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Growing up in a semi-religious household, I was taught to believe in a Heaven and a Hell. You know, the good people get to go up to a cloudy, fair Heaven and the bad people go down to the Inferno with the Devil and all his demons. It's a belief that we don't just die, we live beyond our physical ends. To me, it was a comfort, something I thought everyone else believed, too.
Of course, that's because I grew up in that bubble.
My parents weren't church-obsessed or super-strict when it came to religion, but they did believe in God and they instilled that in me, too. This little spiritual bubble was burst when I stepped foot into the real world, though. I still believed in God, that didn't change, but that's when I realized it was my choice to believe.
When I say 'believed in God', I mean that I believed in a power beyond me and all that's Earthly and, you know, mortal or—whatever. To me, God was someone loving and accepting and forgiving. That's what I believed in. And because I believed in God, I also believed in Heaven and Hell.
I always thought I'd go to Heaven.
I didn't.
Yeah, I guess I forgot to mention that minor detail. My apologies. In the almost-full essence of the word, I'm dead. I've been dead for almost a full calendar year. Physically, anyway. Right now, I don't really know what I am. A spirit? A ghost? Or maybe I'm just a lost soul, I really don't know. All I know is I'm not human, I'm not in Heaven, and I'm not in Hell. I'm stuck here.
I didn’t even get to properly start my life.
Several hundred days ago in Minato, right here in Tokyo, I made my way down the busy, but relatively calm residential streets after picking up Aimane Yatsumi from preschool. It was all simply a part of my everyday routine—it had been for the past six years of my life. Little did I know that day would determine the end of it.
"Carry me?" Yatsumi extends her short arms up at me with that bright little incomplete smile of hers. Two of her teeth had recently fallen out so now she looks a bit funny when she tries to use her smile as a way of appealing to the Cute Meter to get her way. "Please." She pouts, meeting my eyes as I look down at her.
"Alrighty, hop up." I crouch down, letting her jump up into my arms as she wraps her own around my neck. She's a small kid, slender, about half my height, probably weighing no more than forty pounds. Carrying her like this isn't much of a strain, it's actually kind of a tradition. I've known her since she was born.
I've taken care of her all four years of her life.
"Are we going to pick up Brother?" Yatsumi asks me, resting her chin on my shoulder as she looks back at all the people walking behind us. I nod as I make my way across the street after the little man on the sign lights up. "Aw, no! Can we just go straight home?" She whines. "I'm really, really, really hungry."
That was the first glimpse he ever caught of me: walking across that very crosswalk with Yatsumi in my arms. Back then, I would've had no way of knowing this, but being stuck as this weird thread of consciousness in the impossibly complex web of reality has given me knowledge in depths I would've never been able to understand as anything else.
Now I know what he was thinking and what was going through his mind. It's strange. I know that man inside and out. I know what goes through his head, what he thinks, what he thought, what he plans, what he planned—as if his existence is what's tying me to this world. That's my theory, anyway. I can only see him.
"What do you mean 'aw, no'?" I chuckle, furrowing my eyebrows as I accidentally make brief eye contact with an older man walking the opposite way. He stares for a while, but I look away quickly. As someone who's not from here, it's not bizarre to have a couple of people stare while walking down the street with a child in your arms speaking their language.
"Can't we just leave Brother there and go straight home?" Yatsumi asks, turning her head a little to rest her cheek on my shoulder more comfortably. "Dad can pick him up later, it's okay. Really." She continues, glancing up at all of the buildings and all of the elegant individuals walking around in their nice, fancy clothes.
"Tsumi, you know I can't just leave Kenji at school like that." I shake my head, exhaling a small airy laugh at her request. "Besides, if you're hungry, he probably is, too. It's not good to be selfish. We should just go pick him up quickly so we can all get home and have a nice, big meal, okay?" I pat her leg, turning my head to see her face.
When I turned my head, he'd seen all he had to see. His eyes hadn't deceived him, I was an unfamiliar stranger holding this familiar little girl, speaking to her casually in his language. I'd caught his attention, and just like that, without me having a single fucking clue, he'd decided in his mind that I was going to be the next name on his List.
He wasn't even going the same way I was, but as soon as he'd seen the side of my face and fixated his thoughts on me, his feet changed trajectory. He walked behind us now, several yards back, walking quickly to get within a closer range. His eyes glanced up at us often, looking away here and there to not seem too suspicious.
And I was completely oblivious.
"Hmph." Yatsumi exhales a huff of air through her nose, pouting her lips and continuing to look out ahead of her. "Fine," she mumbles lowly, "okay. Let's hurry up and go pick up Brother." She says a bit unhappily. I know the feeling will pass soon, though. It always does. She offers no more conversation for a few short minutes.
"Tsumi—?"
Yatsumi cuts me off, whispering my name and moving her head closer to mine as her sight seems to be fixated on something behind us, "that prince keeps following us." She keeps her low whisper, wrapping her arms around my neck a little tighter. I lean in closer to her, ears perked and eyebrows furrowed.
"Prince?" I ask, turning around immediately with almost no thought at the hearing of someone following us. I spot the individual Yatsumi's talking about almost instantly. The prince. We make eye contact briefly, and then he sticks his hands in his pockets and looks back down at the sidewalk.
