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scoutofmymind · 1 month ago

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hey loved your fics you are incredibly talented. i have a scene picture some angst reader is kinda like jo march if u watched little women and luigi is laurie in that one hill scene. basically reader prioritizes acads because of her upbringing - high achiever, academic validations, the whole package and luigi somehow is the same but he compels the reader in a magnetic way because luigi gets to be so carefree and awesome about it and turns out luigi and reader have a common thread and it's turning out rlly good but then reader is slightly scared of commitment in a relationship dare i say? because it was all acads for reader even though there were dreams of having a relationship, it all seemed abstract and unreal!! and the angst comes when luigi confesses to reader and reader reacts very defensive i suppose spitting out word vomit enumerating reasons why luigi shouldnt like her and how he's too good for her and luigi just shuts reader up by pinching their cheeks and holding them steady saying i want you all of you all that sweet stuff...this is just a thought i want to say i admire you heavily your writing is pivotal

Without Me — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, pining, best friends, purest love, summer, unrequited, lowkey gut-wrenching (sorry)

Wc: 6,843 (I could not stop writing)

Notes; Before we begin, I have to say, anon, I very much enjoyed writing this!! And thank you so much for sending me this request! ✨ there are only a couple bits of dialogue that match the hill scene, but I wanted to throw them in there!

This is lowkey a mini-fic, so enjoy!

Side note: If anything is badly edited, I will likely come back to do some cleaning up. But maybe not. Also I’ve started picking songs to include in requests wherever they may fit in. I want to mention too that backstory is something I just simply can’t leave out when it comes to angsty or emotional scenes, so I’m sorry I literally can’t shut up.

The cicadas weave their summer hymn through the gentle lap of water against stone, your body stretched across whisper-soft grass beside the reservoir.

This spot holds years of you both — echoes of skinned knees and bruised elbows soothed by cool spring water, of childhood dares and teenage secrets.

"You never swim with me anymore." Luigi's voice carries no accusation, just a quiet observation that somehow makes it worse. You can picture his expression without looking ��that gentle, knowing thing that always sees too much. "All you do now is torch yourself in the sun."

Your back peels away from the grass, elbows bent to prop you up. Through his borrowed sunglasses — because of course you forgot yours back at the house, and of course he had a spare —you study him.

He's summer personified: water-darkened hair curling at his temples, shoulders golden in the early evening light, wearing a smile easy as breathing.

"I just don't want to get my hair wet, Lu." You say it with the comfortable certainty of someone who's had this exact argument a hundred times before.

"Well, don't then." His retort is quick, familiar. He moves through the water with an easy grace that somehow makes the old reservoir look more inviting than it ever has, though you'd never admit it.

Your shoulders are painted with freckles from all these summer days — chasing chickens in the fields, racing bikes into the city with him riding at your back, his presence as constant as the seasons.

"But then when I get out, I'll be cold." The words float between you like lazy dragonflies, and Luigi just shakes his head, spattering droplets that catch the light.

He pouts, but not like you do.

Where your pouts are theatrical productions, his is a quiet thing — eyebrows drawn together in thought, bottom lip pulled inward instead of jutted out dramatically. His gaze fixes downward at his feet beneath the crystal-clear water, methodically toeing one stone over, then another, like the placement of each pebble might solve some grand puzzle.

You watch him wage his silent war of reorganization, using nothing but his ten toes as construction equipment. It's such a Luigi thing to do — finding the smallest tasks to occupy himself instead of splashing around like he usually does, trying to tempt you in.

"Bet the water feels incredible," he murmurs, more to the stones than to you. His toes have created a perfect semicircle now, a tiny amphitheater beneath the surface. "Like that lemonade your mom makes — you know, the one with mint?"

You do know.

The kind she only makes when the temperature crawls past ninety, when the air feels thick enough to chew. Like today. You can almost taste it — tart and cool and perfect — which is exactly what Luigi intended with that particular comparison, the sneak.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are," you inform him, but you're already sitting up straighter, your legs beginning to tingle from staying still too long in the sun.

The grass has left impressions on your skin, tiny crosshatched patterns that Luigi always says look like secret maps, his fingers drawing lines upon them.

He doesn't look up from his underwater construction project, but one corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Never claimed to be subtle. That's your department, avoiding the water like it's personally offended you."

"The water hasn't offended me," you say, though you draw your knees up to your chest, putting another inch between you and the shoreline. "We have a mutual understanding. It stays there, and I stay here."

"Mhm." Luigi abandons his stone circle, wading a few steps deeper until the water laps at his knees, stood there in his trunks, the cobalt blue ones that hit just above his mid-thigh. "And how's that working out for you? Enjoying your dusty patch of grass while I'm out here living like a king?"

The problem is, he does look a bit regal out there, all long limbs and easy grace, like he was born for summer days and spring water.

You've known Lu since you were both gap-toothed and gangly, but sometimes — like now — he seems to have grown into himself while you weren't looking.

Yet, your own limbs still feel too long, too awkward, like you're wearing a costume that doesn't quite fit.

Meanwhile, Luigi wears summer like a second skin, all easy movements and natural grace, as if the universe decided to polish him up while leaving you in your perpetual state of stumbling through doorways.

"A king of minnows, maybe," you counter, but you're already uncurling, letting your feet stretch toward the water's edge. Not to join him, obviously. Just to... test the temperature.

"Ah," he says softly, watching your toes creep closer, his voice taking on a funny narrators tone, an accent thrown in that sounded similar to his fathers. "The snail emerges from her shell."

"Shell-less snails are just slugs," you inform him primly, but dip one toe in anyway. The water isn't as cold as you expected — it never is, but that doesn't stop you from putting on this show every single time. "And I'm neither."

"No," Luigi agrees, dropping the accent but keeping that amused lilt in his voice. "You're more like- like one of those hermit crabs. The ones that think really hard about switching shells but then just stick with the same one anyway."

You splash water at him with your foot, and he doesn't even try to dodge. "Fuck, Lu —That's the worst analogy I've ever heard."

"Is it?" He takes a few steps backward, deeper into the water, like he's laying out a trail for you to follow. "Because you're still sitting there, thinking about coming in, just like you do every time.“

Luigi could easily remember all the days spent here, in this very body of water together — the secret collection of precious gems that were really just polished river rocks, the fossil that turned out to be an old bottle cap, and that infamous river snake from an overturned stone that had you shrieking and refusing to dive under for weeks.

