Chapter Text
“Where are you going?”
You turn slightly to find blue eyes looking up at you expectantly. What caught on the back of your top are in fact his fingers, and not a splinter in the bed frame or some other incidental sharp object.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to wake you up—”
Satoru springs forward abruptly, his hand moving from your shirt to your wrist so he can keep you in place more surely. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
You drop your eyes with heated cheeks and swallow hard enough to hear it in your ears. “Oh.”
“What were you doing just now?” he asks quietly. You’re too guilt-ridden to notice the way his thumb dances against the inside of your wrist, freezing the blood in your veins on the spot.
“I…” You cringe at yourself and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I was just saying goodbye. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why shouldn’t you have done that?” He turns to dangle both legs off the side of the high bed, positioning you between them. His free hand takes your other wrist, shackling you to your humiliation.
“Because you wouldn’t want me to.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you to?”
Even when your head is nearly levelled with his (only because he’s seated), you still feel incomprehensibly small under his charged gaze. You can almost see yourself disintegrating.
“You don’t like me.”
Satoru brings you in with both arms, startling you with a most gentle embrace. “I like you, Red… Since the moment I met you, there hasn’t been a day where I haven’t liked you.”
You let it happen but stand there in stunned silence. Any single word or movement could turn this into another outburst or fit of aggression. Your throat burns with questions, but it’s ultimately better for your well-being not to react whatsoever.
Your lack of response makes him tighten the hold, constricting you against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise. “I like you so much that it scares me…I didn’t want it to scare you away, too. But it happened anyway.”
When you feel hot, wet drops seeping into the crook of your neck and he starts shaking ever so slightly, you return the embrace without thinking twice, wanting nothing more than to offer him comfort. “Please, don’t cry—”
He sobs harder, hunching so far forward into your support that your back is arched at an extremely uncomfortable angle.
“Satoru—” You wince.
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—” Just like that, he hauls you up and lies back with all your weight on top, still clutching you tight. You lay for a moment, the position odd but not as painful as the one prior. Satoru’s too busy crying to pay attention to your movements as you turn over to have him on top, higher up the bed. Laying on your back is far superior in this situation; he can use you like a depression pillow all he likes.
It goes on for some time before the noise and movement dies down from depletion. You stroke his back and hair through it, staring at the patterned ceiling tiles for distraction. Swarms of inquiries are perched on the tip of your tongue, waiting to hurl out one after the other. But you’re all too familiar with his nature of not saying what he means and not meaning what he says, so who knows what any of what he’s just said really translates to? Frankly, you’re not so sure he isn’t daydrunk—
“I love you.”
You feel yourself tense up and freeze. It’s as if you can see your soul leaving its body to stare down with distaste and pity. Now you’re just imagining things.
“You don’t have to feel that way about me. I just have to say it. I have to get it out.”
Seconds stretch on like a dirt path to no end; you’re mute. And stupefied. You haven’t moved or spoken in almost five minutes.
Satoru lifts his head to you with watercolour eyes drowned in red, white, and blue; residual scarlet splashes across his pale skin, from nose to collarbone and up to the cartilage of his pokey ears. He’s the colour palette of an arctic sunset dangling between your fingers.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
You’re once again surprised that sound comes out when you try to talk. “I…I don’t understand.”
He shakes his head conspicuously. “Come on. You’re not stupid.”
Seeing as you continue to gape, he asks, “What do you think it means when someone says they love you?”
You purse your lips tentatively. “I’m not sure what it means when you say it.”
Satoru takes this bitterly. He clenches his teeth and forces air through his open mouth. “Why do you always do this with me? I try to open up and you throw it in my face. I already told you that it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way—it’s okay if you never felt the same way. I’m done trying to force it. I just have to face the truth so I can try to move on with it.”
He sits back on his heels, knuckles white around his knees. His eyes grow so much duller in their melancholy, biding time as they memorize your features for remembrance’s sake.
You rise to sit facing him and bring your knees in with both arms. Maybe it doesn’t matter whether he’s serious or not. It doesn’t matter if he’s just saying things to play up an opportunity. As far as the record goes, this is the first time you seem to be caught on the same page. If he wishes to work forward from the feelings that plague him—regardless of how big or small they may be—then he’s exactly at the same stage that’s been dragging you in for years. Maybe it’s time to seek closure and move forward—together.
