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ichorai · 5 months

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the wolf and the beast ; toji fushiguro.

part of the A SONG OF CURSES AND CROWNS collection!

pairing ; assassin!toji fushiguro x stark!f!reader

synopsis ; nobody told him that his target had a direwolf.

words ; 3.3k

themes ; fantasy, asoiaf au, assassin au, prisoner au, enemies-to-???

warnings / includes ; mentions of murder, descriptions of injury/blood, classism, foul language, toji hates your wolf, toji stealing from a whorehouse LMAO

main masterlist.

Lannisters paid good money for their dirty work to be done by someone other than them. Toji was more than happy to comply once he heard the price for your head was enough to last him a few years, maybe even more if he stopped betting on jousting events. He asked no questions, and didn’t bother dwelling on the reason why they wanted you dead. Though, if he had to guess, it might have been because you were the most eligible noble lady to be married off to the king (a white-haired cunt, Toji liked to call him). Being Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms was clearly a position the Lannisters were hungry to get their claws on.

Toji didn’t really care. He was just happy to get the gold.

It was supposed to be a simple, easy task. After all, you lived in a cushy castle, draped in expensive furs and coats, eating the softest of breads and drinking the sweetest of nectars. The spoiled brats were always the easiest to take out.

Getting into Winterfell went smoother than he’d expected. A few miles down the road leading to the castle, he’d killed two men driving a horse-led cart full of wine barrels—meant to be delivered right to Winterfell.

And so he got through the South gate with ease. The guards interrogated about the wine, and Toji prattled on about the aging process of the alcohol, the special concoction of grapes and infused spices, the sweetness of the reds, the tartness of the gold wines, and whatnot. None of it was really true, of course. Toji just spoke out of his ass, pulled out product papers he found in the satchels of the men he killed, and smiled charmingly when the guard waved his hand to let him pass.

A gangly, young stableboy with red hair and blue eyes escorted him to cellars, where the wine barrels would be stored. And, after asking the little boy, Toji realized, to his utter delight, the Great Keep was just above him.

Up the cobblestone staircase he went, far louder than a mouse, but Toji moved quick enough for it not to matter.

There was one problem, however. He hadn’t taken into account the possibility of you not being in your chambers. Which, you clearly weren’t. The entire Keep was silent and vacant, save for a few handmaidens he spotted collecting soiled laundry. He made sure to keep out of their sight.

And so, Toji settled for waiting in the largest chamber—which he assumed was yours, being the Warden of the North and all. He glanced around, inspecting all the trinkets laid about on your desk: silver jewelry, shoddy wooden carvings of wolves, and, interestingly, various scabbarded daggers. He pocketed what looked to be of some value. He inspected some more, lazed around on your large bed, and rifled through the many furs and fine garments in your closet. Many of the dresses he held up to his chest spanned only half the width of his broad shoulders, much to his amusement.

Hours later, once footsteps echoed down the hall, Toji sprang up from the polished wooden chair (he totally hadn’t fallen asleep) and hid behind the door.

You strode in, covered in dirt, snow, and dried blood. There were leaves clinging to your hair. It seemed that you’d just gotten back from a hunting party. You had yet to spot the tall, burly man in your chambers, your back still to him as you began to shirk off your boots.

That was when Toji moved.

Curved blades in hand, Toji surged forward and aimed to stab you right through your heart—

You turned around just in time to see your direwolf lunge at the figure, her sharp teeth sinking into Toji’s shoulder. The man let out a startled cry of pain, the weight of the wolf sending him careening down to the ground, his head cracking against one of the posts of your bed. Stars danced about his vision as pain shot down from nearly every part of his body.

Its teeth tore through the musculature of his bicep and collar, its claws tearing through his tunic and the skin of his abdomen with each swipe. Toji landed a poorly aimed strike to the direwolf’s midriff, but she merely grew more aggressive in her ministrations.

Nobody had told him you had a fucking direwolf.

If he’d known, he would’ve reconsidered taking the job. He still would have agreed, in the end, the gold was too much to turn down, but it would’ve been good information to know beforehand.

Curse the Lannisters. Curse their gold. Curse you and your stupid pet—

“Down, Reika,” you ordered, which had the accursed beast backing away from him with snarling, bared teeth, dripping with what he assumed was his blood. “Good girl.”

Toji made a strangled noise of pain as he attempted to sit up.

“It’s been a long day,” you stiffly told him, eyes narrowed as you knelt down and pressed one of the daggers from your desk—now unsheathed—right over his jugular. The cold metal kissed his skin and he immediately stopped moving. He could see his weapon scattered an arm’s length behind you. There was no way he could possibly reach it without you slitting his throat first. “Hunting party gone wrong. I wanted nothing more than to come home and take a long, hot bath. And what do I have to deal with? A sad attempt at an assassination, and my carpets covered in your blood.”

Toji scowled, but said nothing in return.

“Guards,” you said, strangely calm for someone who had nearly (if not for your wretched, overgrown dog) been assassinated. “Take him to the dungeons.”

As Toji was dragged away, leaving a dripping trail of blood in his wake, he caught a glimpse of you kneeling by your wolf, your hand shaking with adrenalized fear you hadn’t dared show in front of him. He was glad he was able to see it—just a glimpse of weakness was more than enough ammunition for him.

The dungeons were cold and dreary. Much like the rest of the North, Toji bitterly thought. It was hard to see as well, for the sparse few torches hanging on the walls only barely lit the walkway.

He could hear everything, though. Dripping of water in the distance. A raven cawing outside. The torch’s flame whispering greed to the air. Footsteps growing louder—

Toji sat up against the wall when a figure stepped in front of the wrought metal bars, dark with decades of use and age.

“Food,” came your voice. “I don’t usually do this, you know.”

The man, your prisoner, lazily tilted his head up from his position on the ground to look at you, his gaze dropping down to your hands where one carried a bowl of braised meat and the other held a chalice of wine. The chalice alone was probably worth more than anything he’d ever owned in his life.

“Bring food to a man? I can tell,” Toji dryly responded.

Your expression remained unchanged. “Bring food to a prisoner.”

It was then that Toji noticed a pair of glowing eyes by your legs, the beast’s tale curling over the back of your knees. The maester might have bound him up nice and clean (though not without pursed lips of obvious disapproval), but his wounded shoulder still throbbed with terrible pains.

“You brought your dog,” he observed.

“Wolf,” you corrected. “Her name is Reika.”

“Wretched thing,” Toji half-heartedly snarled.

The beast snarled back at him. Its eyes, amber and sharp, only grew brighter with agitation.

You decided to ignore his comment. “Do you want to tell me what you were doing in my chambers?”

There was clear disdain in your features, from what little Toji could see of it anyway, but he could also pick up on the evident curiosity there—it wasn’t every day you had to deal with a Southern commoner.

“Won’t make much of a difference now, would it?” he drawled, kicking his feet out so he could rest his elbows over propped-up knees.

“Your choice of words could very likely spark up a war between houses,” you said. It was said as a jest, though you knew it was a large possibility.

“Would be no fun to start a war if I’m not there to partake,” came his reply. His stomach cinched as he inhaled sharply, the warm smell of peppered venison wafting through his cell. “You came here to give me food and yet you’re still clutching onto it like a babe with its mother’s teat.”

“You have a foul mouth,” you said, now slightly amused. Who knew the Warden of the North had a sense of humor? “Tell me who sent you. Then comes the food.”

Toji glowered some more. For a minute, he considered what you’d do if he simply refused to say anything. But his tummy grumbled, and his resolve dissipated into mist.

“The Lannisters paid me a pretty sum to have you dead,” he said.

To his interest, you didn’t seem a single bit surprised. “Ah. Yes, I suspected so. Jenna Lannister was particularly prickly to me last we met.”

“Are you going to give me the food or what?” Toji barked, words heavy with irritation. He really couldn't care less about your snooty endeavors.

“I don’t want the throne,” you went on, much to his chagrin. Though, you did lower yourself to his same position and slipped your wrists through the bars to place down the bowl and chalice. “Not the Iron one, at least. The burden is heavy… and the North is enough for me. Marrying the king means I’d have to sire heirs, and I have no interest in doing so. Winterfell is not short of Starks—my brother and his lady wife have had enough little children for our name to carry on the family legacy for centuries.”

Toji could have easily grabbed at your wrists and slammed your head bloody into the bars. Your stinking mutt made him pause, however, and you pulled away before he could make a move.

Besides, he was hungry.

Toji tore at the meat like a rabid animal. It fell apart in a deliciously tender manner. Hot soup dribbled down his palms, which he ravenously licked away. You didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, you took a seat opposite his cell and watched him with clear fascination.

“How’d you get that scar?”

Toji chewed at a particularly large chunk of meat and swallowed it with little effort. “Not everyone grows up in a lavish castle eating pastries and meats and sucking squire cock.”

It took you a moment to respond, but when you did, your words were calm and flat. “I’ve brought you meat. If it is pastries and squire cock you require, you need only ask. Give you a taste of a lordly life.”

Now you really must have been japing. Mocking him, even. Toji didn’t find you all that funny.

“Why are you here?” he gruffed around another mouthful after taking a long swig of wine. “Are friends hard to come by in the North? Or is it just you?”

That seemed to strike a nerve. You sucked at your teeth.

“I saw you,” he pressed. “As your guards dragged me away. I saw you looking scared. Cowering by your wolf because I nearly got you. If that beast hadn’t been there, you would have been long dead. It would suit you.” Toji’s eyes gave you an intrusive onceover, despite all the layers you were wearing. “You’d make a lovely corpse.”

“Only a fool fights back fear,” you shot back, though it was quite obvious that your confidence had taken a blow. “Fear keeps us alive.”

Toji made a humming noise into the bowl that he picked up to slurp at the last remaining drops of soup.

“More,” he demanded once he pulled his face away, tongue laving over his lips to catch what had smeared over his mouth. The portion you had given him was ridiculously small.

Perhaps that was a calculated choice. Toji only realized that when you spared him a cold little smile.

“Hey!” he growled out when you pushed yourself back onto your feet. “I’m fucking starving here!”

Silent as a wraith, you strode out of the dungeons with Reika padding along beside you.

