#haki

[opbackgrounds]

Observation Haki foreshadowing. I remember this moment causing a lot of confusion, and then Oda pulled the power move of not explaining how it works until Whole Cake Island.

[silliemode]

[full-metal-negro]

[bettysmagichut]

!!!!

[angelicp0ison]

The Jackpot Queen

PART 1

CROCODILE × OC/Reader

CWs: gambling, swearing, violence, slow burn, competence kink, dark romance.

WORDCOUNT: ~3800 words

Author's note: This is the first part out of... idk! No smut content yet so you're safe (for now). This is a slow burn, guys, but you'll have your kinky stuff very soon.

My One Piece writing masterlist! Check for part two!

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He saw no fear in her. Only a frightening, luminous lust.

In a world of shifting sands, there's only one place where human nature can flourish within its whole splendour. Where truth can vanish beneath the masquerades of those fools enough to entrust their souls to pure chance.

There's only one place: on the green felt, right in front of the croupier's eyes.

“And there we go again. We know the start. We know the end.

Masters of the scene“.

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"She’s here."

The whisper rippled through the gilded halls of the casino like a fever. It cut through the mechanical chime of the slot machines and the rhythmic, bone-dry clatter of chips sliding across the baize. In a place where wealth was the only language spoken, the anticipation of the crowd was a currency all its own, and tonight, every eye was trading in the same direction.

From wealthy men covered in fur coats to ruined compulsive gamblers, as well as waitresses dressed as bunnies and sommeliers driven by curiosity.

"There! It's the Jackpot Queen!"

The circle of onlookers tightened, a sea surrounded by the aroma of the most exquisite perfume and the crackling of champagne flutes, all centering on a single point of gravity. There she sat, draped over the edge of the table with the arrogant elegance of a snake.

She was well known at Rain Dinners at that moment. A living legend. The one that never loses.

Her smile shone with lazy confidence. Behind her eyes, a radiant heat burned: the unmistakable, hungry fire of a woman who lived for the moment the world stopped spinning.

She tucked a stray lock of her dark, short hair behind her ear, her legs crossed with a nonchalance that suggested she was sitting in her own living room.

"Red nine, miss. The house wins."

The croupier’s voice was thin, sharp with an irritation he couldn't quite mask. As he raked her mountain of chips into the dark maw of the table, his movements were jagged, fueled by a simmering resentment.

A collective gasp, cold and sharp, sucked the air from the room.

"She lost? Impossible!"

"Look at her... she’s ruined! How can she seem so calm?"

The frantic noise of the crowd rose like a tide, but the woman didn't flinch. She simply raised a single index finger. The gesture was small, yet it carried the weight of a command. The room fell into a tomb-like silence.

"Double or nothing," she murmured. Her voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a clarity that pinned the croupier to his spot. Her amber eyes locked onto his, sharp and defiant as feathered arrows. "I’m putting it all on zero.

A madness. To bet on the green, the house’s own number, was a death wish disguised as a wager.

Before a thousand eyes, the ivory ball was set in motion. It hissed against the wood, a blur of white spinning against the grain of fate. For a few seconds, time didn't just slow down; it seemed to completely stop.

The ball spun. And spun. Slower. And slower.

The air in the room seemed to vanish, sucked out by the collective held breath of a hundred souls. Teeth bit into lips; nails dug into palms.

Then, the world stopped.

The ball settled into the green pocket with a final, definitive click. Zero.

"It can't be".

A split second of stunned silence was followed by a roar that shook the very foundations of Rain Dinners. It was a sound of pure, chaotic euphoria. In the center of the storm, the woman's smile glowed with a frenzied, manic light that seemed to mock the very concept of Fate.

"She's done it again! The Jackpot Queen has won again!"

In the back of the room, far from the hysteria, stood a monolith of a man. Robust, silent, his eyes vanished behind the obsidian void of his sunglasses. That mysterious man did not cheer. He did not move. He stood with arms crossed, a gargoyle of a man whose presence felt like a cold draft in a heated room.

The croupier’s face was no longer just irritated, it was ghostly, a mask of sheer, distraught pallor. A single bead of sweat traced a path down his temple like a tear.

