This is a oneshot...for the greens/Butch. I do not own the Powderpuffs Gir-wait, I'm being told I don't own the Powerpuff Girls, not Powderpuffs. Sorry!
WARNING: Dark and suggestive themes, not recommended for those who are underage.
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"Stop!" A trembling scream that could barely be heard over the loud claps of thunder accompanied by daggers of rain cried out. Butch stopped and looked down, still full of fury. However, his flaring, furious eyes softened as he saw the source of the scream. A shivering girl was beneath him, her hands bound together and bloodied by his own hands, bright jade eyes with stubborn tears forming in the corners. Her face was smeared with mud, porcelain skin spotted with scarlet blood and black bangs over her eyes. A now torn black jacket was covering an even more rugged tank top, scarred skin showing. Her jeans were no where to be found, only crooked green panties covered her middle, her pale legs covered in long scars.
'Buttercup.'
His dark emerald eyes widen, realizing who she was. She sniffed, and looked at him with the most sorrowful eyes. "Please." She whimpered through bleeding lips. He didn't move at all. He didn't know what to do. He was making Buttercup cry. The tough girl down the street that never showed fear was crying and begging for mercy because of him. What had happened? He wracked his mind, trying to get some sort of vague understanding of why he was doing this, why he was here. An image jolted into his mind, his hands tightening their grip around the girl's bruised wrists. It was a cage, dark and filthy, like something used for a wild animal. Something used to entrap something like him.
He was in the cage, curled up and asleep, seeming to have painful dreams. Another image was lodged into his mind. It was the dreams, pictures of blood and fire consuming those who he hated. His bloody fantasies everyone ignored. They had developed them long ago, imagining what it was like to actually feel something he had never experienced before. That's all he needed. Some sort of warm feeling with an odd name he could never get the meaning of: love.
How they became so bloody, so homicidal was a mystery, though he had always been violent and cruel. He just wanted to feel that feeling. So when she moved down the street and he actually felt that feeling around her, his fantasies became a step closer to reality. They grew into plans that he wanted to complete but never got to, suddenly always distracted by her. She wasn't intimidated like the other kids who always called him inhuman; she never did seem intimidated by anyone. It took a while, but he became closer to her as well as his fantasies to reality.
That warm feeling that he always wanted grew and became a insatiable fire that burned inside of him. He became even more insatiable, always coming home everyday only to leave to go and visit her. Even when the people who caged him pulled out the worn whip they had always used on him, he fought back with such ferocity, such determination, and for once they gained bruises instead of him.
That anger he began to reflect even more became outward, every single thing that separated him from what he wanted was torn apart by his own hands. He didn't even care that his hands were stained with crimson; he just wanted to feel that emotion, something to warm his cold heart. Unknowingly, his dreams, his fantasies became everyone's fear, their worst nightmare; everyone's horrible reality. But then, when he confronted her and told her his feelings, something happened.
...
Butch carelessly wiped the blotch of maroon color off his shoulder and strolled out of the alleyway, unaffected by the pool of a similar color that he left. He didn't have time to clean up; for he had other plans, more important than that. He continued to walk down the street, ignoring the weird looks the passing people gave him. Their looks were not something new, in fact it was something he had gotten used to. They couldn't be blamed really though. He did look unapproachable. Only in baggy jeans and dirty shirts or tank-tops with scars up and down his bare skin, dark green eyes twitching with unimaginable anger, was the correct way to describe him. But they would say something else. They'd describe him as someone who was just...angry. And empty-looking.
Soon, a green and black person came into view, a bag slung over one shoulder and a soccer ball in their free hand. His twitching stopped for a moment and he ran to them, a crazy smile on his face. "Buttercup!" The person turned around, looking indifferent as usual.
"What?" She asked, completely oblivious to what he is. He halted right beside her, crazy smile still intact despite her rather uncaring tone.
"Nothing." He said, his twitching stopping completely. She rolled her misty green eyes and ignored him, walking onward. He followed her home, as usual, but something inside of him was egging him on to stop her and say something. It wad an odd feeling though; it wasn't warm or inviting, but instead cold and vicious, the feeling that his fantasies gave off. It had been there, growing deep inside of him for so very long, and now, it came out and made him pull her back to him when she was blocks away from home. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, burying his face into her neck to take in her alluring scent. She struggled in his grip, but that feeling brought out something in him that .
A demon-like animal was brought out.
He kissed her neck, loving the sound her fast heartbeat. She continued to struggle, her attempts to escape increasing in ferocity. The sun was setting far away in distant with a red aura following its departure. He smirked silently and nibbled on her ear. "I want you," He breathed deeply, his grip tightening possessively. "Do you want me?" She stiffened as one of his hands began to travel up to her chest, frozen in shock from his touch. She didn't like it, but she didn't hate it. His grip was protective and warm, something she too had never experienced. But she didn't like his voice or that question. His voice wasn't his; it was low and inhuman, not his regular voice that was always so joking. And the question was so prodding.
Did she want him? His grip, squeezing and bruising her creamy skin, was accompanied by something so lovely and warm, but so cruel. It was like he was begging her silently to say yes. But who would want someone so uncontrollable, so demonic? She shivered quietly, and said, voice steady and sure, "No." For a movement, his hands stopped moving and his black, spiked hair brushed against her skin as he lowered his head down to rest on her shoulders. The answer had affected him momentarily. No one has ever accepted him, and now, the one he actually wanted, has rejected him. An unearthly growl passed through his gritted teeth as his right eye began to twitch.
Someone had to accept him, they had to. And she was the only one he needed. His grip pierced her skin, pearls of scarlet red forming from the new wounds. "I'll make you want me." He growled slowly. "I'll make you love me."
...
He froze over her still-sobbing form before letting go of her wrists, revealing violet and black marks. What was he? The answer wasn't clear. He wasn't sure what he could be. But he knew one thing. He had made her cry and defiled her. Something no one else could do. She sniffed back her tears and slowly pulled down her arms, not sure what he was going to do.
He stayed still, in wonderment. She regained a steady face, and tried to move out from beneath him, sliding sideways. But, two arms suddenly went around her, and she flinched, waiting to be hit. Nothing happened. He only hugged her, and shook his head.
"I'm sorry,"
The rain had yet to let up, the wind sending waves of coldness through her body, but the warmth of his touch almost made the rain unnoticeable.
"For being such a,"
He struggled, the new found internal pain of realization was so over-whelming. He knew all along he wasn't human, nor some sort of alien hero. Craved from evil, made for destruction, what he was was so bitterly true. He was nothing more than what he was.
A cruel, brutal, filthy, undeserving-
"Monster."
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Every review will be fully appreciated and rewarded with candy and cookies (bipolar much?), and creative criticism is welcomed very much. 'Till next time, hugs and candy canes! ^-^ See ya later peeps!