Archive of Our Own ^beta

Satoru still remembered the time he read his first poem about love.

He found it among his mom's old college belongings on the day she passed away—the dusty book was the last thing remaining in a closet in the attic of their house, at the very bottom of a stack of several old chemistry books from her medical school.

At first glance, he couldn’t give a single fuck about the book, he had just returned from her funeral and could still feel the smell of wet soil and chrysanthemums. It was like the scent was stuck to his skin at this point—not to mention the blinding headache blasting behind his eyes that was making his skin crawl—so it was safe to say that all Satoru wanted to do was shed his own skin off and go to sleep. The day had already taken him apart piece by piece, truly a hell on earth in every way.

At only 17 years old, Satoru no longer had any living family. He didn't consider his parents overbearing relatives to be something like it; no, they might be related by blood, but that was it. For Satoru, his family would always be just his mother and father—the only figures who fought his entire life to keep him happy, healthy, and free from the rest of his worthless, self-centered relatives who only cared about money and appearances.

He grew up in a bright and colorful home, receiving all the love and affection since he was born—not to mention the way he was severely pampered (or spoiled, if you prefer) since he was little; and when he finally came out to his parents and began going through his gender transition three years ago, he wasn't afraid for a second that they wouldn't accept him as the man he was.

And in the end, his intuition was proved right; his parents were present throughout the entire transition process, supporting him emotionally and financially at all times and helping him get through the pain of his top surgery. All Satoru could feel was gratefulness for the confident person he was becoming thanks to their support, for being able to be comfortable in his own skin without any pressure.

It had always been the three of them against the world, and at some point Satoru had uselessly convinced himself that it would be like this for a very long time, that he would have more years to enjoy his parents presence.

And now he was alone.

To be honest, this was kind of his fault. He should’ve known his mother wouldn't last long after his father died of a heart attack last year. He knew they loved each other too much to be separated over something as trivial as another astral plane, so when she became increasingly ill over the past few months, Satoru was already bracing himself for the blow.

But nothing could prepare him for the pain of grief that clawed at his bones. Nothing could prepare him for dealing with it all alone.

He knew his parents were rich and was well aware that the money he had inherited from them was more than enough to make him live comfortably for the rest of his life—and he secretly wanted that. He wanted to shut himself off from the rest of the world and get away from any human warmth.

It would be easier this way, less painful this way.

The only thing that stopped him from doing so was his pride.

So he sucked it up the pain and stood the entire funeral with his chin held high and an untouchable posture, doing his best to not show any trace of weakness nor sadness—he knew they were just waiting for him to slip and do it, so they could claw their way up to his soul and shred it to pieces.

He told himself he could afford the luxury to fall apart when he finally got home, away from the malicious eyes and cold touches.

But two hours later, Satoru found himself deep in the task of tidying up his whole house and organizing his parents' belongings. He recognized the mistake even as he made it—recognized the way his hands moved, his mind desperately grasping at anything it could just to avoid thinking about the pain of the grief that was invading his chest and leaving him hollow.

Perhaps he should sit at the kitchen table and think a little bit about all of this. Maybe sipping some lavender tea with some extra spoons of honey. Then he should look through the photo album in the living room armoire and remember the good times, remember the brightness of his father’s smile and the color of his mother’s eyes. And maybe then he should let the pain of loss flow through his heart, welcoming it as a friend rather than ignoring all of this and letting the weight of grief poison him.

Still, he continued to organise everything, dusting all surfaces, organizing drawers and separating everything that should be thrown away or donated, going from the living room, the kitchen, bedrooms, bathrooms and finally the last destination; the attic.

He adopted a quick, practical pace; everything that needed to be thrown away went into the trash bag, everything that could to be donated went into the right box.

And everything he wanted to keep as a memory went into the left box.

Its contents were much sparser than the other two containers: some of his mother's jewelry, his father's lucky tie and flower press kit, some sweaters belonging to both of them and seashells they'd collected during their summer vacation in Higashihama. Satoru had already set aside plenty of their books too—more than enough, really—so he figured he really should get rid of the poetry book he’d found. It was way too old and already deteriorating in his hands anyway, he didn't have absolutely no reason to keep something like that.

He studied the cover in his hands; the leather was already so destroyed that it was impossible to read the title. The whole book was dusty and falling apart.

I should really throw this out. It must be full of bookworms.

Despite the thought, Satoru found himself opening the book and studying its interior, nearly dropping it on the ground in the process.

The pages were filled with notes, all of them in his mother's handwriting. The poems ranged from sonnets about the beauty of green trees to the plenitude of living alone—it didn't seem to have a specific theme, just feelings poured out on the paper. And his mother marked each one of them with her inner thoughts, painting the pages with her own writing.

He stopped halfway through the book, at a passage that stood out more than the others; a poem about love. The only one in the book until now, it seemed. It looked like his mother was specially transfixed by this poem—the notes and drawings that adorned the entire page being the perfect proof of this. Satoru traced the margin with his thumb, following the faded ink she’d left behind, feeling a strange sadness settle in his chest.

He sat down more comfortably on the dusty floor, crossing his legs beneath him. The daylight was almost completely gone by now, leaving a blue-tinted glow reflecting over every surface, but it was still just enough for him to make out the words on the yellowish page.

Loving you is a Violent Act.
A brutal blessing pressed between my ribs,
a sugar-slicked blade that slides between my teeth.
My reason pools and spills,
making me ready to commit brutal acts
numbing me to the fact that if I care, I will hurt for you.

Loving you teared me down,
changed me up
and made me bend around you like a slow, dangerous prayer.
And would make me do this again and again,
Just so I could hold your warm body like an oath to eternity.

So let the world call me a killer — let them name it sin,
I will call it devotion, blunt and incandescent;

Loving you is such an unforgivable, Violent Act.

Drops fell onto the paper, almost smearing the black ink of the letters. It took Satoru a moment to realize they were his own tears, his blue eyes breaking down in pain and longing.

He hadn't cried when his father died. Hadn't cried when his mother died. But he was full on sobbing right now for the first time in years, his shoulder shaking with the weight of the grief falling down on him.

He brushed his tears away from the paper as gently as he could, careful not to stain his mother's notes in the process. Most of them, he noticed with a heavy ache, were about his father—only a handful lingered on the poem’s technicalities (typical of the little nerd she’d always been). Yet it was one passage in particular that made Satoru's heart break in two;

I devote myself for you so violently that I love you gently.

Satoru stared at the book for a few more seconds with empty eyes before closing it and placing it carefully in the box on the left. He finished tidying the attic as quickly as possible after that, returning to work quickly and nimbly.

An hour later, the trash bag was already outside his house on the sidewalk, waiting to be collected by the garbage truck. The box of items to donate was closed and on the kitchen table, waiting to be discarded and sent away the next morning.

The box containing his parents' memories, on the other hand, was closed and (muffled) protected under Satoru's bed. And it would probably remain there for a long, long time, haunting his dreams.

Satoru lay down on his cold mattress after finishing his nightly routine and stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the empty house that surrounded him. He couldn’t smell the scent of his mother's chamomile tea that she drank every night and couldn’t hear the sound of his father's snoring coming from down the hall. Everything stood still. Silent. Cold. Like him.

For a second, Satoru thought he could still smell the scent of the chrysanthemums again. He blinked his eyes rapidly, thinking about the poem that rested above his bed, of how his mother had so eagerly jotted down her own opinions and thoughts, of how much she loved his father—of how much they loved each other.

Satoru slowly turned his tired body on his bed, lying on his side, doing his best to disappear beneath the covers and let the mattress swallow him, forcing himself to close his eyes and just sleep.

Without thinking. Without crying. Just sleep.

Satoru loved his parents deeply, and he knew he would be willing to carry the weight of their absence for the rest of his life like a badge of honor; but that didn't change the fact that he was alone. That, in the end, he understood nothing about the poem.

It didn’t change the fact that he understood nothing about love.

And he doubted he ever would.

⛧°. ⋆༺𖦹༻⋆. °⛧

When Satoru met Toji, he thought maybe he could finally understand it. Or at least a little bit.

Two years had passed since that night. Satoru still felt empty from time to time, sure, but his life had improved somehow. He was attending the college of his dreams, learning about programming and working full freelance in the field—it's not like he needed the money, really, but keeping himself moving and being useful in some way helped him to ignore the blaring silence within himself.

He made new friends too, good friends who bringed the best of himself, and this made him start to take better care of himself in the process. His social life improved, and he often found himself going to parties and enjoying the nights of his youth in ways he never did before.

And it was on one of those nights that he met Toji Fushiguro.

Toji was Satoru's first love. Or something like that. At least that's what Satoru told himself it was.

They met at a Halloween party when Satoru was 19. Their relationship started like a hungry flame from the very beginning, burning everything in its path—Toji was an interesting and beautiful person who piqued Satoru's interest from the moment their eyes met across the bar; and it was obvious that Toji was as bewitched by Satoru as he was by him, so he didn't feel the least bit of guilt about wrapping Toji in his tentacles and pulling him into his life with all his might—it's not like Toji seemed against it too, anyway.

By the end of the night, Toji had Satoru pressed against the wall of the dark alley outside the club, claiming his mouth and body from the inside out. Toji held him as if he would never let him go, and Satoru believed him.

One year later, they were in a serious relationship and already living together. Toji moved to his parent’s house and became a concrete part of Satoru's life; they shared a morning routine, and as each went about their daily lives, they both had someone to return to at the end of the day.

And for a while, everything felt right. Toji was exactly what Satoru needed: someone warm in presence and solid in temperament, with a personality strong enough to put up with Satoru’s loud, restless chaos without getting bored or scared. He was kind enough to listen to Satoru talk—or at least pretend to—and he warmed Satoru's body every night in return, helping him not feel empty on the hardest days. Satoru, on the other hand, tried to be everything his boyfriend needed, shaping himself into whatever he wanted.

Their relationship worked just fine. It was perfect. Or at least for a while.

Until Toji started becoming too lazy, too complacent.

Things started small, with Toji quitting his old job and not making any effort to get a new one. Whenever Satoru tried to bring up the subject, he would joke that he didn't need to rush this since "his hot boyfriend was rich and could take care of both of them". Satoru pretended the joke was funny, just like he pretended he didn’t mind having to pay for everything Toji needed.

He started to pretend less and less to listen to what Satoru was saying, and his personality slowly became more distant. Sure, he still held Satoru out as his little trophy to his drinking buddies. And of course he still pretended to be the perfect boyfriend to Satoru’s friends—not like they were buying the act anyway. But at least he tried, right?

And Satoru wasn't stupid, okay? He knew Toji lied to him sometimes. He even suspected he had a child somewhere, but decided it was best for his own health not to delve too deeply into it. It's not my problem, he'd tell his friends when they brought it up, clearly concerned for his well-being and beginning to dislike Toji more and more each day Satoru became quieter—but, hey! Everything was fine! It's not like things were completely disastrous. After all, they still liked each other. And this was all they needed to make things work out.

But that burning flame was no longer enough to light up Satoru's dark house. And he was starting to feel cold.

Satoru didn't really know when Toji stopped caring, or if he even cared at all in the first place—all he knew was that he was too tired to end such a long relationship and start something new. In the back of his mind, he sometimes could hear his own condescending voice ridiculing him, telling him that this relationship was the best thing that could ever happen to him. That he would never find anything better—that he didn't deserve anything better.

That if he didn't suck it up and forced himself to be happy, he would surely end up alone.

So Satoru settled down and admitted to himself that this was his life now. He got used to returning to an empty, dark house, since Toji started to spend more and more time outside with his friends doing Gods knows what. He also got used to being touched with little to no affection lately, having his body loved only when Toji came home drunk and aimless.

And maybe it wasn't so bad, you know? Satoru enjoyed the sex. Enjoyed the company. Enjoyed not being alone. And it's not like they didn't have good times, either. Like when they went out with their friends or when they had their regular dates every Wednesday. It was good sometimes. Fulfilling, even.

But above everything else, Satoru tried with all his strength to ignore the words of the poem that was still laid under his bed. He would often say to himself that his relationship was exactly like his parents' was, that it was exactly what he wanted, what he needed.

Maybe if he lied to himself enough, eventually it would become true.

So he let time pass around, let it wrap its claws around him as his college life slipped through his fingers. Another year passed, and it was already October again—Halloween was just around the corner—more specifically next week—and Satoru couldn't be more excited for it, as it marked the 2 year anniversary of his relationship with Toji.

Besides, there was something about Tokyo’s fall weather that made Satoru want to savor life a little more in a certain way. Maybe it was because October had always been his parents’ favorite month, and the memories he spent the whole year trying to bury seemed to surface more fiercely during this season… Or maybe he was simply a creature shaped by the cold, a lonely person who found more comfort in the crisp air and gray skies than in heat or sunlight. Who knows.

The weather was especially pleasant this afternoon, with a slightly chilly wind and the weak sunlight painting every surface with an orangish glow. Satoru was currently sprawled on his living room couch, waiting patiently for Toji to return from his job hunt— they'd got themselves into a brief argument the night before, and Satoru had given Toji an ultimatum: if he didn't find a concrete job by the end of the month, Satoru would stop supporting him financially for once and for all.

He thought his boyfriend wouldn’t pay attention to his complaints (like always), but the next morning he was pleasantly surprised when Toji informed him that he would be interviewing for a few jobs throughout the day. He felt so happy that they had sex right there on the kitchen table, with Satoru eagerly riding his cock until Toji climaxed inside him with a deep groan. His body ached for a while from the rough way his boyfriend held him down on his lap, but Satoru convinced himself it was just the feeling of satisfaction coursing through his bones.

Maybe this time Toji would finally straighten up, maybe now their relationship would finally begin to improve.

Or maybe this was just the October air playing tricks with him again.

But Satoru wasn’t really worried about that at the moment—no, he was far too focused on texting Shoko, his best friend from the medical department; they were chatting happily about the Halloween party that would be happening this Friday, organized by the Jujutsu Tokyo College fraternity. Besides the usual gossip about the event, they were trying to decide who would pick up whom and what costumes they should wear for the night; Shoko and Utahime were going to be matching—something about Shoko going as Link and Utahime as Zelda, but he hadn't paid enough attention to learn the details.

He knew there was no point in trying to convince Toji to go matching with him; the man was too annoying and never up for doing something slightly fun, which left Satoru at the mercy of going in costume alone... He just couldn't decide what to wear. Did he want to go scary or sexy? Or maybe both? Something in between, to match with his frightening ethereal beauty? Ugh. Satoru was just terrible at making choices—he would probably make Shoko decide for him again, just like the other years.

Satoru stretched his pale legs out lazily as he let out a relaxed sigh, letting his phone rest on his belly as a fresh gust of wind blew in through the kitchen window, fluttering the curtains as the sunlight kissed his cold skin. His gaze then fell on the television, the buzzing of the screen drawing his attention to the news.

[...and The Tokyo Police department has just announced that yet another attack has been carried out on a defenseless Tokyo citizen—the victim this time is Tomoji Tanabe, a 56-year-old man, resident of the Akihabara neighborhood. Tomoji was found dead inside his own law office, with his torso deeply cutted and his heart, lungs and eyes brutally removed from his body with cold precision.

Next to the crime scene, a piece of paper containing a grotesque drawing of an undefined creature could be found—this and other objects present at the crime scene are still under the investigation of the forensics laboratory. However, with this information in hand and analysing the murder's modus operandi, we have enough proof to indicate that we are probably facing yet another crime committed by the serial killer Uzumaki.

This is the eighth victim found this month alone, and the police refuse once again to give a statement about the case, claiming that they are seeking to avoid causing unnecessary panic among the population. When asked about updates on the plan to capture Uzumaki, the Tokyo security-Chief Masamichi Yaga denied that they are having any difficulties in the case, stating that all police forces in the city are on readiness and following excellent leads in favor of capturing the criminal on the loose. In addition, Yaga claims that the curfew installed earlier this month must continue to be maintained in order to protect the safety of the population, asking citizens to please stay inside their homes after the nightfall, avoiding going out and risking their lives on the streets.

A member of the Japanese High Society, Tomoji was a role model citizen; his family and close friends claim he was a righteous and kind person who always made a point of engaging in charitable projects for the less fortunate ones and helping society in any ways he could… Today, he leaves behind a wife and four children.

When will the upstanding citizens of Tokyo be able to relax and return to their normal life without feeling terrified by Uzumaki's presence? When will this cruel criminal be arrested and face the consequences of his horrific crimes against humanity? These and other questions must be answered as soon as possible.

More information now, in the studio—]

The news reporter then began to elaborate on the curfew and the phone numbers to call if anyone had any leads on the cases, but Satoru let the useless information become a small background noise in his head, his thoughts turning to focus on the serial killer Uzumaki instead.

Dread coiled in his chest, sparked by the memory of the state of the latest victims that were found one week ago… Even though Satoru wasn't someone who got easily frightened, Uzumaki's crimes always left him strangely on edge. Perhaps it was because of the way the bodies were completely mutilated and unrecognizable after the bloody act was finished—or maybe it was the deadly curiosity Satoru felt that made him circle around the cases like a vulture over a dead corpse… Either way, he couldn't help but feel strangely transfixed by Uzumaki's mysterious figure.

The first time he saw the leaked images of Uzumaki's victims on Twitter, Satoru had to put his phone down for a few seconds and take deep breaths to suppress the urge of sickness climbing his throat. The images were so grotesque that it was difficult to even make out the victims faces, their limbs so distorted that it was almost impossible to tell what was what.

The police went crazy at the time, trying to silence all the news channels and gossip pages that were spreading out the photos of the murders under the ridiculous pretext of preventing “public panic”. In the end, the damage was already done—the details of the crimes spread around like wildfire in a dry forest, and every citizen in Tokyo with minimal internet access had seen at least a glimpse of the victims' final state. When the crimes continued to occur over the next weeks, the police gave up on trying to drown out the news channels, focusing on resolving the problem instead. Or at least trying to.

And to the authorities further dismay, the public opinion about Uzumaki was deeply divided; a good part of the population was terribly frightened—the streets of Tokyo had obviously not lost their usual rush, but a feeling of fear had quietly settled over everyone since the first incidents started, and this only grew stronger as the crimes continued. The elders went even further in their paranoia, claiming that the end of times was near and Uzumaki was one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse tasked with punishing the citizens of Japan.

However, a relatively smaller segment of the population—the younger and more curious ones—couldn't help but develop a morbid interest in Uzumaki; from his motivations to the way he killed his victims, everything became a topic of conversation. Some online forums even went a little further in their theories, claiming that Uzumaki only killed corrupted people who had unjustly caused pain to others.

Or at least that's what was being said after an evangelical pastor was found dead inside his church two weeks ago—apparently, he was a sexual predator who used his influence and “faith” to commit crimes. All of this was just speculation, of course, but the police never confirmed or denied these assumptions, which only fueled the online speculation.

Satoru wasn't a criminology student by any means, much less did he have the kind of passion for serial killers that most true crime enthusiasts seemed to have, but something about Uzumaki had him strangely fixated, to the point he'd created a document on his laptop containing every detail of the crimes he committed that had been uncovered so far (Toji called him a weirdo for that, but whatever).

He believed all the cases were identical in some ways; mutilated faces, carefully positioned bodies, the paper with a graphic art of some dark creature lying on the side of the victims molding everything like the last knot of a present wrap… Satoru thought that Uzumaki’s crimes looked like a performance more than anything else—almost like a work of art. The drawings left at the crime scenes were as beautiful as they were haunting, and seemed to speak more about the victims than the killer himself, as if they were the last cry of a sinful soul departing this world.

But what did they mean? What did they truly represent? Well, only the victims knew that. That is, the victims and Uzumaki, of course—and that only made the fire of curiosity in Satoru's belly burn even more.

Such devotion in creating art from something so bloody and violent must have some explanation behind it. Some motivation. Some meaning.

The sound of his phone's notification pinging woke Satoru from his thoughts, making him sit up lazily, stretching his legs once more before placing them on the coffee table as he read the latest messages Shoko had sent with a giggle.

He frowned slightly as he checked the time and saw it was already 5:58 PM. The daylight was already beginning to fade, and Toji had yet to give a sign of grace… he didn’t even send a single message, and that kind of was pissing Satoru off. Was the job hunt going that badly? Or maybe this was a good sign that he'd finally landed on something? Either way, Satoru just hoped he wouldn't be too late—it was almost time for the party and they hadn't even started getting ready.

A distant noise caught Satoru's attention, pulling him from his thoughts—an insistent tapping pricked at his ears, making him get up from his comfy spot on the sofa and look around the room with a confused look on his face. He blinked, scanning the room as he tried to figure out where the sound was coming from, and that's when he saw it: small bits of gravel pinging against his front window.

What the fuck?

He walked towards it slowly, opening the window quickly and sticking his head out; he braced his arms on the frame, his white hair bouncing back and forth as he searched for the culprit of the noise—but he was only greeted by the silence of the street, the trees of the Shinjuku woods in front of his yard slowly dancing in the chilly autumn breeze. He couldn't see a living soul in the distance.

The cluster of trees across the street rattled in the wind, the glow of the setting sun filtering through the branches and casting slow shadows across the pavement—the chilly air hit Satoru's skin, making him shiver softly in the late afternoon air. He tsked under his breath, annoyed that he got up from his comfy spot for nothing.

Just as he was about to ease his body back inside, his blue eyes fell on something resting on the shrub directly beneath his window—a small package sat there, wrapped in bright purple paper and tied neatly with a thin black ribbon that circled the entire box. On top of it, a single post-it note clung to the surface, a message written in beautiful calligraphy spelling out “Trick or Treat?”.

And now here’s the thing—Satoru isn't stupid or a reckless person at all (Utahime probably wouldn't agree with him, but that's beside the point). The truth is: he knows he shouldn't open packages from strangers, especially if they've been left literally right under his nose, but Satoru has a nasty habit of not thinking much about the consequences of his actions, especially if those said actions involve killing his curiosity.

So he gently ran his fingers over the wrapping, admiring the color of the paper. He cursed softly when his finger scraped on the edge of the present, cutting his skin and causing a small drop of blood to appear on the surface. He ignored the pain, putting his wounded finger in his mouth and sucking softly to stop the bleeding, the metallic taste filling his taste buds. When the pain subsided a little, he began to slowly pull the tape off the present, opening the package and finding a small box of his favorite strawberry-flavored mochi below it.

Satoru frowned, turning the package over in his hands and examining its condition; it didn't look like the plastic had been tampered or anything, and the mochi inside looked as delicious as usual. Still, it was a little strange to receive something like this… especially considering that not every place in Tokyo sold this particular brand of mochi—as far as Satoru knew, one of the only convenience stores that had it was the campus cafeteria.

Without breaking eye contact with the sweet treat, Satoru closed the window behind him with a soft thud. He headed to his kitchen while opening the plastic and taking a mochi out of it, immediately popping it into his awaiting mouth; he hummed happily at the strawberry flavor filling his taste buds, smacking his tongue around his lips as he dived in for another bite—if he was going to die of poisoning, at least it would be from eating something delicious. Satoru let a small laugh escape his lips at the thought; perhaps Shoko's morbid humor was finally getting to him.