"You’ve won," he choked out, his voice splintering under the weight of the announcement. "The double."

Sabrina erupted from her chair. Her laughter was a wild, hysterical music that climbed over the cheers of the crowd: a pure release of the adrenaline that had been clawing at her throat.

It felt like an orgasm.

She was rich. Obscenely, disgustingly rich. As she spun, the rhythmic chime of her golden earrings danced against her neck, the sound of victory made manifest.

"Yes! Again! I’ve won again!" she cried out, her voice a bright spark in the air.

The croupier began the agonizing process of counting out the loss. Each chip he moved felt like a drop of his own blood. Unless those clients, the casino didn't consider her as a eminence; she was a parasite, a human disgrace dressed in silk and arrogance.

She was a bad omen that had just bled the house dry, and the Boss, the great Sir Crocodile, was not a man who enjoyed bleeding.

"I’ll take my winnings now, pretty face," she hummed, her voice dripping with sugar and victory. She extended a slender hand, fingers dancing with anticipation.

The croupier gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He looked past the cheering crowd, seeking the only anchor in the room. His eyes locked with those of the man in sunglasses. The suited guard didn't speak, he simply tilted his chin upward, a subtle command.

The croupier swallowed hard, the lump in his throat feeling like a stone.

"We don’t carry such a sum in liquid cash, Miss," he explained, his hands trembling as he scribbled onto a slip of paper. "Please, take this voucher. If you would wait at the entry once the doors have closed, we will settle the balance in full."

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High above the frantic, overstimulating pulse of the casino floor, the office of Sir Crocodile was a tomb of glass and gold.

The great Shichibukai of Alabasta sat enthroned behind a slab of dark, ancient wood, framed by the massive aquarium wall where the Bananawani swam. Their pale eyes reflected the dim light of the room, indifferent to the high-stakes drama unfolding below.

The heavy, suffocating silence of the headquarters was broken only by the rhythmic click of loafers against the polished marble. The Warlord's most trusted guard approached the desk like a shadow answering a summons.

Mr. 1 came to a halt, his silhouette stark against the glow of the tank. "She’s bled the tables for three hours, Sir. The house hasn't seen a streak like this since the doors first opened."

Crocodile leaned forward, his brow furrowing into a mask of cold discontent. He wasn't only frustrated, but also insulted by the sheer statistical impossibility of the woman downstairs. His teeth sought the center of his cigar, biting down so hard the tobacco threatened to snap.

"Rain Dinners is supposed to be a fundamental source of income for our organization, not a fucking NGO," Crocodile rumbled, his voice a low growl. Charged with a scathing sarcasm, he added: "Which of our 'professional' staff allowed that harpy to walk away with every Berry in the vault, if I may ask?"

"Her history with us is documented, Sir," Mr. 1 explained, his tone as impassive as granite. "She has frequented the floor for some time. Her winnings were always... notable, but never outside the margins of luck. Until tonight. What we are witnessing downstairs is no longer a game. It is something borderline paranormal."

Crocodile exhaled a thick, misty cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowing.

"I am well aware of the so called living legend of the 'Jackpot Queen', Mr. 1," he said, the title tasting like ash in his mouth. "Every fool in Alabasta is flocking here to see the 'circus attraction' in the flesh. But I don't believe in 'legends', and I certainly don't believe in 'eminences' either."

He tapped his golden hook against the desk—a sharp, metallic clink that echoed through the room.

"People see a miracle. I see a mathematical anomaly that needs to be corrected," Crocodile added, his gaze sharpening. "I suspect a trick. A sleight of hand we missed, or perhaps a Devil Fruit. Does she control the luck of the draw? Can she read the dealer’s mind? Whatever she is using, it ends tonight."

"The crowd is waiting for the payout, Sir Crocodile," the guard noted. "Do you intend to honor the voucher? Will you give her the money?"

The room went deathly still. Crocodile’s pupils fixed on Mr. 1, widening with a sudden, terrifying intensity. Then, the silence was shattered by the violent thud of his golden hook slamming onto the mahogany. A burst of dry, hollow laughter erupted from his throat, echoing off the glass walls.

