VESPER
The moment she breaks, it slams into him like lightning tearing through a forest—hot, bright, and utterly consuming. He feels it build in her first, because of course he does; because her pleasure is his own, the bond between them electric and intimate in ways neither of them had words for. Her orgasm blooms like wildfire through his mind, and his body answers before reason can argue. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering as every sinew of him strains to hold back. Shoulders taut. Arms trembling. His grip on her hip turns bruising with effort, a possessive anchor against the torrent crashing into him.
His mouth parts, lips peeling back in something too raw to be called a smile, too rapturous to be pain. It's everything. It's too much. And still, he presses deeper, shadows lifting her to meet the final thrusts of his body as if even they can’t bear to be separate from her in this. Her name is ripped from his throat in a sound more moan than word—low, wrecked, reverent—as cums hard, the heat of it spilling in rhythm with the pulse of his magic.
Then—stillness.
His body slumps, boneless and glowing with the haze of it all. His head drops into the crook of her neck as if gravity’s decided to keep him there, the heat of her skin an anchor to keep him from drifting off entirely. He stays like that, shivering faintly with aftershocks, his breath mingling with hers in the silence. All the fire and noise gone now, replaced with the static quiet that fills the space between heartbeats—just her thoughts crackling faintly through his telepathy, and the soft, ragged inhale that proves they’re still tangled together in the afterglow.
His mouth parts, lips peeling back in something too raw to be called a smile, too rapturous to be pain. It's everything. It's too much. And still, he presses deeper, shadows lifting her to meet the final thrusts of his body as if even they can’t bear to be separate from her in this. Her name is ripped from his throat in a sound more moan than word—low, wrecked, reverent—as cums hard, the heat of it spilling in rhythm with the pulse of his magic.
Then—stillness.
His body slumps, boneless and glowing with the haze of it all. His head drops into the crook of her neck as if gravity’s decided to keep him there, the heat of her skin an anchor to keep him from drifting off entirely. He stays like that, shivering faintly with aftershocks, his breath mingling with hers in the silence. All the fire and noise gone now, replaced with the static quiet that fills the space between heartbeats—just her thoughts crackling faintly through his telepathy, and the soft, ragged inhale that proves they’re still tangled together in the afterglow.
Will I ever quit playing with matches?
Why am I making angels in the ashes?
Why am I making angels in the ashes?
☆ has a pale star tattoo beneath his left eye, and freckle-sized constellations move across his skin
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
