whichiest | PENANCE IC INBOX

Come here for a second.

(Izaya's arm gently wraps around her waist, pulling her to his lap. This is going in a very different way than he is showing, but it's going to make it more interesting now, isn't it?

He did say he has plans. The blade stops perfectly on his palm, and it gently caresses the skin of her neck, albeit with no pressure enough to cut.)

What if the murderer is you, and the proxy is me?

[She can't help the slight giggle that escapes her as she settles into his lap, her skin tingling in a sort of horrible anticipation at the way his knife dances at her unblemished skin, able to slice at an instant's notice. The danger, the knowing what he's capable of, it's such a thrill. Her face lights up in delight, but the actual proposition does cause her a bit of hesitation.]

You want to...have me murder someone?

Far from me to want anything as such.

(But the smile on his lips expresses something completely different as the blade reaches her collarbone, snaps open the strap off her shoulder. It continues to descend until he reaches her hand, settling for her palm as Izaya closes her fingers around it.)

Didn't you want to put your worst foot forward, though? So, tell me. What's worse? Murder or murder by proxy?

(And it's a whisper against her ear who tells her so.)

[A sinful sort of shiver passes down her spine as Izaya bares her shoulder. He makes something so horrible sound so perfect, but a knot still forms in her throat, wanting but wavering. Her definition of "worst" "awful" "dark" and "black" has never involved direct violence.

The blade feels strange in her hand. Heavier with purpose and intention than any kitchen knife she's ever held.]

But I don't know if I'm ready for something...something like that.

There's no "ready" in this world, Bella. Nobody is ready for anything, ever. Were you ready for the first time we kissed? What about the first time we slept together?

(Oh, that blade. He takes her small hand towards his chest, the point of the blade touching his heart ever so delicately as he smiles, pulling her closer into his lap by the waist.)

It's very easy to think about readiness when everything's relative. So? Murder by proxy or first-degree?

Edited 2021-08-02 23:33 (UTC)

It's...I...

[He makes, of course, a wonderful argument. Anything really could happen at any time, so why shouldn't she do the worst possible thing she could think of. A few reasons.

I'm not cut out for this.

or

I'm a witch, not a murderer.

or even, simply,

I don't want to.

But they're silly excuses. Is that her problem? She's too weak to get her hands dirty? The witches in her coven, they'd kill someone with their own hands if they had to, wouldn't they, instead of relying on magic? Is that how it can come so naturally to them?

Beyond that, though, her eyes follow down to where he's positioned the tip of the blade and her hand starts to shake. The only reason that she can keep hold of the weapon at all is because of his own hand keeping her steady.]

What are you doing?

Isn't it more like what are you doing? Relax.

(He'll allow her for some time to get acquainted with the weight of the knife, the shakes her hand produce while she holds the blade against his heart. It's fine, isn't it? He'll just come back like nothing has happened, so the evidence points to.

She's nervous, he doesn't remember the last time he was nervous about pointing his blade at anyone, but he can be empathetic. His lips gently kiss her cheek, her neck, everywhere they can reach before he'd have to move too much.

There is a knife to his heart after all.)

[Her head races as her heart beats faster. He tells her to relax but she can't help doing the opposite, shaking her head emphatically.]

But why? Why you? I couldn't possibly bear you being dead.

Oh, that's interesting. Would you be able to bear someone else dying because you didn't kill me instead?

(All very calculated, he's dragging the blade down his shirt, cutting it to reveal his chest and to also remind them that this knife is rather sharp.)

I...I don't know.

[As always, she answers with such honesty it sounds like agony. She really doesn't know that directly killing anyone would be something she could stomach.]

But you mean so much to me...you know that.

I know. You also do know that killing anyone here isn't permanent, correct? I'd just come back, like none of this ever happened. Do you truly think that the disasters you want to bestow upon others have no casualties?

(But fine, he's going to drop it only for a second, just a little second to close the switchblade and carefully lay her on the couch. She's too tense, it's not going anywhere if she doesn't get to listen to him properly.)

Economic downturns make a surge in suicides, that's a simple fact of life. I don't have to tell you what natural disasters do to the people who suffer them. You gotta be okay with death if that's truly what you want to pursue.

(All said as he presses the sweetest kisses upon pale skin.)

Edited 2021-08-03 02:10 (UTC)

[She relaxes, at least a little, when the knife isn't posed to strike. Her breathing starts to even out, but she still stammers.]

But that's...

[Different from being the one to plunge the knife in. And that's his point. It all makes sense. It's hypocritical, to idolize things that have the potential to cause death while choosing to stay separate from it. That's the lesson. But, still...]

You don't kill anyone, either, isn't that right?

With the exception of my attempted murder towards Shizu-chan, and around fifteen old men who had any involvement with my stabbing accident, not really. Ah, but you knew this, didn't you? I gave you my sin list very early on. Are you having second thoughts?

(He's getting so much more than he bargained for with this? There's a smile she might not be able to see, but she probably can sense against her skin.)

[He makes it so easy to forget the things that scare her when he speaks so soothingly. Instinctively, she cradles Izaya's head against her as he dots her with kisses, and she focuses on gathering her thoughts.]

No, no, of course not. You just really took me by surprise, you know? I'm still not even very good at bending the truth...

[And, and, well...]

You only just came back. I don't want to lose you, again.

Don't you think that after you do something so vile, everything else will become easier?

(One thing about Izaya is that that switchblade is definitely not the only one he carries on himself, so with a flick one that he removed from his jeans pocket, he rids her of the other strap of her dress, leaving her chest for him to press kisses against.

A little wave of goosebumps takes over his spine for a second there. God, he truly does not deserve this woman. He knows it with every fiber of his being, and she still hasn't realized it. She probably will, after he's done with his point, with his plan. She truly does love him.

