Is there any more jjk fics coming? If yes what are they..a sneak peak??đđđđI loved the geto fic!!
there's actually two gojo fics that have been under construction for awhile now !! but i want to bring my attention to only one of them since they may be mini-series or just a really long one-shot.
one is a superhero!gojo x unlucky!reader set in a college au, in which gojo lives a double life balancing both being a student and a hero. the fun part about it is that reader doesn't know his true identity in either cases! they think hero!gojo and student!gojo are two separate people hehe. i've also had this in my drafts for quite a while but i know it has potential.
hereâs a preview ⤾ď¸
the other is a similar concept in which the reader doesn't know his identity, but it's more inspired by the film roman holiday. this is more runaway prince!gojo x townie!reader. gojo is a famous prince visiting a small oceanside town, but no one has ever seen his face that's usually hidden behind a veil, adding this mysterious persona around him. in a desperate attempt to be free for a few days, he parades this town without it while under a false identity who he introduces himself to reader with, who takes him on an escapade around town.
preview ⤾ď¸
i'm leaning a little towards the second plot, since that'll be shorter and sweeter than the former, but i'm curious to see what you guys would generally prefer. truth be told, i won't be totally swayed by an audience's general preference, but it'll definitely help to provide some encouragement knowing that people may be interested in either or!
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PLEASEEEEEE CONTINUE THAT TRIGUN ROYALTY AU IâM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH FOR KNIVES ITS BEEN ALMOST A YEAR
sweet nonnie i would absolute love to, but writing for a franchise that doesn't really pique your interest is quite difficult T_T which is generally a little upsetting to me too because i had basically both plot lines for each boys lined up already
i'm curious that it may propose a similar situation to jjk s2, in which my interest and writing for it will spike once again if the franchise continues. there are confirmations for tristamp s2, so if by then, people are still miraculously interested in it, i may just continue it!
or i could also just rewatch both shows and continue where i left off in the manga lololol
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I AM ABSOLUTELY EFFING SCREECHING I MEAN I AM HOLLERING GIRL PLEASE đ I MF LOVE YOU I CANNOT STOP READING YOUR MIGUEL FIC SINGLE FATHER OGMBEGAHDVA PLEASE ETAG ME IN EVERYTHING YOU POST EVEN IF IT IS JUST A PSA THAT YOU TOOK A SHIT I AM SSOOOO IN LOVE WITH YOU AND YOUR MIND I BINGE READ I WILL BE POLITELY STALKING YOUR PAGE WITH RESPECT BC WTH YOURE LITERALLY â¨HERâ¨
im so upset at myself for not noticing this dm earlier bc i genuinely cant stop GIGGLINFSGJSDF PLEEASSEEEE
so sorry for answering this quite late but THANK YOU!!!!!! it truly does mean the world that there are people out there that enjoy my writing!!!!! genuinely makes me so elated receiving dms and comments like these <33
that being said, i had always had the idea of a general taglist in mind, and i'd love to know if there would be people interested in one? i think it's safe to assume i will be branching out to other franchises, so there may be taglists for each fandom i write for, or there could also be a general taglist for, like what nonnie said, everything i write for
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and when you catch me ; kaeya alberich
content tags/warnings ; roommate!kaeya x reader, gn!reader, no pronouns used, fluff, slight angst if you squint, modern au, slight fanon characterization of kaeya sry lolol
word count ; 2.4k
now playing ; plot twist - niki
Before you came, Kaeya used to spend his mornings in complete silence. Itâd only be broken by the occasional slurps of coffee and the creak of the hardwood floors when heâd saunter across what used to be a lone apartment.Â
Before you came, Kaeya used to spend his Fridays and weekends going to bars and flirting with anyone his sparkling eye catches on. Heâd have an expensive whiskey in hand, seductively drinking from it with a smirk as heâd never break eye contact with the person he was conversing with, their flusteredness going very much noticed.Â
Before you came, Kaeya used to order takeout to suffice for dinner, spending more money on a single meal than proper groceries. Heâd pile up the single-use plastic containers and cutlery in the garbage, going faster than them than a box of cigarettes.Â
Before you came, Kaeya used to go out on the balcony and fill the night air with the smell of tobacco pushing out through his nose and lips. Heâd feel the sting of the nicotine in his lungs, lavishing in its pain masochistically at the stroke of midnight when sleepless nights took over.
Kaeyaâs heart was free and unbound. He was an eligible bachelor with no intention of caging himself in a relationship despite the many sweethearts that desired to capture his heart for themselves. He loved the freedom given to him by being single and loose, with no one to boss him around or tell him the correct direction of life. There was no one to take away his third glass of wine for the night, no one to cook him homemade meals, no one to tell him off for smoking nearly a pack of Marlboro in a single sitting. There was no one to sit down with him on a Friday night to watch a 1990âs romcom with cheap popcorn, there was no one to quietly sing out classic jazz in the morning dawn, there was no one.
Until you came.Â
When you came into Kaeyaâs life, you came into it by accident. He was working with you in a group project and he found you both cooperative to work with and easy to talk to and throughout the period, he was able to genuinely call you a friend. You wouldâve been a perfect target to seduce if it weren't for the fact that he would routinely see you for the next month or so until the project was finished, meaning an awkwardness that was waiting to blossom would have to come sooner or later if he did take initiative. You began ending up sharing Kaeyaâs simple two-bedroom-one-bathroom apartment when you accidentally slipped out one day whilst working with him that your landlord was going to raise your rent by a hefty amount through a soft laugh.Â
Kaeya had looked at you almost amazinglyâalmost surprised at how you were so calm. He remembers that you went straight back to your laptop after mentioning the feat before he had broken the silence with the simple phrase he didnât know would change everything.
âDo you want to move in with me, instead?â
Honestly, he shouldâve known better. Who asks a person he had known for only three and a half weeks to move in with them? But you were out on a whim, and though you wouldâve never admitted it, you needed the help. As if a broke grad student like you could afford a shoebox apartment whose rent was twice the amount of Kaeyaâs.
It had taken him a good hour of convincing you to move in with him, telling you that his apartment was larger than life and most certainly needed more people to fill up the void. You were only half-convinced afterwards, but he supposes the glimmer in your eye when you spotted the untouched reading nook with a gaping window sill staring out of the city was the kicker for you to move in.Â
It was a quick moveâyour apartment was so small you were able to move everything you owned into only one trip. Kaeya had purchased most things like cups or bowls in doubles or even triples, so there wasnât even a need to get more cutlery or furniture. He had always felt like his apartment was meant to be shared considering the large amount of empty space heâd often wander around or how much heâd contemplated actually needing six bowls in the cabinet.Â
He wasnât accustomed to having to do more batches of laundry on the weekends at firstânor was he accustomed to coming home with the TV on, having the kitchen smell faintly of basil, marinara sauce, and meatballs. The evidence that someone else was home besides him didnât grow on him so quickly. It made him uncomfortable for a bit, even, knowing his personal space was now overlapping with anotherâs.
But as the weeks went on, as the months went on, he began to grow used to the piling dishes in the sink from the night before. He began being used to the hamper being half full with the week only being a third done. He began to smell the aroma in the air in the evening, trying to guess what you had cooked prior and searching if you saved him some.Â
And those silly little habits became routine as you slowly attached yourself to his life without either of you realizing it.Â
Kaeya supposes that those little things that you did were the very things that made him lose himself in the one thing he thought he would never get tangled in.Â
And damn, did he despise it.
To have someone pay this much attention to him without the feeling of desire and lust is something all too foreign to the libertine. The way you noticed his little things made his heart sting. You had memorized his coffee routine after the first week and never went a day without it having been prepared and ready for him in the mornings. You noticed how he always sets the TV volume at either an even number or at a multiple of five and never changed it to anything else. You noticed how heâd fidget in a sort of nervousnessâwhether that be picking at his fingernails or toying with the cuff of his sleevesâwhen he would ask you if you made him something alongside your dinner. And the answer was always.Â
Kaeya had eaten alone by himself ever since he blossomed into his teenage years. Adelinde, in the old family mansion he used to live in, was his only company, but even so, she would merely stand idly a few feet away from him as she waited for him to finish his supper only to clean up after him. The conversations rarely lasted a minute between the two anyway.
It traveled to adulthood, eating alone. The company that tagged along with him whenever heâd eat out with friends made him uneasyâtalking while eating made him hasty. So Kaeya ended up just skipping friend dinners altogether and would catch up for drinks at a later time.Â
But when you had patted the chair next to you on the kitchen island the evening you moved in, that uncomfortability he held so strongly had chipped away ever so slowly with every dinner you had with him.Â
Kaeya would find it strange, at first. How do people talk whilst eating without being gross and spitting out food? How do people manage to hold conversations when one should merely focus on finishing their meal? He didnât understand how you had so much to talk about in a single slice of time with him and still manage to enjoy the meal you ate. That sort of multitasking didnât exist within him.Â
But he slowly realized that it wasnât the food that connected people as they ate together.Â
It was the time spent with each other. Food just happened to always be in the foreground.Â
He didnât even realize he began looking forward to those dinners with you until he had complained you ate dinner without him at that singular time when you nonchalantly mentioned the food was in the fridge before he forced you to eat a second dinner with him or else he wouldnât let you go to bed.Â
âKae, Iâm fullââ
âDonât care,â he huffed, pushing your stiff form from the living room to the kitchen, âWeâve always eaten together and thatâs how itâll always be.â
âJust get the food from the fridge and eat it in the living room!â you exasperated.
âNo, it doesnât feel right,â he insisted and plopped your pouting form into your usual seat near the island. âWeâre eating together and thatâs final.â
But it wasnât when you made that little comment that one moonlit evening that you had pulled him into a whirlpool of strange feelings without being conscious of it.Â
There was a time that Kaeya didnât have work while you did, and he ended up sparing some of that time attempting to learn a recipe as a thank you for cooking him lovely homemade meals (it didnât even turn out half bad despite being a menace in the kitchen when he attempted to help you!). Being the extra person he was, he had covered the island with a satin tablecloth and had picked up a neat flower arrangement from the florist down the street to plop into the vase gifted to him by the elderly landlady that claimed he should one day be her son-in-law.Â
The candelabra that held up three candlesticks was perhaps a little too much, he had thought seconds before you had walked through the door. By then, it was too late to remove or add any little details since upon entering your shared home, you had commented on the sweet aroma that wafted the air from the oven, not knowing that it had just finished up baking a simple lava cake.Â
It was only after you had finished the three-course meal that he prepared that Kaeya realized what he had prepared for you unintentionally.Â
âItâs almost like weâre on a date!â you had laughed lightly.
Kaeya paused as your giggles died down, staring at you almost incredulously, trying to take in what you just said without thought. âH-huh?â
âI mean,â you cleared your throat with the prepared wine and gestured to the preparations. âLook at this. The flowers, the candles, the moonlight. You canât tell me this doesnât give â dinner dateâ vibes.âÂ
He could only stare at your blurring figure for a second or so before muttering, âYeah⌠I guess it is like a dateâŚâ
That pivoting point was what made Kaeya start noticing the little details adorning your being. How you always reached for a specific cup for tea, what you liked to wear according to your wardrobe, those sort of little petals of yourself that slowly fell into his palms began to decor him in your little habits.Â
And it was sort of comforting.Â
Heâd never admit to falling in love. Oh, no, that wasnât the case at all with him. His little gifts to you and acts of servitude and occasional warm touches to you were not droplets of love⌠they were mere⌠favorited affection⌠as Kaeya would nickname it.Â
But love?Â
Absolutely not. Thatâs too much of a title.
Him noting to get you that ivory ivy-patterned dress once his pay cheque came while you both window-shopped in autumn was not love. Nor was idly wrapping himself around you and resting his chin on your forehead as you cooked, breathing in your scent and feeling the softness of your skin. Neither was carrying you to bed after falling asleep mid-movie and tucking you in before counting your breaths as he laid his head next to yours. And donât get started on how he would get too worried if you still werenât through the door at the designated time you said youâd be home by to the point where he considered calling the authorities (only for you to graze in three minutes later), because that was just him worrying about your safety like any other ordinary roommate. Love was not embracing himself in your warmth during the coldest of nights in your room, under your comforter. It wasnât listening and singing to the songs you liked, and it most certainly was not making sure you both had time for an âoutingâ with each other every Saturday of each week.
Love isnât wrapping you up in his scarf immediately when you give the smallest sneeze as a chill passes by. Love isnât excusing himself early with an outing with friends when you text him if you want to catch up on the show you were watching together. Love isnât contemplating whether the title of calling you his âloverâ would suit you, nor were the imaginations of holding your face in his hands with his lips tenderly kissing yours as the flurrying feeling inside him melds together into a pool of amorous yearning for you and you only.Â
Love doesnât keep up late at night a room away from you, wondering if you thought of him as much as he thought of you that day. Love doesnât make him weak in the knees when you gleam a glorious smile at him at peak happinessâthe type of smile where your cheeks hurt a little bit and your eyes crinkle so much, the whites arenât visible anymore. Love doesnât make him stare at your ring finger, wondering what size it is and how a jeweled band would look around it.
Love doesnât make him do any of those things.Â
Kaeya Alberich does not love you in that sense.
He is one hundred percent sure of that.Â
âŚ
âKaeya!â you call from the front door, poking your head in with a concerned look on your face. âYou said you were ready? Our brunch reservation isnât gonna eat itselfâyou know how busy it gets on Saturdays.âÂ
Swallowing thickly, Kaeya shoves his hand inside his coat pocket smoothly. âIâm coming, I just need to find my wallet,â he lies nonchalantly, âStart the car, Iâll be down in a few.âÂ
You eye his right hand suspiciously for a moment. âAlrightâŚâ you murmur with a raised brow. âDonât take too long though, Iâm getting hungry!âÂ
With a quick creak of the door and the snapping of a lock, Kaeya lets out a tense breath before pulling his hand out. Opening the modest white velvet box, he glides his thumb on the delicate sapphire promise ring, making sure itâs free of any marks and spare dust before closing the box and tucking it safely into his pocket again.Â
With another sharp breath and a quick fix of his hair, he whisks himself out to face what could be the most important day of his life.Â
⌠or maybe heâs ninety-nine percent sure.Â
a/n ; this was an old work i had totally forgotten about until i was cleaning up my drive and decided to post merely because i thought there were some tidbits that deserved their spotlight. the original title was actually "and when i catch you", but since it centers kaeya's perspective, i tweaked it a little bit to make it more fitting :>
anyways, thanks for reading as always!! your time, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated and never unnoticed <3
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namnami
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hihi i was scrolling thru pinterest per usual and i thought iâd let you guys peer into some male pieces i imagine fashion designer!geto would create!!
so i imagine him sort of bumbling around with a plethora of styles, but i'm settling on this sort of vetements x vivienne westwood x balmain fusionâone that mixes opulence and exhibition all into one into a smooth blend of things. one that exemplifies this sort of punk regality almost, ironic as it is, but there's just something so classy, yet revolutionary about his designs.
my personal thought is his mixing of contrasts is probably why he's so renowned in the modern day fashion industry, since to have your styleâone that is defined by âyouâ and only âyouâ almost be undefinable is a feat rarely anyone can accomplish nowadays. somehow he did it though!!!
as ordered: ann deulemeester (fall 2018 menswear collection), vetements (spring 2022 menswear collection), yohji yamamoto (spring 2023 collection), jun takahashi - undercover (fall-winter 2020 paris collection), balmain (fall 2024 menswear collection)
heavy emphasis on the undercover collection, since jun takahashi's pieces are the main inspiration behind fashion designer!geto as a whole
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sukuita college boys ^w^ what are they studying? are they studying at all...
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cw: gn!reader, no pronouns used, some verbal fighting (not extreme), i have a habit of making suguru be an asshole haha
thinking about bandmate!suguru who makes u irritated just by looking at him... the snarky rhythm guitarist who narrows his eyes at your presence when you join the club via shoko, your childhood friend. satoru is delighted to meet you, exclaiming that the many designs that adorned your bass told him all he needed to know about you. iori is thankful that thereâs another girl in the band, comparing you to a springâs breath of fresh air amidst the stench of two specific men.
but suguru feels as if thereâs something wrong about you⌠something that doesnât fit into the usual dynamicâand he doesnât do a good job of hiding it. heâll ask aloud via practice whether bass is that important to the band, or that satoru is a jack of all trades! why couldnât he do it? the best heâll do is feign nicety and say the most passive aggressive things (âyeah we could do that, but this is better, yâknow?â). his insults are soft-spoken, but theyâre just as icy and if not, more sharp tongued than if he was yelling. donât make a mistake, because his ears are just as sharp as his eyes and heâll cut the song short if you play a wrong note or if you play it too fast. heâll spend more time lecturing you about the importance of perfection rather than actually correcting your mistake and he doesnât notice that it irritates not only you, but satoru, shoko, and iori as well.
you were fine with it for the first few weeks, obviously not wanting to get on the rest of the bandâs bad side, but it came to a point where you refused to be a doormat and started retaliating with equal fervor. suguru is taken aback the first time you spit his own fire in his face, but ever since then, itâs almost like a game of catch between you two every practice. satoru had to pick you up by the scruff like a kitten one time to stop you from pouncing on suguru after he called you a poser.
itâs become like breathing at this pointâsuguru says something to tick you off and in a flash of a second, you snap back. the other three have long tried to help you both, sighing and shaking their head every time suguru smirk grows wider as your insults grow exponentially. heâs fueling his own fire and god forbid they put it out.
it comes to a boiling point, eventually. he shouldâve seen it comingâall of them should. perhaps it was the way satoru, shoko, and iori automatically looked up to see your reaction the moment suguru finished words that slowly burned into your flesh, making you all halt your practicing.
âi donât even know why you joined. youâre not that good, anyways.â
suguru himself had to take a moment to process what he had said, awaiting your reaction from your frozen self with not even your fingertips moving.
the entirety of the garage goes still, and before shoko snaps at him to apologize, he scoffs at your silence and lightly pushes your shoulder to make you face him. âyo, did you hear what i said?â
you donât respond, but instead, you start to pack up your bass and other arrays silently. the other three dread whatâs about to happen in the next few seconds, and look to suguru to send him a message but he sighs and shakes his head, something regarding you being deaf slipping his tongue.
the clicks of the clasps on your case are the only things that echo through the garage. your grip on your amp tightens and despite battle of the bands coming up in less than three weeks, you turn your head to the rest of them, making sure to properly make eye contact with a familiar purple hue, you mutter,
âfind another bassist. i quit.â
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vogue â ă boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader ă
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 thisâsee if you can spot them! also the censored is spoilers so until then, hehe.
now playing ; seven days in sunny june - jamiroquai
Itâd 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 fashionâan England-Japanese punk fusion of an ashen and tattered kasaya layered under the contrasting statement piece: the earth-toned gojĹu-gesa splattered with weaves of goldâand 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 heâd 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.Â
It didnât 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.Â
Whether it was direct or indirect, Geto had impacted the industry in all sorts of ways. Be it blossoming an upcoming supermodelâs name or setting new fashion trends, everything could essentially be traced to Geto Suguru.Â
So itâs understandable that many had called you a foolâa dimwit, evenâfor 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.Â
Whatever gave you more money, youâd take. Survival of the fittest, was this world not?
