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(my dear you gave me a million of these and ily but i’m just going with hand holding) 

 Nick’s hands are broad, his fingers and the upper ridge of his palm rough with callouses. They are uncertain, but steady. He’s hesitant to reach out, but when he grabs onto something it would take all of Heaven and Earth collapsing to make him let go. There’s a small scar on the outer curve of his thumb that he claims to have gotten at the bar, but the story ranges from a slip of the hand while slicing limes to shrapnel from a burst keg to a patron convincing him to play something called ‘Knife Game’ that sounds horribly dangerous and yet easily something that Nick could be corralled into playing after one too many tequila shots. It stands out as a sharp white line on his skin, and when Nick gets nervous he has a tendency to rub at it with the uneven edge of his thumbnail. 

 Without saying anything, Jess reaches out for his hand, lying empty on the couch cushion between them, a barely-there brush of her knuckles against the back of his hand. Nick’s fingers twitch at her touch, but then he turns his hand out towards her, palm up to the ceiling in offering, his attention still on the movie playing on the tv. She gently traces the pad of her index finger down the wobble of his life line, the faint ghost of his fate line, the deep ridge of his love line split just beneath his middle finger. 

Nick’s fingers curl back towards his palm, and Jess takes her cue to draw her hand back to the safety of her lap. Her own fingers are slim, often regarded as dainty despite her protests otherwise. The cherry red polish on her nails is starting to chip, and Jess picks at the cuticle of her index finger in an attempt to still the perpetual nervous tremble of her hands as she turns her attention back to the movie. 

After a drawn-out moment, Nick’s hand nudges against hers. Jess’ head spins on its axis to look at him in surprise, but Nick’s attention is still firmly fixed on the tv, his face decidedly neutral even as his hand wraps around her own. She allows the gesture, lets Nick pull her hand back into the space between them, his hand resting beneath hers, firm and steady as he supports the slight weight. Jess pulls her lower lip between her teeth, counting out fifteen steady thumps of her heart before slowly knitting their fingers together with a hesitant squeeze. 

 Out of the corner of her eye, Jess catches Nick giving her a covert glance, the corner of his mouth tugged upwards and a shimmer of something in the way he looks at her that makes Jess’ heart stutter as she bites back a grin of her own.

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I think about the night I spilled water all over our bed so often. Vase full of flowers you’d bought me scattered and soggy on the sheets. We danced in the laundry room while the blankets dried and I swear I’ve never felt so loved. I’ll spend forever thankful for you, babygirl.

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God, even on the hard days she makes me feel so content. This is the kind of love they write stories about.

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hi babe! I hope you don’t mind there’s just a wee bit of angst in this one 😇 I was FEELING the EMOTIONS


you’d been staring at him for minutes upon minutes, from your place at the foot of the bed. simply watching him sleep, the steady rising and falling of his chest. the cute, little way his brows knit together ever so often, and the way those golden locks lay in a chaotic halo against the crisp, white pillowcase beneath him.

facing him, you sit with your legs criss-crossed, fingers on one hand toying with your toe just beneath your knee; a nervous tick you’d had since you were young. your other arm supports you for the most part, elbow resting upon your thigh so your chin lay against your palm.

it was strange, to say the least, having him back. he’d been gone so long that you’d forgotten the warmth of his embrace, his smell, and that voice in the back of your mind that always chimed in when you were wrapped in his arms, “You’re safe.” it whispers. where was that voice, now? why was it silent in your bedroom, your brows furrowed as you admire your lover while he rests? even something as mundane as the position of his body seemed wrong, you noted.

your eyes trail along the outline of his figure. his legs want to bunch up, knees daring to jut upwards towards his chest. it was a familiar position, one that he took in bus and airplane seats when he would try to find a comfortable way to sleep while also keeping to himself. how often had he slept in such a position while away that it would become habit, you wonder. tightly pursed lips turn downwards in concern as one knee bounces; the realization of the stillness in the room dawning on you. as soon as the two of you stepped foot in your home, he’d gone straight to bed, and here he was still sleeping hours later. you could understand he was exhausted, but as you sit here, looking over every inch of the man you love, you consider the knot tightening in your stomach. was he really home? in this moment, in the dimmed room, you could reach out and touch him if you wanted, shower him with kisses or wrap his strong arms around you and cuddle up close to his chest. he was right in front of you, but at the same time, he still felt miles apart; oceans, even.