Humming a random pop song under his breath, Satoru headed in the direction of the kitchen, and after setting the mochi inside the fridge, he fished his phone out of his sweatshirt pocket and typed a quick message to Toji asking where he was. If he continued to be missing like this, they were definitely going to end up late for the party, and Satoru could already feel his mood souring at the thought—he waited a long time for this party, the midterms had been eating his ass and all he wanted was to enjoy a nice night out with his nice friends and an even nicer drink. If Toji didn’t feel like being part of this equation, then fine. He was going to have a good night—with or without him.

He turned back to his kitchen counter with a huff, wrapping his bony fingers around the purple wrapping and crumpling it angrily before discarding it on the trash. A small piece of paper tore loose from the packaging with the abrupt movement, falling soundlessly at Satoru's feet. Huh, it seems he'd completely ignored the rest of the package in his mochi-induced bliss. But honestly, that one was on whoever decided to gift Satoru the mochis—you can't just give him some delicious sweet treat and expect him to focus on literally anything else besides that.

Upon unfolding the paper, he came face to face with another post-it with a message equally short and simple; “Hope you like your present!” with a cute little Jack-o'-lantern drawn at the bottom of the paper. Satoru frowned again, surely expecting something a little more atmospheric and dramatic than this. Like, what? Asking if he liked the mochi? I mean. Duh. Of course he had? Satoru was an easy person to please, after all, so obviously he liked the little gift.

He turned toward the trash can in the kitchen sink, discarding the remaining scraps of paper into it. When he turned back, a gloomy figure was standing behind him, causing Satoru to let out a loud squeak of fright.

“SHIT— My fucking… Oh my fucking God, Toji! Next time, make some noise before showing up like that. My God… Why are you just standing there? What's your problem?”

Toji crossed his arms over his chest, staring at Satoru with a cold, sharp stare. He recognized the expression decorating his boyfriend's features all too well from the times they'd argued over the past few months, and, instinctively, his guard snapped back into place.

It looked like they wouldn't be going to the party together, after all.

"I think I should be the one asking you that. What's your problem?" Toji said, his expression becoming even angrier with every word that came out of his mouth—it was as if Satoru’s mere existence was enough to piss Toji off.

“Well excuse me? You disappear for the whole day, show up out of nowhere and almost make me die of a heart attack in the process and somehow I’m the asshole?”

Toji slowly inched closer to Satoru, his footsteps alarmingly silent; a good illustration of how angry he must be feeling. He placed his hands on the sink behind Satoru, enveloping him in his grip and giving him no room to breathe—Satoru wrinkled his nose at the weird scent he smelled emanating from Toji’s skin with the proximity, a sickeningly sweet perfume enveloped his lungs, making Satoru a little nauseous. It was strange… this wasn't the perfume Toji usually wore on a daily basis.

“I’m not talking about that, Gojo. I’m talking about what you did to my fucking car.”

And apparently Toji is even dumber than Satoru gave him credit for, because if he genuinely thought that acting all aggressive like this would intimidate him, he was so fucking wrong—in fact, all he was doing was making Satoru even angrier. Even cornered against the kitchen sink, his posture remained relaxed, almost bored, but his gaze turned cold—his blue eyes narrowing into a steely, unreadable glare that mirrored Toji's own.

“Wow. You must be feeling really brave for you to have the audacity to speak to me like this.”

Toji ignored Satoru’s passive-aggressive remark, letting out a low huff under his breath, “Don’t act all smart with me now, I want to know why you did that to my car Gojo!”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about??? I did nothing to your car.”

The wrists around his waist slammed down hard on the counter behind him, sending his mother's small antique spice cabinet rattling with a sharp clatter across the kitchen.

Satoru failed to suppress the flinch his body gave at the gesture, but did his best to force himself into swallowing the tightening knot in his throat, holding his ground and doing everything he could to maintain an air of indifference.

“Stop playing fucking play coy with me! I know you were the one who graffitied my car this afternoon!”

"What are you talking about? Someone vandalised your car? How?"

Toji barked out a humorless laugh at Satoru's concern, his eyes taking on an even crazier glint, "Look at you, acting like a stupid bitch..." Satoru flinched again at his boyfriend, his eyes widening slightly at the way the words were spat in his direction. No matter how many times they fought, Toji had never cursed him like that.

He forced himself to focus on his boyfriend’s mouth again, Toji was still speaking, irritation edging every word, "How did you know where to find me? Did you put a GPS in my phone or something? Really, Gojo?"

"My God— The fuck you talking about? I didn't do anything!! I was literally here waiting for you all day!"

"The hell you were! If you didn't do this, then who would?"

It was Satoru's turn to laugh cruelly, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of the situation, "It's not like you're a super-loved person, are you, Toji? Anyone could have done this! Like… my God. I don’t know— You're not in debt to those poker guys again, are you?"

"That's none of your fucking business!"

His boyfriend pulled away from Satoru with a huff, removing his arms from around him and running his hands through his hair, looking disturbed.

"It obviously is my business if I'm the one who always has to pay for your shit!"

Toji ignored his words once more, moving further away from Satoru and turning his back on him. Although his boyfriend's presence so far had been nothing close to affectionate, his absence was already making Satoru feel cold all over. He restrained himself from reaching out and pulling his body closer to him again, gripping the kitchen skin behind him instead, his knuckles turning white with the intensity of his hold.

"Is this because you found out about Mei Mei? Really? Is that it? I didn't know you could be this petty."

Satoru's breath hitched, but he said nothing. Toji was full on babbling now, the words spewing from his mouth uncontrollably, as if he didn't even realize what he was saying.

"I didn't think you'd be capable of something like this after all the time we spent together... Especially since you know how important this car is to me! But then again… you kind of took a while to figure it out, didn't you? But still, that doesn't give you the right to—"

Toji stopped speaking abruptly, finally realizing what he'd just said. He slowly turned towards his boyfriend, staring at him with terror in his eyes. He was graced with the image of Satoru watching him with an unreadable gaze, his posture terrifyingly calm as the late afternoon sun finally began to set, the last rays hitting Satoru's pale face.

“What did you just say?”

Toji swallowed hard, his body turning completely towards him, “Satoru, I-”

“Found out about who?”

The eerily calm tone did nothing to soothe Toji, who was gaping at Satoru like a fish out of water, his hands beginning to tremble slightly at his sides.

“Wait… It— Shit, it wasn't you? You really didn’t know about—”

“Toji. Tell me who Mei Mei is.”

A humorless laugh escaped Toji's lips, climbing painfully in his throat and scratching Satoru's ears, which had been ringing since this conversation began. He moved a little closer to him, trying to touch his face but giving up halfway at the sight of his hard gaze. Still, he tried to ease out the tension.

“Nevermind, baby. I must’ve gotten myself confused, if it wasn't you then—”

White hands wrapped around Toji's chest, grabbing his shirt and pushing him backwards hard, making him stumble blindly towards the center of the kitchen, surprised with his boyfriends strength. His back hit the kitchen table with a loud thud—the same one they'd made love on just a few hours ago. Satoru's mind soured even more at the memory. All that effort and fake moans for nothing.

Satoru pressed his body against his boyfriend leaning clumsily at the table, his eyes turning a terribly shade of blue at that moment—almost as if they were made of ice, glaring down at him with such intensity that the only thing Toji could do was freeze in place, staring at the scene before him with a hopeless expression.

"I'll ask you one last time, Toji. And it's best for your own well-being that you answer me: Who the fuck is Mei Mei?"

Toji tried to look away, only to swallow hard when he felt Satoru's icy hands cup his cheek, bringing his face back to him and holding him in place. He studied Satoru's face, finding nothing but silent fury enveloping his features.

"It's just a friend of a friend, really. We met at the bar some time ago, but that’s it. So it's not—"

Satoru’s blank expression twisted into a sharp, sarcastic smile. He let out a short, mocking laugh right in Toji’s face, tightening his grip on the man's cheeks as if to underline just how ridiculous the lie sounded.

"Do you think I'm this dumb? Really? Is that the kind of person you think I am?"

"Satoru, please don't misunderstand things—"

"Oh, so now I'm 'Satoru' again? You’re such a sweet boyfriend," Satoru scoffed, releasing Toji's face abruptly as if his skin were burning from the contact. He slowly turned his back to him, backing away and gripping the kitchen sink tightly, the cold of the marble kissing his skin.

"Satoru, please. Just hear me out and don't go jumping into stupid conclusions—"

"How long?"

"What?"

A glass that was laying on the sink was suddenly thrown at Toji's face, missing him by mere inches. The object flew past Toji's ear and shattered hard on the wooden floor behind them, creating a shrill sound that reverberated throughout the entire house. The shards scattered in all directions, impossible to be reconnected again.

So much effort to keep something intact, only for it to break on a random Friday.

"I asked how long you've been fucking this random bitch behind my back! And don't fucking lie to me again!"

Satoru's chest heaved with the weight of the words leaving his mouth, rising and falling in a rapid, unnerving breath. He could feel his eyes burning with feelings he didn't want to name, his posture slowly crumbling. Still, he needed to know the truth.

"... About a year or so."

A maniacal laugh escaped Satoru's lips, his hands scratching his face, hiding his eyes from the scene in front of him; Toji was looking at him all pathetic and regretful, as if the betrayal was just a small mistake of his, as if all of this was also hurting him—as if he wasn't the one to blame for this.

"All this time when you were out of the house for hours—”

“Satoru, please listen to me—”

“All this fucking time I wasted trying to pick up the remains of our relationship, you were out there having the time of your life. Fucking unbelievable."

"Satoru, I— fuck. It isn't like that, baby. I wasn't in my right mind this past year. I made a mistake, but I never wanted to hurt you. I never gave up on us—"

"Stop talking."

"I just needed something to distract me, you see? Our relationship was going through a rough patch and—"

Yeah, sure. Of course Toji would try to find an excuse by blaming Satoru for his own mistakes. Actually? Blame him for not seeing this coming.

"I said," Satoru said slowly, looking at him again with an aggressive gaze Toji had never seen before creeping over his face, "for you to stop talking. Just fucking shut up for once."

"Satoru, I'm really sorry for this! I just—"

"It's okay Toji, alright? No need to apologize."

Toji stopped in his tracks, looking at Satoru with surprise in his eyes, "What?"

"You don't have to worry about apologizing," Satoru said, smiling calmly as he grabbed a broom that was leaning against the doorframe of the backyard. He made a beeline for the mess on the floor next to the couch, heading toward the shards of glass scattered around the living room.

"There's no need to waste energy on something that's already broken."

Toji got up from where he was still leaning on the table, stopping Satoru on his tracks and grabbing his shoulders desperately, a fake pained expression on his face. "Wait a minute baby, I really am so sorry—"

"Don't touch me!" Satoru abruptly pulled away from his touch, slamming the broom handle into Toji's chest in the process, "We're fucking over, do you hear me? I don't want to see your shitty face ever again!"

"You're kidding me, right? The first problem we've faced in our relationship, and you give up so easily? Do I mean nothing to you?"

"First problem? You really think this is our first problem in this shitty relationship?" Satoru let out another painful laugh, staring at Toji with a dumbfounded expression. "You're so bad at manipulating me… Or maybe you’re really this stupid. I don’t know what’s more pathetic, really."

"I just don't see the reason for us to decide the future of our relationship now in the heat of the moment."

"You cheated on me and you think you have the moral authority to decide anything? If I tell you we're over, then we're over, period. So pack your things and get the hell out of my house."

Satoru turned his back to Toji again, determined to clean up the mess he'd made. Silence stretched between them for a while, only the sound of the broom and the scraping of the broken glass on the floor could be heard.

"Of course I fucking cheated. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to have you around? You should be grateful that I decided to still keep you with me after all this time."
The broom's movements stopped abruptly. Satoru could feel his throat tightening and his eyes beginning to burn up, but he refused to show weakness, forcing himself to resume sweeping the mess.

"Don't bother pretending anymore then. I'm being nice and saving you from all that effort you’re making, so grab your crap and get the fuck out of here."

"Do you think you can find someone else who can stand you the way I can? Someone who doesn't die of boredom every time you start talking like some desperate slut for attention? I'm the best thing that could happen to you, Satoru,” a hand touched his shoulders, making his skin prickle at the contact, “And I know you see that too, don't you?"

Satoru turned back towards him, hatred blazing in his eyes, the broomstick clenched so tightly in his hand it creaked under the pressure, "Do you think I have no self-preservation? You think you'd come in here, admit to be cheating over something as stupid as your fucking car, and I'd just accept it?" Satoru said in disbelief, no longer able to keep his emotions at bay and controlled.

Fuck it, if they were going to end up this in such a chaotic way, he might as well say everything he thinks at once.

"You never liked me for who I am; you just liked the lifestyle I provided. And I was fine with that, you know? It's not like you're the easiest person in the world to love, too." He pointed the broomstick at him, hitting the stick against his chest as if it were a weapon, "But this make-believe ends today, Toji. You yourself made a point of burying our chances once and for all. So I'm going to tell you one last time to pack your things and get out of here."

Desperation filled Toji's expression when he realized Satoru wasn't going back on his decision, making him grab his shoulders and bring his body closer to him, "Baby, please... Let's just think this through, okay? I don't have anywhere to go—"

"My god. You're so fake." Satoru laughed in his face, a maniacal glint in his eyes, "I just think it's funny, you know... You were acting all impassive and powerful when the conversation started. And look at you now... Kneeling at my feet like some pathetic dog."

Satoru cupped Toji’s cheek, his cold fingers brushing over warm skin in an almost tender gesture. Toji’s face twisted with something that resembled hurt, but Satoru could see straight through his performance; the tight clench of his jaw, the hollow, angry glint in his eyes… it all gave away how forced that softness was.
Funny. Maybe Satoru really had overestimated him all these years if Toji thought he’d fall for such a ridiculous imitation of remorse.

Or maybe, if Satoru were a better person, he might have actually felt something for Toji right now besides disgust.

But he wasn’t. And he didn’t.

"If you're not going to get out on your own, then I think I need to throw you out like the trash you are."

Chaos erupted from there, with Satoru forcefully shoving Toji toward the exit of his house. More insults were hurled from both sides, with Toji desperately trying to make him listen and change his mind, but the white-haired man stood his ground, throwing Toji out the door with tremendous force.

Toji could be heard yelling and pounding on the door from outside, threatening to return tomorrow when Satoru was "calmer and more lucid" so they could sort things out. Satoru could practically feel Mrs. Nishimura next door sneaking out her windows to catch a glimpse of what was happening, no doubt delighted at the drama that would fuel her afternoon tea gossip for weeks.

Eventually, the noise faded; Toji’s footsteps retreated, and his car roared to life before speeding down the street—preferably disappearing from his view forever, for all Satoru cared.

The house was enveloped in silence again, the sound of Satoru's breathing too loud for his own ears.

He felt his throat closing and his hands trembling with the cold sensation enveloping his body, but he refused to collapse. Instead, Satoru turned and methodically went back to cleaning the living room floor, sweeping up the shards of glass scattered across the floor and removing the few that had gotten under the sofa—he didn't want any unpleasant sharp memories reminding him of what had happened that afternoon.

After he finished cleaning everything, his cell phone vibrated with a ringing sound on the kitchen counter, waking him from his stupor. Satoru walked slowly towards his phone and, upon picking it up, saw that he had several unanswered messages from Shoko.

He answered the call with a tired tone, hearing his best friend's frantic voice on the other end.

"Gojo? My God, dude. Where the hell have you been? Are you ready for the party already or—"

"He cheated."

"What?"

"Toji. I found out he was cheating on me."

"He was WHAT!?"

“Yeah,” Satoru laughed softly at the speaker, walking over to the sofa and turning the TV back on, letting the light illuminate the room and the sound envelop his body, "He's been cheating on me for a year. Or maybe even more, if you doubt it. We just had a fight.”

“Is he still there with you?”

“What?”

“In the house, Satoru. Is he still there with you?”

“No. I just kicked him out."

"Okay. Okay, good. Shit… I can’t believe this. That stupid fucking prick! I knew something was wrong about him—"

Satoru laughed painfully, his gaze lost in the random cooking show that was playing, the light of the television hurting his eyes, "I'm feeling so stupid. How could I not realize this sooner?”

"Satoru, hey—”

“I mean, seriously, what’s my problem, Shoko? How could I let him do this kind of thing behind my back for so long?"

”You know damn well this isn’t your fault, right?”

“Then why does it feel like it is?”

“Okay, that’s enough—”

“I mean, none of you guys liked him, right? I was the only one who kept trying to get him to fit in.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“And that's not even mentioning all the other signs that he didn't like me that I'd noticed and still chose to ignore. How could I be so blind for so long? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Satoru, hold on a second okay? I'm coming over in a minute. Stay where you are."

He was graced with the sound of the line hanging up at that, signaling that the call ended. Satoru decided there was nothing left to do but wait for his friend to get to his house, so he curled up on the couch and started watching the cooking show with a dead expression on his face. He wasn't exactly focused on the TV's content, instead just letting his eyes follow the images while his mind played a constant white noise in the background throughout the entire time he waited, making him disassociate for God knows how long.

Before he realized it, Shoko was already there with Utahime by her side, the spare keys that Satoru had given her a few months ago swinging in between her fingers. The lights in his house were lit on, enveloping everything in a warm, comfortable glow. Satoru realized it was already night, the weather outside dark and cold—just like he was feeling inside.

"Satoru. Hey, c'mon. Get up, we're here. How are you feeling?" Shoko asked as she pulled him into a sitting position, adjusting the cushions so he was comfortable and making space so they could sit next to him on the spacious purple sofa.

"Here, drink this," Utahime said, handing him a glass with a clear liquid inside.

"Don't want water, 'm not thirsty," Satoru said in a scratchy voice, turning his head away like a petulant child.

He hated how broken his voice sounded, and he hated even more how that was exactly how he felt—broken and tired. It was as if he'd been swimming for hours in the open sea instead of just ending his two-year relationship. His body ached in places he hadn't even known it was possible, his head feeling dizzy and disconnected.

But yeah, maybe that was just one of the side effects of putting all his happiness and meaning in life into a leaky boat.

"That's not water," his friend replied as she pushed the glass toward his hand, forcing him to hold it. Satoru looked at the glass, studying its contents and deciding ultimately to drink it all in one gulp. The pure vodka burned down his throat, making him groan at the strong taste pulling him out of his stupor.

They fell into a soft conversation after that, with Satoru slowly waking up from his disassociation with each part of the story he told. His friends sat beside him and listened silently, with Utahime only letting out a comment here and there and Shoko gently stroking the white strands of Satoru's hair.

The safe atmosphere between the three of them made Satoru decide to be honest for once; he hated talking about his feelings with others—more specifically he hated the feeling of fragility—but something inside him was saying that maybe things could be different with Shoko and Utahime, that they would be there for him for who he was; without belittling his feelings, but also without treating him like a pitiful person. So he told them everything that happened—not only the fight and the discovery of the betrayal, but also how he had been feeling throughout the entire relationship and how cold Toji had become in the last few months.

When Satoru finally finished speaking, Utahime went on a 10 minute rant about how Toji was a total piece of shit, seeming even crazier than Satoru was over the discovery of his cheating. His heart warmed a little when he saw how much his friend cared for him, listening to her say that as difficult as Satoru was to deal with (nevermind, he shouldn't praise her so soon), he didn't deserve any of this. She then hugged him tightly, and Satoru felt grateful for his friend's displays of affection, even more so knowing that she didn't particularly like physical contact.

She then hyperfocused on finding Toji's lover's social media account, claiming she deserved to get every single information doxxed. Satoru was even more thankful for that.

Shoko, for her part, preferred to have a more serious conversation with Satoru, scolding him for taking so long to open up about the difficulties he was facing. She tried to know more about his mental state subtly—analyzing him with that doctor–like demeanor only she can master—but Satoru tried his best to calm her worries down, assuring her that he would try to take better care of himself and be more honest with them from now on. She almost seemed pleased by this, but her analytical, worried look didn't change. And it's not like he could blame her for this; after all, he was the one who decided to be best friends with someone who could see right through his lies.

At the end of the conversation, the two girls made him promise over his dead parents that he wouldn't go back on his decision, claiming they would make a point of "cutting his hair with their own hands and leaving him bald for over a year" if he took Toji back. Satoru laughed at the absurdity of it, only to realize they were dead serious when they didn't laugh along with him.

And honestly? They definitely didn't need to worry about that. Satoru might be a person who compulsively seeks love everywhere, but if there was one thing he valued more than being liked, it was his ego.

When Shoko asked if he'd rather skip the party and stay home instead, Satoru vehemently denied it, begging her to go. He needed this, needed something to take his mind off things. She didn't seem so sure it was the best thing for him, but when Utahime jumped on his defense and claimed it would be a good distraction for him, Shoko finally relented.

They started getting ready for the party then. Luckily, Utahime and Shoko had brought their costumes in the car in case Satoru still wanted to go, so they had no problem getting ready at his place so they could all go together.

As the time passed and they busied themselves in getting ready, amid the drinks and lively conversations, Satoru found himself growing more and more cheerful and lighthearted. Maybe he had at least done something right over the years, maybe the friendship he'd cultivated with Shoko and Utahime was something real, something worth living for.

While Utahime and Shoko were finishing getting ready and tidying up their make-up, Satoru's phone vibrated with the sound of a new message being delivered. He had a sneaky idea who it might be, but he still discreetly picked up his phone without his friends noticing, checking the new notification.

Toji <3 [19:25 pm]
Hey baby
I know you're upset with me
But I know you didn't mean what you said
I'll come over in the morning so we can sort this out
I really like you
Let's make this relationship workout, okay?

Satoru rolled his eyes at the audacity, ultimately deciding to completely ignore the delusional message. The only thing Toji would find tomorrow was his things outside the front door. Like the trash they were.

⛧°. ⋆༺𖦹༻⋆. °⛧

Two hours later, they were already enveloped in the loud noise of the party, sweaty bodies and loud music buzzing around Satoru, making him feel more alive than ever. The party was livelier than he expected—with chaos erupting from every corner and the smell of sweat and alcohol filling his nostrils—but that was exactly the distraction that Satoru needed tonight, so he embraced all of it with open arms, immediately occupying himself in drinking all the raspberry cocktails he could find.

And of course all that good mood wasn’t going to last forever. It wouldn't be long before he felt empty and cold again, but he could at least enjoy not feeling completely alone for a few hours—he could save the miserable act for later, preferably when he finally got home at the end of the night.

Satoru didn't have much time to properly decide what he wanted to dress up as, so he opted for something simpler and scarier—and sexy, of course. After all, Halloween was only fun if you dressed up like a slut, according to Shoko.

He was wearing a white tank top that clung seductively to his body, highlighting his pecs and muscular torso. Attached to his back were two small angel wings—the main focus of his costume that drew everyone's attention when he passed by. His slim waist was exposed, where a few scratches and fake blood details adorned his skin. Just below that, a miniskirt matching his top completed the look, the pompous, slightly shiny fabric swayed along his hips, tying everything together.

To enhance his costume even better, Utahime helped him by doing a more frightening makeup look, with some dried blood details on his face and highlighter illuminating his bony cheeks—in addition, two small pairs of eyes were drawn below his real eyes, imitating the characteristics of an angel and making him look even more ethereal and scary. Lastly, he decided to wear a pair of plain Vans on his feet with some fake blood sprayed on them—and yes, he could have tried a little harder with his whole costume, but he was feeling tired and heartbroken, so sue him for wanting to go partying while trying to stay comfortable.

