omuzgh

[omuzgh]

suguru geto x reader drabble. this one’s for my ethnic girlies.

i like a man who’s strong.

i like a man with long thick hair.

you kiss your teeth in disapproval, quickly making your sentences face the dooming delete button. you need more depth, more detail, more deeper. you notes app is demanding more.

i like a man who’s intelligent.

i like a man who’s different.

i like…

you fingers freeze, no longer wanting to dance tango with your phone screen. you can only loudly sigh, as if your trying to push a weight off your shoulders onto the table, but it’s craws dig too deep into your back.

this is all too suffocating.

it all started when you were only in your preteens. you were really going through your awkward phase back then, you questioned how your mother even let you out like that in the first place.

thick metal glasses, the most nerdiest anime shirt you begged your brother to buy you, and that iconic short dora haircut, iconic you can say. but if there’s one thing you still shared in common with that little girl is the desire to be loved.

not by her mother and father, who in her eyes are fallen angels, but by someone else, someone new, something new.

when your learning environment soon turned into the preteen version of love island, you couldn’t help but watch afar from the distance. how much you’d kill to be like the other girls, their long blonde sun kissed hair and the brightest eyes you’ll ever see. you wanted nothing more but to be them.

the way the boys swooped to her feet without a second thought, as if she already had an army of men wrapped around her finger, all while you sat on the benches, begging to be picked.

even in your own little anti social friend group, when that sudden merge with the boy groups, everyone of your friends had a secret admirer or a crush to share. but you? not a second glance will ever be wasted on you.

it was obvious you didn’t look the same as your friends, but no one was afraid to silently let you know. all you could do in the end is stand at the edge of the group with your hands together and dream.

your teenage years were a bit more nicer, but the more you grew up the more love was shoved down your throat. it was annoying. sure, all the sudden you had the smallest increase of attention from men, but it’s all from those men who can’t keep their hands out their pants.

it only go worst seeing your friends in relationships, and more importantly, seeing your own siblings all the sudden find “the one” that your parents eagerly approve.

so when all your parents children pack away to start their new ideal life, naturally, their attention switched to you.

but they never pressed, they were too busy helping their other children that you thankfully left the picture, secretly opening a new door. maybe all the complements about your curls, your skin, and eyes got to you in a way you never thought would, because now your resume is decorated with all these lies about volunteering, some how landing you a job.

but this job wasn’t building a big mac or break your arm trying to scoop out ice cream for a kid; it was a night cafe. the kinds of cafes that only hires hot bitches to get more customers and open from 5pm till 2am selling some trendy overpriced bullshit.

you walk into your first shift, fully expecting for them to put you in the back or in the kitchen, but to your surprise they insist on you working in the front, serving all the customers. talk about awkward because half of the time it’s mostly men, men that want attention.

you came into this job expecting the worst, and that was truly delivered to you in a way you never imagined, in a way you always dreamed for. from banter, to straight up flirting and even harassment. your last straw? stalking.

i mean, thanks to this job you got more than enough numbers from a bunch of hotties, and your first relationship (we don’t talk about that), which you know for sure is your last. but even so, watching someone in a black hoodie every night follow you to your bus stop only escalated to a dragged out police report that was swept under the rug because you don’t fit their ideal stalking victim.

so when you came back to your boss that’s blaming you for everything, begging you not to go, you promised him one more week and you’re leaving. his eyebrows would push into each other, playing an intense game of tug of war, but his mouth didn’t dare to move, only sighing and agreeing to your sly request. it’s only for the best.

you only hoped that your last week isn’t your worst, until one man came to your shop that stood out from the rest of the men. every man that came here wore the same clothes, same hair same style same shit, but he was different.

his hair was long and his ears had those big earring that stretched of his ears. not something you have a personal knack for but who are you to judge? he was wearing a black leather jacket and a basic uniqlo tee under. his hair was thrown into a lazy bun that fell flawlessly on his carved out face. to everyone else? he was emo, to you? he was a breath of fresh air. the type of guy your friends will tease you if you admitted how attractive you think he is.

he only started coming on your last week but you tried to wiggle your way into making an impression. he’d order a normal cookie and soft serve on the side, and you’d write “nice fit! :)” on his drink. he really seemed to like it too. you watch him from the distance, sitting in your shops outside area with a smile on his face looking at the note. what a dork, it’s adorable.

sadly though, your final week ended and this emo boy was no were to be seen. you don’t want to go back, no way — you actually love yourself now — but you just want to see him, maybe get to talk to him. but before you can, your family snatched you hand and twirled you into 5 different dresses and 5 different weddings, all direct family.

the people you laughed and teased about how sad and cursed their future partner must be are now slow dancing to some corny foreign song about their partners eyes on their wedding night.

and what’s worse is the people they become after that wedding. it’s like their being put at gun point 24/7 to only revolve themselves around their husbands. women who’s education is worth more than moneys ever worth is carelessly thrown out the window; onto a house wife they be.

i mean, you’re only a teenager and have no say in their marriage and choices, sure, but you can’t help but feel an angle has lost it’s precious wings. a smart beautiful woman that could nurish into one of the most beautiful flowers in the garden stop growing at its early ages to match the other flowers.

you promise yourself not to be like that. even though your dms was still men who would the crack the moon for you and you only sometimes entertained was still present, you never isolated your stance on who or what women have built for so long.

alas when you finally graduate and block everyone the moment you sink into your couch, you parents come sneaking before you, stripping you of your iconic hat and gown of academics to show you a folder of your potential marriage suitors, who are all weirdly enough your cousins or distant family. you never entrained their ideas and suggestions, not weak enough to break your own mental promise.

finally after your battle of love and acceptance of being forever single, a familiar thick black haired man strutted into your uni class, fashionably late and quickly making his way to you.

he plops his stuff on the desk next to you, the vibrations of the sound shaking you to get your tired head off the table to see a familiar messy bun and stretched our earrings.

you stare so long he turns to meet you eye, you squint, daring him to look away.

“have i seen you before?”

a/n: this is lowkey summarised most of my life… 😛 if anything doesn’t make sense or sounds weird keep in mind i wrote this at 4am and my only source of energy was a watermelon cocktail mixed with like 2 cans of v and then another can of sugar free to wash that down (i love v’s)