“I was in love with you. I don’t know when or how it happened, because I never experienced those feelings for anyone before,” you start, keeping your gaze averted. “But one day—suddenly, everything in my life was about you. And I had no reason to feel that way—you hated me in the beginning, and then you were just being nice out of pity—”
“I never hated you,” he cuts in, “and it was never out of pity—”
“Just let me talk,” you whine, exasperated. It’s alarming how much you’re trembling, from your fingers all the way to the fatty tissue of your lips. The room is all at once too frigid; if it hadn’t all been waxed away, your hair would be standing on edge right about now. Instead, your arms are covered in goosebumps, glaringly obvious with nothing to cover them.
“I’m sorry.”
You bite your lip to stop the tremors but to no avail, then release the air trapped in your lungs. This may be the worst idea you’ve ever had, or it may be your trump card to freedom.
“My point is that you never did anything that would make me feel…better than anyone. My feelings for you weren’t your fault or your problem. I kept them to myself because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship…and then I did ruin our friendship, and I felt you letting go—and it was so painful to lose you as a friend that I couldn’t even imagine losing you again in any other way.
“So I just cut you off. I couldn’t do it anymore. It was so hard to be so close to you and know that I could never have you.” You gripped your head for relief and sighed shakily. “You were like…some impossible conquest or daydream that I tortured myself with. I did anything and everything to get rid of those feelings. I’m sorry for being a terrible friend. And I’m sorry for this, too—trust me, this is the most humiliating thing I’ll ever have to do in my life—”
“Stop it.” He pulls your hands away from where they’ve been pulling at your scalp. “Listen to me. You have to be the biggest space cadet I’ve ever met.”
You roll your eyes and whine, “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you’re so f*cking clueless,” he sighs. “You never had any reason to feel special? Really? After everything I did to show you how I feel?”
“You were just being a good friend—”
“No, I wasn’t, you moron.” Satoru leaves the bed and begins pacing back and forth to relieve the hyperventilation building in his nerves. “I would never drive someone home everyday or follow them around everywhere like a lost puppy just because they were my friend.” He pronounces the last word with mockery. “I would never change my entire personality for someone who was just my friend. I wouldn’t pine and yearn and wag my tail like a dog for someone who was just my friend!”
He’s shouting now and while you’re grateful for the distance, it doesn’t keep you from flinching backwards.
“Stop doing that!” he exclaims. “I can shout if I want, but I would never raise my hand at you! I’m not—”
He falters upon seeing the sheen of tears coating your eyes. Giving it up instantly, he strides forward and gathers you in his arms again.
“I’m not my father.” He kisses the hair above your ear. “I would never do what he did.”
You don't know much about his parents or their history, but you can put together just enough to grab a quick assumption as to what their dynamic must have been.
“I’ve always wanted to keep you safe,” he sighs. Courage comes more courteously when he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to say the most damning things known to a man like himself. “Since the very beginning, all I wanted was to protect you. I wanted you to have everything—I wanted to give you everything.
“And I wanted you all to myself, and that destroyed me because you just never wanted me at all.”
“I did,” you confess. “I just thought I had no right. I kept wondering why you would ever want something like me—”
“You didn’t have to choose for both of us.” He pulls back to reveal a most plagued expression. “You could’ve let me decide for myself.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s all you can think to say. “I just—you were always with someone else. And you said such nasty things that I thought that anything nice you said or did was out of pity.”
“No, never—what even is that?” He takes your face in both hands, cradling it like a glass ornament. “What did I ever say that was so bad that you could never move past it?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. The exact words don’t matter anymore. I just know that at the time, it was exactly how I felt about myself, too.”
He shakes his head in dismay. “Nobody hates anyone as much as you hate yourself.”
“I was too busy loving you. I didn’t have any to spare.”
“I still love you,” he concedes. “I don’t know how to stop. Help me stop—please…it’s killing me and I’m letting it. I’ve never once wanted it to end. If all I can get from you is pain then I’ll take it—”
“Don’t send me back,” you plead. “I wanna stay longer.”
He shakes his head, eyes fluttering closed in misery. “This isn’t good for either of us.”
“Satoru.” You hold his face in return, pulling him close to absorb the heat of his strangely familiar body. “I want you.”