âDo not tell me youâre going to your interview at Kaizen wearing that?â Ino barks out a laugh as he finishes his morning cereal for breakfast, scanning your outfit. âYouâre going to work in a fashion magazine, not some dingy corporate office.â
You sneer at him as you shove on your loafers (donât mind that the leather is peeling slightly on the side). You think that thereâs nothing remotely wrong with your overused gauntlet gray matching set of trousers and blazer with a slightly wrinkled button-up underneath it.Â
âOh, please,â you roll your eyes at your roommate and parttime brother figure. âWhat on earth do you know about fashion?â
âEnough of it to know that outfit is atrocious for that type of environment,â 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. âTrust me, change if you can. Make a statement for âem.â
Ino Takuma sighs and glances at your thick spectacles that youâve worn since early college. âAnd at least change your glasses for your contacts. Heard they donât like those sorta things over there. At least not the prescription kind.â
âCanât find them,â you grunt when you feel the weight of your shoulder bag heave down your body. âIâm already late, anyway,â you sigh, âListen, if I donât come back alive, which I will by the way, then you can dance on my grave all you want.â
âIâm holding you to that,â he chants before he lets out a haughty snicker that gets muffled instantly when you slam the door on him.Â
You throw insults at Ino in your mind, grumbling about how a mere job hopper like him wouldnât even know the speck of fashion, how you refuse to take advice from someone who wears the same thing every day. Thereâs nothing wrong with the gray, you think. Itâs safe and presentable, ordinary and professional, and youâd much rather blend in than stand out as you believe standing out and making yourself known is just a recipe for trouble.Â
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. âJob interview?â he asks.
âOh, um,â you nod your head. âYep! I'm a little nervous, haha.â
âReally?â he says as he gratefully steps on the accelerator a little faster. âBetter get you there quick, then. Would hate to have you late. Where are you planning on working?â
âKaizen Magazine,â you declare confidently, an affirmative look on your face.
âKaizen?â questions the driver slowly as his eyes go to scan your outfit in the mirror again, his brows raised. âAs in the⌠the fashion magazine?âÂ
You nod with visible apprehensiveness. You think that maybe you truly were the only person in the world that didnât know the impact of Kaizen, seeing as how a mere taxi driver even knew about the name and you didnât up until a few weeks ago.Â
âI seeâŚâ 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. âWell then, hereâs your stop.âÂ
You let out a little gasp of excitement. âThank you so much,â you reply as you shove some cash into the slot.Â
âHm, well,â the taxi driver counts the money carefully, barely looking just before you close the door as he mutters, âGood luck, Plain Jane.â
You turn back to the taxi, your hearing a little awry. âSorry, what was that?â
But when you turn back to the yellow cab, all thatâs 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 iconsâthe white screams pristine and perfection to you and its message went very much noticed. You havenât 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 âsummerâ 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.Â
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.
â(Y/N) (L/N)?â
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. âThatâs you I presume?â she asks.
âOh! Uh,â you nod furiously and smooth out your trousers again. âYes⌠yes, thatâs me. I assume youâre Manami Suda? The one I spoke with on the phone?â
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 Inoâs and the taxi driverâs had, further enunciating the message that your attire was rather⌠something.
âI see youâve dressed up for the occasion,â 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 doesnât 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. âThis will be yours if you manage to miraculously pass.âÂ
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 feetâŚ
âAnd uhâŚâ Manami flickers her eyes to you and the details (or lack of, in this case). She mutters under her breath quietly, â... a good wardrobe.â
You turn to her, internally wondering if you were going deaf today. âSorry, can you repeat that?â
âA good, warmâŚâ she squints, obviously finding the right word to keep that ignorant smile on your face. â... welcome to start off his day.â
She succeeds in her task as you merely nod with the same blatant grin attached. âGot it!â
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 Getoâs potential right hand man the moment you signed that employee contract. Â
âThis is Human Resources,â Manami gestures over to a room filled with chattering employees who seemed to be getting their gossip out before their day started. âYouâll contact them if you have anyââ 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.
âEverybody! His morning facial was canceled!â Manami hollers. âGeto is coming inâŚâ her phone pings again with another notification, and you can tell Manamiâs heart instantly drops. âOh God⌠heâs in the lobby! Everybody, places! You,â she snags the sleeve of your blazer and drags you along with her, your clunky loafers nearly tripping you. âCome with me.â
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 youâre so frazzled with trying to remember how to act in front of your future boss that you canât even remember the first thing she told you.Â
âHelp me arrange the drafts of the magazines from most recent to least recent before heââ
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 manâa tall man, around six feet or perhaps even tallerâdressed 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 youâre sure is worth half your rent and a watch plated on his wrist that is well over your life savings. Heâs 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 colorâa sharp dark amethyst that you think could cut through you like crystals.
But heâs almost hauntingly attractingâlike a spirit. Something about him was an enigma and his aura was nothing less than powerful.Â
âGood morning, Geto,â Manami chants with an artificial happiness to her tone.
Geto doesnât 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. Heâs 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.
âHello,â you state with a slight bow. âI-Iâm one of the interviewees for your junior assistant. My name isââ
â(Y/N),â Geto murmurs; his voice is soft and low. Itâs all knowing, with indigo eyes boring into your own. â(L/N) (Y/N), I know. The one that graduated from Jujutsu University recently, yes?âÂ
 Adjusting your glasses to wave away the blurriness, you nod with anticipation. âYes, thatâs me.â
Geto turns back and opens the door, to which he only replies back, âIn my office.â
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.Â
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.Â
âItâs nice to have another Jujutsu alum to join us,â he says. His voice is still the sameâa little baritone with a wisping edge of a whisper to it, but it almost sounds⌠bored. Unamused even. âA bachelors in print journalism⌠same as mine, hm. Tell me, is Professor Tengen still as loose as ever with their practices?â
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. âUm, I assume so. Though I believe theyâre actually retiring this year.â
âGood,â he sighs in what seems to be relief. âShame that the university had wasted time and money by hiring them. Truly, I hope they can find someone much better suited for their position.â
âReally?â 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. âI thought they were a rather alright teacherâŚâ
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.Â
âTengen was merely a sorry excuse for a professor. They were rather nothing but a nanny who gave their students too much leeway,â Geto declares. âThough, Iâll admit, I am pleasantly surprised that you managed to take something out of that class.â
A laugh thatâs just dripping with nothing but nervousness leaks out of your lips. âI suppose I had learned just a few thingsâŚâ
âMmh,â Geto nod nonchalantly, eyes drawing back to the papers. âWell. Letâs start with the basics. Why exactly do you want to work here?âÂ
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 wondersâsomething nice for a change.
âI was inspired by your work.âÂ
âItâs been my dream to work at Kaizen.â
âFashion is my absolute passion.â
âI want toââ
âIâm just in need of a job, really,â you say lifelessly.Â
He goes to raise his head slowly from the packet and turns to you slowly. Geto doesnât say anything, but his facial expressions indicate a blend of confusion and intrigue. A slithering tongue darts out to slick his lips, indicating youâve piqued his interest. âWell, obviously. But why this job specifically? What about it stood out to you?â
You clear your throat. âI had learned recently that Kaizen is a rather prestigious magââ
ââRecentlyâ?â Geto repeats quietly. âYou hadnât heard of us before?âÂ
Lips thinning, you shake your head slightly. His eyes go narrow again to your dread, serpent-like. âMy specialty is more in newspapers rather than magazines, I-Iâm not too knowledgeable in that area.â
Geto goes quiet and the silence makes the air go thick. Itâs then that familiar glint sparkles in his sullen eyes when they go to examine your choice of clothingâit confirms Ino was truly right in the end, as he lets out a smile-less chuckle that doesnât do much to ease your brain.Â
âContinue,â 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. âYou said you only learned about us not too long ago?â
âYes, and I realized that perhaps working here for a while would, at least I hope, grant me access to other media houses,â you explain. Itâs 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. âConnections are quite powerful in this day and age, hahaâŚâ
âI suppose,â Geto mumbles with not much interest in your poor humor. âWhat about me? I do hate bragging but surely, you know about my name or at least my fashion line?â
Your hesitant countenance and silence tells Geto all he needs to know. He thinks that itâs almost some sort of marvel that no one has heard of him or his works before.
He sighs. âDo you have any experience working in any fashion-related activities at least?â
âWell, I once worked in a department store for a few months back in high school,â you say thoughtfully (and ignorantly).
Geto gives you a blank look. His blinks are apathetically slow.
âUm,â you clear your throat again and shake your head, timid. âN-noâŚâ
âThen tell me,â he continues smoothly. âWhy exactly should I hire you? You obviously have no taste in fashion and you hadnât 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?â He air-quotes mockingly, ââneeding a job?ââ
Your throat runs dry and limbs go stiff. A heat rockets to your face when you seemingly canât get any words out to excuse yourself, much too caught up in the same of your ignorance towards Getoâs profession. And thatâs all the response he needs to make his decision.Â
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.Â
Geto gives you the mercy of breaking the thick silence first. âYou may go.âÂ
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.Â
You donât 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.Â
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 Manamiâs voice. Itâs 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.Â
You think itâs some sort of cruel joke maneuvered by Ino, especially with how his comforts from last night were mixed with taunts. But when Manamiâs voice finally registers in your brain, by some sort of miracle or stroke of luck, you have gotten the job as Geto Suguruâs junior assistant.Â
You donât know how, but you donât 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. Itâs 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.Â
At 7:40, youâre out the door and sprinting to the located coffee shop that thankfully wasnât too far from where you lived.
At 7:47, youâre at the designated cafe whilst attempting to swim through the crowds of morning bustlers to pick up Getoâs coffee.
7:50, youâre 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 donât 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 coatâa cashmere pearl peacoat todayâflung 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 Getoâs weekly steak for lunch. Had this been your old corporate job, you only wouldâve 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.
â(Y/N),â he calls from the office, the scrape of his fork against ceramic cluttering your ears agonizingly.Â
You fight the urge to cringe from the sound as you scurry to the doorframe, hands stiffly intertwined together. âYes, Mr. Geto?â
âNo need for such formalities,â he remarks with the dab of a napkin to his lips. âThey make me feel old, and Iâm surely not much older than you areâŚâ you think thatâs the longest heâs spoken to you since the day had started. âDid Leibovitz confirm?â
Blinking, you tilt your head ignorantly. âD-did who confirm?â
He pauses and does that taunting slow rise of his eyes from his steak to you. âLeibovitz. Did she confirm?â
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. âJust go on your lunch,â 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, âIâve got Annie!â
âHe hates me, Taku!â you cry out whilst flopping onto the dinner table. Itâs ten in the evening and youâve 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 donât know how much your sanity (and body) can take.Â
Normally, Geto is usually cold to those who he wasnât familiar with, but you think that his distaste for you sours everyday. You notice that heâs 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.
â... canât even do the most miniscule things right,â Geto had groaned. âI ask if Lanvinâs models are all good to go for next Thursdayâs shoot and somehow, they have the nerve to ask âHow do you spell Lanvinâ? For fuckâs sake, I can feel my goddamn conscious just wither away by the second.â
You hadnât 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 Manamiâs 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 Getoâs words had twisted through your skin and bone much harsher than that pain ever will.Â
âItâs a miracle how I havenât been fired yet⌠I donât even know why he hired me!â you wail.
Ino sighs from across the dinner table and you canât tell if itâs a sigh of pity or a sigh of criticism. You learn that itâs both when he rolls his eyes at you whilst simultaneously pushing a plate of much needed food towards you.Â
âFirst off, you need to eat,â he presses, staring at your gaunt features. âThe way your face is swallowing is making me feel like Iâm livingâ with a ghost. Youâve lost some weight, Iâve noticed.â
Awareingly, you touch your cheekbones and realize heâs right, for you feel the small disc of sharpness from them prick your fingertips. Theyâve never been so cavern before. You suppose itâs 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.
âSecondly,â Ino chews his tongue, wondering if he should really say what heâs 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. âYou wonât like what Iâm âbout to say, but you need to up your game. Severely.â
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.
âAh nope! Donât give me that face and donât play coy with me,â he hisses, looking away to not give in to your helpless puppy eyes. He canâtâhe shouldnât give you the easy way out and just say to quitânot when youâve been earning so much bank that rent isnât 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. âWhat I mean is that you need to see through Getoâs 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 didnât show any respect for your brand, which just so happens to be a fashion magazine out of all thingsâŚâ Ino eyes you with a raised brow. âYou startinâ to follow me?â
Your fingers fiddle with each other. â... sorta.â
âNow listen,â he raises his hands up lazily in surrender. âI already know what youâre âbout to say about me not knowingâ 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. Thatâs the first step.â
âBut I haveâ!â you exclaim helplessly, âI-I swear, Iâve been trying to⌠but itâs not my fault that it isnât up to his standards.â
Your roommate groans and rubs his forehead, not really knowing what else to do for your situation until an idea pops in his head. âFree up your weekend,â he demands with a sly grin that makes you a little uneasy. âIâm no fashion connoisseur, but you know who is?â
âAnd remember, we never touch anything with chevron on it, especially in todayâs fashion world,â Yuki chimes as she slaps on a navy blue pageboy cap on your head and she prances about your bedroom thatâs been littered with spare clothes from her very own closet she graciously gifted to you for the past weekend. âIâm so utterly relieved that the trend has dug its own grave.â
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 Yukiâs teachings. Of course you shouldâve 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. Youâve 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.Â
âUh, I donât think I ever mentioned this before yet, but thank you for helping my wardrobe out, it really means a lot,â you say just before she slides on a pair of gold bangles on your wrist. âAre you sure you wanna give these clothes to me? Iâm okay with just borrowing them.âÂ
âNonsense, babe,â she wavers off before shuffling through your now-hearty closet, a closet thatâs now bursting with many clothes given by her. âI needed space in my closet anyway, so take as much as you need.â
So (Y/N)âs 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.Â
â(Y/N)âs not a doll, Yuki,â Ino lazily calls aloud through a tired yawn. âYou better get âem out the door soon or else theyâll get late for work. Especially need that money since the landlordâs been on our ass about increasing our rentâŚâ he mutters, sniffing. âDamn bastard.â
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 thereâs a stranger in your house from the way you look so dignified compared to the you just three days ago. Itâs a simple outfit with not much layering, but itâs still enough to ooze charisma and elegance to wandering eyes. Youâre 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 kingâs mantle behind you and the pageboy cap as your crown.
Yuki creeps up behind you, her manicured hands on your shoulders affirmingly. âHowâre you feeling, hun?â she asks quietly as she shares the same sight with you in the mirror. âDonât you look wonderful?â
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, âYeah⌠yeah, I do.â
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. âAre you sure you donât want to give contacts another chance?â she sighs.Â
You shake your head with a small smile, âIâll feel completely naked without them,â you murmur, âBesides, I think they actually compliment this look, if Iâm being honest.â
Her lips stretch out into a grin, too absorbed in her fashion education finally being used.Â
âWell then!â she begins to drag you by the sleeve out your room. âWe wouldnât want you to be late then for your first day as the new you, right? Letâs get you a cab!â
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 youâve 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 sheâs 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. âAnd who might you be?â she asks with a tease in her voice. ââCause last time I checked, thatâs my coworker (Y/N)âs desk.â
âI murdered them,â 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. âShame, isnât it? Poor thing.â
âTruly,â she nods. Her eyes trail further down until they spot something that makes her gasp. âDonât tell me those areââ
ââthe new calfskin gold studded Louboutin boots?â you finish for her. You flex your ankle and show off the ravishing red bottoms of your shoes. âOh yeah.â
Manami squeals in excitement and rushes over to your desk, begging to take a look at them. âHow on earth did you manage to get your hands on these?! Iâve been looking for them foââ
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 didâhis 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. Getoâs 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.Â
But not without glancing at you one last time.
Much has changed in the past month for the better.
Yuki was a godsendâshe had been your guardian angel, your fairy godmother of sortsâbecause 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 âgood morningâ to you and Manami after months of greeting with silence and judgemental glances.
Sheâd occasionally check up on you every once in a while, usually to offer new clothes that she didnât want anymore. And by offer, it actually just meant packing them in a box from her place to yours with a post-it thatâd usually read âWith love, YT â¤â 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.Â
The iconic John Galliano once said that, âThe joy of dressing is an art.â A month ago, you wouldâve 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 Getoâbeing 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 Getoâs 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 Getoâs 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 concentrationâit 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.Â
âThe 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.â
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. Itâs one youâve passed a plenty of timesâhell, you pass it on your way to workâbut it never occurred to you that itâd be this antique white, Parisian-styled building that would be the abode of your boss.Â
âTake the elevator to the top floor and enter his apartment. Do not call out his name, donât wander around, donât even make a single sound. You are nothing more than a ghost when you step foot into his house.â
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 Manamiâs 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 werenât 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 youâll ever be in - is the said living room with the glass coffee table sitting in the center of it.
âPlace The Book on the coffee table in the living room. Thatâs it. Do not toddle any longer in his house and get out immediately. Donât let curiosity get the better of you and just simply go afterwards. Itâs for your own good.â
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 wouldnât hurt.
Your feet carry you slowly to the stand and you crouch, adjusting your glasses to get a better look at the pictures. Thereâs only two of themâsix 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 thatâs a little taller with silvery snow hair and opaque black sunglasses, throwing a forced, all-too wide grin that almost looks maniacal. It doesnât 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 doesnât 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.Â
Best friends, you suggest in your mind as you study the pictures a little longer than needed. A minute, you thought, wouldnât 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.Â
âY-you canâtââ an unknown voice wheezes. âIâve been your muse for years. You possibly canât just abandon me out of nowhereâŚâ
âYou say that as if Iâm not doing that right now,â a familiar one replies back boredly. Itâs Geto, and his voice makes your nerves electrify in fear because itâs in that moment that you remember that you canât get caught inside of his house. âThis is the last time Iâm telling you, Shigemo. Get out.â
The man that you assume is Shigemo heaves heavy breaths. âYou need me,â he declares.
âNeeded. Past tense,â 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. âYouâve done me well these few years, I admit, and I do thank you for that. But I suppose your expiration date has finally come.â
âIâm not a food,â Shigemo snivels. âIâm a person. Most importantly. Iâm the reason your fashion line flourished, I was the inspiration for almost all your works. Weâre essentially a team.â
Theyâre 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 Getoâs eyes.
âA team?â 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. âI work alone and I always have. There is no point on relying on anyone of any kind when my independence obviously pays off.â
âWho will you have then?â Shigemo retaliates with a whimper in his voice. âYou know that Iâm the only one that will tolerate you. Itâs not like you can go crawling to Gojââ
âFinish that sentence and see what happens,â 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. Itâs 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.Â
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 canât help but notice that everything around you seems rather⌠hazy.
