hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive
Atrox has spent too much of his life being broken—and breaking others—to hold her shattered pieces against her. He’s known her heart from the start and never shied from it. He did not begrudge her her secrets or wish to change her because it was that which she was that drew him to her in the first place. He loved the shadows in her impossibly dark eyes. The promise in the curve of her mouth. The heady mix of innocent and sin that she seemed alone in being able to balance—a balm and a stimulant all at once.
So he just laughs at her accusal of lying, shaking his scarred head. “Indeed, you are a terrible bore,” he bites out from fanged mouth, nipping at her. “It’s a miracle I didn’t walk straight into the lake.” Another rumble in his chest, this time more predator in nature. “If I had to hear about our children one more time, I don’t know if I would have survived it.” A roll of his eyes and another nip at her neck.
He gladly accepts her when she collapses to his pressure and loses himself in the moment, forgetting to sass or snark at her when the emotions well up in his empty chest. He growls at her own explorations, both reactionary and guiding, never one to shy away from the pleasure that exists between them. A shudder races down in his spine, something carnal roaring to life, but he dampens it for now, curious enough about her current state to deny himself the more immediate desires that spring to mind.
“Have you tried exploring it?” he asks, sharp yellow eyes glancing over her—taking note of all the tiny ways in which she was different. His lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “Concentrate, love,” he whispers, gently coaxing her. “Find your way down that rope. Let’s see what’s at the other end.”