File: [G., SATORU_JAP]
[➔] Subject #6: {MP-US12Mo}
"Her eyes were so generic, but they drew me in like a magnet—I'm not sure how to fully explain it. They were the most basic, round, brown eyes but I wanted to stare into them for hours and hours on end. What do you call that? Is it emotion? Some classification of a feeling? Or just more crazy? I'm actually curious. There was nothing special about her eyes."
“You're incapable of feelings, Mr. Gojo.”
"So they all keep saying. I know I'll never truly understand what it's like to be a full human being, with your empathy and remorse and love or what not, but that girl—I'll never stop being curious. Maybe she was the one that was supposed to complete my humanity. Maybe she could've sparked that dead portion of my brain."
“That's not how it works. What you think you felt for Ms.—”
"I don't think I felt anything for her, I know I didn't. I know that's now how the science or psychology or whatever-the-fuck works, I know even if I did think I felt something, I wouldn't even have been able to begin to understand it because I was born incapable. I know this. But it doesn't explain why its her face I saw in every single girl that followed."
“That's obsession, Satoru. You are capable of that.”
His face was in no way threatening.
He's a very attractive man; his handsomeness aided in letting my guard down as soon as I got a good look at him. I'm not sure what I was expecting, Yatsumi had said 'prince.' I guess when she also said 'following', I expected an unpleasant middle-aged creep. It's stupid really, how we assume pretty people can't mean any harm.
And those eyes. Oh, those eyes. The prettiest eyes I'd ever seen in my entire goddamn life. Nothing came close to those eyes. Little did I know back then how much I'd come to despise them—to fear them. How stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
That split second of unfounded relief cost me my life. If only I had been smarter. If only I had walked faster, gotten lost amongst bigger crowds, called somebody, done what I was supposed to do when being followed. If only I would have acted as if he was an unpleasant middle-aged creep.
Analyzing this now, it's stupid to think I may have actually wanted him to catch up.
"Did you lose a shoe?" Yatsumi asks me quietly, still looking straight out at the stranger some feet behind us, observing attentively and curiously as kids tend to do. I had turned away from him—facing forwards again, walking at my same pace—a couple of minutes ago already. It's just a coincidence. He's not following us.
"Hey," Yatsumi says softly, following with my name and tapping my arm.
"No, Tsumi. I didn't lose a shoe." I answer her with a lighthearted chuckle. "He's not following us. It's not polite to stare, kiddo. The 'prince' is just—walking down the street to get somewhere, like we are." I tell her, slowing down as an intersection comes up. The road we have to cross over to has cars driving on it at the moment.
"Prince, huh?" A lower voice emerges next to me, making my heart drop to my stomach in surprise, embarrassment, and a blushing flustered feeling. "Hi, little one." He chuckles while I stand there frozen, looking out ahead still as I can't really seem to turn my head just a few degrees to the right.
I hear Tsumi laugh as her arm moves.
She meets his hand innocently, continuing to stare at him but with a smile now. "I'm—not little." She says a little shyly. He's the one that laughs now. It's a genuine laugh, hearty and almost comforting. I can't help but exhale softly; it eases me a bit, letting me finally turn to get a proper glimpse.
That instant right there, looking him in the eyes while he stood next to me before the crosswalk, that instant stays with me—I'm stuck like this, replaying it so vividly. Over and over and over again. His gorgeous, alluringly mysterious eyes and all the expertly hidden lies within his gaze. That false wholesomeness entrapped me. I stepped foot into the cage.
And I know now there is no escape. Not for me.
There's no way I could've known of the nightmare awaiting me within the shifting cerulean sea in those big, bright irises of his. Maybe that's what got to me the most. The unfairness of it. I felt as if I was cast under a spell. Like a real princess looking at her prince. It's so stupid. How fucking stupid!
How naive, how idiotic! I smiled right in the face of my demise.
He locks eyes with me for no more than a couple seconds before he gently lets go of Yatsumi's hand and looks back down at the concrete with a small smile forming on his lips. "My bad." The handsome stranger looks up at the bustling cars. "I didn't mean to listen in on your conversation—or follow you like a creep. I take this street to get home."
"Right," I nod, adjusting Yatsumi in my hold a little as she turns to keep a good line of vision on her prince, "no, yeah, of course. No need to explain yourself. We, uh—I didn't think you were a," I pause awkwardly as he turns his head to meet my eyes again, "a creep." I finish a little sheepishly, looking away. He exhales a short chuckle.
"Ah, it's too bad." His white hair flows gracefully with the shake of his head as he mutters the words under his breath. I furrow my eyebrows, eyeing his closed eyes and pulled lips. When his eyes open again, they look straight ahead, seeing as the crosswalk was about to signal our continuance. "I'd love to ask for your number, but your husband might not be—"
"You're married??" Yatsumi cuts him off, staring at me wide-eyed while her grip on my shoulders tightens. I stare back just as confused. Mr. Handsome Stranger looks at us with his brows crinkled now, too. "What? No!" I quickly shake my head, deterring the accusation completely.
"Wait, so," Stranger Prince motions between me and Yatsumi as we all fail to see the little green man across the street or notice the crowd walking past us and onto the crosswalk, "I don't even know if I can ask this." He backtracks, subconsciously taking a small step back.
Now I'm even more baffled. So baffled, I almost forget he wants my number. “ Ask what?"
"If she's—" he hesitates.
"Oh," I realize what he's trying to figure out after he mulls over his words, "OHH." My eyes widen some more, feeling my face flush. "No. Oh my God." I start laughing, letting a breath I didn't even know I was holding in spill out of my lungs. "I'm not—no. I'm her nanny. Babysitter? Caretaker. Yeah."