Much time passed. Each night (Toji assumed it was night, he could hardly tell since there were no windows anyway), you would come down with a bit of food and drink. You would sit and talk with him about the most mundane of things, the most asinine of topics, and the most boring of subjects. Toji yawned and yawned so you would take the hint, but you ignored him each time.

He was beginning to think you truly didn’t have any friends up there. Other than your stinky mutt, of course.

There was even one time where you had opened the grating. From what he heard, Starks were quite religious folk—slobbering all over their bloody trees and old gods. He’d told you he wanted to see the Godswood as he himself was devout (he, of course, was nowhere near devout and hadn't prayed a single day in his life), and you, with softened eyes, reluctantly agreed on the condition that he remained shackled and quiet.

He killed a guard that night trying to escape. You struck him with a terribly strong blow to the back of his head, and your damned wolf sunk its teeth into his shin. The maester was none too happy to see him again. No milk of the poppy was administered, so he suffered through the pain. It was all worth it, though. He was outside of the dungeons for a grand total of two seconds, and the air had never tasted so clear and so sweet.

You were angry at him for quite a while but still found it in you to visit nearly every day, which Toji found highly amusing. Then you grew soft on him again (which took many moons), and Toji oft wondered if you usually pardoned prisoners this quickly.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Toji asked on the seventh moon of him being your prisoner. Of course, he had asked this question multiple times before, but your answer seemed to always vary.

You may be of value. You do not deserve death. The gods smile at mercy. Reika likes you.

Those were all reasons you’d given him before. Though Toji had a very hard time believing the last one.

You regarded him with knitted brows. “If I’m being honest… I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

Toji drew his head back in surprise. Then, an arrogant, flirtatious smile flitted over his scarred mouth. It was the same smile he used to use on whores in the Street of Silk so they would take him to their seducing chambers—he could never understand how the drawers and shelves of whorehouses seemed to always have an abundance of loose coppers and silvers.

“But—” You began to continue but Toji quickly cut you off.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said, lifting a hand up. You frowned. “You’ve fallen in love with me. And you’re thinking that if the circumstances were different, we’d be pawing at each other’s bodies like there was no tomorrow. And you worry that your people wouldn’t approve. You needn’t worry about such matters—I’m sure Northern folk would regard me as your equal if you let me out of the cell and force me into marriage. That would make me their liege lord, wouldn’t it?”

An indignant look settled over your features, your skin flushed as if you’d downed a heady drink.

“Are you mad? Of course I’m not in love with you, you imbecile,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “Besides—I’m not looking to marry anyone. And if I was, you’d be the very last on my list, thank you very much.”

Toji didn’t even have the gall to look embarrassed at his bold assumption.

“I had to try, didn’t I?” He gave you that lazy smirk once more. “Being Lord of Winterfell sounds like a cushy life. Cushier than this one, at least.”

“Well…” You toyed with a frayed thread on your robes. “I can offer you a life cushier than prison.”

Toji snorted. “I’m not going to be a glorified stableboy or a squire. I’d much rather sit here and have you bring me food than the other way around.”

“I considered sending you to the Night’s Watch,” you admitted with a ponderous look. “There are plenty of men like you there—I’m sure they would welcome another good fighter.” Toji didn’t have time to snark about how you’d complimented him before you were already speaking again. “But then I realized that you might still be of use to me.”

“I’m a good bed warmer,” offered Toji. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laid on a plush bed. Not since yours, at least. He thought about your bed often. Usually without you in it. The times he did imagine you there, your wolf always came in and ruined his entire lovely daydream.

You spared him an unamused look. “I want you to be my spy. Ears and eyes for me down South. Particularly in the West, where the lands crawl with Lannister cock-sucking houses. I need to know what they plan so I can be five steps ahead.”

A moment of silence passed by. Toji’s upper lip curled into a sneer.

“No,” he began to protest. “Why in the seven hells would I—”

“I’ll pay you with enough gold to sink you to the bottom of the ocean. And once you have tired of gold, I’ll fill you with as much venison stew as your heart desires. And once you get sick of that, I will find you a Northern castle and grant you the title of a lord for your services. You’ll live the rest of your days comfortably. Granted you do as I tell you, of course.”

That made Toji pause and consider your offer.

“Why me?” he finally asked. He drew nearer to the bars, nearer to you.

“You’re a Southerner, aren’t you? You know the lands better than any of my loyal Northmen. You’d… fit in.”

Toji wanted to laugh. He wasn’t ever very good at fitting in.

“How do you know I wouldn’t just lie to you and ally myself with the Lannisters?”

“Because,” you huffed, nose wrinkling. “You think they’re all cunts. You’ve said it yourself plenty of times. And—I’m not foolish enough to have you as my sole plant. If you lie, I’ll know. And I’ll have Reika hunt you down… and she won’t be held back this time.”

She was holding back the previous times? Toji distantly thought with a scowl.

“What do you say?”

“It’s a far journey down South. You’ll miss me.” Toji’s cheek pressed up against the uneven metal bars. They were so cold it felt as if they were burning right through his flesh.

“I’ll find another prisoner to entertain,” you replied, eyes glimmering. Another jape. You didn’t deny his words, however.

A moment of considerable silence passed. Toji bowed his head ever so slightly. The first time he’d ever done so to you.

“I’m in, Wolf.” It didn’t pass his notice how your eyes lit up, how your back stood a little straighter, how your fingers curled excitedly into the fabric of your riding cloak. You didn’t even seem to mind the nickname he’d given you. “When do I start?”

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ultrainfinitepit · 1 year

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I have some more Angelology III pins to share! These are redesigns of pins from Angelology I.

Flying Seraph will be 1.6 inches long, with gold plating and yellow glitter accents.

Throne Angel will be 2.1 inches wide, with dyed metal and soft enamel + epoxy.

If you like these designs, they're already funded! So you can pledge for them now, and others at the campaign page.

While we're on the topic of Angelology III, it's the end of week two of the campaign, so here's a recap of all the unlocked pins.

And all the available addons!

The next pins to unlock are Angelic Messenger Wolf and Owl, we're about $800 from funding them.

We have seven days until the campaign ends, so be sure to pledge and share the campaign while you can! If we fund all our current goals, I have some more stretch goals I'd like to add including alternate colorways and freebie pins.

I am considering swapping out the final pin goal at $21K for alternate colorways or freebie pins, to raise a bit more campaign interest. So please let me know your preference in the poll below.

For any goals we don't fund, they'll be available in the Backerkit survey to unlock based on an order quantity goal. So don't worry if there's a pin you really want that's not yet funded, it will get a second chance! I'm also hopeful we'll see a surge of pledges towards the end of the campaign, when the campaign reminders go out.

Finally, here's a reminder for international backers: If you pledge for even just $1, you’ll get a coupon for the leftovers once they’re on Etsy. With this coupon you’ll be able to get the leftovers at the campaign prices, and Etsy will handle VAT and other import fees. Kickstarter does not allow a coupon as part of the campaign rewards, so I can only mention it on social media, not on the campaign page.

#angel #angels #eldritch angel #eldritch angels #angelcore #angel design #angel art #angelology #angelology iii #angelology iii: wings and waves #biblically accurate angel #biblically accurate angels #poll

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icyblogs · 6 months

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flesh and bone

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Years finally caught up to you, finally knowing enough to summon a creature able to fulfill things beyond your wildest imagination. So why is it that you're now finding out that everything was orchestrated from the very start? Or: A DND au where a human falls into the clutches of a fiend and his guard dog. Patron!Ghost x Fem!Reader x Warlock!Soap WC: 6.8K Based off of this thought ! [AO3] -> Next Chapter Warnings: Start of a dark fic!! Mentions of death, depression, dubcon touching, semi-graphic description of violence, paranoia, manipulation, reader has a backstory to make sense for plot! A/N: i've never written for cod before so i'm sorry if characterizations are wonky okay ty

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Most often in literature they can be associated with the circle of life- many animals lay dormant in this time of year. But even still, it goes to show the fragility of life; some creatures thriving in the atmosphere while others retreat back to their homes and really remember just what they’re living for- waiting it out until the leaves sprout anew. Just as the waters of puddles and lakes crystalize into ice or the roads start to slowly become less traveled– many things come into association with this time of year.

Death, mourning, skiing- sledding. The dichotomy of moseying along something in nature that could so easily kill you. Just for a bit of adrenaline. For some thrill or interesting experiences to tell at the next person you see at a tavern, drinking and chortling over a tankard of ale. Albeit most races aren’t built to survive freezing temperatures, they sure act like they are. But some actually are of course. Goliaths with their adeptness of surviving in the mountains- up to twenty thousand feet in altitude. Some dragonborn depending on their ancestry, hailing from ancient beings that simply thrive in some of the most subzero of places in the lands. But of course.. most are not. Putting on layer upon layer to just merely survive in these conditions- unable to even thrive unless the circumstances deem worthy enough.

It is seldom worth the consequences.

The winters were frigid as always, sharp pin pricks of frost seeping into through your stagecoach’s insulation even though the artificer claimed they infused the interior with a heating cantrip. Damn swindler- “100 gold for a safe and warm journey!” It unfortunately was the price of discreteness.. but maybe if you wished hard enough the air coming through would be enough to keep you from turning into an icicle- but it provided almost an almost numbing sensation to temporarily soothe the anxiety pricking at the recesses of your mind.

Just a few more hours, just a bit more time, and everything will be perfect.

Regardless, it was a fitting evening, all things considered. The mountainous path was characteristically barren- as to be expected being so close to Midwinter. Dense fog drifts further obscuring your vision as you stare out the semi-opaque glass into the no man’s land. Trembling fingers smooth out your cloak as you straighten in your seat, the temperatures seeping through and nipping at your skin despite the warm wool gloves that cover the appendages. Your breath was a foggy mist as you breathe, leaning back as the air swirls around and encapsulates the interior of the.. Let’s call it a cozy vehicle.

It was easy to notice the slow pace that the coach was going: after all you can only be lost in your thoughts for so long. Going out of the city during this time of year was always a toss up on how navigable things would be.. But given the surge in technology with these infused machines and .. these wizards and such- theoretically it should be a breeze.