"The money? Don't make me laugh, Mr. 1. I don’t intend to part with a single Berry."

Crocodile stood, his massive fur-lined coat billowing behind him like the wings of a vulture. He paced toward the glass, pressing his hand against the cool surface. A Bananawani lunged, its jaws snapping against the reinforced pane inches from his skin. He didn't so much as blink.

"I’m going to teach that little nuisance a lesson the hard way," he said, his voice dropping to a silken, lethal edge. "The house always wins."

Mr. 1 remained a silent sentinel, watching the tension radiate off his superior.

"Let her savor the taste of victory a little longer. Let her believe she has won," Crocodile tilted his head, the light catching the jagged scar that partitioned his face. The rage had vanished, replaced by a dark, ravenous hunger. "It will only make the moment I strip her of her crown and erase her from the map that much sweeter."

He turned back to the aquarium, the sapphire glow of the glass reflecting in his eyes.

"You know the protocol for 'special' guests, Mr. 1. Tonight, we find out if the Queen can still smile when I turn her into sand."

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Outside the grand, gilded archway of Rain Dinners, the night was a masterpiece of stillness. The neon lights of the casino, usually a screaming, electric green, had been extinguished, leaving the desert to be painted by the silver brushstrokes of the stars.

Sabrina sat on the marble steps, her legs swinging like a child’s.

“♪ Money, money, money... Must be funny... In a rich man's world... ♪“

She was humming a fragmented, airy tune: the kind of melody a kid sings when she’s just won a game of rock-paper-scissors on the playground.

In her hand, the voucher felt heavier than gold. She smoothed the paper against the cloth of her trousers, her thumb tracing the ink.

She closed her eyes, letting the tranquility wash over her. But beneath the peace, she suddenly felt something shifting.

It wasn't a sound. It wasn't a movement. It was a coldness in the air: a sudden, sharp pressure against her consciousness. Some nameless sixth sense of her screamed a single word: Danger.

She didn't wait to think.

In a blur of intuition, Sabrina threw her body backward, her hands slamming against the marble to pivot.

CLANG.

A blade of cold, hardened steel sliced through the air exactly where her neck had been a second before. The sparks from the impact against the stone hissed in the dark.

Sabrina scrambled up, her heart hammering against her ribs. Standing in the shadows of the silent casino was that man: the bodyguard in the obsidian glasses. One of his hands transformed into a shimmering, lethal edge of steel.

"You're fast," Mr. 1 rumbled, his voice as dead as the desert floor. "Most people don't even see the flash."

"A bit rude, don't you think?" Sabrina gasped with an ironic tone. She raised her fists, her stance surprisingly steady for someone who had just spent hours drinking in the adrenaline of the floor. "The cashier usually gives a smile with the payout, not a decapitation."

"The Boss doesn't like loose ends," he replied.

He moved with the weight of an avalanche. Sabrina met his first strike with a desperate, clever block, her palms stinging from the sheer force of his reinforced skin. She was agile, darting like a bullet, her instincts guiding her away from his lethal, bladed fingers.

Nevertheless, he caught her mid-turn, his massive hand closing around her wrist like a shackle of iron. Sabrina lunged, trying to find an opening, but his body was a fortress of steel.

"Enough," he muttered.

A heavy, calculated blow caught her at the base of her skull. The stars above exploded into a thousand shards of white light, and then, just as quickly, they went out.

Sabrina’s knees buckled. The voucher fluttered from her fingers, dancing in the gentle breeze before landing face-down in the dirt.

Mr. 1 reached down, hoisted her unconscious form over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and began the long walk back toward the dark heart of the casino.

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When Sabrina’s eyes flickered open, the world was a fractured dance of blurred lights and muffled, rhythmic sounds. A sharp, nagging pain throbbed at the lower part of her cranium, a parting gift from her collision with that suited gorilla downstairs. The sensation was akin to the aftermath of a legendary hangover, but the stakes there were far more lethal than a night of alcoholic overindulgence.

