Hotaru
Comfortable enough to think you'll take her
But when she smiles, her teeth are razors
But when she smiles, her teeth are razors
She could lie, is the thing. Hotaru lies as easily as breathing. It’s not fire, no, but being free with her information is merely another chalk line drawn on the scales she teeters between. Old and New Gods. Ascended and Human. “No, it’s ice,” she shares quietly, and does not linger on the poetic justice of having chosen such a close oppositional force to fire.
Wessex’s open arms bid her forward, though it’s a graceless sort of step forward, uncertain where the General wants her. There’s no need to question for long as strong hands maneuver the Valkyrie to stand pressed with her back to Wessex, perfectly enveloped. Her breath stutters in her throat, ears turning slightly pink against her otherwise ironclad control. This isn’t the first time she’s had the Wraith so close. In a variety of scenarios. Hotaru’s allegiance is to her loved ones first and foremost, having learned her lesson from Helovia about swearing her faith to a God, but considering Deimos is one of the highest in those ranks this still feels like a stolen moment away from disapproving eyes.
The command shouldn’t make her blood heat in her veins, but she isn’t keen on examining her own control issues and how those play into her kinks right now. So instead she tightens her fingers around the weapon newly returned to her hand and obligingly lifts and draws, the sling empty as she submits herself to Wessex’s gaze for fine tuning.
Wessex’s open arms bid her forward, though it’s a graceless sort of step forward, uncertain where the General wants her. There’s no need to question for long as strong hands maneuver the Valkyrie to stand pressed with her back to Wessex, perfectly enveloped. Her breath stutters in her throat, ears turning slightly pink against her otherwise ironclad control. This isn’t the first time she’s had the Wraith so close. In a variety of scenarios. Hotaru’s allegiance is to her loved ones first and foremost, having learned her lesson from Helovia about swearing her faith to a God, but considering Deimos is one of the highest in those ranks this still feels like a stolen moment away from disapproving eyes.
The command shouldn’t make her blood heat in her veins, but she isn’t keen on examining her own control issues and how those play into her kinks right now. So instead she tightens her fingers around the weapon newly returned to her hand and obligingly lifts and draws, the sling empty as she submits herself to Wessex’s gaze for fine tuning.
Where she comes from, there are no saviors
