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thunderwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2007-08-19 08:03 pm
thunderwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-08-19 08:03 pm
Log; Complete
When; August 18th, evening
Rating; PG-13 for violence
Characters; Cirucci {![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thunderwitch} & Noitora {oneeyedhorror}
Summary; What started as a simple humiliation when being threatened into bringing food for the Espada quickly escalates to verbal abuse and then to violence when worth and rank are brought to question.
Log;
She hated Noitora.
Of all the Espada, she hated Noitora the most, hated him that his tongue held the number that had once adorned her breast. Her number, had ripped it from her.
And had sent her to get his goddamned food.
The Privaron kicked at his door, once, with a small booted foot, and then again, unable to reach the handle with her arms laden, two boxes, a few containers, drinks. Bastard couldn’t even get his own fucking food, tch
“Get your ass up, Noitora.” Cirucci snapped, knocking her hip into the door this time, irritable and soaked to the bone.
>>>
Noitra's hand paused over the door before he finally opened it for the wet, angry Privaron. There was something all too amusing about the fact he could still get this from her. It almost made up for the fact that he didn't have Tesla here.
"Took you long enough," he drawled, looking down at her.
>>>
Her only response was a wordless snarl, brushing past him, bumping into his stomach on the way, too short to bump shoulders with the male, juggling the packages to make sure nothing spilled or fell. She made it to the table, and dumped them, retrieving only a small packet of her own before whirling to face him, dress clinging to her form and dripping at the hems and from the ends of her hair, that clung to her face and neck.
“I came at my leisure.” She snapped, flicking her arms and the droplets from her clinging gloves.
>>>
Noitora laughed, hardly offended by her dramatics as he shut the door in her wake and headed back into the apartment behind her at a lazy pace. The rain seemed to slow him down, box in his instincts. It frustrated him.
"What'd you get?" he asked, picking through the bag.
>>>
“Spicy food.” Cirucci snapped again, setting her small packet of food to the side and stripping off the long white gloves, folding them with a care she didn’t show many things, draping them over the back of one of his chairs.
Really, she didn’t give a fuck what they were called, they offended her senses, smelled hot, so she picked them up. Some sort of curry, spiced chicken, some meat wraps, she didn’t care. He expected her to bring her groceries and it pissed her off, lifting up her skirt to begin wringing it out over his sink.
>>>
"You can take it off, if you want. Not like anyone else is coming," Noitra flopped back into one of the chairs, unpacking the food she had brought him. It smelled nice, real nice. It wasn't like souls or anything, but as far as he was concerned, it was close enough.
"Gonna eat with me?"
>>>
Cirucci turned her head to shoot him a withering gaze, one of refusal, though her hands rose to begin unsnapping the collar of her dress, following the line of snaps down her neck and around her breast until she could shimmy out of it, pulling the garment over her head and laying it to dry over another chair as she adjusted her undergarments, black lace and wet.
“I’m not going out in that again.” She sneered, as explanation, turning to rustle in her own bag.
>>>
"Good. I'm not lending you shit," Noitra drawled, sinking his teeth into the wrap she had brought him. He rolled his tongue against the sharp, spicy taste, savoring the bite. The fifth Espada kicked up his feet on the table. "You'd have to go naked."
>>>
“Like I’d ask.” Cirucci undid her hair, running one hand through her thick hair, untangling wet curls. She pulled a small container from her bag, opened the lid and pulled out a piece of sliced fruit, nibbling daintily with a twisted lip.
“Tch.” She rolled her violet eyes, paced irritably in his kitchen, occasionally licking or nibbling on the fruit, hating the taste of human food on her tongue, in her belly.
>>>
Noitra shrugged, rolling the bite over on his tongue before swallowing it. He wasn't as posessive of her as Luppi or some of her pets might be. If she wanted to run around like that, it was no big deal as far as he was concerned.
"It's quieted down. Shit's stopped flying."
>>>
Tired of pacing, the Privaron flopped onto his couch on her belly, let out an irritated sigh, and popped a piece of a melon into her mouth.
“No shit, idiot.” She snapped. Irritated, she was irritated with his stupid demands and his idiotic way of acting, with his strength and with her number on his tongue.
“At least you’ve finally learned to eat by yourself.” Cirucci mocked, the previous rainy evening that he’d made her bring food having been filled with her being ordered to feed him, further shame on her already disgraced rank.
>>>
"Doesn't look like you've picked up much in the way of manners since, either," Noitora took another bite. It wasn't bad. He hadn't eaten a lot all day, poking at whatever fruit she'd left behind. It wasn't his favorite human food by any means, but when he wasn't in the mood to go looking for more, it did its job.
>>>
“My manners are perfect.” Cirucci contemplated throwing the plum in her bag at him. It was tempting. She hated that lax attitude, his casual apathy to everything not fighting to prove himself, and it irritated her, evidenced in her cursing, which, she tended not to use such language unless riled terribly.
“It’s you who’s lacking in goddamn manners.”
>>>
Noitora laughed, taking another swallow and digging for one of the drinks she had brought for them. He didn't consider the way he was acting any real problem. He had the power. He was more than entitled to enjoy the priviledge of the rank.
"I don't need your goddamn manners. I'm not a Privaron."
>>>
“You don’t deserve that rank.” Cirucci hissed, defiant and far too proud for her own sake, nerves worn too thin to hold her tongue, too tired of shinigami stalking her, of the abuse, of the shame to take it any more.
“You don’t deserve what you were created with, the help you received.”
>>>
"Doesn't matter," Noitora stuck out his tongue, making specific effort to flick the five openly at her before taking another bite of the wrap. So, that was the bug up her ass today or, rather, every day. She took this whole thing too personally for her own damn good.
"The Espada are the strongest. It doesn't matter how we're born. It matters how we fight, how strong we are. You might've had balls enough to rip off your mask, but you didn't have the strength to beat us."
>>>
“And you’re awful weak, for the one who claims to be the strongest one, hmm?” She tried to cap her anger, to reduce it back to its usual state, that simmering hatred inside of her that fueled her existance more than a heart ever could.
Tried to go back to her more subtle mockeries, to a casual stance like he adopted, but it was hard, talon-like nails clipping into a piece of pineapple and leisurely licking the juice that slipped off the fruit and onto her fingers. But violet eyes were still dark with suppressed rage, the desire to rip and tear into him with all she had, to pull on that tongue of his and rip the number from it, let it scar like hers was.