As her senses anchored to reality, the first thing she caught was the scent: a heavy, ashen aroma of the most exquisite tobacco she had ever encountered. The smoke curled sinuously through the air, leading her gaze toward an imposing figure. Sir Crocodile sat before her, as severe and motionless as a statue carved from stone, his icy gaze pinned to her face.

“You're finally awake, madam,” he said in a deep voice that inspired cynicism, capturing her immediate attention. “It didn't took you long, that's fortunate. I don't like having to wait for a corpse to breathe again.”

As soon as she heard his words, Sabrina's first instinct was to break free from her bonds and get up, but somehow she couldn't. She was tied by her wrists and ankles to that delicate chair with velvet cushions, the jute ropes digging into her skin.

Sabrina’s first instinct was to bolt, but the jerk of her limbs was met with the bite of hemp. She was lashed by her wrists and ankles to a delicate, velvet-cushioned chair, the jute ropes digging unyielding tracks into her skin.

She didn't scream. Instead, she exhaled a ragged, dry sound and looked up, her amber eyes meeting his. Crocodile was a dark silhouette against the sapphire glow of the aquarium, the glowing ember of his cigar the only warmth in the room.

"Is this how you treat all your VIPs, sir?" she croaked, a ghost of her mischievous smile returning despite the blood copper-tasting in her mouth. "A bit of a drop in service, don't you think?"

Crocodile showed clear signs of irritation on his face, frowning, baffled by his hostage's sudden playful attitude.

"Though, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Anyone who chooses this kind of décor clearly has a... complicated relationship with hospitality."

Crocodile’s brow furrowed, his cigar pausing halfway to his lips. "My décor?"

"I have to say, it's kind of… heavy. The gold, the dark wood, the gloom… it’s very 'Lonely Dictator.' And the aquarium? Honestly, Sir, nothing says 'I have trust issues' quite like a wall of gigantic lizards watching you work. It’s a bit of a cliché, isn't it?"

Crocodile’s brow furrowed, his cigar pausing halfway to his lips. "You’re kidnapped, tied to a chair, and the first thing you come to do is critiquing my decoration?"

"Someone has to," she whispered, her eyes dancing with a manic light. "If I’m going to be trapped in a room, I’d at least like it to have a better style. It’s just bad for the brand, Sir. Really."

He immediately rose from his leather throne and walked toward her, leaving behind the rhythmic clacking of his dress shoes against the polished floor, until he stood right in front of her, looking down at her with an air of superiority and a gaze that would inspire terror in anyone with even the slightest instinct for survival.

"You'd better stop joking around, cockroach".

He was definitely pissed.

“I'm going to be blunt, Sabrina. Isn't that your name?” he began, his voice a silken threat. “Good. You see, this is a business, and as you know, it's not profitable to give money away just because.”

Sabrina returned his stare with a terrifying calm, looking almost bored. The lack of fear clearly annoyed him.

“Keeping you here would only mean a debt for me. A debt I intend to settle by erasing the account entirely.”

Crocodile paused, his lips pulling back into a sadistic, dark smile. He raised his left hand, the fingers beginning to fray into shimmering grains of dust. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn you into sand.”

That death sentence shook Sabrina's body like a bucket of cold water thrown on her face. Her pulse immediately quickened and her eyes widened, but above all, she maintained her composure.

He then paused, leaning down until his face was inches from hers, the smoke from his cigar stinging her eyes.

“But before I end your life, I'm curious, madam,” he said, fixing his eyes on hers, which, even though completely cornered, hid a glint of obstinacy behind them. “You're using some kind of trick, aren't you? Actually, my suspicions point more toward something else: you're a user of a Devil Fruit, am I wrong?”

A low, dry chuckle escaped her throat: a sound like shifting gravel that took him off guard. How could she be reacting so recklessly when her own death was imminent?

“Bang. Dead End, 'Siree'. You would have lost,” she said within a theatrical tone of voice, widely smiling. “How reckless from you to restrain an Ability User with simple rope instead of Sea-Prism Stone shackles. If that were the case, I could have already escaped. Luckily for you, you're wrong.”

She hummed. Crocodile backed away, completely shocked, grinding his teeth in frustration. He had never wanted to punch a woman so badly.

