#sweets1n

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃 :    send me a 👀 + a question and my muse has to answer honestly. [ ... ] # 𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃  :  @sweets1n

“  i  want  you  to  be  safe.  i  want  you  to  be  somewhere  i  can  keep  my  eyes  on  you.  ”  that's  the  truth  —   or  at  least  the  part  she  needs  to  hear.  he  swallows  down  what  happens  to  him  every  time  she  walks  into  that  damn  club.  every  night  he  can't be there  to  take care of her.  he  won't  say  how  the  thought  of  drunk assholes with dead eyes staring at her  twists  his  guts  into  knots.  slobbering  all  over  themselves,  throwing  cash  like  they're  buying  a  piece  of  her…    —   it  makes  his  hands  clench.  makes  his  jaw  lock  up  'til  it  hurts.  they  look  at  her  like  she's  for  sale.  like  she  doesn't  belong  to  someone. 

     the heavy clunk of laurie's booted foot gives her presence upstairs away before the distant croon of her singing voice, the same that'd drawn the shape in like a telltale heart when she'd turned her back to him on lampkin lane. the sound stills him again, attention drawn from the picture frame of laurie in his hand. an exhale escapes when he replaces the frame's spot on its shelf with the rusted gun that she'd shot him in the face with, still loaded. an accumulation that's ended in a final gift. an offering.

he  follows  the  trail  from  his  office  like  some  cartoon  dog,     lifted  right  off  his  feet  by  the  mouthwatering  scent  curling  through  the  air,     tugging  him  in  like  a  hook  through  the  chest.     that’s  when  he  finds  her  -  standing  barefoot  at  the  stove,     stirring  up  something  that  smells  both  heavenly  and  sinful  all  at  once,     and  looking  good  enough  to  eat  herself.     maybe  this  is  how  he  likes  her  best;     nothing  but  a  t-shirt  and  underwear,     her  brown  hair  twisted  into  a  messy  bun,    hips  swaying  gently  to  the  record  spinning  in  the  other  room.

his  hands  find  her  slowly,    reverently.     his  taller  frame  folding  around  her  from  behind,     tattooed  arms  slipping  around  her  waist  like  he’s  meant  to  live  there,     and  he  is.    his  chin  rests  against  the  soft  curve  of  her  shoulder,     and  he  hums  low  against  her  skin,     matching  the  tune  she  moves  to  -  wild  horses  by  the  sundays,     crackling  warm  and  familiar  like  an  old  love  letter  as  they  dance  to  it  there  in  the  kitchen.

his  lips  find  her  next,     soft  and  slow,     brushing  kisses  down  from  the  shell  of  her  ear  to  the  column  of  her  neck  ;   a  trail  of  heat  in  their  wake.    his  hands   can't  help  but  dip  beneath  the  hem  of  her  shirt,  fingers  cool  and  ringed  and  wandering.     the  warmth  of  her  skin  blooms  beneath  his  touch  like  something  holy.     goosebumps  follow  wherever  he  goes,     rising  in  delicate  shivers  over  the  soft  tan  of  her  belly.    he  touches  her  like  she’s  marble,    carves  her  out  with  aching  patience  -  the  venus  de  milo  with  flour  on  her  cheek.   hips.   ribs.   the  full,    perfect  softness  of  her  chest.

“wild  horses…”        he  murmurs  against  her  jaw,     voice  all  smoke  and  worship,     hands  trailing  back  down  in  reverse  like  he  can’t  bear  to  let  go  just  yet.       “couldn’t  keep  me  away…”

❛ — dex, baby, focus on me. ❜ slow, sweet honey of her voice drifts between each kiss. she can taste his mood on her tongue, feel the thunderous rhythm of his heart beneath her gentle palm. a slow writhe of hips taunting him in a private dance meant for no one else. forehead knocked against his with an aching sort of tenderness and hitch of desperation in her breath. she wants to steal it all away, give him a place to hide inside of her. hanna pulls back, with a reluctant hum and parted lips. eyes darkened, the flimsy bit of a slip pulled up and over her head leaving her bare. his hand drawn up as she takes his thumb between her lips and into her warm mouth. her hips stutter over the swell of denim— ❛ i’m gonna take it away, my angel. just say yes, i’ll take care of you. ❜ ( Hanna Jo for Dex )

today  ,      as  it  so  happens  ,      tyler’s  gotten  himself  up  onto  the  roof  of  a  small  barn        with  the  help  of  a  little  stepladder  and  some  upper  body  strength        and  taken  a  anemometer  up  with  him  .      this  really  should  be  going  on  top  of  a  car  ,      but  he  wants  to  run  a  test  only  sheer  roof-angled  wind  can  grant  .

@sweets1n  .      “ you're  on  top  of  a  building  .  ”

hand  raises  to  shade  sun-stained  pupils  and  squinted  eyes  ,      and  his  vision  works  quick  to  note  roxi  standing  several  feet  out  on  the  ground  below  .      he  makes  no  move  to  stand  ,      with  what  angle  the  wood’s  at  ,      legs  folded  beneath  him  too  comfortably  to  pass  up  .

❝        never  seen  a  guy  on  top  of  a  building  before  ?        ❞        arm  drops  to  his  legs  with  a  single  ,      airless  bounce  .        ❝        consider  me  your  first  ,      then  .        ❞        he  gestures  to  the  side  of  the  barn  where  his  ladder  still  stands  ,      propped  and  peering  just  over  the  edge  of  the  roof  .        ❝        i  used  a  ladder  .      you  wanna  join  me  ,      or  are  you  gonna  stay  down  there  admirin’  ?        ❞

╰ ゜&. THAT'S WHIRRED UP .  /  𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 .

cigarette burns low between his fingers as he drags in the last of it, ember barely holding on. his patience burns out with it. the boys are scattered — frenchie coaxing scraps of information out of drunk wankers, kimiko prowling the room at his shoulder, mm talking to the bouncers, and hughie ... — CHRIST KNOWS. thumb taps a slow ticking rhythm against the edge of the table she's perched so neatly on, EYES DRAGGING OVER HER LIKE HE'S SIZING UP A BET ALREADY HALF-MADE. maybe she doesn't know where he is. or maybe she's just deciding how much trouble the truth's worth. he's a betting man — and if he had to put money on it, he'd say she's not as clueless as she's making out. " come on, love. DON'T YOU PLAY DUMB WITH ME. you and i both know you know what happens here better than the rest of the lot working this place. "

LOADING FILE . . . : / / prompt. [ status : clearing out inbox. ]  ↳ @sweets1n

the heat is a physical weight, a thick soup of sweat, sex, and a spot of dipsomania for added measure. his vision is a blur of strobe lights and shifting shadows, but the vibration of the heavy bass line offers a constant grounding pulse felt within his very marrow. this is where he thrives, where he wants to disappear to upon all hours of the day, falling deep into this hollowed out trace where the noise outside is finally louder than the dissonance in his head.

a hand reaches out in search for his glass, but finds a tall drink of water awaiting his palm instead. and that's when his mind blearily catches up with itself, muscling through the fog to make him realize that oh, he had come here with someone. or, perhaps she was someone he had just met tonight? it was difficult for him to say at this point.

regardless of who she was to him, the sudden warmth of her body flush against his own catches him off guard. as she pulls him down to her level and the soft caress of her voice burns the outer shell of his ear, he finds himself leaning into the contact, slender fingers instinctively looping around her waist just above the flair of her hip to steady them both.