#at the ripe age of seventeen

[midi4ri0love]

gUYS I THINK IM EXPERIENCING MY FIRST ACTuAL CRUSH RN OhMYGoSH

[ryiju-muunie]

Could you do cult leader! geto I’m so feral for this like he doesn’t care about his followers but reader is just so pretty and he wants to make her his lover for the whole cult to see PLS IM FERAL N I LOVE YOUR WRITING <3

Red Ink

18+ viewer discretion is advised

fem!reader/cult leader!Suguru Geto Warnings: angst, pining, slowish burn not really, selling and technically kidnapping, the reader has a sad backstory KAY [implied physical abuse], age gap [Geto is 37 and reader is 24], forbidden romance, im gonna make the reader sassy dx, alternate AU where Geto is a cult leader but it's set in more of an ancient time YOULL SEE [kind of like my happy marriage], bathtub masturbation, bathtub sex, sexual tension, cumshot [breasts], masochist!Suguru Geto, hair pulling, Word count: 7221 DESC: Suguru Geto never thought about giving a monkey who couldn't wield jujutsu a chance ... until he met you.

Hiii!!! I just got sick so please be patient my posts might get spaced out for a bit until I recover but I really like this! I took a few [A LOT] creative liberties when writing :3

If you want a guarantee I will write and post your request in a timely fashion head over to my Ko-Fi!

Every morning it was the same routine. Suguru would wake up at 7:45 AM every morning to an empty bed, with the lights a dull orange color. They hung from the room's corners and lit up just enough to let him peer around. He slowly forced himself off the squeaky mattress, becoming accustomed to the sensation of the cold wood against his bare feet. A breath of air flowed through his nose as his hand lazily trailed through his robes, hanging in his large closet. There were so many to choose from, all almost the same. Although, some details were different. Blue trim vs yellow, or a red pattern vs green. In all honesty, he never cared much about his appearance. As long as he wouldn’t have to leave, he didn’t mind his daughters or servants doing the shopping for him. Maybe that’s why the leader's hair was too long to manage, so he would lazily put half of it up in a semi-orderly bun. 

All of these people, and Suguru Geto was completely and utterly alone. He had no one who understood why he decided to become the leader of the Star Religious group so young, almost twenty years ago, at the ripe age of seventeen. All of his innocence was lost at such an age that he could feel a bitter taste rising on the back of his tongue. Bile. The taste of regret. Sometimes he looked out the window to some of the convent’s children playing in the courtyard, and he wished he had found a partner to aid him on his journey. No one ever caught his eye, no one ever piqued his interest. No one like … 

Suguru shook his head and blinked a few times, sending himself out of an impending spiral and instead leaving it for another day. He looked over to his robes, where his hand clung to his signature robe, yellow trim with a green pattern sewn to the front. There was something so comforting about this robe. Maybe because it was the first one ever made for him by his monkey servants, the only monkeys he’d ever let near his person without choosing to disinfect himself afterward. They knew their place in society and acted accordingly. The only monkeys he could tolerate. 

Another sound took him out of his thoughts, a knock on the door. He turned his head, “Come in,” was all he had to rasp. His voice was naturally soft, as he didn’t typically raise it past a whisper to most. Only when Suguru was truly enraged would he begin to scream and yell at those useless monkeys… but that was becoming rare now.

A tuft of pink hair appeared from the door as it opened, showing his secretary Manami. She strolled in as if she owned the room, opting to close the door with a push to her hip. The male watched her with an indifferent gaze as she tapped the rickety clipboard in her hand, “I found you a personal servant.”

“Personal servant? Why would I need that? I’m capable of dressing myself, you know,” as Suguru spoke he began to pull at his sheer robe, the one he slept in. His secretary looked up to the ceiling, avoiding any and all contact with his body as she possibly could. 

She tapped a pen along the rim of the clipboard as she continued, “Someone to make the bed and cut your hair. It’s getting too long, sir.” Manami swiftly raised her hand and pointed to him with the pen, still avoiding his body with her eyes up. He raised an eyebrow at her, shrugging off the robe and setting it neatly on his bed. His jaw flexed as he clenched it, in thought. Would the leader of the Star Religious group need a personal maid to do every little thing he needed? I mean, it sounded appealing to have a monkey fetch him any useless thing he requested. Watching them spread themselves thin trying to appease him. His lips pulled together in a silent smile at that thought.

“What’s this servant's credentials?” Suguru pulled his robe off the hanger and blew on it lightly, ridding it of the dust it had collected throughout the week it had been since he wore it. 

“Well she’s about 24, so past any good age to get married off,” she listed off, looking down at her clipboard as she spoke, “She’s worked in several different houses as a housekeeper and nanny, but she’s been let go for differing reasons.”

Geto slid on his robe and adjusted it until it fell across his muscular body, “Fired? Was she unruly or perhaps a pain in the ass?” A humorous tone took to his voice and Manami laughed in response, handing him the clipboard so he could see for himself. In a subtle sprawl, it wrote your name. It was interesting as he perused down the paper, stopping at the section where it detailed how you were let go: “Fired for talking back” and “Inappropriate conduct” happened to be recurring on the list, making the leader quirk an eyebrow. The last time he had anyone with some sense of personality was ages ago, as I previously stated my guy doesn’t raise his voice often. “What does she look like?” He asked, handing the clipboard back to the woman.

“I dunno. Why? Finally over your ex, Sugruuuuuuu?” Manami teased, a grin appearing on her face. However, it quickly disappeared as soon as he shot her a warning glare. Never bring up that name. Even edging around the subject, do not bring it up. Every servant and every secretary knew the leader’s past was a delicate subject. Never bring it up. 

She cleared her throat and continued, “Her parents are the ones using her for labor money. We can undercharge them for an old hag and get full labor! ‘Course, she’d have to live here… but I can situate that,” she waved a hand in the air to dismiss that train of thought, “I think it’ll be good for you, sir. Maybe you can get some release.”

She did it that time. Suguru’s eyes shot up to hers and gave her a look that would have sent anyone running. Manami apologized instantly, bowing her head. Everyone also knew of their Emperor’s lack of sexual lovers, and his constant sexual frustrations. He had never been able to fully relieve himself, for well over twelve years. There was a pent-up hunger burning inside him and no one could satiate it no matter how much he tried.

“Hire her. I wish to get acquainted with my new personal servant.”

Your personality had always bounced back even in the face of adversity, maybe that’s why every household you’ve ever worked for had fired you. Life wasn’t easy for someone like you, in a family who didn’t prioritize you. All they wanted were sons and they were blessed with a daughter who couldn’t even marry, you were a disgrace. So they decided they would use you for money if they could, milking you for every cent you were worth. However, you couldn’t keep a job. 

You started well-behaved and quiet, but soon the snippy comments would start. Then soon, you’d be making a scene, disrespectfully calling out your bosses for their treatment in a very public manner. Then they’d fire you instantly, making your family angry once more. It was a vicious cycle they couldn’t snap you from. You were never going to change until your father had announced you had been sold. 

The Star Religious group had agreed to your purchase, giving your family a sum of money they hadn’t seen in their entire lifetime. It was enough for them to skip town and leave you in your own abandoned house. Rough. Of course, that money wouldn’t hold them afloat forever, but they didn’t realize it at the time. All you could think about was the fact you had been abandoned by the people you had been blessed to, the people who said they loved you. 

You were never going to change until that day.

There was no use in fighting, because what happened after this? You’d have no one to back you up or a roof to sleep under. This time… you weren’t going to fuck it up. A carriage arrived at your vacant lot a day after your parents announced you were sold, leaving you alone with your thoughts. In a side bag were two kimonos, a compact, and a hair clip. You opened your rickety front door and peered over at the carriage with wide eyes. Normally a comment would fly out of your mouth, but you couldn’t even will yourself to speak. You didn’t have the will or energy to do anything more than sit and stare like a rock before a woman came out of it. 

She was beautiful, with short pink hair and a purple dress. She shouted your name and clasped her hands together in front of her stomach, “Oh he’s going to like you very well. Sir Geto has a thing for submissive women.” 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to laugh in her face and contradict her statement, nodding lifelessly, “I am grateful for this opportunity, Ms.” 

“Ms. Manami Suda to you!” She grinned, stepping aside to let you walk inside the carriage. It was a dull red on the outside and the same interior-wise, nothing special. You didn’t note the patterns on the inner walls or how the cushion felt. In all honesty, you didn’t care. Even though it was mid-day, you found yourself fantasizing about sleeping in a cot that wasn’t made of pure shit material, maybe even with a pillow. 

The carriage ride was quiet, aside from the occasional comment from Manami about how you didn’t have the monkey smell. Oh, that’s right… they were Jujutsu Sorcerers. You or anyone in your family for that matter were not blessed with the sorcerer gene, so you truly didn’t understand what it meant. Instead of speaking you nodded politely and let a fake small smile grace your lips, as if you were actually listening to her. The countryside was beautiful, the ride taking you deep into the middle of nowhere. Then you saw it, large buildings all coupled together to create a convent. They were tan with brown bamboo roofs, slanted to a point on the top. Incredibly gorgeous. You had always fantasized about building your own buildings one day, admiring from afar. But you weren’t built for that lifestyle. 

It was only ever going to be a fantasy for you it seemed.

The two of you entered the convent in silence, taking in the architecture. It was gorgeous, something you had seen from far away but never dared to venture to up close. You resisted so many urges to run your hand along the columns of the outdoor hallways that lined the outdoor courtyard in the center, where many of the children played. They all looked happy and free, something you found yourself envying.

“Lord Geto is right this way,” Manami spoke eagerly, walking ahead of you and motioning around, “Get used to it kid, you’ll be spending a lot of time here,” she then glanced back at you, a smile branding her lips, “Don’t get smart.” To her, she didn’t think that you were the same girl with the smart mouth that had been let go so many times. In some ways, you weren’t the same. You were so completely and utterly done with your life you couldn’t bring yourself to even have an ounce of personality you once did.

The rest of the walk was quiet before she turned on her heels to the right and motioned to a large door. It was red, with golden trim around the edges. You couldn’t see inside but you knew exactly what lay behind those doors. Manami took your bag from you politely and knocked a few times on the door, hearing some shuffling and seeing them open. Two guards opened the door, their faces stone-cold and stoic. They were almost scary looking, but nothing prepared you for the man who was behind them. He sat on a mound of pillows, head resting in his palm, and his eyes glued to you. In every sense of the word he was gorgeous, you had never seen anyone that beautiful. And he could say the same about you.

Suguru’s eyes widened just a tad as he took in your person. You were beautiful, looking hand-carved from a cloud by the finest god, wine drunk on nothing but your beauty alone. How could this be? No non-sorcerer should have ever made him stare for longer than a few seconds. Manami noticed, hell, everyone but you noticed. He blinked once, then twice, pulling him out of the trace you had put over him, a delicate smile gracing his lips. He spoke your name and used his free hand to beckon you over.

You did as you were told, walking into the room silently. But you hadn’t seen the rug placed before you or the corner of that small table. You found yourself hitting the side of the table with your right ankle, then tripping forward, completely slipping due to the rug. It was within seconds you were face down to the ground, letting out an astonished gasp. That was it. You had done it. You had tripped in front of the most notorious non-sorcerer-hating Sorcerer in the entire country. You had made a complete and utter fool of yourself and that was going to be the end of your life. A sad and embarrassed blush filled your cheeks and hollowed out your temples, waiting for your punishment. 

“I’m… so very sorry,” you managed to mumble, lifting your head from your crouched position. You didn’t hear Suguru lean forward, changing his position to kneel in front of you, and you didn’t expect him to be leaning over you so closely. His face looked down at you with a different kind of softness, raven strands of hair falling over his ears.

“Nonsense. It happens to the best of us… sit up,” he purred, whispering a magical tune in your ear. In any other person, this caring persona would have elicited a feeling of trust and safety. But you found this to be resulting in a different kind of reaction. Suguru’s brow furrowed ever so slightly when you sat up, moving to sit on your knees in front of him, and stared at him with … fuck me eyes?? No one had ever lusted after him so obviously and that quickly too! I mean he was Suguru fucking Geto, for crying out loud- he was supposed to be scary, not sexy! Well… maybe both. 

He blinked slowly to reset his thoughts, letting a gentle hand swipe past her cheek and softly hold her chin. Geto spoke your name lowly as he tilted your head to one side, taking in your features. It was nothing more than a pass over to see you fully, but you had completely soaked your underwear. Yeah, that’s right, you weren’t scared of him you were aroused. It felt even more embarrassing because it was incredibly obvious your fear-torn stare had turned into something more objectifiying. 

You were just picturing him leaning in and whispering sweet nothings as his voice broke your thoughts, “Your name is very pretty.” His voice brushed against your ears and once he retracted his hand back, a small frown parted your lips. His touch was warm and soft, contrasting the devilish stare Suguru typically wore. You wanted to relish in it for a few more moments, but you couldn’t live in a fantasy, now could you?

“Thank you, sir,” you replied, looking down to your lap. You just felt your wetness create an uncomfortable pool in your underwear, making it hard not to squirm. Especially with those naturally beautiful eyes staring at you with a hidden curiosity. 

Aside from the obvious lust radiating off of your person, you were a hard individual to read. Geto was getting mixed signal after mixed signal from your face he decided to sigh and ignore whatever he was feeling at that moment, opting to go over the business side of things. “You will become my personal servant, focussing on cooking, cleaning, and fulfilling my everyday needs. Understood?”

You nodded as he continued, “I would let Manami show you to your room… but it appears she’s wandered off,” he motioned to the slightly open door behind you, “I don’t mind showing you.” With that, the emperor stood up and cleared his throat, brushing his big hands against his robe. You watched with wide eyes as it flowed around him, making him appear more majestic than he actually was. You found yourself standing up and following your new boss, opting not to speak or do anything to draw more attention to yourself. 

As the two of you walked, the columns lining the walls took hold of your mind. The patterns in the wallpaper were one thing in itself, but the structure of the clearly customized columns made your heart flutter. It was gorgeous. Dragon scales dipped into the wall before coming out, in the middle of every door that lined the long indoor hallway. Your feet slowed to a stop, staring at the gold dragon trim. Your hand inched toward it slowly, just one touch to see the type of material. Suguru hadn’t noticed you wandered off until he turned and in the corner of his eye, he saw you stroke the wall. At first, he wanted to do the dick thing and clear his throat, embarrassing you. But something stopped him. You were as pretty as that dragon, the gold reflecting off your skin and making you practically glow in the dim light. You were gorgeous. Stunning even. It was strange, he had never felt himself this attracted to anyone in his life. Aside from- never mind. 

The leader slowly walked back, making his way behind you. You were tolerable to be around, tolerable for a monkey. That was something he had to remind himself about. You were still a non-sorcerer. You were still inferior to him in every sense of the word. Whatever feelings were creeping into his chest and making his heart sing had to get shut away in that instant, so he did the dick move and cleared his throat. 

Your hand was on one of the scales and you froze, turning your head with the speed of light to meet his gaze. “Lord… Please forgive me,” you blurted out, turning on your heel and pressing both hands to your chest, “I’m very sorry. I should never have gotten distracted. I’m sorry,” you squeaked, shutting your eyes tight. You knew what was bound to come… either a physical punishment or your letter of unemployment. Before Suguru could even respond, you lifted your head and tilted it to the side, motioning to your cheek. 

His eyebrow quirked up. He had never seen a servant ask for a punishment for their own wrongdoings, especially when it wasn’t that severe. A strange pang hit his chest, causing a weight to form across his own heart. What had happened in your sad life that made you so prone to letting people do things like that to you? This wasn’t the woman he was expecting. When you walked in, terrified and shy, then … horny, he thought he had gotten the wrong girl. Something must have happened for you to change like that. Maybe your obvious attraction was a hint of the personality you were hiding. Then Suguru had another question: why were you hiding your personality? The first duh answer was so you wouldn’t get fired right away, right? But he felt like there was something more. 

Something he shouldn’t have cared about. You were a non-sorcerer, a monkey! It was forbidden on all accords. 

Suguru blinked a few times, taking himself out of his weird spiral of thoughts to look at your face, contorted with worry, “It’s … alright. I wasn’t aware you liked architecture,” he motioned to the dragon’s golden bodice on the wall, “That was custom made from…” You let your boss explain how the dragon was made and imported, listening to every word. You didn’t want to speak and ruin your only chance at a new life. This was the one and only time you had ever held your breath, stopping any words from coming out. 

After a moment, the male paused and looked over you once more. Something was turning over inside his head and he so desperately wanted an answer. What was going on inside your head and what had deflated your personality so? What had made you turn yourself into a shell of the person he knew was still in there? …And why was he longing to see this? But he said nothing. The moment had passed and as quickly as you wandered off, you were shown to your room. If Geto had let himself unravel any further he would have requested her to accept a binding vow of pure honesty, with the promise of his protection. Why? Why was she pulling at his mind and making him lose it?

That night, he set himself a bath. The water splashed and made small waves as he dipped his feet into it, before submerging his large body. There was something so very calming about a bath to clear his mind… but he couldn’t rid it of you. Of your face, of your monkey smell, or your body. Even though the kimono you were wearing was a size too big, he still made sure to look you over subtly. He took in your large curves and bit his lip, thinking about them as he sat by himself. He was completely and utterly alone, in spirit and in a literal sense. Of course, he’d get a morning erection every now and then, but it had been a long time since something had turned him on just from the thought of it. 

One of Suguru’s hands dipped into the water and grabbed ahold of his meaty cock, dragging a hand up and down his length. It was foreign, but coming back to him like muscle memory. He didn’t want to savor this orgasm to the thought of a lowly monkey, he wanted to get it over with then pretend it never even happened. He wanted to pretend this was all some strange dream he was forced into… not at all something that was going to be plaguing him. He inhaled sharply and leaned his head back, resting his back against the edge of the bathtub. The water was coming up to his mid stomach, warming up his lower half. His pleasure was a gradual build, but he was trying his hardest to rush it. The leader wanted nothing more than to cum and then forget it. His hand tightened around his shaft, stroking upwards to find any sense of release. It was a few seconds before he came, rolling his hips a few times at the new sensation. It was a build of pure warmth before he felt his fluids ooze out of his tip with heavy force. It sprung into the water and contaminated it with his filthy seed. 

It was enough to make him grimace. A non-sorcerer made him so hot and bothered he was forced to spill all over himself, in the bath no less! First, he felt an odd sense of attraction to you… now he wanted nothing to do with it. If it was going to keep him feeling this way, Suguru wanted nothing to do with you. Even if you were beautiful, and you smelt good, and your skin was soft. He could feel it on his fingertips, a psychosomatic warmth radiating off of his hands. 

This was not going to be good for him. You were not going to be good for him.

You woke up at 9 AM sharp, not by choice. Manami shook you a few times, forced you out of your comforting dream, and made you sit up on the small cot you had gotten as your bed. It was more than you could have ever asked for, even if it was made for someone a bit smaller than you. So was your new kimono. They had a dress code for servants to differentiate them, and clearly whoever was the last servant didn’t have a very large … bust. You stared at yourself in the mirror, seeing your form ache to be freed from the tight clothing. The buttons didn’t go all the way down, exposing a bit of cleavage, and it tore a bit at the small of your back. Manami wasn’t much help either, opting to snicker at you and roll her eyes. You wanted to bite back and say something to get her riled up, but you never found your strength. Instead, you took it and nodded. 

“Okay so, Sir Geto’s room is the one to your left. Go ahead and start his bath. Don’t try to wake him up, though. He’ll be all grumpy if you do,” she explained, motioning wildly with her hands. She was a very extroverted person. Someone you would’ve gotten along with if you didn’t feel like absolute dog shit at that very moment. You nodded your head politely and exited the room, opening your bosses. 

