title: Ink Universe
rating: R
(M)
wordcount: 1029
day: june 9: in the
sea
fandom: FF7: Dirge of Cerberus
pairing:
Nero/Yuffie (noncon)
summary: Above them, the sky is
falling. Avalanche descends upon the ruins. But that is far away, and
Avalanche's sweet sun-daughter is alone in the dark.
notes:
Whoops, forgot to LJ-cut.
Here is torture: you don't know if what you are seeing is real or not. Yuffie has read enough horror stories (well, horror-themed graphic novels, but whatever) to be familiar with the concept of people seeing horrible things that aren't even real. Like the man with the phobia of spiders who starts to see them crawling all over him. So she is perfectly aware that this could be a trick.
The problem with that theory is that she can feel that cold black ink pulling at her.
When she is surrounded, it feels like drowning.
Staying standing is a challenge for multiple reasons. Balance, she knows, is usually based on vision. In addition, this world is like darkness given form. The absence of light is tangible, and even worse, rubbing against her. Like waves, it knocks against her knees and tries to trip her.
She has done enough work in the dark that she can maintain balance blind, but attempting to locate anything would be pointless. Even crawling on her hands and knees, she would not be able to arm herself: she has no idea where to begin feeling for her shuriken. Weaponless, with no materia, there is absolutely no way she can defend herself. That hurts worse than the sensation of cold black air forcing itself into her lungs.
She manages to make a noise. Maybe it's just a really hard exhalation. She can't hear anything. She's got ink in her ears.
And then she feels something completely different. Warmth, against her back. Somebody who is significantly taller than she is has brushed up against her.
"V-Vincent?" She asks. Or thinks. She might as well be thinking it-- until the darkness recedes from her ears and she hears a chuckle. Smooth and low and not Vincent's laugh.
"Not quite," he says. His words are more than just sounds.
She feels his lips move against her cheek, only so far away from her earlobe, when he talks.
Yuffie leans into the person, not to rely on him, but to make it easier to take him down weaponless. "Who are you!"
"Pitch... Black," he sighs. "Nero of the--" The rest of his introduction ends in an exhalation of breath; she drove her elbow into his gut as hard as she could.
"Let me out of here!" She screams at him, whirling and kicking in the general direction she just elbowed.
Something pins her leg. The grip is insanely tight. There will be no escape from it. His hand, she realizes, he's holding her ankle between two fingers. His grip on her shifts, and his flat palm slides against her calf, even while his other hand keeps her just-barely-on-balance.
Her muscles quiver. Part of it is holding that position, but most of it comes from her weak attempts to struggle. The muscles of her calf twitch when he reaches her knee.
When his hand slides along her thigh, she forces out a gasp and redoubles her attempts to break free. She snaps out her arms, throwing the punch her father taught her and Tifa improved. The fist lands in empty air.
She curses her desire to fight on her own, to "fill with light" the void.
His fingers drift from her thighs to the inner lining of shorts. She squirms and shrieks and-- and shoves her hand onto his, trying to pry it away. She fails.
The hand in her shorts slides out, long long spiderfingers walking their way up to her hips. They rest lightly on her protruding hip bone, gently stroking it. Over her gasp, she can hear him saying, "Pelvis."
Slowly, he lets go of the leg he's holding. She drops it back to the ground. The only thing that lets her maintain her balance as she does this is the hand that scuttles from her hip to her rear and then up her back.
He is reaching for the shoulder strap. She gasps, trying to fight again, but his other hand lands in her gut. The punch catches her off guard. She has no time to tighten her stomach muscles. It knocks the wind out of her, and she doubles over in pain and an attempt to catch her breath.
His hands grip her wrists, forcing them away from her body. Hands-- no, talons-- no, Leviathan knows what they are-- grip her wrists. His hands (and these are real hands, which she hates even more than the ones on her wrists) grip her waist.
"Want the world to be bright again, do you?" He asks her, his lips moving against her ear. A quick puff of breath along her earlobe makes her pant. "Want to flood the world with--"
She gasps again, trying desperately to break free, but his grips are tight. His real hands slide free from her waist, up along her body, The oh-so-tangible blackness around her crawls up her legs, wrapping around her thighs. His hands, watergod his hands, touch her breasts, and she lets out her loudest cry yet. She almost, almost manages to free herself.
"Why are you struggling?" He seems genuinely puzzled. "You would beg Vincent Valentine to do this to you, would you not?"
"You fucker!" She groans. "You fucker! Let me go right now, you goddamn sick fuck!"
The tendrils of ink that stain her thighs force her to stretch beyond she usually stretches, causing her calves to burn. Her thighs and ankles burn as well. Nero's hands knead her breasts. One thumb strokes an erect nipple through her shirt. She gasps, then, trying to pretend that her body cares whether she gave consent or not. She tries to pretend that the darkness that invades her underwear will just pack up and leave if she asks niceley. She pretends--
In the end, she pretends to herself that her red knight will come and save her. In the end, she is trying wto stab him in the eyeballs with kunai when her red knight finally arrives. Dramatic dawn effects coiccide with his entrance.
He watches her struggle to re-dress, but does not speak. If she wants to fill the world as water fills an ocean, let her fill it.