"Can't be thinking about doing it if I'm already doing it, Lu." You roll your eyes, your shins now lapping gently with clean, cool water. The trees droop overhead like nature's own parasol, their leaves casting dappled shadows that dance across your shoulders.

He's quiet for a moment, watching you with an expression you can't quite read. And then. “Remember when we thought we found actual dinosaur bones here?"

"You mean the plastic fork?"

"A very convincing plastic fork."

The water feels like silk against your skin now, and you find yourself wading deeper without really meaning to. It's muscle memory, maybe — your body remembering what your mind keeps second-guessing.

"At least I wasn't the one who tried to sell it to the museum.” you remind him, the water now swirling around your waist. Each step stirs up tiny clouds of silt that disappear into the clear water.

He splashes in your direction, grinning. "We were tweleve! And Mrs. Henderson at the museum was very nice about it."

"She gave you a cookie and a lecture about scientific integrity."

"Exactly. A win-win."

You're deep enough now that you have to lift your arms to keep them dry, though you're not sure why you're bothering. Your bikini is already clinging to you, and that familiar weightless feeling is starting to take over — the one that always made you feel brave before.

"You know what your real problem is?" Luigi quips, but this time his voice is gentler. "You forgot how to play."

The words hit harder than you expect, maybe because there's no teasing in them now.

Just truth, floating there on the surface like a leaf.

"I didn't forget," you say quietly. "I just- I put it away somewhere."

The look in his eyes tells you exactly what's coming, but muscle memory kicks in before you can retreat, your arms already up in defense position as he sends a massive splash your way, the arc of water catching sunlight like scattered diamonds before it hits you full in the face.

"Luigi!" you shriek, but you're already laughing, already moving. Your soul remembers this dance even if your mind's been trying to forget it, and the water parts easily as you lunge toward him, years of practice making your movements swift and sure.

He tries to dodge, but you know all his tricks — the way he always feints left before going right, how he can't resist staying just within splashing range.

The water battle that ensues is immediate and fierce, both of you laughing and gasping, sending waves in every direction, limbs smacking into each other at times, your body trailing away from his while he charged closer.

"See?" he manages between splashes. "The Queen of minnows!”

You're about to respond when your foot slips on a smooth stone, and suddenly you're going under.

For a split second, panic flares — but then the tranquility and silence envelops you, and it feels like greeting an old friend, your eyes open underwater, seeing the filtered sunlight create shifting patterns all around you, and suddenly you remember why you used to love this so much.

When you surface, pushing wet hair from your face, Luigi is watching you with a grin, his sunglasses pushed away from his face and atop his head instead, nestled in his damp black curls. “You got your hair wet.” He gives you one last gentle splash, his grin so carved into his features it may as well be everlasting.

Luigi, the son of Marco Mangione, whose genius lay in transforming his grandfather's modest Milan carpentry shop into Mangione Artisan Living — now a name whispered in the same breath as Fendi Casa and Bottega Veneta's home collection.

When Marco married Sofia Bernardi in the 80’s, a celebrated interior designer, they moved to America, the local papers painting it as another wealthy foreigner's passing fancy — this modernist villa rising among cornfields and weathered barns.

But Marco had seen something in these hills that reminded him of Tuscany, in the calloused hands of local woodworkers that echoed his grandfather's.

The Mangione Mansion stands like a slice of northern Italy transplanted to American soil, with its stark geometries softened by groves of imported olive trees and terraced gardens.

It's a world away from your family's farmhouse, where the paint peels in honest patches and the screen door creaks a familiar welcome, yet Marco moves between these worlds with effortless grace, discussing the merits of different wood grains with your father across the fence line, or clearing out your mother's farmer's market stall of preserves, declaring each jar Perfetto, just like my Nonna's! with the same genuine warmth he uses to greet European royalty.

Luigi, who could have been pressed into private academies and dinner jackets, groomed for Ivy League legacies and country club memberships, had instead grown up alongside you in public school — though his future was cushioned by both financial security and natural brilliance.

You can't remember a time when academic excellence wasn't your north star — every assignment a stepping stone, every grade a battle in the war for your future.

Being a veterinarian wasn't just a dream, it was your escape route from the endless cycle of farm life that had worn your father's hands to calluses and bent your mother's back.

Perfect attendance since kindergarten, straight A's through AP Biology, even showing up on Senior Skip Day — just you and Lacey Williams, the would-be neurosurgeon, bent over your textbooks in an empty classroom.

Now here you both are in the water — you with your scholarship letters and student loan applications waiting at home, him with acceptance letters from Harvard and Yale gathering dust on his desk.

Two lives that should never have intersected, meeting in the middle of sun-warmed water, your shared freckles catching golden light, limbs tangling as Luigi feints another playful attack.

•

Summer buzzes by your eyeshot like a cicada in a hurry, the season winding down with cooler, longer nights and shorter, blazing hot days.

August comes barreling through like it always does, hot and sticky air clinging to your skin as you sit with Luigi upon the sloped side of the barn, a Birds Eye view of the farm, this very spot the first place the two of you had tried smoking weed, the very first time you ogled at a traumatizing porn everyone at school was talking about — this spot, worn from years of shared moments together is the very place you create some distance.

For the first time.

“I think I want my own party this year.”

The words land like a stone in still water, ripples of hurt crossing Luigi's face before he can master his expression.

For a moment, he looks eight years old again, standing in the tall grass with his first American birthday cake — the one your mom made because his parents were still learning that birthdays here meant homemade frosting, not elegant catered affairs and grand garden parties.

"Oh," he says, and it's the smallest you've ever heard his voice. "Yeah, of course. That makes sense. We’re turning twenty-two. Not eight anymore.” His smile doesn't reach his eyes, hands fidgeting with the bracelet you’d made him years and years ago — the same nervous tell he's had since childhood. "Actually, Ma’s been saying I should do something more — you know, formal this year anyway."

The lie sits between you like a third person.

Luigi, who once convinced his parents to move his elaborate garden party to your barn because you had the flu has never cared for formal anything.

You can see him rebuilding his walls, brick by careful brick, protecting himself the way he never had to with you before.

"Send me pictures though?" he adds lightly, but there's at least fifteen years of shared candles and off-key, bi-lingual singing wrapped in that request, fifteen years of your mom's chocolate cake and his ma’s tiramisu side by side on the same table.

"Luigi, it's not-" you start, then pause, because it is exactly what he thinks it is. A separation. A gentle fracture. "I just need to figure out who I am without- without being part of a matched set. Does that make sense?"