It was neat, with barely any decor. Gas lanterns hung from the walls dimly, always keeping the room somewhat illuminated. You tried your hardest not to look at his sleeping form, but you caved. He was so gorgeous it made you pussy throb just from looking at him. His face was resting peacefully against his pillow, some black hairs sprawled against his forehead. His hair was long, longer than you expected, flowing behind him on his bed. And he was wearing what appeared to be a sheer robe. You swallowed and made your way into his bathroom, almost slipping on the excess water left behind from his previous night's bath. You were innocent enough not to question the pile of tissues on the counter, pushing them into the small garbage pail. Then it was a matter of setting up his bath.

In a cabinet hidden by a curve in the wall, you noticed some aromatic bath salts and other essential oils. One of the households you worked for was very into the essential thing, so you had an idea of what scents went together. You didn’t want Geto to smell like a whole mixture of things, but rather one family of scents. You chose a vial of rosemary, lavender, and peppermint oil, hoping it would go together. The bath turned on with a single turn of the knob. Your hands rested on the base of the tub, feeling the water to make sure it wasn’t too hot. It got to the perfect temperature and you put the stopper on the drain, letting it fill up. In the meantime, you sat on the edge of the bathtub and peered around the bathroom. It was again, tidy and austere. He didn’t have an eye for decorating or he didn’t enjoy it. 

You heard a faint groan in the bedroom, signaling Suguru was waking. You inhaled the smell of rosemary and turned on your side to watch as it spilled one drop at a time from the vial. Then fell the peppermint, followed by the lavender. The scent filled the bathroom in an aromatic fashion, filling your senses with a sudden calm. Was it some kind of drug concoction? It was a smell that made you lean back and sigh, filling you with a sense of safety in your surroundings. 

“Good morning,” Suguru spoke, a raspy edge to his voice. Your eyes shot open from their closed state and you stood up, clasping your hands on your chest to hide your cleavage. But you hadn’t seen him staring at you from the bathroom door. He leaned against the doorframe, in only his thin nighttime robe, and stared at your thick breasts. The fabric was so tight, it pulled gaps between each button. He had to admit it, it was hot. Even if you were a filthy monkey, you were a hot filthy monkey. A hot filthy monkey with a banging body. 

“Lord Geto, I was preparing your bath,” you stepped to the side and motioned to the filling water. He caught a glimpse of your back as you turned to turn the knob to the water down to a stop. He saw the tear and the bit of your lacey underwear peeking out from underneath it. Was he that much of a monster that the first time a beautiful non-sorcerer appeared, he’d cave and melt? 

It was starting to feel that way as something came out of his mouth, “How do you feel about me? …Honestly.”

You opened your mouth to respond, on autopilot, before you closed it as quickly as you opened it. What could you say? You found him attractive and you wanted him to breed you? You couldn’t exactly say that, so instead you opted for something more generic, “I think you’re a very respectable leader and emperor to your coven.”

Bull. Shit. Suguru knew it was a lie and he knew you knew it as well. He didn’t have a reputation for being respectable in any sense of the word. He was a cold-blooded killer who’d murder anyone who wronged him in any way. A cold-blooded killer who was beginning to have a strange soft spot for you… 

“Tell me this,” he took a step forward, “if you vow to never lie to me again … I vow to protect you from getting fired, no matter what.” Was he seriously going to bindingly vow himself to some non-sorcerer? Was he seriously going to do this because he wanted to know how he was perceived? 

“...Really?” You asked, your mouth opening slightly. All he wanted was honesty?? You could do that! You could do that so well!! 

“Really,” Geto took another step forward and began to undo the tie holding together his robe. You had made it a point to stare at his face, but you were aching to quickly glance down below his belt. Just for a second.

“Okay. I swear…” You looked away and bit your bottom lip for a moment. You’d have to be honest now. You looked back at the man and let a smile appear on your face, “I think you’re more hot than you are scary.” 

Suguru’s eyes widened. That’s not at all the kind of tonal shift he had expected from you. He expected you to admit some kind of vague attraction and perhaps that he was a terrifyingly charismatic leader. But… he got a response which made an embarrassed blush fill his temples. 

“I’m .. hot?” He raised an eyebrow, pulling off the robe and letting it fall to the floor. Your eyes didn’t shy away now, making direct eye contact with his flaccid cock. It was beautiful even in that state, making your mouth hang open just a bit more. It was huge too. Thoughts of his girth stretching out your tiny pussy flooded into your thoughts. He could fuck you so good with that thing. And his voice… it was perfect.

“A lot of you is hot,” you looked back at his face, which was an excruciatingly bright shade of red. No one had ever felt this comfortable to objectify Suguru this way to his face. He couldn’t deny the fact he was growing to enjoy it. And grow in other ways. He took a few more steps forward, hands reaching out and pulling you closer to his front. 

“You’re being filthy, not honest,” a small smirk graced his lips as he stared down at you with half-lidded eyes, beaming with lust. 

“I can do both,” you returned a smile. A weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You had complete and utter job security. That’s all you could have ever wanted in your entire life, just a place to stay. Even if it meant working with this hot guy for the rest of your life, you didn’t mind. Although, he thought of you as inferior, you didn’t care. That’s what did it. Your personality had been led out of its cage and shown to Suguru’s perverted gaze. He realized what kind of person you were from your few sentences. You were just as much of a pervert as he was. The tonal shift was enough to make you realize what his next plans were, especially when he let his big hands snake around your waist. 

“This is,” Suguru let out a breath and craned his head down, brushing his lips past your ear, “Very wrong… But I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to kiss you, pretty girl,” he cooed, using his free hand to tilt your chin up to face him as he pulled his face back. You both looked at each other’s features for a moment without anything. What was there to say? You could feel him throbbing between your legs with that massive log he had attached to his front. It was hot. You just wanted to trail your hand down his chest and watch him shiver when you got to his v-line.

“You can’t fire me… so I don’t care,” two hands found themselves placed on his bare chest, running up and down his pectorals, “Am I too lowly for you, sir?” You purred, looking back up at him with a lustful expression. It was all you had to say before he proved you wrong. Devastatingly slow, he brought your lips together. The hand on your chin disappeared, moving to rest upon your ass. You sighed into the kiss, molding your lips together in perfect synchronization. It was as if his mouth was made for you, pulling you into sensations you had never felt before. The kiss didn’t last long before he pulled back and looked down at you with an unmistakable expression. He was going to fuck the living shit out of you. It was written on his face from the way he was clearly thinking about how to go about it. There was a bathtub full of aromatic water, waiting to be used… You looked down at the tub and looked back at him. You two didn’t have to say anything as his hands grabbed at the hole from the back of your kimono and ripped it. It made a loud tearing sound and he continued to pull, until little to no fabric hung from your breasts. 

You gasped and looked down at the mess he had made, moving to undo your underwear, then you looked at his cock. It was just aching to be touched in some way. Your hand found his tip and started to stroke down his shaft, then up. Who knew a non-sorcerer's hands would feel phenomenal compared to his own? Suguru let out a faint groan, leaning into your touch. He had never let himself take pleasure in things, ever since his breakup [at KFC] twenty years ago… but now it felt different. He felt like he had one chance to do this and he wasn’t going to spoil it. Your hands were so warm, he could just imagine how warm your mouth would be, gagging on his length.

Large hands cupped your ass and lifted your body, causing you to exclaim loudly and wrap your arms around his neck for stability. He was so strong, you could hardly believe it. It was pure talent and genetics that made him perfect on every level. His face was godly and his body was sculpted from the heavens just for your perverted stare. The male set you down gently in the tub, being mindful to make sure you didn’t land too hard on your plush backside. He wanted to save the bruising on your skin for when it was from him. He wanted his hands to be the ones leaving imprint after imprint on your skin, slapping and grabbing without a care for what would be left behind. He plopped down into the water, not caring if he got water to spill from the sides. He didn’t care about anything, because his hands and eyes were glued to you. His hands hooked around your hips and pulled you onto his lap, still being mindful not to hurt you. 

You grinned and leaned forward, pushing strands of ebony-colored hair across his forehead and away from his beautiful eyes. Purple, they stared back at you gently. “This… is nice,” you spoke softly, pressing your lips first on his forehead, then his nose, before landing on his lips. It was chaste, as the first kiss had been. But it didn’t stay that way for long. Suguru’s tongue slipped its way into your mouth and took over with a dominating force, making you bite back a whimper. It felt so good. He knew exactly how to move it to elicit whatever reaction he pleased. Your hands raked through his hair, before grabbing fistfuls at the root and moaning into his mouth. He liked that, moaning with you.  

“...Harder,” he mumbled against your open mouth, kissing back for more.

“What a pretty little masochist,” you smiled, running your hands through the roots of his hair before clenching them down and yanking up another fistful, hearing him whine in his low gravelly voice. Fuck… it just made you so wet. You clenched your thighs together as you kissed up his face, pulling his hair just to hear the ardor-esc moans fill the room. This was even better than sex, just hearing him get a little bit of pleasure out of this hair-pulling would’ve been satisfactory. But as you did this, you felt his hands fondle your ass, squeezing and palming your skin. It wasn’t long before he lifted you and had you position his throbbing dick against your folds. 

You had never felt a dick this good penetrate you in your life. Something about the way it curved to the left and the bulbous head, touched areas you didn’t even know you had, just on the way down. You threw your head back in a breathy whine, rocking your hips back and forth once you felt yourself hit the base of his cock. Suguru used his two hands to help you slide up his length, then down again. He had you trapped in a rhythm of fucking your tight cunt with his member, making you his fuck toy. The male had never felt himself slip into such a trace over a monkey of all people. Non-sorcerers should have not had this hold on him, but you were different. You gasped and bit down on your hand to stop a loud groan escaping your mouth, with your breasts bouncing with each thrust. 

“Dirty slut,” Suguru uttered, biting on his bottom lip to stop his own noises from getting too loud. No one could figure out this was happening. It was wrong. It was against everything he had ever stood for. But …god it felt so good. Your walls clenched around him every time he forced you down on his length, taking the time to feel up your hips and ass. You were so soft, inside and out. The perfect toy he could use. 

It didn’t take him long to feel close, a familiar pang of desire creeping up the shaft of his cock. You were beyond ready to cum, with this log inside you it wouldn’t take long. You bit down on your fingertips and cried out, not having time to muffle your wails of pleasure. It was a warmth you hadn’t felt in such a long time wash over your whole vagina, flushing out through your body next. You convulsed, grinding your hips back and forth to continue to elongate your high for as much as possible, causing a second orgasm on your way down. No one had ever made you cum like that, making you dumbfounded by the sheer will of their dick. 

The cult leader felt himself throbbing for release, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t do it inside you. There couldn’t be any evidence of your joint mistake running around in nine months, not here. Instead, he pulled you off his cock and pressed his lips together, “Press your…” He motioned to your breasts then his cock, “So I can…” You nodded and pressed your tits together, pushing them up against the length of his dick. That was all he needed, using his left hand to finish the job. He focused his energy on the swollen tip, leaking precum and begging to release all over your mounds of perfect flesh. Mounds he wanted so desperately to put in his mouth and suck. 

Then he came, splattering out of his cock and messily coating your tits. Most of the cum was on your skin, although half of it also found its way into the water. You bit your lip as he came and thrust into the air, into nothing. It was like volt after volt of pure pleasure was shot through his urethra and forced out in one big release, a release he didn’t know he was even capable of. Your cunt had felt so good it made Suguru’s dick completely sensitive to any kind of touches, including his own. So when he came, he let out a loud whine, in his devilishly low voice, “F-fuck… mmm shit.. This was.. Hah.. a mis-mistake,” he breathed out, trying to regulate himself after he had just felt an explosive orgasm run through his penis.

You nodded and looked down at your breasts, coated in his cum. How were you going to explain to Manami that all of your clothes mysteriously wound up torn in Lord Geto’s bathroom? And how were you going to explain the fact you were also covered in Lord Geto’s cum?

“...Can I call you Suguru now?” You asked after a moment, tilting your head to the man who looked as though he had just run a marathon. 

There was something utterly interesting about your personality now that you had freed it from your nervous shackles. Suguru didn’t want to extinguish this new fire in your eyes, he wanted to foster it and let it burn. There was no way he was developing some kind of feelings for you other than lust… there was no way. But there were going to be dramatic changes now. After that day, you were treated as one of the regular Sorcerers, which infuriated Manami to no end. You were the most prized possession of Suguru Geto and everyone knew not to anger or upset you because he would get wind of it. Then… there’d be trouble. You were his prized possession. The possession he wanted to see smile and laugh in the sunlight, rather than stay inside and do mindless chores. The possession he wanted to have slept next to him in his bed at night and wrapped his large arms around. 

The possession he was growing to… love.

[celuere]

Hii Alba! I've been reading your works, and they're all amazing! ❤️

Can I request an Arlecchino x Reader who is Pierro's adopted daughter? Maybe when Arlecchino became a harbinger and reader (they're the same age ofc) was her first (and maybe her only) friend there? And they grew up to become closer and closer? You can decide for the rest hihihi thank you! 🥰

Why Anon ofc, I‘m at your beck and call!!! I actually think that’s such a neat concept of getting to know her, like meeting Arle freshly after crucabenas assassination she is of course not the most extroverted person and it takes some time for her to start to open up to you AAAAAA I‘M SO GONNA GET TO WRITING THIS AND TY FOR YOUR KIND WORDS🫶

The Hearth is now extinguished.

Pairing: Arlecchino x fem!Reader

Context: As Pierro’s adoptive daughter you‘ve known the Knave for quite a few years now and you grew… close to her to say the least… always finding excuses to accompany your father to every possible Harbinger Meeting, to maybe even share the same mission locations together… and a bed on occasions. But little did you know, you sadly weren’t as sneaky as your father taught you to be.

Content: mutual pining, unspoken feelings, doomed yuri (my fav kind), suggestive (mentions of arle and reader being intimate, other than that sfwangst, pre-Fontaine arc, reader has a vision, ANGST.

I really hope I hit the nail on the head with the plot, let me know if you like it anon!<333

A/N: […] stands vor Your name! I‘m not a big fan of using Y/N as it lowkey ruins the sentence for me😭 I‘ve also been working on the second part of the Teased story, expect it to be a long one!

You remember the day just as clear as todays morning sky at which you’ve been staring up at for the past minutes. A soft breeze hit your face, brushing the strands of hair out of your face. You were a little nervous to say the least. You were waiting for somebody. Waiting for her so you can finally confess.

Waiting for her as your mind once again went back to the day you first met…

Blizzards have been raging in Snezhnaya lately as you stood next to the Jester, hands tucked tightly into the warmth of your coat. As Pierro‘s daughter, adoptive daughter to be more specific, you had certain duties. One of them was accompanying your father to appoint the next Fatui Harbinger.

The news about Crucabenas sudden death by the hands of one of her own children reached the Fatui HQ in the capital of the City of eternal winter a good four days ago. A 17 year old girl. Killing a Fatui Harbinger. Seventeen. The same age as you. To be honest you were by no means defenseless, being adopted by the first Fatui Harbinger himself came with a few perks, one of them being trained to perfection in almost every weapon category. It wasn’t uncommon either for your father to send you of to an assassination all by yourself at the ripe of age of 14 and being a Cryo Visionholder ever since your tenth birthday… well let’s just say that most high ranking officials weren’t a match for you. But thinking about even scratching La Signora, who was standing and waiting behind you… or just as much as breathe in the wrong direction of Capitano on your left… it wouldn’t came to you in your wildest dreams

So who exactly was that girl?

You were interrupted in your thoughts as the big wooden doors opened. Revealing a rather… small girl… even with the clacking sounds of heels against the polished marble floors, you could tell that she was around half a head smaller than you.

But her height wasn’t what caught your attention. Nor was it her white hair that‘s illuminated by the moon light shining down on her through the windows of the dome above her head.

Red.

It was the deep crimson x‘s adorning her pitch black eyes that you caught yourself staring at, the words coming out of your father‘s mouth completely drowned out as she strode up to the altar. Her face expressionless, almost cold in fact. Your breath got caught in your throat as she took notice of your staring, a tint of pink starting to form on your cheeks, you shifted slightly behind your father.

She was beautiful… not beautiful like Rosalyn… another kind…

And for the rest of the entirety of the meeting you couldn’t help but study her. Study the pretty earrings grazing her earlobes. How she didn’t even move a single inch once she came to a stop in front of you and Pierro. The soft eyebags underneath her eyes, probably the result of her hard training. But to your disappointment she didn’t even as much as looked into your direction ever since you made eye contact at the very beginning.

Arlecchino. That was the new name bestowed upon her. She inherited the title as Knave along with the House of the Hearth. Quite a lot for a seventeen year old girl, who just wanted to kill the monster that was called „Mother“ at the orphanage. Of course you knew Crucabena. And you knew Clervie, her late daughter. You knew she was a terrible person, someone who didn’t deserve the title „Mother“, how she treated her daughter and the other kids under her care, someone who hopefully is rotting in the depths of hell at this very moment.So you couldn’t help but feel anything else other than utmost sympathy for the girl in front of you.

You wanted… no. You had to befriend her. No questions asked.

So you secretly beamed in excitement when Pierro asked you to show her around Zapolyarny Palace and explain how things are operating from here on now. Stepping forward you revealed your hand from beneath the warmth of your coat and waited for her to take it.

„[…]. It‘s a pleasure to finally meet you.“, you hesitated before a soft smile tucked at the corner of your lips as you waited for her to shake your hand. And to be fair, it took her a few moments. She stared down at your hand for a while, as if she was debating something in her head. Then you finally noticed the movement underneath her coat before she revealed her own hand. And from there on you were mesmerized by her.

Pitch black hands along with dark-grey lines tracing the back of her hand before disappearing beneath her sleeves.

„It is rude to stare.“, to your surprise, her voice was deeper than expected.

„I…“, you quickly cleared your throat before taking her hand into yours, „of course, my sincere apologies…“. Goodness, her hand was soft. And she was even more prettier from this up close.

You heard Signora trying to hide a laugh behind her hand, along with Capitano clearing his throat, probably doing the same.

Insufferable old bags.

But little did you know, this handshake marked the start of an inseparable bond between the two of you. Of course, talking to Arlecchino at the beginning was… dreadful to put it mildly. Short answers. Never laughing. Always monotone in her voice. But you were never a girl who gave up so easily, you were quite the opposite. So you stayed strong, using every excuse under the sun to participate in ever meeting alongside your father, no matter how long it would take as long as you got to sit at the same table as her. Fortunately your efforts weren’t in vain because around four months after Arlecchino got appointed as Harbinger, she started to slowly get more comfortable around you. It started with small things. And I mean SMALL things, such as keeping the seat next to her free for you to sit down, accompanying you to take a walk through the capital city whenever she had a spare hour in her schedule, always staying by your side whenever a bigger event rolled around. She still didn’t talk much but you were satisfied with the progress nonetheless.

And after even more months, you could actually have a conversation with her. Turned out she hates the taste too flavorful foods, preferring more plain meals such as… raw meat on a toast along with some ketchup. It gagged you a little the first time she ordered it at a small restaurant she seemed to frequent, but you kept your mouth shut. She‘s just started to open up to you, making a remark in her taste in foods would only set you back in the progress you‘ve already made with her. You even accepted when she offered you a bite. And it tasted… strange. Not awful but also not exceptionally good either.

„You don’t like it?“, she brought up the the toast to her mouth before taking another bite herself as she studied the expressions on your face.