"Oh, okay." He ends up exhaling a relieved laugh, too. I suddenly get the urge to kick myself in the stomach. I pray I didn't just fuck this up. Damn, he's too cute to scare off. What am I doing? "Well, then," he looks out at the street right when the window of opportunity closes with the image of a pixelated hand, "this lucky prince would like to know if he could see you again."
I don't think my heart had ever fluttered like that before. How fucking sad is that? Pathetic. I know. I know. Still, it's true. When Time wants to be especially cruel to me, it'll take me back to that moment, like it is now, and I get to bask in my shame. But what's even more miserable is that even knowing what comes next, that stupid fuzzy, bubbly feeling is incorruptible.
In retrospect, that might be what's keeping me tied to him. I've come to theorize, if this action can be called so on such universal plane, that those feelings serve as the coarse rope binding my intangible body to his. As much as I hated him, I felt pleasantly connected to him once. Maybe that hatred strengthened our general connection.
Maybe it's why he keeps dragging me along. It's like our fates intertwined in the most twisted of ways.
"See me again?" I question a bit stupidly. Underneath the surface, my heart was starting to act like I was sprinting full-speed down the street. Yatsumi leans in close to my ear, placing her hand as a cover so Stanger Prince wouldn't read what she was whispering off her lips. "I heard mommy say it'd be good for you to go on dates. Like the movies."
Unfortunately, whispering is not Yatsumi's strong suit. "Ah, yes," our new acquaintance smiles, his upper body leaning a little closer to us, "a date. Like the movies. You like movies, little one?" His voice is playful and vibrant, his smile contagious. As if my face wasn't already feeling warm, I knew I was blushing obviously now.
A date.
"Yatsumi." The girl in my arms says firmly, looking him in his mosaic eyes while also sporting a bit of red on her cheeks. "My name is Yatsumi." She adds a little less firmly, looking down at her dangling shoes as Mr. Stranger's face lights up with yet another charming grin. "I like movies.." she answers his question. "I watch movies with Brother all the time."
"I like them, too." He glances over at the second manifestation of little green man across the street since we've been standing here. Only then to I realize we've been standing here for several minutes already. I notice the second wave of people walk past us, too. "Where are you headed, stranger?" His voice snaps me back.
"Down that way." I point vaguely. It's the same direction he'd mentioned proceeding in. "Stranger."
"Mind if I walk next to you until we part ways, then?" The nickname-stealer asks, meeting my eyes directly again and trapping me there. It's like he knows exactly what he's doing. I shake my head, letting him know I don't mind at all. He smiles—a soft, entrancing smile. We start walking.
By then, he knew he had me in the bag. I was a locked target and I had no clue as to what I'd just done to myself—what I was doing to myself by simply sharing that casual walk with him. He studied me. The way I responded to his banter, the way I'd look away every time he tried to make eye contact for more than a few seconds, the way I laughed nervously, everything.
"No, actually." I shake my head, lips still curled up from the laugh we just got over. "I have not been to the ramen place down the street from the academy." I shrug. He widens his eyes and shakes his head as if I'd just kicked his dog or something. "What?"
"We've gotta fix that."
“Date!" Yatsumi exclaims. "Like the movies!!"
"Tsumi—"
"Yeah." Stranger Prince smiles wide, those gorgeous eyes somehow sparkling even more as he nods and turns his torso a few degrees to face me better. "Date." He repeats. "What'dya say, stranger?"
"Well, mister," I raise my eyebrows, looking out ahead in order not to trip myself up, "I don't even know your name."
"Yeah, Prince No-Name." Yatsumi chimes. We both laugh.
"Geto Suguru." He states after my laugh fades into a lingering crimson tint and the remnants of a grin. He offers me a closed smile as I turn to look at him, pleased to have such an important piece of information. It makes me all giddy for some reason. I tell him my name in exchange, his bright smile getting brighter. I accept. The banter continues.
His fucking name is Satoru. Gojo Satoru. That exchange I was so bubbly about meant absolutely nothing. He saw the way I softened up, saw the way my defenses dropped so easily, so pathetically. After that, it was a piece of fucking cake. He strung me along like a puppet. I played into every tangent, every action. I was practically already in his trophy case.
"No, no. Call me Suguru. I feel weird hearing Geto."
That night, I ended up in his bed.
No other time in my right mind would I have brought myself to do something so reckless, but I got too swept up somewhere in the hazy transgression of my evening to step back and smack some sense into myself. He'd shown up outside the house right as I was heading out to the gate to let the neighbors in for their small rich people gathering with my bosses.
I was asked to join, like always, but I had some assignments to finish up for my last few classes before graduation and I politely declined the tipsy conversations and countless glasses of expensive wine probably way older than me. Of course, every time I declined those, which wasn't actually that often, I was met with a lot of endearing (in its own way), half-drunk nagging.
"Are you sure, my dear?" Mrs. Aimane asks me as I nod assuringly and walk over toward the door. "You know, that homework can be done some other time! You've been working so hard, why don't you unwind a little? The kids are asleep, come have some adult fun. I heard Furudaiza's son is back in the country. There's a high chance he'll be here. Oh, he's such a fine young man. You two can hit it off!"
