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vennilavee · 1 year

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the six of cups

pairing: geto x reader, background satosugu

summary: Tokyo and Kyoto have been ravaged by a serial killer targeting women. You're a journalist in the middle of it all and as the city grows more and more afraid, your determination to find the killer never wanes. In the middle of all of this, lies the fate of your relationship with your boyfriend and colleague, Geto Suguru.

warnings: this is a slasher au, there is murder, sex, blood, drugs, lying

word count: 10.3k

a/n: written for @strawberrystepmom's halloween collab (this is long overdue). i hope you enjoy and please rb/leave a comment/leave an ask if you did!

“Did you see the email that came through from corporate?” Mei Mei asks in a hushed voice, leaning over so that nobody around you can overhear. There’s no reason to be so discreet. It’s only you two on this section of the floor anyway.

“No I didn’t, I’ve been working on this thing for Yaga all morning,” you reply before sending off an email and turning your full attention to her, “Why? What’s up?”

“Gakuganji sent this email to everyone,” she says, standing behind you and leaning over you to scroll through your inbox for you. The end of her braid tickles your forehead but you pay it no mind. She has a bad habit of doing this, being nosy and prying into things she doesn’t need to pry into. But you allow her to- perhaps the scent of her perfume has deluded your brain.

You rip your eyes away from her freshly manicured lavender colored nails and focus on the screen in front of you. The email reads:

“Due to the increasing number of violent deaths in Kyoto and Tokyo over the last few months, we are recommending that you take precautions in ensuring your own safety. Please be sure to implement a buddy system for the coming months so that we may keep track of everyone’s physical whereabouts. Your safety is our top priority. Stay tuned for further updates.”

“Seriously? Keep track of everyone’s physical whereabouts? More like they want to make sure we’re alive so we can work until either we die or we’re killed by Tokyo’s latest serial killer,” you mutter, exiting out of the email.

“Is there a difference? Did you like how they just said ‘violent deaths’ and didn’t address the fact that it’s all been women who have been turning up dead?”

“Isn’t it weird that this is happening in both Tokyo and Kyoto?” you murmur, “What a weird choice to make.”

“Maybe you can ask the killer in person why they chose Tokyo and Kyoto to conduct their murder sprees next time we work late,” Mei Mei jokes.

“Yeah, I’ll definitely get a posthumous Pulitzer for that.”

Your job as a journalist hasn’t been completely glamorous over the last twelve years or so. You’ve gone from assistant, to intern, to junior editor, to junior editor and columnist. Now your role is a bit of a mixed bag- you’re mostly an editor and an investigator. And you dabble in overseeing the interns, to say the least.

You didn’t have the ambition to be the best in your field, something some of your coworkers couldn’t understand. You just wanted to tell the truth because that’s what people deserve. And you’ve always had a knack for storytelling and weaving intricate words and topics together.

So here you were, starting your thirteenth year at the publishing company, itching for another series of truths to uncover.

You shut your laptop down and pack your bag as Mei Mei does the same in her cubicle. It’s a Friday evening and most of your team has taken to working from home on Fridays. You and Mei Mei happened to be here to finish up an article that’s due to Yaga on the following Tuesday. Otherwise, you’d be in your sweatpants in the comfort of your home with a warm drink in your hands.

But you’re not alone in the office. Another fellow coworker comes strutting towards you and you’re unable to suppress your groan and the roll of your eyes so far back into your head that you’re certain you see your own skull.

Geto Suguru with the audacity to lean against the wall of your cubicle with that stupid smirk and those stupid obsidian eyes.

You ignore him, and ignore the swirl of desire in the pit of your stomach. You refuse to be weak in the knees for him, not this time.

“C’mon, Mei Mei,” you say, meeting Geto’s amused eyes and not breaking eye contact, “Let’s go home.”

Mei Mei glances between the two of you, wondering why you sound so angry and why he’s just looking at you with that irritatingly mocking grin of his. The one she knows you’re weak for.

“Aw, but didn’t you see Gakuganji’s email? We need a buddy system,” he says, false honey in his voice and on his tongue.

You don’t reply, instead pushing past him and waiting for Mei Mei at the door.

“Uh,” she whispers once you’re far enough away from Geto that he won’t be able to hear, “Are you guys good?”

“Yup,” you reply crisply, popping the ‘p’, “I’ve just decided that he’s not worth my time anymore.”

“Oh, so now you listen? After like, six months?” Mei Mei chides, “I told you he was no good.”

“I’m a slow learner. But I get there eventually.”

You clearly don’t learn fast enough because it's not even two hours later that you eat your vitriolic words about your esteemed coworker. Geto Suguru has made himself at home in your apartment, legs sprawled across your couch with you laying on top of him.

The television is on but neither of you are paying attention. The noise is muted as he flicks his tongue into your mouth the way you like (as he’s come to learn over the last six months).

You haven’t even bothered to say that this was the last time because you both knew better. Geto had looked at you with that annoying, knowing look in his eyes. The way his lips curled told you everything you needed to know.

That he knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

His arms are tight around you, big hands splayed over your lower back as one roams the curve of your spine. He knows exactly where to touch you, to melt you into putty, to have you breathing songs into his lips.

Geto turns the television off just as it turns to the evening news. He catches a glimpse of the top headlines of the hour but the news anchor’s monotonous voice is too loud for him, too in his face. All he wants is to focus on you.

So he slips a hand under your shirt and swallows up your pretty whimpers.

“I thought you’d stopped this,” you murmur, raising an eyebrow at him. You’re holding a small baggie of white powder and Geto knows that you’re holding yourself back from raising your voice.

This isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him. He can nearly hear your blood boiling with anger.

“It’s not for me,” he says honestly, “It’s for a friend.”

“Are you lying to me,” you say, squaring up to him and reading into his eyes. All you see are depths of sincerity and you let your shoulders relax.

“No. You can always tell when I’m lying, can’t you?” Geto says softly, reaching for you and pulling you into his lap. You stare at the bag in your hands as if it’s harmed you. And maybe it has.

