Turn Me On
You Know How to Save Me
Ten years of battling demons. Ten years of protecting Dawn. Ten years of doing what he thought Buffy would want him to do. Ten years of regrets. Ten years living in hell. Ten years that have been leading up to this one moment: one moment that could change everything. Now it's all up to Spike. It's his last chance to save the Slayer, and the world.
|Thanks:||To Anona for her grammatical and punctuation corrections and final review. All mistakes are mine because I simply cannot stop fiddling right up to the last moment.|
|Rating / Warnings:||
SPOILER ALERT: This story is a cross-over with the 'Miles to Go' story in the Unexpected Universe Series. If you have not read that story, but intend to, then you should read it first! You do not have to read it for this spin-off to make sense. There is a *lot* more detail of what lead up to this story there, much more than is contained in the prologue, however. If you have read that story, then this prologue will be review for you.
NC17. Content is only suitable for mature adults. Contains explicit language, sex, adult themes, and other adult situations that some people may find objectionable. If you are under the age of 17 or find any of these themes objectionable – GO AWAY.
Ten Years Later. May 2011, Gift-less Universe, Sunnydale:
In everyone’s life there are moments that we can look back on and clearly see as turning points in our lives. For better or for worse, there are decision points that are plainly visible as we survey our past. They are often only tiny pinpricks, like pebbles barely breaking the surface of the water in the long river of our lives, but they stand out like diamonds scattered in a field of coal. These moments define us. These are moments when everything changed.
Spike had spent many long, lonely years examining those points in time. Hindsight, of course, is 20/20. With a decade to examine the decisions he’d made leading up to the apocalypse to end all apocalypses, his hindsight was about as good as anyone could hope for. Looking back, he could clearly see the choices he’d made, actions he’d taken or didn’t take, that ended up costing Buffy her life and leaving a shell-shocked Dawn for him to watch over and protect.
As far as he knew, he’d cost the entire population of the earth their lives. He couldn’t travel out of Sunnydale with Dawn’s mental state so precarious, therefore he had no way to know how far the Otherworldly demons had spread. They’d certainly taken over Sunnydale, and he was certain they hadn’t stopped there. The demons had flooded in through Glory’s portal for hours that horrible night and into the next day. Untold dimensions collided as the fabric between them was ripped open. Demons of every size and shape had poured through it into Sunnydale until the portal finally collapsed upon itself and closed. Glory had escaped through the portal, presumably she’d gone back to her hell dimension, and Buffy had been killed, unable to stop it. But, as noble as it would’ve been to say he wanted to save the world, the truth of it was: it was Buffy he longed to save.
More recent events haunted him as well, including the sudden appearance of a Slayer, of Buffy, in the hell he’d been living in. She shone like a beacon, as if sent by the cruel jokester: God himself. But this Slayer wasn’t his. She belonged in another world with another Spike. His few allies had died getting her out of their hell and back to her home, her idyllic life, with her Spike. Oz, Harris, Glinda – they'd been killed defending the portal that would lead her home. But, despite the cost, they’d succeeded, she'd gotten through – the sacrifice had been worth it.
His childe, the vamp that had been his right-hand and so much more over the last ten years, Finn, was gone as well. But Finn’s demise had been for a whole different reason – one Spike didn’t even want to think about lest it cloud his heart again with the guilt of that day. Dawn was gone as well; another guilt-ridden heartbreak Spike had to push from his mind and memory if he had any chance of succeeding in the mission before him now.
The mission he faced now was saving this Buffy that wasn’t his – again. After getting her safely away, the barmy bint-Slayer had come back. Not on purpose, apparently, but at the hand of someone he’d once considered among his allies: Warren Mears. The geek had followed the Slayer through the portal his allies had died opening for her. Once there, with delusions of grandeur dancing in his psychotic head, the geek had ambushed her and sent her back here. It was Buffy that had discovered the power of the red, glittering, Otherworldly vampire dust mixed with holy water. It would take you back in time – sort of. It wasn’t the most reliable travel agent for the task, but any port in a storm. Desperate times call for desperate measures and whatnot.
Now, as Spike swallowed the deadly potion of holy water, Otherwordly vampire dust, and Slayer blood, he knew that his whole life had been leading to this moment. This was another pinprick in time, shining out above the vast darkness of his life; a moment that could change everything. It was also his last chance. He would make his past-self hear him by using the deadly, time-travel concoction he’d just ingested, or he would dust trying. One way or another, everything would change – his nightmare would end.
