paid in full - suguru geto
"i desire violently and i wait."
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includes: yandere!suguru geto x fem!reader
warnings: HEAVY yandere themes! cursing, fear, descriptions of physical abuse by a family member
a.n. - is he yakuza? or is he just rich? idk and reader doesn't know either.
if you can't tell at the end, i basically wanted to do a whole cinderella retelling, but things got out of hand so it's just slightly cinderella-y. enjoy!
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the grand hall of the most prestigious museum of art in the city quietly hums with murmurs of admiration from a sea of black-tie attire. sparkling jewelery reflects the soft glow of crystal chandeliers as you stand in the midst of the quiet crowd, studying the old, intricate paintings that line the walls.
you breathe in softly, smelling polished wood, aged canvas, and expensive perfume. occasionally, the soft clink of a champagne glass echoes off the walls, blending into the crowd.
every now and then, you glance towards the other side of the event, where a blond-haired man stands, speaking softly with other guests.
anxiety forms a pit in your stomach, and you have to take another breath once you let your gaze drift away.
the air feels like its growing heavier as his presence lingers in the room like a dark shadow. you pretend to adjust the strap of your dress, fingers trembling slightly against the satin.
a waiter passes by with a tray of champagne, and you hesitate before taking a glass. you take a slow sip, the bubbles fizzing against your tongue.
your uncle’s voice rises, something about “the importance of legacy” and “proper appreciation.” the words wrap around you like a noose, and you force yourself to exhale slowly. across the room, his gaze flickers in your direction, just for a second, but it’s enough to make your stomach twist.
you turn away, once again focusing on a painting: a swirling abstract piece, shades of varying blues. it feels almost like a metaphor.
it all started when your parents had died when you were young, leaving you to the only family member you had left: your uncle. you quickly learned after that day how truly dispicable the man is- heart and soul devoid of anything good.
instead, all that occupies him is the desire - the obsession - for money.
here, at events like these, he’d dress you in beautiful, exquisite clothing, parading you before the other elite like a prized possession. it's his self-proclaimed generosity on display, the act of having taken you in.
at home, he just gets worse. you're practically a maid in your own home.
you would leave if it weren’t for the debt.
because from the moment you arrived on his doorstep- you owed him, and he reminded you every chance he got.
new dress to show off to his peers? although it's only for his benefit, you still owe him.
food from his kitchen? you owe him.
a bed to sleep in? you owe him.
everything he's "given" you in order to keep you alive just adds to the debt he holds over your head. to pay it off- you clean, you mop, you cook, and you don't say anything to anyone.
realistically, you know that the debt will never end. but where else would you go? despite his evil nature, his abuse- mental and physical, you're still alive. you have a roof over your head, food in your stomach.
despite the pain, the fights he would get in with you when he's drunk, the bruises he leaves on your skin whenever you let him get too close.
he's the only family you have left.
on especially lonely days, you sometimes take a trip up to the attic of his house, gazing forlornly upon the possessions your family had left behind. picture frames, photo books, small knicknacks.
the rocking chair your mother once held you in, singing you to sleep as you lay in her lap.
you can't imagine running away- leaving all of this behind. honestly, having everything here keeps you sane. reminds you that once upon a time, you were loved.
you feel a single, small tear trail down your cheek as you study the painting you can't seem to move on from. the blue swirls around itself like a furious whirlpool, drawing your eyes to the dark center- a black hole.
"this painting has certainly caught your eye, hm? haven't seen you blink once." a gentle, teasing voice draws you out of your heavy thoughts, and you glance up to see an unfamiliar man who's suddenly standing beside you.
you've been dragged to so many of these events, you're surprised by the fact that you don't recognize him. your eyes trail down him, taking in his appearance.
he's wearing nearly all black besides the white color sticking out neatly from his jacket. he's tall, with dark eyes tracing your form as well, mirroring your own actions. the faint scent of an expensive, charming cologne drifts towards you.
you blink at him, realizing that he asked you a question.