About a year ago to the day, Geto was an absolute wreck. His best friend had gone missing without a trace in the middle of October of last year and there were no leads. No trail to follow, no witnesses. Nothing.

All he had was a voicemail that he never got around to deleting. And a three page letter kept tucked away at the bottom of his desk drawer. Nobody knew about that letter, not even the police. Some things were meant to be kept to himself, he had reasoned at the time. Besides, the letter wouldn’t provide any indication of Gojo Satoru’s location.

If he was still alive, he wouldn’t want to be found.

Gojo always had a higher purpose in life, anyway. Even if Geto wouldn’t understand it, he knew that they were destined for different paths. He doesn’t know when the split really happened. All he knows is that when his best friend, his other half disappeared, he turned to that pretty white powder to help him forget.

To help him get through the days.

And then there was you. His coworker of several years. He’d considered you to be annoying with your ability to sneak your way into his thoughts without even trying. You’d helped him pull himself out of his spiral and for the last six months, you’ve been in this on-again off-again relationship with him.

It’s taking its toll on you, though. You wonder if he considers you as a partner, an equal, or a caretaker.

But every time you say you’re fed up with him and want him to grow up, Geto always finds his way back into your arms. You continue to question your place in his life, in this world.

You wish you could just live in the moment with him, as he’s begged you to do before. You can’t help but wish for a future with him, but he always seems to be several steps behind you.

Which is why you’d given him the cold shoulder at work.

“Yeah,” you nod with a sigh, “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”

“It’s not mine,” Geto repeats, his voice softer, “You know I’ve been sober, right? Look at me.”

He cradles your face and your breath catches in your throat when his thumb runs over your bottom lip. Your eyelashes flutter when he kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your bottom lip, your nose.

“I know,” you say with closed eyes to stop your tears from leaking out of your eyes and dripping onto his thumbs, “I just…I worry about you.”

Geto Suguru says nothing, instead pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back soothingly. With warm hands, he is a balm on your clammy skin. Easing you and lulling you into the safety of his embrace. He nuzzles your neck with his nose, pressing a soft kiss there.

It’s what he used to do with Gojo to comfort him. It seems to work for you, too.

The killings have increased steadily over the last few weeks. The women in Tokyo and Kyoto are on edge, and a curfew has even been put in place. The entire city of Tokyo is a former shell of itself. It’s a literal ghost town after nine PM in Roppongi- the eerie night lights against the sound of silence almost makes the hairs on his arms stand up.

Almost. He’s the reason for the state of affairs in Tokyo, anyway.

He has nothing to fear, not when the entire island bows to him out of fear. They don’t even know who he is, no face or name to the atrocity. And yet, they force an identity on him.

What a bunch of fools. They don’t know their place, do they?

Ten bodies in as many weeks.

The neon lights that blaze from the abandoned nightclub just ahead on the street, as if nothing has happened. The streets are abandoned, the clubs are abandoned, the stores are abandoned…

He laughs, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night. Pressing two fingers to his covered face, he curiously sees bright red blood on the pads of his fingers. Before leaving, he walks up to the nightclub and sees his reflection in the big windows.

Tilting his head to the side and humming under his breath, he smears the blood along the glass as he walks toward Akasaka.

The breeze ruffles his hair as he makes his way through the night.

“I don’t get why we’re not reporting on the murders,” you mumble to Mei Mei, “People should know. Women should know.”

“Yaga says his hands are tied,” Mei Mei replies, “But honestly, you couldn’t pay me enough to report on it. We’ll have targets on our backs.”

“It feels like we already do,” you say, “But it also feels irresponsible…Look online, more people are complaining about the curfew than the fact that there’s a literal killer on the loose.”

“Did you hear that he left a body in the middle of Shibuya station?” she asks in a hushed voice. You gasp and before you can reply, you’re both interrupted by Geto who stands a little too close to you. Close enough to discreetly bump hips with you while you cast your lovesick, wet eyes at him.

Mei Mei rolls her eyes and scoffs.

You pretend you don’t hear it.

“Just one body? Heard it was four,” Geto says smoothly. Almost as if he’s unaffected by it. You don’t reply, instead following your colleagues into the conference room where Yaga has called a meeting.

There are only five of you in the office today- Mei Mei, yourself, Geto, Yaga and one of the interns, Okkotsu Yuuta. He casts his tired eyes to you and you feel a twinge of sympathy for him. His girlfriend was brutally murdered two years ago in broad daylight. The police had said that it was unrelated to the current string of killings, but you’re not sure.

He’s been struggling as he’s shared to you in not so many words. You think anyone would be in his position.

“You may be wondering why there has been no news about the recent…incidents,” Yaga begins.

“Yeah, the ceremonious killing of young women in two major cities are just incidents,” you say under your breath, earning yourself a glare from your boss. You shrug at him.

“The higher ups have placed a ban on reporting on this and so have the police,” Yaga says and before you can open your mouth to argue with him, “If you’ll allow me to finish.”

He looks pointedly at you.

“We should still gather information for when we’re allowed to report out publicly on this,” Yaga says, “And if this information somehow leaks between now and then… Well, that would be quite unfortunate, wouldn’t it?”

Another pointed look at you and Geto. Yaga seems to know who his troublemakers are, after all.

“Hey, uh, shit,” you say in a rush, “I’m running late. I don’t have a good excuse but I’ll think of one by the time I get into the office-”

“It’s the second time this month,” Mei Mei scolds you, “You’re gonna get lectured and your bonus is gonna be affected!”

“No, it’s not, Yaga wouldn’t dare. Not after what happened last year.”

“That’s what you think. Don’t underestimate him.”

“You mean don’t underestimate the higher ups?”

While you and Mei Mei bicker, your phone starts to ring in the middle of your conversation with her. Without looking at who’s even calling as you rush out of the apartment with the straps of your backpack barely on your shoulders, you answer the phone.

You assume it’s Geto Suguru to scold you for being late as well.

“What, you can’t wait an extra twenty minutes? You in love with me or something?” you say, barely listening for a reply as you wait for the bus.