„It‘s… unique… I still prefer salted bacon on a toast instead…“, you washed down the weird taste with a few gulps of your water. As you did so, Arlecchino bent over the table to you, hand reaching out to your face. Your heart set out multiple beats as the butterflies in your stomach flared up.

What does she think she is doing?!

„Arle what-”, her hand gently touched your hair as she interrupted you while taking her hand back, „There was a spider in your hair.“. The small eight-legged animal crawling over her fingers as something akin to fascination washes over the Harbinger‘s face. This is your first time ever seeing something other than an indifferent facial expression on her.

„Oh…“, you leaned in closer to take a look at it, „are you fond of spiders…? You don’t seem scared to me like most people are…“, you could barely make the black spider out on her cursed hands.

„I had a pet spider when I was six years old. They’re easy to take care of. I like them.“, she set the small thing down on the windowsill next to your table. That statement somehow fit her so well. You couldn’t put your finger on why that was the case, but you were always happy to find out more about her.

By the time her 19th birthday rolled around you already taught her how to to braid the hair she‘s been growing out ever since her appointment as Knave. Your fingers delicately combing through her silky strand as you were sat behind her in front of a mirror. You were 18 at that time.

„It’s been getting in my way a lot lately. But I don’t want to cut it off again. I… like it more this way.“, her own crimson eyes skimming over a report from one of her subordinates as she enjoyed -yes. enjoyed.- your fingers running through her hair. Oddly enough it seemed to calm her down, causing her to lean more into your hands. Of course the sudden movement didn’t go unnoticed by you, but you didn’t comment on it. Knowing her, she would brush it off anyways.

„Good thing that you have me…“, you smiled at her through the mirror before you binded her together and set back. „There. All done. Do you like you it?“, you stood up from the floor to get something from your accessory box.

As you searched for a certain hair clip, Arlecchino looked at herself in the mirror, moving her head to the side to have a look at your handwork. „It‘s… simple. I think it suits me well. Thank you, […].“, her eyes landed on you as you walked back to her, a unique accessory in your hand.

„I‘ve had this clip ever since I was a small girl…“, you sat down next to her, revealing the metal thingy in your hand. At the first look it didn’t even seem like a hair clip. The curled up wings on each side looked more like something that belonged into a museum. „Let me put it in your hair really quick…“, you moved back behind her and took the tail back into your hand.

„You… really don’t have to. I‘m fine with this, I wouldn’t want you to give up something as beautiful as this hair clip for me.“, …what was that feeling stirring up inside her stomach…? It wasn’t quite new to her. She often feels like this whenever she‘s around you but she couldn’t exactly pinpoint it either. To be honest, she feels a lot of things whenever she is with you. Not that she would ever admit that of course. It wasn’t like this with Clervie, it was more… romantic…? Either way it confused her.

„Nonsense. I‘ve never worn this one in my entire life. It will only continue to collect dust here…“, you fixed the clip on her ponytail. „And it suits you way better than me anyways.“, you grabbed a smaller mirror from your bed behind you and held it up so Arlecchino could have a better look at her ponytail in the bigger mirror in front of you. „Much better, isn’t it?“

And from this day on, she wore that specific hair clip you’ve given her. At all times. Everyday. You actually never saw her with anything else keeping her hair together. It was always those metal wings adorning her white-red hair.

Time flew by faster than would’ve liked but over the months, years you grew… closer? That‘s a mild way to put it. There was something unique between the two of you. The way you‘d look at each other. The way Arlecchino would always be the first one to ask you for a dance at a formal event, one hand gently holding onto your waist, the other one cupping your hand as she led the both of your over the dance floor as the orchestra switched to a more… slower song.

The funny thing is… remember how she used to be half a head smaller than you about three years ago? About that… growth spurt seemed to hit her a bit late as you now had to lean your head back into your neck to maintain eye contact with her.

„Isn‘t your neck slowly starting to get stiff…?“, she bit her lower lip, the x‘s in her eyes shimmering from the chandelier light shining down at you two. She wore a tailored black-red suit that night, and you couldn’t help yourself but look her up and down multiple time for the duration of the evening.

„Shut it… your not that much taller than me.“, that was a blatant lie. She could easily rest your chin on top of your head. You both knew that. „My, my… feisty today, aren’t we?“, she let you spin around before pulling you closer to her chest again. In her eyes you were the most beautiful person to ever exist right now. The ballgown complimenting your body perfectly, your hair put up nicely, probably by yourself, which suited your face so well, it actually was hard for her to believe that someone could be so… so incredibly beautiful as you were…

It’s not like she would ever openly admit that.

Of course you noticed her shameless staring on that very same evening. How her eyes landed on your lips multiple times, often not adverting her gaze for a longer period of time. How she licked over her own whenever she took in your dress. You knew she wanted so say something. But you didn’t pressure her, it‘s Arlecchino after all.

You also remember how she pressed you up against the door of your sleeping chambers later that night. Left hand slipping underneath your dress as the other one undid your hair. Tongues intertwined while the hand that’s been sneaking up underneath your skirt grabbed onto your ass like you were hers to take. Hers to touch. Hers to kiss. She didn’t even let you break up your kiss when your mixed saliva was dripping out of the corner of your lips. She kissed you like it‘s all she ever yearned for. As if your lips might be the cure to the curse flowing through the blood in her veins.

But even after that night, neither of you dared to speak up on the feelings you had for each other. You just continued sharing a bed from time to time. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear as she made whine her name out in ecstasy. Her kisses tasting after something forbidden. Something addictive, it was getting unbearable for you to keep your mind at bay whenever she was near you in public. How your father didn’t notice it, you had no idea. But it was better this way.

The problem wasn’t Arlecchino‘s gender but rather her occupation. A Harbinger was strictly off of the table for you. That rule applied to every member of the Fatui. You didn’t even want to imagine how he would react.

But you weren’t surprised as Pierro was now standing before you. Not the woman, you‘ve been waiting for. His glare stirred up your anxiety, causing you to start fidgeting with your fingers.

„I… I can ex-", you immediately shut your mouth as your father raised his hand to silence you.

„That‘s enough. I thought I taught you better than this. The Knave? You are smarter than this, […]. I raised you to be smarter than this. I have observed the situation long enough to tell that you two have gotten emotionally attached to each other. Especially you.“, he put his hands behind back, shaking his head.

Silence. The wind now suddenly gone. It was quiet. Too quiet, in fact. Something was about to happen and you hated this knowledge. Hated how it made your stomach sink. Hated how it made your legs heavy.

„Arlecchino will be transferred back to her homeland, Fontaine, to get a hold of the Hydro Gnosis. She is probably already on her way there. For the complete duration of her stay, you are strictly prohibited to even set foot at Fontaine‘s Borders. I’ve already put you on the blacklist for operations regarding the Nation of Justice. I think, I don’t have to explain to you that letters are off the table, too?“, a punch to your stomach would’ve hurt less than this. Hollow. That would explain best whatever you felt at this very moment. You didn’t even had the chance to tell her your feelings. That you never want to be apart from her again. That you want to grow old with her, no matter what.

„Too shocked to answer, I see…“, he put his hand onto your back. Guiding you back to the city, ignoring the tears starting to taint your pretty face. You hated him in that very moment. Hated Hated. Hated. Hated. Hated. Hated. Hated. Hated.

Hated.

„While we are at it, the son of one of Pantalone’s most successful business partners recently asked me about you. A nice man, indeed. Intelligent, promis-”

„No.“, you halted in your tracks. It took every fiber in your body to not smash something in his face. You were seething with anger. And he only added more fuel to it on purpose.

„Hm… too bad, daughter. Let me know once you changed your mind.“.

As you trotted back to HQ you were a shell of yourself. The letter you prepared for her in advance along with a ring was burning a hole through your pocket.

——————————————————

Some angst for the soul. I‘m sorry I just saw the opportunity right in front of me and took it guys, please don’t bother sending in your therapy bills🙏🏼 anon I hope you liked this one and let me know your thoughts on this!

[zelcii]

Can i have Tom riddle X Hufflepuffreader angst

anyway I love your writing so muchh 💗🫶🏻

unnatural | tom riddle

she knew she was playing with fire when they met, so she couldn’t blame him when she got burned.

it was always there, that dark allure about him, the way he moved like he knew secrets about the world no one else could fathom. 

tom riddle wasn’t supposed to be loved, and yet, she loved him. she couldn’t help herself—couldn’t help the way her heart quickened when he was near, the way she melted under his gaze, the way she lost herself in his cold touch. she was never like him; in more ways than one. she was a hufflepuff, kind-hearted and warm, everything that he was not. tom was distant, calculating, and colder than the stone walls of hogwarts, but he was magnetic. no one could deny that.

they started as a secret, a quiet whisper amongst stolen glances.

tom never promised her anything, and she never expected more than what he gave. but you have to understand when i say he gave her his all.

tom was supposed to be a fighter. a man with no weakness. but as he watched her get sorted, feelings started brewing, though he supposed he should’ve expected it.

he tends to want the things he can’t have.

so for months—for mere months was all he needed—he spent his every day pining for the hufflepuff girl in a very calculated manner. and once he had her, there was no way he’d risk throwing away the only chance he had at love. true love.

he tracked the routes she took to every class to increase his chances in initiating conversation. he observed her eating patterns, reserving her favourite desserts so he could be the one to serve them to her. he even tracked her cycle to act accordingly.

she once thought she was prepared for the inevitable. early into their relationship, she was nothing but cautious, never putting in enough effort to regret it once he would obviously eventually break her heart.

after all, tom was born for something far greater than a fleeting romance. 

tom riddle was perfect, composed, and intelligent beyond measure, but the cracks were there—if you knew where to look.

she could see it every time he read a letter from his mother, the hint of disdain mixed with nothing but sadness towards her desperate words. she could see it when he held his breath, awaiting a grade for his exams, the way he both expected nothing but perfect yet continued to dread over the possibility of something lower (although it was a chance slim to none).

tom riddle was a puzzle of fractured pieces, all sharp edges and hollow spaces. there was an emptiness in him, something so profound it made her ache. and yet, in the quiet moments, when he let his guard slip—just for a breath—she could see something else.

he loved her. both of them knew it. there was something different about the way he looked at her. there was something raw and fragile churning in his merciless heart that he feared, and it held him back from ever truly keeping her.

he wanted her out of his life because it couldn’t have been natural. tom had fully convinced himself that he was utterly unloveable and that he himself, a product of a blatant breach in all magical and natural laws, shouldn't have been able to love someone so much. yet he knew that what he felt for the girl was pure, unadulterated love. 

at sixteen, tom killed his father. 

he never felt more free.

it was clear then that the longer he held onto the notion of love, the harder it would be to achieve the very things he believed he was born to do. 

so he pushed the girl away. his girl.

it broke him how she held on to every string that tied the two of them together. she held on because love was meant to be messy, wasn’t it? love was supposed to hurt. but oh, how it hurt.

he left after two short years—no words, no explanation—at the ripe age of seventeen. he had said that he had plans for a greater future. plans for a life worth living. and after all is done and every prophecy is fulfilled, he would come back to her, his only love. 

then tom had simply walked away, leaving nothing but the cold space where he’d once stood and an empty promise of “one day.” 

she cried. but not because she was surprised. no, this was very much expected if not inevitable. 

she cried because, in that moment, she realised just how far gone tom was. she cried because he had lost himself in the heat of what he believed to be his destiny. 

in the dumbledore’s office, harry stood idly by the pensieve watching as the old wizard spoke to him, explaining to him to find the one memory that recalled the very moment in which the dark lord decided to devote his life to his violent cause.

“it is time, now that you know what prompted Lord Voldemort to try and kill you fifteen years ago, for you to be given certain information,” albus mumbled as he stirred the magical liquid, beams light dancing above.

“whose memories will these be?” the boy asked, watching the light dance around the bottom of the basin.

“a hufflepuff’s,” the professor answered curtly.

harry stood with his hands on either side of the stone basin, before dunking his head into the liquid light.

the first thing he recognized was the astronomy tower, stars dancing just outside the large arched windows of the building.

the next thing is tom marvolo riddle. he looks young, a little younger then he’s used to seeing him, though familiar. his eyes droop, heavy but his jaw is clenched tightly, a subtle anger that he rarely wore on display.

but then a girl, no older than tom, entered the room from the long, precarious staircase. harry had never seen her before.

“tom,” she uttered breathlessly.

“love, i told you, we cannot meet like this,” he whispered firmly, his tone reprimanding. but harry could see the way his eyes softened at the sight of her. he saw the way the tension in his jaw faded, the way his brows knitted ever so slightly in concern, and the drowse in his eyes melting away in an instant.

not to mention the warmth in the way he called her love with such ease.

after all, the hufflepuff was still tom’s love; he was simply setting her aside to focus on things he found far more important.

"but i need you," she said, frustration creeping into her tone. "i know there are… other things you care about, but i can’t shake the feeling you don’t want anything to do with me anymore—"

"now, i never said that," tom replied, placing his hands on either side of her face, eyes calm. "i only ask for time, my love."

it took her a moment, searching his eyes for a meaning that went on deeper than his words. 

"your love?"

"my only," he confirmed with a steady nod.

she took a breath, but her brow stayed furrowed.  

"your only?" she repeated, a mix of disbelief and exasperation slipping through. 

before tom could answer, she shook her head, letting out a frustrated huff. she knew there was always something else that held his heart just a little more tightly.

“hey, no. what was that?” tom asked firmly, his hands moving from her face down to her squared shoulders. he was referring to the way her eyebrows knitted together, tempting him to lift his hand up to smooth out the creases.

harry watched, feeling a strange pang in his chest as he witnessed the tenderness in tom's touch—something he never could have imagined coming from voldemort. 

the girl, however, wasn’t easily soothed.  

“tom, i hate this," she admitted, her voice quieter now, laced with something close to desperation but grounded in stubborn strength. "i hate that i have to compete with your... obsession. am i even enough for you? really?"

tom hesitated, his gaze flickering, and for a moment, harry thought he saw a hint of doubt cross the future dark lord’s face. tom’s fingers tightened slightly on her shoulders. harry could tell the girl noticed it, too. all three of them knew tom wanted more.

"you are, my love," he replied, though there was a rare, unsteady note in his voice. "i promise you—no matter what happens, i will make it out of this alive. i’ll come back to you, and then we’ll have everything. together.”

she held his gaze, a glimmer of belief in her eyes, but there was a lingering sadness, too, one harry could feel even through the distance of a memory. her fingers slid down his forearm, clasping his hand tightly, almost as if she were grounding herself in his touch.

harry’s heart sank as the memory faded, his mind already piecing together what it all meant, feeling an inevitable, dark realisation set in. 

for tom to get her back, harry would need to be removed from the equation. tom’s only way to keep his promise, to return to his “only love” was by ending harry’s life.

[heartmaddie]

bags ft. akaashi keiji unrequited love , angst ; 382 words

"can you see me? i'm waiting for the right time, i can't read you but the pleasure's all mine, can you see me using everything to hold back? i guess this could be worse, walking out the door with your bags"

akaashi keiji was so sick of this, sitting on your couch together, arms pressed up against each others as your legs were draped casually over his thighs. it was maddening. his fingertips would gently tap on your thigh as you’re engrossed in the film, paying him no attention, consequently not noticing the deep red flush engraved onto the skin of his cheeks. sure, your head would casually lay on his shoulder, and you’d always cling onto the side of his arm when you were frightened throughout the two hours, but that was just casual intimacy, he knew better than anyone that you were just an innately touchy person. he couldn’t hold that against you.

he’s so very embarrassed, what sort of respectful person would infatuate over their best friend of over fifteen years? (a very unattainable person at that). for most of his life in elementary school to the end of high school, he’d been mindlessly following you around, always attached to your hip. countless secrets being shared between the two of you which would never be heard upon by another’s ears, and he liked it like that. of course, people change and relationships change, but he so eagerly missed the time where your favourite things were his, when you were his. 

but for now, he’ll sit next to you on this couch, quietly in love with you because he’s not letting his stupid romantic feelings hinder the friendship he’s dedicated years to. he’ll let you hold his hand between lectures at university, and he’ll stay the night after you beg him to when he picks you up intoxicated from a party, and he’ll do so without questioning if there was something more than platonic intentions behind your requests. he’d rather stay in this stagnant relationship with you, where he so desperately yearned for your affection than let you go. he’d rather only be in your life between the boys you’d busy yourself with than watch your presence fade away completely. 

akaashi keiji is a lovesick man, and he has been since the ripe age of seventeen because he's so addicted to your oscillate company. but he’ll happily keep his mouth shut of his romantic feelings which stemmed so deeply for you, if it meant selfishly keeping you in his life forever.

p2 here

please like , reblog or follow if you enjoyed :p divs by roseraris

© heartmaddie all rights reserved. please do not repost my work.

[cheralith]

vogue — 「 boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader 」

synopsis ; even without much knowledge in the world of fashion, you decide that it's in your best interest to work for the country's fashion magazine powerhouse. however, you begin to second-guess your decision when you're faced with the grueling labor of its one and only editor-in-chief who expects nothing less of perfection. can your efficiency meet his standards or will you be out the door before you can even blink?

content tags/warnings ; gn!reader, use of they/them pronouns, mild language, traditional japanese basis of (l/n) (f/n) used, reader wears glasses, makeup, and heeled boots, some mild manga and jjk 0 spoilers (three minor characters from each are introduced), uhhh suguru being a dick lawl, some parts not edited/not beta read

contains ; editor-in-chief!geto, fashion designer!geto, assistant!reader, assistant turned ****!reader, platonic roommate!ino, modern au, mild angst, some crack if you squint

word count ; 10.2k

notes ; heavily inspired by "the devil wears prada" and "paradise kiss", so there'll be some references i've dropped within this—see if you can spot them! also the censored is spoilers so until then, hehe.

now playing ; seven days in sunny june - jamiroquai

It’d be foolish not to know the household name of Geto Suguru, the ultimate male muse of Jun Takahashi whose title has yet to be reigned by another. He was the ultimate breathing mannequin of the iconic Yohji Yamamoto piece he had worn on the Milan runway back when he was just a teenager. It was one of the most staple pieces of the new century that helped open the gates of the mixing of world culture and avant garde fashion—an England-Japanese punk fusion of an ashen and tattered kasaya layered under the contrasting statement piece: the earth-toned gojōu-gesa splattered with weaves of gold—and it was that very piece that rose him to the top of the fashion world as one of the most powerful names in global fashion.

And how could he not? At seventeen, he was scouted as a model for Gaulthier and became his muse at the ripe age of twenty before several other worldwide designers began to fight for his eyes. It was only a few shrewd years later that he’d open up his own successful fashion line, RIIKO, named in honor of his late sister, resulting in it becoming one of the fashion line pillars in the modern century. 

It didn’t take long after that, due to his fame and distinct education from Jujutsu University, rising to the top for Kaizen fashion magazine and ruling it with an iron fist and several cups of coffee with almost all his designs on display for all to see in the office. It was due to his work that Kaizen became the powerhouse of powerhouses of fashion editorials and magazines and it was solely his work that made fashion what it was in present times. 

Whether it was direct or indirect, Geto had impacted the industry in all sorts of ways. Be it blossoming an upcoming supermodel’s name or setting new fashion trends, everything could essentially be traced to Geto Suguru. 

So it’s understandable that many had called you a fool—a dimwit, even—for not understanding how big of a deal it was to become his junior assistant after lazily submitting your resume. Originally, you had just wanted to become a simple lifestyle journalist for papers like Sankei Shimbun or The Japan Times, but seeing how it was between a seemingly mysterious fashion magazine that mentioned, received gasps, or the measly and homely newspaper of The Hokkaido Tribune, a magazine you knew would only give new journalists the scraps of what they earned, the choice was obvious. 