They met up with their college friends not long after entering the frat building that was hosting the party, and they quickly fell into a drinking round. Everyone was dressed up and in the spirit for Halloween, with the outfits ranging from funny to sexy to downright terrifying—in short, the atmosphere was genuinely good and fun. Satoru danced, sang, drinked and had fun for what seemed like hours with his friends.

And it was nice to be able to enjoy the moment without having to listen to that little voice in his head telling him bad things. For a few moments, there was no Toji, no heartbreak, and no grief running in his mind. The empty house he would have to return to eventually was far away at that moment.

But of course that didn’t last long.

Maybe it was the effects of the alcohol starting to have some kind of rebound effect on him and making him more sensitive, but after a while, the conversations with his friends and the buzz of the party were no longer enough to dispel the cold Satoru felt inside.

More than that, the pain of being cheated on began to consume his thoughts again—couldn't Toji have just broken up with him like a normal person? Did he really have to cheat on him, of all things?

Honestly, if he just died it would have been less painful and way more easy to manage, because now Satoru didn't just have to deal with a broken heart but also a bruised ego; which was so much worse.

Actually, scratch that—it was just the bruised ego part that was bothering him. Nothing more irritating than being made a fool of for two whole years by someone who wasn't even that worthy.

Satoru watched his friend Yuki flirt with an edgy looking boy across the sofa they were sitting on, and a nasty idea started to sprout in his mind, slowly poisoning his brain with the sweet promise of revenge.

Toji swore vehemently that they hadn't broken up, right? The little jerk was genuinely hoping that they would get back together by the next day... and it's not like Toji was interested in getting Satoru back—no, he just wanted the security of being supported by him again. Like a sugar baby or something. Ew, wait—Satoru was like Toji's sugar daddy this whole time, wasn't he? My God. Fuck his stupid life.

He decided to make a very immature decision at that moment, but one he knew would make him feel really good nonetheless.

If Toji was so insistent that they were still together, then fine. They were. A shame for him, really.

Because unfortunately for Toji, there was no better way to make his cheating boyfriend feel bad than to return the favor in the same way.

He rose from the spot where he'd been chatting with his friends, pretending he was just heading to the bar to refill his drink. Shoko shot him a suspicious look, clearly seconds away from stopping him, but he slipped into the crowd before she could react. Within seconds, he was swallowed by the mass of bodies moving through the party, vanishing completely from her line of sight.

Satoru felt slightly bad for making his friends worry about him, but the feeling was short-lived. After all, he was a man on a serious mission right now.

And what mission is that, you ask?

Find a man hot enough to fuck Satoru tonight. Maybe in the spare rooms upstairs, or even in a car outside; what really mattered was finding someone who could take out all the frustration from his body through a good fucking session. Maybe this was just the drink talking, but as far as Satoru could tell, he'd only gain from that—he would get back at Toji for the whole cheating thing and have some fun as a bonus. A true win-win situation if you asked him.

And maybe that was a really slutty thing for him to do? Well, yes—but Satoru never claimed to be a saint, did he?

Satoru’s blue eyes swept over the crowd, hunting for someone attractive enough to scratch the itch growing under his skin. Maybe he could find Sukuna somewhere? He’d be perfect for this—the little menace had tried flirting with him more times than Satoru could count, even though he knew he was dating. If only Toji had been kind enough to let Satoru know that they were actually in an open relationship… he would’ve indulged in Sukuna's flirting a long time ago.

But Satoru couldn't find Sukuna's pink hair anywhere over the crowd, so he decided to head towards the cluster of dancing people, believing that it would be the best place to find someone to mess with. He started swinging his body seductively at the rhythm of the song, and a few men clung to him here and there, clearly mesmerized by him. But Satoru found himself disappointed to realize that none of them were even slightly handsome enough for his plan.

I mean, yes, he proclaimed himself by being kind of a slut not even a few minutes ago, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have standards, okay? It's not like he was going to give himself to any half-assed man for free; this had to be special.

Satoru couldn't feel anything but frustration at that moment. He walked away from the crowd, grabbing a random empty cup from the table and going in search of a new drink. His last bit of patience ran out when Naoya Zenin of all people hit on him while he was refilling his glass in the kitchen. If even someone like him thought he was good enough to hit on Satoru, it meant he was in deeper shit than he thought.

As soon as Naoya got distracted by one of his friends, Satoru abandoned his drink in the sink and angrily headed towards the farthest bathroom possible, wanting nothing more than to get away from the chaos of the party. He blindly entered the building's dark hallways in search of some peace, reaching a small door in the end of a corridor and flinging it open with force, just wanting to splash some water on his face and de-stress at least a little bit.

But just as he finished opening the door and stepping inside the small bathroom, Satoru stopped dead in his tracks, coming face to face with another person who apparently had the same idea as him.

There was a stranger already inside the room; a tall, hooded man wearing a black hoodie with cargo pants and combat boots. He had a few accessories draped over his body—knives, teasers, and even a rope could be seen sticking around his pockets, serving as decorations for his costume. Lastly, a Ghostface mask rested on his face, concealing his identity and tying the whole outfit together. Satoru entered just as the stranger was finishing adjusting his mask, his long fingers closing the clasps of the accessory as he stared at Satoru, probably stunned that someone had entered the bathroom like that out of nowhere.

Satoru let the door slip from his fingers, causing it to close with a soft click behind him. He and the masked man stared at each other for a moment without saying anything, and Satoru took the opportunity to let his eyes scan over Ghostface's frame—it's not like he had much to look at, considering he was wrapped in loose clothing, but he did look somewhat attractive… or maybe this was just Satoru's mask kink speaking louder than his reason.

His gaze fell on Ghostface's hands, where he could see painted black nails and the beginnings of a tattoo creeping up on his skin and disappearing somewhere under his hoodie—that detail made Satoru frown lightly; he could swear he'd seen this tattoo design somewhere, but before he could think harder about it, the Ghostface–guy crossed his arms over his chest, hiding the tattoo in the process and looking slightly irritated by the intrusion.

Satoru grinned, amused by the expressionism (or lack of) given by the masked man in front of him. He let his gaze roam over the man's body in front of him once more, biting his lip deeply in thought as he did so—he actually liked the sight before his eyes, Satoru concluded. With or without mask kink involved.

Yeah. Maybe this would do.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt. I didn’t know someone was already in here,” Satoru said as he smirked at the stranger, pulling an innocent facade, “I see you're dressed as Ghostface. How original."

He was graced with only silence, Ghostface remained still in front of the sink with his arms crossed, staring at him without making any sound.

"Not a man of many words, huh? Really committed to the character, I give you that."

His words were met with no reaction once again, but Satoru's smile only widened—the stranger's persistence on remaining neutral only made Satoru want to break his composure even more. You can call him a brat for that if you want, he doesn’t care. Ragebaiting is his favorite type of flirting.

"You should’ve made an effort to dress up as something not so boring, you know? Being Ghostface for Halloween is like the biggest cliche in the world,” Satoru said with a playful tone, licking his lips at the sound of the stranger’s huffing behind the mask.

“Plus, a lot of people might think you're being insensitive… With all those murders happening, you choose to dress up as the most famous serial killer on television. This is kinda fucked up, don't you think?"

He leaned against the door behind him, relaxing his posture as the cool texture of the wood kissed his back and sent small goosebumps down his skin. Satoru gave Ghostface a mischievous smile, his tone condescending as he spoke again.

“You should try thinking of something more fun next time. Take me as an example if you want,” Satoru said, making a dramatic gesture with his hand, showing off his costume to the stranger, "It's a classic with a spooky twist, see? I even have some biblically accurate eyes drawn on my face."

Ghostface made a low sound at that, huffing with his nose almost as if he were trying to suppress his laughter at what Satoru said. He took this little reaction as a small victory, indicating that maybe the man in front of him was open to some teasing with a sprinkle of flirting. He pouted his lips dramatically in Ghostface's direction while trying to suppress his own laughter, realizing that maybe he was going to have more fun than he bargained for tonight.

"What? You don't like my costume? I think it's pretty neat."

The masked man finally uncrossed his arms, tilting his head to the side slightly, as if considering what Satoru had said. He then raised his left hand, signaling with his finger a turn-around gesture to Satoru.

Oh, so he wanted to analyze his outfit? Okay, that’s fair. Satoru can give him that without a problem.

He turned his back to the stranger, making sure to do the movement slowly while chuckling, leaning against the cold door as he slightly arched his ass, his spine stretching in what Satoru hoped was a seductive motion towards the stranger. When he completed the movement, he turned his head back slightly, blue eyes scanning over Ghostface's frame.

"So? What do you think?"

Ghostface remained impassive as he stared at Satoru, likely assessing his costume and the excess of skin it showed. Satoru couldn't even read his expression because of the mask, and it was driving him crazy; he could only wonder what kind of thoughts were running through the stranger's mind, if he was liking what he was seeing. It had been a while since Satoeu had done this kind of thing—flirting, that is—and he realized he kind of downplayed how slightly vulnerable this would make him feel.

Just when the moment stretched for a little longer than necessary, Ghostface finally moved.

He began to approach him slowly, his boots scraping under the red bathroom titles, his gaze focused on his costume—or rather, on his ass. He stood behind Satoru at a safe distance, not quite touching him, yet close enough for Satoru to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

Satoru always prided himself for being quite tall—taller than most people, at least—so it was a pleasant surprise to see that the stranger behind him was almost the same height as him, only a few centimeters shorter. And yet, inexplicably, Satoru felt the balance of control tilt. Maybe it was the mask, or the way Ghostface carried himself with a calmness that overflowed confidence.

Regardless of the reason, Satoru, for the first time, felt at someone's mercy. And this was electrifying.

His nose was enveloped by a pleasant perfume of sandalwood and green pine, and he couldn’t stop the deep sigh that slipped out when he breathed at the scent drifting from the man—he hummed softly, eyes never leaving his mask.

Strong hands suddenly circled his waist, sending another shiver racing through him. Ghostface's hands were warm and surprisingly soft despite their roughness, gliding over the bare skin of Satoru’s waist and scratching lightly as they traveled down his torso to the edge of his skirt. His fingers curled into the fabric, lifting it just slightly when they reached the hem—then the ministrations stopped abruptly, and Satoru knew the exact moment the stranger caught the first sight of his panties: a beautiful white and almost transparent silk garment that was decorated with small, sparkling rhinestones that matched Satoru's outfit perfectly.

"I don't remember giving you permission to touch me, you know." Satoru said lowly, hearing Ghostface hum appreciatively in response, his fingers making small circles as they caressed the small rhinestones of his panties, admiring them. He could probably feel how Satoru was enjoying the attention, opening like a sunflower towards the warmth of his touch. Ghostface's hands squeezed his ass gently, then snapped the strap of his panties against his skin, making Satoru preen at the attention, his veins pumping wildly.

He slowly turned to face the stranger again, staring at his mask as he sneaked his hands on his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his baggy sweatshirt as he held him close.

“I think it’s safe to say you liked my costume, then?”

Ghostface wrapped one hand around Satoru's waist while the other returned to squeeze his ass, massaging his flesh as he cupped his body under the skirt. He began to squeeze harder as he heard the small, satisfied sighs that escaped Satoru's mouth, their bodies pressed together as they leaned against the door.

Satoru didn't know why he was feeling so sensitive with just some mere touches—had it really been that long since anyone touched him with genuine desire? Or was something about the masked man’s grip that was making him feel all flustered? What was so breathtaking in the way he claimed space on Satoru’s skin? Whatever the reason was, the sensation was maddening—almost humiliating in how easily it turned him on.

"Can you believe that I came here all by myself?" he asked, feigning innocence, continuing to run his hands over the masked man's chest. The answer came with Ghostface lifting them from their spot against the door and turning their bodies towards the mirror on the wall, pushing Satoru lightly towards the sink with a hand on his waist.

"I mean... my friends are outside somewhere, of course... but that doesn't change the fact that I came here without my boyfriend."

Satoru’s torso met the cold edge of the sink, effectively pinning his body between the marble and the masked man’s solid frame. He used the moment to hook his fingers into the loops of Ghostface’s belt and tug him closer, erasing the remaining space between them.

"Besides," he murmured, tilting his head to look at his mask better, "I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me tonight.”

Ghostface’s hands tightened the grasp around his waist, and Satoru let out a breathless laugh.

“Unbelievable, right? An idiot like him, cheating on someone like me," he said as their bodies aligned, chest to chest and face to face—or rather face to mask, to be more accurate.

The air grew thicker, and Satoru could see the masked man’s breath grow heavier beneath the plastic—and he himself wasn’t faring any better, his own breath fogging the mask before him in uneven hot puffs, his hands gripping the cold marble to stand himself. He could feel the frustration he’d been holding since the fight with Toji start to spill from his body, but the way Ghostface was touching him didn't soothe his anger at all—if anything, it only stoked the fire inside him even more; the heat in his chest started to slide down his belly, hate and desire mingling sweetly and enveloping him in a need to consume the man in front of him.

This was kind of crazy—or maybe reckless was the right word—because Satoru didn’t even know the man standing in front of him, but he still let him touch his body in ways no one else had been able to besides Toji until now.

And the most insane part about all this? Ghostface’s touches felt so good. Sinfully good. Each squeeze, each slow drag of the stranger’s hand sent electric waves racing beneath Satoru’s skin, unraveling him inch by inch. He could feel his common sense slipping away, drowned out by the intoxicating urge to just give in, to surrender to the moment without thinking.

This was so much better than drinking. So much better than being alone and cold at home.

Much better than being with Toji. Better than he ever was. And they hadn't even started yet.

He watched with satisfaction as Ghostface grabbed his thighs and placed him under the sink, spreading his legs so he could stand between them. The stranger's strength wasn't something that went unnoticed by Satoru; he wasn't a light man by any means, not to mention that he managed to build some pretty nice muscles over the years thanks to his weekly workouts with his personal trainer, Aoi Todo—so it was safe to say that Ghostface's strength surprised him, dragging a low moan from Satoru’s throat before he could stop it.

A slow, pleased smile curled at his lips as he reached up, sliding his hands around the masked man’s shoulders.

"So I came to this party with a mission... if he's going to cheat on me, I have the right to get even. It sounds pretty fair to me, don't you think?"

Satoru began to run his hand over Ghostface's mask, sliding his fingers under the white surface as if he was caressing his face.

"Or do you think I'm being too petty?" he asked with his best pitiful face, his blue eyes glistening while staring at the mask. Ghostface shook his head as his hands slid from the place where they were squeezing his thighs and headed towards Satoru's crotch, his fingers lightly playing with the straps of his panties. The act made Satoru spread his legs wider, bucking his hips slightly towards Ghostface's fingers, chuckling smugly in response.

"Oh, I knew you would see my vision! What a smart boy you are," he said as his fingers began to slide down Ghostface’s abdomen, scratching his skin through the sweatshirt and feeling the muscles contract beneath his touch. This way, Satoru could sense the strong muscles hidden there a little better—firm, sculpted, warmer than he expected. More heat pulled inside his belly as he realized how built the man was beneath the clothes, far more than his appearance first suggested.

"But I have a problem, you see. So far, no one at the party has managed to catch my attention. I mean... of course I want to have revenge today, but I can't give myself to just anyone, right?"

His hand finally got to the final destination, reaching for Ghostface's baggy pants and cupping the hard bulge there. Satoru licked his lips at the sensation, darting his eyes down to look at how hard and big the masked man was, straining deliciously under his dark clothes. He lifted his gaze back to the stranger and let out a low, amused laugh; it seemed he’d chosen the perfect option to have some fun tonight.

"But maybe you can help me, hm? Maybe we can have a good time?"

He could see the masked man's breathing pick up speed at the question, which gave him the courage to give Ghostface's cock a light squeeze, feeling it twitch deliciously in his grip. The masked man’s hands flexed around his thighs at the sudden movement and scratched the meat there, the movement making his fingers slip up and almost touch Satoru where he craved the most.

He hooked his legs around the stranger’s waist, pulling their bodies flush together until not a single breath of space remained between them. Satoru leaned in toward his neck, breathing in the scent of green forest and chrysanthemums, humming softly as the fragrance flooded his senses.

A pink tongue slipped out of his mouth, tracing a slow line along the warm, salty skin of Ghostface’s neck, driven by a hungry urge to pull that scent into himself, to taste it directly on his tongue. He felt the masked man shudder beneath his touch, a sharp tremor running through him, followed by a barely contained groan that vibrated against Satoru’s tongue.

“You taste so good,” Satoru murmured, the words vibrating against the stranger’s skin. He licked him again, deeper this time, indulging in long, eager strokes before nipping lightly at the curve of his neck—kissing, biting, devouring him with a hunger that bordered on feral. His breath came fast and hot, breathing against the man’s pulsepoint as he pressed his mouth harder, panting like a dog while doing so. Hickey's and shallow bites bloomed across Ghostface’s neck, and Satoru could feel the stranger’s restraint crumbling at every moment his mouth made contact with his neck.

Ghostface hands squeezed and caressed his inner thigh possessively, the pressure so good that Satoru began to rub himself a little on the sink beneath him, trying to relieve the aching need haunting his pussy.

He stopped paying attention to the masked man's neck after a while, making his way to his pierced ear and whispering provocatively to him, "What do you say, big guy? Think you can fuck me really good?"

He locked his blue eyes with the masked man again, giving him the best fuck-me eyes he could master, "Think you can make me forget him?"

It seemed that this was the right thing to say to break the stranger’s restrain, because a deep groan came from Ghostface's mask, his hand slithering swiftly and finally making contact with Satoru’s pussy, cupping it possessively and making him let out a surprised gasp, not expecting contact with his sensitive parts so soon.

Ghostface immediately began to stretch his fingers around Satoru pussy over his panties, spreading the wetness around the fabric and applying pressure around his clit. Satoru bit back a moan, trying to suppress his noises as his eyes took on a manic glint, realizing he had the stranger exactly where he wanted him. He opened his legs wider, allowing Ghostface better access to push his panties aside and finally make contact with his bare cunt, no fabric in between them this time.

The first touch of his fingers was simply breathtaking; Ghostface began rubbing them around Satoru's labia, dipping into the entrance of his hole and coming back up to smear the wetness of it around Satoru's cock. Just when the touch started to became a little too overwhelming and Satoru began to squirm too much around the sink, Ghostface finally granted him some pity and stuffed two fingers into his hole, immediately beginning to fuck them in and out of him in slow movements.

The fullness was automatically welcomed by Satoru, who let out a breathless laugh as he felt his hole finally getting some attention. He preened at the man's ministrations, feeling his pussy flutter around his digits and slowly get accustomed to the intrusion.

"You don't waste time, huh? I can respect that," Satoru said as he started buckling the masked man's belt and wrapping his hands around the hem of his pants to pull them down, removing them just enough for Ghostface’s cock to pop out of his clothes. The member sprang free from the pants hold, bobbing heavily and resting on Satoru's bare, pale thigh, the head already dripping with precum.

"Oh, look at you, already all hard and twitching for me," Satoru said teasingly as he wrapped his hand around Ghostface's hard member, starting a slow rhythm of masturbating him. The masked man gasped softly at the touch, bucking his hips slightly in the direction of his warm hand.

Satoru directed his glossy lips above Ghostface's cock and spat on it, spreading the saliva over it and making the glide easier—he then began to stroke him with a little more force, his hand moving up to his head and then dropping to the base, squeezing the soft skin there and listening to the soft gasps Ghostface let out every time Satoru grasped a little too aggressively.

The pressure of the masked man's fingers began to increase in speed in reprimand, a squelching noise reverberating through the small bathroom while his fingers fucked and spreaded inside Satoru's cunt, almost touching the bundle of nerves inside him but keeping the touch barely there, only focusing into preparing Satoru’s hole to take his cock. Still, the pressure felt so good that Satoru had to physically stop himself from whimpering, fighting the urge to melt into the stranger’s touch.

No matter how good this feels, he can't let the control slip from his hands. He's already too broken to allow himself to make a mistake like that tonight.

"It's almost like you want this way more than I do, being all good and obedient, just like a dog," he breathed meanly as he squeezed Ghostface's cock hard at the base, making the member twitch heavily at his hands.

Ghostface reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom, tossing it towards Satoru and nearly hitting him in the face—which was kind of rude, if Satoru had any say. But he figured it was fair enough, considering he'd just degraded the stranger by calling him a dog (not like his dick didn't twitch pathetically in his hand at the nickname, but whatever). The white-haired man understood the message literally thrown at his face and ripped the condom open with his teeth, maintaining eye contact with Ghostface the entire time as he wrapped the plastic around his stupidly big cock.

The world sprang around and Satoru suddenly found himself being flipped over, his chest colliding with the cold surface of the sink. His legs barely had time to catch the floor beneath him as they stumbled for balance and he nearly slipped. A strong hand clamped around his waist, steadying and keeping him from falling and possibly hurting himself. Satoru turned his head around to glare at the stranger, but before he could curse the man behind him for being so rough, Satoru felt the tip of his cockhead breaching his pussy, the heat of his member enveloping his skin and making him shut up immediately.

The first contact of Ghostface's cock with his hole made Satoru fight back the urge to roll his eyes back. He rested his head on the sink beneath him and bit his lips hard enough to keep himself from moaning out loud, trying to keep his cool.

He could feel Ghostface doing his best to make the intrusion as smooth and delicate as possible; his hands trembling where they held Satoru’s waist, his hot member slowly pushing inside his pussy a little more deeper at each thrust, creating a slow rhythm of fucking Satoru open, making him feel every vein of the shaft inside him. It was torture.

Satoru closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose and trying to relax; only a few inches of Ghostface cock was inside him, but it was enough to make Satoru shiver wildly at the feeling of fullness. He had had sex with Toji a few hours earlier that morning, but his boyfriend wasn't even close to the masked man's size… a sick satisfaction filled Satoru's mind at the realization; not only he found the perfect person to have some fun with, but also someone with a bigger cock than his cheater boyfriend. It was like divine justice in some way.

"Ngnh… Oh fuck—" A few more inches of Ghostface’s dick were fed into his pussy, making Satoru moan softly at the feeling of hotness filling him from the inside out. Ghostface's concern about hurting him was even more obvious now—Satoru could practically feel the way the man was trying to be patient, touching him carefully and with a certain reverence—and Satoru appreciated the gesture, really, but the last thing he needs right now is kindness, so he lifted his face from the cold marble, using his arms to support himself and make eye contact with Ghostface through the mirror, giving him a smug smile while his blue eyes glinted devilishly.

"What's taking you so long, big boy? I'm starting to get bored over here."

Ghostface let out an angry growl that gave Satoru goosebumps all over. He squeezed Satoru's waist tightly and bottomed right away with a powerful thrust, his cock filling him up to the brim with a force that knocked the breath from Satoru’s lungs. It was kind of a tight fit, but the wetness from Satoru’s pussy was enough to make the glide amazing for both of them—the pressure inside him making Satoru let out little whimpers without noticing.

The masked man didn't wait for Satoru to get used to the intrusion, starting at a brutal pace right from the start, giving experimental, hard thrusts into his pussy, pulling out until only his cock head was inside and sliding roughly against Satoru’s soaked hole right after. His hands roamed over Satoru in frantic, hungry paths—gripping and scratching across his back, his hips, his thighs. There was something almost animalistic in the way Ghostface touched him, raw desire pouring from every mark. And Satoru could only moan brokenly, watching in the mirror’s reflection as the stranger behind him seemed focused on claiming every inch of his body, leaving his marks wherever his hands landed.