âWho is thatâŚâ 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, âOne of my new assistants.â
Shaking his head, Geto decides to deal with you later. His home is already suffocated with one individual, he doesnât need another clogging the atmosphere up. He returns his attention back to Shigemo. âI thought I told you to leave,â he states, shoving his bag towards him.
Shigemoâs face paints a horrified expression once again. âGeto, please rethink this,â Shigemo pleads.Â
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 itâs there where his patheticness exudes the mostâhe falls on his hands and knees like a beggar, claiming heâd do anything and everything just to be by his side.Â
But his voice is suddenly cut short when Geto finally slams the door in his face, the thickness of them guarding him from Shigemoâs whines. He lets out another sigh and locks up the door securely before dealing with the other parasite in his house.
âI donât think dropping off a book should take longer than thirty seconds,â Geto drawls as he saunters towards the living room, where youâre still on all fours on the floor, your hands tapping around. âSo tell me, why are you still here?â
At the sound of his sharp tone, you freeze. Youâre 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 couldnât let Geto see you in such a state. It didnât 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 canât see without your glasses.
Everyone thinks itâs an exaggeration when you state that you felt utterly naked without them, but you truly did. Youâve been wearing glasses ever since childhood and you really didnât appreciate the looks you had gotten when you were younger when at times youâd take them off. Some complained that your eyes were too small, too bigâothers mentioned you looked âoffâ and âweirdâ 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.Â
âI a-apologize,â you stutter, shuffling your body to hide behind the recliner so Geto wouldnât see how much of a clutter you are. Youâve 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. âI was about to head out and th-then I heard your voice from upstairs andââ
Your words fall deaf on Getoâs 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 faceâyou donât want him to see the bareness of your face, especially since you didnât bother wearing makeup today. You canât 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 doesnât 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.Â
âI assume these are yours,â 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 doesnât give you the sanity that is your glasses right away, because heâs much too preoccupied studying your face. Itâs 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 theyâre uniquely placed onto your face along with the rest of your features. Your lips, plump with a natural sheen to themâyour 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 spaceâwanting, 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. Itâs then that you realize that Geto isnât 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. Youâre not sure whether itâs because of the closeness you and him share or the fact that you canât detect his opinions on the one thing youâve been disclosed about for years, but either way, you feel weak in the knees; it only worsens when Getoâs thumb brushes over the entirety of your bottom lip, feeling the plushness of it on his the pad of his finger.
âHas your face always been this openâŚ?â he murmurs softly as he studies the various angles of your face.Â
You arenât sure whether itâs a compliment or insult, either or neither. Getoâs tone always had a sort of bleakness to it, but in this very moment, you truly canât tell what heâs thinking.Â
âMy glassesâŚâ is all you manage to squeak out, fighting the urge to squirm in his grasp. Another gulp goes down your dry throat when Getoâs face contorts to an irritated confusion before he realizes his other hand holds the one thing dear to your heart.Â
âOh,â he mutters and hands them back to you. His opposing hand finally goes to release your face. âRight.â
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.Â
âIâm so sorry for this,â you whisper. The heat on your face has now spread to the entirety of your body, your nerves alight with the rush of adrenaline. âI-Iâll make sure this never happens again⌠good night.â
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 Getoâs stomach. He thinks heâs 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 (itâs a habit you often do in times of nervousness, heâs 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 doesnât 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.Â
Itâs an hour in, two glasses of wine later, and somehow, he still hasnât 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 hasnât found one that stood out to him until he gets to the last sketchbook. Itâs an early oneâhe 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.
Itâs 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 heâd often admired as a child. The skirt and collar of the shirt were the same shade of blood red, crimson gems bespeckling them.Â
Itâs not the outfit, however, that makes his eyes harden. Why would it? Heâs seen it many times before. Itâs been brought up over and over againâin interviews, in magazines. Itâs 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 isnât the design of the outfit that made him appalled. Itâs instead, the person thatâs wearing it.Â
Because somehow, the eerie sketch of the modelâs face that he had drawn years agoâŚ
⌠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 (´・⢠ᾠâ˘ď˝Ą`) ⥠!!!
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to a heart's content â ă single father!miguel o'hara x reader (part iii) ă
content warnings ; fem!reader, implied fem bodied!reader, use of she/her pronouns, reader wears dresses and makeup, mild violence mention
contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, angst, angst with some comfort, unedited/not beta read as of 2/24
word count ; 8.5k
notes ; we're so back. am i severely late to posting this? very. did i at least get it done after too many months? also yes. i also apologize in advance to those i tagged that are no longer interested in the series, as i merely tagged people that had commented regardless of time. lmk if you no longer want to be tagged in the last part, i promise i won't take offense at all!
parts ; one two three four (tba)
THREE YEARS AGO
âMy name is (Y/N) (L/N), itâs a pleasure to meet you, Mr. OâHara. Please let me assist you at any need possible.â
Miguel peered at you through his reading glasses, averting his attention from his laptop to fully examine the stranger that stood in his office. Dark hazelnut eyes scan the appearance of a young woman dressed in black slacks and an ironed white blouse standing stiffly next to his superiors that eyed him with more eagerness than he liked. He could already tell that you were a shy one, a person that wasnât too accustomed to the outside world and its people; you stood with stiff posture; it was one that exemplified nerve rather than confidence from the way that you almost seem paralyzed in your place.Â
Caldworth, one of the superiors that stood by your side, placed a wrinkly and veiny hand on your shoulder and showed you off to him as if you were a painting up for bidding. âWe choose a sharp one for you. (Y/N) here is rather attentive, so donât be shy about letting her get to know you better, Miguel.â
Miguel stayed quiet, still skeptical about this sudden new arrangement for him that was brought up at the last minute. He lacked a certain sort of anticipation that would usually behold anyone else in his positionâa new person entering their work life would usually be an exciting, rousing meeting seeing as how it would be a new addition to what the higher-ups would refer to as âfamily.â A loose term, Miguel often thought⌠very loose, even. To even have the courage to compare coworkers to something as intimate as family was something that didnât sit well with Miguel. Blame it on the certain circumstances on his own familial life, but even anyone else that had their brain in the somewhat of the right spot would understand that mere coworkers were nothing compared to family.
At least in his case.
âIâve greatly admired your work in the past,â you said almost robotically, âso I hope I can be of any help in your future accomplishmentsâno matter how big or small.â
Miguel cocked his head. He fought the urge to raise an eyebrow at what he began to concur was something scripted via his superiors. Something about your tone of voice seemed⌠flat; devoid of any actual enthusiasm.Â
Caldworth and his partner began to see themselves out, leaving him to babysit you. âWell, you two have at it! Maybe go out for a cup of coffee to familiarize yourselves, get to know each other better since you both are essentially going to be around each other all the time,â Caldworth stated, making Miguel twitch from the last part.Â
Just before they left, Caldworth offered the glint of his eye over his shoulder, the peek of a tight-lipped grin ever so slightly visible.
âAnd donât forget, weâre all family here!â he cheered before the slam of a door shut you and Miguel in.
Immediately, Miugel noticed that your shoulders caved inward, indicating that you were finally able to breathe properly without the surveillance of people that were essentially in charge of your life. He eyed you again from the top of his glasses before he took them off and rested them in between his fingers, letting them dangle lazily.Â
âDid they tell you to say that?â
You jolted in your spot. Nerves seemingly reshocked with the same anxiety from before, you turned yourself to face your new boss again with a much more paled, yet evident expressionâwide-eyed, pursed-lipped, gritted jawâand swallowed thickly. Almost in a shameful manner, you silently nodded your head.Â
âW-wasâŚâ you started, âwas it that obvious?â
âSomewhat,â Miguel murmured simply and closed his laptop. âDonât listen to what they say, just make yourself as comfortable as possible. Iâm sure neither of us want to be that comfortable with each other.â
Your lips pressed themselves into a tight line, hitching a sharp breath before itâs replaced with another stiff nod. There was no userâs manual of sorts that was given to you by your superiors. They merely told you to do exactly what Miguel needed, so if this is what he wantedâfor you two to maintain distanceâthen so be it. If anything, itâs easier to breathe this way for both parties.Â
And it was like that for a rather long time; the both of you never came too close to the other person. It was strictly a professional workplace relationship, one that didnât issue any room for intimacy because it wasnât needed. There were no lunch or dinner get-togethers outside work hours, there was barely any small talk between you both, and you and he didnât even bother getting each othersâ personal numbers despite being consistently around the other like airâboth parties thought the work phones were more than enough. There was no need for you to learn about his likes, his dislikes, his favorite foods, and Miguel couldnât certainly be bothered with your own slices of life. To each their own, if you minded your business about him, heâd do the same to you.Â
It was a fair trade and a sufficient barter that satisfied you and him; there need not be any excess of the unnecessary.
That was, until a certain day that Miguel was held back during his usual hours to continue working on lab reportsâwork that didnât allow him freedom from this hell of a company to see his own salvation.
âIf itâs an urgent matter, Mr. OâHara, I donât mind taking on some of the workload,â you had said softly as you placed the last stack of packets on his desk that needed proper annotation. âIâm your assistant, after all. Itâs my job to help you out.â
Miguel rubbed his forehead out of exhaustion and shook his head, âYouâre my assistant from 9 to 5 only. Iâm not gonna be like those shocking pricks and work you longer than needed,â he muttered and stretched out his neck, joints crackling. âGo clock out, (Y/N). Iâm sure thereâs someone waiting for you at home that needs attending to.â
Suddenly, the atmosphere had gone awkwardly quiet. The tension was only broken by the scritching of your shuffling feet before you coughed.Â
âUm, thereâs no one in particular like that for me, unfortunately,â you whispered through a forced laugh that quickly dissolved. âSo again, I donât mind staying lateâŚâ
Miguel stiffened in his seat and mumbled an apology for his blatant inconsideration. Right⌠you were still rather young and didnât seem the type to have a family yet. âNo boyfriend? Or girlfriend⌠Iâm not one to judge.â
âNo, Mr. OâHara.â
âNo parents?â
âI moved out, so no.â
âNot even pets?â
âNone.â
â... perhaps friends of sorts?â
â...â
Another sigh heaves itself from his aching lungs. What heâd do for a cigarette right now to kill this awkward tension. You were a rather shy person that isolated herself from most people, but Miguel didnât think youâd detach yourself this much from the crowd.Â
You proposed your assistance once more, as third times always a charm. âPlease let me assist you, Mr. OâHara. I truly do not mind staying overtime if needed.â
Miguel, at first, thought you might be kissing his ass for a possible raise, but the thought quickly disappears when you genuinely appear concerned for his well-being given the fact he looked ultimately much more disgruntled than usual. Despite your timidity, you could be a stubborn one, so Miguel gave in before he tired himself even more with mild arguments that he was sure would drain whatever life he had left in him.
He inhales sharply and fiddles with his bag for a bit before he pulls out an array of keys, gently detaching a pair of them. One of them is his car key. The otherâhis house key.Â
âTake these,â he said and gestured them to you. âIâve trusted you enough to drive my car on multiple occasions, so now Iâm entrusting you to my daughter.â
Your eyes widened briefly, brows raising to new heights. Blinking in the alikeness of an owl, you repeated, âYour⌠your daughter?â
Miguel supposes this is what succumbs to him after not revealing even the most personal, yet basic parts of himself to a coworker. He hasnât even revealed his birthday to you, let alone his family, so he canât say heâs too surprised at your reaction.Â
âYes, my daughter,â he repeats and starts scribbling on a post-it. âHer name is Gabriella, she just turned five and is in kindergarten. Iâm gonna call up the daycare and tell them that youâll be picking her up from school. After that, drop her off at the house and just⌠just kind of stay there until I come home. There should be leftovers in the fridge if she gets hungry. Iâll take a cab home⌠I dunno.â
Miguel sticks out the post-it note containing both the address of the daycare and his apartment number. With caution, you take and examine them closely with a mild surprise still on your face of the new information about your boss that you thought you shouldâve learned a while ago. You begin to see yourself out of his office with an evident nervousness in your being before Miguel spontaneously gets up and grabs your wrist tightly, forcing you to look at him.
A chill goes down your spine when you see a menacing and unusual red glint in those pools of mahogany. His once-drained face is suddenly stony and rugged with his teeth bitten back to avoid any unnecessary threats. The physical contact makes your nerves go cold and paralyzes you into place to force you to stare into those eyes that youâre not sure arenât even human, a sort of malicious crimson tint gleaming over brown hues.
âDo not⌠let anything happen to her,â he hisses under his breath, his tone jaggedly sharp, âNot a single scratch, yes?â
It takes a while for air to breathe itself back into your lungs, yet only a partial amount of it revives your body because all you can reply is a choked out,Â
âYes.â
Miguel lets go of your wrist like itâs a heated iron rod, the burn of it stinging his hand with the aftertaste of your skin still damped on his palm. You quickly leave after that, leaving him to sigh and stare into nothing before clutching the picture frame of his daughter that sits on his deskâpraying that youâll live up to his expectations and arrive home to an unscathed Gabriella.
And throughout the duration of the three years you and Miguel have spent side by side, with each repeated question heâd contritely ask again and again, he did each and every single time you had to take care of her. The hours became longer, more strenuous, and created a blockage between Miguel and Gabriella that only you were able to bridge between. Gabriellaâwhose particular shyness reminded Miguel of a certain someoneâeventually warmed up to you and began to treat you much more familiarly as time passed, growing accustomed to wrapping her body around your legs when she saw you during pick up and always asking what was for dinner that evening as if youâve been there since her birth.
Gabriella grew very fond of you, Miguel noticed. There was some sort of mimicry in her actions at times that mirrored your own habits like how sheâd tilt her head and purse her lips to the left when she was confused like you did or sheâd randomly walk briskly in the same fashion you marched. Sheâd slip in a mention of your name during small discussions here and there, a praise never failing to tail her words.Â
âMiss. (Y/N) bought this headband for me! Isnât it pretty?âÂ
âOh, Miss. (Y/N) taught me how to solve that problem yesterday.â
âCan you make cookies like how Miss. (Y/N) does? Yours taste weird.â
While you werenât always present around the OâHaras, Gabriella made sure it seemed like you were.Â
There was a particular time that Miguel was helping her on some homework assigned over the weekend. The assignment had discussed different careers that children might be interested in the future and when Miguel had asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, Gabriella, who couldnât have been more than six or seven around the time, replied all too simply,Â
âI want to be like Miss. (Y/N).â
Miguel was astonished. He had expected an answer like a professional soccer player due to her love of the sport or a scientist like her father, but to aspire to be someone that seemingly was just an occasional companion? To him, it didnât make sense.
âLike, do you wanna work for Daddy when youâre older?â Miguel asked, attempting to clarify what she meant since she knew enough to understand you were associated with her father.Â
Gabriella shook her head and mindlessly continued to draw what seemed to be a portrait of you in⌠a pink dress? âNuh uh. I wanna be a princess like her.â
Through furrowed brows, Miguel chuckled a little aimlessly. Of course sheâd still believe fantasy and magical thingsâshe was just seven after all. Initially, he wanted to merely correct his daughter, but was a little curious as to what sort of silly information you had been feeding her. âMiss. (Y/N) is a princess?âÂ
âYep, she told me herself!â Gabriella exclaimed, her hand fisting a yellow marker that scribbled on a crown on the drawing. âShe said she used to be a princess, but she ran away âcause a giant, fire-breathing lizard tried to kidnap her!âÂ
âI think it mightâve been a dragon, mijita,â Miguel corrected gently, trying to go along with the usual trope fairy tales portrayed.
âNuh uh, it was a big and creepy lizard, she said!â she retaliated stubbornly.
âWell,â he started again, attempting to choose his words a little more carefully this time around. âHow come you donât wanna be like Ariel? Or Tiana? Theyâre princesses, too, right?âÂ
She shrugged. âI like them. But theyâre not Miss. (Y/N).â
Something unnatural began to seep into Miguelâs chest. He knew that Gabriella liked you quite so, but he didnât expect for her to almost admire you in such a fashion that inspired her to be like you. In his eyes, you were nothing but the assistant that loyally stood by his side and abided by his every wordâto him, it seemed like you were more of a butler or servant than a princess.Â
But in his daughterâs eyesâŚÂ
âWhy? Whatâs so special about (Y/N)?â Miguel inquired with a growing curiosity to try and see you in the same light as Gabriella.Â
She shook her head, displeased with the informality given to you by her father. âYou gotta say Princess (Y/N). I donât have to âcause she said itâs okay.â
He sighed, âOkay, fine. Whatâs so special about Princess (Y/N)?â
Gabriella set her marker down carefully and thought for a little while. Her eyes suddenly lit up with delight, an affirmative grin set on her lips.Â
âWell, sheâs really pretty⌠like reallyyy pretty. I wanna be just as beautiful as her one day,â she praised, making Miguelâs brows rise at the sudden compliment. âSheâs really nice, too. She never shouts at me like the teachers or coaches do⌠and she always lets me have extra dessert when I do a good job on my homework.â
Miguel fell silent. Perhaps it was more than mere admiration, but idolization for Gabriella. She viewed you in a way that Miguel hadnât even thought of because he only viewed you as his coworker. But in Gabriellaâs eyes, you were more than just her babysitterâyou were literal royalty to her. He shouldnât be one to complain thoughâheâd take his daughter following in your footsteps over some others that might lead her astray. You were⌠sufficient enough, he supposes, even if Gabriella didnât think so.
âSheâs super smart tooâlike you, PapĂĄ! Maybe even smarter,â she retorts, making Miguel twitch. âAnd I like her voice a lot. I really like it when she reads me a story because her voice is pretty. Sometimes she sings this song to me to help me sleep.â
âOh?â Miguel questioned, âÂżY, quĂŠ canciĂłn es esa?â
âI keep forgetting the name and words of itâŚâ Gabriella pouted after a moment of attempted concentration. âBut it went somethinâ likeâŚâ
She began humming an off-tune melody that struck a dissonant, yet familiar chord within Miguel, but it was impossible for him to find why it was so eerily familiar to him. Was it perhaps from an old song? Or a film heâd seen before? It was a calming song, one that was perfectly suited for a childâs lullaby, but something about it seemed almost so customary to him.Â
âYa gotta marry her,â his daughter said plainly and began to resume her artistry, ignoring the sudden startle she gave her father. âSo that way, I can become a princess, too.â
Miguel helped himself to the nearby cup of water to soothe his choked throat after the scare she gave him. âSweetheart, Iâm not a prince, though.â
âYeah, I know,â his daughter replied without missing a beat. âBut you know what you are, though?âÂ
Dare he say that Gabriella had grown akin to you the same way she had with her father. Something about her praise and regard for you seemed to mirror the way that reflected alike to her father, yet Miguel couldnât tell if she had managed to draw a line between the images of you and him. Hell, he wasnât even sure if Gabriella could even define a difference in her adulation between you and him besides the fact one was her parent.Â
But when the thought of Gabriella potentially viewing you as sharing the same title as himâa parentâsomething seeds inside Miguel. He doesnât know what it is or what it will grow into, but thereâs one thing he knows for sure.Â
The seed of you in his life and hers is here to stay, whether he likes it or not.Â
Gabriellaâs smile grew wide before she happily announced,
âYouâre her knight in shining armor!"