I mull over the chance that I ran off with him partly because of these type of comments from Mrs. Aimane. She's a wonderful lady. She was always so kind to me, so caring. I know she nagged me about letting loose and having fun only because all she'd see was me working. But how could I not when I worked for her? Okay, yeah. Maybe even when I wasn't technically working, I was. I just had a lot to do. A lot to prove.
Subconsciously, I must've wanted to prove I could find adult fun on my own.
I wish I'd known that'd be the last time I tucked Yatsumi and Kenji, Yatsumi's older brother, into bed. That the story I read Yatsumi would be the last one she'd hear out of me. That it'd be the last time Kenji would mutter a seemingly nonchalant 'Goodnight' with his face half under his comforter just waiting for me to step out so he could turn on his nightlight.
I should've stayed and drank wine with Furudaiza. I should've just sat at the bar and fake-laughed my way through the night's elegant, but not-so-elegant conversations until the alcohol made the laughter real like every other time. I should've 'hit it off' with this big-shot heir and his bit-shot promising future, at least for the night. Maybe I'd still be alive. And rich.
Who am I kidding? I would've been too hung up on my crosswalk stranger, who I thought wasn't such a stranger anymore given I knew his name and what his favorite flavor of ice cream is. My crosswalk stranger who I thought I'd hit it off with pretty well already. I'm telling you. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Satoru knew where we lived because he ended up walking us there after picking up Kenji from his school. It's all a blur, even now. Every time it replays, it feels just as quick as it was the first time. I deemed it a superpower—the way he gets into people's heads. The way he got into mine that day. I let him walk us home. I let him drag me outside the gate and down the street.
I let him hold my hand while we laughed and hurried over the sidewalks like two stupid teenagers who'd just snuck out of their houses through their windows with their unsuspecting parents sound asleep in the other rooms. I felt like I was living some romantic book trope. He made me feel different (God, what a damning cliché). It felt more genuine, ironically.
His hand felt warmer. His laugh felt realer.
I'd gone to enough people's places for a hookup. Enough motels and hotels. I'd never been dragged out of the Aimane's house, though. No hookup ever really knew where I lived, or better said, got to that level of intimacy. I was fine with that. I barely had time for a committed relationship so those always ended up crumbling. But like I said, he felt different. It felt different—everything in the air that night.
I know now that Satoru held my hand so tight not because he was just that type of guy, but because he wanted to make sure there was less of a chance I'd run. He's possessive, in the worst way possible. Not that running was even close to crossing my mind. I was too caught up in his haze. And what a wonderful haze it was.
"Take your clothes off for me." He leans back on his elbows, not taking his glowing azure eyes off of me. He only breaks eye contact to sweep the entirety of my body up and down—and then his eyes lock right back onto my own again. I stand before him, heart beating a little harder than I'd like it to. "Don't be shy." A smirk curls up the corner of his mouth.
To be honest, it's a bit embarrassing having to relive this. I'm sure you can understand. Or, actually, I shouldn't really asume. Whether it's understandable or not doesn't even matter. To me it's shameful. Or it should be more so. I should be more ashamed. Can I even be ashamed? Sure my demise had begun, but that night, albeit the start of my doom or not, was the best night of my life.
He tilts his head in the dark. "Nervous?"
"First time with me might as well be your first time ever."
"If you need to, tell me to stop and I will."
"What, like a safe word?" I ask.
"Mm-hm. I'll leave the creative freedoms to you."
Everything he said to me those first few minutes is a blur. I was way too nervous to register anything. Way too turned on to retain any sound timeline. The most embarrassing part about all of it now is that I know what was going on in his head more than I remember what went on in mine. I was damn near falling in love and he was simply acting on animal instincts.
Because even those with no sympathy still get horny.
"Hmm," he hums lowly, turning me on even more, "good girl." He praises, looking down at me with a smirk dancing on his lips. He's so beautiful it's insane. I wonder what's going through his head. Me and my parted lips, widened eyes, and the kink in my brows. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" Satoru asks as my breath hitches with a whimper.
I remember it now and think 'Satoru,' but in reality, I didn't know he was Satoru while it happened.
My mouth gapes at the incredible sensation, prolonged by the slow intimacy he enforces. He's only halfway in. I get lost in the lust in his mesmerizing eyes. He feels like nothing I've ever experienced before—this pain, this addicting feeling, I can't believe I ever lived without it. He watches my every expression, as I try my best to do with his, making sure to take this sight in as much as I can.
My leg wraps around his waist, hesitant to bring him in all the way, but not completely deterred from the idea. Satoru looks at me as if he just read my mind, almost daring me to do it with a mischievous grin. I don't know if I can, though. Can I handle all of this at once? The white-haired man on top of me chuckles softly. God, I feel like I'm in a dream.
He makes the decision for me, sheathing the rest of himself inside with one rough thrust, eliciting such a sound from my lips, its hard to believe I could even make a noise like that. Satoru groans, dipping his head low as the feeling that washes over us both seemingly comes close to breaking his composure. The sting quickly dissolves into pure pleasure, making me pant a little harder.
I feel his hot breath on my skin as he starts moving his hips, setting a slow but rough pace that brings all kinds of distorted sounds out of my mouth. I can't even stop them. As I adjust to the rhythm, his fingers find their way into my dampened hair while his other hand wraps around my thigh, lifting it up to give himself more access.
Satoru remembers here that he wanted to keep me as a pet.
