A/N: This one's considerably darker than anything I've written before, but hopefully you'll like it. As I said in the summary, warnings for non-explicit femmeslash, themes and character death. Reviews would help fuel my muses for my next offering (probably fluff next time!)
Strong metal chains bind her in place, the heavy cuffs chafing her thin wrists . They're so delicate, just like everything else about her – it's part of what you love about her, how… breakable she looks. Especially when you used to fight her, her small noises of pain and the sounds she made when she hit the ground. You wonder if that's why the boy likes her. Because she looks small and easy to hold down. It's not that odd to think he might feel the same way, you're both just as messed up as each other. Except he got better, and you got worse. Your relationship with her, too, is very much the same. You both met her when she was 10, and you were older. He's only a year older than her, of course, but you were 15 and old enough to know how fucked up your obsession was. She was only a kid…
Then you met again, and you were both so much older. She's grown up. A lot. Once toxic green eyes have now darkened to a beautiful emerald, and her hair, her gorgeous deep red hair, waves down her back to her slim waist. You once wrapped your hands in that hair, pressed your lips against hers, saw the love and lust burning in those pretty green eyes. Now, her hair is messy and tangled and her eyes, when they look at you, pierce yours with a burning hate. But it's okay, because you love her so fucking much, and you know you can remind her of how she once felt too.
The neural inhibitor is stopping her from using her mana, making sure she can't hurt you with her powers. But she fought physically when you captured her, before you clicked the cuffs into place, and you still bear the marks. You could have healed them easily, but you kind of like it. The red of the still slightly bloody scratches stand out sharply against the pale, flawless skin of your cheek. The contrast reminds you of how it looked when she slept pressed against you, the pretty dark red of her hair mixing with the gleaming silver of your own.
Her fight is almost gone now; she's exhausted from the repeated shocks when she tried to use her powers. You used your own mana on her, binding it round her mouth. Now you release it, but she doesn't even bother screaming – she knows she's finished. Now you slide a hand around the back of her head, so gentle with your precious girl. She still tastes the same as you remember, as you tenderly kiss her, and her lips are as soft as ever. You're happy that at least being with him hasn't ruined her, a worry from the start. You thought maybe it wouldn't be the same; you might be able, somehow, to taste him on her lips. But of course you can't – she doesn't belong to him, she belongs to you, she belongs with you and not anyone else.
You have, of course, realised that they will be tracking you down. The boy you hate because he touched your girl. You hate him because of how he always treated you like you were going to hurt her even when you were together, and when she loved you too. Now that you think about it, the other one, who would surely be with him, was like that too.
It's okay. They're nearly here, you can tell. Your magic can at least still help you with that, even though a few of your other abilities have been weakened since something in your mind snapped.
You kiss her again, this time biting savagely into her full lower lip, as you did to yours only moments before. Your tongue delicately slips over the wounds you inflicted on her, the taste of her blood igniting a fire in you. Her lips parted in surprise at the pain, allowing you to force her to taste the blood dripping from your lips. You pick up a small knife from the ground beside you. The blade is shining silver and the wire wrapped around the handle is copper. A vibrant red, the meaning behind the colours is not lost on her. You raise the knife.
The wall is blown apart, her two "friends" racing towards you. You see the shock and revulsion in their eyes at what you've done. You know that they will kill you, there's no doubt. They won't know that you didn't hurt her – the blade was sharp. The pain would've come much after the knife carved a line across her perfect pale throat, if she could've felt it. They're closer now. You raise the blade and repeat the action, this time breaking your own skin. Then there's a moment of panic, because it did hurt, and she would have felt it too. And then your body falls forward, hair mixing with hers in a waterfall of red and silver. It doesn't hurt anymore. Because she's yours now. Forever.