#i started listening to IFHY (and the entirety of wolf) so here's this LMAOOO | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chosoclub · 16 days

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Art by nada_ge

Playlist based off of this work → here

CONSPECTUS: Suguru Geto is transfixed by you and he would eliminate anything that stands in the way of you and him. TAGS: MDNI! ° wc 3k ° dark content ° stalking ° cannibalistic idioms ° masturbation ° afab!reader ° cunnilingus (f!receiving) ° penetration ° fingering ° incel!suguru LMAO ° no y/n mention

SUTPHIN BLVD ⋆ SUGURU GETO&READER

The word soulmate has been churned and spit out with no vindication; Stellar collisions seldom occur frequently, and when two white dwarfs spin into each other, their mass instability can conceive a supernova so strong, that the dwarfs’ obsolete mass is thwarted into the galaxy. Yet, this word, soulmate, an event that is meant to encapsulate a feeling so obsessive, so thrusting and strong has been diluted to nothing but a mere expression of love.

When Suguru first saw you, neon and glowing, he empathized with the supernova. Partially from the alcohol that flowed up to his irises, partially from the way you dress hugged the concaves of your waist and thighs, he felt his vision vignette with you in the center. Your eyes sparkled like dew-misted grass, the words that came out of your lips blurry when they hit his ears,

“I said, I love this song! What’s it called?” You repeated after his second consecutive huh?

The music boomed through his headphones, making his head spin, and the motor functions flow out of his fingertips when spinning a knob to reverb to the next track.

“Techno? It sounds sick!” You yell over the crowd when he responds, your voice maintains a soft and silky tone even when you’re hollering.

The music in his ears ceases immediately when he rips the headphones off his head, “Take over for me,” body towards his partner, eyes still on you, watching you begin to dance and blend back into the crowd. The other grabs his headphones.

The feeling takes over him like ebony ink, swirling through his arteries until it fills him up from head to toe and he feels overtaken by the overwhelmingly obsessive jet black: Her.

At the end of the night, Suguru has you propped against the brick wall of the bathroom, a hand under your dress, kneading at your breast as you softly moan against his mouth. Your lips are glistening with spit, the plump coral splitting to moan his name in the blur of the club music. He sucks at your neck, the tension between his lips and your skin bleeding a red, purple, blue he laps his tongue over before moving lower to create another masterpiece on the skin.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” He slurs against your bare stomach, placing a kiss on the surface before bracing your legs on his shoulders and laving the entrance of your pussy. His warm tongue against your flesh contrasts the cold wall against your back as you groan his name against the brick. You can feel every ridge that protrudes his tongue as he flicks it in between the currents of your pussy. Suguru wants desperately to twist his tongue until you’re crumbling against him like putty, spinning you at his will until there’s nothing left.

The bass of the music feels even more intense when you’re so close to your orgasm and when his acute movements quicken, you have to grip at his long raven locks to keep conscious.

This routine develops over the next few months, and Suguru and his tongue become a presence you see more often. His arm leaning against the door frame when you swing the door open, the two of you both in agreement on terms he’s there for. He’d stay to chat, slowly unfolding you at the palm of his hand, learning more, understanding more about you, and then eventually in the night, fucking the daylights out of you. To you, he modulates into a friend who’s pretty good at making you feel good. One night, he’s sitting on the edge of the couch, arm on the cherry brown armrest, the other stretched against the back cushions and hovering over your head. His eyes have a warm crease to them.

“I like having you around,” you turn to him, smiling. The arm by your neck shifts so that he can rest his temple against his knuckles.

“Yeah? I’m not surprised.”

“Jesus, no, not like that,” pausing, “yes, like that, but also as someone to talk to.”

He smiles, eventually unable to help the toothy grin against his right palm. You lean to slide your tongue in between his teeth. He takes you in, arms shifting to each other’s hair, tongue sliding against the soft part of your cheek.

“I could say the same about you,” he groans against your lips. You tug lightly at his long, black hair, moaning softly when you feel the tip of his shaft poking your thigh. He slides down the couch to let you fully lay atop him and feel the girth of his dick. To Suguru, you begin to overtake every part of his brain. He can’t help but think of you at all hours of the day until the image of you is a constant in his brain, and the thought of you splitting to run to some derivative of him tightens his chest, the black inkling rising to his head until the only thing that can bring him back to Earth is the vision you opening the front door and welcoming him in. When he catches you gazing down at him, gluttonous on your core like licking a bloomed orchid in the spring, the thought of someone else having you at their will like this, eyes glossed over, chest heaving, has him digging his nails into the silk flesh of your thighs until the marks flush bright red slits.