PRESENT
If he squinted properly and took a closer look, perhaps Miguel could make himself hallucinate enough to try and visualize the golden chandelier above your head as your haloing tiara. It was the main light source nearly the entirety of the venue, but something about the way the light glistened around you made you seem almost holy, like you were a divinity gracing your presence on the wretchedness they called Earth.
Blame it on the wine, but Miguel couldnât help but notice that you looked more celestial tonight; a unique sort of ethereal that heâs only seen in the finest of paintings. The banquet hall is covered in layers of silkened gold, only emphasizing your best features in the spotlights of reflecting amber.Â
Youâre talking idly (per usual, unfortunately) with a coworker from Human Resources that heâs seen you often have mild conversations with on the weekly, a rare familiarity that he only knows heâs been graced with in full; so itâs truly no surprise that thereâs a placid stir of envy growing within Miguel as youâve decided to not give your semi-cold shoulder a break even tonight, even with the rarity of a compliment given by him. At least thereâs been somewhat of an improvementâyouâre actually holding miniscule conversations with him every now and then as you both chatter with the crowd as long as thereâs a third party.
Yet he still hasnât been granted mercy of having a proper one-on-one with you, yet.
But beggars canât be choosers, so Miguel must make do with what heâs offered.
The coworker, finally, is called by one of his project managers and politely excuses himself, leaving you to Miguelâs devices at long last. Like a flowerâs petals given little to no care, your smiling face wilts into the solemn countenance that Miguel has grown accustomed to seeing for the past week when you turn your gaze back towards the table, a sliver of Miguel caught in the corner of your eye. In time, he just barely catches a glimpse of your eyes flickering toward his figure before they return to stare at the nearly empty plate of food with a slight dismal.
A choice of what words to say jumble in his mouth. They toss and jump about while not giving him full comprehension of what they mean and Miguel grows frustrated at his lack of intelligibleness because it wasnât every day that his resolve could be so cowardly in front of someone. Usually he was the one that made egos shrink, but upon your grace, his own could only grow so small.Â
You can tell thereâs an awkward silence amongst you both despite the audible chatter throughout the banquet hall and the idle conversations among your tablemates, so you break it first but stiffly shuffling out your phone and dialing Gabriellaâs babysitter for tonightâa blue moon occasion since neither you nor Miguel could be present. Gabriel is out of town and because there were only so many people in the world that Miguel could trust with his beloved, the elderly next-door-neighbor was the last resort.Â
âI should probably check up on how Mrs. Darcie is doing,â you splutter with a dry mouth. âI forgot to teach her how the TV remote works and Iâm sure she must be bored out of herââ
Unconsciously, Miguel gently pries the phone out of your shaking hands, the connection between skin and skin electrifying his nerves more than he liked. He takes notice of the size difference between your hand and his own and eyes carefully at how easily your fingers would be able to slip into the gaps of his all too easily; like two connecting puzzle pieces.Â
He places it face down on the table to avoid further distractions. âIâm sure Mrs. Darcie is alright,â he attempts to soothe as he places his hand over your own, nearly caging it between his fingers. Miguel struggles with fighting the urge to squeeze it delicatelyâhe doesnât know if heâs earned that privilege, or if he ever did. âGabi is most likely preparing for bed, we shouldnât distract her.â
Eyes flickering toward your covered hand, the warmth that envelopes it from Miguelâs makes you swallow thickly.Â
âAh,â you murmur and timidly pull back your hand to place back on your lap to Miguelâs disappointment. âRight⌠Never mind then.â
And suddenly, heâs back to square one. Silence plagues the air again between you and him, only this time, itâs thicker and grimier almost. Perhaps it was the oddity that was the physical contact that added to the musk of it; Miguel prays that you didnât find it uncomfortable.Â
A fork is plucked between your fingers and you go to idly poke at your food to fidget with something other than your hands. âI hope sheâs okay. Gabi, I mean. I-It feels a little odd leaving her with someone other than you.Â
Rays of hope and enthrallment embellish Miguelâs being from the fact that finally⌠finally youâre the one attempting a conversation with him after much too long. And not only that, youâre beginning with something bold, even if you donât realize it. Despite the fact youâre rather unconscious of what youâre saying, something within Miguel perks up at the fact that youâre worried about Gabriella in the same sense⌠that he is. Â
That a parent is.
He fights the urge to physically shake his head to brush the thought off. Miguel hums, a semi-sorry attempt at being suede and casual. âMrs. Darcie has had eight children in her lifetime, Iâm sure that sheâs definitely had her experience of taking care of kids,â he says seemingly nonchalantly. âGabi, if anything, is lightwork to her.â
A soft delight pings in his chest again when you reply almost instantaneously, âShe is indeed a good girl, very well-behaved.â
âShe has her moments,â Miguel snorts, fondly remembering a few of younger Gabriellaâs temper tantrums and outbursts of tears.
Something golden, something bright blossoms within him when he hears you let out a soft chuckle at his reply. Itâs abrupt, but itâs short and sweet enough that he feels accomplished, enough for him to savor the taste of it. âAll children do from time to time. But sheâs definitely one of the better apples of the bunch.â
Miguel thinks youâre right; it wasnât often that parents, new ones especially, were granted with the privilege of having obedient children, so heâs one of the lucky ones. Perhaps Gabriella being a good kid was the universe giving him mercy as a single parent, as society often thinks it takes two to tango when it comes to childcare most of the time.Â
But thatâs why youâre here, isnât it? Even if Miguel wasnât aware of it, some of the responsibility was lifted off his shoulders when you entered the picture, as the duties of nurturing a young child were now in your favor the moment you had signed your work contract. For that, he harbors guilt from time to time when he thinks that you never exactly signed up to be a babysitter, let alone a parent figure to his kin that you were still unaware of.Â
And then it hits him.
It comes all of a suddenâhis senses downpouring from the cloud of his daydreams and thoughts.
Itâs not a good realization by far. If anything, itâs the very opposite, one thatâs one the other end of the spectrum. Itâs a deathly epiphany and one that he doesnât like to acknowledge but is forced to.
Miguel stares blankly at the tablecloth, eyes droning into the satin folds of it as they mimicked the waves of a crashing ocean. A sort of paleness infects his face, the color of it draining slowly and he goes still when he feels his heartbeat thundering in his ears.Â
Youâre quick to take notice of your bossâs current disposition, growing wary of his wide, blank eyes and gritted jaw, along with his knuckles growing white as they fist his slacks. A shallow breath is echoed from him; you furrow your brows.
âMr. OâHara?â you murmur, leaning toward his figure.Â
Miguelâs mind stirs. If Gabriella views you as a parent-figure, what exactly would you think of it? Youâre not much younger than Miguel is, only falling behind a mere four or five years, but youâre still significantly young that youâve got your whole life ahead of you that youâd need to experience by yourself. The remnants of youth are still planted onto you despite being well-adjusted to the adult world, so to put the responsibility of a child on your shoulders? Miguel feels contrition flood into him.
What if you didnât even want children?Â
Itâs a fact that you care for Gabriella, but do you harbor the same type of love for her that she has for you? Does she even understand what your role is in her life and that thereâs a strict boundary between you and Miguel and Gabriella? He knows he canât just shackle you onto a weighing responsibility, but when Gabriella is a part of this dilemma, the complication increases tenfold.
Your boss seems to be frozen in time, seeing as how not a muscle in his limbs nor his face were moving, but his eyes were wide open, almost glazed with fear. A feathery hand goes to place itself over his tightened fist before you ask again, âMr. OâHara, are you okay?â
Itâs a fact that you care for Gabriella, but do you harbor the same type of love for her that she has for you? Does she even understand what your role is in her life and that thereâs a strict boundary between you and Miguel and Gabriella? He knows he canât just shackle you onto a weighing responsibility, but when Gabriella is a part of this dilemma, the complication increases tenfold.
The worst case scenario infects Miguelâs thoughtsâyou standing in the same shadow of his ex, exiting through the same door she had walked through just a few days after his daughterâs birth and breaking his entire being into little pathetic pieces.
This time, however? He wouldnât be the only one with a shattered heart.
A thick swallow goes down your throat. You gently shake his hand with your own to attempt to break him out of his frigid state, a worry beginning to settle itself in your stomach. âMr. OâHara? Can you hear me?â you declare a little louder than the first two times.
Your voice makes him blink and he clears his throat, feeling his cheeks warm at the sudden loss of composure. âYes, I-Iâm fineâŚâ he mutters as he tugs at the tight collar of his dress shirt.
You nod with visible skepticism. Miguel turns away from your gaze to avoid further questioning, since he knows youâve been at his side long enough to know his behaviors. âAre you sure?â
He nods and stifles a sigh, nodding. The flurry of what had just occurred in his mind lingers almost painfully and it takes him a while to remember where he is and why. Right⌠the annual celebration gala⌠with you⌠to make up for the date that never happened.
His mind is a mess. Itâs an incoherent tornado of everything and anything, with images of all kinds flashing throughout his mindâyoung Gabriellaâs drawing of you and her as princesses that she insisted on framing, your face of disappointment that you gave him when he ditched out on the date, a flashback of his ex slamming his old apartment door on him as an infant Gabriella screamed and wailed in her crib, you hugging his daughter after her winning goal, Miguelâs frazzled self as he showed up too late to his daughterâs first Parents Day with a teary-eyed Gabriella, him finding you quietly reading a sleepy Gabi a bedtime story after a long shift at work, you making baked goods in the kitchen with her.. you tucking in her into bed⌠you suddenly with a suitcase in hand, a sobbing Gabriella in the back as Miguel begged you to stay before you slammed the door behind you and leaving themâ
Miguel stands up abruptly, making you jump. The collar and tie around his neck suddenly seem too tight and his throat runs dry. The air grows hotter and his vision starts to blur.Â
âMr. OâHara,â you start as you also stand up, âIs everything alrââ
âI need some air,â Miguel barely chokes out before he leaves the banquet hall without another word. He can just barely hear you ask if thereâs anything you could do before he turns a sharp right and leaves the entirety of the building altogether, choosing to remain in the back garden to breathe in fresh oxygen, a relieving chill to the air.
A hand goes to loosen his collar and tie and he can feel himself gain consciousness again. The sky is draped with an ink blue all over, speckles of the night stars scattering all around. The floral smell of many garden flowers fills his senses and Miguel grounds himself properly before he settles himself on a stone bench to balance in his mind.
He attempts to reason with himself.Â
Clearly, you donât mind being with children, and obviously you donât mind being with and taking care of Gabriella. Sheâs not simply a job to you that youâre forced to work withâyouâve said it yourself. Otherwise, you wouldnât go to her games nor would you remember to bring her small gifts of her liking. Youâve done things for her out of your own initiative many times. Gabriella is your world, Miguel thinks, as much as your hers.
Now thereâs the problem of you being with Miguel, if your feelings havenât changed all too much. In all honesty, Miguel thinks if heâs with the right person, heâs sure to put in effort into stabilizing and nurturing a proper relationship. He hadnât had the time to go around and look for love because of work and Gabriella, so serving as this sanctuary that came to him was basically a perfect fit into his lifeâdonât mind it took him three years to notice it. Youâre worth putting that effort in.
Finally⌠thereâs the possible chance that you reject Miguelâs proposal of being Gabriellaâs secondary caretaker.
âŚ
Miguel attempts to process it in a more⌠positive light. One that wonât send him spiraling.Â
But itâs nearly impossible.
How is it possible to settle a middle ground of happiness, or at the very least⌠satisfaction, between you and him and Gabriella? How do you imagine a happy ending to a dawning of Gabriellaâs happiness? How can Miguel ever face you after asking such a thing?
His vision shakes again, another hurricane of impossible questions begins whirling in mind. The bile in his stomach churns uncomfortably and his hands grow clammy again. His feet feel like theyâre sinking in the dirt. Somehow, even at a staggering height compared to most of his colleagues, Miguel feels small once more.Â
Would he be able to cope with such aâ
A loud crash and multiple screams suddenly break Miguel out of his state and he whirls his head to see what was happening inside. The peek of something green slithers inside the massive hole in the glass ceiling indented in the building, and it doesnât take Miguel long to know whatâs happening.
He sprints back inside the building and into the banquet hall, the opposite way where everyone is headed and takes a swift peek inside to what was happening.Â
A horrifically large green lizard crawls on the floor, letting out an agonizing roar of sorts with its tail swishing about and knocking everything and everyone in its path over. Dr. Curtis Connors, the one foe Miguel had fought a few months ago and had just managed to escape his grasp, had come back for revenge in a newer, more improved, more terrifying form of his initial self-experiment. News of his identity had leaked out immediately the moment that he had defeated the mad doctor, and every work that was researched by him that was deemed irrelevant by Alchemax was unpublished and/or destroyedâthat included raiding everything in his personal labâan urgent executive order made by Tyler Stone himself.Â
Hungry for revenge for the destruction of his work, Miguel was certain he was back for revenge as back when he was still sane, the amount of research that Dr. Connors had put in was extensive and yielded long years in the making, spanning over nearly three decades of research that was wiped away in the matter of a single day thanks to Alchemax.Â
Miguel quickly turns a corner, hidden from the public eye, and commands his suit on before quickly re-entering the banquet hall. He swings up towards the domed ceiling and carefully analyzes the area.
Thereâs still a few people scattering from the room, shrieks echoing from the walls. His eyes go to search for where you are in desperation, praying youâre safe somewhere outside, but a flash of light pink catches the corner of his eye. He nearly snaps his neck when he finds you running in the opposite direction of where most people are headedâtowards the garden.
â(Y/N)!â Miguel yells out without thinking and slaps a hand over his mouth. Thankfully, you donât hear him due to the commotion inside the area as you swim against the current of people. You fight the urge to fall down with every person that bumps into you amidst the chaos before you thankfully make it near the exit.
He lunges down from his spot on the ceiling, lassoing a few people that nearly get crushed under Lizardâs humongous tail and bringing them to safety properly on the way, making his way towards your figure. Rubble from the many columns begin to collapse on themselves; clouds of dust and debris fog the first floor of the hall with the wreckage already trapping some people inside.Â
A large chunk from the wall creaks and begins to teeter over the south exit, where youâre headed. A certain distraction diverts you from noticing the large cement framework around the exit thatâs about to topple on you to Miguelâs horror. In the nick of time, he just barely manages to snatch you by the waist from a thrusted sprint just before the framework collapses with a thunderous boom.Â
You and Miguel cough from the dust it created. It takes a good second for you to process what your fate mightâve become, and it takes just another second for you to regain your consciousness. A good part of the exit is now blocked, but that doesnât stop you from taking off your heels and attempting to climb over it.Â
Miguel barks out and grabs your arm thatâs now scathed with slight scratches. âThe hell are you doing?!â he exclaims worriedly.Â
You turn back with a teary and troubled look on your face, much to his shock. Abruptly, you turn back towards the exit and attempt to tug back your arm from his firm grasp. âM-my boss⌠heâs inside the garden,â you croak miserably out as you try to pull yourself over the fallen column. âI need t-to know if heâs safeâŚâ
Lizard lets out another mighty howl and patters toward the stage, his tail once again swinging haughtily and ignoring anything in its path. Miguel shouts at you to duck and pulls you down along with him. You prop back up and without his arm on yours, you use it to your advantage and grunt yourself forward onto the column.Â
Miguel wraps a large hand over your ankle and weighs you down from moving any further. âHey, you need to get out, now. You canât be here, no one should be,â he urges.
The shake of your head concerns himâright, youâre too stubborn for your own good. âIâll be fine. P-please, just leave me be.â
âNot when youâre about to get killed,â he declares and juts your ankle more towards him. The motion makes you fall into his chest and Miguel uses one hand to properly secure you to himself, the other launching and swinging a web to the north entrance.Â
You squirm and fight against him, pleading desperately for him to drop you and leave you alone. A frame of tears threatens to fall from your eyes from frustration and despair when you get put down. Miguel has to physically stop you from running back into the banquet hall once againâyou put up a fight though. You thrash against him, clawing and weakly punching at his stronger arms, imploring for him to let you back inside.Â
âYou donât understandââ you gasp as the remnants of the people inside flood out. Looking over his shoulder, you gaze at the exit solemnly. âPlease⌠I need to know if heâs alrightâhe h-has a young daughter back at home and if anything happens t-to himâjust please let me go!â you wail.
He grabs you by the shoulders forcefully and settles you down, the stream of tears falling from your eyes running his throat dry once again. Miguel has never seen you cry, or even come close to crying. Not when Gabriella forced you to watch what she considered âone of the saddest movies in existenceâ, not when an entire glass beaker had toppled and its shards pierced your skin, not even when Miguel had first scolded you about your many mistakes on the very first document you turned into him.Â
Glassy eyes meet concerned, masked ones. Your lip trembled violently, the words all jumbled in your mouth about to spill. âJust let me check if heâs alright,â you just barely whisper.
He bores his gaze into yours as his composure does its best to upkeep him as best as possible. Miguel, from the inside of his mask, bites his lip and sighs. âI promise you, Iâll make sure Miguel gets home safely.â
âWhat if you donât?â you accuse with furrowed brows.
âIâll bring him home safe and sound,â he says firmly. âYou said he has a daughter, right? I wonât let her become an orphan. I swear on my life I wonât.â
Your gaze doesnât falter, even when Miguel attempts to soothe you by chafing the chilled skin of your arms up and down in a calming manner. Unbeknownst to you, you and him share an image of Gabriella in your minds; it brings a sting of ache to your chests.
âHow can I trust you?â you ask dryly.Â
âBecause,â he goes to weave a string of webbing through the north entrance and takes you out into the safety of the outside. He settles you on the corner of two intersecting streets that sit nearby the building, with your tears still falling and hands trembling. A hand carefully holds your cheek and wipes away descending tears on your chalky face, Miguel ignoring the squeeze of his heart with each one that puddles on the sidewalk.Â
â... Iâm your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.â
Spider-Man leaves you on the sidewalk idly with the blurry figures of your co-workers and other people in the company whizzing by you with no concern for anyone else other than themselves. It takes a moment for you to understand what just happened and with whom, suddenly hit with the pang of realization that you had just met the Spider-Man: the well-known vigilante protecting Nueva York from all corners, beloved by the public. Excitement canât seem to conjure itself within you, however, your gaze still lingering on the building that Miguel was possibly in.Â
A hesitant step takes you forward back to the building, but your phone vibrates abruptly from a notification from Mrs. Darcie. Word mustâve gotten out so quickly that it reached the O'Hara's neighborhood, as her text was asking if you and Miguel were alright. Your thumbs shake as you try and type up a response to let her know that you were at least alive, but you know that Gabriella wanted you both home.Â
The least you could do is make sure half of that concern was eased. You were counting on Spider-Man to do the rest.
