❛ show me how much you missed me. ❜
❛ —— ☾ ₊ ⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 / @fatewoven
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 is fetching against Enver's dark skin. Cold steel warms itself upon his breastbone, moved only by the gentle rise and fall of breath. An idle threat with no real intent, not yet. The dead do not speak to her the way that he does, do not worship her with palm and flesh and fervor. Their cold veins no longer remember how to properly bleed. Only a quick flick of the wrist to artery and he would spill out for her a font of red as vibrant as a bouquet of spider-lilies and poppies. You have missed me too, for you have brought me flowers, she would say.
Enver makes a show of ignoring the weapon, though he cannot hide flittering pulse in his neck. Moth-wing heart, animal dread. She wants to sup of his fear like sweet-wine.
Ah, but she rushes ahead of herself. That would only spoil the meal.
Her lover's saturnine face is upturned towards her. Candlelight paints Enver's features in broad strokes. She is left with the impression of his leer, the high cheekbone and the architecture of a nose broken more than once. His deep-set eyes are lined with sleepless nights and smeared kohl, both hungry and arresting. He is some crepuscular creature that has crept into her bed, a version of himself that belongs solely to the few stolen hours they find for one another.
Only here does he kneel for her. She still tastes the power of his willingness all the same. His attention is almost as satisfactory as physical touch would be.
"You presume much," she breathes, face kept as placid as she can make it. "Who says that I have not had my share of pleasures in your absence?" Yet she cannot contain the undercurrent of longing, voice little more than a suggestion of speech. The insides of Iraestra's thighs are wet with her desire for him, telltale tremble as she spreads her knees further to show him the lilac bloom of her cunt. Her hand works practiced, languid circle over her sex. She dips two fingers inside of herself just to hear the slick, filthy sound of it. The loudest noise in the room is her fluting breaths.
A crude mockery of how she takes herself, Iraestra exerts enough pressure so that the blade may open delicate skin. Blood wells quickly to the cut, a small river of pain traveling the broad muscle of chest. She gasps at the sight as if she had been the one pierced, body tightening around the trivial intrusion of her slender digits. It is not enough. She would have him bleeding and on top of her.
"Come to me," demand or plea, she does not know any longer. She does not care. "Let us see who missed the other more."
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Btw for everyone worried about maia arson crimew's safety or it getting arrested, I'm not saying don't be bc anything can happen but maia is, for one thing, Swiss-- I think a lot of people assume it's American? And in Switzerland you cannot be extradited to be tried for foreign crimes without your consent. Furthermore tbh the no fly list thing was hardly even a hack-- it was found on an unsecured server through an online device search engine. maia said itself on its blog that all it took was the patience to scroll through the different servers and folders. So it would be pretty hard to convict maia of a crime here, the fault actually lies with the airline company that had the list on an unsecured server. Mainly what maia would need to worry about would be prosecution for its hack of Verkada two years ago and again, given Swiss extradition laws it is relatively safe.
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i want to annoy him until he gets mad at me.
this is just a cover image to hide the real (completely different) suggestive drawing under a readmore⤵️
he is shirtless and wearing his silly boxers.
😘
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just some silly little drawing ideas, qbbh in clothes from older history i.e. 1930’s 1920’s (idk if you draw him still but if not that’s ok! :D) or baghera and pomme fluff!
lo! a human person whom no danger nor destruction ever follows!! do NOT look into the darkness beneath his hat no it does not matter how much his normal human eyes are glowing do NOT look. looking too closely gets you too close to his teeth. which are also normal
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solomon running his mouth to piss you off and see if you’ll you’ll sit on his face to finally make him shut the fuck up
vera do you know i am in love w you /p
in my oh-so humble opinion he needs the back of his throat bruised to the point where he can’t speak anymore. now imagine…
sitting on his face and holding his nose until he taps your thigh twice for air. there’s something he loves about putting his life in your hands, technically speaking. even if he can’t die the sensation is so thrilling to him.
or sitting him on his knees and fucking his mouth (naturally, magically, toy, or otherwise) and reminding him that dogs shouldn’t speak. making him forget how to use his words and only use “please” or “more” like a good puppy.
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