He’d already tried this once. He’d been hurtled through his life, skipping from one past event to another at an alarming speed. The events were in no particular order; he had no control over what past events he would visit or how long he could stay. He’d gathered every ounce of energy he’d had and screamed at his past-self, trying to get him to hear his advice, but it hadn’t worked – nothing had changed. On that first attempt he’d only inhaled the pungent scent of the potion – this time he’d swallowed it. He’d gathered as much as he could hold in his hand and stuffed the deadly, red, gelatinous goo into his mouth and swallowed.
Even now, as he began to be hurtled through time, the holy water in the mix was burning him from the inside out. He could feel the white-hot embers of the faith that had created it scalding his throat and stomach. It was spreading out quickly; it would consume him in a matter of minutes … perhaps less.
Just as had happened before, Spike began to relive his life, hurtling head-long from one moment to the next. He could see everything from his own eyes, he could hear everything that he and everyone else said, he could feel the emotions each event triggered, but he had no control over himself. He was a ghost within his own mind, with no control over his actions or words. Unable to actually change anything as it happened in front of him, he literally relived the past as the potion rocketed him through time and space. But he had to find a way to get a message to himself. He had to change what he’d done; he had to fix it. She believed in him – she told him so. He had to do it for Buffy. He had to find a way to save her.
Spike’s emotions were slammed back and forth like a small boat in a raging sea. He was flung through time, reliving good times and bad, heartache and joy, triumph and defeat, pain and pleasure. One moment he would be up on top of a high, shining mountain and the next plummeted down to the bottom of the deepest, darkest, coldest sea. It was enough to spin his head and crush his heart, but he was ready this time – he knew this would happen. He just had to hold on until he hit upon something that …
“And we just keep coming. But you can kill a hundred, a thousand, a thousand thousand and the enemies of Hell besides, and all we need is for one of us – just one – sooner or later to have the thing we're all hoping for,” he heard himself saying. He could see Buffy glaring at him as he spoke, standing next to the pool table in the Bronze.
This would work! This was only a short time before the fight with Glory. If he could just get himself to listen! “Kill Doc!” Spike screamed at his past-self from inside his own mind. “He’s a Reptilian demon! Cut ‘is soddin’ head off!”
Nothing seemed to change.
“One... good... day,” he heard himself saying to Buffy.
“Bugger!” he cursed. “Kill Doc!” he tried again. Still, past-Spike didn’t seem to hear.
“Hey! You asked and I'm tellin'. The problem with you, Summers, is you've gotten so good, you're starting to think you're immortal.”
Spike closed his eyes and concentrated, trying a new tack, “Kill Ben! He’s a doc at the hospital. Kill! Ben!” he screamed at himself at the top of his lungs.
Nothing happened. Nothing changed. The conversation carried on as if he hadn’t spoken.
“So that's it? Lesson over?” Buffy asked him, incredulous.
“Not even close. Come on.”
Spike could see and feel himself reaching down for the pool cue on the table and he sighed in exasperation.
“Forget the soddin’ cue and listen, you great prat,” he moaned to himself, his voice a frustrated, growling whisper.
Suddenly the hand – his hand, that had been reaching for the cue hesitated and, as if by magic, didn’t pick it up. Instead, he felt himself striding away empty-handed, towards the back door of the Bronze. His vision blurred, it felt like he was looking at a movie that had been shot by someone with an unsteady hand. The effect was slightly dizzying and disorienting. Things had changed. His old memory of walking out with the pool cue was superimposed over top of the new past. It was like seeing double, only the two images were slightly different.
“Bloody hell,” he moaned, finally realizing that he needed to whisper, not yell.
He knew he should be concentrating on telling himself how to defeat Glory, but he couldn’t stop himself from relaying the advice he’d been given on how to reach Buffy’s heart – with a bit of his own advice added in.
The advice he’d been given had come from an unexpected source: Buffy herself. Not his Buffy, of course, she was long dead, but the Buffy that had been accidentally dropped into his nightmarish world – twice. Buffy had told him the story of her life with him and their children and all their friends. It sounded like something from a dream or a fairy tale, and it had made his heart ache with jealousy and bleed with self pity. Why had he been left alone in the dark when this other Spike had been cast into the light? It fueled his determination to fix things. He would do anything for even a sliver of a chance that he could actually save Buffy’s life and win her heart.
