So... Having a throw back weekend and watching all the Tokyo Mew Mew episodes over again! (I haven't seen them in years) I forgot how attractive Ryou was, and I wanted to write something from his point of view. Something dark. I have a thing for dark Ryou, and I'm not proud of it, but I feel I should share it just the same. If anyone else feels he's too OOC in this tory, I apologize. But for everyone who likes an evil blonde, here he is.
Warning: This is not a nice fanfic. Please don't judge me. Also there are sexual references. Also character death. Also I do not own Tokyo Mew Mew. Also I do NOT condone violence.
It had started out innocently enough, his feelings for her.
He was her boss, the creator of her powers, and her employer in her silly little day job. At first, he was perfectly content to keep that role. After all, Ichigo Momomiya could be quite an irksome little creature, and her hot temper annoyed him to no end. He'd have fired her straight out a time or two if not for her position as a mew mew. She was a brat, if ever he saw one, and a stubborn one at that.
At first he could not imagine loving such a woman.
It came slowly, then the change in his heart. If he were asked to place a time when the heat began, he could not say. It might have been when first he saw her smile in the joy of her four new friends (she never smiled that way for him), or it might have been the kind words she spoke when someone who was hurt needed healed (she never spoke that way to him). Whenever it started, it did start, and from then on he noticed other things as well, and fell deeper.
There was courage in her eyes, the kind of courage which comes from love and not hate, and which shines through the goodness of the heart rather than the steel of a weapon. And there was so much goodness in her heart! So much! Too much! And Ryou felt sometimes he could not bear it, for, while the world got her love and her goodness, he got her anger and frustration. It wasn't that he minded their squabbles. Oh, no. It wasn't that. The flush of her cheeks and anger in her eyes sent a heat throughout his body which, at first, shamed him to no end. No, he did not mind their squabbles one bit.
As his feelings for the girl grew, so did her feelings for another.
Aoyama Masaya
It had been a long time since Ryou could think the name without a snarl. It had been even longer since he could think it without wishing death on its bearer.
Silly boy
What Ichigo saw in him Ryou could not guess, and he didn't care. It was madness, her affection for so simple a creature, and it drove him to madness imaging it.
Madness
The madness was a relatively new thing. Ryou had always considered himself a smart man, a being of all logic, all drive, but now, when he thought about the red- haired, smiling little mew mew, he could bring no sensible thought to his mind. Instead, he could see only her.
And how he saw her!
How many different ways he saw her whenever he closed his crystal blue eyes. Oh, he had a dozen favorite images to choose from, though, admittedly, some were born purely from imagination.
And how imagination became Ichigo Momomiya! How his images looked good on her! How they looked so good to him, so good he could taste them, and her, on the tip of his tongue.
And how many images he had! Images of her beneath him, mewling softly in gentle pleasure. Images of her on his lap, tender and soft and warm, all for him, as he held her to his chest. Images of her in the moonlight, her lips tilted to his, as she promised never to leave him, as she promised they 'd always be together. Lately even images of her in an ivory dress, beside him at an alter, as they joined hands and swore never to part.
But she did part with him, all the time, and she didn't hesitate. How it hurt him when she whined to leave work early. How it cut him when she ran off to meet her precious
Aoyama Masaya
If only she had loved him, Ryou Shirogane, instead.
It had started sweet enough, his love for her.
Soft and tender, it was, just like her, and he felt it from the purest place in his heart.
It was this love that drove him to risk life and limb so that he could save her, time and time again. He longed to protect her however he could, in any form he could manage. Hell, he'd become a cat once or twice, so that he could see with his own eyes she was safe.
And when the aliens targeted her!
Oh, it made his blood boil. Pia, Tarturo, and Kisshu.
Kisshu
Oh, how he hated Kisshu. The amber- eyed maniac who targeted Ichigo time and time again, and left her bruised and scarred and scared. How Ryou wished he himself had some sort of magical power so that he could wipe the aliens off the face of the earth, Kisshu first among them. How he wished he had the power to kill the sick bastard. Oh, how he wished.
But Ryou wished for something else as well.
