abstract: in which the lover of suzuya jūzō ignores warnings of his (in)sanity. ! this fic was previously posted under @ sinsandmuses.
warnings: nudity | non-explicit sex [ marking ] | violence [ abuse — cannibalism ] | toxicity
statistics: 1.1k words // standalone
SUZUYA JŪZŌ is a madman.
That's what they all say.
From the moment he had been, supposedly, "rescued" from the underground pit hosted by the infamous Gourmet ghoul, he had done everything he could to prove his worth. But apparently, stitching small x's onto one's skin does not make one approachable. Being so quiet, so unpredictable, does not make one a friend.
SUZUYA JŪZŌ is a madman.
That's what they all whisper. And they still do, every single time he passes by. Every single time they drop him into a fight and he laughs his way through, scythe in hand and blood staining the manic smile that cuts into his cheekbones. Every single time he stands in one of their meetings, lips twisted into an eerie smile as he promises to wreak utter havoc on the red-eyed beasts that prowl the streets with just the order.
SUZUYA JŪZŌ is a madman.
That's what they all promise her. But she sees beyond the mania, the ruthlessness, the bloodlust. She sees the broken child who'd been starved for affection and yet all people would do was stare at him with cold eyes and promise that he was too damaged for anything of the sort. She sees the boy who'd been made into a pet for a deranged ghoul and had the very essence of who he could have been stripped away from him. She sees the man who has been through too much, lost too much, and yet has something left in him; just enough for him to fight back for the man who had taken him under his wing.
SUZUYA JŪZŌ is a madman.
He loves like one as well, she has come to realise.
His touches bruise her hips, but his kisses are soft, like the brush of a butterfly's wings against her cheek, her lips, the arch of her throat, the dip of her collarbones. There is delirium in his touch, a sense of urgency as though she could, she would, disappear at one point from where she lies beneath him.
And so she lets him press harder into her flesh, watches as he stares down at her; the skin indenting and flushing as blood rises to the surface, another pattern of black and blue that is utterly his. She lets him sink his teeth into her shoulder and cries out when he pushes even harder against her as he catches the choked sob that escapes her lips, her flesh tearing, scarring, another mark of his to bear. The taste of iron that fills her mouth when he tilts her head to his for a kiss is almost heady, because, in a way, it is all Jūzō.
She lets him ruin her, and she thanks him when he does.
SUZUYA JŪZŌ is a madman.
She is beginning to understand that there is a dark truth to what they say. She sees it now as he stands before her, a glint in his gaze she has never had directed at her before. The knife he holds in his hands twists, twists, twists through his fingers and then into her skin and once again, she is crying out but this time, he isn't letting up. No, this time he wants her to hurt, to hurt and hurt and hurt until he lets go, until he grants her mercy.
SUZUYA JŪZŌ is a madman.
"Who is he to you?"
He is screaming, and she cannot breath. There are fingers on her throat, around her wrists, in her mouth, death is staring her right in the eyes and she cannot breathe.
"Tell me the truth," the fingers tighten and death comes closer, so close that she can see the insanity in those eyes, the anguish that carves into the hollows of his face. They look like they're filled with blood, and she realises that Jūzō is crying.
"Who is he to you?"
She promises him that it is nobody, nobody that matters, nobody that would ever matter. She screams it between his fingers, into his skin, whispers her oath against his heart.
Jūzō has stopped listening.
SUZUYA JŪZŌ is a madman.
"Beg for me," he tells her, and she does. She begs until her throat is raw, until all she can taste is salt and blood and Jūzō. Until all she knows is him and her and that is how it should be.
That is how he wants it to be.
SUZUYA JŪZŌ is a madman.
She knows now that this is how he will remain as such until the end, until even she is broken and begging to get away. Because this is how he keeps her safe, this is how he shows his love. What a dangerous thing it is, to be loved by someone like Jūzō. Someone who has known nothing quite so beautiful before her, and refuses to let go.
SUZUYA JŪZŌ is a madman.
She has stopped begging for him to let her go. She understands now, that this is how it should be. That is is him and her, always, forever. They are eternal, and she is Jūzō's. All his, only his. Nothing else matters beyond him.
SUZUYA JŪZŌ is a madman.
His, their, wedding plans are far beyond grandiose. It is not something she expects from someone like him but she likes it. She goes through the ceremony with a grin like sunlight, their fingers laced tightly together. His fingers are warm around hers, his pulse jumping beneath his fingertips. There is something about the entire thing that reminds her of the moth she had seen just this morning, tangled in the silken strands of a spider's web.
She ignores the pity in some of their eyes.
She ignores the darkness beneath her own.
And when Jūzō makes his mark on her, she ignores the scream that locks itself in her throat, and instead swallows his declaration of love for her.
She ignores how it tastes like venom crawling beneath her skin.
SUZUYA JŪZŌ is a madman.
She is fast, but he is faster still.
Teeth bared and hair wild, he is a beautiful nightmare beneath the moonlight. This scene is all too familiar, and she wonders how long she has been running. Minutes, hours, days even?
Wonders if this is even just a dream anymore.
He has her now, fingers clenching around her wrists like iron. There is a stillness in the air, a moment of ragged peace before he twists and she screams. The crunch of her bones is a terrible sound, but his voice, quite though he keeps it, carries over it in a death knell.
"You'll regret this."
SUZUYA JŪZŌ is a madman.
She loves him. She loves him so much that something in her hurts at the very sight of him. She wishes she could leave. She wishes that she could be kinder to him. She wishes she was enough for him to let her go.
He thinks differently, however. He loves her too much to let her go.