With an arm reaching out for a taxi, you rush into one and tell the driver to step on the gas, promising to tip extra. Youâd be willing to give all the money you had with you if it meant that you could be with Gabriella for tonight.
Youâve underestimated the nightly rush hour this Friday night had brought upon, because thereâs a sea of cars that are equally as stuck as you are amidst the road. Tangible fingers go to grip your hair frustratingly, and asking the driver to go any further was basically useless. Each minute you wasted on the same road you had been on for what was nearing twenty minutes made you more anxious by the minute.Â
âI-isnât there some sort of shortcut?â you ask the driver hoarsely. âI donât care what roads you have to take, just please get off this one. Iâm begging you. I have a child thatâs waiting for me.â
His eyes give you a quick glance in the mirror, and empathy embeds itself in his equally tired eyes. He must be a father himself, you think, as he gives you an affirmative nod and swings off the road onto a much more bumpy and gravelly, but visibly less dense one.
Itâs nearly an agonizing hour later off the roadâit wouldâve most likely reached around two or even three if you stayed on the main roadâbut you thankfully make it to the OâHaraâs residence. Your body moves on its own, flying out the elevator and speeding down the floor of the apartment. You burst open the door, visible sweat misted on your forehead and an ache to your limbs but all that is ignored when Mrs. Darcie greets you with relief, with a sleeping Gabriella settled soundly on the couch as her favorite TV show buzzes in the background.
She grasps you tightly by the arms. âMy goodness, thank heavens youâre alright,â she murmurs quietly. âThat mustâve been quite a scare⌠are you alright?â
âIâm okay,â you gasp out tiredly. âBut how is she? Gabi, I mean⌠d-does sheââ
Mrs. Darcie shakes her head. âShe fell asleep a while ago, she doesnât know. I just managed to get informed thanks to my son who works near the building. But where is Miguel?â
Dread floods your face once more, remembering why you left the banquet in the first place. Somehow, however, your phone vibrates and receives a text from the one and only. A loud sigh escapes your lips and you crumple to the floor as the feeling returns to your numb legs as Miguelâs texts ease your worries.Â
Hey Iâm alive and alright. I saw you leave earlier, hope youâre safe. Iâm omw home.Â
You fight the urge to burst into tears from the relief as Mrs. Darcie helps you back up. âIâm assuming thatâs him,â she says gently as she encourages you to take off your heels. âWhat a waste of night and beautiful dress. Shame that blasted giant iguana or something had to ruin it.â
A broken laugh leaves you from her gentle humor. You glance down at the dress that the mysterious Lyla had given you tonight and sigh sadly at the many tears of the tulle and fabric. The dress looked expensive and you planned on wearing it again for formal events, but alas, fate has decided to toy with you.
âThatâs alright,â you mutter as you help Mrs. Darcie gather her stuff back up so she can finally leave. âI have plenty of others to use in the meantime.â
The elderly woman leaves you inside their apartment after bidding you a goodnight to tend to Gabriella, whoâs still sound asleep and oblivious to what was happening to the world and people around her. Thatâs a good thing, at least, you think to yourself as you tidy up the living room around her quietly. Ignorance is bliss, sometimes.
Sheâs still small enough that youâre able to carry her to her room even at her age and it reminds you a lot of when she was younger, when sheâd pretend to be asleep so you could carry her yourself to go back to her room. Nowadays, she knows her bedtime and does it by herself, but assuming she had been waiting for you or Miguel to come home, sleep had snuck onto her as she waited and waited.
You put her down gently, hoping not to get any of the leftover debris on your soiled clothes onto her freshly-washed body. The action just barely stirs her awake, her eyes slitting open at the slightest bit. Your blurry figure just barely makes it to her senses and she grins sleepily.
A titter escapes her lips. âYou look like aâŚâ Gabriella starts, her words faltering due to a fading consciousness.Â
âLike aâŚ?â you whisper softly, a hand stroking her hair gently.
âLike aâŚâ you can tell sheâs trying to find the words in her very limited vocabulary currently, her brain threatening to shut off at any second now. âLike a princess, I think?â
You raise your brows at her description as Gabriella immediately falls back asleep. You suppose you do look much more dressed up from usual, but your cheeks tingle a hint of warmth at the comparison of literal royalty. You blame it on the drowsiness.
Your own tiredness begins to crawl up your spine as you stay by Gabriellaâs side in her darkened bedroom, her quiet breaths soothing you like a lullaby. With heavy eyelids threatening to shut close at any minute, you fight the urge to give into the Sandman, insistent on Miguelâs return.
MiguelâŚ
His name rings aloud in your mind for a moment.
MiguelâŚ
MiguelâŚ
âI promise you, Iâll make sure Miguel gets home safely.âÂ
Spider-Manâs familiar voice suddenly jolts you awake. Your brows crunch together. How on earth did Spider-Man know Miguelâs name when you merely referred to him as your boss? Perhaps he saw Miguel in the garden beforehand? Maybe Miguel had an earlier oncoming with him from before and Spider-Man just knew him from that one incident? Or⌠he just happens to know the names of all the citizens of Nueva York because⌠thatâs just how Spider-Man is?Â
Or, was Miguel actually Spidâyou shake your head in the same second you think of such a stupid reasoning. Thatâs impossibleâŚ
⌠you know in your heart that it just is.
Any reason that you attempt to give, you think of it as either obnoxious or just simply impossible. Maybe you did let it slip that your bossâs name was Miguel⌠that just seems like the most plausible reason. After all, your adrenaline was at an all-time high and you could barely remember what had happened before the takeover, let alone the conversations you had.Â
Whatever it was, it was going to bring Miguel back home, and thatâs what ultimately had mattered in the end. It probably wasnât even your business to prod around.
At Gabriellaâs visible sleeping state, you stand up and start to head towards the bathroom to fix yourself up, but the sound of the master bedroomâs window suddenly shuffling open makes your nerves electrify. Miguelâs bedroom sat just right next to Gabriellaâs, and it was also the bedroom that was nearest to the complexâs fire escape, so a break-in at this time of night was highly plausible.Â
Grabbing one of the displayed metal baseball bats on the wall, you turn off Gabriellaâs lights and lock the door behind, ensuring her safety first before yours. Youâre careful to tiptoe around the more creaky parts of the floorboards, desperate to make yourself not seen by the intruder as you step closer and closer to Miguelâs bedroom. The door is just barely ajar, and the lights are on. A distinct shuffling, bed springs, and a masculine groan echo from the crack of the doorway and when all is silent from the other side of the door, you make your move and burst in, ready to swing at whoever threatens the OâHara residence.
The bat is suddenly grabbed from your hands from a familiar neon orange webbing and thrusted to the side of the room, where it thunks against the wall and falls limply. You gasp aloud and with nothing to defend yourself with, you look up with fear in your eyes that suddenly turn to shock from the sight in front of you.
There, standing in the same blue and red vinyl suit you had crossed paths with earlier, without its mask completing the look⌠and thus, exposing the face of the man you had been waiting for to come back home to you.Â
a/n ; second to last part to this mini-series and once again, i apologize for this nearly six-month delay, last semester was rough for uni. almost made this into two parts, but i felt like they just belonged together and i quite like the blend of them together.
thanks for the patience for those who stuck around and have waited far too long for this, you deserve this! i'm glad to see you all again <3 thank you endlessly for reading and likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and appreciated (㼠ᴠ_á´)ăĽâĄ
taglist ; @secretlyrexlapis @urbimom @p1nkliquor @julesclues @averagefloydlover @apurpletrashcan @raeisthebae @mvchmp @um-well @nintendh-e @eddieslooneymoonie @deputy-videogamer @xochyw @honeybeeznuts @aspens-cove @btszn @scaleniusrm @goldenpoison @the-pan-liquid (if you'd like to be either added or removed from the taglist, please lmk! i know it's been awhile, so hi again haha)
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[papamin au đ
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âpapamin your shoulder is getting wetâŚâ
âitâs okay yuuji, itâs just rain.â
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to a heart's content â ă single father!miguel o'hara x reader (part iii) ă
content warnings ; fem!reader, implied fem bodied!reader, use of she/her pronouns, reader wears dresses and makeup, mild violence mention
contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, angst, angst with some comfort, unedited/not beta read as of 2/24
word count ; 8.5k
notes ; we're so back. am i severely late to posting this? very. did i at least get it done after too many months? also yes. i also apologize in advance to those i tagged that are no longer interested in the series, as i merely tagged people that had commented regardless of time. lmk if you no longer want to be tagged in the last part, i promise i won't take offense at all!
parts ; one two three four (tba)
THREE YEARS AGO
âMy name is (Y/N) (L/N), itâs a pleasure to meet you, Mr. OâHara. Please let me assist you at any need possible.â
Miguel peered at you through his reading glasses, averting his attention from his laptop to fully examine the stranger that stood in his office. Dark hazelnut eyes scan the appearance of a young woman dressed in black slacks and an ironed white blouse standing stiffly next to his superiors that eyed him with more eagerness than he liked. He could already tell that you were a shy one, a person that wasnât too accustomed to the outside world and its people; you stood with stiff posture; it was one that exemplified nerve rather than confidence from the way that you almost seem paralyzed in your place.Â
Caldworth, one of the superiors that stood by your side, placed a wrinkly and veiny hand on your shoulder and showed you off to him as if you were a painting up for bidding. âWe choose a sharp one for you. (Y/N) here is rather attentive, so donât be shy about letting her get to know you better, Miguel.â
Miguel stayed quiet, still skeptical about this sudden new arrangement for him that was brought up at the last minute. He lacked a certain sort of anticipation that would usually behold anyone else in his positionâa new person entering their work life would usually be an exciting, rousing meeting seeing as how it would be a new addition to what the higher-ups would refer to as âfamily.â A loose term, Miguel often thought⌠very loose, even. To even have the courage to compare coworkers to something as intimate as family was something that didnât sit well with Miguel. Blame it on the certain circumstances on his own familial life, but even anyone else that had their brain in the somewhat of the right spot would understand that mere coworkers were nothing compared to family.
At least in his case.
âIâve greatly admired your work in the past,â you said almost robotically, âso I hope I can be of any help in your future accomplishmentsâno matter how big or small.â
Miguel cocked his head. He fought the urge to raise an eyebrow at what he began to concur was something scripted via his superiors. Something about your tone of voice seemed⌠flat; devoid of any actual enthusiasm.Â
Caldworth and his partner began to see themselves out, leaving him to babysit you. âWell, you two have at it! Maybe go out for a cup of coffee to familiarize yourselves, get to know each other better since you both are essentially going to be around each other all the time,â Caldworth stated, making Miguel twitch from the last part.Â
Just before they left, Caldworth offered the glint of his eye over his shoulder, the peek of a tight-lipped grin ever so slightly visible.
âAnd donât forget, weâre all family here!â he cheered before the slam of a door shut you and Miguel in.
Immediately, Miugel noticed that your shoulders caved inward, indicating that you were finally able to breathe properly without the surveillance of people that were essentially in charge of your life. He eyed you again from the top of his glasses before he took them off and rested them in between his fingers, letting them dangle lazily.Â
âDid they tell you to say that?â
You jolted in your spot. Nerves seemingly reshocked with the same anxiety from before, you turned yourself to face your new boss again with a much more paled, yet evident expressionâwide-eyed, pursed-lipped, gritted jawâand swallowed thickly. Almost in a shameful manner, you silently nodded your head.Â
âW-wasâŚâ you started, âwas it that obvious?â
âSomewhat,â Miguel murmured simply and closed his laptop. âDonât listen to what they say, just make yourself as comfortable as possible. Iâm sure neither of us want to be that comfortable with each other.â
Your lips pressed themselves into a tight line, hitching a sharp breath before itâs replaced with another stiff nod. There was no userâs manual of sorts that was given to you by your superiors. They merely told you to do exactly what Miguel needed, so if this is what he wantedâfor you two to maintain distanceâthen so be it. If anything, itâs easier to breathe this way for both parties.Â
And it was like that for a rather long time; the both of you never came too close to the other person. It was strictly a professional workplace relationship, one that didnât issue any room for intimacy because it wasnât needed. There were no lunch or dinner get-togethers outside work hours, there was barely any small talk between you both, and you and he didnât even bother getting each othersâ personal numbers despite being consistently around the other like airâboth parties thought the work phones were more than enough. There was no need for you to learn about his likes, his dislikes, his favorite foods, and Miguel couldnât certainly be bothered with your own slices of life. To each their own, if you minded your business about him, heâd do the same to you.Â
It was a fair trade and a sufficient barter that satisfied you and him; there need not be any excess of the unnecessary.
That was, until a certain day that Miguel was held back during his usual hours to continue working on lab reportsâwork that didnât allow him freedom from this hell of a company to see his own salvation.
âIf itâs an urgent matter, Mr. OâHara, I donât mind taking on some of the workload,â you had said softly as you placed the last stack of packets on his desk that needed proper annotation. âIâm your assistant, after all. Itâs my job to help you out.â
Miguel rubbed his forehead out of exhaustion and shook his head, âYouâre my assistant from 9 to 5 only. Iâm not gonna be like those shocking pricks and work you longer than needed,â he muttered and stretched out his neck, joints crackling. âGo clock out, (Y/N). Iâm sure thereâs someone waiting for you at home that needs attending to.â
Suddenly, the atmosphere had gone awkwardly quiet. The tension was only broken by the scritching of your shuffling feet before you coughed.Â
âUm, thereâs no one in particular like that for me, unfortunately,â you whispered through a forced laugh that quickly dissolved. âSo again, I donât mind staying lateâŚâ
Miguel stiffened in his seat and mumbled an apology for his blatant inconsideration. Right⌠you were still rather young and didnât seem the type to have a family yet. âNo boyfriend? Or girlfriend⌠Iâm not one to judge.â
âNo, Mr. OâHara.â
âNo parents?â
âI moved out, so no.â
âNot even pets?â
âNone.â
â... perhaps friends of sorts?â
â...â
Another sigh heaves itself from his aching lungs. What heâd do for a cigarette right now to kill this awkward tension. You were a rather shy person that isolated herself from most people, but Miguel didnât think youâd detach yourself this much from the crowd.Â
You proposed your assistance once more, as third times always a charm. âPlease let me assist you, Mr. OâHara. I truly do not mind staying overtime if needed.â
Miguel, at first, thought you might be kissing his ass for a possible raise, but the thought quickly disappears when you genuinely appear concerned for his well-being given the fact he looked ultimately much more disgruntled than usual. Despite your timidity, you could be a stubborn one, so Miguel gave in before he tired himself even more with mild arguments that he was sure would drain whatever life he had left in him.
He inhales sharply and fiddles with his bag for a bit before he pulls out an array of keys, gently detaching a pair of them. One of them is his car key. The otherâhis house key.Â
âTake these,â he said and gestured them to you. âIâve trusted you enough to drive my car on multiple occasions, so now Iâm entrusting you to my daughter.â
Your eyes widened briefly, brows raising to new heights. Blinking in the alikeness of an owl, you repeated, âYour⌠your daughter?â
Miguel supposes this is what succumbs to him after not revealing even the most personal, yet basic parts of himself to a coworker. He hasnât even revealed his birthday to you, let alone his family, so he canât say heâs too surprised at your reaction.Â
âYes, my daughter,â he repeats and starts scribbling on a post-it. âHer name is Gabriella, she just turned five and is in kindergarten. Iâm gonna call up the daycare and tell them that youâll be picking her up from school. After that, drop her off at the house and just⌠just kind of stay there until I come home. There should be leftovers in the fridge if she gets hungry. Iâll take a cab home⌠I dunno.â
Miguel sticks out the post-it note containing both the address of the daycare and his apartment number. With caution, you take and examine them closely with a mild surprise still on your face of the new information about your boss that you thought you shouldâve learned a while ago. You begin to see yourself out of his office with an evident nervousness in your being before Miguel spontaneously gets up and grabs your wrist tightly, forcing you to look at him.
A chill goes down your spine when you see a menacing and unusual red glint in those pools of mahogany. His once-drained face is suddenly stony and rugged with his teeth bitten back to avoid any unnecessary threats. The physical contact makes your nerves go cold and paralyzes you into place to force you to stare into those eyes that youâre not sure arenât even human, a sort of malicious crimson tint gleaming over brown hues.
âDo not⌠let anything happen to her,â he hisses under his breath, his tone jaggedly sharp, âNot a single scratch, yes?â
It takes a while for air to breathe itself back into your lungs, yet only a partial amount of it revives your body because all you can reply is a choked out,Â
âYes.â
Miguel lets go of your wrist like itâs a heated iron rod, the burn of it stinging his hand with the aftertaste of your skin still damped on his palm. You quickly leave after that, leaving him to sigh and stare into nothing before clutching the picture frame of his daughter that sits on his deskâpraying that youâll live up to his expectations and arrive home to an unscathed Gabriella.
And throughout the duration of the three years you and Miguel have spent side by side, with each repeated question heâd contritely ask again and again, he did each and every single time you had to take care of her. The hours became longer, more strenuous, and created a blockage between Miguel and Gabriella that only you were able to bridge between. Gabriellaâwhose particular shyness reminded Miguel of a certain someoneâeventually warmed up to you and began to treat you much more familiarly as time passed, growing accustomed to wrapping her body around your legs when she saw you during pick up and always asking what was for dinner that evening as if youâve been there since her birth.
Gabriella grew very fond of you, Miguel noticed. There was some sort of mimicry in her actions at times that mirrored your own habits like how sheâd tilt her head and purse her lips to the left when she was confused like you did or sheâd randomly walk briskly in the same fashion you marched. Sheâd slip in a mention of your name during small discussions here and there, a praise never failing to tail her words.Â
âMiss. (Y/N) bought this headband for me! Isnât it pretty?âÂ
âOh, Miss. (Y/N) taught me how to solve that problem yesterday.â
âCan you make cookies like how Miss. (Y/N) does? Yours taste weird.â
While you werenât always present around the OâHaras, Gabriella made sure it seemed like you were.Â
There was a particular time that Miguel was helping her on some homework assigned over the weekend. The assignment had discussed different careers that children might be interested in the future and when Miguel had asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, Gabriella, who couldnât have been more than six or seven around the time, replied all too simply,Â
âI want to be like Miss. (Y/N).â
Miguel was astonished. He had expected an answer like a professional soccer player due to her love of the sport or a scientist like her father, but to aspire to be someone that seemingly was just an occasional companion? To him, it didnât make sense.
âLike, do you wanna work for Daddy when youâre older?â Miguel asked, attempting to clarify what she meant since she knew enough to understand you were associated with her father.Â
Gabriella shook her head and mindlessly continued to draw what seemed to be a portrait of you in⌠a pink dress? âNuh uh. I wanna be a princess like her.â
Through furrowed brows, Miguel chuckled a little aimlessly. Of course sheâd still believe fantasy and magical thingsâshe was just seven after all. Initially, he wanted to merely correct his daughter, but was a little curious as to what sort of silly information you had been feeding her. âMiss. (Y/N) is a princess?âÂ
âYep, she told me herself!â Gabriella exclaimed, her hand fisting a yellow marker that scribbled on a crown on the drawing. âShe said she used to be a princess, but she ran away âcause a giant, fire-breathing lizard tried to kidnap her!âÂ
âI think it mightâve been a dragon, mijita,â Miguel corrected gently, trying to go along with the usual trope fairy tales portrayed.