Except you never do hear a reply. Perhaps it's the noise around you? Maybe the sound is muffled? But no… you have your headphones in and they do a good job of canceling the noise around you.

“Hello?” you say, not nervously at all, “This isn’t funny, Suguru-”

You pull your phone away from your ear to look at who’s calling. The caller ID says ‘scam caller’ and you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose.

But before you hang up the phone, you pause a second. The hairs on your arms stand up and despite being on a chattering bus full of passengers, a street full of cars and a city full of people… You feel the anxiety that comes with being absolutely, utterly alone churning in the pit of your stomach, bubbling up into your throat.

Because for a split second, you thought you heard heavy breathing on the other end of the phone line. That can’t be right. You must be hearing things, it’s probably just the person in the next seat catching their breaths after running to get on the bus.

You tuck your phone away in your bag, trying to still the twisting of your heart against your ribcage.

By the end of the day, the strange phone call is tucked far away from your mind. Once you succumb to the swamp of your deadlines piling up in your mailbox, it’s easy to forget about it.

You stick your fifth sticky note of the day onto your desk, a quick reminder of the follow-ups and phone calls you still need to make. You have several leads on several of your stories and nothing gets your blood pumping like seeing your to-do list get smaller but your web of connections getting larger. If it wasn’t for the sudden hunger pangs, you’d have continued working at your desk with your terrible posture and all.

It’s one of your fatal flaws, as your boss says. You never know when to quit and someday you’re going to get yourself hurt because of it. It’s so easy for you to get lost in your thoughts, to scribble the day away and lose time. Yaga says you’re going to get yourself killed one of these days, the way you run into things headfirst and don’t look back.

Like last year, when against your own better judgment, you went into a clearly active crime scene that hadn’t been cleared yet. Police weren’t even on the scene yet but somehow, you were. Your assignment was to do an exposee on the underground connections between the Yakuza and local politicians. But like anything else, you got too wrapped up in it.

Yaga says that in a past life, you were a curious cat because of how many times you’ve dodged death.

But even then, all you felt was adrenaline and exhilaration. You may be reckless at times, but you’re not stupid. Or oblivious.

You were always in control no matter the situation- whether it was choosing your next assignment, writing a scathing article on the controversies and hypocrisies of the top leaders in Tokyo, or willingly going into the dragon’s den, you were always in control. Or so you tried to convince yourself.

Even as you type away on your laptop with your slouched shoulders and your retinas burning, the drop of uneasiness has already begun to spread and spread like a wildfire that you can’t shake.

***

You’d told Mei Mei and Suguru that you wouldn’t stay at the office for too long. And yet, it’s nearly eight in the evening, and you’re still typing away on your keyboard.Hunched over, with your glasses placed on top of your head and hardly recognizing the rumble of your stomach.

You don’t even realize that you’re the only one on the floor. All of the lights have been off for hours and the only source of light is emitted by your laptop and by the bulb right over your head.

The minty blue color of the walls has never seemed so bright to you as it did at this hour. Rolling your shoulders back as you click ‘save’ on your document and start to pack your bag, you take your first sip of water in probably hours.

Nobody said you had the best habits.

The silence of the office bounces off of the walls before settling in your ears. Your ears twitch when you hear the sound of the building settling. Or is it footsteps or is it laughter? The elevator, maybe?

It’s only the click of your heels as you head out of your office floor and towards the elevator. But you can’t help but chance a glance to your right and left. Are you truly alone?

Further down the hall, a door hinge creaks loudly. It echoes down the hall, bouncing off of the walls and the floors. You press the elevator button more incessantly as the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Of course the elevator takes forever, when you need it to hurry up- it’s on floor 8, then 7, then 6…

Finally. The doors slowly split apart and you ignore the shiver that goes straight down your spine when you hear the faraway sound of demented laughter. You all but jump into the elevator and don’t dare to look to your right or left as the doors close.

Maybe you should have.

The next evening is uncharacteristically quiet.

You’d opted to leave the office early to balance out your late night from the evening prior. You hadn’t asked for permission, only telling Yaga as he gave you a wary, disapproving glance.

Sinking into your couch with your dinner on your coffee table, you turn the television on. Is anything good even on lately? You don’t remember the last time you caught up with a show, let alone sprawled out on your couch and indulged yourself. You keep the volume low, not wanting to inadvertently give yourself a headache.

Before you can sink into your cushions and erase the day’s events from your mind (including one frustratingly handsome Geto Suguru), your phone ringer pierces through the air. You eye your phone warily. This time, the caller is ‘unknown’ rather than ‘scam caller’.

“Hello?” you ask, tapping your nails on the edge of the coffee table impatiently. You’re ready to give this scam caller a piece of your mind for wasting your time.

“If you’re gonna try to get me to buy something, you might as well-”

But then you cut yourself off, hearing the sound of silence loud and clear. But it’s not just silence… It's laughter in the background. The same laugh you convinced yourself that you didn’t hear on the elevator. A chill shoots down your spine and you pull your phone back, staring at it as if it’ll give you answers.

And then a muffled scream from far, far away comes through your phone. Bile rises in your throat and you’ve never hated the fact that you lived alone more until this very moment.

“Who’s there?” you say sharply, “Hello?”

Just more deep, long breaths and the sound of the television blaring in the background.

“This isn’t fucking funny, who is this?” you try to keep your voice even, but even you can hear that you’re on the verge of panic.

But you’re not expecting a response at all.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” the voice says on the other line with another laugh, sounding far away. Your blood runs cold immediately, your heart seizing in your chest and your legs about to give out.

But you hardly hear the voice anyway as you toss your phone across the room, hearing it thump on your rug. You still hear the voice on the other line, still demanding your name in that sugary, creepy way. You can faintly make out that the voice is deep and hoarse, as if they haven’t spoken out loud in several hours.

They hang up before you have the chance to crawl to your phone. You’re afraid to touch it, to look at it- as if the voice will materialize in front of you.

But you operate on autopilot, instantly calling Geto to ask him to come over. Hugging your knees to your chest as you sit on the floor, you muster up the courage to call him.

“Hey,” you mumble, “You free? Wanna come over?”

