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Powerpuff Girls fanfiction - Greens

So I wrote a oneshot for kuraikitsune13 on deviantArt, inspired on her piece "Stealing Your Heart" and decided to post it here. 

I attribute any grammatical/structural errors to the fact that I'm too lazy to proofread English isn't my first language.

It's Butch x Buttercup because there aren't enough of those around. -.-'
It's a bit dark and decidedly unhealthy. You have been warned.
Not sure about the writing style, though.

[Stealing Your Heart - PpG fanfiction]

He developed a fascination of sorts - the thing is, he can't stop thinking about her.

Every time he closes his eyes to go to sleep, she is there - hauntingly beautiful and fierce, sneering and glaring at him with those stunning lime-green eyes that glittered like emeralds (framed by those dark, curvy lashes that he spends more time contemplating than he likes to admit).

His brothers remain ignorant of it all, of course, and he doesn't bother telling them. He knows all too well what they would say; his conscious spends countless hours every day (the ones that weren't occupied by thoughts of her) telling him all those things.

He can't be bothered with the knowledge that it's stupid, suicidal and probably illegal to think that way about her, of all people - Butch was never one to follow rules and morals, even his own. Every time he thinks about leaving for some time, letting his fascination of sortssimmer down a little, her image invades her mind (not letting him think about anything other than her red, red lips and milky, soft skin littered with back and blue bruises and those delightfully sharp, white teeth that sometimes would bite him if she was sufficiently pissed off).

He finds himself loving those fights they have more than he ever did before as she brutally smashes his head against the unforgiving cement (that beautiful, superior, victorious smirk present in those bloody, bruised, perfect lips of hers that he yearned to make even more bruised and bloody)with her lithe, muscular legs straddling his stomach as she did so.

He loves it when he irks her to a point she'll hit her hardest (no holding back like she did at times, when she thought the villain or the monster of the day couldn't handle it), punching and kicking and eyebeaming him and throwing hard, big, heavy stuff at him, doing her best to spill his and her blood (their mixed blood and Chemical X, leaving all those pretty patterns on the walls and on the floor and on the ceiling that were almost as beautiful as her).

He kisses her once; they are both bruised and bloody and sweaty (he had never thought she could look any more stunning and desirable as she did in that moment, red cheeks and broken bones and bleeding mouth and black eye) and he snarls at her and smashes their lips together (teeth clashing and wounds stinging but it was so perfect, so them, and he wouldn't trade it for any other).

She punches him, of course, but he remembers those first moments in which she actually, truthfully kissed him back and it's enough for him.

She flies away in rage, her green streak dividing the sky (really, he didn't expect anything less of her, though he had been hoping for some more violence and perhaps even some angry sex, even though he knows it's just wishful thinking on his part) and he never knows if she heard his softly spoken words.

I want to steal your heart.

She doesn't suspect anything when no guy makes any move to approach her (he figures she's used to being the ignored sister, the one people don't think about; the one that isn't considered smart or pretty or lady-like, though Butch thinks that the other girls can't even begin to measure up to her) and he has his hands full as he makes sure that no guy will ever try to steal her away from him (because she's his, dammit, and his only and no one else's, and he be damned if he lets someone else steal her heart before he does).

She notices that he's been lurking around more than usual but she doesn't question him like she would have done a few weeks ago, ignoring him instead as she tries not to lift her hand to caress her lips, still feeling his hot mouth against hers (and his heavy breathing and his green eyes piercing into hers and his strong arms holding her, not wanting to let go).

The next time they fight, he does his best to stop his brothers and her sisters from seeing that he isn't in a bloodthirsty mood for once (he just really wants to pin her up against a wall and have his way with her, his sweet, fierce Buttercup writhing and growling and clawing at him, against him, her petite, supple body against his tall frame).

He twitches psychotically when he is senses confrontation anyway, and no one but her notices a thing, because he now twitches because he wants her (her, her, the ferocious little Buttercup that isn't nearly as sweet and innocent as she wants the others to believe) and not just because he earns for her destruction.

I want it. I want your heart, Buttercup.

A boy with brown hair doesn't heed his warnings, though, and approaches her and asks her out (and she, even though she belongs to him only, accepts) and he follows them with jealous green eyes and vows for retribution. The next day, the boy is dead, guts and blood and brain splattered on the sidewalk in front of their school (because the others need to see that her heart was already owned, even if she didn't knew it yet).

