Trigger warning: Nothing explicit here, no gore or anything. However this is a prime example of an abuse cycle and really manipulative behavior. So yeah just in case you get chills, now you know.
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She stood there, her shoulders heaving up and down. Her left arm hung by her side; limb and dead. The fingers of her right arm twitched, her lips parted before she sighed softly, “Tristan…”
Tristan flinched, hearing that soft sigh of his name. He ground his teeth together, his fake smile turning into a snarl, “He’s dead. I finished his ‘business’. Just… just like you wanted, right?” He hid the bone shank behind him, feeling time slow down between them. “I practically skull fucked him. You would’ve liked that.” It pleased him that the seconds between them felt like minutes. Her bronze skin colored blue in the cell, the burnt orange coils of her hair flicking from the slightest movement of her head. Her chest lifting and down as she breathed, smoke tapering out from between those thick lips.
He savored just how stunning she looked… and how ravishing she would be with crimson spewing from her mouth, the bone weapon hidden behind him pierced between those heaving breasts.
This enhancement forced on him was showing its worth.
“This is what you wanted, right?” He was closer now, happy that the shock of his survival kept her frozen. At least that's how she seemed to him now, “Look, I’m covered in his fucking entrails!” He laughed, though there was no humor in it, his eyes were burning and swollen, salting rivers revealing his pale skin underneath the drying blood, “You are such a fucking bitch! Leaving me here… he was going to kill me!”
His knees trembled as the weight of the fight, of the experiments, of the imprisonment pushed him down just in front of her, “You… your promise would’ve been broken if he did. Lucky you.” He looked up at her, his wet eyes searching for hers, his voice coming out in a snarl, “I’m a fucking monster! Just like you wanted!” His free hand punched the ground, his speed leaving a precise imprint of his knuckles, with a few stands of cracks erupting from the center, “Isn’t this what you fucking wanted!?”
He heard her breathing return to normal, and the continued silence infuriated him, “Say something! DO SOMETHING!”
He shuddered as her right arm wrapped around his head, pressing his forehead against her waist, underneath her breasts. He moved his hand from behind his back, aiming the shank towards her side, underneath the dormant steel limb.
She was vulnerable. That was her mistake-
“Tristan… I’m so proud of you.”
He froze. Only his hand, clenching the makeshift shank, had any movement. It was twitching and shaking as her words sung out into his ears.
No, not just the words.
Her voice, deep, soothing and gentle, gave them power. His lips parted in a gasp as her fingers ran through his hair. They didn’t grab or tug. Instead, they caressed the stained, stringy locks, weaving the stands between her warm digits.
Proud…?
She was proud of him…
That shouldn’t surprise him.
She was a fucking disaster; a toxic monstrosity that left nothing but burning wreckage in her wake.
Yet… she was proud of him.
Time slowed down further, those words burrowing into his mind, massaging it. The weight holding him down lifted.
Just enough for the shank to fall from his fingers, “Wha… what?”
Surely she heard the clatter, yet she held him close, not even acknowledging it, “I knew that you would win. Of course you would win. You’re perfect. I’m so happy.” She moved back, looking into his eyes with eyes that glowed with pride.
With love.
He kept looking at her, searching for the sign of Wrath. For anger, for disgust, for a twitch of superiority. A thousand insults came to mind. A thousand actions he could do to bring out that beast just hiding barely beneath the surface.
Yet he couldn’t do it.
He didn’t have the strength.
She took that away from him.
A slight whimper escaped his lips, a lump in his throat. When she pressed her thumb against his cheek, wiping away the stains, he unraveled. He sobbed, his hands lifting to grip her waist, clawing into the back of her shirt. He must’ve looked so frail, so pathetic, but all he needed was this.
All he wanted was this Ira.
The Ira he missed so badly.
“Shhh, it’s okay.” Her left arm lifted, joining her right arm in embracing him, stroking the back of his neck and his hair, not caring for the rusty muck, thick mucus, and briny fluid staining her clothes. None of that mattered right now. “You’re right where you belong. Okay, baby? I love you, I love you so much.” She lowered her head, nuzzling her cheek against his hair, “Come on, Sweetie. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Even if this Ira was a lie… even if her words were as flimsy as ash, just for now he would be vulnerable.
Just this once.
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