Chapter Text
Ayano waits.
Her level of patience had heightened since placing the note with a heart stamp in the centre in Senpai’s locker; she was willing to wait a few more moments, content with plucking blades of grass off the hill.
She watched, as petals scattered around her, never landing on her.
Calmly, she twisted around, glancing over at the magical scene before her – students were preparing to leave school, the gates had finally been opened, and all of them seemed relieved that school was slowly drawing to a close.
Ayano tucked her legs under her, attempting to straighten her posture – surely, Senpai was going to come at any moment. She remembered how dryly he’d stared at the note, only to smile, pocket it and continue on his way.
He didn’t crumple it up or throw it in the bin – it was safely stowed in his pocket, meaning he surely had looked after it – yet the hill remained desolate, besides the blossom still falling from the tree. Not a single petal touched her.
Her heart was slowly breaking, as she consulted her phone for the time.
It was quarter past five. Senpai wouldn’t be late to such an important date, surely. Nothing was more important than their relationship – she had spent weeks murdering, gossiping about, and matchmaking each girl who had a crush on him.
And now, she simply had to win him over with her words.
Ayano unfolds the small piece of paper in her pocket, smiling with pure happiness at the sight of the speech she had rehearsed for the occasion – it was in that moment, a petal drifted down, and right onto her shoulder.
The petal’s touch was lighter than a kiss – she barely felt it, but focussed her attention on the lone petal, rather than the figure slowly moving towards the hill. After confirming she knew what to say, she gently placed the note back in her pocket.
It was good timing – she could hear footsteps, too light to be Senpai’s, yet getting louder as they approached – she found herself staring at shiny white boating shoes, as opposed to the owner, who waited with a patient looking smile.
She quickly felt her stomach drop, when she surveyed the person fully – discovering it was none other than Budo Masuta – leader of the Martial Arts club, and her former partner.
She withheld a grimace, scanning the perimeter for Senpai.
Quickly, she rose to her feet, wiping away imaginary grass from her uniform.
“It’s good to see you, Masuta-senpai.”
“You too, Yan-chan. Mind if I ask what you’re doing here? School’s over.”
Her answer is short, vague. Curt, a clear way of telling him to go home, to leave her alone.
“Waiting for someone.”
He doesn’t take the hint.
Instead, he laughs, but she swears the sound is bitter and twisted. It sounded similar to her rehearsed laugh – the one she used whenever Saki had made a horrible joke she’d been forced to laugh at.
“You believe in the myth?”
It’s a shame she’s not on the ground anymore, so she could shyly stare down at the grass and play with it.
Regardless, the insect was in her way.
She had to swat it.
“Yes.”
Another short answer.
He laughs again, taking a step closer – she doesn’t move, instead, her gaze shifts back to his shoes, when he starts speaking again. She flicks her eyes over to the school building – Senpai is still nowhere to be seen.
Ayano inhales deeply, trying to observe Senpai from a distance – she remembers how she sensed his presence earlier, the aura he left behind him – but the insect blocked it, unable to stop talking to her.
“I’ve heard quite a few things about the cherry tree,” he continues, nonchalantly, running his foot against the grassy hill, “such as the rumour there’s a succubus living within it.”
She nods. “I’ve heard.”
He inches closer, continuing to speak. “You’ve heard about what the succubus does, right?”
He’s blocking her view – she can’t make out Senpai’s dark locks, nor can she see any students. The gates aren’t visible from her perspective; only the green haired girl stood on the roof, still texting, despite the fact school is long over.
“Hm?”
She hasn’t replied yet – considering stepping around him, going home, and calling it a day.
Senpai hadn’t noticed her, despite everything she’d done for him. The thought only made her more miserable – that she had successfully blended in with everyone else, to the point where her beloved couldn’t identify her as an individual.
Miserable – she was feeling a mixture of depressed emotions, suddenly no longer as alert as Budo leaned forward once more, uncomfortably pressing his forehead against hers.
“I haven't.”
The two words slip out, without her consent.
He smiles, leaning back ever so slightly, to her relief. She tries to ignore the feel of the headband’s fabric against her forehead, but it’s engraved into her mind – someone had pressed their forehead against her own, and they weren’t Senpai.