Whatever gave you more money, you’d take. Survival of the fittest, was this world not?

“Do not tell me you’re going to your interview at Kaizen wearing that?” Ino barks out a laugh as he finishes his morning cereal for breakfast, scanning your outfit. “You’re going to work in a fashion magazine, not some dingy corporate office.”

You sneer at him as you shove on your loafers (don’t mind that the leather is peeling slightly on the side). You think that there’s nothing remotely wrong with your overused gauntlet gray matching set of trousers and blazer with a slightly wrinkled button-up underneath it. 

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at your roommate and parttime brother figure. “What on earth do you know about fashion?”

“Enough of it to know that outfit is atrocious for that type of environment,” he states simply as he shoves a donut in his mouth. He kicks his feet up on the table, making you cringe at their nakedness. “Trust me, change if you can. Make a statement for ‘em.”

Ino Takuma sighs and glances at your thick spectacles that you’ve worn since early college. “And at least change your glasses for your contacts. Heard they don’t like those sorta things over there. At least not the prescription kind.”

“Can’t find them,” you grunt when you feel the weight of your shoulder bag heave down your body. “I’m already late, anyway,” you sigh, “Listen, if I don’t come back alive, which I will by the way, then you can dance on my grave all you want.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he chants before he lets out a haughty snicker that gets muffled instantly when you slam the door on him. 

You throw insults at Ino in your mind, grumbling about how a mere job hopper like him wouldn’t even know the speck of fashion, how you refuse to take advice from someone who wears the same thing every day. There’s nothing wrong with the gray, you think. It’s safe and presentable, ordinary and professional, and you’d much rather blend in than stand out as you believe standing out and making yourself known is just a recipe for trouble. 

Stretching out a hand on the street, you call for a taxi and humbly enter as you smooth out your trousers. The taxi driver eyes you in the rearview mirror with a questioning glint in your eye. “Job interview?” he asks.

“Oh, um,” you nod your head. “Yep! I'm a little nervous, haha.”

“Really?” he says as he gratefully steps on the accelerator a little faster. “Better get you there quick, then. Would hate to have you late. Where are you planning on working?”

“Kaizen Magazine,” you declare confidently, an affirmative look on your face.

“Kaizen?” questions the driver slowly as his eyes go to scan your outfit in the mirror again, his brows raised. “As in the… the fashion magazine?” 

You nod with visible apprehensiveness. You think that maybe you truly were the only person in the world that didn’t know the impact of Kaizen, seeing as how a mere taxi driver even knew about the name and you didn’t up until a few weeks ago. 

“I see…” he mutters. The drive there is a mix of silence and everyday morning conversations, before he pulls up to the building that held the key to your dreams. “Well then, here’s your stop.” 

You let out a little gasp of excitement. “Thank you so much,” you reply as you shove some cash into the slot. 

“Hm, well,” the taxi driver counts the money carefully, barely looking just before you close the door as he mutters, “Good luck, Plain Jane.”

You turn back to the taxi, your hearing a little awry. “Sorry, what was that?”

But when you turn back to the yellow cab, all that’s left is a billow of smoke and cinders. Dazed and confused, you quickly shake those feelings off before you head inside to the building that was now your shining beacon of hope with a determined smile still plastered on your lips. White is the first thing that greets you when you enter the building as it was essentially aired out onto every corner. White marble counters, white tile flooring with white grout, white frames of fashion icons—the white screams pristine and perfection to you and its message went very much noticed. You haven’t even met Geto Suguru yet, but you understood already that he expected nothing but excellence.

You ride up the elevator quietly and alone, trying not to focus on how your anxiety increased with each ding of the passing floors. The elevator screen seems to almost taunt you as it closes in on your doom, the numbers getting closer to the designated floor until it slowly pauses and shone brightly the number 21 in stippled red.

The doors slowly open and the light seeps itself back to your vision, white flooding your senses again. You carry yourself carefully down the hallway whilst taking your time to admire the many framed pictures of past magazines, multiple runway models, and scraps of newspaper articles. One specific piece catches your attention, however; it was large, almost half your body size and framed in a gilded black frame. It was a picture of a mannequin wearing a tawdry gray-black robe with the kanji characters of “summer” painted with purple messily atop. Layered was a loose, but well-fitted piece of thick green and gold cloth that looked much more refined to the messiness of the other materials. 

You stare at it for what seemed to be forever whilst admiring the contrast and beauty of the work before your name is called out.

“(Y/N) (L/N)?”

Your trance breaks from the voice approaching you. You turn to see a short and young woman with dark blue eyes staring at you with a raised brow. “That’s you I presume?” she asks.

“Oh! Uh,” you nod furiously and smooth out your trousers again. “Yes… yes, that’s me. I assume you’re Manami Suda? The one I spoke with on the phone?”

She nods slowly, her eyes going to study your outfit which was a rather stark contrast to her own attire that highlighted an emphasis on shades of opal and navy. Her eyes have a similar glint in the way that Ino’s and the taxi driver’s had, further enunciating the message that your attire was rather… something.

“I see you’ve dressed up for the occasion,” she murmurs. Sarcasm going undetected by you, you grin as a response and think that a compliment from her was a sign you did something right. Her eyes go to rise back and meet yours again before she turns and redirects you to the end of the hallway where some rooms belonging to subordinal editors sat in, clacking away at the computers. There was one singular room that held the only door on the floor and it doesn’t take you long to assume who it belongs to considering the large letters of GS frosted onto the glass.

Two desks stood on each side of the door, one completely devoid of life and decorations. Manami guides you to the empty one and patted the top of it. “This will be yours if you manage to miraculously pass.” 

Manami taps on her clipboard a couple of times, listing off a couple of requirements that you were most likely going to need in the future: efficient time management, ability to fight for what Geto wants, sharp memory, quick feet…

“And uh…” Manami flickers her eyes to you and the details (or lack of, in this case). She mutters under her breath quietly, “... a good wardrobe.”

You turn to her, internally wondering if you were going deaf today. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“A good, warm…” she squints, obviously finding the right word to keep that ignorant smile on your face. “... welcome to start off his day.”

She succeeds in her task as you merely nod with the same blatant grin attached. “Got it!”

Manami tours you around the floor of the office, letting you say hello to your future coworkers that work in the cubicles that send you worried looks behind your back. They obviously seem too pitying of you, knowing that your fate would be sealed as Geto’s potential right hand man the moment you signed that employee contract.  

“This is Human Resources,” Manami gestures over to a room filled with chattering employees who seemed to be getting their gossip out before their day started. “You’ll contact them if you have any—” her phone dings suddenly. Casually, she pulls it out, only for all of her resolve to disappear in an instant. Manami then abruptly blows a whistle with her teeth, alerting everybody in the radius.

“Everybody! His morning facial was canceled!” Manami hollers. “Geto is coming in…” her phone pings again with another notification, and you can tell Manami’s heart instantly drops. “Oh God… he’s in the lobby! Everybody, places! You,” she snags the sleeve of your blazer and drags you along with her, your clunky loafers nearly tripping you. “Come with me.”

Manami takes back to where you first started and orders you to stand in the front of the blank desk with a look that screams both fright and anxiousness all in one. She lists off too many tasks that you need to do before he comes, but you’re so frazzled with trying to remember how to act in front of your future boss that you can’t even remember the first thing she told you. 

“Help me arrange the drafts of the magazines from most recent to least recent before he—”

The elevator dings and all goes quiet; Manami tosses the magazines over her shoulders and positions herself firmly in her place, gesturing for you to do the same. The doors open and unveiled from two bodyguards is a man—a tall man, around six feet or perhaps even taller—dressed in noir fitted pants and a matching button-up closed only halfway to reveal a silk navy turtleneck. Caped behind him is a black velvet trenchcoat that you’re sure is worth half your rent and a watch plated on his wrist that is well over your life savings. He’s slightly sunkissed, with blue-black tresses of hair with a soft bang sneaking through and large plated earrings to match. His eyes, however, show a tint of color—a sharp dark amethyst that you think could cut through you like crystals.

But he’s almost hauntingly attracting—like a spirit. Something about him was an enigma and his aura was nothing less than powerful. 

“Good morning, Geto,” Manami chants with an artificial happiness to her tone.

Geto doesn’t reply, just merely giving a silent blink before he sheds his coat off and tosses it aimlessly towards Manami. It proves to be heavier than anticipated, giving how she fights to groan from the weight of it. He’s handed his briefcase from one of the bodyguards and begins to open the door to his office until he pauses and turns and glances at you, the stranger.

“Hello,” you state with a slight bow. “I-I’m one of the interviewees for your junior assistant. My name is—”

“(Y/N),” Geto murmurs; his voice is soft and low. It’s all knowing, with indigo eyes boring into your own. “(L/N) (Y/N), I know. The one that graduated from Jujutsu University recently, yes?” 

 Adjusting your glasses to wave away the blurriness, you nod with anticipation. “Yes, that’s me.”

Geto turns back and opens the door, to which he only replies back, “In my office.”

You glance at Manami for confirmation, only given back with a jut of her head towards the door. All the unease you felt in the elevator comes hurdling back to you in an instinct and you feel as if you were no more than a peasant to someone that was essentially royalty in the fashion world. 

Geto turns his chair to face away from you, shuffling a few papers over each other that appears to be your resume, before he spins it slowly towards you. He kicks his feet up lazily on his desk. 

“It’s nice to have another Jujutsu alum to join us,” he says. His voice is still the same—a little baritone with a wisping edge of a whisper to it, but it almost sounds… bored. Unamused even. “A bachelors in print journalism… same as mine, hm. Tell me, is Professor Tengen still as loose as ever with their practices?”

You fight to fiddle with your glasses as you watch as Geto tangibly toys with his own, with his focus angled on the papers in front of him rather than you. “Um, I assume so. Though I believe they’re actually retiring this year.”

“Good,” he sighs in what seems to be relief. “Shame that the university had wasted time and money by hiring them. Truly, I hope they can find someone much better suited for their position.”

“Really?” you quietly question. You had only taken their class a few semesters ago and thought despite their rather… all too lenient disposition… you did learn quite a lot in their class. “I thought they were a rather alright teacher…”

Regret pools in your mouth from the moment you have finished your sentence. Geto finally goes to look at you from the edge of his glasses with a sharp look, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. 

“Tengen was merely a sorry excuse for a professor. They were rather nothing but a nanny who gave their students too much leeway,” Geto declares. “Though, I’ll admit, I am pleasantly surprised that you managed to take something out of that class.”

A laugh that’s just dripping with nothing but nervousness leaks out of your lips. “I suppose I had learned just a few things…”

“Mmh,” Geto nod nonchalantly, eyes drawing back to the papers. “Well. Let’s start with the basics. Why exactly do you want to work here?” 

Geto already feels the cliche comments erupting. Had the person in front of him say at least one of them, he was ready to insert the papers he was holding into the nearby shredder. Or maybe out the window this time, he wonders—something nice for a change.

“I was inspired by your work.” 

“It’s been my dream to work at Kaizen.”

“Fashion is my absolute passion.”

“I want to—”

“I’m just in need of a job, really,” you say lifelessly. 

He goes to raise his head slowly from the packet and turns to you slowly. Geto doesn’t say anything, but his facial expressions indicate a blend of confusion and intrigue. A slithering tongue darts out to slick his lips, indicating you’ve piqued his interest. “Well, obviously. But why this job specifically? What about it stood out to you?”

You clear your throat. “I had learned recently that Kaizen is a rather prestigious mag—”

“‘Recently’?” Geto repeats quietly. “You hadn’t heard of us before?” 

Lips thinning, you shake your head slightly. His eyes go narrow again to your dread, serpent-like. “My specialty is more in newspapers rather than magazines, I-I’m not too knowledgeable in that area.”

Geto goes quiet and the silence makes the air go thick. It’s then that familiar glint sparkles in his sullen eyes when they go to examine your choice of clothing—it confirms Ino was truly right in the end, as he lets out a smile-less chuckle that doesn’t do much to ease your brain. 

“Continue,” Geto gestures and takes off his glasses to look at you, or you suppose your outfit, more properly. He folds his hands and places his chin on top of them. “You said you only learned about us not too long ago?”

“Yes, and I realized that perhaps working here for a while would, at least I hope, grant me access to other media houses,” you explain. It’s only then you realize that your declaration sounds absolutely ludicrous and almost disrespectful to the editor-in-chief of the most iconic fashion magazine in the nation. “Connections are quite powerful in this day and age, haha…”

“I suppose,” Geto mumbles with not much interest in your poor humor. “What about me? I do hate bragging but surely, you know about my name or at least my fashion line?”

Your hesitant countenance and silence tells Geto all he needs to know. He thinks that it’s almost some sort of marvel that no one has heard of him or his works before.

He sighs. “Do you have any experience working in any fashion-related activities at least?”

“Well, I once worked in a department store for a few months back in high school,” you say thoughtfully (and ignorantly).

Geto gives you a blank look. His blinks are apathetically slow.

“Um,” you clear your throat again and shake your head, timid. “N-no…”

“Then tell me,” he continues smoothly. “Why exactly should I hire you? You obviously have no taste in fashion and you hadn’t even heard of my name, let alone my magazine, until recently. What is there within that makes you want to work here other than you just… what was it that you said?” He air-quotes mockingly, “‘needing a job?’”

Your throat runs dry and limbs go stiff. A heat rockets to your face when you seemingly can’t get any words out to excuse yourself, much too caught up in the same of your ignorance towards Geto’s profession. And that’s all the response he needs to make his decision. 

His hand takes the packet again and to your horror that you fight to keep in, inserts it into the paper shredder. The groan of it rumbles through the room agonizingly and you realize that Ino is going to have the time of your life planning your doomsday. 

Geto gives you the mercy of breaking the thick silence first. “You may go.” 

With a swift flick of his wrist, Geto dismisses you with a slight edge to his murmuring as he puts back on his glasses to examine the morning newspaper to not waste any more incessant time in the day. 

You don’t even attempt to fight back with any poor excuses. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, the sting of them frustrating you to your wits end. Instead, you gather the last of your resolve and bid him through a strained throat good day and make your leave, humiliation and disappointment trailing not too far behind. 

You hope that Ino will give a nice eulogy, at least.

Out of all the miracles that await you in life, you do not expect the one that comes in the form of an early morning phone call that wakes you at the ass-crack of dawn. When you pick it up with sleep still very much embedded in your eyes, it dissipates in the instant you hear Manami’s voice. It’s only then that it hits you why on earth she was calling so early and why she was demanding to know your whereabouts, claiming you were going to be late on your first day of work. 

You think it’s some sort of cruel joke maneuvered by Ino, especially with how his comforts from last night were mixed with taunts. But when Manami’s voice finally registers in your brain, by some sort of miracle or stroke of luck, you have gotten the job as Geto Suguru’s junior assistant. 

You don’t know how, but you don’t waste any time questioning how on earth you landed in such a position because you leap out of bed at 7:23 a.m. and manage to do your morning routine in the matter of what you think is a record-breaking fifteen minutes. Your ruckus manages to wake up deep-sleeping Ino, who, when you excitedly tell him to postpone your funeral, gives a groggy thumbs up before drooling back into his pillow. It’s 7:38 a.m. when you shove on your shabby coat and you realize you only have a mere twenty-two minutes left until you have to officially clock in for work. 

At 7:40, you’re out the door and sprinting to the located coffee shop that thankfully wasn’t too far from where you lived.

At 7:47, you’re at the designated cafe whilst attempting to swim through the crowds of morning bustlers to pick up Geto’s coffee.

7:50, you’re sticking your hand out waving desperately for a taxi and tip extra to make the driver speed through as you attempt to make sure the coffees don’t spill out of their containers.

7:58, you arrive at the building and just barely make it into the narrow gap of a tight-fitting elevator, earning stares from the others from your rather… frazzled appearance.

At 8:02 a.m., you dash out the elevator and officially clock in for your first day at work at Kaizen Magazine amidst a birdnest of hair, clothes that were plucked out of your hamper, and what you pray to the heavens above are hefty layers of deodorant and perfume since you were given no time to shower.

When Geto comes in that day, all suave and composed, he takes one good look at you before sighing and focusing his attention to the more refined Manami and lets her take the gears for the day. The only attention he gives you that morning is the rough toss of his heavy coat—a cashmere pearl peacoat today—flung at your arms that nearly makes you tumble from its weight.

You quickly learn that working for Geto requires high demand and maintenance, as he is not one to skip over any details in his day. Not even three hours in your first day, you already have to plan out his future meetings, reschedule one with a rather feisty and insistent client, edit a forest of emails, finishing by dashing out five blocks on foot to the two michelin star restaurant to retrieve Geto’s weekly steak for lunch. Had this been your old corporate job, you only would’ve gotten half the tasks you had completed by the end of the usual eight hours, but you realized early on that you had barely scratched the surface of your future in Kaizen.

You think that after plating his steak with the shakiest of hands, you finally have time to relax during lunch time when you see the small hand of the clock finally hit 12:00 p.m. , especially since you and him were left alone in his part of the office together. But the moment that Geto saunters into the office again, he tends to you once again with a final task by himself.

“(Y/N),” he calls from the office, the scrape of his fork against ceramic cluttering your ears agonizingly. 

You fight the urge to cringe from the sound as you scurry to the doorframe, hands stiffly intertwined together. “Yes, Mr. Geto?”

“No need for such formalities,” he remarks with the dab of a napkin to his lips. “They make me feel old, and I’m surely not much older than you are…” you think that’s the longest he’s spoken to you since the day had started. “Did Leibovitz confirm?”

Blinking, you tilt your head ignorantly. “D-did who confirm?”

He pauses and does that taunting slow rise of his eyes from his steak to you. “Leibovitz. Did she confirm?”

Silence fills the office, much like the silence that drowned you back at the interview. He clicks his tongue and dismisses you with a disappointed shake of his head. “Just go on your lunch,” he mutters, sighing.

Manami, the savior that she is, is called into the office after her break and is asked the same task and you watch with humiliation whilst packing your things to go on your lunch as she picks up the telephone and speaks to someone over the line before confirming to Geto that, “I’ve got Annie!”

“He hates me, Taku!” you cry out whilst flopping onto the dinner table. It’s ten in the evening and you’ve just come home after what was supposed to be an 8-5 shift. You suppose you should be used to this already after two months of working for the Lucifer donned ritually in white in the building, but you don’t know how much your sanity (and body) can take. 

Normally, Geto is usually cold to those who he wasn’t familiar with, but you think that his distaste for you sours everyday. You notice that he’s beginning to pile you with the more urgent and busier duties and that he often stares you down more menacingly in the morning with those piercing purple eyes of his, like you were gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. You thought it was just him being normal Geto Suguru, the man with the expectations higher than the clouds, and that you just were still adjusting to such a high-intensity environment, but it was today that your world came crumbling down when you overheard him muttering to his associates about you, tone icier than ever.

You were on the other side of the door, a fist going to rap on the glass with the other holding his afternoon coffee pick-me-up when you heard it.

“... can’t even do the most miniscule things right,” Geto had groaned. “I ask if Lanvin’s models are all good to go for next Thursday’s shoot and somehow, they have the nerve to ask ‘How do you spell Lanvin’? For fuck’s sake, I can feel my goddamn conscious just wither away by the second.”

You hadn’t heard Geto swear since you had started working there, but something about his venomous tone enunciating such words had made your blood run cold from the other side of the door. Not having the courage to face him after that, you left his coffee on Manami’s desk for her to tend to with a post-it note saying a sorry excuse for yourself before letting your eyes sob frustratingly in the bathroom, isolated from others.