The words feel clumsy in your mouth, inadequate to explain this need that's been growing since your acceptance letter arrived.

You watch him nod too quickly, the way he does when he's processing something that hurts.

The same way he looked when Benny, one of the milking cows had passed three summers ago, or the way he looked when you told him you couldn’t go on the Mangione trip to Italy, desperately needing the vet clinic hours.

"My party's probably just going to be pizza with my study group anyway," you continue, trying to make it sound smaller than it is, even though you've already planned every detail — your first real birthday party that isn't shaped around accommodating both your worlds. "And you should do something spectacular. Twenty-two is a weird number, but you could make it your thing.“

He laughs, but it's his polite laugh, the one he uses at his father's business dinners. "Maybe I'll rent out that new rooftop place in the city," he says, playing along with this sudden pretense that the two of you haven't spent months quietly planning your joint party like every year before. "Very grown-up."

The space between you fills with unspoken memories — dual parties with increasingly ridiculous themes, the year you both got chicken pox and celebrated in quarantine together, or the year his mother hired a magician who pulled you both on stage as assistants.

Fifteen years of wishes and synchronized candle-blowing, and you’ve put an abrupt end to it, with not so much as a warning.

"You're not mad?" you ask, even though you can see he is — not angry-mad, but hurt-mad, the kind that makes his shoulders tight and his smile too careful.

He stands abruptly, brushing invisible dirt from his shorts. "Mad? Nah, come on. We're not kids anymore." The words come out just a touch too fast, too light. "Actually, I should head back. Papa wanted to discuss something about the company tonight."

It's barely seven, and Marco's in New York City until Thursday — you both know this. But Luigi's already stepping back, that practiced social smile firmly in place, the one he uses when he needs to retreat but is too polite to say so.

"Night," he calls over his shoulder once he scales the side of the barn down to the grass again, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

You watch him walk away, his usual easy stride now stiff and measured, leaving you alone with just the sound of the bullfrogs near the pond, and the chickens settling in their coops for the night.

The sunset feels colder somehow, and you wrap your arms around your knees, trying to convince yourself this is what growing up looks like as you sit there until the mosquitoes start biting, watching the space where Luigi disappeared and wondering if this is what independence is supposed to feel like — this hollow victory that tastes nothing like freedom and everything like loss.

•

The late August evening slowly begins to melt into night, the air carrying whispers of autumn though summer still reigns.

You breathe in deep — catching hints of hay being baled in distant fields, leaves just beginning their subtle shift from green to gold, and lake water evaporating off sun-warmed skin. The pontoon boat hums steadily beneath you, loaded with friends sprawled across every available surface, their laughter echoing across the darkening water.

You'd done your best to prepare them all, carefully explaining the separate celebrations to avoid awkward questions.

But Luigi's absence feels like a shadow you can't shake — in the pause after every joke, in the empty space at the boat's stern where he always sat, in the way conversations drift and fade without his easy charm to bridge them.

You're learning that some people leave gaps too precisely shaped to fill, and you catch yourself waiting for sounds that aren't coming —the full-bodied laughter that usually ricochets across the lake, the constant stream of Luigi's commentary that made even silence feel alive.

No one's standing at the boat's edge, goading others into increasingly ridiculous diving contests. The absence of these things sits heavy in your chest, like missing the last step on a familiar staircase.

"Good for you for doing your own thing this year," Mia offers, wine sloshing in her solo cup as she gestures vaguely. "Must be nice not having to compromise on everything for once."

Not really, you think.

The evening settles into dinner in the back garden, strings of lights casting warm halos over familiar faces — relatives, neighbors, friends who'd trickled in as the day aged and as if on cue, the peaceful scene splinters at the sound of tires on gravel and a booming voice that makes your stomach drop.

"Where's Luigi?!"

Cousin Tony's borrowed truck sits askew on the path, driver's door still swinging open like an afterthought.

He bounds toward you, one arm clutching what's clearly a wine bottle wrapped in what looks like yesterday's newspaper, his face bright with the anticipation of seeing his favorite duo.

The sight makes something in your chest twist.

He’s always treated you both as his own blood, never drawing lines between family and chosen family.

You're crushed into a bear hug before you can dodge it, his familiar cologne mixing with engine grease as you try to breathe through compressed lungs, but he’s still calling for Luigi over your head, each shout making the other guests shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"He's somewhere in the city, Tone," you manage to wheeze out.

Your phone burns in your pocket, where Luigi's latest Instagram story sits unopened — some rooftop view you're deliberately not thinking about.

"What'da ya mean?" His grip loosens just enough for you to see his face fall, confusion creeping into his features like a slowly spreading stain.

"We're... trying something different this year," you say, words feeling clumsy as you glance over your shoulder at the laden table — a spread that still unconsciously includes all of Luigi's favorites alongside your own. The sight of his mother's recipe for stuffed shells sitting next to your grandmother's pierogies makes your throat tight.

"Well, is he at least comin' later?"

"No." The word falls between you like a stone. "He couldn't cancel his reservation without losing the booking fee, so I just told him it was fi-"

"No, no, mia cara," Tony drags his hands through his hair, face crumpling like you've just told him the world is ending. "Potrebbe essere l'ultimo!" The words tumble out in his rushed native tongue, his distress making him forget himself.

"You just said that in Italian." Your voice sounds far away, even to your own ears, like it's coming from the bottom of a well.

"Shit — It could be your last time, cuginetta." Tony's sigh seems to come from his bones as he pulls out his phone, cursing when he sees the no-service icon.

"My last time?"

Tony lifts his head slowly from his phone screen, eyes finding yours with a weight that makes your stomach drop. "What — oh, Dio — do you mean to say he has not told you?"

"Told me...?” You brace yourself, chest aching with a sudden, sharp regret for all those breakfast lessons with Luigi's nonna, her patient voice guiding you through pronunciations you'd carelessly let slip away between coffee and lunch.

"He got big'a job in the big city," Tony's hands sweep upward, as if trying to encompass the vastness of a metropolis that stretches far beyond any gesture could capture. "Saying bye-bye forever to smelly farm." His hands fall, and his expression softens into something dangerously close to pity. "Sorry.”

"Leaving? Like — he's moving there?" The words feel strange in your mouth.

You're standing in the same garden where you and Luigi once buried treasure maps at age eight, where you learned to cartwheel together at twelve, where you shared your first illegal beer at sixteen — and suddenly it all feels like archaeological evidence of something that's already gone.