It was still important that she minded her courtesies, despite the fiery hatred running rampant within her.
“I’ve heard that the succubus bends the person’s will, so that they accept your confession. And then… well, you know what a succubus is.”
“Of course.” She keeps her answers short, detached.
“Who were you waiting for, then? Under the tree?”
Ayano bites her lip.
“Yamada-senpai. He, uh, hasn’t shown up.”
The headband rubs against her forehead again, and Ayano watches in annoyance as heat rises in Budo’s cheeks. She tilts her head backwards, taking a step closer to the tree, a step away from Budo.
He was uncomfortably close.
“That’s a shame.” The voice didn’t sound pitying at all – it held no warmth, no life.
Obstacle. “Oh well.” Eliminate.
“Since we’re… since we’re under the tree…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his head.
Ayano barely acknowledged him, her eyes dull with disinterest.
“I… um… well… to be blunt, I’m still quite fond of you, Yan-chan. I-I know you like Yamada-kun… but… it just seemed so appropriate to tell you the truth. E-especially now.”
Her dark eyes widened. The lack of interest faded, clouded over by confusion – she stood there, dazed, whilst the boy sheepishly looked down at the ground, suddenly lacking his normal, cocky, confident smile.
The petals started to rain down heavily on them – the moment was completely inappropriate – Ayano wasn’t moved by his confession, instead breathing harshly from the realisation that she had an admirer.
Again.
She didn’t care about him in the slightest, but it wasn’t worth being heartless about.
He waited, expectantly, for her answer.
Ayano tried to think of an easy way to let Budo know she wasn’t interested – there was no point of faking shyness, he knew her better than that.
“I appreciate that, but, I’m sorry. I just don’t feel the same way.”
His eyes darkened. “You like Yamada-kun. Not me, anymore.”
“I’m sorry.” She repeats.
He shakes his head, slowly.
“Yamada-kun can’t accept your confession. He can’t. Just… just accept mine. You can love me, right? It would be stupid to assume you can’t learn to love me, I mean, we look kind of similar, I could dress like him, talk like him, whatever you want.”
Ayano’s eyes misted over with concern. “Why can’t he accept my confession?”
“You don’t need Yamada-kun. I can… I can be with you… forever. I’ll accompany you everywhere… you don’t need Yamada-kun, you’ve got me.”
“Masuta-senpai, I-”
She was cut off by Budo clamping one hand over her mouth, using the other to untie the headband from around his head. The hand held her mouth tightly – to the point where she couldn’t bite him, instead trying to yank his hand off with her own.
That was when he shoved her against the tree, effectively using his headband as a gag. Quite swiftly, Ayano correctly identified the darkness in his eyes when she had rejected him – which immediately filled her with panic.
Desire.
Her eyes widened.
Her body started to violently thrash, her screams muffled as she shook and screamed for help.
The teachers were too far away to hear her – the cherry tree was located behind the school – the group it was closest to were the delinquents, and even then, they were much too far to hear her. It was her and Budo, alone.
This wasn’t supposed to happen to her. She was an Aishi, she was the one who had victims – it was never her – and now he had reduced her to an anxious, pleading mess – who could no longer speak, shaking her head, suddenly mute.
A plea.
It wasn’t enough – she lashed out, her hands strategically shooting out to wrap around his neck. He caught her wrists, applying pressure until they went limp and she sharply exhaled in pain, nursing them.
“Let me have this, don’t fight me.” He told her, as he turned her on her heel, so she was pressed, flat against the tree – Ayano stared into the bark, still able to hear him fumbling with her skirt until she felt a cold hand against her thigh.
He held her thigh quite confidently, pushing her left leg aside. Ayano couldn’t turn around – his grip locked her in place. All she could do with was twitch when she felt his hips roll against her bare legs.
Muffled, she begged him to stop.
Begged.
It didn’t deter him, as the cold hand slid up, clawing at her hips. She shuddered again, biting down onto her lip to keep herself from crying. That was one thing she couldn’t do for him – her pride remained intact.
“Black panties, eh? I’m assuming someone did know about the succubus myth, then. Wanted to impress Yamada-kun, hm?”
He’s taunting her.
She can’t reply, just hoping he’ll rip the panties off her and end things quickly.