“Stop—”
“Do you want me?” You beguile him with a kiss, leading his hands down across your front.
“Stop it,” he whispers. “Don’t do this.”
“Satoru, I want you.” Your tongue traces his upper lip, ensnaring his conscience in a hopeless trap. “Do you still want me?”
“Of course—” He kisses you back at long last, building steadily in pressure and pace. You let it surround and confine you, the flood of his scent and warmth against your front while the cool cotton of the sheets welcomes you from behind.
“Of course I want you,” he exhales before breathing in deeply against your neck. “f*ck—what kind of question is that?”
The next few seconds move entirely too slowly as he rids you of the flimsy clothing standing in the way, pecking and nipping every inch of exposed skin on the journey down. Reeling thoughts and fears and doubts and reservations that have fermented for years within your airtight psyche interrupt the flow of chemistry from your end to his. Satoru notices you shying from eye contact and feels the clench of your muscles when he kneads them needily with starved hands.
“Look at me.” He sits back on his heels between your parted thighs and pulls his shirt off clean in one go. The seas and the skies drag up and down your naked frame, followed closely by calloused fingers that take their time raking along the flesh. “You had me since the very first time. You’ve always had me on the edge—always left me wanting more. Every day since then you’ve owned my entire existence.
“Today, I get all of you.” Delivered like a dutiful eulogy, his words shudder up your spine and flutter through your stomach. His entire body doubles over as he dips his face down to the heat pooling at your core, eyes locked with yours when his tongue darts between the folds once, twice, thrice, and more.
You melt much too quickly; it’s been long enough and you’ve grown to feel somewhat touch deprived in absence of the incessant physical contact he’d gotten you used to. Now, the dam is breaking, shattering to pieces right from the flimsy foundation to its poorly constructed heights.
“I missed you…” He moans around a mouthful of labia and cl*tor*s, suckling and slurping to no end and intensifying the heat blooming across your cheeks. “I missed you—f*ck, I need this so bad.”
“So you just…wanted to get me…in bed again?” You can’t even pretend to sound cool teasing him with how shallow your breaths are becoming.
“Oh my God, shut up,” he whines, slipping two fingers easily past your entrance. “You’re so f*cking pretty—Jesus, look at you.”
Satoru lifts his head to admire the flexion of your abdominals; the subtle flare of the tendons near your hip bones as your pelvic floor clamps down harder and harder around his miraculous fingers. He braces his weight on one elbow beside your neck, leaning down to fill his mouth with your breast while the hand between your legs jerks faster and harder.
“S-Sato…” You wrap your arms around his head and kiss the top of it. “I want more…”
“More?” he echoes darkly. “Are you sure? Can you handle more?”
“Please, just f*ck me.”
“I want to, I really do.” He moves to look down his nose at you, lips seconds from yours but barely grazing. “I wanna fill you up in more ways than just one…but I need you to come for me first, okay?”
“Please—”
“What’d I say?” He slides a third finger into the abyss of wet heat and curls them perfectly against your front and centre, hooking repeatedly until your heels are pushing down into the sheets and your hips begin to rise for escape. Your head falls to the side in shame as the faint whisper of bliss blooms into crashing white noise that courses through you in tremendous waves.
Satoru finds comfort in the way your thighs lock around his bust, pressing against his ears and keeping him in his rightful place. He drinks in your salty sweet release and continues to scoop it out with relentless fingers; alas, it runs out in due time and he’s overcome by the urge to keep going just so you can provide him a second dose. But when his throbbing co*ck twitches for the umpteenth time and points to the spreading wet spot on the sheet beneath it, Satoru knows he doesn’t have even a sliver of patience left.
He says your name once, then twice by the time your faces are aligned. “Look at me,” he whispers. “Don’t look away, okay?”
You nod, trying to relax despite the antagonizing hammer of your heart. He rubs the head of his co*ck between your folds, something that’s happened a dozen times but now, with the expectation of what’s to follow, it feels altogether too new.
“I wish I would’ve done things differently. I could’ve loved you properly.” He kisses you, slow but ferociously intense while the tip of his glans pushes past your entrance. A twisted urge spreads within him at the way you relax and open up for it, gasping into his mouth and pulling him closer into your warmth.
Satoru kisses up your jaw and neck, bringing his lips to your ear. “You deserve better than me.”
