Driven by the thoughts he had forced himself to believe, Katsuki Bakugo finds himself oddly attracted to someone in a way that would demolish his appreciated image. Taunted by his own emotions and questioning the best of his decisions, after encount...
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The Poker Face of a Psychopath
It is easy to pretend that I am sane by carving that idea into my head.
Easy to wear a poker face and imply my disconcerned appeal.
But as much as I wanted to believe it as easy as pretending, there was a gut telling me she was real. Excessively presuming her animation, digging through my terror as she swayed her hips, she tread towards me with a heavy sensation of mockery. She wore the same dress as our date, but it was smudged and lacked a higher saturation of hue and colour. Giving off the grooving of a sullen mood, even the strands of the rosey skirt's polyester were dried and cringe to perceive. As she neared with the thuds of her heels, the tension stretched rather than tightening, and I backed away in such speed. Making a promising conclusion, I indicated my open palm to her, indicating the bomb inside my veins close to explode.
"Himiko Toga," I sternly claimed, but my voice loomed with wrath and danger, much glutted with intentions to execute her right on that spot. Her wide grin suggested the approval, but the manner in which she motioned uncomfortable twirls with her body enraged me. Soon relatively closer to me, facing straight, the pinkest smearing lips; her teeth were visibly, but resembling fearsome fangs. Her distorted laugh commenced and did not frighten me in the interior as much as her hands jammed on my shoulders.
Content was the unsuited word to describe her joy. Bewitched for she begotten to be psycologically-twisted, and her throat latched for breath after each contemporary dried laughter. Even though this blood-sucking villain was impersonating Uraraka, the alternative image of her being vile and loudly enthusiastic frosted my bones. I would rather suffer through her endless bickering and her delusional adultery, than impelled to tolerate her antics.
She now ravished me against the log of a tree, a solid bump sound thwacked onto the wood. My back ached from such careless collision as my reflexes were distracted, and mildly intrigued by her motives. As I once stated, the villain's leather skin melted; the altered-matter flowing down her facial features as the Uraraka I previously assumed dissolved into an insane blonde-haired school girl. She invaded my sight with her psychotic amusement, chuckling at me as a dagger laid beneath my neck.
I was confident she was not going to maim me severely, but as simply conveyed, her reasoning was going to be abrupt. Her nails dug deep my wrists, me pondering over the way she collected Uraraka's blood, and how expressively she traveled to the same land of the U.A barriers. Giggling with the stretchest grin flashing her canine teeth, golden-hollow eyes sought for my fright. Which said action urged me to growl yet shamefully resisted, but not for long.
"Hehiihii, Bakugo! I've found you! I've finally found you!" She widely presented me half of her exposed face, not to mention her deceased wearing and the white-toned suit that was thinnier than her thrilled shrieks. This shift of movement nerved me to raise my head out of precise caution that she does not nick my throat clean.
