(no subject)
electricity and homicidal tendencies - prompts
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar/Elle
Rating: MMMMMM.
Table: here
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Summary: Two drabbles for the prompt table. No particular connection between them.
30. Author’s Choice: Eat you alive.
She’s so fragile.
All tough nails and soft skin, burning sparks and hard smiles. Her teeth make little marks on his shoulders he wishes would stay, and there’s something fucking beautiful about the mars he makes on her pristine, flawless body.
He could break her; he wants to break her. Wants to eat her alive, make her scream for him, and take in all of her so maybe he’ll be whole, maybe the divide stuttering the clock inside will fix itself.
She writhes beneath him, her slick body curved into him, the fan of her golden hair spread out on the sheets. He just wants to watch when she comes around him, her body lost, her ravaged neck arced back and exposed, all that skin blue and black in the moonlight.
He’ll never break her.
23. I’ve never been happy.
The doctors say there’s something not quite right in her head, like she missing x, or y is hooked up to z all wrong, and there’s nothing anyone else can do; she’s prodded and tested and diagnosed and thrown into the defective bin.
Too bad, so sad.
Her daddy says she’s special, and has potential, and that she needs to stop whining and being so useless and such a beautiful little failure, and Noah looks at her sometimes like she’s a broken, wasted slip of a girl. Like she’s something to pity.
Elle looks in the mirror at her curling smile and sweet face, at the defective, pitiful little failure she is, and sometimes she wonders where Gabriel saw an angel.
All she sees is emptiness in her inky blue eyes; the pigments are thick with it.
She tries to tell herself a walking corpse can’t be unhappy.
Maybe she just needs to be filled. Like a stuffed animal. Stitched up around the seams. She wonders what’s inside everyone else.
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar/Elle
Rating: MMMMMM.
Table: here
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Summary: Two drabbles for the prompt table. No particular connection between them.
30. Author’s Choice: Eat you alive.
She’s so fragile.
All tough nails and soft skin, burning sparks and hard smiles. Her teeth make little marks on his shoulders he wishes would stay, and there’s something fucking beautiful about the mars he makes on her pristine, flawless body.
He could break her; he wants to break her. Wants to eat her alive, make her scream for him, and take in all of her so maybe he’ll be whole, maybe the divide stuttering the clock inside will fix itself.
She writhes beneath him, her slick body curved into him, the fan of her golden hair spread out on the sheets. He just wants to watch when she comes around him, her body lost, her ravaged neck arced back and exposed, all that skin blue and black in the moonlight.
He’ll never break her.
23. I’ve never been happy.
The doctors say there’s something not quite right in her head, like she missing x, or y is hooked up to z all wrong, and there’s nothing anyone else can do; she’s prodded and tested and diagnosed and thrown into the defective bin.
Too bad, so sad.
Her daddy says she’s special, and has potential, and that she needs to stop whining and being so useless and such a beautiful little failure, and Noah looks at her sometimes like she’s a broken, wasted slip of a girl. Like she’s something to pity.
Elle looks in the mirror at her curling smile and sweet face, at the defective, pitiful little failure she is, and sometimes she wonders where Gabriel saw an angel.
All she sees is emptiness in her inky blue eyes; the pigments are thick with it.
She tries to tell herself a walking corpse can’t be unhappy.
Maybe she just needs to be filled. Like a stuffed animal. Stitched up around the seams. She wonders what’s inside everyone else.