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Cut the Crap, Tsukune!	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: +M to R > Rosario Vampire Views: 10769 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Rosario+Vampire; Ikeda Akihisa does. I make no money for the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 2: Beware the Frozen Heart
- SoloF

Late Thursday night, after all the other girls in the dorm had finally finished bathing, Mizore lowered herself into the tub. “Perfect,” she sighed as the water, just barely warm enough to remain liquid, lapped against her fair skin. An ice-cold bath is just what I need after today. I just hope I can get the smell of curry sauce out of my hair.

Humming to herself, she began washing. She also took advantage of the solitude to reflect on the day’s events. The cooking practical had, overall, turned into a complete fiasco, thanks to Ms. Apsara’s obsession with the purity of her students’ curry and their level of appreciation for same. She kept claiming that cooking was art; if so, didn’t that allow for, and even require, creativity and variation rather than slavish adherence to tradition?

“What a hypocrite,” the young woman grumbled to herself.

On the bright side, Tsukune had loved her “shaved-ice” curry. He’d called it a “masterpiece” and the best thing he’d ever tasted – which was saying a lot, given that Kurumu was by far the best chef and baker in the Newspaper Club and that he loved everything Moka ever made just because she made it. A blush painted the ice-woman’s cheeks as the compliment truly sank in.

They’d even shared a moment on the rooftop, just after Ms. Apsara’s hypnosis had worn off. Tsukune had taken her hands, still bandaged in spots from first-degree burns earned during her many failed attempts at curry, into his own and thanked her for the dish with his trademark earnest sincerity. For the briefest of moments, Mizore recalled, Tsukune’s eyes had held the gleam of love, and for once it was directed at her.

The young woman’s heart leapt. The small smile on her lips felt as though it might now be permanently affixed to her face. For the first time in forever, she felt like she had a chance.

Mizore took her time washing her hair, repeating the lather-rinse steps multiple times in succession. More than anything, she wanted her appearance and scent to please the human boy she’d fallen for, just by reading the words he wrote in the newspaper. I’m going to ask him out tomorrow, she resolved. I have the perfect idea for a romantic date, something that none of the others could do.