A gilded bag sits beside you on the worn leather seats, the contents packed with purpose- containing the bare essentials, among other things. It was silent besides your ragged breath, gripping the fabric of your cloak in a white-knuckled grip, lips pursed as you glanced through the fogged glass once more as if something would change in the scenery. The engrained tick made it a habit hard to shake off; eyes flickering back and forth repetitively either side of dark path on the left of you to the dark path to the right of you, almost compulsively like it was an itch needed to be scratched despite there being no one there the last ten times you checked. It was a simple inkling that needed to be constantly taken care of- as if the moment your head was turned, you could almost swear that something was looking back at you.

A face? Ah, it was just some branches-

The stagecoach swerves and it makes you jolt out of your thoughts, eyes glancing behind you towards the front of the carriage, absentmindedly chewing on your tongue and a grimace immediately crosses your features, not even registering the pinprick of pain in your mouth.

Seeing the horses rearing their hooves, stopping in their tracks, the horse’s squeals were loud even over the sound of the biting wind. All of it felt too familiar; it’s been years and yet.. It’s almost too easy to fall into the abyss of your mind, your breathing slowing. The slow and steady stream coming to a halt as if the crimson in your veins were mere molasses- stopping the flow to what allowed you to properly breathe, feeling as though your chest was being crushed. Pressing down, ripping the air out of my lungs– peine forte et dure.

It was almost mocking in a sense, the stagecoach seems to disappear and you’re planted firmly back in the painful memories that dance around your skull like a rattle, the taunts and phantom pains drifting over the side of your face. Remembering the curve of a dagger sinking into your skin and through tissue, choking on blood- a sense of blind panic seeping its way into the air that your lungs struggle to remember how to be of use. You recall smoke- thick and permeating down your trachea, choking- gagging for some sort of reprieve, your hands outreached to grab their hand if only you could stretch just a little further-

A bang startles you out of your stupor as you gasp, head whipping to the side- cold sweat dripping down your temples. Your left hand feels unnaturally heavy as you take a deep breath to steady your haggard breathing, trembling as you stare at the coachman- a harengon- you hadn’t recalled his name. He hops into the interior, shooting you a look of concern. You gulp a few times to soothe your dry throat, the taste of iron bittersweet, coating your tongue as if a rich cabernet- thick and heavy. Familiar.

“Ma’am- I’m so sorry. The path is too treacherous I can only take you this far-”

It takes you longer than you would have liked to collect yourself-, licking your dry lips, the cracks from the dry weather causing the simple motion to sting. “And- And I do believe I paid you for a full express ride through the Surykyk Range and to the top of Mt. Akka. Did I not?” Your voice is firm, albeit a little shaky as you cock your head looking at the rabbit with pursed lips.

He looks apologetic, wringing his hat between his two paws, his ears drooping. “Ma’am, really, you have to understand-”

“Understand?”

“Yes, I know you prepaid but the road after this gets too perilous and..” His voice becomes a sort of background noise, an ugly feeling festering as you blink slowly. There was that sensation again you’ve felt a few times over the past few years; a little tingle on the hairs of your neck as they raised, along with the incessant buzz that completely sounds out the haregon’s voice. His lips move- words that seem to go in one ear and out the other, as if making fun of you. His droopy ears, his expression of sympathy- no pity. Looking at you like you’re some sort of wounded animal– no- he was mocking you. Of course he was.

Your hands tremble as they tighten into fists, mouth opening and then closing and you let out a heavy sigh. It was irritating- how could a simple job such as this could not be? Pay some gold to get to the top of a mountain- why was everyone around you acting so completely incompetent? Why are they acting as if you were asking them to do the impossible? In this day and age a small trip of this magnitude should be nothing. A walk in a park. If they weren’t going to be of any use then.. Why are they even in front of you at all? Do they seriously not know how long you’ve waited for this and they’re just denying you access? Over a petty blizzard? No.

Beneath your gloves the skin was taut as you tighten your hands into fists as if it would help ground yourself but to no avail. The low buzzing grows louder; like bees humming around your brain like the ridges and valleys were honey- drowning out the pounding of your heartbeat. Louder and louder, reaching deep into the grooves and making their place known, feeding on your festering distress. On your negative emotions. The sense of trepidation melds back into being wound up like a tight spring as you continue to stare hard at the rabbit; your body acting as if on auto-pilot. His whiskers twitch. And you? Well you just go through the movements and zone out once more, falling into a welcoming void of darkness, surrounding you- comforting you.

The blood rushes to your head as your heart pounds, the buzzing ceasing to a low hum. When you come back to, you are still in the stagecoach, however, you are the only living being in it. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise really, these recent bursts of blackouts are more common as of late, happening more often than not. They happen at the most random of times and always seem to exemplify death- oddly enough it only started happening after the incident. Only after you found out you could summon a greater being to give you power.

Your eyes flicker down to the white boots you were wearing and click your tongue, seeing the sprinkle of red bleed into them as if the blood were a brush and the leather it’s canvas. You try to rub out the stain but to no avail, only smearing it into a sort of pinkish hue. Your eyes then move upwards towards the wooden ceiling and then fall unceremoniously towards the corpse, wiping your forehead with the back of your glove, face losing color. Your hands felt almost achy, the muscles strained and well.. Seeing the way his neck was bent ninety degrees, it was understandable. The aftermath of these blackouts were never easy. Fighting down the growing nausea, you stumble out of the stagecoach, clutching your bag firmly to your chest as you pass the horses- trudging through the rough terrain.

—

The hours feel longer now, the evening turning into twilight, as you take the trek by foot. Sheer cliffs drop sharply into the abyss below as you continue to climb further and further from mass-population; rising steadily in elevation as you take in the sights all around as far as the eye can see. The thick blanket of fog really did make it hard to see everything clearly but what of the forest around you that you could see was big. It was vast, the barren trees with a light coat of fresh snow brushing along their branches. Grand normally in nature, but even more so as they seem to tower over the road: the branches sticking out like gnarled fingers, hanging over the cliffside as if trying to beckon you off the beaten path. The snow covered ground is uneven, the shadows cast by the moon creating disfigured shadows and shapes that play tricks on your eyes.

It honestly didn’t help the anxiety whatsoever; the fog, the falling snow— the overall just sensation of being watched. You blame the paranoia and lack of sleep at the time, but it was impossible to resist the urge to look behind you to see if something appeared in the last two seconds you weren’t looking.

Maybe the Haregon was.. right. It was, for lack of a better term, hell. Auril’s reach was deep- as to be expected being so deep into her territory, but it was terrible. The snow piled up to be knee deep, having to pay close attention and really watch where there was the slightest indentation in the snow- if only to figure out where the fissures were so you don’t fall to an unseemly death. It was nearly impossible to do this with just the moonlight to light your way: wishing that you didn’t care so much in case something went wrong. You should’ve just gone through with all this in the comforts of your home.

After all.. It would surely be a shame if you got so close to your goal and yet never reached it. Would truly be such a pity.

The area was honestly reminiscent of what you might conjure up Stygia being like; how you might imagine that part of the hells being in terms of barely being traversable- snow as far as the eye could see. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you saw a gaggle of frost giants or the start of the Styx the next time you turned a corner as you continued to steadily rise in elevation.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, creating a rhythmic cadence. Every step is a genuine, calculated effort to not slip and fall on the surface- gripping the mountain side tightly as to not fall. And well, in addition to yet everything else the frigid and occasional gusts of wind that sends plumes of snow swirling around you, only adding to the overwhelming sense of sheer isolation in this desolate landscape. The further in elevation you get the more that feeling grows on you. It doesn’t help that you can barely see ten feet in front of you either. However.. At some point you realize you may or may not be lost. It was.. Well, it was hard not to get lost.

Yeah, you were definitely lost.

It was easy to look up at the sky and huff, taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves, but it was certainly a difficult task. Back in the city when you initially planned out this whole grand scheme, it was theoretically supposed to be an easy trip. Go out to Mt. Akka- far away from civilization in case you mess up the ritual, and then summon the all knowing being and make a pact. It was supposed to be easy. Three easy steps. After all that’s what he said all those years ago. The man that started all this.

—

Days after the incident had time crawling to a standstill- the hours feeling like weeks. Funeral arrangements made and gone through with. Sympathies and gifts sent to your temporary place of residence as if they were truly sorry for you. ‘Sorry for your loss.’ ‘She was a wonderful mother, a great friend.’ If they truly felt that way, then why was it just you looking down at the casket as it got covered with soil? Why were you the only person who seemed to be grieving for this loss? Why did nobody else come to pay their respects as you stayed for days, finding solace in the overturned soil? As if you could claw your way through the ground and climb inside with her, hugging the charred corpse and burrowing between her ribs. Aching for the sensation of a hug, of an embrace.

It really was no surprise when you’re found spending your nights in a shady tavern. Tucked away deep in the city- in alleyways, far away from the upper levels. It really was the best place to drink away your sorrows. It was the perfect place to become a nobody.

Huddled into a corner of a grimey back alley place, the wood sticky and stained with what, you weren’t sure. It was loud that night; and yet there you were: alone with nothing but a tankard of ale to drown out anything else. Just wanting to get numb. Just wanting to .. stop everything. Patrons come in and out, and yet there you stay even as dawn begins to rise. Sticking out like a sore thumb despite the best efforts to blend in. Too rigid to count as a regular, too downtrodden to appear lighthearted enough to familiarize yourself with the other joyous people. Just a meager human in a hodgepodge of species.

That’s where he found you. Sitting on a stool on the end of the bar; staring down at the amber liquid, gently nursing the liquid- too many drinks in to necessarily turn your nose up at the far too bitter and pungent cheap ale. It was now a more comforting taste, dulling the senses, muffling the loud noise, turning it into a vice.

A hand brushes along the curve of your ass- quickly making its way up and settles over the nape of your neck- squeezing absentmindedly, and you’re brought back to the present. Head lolling to the side slightly as your gaze travels upwards. Bright blue eyes stare back at you, resembling a kaleidoscope of precious gems- sapphire, larimar, kyanite- swirling and sparkling with mischief, his gaze adorned with an impish grin. His dark hair was ruffled up in a sort of weird style, long on the top, short on the sides. He was a peasant, it was easy to assume but if you were more coherent, it was easy to tell that he was anything but, despite how he presented himself to you. Back a little too straight, nails clipped and short, no signs of dirt underneath them. The stranger’s fingers dig into your flesh and you frown, squinting up at his sheer audacity.