"That's where zio Marco is now, making sure Princess Luigi has all the things he need there for — uh—" Tony lapses into rapid Italian, but you've already stopped listening, the rest of his words fading into white noise.

You're hung up on the present tense of it all — Luigi’s father is there now, apartment hunting, setting up a brand new life while you stand here in your shared history, surrounded by people who apparently knew more about Luigi's future than you did.

The realization hits very suddenly.

Luigi was moving away, and he spoke not a word of it to you.

Tony manages a plate of food before borrowing your landline, desperate to track down Luigi in the sprawling city and when his truck finally crunches back down the gravel path, you feel it like a physical wound — as if he's taking a piece of you with him, torn straight from your core, yet, you maintain your composure with award-winning precision, a smile fixed firmly in place as guests filter away into the darkness.

You go through the motions, accepting kisses on cheeks, graciously receiving gifts labeled with just your name - no more Dynamic Duo or Thing 1 and 2 scrawled in familiar handwriting.

You help clear the garden, stack chairs, wash dishes that held food Luigi would have fought you for the leftovers of. You kiss your father's cheek goodnight, and tell your still-bustling mother you're heading out for some stargazing.

It's not entirely a lie.

You do end up beneath the stars, though you hadn't exactly planned to collapse here by the waterfront, where the distant dock creaks its lonely song, the splash of jumping fish and the bold croaking of nearby bullfrogs barely register — sounds that would normally make you jump now feel as distant as satellite signals.

You're lost in the undertow of your thoughts, barely noticing the warm tears tracking down your neck until your t-shirt is damp with evidence of a grief you didn't know you needed to prepare for — the silence holds you, envelopes you, and you’re almost convinced you can disappear here until-

"Hey, stranger."

His voice cuts through the cricket symphony like a knife, and you freeze, tears still wet on your face.

You don't turn around — can't turn around — because you know exactly what he'll look like: silhouetted against the moons full and distant glow, wearing that stupid designer jacket he bought last month that suddenly makes too much sense.

Big City boy.

The grass whispers beneath his feet as he approaches, each step measured like he's greeting a spooked animal.

It's funny — he used to just crash down beside you, all elbows and laughter.

When did you become something he had to be careful with?

"Tone called me," he says softly, still standing. "Said he found you but couldn't find me." There's a pause, heavy with unspoken words. "Told me other things, too."

The lake laps at the shore, a steady rhythm that used to calm you both on countless nights like this.

Now it just sounds like a countdown.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Your voice sounds small against the vastness of the lake, broken and confused, betrayed and disbelieving.

"Would it have changed anything?" His words come sharp, defensive. "Would you have suddenly decided to stay?"

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" The laugh that escapes him is bitter and unfamiliar. "You want to talk about fair? I watched you apply to every college more than fifty miles away. Watched you light up talking about leaving, about getting out. Never once asking—" He cuts himself off, his gaze turning up instead at the trees that sway and rustle in the midnight air, a chill taking your spine.

"Asking what, Lu?”

"If I wanted to come with you." The words hang in the darkness between you. "If maybe I had dreams too, ones that didn't involve watching you disappear."

"I never said you couldn't-“

"What do you think I was going to do, wait around forever?" His voice cracks at the end, brittle and broken. "God, I've spent my whole life orbiting you like a personal Pluto. I don't even remember my life before you." He paces now like an agitated zoo animal behind a sheath of thin glass, just out of reach. “And yet, you expect me to stay here without you? While you go to college, make your own dreams come true?"

The moonlight catches his face as he turns, and you see something break in his expression. "I would have waited. I would have always waited, but fuck—" His hands tremble as they rake through his hair. "You've pushed and pushed and pushed me away. Every college application, every excited story about your future somewhere else, the party -“ he watches as you stand, your posture ridged and nervous, but attentive.

"Lu, please -“

"So what do I do?" His voice drops lower, trembling. "I have to think of myself too. I have to accept that we won't always be this way." He watches as you scrub your hands over your face, your unsteady legs carrying you off the dock.

The cool, damp grass beneath your feet becomes an anchor, something real in a moment that feels anything but.

He follows, his body angled toward yours like a compass finding north. "But it didn't have to be like this." His voice softens to barely above a whisper, his dress shoes crushing the grass with each step.

"Well, what exactly did you expect?" You whirl around, wiping furiously beneath your eyes, moonlight catching the tears on your cheeks that refuse to be unseen. "We were going to play in the river forever? Did you think we'd just find our way without ever trying?" The words come out harder than you mean them, sharp with the kind of anger that's really just fear in disguise.

"I- you-" Luigi's voice breaks.

His eyes are bloodshot, the bridge of his nose red from earlier tears hastily wiped away in the party bathroom. In the half-light, he looks both younger and older than your shared twenty-two years — a boy trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers, a man facing his first real loss.

"You know, maybe it might have been that easy for you, Lu." Your eyes drift to the Mangione Mansion, its windows gleaming like jewels against the dark hills, an anomaly among the endless cornfields. "You never had to lift a finger — it always just..." You gesture vaguely, bitterly. "Fell into place."

The words taste like copper in your mouth, sharper for how unfair they feel.

Because he's always shared everything.

Those lavish family dinners where his mother insisted you sit next to her, those delicate necklaces from Rome that he'd drape around your neck with careful fingers, those shopping trips where his nonna would press dresses into your arms with a conspirator's wink.

He's never once made you feel like charity.

But there are some things that can't be shared, some advantages that run deeper than generosity.

While you pieced together credits between evening classes and online courses, fighting for every inch of progress, he'd come home rolling his eyes at another Harvard letter, another Yale recruiter calling.

You take a deep breath, feeling the summer air fill your lungs, and air that smells like it always has, like corn silk and cut grass and the all-consuming night. "Did you think we'd just stay here in our bubble, Lu?" Your voice softens despite yourself. "The only place we've ever known?"

All he can do is stand there, helpless, caught between a nod and denial.

His expression crumples into something raw and pleading — such a far cry from the boy who, just last week, had painted patterns across your skin with river mud, both of you laughing until your sides hurt.

The same boy whom you could communicate with without even speaking to, who knew exactly how you took your coffee, who was born the day before you, and who could read your silences like a book he'd memorized; yet now he's looking at you like you're written in a language he never learned to speak.

"No." The word propels you forward, feet moving before your brain catches up.

His face softens into something unbearable — like watching a star collapse in slow motion, finally understanding that this isn't just another one of your theoretical late-night talks about the future.

