𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 彡 [jjk oneshots]

ミ✮ 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐰┆[s. geto]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: suguru geto x fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1330

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which a supposedly impure bloodline makes her the target of one's irrational ideologies

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dark content, no dialogue, no use of "y/n," way too much angst, this fic is told from geto's perspective (still in third person though), mention of unrequited love, a semi-descriptive murder, mention of death, blood, and gore

𝐕. 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 — i kinda hate myself for liking this fucker so much. but like i am such a whore for geto...

｡･:*:･ﾟ★

𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 midnight black hair flowed seamlessly in the direction of the cool evening breeze as the bustle of the city carried its sound into a nearby alleyway—that characteristic allure of joyful chatter of the occasional passerby and a few impatient honks of cars. Those air-headed individuals and their self-proclaimed valuable needs and wants disgusted him. They all believed to be superior when in fact they were the scum of the earth, inevitably waiting to be killed off like the pests they were.

The dark-haired sorcerer, with his empty hand, reached up to his cheek to feel the unfortunate injury he had sustained as a result of his own headstrong performance. Still, the scratch on his upper cheek threatening to bleed wasn't enough to hinder the self-satisfied half smile that greeted his lips.

He had done it.

The deed was executed perfectly. A macabre play on words, perhaps, but Geto had accomplished the very task which had been plaguing his disillusioned mind for the longest—a mere seven years to be precise.

He felt his heart flush with pride. Everything had come together all too perfectly and it was justified.

Besides, it was she who had been the guilty party.

She was the byproduct of the unsightly fornication between a sorceress and an ordinary man.

She was not pure—blood forever tarnished by the selfish man whom she called her father.

A half-blooded sorcerer was just as, if not worse, than a non-sorcerer. The young woman had no true place in society. Not when she sympathized with her fellow sorcerers while staying true to her father's archaic practices—the perfect non-sorcerer ideals. Having a foot in both words was much too unnatural. At least from Geto's standpoint.

Though the mystical man had no worries anymore. They fluttered away with the chilled winds hitting his pale skin.

She—the highly celebrated girl during his strenuous days in school—she was now a lifeless corpse.

A hollow shell of her former self.

That girl who had grown up to become a capable sorcerer was now dead, lying in a pool of her own blood in an abandoned and dimly lit alleyway at the hands of her old classmate.

Truthfully, Geto wished she'd put up more of a fight against him. The man deemed her pathetic—an incompetent little worm who deserved an eternity of suffering in the afterlife. Even more pitiful: Geto had managed to end her feeble existence with the very cursed tool she used on various missions. It had been her prized possession. Those two, double-sided daggers had proved useful in the past. This time, however, the poor young woman's luck had run out.

And as the gray, grimy concrete beneath her limp body took on the maroon hue of her blood, Geto couldn't help but make note of how her shiny and well-maintained hair reflected the obnoxious neon lights seeping into the alley from the bar across the street. It had been five years since her graduation as an official sorcerer and while her adult life had been full of challenges, she had never appeared more youthful. Her beauty was enough to be envied by many.

However, now, after the incident that took place minutes prior, she no longer had any experiences to look forward to in life. Geto then took in the ghostly, lifeless expression on her face—eyes partially open, but no longer full of that innocent gleam. And her pouty lips with remnants of her favorite lipgloss were set in a straight line while her cheeks were partially covered in blood splatter.

Her own blood.

No emotion whatsoever—a stark contrast to how she would behave when she was still a stupid teenager. Geto recalled all too well. It made him want to kill the young woman all over again. He despised her. And he despised the way she made him feel just a little more. It was a permanent memory etched into his brain:

The beautiful, warm smile that spread across her face the first day she got acquainted with the other first years. The way she was not afraid to speak her mind or the way she bragged so boldly about the fact that she was not a purebred sorcerer. It was her personal achievement. It was what made her stand out from the crowd.

Maybe that was the exact reason why Gojo took a shine to the girl.

Maybe that's why by their second year she was dating the arrogant, spoiled white-haired sorcerer and as a result, hanging around Geto more than he would have liked for her to do so. When it was just Geto and Gojo, the girl—the gorgeous and talented girl was never far behind. The three spent countless months together and Geto received plenty of attention from her. Along with kindhearted words about how skilled he was and how he would surely do good things in life.

Maybe that's why by their third and final year the dark-haired sorcerer—now, utterly lost mentally—professed his love to the girl once she had broken things off with his best friend. She did not reciprocate the love. She also felt no guilt when rejecting Geto's delicate advances. The wicked woman smiled gently and caressed her friend's cheek with the back of her hand, telling Geto that it would be all okay. But in reality, nothing was okay after that.

And so, soon after that negative interaction, Geto decided that the girl had to die. She just had to. If not for breaking his heart then for having dirty non-sorcerer blood pulsing through her veins. Each day she spent alive was another day in which her righteousness could spread—her sickening beliefs about how non-sorcerers and purebred sorcerers should be able to express their affections freely in order to create a world with reduced judgment.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, that ungodly smirk still remained on the raven-haired sorcerer's mouth as the fist he was making with his hand involuntarily clenched around the weapon that was dripping with blood. The thick liquid was trailing down his fingers as well. Geto wordlessly observed the body of the young woman who was unfortunate enough to meet him.

Oh, how he anticipated for the sorcerers he used to know to get wind of this information: their precious colleague and friend now dead—utterly mutilated in the depths of an alley. Still, her pretty face was left perfectly intact. Geto wanted her to be identified after all. He wanted to leave a message for the sorcerers (specifically his dear friend Gojo) who dared disobey him. He wanted to show what would happen if anyone tried to get in his way.

With a final glance at the colorless figure of the young woman lying on the cement, Geto carelessly tossed the two-sided cursed tool beside her—the item landing in the immense puddle of crimson surrounding her. Turning on his heel, Geto leisurely strolled away, looking inconspicuous as ever.

All the while, blood poured from the young woman's wounds—her heart and lungs having suffered multiple direct stabs. A scarlet glow in the form of slick liquid now fully surrounded the sorcerer's body. The same body which was begging to be discovered by a stranger.

The same body Gojo and the rest of the young woman's companions would swear to avenge come daybreak.