It was then you noticed his ears- ah. That’s why he looked so .. ethereal. His skin was perfect. But he had facial hair.. A half elf? Regardless, you stick your nose up at him as you scowl, perfectly content to wallow in grief in peace. Trying to twist your head out of his gentle, but firm grip. Mouth opening to tell him off- to leave you the hell alone–

“Ah’ll buy ye a drink bonnie.” His low purr cuts off your starting protests, hovering over you, blocking your view from the rest of the tavern- hand squeezing you once more before falling and taking their place across your lower back as if it belonged there. The warmth of his skin follows your movements as you press against the bar in a sluggish attempt to get some space. The man tilts his head down at you, giving a toothy smile when your frown deepens, looking at him with clear apprehension- “Dinnae ken, i’ll buy ye something strong. You look like ye need it, hm?”

It was easy to squirm under his insistent gaze, nodding. Eyes half-lidded as you blink slowly, the pads of his fingers absentmindedly tapping into your back when you didn’t answer verbally. “Yeah.. I guess so.”

Never realizing that you never had a choice; it truly was never an offer.

Regardless, this stranger- Johnny you later found out his name was- listened to your tales and woes as you blubber over the ‘top’ shelf liquor. Slurring your words incomprehensibly as he sat on the stool next to you, large hand now finding its home in holding the flesh of your thigh far too high up to be considered respectable. It was easy to take the information given to you at heart as he even gave such great life advice. Describing wonderful tales of protection- of something to work for- a goal to try and get to. It was hard to remember at the time why his words seemed to cut through the fog of the alcohol, and why it stuck with you.

“And he’d make sure ye’d never have te worry about nothin’ again. Set up for life, able to get easy protection for yerself. Sounds like a dream, and it’d only be a few small things tae do.” Poisonous words seeping into your ears paired a saccharine sweet smile hiding the maws of a dog ready to bite down at a moment’s notice. Holding himself back, playing nice for you. For him. “I mean yer a wee bonnie thing, drinkin’ your life away. Shh.. shh I ken, I ken- I know it’s hard.” Wiping your tears away as they start to overflow again, hiccuping as you take another large swig of your drink.

John was just one of those people that it was easy to talk to- maybe it was how long you’ve been in this place, or maybe it was the fact that he was buying your drinks, who knows. Just a charming gentleman, knowing all the right things to say, and so what if he was a little touchy? Maybe he just needed a little bit of comfort too, surely you could understand that, right? He was so nice in fact that he walked you back to your temporary residence- silly, you must’ve forgotten you told him where you were staying- and when you woke up the next morning there was a concisely written note with everything you needed to do. The smell of sulfur stuck to the parchment as if burned into the grooves of it.

What a nice guy.

—

Yeah, looking back though it certainly wasn’t the brightest idea to go this far away from civilization. But you heard it was a scary ritual! That there might be a lot of consequences to it! But as you looked around the snowy scene with a huff it was clear that you were more than likely not going to make it any further than this without just flat out dying. So.. you pause in your steps. The situation was just so absurd, that you were risking your life for something that might not even happen. But what else is there for you to do at this point? It sparks a bubble of bittersweet laughter in your chest as you wipe away some flurries on your nose- maybe you can just wish to make it out of here alive and well instead.

You crouch down, awkwardly trying to clear away the snow to reveal the hard ground- your hands freezing wet by this point- the wool gloves feeling as though it was becoming brittle and stiff. It takes a few minutes but you were able to eventually clear a decently sized space around you. The ritual should’ve been performed at a higher elevation, for your sake of mind over anything else- but at this point it was quite literally probably either do or die. So might as well try to give it a last ditch effort, right? And with how the snow continued to descend thick and fast, like a relentless onslaught with no regards towards your personal quest, it was only a matter of time. So you continue to awkwardly carve out a space around you, grimacing at how your hard work was by the minute getting covered up by the steadily growing blizzard around you. The line of sight diminished drastically as the snowstorm swept through the landscape like a ghostly specter, cloaking the world in a shroud of swirling white and obscuring all signs of life or landscape.

Clutching the bag so the contents don’t get blown away, you procure a small glass jar of a fiend’s blood- trembling hands starting to pour it on the ground in an attempt to recreate the shape you recall tracing so many times before. It certainly felt different using blood as paint rather than graphite; practically speeding through the process as by the second, snow was landing on your now coagulating hard work. The symbol was lopsided, the intricate circles and lines definitely asymmetrical and not fully correct- A gust of wind shoots through the gorge, the force nearly strong enough to make you crash into the ground. You stumble as the sound of glass shattering resonates, the sound echoing even above the roaring sound of the wind rushing past you. You gulp hard, shaking like a leaf in a raging storm- when another gust, almost like a predator sinking its claws into your skin; forcing you down into the ground, as if you didn’t have permission to stand. Your body hoists itself up for but a brief moment and then unceremoniously falls, and you scowl as your body is forced into a makeshift kneeling position, the cold tendrils blowing past you as if in the imitation of a bone chilling hug.

Well.. a pact summoning could be done standing or sitting down, you suppose.

Somewhere along the way your demands and wishes for this pact- for this all giving wish might have gotten a little.. skewed. It had been a whole process to get to this point after the accident- years dedicated to sneaking about the forbidden areas of libraries- going from nation to nation, paying hefty amounts of gold for mere names that might aid you on your quest for the power to protect yourself. The power to protect what once had long been past, like a memory fleeting in the wind. Faceless people crying out for you to run, for you to stay- for you to save them– for you to save yourself. The power to reach your hands further out and save your loved ones.

So .. when did that start to twist into the wish to live. To simply survive the circumstances you’ve thrust yourself into?

The blizzard seems to rain even worse as you sort of tussle down a gem in the ground of one of the circles- some emerald pendant your family has had in their lineage for centuries. It was an attachment that felt sort of poignant, one of the only few things that’s survived that is of their memory– blinking away the forming tears as you watch the snow slowly fall over the item. You then proceed to pull out a singed book of spells- one you’ve tried to use a countless number of times, but the weave never seemed to allow you to tap into the energy; and you’ve had to hold onto it for the ritual as it was a magical item, no matter how much it was just a blatant form of mockery. As if saying ‘wizards and sorcerers can use me and yield results, so why can’t you?’ You set the heavy leather book on the other circle.

You crawl against the force of the wind awkwardly to the middle of the practically ruined ritual circle, trying not to ruin your already stained clothing- but at this point did it even matter anymore? A small vial is procured- this blood visibly lighter than the fiend’s- this being one of a fellow human; the blood of a friend. You haul yourself to your feet, digging into the hard dirt to keep yourself stabilized, despite how badly the world was trying to send you crashing down to the floor. Clearly unable to keep yourself steady, you hastily drip the liquid beneath you, already starting the incantations that you know oh so well, spreading the liquid in a smear with your heel, praying and hoping this would work. Watching as each drop sinks into the sleet, the macabre tapestry that spirals out– as if the very land itself was painting a picture; weeping for the fallen, mourning their passing in silent reverence. It was for a good cause- you told yourself.

Years of letting your feelings fester, dedicating years of studying and researching towards this moment, your palms becoming doused in red and the darkening of your soul- all towards changing your fate- though you had hoped this moment would end up being done in a well.. more covered environment, however it was no matter. This was the better alternative- getting power for free. Not having to train and be proficient in magic and study all those years. Your mind sort of just latched onto the idea of working smarter- not harder. To get a shortcut in the way of life.

Infernal spills from your tongue- accented and choppy despite your best recreation of it- clearly not of your mother tongue despite the fact you could practically recite it in your sleep by this point. The incantation was slowly spoken, like a low rumble- reaching the far back of your throat, the cadence deliberate and guttural as that small hum of a buzz begins to slowly begin in the deep recess of your mind. A small pocket knife is procured from your bag, flipping it open as you urge your voice to be louder than the howling wind as the snow swirls around you like a vortex. The blade presses against the palm of your hand.

The pain lasted for but a brief moment, small bubbles of blood starting to dribble out of the wound, falling at a faster rate as it dripped onto the circle beneath you, combining with the scarlet already split. The cold wind continues to swish around you, your clothing providing little to no protection as the incantation becomes louder, the words becoming choppy– more frantic. The shadows grow longer, the trees groan as if bearing the weight of something heavy. And then your voice comes to a stop, panting as you wait for something to happen, smiling as you look around with wide eyes, a numbness starting to make its way through your limbs.

Silence.

And more silence.

It was painstakingly easy to panic, hastily repeating the incantation as loud as you can- something setting in. A realization of what you were doing? Yeah that wasn't working.

“No- Nono.” Tears make it harder to see, blinking them away as another cut was made, adding more blood to the middle of the circle as if that would solve all the problems in the world- “Why- Why isn’t it working? I did everything right-” The pitch rises in your growing hysteria, looking around at the partially covered symbol to see if something went wrong. An exasperated sigh leaves your lips and it turns into a chuckle and then into a full on fit of laughter, your cracked lips forming a larger grin. There’s no way right? That this was actually happening. Years of your time- nearly five god forsaken years. If you ever saw that blue eyed elf you’d kill him. Fucking hell-

“Please-” Your head tilts back as you glance up at the stormy sky, pinpricks of fear running down your spine as the expression simmers into a more somber one. It all comes crashing down as a jarring realization that all this time- you didn’t even know exactly who it was you were trying to summon. That elf and all those people telling the stories of tales across the land, talking of a being to grant power. To grant wealth. To provide enough strength to save the people around you. To take a nobody and turn them into a somebody. To give reason to actually keep living instead of joining your mother six feet under. Buried back under the burnt down remains of your estate.

It was described as simple. Summoning the being in a circle of a fiend’s blood- establishing a connection to the outer realms. That part was simple enough, though it took trading with some shady people but eventually you got what you needed; some mercenary you had to pay off to look the other way as you essentially go through the process of bloodletting an imp. Then draw out the symbol- provide the items of a precious gem and a magical artifact. Easy enough. Provide the blood of a friend- showing how willing you are to cut ties your former life to just to establish the connection, and finish it with a drop of your own blood to finish the connection, all while chanting some very specific incantations.