"ah, yes," you hastily wipe the tear from your cheek with a quick sniffle.
"it is truly magnificent," you continue, smoothing out a few wrinkles in your dress. he hums, appreciatively, studying the painting that has caught so much of your attention.
"what does it mean to you?"
his question catches you off guard, and you glance up at him again to see soft eyes softening slightly. he's handsome- in a dangerous sort of way. he looks like he knows things.
you think for a moment before answering.
"this painting is so beautiful...but almost claustrophic? i don't know," you glance down.
"really?" he gestures for you to continue.
"i guess it's like all the shades of blue are leading you towards the dark center, and the direction of the swirls is like a riptide. like, once you're in the center, it would be impossible to swim out. so you're just," you take a shaky breath, "stuck."
he makes a small sound of acknowledgment.
"i think i know what you mean," he states. "i felt like that once, too. a long time ago. that is, until i learned how to swim out."
you're not sure what he means by that, so you stay silent.
"what's your name?" you blurt out, before you can stop yourself. he chuckles at you, eyes crinkling softly in the corners.
before you can tell him yours, your name gets called, a harsh hiss of a sound, and you turn to find your uncle gesturing for you to join him in a conversation. no doubt so he can introduce you to his clients, earning their trust by flaunting his "goodwill."
you turn to leave, to obey the command, but a large hand grabs your elbow- stopping you from taking another step. you blink up at the perpetrator in question, meeting his eyes.
and somehow, a thousand words were spoken in a single glance.
"i'll see you soon," he murmurs, giving you a crooked smile.
your lips turn down slightly, confused. "where?" you ask, a bit breathless.
but all he does is trail his hand softly down your arm as he pulls away, eyes softening as his fingertips light against your skin as you turn once again, still lightly confused, and walk towards your impatiently waiting uncle.
your uncle looks past you for the first time, seeing who you were just talking to. the color suddenly drains from his face, eyes widening in horror.
your eyebrows furrow, and you glance back over your shoulder. your new aquaintance gives you a small little wave, a soft smile.
your cheeks heat slightly. he's alarmingly charming.
when you turn back around, suguru's smile shifts into a sharp, wide grin. tall and imposing, he tilts his head at your uncle, eyes holding a dangerous glint.
your uncle shivers slightly, though you don't notice. he gives a few small nods, as if promising something. from there, suguru turns and walks out of the large building.
he accomplished what he came for.
suguru geto is a patient man.
at least, he tries to be. but every so often something will catch his attention in a way that torments him with craving the longer he goes without it.
he first saw you when you were just a little girl, sat in a little room while your parents did business with his own. he was a young boy himself- but he didn't feel little. how could he, when his parents molded him into an adult from the age of eight?
so perhaps his mind was already broken- but he swears a piece of him was left with you when you first spoke to him.
a small, shy hello- and a shard of his soul was ripped away and embedded into your own.
he's felt incomplete since.
when he heard that your parents had lost their lives and you were sent to your uncle's, he felt such sorrow for you. oh, how he wished he could comfort you in your time of need.
but, suguru is a patient man.
and how sad was it when his own parents died themselves years later in a fatal car crash when he finally turned eighteen, leaving him to take over as CEO for the massively successful family corporation. just days before, they denied his request to take over, expressing that he wasn't ready.
claimed that he led his life with too much emotion and not enough intent.
oh, he showed them intention. how very sad, indeed.
imagine his surprise when he was allowed access to the company's private dealings and discovered that his parents had lent money to your uncle, only a few months after he first met little you.
327,600,000* japanese yen. what a stupid, stupid man.
