Firefly Ravine no one wearing a crown comes in the name of peace

tl;dr the freak emerges from the depths of our baking babyg & her writer delights in her utter 24/7 embarrassment.

Through his wry words, the Lady had, a bit distractedly, began to admire observe the snowfrosted male before her with the same shamelessness that one leans towards with paintings. He was of an elegant make, she liked to think; the ashen smatterings upon his silvered pelt, ferried upon willowy-taut limbs and hefty, industrious paws that could soothe her aching heart — conquer it, crush it, had it not belonged to another warrior.

”Damn, indeed—“ she murmured, more to herself than anything. It was only when her glimmering argent melded into the liquid gold of Jagtooth’s own that she sputtered; an unprecedented mortification pinking her to her very soul as she squeaked eloquently, ”Damn ze world, yes, for its cruelty. Ah, a-ahm— it is-“ It’s what? The cruelty of damning her with encounters with heart-stopping, soul-shivering males? The way her stars cackled at her utter humiliation? She promptly tongued her way into self-loathing, flustered silence; entirely intent on observing her pale paws.

The fervor in which followed as a heady shiver was not unlike what she’d felt for Wintersbane, long before she was shepherded to the cliffs by his gracious guidance. It was the same, languid and molten want that’d murmured under her skin for Sanguinis — and for Stigmata, truth be told. Most of all, it simpered to her in a different manner than which Verx made love to her; fortunately, this was not the manner which she needed her noapte to enshroud her, claim her soul, claim all of her.

Still, it frightened her. This sort in which she fidgeted before Jagtooth, before those others, was entirely in a way where she ached to be taken for their sole pleasure; enacting as some divine partaking for all that they’d sinned—

Children. She was to give life to noapte’s children.

She shouldn’t regard any male but him in such a way. And yet, the flutter in her breast proved adamant. It was so strenuous to turn the cheeks which stung with shame; to ignore that shiver mouthing up her hips that almost made her whimper. Tail aquiver, she instead turned from it, in the guise of beckoning her newfound companion in following her. Turned, trembling like the feather he deemed her as. All the while, Aure drew her gossamer veil of ignorance evermore about her; please, not yet. Not yet.

When she returned to cliffs, she wanted to remind her dark, indolently dark dragostea of every which way and reason he was Home. Needed to, before she brought ruin to herself by these other-worldly pregnant horomones; before the ravine found no solace from her. ...But she would never do such a thing to her Home, no matter what she felt. Home. Home. How long had it been since she’d given herself to Home, and him to her? This had to be what it was from; this immoral, aching and long-suppressed arousal.