You did all that. So.. why wasn’t it working?

You performed it perfectly.

The hard ground felt like nothing to your numb body as you sank into the snow once more. Glass glitters in the snow as it presses into the side of your face, but you barely register the pain. It was supposed to work. All those scrolls- all those people, all that time. And for what? A useless invocation. Something that didn’t even work. Taking the time and energy, going out of the way of civilization in case something went wrong and.. Yet. And yet- It was silly. It was so freezing out here, the air thin and hard to breathe, but for some reason it felt warm.

You weren’t anything special, a mere human in the world of dragons. In a world of krakens and beholders and all these amazing things. And yet at the end of the day.. you were just a regular old nobody. Sure, you were of a sort of nobility status- though not anymore– but you were trying to change your past; trying to make yourself better. To change what has already been predetermined- to reach up and touch the stars, not realizing that you were tethered to the realm. Trying to rewrite predetermined fate, as if you actually had a chance at being anything more than being completely useless-

It was easy to lose your train of thought, head swimming as an unsettling terror seizes your chest- everything begins to fracture and break. The sounds around you start to become distant echoes, muffled and indistinct, as if you’re listening from the bottom of a deep well. There's a strange detachment, as if you’re floating on the edge of reality, holding on only by the thinnest of threads. The cliffs around you seem like they’re combining overtop, as if you’re looking through a fishbowl lens: the shadows seem darker, twisting and turning under the moonlight’s glow. Your thoughts slow to a crawl, each one a struggle to grasp onto before slipping away like sand through an hourglass, fighting a losing bottle to have any idea be coherent enough to pass through the filter. Accompanied by a tingling sensation that spreads from the tips of your fingers to the crown of your head, as if your body is disconnecting from itself, each limb growing heavier and more distant with every passing moment.

Why did this happen? Why.. did it not work?

Why did you even try? You just wanted to be more. You just wanted to survive. To live.

Black dots fly in your field of view; dancing around like fairies in the wind, mocking as they flutter across your vision with no rhyme or reason. Your vision blurs- the unsaturated colors of the snowscape soften into monochromatic tones of gray; the moonlight seems to go further and further away as your head sinks into the snow; the dots growing larger as if obscuring your vision.

You’d do anything.

You blink slowly as the buzzing creeps up louder, wrapping around your brain and clinging to the nerves. And then all at once dissipates, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The feeling of being watched seeps into your conscious state of mind but at this point it was a mere afterthought, feeling hollow as your eyes fall half lidded.

“Anything?” A low timbre resonates around you, emanating from no discernable source. The disembodied voice seems to drift around your fallen form, as if hovering- waiting.

The realization has a little chuckle ripping its way out of your throat. Oh, you were hearing things now. Lovely. You were discombobulated clearly, eyes closing as you breathe slowly, your heart seeming to calm down. The voice- you weren’t exactly sure if there was someone around you or if you were genuinely going crazy, like it was some angel above speaking to you on death’s door.

Right. Keep your eyes open- it’s not time to sleep yet. Right? But honestly it wasn’t even that cold anymore. Rather warm actually- like you were being coddled in an embrace- why would you want to move? Your eyes squint open against the snowstorm, looking around blearily at your limited scope of sight. Your limbs feel not only heavy but numb, and you knew moving them would be a chore and so you simply stay put laying down. There was a brief moment of nothing and then- Ah, right. There was someone speaking to you.

“Uh huh.” That sufficed right? There was an unnecessarily long pause, prompting you to continue talking- after all, what harm would it do? “Wanna live.” Your tongue felt heavy, as if speaking required some sort of insurmountable effort. You shift- pressing your face further against the dirt, lacking the energy to try and do anything else, little pricks of blood starting to stain the fresh snow.

“You’d do anything?” The gruff voice rings out once more and you almost groan, eyes fluttering around uselessly, vision blurring and becoming unfocused. Why was it–he?- asking you that? Aren’t your last moments supposed to be in peace, not filled with conversation?

“Anythin’.” You slur, gasping for breath as soon as the last sound finishes your chest suddenly tightens, constricting your breath, as if the air around you stills. You don’t notice the change in atmosphere, the magic sprinkling around your body- floating and pulling at unseen chains tethered deep in your heart- too hyper focused on the sudden searing pain on the back of your neck; akin to a branding iron.

“Silly girl.”

You writhe at the sensation, whining, feeling the individual lines of runes being carved deep into your skin. The pain was unlike you’d felt before, even from the pain all those years ago. No- this– this was agony. This was being trapped in a whirlpool, dragged under the depths by the relentless force of pain, unable to find solid ground. This was thousands of needles piercing your skin, pulsing through you like a constant drumbeat- each throb, each line being carved only sending waves of agony. Like a black hole, taking you deep into the Shadowfell, into the Nine Hells- being torn apart- each limb being torn. No- not torn. This was more precise, being carved like a butcher- no like a surgeon, meticulously taking their time to dissect you. To pull back your skin and peer at everything that makes you, you. Each individual nerve and muscle laid bare as they are probed and examined, delving into the very essence of your being. Seeing what makes you tick, what makes you smile- your worst thoughts- your deepest desires.

This feeling wasn’t.. unfamiliar oddly enough- in fact the opposite, as if you’ve felt it before, except this time it was a more obvious invasion, a violation of your innermost sanction as it digs deep into your body and pushing past your ribs and settling into its new home, wrapping an icy claw around your heart and constricting–

Then all at once the torment ceases, the pain being replaced with almost a sense of reprieve. You feel the phantom of a hand brushing over the now raised skin, causing your sweat-ridden body to jerk away frivolously, before settling, letting out a soft sigh. The sudden relief was like stepping into a new realm of freedom and tranquility; as if all the burdens you previously had were released. Like gentle relief that calmed the raging of your mind- calming the storm of anguish and bringing a moment of clarity and peace. The fear that once consumed you, the sense of hopelessness that weighed heavy on your heart, the loneliness that haunted you for years—all of it now seemed fleeting, like passing thoughts. As transient as the wind sweeping through the sky, soon forgotten. Those years of all that struggle; all those years of searching and praying for some sort of help. Like a weight lifted off your chest. You could reach above; no longer being bound to the realm: you could do anything. Be anything- Your eyes had closed, when did they close? You open them- seeing nothing but the darkness of the mountains, but it was so weird, as you could feel it- him- hovering around your form like a lingering shadow. A man? A monster- you weren’t sure. It was hard to tell.

And so, when your eyelids inevitably fell closed once more, it only made sense you were too far gone to even notice the skull-faced monstrosity standing over you, his head tilted as he looked down at his newly anointed warlock with an inscrutable expression. Rich amber eyes looking down at you and then- a pleased hum resonates through the air.

Mere minutes later the spot where you once laid was coated with a fresh coat of snow, looking like a pristine blank page, as if nothing had even transpired there in the first place. As though you never existed in that space to begin with.

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cilil · 2 months

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Gentle June

AN: I'm almost done with June, @tolkienpinupcalendar x) this one's a little gift for @sauron-kraut. Enjoy!🖤

❀ Prompt: Lingerie & body worship | Mairon x Khamûl ❀ Synopsis: Khamûl loves serving his Maiarin master. ❀ Warnings: Sensual, smutty, master/pet, pet play ❀ Short oneshot (~600 words)

"Have you made yourself pretty for me, my pet?"

A long-fingered hand idly reaches out, golden rings gleaming in the evening sun.

Khamûl nods, a little too fast, a little too eager. He's already slipping out of his silken robe to show the Maia just how pretty he can be, how he wants to be pretty for him.

Mairon's cat-like eyes follow his every move, curious, appreciative, greedy. The perfect porcelain his face appears to be made of shifts; the hunger is visible by the time silk drops to the floor and reveals soft skin and living flesh underneath. His smile reveals fang-like canines. Khamûl isn't sure if he's seen them before.

Nevertheless, he shows himself, happily puts himself on display. Perhaps it's hubris to think he could be appealing to a Maia. Perhaps it's hubris to think he could survive it for long if he did in fact succeed. But he has Mairon's attention and flaunts his body.

Only lace adorns him now: A frilly strip of fabric around his waist — reminiscent of a tiny skirt, yet so short that it barely conceals anything — and another small piece covering his private parts, held in place by twin strings that wrap around his thighs and backside. Khamûl has forgone even his jewellery, believing it to be an affront to his lord's masterful craftsmanship.

Mairon lifts his hand and motions for him to join him on the bed.

Without hesitation, Khamûl follows. He climbs onto it and then crawls, as is befitting for his role as a divine being's mortal pet. Enraptured, he watches those long, deadly fingers reach out and grasp his chin.

"Undress me, then serve me."

"Yes, master."

Mairon lets go and Khamûl demurely lowers his head. It's an honour to be allowed to serve him. He shan't disappoint.

Hands trembling with the sheer joy of his task, he loosens the sash around the Maia's waist, parts heavy robes, uncovers gleaming, gold-tinted skin, fair and ethereal like his divine kin, beautiful and terrible like the scorching sun. He bows his head to kiss his master, worshipping every inch of skin he can reach. Khamûl feels Mairon's fingers snaking through his locks, sharp nails scraping against his scalp, and moans in delight.

The surge of pride that overcomes him when he's met with an already hardening cock is dizzying, but he allows himself no time to dawdle. Eager and obedient, Khamûl takes it into his mouth, requiring no guidance from the hand still resting on his head, and begins sucking the Maia off.

Mairon lets him enjoy himself for a while, then asks, "I trust you prepared yourself in advance?"

Khamûl nods vigorously, his head bobbing up and down in the process. He's become increasingly good at this, but now a different service will be required of him.

With the ease of picking up a doll, Mairon pulls him upward by his neck, smiles and lazily pats his thigh. "Sit."

The command is clear, and Khamûl doesn't hesitate. He moves to straddle the Maia's hips, pulls the strings between his legs aside and guides his hot, hard length inside him, slowly sitting down; he has been generous with his preparation, stretching and oiling himself diligently, and yet the process is never quite painless.

Khamûl wouldn't have it any other way, though. Glory comes at a price, as Mairon has always told him.

His back arches when he finally takes his master all the way, his breath quickens, his nails dig into impervious immortal skin.