Even if it doesn’t work, she mused, momentary self-doubt creeping in, at least I can say I tried, unlike how I’ve just waited off to the side and hoped to be noticed up until now.

~~~~~

Upon returning to her room, the young snow-woman dried herself and prepared for bed. Her phone displayed several missed calls and voice messages. Curious, Mizore pressed the appropriate keys and listened.

“Good evening, Mizore. I apologize for the late hour of this call,” intoned the voice of her mother, Tsurara. Mizore’s brow furrowed; her mother usually waited until Sunday afternoon to call.

“In fact,” her mother continued, “I find I have much to apologize for. Our conversations of late have seemed more distant than they once were. Given my behavior when I visited you last month, this is entirely understandable, and entirely my fault.”

Mizore blinked, practically in shock. Her mother had pressured her to freeze Tsukune in a block of ice to preserve him for her to keep, out of reach of the other girls, despite Mizore’s protests and promises not to force herself onto Tsukune. Mother had also renewed her old rivalry with Kurumu’s mother, Ageha. The two matrons encouraged their daughters to compete for Tsukune, but the younger generation realized they were mere pawns for the older in a proxy war. Both girls, by the end of the day, had actually battled their own mothers for the simple right to pursue their mutual crush on their own terms. Based on her “Mother knows best” attitude during the whole ordeal, Mizore would have expected a snowstorm in hell sooner than an apology from her mother.

“My behavior was inexcusable, other than deriving from love and concern for my only daughter,” added Tsurara. “I hope that an explanation will smooth the way for your forgiveness.”

With the feeling that Mother’s explanation might be lengthy, Mizore sat on her bed, popped a fresh lollipop into her mouth, and listened.

“I let myself become involved in your love life because I’m afraid for you, dear. I feared you might let one of those other girls, especially that tramp succubus’ tramp succubus daughter, steal the man you want, that delightful Tsukune fellow, and leave you with a broken heart too frozen to find other affection, like I ultimately did with your father. It was a near thing, though.” Tsurara paused, cut off by the voice-mail’s time limit.

When she resumed, Mizore thought she heard a quaver in her mother’s voice, signaling barely-restrained emotion, unusual for a snow-woman in general and for Tsurara in particular, whom Mizore had always admired for her emotional restraint. “It’s the curse of the snow-woman,” her mother explained, “that we can only have children for a short time – no later than our twenty-seventh year. If I hadn’t met your father at twenty-five and allowed him to thaw my heart, frozen by the rejection I suffered in high school, I wouldn’t have married him at twenty-six and…” Her voice trailed off.

The young snow-woman swallowed. Holy shit – I almost didn’t exist?

“If my heart hadn’t been broken in high school, you might have had brothers and sisters,” Tsurara lamented. “Because of my failure, you are my only child, my only contribution to our dying race – dying, as you might imagine, because of our few fertile years.” She paused, on purpose this time. “I don’t want you to repeat my mistakes, my dear daughter, nor do I want you to abrogate your responsibility to our race. That’s why I put so much pressure on you regarding your relationship with that delightful Tsukune fellow. He’s a fine young man, and I don’t want him to slip out of your grasp.”

Mizore smiled to herself, glad that Mother approved of her choice of dating material, at least.

“I know you can win his love, daughter, but time is not on your side,” urged Tsurara. “You have this year and next, then you graduate. You may not see Tsukune for many years after that. Remember that I had not seen my old crush and was surprised by how much he had changed.”

Mizore snickered. “Surprised” was nothing short of an understatement. Mother had practically passed out when she had seen the bald, squat, fat man with the name of her old crush. The younger ice-woman couldn’t help but feel a little grateful that Mother’s high-school romance failed to materialize.

Another pause signaled the transition to a third voice-mail. “If you do not win your Tsukune, I still want you to find happiness, more quickly than I did,” Tsurara continued, and her daughter heard the mischievous smile in her voice, “because I look forward to spoiling my grandchildren, whoever the father is. I admit, though, that I would prefer that fine Tsukune fellow you adore.”

She used the plural there, mused Mizore, mind awhirl with questions. Does that mean she wants me to start having children soon? If so, how soon? As soon as I graduate? Before that?

“It may sound strange for a mother to say this to her daughter,” Tsurara told her with an air of finality, “but you should move to seduce Tsukune sooner rather than later. I wish you the best of luck in the endeavor.” She paused, the mischievous smile again audible. “Don’t you dare use protection, either.”

The younger snow-woman’s cheeks colored. “Mother!” she scolded, though in vain since the middle-aged snow-woman wasn’t present.

“In any case, I wish you the best of success,” Tsurara concluded. “Goodbye, dearest daughter, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.” The phone fell silent as the last message ended.

Mizore set the phone on her nightstand and sighed. A limited window of opportunity to reproduce, she mused. That explains why there are so few of us… why mothers are so close to their daughters… why I’m so horny so often…

The young woman flopped onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. Does Mother really want me to… drop out and start a family? I know I’m terrible at school, but is that really what’s best for me?

Her eyes fell on a picture of Tsukune hanging on the wall beside her calendar, her motivation for attending, for burning her hands while cooking, for trying to live her life. A soft smile played on her lips as she imagined that picture replaced by one of them hand-in-hand, strolling down the path to Yokai Academy as a couple. Beside that one, more photos from her mind’s camera appeared: graduation, engagement, wedding, skiing for their anniversary, cradling their little one in the hospital, cradling a second in the hospital with the elder just big enough to peek in awe over the edge of the bed. Each one featured beaming smiles from Tsukune and the light of joy glinting from her own eyes.

Thanks, Mother. One small step towards really living my life, she scolded herself, and I’m already thinking so far ahead, about my life as Mrs. Mizore Aono? She shook her head to clear it of such wishful fantasies.

Mizore sighed. It’s not like I don’t want those things; I’m just not sure I’m ready to become a mother. She rolled her lollipop around her mouth a few times. Still, it would be fun to make the attempts…

Her mind wandered, now less interested in the things that appeared in her imaginary photo album and more in the things that wouldn’t but which made the last two photos possible. She imagined her husband Tsukune peeling off her pajamas sensually, trailing kisses along her neck and collarbone and stomach and thighs. She undressed him as well, her hands exploring familiar paths eagerly, as they remained still undiscovered.

Her pale thighs rubbed together. Her hands roamed her body clad in lavender tank-top and shorts. Even through thin cloth her hands felt like a cool breeze on her skin, triggering a shiver; the effect was amplified when she slipped her hands beneath the fabric.

“Oh, damn,” she whispered when she and imaginary Tsukune tugged on her nipples. More such tugging sent shivers of delight up and down her spine. Her hips lifted and lowered of their own accord, communicating her need.

Fantasy Tsukune pressed himself flush against Mizore’s body. She wrapped her legs around his waist to indicate clearly her desire for her husband. “Let’s make a baby,” she whispered into his ear.

While she imagined all of this, one of her hands slid down her flat belly and slipped into her panties. Past the narrow strip of hair she found her nether lips soaked in her juices. Exploring the area only served to lubricate her fingers for entry, at which point Mizore had her fantasy Tsukune do likewise.

“Oh! Oh fuck yes. Fuck me!” the snow-woman moaned quietly, not wanting to be overheard using such language.

Wishing with all her heart that it was truly Tsukune within her, Mizore worked her fingers back and forth. Her other hand alternated between her breasts, squeezing them and toying with the stiffened tips. “Fuck me, my husband,” she urged her phantasmal lover, “harder, faster! Fuck your horny little wife! Seed me, my love!”

The fantasy faded to white as her orgasm blanketed her senses. No stranger to the sensation, Mizore nonetheless found herself surprised by the intensity of this one and the speed with which she’d reached it. It roared in her ears like a howling wind and left her dizzy with its passing. Her panting manifested as visible puffs of frost-filled air.

As she slowly returned to herself, Mizore sighed with contentment. I hope I didn’t ruin my panties, she thought wryly, though it wouldn’t be the first time I only wore a pair for a very little while before staining them with my desire. She tried to withdraw her fingers from herself, only to find them stuck in a sheath of ice.

“Well, shit,” she grumbled. “That’s never happened before.”

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A/N: Greetings, readers, and apologies for those who thought the last chapter was the only chapter. It did end on a much more final-sounding note than I'd originally thought, but I'd hoped that the lack of the "One-Shot" tag would have kept things clear. Such are pitfalls of adapting an episode from the anime, especially the way that one had a short time-skip at the end. (It was also one of the most ridiculous ones that wasn't adapted from the manga, but that's neither here nor there.)
At any rate, I look forward to your feedback, in the form of ratings or replies. Until next week!
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Cut the Crap, Tsukune!