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85﹕ brock grabs gloria roughly by the hair . @rejectory
his fingers curled in her hair, sharp and punishing, tilting her head back with a force that dared her to push back. the pain flared in her scalp, she inhaled slow and deep, a ritual of the agony she graves. gloria held his gaze, unblinking, unmoved. breath hitched in her throat, not from fear but fury, caged and coiled like a venomous serpent waiting for its moment.
she smiles, but it's all teeth. all sickness and hunger. that familiar rot curled beneath her skin whenever he got too close. her hand snaps, pressing a thumb just under his jaw. the button to remind that she could drop him if she wanted to— if she needed to. pressure-honed and sadistic against the artery's pulse. ❛ what's it going to be, rumlow? ❜ a laugh slithers up her throat. all that violence she tries to forget, tries to hide under florals and martyrdom, breathes like a second pair of lungs.
❛ we fighting or fucking? ❜