nonsexual acts of intimacy - select from the following for my muse to respond to:
♟:Patching up a wound
lemonheadedsucka
Norma stood there, applying bandages to a gash on the man’s back. She knew that she probably shouldn’t be helping this man, figuring that someone had to of inflicted this on him. She couldn’t just ignore him though. It was part of her instinct to help.
Paranoia setting in, she peeked back over her shoulder to the door to the motel room. Something told her that they were being watched. She just couldn’t see anyone out there.
“How the hell did you manage to get an injury like this?” She questioned, her face contorted to match the confusion and disgust in her voice.
five times fucked { IS IT TOO LATE FOR THIS YET OR??? }
Five Times Our Muses Screwed || lemonheadedsucka
V. The girls all knew that when patches from another charter showed up at the strip club, they were to be treated like royalty, and tonight was no exception. The Tacoma charter was in Vegas for something- no one bothered to explain the club’s comings and going to strippers and sweetbutts- and what had started as an average night had quickly devolved into one of the Vegas charter’s infamous parties. She had bounced around a few laps, but ultimately had landed on the lap of a guy who’s name was Cossack or Kerouac or something, she couldn’t remember, and it was loud, and she was sure that he wasn’t going to remember that her name was Summer- not that it was, but that was the name she used when she was dancing. And it wasn’t really any surprise when she dragged him off to one of the rooms upstairs at the club, that he went with her willingly- old ladies back home were eaily forgotten on the road, and in the arms of a girl like Wendy, and if he had one, if he had a life back there, back home, he wasn’t thinking about it as he watched her ride him, her nails sliding along his chest, reckless grin on her lips as the bed knocking into the wall jostled the nightstand, empty bottles on it clanking together, falling onto the floor, breaking, forgotten until stepped on in the morning.
IV. He’d been staying with her for awhile, she’d been...taking care of him, keeping him sober, keeping him clean, which meant she was staying clean- a struggle she was keeping from him, but one eased by the need to take care of someone else. And she wasn’t sure if he was ever going to be ok, if he was ever really going to get over Sandie, but he seemed to be getting better, and the night he pulled her onto his lap again, arms wrapped around her middle, holding her back against his chest, his lips on her neck, she knew that something had changed, that something had finally clicked in his head.
The was nothing gentle or sweet about it- he poured his sadness into it, his hurt, and she took all of it- it was the one thing she was actually good at. His voice was a growl, hers breathless and loud, as always, and they managed to knock apart half the room, leaving a mess for her to pick up in the morning, after she woke up to find that he was gone.
III. Her hold on her sobriety was tenuous at best, on the verge of cracking at any moment. She knew that the longer she paced alone in her house, in the house Jax had left her in, the empty space suffocating her, that she was more and more likely to relapse. There was no one in Charming who might be willing to help her, she wasn’t willing to call or go back home, and with no one else to turn to, she’d finally sent a desperate text to the one person left who might help her.
She wasn’t expecting him to actually show up, much less in his kutte, on his bike, in the middle of the day, bold as brass, but there he’d been and the sight of him almost made her burst into tears, falling into his arms, clinging to him. And it was strange, the situation twisted around, letting him take care of her, keeping her from relapsing, leaning on him. And she knew he was going to get crap from his charter, from Jax, from everyone, for taking care of her, and that guilt weighed on her, tugging at her, making it harder and harder to keep her focus.
And she knew she shouldn’t, he was being so good, sleeping on the sofa, keeping his distance, but in the dark one night, she couldn’t take the loneliness anymore, wandering out into the living room, curling up with him on the sofa, knowing that one thing would turn into another, it always did with them, and she’d missed him, pulling him close, legs wrapped around him, nails on his back, all heat and lust.
He drove her to a rehab in the morning, checking her in, promising he’d be there when she got out.
He wasn’t. But Jax was.
II. She hadn’t had anything to do with the club in years- actually years, time flying by, life taking over- and she had no idea he was even in town until she ran into him. She was out shopping, and he seemed to be, too. They had an actual conversation on the street, about meetings and life, and her boy- he’d seen Abel just a few days earlier.
A few nights later, she met him at a bar, and although both of them knew that his getting involved with her was a mistake, neither of them could help themselves, both of them were addicts, and she was so easily addicted to the feel of his hands on her skin, the way he moved against her, the low rumble of his voice as he pinned her to the wall outside the bar, reminding her to be quiet, that the last thing either of them needed was to get caught fucking in an alley, which only made her laugh, the sound echoing off the walls of the alley far louder than her moans had.
I. "I brought pizza.”
She knew she should have called, but she hadn’t been sure if she’d show up on his doorstep, or not, nervous about crowding him, knowing Jax had given the blond a hard time about her hanging around. But the look on his face when he opened the door and saw her standing there with pizza and beer made her stomach flip a little.
It was almost domestic, almost a date, snuggled on his sofa, watching movies, devouring pizza, drinking their way through a sixpack. And if her hands wandered, if his hands wandered, well, it was only to be expected, one thing leading to another until she was braced against the back of the sofa, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her back onto him, his other hand buried between her thighs, pushing her over the edge, again and again, and she knew they were only getting started.
Tig claws his way out like there’s an entire army of elephants sitting on his chest and his eyelids, on his limbs, making everything practically impossible, but eventually he manages. Opens his eyes to stare, still largely unfocused, at the room around him, eventually finding a familiar form asleep in a chair next to the bed. He can hear the beeping, smells antiseptic, and he doesn’t need to ask where the hell he is.
It takes him a couple tries before he can find his voice, and his eyelids are still impossibly heavy, so he closes his eyes again but at least he’s awake. Coughs a couple times to try to clear some of the sand it feels like is caught in his throat.
“If you’re gonna watch me sleep, Kozzy, you should probably stay awake.”
You know, if your dad ever finds out about you and Kozik, he'll kill him without a second thought.
What about me an’ Kozik? Won’t even kiss me, he’s so scared o’ my Daddy. ‘Sides, like I told ‘im, only way he’s gonna find out’s if someone tells ‘im, an’ I know how to keep a secret.
Send me “’ey baby” for my muses reaction to yours being drunk out of their mind.
lemonheadedsucka
Norma looked up to the man as he sat near her in the bar. She instantly froze, looking to him. It felt as though her heart stopped. “What do you want?” She coldly asked.