His carefully constructed composure crumbles, leaving behind something young and scared and achingly real.

"I love you." The words fall from his lips like muscle memory, like breathing, like the thousands of times before — whispered against your hair during movies, shouted across parking lots, mumbled sleepily during long car rides. But now they land heavy between you, a weight pressing against your chest until it hurts to breathe. "I always have, and I always will—"

"No. No, Lu." Your voice cracks on his name, and your pace quickens, bare feet crushing grass beneath desperate steps.

But he matches you stride for stride.

“My life has been so intertwined with yours, when you began to pull away - I- I panicked,” He was rambling now, quick and out of breath but keeping up with you nonetheless, the two of you navigating the vast property, moon and starlight the only thing guiding your path. “I settled on what I knew would be easiest,”

“That’s the problem.” You stop again to look at him, your chest heaving. “You don’t need to settle, Lu — you’re brilliant, you’re so fucking brilliant-“ he grabs your wrists gently, taking several steps to close the gap between you.

"I have never settled on you." Luigi's voice goes rigid, cracking in the middle like ice breaking over deep water. Each word carries the weight of years — shared secrets, dreams whispered under blanket forts, and promises made in tree houses. "You have always been my first option."

You catch your breath, the familiar warmth of his hands on your wrists suddenly feeling like shackles.

Your head shakes, slow and deliberate, as you try to pull back — but his grip steadfast remains. "How would you know of the other options?" The question comes out softer than you mean it to, weighted with everything you've both been too scared to say. "Do you know yourself without me?”

"I don't want to know myself without you."

"Luigi. Please stop-“ You wrench your wrists from his loosened grip, your feet carrying you forward through the night but he follows, like an echo you can't shake, like a shadow that refuses to fade with distance.

His words tumble out faster now, chasing the shrinking space between you and home, visible through the wavering corn stalks like a lighthouse warning of rough water ahead. "I know I'm not — I know I'm not Matthew Williams, or that guy that works the stables near the Bradshaws. And I know I’m not a perfect man, but—"

You stop once again, so abruptly this time he nearly collides with you, turning to face this strange new version of Luigi — one you've never seen before, one who wears his insecurities like an ill-fitting suit.

He's brave, you'll give him that, but he's also terrified in a way that makes your chest ache.

This boy who's never had to compete for anything in his life, suddenly listing off names like entries in a contest he thinks he's losing.

"You stop that." Your finger jabs at his chest, connecting with the expensive fabric of his jacket. "You are the most-the most magnificent person I have ever met, Luigi. And you're not perfect, no-“ You swallow against the rising bile, against the irony of having to defend him to himself when you're the one walking away. "But you're honest, and you're good — a goddamn great deal too good for me."

The last part comes out like a confession, like something you've carried so long it's carved itself into your bones — the real reason you're running, the fear that someday he'll wake up and realize it too.

The night holds its breath around you, your ragged exhales mixing with his in the space between heartbeats, and the trees shiver their leaves like witnesses to your undoing, crickets falling silent as if they too understand the gravity of this moment — this closing act.

"But-“ You step into his warmth, drawn forward like a moth to flame, even now, knowing it would burn. You’re close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne mixing with fresh-cut grass and summer sweat. Close enough to see the moonlight catching in his eyelashes. Close enough to break both your hearts properly. "I can't love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The words tear themselves from your throat like barbed wire, each syllable drawing blood.

Your stomach twists inside out, acid creeping up your throat again, "I can't love you like that. I’m - I’m so, so sorry, Luigi — I just - I can’t,

His hands find your face with the reverence of a prayer, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones like he's trying to memorize the geography of your skin. "Listen to me," he whispers, his voice thick with desperation. "Listen."

The tenderness in his touch nearly breaks you — the way his fingers tremble against your jaw, the gentle circles he traces beneath your ears, the familiar callous on his right thumb from his tree-climbing habit.

His forehead drops to rest against yours, and you can feel his breath hitching, unsteady and warm against your lips.

"You've already loved me better than anyone else ever could," Luigi's voice cracks, splintering like ice in early spring. "You love me exactly as I am — not the heir, not the prodigy, not the Mangione name." His hands slide into your hair, “You have loved me even though I can’t remember to help feed the hens, but I can recite every constellation. And you’ve loved me even though I name every cull cow — even though you think it’s cruel.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and the raw hope in his gaze is almost unbearable. "Please," he breathes, the word more air than sound. "Please don't decide for both of us what kind of love I deserve." His thumbs catch the tears you didn't realize were falling, smearing them across your cheeks like war paint. "Let me choose.”

“Then choose someone else!” You shake your hands at him, helpless and wishing to disappear. “I - I’m so unsure of myself - every goddamn thing I do, Luigi. I break everything, I’m useless at being a homemaker. I’m awkward, I’m a black sheep, even all the way out here.”

You aren’t made for the big city like he is.

The moonlight catches in his dark eyes, turning them to liquid as they search yours. "I don't need perfect love. I don't need textbook romance or fairy tale." His voice breaks, raw with honesty. "I just need you. But - but I can’t live like this forever" He’s speaking faster than you’ve ever heard the smooth-talking, easy going Luigi say anything.

You try to turn away, to escape the weight of his words, but his touch holds you steady — gentle but unwavering. "Luigi — let me the fuck-“

"No," he breathes, the word ghosting across your lips. "No, don't push me away because you think you're protecting me. Don't make decisions about what I can handle." His fingers thread through your hair, cradling the back of your head. "I choose this. I choose the messy parts, the broken parts, the parts you think are unlovable. I choose all of it."

I am stopping this here. Love you 💕

#req #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione fanfic #also thanks so so much for the compliments anon!! I’m here to serve you

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kurokawaia · 4 months ago

Text

❛ RUN, BABY. RUN ❜

Yandere! Sanzu Haruchiyo X Fem!Reader

WC; 4k+ | !MDNI! 18+ | TW/CW :: OVERALL WARNINGS Yandere themes dark content, inexperienced!reader, timid!shy!reader, pet names 'baby' 'doll' + more, drugs (sanzu's part), alcohol, clubs, age gap -> reader is implied to be around 20-22, reader is described to be shorter than Sanzu, smut, nsfw, piv, no protection, begging, rough sex? missionary, oral -> female receiving, male receiving, doggy, marking, possessive, possession, restriction, kidnapping?, biting? eventual predator play, based on the song runrunrun by dutch melrose + more

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 :: meeting Sanzu in that club and accepting that one offer to dance with him, that was when you should've said no, then maybe, you wouldn't be in this situation you are in now.