You do your best to keep your voice neutral- you don’t want him to think you’re eager, after all.

“Hey, baby,” Suguru replies, the same lilt to his voice as always. It soothes you only a little. “I’d love to but…” he sighs before delivering the final blow, “A… friend of mine is visiting for a few days. I can’t.”

This is news to you, but you don’t have the strength to argue with him. Not when you’re now coming to terms with the fact that you’ll be sleeping alone on the night that you had the biggest scare of your entire life.

“A friend? Who?” you ask. You won’t argue… you’re just asking questions. But you hear rustling, muffled voices, and a hint of laughter in the background. Before you allow your mind to wander, Geto interrupts you.

“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, baby. I gotta go, though, I’ll talk to you tomorrow-”

And he hangs up before you can even say goodbye.

***

You haven’t been able to sleep well and it shows on your face, in the lines under your eyes. Mei Mei had thrown you a look of concern when you had jumped out of your skin when she tapped your shoulder. She was only asking you if you wanted coffee and despite this almost daily occurrence, your heart races in your chest leaving you feeling nauseous.

“Are… you alright?”

“Yeah,” you say hoarsely, “Let’s go get coffee and breakfast.”

She continues to offer you strange looks as she talks your ear off on the way to the break room about her latest story and her new lead. You try to follow but your brain feels melted and fuzzy while her voice sounds muted in your head.

No matter where you are, you keep getting flashbacks to the heavy breathing. The mocking, cheery voice asking you for your name. The jarring sound of the voice runs through your mind, haunting your waking moments.

Despite being face to face with Mei Mei, you’re on another planet, re-living one of the most frightening experiences of your life. You’re in a building full of people, and yet you’re so alone.

“Huh? Did you say something?” you say, blinking the fog away from your eyes. Mei Mei snaps her fingers in your face for added measure and sighs.

“What the hell’s going on with you? Is it Geto?” Mei Mei asks knowingly.

“Oh, uh,” you hesitate, “It’s not Geto. I mean sometimes it is, but not this time.”

“Okay…?”

“It’s… stupid? I don’t know,” you mumble, hearing the ‘I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours’ chiming louder and louder. “I keep getting these weird phone calls.”

“Weird how?”

You don’t want to say it out loud. You haven’t even told Suguru yet, since he’d apparently taken a few days off to go on a last minute trip with his unnamed friend who was visiting town.

Saying it out loud makes it real.

You keep your voice at a whisper as you recall to Mei Mei the phone calls and how you think you’re being watched in your apartment. You can’t shake that feeling that there’s another pair of eyes on you at all times.

“It has to be a prank,” Mei Mei says unconvincingly, “Right?”

“I don’t…know,” you murmur, “Whatever it is… I’m scared.”

A barely concealed sob escapes your lips as the words slip off of your tongue and hang in the air.

Mei Mei offers you a hug in the middle of the break room and you find yourself wishing it was Geto instead.

“None of my leads are panning out! Can you believe this?” you groan in frustration, leaning back against your seat in defeat.

“Well… there is a serial killer on the loose,” Mei Mei comments, looking at you pointedly over her laptop screen, “It’s not that hard to believe.”

“But it’s weird. Like every time I get a tip or a cop that is willing to talk, I just get ghosted…”

“People are scared,” Mei Mei shrugs, “Speaking of being scared, have you gotten any of those phone calls recently?”

“Nah, I haven’t. But the last one was three days ago,” you whisper, looking around to see if anyone’s listening, “They stopped ever since Geto started sleeping over.”

“Oh, you guys are on good terms again?”

“Yeah…”

The truth was, he had showed up at your door (bypassing the front desk by smoothly telling him that he was your boyfriend) with a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

You fold your arms across your chest, clearly not impressed with him. Barely casting a glance at the bouquet, you stare directly at him. Not allowing yourself to sink into his warm embrace, no matter how much you may want to.

“Hi,” Suguru says, at least sounding apologetic.

“Hey,” you reply coldly.

“I’m sorry that it took me so long to come to you.”

“Whatever. You were so damn busy with your friend, you have no idea what’s been-”

“Can I come in? It’s chilly,” he interrupts and you have to resist the urge to slam the door in his stupidly handsome face.

“No, you can beg for my forgiveness right here.”

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry I left you alone when you were scared,” Suguru relents.

“And?”

“And I’m sorry I left you alone when there is a literal serial killer on the loose. It wasn’t very boyfriend material of me.”

“You’re so stupid.”

But despite that, you pull him inside your apartment and let yourself sink into his embrace as his arms wrap around you. Suguru is many things- sometimes forgetful, he runs hot and cold…

When you’re with him, you’re not alone. It’s easy to forget your fear when you’re in his arms. It’s easy to forget how not even a full week ago, you were on the floor on the verge of a panic attack. Suguru rubs your back and kisses your hair. Maybe there’s another unspoken apology somewhere in his movements. You would like there to be.

You pull away just to catch a breath and peer into the depths of his dark eyes. Something about Suguru always puts your mind at ease. He always has conviction written in his irises.

You don’t notice it right then (or maybe you don’t want to notice it), but his eyes glimmer more in the light than usual.

Shadows have begun to live in your apartment around the same time that Suguru moved in. You can feel them growing and shrinking with each step you take. Following you as you move from your bedroom to the kitchen, to your couch. The shadows weave into your rug and sometimes you think you hear a faint laugh or a footstep.

With Suguru living with you, the shadows seem to hold back. As if Suguru calms them down the same way he calms you down.

Despite Suguru’s presence in your home, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. But the creepy phone calls have stopped for the most part.

It must be unrelated, but the killings have stopped, too.

The city is still on edge with a mandatory curfew. But you feel a little safer in your own home with Suguru there with you. You hate that you’d become so afraid in the last few weeks, but it’s hard not to be. Something strange is in the air, beyond the killings scattered across the country. You’re nervous leaving and entering your apartment and you hate every second of it.

You had your first night of well-rested sleep three days into Suguru moving in with you:

You push Suguru to your bed roughly and squeeze his cheeks with your hand as you climb into his lap. His hardness is evident through his pants and you only smirk at him.