"Very good, pet," Mairon coos and caresses his thighs. "Now move."

And this, too, Khamûl does. He trembles and gasps and moans, yet swears to himself that he won't stop until he either has served the Maia to completion or until his mortal body gives out.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose

@elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @urwendii

#tpcgentlejune #mairon #sauron #khamul #nazgul #mairon x khamul #sauron x khamul #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #lotr smut #silm smut #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #minors dni

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sculptorofcrimson · 5 months

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The Long Vigil

Synopsis: Traitor!Valdor, and his endless exile.

Was it worth it? Was the powers he gained truly worth the price he had paid?

Once he served a god. Once he had served a king, when worlds had knelt before His words, upon which storms would rage upon His call and angels would fall from His command.

Now he walks alone, watching and waiting for a time that will never pass, standing a vigil that will never end. Meandering without destination, wandering without even expectation. His spear clicking like a crutch, the Apollonian blade crusted with frozen blood, his bulk wrapped in thick layers of furs and iron instead of glorious gold. The coarse cloth rustles with him against the raging wind, scarred iron armour beneath concealing nothing but his misericordia, and the half-dried remnants of the last Custodian who had tried to stop him. The blood of his former brother leaves streaks of crimson upon the snow as Valdor wanders headfirst into the storm, his cloak flapping behind him.

He tracks his brothers’ blood into his first steps towards freedom.

Maulland XVI. For its frost, its snow, its ice and its sole guardian, they would name the world hosting exile of the Lord Custodes after his first campaign. Only the Order could learn to appreciate the bitter irony.

When he exhales, his breath plumes out against his surprisingly slim features, unaided by rebreathers of either armor or technology, the frost-sharp edges of the cold bitter enough to freeze moisture in unaugmented lungs. He sinks into generations-old ice with every step, the storm battering at him at every turn, as if it had tasted his treachery, and wished to smite him down for its mere transgression. An explorer’s pack, long since neglected by the physiology of a traitor that had been sculpted by the Emperor Himself, cradled a book holding names he would never hear again, names he would never welcome from his master. The storm batters at him, rages against him, sinks its frenzied teeth into him with every jagged breath. He inhales, and the air tastes vaguely of nitrogen, the atmosphere lethal to any but perhaps one of the Ten Thousand. He limps onwards, leaning against the spear like a crutch as the ship once meant to take him prisoner burns behind him. The Custodes piloting the Ares Gunship had not been prepared to face him, in all his broken rage, in all his betrayal, with all the wrath of a servant betrayed. He had not expected to gaze into the eye of love-to-hatred-turned and see Constantin Valdor staring back, frenzied and mad and broken in his obsession, abandoned and betrayed and so utterly broken by the Emperor that not even He could piece him back together.

He had never wanted to unleash the traitors against his own brothers, he had never wanted to fling the Palace defenses wide open before traitors and welcome their hordes as they surged through gold and crimson, the defenders’ once great captain turned betrayer.

He had never wanted to flee the Palace under a guise of black and gold. He had once served a god, before whom oceans would kneel and mountains would tremble, but He had betrayed him. He had betrayed them all.

He had stolen dreams from his servants and bound gold into their minds. His master had stolen their love, their loyalty, their very ambition, and was it such a sin to recoil in horror when he had been granted just a modicum of humanity back?

When seas boil and stars fall, was it such a sin to merely want to live for yourself instead of dying for another? Another that did not serve His endless failure, another that had done nothing but beat obedience into his bones and break disagreements from his mind? To rip him away until he was nothing but the hollow ache of HIs dream, the echoes of His sacrifices screaming back at Him for eternity?

He could still feel the Ares Gunship’s burning firelight dancing against his furs. Constantin could still see the horrified eyes of his former brother as he had leaned in, face to helm with him now, misericordia lodged to the hilt in his neck, his face twisted in a broken snarl. Feeling his breaths, fast like a dying rabbit, beating slower and slower as blood gurgled out of his wounds and splattered over Valdor’s ragged robes. Watching as a golden guardian died beneath the gaze of a traitor, cursing him with his dying breath.

He had trained this man, Valdor had named him, given him his three hundred and sixty seven names, had sparred against him, had fought side by side with him when the Webway flooded beneath daemonic corpses. He had raised this boy when he was being turned into a Custodes, he had raised him and watched him die.

‘I cannot let them live,’ Valdor had thought then. Almost in desperation, almost in prayer, almost as if he was begging at the feet of a master he no longer had. ‘I know each of their names, I can name each of their deeds, I raised them, trained them, and fought them. They are my brothers, but I cannot let them live.’

He had twisted the blade of his misericordia, the knife meant to kill traitors now in the hands of one, lodged to the bone in the spine of his brother. It looked as if the Custodian was crying bloody tears. Yet he refused to die, squirming there, thrashing at the tip of the knife.

Blood. So much blood.

Here, at the end and the death.

Here, at last. Tanned skin gurgling and splitting open beneath his golden blade, fading eyes lifted to the featureless gold of the ship’s ceiling as if begging in reverence to his master. But the Emperor’s not there. The Emperor cannot save him. How he had twitched, trying to crawl away, trying to draw his own blade. Trying to raise his Sentinel Blade and twist it enough to dig into Valdor’s immaculate armor.

‘Damn you…’ his dying brother had whispered, still crawling towards his own sword.

‘Rest now.’ Valdor had spoken then, gentle in the same way he had been gentle when he had sunk in the blade. He had not wanted to kill him. But they had pushed him to sink in the blade. ‘Rest now, in the shame of your failure, knowing you have served well. Rest now, and sleep, knowing you have served Him.’

His blade was finally tilted against the edge of Valdor’s throat. He wore nothing more than primitive armor, barely any better than the Thunder Warriors he had slain. A singular push from the dying warrior and he would take him down to death with him. So close. So close to avenging his Emperor and his Order. Yet he will die before he even reaches that far. He was dying, laced with his traitor captain’s blood.

With brotherly kindness, Valdor lays him down, and plucks the sword from around his neck. He begins to withdraw the misericordia from the Custodian. He could feel him dying, spasming around the shaft of the blade. ‘Rest now, knowing that I take no pleasure in this.’ he says. ‘I take no pleasure in what I have done.’

He had expected to be hated. Loathed. Or perhaps simply raged at, anger, pure and blinding, for one that had betrayed the Emperor. But instead that ruined thing that was once his brother laughed, coughing out a final, dry chuckle.

‘Served?' he rasps. ‘Served Him? You were supposed to be the greatest of us. The first, and the only. Above the ordinary. Golden.’

The Custodian grins through blood-laced teeth. He was a corpse, yet he bit off each other with burning, bleeding clarity. ‘We are not meant to take pleasure. We are His tools, to be used and cast aside. To trade our lives for His. Because there’s nothing left for you, Constantin. No life, love, no joy, no death, no rest. No respite from the endless crush of your duty. There’s nothing He can take from you that He hasn’t already, nothing left for us, Constantin, if not for Him. We are nothing.’

Nothing but the living dead wrapped in gold, waiting to be returned to the grave. The galaxy can burn, the world itself can drown, wonders and madness can eat the fabric of time itself and stars can plummet from senseless skies, but he would never change, never yield, never love, never rejoice, never feel anything but the endless crush of a vigil that will never end.

The Custodian spasms. His spine cracks as Valdor pulls out the blade. Yet, he spits out his last words through failing organs, gurgling out blood from bleeding lungs. ‘You were supposed to be the greatest of us all. You were supposed to be His favorite. But look at you now. Look at what you have become. Honorless and disgraced. Scorned, pitied, and hated by the masses. Unnamed, erased utterly from the history books, cursed by the names of those you were supposed to lead. No better than Horus now. No better than the traitors.’

The chains have broken. The master’s throne has been usurped by the master’s slaves. The treachery has unfolded, and the most loyal of His dogs has abandoned Him. The cycle ends where it began, beneath frost and winds, so alike Maulland Sen.

No better than the traitors now. As he walks away into the frost and the snow, knowing he was no better than the first heretic. Perhaps worse. Treachery was only human nature, after all. But for one who had no human nature at all, what excuse can he make but his own moral failings?

Valdor stops, dragging the spear in a close circle to him, closing tired eyes and feeling the storm whip itself around him. His breaths come jagged now, slow and painful. He welcomes the cold. For a moment he could delude himself into remembering the first campaigns, how he had soldiered through the storm and basked beneath the praises of his master. The thunder and the iron, almost enough to deceive his perfect mind and almost remember what it felt like to dream. What it felt like to feel human. To dare to dream, if only for a few seconds, before the Emperor’s obsessions sink in again and he could only soldier on through the storm. Inhuman, disgraced, and exiled, limping his way through a world without warmth.

What else could he do? What else could he do, when the only other time he felt human was when he killed?

#warhammer 40k #wh40k #sculptor of crimson #constantin valdor #adeptus custodes #warhammer #wh40k writing prompts #emperor of mankind #traitor au #traitor custodes #traitor!valdor

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redhairedmuses · 4 months

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in which a captain is finally captured by a siren...

I recently commissioned my dear friend, @imrowanartist to create a wonderful piece to really capture this moment in my Pirate/COD AU. Rowan did *such* a wonderful job I was completely awestruck by the final image. Absolutely breathtaking and beautiful.

So, without further adieu, here is an excerpt from my upcoming long-fic, Half a Creature from the Sea.

Stormy blue eyes find brown with flecks of gold and Price is not sure if it is desire or desperation fueling his veins. His heart is already threatening to burst out of his chest. He can feel the hard pounding of it against his ribs. It aches and burns in such a way he's half-tempted to cut it from his chest and present it at Kyle's feet as a sacrifice.

Perhaps that would satisfy him long enough where these feelings, these desires, would finally leave him.

How one man, a siren, managed to seduce him in just a few short weeks baffles him. He’s not entirely sure when it changed. When the lines blurred and he found himself wanting Kyle in a way he doesn’t deserve. But now, even as his eyes search for answers in Kyle’s golden eyes, he finds none. In fact, there are no answers to his question. He supposes that it just happened.

His arm starts to give way, and he no longer has the strength to maintain his composure. He’s lost this battle.

The siren has him. Kyle has him.

