she&#x27;s a rattlesnake

his smile lingered, though smaller this time as he takes in her words. slipping into the leather of the armchair across from her, the length of his forearms pressed against tailored trousers. " so when are you going to give it up? " the half - hearted act she had seemed to wear more like a shield than an actual mask. his words lack their typical playful bite, more serious than most would assume him to be capable of. one that came with speaking for more than just her, but for himself too and the own version he'd built as a means of protection. " you're more interesting when you're not. " syllables are soft around the edges to curb what would've sounded like malice otherwise. for once, he means well.

#lux #lux x milan #connotations

the corner of her mouth threatens to lift because the sentiment that she’s interesting is perhaps one of the only compliments she’s received in years that has nothing to do with her face, her body, or the mythology meticulously constructed around both. yet it leaves behind a peculiar melancholy all the same, presuming she possessed the luxury of simply not being lux, as though the distinction was as effortless as changing out of an evening gown. she settles further into the sofa, thumb absently tracing the embroidered seam of a throw pillow. “ you say that like you don’t do the same thing, ” a quiet observation, more curious than confrontational. the effortless charm that often precedes him is gone, replaced by a candor that seems to surprise the both of them. she finally lifts her gaze to look at him, her expression softening a fraction. “ why does it matter to you ? ”

that was the issue. more so, the growing apparentness that she was unable of forgetting him. since that first night, when he'd shown her a sliver of kindness and gave her a glimpse of what seemed to be hope. that's when she had put him up on the pedestal, giving him full permission to pull the strings from above her and control this game for two. it was more addicting than anything else, his attention giving her a high unlike any other drug. and when she didn't have it? the world felt like it was collapsing in on her, her body barely capable of withstanding the lull between their time together. days filled with half - hearted distractions that seemed to only offer her fleeting moments of tranquility — between random boys, the warmth of liquor, and the shiny capsules that resided at the bottom of her purse. it still wasn't enough. " he was good. " nearly a whimper against his mouth, desperate to cling on to the little bit of even ground that they had. but when looks at her like that, she can feel herself slip off the platform entirely and back to their familiar positions. her always three steps behind him at any given moment. " kind. " muttered, her fingertips absentmindedly finding the waistband of his jeans, toying with the loops of denim achingly. " attentive. " continued on, though her mind is as far away from the other male as it could have been. he could've given her the world and it still wouldn't have been enough. not when there was a pit in her gut that resembled the shape of him. only a few months before she would have been lapping his kindness out of his hands like a stray animal, the way she had done with zeno. now, the idea of it is repulsive, too far gone to take any sweetness that didn't come with the strings attached. " but it didn't matter. " there's his checkmate, her clearing the board to give him the win without him even having to try. the version of her that had entered this conversation, confident enough to pose a desperate attempt at standing her ground now long removed. " he wasn't you. " she knows exactly what he wants to hear in that moment. her words sweet against the length of his jaw, ghosting down his neck with a twisted devotion.

#zeno #zeno x amber #connotations

his gaze lingers on her as he recognizes she’s no longer trying to win. she’s abandoned every tactic she’d relied upon before, no more jabs about sarah or lexie, no convenient distractions masquerading as arguments. all that’s left is the truth, offered to him with an almost ruinous sincerity. he wants to watch conviction settle across her features, wants to witness the precise instant she chooses him. has seen dependency before, people returning to habits that hollow them out simply because familiarity asks less of them than recovery ever could. the realization arrives that somewhere along the way, he became precisely that for her. an old memory infiltrates his mind : the weeks after the images began circulating, the trust that had lingered so openly in her eyes when she looked at him, believing he’d been one of the few who hadn’t reduced her to whispered conversations and glowing phone screens. the recollection sits beneath his ribs like an accusation, every glance of gratitude she offered always carrying a weight she was never meant to know. gaze flickers briefly toward the hand finding the waistband of his jeans, fingers slipping into familiar loops of denim like choreography they’ve rehearsed countless times before. a darker satisfaction unfurls through him at her words, how carter had possessed every quality he lacked — patience, gentleness, attentiveness — and she’d still found her way back here. back to him. his eyes close for half a beat, allowing himself that solitary second to exist in the feeling, before his hand leaves her jaw to settle against the side of her neck, the other finding her waist as he inclines his head ever so slightly into the ghost of her lips. “ you really tried. ” he’d walked through her front door with the intention of exposing another man. instead, he’d managed to extract the only confession that had ever mattered. another brick laid carefully into a foundation he continues insisting he has no intention of building. “ you wanted him to be enough. and yet .. ” you’re still here, a slight curve touching one corner of his mouth as he lets the unspoken words linger in the space between them. each kiss against the line of his jaw earns another measured step, guiding the rhythm while drawing her along until the backs of his knees meet the couch. “ i want to hear you say it again. ” he lowers himself onto the cushions without breaking the fragile thread between them, one hand spanning the curve of her waist while she settles naturally into the space between his knees. “ tell me who you came back to. ”