>>>
Noitora twitched at the insinuation, but he held his tongue. It was stupid taunting from an even stupider woman. He glanced up, eye narrowing as his reiatsu pressure built.
"Say that again, Thunderwitch."
>>>
Cirucci raised her head, chewed the piece of pineapple and lapped lazily at her fingers.
“I said, for someone who claims to be the strongest, you’re awfully far away from being Primera.” She bit at a nail, sharp and painted dark. “I can count. Five is in the middle of ten, isn’t it? Doesn’t that make you the average of the Espada?” But her muscles were slowly tensing, preparing for whether she could, or would, push too far.
>>>
The pressure crept through the apartment, raw and cold. Noitra didn't like using it much, but it made a pretty strong impression on the non-Espada, the weaker arrancar.
"They don't know how the strong really fight. They don't know how to deal with a fight of raw strength."
>>>
It was impressive, she knew it well, but she bore it best she could, exerting the extra effort, though it hurt, panged between her breasts at the hole there, to push her own so far that she could avoid most of the usual affects of such an oppressive reiatsu, the Privaron’s reiatsu, more sharp, rough hewn and unpolished, natural, flooded her own senses, able to only present a slight lowering of her head and shoulders as proof she felt his strength.
“Which explains why you’re stuck at Quinta, doesn’t it, No~i~to~ra?” She mocked him openly, too far gone on this to back out now without appearing weak.
>>>
"Shut your mouth, Privaron or I'll shut it for you. I don't see that scar on your tit turning into a number again anytime soon," Noitora snapped, his eye narrowing as he sent a proper flood of reiatsu through the small room.
>>>
“Hit a nerve, Noitora?” She had to push her own back in a burst to avoid being pushed down against the couch cushions, to avoid her head lowering till she bowed it, but, as it was, a bead of sweat was making it’s way down the side of her face, her breath a bit more shallow, hands fisting and nails digging in.
“Surely the words of a mere Privaron can’t make you so angry?”
>>>
"This isn't angry," Noitra kept his voice level, knowing full and well that it was. He hated being questioned. He hated being insulted. He could brush it off once, maybe twice, but not forever. He put his food down, pulling lazily free from the chair as he stepped towards the other arrancar, never letting up the pressure that flowed and pulsed around him as if it were alive.
"This is me thinking a Privaron needs to learn how to keep her damn trap shut."
>>>
Her brow was furrowed, a slight sweat breaking out over her mostly bare body when that reiatsu, powerful, more so than her own, approached even closer, a sneer turned grimace on her lips as she dug nails in until blood drew to distract herself, muscles quivering where she strove not to bow her head, not to lower herself under the crushing weight of that power.
“And here I thought-” Her breath came only in spurts, short, and winded. “That Espada were too far above such things.”
>>>
"S'that so?" Noitora drawled, staring down at her with a cold sort of intensity. The reiatsu didn't increase, but it remained on the air like the rattle of a snake's tail, a warning, potent and sounding louder than it should.
"Maybe this Espada's just in a mood to do things a little different."
>>>
“How very…” It was meant to be a drawl, but it came out in gritted teeth. “Creative of you.” It was too late, far too late, to take anything back, and she had to stand by her words, a creeping fear in her belly that told her she’d pushed too hard, too far, and that she would pay for it, as she usually did, but, oh, those words, that look on his face… it almost made it worth it.
Almost, considering she’d had to pant for a breath, had to blink to clear a bead of sweat from her eyes.
>>>
"A modern fucking marvel," Noitora laughed to himself, planting a hand just a couple inches from her head as he leaned down, his dark hair almost brushing her exposed chest. His temper was sporadic, but she had gotten on it.
>>>
The pressure was beginning to hurt, beginning to get to her, violet dilating in a combination of pain, suppressed fear, and that weight on her breast, the feeling of not being able to breathe, of having to gasp and pant for it, chest heaving as she tried in vain to get enough air.
“Hardly… a marvel.” Even now she couldn’t turn off her pride, her mouth, even knowing she was only digging a deeper hole.
>>>
His free hand sunk lower, tracing down her cheek and onto her chest, dark nails venturing dangerously close to tender skin, but never penetrating it as he could very well do. His one eye fixed on hers, trying to decide just how much fear lurked behind her cool violent eyes.
"You're one to talk, bitch."
>>>
She shivered involuntarily, breath hitching when his nails got far too close to the hyper sensitive skin of her Hollow hole, praying he wouldn’t, hating that her undergarments didn’t cover the scar on her left breast in the distinctive shape of the number five.
Quinta, now Privaron, now 105th, divested espada.
“I can talk all I want.” Cirucci managed to get out, hating him, hating so much she couldn’t hardly stand it, bottom lip trembling slightly from the pressure still on her from his reiatsu, from muscles straining not to submit.
>>>
"Yeah, but it doesn't mean I like listening to it," he drawled, hand slipping to the scar, always the scar. He traced along the remnants of skin, before finally digging a darkened nail into the skin. "And that's the problem, here."
>>>
The Privaron tried not to wince, but she did, more at the insinuation of what it meant than from pain, trying to snarl in anger but it came out more a snapping noise and a groan of air she didn’t have to spare.
“I…” She rested a moment, managed to get her arm up despite the threatening pressure, and wrap her thin fingers around his wrist in warning. “Don’t care… if you want to hear it… or not.”
>>>
"Yeah, and maybe I don't care if you die or not, Privaron," Noitra hissed, sinking his fingers in even deeper into the tender, discolored flesh of her former number. Her resistence was less of a turn on and more of a turn off at this point.
"But I'm betting you do."
>>>
She bit back a whimper of pain, but it escaped, a hiss and squirming uncomfortably, her grip on his own wrist weakening ever more before it fell back down and the muscles in her neck cramped from the strain of holding her head up, quivering with the effort, sweating with it, with the creeping, crawling, feeling moving up her spine.
“Don’t.” It was meant to be a warning, but almost sounded like a plea, considering her position, beneath him there, half clad and weakened by the strength of his reiatsu.
>>>
Noitra paused, savoring that little whimper of pain before tugging his fingers free from the skin, sending a sprinkle of red along her chest. He lightened the reiatsu, just a measure, curious to see if she still had the will, the balls to fight back against him.
"Don't?"
>>>
Her breath lightened, the dilating in her eyes eased, and a small groan escaped her before she tried to rise, struggled to raise her head, managing only to half prop herself up on one elbow, to dig her nails into the couch to anchor herself.