“You,” a kiss to his cheek, “are,” a kiss to his other cheek, “fucking infuriating,” a sloppy kiss to his lips.

The way he likes it.

“Aw, come on. I finished unpacking my shit and this is the homecoming I get?” Suguru grins and you laugh. You don’t reply, instead pressing your lips to his again to drown out his teasing. He tastes like cigarettes and… something that you can’t quite place.

You lick the roof of his mouth before sucking on his tongue and swallowing his moan into the hollows of your throat. He tastes like cigarettes and chocolate, you realize.

You don’t open your eyes, for fear that you may not be reflected in his irises.

His hands wander, squeezing and smoothing your skin over. Enticing you to rock your hips into his. A trail of spit connects you both as you impatiently lift his shirt off to run your nails over the sharp planes of his chest.

Suguru’s touch has always been all-consuming. One taste of him is just not enough. He always leaves you wanting more- more of his heart, his mind, his body.

His cock brushes against your clothed wetness, catching on your clit, and you shudder in his arms. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, bucking your hips faster and faster, chasing a release that you know Suguru will deny you.

“Fuck,” you hiss, “Fuck, I need you-”

To your surprise, he pushes your pants and your underwear down your legs as far as he can in one fell swoop. Suguru groans your name when he sees your glistening pussy and brushes over your clit teasingly.

“You wanna cum like this?” he murmurs, sliding a finger into your pussy easily, “Or do you want my cock, like I know you do?”

“Your cock,” you reply, already tugging at his sweatpants, “Just want you to fuck me, I missed you so much-”

Suguru’s skin is flushed and while you want to take the time to kiss your way down his chest, you’re unbelievably impatient. He takes his cock out of his boxers and rubs your pussy with the tip, making you whine for more. Your wetness smears over the head of his cock as you slide back and forth on it for friction.

And when you finally sink down on his cock, Suguru thinks he sees a piece of heaven as you tilt your head back and a soft moan of his name escapes your parted lips. You set the pace slowly, allowing yourself to get used to the feel of him inside you.

“You feel so good, darling,” Suguru croons, “As perfect as I remember, so beautiful-”

You cast your eyes downward to peer at him and he feels as though you're looking straight through him. As if you can see every part of him that shadows touch and every part of him that the light touches.

The shadow grows behind you, watching you both curiously. Suguru looks over your shoulder, but you don’t notice.

A two week period in between the killings had apparently just been a cooling off period, according to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. It’s on day sixteen that another body shows up in Ginza, and then Shinjuku on day twenty.

Whoever the killer is, they’re increasing their rate of kills.

Detective Nanami Kento, one of your primary contacts at the police department, says it’s a de-escalation. He says something must have set him off to increase the intensity and the rate of his kill sprees.

Nanami says it so matter-of-factly that you shudder. But you see the toll it takes on him. His brown eyes are dimmer each time you see him and his empty threats of leaving the department to open a bakery never seem to come to fruition.

You hope he gets to open up that bakery someday.

It’s no surprise that you’re walking into the police department first thing in the morning, bright and early. Because this is typically the time of day that you receive your daily phone calls from the unknown caller.

Not only have the kills been increasing. But the phone calls have been, too. Usually when you’re alone. Only once have you received your phone call when Geto has been with you, but they immediately hung up before you could say anything.

Afraid is an understatement. Each step you take, you can feel eyes on you. You can feel something lurking, a shadow following you through the city.

A light breeze tickles your face and it almost feels like a human.

You’re about an hour ahead of schedule. Just enough time to make yourself a cup of coffee and grab breakfast from the breakroom (while ignoring the glares of the cops around you). Nanami gives you special privileges here, and that includes coffee.

You take your time eating and say hello to Yuuji as you make your way into Nanami’s office. He welcomes you in by waving his hand and hardly looking up from his notes.

“I’d be offended if I didn’t know you so well,” you say, taking a seat in his leather chair.

“Who says you know me well?” he replies, looking up at you with a hint of a smile.

“I know how you take your coffee. I think I know you pretty well,” you say airily. Nanami mutters a quick thanks before asking you to bring him up to speed.

You place your phone on his neatly organized desk, closer to him than it is to you. As if you want it as far away from you as possible.

“I’ve received six phone calls in the last few weeks. Most of them have just been the caller breathing on the other line. Or I’ll hear laughter or just silence. Sometimes they hang up. But they only said something one time,” you say quickly as Nanami takes notes.

“What was said?”

“‘I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours,’” you echo the voice from all those nights ago.

Nanami puts his pen down and takes a sip of his coffee. He tries his best to not look unnerved, not wanting to scare you even more.

“It’s not… related is it? To the killings? It can’t be. It’s just a weird, twisted coincidence. Right?” you whisper, squeezing the handle of your bag to anchor yourself.

He looks away for a second, a small sigh escaping his lips. Your stomach drops, dread settling in your bones. A shadow flashes across his face as he turns his eyes back to yours.

“Tell me. As your friend, not as your colleague,” you urge him, “You know something.”

Nanami hesitates before replying. “We haven’t shared with the press but… I’m telling you this as your friend.”

You nod, holding the handle of your bag even tighter.

“There was a survivor of the killings-”

“What?” you gasp incredulously, “How come we didn’t know-”

“To protect their identity. But she told us that she received phone calls before. From an unknown caller, where he would just breathe heavily. Ask a question here and there…

“And then she was attacked.”

“But she survived! Can I talk to her?”

“She’s dead now. She survived the first attack, but he found her again. It appears that he doesn’t like to leave a mess behind him…”

You sink in your seat as the weight of his words settles on you. His words hang in the air, frozen in the spaces between you both.

“So what the hell am I supposed to do while your police department gets its shit together trying to find this guy? Sit on my ass and wait? People need to know-”

“I don’t need you playing hero again,” Nanami hisses, “And getting yourself hurt. Like last time.”

