// seems like the whole damn world went and lost its mind & all my childhood heroes
have fallen off or died. fake tears, real living, fake tears, but the alcohol never lies //
have fallen off or died. fake tears, real living, fake tears, but the alcohol never lies //
“I don’t exactly know you.” He murmurs back, bluntly put. Definitely not enough to share his secrets, at least none of the ones people didn’t already know. Rumors and secrets spread like wildfire here, after all, and he keeps most of his biggest ones close to his chest. But he holds her against him, clawed fingers slipping through her hair, spanning across her back. She arcs against him and his feet remain planted, steady and strong in the sand.
He scans her face through those slit pupils, through his angled horned head, while that hand of her rises through his curls, finds one of the horns, and rubs her thumb against it. His gaze shudders as he peers at her, a slight hitch of his breath as she continues, his taloned fingers tightening in her hair, tugging to pull her head back as he leans in and fights with himself over his control. He leans in, his scarred cheek pressed against her own, his nose brushing against her neck and the exposed skin there as he continues that inner battle.
His voice is huskier now when he goes to speaks. “Oh but Maeve, I haven’t even tried yet.” It’s a whisper, curling around like a lover's confession, toying between kissing her neck and pulling away. His wings pull in, pressing against her sides and her back, blocking out any and all light — though Sunjata can see just fine as he moves to withdraw, to pull himself away from her while he still has some semblance of control.
He scans her face through those slit pupils, through his angled horned head, while that hand of her rises through his curls, finds one of the horns, and rubs her thumb against it. His gaze shudders as he peers at her, a slight hitch of his breath as she continues, his taloned fingers tightening in her hair, tugging to pull her head back as he leans in and fights with himself over his control. He leans in, his scarred cheek pressed against her own, his nose brushing against her neck and the exposed skin there as he continues that inner battle.
His voice is huskier now when he goes to speaks. “Oh but Maeve, I haven’t even tried yet.” It’s a whisper, curling around like a lover's confession, toying between kissing her neck and pulling away. His wings pull in, pressing against her sides and her back, blocking out any and all light — though Sunjata can see just fine as he moves to withdraw, to pull himself away from her while he still has some semblance of control.
some princes don't become kings
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.