"F-fuuuck...this is so... shit, you're s-so big. Way bigger than him..." Satoru said dreamily, placing one of his hands on his lower belly and mewling openly at his reflection as he felt the big bulge forming inside him every time Ghostface thrusted into his pussy, the pressure so intense it felt like he was rearranging Satoru’s insides, turning him into the perfect cocksleeve for Ghostface to use.

"Mmhn, are you having fun? You like fucking my pretty pussy?" Satoru said as he pressed his hand to the spot where the Ghostface’s cock could be felt in his belly, making sure to hold his gaze as he did so. Ghostface let out a guttural moan at the motion, letting his hooded head fall onto Satoru's shoulder as he began to fuck him even harder, his heavy balls smacking against his wet entrance and creating a wet mess spread between them, the sounds reverberating over the small room.

"Oh my… shit— Hnngh... you have such a perfect cock, ‘s fucking me so good." Satoru slurred, letting Ghostface use him as his personal ragdoll. He could feel his pussy clenching around his shaft, his inner walls spasming around the big length wildly as the masked man let out little whimpers behind him—and if Satoru weren't so lost in having his hole being completely obliterated, he might even find the Ghostface’s reaction adorable.

And maybe he really was kind of cute—Satoru enjoyed the way Ghostface held his body close to him and preened at his every word like a cute puppy, slipping in and out of his pussy just right and making Satoru feel so good, hitting all the right places. He could feel his heart softening slightly—his moans sounding more soft and his touch more vulnerable. Satoru tried to compose himself as he realized this, shaking his head and staring at his reflection with unfocused eyes, using all his strength to hold himself back once again.

It wasn't the time for Satoru to act like a blushing virgin in love; he needed to keep himself in check, this was nothing more than a carnal encounter—he only was doing this to avenge his bruised ego, and Ghostface for his part probably just wanted a warm hole to fuck. Nothing more, nothing less. No need to act all sentimental now.

No matter how good this feels, I can't let the control slip from my hands.

Almost as if realizing Satoru was holding himself back, Ghostface sneaked one of his hands around Satoru’s torso and wrapped it around his neck tightly, squeezing hard.

The act wasn't enough to hurt or make him uncomfortable, just breathless and dizzy with pleasure. The effect was immediate; Satoru melted over the sink, his body going soft, his muscles unwinding one by one as his eyes rolled back—it was at that exact moment that his mind emptied, making him finally let go of the control he pried so much. A warm sensation coiled deep in his belly, spreading like a wild fire throughout his chest and pussy.

Ghostface must have also noticed his change in behavior—or rather, his lack of composure—and seized the moment to slide his free hand towards Satoru's cunt, big fingers catching at his little cock and making his cunt gush wildly in the air. Satoru shuddered, trying to say something, but his back arched as Ghostface started to caress his clit with little snaps of his fingers, causing him to let out a ragged, shattered moan, his body falling back onto the sink, moaning brokenly and drooling over it.

A sound outside the door snapped Satoru momentarily out of his cock-haze, making him remember where they currently were. With a shudder, he realized he hadn't locked the bathroom door behind him when he first entered, and even though the bathroom was relatively far from the most crowded areas of the party, perhaps it would be more intelligent to avoid making so much noise; what if someone heard his moans and decided to come in to check it out? What if someone caught them right there in the act?

All logical thought slipped out of his head as Ghostface increased the speed of his thrusts, his fingers following suit and rubbing violently against his clit, making his pussy gush wetly around his member, creating an even tighter, more delicious glide for both of them.

Fuck that. Let them hear it if that's the case. Shit, they can even get into the bathroom and watch them fucking if that would make Ghostface continue feeding Satoru's pussy with his cock.

"A-aahn, oh G-God... fuck yeah, gimme’ me more—” Satoru began to moan even louder, gasping the words out as he grinded hotly against the intrusion, creating a perfect rhythm of fucking himself back on the large cock inside him.

The hand that had been holding his neck and supporting him above the sink suddenly disappeared, forcing his body to slam down into the sink, his warm skin shivering at the sensation of cold the surface beneath him. Satoru could hear something rustling behind him, but before he could turn to see what it was, the hand that was stimulating his cock also disappeared, making his body shiver violently with the absence of Ghostface touch, his orgasm slipping right through his fingers.

A heavy smack rang out and Satoru jumped, startled by the hard slap that was delivered to his ass, making his skin burn beneath Ghostface's hand. A loud, confused moan escaped his mouth, and before he could react, another smack was delivered, the sensation of pain and pleasure mingling between his body.

Satoru was faintly aware of the way he was slurring pleas around the assault he was receiving, but he couldn't help but preen at the attention, his waist curving in the direction of Ghostface in a desperate attempt to beg for more, his eyes turning glossy and difficulting his vision more and more.

The pattern of slaps continued for a while until strong fingers wrapped themselves in silky white hair, pulling him up forcefully and making Satoru let out a small, pained sound. His eyes were filled with tears and his vision blurred completely at the overstimulation—he could barely make out what was in front of him, only feeling the warm body behind him pushing him into submission little by little.

Ghostface gave his pussy one last thrust before he stopped, his cock twitching deep inside Satoru’s hole as he leaned close, his chest glueing into Satoru’s back, bringing his face close to the white-haired man's flushed ear.

And then the man spoke for the first time that night.

"Is this boring enough for you, doll? Should I stop?"

The deep, mischievous voice reached Satoru's ears, enveloping him in a hazy neediness. He could barely fathom the thought of not being able to cum on the cock inside him, it had been so long since he'd felt so much pleasure during sex—without having to fake his moans or force himself to pretend he was having a good time—and only the Gods knew how boring his sex life with Toji had become. Stopping sounded like dying right now.

He needed this, needed it more than anything.

"N-No! Keep going, p-please! I was so—fuck. I was so close! Just fuck me a little more—ah!"

Satoru didn't even have time to realize he was full on begging for the masked man's touch, nor did he registered the cruel laugh that rang in his ear; the contact on his clit returned with full force, fingers making circular movements around it and descending, spreading his cunt around the intrusion of the man's cock.

“What a fucking slut you are.” Ghostface snarled on his ear, beginning to fuck Satoru even harder—if that was even possible—his hips meeting Satoru's ass and creating a heavy smack every time their bodies met. He released Satoru’s hair from his grip and his torso slumped down, his brain melted into complete mush with all the dick he was getting. He mewled out pitifully at the mean words, trying to muffle his screams into his folded arm as his cunt gushed between them, soaking everywhere and dripping into the bathroom floor beneath them.

Satoru could feel something building in his belly, Ghostface fucking him harder by the minute and straight up abusing his cunt. He was feeling so good he didn't even realize he started crying, all the pressure and anger that had been trapped in his body slipping away at each thrust his pussy got.

Everything snapped when Ghostface slapped his clit, making Satoru come with a strangled cry, his little cock twitching wildly around the masked man's fingers as wetness exploded from him, his body squirming uncontrollably as he convulsed. The sudden pressure of his velvet walls was enough to make Ghostface cum right behind him, a deep moan leaving his mouth as he spilled inside the condom, little rolls of his hips fucking into Satoru’s ruinded pussy, letting Ghostface ride the last strands of his orgasm until he finally stilled.

Satoru absently thought it was a shame that there was a condom separating him from the masked man's release—a primal, slutty part of his brain would give anything to feel his hot seed filling his hole, marking him from the inside out and leaving him all sticky and full.

Ghostface stayed inside him for a few more minutes, wrapping Satoru in his arms as they caught their breaths. The gesture was strangely intimate for someone who had just been used like a fuck toy, but Satoru decided he didn't mind—Ghostface's touch was gentle and grounding, the weight of his body spreading a pleasant warmth around Satoru’s tired body.

When Ghostface finally let his cock slip out of him and straightened his posture, Satoru sneaked an arm around himself and adjusted his crumpled clothes the best he could. He tried to get up from the sink and plant his shaky legs on the floor, but a sudden dizziness almost made him slip and fall—his legs giving out as his vision darkened slightly, his whole body sensitive and trembling. At the last minute, Ghostface wrapped his strong arms around Satoru, lifting him up and placing him on the toilet, giving his legs a break while he caught his breath.

He then began to run a delicately folded, wet paper towel over his legs and around his pussy, cleaning him the best he could while helping him to get rid of all the sweat that had collected on his skin. Satoru felt shaky and completely vulnerable—but instead of feeling uncomfortable with the situation, he found himself craving the stranger's attention.

A warm, fuzzy feeling pooled in his heart as Satoru watched Ghostface tidying and cleaning the crime scene they'd left the best he could, cleaning the entire floor with pieces of paper and washing the sink of the fluids that had stuck to the surface. Satoru let his gaze dance slowly over his frame, admiring his body and staring thoughtfully at the tattoo on his hands. When Ghostface finally finished, he noticed Satoru watching him with curious eyes, and he slowly approached his seated figure.

Painted nails cupped his face and began to caress his cheek. Satoru followed the touch instinctively, closing his eyes and letting Ghostface's warm hands cradle his burning face. His breathing began to calm, the touch relaxing and soft. The affection was nothing like what he had felt before—which was ridiculous, actually, and a little depressing too—and he felt his body relaxing under Ghostface's affection, a satisfied hum slipping from his throat.

When Ghostface’s hands finally left him, Satoru blinked his eyes open, watching in confusion as the stranger took a few steps back, slowly walking away from him and towards the door.

Oh, he's leaving me.

Ghostface reached the door, gripping the handle and looking slightly reluctant to leave—or at least that's what Satoru wanted to believe. He opened the door, the sound of the loud music and people shouting bursting the small bubble they had created.

Ghostface looked back one last time at the seated—and probably vulnerable—figure of Satoru, who in return watched the man with sad eyes, feeling too tired (and broken) to put up a false facade of insignificance.

Then the stranger finally stepped outside, closing the door behind him and enveloping the blue-eyed man in silence.

Alone again. Cold again.

Satoru tore his gaze away from where Ghostface had been just some seconds ago and settled his eyes on the red tile wall in front of him, his mind slowly trying to gather itself.

He tried not to be affected by the way Ghostface simply turned his back on him and walked away; he really did. But a small part of him couldn't help but break a little more with the masked man's absence.

Self-pity doesn't suit you, Gojo. Get it together.

Shaky legs got up and started walinking, ignoring his reflection in the mirror and heading straight for the bathroom door, opening it and letting the chaos of the party engulf him again. He began walking through the sweaty bodies, hearing someone call his name somewhere through the crowd—Naoya, maybe? Not that it really mattered, so he simply pretended not to hear, making a beeline for the exit. The early morning chill kissed his skin as soon as he left the building, making him shiver violently.

It's a little funny. By now, Satoru should have gotten used to the cold, but here he is. Feeling the numbing weather deep in his body.

A pale, icy fog drifted along the streets of Tokyo, a stark contrast against the darkness of the night. The condensed clouds wrapped around Satoru's body in a thin layer of coldness, and despite the sound of the trees rustling softly in the wind, everything was deathly quiet. This strange stillness put Satoru on edge, but he forced his legs to keep moving, convincing himself that this was a great opportunity to sober up and get some very much needed fresh air.

Unlike the countless nights he'd returned home late with the feeling of someone watching him, Satoru sensed no one lurking in the shadows this time. Maybe he was simply too exhausted to notice—or maybe there had never been anyone there to begin with. Perhaps his mind had invented this unnamed presence just to soften the lolliness he felt.

Nice, Satoru. What a pathetic thing to think about.

His thoughts drifted, spiraling like the fog curling around his feet, and by the time he snapped back to himself, Satoru was already turning the corner to his street. He let out a sigh of relief, the warm air leaving his mouth and condensing immediately in the chilly night air. He unlocked his door and kicked it shut right after, stepping inside his home and flicking on every switch within reach as he walked, deciding he didn't feel like finding himself in the darkness today.

Upon reaching his bathroom on the second floor, Satoru abruptly remembered that he hadn't told Shoko and Utahime that he had already left the party. He swore softly under his breath, cupping his phone from his pocket and sending them a quick voice message, letting them know he was fine and home already. They responded to him immediately, screaming and straight up cursing his ancestors for making them worry about him. Satoru gave a small smile at the interaction, and after they finally calmed down and agreed to meet on Monday for lunch, Satoru tossed his phone somewhere in the direction of his bed and began to remove his costume.

He looked at himself in the mirror, his bathroom light starking over his slim body. He widened his eyes when he realized that dark marks had already begun to form on his skin—a reminder of his encounter with Ghostface. He ran his fingers over a mark deeper than the others on his waist and shivered at the memory of Ghostface gripping and moving him around, his hot cock fucking him nice and deep.

Satoru caught sight of his flushed reflection and scoffed softly, shaking his head as those filthy memories tried to creep back in. He headed towards his shower, turning his bathtub on to the hottest setting and sprinkling his favorite bath–bomb in it, dipping inside the luxurious foamy–water right after. He sighed softly at the sensation, letting the strawberry soap wash away all the sweat from his body, finally feeling himself relax as the warm water began to ease all the tension coiled in his muscles.

A few good minutes later, with his shower completed and his skincare routine done, Satoru found himself wrapped in his bed while wearing his comfy pyjamas. He felt a nauseous déjà vu feeling from the day of his mother's funeral—the feeling of emptiness in the house was the same, the bed feeling too big, too cold. Toji’s body not there to keep him company.

The lights in the hallway remained on, but Satoru didn't bother to get up and turn them off. The silence washed over him like an oppressive wave, enveloping him in a strong current and carrying him down.

He closed his tired eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. His body ached deliciously, but his heart felt depressingly heavy in his chest. He forced himself to not think about today's events. He needed to forget about Toji, forget about his parents, forget about that fuckass poem—even if it was just for that night, just so he could sleep and let his mind rest for at least a few hours.

Above all else, he needed to forget about the masked stranger he encountered in that dark, dingy bathroom—they would never see each other again, so there was no reason to ache for something he couldn't have.

His breathing eventually slowed, and just as he was on the verge of drifting off, sleep finally easing into his exhausted mind, his phone buzzed on the nightstand, jolting him out of the fragile sleep he’d just begun to sink into.

He considered ignoring whoever it was, feeling too tired to reach out and grab the device, but when the vibration sounded a third time in his empty room, Satoru frowned and got up with an irritated groan, grabbing the insulting device and staring angrily at the screen.

If it's Toji texting me, I swear to God I'm going to kill myself.

But his angry frown immediately melted when he saw that the message came from an unknown number. To his credit, Satoru thought for about 5 whole seconds whether or not he should open the message, but in the end his curiosity got the better of him (who would have thought of that, right) and he clicked on the notification on the screen, reading its contents.

Unknown number [02:28 am]
Hey
At home already?
[⬇ attached video]

He was slightly confused by the interaction—it wasn't the first time he'd received random messages from unknown numbers, but it was the first time a video had been sent. And so late at night, on top of that. Still, he could feel his curiosity growing and getting the better of him, his finger hovering over the loading icon.

And then his phone vibrated in his hands again, a new message from the unknown number arriving.

Unknown number [02:30 am]
I guess it’s safe to say I fucked you better than him. ;)

Satoru blinked once, then twice, staring at the screen with confused eyes. Then it fucking hit him.

No fucking way.

He quickly clicked on the video, ignoring every rational voice and biting his nails as he waited for the media to load. When the file finally downloaded and the video began to play on his phone, Satoru was greeted with the sounds of a thin, pathetic moan filling the air.

Oh my God. There’s absolutely no fucking way.

The image of his back and ass filled the screen, illuminating his face with images of Ghostface’s cock pistoning in and out of him from behind, slamming deep into his pussy while groaning lowly in the back of his throat.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck—what the fuck, man," Satoru said sheepishly, staring at his own image being fucked until the next existence. His ass was all red and marked from the slaps that had been given to him, his spine arching wantonly towards the assault—the whole image was obscene; Ghostface's cock pounding into him, his tattooed hand slapping him from time to time while holding the camera with the other, leaving his ass even more sensitive than before. Satoru shivered at the video, feeling his cheeks grow redder and redder with each passing moment.

And at that moment the weight of the truth hitted him—he wasn't scared of finding out he was recorded without his consent while having sex, what terrified him was the way he looked in the video.

At the heat of the moment, he didn't realize how pathetic he was acting; Satoru watched with wide eyes himself begging for cock, moaning and mewling for more of the stranger's mean touch, his whole face crumbling in pleasure. A small voice in the back of his head reminded him that he had never acted this way with anyone—he was always in control of the situation, always taking more than giving... But there he was, moaning desperately for more abuse, more pleasure, more of anything Ghostface wanted to give him, surrendering himself completely to him.

And call him a freak if you will, but this stupid fucking video was starting to make him wet down there. Seeing himself falling apart in some random man's cock in a dirty bathroom made a warm sensation start to flow in his chest, his pussy giving a traitorous twitch at the sight of Ghostface's fucking like that.

Satoru laid back on the bed again, turning onto his stomach and holding his cellphone close to his face, losing all rational thought as he watched his hole gush around the intrusion, making him remember how hot Ghostface cock felt, carving a place inside him while waves of pleasure runned through his body.

Unlike the moment the video was recorded, this time he was able to clearly hear the low groans Ghostface let out each time his cock pushed inside his pussy—Satoru found himself focused on the deep, addictive sounds the masked man emanated, beginning to subtly rub himself against the mattress beneath him, trying to relieve the need that had begun to build inside him.

Without even noticing his movements, Satoru grabbed one of the many pillows scattered across his bed and positioned it beneath his crotch, immediately whining at the feeling of the soft cotton and silk pillowcase making contact with his pussy through his pajama shorts. He found the perfect rhythm to rub himself against the small pillow while watching the sex tape, and just as his clit began to throb deliciously at the sight of Ghostface's cock fucking him, the video's position abruptly changed.

Ghostface flipped his cellphone around, and Satoru was so focused on the tick shaft inside him that he didn't even notice the device pointing directly at him, filming the two of them with the frontal camera and perfectly framing their faces. His white hair was pulled back, his spine arched as a tattooed hand pulled him by the back of his neck, holding him in place. His eyes were glossy and rolled back, with big fat tears dripping from them, and his lips had turned a pretty shade of pink from biting them so much, his mouth slack and shining with drool as little ah ah ah ah’s slipped out of his throat in pitiful, breathless bursts.

​​Seeing himself all fucked out shouldn't be so hot—Satoru should be horrified, angry that his privacy had been so exposed and filmed without his permission—but all he could feel was pleasure watching the video, his legs closing around the pillow and humping it faster, his guts coiling at the scene.

And then Satoru heard for the second time that night the voice that had been haunting him ever since it first slipped against his ears.

"Is this boring enough for you, doll? Should I stop?"

Satoru’s second orgasm of the night was softer than the first, yet still intense enough to leave him breathless for a few seconds—feeling more like a gentle drizzle pouring into him, gentle but steady, enough to soak his shorts and leave goosebumps rising across his skin. He rubbed his twitching cock against the fluffy pillow until the tremors in his body stopped, moaning softly as the video got cut out just as he began to beg for more contact from the masked man.

He stared at his phone screen, panting, until the screen went blank, his flushed and tired reflection staring right back at him in the dark screen of his device. He groaned and let his body collapse completely onto the bed, kicking the cushion beneath him away.

That was so fucking pathetic. Coming from just humping a pillow like a desperate teenage virgin? What the fuck was going on with him tonight?

Satoru wiggled around his bed after he regained his breath, turning on his side and trying his best to ignore the wet spot that had formed on his pajama shorts, the fabric rubbing irritably against his skin. Despite this, he made no effort to get up and change his clothes, instead, he pulled the covers back over him, enveloping himself in the warmth of his blankets again and taking a few deep breaths, trying to clear his thoughts.

He tried to rationalize everything as best he could, searching for any logical explanation of how Ghostface had even gotten his number, or even better—of why he'd thought it was a good idea to send Satoru a damn sex tape. What was even his objective behind doing this?

In the end, he gave up with a tired sigh, he was far too exhausted to think about such things—it was probably better to do that tomorrow when he was fully rested and had a stomach full of sweets. Preferably the strawberry mochis waiting for him in the fridge.

I'm tired as shit and my legs are hurting like hell, but at least the fuck was worth it. It was better than the sex with Toji, that I can admit.

He tossed around on the bed, his mood souring the instant his boyfriend crossed his mind, memories of the fight from earlier hitting him like a punch to the gut, making the pain of betrayal come flooding back to him.

And for the second time that night, a nasty idea formed in his mind—the sex had been fucking good, but that has always been just the bonus form the beginning, right? Because Satoru hadn't offered himself to Ghostface just because he wanted to have his guts re-engaged—he did all this because he wanted revenge on the son of a bitch who cheated on him, return the pain in the same coin it was given to him. And that's it. All the feelings he was feeling for the masked man at that moment were nothing more than adrenaline from having done a job so well done.

Yeah, that's right. He is Gojo Satoru, for fuck's sake. He doesn't get attached so easily. Much less does he give himself up to just anyone like that.

He wants to find true love, yes, but the chances of finding something like that in a dirty bathroom while being fucked by a man he doesn't even know and will probably never see again in his life certainly don't seem very promising.

But I've never been touched the way I was today. I've never felt so cared for. And I've never cummed so hard, either.

He ignored the traitorous little voice in the back of his mind, instead saving the video Ghostface sent him and immediately opening the chat with Toji, sending him the sex tape without a second thought.

With a cruel smile, he typed a final message to his ex, happily placing his phone on his nightstand after finishing the job.

Gojo Satoru [02:45 a.m]
[⬇ attached video]
Don't worry, now we're even
I'll let you stuff at the front door tomorrow so you can pick it up.
Sweet dreams ;)

He turned to the other side of the bed, curling up in his blankets and finally closing his eyes, the day's exhaustion finally getting the better of him and leaving him consumed by loneliness.

Satoru drifted into a cold, dreamless sleep, his mind finally able to let go of his problems for at least a few hours.

⛧°. ⋆༺𖦹༻⋆. °⛧

Satoru woke up to the blaring sound of his doorbell ringing. He blinked his blue eyes open, squinting at the daylight filtering through his curtains and feeling a throbbing pain in his head as he blindly reached into his nightstand and checked the time on his phone. 8:07 in the morning. What the actual fuck.

He groaned as he sat up in his bed, the sound of the doorbell irritating him so much that the only thing he could think about was answering the door and stopping that infernal noise. He stumbled out of bed on autopilot, not even noticing that the large window in his room—which had been closed last night—was now wide open.

The sleepy man made his way downstairs, his bare feet slapping against the cold floor. He almost died when he slipped on the stairs, making him stumble over and bump into the magazine table near it. When he finally reached the front of his house, the confusion has already been replaced by anger; if it was Toji bothering him at 8 fucking AM on a Saturday, Satoru swore he would kill the bastard right there and hide the body somwhere in his attic.

He grabbed the doorknob and unlocked the door, swinging it open and speaking with as much hostility as he could muster, his voice rising with irritation.

"May I fucking help you—"

He stopped in his tracks, the words dying in his throat as he faced the two police officers standing at his door with unreadable expressions, their arms crossed as if they were tired of waiting.

This was definitely not what he was expecting.

"Uh... Good morning officers… May I help you—?"