was it your ego that was damaged the moment he didn’t toss you on to the bed and tear your clothes off, or was it the fact that you’d had too much time alone? too much time for your brain to concoct incredulous expectations. Sav was human, after all, and he was more than overworked, as you’d seen personally. there would be time for love making, time for talking, and time that he would make for you. he always had before. you just wished he could do so now, that you could wave your hand and his exhaustion would dissipate, his eyelids would part, and he would be here with you again.

as if the universe had heard your silent plea, the man shifts, arms raising above his head to stretch as he stirs. you blink several times the very moment his cerulean pair meets yours, a dusty rosé tint rising within the apples of your cheeks. what do you say when you’re caught staring at someone while they sleep? luckily, you didn’t have to come up with something, for it was he who spoke first. “Hi, pretty girl.”

“Hi.” you loathed the timid edge on your voice, the tone only one octave higher than a whisper.

the bass player is all sleepy-eyes and dazed grins as he pulls himself into a sitting position, tucking his legs up under him in a similar fashion to your own, right in front of you, so close that his knees graze yours. “I know that look,” he starts, one palm fleeing to bat at his helplessly untamed mane, the other gliding along the blanket to catch yours and halt your anxious fiddling. “What’s on your mind?”

you could tell him. right now. you could take a deep breath, pour your heart and soul out to him, and you knew he’d listen, accept your irrational fear of losing him, and remind you that he was yours. but, what would be the point? the idea of only burdening him with more stress than he was already feeling caused a pang of guilt in your chest, twisting like a knife. instead, you smile, fingertips so desperate to feel his warmth that they act of their own volition. the soft pads gliding along his cheekbone and downwards to his jaw, where they trace the line with expert precision, only careening upwards again to caress his lips. the familiarity of each curve of the pair still unable to keep the sparkle of awe from your hues. every time you touched him, admired him, it was as if you were doing so for the first time all over again. he never ceased to amaze you. “I missed you, that’s all.” you whisper, inching even closer to him.

the smile that overtakes his features, though still hazy, is enough to rob you of your breath, and his couplet takes over shortly after, leaning forward to lock your lips in a loving embrace. the kiss is more than enough to ease prior anxieties; any doubt in your mind about Rick being present with you evaporates instantaneously, the proximity of your bodies and souls becoming too close to allow any room for uncertainties. “I missed you, too,” words slightly slurred, his lips remain upon yours, only partially forming the words. “I thought about you every morning and every night. I realized that I can’t do that again. I mean, how am I supposed to focus on the shows when I can’t keep you out of my mind, baby?”

chaste pecks shower the tip of your nose and your cheeks before he presses his forehead to yours. aquamarine pours into your eyes, and you were certain you could get lost within his gaze forever and never miss the outside world. “Next time you’re coming with me, eh?” one hand raising, his fingers are all curled except for his pinky, jutted out towards you, and his teeth sink into his supple, lower lip.

the softest of giggles bubbles out from your throat, never even hesitating to hook your pinky with his own in a tight promise. “Thought you’d never ask, Savage.”

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me at 4 am but realizing I gotta turn around and be in work again hella early tomorrow 👁👁 BUT insp hit Haärd


the tear that escapes your duct does so, not from agony or sadness, but an override of your functions; an abundance of ecstasy rendering you incapable of keeping them at bay any longer. saline stream couples with a sultry swear as it falls from your swollen lips, breathy and wanton, before you feel one powerful palm pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you downward.

your chest connects with the mattress first, resting your cheek against the sheet, eyelids fluttering. the bass player is ruthless as he ruts against you, a desperate and primal form of chasing his release, which must’ve resided within the deepest portion of you, you decided, by how he buries himself to the hilt in your body over and over. even your thighs seem to cower at his presence, visibly vibrating with each, earth-shattering thrust of his hips.

“Holy f-fucking shit…” your words seem to ride upon the same wave as his aggression, voice dipping and raising in tandem with his rhythm, trailing off into a nonsensical squeak the very second you feel the magic of his fingertips sliding against your neglected button. you nearly come out of your skin the moment he strums you. “Fuck me!”