Your heart belongs to me, Buttercup. Only me.

She starts paying more attention to her surroundings and she always seems to sense when he is around (he already had to hide a few times; his Buttercup is getting sharper, cleverer). She always takes a look around when she enters her house, her eyes seem to shift in his direction when she goes outside during school hours (she always seems to know where he is, just as he notices that little piece of darkness inside her that no one else does - pure, untainted Buttercup that longs for violence and blood just as much as he does).

She manages to catch him one time and confronts him without any words (because they don't need words, they're Butch and Buttercup, Buttercup and Butch, and there's no space for insignificant words between them), jade eyes piercing into him and making him shudder in all kinds of right and wrong ways (it really depends on the point of view, but he thinks that it's all the same, anyway).

He kisses her again and throws her against a wall, bruising her mouth with his (her blood trickles into the pavement in warm rivulets and he desperately yearns to taste it on his tongue) and she groans in something that isn't entirely pain, but he doesn't want to get his hopes up too soon.

Her warmth and the taste of her lips and tongue (and of her blood, metallic and powerful and full of life) intoxicate him beyond belief, and the world tilts and whirls and blurs as he kisses her and she kisses him back and her razor-sharp teeth bite the junction between his neck and shoulder (he never felt anything like this before, he wonders if this is what 'heaven' feels like).

His rough hands grip her waist (and he knows that she'll have marks by tomorrow, and that's good because they're there to prove that she's his) and their hips slide together and the friction between their bodies is perfection and he never wants it to end.

I want to steal your heart, he says, his eyes meeting hers while they frantically try to catch their breath.

She looks beautiful under the moonlight (a drop of crimson blood running down the side of her face, hooded eyes and bruised scarlet lips and she's so beautiful, so stunning, soperfect) and she studies his face for a moment before she replies.

Take it, then.

He does.

He finally holds Buttercup's heart in his hands (so hot and sleek and shiny, he can almost feel it still pumping), crimson blood and Chemical X coating his arms and his clothes and the ground and her body. Her lifeless body, still warm, lies in his arms with a content smile in her bloodied lips (perfect, perfect, so perfect) and a hole in her chest from where he ripped the precious organ out.

He finally has her heart.

It's his. She is finally his.

No one will ever take her from him.

He owns her heart, after all.

Exactly what the title says: I thought I should post one of my fics just for the sake of updating my poor, neglected LJ.
I attribute any grammar mistakes to laziness the fact that English isn't my native language.
So, yeah. DxS fic here - which you could've read already on my FFN account. Yes, I've joined the practice of shameless advertising.

[Obsession - Danny Phantom fanfiction]

Danny Fenton eyed his best friend, Sam Manson, with something akin to possessiveness in his eyes.

For years, his ghost side had been growing stronger. There were mornings where he woke up floating five feet above the bed. His voice often gained an otherworldly echo. His eyes had a strong tendency to turn green whenever he was angry.

He supposed it was just a matter of time before he also developed an obsession.

To be fair, all ghosts had one - be it with boxes, world domination or simply with a person. Their obsessions were what kept them grounded, what kept a hold of whatever humanity they had left, as little as it might be.

A ghost without an obsession wasn't a ghost - it simply became a lost soul, restless and unfulfilled until the end of its days.

Danny, being a half-ghost, didn't fully expect to also develop an obsession.

Of course, Vlad Masters had one. Being a halfa like him, he should have been expecting it, but Danny had simply thought that it wasn't quite a ghostly obsession, since it had been present before his- uh, half-death.

Which led him into thinking that perhaps something had been there before.

Danny had battled with himself for a long time, trying to deny it. He thought that maybe it was just a crush, if that much. It was Sam, after all - his best friend, partner in crime, tutor and investigator, all rolled into one single independent person. He found it kind of ironic, actually.

Sam was the reason he became half-ghost, after all. If it wasn't for her, he would never had entered the portal. His hand wouldn't ever hit the 'ON' button, his parents wouldn't have become ghost hunters. He wouldn't ever have stopped being the dorky, cowardly Danny Fenton, who always stood on the sidelines, and grow to be Danny Phantom, protector of Amity Park.

Sometimes, it all seemed like a dream.

At first, he dismissed it. The longing glances he sometimes found himself giving, the way he'd linger a little bit longer than necessary when he hugged Sam. They were best friends, it was obvious that he found her somewhat pleasing to be around.

He denied it for long, but soon he had no choice but to face it.

