I Also Would Love To Know Why He Killed Us - Blog Posts

now playing…

habibi by tamino

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

canon! suguru x reader

chat i fear i have no idea what this is. pls be gentle w me i’ve been hating my writing recently.

cw’s!!: descriptions of violence/gore (?), descriptions of vomiting, blood, angst, uhmmm uhhhhh mentions of religion?? (very minimal), and gn! reader

wc: 533 :p

unblinking.

that’s the first thing suguru noticed about your eyes this time around.

usually it would be the cloudiness, the distant way your eyes were fixed on him but never truly focused. you always looked right past him.

tonight, though… tonight was different.

your eyes followed him as always, but they were held wide. you were looking at him and he looked at you right back. he briefly (ridiculously) wondered if you could see the difference in him. the way he had changed after…

you don’t say anything (it’s not like his mind could conjure up your voice at this point, it had been years) but you look at him like you know. know what he did.

he’s calm. collected as he usually is.

your eyes reflect something strange, a filmy, cloudy sort of glare from an unknown light source that was all too familiar to him. something that maliciously mimics the sparkle in your eyes, something that tries to lure him in with dilated pupils and a hope for forgiveness.

“my love.” is all he says. it’s the same greeting as every night, a short moment of weakness (reminiscence) that he allows himself. you never say anything back.

and yet, your lips part tonight.

what leaves you is a sick, warbled sound. something suffocating. wet. sounds of struggling and sobbing before finally silence.

and then the sound repeats. echoes around the liminal space.

your lips are only slightly parted, as if you were simply a recipient for the horrific sounds leaving you. simply output, a blank slate for his mind to use to torture him. he can see every expression in his minds eye, a vision that was previously silent now fully voiced courtesy of you. he had forgotten that part; the sounds. he forced them out of his mind.

he feels the hot tears rolling down his cheeks again, the weight of steel in his palm, the taste of blood on his tongue. he feels the scratches you left on him, the stinging red marks that others insist have long faded (he swears he sees something faint… not scarred, but deep in his skin. no matter how deep he gouged at his flesh, the thin marks always returned. light against dark scars).

it wasn’t a curse, he knew that. he would’ve never asked for you to come back. to stay alive.

this is you.

he’s crouched over the toilet as soon as he wakes, each heave and cave of his stomach sickeningly reminding him of the sounds that left your likeness.

he has no right. he should’ve swallowed each wave of bile, suffered with the taste and unpleasant warmth of it all. even that couldn’t have compared to the blood your lungs filled with. he watched you choke on your own blood, he knows it was nowhere near comparable.

maybe one day he’d repent. even if he didn’t deserve mercy — forgiveness — he’d repent. pray until his knees were sore and bloody and his folded hands were melded together (not to any gods, no. but to you — as if you and a god were any different in his mind).