▬▬𝐘𝐚𝐧!suguru geto x f!reader
❝My soul is chained to yours, pretty girl.❞
ヤンデレ夏油 傑x 女性読者
↳Suguru Geto can't accept your death so he made a life sized doll of you instead, whom he cherished. But that was, until he died and found himself on anothed...
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━━━━━━━━━━
↳𝕯𝒂𝒛𝒆𝒅
and confused, Suguru raised an eyebrow as he examined his wrists closely.
Stitches. There were so many fucking stitches on his skin.
Dozens of small black stitches criss-crossed along the inner flesh of each of his wrist, pulled taut against newly-knit skin.
Suguru sat down and lifted his wrists up close to his face, squinting as he examined the strange black stitches that now adorned his flesh.
He ran his calloused fingertips gingerly along the bumpy sutures, feeling their subtle roughness grate against his skin like sandpaper.
A shiver rippled down his spine at the unfamiliar sensation, like icy pins and needles.
Turning his wrists this way and that, he watched the stitched skin catch golden flecks of sunlight that filtered down through the treetops above.
Back and forth he tilted his arms, squinting as the stitches gleamed now bright, now dim under the dappled rays.
They didn’t look new at all. In fact, it was as if they had always been a permanent, indelible part of him— it was like it was etched into his flesh since birth like a birthmark.
Curiosity got the better of him, and before he knew what he was doing, Suguru had pinched one stitch between his thumb and forefinger — an experimental tug, just hard enough to feel for give.
A grimace warped his face as the stitch held fast, stubbornly unmoving. It felt exactly as he imagined gripping his own skin would — taut, immovable flesh clenched in his grip.
“Fuck, there’s no way these just went up and appeared,” he muttered under his breath. A light sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow in spite of the chill, because what the fuck is this?
“Satoru definitely didn’t actually killed me if I’m wandering around with stitches grafted onto my body,” he grunted.
Damn it.
All he wanted was to be at peace with his darling in hell, yet here he was, still trapped in this wretched half-living state.
How did it come to this?
He had been sure Satoru’s hollow purple would end him in just an instance because the man was far too op for his own good.
Thoughts swirled wildly in Suguru’s mind, each one more disturbing than the last.
What if Satoru hadn’t actually killed him, but had pieced his broken body back together against all logic? The mere idea filled Suguru with annoyance and dread.