You don’t allow your mind to replay a memory of last time, when you were sent on an investigative goose chase with your assignment on one of Tokyo’s biggest crime bosses. You’ll never forget the shade of pink that his hair was, or the black lines that marked his arms and his chest. You’d ended up in a warehouse bleeding from the wound in your stomach and you probably would have died there if Nanami Kento hadn’t found you.

You blink back the memory of hyperventilating in the ambulance with a mouth full of fresh blood by digging your fingernails into your palms harshly.

“You do your job and let me do mine-”

Your phone rings, cutting through the awkwardness easily. You shrink into your seat when you see the ‘unknown caller’ light up the screen.

“You’re going to answer and we’re going to record the call and try to track it. Ready?”

There’s no time to answer, but you answer the call anyway while Nanami gestures for his team to work on tracing the call. Blood rushes to your ears as you hear the familiar deep breathing that you’ve become too accustomed to.

“H-hello?”

Nothing. You don’t hear Yuuji and Haibara hurrying to set up a trace and you don’t feel Nanami’s eyes on you.

It’s just you and this shadow of a person.

“Who’s there? Who is this?”

The soft hum that comes out of your phone sends a shiver down your spine. It turns into a chuckle, and then into full blown, maniacal laughter.

You look at Nanami as your heart seizes in your chest and the floor is swept from under you.

“You sound so stupid,” he jeers. His voice sounds like a figment of your imagination but the flabbergasted look on Nanami’s face tells you that it’s not just your mind.

“Who are you,” you whisper again, “Are you the one killing all those women-”

“Tell me something,” he whispers, his voice close to the phone, “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

He hangs up abruptly and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to regulate your breathing. Nanami sits next to you and places a hand on your shoulder to try to calm you down in not so many words.

“We got a location,” Nanami murmurs, “My people are on their way now. I’m going to meet them there.”

“I’m scared, Kento,” you finally confess, feeling somehow lighter and heavier at the same time. Tears prick your eyes as your shoulders slump in his hold.

“We’re going to find him. I promise.”

Two police cars are stationed outside your apartment building after that. It’s eerie to start and end your day knowing that you’re being constantly watched.

You don’t feel the shadows rising and falling in your apartment anymore either.

It’s only you and Geto in your apartment. His clothes have filled up a drawer of yours, his skincare placed neatly next to yours, and his hair products in your bathroom cabinets. Your apartment begins to smell like him, too. It should be comforting and safe.

But you’re still on edge. You don’t know if it’s because of him or because of…well everything.

Two more bodies were found yesterday, haphazardly disposed of. You haven’t received a phone call since the day that you went to the police station, but…

Nothing feels normal.

So you busy yourself with cleaning obsessively. Today, you’re cleaning out your drawers and it’s your second time this week cleaning the bathroom.

At least your restlessness is somewhat productive.

As you sort through your things methodically from bottom drawer up to the top drawer, you operate on autopilot. Take whatever is in the drawer (the bottom drawer is random stuff like stationary), wipe it down for dust, rearrange the items, close the drawer, wipe down the outside and over on to the next drawer.

It’s soothing to you, makes you feel like you’re in control of your life. Makes you feel like receiving phone calls from a serial killer is a faint nightmare and not your actual reality.

The next drawer is the drawer you gave to Suguru to put his clothes in. One thing you’re grateful for is how neat and clean he is- he may be neater than you. You don’t expect to have to rearrange much in his drawer but you begin your process. His clothes smell like his favorite cologne, the scent wafting towards you comfortingly.

But you notice something stuck in one of the sleeves of his sweater. You feel around for it, thinking it may be a lighter that Suguru forgot about.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion when instead, you pull out a pair of round, black sunglasses. They can hardly be called sunglasses though, since the lenses are so… small. Who’s eyes could ever be covered by these sunglasses?

You’ve never seen your boyfriend wear sunglasses, much less these.

The lenses are shiny, as if they’ve been freshly cleaned. Maybe it’s a new pair that he forgot about?

Yeah, that’s probably it. Despite the fact that you know his memory is impeccable, you convince yourself otherwise.

Days feel longer than weeks and you can feel the anxiety clawing both you and Suguru up alive. You know that the location Nanami had didn’t pan out to anything meaningful, because nothing has been on the news. The killer is still out there, scoping out the streets.

Suguru’s been trying to put on a brave, reassuring face but you can tell that he’s nervous, too. He’s been biting his nails more frequently. He holds you close when you sleep, always burying his nose in your neck. As if he has to feel your heartbeat pulsing with each breath he takes, even in his sleep.

Suguru tries to keep his worries away from your ears, but he knows how observant you are. The last thing he wants is for you to be afraid or feel burdened by him.

Despite Tokyo literally becoming a ghost town over the course of the last month, he can’t help but think of his best friend. Where is Gojo Satoru- dead or alive? Why did he leave, who took him, is he happy…

Why did he leave?

Suguru doesn’t think he’ll ever get an answer, but he has a faint idea of one.

He shouldn’t be thinking of Satoru, not when you’re wrapped up in his arms and holding onto him tightly. As if he’s the only thing keeping you grounded to the thin thread of sanity that you have left. He anchors you, but his mind is far, far away. Reminiscing on times with Satoru in Okinawa…just a few months before he disappeared.

The police said there was foul play involved, but Suguru isn’t so sure. The letter that Satoru left him doesn’t indicate that… Besides, why would he leave his favorite pair of sunglasses behind with the note, only for his best friend to find them?

It was deliberate. It must have been. Satoru has never done anything that he didn’t always mean to do, after all.

Suguru hasn’t allowed himself to think of Satoru in that way in quite some time. If he allows his mind to go there, he knows he’ll be swallowed by sentimentality instead of reality. He can’t, not when your hand is loosely curled around his chest in the spot right below his heart.

He can’t think of Gojo Satoru and the way he used to smile into his skin, not when you do the same and you’re real and you’re warm.

Gojo Satoru is nothing but a memory, a memory packaged up in the pair of sunglasses and the old blindfold tucked away in your dresser drawer.

