when the world turns upside down, you should blame it on me
His hands support her just as she supports him in turn, her pale hand slipping around the back of his head, keeping his head near her neck where he lines it with kisses and bites, playful marks to remember their day before he inevitably slips away to figure himself out. At least he’ll bear hers as well, bruised and loved and tender until they aren’t anymore — likely replaced by bruising from the boxing ring, from scars attained off of those with a bone to pick with him.
He’d figure it out, at some point, or die in the process.
But he hopes he figures it out, hips surging into hers as she rides her wave — no sharp twist, no complete shift in how she rides him, but a wave of sorts that crashes over him that he can feel as he bites her neck and pants against her skin, feeling the string of himself begin to snap and break. And while hers was a soft wave, his is sharp, pinpointed, precise as he pulls her into him and pushes her hips down to crash into her.
His head tilts back as much as it can, nose brushing against her jaw as he moans his response to her, filling her with everything he can — muscles in his abdomen twitching and shifting, and he shivers a small amount with the sudden release, quaking as if they’re aftershocks of an earthquake roiling within him. “Lief vir jou ook.” He tells her, breathless as he gasps and tries to catch it, hands softening at her hips and brushing his thumbs along her skin in a tender lazy strokes.
He’d figure it out, at some point, or die in the process.
But he hopes he figures it out, hips surging into hers as she rides her wave — no sharp twist, no complete shift in how she rides him, but a wave of sorts that crashes over him that he can feel as he bites her neck and pants against her skin, feeling the string of himself begin to snap and break. And while hers was a soft wave, his is sharp, pinpointed, precise as he pulls her into him and pushes her hips down to crash into her.
His head tilts back as much as it can, nose brushing against her jaw as he moans his response to her, filling her with everything he can — muscles in his abdomen twitching and shifting, and he shivers a small amount with the sudden release, quaking as if they’re aftershocks of an earthquake roiling within him. “Lief vir jou ook.” He tells her, breathless as he gasps and tries to catch it, hands softening at her hips and brushing his thumbs along her skin in a tender lazy strokes.
sunjata
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