Their expressions weren't aggressive, but they definitely weren't very friendly either. Satoru straightened his posture and tried to fix his white hair, which was surely tousled around in every direction possible. He cringed internally when he realised he was wearing a Cinnamoroll pajamas in front of two police officers, but it was too late to turn around now, so he stood there with a confident expression, hoping that they wouldn't mind talking to him like that.

"Good morning, young man. Sorry to interrupt so early in the morning. I assume you're Gojo Satoru, right?" The older police officer in front of him said, and Satoru’s tired brain finally recognized him from the news report he had seen the day before—he was Masamichi Yaga, the Chief of the Tokyo police.

He scrunched his nose at him, narrowing his eyes. At least, the man had the decency to apologize for waking him up, but Satoru had a feeling that he wasn't being sincere at all.

"Yes, that's me."

"Great. Can you tell me if Fushiguro Toji lives here too?"

Satoru frowned at that, becoming more and more confused by the minute, "Yes. I mean, he used to. Until last night, that is."

"Mhm. Right. Care to explain why?"

"Because I broke up with him yesterday after I found out he was cheating on me," Satoru huffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest, starting to get annoyed, "Listen, is all of this because he reported me for vandalizing his stupid car? Because I already said I have nothing to do with it!! The jerk cheats on me and still has the nerve to report me to the police for a crime I didn't even commit? You must be fucking kidding me—" Satoru said furiously as he grabbed his phone from his hoodie pocket and unlocked it, immediately popping open his chat with Toji, ready to send a message cursing him out... only to be met with an empty conversation—despite the messages Satoru sent him last night, none of them had been replied to. Weird. That was a very unusual attitude for Toji.

The younger—and slightly frightened—police officer who had remained silent until then cleared his throat, bringing Satoru’s attention back to the conversation.

"He didn't—uh... He didn't report you, actually."

"Oh. Then what’s this about? Is he in trouble?" Satoru asked as he lowered his phone, his mind racing to understand the reason for this conversation, "Oh my God, he got involved in more illegal gambling, didn't he? That fucking prick— You can tell him that this his problem now, I'm not paying anyone's debt this time!"

"Um— No. That's not why we're here, I'm afraid." Yaga cleared his throat, clearly becoming slightly irritated by the situation.

"So? Tell me why the hell you're here, then." Satoru frowned again at the police officer, frustration bubbling in his chest—after all, if Yaga was feeling angry just by having to do his job, imagine how Satoru feels after being dragged out of bed hungover as hell to discuss about his cheating ex-boyfriend with two police officers of all things.

Yaga took a deep breath, his irritated expression dissolving into something calmer. More respectful.

"I'm sorry to say this, Gojo-san, but Toji was found dead last night. Victim of murder."

Across the street, the birds that had been singing in the trees stopped chirping. A cloud crossed the weak morning sun, making the day fall into shadows and silence. Or at least, that’s what it felt like for Satoru.

His ears started ringing, and he only realized he had stopped breathing when his vision began to blur and darken around the edges. The police officers held him when they realized he was about to faint, preventing him from falling to the ground at the last minute, sitting him on his doorstep instead.

"He was what?? No, no... You must have gotten the wrong person. He was just fine last night and—and he's really big! Who would have been able to kill someone like him?"

"Gojo-san, please calm down—"

"That doesn't make any sense, he—he was right here yesterday. We argued and he... he said we would talk about it the next morning and— fuck. He was right here." Satoru said with a choked voice, trying to make sense of the situation.

He was a pathetic mess when it came to grief; he never knew how to handle it. How could he? He’d never even managed to process his parents’ deaths after all these years. He should’ve known something like this would happen again. He should’ve been prepared.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Gojo-san. I know this is a really... difficult moment. But we need you to accompany us to the police station in Shinjuku so we can get your statement," Yaga said as he helped him up from the floor, a protective hand wrapped around his forearm in case he collapsed again. The old man wasn't the best at showing empathy, but at least he was trying. Satoru was grateful for that.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, sure. Is it okay if I just... change clothes first?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

Satoru nodded, swallowing hard. Suddenly, the hangover wasn't the only thing making him feel sick.

The process of getting dressed and the trip to the police station passed through his mind in a daze, he was sure he disassociated almost the entire way.

Giving his testimony was a surprisingly calm task to do. Satoru sat in the interrogation room, a mug of hot chocolate in his hands and Yaga sitting in front of him, calmly conducting the interrogation. That's how Satoru discovered more details of the case: Toji was found dead inside his own precious car, his body chopped with multiple stab wounds across his torso and neck. The forensics department believed he was conscious until the last minutes of his life, causing him to bleed to death.

He wasn’t the only one found in the crime scene though—a woman around his age was with him, her body dropped on top of his dead body, apparently killed in the same way as him. Satoru didn't need to be very smart to connect the dots and understand that the other victim was surely Mei Mei, Toji's side piece.

All the sadness Satoru initially felt dissipated the moment Yaga told him these details. He shouldn't be so surprised to hear that, to be honest—once a cheater, always a cheater, but Satoru still felt a pang of betrayal deep in his chest.

But you can't expect anything different from a piece of broken glass other than it cutting you.

The testimony continued, and it became obvious that Satoru initially was one of the main suspects. And he couldn't even feel outraged by that, it made too much sense; the hurt boyfriend with a desire for revenge kills the cheater and his bitchy lover? It's a cliché good enough to convince anyone. But all that theory fell apart after Satoru showed Yaga his... alibi.

If someone had told Satoru that in less than 12 hours he would have made a sex tape with a stranger in a college party bathroom and sent it to his ex-boyfriend just to use it as an alibi the next morning to escape murder charges, he would have laughed in their faces. But oh well. Would you look at that.

Showing the video to Yaga was definitely... something. The old man’s face turned red like a tomato when he pressed play, pushing the device towards Satoru not even one minute after, saying that he had already seen more than enough.

The whole situation was absurd, but the time stamp on the video, along with the messages sent to Toji and the security camera footage that Satoru had installed at his front door showing the time he arrived at home from the party yesterday proved that it was impossible for Satoru to be involved in the crime.

It was then that Yaga revealed to him a crucial clue that could indicate who had killed Toji; he slid a piece of paper across the table towards Satoru, asking him to analyze it and tell him if the image on it could mean anything to him.

Satoru curiously picked up the sheet, turning it over and studying its contents; it was a scan of a paper extremely stained with blood, a grotesquely yet beautiful drawing in its center, depicting a kind of worm or grub coiling and strangling itself. The figure of a crow flew above it, its feathers dripping as if they were melting, his beak eating parts of itself.

The level of detail, along with the artistic style, made the drawing impossible for Satoru not to recognize who it belonged to.

"Wait, this is— Uzumaki is the one who killed Toji?"

Yaga blinked at him, looking a little taken aback by Satoru's question, "We're still investigating that. That's our biggest guess so far—along with you, of course. But that's already been resolved with your... video," Yaga cleared his throat dryly, making a disgusted face, "Anyway. We're still investigating, it could just be a copycat trying to throw us off for all we know. A lot of people are taking inspiration from this Uzumaki guy, committing crimes and trying to pretend it was him."

Satoru decided to ignore the constipated look Yaga was making at the mention of the sex tape, instead focusing on the paper in his hands once again and turning it towards Yaga on the table, pointing to the details around the figures drawed, "Yes, but this is just like his artistic style, see? The way the lines overlap on each other and all the drawing has cross-hatching details?"

The detective stared at him with a suspicious look, crossing his arms and huffing at him, "And why would you know all of this?"

"I— Uhm... I'm just kind of a true crime fan, I guess." Satoru lied easily, taking a sip of his forgotten hot chocolate and letting the sweet taste dissolve on his tongue, "I've been watching all the news involving Uzumaki. Both the official ones and those from tabloids and social media."

Yaga huffed at him again, seeming convinced by his answer but no less irritated than before, "I'll never understand this generation's fixation with serial killers. In my time, these types of people were treated like the freaks they are. Now they have fans all over the world. Truly disgusting."

Satoru rolled his eyes, letting out a small chuckle at Yaga's irritation, "I’ve never said I'm a fan, I'm just a very informed person. And who also happens to like learning more about criminal cases. That's all."

The policeman scowled, pointing his finger at Satoru as if he were trying to intimidate him, instead the scene was just extremely funny, "What you should be focusing on is being safe."

"Hah? And who said I don't already do that?"

The policeman's left eye twitched, and Satoru genuinely worried about the possibility of the old man having a nervous breakdown right there in front of him.

"Your alibi is literally a sex tape. You went out alone at night and got involved with a stranger in a party bathroom while the whole city is under curfew because of an extremely dangerous serial killer."

Satoru’s cheeks flushed at the blatant insult, opening his mouth to defend himself only to be interrupted again, "No! You know dawn right you’re in the wrong here! You are going home and starting to be a more responsible young man!"

"But I—"

“And you need to eat better! Look at you, all skinny and looking like you're about to collapse at any second! You kids these days have no sense of self-care, my God—”

“Kid? I’m 22 years old! I’m clearly an adult!”

“Then act like it!!” Yaga said as he hit Satoru on the head with the stack of papers he was holding, launching into a long lecture about how to be a responsible citizen and all the dangers in the world.

And like. Satoru really tried not to be a complete jerk and listen to everything the old policeman had to say—he really did—but after five minutes of conversation, the little devil on his shoulder couldn't help but make him start cracking jokes here and there along Yaga's speech, which only served to make him even more irritated, grumbling that Satoru was nothing but a child who needed to learn good manners.

Strangely, the interaction warmed Satoru's heart. Yaga's way of treating him as if he was a lost child who needed support was ridiculous, but also a little comforting. It made him feel strangely warm inside, even though he tried not to think too much about it.

After the conversation was over, Satoru was finally released and dismissed from the case, but not before Yaga handed him a business card with his direct work number, making Satoru promise he would call him if he found himself needing help. Satoru rolled his eyes, seriously considering throwing the card in the trash as soon as he got home—but the sight of Yaga trying to disguise his concern with irritation was enough to make him change his mind.

When he was finally released from the police station, it was already past noon; Satoru was able to hitch a ride home with one of the police officers (courtesy of Yaga, of course) and when he finally stepped inside his house, the weight of the whole situation fell heavily upon him.

He threw himself onto the living room sofa and turned on the TV, trying to distract himself with the background noise and ignore the feeling of loneliness in his heart—his house was always small and cozy, but at that moment it seemed large and empty. It wasn't the first time it had felt this way.

Satoru took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts, trying to make sense of the recent events.

Did he really feel that bad about Toji's death?

He was grieving, of course—this morning when he received the news, he was clearly in absolute shock… Their entire two-year relationship dissolved so quickly into something negative, things changed so fast and so drastically that it was a little difficult to keep up.

Satoru still remembered how he felt when he first started dating Toji; innocent, hopeful, and excited... with high hopes that he found someone who could show him what it was like to love and be loved in the same way his parents did. When everything came crashing down, Satoru tried his best to pretend that everything was alright, to continue living in the same lie. So it was safe to say that with the recent events, things became impossible to ignore.

But one thing was certain.

Satoru didn't feel sad about Toji's death. In fact, it was almost as if this problem that he didn't want to solve had simply disappeared—ceased to exist, not even a trace of it left in his life.

Satoru didn't love him—they didn't love each other. He was sure they never came close to doing that, not even on the best days of their relationship.

His gaze drifted to the television, watching whatever was playing at that moment. When hunger finally overcame him, he got up and went to the kitchen, mindlessly taking ingredients from his refrigerator to make a quick lunch for himself, mentally preparing himself to put together a cleaning plan to get all of Toji's things out of his house by the end of the day.

But then his cell phone rang.

He grabbed his phone placed on the kitchen counter while adding the seasonings and herbs to the omelet that was stimming in the pan in front of him, the screen lighting up with a new notification.

A message notification. From the same unknown number of last night.

Unknown number [14:15 pm]
Hey
How are you?
Sorry about your boyfriend... I guess all those muscles didn't help much ;)

Satoru blinked at his phone, a shiver running down his spine. That certainly didn't imply that—No. That wasn't possible.

His omelet was starting to burn in the pan, the smell of something burning filling the kitchen and entering his lungs, but Satoru didn't care, too fixated on the messages that kept coming.

Unknown number [14:16 pm]
Did you sleep well, doll?
I hope I wasn't too rude last night

Gojo Satoru [14:16 pm]
Who is this????

Unknown number [14:17 pm]
But judging by the way you cummed on my cock, I guess you liked it a little rough

Gojo Satoru [14:17 pm]
How did you get my number?????

Satoru stared at his phone screen waiting for the reply, but the message never came. After a few seconds, the phone screen went black, leaving only Satoru's perplexed reflection staring back at him from the phone's screen. A thousand thoughts raced through his head, but he was jolted out of them when his omelet started making noises that sounded very much like it was about to explode at any moment. Satoru rushed to the stove, turning off the fire and staring at the piece of black charcoal in the frying pan that was supposed to be his lunch.

His mind raced, coming up with answers to the questions that had haunted his thoughts the previous night.

The same guy he hooked up with at the party yesterday—the same one who secretly filmed a sex tape of them and shamelessly sent it to him—was the man who killed Toji. And also the one that killed eight other victims in a month.

The same guy who was flirting with Satoru via text message, making jokes about his boyfriend's death.

And he wanted Satoru to know it. To know all of this. On his own free will.

⛧°. ⋆༺𖦹༻⋆. °⛧

Five days had passed since then, the entire week drifting by in a hazy blur, and Satoru was surprised by how easily everything went on; his friends showed him more support than ever, all of them worried about his well-being since the news of Toji's death spread. Satoru felt genuinely blessed to have people who genuinely cared about his wellbeing around him—he couldn't help but curse himself for having been so blind to his friends' support for so long. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Satoru had the energy to live again. He went to college every day of the week, grabbed lunch with his friends, attended the gym regularly, started reading new books and scheduled a trip to the beauty salon with Utahime after such a long time without doing so. He even flirted with his cute crush from his favorite coffee shop on campus—the handsome guy with the piercings and tattoos. He always felt slightly guilty for doing that when he was dating Toji, but it's not like he needed to worry about that anymore.

Toji was dead. And so were his feelings for him.

Maybe they weren't even there in the first place.

It was almost like Satoru was living his first week of college again—back when he still had the willpower to heal himself. He was feeling a spark behind his chest, a will to live that he hadn’t felt in a long time. All he wanted now was to do everything right; to take care of himself and value the small things life had to offer him.

But of course, not everything was going perfectly smoothly—Naoya Zenin had been pestering him all week, trying to hit on him all over campus. Apparently, the news that Satoru was now single was enough to make the bastard feel bold, convincing himself that he could totally have a shot with him. Satoru felt disgusted that someone as repulsive and self-absorbed as Naoya genuinely believed he ever stood a chance, but he tried to ignore him the best he could, going on with his life like he didn’t exist.

Apart from these little details, the week was pretty good. Better than all the weeks he had since he met Toji, that's for sure.

Maybe Shoko was right; dating Toji really had sucked all the sparkle out of him, and now he was conquering it back.

The only real problem came when he returned home at the end of the day. Loneliness and coldness settled over him all over again; he discovered it was kind of difficult to stay happy when no one was watching. 

Satoru also started rereading his mother’s favorite poem book for the first time since she died. He finally felt ready for it—and more than that, he found himself dedicating a moment each day to read a little more of the books he kept from them, letting himself sink into the author’s gentle, lyrical storytelling.

But no matter how many times he thought about the poem "Love is Violence", every time his thoughts turned back to him.

The masked man. Uzumaki. Ghostface. Whatever his true identity was.

The serial killer hadn't contacted him since the last messages sent last Saturday, and although Satoru should have felt relieved about that, all he could feel was loneliness—as if he was waiting for the masked man to appear again, to at least give him some sign that he was still watching Satoru.

And he was fully aware of how stupid that sounded, but Satoru couldn’t help missing his touch, his scent, his cock… he couldn’t help but miss the way Ghostface held him and, for a few fleeting minutes, made him feel whole again.

All week Satoru tried to avoid thinking about him—especially the events during the bathroom incident—but it's not like he could simply undo the fact that he had slept with a serial killer, right? So he decided to just deal with it and forget everything, continuing with his life as if nothing had happened.

But it was obvious he wasn't succeeding; Ghostface's presence marked him like a knife to the throat, haunting him wherever he went.

The days slipped by until Friday arrived once more, and it was finally Halloween. The streets buzzed with energy and anticipation for the holiday despite Uzumaki's silent threats. The Sun was long gone by now, leaving only the cold and mysterious glow of the moonlight spilling across Tokyo, the jack-o'-lanterns shining in equal mysteriousness across the streets.

Instead of joining the party happening in Shibuya tonight with his friends, Satoru decided to take advantage of the healing energy he had cultivated during the week and stay home, using his free time to put his personal life back in order. He spent the entire day reorganizing his house, shifting things around and cleaning until the space felt comfortable and slightly different; a light, clean sense of renewal settling over every corner of his home.

Above all, he wanted to avoid any masked people as much as possible—nothing against them, of course, he just needed some time to clear his head. It was best to stay inside and take care of himself a little instead of drowning all his problems in alcohol and ending up doing something stupid again. Like sleeping with a fucking serial killer.

So yeah, no going out for him tonight.

Currently, he was in his bedroom with his face glued to the computer, trying to solve a programmation project that his professor had assigned for the weekend. Satoru had already lost track of how much time had passed, and when he looked at the clock on his table and saw that it was already past midnight, he decided to take a small break to relax a little. 

Maybe watching some cliché Halloween movie from the comfort of his fluffy bed was a good plan—that sounded like a wonderful idea, actually. Totally self-care on his part.

After getting ready, he laid down on his mattress while wearing his favorite purple hoodie and matching panties—somethin simple and comfortable for him to relax. He wrapped himself in his blankets, turning the TV on and looking for a relaxing movie to watch on the streaming app; he ultimately decided to put on Coraline (his concept of comfort definitely needed an update, but whatever) and he immediately began to entertain himself with the film, the shapes of the characters filling his eyes. 

From somewhere downstairs, Satoru thought he heard a strange noise; like something heavy was hitting the ground. He paused the movie and listened for a few minutes, but no other noise could be heard, only the sound of his beating heart. 

Maybe he had left the kitchen window open? Well, too bad then, because he definitely wasn’t going to leave the comfort of his bedroom to go down there and close it. He got himself comfortable in his bed again, the trees outside swaying in the wind while the TV glowed around his room, creating the perfect atmosphere for watching something creepy. Satoru hummed softly, his mind finally settling down and relaxing.

Then, 20 minutes into the movie, his phone started vibrating next to him, signalling someone was calling him. Satoru blindly grabbed his phone and pressed to answer the call, not even bothering to pause the movie or see who was calling, thinking it might be Shoko or Utahime trying to convince him to go out with them. 

"Hello?"

"Good night, Satoru. How are you on this fine Halloween night? No partying this time?"

Satoru stopped in his tracks, confused at not recognizing the voice on the line; he moved the phone slightly away from his ear and glanced at the screen, his eyes widening when he saw "Unknown number" displayed on the caller ID.

"Who is this?" Wow. That's a really clever question, Satoru. Congratulations.

"Hmm. No one important. Just a big fan."

A cold shiver crawled down Satoru’s spine at the response,the realization of who was speaking finally hitting him. Although the connection was distorted, he knew that voice; he had heard it once in that dark bathroom a week ago, and countless more times in the video he watched almost religiously before falling asleep every night.

There was no doubt. It was him.

But it wasn't the realization of it that shocked him, or the words themselves, but the way they were said. With pure, raw need. Like Ghostface was hungry for him.

At that moment, Satoru reminded himself of the sound he had heard in the kitchen earlier and dread coursed through his veins—did that noise really had come from the kitchen window? What if it wasn't? Shit, did he lock the front door when he arrived home that evening? He certainly did, right?

Fuck, maybe he should check it.

"You're Uzumaki, right?"

"Mhm. But you can call me whatever you want."

Satoru snorted into the phone, finding Uzumaki's answers slightly amusing, "That’s ridiculous." 

He walked down the corridor leading to the stairs as silently as possible, stopping at the top and trying to hear any sound downstairs—when he heard nothing, he descended the stair quickly, skipping a few steps and crossing the room until he reached the red cedar door in front of his house. Locked. 

Still feeling on edge, he opened the security camera app of his front door and checked the last few hours—his muscles relaxing slightly when nothing unusual could be seen. He closed the app and rested his forehead against the door, letting out a big sigh. Great. No reason to freak out.

He returned his attention to the call, speaking again since Uzumaki had remained strangely silent the entire time.

"Okay then “big fan”, what do you want?" 

"Hm. Nothing important. I was going to ask you if you have a boyfriend... but ah, I just remembered you don't. Since I killed him last week and all that."

Satoru rolled his eyes at the answer. If Uzumaki was trying to make him sad with that joke, he would be disappointed to find out that Satoru didn't give a single fuck about Toji's death.

Since he was on the first floor already, Satoru took the opportunity to get himself a snack, heading towards the kitchen and turning on the lights. If he was going to spend his Friday night talking to a psycho killer on the phone, he might as well have a sweet treat for it. He looked towards the open kitchen window blowing a cold air inside, closing it with a sight of relief—that was the noise he had heard before then. 

"Oh wow. You're soooo funny," Satoru said mockingly as he opened his fridge and took out a package of strawberry mochi he bought from the coffee shop on campus. He crumbled the package in his hands as he opened it, remembering how he had excitedly entered the cafeteria that morning only to realize that his crush wasn't on his usual work shift. He found himself unreasonably upset about it—he’d really been looking forward to flirt with him a little, maybe even finally ask for his phone number. He remembered the way Shoko laughed at his face, saying he shouldn’t be pouting like a kid since he would be seeing him again next Monday. 

He took a bite of the soft mochi and hummed as the fresh and sweet taste filled his mouth, leaning on the fridge door and studying its insides as the man on the other side of the line continued to talk.

"Don't lie to me, I bet you liked my joke at least a little bit." 

"You fuck me in a bathroom, kill my boyfriend on the same night and have the nerve to call me a week later and tease me about it? Really?"

"You make it sound like you weren't cumming on my cock like a slut that night—"

Satoru coughed, choking on the piece of mochi he had swallowed and interrupting Uzumaki. He could feel his cheeks starting to redden at the words, memories of that night vividly returning to his mind.

"That's irrelevant. Beside the point, even—"

"... plus, you don't really care about that scum. I know that."

Satoru thought he heard a wooden creak on the stairs leading to the second floor, but dismissed it as his imagination due to the sound of blood rushing in his ears from Uzumaki's words. He returned his attention to the call, placing the mochi and a bottle of peach tea on the kitchen counter, leaning against it again while chewing his treat.

"Oh yeah, big fan? Enlighten me then. How can you be so sure about that?"

"It’s easy, I've been watching you long before last week."

Satoru felt his whole body shiver again, more violently this time, but he forced himself to continue listening attentively, not allowing himself to miss a single word Uzumaki was saying—like a priest listening to a sinner's confession.

"I've seen up close how unhappy he was making you," the voice continued, its tone calm and low, "I saw firsthand the moment he slowly began to become a burden to you. Like all the times he forgot to pick you up from college at night, or how he constantly stayed out late with his friends gambling while leaving you alone at home. I saw how he disrespected you. How he cheated on you. I saw all the nights you cried yourself to sleep alone on your bed."