" don't pretend — i see right through you. "

#lux #lux x milan #connotations

the suite falls conspicuously silent once the door clicks shut, the applause replaced by the soft clatter of her earrings against the marble coffee table. one heel, then the other, as lux evaporates with practiced efficiency. a quiet incredulous laugh escapes when his voice reaches her. “ do you ? ” murmured as she crosses the room and sinks into the sofa, tucking one leg beneath herself. “ you know, people have been saying that for years. ”

deryapinar

chooses not to engage with her comment, shaking his head as chin dips, eyes resting on the floor for a few beats. the entire situation felt insane from where he stood, only a week or two earlier he would’ve never mentioned another woman’s name around her, especially one he was actively sleeping with. granted, he hadn’t as much as looked the other way for the time they spent sneaking around, their meaningless sex meaning a little too much to him. eyes catch her laugh, shifting his attention back to her figure as he narrows his gaze, moving another step closer, keeping a safe distance still. “ you wanted to catch us in the act or something? “ he grimaces, the image disturbing some of the peace that was left in some corner of his brain. of course that sounded reasonable to her, why wouldn’t it. “ i wouldn’t want to hurt you like that “ shrugs, she hadn’t asked him, but he still feels the need to make it clear. when silence falls again, he ponders, wants to ask more about her feelings. wants to hear from her mouth that she still wants him, even if her position on their relationship hasn’t changed. wants to hear how many guys she had sent back home because she couldn’t stop thinking about him. they’d haunt him, those questions. the answers fabricated by his mind would never make up for the sight of watching those bits of information coming out of her mouth. he focuses again when she speaks, knowing from the first word what she’s going to ask, an exhale of sheer frustration escaping parted mouth. doesn’t answer at first, rushing his hand through his hair instead, tongue wetting his lips as he watches her, wondering what answer she wanted from that. “ i don’t know “ it wasn’t a lie, but he was still holding back. because every scenario had played up in his head. one where his sister would be happy for them, throw a party around their relationship and everything would be fine. one where she hates it, feels betrayed by both, even moves out of their apartment because of it. one where she pretends not to hate it, one where she doesn’t even care, though that was the least likely of all. he’d gone through every type of scenario before that night, had planned a way out of every single one of them, too. “ but you didn’t, so “

#elira #elira x milo #deryapinar

his assurance settles over her with a gentleness she hadn’t prepared for. of course he wouldn’t want to hurt her like that. maybe that was the problem. some insidious, irrational part of her had hoped the weeks apart would’ve transformed him into somebody easier to resent. she could’ve survived indifference, arrogance, even cruelty. they’d once spoken an entire language composed of playful insults and theatrical exasperation, teasing one another with the effortless confidence of two people convinced nothing between them could ever fracture beyond repair. she could’ve hidden inside that familiar cadence. could’ve convinced herself he had merely become another man worth forgetting. instead, even while attempting to untangle himself from her, he’d still considered how to spare her pain. that realization arrives with quiet devastation. it’s extraordinarily difficult to stop loving a person who keeps protecting you from the very heartbreak they have every right to inflict. his answer — i don’t know — frustrates her more than certainty. there’s no absolution, no condemnation, neither yes nor no, only another unanswered question to accompany the dozens already occupying permanent residence inside her mind. she looks away, unable to withstand the weight of his gaze any longer. her arms fold loosely across herself, not as a barricade against him but as though she’s attempting to keep the disparate pieces of herself from slipping apart in plain view. absentminded fingers begin to turn the ring resting against her hand, the repetitive motion offering some semblance of composure. “ i wasn’t asking because i thought we would’ve been perfect, ” she clarifies at last before exhaling slowly, “ i’ve spent weeks trying to decide whether this was always destined to fall apart .. ” the confession lingers before she forces herself to continue, “ or whether it only did because i couldn’t be brave for five minutes. ” she instinctively takes a step toward him before stopping herself halfway. close enough to remember every occasion she’d occupied that space without hesitation, far enough to acknowledge she no longer knows whether she’s entitled to it. perhaps that is the cruelest consequence of losing a future before it ever truly began : not merely mourning the person, but mourning the certainty that once existed between two people who had never before questioned where they belonged in each other’s lives.