He’s been watching you for quite some time now, around two or three months. Staying hidden in the shadows is easy when you’re as oblivious and foolish as you are. Watching your daily habits- your breakfast, your shower, how you rush every morning to work, how you always toss your shoes in the right corner next to your coat closet before laying on the couch for exactly six minutes and going to change your clothes…

He’s watched Geto Suguru join you as part of your solo routines. He’s watched Suguru kiss you, fuck you, make love to you, cook for you, wash your blankets for you. Suguru kisses you with his heart on his tongue, slipping into your mouth and stealing your breath away as if it comes so easily to him.

He knows it does. You’re so stupid to take him for granted. As if he wouldn’t leave you in less than a minute when the timing is absolutely right. Suguru is a man of calculations and he would never make the wrong one. Not when it came to him.

You look at him with love in your eyes. It infuriates him, because Suguru looks at you the same way.

Purple eyes landed on bright blue eyes one evening after you both had showered together. Shock had colored the sharp planes of his face but before Suguru could reach out to him and touch his skin once more… He had to return to the shadows again. He’s not ready for his grand finale. All the pieces haven’t settled on the chessboard just yet.

He’s not finished with his masterpiece, he’s not finished painting Japan with the broad strokes of red. Can’t he see that he’s doing this for him? For your well being?

He won’t forget Suguru’s eyes in that moment for as long as he lives. Your figure was the focal point of his vision but instead he was reflected in Suguru’s irises, shining like an ember that never quite died. He wins, like he always does. You don’t know it, but he’s competing for Suguru’s love. And he always wins.

Suguru has a big, bleeding heart but there’s only room for one other person in it. And he refuses for it to be you.

Goosebumps rise on your skin from the chill of the night as the moon keeps you hidden from plain sight. You’d forgotten your jacket in your haste to leave your apartment. Suguru would have scolded you-

The same Suguru that you’re currently trailing after. He’d slipped out in the middle of the night after you’d heard him whispering furiously on the phone.

The only thing you’d heard him say was ‘Shibuya Station’ and that’s where you will follow him to.

You had to know why he’d all but ran out in a panic at 2:19 AM.

It’s eerily quiet as you try your best to keep up with his long strides without making noise but it becomes nearly impossible to. Suguru doesn’t look back, not even once, as he cuts through the dimly lit streets as fast as he can.

You look both ways out of habit before sprinting across the next street. You have to sprint just to keep up with his strides, despite that he’s about thirty feet in front of you. Something in you is forcing you to keep up with him, to follow him down this path no matter where it takes you. How can he just leave you in the middle of the night? With no explanation? He must be going somewhere important.

If it’s important enough to hide from you, considering that he’s nearly running through the empty streets. How can he just leave you behind so easily and keep you in the dark?

Your mind is running a mile a minute as your legs struggle to keep up. A deep sense of foreboding fills your belly when frigid whips of wind tickle your face. But you keep going. You have a burning desire to know why your boyfriend snuck out to Shibuya station in the middle of the night.

Yaga always said your curiosity would get you hurt someday, after all.

Suguru’s ears twitch as leaves crunch behind him along with the quiet sounds of the night, but he pays no mind to it. He’s stuck in concrete quicksand as the ground is swept from under him as he stares with wide eyes in disbelief. Is he in some old memory plucked straight from a deep crevice in his brain? Or is this the current reality? Blinking his eyes rapidly changes nothing. Because in front of him stands someone he hasn’t seen in over a year. His best friend who he never was able to say goodbye to.

It’s like he’s staring into a mirror, but a pair of strikingly blue eyes stares back at him.

“It was you this entire time,” Suguru exhales.

“Oh, please,” Gojo Satoru says airily with a too casual shrug of his hand, “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know.” The neon lights of the train station bounce off of his skin eerily, almost making him appear translucent.

Suguru tries, and fails, to look shocked.

“Oh, fine,” Suguru shrugs, finally allowing a smile to spread across his face, “You’re such an attention whore. And always so dramatic.”

His footsteps are slow as Suguru grits his teeth to force his legs to move. With his breath hitching in his throat and the wind blowing through his hair, he finally gets a good look at Gojo Satoru. His eyes are as bright as ever, iridescent and eerie with the backdrop of the moonlight.

Dried (or is it fresh) blood is splattered along his porcelain skin. Suguru ignores the urge to rub it away.

“I brought your sunglasses,” he manages to say, the words feeling choked in his throat. Blood hums under his skin, singing at the sight of a very much alive Gojo Satoru.

“I was wondering where they went,” Gojo says with a laugh. Suguru’s skin crawls with the sound.

“Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“You didn’t, did you?” he asks in a sing-song voice, “You knew this entire time. You sly dog.”

Suguru says nothing, only stepping forward closely enough to place the sunglasses over Gojo’s eyes. He’s not very different from a year ago, apart from the dead look in his otherwise sparkling eyes and the fresh scar on the side of his face. Gojo winces when his fingers brush over the mark on his smooth skin.

“I guess someone put up a fight, huh?” Suguru says with a soft laugh.

“Yeah, what a pain,” Gojo snorts, “Are you…mad at me? I did this for you, you know-”

“I never asked you to, Satoru,” Suguru replies, “Don’t put this on me.”

“Yes! Yes, you did! You said it, you said I had to prove it to you. Prove that I was serious.”

“And this was the answer?” he chides him, cupping his cheek, “You didn’t have to fall off the face of the earth and commit a killing spree just for attention, you know.”

“Besides, did it even matter? You were with that whore anyway. I know you love her, you liar-”

“She’s not a whore, Satoru,” he says with a wide grin and pauses for two full seconds, “You can apologize to her yourself. She’s right behind me, hiding in those bushes.”

You stumble backwards into fallen leaves and branches despite your failed attempt at staying perfectly still and trying to blend into the trees. Should you run? Should you stay? Should you confront your boyfriend for being in love with a serial killer?

You should’ve just stayed home instead of following your boyfriend into the woods.

The sound of your heart thudding in your ribcage as the light autumn breeze whispers in your ear to run keeps you stuck in place. But you can only keep watching as two pairs of eyes, one of them belonging to the man you love, turn fully to stare you dead in the face.