"You feel so fucking good." Satoru's voice comes out just above a whisper, saying my name right by my ear so beautifully I think I might just tell him I love him. I hum at the feeling of his tongue on my neck, lips sucking on the responsive skin as I bring my hand up to grab his hair, too. He lets me, tightening his own grip and tilting my head further back.
Satoru's thrusts are even and patient, something that starts making me lift my hips up at a faster speed unconsciously. "Ah, ah, ah," he lets go of my thigh and slams my pelvis back down on the bed, "you gotta be patient." He almost growls, running his fingers teasingly up my sides as he starts going even slower now to punish me.
I feel the tightness that'd been building up in my stomach slowly even itself out, my body begging for that delicious momentum to build back up again. I can't even manage to keep my eyes open for long, but every time I can, he's looking at me like a predator. He keeps going like this for a few more strides—and then, without warning, he picks it up.
Despite my actions, I wasn't actually ready.
He takes my hand, pressing it up to my abdomen so I can feel how deep he is inside of me. "Look at that," He goes harder, making sure to fill me up in order for my hand to truly feel him. I feel him, alright. My eyes roll back as my back arches, making him tilt his chin up a little with a grin while keeping his eyes down on my glistening face.
He was an exceptionally good actor. I would've never known the truth about what lies inside his head. He was also very experienced. I could tell right away. Although, that didn't really bug me as much as it would have at some former point in my life. Maybe it wasn’t such a good way to think, but I figured if he was actually too much of a womanizer to be my soulmate then at least I’d get some really good sex out of it all.
The load moans accompanied by a few screams that come out of my mouth make me wanna bury myself in the big white pillow beneath me. I know I won't get to cum just yet. He's a sadist. The agonizingly slow pace he sets again makes my hips buck, silently begging him to bring me to see those bright white stars. I whine while he goes all in and stays there, grabbing my hips and shoving them back down.
I was a mess and that fueled him. It's also hilarious that I thought he was a sadist for not letting me cum. Little did I know.
Satoru takes my hand off of my stomach, bringing it up to his lips. After leaving a gentle kiss on the back of it, he puts it back down and slams into me, making me scream even louder. "Shh, shh, shh." He leans down so our faces are closer, nipping at my jaw as my chest heaves up to bump with his. The hot contact makes me burn up.
I hear him hiss, making my eyes shoot open at the sound. His warm, wet skin touching my hypersensitive chest had made me clench around him, wanting to feel more of him, feeling intoxicated by the nonexistent space between our bodies. His darkened eyes meet mine instantly, something inside them shifting in the most beautiful manner.
He plants his palms on the bed and pushes off of my body, leaving me empty and without his warmth for a moment before flipping me over. The whole thing is so quick, I can only gasp as he holds my back up to his chest and inserts himself back in without warning. I whimper as his dick stretches me out, burning so blissfully as it fills me up again.
Satoru's breathes onto the skin on the crook of my neck as he slowly lets himself get enveloped by my aching walls. He brings a hand up to my jaw, tilting it up as he starts bouncing me up and down. I try and go faster but be stops me, biting the sensitive spot under my ear and firmly gripping my hip.
My eyelids flutter as his lips trail down my shoulder, leaving marks all over my skin. I groan at the teasing speed he's so stubborn with, wanting so desperately for him to go a little faster. I wonder if he wants me to beg. Satoru smiles against my neck, inviting more sounds to leave my throat.
"Please," my voice comes out in a soft, needy whisper, "just.." I can't even finish the sentence.
"Please?" Satoru grins. The hand holding me up gives my breast a rough squeeze, letting another low moan escape my red lips. He keeps kneading, bucking his hips and banging into me rough and deep as a tease for what's to come if I'm patient. I gasp, breathing harder against him as the feeling surges magically throughout my entire body.
My hand inevitably moves down to grip his leg below me, needing some sort of way to show him how much I want what he just demonstrated. A string of incoherences leaves my mouth as he grips my hair and bounces me a little bit faster. I feel so helpless, so desperate, so clouded—but I don't care. I love this, I need more of it.
I'm so caught up in the moment, all I want is to reach climax after climax with him. "Suguru, please," I bring my hand up to rest on top of his, which is still squeezing my breast. The added stimulation sends me into a headspace I never want to be pulled out of. "Please, I'm begging you,"
Hearing that name made him puff out a short chuckle and now the real reason makes a lot more sense. I was even more of a puppet right then, and his fingers were the ones tugging at my stupid strings. He could've told me right there that he'd killed five women before me and he planned to get thirteen more and I would've been too fucked-out to care.
I was putty in his hands.
"What was that?" Satoru's lips brush my ear, asking the question through a soft low tone that makes my eyes flutter shut again. "Beg some more." He almost growls, gripping my hair with more force as I crumble under him. I feel some slick leak out from between my legs, moaning at his words and the pleasurable stinging sensation on my scalp.
"Use me." The words tumble out unconsciously of my mouth like a mantra. I feel his hand reach down to my pussy, feeling for himself how welcomed his dick is inside my aching body right now and how inviting his desired actions are to be. I tremble under his touch, biting my lip as he brushes his finger over my clit. "Oh, God," I exhale.
"You look so good like this," Satoru reaches over for his t-shirt, "how can I say no to you now?" He nips at my shoulder, bringing the shirt up to my mouth. "You'll need this, darling." He says. I furrow my brows but I don't question him, biting down on the cloth. "If you need me to stop, unclench your fists and tap me." He brushes his finger tenderly across my jaw.