deryapinar

tension still haunts the inside of the vehicle even as a strange wave of calmness ghosts over the silence, both of them swallowing whatever was left of the argument as she recovers from her breakdown. eyes remain glued to the back of the driver’s seat, attempting to ease her breathing, even if she hadn't realized it went completely off the rail. leaning back to the seat, hands fold in her lap, posing like a scolded child. embarrassment painting her cheeks a shade of red, thankfully hidden by the darkness they sit in. this night had been a terrible idea from the start. from choosing a dress knowing he would be there, that he would notice her presence. wanting nothing more than that even if she still couldn’t make up the sentences in her head to actually reach him. she should’ve dropped out the event as soon as her friend confirmed his attendance, should’ve insisted on her own driver taking her home instead, should’ve kept her mouth shut for the entire drive. in the midst of all she could’ve done, there was the situation they had found themselves in, the fear that sat in the pit of her stomach that this was their final showdown, that walking out of the car once it hit her building would wash away everything they had gone through together. another sob escapes her mouth at the thought of that, quickly swallowed as hand reaches for her throat, a silent plea that her own body would listen. his apology comes with a shock, head snapping in his direction, not because of the term that slips — though that’s another blow to her resistance — but from how misplaced they’d sounded coming from his mouth. max wasn’t a man who announced his mistake, gigi was the type of woman who needed desperately to hear it. frown deepens against her features, eyes dropping again, but to the gap that sat between them, blinking quickly to stop tears from blurring her vision as hand reaches for his own, digits barely touching the back of his palm. touch provides the same wave of comfort it did before, even in this moment, swallowing as contact feels far more warmth than she remembered. it’s not much, it’s not what they were used to. but she still basks in it, continuing to hover on his hand as they sit in silence, hearing her own breath space out with time .

#max #max x gigi #deryapinar

her fingers find the back of his hand with such tentative delicacy that he wonders if he’d imagined the contact altogether. but then he stills out of a certain kind of reverence. any sudden movement risks frightening away the closest they’ve come to one another in months and he refuses to squander the fragile mercy she’s extended to him. it’s the first time since everything unraveled that she’s reached for him of her own accord. she had once woven herself through every corner of his life, slipping her hand into his and curling against his side as naturally as breathing. now, only the faintest brush of her fingertips separates estrangement from hope. his gaze lowers to the narrow space between them. how remarkable that the woman he’d once held without a second thought now feels almost untouchable. he’s brokered fortunes with firmer handshakes than this, negotiated with men whose signatures altered lives overnight, yet no agreement he’d ever secured has carried the magnitude contained within the featherlight weight resting against his skin. the entire world seems to contract until it’s reduced to two hands suspended between regret and reconciliation. he doesn’t close his fingers around hers, doesn’t presume. instead, his hand shifts beneath her touch, turning just enough for his open palm to meet her halfway, offering rather than taking, leaving the decision entirely in her possession. he notices the cadence of her breathing begin to gradually steady, the uneven rhythm that had fractured the silence only moments before softening into quieter intervals. even now, even after every careless word and irreparable wound, her body still remembers him as a place of refuge. his thumb brushes once across her knuckles, so gentle it could be dismissed as imagination if she wished to. the city drifts beyond the windows in blurred ribbons of gold while the silence between them relinquishes its hostility, becoming instead a precarious truce he doesn’t dare disturb. only when familiar streets leading to her home begin to emerge outside does he finally lift his eyes from their hands and his voice takes the risk of asking, “ can i see you again ? ”

" time doesn't make a difference. " she knew that better than anyone. wounds that had never healed over the years, like pressure points that she had to carefully navigate around to avoid setting off and inflicting pain onto herself. she had always been a sensitive child, and she'd grown into an even more sensitive adult. never could let things go, fast to forgive and mend the peace but always carrying the burden of remembering each insult and transgression against her. it doesn't come with bitterness, but rather her own self - loathing. when memories came back to the surface, her mind was quick to twist it into what she did to deserve those things. it wouldn't have happened otherwise, even when he's saying that she deserves more. " i've got my comeuppance. " she'd made a myriad of mistakes, wasn't absolved of her mistakes. wasn't sure if she could ever truly pay her penance for everything she had done in the name of being a hurt soul. others weren't quite as willing to give out their forgiveness, she'd learned that in the hardest way she could. it was easy to bury herself neck deep in the regret of her selfish actions, berating and punishing herself until she felt just as awful. " you're a go— a great person. " far better than she deserved. he should've went in the other direction, found someone more worthy of his kindness. someone that wouldn't be so selfish and unmindful with what he gave to her. " i... " she wants to slap his hands away from his wallet, tell him that the least she could handle the tip too. it was supposed to be a nice gesture, an act of appreciation towards him and he still managed to have his own selflessness slip through. where he's selfless, she's selfish, not letting any of her thoughts make it out of her mind until it's too late to refute him at all. her bag is slid lazily across her shoulder, more than willing to follow him out the bar in that moment and into the humid night. easy to blame it on the liquor, despite how she feels more aware of her surroundings, of him, than she has all night. " where are we going? "