“There are no tricks, no traps, and no special powers. Just my own intuition and the fact that luck is always on my side,” she clarified. “Maybe the Universe likes me more than you”

Crocodile’s patience snapped. He stood over her, his shadow swallowing her small frame. He extended his right hand, his fingertips already fraying into fine, hungry grains of sand.

"I'm sick of your insolence, harpy" he rumbled, his hand moving toward her throat.

But as his sandpaper-rough fingers grazed her skin, a sound cut through the tension.

A chuckle.

Crocodile’s hand froze. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. He had seen victims scream, pray, or curse, but never laugh.

"What's so funny?" he demanded. "Do you find your execution a comedy?"

Sabrina tilted her head back against the chair, her amber eyes bright and mocking.

"I find you funny, Sir," she whispered. "You’re a businessman, aren't you? A King of Industry? And yet, you’re about to throw away your most valuable asset just to satisfy a bruised ego."

Crocodile’s eyes narrowed, but he didn't pull away. "Asset? You’re a parasite who bled my vault."

"And I’ve brought in billions," she countered, her smile widening. "Haven't you noticed that when I'm not around, the casino is always half empty? The crowds don't come for the watered-down drinks. They come for the Queen. They spend their life savings for the pathetic dream that one day, they might be me. I’m the main attraction of Rain Dinners, Crocodile. Without me, your 'dear little casino' is just a dusty room in a wasteland. Kill me, and you kill the fantasy that keeps them betting."

The office went deathly still. Crocodile stared at her, the sand at his fingertips slowly solidifying back into flesh.

"You have a high opinion of yourself," he said, the lethal edge in his voice replaced by a dark, budding curiosity. "What are you trying to hint, woman?"

“You know, as you might guess, if there's one thing I love in this life, it's gambling. So let me propose you something: let's bet,” she leaned forward as much as her bindings would allow, her gaze pinning him like an arrow. “How 'bout a little poker game? If I win, you let me live and give me my money. If I lose... well, you can throw me into that tank and feed me to your ugly salamander things. I don't care.”

Crocodile watched her. There was no fear. Instead, there was a frightening, luminous lust. Her breathing was shallow, not from terror, but from a frantic, jagged anticipation. She wasn't just facing death, she was flirting with it, which he found somehow disturbing.

That was the gaze of a gambling addict.

"So... are we going to keep playing the executioner? Or are you going to deal the cards and see if you're man enough to win your money back?".

She isn't brave, Crocodile realized, a rare shiver of intrigue tracing his spine. She’s sick.

For a long moment, Crocodile remained a statue. He was a man of absolute control, a master of calculated risks. The idea of betting a life on a hand of cards was an insult to his logic, and yet, for the first time in years, his own blood felt warm. The "Queen" had managed the impossible: she had made the Great Crocodile curious.

He wanted to see her break. Or worse, he wanted to see if the universe truly would tilt in her favor when the stakes were terminal.

"Fine," he rumbled, his voice a dark approval.

"Be quick, your pets seem hungry", she joked with a smile that seemed almost absent-minded, which was almost an insult to Crocodile himself.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he stepped back. The shadow he cast over her retreated, but the air remained charged. He reached into his coat, pulled out a fresh, sealed deck, and tossed it onto the mahogany desk. It landed with a sharp, heavy thwack.

The Warlord looked toward the shadows where Mr. 1 stood. "Untie her. If she’s going to lose her life, I want her to be able to hold her own cards."

As the ropes fell away, Sabrina rubbed her bruised wrists, her eyes never leaving him. Crocodile broke the seal of the cards with the edge of his hook, a sound like a small bone snapping.

"Five-Card Draw," he said, his eyes locking onto hers with a lethal, newfound respect. "Your life is the ante. Let’s see if your luck survives the House when the House is looking you in the eye."

Sabrina picked up her cards, the edges sharp against her skin. She didn't look at them. Not yet. She just looked at the Shichibukai and winked at him, her smile wide.

"Deal me in, Boss."

════ ☆ °.⋆༺ 𝑻𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒅… ༻⋆.° ☆ ════

PART 2 →

[hypnoasis19]

Sorry to introduce a new bean so soon but I was demanded by my bestie @lostfollower so many times on call to bring this fella in, and so I will!