He was lying. He wasn't actually going to stop. I tried hard to hide my excitement and anticipation, but it didn't go unnoticed by him. Hardly anything ever did.
Next thing I know, my face is pressed up to mattress, shirt balled up in my mouth while my arms are bound behind my back by Satoru's strong grip. My heart pounds in my chest, feeling completely exhilarated as he fondles with my body. With his free hand, Satoru lifts my hips up so my ass is in the air and I'm now completely exposed to him.
It wasn’t the craziest sex I’ve ever had, but I’ll admit with every ounce of humiliation I was once able to feel that it was my favorite. Simply because it was with him. It was with him and it was fun. It felt deeper than sex; it felt intimate. He did nothing in particular to make me feel this way but I felt special.
I remember laughing with him at his place. I remember blushing like I’d never blushed before.
He had me in such a wicked spell. I look back now and I can’t help but be repulsed. Repulsed and sympathetic. I sympathize with the girl who fell for the devil, because even if she knew better, the devil would’ve reeled her in anyway. That’s what I find so repulsive. That I’d fall for it a million times more.
My ass bounces on his pelvis rhythmically, in sync with my wavering, muffled voice. Tears soak into the sheets as I bite down harder on the fabric stuffed in my mouth. I can't even think straight, I don't even feel human. All I can think about is how good I feel. The pleasure mixes with the pain so heavenly—it hurts, but it hurts so good.
I almost choke at the sudden, stinging sensation on my ass, realizing that a bright red mark the shape of his hand was gonna be left on it as he does it again, harder this time, proceeding to squeeze the taut flesh and return his hand to the crook of my hips and thigh. The impacts dissolve with such an pleasurable feeling, adding to the millions of sensations.
He's relentless, railing into me with a pace that won't falter no matter how overwhelming it may start to become. I try to get up, but he holds me down, applying more pressure on my arms. I’m louder now, not even conscious of the possibility I might be embarrassing myself being so vocal. I’d never let myself before.
He didn’t really care. He thought that if I was loud he must’ve been doing good. That’s one thing about him—sex was a realm he kept his evil out of.
I manage to spit out the shirt, lifting my face up enough so my screams fill the entire room. My stomach ties up in knots, amidst all the exhilaration I hear Satoru’s intoxicating grunts and occasional groans as my walls contort around him. I reach my much awaited climax explosively, seeing nothing but white as I burry your face in his sheets once again.
He doesn't stop, not even with my orgasm leaking all over him, his pace remains just as merciless—except now he picks me up off the bed. There's nothing to muffle the ungodly noises leaving my lips now. Both of his hands now wrap around my arms, pulling me up to him so the angle of his thrusts hit deeper. I swear he's going faster now.
The overstimulation sends me to a different dimension, streaming tears down my crimson cheeks as I feel another wave of immense pleasure buzzing through my every nerve while I haven't even gotten over the last one. Rapid, bouncy "ahs" turn to "mms" as I try to bite my tongue, but every time I do, he goes harder.
I reach back and try and get a hold of his arm or his torso, something, sobbing, but he doesn't let me, pinning you back down as his thrusts start getting a little sloppy. My legs start to shake uncontrollably and I scream into the sheets while he loses the speed but hits records in depth. He pushes every last bit of himself inside my cunt over and over again.
"Fuck," I’d already cummed again while he pushed me down, actually squirting out a considerable amount—and now here I am, breathing hard as Satoru rolls into me one last time before resting his hand on my ass and pulling out, releasing his seed into the condom.
After the haze of our orgasms fade a little, he picks my limp body up to his again, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin gently on my shoulder. I lean my head on his, fading in and out of total awareness as my heavy breathing syncs with his own. I stay there for a while, embracing all the tingling sensations buzzing all over my body.
That was the sweetest gesture he ever shared with me before it all when to hell. The feeling of his head nuzzled in the crook of my neck is something I can still feel even now. That lingering sensation haunts me so cruelly. How come I can’t remember my parents’ embrace but I can feel him and his warm breath ghosting over my skin? How can God be this callous..?
It feels so real but so fake all at the same time. I’m really here. This really just happened. Satoru’s hand softly starts caressing my arm. I turn to look at him and notice the way we’re both so sweaty. For some reason, this makes me laugh. "What's so funny?" He chuckles, still pretty out of breath. I’ve fallen for that smile more times than I can count now.
"Nothing." I shake my head, moving out of his arms just to turn and be able to face him. This is actually a much harder task than I anticipated with my legs shaking like this every time I try and move them. Still, I realize I might be at the end of something. Now I’m left fighting this feeling of nostalgia that plagues my chest. Why? I don’t even know him like this.
He offered to shower with me, but I panicked internally and turned him down. He didn’t seem offended by it much, laughing at my flustered face and handing me a towel. After stepping into his bathroom feeling stupidly empty and standing there like an idiot for a little while, he opened the door and stepped in like nothing.
I covered myself with my arms as if he hadn’t seen every inch of me already. He said he was just getting his soap so he could go shower in the bathroom downstairs. Imagine my surprise when instead he clamped a white cloth over my mouth while looking me dead in the eye through the mirror we both stood naked in front of.
Evil has never been seen in its purest form until it’s shown through Satoru’s eyes. There’s something so incredibly terrifying about that flickering cerulean sea staring back at you with all its malice seeping straight into your soul. I’d never felt fear like I did while he watched me lose consciousness in his vein-ridged arms.
