COLT
I've been sleeping wide awake
Slow dancing 'round the cracks in the floorboards
Fighting myself while lying in a
Bed I made and can't ignore
Slow dancing 'round the cracks in the floorboards
Fighting myself while lying in a
Bed I made and can't ignore
The way he moves into her isn’t sudden so much as inevitable. It rolls through her in slow waves, every inch of her catching the heat of it and answering back. Her entire body ripples in response with a deep satisfaction that climbs through her like smoke from this low fire he's set. She tips her head back, mouth parting as though a physical plume of it might slip out. Only encouragement escapes her though, the sound a groan that strains with the adoration of every inch he gives, fading into an agreeable hum once she has all of him.
It should be a relief, having him buried in her with every sense of the word, fingers nearly bruising her thigh into the shape of pleasure. Yet, already she requires more of him. It's a senseless, incessant craving that gnaws through her, fed by every touch and passed breath, but growing larger with it too. Blessedly, he doesn't hesitate to provide.
Molding her into an angle designed to ruin her, each savage thrust of his hips reaches perfectly into the seat of her desire. It's all she can do to keep breathing, the brutal design of his pace and reach disrupting every thought and pattern in her until it's just a reality of him and little else—his heat scorching through her, his grip a brand she'd let reach her bones, the rough edge of his exhales on her skin. She lets him take her over, always has in this way, until he consumes her and leaves nothing but the bright flare of fulfillment that resonates through her like its own heartbeat.
Each drive of his body scatters her hands across him. Fingers slide through his hair, over his shoulder, down the drop of his arm and every taut muscle beneath that's straining to deliver salvation and damnation in tandem. Her other hand roams behind her over blankets and cushions, trying to grasp something solid, but everything slips before she can manage until she braces her palm flat against the arm above her head. All that’s left now is the rhythm they make together, a steady, punishing beat that swallows reason whole.
She meets him measure for measure, chasing the next collision, gathering each snap of ecstasy into a blinding pressure. It’s only motion now—pure, desperate, endless—and when her voice breaks through it’s barely a sound at all, just his name, small and wrecked and certain as the world shakes apart around them.
It should be a relief, having him buried in her with every sense of the word, fingers nearly bruising her thigh into the shape of pleasure. Yet, already she requires more of him. It's a senseless, incessant craving that gnaws through her, fed by every touch and passed breath, but growing larger with it too. Blessedly, he doesn't hesitate to provide.
Molding her into an angle designed to ruin her, each savage thrust of his hips reaches perfectly into the seat of her desire. It's all she can do to keep breathing, the brutal design of his pace and reach disrupting every thought and pattern in her until it's just a reality of him and little else—his heat scorching through her, his grip a brand she'd let reach her bones, the rough edge of his exhales on her skin. She lets him take her over, always has in this way, until he consumes her and leaves nothing but the bright flare of fulfillment that resonates through her like its own heartbeat.
Each drive of his body scatters her hands across him. Fingers slide through his hair, over his shoulder, down the drop of his arm and every taut muscle beneath that's straining to deliver salvation and damnation in tandem. Her other hand roams behind her over blankets and cushions, trying to grasp something solid, but everything slips before she can manage until she braces her palm flat against the arm above her head. All that’s left now is the rhythm they make together, a steady, punishing beat that swallows reason whole.
She meets him measure for measure, chasing the next collision, gathering each snap of ecstasy into a blinding pressure. It’s only motion now—pure, desperate, endless—and when her voice breaks through it’s barely a sound at all, just his name, small and wrecked and certain as the world shakes apart around them.
I'm tired of running from the conversations
Screaming in the silence, all alone
I'm frustrated, I can't take it
But I'll fake it, then I'll hate myself again
Screaming in the silence, all alone
I'm frustrated, I can't take it
But I'll fake it, then I'll hate myself again
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.