“Don’t… you dare.” She grit out.
>>>
"What would happen if I did?" Noitra drawled, sinking his fingers back into her flesh, finding fresh purchase in her skin. He didn't take well to empty threats. "Your pets'd come and kill me?"
>>>
Another wince she tried to hide, another grit of teeth evident in the sneer on painted lips, weakened too much by his reiatsu to fight back much, instead opting for what she could pass as fortitude, taking what he could dish out.
“As if… those little shits could.” She snapped weakly, trying to twist her lips into a smirk. “I would.”
>>>
"Do it," Noitora coaxed, his palm cupping the breast as his fingers rested tiredly in the shallow wounds he'd made with them. "I'm right here, Thunderwitch. Show me how you would."
>>>
Shallow breath and she looked at him, suppressed fear, overwhelming pride, the weakness the pin of his power had on her, a brief flash of discomfort when he cupped her breast, the almost gentle motion after digging his nails in, and a half snarl on her lips.
Her eyes then slide to Golondrina, set on the table beside her drying clothes, and her mouth turned to a firm line.
“… No.” It was out of reach, and at this strength, she could only crawl, couldn’t stand upright. And she would not crawl. … Couldn’t.
>>>
"Whaaaat?" Noitra hissed, sneering as he pulled back. He reached up, neatly parting the stiff white cloth of his uniform, exposing the pale lines of his chest as he worked his way down to expose the same amount of flesh she was. "C'mon. Free shot, Privaron. Too scared?"
>>>
Her eyes shifted back from him to Golondrina, wishing the blade were closer, in her hand, then she’d show him, she’d release, and-
“… I’m-” She wondered if she could frustrate him more by refusing again, wondered if she could risk frustrating him more at all, even as she fisted one of her hands, pulled reiatsu from her body and began to charge a cero there, gathering the energy in her palm even as she grit her teeth and tried to raise her head all the more. “… not scared of you, Noitora.”
>>>
Noitora's smile grew, a dark flicker growing in his eye. Here it was, another game of Russian Roullette, one he was damned certain he intended to win. He lowered his hand to press it against her chest, his own reiatsu growing in turn.
"Kill me, then."
>>>
Cirucci did snarl then, hand fisted tightening as she made a split second decision. Cero would need a few more moments to charge, and what could he do in the meantime. Would he? Would it be best to move first, or with more power?
Her hand flew out towards him, shifting the reiatsu from the charging cero to the much quicker, but weaker shot of a bala, if only to save some time and push his hand off her chest.
>>>
The smile faded with a choked gasp, Noitora stumbling backwards as his forehead wrinkled with pain from the bala she had unleashed. Oh, fuck, but did it sting, the blood bubbling up to stain across his white uniform.
"Good, Privaron," he snapped out.
>>>
Cirucci didn’t waste time with a reply, struggled off the couch and made a dash past him for her blade across the room, fear driving her, pride fueling her, and desperation coursing through her.
She didn’t want to die.
>>>
Noitora straightened, his body lifting to full height with ease. He tilted his head back, watching her as she ran. He was curious to see just what she'd do, how far she'd go.
"C'mon," he breathed, reaching down for the chain of his weapon.
>>>
Her fingers curled around the hilt of her weapon with the comforting feel of herself, her true self, and she whirled around to face him again, snapping out the circular blade and looping the wires around her hands, felt the harsh burn of the sharp steel in her hands, watching him warily, hate clear in her eyes even as her wrist flicked out, the blade solidifying her reiatsu enough that she could stand mostly straight, regain some wit.
“I’d just hate to wreck your place.” She managed to spit out, whirling blade snapping out from her body in a display of skill, the whip humming in the air.
>>>
Noitora let out a hiss of breath. She wasn't an opponent he'd have thought of fighting in Las Noches, but here? Here was different. There was something entirely intoxicating about fighting anything arrancar at this point.
Besides, this one came with the added show of being topless as well, "Make your mark, Privaron."
>>>
Cirucci stiffened in blatant, broiling, anger. Anger at this City, at human food, at humans, at herself, at Aizen, at the other males, and most, at him, the most hate she had for anyone, because no matter how many times she faced him, he was the one who always kept that mark of the Quinta, she never got it back.
With another flick of her wrist and the guide of her other hand the wires sung across her palm, the whip lashing out in a whirl of steel and high-pitching screaming noise headed straight at him.
>>>
The potent movement that lined Noitora's muscles sprung into action, as he whipped the chain of his zanpakutou up. He wasn't going to release it for her yet. She wasn't that special. He swung it in a slow arc to catch the other's whip and yank it down.
>>>
She braced, yanked the wires and manipulated the swing, waited until the last moment to pull the blade back with the cracking noise of the circular blade slamming back into the hilt in her hand only to whip out once again, aiming over the sling of his blade, a wordless snarl of frustration.
>>>
It almost stung as her whip smacked against his hand, tracing too fast for the Espada to catch, this time at least. Noitora could feel his pulse quickening, the hunger for the fight readily shooting through his body as he gathered his reiatsu for a sonido, shooting through the apartment to break the distance between them. Too fast, he was moving too fast. He had to savor this, he reminded himself.
There were only so many times he could kill her, after all.
>>>
Eyes widening, Cirucci leapt back, hit his table with a muffled curse, and jumped as quickly as she could into a sonido of her own, heading for the door, fear rising up in her belly. She couldn’t win this, she knew that, just couldn’t keep her goddamned mouth shut to avoid the situation either, the nervous sweat of fear on her skin at the memories of what he had done to her, what he could.
>>>
Noitora let out a hiss of agitation as she flickered away, just seconds from his grip. Fucking bitch. He wanted this fight now. He wanted her blood. It was a whim, like almost everything was to him, but the important thing right now was that he wanted blood.
"Scared?" he barked.
>>>
Her sonido ground to a halt at that word. … Scared. She was scared, breathing wild and short, eyes crazed with the desperation to not die, turning to face him with an almost psychotic smile on her face.
“I told you, Noitora.” She released her blade, felt the bones coming up around her, the wings, the tail, the feathers and talons. “I’m not afraid of you.”
>>>
"That's more like it," Noitora breathed, appreciatively as the wings spread, knocking what few scattered things he had bothered to bring into the apartment aside. He was getting her full-force, at her absolute best.
He lifted his hand, with a sharp, rough laugh as he fired a row of bala at her.