Budo doesn’t do that – instead tracing shapes from up her thighs, travelling around the rim of her panties. It was convenient that she had chosen not to wear stockings either – she could’ve seen his hand trailing her leg if she was facing the right way.
Finally, he slowly pulls down her underwear, until it pools at her ankles. He forces her feet upwards, making her step out of them, and tosses them aside – Ayano says nothing, waiting for it to be over.
That’s when she feels something wet against her thigh.
He’s kissing her thighs.
“Do you remember how I always initiated the kisses? You were always so shy…”
The kisses didn’t feel good – they weren’t soft, or warm. His lips were cold, dead even, and the kisses were wet and sloppy – she wondered if his saliva was trickling down her left thigh after a particularly atrocious kiss.
Ayano squirmed, trying to push him off her.
There was a gag in her mouth – it muffled most of the sounds she made, but she could tell he paid special attention to the small sounds that escaped the gag. He finishes kissing her thighs, sliding his hands further up, lifting her skirt.
That was when she was turned onto her back, face to face with her assailant.
She was propped up against the tree, watching.
Her wrists sat there, useless, as she tried to kick at him. He weaved in and out of her legs, aware of her timed kicks – each time her leg extended, he’d weave out, only to weave back in when her leg recoiled.
Ayano didn’t stop shaking her head; her entire body was shaking with repulsion at everything he’d done to her. Budo was still fully clothed, climbing on top of her – in perhaps one of the most bizarre positions possible.
He started to straddle her.
Ayano was clenching her fists, her face reddening along with his – until she felt him harden against her skirt – she gasped, but was barely audible. The quiet moan that left her shortly afterwards was merely a biological response to a sensual touch. It had nothing to do with love.
Her insides were knotted, disgusted by the coldness of his touch.
He flips her over once more, sending a flash of white-hot pain from her spine to the rest of her body. Her face was caked in dirt, grass stains matting her otherwise pale, porcelain skin – with bruises forming from where he kissed her.
“The succubus makes someone… makes whoever it is confessing to the other…” he cursed under his breath, rubbing himself against her, “makes them join together… as one… under the tree.”
Her eyes widen slightly, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream.
She barely twitches when she hears him undo his zipper – instead glassily fixing her gaze on the grass she’d been plucking mere moments ago, before he had come and suddenly-
Ayano was filled with nothing but bitterness at the cruelty of it.
Still, she accidentally gasped out, “Don’t…” when she felt his hand grope her rear.
Naturally, he didn’t oblige, instead squeezing the flesh tighter, cupping it, before letting it fall back into place. He grinned again, placing his tip at her entrance, leaning over her, until his breath tickled her ear.
“You wanted to do this with Yamada-kun, didn’t you?”
Tears prick her eyes.
“Pretend I’m him. I want you to pretend it’s Yamada-kun doing all of this to you. I want you to hate Yamada-kun. Say it. Say that you hate him.”
Ayano could barely think, but was unable to let the blasphemy leave her lips. She moaned under her gag, enough for him to loosen it, so she could be heard.
“Say it! Say that you hate him!” His hand gently caresses her back.
“...Masuta-senpai… please… don’t do this...”
White spots suddenly materialised in Ayano’s vision – she felt a pressure inside of her, quickly determining it to be Budo’s thumb – that sent her into a spasm of agony. She hissed. She cried. She pleaded.
“Should we try another one? Say that you hate Yamada-kun and you love me.”
Ayano winced as the pressure grew.
“I hate Yamada-senpai… I love you.”
The pressure only increased. “Say my name.”
She could barely hold back her tears. How could she denounce Senpai just like that?
“I love you… Masuta-senpai.”
“Budo.” He corrects, screwing his thumb into her.
“I love you, Budo.” She whimpered.
Ayano hears him laugh, but she doesn't see the cruel smile flicker on his face, as he slowly removes his thumb. He chuckled darkly, his fingers slowly travelling towards her spine – where they stopped, gently handling the flesh.
“Now, how about, ‘Fuck me, Budo?’”
She whimpers again.
His hand went from her spine to her hair, grabbing a lock and yanking it with a force to be expected from a martial arts master. Tears well up in her eyes, but she continues to stare into the grass, almost laughing at the cruelty of it all.