This is Haki, the Wilted Flower. as you can probably guess, he is another member of the Land of the Freaks series! He is quite the special one too, though he appears to be cruel- he is actually the sweetest person within the walls of the asylum! He use to come from a garden based AU, he lived a very sheltered life but yearned for the day he could find a true love like all his fairytale books had told him. He would technically get his wish...but not in the way he'd hope. He was yanked from his AU, brought into the asylum- the rare occasion where they tested on a fully adult skeleton rather then a child. They had heard of the fictional disease known as Hanahaki, a disease where flowers grow inside of your body and slowly kill you unless your crush loves you too- to which, ultimately never happens in most cases. They decided to try and make this disease become real- but of course, they didn't wanna kill him outright due to the possibility of his beloved not reciprocating his feelings- so they adjusted the disease to the point where it would just kill him bit by bit with every rejection instead- each rejection more painful than the last. Now, with the doctors gone, he feels lonely and still craves true love- to which, he can never have. (his one true love cannot reciprocate due to an injury, have fun guessing~)

Name: Haki Age: 21 Height: 5'9 Weight: 125 Favorite food: Pomegranate Favorite color: Black rose Pronouns: He/Him. Sexuality: Pansexual/Demiromantic. Personality: Nurturing, Quiet, often sick/coughing, gasps a lot when talking, easily flustered, falls in love easily/emophilia, very gentle, caring, can become obsessive over his beloved if they do reciprocate but it becomes worse and almost monstrous the longer they don't feel the same- but when the feelings finally die down and kill a piece of him, he'll never forgive himself and so will self harm as shown on the photo above. Powers: very weak flower manipulation, rarely ever uses it. Fun fact: Haki's favorite flower is a Red Spider Lily or Red Camellias! he was also so sheltered to the point where just an ankle would make him blush, probably even give him a nose bleed. is HIGHLY likely to become a yandere naturally. Is a bad people pleaser due to his upbringing, possibly has golden child syndrome but tries not to let it affect him. Voice claim: Fremimet from Genshin Impact. Theme song: The Disease called Love by Neru.

and for the bottom half of his design: - He has blood staining his hands. - small red flowers blooming through his arm bones. - the tangle of red flowers lead down to the ends of his pants. - he has a thin black belt holding his white suit trousers up. - a few parts of his vest and pants are stained with blood. - he very specifically is wearing a wedding vest and trousers cause he is in an eternal struggle to find his true love, yearning for his wedding day. - Black male dress shoes, stained with faint blood.

[strawberrychansora]

Sanji haters who say he doesn’t deserve Conqueror’s Haki need to shut the fuck up and actually think for a second.Here’s the thing Sanji never gave a shit about being the strongest, and that’s exactly what makes his strength and willpower so damn admirable. His goals were never about personal glory or power. He gets stronger because he has to for Luffy, for the crew, for the people he loves. That’s what drives him. Not ego. Not pride. Loyalty, love, and duty. Fighting has always been secondary to him. His real passion is being a world-class cook, being a gentleman, and protecting others. Sanji’s the kind of man who’ll walk into hell if it means his crew survives. He doesn’t need to scream about being a king he acts like one every time he stands his ground, refuses to compromise his morals, and takes on impossible odds just to keep others safe.So yeah, maybe he doesn’t want to rule the seas, but that unbreakable will? That refusal to bend even when it breaks him? That’s kingly as fuck. That’s what Conqueror’s Haki really is not just ambition, but spirit. And Sanji has more of that in his damn cigarette smoke than most characters do in their whole body.He doesn’t need the world to recognize it. But if you can’t see why he deserves it, you’re either not paying attention, or you’re too busy choking on Zoro’s bandana to think clearly. Also just my opinion but if Sanji ever does awaken Conqueror’s Haki, I’m gonna assume it’ll be sometime during Elbaf. I don’t know how Oda plans to play it, but man… seeing him bust out black flames? That’d be hella fucking cool.

[kjttyfangz]

Speaker

Calling Shoko at 2am turning into something more messy

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You couldn't stop thinking of him. His smile, his voice, the way his eyes looked when the sun hit them just right. You were so into him you thought you lost your mind.

