Knuckles Crying Novels & Stories

especially after knowing the truth about her baby. *Whip* Our baby. "Damn it!" I roared. My knuckles throbbed; the fresh wounds split open from gripping the whip too tightly. My knuckles are badly bruised and battered from hitting walls, furniture, and anything that could ensure the wrath I couldn't unleash elsewhere. The skin was cracked, bruised, bloody—just like every piece of me.

The pain spread from my elbow to my fingers. I begged them to stop, voice shaking. “Please, stop. You’re hurting me.” They didn't even notice me. They were lost in their fury, too consumed by whatever they felt for me. Their hands tightened around me, the pressure making my wrist throb and my hand burn until tears gathered in my eyes. Since they wouldn’t listen to my voice, I reached out with my leg and kicked the closest jar off the shelf. It crashed onto the floor, shattering loudly.

It's a deep cut in-between my thumb and index finger and it's bleeding heavily. It's also bleeding from other tiny cuts on my palm. "I know you're angry but can you control your emotions and try not to be rash next time? You need your two hands to fight and beat your knucklehead brother you know!?" He says when he's done treating and bandaging my hand "I don't need my hands to fight a knucklehead. I'll beat his ass even if I'm blindfolded with my two hands tied to the back..." I reply testily

I sighed, caught it in the palm of my free hand and crushed it till he was screaming like a baby. “Wait wait, please. Ahh! My hand. For duck's sake, let me go,” he shouted as he tried to free his hand from my grip. “I will, when you learn to be respectful,” I said and applied more force on it. his knuckles started to crack from it and he eventually fell to his knees from the pain. “Please, I'm sorry. I beg of you, let me go. I need my hand to make money,” at this point, he was crying with snot running down his nose.

The redness due to crying, on her nose and cheeks were still there, reminding him of her sadness again and again. She was too precious and innocent, that he had to protect her from himself now. He leaned his back slightly against the headboard which made her more comfortable to lay on his chest. As she was busy in her own playing, suddenly her gaze fell upon his fresh injured knuckles. At first, she couldn't see it due to darkness but now that she was closer, she saw his cracked, bloodied knuckles.

The scratch on my back painfully pressed into the grass underneath me and my hands came up to try and push him off. "Get off of me!" I yelled, my physicality and tone of voice screamed desperation as I attempted to remove the naked man from on top of me. I punched his chest as hard as I could which caused a grunt to leave his mouth, unfortunately it also forced my fist to snap out of place. A small cry left me as I realized I'd just dislocated my knuckle punching him.

Knuckles slurred, casting doubt on my claim. Now he’d gone and done it, stirring my anger like a volcano of fury. I threw him across the room, obliterating several tables and knocking down a cluster of guys like they were bowling skittles. My eyes glazed over with hellfire, and the only sound I could hear was the thundering clap of my heartbeat, cheering me on. “Kian!” A shrill voice came as a slap to the face, and I blinked, swallowing hard. Tiny hands pressed against my chest, holding me back. Gentle hands — as frail as flower stems, but as powerful as a blockade.

I gripped the tip of the wooden armrest and jerked my hands up, taking the wood tied to my forearms. One of the three moved faster than the other. He threw his fist and aimed it at my face. It collided with the splintered armrest I used as protection. He groans, blood dripping from his left knuckles. Throwing his right fist, hoping to redeem his first failed attempt, I sliced my elbow in the air, still armed with the wood fracture. “Fucking bitch!” he hissed, shaking his bleeding hands. I freed one of my arms from the wood, watchful of his friends, as they shoved Bloody Knuckles to the side.

I felt the threat of tears clog my throat. "Alright love, looks like it'll be knuckles." I gave Etna a watery smile. Time to train, and make it hurt.

I wouldn't be surprised if several of the bones in my knuckles are cracked. Nino circled me. "You're good but you seem a bit rusty." Understatement. I am rusty. "Your kicks are strong," he assessed. "But you need to gain more muscle in your arms. You punched me a while ago and it tickled." "My punches don't tickle," I defended. "They tickle, Dylan and I almost heard it squeak too, like a rubber duck." My teeth clicked in annoyance. I'll show you.