Blackfoot Forest spit out your pride and lay yourself bare

word vomits on you

Blackfell's eyes burned like wildfire beneath the frost as her words struck him, each one a hammer blow against the fragile remains of his pride.

She was right, and that was the worst of it. Every accusation, every venomous word she spat was a truth he could not deny. His chest heaved as the rage surged, hot and consuming, choking him like smoke in his lungs.

“You don’t know shit,” Another lie. The distance between them fully vanished in a heartbeat, his massive form surging forward. His shoulder slammed into hers, driving her back into the snow with a force enough to rattle the frozen ground beneath them. His weight bore down on her, his hefty paws pinning her.

His breath came fast and harsh, curling in white plumes around them as his teeth snapped inches from her face, the sound sharp as cracking ice. “You think you’ve got me figured out?” he growled, his voice a dangerous rasp. “Think you’ve got the right to stand there and spit in my face? Like you’re not just as broken as I am.”

Hypocrite. Hypocrite.

Gjalla twisted beneath him, her claws scraping at his chest as her fangs flashed, aiming for the tender flesh of his snout. She moved fast, but so did he—jerking back just enough to turn a vicious bite into a grazing strike. Still, her teeth met their mark, slicing a sharp line across his muzzle.

“Fuck!” he barked, blood pouring in creamy rivulets from his snout to the plush of her messied chest below. His lips curled, baring the full gleam of his fangs, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he pressed her down harder, his claws sinking into the frozen earth on either side of her. His voice broke, rough and raw, carrying the weight of a confession he’d never give willingly. “You think I don’t know? You think I don’t feel it? I was there!” His breath came fast now, rattling in his chest, his muzzle so close to hers that her scent hit him like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t just the wild musk of her sweat and anger—it was something deeper, something maddeningly sweet and primal that sank its claws into his senses. It crawled under his skin, wrapping around his throat and squeezing until he could barely think straight.

Blackfell growled low, a sound that trembled with something darker, something he refused to name. “I had it, Gjalla. I was so godsdamned close. And now…” His voice dropped to a hiss. He looked down at her, eyes clawing and tearing over her contorted face, ignorant to the beauty that lay beneath her glowering snarl. His breath came in pulsing gasps, the air he clawed at visible in thick plumes around his face. He frantically searched her eyes, her face.

In his anger, he wasn't able to react when she barreled him over, flipping the tide of their violent tango. His back hit the snow-trodden ground with a thud, the back of his head colliding next, leaving him staring up at the furious mother winter. "Fuck you, Gjalla."