Satoru's breath hitched, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Had Uzumaki been watching him before all this? Like, stalking him? Why? A thousand questions filled his head, but the man kept talking, oblivious to the inner turmoil shaking Satoru's chest.

"But I also saw when you slowly stopped crying for him. I saw when the pain turned into indifference, and then into annoyance. When you started rolling your eyes everytime he opened his mouth. How you finally realized you're way too good for someone so stupid like him." 

Uzumaki paused, followed by a wicked laugh. Satoru hated how the sound made heat pool at his stomach, "And I saw how he didn’t fuck you well enough, Satoru. He didn’t even knew how to touch you the right way. You've never felt as much pleasure as you did with me that night, have you?" Satoru felt his pussy contracting around nothing at the words, biting his lips to suppress a sigh, with the absence of his answer, Uzumaki continued speaking, "Mhm, yeah. You've never moaned with him the same way you moaned with me. I know it."

"That's fucking bullshit. You're making all that up!"

"That's why he deserved to die."

"Shut up!" 

"He valued that stupid car more than you, you realize that, right? He treated you like a pet, Satoru. He could never see the perfect person you are."

"S-Stop it!"

"And you know Satoru... I don't like killing. I have a strict code with my crimes; let's say that if I judge someone to be a repulsive waste of space, I do the world a favor by cleansing it off their insignificance. It's more of a job than justice, really. So I never felt pleasure from it." 

Another pause, his voice suddenly taking a dangerous edge, "But killing that piece of shit? Making sure his disgusting hands would never have the privilege to touch you again? Oh, that felt fucking amazing."

"Fuck you! Stop saying that! Why are you telling me all this? Why do you want to torture me?"

"Dunno. Am I, Satoru? Am I torturing you?" Satoru stopped in the middle of his kitchen, realizing that he had started pacing anxiously without noticing. Dread filled his chest, and he looked around nervously, searching for the source of his anxiety; he definitely felt like he was being watched. He was sure of it.

With the absence of his response, Uzumaki continued speaking, "Because from what I could tell, you've never been more radiant and free than now, away from the filthy existence of that piece of trash... And don't lie to me 'Toru, you can't stop thinking about me, hm? You can't stop thinking about my cock fucking your pretty hole."

"You wish." Satoru replied, trying to sound confident, but his voice cracked pathetically around the edges, the intensity of the situation finally getting to him and cracking his confident facade.

"Yeah? I vividly remember how beautifully you were moaning last night… My pretty ‘Toru was missing me, wasn't he?"

"W-What— what are you talking about—"

"But it wasn't enough, was it, doll? You couldn't satisfy your needs without me."

"Stop fucking playing with me! What are you talking about—"

"You tried fucking yourself with that big blue dildo you have, right? Poor baby was wriggling and tossing on the bed all night trying to relieve yourself while watching our video..."

"How do you know this?" Satoru asked, his voice trembling slightly, gripping the kitchen counter tightly as he listened to what Uzumaki was saying, remembering the way he had tried for almost an hour to relieve the tension in his pussy. Although he had orgasmed twice that night, he hadn't felt satisfied at all with his orgasms. He had fallen asleep right there, without even bothering to clean himself or make his bed, a feeling of loneliness and dissatisfaction deep in his bones.

"I already told you, Satoru. I've been watching you all this time. I've been waiting."

"Okay, that's enough! I'm hanging up now!"

Satoru's heart was beating like crazy now, every noise around him made him tremble and jump. His instincts were short-circuiting, trying to make sense of everything Uzumaki was saying. The man just laughed on the other end, apparently finding the scene amusing and funny while Satoru was about to faint from stress.

"Hm. Sure. Just let me say one more thing, okay?"

"What, you asshole?"

"You look really pretty in purple."

It was like the whole world went dead silent for an instant, all the blood in Satoru’s body freezing upon hearing Uzumaki's confession. 

He was there. He was inside the fucking house with him. All this time.

Satoru's legs moved before his mind, making him run wildly towards his bedroom, his cellphone clutched tightly in his hands as his body runned cold with anxiety. He needed to reach the safety of his room and lock the door, maybe even barricade it with his bed. He needed to get in there and call the police. Maybe call Yaga.

He finally reached the top of the stairs, running in long strides towards his room at the end of the corridor. When he finally managed to get inside his room and grab the doorknob to close it, relief began to course through his body. Maybe he could get out of this situation safely.

Only to find a man in a Ghostface mask waiting for him behind his door.

Satoru had little time to take in the sight of the tall and muscular body in front of him—this time the man was wearing a different mask; bloody red with horns on each side of his head, wearing combat pants and a tight black t-shirt. Before he could react, Satoru was grabbed with unnatural and terrifying speed, strong hands gripping his waist and slamming him into his bed with too much force, his body falling onto the mattress with a loud thud. In the process, his cell phone slipped from his hand and fell to the floor making a loud noise, and at the exact moment Satoru was gathering himself to get up and attack the intruder, his frame was engulfed by Uzumaki's hot body dropping on top of him aggressively, trying to hold him down.

To Satoru's credit, he really tried to fight. He pulled the neat bun on Uzumaki's head for leverage and delivered a powerful punch to his jugular—just below his mask—pushing him away by his hair with all the force he could master. He managed to land a few more punches and kicks to the intruder's abdomen, strong enough to make the serial killer momentarily lose his breath, causing his bun to unravel with the abrupt movements, a silky black hair dripping along his shoulders.

Satoru didn't have time to admire the black, almost onyx strands, choosing instead to take advantage of the way Uzumaki was stunned by the pain and scramble forwards on the bed, trying to increase the distance between himself and the killer as much as he could.

But before he could even turn around, two strong hands snapped around his ankles and pulled him back, their bodies engaging in a short struggle for dominance on the matress, but the result was immediate; Uzumaki took both of his wrists and pinned them down in one solid, merciless grip. The killer swiftly pulled handcuffs from one of his pants pockets, using his terrifying strength to tightly restrain Satoru's wrists with the cold pieces of metal, his torso and legs getting locked in place by Uzumaki's strong legs sitting on top of him, straddling his waist. Satoru squirmed beneath him in an attempt to break free uselessly, trying to get the heavy body off him, but stopped immediately upon feeling a cold, sharp surface being pressed against his neck.

With dread in his stomach, Satoru found himself trapped in place with a knife at his throat, Uzumaki looking down at him triumphantly and panting—Satoru doubted it was just because of their short fight. 

Satoru shuddered upon realizing his situation—in less than a week, he found himself at the mercy of Ghostface again, or rather, Uzumaki. The dangerous serial killer who remorselessly murdered his victims. His skin crawled, his pupils dilated, and his throat tightened—despite the euphoria, Satoru realized that what he was feeling went beyond fear; he was excited about what was to come, his underwear getting alarmingly wet at each minute.

"Hi Satoru," the masked man said in a low tone that made Satoru's pussy give a traitorous twitch. His voice was slightly muffled by the mask, but Satoru couldn't deny that he had missed hearing it since their last encounter. Still, he tried to maintain his confident and irritated facade, showing that he was bothered by the intruder's presence.

"Let me go, asshole."

Uzumaki let out an incredulous laugh, dropping a little more of his weight onto Satoru's body and caressing Satoru's cheek with the hand that wasn't busy pressing the knife against his neck. Warm fingers cupped his face, the touch achingly familiar—just like that night in the bathroom a week ago. Satoru hated how he unconsciously leaned into it, how his body betrayed him by craving the soft contact. His gaze drifted to the ink curling around the killer’s wrist, following the dark lines up the strong slope of his arm, losing all the rational thought at the sight of Uzumaki’s growing muscles flexing and bulging at each movement.

"Sorry, but I'm afraid I missed you too much to do that."

"And I missed when you didn't talk."

Uzumaki laughed again, dropping his weight even more on Satoru, like he was relaxing his body despite the absurd situation. Satoru tried to ignore how the feeling of his weight on top of him made him feel good.

"Aw. You're so mean. Aren't you happy to see me?"

"No."

Uzumaki hummed, pressing his fingers a little harder against his cheek, "Not even after I give you another gift?"

Satoru narrowed his eyes at him, trying to suppress the shiver that ran through his body as he felt Uzumaki move his hand from Satoru's cheek to his jaw, caressing his pointy bone as if it were something precious, "Gift? What are you talking about?"

"Let's just say I killed another person before coming here... I doubt you'll guess who." Uzumaki said giggling, as if they were talking about guessing what flavor of ice cream Satoru wanted, not about who Uzumaki murdered because of him.

"Are you really saying that killing my boyfriend was a gift to me?"

"Yeah. Well, that and the graffiti I did on his ugly car, too."

Satoru scoffed, trying with all his might not to burst out laughing at the confession, "Just get straight to the point, dude. My God."

"Hm. You're not being fun today," Uzumaki said as if he were pouting, annoyed at the lack of attention he was receiving, "I’ll give you a hint and say you don't have to worry about anyone else hitting on you anymore."

Blue eyes widened, staring at Uzumaki's blood-red mask with disbelief. 

“You killed Naoya?" Satoru asked slowly, his voice trembling slightly. 

“Mhm. He screamed like a bitch when I stabbed him in the throat, I'm sure you'd find the whole scene pretty amusing.”

Satoru shivered beneath him, remembering the way Naoya trailed around him more than usual this week, how he had tried to grab his waist in the coffee line on Thursday and whisper some stupid joke in his ear. Has Uzumaki seen all of this? But how?

"You're fucking crazy.”

"For you, yes." Uzumaki said in a low and heated voice, lowering his torso towards Satoru and getting closer, the coldness of his mask tickling his ear, "And you know what the most fucked up part of all this is? You like it." Satoru heard Uzumaki take a deep breath, trying to breathe in Satoru's scent through his Ghostface mask.

"There you go being delusional again." Satoru replied with a strained voice, feeling the heat of Uzumaki's body affecting his sanity. 

"Pff. Delusional, you say, huh?" Uzumaki said with a forced laugh, straightening his posture and looking down at Satoru again, "I can feel you squirming under me, you know," he said, simultaneously rubbing the bulge of his hard member against Satoru's bare thigh, making the white-haired man tremble again, his head hitting the mattress at the loud sight he let out. God, he missed feeling his cock so much, even through the clothes.

"That's because you're heavy as fuck, dickface."

"Stop acting like you're not happy that scumbag died, both of them."

Satoru let out a cruel laugh at that, looking at the killer above him with a condescending gaze, "For someone who finds no pleasure in killing, you're suspiciously focused on my approval."

The knife at his neck pressed harder, a chilling reminder of who was in control at that moment. Satoru tried to remain calm and keep his breathing light, doing his best to prevent the sharp edge of the object from making further contact with his neck.

"Satoru. Tell me you're happy that I killed them."

Despite the literal knife pointed at him, Satoru didn't feel threatened—quite the opposite, in fact. Uzumaki may have tied him up and pinned him down, but he still seemed to be the more desperate one in the situation—his tone of voice was needy and craving attention around the edges, his cock twitching where it made slight contact with Satoru's thigh.

His blue eyes took on a more wicked, malicious gleam. Satoru snickered at him, letting out a long, bored sigh and feeling the knife press a little harder against his neck, the sensation making him shiver slightly.

"Why should I? Do you have a praise kink or something?" 

Uzumaki let out a low gasp, quickly composing himself and leaning closer to Satoru with an irritated voice, "Says the one who has a knife kink." 

He then directed the tip of the blade directly onto the white-haired man's pulse point, and Satoru mindlessly wondered if he could feel the vibrations of his accelerated pulse through the knife.

"I bet if I made you bleed a little, you would like it," Uzumaki said as he ran the cold blade of the knife across his neck while simultaneously shifting in Satoru's lap and letting the shape of his cock press against Satoru's pussy through their clothes.

"Sounds more like you would like to see me bleed." Satoru let out a breathless laugh to try and disguise his moan—even though Uzumaki's pants and Satoru's panties were in the way, the sensation of feeling Uzumaki's member twitching against him was driving him crazy.

"I would. But only if you want it too," came the soft reply, and Satoru was surprised by how affectionate the tone was, shuddering as the blade began to caress his skin more than threaten him. He could feel the gears of control slowly reversing, Uzumaki becoming more pliant even while being the one on top of Satoru.

"I wouldn't mind it as long as it's you doing it." 

Satoru could feel his cheeks burn with the weight of the confession. Maybe it wasn't just Uzumaki who was letting his control slip—Satoru could also feel his body becoming lighter, his breathing more ragged, the need to consume and be consumed suffocating him from the inside out.

Uzumaki began to pant heavily, the obstruction of the mask and the intensity in which Satoru stared at him clearly affecting his breathing. He lightly pressed the knife between Satoru's neck and collarbone, causing a thin line of blood to bloom on his white skin and spread across his neck, a sinful red pulsating in tune with the rawness of the situation. The cut was somewhat superficial, but it was still enough for a small amount to spill onto the mattress below them, splattering a few red drops on the purple satin.

The burning sensation of the fresh cut awakened something unhinged in Satoru; he moaned openly as he arched his body towards the knife while his mind was screaming at him to run—the duality between pleasure and reason wrapped seductively around him, leaving his body even more pliant to Uzumaki's touch.

"Look at you. So beautiful even bleeding like this…" Uzumaki said reverently, his tone of voice dripping with devotion and something darker. 

He began to slide the knife down Satoru's collarbone, leaving goosebumps in its wake, until he reached the collar of the hoodie Satoru was wearing and tore it to pieces with quick segments of his knife—when the fabric was finally in crumbles Uzumaki immediately pulled the remnants of it away from Satoru's body, his movements dripping with desperation. 

The sound of the reaping fabric woke Satoru from the warm state his mind was in, exposing his body to the chilly air of his bedroom. The sudden movement of the blade made him tremble involuntarily with fear, but before he could even understand the situation, Uzumaki rubbed the back of the blade into his bare chest, stopping at his muscular pectorals and wrapping the hand that wasn't holding the knife under Satoru's nipples, admiring the skin and the long whitish area below them caused by his surgery scar.

"I've always found your scars so beautiful, this is the first time I've been able to see them so closely…" he said as he lightly ran the tip of the blade under the scars on Satoru's chest, causing a sensation of chills and fear to constrict in Satoru's belly wherever the cold, bloody surface touched.

In that moment, something more powerful than fear seized the rational part of Satoru’s mind he was so proud of—neediness. Absolutely nothing could give him more pleasure and happiness than the dangerous, unhealthy attention of the man pinning him down. The danger itself felt like a special reward to him.

Uzumaki hummed at the request, wrapping his tattooed hand around Satoru's chest and giving a light squeeze, reveling in the way the man below him let out a soft gasp with the touch. Once again, Satoru was surprised by the softness of Uzumaki's hands; his large, tattooed fingers enveloped his chest and caressed him with a tenderness that almost made him forget the fact that those same hands were responsible for killing eight other victims in brutal ways.

Of killing Toji in a brutal way.

Yes, the heat of the situation was almost enough to forget. But a darker part of Satoru's mind remembered these details very well.

The problem was, it got him excited thinking about it. More than he had ever felt before.

“Seeing you like this… All pliable and sweet, lying like a gift for me to unwrap…” Uzumaki said as he ran his hands down Satoru's torso, his warm and affectionate touch accompanied by the cold memory of the knife in his hands, “It makes me want to fucking destroy you all over.” 

Uzumaki reached his belly button, the knife blade dipping in with just a little more force and creating a cut from Satoru's navel down to the waistband of his underwear, making more blood bloom from it, and Satoru couldn't help but let out a small pleased noise at the sensation.

"I couldn't fully enjoy you that night in the bathroom, I had to kill that bastard, after all."

A quick movement of the knife followed, tearing his panties with an equally swift and aggressive gesture. Satoru gasped, feeling that some of the knife cuts had grazed a little bit of the skin in his pelvis—more blood dripped in small drops onto his skin, the burning sensation and pleasure only making the feeling of vulnerability scream even louder, his pussy twitching around nothing.

“But I will make sure to savor this for as long as I can tonight,” strong hands moved the remnants of the fabric away from Satoru, exposing his pussy to the cold air, the killer's heated gaze kissing his skin, “By the end of this you won't want anyone but me, I can promise you that.”

I already don't want anyone else.

“Well, I did read somewhere that serial killers are extremely egocentric creatures,” Satoru said instead, his voice dripping with mockery even though he was feeling like he was losing his mind—Uzumaki still hadn't touched him where he wanted it most, and the neglect was driving him from irritation into something far more desperate.

As if Uzumaki could read his thoughts—or simply perceive the way Satoru was squirming pathetically beneath him—the tip of the blade grazed over Satoru's clit slightly, the cold and sharp touch sending an electric shock through his body, making Satoru try his best not to arch himself towards the knife.

“I bet this needy thing was waiting to feel me again.” 

“You’re so full of shit— ah! Mhmmp…”, Satoru moaned at the feeling of the knife grazing his cock with more force, his senses going haywire between escaping that situation and completely surrendering. Uzumaki let out a melodious laugh at the sight of his despair, the cruel sound wrapping around Satoru's mind and turning his brain to mush.

“It’s so cute, you know… the way you try to seem in control when I can literally feel how much you want this.” 

Warm fingers gently touched Satoru’s chin, contrasting almost comically with the brutal way Uzumaki was administering his cunt. He tilted his head toward the sight of the knife pressed against his clit, making Satoru bite back a whimper at the obscene scene—the knife glistened and gleamed from the slick of his pussy, everything was a mess of wetness mixed with his own blood.

Despite that, Satoru could feel his clit pulsing dangerously beneath the knife, his breath hitching and his pulse quickening with the promise of what was to come.

"You want this, don't you, Satoru? I know you missed me, missed my cock."

Satoru bit his lips and tried to scowl, but couldn't help the way his face crumbled in pleasure at the mean words delivered to him, lowering his gaze to the big bulge rubbing against his thigh, his brain chanting want it inside, want it inside, want it inside over and over.

“Maybe I should fuck you raw tonight, make you feel every inch when you take me.”

Satoru could feel his sanity finally snapping and slipping away under Uzumaki's possessive manner, yet he tried to maintain control, "N-No! You can't do that! Get off— nghn… Get off me!" he said while simultaneously spreading his legs wider to accommodate Uzumaki between them, further exposing his dripping hole to the masked man. 

He almost cursed himself for letting his true desires show in such a blatant way, but his thoughts got lost again when his eyes feasted on the man above him—the big and strong muscles, the beautiful black hair framing his mask… Satoru moved his hands—which were still resting above his head on the bed—for the first time since all this began, stretching his arms and scratching Uzumaki's navel under his compressed shirt, urging the unmoving body closer.  

Without realizing it, Satoru began to squirm his body towards Uzumaki as best he could without hurting himself with the knife, silently begging for him to finally touch Satoru and relieve him where he needed it most. But the masked man refused to come closer, remaining motionless and only watching his prey become more and more impatient with each passing minute.

“You’re right. You clearly don’t want this,” Uzumaki hummed as Satoru awkwardly wrapped his bound hands around his cargo pants and tried to unbutton his belt the best he could while his hands were tied up, the handcuffs already warmed up by the temperature of his skin burning with desire.

“Yeah, I don’t.”  

“Mhm. Maybe I should leave then.” Uzumaki grunted when his cock was finally free from the confines of his pants, his length falling heavily onto Satoru's restrained hands, who wasted no time in beginning to rub the member against his wet pussy in the best way he could, feeling the member twitch and drool with precum around him.

He replaced Satoru's hands with his own, batting them away and thrusting his member into his pussy, his cockhead hitting right above his little cock, causing a stream of pathetic whimpers to escape from Satoru's mouth. He could feel himself dripping more and more, his slick dropping onto the purple satin sheets with every minute that Uzumaki prolonged the absence of his touch.

“Get on with it already!” Satoru almost shouted, his voice exuding irritation.

"Sorry Toru’, but I'm a little confused… I thought you didn't want this?"

“Fucking asshole—ah!”

A quick slap was delivered to his inner thigh, almost hitting his pussy by a few centimeters.

“Behave. I told you already, I’m having my time with you tonight.”

“Oh my God. I really liked it more when you didn't talk, at least that way you fucked me faster." Satoru groaned, putting his hands back on top of his head and hitting them against the bed like a petulant child.

"At least let me see your face, staring at this stupid Ghostface mask is starting to annoy me."

“I’m not doing that.”

“And why the fuck are you not.”

“Because this implies too many problems for both you and me—”

“You’re about to fuck me for the second time and somehow taking of your mask is too much responsibility for you? What a fucking pussy— Oh fuck!”

Uzumaki's dick aligned with Satoru's hole, his cockhead breaching his entrance only to rub around his labia again. The knife was discarded to the side so that Uzumaki could hold Satoru's waist, preventing him from squirming around and trying to carelessly impale himself on his cock in any way.

“I’m not going to show you who I am because that’s dangerous for you, Satoru.” He wrapped one of his hands around his cheek, gently wiping away the tears that had begun to form in his blue eyes with his fingers, “Or did you forget that I’ve literally killed people and have the police after me?”

Blue eyes rolled at him, his face morphing in annoyance, “I don’t give a shit about that—”

Uzumaki’s hands grazed around his throat, his touch affectionate yet imposing, with a clear message that Satoru should shut the fuck up.

“You poor thing. We don't always get what we want in life, you know?” His hands slid down Satoru’s neck, his black nails scratching his torso and causing a new wave of blood to ooze from the cuts, “But don’t you think this makes everything more fun? I bet your mask kink is going crazy right now,” he chuckled as he wrapped his bloody hands around his waist again, squeezing the soft skin there.

Satoru was trembling uncontrollably, the desire to be consumed vibrating in his veins along with the blood dripping from them. He laughed sarcastically, giving Uzumaki a heated gaze, feeling an enormous urge to act like a brat.

 "That’s a shame, really. I was so looking forward to moan like a whore while looking into your eyes tonight."

The grip on his waist tightened, Uzumaki's hands trembling with the effort of controlling himself at the confession.

“But that’s okay, I can always find another guy to have sex with and do it exactly the way I want—”

In a swift movement, Uzumaki wrapped his hand around Satoru's neck, squeezing hard enough to make his words die in his throat. Blue eyes rolled up into his head, breathless sounds escaping his lips.

“You should think twice before playing this game with me, Satoru. Do you think anyone else can make you feel as good as I can?”

Suddenly, he felt his hole being stretched open by Uzumaki's cock, his pussy fluttering around the sudden intrusion of his cockhead and spreading the burning sensation throughout Satoru's body. 

He wrapped his bound hands around Uzumaki's hold, his wrists twisting in the grip of the handcuffs, his bones aching from the awkward angle his hands were in, but all he could focus on was that his pussy was finally getting the attention he wanted, his wet walls contracting around the delicious pain.

"Do you think anyone else has the right to touch you the way I touch you? Do you think anyone else can make you cum the way I do?"

Satoru couldn't really respond to the questions even if he wanted—considering that all he was able to do was squirm around the big cock inside him and choke on the saliva pooling in his mouth—but he already knew deep in his bones that the answer was no, he would never feel this way with anyone else. He could spend his whole life looking for it in other people and never even come close.

Uzumaki let out a breathless moan, the sound distorting into a maniacal laugh at the end, the effects of the stimulation also affecting his mind. He eased his grip around Satoru's neck, hearing the desperate noises pouring out of his mouth as he gulped for air, only to tighten his hold again when another inch of his cock was fed into his pussy.