5% interest over 15 years?
poor uncle now owes 681,056,812* yen. he basked in the money he was given, playing as rich man for all these years, spending all of it on a luxerious lifestyle.
suguru warned your uncle that if even a single coin isn't paid back- that he would take everything he has, from his possessions to his reputation.
and then, he would take you.
suguru geto can only be patient for so long, and the clock is ticking.
it's only the next day when you realize you're being followed.
sent on a small list of errands to get done before noon, you're hustling around town in your old, beat up car.
at first, it just seemed like there were an unusual number of black sedans on the road that day- but it became more personal when there was at least one black sedan trailing behind you everywhere you went.
first at the grocery store, where a black car parked right next to you, then at the dry cleaners with the same phenomenon, and then now, at the bank, where two sit on either side of your car.
you stand there, right outside the bank doors, perplexed as you finally realize what's happening. you wonder if this is like a human trafficking method- are they going to kill you?
but the men dressed in suits and shades behind the dark windows don't show any plans of getting out of their vehicles. they just sit, parked, like they're waiting for whatever errand you decide to go on next.
as you slide back into your car, you pull out your phone and quickly dial your uncle. he won't be happy that you're calling him at "work" (drinking and shmoozing with his friends), but you have to confirm something.
"the fuck you want?" his voice is gruff over the line, and he only picked up when you called him a second time.
"are you having me followed?" your voice is hushed, panicky, as you side-eye the two sedans on either side of you. you notice the two men aren't looking at you- just straight ahead.
you can practically feel your uncle's eyeroll over the phone.
"what the hell are you even talking about?" he snarls. you hear him reply to someone- maybe a client- in the background, and he hangs up the phone.
somehow, you feel even more anxiety about the entire situation. you're not surprised your uncle isn't behind it, he could care less about your safety. but still- if your uncle isn't having you followed, who is?
your last errand is to pick up a package for your uncle from a private courier office. when you arrive, the building is susupiciously empty- not just in terms of people, but also things. its just a square box of a room with a single man behind a desk near the back.
you reluctantly approach the desk, explaining that you have a package for your uncle, giving the employee his name. he slides you a small, unmarked wooden box across the counter without a word.
outside, you notice that the two black sedans have been joined by a third.
and it's only when you actually look at the box that you notice what's engraved onto the wood. it's your name, etched in neat cursive.
you can't help yourself. you open the box.
inside, you find a stack of photographs, small enough to be polaroids or some sort of printed material. pictures of you, from around the age your parents died to now.
every milestone, every birthday, every awkward phase of your life has been neatly placed inside this box. the very last photo catches your eye- because its the only photo in which another person is in the frame.
it's you, at that art museum the night before- talking to that man you met. the one with the long black hair and the soft eyes.
what was his name? geto? suguru geto?
you shiver slightly. could he be behind this? you have to tell your uncle.
you speed to your uncle's favorite bar, hands shaking as you dial his number again. this time, surprisingly, he picks up on the first ring.
"where the hell are you?" his voice is sharp, disturbingly urgent.
before you can tell him what's been going on with you, or to ask what's going on with him to elicit that reaction, the line cuts to static.
you reach the bar a few seconds later, pulling up just in time to see your uncle stumbling out of the bar. drunk, but not so much so that he's oblivious. he's frantic with panic. has something happened to him?
he spots you, and sprints as evenly as he can to your car, but before he can reach you, the multiple sedans drive up to block his path. men in suits step out of the cars, faces calm as they restrain him from taking any more steps. your uncle's eyes widen in terror.
"no, no, you have it wrong, i still have time, i still have-" one of the men grabs him by his collar, dragging him towards one of the black cars.
his eyes meet yours for the last time, choking on hiccuped sobs.
"i'm sorry. i didn't know how much he wanted you back." did he just apologize? you're not sure you've ever heard those two words fall out of his mouth before.
during the whole scene, you've gotten out of your car to stand helplessly in frightened confusion.
"wait! why-" but the cars pull away, leaving you alone in the parking lot.
your phone buzzes in your pocket. you pull it out, hands still shaking as you read the text.
unknown:
i told him what would happen if he didn't pay. i warned him. but he never listened.
your breath comes out in shaky gasps, trying to understand what's happening. another text follows, this time a picture.
the photo flashes on screen: you, asleep in your bed last night.
unknown:
you left your window open, so i came to check on you. you were so peaceful.
a feeling in your stomach comes upon you rapidly, and drop your phone to rush over to a nearby bush to puke up whatever's left in your stomach.
who the fuck is doing this?
you pick up your phone from the ground where you dropped it, and immediately dial 911.