#slater #slater x parker #connotations

in all honesty, time hadn’t healed him either. it hadn’t erased the hollow places his childhood carved into him, nor the resentment that still surfaced when he least expected it. time had merely taught him how to carry the weight without limping. but when she calls it her comeuppance, his expression hardens. there it is again — that belief that every cruel thing done to her must somehow be restitution for the ways she’d fallen short. like she’d appointed herself judge and jury, forever handing down a sentence no one else had asked her to serve. “ stop. ” the word leaves him before he can soften it, firm rather than sharp. “ that’s now how this works. ” his gaze lingers on her, unwavering. “ you don’t get to spend the rest of your life punishing yourself. ” then she calls him a great person, a humorless scoff slipping from beneath his breath as he looks away. if she knew half the nights he’d ended with blood on his knuckles, half the arrests silently erased by his father’s money, half the anger he’d mistaken for direction, she wouldn’t be looking at him like that. “ don’t confuse me with a good man. ” the syllables arrive softly, less disagreement than disbelief. his attention catches on her eyes flicking toward the bills he’d left beneath the glasses and despite everything, the corner of his mouth tugs upward. “ too late. ” he nudges the door open for her, the humid night replacing stale beer and thundering bass almost instantly. the air feels easier to breathe out here, the noise dissolving behind them until the city is reduced to distant traffic and amber streetlights stretching across damp pavement. at her question, he slips his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “ i didn’t exactly think that far ahead. ” a beat, then he glances sideways at her. “ you eaten ? ” he already knows the answer. “ there’s a twenty-four-hour diner up the road. ” another glance, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “ i’m not letting whiskey count as dinner. ”

" i'm already ruined. " he was far from the nail in the coffin either. a long line of men just as cruel and devoid came before, taking and taking. soiling whatever innocence was left inside of her until she rotted entirely. there was nothing good that ran in the blood of buchanan's, each one just as terrible as the next. they lacked the ability to be rectitude, and the only difference that separated her from the rest of them was how she desperately tried. her body rattled with the intensity of wanting to be good, someone who could be worth loving and capable of swallowing it. time and time again, that need was proven to be impossible to meet. which is why she takes the scraps that any man gives her, stripping herself thin and being whatever they wanted, whether it was innocent, ruined, good, or bad. she could morph herself into being it, even if it was just for one night. they'd leave in the morning with another piece of her, the emptiness that was left becoming more and more palpable as each day passed. " can't you see that? " the vulnerability that came with no longer pretending to be something she wasn't. there were no more layers for her to shed in front of him. this was her in her truest form : desperate and broken, aching for love until it tore her apart from the inside out. unable to walk away even when he's telling her he can't give her what she wants, because having him like this was better than not having him at all. she could stomach it — whatever the feeling that nestled itself inside her chest whenever she looked at him was. unsure of whether it was love, never one to known what that felt like in a genuine form. only the selfish, perverse kind. yet it claws at her when his fingers pad along her jaw, her body melting against the touch unwillingly. always eager to be available to him, even when she's trying to drive her point home. her fingertips dance across his arm, sliding up the roughened skin and to the back of his neck. " we're not too far off. " from being one in the same, both needing something out of the other. exactly why all is forgotten in a quick moment, her earlier points becoming futile when her mouth presses against his and eases her entirely.

#zeno #zeno x amber #connotations #they love this dance #she's never escaping him <3

