pristine appearance without frequent visits to the detailing shop.

What is Paint Protection Film?

Paint protection film is a transparent, thermoplastic urethane film applied to the exterior surfaces of a vehicle. Originally designed for military use, PPF is now a popular choice for car enthusiasts looking to maintain their vehicle’s paint job. It acts as a protective barrier against scratches, chips, and other environmental damages. With the best PPF in Mumbai, you can ensure your car remains as stunning as the day you drove it out of the showroom.

Benefits of Using Paint Protection Film

One of the main benefits of paint protection film is its ability to shield your car's paint from damage. Whether it's small stones on the road or accidental scratches from keys, PPF offers robust protection. Additionally, it provides resistance against UV rays, preventing your car's paint from fading over time. This film also enhances the car’s aesthetic appeal by maintaining a glossy finish, making it look newer for longer.

Another advantage is the ease of maintenance. With PPF, cleaning your car becomes a hassle-free task as the film repels dust and dirt, reducing the frequency of washing and waxing. This not only saves time but also cuts down on maintenance costs.

Choosing the Best PPF in Mumbai

When selecting the best PPF in Mumbai, it is essential to consider factors like film quality, installation expertise, and customer reviews. Professional installation is crucial to ensure the film adheres perfectly to the car's surface without bubbles or wrinkles.

In Mumbai, several reputable service providers offer high-quality paint protection films that cater to various budgets and requirements. These professionals use cutting-edge technology to ensure precision in application, giving you peace of mind that your vehicle is in good hands. You can explore some of these options and find detailed information about pricing and services here.

Conclusion

Investing in paint protection film is a smart decision for car owners who wish to maintain their vehicle’s aesthetic and resale value. With the right PPF, you can enjoy peace of mind knowing that your car is protected against the daily challenges of Mumbai's roads. By choosing a reliable service provider, you can ensure that your car remains in top-notch condition, reflecting your style and personality.

[i7internationalspa]

Best Beauty Spa Near Me Balmatta

Best Beauty Spa Near Me Balmatta can be a transformative experience, offering more than just aesthetic treatments but a journey towards relaxation, rejuvenation, and overall wellness. This blog explores what makes a beauty spa exceptional, the various services offered, how to choose the right spa, and the benefits of regular spa visits.

What Makes a Beauty Spa the Best?

Ambiance and Atmosphere:

Tranquil Environment: A top-tier beauty spa should provide a serene and calming atmosphere. Soft lighting, soothing music, and a pleasant aroma are key elements that create a relaxing ambiance.

Cleanliness: Hygiene is paramount. The best spas maintain impeccable cleanliness standards, ensuring all equipment and facilities are sanitized regularly.

Professional Staff:

Qualified Therapists: Highly trained and certified professionals who are knowledgeable about the latest beauty treatments and techniques.

Personalized Service: Staff who take the time to understand your needs and customize treatments accordingly.

Range of Services:

Comprehensive Menu: Offering a wide variety of services, including facials, body treatments, massages, manicures, pedicures, and hair removal.

Innovative Treatments: Incorporation of the latest beauty trends and technologies, such as microdermabrasion, laser therapy, and advanced skincare products.

Popular Services at Top Beauty Spas

Facials:

Classic Facials: Basic treatments that cleanse, exfoliate, and moisturize the skin.

Anti-Aging Facials: Treatments focused on reducing wrinkles, firming the skin, and promoting a youthful appearance.

Acne Facials: Specialized treatments aimed at reducing acne and preventing future breakouts.

Body Treatments:

Body Scrubs: Exfoliating treatments that remove dead skin cells and leave the skin smooth and refreshed.

Body Wraps: Treatments that detoxify and hydrate the skin using various ingredients like seaweed, mud, or clay.

Hydrotherapy: Water-based treatments that can include hot tubs, saunas, and steam rooms to relax and detoxify the body.

Massages:

Swedish Massage: A relaxing massage that uses long, flowing strokes to improve circulation and relax the body.

Deep Tissue Massage: A more intense massage that targets deeper layers of muscle to relieve chronic pain and tension.

Hot Stone Massage: A soothing massage that uses heated stones to relax muscles and improve blood flow.

Hair Removal:

Waxing: A popular method for removing unwanted hair from various parts of the body.

Laser Hair Removal: A long-term hair removal solution that uses laser technology to target hair follicles.

Nail Services:

Manicures and Pedicures: Treatments that groom and beautify the nails and skin of the hands and feet.

Gel Nails: A long-lasting nail treatment that uses UV light to cure gel polish for a durable finish.

How to Choose the Best Beauty Spa

Research and Reviews:

Online Reviews: Check online platforms for reviews and ratings from previous clients. Look for consistent positive feedback and any red flags.

Word of Mouth: Ask friends, family, or colleagues for recommendations based on their personal experiences.

Visit the Spa:

First Impressions: A visit to the spa can give you a feel of the ambiance and professionalism of the staff.

Consultation: Schedule a consultation to discuss your needs and gauge the knowledge and approach of the therapists.

Certifications and Licenses:

Verify Credentials: Ensure the spa and its staff hold the necessary certifications and licenses to perform the treatments they offer.

Price and Packages:

Compare Prices: While the best spas may not be the cheapest, they should offer fair pricing for their services.

Packages and Memberships: Look for package deals or membership options that can provide better value for frequent visitors.

Benefits of Regular Spa Visits

Physical Benefits:

Improved Skin Health: Regular facials and body treatments can significantly improve the health and appearance of your skin.

Muscle Relaxation: Massages help to relieve muscle tension and pain, promoting better mobility and comfort.

Detoxification: Treatments like body wraps and hydrotherapy help to remove toxins from the body, enhancing overall health.

Mental Benefits:

Stress Relief: The relaxing environment and therapeutic treatments help reduce stress and promote mental clarity.

Improved Sleep: Regular spa visits can lead to better sleep patterns due to reduced stress and relaxation.

Enhanced Mood: The pampering experience and positive results from treatments can boost self-esteem and overall mood.

Unique Features of Top Beauty Spas

Personalized Treatments:

Custom Skincare Regimens: Tailored treatments based on skin type, concerns, and goals.

Holistic Approach: Incorporating wellness practices like yoga, meditation, and nutrition advice alongside traditional beauty treatments.

Luxury Amenities:

Private Treatment Rooms: Ensuring privacy and comfort during treatments.

Relaxation Lounges: Areas where clients can unwind before or after their treatments.

Sustainability Practices:

Eco-Friendly Products: Using organic and natural products that are safe for the skin and the environment.

Sustainable Operations: Implementing practices that reduce waste and energy consumption.

Future Trends in Beauty Spas

Technological Advancements:

AI and Machine Learning: Personalized treatment recommendations based on AI analysis of skin conditions.

Virtual Consultations: Offering online consultations to reach a broader clientele and provide convenience.

Holistic Wellness Integration:

Mind-Body Connection: Increasing focus on treatments that address both physical and mental health.

Nutritional Counseling: Providing diet and lifestyle advice to complement beauty treatments.

Conclusion

The best beauty spas offer more than just treatments; they provide a holistic experience that promotes overall well-being. By combining skilled professionals, a serene environment, innovative treatments, and personalized care, these spas become sanctuaries for relaxation and rejuvenation. Regular visits to a top-tier beauty spa can lead to significant improvements in physical and mental health, making it a valuable addition to your wellness routine.