COLT
It's not even a half-formed word that croaks free from her before he's smothering the confusion with an unspoken answer to each corner that he'd frayed. Not to help her braid them back together, quite the opposite. A groan unites with the corner of his mouth when he presses it there, the sound of her inevitable dissasembly as her own fingers grasp for some traction against his arms, his back, anything she can hold and trace to keep her from the threat of oblivion.
Surprise flares bright in her, a set of widened, uncertain eyes she tilts to him from the askew angle of her head against the pillow of sand. She's grown too accustomed to something like this being transactional—a weak attempt to waylay the loneliness that creeps in at night, or to placate the love she once knew into something that might remain gentle. Nothing like this, where it feels like he wants to have her in every angle of light, from sunup to sundown and all the starlit hours afterwards too, just to find his favorite moment among them.
Each touch of him against her is a tug upon her breath, brief, but stuttering until she's certain he intends to suffocate her. "Ves," she starts to plead, gathering what little air she still has control over as he sinks lower. His pause is just long enough to grant her false hope that he's finished, finally content with how thoroughly he's liquified her, something amber he could gather in his hands before it seeps into the shore.
The pause ends with his teeth to her thigh and she shudders, her pulse doubling up for a beat and roaring against her ears in competition with the sea. "Vesper!" it's barely a whisper she gives to the sand, but her body screams it loud as her hips lift in wild response with the arch of her spine. She's ablaze with a fire that hadn't quite gone out yet, the oxygen of his attention all it needed to reignite.
Surprise flares bright in her, a set of widened, uncertain eyes she tilts to him from the askew angle of her head against the pillow of sand. She's grown too accustomed to something like this being transactional—a weak attempt to waylay the loneliness that creeps in at night, or to placate the love she once knew into something that might remain gentle. Nothing like this, where it feels like he wants to have her in every angle of light, from sunup to sundown and all the starlit hours afterwards too, just to find his favorite moment among them.
Each touch of him against her is a tug upon her breath, brief, but stuttering until she's certain he intends to suffocate her. "Ves," she starts to plead, gathering what little air she still has control over as he sinks lower. His pause is just long enough to grant her false hope that he's finished, finally content with how thoroughly he's liquified her, something amber he could gather in his hands before it seeps into the shore.
The pause ends with his teeth to her thigh and she shudders, her pulse doubling up for a beat and roaring against her ears in competition with the sea. "Vesper!" it's barely a whisper she gives to the sand, but her body screams it loud as her hips lift in wild response with the arch of her spine. She's ablaze with a fire that hadn't quite gone out yet, the oxygen of his attention all it needed to reignite.
Baby, don't fall for me, I'll tell you right now
You're gonna hate me when we hit the ground
Think you're gonna fix me, think we're making progress
You'll be broken with me somewhere in the process
You're gonna hate me when we hit the ground
Think you're gonna fix me, think we're making progress
You'll be broken with me somewhere in the process
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.