You’re so fucking perfect, Suguru hovers over your lips, his velvet fingers swirling the nectar between your legs, streaks spilling out onto his knuckles. He couldn’t imagine someone else making you feel as good as he does.

Even when he’s not with you, a day off from work, he's stretched on the couch, one hand pawing at his dick, the other swiping through the collection of you – one sleeping soundly on his arm, one through the blinds of you leaning close to the mirror, mouth slightly agape, hand mid-brushing an ebony wand through your lashes, taken minutes before he knocked on your front door. All are unique in their setting, all similar of you unknowing.

Suguru pictures your velvet flesh, the gravitational pull in the way you lean against him, thrust against him, heave against him. He wonders what it would be like to devour you whole, too pretty too chew, too delicious to consume you only with his eyes. He thinks of your ruby-fresh blood, the way it percolates against your skin when he leaves hickeys all over your chest – wondering if he could bite hard enough to get a taste of the rouge, even picturing your eyes widening in surprise and possibly fear at the sudden action. Regardless, he wonders what it tastes like, expectantly sweet or bitter. He sighs at the thought, feeling his vision blur at the abrupt surge of a climax.

The next day, when the words, I think I met someone spill from your lips, a soft smile as you look at him expectantly for him to grin back, flash his pearly canines like he always does when you lean close to him on the couch, he only narrows his eyes.

“Who?”

“I don’t think you’d know him but I met him while I was out the other night,” your smile is sticking to your cheeks without you realizing it and Suguru despises it, at least when it’s for another man. He can feel his heart beginning to thunder in his ribcage and his blood speed through his veins until they’re protruding out of his skin.

This felt like a double entendre, one side to tell Suguru as a supposed friend, and the other, a shadow that grows along the room, to say it’s probably in due time we stop seeing each other sexually, but you can still stick around and listen to the new man I’ve been fucking, and Suguru was convinced he despised that even more. The jet-black feels like it’s overtaking every hair on his body, rage bubbling from his core until all he can do to suppress it all is slightly tighten his jaw.

“Shit, well, that’s great – I’d love to meet him sometime.” He thinks your smile is cruel; a pinnacle of some sort of game you’ve entered with yourself to make him feel like shit after all these months. He has to count his breaths to not offset the rhythm of you two. He gazes into your unfazed composure, the vignette growing until the innocent facade begins to slip away until all that’s left of you is skeletal and infuriating. He can’t help but hate you for this.

He thinks of this someone from the other night, wondering if he’d already been over and sat in the same place Suguru sits. If he’d been inside you already. How it went. What it felt like. He can’t help the way he quietly scowls towards the floor, rageful at someone and rageful at you.

He leaves your place that afternoon with a permanent narrow in his eyes, but the next night, he’s mapping the steps back to your place. Sutphin Boulevard, he murmurs to himself. He adores how idiotically you leave the blinds unfolded at night for anyone to walk by and peek into life inside. A sweet sigh of relief when he sees you alone cuddled on the couch, phone slipping from your numb hand, eyes closed and resting with the TV blaring.

He tsks disappointingly at how easy it is for someone to peer inside and watch you sleep. Hypnotic, his thoughts and the way he wants to pick you up and nestle you deep where you can rest forever, unbothered by anyone else but him. Suguru stands there a while, the street empty so late at night, watching and picturing you waking up with him above you flashing an impish smile; Once again his desires shift to see fear in your eyes at how easily he managed to get inside. He’d shake his head, a thumb sliding across your jaw, the other four fingers pressing down on the purple veins of your neck. He wondered if you’d hide from him, ghost him for a while; not answer texts or calls until he’d have no choice but to slip back inside your life. Found ya, sweetheart.

Things didn’t seem to be running smoothly for you and your new man, you find solace and trust in Suguru. You invite him out to the park nearby, the secluded lake that welcomes a pink and yellow sunset as you rant to Suguru about your new love life.

“I don’t know, he hasn’t been reaching out to me if I don't text first,” you say, “that sucks, doesn’t it?”

“You want someone to make an effort for you.”

This causes the blood pumping through Suguru’s chest to pump faster. This asshole doesn’t even know what he has in his hands, he thinks, fists suddenly tight as iron. The thought of you in pain, shedding a tear over this man has him feeling hot; He’s already flipping through scenario after scenario to seek out revenge for your hurt.

“Right.”

“You’re worth the effort.”

Your smile softens Suguru’s grip on the wooden bench. It’s different this time, full of genuine, sticky-sweet honey the way it glows like the sunset.