"And even if you found someone, I would kill the bastard before he could even touch you."

The masked man slammed his cock deep into Satoru’s trembling body, groaning loudly at the sensation of pure wet heat enveloping him from all directions—and Satoru would have screamed at the brutal movement if his neck wasn't being squeezed by Uzumaki's strong grip, so all he could do was shake around on the sheets, being torn open in a way he had been dreaming of feeling again since the first time he met the masked man in that party. 

Uzumaki pulled back until only the tip of his cock was inside Satoru’s pussy, but before the white-haired man could complain about the emptiness, Uzumaki slammed forward again with a force that punched all the air from Satoru’s lungs—his mouth dropping open in a sharp gasp, his body jerking under the weight. 

He was definitely still too tight and with barely any preparation to take such a big intrusion, managing to feel every inch and vein of Uzumaki's cock without the protection of a condom—and he couldn’t believe how good the feeling was, it was so fucking good that he almost felt bad for not doing it sooner. 

Fuck that, I want to feel like this for the rest of my life, he thought mindlessly, too caught up in feeling delirious with the sensation of fullness.

With the sensation of being owned.

Another deep, calculated thrust hit that delicious bundle of nerves inside him, making him choke again and bite his lips hard, drawing blood with his teeth. They only fucked once, but it's like Uzumaki already knows everything that Satou likes, everything that makes him melt away in pleasure and just stay boneless, accepting everything that is given to him.

He probably does, Satoru reminds himself, realizing that Uzumaki must have seen him and Toji having sex more than once, that he must have seen all the times Satoru pleasured himself alone in his bed when his boyfriend wasn't enough, mapping his body and every touch that brings him more pleasure.

Uzumaki finally let go of Satoru's neck, allowing his lungs to fill with air desperately as he hunched forward, his body enveloping him with his strong arms, his shadow and black hair falling over them like a curtain of shadows, hiding them from the moonlight that shone brightly through the window. Satoru gasped with the permission to finally breathe better, moaning openly at the feeling of the cock ravaging his insides.

“You were watching me this whole time,” Satoru breathed out deliriously, feeling possessed and desired and hungry for Uzumaki's love.

“You—mmhn! You killed them for me?” 

“Fuck yeah,” Uzumaki breathed out, his hot breaths accumulating in the mask and escaping in shaky breaths, his hips making lazy grinds in the wetness of Satoru’s hole, “I fucking love you so much it makes me feel insane.”

His thrusts began to take a slower and sloppy rhythm—and somehow even deeper; deliberate bucks that punched into Satoru, his heavy balls slapping loudly every time they hit Satoru's wet pussy. Each stroke made his insides twitch and jerk, milking the big cock fucking into him.

“You love me?” Satoru asked between whimpers, his words slurring pathetically around the edges, his breath stuttering at the familiar sensation building inside his lower belly.

“So much.” Uzumaki moaned out with a heated voice, making Satoru's eyes roll back. All his mind can think about is that Uzumaki loves him, that his obsession for him runs so deep that he is capable of killing for him. Moans spilled from him with every brush that Uzumaki's body made against his clit, the blood oozing from his wounds and only increasing the slickness and wetness between them. He tips his head back with a long whine, exposing the column of his neck and feeling like a whore who just wants to be stuffed full with cum. 

“I want you.” Satoru chokes out. “Want you to make a mess of me, p-please.”

And here’s the thing—Gojo Satoru doesn’t fucking beg, but here he is for the second time in his life moaning and pleading like a slut for the same person, feeling too much all at once, like his body is melting away piece by piece in a way that makes him fear that he would never be able to feel whole again. 

Too much pleasure, too much blood, too much love.

He lost track of his own emotions; feeling like he's falling apart, unable to discern what to feel—he feels like he's going to cry, or die or maybe both at the same time. Shit, maybe he’s gonna—

“Don’t worry, Toru’. I’m gonna fucking destroy this pretty hole tonight.”

Something in him snaps, his orgasm catching him completely by surprise—his cunt spasms and squirts hotly between them and a needy, trembling moan escapes his lips, torn from the depths of his chest, pulled from somewhere deep inside his throat. His whole body convulses, and he can hardly register Uzumaki’s grip anchoring him through the unbroken movements his limbs were making.

“God, look at you,” Uzumaki breathed out passionately, his cock hitting all the right places inside him, "Your pussy’s slobbering all over me. Making such a pretty mess.” 

Satoru keens, his voice faltering into a low cry while his body shivering with each torturous thrust Uzumaki gives him, his cock spasming with a borderline desperation and selfishness, taking to himself everything Satoru has to offer. Heat swirls and tightens in his belly, every nerve alive under Uzumaki’s desperate rhythm. But the killer’s hands now stroke gently over Satoru’s cuts, his hips, the scar under his chest, his face. His touch is grounding and warm and affectionate, dripping with so much care that all Satoru can do is close his eyes, boneless, soothed by Uzumaki’s voice murmuring praise after praise.

It’s not long before Uzumaki groans deep in his chest, and barely pulls out before he comes all over Satoru's chest and belly. Satoru lets out a weak, whiny sound at the emptiness, feeling the hot, sticky seed spill against his body and mix with his blood in a hot mess. He doesn’t even care if he looks fucked out, all his mind can think about is mourning that this delicious load wasn't filling his cunt. Uzumaki grinds against him lazily, hips stuttering, dragging his cock through Satoru’s soaked folds while fucked out sounds leave his lips, thrusting against his cunt one last time before collapsing on top of him, the intensity of the situation finally dismantling his body and draining his strength.

A short moment passes, the two men feeling the fatigue coursing through their bodies and breathing deeply while trying to recover from their orgasms.

“So you’re done having your fun with me, huh?”

Satoru pushed Uzumaki back with a tremendous force, turning him over swiftly while pushing his chest, his back hitting the mattress with a huff of surprise.

Uzumaki tried to react, stretching his arm towards where he had left the knife on the mattress, but his hand found only emptiness—a cold surface was pressed between his neck, and in the blink of an eye the masked man found himself in the same position Satoru had been in before; completely surrendered to the ministrations of the man in front of him. 

Satoru adjusted his body on top of Uzumaki, the threat at his neck, and the tiredness from the recent orgasm helping to keep Uzumaki helplessly in place.

“Satoru, what the hell are you—”

Two swift motions were delivered towards Uzumaki's chest, slashing the compressed shirt he was wearing to pieces, mimicking the acts delivered to him earlier that night and exposing his naked torso, a strong and defined abdomen gracing Satoru's view. 

The careless cuts Satoru made ended up creating a small, superficial X-shaped cut in the middle of Uzumaki’s chest, and when Satoru ran his fingers under the wound to inspect his skin, the masked man moaned at the burning feeling, thrusting his hips up in the direction of the assault.

Satoru couldn't help but laugh meanly at the sight, his hands writhing painfully to get hold of the thick shaft between Uzumaki's legs while still being restrained by the handcuffs—he lined Uzumaki's dick with his dripping hole, his voice dripping with false affection at the flushed and breathless man beneath him.

“Guess that means it’s my turn to have some fun now.”

With that, Satoru dropped down Uzumaki's cock in a swift motion, mewling weakly while making his cunt take every single inch to the hilt. He hummed appreciatively at the way the masked man's length hadn't gone soft yet despite having cummed just some minutes ago, instead still flushed and deliciously hard inside his hole—well, Satoru guesses this kind of makes sense, since serial killers need to have an insanely good stamina and all that.

The sudden stretch was immediate, the big and veiny shaft buried deep inside him too fast and way too soon—Satoru could still feel himself a little oversensitive on account of his mind blowing orgasm earlier, and now Uzumaki's dick seemed to be touching places that the previous position couldn't reach. Satoru gasped softly at the sting he felt when he rolled his hips experimentally, whimpering a little as he felt his walls struggling to adjust to the abrupt fullness, even though he was being stretched open just some minutes ago.

“Haah… Your cock always fills me up just right, did you know that?”

But if Satoru thought he was acting a little too needy at the feeling, Uzumaki was downright mewling like a whore—pathetic moans could be heard from beneath his mask while his soft hands desperately gripped at Satoru's waist, searching for something to anchor himself to. 

He was all flushed and sensitive, the tips of his ears and chest colored in a deep shade of red—and Satoru loves it. Loves the way he can feel the restraints of control twisting and turning around to him; the imposing and strong man of a few seconds ago melting under his hands just from some tossing around and the taste of Satoru's sweet cunt enveloping his pretty big cock.

More then that, he fucking loves the sparks of pain, feeling completely delirious by the sight of his open cuts still dripping small amber drops down his body and painting the man beneath him in red, their bloods and sweat mixing into a sticky mess.

“I… Mpph—Hnngh…fuck, I can feel you on my throat.” 

He really feels it—Uzumaki’s cock reaching deep into his belly, into his guts. All of this makes him feel a little lightheaded; it's almost surreal how the shaft inside him feels so perfect, like it was made for him.

He began to grind slowly on Uzumaki's length—deep and calculated movements of his waist around his cock, feeling the member massage his insides. The wet sound of it fills the space of his bedroom with slick, obscene noises that only make the pleasure in his body feel tighter.

“You know, Uzumaki, I really wanted you to take off your mask of your own free will…” Satoru said with a ragged breath, his voice taut with sarcasm. He lifted his ass just enough so that only the head of Uzumaki's cock was inside him, “But if you don’t want to do it, that’s fine…”

He drops all the way down the length with a squelching noise, shivering to the fullness. All Uzumaki can do is choke on his own moans, his head rolling to the side and exposing the curvature of his muscular and tattooed neck. Satoru took the new position as an invitation to lean over Uzumaki's body, chest to chest, with his tied hands splayed on his marked torso and his lips touching slightly on his flushed pierced ear, whispering heatedly his next words.

“...Because I already know who you are.”

“W-what?”

Satoru decided that this was the best time to start bouncing on Uzumaki's with renewed vigor, dropping over and over his cock with a low moan, watching the man below him lose his mind, his breath stuttering and arms flexing around his waist, holding him closer.

“You’ve been very observant of me, hm? For about five—six months, maybe? Following me around like a lost puppy… Did you really think I wouldn't notice? How cute of you.” 

The laugh Satoru lets out this time is even more malicious, mixing at the edges with a small moan as he feels Uzumaki twitching inside his cunt. He straightens his spine, his body desperately working to chase his own pleasure, not even caring if Uzumaki is feeling good too or not—especially since it's obvious that he is—mewling openly at Satoru like a slut in heat. Sweat starts collecting around his body in slow drops and mixing with the wet blood on his chest and belly, only adding more heat to the intense moment.

A brutal blessing pressed between my ribs, 
a sugar-slicked blade that slides between my teeth.

"The problem with some people is that they think I'm too confident, too naive to notice things around me." 

Satoru is practically glowing with satisfaction, losing his mind at the way Uzumaki is holding him so reverently, letting him move and do whatever he wants with his body; almost as if Satoru using him was the greatest blessing that could happen to someone who has committed so many sins as him. 

"But you're not like the others, are you? You've been taking care of me all this time… Know’s everything about me. Even killed for me.”

I don’t even care about what you did to those people. All I care is that you can see me.

My reason pools and spills,
making me ready to commit brutal acts
numbing me to the fact that if I care, I will hurt for you. 

He stops his movements again, grabbing the forgotten knife and gripping the handle with force, pressing the point of the blade right on the juncture of Uzumaki’s neck and his collarbones.

“Pff… Sorry, but it’s kind of funny… I called you a puppy earlier, but I think you are more like a cat—a beautiful wild cat leaving carcasses at my door."

Loving you teared me down, 
changed me up 
and made me bend around you like a slow, dangerous prayer.

“Still… It's a shame. You made a mistake by underestimating me, Uzumaki. You were wrong to think that while you were watching me, I didn’t have my eyes on you already.”

Suguru exhales roughly at the deliberate squeeze of Satoru's cunt, forcing his muscles to relax against the sharp edge of the knife. Still, he remains motionless, his hands gripping Satoru's waist with such reverence that it can be felt on the tip of Satoru's tongue. He presses the tip of the knife against the soft skin there, snickering at the small whine Uzumaki lets out at the pressure. 

“Such a big guy who prides himself on killing others only to be turned into a docile little animal when he is the one that has a knife pointed at.”

He starts rolling his hips slowly again, just enough to keep the pleasure at bay but not enough to give Uzumaki the satisfaction of cumming—and he knows this, by the way his breathing becomes more erratic and choked, his thighs trembling over Satoru’s weight.

“Your lucky that I’m so fucking obssessed with you as you are with me.”

And would make me do this again and again,
Just so I could hold your warm body like an oath to eternity.

Little whines are emanating from Uzumaki's mask, and it's evident how the killer is trying to stay in check and not buck his hips up into the wet heat enveloping him—and this gives Satoru a sick sensation of satisfaction; he is tied up and with his movements partially restricted by the handcuffs, but Uzumaki is the one who remains motionless and surrendered, ready to take everything Satoru wants to give him just to please.

“Sure, I didn’t know you were Uzumaki until last week, so I guess I can congratulate you on that. But all my doubts were answered after I had sex with you in that bathroom.”

“H-How did you… oh fuck! Mmhn—’Toru… h-how did you—” 

Satoru slightly increases the speed of his thrusts, his muscles beginning to protest with his movements, but he barely cares, too satisfied with the way his lover is choking on his questions. Seeing him so disoriented and confused feels so good that he can feel his pussy gushing more around his cock, his sticky fluids dripping onto Uzumaki's heavy balls and thighs behind him.

“Your tattoos,” He shifted his gaze to the tattooed hands that had released their grip on his waist and were now desperately clutching the ruined purple sheets, unrecognizable creatures entwined in ink and darkness climbing over the killer's arms. His blue eyes gleamed as he watched the way they trembled and writhed on the piece of satin, holding on so as not to give up the submission Satoru had imposed on him.

“I could recognize the pattern of these creatures anywhere... especially since I used to see them every morning when you handed me my coffee at college, remember? You always gave me the most beautiful smile every time I flirted with you…” 

Uzumaki mewled deep in his throat, his things trembling under Satoru’s weight.

“I could see how you wanted to bend me over the counter and fuck me right there in front of everyone, isn't that right—”

Satoru grazed the knife upwards, lightly scratching the skin of Uzumaki's neck and rising to his chin, the tip of the blade glistening with his blood and tapping at the base of the Ghostface mask.

“Geto Suguru?” 

The bloody blade pushed the mask upwards, discarding it onto the bed and causing it to fall and roll across the floor somewhere in the darkness. Frightened amber eyes stared up at him from below, and Satoru couldn't help but tremble at the breathtaking man who laid before him.

Suguru's face was a soft hymn of contrasts, holding a devastating beauty between his features—sharp yet gentle despite the blood staining his body, like the poems Satoru loved reading so much whispered in the dark. The curve of his trembling lips gasped softly, a strand of inky hair blooming over his eyes and framing his pretty face like a curtain. Despite his surprised expression, his dark eyes were still burning slowly with desire, like he couldn’t have enough of Satoru. 

Satoru sighed dreamily, feeling his body heat even more now that he could finally hold the weight of Suguru's gaze, cupping his chin the best way he could with his hands tied.

"Do you really think I wouldn't notice the way you looked at me in the coffee shop? Or when you followed me late at night when I was walking home? Or even that I wouldn't notice the hidden cameras you put all over my house? Do you think I'm this stupid?" Satoru whispered hotly as he emphasized his last words by swaying his hips aggressively, relishing in the way Suguru's eyes rolled to the back of his head with the sudden pleasure.

“And I don't even need to say that I could tell every time you visited me after I fell asleep, right? I could feel your scent lingering in the air every time you were gone, Suguru. Like a ghost haunting me even when you were no longer here.”

"How— Why didn't you run away from me? Satoru, w-why did you let me do this?"

Suguru's breath was staggered, ragged and rough already. Small puffs of air are leaving his swollen and reddish lips, the words getting tangled up with each other. 

"Oh c'mon Sugu', don't come blaming me for your unhealthy obsession now," Satoru chuckled, adjusting his hips the best he could to keep brushing up against the spot that made him see stars, “Or are you going to pretend you didn't dream about this? About holding me in your arms?”

Suguru whimpered, unable to hide the way his body reacted to Satoru; it’s like his mind was designed to unravel underneath him, Satoru’s touch setting his body on fire and his words wrapping deliciously around his head, making Suguru pliable and soft for him to play as he pleased.

"I mean, you're not exactly holding me, are you, Uzumaki?" Satoru laughed wickedly, his pussy clenching around the twitching cock, having too much fun watching the man melt beneath him, "Hm? What’s wrong? Too busy trying not to cum, Suguru?"

“Satoru,” Suguru whimpers, unable to decide if he wants the silence or to hear more of those mean words that make his whole body tense with need, “Ngh—fuck—”

"Yeah? You want more pussy, Sugu’?"

Suguru only nods, mind gone hazy with the need of being consumed, to please Satoru in every way he can. He wants everything—wants to give everything—to let himself be whatever Satoru desires.

“Come on then, sweetheart,” Satoru murmurs, steadying himself just enough to shift his hips, giving Suguru the space to move against him and thrust up in a better angle, sinking deeper inside him, “Take what you need.”

For the first time since Satoru had taken control, Suguru is allowed to move again—his hands gripping Satoru's waist and buckling his hips up in a desperate motion, leading Satoru into a messy rhythm of fucking himself down his cock in a wet sound, with Suguru meeting every move with a desperation that could almost be tasted, chasing the contact he's been denied.

“Yeah, good boy, just fuck me how you want and feel good, Suguru.”

Suguru can’t think. Can’t speak. Every movement Satoru makes is slow and deliberate, like he’s carefully listening to every sound that slips out of his mouth and mapping how he likes to be touched, chasing his pleasure like a hound to his prey. 

“Toru’, slow down p-please… ‘S too much—” Suguru shudders beneath him, feeling the warm cunt gushing deliciously around his shaft, milking and squeezing him every time Satoru bounces down on him, each angle sending another needy, broken sound out of him before he can stop it. 

“You—Mpph—you feel so fucking deep… S’guru–” Satoru moans out, ignoring his pleas and going even harder having way too much fun in watching Suguru lost himself beneath him, letting the desperate man pound on him all he wants, "Need you to fuck me harder."

Suguru cock throbs inside him upon hearing the words, not hesitating before wrapping Satoru's waist and pulling him tight, driving his pussy up with a brutal, unrelenting rhythm that steals every breath from his chest. Shattered, breathless sounds spill from Satoru’s reddened lips, each one trembling into something that almost sounds like Suguru’s name. And every time he hears Satoru breathe it out—soft, loving, ruined. Suguru feels himself sinking deeper into his pussy, a need to let Satoru mold him into whatever shape he wants overtaking his senses.

Suguru spent months stalking Satoru, learning about his life, following him around and discovering every little detail he could about the white-haired man. From the moment he first saw him in that campus cafeteria and felt a fire ignite tight in his guts, he knew he would never be the same again—that the incomprehensible, sinful side he always possessed would never be controlled again.

Suguru killed, wounded, and committed unimaginable acts of violence in order to cleanse the world of equally cruel people. Equally rotten.

But gazing up at the man above him—the one who has his entire soul wrapped around his fingers like it weighs him nothing—makes Suguru realize he might not be the predator in this story. Maybe he never was.

Because maybe Satoru really doesn't care about what he did. Doesn't care that there's more blood on his hands than Suguru can count, because he still touches him and treats him with such tenderness and care and love. With a desperation and rawness that matches his own, making his chest ache for more.

It’s almost as if Satoru loves him.

But all of this is too good to be true, isn't it?

“You say you’ve been waiting for this moment, Suguru. But I’ve been waiting for you just the same.”

Suguru pressed his eyes shut as hard as he could, trying to escape the weight of Satoru's piercing gauze, of the truth that lies there—he could already feel tears gathering around his lashes, his heart stumbling unevenly inside his chest.

"You don't want this. There's darkness inside of me, I'm violent and—"

“Do I look like I care?”

“I’ve killed people, Satoru. I’m dangerous and— Mmhn!”

Satoru bit down hard on Suguru’s lower lip, silencing him as he stilled his hips entirely, halting Suguru’s frantic movements so he could focus on his words.

“And yet you love me, right?” 

Suguru looked at him with eyes that seemed ready to break, as if he wanted nothing more than to hold Satoru and never let go. But fear lingered beneath all of this—the fear that his feelings would never be reciprocated, that he might open his eyes at any moment and find himself alone in a cold bed, all of this dissolving like a dream.

"I do. ​​’Love you so much it hurts."

There's violence in love.

“It doesn’t have to hurt anymore, Suguru. For neither of us.”

It was obvious that Suguru had been through a lot too. Satoru didn't know the details, but it was clear that there was pain carved deep into his bones as well. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter—Satoru wanted to be there for him; to support him, to treat him with care and gentleness, to want him in an almost feral way and love him with something impossibly soft.

And maybe he doesn’t have to feel cold anymore.

Suguru doesn’t have to feel cold anymore.

Satoru cupped Suguru’s tear-streaked cheeks as best as he could while still being bound, leaning in to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

"You don't have to watch me from afar. You can finally touch me. Finally fuck me. I'm yours, Suguru. I'm right here with you."

Satoru’s vision blurred, and in an instant he found himself beneath Suguru again, his back hitting the cold sheets, the contrast with his own overheated skin dizzying. His milky legs were positioned on each side of Suguru's strong torso, opening it perfectly so that Suguru could have easy access to his twitching hole.

"You promise? You—S'toru... you promise you won't leave me?"

Before he could answer, Suguru moved—overwhelming him in one sudden, consuming motion, thrusting his fat cock deep into his wet heat, drawing a sharp, trembling sound from Satoru’s throat as his body tightened under the intensity of it.

“Promise you are mine now? I— I love you so much, ‘Toru. Need you to be only mine now, okay? Promise you love me too?”

And Satoru can't do anything else except let soft, shaky yes's spill from his lips, his voice breaking with each word. It feels like waves of heat are rolling through him, burning just beneath his skin, leaving him trembling and open under every deliberate, hungry pound Suguru makes against his hole. 

He's just so happy in seeing Suguru like this—so desperate and soft for him, fucking and using his body like a toy while whimpering and keening every time Satoru's pussy squeezes around him. 

“Who would’ve thought that you enjoy being stalked so much? Fuck—if I’d known that before, I would’ve fucked you way sooner.”

Satoru crashes under him, feeling his body shiver all over, and Suguru braces his hands around his sides, holding him down with a steady touch while he continues pounding into him. Every thrust steals another breath from Satoru, every shift of his hips pulling the big shaft deeper into his wet pussy. 

“What do you say, Satoru? Would you like it if I'd taken you for myself on one of those nights you came home alone? I could’ve pulled you into an empty alley and fucked you right there in the dark.” 

Satoru can feel himself growing addicted in how quickly Suguru mood shifts—one moment he’s all sweet and pliant, clinging to him like some needy little puppy, but in the next he’s staring down at him with a feral gaze in his eyes—like a wolf, hungry and deliberate, ready to sink his teeth into Satoru’s flesh just to soothe the ache coiling at his guts.

"You like that, huh?” Suguru laughs meanly, his beautiful brown eyes taking an even darker glint, “Maybe I should lock you up somewhere. Keep you all soft and safe around my cock all day. Bet you would love that.”

