there was a garden of evil in the palm of my hand; castile

[sochi]

Sochi

darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
maybe you need me or maybe you don't

What lives between them is wild, primal. She is not a thing to be owned, and she has no desire to own. She has no interest in trying to tie Castile down—in trying to become his everything. She has enough on her mind, enough stirring in her heart; she cannot be bothered to hand it over, to monitor her behavior, to suddenly cut loose her independence and become anchored to him. It is a relief that he doesn’t ask that of her (such a request would end poorly should he try). It is a relief he doesn’t offer it.

Instead they come together in mutual respect.

Mutual understanding.

Mutual heat.

She doesn’t react to his admittance of a son wandering the island, just nods her head. It made sense that he would have other children and she feels no particular pain in her heart to hear of it. “I have seen several children roaming the island. I am sure that he will find some entertainment.” Her face takes a turn for the mischievous, silver eyes sparking as her gaze roams to the horizon. “Although he should have his guard up should Reia find him first.” She sneaks a glance back to him. “She is quite the huntress.”

Not that she doesn’t think any of Castile’s children would have trouble guarding themselves.

But she still felt particular pride at the ferocity Reia displayed from such a young age.

So much strength. So much independence.

But thoughts of children, of anything but this moment, evaporate as he helps close the distance. It is a primal hunger that stirs in her now as the smoke leaves him, as he accepts the touch of her teeth to his flesh. Something purrs in her chest as his admission and she presses into him, her scarred chest against his own, his teeth making their way down the curve of her neck. “You should take what is yours.” Her teeth become sharper, the edges grazing his flesh but not making a move to puncture. “Hunters do not ask.”

playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf

@[Castile]