168
until our marrows mix
inception (cobb/mal)
404 words of mal being a serial killer, and cobb loving her anyway. yep. for this prompt on inception_kink.
She’s almost finished when he gets there. She starts without him, most days, because she knows that he’d rather it. He’ll do almost anything for her, but he doesn’t like to watch.
She’s got blood in her hair, and a drop of it sliding down the side of her face. Pale skin, red blood, dark hair. She’s Snow White, and she’s the Queen.
“Mal,” he says, stepping carefully over the blood pooled in the doorway, drying rusty at the edges. She turns to him like a flower to the sun, her mouth wide and happy, and she laughs. Looks up from the squares of pared skin she’s laying out carefully on the concrete floor. To dry.
“Dom,” she says. “You’re here.” He loves the way she says his name, like he’s everything to her. He not, not really, but he likes to believe that she thinks he is. She holds her hands up for him to see - they’re smeared almost to the elbow, though there are a few patches, here and there, of untouched skin. “I’d tell you to kiss me, but I’m a mess, I’m afraid.”
“It’s alright,” he says. He smiles at her, and doesn’t look at the lump next to her, the body mostly skinned. “I can wait for you.”
It’s okay, he thinks, sometimes, because she’s only killing her own projections, but he knows that if the PASIV had never been invented, he’d still be helping her. He just thinks of the day he met her - she’d entered the classroom with a smile, shifting her bag higher up on her shoulder as she talked to her father. He will remember that moment for the rest of his life.
“Almost finished,” she says, turning back to the body. He wonders who it was, the body. Male, definitely. Mid-thirties. Fleshy. All things that she likes in her victims.
This part, he doesn’t mind so much. The body is a body - not a moaning, breathing, hurting thing, but an inert mass. An object. It’s easy to just watch her, the way that she moves, the sweet smile on her face. She’s just beginning to show, the curve of her belly pressing against the cotton of her button-down. There are a few splashes of blood there, from the killing stroke. She likes to cut the femoral artery, first, and let them bleed out.
Cobb wonders what his son or daughter is going to be like.
inception (cobb/mal)
404 words of mal being a serial killer, and cobb loving her anyway. yep. for this prompt on inception_kink.
She’s almost finished when he gets there. She starts without him, most days, because she knows that he’d rather it. He’ll do almost anything for her, but he doesn’t like to watch.
She’s got blood in her hair, and a drop of it sliding down the side of her face. Pale skin, red blood, dark hair. She’s Snow White, and she’s the Queen.
“Mal,” he says, stepping carefully over the blood pooled in the doorway, drying rusty at the edges. She turns to him like a flower to the sun, her mouth wide and happy, and she laughs. Looks up from the squares of pared skin she’s laying out carefully on the concrete floor. To dry.
“Dom,” she says. “You’re here.” He loves the way she says his name, like he’s everything to her. He not, not really, but he likes to believe that she thinks he is. She holds her hands up for him to see - they’re smeared almost to the elbow, though there are a few patches, here and there, of untouched skin. “I’d tell you to kiss me, but I’m a mess, I’m afraid.”
“It’s alright,” he says. He smiles at her, and doesn’t look at the lump next to her, the body mostly skinned. “I can wait for you.”
It’s okay, he thinks, sometimes, because she’s only killing her own projections, but he knows that if the PASIV had never been invented, he’d still be helping her. He just thinks of the day he met her - she’d entered the classroom with a smile, shifting her bag higher up on her shoulder as she talked to her father. He will remember that moment for the rest of his life.
“Almost finished,” she says, turning back to the body. He wonders who it was, the body. Male, definitely. Mid-thirties. Fleshy. All things that she likes in her victims.
This part, he doesn’t mind so much. The body is a body - not a moaning, breathing, hurting thing, but an inert mass. An object. It’s easy to just watch her, the way that she moves, the sweet smile on her face. She’s just beginning to show, the curve of her belly pressing against the cotton of her button-down. There are a few splashes of blood there, from the killing stroke. She likes to cut the femoral artery, first, and let them bleed out.
Cobb wonders what his son or daughter is going to be like.