The hope that there was a chance of gaining her love seemed to overwhelm him – he wanted that so desperately. He quickly began whispering to himself, “Make her accept ‘er demon. Show ‘er how alike you are. Show ‘er how to live with the darkness. Whatever ya do, don’t soddin’ kiss her! Let her come t’ you. Don’t be afraid to show ‘er William’s heart. Kill Ben. Doc’s a …”
Suddenly Spike’s vision through his past eyes got even more blurred and everything jumped jerkily up and down and from side to side. Images appeared atop images, each slightly different than the original memory he had. Without warning, lights began to swirl in front of his eyes, faster and faster they went until he couldn’t look any longer for fear of retching.
He could feel the swath of fire from the holy water engulf him. He could actually feel his body begin to decay. It felt like it was taking a long time, but he knew how fast a vampire dusted, so his perception must be wrong. He could feel all his muscle, organs, sinew, bone, and blood start to rot and then contract, as it dried. His skin felt too tight and stiff, like beef jerky. He couldn’t move any longer. His muscles had atrophied, contracted, and begun to pull away from the bone. His whole body was going through a century of rot and decay in a fraction of a second, and he could feel every excruciating moment of it. He wanted to scream, but he had no ability to do so: his vocal cords had shriveled and his lungs were nothing more than a parched desert.
His last thought before his dust went back to the earth was of Buffy. He had changed things, he knew, but had it been enough?
Six Months before the battle with Glory, November, 2000:
Buffy followed Spike out of the Bronze and into the deserted back alley. Why did she always seem to be in dark alleys with evil, disgusting creatures? All she wanted to know is how he’d killed two Slayers. What had they done wrong – it was a simple enough question. All he wanted to do was talk about ‘one good day’ and boast about how he got off on killing them instead of just answering her.
“C’mon, Spike, enough stalling,” she ordered. “You’re not getting overtime pay by dragging this out. Just tell me what I want to know.”
Spike felt a dizzying, whirling sensation hit him as he walked, like someone had dropped some LSD into his beer. He blinked his eyes and shook his head slightly to clear it. He didn't need the Slayer thinking he couldn't hold his liquor – she might not ever buy him any more. The feeling cleared almost as quickly as it had come on him. It was like a fog had lifted and many things suddenly seemed much more clear to him. He smirked and turned around abruptly, stopping directly in Buffy’s path. He was suddenly acutely aware of what he needed to say to her; what he needed to do, what she needed to see. Buffy nearly walked into his chest before she came to a halt in front of him.
“You’re just like me,” Spike murmured, leaning forward so his mouth was near her ear.
“I’m nothing like you,” Buffy growled, pushing him back to arm’s length.
He stepped back, not resisting her, but didn't stumble. He raised a hand and placed the tips of his fingers over her heart, as if he were going to pluck it out. “There’s a demon inside you, I can feel it.”
Buffy started slightly in surprise at his words. A demon inside? She shook her head in denial. “I’m not a demon! I have a soul,” she objected, slapping his hand away roughly.
“Soul’s are overrated. Ted Bundy had a soul. Hitler had a soul. Attila the Hun had a soul,” Spike pointed out, dropping his hand down to his side, but not moving away from her. “You’re more like me than you want to admit. You feel that thrill in the pit of your stomach when you hunt, when you kill. Turns you on, it does … feeds the demon.”
“I don’t hunt! I … patrol. I don’t kill, I … I … Slay,” Buffy spat back at him. Her words came out harsh and confident, but in truth she had been hunting. Ever since the First Slayer had visited her dreams and tried to kill her, Giles, Willow, and Xander she’d felt ... different: predatory, feral. If she were perfectly honest with herself, she might even say she felt demonic – but she wasn’t that honest with herself.
“You say potato,” Spike pointed out with a nonchalant shrug. “You might be able t’ fool your little Slayerettes, your Watcher … even yourself, but you can’t deny what you feel, Slayer – not t’ me. I know Slayers and I know you. I know your true nature. I’ve seen it, smelled it, felt it all over you too many times. You cream your knickers every time you hit me. Your body tingles and throbs when you dust a vamp. ‘Ave you ever shagged one ‘fore you dusted ‘im? Ever thought about it? Dreamt about it? All that power … all that lust just goin’ t’ waste. Could ‘ave it thrustin’ into ya, givin’ ya what you need, quenchin’ that undyin’ thirst.”