HONEY'S A/NOTE :: not as dark as i wanted it to be but ill edit it later to make it rlly dark for all you dark romance girlies!!

m.list | tokyo revengers m.list - PART 1 / PART 2

Sanzu watches you and he can feel his heart thumping faster looking at your sweet, innocent face. He can't wait to ruin you. "Impressed?" he asks, though he most definitely knows the answer. Nodding your head. "It's... incredible."

He hums in approval, his arm still wrapped around your waist as he pulls you inside. The elevator ride up to the penthouse is quick, just a little too quick before you know it, the doors slide open into an open, plan sprawl that's all clean lines, dark wood, and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the city below. The view's breathtaking but your attention is quickly pulled back to Sanzu. A ding and then the door closes behind you two, leaving just the two of you.

You wonder what he did for work, this penthouse looks really expensive... You couldn't even fathom what his job is because his hair colour, hairstyle, and how many piercings he has would make it hard for him to find a job, would it not?

All of a sudden, your back is flush against the wall next to the elevator, Sanzu pinning your arms beside your head, his hands gripped tight around your wrists. And then, his lips brush against yours. It's a soft gentle peck before his tongue pushes past your lips and you gasp.

You melt into him as you kiss him back. His lips move slowly against yours, almost cherishing every moment, every touch. But even through the sweetness, you can feel it, the hunger simmering just beneath the surface. His hands grip your waist a little tighter, his breathing hitched as he deepens the kiss. Sanzu leans backward just a fraction, his forehead against yours as he takes a breath. "You're something else," he says in a whisper. His fingers brush a strand of hair off your face before trailing down your neck. For a second, you really think that's all it's going to be- just soft kisses and touching. Then, though, his hand slides to the back of your neck, and he pulls you in again, his lips capturing yours with more intensity this time.

There's still a sweetness to it, but he's clearly been holding back. His kiss grows urgent, insistent, as if he is losing control of the restraint that he has been desperately trying to apply. Your back presses against the cool wall as he cages you in, the slow and deliberate touch of his hands exploring your body. You feel the heat radiate off him, the way his breathing gets heavier, his body pressing closer still against yours.

As his lips trail down your neck, sending shivers coursing through your body, you can't help but want to see what happens when that control finally slips as he picks you up, takes you to his room and throws you onto his bed. Before you knew it he was on top of you, white shirt unbuttoned, pink and purple dress pants loosely on his hips

He was distracting your sight, making sure that your eyes were solely focused on his own. Sanzu is making sure that your innocent, pretty doe eyes don't look to his bedside table, let alone how the floor looked on the right side. Drugs and empty alcohol bottles were scattered everywhere.

Bottles on the floor, pills and cocaine on the bedside table.

Not to mention the discarded handguns on the floor, he didn't know how many were there but he didn't want you to lay your eyes upon them. Sanzu just hopes that after this you don't decide to go snooping around because if you did you'd find a lot more things that a normal person should not possess.

He will make sure you stay oblivious.

You're his now.

A whimper falls past your lips, and Sanzu is on the verge of going absolutely feral and manic. You sound so pure. He wants to break you slowly, so desperately, but he can't. Sanzu wants to do it now. Your arms push together and your breasts push together as your hands grip his unbuttoned shirt, mounds on the verge of spilling out your mini dress.

Sanzu lets a free hand trail lower, his first and second fingers hooking under your strapless dress, pulling the top down your chest revealing your plain black strapless bra. Pulling away from the kiss, Sanzu almost loses it, your breasts are beautiful (he can't wait to mark them up, is what he really means).

Your back is still arched from the heated kiss, Sanzu moves down, placing soft, gentle kisses down your jaw to your collarbone, slowly, leaving red marks in their wake. During this, Sanzu unclips your bra with one skilled hand, slender fingers unclipping the clasp.

A gasp leaves your lips, your nails on the verge of breaking the expensive cotton blend. "W-Wait..." you stutter out quietly, and you were surprised that he could even hear you by the way his lips left your neck, his green iris gazing deeply into yours.

A deep hum reverberates in his throat, causing you to nibble on your bottom lip. "What you need, Doll?" he says low against your skin and you let out a sigh at how warm the contact is.

"I haven't..." You began slowly before stopping yourself and Sanzu's eyes widened. He knew you were innocent but he was about to lose it if you were a virgin.

"Done anything like this in a while..." you continue and Sanzu sighs in relief mentally.

Thank fuck you weren't a virgin (he didn't want to break you too much... but he would've loved for you to be his from the very beginning) Sanzu would just have to make sure that you don't think about anyone but him, making sure you forget about any of your past fucks.

"You don't have to worry, doll," he murmurs agasint your neck before trailing kisses down your stomach, sucking longer on the skin exposed above your underwear and you shiver under his touch, a hand entangling within his pink locks. "You tell me when to stop."

A shaky breath leaves your mouth. "Okay," you whimper, biting on your bottom lip as you look down to see your thighs already pulled over Sanzu's shoulders.

Your head was thrown back against the pillow so suddenly that Sanzu's nose bumped agasint your covered clit. A whimper leaves your lips, thighs tightening around his head before veiny hands spread them far apart, and your back arched, you had nowhere to go.

"F-Fuck," you whimper out.

A whimper leaves your mouth when he places a kiss on your clit and your thighs clench around his head. You attempt to arch away from the overwhelming sensation but Sanzu's grip keeps you in place. A satisfied sigh seeps through him into your folds as a mewl from your full lips.

He pulls your underwear to the side, licking a long stripe up your folds and you moan, your back arching and your cunt pressing further into his face which he relished in. Sanzu moans into your folds, the vibrations reverberating throughout your cunt and you tremble.

His tongue climbs up from your wet hole to your clit while you let out a moan. Your thighs try to tighten around his head but couldn't as a result of his constriction, and as you grind down on his face, a moan echoes through your clit. Your lips were filled with chants of his name, and he relished every moment of it.

"Haru... f-feels s' good," you moan, tears welling in your lash line, he was making you feel so good.

"I've got you, doll," Sanzu says, making sure to relish in your taste, wanting to etch the flavour in his brain.

When you feel a finger push past your closing walls, your eyes expand, and you cry with delight. It felt so fantastic that you never wanted it to finish, even though you thought you would break because of how much pleasure was crossing through your veins.