His large hand held the cloth up to my face with a strength I’ll never forget. Suddenly, every trace of this Geto Suguru I thought I somewhat knew just.. dissolved. Into thin air. While my world faded to black I stared back at Gojo Satoru, a violent, gruesome, intrepid man, with tears prickling my pitifully widened eyes.
“Good morning~“ My eyelids flutter open to the sound of a familiar, yet unfamiliar voice. I’m tired. Why am I so tired? God, my body aches. What did I do..? “It’s about time you woke up.” The voice says again. Where is it coming from? Where is he? I crane my neck, vision finally clearing a bit. These surroundings.. I don’t recognize them.
And that’s when the image hits me. Like a slap across the face. His eyes. Those unmistakable blue eyes—and the fear. It shoots through my chest so sharply, my torso caves in. I can’t breathe. Suddenly I remember he’s near by. My body tries scrambling to my feet despite the disorientation. The ropes stop me, though.
Naturally, this makes the terror plaguing my chest grow tenfold. And then his shadow creeps over me. “What the—what the hell?! What is this?! This isn’t funny, untie me! What did you do to me?!”
That question would have been more useful should I have been able to actually ask it. No sound came out of my mouth, no matter how desperately I wanted it to. It was only then that I realized how much my throat hurt. Tears spilled out of my eyes before long. I tried so hard to scream. Nothing. Just stupid air.
My trembly hands gripped my neck. It was panic like I’d never experienced panic before. Yes. He had quite the talent for helping me hit new undesirable milestones. I wanted to scream so many things. I wanted him to hear me. I wanted to be heard. But no matter how much I tried, in the end I just ended up choking on blood.
Satoru stood over me as calm as can be. He watched as I tugged at my restraints until the skin on my wrists and ankles was so worn they started turning the tan rope crimson. And even then, I wouldn’t stop. My own blood trickled down my arms and feet and still I did not stop. He crouched down eventually, face unreadable.
He looked me in the eyes the whole time. Hours. Hours passed by. I refused to believe that was happening to me of all people. I mean, it happened to others, sure, I saw the headlines, I watched the news sometimes, but that kind of thing would never happen to me. I couldn’t even cry properly, I had no voice.
I had no voice.
I was angry and frustrated and ashamed and scared. I didn’t even know where I was. It wasn’t his place. Was that even his place to begin with? I didn’t know. I had no idea how many days had even passed. Turns out it’d been four days. And that wasn’t his place. It was his latest victim’s. The one on that day’s headlines.
“You done?” Satoru asks as I stare blankly at the floor, to exhausted to even tremble. I lay there on the bloody futon, contemplating the steps leading up to this. I can’t wrap my head around it. His hand sweeps over my temple, moving my damp hair out of the way as I wince and look at his hand while it slowly pulls back.
“You’re pretty, but you’re not that smart, are you?” He asks as if I could answer. I’m too angry to glare. I decide to look back down at the floor. I start finding comfort in dissociation. “You knew you were tied up, and you still fucked up your limbs. You knew you couldn’t scream and yet you went and fucked up your throat even more.”
All I can do is puff out a sharp breath through my nose—even that wracks my body with pain. “Is sorry what you want to hear?” He asks. I can’t tell if he’s mocking me. “Alrighty.” He exhales roughly. “Sorry for tying you up. And botching your vocal chords.” He chirps casually. My eyes go wide again, welling up as if I didn’t already have my strong suspicions.
He did that so I wouldn’t scare off and/or warn the six poor women he’d bring and then kill right in front of me. They all fell for the same trap I did. The smile, the charm, the eyes, the sweet talk. It all happened within the span of a few months, which was actually pretty slow-paced for him. I came to see that afterwards.
I knew he’d bring someone back when he gave me a muscle relaxant right before he’d disappear—usually no longer than a few hours. The first time, he didn’t drug me trusting the fact that I had no voice a little too much. I made as much noise as I could thrashing around, though, and I ruined his conquest a little early.
His seventh unsuspecting victim heard the commotion in the next room and by then, Satoru had already made up his mind to kill her. Making me watch that time was for punishment. Afterwards, he just liked the way I cried. He said all that was happening to her was because of me. He was especially upset. It was the most violent I ever saw him with a body.
“You see this?” Satoru asks me by name, turning to meet my tormented eyes with his own insane-looking ones as he carves my entire name into her thigh. She’d died officially a few minutes from the five stabs he plunged into her gut, but her quadricep still twitched. I turned away feeling the sting of bile rising up my esophagus.
“Uh-uh.” Satoru shakes his head, reaching over the bloody table and grabbing my jaw with his crimson-stained hand. I feel the hot liquid smear on skin, wriggling, almost fighting the damn rope tied around me like a sleeping bag. He laughs. A manic laugh that sends paralyzing shivers down my spine. “Don’t look away. This is for you, darling!”
He usually kept me in the other room when he fucked them, tied up and completely immobile of course. He learned his lesson. I had a rag tied around my head gagging me solely because he found it attractive and maybe even amusing. He never touched me like that again, though. He never crossed that line.
He force-fed me, bathed me while I was too weak (and often drugged) to run, cut my hair so it wouldn’t bug me. He also took me out of the room sometimes for things other than witnessing him cut into those poor women’s cooling corpses in the basement. Sometimes he’d toss me on the living room floor and put on some movie.
Sometimes he’d even bring me something from his outings in the city.
