SUNJATA
the flood
'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
A flush blossoms on his neck, one that trails up along his cheeks, darkening the edges of his skin as he hears the soft moan from her — wanting to cling to this feeling rather than letting the shadows race back in. Luckily, he doesn’t need to worry about it as he draws his own shirt off, as their bodies press together again and his lips press kisses back to her skin.
Her fingers twitch against his shoulders and one of his slips deeper into her pale gilded hair, running along the smooth surface of her horn while the other possessively wraps around her hip and back, fingers digging in against the hollow of her back as she draped against him and heat sparks through his skin, most notably beneath where she sits, where his pants remain separating them.
She pushes him down, though, back against the bed as her whisper reaches his ear, and a shiver races through his spine as his shifts make an appearance — horns curling around his head to match her own, the leathery dark wings that drape back against the bed, the tips hanging off the sides of the bed, while his hands remain tangled with her as their lips meet long enough for the Flood to grow breathless, withdrawing with a shivery gasp, fully intending to let her have her way with him.
Her fingers twitch against his shoulders and one of his slips deeper into her pale gilded hair, running along the smooth surface of her horn while the other possessively wraps around her hip and back, fingers digging in against the hollow of her back as she draped against him and heat sparks through his skin, most notably beneath where she sits, where his pants remain separating them.
She pushes him down, though, back against the bed as her whisper reaches his ear, and a shiver races through his spine as his shifts make an appearance — horns curling around his head to match her own, the leathery dark wings that drape back against the bed, the tips hanging off the sides of the bed, while his hands remain tangled with her as their lips meet long enough for the Flood to grow breathless, withdrawing with a shivery gasp, fully intending to let her have her way with him.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do
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.