His finger pressed up against that soft spot inside your walls. Sanzu was slow with his pace as he curled his fingers every time he entered your cunt, along with sucking and licking at your puffy, sensitive clit.

"You're taking it so well..." Sanzu moans against you, refusing to rut his hips into the mattress.

He wants to break you.

He's being to nice, he can't take it any longer.

A moan arouses from you and your hips grind themselves onto his face. He let you for once have some sort of control over the situation, and he decided that if you came quicker he'll let you do it more often. "That's it," he praised.

His motions become more rapid and needy as you cry his name through broken letters, and the one hold he held on your leg tightens. Your stomach coil tightened, and your fingers wrapped around his locks to stop him from moving and make him sigh deeper into your folds.

The only thing the groans did was push you over the edge, and when he placed his tongue firmly against your clit, a quiet scream from your lips. Your stomach coil unwound, soaking his face completely.

He slowly removed his fingers from your drenched pussy, your cum spilling out from your puffy folds. Before rising his head, he places a kiss on your clit and your mewl softly in overstimulation.

"I'm not done yet, Baby," he growls, smashing his lips against yours, a hand wrapping around your throat and you gasp while tasting yourself on his tongue before he roughly flips you over, your breasts and stomach pressed against the mattress.

Then you felt a heavy, throbbing tip press against your clit and you moaned from the small touch. You tried to squirm away from the pleasurable cause but couldn't as Sanzu knew your body more than you did yourself, he knew you were gonna try to run from his body due to the pleasure. So, he pressed his weight against you once more.

You held your breath when Sanzu sank his throbbing cock into your spongey walls, his length getting squeezed by every ridge within your soaked cunt. A moan left both of your mouths as Sanzu's length nudged the deepest spot within you.

"Look how you take me in," Sanzu grunts. "Such a good little slut." You sigh in pleasure at the degradative praise.

But he didn't move, he wanted to relish in on how you desired to cause friction, desired to move against his touch, but couldn't. Sanzu's cock, prodded so deep in your gummy walls that you whimpered in pleasure, but that didn't stop him from not moving. He was still snug inside.

Hot and heavy kisses trail down from your ear down to the dip of your neck to shoulder and a breathless sigh escaped your parted lips before Sanzu rolled his hips into yours. A moan slips out of your mouth, his thick length scraping all the sensitive parts of your warm insides.

Sanzu's knees spread your legs apart so that any advances from you ensured that they would be shut down, so that you remained situated below him, your pretty body that paled in comparison to his big frame. As he expected, you couldn't move from his trapping embrace.

His movements became faster, his cock thrusting into the depths of my needy hole as strained moans and whines left your throat. Sanzu was panting in your ear and an occasional deep groan slipped past his lips, the sounds which made your cunt flutter tightly around his length.

Sanzu was filling you up to the hilt, his throbbing pink tip hitting that soft, gummy spot in your cunt that caused you to scream out in fulfilment. "I know baby, I'm listening," He breathed, causing you to let out a moan and sigh, body shaking with pleasure. "Found it haven't I?" Sanzu smirked.

Your body tried to arch away from the pleasure, not being able to take the strong rolls of Sanzu's hips, but as you arched your back away, his thrusts only aimed deeper, harder into your G spot. "Y-yeah," you sobbed out, tears filling your lash line. "B-but... Too much, 'Haru. Slow down, too much."

"Oh?" he smirked, his hips moving now at a faster pace, loving how your cunt squeezed his cock even though you wanted him to slow down, how contradicting he thought your words were, you were denying your body the release that you so desperately needed. "Looks like you pussy is saying something else," Sanzu added.

Repetitive moans left your mouth while he pounded into your tight heat. You suddenly had the instinctive urge to press yourself into his length, but you couldn't, his weight was too heavy for you to move against him, and you were utterly hopeless as his thrusts became faster.

"Please, I wanna come," you cry out mewling. "So big, you feel so big, Haru..."

Your body trembled beneath him and the hold he had on your hands loosened. Your hips were getting held, then, the strength he possessed lifted you onto your knees before a bicep wrapped around your throat, lifting your head. It wasn't a tight grip but the power lifted your head from the futon while you shakily rested your weight on your elbows.

Your back arched heavily, finally being able to sink more into him. Sanzu hunched over you, pulling you closer to him and connected your mouth in a sloppy, wet kiss, forcing his tongue inside your mouth, grunting into you while he swallowed your moans. "Good girl, taking me so deep," Sanzu groaned, pulling away from your mouth and pushing this arch into your back deeper.

He watched your ass ripping again his lower abdomen, watching your cunt with purple iris'. Observing how your walks sucked him in, leaving a creamy white rind of arousal around the base of his cock.

"Making you feel so good, aren't I?" Sanzu groaned his head tilted forward, sweat beading on his forehead as we watched your fall apart and tremble from his dick, broken moans slipping past your plump lips.

A satisfied smirk came onto Sanzu's face as he watched those tears that welled in your fluffy lash line spill down your smooth cheeks. "Such a good little- slut," Sanzu groans. "Pussy taking me in so deep."

"'Wanna come, please," you beg, wanting to feel the release, desperate as the tears stream down your flushed cheeks. "Want it so bad."

You clench around his length as he increases his pace, instantly accommodating to the speed but your moans escalate. "Such a good girl," He leaned down and mumbled in my ear chased with a deep moan that stirred my insides clenching around his length. "C'mon, how much you want it?" Sanzu rasps in your ear.

"Want it so bad!" you whimper, unable to comprehend any thoughts that swelled into your head. "Please, please, please!"

"Oh?" Sanzu grunts his teeth grinding.

You moan out, your body trembling. "Please.... I just... 'wanna" you hiccup out, the coil in your stomach tightening while his heavy balls slap against your swollen clit.

"Yeah? Come, on, doll," Sanzu replies groans interrupting his speech, but it made his stomach and balls tighten, wanting to fill up your cunt with his seed.

"Please, I wanna come," you moan.

"Go ahead," he growled and you spasmed around his length as your high washed over you, your legs shaking as his weight pressed down even more than it was. His thrusts didn't slow causing me to whimper in overstimulation, but Sanzu helped it, his hips continuing to rut into you, helping you ride out my orgasm as he chased his own.

With a groan, his lips planted against mine once again as his hips slammed into mine, hard, his cum spilling inside me causing me to moan into his kiss. Sanzu slipped his softening length out and pulled away from the kiss as you slumped to the futon, his eyes chained to the white splotches of silky come that spilled from your gaping cunt.

He wants to break you further.