He bottoms out all at once with so much force that knocks you a few inches higher up the bed. Tears sting at your eyes and you scramble for purchase, nails digging into the muscles of his back and neck. You may be prepped and relaxed, but you haven’t had intercourse in almost a month and he’s well aware of it.
“Satoru!” you yelp when he begins to thrust without warning. “Wait—”
“I can’t.” His words stutter; his movements don’t. “I need this—I need you—f*ck, I need you—I can’t believe this is happening—”
“Satoru, stop,” you hiss, pushing away from him. “You’re—hurting—me—”
He lifts his head to see that you’re crying. In that moment, it takes all of his willpower to stop what he’s doing and retreat.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” he heaves, standing from the bed. “This is a bad idea—we shouldn’t—”
“Stop.” You sit up and crawl forward, taking his hand before he can turn around all the way. “Please don’t leave.”
He shakes his head, eyes glued to the ground though they’re blown wide with fear. “I don’t trust myself with you.”
“I trust you.” You tug at him to sit down. “You stopped when I asked.”
“I almost didn’t,” he confesses. “I can’t keep it in check.”
You take a moment to contemplate. He’s taken by surprise when one of your legs hitches over him, but he naturally leans back to make room. You balance your weight with knees either side of his, reaching down to take a hold of his length, which is still damp and slightly sticky.
“What’re you doing?” His breath hitches as your hand begins to pump.
“I’m gonna have sex with you,” you say quietly. “Is that okay?”
“You don’t have to do this—”
“Satoru.” You wet your fingers with spit and spread it over the blushing head of his co*ck, earning a delicate mewl from him. “I want this too, remember?”
You ease down onto the tip, eyes locked with aquamarines that glimmer and flutter with disbelief. Letting it sit at your entrance while you adjust to the girth and pressure, you switch between kissing and biting his neck, sitting down more and more as your walls stretch to make room.
“Stop,” he moans hoarsely. “Stop—I’m gonna come—”
“What?” Your cl*tor*s rubs against the skin around his base upon bottoming out. He’s not small (or even average) by any means, and you already knew this, but in the new position, he feels all that much bigger. You involuntarily clench around him, causing both of you to shudder and squirm.
“S-stop,” he pleads. “I’m actually—I’m gonna come, I mean it.”
He tries to lift you off but you wrap your legs and arms around him and frown. “Can’t you just stay hard? You always do.”
“What if I don’t?” He’s shaking his head in denial, face fully contorted in helplessness. “I can’t always control it.”
“Why not?” You begin to rock your hips gently, mocking him with a sugary sweet voice. “Who’s gonna f*ck me if you go soft?”
When you clench up again, he goes slack jawed and dead-eyed. “I’m coming—” His hands grip and fist at your flesh, and every muscle in his body contorts in an effort to withhold the inevitable.
“It’s okay,” you coo softly, licking and sucking on his pouty lower lip. “You can come inside me. I want you to—you deserve to, Sato—”
He wraps you tightly against himself, hips stuttering a few times to embellish in the ferocity with which he org*sms; an org*sm that lasts more than just the usual few seconds and leaves him blinded for a moment, but he doesn’t care. All he can feel or smell or taste is you, and it’s exactly this that he’s craved for years. He wants to be surrounded and suffocated by you, and he hopes the ragged breaths and broken moans he’s delivering against your bosom are enough to convey even a fraction of the sentiment.
He can only pray that his body doesn’t betray him when it’s most important. Please, please, please stay hard, please—
“Sato,” you whisper in his ear, “I don’t wanna waste it. Will you f*ck your cum into me?”
That seems to do the trick.
The blood that was draining back into the rest of his body concentrates between his legs again. Satoru lays back and takes you down with him, holding you to his chest as if it robs him of breath if you aren’t smeared together. The next moment, he’s anchoring his heels into the mattress and rocking his hips up against yours, filling you completely before drawing out again. Every stroke pokes and stokes the fire building in your belly, and you lose yourself to the sensations with your face hidden in his chest.
“All yours,” he keeps muttering, thrust after thrust. “I’m all yours…this is how it was always supposed to be…”
You drive your knees into the cushion under them and start rocking in tune with his movements. Satoru melts into the sheets as a premonition for the overwhelming desire and ecstasy flowing through his system; out of all the drugs he’s tried and passed, this one is the most sublime.
