I live off of suffering, and the women of Fairy Tail each haul it in loads. First up in this project: Cana and Laxus.
Let me know your thoughts, my sweets x
femme fatale
i
TOXICITY IS SOMETHING VERY BECOMING OF WOMEN LIKE HER.
He watches her drown herself in whiskey, decides that loving her is akin to watching glass shatter. The cracks are all too much all at once, and then she is splintering. His arms cradle her unwillingly. Loving her is also a weakness.
She whispers something saucy, trails a finger somewhere heady. He forces his back straight and heart, slowed. To show her any inkling of desire is also a weakness. She sees through them so clearly for what they are and what they mean.
"I'm not doing this," he growls through a burning throat. "I'm not fucking doing this tonight, Cana."
She is as persistent as he knew she would be. "But you'll fuck this?" she breathes into a chaste kiss, trails electricity across his broad shoulders.
"Cana," he says, sharply, like he took hold of all her jagged edges and hurled them back at her.
She doesn't feel their sting, though the blood drips. "Stop pretending, baby. You know I can see inside that pretty head…"
And Gods, can she. He can feel her writhing her way between each of his buried secrets, each burning regret. Every simmering desire.
He puts a physical barrier between them, feels not a slight bit of guilt as the wooden bar top digs into her ribs. "Stop, fucking hell, Cana. I thought we were past this."
Loving her is a weakness—
but fuck is there an eternity between her legs.
She slinks around his arms, crawls over the bar like the vixen she is. He averts his gaze and stiffens each limb, imagines himself still as stone and sure as steel. But each welded joint unravels beneath her touch, a hum lingering across the goose-bumped flesh.
"Just tonight," she repeats over into his shoulder, the juncture of his neck, the hammering pulse below his throat. "Before I leave."
She is the one hurling daggers with her words now. Their tongues lash like sharpened steel, both upon flesh and with their threats. Before I leave. An empty promise at best. When he tells her this she stills briefly, her curls spilling over his shoulder the only movement between them.
"If you want an apology, you can look elsewhere."
He hisses, "For what?" but there is only silence between them. "Make up your fucking mind. Stay, or go. It's not life or death."
She shoves him, hard. "Godspeed, my love, is it? If you wanted me gone you could have fucking told me so before all this."
The fraying thread of his patience finally snaps, and he holds her against the bar with humming hands. The sparks don't faze her, the cold fury in her eyes stronger than anything he could possibly use against her.
"Every year," he says instead. "We do this every damn year, and for what? I'll wake up and there'll be nothing there of you except your scent, only to find you passed out behind the guild bar. This guilt shit isn't good for either of us."
Her flickering gaze is all the warning he is given. A force knocks him flat to the ground, summoned chains winding around each limb. She squats beside him, legs spread uncaringly wide, the chaos behind her eyes infectious.
"You've no right."
"I don't? I have every Godsdamned right!"
She straddles his chained hips, traces a finger down his bulging jugular. "Did you forget that it your lips that kissed me goodbye when I needed you more than ever?" she hisses lowly, sweet breath tasting like all his regrets.
The memories sting like an open wound, with festering flesh and skin pulled back to reveal each damaged tendon, every severed sinew. He left. He had left on a misguided crusade, his father a martyr and his grandfather the devil, which now he knows is the furthest from the truth.
He had abandoned her like she meant absolutely fucking nothing, as if they hadn't spent countless nights buried in each other, lazy mornings entwined with the other, mental breakdowns shared in back alleys and beneath stranger's sheets.
The shackles tighten around his wrists like serpents, forked tongues lapping up his fear. He looks up at her then, forces himself to not flinch at the sight.
"Cana…"
"Don't," she hisses, grabs him by the jaw and forces his face up, until her bared teeth and sneered lips and blazing eyes are all he can see.
"I am leaving," she hisses. "And this time, I will not be coming back. I don't fucking care if your throat gets slit, nothing will bring me back."
And now she stands tall, eyes glassy but filled with revolt. He knows that he has lost her, the Cana he once knew buried beneath decades of abandonment and self-slaughter. Her father is as much a devil as his, and now it was her turn to embark on a misguided crusade through the same troubled waters he had navigated all those years ago.
He doesn't try to call her back as her figure fades fast into the night, doesn't try to break from his bindings to chase after her. Her jagged edges have finally torn right through him, and all he can do is bear it.
tbc