>>>
Her wings crashed into the walls, carved furrows into the wood, too large a span for this cramped space, dodging to the side and elongated arms picking up a piece of furniture as she moved, picked it up with ease and threw it in the path of his bala, ducking under them and shooting forward, aiming to grab with her talons and throw him bodily out the window behind him, where she could spread her wingspan, the tail whipping out behind her charging a cero in the light leaking from its maw.
>>>
Noitora, however, wasn't much in the mood for going out in the rain, despite Cirucci's hopes for it. With a swing of his wrist, he released the sword from its confines, the blade carving through the floor as he skidded along it.
>>>
Her talons clicked audibly as they collided with his blade, sharp claws scrabbling at his blade in her haste to rip into his flesh along with it, mouth twisted into a firm line, tail whipping out beside her and the maw beginning to open.
>>>
The sound of their respective blades meeting was a shriek through the apartment, metal screeching against metal before Noitora shifted his grip, using the blade to shove her back and away from the window. Any interest in what was happening outside was lost. What was important was this fight and sending her to her knees again.
>>>
Cirucci’s wings fanned out, the shriek of metal grating against each other in the shift of her feathers, slamming into the walls to stop her fall backwards, feet skidding on the floor and bent, slamming her taloned hand into the floor and digging in to stop herself with a grunt when her shoulders wrenched, too angry to even taunt or scream at him, instead, the maw of her tail snapping open, acidic reiatsu burning, dripping from it, as she fired off the cero she’d been charging in his directions.
>>>
Noitora jerked back, the cero singing against his arm, leaving an ugly chunk of exposed flesh and him in an even uglier mood. His one eye narrowed as he spat out, "Bitch."
He slammed his palm against the elongated hilt of his blade, shifting its direction and sending it swinging towards her like a pendulum.
>>>
“Espada.” Cirucci spat back, and on her tongue, dripping vile poison, it was the worst insult she could utter, full of all her spite and anger. But Noitora was fast, far too fast and strong, belied by his thin and lanky build, and she didn’t have enough to dodge, instead had to withdraw her wings fast and quick, folding them over her in a sort of shield, but not before one of the sharp edges bit into her shoulder, chipped through the strong bone armor and made her curse, hit the flesh beneath and drew blood before the force of the blow, even shielded by her wings, slammed her back against the wall behind her.
>>>
Noitora laughed, although it was a lesser laugh than the last one, more breathy as the pain started to sink in. It was frustrating, dammit, to think that she had even landed another blow, despite all his taunts. He was getting slower, wasn't he?
He yanked back his sword, sending furniture scattering through his apartment and slashing along the wall this time. He reeled it in and sent it flying again at her.
>>>
Cirucci had reeled, head had slammed hard into the wall, made her slump and dizzy, not cushioned since her wings had been forced forward to protect her front. Her talons had gripped the floor, holding her up as she tried to regain her footing, a trickle of blood running into one eye from where she bled, part of her hair tacky with the substance.
And then those eyes widened when she noticed the blade flying in her direction again, vision doubled, and tried to dodge again, shrieked when she had to bring her hands up, bone bit into by the blade when she was slammed back again, thrashed when she realized that either side of the blade’s tips were embedded in the wall on either side of her, pinning her against it, wings free at least, with her talons crossed over her chest to protect from the crescent blade biting into them.
The fear rose up.
>>>
The satiated grin on Noitora's face couldn't have been wider. He stepped forward, each footstep loud in the quiet air that had been filled with the sounds of their fighting just moments before. It was over now. He reached up, taking the hilt in hand and jerking the blade free from the wall with some effort, sending plaster flying around her.
"Had enough, Privaron?" he asked, holding the blade steady against her.
>>>
She’d fallen in a whirl of motion when he freed the blade from pinning her against the wall, legs braced and talons ready, wings springing out to full span and preparing to shoot the metal feathers, but then his blade was leveled at her and she knew any movement, any motion she made, would end with it slammed forward and into soft flesh, to make her bleed more, not just from the black of her head, her forearms, her shoulder.
When he spoke she could see her number flickered on his tongue and it made her so angry she could hardly stand it, but… she didn’t want to die. There was no such thing as an acceptable defeat. … This wasn’t acceptable.
Violet eyes fell in utter shame, the wings drooped and fell before she sealed them back, the bones disappearing and feathers shed as she resealed her blade, stood on trembling legs from the blood coating across her chest from her shoulder, in one eye, and down to her hands, gaze averted, and though she couldn’t bear to say it, it hung in the air.
What do you want?
>>>
The blade coiled back into the simple chain of before, somewhat less impressive than the large scythe of before. There was no thrill in seeing the defeat on her face, not when Noitora had expected so much more.
"Go home, Privaron," he snarled. "I'm done with you."
>>>
She seriously considered slinking out in defeat.
… Cirucci Thunderwitch did not slink out in defeat. She waited until he’d resealed his blade, waited with baited breath and tried not to let her delight overcome the shame in her eyes, let that be the dominant feel until the scythe was gone, waited, waited, and then those words, condescending, and-
Her hand snapped back to the hilt of her blade, whipped it out and whirled the blade back out with a bit back cry of pain in moving the injured shoulder.
>>>
He should've expected as much, sneering as the whip snapped against his skin. He slammed the limits off his reiatsu he had reigned in at the beginning of the fight, flooding the room once more as he cut the distance between them with a sonido, hand fumbling to grasp her throat.
"What did I say?"
>>>
Her breath cut off in a whine when he cuffed her throat, slammed back into the wall with a grunt of pain when already bloodied skull hit the white paint and stained it crimson. Her hands grasped weakly at his wrist, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe, so hard when his reiatsu flooded like that, made her eyes want to roll back in her head and all her muscles to seize up and refuse to response.
“I… would be disappointed in you… Noitora… if you thought I would just…” She laughed, a breathless noise, managing a smirk, though it was weak. “… slink off with my tail between my legs.”
>>>
"Yeah. So, maybe I would've been," Noitora drawled. It was true. He really expected nothing more, but that was what was so frustrating about it. He reached back and slapped her once again, "But that doesn't mean it did anything more than sting."
>>>
Cirucci whimpered when his hand connected with her cheek, sent her head to the side and made her tense and sting. But she still spat, spat out blood into his face defiantly, and sneered, brought her hand to dig into where she’d seared his skin with cero, felt it burned and bubbled.
“As if.” She managed to get out, said it even though she knew he was going to hit her again, was there for hours before he got tired of hitting her, managing retort after retort even on her belly with her face pressed into the floor, his heel on the back of her head.