“Let go,” you encourage, pushing his arms away from where they bind you down. “I wanna ride you.”
He watches as you sit up arch your back, exposing every inch of your naked body for his unblinking eyes to drink in. When it isn’t stuck to your face, his lidded blue gaze travels frequently between the circular bounce of your nipples and the sight of your body swallowing him in. The spread and rub of your cl*toral hood each time it drags backwards has him biting down on his lip to keep his waning sanity intact.
“Is it as good…as you thought?” you wonder shyly.
Satoru’s abs flex and clench in tune with your pelvic floor and a deadly whine falls past his trembling lips. “It’s…so much better than I ever imagined…f*ck. I can’t believe it feels this good…”
His hands lock into place, one around the small of your waist and the other around one against your tit*, helping you pick up the pace. “Does it feel good for you?”
“Mhmm,” you nod, grinding down harder when the ridges of his co*ck catch against all the perfect places inside you.
“Mhmm?” he mocks, rising up to be more at eye-level. “You feel good, baby?”
“Yes,” you sigh, leaning on his shoulders for support. There’s a steady supply of sweat covering both your bodies, shining whenever the daylight catches you at certain angles.
“How good?” he wants to know. “How good does my co*ck feel?”
“So good—it feels so f*cking good—”
“Say my name for me.”
“Satoru—”
“Keep saying it, keep saying my name and keep looking at me,” he says through clenched teeth. “God, your puss*’s so f*cking tight—it’s driving me crazy. Your puss* is literally driving me crazy—you’re so f*cked for doing this to me, you know that? Ride my dick, c’mon—harder, harder, Red—”
“Satoru—” you stutter and lean forward, hiding your face in shame again. “I’m sorry—I’m gonna come—”
“So come, if you’re gonna come.” He buries one hand in your tangled hair and guides your forehead to his. “Come all over my co*ck so I can f*ck you some more, hmm? Come on, come for me—I wanna feel your tight little puss* dance for me, okay? Okay, baby?”
“Sato…no—oh, my God—”
“Scream my f*cking name,” he snarls, his eyes vicious with disbelief. “Look at me! Keep looking at me—don’t you dare look away. I want you to look at me and say my name when you come—”
“Someone’s—gonna hear—”
“f*ck everyone,” he grunts. “And f*ck everything.” His fingers tangle tighter against your scalp and the other arm wraps painfully around your waist. Satoru’s all but lifting you up and slamming you down on himself at this point. “Just give it to me—come for me—come on my co*ck, Red, come for me baby—now, now!”
“Satoru!” The lattice breaks instantly, collapsing over the edge and flooding through you in slow motion.
“Keep saying it,” he begs, forcing you to ride through it. “Keep going.”
You announce it repeatedly in a mumbled slurry, keeping your eyes on him though you’re floating too high in the clouds to notice how dilated his pupils are. Satoru keeps you echoing the motions long after you’ve fallen limp against him, drained of all rational thought and past the point of return.
Before long, he’s flipped you onto your back while remaining inside somehow, and then he’s building another steady pace despite the mewling complaints that fall past your lips every other second.
“Too—much! Too much!”
“I need more,” he cries helplessly. “You know I need more, Red—you can’t f*cking do this to me—you know I can’t f*cking stop.”
He doesn’t; neither do you. He pummels and drives into you at every angle and position, and you welcome him each time in spite of how raw your flesh grows after each org*sm. Somehow you continue to have them—and how could you not, when he coerces them out of you? If there’s one thing Satoru has come to know like the inside of his own hand, it’s your body—and what exactly gets it off.
He bends you against the vanity, forcing you to watch while he takes you from behind. He holds your face in place with one hand while the other ventures down to toy with your swollen cl*t, pressing firmly from side to side and sucking on your earlobe until you lose it all in one moment of weakness.
He takes you standing up while you wrap around him like a vine and he supports your weight between his arms and hands. When he f*cks you up against the wall, beams of departing sunlight from the window spotlight faint scars on his translucent skin—scars from a weary encounter in an alley, years ago. He trembles when you trace over them carefully, as if they’ll fall open again at the slightest touch.
“I’m sorry you got hurt because of me.”
“I would do it all again for you.”
