Kist fanfic. High school setting, human. Art at the end 🥹
CW fighting, being gay as shit, usage of faggot, slut, and whore, and mentions of smoking.
***
“Agh- mghh no- ahh stop it!-”
Sharp teeth sunk into Murder’s neck, making him cry out in aroused agony. He frantically shoved and pulled on his rival’s hair, as white as snow covered in dirt.
This isn’t as hot as you may think it is. Unless you are just like the two, absolute psychopaths that enjoy hurting each other with zero boundaries.
Killer pulled away, licking their lips and moving their jaws around, sore from the furious force they used to make the prey beneath them squirm and whine like a whore. For the split second they had pulled away, a fist was already flying straight into their face.
“Ack-! You fucking fag-” They yelped and clutched their jaw, stumbling to sit upright from the position they had taken to pin down Murder. No blood had been drawn, however the pale and rough knuckles had turned red.
Murd sat up along with Killer, hands suddenly closing around their neck. The former predator wheezed, dark eyes watering already. They didn't even have the opportunity to shake the punch off. He yanked them closer, scowling right in their face. “Who are ya callin a faggot? Look at yourself.”
There really wasn’t a set agreement on who was the predator and who was the prey. The line blurred as they switched around, fighting for dominance.
With an unsettling smile, Killer’s hollow gaze stared right at Murder. They allowed their breath to be taken away in many ways, although briefly due to lung problems. Which the hooded guy knew, thus letting up on the pressure around the throat. He didn’t want his name to be proven right. “Fucking slut.”
“You came to me, mind you…” a hand reached beneath Murder’s hood, slim fingers curling into the roots of the muddy brown hair. Right by the ear, where the latter liked it. Who really is the slut here, when this mutt is so stupidly easy to please…
“Kh- k-kill yourself-” Murder’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest, as if a bunny jumping off the walls of a sealed cage. If not his name, then his nickname will be proven times and times again, if he lets himself feel this way. Before he could spew another insult, soft lips came crushing over his crackled ones. He let out a pathetic whimper, mindlessly digging his fingers into the easily bruising body of his opponent.
Not that it mattered though, both of them always covered up their bodies with clothes and bandages. For the aesthetic, they say, despite everyone in their grade knowing otherwise. Bruises, broken nails, torn lips, scratch marks. Hickeys. All that jazz.
The brief moment of intimacy was ruined by clicking heels down the hallway. Wanna know where these fuckers are? At school!! Skipping in an empty classroom!! Diabolical, I know.
Killer pulled away, gasping for air before holding it. Both were frozen solid, waiting for the steps to fade out of range.
Murder took the opportunity to just look at his rival. Slim face, a slight tan over the usually pale skin, sunken eyes which were unfortunately undeniable under the thin layer of concealer they put on every morning. The attention from them was driven away by the dramatic winged eyeliner, creating more emphasis on just how dark the brown eyes were in a badly lit space such as this. Their hair, once white and bright, had been turning grayer and more muddy with their seventeen years of age. The thin strands fell over their face and shoulders individually, like a bead curtain. It was most likely greasy, as well as generally messed up because of their quarrel.
Murder’s gawking was interrupted by a slap across the face, sending his head flying to the side. He hissed, rubbing his cheek before glaring and scowling like a dog.
“It’s what you get for staring.” Killer was still holding that perfect grin. Although their lips were twitching in annoyance.
“As if you don’t?”
Of course they did. Not only had Killer memorized every feature, they knew all the weak spots. Ones that hurt most, ones he liked best, ones that disoriented him. The old grey hoodie, once white with most likely some kind of print, based on the distorted ink residue on the middle. Killer hated how that dumb hood was always up on his head, flattening out the natural volume of Murder’s curls. But every time they’d dare pull it down, all they got in return was a hateful glare or a slap on the head. If that moron were to wear something more flattering and take a shower, he’d probably have a chance to hook up with a lot of people. Those moderately large and rough hands that only knew harm, would be appealing to many girls whose judgement had been clouded by dark romance books from tiktok.
“Tsk,” they looked away, the white locks falling over their expression, “I do not.” Lying straight through those sharp teeth of theirs, to play hard rather than to hide a truth. In return they got exactly what they wanted: a taunting snicker, a shove to get the androgyny off his lap, and the sounds of Murder getting back on his feet.
“Back to business, before you attacked me like a cat in heat-” before he could even finish cracking his knuckles, the bell rang, dismissing the class that they were skipping. The guy glared at the clock, letting out a groan of frustration. “God fucking dammit I didn’t even get to smoke!”
“Loser,” Killer stuck out their pierced tongue, before pulling out a cherry flavored vape to hit a puff. “I ain’t sharing by the way.”
“Never asked, I’m not hitting your germed up shit. Can’t even handle cigs and needs flavor like a child, jeez…” Murder waved him off, rubbing his neck from where he had been bitten repeatedly by the feral animal, which still sat on the floor.
“Yeah okay as if you’re more mature than I am for tolerating straight nicotine, mutt.”
Without answering, Murder opened the classroom and left into the ongoing stream of students, leaving Killer to whatever fate was waiting for them.
***
As promised,