The last time you had cried that hard was way back in childhood, where you had broken your arm from falling down a tree branch. But you think that Geto’s words had twisted through your skin and bone much harsher than that pain ever will. 

“It’s a miracle how I haven’t been fired yet… I don’t even know why he hired me!” you wail.

Ino sighs from across the dinner table and you can’t tell if it’s a sigh of pity or a sigh of criticism. You learn that it’s both when he rolls his eyes at you whilst simultaneously pushing a plate of much needed food towards you. 

“First off, you need to eat,” he presses, staring at your gaunt features. “The way your face is swallowing is making me feel like I’m living’ with a ghost. You’ve lost some weight, I’ve noticed.”

Awareingly, you touch your cheekbones and realize he’s right, for you feel the small disc of sharpness from them prick your fingertips. They’ve never been so cavern before. You suppose it’s because of the lack of proper meal time between your days and how you often eat small and very late dinners back at home, truly not enough needed fuel for you.

“Secondly,” Ino chews his tongue, wondering if he should really say what he’s about to say because of your current disposition but goes through with it anyway. He might as well rip the bandaid off now to let more time for the wound to heal. “You won’t like what I’m ‘bout to say, but you need to up your game. Severely.”

An aching body rises up from the table. You go to stare at Ino through glazed eyes and a pouty lip, asking him what he meant.

“Ah nope! Don’t give me that face and don’t play coy with me,” he hisses, looking away to not give in to your helpless puppy eyes. He can’t—he shouldn’t give you the easy way out and just say to quit—not when you’ve been earning so much bank that rent isn’t a problem for either of you anymore. He wonders, though, for a moment if so much money is worth your rationality.

He drags a hand down his face before placing his chin on it, examining your haggard appearance. “What I mean is that you need to see through Geto’s eyes. See what he sees when he looks at you. Tell me, if you had an assistant that showed up wearing things that looked like they were plucked from the clearance bin at a thrift store and didn’t show any respect for your brand, which just so happens to be a fashion magazine out of all things…” Ino eyes you with a raised brow. “You startin’ to follow me?”

Your fingers fiddle with each other. “... sorta.”

“Now listen,” he raises his hands up lazily in surrender. “I already know what you’re ‘bout to say about me not knowing’ how to dress in shit other than black and more black, but even I know that you should put in more effort into your appearance. That’s the first step.”

“But I have—!” you exclaim helplessly, “I-I swear, I’ve been trying to… but it’s not my fault that it isn’t up to his standards.”

Your roommate groans and rubs his forehead, not really knowing what else to do for your situation until an idea pops in his head. “Free up your weekend,” he demands with a sly grin that makes you a little uneasy. “I’m no fashion connoisseur, but you know who is?”

“And remember, we never touch anything with chevron on it, especially in today’s fashion world,” Yuki chimes as she slaps on a navy blue pageboy cap on your head and she prances about your bedroom that’s been littered with spare clothes from her very own closet she graciously gifted to you for the past weekend. “I’m so utterly relieved that the trend has dug its own grave.”

The past weekend had been filled with endless shopping trips and you shuffling in and out of clothes every minute, practicing how to pair items and colors together by Yuki’s teachings. Of course you should’ve known that Ino was going to contact the one person that he was within reach that was essentially a walking encyclopedia when it came to fashion. You’ve met Tsukumo Yuki before, found her to be quite delightful even, but you never anticipated she would be this giddy, especially about clothes of all things.

And she used her brain to good use for not only clothes, but the entirety of yourself. You never knew how much just a simple haircut could do your face along with small hints of makeup to emphasize the best parts of it. Dared not your hands go to a lash curler, but here you are now, making sure your powder compact and lipstick for the day was in your bag before you went out. 

“Uh, I don’t think I ever mentioned this before yet, but thank you for helping my wardrobe out, it really means a lot,” you say just before she slides on a pair of gold bangles on your wrist. “Are you sure you wanna give these clothes to me? I’m okay with just borrowing them.” 

“Nonsense, babe,” she wavers off before shuffling through your now-hearty closet, a closet that’s now bursting with many clothes given by her. “I needed space in my closet anyway, so take as much as you need.”

So (Y/N)’s closet is basically her trash can, a particular shaggy brunette thinks with a roll of his eyes. Ino fiddles with the piece of toast in his mouth as he leans on the doorway, watching as Yuki essentially treats you like her very own Barbie doll at such an odd morning hour. 

“(Y/N)’s not a doll, Yuki,” Ino lazily calls aloud through a tired yawn. “You better get ‘em out the door soon or else they’ll get late for work. Especially need that money since the landlord’s been on our ass about increasing our rent…” he mutters, sniffing. “Damn bastard.”

She snaps at Ino to be quiet and let her work before she shuffles on a regal blue overcoat over your shoulders that completes your look. When you look at yourself finally in the mirror, you almost think there’s a stranger in your house from the way you look so dignified compared to the you just three days ago. It’s a simple outfit with not much layering, but it’s still enough to ooze charisma and elegance to wandering eyes. You’re adorned in a white weaved sweater with flared, light-wash jeans and white boots to match. Over the outfit lies the coat that drapes almost like a king’s mantle behind you and the pageboy cap as your crown.

Yuki creeps up behind you, her manicured hands on your shoulders affirmingly. “How’re you feeling, hun?” she asks quietly as she shares the same sight with you in the mirror. “Don’t you look wonderful?”

You know that it was all her work, it was all her creativity that made you into the artwork that you are now, so breathlessly laugh with a smile on your painted lips and thank her quietly once more before whispering, “Yeah… yeah, I do.”

Her eyes study you for another minute, going to stare at the glasses still atop your face. Yes, they were new and much more modern considering she quite literally called your old pair atrocious, snapped them in half, and tossed them over her shoulder, but she was still quite dissatisfied when you told her about your hesitance about using contacts. “Are you sure you don’t want to give contacts another chance?” she sighs. 

You shake your head with a small smile, “I’ll feel completely naked without them,” you murmur, “Besides, I think they actually compliment this look, if I’m being honest.”

Her lips stretch out into a grin, too absorbed in her fashion education finally being used. 

“Well then!” she begins to drag you by the sleeve out your room. “We wouldn’t want you to be late then for your first day as the new you, right? Let’s get you a cab!”

Somehow, you think you really are at your first day at work again from the way you feel that same fluttering in your stomach and from how the people you’ve once grown accustomed to seeing in the early mornings are not merely passing you with mundane nods of their heads but instead, greeting you with wide-eyed gawks and open-mouthed smiles. Some of them, a few who you knew but never spoke a word to, even do a double take and compliment you aloud on the new look. Even the cute barista in the lobby that never bothered to spell your name right at last did after finally taking a good look at the holder of the card.

When you exit out of the elevator, Manami nearly drops the pile of magazines she’s holding when she spots a refined and refreshed you. You offer a bright smile to her and you watch as her gasp slowly forms into an affirmative grin when you round your desk.

She laughs softly. “And who might you be?” she asks with a tease in her voice. “‘Cause last time I checked, that’s my coworker (Y/N)’s desk.”

“I murdered them,” you shrug nonchalantly, earning another chuckle from her. You take it as a good sign, great even, considering up until now, Manami had been rather stoic and a little indifferent towards you because of your amateurism; but now, you suppose that ditching that Plain Jane from just two days ago is finally beginning to do you good by finally grounding a proper relationship with her. “Shame, isn’t it? Poor thing.”

“Truly,” she nods. Her eyes trail further down until they spot something that makes her gasp. “Don’t tell me those are—”

“—the new calfskin gold studded Louboutin boots?” you finish for her. You flex your ankle and show off the ravishing red bottoms of your shoes. “Oh yeah.”

Manami squeals in excitement and rushes over to your desk, begging to take a look at them. “How on earth did you manage to get your hands on these?! I’ve been looking for them fo—”

The elevator dings again but with a tone that makes you and Manami flinch. Both of you stiffen and straighten out your posture, falling into a thick silence when out comes Geto traipsing out like he usually did—his aura being nothing less than dominating. You and Manami chime out in sync a good morning to him as he saunters towards his office as he begins to shuffle off his coat as usual to toss to you until he looks up and catches you in his field of vision.

He stops all of a sudden with his eyes dancing about your figure, a stark contrast to the rest of his paralyzed body. Geto’s lips thin all of a sudden, and so do his eyes when they scan your outfit. He takes in a sharp breath and opens his mouth to say something to you, yet nothing comes out, even as your eyes glisten with anticipation.

It merely instead zips itself close and he finally whisks himself into his office, coat still on and briefcase still in hand, and slams the door shut. 

But not without glancing at you one last time.

Much has changed in the past month for the better.

Yuki was a godsend—she had been your guardian angel, your fairy godmother of sorts—because you swore your career life had taken a complete 180° the moment your closet was revamped. Ever since that makeover, you had felt so much more confident in your actions, so much lighter on your feet. The price of your efforts was beginning to pay off as well, as Geto began to slowly thaw his icier sense of self when you began to actually put effort into your appearance. His thrusts of his coat towards you began to become less aggressive, was significantly more lenient when it came to more of the impossible tasks, and had at one time actually muttered a ‘good morning’ to you and Manami after months of greeting with silence and judgemental glances.

She’d occasionally check up on you every once in a while, usually to offer new clothes that she didn’t want anymore. And by offer, it actually just meant packing them in a box from her place to yours with a post-it that’d usually read “With love, YT ❤” in neat cursive. Along with forming a close bond with Yuki, your relationship with Manami improved significantly, especially when you gave her those white Louboutins she was eyeing. She often invited you to lunch with her other friends, Larue and Remi. 

The iconic John Galliano once said that, “The joy of dressing is an art.” A month ago, you would’ve never believed what you would think is a rather tacky statement, but now, you can truly see it to believe it. It never occurred to you to actually look at your surroundings closely, but you often would sometimes take a few seconds out of your day to admire the many colors and materials that would adorn your coworkers. Whether it be admiration for their sense of style or mild jealousy over luxurious pieces, you were finally understanding what makes fashion, fashion.

And your epiphany was awarded today with the task that you thought would never come into the light of your days working for Geto—being tasked with dropping off The Book.

The Book was a collection of pieces that were needed for the upcoming edition of the magazine, regarding it as being the most important item in the entire company. It was a duty that usually Manami tended to, but she hypothesized that you managed to finally get on Geto’s good side after a while and congratulated you. Manami spoke to you briefly about how trivial The Book was to both Geto and Kaizen. She told you about how you must guard it and Geto’s key to his penthouse with your life, and that you were to remain absolutely invisible to him if he was in the apartment. Manami told you because it was usually the hour he needed most concentration—it was during the later hours of the day that he usually mended last minute edits to the edition or he was working on his latest fashion collection since he was only able to work on it during the weekends as Kaizen took too much of his time.

Manami told you he would most likely be found on the second floor of his penthouse, and you were to remain on the first floor at all costs. 

“The editors will finish The Book around 10:30 or 11:00 at night, wait in the office until then. Then, drop the book off at his penthouse at no later than 11:30 with his dry cleaning, too.”

Her words echo in your mind as you tiptoe out of the cab and look up to see a gleaming, glamorous building sitting in the heart of the city. It’s one you’ve passed a plenty of times—hell, you pass it on your way to work—but it never occurred to you that it’d be this antique white, Parisian-styled building that would be the abode of your boss. 

“Take the elevator to the top floor and enter his apartment. Do not call out his name, don’t wander around, don’t even make a single sound. You are nothing more than a ghost when you step foot into his house.”

The only doors that are on the very top floor of the apartment complex are two large metal doors that sit before you. You enter the key into the keyhole and push them open with controlled force, closing them as quietly as possible with Manami’s whispers still floating about your head. You knew that Geto was certainly a man of luxury, but to see that wealth exempt in a form other than fashion was a sight that you weren’t sure if your eyes deserved to feast on. Sculptures and paintings decorated the foyer and hallway, adding occasional splashes of color to the ivory-adorned apartment. After hanging the dry cleaning in the designated coat closet, the first room you enter - and perhaps the only one you’ll ever be in - is the said living room with the glass coffee table sitting in the center of it.

“Place The Book on the coffee table in the living room. That’s it. Do not toddle any longer in his house and get out immediately. Don’t let curiosity get the better of you and just simply go afterwards. It’s for your own good.”

But oh, how curiosity is just a little devil of temptation that sits far too easily on your shoulder. A house holds the most of a person, and Geto is just an all too mysterious enigma for you not to at least dip your toe in. The doors at the end of the hallway are waiting for you, but so are the picture frames that sit atop the TV stand. You suppose… maybe another minute wouldn’t hurt.

Your feet carry you slowly to the stand and you crouch, adjusting your glasses to get a better look at the pictures. There’s only two of them—six by fours, both in oak brown frames. The first one is a picture of a smiling young girl with short chestnut hair sporting a smile with a cigarette between her teeth. Beside her are two boys taller than her, both making similar faces at the camera. One of them, the one that’s a little taller with silvery snow hair and opaque black sunglasses, throwing a forced, all-too wide grin that almost looks maniacal. It doesn’t require much brain power to know the other figure in the photo is a younger Geto Suguru, his hair shorter in a tight bun with a rare, but soft grin on his face, his gaze affectionate to the others.

The other picture is of the same two boys arm in arm with each other. Both of them are grinning now, with the white haired boy still smiling a little more largely than the other. It doesn’t take long for you to assume who the other boy was considering that the shade of purple sheathing his twinkling eyes is unique to only one individual in your life. 

Best friends, you suggest in your mind as you study the pictures a little longer than needed. A minute, you thought, wouldn’t do much harm, but how utterly wrong your thoughts prove when you suddenly hear the slam of a door from the floor above. The crash of it makes you yelp and breaks you out of your trance from the pictures and your gaze suddenly snaps to the open stairs above you, as well as two voices echoing aloud. 

“Y-you can’t—” an unknown voice wheezes. “I’ve been your muse for years. You possibly can’t just abandon me out of nowhere…”

“You say that as if I’m not doing that right now,” a familiar one replies back boredly. It’s Geto, and his voice makes your nerves electrify in fear because it’s in that moment that you remember that you can’t get caught inside of his house. “This is the last time I’m telling you, Shigemo. Get out.”

The man that you assume is Shigemo heaves heavy breaths. “You need me,” he declares.

“Needed. Past tense,” Geto corrects as he almost forces Shigemo down the stairs with an invisible force surrounding him. You can see their figures above you, Shigemo slowly stepping backwards with each step Geto takes forward. “You’ve done me well these few years, I admit, and I do thank you for that. But I suppose your expiration date has finally come.”

“I’m not a food,” Shigemo snivels. “I’m a person. Most importantly. I’m the reason your fashion line flourished, I was the inspiration for almost all your works. We’re essentially a team.”

They’re towards the end of the staircase, towards where you are still present in plain sight. Your eyes scatter about a place to hide in the meantime, but there are seemingly no places to hide that would hide you well without the notice of Geto’s eyes.

“A team?” Geto barks out a sarcastic laugh, one that makes shivers run down your spine from both the rarity of the sound and how utterly intimidating it is. “I work alone and I always have. There is no point on relying on anyone of any kind when my independence obviously pays off.”

“Who will you have then?” Shigemo retaliates with a whimper in his voice. “You know that I’m the only one that will tolerate you. It’s not like you can go crawling to Goj—“

“Finish that sentence and see what happens,” Geto hisses, causing the other man to fall into a forced silence.

Your eyes finally land on the small space between the fireplace and a pillar. It’s a space large enough for you to fill and efficient enough to hide you from sight. Unsticking your feet from the ground, you make a run for the small space, only for you to forget about the obstacle that was the ottoman sitting spitefully on the floor.

The thud that comes from your body almost rivals the volume of the door slamming open moments earlier and just like the door, it attracts unneeded attention. Geto and Shigemo stop their bickering for a moment to search for the cause of the sound, only to see you humiliatingly face first on the floor. Geto narrows his eyes at the sight of you, an unwanted visitor in his home. 

A pained groan slips from your lips accidentally. You silently curse yourself for not taking the time to properly break into the tantalizing loafers Yuki bought you the day prior and wince at the pain blooming from your knees and chest. When you finally get up, you can’t help but notice that everything around you seems rather… hazy.

“Who is that…” Shigemo mutters.

Geto bites back a sigh and instead, pinches the bridge of his nose. He supposes that despite your improved mannerisms, your clumsiness still has yet to dissipate. Annoyed, he grunts out, “One of my new assistants.”

Shaking his head, Geto decides to deal with you later. His home is already suffocated with one individual, he doesn’t need another clogging the atmosphere up. He returns his attention back to Shigemo. “I thought I told you to leave,” he states, shoving his bag towards him.

Shigemo’s face paints a horrified expression once again. “Geto, please rethink this,” Shigemo pleads. 

He lets out a chain of pleads and excuses for himself as Geto essentially escorts him out with just walking towards him, his face still icy. Shigemo ends up on the other side of the door to his penthouse and it’s there where his patheticness exudes the most—he falls on his hands and knees like a beggar, claiming he’d do anything and everything just to be by his side. 

But his voice is suddenly cut short when Geto finally slams the door in his face, the thickness of them guarding him from Shigemo’s whines. He lets out another sigh and locks up the door securely before dealing with the other parasite in his house.

“I don’t think dropping off a book should take longer than thirty seconds,” Geto drawls as he saunters towards the living room, where you’re still on all fours on the floor, your hands tapping around. “So tell me, why are you still here?”

At the sound of his sharp tone, you freeze. You’re sure you looked utterly stupid and a mess right now, considering that you had just lost a fight to an ottoman out of all things, but you couldn’t let Geto see you in such a state. It didn’t take you long to realize that the reason why everything around you looked so blurry was because of your now-missing glasses that you attempted to look around for. But you pulled a Velma, and just like her, you can’t see without your glasses.

Everyone thinks it’s an exaggeration when you state that you felt utterly naked without them, but you truly did. You’ve been wearing glasses ever since childhood and you really didn’t appreciate the looks you had gotten when you were younger when at times you’d take them off. Some complained that your eyes were too small, too big—others mentioned you looked “off” and “weird” without them. Either way, comments from the other children stuck with you like scars, and ever since then, you refused to be seen without them. 

“I a-apologize,” you stutter, shuffling your body to hide behind the recliner so Geto wouldn’t see how much of a clutter you are. You’ve humiliated yourself too much already in the office and the last thing you truly need is for you to get fired merely because your curiosity got the better of you. “I was about to head out and th-then I heard your voice from upstairs and—”

Your words fall deaf on Geto’s ears. He lets out another groan while stretching the aching muscles in his neck as he closes in on your disorderedness. A hand goes to shield your face—you don’t want him to see the bareness of your face, especially since you didn’t bother wearing makeup today. You can’t even bear the thought of him looking at it. In a rushed state, you wander around for your glasses with your head tucked in, using the remnants of your hair to curtain your face.

A jumble of excuses tumble out of your quivering lip, but Geto is too preoccupied with the gleam of something catching his eye. Laying flat on the floor are a pair of glasses that doesn’t take Geto long to presume who they belong to. He plucks them from the ground and examines them for a brief moment before holding them above you. 

“I assume these are yours,” he asserts with a cocked brow.

Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice directly right above you and through your foggy field of vision is the seraphic figure of Geto holding what seems to be your glasses. Lips escaping a relieved gasp, you hurriedly scramble to your feet. Your eyes are too poor to see it properly, but Geto also shares surprise, but for an entirely different reason.

