Dawn Chorus (Proxies x Reader)

Bread and Bruises

"Hoodie wouldn't do that," he says as he lifts me back onto my feet, "I just wanted to return the favor of you knocking me down. Now turn around. I want to see what you can do when grabbed from behind."

I shuffle back. I'm dusted like a cinnamon donut in beige dirt. My back aches, but it's only a skin-deep pain that's rapidly fading. Masky raises his eyebrows, rotates his head slightly in a 'come on' expression. I run my fingers over my exposed arms, fidget along the goosebumps decorating my skin. Turning my back on him feels like turning a back on a bear. My first step falters. I have to look at the ground and not him to swing around completely, back to him. I can't help but curl into, over myself a little.

Masky steps loudly towards me, takes his time with his steps. He reaches around slowly, arms wide so I can see the flash of red and black of his sleeves before he makes contact. It's a weird courtesy from him. His chest presses hard against my back, arms locking in around me. The grip is warm and solid, but not lung popping, bone crushing tight. For a second, I forget to struggle, enveloped in warmth and firm touches.

Masky chuckles, breath tickling against my ear. "Are you that desperate to be held?"

Shame rushes red across my face. I hop up, lifting my legs and pressing my weight back into him. He takes a step back to balance out the new distribution of my weight, but I'm already rearing my head back as hard as I can. I miss his nose, but I can feel my skull colliding with the side of his face. He grunts and his grip loosens. It hadn't been tight in the first place, so I jam my elbows into his, digging in until his muscles are forced to falter. I don't know if I get myself out or he just drops me. I had no plan for the release. I hit the ground, ass first, rolling back and knocking my head against his knees. I tilt my head back. His lips have pulled into a smirk, but there is fire beneath his eyes and a purpling streak already forming across his cheek bone. This is going to turn out great for me.

A squeak escapes, can't even feel myself make it, as I tuck and roll when one of his legs move. A heavy boot collides with the curve of my spine. Pain shoots through my body. The protective curl I had to shield my neck, head, and soft guts is forced to unroll. I lay stiff and rigid for a moment, catching my breath. Masky allows that moment. Then he is yanking me up by the back of my shirt, like a puppy by their scruff. I swing wildly, but I can't reach him. Can't breathe, can't feel the ground beneath me, can't see.

"Calm down," he snaps. Softer, he tells me, "calm down; you won't get out of any grip like that. Now tuck your chin so I don't strangle you with your shirt, get it under the collar."

I follow his instructions. The burn I hardly noticed in my breath softens, and I'm no longer gasping for nothing.

"That's a start," he mutters as he drops me unceremoniously.

An oof is pushed from my mouth as I hit the ground. Masky's gloved hand is in my face again. I take the offer and he is hauling me back up. We've barely done anything, and still there is a wobble to my stance. His eyes run over me, a relaxed lean to his posture.

"Everyone in this house weighs more than you, has more muscle than you, has more experience than you. Redirecting my punch was good, but you should have taken the opening to hit back. And throwing your weight around isn't going to do much."

"Aren't you worried I'll use this to escape?" I cut him off to ask my question.

"No," he states without a care. "I'm teaching you just enough so Hoodie can't fuck with you so easily anymore, make you feel a little bit better about yourself, a little less helpless.

Now widen your stance a little and bend your knees. Not like that, you aren't a fucking sumo wrestler, less bent, one foot slightly back. Now let's really get started."