You pulled your knees close to your chest, the blanket that covered half your body was long gone lounging somewhere on the floor. You tried everything possible to keep him off your mind today. Journaling, watching a movie, reading, hell you even tried oregami, but he wouldn't get out of your mind.

Suguru geto had you wrapped around his fingers ever since you left him. You didn't know why you did, it just happened. After a big fight, which was honestly your fault, you just couldn't see him anymore, you were so frustrated by him that you just broke things off and it killed you, everything about it killed you. Not having him next to you, not hearing his voice on call while you both did diffrent things, not having his hoodie smell like him anymore.

You tried, you really tried to forget him, him and his disgustingly perfect face but who were you fooling? You still loved him, too much for your own good.

Curled up in his hoodie you couldn't help but call Shoko, she always understood you and she knew how difficult it could be to go through a break up. When she finally picked up you felt like a weight just got lifted from your shoulders for a second.

"You're on-" You cut her off before she finished, not in a rude way, you didn't even hear her.

"Shoko I miss him so much, everything about him." You whined into your phone, "I tried everything to forget his face, girl I even tried Origami, but I'm still curled up in his hoodie imagining it still smells like him. It doesn't" You're voice was a broken whisper, but the mic made it louder, Shoko really didn't know how to react due to a certain person holding her back from saying anything that would tell.

"No really you're-" Shoko muttered before you cut her off again, this time desperate.

"Shoko I'm going crazy, I see him in every corner of my room. I cooked his favorite food, thinking he'd magically appear in my apartment, he did NOT. I feel like such an asshole for leaving him, and he's probably on some party having the time of his life while I'm whining and crying about my mistake." You cracked into your phone ready to jump out of your window.

You wiped your tears before speaking again, "Say anything to distract me before I jump out of my window I am begging you." You basically pleaded as you sprawled out on your bed.

"I'm with Gojo 'n Geto, and you're on speaker." She said frustrated, you were on WHAT. You sat up as if electricity just tickled your ass, eyes wide, heart pounding like you just had a heart attack.

"On WHAT now." You nearly shouted at her, voice cracking, begging, pleading, praying, you had missheard her. That she wasn't with him and you weren't on speaker. That he didn't hear you crying about leaving him. She sighed, and mumbled something, but not towards you, probably towards Geto.

"Listen Y/N, I'll come by tomorrow and we'll talk yeah?" She mumbled, she sounded mad. Again, probably towards Geto or Gojo since they always found a way to strike a nerve. "you know I love you." Her voice came out so soft you thought an angle just spoke to you.

"mhm love you." You mumbled, still not quite understanding what just happened. He knew, he fucking knew. Not like he didn't already know. Ofcourse he did, but now he heard you say it. Heard you yearn for him as if he was deceased. God, you will never enter your ethics class ever again.

You didn't know when you hung up, but sometime when you were spiraling on how to continue with your life without it being incredibly pathetic.

You calmed down now, it has been maybe half an hour since your call with Shoko ended, leaning against your headboard with a cigarette in your hand, some shitty song playing from your radio, and the rain making this situation feel all the more depressing. You couldn't sleep, your head hurt, too full of thoughts.

Until the bell rang. You raised an eyebrow slightly confused, the confusion quickly left as you assumed it would be Shoko. With small steps you walked to the door of your apartment, still in nothing but underwear and Geto's hoodie that looked 3 sizes too big on you.

When you opened the door, cigarette still in your hand, your heart began beating so fast, it could've been a drumming solo.

It was him. The man you needed so badly. Suguru Geto. He was drenched from head to toe, looking down at you with his soft smirk. Your knees got weak, your cigarette nearly fell out of your hand, and god, your eyes became all teary again.

You couldn't help yourself, you could never when it came to him. You practically fell right against his chest, "Suguru." A whisper with the same crack it always had since you left him. His arms immidiatly held you close, one wrapping around your waist, and the other snatching your cigarette and placing it between his lips before using it to slightly pick you up.

He whispered softly into your ear:

"My favorite food you said?"

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