“Could you get any more nauseating?! If you could bottle that slime you spew you could sell it as ipecac. Get out of my face!” she demanded, shoving him hard with both hands on his shoulders.
Spike took a step back when she pushed him, but his intense blue eyes stayed focused on her.
“I’m not a skank ho’ like Dru or Harmony. That talk might get them all hot and bothered, but it just repulses me! You make me sick!
“How'd you kill them?” she demanded, trying to get back to the point, her hands planted angrily on her hips.
“Ah, well … a bit like this ...” Spike demonstrated by throwing a series of punches at her, one coming right after the next in rapid succession. Buffy didn’t flinch, but simply deflected or ducked them easily.
“That didn't hurt you?” she asked suspiciously when he’d finally stopped.
”I knew I couldn't touch you. If there's no intent to hurt you, then that chip they shoved up my brain never activates.
“You want to know how I beat 'em? Then ya need to ask the right question. The question isn't, ‘How'd I win?’ The question is, ‘Why'd they lose?’”
“What’s the difference?”
“There's a big difference, luv,” Spike assured her, his voice smooth and velvety in the still, quiet alley.
“How'd you kill them, Spike?” she demanded again, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping one foot on the pavement impatiently.
Spike glared at her for a long moment. “You're not ready to know,” he informed her, turning to go.
“I'm ready,” Buffy insisted, grabbing his arm and pulling him back around to face her.
Spike narrowed his eyes and studied her for several long moments. What could he tell her that would make her understand? All Slayers had a wish for the fight to end. Sooner or later, they gave up, let death take them, but why? A sudden epiphany came over him; it rang in his mind, clear as a carillon. Of course! Why hadn’t he realized that before?
“Right, then. You think you’re ready, ‘ere it is: every Slayer has a death wish – even you, Summers. Slayers like t’ deny the darkness; deny their true nature. Got a demon locked inside, they do. It’s where your power, your drive, your instincts come from. Ya keep it wrapped up it in soulful, righteous indignation and one day it gutters an’ burns out … jus’ gives up the fight.
“The only reason you've lasted as long as you ‘ave is you got ties to the world... your mum, your brat kid sister, the Scoobies. They all hold you ‘ere, but you're just putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later, you're gonna want it – you’re gonna wanna give up. And the second – the second – that happens...” Spike clapped his hands together sharply, barely an inch in front of her face. “You know I'll be there. I'll slip in... have myself a real good day.”
“Get out of my sight Spike. Now,” Buffy demanded coldly.
Spike took one predatory step forward until he was only inches away from her. “I can show ya how t’ stop it. I can show you how to give the demon its due – keep it fightin’ for ya,” he murmured to her.
Buffy’s mind whirled. Why did he keep saying that? She did not have a demon inside. It was impossible! She was not a monster! She was not like him in any way!
“Go. Away,” she demanded, her voice strained, as she took a step back away from him.
Spike stepped forward with her. “Put your hands on my tight, hot, little body and make me.”
Buffy took another step back, Spike followed. Buffy continued to back up and he matched her, step for step in a measured, hushed waltz. Tension made the air so thick Buffy was having a hard time breathing. Raspy, shallow intakes of the heavy air were the best she could manage as she backed slowly away from him. She didn’t want to hear any more. Didn’t want to know what he was telling her … but she needed to know. To survive, she needed to know what he knew. And she needed to survive, for her sister and her mom. But he must be wrong! Certainly he was wrong!
“I can touch your demon. I can give it something to live for,” Spike purred as they both moved as one across the alley. “Not just your drive to fight that it controls, Slayer … touches all your drives, it does. When’s the last time you screwed all night long? When’s the last time that deep, dark hunger inside you was satisfied? When’s the last time you came so hard the whole bloody planet shook? Have you ever screamed from pleasure so long and so loud that you couldn’t talk afterwards? Ever forgotten your bloody name? Anyone ever made your legs turn t’ jelly, your blood boil, and your body quiver for hours? Ever not been able t’ walk the next day? Anyone ever sent that soul o’ yours t’ heaven? Sent that demon o’ yours blazin’ in the rapturous fires o’ hell?”