Her pride wouldn’t allow her anything else.
Rating; PG-13 for violence
Characters; Cirucci {
thunderwitch} & Noitora {oneeyedhorror}Summary; What started as a simple humiliation when being threatened into bringing food for the Espada quickly escalates to verbal abuse and then to violence when worth and rank are brought to question.
Log;
She hated Noitora.
Of all the Espada, she hated Noitora the most, hated him that his tongue held the number that had once adorned her breast. Her number, had ripped it from her.
And had sent her to get his goddamned food.
The Privaron kicked at his door, once, with a small booted foot, and then again, unable to reach the handle with her arms laden, two boxes, a few containers, drinks. Bastard couldn’t even get his own fucking food, tch
“Get your ass up, Noitora.” Cirucci snapped, knocking her hip into the door this time, irritable and soaked to the bone.
>>>
Noitra's hand paused over the door before he finally opened it for the wet, angry Privaron. There was something all too amusing about the fact he could still get this from her. It almost made up for the fact that he didn't have Tesla here.
"Took you long enough," he drawled, looking down at her.
>>>
Her only response was a wordless snarl, brushing past him, bumping into his stomach on the way, too short to bump shoulders with the male, juggling the packages to make sure nothing spilled or fell. She made it to the table, and dumped them, retrieving only a small packet of her own before whirling to face him, dress clinging to her form and dripping at the hems and from the ends of her hair, that clung to her face and neck.
“I came at my leisure.” She snapped, flicking her arms and the droplets from her clinging gloves.
>>>
Noitora laughed, hardly offended by her dramatics as he shut the door in her wake and headed back into the apartment behind her at a lazy pace. The rain seemed to slow him down, box in his instincts. It frustrated him.
"What'd you get?" he asked, picking through the bag.
>>>
“Spicy food.” Cirucci snapped again, setting her small packet of food to the side and stripping off the long white gloves, folding them with a care she didn’t show many things, draping them over the back of one of his chairs.
Really, she didn’t give a fuck what they were called, they offended her senses, smelled hot, so she picked them up. Some sort of curry, spiced chicken, some meat wraps, she didn’t care. He expected her to bring her groceries and it pissed her off, lifting up her skirt to begin wringing it out over his sink.
>>>
"You can take it off, if you want. Not like anyone else is coming," Noitra flopped back into one of the chairs, unpacking the food she had brought him. It smelled nice, real nice. It wasn't like souls or anything, but as far as he was concerned, it was close enough.
"Gonna eat with me?"
>>>
Cirucci turned her head to shoot him a withering gaze, one of refusal, though her hands rose to begin unsnapping the collar of her dress, following the line of snaps down her neck and around her breast until she could shimmy out of it, pulling the garment over her head and laying it to dry over another chair as she adjusted her undergarments, black lace and wet.
“I’m not going out in that again.” She sneered, as explanation, turning to rustle in her own bag.
>>>
"Good. I'm not lending you shit," Noitra drawled, sinking his teeth into the wrap she had brought him. He rolled his tongue against the sharp, spicy taste, savoring the bite. The fifth Espada kicked up his feet on the table. "You'd have to go naked."
>>>
“Like I’d ask.” Cirucci undid her hair, running one hand through her thick hair, untangling wet curls. She pulled a small container from her bag, opened the lid and pulled out a piece of sliced fruit, nibbling daintily with a twisted lip.
“Tch.” She rolled her violet eyes, paced irritably in his kitchen, occasionally licking or nibbling on the fruit, hating the taste of human food on her tongue, in her belly.
>>>
Noitra shrugged, rolling the bite over on his tongue before swallowing it. He wasn't as posessive of her as Luppi or some of her pets might be. If she wanted to run around like that, it was no big deal as far as he was concerned.
"It's quieted down. Shit's stopped flying."
>>>
Tired of pacing, the Privaron flopped onto his couch on her belly, let out an irritated sigh, and popped a piece of a melon into her mouth.
“No shit, idiot.” She snapped. Irritated, she was irritated with his stupid demands and his idiotic way of acting, with his strength and with her number on his tongue.
“At least you’ve finally learned to eat by yourself.” Cirucci mocked, the previous rainy evening that he’d made her bring food having been filled with her being ordered to feed him, further shame on her already disgraced rank.
>>>
"Doesn't look like you've picked up much in the way of manners since, either," Noitora took another bite. It wasn't bad. He hadn't eaten a lot all day, poking at whatever fruit she'd left behind. It wasn't his favorite human food by any means, but when he wasn't in the mood to go looking for more, it did its job.
>>>
“My manners are perfect.” Cirucci contemplated throwing the plum in her bag at him. It was tempting. She hated that lax attitude, his casual apathy to everything not fighting to prove himself, and it irritated her, evidenced in her cursing, which, she tended not to use such language unless riled terribly.
“It’s you who’s lacking in goddamn manners.”
>>>
Noitora laughed, taking another swallow and digging for one of the drinks she had brought for them. He didn't consider the way he was acting any real problem. He had the power. He was more than entitled to enjoy the priviledge of the rank.
"I don't need your goddamn manners. I'm not a Privaron."
>>>
“You don’t deserve that rank.” Cirucci hissed, defiant and far too proud for her own sake, nerves worn too thin to hold her tongue, too tired of shinigami stalking her, of the abuse, of the shame to take it any more.
“You don’t deserve what you were created with, the help you received.”
>>>
"Doesn't matter," Noitora stuck out his tongue, making specific effort to flick the five openly at her before taking another bite of the wrap. So, that was the bug up her ass today or, rather, every day. She took this whole thing too personally for her own damn good.
"The Espada are the strongest. It doesn't matter how we're born. It matters how we fight, how strong we are. You might've had balls enough to rip off your mask, but you didn't have the strength to beat us."
>>>
“And you’re awful weak, for the one who claims to be the strongest one, hmm?” She tried to cap her anger, to reduce it back to its usual state, that simmering hatred inside of her that fueled her existance more than a heart ever could.
Tried to go back to her more subtle mockeries, to a casual stance like he adopted, but it was hard, talon-like nails clipping into a piece of pineapple and leisurely licking the juice that slipped off the fruit and onto her fingers. But violet eyes were still dark with suppressed rage, the desire to rip and tear into him with all she had, to pull on that tongue of his and rip the number from it, let it scar like hers was.
>>>
Noitora twitched at the insinuation, but he held his tongue. It was stupid taunting from an even stupider woman. He glanced up, eye narrowing as his reiatsu pressure built.