"this is 911, what is your emergen-"
unknown:
let's not do that, darling. get in the car.
you look around, confused. you're the only car in the small parking lot. but then a rumbled engine sounds behind you, and you turn to see a car being driven into the parking lot. it stops just in front of you, blocking you and your car from leaving.
you think you might run around it instead, but you're still not sure what this mysterious person is capable of. they have access to your phone, and you're pretty sure they just kidnapped your only living relative- abusive or not. he's still family.
so, with extreme hesitance, you slide into the vehicle. black leather seats, modern tech- the car screams of luxury. a small partition separates you and the driver, not that you would've spoken to them anyway.
oh god, you might puke again.
the car drives further into the city, until you're surrounded by high skyscrapers and glass business buildings. the driver parks in front of a building, and you gasp when suddenly the door close to you flies open, and a hand reaches out to pull you out of the car.
it's another one of the henchmen.
you've started calling them that in your head- men who wear the suits and the shades and the emotionless facial expressions. the men in the movies who are always doing the dirty work for the boss.
you're scared to think whomthe boss is in this circumstance.
without a word or even so much of a glance, the man pulls you towards a high-rise building. the interior is opulent, affluent. through the lobby, across a hallway, up the elevator.
the doors open, and he gently pushes you into what looks like a wealthy private residence.
he stays in the elevator, and his eyes- devoid of emotion- lock with your terrified ones as the doors close, leaving you alone in a silent penthouse.
your eyes search around the elevator frantically. no buttons. you can't leave.
with shaking legs and short, petrified gasps that barely reach your ears, you step further into the space.
the penthouse is extraordinary- cold marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows that look out upon the city, furniture so pristine they look almost untouched.
even the air smells like old money.
your sneakers sink slightly into plush rug as you enter another living space. your eyes glance around, and snag on a door that sits slightly ajar inside a nearby hallway. stepping closer, you push it open.
suguru geto sits calmly, casually, in a leather chair near large windows overlooking tokyo's magnificent cityscape. a mahogany desk sits in front of him.
he's dressed like you would expect- like you imagined him to. a tailored black suit, pristine leather shoes, hair pushed back but still halfway down.
his posture is relaxed, almost regal, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. his eyes lift to meet yours, and the smile he gives you isn't cruel.
"you came," he says, voice dark, smooth. as if he gave you a choice.
he sets his glass down on the desk, and gestures with a quick swipe of his fingers towards a chair in front of the desk.
"please, sit. i've been waiting for you to arrive. was the journey here to your liking?" his smile is soft, and you are reminded of how he looked at you in the museum.
you don't move. you can't move- your body feels frozen, mind screaming at you to do something. fight, run, anything. but your legs won't listen.
suguru tilts his head slightly, expression shifting to something almost hurt.
"you're afraid," he murmurs, looking up at you.
he stands, moving with a quiet grace around the desk. he kneels next to where you're sat in the chair, though he's still somehow looking down at you, even at this position.
you flinch when he reaches out a hand, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your stomach twist.
he hums, eyes outline your form. "you've lost wait," he observes, fingers now tracing against your jawline. your lip trembles at the touch, eyes wide and unblinking as your body remains frozen.
"you didn't eat today, did you?" he mutters, talking to himself more than you. "or...yesterday, i think." his thumb grazes your trembling lip, lightly pulling the soft tissue down.
you jerk your head back, but he only sighs, as if disappointed.
"you always forget to take care of yourself when you're upset." with a knowing smile, he gets up and walks back to his chair, throwing back his whiskey with a soft grimace before pouring another glass.