“You’re disgusting,” she rasped out, her chest heaving as her back hit the wall, forcing her to stop.
Spike smiled at her lecherously. “Yeah, reckon that’s true. And, if you’d ever admit the truth of it, so … are … you.” Spike stood in front of her and braced his hands against the wall at her back, trapping her between his arms without touching her. He stood so close that less than an inch separated their lips as he spoke. His voice came out as a low, dangerous rumble in the dark. He was so close Buffy could actually feel his words, rough and raw, against her skin. “I know you want it, Slayer. I can feel it. I can practically taste it. You know you wanna dance.”
“You think we’re dancing!?” Buffy asked incredulously, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“That’s all we’ve ever done, luv.”
Buffy swallowed hard, her heart racing in her chest. “Say that’s true … say I do want to,” she replied breathlessly. “It would never be you, Spike.”
Spike smirked and leaned in so his mouth was near her ear. “I’m all you’ve got.”
Spike pulled back and captured her gaze with his smoldering, azure eyes. “White Bread has no bloody idea how t’ touch what’s inside you, Slayer. And Peaches … well … that’s a bit of a sticky wicket, innit? But me …” Spike ran his tongue slowly across his upper teeth and let his eyes wander down her body in a smoldering leer. He pulled one hand away from the wall and mimed running a finger gently over the curve of her neck, never touching her. Even without any physical contact, he could feel her sweet Slayer blood thrumming just beneath her heated skin. He could almost feel his own heart pounding in his chest as her heart’s irregular, staccato rhythm reverberated through the tension-filled air, pounding against him like ripples in pond.
Spike began to lean down; his lips burned with the desire to kiss her, to taste her, but suddenly, inexorably, he stopped. He immediately knew, just as well as he knew his own name, that kissing her now would be the wrong thing to do. He fought with himself to regain control of his emotions. She was so close; close enough to kiss, close enough to touch – but now he realized: she had to want it. She had to open the door and invite him in. Anything less would be a disastrous mistake.
His words came out more breathlessly as he continued speaking. He was still close enough that their lips would touch if either of them shifted even the slightest bit. “Can’t hurt you, can I? … Well, not if ya don’t wanna be hurt. Ain’t gonna go on a killin’ spree afterwards, am I? I could do things to you that Solidier-boy’s never imagined in his wildest dreams. I can do things that’d make a sailor blush … and have more than once. I can take everythin’ you have to give – no holding back – not like that enormous git that shares your bed. ‘Ave you ever really fucked him, Buffy? I mean fucked, with a capital ‘F’? Ever really let loose? I reckon you don’t even know how t’ let go … t’ just be. Too afraid o’ hurting the boy, you are.
“I know what lives inside you, even if you don’t, Slayer. Let me show you – let me give the darkness inside you something t’ live for, Buffy.”
Buffy clenched her jaw and swallowed again. Her heart felt like it was going to break her ribs and pound right out of her chest. What was it about Spike that always seemed to worm under her skin in the most disgusting and infuriating way possible? “I’m. No. Monster,” she gasped out determinedly.
“No,” Spike agreed, still close enough to kiss her. “But, you’ve got a demon inside you, just like I do. It’s where your power comes from, and if ya keep denyin’ it, one day it’ll kill you, just like all the others before. Vampires don’t kill Slayers … Slayers kill themselves.
“Here endeth the lesson,” he announced with a note of finality as he plucked the money away that was folded up in her clenched fist.
Spike pushed off the wall and stepped back away from her. Buffy could feel a physical pull, as if some part of her were tethered to him. She fought to remain against the wall, unmoving, as he turned and started to stalk away, his duster billowing around his legs. “Don’t tell me you can’t feel it, Slayer,” he called over his shoulder, pausing and turning his head to look back at her. “I can take you places you’ve never dreamed of. All ya gotta do is open your eyes – quit denyin’ what’s inside you.”
Tears welled in Buffy’s eyes and she closed them quickly so he wouldn’t see. “I’m not … a monster,” she ground out between clenched teeth. “I’m not like you.”
Spike nodded and pursed his lips. “Right,” was all he said before turning and striding out of the alley, leaving her alone in the dark.