his thumb that was moving with absent familiarity stills against the yielding curve of her lip, her words arresting the idle caress entirely. we’re not too far off. the irony isn’t lost on him, two people who have spent their lives convinced they were irreparably damaged, each trying to persuade the other they were beyond saving. his gaze lingers on her with an unfamiliar scrutiny. perhaps for the first time since he’d known her, she isn’t performing anymore. there are no coy smiles, no flirtation, no pliancy. she’s offering him this version of her no one else receives, which frightens him far more than even her confession had. because she’s meeting him exactly where he lives, amid all the fractures he’s spent years disguising beneath arrogance and derision. worse still, she’s right. they’ve both mistaken being wanted for being loved often enough that the distinction has begun to blur beyond recognition. then her fingertips find the back of his neck, his breath catching almost imperceptibly. she’s always reached for him because she wanted him. this feels different. there’s no seduction concealed in the gesture, only quiet solace, as though she’s trying to steady him. he knows how to corrupt tenderness, exploit devotion, weaponize affection before it can be turned against him. he’s never learned how to accept comfort without suspecting the cost hidden beneath it. instinct falters when her mouth finds his and for half a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. then restraint fractures as he kisses her back with the desperate familiarity of two people who have always substituted physicality for conversation, convincing themselves bodies could articulate truths their mouths refused to shape. for one dangerous moment he lets himself believe this could remain enough, that if she kept kissing him and he kept holding her, neither of them would have to return to the questions still waiting between them. but reality arrives with the recollection of why he’d come here at all. another man. the thought slips between them like poison. his hand remains cupping her jaw, his grip firm with jealousy eclipsing whatever fragile peace he’d almost surrendered to. he breaks the kiss only far enough for their foreheats to remain nearly touching. “ were you trying to forget me ? ” question emerges rougher than intended, dark eyes searching hers with an acuity bordering on desperation. “ was he enough ? ”

heritagedoll

her jaw works once, a muscle feathering beneath skin gone pale with restraint. the silence between them is taut enough to splinter. when she finally opens her mouth, the words come sharpened against her teeth. “ you don’t get to decide that. ” it's a hiss more than a sentence. her arms fold tighter across her chest until her knuckles ache beneath the sleeves of her jacket. she's trying to keep her hands occupied. trying to keep them from reaching for him, or shoving him away. she isn't sure which impulse would win. “ if that’s really what you told yourself, fine, lucky. ” a breath releases. “ but you made that choice without me. ” the admission hangs between them. “ you say it wasn’t because of me. ” she swallows. “ it doesn’t matter. ” she hears it herself and despises it immediately. anger would have been easier. “ you still stopped coming to me. ” her eyes never leave his now. “ you still went around me. every time. ” each sentence hauled upward through layers of sediment she'd packed over them year after year. they scrape on the way out. “ so i filled in the blanks. ” what else had there been to do ? there had only ever been silence. stories. she had lived inside every one of them. she'd turned over old conversations, replayed arguments so many times they no longer sounded real, searched his expressions for meanings that dissolved the instant she thought she'd caught them. every glance that lingered. every one that didn't. she dissected them with almost religious devotion, convinced there had been a single careless moment where she'd become too much, too difficult, too impossible to keep. eventually she'd stopped looking for the exact wound. it was easier to believe she'd simply always been the knife. “ i figured if you wanted to talk to me, you would've. ” only then does she look away. her throat tightens around a swallow that feels impossible. for a moment she stares somewhere over his shoulder, gathering whatever pieces of herself remain dispersed across the floor between them. there is hurt there now, older than either of them wants to acknowledge. “ you don’t get to stand here now and tell me i fucking misunderstood. ”

#lucky #lucky x dolls #heritagedoll #please get me out of here

he doesn’t interrupt her, every word allowed to find its mark, each one settling into the spaces he’d spent years fortifying with discipline until they resembled conviction. it’s only when she looks away that he permits himself to look at her fully. a habit as old as his restraint itself. it’d always been easier to study her in the moment she wasn’t watching, easier to admire what could never belong to him than survive the unbearable temptation of being seen doing it. his shoulders ease by such an imperceptible degree it would escape anyone else, though it’s not relief as much as it is surrender. the kind that arrives only after discovering the burden had never been his alone to carry. two people standing beneath the same silence, each translating it into a different language. his hand shifts instinctively at his side before stilling altogether. for a fleeting, treacherous moment, the urge to bridge the scant between them eclipses reason, but habit prevails — it always does. his feet remain rooted where they are, another line observed because he’d long ago forgotten how to exist without drawing them. “ you’re right. ” the admission leaves him stripped of pride and every instinct that had once compelled him to defend the indefensible. “ i made that choice. ” the decision belongs to him, and so does its consequence. a measured breath leaves him before he speaks again, gaze never wavering from hers now that he’s finally earned the privilege of holding it. “ i thought .. ” the words falter beneath the weight of years that had taught him eloquence was useless where remorse was concerned. “ i thought i was sparing you. ” he swallows once. “ i never stopped to consider what it would ask of you instead. ” there it is — the acknowledgement that in trying to spare her an impossible choice, he’d deprived her of one altogether. for all his life, he’d believed love and sacrifice were inextricable. that pure affection was measured by what one could relinquish without complaint. standing before her now, he’s confronted with the cruel possibility that sacrifice, left unspoken long enough, ceases to resemble love at all. instead, it wears the face of abandonment.