He doesn’t give you the sanity that is your glasses right away, because he’s much too preoccupied studying your face. It’s so… fresh. Your glasses were hiding such a view, like curtains to a window that unveiled the utmost rare and breathtaking sights. The way your eyes are wide open, pupils blown with a touch of singularity makes him even more intrigued because of how they’re uniquely placed onto your face along with the rest of your features. Your lips, plump with a natural sheen to them—your cheekbones, perfectly rounded. The slope of your nose fell just right. Geto studies it like an artist to a blank canvas, devoid of anything yet holding just the perfect amount of space—wanting, waiting to be filled with anything and everything.

When his eyes stare at you in what seems to be bewilderment, you swallow thickly and look away. But you can only glance at your surroundings for less than a second before Geto takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your face toward him again. It’s then that you realize that Geto isn’t staring at you, but your face as a whole. His eyes flick with small movements, dancing about as they go from eyebrow to lips, freckle to lash, examining each and every single particle that your face has to offer.

You feel a heat creep onto your cheeks. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the closeness you and him share or the fact that you can’t detect his opinions on the one thing you’ve been disclosed about for years, but either way, you feel weak in the knees; it only worsens when Geto’s thumb brushes over the entirety of your bottom lip, feeling the plushness of it on his the pad of his finger.

“Has your face always been this open…?” he murmurs softly as he studies the various angles of your face. 

You aren’t sure whether it’s a compliment or insult, either or neither. Geto’s tone always had a sort of bleakness to it, but in this very moment, you truly can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

“My glasses…” is all you manage to squeak out, fighting the urge to squirm in his grasp. Another gulp goes down your dry throat when Geto’s face contorts to an irritated confusion before he realizes his other hand holds the one thing dear to your heart. 

“Oh,” he mutters and hands them back to you. His opposing hand finally goes to release your face. “Right.”

Shaking hands go to put them back onto your face again. Sighing internally of relief of your now crystal-clear surroundings, you dust yourself off with your head once more, tucked into your chest. 

“I’m so sorry for this,” you whisper. The heat on your face has now spread to the entirety of your body, your nerves alight with the rush of adrenaline. “I-I’ll make sure this never happens again… good night.”

With that, you scurry yourself out before Geto has the chance to falter. All words to urge you to stay to either scold you or excuse you evaporate on his tongue. He can only watch in a strange silence as your figure rushes down the hall and out the doors, the click of them ringing out in his penthouse.

After moments of self-paralysis, an unknown feeling boils inside the pit of Geto’s stomach. He thinks he’s seen your face before with the familiarity of it unsettling him. The ghost of your face prances about in his mind as he slowly climbs the stairs to his sewing room, ignoring the shattered wine glass on the floor thrown by Shigemo. He instead, refills his own glass again with the nearby bottle of merlot wine and savoring the thickness of it running down his dry throat, embellishing in its warmth.

A single, large window faces the busy nighttime street and Geto walks and stills near it, watching carefully as the speck of your figure on the street below calls for a cab. He eyes how you turn towards the building one more time, doing your usual adjustment of your glasses (it’s a habit you often do in times of nervousness, he’s picked up) before you shuffle yourself into a cab that speeds off into the night.

Geto lets out an annoyed click of his tongue. Something about your face seems haunting and he doesn’t enjoy it. The last thing that he needed for today was even more plaguing thoughts in his head after the loss of his muse not even just ten minutes ago, but now with your face staining the back of his head, his jaw grits in irritation. In a poor attempt to take his mind off the excursion of today and the future, he shuffles about his many sketchbooks to look for any designs he could pluck out for his latest collection. 

It’s an hour in, two glasses of wine later, and somehow, he still hasn’t found a single piece to begin working on that fits into his theme. Miraculously, through the vast array of what is thought to be thousands of sketches, Geto hasn’t found one that stood out to him until he gets to the last sketchbook. It’s an early one—he thinks it dates back to his early college days, when he was just beginning to peek into the world of fashion. A pang of nostalgia hits him all of a sudden when he flips to a specific page that was the start of his history.

It’s the very design that had the attention of many designers. The sketch featured a gold and red embellished outfit, a sheen of glittering flickers adorning it. The shirt features a mosaic of gold and small flecks of color here and there, imitating the many church mosaics he’d often admired as a child. The skirt and collar of the shirt were the same shade of blood red, crimson gems bespeckling them. 

It’s not the outfit, however, that makes his eyes harden. Why would it? He’s seen it many times before. It’s been brought up over and over again—in interviews, in magazines. It’s one of the staples that made Geto the pillar that he is. He knows every detail of it, much like his other designs, so it isn’t the design of the outfit that made him appalled. It’s instead, the person that’s wearing it. 

Because somehow, the eerie sketch of the model’s face that he had drawn years ago…

… somehow replicates your own face perfectly.

a/n: first jjk fic in forever! wowie it's been much too long... also if u need a refresher on who shigemo is, he's the guy with the ponytail that nanami pulled kekeke

10.2k is hefty i know but i couldn't help myself my bad lolol T_T currently just a test run of what i hope to be is a series that some may be interested in because clearly this barely scratches the surface of what i want to embed haha so please let me know how you like it so far :))

continuing, i hope you enjoyed and thank you for taking time out of your day to enjoy my craft, whether it be your first time or your hundredth! once more, likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and are always appreciated (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!!

[ravenclawboyy]

𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐴𝑊𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐶𝐼𝐺𝐴𝑅𝐸𝑇𝑇𝐸𝑆 🍓 ₊˚࿐

—

- ✧ The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and the lingering scent of cigarettes as the Bike Riders waited outside the old diner on the edge of town. Johnny Davis, their leader, sat on his bike, one hand gripping the handlebar and the other holding a cigarette between his fingers. The orange glow of the tip burned brightly in the dimming twilight. His gaze wandered over the quiet street until it landed on a figure standing in the doorway of the diner.

She was young, maybe seventeen, with a face that still held a trace of childhood innocence. Her hair was dark and fell loosely over her shoulders, and she wore a thin white dress that fluttered in the evening breeze. She was holding a small basket of strawberries, fresh and ripe, their red juice staining her fingers.

Johnny flicked the ash from his cigarette and watched her. She looked out of place, standing there with a shy smile on her lips, a stranger among the smoke and leather. He wondered what she was doing there, so far from home at this hour. As if sensing his thoughts, she stepped forward, clutching the basket tighter.

“Hey,” she called out, her voice soft but clear. “Can you give me a ride home?”

The other Bike Riders exchanged amused glances, but Johnny just nodded. “Where to?”

“Just up the hill,” she replied. “Not far from here.”

Johnny glanced at his friends. “Alright,” he said, extinguishing his cigarette under his boot. “Hop on.”

She hesitated for a moment, then moved toward his bike, her steps light and careful, like she was afraid to break something. She climbed on behind him, her hands wrapping around his waist, the smell of strawberries mixing with the lingering smoke.

As they rode down the darkening road, the wind whipped through their hair, and the town began to blur around them. Johnny could feel her grip tighten as they picked up speed, her small frame pressed against his back. He couldn’t help but feel a strange sensation, like a mix of responsibility and rebellion. The girl was young and innocent, and he was a man with a cigarette, a leather jacket, and a motorcycle — a mix of danger and freedom.

They rode in silence, the sound of the engine roaring through the empty streets. She leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “You like cigarettes, huh?”

Johnny smirked. “Something like that.”

She laughed softly, the sound barely audible over the roar of the bike. “I like strawberries,” she said, holding the basket closer. “They’re sweet. They remind me of summer days.”

Johnny didn’t know why, but her words made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe it was because she was so different from anyone he’d ever met, or maybe it was the way she spoke, like every word mattered.

As they neared her house, an old, worn-down place at the end of the road, Johnny slowed down. The house looked tired, much like the old man standing on the porch, his face weathered and lined with age. He watched them approach with a frown, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Johnny and his bike.

“Thank you,” the girl said, her voice sincere. “I really appreciate it.”

Johnny nodded. “No problem.”

She slid off the bike, her dress swirling around her legs as she turned to face him. “My name’s A/N ,” she said. “And I know who you are, Johnny Davis.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

She nodded, a playful smile on her lips. “Everyone knows you. The Bike Rider with A bit of a rebel, aren’t you?”

Johnny chuckled, lighting another cigarette. “Something like that.”

Your’s smile widened, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Thanks again,” she whispered, and turned to walk toward the old man who waited for her.

As Johnny watched her go, he felt a strange tug at his heart, a pull between the innocent and the savage, between the strawberries and the cigarettes. The old man’s eyes were hard, almost accusing, as he put a protective arm around the girl’s shoulder, guiding her inside the worn-out house.

Johnny stayed there for a moment, watching as the door closed behind them. He felt something shift inside him, something he couldn’t quite put into words. The innocence of a girl with a basket of strawberries, and the smell of his cigarette smoke lingering in the air. A brief encounter, a moment in time, where two worlds met — hers sweet and untainted, his rough and wild.

He revved his engine, took a deep drag of his cigarette, and rode away, the taste of smoke and the memory of strawberries lingering on his lips.

End..

[sleep-0-deprived]

im not sure if you are taking any requests rn but I NEED to see some male reader Shigaraki heavy, hurt no comfort, gut wrenching angst just cause there is barely any Shigaraki x male reader and barely any angst in general

(you can ignore this request if you want!!)

Things that your dad doesn’t know (Tomura shigaraki x male reader angst one-shot)

WC:. 1.6K

Tags: hurt not comfort, angst, internalized homophobia, past religious trauma, generational homophobia, unspoken feelings, religious AFO au

A/N: I have never written angst before, I have no clue if it’s any good but I think this is the only time I’m willingly trying to hurt my pookies! ໒꒰ྀི˃ ˕ ˂ഃ ꒱ྀི১

Being a villain wasn’t your first choice in life, in fact had you been told that’s what you would end up becoming ten years ago…well you would’ve been in shambles? After all your dream was to be a hero, to help those who needed it most and give comfort/security to those around you.

maybe that was just you wanting to be the person you wished was given to you but that doesn’t matter because it wasn’t who you became anyway. At the ripe age of fifteen you were a runaway, your parents had sent you off to a private academy in Japan. In reality it was just a fancy term for a boarding school for ‘troubled boys’ but those words tasted bitter because that place was just filled with naive boys questioning their sexuality.

That place left you filled with thoughts of things you’ve never worried about before, one moment you’re just a boy who has some silly crush in the boy next to you in class and the next you’re a thirteen year old being told the way you felt was ‘sinful’. You’d never forget the way your mom just stared at you blankly while your dad shouted at you “those thoughts aren’t normal boy, how’d you turn out like this?” God you’d give it all to forget those words, every remembrance of them felt like a puddle pulling you to the ground leaving you to wallow in shame.

By the time you were fourteen you started to fall for the words the headmasters of the school preached to you, you thought “if I could just deny it then it’ll go away” or if you didn’t accept it then it wasn’t there. By fifteen you knew you had to get out of there, you didn’t care how you had to do it but you felt an unwavering hate for yourself every second you stood in line for the daily mass at that place.

When you did finally escape you ended up on the streets, moving city to city across Japan, too afraid to head for the states out of fear for your parents getting you back. Then you met him, All For One was what he called himself, he found you in a dingy alley all littered in bruised and scars from the treatment you had endured from that school.

He took you in and gave you a place to live for as long as you did what he asked of you. He made you use your quirk for his own wants but you’d never tell him your past or where you came from because it was evident with his god complex that he wasn’t understanding, after all how could a man from his generation be.

Life wasn’t all bad, that was what you’d tell yourself but then you met Tomura, you two never clicked in the beginning. All he’d do is stare at you from afar and judge you, but you just accepted it because he was your leaders heir. Eventually by the age of seventeen the two of you had became friends, the league of villains was a new concept with barely five members

You didn’t know what you felt or how to feel it but all you knew was the days felt more bearable to live when he was there. When you two didn’t have tasks to fill or agendas to make you were teenage boys, you watched cheesy shows on his bed or video games in his room, energy drinks and late nights was the routine between you two and their was an unspoken blonde that came of it.

Eighteen rolled around for you and Tomura was nineteen by then, it felt like an extension of eighteen for you, nobody but Tomura even knew of your real birthday and maybe it was for the lack of care or the fact you never spoke to anyone besides AFO, Shigaraki and occasionally Kurogiri.

By this point you’ve realized that things aren’t totally platonic between the two of you but Tomura having spent his whole life enduring AFO’s standards and beliefs that he’s pushed onto him, he denies anything and everything. Tomura never had the most stable life to begin with even before he met AFO, his dad was the definition of a bigot, he looked down on him for not being manly enough, for crying when he got hit by him.

Tomura and you were closer than friends could be, the way you two held each other and cuddled in his bed at night, or spent free time locked away in your room away from the other’s gazes. But you were never truly together in the way you wanted to be, it was like being skin close with a thin barrier between keeping you two from fully touching.

The two of you liked being away in private the most, even with all of the denial in your head was better than the hurtful gaze AFO would give to Tomura when he was caught sitting too close to you in the bar. Over time it felt like you began to know Tomura less and less, the boy you once clung to like he was the air in your lungs became a man that hardly spoke to you unless it was about the leagues plans.

You were no fool you knew AFO had confronted and filled Tomura’s head with thoughts of how what he was doing was nothing less than “un-right” and those deep rooted memories of the past that always crept in when you least wanted found you again, reminding you of every word nailed into your mind on how you should feel in no regards for what you did feel.

All you wanted to do was run back to his room, to hug him and cling and not worry about everyone else but that wasn’t going to happen. You watch him become the second AFO knowing you can’t and do anything. Your once close relationship has a wedge in between, it was non existent and nothing you could say would make him accept you.

“What happened to our friendship Tomura?” You’d show up at his door late at night while the others were asleep, his blue hair gone and what looked back at you didn’t feel the same quiet man that used to be. “Nothing has happened, things change and people grow [name], you’re acting as though we were lovers.” You knew that he was only forcing his words but it never stung any less.

“No but we could’ve been Tomura” you manage to spit out, your voice cracks and your whole body feels like lava. “No we never could’ve, you’re a man [name] and no amount of emotions changes that”

“If I can’t be your lover why can’t we just be friends again tenko?”

You’re nearly to tears at this point standing in the entrance of his bedroom feeling your heart being squeezed.

“Because. Being close to you makes life hard, I can’t sit and pretend to be your friend when I know I won’t be the one that ends with you, and don’t call me that anymore, you’re just my subordinate…nothing else and you won’t ever be [name].”

There was the answer you knew would come, he pointed for his door clearly wanting you gone, and you quickly obliged in wanting of him seeing you break down. You hadn’t hurt this bad since you had first been sent off by your family, how were you supposed to be ok with this? Why did life have to be this way? Were you destined to always get close to what you love then have it slip away?

You had more pathetic questions than you did answers and the night was long, you weren’t sleeping anytime soon and you knew it. You’d rather have been his friend if you couldn’t be his lover, at least if you were his friend you’d still be something to him, you’d still be in his life, you’d still be the person he sat around and played video games with.

You were just doomed to a life of watching the person you love become unrecognizable. You and him had planned to stick together, he had promised you’d always be together, he always told you that you were the only person that understood him and now it was all gone.

When war against the hero’s began you couldn’t do anything to stop him. Your pleas fell on deaf ears, AFO was on his shoulder telling him every little move to make and what to do and his plan didn’t have you in it. You were forced to sit on the side lines unable to jump in when his final fight started, seeing his beaten form and his scared body broke you.

You had made Tomura your world, he was your reason to listen to AFO, if he did something then no matter how much it hurt you, you’d do it too. When Tomura started his fight against Midoriya, you were practically running to the fight trying to make way to him and trying to use your quirk to just stop it all.

You were three seconds too late. The final blow had been felt and you were right next to Tomura sobbing like a scared kid watching him decay away. All Tomura does is look up at you, red eyes glossy and you know he isn’t making it. “You can’t leave me Tenko! You just can’t!…you promised me?”

You’re hysteric when the police start dragging you away from his ash’s, you’re feeling your word shatter so fast knowing all the things you had planned won’t happen.

[storm-angel989]

I just read your latest one shot and I got this crazy brainrot. What if Lucifer's eldest fell? An angel who never knew of hell or evil, who fell because of her undying curiosity of it?

Oh gosh this took a hot minute- so sorry I'm behind on requests! This follows the first request of similar nature and will probably end up being a multi-part series if it gets good feedback and folks enjoy it! It was fun to write- I love switching POV's!

She didn’t understand why her father wouldn’t let her learn about hell. 

“But Dad, isn’t it better for me to understand, to avoid?” She pleaded the first time she was caught in his library. Digging through books she had no business being in, Adam lifted her up and cast her across the room carelessly. 

“Honor thy father and mother,” her father responded casually. “So stay the fuck away from those books because I said so. Got it?”

He walked away without another care in the world. Honestly, he probably didn’t. At the ripe age of seventeen, reader had learned If it wasn’t related to his girlfriend or his dick, her father simply wasn’t interested. 

Not that the idea was a new realization for her. Her father treated her with immense disdain. Her entire childhood had been a mix of severe punishment, harsh words, and next to no praise. She remembered standing, waiting outside the school door, reading alone for hours until he eventually showed up to take her home. 

But his mistreatment didn’t stop her burning thirst for knowledge. Given the copious amounts of alone time, she snuck into his library and read all there was to know about the angels- about their history. About the creation of humanity. She had gotten her hands on the final book the night Adam caught her. With this one final act of disobedience, and the stark ignorance of the newly formed angelic council, her father himself ripped her halo off and cast her into the pits of hell. 

Now as she stood alone in the dusty streets, the stench of poverty and failure wrapped her in a chokehold. Aimlessly, she wandered, desperately trying to find her way back to heaven. Back to her home. 

“Child? Art thou alone?” She heard a voice behind her. 

Her eyes fell to the tallest creature she had ever seen. He spoke in an accent, oldest than even the eldest angels. His robe was cooked in black, and save for the patched of green that outlined his face and his body, he could have been a shadowy. She looked down at the tattered remnants of her white gown. She supposed she was, but had enough sense to deny it vehemently.  After all, hell was evil and no one down here meant anything good. 

“I don’t believe thou,” the strange man answered. “Come, child. Allow me to return you to your home. Where you belong.” 

His hand wrapped in shadows around her upper arm and before she could protest, she felt herself yanked forward, wind rushed around her. She closed her eyes, terror sinking into her heart. This was death, she was sure of it. 

This was the hell her father spoke of.

[cosmic-crybaby]

Break My Heart Again- Tommy Shelby x Reader

Part 1

Summary: After being childhood friends, you and Thomas made a promise one day to get married, but when he returned from France, he came back a completely different man.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, tommy before the war (Lowkey OOC) 

She's known Tommy almost all her life. They met one day at the cut when he was ten, trading cigarettes with the other kids, and she was eight, tagging along with her older cousin. It was merely a passing glance, maybe an introduction of names, but she hadn't seen him until years later. At the ripe age of twelve and fourteen, when he defended her when the older boys pulled at her hair and pushed her around. She was forever grateful to him after witnessing him take in three in a fight, punching the daylights out of one, shoving another's head into the mud, and threatening the third. 'If you ever come near her again, I'll fuckin' take your eyes!'. That was enough to scare them off. The two were almost inseparable ever since. Years of growing up together the two would often get into mischief together and cause trouble in the smoky streets of Small Heath. As [name] got a little older, the more she started to fall for the future gangster, and the more time passed, the more she started to change.

And of course, Thomas began to notice.

By the time they were seventeen and fifteen, the two delinquent teenagers seemed to be more than friends. The way Thomas would hold her hand as they run up the grassy hills, the way [name] would stare into his eyes as they lay on the grass under the shaded tree.

