Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Pretty Things ❯ Pretty Things ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Edmondia Dantes 
Narcissism at its finest.
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Psychological / Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 07.08.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 558 | Visits: 688 | Status: Completed
Narcissism at its finest.
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Psychological / Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 07.08.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 558 | Visits: 688 | Status: Completed
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Pretty Things
by Edmondia Dantes
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: Disturbing content ahead?
* * *
He likes pretty things. Sunshine in summer and starlight at night, and flowers and clouds and the sky.
He likes the shadows and the mists and the mysteries. He likes wandering the corridors in thick rich darkness, likes exploring the mazes and flaunting himself in the face of the danger that can never hurt him.
Pretty things make him smile.
His yami is very pretty.
He loves his yami.
He loves to hold and kiss and pet his yami, to tie him down and watch him cry. He loves it when his yami bleeds, because his yami is so pretty like that, so pretty, and he loves the way he looks when pretty pretty crimson slides down his pale hair and splatters across his dark skin.
He loves breaking his yami, his beautiful, terrible, insane shrieking yami, loves the taste of his lips on his skin and loves the madness in his pretty purple eyes.
He loves it because his yami loves him.
And he throws his head back and laughs as hard as he can, when he's drenched in sweat and blood and tears and their room smells of sex and honey, and his yami's teeth flash in that blinding, beautiful smile, and he throws back the shades and lets the sun spill onto the source of his sin.
He loves the sound of his yami's laughter, innocent like a child's and blacker than black. His yami giggles and rolls around on their bed, all soaked like him, tossing broken ribbons and soiled pillows like confetti. And he tumbles down into him again, and drowns himself in the sweetness of insanity, and he can't care about it because he knows he's crazy, he knows he's fucking insane, but salt-stained kisses are his to claim, and he doesn't care when the knife drags across his flesh and slips deep inside him.
He licks the blood from the blade, turning it in his mouth, toying with it and playing until he can coax his pretty yami to take it out, to replace it with something more yummy and warm instead.
He loves it when his yami grabs him and hits him and throws him to the floor, loves it because he's done the same to his yami, his delicious beautiful yami, and his yami tastes sweet and sour all at once, sick and foul and beautiful. He likes the broken glass scattered on the rug, he likes it when it digs into his skin and turns that pretty crimson, he likes the touch of his yami's tongue as he laps up the hurt.
He loves pretty things, and when his yami screams and bites and thrashes and writhes in ecstasy, he loves that most of all.
Because his yami is pretty.
His yami is the most beautiful thing in the world.
And he loves pretty things.
But most of all, he loves his yami.
* * *
AN: This is what Dia likes to call 'twisted fun'. She wonders if you agree with her.
Pretty Things
by Edmondia Dantes
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: Disturbing content ahead?
* * *
He likes pretty things. Sunshine in summer and starlight at night, and flowers and clouds and the sky.
He likes the shadows and the mists and the mysteries. He likes wandering the corridors in thick rich darkness, likes exploring the mazes and flaunting himself in the face of the danger that can never hurt him.
Pretty things make him smile.
His yami is very pretty.
He loves his yami.
He loves to hold and kiss and pet his yami, to tie him down and watch him cry. He loves it when his yami bleeds, because his yami is so pretty like that, so pretty, and he loves the way he looks when pretty pretty crimson slides down his pale hair and splatters across his dark skin.
He loves breaking his yami, his beautiful, terrible, insane shrieking yami, loves the taste of his lips on his skin and loves the madness in his pretty purple eyes.
He loves it because his yami loves him.
And he throws his head back and laughs as hard as he can, when he's drenched in sweat and blood and tears and their room smells of sex and honey, and his yami's teeth flash in that blinding, beautiful smile, and he throws back the shades and lets the sun spill onto the source of his sin.
He loves the sound of his yami's laughter, innocent like a child's and blacker than black. His yami giggles and rolls around on their bed, all soaked like him, tossing broken ribbons and soiled pillows like confetti. And he tumbles down into him again, and drowns himself in the sweetness of insanity, and he can't care about it because he knows he's crazy, he knows he's fucking insane, but salt-stained kisses are his to claim, and he doesn't care when the knife drags across his flesh and slips deep inside him.
He licks the blood from the blade, turning it in his mouth, toying with it and playing until he can coax his pretty yami to take it out, to replace it with something more yummy and warm instead.
He loves it when his yami grabs him and hits him and throws him to the floor, loves it because he's done the same to his yami, his delicious beautiful yami, and his yami tastes sweet and sour all at once, sick and foul and beautiful. He likes the broken glass scattered on the rug, he likes it when it digs into his skin and turns that pretty crimson, he likes the touch of his yami's tongue as he laps up the hurt.
He loves pretty things, and when his yami screams and bites and thrashes and writhes in ecstasy, he loves that most of all.
Because his yami is pretty.
His yami is the most beautiful thing in the world.
And he loves pretty things.
But most of all, he loves his yami.
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AN: This is what Dia likes to call 'twisted fun'. She wonders if you agree with her.