“Here.” He tosses the ring onto the futon, right in front of my face. It snaps me out of my preferred reality, dragging me back into the empty, dull, dark room I’ve been trapped in for who knows how long at this point. I stare at the piece of jewelry without moving, watching Satoru’s feet walk back out. The door closes.
Three-hundred and thirty-nine days ago, after his reign of terror had kept my badly scarred wrists and ankles at the mercy of that same coarse rope for several months already, he decided to be somewhat nice to me. He left me free reign of the basement. He said it’d be good to be able to walk around a little.
So, Gojo Satoru locked me in his damn murder basement while he went out to find his next unlucky one-night stand. No rope. No gag. Just me and the flashes of images I couldn’t stand seeing in my mind. The few thin strands of sanity I had left didn’t stand a chance. I never realized how much I liked my empty, dark room until I couldn’t leave that basement.
Satoru was careless, though.
In my nervous rampage I knocked into one of his empty shelves so hard it almost toppled over. In the split second it took me to recover, a dull kitchen knife fell from the very top, a place I couldn’t reach unless I climbed the damn thing. It clattered on the floor a few times. The sound resonated crisply in my ears.
What the..? Is he stupid?
Before I know it, I’m crouching down, hands readily reaching for the worn-out knife as if it were a hundred bucks I randomly stumbled upon on the street. Why this is so exciting I couldn’t begin to explain. How strange. How so very strange.
I took that knife and stabbed myself in the gut, as deep as I could. In the instant that the blade sliced right through my organs, all I could feel was bliss—freedom. I felt freedom. There was no pain, none that my brain could register anyway. There was only bliss. I fell straight to the floor, but I felt like I was floating. I'd never felt so light.
What? You thought he’d done me in? I’d be damned if I had left him with that satisfaction. Well, I was damned anyway. Bad choice of words. I could’ve waited for him. Caught him off guard. Ran off and found the cops. The fact that it didn’t even cross my mind speaks to how desperate I was. It would never be the same.
I am in no absolute way trying to romanticize suicide or any type of self harm in any degree, I'm simply telling the story of how desperate I was to escape that agonizing realm of misery. One should fight to be alive, no matter how terrible things get, but I just couldn't bear the idea of spending any more time like that. My mind couldn't. My body couldn't.
My suffering was beginning to end. I'd done it. The fall to the floor played a good role in taking the blade out from the depths of my stomach, all I had to do was use my last bit of strength to pull it out completely and let the lethal pool of red start to grow around me on the floor, even if it meant I'd wake up in Hell.
It took less than an hour for me to bleed out.
Less than thirty minutes for me to lose consciousness.
After that had slipped, for what felt like an unmeasurable amount of time I was lost in a void of black. Once every bit of life had left my physical body, I found myself here. Not Down, not Up, not home, not breathing. Here. I was just there, in that room, looking over my cooling, paling body, waiting for Satoru to get back and find the mess.
He did.
Not even an hour later.
"Hey," Satoru's voice comes down those dark stairs. He hums my name a few times over—and then it comes to an abrupt halt just like his feet do as he takes a good look at the red scene sprawled out before him. "What the hell did you do..?" The look on his face is uncannily similar to rage. "YOU FUCKING IDIOT, WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
My lukewarm blood seeps into the fabric of his jeans as drops on his knees next to my cooling corpse. He takes an aggressive hold of my head, screaming "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" over and over at the top of his lungs. The knife lays not to far from my right hand, glazed in the vivid liquid that once filled my veins.
I watched the whole thing. Or, at least, I witnessed it—if a conscious can even witness things with no physical eyes. I stood over him and myself, simply observing. I wasn't confused or angry or upset or anything of the sort. I'm not capable of feeling emotions like that anymore. I can understand them, but the sensitivity to them left with my last heartbeat.
Now, I simply see things for what they are. It's a hard concept to explain, but in reality it's simplicity is what makes it that way. I've come to see that everything is cut and dry. The complexities begin with the involvement of emotions because emotions are very complex variables. When under the influence of them, it's hard to think straight.
I don't feel them anymore. I only understand them, their nature, the reasoning behind each of their corresponding actions in a person. That's where the complexities are cut off for me in this state. I knew what I was supposed to be feeling watching Satoru scream at my corpse while covered in my blood, but I didn't actually feel anything.
He almost looked like he was so angry he could cry, but of course, tears would mean remorse and that's impossible for him. Rage, now that was present.
File: [G., SATORU_JAP]
[➔] Subject #6: {MP-US12Mo}
“Aimane Kenji recognized you as soon as the sketch went live, you know.”
“The boy? Really? I would’ve put my money on the little girl to be honest. She saw me longer. We even talked a little. I barely said a word to the other brat. He didn’t look like he liked me all that much, shooting me those nasty glares here and there. Can’t say I blame him. He must’ve had a crush on her or something.”
“You—”
“Now, now, detective. What’s with that tone? You’ve stayed calm this long. Jeez, loosen up. You got me. Good for you.”
“After her, you left the country and claimed seven more victims, did you not?”
“God fucking dammit. We went over this like three times already. I’m tired.”
“Why did you kill her in the end if she was as special as you claim? You even buried her under the rose bushes.”
“I told you, I didn’t kill her.”
“Bullshit.”
“She stabbed herself. I didn’t kill her.”
They didn’t believe him. No matter how many times he said it. I knew if I was there, I’d laugh.
Technically, he was half lying.
He took my life—and I took my breath.