#glaswen

‪‪❤︎‬ ˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 & 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 !    (  a  collection  of  75+ kisses.   feel free to specify the initiating muse.   potentially mature content within.  UPDATED 02/25 !  )

Salt. Copper. Dirt.

What she first tastes on her tongue. She almost spits it out on HIS face, but this obscure, brackish wine is perpetually essential to their ritual. Their ceremonial dance of fists, words, fang and claw; poignant violence. Her heart fucking ACHES, R A G E S--This is all a cruel joke threaded in gold and blood.

The maestro poses, their strings are pulled, and the show must go on.

A gasp escapes her, wind knocked out from the impact of colliding with the wall along with her tussle demon. He grunts in return, tit-for-tat. They are a palette of each other's marks, blood and bruises to tell all. One eye of hers is closed, slightly swollen. A nail broken (shame). The demon bears a busted lip with a shit-eating grin (pain), gold and blood adoring his face like war paint or an ascension to some unholy divinity; he could steal her away and she'd let him.

The strings are taught. In this brief reprieve. To tug back against what pulls; a step of many, a fight to take back what once was theirs.

She can see him. Oh, Gods. Like a pale minnow in black waters. Like an eidolon she'd had spoken to many a times in the morning dawn of winter's regret. Faint. A glimmer. A glimpse. There, there, there!

I see you!

Salt. Copper. Cinnamon.

Their lips mesh, violent than any fist swung, tender than any words spat. Coffin kisser. Corpse lover. Divinity blessing such desecration. Bruised fingers tangle themselves in his hair, his form pressing against hers. Another brief reprieve this time to their voracity, she pulls his head back slightly, her breath mingling with his own as a howling blizzard meets stormy seas at midnight.

It was like candle wax melting.

All of him, all of him.

Copper. Cinnamon. Sludge.

She crashes her lips with his, can feel his hesitance and in that second she flips him to have his back now pressed against the wall. The impact like an adrenaline shot, an echo of heretofore as he returns it. A ghost within a ghost. She can feel his arms squeeze her tighter, hands that yearn to roam like second nature and grip something fierce. She kisses him deeper, arms around his neck like a noose, tip of her tongue daring to part his lips to taste him better.

She likes it.

I see all of you...

The squeaking demand is just heard over the sound of the hungry creature dragging the finger bones of a dead man over his teeth; the grating scrap of each digit de-fleshed by his fangs loud in his own ears. Severen is distracted from the activity by the man’s shout. A confusing request, as he would have expected the complaint to be less specific. ‘Stop killing everyone!’, ‘Let me go!’, or the favorite of most: ‘Why are you doing this?’ He looks up to lock eyes with the frazzled, cowering man complaining at the far side of the room. He’d nearly forgotten there was someone still living. This one would be a more succulent treat than those that littered the floor between them. The dead were a fine source of sustenance, but it was hard to beat the freshly pumping blood of the living—especially one so fearful.  “But I was jus’ gettin’a the good part”, he falsely whines, following it up with a pout of his bottom lip and a howling laugh that brings to mind starved coyotes on the open plain. Thusly locked onto his next target, Severen rises from his haunches and begins to close the distance, each step punctuated by the hollow “CLINK” of his spurs. “You mi’hght be right though…” the flesh eater sighs, licking at his own hands now, enjoying the textured chew of the coagulated gore coating them, “I should stop”.

A 'tch' escapes her, lips pursing into a wry smile, ❝ Fuck, you just missed it. But, hang on. I got something special for you. ❞ Keep it in your pants, it's not like that.

Instead, she rummages through her jacket pocket, ❝ Hope I didn't drop it-Oop, there it is. ❞

The sun had set, the night come anew, and with it woke the creature whose hunger was never fully satisfied. Rising out of the cramped confines of his daytime seclusion, Severen savors the first breath of fresh air. He clambers out of their stolen accommodations ahead of the others, planning to be out the longest; a feeling of particular insatiability surfacing tonight. He doesn’t spare the rest any words—this time is his own—and he has every intention to make the most of it. 

They parked themselves within the city limits, a risky venture, but Severen is glad for it; heady with the smell of fresh game none the wiser. There is a sharp smell to the wet streets, the heat dissipating in the cool dark. His spurs chime in time with the heavy click of his boots on the slick pavement.

The monster is out to prowl.

first time nsfw sentence  starters !

pls have mercy. ..