And like a shark smelling blood in the water, Kyle strikes, surging forward and crashing their lips together in a messy tangle of teeth and tongues, and John finds himself sinking under the waves and into the abyss.

He responds to the aggressive nature of the kiss with a quick nip of teeth on Kyle’s bottom lip. Kyle’s answering gasp adds more fuel to the growing fire between them. The air is already thick with tension and now it threatens to crack. He licks into Kyle’s mouth, tasting every inch he’s allowed until his lungs object. He ends the first of many kisses and drops his mouth to Kyle’s exposed collarbone, panting and aching for air.

"Christ, Kyle," he rasps. He noses at Kyle's collarbone, inhaling the young man's scent again, committing it to memory. "I’m not going to be gentle with you."

His hands, wrought with so much sin, grip Kyle’s hips, tight like a vice. He presses closer, unable to let the other man go. A hand rests at the back of his neck, steadying, grounding. It squeezes once and he almost sinks to his knees. He takes a breath to right himself. "I’m not–" He hesitates again. Words fail him. He forces himself to look at Kyle despite the gnawing feeling of guilt that curls inside his stomach.

"I’m not a good man, Kyle," is what he manages to choke out.

Kyle nods, so easily and accepting. He shouldn't want him, not with all the red in his ledger. "I know."

"I’m a killer too."

"I’ve seen you in action, Captain. Quite attractive."

John licks his lips in an effort to hide the smile that threatens to spread. "You deserve a better man than me."

Kyle’s long fingers drift to grasp him by the chin and holds him steady, forcing him to really look at him. "Let me be the judge of that, John."

For a moment, John is unsure if he heard Kyle correctly. In just a few simple words, Kyle has laid his heart out. Baring his intentions, his desires. He is unfazed by the killer standing in his boots.

He knows what he is. He has always known.

Ferocious. Ruthless. Dangerous.

He should be soft with Kyle. Gentle. Kind. Kyle deserves that and more. He deserves a better man, but it is clear that the man wants none of that. He’s not afraid of sharp claws and teeth. John briefly forgets that Kyle is a siren too. A creature of legend, and one with a reputation just as deadly as his own.

A thought looms in the darkest parts of his mind as he draws his eyes to Kyle’s unblemished neck where the faint lines of his gills grace his skin. The marks he is going to leave on this man will be a symbol of his prize. His victory. They will not become a bad memory. He refuses to let that happen.

John surges forward, capturing Kyle’s lips again, mirroring their first kiss. He crowds the younger man into the door, pinning him there. Teeth clashing, tongues wrestling, and hands seeking out skin. One hand abandons Kyle’s hip, opting to grasp at the back of his neck while the other slides under his loose shirt, grazing against skin. His fingers dig into the meat of Kyle’s neck, just shy of that pressure point he knows will have the other man on his knees for him. Kyle’s hand slips from his chin to fumble at his neck. Those long fingers he’s fantasized about for far too long curl around his neck while the other is clutching his shirt sleeve.

"Alright there, Gaz?" John asks against Kyle’s lips. He draws back to provide Kyle a reprieve and take in the bewildered and wild look in the siren’s gold eyes.

Kyle nods, lips swollen from the kisses and bites. "Yeah. I can handle myself. Don’t worry about me, sir."

John shakes his head briefly before leaning back in and kissing Kyle again, softer this time. "I think you can drop the ‘sir’, now."

"And I-" Kyle punctuates with another kiss of his own. "Think you like it."

(tbc...)

#writing #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty #gazprice #john price #pirate au #red's writings #pricegaz #pirate price #siren gaz

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raffe156 · 1 year

Text

Chain Mail and Silk

Pairing - Price X MC (Tank) F!reader

Summary - Little fluff drabble for the Knights AU

A/N - The brain rot I have for this AU is crazy haha I wrote this today while nursing a hangover from being out very late last night so please enjoy!

I really appreciate all the recent feedback and asks! Please keep em coming! Especially to the anon that started this DLC 🤣

Warnings - slight angst, forbidden love? Language, fluff, Age gap Relationship, Price (40) Tank, (25) she defo should be married off by that age haha

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Call of duty characters - Only Tank & Luke

Tags: @shuttlelauncher81 @fanficandartgal @deadbranch @soapyghost @mostannoyingbillioner @chb-7

“My lady, please let me finish it off for you, your fingers look sore…” Cece pleaded with you.

“No…it’s quite alright…ow…I want to do it myself”

A few more stitches an you were finished, your initials just legible in gold thread, it wasn’t perfect but it would do. You looked at Cece triumphantly.

“Very nice mlady”

“Let’s just hope he actually does ask for my favour after all that”

********

Price watched as you took your seat in the royal box, your father being an advisor to the king allowed for that privilege. He had donned his best armour and rode out onto the field, his heart pounding with anticipation. The slight scandal of him asking for your favour was not lost on him. He was the knight commander his mind was meant to be focused on battle plans and strategies, not wooing a lady of the court 15 years younger than him.

Your eyes fixed on him as he rode towards you. You had convinced yourself he wasn’t going to ask you and ask one of the other women instead, but there he was just below you with that eye crinkling smile that made your heart flutter.

“My lady, may I ask for your favour? Such a token would be an honour to an old knight commander such as myself” there were a few mumbles as you leant forward.

“Of course Sir Price” you handed him your handkerchief his hand holding on to yours for a few seconds longer than needed. As you slowly withdrew your hand Price looked down at the silk handkerchief, your initials embroidered in gold thread on the corner, just under the last stitch a tiny dark spot, you must of pricked your finger.

“Thank you my lady, I shall keep it next to my heart for it shall protect me better than any chain mail” he bowed his head as he folded it up tucking it under his breast plate. You bowed your head in return his kind words making your cheeks flush. The mumbling started up again, but you didn’t care, The knight commander had asked for your favour.

*******

The day was long and grueling, but Price fought with all his strength and skill. And in the end, he emerged victorious, having unhorsed all his opponents and won the tournament. Even at his age his level an skill never let him down even against men half his age.

As he removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow, he felt a surge of pride and joy at the sight of you stood applauding his final victory your eyes wide with excitement. He hoped Garrick had got the message to Cece that he wanted to meet with you later that night in the eastern tower.

*******

As the whole castle slept you creeped through the dark corridors all the way to the eastern tower a tall candle lighting your way. You climbed the steep stone steps to the top opening the door to the small room, you thought maybe Price had changed his mind as it was empty but then from the shadows he appeared his dark blue eyes as if light from behind greeted you from the dark.

“I thought you’d changed your mind” you placed your candle on a near by dresser.

“Never…” he closed the distance between you in one stride, his arms wrapping around you pulling you back tight to his chest his face buried in your hair.

“You did well today, I heard the king singing your praises and you made a lot of men very rich by the way” you rested your hand on the back of his head.

“I don’t care about making other men rich and I’d take you singing my praises over the king any day” he mumbled the words into your hair.

“Don’t let the king hear you say that…or my father for that matter…he still wants me married off to sir Luke the one with the highland cows” Your words made Price step back he hated when you spoke of your fathers numerous attempts at marrying you to the highest bidder, it caused his heart to ache and blood to boil.

“Sir Luke can gladly fuck off…” Price scowled at even the repetition of the name.

“Never mind all that…..what was it you wanted to show me?” There was that child like excitement in your eyes again, your hands clasped together tight.

“Sit down” he guided you to sit in the small seat by the candle light, the glow illuminated your face and it almost caused his heart to cease, you were the most beautiful creature he had ever had the grace to lay eyes upon and here you were entertaining an old fool of a man.

Price handed you a small velvet box. Inside was his gold signet ring, his family crest engraved on the front.

“I know this is not nearly as beautiful as your handkerchief," he said, "But I hope you'll wear it in some form as a symbol of my love for you” as he spoke you took the ring from the box and slipped it on to your ring finger holding your hand up to admire how it looked in the candle light, you smiled at him, your best smile only reserved for him, it made his heart pang back to life in his chest.

“It looks rather nice on that finger doesn’t it?” Your smile turned to a grin. Price gave you a small smile, he would love nothing more than to slip a wedding band onto your finger, fully an finally claiming you as his an him yours, for the whole kingdom to see, but that was a new kind of war he hadn’t yet planned a strategy for, but for now he simply agreed with you.

“It does my love…it truly does” he held your hand up kissing it just below where the ring sat.

******

You had both been talking for hours entangled on the old ornate lounger as the tall candle was now just a wick fighting to stay alight.

“You better get back to your chambers mlady…I’m sure Cece will be thinking I’ve had my wicked way with you…” Price nuzzled his face into your neck his beard tickling you.

“I’m sure she will be climbing the walls, that or hunting poor Garrick down!” You laughed at the thought as you made you way to the door Garrick was a highly decorated knight and had fought in many battles but he was terrified of little Cece.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” You looked back at him.

“I’ll make sure to find you, maybe I’ll escort you on you afternoon ride? Cece permitting” He bowed his head taking your hand in his again to kiss it. You longed for his kisses on other parts of your body. Parts that made your skin run hot an heart to beat loud like a drum.

“I’d very much like that…” you made your way down the steep steps the cold wall guiding you down.

“Good night mlady” he bowed his head once more. This parting ways was always bittersweet as now you had to return to your respective roles only offering small glances an secret smiles across crowded rooms. Price watched as you made your way back to your chambers the glow from the moon lighting your way. Though it pained him, he knew you would hold his token of love close to your heart an he yours.

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sluttyminghao · 2 years

Text

kinktober drabble ten: fae!minghao x fae!gn!reader

w.c.: 2.4k rating: 18+, smut minors dni warnings: minghao is a sex store worker, reader is naive, use of sex toys (vibrator, dildo), orgasm denial, use of restraints, minghao is a good salesman, mentions a hole but doesn't specify what hole a/n: I haven't written for a gender neutral reader in a while so let me know what you think! enjoy the next instalment of the series :)

taglist | masterlist

The sun was beginning to rise over Everlasting Valley, pink and orange hues dancing over flower petals and bathing the town in the beautiful glow that had drawn you into the small town. You had only lived here for a few months, and you had loved every second. The fae community was small here, and very welcoming, so your decision to move here had been finalised extremely quickly.