âNuh uh, it was a big and creepy lizard, she said!â she retaliated stubbornly.
âWell,â he started again, attempting to choose his words a little more carefully this time around. âHow come you donât wanna be like Ariel? Or Tiana? Theyâre princesses, too, right?âÂ
She shrugged. âI like them. But theyâre not Miss. (Y/N).â
Something unnatural began to seep into Miguelâs chest. He knew that Gabriella liked you quite so, but he didnât expect for her to almost admire you in such a fashion that inspired her to be like you. In his eyes, you were nothing but the assistant that loyally stood by his side and abided by his every wordâto him, it seemed like you were more of a butler or servant than a princess.Â
But in his daughterâs eyesâŚÂ
âWhy? Whatâs so special about (Y/N)?â Miguel inquired with a growing curiosity to try and see you in the same light as Gabriella.Â
She shook her head, displeased with the informality given to you by her father. âYou gotta say Princess (Y/N). I donât have to âcause she said itâs okay.â
He sighed, âOkay, fine. Whatâs so special about Princess (Y/N)?â
Gabriella set her marker down carefully and thought for a little while. Her eyes suddenly lit up with delight, an affirmative grin set on her lips.Â
âWell, sheâs really pretty⌠like reallyyy pretty. I wanna be just as beautiful as her one day,â she praised, making Miguelâs brows rise at the sudden compliment. âSheâs really nice, too. She never shouts at me like the teachers or coaches do⌠and she always lets me have extra dessert when I do a good job on my homework.â
Miguel fell silent. Perhaps it was more than mere admiration, but idolization for Gabriella. She viewed you in a way that Miguel hadnât even thought of because he only viewed you as his coworker. But in Gabriellaâs eyes, you were more than just her babysitterâyou were literal royalty to her. He shouldnât be one to complain thoughâheâd take his daughter following in your footsteps over some others that might lead her astray. You were⌠sufficient enough, he supposes, even if Gabriella didnât think so.
âSheâs super smart tooâlike you, PapĂĄ! Maybe even smarter,â she retorts, making Miguel twitch. âAnd I like her voice a lot. I really like it when she reads me a story because her voice is pretty. Sometimes she sings this song to me to help me sleep.â
âOh?â Miguel questioned, âÂżY, quĂŠ canciĂłn es esa?â
âI keep forgetting the name and words of itâŚâ Gabriella pouted after a moment of attempted concentration. âBut it went somethinâ likeâŚâ
She began humming an off-tune melody that struck a dissonant, yet familiar chord within Miguel, but it was impossible for him to find why it was so eerily familiar to him. Was it perhaps from an old song? Or a film heâd seen before? It was a calming song, one that was perfectly suited for a childâs lullaby, but something about it seemed almost so customary to him.Â
âYa gotta marry her,â his daughter said plainly and began to resume her artistry, ignoring the sudden startle she gave her father. âSo that way, I can become a princess, too.â
Miguel helped himself to the nearby cup of water to soothe his choked throat after the scare she gave him. âSweetheart, Iâm not a prince, though.â
âYeah, I know,â his daughter replied without missing a beat. âBut you know what you are, though?âÂ
Dare he say that Gabriella had grown akin to you the same way she had with her father. Something about her praise and regard for you seemed to mirror the way that reflected alike to her father, yet Miguel couldnât tell if she had managed to draw a line between the images of you and him. Hell, he wasnât even sure if Gabriella could even define a difference in her adulation between you and him besides the fact one was her parent.Â
But when the thought of Gabriella potentially viewing you as sharing the same title as himâa parentâsomething seeds inside Miguel. He doesnât know what it is or what it will grow into, but thereâs one thing he knows for sure.Â
The seed of you in his life and hers is here to stay, whether he likes it or not.Â
Gabriellaâs smile grew wide before she happily announced,
âYouâre her knight in shining armor!"
PRESENT
If he squinted properly and took a closer look, perhaps Miguel could make himself hallucinate enough to try and visualize the golden chandelier above your head as your haloing tiara. It was the main light source nearly the entirety of the venue, but something about the way the light glistened around you made you seem almost holy, like you were a divinity gracing your presence on the wretchedness they called Earth.
Blame it on the wine, but Miguel couldnât help but notice that you looked more celestial tonight; a unique sort of ethereal that heâs only seen in the finest of paintings. The banquet hall is covered in layers of silkened gold, only emphasizing your best features in the spotlights of reflecting amber.Â
Youâre talking idly (per usual, unfortunately) with a coworker from Human Resources that heâs seen you often have mild conversations with on the weekly, a rare familiarity that he only knows heâs been graced with in full; so itâs truly no surprise that thereâs a placid stir of envy growing within Miguel as youâve decided to not give your semi-cold shoulder a break even tonight, even with the rarity of a compliment given by him. At least thereâs been somewhat of an improvementâyouâre actually holding miniscule conversations with him every now and then as you both chatter with the crowd as long as thereâs a third party.
Yet he still hasnât been granted mercy of having a proper one-on-one with you, yet.
But beggars canât be choosers, so Miguel must make do with what heâs offered.
The coworker, finally, is called by one of his project managers and politely excuses himself, leaving you to Miguelâs devices at long last. Like a flowerâs petals given little to no care, your smiling face wilts into the solemn countenance that Miguel has grown accustomed to seeing for the past week when you turn your gaze back towards the table, a sliver of Miguel caught in the corner of your eye. In time, he just barely catches a glimpse of your eyes flickering toward his figure before they return to stare at the nearly empty plate of food with a slight dismal.
A choice of what words to say jumble in his mouth. They toss and jump about while not giving him full comprehension of what they mean and Miguel grows frustrated at his lack of intelligibleness because it wasnât every day that his resolve could be so cowardly in front of someone. Usually he was the one that made egos shrink, but upon your grace, his own could only grow so small.Â
You can tell thereâs an awkward silence amongst you both despite the audible chatter throughout the banquet hall and the idle conversations among your tablemates, so you break it first but stiffly shuffling out your phone and dialing Gabriellaâs babysitter for tonightâa blue moon occasion since neither you nor Miguel could be present. Gabriel is out of town and because there were only so many people in the world that Miguel could trust with his beloved, the elderly next-door-neighbor was the last resort.Â
âI should probably check up on how Mrs. Darcie is doing,â you splutter with a dry mouth. âI forgot to teach her how the TV remote works and Iâm sure she must be bored out of herââ
Unconsciously, Miguel gently pries the phone out of your shaking hands, the connection between skin and skin electrifying his nerves more than he liked. He takes notice of the size difference between your hand and his own and eyes carefully at how easily your fingers would be able to slip into the gaps of his all too easily; like two connecting puzzle pieces.Â
He places it face down on the table to avoid further distractions. âIâm sure Mrs. Darcie is alright,â he attempts to soothe as he places his hand over your own, nearly caging it between his fingers. Miguel struggles with fighting the urge to squeeze it delicatelyâhe doesnât know if heâs earned that privilege, or if he ever did. âGabi is most likely preparing for bed, we shouldnât distract her.â
Eyes flickering toward your covered hand, the warmth that envelopes it from Miguelâs makes you swallow thickly.Â
âAh,â you murmur and timidly pull back your hand to place back on your lap to Miguelâs disappointment. âRight⌠Never mind then.â
And suddenly, heâs back to square one. Silence plagues the air again between you and him, only this time, itâs thicker and grimier almost. Perhaps it was the oddity that was the physical contact that added to the musk of it; Miguel prays that you didnât find it uncomfortable.Â
A fork is plucked between your fingers and you go to idly poke at your food to fidget with something other than your hands. âI hope sheâs okay. Gabi, I mean. I-It feels a little odd leaving her with someone other than you.Â
Rays of hope and enthrallment embellish Miguelâs being from the fact that finally⌠finally youâre the one attempting a conversation with him after much too long. And not only that, youâre beginning with something bold, even if you donât realize it. Despite the fact youâre rather unconscious of what youâre saying, something within Miguel perks up at the fact that youâre worried about Gabriella in the same sense⌠that he is. Â
That a parent is.
He fights the urge to physically shake his head to brush the thought off. Miguel hums, a semi-sorry attempt at being suede and casual. âMrs. Darcie has had eight children in her lifetime, Iâm sure that sheâs definitely had her experience of taking care of kids,â he says seemingly nonchalantly. âGabi, if anything, is lightwork to her.â
A soft delight pings in his chest again when you reply almost instantaneously, âShe is indeed a good girl, very well-behaved.â
âShe has her moments,â Miguel snorts, fondly remembering a few of younger Gabriellaâs temper tantrums and outbursts of tears.
Something golden, something bright blossoms within him when he hears you let out a soft chuckle at his reply. Itâs abrupt, but itâs short and sweet enough that he feels accomplished, enough for him to savor the taste of it. âAll children do from time to time. But sheâs definitely one of the better apples of the bunch.â
Miguel thinks youâre right; it wasnât often that parents, new ones especially, were granted with the privilege of having obedient children, so heâs one of the lucky ones. Perhaps Gabriella being a good kid was the universe giving him mercy as a single parent, as society often thinks it takes two to tango when it comes to childcare most of the time.Â
But thatâs why youâre here, isnât it? Even if Miguel wasnât aware of it, some of the responsibility was lifted off his shoulders when you entered the picture, as the duties of nurturing a young child were now in your favor the moment you had signed your work contract. For that, he harbors guilt from time to time when he thinks that you never exactly signed up to be a babysitter, let alone a parent figure to his kin that you were still unaware of.Â
And then it hits him.
It comes all of a suddenâhis senses downpouring from the cloud of his daydreams and thoughts.
Itâs not a good realization by far. If anything, itâs the very opposite, one thatâs one the other end of the spectrum. Itâs a deathly epiphany and one that he doesnât like to acknowledge but is forced to.
Miguel stares blankly at the tablecloth, eyes droning into the satin folds of it as they mimicked the waves of a crashing ocean. A sort of paleness infects his face, the color of it draining slowly and he goes still when he feels his heartbeat thundering in his ears.Â
Youâre quick to take notice of your bossâs current disposition, growing wary of his wide, blank eyes and gritted jaw, along with his knuckles growing white as they fist his slacks. A shallow breath is echoed from him; you furrow your brows.
âMr. OâHara?â you murmur, leaning toward his figure.Â
Miguelâs mind stirs. If Gabriella views you as a parent-figure, what exactly would you think of it? Youâre not much younger than Miguel is, only falling behind a mere four or five years, but youâre still significantly young that youâve got your whole life ahead of you that youâd need to experience by yourself. The remnants of youth are still planted onto you despite being well-adjusted to the adult world, so to put the responsibility of a child on your shoulders? Miguel feels contrition flood into him.
What if you didnât even want children?Â
Itâs a fact that you care for Gabriella, but do you harbor the same type of love for her that she has for you? Does she even understand what your role is in her life and that thereâs a strict boundary between you and Miguel and Gabriella? He knows he canât just shackle you onto a weighing responsibility, but when Gabriella is a part of this dilemma, the complication increases tenfold.
Your boss seems to be frozen in time, seeing as how not a muscle in his limbs nor his face were moving, but his eyes were wide open, almost glazed with fear. A feathery hand goes to place itself over his tightened fist before you ask again, âMr. OâHara, are you okay?â
Itâs a fact that you care for Gabriella, but do you harbor the same type of love for her that she has for you? Does she even understand what your role is in her life and that thereâs a strict boundary between you and Miguel and Gabriella? He knows he canât just shackle you onto a weighing responsibility, but when Gabriella is a part of this dilemma, the complication increases tenfold.
The worst case scenario infects Miguelâs thoughtsâyou standing in the same shadow of his ex, exiting through the same door she had walked through just a few days after his daughterâs birth and breaking his entire being into little pathetic pieces.
This time, however? He wouldnât be the only one with a shattered heart.
A thick swallow goes down your throat. You gently shake his hand with your own to attempt to break him out of his frigid state, a worry beginning to settle itself in your stomach. âMr. OâHara? Can you hear me?â you declare a little louder than the first two times.
Your voice makes him blink and he clears his throat, feeling his cheeks warm at the sudden loss of composure. âYes, I-Iâm fineâŚâ he mutters as he tugs at the tight collar of his dress shirt.
You nod with visible skepticism. Miguel turns away from your gaze to avoid further questioning, since he knows youâve been at his side long enough to know his behaviors. âAre you sure?â
He nods and stifles a sigh, nodding. The flurry of what had just occurred in his mind lingers almost painfully and it takes him a while to remember where he is and why. Right⌠the annual celebration gala⌠with you⌠to make up for the date that never happened.
His mind is a mess. Itâs an incoherent tornado of everything and anything, with images of all kinds flashing throughout his mindâyoung Gabriellaâs drawing of you and her as princesses that she insisted on framing, your face of disappointment that you gave him when he ditched out on the date, a flashback of his ex slamming his old apartment door on him as an infant Gabriella screamed and wailed in her crib, you hugging his daughter after her winning goal, Miguelâs frazzled self as he showed up too late to his daughterâs first Parents Day with a teary-eyed Gabriella, him finding you quietly reading a sleepy Gabi a bedtime story after a long shift at work, you making baked goods in the kitchen with her.. you tucking in her into bed⌠you suddenly with a suitcase in hand, a sobbing Gabriella in the back as Miguel begged you to stay before you slammed the door behind you and leaving themâ
Miguel stands up abruptly, making you jump. The collar and tie around his neck suddenly seem too tight and his throat runs dry. The air grows hotter and his vision starts to blur.Â
âMr. OâHara,â you start as you also stand up, âIs everything alrââ
âI need some air,â Miguel barely chokes out before he leaves the banquet hall without another word. He can just barely hear you ask if thereâs anything you could do before he turns a sharp right and leaves the entirety of the building altogether, choosing to remain in the back garden to breathe in fresh oxygen, a relieving chill to the air.
A hand goes to loosen his collar and tie and he can feel himself gain consciousness again. The sky is draped with an ink blue all over, speckles of the night stars scattering all around. The floral smell of many garden flowers fills his senses and Miguel grounds himself properly before he settles himself on a stone bench to balance in his mind.
He attempts to reason with himself.Â
Clearly, you donât mind being with children, and obviously you donât mind being with and taking care of Gabriella. Sheâs not simply a job to you that youâre forced to work withâyouâve said it yourself. Otherwise, you wouldnât go to her games nor would you remember to bring her small gifts of her liking. Youâve done things for her out of your own initiative many times. Gabriella is your world, Miguel thinks, as much as your hers.
Now thereâs the problem of you being with Miguel, if your feelings havenât changed all too much. In all honesty, Miguel thinks if heâs with the right person, heâs sure to put in effort into stabilizing and nurturing a proper relationship. He hadnât had the time to go around and look for love because of work and Gabriella, so serving as this sanctuary that came to him was basically a perfect fit into his lifeâdonât mind it took him three years to notice it. Youâre worth putting that effort in.
Finally⌠thereâs the possible chance that you reject Miguelâs proposal of being Gabriellaâs secondary caretaker.
âŚ
Miguel attempts to process it in a more⌠positive light. One that wonât send him spiraling.Â
But itâs nearly impossible.
How is it possible to settle a middle ground of happiness, or at the very least⌠satisfaction, between you and him and Gabriella? How do you imagine a happy ending to a dawning of Gabriellaâs happiness? How can Miguel ever face you after asking such a thing?
His vision shakes again, another hurricane of impossible questions begins whirling in mind. The bile in his stomach churns uncomfortably and his hands grow clammy again. His feet feel like theyâre sinking in the dirt. Somehow, even at a staggering height compared to most of his colleagues, Miguel feels small once more.Â
Would he be able to cope with such aâ
A loud crash and multiple screams suddenly break Miguel out of his state and he whirls his head to see what was happening inside. The peek of something green slithers inside the massive hole in the glass ceiling indented in the building, and it doesnât take Miguel long to know whatâs happening.
He sprints back inside the building and into the banquet hall, the opposite way where everyone is headed and takes a swift peek inside to what was happening.Â
A horrifically large green lizard crawls on the floor, letting out an agonizing roar of sorts with its tail swishing about and knocking everything and everyone in its path over. Dr. Curtis Connors, the one foe Miguel had fought a few months ago and had just managed to escape his grasp, had come back for revenge in a newer, more improved, more terrifying form of his initial self-experiment. News of his identity had leaked out immediately the moment that he had defeated the mad doctor, and every work that was researched by him that was deemed irrelevant by Alchemax was unpublished and/or destroyedâthat included raiding everything in his personal labâan urgent executive order made by Tyler Stone himself.Â
Hungry for revenge for the destruction of his work, Miguel was certain he was back for revenge as back when he was still sane, the amount of research that Dr. Connors had put in was extensive and yielded long years in the making, spanning over nearly three decades of research that was wiped away in the matter of a single day thanks to Alchemax.Â
Miguel quickly turns a corner, hidden from the public eye, and commands his suit on before quickly re-entering the banquet hall. He swings up towards the domed ceiling and carefully analyzes the area.
Thereâs still a few people scattering from the room, shrieks echoing from the walls. His eyes go to search for where you are in desperation, praying youâre safe somewhere outside, but a flash of light pink catches the corner of his eye. He nearly snaps his neck when he finds you running in the opposite direction of where most people are headedâtowards the garden.
â(Y/N)!â Miguel yells out without thinking and slaps a hand over his mouth. Thankfully, you donât hear him due to the commotion inside the area as you swim against the current of people. You fight the urge to fall down with every person that bumps into you amidst the chaos before you thankfully make it near the exit.
He lunges down from his spot on the ceiling, lassoing a few people that nearly get crushed under Lizardâs humongous tail and bringing them to safety properly on the way, making his way towards your figure. Rubble from the many columns begin to collapse on themselves; clouds of dust and debris fog the first floor of the hall with the wreckage already trapping some people inside.Â
A large chunk from the wall creaks and begins to teeter over the south exit, where youâre headed. A certain distraction diverts you from noticing the large cement framework around the exit thatâs about to topple on you to Miguelâs horror. In the nick of time, he just barely manages to snatch you by the waist from a thrusted sprint just before the framework collapses with a thunderous boom.Â
You and Miguel cough from the dust it created. It takes a good second for you to process what your fate mightâve become, and it takes just another second for you to regain your consciousness. A good part of the exit is now blocked, but that doesnât stop you from taking off your heels and attempting to climb over it.Â
Miguel barks out and grabs your arm thatâs now scathed with slight scratches. âThe hell are you doing?!â he exclaims worriedly.Â
You turn back with a teary and troubled look on your face, much to his shock. Abruptly, you turn back towards the exit and attempt to tug back your arm from his firm grasp. âM-my boss⌠heâs inside the garden,â you croak miserably out as you try to pull yourself over the fallen column. âI need t-to know if heâs safeâŚâ
Lizard lets out another mighty howl and patters toward the stage, his tail once again swinging haughtily and ignoring anything in its path. Miguel shouts at you to duck and pulls you down along with him. You prop back up and without his arm on yours, you use it to your advantage and grunt yourself forward onto the column.Â
Miguel wraps a large hand over your ankle and weighs you down from moving any further. âHey, you need to get out, now. You canât be here, no one should be,â he urges.
