shu is many things - eccentric, difficult to get along with, arrogant, but one thing that he's absolutely certain of is that he would never hurt any of his prized possessions. nightmare or not, nazuna is worth more to him than gold, perfectly tuned and lovely, a diamond in the rough and so much more, if he were allowed to wax poetic.
if he could, nazuna would be for his eyes only, and his touch is still gentle but firm - brushing the golden halo of hair off his shoulders, velvet fingertips tracing the line of his shoulders under the layers of lace and velvet, sliding down the bumps of nazuna's spine to settle on his waist. his other hand slips into nazuna's and lifts it so that they're in an imitation of some kind of waltz, and the way shu threads his fingers carefully through nazuna's, even as his wrist hangs slack - there's a touch of reverence, possessiveness in the way his fingers move.
and shu shushes him when he hears the remnants of the noises that spill from nazuna's sealed lips, his tone cold and icy in contrast to the warm, tender touches he's been lavishing on nazuna. ]
Don't speak. Don’t fight me. Dolls are to move how their puppetmaster commands, correct?
[ and with that, with their close proximity, the golden threads are tangled, but when shu moves, so does nazuna.
another flick of his hand, and the music plays - a soft, haunting tune. ]
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shu is many things - eccentric, difficult to get along with, arrogant, but one thing that he's absolutely certain of is that he would never hurt any of his prized possessions. nightmare or not, nazuna is worth more to him than gold, perfectly tuned and lovely, a diamond in the rough and so much more, if he were allowed to wax poetic.
if he could, nazuna would be for his eyes only, and his touch is still gentle but firm - brushing the golden halo of hair off his shoulders, velvet fingertips tracing the line of his shoulders under the layers of lace and velvet, sliding down the bumps of nazuna's spine to settle on his waist. his other hand slips into nazuna's and lifts it so that they're in an imitation of some kind of waltz, and the way shu threads his fingers carefully through nazuna's, even as his wrist hangs slack - there's a touch of reverence, possessiveness in the way his fingers move.
and shu shushes him when he hears the remnants of the noises that spill from nazuna's sealed lips, his tone cold and icy in contrast to the warm, tender touches he's been lavishing on nazuna. ]
Don't speak. Don’t fight me. Dolls are to move how their puppetmaster commands, correct?
[ and with that, with their close proximity, the golden threads are tangled, but when shu moves, so does nazuna.
another flick of his hand, and the music plays - a soft, haunting tune. ]