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her. A callousness crawled over Damien’s features. “If either of you touch her,” he said, voice so cold even Amma shivered, “I will slice off whatever you did it with and shove it down the other one’s throat. Understood?” Both beings took a long step backward.
he would have liked to adjust the tightness in his breeches if she’d just give him one or seven more inches of space between them, but she insisted on being right up against him, so he instead tried to conjure the least attractive image he possibly could in his mind. “How many orgies have you been in?” Well, that wasn’t going to do it. “I’ve, uh…lost count?” Amma’s brow narrowed, and while that had clearly been the wrong answer, at least the look she gave him would help his trouser situation.
there was something appealing about not entirely understanding the prophecy. That appealing thing was hope, of course, but feelings were to Damien as object permanence was to an infant—confusing, slightly frightening, and likely to inspire tantrums. But Amma wanted him to understand the prophecy, and Damien wanted to give her exactly what she wanted—a desire that had long surpassed dangerous and toppled right over into completely reckless.
Even knowing he was on a dark quest for the Grand Order of Dread and that he intended to free his demon father and destroy the realm, she still tried to take a peek at his cock, at the very least, and that was something.
uncrossed her arms and legs to lean forward and look down on him, shocked. No, of course, she wouldn’t expect this, but then, if he’d ever worked up the courage to tell her the absolute torment her presence had been waging inside him, it would never have been a surprise to find him on his knees for her.
Amma pressed a kiss to his lips that made him forget dragons even existed. He melted into it, limbs going weak as fear was chased out of him by flaring passion. When she pulled back, her eyes were steely. “Come back so I can do more of that.” “Yes, Your Majesty,” he breathed, and then was unceremoniously bonked on the head by the tiny goblin’s weapon.
Perhaps there was no moment, nothing that defined the lines between loathing and tolerance, friendship and love, but there he stood, incapable of stepping backward once they’d been crossed. He told her he wanted to be consumed, but he already had been, his ensnarement as permanent as the noxscura that ran through his veins. It may have not been in the way that humans were meant to, but he loved her.
“So, you thought I should just live a life entirely devoid of love rather than risk me being disappointed in your parenting? That’s kind of fucked up.” “Come on, son, I already said it was shameful!” Damien huffed. Now wasn’t the time, really. “Fine, but I never thought you didn’t…” “Yeah, well,”—Zagadoth snorted out a laugh—“turns out you’re incredibly easy to love, kiddo.”
She was covered in gore, hand prints of blood on her face, hair a mess, ragged circles under her eyes, and she was the most beautiful and powerful thing he’d ever seen.