" when are you going to stop trying to push me away? "

#willow #willow x west #connotations

she’d vanished in chase of an illusion that she could walk into danger, dictate the terms, and walk back out untouched. let a dangerous man believe she’s interested, until the balance shifted. had gotten away only by luck though what infuriated her wasn’t the bruises or fear she refused to acknowledge. it’s that, for one unbearable moment, she wasn’t the one in control. then west finds her. “ i wasn’t pushing you away, ” split lip pulls unpleasantly as she lets out a brittle laugh. “ i just didn’t need saving, ” lies with practiced ease, voice almost languid despite the exhaustion weighing down every syllable.

he's never been someone to shy away from the truth when it is best suited . not with other clients , other managers , and especially not when it came to her . something deeply rooted changes a person when they've spent countless years fighting for space in a room that was once too big to powerful . to be seen as a man with as much , if not more impact than the other silver spooned suits he was once desperate to out grow . he's no fool . he knows that the career he's helped build for lux is a huge reason for his own successes . in a way , binding their careers together with barbed wire and twine . her trust has been won over years of praise and tough love , no matter how one found that love to be . whether it be toxic or genuine , it never mattered at the end of the day . she has millions of people in love with her as much as the ones that hate her . it's the price of the spotlight and it is only a disservice to feed her fluff when her enemies far out weighed the supporters . the bite in her words only amuse him . watching her summon the courage to snap back and sink those venomous fangs she unfortunately kept hidden from the rest of the world leaves him transfixed . pushing back to his feet , towering over her with his full height , her reaches down , palming the side of her face with a gentle longing . her beauty unquestioned , especially when tears decorated her features like a smattering of diamonds . his thumb drags over her lesser lip as his gaze appears mesmerized at his own actions . " lux ... now , she's different . " his soft eyes finally lifting to meet hers . a danger lurking within the swirling depths as they pinch at the edges . his brow dipping in a frown . " louisa , however , she's a dime a dozen . "

#lux #lux x jensen #cursedcupids #the way this is their first thread #and they're already coming for our throatsss

she doesn’t recoil when his hand finds her face, not immediately. for one suspended moment, she simply lets him touch her, searching his expression with a quiet, almost clinical scrutiny, as though the answer had always been there and she’d merely lacked the courage to read it. what devastates her isn’t what he’d said, it’s how effortlessly he’d said it — no hesitation, no internal conflict, no flicker of remorse. lux is extraordinary. louisa is forgettable. there had never been any ambiguity in his mind. only hers. without warning, the memories that rise aren’t stadiums or award shows, but the small, domestic kindnesses she’d mistaken for something sacred. the birthday he’d spent with her because her parents couldn’t make it. the christmas gift he’d insisted on picking out himself. long nights in this very office, sharing takeout beneath fluorescent lights after seemingly never-ending rehearsals. moments she’d preserved like pressed flowers between the pages of her memory, returning to them whenever she needed proof that there existed a man who loved her beneath the manager. now they wither all at once. they were not evidences of love but rather carefully placed bricks in a foundation built upon dependence, each kindness another thread woven so intricately into the fabric of her life she’d eventually forgotten where she ended and he began. perhaps she’d fallen in love with a man who only ever existed in relation to what she could become. her hand rises at last, gently encircling his wrist before lifting it away from her face. she studies his hand for a lingering second, a slight furrow settling between her brows like she’s noticing the fingerprints left across a life she’d mistaken for her own. “ thank you. ” barely louder than a breath — not forgiveness, not surrender — only gratitude that for the first time in years, he’d finally stopped calling manipulation protection and had the decency to tell her the truth.

the familiarity built between them is instinctive . he knows exactly what she's looking for from him which is why he's so stubborn in giving it to her . he knows where she would rather be and with whom she wants to be with which is why the bait she's laid out still dangles helplessly between them . had he felt threatened , even the smallest bit , his actions would have been different . more calculated , but just as manipulative . there is a reason they still performed this same dance . wearing out the same spots their steps have taken countless times and it has much to do with his refusal to let her go . his head tilts at her words , watching her through the mirror of the vanity . " so , in other words , he's boring . got it . " with another stretch of his body , he steals the pillow beside him , propping it up behind his back to make himself more comfortable . still taking no initiative in leaving . " maybe i should just stay here . i'd hate for your night to end with such disappointment . "