He knows exactly all the things you like to hear, too. The words and sounds that get you closer to the edge, coupled with something territorial or tripled via something else entirely degrading. No matter what it is or how it’s said, coming from him every bit sounds like a proclamation of love.
“Good f*cking girl, taking me so well—taking me like you were made for this, huh? You were made to take my co*ck, weren’t you?”
“Look how much you keep coming, baby—you’re such a f*cking doll…my little f*cktoy, my pretty little girl. You’re so f*cking full and that’s exactly how it should be, isn’t it? This is where you belong. You belong with me just like this—taking my dick and full of my cum.”
“Take it, take it—shut the f*ck up and take it, Red. This is what you get—this is what you f*cking deserve for keeping this from me. We could’ve been together this entire time—this is what you get for ruining that, don’t you ever f*cking forget it.”
“God, I wanna break you—I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else, that’s how stupidly I’m gonna f*ck you—’till you can’t walk or talk or think straight, ‘till you’re broken to pieces and covered in my seed—yeah, you’re gonna come again? I know, baby—I know you like it when I put you in your f*cking place—when I treat you like this, just like the little freak you really are? Good girl, good girl—good—f*cking—girl!”
By nightfall you end up on the balcony, supported by the barricade while he holds you against his front. This particular terrace overlooks a steep cliff beneath, and though Satoru’s arms around your body are more than secure, the metres that stretch below have your head spinning like foam in a cup.
Satoru plows into you relentlessly; at this point, the conjoint mess of your release and his deposits drips down your legs in streams that collect between your feet, and still there’s no inkling to even pause, let alone stop.
“S-Satoru—” It comes out too raspy; you’re leaning all your weight against him. “Enough—please—I need a break…”
“When I decide, Red.” He leans forward in turn, bending you face-first towards the cavernous depths below. His lips press against your ear while his hips bruise yours into the concrete wall in front of them with each rigid puncture. After the hours he’s spent doing this, you were naïve to expect that he’d have tired out; no such change in stamina has occurred. “I told you: today, you’re all mine. I get all of you—as much as I want, however I want, as long as the day goes on.”
“It doesn’t…have to be—just…today…” Your stomach is in knots thinking about how one wrong movement could have you tumbling to your death for a second time. You have to close your eyes for distraction. “We can—Satoru! We can…do it again—”
“No, no, no we can’t,” he whines, quiet yet petulant. “We can’t do this again—you know we can’t do this again, Red—you know this is it, this is all we f*cking get—just let me have this, please.”
“Why?” you have to ask, as you were unaware of this decision. “Why not?”
He spreads your legs further apart and smacks your ass once, hard enough to leave a bruise but the way it lights you up from head to toe is too obvious to ignore. “Because you know how it goes with us—you know I’m not good for you, don’t you? You know all I’m gonna do is hurt you—”
“Hurt me,” you beg, guiding his hand back to where it struck a moment ago. The sting of the previous hit is still alive, burning steadily under your skin. “Please—hurt me all you want.”
He lands a second blow, this time quickly gripping your flesh afterwards to hold the ache in place. “You’re so f*cked up, you know that?” he groans. “You want me to hurt you now? You spent all this time hating me—”
“I don’t—hate you,” you gasp, collapsing forward against the concrete bannister. “I never hated you.”
“But you don’t love me,” he points out painfully. His hand gathers the hair on the back of your scalp and pulls it backwards, forcing you to arch your back while he uses the other to bring your right arm behind you, twisted and locked into place against the low of your spine. “And I can’t do this to myself anymore, Red. If I can’t have all of you, then I can’t have any of you—this is how it has to be.”
“Satoru—oh, my God—”
“You think God can save you from me?” His tone is much darker now, almost as black as the dusk swallowing the mountains around you. “You know if I wanted to keep you here for the rest of our lives—even God couldn’t stop me.”
Suddenly, he brings the hand that’s in your hair around to your throat while the one around your elbow comes down to bully your cl*t yet again. He leans all his weight into you, bodies pressed together like one, swallowing you into him from every side as you crumble and shatter for maybe the twentieth time that day in a medley of gasps and chorus of his name.
“I’m not a good person, Red,” he admits ominously into your ear. “I would still hold you here against your will. I would keep you naked on display and f*ck you in front of the servants like I have been—hell, I’d f*ck you in front of the entire town at this point, so nobody would ever question who you belong to.”