Ichigo
He wished to hold her. He wished to touch her. He wished she'd allow him, one pretty evening after work, to scoop her up in his arms and carry her off to his bed room. He had so many, many wishes for her.
Of course he'd been tempted to act more than once. Many times, when her back was to him and her sweet eyes were turned away in oblivious peace, he thought to grab hold of her and kiss her good, kiss her hard, kiss her hard, and harder still, until she was overcome and kissed back. But always, always, there came something to interrupt- Keiichuro, Lettuce, Pudding, or that bitch Mint- and he was forced to walk away, disappointed, with only the thought of her pink lips and soft skin on his mind.
His mind was not well these days, and he knew it.
He blamed her for it, blamed
Ichigo
Lately his impulses had grown, and grown darker. He could only figure it was a response to her denial of him. He reasoned a love unrequited too long could turn black and sour with time. He guessed it was her oblivion that started up the evil in his thoughts, and he could not help but hold her responsible.
Many times, far too many times, his mind had forced him into thoughts of a helpless Ichigo, pinned beneath him, no longer sweet, no longer willing but
punished
And he longed to punish her. If he could not love her, if she would not accept him, he longed to punish her.
At first, these thoughts scared him. It was winter when they started up, and he watched his girl button into a silly little coat and head out into the snow. He was seized by the impulse to follow her, the sound of his foot steps masked by the snow, to catch her in some lonely, quiet corner of Tokyo and to drag her into an alley where she would be unable to run. He thought to tell her he loved her then, or to have his way with her, or perhaps even to smack her hard for allowing him to go on like this with nothing in return. Whatever the reason, he wanted to get her alone, and it was only through the sheer strength of a will long fashioned to be hard that he resisited the urge.
The urges continued.
He wanted to drag her to his room, to smash her up against a wall, to force himself up against her, to hit her hard for innocence, to love her roughly to destroy that
Aoyama Masayan
to kill Kisshu in cold blood, to bite at the white skin of her neck until she was bloody and entirely marked by him, to fall down on his knees and beg her to return his love.
He got to acting on his urges the best he could. It was only by luck and the mercy of the heavens that Ichigo escaped the worst of him. And she hadn't the slightest of clues.
Many, many times he kept her late after work with the complete intention of snatching her up. He planned out an attack, and kept a knife in his hand for good measure. He tore back the sheets of his bed so he could easily wrangle her in. He brushed back his hair and adjusted the collar of his shirt, so he looked ready for courting.
But each time there came an interruption's, and each time he was left alone in the café to sulk and brood and burn by himself.
It drove him to do awful things, this madness. It drove him to sleepless nights, to bloody dreams of a dead
Aoyama Masaya
and a beaten
Kisshu
and a pale, pleading
Ichigo
He imagined he'd be rough when first he took her now. He imagined he'd be merciless. He thought to force his love upon her and keep her still, and to bit and pin and wrestle until she could fight no longer. For she deserved it, whatever she got. As he'd force his love upon her, she'd forced this madness upon him.
He supposed it was the madness which drove him to that day.
He had been watching her for hours, all afternoon, from the corner of the café. It drove him
mad when she smiled at an old lady (for she never smiled at him)
mad
when she asked if a child needed help choosing a desert (for she never spoke kindly to him)
and especially
mad
when, on a break, she flopped into a chair to answer a text message from the boy
Aoyama Masaya
He watched from the corner and felt his eyes narrow with rage. He could not tell at that moment what he wanted to do to her. She looked lovely in the sunlight which flowed through the windows. Her pink lips trembled with the excitement of a text from her lover, and her brown eyes sparkled with excitement.
Ryou wanted to run to her and hold her in his arms. He wanted to strip off her shoes and massage her pretty toes. He wanted to slap her hard until she spat blood and could not say the boy's name. He wanted to strangle her until the lack of oxygen in her brain made her forget all about
Aoyama Masaya
But the café was crowded, and he could do nothing.
It began innocently enough, that evening.