“N-no!” Satoru shakes his head, trying to hide his face with his hands, but Suguru doesn't let him, slapping his wrists and moving them out of the way while grabbing Satoru's neck and squeezing the soft skin, making him maintain eye contact as broken sounds leave his lips.

“C'mom, just admit it, Satoru. You love having a serial killer being obsessed with you, look how your pussy is all wet and begging for more," Suguru snakes a hand between their bodies and grabs his twitching cock, playing with the perky nub while Satoru moans into Suguru’s open mouth, "You would still want my cock even if I killed someone right in front of you."

A hot, filthy mouth starts planting sloppy kisses on Satoru’s neck, tasting his salty skin and delivering small bites all over his collarbones. Sugaru’s hand starts travelling lower, warm fingers spreading around his hole and massaging his pussy lips, the feeling of Suguru’s warm hands and his cock pistoning in and out of his cunt making an embarrassingly high-pitched moan roll out of Satoru’s tongue.

"Suguru," Satoru slurs, his hands gripping the sheet above his head in a vain attempt to steady himself. "S’too much, I—"

Suguru's mouth crashes into his, making Satoru shut up as Suguru's tongue slips past his lips, prying him open and claiming the inside of his wet mouth.

“You taste so fucking good, my God.” Suguru moans, nipping at his lips and licking the tears sliding from his blue eyes away.

“Please, feels like ‘m gonna die—“

"Say you love me," Suguru interrupts him, kissing him again before Satoru can respond, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate movements, tasting every shaky whimper and broken little sound Satoru spills out, "Say you wish I would keep you away from everyone else, that you love the way I'm obsessed with you." 

An embarrassingly high-pitched whine rolls off his tongue at Suguru's confession, making Satoru feel another gush of wetness flow out of his cunt, "Yes yes yes—Sugu', I love you, I— fuck! 'm yours!”

Suguru grins predatorily into his open mouth, his hands spreading around his hole again while his other hand squeezes his neck, the lack of air making Satoru feel light headed, "Knew it. You're such a slut. My pretty slut."

Suguru leans forward and kisses him again, more deeply this time—less rushed but no less desperate than before. There’s a new sweetness to it now, something warmer that makes Satoru’s chest tighten. He moans brokenly into the kiss, feeling all ruined and needy. 

The two of them are completely breathless by now, their bodies trembling and aching, with cuts and sweat clinging to their skin and bringing them together in a wet mess, every brush of skin feeling deeper, stronger, more breathtaking than anything Satoru has ever known.

“S'guru, I—Mmhn... need m-more—”

"Yeah? You like the way I'm fucking you? Like the way I'm carving a space inside you with my cock?"

Satoru releases a broken, hiccuping moan in response, his body feeling weak and melting beneath him, undone by everything Suguru has pulled out of him. And Suguru is sucking up all these little noises Satoru is letting out, relishing in the ways his eyes are rolling out to the back of his head every time his cock pounds into that spongy spot inside his cunt, making Satoru's body twitch all over.

He trails his tongue along the curve of Satoru’s ear, catching the lobe gently between his teeth before murmuring against it, voice hot and breathy, "C'mom doll, talk to me, hm? I'm I making you feel good?"

"Oh fuck," Gojo gasps, overwhelmed by the way Suguru is looking at him, fucking him open like he wants to eat him alive, "Suguru, 'so good—"

"Shit, you are so fucking perfect. Such a perfect whore."

Suguru starts fucking him with even more desperation, giving several deep thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in hard, not managing to hold back as he moaned a low sound followed by a breathless euphoric laugh, his fingers tangling in Satoru's hair and pulling his head up just enough to him be able to moan right into Satoru’s ear, biting and sucking on the skin around it, making Satoru keen and rock his body along each relentless thrust.

Satoru can feel something building up inside him—heat swirls and tightens in his lower belly, a tingling feeling he's way too familiar with, but that feels 100 times more suffocating and consuming now.

"Oh God. S'guru I think I'm gonna... —'m gonna—"

"Yeah? Gonna make a mess of yourself right here on my cock? Milk me really good?"

"Mhm—Oh shit… Yes! I—Fuckk... I want to come on your cock so fucking bad—Please Sugu—"

Satoru clings to his neck, marking his throat and chest with love bites and sucks, trying to shut out all the desperate noises that are draining from his throat and trembling at the taste of pure sin emanating from the dark-haired man's skin.

Suguru moans softly at the feeling of his teeth marking him, sliding his hand between their wet bodies and sliding his fingers over Satoru's clit with cruel precision, flicking the perky nub with circular movements.

"Look at this needy little cock, needing my attention so bad…"

"Su—Suguru! Oh fuck, feels so..." It feels so good that it hurts. And Satoru is nothing more than a sucker for any pain Suguru delivers to him.

Satoru feels his cunt gushing wetly around them, he can still feel Suguru's cock hitting deep inside his pussy, his fingers fucking his little cock ang making him tremble all over, but is the look on Suguru's face that trips him over the edge—that feral, passionate honey eyes looking down at him, his hips snapping wildly at Satoru's hole. 

And Suguru know Satoru is close—of course he knows, he must have spent months memorizing the exact expressions Satoru makes when he's close to cumming—because his expression becomes even hungrier, crouching down and biting his lips while running his black nails along the sides of his body, drawing blood as he scratches his skin in an attempt to get even closer.

"Say my name again, 'Toru. Need to hear you saying my name while you cum, please."

"Mmhn... Fuck— I love you, Suguru!" The words slipped from his throat, raw and needy with the weight of unbulliable truth, setting them both ablaze.

"Love you, Satoru. I love you so much," Suguru choked back, gripping his ass and pushing both of Satoru's legs into a mating press, using the lever to fuck Satoru more freely, pistoning his cock in and out of his pussy. 

The motion pulls Suguru even deeper, tightening the space between their bodies until there’s nothing left. Satoru’s body bounces with every snap of his hips, jaw slack, each thrust sinking into his stomach, driving so deep inside him that Satoru feels it in every inch of his body. 

He presses a trembling hand through his tummy, feeling the faint outline of Suguru’s cock there. Maybe if he looks down he’ll be able to see it; the delicious and overwhelming pressure of Suguru's cock bullying his G-spot and making his vision blur around the edges, his eyes spilling with tears. 

And Suguru is crying too, fat tears sliding down his face and dropping into white skin, only adding more to the mess of fluids between them. The feeling builds and builds in his stomach, twisting sharply with every breath he drags in, every painful good squeeze against his cock, only feeding to the tension spiraling inside him.

"Satoru, 'm gonna... I'm gonna cum." Suguru moaned out like a slut, his hips moving sloppily and more desperately, "Y-You want me to—anngh... Want me to pull out?"

"Inside! N-need you to fill me up and mark me up from the inside out, Suguru!"

His fingers tangled in Satoru's hair, yanking him up until their mouths crashed together into a new kiss that wasn't gentle in the slightest, all heat and hunger—teeth grazing, tongues tangling. He can feel Satoru's body tensing below him, his hole fluttering around his cock, sucking him in, in, in—until everything snaps.

It's like a dam opening—powerful, chilling and wet. Suguru orgasm slams into him at the same time Satoru screams into his open mouth, his hole gushing around them as his vision whitens out. A choked moan escapes as his body trembles violently, his fingers digging into Satoru’s waist. Satoru moans brokenly into his mouth, sucking his tongue and still wiggling his hips on his shaft, milking him with slow and deep movements of his pussy until Suguru starts whining from the oversensitivity.

Satoru's orgasms, on the other hand, crash over him with violence, his breath catching as he helplessly moans, a loud and raw noise spilling from his throat. He probably should be worried about his neighbors calling the police because of all the noise they're making—but Satoru doesn't really care. The only thing that matters now is the way Suguru is clinging to him, whispering broken I love you’s into his ear, his hot skin flush against Satoru while his hips twitch with the remnants of his orgasm.

The gentle way Suguru holds him nearly undoes Satoru more than anything else—his heart tripping over itself. His vision flickers, his whole body warm and tingling, like a calm wave gathering him up after leaving him wrecked on the rocks. 

When he blinks his eyes open again, it’s because of the movements of Suguru hoisting up and slipping out of him, snaking his fingers around Satoru’s wrists and untying his hands with a small silver key that he got from God knows where. Suguru holds the scarred skin carefully, pressing tender kisses to the bruised places, cherishing them like they’re something precious.

Satoru closes his eyes again, surrendering completely to the soft affection being offered to him.

But then the mattress dipped—Suguru got out of bed and arched his back, stretching his tired body. His torso was bruised and stained with blood, his long hair slightly disheveled from being held and pulled so much. Satoru had little time to admire the sight though, because Suguru began to move away from the bed and turn his back to Satoru without saying anything, making his heart give a painful squeeze at the sight.

A sudden cold slammed into him, flooding through his chest at the very thought of being abandoned again after something so intense.

He reached for Suguru on instinct and grabbed his tattooed arm, the bones in his hands cracking and aching from the sudden force of it, but he ignored the sting, pouring every last bit of strength he had into pulling Suguru back towards him—anything to keep him from slipping away.

“Don’t leave me here again.” Satoru cracked out, his voice breaking at the end as his lips trembled, his eyes burning with the fear of rejection. 

Suguru's expression dissolved from confusion to worry, his body dipping back onto the bed and enveloping Satoru in a soft embrace, his hands cupping his cheeks as he spoke softly while looking at him with tenderness, "You got it wrong, angel. I'm not going anywhere. I was just going to your bathroom to get something for us to clean up."

Satoru blinked at him when he understood the situation, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'," Suguru laughed softly, pressing small kisses all around Satoru's red face, "I'll be right back, okay? Wait right here."

Satoru nodded, lying back down on the bed as Suguru disappeared into his bathroom, his skin prickling with the cold night air.

The next minutes passed in a warm blur.

Suguru tended to him with quiet devotion—wiping his skin, drying the last traces of sweat, tending to the small wounds and cuts with a gentleness that made Satoru’s chest ache. The shift in Suguru’s way of touching him would seem strange to anyone else, but to Satoru it made perfect sense; the two men melted into soft touches and affectionate glances, drawn back to each other every time they spent even a moment without contact. Everything else faded into a soft haze, his body floating in a state close to bliss under Suguru’s careful touch.

When Satoru blinked again, he found himself lying on the bed, dressed in fresh new clothes. Suguru was right beside him, his arms wrapped around Satoru’s body, enveloping him in warmth and safety. It was as if Suguru was made to lie next to Satoru in his bed, his body fitting perfectly against Satoru's, their limbs intertwined and instinctively caressing each other.

Satoru lifted a tired hand to Suguru’s hair, running his fingers through the dark strands, gently massaging his scalp while listening to the quiet vibrations of Suguru’s soft humming. The black haired man snuggled closer to him, the hand on his waist pulling him even closer, making all the distance disappear between them.

The lingering pain in his body felt distant now, barely a memory. He tried to fight the heaviness in his eyelids—he didn’t want to fall asleep, not when he could touch Suguru like this, caressing him, holding him, feeling him so close.

But slowly, inevitably, his consciousness began to drift. Suguru’s steady breathing lulled him in closing his tired blue eyes, his warmth pulling Satoru into the calmest, deepest sleep he’d felt in years.

⛧°. ⋆༺𖦹༻⋆. °⛧

Satoru woke up in a cold, empty bed, a shiver running across his skin as the morning light crept in. Still half dazed, he reached across the mattress, searching blindly for the heat he was so sure would be there. When his fingers found nothing but silence and an empty space, his breath caught.

Suguru was gone.

He pushed himself up too fast, muttering a curse when his muscles protested, the remnants of their fucking session lingering in a dull, tender throb though his body. His eyes flickered towards the tall mirror across the room, and for a heartbeat, Satoru froze—his breath catching in his throat as his gaze slid over his scarred reflection covered in love bites, the purple marks blooming above his pajamas.

A flush rose to his cheeks, but only for a moment.

Because then he heard it—a familiar sound drifting from the kitchen.

Suguru.

Satoru's pale body jolted into motion, instinct pulling him forward before his mind could even begin to catch up. Every muscle protested, his body aching all over—but he pushed through it, feet stumbling over himself. 

He doesn't slow down, doesn't stop moving, doesn't even bother changing out of the soft and way too light clothes Suguru dressed him in last night. He only stops when he reaches the kitchen doorway. 

Suguru stands with his back to him, broad and nude shoulders relaxed, tattoos shifting with each slow movement of his arm as he stirs something on the stove, a pair of black sweatpants—sweatpants that belonged to Satoru and disappeared out of his wardrobe some months before—hanging low on his hips. Morning light spills over him, painting him in quiet gold. Solid, present, real. Beautiful. 

The black haired man turned toward the noise, warm caramel eyes locking instantly onto icy blue, a flicker of gentle surprise softening his features. His chest and neck are marked up with a litany of bites and cuts, and it doesn't take too much thought for Satoru to know that his body must be in a similar state, if not worse.

But all those thoughts brushed through Satoru’s mind in a blur, little more than a static background. Before he even realized it, his legs were already moving once again—he crossed the space between them in quick, stumbling steps over the cold floor and melted straight into Suguru's waiting arms—arms that were already opened the second Satoru shifted towards him. 

He breathed out against Suguru’s neck, inhaling the faint scent of eucalyptus—his eucalyptus shampoo, by the way—still clinging to Suguru’s damp hair and ticking his face, evidence of the shower he must’ve taken. A strange, warm satisfaction curled in his guts at the thought of Suguru standing there in the middle of his kitchen looking all comfy and happy on his clothes, smelling like him and cooking for them as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey ‘Toru. Good morning,” Suguru murmured softly into his white hair, his hands warm and steady as they traced up his sides, sliding over his waist and back, gathering him into a gentle embrace. He let out a quiet, soft laugh when Satoru made a small sound in response, pulling back just enough to cradle his face between his palms, thumbs brushing his cheeks as he met his eyes, “I was just finishing making some miso soup for us.”

"Smells good." Satoru hummed, taking a quick look at the food being prepared on the stove before looking at his eyes again, “You didn’t leave.”

“I didn’t.” Suguru replied softly, his warm hands brushing against his white hair, “I won’t leave you from now on. At least not until you want me to.”

They both know it’s a lie. Suguru is far too deep into this now. And Satoru, for his part, is far too content letting himself sink into this obsession right alongside him. 

They’re both already too deep into this, and it’s far too late for either of them to even pretend they could turn back.

Satoru tilted his face toward Suguru, pressing a slow, tender kiss to his lips; one Suguru returned with just a little too much eagerness. Satoru kept his eyes open the entire time, watching the way Suguru seemed to crumble under him, their mouths moving together in an unhurried rhythm.

“I’m happy you’re still here,” Satoru murmured, his voice soft but unmistakably sincere. He cupped Suguru’s face gently, brushing his thumb along the dark lashes that fluttered against his skin. 

“I was always here, if you think about it.” Suguru answered with unmistakable smugness, tilting his face into Satoru’s cool palm, savoring the contact.

“Amazing joke. You should think about pursuing a career in comedy, you know? As a side kick to the whole serial killer thing.”

Suguru let out a beautiful laugh at that, catching a fresh strawberry mochi from the counter and shutting him up by depositing the fluffy food into Satoru's mouth—snd stopping to think about that, where had Suguru gotten a new package of mochi so early on a Saturday? Satoru almost rolled his eyes at himself; of course, of all the strange things that had happened lately, he would focus on something so mundane like this to overthink it. 

He had far more important things to focus on, like the way Suguru smiled contentedly at the way Satoru docilely accepted the piece of sweet, humming happily at the taste.

"And what's this?" Satoru asked with a mouth full of mochi, pointing to a plate with what appeared to be full of small dumplings.

"I made some vegetable gyozas as a side dish too, the miso soup is almost ready, so you can go set the table for us."

Satoru frowned at the plate of stimming gyozas, glaring at it while gripping Suguru’s arm, "Hm. Vegetables aren't really my thing, you know."

"I am well aware. But they're good for you, and God knows you already have enough sugar in your blood, it's time to balance your diet a little."

“Just look at you being all bossy,” Satoru snickered, not missing the way Suguru glared at him, “What? You’re going to control my diet now?” 

“I am, actually.” 

"Pff, yeah sure. Says the one who just fed me strawberry mochi first thing in the morning."

"Are you complaining about me pampering you? Because I can actually stop, you know."

“No, you can keep doing that,” Satoru answered, brushing a quick, teasing peck against Suguru’s lips. He slipped out of Suguru’s arms before he could deepen the kiss, turning his back to him and reaching for the plates and glasses on the counter to start preparing the table, “And if you’re going to keep cooking those vegetables for me, I’m definitely not complaining.”

Suguru turned his attention back to the stove, though Satoru could easily catch the faint upward curl of his lips—a smile he was clearly trying to hold back. “Spoiled brat,” he murmured, his tone laced with amusement.

Satoru finished setting the table quickly, placing down the plates, utensils, two glasses, and a pitcher of green tea. When he looked over his shoulder again, Suguru had just turned the stove off, arranging the dishes neatly on the table alongside a small bowl of fluffy rice.

They both paused, facing each other for a quiet moment, their features softening. Suguru stepped closer, slipping his hands beneath the hem of Satoru’s shirt and resting them around his waist, his palms warm against Satoru’s skin as he gently tugged him closer.

Suguru gently grasped Satoru's hands, delivering small kisses and dragging his black nails beneath the skin of his wrists, his skin sensitive and a little raw after being bound for so long last night.

"Your wrists will be bruised for a while. I think I was too rough with you," he said, examining the scarred skin, but the glint in his eyes was enough to tell how pleased he was with the scene.

"Mhm. Don't act like you're not getting hard by seeing these marks," Satoru snickered meanly, bringing his face closer to Suguru's and speaking the next words right in his mouth, "And don't worry, as soon as they're gone I'll let you make new ones."

Suguru stretched his face and bit Satoru's lips, his canine teeth pulling at the soft skin of his mouth, "You never shut up, do you?"

"You can always shut me up," Satoru giggled, feeling lightheaded and dizzy with happiness. It was so easy to feel free with Suguru—so easy to be himself without the fear of rejection eating him alive.

Before Suguru could respond to his teasing, Satoru kissed him gently, looking at him with his bright blue eyes.

“I’m really glad you’re still here.” Satoru said, placing one of his hands over Suguru’s neck, feeling the steady thrum of his pulsepoint.

“I’m going to be here for you as long as you want,” Suguru murmured into Satoru’s collarbones, nippling at the prominent bone and leaving a new red mark there, “My devotion for you has no bounds.”

“Such a romantic boy,” Satoru murmured, but he could feel his cheeks and neck flushing hard at the confession, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

He slid easily onto the table, sitting on the edge of the wood and parting his legs in a quiet invitation, drawing Suguru closer until their foreheads nearly touched. He wrapped his arms around Suguru's frame, his fingers tracing slow, wandering shapes across Suguru’s warm back, the faint scrape of his nails leaving shivers in their wake.

And Suguru was full on making out with his neck at this point, licking and sucking new marks over the purple ones he made yesterday. Satoru could feel the big bulge forming at his trouser again, dripping with heat over his legs, and he couldn't help but rub his hips subtly against it—and even though the whole situation was pretty arousing, he grabbed a hand full of Suguru's inky hair and pulled it out of nowhere, eliciting a low moan from Suguru as his eyes focused on his.

“You know… All of this is really weird, but at the same time really fitting.”

Suguru blinked at him, looking a little confused, “What do you mean?”

“I’ve had this old poem book that I inherited from my mother for some time now, and there’s a passage in it it that describes love in a very different way—”

“I know. I’ve read it.”

Satoru blinked up at him, “You what?”

“I–uhm, I’ve read it once.”

“Okay? But when?”

“Dunno. One random day you weren't home because you were busy with Professor Gakuganji’s seminar, I guess” Suguru replied sheepish, his face flushing under the confession.

“You— You broke into my house and took the opportunity to read my mother's book?”

“Yeah. Maybe. Whatever.” Suguru grumbled, looking annoyed for the first time.

Satoru burst into laughter at the confession, “Pff, of course you did, little freak.”

"So? You already knew I came in here all the time," Suguru complained, obviously not liking being caught at all.

"Yes, but not that you were focusing on reading my books in the meantime!" Satoru's shoulders were shaking with the force of his laugh, tears gathering in his eyes at the absurdity of it. Suguru buried his head in the crook of Satoru's neck, trying to hide his embarrassed face in the curve of his shoulder.

He could almost picture the scene—Suguru, in those random nights he spent stalking him, kneeling at the foot of his bed while rummaging through the old box he found there, thumbing through the worn pages of his mother's poetry book and feeling the same litany of emotions that Satoru had felt the first time.

Satoru cleared his throat, running his hands through Suguru's hair to get his attention.

“Anyways, as I was saying… I spent a good part of my life searching for something like this, something like that poem. I was a very antisocial child, you know? And although my parents did everything to protect me from my abusive family, their love was a little possessive at times. I spent a lot of time thinking there was something wrong with me, that I was incapable of loving, of forming true bonds.”

Warm caramel eyes gazed at him, dripping with love and understanding, and suddenly Satoru no longer felt so insecure, feeling more comfortable talking about his most sensitive points.

“But when they died, things got even worse. I mean… sure, going to college helped, and I made some real friends that made things less lonely… But those words haunted me for a long time, you know? I really thought I could never love, so I threw myself into the first chance at a relationship I had.”

He ran his fingers through Suguru’s long, dark hair, smiling at him, “And I just find it funny that this was precisely what led me to you.”

“You really don’t care that I kill people?” 

Suguru wasn’t looking at him; his gaze fixed somewhere on the kitchen counter. Satoru let a knowing smile stretch across his lips, admiring the soft pink warming Suguru’s cheeks. It was strangely endearing how Suguru was all confident and possessive last night, fucking him so deep and good just to look so flustered and insecure in the next morning.

“You have been following me around long enough to know that I’m not the most morally righteous person to ever exist,” he curled his fingers in Suguru's scalp, bringing his face closer to his flushed ear, “And don’t you think this is kind of hot? That the very same gruesome poem about love was the thing that led me to you, a serial killer?” He murmured slowly, feeling Suguru gasp and squeezing his waist tightly, his bulge grinding up against him.

Satoru nuzzled closer, his teeth brushing softly against Suguru’s ear as he spoke, “I don’t care if you kill people or not,” he whispered, letting the words sink into Suguru’s skin, “I don’t care if the world thinks you’re good or not.” 

He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his cheek, hearing Suguru let out a trembling sound in response, his throat fluttering under Satoru’s palm.

Blue met golden brown, their gazes melting together in a blend of desire and something far deeper.

“I only care about you,” Satoru whispered. "I only want you, Suguru. Nothing more."

Suguru kissed him then. Kissed him like he was starring for Satoru, like he wanted to devour him. There was something desperate and unbelievably beautiful in his movements, hands gripping Satoru’s waist, his hair, his thighs, pulling him closer and closer, as if he could fuse their bodies together. Satoru felt so loved that it hurt.

So let the world call me a killer — let them name it sin,
I will call it devotion, blunt and incandescent;

Yes, the word “violence” is a hard word to read, to think about. And yet, violence in one form or another was what brought Suguru to Satoru. 

Love is the most violent act. 

And Suguru loved Satoru so fiercely that he didn’t care about painting his hands red for him just so he could touch him gently. 

Loving you is such an unforgivable, Violent Act.