"Say that again, Thunderwitch."
>>>
Cirucci raised her head, chewed the piece of pineapple and lapped lazily at her fingers.
“I said, for someone who claims to be the strongest, you’re awfully far away from being Primera.” She bit at a nail, sharp and painted dark. “I can count. Five is in the middle of ten, isn’t it? Doesn’t that make you the average of the Espada?” But her muscles were slowly tensing, preparing for whether she could, or would, push too far.
>>>
The pressure crept through the apartment, raw and cold. Noitra didn't like using it much, but it made a pretty strong impression on the non-Espada, the weaker arrancar.
"They don't know how the strong really fight. They don't know how to deal with a fight of raw strength."
>>>
It was impressive, she knew it well, but she bore it best she could, exerting the extra effort, though it hurt, panged between her breasts at the hole there, to push her own so far that she could avoid most of the usual affects of such an oppressive reiatsu, the Privaron’s reiatsu, more sharp, rough hewn and unpolished, natural, flooded her own senses, able to only present a slight lowering of her head and shoulders as proof she felt his strength.
“Which explains why you’re stuck at Quinta, doesn’t it, No~i~to~ra?” She mocked him openly, too far gone on this to back out now without appearing weak.
>>>
"Shut your mouth, Privaron or I'll shut it for you. I don't see that scar on your tit turning into a number again anytime soon," Noitora snapped, his eye narrowing as he sent a proper flood of reiatsu through the small room.
>>>
“Hit a nerve, Noitora?” She had to push her own back in a burst to avoid being pushed down against the couch cushions, to avoid her head lowering till she bowed it, but, as it was, a bead of sweat was making it’s way down the side of her face, her breath a bit more shallow, hands fisting and nails digging in.
“Surely the words of a mere Privaron can’t make you so angry?”
>>>
"This isn't angry," Noitra kept his voice level, knowing full and well that it was. He hated being questioned. He hated being insulted. He could brush it off once, maybe twice, but not forever. He put his food down, pulling lazily free from the chair as he stepped towards the other arrancar, never letting up the pressure that flowed and pulsed around him as if it were alive.
"This is me thinking a Privaron needs to learn how to keep her damn trap shut."
>>>
Her brow was furrowed, a slight sweat breaking out over her mostly bare body when that reiatsu, powerful, more so than her own, approached even closer, a sneer turned grimace on her lips as she dug nails in until blood drew to distract herself, muscles quivering where she strove not to bow her head, not to lower herself under the crushing weight of that power.
“And here I thought-” Her breath came only in spurts, short, and winded. “That Espada were too far above such things.”
>>>
"S'that so?" Noitora drawled, staring down at her with a cold sort of intensity. The reiatsu didn't increase, but it remained on the air like the rattle of a snake's tail, a warning, potent and sounding louder than it should.
"Maybe this Espada's just in a mood to do things a little different."
>>>
“How very…” It was meant to be a drawl, but it came out in gritted teeth. “Creative of you.” It was too late, far too late, to take anything back, and she had to stand by her words, a creeping fear in her belly that told her she’d pushed too hard, too far, and that she would pay for it, as she usually did, but, oh, those words, that look on his face… it almost made it worth it.
Almost, considering she’d had to pant for a breath, had to blink to clear a bead of sweat from her eyes.
>>>
"A modern fucking marvel," Noitora laughed to himself, planting a hand just a couple inches from her head as he leaned down, his dark hair almost brushing her exposed chest. His temper was sporadic, but she had gotten on it.
>>>
The pressure was beginning to hurt, beginning to get to her, violet dilating in a combination of pain, suppressed fear, and that weight on her breast, the feeling of not being able to breathe, of having to gasp and pant for it, chest heaving as she tried in vain to get enough air.
“Hardly… a marvel.” Even now she couldn’t turn off her pride, her mouth, even knowing she was only digging a deeper hole.
>>>
His free hand sunk lower, tracing down her cheek and onto her chest, dark nails venturing dangerously close to tender skin, but never penetrating it as he could very well do. His one eye fixed on hers, trying to decide just how much fear lurked behind her cool violent eyes.
"You're one to talk, bitch."
>>>
She shivered involuntarily, breath hitching when his nails got far too close to the hyper sensitive skin of her Hollow hole, praying he wouldn’t, hating that her undergarments didn’t cover the scar on her left breast in the distinctive shape of the number five.
Quinta, now Privaron, now 105th, divested espada.
“I can talk all I want.” Cirucci managed to get out, hating him, hating so much she couldn’t hardly stand it, bottom lip trembling slightly from the pressure still on her from his reiatsu, from muscles straining not to submit.
>>>
"Yeah, but it doesn't mean I like listening to it," he drawled, hand slipping to the scar, always the scar. He traced along the remnants of skin, before finally digging a darkened nail into the skin. "And that's the problem, here."
>>>
The Privaron tried not to wince, but she did, more at the insinuation of what it meant than from pain, trying to snarl in anger but it came out more a snapping noise and a groan of air she didn’t have to spare.
“I…” She rested a moment, managed to get her arm up despite the threatening pressure, and wrap her thin fingers around his wrist in warning. “Don’t care… if you want to hear it… or not.”
>>>
"Yeah, and maybe I don't care if you die or not, Privaron," Noitra hissed, sinking his fingers in even deeper into the tender, discolored flesh of her former number. Her resistence was less of a turn on and more of a turn off at this point.
"But I'm betting you do."
>>>
She bit back a whimper of pain, but it escaped, a hiss and squirming uncomfortably, her grip on his own wrist weakening ever more before it fell back down and the muscles in her neck cramped from the strain of holding her head up, quivering with the effort, sweating with it, with the creeping, crawling, feeling moving up her spine.
“Don’t.” It was meant to be a warning, but almost sounded like a plea, considering her position, beneath him there, half clad and weakened by the strength of his reiatsu.
>>>
Noitra paused, savoring that little whimper of pain before tugging his fingers free from the skin, sending a sprinkle of red along her chest. He lightened the reiatsu, just a measure, curious to see if she still had the will, the balls to fight back against him.
"Don't?"
>>>
Her breath lightened, the dilating in her eyes eased, and a small groan escaped her before she tried to rise, struggled to raise her head, managing only to half prop herself up on one elbow, to dig her nails into the couch to anchor herself.
“Don’t… you dare.” She grit out.