Sav’s other hand is quick to find the crown of your head, fingers delving into your sweat-dampened roots. you can feel the rest of his weight following that of his hand, abdomen lain against your back, though his hips seem to be powered by motor, how his decimation of your insides seems to be ceaseless. it’s only within this moment that you can hear his breathing, ragged and heavy, and feel the warmth of said breath upon the shell of your ear. “For such a pretty, little thing, your mouth is fucking filthy.” his voice follows, husky and degrading. you don’t care, for the pounding he’s giving you is much too good to even act offended. in fact, you do the opposite. “But that cute, little cunt is nice and tight. The warmest I’ve felt in a long time.” arching your back so dramatically you feel as though it might snap in half with any of Sav’s aggressive bucking, you coo in response, your tongue darting out to dance along the surface of your bottom tier.

“You gonna teach me some manners, Mister Savage?” purring, you rotate your hips in order to punctuate the question with as much sensation as you can provide him without disrupting the pace set by the man in charge. his palm careens against your movements, skilled fingers chasing your swollen clitoris in order to prolong his ruthless attack upon you. not a moment would pass that you weren’t quivering beneath him, it seemed.

“We’d be here all year ‘round if that were the case, love.” its Joe that speaks, and for that minute you had forgotten he was also present. you had been so locked within the passion Sav was providing, blinded by pleasure, that the man whose legs you lay between had gone completely overlooked. his feet parallel to your face, he lounges comfortably against the headboard, stroking himself to the visage of his band mate ruining another pretty, young thing.

your teeth sink into the aching lower portion of your couplet as your hues coruscate over the display, heavy-lidded but following each ascension, giving his performance as much of your attention that you could afford (granted, the bassist at your back was more than demanding of most of it).

“Or, perhaps, I could stuff your little mouth so full you can’t speak, eh?”

the invitation is more than enough, you decide, and you lurch forward, palms gliding along the smoothness of the sheets in order to reach his thighs and pull yourself closer. your mouth was already watering at the anticipation of tasting Joe’s rawest flavor. you would’ve drooled if your lips hadn’t pursed moments later; when you feel Sav’s grip within your tendrils tightening, abruptly so, and hauling you back. your treasure seems miles away as you’re forced on to your knees, though quivering and unstable. you know you’re going nowhere, however, because you can feel the bassist’s torso still taut and pressed to your back, the ruthless yanking on your tender tresses coaxing a series of frustrated whimpers, and twisting you up tighter against him. the crane of your neck is in such a way that you peer up at his face, brows knit together and tight-lipped. hyper-focused on fucking you into oblivion. from such an angle, the man reaches a new depth within you, rather forcefully, and your walls flutter around the thickness of his intruder. bulging veins massage your interior as you hug him tighter than you’re sure he’s ever felt, if his response is any indication. a thick, lusty growl emitted, the hand at your temple seems to quicken, encircling your clit with reckless abandon, and his thrusts becoming so wild that each one is punctuated by a helpless cry clawing its way from your throat. rapid firing until your moans string together into one, shaking song of hopeless nirvana.

“Not on your life, Elliot,” Sav barks, though pleasure was certainly sinking into his own voice, as it begins to waver ever-slightly. “ ‘m going to ruin this one proper. You can have your turn once I’m done, and my cum is leaking from every pretty, sensitive hole she has.” as if to add emphasis and assert himself, his palm comes down against your slick skin with a firm thwack, a slap that urges your whole body to react. if you could’ve wriggled free, you would’ve climbed the length of him, however there was little to be done except for squirm against the strength of his hold, eyes wide as saucers and jaw slack. the sounds that leave your open mouth is nothing short of babbling, gibberish.

although he’d just been denied any release in sight, the vocalist only smirks, stroking himself slower, as if taunting himself in the process, but his brow quirks, and he stares at you, hard. “What a spoiled, little girl you are,” he coos, the velvety muscle within his mouth seeming to trace the syllables on his lips. “Just when you think you’re not going to be able to take any more, when you’re completely fuckin’ beat from Sav’s cock drivin’ ‘ya up the wall, I’m gonna make you sit pretty on my big dick.”

you can only nod, your words stolen by the man at your back and the ruthless abuse of your body he inflicts. you realize that you don’t care if you’re there all night, if you have to take an Uber from this fancy hotel in the morning wearing your cum-stained, ripped club dress. you don’t care if everyone in the lobby knows that the girl stumbling out of the elevator in a daze just had her brains fucked out by two men more than twice her age. no, nothing mattered, except for pleasing them both. right now.

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