He couldn’t imagine you leaving; the possibility has him in shambles, that you would consider someone else in the first place has his heart sinking to his stomach. Suguru was so enamored with you he forgot about you seeking someone other than him – He couldn’t let you stagger away. The walks to your place became more frequent and the likelihood of him knocking to come inside dwindled. By this point, he’s convinced he’s in love, the only words that ring between his ears when you smile at him: soulmate. He grips his fists, nails digging into his palms with a sting. He feels like crying but physically can’t muster the tears and is thus stuck with a bitter scowl on his face and an anvil over his chest. He feels like he’s forgotten life before you and can’t picture a future without you in it.

Weeks later, it’s I think he’s ghosting me all the way down. He has to turn away from you to roll his eyes when you tell him, watching your tear ducts well up with tears as he turns his head. He hugs you tight, wanting your heartbeat to feel his in tandem. Then suggests getting your mind off that dickhead, sweet smile that facades his intentions. You sniffle against his chest, wet tears coating his neck when you nod. Suguru digs his hand into your hips, propping you against the wall and ramming into you until his name is the only one you think of and the only one you moan.

For the first time since you met him, Suguru doesn’t spend the night. You watch him hazily as he rubs a thumb against your damp cheek. He gives your face an affectionate tap.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll see you soon alright?” Then he adds, “I want to stay, but I can’t right now.” And all you can do is nod.

“It’s okay, Suguru, I’ll text you in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He spends the night rummaging through your social media to find any face that’s close to the one you’ve described and cried over. He’s on one of your Facebook posts, mouse hovering over the tag of a man, focus blurred from your shaky hand that took the selfie in a clear drunken state. But, when Suguru clicks on his profile, he has a clear spreadsheet of the man before him; his place of work, his habits, his education. He chuckles at how easy this man is to find; Suguru has already mapped out his schedule in his head. He’s completely submerged in adoration for you, the thought of another man hurting you is catastrophic to him just as much as you leaving him by choice.

He spends the next few days simply thinking. He doesn’t reach out much. He only sits at his desk and fantasizes. A punch to the gut, a punch to the nose to watch the blood spew out in droplets. A bat to the torso. A knife to the trunk to watch the rouge flow. All for you. Any of it, for you.

He’s planned it perfectly as days turn to weeks; He’s learned this other man’s entire day-to-day. Most likely wakes up at six, takes the subway from Sutphin across to Manhattan, stays at his desk job until seven, lingers around the Manhattan bars until late, and takes the subway back, he’s back in Sutphin by three in the morning, where the raven awaits.

When the silver doors slide open in the subway, Suguru bumps his shoulder against the other when he steps out onto the concrete.

“Fuck, sorry man. Hey, you know if I catch a cab from here?” He fake slurs. The other's eyes are bloodshot but they narrow in annoyance. “I don’t live around here, I gotta get back before my girl gets worried.”

There’s only a handful of others who are already gone by the time the other says, “I don’t think cabs are running right now, you need a ride?”

Great, Suguru thinks, an asshole and a reckless driver.

“Yeah, man, let’s get out from here, making ‘ma head ring.”

The two men stumble above ground, isolated in the night. The contents inside Suguru’s backpack shuffle as he fakes his best-drunk walk.

“Hold on, man. I gotta throw up.” The other stumbles into the alleyway that overlooks the park like a pawn piece that slides right into the path of the queen. Suguru can’t help the grin that takes over his face.

“Yeah, no worries.” He hovers behind the other, and when the asshole is hunched over vomiting over his shoes, Suguru lifts his leg to collide against the other’s backside, sending him hurling forward over the concrete.

Before he has the chance to finish his holler, Suguru is on top of him, punching at his nose, unnoticing his knuckles that ache instead relishes in the ruby red that glistens across the digits when he lands another blow. Sounds of crack! echo through the darkened alleyway and Suguru decides it still isn’t enough. The only thought in his mind is you, you when he retracts his bloodied hand, you when he gazes at the man below him, eyes barely keeping conscious, jaw unhinging to let out a gut-wrenching scream – You when Suguru reaches for his shiv, you when the stab retaliates blood across his cheek. The gush of blood spills onto the concrete, filling the ridges of the pavement and catching the moonlight as Suguru stands to snap gloves over his already bloodied hands. The blood leaves a trail when he drags it along the alley, a heavy and loud splash when he hurls the man's existence into the void of the lake.

The body sends soft waves across the surface that Suguru stands to watch until their flow eases. He sighs, then grins and lifts the back of his hand to smear the stranger’s blood that lays across his cheek. As he’s walking back around the block, reaching your place, he smiles again when he sees you forgot to turn your light off.

AN. Get you a man that would kill for you

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