starter ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ♡ @fodlansbestmom id. : jeritza von hyrm
he does not like to address her by name. names impart expectation, and in the anonymity of the dark he’d rather they both be free of it. he speaks from experience : god and human alike , they are the same when pressed down in the dirt , bruised & bloodied & dead ; desperate monsters cut from the same , savage cloth .
along that vein , he finds fucking a lot like fighting . closing his eyes , he swears he smells the ichor of dirt and copper sweat slick on his tongue. it rises off him like a stink : the rabid cur he is . he presses close, in a snarl or wordless threat before lunging, teeth sinking into jugular as a circle of chitin , drawing forth a gold sheen . digits run across her body in a ravage -- rough , unhesitant touches that seek to mold & conquer. palms cup her chest for leverage, hips driving forward to rut at her cunt, the earthy scent of their arousals rising.
" you do not fight me. " he says, a halting observation verging displeasure. he has no illusions about himself ; if she allows, he’ll take everything she offers and some more.