Shards of cerulean wash over you as Gojo Satoru, the man you’d only read articles about, stares at you as if you’d offended him.

And then he laughs. Loudly and derisively, the sound gnawing at your skin. A wave of realization tumbles over you- it’s the same laugh you heard on the elevator, on the phone, in empty spaces…

You shiver, the frigid air seeping deep into your bones and settling in as melancholy.

You want to go home- to the place that you shared with Geto Suguru. Does that place even exist anymore?

“You can come out, sweetheart. I don’t bite,” the man with blue eyes has an oddly soothing voice. It still sends goosebumps up and down your arms, but you still shuffle out of the bushes and stand with your shoulders squared and your head held up high.

“I have the cops on speed dial,” you lie, your voice coming out a whisper rather than the roar you want it to be, “You- fucking- murderer!”

“Oh, that’s cute. Your friend is so smart,” he jeers, winking at Suguru, “You call the cops on me, you call the cops on your pretty boy boyfriend over here.”

It doesn’t fail you that they’re holding hands.

“H-how,” you finally let the mask fall, “How could you- I love, loved you and this? This is what I get?”

“I’m sorry, just so we’re both on the same page,” Gojo interjects, “Are you mad because he cheated on you or because he’s in relations with a murderer-”

“Shut the fuck up-”

“I can see why you like her so much, Suguru-”

“Enough!” Suguru interrupts you both as his patience begins to wear thin. He pinches the bridge of his nose before casting his eyes to you. You try your hardest not to wither in the iciness of his gaze, but you’ve always struggled with feeling small around him. There is nowhere to turn to, nowhere to go when he closes the gap between you both.

“I gave you everything,” you all but beg him, “I loved you, I-I wanted to-”

“You still do love me,” Suguru gently corrects you while cradling your jaw with his hand. As if he wouldn’t shatter you into a thousand pieces just with his touch. He already is.

“Fuck you,” you manage, feeling your hands begin to shake, “You? And him? Are you aware that your boyfriend is a fucking murderer? Or did that slip by you-”

“Love makes you do crazy things,” Gojo Satoru interjects, his voice sugary sweet and dripping with condescension. His voice sounds much closer than where he was before and he almost sounds displeased. “You should know.”

“And how would I know that, you stalker, you murderer-” you shriek, all sense of rationality slipping out of your grip, “With those fucking phone calls! I bet you got a kick out of it, didn’t you? All those terrified women-”

“Don’t worry, your fear was the most delicious, sweetheart,” his voice comes from right behind you and you rip your cheek away from Suguru’s hand to glare at Gojo.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you weren’t suspicious that something was going on! You can’t be that stupid. Suguru has better taste than that,” he jeers, his phony smile morphing into a sinister smirk.

You stay quiet, letting your gaze fall on Suguru. He at least has the decency to meet your eyes once more, his grip on your cheek tightening. Suguru struggles, watching your eyes swell with defeated tears. You close your eyes so he doesn’t see but his thumb catches them anyway.

“Just tell me one thing,” you whisper, “Were you with him? Those times you said your friend was in town? Were you an accomplice?”

Suguru’s silence is deafening and it crushes you infinitely. You close your eyes in despair and a little disgust, the images of him in your home, in your lap, in your bed fogging up your mind. This is the man who was at his rock bottom a year ago and now he stands tall in front of you with no remorse in his unreadable eyes.

He used to be an open book to you, his heart hanging high on his sleeve. You used to be able to read right through him, seeing through his mask of indifference. But maybe that was on purpose. Suguru wanted you to see only what he wanted you to see. He kept you close enough for you to care about him but far enough for you to actually know him.

Geto Suguru is layers deep of blood, bone, and sorrow and you never even touched the first layer of him.

“I loved you, I really did,” he says quietly.

“But you love him more? A serial killer?” you mumble, looking at him with lovesick eyes, “Nothing would’ve been enough for you. Nothing is enough for you, Suguru. When your boyfriend realizes that, he’ll kill you, too.”

You pause with a shuddering breath, your love and trust for him coalescing at the tip of your tongue. The words die there and you seal your fate with just a few words.

“Or maybe you’ll kill him first.”

A pair of unfamiliar, unwelcome hands wrap around your throat before you have the chance to dispel a breath from your shaking lips. All you can do is watch Suguru with pleading eyes, wordlessly begging him to just remember who you are to him.

You choke, breaths sputtering out as your lungs both expand and collapse with each blink of your eyes. You reach out for Suguru while clawing at his hands and kicking, trying to scream into the night for someone, anyone, for Suguru to do something as simple as save you.

He can’t take it anymore. Suguru turns away, looking up at the moon.

“Enough, Satoru. Not here.”

Eight Months Later

Mei Mei hasn’t stopped searching for you and Geto Suguru. Not when any credible leads led to dead ends, not when the police have slowed their search. Not even when the string of routine murders abruptly stopped. But the damage was done- the people of Tokyo and Kyoto were terrified to leave their homes and it would take time, maybe even years, to change that.

The police released a statement that they have a few persons of interest. Mei Mei isn’t so certain.

Nanami Kento has taken a leave of absence from his role as lead detective on the case. He refuses to share the details with her, but Mei Mei knows that something far more sinister is happening deep within the underbelly of Japan.

She can’t place her finger on it.

So, she continues like this for nearly nine full months, chasing down anything remotely related to you or Suguru or the murders. But it’s as if there’s a concrete wall up between her and the rest of the world. Information is hard to come by.

It’s only when she is in her kitchen a few nights later, putting together something resembling a dinner relatively late in the evening. A piece of stark white paper stuck under her coffee machine catches her eye. She doesn’t remember seeing it there this morning, how strange-

Mei Mei gasps and nearly falls to the floor when she sees familiar handwriting written on the piece of paper. She looks around, eyes darting to her front door and her balcony. How could anyone have possibly gotten inside without the alarms going off?

Reading the note over and over again for the seventh time doesn’t do anything to silence the noise of her rattling heart:

“Don’t look anymore.”

TAGS: @kentobean @aeanya @kalineedsasupportkento

#geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #satosugu #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader

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