"I don't know what I would do without you, Tommy Shelby..." She spoke softly, her voice was like heaven to him. "I can't picture myself beside anyone else," She admitted. Thomas just stared into her eyes, his soft hands rising to brush his knuckles against her cheek, tucking away the pieces of hair that came undone from her clip.

"You don't have to...because I'm going to make a promise to you [name]," He suddenly sat up, causing her to sit up as well and gaze at him in confusion.

"What kind of promise?" She asked, curiously. He opens his mouth to speak then quickly closes it before thinking for a moment. Collecting his words carefully. Clearing his throat so his voice wouldn't crack, because he knew he wouldn't hear the end of it from her if that happened.

"That one day, when I have me own money and me own house, we will get married," He finished confidently. She sat there, her lips slightly agape.

"Stop joking around!" She laughed, swatting at his arm, causing him to laugh as well and to catch her hand before she should hit him again. This time both of his hands enveloped hers as he stared at her with a content smile.

"I'm being serious, trust me when I say I want to marry you one day [Name] [Lastname]!" He said, laughter hidden within his words. She thought for a moment then nodded once, reaching for his hand. She kissed the back of his hand, her soft lips were warm upon his skin.

"Okay, promise," She smiled lovingly as he returned the kiss on her hand before bringing her close to kiss her forehead.

"Promise,"

In the years that followed that day, she was by his side, even when he was starting to work at the betting shop with his family. At first, she was just there for moral support, but right when she finished high school Polly saw her potential and how educated she was, and on the spot, she was hired. Checking the maths and records in each book, making sure everything was in its place.

It was a dream being with Tommy at nearly every waking hour. Of course nothing would go beyond holding hands, gently touches, and friendly affection . But even when those were at a minimum, she was falling in love with him.

Her love for him only grew since they first met. It was unconditional love and ever since he made that promise to her, she only fell harder. It almost felt like she was already married to him. With the way he kissed her forehead or cheek, the way he was so kind to her and checked in on her work whenever he needed an escape, and how he would tell her he loved her. Every night after work when he walked her home. He would kiss her knuckles, her cheek, and her lips before saying.

"Goodnight [name], I'll pick you up in the morning, I love you,"

It wasn’t until she began to notice his slow distance from her. At first, she thought nothing of it as he wouldn’t give her as much affection as he normally did. Her hands grew cold as they were empty from his. His touch was slowly detaching from her own. The emotional distance was noticed quickly, but the physical distance made her heart cold. He went from seeing her every day to nearly every other day, now...she was lucky to even catch him at the betting shop.  As much as she wanted to convince herself that it was nothing, she couldn’t help the emptiness she suddenly felt. She had wondered what he was so busy with and deep down she had hoped he hadn’t gotten in any more trouble than he already was getting himself into.

The weeks and months went by, her resentment for Tommy only grew. On the days he went to the shop, she tried to make her presence known, nothing but a simple "Hi [name],"would be his response. Sometimes not even making eye contact with her.

One day, in 1914, he approached her in her office. She was too busy organizing files and writing down and calculating the records to make sure they were accurate. She didn't even notice his presence at first. He stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets as he stared at her, waiting for her to pay him any mind. 

“I’m busy,” She simply mumbled, seeing him in the peripheral vision of her eyes. He scoffs before stepping in further and closing the door behind him. 

“So that’s how you treat me now, eh?” He asked, sitting across from her in a chair. He was met with silence as she kept her eyes glued to the page. “[Name]” He called. 

Again, silence. 

Tommy suddenly slammed the book shut and grabbed the pen that was in her hand.

“Hey! I'm trying to work, you just made me lose my spot!” She shouts, quickly standing up as the chair behind her scrapped against the wood floor loudly.

Tommy just smirks. She stomp towards him to retrieve the pen back, but the older boy just held it above her head as he extended his arm up, barely just out of her reach. 

“Thomas, this isn’t funny!” She pleads. He just laughs. 

“There you are, finally acknowledging me,”  

She sighed in defeat and set herself back on her feet, holding his gaze with a glare.

“What do you want now? Go on with it, Polly needs these by the end of the day and she’ll have my neck if I don’t have em ready,” She crossed her arms over her chest. Tommy let his arm down, setting the pen on the desk. 

“What makes you think I want something?” He asked. Her eyes widened slightly. 

“I don’t see you for months and you barely even talk to me let alone look at me whenever you’re here, so this sudden change in behavior is quite a shocking one,” She explained, her tone still stern. She was met with his eyes, a guilty look on his face. 

“I know...I know and I do apologize-” 

“You were supposed to be my closest friend, Thomas...” She interrupted him. Her voice was calm, almost meek. 

“I am your closest friend, never forget that [name],” He held her slumping shoulders. She takes an exhale through her nose. 

“Listen to me...I’m sorry, I had some prior engagements that needed my attention,” He said quietly as he tried to get her to look into his eyes. 

“I know but I just wished you had just talked to me...I felt so alone,” 

Thomas held his breath and clenched his jaw. He couldn’t tell her now...Not yet at least. 

“When you’re with me, you’ll never really be alone,” He told her, holding her close. She knew there was some truth to his words but pushed herself away from him. 

“I have to get back to work,” She said. He rolls his eyes at her sudden coldness.

“I’m not leaving until I get a smile out of you...and maybe an ‘I love you’,” He smirked, still holding her, his hands on her shoulder blades. She scoffs, giving him a small, ingenuine smile. 

“Happy?” She asked. He shook his head. His hands slowly crept to her sides, going unnoticed by her. 

“Tommy...” He gave her that look. That look of mischief. “Don’t you dare-” But her warning came too late. His fingers began digging into her sides, it didn’t take long before she began giggling profusely. 

“Tommy stop! I can’t- I can’t breath!” She squealed in between fits of laughter as she tried to push his hands away. He was too strong. 

“Tell me you love me [name]!” He laughed. 

“N-No! Never!” She laughed, the tears in her eyes started to seep down her cheeks. 

“Say it [name] and I’ll stop!,” 

“Fine! I love you Thomas Shelby!” She gave in. The tickling had stopped, yet she barely caught her breath when Tommy pulled her close and picked her up from the ground and kissed her cheeks. 

“I love you too, [name] [lastname],” He said quietly. Looking into his eyes made her even forget why she was upset with him. He looked at her with perfect love in his eyes and a small smile on his lips as he quickly kissed her hand before leaving her to continue your work. 

 A week later, Tommy had told her the secret he had been keeping from her. Finally letting it out. 

“No...Tell me it’s a lie...” She was in denial. Shaking her head as the tears welled up her eyes. 

“[Name]-”

“No...”

“[Name] please...listen to me,” He approached. 

“Please don’t do this you don’t have to do this!” She cried. 

“We have to go, [name]...it’s the only choice,” He calmly stated. 

“To put your lives on the line? To leave your family behind to leave me behind?” 

The silence was daunting. She sniffled and turned away from him. 

“I understand the sacrifice you’re making, but I can’t bare the thought of my life without you...Arthur, John, you...You three have been in me life every day since I was a child, if you were to never come back I don’t know what I would do without you,” She shook her head as she choked up once again. 

“Don’t think of it that way, love...We will come back once it’s over...and when it’s over I will come back to you,” 

“Tommy...” She felt his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her.

“You will be the one I am living for...who I am looking forward to come home to...” He steps in front of her, grabbing her cheeks in the palm of his hands as they locks eyes.

“I don’t want to lose you,” She whispered. He pressed his forehead to hers. Closing her eyes tightly to stop the tears.

“You won’t...I promise,” 

She has always known for Tommy to keep his promises. But deep own she wasn't sure if this was within his control. And it scared her. Shattered her heart and soul to know he was leaving in just a few weeks. Every day after that he spent every moment with her as if it were his last, even though it felt like it to her. 

The day the three Shelby brothers left, Polly, Ada, and Martha were in shambles. [Name] tried to stay strong but the second she approached the train station she began to tear up. 

She had said your goodbyes to John and Arthur first as she held off her departure from Tommy. She stood in front of him, he seemed to put on a brave face for his family and for her but she could read right through him. He was just as scared as she was. She embraced him tightly. 

“I will write to you every day...and pray for you three while you’re gone,” [name] told him. He nods quietly, he reaches into his pocket to pull out a small, simple, ring to held it to her.  

“Remember that promise we made when we were kids?” He asked. 

“That we’d get married one day?” She nods.  

“I am giving this to you, so that when I do return we will get married...That way I will come home with a purpose...to marry you,” He said. She gasped a bit as he slipped the golden band on her ring finger. 

“Just promise me you’ll never take it off, for as long as I live and love you,” 

“I promise,” She smiled at him. He gave [name] a quick kiss. The train whistle blows. 

“Come home to us soon...please,” She begs. He nods again before Arthur and John pulled him away to board the train. 

Watching the men wave off their families as the train took off was heartbreaking. The four women of Small Heath held onto each other, comforting each other when they watched the three men in their lives leave on a train. [Name] rested her head on Polly’s shoulder as she rubbed the young girls back, quietly sobbing beside her.

[Name] went home that day, sitting alone as she twirled the ring on her finger, counting the days until his first letter came. 

[whumpbby]

Going back to the "Golden Core Transfer made things weird"

Imagine a few years after the Book Plot - things settled, Jin Ling grew into his role and everyone settles a bit. Wei Wuxian chills and finally starts processing everything and becomes a more reliable uncle. JC slowly gets over his trauma and settles back into the position of sect leader...

And then a sect-mingling night hunt happens, when the Juniors (in their twenties now) get into a kerfuffle and JC steps in and gets gored by a demon. It's bad. Very bad. No amount of borrowed qi is doing anything and Jiang Sect Leader is dying on the forest floor, covered in blood, trying to speak his last words to a distraught Jin Ling... There's crying, and shouting, and it's a nightmare!

And then, just as he's about to fade, his Golden Core pulses. Once more. The last attempts to fight the incoming end. Not like Wei Wuxian's core would allow his shidi to die. Nope. Can't happen.

The core explodes with golden light, sorrounding the dying sect leader.

When it fades, Jiang Cheng is alive, unharmed.

And physically reverted back to when he first got the core at the ripe old age of seventeen.

Clothes hanging off him, JC looks like a very angry baby and Jin Ling starts to understand why jiujiu never took him seriously when he was a teenager. They have too much of a baby-face!

It's amazing, jiujiu is alive and well!

It's terrible, what are they going to tell other sects?! Other sect leaders??? How can they... He can't go back looking like a kid! No one will take him seriously! They have to sort that mess out.

...they need to go to the person responsible for this shit show in the first place. Wei fucking Wuxian.

Thus begins the saga of Wei Wuxian doing all that's humanly possible to get his nanified shidi to call him "gege" at least once!

[the-kr8tor]

So... Fire Bender! Hobie, anyone???

Fire Bender! Hobie, whose parents were killed when he was young(forbidden love between an Earth bender father and a fire bender mother)

Fire Bender! Hobie, who has had to live in the streets of a nation that cared little for its citizens(especially with him looking different from the rest of his peers. They've never seen someone with skin as dark as his, the fire nation being all his peers have ever known.)

Fire Bender! Hobie who grows up hating the Fire Lord and seeing the damage the nation has done to the world.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who leaves his nation in search of others who were against the tyrannical rule of such a vile nation.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who quickly learns to hide his bending element in favor of mastering weapons, for others are not opened to the idea of letting a fire nation dog among them.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who grows up helping whoever he can during while the war rages on, putting a stop to fire nation camps and freeing people being oppressed by them.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who somehow stumbles upon the last of the dragons when he's all but sixteen years old. The masters that teach him how his fire doesn't just kill and maim and destroy. That he can be a light to those in the dark.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who learns he can use lava bending as well, adding to his arsenal.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who stumbles upon you, traveling with the Avatar and is currently fighting off a group of foot soldiers. (He's never seen a water bender with such ferocity. Besides the other girl fighting beside you, of course.)

Fire Bender! Hobie, who joins your team in the fight against the soldiers that crowd you, his fire bending and weapon mastery quite a sight to behold.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who, after much justifiable distrust from the others in your "Team Avatar" (stupid name, in his opinion), officially joins at the ripe age of seventeen. He learns you're the same age later on.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who's shocked to learn you don't come from any water tribe, as far as you know. You've been living on Kyoshi Island your whole life, only joining the Avatar when you saw him come to the Island.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who kindly passes up the invitation to teach Aang fire bending. "Not really the teachin' sort, 'M afraid. Got too much to learn myself."

Fire Bender! Hobie, who slowly grows closer to you and gives in when you beg and beg for him to teach you how to use a weapon.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who spends countless nights helping you train, a smirk on his lips every time you stumble when he trips you with his staff. "Gotta be quicker than that, turtleduck," he snickers when you puff out your cheeks in frustration. (You really do remind him of one, his favorite animal)

Fire Bender! Hobie, who, when you guys finally at the north pole, argues heavily at the water bending master who refuses to teach you and Katara(he's downright furious. You both deserve to be taught like any other human being.)

Fire Bender! Hobie, who's glad that Katara gets to be taught, but still holds resentment for them only allowing her(they claim that Katara was a special case, seeing as the master knew her grandmother) Katara teaches you and Aang everything she learns later on.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who is the first to fight the fire nation soldiers when they attack the north pole, fighting side by side with you.

Fire Bender! Hobie, whose heart drops into his stomach the moment the moon spirit is killed, leaving you and all the other water benders near defenseless.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who runs to try and save you before your neck and shoulder get horribly burned by the soldier you were fighting. He's furious as he kicks the guy off of the tall wall, sneering as he plummets to his supposed death.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who holds you close and is quick to remove your clothing that is near your sizzling skin (not even paying attention to the giant spirit passing by you both and laying waste to the fire nation fleet)

Fire Bender! Hobie, who whispers words of comfort as he heats up snow between his hands, making cool water that he can pour along your heated flesh in hopes to ease your pain(your screams will haunt his nightmares, remind him all too much that he could have been like the monster you hurt you.)

Fire Bender! Hobie, who takes your passed out form immediately to Katara once the moon shines bright in the sky again. He bites at his nails as he watches her work on you. (You end up fine, but with scars that never fade)

Fire Bender! Hobie, who realizes just how much you mean to him after that night and doesn't find the courage to tell you until well into your journey(until the last few days leading to Sozin's Comet.)

Fire! Bender! Hobie, who kisses your scars and holds you close the night before Sozin's Comet, the two of you sharing promises and fears for what the future holds for you after the battle.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who, after careful direction from Iroh and Zuko (who he's still a little bit iffy about), manages to generate lightning that helps malfunction the flying war ships in the sky.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who watches as you use blood bending (the skill you and Katara agreed was dangerous in the wrong hands), to stop a soldier with a sword aimed for his chest (you now terrify and amaze him.)

Fire Bender! Hobie, who runs to sweep you off your feet and never let go once Aang officially defeats the Fire Lord.

Fire Bender! Hobie, who after a life of being alone and unloved, finally found his life-long friends and found a place he could belong in you.

Was watching ATLA again and, teehee🤭🥰💕💕

AVATAR AU ‼️‼️‼️

Actual footage of me while reading this

OMFG THIS WAS INCREDIBLE IT FELT LIKE I WAS WATCHING ATLA!!!

You got it so right!!!! He'd also use weapons too that's so cool! I was waiting for r to pop up and was kind of hoping for avatar! R 🤭 I love the fact that they're a part of the gaang! Katara mention 🫵 I bet they were besties!!!

Woahhh he was trained by one of the dragons!!

Ahhhhhhh the way r got injured by the same fire hobie can conjure and was saved by his fire was so poetic 😍😍 it's literally my fave part

Hobie bending lightning to his will sounds so right!!! (That's hot 🔥)

Qosniwjdnw r using blood bending!!!!!!

They're so cool, otp!

[hadesisqueer]

i don’t know what you mean by “ruby we know you aren’t in a good place right now it’s okay” as if this episode didn’t make her the most insufferable protagonist ever. i get she was having a panic attack and couldn’t fight, that’s probably the only thing i understand about her character in this chapter, but she didn’t even apologize to jaune instead she lashed out at him and made everything about her when her team has gone through so much (arguably more then her) and used it against them, i can’t name a single reason why she would react in such a hostle way when her teammates have been nothing but kind to her, i was fine with ruby before this (hell i even loved her) but now she just makes me angry 😭wish they didn’t screw up her character like this but oh well

Teenage girl whose mother died at a young age and has been held by herself (and sometimes other) to an impossible standard by living under her mother's shadow, who saw two of her friends die in front of her eyes at The Fall Of Beacon and couldn't do anything about it, who has been repressing that grief for volumes while forcing herself to keep going for others and literally taking the weight of the world on her shoulders at the ripe old age of seventeen, who's also very recently lost someone important once again and is too caught up in her grief and her guilt over what happened to Atlas that she finally snaps and lets everything out in an ugly, petty, realistic way doesn't say sorry immediately while in the middle of a mental breakdown.

You: Character ruined.

Also, this isn't the “who's been through the most” olympics. They've all suffered, chill out

[em1e]

⠀めぐみ // SKATES ⠀ ༝ ༝ megumi fushiguro [ft. brother!gojo] ⠀༝ ༝ 3.6k words ⠀ ⚠︎ unrequited love!itadori + ice skater/hockey player au + mentions of drinking + i've never watched a hockey game in my life ⠀ — since the ripe age of eight, you’d pined for him and since he was seventeen, megumi had eyed you with that puppy-dog gaze, and neither of you seemed to notice it from the other. 

“it’s just so hard to talk to them.” 

megumi was never one to confide in others about his problems, but itadori somehow brings out a special side of him. 

“have you tried . . . you know, actually speaking to them?” the teasing grin doesn’t escape the dark-haired male, earning itadori a swipe from megumi. the former narrowly dodges the attack on the ice, holding his hockey stick out as if it’d help keep some amount of distance between the two. “hey, i’m only trying to help!” 

megumi skates closer to itadori despite the stick staying between the two of them, “i’ve already told you why it’s . . . difficult.” 

unintentionally, both pairs of eyes settle on a mop of white hair, off to the side of the rink giving instructions to another one of their teammates. 

“i get they’re related to coach gojo or whatever, and you have some weird mentor-parental-figure thing going on with him, but is that really enough reason to not talk to them?” 

megumi only turns his nose in response, choosing the option of not answering to be the lesser of two evils. 

“don’t think i’ve ever seen you get so worked up over somethin’,” itadori muses with a grin, “you must’ve liked ‘em for a real long time.” 

“shut up.” megumi’s eyes cut to meet itadori’s, narrowed, “just . . . help me, or whatever.” 

“help with what? talking to them? or dealing with whatever you have between coach gojo?” 

megumi mulls over the questions for a second before grimacing, “both?”

“alright,” itadori grins, “here’s what you gotta do . . . “

⠀ ༝ ༝ 

okay, megumi has to hand it to itadori. he isn’t as stupid as some might think. he may be beefy and thick-headed, but he does have some decent ideas. megumi can admit that easily- to himself at least. 

one of the many brilliant things he’s conjured up is watching one of your skating competitions. 

but he only agrees because it’s convenient! your match just happened to be in the same stadium as theirs, set thirty minutes before they need to pull on their own skates, and gojo might’ve invited him to watch what little he could - in front of itadori, no less, leaving megumi to only be able to say ‘sure!’, lest he face itadori later in the locker rooms with that weird judgmental look he likes to give. so -

the three of them sit in the stands. 

decked in their hockey jerseys, waiting for the twirling to start. 

itadori grins, watching megumi from the corner of his eye. his friend bounces his leg anxiously, while the announcer introduces the performers; you and a figure skating partner. maki zenin? the name sounds familiar. 

gojo mumbles something about how nervous you were for this competition, how you practiced day and night and would come back to your shared apartment with bruises littering your arms and legs. 

the two of you skate onto the ice, masks covering your eyes and sparkling outfits adorning your figures; both blue and open chested. it’s cute, how they match, even though itadori has some understanding that it’s only for aesthetics. 

you both take a bow, turn to face each other, and then the music starts. 

and damn is it impressive. 

it starts off measured, in tandem with the music. but slowly, slowly, it picks up until you’re both jumping and spinning and doing all these other incredible moves and everything is synchronized together. 

gojo kicks at itadori’s foot, shaking his daze from the incredible show. 