#amelia #amelia x olsen #cursedcupids

she can’t help the soft scoff that escapes her, followed by a brittle laugh. of course he’d call her date boring. of course he’d see straight through her. olsen has always possessed that infuriating aptitude for reading the thoughts she spent her entire life trying to disguise, understanding the architecture of her self-sabotage before she even found the language for it herself. “ you always act so .. certain. it’s obnoxious. ” words arrive as her gaze lingers on him for a heartbeat too long before she pushes herself up from the vanity, crossing toward the wardrobe. her robe shifts carelessly with her movement, slipping just enough to reveal the lace she’d put on for somebody else. “ you really don’t care if i go ? ” the question leaves her more quietly than she’d intended, slightly contemplative, like she’s only just realized she’s been waiting for him to give her a reason to stay. “ you’re making this awfully easy. ” a beat, almost disappointed. doesn’t linger on the admission, disappearing into the wardrobe before returning with two dresses. “ fine. help me decide. ” holding each against herself in turn, she studies his face instead of the fabric. “ which one ? ”

" better than having the rug pulled out from under me. " her voice is solemn, gaze reflecting back up at her through the bottom of a now empty glass. that rug was long tattered and gone, leaving only the predictability that came with the constant push and pull. the cycle of warmth that turns into being burnt, before she's discarded of and left to nurse her own wounds. which is the part that typically when slater comes in, and why she was even at the bar to begin with. her choice of medicine seemed to come as a prescription of amber. his words settle somewhere beneath her ribs, the heaviness of each syllable taking root inside of her. " it doesn't hurt anymore. " a horrible excuse for a lie, the words more unconvincing than anything else she has said. the pain was its own kind of beast, rattling against her heart until it consumed her entirely. more often than not leaving her wondering how much longer would she feel this way? it was hard to remember a time where she didn't feel so destroyed by love, clinging onto the scraps of what she thought it to be by her fingertips. " i didn't know... that. " her chest tightens in a way she can't explain, no longer seeing the man in front of her but picturing him as a little boy. trying to connect what he had just told her with what she knew him to be. " no one should grow up like that. " she'd seen how the viciousness of someone's elder could drip through into them, cruelty passed down through different generations. he was the opposite though, consistent with the kindness she was far from deserving of. slater always seemed to always be there to help her out of the bed she made for herself, time and time again.. in that moment she knows it's true, the feeling of him being too good for her. she was nothing but unworthy. " you deserved more. " he still does.

#slater #slater x parker #connotations #idk how to shut up

his gaze lingers on her a fraction longer when she says it doesn’t hurt anymore. he doesn’t argue, doesn’t tell her she’s lying. he’d learned long ago that people only insist they aren’t hurting once they’ve grown exhausted from admitting that they are. his thumb continues its slow circuit around the rim of his empty glass, as he feels the conversation tilt in a direction he hadn’t intended. shoulders instinctively lift in the smallest shrug, like he can diminish the weight of his childhood simply by refusing to let it occupy too much space between them. “ it was a long time ago, ” the words come easily, almost automatically. then she tells him no one should grow up like that, drawing a quiet breath from him that nearly resembles a laugh, though no amusement ever reaches his face. it’s strange hearing another person grieve a boy he’d stopped looking for years ago. that kid had long since been buried beneath ink pressed into skin, split knuckles, police sirens fading behind expensive lawyers, and every reckless decision that made people shake their heads and conclude he’d become exactly what they expected. even stranger that parker is the one who manages to unearth him. you deserved more — nobody had ever phrased it that way. not his father, not corinna, not the family who treated his childhood like an inconvenience to be managed. he rubs the back of his neck, gaze drifting away from hers. “ i turned out alright, ” an imperfect defense, spoken more out of habit than conviction. because the truth is, whatever kindness still exists in him was never born from the life he’d been given. it grew in opposition to it, knowing what it meant to be left undefended, to become accustomed to standing alone while everyone else decided you deserved it. if he stepped between people and cruelty now, it wasn’t because he believed himself heroic. it was because he’d spent too many years wishing somebody had done the same for him. finally, he looks back at her. “ so did you. ” the words arrive quietly, carrying only sincerity. after a long beat, he reaches for his wallet, slipping a few bills beneath the empty glasses. the drinks were hers, just like she’d insisted, but the tip is his, quietly meeting her halfway before he rises to his feet. “ c’mon. ” his head tilts toward the exit. “ i think we’ve both had enough of this place. ”

