Adore me, Hold me and explore me
Her gaze flicks to his wrists, to the pale smooth scars that speak louder than any words might. The skin looks rubbed raw by history, torn and healed and torn again, until it settled into the silence of friction burns that time could never quite erase. Charlie hums softly, a sound of easy acknowledgment, no questions pressed. She doesn’t need to; she knows, and besides, if he got handsy she was stronger than she looked and faster than most guessed. Still, the image of pinning his hand with a blade is enough to steal her breath, lashes lowering as allure curls hot through her chest. Gods, what an invitation.
"Lie back for me," she purrs, guiding him with a light touch, directing his head toward the slab’s edge. For all her height denied her, this would put his throat right at her shoulder, the line of his neck bared at the perfect angle. Her tail flicks idly behind her as her fingers trail across that strong column, gentle as a masseuse smoothing oils, though the weight of the moment is heavier than anything spa-like.
His mention of the haunt earns only the smallest nod, her lips curving in something that’s almost fond. She’s seen terrors before, danced with horrors that would make lesser hearts seize; Asta’s haunt would be no different. Her hand lifts to brush hair from his face, touch feather-light, and her voice softens with a kind of reverent promise. "I’ll endure it as long as you do," she murmurs, blue eyes steady, warm with understanding.
Then, with a little wrinkle of her nose, bright and affectionate, she lifts the dagger once more. The blade twirls between her fingers, catching the oil lamp light so it gleams like liquid fire, before she steps behind his head. Presence steady, aura humming warm and close, she lets the air hang thick with anticipation. "Ready?" she asks, voice husky with both mischief and devotion, the tip of the blade poised in her hand like the beginning of a prayer.
"Lie back for me," she purrs, guiding him with a light touch, directing his head toward the slab’s edge. For all her height denied her, this would put his throat right at her shoulder, the line of his neck bared at the perfect angle. Her tail flicks idly behind her as her fingers trail across that strong column, gentle as a masseuse smoothing oils, though the weight of the moment is heavier than anything spa-like.
His mention of the haunt earns only the smallest nod, her lips curving in something that’s almost fond. She’s seen terrors before, danced with horrors that would make lesser hearts seize; Asta’s haunt would be no different. Her hand lifts to brush hair from his face, touch feather-light, and her voice softens with a kind of reverent promise. "I’ll endure it as long as you do," she murmurs, blue eyes steady, warm with understanding.
Then, with a little wrinkle of her nose, bright and affectionate, she lifts the dagger once more. The blade twirls between her fingers, catching the oil lamp light so it gleams like liquid fire, before she steps behind his head. Presence steady, aura humming warm and close, she lets the air hang thick with anticipation. "Ready?" she asks, voice husky with both mischief and devotion, the tip of the blade poised in her hand like the beginning of a prayer.
Mark your territory, Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
