virgin suicide

kamen rider gotchard, rinne

date posted: 2024-05-05

summary: It really began, she thinks, when she first laid eyes on the brutish one, the one who fights with her body, throws herself into the action and uses her limbs like a true extension of herself, fluid as water, brutal as a kick to the gut.

word count: 926 words

notes: fill for [community profile] tokukinkmeme

content warnings: semi-explicit masturbation, violent fantasies

"just once, I want to know what it's like"
Virgin Suicide, Kinoko Teikoku

Every night, Kudo Rinne drew the curtains to her bedroom window shut, turned off the lights, and uncomfortably, quietly, fell into bed, pulled the covers over herself and turned on her side, wide eyed and awake, staring at the wall.

Since she had met Ichinose, since he had become a student, her world has irrevocably changed. Rinne was complacent with her world before: a quiet life, one of study, one of rule-following, one of stillness. She studied in school, she studied alchemy, she studied everyone but herself. It was ok.

On nights like these, curled on her side, her arms laid out in front of her, limp and cold as the dark breeze filters in through the cracked open window, the curtains fluttering and billowing out, she wonders how long it will be before she changes, irrevocably, just as her life has; when she'll break the rules.

Rules were an important facet of her life: they were what she structured her life around. The rules were her life.

And yet, starting with Ichinose's presence and heading down a muddled path towards doom, towards thoughts she can't suppress, on nights like these, she walks the line of breaking the rules.

It began not long after that wretched Lachesis had grabbed her so brutally, by the chin and shoulder, wrenched her up against herself like she was nothing more than a puppet. It began not long after Atropos, deceptively little, had begun worming herself into Rinne's head, carefully, meticulously, her words against the corner of Rinne's neck quietly delivered in the frozen bustle of the heat of the action.

It really began, she thinks, when she first laid eyes on the brutish one, the one who fights with her body, throws herself into the action and uses her limbs like a true extension of herself, fluid as water, brutal as a kick to the gut.

Rinne, in the dark, only a sliver of light slipping through the curtains as they pass along the wind flowing through the gap in her bedroom window, squeezes her eyes shut, until she feels something pricking at the corner of her eyes, something regrettable.

It has always frustrated her, since she met him, since they came to be friends, how Ichinose would so readily throw away any notion of following the rules, how he would forge his own path despite the efforts of all those around him to protect the natural order.

The cool breeze hits the crest of her cheek like a slap to the face. It's not as sobering as she hoped the feeling would be.

On these nights, slipping a hand under her waistband, carefully brushing against the top layer of her underwear, Rinne wonders just what it'll take for her to break the rules.

More precisely, she hopes it isn't her that pushes Rinne to break the rules more than she already does, these nights.

Atropos chooses to observe, and only involves herself when she is brought into the action. Lachesis has her sword, holds herself at arm's length that way, a sense of removal from the action, and yet, holds a certain level of control attainable only by pure force.

Clotho has only her fists and legs, and, with sheer force of will, achieves the impossible that Atropos and Lachesis can only match through contrast.

Clotho, the one to fight armed only with herself, is the most brutal of them all, her body an extension of herself, fluid and wild, untamed, as she unleashes pure fury and hate onto her opponents.

An uppercut to the jaw. A spin kick to the cheek. Hands on her shoulders, driving her backward, slamming her into the wall. Rinne's fingers slip down, pressing briefly into herself.

Her chin in Lachesis' grip, the hairline cut on her cheek gushing, but threatening to swiftly crust over in the autumn cold; a right angle kick from Clotho aimed to her gut, just barely dodged by Rinne's raised hand, her ring and called-upon alchemy protecting her.

Her hand slides down further, pushes her underwear aside awkwardly, motivated by the growing heat in her stomach, the warmth blooming in her core.

Lachesis' nails cutting into her chin; Clotho's kick from the ground making contact with an unprepared Rinne; Lachesis' sword threateningly aimed at her chest,

Clotho's arm around her neck, a chokehold, deceptively intimate and yet frightening, the way it toes the line, the same way she held Sabimaru by the throat, that day—

Rinne jolts, her legs spasming and twitching, a sigh escaping her, swift and short. She blinks, once, twice, focusing, stilling herself.

The breeze cuts through her again, unforgiving, as it brushes against the healing slash on her cheek, just barely covered with a flimsy bandage, just enough to hide its presence, to chalk it up to a clumsy accident.

Rinne stares at the wall, slowly, shakily, sliding her hand out from under her pants; her underwear remains awkwardly yanked to the side, and it jabs into her uncomfortably.

Rinne remains still, for a moment or a minute, however long, she doesn't know. She glances over her shoulder, makes sure the door is shut, again. Her head, uncomfortably alert and poised, relaxes against the pillow.

Her sticky fingers lay stiffly atop her bedsheets. The feeling should disgust her more than it does.

The moon's rays part through the sliver in her window easily, illuminating the ugliest parts of herself.

Rinne, at night, finds herself less disgusted by many things. The worst part, she thinks, is the coming shame in the afterglow.