it should have been obvious that he would allow her to decide what she preferred . since their break up , he's been completely removed from any decision . as if he's punishing himself for the years he's made the calls , assuming what was best for them , for her . she should feel pleased to have actual control . not just the feeling of it , but it doesn't feel right . she misses the fight that burned behind his eyes at each and every crossroad . this version on him feels hollow . empty . guilt is quick to bang at the walls she's built around herself , cursing at her for reducing him to a shell of who he once was . she knows the slip up isn't intentional , that he's not putting on a show in an attempt to win her back , but regardless of the intention , she struggles to find her next breath . only offering him a nod , she doesn't waste any more time lingering at the front door and makes for the bedroom . the eagerness to remove herself from the weight of his gaze , she doesn't realize her mistake in stumbling into his bedroom , allowing a flood emotions to slam into her as she crosses the barrier . recognizing how many nights she's spent tucked safely under the covers . how more like home this was than her own bedroom in her own apartment ... this was a mistake coming here with feigned confidence stacked so high , it once towered over her and now wis primed to bury her in it . she should have asked him to collect her things while she cowered in the safety of his entryway , a seemingly neutral place that couldn't suffocate her nearly as much as this . finally tearing her eyes from the bed , she turns her focus to the bathroom , collecting the few products that sat in the shower and helped clutter the counter top before beelining for the closet . with only a few articles of clothes hanging , her attention catches on a box tucked onto the top shelf . a needed distraction . a welcomed challenge in how she is supposed to get it forcing her thoughts to abandon what had once been suffocating . it only takes a few pitiful jumps and pathetic attempts to knock it down before she's huffing in frustration . popping her head out of the bedroom , she yells into the rest of the apartment for kane . " can you help me really quick ? i can't get this box down . "

#kane #kane x delilah #cursedcupids #i'm just sobbing this whole time

her voice carries from the bedroom, catching him off guard in a way he hadn’t anticipated. his body is already moving before his mind has the chance to deliberate, feet carrying him down the hallway on an instinct cultivated over years. a soft, involuntary relief stirs somewhere beneath the grief — she’d asked for him. even for something as inconsequential as this, she’d still turned toward him. as he reaches the bedroom doorway, he pauses. the room feels altered despite almost nothing having changed, empty spaces beginning to emerge where her presence once settled so naturally they had become invisible to him. a few missing bottles from the bathroom. empty hangers swaying faintly inside the closet. tiny absences that somehow carry more weight than everything still left behind. his gaze finds her standing beneath the closet shelf before drifting upward to the box she’d been unsuccessfully trying to reach. the corners of his mouth threaten the faintest trace of a smile, “ you were gonna break your neck. ” the remark carries the softest echo of the man she knew before all of this, less an attempt at humor than an acknowledgment of a routine as old as their friendship. he can’t count the number of times she’d stubbornly ignored his height advantage, climbing countertops or balancing precariously on furniture out of sheer determination before inevitably calling his name anyway. “ excuse me, ” the words are gentle as he steps into the narrow space beside her, careful not to crowd what little distance she’d allowed. reaching overhead comes effortlessly, fingertips finding the edge of the box within seconds, but the stretch draws the hem of his t-shirt upward without his notice, exposing the constellation of injuries marring his side : dark bruises blooming across his body in varying shades of violet and yellow, fresh abrasions layered over older wounds that haven’t yet disappeared. weeks of relentless training, endless rounds, bruises mapping the route he’d taken back to the version of himself that had always found refuge in violence whenever life demanded more feeling than he knew how to survive. he carefully lowers the box into his hands, entirely unaware that, for the first time since she’d walked through his door again, he’d revealed far more than he’d ever intended.

his chest warms at his name , announced in relief instead of question as he barges through the door like a mad man . it spreads across his entire body at the way she so willingly reaches back for his hand , without a second thought . like it is second nature . he knows that the trust between them is strong . their bond becoming even stronger , but the comfort she evidently feels with him is nearly enough to drop him to his knees . he has to remind himself where they were and that he doesn't know how much she's had to drink , but knows anything is more than usual . that her response is likely encouraged by substance . his grip tightens on hers , squeezing gently and apologetically at her statement . " yeah , i'm sorry . it gets really crazy in there , but i'm here now , aren't i ? " he mentions with a crooked smile , eager to ignore the third party lingering off to the side . his efforts are useless as she brings up kenny and the drink he so thoughtfully gifted her away from any prying eyes . his smile is forced as he tears his gaze away from grace to stare at the regular . " yeah , super kind look , gracie . i can't find teddy , do you want to help me look for him ? i'd hate for our round of drinks to go to waste in the section . " it was a cheap excuse , to bring up her boyfriend , but he knows it is the only way to get her to come with him without trying to include her new friend . her kind and genuine heart too pure for a world like this , he should have known better than to invite her here , especially when teddy is nowhere to be found .