COLT
Voracious as she is for the euphoria of soaring with him, she doesn’t mind the slowing either. With even less protection than before, stripped for a dip in the sea instead of barebacking the cosmos, she is toing the line of a different sort of mistake. Skin hums with a warmth ready to break into fire where it adheres to the wet of his hair, and she can safely say she's never laid herself so bare for such a wild ride before.
As he halts, she leans into her arms as she presses them against his shoulders, stiffening with the shift of weight, ready to hop off—and suddenly those shoulders aren't there. A yelp breaks free as she drops, the moment utterly brief before he has her again, just long enough to turn her stomach. "Gods damnit, Ves," she chokes out, exasperated—and completely charmed off her ass as he swaddles her in darkness, the quiet kind on a summer evening that buzzes with fireflies and long talks on the porch with old friends. It's secure and soothing, empty of all the nefarious terrors one might normally find in the murk.
Still positioned to ride, she settles upon the wet sand on her knees too, held steady with the firm press of his hands. She's barely back in the grasp of the ground's gravity before his hand slips against her face, so tender she leans into it like it can carry all of her, all of this feeling that's building in her for him. It's nothing like the last time he reached for her head, just gentle and warm—trusted. Craved. The heat from the race pours off his palm like a stream, his pulse alive where their skin meets, a furious beat that he seems to contain when he claims her mouth again.
Instead of intensity, it's soft, a delicate brush that could break at any moment. Not timid—she doubts he even knows what that is—but waiting. She presses back into it, one hand flexing against his chest, the other sliding against his hair, so akin to threading into his mane. Where he's patient, she's insistent. Around them the sea slips up, would eventually creep higher and lick against her feet, but it could pull them under for all she cares in this moment. She'd drown with him, if that's what it took to not let go of this. "I thought you told me not to fall head over heels," she accuses softly, the edge of her nose pressed against his.
As he halts, she leans into her arms as she presses them against his shoulders, stiffening with the shift of weight, ready to hop off—and suddenly those shoulders aren't there. A yelp breaks free as she drops, the moment utterly brief before he has her again, just long enough to turn her stomach. "Gods damnit, Ves," she chokes out, exasperated—and completely charmed off her ass as he swaddles her in darkness, the quiet kind on a summer evening that buzzes with fireflies and long talks on the porch with old friends. It's secure and soothing, empty of all the nefarious terrors one might normally find in the murk.
Still positioned to ride, she settles upon the wet sand on her knees too, held steady with the firm press of his hands. She's barely back in the grasp of the ground's gravity before his hand slips against her face, so tender she leans into it like it can carry all of her, all of this feeling that's building in her for him. It's nothing like the last time he reached for her head, just gentle and warm—trusted. Craved. The heat from the race pours off his palm like a stream, his pulse alive where their skin meets, a furious beat that he seems to contain when he claims her mouth again.
Instead of intensity, it's soft, a delicate brush that could break at any moment. Not timid—she doubts he even knows what that is—but waiting. She presses back into it, one hand flexing against his chest, the other sliding against his hair, so akin to threading into his mane. Where he's patient, she's insistent. Around them the sea slips up, would eventually creep higher and lick against her feet, but it could pull them under for all she cares in this moment. She'd drown with him, if that's what it took to not let go of this. "I thought you told me not to fall head over heels," she accuses softly, the edge of her nose pressed against his.
Wild horse out the gate
Yeah your heart about to break
She the type of woman that gon' make you lose control
She something wild, you might need a lasso
Yeah your heart about to break
She the type of woman that gon' make you lose control
She something wild, you might need a lasso
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