Buffy stood there, her arms wrapped around her torso, for a long time just trying to breathe. His words echoed through her mind, There’s a demon inside you, I can feel it. A demon inside … a demon inside. I suppose you're telling me you don't get off on it? Your body tingles and throbs when you dust a vamp … can’t deny it t’ me.
“No, Spike, you don’t. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything! I’m not like you,” Buffy argued with the voices in her head. “I’m not a monster.”
Spike went around the corner of the building and stopped in the unlit side-street. He leaned against the wall heavily and closed his eyes. Why did he have to go all Maytag Man and start agitating the Slayer every time he got within sight of her? Why couldn’t he just … play nice? You are such an enormous git! he admonished himself silently as he rubber-necked his head back around the corner to check on her. His heart sank when he realized that she was crying – and it was because of him. How could she not know her power was demonic? Did she think she was a soddin’ angel or the fist of God or something? He shook his head and sighed as he leaned back on the wall, out of sight, and fumbled for a cigarette. He had an overwhelming urge to go back and wrap her in his arms and just hold her, comfort her, but for the same reason as he knew he shouldn’t kiss her before, he knew she would never allow that, either.
Spike stiffened and stood perfectly still in the dark when he heard her footsteps approaching. He watched from the shadows as she passed by, heading for home. He’d follow her, he decided, just to make sure she got home all right. A weepy Slayer wasn’t a sharp Slayer; she might need his help.
Spike stood under the oak tree in the front yard and finally lit that cigarette. The Slayer had gotten in alright, but he was in no mood to go back to the crypt – Harmony would be there. After a few minutes, he heard the backdoor open and close, so he walked around the house to investigate. Buffy was sitting on the back steps, her head in her hands. She looked up as he approached and he could see more tears staining her face. Was she still that upset about what he’d told her?
She didn’t say anything as he approached, which Spike took as an invitation. “Buffy … I,” he started.
“Don’t. Just … don’t,” she stopped him as she looked off into the distance, her eyes unfocused.
Spike tilted his head and considered her a moment before sitting down on the step next to her. “What is it?” he asked softly. “Wanna talk about it?”
Buffy frowned deeply and shook her head, never looking at him.
“Is there something I can do?” he asked gently.
Buffy shook her head again.
“Should I … go then?” he asked uncertainly, looking off into the distance as well.
Buffy hesitated, then shook her head again. It felt like a thousand thoughts and worries were swirling around in her mind: her mom’s mysterious illness and the upcoming medical tests, Dawn’s Keyness, Glory’s apparent invincibility, averting apocalypse nine-hundred and seventy two.
On top of that, now she had to worry about what exactly was inside her. Not that she hadn’t thought about this before. Between Faith and the First Slayer and Dracula, she’d questioned what she was made of, and what it meant to her as a person, more than once. She didn’t know what made her a Slayer. She didn’t know where her power came from. And, worst of all, she didn’t know if what Spike contended was true, that her power – her demonic power – would burn out and just give up one day. What if it made her give up while fighting Glory? What if Buffy faltered and lost not only her own life, but Dawn’s? What if she couldn’t avert this latest apocalypse? What if Spike was right?
Buffy felt like the weight of the world was atop her – again. And she was so very tired of carrying it … so very tired.
She felt Spike’s hand touch her back tentatively. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she tried to still her whirling thoughts. Why did the touch of her mortal enemy seem to give her more comfort and strength than the touch of her boyfriend, who actually cared about her? Could Spike be right – was it because she was just like him? Was she actually a demon with a fancy Slayer wrapping on the outside? Was she a monster?
Buffy leaned sideways, against Spike’s chest, and he wrapped his arm over her shoulders gently, almost shyly.
“It’s Mom…” she began, needing to tell someone. She just had to get one thing off her shoulders. If she got one weight off, maybe she could keep going.
I haven't written Buffy and Spike from canon since ... forever ago! So, please be kind! I hope they are close enough to be believable with Spike having a bit more insight to guide him. Unlike my other stories, there will not be a different song for each chapter. There is just one song for the story and the names of the chapters will be taken from the lyrics of this one song.
Next we are going to zip though the following Season 5 episodes: Shadow – Listening to Fear – Into the Woods – Triangle – Checkpoint – Blood Ties – Crush
Wow - that will be a wild ride. Hang on!
Turn Me On, David Guetta ft. Nicki Minaj
Doctor, doctor, need you bad, hold me babe
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