11-14-2022, 01:06 AM
feel around until you find where your heart went --
A part of her wishes he wasn’t so easy to be around.
It would be easier not to miss him if she were more afraid—or if she were always afraid, if the violence was not broken up with casual conversation and grand gestures. If she was more afraid of him hurting her than she was of him leaving her, if she was more afraid of his punishment than his disappointment.
Maybe if bloodshed did not mix so nicely with stardust, maybe if he did not save her repeatedly from the dark in more ways than one, she would be able to see him as the unforgiving god that everyone else saw, and not a corrupted savior.
She concedes to the idea, instead, that this is all part of some grandiose scheme. That she is a pawn in this game that he has crafted; a game that she would gladly and carelessly lose over and over just to be a piece in it.
“I don’t think I had ever even been here before,” she muses, still playing along with the idea that he had come here for small-talk, still ignoring the way her heart thrums faster behind the scar on her chest the longer he stands there, and how that thread of darkness that had followed her home from the void clamors against its cage in response to him being so close. The words are casual but her thoughts are frenetic, flicking through every possible reason he could have come here, racing through all the reasons she wants him to come here.
It doesn’t matter, of course, because the moment he fills the space between them and his lips find her neck, everything else is forgotten.
Involuntarily she draws a sharp breath, an electric shiver racing down her spine at his touch and she wonders if this is why he drags out the time between their meetings; because he knows the longer he makes her wait the faster she will unravel. Without hesitation she reaches for him, seeking out the familiar slope of his shoulder with her lips and pressing herself closer. It could be a trap, she knows, and the thought tries to crowd her mind—he says he has brought her something, and she had learned a long time ago that even his gifts came at a price. “Yes,” she finds herself whispering anyway, breathless, still not pulling away from him, still leaving a trail of stardust against his skin as if he won’t just wipe himself clean of her the moment he leaves, as if she could ever mark him the way that he marks her. “Show me.”
-- r y a t a h
@Carnage