"would you like something to drink? water? tea? or..." he trails off, a grin forming, "...something stronger?"
you don't answer, just continue to stare at him. honestly- your mind feels blank. you feel stuck, trapped. you'd think by now you'd be used to the feeling. but not like this.
your fingers are clenched so tightly that your nails fig into your palms. suguru sips his drink, cunning eyes watching you over the rim of the textured glass.
"you don't have to talk," he says, eventually after a moment of silence. he sets his glass down again, your gaze tracking the movements. "but you do have to listen."
he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a small, velvet box. wordlessly, he hands it over, and waits patiently as you get your arm to respond- to grab it from his hands.
inside sits a locket. small, oval shaped. you open it to find a single photo placed gently in the clasps.
its you as a child, holding hands with a little boy close to your age. you were still happy then, you remember. it was before your parents died, that much you can tell by the photo. by your smile.
the boy, though, catches your attention. short black hair that reaches to his shoulders, dark eyes that glance to the side- set on you.
you look up at suguru, and immediately you can tell the resemblance.
"we've met." your voice comes at small, meek. the first words you've spoken. he hums, a low sound of approval.
he moves around the desk once again to grab the box from your hands. he gently pulls the long, delicate chain out, the locket gleaming under the soft lights. he steps closer, reaching for you, unclasping the chain and lifting it towards your neck.
you slap his hand away, and move to get up, but between the chair back and his figure, there's nowhere for you to go.
his eyes darken at your action, and for a second you can see the obsession that lines his expression, hidden beneath his carefully curated appearance.
"i've been patient," he croons, "but patience has it's limits."
he doesn't wait this time, pulling back your hair with slender fingers to clasp the locket around your neck. his breath his cool against your ear, his voice soft.
the locket rests against your chest, cold and heavy.
he steps back, hands falling to rest by his sides. "you'll stay here tonight." something tells you it's not just going to be tonight. but you keep your mouth shut, once again.
"tomorrow, we'll talk properly. don't worry about your uncle. he's been...detained."
the color on your face drains, and you shiver. he continues.
"right, i almost forgot. speaking of your uncle," he chuckles, finger tracing the rim of his glass.
"how many bruises did he give you?"
you blink at his question, not quite understanding. he seems to pick up on your confusion.
"ah, sorry. should have been clearer. how many bruises do you have on, let's say, right now?" his sharp gaze tracks your nervous fidgeting.
"i'm..i'm not sure," you whisper. you are so utterly confused. he hums, shaking his head with faux disappointment, tsking. "i understand."
he sighs, as if it pains him to speak what he plans to next. it's all a lie.
"take off your shirt." you're not sure you heard him right. he waits, patiently, as you mull his words around in your mind. eventually, he smiles, tight lipped.
"do you need help?" he croons, condescendingly. "because i can."
you shake your head, softly at first, then violently. "no. no, no, no."
he laughs, gleefully. "well, i must know, either way. it affects how i'm going to treat your dear old uncle."
he's crazy. oh god he's actually insane. you move to stand up, but stop when he lifts a finger.
"ah, ah. sit. i'll only ask one more time before i help you, okay?" he pouts at you, talking to you like he would a pet.
"take off. your shirt." he enunciates, raising his eyebrow at you. with trembling fingers, you finally do as he asks, raising your shirt up and over your head.
you wince when his gaze finds your tattered skin. the bruises- they're everywhere.
your uncle made sure to not hurt you in places his peers could see, only places that could be covered up by clothes or a dress. but, they're constant. new bruises overline old, faded ones.
blue and yellow patterns tattoo your skin, a ghastly sight to behold.
you remember all the times your uncle would come home late, reeking of alcohol, knuckles splot and your ribs already aching at the sight. the way he'd always say "this is for your own good, you ungrateful little-" before the next strike.
his jaw ticks, and his eyes darken once more. you sit there in silence, minutes passing as he studies your form.
taking count, you realize.
you're not sure what he'll use the numbers for, and you're afraid to ask. you don't want to know.
he steps closer once again, his hand landing on your shoulder, fingers curling gently around the curve of your collarbone. the touch is featherlight, but you still flinch anyway.
he notices, a hint of a smile.
