COLT
Usually, I ain't the type to stay up all damn night
Thinkin' 'bout someone else
It's hard to be fine when your heart's on the line
And the truth is I'm goin' through hell
Thinkin' 'bout someone else
It's hard to be fine when your heart's on the line
And the truth is I'm goin' through hell
The ground is cold against her back, never fully warmed by the Leafchange sun, but she hardly notices—every nerve is too busy burning for him. When his fingers spill into hers, stretching and pinning her into something he could ravish wholly, it's all she can do to curl her nails into the strain of his knuckles as another part of her catches on him until it's all a roar. Not usually the sort to dip into kerosene and hand someone else the matches, for him she feels like she could surrender everything, wants to even.
With her whole body strung tight, baring herself wide open for him, she's begging him to take every last part of her. Gods help her, he does just that.
Her inhale is sharp, difficult to manage something as basic as breath when every part of her is clenching around the steady fill of him. Wanting him had been an ache, but having him strips everything from her until she's raw, dependent on every thrust as if that's her pulse. At the torn sound of her name, her gaze flutters up through her lashes, hazy with heat. It's liquid now, her stare, long since melted, and it washes over constellations beading with sweat and the sharp blue of a man in a rare state. It makes her greedy for more, eager to keep him this wild, just as tangled up as she is.
“Ves—don’t stop—never stop—” she rasps, body arching under him. She's clinging, offering, every part of her chasing him like it's survival. Her hips rock up to meet him, frantic and shameless, chasing each punishing snap like she’ll perish without another. Each time he drives into her, deep enough that it rattles her marrow, a moan tears out of her, near hyperventilating with the exclamations of his name that she lets slip into the stars like they're to blame for how good this feels.
He's building something viciously delightful in her, everything else starting to blur, even him now. She's a heaving, screaming thing beneath him, the tension of this flaring pleasure like the last bit of wood setting ablaze, the entire house about to burn down.
With her whole body strung tight, baring herself wide open for him, she's begging him to take every last part of her. Gods help her, he does just that.
Her inhale is sharp, difficult to manage something as basic as breath when every part of her is clenching around the steady fill of him. Wanting him had been an ache, but having him strips everything from her until she's raw, dependent on every thrust as if that's her pulse. At the torn sound of her name, her gaze flutters up through her lashes, hazy with heat. It's liquid now, her stare, long since melted, and it washes over constellations beading with sweat and the sharp blue of a man in a rare state. It makes her greedy for more, eager to keep him this wild, just as tangled up as she is.
“Ves—don’t stop—never stop—” she rasps, body arching under him. She's clinging, offering, every part of her chasing him like it's survival. Her hips rock up to meet him, frantic and shameless, chasing each punishing snap like she’ll perish without another. Each time he drives into her, deep enough that it rattles her marrow, a moan tears out of her, near hyperventilating with the exclamations of his name that she lets slip into the stars like they're to blame for how good this feels.
He's building something viciously delightful in her, everything else starting to blur, even him now. She's a heaving, screaming thing beneath him, the tension of this flaring pleasure like the last bit of wood setting ablaze, the entire house about to burn down.
I keep it dark, I keep it quiet
But then you come around and light me up
Takin' up space like a hyphen
You're on my mind and I can't fight it
But then you come around and light me up
Takin' up space like a hyphen
You're on my mind and I can't fight it
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.