It's easier to run from it if he does it in a way that makes sense to his character rather than to just out and leave. He wanted her to awaken to her true potential, did he not? So this is the opportunity that he has to bring it all together, and whatever the result, he'll accept it wholeheartedly.)

I'll be here tomorrow.

But what if...what if something goes wrong, and the way they bring people back suddenly doesn't work? What if you're gone for so much longer?

[Or forever? It's the worst possible outcome, but the fact is they don't really know how any of it works. The way that Penance has been in such upheaval since their arrival, it worries her. At any point, the system could collapse and make things harder than they can imagine.

The first switchblade stays collapsed in her hand, gripped in an anxious fist as she watches him soothe her flushed skin.]

It's not. I can guarantee that.

(No, he can't, but knowing that Death is around is a relief. Knowing that others have died countless times and still walk the Penance grounds is telling, the assurance that this has never happened before can do wonders. His hand lowers her dress so his lips can reach more, a finger caressing the shape of her breast before he looks up at her.)

Well, I guess we can talk about it a little later, can't we?

(It's only to make her hate him more. Maybe it works.)

[In all honestly, she's not so sure how she feels about this. It's just delaying a conversation that's going to continue to be painful, isn't it? Belladonna meets his eyes with a look that seems to be a mix of insecurity and resignation. He's not usually so forward, really, without her being the one to ultimately be given the chance to take initiative.

Maybe it would be good to just go along with this. At least, if nothing else, she's pretty willing for a distraction under these circumstances.]

Alright. We'll...talk about it later.

Good.

(Not usually so forward, but when there's something to benefit from it, he might as well play the part. Belladonna's been too close, too dangerously close to peeking through the walls he's built around his heart. It's with every smile she offers him in the morning. With how genuinely she feels about him, even after he'd dropped his manipulation. How she touches every sin he's ever committed tenderly and lovingly, admiring each wrongdoing and listening, truly listening to every word that comes out of his mouth - whether it's bullshit or not. It's the way she cares about him, sincerely cares for him that frightens him.

She's not going to love him for long. He'll mess with Masaomi, he'll mess with someone, and she'll open her eyes to the shit person he truly is. She's going to grow bored of his speeches, she'll eventually reject him for the same reason she loves him in the first place. He cannot afford to let himself be swayed any further, not if he wants to protect his brittle heart.

He doesn't know how to do things any way else - and he had promised her to make her evil, hasn't he? What's more evil than making love to someone, only to watch the life drain from them shortly after from your own blade?

His hands take hers in to remove the blade in her possession, placing them around his neck before his lips catch her own - a kiss that is uncharacteristically passionate.)

[It's like the turning of a switch. He takes the knife from her hand and for the moment, she feels free again, and it's so easy to follow his lead, leaning into his kiss, her arms pulling his body down close to her own.

In that kiss, Belladonna pours herself. As if just the right showing of devotion or of empathy will fix everything about the past several minutes. Surely, then he'll realize that this is all unnecessary, or at least not the right time.

And there will be a right time, she tells herself. And a right victim. A right place. And he'll be so, so proud of her.]

(He made her love him, he can make her hate him, or if she doesn't have it in her, at least she won't want to look at him for a while, he supposes. He hopes. He doesn't wish so, but in his twisted way of thinking, that's the safest bet he has.

The last woman who loved him got off pretty easily compared to what Izaya is offering here, he thinks for a second. It's always like this, isn't it? Being lonely and yet too frightened to stop being so. It's a push and pull, and nobody he might care about is free from it. Not Bella, certainly not Shinra.

With intensity that Izaya never shows, he's allowing his hand to wander again, fingers lowering her underwear by the sides before he can tease a touch, the kiss becoming more voracious per second. He's fully freaking out, but at least he can mask it as desire, if anyone would fall for that.)

[There's maybe an instinct here, a subtle nagging in the back of her brain, that something doesn't feel right about this. That he's acting strange, has been acting strange, particularly since he returned home from the shipwreck. But they haven't touched like this in awhile, or, well, ever, really, not with this kind of energy, and she can't bring herself to waste the opportunity.

Belladonna sighs into her mouth as he devours her, and one of her hands runs down his chest, finding the slice he'd made in the fabric. There's a hesitation, a small one, and then she grips it with both hands and tears it farther, forcing the fabric open from collar to hem.]

(Color him impressed with how she decides to rid him of his shirt. He never expected her to attribute his aggressiveness with some of her own, he never thought that this is what lives inside her if he just poked enough.

Well, he would never find out if he hadn't been panicking, gripping on her leg and letting a gasp for air escape his lips before he dives right back again, shoulders moving so that the shirt could slide off of it and he could toss it to God-Only- Knows-Where.

It's off because something is off. He's off.)

[Belladonna wants him. Wants him because he wants her, or seems to. But the nagging gets worse no matter how hot their kisses become, how irresistible his kisses. It claws at her white-witch sensibilities, and eventually she can't ignore what's obvious any longer.

If she did, she'd be taking advantage of him.

So, although she's panting and dizzy with desire, she pulls her mouth away from his, her hands becoming gentle once more.]

Stop.

[It's more of a muted plea than an order, and she starts to sit up.]

I don't think we should do this right now.

(The thing about Izaya is that whether things go according to plan or not, he'll smile like it's all like he expected it to be. It's the beauty of being able to love any result.

So she tells him to stop, and without a second thought, he does it. He's plenty of things, but one to push for sex just doesn't suit him. He sighs, panting, trying his best to breathe properly as he removes himself from her touch.

The blade shouldn't be just hanging on the sofa, so back into his hands it goes.)

Are you okay?

cw its gonna get sexy

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cw izaya being a triggery asshole, suicide/disaster mention

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