"such a fragile thing," he muses, softly, studying you. "so breakable. and yet, you're still standing. still...breathing." his thumb brushes over a particularly dark spot near your ribs, and you wince, squirming in your seat.
"he kept you so hidden." his voice drops, almost to himself. "but i see you. i've always seen you. all of you."
he steps back abrubtly, eyes burning with feverish intensity, obsession laid bare in the way his gaze devours you.
"tell me," he says, suddenly, "did he ever...apologize?"
you think for a moment. not for this. he seems to catch your answer in your expression.
"of course not," he mutters, almost to himself. "but don't worry, darling. i'll make sure he regrets it."
he turns away from you, pacing the room with restless energy. his fingers tap against his thigh, a sharp rhythm. with a sinking feeling, you realize that he's already decided what to do with your uncle.
why he counted the bruises. a mark for a mark.
eventually, he calms, but there's still tension in his shoulders. "you'll be more comfortable upstairs," he says, attention back on you. "i had your things moved."
you blink, caught off guard. "my..things?"
he doesn't answer. instead, he walks out the door, towards the staircase you hadn't noticed when you first arrived. you hesitate, before pushing yourself off the chair to follow him.
your shirt is still pooled on the floor where you dropped it, but you don't bother picking it up. you know enough about suguru now to know he wouldn't like it very much if you put it back on.
you follow him up the stairs of the penthouse, leading to the second-story of the apartment. he leads you down a hallway, passed a row of closed doors.
finally, he stops in front of a door at the very end of the hall. gesturing for you to enter, you open the door and venture in, eyes scanning the space.
a large bed, a dresser against one wall, a vanity with a mirror, a small desk, and a window that looks out upon the city.
traces of him are everywhere- hairties on the desk, a small stack of books on the dresser, dark clothes hung neatly in the closet.
"do you like it?" he asks. he's bent down slightly, cool air against your cheek as he tries to look at the room from your point of view.
it would have been cute if it wasn't coming from him.
something catches your eye- a crisp envelope, laying neatly on top of one of the pillows.
"open it," suguru says, voice low, once he notices that you've seen it.
you hesitate, grabbing the envelope, tearing it open with your fingers. inside is a single photograph- a picture of your uncle, slumped in a chair in what looks to be some sort of dark, cement basement.
his face is bruised, swollen, eyes closed. something black is written on his forehead, like sharpie messily scrawled onto his skin.
you look up at him, heart pounding furiously in your chest. you might need to puke again, you're not sure.
he smiles, softly- almost apologetic, for your sake. his eyes are cold.
"sleep well," he murmurs. "i'll leave you alone for tonight. but tomorrow," he trails a finger down your jawline, "we start fresh. hm?"
he turns to leave, but pauses in the doorway, glancing back at you one last time. he just stands there, taking you in, before he finally leaves, closing the door behind him.
the silence after the door locks behind him isn't empty. it's almost full- full to whereyour pulse is ringing in your ears, where the air feels like static.
and then you're screaming, all the fight that had forsaken you now coming back in full- fists pounding against the door as you demand to be let out.
eventually, after your short-lived fight-response drifted away, you stare at the photograph in your hands, the edges of the paper cutting into your skin.
your uncle's face stares back at you- a man who once looked so terrifying now looks so broken.
he looks like you, in that way.
the locket on your neck feels like a brand. heavy weight onto your neck. you tried taking it off- but it wouldn't budge. you're not sure how he managed it.
you exhale, slow and shaky, and set the photograph on the nightstand as you lay back on the bed. your body sinks into the mattress, cursing out the comfort of it all. the sheets are cool against your skin, the bruises on your ribs no longer throbbing.
for the first time in years, you're not falling asleep to pain.
and that might be the most terrifying part of it all.
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* 327,600,000 yen = ~ $2 million
* 681,056,812 yen = ~ $4 million
not proofread. picture from pinterest, quote isn't mine!
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