The shake of your head concerns himâright, youâre too stubborn for your own good. âIâll be fine. P-please, just leave me be.â
âNot when youâre about to get killed,â he declares and juts your ankle more towards him. The motion makes you fall into his chest and Miguel uses one hand to properly secure you to himself, the other launching and swinging a web to the north entrance.Â
You squirm and fight against him, pleading desperately for him to drop you and leave you alone. A frame of tears threatens to fall from your eyes from frustration and despair when you get put down. Miguel has to physically stop you from running back into the banquet hall once againâyou put up a fight though. You thrash against him, clawing and weakly punching at his stronger arms, imploring for him to let you back inside.Â
âYou donât understandââ you gasp as the remnants of the people inside flood out. Looking over his shoulder, you gaze at the exit solemnly. âPlease⌠I need to know if heâs alrightâhe h-has a young daughter back at home and if anything happens t-to himâjust please let me go!â you wail.
He grabs you by the shoulders forcefully and settles you down, the stream of tears falling from your eyes running his throat dry once again. Miguel has never seen you cry, or even come close to crying. Not when Gabriella forced you to watch what she considered âone of the saddest movies in existenceâ, not when an entire glass beaker had toppled and its shards pierced your skin, not even when Miguel had first scolded you about your many mistakes on the very first document you turned into him.Â
Glassy eyes meet concerned, masked ones. Your lip trembled violently, the words all jumbled in your mouth about to spill. âJust let me check if heâs alright,â you just barely whisper.
He bores his gaze into yours as his composure does its best to upkeep him as best as possible. Miguel, from the inside of his mask, bites his lip and sighs. âI promise you, Iâll make sure Miguel gets home safely.â
âWhat if you donât?â you accuse with furrowed brows.
âIâll bring him home safe and sound,â he says firmly. âYou said he has a daughter, right? I wonât let her become an orphan. I swear on my life I wonât.â
Your gaze doesnât falter, even when Miguel attempts to soothe you by chafing the chilled skin of your arms up and down in a calming manner. Unbeknownst to you, you and him share an image of Gabriella in your minds; it brings a sting of ache to your chests.
âHow can I trust you?â you ask dryly.Â
âBecause,â he goes to weave a string of webbing through the north entrance and takes you out into the safety of the outside. He settles you on the corner of two intersecting streets that sit nearby the building, with your tears still falling and hands trembling. A hand carefully holds your cheek and wipes away descending tears on your chalky face, Miguel ignoring the squeeze of his heart with each one that puddles on the sidewalk.Â
â... Iâm your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.â
Spider-Man leaves you on the sidewalk idly with the blurry figures of your co-workers and other people in the company whizzing by you with no concern for anyone else other than themselves. It takes a moment for you to understand what just happened and with whom, suddenly hit with the pang of realization that you had just met the Spider-Man: the well-known vigilante protecting Nueva York from all corners, beloved by the public. Excitement canât seem to conjure itself within you, however, your gaze still lingering on the building that Miguel was possibly in.Â
A hesitant step takes you forward back to the building, but your phone vibrates abruptly from a notification from Mrs. Darcie. Word mustâve gotten out so quickly that it reached the O'Hara's neighborhood, as her text was asking if you and Miguel were alright. Your thumbs shake as you try and type up a response to let her know that you were at least alive, but you know that Gabriella wanted you both home.Â
The least you could do is make sure half of that concern was eased. You were counting on Spider-Man to do the rest.
With an arm reaching out for a taxi, you rush into one and tell the driver to step on the gas, promising to tip extra. Youâd be willing to give all the money you had with you if it meant that you could be with Gabriella for tonight.
Youâve underestimated the nightly rush hour this Friday night had brought upon, because thereâs a sea of cars that are equally as stuck as you are amidst the road. Tangible fingers go to grip your hair frustratingly, and asking the driver to go any further was basically useless. Each minute you wasted on the same road you had been on for what was nearing twenty minutes made you more anxious by the minute.Â
âI-isnât there some sort of shortcut?â you ask the driver hoarsely. âI donât care what roads you have to take, just please get off this one. Iâm begging you. I have a child thatâs waiting for me.â
His eyes give you a quick glance in the mirror, and empathy embeds itself in his equally tired eyes. He must be a father himself, you think, as he gives you an affirmative nod and swings off the road onto a much more bumpy and gravelly, but visibly less dense one.
Itâs nearly an agonizing hour later off the roadâit wouldâve most likely reached around two or even three if you stayed on the main roadâbut you thankfully make it to the OâHaraâs residence. Your body moves on its own, flying out the elevator and speeding down the floor of the apartment. You burst open the door, visible sweat misted on your forehead and an ache to your limbs but all that is ignored when Mrs. Darcie greets you with relief, with a sleeping Gabriella settled soundly on the couch as her favorite TV show buzzes in the background.
She grasps you tightly by the arms. âMy goodness, thank heavens youâre alright,â she murmurs quietly. âThat mustâve been quite a scare⌠are you alright?â
âIâm okay,â you gasp out tiredly. âBut how is she? Gabi, I mean⌠d-does sheââ
Mrs. Darcie shakes her head. âShe fell asleep a while ago, she doesnât know. I just managed to get informed thanks to my son who works near the building. But where is Miguel?â
Dread floods your face once more, remembering why you left the banquet in the first place. Somehow, however, your phone vibrates and receives a text from the one and only. A loud sigh escapes your lips and you crumple to the floor as the feeling returns to your numb legs as Miguelâs texts ease your worries.Â
Hey Iâm alive and alright. I saw you leave earlier, hope youâre safe. Iâm omw home.Â
You fight the urge to burst into tears from the relief as Mrs. Darcie helps you back up. âIâm assuming thatâs him,â she says gently as she encourages you to take off your heels. âWhat a waste of night and beautiful dress. Shame that blasted giant iguana or something had to ruin it.â
A broken laugh leaves you from her gentle humor. You glance down at the dress that the mysterious Lyla had given you tonight and sigh sadly at the many tears of the tulle and fabric. The dress looked expensive and you planned on wearing it again for formal events, but alas, fate has decided to toy with you.
âThatâs alright,â you mutter as you help Mrs. Darcie gather her stuff back up so she can finally leave. âI have plenty of others to use in the meantime.â
The elderly woman leaves you inside their apartment after bidding you a goodnight to tend to Gabriella, whoâs still sound asleep and oblivious to what was happening to the world and people around her. Thatâs a good thing, at least, you think to yourself as you tidy up the living room around her quietly. Ignorance is bliss, sometimes.
Sheâs still small enough that youâre able to carry her to her room even at her age and it reminds you a lot of when she was younger, when sheâd pretend to be asleep so you could carry her yourself to go back to her room. Nowadays, she knows her bedtime and does it by herself, but assuming she had been waiting for you or Miguel to come home, sleep had snuck onto her as she waited and waited.
You put her down gently, hoping not to get any of the leftover debris on your soiled clothes onto her freshly-washed body. The action just barely stirs her awake, her eyes slitting open at the slightest bit. Your blurry figure just barely makes it to her senses and she grins sleepily.
A titter escapes her lips. âYou look like aâŚâ Gabriella starts, her words faltering due to a fading consciousness.Â
âLike aâŚ?â you whisper softly, a hand stroking her hair gently.
âLike aâŚâ you can tell sheâs trying to find the words in her very limited vocabulary currently, her brain threatening to shut off at any second now. âLike a princess, I think?â
You raise your brows at her description as Gabriella immediately falls back asleep. You suppose you do look much more dressed up from usual, but your cheeks tingle a hint of warmth at the comparison of literal royalty. You blame it on the drowsiness.
Your own tiredness begins to crawl up your spine as you stay by Gabriellaâs side in her darkened bedroom, her quiet breaths soothing you like a lullaby. With heavy eyelids threatening to shut close at any minute, you fight the urge to give into the Sandman, insistent on Miguelâs return.
MiguelâŚ
His name rings aloud in your mind for a moment.
MiguelâŚ
MiguelâŚ
âI promise you, Iâll make sure Miguel gets home safely.âÂ
Spider-Manâs familiar voice suddenly jolts you awake. Your brows crunch together. How on earth did Spider-Man know Miguelâs name when you merely referred to him as your boss? Perhaps he saw Miguel in the garden beforehand? Maybe Miguel had an earlier oncoming with him from before and Spider-Man just knew him from that one incident? Or⌠he just happens to know the names of all the citizens of Nueva York because⌠thatâs just how Spider-Man is?Â
Or, was Miguel actually Spidâyou shake your head in the same second you think of such a stupid reasoning. Thatâs impossibleâŚ
⌠you know in your heart that it just is.
Any reason that you attempt to give, you think of it as either obnoxious or just simply impossible. Maybe you did let it slip that your bossâs name was Miguel⌠that just seems like the most plausible reason. After all, your adrenaline was at an all-time high and you could barely remember what had happened before the takeover, let alone the conversations you had.Â
Whatever it was, it was going to bring Miguel back home, and thatâs what ultimately had mattered in the end. It probably wasnât even your business to prod around.
At Gabriellaâs visible sleeping state, you stand up and start to head towards the bathroom to fix yourself up, but the sound of the master bedroomâs window suddenly shuffling open makes your nerves electrify. Miguelâs bedroom sat just right next to Gabriellaâs, and it was also the bedroom that was nearest to the complexâs fire escape, so a break-in at this time of night was highly plausible.Â
Grabbing one of the displayed metal baseball bats on the wall, you turn off Gabriellaâs lights and lock the door behind, ensuring her safety first before yours. Youâre careful to tiptoe around the more creaky parts of the floorboards, desperate to make yourself not seen by the intruder as you step closer and closer to Miguelâs bedroom. The door is just barely ajar, and the lights are on. A distinct shuffling, bed springs, and a masculine groan echo from the crack of the doorway and when all is silent from the other side of the door, you make your move and burst in, ready to swing at whoever threatens the OâHara residence.
The bat is suddenly grabbed from your hands from a familiar neon orange webbing and thrusted to the side of the room, where it thunks against the wall and falls limply. You gasp aloud and with nothing to defend yourself with, you look up with fear in your eyes that suddenly turn to shock from the sight in front of you.
There, standing in the same blue and red vinyl suit you had crossed paths with earlier, without its mask completing the look⌠and thus, exposing the face of the man you had been waiting for to come back home to you.Â
a/n ; second to last part to this mini-series and once again, i apologize for this nearly six-month delay, last semester was rough for uni. almost made this into two parts, but i felt like they just belonged together and i quite like the blend of them together.
thanks for the patience for those who stuck around and have waited far too long for this, you deserve this! i'm glad to see you all again <3 thank you endlessly for reading and likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and appreciated (㼠ᴠ_á´)ăĽâĄ
taglist ; @secretlyrexlapis @urbimom @p1nkliquor @julesclues @averagefloydlover @apurpletrashcan @raeisthebae @mvchmp @um-well @nintendh-e @eddieslooneymoonie @deputy-videogamer @xochyw @honeybeeznuts @aspens-cove @btszn @scaleniusrm @goldenpoison @the-pan-liquid (if you'd like to be either added or removed from the taglist, please lmk! i know it's been awhile, so hi again haha)
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cw: gn!reader, no pronouns used, some verbal fighting (not extreme), i have a habit of making suguru be an asshole haha
thinking about bandmate!suguru who makes u irritated just by looking at him... the snarky rhythm guitarist who narrows his eyes at your presence when you join the club via shoko, your childhood friend. satoru is delighted to meet you, exclaiming that the many designs that adorned your bass told him all he needed to know about you. iori is thankful that thereâs another girl in the band, comparing you to a springâs breath of fresh air amidst the stench of two specific men.
but suguru feels as if thereâs something wrong about you⌠something that doesnât fit into the usual dynamicâand he doesnât do a good job of hiding it. heâll ask aloud via practice whether bass is that important to the band, or that satoru is a jack of all trades! why couldnât he do it? the best heâll do is feign nicety and say the most passive aggressive things (âyeah we could do that, but this is better, yâknow?â). his insults are soft-spoken, but theyâre just as icy and if not, more sharp tongued than if he was yelling. donât make a mistake, because his ears are just as sharp as his eyes and heâll cut the song short if you play a wrong note or if you play it too fast. heâll spend more time lecturing you about the importance of perfection rather than actually correcting your mistake and he doesnât notice that it irritates not only you, but satoru, shoko, and iori as well.
you were fine with it for the first few weeks, obviously not wanting to get on the rest of the bandâs bad side, but it came to a point where you refused to be a doormat and started retaliating with equal fervor. suguru is taken aback the first time you spit his own fire in his face, but ever since then, itâs almost like a game of catch between you two every practice. satoru had to pick you up by the scruff like a kitten one time to stop you from pouncing on suguru after he called you a poser.
itâs become like breathing at this pointâsuguru says something to tick you off and in a flash of a second, you snap back. the other three have long tried to help you both, sighing and shaking their head every time suguru smirk grows wider as your insults grow exponentially. heâs fueling his own fire and god forbid they put it out.
it comes to a boiling point, eventually. he shouldâve seen it comingâall of them should. perhaps it was the way satoru, shoko, and iori automatically looked up to see your reaction the moment suguru finished words that slowly burned into your flesh, making you all halt your practicing.
âi donât even know why you joined. youâre not that good, anyways.â
suguru himself had to take a moment to process what he had said, awaiting your reaction from your frozen self with not even your fingertips moving.
the entirety of the garage goes still, and before shoko snaps at him to apologize, he scoffs at your silence and lightly pushes your shoulder to make you face him. âyo, did you hear what i said?â
you donât respond, but instead, you start to pack up your bass and other arrays silently. the other three dread whatâs about to happen in the next few seconds, and look to suguru to send him a message but he sighs and shakes his head, something regarding you being deaf slipping his tongue.
the clicks of the clasps on your case are the only things that echo through the garage. your grip on your amp tightens and despite battle of the bands coming up in less than three weeks, you turn your head to the rest of them, making sure to properly make eye contact with a familiar purple hue, you mutter,
âfind another bassist. i quit.â
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vogue â ă boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader ă
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 thisâsee if you can spot them! also the censored is spoilers so until then, hehe.
now playing ; seven days in sunny june - jamiroquai
Itâd 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 fashionâan England-Japanese punk fusion of an ashen and tattered kasaya layered under the contrasting statement piece: the earth-toned gojĹu-gesa splattered with weaves of goldâand 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 heâd 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.Â
It didnât 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.Â
Whether it was direct or indirect, Geto had impacted the industry in all sorts of ways. Be it blossoming an upcoming supermodelâs name or setting new fashion trends, everything could essentially be traced to Geto Suguru.Â
So itâs understandable that many had called you a foolâa dimwit, evenâfor 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.Â
Whatever gave you more money, youâd take. Survival of the fittest, was this world not?
âDo not tell me youâre going to your interview at Kaizen wearing that?â Ino barks out a laugh as he finishes his morning cereal for breakfast, scanning your outfit. âYouâre going to work in a fashion magazine, not some dingy corporate office.â
You sneer at him as you shove on your loafers (donât mind that the leather is peeling slightly on the side). You think that thereâs nothing remotely wrong with your overused gauntlet gray matching set of trousers and blazer with a slightly wrinkled button-up underneath it.Â
âOh, please,â you roll your eyes at your roommate and parttime brother figure. âWhat on earth do you know about fashion?â
âEnough of it to know that outfit is atrocious for that type of environment,â 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. âTrust me, change if you can. Make a statement for âem.â
Ino Takuma sighs and glances at your thick spectacles that youâve worn since early college. âAnd at least change your glasses for your contacts. Heard they donât like those sorta things over there. At least not the prescription kind.â
âCanât find them,â you grunt when you feel the weight of your shoulder bag heave down your body. âIâm already late, anyway,â you sigh, âListen, if I donât come back alive, which I will by the way, then you can dance on my grave all you want.â
âIâm holding you to that,â he chants before he lets out a haughty snicker that gets muffled instantly when you slam the door on him.Â
You throw insults at Ino in your mind, grumbling about how a mere job hopper like him wouldnât even know the speck of fashion, how you refuse to take advice from someone who wears the same thing every day. Thereâs nothing wrong with the gray, you think. Itâs safe and presentable, ordinary and professional, and youâd much rather blend in than stand out as you believe standing out and making yourself known is just a recipe for trouble.Â
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. âJob interview?â he asks.
âOh, um,â you nod your head. âYep! I'm a little nervous, haha.â
âReally?â he says as he gratefully steps on the accelerator a little faster. âBetter get you there quick, then. Would hate to have you late. Where are you planning on working?â
âKaizen Magazine,â you declare confidently, an affirmative look on your face.
âKaizen?â questions the driver slowly as his eyes go to scan your outfit in the mirror again, his brows raised. âAs in the⌠the fashion magazine?âÂ
You nod with visible apprehensiveness. You think that maybe you truly were the only person in the world that didnât know the impact of Kaizen, seeing as how a mere taxi driver even knew about the name and you didnât up until a few weeks ago.Â
âI seeâŚâ 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. âWell then, hereâs your stop.âÂ
You let out a little gasp of excitement. âThank you so much,â you reply as you shove some cash into the slot.Â
âHm, well,â the taxi driver counts the money carefully, barely looking just before you close the door as he mutters, âGood luck, Plain Jane.â
You turn back to the taxi, your hearing a little awry. âSorry, what was that?â
But when you turn back to the yellow cab, all thatâs 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 iconsâthe white screams pristine and perfection to you and its message went very much noticed. You havenât 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 âsummerâ 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.Â
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.
â(Y/N) (L/N)?â
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. âThatâs you I presume?â she asks.
âOh! Uh,â you nod furiously and smooth out your trousers again. âYes⌠yes, thatâs me. I assume youâre Manami Suda? The one I spoke with on the phone?â
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 Inoâs and the taxi driverâs had, further enunciating the message that your attire was rather⌠something.
âI see youâve dressed up for the occasion,â 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 doesnât 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. âThis will be yours if you manage to miraculously pass.âÂ
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 feetâŚ
âAnd uhâŚâ Manami flickers her eyes to you and the details (or lack of, in this case). She mutters under her breath quietly, â... a good wardrobe.â
You turn to her, internally wondering if you were going deaf today. âSorry, can you repeat that?â
âA good, warmâŚâ she squints, obviously finding the right word to keep that ignorant smile on your face. â... welcome to start off his day.â
She succeeds in her task as you merely nod with the same blatant grin attached. âGot it!â
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 Getoâs potential right hand man the moment you signed that employee contract. Â
âThis is Human Resources,â Manami gestures over to a room filled with chattering employees who seemed to be getting their gossip out before their day started. âYouâll contact them if you have anyââ 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.
