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yandere-toons · 6 months ago

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Yandere Toga Himiko | ブラッド・クィーン

Warning: Gore, Villain! Reader, Toxic Mindsets.

Word Count: 2127.

Artwork: Akiyama Yoco's first illustration for Toga.

Death's ghost rained down in fine red embers, bringing with it the smell of a hundred knives rusting deep within fly-torn flesh.

A mist of blood, nearly steaming on cheeks aflame with heat, clothed the muscles so taut in her neck. The fill of her stomach took a leap and a bound, aflutter and twitching, like a bird fraught with excitement.

Thump after thump drew blood flush over her skin, matched the pounding of drums in her heart, slipped along her mouth at every breath, danced bittersweet on the end of her tongue.

The music of dreams carried on the blood-wind, singing of what it was to languish beneath the stars in decades past.

For a while, you sat and listened, fingers dug in round the edge of the armrest, knuckles sharp against skin.

The gramophone beside an open window stuttered for a moment, as if struggling to perform its duty in the face of the room’s two living occupants. The eerie echo of the distant singer, of a time long since passed, seemed almost to sedate you.

In contrast to her, so animated and audible, the music seemed so rhythmic, blending into other sounds of the night, cancelling out all else.

All else, that is, except her.

She glided over and around the mangled forms scattered throughout the room. Some almost seemed alive, displaying occasional twitches of stress from their agonizing last moments, whereas others seemed little more than lumps of twisted meat, stinking and splattered.

A giggle, authentic and dripping with joy, reached your ears.

She didn’t mind the macabre display, and neither did you. There was intimacy in the scene, even if hidden and shamefully unappreciated. Not long ago, the desiccated husks were full of life, bemoaning their fates, casting aspersions against yourself, one another, and her as you’d made your way around the room, making selections together.

None of them could properly resist, of course, and so the two of you could, and did, take your time.

The gramophone stuttered again, and you cast a quick glance at the machine, less out of curiosity and more out of annoyance. That made for a second stutter within the same song. You took a mental note to adjust the machine afterwards, and your eyes returned to her.

The moonlight cast a small shadow of her upon the wall, and you wondered for a moment if she had noticed its diminutive size or if she remained lost in her bliss.

She squealed as her boots stomped a gore pulp beneath them, the squelching reminiscent of a watermelon splatting against the ground. Dollops of blood flew, and within another motion, both her boots and legs had received a fresh coat of crimson.

Her eyes shined like freshly minted coins as she revealed a toothy grin, and she ran her tongue over sharpened teeth that resembled fangs. Yes, clearly, she was enjoying herself amid the gruesome redecoration of the room.

She twirled once more, and her eyes fixated upon you as you rose from the chair. You approached her softly, but intently, and she wouldn’t look away. Tucking her hands behind her back, as if suddenly bashful, her eyes travelled the length of you. Her movement slowed, but her smile remained.

Tenderly, you extended a hand towards her, your eyes never missing an opportunity to make contact with hers.

Her body stiffened; breath caught in her throat.

You cocked your head, less out of confusion, and more to survey her from a different angle. The edges of your lips curled up ever-so-slightly, and with your head leaning in towards hers, she was frozen.

No voices, no gurgling from the butchered wretches below, and no stuttering from the gramophone.

Her lip quivered momentarily, and you took another step forward. She could feel your hot, yet restrained, breath on her face, and you could see the rapidly developing makings of a red tinge on her cheeks. The splotches of red on her chin, the stains of bodily fluids in her formerly pristine hair, and the reeking stenches all around meant nothing.

It was only the two of you, sharing a moment that only two such wayward souls could appreciate.

She shivered as your hand reached her midsection, teasing her hips lightly until it reached its intended target. Tracing blood-stained fingers and feeling out the point of a sharpened blade, you tenderly clasped hold of several of her fingers around the blade and, with eyes never leaving hers, guided her hand from behind her back to your sternum.

With mere inches of distance separating you, you placed the gore-drenched hand with the blade over your heart and, in a voice barely more audible than a whisper, blew forth a single word: Dance.

Her hand shook, and with eyes beholden to your own, she grinned from ear to ear. Nodding, she pressed herself against your chest, the knife locked between two grasps as though it were a child in need of protection. Her other hand surreptitiously made its way to your side, and yet the motion garnered no reaction from you.

She sighed, and you laid your other arm about her back, drawing her closer.

The gramophone performed its duties, and the rest of the world fell away as the two of you traversed the room, deliberately yet fluidly. The sporadic squelches, the scratching of boots against solid floors, and the blow of the wind served only to bring serenity to the both of you.

It was an intimacy and affection few could imagine and even fewer could experience; it was one Toga Himiko shared deep in the nights of you.

***

After what seemed like only a moment, the two of you had made your way across the room more than once.

The moonlight, shining through a precious few windows, continued to illuminate the scene, even as the night grew darker and a fresh chill entered the air. The corpses had taken on much larger shadows, and though none twitched as they had previously, the light seemed to pass about them, throwing intriguing shapes upon the floors and walls behind.

