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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    and the fear starts setting in slow; lucrezia
    #11

    I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
    (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)

    It becomes clockwork now, and he nearly hums with pleasure. His hands begin to pick the threads with increased tempo, masterfully finding the right ones, his eyes nearly closing as he concentrates on it. He doesn’t think she would notice now. He doesn’t think she’d pick up on the pleasure that winds through him, the sheer joy at finally breaking something between your hands and then building it up again.

    She was beautiful he thinks, but only because he can imagine blood smeared across her cheek.

    She is beautiful, but only because he can think of the way she will look with the life gone.

    (Not yet, not yet.)

    He steps closer, and he wants to devour her. He wants to release his control of the Krampus entirely so that he can just consume her now, pulling her into the deep. His lips find her jaw, work their way down her neck, tasting the fear and the sweat and the compliance. A shudder runs through him, and twists so that they stand chest to chest. With his face away from her, he finally releases the mask for a moment, tipping his head back and basking in the glory of the moment, reveling in her submission.

    “Y-you are so beautiful,” he finally murmurs, bringing his head back down so that he can bite at her back, nibbling at the skin, keeping the most animalistic desires at bay. “H-he can’t destroy you. I won’t let him.” He could break her now, he thinks, and bathe in it. He could shatter her and rejoice in it, but it’s not the right time yet—not yet. There is more work to do. He pulls on the fear still, playing a soft melody with her emotions. “H-he always breaks what I love. H-h-he can’t break you. I love you too much.”



    @[Lucrezia]
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