>>>
"What would happen if I did?" Noitra drawled, sinking his fingers back into her flesh, finding fresh purchase in her skin. He didn't take well to empty threats. "Your pets'd come and kill me?"
>>>
Another wince she tried to hide, another grit of teeth evident in the sneer on painted lips, weakened too much by his reiatsu to fight back much, instead opting for what she could pass as fortitude, taking what he could dish out.
“As if… those little shits could.” She snapped weakly, trying to twist her lips into a smirk. “I would.”
>>>
"Do it," Noitora coaxed, his palm cupping the breast as his fingers rested tiredly in the shallow wounds he'd made with them. "I'm right here, Thunderwitch. Show me how you would."
>>>
Shallow breath and she looked at him, suppressed fear, overwhelming pride, the weakness the pin of his power had on her, a brief flash of discomfort when he cupped her breast, the almost gentle motion after digging his nails in, and a half snarl on her lips.
Her eyes then slide to Golondrina, set on the table beside her drying clothes, and her mouth turned to a firm line.
“… No.” It was out of reach, and at this strength, she could only crawl, couldn’t stand upright. And she would not crawl. … Couldn’t.
>>>
"Whaaaat?" Noitra hissed, sneering as he pulled back. He reached up, neatly parting the stiff white cloth of his uniform, exposing the pale lines of his chest as he worked his way down to expose the same amount of flesh she was. "C'mon. Free shot, Privaron. Too scared?"
>>>
Her eyes shifted back from him to Golondrina, wishing the blade were closer, in her hand, then she’d show him, she’d release, and-
“… I’m-” She wondered if she could frustrate him more by refusing again, wondered if she could risk frustrating him more at all, even as she fisted one of her hands, pulled reiatsu from her body and began to charge a cero there, gathering the energy in her palm even as she grit her teeth and tried to raise her head all the more. “… not scared of you, Noitora.”
>>>
Noitora's smile grew, a dark flicker growing in his eye. Here it was, another game of Russian Roullette, one he was damned certain he intended to win. He lowered his hand to press it against her chest, his own reiatsu growing in turn.
"Kill me, then."
>>>
Cirucci did snarl then, hand fisted tightening as she made a split second decision. Cero would need a few more moments to charge, and what could he do in the meantime. Would he? Would it be best to move first, or with more power?
Her hand flew out towards him, shifting the reiatsu from the charging cero to the much quicker, but weaker shot of a bala, if only to save some time and push his hand off her chest.
>>>
The smile faded with a choked gasp, Noitora stumbling backwards as his forehead wrinkled with pain from the bala she had unleashed. Oh, fuck, but did it sting, the blood bubbling up to stain across his white uniform.
"Good, Privaron," he snapped out.
>>>
Cirucci didn’t waste time with a reply, struggled off the couch and made a dash past him for her blade across the room, fear driving her, pride fueling her, and desperation coursing through her.
She didn’t want to die.
>>>
Noitora straightened, his body lifting to full height with ease. He tilted his head back, watching her as she ran. He was curious to see just what she'd do, how far she'd go.
"C'mon," he breathed, reaching down for the chain of his weapon.
>>>
Her fingers curled around the hilt of her weapon with the comforting feel of herself, her true self, and she whirled around to face him again, snapping out the circular blade and looping the wires around her hands, felt the harsh burn of the sharp steel in her hands, watching him warily, hate clear in her eyes even as her wrist flicked out, the blade solidifying her reiatsu enough that she could stand mostly straight, regain some wit.
“I’d just hate to wreck your place.” She managed to spit out, whirling blade snapping out from her body in a display of skill, the whip humming in the air.
>>>
Noitora let out a hiss of breath. She wasn't an opponent he'd have thought of fighting in Las Noches, but here? Here was different. There was something entirely intoxicating about fighting anything arrancar at this point.
Besides, this one came with the added show of being topless as well, "Make your mark, Privaron."
>>>
Cirucci stiffened in blatant, broiling, anger. Anger at this City, at human food, at humans, at herself, at Aizen, at the other males, and most, at him, the most hate she had for anyone, because no matter how many times she faced him, he was the one who always kept that mark of the Quinta, she never got it back.
With another flick of her wrist and the guide of her other hand the wires sung across her palm, the whip lashing out in a whirl of steel and high-pitching screaming noise headed straight at him.
>>>
The potent movement that lined Noitora's muscles sprung into action, as he whipped the chain of his zanpakutou up. He wasn't going to release it for her yet. She wasn't that special. He swung it in a slow arc to catch the other's whip and yank it down.
>>>
She braced, yanked the wires and manipulated the swing, waited until the last moment to pull the blade back with the cracking noise of the circular blade slamming back into the hilt in her hand only to whip out once again, aiming over the sling of his blade, a wordless snarl of frustration.
>>>
It almost stung as her whip smacked against his hand, tracing too fast for the Espada to catch, this time at least. Noitora could feel his pulse quickening, the hunger for the fight readily shooting through his body as he gathered his reiatsu for a sonido, shooting through the apartment to break the distance between them. Too fast, he was moving too fast. He had to savor this, he reminded himself.
There were only so many times he could kill her, after all.
>>>
Eyes widening, Cirucci leapt back, hit his table with a muffled curse, and jumped as quickly as she could into a sonido of her own, heading for the door, fear rising up in her belly. She couldn’t win this, she knew that, just couldn’t keep her goddamned mouth shut to avoid the situation either, the nervous sweat of fear on her skin at the memories of what he had done to her, what he could.
>>>
Noitora let out a hiss of agitation as she flickered away, just seconds from his grip. Fucking bitch. He wanted this fight now. He wanted her blood. It was a whim, like almost everything was to him, but the important thing right now was that he wanted blood.
"Scared?" he barked.
>>>
Her sonido ground to a halt at that word. … Scared. She was scared, breathing wild and short, eyes crazed with the desperation to not die, turning to face him with an almost psychotic smile on her face.
“I told you, Noitora.” She released her blade, felt the bones coming up around her, the wings, the tail, the feathers and talons. “I’m not afraid of you.”
>>>
"That's more like it," Noitora breathed, appreciatively as the wings spread, knocking what few scattered things he had bothered to bring into the apartment aside. He was getting her full-force, at her absolute best.
He lifted his hand, with a sharp, rough laugh as he fired a row of bala at her.