Toga hummed, buried in your chest, face no longer visible under that bloody mess of hair. She didn’t seem to mind that, in the motion, your hand had won against hers for the primary grip on her vaunted knife. It was your fingers that kissed the slick steel, even as hers remained tightly, but not painfully, clenched along the grip.

While she couldn’t bring herself to fully let go of the object, she was content to share it with you, and you were content to share it with her.

Your formerly coordinated motions slowed to a halt. The two of you seemed to be sharing an extended hug more than anything else, and as she raised her head, a creak uttered from somewhere else in the room.

In an instant, you were separated, and Toga shot her head sideways, scanning the area for any threats. You mirrored her approach, intent to ferret out and eradicate whatever had interrupted your bliss, but on further observation, nothing revealed itself.

Motionlessly, silently, you both waited, eyes and ears attuned to the most minute disturbances, and still, nothing.

Toga, peering upon the carnage with seemingly fresh eyes, noticed a more full-bodied corpse toward the centre of the room. The quarry had not been easy to pacify from the hunting ground, and his size made the drag to the room more difficult than expected.

She pounced on the offending mass of flesh, back turned to you, but just as passionate and animated as ever. She straddled the corpse, skirt partially hiked, legs planted on either side: there stirred in Toga a warmth throughout her body. She spared the corpse below a glance, as though he might revive to cheer this opportunity, and buried the knife in his chest cavity one final time.

The fool’s glazed-over eyes offered nothing save for the lingering imprint of his final terror.

As she plunged the blade from its target, dead sinew tore, and blood spewed from the former captive, splattering across her chest and face, washing what had already been soaked in past excursions. The moonlight worked to augment her crimson coat, making Toga’s body shine, and as she grinned, her face seemed to absorb every photon of light in the room.

The knife was again doused, its temporary reprieve resting against your chest forgotten.

You approached, transfixed on her exquisite form, heaving with exertion and bolstered by excitement. Your boots crunched the severed fingers of another offering, even as your eyes remained centred on her within your approach.

Witnessing such fervour was a treat, but enabling it, and being so proximate to it, that was a delicacy to be savoured.

Breath shook out of her, then rose anew, before she flung herself close, again tucking her head underneath your chin, with hair loosely tied and frayed about your vision; both hands came upon a shoulder, where, one by one, the nail of each finger drove deeper, encouraged by the sweet longings of a crooner, frightened by the lightest sway of your body.

Without yielding an inch, you gently removed the tensed, clasping fingers from your punctured tissue.

You continued to pry one finger at a time from its familiar destination, and with your touch, Toga shivered, eyes not daring to meet your piercing gaze. She pressed herself deeper into your chest, hot breath palpable through the ripped fabric guarding your newly bleeding form.

You offered a slight push, less for easier access to your fresh wound than to attain renewed sight of Toga’s expressive face.

A flash of fire erupted in your shoulder.

Cold lips of steel once again pierced cloth and flesh, a kiss upon bone, turned warm under a stream of red.

A blood-strip flew to the lower portion of your eyelid; and for a moment of complete instinct, you squinted, barely a twitch and nothing more.

Toga, with her face at last visible, watched as though she might cry, bright eyes fogging over to something like molten bronze. “Take my blood,” she breathed, giving out a piece of herself in ways long held inside, “We can share the pain!”

She detached from you and, gasping, took the knife to her palm; or, rather, the blade of the knife swung low at a centre vein when you caught it, fingers wrapping the serrated edge.

Blood colder than steel leaked forth to the ground.

Each plop, each scattering of a blood-ball transfixed Toga a little more, the spell broken only at the wisp of a word from your mouth.

No, and the thrumming of her pulse stilled. Toga set the golden light of her eye upon you, seeming a curious child than anything wicked.

Crimson fluid oozing from between your sliced fingers, you stepped forward, towering over the paralyzed Toga. Once again, your eyes did not break from hers, and she could not stop her knees from shaking, bending inward as if they suddenly couldn’t bear her slight frame any longer.

With liquid dripping between the two of you, you stretched an arm across her waist and behind her back.

All she could do was utter a squeak before she once again was pulled into your leering form.

Neither one of you said a word as she settled, her immediate tension from the surprise contact melting when she realized its intention. She purred, low and sultry, yet aside from a turn of her head to allow her ears closer to your chest, she remained stationary.

The whole of one ear pressed to your heart, a low beating of something far away, enough to stay living and no more. Against the still of your body, Toga's heart pounded forth as if to join the two.

There the two of you stayed, once more locked in one another’s embrace.

The sacrificial flesh scattered, defiled, and eviscerated across the floor, the walls, and even traces on the ceiling were nothing.

The droplets of blood flowing from your shoulder were nothing, simply a weakness of the body.

The stenches filling your nose, the memories of screams and mutilation that played in the back of your mind, the urge to snuff out the warmth of life so close to you—all had been replaced with serenity.

The terror of the departed flesh served its purpose. The experience you both shared with them was distinctive, but the intimacy shared with Toga was singular. So few could understand that you had found each other. None of the flesh could appreciate that their screams, their cries, their entreaties, all of it served a purpose they couldn’t imagine.

Toga could, though, and you would share it with her for the rest of your days together.

Another, she whispered.

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