𝘈 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝘈𝘛 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘋𝘖𝘖𝘙 ─

the moral of the story is i will gut you if i need to. i will carve my way out with only my teeth.

i am a gluttonous creature by nature. i was born starving and i will die famished.

NOW SPELL ANSWER —— .ᐟ F - R - E - E - D - O - M — WRONG .ᐟ

Every chin needs a perch (the slope of someone’s shoulder, just the right height) and every waist needs a belt (arms that wrap around it so perfectly, so tight)

i’d cup your face and tell you how i taste the chaos you keep beneath your skin, and how i’ve learned to love it

We have all night. [A small smirk from behind the rim of her glass before she’s taking a sip, herself. Her head tilts, and she carefully swirls the liquid.] Straight from Treviso, if you’d believe it. Took a trip there for coffee, came back with three bottles of red instead.

… Fine. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 the only judgments. [She’s making herself rather comfortable – stretching her legs out across his lap, crossing one arm over her chest while she holds her wine in the other hand.] I like to think I’ve gotten better over the years.

[Appreciative eyes follow him, until she remembers she's supposed to be doing something. ... Right. Two glasses of wine poured, smoothly and evenly. And then she's joining him on the couch, handing off one glass as she sits.] And I do. That's why your assessment of any given —

wanting you was entirely selfish. but i wanted you, because you were better than me. not because your hands were clean, but because you owned it. your eyes still had a light in them. i didn't know whether i wanted to snuff it out, or keep it burning. i just wanted you.

[Her smirk slowly widens. Even better answer.] Bossy today, aren’t we? [But oh, look, she’s doing as she’s told and uncorking the wine – funny how that happens.]

i want you to stay. 'til i'm in the grave， 'til i rot away， dead and buried.

[Small smirk. Good answer.] Keep speaking like that to me, darling, and I fear we’re never even going to touch that bottle.

Perhaps my company could make up for the rest, hm?