He started to suspect he might have some sort of feelings for her when he started getting jealous of every guy who got near her. He once found himself nearly growling at Tucker when he playfully kissed her cheek. Tucker! His other best friend, the guy he grew with!

He didn't want to admit that it might be a possibility.

Nearly every night, he visited her window, watching as she slept peacefully, the rise and fall of her chest assuring him that she was still alive and well. He excused himself for some time: the first night, they had battled an alliance between Ember and Skulker, and he was worried that she had been more hurt than she'd let on. The second night, two weeks later, he was escaping a group of rogue ghost hunters when he entered her room and saw her asleep. She was so serene, so beautiful - he couldn't look away. He had stood hovering in the same place, watching her until the first rays of sun hit her window (whose curtains were, unusually, open).

He couldn't not come back.

He tried, he really did. But every night, it became harder and harder to fall asleep, her sleeping image burning into his eyelids. He gave into the need one, two times, guiltily watching every time she sighed quietly in her sleep. Suddenly, he couldn't stop anymore.

Every night, he flew all the way to her house and watched as she slept. It was addictive and he always felt rested afterwards, as if he had gotten a full night's sleep. The guilt slowly ebbed away.

He tried to explain it in any way he could, trying not to link his feelings to any ghostly occurrences. But the truth was... there really wasn't any difference. Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom were the same, as were the human feelings and the ghostly obsession.

Sam Manson was the girl he liked- or dare he say it, loved.

Sam Manson was his obsession.

She was his. His only, and no one else's.

She just didn't know it yet.

Her lilac eyes twinkled merrily at him from the seat next to him and he felt his stomach flutter. Butterflies? Forget that. There were raging, fire-breathing dragons inhabiting his belly.

He grabbed her hand, caressing her pulse point softly. She blushed prettily and he tried to not let his eyes shine green.

Where would he be without her? He'd have turned into a soulless, evil monster like Dan, that was a given. He didn't think he would survive the pain if she was taken from him.

Sam smiled at him and Danny felt his ghost side wash over him with a vicious sense of protectiveness. He almost phased through the chair he was sitting on when she blinked and cocked her head to the side, looking at him cutely (though she'd never admit it).

She was his. She belonged to him.

Out of everyone he knew, he supposed Tucker would be the one to freak out the least - he probably had been expecting it, even. Jazz would insist on psychoanalyzing him to insanity, and his parents... Well, it didn't matter.

It wasn't as if it was going to go away anytime soon - or at all, for that matter.

She was so beautiful, so fierce, so... innocent.

He yearned to steal it from her, to make it his.

To make her his.

Yes, Sam Manson was his ghostly obsession.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

And now I'm going to curl up in a little ball under my covers while the bloodiest war in history occurs in my uterus.

See ya, everyone! 

Writer's Block: Tea for two

If you could spend a day with any fictional character, who would it be and what would the two of you do?

Well, that isn't very hard ^.^'
Either Draco Malfoy, Jack Sparrow or The Mad Hatter would be awesome! *squeals like a fangirl*
Well, I think Jack would prefer rum to tea, but... oh, well. Who cares?
I'd discuss throloughly with the Mad Hatter the intrincancies of ravens, writing desks, and words started with the letter "M". It really doesn't matter what I would do with Draco Malfoy, I'd probably just ogle him to death... or plot the death of noisy, rude Gryffindors.
What is your favorite Disney movie?

Just now or ever? Well, that's a hard one. Let's see:

1 - Mulan
2 - Peter Pan 2: Return To Neverland
3 - Tangled
4 - The Little Mermaid II: Return To The Sea
5 - Beauty and the Beast
6 - Hercules
7 - Aladdin

... to name a few. I am a Disney-fanatic. x3

Writer's Block: An intimate portrait

If someone wrote a book about your life, what would it be called?

Either "The Ramblings of a Half-Insane Teenager" or "How To Become Nutters By Reading This Book, Because It's So Confusing That Not Even The Author Understands It". Both work for me - ít's just the way I am!

Writer's Block: Fear factor

What are you afraid of?

That one is easy: German Shepherd dogs and cockroaches.
The dogs because last year I was attacked by one and nearly died. Cockroaches because they're yucky. -.-'
No offense for those who like either of those.

I guess we know what he #isturnedonby.

I guess we know what he #isturnedonby.   x3

A classic.   x3

I guess we know what he #isturnedonby. Gross.


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