“I’m not deciding today,” she says. “But I’m telling you it’s coming.”
My chest tightens painfully. “You think I’ll let you walk into that place alone?”
Her gaze softens – just a fraction. Enough to hurt. “I think you’ll follow. Or maybe you won’t. That’s your choice. I couldn’t stop you either way, just like you can’t stop me.”
Something in me gives way.
Not rage. Not control.
Desperation.
When I take her face in my hands, it isn’t force – it’s need. Raw and unguarded and terrifying in its honesty. “Don’t disappear on me,” I murmur. “Don’t make decisions like you’re already gone.”
“I’m still here,” she says quietly. “For now.”
That’s not reassurance. It’s a warning.
My mouth finds hers before I can stop myself – the kiss is hard, unrestrained, all heat and pressure and the taste of something breaking loose. She responds instantly, fingers fisting in my shirt, grounding me even as the world tilts.
This isn’t resolution.
It’s collision.
And as I pull her closer, knowing this won’t stop what’s coming – only delay it – one truth burns through everything else: I can’t cage her without losing her.
And I don’t know how to let go without breaking something vital in myself.
HE WANTS MINE
On Your Knees - Ex Habit
Kookaburra
Poor Nightshade. He’s been in control for so long that he’s spiralling without a plan. Well, we have a plan. A shitty one. But the only one possible right now.
He just doesn’t like it.
Even as he kisses me with total desperation, I can still feel the gears in his head grinding, trying to come up with an alternate solution. He’s used to taking point, being in charge, not being questioned. The others look to him for leadership and direction, and he’s floundering here without a backup plan.
That’s why I let him kiss me like he owns me.
Because he needs it.
Because if I don’t give him something solid to hold onto, he’s going to tear himself apart trying to solve a problem that doesn’t have a clean answer yet.
His mouth is everywhere – claiming, demanding, pouring all that restless energy into me like if he can just anchor me here, I won’t slip out of his reach again. His hands frame my face, thumbs rough against my jaw, breath uneven against my lips. He kisses like he’s trying to convince himself I’m still real.
I let him.
I let myself soften into it, let my body take the lead while my mind stays carefully detached, watching the shape of the moment instead of drowning in it. His desperation hums against my skin, loud and unhidden. He’s not trying to dominate me – he’s trying toholdonto me. There’s a difference, and he knows it.
Bones doesn’t rush us.
That’s the first thing that steadies me.
He stays close, presence heavy and deliberate, a quiet counterbalance to Nightshade’s intensity. When his hand comes to my back, it’s slow, grounding, fingers spread wide like he’s reminding me where my body ends and the world begins. No urgency. No hunger. Just certainty.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, not as instruction but as permission.
