The greens.

Sempiternal

The pattering of feet was light for once, usually her footsteps were adorned with strength, brutality and malice. But not today. Today, they crept slowly, the predominant thundering not available, her actions contrasted herself. Soft and light. It was day one and the brash female didn't know what to think. Under the scathed side of her palm an object was ferociously crunching into her flesh, but to no avail, she tightened it even more and sat her leaned frame down onto the sturdy ground, that quaked under her normal strength. With all gentleness due, she slammed the object onto floor and left it to wilt there. She wanted it gone, burned. He would have laughed if he was there, her partner who never kissed, hugged or embraced her gently. It was rough, no sugar coating to their physical relationship. Through his deep set emeralds, the equal amount of coldness lay there just like hers, but she knew the masochist male always had a foreign tinge of emotion swirling behind those green and silver specks.

And always, a foreign tinge of emotion soared painfully against her ribcage and chest.

It must have been hatred.

Because Buttercup Utonium was not capable of loving an imbecile and villain like him.

Butch Jojo, had never even had the capacity to love the former heroine.

Love was not in their dictionaries.

But as she sat there, mind whirring away, she recollects moments together of their time together. The times that always ended in bashful memories and none were stained with love and comfort. Scoffing, the middle puff never wanted those memories with the notorious Butch Jojo. All that was ever need was the slamming and hounding of fists.

There was moments that did not need physical violence though, as much as she didn't want to voice. Clearly and vividly, she remembers being pressed up against his back clutching his waist as they zoomed off on the poor excuse of a normal human being motorbike. They moulded perfectly, his ugly laugh that never impressed anyone, reverberating away into the death black sky, just like their souls. His frame clicked next to hers and she simply obliterates his flesh even more. Because he asks for it. And she wouldn't have it any other way. They didn't go far that night, bickering and punches scattered into the empty air, as they only managed to go back to Butch's apartment that night.

Did she give a damn? No. It was brilliant.

Did her sisters give a damn? Of course they did.

She thundered back to his place anyways.

Other times, Butch was as primitive as she was. Purely evil inside and that thrilled her slightly, in the wrong ways.

"Did he just touch me?!"

"Oh boy, he so did."

"I'm gonna kill him."

"Slaughter him baby, slaughter him nice and hard till he can't breathe. If you don't, I will."

Cold lime eyes simply obscured the field she was sat on, and maybe her and Butch have paraded through a thousand of these. Whizzing off in absolute madness.

"OoooHhHh DAMN yuhr lookin so beatahble todaay."

"Ye wish, buh imma beat you fisth."

"Ooh hot."

The two cackled in an ugly manner, brushing fields and falling on each other in heaps of cruel laughter and agony. It was fun being all drunk and unaware.

But maybe, just slightly, Buttercup would have preferred the intense atrocity they call fighting to the point where they're just scarred and marred on top of each other. Pure bliss. Better than any feeling in the world. They did not ask if the other was okay. They didn't need to.

Buttercup lay on top of his chiselled chest, his shirt long torn by her fuelling anger. His non feeling heart thudded away in his chest as sweat doused them. This was normal. Feeling warm physically and mentally. A rough hand slipped through her locks and yanked them up so now her face was a few mere centimetres away from his mouth, the mouth that was bloodied, and that has never uttered anything endearing in his whole life. His breath slammed into her face in constant timed plumes and she just glared into the deep eyes that she always had to face. Butch slapped a hand onto the back flesh of her thigh and pulled her up, smirking evilly. The woman curled a menacing fist around his jugular and smirked herself.

"If you wanna remain alive, hands off."

"Then why are your hands still on me? They're always on me."

"Is that a problem?"

"Is this a problem?" A calloused hand slowly traced up her spine.

Neither said anything, their silence louder than anything. They preferred it that way anyways, their silent actions fading away on the hard cement in the middle of the night under a dull streetlight.

Buttercup punched the ground, dirt firing in every direction. The object was helplessly and painfully discarded there. She wouldn't tell him, that the brutality of his life excited her. Nor would she ever let it slip that their rough foreplay was all she needed. Buttercup Utonium didn't need him, but she loved what the man could offer. The small tweaking of her heart blared louder than any noise in the world and she knew the subtle feeling. The subtle feeling of like. Funnily enough, the former heroine never felt the coldness ever attack her from his gaze. Every thing ended in violent hot fury, which still regardless was heat. And funnily again, they both knew when the intensity of their vivid eyes were low.

Only to each other. 

Because they knew they could only tame each other. 

Buttercup would not cry. The dryness in her eyes proved it. Butch would not cry either if it were him. Laughing lightly, she slapped the sorry excuse of Butch's grave. 

"Hey Snails, gotta surprise for ya," With that, the now humourful woman picked up the object and placed it on top of his grave, no tombstone or anything, but it rested near a tree. Unevenly, she yanked the hem of her shirt up slightly and pressed the her scar embroidered hand onto the hardened toned muscles of her stomach. A small clump of cells accumulated at the bottom of her abdomen. "Guess you really beat me in the end. Salute to you dickweed.  Got your own little bastard cooking in there. Well done. Guess you don't wanna leave me in peace do ya?"

Silence and a dry cackle.

 "Hah thought so." 

The cursed child breeder teller lay there at the top of his grave, a vivid reminder to both of them of his little scandalous goodbye gift. 

Buttercup soared to her full height.

All in all, Butch Jojo was dead.

"See you soon Snails. See you soon."