“match is gonna start soon, gotta get you guys into your skates.” 

itadori blinks once. twice. then nods. he forgot entirely about their own thing. itadori spares a glance to megumi, who’s still completely entranced by your performance. he nudges his friend, who almost recoils at being caught watching so intently. 

“what?” he grinds out, trying to hide the blush forming on his cheeks. 

“our match.” itadori says dumbly, “gotta go.” 

megumi’s eyes flicker from the rink, then back to his friend, before he stands and walks briskly past the two of them without another word. the remaining pairs of eyes meet, before the contact is broken as itadori stands to get his own skates on. 

⠀ ༝ ༝

it’s kind of surprising how many bruises one person can acquire in such a short period of time. 

getting absolutely bodied time and time again isn’t something they’re unused to, but damn. what do these guys eat for breakfast? they’ve managed to keep the score even the entire game, and if megumi gets slammed into the side panels one more time, he thinks he might fucking snap. 

they aren’t quitters, though. the whole team knows that, and they all know that they’ll never hear the end of it from gojo if they lose after being so close to winning. 

it’s interesting to watch from the stand, you note yourself; now in sweats and a hoodie instead of the sparkly skating outfit. maki sits beside you silently taking in each hit your home team takes against the see-through panels. you have the gist down of the game; get the puck into the enemy's goal, but the rest isn’t really your forte. getting smacked around by guys bigger than you isn’t the ideal way to spend your time. 

the game reaches its end with your brother’s team just barely winning. a close call, but you can tell they’re excited nonetheless - skating off the ice with high-fives and chest bumps despite their surely aching muscles. you tap maki’s arm, signaling that you were leaving; plans to meet with your brother after their match pre-made. 

you wait outside of the locker room, thinking back on your performance and the things you should practice; certain jumps for the next competition, possible new routines and the like. one by one, the team files out the door, still as cheery as when they got off the ice. gojo pushes past his players with a laugh as he exits, ducking and narrowly avoiding a kneepad to the head. his shoes aren’t even tied, tripping over his own feet and running straight into you. 

he takes you down in one swoop, grimacing at the impact before realizing you didn’t hit your head. thankfully. 

“god satoru, what’s your problem?”

“sorry!” he hurries out, “megumi was trying to-” 

“you idiot-!” 

you grin at their antics, despite having practically all the air knocked from your lungs. gojo moves to help you stand, shoving you forward in front of your dear friend megumi, who does a double-take at your brother using you as a shield. 

megumi opens his mouth to say something, probably a snide comment to gojo, before thinking better of it and settling on a glare directed at your brother. another player stumbles out the door, grabbing at megumi’s shoulder to pull him back. 

“woah, fushi, let’s take a breather!” 

you can’t help the snort that escapes you, covering your mouth while both pairs of eyes snap to you. 

“‘fushi’?” you giggle out, “didn’t know you had other nicknames, ‘gumi.” 

he flushes, ears tinting red while glaring daggers at the imbecile who dared to call him something so ridiculous. 

“only idiots call me that.” 

itadori finally looks at you instead of his friend, really taking a look at you and damn. you’re nothing like he expected, though he doesn’t even know what he expected. 

you’re the one megumi is head over heels for, and he can really see why. charming in every way it counts, with a bright smile that has him looking away to evade the blush wanting to seep its way onto his cheeks. 

what an odd turn of events. 

⠀ ༝ ༝

somehow, the four of you end up at your apartment; gojo insisting on buying dinner despite everyone trying to pitch in. 

“think of it as a congrats for a well played game - and well performed dance.” he says with a wave of his hand and a grin. not one of you has the energy to argue, so you watch as he leaves the apartment to pick up the take-out. 

megumi and itadori make themselves comfortable on your couch while you make drinks for everyone. tea you’d settled, the promise of it helping their achy muscles on the tip of your tongue as you bring them their cups. 

you find yourself in the loveseat across from them, legs tucked under you while you hold the warm cup close to you, “so, when did you guys meet? it’s rare to meet a friend of ‘gumi’s who hasn’t jumped ship within a month of knowing him.” 

megumi glares at the nickname, transferring it to itadori as he snickers. 

“i knew him in highschool, but we didn’t really talk ‘til i joined the team like ten . . . months ago?” he smiles as he answers, knocking shoulders with his friend, before his brows furrow, “come to think of it, gojo was coaching the school’s team then before he transferred to this one.” 

an unasked question sits on his tongue, head tilting slightly when you smile, “i went to a different high school, didn’t want to be known as the coaches sibling,” you explain with a giggle, “got accepted to a private school with a focus on figure skating.” 

“have you done figure skating long?” itadori sets his cup down and leans back against the couch. 

“pretty much my whole life, since i was like nine. it’s how i met maki , actually.” you smile fondly at the thought of your friend, gaze softening, and the shift in your demeanor isn’t missed by the two, who share a look. 

“are you guys . . . ?” itadori starts, only to be nudged by megumi who gives him a glare. don’t ask. don’t tell. 

your eyebrows raise at the question before you laugh, having to set down your own cup of tea in order to not spill it all over yourself, “dating? no, god no. she’s been pining after yuuta for the last two years-” you say before you can stop yourself. itadori’s face matches your previously surprised one, brows almost reaching his hairline. their yuuta? number one goalie and worst person at flirting? that yuuta? 

“don’t um. . . tell yuuta. or anyone.” 

megumi visibly relaxes at hearing there’s no secret relationship between the two of you, side eyeing itadori. itadori, who hums, “well does yuuta. . . ya know, like her back?” 

you mull over the question before shrugging, “maybe? i don’t really know him super well, but when we do talk, he blushes when her name is mentioned and always speaks so highly of her. i think he doesn’t realize maki feels the same, so they both just keep it to themselves.” 

“yuuta wouldn’t know someone had a crush on him if it hit him in the face.” megumi grumbles, earning a giggle from you. 

“he seems like the type.”  

megumi snorts, eyes narrowing, “yeah, like you’re any better. remember when that kid left a letter in your locker to meet ‘em at the cafe near your school and you made me go with you? poor kid looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole afterwards.” 

your face warms as you rush to sit up straighter, waving your hands, “no, oh my god, don’t remind me!” you squeak out, “that was so embarrassing! he told his friends and i never got another confession letter after that!” 

“maybe you shouldn’t bring people with you to deny your dumb confessions,” megumi argues with no malice, grinning at your dismay. 

you continue to bicker back and forth between each other, reminiscing on the past and adding teasing remarks to each memory. through it all, itadori watches from the sidelines, a grin on his face. 

it’s cute, almost, seeing megumi speak to someone who isn’t a teammate or a rival or a coach or a fan or whatever and there be nothing but warmth in his tone. it’s sweet and refreshing and feels like a breath of fresh air after a long hockey game that’s kept them on the brink of failing and yet . . . 

his chest aches. 

there’s a burn somewhere deep down that has him clenching his jaw and looking down to his lap when you laugh loudly at a joke megumi makes. he feels almost like he doesn’t belong here, in the space with the two of you. it’s too intimate, despite you sitting several feet apart. he’s an intruder on this precious moment that he helped megumi prepare for. all for someone he could have never known he’d want just as much. 

“is there a bathroom?” itadori asks when your laughter dies down to a small fit of giggles, hand covering your mouth to hide your smile. 

“yeah, of course!” you scramble to get up, “let me show you, the lock is kinda finicky sometimes.”

you lead the way and itadori is left behind in the scent of fresh linen and lavender and everything that can only be described as you, and when you explain with a smile on your face how to twist the knob while locking it to make sure it clicks in place, itadori feels the burn in his chest swirl down deep into his gut until it settles there heavily. 

he sits in the bathroom for a little longer than necessary after you leave him alone. 

⠀ ༝ ༝

the ride back to their apartment is silent, stomachs full and tired beyond anyone's belief from their game. 

itadori stares solemnly out the window, noting how it’s almost dramatic the way raindrops roll down the glass, how the clouds make the night sky look a hundred times inkier than it naturally is. 

it’s megumi who breaks the silence, clearing his throat before he speaks, “do you um . . . what . . . what’s the verdict?” 

if itadori could see his friend in the dark, he’d be able to make out the way his cheeks light up pink, unable to to return a glance and gripping the steering wheel unnecessarily tight. 

“for?” he prompts, though he’s sure he knows where this conversation is headed. 

“them.” megumi clarifies ominously, “do you think i might have a chance or whatever.” his voice trails off. 

the sinking feeling returns in the pit of his stomach, and itadori fights to push it down. 

“yeah,” he answers honestly, “they’re sweet on you, talk to you in a different way than everyone else.” 

megumi’s breath stutters at his friend's confession, and itadori has half a mind to remind him to breathe before he kills the both of them; one death due to asphyxiation, the other in a fiery crash. 

“cool.” he says after a moment, “cool, cool, cool.” 

“i’ll help you.” itadori decides to settle with as they pull into the parking lot, “i’ll get the rundown for how they feel and stuff - like a secret wingman.” he sends megumi a toothy grin, and megumi finds himself sending a smile back, albeit small compared to the shining of itadori’s pearly whites. 

and as they carry their hockey gear up two flights of stairs, itadori wonders for a second if his reasoning is all-that innocent. he’s sure, no, positive he wants to help his friend get the person of his dreams. but as he lays in bed, the sinking feeling returns with a dull ache below his gut, and he fears the implication. 

⠀ ༝ ༝

you’re so much easier to talk to than he realized. 

conversation flows so freely from you, and itadori eats up each word that passes your lips without hesitation, eager to keep the flux constant and take everything you have to say with greed. 

he commits each detail to memory with the intention to relay every bit of information you offer to megumi when the two of them are in the safe confines of their home. 

just last week, he’d managed to squeeze a blush out of you as you admitted megumi was your first kiss (a dare, he learned, in middle school when a game of truth or dare threw the two of you into something much more intimate than either you would have ever thought). and tonight, through drunken giggles, celebrating in your apartment after a well-earned win, you delve into the fact that megumi has been your only kiss. almost a decade since, and he’s the only person your lips have touched. 

itadori was practically vibrating as he tells megumi, so very certain of one reason as to why that could be. 

“they totally have the hots for you.” itadori manages to slur out, one too many wine coolers consumed when the two of you tried to out-drink each other. 

megumi grunts, half-heartedly pushing at itadori’s shoulders to get him to pass the threshold of their door, “you think so?” 

“know so.” the reply is almost instant, “you should hear the way they talk ‘bout ya, so sweet nd pretty nd soft.” he grins, “s’cute.” 

megumi freezes behind him, pausing his efforts to get him inside for only a second before he’s back to it, “right.” 

megumi fushiguro may be many things. awkward, aggressive, easily annoyed, but he’s not stupid. 

he sees the way itadori looks at you. sees how his eyes light up in a way that's all-too familiar, and the thought of itadori, his best friend, having a crush on you twists his stomach into intangible knots. 

he pushes the possibility away as he eases his friend into bed, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face when he looks at his phone as he tucks himself away into his room. 

      The Annoying Gojo     txt me ypu made it homw safe!!

he can overlook the misspells, just this once, warmth setting in his chest at your concern. 

     gumi <3       Made it home safe. Drink some water.

you smile stupidly as your eyes dance across your screen, shoving your phone into gojo’s face. 

“look, look, look!” gojo has to grab your wrist and force you to steady yourself, squinting to read. 

“. . . okay?” 

you press the phone closer to his eyes as if that could make him understand clearer what you want him to understand, “he cares, 'toru! ‘gumi cares ‘bout me.” 

he already knows, if the way he acts around you is anything to go by. still, gojo rolls his eyes and pushes your phone away, “don’t go distracting one of my best players now, or you’ll be banned from coming to games.” 

you pout, pulling your phone to your chest protectively, mumbling something about that not being fair and him being so mean for even suggesting the thought. 

still, as gojo leads you to bed, he wonders for a second what truly could be going on in his prodigies mind when it comes to you. you’d been quick friends since gojo practically took megumi in to raise him, much to the boy’s dismay at the time, and he’s watched from the sidelines as the two of you blossomed into incredible young adults. 

since the ripe age of eight, you’d pined for him and since he was seventeen, megumi had eyed you with that puppy-dog gaze, and neither of you seemed to notice it from the other. 

⠀ ༝ ༝

you and maki won your competition. you qualify for nationals. the excitement is palpable, and as you exit the locker room, maki in tow behind you, it’s megumi’s arms you jump into excitedly (completely ignoring your brother and the whines he gives when you don’t immediately accept the flowers he’s brought for you). when you finally separate to acknowledge the rest of the group, itadori finds it impossible to tear his gaze from the blush on your cheeks. 

you hug him, too, and finish with your brother, who picks you up and spins you for your well-earned win. your laughter is infectious, bubbling something warm in his chest that has him smiling too while a now dating yuuta and maki say their goodbyes - hands held together and matching blushes on their cheeks in their retreat. 

and of course to celebrate, there’s drinking. 

after a nice dinner (that gojo paid for), the four of you settle with your liquor (that gojo bought) in your apartment. you’re already pretty tipsy by the time you settle on the couch beside megumi, itadori on the loveseat across from you. a giggle passes your lips as gojo leaves the apartment on the phone, saying something about business, reminded easily of the first time the three of you had been left in your home together. 

“‘gumi, ‘gumi, you’re coming to my finals right?” you ask, disregarding the blush that decorates his cheeks as you practically stick to his side. megumi’s eyes meet itadori’s for help, and the latter only shrugs while giving him a thumbs up. he can handle this. 

itadori excuses himself to the bathroom. 

and as he hears your giggle drifting through the apartment, saccharine sweet and not for him, he finds himself closing the door with a little more force than necessary. it’s then that itadori realizes how unfair life can be. when he looks at himself in the mirror, hands braced against the granite counter, he wonders if things could’ve been different. 

if he had met you sooner, would things be different? 

he’s reminded how crudely unfair it is that you were introduced to him so late in life. he's known gojo since high school, but you've known megumi since you were six - and some part of him comes to the conclusion that you’ve probably loved him since then, too. 

when he comes out of the bathroom, you’re tucked safely into megumi’s side, with him whispering things only you could hear, and itadori feels that bitter feelings returning without warning as he makes himself another drink. it’s wrong, he knows, to allow it to settle in a pit, but he knows he never really had a shot to begin with.

not when he can see you giving megumi one of those soft smiles only reserved for him from his spot in the kitchen. not when megumi returns it with his own gentleness that comes by cupping your cheek, by pressing the tenderest of kisses to your lips.

[blarefordaglare]

this post used to be linked universe memes but because I don’t know where I got it from and want to give credit from now on instead I’ll just put a cr*cliff I made

TW: None, unless tying people to chairs is considered a crime?

“I’m not cooking tonight.” The familiar voice of the champion rang through the camp, “I swear if I cook fish one more night in a row I will turn into a cod.”

Normally, a refusal to cook, from the designated cook, would send alarm bells through the chain. But he had a point. This would mark the 17th night they ate fish (Yay, thanks Wind), and honestly, everyone was getting sick of it, even the sailor himself. 

“Ho-Kay then, so what are we going to eat?”

“Have you guys been to a restaurant before?” 

…

This is when chaos ensues.

“Okay, so you are a party of nine?” A waitress stood in front of the chain. 9 heroes, in probably the worst attire to wear for a fancy restaurant, standing right before her.

Time quickly stepped in, “Yes, nine. Five adults and four children.” That earned him a very aggressive poke on the shoulder.

“Old man, I’m over one hundred years old, I think a hundred and seventeen is over eighteen years of age.” 

“Oh hush you, this bill is already gonna be expensive, plus judging by how you literally ATE a rock the other day, I think we can subtract a century.” 

“Just shut up you both. I am famished.” The pink haired boy let out a dramatic sigh. He just wanted his food.

“Drama Queen.”

All settled around a booth, at the ripe time of 19:17, the boys and men were ready to eat most definitely. 

“Sailor, don’t fill up on bread.” The captain mentioned, slyly moving the bread basket away from the teenager. 

“Oh-ohm-ohn, Imf a owin oy!” The sailor retaliated (or so that’s what it sounded like anyway, you can’t really tell when someone’s mouth is full.)

“Um, ma’am? I think we’re ready to order.” Twilight spoke up. He was stuck between Legend and Warriors, making sure that they don’t beat each other up. Not sure how he got into the beautiful position of family therapist, but it’s whatever.

“Time?”

“Yes Sky?”

“What’s a medium rare?”

“Oh it’s when the meat is only partially cooked!”

“Okay, miss? May I please have a medium rare chicken?” The innocent boy asked. Legend stifled a laugh, and Hyrule looked a little bit shocked.

“Um… I’ll see what I can do, and you sir?”

“I’ll take… actually I’m full!” Wind replied. He could have sworn he heard someone mumble ‘called it.’ But didn’t say anything.

“Oh okay, what about you?” She looked over at Four, who looked deep in thought.

“I’ll have the stuffed bell peppers, but WHATEVER YOU DO… do not use the green bell peppers… or someone is going to get hurt.” Maybe threatening wasn’t the best idea, but then again it’s also a complete valid reason if you are completely afraid of green bell peppers… according to Four and only Four.

“Mhm… got it? And you?”

“Okay lady, listen up. I would like some pizza, but without the crust, and hold off on the cheese.” Legend earned himself a flick from Twilight, “…Please.”

“So… just sauce?”

“Whatever you call it.”

“May I please have the fried wild greens?” Twilight *politely* asked.

“Of course! What about you?” Her eyes fell on Warriors. 

“Do you have any dates?”

“No sir, this is a restaurant.”

“Well, would you like to orange a date?” The waitress’s cheeks flushed, before she quickly moved on to the next Link. 

“Quick question, is the water that you have drinkable?” Hyrule asked, eying his glass. The waitress slowly nodded her head in confusion. “Alright, then I’ll eat a red potion.”

“I’m just going to completely ignore that request, as I have no idea what a red potion is.”

“I’ll have the steak, if it’s no trouble.” Time politely requested. Aside from Twilight, he was basically the only one with a sensible dish. 

“Of course and what about… you?” The waitress looked down to where wild was supposed to be sitting, but somehow he was not there.

“Okay who kidnapped our archer?” Legend bluntly asked. 

“Give me a minute,” Time stood up, “I know where he is.”

…

“Wild!”

“Okay, and then you see this is how you fry-“

“WILD!”

The champion almost dropped the pan from the harshness of the old man’s voice, “What?!”

“Tell me why you are in the kitchen that says EMPLOYEES ONLY??”

“Because! They weren’t cooking it right. I’m teaching them.”

“Champion, tying people to chairs and forcing them to watch you cook isn’t ‘teaching’.”

“Oops”

“What are you making anyway?”

“Fish.”

[chaossmith2]

“Tell me about a time you helped a customer with [specific scenario]!” Is my achilles heel interview question because I will always—without fail— wipe my memory clean of every customer interaction I had during a shift the literal millisecond I clock off in order to keep my sanity in tact and have in fact been doing this since my very first job at the ripe age of seventeen