Since moving, you hadn’t had a chance to explore a lot of the town due to the nature of you working almost around the clock. You only stopped to eat, shower and sleep for maybe a couple of hours, before repeating the cycle. It left you exhausted, but you had a lot of great benefits that came with the job, so you couldn't complain.

You had finally managed to snag a day off from your job, and you spent most of the morning doing chores and catching up on emails. One particular email caught your eye, for a new store that was opening up this afternoon on the main street. As you scrolled through the email, looking at the deals and products, you slowly realized that this wasn’t an ordinary clothing or shoe store, although it may have looked like that at first glance.

It was much more than just a regular store, and you had to go and check it out.

An hour after reviewing the email, you found yourself standing in front of the store, trying to will up the courage to walk inside. You hadn’t been this nervous since your friend had tried to set you up with a guy at a bar a couple of months back, who proceeded to spill his drink on you and gaslight you into paying for another drink for him.

Walking through the town, you got to observe the many activities that ran through the town. Fairies drinking coffee in cafes, wing alterations in a store a couple of doors down where your wings could be altered by colour, size or shape for a small price, and even a pet store with exotic pets you could only imagine.

From the outside, the store looked like any other store on the block. They held a magical, whimsical vibe that all the fairies and faes enjoyed going into. There was something…different about this store though, and you weren’t sure if it was the dull colouring of the building, in comparison to the bright, sparkly vibes of the others, or the deeply tinted windows, prohibiting you from peeking inside.

A surge of confidence sweeps through you and you straighten your back, press your clammy hands against your thighs to rid them of the sweat, and press the door open, the warm air immediately hitting you in the face. The smell of sandalwood and incense hits your nose, and it makes you relax and walk further into the store, a small bell above the door signifying to the owner that a customer had entered the store.

“Welcome to Hidden Treasures, is there anything I can help you find today?” A soft voice comes from further down in the store, and you take a few steps forward into the store in an attempt to locate the voice. You try to avoid looking at the dildos, vibrators, whips and god knows what else, and once you finally reach the counter, your eyes widen and a gasp escapes you.

A gorgeous man stands behind the counter, hair unnaturally coloured a bright red and quiffed up to the side. He had very light makeup on, a light smokey eye and a hint of lip tint on his full, plush lips. His clothing choices were…questionable but he was extremely attractive and that’s all that mattered to you.

And his wings were the most beautiful shade of forest green that held an iridescent shimmer when he moved and had gold accents weaving through the wings like veins. You had never seen anything like it before, he seemed like a one-in-a-billion type of man.

“I-” He smiles softly as you stutter and trip over your words, before simply pressing a finger to your lips to silence you. The warmth from his fingers sends tingles all over your body and heats you up in other regions as well.

“My name is Minghao, and you seem like you might need a bit of help, what if I took you on a personalized tour of the store and gave you all my favourite recommendations?” He raises an eyebrow at you and it sends your mind into overdrive. Without even thinking about it, you nod and he smirks, taking your hand in his and leading you behind the counter and into what looked like a storage room.

“Stay here for a minute, I’m gonna just lock the shop up and I’ll be right back,” he comments, jingling the keys in his hand and exiting the room. You stand awkwardly in the dimly lit room, intertwining your fingers together in hopes that Minghao will return soon. In the distance, you can hear the door lock and him shuffling around the store.

He returns a few moments later, arms full of toys and gadgets that you had completely skipped over on the way in. Your eyes widen at him when he lays them all out on a table neatly, some of his choices much more questionable than others. You almost choke on your own saliva when you see a dildo shaped like a tentacle that’s apparently 9 inches long and bright yellow in colour.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but why don’t you take a seat and let me run you through all the toys and you can tell me which ones you like,” he grins, a mischievous glint twinkling in his eyes. Your eyes scan the room for a chair and finally land on a small wooden one in the corner. It makes a horrible sound against the floor as you drag it to where Minghao stands, but you cautiously sit on the chair and fold your legs, foot tapping nervously.

Minghao observes you for a few moments, just drinking in your features. He eyes your wings, pale pink at the top that dwindles into a pretty baby blue, and pale yellow polka dots near the edges of the wings. Your cropped top and short shorts were a sight to see as well, not really covering anything. He smirks and leans over, his fingers dancing along your collarbone and watching as you shudder.

“You’re gorgeous, aren't you?” Minghao mumbles, turning away from you briefly to pick up his first toy to use on you. He doesn’t see the way you shift in the chair or the way your panties are beginning to get soaked. You can feel your heart begin to race again, and your wings twitch in excitement and nervousness.

He turns around and you notice rope in his hands, and your eyes widen. He smirks and walks towards you slowly, almost like a predator stalking his prey. “I just think this process will run a little smoother if you aren’t writhing and trying to get away,” he suggests, moving behind you and clasping your wrists gently. He takes your hands and winds the rope around your wrists, not too tight but tight enough that you can’t pull out of it easily.

“Do I get to have a safe word?” You ask shakily, head feeling fuzzy with lust. He turns to you with a concerned expression and kneels in front of you, placing both hands on your thighs. “Of course you do, I’m not a psychopath. You can choose whatever word you want,” he caresses the skin of your thigh gently and stares at you fondly.

You nod and take a few moments to think of a safe word while he finishes setting up, hearing all sorts of noises and hums of approval leaving his lips.

“I think I want my word to be Pineapple,” you squeak out, and he turns to you with a soft smile and nods, confirming it on his end. He turns and shows you the object in his hand; a small bullet vibrator that is gold in colour. He runs it over any exposed skin, the cool metal makes you suck in a breath and you feel yourself getting excited at the thought of it sending you into bliss.

“So this is the Golden Bunny Bullet, it has 6 settings and is rechargeable. I recommend this for people who don’t get a lot of action or not a lot of time up their sleeves,” he comments, leaning down so that he’s kneeling in front of you and has a good look at you. You notice he has another toy on the floor next to him, but doesn't mention it yet so you don't question it.

Minghao tugs on your shirt and pulls it down, exposing your nipples to him. You can see his eyes darken slightly and it’s almost like a switch has flipped inside him. He turns the vibrator onto its lowest setting and runs it over your nipples, smirking when they begin to pebble and harden.

With one hand, he keeps the vibrator on your nipples, and with the other, he skilfully gets you to lift yourself up and removes your shorts, flinging them onto the floor. Slowly, he moves the vibrator down until it’s resting near your hip bones, a smirk resting on his lips. With one quick movement, he is bringing the vibrator down to your panties and presses it against you softly.

Your body tenses and you let out a moan, before biting your lip to silence yourself. “Let your moans out, I wanna hear you,” Minghao’s voice has gone from smooth to rough, and dropped at least an octave, and it sends shivers down your spine. You can feel the heat building in your core from the approaching orgasm, and your legs twist around the legs of the chair, trying to ground yourself.

In an attempt to bring you over the edge sooner, Minghao takes one of your nipples in his mouth and begins to suck softly, teasing and licking at the nipple until you’re back is arching out. Your moans are a mixture of his name, pleas and lots of incoherent nonsense, and it’s making it almost impossible for Minghao to concentrate, especially when you sound like how angels would sound.

“Fuck…gonna cum,” your voice cracks and you can feel the knot in your belly getting tighter and tighter, threatening to break at any given moment. Minghao pulls the vibrator away from you right before the waves can crash over you, and you sob at the loss of contact. Your orgasm begins to fade away, and every inch of your body is throbbing with want.

“Easy there, darlin’, I wanna show you one more toy before I make you cum, okay?” He swipes away the tears on your cheeks that you hadn't realized had fallen. You sniffle and nod, while he grabs the toy from the floor and lubes it up. You can’t quite see it through your blurred vision, but you can tell it’s long and girthy, and pink in colour.

“This is the Demon Slayer 2000, it’s a vibrating dildo that has 4 settings and can plug into the wall for use whenever you like.” He explains although he knows you aren't really listening and you just want to cum.

“Please make me cum, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want, just please, let me cum!” You shout, your voice shaky and your hole clenching around nothing. He raises a brow at you and kneels between your legs once more with the lubed-up toy in his hands, his wings fluttering behind him slowly in thought.

“Anything?” He asks, and you nod while sobbing once more, wanting nothing more than to be filled up. He grins and places a soft peck on your jaw, moving your panties to the side and pressing the head of the dildo to your hole, watching as you relax and whimper at the sensation.

“A-anything!” you squeal as he presses the dildo into you slowly, and he immediately starts an agonizingly slow pace. With one click, he has the dildo turned onto the lowest vibration setting and you’re seeing stars immediately. Minghao watches with dark eyes as you try to fuck yourself on the dildo, your tied hands uselessly trying to grab at nothing.

He hums and turns the vibration setting up again, watching you cry out and writhe under his touch. You can feel everything in your body beginning to heat up again, your orgasm quickly approaching. While he wouldn’t say anything, this whole scenario has had him rock hard since he had you tied up, and he’s more than certain if you were paying close attention you’d be able to see how hard he was.

“Alright, I want you to cum for me, cum over this dildo for me,” he speaks softly, focusing entirely on making you cum now. He can see your legs begin to shake and he takes it one step further and lets his lips latch to the inner side of your thigh and sucking a pretty hickey into the flesh. The feeling alone has you cumming hard, your vision going white.

You begin to come back to earth once you feel Minghao pulling the dildo out of you, your hole clenching around it as he does so. You can hear him mumbling under his breath, but your mind is still too scattered to comprehend it. He takes the time to clean you up, straighten your wings and untie you, before placing both toys into a bag and handing them to you.

“So, uh, this might be weird, but do you have an erection?” You point out his obvious boner, and he gets flustered. He tries to brush you off as he heads back out to the store and unlocks it, but you insist on trying to get an answer out of him. “Tell me! Did you get hard watching me cum?” You question, and his resolve finally breaks, eyes darkening again.

“Yes, I did. But there’s nothing I can do about it, I have to finish my work, so I will just go rub one out in the back later” he comments, shrugging as if it’s a regular occurrence. You shake your head and boldly move your hand to grip lightly at his bulge, his eyes widening while it’s now your turn to smirk.

“Well, you could always come back to my place and we could deal with it there,” you suggest, and his eyebrows raise before he’s grinning and walking outside the store, locking it and following you home. Maybe finding the email for the unknown store turned out to be a great idea after all.

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