In a moment of weakness, you almost want to tell him to do all of that. What in the world is stopping you?
“I’d shackle you down if I could. I’d cut you off from everyone. I’d make you tell me you love me with a f*cking gun to your head if I had to.” He digs his sharp, white canines into the hollow of your neck hard enough to make you wince—hard enough to draw red specks of blood to the surface of your skin, which he soothes over with a sly, wet tongue to trick you back into submission. “I even considered putting a child in you to trap you with me forever…” His hand moves up to caress your lower belly, pressing against your womb until you’re whimpering at the effect. “But you’re too smart for that, aren’t you? You made sure nobody could ever do that to you.”
I would let you do that to me.
Your eyes fly wide open and you have to shake your head at your own stupidity.
“No?” he mistakes. “You’re not on anything? So I can f*ck a baby into you if I want to? sh*t—I probably already did. I probably f*cked dozens of them into you just in the last hour—”
“Satoru!” You turn your face away and he forces it back towards himself instantly, crushing your lips together.
“I could love you more than anyone in the whole world,” he vows. “I would worship you. I would never let you want for anything. I’d be the perfect dog I always have been—just for you. I’d be a perfect father to our children—I’d fill this stupid f*cking inheritance with tons of little versions of you and me.”
“Stop—”
“I’d put a new ring on your finger every f*cking day just so you wouldn’t get bored of the same one. I’d buy you a hundred of that pathetic company you work at so you’d never have to answer to anyone again. I would suffocate you—I would smear you and I would smother you until you become just as sick with love for me as I am for you—”
“Stop!”
“I love you!” he roars, punching forward all at once to amplify the sentiment. “I f*cking love you, you ignorant—stupid—ugh, you f*cking piss me off—”
He pulls out but for a moment that lasts just long enough to spin you around and hoist you up around himself. And then he’s back at it, guiding his omnipotent manhood into your destroyed walls that scream for relief and beg for mercy. You have no energy and little choice left but to clutch onto him from the fear of falling back and never opening your eyes again.
“I love you,” he blithers, beginning to cry as you shift back indoors and he rests you down on the sheets that were recently left stained and torn. All too easily does he gather your legs up and fold them over until your knees are crushing your shoulders while he continues to pummel you mercilessly, tearing through every seam and stitch along the way. “I love you…I love you so f*cking much…I love you more than I’ve ever hated anyone and that’s the scariest thing in the world—you have no idea how far I’d go for you—I don’t even know how far I’d go, and I can’t keep being this way—I love you, but I need to let you go before I ruin things forever—”
Your hands claw and clutch for purchase once again; you’re left wordlessly trapped in the asylum of his affections, listening to every sentiment but unable to grasp if there’s any real meaning to such chaotic fantasies. Would it be so bad? The crisis desensitizes you—hypnotizes you out of your own rationale. Would it be so bad if any of that were to happen? Will anyone else ever feel this way about me?
Satoru lunges up onto the bed and presses all your limbs down with the entirety of his gigantic frame, forcing you to realize, once and for all, the sheer strength of his mass and the objective difference in your size compared to his. The brutal rhythm of his movements punch you to the point of seeing literal stars in front of a white backdrop; drool seeps from your lips, jaw slacked and unhinged from the overwhelming oppression of it all.
“There was a time I would’ve killed you so nobody else would ever touch you,” he whispers, not proud by any definition—but not altogether ashamed, either. “I can’t say I’m not still that guy, somewhere deep down.”
Ah, there it is.
Alas, he finishes with a final, defeated thrust, crying tears of genuine pain; in his reality, this is it. This is the end. He will never have you again. This is goodbye—and maybe good riddance, for all the poison that’s been afflicting him for years on end (and would have continued to fester for years to come).
Goodbye to my first and my last, he thinks, looking down at you and wishing his life could end in that moment.
A knock on the ajar door snaps both your heads in its direction. The threshold stands empty, but there is a shadow that indicates whomever is nearby is staying out of sight to respect what little privacy remains between this soiled room of secrets and the rest of the property.
“What?” Satoru snaps, his voice cracked.
A male attendant responds in the foreign language, rushed and quiet but just coherent enough for you to catch two words that you do recognize: Geto-sama.
