apothecary wares for beaten-down hares
It was an unspoken rule to start no later than nine, but never last past two. For as much as he carved art into her flesh and embedded himself within her skin, mockeries of intimacy could only hold out for so long.
Tonight was no different as he nosed along the length of her neck, concrete wet and cold against her back, droplets dripping from the ceiling ever so quietly. His hands trailed up her thighs, pushing the hem of her dress up and bunching the fabric around her waist. She shivered as a chill ran through her, the back of her dress drenched and clinging like a second skin.
‘Don’t need to uncover anything else,’ had once been said, a biting kiss in between breaths and sighs, her lower half exposed for him to explore, ‘This will do just fine.’
She never minded the threat of fragmentation by his hand. After all, what was sweeter to a worn-out doll than death’s embrace?
He never enjoyed it when she writhed and gasped, never took pleasure as the blank slate formed a face of its own. She saw it in the way his eyes narrowed at her washed-out yellow locks, longing on his face as he envisioned in her place rich shades of gold haloed across the floor. He caressed the corners of her eyes, lightly prodding at the skin. She leaned into his touch, half expecting him to gouge them out.
Dolls were meant for the creator’s desire; it was only natural for her parts to change if he longed for someone else.
A name spilled from his lips, breathing uneven as he traced circles on her inner thighs. Feeling bold today, Naminé raised a hand and pressed it to the hollow of his heart. He watched her from beneath his bangs, grip tight and eyes weary as she caressed the remnants of remembrance clinging to his skin.
“You cry for the wind,” she said, legs hooked around his hips, pressure building on her spine. “But he’ll never answer your call.”
Her vision spotted, and she winced, a bruising pressure on her throat, his hands fitting around her neck nicely. Tendrils slowly peeled off his suit, moving forward to spread her open. She shivered, pressure building inside her at the familiar touch.
“You don’t know that,” he snarled, yellow eyes vivid and bright in the dark. His nails bit into worn flesh, Naminé’s thighs wrapped around his trembling form, anger and desperation ready to burst forth from the seams of his skin. He bared his teeth, “You don’t know anything.”
The moon had delightful timing, illuminating Vanitas’ silhouette. She felt rather honest today and reached to cup his cheek, her power firm as she gasped for air. “A doll will always know more than a puppet.”
With Vanitas, she knew that he’d never pour honey down her throat and promise her cotton filled lies.
The least she could do was help the chains fall out of his hollowed chest and allow the world to suffocate him from the other side.
His glare never lessened as he held her close, thick tendrils wrapping around his cock tightly. Naminé couldn’t help but giggle, slightly delirious from the lack of oxygen as she recalled why he did that.
So that when we meet again, he won’t reject me, body, or soul.
To save my body for the day—
It made no difference to her whether he filled her body with malice or adoration, her body anticipating union in any form. His hands moved to her waist, dark gloves a stark contrast to fabrics of white.
In the absence of light, Naminé wondered if Vanitas ever realized he had the appearance of a dying hare.
—I reunite with my other half.
She arched her back; words choked as he shoved into her, his attempt to override the grip she had on the chains in his chest. The concrete dug sharply into her back, and Naminé stared up at the ceiling, sweat rolling down her face as her nails searched for purchase on the ground.
As the squelches mingled with raspy breaths and echoed loudly in the room, Naminé wondered if it would be odd to paint stars in the dark.
Wondered if it would be odd to seek reminders of love in places, it could no longer exist.
He pressed forth till he was merely a breath away, tongue tasting the skin of her neck. Naminé’s legs trembled around him; body stretched to the brim as it embraced what Vanitas offered her. The name spilled from his lips again, and a glance showed that he had closed his eyes, arms wrapped around her tightly as he frantically rocked into her. She gasped, desperate for air, stars twinkling in her vision.
How quaint it was for the darkness to fear and love the light all the same!
His breaths mirrored hers; every pulse and twitch echoed within her flesh. It wasn’t the completion they longed for—but forgotten toys forged what they could in the hidden burrows of the world.
Her toes curled, various spans of her skin throbbing with neglect, crying for caresses that would never grace them. A loud pounding sounded in her ears, and she wondered if there’d ever come a day when Vanitas would finally grow tired and crush her in his embrace.
“I’ll tear you from existence,” he rasped, sharp teeth pressed up against the hollow of her throat. He opened his eyes, here and not all the same. “No one will ever complete you like me. ”
She shuddered violently and smiled, body coming undone. The tendrils pulsed within her, and Vanitas bit into her neck, blood welling in his mouth as he tried to reclaim words unintended for her.
So long as she held the rotted semblance of his other half, he’d never rid himself of her.