âEverybody! His morning facial was canceled!â Manami hollers. âGeto is coming inâŚâ her phone pings again with another notification, and you can tell Manamiâs heart instantly drops. âOh God⌠heâs in the lobby! Everybody, places! You,â she snags the sleeve of your blazer and drags you along with her, your clunky loafers nearly tripping you. âCome with me.â
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 youâre so frazzled with trying to remember how to act in front of your future boss that you canât even remember the first thing she told you.Â
âHelp me arrange the drafts of the magazines from most recent to least recent before heââ
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 manâa tall man, around six feet or perhaps even tallerâdressed 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 youâre sure is worth half your rent and a watch plated on his wrist that is well over your life savings. Heâs 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 colorâa sharp dark amethyst that you think could cut through you like crystals.
But heâs almost hauntingly attractingâlike a spirit. Something about him was an enigma and his aura was nothing less than powerful.Â
âGood morning, Geto,â Manami chants with an artificial happiness to her tone.
Geto doesnât 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. Heâs 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.
âHello,â you state with a slight bow. âI-Iâm one of the interviewees for your junior assistant. My name isââ
â(Y/N),â Geto murmurs; his voice is soft and low. Itâs all knowing, with indigo eyes boring into your own. â(L/N) (Y/N), I know. The one that graduated from Jujutsu University recently, yes?âÂ
 Adjusting your glasses to wave away the blurriness, you nod with anticipation. âYes, thatâs me.â
Geto turns back and opens the door, to which he only replies back, âIn my office.â
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.Â
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.Â
âItâs nice to have another Jujutsu alum to join us,â he says. His voice is still the sameâa little baritone with a wisping edge of a whisper to it, but it almost sounds⌠bored. Unamused even. âA bachelors in print journalism⌠same as mine, hm. Tell me, is Professor Tengen still as loose as ever with their practices?â
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. âUm, I assume so. Though I believe theyâre actually retiring this year.â
âGood,â he sighs in what seems to be relief. âShame that the university had wasted time and money by hiring them. Truly, I hope they can find someone much better suited for their position.â
âReally?â 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. âI thought they were a rather alright teacherâŚâ
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.Â
âTengen was merely a sorry excuse for a professor. They were rather nothing but a nanny who gave their students too much leeway,â Geto declares. âThough, Iâll admit, I am pleasantly surprised that you managed to take something out of that class.â
A laugh thatâs just dripping with nothing but nervousness leaks out of your lips. âI suppose I had learned just a few thingsâŚâ
âMmh,â Geto nod nonchalantly, eyes drawing back to the papers. âWell. Letâs start with the basics. Why exactly do you want to work here?âÂ
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 wondersâsomething nice for a change.
âI was inspired by your work.âÂ
âItâs been my dream to work at Kaizen.â
âFashion is my absolute passion.â
âI want toââ
âIâm just in need of a job, really,â you say lifelessly.Â
He goes to raise his head slowly from the packet and turns to you slowly. Geto doesnât say anything, but his facial expressions indicate a blend of confusion and intrigue. A slithering tongue darts out to slick his lips, indicating youâve piqued his interest. âWell, obviously. But why this job specifically? What about it stood out to you?â
You clear your throat. âI had learned recently that Kaizen is a rather prestigious magââ
ââRecentlyâ?â Geto repeats quietly. âYou hadnât heard of us before?âÂ
Lips thinning, you shake your head slightly. His eyes go narrow again to your dread, serpent-like. âMy specialty is more in newspapers rather than magazines, I-Iâm not too knowledgeable in that area.â
Geto goes quiet and the silence makes the air go thick. Itâs then that familiar glint sparkles in his sullen eyes when they go to examine your choice of clothingâit confirms Ino was truly right in the end, as he lets out a smile-less chuckle that doesnât do much to ease your brain.Â
âContinue,â 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. âYou said you only learned about us not too long ago?â
âYes, and I realized that perhaps working here for a while would, at least I hope, grant me access to other media houses,â you explain. Itâs 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. âConnections are quite powerful in this day and age, hahaâŚâ
âI suppose,â Geto mumbles with not much interest in your poor humor. âWhat about me? I do hate bragging but surely, you know about my name or at least my fashion line?â
Your hesitant countenance and silence tells Geto all he needs to know. He thinks that itâs almost some sort of marvel that no one has heard of him or his works before.
He sighs. âDo you have any experience working in any fashion-related activities at least?â
âWell, I once worked in a department store for a few months back in high school,â you say thoughtfully (and ignorantly).
Geto gives you a blank look. His blinks are apathetically slow.
âUm,â you clear your throat again and shake your head, timid. âN-noâŚâ
âThen tell me,â he continues smoothly. âWhy exactly should I hire you? You obviously have no taste in fashion and you hadnât 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?â He air-quotes mockingly, ââneeding a job?ââ
Your throat runs dry and limbs go stiff. A heat rockets to your face when you seemingly canât get any words out to excuse yourself, much too caught up in the same of your ignorance towards Getoâs profession. And thatâs all the response he needs to make his decision.Â
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.Â
Geto gives you the mercy of breaking the thick silence first. âYou may go.âÂ
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.Â
You donât 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.Â
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 Manamiâs voice. Itâs 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.Â
You think itâs some sort of cruel joke maneuvered by Ino, especially with how his comforts from last night were mixed with taunts. But when Manamiâs voice finally registers in your brain, by some sort of miracle or stroke of luck, you have gotten the job as Geto Suguruâs junior assistant.Â
You donât know how, but you donât 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. Itâs 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.Â
At 7:40, youâre out the door and sprinting to the located coffee shop that thankfully wasnât too far from where you lived.
At 7:47, youâre at the designated cafe whilst attempting to swim through the crowds of morning bustlers to pick up Getoâs coffee.
7:50, youâre 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 donât 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 coatâa cashmere pearl peacoat todayâflung 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 Getoâs weekly steak for lunch. Had this been your old corporate job, you only wouldâve 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.
â(Y/N),â he calls from the office, the scrape of his fork against ceramic cluttering your ears agonizingly.Â
You fight the urge to cringe from the sound as you scurry to the doorframe, hands stiffly intertwined together. âYes, Mr. Geto?â
âNo need for such formalities,â he remarks with the dab of a napkin to his lips. âThey make me feel old, and Iâm surely not much older than you areâŚâ you think thatâs the longest heâs spoken to you since the day had started. âDid Leibovitz confirm?â
Blinking, you tilt your head ignorantly. âD-did who confirm?â
He pauses and does that taunting slow rise of his eyes from his steak to you. âLeibovitz. Did she confirm?â
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. âJust go on your lunch,â 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, âIâve got Annie!â
âHe hates me, Taku!â you cry out whilst flopping onto the dinner table. Itâs ten in the evening and youâve 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 donât know how much your sanity (and body) can take.Â
Normally, Geto is usually cold to those who he wasnât familiar with, but you think that his distaste for you sours everyday. You notice that heâs 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.
â... canât even do the most miniscule things right,â Geto had groaned. âI ask if Lanvinâs models are all good to go for next Thursdayâs shoot and somehow, they have the nerve to ask âHow do you spell Lanvinâ? For fuckâs sake, I can feel my goddamn conscious just wither away by the second.â
You hadnât 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 Manamiâs 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 Getoâs words had twisted through your skin and bone much harsher than that pain ever will.Â
âItâs a miracle how I havenât been fired yet⌠I donât even know why he hired me!â you wail.
Ino sighs from across the dinner table and you canât tell if itâs a sigh of pity or a sigh of criticism. You learn that itâs both when he rolls his eyes at you whilst simultaneously pushing a plate of much needed food towards you.Â
âFirst off, you need to eat,â he presses, staring at your gaunt features. âThe way your face is swallowing is making me feel like Iâm livingâ with a ghost. Youâve lost some weight, Iâve noticed.â
Awareingly, you touch your cheekbones and realize heâs right, for you feel the small disc of sharpness from them prick your fingertips. Theyâve never been so cavern before. You suppose itâs 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.
âSecondly,â Ino chews his tongue, wondering if he should really say what heâs 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. âYou wonât like what Iâm âbout to say, but you need to up your game. Severely.â
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.
âAh nope! Donât give me that face and donât play coy with me,â he hisses, looking away to not give in to your helpless puppy eyes. He canâtâhe shouldnât give you the easy way out and just say to quitânot when youâve been earning so much bank that rent isnât 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. âWhat I mean is that you need to see through Getoâs 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 didnât show any respect for your brand, which just so happens to be a fashion magazine out of all thingsâŚâ Ino eyes you with a raised brow. âYou startinâ to follow me?â
Your fingers fiddle with each other. â... sorta.â
âNow listen,â he raises his hands up lazily in surrender. âI already know what youâre âbout to say about me not knowingâ 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. Thatâs the first step.â
âBut I haveâ!â you exclaim helplessly, âI-I swear, Iâve been trying to⌠but itâs not my fault that it isnât up to his standards.â
Your roommate groans and rubs his forehead, not really knowing what else to do for your situation until an idea pops in his head. âFree up your weekend,â he demands with a sly grin that makes you a little uneasy. âIâm no fashion connoisseur, but you know who is?â
âAnd remember, we never touch anything with chevron on it, especially in todayâs fashion world,â Yuki chimes as she slaps on a navy blue pageboy cap on your head and she prances about your bedroom thatâs been littered with spare clothes from her very own closet she graciously gifted to you for the past weekend. âIâm so utterly relieved that the trend has dug its own grave.â
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 Yukiâs teachings. Of course you shouldâve 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. Youâve 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.Â
âUh, I donât think I ever mentioned this before yet, but thank you for helping my wardrobe out, it really means a lot,â you say just before she slides on a pair of gold bangles on your wrist. âAre you sure you wanna give these clothes to me? Iâm okay with just borrowing them.âÂ
âNonsense, babe,â she wavers off before shuffling through your now-hearty closet, a closet thatâs now bursting with many clothes given by her. âI needed space in my closet anyway, so take as much as you need.â
So (Y/N)âs 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.Â
â(Y/N)âs not a doll, Yuki,â Ino lazily calls aloud through a tired yawn. âYou better get âem out the door soon or else theyâll get late for work. Especially need that money since the landlordâs been on our ass about increasing our rentâŚâ he mutters, sniffing. âDamn bastard.â
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 thereâs a stranger in your house from the way you look so dignified compared to the you just three days ago. Itâs a simple outfit with not much layering, but itâs still enough to ooze charisma and elegance to wandering eyes. Youâre 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 kingâs mantle behind you and the pageboy cap as your crown.
Yuki creeps up behind you, her manicured hands on your shoulders affirmingly. âHowâre you feeling, hun?â she asks quietly as she shares the same sight with you in the mirror. âDonât you look wonderful?â
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, âYeah⌠yeah, I do.â
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. âAre you sure you donât want to give contacts another chance?â she sighs.Â
You shake your head with a small smile, âIâll feel completely naked without them,â you murmur, âBesides, I think they actually compliment this look, if Iâm being honest.â
Her lips stretch out into a grin, too absorbed in her fashion education finally being used.Â
âWell then!â she begins to drag you by the sleeve out your room. âWe wouldnât want you to be late then for your first day as the new you, right? Letâs get you a cab!â
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 youâve 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 sheâs 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. âAnd who might you be?â she asks with a tease in her voice. ââCause last time I checked, thatâs my coworker (Y/N)âs desk.â
âI murdered them,â 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. âShame, isnât it? Poor thing.â
âTruly,â she nods. Her eyes trail further down until they spot something that makes her gasp. âDonât tell me those areââ
ââthe new calfskin gold studded Louboutin boots?â you finish for her. You flex your ankle and show off the ravishing red bottoms of your shoes. âOh yeah.â
Manami squeals in excitement and rushes over to your desk, begging to take a look at them. âHow on earth did you manage to get your hands on these?! Iâve been looking for them foââ
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 didâhis 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. Getoâs 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.Â
But not without glancing at you one last time.
Much has changed in the past month for the better.
Yuki was a godsendâshe had been your guardian angel, your fairy godmother of sortsâbecause 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 âgood morningâ to you and Manami after months of greeting with silence and judgemental glances.
Sheâd occasionally check up on you every once in a while, usually to offer new clothes that she didnât want anymore. And by offer, it actually just meant packing them in a box from her place to yours with a post-it thatâd usually read âWith love, YT â¤â 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.Â
The iconic John Galliano once said that, âThe joy of dressing is an art.â A month ago, you wouldâve 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 Getoâbeing 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 Getoâs 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 Getoâs 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 concentrationâit 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.Â
âThe 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.â
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. Itâs one youâve passed a plenty of timesâhell, you pass it on your way to workâbut it never occurred to you that itâd be this antique white, Parisian-styled building that would be the abode of your boss.Â
âTake the elevator to the top floor and enter his apartment. Do not call out his name, donât wander around, donât even make a single sound. You are nothing more than a ghost when you step foot into his house.â
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 Manamiâs 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 werenât 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 youâll ever be in - is the said living room with the glass coffee table sitting in the center of it.
âPlace The Book on the coffee table in the living room. Thatâs it. Do not toddle any longer in his house and get out immediately. Donât let curiosity get the better of you and just simply go afterwards. Itâs for your own good.â
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 wouldnât hurt.
Your feet carry you slowly to the stand and you crouch, adjusting your glasses to get a better look at the pictures. Thereâs only two of themâsix 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 thatâs a little taller with silvery snow hair and opaque black sunglasses, throwing a forced, all-too wide grin that almost looks maniacal. It doesnât 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 doesnât 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.Â
Best friends, you suggest in your mind as you study the pictures a little longer than needed. A minute, you thought, wouldnât 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.Â
âY-you canâtââ an unknown voice wheezes. âIâve been your muse for years. You possibly canât just abandon me out of nowhereâŚâ
âYou say that as if Iâm not doing that right now,â a familiar one replies back boredly. Itâs Geto, and his voice makes your nerves electrify in fear because itâs in that moment that you remember that you canât get caught inside of his house. âThis is the last time Iâm telling you, Shigemo. Get out.â
The man that you assume is Shigemo heaves heavy breaths. âYou need me,â he declares.
âNeeded. Past tense,â 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. âYouâve done me well these few years, I admit, and I do thank you for that. But I suppose your expiration date has finally come.â
âIâm not a food,â Shigemo snivels. âIâm a person. Most importantly. Iâm the reason your fashion line flourished, I was the inspiration for almost all your works. Weâre essentially a team.â
Theyâre 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 Getoâs eyes.
âA team?â 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. âI work alone and I always have. There is no point on relying on anyone of any kind when my independence obviously pays off.â
âWho will you have then?â Shigemo retaliates with a whimper in his voice. âYou know that Iâm the only one that will tolerate you. Itâs not like you can go crawling to Gojââ
âFinish that sentence and see what happens,â 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. Itâs 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.Â
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 canât help but notice that everything around you seems rather⌠hazy.
âWho is thatâŚâ 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, âOne of my new assistants.â
Shaking his head, Geto decides to deal with you later. His home is already suffocated with one individual, he doesnât need another clogging the atmosphere up. He returns his attention back to Shigemo. âI thought I told you to leave,â he states, shoving his bag towards him.
Shigemoâs face paints a horrified expression once again. âGeto, please rethink this,â Shigemo pleads.Â
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 itâs there where his patheticness exudes the mostâhe falls on his hands and knees like a beggar, claiming heâd do anything and everything just to be by his side.Â
But his voice is suddenly cut short when Geto finally slams the door in his face, the thickness of them guarding him from Shigemoâs whines. He lets out another sigh and locks up the door securely before dealing with the other parasite in his house.
âI donât think dropping off a book should take longer than thirty seconds,â Geto drawls as he saunters towards the living room, where youâre still on all fours on the floor, your hands tapping around. âSo tell me, why are you still here?â
At the sound of his sharp tone, you freeze. Youâre 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 couldnât let Geto see you in such a state. It didnât 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 canât see without your glasses.
Everyone thinks itâs an exaggeration when you state that you felt utterly naked without them, but you truly did. Youâve been wearing glasses ever since childhood and you really didnât appreciate the looks you had gotten when you were younger when at times youâd take them off. Some complained that your eyes were too small, too bigâothers mentioned you looked âoffâ and âweirdâ 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.Â
âI a-apologize,â you stutter, shuffling your body to hide behind the recliner so Geto wouldnât see how much of a clutter you are. Youâve 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. âI was about to head out and th-then I heard your voice from upstairs andââ
Your words fall deaf on Getoâs 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 faceâyou donât want him to see the bareness of your face, especially since you didnât bother wearing makeup today. You canât 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 doesnât 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.Â
âI assume these are yours,â 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 doesnât give you the sanity that is your glasses right away, because heâs much too preoccupied studying your face. Itâs 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 theyâre uniquely placed onto your face along with the rest of your features. Your lips, plump with a natural sheen to themâyour 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 spaceâwanting, 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. Itâs then that you realize that Geto isnât 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. Youâre not sure whether itâs because of the closeness you and him share or the fact that you canât detect his opinions on the one thing youâve been disclosed about for years, but either way, you feel weak in the knees; it only worsens when Getoâs thumb brushes over the entirety of your bottom lip, feeling the plushness of it on his the pad of his finger.
âHas your face always been this openâŚ?â he murmurs softly as he studies the various angles of your face.Â
You arenât sure whether itâs a compliment or insult, either or neither. Getoâs tone always had a sort of bleakness to it, but in this very moment, you truly canât tell what heâs thinking.Â
âMy glassesâŚâ is all you manage to squeak out, fighting the urge to squirm in his grasp. Another gulp goes down your dry throat when Getoâs face contorts to an irritated confusion before he realizes his other hand holds the one thing dear to your heart.Â
âOh,â he mutters and hands them back to you. His opposing hand finally goes to release your face. âRight.â
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.Â
âIâm so sorry for this,â you whisper. The heat on your face has now spread to the entirety of your body, your nerves alight with the rush of adrenaline. âI-Iâll make sure this never happens again⌠good night.â
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 Getoâs stomach. He thinks heâs 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 (itâs a habit you often do in times of nervousness, heâs 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 doesnât 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.Â
Itâs an hour in, two glasses of wine later, and somehow, he still hasnât 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 hasnât found one that stood out to him until he gets to the last sketchbook. Itâs an early oneâhe 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.
Itâs 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 heâd often admired as a child. The skirt and collar of the shirt were the same shade of blood red, crimson gems bespeckling them.Â
Itâs not the outfit, however, that makes his eyes harden. Why would it? Heâs seen it many times before. Itâs been brought up over and over againâin interviews, in magazines. Itâs 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 isnât the design of the outfit that made him appalled. Itâs instead, the person thatâs wearing it.Â
Because somehow, the eerie sketch of the modelâs face that he had drawn years agoâŚ
⌠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 (´・⢠ᾠâ˘ď˝Ą`) ⥠!!!
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