>>>
Her wings crashed into the walls, carved furrows into the wood, too large a span for this cramped space, dodging to the side and elongated arms picking up a piece of furniture as she moved, picked it up with ease and threw it in the path of his bala, ducking under them and shooting forward, aiming to grab with her talons and throw him bodily out the window behind him, where she could spread her wingspan, the tail whipping out behind her charging a cero in the light leaking from its maw.
>>>
Noitora, however, wasn't much in the mood for going out in the rain, despite Cirucci's hopes for it. With a swing of his wrist, he released the sword from its confines, the blade carving through the floor as he skidded along it.
>>>
Her talons clicked audibly as they collided with his blade, sharp claws scrabbling at his blade in her haste to rip into his flesh along with it, mouth twisted into a firm line, tail whipping out beside her and the maw beginning to open.
>>>
The sound of their respective blades meeting was a shriek through the apartment, metal screeching against metal before Noitora shifted his grip, using the blade to shove her back and away from the window. Any interest in what was happening outside was lost. What was important was this fight and sending her to her knees again.
>>>
Cirucci’s wings fanned out, the shriek of metal grating against each other in the shift of her feathers, slamming into the walls to stop her fall backwards, feet skidding on the floor and bent, slamming her taloned hand into the floor and digging in to stop herself with a grunt when her shoulders wrenched, too angry to even taunt or scream at him, instead, the maw of her tail snapping open, acidic reiatsu burning, dripping from it, as she fired off the cero she’d been charging in his directions.
>>>
Noitora jerked back, the cero singing against his arm, leaving an ugly chunk of exposed flesh and him in an even uglier mood. His one eye narrowed as he spat out, "Bitch."
He slammed his palm against the elongated hilt of his blade, shifting its direction and sending it swinging towards her like a pendulum.
>>>
“Espada.” Cirucci spat back, and on her tongue, dripping vile poison, it was the worst insult she could utter, full of all her spite and anger. But Noitora was fast, far too fast and strong, belied by his thin and lanky build, and she didn’t have enough to dodge, instead had to withdraw her wings fast and quick, folding them over her in a sort of shield, but not before one of the sharp edges bit into her shoulder, chipped through the strong bone armor and made her curse, hit the flesh beneath and drew blood before the force of the blow, even shielded by her wings, slammed her back against the wall behind her.
>>>
Noitora laughed, although it was a lesser laugh than the last one, more breathy as the pain started to sink in. It was frustrating, dammit, to think that she had even landed another blow, despite all his taunts. He was getting slower, wasn't he?
He yanked back his sword, sending furniture scattering through his apartment and slashing along the wall this time. He reeled it in and sent it flying again at her.
>>>
Cirucci had reeled, head had slammed hard into the wall, made her slump and dizzy, not cushioned since her wings had been forced forward to protect her front. Her talons had gripped the floor, holding her up as she tried to regain her footing, a trickle of blood running into one eye from where she bled, part of her hair tacky with the substance.
And then those eyes widened when she noticed the blade flying in her direction again, vision doubled, and tried to dodge again, shrieked when she had to bring her hands up, bone bit into by the blade when she was slammed back again, thrashed when she realized that either side of the blade’s tips were embedded in the wall on either side of her, pinning her against it, wings free at least, with her talons crossed over her chest to protect from the crescent blade biting into them.
The fear rose up.
>>>
The satiated grin on Noitora's face couldn't have been wider. He stepped forward, each footstep loud in the quiet air that had been filled with the sounds of their fighting just moments before. It was over now. He reached up, taking the hilt in hand and jerking the blade free from the wall with some effort, sending plaster flying around her.
"Had enough, Privaron?" he asked, holding the blade steady against her.
>>>
She’d fallen in a whirl of motion when he freed the blade from pinning her against the wall, legs braced and talons ready, wings springing out to full span and preparing to shoot the metal feathers, but then his blade was leveled at her and she knew any movement, any motion she made, would end with it slammed forward and into soft flesh, to make her bleed more, not just from the black of her head, her forearms, her shoulder.
When he spoke she could see her number flickered on his tongue and it made her so angry she could hardly stand it, but… she didn’t want to die. There was no such thing as an acceptable defeat. … This wasn’t acceptable.
Violet eyes fell in utter shame, the wings drooped and fell before she sealed them back, the bones disappearing and feathers shed as she resealed her blade, stood on trembling legs from the blood coating across her chest from her shoulder, in one eye, and down to her hands, gaze averted, and though she couldn’t bear to say it, it hung in the air.
What do you want?
>>>
The blade coiled back into the simple chain of before, somewhat less impressive than the large scythe of before. There was no thrill in seeing the defeat on her face, not when Noitora had expected so much more.
"Go home, Privaron," he snarled. "I'm done with you."
>>>
She seriously considered slinking out in defeat.
… Cirucci Thunderwitch did not slink out in defeat. She waited until he’d resealed his blade, waited with baited breath and tried not to let her delight overcome the shame in her eyes, let that be the dominant feel until the scythe was gone, waited, waited, and then those words, condescending, and-
Her hand snapped back to the hilt of her blade, whipped it out and whirled the blade back out with a bit back cry of pain in moving the injured shoulder.
>>>
He should've expected as much, sneering as the whip snapped against his skin. He slammed the limits off his reiatsu he had reigned in at the beginning of the fight, flooding the room once more as he cut the distance between them with a sonido, hand fumbling to grasp her throat.
"What did I say?"
>>>
Her breath cut off in a whine when he cuffed her throat, slammed back into the wall with a grunt of pain when already bloodied skull hit the white paint and stained it crimson. Her hands grasped weakly at his wrist, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe, so hard when his reiatsu flooded like that, made her eyes want to roll back in her head and all her muscles to seize up and refuse to response.
“I… would be disappointed in you… Noitora… if you thought I would just…” She laughed, a breathless noise, managing a smirk, though it was weak. “… slink off with my tail between my legs.”
>>>
"Yeah. So, maybe I would've been," Noitora drawled. It was true. He really expected nothing more, but that was what was so frustrating about it. He reached back and slapped her once again, "But that doesn't mean it did anything more than sting."
>>>
Cirucci whimpered when his hand connected with her cheek, sent her head to the side and made her tense and sting. But she still spat, spat out blood into his face defiantly, and sneered, brought her hand to dig into where she’d seared his skin with cero, felt it burned and bubbled.
“As if.” She managed to get out, said it even though she knew he was going to hit her again, was there for hours before he got tired of hitting her, managing retort after retort even on her belly with her face pressed into the floor, his heel on the back of her head.
Her pride wouldn’t allow her anything else.