As the mew Ichigo rubbed the wash cloth over the last table, her boss appeared in the shadows of the kitchen and asked if she could please finish her chore and follow him to the basement. He had something important to tell her.
"But I've a date with Aoyama- kun!" she cried, as she threw down the rag, "Please, Shirogane! I've been looking forward to it all week! We're going to meet in the park for ice cream-"
"So call him and cancel," he said carelessly, coldly, as a terrible heat started inside him, "I've work for you to do."
And so she called him, albeit grudgingly, albeit sadly, and so she sealed her fate.
Ryou waited for her in the basement. He sat in his favorite chair, and kept his eyes trained on the door, and fiddled with the kitchen knife between his fingers.
"Shirogane?" He heard her call at last, and he had to restrain a moan as she screamed his name, "I'm all finished, Shirogane. Now what do you want?"
"Come down to the basement, Ichigo," he whispered, though he knew she could not hear him. "Come down to the basement and be with me."
Like magic she appeared at the door, livid from his request to stay after hours, tussled from exertion and pale with exhaustion and ready, absolutely ready, to become his.
"What do you want?" she asked, as she took her first steps down the stair case, "Why are you keeping me here so late?"
He stood slowly, his blue eyes glowing, and slid the knife into his back pocket. How he hoped he wouldn't need it tonight! How he hoped she'd allow him to love her!
"Shirogane? What do you want?"
He thought it easier to show than tell, and found it more pleasurable as well, and lunged forward to catch her by the waist. She had no time to scream, for his lips came down on her with such force that her head crashed backwards into the wall behind her. Dazed, she did not struggle, and he was overjoyed to see she loved him too. His mind
I love her of I love her so so much oh do stay with me Ichigo do stay forever
whirled pleasure as her's
Forgive me Aoyama- Kun oh please forgive me
cleared of the fog just in time to recognize Ryou's hand touch first her arm and then her neck and then come to rest on her side-
"Stop!" she cried into his lips, as he clawed at her dress, "Please stop, Ryou! Please! Please stop!"
"I love you," he breathed into her ear, "I love you. Did you know that? You must have known. I've loved you for so, so long."
"I love Aoyama- Kun," she spat, suddenly fierce as a tiger, "He's the only one for me."
"I love you so much," Ryou replied tenderly, as he pulled her flush against his body, and Ichigo's cries for help were muffled by his chest, "He can't love you as I do. Know one could love you as I do."
He dragged her to the floor then, with more ease than Ichigo ever could have imagined, and pinned her to the tiles. She meant to reach for her pendant, truly she did, but no sooner had the thought entered her head than he had it in his fingers and threw it over his shoulder.
"No!" she cied as she thrashed, and his lips came down upon her forehead, "Aoyama- kun! Aoyama- kun!"
He did not freeze at the name, though his insides curled with hate. Instead, he pulled from his pocket the knife he'd brought for just such an occasion.
"Ichigo," he sighed in contentment, and tangled his hand sin her hair. She sobbed in fear as the blade touched her scalp. "I so want to love you. Won't you let me love you? I've loved you for so very, very long."
She was silent then, and he took this as a good sign. Perhaps she was contemplating his words. Perhaps she was remembering she loved him as well. His fingers loosened on the knife as he pressed his lips to her's once more.
"Don't," she said softly, as she turned her head to the side so as to avoid his begging mouth, "Please don't Ryou. Aoyama- kun is the only guy for me."
With something between a snarl and a sneer, Ryou drew forward, and a thin line of red appeared on the mew Ichigo's throat. She sputtered once, as the blood started in her mouth, and he drew her into an embrace and rocked her back and forth, back and forth on the cold times of the basement until she at last went limp in his arms.
Ichigo
She was dead.
Ichigo
She had driven him to madness.
Ichigo
He had loved her so very, very much for so very, very long.
Ichigo
If only she had loved him in return.
So...yeah. This is what happens when it 5:30 in the morning and you haven't slept because you haven't even started your economics homework. Um... not really sure what I just wrote. But I am trying my hand at some darker fics and, uh, now I'm all creeped out. I hope I didn't emotionally traumatize any one. Please don't hate me!