12-22-2017, 11:05 AM
god make me pay
like the devil i am
like the devil i am
“You’re bad, Maugrim.”
Of course he is. He is a monster beneath the water, a predator just under the surface. Not only is he bad, but he is terrifying - he kills not for the sake of killing, not even for the sake of power (though that is a feeling he most enjoys as their breath stutters into nothingness beneath his grasp), but kills because he needs to, because he craves it. There is no rhyme or reason, no explanation as to why, which makes him all the more beastly. He does not seek for his name to be whispered among Beqanna in fear or adoration, he does not seek to rule the nations or to have others bow to him - he only cares for the darkest depths of the oceans, and strangely enough, he cares for the woman who shivers beneath his salty, warm touch.
Maugrim almost laughs when she demands his return of her dead thing, and though most often times he would rebuke her and deny her, he gives in. He gives her back the molded and rotting corpse, and it is almost cute the way she is attached to the little thing - doesn’t she know there is so much more that she can kill, turn into dust with just a look? “You need bigger prey,” he murmurs, stepping forward to run his mouth against the delicate curve of her stomach, breathing hotly onto her flesh (she no longer smells of him, and it angers him that it is so - all must know she belongs to him), ears pinning into his seaweed-strewn mane. “I will bring you some,” he whispers with finality, a fervent kiss placed where the softness of her shoulder meets her barrel, then nipping tenderly at the delicate flesh.
“Deathwish,” he says her name in longing, moving against her so that now they are shoulder to shoulder, running his pearlescent lips across her sleek neck, tracing her matching skin with fervor and intensity. “I’ve come for you.” His words create a burning in his loin, a hunger creeping throughout his veins and blood surging wildly through his body, already imagining how he will split her open this time.
Of course he is. He is a monster beneath the water, a predator just under the surface. Not only is he bad, but he is terrifying - he kills not for the sake of killing, not even for the sake of power (though that is a feeling he most enjoys as their breath stutters into nothingness beneath his grasp), but kills because he needs to, because he craves it. There is no rhyme or reason, no explanation as to why, which makes him all the more beastly. He does not seek for his name to be whispered among Beqanna in fear or adoration, he does not seek to rule the nations or to have others bow to him - he only cares for the darkest depths of the oceans, and strangely enough, he cares for the woman who shivers beneath his salty, warm touch.
Maugrim almost laughs when she demands his return of her dead thing, and though most often times he would rebuke her and deny her, he gives in. He gives her back the molded and rotting corpse, and it is almost cute the way she is attached to the little thing - doesn’t she know there is so much more that she can kill, turn into dust with just a look? “You need bigger prey,” he murmurs, stepping forward to run his mouth against the delicate curve of her stomach, breathing hotly onto her flesh (she no longer smells of him, and it angers him that it is so - all must know she belongs to him), ears pinning into his seaweed-strewn mane. “I will bring you some,” he whispers with finality, a fervent kiss placed where the softness of her shoulder meets her barrel, then nipping tenderly at the delicate flesh.
“Deathwish,” he says her name in longing, moving against her so that now they are shoulder to shoulder, running his pearlescent lips across her sleek neck, tracing her matching skin with fervor and intensity. “I’ve come for you.” His words create a burning in his loin, a hunger creeping throughout his veins and blood surging wildly through his body, already imagining how he will split her open this time.
m a u g r i m.
@[Deathwish]