She was being fucked- no, raped, under the very tree she planned to confess to her one true love by someone she’d used. In a sick way, that was strangely amusing. Like a cruel, yet karmic fate for everything she’d done.
“Fuck me, Budo.” The shame floods her instantly – even as she says the words, she feels something inside her tear and shred.
He doesn’t wait, ramming into her with a force she didn’t expect – she hits the ground with a thud in surprise, hissing in pain as he thrusts in and out of her. The savagery of his thrusts ripped apart what precious breath remained in her.
Ayano choked on sobs, air, and the shock that this was happening to her.
She felt his teeth nip her ear hungrily, whispering as he clutched her clenched fists, begging her to scream. Her throat burned, her cheeks were sticky and soaked with tears, but she was still fighting for some dignity.
“Do you… do you believe in the succubus, then?” He asks her, quickening his pace.
She shrieked, as each movement suddenly became harder. Rapidly, the realisation set in, and nausea started to flood Ayano, whose lips trembled beneath the gag.
“...not inside… Masuta-senpai, please!” Other words were lost, but those made it through.
“Yamada-senpai,” he corrected, as he slowed his pace ever so slightly.
“…p-please… Yamada-senpai, pull out!”
His pace became more frantic – his hips slammed into her own with each thrust – pushing her further down into the grass. Ayano could hold in an agonised scream no longer – it came out of her mouth when she realised he wasn’t going to pull out of her.
“…p-please…gentler...” She begs.
His groan was smothered, when he finally came.
Budo didn’t move inside her. He deliberately remained still, only pulling out when he was sure his seed had collected in her.
She could no longer feel him inside her, to her relief, averting her eyes from him as he rose up, fixing his trousers again. He looked down at her, surveying the broken, crying girl, before leaning down to quietly whisper in her ear.
“I love you, Yan-chan.”
A small kiss on her forehead was the only loving gesture she received.
With that, he disappeared.
Ayano waited until his footsteps were out of her hearing range, then she rolled up from the ground, inspecting her thighs for damage – they were an alarmingly bright red.
She couldn’t see any fluids in the grass, and was unwilling to look at herself any more – Ayano trembled, and finally let the tears drip down her cheeks.
She hugged herself, reminding herself that she had to find Senpai.
He was the only one who could help her with the filthy feeling that had suddenly consumed her.
She sighs, sadly, as she rises to her feet, quickly grabbing her panties. Ayano moved towards the school gates, underwear tucked safely in her pocket – she rolled her bike home, unable to sit on the seat.
It was too painful.
When she got home, she didn’t stop walking up the stairs until she was in the bathroom.
With tears still staining her cheeks, she ran a bath for herself, stripping herself down until she was completely nude and goose bumps covered her skin.
Her eyes were red and bleary, but her vision was incredibly sharp – she made out each angry red mark he’d left on her, the purpling bruises, and the clear substance sticking to her thighs. She still was in disbelief.
She had been raped.
Her.
An Aishi.
What would her parents say?
What if Senpai didn’t want her anymore, because of it?
She sniffled at the thought.
It was bad enough that her mother would be disappointed and her father would have that sick, guilty pleasure that karma had come for her. But Senpai not loving her anymore was too much to cope with.
Ayano couldn’t hold in her tears any longer – she clambered into the bathtub, and scrubbed at her skin relentlessly.
Even when she was rubbed raw and it started to hurt, she wouldn’t stop. Even when sharp bolts of pain stung her wrists, and she begged herself to stop, she didn't.
Not until the water became cold, and she was forced to drain the bath.
It was then that she sobbed for herself and Senpai. To think that a violation had sparked so much emotion in her, nearly as much as Senpai had, was horrifying.
Her wrists were still incredibly sore from Budo's grip – his nail marks were visible on her skin. Ghostly handprints dotted her thighs, a thread of blood cutting her left thigh where he’d been especially rough with his tongue.
Ayano ransacked the cupboard for medication to put her wrists out of their misery – when she couldn’t find any, she resigned to her bedroom.
That was when she fell into bed, sobbing her heart out when she discovered she couldn’t wash out the lingering scent of Budo Masuta.