And that's exactly what he does for the next three months.

It had started with little things, things one dismissed as quirks or habits. Sanzu had this way of making you be consumed entirely by him, as if he was the centre of gravity you just could not pull away from.

His house turned into a second home you spent more and more time in, never realizing how it became so. How leaving a few clothes there turned into leaving entire drawers filled with your things.

Your toothbrush beside his, your shoes by the door, your scent mixed with his in the hallways of his penthouse. And then one day, it wasn't just a drawer or two; it was everything. You couldn't remember the last time you'd spent a night at your own place. Your social circle gradually shrank. At first, it was natural, the hours spent with Sanzu were intoxicating. All he had done was comment subtly on your friends-how they didn't really understand you, how they were too unreliable, always leaving you to your own devices.

He was the one who was always there, the one who truly cared about your well-being. Soon, nights out with friends grew fewer and fewer, replaced by nights waiting for him to come back from work, keeping your phone on silent "out of respect for him," as he had suggested. Yet, for all his affection, his life remained a mystery.

Every time he went out, he was always vague as to where he went or what he did. His phone, always buzzing with messages, was guarded. Any question you asked was received with a smile and a kiss on the lips: "Just business," he'd shrug and stroke off your queries. When he took you to his 'meetings', you sat outside in luxurious lounges or dimly lit private rooms for hours, waiting without any explanations. You tried not to mind. You tried to believe him, that he was just protective, just keeping you out of something too messy for you to understand. But the doubt gnawed at you, stealing in when he'd come home late at night, his eyes darker, the faint scent of smoke and something metallic clinging to his clothes...

And then... you found out by accident by seeing the messages pinging on his phone while he was in the kitchen, back home from... work. Messages flashed across the screen, names and details you didn't recognize but somehow instinctively knew were dangerous. Then, you see it, you couldn't focus on anything other than what the message said apart from the one word that stood out. Bonten.

The man your're seeing is apart of Bonten.

Sanzu's late nights, the few strange men he would occasionally meet with, and how his whole world was shrouded in darkness. He wasn't into anything shady-he was deep in one of the most feared criminal organizations in the city.

And it was too late to pull away.

"Baby... what are you looking at?" He asks looking over the counter, eyes narrowing at how your sight was locked onto his phone.

Sanzu picks up his iPhone and his gaze darkens at what you had just seen.

You know now...

"I... I'd like to go on a walk," you abruptly say and Sanzu glances at you through lidded eyes from his phone.

What you were really planning to do was to get as far away as possible from this physco.

"A walk? Huh, Baby?" he hums, placing his phone screen down to the marble counter. "Go on and do it..." Sanzu hums, face so close to yours you thought he's kiss you but you shyed away and then his eyes darken. "Alrgiht. You wanna play it like that?-" a silence "Run, Baby. Run..." His lips graze you're ear, "Although, you can't run forever."

Run, baby. Run.

It felt like hours, maybe days, but it had only been 2 minutes and you had no idea how long you'd been running, trying to get away from him. Every corner you turned, every dark alley you darted down, the feeling of his presence followed. No matter how fast you went, how hard you pushed yourself, deep down you knew it would never be enough. You can't run forever. He smiled when he'd said it, pale eyes alight with something wild, something dangerous. Sanzu had always been unhinged, but the fire of that gaze, that hunger was something else. You couldn't outrun him. You knew it. Still, you had to try. Your lungs burned, your legs aching, and you went faster.

Too close.

He's always close. It was the sound of his voice, the tone in which he spoke to you that night a lover promising things, dark and twisted. It started with touches that lingered too long, knowing looks, finding his way wherever you were, he begun to follow you around, began to restrict where you went, and made you cut your friends off. But it grew and escalated until you could not breathe without the weight of his obsession bearing down upon you. And now? Now he hunted you. Chased you across town like some prey, sick, a game he was the only one who could win. "Come on," his voice echoed in the back of your head, teasing, low, seductive. "You know you can't run from me, love. Why even try?" You can't stop. But then, just as you might actually have a chance—just as you allow yourself to believe for this one passing moment you can get away from him—you hear it. Footsteps. Your heart plummets to your stomach. You needn't look around, instinctively, you know who it is. The heavy, rounded sound of the dress shoes on concrete sends a cold quiver running down your spine. "You're making this too easy." His voice was closer now, too close, and your body seemed to freeze well before your brain could catch up with the command to move. You had only time for a single breath, before his hand curled around your wrist, yanking you back against him with terrifying ease. "Haru— You'd barely gotten his name out before his other hand had latched onto your chin, twisting your face up to meet his. Pale, icy blue eyes stared down into your face with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. His smile was twisted, the same he'd worn that night-the night he told you you'd never be free of him. "Did you really think you could run from me?" His voice was low, soft, almost caressing. He pulled you close with that much tighter grip. "After all we went through? After all I've done for you? Your heart is racing, and then panic sets in. But Sanzu holds with an iron clutch, his fingers digging into skin, his body pressed up against yours-rendering the impossible task of moving anywhere. "Haru, please." You struggled against him, trying to pull away, but he tightened his hold instead, his smile growing wider at watching you squirm. "I like it when you say my name in that manner," he whispered huskily against your ear. "But I don't like this when you run away from me, it's as if you have no regard for what I have done for you." It moved from your chin upwards, tracing along your throat until fingers wrapped around your neck. The deceptively soft threat was crystal clear, he would end this, end you, at his whim. And the worst of it? The dark thrill dancing in his eyes told you that he liked that idea. "You have any idea how it hurts to see you faking like you can survive without me?" he whispered, the edge of his lips brushing your ear. "To see you try to run? It's almost... an insult." You swallowed hard, your throat closing up under his touch, but your voice shook out in a desperate, quaking whisper. "Haru, I can't. I can't do this anymore." His fingers constricted around your neck ever so slightly, and you gasped. "But you can, baby. You don't have a choice. You belong to me. You always have." "You're mine, and no matter how far you run, no matter how hard you try to get away from me, I'll find you," his lips ghosted over yours, barely touching, before he pulled back just enough to look at your eyes once more. "And when I do, I'll make sure you'll never leave me again." "Don't cry, baby," he whispered, his voice little more than a whisper. "You'll be safe with me. I'll make sure no one else touches you. No one else can have you."

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | tokyo revengers m.list

taglist :: @theblueslytherin @shuzoku @katsunee @flunkedloser

#sanzu x reader #sanzu x you #sanzu x reader smut #sanzu x you smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you

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